[ 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.
Hm. [ It is a tired, noncommittal rumble in acknowledgement of what was said rather than agreement necessarily. His attempt works, not that he expected anything else. Viktor is distracted from the prior subject nearly entirely it seems, and Emet-Selch allows himself a moment to be pleased. He isn't entirely wound around Viktor's finger. Not yet at least. ]
I could have, but that would have been a lie and those are tiresome.
[ Viktor returns to his task and Emet-Selch watches him with a predator's intent, half-heartedly reaching for his own teacup to take a drink but far more interested in Viktor than the contents of the glass. He wants to ask if Viktor would rather they pretend those imaginations were predominantly inappropriate, but he doesn't think the answer is yes. If he had to make a guess, he'd assume the real novelty is the idea that one might not want a quick tumble, but instead the thousand quiet intimacies between those moments that one might take for granted without the threat of losing them ]
...Do you normally sleep nude when alone and simply acquiesce to clothing when joining me in my quarters?
[ Emet-Selch doesn't answer the latter question instantly, finally winding his fingers around the teacup after pat-searching for it, and brings it to his mouth while Viktor soaps the washcloth anew. By now the heat has left the dredges; Emet-Selch silently spells it full and hot again, pleasantly warm and soft around the edges. It is not often he indulges in alcohol enough to feel something, but so long as he doesn't take another glass he thinks he comfortably straddles the line of enjoyable. ]
I am not opposed to physical contact in bed. You will be cautious, though.
[ It's not so long ago Emet-Selch had mistaken him for an assassin; it didn't matter there was no real threat, he'd prefer not to accidentally injure Viktor because in a half-awake state already jarred by the malms of bare skin, he'd forgotten where, when he was. ]
[ It's an earnest question. Before all this, "normal" had been his leathers for pajamas, his pack for a pillow. Rarer, a series of rented rooms, each with their own quirks - too starchy sheets in Sharlayan, too frigid for anything less than his full robe in Ishgard, too hot in Ul'dah to wear anything at all. Full pajamas and a robe and the embroidery if Alphinaud or Alisaie needed company to get to sleep. That plus a bottle of wine if it was Y'shtola or Lyse or Tataru needing to talk out their busy minds before bed.
Normal was flexibility. Normal is flexibility. Still, he does not wait for an answer. ]
When there is a bed, my preference is to sleep in linen pants. [ He returns to the work of washing, studying Emet-Selch's dips and curves. Soapy freckled fingers swipe over pale skin, and in that contrast, an impossibly old memory, his and not his, flits by dreamlike. He does not reach out to grasp the foggy deja vu feeling this time. Doesn't need to. Not when they make their own new memories here and now. He glances up, looks Hades in the eye. ] But my preference tonight is to feel you on my skin.
[ Viktor has some trouble, adhering to the task as stated. Too often does he lose track of what he should be doing and get lost in the simple joy of touching, of massaging tense muscles, of studying Emet-Selch's fingers and how much larger they are than his own.
He almost doesn't hear the last comment, but it makes both ears twitch with sudden focus. A huff of laughter escapes him, and he arches a brow at Hades, incredulous. ]
You will be cautious. [ A faint grin, fearless. He recalls quite clearly what Emet-Selch references. He does not care. ] I will be a-s-sleep.
Do not attempt to be cute. You know perfectly well what I mean.
[ Normal can mean anything depending on the day, but Viktor is being willfully obtuse. Unimpressed (but not unappreciative, at least), both with the avoidance and with Viktor's syrupy-slow attempt at washing, Emet-Selch allows him a few more moments of lingering and distraction and then before he allows Viktor to go so far as a proper massage, stands. The water sloshes at his hips, as he raises to his full height, tipping Viktor's chin up with a finger hooked beneath it.]
Then let us be asleep, sooner rather than later. [ A snap, a thoughtless little expenditure of aether. The bath, cleared. Viktor, sat in the dry stone with a pair of his linen trousers for him to keep or remove if needed. Emet-Selch, absolutely not in linen trousers but silk, forgoing a shirt despite the familiar magic tugging at him in offering. Compromise. Their bodies, cleaned, dried. A useful spell for the road, when one doesn't have access to somewhere proper to bathe and would rather avoid the river, but it never compares to an actual bath. ]
You may divest yourself of them when we are in bed where 'tis warm. [ But he'd thought at least getting to the bed or managing their wind-down routine, well, he might like to have some trousers on. ] Are you quite set on linen?
[ A mental image, suddenly, of Viktor in silk trousers, throwing himself across the bed, sliding across it heedless of the fact he might break his neck. Emet-Selch swallows a sigh, and steps out from the bath, teacup in one hand, the other tugging a silk dressing gown from nowhere to pull on for the time being. ]
Come along. Chop chop. There's a perfectly serviceable bed, and I would like to see it utilized for its intended purpose for at least a few bells tonight.
I am not being c-cute. [ A protest, delicately lodged. Emet-Selch fits a finger beneath Viktor's jaw, and his gaze goes where it's directed without resistance. Too readily, perhaps, does he heed Emet-Selch's command -- too readily does he find himself enjoying allowing Hades to direct him. ] You are very precise with your words. It- it makes me s-stop to more thoroughly consider my own. Before we came back to the First, I rarely stayed in the same p-place twice in a-
[ Hades changes their situation with a thoughtless snap, and though Viktor does not flinch at the change, it does leave him feeling a bit silly. Sat on stone wearing pants he wasn't a moment before, staring up at Emet-Selch, half-clothed. Noticing that he is half-clothed, not draped in pajamas that hew so close to Amaurotine robes. Funny, how a bit of extra fabric can be so much more appealing than simple nakedness. Viktor catches himself staring at the jutting points of Emet-Selch's hips, quietly amused and doing exactly what Hades had implied he might do.
He shakes his head, takes a second to account for the sensation of being suddenly clean, suddenly dry. A hand lifts, lighting on his crown. His hair is... not right. Not wrong, either. But he can tell by sense that the wild, windblown mess coils up higher than it should - corkscrews where waves should be, springing in odd directions, swallowing up the flowers that usually press his hair down. The silly shampoos, he tells himself, had nothing to do with it. ]
I've not slept much in anything but linen. 'Tis simply what I am used to.
[ He fetches his tea cup and rises, takes a sip, and then returns to his original thought, ]
Before we settled, there was no normal. And so, I h-had to think about what my preference was. [ Viktor steps out of the tub, mislikes how cold the floor is on his feet, and hurries over to the bed on tip toe. Somehow, he doesn't spill a drop of tea as he scurries, nor as he tosses himself into bed. The faintest tug on ambient aether perhaps explains away his remarkable ability to hold his cup steady as he seats himself on the bed. He takes one more sip before setting it on the bedside table. ] I've preferences now, though.
[ A doubtful, disagreeable noise, but he does not actually argue the fact despite the certainty he would win if he did. Viktor admitting he wants to be more thoughtful in his speech smooths down any disagreement, however minor. Viktor picks his way across the chilled stone and Emet-Selch sweeps his way through the room to tidy up what little he's moved about.
The water he'd pulled from the bath he reforms into yet another blanket, flicking it across the bed with a casual flip of his wrist from across the room. It settles itself across the bed, corners matched, soft to the touch and smelling vaguely of the same mint from the bath. If he hadn't expressed an interest in sleeping without as much clothing Emet-Selch would have created a couple sets of sleep pants to try on; as it is, he adds it to the back of his mind to consider later. ]
And? You've preferences now when you did not previously. Tell me some of them. [ a pause, a sideways look from where he's hanging up tomorrow's clothes for easy access. ] A non-insignificant number of them seem to be around not wearing clothing.
