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perfectteatime) wrote2022-02-24 05:55 pm
perfectteatime) wrote2022-02-24 05:55 pmAmani Inbox
Greetings. You have reached the message box of Byleth Eisner, please leave a message I will contact you shortly.
perfectteatime) wrote2022-02-24 05:55 pm
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Despite his quip, his eyes rarely leave the stage, and even his fidgeting quiets after some time. The story is a classic tragedy. He's read them, and been read them by his father before. They follow a formula, and he is pleased to see that some literary devices do seem to be universally appreciated. The morals are quite clear and perhaps a bit on the nose, but the cliché is cliché for a reason- it works. The story is still good, and it leaves Byleth with a sense of fulfillment when the curtain falls.
He looks up, when Emet asks him, and for a moment he is caught staring. What a smile it is. It sends a shiver through him, a glimpse at that genuine happiness at least for a moment, for a man so dour. His eyes flutter as he extracts himself, and he places his hand to his chin to think.
"I quite enjoyed it. The tragedy of losing appreciation for what you have, the tangible, in lieu of the ideal. Intangible, yet to exist, yet to be realized, and in the end, never to become. The sets were like nothing I've ever seen. Though most of your world is nothing I've ever seen before, so I suppose that's moot. But still- it was incredible." He hums. "I know how these kinds of stories are, but I admit I was still rooting for him to abandon his pride and take his would-be lover into his arms. You know... ride off into the sunset. But I suppose that would have been less effective storytelling." There's the look on his face that says 'but still', because he really is a romantic.
"I suppose I will just have to take you into my arms and ride off into the sunset instead." He says this as a whisper, mindful of the still applauding crowd. Even then, he leans in, pushing his mask up just enough to allow him to steal a kiss, hidden by the long sleeve of his robes.
"Thank you for this. It was incredible."
By the Goddess he is going to make this man scream tonight.
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Byleth's hope for a happy ending is...cute, if a little childish, but perhaps he too wished that the protagonist might have thought better on his actions, that he might have realized sooner the mistakes he made, before he was left with nothing. Not even the coveted concept which had cost him everything. Yet, that would cheapen the message, he believes, and to the Amaurotines in the audience, they would be left without the ache in their bosoms they were promised.
Of a loss mundane enough to be real, to make them think better of their own self-serving aspirations. Of the loves they might be taking for granted. That Byleth would then turn this into sweeping Emet-Selch away, inspired by the play no doubt, furthers the warmth that radiates from his chest.
As Byleth lifts his mask to kiss Emet-Selch, he feels his heart flutter a bit, allowing himself to be lost in the performance he himself is at the center of. The modesty of the robe covering them sets him into that Amaurotine mindset, the way embarrassment creeps up his neck and warms his face, knowing full well that the robe does nothing to truly hide what's happening.
Eyes are upon them as they break the kiss, and Byleth thanks him. The actors have receeded from the stage, and the lighting returns to the dim, warm glow as before, but that's enough to allow those around them to gawk at such a display.
One audience member grunts in disapproval, some few others begin to whisper in hushed tones, while some few others question whether that really is the Esteemed Emet-Selch. At least the audience members further away are beginning to empty out, but those around them seen pretty keen on staying put and seeing whatever juice gossip fodder they can get their peering eyes on.
"...Mayhap it would indeed be best that you did just that, for now it is we with the audience. Shall we exit this stage of our own making?"
As much as he may be into the whole public humiliation thing, if Byleth is to make him scream, he much rather do so when he isn't also maintaining such a grand illusion! Things might get a little...weird.
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"I think that's a fine idea."
As they do file out, Byleth's mind is split between pondering the play and thinking about what's to come next. Thinking on the whole experience, every little detail and minutia so carefully placed, and the reminder that Emet really did create all of that. Illusion though it may be, it was an impressive one. Incredible.
That is still contending with the thought of this man bound up so lovely in bed, trembling under his touch. What sweet sounds he'll make, and the kinds of expressions that will pass over his face.
The moment they are outside however, he does take the chance to wrap him up in a deeper kiss, something more needing and heated. When he breaks it, he's a bit out of breath himself. An expression of clear desire even through his mask.
