[ 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.
[ This is how darkness could've bested light, with love, wild and ravenous. Viktor would have stood no chance, he knows, against Hades had he touched and teased, licked and laughed like this. And oh, that laugh. Fighting the cloak of magic restraining him, Viktor drags himself up the length the shadow with a moan, his desire dripping down the impossibly substantial darkness, all so that he can lean in and try to capture that sound with his mouth. Their lips crash together briefly, and he groans again as his body settles back down on Hades's aether, into his waiting fingers. He captures some of that laugh, he thinks - he hopes - alongside his own frantic voice. Viktor would, if he could, bottle Hades's laugh inside of him, write it into the make of his soul so deep a thousand cycles could not wash it away.
Their kiss breaks, and Viktor gives voice to a pleasured sigh as he admires the sight, the feel of Hades taking a pert nipple in his mouth. ]
Have I not kept your mouth busy enough? Perhaps I should put it back to work. You lose f-five points every time you s-sass, you kn-oh!
[ Viktor's teasing catches on a curse, mumbled under his breath, a vulgar prayer to Emet-Selch's true name coaxed out when his fingers drift forward. He sucks in a breath, does his level best to focus on the conversation and not the white blank levin scattering across his mind. ]
Two for the t-towel. You should be more fearless. [ More teeth, isn't that what he'd asked for? A breathy laugh slips past Viktor's lips.
Were his hands free, he might've grasped for Hades's face again. As it stands, he can only press a few ilms against the resistance, and the sudden sense of his own helplessness rocks a shiver of pleasure out of him. Viktor's laugh becomes a song, coaxed by feeling, by friction, by Hades, and he gives in just there to the desire to do nothing more than focus on the feel of Hades's mouth on his body, lift and drop himself into pulsing aether and eager fingers.
Viktor registers no more complaints, just sharp, wavering cries - to the dead gods, to the stars, to Hades - as his stomach clenches and his back bends into another body-shaking orgasm. ]
[ Emet-Selch hides the curve of his lips in the next kiss against Viktor's chest. He didn't expect to make it out of this without at least one little jab at the towel; Emet-Selch hums a vaguely disgruntled noise and scrapes his teeth across Viktor's nipple with a little more intent this time, wanting to leave a sting. Satisfied with the blush of blood risen to the surface from his handiwork, Emet-Selch thumbs over the start of a bruise and thinks they only look so lovely because of the canvas they sits upon. ]
I was plenty happy to keep my mouth busy betwixt your thighs until you couldn't bear it any longer.
[ While the shadows settled around Viktor are woven, in a way, Emet-Selch considers them more akin to webbing; he'd used an iteration of this in Amaurot to track them. With the Warrior's Light as bright as it was, the shadow Emet-Selch had been granted access to made keeping at least a vague awareness of him easier. The shadows curve and weigh Viktor when he tests his range of movement, like gently clenching a fist, but when Vitkor attempts to move, to ride, to demand his pleasure like Emet-Selch wants of him, they do not fight him. Thoughtless bits of magic to make repetitive muscle motions marginally less onerous, the sort he hadn't needed to use since attempting the arduous task of building a city.
Utilizing that little fragment of spellwork like this is preferable. This position, too, is preferable if he is not allowed to keep his mouth busy the way he wishes; from the previous position, he hadn't the easiest look up at Viktor's face. Now, at least, he can settle back into the lush spread of pillows and pay attention, rapturously drinking in sight, the sound, the smell, committing all of it to memory as best as he can.
The hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs begins to explore, tracing freckles up Viktor's belly, as it clenches, needing partway through to remind himself to breathe. The minutest shift of his fingers against Viktor's aether, akin to plucking a string, only the note is less music and very much the potential of another orgasm. He'd wanted to put in the effort with himself the first few at least but that task done, he's more than happy to cheat a little.]
Another? Or have you had your fill for the evening?
[ Hades wrests sound from him with the ease of a maestro. A gasp at the sharp prickle of teeth teasing his nipple, a low hum at the addition of another bruise. Once he's spent - or thinks he is - he leans heavily into the surrounding shadow, letting it support him as he regathers his senses from where they've been scattered about the room.
Each time Viktor thinks he has had his fill, Hades finds a new way to rekindle the sparks arcing beneath his skin. It is a hunger that seems insatiable, gnawing, ever ready to leap to life now that it has been stirred. Through the pleasant fog of satisfaction comes a vibrant buzz, thrumming nerves, thrumming awareness. Hades plays at the threads of his aether, and Viktor squirms, breath catching, very nearly toppling over the crest of another hill. One he hadn't even realized was there.
But how could he have forgotten? For moons, every bit of spellwork Emet-Selch had worked had plinked across his awareness, unignorable, maddening, until it became so routine that he nearly stopped noticing it entirely. Even then, as his senses dulled to the sensation of their mingled aether being drawn upon, he hadn't forgotten the feeling - had wanted it, found a place for it in his fantasies, and asked for it, once.
And here, when he feels like a particularly useless Sharlayan report, tossed into the air, all his pages scattered, Hades reminds him.
Viktor tips his head up, meets that golden gaze and grins. ]
I am not done with you yet, Hades. [ A pause, his eagerness undercut by discomfort. ] But I need- would you spare me a rejuvenation spell? I'm- [ The Warrior of Light is a little to vain to admit that he tires, that he aches, that his body cannot decide whether it is wholly satisfied or wants more. And so, instead, he settles on a different kind of truth. ] -If I work the magic myself, my f-flowers will steal away all your little monograms. After all that work.
[ He leans forward enough to dance fingers over Emet-Selch's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, fingers brushing over a nipple. After a moment, he angles his gaze up just enough and adds, ]
And with regards to your mouth, if you are so fond and s-so hungry, why not break your fast with me in the morning, then?
[ It has been an age since he'd worked magics like this for anything other than serving himself. A thoughtless little charm placed to help builders work more efficiently was not kindness, it was necessity; he hadn't wanted to wait six lifetimes for a building to be built and so if he could speed the process along then all the better. Neither were healing spells typically used to avoid healing except in drastic, dire cases, like needing to avoid healing a broken bone left unset for fear of it healing shattered and necessitating breaking once again so it may heal properly.
To do so is not difficult it just requires a touch of finesse. He might not have Aepymetes' or Viktor's ability to heal so effectively without some effort, but fine, detail work he can manage with a little focus. ]
I do so hate to see all my hard work go to waste. As for the matter of hunger, I can promise there is no amount of breaking fasts [ There's a slight hitch, a faint, soft intake of breath at Viktor's touch - of course he would touch, but Emet-Selch hadn't expected his own skin to hum with such sensitivity - and then he soldiers on. ] that would have any impact upon the other hunger.
[ The cool chill of his own spellwork weaves its way through Viktor slowly, the first ice-cold gulp of water after a long, hard day underneath the sun, settling in Viktor's stomach and radiating outward. Every mark remains maintained, Emet-Selch strokes a thumb over one of them with a pleased little look before glancing up at Viktor. Slowly, the shadows that had acted simply as a chair begin to gain a sense of weight again, Emet-Selch's cool fist curling around him, the flames stoked higher once again. ]
An encore, then.
[ He finds he does not mislike being called to the stage, staying perhaps a touch after his welcome, thanks to Viktor.
Afterward, he coaxes Viktor back into the bath and from it, snaps fresh sheets onto the bed, unwilling to deal with the tediousness of making it himself and certainly not bothering to summon staff at this time of night. Morning, maybe; Emet-Selch glances out frosted windows and cannot quite tell if the glow is early morning dawn or lamplights not accosted by fog. It does not matter.
He's traded the empty wine bottle from earlier for glasses of mulled wine with cinnamon sticks soaking within, and, with far less reticence than their previous time in the bath, appreciating the press of bare skin on bare skin impossibly more after the evening. A rinse will suffice, but he is not particularly eager to leave, shockingly comfortable.
When he finishes the latest glass of mulled wine, maybe. His fingers are not yet too pruney, and he's kept himself entertained enough tracing freckles upon Viktor's shoulders with fingers and mouth. From between idle presses of his mouth beween the knobs of Viktor's spine, along the nape of his neck, Emet-Selch murmurs, ]
How cross will you be were I to wake us at our normal bell for lessons?
[ Emet-Selch leaves him languid, a head full of sunbathed summer flowers and little else. An easy thing, to draw him from the bed back into the water to soak, boneless and happy, seeking any excuse to slot himself against Hades once more. It helps that being welcomed into the tub feels a little like he's gotten away with something. So many nights, Emet-Selch would steal away behind a screen to take his too long soaks in fragrant waters; an escape, Viktor had thought, from him and his questions, his motion, his sound. But now he finds himself invited in and- does Hades realize what he's done, the door he has left open?
Gliding fingertips and glancing brushes of his lips make stories of the speckles that dapple Viktor's skin, and he can almost believe that Hades might, ready to accept his weeds, turn them into welcome flowers.
A strange feeling, this lack of fear, this certainty. Viktor cannot recall a time when intimacy did not have something cold trailing its coattails. Absent is the desire to pull away, the emptiness, the hollow shame that usually follows these encounters. He does not regret demanding his own pleasure, does not wish for space, wants only to be close, as though the trail of lips against his back, the fingers drawing lines from one freckle to the next, make him more solid, more himself - not less.
