[ Viktor takes pleasure as beautifully as suffering. Emet-Selch had been endlessly frustrated, what feels like an age ago, to feel anything other than disgust for the thing masquerading as a fragment of Azem. Now, he thinks the most frustrating part is feeling to such excess after an age of near nothing. A cup usually no more than half empty now filled to the brim so much so that it is a wonder it does not spill over. Viktor feels everything so much more vividly, so brightly he can almost taste the strongest emotions when they unfurl.
Lightly, he nudges the veil back, thumbing over the seam to seal it in place once again the way one would an envelope full to bursting. A taste was one thing, but sex had the - ideally if he were using it to manipulate people, not ideal when he is directly involved - an unfortunate side effect of revealing too much, at times, and there was something he wished to keep for himself. That he had the ability to keep for himself, a choice Zodiark certainly never offered. ]
As we are, then, Viktor.
[ He likes the shape of Viktor's name in his mouth too much, perhaps. To close down the connection between the two of them meant nothing when he was so obvious with tells. Around Viktor, the shadows give a pulse, almost like a massive, near-insubstantial hand squeezing gently around him, while Emet-Selch's flesh and blood hands stay busy, pressed against Viktor's skin.
He thinks very few people would ever describe him as soft, but Viktor would. Viktor, who only saw the best in him, seemingly, despite everything else that was so much worse. He was granted absolution from anything he could do through Zodiark, the manifestation of the will of their people. It is, he thinks a little wearily, much easier to only need to concern himself with just one person's wants, needs.
It has been an age since he had to be soft, since he could allow himself to be soft, but he tries. The shadows and Emet-Selch's hands coax and cajole pleasure from Viktor rather than demand it, and all too quickly the indulgent lounge Emet-Selch had settled into becomes onerous if he wishes to take in every bit of Vitktor's reactions to the flex of the shadows rocking in and out of him. Foolish, he thinks, to be envious of them when he'd had an invitation, but better this way; some measure of distance, not depending on the frankly mercurial nature of flesh and blood to cooperate. With a flick of the wrist with its hand not occupied between Viktor's thighs and the pillows grow in size and quantity, Emet-Selch effortlessly propped enough so that when the shadows gently urge Viktor in, he can close the distance to a kiss with minimal effort.
He forgets himself just as soon as he slots his lips against Viktor's; the kiss goes from glancing to intent, the hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs lifting up to curve around the nape of his neck, up until he can wind through damp curls, licking into Viktor's mouth to chase the taste of the wine they'd shared. Then, a shiver twists through him, the shadows twitching in reflex. Soft, Viktor had said. Slowly, he forces himself away, lingering on the kiss-swollen bow of Viktor's mouth, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat and then absently, he finds himself leaning in to lavish attention and a line of intent kisses over Viktor's throat just as intently as Emet-Selch had his thighs. A confession, somewhere in the curve of Viktor's throat, followed by the press of teeth into the meat of Viktor's shoulder, just hard enough to be felt.]
grgfgfgk i gotta renew my sub surprise peepaw
Lightly, he nudges the veil back, thumbing over the seam to seal it in place once again the way one would an envelope full to bursting. A taste was one thing, but sex had the - ideally if he were using it to manipulate people, not ideal when he is directly involved - an unfortunate side effect of revealing too much, at times, and there was something he wished to keep for himself. That he had the ability to keep for himself, a choice Zodiark certainly never offered. ]
As we are, then, Viktor.
[ He likes the shape of Viktor's name in his mouth too much, perhaps. To close down the connection between the two of them meant nothing when he was so obvious with tells. Around Viktor, the shadows give a pulse, almost like a massive, near-insubstantial hand squeezing gently around him, while Emet-Selch's flesh and blood hands stay busy, pressed against Viktor's skin.
He thinks very few people would ever describe him as soft, but Viktor would. Viktor, who only saw the best in him, seemingly, despite everything else that was so much worse. He was granted absolution from anything he could do through Zodiark, the manifestation of the will of their people. It is, he thinks a little wearily, much easier to only need to concern himself with just one person's wants, needs.
It has been an age since he had to be soft, since he could allow himself to be soft, but he tries. The shadows and Emet-Selch's hands coax and cajole pleasure from Viktor rather than demand it, and all too quickly the indulgent lounge Emet-Selch had settled into becomes onerous if he wishes to take in every bit of Vitktor's reactions to the flex of the shadows rocking in and out of him. Foolish, he thinks, to be envious of them when he'd had an invitation, but better this way; some measure of distance, not depending on the frankly mercurial nature of flesh and blood to cooperate. With a flick of the wrist with its hand not occupied between Viktor's thighs and the pillows grow in size and quantity, Emet-Selch effortlessly propped enough so that when the shadows gently urge Viktor in, he can close the distance to a kiss with minimal effort.
He forgets himself just as soon as he slots his lips against Viktor's; the kiss goes from glancing to intent, the hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs lifting up to curve around the nape of his neck, up until he can wind through damp curls, licking into Viktor's mouth to chase the taste of the wine they'd shared. Then, a shiver twists through him, the shadows twitching in reflex. Soft, Viktor had said. Slowly, he forces himself away, lingering on the kiss-swollen bow of Viktor's mouth, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat and then absently, he finds himself leaning in to lavish attention and a line of intent kisses over Viktor's throat just as intently as Emet-Selch had his thighs. A confession, somewhere in the curve of Viktor's throat, followed by the press of teeth into the meat of Viktor's shoulder, just hard enough to be felt.]
I had forgotten how... acute desire could be.