[ Much as he wishes he hadn't felt the need for a proxy, to utilize one - only made of his own aether and spun shadows, thank you very much - was the proper decision. Even this amount of bare skin against skin straddles the line of too much, at times edging over across that line but the towel, the shadows do no small amount to keep him steady, grounded. Separate, enough, even if this little endeavor proves to him that he really, desperately does not wish to be that separate if given the choice, the opportunity.
Enough, to be present here in this moment, to listen to the noises Viktor makes - noises he wrests from Viktor. He wants, irriational as it is, to bottle the sound of them up. To not have to rely on the fragilty of memory. To stretch this moment out as long as either of them can bear, and commit it to those tapestries Viktor'd mentioned. He doubts any were half as salacious as this. ]
Don't be smug. [ Emet-Selch grouches, though some of the gravel in his voice cannot wholly be attributed to irrtation so much as the heat flaring through him when Viktor presses lips against the line of his throat, exhales breath against his ear.
Then, startling even him, a laugh escapes - the ghost of one, at least, half-choked as slippery fingers are guided where Viktor wants them, feeling the ghost of sensation from Viktor riding the shadows. No, it was absolutely better this way; he doesn't know what he would have doe if he'd felt all of this at once. Drawing back enough to look at Viktor's expression, the fan of lashes against his cheek, the flush to his skin, Emet-Selch nearly forgets to be faux-irritated. Nearly. ]
I think I've embraced it - and, in fact, you - quite thoroughly at this point.
[ Abruptly, it's too much to even look at him - to face the depths of his own want, easier to press a lingering kiss against Viktor's chest, and busy himself with leaving more marks where he has been woefully inattentive, laving his tongue over Viktor's nipple. Then he leans back enough to give Viktor a coy little look while his fingers press back to where the shadows stretch him open, a glancing little touch before he guides his hand back to where it's wanted most.]
Unless you've objections. Complaints, about my...efficacy, my diligence after your lessons.
no subject
Enough, to be present here in this moment, to listen to the noises Viktor makes - noises he wrests from Viktor. He wants, irriational as it is, to bottle the sound of them up. To not have to rely on the fragilty of memory. To stretch this moment out as long as either of them can bear, and commit it to those tapestries Viktor'd mentioned. He doubts any were half as salacious as this. ]
Don't be smug. [ Emet-Selch grouches, though some of the gravel in his voice cannot wholly be attributed to irrtation so much as the heat flaring through him when Viktor presses lips against the line of his throat, exhales breath against his ear.
Then, startling even him, a laugh escapes - the ghost of one, at least, half-choked as slippery fingers are guided where Viktor wants them, feeling the ghost of sensation from Viktor riding the shadows. No, it was absolutely better this way; he doesn't know what he would have doe if he'd felt all of this at once. Drawing back enough to look at Viktor's expression, the fan of lashes against his cheek, the flush to his skin, Emet-Selch nearly forgets to be faux-irritated. Nearly. ]
I think I've embraced it - and, in fact, you - quite thoroughly at this point.
[ Abruptly, it's too much to even look at him - to face the depths of his own want, easier to press a lingering kiss against Viktor's chest, and busy himself with leaving more marks where he has been woefully inattentive, laving his tongue over Viktor's nipple. Then he leans back enough to give Viktor a coy little look while his fingers press back to where the shadows stretch him open, a glancing little touch before he guides his hand back to where it's wanted most.]
Unless you've objections. Complaints, about my...efficacy, my diligence after your lessons.