Viktor selects one of Emet-Selch's hands and runs his thumbs over his palm, pressing tension outward, then tracing each finger with grazing touches of his own. He shuts his eyes, bends himself to give Hades easier access to his neck, relishing the feel of being something addictive - something worth committing to memory. ]
Oh, terribly.
[ He tips his head back to plant a clumsy kiss around whatever he can manage to catch - Emet-Selch's temple, in this case. ]
But not intolerably so. Not for you. [ He studies, curious. A grin, crooked, settles across his features as he bends an arm back at an awkward angle to card a hand through Emet-Selch's hair. ] Why? Don't tell me you were drawing up lesson plans while I had you otherwise engaged?
[ He thinks, against his own will, about a time where they had massive pools to lounge about in, where they had endless time to linger, and the promise of countless mornings after. Except - it wasn't. The pools were countless times more superior, of course, but they didn't have forever to lounge. He remembers Hythlodaeus cajoling them both to stay longer, to sleep in later, to linger in the moment instead of driving forward to the next. But there was never the promise of more mornings, and endless time. Viktor draws him back into the present directly after, grazing a kiss against his temple.
If they survive this, ten thousand years from now will he think about these moments the same way? The first time, certain in the perfection of his recollection, only to find the illusion of it gives under any amount of scrutiny.
Maybe, he thinks with the faintest twinge at recalling the old, wretched women who play cards, maybe he will write a book. Capture all of this to the pages and how he remembers it, in exacting detail. Emet-Selch would not put Viktor through reading what would likely be an enormous tome, but the Shadowkeeper owes him a favor and he trusts her to speak plainly where others might not. ]
And if I were? [ He wasn't actively mapping out plans during the process, but there were a few moments where he caught his breath and thought they would both be terribly exhausted if they continued any longer. Then, he'd tossed a healing charm upon both of them and continued.
Against his will, a yawn wrests itself from him, and he dares to slouch a little bit into the warmth of Viktor and the steadiness of the wall, glancing over to the bed with only a little longing. Soon. ] Some lessons can be given in bed. [ Emet-Selch pauses, mulled wine lifted to his mouth, amending himself. ] Magic lessons, mind. I've indulged plenty and despite the unwise decisions made, I do have tasks I must needs attend to at some point.
'Tis proof I've not been distracting enough, it seems. [ Viktor replies in a voice of spun sugar, light and silly sweet, carrying little real concern. Of course Emet-Selch's mind would race whatever he were doing - that part is not so surprising. Viktor watches though, like a cat following the fluttering of bug's wings in sunlight. With his head angled so awkwardly, with eyes half-lidded, he studies every minute change on Hades's expression. Not quite worried, but wondering.
He lacks Aepymetes's clairvoyance, and simpler than that, he lacks ages of insight both his predecessor and Hythlodaeus had. Surely the two of them could tease out the tangles of Emet-Selch's mind before they were even snags. He finds himself a little unprepared to take the reins, but inexperience has never stopped Viktor before - certainly not from trying to tackle something that mattered. His fingertips stop in their spin of idle lines in Emet-Selch's hair so that he can flatten his palm clumsily against Emet-Selch's cheek. Then, Viktor sighs. ]
Stop thinking about tomorrow for a minute. [ He angles his chin down only just, butting his forehead against the side of Emet-Selch's face, and letting the contact linger. ] Stop thinking about what might could be, what was. For a minute. Indulge me once more, here, now, and t-tell me, how are you feeling? What weighs on your mind?
At the risk of putting further ideas between those furry ears, I am not certain you could be any more distracting.
[ Viktor's busied himself with Emet-Selch's hands and he's allowed it - allowed, like he hasn't been basking in the warmth of Viktor's touch and gaze, a lazy cat in an unending sunbeam. To have him stop now, and try to get Emet-Selch's attention is distraction, but instead of annoyed there's the briefest fissure of guilt. Life was easier when he forgot what guilt felt like. ]
How am I feeling? [ He repeats, a little incredulous before he tempers his tone to something a little less incredulous. It's a valid question. He knows why Viktor is asking. He can be present now instead of in the past, or in a future that has not even been won yet. His chin hooks over Viktor's shoulder, a breath inhaled and sighed out, chest rising and falling dramatically. ] Like I could sleep a dozen years or so, wake, and sleep a dozen more.
[ He nips at Viktor's shoulder, empty glass set aside and begins to rise up and grasp soap to begin the process of being one step closer to crawling into bed. ]
It has been an age, but I can promise you I am not some virginal creature who now needs gentle handling after being tupped. [ Another pause, glancing at Viktor. ] Nor should you fear I will wake in the morning aghast at my lack of control.
[ One long, damp ear twitches. Several ideas spring to mind right away; given the tools and the time, Viktor thinks he could quite handily make himself a more delectable (or intolerable, depending on his mood) sort of bother. Were he greedier, he might plot it, but that's a project for another time. A time when his muscles don't feel like so much stretched taffy, when a warm bath, mulled wine, and Hades's embrace aren't the most satisfying things in the world -- as though that were a thing that could ever come to pass.
Viktor's fingers skim the outer shell of Emet-Selch's ear while he speaks, pointer finger down and around, then middle finger back up, repeating the process again and again, thoughtless repetition. ]
Well. I hope you can settle for a world where we can sleep a dozen hours, then wake, s-see to things for a bit, and sleep a dozen more. That's the one I've been working toward, at least. And 'twould be a pain in my arse to change plans n-now.
[ A soft snicker escapes him at the feel of Hades's teeth on his skin again. In the next breath, Emet-Selch, of course, effortlessly pinpoints what has always been the heart of Viktor's fears, but when Viktor looks at it now, that everpresent threat of abandonment doesn't loom quite so large. When he watches Hades rise up partway to grab soap, he cannot help but note just how absent that worry is. No, where biting cold should be, there is only certainty - that there will always be love between them, that Hades will ever answer, should he call. ]
Aye. I know. But even the strapping lads that worked Limsa's docks like a sweet word and a bit of care from time to time, you know. I do not coddle you, because you do not n-need to be coddled. [ He reaches for Emet-Selch's hand as he stretches, fingers closing around his wrist. ] Let me.
[ Viktor's fingers tickle. It's the strangest awareness to have - the idea that certainly no one had ever been foolish enough to attempt to do something like that to him, and the fact that Viktor wasn't doing it intentionally. He was, as far as Emet-Selch could tell, simply fascinated by the normalcy of curved ears. More than that - Emet-Selch doesn't expect the way just the faintest brush of warmth over his ears seems to have a direct line to the coals stoked in his belly; he'd thought himself exhausted but were Viktor to keep that up too much longer he might reconsider the benefits of tumbling Viktor again. They could manage in the bath.
This is, of course, the danger he'd feared. Too indulgent, all the years of work putting up the barriers necessary to achieve their great work tumbled down in the span of a few years by Viktor. Maddening. ]
This new world you envision must have more bells in a day than we currently have.
[ There is something to be said for the ease of sleeping for ages, though. While mortals cannot manage such a thing, Emet-Selch thinks that it would not be so terrible to try to get as close to such a thing as was possible. He thinks to argue, to be contrary, like it's built into his very aether, this inability to let this go, to allow Viktor the same indulgences he would have allowed Hythlodaeus and Aepymetes without a second thought ages prior. The rubble Vitkor must manage to make his way through after crashing that wall down, he thinks wryly, and hands over both the soap and washcloth with a sigh. ]
Only because arguing further would delay us retiring to bed and I am very much looking forward to what little sleep we will manage to grasp tonight.
[ Viktor is, admittedly, surprised to find soap and cloth both held out in offering. Welcome, to be sure, but unusual that Emet-Selch should relent without the two of them dancing their way right up to the cliff's edge of an argument. He takes the soap and cloth with expression carefully schooled to neutrality - not even an arch of his brows, and even his ears, blessedly, obey him this time. ]
No. [ Viktor chirrups, soft, as he works up a lather between his hands. He allows a grin to twitch across his features as he elaborates. ] We just work extra hard during those hours we are a-w-wake.
[ Almost too quick to track his movements, he repositions. Knees bent, body up and turned, then deposited back in front of Emet-Selch again, facing him now, though his attention stays mostly on the wash cloth. Emet-Selch's soaps are rich, decadent things, full of deep, delicate scent, made unignorable when worked up into a foam like this.
It reminds Viktor of their morning lessons, of Crystarium meetings where they'd find themselves sat together, of those brief moments, ages ago, when a much less kind Emet-Selch would nevertheless permit a much more foolish Viktor to get close enough to ask a question. Always subtle, then. Placed directly under his nose, now, it's shocking just how many memories the scent evokes. Not all of them good, certainly, but proof of lives intertwined for far longer than Viktor had realized. ]
Come now, sometimes it is f-fun to make bad choices. You'd've been up in bed trying to r-read all this time, anyway, had we not- [ His voice goes soft. The words that escape him are tentative, fond. ] -gotten ourselves distracted.