Hm. [ Viktor echoes the sound, sighs right after. Heatless, he complains, ] Must you 'hm' me when I am being en-t-tirely sincere?
[ More pressing than their brewing debate is fleeing this reflection's relentless, biting cold. Viktor burrows beneath sheets, into blankets, pulling them up over his nose, and then decides that even that is not warm enough. He sits up, finds one of the lingering fire crystals tucked into the bed's corners, only glancingly warm now, and attempts to coax it back to life.
His body interferes halfway through pulling threads. Light insists upon stillness, and the dim red glow goes pearly white. Heat turns to nothing, radiant numbness. Viktor plucks the crystal from where it's tucked with a frown, oozing disappointment, and sets it beside his half-empty teacup, an incandescent beacon in the candlelit room. He glares at the thing until Emet-Selch's next line of questions grabs his attention anew. ]
You say it as though it is a b-bad thing. The unfortunate truth is, I am quite f-fond of you, Emet-Selch, and my preference for less clothing is tied up in th-that.
[ A pause, a pout, he allows himself to consider the question in earnest with a rush of air through his nose. ]
I like our- [ All the hairs of the back of Viktor's neck stand on end, jolted by mortification. ] -your bed in the Crystarium. 'Tis quite big. And soft. Ample room to s-sprawl, but I can still r-reach you. And... it s-smells like you. 'Tis always warm, familiar.
[ Finally Viktor reclines, head settling into a ludicrously soft pillow, attention fixed on Emet-Selch as he tidies his quarters. Easier to watch him dodder about than to think about his own desires, still. It is, he finds, almost painful to consider want too directly. Even something as simple as how he'd prefer to sleep makes his brain, his nerves, his whole body rebel. As though he is aught but scar tissue, stiff and aching when pushed too far. ]
I don't know. [ He pulls the covers up over his head 'til only the tips of his ears stick out. Silence settles for a few heavy seconds before he goes on. From beneath the blankets, surrounded by warmth, Viktor allows: ] I do not l-like when it is too dark. Candles, or ceruleum lanterns, or hearth fire. The light, the sound, the smell - they are a comfort. [ Another pause. Then, soft, quiet: ] These blankets smell n-nice.
[ The downside to keeping his room in a near-exacting state, even when borrowed, is that there is precious little he needs to clean up to make it presentable for the day coming. This leaves him with precious little to distract from the fact Viktor lies between his bed's covers, and he very, very much wants to go join him.
Did he take the trousers off Emet-Selch had magicked into place for him? Is it better or worse if he doesn't? The faint pang of disappointment at the thought feels a little like a betrayal of himself; hasn't he had enough at this point? But no. He doesn't think he has. Doesn't think he will ever hit a point of enough, doesn't think that point exists. ]
Our bed, is it.
[ At least he finds the overall process easier when Viktor is the one on the off foot. He takes the unintentional bait dangled before him and uses it, shameless, prowling over to the bed. The robe is slid off of his shoulders, tossed upon one of the chairs near the bed and Emet-Selch pauses at his side of the bed, considering the knowledge as well as the altered crystal. Another snap, less theatrical, like the effort is more out of habit than attempting to put on any sort of show. Across the room, candelabras melt into existence, pre-lit, casting the whole of the room into dim lighting. Not so much it would be difficult to sleep, but enough that they won't walk into a piece of furniture getting up in the middle of the night to relieve themselves.
He keeps his sleep pants on, after a beat of hesitation, parting the covers, gingerly sliding between them, settling on his back and then just as soon as he's settled, rolling onto his side to regard Viktor quietly, scooting into the no man's land between them that once used to be an unthinkable distance to cross. Gently, he hooks finger into the blankets tugged above Viktor's head, nudging them down to his chin and then just...doesn't remove his arm from where it's settled atop his chest, despite the chill his shoulders and arm are exposed to. He can feel Viktor's warmth, just ilms away if he chooses to close the distance and bask in it. ]
Do you require additional candles or are these sufficient?
[ Regardless of Viktor's answer, he draws fingers across the covers and the crystals flare with renewed warmth once again, the bed slowly warming around them. ]
[ Our bed. Like a boy again, caught sneaking out when he should be in bed, Viktor tenses and stills, shoulders bunching. A mercy that he's hidden beneath blankets, the only sign he's been startled an innocuous shift of the lump on the bed as he forces himself to relax. It takes him a few seconds longer to work up the nerve to respond, listening to the sound of shifting cloth, another snap of fingers. ]
Would you find it tolerable? [ Viktor murmurs into the blankets settled over his face. It was Emet-Selch's bed first, after all. His quarters. His space, even if Viktor has become a persistent presence. Whatever they are, he is not so sure they have quite progressed to joint ownership of furniture -- something so wildly domestic as to be wholly alien, completely absurd. Thinking about it sends a wave of frission jolting up Viktor's back.
And then, a second later, the bed creaks from added weight. In seconds that tick by like stretched minutes, Emet-Selch settles, moves closer, and ilms the blankets down until Viktor's face is exposed to the cold. He opens his eyes, blinking at the new, low flickering light. Exactly what he'd asked for, not too bright, just enough to chase the dark away. Something like terror but not bubble up from low in Viktor's stomach. The feeling wraps around his lungs, squeezes, sets his heart to a galloping pace that surely, mortifyingly, Emet-Selch can feel beneath his palm.
Viktor swallows, shoring up the will to respond. ]
'Tis p-perfect.
[ He angles his head, trying to catch a glimpse at Emet-Selch lying behind him without moving too much, not wanting him to slip away. After a second, he slips a hand down to slide beneath the waistband of the linen trousers Emet-Selch had created for him. Viktor holds his breath, lifts his hips, and shoves the soft spun cloth down. Off his hips, past his thighs, until they're far enough down that he can wriggle the rest of the way out of them with a few kicks of his legs, leaving them hanging off the side of the bed.
Naked again, Viktor scoots back, closing the minute distance between them and pressing himself into the bend of Hades's body, hungry for his warmth, eager to be surrounded. He curls an arm around his pillow and shuts his eyes. ]
[ He strains to think about other evenings in his quarters. He was perfectly happy with blackout curtains, drawn tight about the windows to try and maintain as much darkness as possible through the evening. More often than not he'd leave a fire lit, either in the fireplace or through candles just to be able to see enough to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night if needed, but no more.
No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?
[ He cannot help but sass back, though when Emet-Selch closes an arm around his waist to draw him in, it rather dampens the desire to give him any trouble at all. A hum, low and pleased, rolls out of him as he feels his shoulder blades press to skin. Embraced wholly, every ilm of him cradled by warmth, his skin prickles where they've slotted together, matched pieces.
And in the next breath, in the heartbeat of silence that follows, doubt bubbles up in the hollow of his chest; his lot is to serve, not receive such decadence. He is undeserving, has been spoiled, and the star will take its due for this excess.
Viktor shuts his eyes more tightly, lights his fingers on the back of the palm draped over his stomach, and pushes back on that feeling. This is worth it, and it will not be taken from him so easily.