"Shall we, then?"
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Maybe that's a backhanded compliment? That Emet-Selch made towards himself? Don't think too hard about it.
Either way, once they are out of the building, the magic that maintains the illusion dissipates, leaving the inside of the building dusty and empty. A far cry from the wondrous splendor it was just a moment ago. Not that it matters, when Byleth pulls Emet into that kiss, and he fully allows himself to indulge in it, kissing him back with a similar fervor, lacking the usual restraint he ordinarily has.
Grani stares at them. Silently. Waiting.
Once the kiss breaks, Emet-Selch glances towards Grani, trying to recapture his restraint again, though he's likewise a little breathless from the kiss.
"Yes, shall we return to your abode or mine?" He's trying really hard to act like he doesn't have the same desire that's in Byleth's expression dripping from his own voice. He's so emotionally charged at the moment, so romantically fulfilled he can barely stand it. The heat to his cheeks and ears betrays his attempts to remain subtle about it almost as much as his voice.
Or if one were to be so inclined to peer below his waist, despite the layers of fabric, one might notice just how his excitement is beginning to manifest. He doesn't seem to notice, or he's trying to silently will it under control. Who knows!
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He's reluctant to part from him, hands sliding against his jawline and then down his chest, shamelessly feeling him up. At last though, he excavates himself and moves toward Grani, softly stroking his head with a quiet greeting.
"Thank you for waiting so patiently, Grani."
He looks back to the other man expectantly, eager to get home and get them both undressed. Having him so pent up will do well for the kind of play he intends on. When they do mount, he makes a point to sit flush against Emet, and that damned hand has returned to stroke his thigh.
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Those hands feel like fire on his skin, and even as they go over his clothes, there's a warmth that rushes through him as hot as magma. When Byleth draws away from him, part of him wants to grab him and keep him close still, but he also wants to get to his home so they can shed these clothes and address the erection that's about to make climbing onto Grani rather uncomfortable.
Grani in the meantime watches Byleth and gives little reaction to being touched, though there is one. The slightest lean into that stroking. So slight, in fact, it might leave Byleth questioning if it was real or imagined.
Emet-Selch considers just teleporting them, but there's something fun about the wait, the denial. Thus he situates himself onto Grani's back with awkward movements to accommodate his affliction, not at all offering his familiar the same acknowledgement Byleth gave him.
He's a man on a mission, and a man with another man's hand on his thigh, making his mission all the more harrowing. His breath becomes a little shuddered, but Grani rises and stares on his way at Emet-Selch's behest.
It's laughably absurd how turned on he is, how the press of Byleth's body against his own and that damnedable hand is making him unravel. Is this just how he is now? Some easily affected pervert who gets sexually aroused because a man enjoyed an intimate memory with him?
Oh how he has fallen...
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The Ascian isn't the only one suffering from a terminal case of cripplingly horny, but Byleth... well. It's just harder to tell with him.
Less hard to tell when they get inside and he's pushing him against the nearest wall, mouth on his neck. Starting a haphazard, stumbling trip toward the bedroom, trying to get his hands under that damned robe in the process. There's a temptation to just throw him down and ruin him right away, but the idea of having him tied is too good to pass up. To turn that need against him to truly bring him to his knees.
"Did you- do you have your bindings?" He says, now panting very clearly, and also distracted with kissing just below Emet's ear. He is ready to go.
If being turned on by emotional fulfillment is wrong, Byleth doesn't want to be right, pal. It is after all, his biggest turn-on. Sincerity, vulnerability, emotional connection? Oh yes, he'll take that over a strip-tease any day.
(However if a strip tease was thrown in as a bonus that would be fine too.)
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Well, he does feel shame, but not the kind that would stop him. This is the sexy kind of shame which spurs him ever forward into that house, allowing himself to be pressed against the wall, his breath hitching as he feels Byleth's mouth on his neck. He contemplates dissipating his clothes here and now, but he doesn't. It's part of the tease, of the thrill.
The desperate passion fueling their way to the bedroom reminds him of younger days, when he more pretended to be exhausted than what he truly was. Where his passion could be rekindled so easily, where he would chase and indulge in secret that unrelenting desire in both his heart and loins. He feels that now, here with Byleth.