[ He glances up, meeting Emet-Selch's eye, and leans in. With a gentle press of fingers to Emet-Selch's jaw, Viktor tips his head back and sets to cleaning, starting at his neck and washing up to his chin with the sort of focused intensity he usually reserves for battle. Were Viktor a painter, he would obsess for ages over the way beads of sudsy water drip lines down Hades's skin. He will settle, instead, for simply watching them fall as he bobs closer to swipe the wash cloth over the back of Emet-Selch's neck. ]
What lesson have you in mind, then, that we cannot steal a bell's extra sleep?
[ The lack of reaction is its own tell; he's dealt with too many iterations of Azem, too many people in general not to recognize the stern attempt at nonchalance. Like he's a child with a scraped leg who must be lied to and told the injury is minimal to keep from being upset.
That is uncharitable. Emet-Selch swallows back anything he could say that would be misconstrued and presents himself with minimal fuss for Viktor's attention. Viktor dotes, he does not smother, does not parent. Emet-Selch could, he thinks, give a little grace when he has been offered so much. That doesn't make him any more comfortable, though. ]
Reading, I find, is generally a much less strenuous activity.
[ Viktor is doting, he is indulging himself, Emet-Selch reminds as Viktor takes his sweet time with what could very easily be a few moment process. He lingers, not so much washing as he is running the cloth over skin idly and watching water drip.
A version of him from a few years ago would have found this functionally unbearable. Not just being touched, not just the bare skin, not just the fact it was someone sundered - even if they were Azem - but the unearned experience of being spoiled would have turned his stomach. Now, he can at least recognize the feeling for what it is and squash it under his metaphorical boot, forcibly leaning into Viktor to savor the press of wet, bare skin.
A fresh glass of steaming mulled wine appears in hand, tilting his head just enough to be able to take a long pull from the teacup. ]
Am I to conjure another glass, or are you finished for the evening? [ A pause, then a slow confession, like the thought just occurred to him, and he's too tired to weigh whether or not he ought to give voice to the thought. ] There were evenings when I was - where I allowed my mind to wander. To consider a potential thread where one evening, you tired of calling back and forth to each other from floors apart. You would come up the stairs - disposing of your clothes on the steps up, of course, threatening to break one or both our necks in so doing - and join me in the bath.
[ A pause, a smirk over the rim of his teacup, a little levity in his tone under all the faux-condescension. ]
[ Hades wars with himself again. Viktor can feel it, in their mingled aether, in the storm cloud that seems to settle over him. Distraction had afforded his mind a brief ceasefire, but a thousand, thousand years of duty and disgust will not be conquered so easily. And so, Viktor focuses on washing, first up and behind his ears - which he finds plainly fascinating, and does not bother to hide the smirk that spreads across his face as he works - then down each arm, to his fingers, scrubbing diligently, allowing himself the distraction of working knots out of muscles with his fingers - as much a massage as actual cleaning. ]
Ah! Better for the heart, to get worked up from time to time. And roughly twice as fun, I reckon, depending on the b-book. [ He cuts his gaze up as he drags the washcloth over Emet-Selch's clavicles, his pleasant smile breaking with a snort of laughter into an impish grin. ] If you miss it s-so much, the next time you find your head between my legs, mayhap I'll try my hand at reading to you while you work.
[ Surprise writes itself across his features when Emet-Selch presses closer. He falls silent, wraps his arms around Emet-Selch's back to clean there, and indulges in leaving a line of gentle, lingering kisses from the edge of one shoulder, down the length of Hades's clavicle as he works. It will take ages to memorize the shape of him as much as he'd like - he does not intend to waste any opportunity to study. Not ever again.
Viktor leans back only once a question has been asked of him, and does not answer right away. He watches, listens, and most importantly tries not to let that sinful little smirk, the sharp fireplace crackle of Hades' voice reignite the embers banked in his own belly. It feels a little like a limb that's fallen asleep, fine when it is numb and nothing, startlingly sharp when it starts to come to life again. And almost frightening, how readily desire sparks in him. Like there is something hanging just outside of view, waiting to call down retribution if he wants too much in too short a time - something that will take Hades from him. And stars, he does not know how his heart would manage that.
And yet, in spite of his fear, it is all too easy to get tangled up in Emet-Selch's little fantasy - to know that he, too, had daydreamed of their bodies pressed together long before it had been a possibility. Viktor thinks of discarded clothes, of that cramped little bath, clouded with steam, surrounded by leaves and vines. Heavens, he cannot wait to be home again, to scamper up to their little tub and press even closer for lack of extra legroom. That Viktor had posed his own question, that it sits unanswered still, goes wholly forgotten.
A breathy laugh escapes him, and on its tails, the start of an admission, ]
I thought-
[ He carries himself over each sound with too much care, but catches himself, sounding like a child being scolded, and after a breath, soldiers on with more confidence. ]
'Twas my belief that your baths were meant to give you p-privacy. At best, that you needed the distance. And I've less than no interest in... imposing myself upon someone who does not want me. However- [ Viktor leaves the wash cloth floating in the water, sloshes forward, mindful of Emet-Selch's tea cup, to drape both arms over his shoulders. ] -I fear you will know very little peace, going forward. I may have f-failed in a quick surprise, but I can more than make up for it with a slow descent into madness.
[ Viktor kisses him, once, twice, three times, achingly light brushes of lips along his jaw, up to his mouth. Grin renewed, against Emet-Selch's lips, he murmurs. ]
Conjure me a chamomile tea, or I fear I will have you awake 'til our lessons would've begun, anyway.
[ He doesn't know the last time he let someone know him. Properly. To have done it now - somewhat unintentionally, is only a little frustrating to reckon with. He doesn't regret that it's happened, but it certainly does not make it as easy as it usually is to lie. His sole consolation prize is the fact that as of yet, Viktor hasn't noticed when he outright avoids any answering of questions he does not wish to address. ]
Far be it from me to dissuade you from that which we both desire, if you wish for the extra distraction.
[ It would, he thinks, be entertaining to at least try and distract Viktor to a point of total incoherence. A goal to aim for. Another reward at the end of this path, if they can manage to both survive the long walk to get there. This time, Viktor washes drags the washcloth with some level of intent, even if Emet-Selch notices that he still lingers. Dotes. He has no ground to stand on, having been similarly occupied with the line of Viktor's shoulders not a moment ago.
The press of Viktor's lips against his skin is not wholly objectionable, but Emet-Selch does tug gently at a loose curl if Viktor lingers overlong before picking up his task once again only to be the one distracted as Viktor sloshes his way over, draping arms over his shoulders, kissably close. Stars preserve him, this will be all he can think of for ages. He makes no effort to put space between them, indulgently taking the weight of him, curving his hands around the narrow line of Viktor's hips once the teacup is safely deposited. ]
They were in most cases because I enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. [ Now, the amusement is plain in his voice. Had he wanted privacy, he could have told Viktor to leave and borne any upset. He could have prohibited Viktor from coming into his room. He could have taken any number of actions he did not because, despite everything, he had enjoyed Viktor's company in his room. Had found it was not so miserable to be around someone, if you genuinely enjoyed their company.
Emet-Selch bears the kisses with a heavy sigh, the most put-upon man in this shard or the next, and brushes a kiss over Viktor's forehead, not trusting himself to hold back if he actually returned the kisses. Chamomile is easy, and easier still is recalling the precise way Viktor likes his chamomile to a point where creating it is thoughtless, reflex. He settles the gold teacup and saucer atop the lip of the tub and like a moth to flame his hand finds its way back to Viktor's waist. ]
If we take any longer in this task, we may be in here until lessons.
[ Just because he enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. Stars, what a perplexing man. Viktor allows himself an onze of self-pity for being so foolish as to have failed to see Emet-Selch's frequent soaks for what they were: comfort, vulnerability shared. The sullen pout that answers Emet-Selch's audible smirk does not hang on his features long, though. Not when Emet-Selch's hands fit to his hips like missing pieces of a puzzle, not when they have themselves so much to look forward to - a future past this mission, long baths, longer nights, a home, a life shared, a different kind of adventure than Viktor has ever known.
Treacherous, troublesome, dandelion hope springs up indefatigable, filling the blank spaces in their great duty, growing wild in the light at the end of their long, tiresome path. It feels an age since hope was a thing he could do for himself, and not the thing he was supposed to be for others. But here, in this excessive stone bath, warm and sleepy and sated, held and holding, Viktor looks ahead and for the first time in longer than he can recall, he sees points to pursue - sees things to want, however small, however silly. For the first time since the doors of the Crystal Tower first closed all those years ago, Viktor feels hope.
Suddenly, seeing this through, reaching Meteion, silencing her song, and fixing the mess left in the aftermath, feels all the more daunting - terrifying, even, in a way Viktor can't quite wrap his mind around. But it is also, somehow, all the more obtainable. No longer does it suit to be a leaf upon the wind, he must- he will grasp threads to weave the future that he wants, just as a version of him had tried ten thousand years ago. And this time, he will do it right. ]
Well.
