[ He infuses every bit of dubiousness he can into repeating Viktor's words, but leaves it alone afterward, unwilling to unintentionally strike a chord when he only means to poke fun. His reward is Viktor's smile, just the sight of it twisting something in his stomach. It's not arousal - or well, it's not just arousal he feels, but a vicious greedy sort of satisfaction for being any bit of why Viktor looks like that - looks at him like that. ]
Rest assured I've no intention of freezing to death or losing any limbs to the chill.
[ Nor does he have any desire to wrest himself from the warmth of the bath even as it drains, too focused on chasing waterdroplets with his eyes as they bead and roll down Viktor's skin once he's done rinsing his hair clean. A shame, to muss it when the curls are almost neat but there is nothing that prevents them from taking a second bath. Leaning against the bathwater-warmed stone to watch Viktor's little show, Emet-Selch grabs for the wine and, after a beat of hesitation - of weighing need, necessity, and the simple desire to show off - snaps.
Where candlelight used to give off nothing but a vague, wobbling light, it feels as if each one has doubled or tripled in size. The fireplace coughs ash upward through the chimney and fresh logs appear, already blazing within the hearth. As Viktor approaches the bed, he'll notice it, too, radiates a low, warm heat; fire crystals have appeared tucked in the corners of the duvet, ensuring the bed is as warm as the room is soon to be.
Only then does he rise, a towel snapped into position around his hips. He doesn't need modesty where he's going - where they're going, but old habits die hard. Goldenrod had called him a prude with witch-cackling delight and irritatingly, he found it wasn't a wholly inaccurate summation. Even all these years later he hasn't fully shaken off the desire to be clad head to toe in shapeless, formless robes. For now, a towel will have to do. ]
What would be your general disposition if I stated I was far more interested in indulging in you this evening? As opposed to a more - [ he pauses, stepping out of the bath, trying to find a less clinical set of words. ] - mutual agreement.
You heard me, silly man. [ Light, bright, he answers that bit of teasing with an exaggerated wink and smile, delivered with a flourish, pressing his pointer finger to his cheek, every bit the clown.
It has been an age, it seems, since he could indulge in the simple joy of silliness. Shocking, how easily he slides back into it, but perhaps it shouldn't be. Though his heart sits cracked and fissured by loss and lack, what holds it together - the one who holds it together - is stronger than the darkness around it. Viktor has only ever burned as bright as the love afforded to him might allow, and the love presently afforded to him is fuel enough for whole stars.
He delights in the simple show of magic - is not sure he will ever be bored of watching Emet-Selch coax aether for the sheer pleasure of it. The air warms, and his grip on his towel loosens ever so slightly. Viktor's mismatched eyes drink in every ilm of Hades presented as he steps from the tub, fair skin flush with warmth and gilded by firelight. So gorgeous, Viktor only half hears the question asked.
But half is more than enough. He blinks, eyes darting up to meet Emet-Selch's gaze.
It is not fear, exactly, that plays across Viktor's features at that question, though the pace of his heart does speed to a gallop, thundering in his throat and catching all the air before it can escape his lungs. Caution and curiosity take equal credit for the widening of Viktor's eyes as he beholds Hades with renewed interest, but the way his lips part, the way his tongue darts out to wet them as he studies the perfect lines of Hades form - his form, the one that feels most like him, starburst scar and all - is all hunger. ]
Good. [ Viktor finds his voice somehow, and it arrives sturdier than he expects. Calm and certain, for a moment, at least. ] I'd say good. But- are you sure? It's just that... I've never- no. I usually-
[ Malleable. He makes himself malleable. Reforges himself to fit his partner's desire. The worshipful healer for Relle. The relentless fighter for Estinien. A fearless adventurer for G'raha, for the Exarch. Conquering hero or tamed monster for every random body inbetween.
But here, now, Viktor finds that he can think of nothing he could remake himself into that might best please Hades. Even were his soul rejoined again, to try and make himself any more Aepymetes than he is now would, he knows, be a step backward. And if he brushes aside the noise of worry and doubt, he is not entirely sure that more Aepymetes is even what Hades wants. What does it mean if he cannot make himself into something better than what he is? If he cannot offer something for what is given? If Hades seeks to indulge without taking in turn?
Stars, he suddenly feels every ilm of his own nakedness. The room warms, and Viktor's skin with it, rosy blush left by the bath insisting upon lingering, on growing hotter the longer he stands there.
Viktor's brows do a funny little dance on his forehead, flattening over his eyes. The absurdity of it all, of the Warrior of Light finding himself mortified, shy as the flowers that peek up beneath the boughs of the Everschade, makes his expression crack into an incredulous smile. ]
-I usually give.
[ And he cannot fathom receiving, taking, being loved without promising something, without providing worth, in return. But worse than that uncertainty is the idea that Hades might decide not to touch him, to taste him, to savor him at all. ]
[ Silly is not a word often used to describe him, but there is, he supposes, a first time for everything. A far more suitable word for Viktor, who seems not just to delight in the levity but actively relish it. Blessedly, there is no comment about the use of magic, no inquiries about why, if he had the power to make the room a little less cold and miserable, he had not adjusted the temperature until Viktor had arrived.
But then, Viktor seems awfully distracted by him. He was, and is, relatively attractive for a given meaning of the word. Enough so that he'd had no shortage of people seeking courtships until he had been firmly off the table and even then, found himself complaining to Aepymetes or Hythlodaeus about those who were unsatisfied with a rejection - as if they could ever hope to match the two of them in any meaningful capacity. It is, he thinks, not wholly unpleasant to be wanted so viscerally, so obviously. Certainly less disagreeable than he had anticipated.
I've never, I usually-. Emet-Selch lets him work through the response he wants to give on his slow prowl from bath to bed once he's considered the room and snapped into place a rug, massive enough to provide ample warmth instead of bare feet on cold stone to the bathroom later. Only then does he pad across the distance to the other man, considering the warm flush to his skin, the scatter of freckles and the insane desire to ensure he doesn't leave this room without kissing each of them. ]
I had assumed. [ Mildly, not judgmental, exactly, but there is a tone there; judgmental of those who came before, maybe.
Of course, others had not cared for Viktor in the same way. Of course, they were more concerned with the petty day-to-day or even pettier wants than Viktor's own. Emet-Selch leans in close enough to graze a kiss against the furrowed brow, rewarded with the warmth of Viktor's smile, far eclipsing any magical heat he could muster. Mine, as gods have worshippers. Mine, as a hound's master.. It is, he thinks, not so horrible to be kept, to belong to someone so inextricably that it has lasted countless lifetimes and souls. ] I was clear that night, was I not?
[ Gingerly, he hooks two fingers into the front of Viktor's towel, not pulling but there is a tension, the threat, or maybe promise of removing it. ]
You give until you've nothing left to give. What I desire is for you to reach out with both hands and to take.
[ There are a few incontrovertible truths about their star. Or there should be. Or, people take comfort in saying that there are. And so there are. Until too many folks find out that even the incontrovertible is exactly the thing it claims not to be - perfectly wrong in a few interesting instances and probably wrong in some boring ones, too - and then there's trouble.
(And while trouble is certainly something Viktor bumps into on the regular, his preference is to avoid that particular sort. Toying with status quo of common wisdom is a bit below his pay grade at this point, if he's honest.)
But, incontrovertible truths - like the notion that a soul is stripped of all it was upon its return to the Sea; memories dismantled as the soul sinks, as it dreams, flaking away like so much paint, 'til only the blank canvas remains. Unless-
Unless you are two souls who so love to lie in sunlight together that you find each other across ten thousand years, from an island in the sky to a more conventional one set in the sea, to nap. Unless you are a brilliant, too soft-hearted scientist, overseeing the creation of new life upon a vast, flying research center, over and over, in search of meaning. Unless you are the split threads of the same beleaguered smith, the same gallant knight, the same cutthroat merchant, the same stern scholar, dancing the same dance across time, across worlds.
Then, the incontrovertible starts courting controversy. And that's not Viktor's business. He can enjoy the quiet satisfaction of knowing without ruining anyone else's day.
Anyway, the point is, twelve thousand years ago, AzemAepymetes Viktor made a game of reaching out, of grasping and plucking threads to make the music that most pleased his ear, of choosing and taking. Of chasing what he wanted, even if it meant leaving what he loved in the dark. And for that grave sin - or perhaps for no reason at all - he and all he loved was made blood, burned to ash, and split fourteen ways.
He does not remember any of this, precisely - and he shouldn't imprecisely, either, if the incontrovertible is truly thus - but it is all there. For ages upon ages, across eras and bodies, he felt it, did his best to show the star he'd learnt a lesson. He did not want. He walked. He did not take. He gave and gave and gave. And the star responded by burning up again and again and again, each time putting the match in the hand of the man he'd loved most. Until he forgot how to want, how to take, entirely. Until this, too, seemed to become incontrovertible.
It's a good thing that forests sometimes need fires to grow. It's a good thing that, in the span between ashes and new sprouts, one can see the incontrovertible for what it is - something that's only waiting to be controverted in just the right way. Souls are not always wiped clean, and penance does not always mean healing.
Sometimes, a love is too fierce to be blanched away. Sometimes, wanting, taking, and giving are all the same, and have no bearing on whether the world turns to ash.
Viktor reaches up, pressing palms to the line of Hades's jaw and taking his face gently in both hands. He leans in, until the fingers curled around his towel press to the bare skin beneath. He stares up, a hound adoring, a god embracing its most devoted. He needn't reforge himself into something new. He needn't set himself aflame or flee.
He needs only to be here, in this steadily warming room, enjoying the feeling of being enjoyed for exactly what he is - enough, and worth keeping. ]
Is the rug not a little excessive? [ Leveled with teasing glee, smile noon sun bright. ] Come here.
[ He props himself up partway on tip toe and pulls Emet-Selch down the rest of the distance to plant that grin against his mouth. There, he lingers, tipping his head to deepen the kiss, to taste as though he hasn't already sampled this a dozen (a hundred? a thousand?) times already. Because he wants to.
With the ease of one well acquainted with both dances and duels, Viktor turns the both of them until Hades is the one with his back to the bed. One hand drags down, fingers tracing every dip and curve, pressing to skin, until he flattens his palm upon the scar marking Hades's chest. There, he pushes, urging Hades down to the bed with a firm hand, and if the towel around Viktor's waist slips away with him, well- that's just getting their work done faster. ]
Tonight, you are going to imp-p-press me with all the things I know you've been trying not to let yourself think about doing to me. [ Still wearing a smile that is all playful warmth, excitement, he chases, slotting himself into place on Hades's lap, draping arms over his broad shoulders. ] First, though, perhaps a practical exam. Let's see how well you recall my first lesson.
[ He wishes, foolishly, to have had a robe on for all of this. Some sort of barrier even after the bath, perhaps especially after the bath; at least there they had a purpose to distract.
The purpose of coming to the bed is not to sleep, but Emet-Selch is called and so shall he answer, feet moving before his brain has time to even process the gentle command he's given. Only when he's physically pulled does he give some manner of resistance - a moment, can't make it too easy can he? - and then he gives in, gratefully accepting what Viktor offers, heedless of whether or not it is deserved. He'd never admit it, but the kiss serves to ease some of the discomfort of being bare; maybe it's the distraction, maybe it's the want. He doesn't particularly care about the reason so much as the fact that it allows him to be guided, shepherded, he thinks wryly, to sit. ]
And you expect me to recall with perfect clarity while you're - [ There goes the towel, just as Emet-Selch reaches the word you're, abruptly aware of the fact that the only thing Viktor's wearing is that smile. His own - wonderfully plush, thank you - stays set upon his hips through sheer luck but does very little to hide the half-hard swell beneath. This feels a stark contrast to the moment Viktor refers to; where Emet-Selch had the barrier of layers of clothes, a little room and the certainty that he had resisted for thousands of years so he could resist this too. ] Which part would you have me recall first? Your alleged propensity for not wearing smalls during negotiations?
[ Even if he feigns ignorance, the memory is not so old he has forgotten it. Emet-Selch had avoided his ears where possible when washing Viktor's hair; less out of disgust and more out of a desire not to accidentally injure. Now, with a brow furrowed in concentration as if he is magicking a particularly complex item instead of mimicking how Viktor'd touched himself earlier, Emet-Selch traces fingers along Viktor's ear, remapping the path his hands had taken, slower, lighter at first and then he seems to shake himself out. Ridiculous.
His heels plant against the ground, scooting back against the bed ilms and then fitting both hands beneath Viktor's thighs to ensure he brings Viktor with him, giving his knees more purchase upon the bed. Then, it seems a waste not to at least attempt to fulfill the other request, greedily exploring the yalms of bare skin, tracing constellations of freckles on his shoulders, pressing intermittent kisses against them with quiet reverence. ]
There was a question I wished to ask then, but did not. You mentioned we were close to one of your favorite imaginings. [ His fingers trace each knob of Viktor's spine on the path down to his tail, seemingly languid were it not for the intent way Emet-Selch looks up at him. ] I would know what it was.
[ Oh, how Viktor loves his little moments, delicious comfit bits of insight and experience, made all the more delectable for how fleeting they are. And here, now, he is spoiled for them. A hitch of breath, a hesitation, the stubborn mote of resistance fizzling before the heat of want, and then the inevitable, impossible slowness of much longed for indulgence. Viktor watches, rapt, as Emet-Selch obeys his guiding palm, studies each minute change in so stern an expression, savors every ilm of what sits beneath his thighs when he finally settles. Knowing, certain, unresevedly, that this, that he, that Hades is his.
And in the next moment, he laughs, delighted. ]
I thought the star held no m-mysteries for the most eminent Emet-Selch? [ He grins as he slides fingers between strands of platinum hair, moving a few out of those firefly eyes, unable to stop himself from feeling, memorizing now that he's been given permission. The other hand busies itself studying the starburst scar that sits beneath his heart, as though repetition might make a muscle memory of its shape upon his fingertips. ] Can't even figure the pattern of when I'm wearing s-skivvies. Hm. You need to look closer.
