[ Dust and cobwebs, just as predicted. Smug delight paints Viktor's features bright, and before pleased laughter can escape him, Hades catches that smile with his own perfect mouth, muffling the sound. Warm, careful hands right their awkward angle as they slot together, and Viktor parts his lips, welcoming Hades in, wanting more.
If asked, Viktor would say, without pride or reservation, that he has been a prolific paramour. Aside from it being a fun diversion, and ignoring his penchant for catching fluttery feelings, physical intimacy had simply proven itself a useful tool for a young man who failed to fit in adequately anywhere. He has enjoyed, endured, initiated countless kisses in places both public and private. And right now, none of that matters.
There is only this: a kiss that is in no way just a kiss. Lips that erase impending obliteration, warmth that whites out every worry and ache. It is a moment without duty, without the Warrior's tithe. It is a realization, that were the world to end, were this to be his last kiss, just this would be enough, perfect, and were they to win, were he to have the opportunity for many, many more, each one would belong to Hades, to do with as he sees fit.
He breaks away only long enough to catch his breath. ]
You will live. [ murmured in the heartbeat's breadth that their mouths are parted.
Even that gap is too much, like a gasp of oxygen fed to a starving fire. Viktor tips his head, leans in and nuzzles the side of Hades's nose. He wants, needs more hotly than he has ever felt. Like he is half his age, again. In a way that makes him positively stupid. ]
We will live.
[ Viktor pushes forward, slings an arm around Hades's shoulders as he presses his lips to his mouth anew, water splashing as he climbs into his lap. The feel of Hades's cock against his thigh shakes a breath out of him, and he lets the fingers of his free hand dance over Hades's thigh. ]
I will stretch every second of new time we make so that I might spend it with you.
[ He tries and probably fails to kiss the smug tilt of Viktor's mouth away. For some reason, despite that being his initial goal, the reason falls to the wayside the moment Viktor kisses him back. The moment his head tilts and the kiss becomes something less reactionary and more intent, all thoughts get shuffled clean out of his head and he's left with nothing but that same want from the night before. Heat that burns so fiercely it burns out anything but the single-minded desire to have Viktor pressed as lose as humanly possible.
Eventually, they must part; he is, in effect, immortal but must still breathe. For a fleeting, foolishly romantic moment he almost wishes he need not if only to steal a few more seconds. ]
Living filthy can be far worse than dying. [ He thinks, somewhat against his will, of the people in the wake of the Sundering. Fractured, malformed, unable to keep themselves cool in the heat, warm in the cold. Dying over and over again when such a fate was easily avoidable. Viktor shakes the thought from his head as cleanly as salt from the shaker taken from the holding facility Emet-Selch had maintained of all their old belongings, and replaces it with the swift, savage awareness of Viktor's naked, wet form clambering into his lap. Emet-Selch's breath catches, straining for a memory so old it may as well be the same dust they'd been trudging through. Distantly: a bath, and a body with parts that were new and exciting, and the laughing disappointment of discovering being intimate in the bath was possible, but perhaps not the most comfortable. ]
The water will chafe you know.
[ He's less concerned about himself - he doesn't think that he would, personally, last long enough for chafing to be an issue, more concerned with Viktor and pleased to have something to complain about. His mouth slants over Viktor's before he can muster a response, managing all of a few seconds of kissing him gently before he licks into Viktor's mouth hungrily, one hand dropping down into the water with a faint splash, fitting itself firmly, unhesitatingly to the curve of Viktor's bottom to ensure every ilm of him is pressed as close as possible. Then, the hand flinches, flexes, like he realizes that pawing at Viktor will not just be welcomed but encouraged. Mindlessly, distracted by the kiss, by Viktor pressed this close he rocks his hips up. The motion isn't exceptionally smooth or graceful; not so much a proper grind as the motion is a jerky, half-finished jacknife. His body certainly doesn't care.
Just the bit of friction is enough to wrest a strangled breath from Emet-Selch, a little nnh in shock, nails digging halfmoons into the swell of Viktor's bottom before he catches himself. Masters himself back down from a roaring, mindless bonfire to something less out of control, pressing his mouth against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, instead, inhaling through his nose. He wants, and he's rather tired of pretending otherwise. Tomorrow, he can feel ridiculous about his weak will. For now, he presses teeth into a healing mark from earlier and then forcibly draws back to meet Viktor's gaze. ]
I assume your offer of - [ a pause, clearly straining for a non-clinical referral and dodging all the way around a filthy one ] - reciprocation did not come with an expiry date.
[ Viktor knows so little of what had been at the moment of Venat's sundering. He has grasped fleeting memories of the first shade born of Aepymetes, dwindled near to nothing not merely by Hydaelyn's magic, but by Aepymetes, himself, trading meager strength he might've had for ages otherwise for a slim chance at a happier future ten thousand years later. Hades speaks of living filthy, and Viktor thinks not of that glimpse of a past he'll never know, but of those much more real, tangible years after Dalamud fell. Of sleeping rough and seeking shelter where he could. Of how much more bearable it would've been, had he someone to hold him, keep him, just like this.
But even those wretched memories cannot dampen the fire burning low in his stomach, the roar of his pulse between his thighs. Hades says more. Something Viktor doesn't quite catch before he's kissing him again, a sweet and soft second burnt up in the supernova blast of want kindled between them. Sex in a tub isn't exactly easy, but the repercussions are best left to sort out by the tomorrow version of him - the one that isn't aching to be claimed after a long day of little heartaches. A hum escapes him when Hades's palm fits against his bottom, hiking up to a whine when he flinches, squeezes. And then- a jerk of hips that Viktor isn't quite prepared for.
A laugh bubbles out of him, impossibly fond. His voice shakes, elated, when he whispers, ] Hades.
[ Viktor pets his hair, dragging fingers through platinum strands and then smoothing them down again, anything to keep him close, to pull him closer. He murmurs nonsense sounds of approval, hiking into a whimper when he feels nails dig into his skin. Then, a second later, another bite, and Viktor has to swallow the urge to beg for more.
Hades is speaking again, and Viktor nearly swallows the sound in another kiss. He is less than an ilm away, breathing hard, when he computes what's being asked of him. Silence settles as Viktor gains purchase on his own composure, meeting Hades's firefly eyes with an adoring gaze of his own, mismatched eyes half-lidded. ]
Anything. I would do anything for you. You need but... t-tell me you want it.