[ Viktor butts his head into the crook of Emet-Selch's neck, planting just one more kiss on the slope of his throat. He takes a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, beset by still cracking desire, by new ambition, by an impossible wave of affection for the dreadfully smug man in his arms.
Eventually, against Emet-Selch's skin, he murmurs, ] I've a proposal.
[ He withdraws. Not far, enough to give himself room to breathe, to cool the fire beneath his skin, but not out of Emet-Selch's reach, liking the feel of his hands upon his hips too much to leave his grasp. Viktor takes the golden tea cup in hand, admires the color, and then takes a sip before continuing. ]
To bed for now. No lessons in the morning. We sleep in, late as we please. [ That's truly the most important part. ] 'Twill p-perhaps upset the little lordling, but he will think little of us retiring early once again, and leave us f-free to go snooping about in the cellar once night falls.
[ Emet-Selch could, of course, swirl into something insubstantial and explore on his own, but Viktor finds waiting around for his return to be a dreadfully boring prospect. ]
And when we're through exploring, I would have you in this tub again. To warm up.
[ He wants to trace that pout with his fingers. Wants to press his mouth there to taste the shape of it. Emet-Selch does neither and feels lesser for having not done so. Viktor's mind is working just as hard as his own does; Emet-Selch would have to be blind not to recognize the sight.
Then, Viktor folds in against him, warm and solid, openly affectionate and Emet-Selch doesn't flinch back, doesn't do more than sigh quietly and press his chin to the spot between Viktor's ears while Viktor thinks. He wants Viktor's hands back on him again. Greedily, selfishly wants Viktor working out the tension in muscles he's ignored otherwise, wants the warmth of his hands anywhere he can get them, as if he hadn't had nearly every ilm of Viktor pressed against him the last few bells. ]
Do you.
[ Not a question but a statement, murmured with smug satisfaction at the fact that Viktor has to remove himself from the situation enough to be able to give that proposal. He highly doubts he's going to agree to the proposal, but he'll always hear the options out. ]
Much as I greatly enjoy the idea of upsetting him - and please know, I do find it very appealing - I've tasks I do wish to tend to before it becomes too late in the afternoon.
[ Chasing the ghosts of asicans past, trying to solve a mystery he had a hand in creating the foundation for feels a little too much like paying penance for past mistakes. It is necessary work, though. A slew of not-quite-ascians with their powers, without their memories is an entirely different problem than the one they anticipated walking into but one they must contend with all the same. ]
I will, however, snoop through the cellars with you this evening if you like. [ He makes no attempt to close the distance, instead contenting himself with another tug at a damp curl, studying Viktor's expression like it's the first time he's seen it before, quietly admiring him. ]
You truly believed I was - to be clear- naked in the bath upstairs speaking to you instead of ushering you out, because I required privacy from you?
Tasks? [ One ear quirks back, curiosity weighing a bend into his voice. There is a faint hint of disappointment as well, mostly in knowing he will not be able to sleep until noon. ] Alone tasks?
[ His doe eyes dip to consider the cloudy suds floating on the surface of the water. Strange, that Emet-Selch should have chores to attend to on a reflection he likely has not visited since he was called back from the Sea. Much as he would likely enjoy the planning required, Viktor doubts Emet-Selch is actually secretly plotting the prince's demise -- or at least, not planning to act upon that plot. Yet.
Ascian business, then. Emet-Selch had been evasive earlier, and Viktor cannot quite blame him. Some not-yet-sleeping part of him, the part drenched in violence, trained to aim for the throat when scenting a threat to the star, mislikes the secrecy so sharply it feels like teeth sunk into his mind. But there is no one better suited - no one Viktor would more readily trust - to handle this matter. And he had said as much, promised to leave the matter of awakened Ancient souls to Hades. That fanged alert fizzles beneath the weight of his own certainty. Viktor clears his throat. ]
Call if you've need of me, and I will be there. Otherwise... [ He pauses to sip his tea. It is exactingly perfect. The right steep, the right temperature, the right honey sweetness. Of course. ] I have a grave to visit, flowers to g-gather. [ A faint smile. ] And after, some snooping, aye?
[ Emet-Selch teases a spiral tendril between his fingers, and Viktor thinks to himself that he may go to his grave refusing to admit that expensive soaps had made a different for his hair - but he cannot even work up to a scowl about it. In the span of a heartbeat, Hades goes from smug to something softer. And though Viktor is no stranger to being ogled and admired, even by Emet-Selch, he finds the look on Hades's face makes his own flood with unexpected heat. Though a part of him wants to look away at that question, he cannot help but stare back, wide-eyed, wanting the moon's undivided attention. ]
Not- not in a malicious way.
[ Now, Viktor does look away, searching for words in his teacup. He is quiet for a long time, so long it nearly seems that is all he has to say on the matter. The problem, though, is not a lack of explanation, but a lack of orderly words with which to do the explaining. ]
The first time, I did think it passing strange. But you did not like to be t-touched, and so... I th-thought you were merely saving time, aye? And every time thereafter- [ He stops. A thoughtful scowl settles on Viktor's features, brow set heavily over his eyes, mouth curling into a frown. He looses one hand to dip fingers into the water, making ripples, making movement, trying to find words. When he finally continues, it is slow, careful, as though he isn't sure where his thoughts will take him. ] -it is... easy for me to forget that I am- that others look at me and see a... person sometimes. Not, you know, the Warrior. Who is... an object. So, to my mind, you t-took your baths with me in the room, because... I was little more than a pet dog. A piece of furniture. Something that was simply present. A-and so, why would desire be involved?
[ Which, yes, means alone tasks. Better not to deal with the fact he's allied with the enemy when attempting to navigate such uneven ground. Better not to paint a target upon Viktor's back, however unintentionally, when he's only barely grazed the surface of just how much everything has changed in the wake of their deaths.
Viktor's alertness does not go unnoticed, though. Emet-Selch weighs just how much of an answer to give and decides on functionally none. Not until he understands the full scope of the situation. Not until he has made a plan for what must be done and can run it past Viktor, less for reassurance and more for the peace of mind that Viktor will not interfere if what needs to be done is ugly. ]
When we've both returned and before we explore where the princeling would prefer we do not, I will explain my...suspicions on the matter. But not until I've confirmed them wholly. You'll simply have to live with a little mystery for now, I fear.
[ To hear Viktor explain his thoughts is not necessarily a surprise. An earlier Emet-Selch likely would have agreed to the assessment, but an earlier Emet-Selch would not have let Viktor linger in the room because he had no time for ghosts and certainly no time for flesh and blood recreations of them. Fetching his own glass once again with one hand, he goes back to the lazy lounge, one elbow leaned atop the stonework. The simple answer is that the first time...he'd forgotten himself. Forgotten to hold that line between them in the sand, ceded too much territory to Viktor and had not cared to take it back. There was still a barrier of a floor between them, he'd thought, foolish. A slippery slope, as always; he'd known it then and now was proof but he cannot quite find guilt about the choice when he looks for it. ]
I took my baths with you present because it was convenient. [ An understatement. The word convenient holds a half-dozen meanings with middling success. ] I misliked the thought of wasting time, and it seemed...wasteful just to send you away when 'twas not as if you could leer at me from the bottom floor.
[ And it isn't that he thought Viktor would leer, nor that he couldn't deal with a bit of leering, exactly, either. In some cases he'd almost prefer a leer - easier than contending with the simple truth of want. ]
[ Emet-Selch does not lie to him, but rarely does he readily provide whole and transparent truths. It is something Viktor has grown accustomed to - he hardly thinks himself clever enough to suss out what Emet-Selch wants to keep hidden, anyway. And so, Viktor is left with a simple decision: trust or worry himself sick about what might could be. And, really, he's far too busy for that second option.
So, he trusts. He trusts that Hades will be safe. That the most eminent Emet-Selch will call his hero if he faces real danger. That he will not tread a trecherous path alone. He also suspects that Hades would subject himself to immense torment if it meant sparing Viktor real danger, real despair. Which is horrendously silly of him - Viktor is made to face danger, to carry despair. ]
Well- just- [ he shrugs. ] do not- do not break your own heart to spare mine. 'Tis a fraught thing you research, I know. I do not want you to face what you discover alone. [ But he trusts that Hades will trust him enough, should the need arise, and so... ] I will await the revelation of your mystery eagerly, in the meantime.
[ He tries - oh he tries to stay serious after speaking so gently. But Emet-Selch goes on, and there's a smirk twitching across his face before he's even through explaining. A bright snort of laughter escapes Viktor just as soon as Emet-Selch is done. He catches the sound in his open palm, muffling it with his hand, and then jutting a finger out just as soon as he's calmed himself down. ]
Quite bold of you to accuse me of l-leering, isn't it? [ A waggle of said accusatory finger. ] I'd wager it's not been ten minutes since you told me of your bath tub daydreams. Aye, c-convenient. Sure. I know the t-truth of it now. Convenient that your pretty rabbit can't see how excited you get thinking about him, aye? [ He drifts closer again, flapping his free hand dismissively. Water sloshes as he climbs between Emet-Selch's legs and plants himself in his space again, grin a crescent moon, voice all firelight. ] You old pervert.