[ A breath, shallow, excited when they move. He shuts his eyes, slender fingers threading further into Hades's hair, encouraging diligent exploration of sensitive skin. His ears twitch, almost ticklish, under a feather light touch. And Viktor remains, as ever, all motion. Not shy at all about directing Emet-Selch to linger against one stretch of skin, not quiet when he lands somewhere he likes, sure of what attentions he enjoys most. ]
Here. [ He murmurs when Emet-Selch's mouth finds the point where his throat dips and pulse roars, urging with a press of his palm for him to lavish attention there. But the focus is fleeting. Fingers drag down the length of his spine and he arches into the movement, stretching to draw the journey longer. ]
My...? [ Another chuckle, all air, a little sheepish. Viktor tips his chin down, lower lip caught between his teeth to bite down on a smile, embarrassment plain. ] I- I-
[ But he needn't be embarrassed. Not with Hades. And so, he starts, quiet, careful, not wanting to stutter too much. ]
You, working late on something terribly important. And I- I stop by and I am... a horrible distraction. But one that you cannot- do not want to resist, though you do try. [ Viktor's grin bends, crooked, liking this vantage point - gazing down at him. Easier to call to mind the exact fantasy he had replayed so, so many times when the faintest hint of a smile from Emet-Selch had felt like water in a drought, when the thought of thinking that at all burned his face with shame. Easier to find the confidence to recount his daydream at all. ] And so, instead of sending me away, you- push things aside. Papers. Bottles. S-set me upon your desk and slowly peel me out of my clothes.
[ He curls his fingers around the edges of Emet-Selch's towel. ]
You t-touch me, k-kiss me, every ilm. Ravenous. You part my thighs, press in, and- [ A soft sigh, euphoric. His hips shift, and though he feels mortification pooling at the high point of his sternum, he cannot look away. ] -you taste. You eat. You- [ Viktor hesitates, voice gone soft. ] -you savor.
Will you not afford me the time to explore, or is Azem the only one allowed such indulgences?
[ Murmured, amused against a spray of freckles on his shoulder as Viktor gives instructions.
Emet-Selch is as avid of a student as he was back weeks ago when Viktor gave him instruction the first time. He grazes a kiss against Viktor's throat as he laughs, lingering, savoring the way he can feel it resonate through Viktor's body pressed as close as they are. The chill of the room has mostly ceased, though he slowly lifts a hand from the curve of Viktor to snap into place another log for the fireplace to consume. Sparks spit across the stone floor as the log settles.
Once again, Viktor's hand settles upon the scar he had carved, that Emet-Selch had brought forth once again to this body, touching it like a worrystone. He makes note of where Viktor prefers attention but keeps to his slow, methodical exploration, grazing kisses against both nipples, pressing teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, nosing into the corner of Viktor's elbow to lay a kiss against the soft, thin skin there, trailing down to his hands once again, unable to stop himself from lavishing attention upon each finger while Viktor speaks.
Later, he thinks. They will have a later. They are building a path to a later that they will grasp with both hands. ]
You do make me ravenous. [ Murmured aginst the spot Viktor had pointed out earlier, lips pressed against the thunder of his pulse, adding another bruise to Viktor's small collection of them for the spoiled lordling to see tomorrow. The staff will note the shared room if they both come out of this one tomorrow, and the thought brings as much brutal satisfaction as other plots, but with far less stakes. Petty, but he does not particularly care when Viktor's settled upon him like this. ] We've no desk to upset, but I can fulfill at least a portion of that request. Though I fear you would need to relocate to a more suitable position.
[ Their positions reversed partially - Viktor upon the bed, Emet-Selch kneeling - has no small amount of appeal, but for a moment, hands tracing Viktor's muscled thighs, Emet-Selch thinks about lying upon the bed, Viktor's knees on either side of his ears, and the ability to eat, to savor, until Viktor has had his fill and his stomach twists with want so violent he shudders out a breath, fingers pressing tight into Viktor's thigh while he masters himself. ]
Angling for my job, is it? Then you should know, sometimes the star needs-
[ Dizzying, watching Hades commit to the work of worship so thoroughly. No matter how he wishes to see every ilm covered, the feel of teeth sinking lightly into flesh steals his breath. Interrupted, Viktor slumps into Hades with a soft, wanting whine, composure nothing but loose loops and tangles as Hades continues his journey, finding places Viktor had not expected to hold lighting.
It takes him a few seconds to find even the desire to say more. But he does, eventually, voice hoarse and barely louder than a campfire whisper, though his grin is wide and wild. The words themselves come unthinking, fervent. ]
S-sometimes, the star you so love needs you in one p-place when you would rather be in another.
[ Passingly, he thinks of what a truly remarkable Azem Hades might've made. And in the next moment, that thought is gone, dandelion fluff blown away by the feeling of a new bruise blooming - a new monogram signature, set to skin by teeth and tongue, proof of whose he is. Between panting breaths, he braces himself against Emet-Selch's shoulder, trying with mixed success to refind his composure, and settling instead on lunging in for a proper, hungry kiss. ]
Mayhap- [ A boyish snicker escapes him as he breaks away, just ilms, already laughing at his own terrible joke. ] -you are needed in the Underworld, next.
[ Viktor rights himself, intending to move, but stops again. Makes a nonsense sound of approval as fingers dig into his thigh, deliciously sharp, delightfully painful.
Always, always Hades fights these most human moments. And he needn't. Viktor will not pretend that that, too, is not delicious in its own way, watching the imperturbable Emet-Selch struggle against an almost animal want. But, stars, to unleash it - to revel in every wild moment as he unravels... ]
Fuck. Hades- Hades... [ Whispered, wanting, grasping for purchase on anything approaching sense. He cannot get away from himself, not yet. Viktor knocks two fingers beneath Emet-Selch's chin, tips his head up to gaze into his eyes. ] Much as it delights me to see your effort, you needn't s-struggle so. N-not with me.
[ His hand slips down again, this time just to Emet-Selch's sternum. He doesn't quite urge him back, not yet - not after so many moons of flinching against touch, of gloves and countless layers - though it quickly becomes clear that their imaginations had been aligned. He hesitates, unsure of how best to ask, and then deciding it does not matter, so long as the question is leveled syrupy slow. ]
[ The little taste of Azem's job he'd gotten over the years was plenty. While he could, while he did travel the shards, taking note of what was found to later show Hythlodaeus and Azem, he was better utilized as Emet-Selch. He certainly didn't have the patience of Azem, nor the disposition required. ]
The star can keep itself together for an evening. [ He almost sounds like he believes it when he says that, even. The star survives each night that they rest, each night they don't spend feverishly searching for the next option. He does not imagine it would be any different if they choose to spend their evening not entirely asleep. Much as it pains him to admit one can, in fact, take time for leisurely activities, the distraction is not wholly unwelcome.
And Viktor is, undeniably, a distraction. Just as Emet-Selch starts to work the thought over in his mind - duty, responsibility, the weight shared but still immensely heavy - Viktor steals a kiss from him and Emet-Selch cannot let it go unanswered, unaddressed, hungry to see what other noises the two of them can wrest free from Viktor. ]
Don't coddle. [ Emet-Selch doesn't quite wither under the too-understanding gaze, but he does scowl, imposing were it not for the fact his lips keep rebelling, Viktor's easy laughter and levity and incredibly bad jokes not entirely ineffective. ] I'm not struggling. Struggling implies - I am not.
[ He is, in fact, struggling with the reality of the answer he doesn't give: he's startled by the depths of his want. At how much he could want, when he allowed himself even the vaguest consideration. He wants what he once considered impossible and in the form he'd imagined it, it was; that time is past. But the shape of this new want, how easy it is, will take some getting used to.
Emet-Selch nearly misses the question, focused on thoughtlessly stroking fingers where he'd dug in earlier, marveling at the fact that Viktor's touched him throughout this entire process and the little jumps of disgust, of guilt, have been so far to the back of mind as to nearly be forgotten. Being pedantic is undoubtedly easier than focusing on any of those revelations, and so Emet-Selch lifts both eyebrows and asks, ]
I don't know, hero, would it? I am, for most intents and purposes, yours to command as you see fit.
[ Despite the colorful choice of word, Viktor's voice is too soft, too fond by half, hewing far closer to something more like I love you, that last sharp T clipped in his haste to catch Hades's mouth with his own. One firm, insistent kiss, the weight of his body thrown into it, until Emet-Selch is flattened back against the bed.
He draws away, less than an ilm. Purrs, between light brushes of lips against Hades's mouth and jaw, ]
Mine. To command or coddle as I see fit.
[ Viktor shifts, sitting straight and drawing one knee up to press against Hades's chest, pinning him in place. Predator quiet, Viktor studies him, memorizes the way his hair falls around his face, the set of his shoulders pressed into blankets, the look on his face from above. Coddling and commands, restraint and unbridled want - talk of those things can be saved for later, when the flame kindled low in Viktor's belly doesn't make any words at all half impossible to get out.
Once he's satisfied that he's committed the sight of Hades conquered beneath him to memory, Viktor slips his pinning leg ilms forward, over his shoulder - all the grace of an acrobat. ]
Now-
[ After softly exhaled breath, unsuccessfully trying to slow the rabbit pace of his heart, Viktor climbs forward, one palm flattening on Emet-Selch's stomach at he moves, dragging fingernails up to his chest, until he is settled, knees grazing ears, his other hand threading into long platinum hair. ]
You are going to p-put that lovely mouth of yours to work on something other than sass.
[ They have such hideous curses here. Emet-Selch does not point this out because he is behaving, but maybe he'll teach Viktor a swear or two from Amaurot just to never have to hear gobshite again.
He finds himself tumbled back a little too easily when distracted by a kiss, chasing the taste of wine in Viktor's mouth - no leverage to stay upright, tipped back into the bed with laughably little force as Viktor chases him, leans over and looks him over, a predator with his prey. It is, Emet-Selch finds, a novelty to be looked at so. To be so wholly out of control of the series of events, to make no effort to machinate or plan or orchestrate past getting to a bed instead of letting them prune in the bath. ]
A little more of the former, a little less of the latter if y-
[ He knows, abstractly, about a circus, about the implications of the circus, but it's one thing to know a fact and something else entirely to see it demonstrated with such clarity, ilms away. One leg settles, Emet-Selch taking a hand away from Viktor long enough to gather his hair back, twisting it out of the way so Viktor doesn't put weight on loose strands. Task complete, his hands make their way back to Viktor's bare skin wherever he can touch, while Viktor drags nails up his chest, little lines of heat and awareness that are not unpleasant in the slightest. Were he willing to allow himself the indulgence, he might even wish for more, later. ]
You may be frustrated to know I do not need my mouth to speak.
[ There are countless enchantments to project thought to spoken word; Emet-Selch knows over half of them, and could likely look up any he does not. That is not what he wants to do right now, though, not when confronted with Viktor knelt above him glistening, mint and soap and the heavy scent of want hanging thick in the air. Weeks ago, Viktor'd had specific instructions. Be in the moment, not in his own head. Touch, taste, breathe. Commands he finds himself all too happy to obey, curving one arm and bending it at the elbow so he can splay a hand on his waist while the other traces a line idly up and down the back of Viktor's calf.
He doesn't need to worry about wanting more than his due, doesn't need to concern himself with too much when Viktor rests atop him, able to remove himself should he need to. He must only concern himself with putting his mouth to use at the task at hand. At mouth, he thinks despairingly; Viktor's horrific sense of humor has rubbed off on him.
Coaxing Viktor to finally settle with faint pressure on his hip, Emet-Selch finds the motion - however quick - too slow and leans up to press a kiss against the inside of a thigh, another, another, until he finally gives into what they both want and allows himself to be as ravenous as someone twelve thousand years without could be. He tastes, he eats, he savors as instructed. Emet-Selch may be out of practice with the actual mechanics in practice but he had paid fervent attention to how Viktor enjoyed touching himself. Listening to the noises Viktor makes and adjusting is no hardship, and the scent and taste of Viktor's want heavy in the air makes the wine they'd been sharing seem barely better than vinegar. He finds himself making a noise, a hungry, pleased moan - no pressure against his cock save the fleeting one of the towel, nothing but the relief of a want he hadn't dared acknowledge finally, finally in the process of being sated. ]
[ It's been a while. Not so long that he has the luxury of claiming an eras-spanning devotion to one (or two) soul(s), unfortunately. Just long enough to be embarrassed by how hotly sensitive his skin is, how he has to stifle another whine when Emet-Selch's fingers press to the skin of his hip, how impossible it is to recall the sense memory of being on the receiving end of such attention, instead of giving, before it happens.
Let it never be said that Viktor cannot roll with the proverbial punches, though. He accepts with some trepidation that he can no longer imagine what to expect, and catches himself approaching the encounter as he might any battle - tense, hyperaware. But even resignation does not adequately prepare him for the feel of lips pressed to his thighs, moving higher as he settles. There is music in his breath when he sighs. ]
If you- If you m-must- [ A little gasp slips out of him, his composure falling to pieces despite his best efforts. Words escape between siezed breaths as Hades's mouth finds its mark, tongue splashing bright, twinkling color across Viktor's senses. ] If you want to complain so- ah- s-so badly, you are only allowed to do so if you- oh.
[ Viktor's fingers curl into the duvet, knuckles clenched near to white around fabric as he leans into the lapping of Hades's tongue. His lack of practice means little when he so diligently responds to each panting whimper that steals from Viktor's lips. ]
Lift our veil if you've more to complain about. Otherwise- [ He means it to sound teasing, flippant, but the intent is swallowed up in a low hum of pleasure. The hand not clinging to the bed for purchase grasps a handful of Emet-Selch's hair as Viktor rocks himself against his mouth, heat between his thighs building, climbing up his spine, until he's forgotten what he'd meant to say at all. ] That. Keep- keep doing-
[ Emet-Selch's muffled moan reaches Viktor's ears, sound wholly unexpected, and they lop back against his curls as lightning zings from his stomach up to his throat. Viktor lasts precisely five seconds more before he shudders, shoulders to feet, toes curling as he chokes out a sound somewhere between a curse and his lover's name. His thighs clench, fingers tightening in platinum hair, and he presses down, buckling over as he comes. He's barely caught his breath, still doubled over, before he urges, ] Keep- k-keep going.
