Oh? This is torment? I think, perhaps, you have not been properly tormented in the past if this is what you believe is torment.
[ Easy, to slide back into the position of being in charge. To orchestrate, to machinate, to take what he wants from a situation. Easier still when he knows beyond a shadow of doubt that Viktor wants as much, if not more than Emet-Selch does. Viktor's skin prickles and Emet-Selch chases the reaction with hands and mouth, grazing kisses over skin, the shadows parting for him thoughtlessly.
He feels when Viktor tenes, stills, waiting the few moments that feel like they stretch out forever until Viktor settles into this, into the chill weight of darkness spun into cloth draped around him. He feels the moment Viktor goes somewhere else, the moment a memory of his own. How many times did Aepymetes sit there, present, but not at the same time. It does not seem nearly as strong, as overwhelming as Aepymetes' visions, but for a brief second of time Viktor is there but not, and then he returns, looking down at Emet-Selch.
Insanely, he doesn't want that to happen again. He wants Viktor here in the present no matter how traitorous he would have previously believed having that thought to be. ]
You asked, and I am loosely quoting, for me to engulf and embrace you. [ Which, he has. The room burns with brightness, all the shadows stolen from within, spun to rest atop Viktor's shoulders. Emet-Selch lounges, petting over the malms of bare skin beneath his fingers, shadows starting to creep behind the wake of his touch when he begins speaking again, his fingers stroking just above the thatch of hair between Viktor's thighs, ] Then inside of you, from here.
[ Gauzy, insubstantial as they are, they seem to grow heavier, stronger when Emet-Selch focuses, warming as they swell between Viktor's thighs and then ease upward; the chill remains for everywhere the shadows touch above his waist, but below it takes a thoughtless little charm to at least keep them the same approximate warmth as their bodies as the shadows obey Viktor's earlier command. Against the narrow line of Viktor's waist, Emet-Selch's fingers twitch and swirl against skin, a conductor at the head of his orchestra, the shadows nestling, filling Viktor with gradual warmth. The hand not in the process of directing the spellwork he angles only a little awkwardly to fit between Viktor's thighs, tracing fingers over where he's parted, stretched around the insubstantial made tangible, slick fingers starting to rub slow, intent circles where his mouth had worshipped earlier. ]
You had, at risk of being pedantic, said anywhere they could fit, as well.
[ As if he doesn't enjoy being pedantic any chance he gets. There is a question with no expectation behind its answer there, Emet-Selch's shadows pausing even when the slow, steady circles of his fingers do not. ]
no subject
[ Easy, to slide back into the position of being in charge. To orchestrate, to machinate, to take what he wants from a situation. Easier still when he knows beyond a shadow of doubt that Viktor wants as much, if not more than Emet-Selch does. Viktor's skin prickles and Emet-Selch chases the reaction with hands and mouth, grazing kisses over skin, the shadows parting for him thoughtlessly.
He feels when Viktor tenes, stills, waiting the few moments that feel like they stretch out forever until Viktor settles into this, into the chill weight of darkness spun into cloth draped around him. He feels the moment Viktor goes somewhere else, the moment a memory of his own. How many times did Aepymetes sit there, present, but not at the same time. It does not seem nearly as strong, as overwhelming as Aepymetes' visions, but for a brief second of time Viktor is there but not, and then he returns, looking down at Emet-Selch.
Insanely, he doesn't want that to happen again. He wants Viktor here in the present no matter how traitorous he would have previously believed having that thought to be. ]
You asked, and I am loosely quoting, for me to engulf and embrace you. [ Which, he has. The room burns with brightness, all the shadows stolen from within, spun to rest atop Viktor's shoulders. Emet-Selch lounges, petting over the malms of bare skin beneath his fingers, shadows starting to creep behind the wake of his touch when he begins speaking again, his fingers stroking just above the thatch of hair between Viktor's thighs, ] Then inside of you, from here.
[ Gauzy, insubstantial as they are, they seem to grow heavier, stronger when Emet-Selch focuses, warming as they swell between Viktor's thighs and then ease upward; the chill remains for everywhere the shadows touch above his waist, but below it takes a thoughtless little charm to at least keep them the same approximate warmth as their bodies as the shadows obey Viktor's earlier command. Against the narrow line of Viktor's waist, Emet-Selch's fingers twitch and swirl against skin, a conductor at the head of his orchestra, the shadows nestling, filling Viktor with gradual warmth. The hand not in the process of directing the spellwork he angles only a little awkwardly to fit between Viktor's thighs, tracing fingers over where he's parted, stretched around the insubstantial made tangible, slick fingers starting to rub slow, intent circles where his mouth had worshipped earlier. ]
You had, at risk of being pedantic, said anywhere they could fit, as well.
[ As if he doesn't enjoy being pedantic any chance he gets. There is a question with no expectation behind its answer there, Emet-Selch's shadows pausing even when the slow, steady circles of his fingers do not. ]