[ It's only after the fact that he allows himself to register and really think about what Viktor had said, far too distracted with attempting to get out his - request? Reminder? Suggestion? He thinks about Nabriales' mastery of time, about how if he dared to delve into its use between the two of them they very well could figure out a way to stretch time out like taffy, until seconds become minutes become hours. He won't. Can't, maybe. To use and abuse his own power for his own ends was one thing, but disrespecting the seat of another like that - even if no one would know or care - sits poorly.
Once again, Viktor shakes him out of the thought, this time with laughter and Emet-Selch has never particularly been one to be offended at being laughed at - that required some level of respect for the person doing the mocking and that respect was not often found when Emet-Selch was the one being mocked. Frustratingly, he finds he has an endless well of respect, begrudging and otherwise, for Viktor. ]
What, are you at risk of forgetting my name if you do not utter it enough?
[ For all Viktor's fondness and affection, Emet-Selch finds himself squirming as if instead of stroking hands over wet skin he'd wiggled his way beneath, dug his fingers into Emet-Selch's flesh and muscle. ]
I want - [Because he can. He's allowed to want, not just for the greater good, for their goals, for their duty, but for himself. He stalls out, thinking of a dozen, a hundred different ways to ask for it, in countless languages dead and old and finds all of them insufficient, inadequate. ] I want you to put your mouth on my cock.
[ No, that's worse, somehow. Not clinical, but neither is it particularly arousing, and Emet-Selch's nose wrinkles as he meets Viktor's mismatched eyes, kissing him instead to distract. He's thousands of years old, he shouldn't find himself like this. ]
[ It's just bluster, that question. Viktor does not answer it with a yes. He does not admit to the deeply held terror that someday Light will take this from him, too. Erase their story as it has taken the color from his hair, the easy way flame and levin had once obeyed his beck and call, as it takes every scar from his skin before it can set. Will flowers grow over this, too? Will pearl white blooms blot out Hades's eyes, his mouth, his voice?
Once, he had not thought to live long enough for such things to matter. Now, time feels like something he will never have enough of. And so he would, with repetition, stitch that name upon his soul, to forbid himself from forgetting.
Rather than risk spoiling the moment saying as much, Viktor looks instead to the past for a proper answer, and finds it between kisses pressed from mouth to jaw. Breathless, matter-of-fact, he answers, ] You'll forgive me wanting to make up for lost t-time.
[ Easy enough not to get caught up in such dour thoughts when he finds himself with fingers wound around the threads of the most impassive Emet-Selch's composure. The right tug, and Viktor's sure he will unravel. It leaves him half-feral, feeling every twitch and jerk of Hades's body with the two of them flush together.
Hades struggles to give voice to what he wants, and Viktor only loves him more for it, loves to watch words fail him as he wrestles with desire. Hades has lived for years beyond counting, is sometimes so good at hiding his reactions that Viktor has wondered whether he even feels at all. He has none of that composure now, and those words, your mouth on my cock, and the rushed, exasperated kiss that chase them coax a little groan from the back of Viktor's throat.
He nods eagerly into the kiss as he considers their options, whether showing off his water breathing would be an amusing little trick or if he'd rather prove his devotion kneeling before Hades at their bed. A second later, he decides there's still fun to be had, toying with the just fraying edges of Hades's composure. He breaks their kiss, only to press another, quick, upon his lips. Viktor shifts the hand slung around Hades's back to press to his face, holding his gaze. The other eases down between his legs, thumb glancing against his shaft. ]
Where do you want me to put your cock in my mouth, Hades? [ Viktor cannot help but smile when he asks, eyes glinting in the firelight with animal focus. ] Here in the bath? On the bed? Perhaps... elsewhere?
[ The most irritating part of being known, he thinks, is that Viktor's experience with him instantly dulls the sharpness of his words. He does not want Viktor upset, but neither does he care for situations where he does not maintain complete control. Old habits die hard, and the moment that Viktor takes the lead in their little dance - and he has, undeniably, taken the lead - it leaves him feeling off-kilter, unsure where best to place his feet.
Making up for lost time, Viktor tells him, and Emet-Selch is not so frustrated he cannot acknowledge the truth of Viktor's words. He tries to imagine the opposite - being fractured into dozens of pieces like glass, patching pieces of his soul together, and feeling faint hints of familiarity over someone but never being certain why the sight of certain people winds its way around his heart and tugs tight enough to bleed. For once, no bitter question arises of how can you think we feel anything similarly; Emet-Selch knows they do. His mouth sets in a little line and he kisses Viktor instead of think any longer about it, the hand still against his face shifting until he can grasp Viktor's chin, long fingers splaying against the curve of his jaw, smoothing over his cheeks like he can't bear not to touch him if the option is there. ]
I suppose if I must.
[ Hard to sound like an ageless sorcerer who has experienced everything when he's in this state; he aims for sturdy and ends up somewhere in the neighborhood of flustered, squirming under the weight and attention of Viktor's gaze and touch. He wants to chase the little sound he'd unintentionally wrested from Viktor, wants to lick the taste of it out of his mouth and as there's no good reason not to, does, promptly, hungrily.
Moments later, Viktor's hand starts to move; he hears the slosh of bathwater, however slight, and feels fingertips, then the proper weight of a hand between his thighs, and knows there's no stopping the visceral reaction that occurs at the faintest glancing touch, the threat, the promise of it being more. He is certain he makes his own embarrassing little noise again, wholly unable to swallow it back, and bites his own tongue only when he's certain Viktor's is not in any danger, panting shallowly against Viktor's mouth. ]
You must think yourself so terribly clever, hm? Reversing our positions like this. And you ought to elaborate - where is elsewhere? The princeling's throne, staking your claim? [ For all his complaints, he is at least admiring of the tack. He would do the same thing in Viktor's shoes - has, in a very different situation - and take no small amount of pleasure in wrecking one's carefully held control. Perched above him, Viktor's damp skin gleams in the firelight and Emet-Selch gives into the urge to slouch back against the stone wall, to properly look at him, to drink the sight of him in, before finding an answer to Viktor's question. ] I can promise you the finer details of exactly how you facilitate - [ A pause, a cringe, not liking the alliteration but neither is he able to find a satisfactory word and so he continues. ] - fellatio are not overly concerning to me.
[ At any given moment, Viktor is aware in the abstract of how much larger Hades is. It's not so unusual. Viktor is decidedly average, perhaps even slight, when compared to the wide breadth of bodies found upon their star. But when Hades shifts his grip, takes Viktor's chin as he kisses him, fingers brushing jaw and throat, that difference is all he can think about. One moment, Viktor thinks he may be in control of the situation, and the next, Hades is directing him, allowing him forgiveness, and then kissing him again.