[ That's a level of articulateness that he is not necessarily best pleased with when it comes to his performance, but the sound of Viktor's breathy exhale, the hitch to his words, the sting from the clench of his hand in Emet-Selch's hair, well. He supposes he cannot be performing too poorly, judging by the noises he wrests from the other man.
For a petty moment, he thinks to utilize one of several enchantments to throw one's voice but the urge fades just as soon as Viktor gives voice to needy instructions. The hand grasping Viktor's hip skims upward, feeling the tight line of his stomach clenching and his skin's warmth like it's not enough to stay still; he has to touch as much of Viktor as he can.
He could lift the veil. Even as distracted as he is, he thinks he could manage to raise but a corner, and maybe later he will when the novelty of a simple healing spell restoring them has faded. For now, he finds he's far too hungry for the tactile way, drinking in the sight of Viktor curling in on himself, flushed and needy because of him. He's made a wreck of him over countless lifetimes; this type of wreck is undeniably his favorite.
Would that he did not have to breathe, though. Viktor's thighs clench, his hips jerking and Emet-Selch makes a low, pleased noise in response, smoothing his hand down Viktor's flank content to work until his jaw and tongue ache and then do it all over again until Viktor tells him to stop. He lifts his head just long enough to breathe, interrupting the ragged intake of air with a wet kiss smeared against the inside of Viktor's thigh, and then adjusts his grip, shifts his weight on the bed and returns to his task with ruthless enthusiasm.
He does not lift a full edge so much as he does nudge the toe of a shoe beneath the hem and raise it incrementally. Enough that Viktor is made privy to a swell of feelings - a hunger he hadn't dared acknowledge for thousands of years, sated. A frisson of worry that he won't know when he's indulged too much, a brief, flickering emotion that feels like same kind of pure clarity Zodiark brought; a certainty in the shape of Viktor. A desire to execute this well - the briefest hint of amusement, a flicker of smut read over the years, glossed over. Distantly, there is surprise, too; surprise he could enjoy being this bare, surprise he hasn't overthought his way into a pit. ]
[ Stars cling to the corners of Viktor's vision, no sign of clearing as Emet-Selch again obeys his increasingly ragged commands and promptly robs him of the will to argue further. Words give way to little more than fluttered breaths, threaded through with bright, encouraging murmurings. Viktor's nails traces spirals against Emet-Selch's scalp, combing through his hair at a frantic pace, too firm to be strictly gentle.
Finally, finally he allows himself the luxury of being wholly present. Unfussed with the room's entry and exit points, careless about how loud he moans when Hades's mouth settles on his prick, forgetting entirely to brace for the next sudden hurt, the next unwanted surprise fate has in store. There is no end of the world. No greedy princelings. No infernal blue bird or ruined Seas. No needy masses. There is just this, just the two of them. Just light and sound and feeling. A knight sorcerer's calloused hands skimming his skin, cupping his body, taking measure of his shape and fitting neatly wherever they land. The dizzying levin zing of being licked and sucked and savored, fire building anew in the pit of his belly.
The hand not tangled in Hades's hair slides up into his own. Fingers catch on damp curls, drag down over neck and chest and stomach to splay over white fur, opening himself further as he leans into Hades's busy mouth with a low, cracking moan. His hips rock, finding rhythm to match Emet-Selch's ministrations, making him taste the spot Viktor likes best.
And then Hades lets him in, their veil hiked up as dancer's skirts, just a glimpse, enough to leave Viktor groaning, ecstatic, impatient with his inability to latch onto any one feeling as it flits by his awareness. His own emotions flood. Each one bright oil paint spilled across an incandescent canvas, too big, too vivid to have any clear definition. Rust red want makes a fine backdrop for brighter reds and twinkling gold, a slurry of hot pleasure softer feeling. Warm colors of comfort and safety, of home - and the silver white shock of how unfamiliar such a concept feels - blooming like little flowers in a more frantic field of clay. And between, silhouette glimpses of what he'd like next - held and explored with eager hands, atop, tangled together, bent and pressed into bed sheets, filled, drowned in this feeling, in Hades. Devoured.
Viktor feels his pleasure peak, a flood of lightning across his senses. He clenches his jaw, breathes and straightens, stretching his legs, breaking contact, to stop himself from toppling over the edge again. ]
Hades. [ Viktor closes a shaking palm around the back of one of Emet-Selch's hands, voice gone reedy. ] Ride you. L-let me ride you.
[ At least he's adequately positioned to watch, like this. Even when not attempting to put on a show, Viktor commands his attention. A bone-deep satisfaction fills him the more Viktor moves, the more he demands to be pleased takes what he doesn't know he's practically owed after countless lifetimes of Emet-Selch's far less gentle ministrations. Viktor is owed, Emet-Selch thinks wryly, countless evenings of this and it would never come close to evening out the scales.
It is not so bad to make the attempt, though; especially not when Viktor parts himself where he's blush-dark and wet and Emet-Selch doesn't bother to hide the pleased, low noise threatening to be a moan as he tilts his head in response to Viktor's obvious indication of where he should be. The clench, the shudders herald a second peak and Emet-Selch allows his head to rest back against the pillow, allows himself a proper breath and then goes back to nosing at the soft insides of Viktor's thigh. ]
Ah. [ Emet-Selch gives into the indulgence, presses teeth to flesh just to see warm, dark skin grow rosy with the imprint of his teeth, and then looks up at Viktor, indulgent. ] We'd find some difficulty there but not for lack of...enthusiasm.
[ Emet-Selch melts back into the bed, stretching one of the arms he'd contorted awkwardly to touch more of Viktor, flexing individual fingers and then just as soon as it's done brings them back like he cannot bear to stop touching if the option is made available to him. ]
If you require something inside you, that can be easily arranged.
[ The fingers tracing idle arcane marks against Viktor's thigh pauses in the motion pinky to index finger tapping in a slow order. ]
There are, you may be unsurprised to learn, spells to serve the same function but without the pesky flesh and blood cooperation bit. It has been an age but I am fairly certain I still recall them.
[ Basking in what slips under the veil from Viktor's side like a cat in sunlight, the only thing trade in return is loose-limbed, lazy satisfaction, and the edge of hunger, the awareness that once was not going to be enough, and Viktor is right there, close enough it would be a trifle to lean up, to pull Viktor's hips back down. ]
[ Clear thought turns slippery, dreamlike, as Viktor drifts back down from climax. He is aware, passingly, of the shaking of his own legs, hiking up to a quiver when Hades, insatiable, presses mouth and tongue and nose against them once again. He grasps for the echo of that low growl of pleasure slipping from Hades's mouth, muffled by the steady grind of Viktor's hips; that will be a heady distraction for moons to come. How will he see to anything successfully now, knowing he could be doing this, instead? His every want welcomed, relished with such greed. And with the veil lifted, with certainty making a sun of him in Emet-Selch's eyes, not even his buzzing bees can sow their usual doubt and fear.
It almost beggars belief, not merely being wanted, but feeling addictive. Not as the Warrior of Light, not as Azem - just Viktor. So fervently desired that the man who'd spent ten thousand years touching nothing cannot keep his hands off of him. A little deliriously, Viktor snickers at the realization that the Sharlayan's many planning meetings will no longer be such an unbearable bore. And in the next second, he decides that the only way he will ever be productive again is to run them both ragged tonight.
And then Hades's teeth sink into soft, warm skin, stealing another sharp sound - as much a laugh as a moan - from him, and everything is promptly forgotten. He lets the hand tangled in Hades's hair slip down to cup his face. Viktor tips Hades's chin back, taking a long, slow moment to admire the length of his neck, the wet shine around his perfect mouth. Delicious, that faint quirk at the corners of his lips. Just enough of an angle to be impossibly smug, made more delectable for the fog of Hades's own gratification hanging on the edges of Viktor's awareness.
He makes no effort to hide his own emotions, nor the way his awareness creeps right up to the barrier, searching. There's nothing sour in that admission of difficulty, and while Viktor can't quite hide his own hot, hungry impatience, there is an immeasurable relief there, too. No need to reassure - it is a certainty, an inevitability. And there's plenty else they can do in the meantime. ]
I want you. [ He shivers again at the working of Hades's fingers, slips his own over Hades's lips, nudging them into his mouth, lighting on his tongue. ] S-something of your aether, I mean. I want to f-feel you.
[ The aether of Emet-Selch, permeating, cold, yes. He still remembers the feel of being surrounded, filled by it, wrenched back into his body after spending too much of his own aether. He near aches for it. ]
But first- [ Viktor draws away from Hades's mouth. Uses the hand to brace himself against a bedpost. ] -bite me again.
Should I be concerned about that flicker of mischief I felt?
[ Indulgent, molasses slow. He cannot remember the last time he felt like this - the electric hot current of want still very much there, but sated, contented in some way he has otherwise not been in ages. There's a danger to this; too much indulgence, and well. He's seen what that can do without moderation, thinks a moment later about the casual comment very Allagan of us, drinking with Viktor and the warmth of Viktor's amusement, his pleasure burns the shadow out before it even has time to settle.
Viktor tips his chin back and Emet-Selch allows it, looks up at him through a lidded gaze, the smirk still teasing at his lips. ]
I've gathered, needy thing. [ He says it like a compliment, like a pet name, and accepts the press of fingers into his mouth with a slow, soft breath out around them, and daring, once again, to indulge. To suck, to lavish just as much attention on his fingers as he wants to anywhere else Viktor will deign to allow. He listens to the request, Viktor withdrawing his hand a moment later and Emet-Selch lifts an eyebrow. He'd intended to nip at his fingers, but with them removed he settles for a faint, unsatisfying little nip against Viktor's thigh once again. ]
Specifics, if you please, lest there be too much room for creative interpretation. You would like me to bite you again where? You wish to feel my aether, where? [ The bed creaks beneath them and Emet-Selch, irritatingly, misses their bed - the bed back in the Crystarium. He could make it again here but that would be far too telling and he need not be ridiculous about his indulences. ] So, let's have it, hero. Specifics.
[ The last time he says specifics, it's annunciated precisely, a little pause between each syllable, a tap of his fingers upon Viktor's bare skin. ]
'Twould be best, yes. [ Light, leveled with a grin. He has no specific plans just yet, but when does he ever? Knowing those words alone could spin up mystery enough to set Emet-Selch's gears to turning, trusting that he can make himself an entertaining distraction when the work that needs doing is of the busy variety, is a very specific jolt of pleasure that leaves Viktor's smile curling. Even that hint of color fading is gratifying, the moment it is swallowed up in fire renewed.
How he loves the idea of testing that will and winning.
Not that Viktor is innoculatd, himself. Needy thing, Hades calls him, and the words are honey. His tongue brushes the pads of Viktor's fingertips, and Viktor shuts his eyes, lingering in the feeling of his pulse dropping to his stomach again.
Fleetingly he thinks of a Light-drenched thread upon the weave. One he knows exists by sense, where his had been the weaker will, where not even Meteion's song permeates absolute stillness. Another Emet-Selch, still drown in Zodiark's dark despite the brightness he keeps and cossets, bridled only just, because the beast allows it. Emet-Selch's needy thing, his creature, across time, across reflections, across iterations of reality.
Viktor vastly prefers this one. Less chilling despite the cold. Where the closest thing to tempering is the two of them unable to stop touching each other, forging their own destiny, finding their own duty, driving each other mad. He huffs when Emet-Selch's teeth graze his thigh, catches his cheek in his hand before he can get away again. He'd meant for it to be playful, but the light touch, the soft gaze Viktor points at him, is a little too baldly adoring - even the flicker of fire in response to Hades's pedantry is fond.
Specific.
Viktor settles, sitting on Emet-Selch's chest and lazing back against his stomach. Seconds pass in silence, but it is not an empty, waiting quiet - it buzzes with the work of thinking as Viktor tries to grasp his own desire, chisel the fiery feeling down to something more specific than him, him, him.
Eventually, he props himself back up, enough to lock mismatched eyes on that glowing lamplight gaze. ]
On my th-thigh. Either one. Surprise me. Just low enough that the mark you leave might sh-show beneath the edges of shorts or smalls.
[ It is far too cold in this fissured reflection to wear anything so light outside of one's quarters, and such a mark surely would heal before they were in warm climes again, but the thought sits like fire, nonetheless. ]
And as for your aether- [ Viktor arches a brow, teasing smile creeping audibly into his voice as he sits back up properly. ] Anywhere you can fit it, my Aubergine.
[ But he is supposed to be specific, and so after a pause spent shaking off frankly unnecessary nerves, Viktor reins in his smile and presses his palms to the high point of his neck. He drags his hands down slowly, over chest and stomach, down to the dip between his thighs, fingers framing all the spots he wants Hades's attention. Then, with a shuddered breath, he says, ] Engulf me, embrace me with it. Then inside of me, from here. Slow. [ A pause, he shuts his eyes, wills himself to say the last bit. ] A-and use my name. S-say my name.
[ Viktor settles atop him with nary a care and Emet-Selch braces with an exhale that has the edge of a laugh within; sat upon like common furniture. The indignity would have made the not-so-old version of him burn with an entirely different sort of heat. ]
You're likely to lose an extremity simply exiting your bedroom, here. Linger too long and you may just freeze to the bare stone.
[ Viktor's secondary command is not nearly precise enough for Emet-Selch's liking, but then Viktor elaborates and Emet-Selch's mind rolls over a dozen different options and discards each of them on the basis of assuming Viktor was asking for less than he was. Emet-Selch watches the path of Viktor's hands with rapt attention, only centuries of court of various types allowing him to keep a still expression when Viktor makes his last request.
Of course. Whether or not Viktor noticed the use of a nickname and was gently calling him out on it or it was nothing so complicated: he simply wanted the last layer between them removed; it did not matter. Viktor had asked, and so he would acquiesce. He has questions but holds them back for the time being, obeying the easiest request first with a snap. Viktor's shorts from home find themselves upon his body for an instant, long enough for Emet-Selch to judge where they fall and then vanish with a second snap, Emet-Selch's hands tugging Viktor where he needs to be in order for him to obey Viktor's request.