The question is nearly missed with how he is allowing himself to be lost in the intimacy, both physical and emotional, the way it feels as though Byleth could devour him, and he'd let him. Lifting a hand from its place on Byleth's back as he tilts his head to give the man better access to his sensitive ears, the aetheric rope appears in his hand with a crackle of magical energy.
"Always." Excitement runs down his spine at the thought, at what Byleth may do to him. Truly in this moment, there is almost nothing Emet-Selch would say no to. Byleth has knocked down a considerably large emotional wall in indulging him this evening, and it is time for him to reap the bounty.
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"Robes off. Now, please." He says, as he moves to fetch a few things from the closet. A small box and a long metal bar. He sets them on the bed as he joins Emet at last, carefully arranging them.
"We're going to play a few games." He guides the mans hands up above his head, pinning his wrists to give him a demanding kiss that trails down toward his ear, so he can continue in a low, near-whisper. "You are going to do exactly as I say. You don't come until I say you do. If you fail... I'll make you regret it. Understand?"
With that, he lifts away and goes about actually binding his wrists. First together, and then to the bar across the headboard of the bed. Once he's tugged on them a bit, making sure they're secure, he moves down. Hands stroking Emet's thighs, coaxing them to part.
"The other game we're going to play, I have adjusted to suit your penchant for organization. For discovery and proper documentation." He chuckles, binding one of his knees to that metal bar. "I am going to test you in different spots, and you tell me how sensitive it is, on a scale of one to ten. One being not at all, and ten being neigh unbearable."
Once his knees are bound propped apart by that bar, unable to close, Byleth surveys his handiwork with a small sense of satisfaction. Now he can truly begin. Eyes drift down to the now quite full erection.
"Well. Someone's excited. You look good like this. Do you want me to touch you now?"
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Byleth returns, telling him of a game, pinning his hands and kissing him with such command, before trailing to his ear that's red from his arousal, and he has his undivided attention for it all. He nods in silent submission, his breath hot and heavy while following Byleth's direction with tantalizing excitement throbbing through him as he is properly bound (he is surprisingly pliable) and instructed of the parameters of the game.
Part of him is a little embarrassed that his love for organization is being brought into this, but that isn't a bad thing. It's like being seen, but in such an intimate way that leaves him both feeling realized and mortified. It's a fantastic sensation of both warmth and ice running down his spine. Duality at its finest. Giving him goosebumps, raising the hairs on the back of his neck as a shiver runs through him.
The compliment and question issued once he's fully bound makes him pause as he stares at what Byleth is still wearing. He was so caught up with everything else, he failed to notice in full that he still donned the communal robes and mask. His throat and mouth goes dry seeing it, wondering if he plans to do all of this dressed that way.
He certainly hopes so. The way his dick twitches doubtlessly makes what he's staring at clear in its affect on him.
Oh right, the question.
"Aye, I want for scant more than to feel your hands upon me."
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"Oh do you?" Emet gives him the absolutely perfect setup with that comment. "You mean like this?"
Without further ado, he pounces on him, tickling his sides with cruel efficiency. Only for a moment though, before he lets up. No, that isn't the plan here. Yet. It's just enough to give him a taste of his intentions, to jolt him just a touch.
"Or perhaps you'd prefer something softer." He moves, opening the little box and extracting a couple of striped grey and white owl feathers. They're pleasing to look at, and pleasantly soft as he slides the tines between his fingers. With those in hand he climbs up to straddle Emet's chest. "I did promise you the more sensual side of this, did I not?"
He did, he knows, and he starts with something light, starting at his bound wrists, trailing both feathers down his arms, over across his shoulders and up his neck to trace and tease those sensitive ears.
"So. On a scale one one to ten, what about here? You seemed to like my mouth here, didn't you? You blush from your ears first, too. Just like me."
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As soon as it begins, it stops. He's left a little breathless, even more than he was before, and he watches with curiosity as Byleth opens that box and draws forth a few owl feathers. Sucking in a breath as Byleth straddles him, he watches him for a moment, before his gaze flicks to those feathers.