Hades voice shakes as he grips at the reins, trying to assert some measure of control, and it's frankly absurd how readily the Warrior's will slips. There is something to be said for consciously relenting to a man whose will rivals your own. Viktor opens his mouth to let Hades steal his breath, explore with his tongue, and answers with a soft, wanting sound. Half-mad at the sound that rushes past Hades's lips the very moment he's touched, Viktor lasts just 'til they've parted; as Hades's hot breath warms the skin of his throat, Viktor exhales a heavy shuddered sigh of his own, rocks his hips against Hades's lap, eager and urgent, once, twice, before he gets control of himself.
In the split second before Hades begins to taunt him again, Viktor grips his wrist and blurts, barely louder than a whisper, ] Sh-shite, I love when you do that.
[ Hades sinks low in the bath, and Viktor takes a moment to admire the sight of his most stoic sorcerer stretched out languid beneath him, still struggling to maintain that exacting composure. ]
I think of myself very little, Hades. You know that. [ It feels like something he's said a thousand, thousand times before. He does not realize that, technically, it is. ] Anywhere is elsewhere. [ He flattens his palm on Hades's chest, liking the look of it there. ] The aviary, a garden, the lordling's own tub, for a l-laugh. Though the throne might be most fun. [ He grins wicked, wild. A smile that brightens when he's given direction, however vague, however hesitant, the orders. ]
Very well. Watch your head.
[ Viktor slips back, out of Hades's lap, making room for what he's about to do next. Slipping his head beneath the water, while certainly a novel trick, rather precludes catching glimpses of Hades's face, but neither does Viktor want to risk dampening the heat with cold air and the short walk toward the bed.
So, instead, he flattens his palms on the tub's basin, hooks his fingers into the stone's aether and pulls. With a crunch of stone against stone, the entire bath shifts, the basin beneath Hades lifting into a crude, rocky seat - a throne that lifts him partway out of the water. Viktor uses his foot to force the other edge of the tub out further, easy as molding raw clay, to accommodate displaced water. He slides forward again, taking one of Hades's legs on his shoulder with a low chuckle, staring up at him hungrily. ]
[ After centuries of ignoring the irritating weight of want, he finds to indulge in it now feels as if all of it has gathered and settled upon his shoulders at once and he finds he is, as ever, ill-suited to manual labor. He can't magic his way out of this, though, and he doesn't want to. Much as he was grateful for the layer of distance manipulation of the shadows offered earlier, he finds the idea of it unthinkable now. To have a bounty before him and not partake is unimaginable.
Viktor's little interjection distracts him from the task of kissing him within an ilm of his life but before he can ask what, exactly, Viktor had so enjoyed that he had unintentionally done, Viktor slips out of his grasp with nothing but the fleeting pressure of the half-aborted rolls of his hips sparking heat in Emet-Selch's stomach. He hadn't held tight enough to make it a difficulty; Emet-Selch's hand flexes at the loss before he forcibly grips the stone seat instead of chasing him. ]
I am very well aware. A task to attend to in full when we've completed our duty. [ He has no intention of allowing Viktor's acknowledgment to go unanswered, unnoticed, but neither does he press the point despite the desire lingering. He has far better tasks to turn his attention to, namely, imagining having Viktor in any one of the places listed off. Imagination is always insufficient when compared to reality, though. Imagination does have the benefit of not getting dirt into uncomfortable places, and not dealing with feathers and bird waste, though. ] If you think I am letting you or I flounce about naked in one of the glorified bird cages -
[ He feels what's going to occur before he realizes it; the hum in the air, the way the aether shifts in anticipation of whatever magic Viktor intends to work. When the bath shifts beneath him it's not a surprise. His ability to manipulate aether may not be as refined as someone who's lived for thousands of years and studied officially, but the Emet-Selch can admit that doesn't matter. Not when the end result is still aether and being reshaped nearly effortlessly, water sluicing off him as he is abruptly raised a few ilms and - oh.
Later, he'll be a little mortified about how quickly he goes from do I find this arousing to oh, no, I find this terribly arousing; for now, he swallows back any embarrassment and intentionally, slowly, lounges once again. Tries to make a show of it, to put himself on display no matter how it makes his stomach twist with discomfort he has no patience for. Viktor arranges himself beneath Emet-Selch's leg, and for all that the position puts Emet-Selch arguably in the powerful position, all he can think is he is entirely at Viktor's mercy like this. His cock twitches, hands aching to busy themselves or cover himself and so he splits the difference, gently but intently carding a hand through Viktor's hair, cautious of the lilies, and then grips, spreading his thighs a little wider. If Viktor attempts to dive forward and set about his task, Emet-Selch's grip stops him, his head tilting, eyes lidded as he examines (admires) Viktor, too much Hades in his expression to be Solus properly even as he tries for the facade. ]
Before you do - you mentioned you loved something done. Elaborate.
[ Nice to have the shoe on the other foot for once. To wholly distract Hades from something that he does not want to discuss for the first time, possibly ever. Or, it's nice for roughly half a second, and then guilt bubbles. Viktor can tame it momentarily with the half-hearted promise that he will, he will, once the star no longer needs him, think about learning to prioritize himself. Nevermind that such a future is one he can hardly imagine.
It hardly matters, though, because just as the guilt roils again, Hades distracts with griping anew, and a moment after that, his new throne raises him from the water by ilms, and Viktor finds his breath caught in his throat. No mere king or Emperor, but a god, deserving worship. It suits him, authority, the glorious curve of his body as he reclines. Viktor stares, watches his fingers flex, and fights the ridiculous desire to brush his lips against each knuckle. He couldn't reach, anyway. ]
Stars, you are gorgeous. [ he breathes, unable to look anywhere else, to think of anything at all but the tableau laid before him, finer, more delicious than any iconography in the old halls of Ul'dah, in Ishgard's cathedrals, in the magnificent mosaics of Radz-at-Han. This, Hades, is all his, and Viktor can barely comprehend it.
