[ 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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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. ]
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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. ]