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That reward is sweet indeed, and the way his face eases into pleasure expresses that plainly. The throb in his groin is overwhelming, and if not for his restraints he'd be able to grind up against Byleth better.

"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."

Oh what an amazing thing, to see him thrash about so, helpless. At least helpless until he sees a flash of red and hears the creak and snap of the metal bar. It certainly does give Byleth pause, his hands covering still above the other man and eyes wide with surprise.

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.

It's such a strange feeling of helplessness, because as he knows he isn't truly helpless, but even still to be forced to react so strongly isn't something he's used to. It's novel and alien both.

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.

Byleth lets him make all the excuses he likes, because in truth, right now, he can play him like a fine instrument. He maps out his little numbers game, committing each spot to memory. Leaving Emet a panting, trembling mess by the time he's done.

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.

"Wh—"

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.

Oh that's more like it. Byleth's mouth curls into a satisfied little smile. He can see how his cock is jumping and twitching, clearly on edge.

"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."

He should have known.

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."

What a beautiful sight. Unraveling him like that. Byleth looks on in satisfaction as he's certainly made a mess of Emet now. A finger collects some of the spill still dripping from his cock, rubbing it between his fingers as though contemplating it.

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.

For as tight as his jaw is, and how much it might have been a little bit of a struggle to slip those fingers into his mouth at first...he does take them. He also runs his tongue against them, tasting himself and sucking on the digits, though with notable reluctance at first.

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.

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of making this man squirm. How much he resists it makes it all the better. How he tries to hide his desperate sounds and bury his face in his arm. Making him talk in this state was a fantastic idea. He sounds so small, far from the lofty tone he usually takes.

"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.

The sound that escapes him annihilates any hope for dignity he thought he might have left as he feels his cock slip past those lips, past that tongue, and nestle into Byleth's throat. It's so much, too much, and he's left quivering and shuddering, saliva has already streaked a little bit of his chin, mingling with what tears had escaped his eyes, but with the constant assault to his senses he can hardly keep his salivation as under control as he'd like. He really wishes he could wipe his damn chin, he's a mess...

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.

Edited 2023-03-28 03:25 (UTC)

For what it's worth, Byleth is glad to see him accept the water. He likes that kind of trust. The whole of this, but a moment of genuine vulnerability outside of the sexual play, to allow Byleth to take care of him. He nods, sitting back as he is asked and visualizing his desire.

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.

The tenderness and care is truly welcomed, and while his heart never stopped being full with all that emotion from their date, this does put it back in the fore of everything. The kiss to his forehead, the tucking of his messy hair, and the verbalized gratitude leaves him feeling light and warm. Appreciated and loved.

His lips purse, if only to attempt to stop that smile which threatens to overtake his lips. Though his eyes fall to Byleth's newly formed cock with clear interest and intrigue, despite being the sculptor himself. Though his expression scrunches as his cock is taken in hand, but he can't complain about the view of seeing Byleth's own and his being rubbed together. He might appreciate the sensation more if not for the abuse it's been through.

But if he were to be honest, there's some enjoyment he pulls from this all the same, masochist as he is. Though, once Byleth is hard, his cock slicked with lube, and pressing inside of him, he does nothing to withhold that sigh of pleasure that escapes him, his eyes slipping closed as he allows himself to be lost to the feeling of being penetrated.

The feeling of Byleth's warm dick inside of him, stretching his tender hole as he hilts himself inside, is heavenly. As he begins to move, rocking more than thrusting, he opens his eyes to watch the pleasure dance across Byleth's features. It's a beautiful sight, really, and the combination of seeing him and feeling him fills him with a satisfying warmth and desire that isn't simply achieved by nudging his prostate.

Though he is doing that every few rocks into him, causing a full body spasm for how sensitive he is at the moment. The sound that accompanies it only further emphasizing it.

"Mmm...as do you. Yes, just so. Just like that..." His voice is soft, encouraging, perhaps a little pleading. Maybe he wants to be fucked gently after everything. Maybe he wants Byleth to make love to him, though that's up to Byleth, isn't it?

Edited 2023-03-28 04:18 (UTC)

Oh... even more of that softer side he's getting to see? How can he resist nurturing it? After the bracing play they've had, he hums softly at the gentle request. Just like that. Flames below, how could he not? Byleth sighs fondly, smiling, and he reaches up to pull the knot from the ropes above, loosing Emet's wrists, and then his legs, discarding the bar that kept them parted. No need for that now.

He rubs the indentations the bindings left on that otherwise unmarred skin before he continues. Good then. Now he can do this properly. If Emet wants softness, he shall have it. Taking his now free hands, he knits their fingers together as he starts his languid pace again. Soft and shallow, slow and easy.

"Is that better?" He mumbles, clearly not short on pleasure himself. He drinks it in, as this is his favored type of consummation, after all. In this better position, Byleth is also free to kiss him as he likes, too. His fingers, wrists, chest and neck. Apart from the flushed lips he captures with his own. Letting the other man feel his huffing breath against his cheeks.

Just like that he turns from the role he had fallen into for the sake of their play. Now it's just Byleth, the odd little man who enjoys watching people smile, and eating entirely too much in one sitting. Who wants to ride around in Emet's robes and bake him cookies. The game was fun, but this? This is heaven. Enjoying some beautiful intimacy with someone he cares deeply for.

This he did not expect.

