[ At any given moment, Viktor is aware in the abstract of how much larger Hades is. It's not so unusual. Viktor is decidedly average, perhaps even slight, when compared to the wide breadth of bodies found upon their star. But when Hades shifts his grip, takes Viktor's chin as he kisses him, fingers brushing jaw and throat, that difference is all he can think about. One moment, Viktor thinks he may be in control of the situation, and the next, Hades is directing him, allowing him forgiveness, and then kissing him again.
Hades voice shakes as he grips at the reins, trying to assert some measure of control, and it's frankly absurd how readily the Warrior's will slips. There is something to be said for consciously relenting to a man whose will rivals your own. Viktor opens his mouth to let Hades steal his breath, explore with his tongue, and answers with a soft, wanting sound. Half-mad at the sound that rushes past Hades's lips the very moment he's touched, Viktor lasts just 'til they've parted; as Hades's hot breath warms the skin of his throat, Viktor exhales a heavy shuddered sigh of his own, rocks his hips against Hades's lap, eager and urgent, once, twice, before he gets control of himself.
In the split second before Hades begins to taunt him again, Viktor grips his wrist and blurts, barely louder than a whisper, ] Sh-shite, I love when you do that.
[ Hades sinks low in the bath, and Viktor takes a moment to admire the sight of his most stoic sorcerer stretched out languid beneath him, still struggling to maintain that exacting composure. ]
I think of myself very little, Hades. You know that. [ It feels like something he's said a thousand, thousand times before. He does not realize that, technically, it is. ] Anywhere is elsewhere. [ He flattens his palm on Hades's chest, liking the look of it there. ] The aviary, a garden, the lordling's own tub, for a l-laugh. Though the throne might be most fun. [ He grins wicked, wild. A smile that brightens when he's given direction, however vague, however hesitant, the orders. ]
Very well. Watch your head.
[ Viktor slips back, out of Hades's lap, making room for what he's about to do next. Slipping his head beneath the water, while certainly a novel trick, rather precludes catching glimpses of Hades's face, but neither does Viktor want to risk dampening the heat with cold air and the short walk toward the bed.
So, instead, he flattens his palms on the tub's basin, hooks his fingers into the stone's aether and pulls. With a crunch of stone against stone, the entire bath shifts, the basin beneath Hades lifting into a crude, rocky seat - a throne that lifts him partway out of the water. Viktor uses his foot to force the other edge of the tub out further, easy as molding raw clay, to accommodate displaced water. He slides forward again, taking one of Hades's legs on his shoulder with a low chuckle, staring up at him hungrily. ]
[ After centuries of ignoring the irritating weight of want, he finds to indulge in it now feels as if all of it has gathered and settled upon his shoulders at once and he finds he is, as ever, ill-suited to manual labor. He can't magic his way out of this, though, and he doesn't want to. Much as he was grateful for the layer of distance manipulation of the shadows offered earlier, he finds the idea of it unthinkable now. To have a bounty before him and not partake is unimaginable.
Viktor's little interjection distracts him from the task of kissing him within an ilm of his life but before he can ask what, exactly, Viktor had so enjoyed that he had unintentionally done, Viktor slips out of his grasp with nothing but the fleeting pressure of the half-aborted rolls of his hips sparking heat in Emet-Selch's stomach. He hadn't held tight enough to make it a difficulty; Emet-Selch's hand flexes at the loss before he forcibly grips the stone seat instead of chasing him. ]
I am very well aware. A task to attend to in full when we've completed our duty. [ He has no intention of allowing Viktor's acknowledgment to go unanswered, unnoticed, but neither does he press the point despite the desire lingering. He has far better tasks to turn his attention to, namely, imagining having Viktor in any one of the places listed off. Imagination is always insufficient when compared to reality, though. Imagination does have the benefit of not getting dirt into uncomfortable places, and not dealing with feathers and bird waste, though. ] If you think I am letting you or I flounce about naked in one of the glorified bird cages -
[ He feels what's going to occur before he realizes it; the hum in the air, the way the aether shifts in anticipation of whatever magic Viktor intends to work. When the bath shifts beneath him it's not a surprise. His ability to manipulate aether may not be as refined as someone who's lived for thousands of years and studied officially, but the Emet-Selch can admit that doesn't matter. Not when the end result is still aether and being reshaped nearly effortlessly, water sluicing off him as he is abruptly raised a few ilms and - oh.