He is single-minded in his execution of the ask, leaving not one mark, but several, littered about the lines where his smalls or shorts might not just show it but actively rub against, a constant, consistent awareness of the bruises, of Emet-Selch pressed into his skin, unignorable.Once he's satisfied, he lifts a hand from Viktor enough to flick his wrist; the fires within the room swell and grow, and the shadows yawn deeper, darker in turn, until as one, they lick their way across the ground, drawn toward Emet-Selch's hand.
The room heats incrementally as the flames burn hotter, and Emet-Selch draws the shadows around Viktor like a cloak, if a cloak could cling cooly to the flesh it touches rather than drape upon it. Another snap, and both of them find themselves rearranged on the bed, Viktor knelt above him but straddling just above his still towel-clad waist, and Emet-Selch lounged against the pillows with his legs firmly on the bed rather than dangling off.
He twirls a finger in the shadows draped over Viktor's shoulders and winds what he plucks around his palm, twisting and holding what he's gathered like a leash, tugging him in with the weight of the shadows behind the motion, not bothering to lean up to meet him. It is, he thinks, stretching idly beneath Viktor as he's held near immobile with gentle threat, nice to be able to show off once in a while. ]
Lest you make up a story in that pretty head of yours, these spells were not originally conceived for such uses.
[ Originally, he'd intended it for use in natural disasters - a rockslide, for example. Moments where Azem would not have access to light, and the sun could not be brought forth until morning. There is no pang across the veil as Emet-Selch has the thought. It is a momentary spark of fondness, followed by surprise at the lack of sting to the memory's edges. ]
[ A blink, a laugh. Viktor stares down at familiar shorts, there and gone too fast to even remark upon their presence. As Emet-Selch repositions him, Viktor attempts to soldier on, more laughter shaking his shoulders at the delightful absurdity of it all. He wriggles, thinking to help scoot into better place, but mostly just making a momentary nuisance of himself. ]
-I s-suppose it will- [ Teeth sink into soft skin. Viktor gasps, his laughter lowering, a dark, pleased little sound, turning into something not unlike a setting sun. The first of what will be several more bruises rises to blush his ochre skin, and he gets a little distracted admiring it, admiring the look of concentration on Hades's face as he leans in to mark him again. Viktor's voice thins, distant, too focused on watching Emet-Selch brand his skin with more nipping kisses. ] -have to be- oh -just for the t-two of- fuck, Hades.
[ With diligent application of rough fingers and softer mouth, Emet-Selch shakes his will. Viktor dips his head, ears falling forward as he breathes through another bite and then another. It will be impossible to pull on his trousers tomorrow, impossible to walk around this foolish fortress, without thinking of - feeling - Hades's signature upon his thigh, without daydreaming about what he will demand of the most eminent Emet-Selch tomorrow night and the night after that.
He grasps, urgent, thinking to forego anything fancier than pressing Hades's mouth against him until he's eaten both their fill again. Before he can commit to giving up the greater prize, though, the hearth roars to life anew. There is a snap, and Viktor's position has changed again.
He presses a palm against Emet-Selch's chest to steady himself, grinning like mad at the easy show of magic, but before he can do more, before he can even compute just how warm the room has grown, he is embraced by familiar, permeating cold. Across back and shoulders, down his arms and legs, his skin prickles to gooseflesh. The soft, fine fur on his arms and stomach stands as Viktor quakes, a whole body shiver that shakes a shuddering sigh out of him.
Instinct makes him resist. Just a flare of tensed muscles and fear, riding the flicker of remembered feeling - this selfsame shadow wreathing and binding him, meaning to press the life and Light from his lungs until that incandescence spilled out. Now, what had been meant to harm holds, and he relaxes into the chilling embrace. Something dangerous made darkly sweet, decadent as bitter chocolate.
Viktor stills, shuts his eyes, and tries something he's never done before - grasps the thread of his own memory and pulls, passing dreamlike through what must be a thousand bodies, 'til he catches glimpses of feeling, of thought and taste and smell, far too fragmented to be memories properly. Sun and moon, entangled. A densely freckled body, wreathed in darkness, pressing lines into fair skin with golden thread. Just a taste of the twining of shadow and light, and even these slivers, matched to Hades's aether enveloping him, feel like fitting something lost back into place. Icy indigo used to heal the broken parts of his kintsugi soul.
Opening his eyes only just, Viktor looks through lashes at Hades laid out beneath him. ]
Far be it from me to j-judge a Sorcerer of Eld for finding creative ways to use his m-magic. [ One corner of Viktor's mouth tugs up. ] I thought I told you to fill me, Hades, not t-torment me from two fulms away. Or shall we test Light and Dark again?
[ He could, he thinks, have a go at conjuring those glowing braids. Lasso his sorcerer in to close the distance between them, perhaps. That would take considerable effort, though. And he finds he rather likes being leashed by the most eminent Emet-Selch - far more than he'd thought he would, all those many, many moons ago upon the First, at least. ]
Oh? This is torment? I think, perhaps, you have not been properly tormented in the past if this is what you believe is torment.
[ Easy, to slide back into the position of being in charge. To orchestrate, to machinate, to take what he wants from a situation. Easier still when he knows beyond a shadow of doubt that Viktor wants as much, if not more than Emet-Selch does. Viktor's skin prickles and Emet-Selch chases the reaction with hands and mouth, grazing kisses over skin, the shadows parting for him thoughtlessly.
He feels when Viktor tenes, stills, waiting the few moments that feel like they stretch out forever until Viktor settles into this, into the chill weight of darkness spun into cloth draped around him. He feels the moment Viktor goes somewhere else, the moment a memory of his own. How many times did Aepymetes sit there, present, but not at the same time. It does not seem nearly as strong, as overwhelming as Aepymetes' visions, but for a brief second of time Viktor is there but not, and then he returns, looking down at Emet-Selch.
Insanely, he doesn't want that to happen again. He wants Viktor here in the present no matter how traitorous he would have previously believed having that thought to be. ]
You asked, and I am loosely quoting, for me to engulf and embrace you. [ Which, he has. The room burns with brightness, all the shadows stolen from within, spun to rest atop Viktor's shoulders. Emet-Selch lounges, petting over the malms of bare skin beneath his fingers, shadows starting to creep behind the wake of his touch when he begins speaking again, his fingers stroking just above the thatch of hair between Viktor's thighs, ] Then inside of you, from here.
[ Gauzy, insubstantial as they are, they seem to grow heavier, stronger when Emet-Selch focuses, warming as they swell between Viktor's thighs and then ease upward; the chill remains for everywhere the shadows touch above his waist, but below it takes a thoughtless little charm to at least keep them the same approximate warmth as their bodies as the shadows obey Viktor's earlier command. Against the narrow line of Viktor's waist, Emet-Selch's fingers twitch and swirl against skin, a conductor at the head of his orchestra, the shadows nestling, filling Viktor with gradual warmth. The hand not in the process of directing the spellwork he angles only a little awkwardly to fit between Viktor's thighs, tracing fingers over where he's parted, stretched around the insubstantial made tangible, slick fingers starting to rub slow, intent circles where his mouth had worshipped earlier. ]
You had, at risk of being pedantic, said anywhere they could fit, as well.
[ As if he doesn't enjoy being pedantic any chance he gets. There is a question with no expectation behind its answer there, Emet-Selch's shadows pausing even when the slow, steady circles of his fingers do not. ]
[ A defiant little laugh slips from Viktor's lips. He shuts his eyes, relishing this new sensation, cold darkness chased away by the warmth of Hades's hands and mouth. Intoxicating, to feel so much at once, to allow himself the luxury of enjoying being obeyed. No reluctance, no complaint, no guilt - just fervor met with fervor.
His muscles twitch as Emet-Selch's hand drifts lower — that pause, so close, drags an impatient sound out of the back of his throat, but he needn't wait long. A second later, matching the pace of Hades's molten sugar voice, the shadow, all that aether, presses up, presses in, and Viktor voices his most ecstatic approval with a slow, sighing moan. He leans back, letting shadow hold him, half delirious from the feel of being so wholly surrounded, so gently touched. Viktor bucks into Emet-Selch's fingers as they settle into place, murmuring his name barely a whisper.
His eyes open only just at this next question, the implied suggestion zinging levin up his spine. Yes, stars, yes, anywhere. He wants to be surrounded, stuffed, fucked senseless. His lips part, a shuddered breath escapes.
But he has waited weeks, moons, for exactly this, too. Touched and tasted and loved with such specific care. His own pleasure demanded, and Emet-Selch, Hades, chasing it with the sort of eager reverence typically reserved for religious fervor. Every shiver, every little noise, every urgent press into friction, devoured like something holy. Answered in turn with that unbearably perfect smirk of his and the dark, delicious sounds he makes.
As gods have worshippers. Viktor's indeed.
And he wants to live in every second of it; memorize how slight he feels set upon Emet-Selch's hips, a world-shaking warrior reduced to little more than panting breath and bright whispers of approval, each grasping hand and low moan from Hades in answer, every brush of lips and fingers, the shape of his body memorized like scripture. To say nothing of the electrifying press of Hades's aether inside him as he is coaxed slowly toward greater pleasure.
This, this - it leaves him nearly delirious. They will have more time later - they will have centuries, later - to push further, to drive each other to breaking in other, wilder ways. And though it sounds unbearably delicious, what he wants all the more is simply to be loved.
Viktor tries to say as much, to give voice to his thoughts, but Emet-Selch's shadows still, and between that warm and insistent fullness and the maddeningly slow ministrations of his fingers, what escapes in place of words is a frankly vulgar groan. Pleasure twinkles, exploding stars across his awareness, swirling light and gold slipping past their barrier. Odd, perhaps, to follow that up with so romantic an admission, but Viktor grits his teeth and breathes, resisting the urge to grind his hips in time with Hades's hand, refusing to relent control of himself, to lose this slowness, this closeness he so desperately wants. ]
A-another night. [ It feels like it takes ages just to say that much. Two words, stolen between between ragged breaths. ] Another night. I- I want you to fill me, fuck me. Anywhere. B-but. Tonight- just, this. [ How horrendously embarrassing, to feel so embarrassed - so embarrassed that it spills citrus pink feeling between them - about something like this. Like some virgin, never touched properly before. Ridiculous. And yet. ] Slow. I- I want our first night to be... soft.
[ Viktor takes pleasure as beautifully as suffering. Emet-Selch had been endlessly frustrated, what feels like an age ago, to feel anything other than disgust for the thing masquerading as a fragment of Azem. Now, he thinks the most frustrating part is feeling to such excess after an age of near nothing. A cup usually no more than half empty now filled to the brim so much so that it is a wonder it does not spill over. Viktor feels everything so much more vividly, so brightly he can almost taste the strongest emotions when they unfurl.
Lightly, he nudges the veil back, thumbing over the seam to seal it in place once again the way one would an envelope full to bursting. A taste was one thing, but sex had the - ideally if he were using it to manipulate people, not ideal when he is directly involved - an unfortunate side effect of revealing too much, at times, and there was something he wished to keep for himself. That he had the ability to keep for himself, a choice Zodiark certainly never offered. ]
As we are, then, Viktor.
[ He likes the shape of Viktor's name in his mouth too much, perhaps. To close down the connection between the two of them meant nothing when he was so obvious with tells. Around Viktor, the shadows give a pulse, almost like a massive, near-insubstantial hand squeezing gently around him, while Emet-Selch's flesh and blood hands stay busy, pressed against Viktor's skin.
He thinks very few people would ever describe him as soft, but Viktor would. Viktor, who only saw the best in him, seemingly, despite everything else that was so much worse. He was granted absolution from anything he could do through Zodiark, the manifestation of the will of their people. It is, he thinks a little wearily, much easier to only need to concern himself with just one person's wants, needs.
It has been an age since he had to be soft, since he could allow himself to be soft, but he tries. The shadows and Emet-Selch's hands coax and cajole pleasure from Viktor rather than demand it, and all too quickly the indulgent lounge Emet-Selch had settled into becomes onerous if he wishes to take in every bit of Vitktor's reactions to the flex of the shadows rocking in and out of him. Foolish, he thinks, to be envious of them when he'd had an invitation, but better this way; some measure of distance, not depending on the frankly mercurial nature of flesh and blood to cooperate. With a flick of the wrist with its hand not occupied between Viktor's thighs and the pillows grow in size and quantity, Emet-Selch effortlessly propped enough so that when the shadows gently urge Viktor in, he can close the distance to a kiss with minimal effort.
He forgets himself just as soon as he slots his lips against Viktor's; the kiss goes from glancing to intent, the hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs lifting up to curve around the nape of his neck, up until he can wind through damp curls, licking into Viktor's mouth to chase the taste of the wine they'd shared. Then, a shiver twists through him, the shadows twitching in reflex. Soft, Viktor had said. Slowly, he forces himself away, lingering on the kiss-swollen bow of Viktor's mouth, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat and then absently, he finds himself leaning in to lavish attention and a line of intent kisses over Viktor's throat just as intently as Emet-Selch had his thighs. A confession, somewhere in the curve of Viktor's throat, followed by the press of teeth into the meat of Viktor's shoulder, just hard enough to be felt.]
[ Struck matches take fractions of a second to ignite, but Viktor finds himself held at the moment between friction and fire. When Hades closes the ilms-opened window between them, he hasn't the time to be disappointed — not when his name sounds sweet as caramel on Hades's lips, when feeling hangs on the sharp corners of each syllable. Not hero, not creature, not Azem. Viktor, listened to, loved, obeyed.
And engulfed by Hades's indomitable presence, filled by his aether; every shift of muscle, met with gentle, cold resistance, a reminder that he relents physical control, but not his own command. He needs but say a word to receive just what he wants, exacting, enthusiastic. What he settles on is a soft, ecstatic sound, drawn from deep in his lungs by the shadow gathering in tight around him. His nails press crescent divots into his own thighs and he sighs, letting himself disappear into the hypnotic rhythm of moving magic inside and against him, of warm hands savoring skin, of total safety, of trust.
Hades comes closer and Viktor wills a hand free to slide it over the back of the palm pressed between his thighs. As his own cries grow increasingly sharp, he urges Hades fingers on with an eager hand, thighs parting farther as he pushes against resistance to better ride the shadows pressing inside of him.
