[ Viktor stands there, bare, and Emet-Selch wants as if he hasn't had. He could have had in the past, even. It would have been nothing to make a body, accurate to Aepymetes or Hythlodaeus, enough 'life' in it to serve its purpose. He hadn't wanted like that, though, base, crude. Disrespectful to both the memory and any future they had together when they were successful. Another carrot at the end of a stick, another reason to keep driving forward into the darkness.
He'd half expected that after having Viktor the once, the feeling would abate regardless of whether or not it was mutually satisfactory in the same way. He had been satisfied - the closeness, the malms of bare flesh, wringing pleasure from Viktor instead of pain and settling at the end of the night to greedily savor the press of him close. He had been satisfied, but today is a new day and that night may as well not have happened for how badly he wants yet again. The most frustrating part is he doesn't think he's particularly discerning about what he wants. He wants Viktor, in whatever way, shape, form he can have him. If this sort of intimacy were not included in that equation, he would not mind. That he lives is enough. ]
Well, that sounds rather self-serving, doesn't it. [ Flippant, light, like just the promise of Viktor's fingers stroking along the v of his thighs doesn't have his stomach flipping, gooseflesh rising, his cock stirring where it starts to strain against the loose line of his waistband as Viktor teases it down. ] Must you - what, wash before you touch me?
[ Viktor climbs in and Emet-Selch hesitates the barest fraction of a moment before slipping off the rest of his clothing haphazardly, walking the cold distance to the bed to dump the pile of clothing and then walking back, feeling a little absurd for wanting to cover himself. A cock the same as any other, he'd told Viktor earlier; there was nothing particularly unique or exciting about it, and so he pads back to the bath and delicately starts to ease himself in, hissing at the heat of the water after just a few moments of being bare in the slowly warming room. ]
Warm, aye. And dusty, and cobwebbed and - [ His complaints are, regrettably, not as interesting as the bow of Viktor's lips, unkissed. Swiftly, with only a little water sloshing in his wake, Emet-Selch fixes that problem with both hands framing Viktor's face gently, daring to indulge. The world doesn't end. They are no closer or further from obliteration than they were before he made the move; it is just a kiss, and dangerously, for a moment in a way only Viktor can cause, he is only Hades. ]
no subject
He'd half expected that after having Viktor the once, the feeling would abate regardless of whether or not it was mutually satisfactory in the same way. He had been satisfied - the closeness, the malms of bare flesh, wringing pleasure from Viktor instead of pain and settling at the end of the night to greedily savor the press of him close. He had been satisfied, but today is a new day and that night may as well not have happened for how badly he wants yet again. The most frustrating part is he doesn't think he's particularly discerning about what he wants. He wants Viktor, in whatever way, shape, form he can have him. If this sort of intimacy were not included in that equation, he would not mind. That he lives is enough. ]
Well, that sounds rather self-serving, doesn't it. [ Flippant, light, like just the promise of Viktor's fingers stroking along the v of his thighs doesn't have his stomach flipping, gooseflesh rising, his cock stirring where it starts to strain against the loose line of his waistband as Viktor teases it down. ] Must you - what, wash before you touch me?
[ Viktor climbs in and Emet-Selch hesitates the barest fraction of a moment before slipping off the rest of his clothing haphazardly, walking the cold distance to the bed to dump the pile of clothing and then walking back, feeling a little absurd for wanting to cover himself. A cock the same as any other, he'd told Viktor earlier; there was nothing particularly unique or exciting about it, and so he pads back to the bath and delicately starts to ease himself in, hissing at the heat of the water after just a few moments of being bare in the slowly warming room. ]
Warm, aye. And dusty, and cobwebbed and - [ His complaints are, regrettably, not as interesting as the bow of Viktor's lips, unkissed. Swiftly, with only a little water sloshing in his wake, Emet-Selch fixes that problem with both hands framing Viktor's face gently, daring to indulge. The world doesn't end. They are no closer or further from obliteration than they were before he made the move; it is just a kiss, and dangerously, for a moment in a way only Viktor can cause, he is only Hades. ]