[ He tries and probably fails to kiss the smug tilt of Viktor's mouth away. For some reason, despite that being his initial goal, the reason falls to the wayside the moment Viktor kisses him back. The moment his head tilts and the kiss becomes something less reactionary and more intent, all thoughts get shuffled clean out of his head and he's left with nothing but that same want from the night before. Heat that burns so fiercely it burns out anything but the single-minded desire to have Viktor pressed as lose as humanly possible.
Eventually, they must part; he is, in effect, immortal but must still breathe. For a fleeting, foolishly romantic moment he almost wishes he need not if only to steal a few more seconds. ]
Living filthy can be far worse than dying. [ He thinks, somewhat against his will, of the people in the wake of the Sundering. Fractured, malformed, unable to keep themselves cool in the heat, warm in the cold. Dying over and over again when such a fate was easily avoidable. Viktor shakes the thought from his head as cleanly as salt from the shaker taken from the holding facility Emet-Selch had maintained of all their old belongings, and replaces it with the swift, savage awareness of Viktor's naked, wet form clambering into his lap. Emet-Selch's breath catches, straining for a memory so old it may as well be the same dust they'd been trudging through. Distantly: a bath, and a body with parts that were new and exciting, and the laughing disappointment of discovering being intimate in the bath was possible, but perhaps not the most comfortable. ]
The water will chafe you know.
[ He's less concerned about himself - he doesn't think that he would, personally, last long enough for chafing to be an issue, more concerned with Viktor and pleased to have something to complain about. His mouth slants over Viktor's before he can muster a response, managing all of a few seconds of kissing him gently before he licks into Viktor's mouth hungrily, one hand dropping down into the water with a faint splash, fitting itself firmly, unhesitatingly to the curve of Viktor's bottom to ensure every ilm of him is pressed as close as possible. Then, the hand flinches, flexes, like he realizes that pawing at Viktor will not just be welcomed but encouraged. Mindlessly, distracted by the kiss, by Viktor pressed this close he rocks his hips up. The motion isn't exceptionally smooth or graceful; not so much a proper grind as the motion is a jerky, half-finished jacknife. His body certainly doesn't care.
Just the bit of friction is enough to wrest a strangled breath from Emet-Selch, a little nnh in shock, nails digging halfmoons into the swell of Viktor's bottom before he catches himself. Masters himself back down from a roaring, mindless bonfire to something less out of control, pressing his mouth against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, instead, inhaling through his nose. He wants, and he's rather tired of pretending otherwise. Tomorrow, he can feel ridiculous about his weak will. For now, he presses teeth into a healing mark from earlier and then forcibly draws back to meet Viktor's gaze. ]
I assume your offer of - [ a pause, clearly straining for a non-clinical referral and dodging all the way around a filthy one ] - reciprocation did not come with an expiry date.
no subject
Eventually, they must part; he is, in effect, immortal but must still breathe. For a fleeting, foolishly romantic moment he almost wishes he need not if only to steal a few more seconds. ]
Living filthy can be far worse than dying. [ He thinks, somewhat against his will, of the people in the wake of the Sundering. Fractured, malformed, unable to keep themselves cool in the heat, warm in the cold. Dying over and over again when such a fate was easily avoidable. Viktor shakes the thought from his head as cleanly as salt from the shaker taken from the holding facility Emet-Selch had maintained of all their old belongings, and replaces it with the swift, savage awareness of Viktor's naked, wet form clambering into his lap. Emet-Selch's breath catches, straining for a memory so old it may as well be the same dust they'd been trudging through. Distantly: a bath, and a body with parts that were new and exciting, and the laughing disappointment of discovering being intimate in the bath was possible, but perhaps not the most comfortable. ]
The water will chafe you know.
[ He's less concerned about himself - he doesn't think that he would, personally, last long enough for chafing to be an issue, more concerned with Viktor and pleased to have something to complain about. His mouth slants over Viktor's before he can muster a response, managing all of a few seconds of kissing him gently before he licks into Viktor's mouth hungrily, one hand dropping down into the water with a faint splash, fitting itself firmly, unhesitatingly to the curve of Viktor's bottom to ensure every ilm of him is pressed as close as possible. Then, the hand flinches, flexes, like he realizes that pawing at Viktor will not just be welcomed but encouraged. Mindlessly, distracted by the kiss, by Viktor pressed this close he rocks his hips up. The motion isn't exceptionally smooth or graceful; not so much a proper grind as the motion is a jerky, half-finished jacknife. His body certainly doesn't care.
Just the bit of friction is enough to wrest a strangled breath from Emet-Selch, a little nnh in shock, nails digging halfmoons into the swell of Viktor's bottom before he catches himself. Masters himself back down from a roaring, mindless bonfire to something less out of control, pressing his mouth against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, instead, inhaling through his nose. He wants, and he's rather tired of pretending otherwise. Tomorrow, he can feel ridiculous about his weak will. For now, he presses teeth into a healing mark from earlier and then forcibly draws back to meet Viktor's gaze. ]
I assume your offer of - [ a pause, clearly straining for a non-clinical referral and dodging all the way around a filthy one ] - reciprocation did not come with an expiry date.