He swallows, wetting a mouth gone inconveniently dry, and ilms forward just until Hades catches him. Curls twist around fingers, careful but unrelenting, an intoxicating tug of pain and Viktor sings a shuddered breath. Emet-Selch stares down at him, as much the amused an disaffected emperor as soft, sweet, adoring Hades, and Viktor has never wanted with more certainty - to please his lord, to earn the adoration of his Hades. Viktor tries to press in toward parted thighs, but finds himself held fast, and a little moan of pleasure escapes him before he can stop himself. ]
Ah. This. [ To answer the question posed. ] You, taking control. Directing me. O-owning me. [ He curls his arm around the trunk of Hades's leg. Viktor angles his head to press kisses in a line along Hades's inner thigh, drags his teeth and tongue over skin, hungry, worshipful, but obedient. He cuts his gaze to meet Hades, and between brushes of lips, murmurs, ] May I suck your cock, Emet-Selch?
[ This, at least, he is practiced at. Not so much the being naked on the throne part, he was almost always decided clothed ankle to throat while on the throne, a brief, unmentionable period of clothing in Allag which he took great pains to eliminate near any trace of as the sole exception. He can sit on a throne, though. He's sat on countless thrones, unearned, and managed to obfuscate his way through to the other end. This is no different.
This is very different, of course. No matter how many times he tries to remind himself he's been here in one form or another, he hasn't, not really. Not with Viktor. This is, against all odds, a wholly unique experience like most of the experiences he has with Viktor. He tries for the lazy condescension of Solus and finds just like earlier, he can slip the mask and have it settle a little unevenly but still fit. The compliment Viktor gives is uttered with full, breathless sincerity, and Emet-Selch casts the curve of his erection a dubious little look, then turns his attention back on Viktor, forcing his hand up from the water-warmed stone to cup Viktor's jaw, thumbing over his lower lip after he's finished speaking.
Much as he has no need for unnecessary praise, he allows the faintest hint of a smirk to curl his lips at Viktor's obeisance. He has no desire to lead kingdoms any longer, no urge to conquer and rule man in any way. But, he thinks, conquering and ruling Viktor like this, in private, feels the same. Better, even, were he being honest. His breath hitches at the graze of lips against sensitive skin and he wills himself not to fold the moment Viktor gets Emet-Selch's cock in his mouth. ]
Oh, Emet-Selch now, is it? So you can be taught manners, then? You just required a firm hand to coax it out. [ The thumb against Viktor's mouth presses gently at first and then insistently until he gains access, hooking his thumb firmly against Viktor's jaw, using it and the hand in his hair like a guide until his knuckles and Viktor's lips almost kiss against his shaft. ] Since you asked nicely and 'twould be a shame not to reward good behavior, you may, Viktor.
[ The hand gripping his jaw, holding down his tongue retreats, a beat of hesitation where Emet-Selch weighs the idea of wiping his thumb on Viktor's shoulder and then decides against it; this, they are too new, and he is not yet certain of where the lines in the sand have been drawn and redrawn. ]
[ The Warrior of Light does not bow, does not kneel before any lord. That is rather the point, to be a beacon, defiant. Like the Crystal Tower, like countless heroes, many of whom had shared the same soul, before, the Warrior is meant to stand alone, unshakeable.
But it is not the Warrior shaking before the makeshift throne in this luxuriant bath, who shows no defiance, only deference. It is not the Warrior who gazes up, beatific, as Hades presses fingers to his lips. It is only Viktor, staring with unhidden longing at the man who has his heart. Hades presses a thumb into his mouth, and Viktor does not just allow it, but eagerly welcomes his insistent fingers. Levin arcs up Viktor's spine as he shuts his eyes and closes his lips around a knuckle, sucking lightly while Hades condescends. He cannot answer, tongue caught as it is, and so he only hums in agreement.
Hades guides him close, says his name, and Viktor's ears twitch at the sound. So intoxicating still, hearing it on his lips. More intoxicating, to submit to one so dangerous and know he is entirely safe, loved. Viktor dredges the hand not already wrapped around a leg up from the water and flattens his palm against Hades's opposite thigh. After a beat, he exhales a harsh, hungry breath and noses closer, breathes in the smell of soap and salts and arousal, and then licks, slow, savoring the taste of skin from hilt to head, gaze ever pointed upward, watching for reaction. ]
Thank you, Emet-Selch. [ he murmurs, eking a bit more enjoyment out of their little game before brushing his lips against the tip of Hades's cock. There, he pauses, not meaning to tease, though it comes across that way anyway. He can sense Hades's nerves, the uncertainty - it would be hard not to ordinarily, but they buzz at the hem of their veil.
He swallows the urge to reassure, to promise that it is Hades he loves and wants. Now is not the time, not the place. And it is easier to set that feeling aside when his whole body aches with want. After, once they have settled into bed, he can - he will - bring it up. For now, though-
For now, he parts his lips, breathes a puff of hot air against skin, then leans in and takes the head of Hades's cock with a swirl of his tongue and the quiet, low sound of a deeply held hunger finally being satisfied. ]
[ He'd intended to break the Warrior with Light should he not be able to hold it, as if forcing his Mother's Light into him could act as penance, punishment for the simple, unavoidable sin of not being who he once was. Now, he finds he has little to no desire to break Viktor, to drag submission or deference or Azem out of him kicking and screaming. This is, against all odds, enough. This will always be enough, come what may. The certainty of the thought settles some of the anxiety twisting him into knots.
Viktor closes his lips around Emet-Selch's finger and the sensation is not unfamiliar like it used to be, but that doesn't make any less distracting, jarring. Emet-Selch swallows loud enough his throat bobs, clicks, and drinks in the sight of him. Thinks about birdcages, thrones, and a little house together in Thavnair, full to brimming with flowers fed by the oppressive sun outside and the sun within, and dares to want no matter how heretical such a thing feels.
Insanely, his mouth wants to shape the words you're welcome like this is some sort of transaction like he's ordered a meal off the menu and had it brought to him piping hot. He swallows down the words viciously, instead tilting his head down with a lazy, indolent little roll of his shoulders and neck, and focusing on sensation. At least he'd re-created the damned thing correctly. For a moment he thinks certainly, certainly he's miscalculated; he's made his cock too sensitive, or Viktor's mouth is just too warm but he amends the thought near as soon as he has it. It has been years; he's allowed, he supposes, to feel a little overwhelmed.
