[ That's a level of articulateness that he is not necessarily best pleased with when it comes to his performance, but the sound of Viktor's breathy exhale, the hitch to his words, the sting from the clench of his hand in Emet-Selch's hair, well. He supposes he cannot be performing too poorly, judging by the noises he wrests from the other man.
For a petty moment, he thinks to utilize one of several enchantments to throw one's voice but the urge fades just as soon as Viktor gives voice to needy instructions. The hand grasping Viktor's hip skims upward, feeling the tight line of his stomach clenching and his skin's warmth like it's not enough to stay still; he has to touch as much of Viktor as he can.
He could lift the veil. Even as distracted as he is, he thinks he could manage to raise but a corner, and maybe later he will when the novelty of a simple healing spell restoring them has faded. For now, he finds he's far too hungry for the tactile way, drinking in the sight of Viktor curling in on himself, flushed and needy because of him. He's made a wreck of him over countless lifetimes; this type of wreck is undeniably his favorite.
Would that he did not have to breathe, though. Viktor's thighs clench, his hips jerking and Emet-Selch makes a low, pleased noise in response, smoothing his hand down Viktor's flank content to work until his jaw and tongue ache and then do it all over again until Viktor tells him to stop. He lifts his head just long enough to breathe, interrupting the ragged intake of air with a wet kiss smeared against the inside of Viktor's thigh, and then adjusts his grip, shifts his weight on the bed and returns to his task with ruthless enthusiasm.
He does not lift a full edge so much as he does nudge the toe of a shoe beneath the hem and raise it incrementally. Enough that Viktor is made privy to a swell of feelings - a hunger he hadn't dared acknowledge for thousands of years, sated. A frisson of worry that he won't know when he's indulged too much, a brief, flickering emotion that feels like same kind of pure clarity Zodiark brought; a certainty in the shape of Viktor. A desire to execute this well - the briefest hint of amusement, a flicker of smut read over the years, glossed over. Distantly, there is surprise, too; surprise he could enjoy being this bare, surprise he hasn't overthought his way into a pit. ]
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For a petty moment, he thinks to utilize one of several enchantments to throw one's voice but the urge fades just as soon as Viktor gives voice to needy instructions. The hand grasping Viktor's hip skims upward, feeling the tight line of his stomach clenching and his skin's warmth like it's not enough to stay still; he has to touch as much of Viktor as he can.
He could lift the veil. Even as distracted as he is, he thinks he could manage to raise but a corner, and maybe later he will when the novelty of a simple healing spell restoring them has faded. For now, he finds he's far too hungry for the tactile way, drinking in the sight of Viktor curling in on himself, flushed and needy because of him. He's made a wreck of him over countless lifetimes; this type of wreck is undeniably his favorite.
Would that he did not have to breathe, though. Viktor's thighs clench, his hips jerking and Emet-Selch makes a low, pleased noise in response, smoothing his hand down Viktor's flank content to work until his jaw and tongue ache and then do it all over again until Viktor tells him to stop. He lifts his head just long enough to breathe, interrupting the ragged intake of air with a wet kiss smeared against the inside of Viktor's thigh, and then adjusts his grip, shifts his weight on the bed and returns to his task with ruthless enthusiasm.
He does not lift a full edge so much as he does nudge the toe of a shoe beneath the hem and raise it incrementally. Enough that Viktor is made privy to a swell of feelings - a hunger he hadn't dared acknowledge for thousands of years, sated. A frisson of worry that he won't know when he's indulged too much, a brief, flickering emotion that feels like same kind of pure clarity Zodiark brought; a certainty in the shape of Viktor. A desire to execute this well - the briefest hint of amusement, a flicker of smut read over the years, glossed over. Distantly, there is surprise, too; surprise he could enjoy being this bare, surprise he hasn't overthought his way into a pit. ]