'Twould be best, yes. [ Light, leveled with a grin. He has no specific plans just yet, but when does he ever? Knowing those words alone could spin up mystery enough to set Emet-Selch's gears to turning, trusting that he can make himself an entertaining distraction when the work that needs doing is of the busy variety, is a very specific jolt of pleasure that leaves Viktor's smile curling. Even that hint of color fading is gratifying, the moment it is swallowed up in fire renewed.
How he loves the idea of testing that will and winning.
Not that Viktor is innoculatd, himself. Needy thing, Hades calls him, and the words are honey. His tongue brushes the pads of Viktor's fingertips, and Viktor shuts his eyes, lingering in the feeling of his pulse dropping to his stomach again.
Fleetingly he thinks of a Light-drenched thread upon the weave. One he knows exists by sense, where his had been the weaker will, where not even Meteion's song permeates absolute stillness. Another Emet-Selch, still drown in Zodiark's dark despite the brightness he keeps and cossets, bridled only just, because the beast allows it. Emet-Selch's needy thing, his creature, across time, across reflections, across iterations of reality.
Viktor vastly prefers this one. Less chilling despite the cold. Where the closest thing to tempering is the two of them unable to stop touching each other, forging their own destiny, finding their own duty, driving each other mad. He huffs when Emet-Selch's teeth graze his thigh, catches his cheek in his hand before he can get away again. He'd meant for it to be playful, but the light touch, the soft gaze Viktor points at him, is a little too baldly adoring - even the flicker of fire in response to Hades's pedantry is fond.
Specific.
Viktor settles, sitting on Emet-Selch's chest and lazing back against his stomach. Seconds pass in silence, but it is not an empty, waiting quiet - it buzzes with the work of thinking as Viktor tries to grasp his own desire, chisel the fiery feeling down to something more specific than him, him, him.
Eventually, he props himself back up, enough to lock mismatched eyes on that glowing lamplight gaze. ]
On my th-thigh. Either one. Surprise me. Just low enough that the mark you leave might sh-show beneath the edges of shorts or smalls.
[ It is far too cold in this fissured reflection to wear anything so light outside of one's quarters, and such a mark surely would heal before they were in warm climes again, but the thought sits like fire, nonetheless. ]
And as for your aether- [ Viktor arches a brow, teasing smile creeping audibly into his voice as he sits back up properly. ] Anywhere you can fit it, my Aubergine.
[ But he is supposed to be specific, and so after a pause spent shaking off frankly unnecessary nerves, Viktor reins in his smile and presses his palms to the high point of his neck. He drags his hands down slowly, over chest and stomach, down to the dip between his thighs, fingers framing all the spots he wants Hades's attention. Then, with a shuddered breath, he says, ] Engulf me, embrace me with it. Then inside of me, from here. Slow. [ A pause, he shuts his eyes, wills himself to say the last bit. ] A-and use my name. S-say my name.
no subject
How he loves the idea of testing that will and winning.
Not that Viktor is innoculatd, himself. Needy thing, Hades calls him, and the words are honey. His tongue brushes the pads of Viktor's fingertips, and Viktor shuts his eyes, lingering in the feeling of his pulse dropping to his stomach again.
Fleetingly he thinks of a Light-drenched thread upon the weave. One he knows exists by sense, where his had been the weaker will, where not even Meteion's song permeates absolute stillness. Another Emet-Selch, still drown in Zodiark's dark despite the brightness he keeps and cossets, bridled only just, because the beast allows it. Emet-Selch's needy thing, his creature, across time, across reflections, across iterations of reality.
Viktor vastly prefers this one. Less chilling despite the cold. Where the closest thing to tempering is the two of them unable to stop touching each other, forging their own destiny, finding their own duty, driving each other mad. He huffs when Emet-Selch's teeth graze his thigh, catches his cheek in his hand before he can get away again. He'd meant for it to be playful, but the light touch, the soft gaze Viktor points at him, is a little too baldly adoring - even the flicker of fire in response to Hades's pedantry is fond.
Specific.
Viktor settles, sitting on Emet-Selch's chest and lazing back against his stomach. Seconds pass in silence, but it is not an empty, waiting quiet - it buzzes with the work of thinking as Viktor tries to grasp his own desire, chisel the fiery feeling down to something more specific than him, him, him.
Eventually, he props himself back up, enough to lock mismatched eyes on that glowing lamplight gaze. ]
On my th-thigh. Either one. Surprise me. Just low enough that the mark you leave might sh-show beneath the edges of shorts or smalls.
[ It is far too cold in this fissured reflection to wear anything so light outside of one's quarters, and such a mark surely would heal before they were in warm climes again, but the thought sits like fire, nonetheless. ]
And as for your aether- [ Viktor arches a brow, teasing smile creeping audibly into his voice as he sits back up properly. ] Anywhere you can fit it, my Aubergine.
[ But he is supposed to be specific, and so after a pause spent shaking off frankly unnecessary nerves, Viktor reins in his smile and presses his palms to the high point of his neck. He drags his hands down slowly, over chest and stomach, down to the dip between his thighs, fingers framing all the spots he wants Hades's attention. Then, with a shuddered breath, he says, ] Engulf me, embrace me with it. Then inside of me, from here. Slow. [ A pause, he shuts his eyes, wills himself to say the last bit. ] A-and use my name. S-say my name.