As grape juice gives way to w-wine, so too does l-leering age into "appreciating" given enough time, I suppose.
[ Another laugh, this one decadent, little more than a low hum, rumbles from deep in Viktor's chest. The only thing more thoroughly threaded through his voice than doubt is fondness. His waggling becomes a more overtly teasing one, gaze narrowing with catlike focus as he attempts to dodge the half-hearted chomping of teeth to press a fingertip to the squishy tip of Emet-Selch's nose without being nipped.
The little self-made game is distracting enough that it takes an extra second to process what Emet-Selch says next. When his words finally process, Viktor hangs, attention darting from the arrow point of Hades's perfect nose to his firefly eyes.
He ]
You c-could have just told me they were all untoward thoughts.
[ But he didn't. And that is rather the point, isn't it? Viktor needn't wander far to find someone perfectly, at times upsettingly, willing to divulge all the dirty little thoughts they've had about him. Dozens of people, chomping at the bit to share an adventure with the Warrior of Light -- whatever that happens to mean. He can count on one hand the number of people who seemed happy to just sit with him, to linger. Quiet closeness, without performance, without a fight. He can scarcely belive it possible.
Viktor's head droops, not quite enough to be sad, only thoughtful. He sets his teacup aside and fishes up the washcloth, saturated and floating beneath the surface of the water. Lightly, he settles his fingers upon the scar on Hades's chest, as though it might center him. Then, after a moment, he sets back to his original work -- fetching the soap to lather up anew. ]
Would you prefer I wear pajamas when we retire? [ A pause, heavy, hesitating. ] Would you hold me? In bed.
no subject
[ Another laugh, this one decadent, little more than a low hum, rumbles from deep in Viktor's chest. The only thing more thoroughly threaded through his voice than doubt is fondness. His waggling becomes a more overtly teasing one, gaze narrowing with catlike focus as he attempts to dodge the half-hearted chomping of teeth to press a fingertip to the squishy tip of Emet-Selch's nose without being nipped.
The little self-made game is distracting enough that it takes an extra second to process what Emet-Selch says next. When his words finally process, Viktor hangs, attention darting from the arrow point of Hades's perfect nose to his firefly eyes.
He ]
You c-could have just told me they were all untoward thoughts.
[ But he didn't. And that is rather the point, isn't it? Viktor needn't wander far to find someone perfectly, at times upsettingly, willing to divulge all the dirty little thoughts they've had about him. Dozens of people, chomping at the bit to share an adventure with the Warrior of Light -- whatever that happens to mean. He can count on one hand the number of people who seemed happy to just sit with him, to linger. Quiet closeness, without performance, without a fight. He can scarcely belive it possible.
Viktor's head droops, not quite enough to be sad, only thoughtful. He sets his teacup aside and fishes up the washcloth, saturated and floating beneath the surface of the water. Lightly, he settles his fingers upon the scar on Hades's chest, as though it might center him. Then, after a moment, he sets back to his original work -- fetching the soap to lather up anew. ]
Would you prefer I wear pajamas when we retire? [ A pause, heavy, hesitating. ] Would you hold me? In bed.