[ He wishes, foolishly, to have had a robe on for all of this. Some sort of barrier even after the bath, perhaps especially after the bath; at least there they had a purpose to distract.
The purpose of coming to the bed is not to sleep, but Emet-Selch is called and so shall he answer, feet moving before his brain has time to even process the gentle command he's given. Only when he's physically pulled does he give some manner of resistance - a moment, can't make it too easy can he? - and then he gives in, gratefully accepting what Viktor offers, heedless of whether or not it is deserved. He'd never admit it, but the kiss serves to ease some of the discomfort of being bare; maybe it's the distraction, maybe it's the want. He doesn't particularly care about the reason so much as the fact that it allows him to be guided, shepherded, he thinks wryly, to sit. ]
And you expect me to recall with perfect clarity while you're - [ There goes the towel, just as Emet-Selch reaches the word you're, abruptly aware of the fact that the only thing Viktor's wearing is that smile. His own - wonderfully plush, thank you - stays set upon his hips through sheer luck but does very little to hide the half-hard swell beneath. This feels a stark contrast to the moment Viktor refers to; where Emet-Selch had the barrier of layers of clothes, a little room and the certainty that he had resisted for thousands of years so he could resist this too. ] Which part would you have me recall first? Your alleged propensity for not wearing smalls during negotiations?
[ Even if he feigns ignorance, the memory is not so old he has forgotten it. Emet-Selch had avoided his ears where possible when washing Viktor's hair; less out of disgust and more out of a desire not to accidentally injure. Now, with a brow furrowed in concentration as if he is magicking a particularly complex item instead of mimicking how Viktor'd touched himself earlier, Emet-Selch traces fingers along Viktor's ear, remapping the path his hands had taken, slower, lighter at first and then he seems to shake himself out. Ridiculous.
His heels plant against the ground, scooting back against the bed ilms and then fitting both hands beneath Viktor's thighs to ensure he brings Viktor with him, giving his knees more purchase upon the bed. Then, it seems a waste not to at least attempt to fulfill the other request, greedily exploring the yalms of bare skin, tracing constellations of freckles on his shoulders, pressing intermittent kisses against them with quiet reverence. ]
There was a question I wished to ask then, but did not. You mentioned we were close to one of your favorite imaginings. [ His fingers trace each knob of Viktor's spine on the path down to his tail, seemingly languid were it not for the intent way Emet-Selch looks up at him. ] I would know what it was.
EATS IT EATS IT
The purpose of coming to the bed is not to sleep, but Emet-Selch is called and so shall he answer, feet moving before his brain has time to even process the gentle command he's given. Only when he's physically pulled does he give some manner of resistance - a moment, can't make it too easy can he? - and then he gives in, gratefully accepting what Viktor offers, heedless of whether or not it is deserved. He'd never admit it, but the kiss serves to ease some of the discomfort of being bare; maybe it's the distraction, maybe it's the want. He doesn't particularly care about the reason so much as the fact that it allows him to be guided, shepherded, he thinks wryly, to sit. ]
And you expect me to recall with perfect clarity while you're - [ There goes the towel, just as Emet-Selch reaches the word you're, abruptly aware of the fact that the only thing Viktor's wearing is that smile. His own - wonderfully plush, thank you - stays set upon his hips through sheer luck but does very little to hide the half-hard swell beneath. This feels a stark contrast to the moment Viktor refers to; where Emet-Selch had the barrier of layers of clothes, a little room and the certainty that he had resisted for thousands of years so he could resist this too. ] Which part would you have me recall first? Your alleged propensity for not wearing smalls during negotiations?
[ Even if he feigns ignorance, the memory is not so old he has forgotten it. Emet-Selch had avoided his ears where possible when washing Viktor's hair; less out of disgust and more out of a desire not to accidentally injure. Now, with a brow furrowed in concentration as if he is magicking a particularly complex item instead of mimicking how Viktor'd touched himself earlier, Emet-Selch traces fingers along Viktor's ear, remapping the path his hands had taken, slower, lighter at first and then he seems to shake himself out. Ridiculous.
His heels plant against the ground, scooting back against the bed ilms and then fitting both hands beneath Viktor's thighs to ensure he brings Viktor with him, giving his knees more purchase upon the bed. Then, it seems a waste not to at least attempt to fulfill the other request, greedily exploring the yalms of bare skin, tracing constellations of freckles on his shoulders, pressing intermittent kisses against them with quiet reverence. ]
There was a question I wished to ask then, but did not. You mentioned we were close to one of your favorite imaginings. [ His fingers trace each knob of Viktor's spine on the path down to his tail, seemingly languid were it not for the intent way Emet-Selch looks up at him. ] I would know what it was.