"You did, aye." He huffs out, curious what he might do, where he might start. That curiosity is short lived, as that feather dances and sweeps across his wrists and arms, making him shudder a little from the sensation as they get closer to his neck and eventually his ears.
There he tilts his head into it, bringing his shoulder up as he can, eyes slipping closed as he instinctively and involuntarily fights the tickling sensation there. He's certainly sensitive, and while it doesn't inspire a laugh from him, it inspires arousal and taunting tingling that further makes him shudder.
A number, though? A number. It's...a little difficult to consider the numeric value while he's being tickled, each tingle and tickle making him shudder and squirm against it, his face scrunching a little, his hands balling into fists, as he tries to maintain control of himself.
"Six!" He manages with obvious strain to his voice, peeking up at Byleth as if trying to gauge what he plans to do next. He doesn't dislike this, but it's certainly different, certainly engaging with sensation he isn't entirely familiar with pursuing. Well, it's familiar in some ways, yet starkly different in other.
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But he deserves a reward for playing. So Byleth moves down to seat himself against the underside of Emet's cock, rocking against it slowly.
"You're adorable. You know you can laugh, right? A six, hmm? That's not too bad." He groans softly, grinding down on him with a little more force. "All right. Six it is."
He moves painfully slow, telegraphing where he's going to go next, letting Emet anticipate it to build tension. The next place those feathers land is under his arm, tracing haphazard patterns.
"How about this?" He hums, then abandoning the quills and using his fingers to see if he can break the man. He remains seated, and every time the man under him moves, he's treated to the conflicting sensation of delicious, wet friction. This is also part of the game.
"Hmm. I wonder what everyone would say if they knew you had such a cute weakness. The esteemed Emet-Selch."
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"Adorable? Please, I would not name me such. I am...well aware I can laugh. I simply have elected not to." Not yet, he can't give in too easily, that would ruin the chase, he thinks. He's certain Byleth wants to bring him to his knees on his own, so to speak, not be handed an easy victory.
He does watch the telegraph of that feather, however, and his eyes grow wide as it begins to go closer to his arms then touches them. Immediately he jerks against the aetheric bindings, and they glow brightly as they strain to hold him back.
If he was after where he's sensitive, this would be it, and while the wet friction of Byleth against his dick is heavenly, it isn't enough to stop him from what happens next. As Byleth goes from feather to fingers, Emet-Selch lets out a strained sound that's almost like choked laughter, squirming and jerking from side to side, pulling at his bindings with alarming strength.
But then as the sensation (not to mention that last comment Byleth made) becomes far too much, and he can't seem to keep his senses about him. Thus he ends up accidentally engaging his glyph, and while he doesn't break the aetheric rope...he bends the bar holding him with a horrific metal sound.
Oops.
Assuming both the gylph and the metal bending gives Byleth pause, he likewise stops in that moment, surprised at himself. Peering up at the bar, he blinks at it, looks to Byleth, then snaps his fingers—fixing the bar and reinforce it.
"...Mine apologies. I think it is safe to assume that is a ten."
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And then he laughs. It's beyond that huffing, hiccupping sound he usually makes when something hits him just right. No this is still quite unpracticed, but far more elevated. Brief as it is, before he gets a hold on himself, and Emet has already repaired the broken bar.
"Oh my. You are... magnificently sensitive, aren't you? Well- ha. I'll have to come back to that one now, won't I? You'll have to tell me more about that red sigil. Later though. Much as my curiosity needs sated, I think there are other things that need sated sooner." He smooths his palms over the man's skin, affording him a moment after that, before his hands wander toward his chest. Kneading and squeezing it shamelessly, he takes a moment for his own enjoyment here, before he moves to teasing Emet's nipples to stiff peaks. The sword-calloused pads of his fingers no doubt making it all the better.
"What if we tried a feather here, hmm?" He of course, doesn't wait for an answer. He picks up his little weapons and draws each of them over the sensitive rises, using the soft edge of them to flick and tease. For some, this is unbearably ticklish, and for others, it's a heavenly feeling. He's curious to know where Emet falls in this. Either way will be a treat.