Hades asks a question, and Viktor remembers to breathe. The tension set into his muscles unwinds, and he echoes the yawn, unable to help himself. ]
Our... kitchen, maybe. [ He offers, low and thoughtful, welcoming the distraction from darker thoughts. ] Our cups and plates. Our hearth. Our window garden. Our bath. [ Each item he lists draws a bit more tension out of him, and he echoes Emet-Selch's yawn, unable to help himself. ] Your shoebill. But, our... [ He starts to drift toward dreaming, voice going quiet as he slips into unconsciousness. ] ...little sprouts.
[ Emet-Selch doesn't answer given Viktor doesn't seem actually upset. More than that - he's grateful for the bit of distance between them all the same. He hadn't elected to bother chasing orgasm when they were together, far more satisfied lavishing attention upon Viktor. Uncomfortable but manageable. Were they both nude, half-awake in the morning, Emet-Selch is not certain the word no would be known to him were he propositioned in the morning.
Our is a dangerous word, he thinks, curving himself tighter around Viktor the sleeper his voice gets, daring to hook his fingers in Viktor's after a little patting about, index finger and middle curved loosely with Viktor's. ]
Hm. [ A hum, a murmur of acknowledgment, waiting until Viktor finally dozes off, his breathing evening out before Emet-Selch dares to tighten his grip around Viktor, tugging the blankets in around them even tighter. To lose this will be unbearable. Losing everything once had fundamentally cracked and broken something within him as a person; he'd known that then, but hadn't realized to what extent until lifetimes later. He wants, insanely, to start searching for Meteion. To take her out now, rather than waiting for her to subsume the world and hope they've salvaged enough to eke out a victory. Impossible, of course - he doesn't know where to begin searching, but the thought itches.
For now, he contents himself with memorizing this: the weight of the blankets tucked around them. Viktor's breathing as it settles into sleep. The scent of his curls, and beneath that, him, the warmth of his body and the malms of bare skin. It is enough. It has to be, for now. ]
[ There are no birds on this reflection save those relegated to the private menageries of wealthy lords. Or, if there are others, they do not choose to sleep here in these cold climes. Emet-Selch's candles, objects of Creation, do not burn down to stubs as the night rolls on, still flickering softly hours later. Viktor wakes to silence, to the faint warm cast of gold firelight, and cannot tell what time it is. Hades still clutches him close, tight, as though he fears he might lose him if he is not vigilant, and for a moment Viktor thinks he has only stirred from dozing, that only minutes have passed. Or that time itself fell victim to this frigid shard and froze in place.
He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?
[ He sleeps, he dreams. Insubstantial, whisps of things he'll never remember in full clarity come morning. They attend the theatre - Hythlodaeus is there, impossibly, within the Crystarium, making little comments in an attempt to get Emet-Selch and Viktor to break and laugh. They walk through Amaurot - it must be Amaurot, but as she was - with Viktor leading him by the hand, ducking them into anywhere that looks interesting. Their bedroom, one body already within the bed, another soon to come, the one within pressing kisses against his face nearly enough to rouse him and a knock heralding the other's arrival except-
The body within the bed shifts, starts to extricate itself and Emet-Selch makes a vaguely disgruntled sound into the pillow. The cold strikes him first, a sharp awareness borne from the lack of thick pajamas from throat to ankles. He tugs at the blankets and nestles closer within them, letting Viktor handle letting in - ah.
The dream crumbles away to nothing but insubstantial impressions, and Emet-Selch slowly wrests his eyes open, taking in the sight of Viktor in his patchwork robe at the door and the person outside, decidedly not Hythlodaeus. The disappointment he expects does not manifest; there's only a lingering grogginess from sleep debt needing repayment. He has, he thinks, slept through the chronometer's alarum. Or, more likely, he simply forgot to schedule it, far too distracted with watching Viktor do absolutely nothing. Mortifying.
Quiet conversation is faintly audible; Emet-Selch trusts Viktor to handle putting a meal together, given how many they've taken together. He ought to get up. Ought to wrest himself from the bed and take care of any number of tasks necessary and yet the weight of his body, or perhaps the weight of the warm blankets, feels insurmountable at this moment.
Viktor swishes his way back from the door, Emet-Selch catching a hint of bruises left along the column of his throat, starker, brighter now both in the dim light of morning and now that the bruises have had time to settle and bloom. If he focuses, he can feel the little disruptions of aether - the tug from fetching his robes, and the silencing charm upon the door, neither of which he recalls teaching. Fondness, or something remarkably close to it, overwrites any irritation he feels at his lack of memory for a simple task, and what dredges remain are easily overwritten as Viktor lifts the blankets to clamber back into bed with him. ]
Absolutely not. [ But neither does he make an effort to rise right away; one hand goes seeking beneath the blankets, finding a thigh, sliding up to trace the line of his hip, up over his belly until he reaches Viktor's chest, pressing firmly to get him to settle near instantly instead of squirming. Until their food arrives, Emet-Selch thinks, and wills away the lethargic fog clouding his mind, weighing his limbs down. One eye cracks open again, surveying what skin he can see after nudging the blankets up and then he tugs them right back down again before the warmth can escape. ] You look like you were mauled. I hope you enjoy being the subject of at least a week of gossip.
They can say whatever they l-like so long as it does not dissuade you from doing it to me again later.
[ If he had his way, if Light did not insist upon restoring his body over and over, he would relish a more permanent bruise. A mark for a mark. A reminder he'll never lose.
Greedily, Emet-Selch grasps him, reels him in and clutches him close, like a treasure meant to be guarded, and Viktor, who for so long held his heart as something untradeable, finds he is just as hungry to be possessed. Still novel, the feeling of being mapped by his sorcerer's hands. He almost forgets that the palm settling on his chest is meant to still him once he's nestled in flush against Emet-Selch - a futile endeavor, for he is all movement once he wakes. Clutched close, Viktor can feel drowsiness threaten anew, eyelids growing heavy, his heart coaxed slow by the gentle rise and fall of Hades's chest, everything the perfect sort of warm to catch up on sleep.
He slips one foot back and tangles it between Hades's ankles, lifts a hand to clasp the palm settled over his chest, pressing fingers between fingers, not quite weaving their hands together, but nearly. ]
Mayhap once our work is done, Ryne and Gaia will allow us to borrow Eden. Bring it here. Fix their f-frost. Then, they will let us do anything without too much fuss, I imagine. [ A pause, he blinks a bit too slow, fighting sleep. ] And a-after, Coerthas.
[ He can still remember when those hills were green, lush with wildflowers. Fertile soil for farming, for wildlife. Food enough for everyone in Ishgard. Someday, they will have little to do but tangle together in bed between stints of making the reflections a bit better.
For now, though, he will settle for this. Work and stolen time stretched as far as it will go. Viktor taps a meandering rhythm against the back of Hades's hand. ]
Last night- I did not know- 'twas everything I wanted, being with you.
[ He swallows, shuts his eyes, falls silent, embarrassed by how clumsily he speaks. Words, ever failing him. After a second spent recentering, he closes his fingers around Hades's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm, then one to each fingertip. ]
If you are still of a mind to- to indulge my specific requests, I w-would like to do something for you.
[ With a bit of frustration, he thinks there's very little that could convince him not to do that again if asked, save for Viktor deciding that he was done with Emet-Selch. He'd like to pretend he's a stronger man than he is, but he is sentimental to the last, and relentlessly greedy, even if Viktor would never actually call it that.
