[ Viktor settles atop him with nary a care and Emet-Selch braces with an exhale that has the edge of a laugh within; sat upon like common furniture. The indignity would have made the not-so-old version of him burn with an entirely different sort of heat. ]
You're likely to lose an extremity simply exiting your bedroom, here. Linger too long and you may just freeze to the bare stone.
[ Viktor's secondary command is not nearly precise enough for Emet-Selch's liking, but then Viktor elaborates and Emet-Selch's mind rolls over a dozen different options and discards each of them on the basis of assuming Viktor was asking for less than he was. Emet-Selch watches the path of Viktor's hands with rapt attention, only centuries of court of various types allowing him to keep a still expression when Viktor makes his last request.
Of course. Whether or not Viktor noticed the use of a nickname and was gently calling him out on it or it was nothing so complicated: he simply wanted the last layer between them removed; it did not matter. Viktor had asked, and so he would acquiesce. He has questions but holds them back for the time being, obeying the easiest request first with a snap. Viktor's shorts from home find themselves upon his body for an instant, long enough for Emet-Selch to judge where they fall and then vanish with a second snap, Emet-Selch's hands tugging Viktor where he needs to be in order for him to obey Viktor's request.
He is single-minded in his execution of the ask, leaving not one mark, but several, littered about the lines where his smalls or shorts might not just show it but actively rub against, a constant, consistent awareness of the bruises, of Emet-Selch pressed into his skin, unignorable.Once he's satisfied, he lifts a hand from Viktor enough to flick his wrist; the fires within the room swell and grow, and the shadows yawn deeper, darker in turn, until as one, they lick their way across the ground, drawn toward Emet-Selch's hand.
The room heats incrementally as the flames burn hotter, and Emet-Selch draws the shadows around Viktor like a cloak, if a cloak could cling cooly to the flesh it touches rather than drape upon it. Another snap, and both of them find themselves rearranged on the bed, Viktor knelt above him but straddling just above his still towel-clad waist, and Emet-Selch lounged against the pillows with his legs firmly on the bed rather than dangling off.
He twirls a finger in the shadows draped over Viktor's shoulders and winds what he plucks around his palm, twisting and holding what he's gathered like a leash, tugging him in with the weight of the shadows behind the motion, not bothering to lean up to meet him. It is, he thinks, stretching idly beneath Viktor as he's held near immobile with gentle threat, nice to be able to show off once in a while. ]
Lest you make up a story in that pretty head of yours, these spells were not originally conceived for such uses.
[ Originally, he'd intended it for use in natural disasters - a rockslide, for example. Moments where Azem would not have access to light, and the sun could not be brought forth until morning. There is no pang across the veil as Emet-Selch has the thought. It is a momentary spark of fondness, followed by surprise at the lack of sting to the memory's edges. ]
no subject
You're likely to lose an extremity simply exiting your bedroom, here. Linger too long and you may just freeze to the bare stone.
[ Viktor's secondary command is not nearly precise enough for Emet-Selch's liking, but then Viktor elaborates and Emet-Selch's mind rolls over a dozen different options and discards each of them on the basis of assuming Viktor was asking for less than he was. Emet-Selch watches the path of Viktor's hands with rapt attention, only centuries of court of various types allowing him to keep a still expression when Viktor makes his last request.
Of course. Whether or not Viktor noticed the use of a nickname and was gently calling him out on it or it was nothing so complicated: he simply wanted the last layer between them removed; it did not matter. Viktor had asked, and so he would acquiesce. He has questions but holds them back for the time being, obeying the easiest request first with a snap. Viktor's shorts from home find themselves upon his body for an instant, long enough for Emet-Selch to judge where they fall and then vanish with a second snap, Emet-Selch's hands tugging Viktor where he needs to be in order for him to obey Viktor's request.
He is single-minded in his execution of the ask, leaving not one mark, but several, littered about the lines where his smalls or shorts might not just show it but actively rub against, a constant, consistent awareness of the bruises, of Emet-Selch pressed into his skin, unignorable.Once he's satisfied, he lifts a hand from Viktor enough to flick his wrist; the fires within the room swell and grow, and the shadows yawn deeper, darker in turn, until as one, they lick their way across the ground, drawn toward Emet-Selch's hand.
The room heats incrementally as the flames burn hotter, and Emet-Selch draws the shadows around Viktor like a cloak, if a cloak could cling cooly to the flesh it touches rather than drape upon it. Another snap, and both of them find themselves rearranged on the bed, Viktor knelt above him but straddling just above his still towel-clad waist, and Emet-Selch lounged against the pillows with his legs firmly on the bed rather than dangling off.
He twirls a finger in the shadows draped over Viktor's shoulders and winds what he plucks around his palm, twisting and holding what he's gathered like a leash, tugging him in with the weight of the shadows behind the motion, not bothering to lean up to meet him. It is, he thinks, stretching idly beneath Viktor as he's held near immobile with gentle threat, nice to be able to show off once in a while. ]
Lest you make up a story in that pretty head of yours, these spells were not originally conceived for such uses.
[ Originally, he'd intended it for use in natural disasters - a rockslide, for example. Moments where Azem would not have access to light, and the sun could not be brought forth until morning. There is no pang across the veil as Emet-Selch has the thought. It is a momentary spark of fondness, followed by surprise at the lack of sting to the memory's edges. ]