He doesn't linger for too long though, and he sets on his merry way again, working systematically down his lover's body. Testing his sides, belly, the cups of his hips, the soft crease of skin where thigh meets groin, all the way down his legs to his feet. Carefully waiting for each answer, and when he receives it, Emet is rewarded with a warm hand on his cock. Stroking him until he's at an edge, and then abandoning him to continue extracting as much mirth as he can. It's a terrible back and fourth, and Byleth is all too happy to drive him utterly mad with it.
He wonders if he could make him beg, or if Emet's stubbornness would keep him from doing so. Again, both options are wonderful. Byleth wins either way.
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He frowns at being called sensitive, even though the evidence of such is plainly there. Though he has to admit that Byleth's laugh is really rather charming, the awkwardness of it is endearing in the same way a stumbling baby animal taking its first steps are.
"Yes, well, it is not as though I am accustom to this." He says with a little bit of defiance to his voice, though not enough to truly mean anything, nor is it meant to deter Byleth. Not that it matters anyway, when Byleth goes on to touch his chest and tease his nipples, causing him to suck in a sharp breath through his teeth. The flush in both his face and ears begins to travel to his shoulders and chest as he holds back a moan that's in his throat.
Fortunately for him, the swapping to the feather doesn't result in any tickling, instead the soft, tantalizing sensation feels nice and teases him. Causing his breath to hitch a little as his brow knits and his eyes close. While he attempts to restrain the whine that builds in his throat, he doesn't particularly succeed, and he shifts in place as he can, trying to move his hips to no avail.
Then Byleth moves on, and each spot he gives an answer as is expected of him, and none are as severe at his under arms/armpit area. They are as follows:
Sides are seven, belly is three, hips are six, thigh meeting groin is five, legs are four, feet eight.
With Byleth giving him that momentary break, that reward for his compliance, he breathes out a pleased sigh as he feels that fist around his wanting cock. He cannot move much, but he does try to rock into that stroking hand, wanting to fuck it as he's able. He can feel it, he can feel himself getting close, his mouth hanging open as his eyes screw shut, his abdominals growing tight, the pressure building and—the hand is gone, and he's left whining in displeasure and need as he looks to Byleth with frustration.
Though, his frustration is only beginning with that, as Byleth starts the cycle of edging and tickling, which is honestly so maddening he almost considers attempting to break his bindings and fucking Byleth himself!
He does not do this, however, and instead he endures. Endures as much as he can, even as his dick is left dribbling pre from its tip, throbbing with need, pink with sensitivity from the attention and denial. There's tears in his eyes from the mirth milking, and he's breathing heavily from it all, his body slightly trembling.
Considering the merits of begging for release, his eyes fall to his poor dick, but he decides that he cannot simply give in so easily. He will not be broken by this, no, he will endure.
"Is this all you have for me?" His voice is shaken, strained, and does not sound as confident as his words imply. He lets his gaze meet with Byleth's, and for as watery as his glowing eyes may be, there's affection behind them, enjoyment, and determination.
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He's almost tempted to take pity on him, let him come at least once before he carries on, not ruin the orgasm or force him into overstimulation.
But no.
Nooooo, Emet has to be haughty and glib even though he looks like he's gotten sunburned from the chest up at this point. Oh what a brat. What an utter, adorable fool he is for saying such a thing. Byleth huffs, looking a bit put out for all his efforts. Fine, if he wants to play that way? Back under the arms he goes! Just for a minute to show him who's boss and all that.
"As a matter of fact, that is not 'all I have for you' Emet-Selch." He says, making a wavy gesture mimicking the present company himself, as well as pitching his voice up a bit.
"There then, if you want to cum, you can do it like this." He presents one of the feathers, brandishing it like a dangerous weapon before slowly gliding it down Emet's thigh and pausing. Fingers move to spread him open to make room for that wicked thing to flick and tease against his hole. It will either feel amazing or terrible, and he does not care which at this point.
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That's all he can say as Byleth moves to rise to his challenge. Of course there was initially a glower at that mocking of his voice, but that glower quickly shifted to astonishment as Byleth spreads him and then proceeds to tickle his hole. That causes a full body jolt, followed by desperate thrashing as he tries to do...something, anything, to get away from that sensation. It's not that it's bad, in fact it does feel good in a way? It's less ticklish exactly, more tantalizing and teasing, causing a weird prickle of pleasure to pass through him from the site of contact through his nerve endings. It most certainly affects his dick and makes him need for more stimulation—see the issue that Emet-Selch has with what's happening, why he's trying to struggle and get away from it, has little to do with the sensation at all.
