[ 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
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. ]