His had is poor competition against even the breath skating over it, but the wet-hot press of tongue, the hungry noise Viktor makes are near enough to unmake him. His cock twitches in Viktor's grasp, the hand in his hair loosening until he recalls that his fingers are carded there, alternating petting and half-heartedly trying to straighten the mess he's made of Viktor's curls and then all thoughts of propriety and where his hair falls drops right out of his head, a trembling breath hissing out of him. He doesn't, blessedly, come instantly. He digs his teeth into his cheek again, thighs tensing, forcibly resisting the urge to buck up into Viktor's mouth and risk choking him, but it's a near miss. ]
You're lovely. [ Rasped, almost esaping like he doesn't mean to say the words out loud, he just thinks it so strongly that the words slip out. Once out, he doesn't take them back, no shame unfurls in his chest at the admittance, nothing but intent as he watches Viktor mouth at the aching swell of his cock. Finally. ]
[ Once, in the cold, dark depths of the First, tumbling over the peak of their mutual hatred, Hades had gleefully promised to spend an eternity breaking his will. Bespoke torment to snuff the resolve of the thing that was not Azem enough, the thing that stood in the way of glorious, promised purpose. Those words flit through Viktor's head just now, the growl of them, the raw fury. His mind tries to match that rage to the soft, wanting sounds that tumble from Hades's mouth as his own slides down to take as much of him as he can. All trembling, ragged breath and tensing muscles, each twitch and sound maddening - funny, the little similarities, turned upside down and made all the more delectable. This, each of them weak for the other, exposed and raw, coaxing sound and feeling, is something Viktor could spend an eternity on.
The weight, the fullness in his mouth is intoxicating, and Viktor cannot help the deep groan of satisfaction that slips out of him when he feels Hades fight the urge to force his cock deeper. Gods, he almost wishes he would. Each sweet, breathy sound, each compliment, makes his ears and tail twitch and perk; embarrassing, how eagerly his own body responds to praise both pointed and implied. Viktor steals a glance as he drags his mouth back up, tongue lathing Hades's shaft and slender fingers chasing after, ghosting over wet skin. Another low sound slips out of him then, catching the intensity of those lantern eyes as Hades gazes, languid, adoring. Electrifying, to see Hades don something like the face of the Emperor, and to know, without reservation, that it is his will, not Viktor's, at risk of crumbling. Under the water, Viktor's hips shift against nothing, thighs clenching at the hot ache rising between them.
He wants. Stars, he wants more, and he knows he will have it if he but asks. It takes only a moment to decide that that desire burns far hotter than any fear could. Viktor does his level best to muffle the lewd slurp of his mouth sliding back over Hades's cock, thinking he won't appreciate such a visceral sound, but success is middling. ]
Tell me more. Tell me how you want me. [ he whispers between indulgent kisses brushed down and then back up Emet-Selch's length. Then, before taking him again, with a faint touch of need, adds, ] Please.
[ Viktor angles his head into the persistent stroke of Hades's hand through his hair, giving in to the heavy red fog that settles over his senses. Each catch of fingers in tangled curls earns a sharpened breath, a throaty little sound of encouragement as he begins to bob up and down in earnest, seeking a rhythm that near matches the pace of Hades's hand petting and righting curls. ]
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If asked, Viktor would say, without pride or reservation, that he has been a prolific paramour. Aside from it being a fun diversion, and ignoring his penchant for catching fluttery feelings, physical intimacy had simply proven itself a useful tool for a young man who failed to fit in adequately anywhere. He has enjoyed, endured, initiated countless kisses in places both public and private. And right now, none of that matters.
There is only this: a kiss that is in no way just a kiss. Lips that erase impending obliteration, warmth that whites out every worry and ache. It is a moment without duty, without the Warrior's tithe. It is a realization, that were the world to end, were this to be his last kiss, just this would be enough, perfect, and were they to win, were he to have the opportunity for many, many more, each one would belong to Hades, to do with as he sees fit.
He breaks away only long enough to catch his breath. ]
You will live. [ murmured in the heartbeat's breadth that their mouths are parted.
Even that gap is too much, like a gasp of oxygen fed to a starving fire. Viktor tips his head, leans in and nuzzles the side of Hades's nose. He wants, needs more hotly than he has ever felt. Like he is half his age, again. In a way that makes him positively stupid. ]
We will live.
[ Viktor pushes forward, slings an arm around Hades's shoulders as he presses his lips to his mouth anew, water splashing as he climbs into his lap. The feel of Hades's cock against his thigh shakes a breath out of him, and he lets the fingers of his free hand dance over Hades's thigh. ]
I will stretch every second of new time we make so that I might spend it with you.
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Eventually, they must part; he is, in effect, immortal but must still breathe. For a fleeting, foolishly romantic moment he almost wishes he need not if only to steal a few more seconds. ]
Living filthy can be far worse than dying. [ He thinks, somewhat against his will, of the people in the wake of the Sundering. Fractured, malformed, unable to keep themselves cool in the heat, warm in the cold. Dying over and over again when such a fate was easily avoidable. Viktor shakes the thought from his head as cleanly as salt from the shaker taken from the holding facility Emet-Selch had maintained of all their old belongings, and replaces it with the swift, savage awareness of Viktor's naked, wet form clambering into his lap. Emet-Selch's breath catches, straining for a memory so old it may as well be the same dust they'd been trudging through. Distantly: a bath, and a body with parts that were new and exciting, and the laughing disappointment of discovering being intimate in the bath was possible, but perhaps not the most comfortable. ]
The water will chafe you know.
[ He's less concerned about himself - he doesn't think that he would, personally, last long enough for chafing to be an issue, more concerned with Viktor and pleased to have something to complain about. His mouth slants over Viktor's before he can muster a response, managing all of a few seconds of kissing him gently before he licks into Viktor's mouth hungrily, one hand dropping down into the water with a faint splash, fitting itself firmly, unhesitatingly to the curve of Viktor's bottom to ensure every ilm of him is pressed as close as possible. Then, the hand flinches, flexes, like he realizes that pawing at Viktor will not just be welcomed but encouraged. Mindlessly, distracted by the kiss, by Viktor pressed this close he rocks his hips up. The motion isn't exceptionally smooth or graceful; not so much a proper grind as the motion is a jerky, half-finished jacknife. His body certainly doesn't care.
Just the bit of friction is enough to wrest a strangled breath from Emet-Selch, a little nnh in shock, nails digging halfmoons into the swell of Viktor's bottom before he catches himself. Masters himself back down from a roaring, mindless bonfire to something less out of control, pressing his mouth against the swell of Viktor's shoulder, instead, inhaling through his nose. He wants, and he's rather tired of pretending otherwise. Tomorrow, he can feel ridiculous about his weak will. For now, he presses teeth into a healing mark from earlier and then forcibly draws back to meet Viktor's gaze. ]
I assume your offer of - [ a pause, clearly straining for a non-clinical referral and dodging all the way around a filthy one ] - reciprocation did not come with an expiry date.