He cannot recall a time where it had been this easy, this welcome, this desperately wanted. Not just satisfying a physical urge, not just a means to an end, but the gratification of attention, of pleasure, from the one man who feels wholly his equal. He jolts when Hades lips find his own, but it is no unwelcome surprise and he presses forward, hungry, as far as shadow will allow to chase breath, to devour that delicious shiver as it shakes another ecstatic sound out of him. ]
Not so bad, aye? Giving in. [ Viktor slows his fervent rocking only just, head dipping to whisper against Hades's ear as he worships his pulse point. Second stretch as he grapples for his voice, shadow and fingertips and teeth making it near impossible to think clearly- to think of anything at all. ] Oh, Hades. [ His voice drops to a whisper. ] Grab it. Embrace it.
[ Much as he wishes he hadn't felt the need for a proxy, to utilize one - only made of his own aether and spun shadows, thank you very much - was the proper decision. Even this amount of bare skin against skin straddles the line of too much, at times edging over across that line but the towel, the shadows do no small amount to keep him steady, grounded. Separate, enough, even if this little endeavor proves to him that he really, desperately does not wish to be that separate if given the choice, the opportunity.
Enough, to be present here in this moment, to listen to the noises Viktor makes - noises he wrests from Viktor. He wants, irriational as it is, to bottle the sound of them up. To not have to rely on the fragilty of memory. To stretch this moment out as long as either of them can bear, and commit it to those tapestries Viktor'd mentioned. He doubts any were half as salacious as this. ]
Don't be smug. [ Emet-Selch grouches, though some of the gravel in his voice cannot wholly be attributed to irrtation so much as the heat flaring through him when Viktor presses lips against the line of his throat, exhales breath against his ear.
Then, startling even him, a laugh escapes - the ghost of one, at least, half-choked as slippery fingers are guided where Viktor wants them, feeling the ghost of sensation from Viktor riding the shadows. No, it was absolutely better this way; he doesn't know what he would have doe if he'd felt all of this at once. Drawing back enough to look at Viktor's expression, the fan of lashes against his cheek, the flush to his skin, Emet-Selch nearly forgets to be faux-irritated. Nearly. ]
I think I've embraced it - and, in fact, you - quite thoroughly at this point.
[ Abruptly, it's too much to even look at him - to face the depths of his own want, easier to press a lingering kiss against Viktor's chest, and busy himself with leaving more marks where he has been woefully inattentive, laving his tongue over Viktor's nipple. Then he leans back enough to give Viktor a coy little look while his fingers press back to where the shadows stretch him open, a glancing little touch before he guides his hand back to where it's wanted most.]
Unless you've objections. Complaints, about my...efficacy, my diligence after your lessons.
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no subject
[ He infuses every bit of dubiousness he can into repeating Viktor's words, but leaves it alone afterward, unwilling to unintentionally strike a chord when he only means to poke fun. His reward is Viktor's smile, just the sight of it twisting something in his stomach. It's not arousal - or well, it's not just arousal he feels, but a vicious greedy sort of satisfaction for being any bit of why Viktor looks like that - looks at him like that. ]
Rest assured I've no intention of freezing to death or losing any limbs to the chill.
[ Nor does he have any desire to wrest himself from the warmth of the bath even as it drains, too focused on chasing waterdroplets with his eyes as they bead and roll down Viktor's skin once he's done rinsing his hair clean. A shame, to muss it when the curls are almost neat but there is nothing that prevents them from taking a second bath. Leaning against the bathwater-warmed stone to watch Viktor's little show, Emet-Selch grabs for the wine and, after a beat of hesitation - of weighing need, necessity, and the simple desire to show off - snaps.
Where candlelight used to give off nothing but a vague, wobbling light, it feels as if each one has doubled or tripled in size. The fireplace coughs ash upward through the chimney and fresh logs appear, already blazing within the hearth. As Viktor approaches the bed, he'll notice it, too, radiates a low, warm heat; fire crystals have appeared tucked in the corners of the duvet, ensuring the bed is as warm as the room is soon to be.
Only then does he rise, a towel snapped into position around his hips. He doesn't need modesty where he's going - where they're going, but old habits die hard. Goldenrod had called him a prude with witch-cackling delight and irritatingly, he found it wasn't a wholly inaccurate summation. Even all these years later he hasn't fully shaken off the desire to be clad head to toe in shapeless, formless robes. For now, a towel will have to do. ]
What would be your general disposition if I stated I was far more interested in indulging in you this evening? As opposed to a more - [ he pauses, stepping out of the bath, trying to find a less clinical set of words. ] - mutual agreement.
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It has been an age, it seems, since he could indulge in the simple joy of silliness. Shocking, how easily he slides back into it, but perhaps it shouldn't be. Though his heart sits cracked and fissured by loss and lack, what holds it together - the one who holds it together - is stronger than the darkness around it. Viktor has only ever burned as bright as the love afforded to him might allow, and the love presently afforded to him is fuel enough for whole stars.
He delights in the simple show of magic - is not sure he will ever be bored of watching Emet-Selch coax aether for the sheer pleasure of it. The air warms, and his grip on his towel loosens ever so slightly. Viktor's mismatched eyes drink in every ilm of Hades presented as he steps from the tub, fair skin flush with warmth and gilded by firelight. So gorgeous, Viktor only half hears the question asked.
But half is more than enough. He blinks, eyes darting up to meet Emet-Selch's gaze.
It is not fear, exactly, that plays across Viktor's features at that question, though the pace of his heart does speed to a gallop, thundering in his throat and catching all the air before it can escape his lungs. Caution and curiosity take equal credit for the widening of Viktor's eyes as he beholds Hades with renewed interest, but the way his lips part, the way his tongue darts out to wet them as he studies the perfect lines of Hades form - his form, the one that feels most like him, starburst scar and all - is all hunger. ]
Good. [ Viktor finds his voice somehow, and it arrives sturdier than he expects. Calm and certain, for a moment, at least. ] I'd say good. But- are you sure? It's just that... I've never- no. I usually-
[ Malleable. He makes himself malleable. Reforges himself to fit his partner's desire. The worshipful healer for Relle. The relentless fighter for Estinien. A fearless adventurer for G'raha, for the Exarch. Conquering hero or tamed monster for every random body inbetween.
But here, now, Viktor finds that he can think of nothing he could remake himself into that might best please Hades. Even were his soul rejoined again, to try and make himself any more Aepymetes than he is now would, he knows, be a step backward. And if he brushes aside the noise of worry and doubt, he is not entirely sure that more Aepymetes is even what Hades wants. What does it mean if he cannot make himself into something better than what he is? If he cannot offer something for what is given? If Hades seeks to indulge without taking in turn?
Stars, he suddenly feels every ilm of his own nakedness. The room warms, and Viktor's skin with it, rosy blush left by the bath insisting upon lingering, on growing hotter the longer he stands there.
Viktor's brows do a funny little dance on his forehead, flattening over his eyes. The absurdity of it all, of the Warrior of Light finding himself mortified, shy as the flowers that peek up beneath the boughs of the Everschade, makes his expression crack into an incredulous smile. ]
-I usually give.
[ And he cannot fathom receiving, taking, being loved without promising something, without providing worth, in return. But worse than that uncertainty is the idea that Hades might decide not to touch him, to taste him, to savor him at all. ]
no subject
But then, Viktor seems awfully distracted by him. He was, and is, relatively attractive for a given meaning of the word. Enough so that he'd had no shortage of people seeking courtships until he had been firmly off the table and even then, found himself complaining to Aepymetes or Hythlodaeus about those who were unsatisfied with a rejection - as if they could ever hope to match the two of them in any meaningful capacity. It is, he thinks, not wholly unpleasant to be wanted so viscerally, so obviously. Certainly less disagreeable than he had anticipated.
I've never, I usually-. Emet-Selch lets him work through the response he wants to give on his slow prowl from bath to bed once he's considered the room and snapped into place a rug, massive enough to provide ample warmth instead of bare feet on cold stone to the bathroom later. Only then does he pad across the distance to the other man, considering the warm flush to his skin, the scatter of freckles and the insane desire to ensure he doesn't leave this room without kissing each of them. ]
I had assumed. [ Mildly, not judgmental, exactly, but there is a tone there; judgmental of those who came before, maybe.
Of course, others had not cared for Viktor in the same way. Of course, they were more concerned with the petty day-to-day or even pettier wants than Viktor's own. Emet-Selch leans in close enough to graze a kiss against the furrowed brow, rewarded with the warmth of Viktor's smile, far eclipsing any magical heat he could muster. Mine, as gods have worshippers. Mine, as a hound's master.. It is, he thinks, not so horrible to be kept, to belong to someone so inextricably that it has lasted countless lifetimes and souls. ] I was clear that night, was I not?
[ Gingerly, he hooks two fingers into the front of Viktor's towel, not pulling but there is a tension, the threat, or maybe promise of removing it. ]
You give until you've nothing left to give. What I desire is for you to reach out with both hands and to take.
sorry. this tag is fadsjld absolutely insane.
(And while trouble is certainly something Viktor bumps into on the regular, his preference is to avoid that particular sort. Toying with status quo of common wisdom is a bit below his pay grade at this point, if he's honest.)
But, incontrovertible truths - like the notion that a soul is stripped of all it was upon its return to the Sea; memories dismantled as the soul sinks, as it dreams, flaking away like so much paint, 'til only the blank canvas remains. Unless-
Unless you are two souls who so love to lie in sunlight together that you find each other across ten thousand years, from an island in the sky to a more conventional one set in the sea, to nap. Unless you are a brilliant, too soft-hearted scientist, overseeing the creation of new life upon a vast, flying research center, over and over, in search of meaning. Unless you are the split threads of the same beleaguered smith, the same gallant knight, the same cutthroat merchant, the same stern scholar, dancing the same dance across time, across worlds.
Then, the incontrovertible starts courting controversy. And that's not Viktor's business. He can enjoy the quiet satisfaction of knowing without ruining anyone else's day.
Anyway, the point is, twelve thousand years ago,
AzemAepymetesViktor made a game of reaching out, of grasping and plucking threads to make the music that most pleased his ear, of choosing and taking. Of chasing what he wanted, even if it meant leaving what he loved in the dark. And for that grave sin - or perhaps for no reason at all - he and all he loved was made blood, burned to ash, and split fourteen ways.He does not remember any of this, precisely - and he shouldn't imprecisely, either, if the incontrovertible is truly thus - but it is all there. For ages upon ages, across eras and bodies, he felt it, did his best to show the star he'd learnt a lesson. He did not want. He walked. He did not take. He gave and gave and gave. And the star responded by burning up again and again and again, each time putting the match in the hand of the man he'd loved most. Until he forgot how to want, how to take, entirely. Until this, too, seemed to become incontrovertible.
It's a good thing that forests sometimes need fires to grow. It's a good thing that, in the span between ashes and new sprouts, one can see the incontrovertible for what it is - something that's only waiting to be controverted in just the right way. Souls are not always wiped clean, and penance does not always mean healing.
Sometimes, a love is too fierce to be blanched away. Sometimes, wanting, taking, and giving are all the same, and have no bearing on whether the world turns to ash.
Viktor reaches up, pressing palms to the line of Hades's jaw and taking his face gently in both hands. He leans in, until the fingers curled around his towel press to the bare skin beneath. He stares up, a hound adoring, a god embracing its most devoted. He needn't reforge himself into something new. He needn't set himself aflame or flee.
He needs only to be here, in this steadily warming room, enjoying the feeling of being enjoyed for exactly what he is - enough, and worth keeping. ]
Is the rug not a little excessive? [ Leveled with teasing glee, smile noon sun bright. ] Come here.
[ He props himself up partway on tip toe and pulls Emet-Selch down the rest of the distance to plant that grin against his mouth. There, he lingers, tipping his head to deepen the kiss, to taste as though he hasn't already sampled this a dozen (a hundred? a thousand?) times already. Because he wants to.
With the ease of one well acquainted with both dances and duels, Viktor turns the both of them until Hades is the one with his back to the bed. One hand drags down, fingers tracing every dip and curve, pressing to skin, until he flattens his palm upon the scar marking Hades's chest. There, he pushes, urging Hades down to the bed with a firm hand, and if the towel around Viktor's waist slips away with him, well- that's just getting their work done faster. ]
Tonight, you are going to imp-p-press me with all the things I know you've been trying not to let yourself think about doing to me. [ Still wearing a smile that is all playful warmth, excitement, he chases, slotting himself into place on Hades's lap, draping arms over his broad shoulders. ] First, though, perhaps a practical exam. Let's see how well you recall my first lesson.
EATS IT EATS IT
The purpose of coming to the bed is not to sleep, but Emet-Selch is called and so shall he answer, feet moving before his brain has time to even process the gentle command he's given. Only when he's physically pulled does he give some manner of resistance - a moment, can't make it too easy can he? - and then he gives in, gratefully accepting what Viktor offers, heedless of whether or not it is deserved. He'd never admit it, but the kiss serves to ease some of the discomfort of being bare; maybe it's the distraction, maybe it's the want. He doesn't particularly care about the reason so much as the fact that it allows him to be guided, shepherded, he thinks wryly, to sit. ]
And you expect me to recall with perfect clarity while you're - [ There goes the towel, just as Emet-Selch reaches the word you're, abruptly aware of the fact that the only thing Viktor's wearing is that smile. His own - wonderfully plush, thank you - stays set upon his hips through sheer luck but does very little to hide the half-hard swell beneath. This feels a stark contrast to the moment Viktor refers to; where Emet-Selch had the barrier of layers of clothes, a little room and the certainty that he had resisted for thousands of years so he could resist this too. ] Which part would you have me recall first? Your alleged propensity for not wearing smalls during negotiations?
[ Even if he feigns ignorance, the memory is not so old he has forgotten it. Emet-Selch had avoided his ears where possible when washing Viktor's hair; less out of disgust and more out of a desire not to accidentally injure. Now, with a brow furrowed in concentration as if he is magicking a particularly complex item instead of mimicking how Viktor'd touched himself earlier, Emet-Selch traces fingers along Viktor's ear, remapping the path his hands had taken, slower, lighter at first and then he seems to shake himself out. Ridiculous.
