[ He strains to think about other evenings in his quarters. He was perfectly happy with blackout curtains, drawn tight about the windows to try and maintain as much darkness as possible through the evening. More often than not he'd leave a fire lit, either in the fireplace or through candles just to be able to see enough to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night if needed, but no more.
No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?
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No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?