He thinks they're going to doze a few moments, until the next knock upon the door comes, but Viktor snuggles in close, winds them together near-inextricably, and Emet-Selch frowns down at him, attempting to figure out the likelihood of Viktor dozing off and forgetting to remove the silence charm upon the door. Not so drowsy he can't plot about this future they are working toward, though, so Emet-Selch allows them to linger beneath the sheets and blankets and doesn't wrench himself clear yet. ]
'Tis not so large we could not move it. [ They'd intended such a thing, in one of many potentialities. A way to deal with the damage wrought, that which they did not have as readily accessible the first time the world ended. That Eden would be used for the same purpose, just...in a different capacity, does not sting how he anticipates.
He knows he has been more exhausted countless times before, but each and every time before for the last several thousand years, his bed was not so warm, his hands were not so full. He is, frustratingly, as weak as every other man who has been foolish enough to love someone. ]
If you've a mind for reciprocation, I've no interest. [ Oh, he can almost feel Hythlodaeus cringing. Emet-Selch sighs into Viktor's curls, allowing the lazy kisses against his fingers. He cannot pretend Viktor nude and warm and affectionate doesn't have some physical impact on him, but much as he would very much enjoy allowing himself to be distracted once again, to do so is an impossibility. Not when he knows what awaits in the next bell or two. Not until he knows who. ] As distracting as you would be, my mind would be elsewhere and not on a subject half as appealing. When we've finished here, mayhap.
[ Gingerly, he does shift his hips back to at least make his interest a little less obvious. ]
[ Surprise, stone sharp, pangs high in his chest. Viktor cannot help that it smarts, hearing those words, no interest. But now, at least, he thinks he can stop himself and see the briar patch for what it is before he stumbles in and hurts them both. It helps, a little, that Emet-Selch makes an earnest attempt at hiding the proof of his interest. Viktor's voice goes soft, fond, ever so slightly patronizing. ]
Ah, Hades.
[ Viktor squeezes Emet-Selch's hand. ] Reciprocity is part of it, aye. [ Without warning, he contorts himself, twisting his spine to crane his head back and press a clumsy, smiling kiss to Emet-Selch's cheek. He tries for deadpan, but a laugh spills out of him. ] But m-maybe I just want to suck your cock.
[ Having sufficiently amused himself, he settles back in and shuts his eyes, perfectly happy to doze for a few more minutes. But, of course, it's only a few seconds before his echo makes a stuck sneeze of itself, buzzing in anticipation of an arrival that hasn't quite happened yet, but will shortly. ]
Hmm. Breakfast's n-nearly here. [ He murmurs, stretching his spine as he presses into Emet-Selch's chest, a little like a cat reluctantly stirring from its place in a sunbeam. He juts one foot out from beneath the blankets, acclimating to the chill air again. ] I'll fetch it.
Edited (words have meanings you know) 2024-12-10 08:28 (UTC)
[ He is not easily given to embarrassment, but a feeling decidedly close curls in his stomach and chest, low and hot, made worse when Viktor says his name like that. Well, at least he's not angry, or hurt, because grogginess makes him cranky and hones his already sharp edges. ]
It is a perfectly serviceable, non-exciting cock. If you've seen one, you've seen nearly any.
[ Now it's his turn to pull the covers up over their heads, wishing for the black out curtains but considering Viktor's aversion to the darkness. The blankets are an acceptable compromise. Now, all he smells is Viktor, the sheets, his flowers, the soap from last night. Dangerously, he thinks he could almost forget the outside world like this, stuck in this syrupy slow place where there's nothing outside the room.
Then, of course, Viktor stirs and Emet-Selch takes that as his cue, slowly tugging the blankets back, his robe shrugged on, shuffling sleepily toward the washbasin to heat water and wash his face in hopes that will rouse him from the fog. Why is he sore? Surely he's used some of these muscles in the past, and yet. ]
There is something we ought to discuss before I leave. [ He waits, at least, until the food is delivered, and then layers his own silence charm upon Viktor's, to be cautious. ] I've reason to believe the Ascians here do not operate in the same capacity as others or what I recall. The hero slew them, and they have since reborn.
[ He lets Viktor do the math on how old - how young they would be at this point, and starts washing his face once he's tied his hair back out of his face. ]
[ A soft snicker breathed into the pillow he's not quite ready to leave. Viktor reaches for Emet-Selch as he rolls out of bed, not to stop him, only to maintain contact for a few moments longer. He thinks to steal a few extra seconds beneath rumpled blankets, but with the body beside him gone, the warmth loses its appeal. ]
I am afraid you must now consider exactly why I find yours- [ Finally, Viktor climbs out of bed, draws his robe back up on his shoulders and ties it closed as he crosses the room. ] -so exciting.
[ Breakfast is waiting just outside the room, a kettle and covered platter sat on a gaudy rolling cart. Viktor catches a glimpse of the maid from earlier and two of her compatriots standing inconspicuously as theyu can down the far end of the hall, watching for him. Of course he smiles, waves, a wiggle of his fingers, which earns a round of bright giggles from the young women.
He chuckles to himself as he rolls the cart in, stopping to watch Hades wash his face. Remarkably slow moving, this morning. Too much wine the night before, perhaps. Before he sets to pouring tea and assembling plates, Viktor meanders over to the wash basin to flatted a palm against Hades's back and rub his shoulders. With the contact, he offers up a glancing brush of cool aether, healing magic to alleviate some of the aches and pains of too much indulgence the night before.
He settles in at the room's single round table, setting plates and cups and kettle out, and stares up at Emet-Selch. ]
I thought you were g-going to w-wait t-
[ Viktor does not bother to finish the thought. Predictably, he receives the news with a stilled, neutral expression, while his rebellious ears ease back, lopping down against the wild spiral mess of his slept on curls, evidence of his hurting heart. ]
Like Gaia. [ he murmurs. Young, like Gaia. Lost, like Gaia. Worth saving, like Gaia. ] What do you intend to d-do?
[ He does, in fact, try to consider why Viktor would find his perfectly average cock appealing and settles on the simple fact that it's the rest of him he's attracted to. Not a particularly overwhelming realization, but neither is it one he wants to examine in full detail to pour over the particulars on.
Emet-Selch thinks to point out he'd considered revising it - it would be nothing to tailor his cock to Viktor's specifications but is similarly disinclined to when there's the magic that can serve just as well. ]
I have not contacted them, yet.
[ He does not do anything so ridiculous as jump - he's perfectly aware of where Viktor is in the room and he was not snuck up on, thank you - but does stiffen when Vitkor plants a hand on his back. The stiffness bleeds out a moment later, sore muscles easing from irritating to barely notable, and before Emet-Selch can do or say anything, Viktor glides off to the table. ]
Like Gaia, though hopefully half as vexing. As to the tack to take, I think it best to be Solus, the form and person they would be most used to. If there are any of them who survived being culled, they would remember him, and if not, whatever...learnings they have used, would likely mention him. Then, situate myself as Emet-Selch and wrest control from whomever has determined themselves leader... [ Emet-Selch eyes the assortment of food and then snaps into place cream cheese, capers, and onions, already thinly sliced, and begins assembling a half-sandwich. ] These are all suppositions, I will not know more until I have spoken to them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
I could have, but that would have been a lie and those are tiresome.