His heels plant against the ground, scooting back against the bed ilms and then fitting both hands beneath Viktor's thighs to ensure he brings Viktor with him, giving his knees more purchase upon the bed. Then, it seems a waste not to at least attempt to fulfill the other request, greedily exploring the yalms of bare skin, tracing constellations of freckles on his shoulders, pressing intermittent kisses against them with quiet reverence. ]
There was a question I wished to ask then, but did not. You mentioned we were close to one of your favorite imaginings. [ His fingers trace each knob of Viktor's spine on the path down to his tail, seemingly languid were it not for the intent way Emet-Selch looks up at him. ] I would know what it was.
adventures in i do not have an icon for this
And in the next moment, he laughs, delighted. ]
I thought the star held no m-mysteries for the most eminent Emet-Selch? [ He grins as he slides fingers between strands of platinum hair, moving a few out of those firefly eyes, unable to stop himself from feeling, memorizing now that he's been given permission. The other hand busies itself studying the starburst scar that sits beneath his heart, as though repetition might make a muscle memory of its shape upon his fingertips. ] Can't even figure the pattern of when I'm wearing s-skivvies. Hm. You need to look closer.
[ A breath, shallow, excited when they move. He shuts his eyes, slender fingers threading further into Hades's hair, encouraging diligent exploration of sensitive skin. His ears twitch, almost ticklish, under a feather light touch. And Viktor remains, as ever, all motion. Not shy at all about directing Emet-Selch to linger against one stretch of skin, not quiet when he lands somewhere he likes, sure of what attentions he enjoys most. ]
Here. [ He murmurs when Emet-Selch's mouth finds the point where his throat dips and pulse roars, urging with a press of his palm for him to lavish attention there. But the focus is fleeting. Fingers drag down the length of his spine and he arches into the movement, stretching to draw the journey longer. ]
My...? [ Another chuckle, all air, a little sheepish. Viktor tips his chin down, lower lip caught between his teeth to bite down on a smile, embarrassment plain. ] I- I-
[ But he needn't be embarrassed. Not with Hades. And so, he starts, quiet, careful, not wanting to stutter too much. ]
You, working late on something terribly important. And I- I stop by and I am... a horrible distraction. But one that you cannot- do not want to resist, though you do try. [ Viktor's grin bends, crooked, liking this vantage point - gazing down at him. Easier to call to mind the exact fantasy he had replayed so, so many times when the faintest hint of a smile from Emet-Selch had felt like water in a drought, when the thought of thinking that at all burned his face with shame. Easier to find the confidence to recount his daydream at all. ] And so, instead of sending me away, you- push things aside. Papers. Bottles. S-set me upon your desk and slowly peel me out of my clothes.
[ He curls his fingers around the edges of Emet-Selch's towel. ]
You t-touch me, k-kiss me, every ilm. Ravenous. You part my thighs, press in, and- [ A soft sigh, euphoric. His hips shift, and though he feels mortification pooling at the high point of his sternum, he cannot look away. ] -you taste. You eat. You- [ Viktor hesitates, voice gone soft. ] -you savor.
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[ Murmured, amused against a spray of freckles on his shoulder as Viktor gives instructions.
Emet-Selch is as avid of a student as he was back weeks ago when Viktor gave him instruction the first time. He grazes a kiss against Viktor's throat as he laughs, lingering, savoring the way he can feel it resonate through Viktor's body pressed as close as they are. The chill of the room has mostly ceased, though he slowly lifts a hand from the curve of Viktor to snap into place another log for the fireplace to consume. Sparks spit across the stone floor as the log settles.
Once again, Viktor's hand settles upon the scar he had carved, that Emet-Selch had brought forth once again to this body, touching it like a worrystone. He makes note of where Viktor prefers attention but keeps to his slow, methodical exploration, grazing kisses against both nipples, pressing teeth into the muscle of his shoulder, nosing into the corner of Viktor's elbow to lay a kiss against the soft, thin skin there, trailing down to his hands once again, unable to stop himself from lavishing attention upon each finger while Viktor speaks.
Later, he thinks. They will have a later. They are building a path to a later that they will grasp with both hands. ]
You do make me ravenous. [ Murmured aginst the spot Viktor had pointed out earlier, lips pressed against the thunder of his pulse, adding another bruise to Viktor's small collection of them for the spoiled lordling to see tomorrow. The staff will note the shared room if they both come out of this one tomorrow, and the thought brings as much brutal satisfaction as other plots, but with far less stakes. Petty, but he does not particularly care when Viktor's settled upon him like this. ] We've no desk to upset, but I can fulfill at least a portion of that request. Though I fear you would need to relocate to a more suitable position.
[ Their positions reversed partially - Viktor upon the bed, Emet-Selch kneeling - has no small amount of appeal, but for a moment, hands tracing Viktor's muscled thighs, Emet-Selch thinks about lying upon the bed, Viktor's knees on either side of his ears, and the ability to eat, to savor, until Viktor has had his fill and his stomach twists with want so violent he shudders out a breath, fingers pressing tight into Viktor's thigh while he masters himself. ]
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[ Dizzying, watching Hades commit to the work of worship so thoroughly. No matter how he wishes to see every ilm covered, the feel of teeth sinking lightly into flesh steals his breath. Interrupted, Viktor slumps into Hades with a soft, wanting whine, composure nothing but loose loops and tangles as Hades continues his journey, finding places Viktor had not expected to hold lighting.
It takes him a few seconds to find even the desire to say more. But he does, eventually, voice hoarse and barely louder than a campfire whisper, though his grin is wide and wild. The words themselves come unthinking, fervent. ]
S-sometimes, the star you so love needs you in one p-place when you would rather be in another.
[ Passingly, he thinks of what a truly remarkable Azem Hades might've made. And in the next moment, that thought is gone, dandelion fluff blown away by the feeling of a new bruise blooming - a new monogram signature, set to skin by teeth and tongue, proof of whose he is. Between panting breaths, he braces himself against Emet-Selch's shoulder, trying with mixed success to refind his composure, and settling instead on lunging in for a proper, hungry kiss. ]
Mayhap- [ A boyish snicker escapes him as he breaks away, just ilms, already laughing at his own terrible joke. ] -you are needed in the Underworld, next.
[ Viktor rights himself, intending to move, but stops again. Makes a nonsense sound of approval as fingers dig into his thigh, deliciously sharp, delightfully painful.
Always, always Hades fights these most human moments. And he needn't. Viktor will not pretend that that, too, is not delicious in its own way, watching the imperturbable Emet-Selch struggle against an almost animal want. But, stars, to unleash it - to revel in every wild moment as he unravels... ]
Fuck. Hades- Hades... [ Whispered, wanting, grasping for purchase on anything approaching sense. He cannot get away from himself, not yet. Viktor knocks two fingers beneath Emet-Selch's chin, tips his head up to gaze into his eyes. ] Much as it delights me to see your effort, you needn't s-struggle so. N-not with me.
[ His hand slips down again, this time just to Emet-Selch's sternum. He doesn't quite urge him back, not yet - not after so many moons of flinching against touch, of gloves and countless layers - though it quickly becomes clear that their imaginations had been aligned. He hesitates, unsure of how best to ask, and then deciding it does not matter, so long as the question is leveled syrupy slow. ]
Would me atop you be a suitable position?
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[ The little taste of Azem's job he'd gotten over the years was plenty. While he could, while he did travel the shards, taking note of what was found to later show Hythlodaeus and Azem, he was better utilized as Emet-Selch. He certainly didn't have the patience of Azem, nor the disposition required. ]
The star can keep itself together for an evening. [ He almost sounds like he believes it when he says that, even. The star survives each night that they rest, each night they don't spend feverishly searching for the next option. He does not imagine it would be any different if they choose to spend their evening not entirely asleep. Much as it pains him to admit one can, in fact, take time for leisurely activities, the distraction is not wholly unwelcome.
And Viktor is, undeniably, a distraction. Just as Emet-Selch starts to work the thought over in his mind - duty, responsibility, the weight shared but still immensely heavy - Viktor steals a kiss from him and Emet-Selch cannot let it go unanswered, unaddressed, hungry to see what other noises the two of them can wrest free from Viktor. ]
Don't coddle. [ Emet-Selch doesn't quite wither under the too-understanding gaze, but he does scowl, imposing were it not for the fact his lips keep rebelling, Viktor's easy laughter and levity and incredibly bad jokes not entirely ineffective. ] I'm not struggling. Struggling implies - I am not.
[ He is, in fact, struggling with the reality of the answer he doesn't give: he's startled by the depths of his want. At how much he could want, when he allowed himself even the vaguest consideration. He wants what he once considered impossible and in the form he'd imagined it, it was; that time is past. But the shape of this new want, how easy it is, will take some getting used to.
Emet-Selch nearly misses the question, focused on thoughtlessly stroking fingers where he'd dug in earlier, marveling at the fact that Viktor's touched him throughout this entire process and the little jumps of disgust, of guilt, have been so far to the back of mind as to nearly be forgotten. Being pedantic is undoubtedly easier than focusing on any of those revelations, and so Emet-Selch lifts both eyebrows and asks, ]
I don't know, hero, would it? I am, for most intents and purposes, yours to command as you see fit.
no subject
[ Despite the colorful choice of word, Viktor's voice is too soft, too fond by half, hewing far closer to something more like I love you, that last sharp T clipped in his haste to catch Hades's mouth with his own. One firm, insistent kiss, the weight of his body thrown into it, until Emet-Selch is flattened back against the bed.
He draws away, less than an ilm. Purrs, between light brushes of lips against Hades's mouth and jaw, ]
Mine. To command or coddle as I see fit.
[ Viktor shifts, sitting straight and drawing one knee up to press against Hades's chest, pinning him in place. Predator quiet, Viktor studies him, memorizes the way his hair falls around his face, the set of his shoulders pressed into blankets, the look on his face from above. Coddling and commands, restraint and unbridled want - talk of those things can be saved for later, when the flame kindled low in Viktor's belly doesn't make any words at all half impossible to get out.
Once he's satisfied that he's committed the sight of Hades conquered beneath him to memory, Viktor slips his pinning leg ilms forward, over his shoulder - all the grace of an acrobat. ]
Now-
[ After softly exhaled breath, unsuccessfully trying to slow the rabbit pace of his heart, Viktor climbs forward, one palm flattening on Emet-Selch's stomach at he moves, dragging fingernails up to his chest, until he is settled, knees grazing ears, his other hand threading into long platinum hair. ]
You are going to p-put that lovely mouth of yours to work on something other than sass.
no subject
He finds himself tumbled back a little too easily when distracted by a kiss, chasing the taste of wine in Viktor's mouth - no leverage to stay upright, tipped back into the bed with laughably little force as Viktor chases him, leans over and looks him over, a predator with his prey. It is, Emet-Selch finds, a novelty to be looked at so. To be so wholly out of control of the series of events, to make no effort to machinate or plan or orchestrate past getting to a bed instead of letting them prune in the bath. ]
A little more of the former, a little less of the latter if y-
[ He knows, abstractly, about a circus, about the implications of the circus, but it's one thing to know a fact and something else entirely to see it demonstrated with such clarity, ilms away. One leg settles, Emet-Selch taking a hand away from Viktor long enough to gather his hair back, twisting it out of the way so Viktor doesn't put weight on loose strands. Task complete, his hands make their way back to Viktor's bare skin wherever he can touch, while Viktor drags nails up his chest, little lines of heat and awareness that are not unpleasant in the slightest. Were he willing to allow himself the indulgence, he might even wish for more, later. ]
You may be frustrated to know I do not need my mouth to speak.
[ There are countless enchantments to project thought to spoken word; Emet-Selch knows over half of them, and could likely look up any he does not. That is not what he wants to do right now, though, not when confronted with Viktor knelt above him glistening, mint and soap and the heavy scent of want hanging thick in the air. Weeks ago, Viktor'd had specific instructions. Be in the moment, not in his own head. Touch, taste, breathe. Commands he finds himself all too happy to obey, curving one arm and bending it at the elbow so he can splay a hand on his waist while the other traces a line idly up and down the back of Viktor's calf.
He doesn't need to worry about wanting more than his due, doesn't need to concern himself with too much when Viktor rests atop him, able to remove himself should he need to. He must only concern himself with putting his mouth to use at the task at hand. At mouth, he thinks despairingly; Viktor's horrific sense of humor has rubbed off on him.
Coaxing Viktor to finally settle with faint pressure on his hip, Emet-Selch finds the motion - however quick - too slow and leans up to press a kiss against the inside of a thigh, another, another, until he finally gives into what they both want and allows himself to be as ravenous as someone twelve thousand years without could be. He tastes, he eats, he savors as instructed. Emet-Selch may be out of practice with the actual mechanics in practice but he had paid fervent attention to how Viktor enjoyed touching himself. Listening to the noises Viktor makes and adjusting is no hardship, and the scent and taste of Viktor's want heavy in the air makes the wine they'd been sharing seem barely better than vinegar. He finds himself making a noise, a hungry, pleased moan - no pressure against his cock save the fleeting one of the towel, nothing but the relief of a want he hadn't dared acknowledge finally, finally in the process of being sated. ]
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Let it never be said that Viktor cannot roll with the proverbial punches, though. He accepts with some trepidation that he can no longer imagine what to expect, and catches himself approaching the encounter as he might any battle - tense, hyperaware. But even resignation does not adequately prepare him for the feel of lips pressed to his thighs, moving higher as he settles. There is music in his breath when he sighs. ]
If you- If you m-must- [ A little gasp slips out of him, his composure falling to pieces despite his best efforts. Words escape between siezed breaths as Hades's mouth finds its mark, tongue splashing bright, twinkling color across Viktor's senses. ] If you want to complain so- ah- s-so badly, you are only allowed to do so if you- oh.