[ Despite his earlier claims, the chamomile shows no signs of making him drowsy as he takes another sip - it does not even dampen his smile, pressed so close to Emet-Selch's face once more. ]
And I s-suppose we just soaked in that bath in those imaginings of yours, hm? No funny business at all.
[ Would having to cull these false-Ascians break his heart? Emet-Selch does not think so. To return them to the aetherial sea were it necessary would be nothing more complex than doing his duty. He might regret the necessity for efficiency's sake, and for Viktor's but he does not think the heartache and regret would last. That, he supposes, is part of the problem. He ought to do more than regret that culling them would make his life more difficult ultimately, but that is not a conversation he wishes to have with Viktor at any point, at all, ever.
Blessedly, he's saved from having to elaborate - or weave a few creative truths, realistically, when Viktor starts laughing, the sight, the sound snapping Emet-Selch out of the frustrating train of thought. ]
Please. I ceased leering at least a century or two into existence. I...assess and appreciate. [ Emet-Selch snaps idly at the wagging finger, no real effort to try and catch it between his teeth, too distracted with Viktor sloshing water as he glides closer, neither of them making any real effort to progress the whole bathing endeavor. Emet-Selch cannot bring himself to feel regret about that, either. His nose wrinkles at the accusation of being a pervert - he is very old, and has no defense there. ]
More often than not. [ No guilt about culling, but in this moment the most irritating sense of embarrassment blooms. Were he a weaker man he would squirm. As it is, Emet-Selch keeps his gaze steadily on Viktor's expression. Embarrassment can be wielded like any other tool in his arsenal and Viktor is far more susceptible to Emet-Selch wielding the truth like a scalpel, even if it cuts both ways. ] Do not misunderstand. I've certainly had...untoward thoughts about you and those did, occasionally, take place in the bath. But more often than not, we simply bathed. Lounged. Indulged.
As grape juice gives way to w-wine, so too does l-leering age into "appreciating" given enough time, I suppose.
[ Another laugh, this one decadent, little more than a low hum, rumbles from deep in Viktor's chest. The only thing more thoroughly threaded through his voice than doubt is fondness. His waggling becomes a more overtly teasing one, gaze narrowing with catlike focus as he attempts to dodge the half-hearted chomping of teeth to press a fingertip to the squishy tip of Emet-Selch's nose without being nipped.
The little self-made game is distracting enough that it takes an extra second to process what Emet-Selch says next. When his words finally process, Viktor hangs, attention darting from the arrow point of Hades's perfect nose to his firefly eyes.
He ]
You c-could have just told me they were all untoward thoughts.
[ But he didn't. And that is rather the point, isn't it? Viktor needn't wander far to find someone perfectly, at times upsettingly, willing to divulge all the dirty little thoughts they've had about him. Dozens of people, chomping at the bit to share an adventure with the Warrior of Light -- whatever that happens to mean. He can count on one hand the number of people who seemed happy to just sit with him, to linger. Quiet closeness, without performance, without a fight. He can scarcely belive it possible.
Viktor's head droops, not quite enough to be sad, only thoughtful. He sets his teacup aside and fishes up the washcloth, saturated and floating beneath the surface of the water. Lightly, he settles his fingers upon the scar on Hades's chest, as though it might center him. Then, after a moment, he sets back to his original work -- fetching the soap to lather up anew. ]
Would you prefer I wear pajamas when we retire? [ A pause, heavy, hesitating. ] Would you hold me? In bed.
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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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Their kiss breaks, and Viktor gives voice to a pleasured sigh as he admires the sight, the feel of Hades taking a pert nipple in his mouth. ]
Have I not kept your mouth busy enough? Perhaps I should put it back to work. You lose f-five points every time you s-sass, you kn-oh!
[ Viktor's teasing catches on a curse, mumbled under his breath, a vulgar prayer to Emet-Selch's true name coaxed out when his fingers drift forward. He sucks in a breath, does his level best to focus on the conversation and not the white blank levin scattering across his mind. ]
Two for the t-towel. You should be more fearless. [ More teeth, isn't that what he'd asked for? A breathy laugh slips past Viktor's lips.
Were his hands free, he might've grasped for Hades's face again. As it stands, he can only press a few ilms against the resistance, and the sudden sense of his own helplessness rocks a shiver of pleasure out of him. Viktor's laugh becomes a song, coaxed by feeling, by friction, by Hades, and he gives in just there to the desire to do nothing more than focus on the feel of Hades's mouth on his body, lift and drop himself into pulsing aether and eager fingers.
Viktor registers no more complaints, just sharp, wavering cries - to the dead gods, to the stars, to Hades - as his stomach clenches and his back bends into another body-shaking orgasm. ]
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[ Emet-Selch hides the curve of his lips in the next kiss against Viktor's chest. He didn't expect to make it out of this without at least one little jab at the towel; Emet-Selch hums a vaguely disgruntled noise and scrapes his teeth across Viktor's nipple with a little more intent this time, wanting to leave a sting. Satisfied with the blush of blood risen to the surface from his handiwork, Emet-Selch thumbs over the start of a bruise and thinks they only look so lovely because of the canvas they sits upon. ]
I was plenty happy to keep my mouth busy betwixt your thighs until you couldn't bear it any longer.
[ While the shadows settled around Viktor are woven, in a way, Emet-Selch considers them more akin to webbing; he'd used an iteration of this in Amaurot to track them. With the Warrior's Light as bright as it was, the shadow Emet-Selch had been granted access to made keeping at least a vague awareness of him easier. The shadows curve and weigh Viktor when he tests his range of movement, like gently clenching a fist, but when Vitkor attempts to move, to ride, to demand his pleasure like Emet-Selch wants of him, they do not fight him. Thoughtless bits of magic to make repetitive muscle motions marginally less onerous, the sort he hadn't needed to use since attempting the arduous task of building a city.
Utilizing that little fragment of spellwork like this is preferable. This position, too, is preferable if he is not allowed to keep his mouth busy the way he wishes; from the previous position, he hadn't the easiest look up at Viktor's face. Now, at least, he can settle back into the lush spread of pillows and pay attention, rapturously drinking in sight, the sound, the smell, committing all of it to memory as best as he can.
The hand not nestled between Viktor's thighs begins to explore, tracing freckles up Viktor's belly, as it clenches, needing partway through to remind himself to breathe. The minutest shift of his fingers against Viktor's aether, akin to plucking a string, only the note is less music and very much the potential of another orgasm. He'd wanted to put in the effort with himself the first few at least but that task done, he's more than happy to cheat a little.]
Another? Or have you had your fill for the evening?
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Each time Viktor thinks he has had his fill, Hades finds a new way to rekindle the sparks arcing beneath his skin. It is a hunger that seems insatiable, gnawing, ever ready to leap to life now that it has been stirred. Through the pleasant fog of satisfaction comes a vibrant buzz, thrumming nerves, thrumming awareness. Hades plays at the threads of his aether, and Viktor squirms, breath catching, very nearly toppling over the crest of another hill. One he hadn't even realized was there.
But how could he have forgotten? For moons, every bit of spellwork Emet-Selch had worked had plinked across his awareness, unignorable, maddening, until it became so routine that he nearly stopped noticing it entirely. Even then, as his senses dulled to the sensation of their mingled aether being drawn upon, he hadn't forgotten the feeling - had wanted it, found a place for it in his fantasies, and asked for it, once.
And here, when he feels like a particularly useless Sharlayan report, tossed into the air, all his pages scattered, Hades reminds him.
Viktor tips his head up, meets that golden gaze and grins. ]
I am not done with you yet, Hades. [ A pause, his eagerness undercut by discomfort. ] But I need- would you spare me a rejuvenation spell? I'm- [ The Warrior of Light is a little to vain to admit that he tires, that he aches, that his body cannot decide whether it is wholly satisfied or wants more. And so, instead, he settles on a different kind of truth. ] -If I work the magic myself, my f-flowers will steal away all your little monograms. After all that work.
[ He leans forward enough to dance fingers over Emet-Selch's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, fingers brushing over a nipple. After a moment, he angles his gaze up just enough and adds, ]
And with regards to your mouth, if you are so fond and s-so hungry, why not break your fast with me in the morning, then?
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To do so is not difficult it just requires a touch of finesse. He might not have Aepymetes' or Viktor's ability to heal so effectively without some effort, but fine, detail work he can manage with a little focus. ]
I do so hate to see all my hard work go to waste. As for the matter of hunger, I can promise there is no amount of breaking fasts [ There's a slight hitch, a faint, soft intake of breath at Viktor's touch - of course he would touch, but Emet-Selch hadn't expected his own skin to hum with such sensitivity - and then he soldiers on. ] that would have any impact upon the other hunger.
[ The cool chill of his own spellwork weaves its way through Viktor slowly, the first ice-cold gulp of water after a long, hard day underneath the sun, settling in Viktor's stomach and radiating outward. Every mark remains maintained, Emet-Selch strokes a thumb over one of them with a pleased little look before glancing up at Viktor. Slowly, the shadows that had acted simply as a chair begin to gain a sense of weight again, Emet-Selch's cool fist curling around him, the flames stoked higher once again. ]
An encore, then.