[ Viktor returns to his task and Emet-Selch watches him with a predator's intent, half-heartedly reaching for his own teacup to take a drink but far more interested in Viktor than the contents of the glass. He wants to ask if Viktor would rather they pretend those imaginations were predominantly inappropriate, but he doesn't think the answer is yes. If he had to make a guess, he'd assume the real novelty is the idea that one might not want a quick tumble, but instead the thousand quiet intimacies between those moments that one might take for granted without the threat of losing them ]
...Do you normally sleep nude when alone and simply acquiesce to clothing when joining me in my quarters?
[ Emet-Selch doesn't answer the latter question instantly, finally winding his fingers around the teacup after pat-searching for it, and brings it to his mouth while Viktor soaps the washcloth anew. By now the heat has left the dredges; Emet-Selch silently spells it full and hot again, pleasantly warm and soft around the edges. It is not often he indulges in alcohol enough to feel something, but so long as he doesn't take another glass he thinks he comfortably straddles the line of enjoyable. ]
I am not opposed to physical contact in bed. You will be cautious, though.
[ It's not so long ago Emet-Selch had mistaken him for an assassin; it didn't matter there was no real threat, he'd prefer not to accidentally injure Viktor because in a half-awake state already jarred by the malms of bare skin, he'd forgotten where, when he was. ]
no subject
[ It's an earnest question. Before all this, "normal" had been his leathers for pajamas, his pack for a pillow. Rarer, a series of rented rooms, each with their own quirks - too starchy sheets in Sharlayan, too frigid for anything less than his full robe in Ishgard, too hot in Ul'dah to wear anything at all. Full pajamas and a robe and the embroidery if Alphinaud or Alisaie needed company to get to sleep. That plus a bottle of wine if it was Y'shtola or Lyse or Tataru needing to talk out their busy minds before bed.
Normal was flexibility. Normal is flexibility. Still, he does not wait for an answer. ]
When there is a bed, my preference is to sleep in linen pants. [ He returns to the work of washing, studying Emet-Selch's dips and curves. Soapy freckled fingers swipe over pale skin, and in that contrast, an impossibly old memory, his and not his, flits by dreamlike. He does not reach out to grasp the foggy deja vu feeling this time. Doesn't need to. Not when they make their own new memories here and now. He glances up, looks Hades in the eye. ] But my preference tonight is to feel you on my skin.
[ Viktor has some trouble, adhering to the task as stated. Too often does he lose track of what he should be doing and get lost in the simple joy of touching, of massaging tense muscles, of studying Emet-Selch's fingers and how much larger they are than his own.
He almost doesn't hear the last comment, but it makes both ears twitch with sudden focus. A huff of laughter escapes him, and he arches a brow at Hades, incredulous. ]
You will be cautious. [ A faint grin, fearless. He recalls quite clearly what Emet-Selch references. He does not care. ] I will be a-s-sleep.
no subject
[ Normal can mean anything depending on the day, but Viktor is being willfully obtuse. Unimpressed (but not unappreciative, at least), both with the avoidance and with Viktor's syrupy-slow attempt at washing, Emet-Selch allows him a few more moments of lingering and distraction and then before he allows Viktor to go so far as a proper massage, stands. The water sloshes at his hips, as he raises to his full height, tipping Viktor's chin up with a finger hooked beneath it.]
Then let us be asleep, sooner rather than later. [ A snap, a thoughtless little expenditure of aether. The bath, cleared. Viktor, sat in the dry stone with a pair of his linen trousers for him to keep or remove if needed. Emet-Selch, absolutely not in linen trousers but silk, forgoing a shirt despite the familiar magic tugging at him in offering. Compromise. Their bodies, cleaned, dried. A useful spell for the road, when one doesn't have access to somewhere proper to bathe and would rather avoid the river, but it never compares to an actual bath. ]
You may divest yourself of them when we are in bed where 'tis warm. [ But he'd thought at least getting to the bed or managing their wind-down routine, well, he might like to have some trousers on. ] Are you quite set on linen?
[ A mental image, suddenly, of Viktor in silk trousers, throwing himself across the bed, sliding across it heedless of the fact he might break his neck. Emet-Selch swallows a sigh, and steps out from the bath, teacup in one hand, the other tugging a silk dressing gown from nowhere to pull on for the time being. ]
Come along. Chop chop. There's a perfectly serviceable bed, and I would like to see it utilized for its intended purpose for at least a few bells tonight.
no subject
[ Hades changes their situation with a thoughtless snap, and though Viktor does not flinch at the change, it does leave him feeling a bit silly. Sat on stone wearing pants he wasn't a moment before, staring up at Emet-Selch, half-clothed. Noticing that he is half-clothed, not draped in pajamas that hew so close to Amaurotine robes. Funny, how a bit of extra fabric can be so much more appealing than simple nakedness. Viktor catches himself staring at the jutting points of Emet-Selch's hips, quietly amused and doing exactly what Hades had implied he might do.
He shakes his head, takes a second to account for the sensation of being suddenly clean, suddenly dry. A hand lifts, lighting on his crown. His hair is... not right. Not wrong, either. But he can tell by sense that the wild, windblown mess coils up higher than it should - corkscrews where waves should be, springing in odd directions, swallowing up the flowers that usually press his hair down. The silly shampoos, he tells himself, had nothing to do with it. ]
I've not slept much in anything but linen. 'Tis simply what I am used to.
[ He fetches his tea cup and rises, takes a sip, and then returns to his original thought, ]
Before we settled, there was no normal. And so, I h-had to think about what my preference was. [ Viktor steps out of the tub, mislikes how cold the floor is on his feet, and hurries over to the bed on tip toe. Somehow, he doesn't spill a drop of tea as he scurries, nor as he tosses himself into bed. The faintest tug on ambient aether perhaps explains away his remarkable ability to hold his cup steady as he seats himself on the bed. He takes one more sip before setting it on the bedside table. ] I've preferences now, though.
no subject
[ A doubtful, disagreeable noise, but he does not actually argue the fact despite the certainty he would win if he did. Viktor admitting he wants to be more thoughtful in his speech smooths down any disagreement, however minor. Viktor picks his way across the chilled stone and Emet-Selch sweeps his way through the room to tidy up what little he's moved about.
The water he'd pulled from the bath he reforms into yet another blanket, flicking it across the bed with a casual flip of his wrist from across the room. It settles itself across the bed, corners matched, soft to the touch and smelling vaguely of the same mint from the bath. If he hadn't expressed an interest in sleeping without as much clothing Emet-Selch would have created a couple sets of sleep pants to try on; as it is, he adds it to the back of his mind to consider later. ]
And? You've preferences now when you did not previously. Tell me some of them. [ a pause, a sideways look from where he's hanging up tomorrow's clothes for easy access. ] A non-insignificant number of them seem to be around not wearing clothing.
no subject
[ More pressing than their brewing debate is fleeing this reflection's relentless, biting cold. Viktor burrows beneath sheets, into blankets, pulling them up over his nose, and then decides that even that is not warm enough. He sits up, finds one of the lingering fire crystals tucked into the bed's corners, only glancingly warm now, and attempts to coax it back to life.
His body interferes halfway through pulling threads. Light insists upon stillness, and the dim red glow goes pearly white. Heat turns to nothing, radiant numbness. Viktor plucks the crystal from where it's tucked with a frown, oozing disappointment, and sets it beside his half-empty teacup, an incandescent beacon in the candlelit room. He glares at the thing until Emet-Selch's next line of questions grabs his attention anew. ]
You say it as though it is a b-bad thing. The unfortunate truth is, I am quite f-fond of you, Emet-Selch, and my preference for less clothing is tied up in th-that.