Later, he'll be a little mortified about how quickly he goes from do I find this arousing to oh, no, I find this terribly arousing; for now, he swallows back any embarrassment and intentionally, slowly, lounges once again. Tries to make a show of it, to put himself on display no matter how it makes his stomach twist with discomfort he has no patience for. Viktor arranges himself beneath Emet-Selch's leg, and for all that the position puts Emet-Selch arguably in the powerful position, all he can think is he is entirely at Viktor's mercy like this. His cock twitches, hands aching to busy themselves or cover himself and so he splits the difference, gently but intently carding a hand through Viktor's hair, cautious of the lilies, and then grips, spreading his thighs a little wider. If Viktor attempts to dive forward and set about his task, Emet-Selch's grip stops him, his head tilting, eyes lidded as he examines (admires) Viktor, too much Hades in his expression to be Solus properly even as he tries for the facade. ]
Before you do - you mentioned you loved something done. Elaborate.
[ 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?
[ 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. ]
[ The Warrior of Light does not bow, does not kneel before any lord. That is rather the point, to be a beacon, defiant. Like the Crystal Tower, like countless heroes, many of whom had shared the same soul, before, the Warrior is meant to stand alone, unshakeable.
But it is not the Warrior shaking before the makeshift throne in this luxuriant bath, who shows no defiance, only deference. It is not the Warrior who gazes up, beatific, as Hades presses fingers to his lips. It is only Viktor, staring with unhidden longing at the man who has his heart. Hades presses a thumb into his mouth, and Viktor does not just allow it, but eagerly welcomes his insistent fingers. Levin arcs up Viktor's spine as he shuts his eyes and closes his lips around a knuckle, sucking lightly while Hades condescends. He cannot answer, tongue caught as it is, and so he only hums in agreement.
Hades guides him close, says his name, and Viktor's ears twitch at the sound. So intoxicating still, hearing it on his lips. More intoxicating, to submit to one so dangerous and know he is entirely safe, loved. Viktor dredges the hand not already wrapped around a leg up from the water and flattens his palm against Hades's opposite thigh. After a beat, he exhales a harsh, hungry breath and noses closer, breathes in the smell of soap and salts and arousal, and then licks, slow, savoring the taste of skin from hilt to head, gaze ever pointed upward, watching for reaction. ]
Thank you, Emet-Selch. [ he murmurs, eking a bit more enjoyment out of their little game before brushing his lips against the tip of Hades's cock. There, he pauses, not meaning to tease, though it comes across that way anyway. He can sense Hades's nerves, the uncertainty - it would be hard not to ordinarily, but they buzz at the hem of their veil.
He swallows the urge to reassure, to promise that it is Hades he loves and wants. Now is not the time, not the place. And it is easier to set that feeling aside when his whole body aches with want. After, once they have settled into bed, he can - he will - bring it up. For now, though-
For now, he parts his lips, breathes a puff of hot air against skin, then leans in and takes the head of Hades's cock with a swirl of his tongue and the quiet, low sound of a deeply held hunger finally being satisfied. ]
[ He'd intended to break the Warrior with Light should he not be able to hold it, as if forcing his Mother's Light into him could act as penance, punishment for the simple, unavoidable sin of not being who he once was. Now, he finds he has little to no desire to break Viktor, to drag submission or deference or Azem out of him kicking and screaming. This is, against all odds, enough. This will always be enough, come what may. The certainty of the thought settles some of the anxiety twisting him into knots.
Viktor closes his lips around Emet-Selch's finger and the sensation is not unfamiliar like it used to be, but that doesn't make any less distracting, jarring. Emet-Selch swallows loud enough his throat bobs, clicks, and drinks in the sight of him. Thinks about birdcages, thrones, and a little house together in Thavnair, full to brimming with flowers fed by the oppressive sun outside and the sun within, and dares to want no matter how heretical such a thing feels.
Insanely, his mouth wants to shape the words you're welcome like this is some sort of transaction like he's ordered a meal off the menu and had it brought to him piping hot. He swallows down the words viciously, instead tilting his head down with a lazy, indolent little roll of his shoulders and neck, and focusing on sensation. At least he'd re-created the damned thing correctly. For a moment he thinks certainly, certainly he's miscalculated; he's made his cock too sensitive, or Viktor's mouth is just too warm but he amends the thought near as soon as he has it. It has been years; he's allowed, he supposes, to feel a little overwhelmed.