This is just so utterly humiliating in a way he didn't think possible he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He certainly doesn't want to come like this, because this is mortifying. Especially since he enjoys how it feels! Tucking his head against his arm, he tries to hide his face as he bites back a sound that attempts to leave him. He's horrified as he feels his lower abdominals tighten, that building of pressure that's been teased and edged for the past however long betrays him in this moment, and despite everything he feels the threat of an orgasm. He teeters on the edge of a precipice he does not want to fall off of. Not like this.
"Please..." He doesn't specify the request, he hardly has the mind to, he simply is trying his most to not come like this. Willing to plead if he must to avoid it. His voice is high and desperate, pathetic really. Honestly, one would think he'd be more ashamed of that, than the idea of coming like this.
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"You wanted to come, didn't you? It's all right. You can do it. After this, I'll let you come all you want." A promise and a threat. He doesn't let up, and the other quill is taken up to his lips, sliding the tip of it against his tongue, wetting it just so. Enough that when he brings it down to trace along the underside of Emet's neglected cock, it ought to feel at least something like a tongue, though far less substantial. It should be enough to bring him off eventually. With how much teasing he's done, and how wound up they both were when they came in.
"Just let it happen. No need to fight it. Wouldn't it be fun to tell Hythlodaeus you got off from little more than this? Oh I'll bet he'd never let you live it down. Of course, neither will I." He muses happily as he grants no mercy but the gentle encouragement and backhanded teasing comments.
"Wouldn't you have loved to be on that stage right now? What a spectacle you are. I'm sure that would give people something to chatter about."
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Part of him did know, really. Provoking Byleth as he did consigned him to this ruinous end. As Byleth continues, talking as he does, using those feathers on him to ignite his nerves like white hot electricity surging through his body, he feels every scrap of dignity slipping through his fingers like fine grains of sand.
His hands clenching and unclenching as his body convulses and his legs tremble, his breath quick and shallow as his dually euphoric and horrific climax encapsulates him utterly from little more than those twin dancing feathers on his dick and entrance.
It's nothing compared to the shame and humiliation that burns at his cheeks and consumes his mind, and he's utterly incapable of ignoring the image that Byleth has put into his head. Being on display like this, for all to see, this shame exposed to those he respects and adores, and how they must think of him for finding some deranged enjoyment from it. To be made to ejaculate from this...
The edging certainly did its part, of course, and that shows in the sheer amount that he comes. It's generous and coats his belly, even shooting as far as his chest with its projected force. By the end of it all, he's a quivering, breathy mess of a man, his face hot with shame and afterglow, though he does everything he can to keep it from view.
After a long moment, he finally finds some words for Byleth, though he does not look at him, does not remove his face from his bicep, "do not...breathe a word of this...to Hythlodaeus."
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The game is far from over. Licking the mess from his fingers, and then unceremoniously reaching up and pressing them into the other man's mouth. If he gets bit he gets bit.
"And what could you do to stop me?" A lot, actually. But in this little fantasy; nothing. "Come on. I know you want more. How about this? I'll keep your cute little secret, if you do something for me." His hand is withdrawn and he palms the head of Emet's cock, hoping it's still far too sensitive, twisting and rubbing as he speaks.
"Can you. Give me a dick? And I don't mean this one right here." He punctuates, roughly stroking him. "I mean one to fuck you with. My toys are all well and good, all sorts of fun little things to be done with them, but I want to feel you on the inside. Just temporarily of course." He likes his body as it is, but this would be a fun aside, he thinks. The peacekeeper had restored his original form after some time, but he does occasionally miss the feeling of slipping into someone, feeling them clutch and squeeze him as he fucks them just right. Call it nostalgia or something.
"What do you say? Deal?" A finger he haphazardly slicked with Emet's own spend is gently slipped up inside him now, almost daring him to attempt to speak and hold his composure.