[ A pause, a pout, he allows himself to consider the question in earnest with a rush of air through his nose. ]
I like our- [ All the hairs of the back of Viktor's neck stand on end, jolted by mortification. ] -your bed in the Crystarium. 'Tis quite big. And soft. Ample room to s-sprawl, but I can still r-reach you. And... it s-smells like you. 'Tis always warm, familiar.
[ Finally Viktor reclines, head settling into a ludicrously soft pillow, attention fixed on Emet-Selch as he tidies his quarters. Easier to watch him dodder about than to think about his own desires, still. It is, he finds, almost painful to consider want too directly. Even something as simple as how he'd prefer to sleep makes his brain, his nerves, his whole body rebel. As though he is aught but scar tissue, stiff and aching when pushed too far. ]
I don't know. [ He pulls the covers up over his head 'til only the tips of his ears stick out. Silence settles for a few heavy seconds before he goes on. From beneath the blankets, surrounded by warmth, Viktor allows: ] I do not l-like when it is too dark. Candles, or ceruleum lanterns, or hearth fire. The light, the sound, the smell - they are a comfort. [ Another pause. Then, soft, quiet: ] These blankets smell n-nice.
no subject
Did he take the trousers off Emet-Selch had magicked into place for him? Is it better or worse if he doesn't? The faint pang of disappointment at the thought feels a little like a betrayal of himself; hasn't he had enough at this point? But no. He doesn't think he has. Doesn't think he will ever hit a point of enough, doesn't think that point exists. ]
Our bed, is it.
[ At least he finds the overall process easier when Viktor is the one on the off foot. He takes the unintentional bait dangled before him and uses it, shameless, prowling over to the bed. The robe is slid off of his shoulders, tossed upon one of the chairs near the bed and Emet-Selch pauses at his side of the bed, considering the knowledge as well as the altered crystal. Another snap, less theatrical, like the effort is more out of habit than attempting to put on any sort of show. Across the room, candelabras melt into existence, pre-lit, casting the whole of the room into dim lighting. Not so much it would be difficult to sleep, but enough that they won't walk into a piece of furniture getting up in the middle of the night to relieve themselves.
He keeps his sleep pants on, after a beat of hesitation, parting the covers, gingerly sliding between them, settling on his back and then just as soon as he's settled, rolling onto his side to regard Viktor quietly, scooting into the no man's land between them that once used to be an unthinkable distance to cross. Gently, he hooks finger into the blankets tugged above Viktor's head, nudging them down to his chin and then just...doesn't remove his arm from where it's settled atop his chest, despite the chill his shoulders and arm are exposed to. He can feel Viktor's warmth, just ilms away if he chooses to close the distance and bask in it. ]
Do you require additional candles or are these sufficient?
[ Regardless of Viktor's answer, he draws fingers across the covers and the crystals flare with renewed warmth once again, the bed slowly warming around them. ]
no subject
Would you find it tolerable? [ Viktor murmurs into the blankets settled over his face. It was Emet-Selch's bed first, after all. His quarters. His space, even if Viktor has become a persistent presence. Whatever they are, he is not so sure they have quite progressed to joint ownership of furniture -- something so wildly domestic as to be wholly alien, completely absurd. Thinking about it sends a wave of frission jolting up Viktor's back.
And then, a second later, the bed creaks from added weight. In seconds that tick by like stretched minutes, Emet-Selch settles, moves closer, and ilms the blankets down until Viktor's face is exposed to the cold. He opens his eyes, blinking at the new, low flickering light. Exactly what he'd asked for, not too bright, just enough to chase the dark away. Something like terror but not bubble up from low in Viktor's stomach. The feeling wraps around his lungs, squeezes, sets his heart to a galloping pace that surely, mortifyingly, Emet-Selch can feel beneath his palm.
Viktor swallows, shoring up the will to respond. ]
'Tis p-perfect.
[ He angles his head, trying to catch a glimpse at Emet-Selch lying behind him without moving too much, not wanting him to slip away. After a second, he slips a hand down to slide beneath the waistband of the linen trousers Emet-Selch had created for him. Viktor holds his breath, lifts his hips, and shoves the soft spun cloth down. Off his hips, past his thighs, until they're far enough down that he can wriggle the rest of the way out of them with a few kicks of his legs, leaving them hanging off the side of the bed.
Naked again, Viktor scoots back, closing the minute distance between them and pressing himself into the bend of Hades's body, hungry for his warmth, eager to be surrounded. He curls an arm around his pillow and shuts his eyes. ]
It is not too close, is it?
no subject
No sense worrying about it now, but something to consider for later, maybe. For all the other evenings they'll share in the same space, a thought that doesn't cause nearly as much consternation as it once did.
The blankets rustle, Viktor squirming, wiggling about and Emet-Selch lifts his arm, scooting away a bit to give him space as he tries to parse out the movements beneath the blankets, and, ah. He'll wait for Viktor to ask again, once or twice on his end, regarding his own trousers. There's the sound of cloth hitting the floor on the opposite end of the bed; Emet-Selch bites back most of a sigh. ]
I just had my head tucked betwixt your thighs the better part of the evening, to say nothing of the rest of the night's activities.
[ They have, he thinks, passed far past the point of 'too close' several times over. Viktor squirms closer and Emet-Selch doesn't, for once, tense. He's too tired to, simply raising the sheet and blankets up a little so Viktor can curve his body back into Emet-Selch's own, and Emet-Selch gingerly fits himself close, presses his face into Viktor's curls and inhales a breath that shudders a little.
The warmth of Viktor's bare back presses against his chest, the scent of him already laid into the sheets. He wants - he wants. He's had Viktor, has him now and yet he wants further, greedy to the end. An arm drapes itself over Viktor's waist, tucking the covers in tighter around both of them until Viktor is, in fact, surrounded. Our bed, he thinks, and is pleasantly surprised when the consideration doesn't ache with old memories.
Sleepily, Emet-Selch asks the somewhat pedantic question rolling around in his brain, no longer precisely annunciated, but sleep-thick edges, the start of a yawn at the end. ] Is it just the bed?
no subject
[ He cannot help but sass back, though when Emet-Selch closes an arm around his waist to draw him in, it rather dampens the desire to give him any trouble at all. A hum, low and pleased, rolls out of him as he feels his shoulder blades press to skin. Embraced wholly, every ilm of him cradled by warmth, his skin prickles where they've slotted together, matched pieces.
And in the next breath, in the heartbeat of silence that follows, doubt bubbles up in the hollow of his chest; his lot is to serve, not receive such decadence. He is undeserving, has been spoiled, and the star will take its due for this excess.
Viktor shuts his eyes more tightly, lights his fingers on the back of the palm draped over his stomach, and pushes back on that feeling. This is worth it, and it will not be taken from him so easily.