His had is poor competition against even the breath skating over it, but the wet-hot press of tongue, the hungry noise Viktor makes are near enough to unmake him. His cock twitches in Viktor's grasp, the hand in his hair loosening until he recalls that his fingers are carded there, alternating petting and half-heartedly trying to straighten the mess he's made of Viktor's curls and then all thoughts of propriety and where his hair falls drops right out of his head, a trembling breath hissing out of him. He doesn't, blessedly, come instantly. He digs his teeth into his cheek again, thighs tensing, forcibly resisting the urge to buck up into Viktor's mouth and risk choking him, but it's a near miss. ]
You're lovely. [ Rasped, almost esaping like he doesn't mean to say the words out loud, he just thinks it so strongly that the words slip out. Once out, he doesn't take them back, no shame unfurls in his chest at the admittance, nothing but intent as he watches Viktor mouth at the aching swell of his cock. Finally. ]
[ Once, in the cold, dark depths of the First, tumbling over the peak of their mutual hatred, Hades had gleefully promised to spend an eternity breaking his will. Bespoke torment to snuff the resolve of the thing that was not Azem enough, the thing that stood in the way of glorious, promised purpose. Those words flit through Viktor's head just now, the growl of them, the raw fury. His mind tries to match that rage to the soft, wanting sounds that tumble from Hades's mouth as his own slides down to take as much of him as he can. All trembling, ragged breath and tensing muscles, each twitch and sound maddening - funny, the little similarities, turned upside down and made all the more delectable. This, each of them weak for the other, exposed and raw, coaxing sound and feeling, is something Viktor could spend an eternity on.
The weight, the fullness in his mouth is intoxicating, and Viktor cannot help the deep groan of satisfaction that slips out of him when he feels Hades fight the urge to force his cock deeper. Gods, he almost wishes he would. Each sweet, breathy sound, each compliment, makes his ears and tail twitch and perk; embarrassing, how eagerly his own body responds to praise both pointed and implied. Viktor steals a glance as he drags his mouth back up, tongue lathing Hades's shaft and slender fingers chasing after, ghosting over wet skin. Another low sound slips out of him then, catching the intensity of those lantern eyes as Hades gazes, languid, adoring. Electrifying, to see Hades don something like the face of the Emperor, and to know, without reservation, that it is his will, not Viktor's, at risk of crumbling. Under the water, Viktor's hips shift against nothing, thighs clenching at the hot ache rising between them.
He wants. Stars, he wants more, and he knows he will have it if he but asks. It takes only a moment to decide that that desire burns far hotter than any fear could. Viktor does his level best to muffle the lewd slurp of his mouth sliding back over Hades's cock, thinking he won't appreciate such a visceral sound, but success is middling. ]
Tell me more. Tell me how you want me. [ he whispers between indulgent kisses brushed down and then back up Emet-Selch's length. Then, before taking him again, with a faint touch of need, adds, ] Please.
[ Viktor angles his head into the persistent stroke of Hades's hand through his hair, giving in to the heavy red fog that settles over his senses. Each catch of fingers in tangled curls earns a sharpened breath, a throaty little sound of encouragement as he begins to bob up and down in earnest, seeking a rhythm that near matches the pace of Hades's hand petting and righting curls. ]
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no subject
Hades voice shakes as he grips at the reins, trying to assert some measure of control, and it's frankly absurd how readily the Warrior's will slips. There is something to be said for consciously relenting to a man whose will rivals your own. Viktor opens his mouth to let Hades steal his breath, explore with his tongue, and answers with a soft, wanting sound. Half-mad at the sound that rushes past Hades's lips the very moment he's touched, Viktor lasts just 'til they've parted; as Hades's hot breath warms the skin of his throat, Viktor exhales a heavy shuddered sigh of his own, rocks his hips against Hades's lap, eager and urgent, once, twice, before he gets control of himself.
In the split second before Hades begins to taunt him again, Viktor grips his wrist and blurts, barely louder than a whisper, ] Sh-shite, I love when you do that.
[ Hades sinks low in the bath, and Viktor takes a moment to admire the sight of his most stoic sorcerer stretched out languid beneath him, still struggling to maintain that exacting composure. ]
I think of myself very little, Hades. You know that. [ It feels like something he's said a thousand, thousand times before. He does not realize that, technically, it is. ] Anywhere is elsewhere. [ He flattens his palm on Hades's chest, liking the look of it there. ] The aviary, a garden, the lordling's own tub, for a l-laugh. Though the throne might be most fun. [ He grins wicked, wild. A smile that brightens when he's given direction, however vague, however hesitant, the orders. ]
Very well. Watch your head.