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But even those wretched memories cannot dampen the fire burning low in his stomach, the roar of his pulse between his thighs. Hades says more. Something Viktor doesn't quite catch before he's kissing him again, a sweet and soft second burnt up in the supernova blast of want kindled between them. Sex in a tub isn't exactly easy, but the repercussions are best left to sort out by the tomorrow version of him - the one that isn't aching to be claimed after a long day of little heartaches. A hum escapes him when Hades's palm fits against his bottom, hiking up to a whine when he flinches, squeezes. And then- a jerk of hips that Viktor isn't quite prepared for.
A laugh bubbles out of him, impossibly fond. His voice shakes, elated, when he whispers, ] Hades.
[ Viktor pets his hair, dragging fingers through platinum strands and then smoothing them down again, anything to keep him close, to pull him closer. He murmurs nonsense sounds of approval, hiking into a whimper when he feels nails dig into his skin. Then, a second later, another bite, and Viktor has to swallow the urge to beg for more.
Hades is speaking again, and Viktor nearly swallows the sound in another kiss. He is less than an ilm away, breathing hard, when he computes what's being asked of him. Silence settles as Viktor gains purchase on his own composure, meeting Hades's firefly eyes with an adoring gaze of his own, mismatched eyes half-lidded. ]
Anything. I would do anything for you. You need but... t-tell me you want it.
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Once again, Viktor shakes him out of the thought, this time with laughter and Emet-Selch has never particularly been one to be offended at being laughed at - that required some level of respect for the person doing the mocking and that respect was not often found when Emet-Selch was the one being mocked. Frustratingly, he finds he has an endless well of respect, begrudging and otherwise, for Viktor. ]
What, are you at risk of forgetting my name if you do not utter it enough?
[ For all Viktor's fondness and affection, Emet-Selch finds himself squirming as if instead of stroking hands over wet skin he'd wiggled his way beneath, dug his fingers into Emet-Selch's flesh and muscle. ]
I want - [Because he can. He's allowed to want, not just for the greater good, for their goals, for their duty, but for himself. He stalls out, thinking of a dozen, a hundred different ways to ask for it, in countless languages dead and old and finds all of them insufficient, inadequate. ] I want you to put your mouth on my cock.
[ No, that's worse, somehow. Not clinical, but neither is it particularly arousing, and Emet-Selch's nose wrinkles as he meets Viktor's mismatched eyes, kissing him instead to distract. He's thousands of years old, he shouldn't find himself like this. ]
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Once, he had not thought to live long enough for such things to matter. Now, time feels like something he will never have enough of. And so he would, with repetition, stitch that name upon his soul, to forbid himself from forgetting.
Rather than risk spoiling the moment saying as much, Viktor looks instead to the past for a proper answer, and finds it between kisses pressed from mouth to jaw. Breathless, matter-of-fact, he answers, ] You'll forgive me wanting to make up for lost t-time.
[ Easy enough not to get caught up in such dour thoughts when he finds himself with fingers wound around the threads of the most impassive Emet-Selch's composure. The right tug, and Viktor's sure he will unravel. It leaves him half-feral, feeling every twitch and jerk of Hades's body with the two of them flush together.
Hades struggles to give voice to what he wants, and Viktor only loves him more for it, loves to watch words fail him as he wrestles with desire. Hades has lived for years beyond counting, is sometimes so good at hiding his reactions that Viktor has wondered whether he even feels at all. He has none of that composure now, and those words, your mouth on my cock, and the rushed, exasperated kiss that chase them coax a little groan from the back of Viktor's throat.
He nods eagerly into the kiss as he considers their options, whether showing off his water breathing would be an amusing little trick or if he'd rather prove his devotion kneeling before Hades at their bed. A second later, he decides there's still fun to be had, toying with the just fraying edges of Hades's composure. He breaks their kiss, only to press another, quick, upon his lips. Viktor shifts the hand slung around Hades's back to press to his face, holding his gaze. The other eases down between his legs, thumb glancing against his shaft. ]
Where do you want me to put your cock in my mouth, Hades? [ Viktor cannot help but smile when he asks, eyes glinting in the firelight with animal focus. ] Here in the bath? On the bed? Perhaps... elsewhere?
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Making up for lost time, Viktor tells him, and Emet-Selch is not so frustrated he cannot acknowledge the truth of Viktor's words. He tries to imagine the opposite - being fractured into dozens of pieces like glass, patching pieces of his soul together, and feeling faint hints of familiarity over someone but never being certain why the sight of certain people winds its way around his heart and tugs tight enough to bleed. For once, no bitter question arises of how can you think we feel anything similarly; Emet-Selch knows they do. His mouth sets in a little line and he kisses Viktor instead of think any longer about it, the hand still against his face shifting until he can grasp Viktor's chin, long fingers splaying against the curve of his jaw, smoothing over his cheeks like he can't bear not to touch him if the option is there. ]
I suppose if I must.
[ Hard to sound like an ageless sorcerer who has experienced everything when he's in this state; he aims for sturdy and ends up somewhere in the neighborhood of flustered, squirming under the weight and attention of Viktor's gaze and touch. He wants to chase the little sound he'd unintentionally wrested from Viktor, wants to lick the taste of it out of his mouth and as there's no good reason not to, does, promptly, hungrily.
Moments later, Viktor's hand starts to move; he hears the slosh of bathwater, however slight, and feels fingertips, then the proper weight of a hand between his thighs, and knows there's no stopping the visceral reaction that occurs at the faintest glancing touch, the threat, the promise of it being more. He is certain he makes his own embarrassing little noise again, wholly unable to swallow it back, and bites his own tongue only when he's certain Viktor's is not in any danger, panting shallowly against Viktor's mouth. ]
You must think yourself so terribly clever, hm? Reversing our positions like this. And you ought to elaborate - where is elsewhere? The princeling's throne, staking your claim? [ For all his complaints, he is at least admiring of the tack. He would do the same thing in Viktor's shoes - has, in a very different situation - and take no small amount of pleasure in wrecking one's carefully held control. Perched above him, Viktor's damp skin gleams in the firelight and Emet-Selch gives into the urge to slouch back against the stone wall, to properly look at him, to drink the sight of him in, before finding an answer to Viktor's question. ] I can promise you the finer details of exactly how you facilitate - [ A pause, a cringe, not liking the alliteration but neither is he able to find a satisfactory word and so he continues. ] - fellatio are not overly concerning to me.