Hades asks a question, and Viktor remembers to breathe. The tension set into his muscles unwinds, and he echoes the yawn, unable to help himself. ]
Our... kitchen, maybe. [ He offers, low and thoughtful, welcoming the distraction from darker thoughts. ] Our cups and plates. Our hearth. Our window garden. Our bath. [ Each item he lists draws a bit more tension out of him, and he echoes Emet-Selch's yawn, unable to help himself. ] Your shoebill. But, our... [ He starts to drift toward dreaming, voice going quiet as he slips into unconsciousness. ] ...little sprouts.
no subject
Our is a dangerous word, he thinks, curving himself tighter around Viktor the sleeper his voice gets, daring to hook his fingers in Viktor's after a little patting about, index finger and middle curved loosely with Viktor's. ]
Hm. [ A hum, a murmur of acknowledgment, waiting until Viktor finally dozes off, his breathing evening out before Emet-Selch dares to tighten his grip around Viktor, tugging the blankets in around them even tighter. To lose this will be unbearable. Losing everything once had fundamentally cracked and broken something within him as a person; he'd known that then, but hadn't realized to what extent until lifetimes later. He wants, insanely, to start searching for Meteion. To take her out now, rather than waiting for her to subsume the world and hope they've salvaged enough to eke out a victory. Impossible, of course - he doesn't know where to begin searching, but the thought itches.
For now, he contents himself with memorizing this: the weight of the blankets tucked around them. Viktor's breathing as it settles into sleep. The scent of his curls, and beneath that, him, the warmth of his body and the malms of bare skin. It is enough. It has to be, for now. ]
no subject
He would be quite okay with that.
Except, they've got work to do. He tips his head back and catches sight of sunlight creeping in at the edges of heavy curtains. Still morning.
It is not often that he is awake before Emet-Selch. Hades has always been the last to doze, the first to stir, and Viktor himself cannot ever seem to fight off sleep long in his presence. In fact, he briefly considers shutting his eyes and scraping another bell's worth of sleep, but a rare opportunity has been set before him.
After untangling their twined fingers, he turns in Hades's grasp. Unsurprisingly, the palms gliding over his body as he moves might as well be steel on flint, sparking fire beneath bare skin. Incredible, ridiculous, how quickly an aching hunger comes to life in his stomach. He ignores it for now, content to simply study Hades as he sleeps, the dense fan of white lashes, the serene stillness of his expression while his mind is too busy untangling dreams to be burdened by his usual busy thoughts. The desire to press fingers to his features the way pilgrims lay hands on stone saints is near overwhelming. Viktor holds back, but doesn't refrain from indulging entirely.
At risk of waking him, Viktor bobs in to plant light kisses on his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Then, soft, barely even a whisper, ] It is easier to bloom with you in my life.
[ Hades is, Viktor thinks, rarely impressed with his romantic nonsense. But perhaps if he says it enough, if he whispers truths to Hades while he sleeps, it will untangle some of those wretched knots that seem to plague his mind every day. Easy to hope for, at least. Viktor leans in to steal another kiss, but a rap at the door interrupts him.
Just one.
Startled, annoyed, Viktor lifts a hand, grasps a thrumming thread of aether and stills it with a twist of his fingers, muting the door. He gives himself a moment to be shocked at what he's done, muscle memory far older than he is stirring to life suddenly. Viktor stares up at his lifted hand, fingers bent as though curling yarn between them, and lowers it slowly to smooth down their blankets. ]
Sleep. [ he murmurs, tucking a few fallen strands of platinum out of Hades's face. Out of bed is the absolute last place in the world Viktor wants to be, but he slips away from Hades's grasp, deposits his feet on the floor, and shivers immediately. Before he shoves himself out of bed entirely, Viktor reaches for another thread - a familiar one, a room away. His patchwork robe. A tug is all it takes, as though the thing wishes to be on his body. One second, he is naked, and the next, he isn't.
Viktor tries not to look to pleased with himself as, finally, he rises, tying off his robe as he crosses the room to answer the door.
The maid waiting at the door greets him with widened eyes, her attention falling immediately to the bruises dotting his neck.
Oh. Right.
Thankfully, the maid soldiers on with her duties. They settle on breakfast, smoked fish, eggs, and bread, the strongest tea they have, to be brought up and left by the door. Viktor is all too glad to send her on her way, shuts the still silenced door behind him, and hurries back to bed, ghosting fingers over the marks Hades had left on his skin.
He could get their day started, draw back curtains, fetch a change of clothes, stoke the fireplace. Instead, he shrugs off his robe and climbs back into bed, seeking to leech warmth from the beloved body still wound up beneath the sheets. Quiet, knowing the answer he will get, already, he asks, ] What if we just s-stayed in bed all day, instead?
no subject
The body within the bed shifts, starts to extricate itself and Emet-Selch makes a vaguely disgruntled sound into the pillow. The cold strikes him first, a sharp awareness borne from the lack of thick pajamas from throat to ankles. He tugs at the blankets and nestles closer within them, letting Viktor handle letting in - ah.
The dream crumbles away to nothing but insubstantial impressions, and Emet-Selch slowly wrests his eyes open, taking in the sight of Viktor in his patchwork robe at the door and the person outside, decidedly not Hythlodaeus. The disappointment he expects does not manifest; there's only a lingering grogginess from sleep debt needing repayment. He has, he thinks, slept through the chronometer's alarum. Or, more likely, he simply forgot to schedule it, far too distracted with watching Viktor do absolutely nothing. Mortifying.
Quiet conversation is faintly audible; Emet-Selch trusts Viktor to handle putting a meal together, given how many they've taken together. He ought to get up. Ought to wrest himself from the bed and take care of any number of tasks necessary and yet the weight of his body, or perhaps the weight of the warm blankets, feels insurmountable at this moment.
Viktor swishes his way back from the door, Emet-Selch catching a hint of bruises left along the column of his throat, starker, brighter now both in the dim light of morning and now that the bruises have had time to settle and bloom. If he focuses, he can feel the little disruptions of aether - the tug from fetching his robes, and the silencing charm upon the door, neither of which he recalls teaching. Fondness, or something remarkably close to it, overwrites any irritation he feels at his lack of memory for a simple task, and what dredges remain are easily overwritten as Viktor lifts the blankets to clamber back into bed with him. ]
Absolutely not. [ But neither does he make an effort to rise right away; one hand goes seeking beneath the blankets, finding a thigh, sliding up to trace the line of his hip, up over his belly until he reaches Viktor's chest, pressing firmly to get him to settle near instantly instead of squirming. Until their food arrives, Emet-Selch thinks, and wills away the lethargic fog clouding his mind, weighing his limbs down. One eye cracks open again, surveying what skin he can see after nudging the blankets up and then he tugs them right back down again before the warmth can escape. ] You look like you were mauled. I hope you enjoy being the subject of at least a week of gossip.
no subject
[ If he had his way, if Light did not insist upon restoring his body over and over, he would relish a more permanent bruise. A mark for a mark. A reminder he'll never lose.
Greedily, Emet-Selch grasps him, reels him in and clutches him close, like a treasure meant to be guarded, and Viktor, who for so long held his heart as something untradeable, finds he is just as hungry to be possessed. Still novel, the feeling of being mapped by his sorcerer's hands. He almost forgets that the palm settling on his chest is meant to still him once he's nestled in flush against Emet-Selch - a futile endeavor, for he is all movement once he wakes. Clutched close, Viktor can feel drowsiness threaten anew, eyelids growing heavy, his heart coaxed slow by the gentle rise and fall of Hades's chest, everything the perfect sort of warm to catch up on sleep.
He slips one foot back and tangles it between Hades's ankles, lifts a hand to clasp the palm settled over his chest, pressing fingers between fingers, not quite weaving their hands together, but nearly. ]
Mayhap once our work is done, Ryne and Gaia will allow us to borrow Eden. Bring it here. Fix their f-frost. Then, they will let us do anything without too much fuss, I imagine. [ A pause, he blinks a bit too slow, fighting sleep. ] And a-after, Coerthas.
