[ Nice to have the shoe on the other foot for once. To wholly distract Hades from something that he does not want to discuss for the first time, possibly ever. Or, it's nice for roughly half a second, and then guilt bubbles. Viktor can tame it momentarily with the half-hearted promise that he will, he will, once the star no longer needs him, think about learning to prioritize himself. Nevermind that such a future is one he can hardly imagine.
It hardly matters, though, because just as the guilt roils again, Hades distracts with griping anew, and a moment after that, his new throne raises him from the water by ilms, and Viktor finds his breath caught in his throat. No mere king or Emperor, but a god, deserving worship. It suits him, authority, the glorious curve of his body as he reclines. Viktor stares, watches his fingers flex, and fights the ridiculous desire to brush his lips against each knuckle. He couldn't reach, anyway. ]
Stars, you are gorgeous. [ he breathes, unable to look anywhere else, to think of anything at all but the tableau laid before him, finer, more delicious than any iconography in the old halls of Ul'dah, in Ishgard's cathedrals, in the magnificent mosaics of Radz-at-Han. This, Hades, is all his, and Viktor can barely comprehend it.
He swallows, wetting a mouth gone inconveniently dry, and ilms forward just until Hades catches him. Curls twist around fingers, careful but unrelenting, an intoxicating tug of pain and Viktor sings a shuddered breath. Emet-Selch stares down at him, as much the amused an disaffected emperor as soft, sweet, adoring Hades, and Viktor has never wanted with more certainty - to please his lord, to earn the adoration of his Hades. Viktor tries to press in toward parted thighs, but finds himself held fast, and a little moan of pleasure escapes him before he can stop himself. ]
Ah. This. [ To answer the question posed. ] You, taking control. Directing me. O-owning me. [ He curls his arm around the trunk of Hades's leg. Viktor angles his head to press kisses in a line along Hades's inner thigh, drags his teeth and tongue over skin, hungry, worshipful, but obedient. He cuts his gaze to meet Hades, and between brushes of lips, murmurs, ] May I suck your cock, Emet-Selch?
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It hardly matters, though, because just as the guilt roils again, Hades distracts with griping anew, and a moment after that, his new throne raises him from the water by ilms, and Viktor finds his breath caught in his throat. No mere king or Emperor, but a god, deserving worship. It suits him, authority, the glorious curve of his body as he reclines. Viktor stares, watches his fingers flex, and fights the ridiculous desire to brush his lips against each knuckle. He couldn't reach, anyway. ]
Stars, you are gorgeous. [ he breathes, unable to look anywhere else, to think of anything at all but the tableau laid before him, finer, more delicious than any iconography in the old halls of Ul'dah, in Ishgard's cathedrals, in the magnificent mosaics of Radz-at-Han. This, Hades, is all his, and Viktor can barely comprehend it.
He swallows, wetting a mouth gone inconveniently dry, and ilms forward just until Hades catches him. Curls twist around fingers, careful but unrelenting, an intoxicating tug of pain and Viktor sings a shuddered breath. Emet-Selch stares down at him, as much the amused an disaffected emperor as soft, sweet, adoring Hades, and Viktor has never wanted with more certainty - to please his lord, to earn the adoration of his Hades. Viktor tries to press in toward parted thighs, but finds himself held fast, and a little moan of pleasure escapes him before he can stop himself. ]
Ah. This. [ To answer the question posed. ] You, taking control. Directing me. O-owning me. [ He curls his arm around the trunk of Hades's leg. Viktor angles his head to press kisses in a line along Hades's inner thigh, drags his teeth and tongue over skin, hungry, worshipful, but obedient. He cuts his gaze to meet Hades, and between brushes of lips, murmurs, ] May I suck your cock, Emet-Selch?