[ This, at least, he is practiced at. Not so much the being naked on the throne part, he was almost always decided clothed ankle to throat while on the throne, a brief, unmentionable period of clothing in Allag which he took great pains to eliminate near any trace of as the sole exception. He can sit on a throne, though. He's sat on countless thrones, unearned, and managed to obfuscate his way through to the other end. This is no different.
This is very different, of course. No matter how many times he tries to remind himself he's been here in one form or another, he hasn't, not really. Not with Viktor. This is, against all odds, a wholly unique experience like most of the experiences he has with Viktor. He tries for the lazy condescension of Solus and finds just like earlier, he can slip the mask and have it settle a little unevenly but still fit. The compliment Viktor gives is uttered with full, breathless sincerity, and Emet-Selch casts the curve of his erection a dubious little look, then turns his attention back on Viktor, forcing his hand up from the water-warmed stone to cup Viktor's jaw, thumbing over his lower lip after he's finished speaking.
Much as he has no need for unnecessary praise, he allows the faintest hint of a smirk to curl his lips at Viktor's obeisance. He has no desire to lead kingdoms any longer, no urge to conquer and rule man in any way. But, he thinks, conquering and ruling Viktor like this, in private, feels the same. Better, even, were he being honest. His breath hitches at the graze of lips against sensitive skin and he wills himself not to fold the moment Viktor gets Emet-Selch's cock in his mouth. ]
Oh, Emet-Selch now, is it? So you can be taught manners, then? You just required a firm hand to coax it out. [ The thumb against Viktor's mouth presses gently at first and then insistently until he gains access, hooking his thumb firmly against Viktor's jaw, using it and the hand in his hair like a guide until his knuckles and Viktor's lips almost kiss against his shaft. ] Since you asked nicely and 'twould be a shame not to reward good behavior, you may, Viktor.
[ The hand gripping his jaw, holding down his tongue retreats, a beat of hesitation where Emet-Selch weighs the idea of wiping his thumb on Viktor's shoulder and then decides against it; this, they are too new, and he is not yet certain of where the lines in the sand have been drawn and redrawn. ]
no subject
This is very different, of course. No matter how many times he tries to remind himself he's been here in one form or another, he hasn't, not really. Not with Viktor. This is, against all odds, a wholly unique experience like most of the experiences he has with Viktor. He tries for the lazy condescension of Solus and finds just like earlier, he can slip the mask and have it settle a little unevenly but still fit. The compliment Viktor gives is uttered with full, breathless sincerity, and Emet-Selch casts the curve of his erection a dubious little look, then turns his attention back on Viktor, forcing his hand up from the water-warmed stone to cup Viktor's jaw, thumbing over his lower lip after he's finished speaking.
Much as he has no need for unnecessary praise, he allows the faintest hint of a smirk to curl his lips at Viktor's obeisance. He has no desire to lead kingdoms any longer, no urge to conquer and rule man in any way. But, he thinks, conquering and ruling Viktor like this, in private, feels the same. Better, even, were he being honest. His breath hitches at the graze of lips against sensitive skin and he wills himself not to fold the moment Viktor gets Emet-Selch's cock in his mouth. ]
Oh, Emet-Selch now, is it? So you can be taught manners, then? You just required a firm hand to coax it out. [ The thumb against Viktor's mouth presses gently at first and then insistently until he gains access, hooking his thumb firmly against Viktor's jaw, using it and the hand in his hair like a guide until his knuckles and Viktor's lips almost kiss against his shaft. ] Since you asked nicely and 'twould be a shame not to reward good behavior, you may, Viktor.
[ The hand gripping his jaw, holding down his tongue retreats, a beat of hesitation where Emet-Selch weighs the idea of wiping his thumb on Viktor's shoulder and then decides against it; this, they are too new, and he is not yet certain of where the lines in the sand have been drawn and redrawn. ]