[ He finds he does not mislike being called to the stage, staying perhaps a touch after his welcome, thanks to Viktor.
Afterward, he coaxes Viktor back into the bath and from it, snaps fresh sheets onto the bed, unwilling to deal with the tediousness of making it himself and certainly not bothering to summon staff at this time of night. Morning, maybe; Emet-Selch glances out frosted windows and cannot quite tell if the glow is early morning dawn or lamplights not accosted by fog. It does not matter.
He's traded the empty wine bottle from earlier for glasses of mulled wine with cinnamon sticks soaking within, and, with far less reticence than their previous time in the bath, appreciating the press of bare skin on bare skin impossibly more after the evening. A rinse will suffice, but he is not particularly eager to leave, shockingly comfortable.
When he finishes the latest glass of mulled wine, maybe. His fingers are not yet too pruney, and he's kept himself entertained enough tracing freckles upon Viktor's shoulders with fingers and mouth. From between idle presses of his mouth beween the knobs of Viktor's spine, along the nape of his neck, Emet-Selch murmurs, ]
How cross will you be were I to wake us at our normal bell for lessons?
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Gliding fingertips and glancing brushes of his lips make stories of the speckles that dapple Viktor's skin, and he can almost believe that Hades might, ready to accept his weeds, turn them into welcome flowers.
A strange feeling, this lack of fear, this certainty. Viktor cannot recall a time when intimacy did not have something cold trailing its coattails. Absent is the desire to pull away, the emptiness, the hollow shame that usually follows these encounters. He does not regret demanding his own pleasure, does not wish for space, wants only to be close, as though the trail of lips against his back, the fingers drawing lines from one freckle to the next, make him more solid, more himself - not less.
Viktor selects one of Emet-Selch's hands and runs his thumbs over his palm, pressing tension outward, then tracing each finger with grazing touches of his own. He shuts his eyes, bends himself to give Hades easier access to his neck, relishing the feel of being something addictive - something worth committing to memory. ]
Oh, terribly.
[ He tips his head back to plant a clumsy kiss around whatever he can manage to catch - Emet-Selch's temple, in this case. ]
But not intolerably so. Not for you. [ He studies, curious. A grin, crooked, settles across his features as he bends an arm back at an awkward angle to card a hand through Emet-Selch's hair. ] Why? Don't tell me you were drawing up lesson plans while I had you otherwise engaged?
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If they survive this, ten thousand years from now will he think about these moments the same way? The first time, certain in the perfection of his recollection, only to find the illusion of it gives under any amount of scrutiny.
Maybe, he thinks with the faintest twinge at recalling the old, wretched women who play cards, maybe he will write a book. Capture all of this to the pages and how he remembers it, in exacting detail. Emet-Selch would not put Viktor through reading what would likely be an enormous tome, but the Shadowkeeper owes him a favor and he trusts her to speak plainly where others might not. ]
And if I were? [ He wasn't actively mapping out plans during the process, but there were a few moments where he caught his breath and thought they would both be terribly exhausted if they continued any longer. Then, he'd tossed a healing charm upon both of them and continued.
Against his will, a yawn wrests itself from him, and he dares to slouch a little bit into the warmth of Viktor and the steadiness of the wall, glancing over to the bed with only a little longing. Soon. ] Some lessons can be given in bed. [ Emet-Selch pauses, mulled wine lifted to his mouth, amending himself. ] Magic lessons, mind. I've indulged plenty and despite the unwise decisions made, I do have tasks I must needs attend to at some point.
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He lacks Aepymetes's clairvoyance, and simpler than that, he lacks ages of insight both his predecessor and Hythlodaeus had. Surely the two of them could tease out the tangles of Emet-Selch's mind before they were even snags. He finds himself a little unprepared to take the reins, but inexperience has never stopped Viktor before - certainly not from trying to tackle something that mattered. His fingertips stop in their spin of idle lines in Emet-Selch's hair so that he can flatten his palm clumsily against Emet-Selch's cheek. Then, Viktor sighs. ]
Stop thinking about tomorrow for a minute. [ He angles his chin down only just, butting his forehead against the side of Emet-Selch's face, and letting the contact linger. ] Stop thinking about what might could be, what was. For a minute. Indulge me once more, here, now, and t-tell me, how are you feeling? What weighs on your mind?
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[ Viktor's busied himself with Emet-Selch's hands and he's allowed it - allowed, like he hasn't been basking in the warmth of Viktor's touch and gaze, a lazy cat in an unending sunbeam. To have him stop now, and try to get Emet-Selch's attention is distraction, but instead of annoyed there's the briefest fissure of guilt. Life was easier when he forgot what guilt felt like. ]
How am I feeling? [ He repeats, a little incredulous before he tempers his tone to something a little less incredulous. It's a valid question. He knows why Viktor is asking. He can be present now instead of in the past, or in a future that has not even been won yet. His chin hooks over Viktor's shoulder, a breath inhaled and sighed out, chest rising and falling dramatically. ] Like I could sleep a dozen years or so, wake, and sleep a dozen more.
[ He nips at Viktor's shoulder, empty glass set aside and begins to rise up and grasp soap to begin the process of being one step closer to crawling into bed. ]
It has been an age, but I can promise you I am not some virginal creature who now needs gentle handling after being tupped. [ Another pause, glancing at Viktor. ] Nor should you fear I will wake in the morning aghast at my lack of control.
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Viktor's fingers skim the outer shell of Emet-Selch's ear while he speaks, pointer finger down and around, then middle finger back up, repeating the process again and again, thoughtless repetition. ]
Well. I hope you can settle for a world where we can sleep a dozen hours, then wake, s-see to things for a bit, and sleep a dozen more. That's the one I've been working toward, at least. And 'twould be a pain in my arse to change plans n-now.
[ A soft snicker escapes him at the feel of Hades's teeth on his skin again. In the next breath, Emet-Selch, of course, effortlessly pinpoints what has always been the heart of Viktor's fears, but when Viktor looks at it now, that everpresent threat of abandonment doesn't loom quite so large. When he watches Hades rise up partway to grab soap, he cannot help but note just how absent that worry is. No, where biting cold should be, there is only certainty - that there will always be love between them, that Hades will ever answer, should he call. ]
Aye. I know. But even the strapping lads that worked Limsa's docks like a sweet word and a bit of care from time to time, you know. I do not coddle you, because you do not n-need to be coddled. [ He reaches for Emet-Selch's hand as he stretches, fingers closing around his wrist. ] Let me.
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This is, of course, the danger he'd feared. Too indulgent, all the years of work putting up the barriers necessary to achieve their great work tumbled down in the span of a few years by Viktor. Maddening. ]
This new world you envision must have more bells in a day than we currently have.
[ There is something to be said for the ease of sleeping for ages, though. While mortals cannot manage such a thing, Emet-Selch thinks that it would not be so terrible to try to get as close to such a thing as was possible. He thinks to argue, to be contrary, like it's built into his very aether, this inability to let this go, to allow Viktor the same indulgences he would have allowed Hythlodaeus and Aepymetes without a second thought ages prior. The rubble Vitkor must manage to make his way through after crashing that wall down, he thinks wryly, and hands over both the soap and washcloth with a sigh. ]
Only because arguing further would delay us retiring to bed and I am very much looking forward to what little sleep we will manage to grasp tonight.
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No. [ Viktor chirrups, soft, as he works up a lather between his hands. He allows a grin to twitch across his features as he elaborates. ] We just work extra hard during those hours we are a-w-wake.
[ Almost too quick to track his movements, he repositions. Knees bent, body up and turned, then deposited back in front of Emet-Selch again, facing him now, though his attention stays mostly on the wash cloth. Emet-Selch's soaps are rich, decadent things, full of deep, delicate scent, made unignorable when worked up into a foam like this.
It reminds Viktor of their morning lessons, of Crystarium meetings where they'd find themselves sat together, of those brief moments, ages ago, when a much less kind Emet-Selch would nevertheless permit a much more foolish Viktor to get close enough to ask a question. Always subtle, then. Placed directly under his nose, now, it's shocking just how many memories the scent evokes. Not all of them good, certainly, but proof of lives intertwined for far longer than Viktor had realized. ]
Come now, sometimes it is f-fun to make bad choices. You'd've been up in bed trying to r-read all this time, anyway, had we not- [ His voice goes soft. The words that escape him are tentative, fond. ] -gotten ourselves distracted.
[ He glances up, meeting Emet-Selch's eye, and leans in. With a gentle press of fingers to Emet-Selch's jaw, Viktor tips his head back and sets to cleaning, starting at his neck and washing up to his chin with the sort of focused intensity he usually reserves for battle. Were Viktor a painter, he would obsess for ages over the way beads of sudsy water drip lines down Hades's skin. He will settle, instead, for simply watching them fall as he bobs closer to swipe the wash cloth over the back of Emet-Selch's neck. ]
What lesson have you in mind, then, that we cannot steal a bell's extra sleep?
that should read to *NOT allow fuck
That is uncharitable. Emet-Selch swallows back anything he could say that would be misconstrued and presents himself with minimal fuss for Viktor's attention. Viktor dotes, he does not smother, does not parent. Emet-Selch could, he thinks, give a little grace when he has been offered so much. That doesn't make him any more comfortable, though. ]
Reading, I find, is generally a much less strenuous activity.
