[ Emet-Selch leaves him languid, a head full of sunbathed summer flowers and little else. An easy thing, to draw him from the bed back into the water to soak, boneless and happy, seeking any excuse to slot himself against Hades once more. It helps that being welcomed into the tub feels a little like he's gotten away with something. So many nights, Emet-Selch would steal away behind a screen to take his too long soaks in fragrant waters; an escape, Viktor had thought, from him and his questions, his motion, his sound. But now he finds himself invited in and- does Hades realize what he's done, the door he has left open?
Gliding fingertips and glancing brushes of his lips make stories of the speckles that dapple Viktor's skin, and he can almost believe that Hades might, ready to accept his weeds, turn them into welcome flowers.
A strange feeling, this lack of fear, this certainty. Viktor cannot recall a time when intimacy did not have something cold trailing its coattails. Absent is the desire to pull away, the emptiness, the hollow shame that usually follows these encounters. He does not regret demanding his own pleasure, does not wish for space, wants only to be close, as though the trail of lips against his back, the fingers drawing lines from one freckle to the next, make him more solid, more himself - not less.
Viktor selects one of Emet-Selch's hands and runs his thumbs over his palm, pressing tension outward, then tracing each finger with grazing touches of his own. He shuts his eyes, bends himself to give Hades easier access to his neck, relishing the feel of being something addictive - something worth committing to memory. ]
Oh, terribly.
[ He tips his head back to plant a clumsy kiss around whatever he can manage to catch - Emet-Selch's temple, in this case. ]
But not intolerably so. Not for you. [ He studies, curious. A grin, crooked, settles across his features as he bends an arm back at an awkward angle to card a hand through Emet-Selch's hair. ] Why? Don't tell me you were drawing up lesson plans while I had you otherwise engaged?
no subject
Gliding fingertips and glancing brushes of his lips make stories of the speckles that dapple Viktor's skin, and he can almost believe that Hades might, ready to accept his weeds, turn them into welcome flowers.
A strange feeling, this lack of fear, this certainty. Viktor cannot recall a time when intimacy did not have something cold trailing its coattails. Absent is the desire to pull away, the emptiness, the hollow shame that usually follows these encounters. He does not regret demanding his own pleasure, does not wish for space, wants only to be close, as though the trail of lips against his back, the fingers drawing lines from one freckle to the next, make him more solid, more himself - not less.
Viktor selects one of Emet-Selch's hands and runs his thumbs over his palm, pressing tension outward, then tracing each finger with grazing touches of his own. He shuts his eyes, bends himself to give Hades easier access to his neck, relishing the feel of being something addictive - something worth committing to memory. ]
Oh, terribly.
[ He tips his head back to plant a clumsy kiss around whatever he can manage to catch - Emet-Selch's temple, in this case. ]
But not intolerably so. Not for you. [ He studies, curious. A grin, crooked, settles across his features as he bends an arm back at an awkward angle to card a hand through Emet-Selch's hair. ] Why? Don't tell me you were drawing up lesson plans while I had you otherwise engaged?