[ Just because he enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. Stars, what a perplexing man. Viktor allows himself an onze of self-pity for being so foolish as to have failed to see Emet-Selch's frequent soaks for what they were: comfort, vulnerability shared. The sullen pout that answers Emet-Selch's audible smirk does not hang on his features long, though. Not when Emet-Selch's hands fit to his hips like missing pieces of a puzzle, not when they have themselves so much to look forward to - a future past this mission, long baths, longer nights, a home, a life shared, a different kind of adventure than Viktor has ever known.
Treacherous, troublesome, dandelion hope springs up indefatigable, filling the blank spaces in their great duty, growing wild in the light at the end of their long, tiresome path. It feels an age since hope was a thing he could do for himself, and not the thing he was supposed to be for others. But here, in this excessive stone bath, warm and sleepy and sated, held and holding, Viktor looks ahead and for the first time in longer than he can recall, he sees points to pursue - sees things to want, however small, however silly. For the first time since the doors of the Crystal Tower first closed all those years ago, Viktor feels hope.
Suddenly, seeing this through, reaching Meteion, silencing her song, and fixing the mess left in the aftermath, feels all the more daunting - terrifying, even, in a way Viktor can't quite wrap his mind around. But it is also, somehow, all the more obtainable. No longer does it suit to be a leaf upon the wind, he must- he will grasp threads to weave the future that he wants, just as a version of him had tried ten thousand years ago. And this time, he will do it right. ]
Well.
[ Viktor butts his head into the crook of Emet-Selch's neck, planting just one more kiss on the slope of his throat. He takes a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, beset by still cracking desire, by new ambition, by an impossible wave of affection for the dreadfully smug man in his arms.
Eventually, against Emet-Selch's skin, he murmurs, ] I've a proposal.
[ He withdraws. Not far, enough to give himself room to breathe, to cool the fire beneath his skin, but not out of Emet-Selch's reach, liking the feel of his hands upon his hips too much to leave his grasp. Viktor takes the golden tea cup in hand, admires the color, and then takes a sip before continuing. ]
To bed for now. No lessons in the morning. We sleep in, late as we please. [ That's truly the most important part. ] 'Twill p-perhaps upset the little lordling, but he will think little of us retiring early once again, and leave us f-free to go snooping about in the cellar once night falls.
[ Emet-Selch could, of course, swirl into something insubstantial and explore on his own, but Viktor finds waiting around for his return to be a dreadfully boring prospect. ]
And when we're through exploring, I would have you in this tub again. To warm up.
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Treacherous, troublesome, dandelion hope springs up indefatigable, filling the blank spaces in their great duty, growing wild in the light at the end of their long, tiresome path. It feels an age since hope was a thing he could do for himself, and not the thing he was supposed to be for others. But here, in this excessive stone bath, warm and sleepy and sated, held and holding, Viktor looks ahead and for the first time in longer than he can recall, he sees points to pursue - sees things to want, however small, however silly. For the first time since the doors of the Crystal Tower first closed all those years ago, Viktor feels hope.
Suddenly, seeing this through, reaching Meteion, silencing her song, and fixing the mess left in the aftermath, feels all the more daunting - terrifying, even, in a way Viktor can't quite wrap his mind around. But it is also, somehow, all the more obtainable. No longer does it suit to be a leaf upon the wind, he must- he will grasp threads to weave the future that he wants, just as a version of him had tried ten thousand years ago. And this time, he will do it right. ]
Well.
[ Viktor butts his head into the crook of Emet-Selch's neck, planting just one more kiss on the slope of his throat. He takes a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, beset by still cracking desire, by new ambition, by an impossible wave of affection for the dreadfully smug man in his arms.
Eventually, against Emet-Selch's skin, he murmurs, ] I've a proposal.
[ He withdraws. Not far, enough to give himself room to breathe, to cool the fire beneath his skin, but not out of Emet-Selch's reach, liking the feel of his hands upon his hips too much to leave his grasp. Viktor takes the golden tea cup in hand, admires the color, and then takes a sip before continuing. ]
To bed for now. No lessons in the morning. We sleep in, late as we please. [ That's truly the most important part. ] 'Twill p-perhaps upset the little lordling, but he will think little of us retiring early once again, and leave us f-free to go snooping about in the cellar once night falls.
[ Emet-Selch could, of course, swirl into something insubstantial and explore on his own, but Viktor finds waiting around for his return to be a dreadfully boring prospect. ]
And when we're through exploring, I would have you in this tub again. To warm up.