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Hades voice shakes as he grips at the reins, trying to assert some measure of control, and it's frankly absurd how readily the Warrior's will slips. There is something to be said for consciously relenting to a man whose will rivals your own. Viktor opens his mouth to let Hades steal his breath, explore with his tongue, and answers with a soft, wanting sound. Half-mad at the sound that rushes past Hades's lips the very moment he's touched, Viktor lasts just 'til they've parted; as Hades's hot breath warms the skin of his throat, Viktor exhales a heavy shuddered sigh of his own, rocks his hips against Hades's lap, eager and urgent, once, twice, before he gets control of himself.
In the split second before Hades begins to taunt him again, Viktor grips his wrist and blurts, barely louder than a whisper, ] Sh-shite, I love when you do that.
[ Hades sinks low in the bath, and Viktor takes a moment to admire the sight of his most stoic sorcerer stretched out languid beneath him, still struggling to maintain that exacting composure. ]
I think of myself very little, Hades. You know that. [ It feels like something he's said a thousand, thousand times before. He does not realize that, technically, it is. ] Anywhere is elsewhere. [ He flattens his palm on Hades's chest, liking the look of it there. ] The aviary, a garden, the lordling's own tub, for a l-laugh. Though the throne might be most fun. [ He grins wicked, wild. A smile that brightens when he's given direction, however vague, however hesitant, the orders. ]
Very well. Watch your head.
[ Viktor slips back, out of Hades's lap, making room for what he's about to do next. Slipping his head beneath the water, while certainly a novel trick, rather precludes catching glimpses of Hades's face, but neither does Viktor want to risk dampening the heat with cold air and the short walk toward the bed.
So, instead, he flattens his palms on the tub's basin, hooks his fingers into the stone's aether and pulls. With a crunch of stone against stone, the entire bath shifts, the basin beneath Hades lifting into a crude, rocky seat - a throne that lifts him partway out of the water. Viktor uses his foot to force the other edge of the tub out further, easy as molding raw clay, to accommodate displaced water. He slides forward again, taking one of Hades's legs on his shoulder with a low chuckle, staring up at him hungrily. ]
Let us be about it, then.
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Viktor's little interjection distracts him from the task of kissing him within an ilm of his life but before he can ask what, exactly, Viktor had so enjoyed that he had unintentionally done, Viktor slips out of his grasp with nothing but the fleeting pressure of the half-aborted rolls of his hips sparking heat in Emet-Selch's stomach. He hadn't held tight enough to make it a difficulty; Emet-Selch's hand flexes at the loss before he forcibly grips the stone seat instead of chasing him. ]
I am very well aware. A task to attend to in full when we've completed our duty. [ He has no intention of allowing Viktor's acknowledgment to go unanswered, unnoticed, but neither does he press the point despite the desire lingering. He has far better tasks to turn his attention to, namely, imagining having Viktor in any one of the places listed off. Imagination is always insufficient when compared to reality, though. Imagination does have the benefit of not getting dirt into uncomfortable places, and not dealing with feathers and bird waste, though. ] If you think I am letting you or I flounce about naked in one of the glorified bird cages -
[ He feels what's going to occur before he realizes it; the hum in the air, the way the aether shifts in anticipation of whatever magic Viktor intends to work. When the bath shifts beneath him it's not a surprise. His ability to manipulate aether may not be as refined as someone who's lived for thousands of years and studied officially, but the Emet-Selch can admit that doesn't matter. Not when the end result is still aether and being reshaped nearly effortlessly, water sluicing off him as he is abruptly raised a few ilms and - oh.
Later, he'll be a little mortified about how quickly he goes from do I find this arousing to oh, no, I find this terribly arousing; for now, he swallows back any embarrassment and intentionally, slowly, lounges once again. Tries to make a show of it, to put himself on display no matter how it makes his stomach twist with discomfort he has no patience for. Viktor arranges himself beneath Emet-Selch's leg, and for all that the position puts Emet-Selch arguably in the powerful position, all he can think is he is entirely at Viktor's mercy like this. His cock twitches, hands aching to busy themselves or cover himself and so he splits the difference, gently but intently carding a hand through Viktor's hair, cautious of the lilies, and then grips, spreading his thighs a little wider. If Viktor attempts to dive forward and set about his task, Emet-Selch's grip stops him, his head tilting, eyes lidded as he examines (admires) Viktor, too much Hades in his expression to be Solus properly even as he tries for the facade. ]
Before you do - you mentioned you loved something done. Elaborate.
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It hardly matters, though, because just as the guilt roils again, Hades distracts with griping anew, and a moment after that, his new throne raises him from the water by ilms, and Viktor finds his breath caught in his throat. No mere king or Emperor, but a god, deserving worship. It suits him, authority, the glorious curve of his body as he reclines. Viktor stares, watches his fingers flex, and fights the ridiculous desire to brush his lips against each knuckle. He couldn't reach, anyway. ]
Stars, you are gorgeous. [ he breathes, unable to look anywhere else, to think of anything at all but the tableau laid before him, finer, more delicious than any iconography in the old halls of Ul'dah, in Ishgard's cathedrals, in the magnificent mosaics of Radz-at-Han. This, Hades, is all his, and Viktor can barely comprehend it.
He swallows, wetting a mouth gone inconveniently dry, and ilms forward just until Hades catches him. Curls twist around fingers, careful but unrelenting, an intoxicating tug of pain and Viktor sings a shuddered breath. Emet-Selch stares down at him, as much the amused an disaffected emperor as soft, sweet, adoring Hades, and Viktor has never wanted with more certainty - to please his lord, to earn the adoration of his Hades. Viktor tries to press in toward parted thighs, but finds himself held fast, and a little moan of pleasure escapes him before he can stop himself. ]
Ah. This. [ To answer the question posed. ] You, taking control. Directing me. O-owning me. [ He curls his arm around the trunk of Hades's leg. Viktor angles his head to press kisses in a line along Hades's inner thigh, drags his teeth and tongue over skin, hungry, worshipful, but obedient. He cuts his gaze to meet Hades, and between brushes of lips, murmurs, ] May I suck your cock, Emet-Selch?
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This is very different, of course. No matter how many times he tries to remind himself he's been here in one form or another, he hasn't, not really. Not with Viktor. This is, against all odds, a wholly unique experience like most of the experiences he has with Viktor. He tries for the lazy condescension of Solus and finds just like earlier, he can slip the mask and have it settle a little unevenly but still fit. The compliment Viktor gives is uttered with full, breathless sincerity, and Emet-Selch casts the curve of his erection a dubious little look, then turns his attention back on Viktor, forcing his hand up from the water-warmed stone to cup Viktor's jaw, thumbing over his lower lip after he's finished speaking.