[ He can still remember when those hills were green, lush with wildflowers. Fertile soil for farming, for wildlife. Food enough for everyone in Ishgard. Someday, they will have little to do but tangle together in bed between stints of making the reflections a bit better.
For now, though, he will settle for this. Work and stolen time stretched as far as it will go. Viktor taps a meandering rhythm against the back of Hades's hand. ]
Last night- I did not know- 'twas everything I wanted, being with you.
[ He swallows, shuts his eyes, falls silent, embarrassed by how clumsily he speaks. Words, ever failing him. After a second spent recentering, he closes his fingers around Hades's hand and brings it up to his lips to press a kiss to his palm, then one to each fingertip. ]
If you are still of a mind to- to indulge my specific requests, I w-would like to do something for you.
no subject
He thinks they're going to doze a few moments, until the next knock upon the door comes, but Viktor snuggles in close, winds them together near-inextricably, and Emet-Selch frowns down at him, attempting to figure out the likelihood of Viktor dozing off and forgetting to remove the silence charm upon the door. Not so drowsy he can't plot about this future they are working toward, though, so Emet-Selch allows them to linger beneath the sheets and blankets and doesn't wrench himself clear yet. ]
'Tis not so large we could not move it. [ They'd intended such a thing, in one of many potentialities. A way to deal with the damage wrought, that which they did not have as readily accessible the first time the world ended. That Eden would be used for the same purpose, just...in a different capacity, does not sting how he anticipates.
He knows he has been more exhausted countless times before, but each and every time before for the last several thousand years, his bed was not so warm, his hands were not so full. He is, frustratingly, as weak as every other man who has been foolish enough to love someone. ]
If you've a mind for reciprocation, I've no interest. [ Oh, he can almost feel Hythlodaeus cringing. Emet-Selch sighs into Viktor's curls, allowing the lazy kisses against his fingers. He cannot pretend Viktor nude and warm and affectionate doesn't have some physical impact on him, but much as he would very much enjoy allowing himself to be distracted once again, to do so is an impossibility. Not when he knows what awaits in the next bell or two. Not until he knows who. ] As distracting as you would be, my mind would be elsewhere and not on a subject half as appealing. When we've finished here, mayhap.
[ Gingerly, he does shift his hips back to at least make his interest a little less obvious. ]
no subject
Ah, Hades.
[ Viktor squeezes Emet-Selch's hand. ] Reciprocity is part of it, aye. [ Without warning, he contorts himself, twisting his spine to crane his head back and press a clumsy, smiling kiss to Emet-Selch's cheek. He tries for deadpan, but a laugh spills out of him. ] But m-maybe I just want to suck your cock.
[ Having sufficiently amused himself, he settles back in and shuts his eyes, perfectly happy to doze for a few more minutes. But, of course, it's only a few seconds before his echo makes a stuck sneeze of itself, buzzing in anticipation of an arrival that hasn't quite happened yet, but will shortly. ]
Hmm. Breakfast's n-nearly here. [ He murmurs, stretching his spine as he presses into Emet-Selch's chest, a little like a cat reluctantly stirring from its place in a sunbeam. He juts one foot out from beneath the blankets, acclimating to the chill air again. ] I'll fetch it.
no subject
It is a perfectly serviceable, non-exciting cock. If you've seen one, you've seen nearly any.
[ Now it's his turn to pull the covers up over their heads, wishing for the black out curtains but considering Viktor's aversion to the darkness. The blankets are an acceptable compromise. Now, all he smells is Viktor, the sheets, his flowers, the soap from last night. Dangerously, he thinks he could almost forget the outside world like this, stuck in this syrupy slow place where there's nothing outside the room.
Then, of course, Viktor stirs and Emet-Selch takes that as his cue, slowly tugging the blankets back, his robe shrugged on, shuffling sleepily toward the washbasin to heat water and wash his face in hopes that will rouse him from the fog. Why is he sore? Surely he's used some of these muscles in the past, and yet. ]
There is something we ought to discuss before I leave. [ He waits, at least, until the food is delivered, and then layers his own silence charm upon Viktor's, to be cautious. ] I've reason to believe the Ascians here do not operate in the same capacity as others or what I recall. The hero slew them, and they have since reborn.
[ He lets Viktor do the math on how old - how young they would be at this point, and starts washing his face once he's tied his hair back out of his face. ]
no subject
[ A soft snicker breathed into the pillow he's not quite ready to leave. Viktor reaches for Emet-Selch as he rolls out of bed, not to stop him, only to maintain contact for a few moments longer. He thinks to steal a few extra seconds beneath rumpled blankets, but with the body beside him gone, the warmth loses its appeal. ]
I am afraid you must now consider exactly why I find yours- [ Finally, Viktor climbs out of bed, draws his robe back up on his shoulders and ties it closed as he crosses the room. ] -so exciting.
[ Breakfast is waiting just outside the room, a kettle and covered platter sat on a gaudy rolling cart. Viktor catches a glimpse of the maid from earlier and two of her compatriots standing inconspicuously as theyu can down the far end of the hall, watching for him. Of course he smiles, waves, a wiggle of his fingers, which earns a round of bright giggles from the young women.
He chuckles to himself as he rolls the cart in, stopping to watch Hades wash his face. Remarkably slow moving, this morning. Too much wine the night before, perhaps. Before he sets to pouring tea and assembling plates, Viktor meanders over to the wash basin to flatted a palm against Hades's back and rub his shoulders. With the contact, he offers up a glancing brush of cool aether, healing magic to alleviate some of the aches and pains of too much indulgence the night before.
He settles in at the room's single round table, setting plates and cups and kettle out, and stares up at Emet-Selch. ]
I thought you were g-going to w-wait t-
[ Viktor does not bother to finish the thought. Predictably, he receives the news with a stilled, neutral expression, while his rebellious ears ease back, lopping down against the wild spiral mess of his slept on curls, evidence of his hurting heart. ]
Like Gaia. [ he murmurs. Young, like Gaia. Lost, like Gaia. Worth saving, like Gaia. ] What do you intend to d-do?
no subject
Emet-Selch thinks to point out he'd considered revising it - it would be nothing to tailor his cock to Viktor's specifications but is similarly disinclined to when there's the magic that can serve just as well. ]
I have not contacted them, yet.
[ He does not do anything so ridiculous as jump - he's perfectly aware of where Viktor is in the room and he was not snuck up on, thank you - but does stiffen when Vitkor plants a hand on his back. The stiffness bleeds out a moment later, sore muscles easing from irritating to barely notable, and before Emet-Selch can do or say anything, Viktor glides off to the table. ]
Like Gaia, though hopefully half as vexing. As to the tack to take, I think it best to be Solus, the form and person they would be most used to. If there are any of them who survived being culled, they would remember him, and if not, whatever...learnings they have used, would likely mention him. Then, situate myself as Emet-Selch and wrest control from whomever has determined themselves leader... [ Emet-Selch eyes the assortment of food and then snaps into place cream cheese, capers, and onions, already thinly sliced, and begins assembling a half-sandwich. ] These are all suppositions, I will not know more until I have spoken to them.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
oh my god
EATS IT
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
your bf just wants to turn himself into a quantum computer emet-selch nbd
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
lmao for some reason it replied as a whole new top level??
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
forgot the rest of the caps UGHHH
this is so long sobdhshhsh
FOOD FOR ME THO also sorry viktor you're dating a dick
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)