[ Viktor is doting, he is indulging himself, Emet-Selch reminds as Viktor takes his sweet time with what could very easily be a few moment process. He lingers, not so much washing as he is running the cloth over skin idly and watching water drip.
A version of him from a few years ago would have found this functionally unbearable. Not just being touched, not just the bare skin, not just the fact it was someone sundered - even if they were Azem - but the unearned experience of being spoiled would have turned his stomach. Now, he can at least recognize the feeling for what it is and squash it under his metaphorical boot, forcibly leaning into Viktor to savor the press of wet, bare skin.
A fresh glass of steaming mulled wine appears in hand, tilting his head just enough to be able to take a long pull from the teacup. ]
Am I to conjure another glass, or are you finished for the evening? [ A pause, then a slow confession, like the thought just occurred to him, and he's too tired to weigh whether or not he ought to give voice to the thought. ] There were evenings when I was - where I allowed my mind to wander. To consider a potential thread where one evening, you tired of calling back and forth to each other from floors apart. You would come up the stairs - disposing of your clothes on the steps up, of course, threatening to break one or both our necks in so doing - and join me in the bath.
[ A pause, a smirk over the rim of his teacup, a little levity in his tone under all the faux-condescension. ]
You were much quicker in those imaginations.
LMAO I knew what you meant at least sob
Ah! Better for the heart, to get worked up from time to time. And roughly twice as fun, I reckon, depending on the b-book. [ He cuts his gaze up as he drags the washcloth over Emet-Selch's clavicles, his pleasant smile breaking with a snort of laughter into an impish grin. ] If you miss it s-so much, the next time you find your head between my legs, mayhap I'll try my hand at reading to you while you work.
[ Surprise writes itself across his features when Emet-Selch presses closer. He falls silent, wraps his arms around Emet-Selch's back to clean there, and indulges in leaving a line of gentle, lingering kisses from the edge of one shoulder, down the length of Hades's clavicle as he works. It will take ages to memorize the shape of him as much as he'd like - he does not intend to waste any opportunity to study. Not ever again.
Viktor leans back only once a question has been asked of him, and does not answer right away. He watches, listens, and most importantly tries not to let that sinful little smirk, the sharp fireplace crackle of Hades' voice reignite the embers banked in his own belly. It feels a little like a limb that's fallen asleep, fine when it is numb and nothing, startlingly sharp when it starts to come to life again. And almost frightening, how readily desire sparks in him. Like there is something hanging just outside of view, waiting to call down retribution if he wants too much in too short a time - something that will take Hades from him. And stars, he does not know how his heart would manage that.
And yet, in spite of his fear, it is all too easy to get tangled up in Emet-Selch's little fantasy - to know that he, too, had daydreamed of their bodies pressed together long before it had been a possibility. Viktor thinks of discarded clothes, of that cramped little bath, clouded with steam, surrounded by leaves and vines. Heavens, he cannot wait to be home again, to scamper up to their little tub and press even closer for lack of extra legroom. That Viktor had posed his own question, that it sits unanswered still, goes wholly forgotten.
A breathy laugh escapes him, and on its tails, the start of an admission, ]
I thought-
[ He carries himself over each sound with too much care, but catches himself, sounding like a child being scolded, and after a breath, soldiers on with more confidence. ]
'Twas my belief that your baths were meant to give you p-privacy. At best, that you needed the distance. And I've less than no interest in... imposing myself upon someone who does not want me. However- [ Viktor leaves the wash cloth floating in the water, sloshes forward, mindful of Emet-Selch's tea cup, to drape both arms over his shoulders. ] -I fear you will know very little peace, going forward. I may have f-failed in a quick surprise, but I can more than make up for it with a slow descent into madness.
[ Viktor kisses him, once, twice, three times, achingly light brushes of lips along his jaw, up to his mouth. Grin renewed, against Emet-Selch's lips, he murmurs. ]
Conjure me a chamomile tea, or I fear I will have you awake 'til our lessons would've begun, anyway.
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Far be it from me to dissuade you from that which we both desire, if you wish for the extra distraction.
[ It would, he thinks, be entertaining to at least try and distract Viktor to a point of total incoherence. A goal to aim for. Another reward at the end of this path, if they can manage to both survive the long walk to get there. This time, Viktor washes drags the washcloth with some level of intent, even if Emet-Selch notices that he still lingers. Dotes. He has no ground to stand on, having been similarly occupied with the line of Viktor's shoulders not a moment ago.
The press of Viktor's lips against his skin is not wholly objectionable, but Emet-Selch does tug gently at a loose curl if Viktor lingers overlong before picking up his task once again only to be the one distracted as Viktor sloshes his way over, draping arms over his shoulders, kissably close. Stars preserve him, this will be all he can think of for ages. He makes no effort to put space between them, indulgently taking the weight of him, curving his hands around the narrow line of Viktor's hips once the teacup is safely deposited. ]
They were in most cases because I enjoyed the indulgence of a bath. [ Now, the amusement is plain in his voice. Had he wanted privacy, he could have told Viktor to leave and borne any upset. He could have prohibited Viktor from coming into his room. He could have taken any number of actions he did not because, despite everything, he had enjoyed Viktor's company in his room. Had found it was not so miserable to be around someone, if you genuinely enjoyed their company.
Emet-Selch bears the kisses with a heavy sigh, the most put-upon man in this shard or the next, and brushes a kiss over Viktor's forehead, not trusting himself to hold back if he actually returned the kisses. Chamomile is easy, and easier still is recalling the precise way Viktor likes his chamomile to a point where creating it is thoughtless, reflex. He settles the gold teacup and saucer atop the lip of the tub and like a moth to flame his hand finds its way back to Viktor's waist. ]
If we take any longer in this task, we may be in here until lessons.
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Treacherous, troublesome, dandelion hope springs up indefatigable, filling the blank spaces in their great duty, growing wild in the light at the end of their long, tiresome path. It feels an age since hope was a thing he could do for himself, and not the thing he was supposed to be for others. But here, in this excessive stone bath, warm and sleepy and sated, held and holding, Viktor looks ahead and for the first time in longer than he can recall, he sees points to pursue - sees things to want, however small, however silly. For the first time since the doors of the Crystal Tower first closed all those years ago, Viktor feels hope.
Suddenly, seeing this through, reaching Meteion, silencing her song, and fixing the mess left in the aftermath, feels all the more daunting - terrifying, even, in a way Viktor can't quite wrap his mind around. But it is also, somehow, all the more obtainable. No longer does it suit to be a leaf upon the wind, he must- he will grasp threads to weave the future that he wants, just as a version of him had tried ten thousand years ago. And this time, he will do it right. ]
Well.
[ Viktor butts his head into the crook of Emet-Selch's neck, planting just one more kiss on the slope of his throat. He takes a moment, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, beset by still cracking desire, by new ambition, by an impossible wave of affection for the dreadfully smug man in his arms.
Eventually, against Emet-Selch's skin, he murmurs, ] I've a proposal.
[ He withdraws. Not far, enough to give himself room to breathe, to cool the fire beneath his skin, but not out of Emet-Selch's reach, liking the feel of his hands upon his hips too much to leave his grasp. Viktor takes the golden tea cup in hand, admires the color, and then takes a sip before continuing. ]
To bed for now. No lessons in the morning. We sleep in, late as we please. [ That's truly the most important part. ] 'Twill p-perhaps upset the little lordling, but he will think little of us retiring early once again, and leave us f-free to go snooping about in the cellar once night falls.
[ Emet-Selch could, of course, swirl into something insubstantial and explore on his own, but Viktor finds waiting around for his return to be a dreadfully boring prospect. ]
And when we're through exploring, I would have you in this tub again. To warm up.
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Then, Viktor folds in against him, warm and solid, openly affectionate and Emet-Selch doesn't flinch back, doesn't do more than sigh quietly and press his chin to the spot between Viktor's ears while Viktor thinks. He wants Viktor's hands back on him again. Greedily, selfishly wants Viktor working out the tension in muscles he's ignored otherwise, wants the warmth of his hands anywhere he can get them, as if he hadn't had nearly every ilm of Viktor pressed against him the last few bells. ]
Do you.
[ Not a question but a statement, murmured with smug satisfaction at the fact that Viktor has to remove himself from the situation enough to be able to give that proposal. He highly doubts he's going to agree to the proposal, but he'll always hear the options out. ]
Much as I greatly enjoy the idea of upsetting him - and please know, I do find it very appealing - I've tasks I do wish to tend to before it becomes too late in the afternoon.