Much as he has no need for unnecessary praise, he allows the faintest hint of a smirk to curl his lips at Viktor's obeisance. He has no desire to lead kingdoms any longer, no urge to conquer and rule man in any way. But, he thinks, conquering and ruling Viktor like this, in private, feels the same. Better, even, were he being honest. His breath hitches at the graze of lips against sensitive skin and he wills himself not to fold the moment Viktor gets Emet-Selch's cock in his mouth. ]
Oh, Emet-Selch now, is it? So you can be taught manners, then? You just required a firm hand to coax it out. [ The thumb against Viktor's mouth presses gently at first and then insistently until he gains access, hooking his thumb firmly against Viktor's jaw, using it and the hand in his hair like a guide until his knuckles and Viktor's lips almost kiss against his shaft. ] Since you asked nicely and 'twould be a shame not to reward good behavior, you may, Viktor.
[ The hand gripping his jaw, holding down his tongue retreats, a beat of hesitation where Emet-Selch weighs the idea of wiping his thumb on Viktor's shoulder and then decides against it; this, they are too new, and he is not yet certain of where the lines in the sand have been drawn and redrawn. ]
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But it is not the Warrior shaking before the makeshift throne in this luxuriant bath, who shows no defiance, only deference. It is not the Warrior who gazes up, beatific, as Hades presses fingers to his lips. It is only Viktor, staring with unhidden longing at the man who has his heart. Hades presses a thumb into his mouth, and Viktor does not just allow it, but eagerly welcomes his insistent fingers. Levin arcs up Viktor's spine as he shuts his eyes and closes his lips around a knuckle, sucking lightly while Hades condescends. He cannot answer, tongue caught as it is, and so he only hums in agreement.
Hades guides him close, says his name, and Viktor's ears twitch at the sound. So intoxicating still, hearing it on his lips. More intoxicating, to submit to one so dangerous and know he is entirely safe, loved. Viktor dredges the hand not already wrapped around a leg up from the water and flattens his palm against Hades's opposite thigh. After a beat, he exhales a harsh, hungry breath and noses closer, breathes in the smell of soap and salts and arousal, and then licks, slow, savoring the taste of skin from hilt to head, gaze ever pointed upward, watching for reaction. ]
Thank you, Emet-Selch. [ he murmurs, eking a bit more enjoyment out of their little game before brushing his lips against the tip of Hades's cock. There, he pauses, not meaning to tease, though it comes across that way anyway. He can sense Hades's nerves, the uncertainty - it would be hard not to ordinarily, but they buzz at the hem of their veil.
He swallows the urge to reassure, to promise that it is Hades he loves and wants. Now is not the time, not the place. And it is easier to set that feeling aside when his whole body aches with want. After, once they have settled into bed, he can - he will - bring it up. For now, though-
For now, he parts his lips, breathes a puff of hot air against skin, then leans in and takes the head of Hades's cock with a swirl of his tongue and the quiet, low sound of a deeply held hunger finally being satisfied. ]
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Viktor closes his lips around Emet-Selch's finger and the sensation is not unfamiliar like it used to be, but that doesn't make any less distracting, jarring. Emet-Selch swallows loud enough his throat bobs, clicks, and drinks in the sight of him. Thinks about birdcages, thrones, and a little house together in Thavnair, full to brimming with flowers fed by the oppressive sun outside and the sun within, and dares to want no matter how heretical such a thing feels.
Insanely, his mouth wants to shape the words you're welcome like this is some sort of transaction like he's ordered a meal off the menu and had it brought to him piping hot. He swallows down the words viciously, instead tilting his head down with a lazy, indolent little roll of his shoulders and neck, and focusing on sensation. At least he'd re-created the damned thing correctly. For a moment he thinks certainly, certainly he's miscalculated; he's made his cock too sensitive, or Viktor's mouth is just too warm but he amends the thought near as soon as he has it. It has been years; he's allowed, he supposes, to feel a little overwhelmed.
His had is poor competition against even the breath skating over it, but the wet-hot press of tongue, the hungry noise Viktor makes are near enough to unmake him. His cock twitches in Viktor's grasp, the hand in his hair loosening until he recalls that his fingers are carded there, alternating petting and half-heartedly trying to straighten the mess he's made of Viktor's curls and then all thoughts of propriety and where his hair falls drops right out of his head, a trembling breath hissing out of him. He doesn't, blessedly, come instantly. He digs his teeth into his cheek again, thighs tensing, forcibly resisting the urge to buck up into Viktor's mouth and risk choking him, but it's a near miss. ]
You're lovely. [ Rasped, almost esaping like he doesn't mean to say the words out loud, he just thinks it so strongly that the words slip out. Once out, he doesn't take them back, no shame unfurls in his chest at the admittance, nothing but intent as he watches Viktor mouth at the aching swell of his cock. Finally. ]
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The weight, the fullness in his mouth is intoxicating, and Viktor cannot help the deep groan of satisfaction that slips out of him when he feels Hades fight the urge to force his cock deeper. Gods, he almost wishes he would. Each sweet, breathy sound, each compliment, makes his ears and tail twitch and perk; embarrassing, how eagerly his own body responds to praise both pointed and implied. Viktor steals a glance as he drags his mouth back up, tongue lathing Hades's shaft and slender fingers chasing after, ghosting over wet skin. Another low sound slips out of him then, catching the intensity of those lantern eyes as Hades gazes, languid, adoring. Electrifying, to see Hades don something like the face of the Emperor, and to know, without reservation, that it is his will, not Viktor's, at risk of crumbling. Under the water, Viktor's hips shift against nothing, thighs clenching at the hot ache rising between them.
He wants. Stars, he wants more, and he knows he will have it if he but asks. It takes only a moment to decide that that desire burns far hotter than any fear could. Viktor does his level best to muffle the lewd slurp of his mouth sliding back over Hades's cock, thinking he won't appreciate such a visceral sound, but success is middling. ]
Tell me more. Tell me how you want me. [ he whispers between indulgent kisses brushed down and then back up Emet-Selch's length. Then, before taking him again, with a faint touch of need, adds, ] Please.
[ Viktor angles his head into the persistent stroke of Hades's hand through his hair, giving in to the heavy red fog that settles over his senses. Each catch of fingers in tangled curls earns a sharpened breath, a throaty little sound of encouragement as he begins to bob up and down in earnest, seeking a rhythm that near matches the pace of Hades's hand petting and righting curls. ]