[ There are no birds on this reflection save those relegated to the private menageries of wealthy lords. Or, if there are others, they do not choose to sleep here in these cold climes. Emet-Selch's candles, objects of Creation, do not burn down to stubs as the night rolls on, still flickering softly hours later. Viktor wakes to silence, to the faint warm cast of gold firelight, and cannot tell what time it is. Hades still clutches him close, tight, as though he fears he might lose him if he is not vigilant, and for a moment Viktor thinks he has only stirred from dozing, that only minutes have passed. Or that time itself fell victim to this frigid shard and froze in place.
He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?
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He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?