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To the question he gives him silence. In this scenario, Byleth has the power, and to make such demands of him is foolish. This he knows, but the burning he feels, the all consuming fire of shame that feels as though it might consume him completely makes it hard not to try. Or at least it did in that moment.
Then the hand is withdrawn and Byleth begins to offer a proposal—but then he palms his far too sensitive cock and he cannot help but gasp at how sensitive it is, his hips jerking back as much as they can from the overwhelming feeling of sensation. A pained whine leaving him as he tries to listen and consider, but the overstimulation of his poor dick makes it a difficult task, indeed.
Even more difficult when he sticks a finger in him, reflexively he tightens around him, and part of him hungers for more. Something to focus on other than his poor abused dick and the overwhelming feeling radiating from each pump it receives.
"You wish for...a phallus." He strains out between pitiful near-whimpers, trying so hard to maintain dignity he simply doesn't have as he peers at him from behind his arm with a single, glowing eye. The same eye glances over Byleth's features, as if searching for something, or perhaps he's merely trying to process this information while enduring this onslaught to his senses.
"Very well, but if...if you wish for aught desirable—cease your ministrations so I might grant it."
He really should not do any sort of body modification when he cannot think clearly. While the results might be funny, they could also be potentially disastrous, and certainly not sexy.
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"Very well. Just one moment." The erstwhile professors sighs, tucking his hair behind his ear and leaning down, with very little warning to take the whole length of Emet's cock into his mouth. It's his favorite 'party trick' as it were. He hasn't met anyone who didn't enjoy watching their cock vanish completely into a willing mouth. Slides down to the hilt, no gag-reflex to speak of, before slowly drawing back up and giving the tip a harsh suck before parting again.
"Ah. All right, then." He relents finally, palms gently rubbing Emet's thighs, offering a little drop of comfort and affection, letting him catch his breath. He does take the natural pause to reach over and fetch a small container of water, uncapping it and offering it to his lover.
"Are you doing all right?" His voice softens from the teasing candor he's taken to his usual warm tone.
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Once freed of that tortously wonderful moist mouth, Emet-Selch is left panting and limp against his bindings. The rubbing and comfort given to his thighs is almost too much, but he still appreciates the grounding effect it has on him all the same. With half-lidded eyes, he looks at the offered water, hesitates, then welcomes it.
He drinks, a little greedily, for he hadn't realized how thirsty this has made him. However, once he's had his fill, he nods his head at the question.
"Yes, yes, I am fine." His strained voice might make someone think otherwise, but he does mean it.
"Now, for the matter of your request. Imagine what it is you wish to have, focus your mind on that, and I will do the rest."
As he says this, his right hand goes into a snapping position, he waits till Byleth gives him a sigh that he's ready. When he does, he peers into Byleth's aether, his incoporeal aether to view his memory, his mind, to see that which he imagines—then he snaps his fingers. The body-changing magic following after.
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It doesn't take much, given that it's mustered more from memory than imagination. The odd sort of mingling energy he has, despite being from two separate beings, is perfectly in sync. He hears the snap and feels the magic go to work on him. Producing a soft little snort and a shiver at the sensation that he's growing quite fond of. When he looks down, it is as it was when he arrived. How odd- to remember the feeling of this.
"Thank you." He does take that last little moment to tuck the now messy hair from Emet's face behind his ears, to touch his cheek and grant him a chaste kiss on his sweat-slicked forehead. He can't resist a moment of tenderness, and now that he's done with the denial stage of things, he's going to soak him in all the love he can stand.
Sitting back, he takes in the changes once more, before shifting closer and taking Emet's length in hand again. Then his own, pressing them together and rocking against him, just enough to stroke himself hard, and get things nice and slick with a bit of added lube. Satisfied, he moves just so and presses himself against that abused entrance. Enjoying the slight resistance it gives before finally he presses in. What a feeling... he did miss this a little. It is just as he remembers, and he lets a low, shuddering moan slip from his throat as he sinks in to the base. His face betrays just how much he enjoys this, rocking ever so slightly at first. He doesn't really want to pull out of this warmth at all.
"Fuck you're- you feel... amazing." He's very clearly not exaggerating. He can barely keep his eyes open as he starts to roll his hips, lips hanging parted.
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