[ Viktor slips back, out of Hades's lap, making room for what he's about to do next. Slipping his head beneath the water, while certainly a novel trick, rather precludes catching glimpses of Hades's face, but neither does Viktor want to risk dampening the heat with cold air and the short walk toward the bed.
So, instead, he flattens his palms on the tub's basin, hooks his fingers into the stone's aether and pulls. With a crunch of stone against stone, the entire bath shifts, the basin beneath Hades lifting into a crude, rocky seat - a throne that lifts him partway out of the water. Viktor uses his foot to force the other edge of the tub out further, easy as molding raw clay, to accommodate displaced water. He slides forward again, taking one of Hades's legs on his shoulder with a low chuckle, staring up at him hungrily. ]
Let us be about it, then.
no subject
Viktor's little interjection distracts him from the task of kissing him within an ilm of his life but before he can ask what, exactly, Viktor had so enjoyed that he had unintentionally done, Viktor slips out of his grasp with nothing but the fleeting pressure of the half-aborted rolls of his hips sparking heat in Emet-Selch's stomach. He hadn't held tight enough to make it a difficulty; Emet-Selch's hand flexes at the loss before he forcibly grips the stone seat instead of chasing him. ]
I am very well aware. A task to attend to in full when we've completed our duty. [ He has no intention of allowing Viktor's acknowledgment to go unanswered, unnoticed, but neither does he press the point despite the desire lingering. He has far better tasks to turn his attention to, namely, imagining having Viktor in any one of the places listed off. Imagination is always insufficient when compared to reality, though. Imagination does have the benefit of not getting dirt into uncomfortable places, and not dealing with feathers and bird waste, though. ] If you think I am letting you or I flounce about naked in one of the glorified bird cages -
[ He feels what's going to occur before he realizes it; the hum in the air, the way the aether shifts in anticipation of whatever magic Viktor intends to work. When the bath shifts beneath him it's not a surprise. His ability to manipulate aether may not be as refined as someone who's lived for thousands of years and studied officially, but the Emet-Selch can admit that doesn't matter. Not when the end result is still aether and being reshaped nearly effortlessly, water sluicing off him as he is abruptly raised a few ilms and - oh.
Later, he'll be a little mortified about how quickly he goes from do I find this arousing to oh, no, I find this terribly arousing; for now, he swallows back any embarrassment and intentionally, slowly, lounges once again. Tries to make a show of it, to put himself on display no matter how it makes his stomach twist with discomfort he has no patience for. Viktor arranges himself beneath Emet-Selch's leg, and for all that the position puts Emet-Selch arguably in the powerful position, all he can think is he is entirely at Viktor's mercy like this. His cock twitches, hands aching to busy themselves or cover himself and so he splits the difference, gently but intently carding a hand through Viktor's hair, cautious of the lilies, and then grips, spreading his thighs a little wider. If Viktor attempts to dive forward and set about his task, Emet-Selch's grip stops him, his head tilting, eyes lidded as he examines (admires) Viktor, too much Hades in his expression to be Solus properly even as he tries for the facade. ]
Before you do - you mentioned you loved something done. Elaborate.
no subject
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?
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. ]
no subject
But it is not the Warrior shaking before the makeshift throne in this luxuriant bath, who shows no defiance, only deference. It is not the Warrior who gazes up, beatific, as Hades presses fingers to his lips. It is only Viktor, staring with unhidden longing at the man who has his heart. Hades presses a thumb into his mouth, and Viktor does not just allow it, but eagerly welcomes his insistent fingers. Levin arcs up Viktor's spine as he shuts his eyes and closes his lips around a knuckle, sucking lightly while Hades condescends. He cannot answer, tongue caught as it is, and so he only hums in agreement.
