[ Viktor clicks his tongue, glancing over his shoulder to level a grin at Emet-Selch when he draws nearer. ]
Well, 'tis very lucky that your quarters so often seem to become my quarters.
[ Realistically, Viktor knows that it is nothing for Emet-Selch to Make whatever soap, salt, or fragrance he desires. Reasonable, that even when traveling, he should have an extensive collection of bottles at his fingertips. That does not stop it from feeling absurd. Though, Viktor allows, any amount of soaps feels a little absurd to someone who is still having trouble with the idea of letting go of the convenience of one bar for everything.
Baffling as it all is, he cannot deny the appeal of all these little luxuries. There is a bottle of something that smells dark and sweet, a little like a plum liqueur. It would be nice, he thinks, to smell like something so decadent. To breathe in a scent that makes him think of Hades each time he moves in just the right way. It's a lovely line of thought that ends the very moment Emet-Selch begins to fiddle with the fasteners of his robes. He stills, smiles, pleased to be touched and tended to, as though Emet-Selch cannot help but steal contact.
That smile turns crooked, incredulous when Emet-Selch next moves the cakes away. He opens his mouth to level a joke about the obvious maneuver, but the thought dies on his tongue as he studies Emet-Selch's features, the telltale if miniscule signs of too much thinking. Viktor contents himself, instead, with tipping his chin down to watch Emet-Selch's hands dance over skin and fabric, waiting for Emet-Selch to find his voice.
And oh, what a wait it is. It is not the cool air that prickles his shoulders to gooseflesh when Emet-Selch reaches out to touch him again. Were he not certain that some thought percolates, near ready to bubble out, he might think Hades was teasing him - drawing the endeavor of undressing long to drive him crazy. Even if that is not the case, it does not stop the patter of Viktor's heart from quickening.
His ears twitch when Emet-Selch finally speaks, attention settling on him, brows lifted, lips parted, curious. Viktor's eyes dart to the cakes, then back, and he smiles and sidesteps into Emet-Selch's space. Pastries are fine enough, but the real prize, what he wants more than any confection, is closeness, contact. ]
Aye, of course. [ He smiles, bright. ] No soggy bits in the bathwater. And more interesting things to s-spend my attention on, anyway.
[ Emet-Selch undoes another toggle, exposing more skin and earning a shiver that is as much about the slowness of the process as the cold air. Right away, the desire to have as little clothing separating the two of them becomes urgent, but Viktor stills himself, more concerned with the storm cloud that Hades seems to be trying to shake off. He turns, finally, putting himself before Emet-Selch, still leaning on the table.
After a moment more of watching turbulence slow Emet-Selch's movements, Viktor sets the little bottle of fragrant soap aside and reaches up, presses a palm to Hades's cheek. The touch lingers for a heartbeat, and then he slips away, turns to show Hades his back, the robes drooping around freckled shoulders as they fall away. If busywork eases the storms of his mind, Viktor can certainly find some for him to do. He scoops up Hades's hands in his own, and sets them lower, to buckles and toggles still in need of undoing, and leans into him as he does so. ]
no subject
Well, 'tis very lucky that your quarters so often seem to become my quarters.
[ Realistically, Viktor knows that it is nothing for Emet-Selch to Make whatever soap, salt, or fragrance he desires. Reasonable, that even when traveling, he should have an extensive collection of bottles at his fingertips. That does not stop it from feeling absurd. Though, Viktor allows, any amount of soaps feels a little absurd to someone who is still having trouble with the idea of letting go of the convenience of one bar for everything.
Baffling as it all is, he cannot deny the appeal of all these little luxuries. There is a bottle of something that smells dark and sweet, a little like a plum liqueur. It would be nice, he thinks, to smell like something so decadent. To breathe in a scent that makes him think of Hades each time he moves in just the right way. It's a lovely line of thought that ends the very moment Emet-Selch begins to fiddle with the fasteners of his robes. He stills, smiles, pleased to be touched and tended to, as though Emet-Selch cannot help but steal contact.
That smile turns crooked, incredulous when Emet-Selch next moves the cakes away. He opens his mouth to level a joke about the obvious maneuver, but the thought dies on his tongue as he studies Emet-Selch's features, the telltale if miniscule signs of too much thinking. Viktor contents himself, instead, with tipping his chin down to watch Emet-Selch's hands dance over skin and fabric, waiting for Emet-Selch to find his voice.
And oh, what a wait it is. It is not the cool air that prickles his shoulders to gooseflesh when Emet-Selch reaches out to touch him again. Were he not certain that some thought percolates, near ready to bubble out, he might think Hades was teasing him - drawing the endeavor of undressing long to drive him crazy. Even if that is not the case, it does not stop the patter of Viktor's heart from quickening.
His ears twitch when Emet-Selch finally speaks, attention settling on him, brows lifted, lips parted, curious. Viktor's eyes dart to the cakes, then back, and he smiles and sidesteps into Emet-Selch's space. Pastries are fine enough, but the real prize, what he wants more than any confection, is closeness, contact. ]
Aye, of course. [ He smiles, bright. ] No soggy bits in the bathwater. And more interesting things to s-spend my attention on, anyway.
[ Emet-Selch undoes another toggle, exposing more skin and earning a shiver that is as much about the slowness of the process as the cold air. Right away, the desire to have as little clothing separating the two of them becomes urgent, but Viktor stills himself, more concerned with the storm cloud that Hades seems to be trying to shake off. He turns, finally, putting himself before Emet-Selch, still leaning on the table.
After a moment more of watching turbulence slow Emet-Selch's movements, Viktor sets the little bottle of fragrant soap aside and reaches up, presses a palm to Hades's cheek. The touch lingers for a heartbeat, and then he slips away, turns to show Hades his back, the robes drooping around freckled shoulders as they fall away. If busywork eases the storms of his mind, Viktor can certainly find some for him to do. He scoops up Hades's hands in his own, and sets them lower, to buckles and toggles still in need of undoing, and leans into him as he does so. ]
Here, next.