[ A defiant little laugh slips from Viktor's lips. He shuts his eyes, relishing this new sensation, cold darkness chased away by the warmth of Hades's hands and mouth. Intoxicating, to feel so much at once, to allow himself the luxury of enjoying being obeyed. No reluctance, no complaint, no guilt - just fervor met with fervor.
His muscles twitch as Emet-Selch's hand drifts lower — that pause, so close, drags an impatient sound out of the back of his throat, but he needn't wait long. A second later, matching the pace of Hades's molten sugar voice, the shadow, all that aether, presses up, presses in, and Viktor voices his most ecstatic approval with a slow, sighing moan. He leans back, letting shadow hold him, half delirious from the feel of being so wholly surrounded, so gently touched. Viktor bucks into Emet-Selch's fingers as they settle into place, murmuring his name barely a whisper.
His eyes open only just at this next question, the implied suggestion zinging levin up his spine. Yes, stars, yes, anywhere. He wants to be surrounded, stuffed, fucked senseless. His lips part, a shuddered breath escapes.
But he has waited weeks, moons, for exactly this, too. Touched and tasted and loved with such specific care. His own pleasure demanded, and Emet-Selch, Hades, chasing it with the sort of eager reverence typically reserved for religious fervor. Every shiver, every little noise, every urgent press into friction, devoured like something holy. Answered in turn with that unbearably perfect smirk of his and the dark, delicious sounds he makes.
As gods have worshippers. Viktor's indeed.
And he wants to live in every second of it; memorize how slight he feels set upon Emet-Selch's hips, a world-shaking warrior reduced to little more than panting breath and bright whispers of approval, each grasping hand and low moan from Hades in answer, every brush of lips and fingers, the shape of his body memorized like scripture. To say nothing of the electrifying press of Hades's aether inside him as he is coaxed slowly toward greater pleasure.
This, this - it leaves him nearly delirious. They will have more time later - they will have centuries, later - to push further, to drive each other to breaking in other, wilder ways. And though it sounds unbearably delicious, what he wants all the more is simply to be loved.
Viktor tries to say as much, to give voice to his thoughts, but Emet-Selch's shadows still, and between that warm and insistent fullness and the maddeningly slow ministrations of his fingers, what escapes in place of words is a frankly vulgar groan. Pleasure twinkles, exploding stars across his awareness, swirling light and gold slipping past their barrier. Odd, perhaps, to follow that up with so romantic an admission, but Viktor grits his teeth and breathes, resisting the urge to grind his hips in time with Hades's hand, refusing to relent control of himself, to lose this slowness, this closeness he so desperately wants. ]
A-another night. [ It feels like it takes ages just to say that much. Two words, stolen between between ragged breaths. ] Another night. I- I want you to fill me, fuck me. Anywhere. B-but. Tonight- just, this. [ How horrendously embarrassing, to feel so embarrassed - so embarrassed that it spills citrus pink feeling between them - about something like this. Like some virgin, never touched properly before. Ridiculous. And yet. ] Slow. I- I want our first night to be... soft.
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His muscles twitch as Emet-Selch's hand drifts lower — that pause, so close, drags an impatient sound out of the back of his throat, but he needn't wait long. A second later, matching the pace of Hades's molten sugar voice, the shadow, all that aether, presses up, presses in, and Viktor voices his most ecstatic approval with a slow, sighing moan. He leans back, letting shadow hold him, half delirious from the feel of being so wholly surrounded, so gently touched. Viktor bucks into Emet-Selch's fingers as they settle into place, murmuring his name barely a whisper.
His eyes open only just at this next question, the implied suggestion zinging levin up his spine. Yes, stars, yes, anywhere. He wants to be surrounded, stuffed, fucked senseless. His lips part, a shuddered breath escapes.
But he has waited weeks, moons, for exactly this, too. Touched and tasted and loved with such specific care. His own pleasure demanded, and Emet-Selch, Hades, chasing it with the sort of eager reverence typically reserved for religious fervor. Every shiver, every little noise, every urgent press into friction, devoured like something holy. Answered in turn with that unbearably perfect smirk of his and the dark, delicious sounds he makes.
As gods have worshippers. Viktor's indeed.
And he wants to live in every second of it; memorize how slight he feels set upon Emet-Selch's hips, a world-shaking warrior reduced to little more than panting breath and bright whispers of approval, each grasping hand and low moan from Hades in answer, every brush of lips and fingers, the shape of his body memorized like scripture. To say nothing of the electrifying press of Hades's aether inside him as he is coaxed slowly toward greater pleasure.
This, this - it leaves him nearly delirious. They will have more time later - they will have centuries, later - to push further, to drive each other to breaking in other, wilder ways. And though it sounds unbearably delicious, what he wants all the more is simply to be loved.
Viktor tries to say as much, to give voice to his thoughts, but Emet-Selch's shadows still, and between that warm and insistent fullness and the maddeningly slow ministrations of his fingers, what escapes in place of words is a frankly vulgar groan. Pleasure twinkles, exploding stars across his awareness, swirling light and gold slipping past their barrier. Odd, perhaps, to follow that up with so romantic an admission, but Viktor grits his teeth and breathes, resisting the urge to grind his hips in time with Hades's hand, refusing to relent control of himself, to lose this slowness, this closeness he so desperately wants. ]
A-another night. [ It feels like it takes ages just to say that much. Two words, stolen between between ragged breaths. ] Another night. I- I want you to fill me, fuck me. Anywhere. B-but. Tonight- just, this. [ How horrendously embarrassing, to feel so embarrassed - so embarrassed that it spills citrus pink feeling between them - about something like this. Like some virgin, never touched properly before. Ridiculous. And yet. ] Slow. I- I want our first night to be... soft.