[ Chasing the ghosts of asicans past, trying to solve a mystery he had a hand in creating the foundation for feels a little too much like paying penance for past mistakes. It is necessary work, though. A slew of not-quite-ascians with their powers, without their memories is an entirely different problem than the one they anticipated walking into but one they must contend with all the same. ]
I will, however, snoop through the cellars with you this evening if you like. [ He makes no attempt to close the distance, instead contenting himself with another tug at a damp curl, studying Viktor's expression like it's the first time he's seen it before, quietly admiring him. ]
You truly believed I was - to be clear- naked in the bath upstairs speaking to you instead of ushering you out, because I required privacy from you?
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[ His doe eyes dip to consider the cloudy suds floating on the surface of the water. Strange, that Emet-Selch should have chores to attend to on a reflection he likely has not visited since he was called back from the Sea. Much as he would likely enjoy the planning required, Viktor doubts Emet-Selch is actually secretly plotting the prince's demise -- or at least, not planning to act upon that plot. Yet.
Ascian business, then. Emet-Selch had been evasive earlier, and Viktor cannot quite blame him. Some not-yet-sleeping part of him, the part drenched in violence, trained to aim for the throat when scenting a threat to the star, mislikes the secrecy so sharply it feels like teeth sunk into his mind. But there is no one better suited - no one Viktor would more readily trust - to handle this matter. And he had said as much, promised to leave the matter of awakened Ancient souls to Hades. That fanged alert fizzles beneath the weight of his own certainty. Viktor clears his throat. ]
Call if you've need of me, and I will be there. Otherwise... [ He pauses to sip his tea. It is exactingly perfect. The right steep, the right temperature, the right honey sweetness. Of course. ] I have a grave to visit, flowers to g-gather. [ A faint smile. ] And after, some snooping, aye?
[ Emet-Selch teases a spiral tendril between his fingers, and Viktor thinks to himself that he may go to his grave refusing to admit that expensive soaps had made a different for his hair - but he cannot even work up to a scowl about it. In the span of a heartbeat, Hades goes from smug to something softer. And though Viktor is no stranger to being ogled and admired, even by Emet-Selch, he finds the look on Hades's face makes his own flood with unexpected heat. Though a part of him wants to look away at that question, he cannot help but stare back, wide-eyed, wanting the moon's undivided attention. ]
Not- not in a malicious way.
[ Now, Viktor does look away, searching for words in his teacup. He is quiet for a long time, so long it nearly seems that is all he has to say on the matter. The problem, though, is not a lack of explanation, but a lack of orderly words with which to do the explaining. ]
The first time, I did think it passing strange. But you did not like to be t-touched, and so... I th-thought you were merely saving time, aye? And every time thereafter- [ He stops. A thoughtful scowl settles on Viktor's features, brow set heavily over his eyes, mouth curling into a frown. He looses one hand to dip fingers into the water, making ripples, making movement, trying to find words. When he finally continues, it is slow, careful, as though he isn't sure where his thoughts will take him. ] -it is... easy for me to forget that I am- that others look at me and see a... person sometimes. Not, you know, the Warrior. Who is... an object. So, to my mind, you t-took your baths with me in the room, because... I was little more than a pet dog. A piece of furniture. Something that was simply present. A-and so, why would desire be involved?
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[ Which, yes, means alone tasks. Better not to deal with the fact he's allied with the enemy when attempting to navigate such uneven ground. Better not to paint a target upon Viktor's back, however unintentionally, when he's only barely grazed the surface of just how much everything has changed in the wake of their deaths.
Viktor's alertness does not go unnoticed, though. Emet-Selch weighs just how much of an answer to give and decides on functionally none. Not until he understands the full scope of the situation. Not until he has made a plan for what must be done and can run it past Viktor, less for reassurance and more for the peace of mind that Viktor will not interfere if what needs to be done is ugly. ]
When we've both returned and before we explore where the princeling would prefer we do not, I will explain my...suspicions on the matter. But not until I've confirmed them wholly. You'll simply have to live with a little mystery for now, I fear.
[ To hear Viktor explain his thoughts is not necessarily a surprise. An earlier Emet-Selch likely would have agreed to the assessment, but an earlier Emet-Selch would not have let Viktor linger in the room because he had no time for ghosts and certainly no time for flesh and blood recreations of them. Fetching his own glass once again with one hand, he goes back to the lazy lounge, one elbow leaned atop the stonework. The simple answer is that the first time...he'd forgotten himself. Forgotten to hold that line between them in the sand, ceded too much territory to Viktor and had not cared to take it back. There was still a barrier of a floor between them, he'd thought, foolish. A slippery slope, as always; he'd known it then and now was proof but he cannot quite find guilt about the choice when he looks for it. ]
I took my baths with you present because it was convenient. [ An understatement. The word convenient holds a half-dozen meanings with middling success. ] I misliked the thought of wasting time, and it seemed...wasteful just to send you away when 'twas not as if you could leer at me from the bottom floor.
[ And it isn't that he thought Viktor would leer, nor that he couldn't deal with a bit of leering, exactly, either. In some cases he'd almost prefer a leer - easier than contending with the simple truth of want. ]
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So, he trusts. He trusts that Hades will be safe. That the most eminent Emet-Selch will call his hero if he faces real danger. That he will not tread a trecherous path alone. He also suspects that Hades would subject himself to immense torment if it meant sparing Viktor real danger, real despair. Which is horrendously silly of him - Viktor is made to face danger, to carry despair. ]
Well- just- [ he shrugs. ] do not- do not break your own heart to spare mine. 'Tis a fraught thing you research, I know. I do not want you to face what you discover alone. [ But he trusts that Hades will trust him enough, should the need arise, and so... ] I will await the revelation of your mystery eagerly, in the meantime.
[ He tries - oh he tries to stay serious after speaking so gently. But Emet-Selch goes on, and there's a smirk twitching across his face before he's even through explaining. A bright snort of laughter escapes Viktor just as soon as Emet-Selch is done. He catches the sound in his open palm, muffling it with his hand, and then jutting a finger out just as soon as he's calmed himself down. ]
Quite bold of you to accuse me of l-leering, isn't it? [ A waggle of said accusatory finger. ] I'd wager it's not been ten minutes since you told me of your bath tub daydreams. Aye, c-convenient. Sure. I know the t-truth of it now. Convenient that your pretty rabbit can't see how excited you get thinking about him, aye? [ He drifts closer again, flapping his free hand dismissively. Water sloshes as he climbs between Emet-Selch's legs and plants himself in his space again, grin a crescent moon, voice all firelight. ] You old pervert.
[ Despite his earlier claims, the chamomile shows no signs of making him drowsy as he takes another sip - it does not even dampen his smile, pressed so close to Emet-Selch's face once more. ]
And I s-suppose we just soaked in that bath in those imaginings of yours, hm? No funny business at all.
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Blessedly, he's saved from having to elaborate - or weave a few creative truths, realistically, when Viktor starts laughing, the sight, the sound snapping Emet-Selch out of the frustrating train of thought. ]
Please. I ceased leering at least a century or two into existence. I...assess and appreciate. [ Emet-Selch snaps idly at the wagging finger, no real effort to try and catch it between his teeth, too distracted with Viktor sloshing water as he glides closer, neither of them making any real effort to progress the whole bathing endeavor. Emet-Selch cannot bring himself to feel regret about that, either. His nose wrinkles at the accusation of being a pervert - he is very old, and has no defense there. ]
More often than not. [ No guilt about culling, but in this moment the most irritating sense of embarrassment blooms. Were he a weaker man he would squirm. As it is, Emet-Selch keeps his gaze steadily on Viktor's expression. Embarrassment can be wielded like any other tool in his arsenal and Viktor is far more susceptible to Emet-Selch wielding the truth like a scalpel, even if it cuts both ways. ] Do not misunderstand. I've certainly had...untoward thoughts about you and those did, occasionally, take place in the bath. But more often than not, we simply bathed. Lounged. Indulged.
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[ Another laugh, this one decadent, little more than a low hum, rumbles from deep in Viktor's chest. The only thing more thoroughly threaded through his voice than doubt is fondness. His waggling becomes a more overtly teasing one, gaze narrowing with catlike focus as he attempts to dodge the half-hearted chomping of teeth to press a fingertip to the squishy tip of Emet-Selch's nose without being nipped.
The little self-made game is distracting enough that it takes an extra second to process what Emet-Selch says next. When his words finally process, Viktor hangs, attention darting from the arrow point of Hades's perfect nose to his firefly eyes.
He ]
You c-could have just told me they were all untoward thoughts.
[ But he didn't. And that is rather the point, isn't it? Viktor needn't wander far to find someone perfectly, at times upsettingly, willing to divulge all the dirty little thoughts they've had about him. Dozens of people, chomping at the bit to share an adventure with the Warrior of Light -- whatever that happens to mean. He can count on one hand the number of people who seemed happy to just sit with him, to linger. Quiet closeness, without performance, without a fight. He can scarcely belive it possible.
Viktor's head droops, not quite enough to be sad, only thoughtful. He sets his teacup aside and fishes up the washcloth, saturated and floating beneath the surface of the water. Lightly, he settles his fingers upon the scar on Hades's chest, as though it might center him. Then, after a moment, he sets back to his original work -- fetching the soap to lather up anew. ]
Would you prefer I wear pajamas when we retire? [ A pause, heavy, hesitating. ] Would you hold me? In bed.
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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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