[ Viktor's fingers curl into the duvet, knuckles clenched near to white around fabric as he leans into the lapping of Hades's tongue. His lack of practice means little when he so diligently responds to each panting whimper that steals from Viktor's lips. ]
Lift our veil if you've more to complain about. Otherwise- [ He means it to sound teasing, flippant, but the intent is swallowed up in a low hum of pleasure. The hand not clinging to the bed for purchase grasps a handful of Emet-Selch's hair as Viktor rocks himself against his mouth, heat between his thighs building, climbing up his spine, until he's forgotten what he'd meant to say at all. ] That. Keep- keep doing-
[ Emet-Selch's muffled moan reaches Viktor's ears, sound wholly unexpected, and they lop back against his curls as lightning zings from his stomach up to his throat. Viktor lasts precisely five seconds more before he shudders, shoulders to feet, toes curling as he chokes out a sound somewhere between a curse and his lover's name. His thighs clench, fingers tightening in platinum hair, and he presses down, buckling over as he comes. He's barely caught his breath, still doubled over, before he urges, ] Keep- k-keep going.
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For a petty moment, he thinks to utilize one of several enchantments to throw one's voice but the urge fades just as soon as Viktor gives voice to needy instructions. The hand grasping Viktor's hip skims upward, feeling the tight line of his stomach clenching and his skin's warmth like it's not enough to stay still; he has to touch as much of Viktor as he can.
He could lift the veil. Even as distracted as he is, he thinks he could manage to raise but a corner, and maybe later he will when the novelty of a simple healing spell restoring them has faded. For now, he finds he's far too hungry for the tactile way, drinking in the sight of Viktor curling in on himself, flushed and needy because of him. He's made a wreck of him over countless lifetimes; this type of wreck is undeniably his favorite.
Would that he did not have to breathe, though. Viktor's thighs clench, his hips jerking and Emet-Selch makes a low, pleased noise in response, smoothing his hand down Viktor's flank content to work until his jaw and tongue ache and then do it all over again until Viktor tells him to stop. He lifts his head just long enough to breathe, interrupting the ragged intake of air with a wet kiss smeared against the inside of Viktor's thigh, and then adjusts his grip, shifts his weight on the bed and returns to his task with ruthless enthusiasm.
He does not lift a full edge so much as he does nudge the toe of a shoe beneath the hem and raise it incrementally. Enough that Viktor is made privy to a swell of feelings - a hunger he hadn't dared acknowledge for thousands of years, sated. A frisson of worry that he won't know when he's indulged too much, a brief, flickering emotion that feels like same kind of pure clarity Zodiark brought; a certainty in the shape of Viktor. A desire to execute this well - the briefest hint of amusement, a flicker of smut read over the years, glossed over. Distantly, there is surprise, too; surprise he could enjoy being this bare, surprise he hasn't overthought his way into a pit. ]
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Finally, finally he allows himself the luxury of being wholly present. Unfussed with the room's entry and exit points, careless about how loud he moans when Hades's mouth settles on his prick, forgetting entirely to brace for the next sudden hurt, the next unwanted surprise fate has in store. There is no end of the world. No greedy princelings. No infernal blue bird or ruined Seas. No needy masses. There is just this, just the two of them. Just light and sound and feeling. A knight sorcerer's calloused hands skimming his skin, cupping his body, taking measure of his shape and fitting neatly wherever they land. The dizzying levin zing of being licked and sucked and savored, fire building anew in the pit of his belly.
The hand not tangled in Hades's hair slides up into his own. Fingers catch on damp curls, drag down over neck and chest and stomach to splay over white fur, opening himself further as he leans into Hades's busy mouth with a low, cracking moan. His hips rock, finding rhythm to match Emet-Selch's ministrations, making him taste the spot Viktor likes best.
And then Hades lets him in, their veil hiked up as dancer's skirts, just a glimpse, enough to leave Viktor groaning, ecstatic, impatient with his inability to latch onto any one feeling as it flits by his awareness. His own emotions flood. Each one bright oil paint spilled across an incandescent canvas, too big, too vivid to have any clear definition. Rust red want makes a fine backdrop for brighter reds and twinkling gold, a slurry of hot pleasure softer feeling. Warm colors of comfort and safety, of home - and the silver white shock of how unfamiliar such a concept feels - blooming like little flowers in a more frantic field of clay. And between, silhouette glimpses of what he'd like next - held and explored with eager hands, atop, tangled together, bent and pressed into bed sheets, filled, drowned in this feeling, in Hades. Devoured.
Viktor feels his pleasure peak, a flood of lightning across his senses. He clenches his jaw, breathes and straightens, stretching his legs, breaking contact, to stop himself from toppling over the edge again. ]
Hades. [ Viktor closes a shaking palm around the back of one of Emet-Selch's hands, voice gone reedy. ] Ride you. L-let me ride you.
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It is not so bad to make the attempt, though; especially not when Viktor parts himself where he's blush-dark and wet and Emet-Selch doesn't bother to hide the pleased, low noise threatening to be a moan as he tilts his head in response to Viktor's obvious indication of where he should be. The clench, the shudders herald a second peak and Emet-Selch allows his head to rest back against the pillow, allows himself a proper breath and then goes back to nosing at the soft insides of Viktor's thigh. ]
Ah. [ Emet-Selch gives into the indulgence, presses teeth to flesh just to see warm, dark skin grow rosy with the imprint of his teeth, and then looks up at Viktor, indulgent. ] We'd find some difficulty there but not for lack of...enthusiasm.
[ Emet-Selch melts back into the bed, stretching one of the arms he'd contorted awkwardly to touch more of Viktor, flexing individual fingers and then just as soon as it's done brings them back like he cannot bear to stop touching if the option is made available to him. ]
If you require something inside you, that can be easily arranged.
[ The fingers tracing idle arcane marks against Viktor's thigh pauses in the motion pinky to index finger tapping in a slow order. ]
There are, you may be unsurprised to learn, spells to serve the same function but without the pesky flesh and blood cooperation bit. It has been an age but I am fairly certain I still recall them.
[ Basking in what slips under the veil from Viktor's side like a cat in sunlight, the only thing trade in return is loose-limbed, lazy satisfaction, and the edge of hunger, the awareness that once was not going to be enough, and Viktor is right there, close enough it would be a trifle to lean up, to pull Viktor's hips back down. ]
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It almost beggars belief, not merely being wanted, but feeling addictive. Not as the Warrior of Light, not as Azem - just Viktor. So fervently desired that the man who'd spent ten thousand years touching nothing cannot keep his hands off of him. A little deliriously, Viktor snickers at the realization that the Sharlayan's many planning meetings will no longer be such an unbearable bore. And in the next second, he decides that the only way he will ever be productive again is to run them both ragged tonight.
And then Hades's teeth sink into soft, warm skin, stealing another sharp sound - as much a laugh as a moan - from him, and everything is promptly forgotten. He lets the hand tangled in Hades's hair slip down to cup his face. Viktor tips Hades's chin back, taking a long, slow moment to admire the length of his neck, the wet shine around his perfect mouth. Delicious, that faint quirk at the corners of his lips. Just enough of an angle to be impossibly smug, made more delectable for the fog of Hades's own gratification hanging on the edges of Viktor's awareness.
He makes no effort to hide his own emotions, nor the way his awareness creeps right up to the barrier, searching. There's nothing sour in that admission of difficulty, and while Viktor can't quite hide his own hot, hungry impatience, there is an immeasurable relief there, too. No need to reassure - it is a certainty, an inevitability. And there's plenty else they can do in the meantime. ]
I want you. [ He shivers again at the working of Hades's fingers, slips his own over Hades's lips, nudging them into his mouth, lighting on his tongue. ] S-something of your aether, I mean. I want to f-feel you.
[ The aether of Emet-Selch, permeating, cold, yes. He still remembers the feel of being surrounded, filled by it, wrenched back into his body after spending too much of his own aether. He near aches for it. ]
But first- [ Viktor draws away from Hades's mouth. Uses the hand to brace himself against a bedpost. ] -bite me again.
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[ Indulgent, molasses slow. He cannot remember the last time he felt like this - the electric hot current of want still very much there, but sated, contented in some way he has otherwise not been in ages. There's a danger to this; too much indulgence, and well. He's seen what that can do without moderation, thinks a moment later about the casual comment very Allagan of us, drinking with Viktor and the warmth of Viktor's amusement, his pleasure burns the shadow out before it even has time to settle.
Viktor tips his chin back and Emet-Selch allows it, looks up at him through a lidded gaze, the smirk still teasing at his lips. ]
I've gathered, needy thing. [ He says it like a compliment, like a pet name, and accepts the press of fingers into his mouth with a slow, soft breath out around them, and daring, once again, to indulge. To suck, to lavish just as much attention on his fingers as he wants to anywhere else Viktor will deign to allow. He listens to the request, Viktor withdrawing his hand a moment later and Emet-Selch lifts an eyebrow. He'd intended to nip at his fingers, but with them removed he settles for a faint, unsatisfying little nip against Viktor's thigh once again. ]
Specifics, if you please, lest there be too much room for creative interpretation. You would like me to bite you again where? You wish to feel my aether, where? [ The bed creaks beneath them and Emet-Selch, irritatingly, misses their bed - the bed back in the Crystarium. He could make it again here but that would be far too telling and he need not be ridiculous about his indulences. ] So, let's have it, hero. Specifics.
[ The last time he says specifics, it's annunciated precisely, a little pause between each syllable, a tap of his fingers upon Viktor's bare skin. ]
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How he loves the idea of testing that will and winning.
Not that Viktor is innoculatd, himself. Needy thing, Hades calls him, and the words are honey. His tongue brushes the pads of Viktor's fingertips, and Viktor shuts his eyes, lingering in the feeling of his pulse dropping to his stomach again.
Fleetingly he thinks of a Light-drenched thread upon the weave. One he knows exists by sense, where his had been the weaker will, where not even Meteion's song permeates absolute stillness. Another Emet-Selch, still drown in Zodiark's dark despite the brightness he keeps and cossets, bridled only just, because the beast allows it. Emet-Selch's needy thing, his creature, across time, across reflections, across iterations of reality.
Viktor vastly prefers this one. Less chilling despite the cold. Where the closest thing to tempering is the two of them unable to stop touching each other, forging their own destiny, finding their own duty, driving each other mad. He huffs when Emet-Selch's teeth graze his thigh, catches his cheek in his hand before he can get away again. He'd meant for it to be playful, but the light touch, the soft gaze Viktor points at him, is a little too baldly adoring - even the flicker of fire in response to Hades's pedantry is fond.
Specific.
Viktor settles, sitting on Emet-Selch's chest and lazing back against his stomach. Seconds pass in silence, but it is not an empty, waiting quiet - it buzzes with the work of thinking as Viktor tries to grasp his own desire, chisel the fiery feeling down to something more specific than him, him, him.
Eventually, he props himself back up, enough to lock mismatched eyes on that glowing lamplight gaze. ]
On my th-thigh. Either one. Surprise me. Just low enough that the mark you leave might sh-show beneath the edges of shorts or smalls.
[ It is far too cold in this fissured reflection to wear anything so light outside of one's quarters, and such a mark surely would heal before they were in warm climes again, but the thought sits like fire, nonetheless. ]
And as for your aether- [ Viktor arches a brow, teasing smile creeping audibly into his voice as he sits back up properly. ] Anywhere you can fit it, my Aubergine.
[ But he is supposed to be specific, and so after a pause spent shaking off frankly unnecessary nerves, Viktor reins in his smile and presses his palms to the high point of his neck. He drags his hands down slowly, over chest and stomach, down to the dip between his thighs, fingers framing all the spots he wants Hades's attention. Then, with a shuddered breath, he says, ] Engulf me, embrace me with it. Then inside of me, from here. Slow. [ A pause, he shuts his eyes, wills himself to say the last bit. ] A-and use my name. S-say my name.
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You're likely to lose an extremity simply exiting your bedroom, here. Linger too long and you may just freeze to the bare stone.
[ Viktor's secondary command is not nearly precise enough for Emet-Selch's liking, but then Viktor elaborates and Emet-Selch's mind rolls over a dozen different options and discards each of them on the basis of assuming Viktor was asking for less than he was. Emet-Selch watches the path of Viktor's hands with rapt attention, only centuries of court of various types allowing him to keep a still expression when Viktor makes his last request.
Of course. Whether or not Viktor noticed the use of a nickname and was gently calling him out on it or it was nothing so complicated: he simply wanted the last layer between them removed; it did not matter. Viktor had asked, and so he would acquiesce. He has questions but holds them back for the time being, obeying the easiest request first with a snap. Viktor's shorts from home find themselves upon his body for an instant, long enough for Emet-Selch to judge where they fall and then vanish with a second snap, Emet-Selch's hands tugging Viktor where he needs to be in order for him to obey Viktor's request.
He is single-minded in his execution of the ask, leaving not one mark, but several, littered about the lines where his smalls or shorts might not just show it but actively rub against, a constant, consistent awareness of the bruises, of Emet-Selch pressed into his skin, unignorable.Once he's satisfied, he lifts a hand from Viktor enough to flick his wrist; the fires within the room swell and grow, and the shadows yawn deeper, darker in turn, until as one, they lick their way across the ground, drawn toward Emet-Selch's hand.
The room heats incrementally as the flames burn hotter, and Emet-Selch draws the shadows around Viktor like a cloak, if a cloak could cling cooly to the flesh it touches rather than drape upon it. Another snap, and both of them find themselves rearranged on the bed, Viktor knelt above him but straddling just above his still towel-clad waist, and Emet-Selch lounged against the pillows with his legs firmly on the bed rather than dangling off.
He twirls a finger in the shadows draped over Viktor's shoulders and winds what he plucks around his palm, twisting and holding what he's gathered like a leash, tugging him in with the weight of the shadows behind the motion, not bothering to lean up to meet him. It is, he thinks, stretching idly beneath Viktor as he's held near immobile with gentle threat, nice to be able to show off once in a while. ]
Lest you make up a story in that pretty head of yours, these spells were not originally conceived for such uses.