Hades guides him close, says his name, and Viktor's ears twitch at the sound. So intoxicating still, hearing it on his lips. More intoxicating, to submit to one so dangerous and know he is entirely safe, loved. Viktor dredges the hand not already wrapped around a leg up from the water and flattens his palm against Hades's opposite thigh. After a beat, he exhales a harsh, hungry breath and noses closer, breathes in the smell of soap and salts and arousal, and then licks, slow, savoring the taste of skin from hilt to head, gaze ever pointed upward, watching for reaction. ]
Thank you, Emet-Selch. [ he murmurs, eking a bit more enjoyment out of their little game before brushing his lips against the tip of Hades's cock. There, he pauses, not meaning to tease, though it comes across that way anyway. He can sense Hades's nerves, the uncertainty - it would be hard not to ordinarily, but they buzz at the hem of their veil.
He swallows the urge to reassure, to promise that it is Hades he loves and wants. Now is not the time, not the place. And it is easier to set that feeling aside when his whole body aches with want. After, once they have settled into bed, he can - he will - bring it up. For now, though-
For now, he parts his lips, breathes a puff of hot air against skin, then leans in and takes the head of Hades's cock with a swirl of his tongue and the quiet, low sound of a deeply held hunger finally being satisfied. ]
no subject
Viktor closes his lips around Emet-Selch's finger and the sensation is not unfamiliar like it used to be, but that doesn't make any less distracting, jarring. Emet-Selch swallows loud enough his throat bobs, clicks, and drinks in the sight of him. Thinks about birdcages, thrones, and a little house together in Thavnair, full to brimming with flowers fed by the oppressive sun outside and the sun within, and dares to want no matter how heretical such a thing feels.
Insanely, his mouth wants to shape the words you're welcome like this is some sort of transaction like he's ordered a meal off the menu and had it brought to him piping hot. He swallows down the words viciously, instead tilting his head down with a lazy, indolent little roll of his shoulders and neck, and focusing on sensation. At least he'd re-created the damned thing correctly. For a moment he thinks certainly, certainly he's miscalculated; he's made his cock too sensitive, or Viktor's mouth is just too warm but he amends the thought near as soon as he has it. It has been years; he's allowed, he supposes, to feel a little overwhelmed.
His had is poor competition against even the breath skating over it, but the wet-hot press of tongue, the hungry noise Viktor makes are near enough to unmake him. His cock twitches in Viktor's grasp, the hand in his hair loosening until he recalls that his fingers are carded there, alternating petting and half-heartedly trying to straighten the mess he's made of Viktor's curls and then all thoughts of propriety and where his hair falls drops right out of his head, a trembling breath hissing out of him. He doesn't, blessedly, come instantly. He digs his teeth into his cheek again, thighs tensing, forcibly resisting the urge to buck up into Viktor's mouth and risk choking him, but it's a near miss. ]
You're lovely. [ Rasped, almost esaping like he doesn't mean to say the words out loud, he just thinks it so strongly that the words slip out. Once out, he doesn't take them back, no shame unfurls in his chest at the admittance, nothing but intent as he watches Viktor mouth at the aching swell of his cock. Finally. ]
no subject
The weight, the fullness in his mouth is intoxicating, and Viktor cannot help the deep groan of satisfaction that slips out of him when he feels Hades fight the urge to force his cock deeper. Gods, he almost wishes he would. Each sweet, breathy sound, each compliment, makes his ears and tail twitch and perk; embarrassing, how eagerly his own body responds to praise both pointed and implied. Viktor steals a glance as he drags his mouth back up, tongue lathing Hades's shaft and slender fingers chasing after, ghosting over wet skin. Another low sound slips out of him then, catching the intensity of those lantern eyes as Hades gazes, languid, adoring. Electrifying, to see Hades don something like the face of the Emperor, and to know, without reservation, that it is his will, not Viktor's, at risk of crumbling. Under the water, Viktor's hips shift against nothing, thighs clenching at the hot ache rising between them.
He wants. Stars, he wants more, and he knows he will have it if he but asks. It takes only a moment to decide that that desire burns far hotter than any fear could. Viktor does his level best to muffle the lewd slurp of his mouth sliding back over Hades's cock, thinking he won't appreciate such a visceral sound, but success is middling. ]
Tell me more. Tell me how you want me. [ he whispers between indulgent kisses brushed down and then back up Emet-Selch's length. Then, before taking him again, with a faint touch of need, adds, ] Please.
[ Viktor angles his head into the persistent stroke of Hades's hand through his hair, giving in to the heavy red fog that settles over his senses. Each catch of fingers in tangled curls earns a sharpened breath, a throaty little sound of encouragement as he begins to bob up and down in earnest, seeking a rhythm that near matches the pace of Hades's hand petting and righting curls. ]