[ He doesn't know the last time he let someone know him. Properly. To have done it now - somewhat unintentionally, is only a little frustrating to reckon with. He doesn't regret that it's happened, but it certainly does not make it as easy as it usually is to lie. His sole consolation prize is the fact that as of yet, Viktor hasn't noticed when he outright avoids any answering of questions he does not wish to address. ]
Far be it from me to dissuade you from that which we both desire, if you wish for the extra distraction.
[ It would, he thinks, be entertaining to at least try and distract Viktor to a point of total incoherence. A goal to aim for. Another reward at the end of this path, if they can manage to both survive the long walk to get there. This time, Viktor washes drags the washcloth with some level of intent, even if Emet-Selch notices that he still lingers. Dotes. He has no ground to stand on, having been similarly occupied with the line of Viktor's shoulders not a moment ago.
The press of Viktor's lips against his skin is not wholly objectionable, but Emet-Selch does tug gently at a loose curl if Viktor lingers overlong before picking up his task once again only to be the one distracted as Viktor sloshes his way over, draping arms over his shoulders, kissably close. Stars preserve him, this will be all he can think of for ages. He makes no effort to put space between them, indulgently taking the weight of him, curving his hands around the narrow line of Viktor's hips once the teacup is safely deposited. ]
They were in most cases because I enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. [ Now, the amusement is plain in his voice. Had he wanted privacy, he could have told Viktor to leave and borne any upset. He could have prohibited Viktor from coming into his room. He could have taken any number of actions he did not because, despite everything, he had enjoyed Viktor's company in his room. Had found it was not so miserable to be around someone, if you genuinely enjoyed their company.
Emet-Selch bears the kisses with a heavy sigh, the most put-upon man in this shard or the next, and brushes a kiss over Viktor's forehead, not trusting himself to hold back if he actually returned the kisses. Chamomile is easy, and easier still is recalling the precise way Viktor likes his chamomile to a point where creating it is thoughtless, reflex. He settles the gold teacup and saucer atop the lip of the tub and like a moth to flame his hand finds its way back to Viktor's waist. ]
If we take any longer in this task, we may be in here until lessons.
no subject
Far be it from me to dissuade you from that which we both desire, if you wish for the extra distraction.
[ It would, he thinks, be entertaining to at least try and distract Viktor to a point of total incoherence. A goal to aim for. Another reward at the end of this path, if they can manage to both survive the long walk to get there. This time, Viktor washes drags the washcloth with some level of intent, even if Emet-Selch notices that he still lingers. Dotes. He has no ground to stand on, having been similarly occupied with the line of Viktor's shoulders not a moment ago.
The press of Viktor's lips against his skin is not wholly objectionable, but Emet-Selch does tug gently at a loose curl if Viktor lingers overlong before picking up his task once again only to be the one distracted as Viktor sloshes his way over, draping arms over his shoulders, kissably close. Stars preserve him, this will be all he can think of for ages. He makes no effort to put space between them, indulgently taking the weight of him, curving his hands around the narrow line of Viktor's hips once the teacup is safely deposited. ]
They were in most cases because I enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. [ Now, the amusement is plain in his voice. Had he wanted privacy, he could have told Viktor to leave and borne any upset. He could have prohibited Viktor from coming into his room. He could have taken any number of actions he did not because, despite everything, he had enjoyed Viktor's company in his room. Had found it was not so miserable to be around someone, if you genuinely enjoyed their company.
Emet-Selch bears the kisses with a heavy sigh, the most put-upon man in this shard or the next, and brushes a kiss over Viktor's forehead, not trusting himself to hold back if he actually returned the kisses. Chamomile is easy, and easier still is recalling the precise way Viktor likes his chamomile to a point where creating it is thoughtless, reflex. He settles the gold teacup and saucer atop the lip of the tub and like a moth to flame his hand finds its way back to Viktor's waist. ]
If we take any longer in this task, we may be in here until lessons.