[ Originally, he'd intended it for use in natural disasters - a rockslide, for example. Moments where Azem would not have access to light, and the sun could not be brought forth until morning. There is no pang across the veil as Emet-Selch has the thought. It is a momentary spark of fondness, followed by surprise at the lack of sting to the memory's edges. ]
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[ A blink, a laugh. Viktor stares down at familiar shorts, there and gone too fast to even remark upon their presence. As Emet-Selch repositions him, Viktor attempts to soldier on, more laughter shaking his shoulders at the delightful absurdity of it all. He wriggles, thinking to help scoot into better place, but mostly just making a momentary nuisance of himself. ]
-I s-suppose it will- [ Teeth sink into soft skin. Viktor gasps, his laughter lowering, a dark, pleased little sound, turning into something not unlike a setting sun. The first of what will be several more bruises rises to blush his ochre skin, and he gets a little distracted admiring it, admiring the look of concentration on Hades's face as he leans in to mark him again. Viktor's voice thins, distant, too focused on watching Emet-Selch brand his skin with more nipping kisses. ] -have to be- oh -just for the t-two of- fuck, Hades.
[ With diligent application of rough fingers and softer mouth, Emet-Selch shakes his will. Viktor dips his head, ears falling forward as he breathes through another bite and then another. It will be impossible to pull on his trousers tomorrow, impossible to walk around this foolish fortress, without thinking of - feeling - Hades's signature upon his thigh, without daydreaming about what he will demand of the most eminent Emet-Selch tomorrow night and the night after that.
He grasps, urgent, thinking to forego anything fancier than pressing Hades's mouth against him until he's eaten both their fill again. Before he can commit to giving up the greater prize, though, the hearth roars to life anew. There is a snap, and Viktor's position has changed again.
He presses a palm against Emet-Selch's chest to steady himself, grinning like mad at the easy show of magic, but before he can do more, before he can even compute just how warm the room has grown, he is embraced by familiar, permeating cold. Across back and shoulders, down his arms and legs, his skin prickles to gooseflesh. The soft, fine fur on his arms and stomach stands as Viktor quakes, a whole body shiver that shakes a shuddering sigh out of him.
Instinct makes him resist. Just a flare of tensed muscles and fear, riding the flicker of remembered feeling - this selfsame shadow wreathing and binding him, meaning to press the life and Light from his lungs until that incandescence spilled out. Now, what had been meant to harm holds, and he relaxes into the chilling embrace. Something dangerous made darkly sweet, decadent as bitter chocolate.
Viktor stills, shuts his eyes, and tries something he's never done before - grasps the thread of his own memory and pulls, passing dreamlike through what must be a thousand bodies, 'til he catches glimpses of feeling, of thought and taste and smell, far too fragmented to be memories properly. Sun and moon, entangled. A densely freckled body, wreathed in darkness, pressing lines into fair skin with golden thread. Just a taste of the twining of shadow and light, and even these slivers, matched to Hades's aether enveloping him, feel like fitting something lost back into place. Icy indigo used to heal the broken parts of his kintsugi soul.
Opening his eyes only just, Viktor looks through lashes at Hades laid out beneath him. ]
Far be it from me to j-judge a Sorcerer of Eld for finding creative ways to use his m-magic. [ One corner of Viktor's mouth tugs up. ] I thought I told you to fill me, Hades, not t-torment me from two fulms away. Or shall we test Light and Dark again?
[ He could, he thinks, have a go at conjuring those glowing braids. Lasso his sorcerer in to close the distance between them, perhaps. That would take considerable effort, though. And he finds he rather likes being leashed by the most eminent Emet-Selch - far more than he'd thought he would, all those many, many moons ago upon the First, at least. ]
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[ Easy, to slide back into the position of being in charge. To orchestrate, to machinate, to take what he wants from a situation. Easier still when he knows beyond a shadow of doubt that Viktor wants as much, if not more than Emet-Selch does. Viktor's skin prickles and Emet-Selch chases the reaction with hands and mouth, grazing kisses over skin, the shadows parting for him thoughtlessly.
He feels when Viktor tenes, stills, waiting the few moments that feel like they stretch out forever until Viktor settles into this, into the chill weight of darkness spun into cloth draped around him. He feels the moment Viktor goes somewhere else, the moment a memory of his own. How many times did Aepymetes sit there, present, but not at the same time. It does not seem nearly as strong, as overwhelming as Aepymetes' visions, but for a brief second of time Viktor is there but not, and then he returns, looking down at Emet-Selch.
Insanely, he doesn't want that to happen again. He wants Viktor here in the present no matter how traitorous he would have previously believed having that thought to be. ]
You asked, and I am loosely quoting, for me to engulf and embrace you. [ Which, he has. The room burns with brightness, all the shadows stolen from within, spun to rest atop Viktor's shoulders. Emet-Selch lounges, petting over the malms of bare skin beneath his fingers, shadows starting to creep behind the wake of his touch when he begins speaking again, his fingers stroking just above the thatch of hair between Viktor's thighs, ] Then inside of you, from here.
[ Gauzy, insubstantial as they are, they seem to grow heavier, stronger when Emet-Selch focuses, warming as they swell between Viktor's thighs and then ease upward; the chill remains for everywhere the shadows touch above his waist, but below it takes a thoughtless little charm to at least keep them the same approximate warmth as their bodies as the shadows obey Viktor's earlier command. Against the narrow line of Viktor's waist, Emet-Selch's fingers twitch and swirl against skin, a conductor at the head of his orchestra, the shadows nestling, filling Viktor with gradual warmth. The hand not in the process of directing the spellwork he angles only a little awkwardly to fit between Viktor's thighs, tracing fingers over where he's parted, stretched around the insubstantial made tangible, slick fingers starting to rub slow, intent circles where his mouth had worshipped earlier. ]
You had, at risk of being pedantic, said anywhere they could fit, as well.
[ As if he doesn't enjoy being pedantic any chance he gets. There is a question with no expectation behind its answer there, Emet-Selch's shadows pausing even when the slow, steady circles of his fingers do not. ]
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His muscles twitch as Emet-Selch's hand drifts lower — that pause, so close, drags an impatient sound out of the back of his throat, but he needn't wait long. A second later, matching the pace of Hades's molten sugar voice, the shadow, all that aether, presses up, presses in, and Viktor voices his most ecstatic approval with a slow, sighing moan. He leans back, letting shadow hold him, half delirious from the feel of being so wholly surrounded, so gently touched. Viktor bucks into Emet-Selch's fingers as they settle into place, murmuring his name barely a whisper.
His eyes open only just at this next question, the implied suggestion zinging levin up his spine. Yes, stars, yes, anywhere. He wants to be surrounded, stuffed, fucked senseless. His lips part, a shuddered breath escapes.
But he has waited weeks, moons, for exactly this, too. Touched and tasted and loved with such specific care. His own pleasure demanded, and Emet-Selch, Hades, chasing it with the sort of eager reverence typically reserved for religious fervor. Every shiver, every little noise, every urgent press into friction, devoured like something holy. Answered in turn with that unbearably perfect smirk of his and the dark, delicious sounds he makes.
As gods have worshippers. Viktor's indeed.
And he wants to live in every second of it; memorize how slight he feels set upon Emet-Selch's hips, a world-shaking warrior reduced to little more than panting breath and bright whispers of approval, each grasping hand and low moan from Hades in answer, every brush of lips and fingers, the shape of his body memorized like scripture. To say nothing of the electrifying press of Hades's aether inside him as he is coaxed slowly toward greater pleasure.
This, this - it leaves him nearly delirious. They will have more time later - they will have centuries, later - to push further, to drive each other to breaking in other, wilder ways. And though it sounds unbearably delicious, what he wants all the more is simply to be loved.
Viktor tries to say as much, to give voice to his thoughts, but Emet-Selch's shadows still, and between that warm and insistent fullness and the maddeningly slow ministrations of his fingers, what escapes in place of words is a frankly vulgar groan. Pleasure twinkles, exploding stars across his awareness, swirling light and gold slipping past their barrier. Odd, perhaps, to follow that up with so romantic an admission, but Viktor grits his teeth and breathes, resisting the urge to grind his hips in time with Hades's hand, refusing to relent control of himself, to lose this slowness, this closeness he so desperately wants. ]
A-another night. [ It feels like it takes ages just to say that much. Two words, stolen between between ragged breaths. ] Another night. I- I want you to fill me, fuck me. Anywhere. B-but. Tonight- just, this. [ How horrendously embarrassing, to feel so embarrassed - so embarrassed that it spills citrus pink feeling between them - about something like this. Like some virgin, never touched properly before. Ridiculous. And yet. ] Slow. I- I want our first night to be... soft.
grgfgfgk i gotta renew my sub surprise peepaw
Lightly, he nudges the veil back, thumbing over the seam to seal it in place once again the way one would an envelope full to bursting. A taste was one thing, but sex had the - ideally if he were using it to manipulate people, not ideal when he is directly involved - an unfortunate side effect of revealing too much, at times, and there was something he wished to keep for himself. That he had the ability to keep for himself, a choice Zodiark certainly never offered. ]
As we are, then, Viktor.
[ He likes the shape of Viktor's name in his mouth too much, perhaps. To close down the connection between the two of them meant nothing when he was so obvious with tells. Around Viktor, the shadows give a pulse, almost like a massive, near-insubstantial hand squeezing gently around him, while Emet-Selch's flesh and blood hands stay busy, pressed against Viktor's skin.
He thinks very few people would ever describe him as soft, but Viktor would. Viktor, who only saw the best in him, seemingly, despite everything else that was so much worse. He was granted absolution from anything he could do through Zodiark, the manifestation of the will of their people. It is, he thinks a little wearily, much easier to only need to concern himself with just one person's wants, needs.
It has been an age since he had to be soft, since he could allow himself to be soft, but he tries. The shadows and Emet-Selch's hands coax and cajole pleasure from Viktor rather than demand it, and all too quickly the indulgent lounge Emet-Selch had settled into becomes onerous if he wishes to take in every bit of Vitktor's reactions to the flex of the shadows rocking in and out of him. Foolish, he thinks, to be envious of them when he'd had an invitation, but better this way; some measure of distance, not depending on the frankly mercurial nature of flesh and blood to cooperate. With a flick of the wrist with its hand not occupied between Viktor's thighs and the pillows grow in size and quantity, Emet-Selch effortlessly propped enough so that when the shadows gently urge Viktor in, he can close the distance to a kiss with minimal effort.
He forgets himself just as soon as he slots his lips against Viktor's; the kiss goes from glancing to intent, the hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs lifting up to curve around the nape of his neck, up until he can wind through damp curls, licking into Viktor's mouth to chase the taste of the wine they'd shared. Then, a shiver twists through him, the shadows twitching in reflex. Soft, Viktor had said. Slowly, he forces himself away, lingering on the kiss-swollen bow of Viktor's mouth, meeting his eyes for a heartbeat and then absently, he finds himself leaning in to lavish attention and a line of intent kisses over Viktor's throat just as intently as Emet-Selch had his thighs. A confession, somewhere in the curve of Viktor's throat, followed by the press of teeth into the meat of Viktor's shoulder, just hard enough to be felt.]
I had forgotten how... acute desire could be.
peepaw icon kinda appropriate at least shsjshs
And engulfed by Hades's indomitable presence, filled by his aether; every shift of muscle, met with gentle, cold resistance, a reminder that he relents physical control, but not his own command. He needs but say a word to receive just what he wants, exacting, enthusiastic. What he settles on is a soft, ecstatic sound, drawn from deep in his lungs by the shadow gathering in tight around him. His nails press crescent divots into his own thighs and he sighs, letting himself disappear into the hypnotic rhythm of moving magic inside and against him, of warm hands savoring skin, of total safety, of trust.
Hades comes closer and Viktor wills a hand free to slide it over the back of the palm pressed between his thighs. As his own cries grow increasingly sharp, he urges Hades fingers on with an eager hand, thighs parting farther as he pushes against resistance to better ride the shadows pressing inside of him.
He cannot recall a time where it had been this easy, this welcome, this desperately wanted. Not just satisfying a physical urge, not just a means to an end, but the gratification of attention, of pleasure, from the one man who feels wholly his equal. He jolts when Hades lips find his own, but it is no unwelcome surprise and he presses forward, hungry, as far as shadow will allow to chase breath, to devour that delicious shiver as it shakes another ecstatic sound out of him. ]
Not so bad, aye? Giving in. [ Viktor slows his fervent rocking only just, head dipping to whisper against Hades's ear as he worships his pulse point. Second stretch as he grapples for his voice, shadow and fingertips and teeth making it near impossible to think clearly- to think of anything at all. ] Oh, Hades. [ His voice drops to a whisper. ] Grab it. Embrace it.
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Enough, to be present here in this moment, to listen to the noises Viktor makes - noises he wrests from Viktor. He wants, irriational as it is, to bottle the sound of them up. To not have to rely on the fragilty of memory. To stretch this moment out as long as either of them can bear, and commit it to those tapestries Viktor'd mentioned. He doubts any were half as salacious as this. ]
Don't be smug. [ Emet-Selch grouches, though some of the gravel in his voice cannot wholly be attributed to irrtation so much as the heat flaring through him when Viktor presses lips against the line of his throat, exhales breath against his ear.
Then, startling even him, a laugh escapes - the ghost of one, at least, half-choked as slippery fingers are guided where Viktor wants them, feeling the ghost of sensation from Viktor riding the shadows. No, it was absolutely better this way; he doesn't know what he would have doe if he'd felt all of this at once. Drawing back enough to look at Viktor's expression, the fan of lashes against his cheek, the flush to his skin, Emet-Selch nearly forgets to be faux-irritated. Nearly. ]
I think I've embraced it - and, in fact, you - quite thoroughly at this point.
[ Abruptly, it's too much to even look at him - to face the depths of his own want, easier to press a lingering kiss against Viktor's chest, and busy himself with leaving more marks where he has been woefully inattentive, laving his tongue over Viktor's nipple. Then he leans back enough to give Viktor a coy little look while his fingers press back to where the shadows stretch him open, a glancing little touch before he guides his hand back to where it's wanted most.]
Unless you've objections. Complaints, about my...efficacy, my diligence after your lessons.
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that should read to *NOT allow fuck
LMAO I knew what you meant at least sob
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oh my god
EATS IT
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your bf just wants to turn himself into a quantum computer emet-selch nbd
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lmao for some reason it replied as a whole new top level??
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forgot the rest of the caps UGHHH
this is so long sobdhshhsh
FOOD FOR ME THO also sorry viktor you're dating a dick
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