[ It's only after the fact that he allows himself to register and really think about what Viktor had said, far too distracted with attempting to get out his - request? Reminder? Suggestion? He thinks about Nabriales' mastery of time, about how if he dared to delve into its use between the two of them they very well could figure out a way to stretch time out like taffy, until seconds become minutes become hours. He won't. Can't, maybe. To use and abuse his own power for his own ends was one thing, but disrespecting the seat of another like that - even if no one would know or care - sits poorly.
Once again, Viktor shakes him out of the thought, this time with laughter and Emet-Selch has never particularly been one to be offended at being laughed at - that required some level of respect for the person doing the mocking and that respect was not often found when Emet-Selch was the one being mocked. Frustratingly, he finds he has an endless well of respect, begrudging and otherwise, for Viktor. ]
What, are you at risk of forgetting my name if you do not utter it enough?
[ For all Viktor's fondness and affection, Emet-Selch finds himself squirming as if instead of stroking hands over wet skin he'd wiggled his way beneath, dug his fingers into Emet-Selch's flesh and muscle. ]
I want - [Because he can. He's allowed to want, not just for the greater good, for their goals, for their duty, but for himself. He stalls out, thinking of a dozen, a hundred different ways to ask for it, in countless languages dead and old and finds all of them insufficient, inadequate. ] I want you to put your mouth on my cock.
[ No, that's worse, somehow. Not clinical, but neither is it particularly arousing, and Emet-Selch's nose wrinkles as he meets Viktor's mismatched eyes, kissing him instead to distract. He's thousands of years old, he shouldn't find himself like this. ]
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Once again, Viktor shakes him out of the thought, this time with laughter and Emet-Selch has never particularly been one to be offended at being laughed at - that required some level of respect for the person doing the mocking and that respect was not often found when Emet-Selch was the one being mocked. Frustratingly, he finds he has an endless well of respect, begrudging and otherwise, for Viktor. ]
What, are you at risk of forgetting my name if you do not utter it enough?
[ For all Viktor's fondness and affection, Emet-Selch finds himself squirming as if instead of stroking hands over wet skin he'd wiggled his way beneath, dug his fingers into Emet-Selch's flesh and muscle. ]
I want - [Because he can. He's allowed to want, not just for the greater good, for their goals, for their duty, but for himself. He stalls out, thinking of a dozen, a hundred different ways to ask for it, in countless languages dead and old and finds all of them insufficient, inadequate. ] I want you to put your mouth on my cock.
[ No, that's worse, somehow. Not clinical, but neither is it particularly arousing, and Emet-Selch's nose wrinkles as he meets Viktor's mismatched eyes, kissing him instead to distract. He's thousands of years old, he shouldn't find himself like this. ]