Not because he assumed Byleth cruel, no, he knows he isn't, but because he's rather used to having to beg a little more for intimacy to he given during a scene. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but that also doesn't make this a bad thing either. In fact, with the earlier humiliation still fresh and hot on his mind (and it will be for some time to come) this is what he needs. He really didn't want to have to struggle to be handled more gently, softly.

As his arms and legs are released, his muscles ease and ache a little from the strain of the position they had been holding. The rubbing of the indentations inspires him to suck in a breath, but he doesn't complain, if anything, he seems into the sensation. Even further into the feel of Byleth's hands holding his, fingers weaving together. With half lidded eyes, he looks at him, his lips parted as he huffs out pleasure-filled breaths.

"Yes..." He more breathes than says the word, his hips moving with Byleth's to accommodate the movement, to allow him to press into him a little more deeply, while not sacrificing the rhythm. As Byleth showers him in affection and kisses, Emet-Selch returns in kind. Or, as much as he can given his position. He watches with eyes full of adoration as his fingers and wrists are kissed, exposes his neck and arches into the kisses to his chest—but when those lips capture his own, he kisses him with unmitigated passion. Their breath mingling together as their bodies press into each other.

It's almost funny, the contrast of just moments ago and now. This soft affection between them, blossoming warmth and affection instead of simply pleasure and shame. There's plenty of pleasure to be sure, and while the shame still lingers, it's not so prevalent, and it's residual. In a way it helps things along. As their bodies rock together, and Byleth's cock presses inside of him, nudging against his prostate, he tightens around him. Squeezing him with each inward movement, the suggestion of his hips moving in tandem to Byleth's own as he feels that similar build of pleasure and pressure, but made all the sweeter by the thrill of emotion that thrums between them.

Much more of this and he's pretty certain he'll come again, his stiffened cock softly slapping against his belly is certainly threatening to add to the mess that's already there.

"Byleth—"

He is quickly reminded of why he was drawn to this man to begin with. The absolute unbridled passion, amongst other things. It's always romance that gets him truly wound up, himself. He's right back at that peak again too, kissing Emet as though he did not need to draw breath at all.

It is increasingly difficult not to thrust in harder or faster, he manages to hold himself back though. Both for Emet and to draw it out as long as he can, himself. Hearing his name like that sends a jolt through him that nearly ruins that whole effort though. He wants to echo back, but well... Emet-Selch is kind of a mouthful in the midst of passion, and he knows the man hates it when just the first part is used. His head is plenty fogged from what he's currently doing anyways.

Just the emotion on his face is enough to truly chase every intelligent thought from Byleth's mind, but he struggles to keep his eyes open to see it as much as he can. His voice rises from the softer tones though as he feels himself start to rise to a peak. His moans longer, broken by his voice hitching.

"Love-" He gasps, not even thinking. For lack of his name that he knows, but not untrue. He doesn't falter from it, either. As he rocks into Emet with the same vigor, chest heaving with the effort of keeping himself reigned in. That does not count his mouth however. "Love you."

He did not do himself any favors in terms of control, either. He bucks just a bit harder, a bit more haphazardly as his voice rises into a cracking shout of ecstasy. The familiar feeling of release, and he hilts himself, spilling into the other man in a few warm jets. He draws him into a messy kiss as he rides out the dregs of orgasm. He feels like he could just live right here for a while.

When he is at last forced to catch his breath, he stays, propped up just a handful of inches above Emet, looking down at him. He could have expected to be a bit sheepish, for saying such a thing in the midst of passion but the only face he wears is one of conviction.

Those words hit him about as hard at Byleth's dick hits his prostate, and there's a pretty equivalent effect too, one merely physical the other emotional. Though there's a part of him that does not want to linger too hard on the words, ones said in the throes of sexual bliss, and so he disregards them beyond that initial throb of warmth that radiates from his bosom. His bosom which heaves with heavy breaths of passion and exertion as they continue their lovemaking.

The kisses draw him in, and he returns their vigor with his own, even as his legs tremble from pleasure and exhaustion, he drinks up every bit of Byleth's passion. As his thrusts become less rhythmic, it's clear that Byleth is close. But so too is Emet-Selch, and he is sure to rock with him, flexing around him as he pumps his cock deep within him.

When he feels Byleth's orgasm claim him, he follows moments after. The passion more than enough to send him coming again, feeling Byleth's essence warm inside of him, his cock nestled deep. Everything about it is enough to tip him over that inviting edge, and so he releases his own seed, spurts of come mixing with what was already on his stomach as he lets out a cry of passion, hot and worn, but full of so much pleasure.

At the end of this, he's laying there, spent, sweat upon his body, his hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead, his eyes closed as he focuses on the cresting waves of pleasure that radiates through him. At some point he had gripped onto Byleth's back, his fingers digging in. He really doesn't know when that happened, he supposes it doesn't matter, but he's a little self-conscious of the tremble in his hands.

Eventually he opens his eyes, peering up at Byleth as he's looking down at him, surprised a little at the conviction he wears. Despite his best efforts, his own gaze is suffused with adoration as he basks in the afterglow. He wets his lips, wanting Byleth to kiss him again, but not daring to speak such a want, not when he's feeling this vulnerable beneath him.

Fortunately it isn't hard to get kisses from Byleth. He touches Emet's face with a gentle hand, thumb passing softy over his cheek.

"Would be it that I saw that kind of softness on your face every single day." It isn't meant as a tease, or jab. Simply put- he loves the sight of that adoration and kindness. Leaving him wanting no longer, he leans in to give him that silently desired kiss. Unhurried and drenched in affection. Laying against the man, still warm and snug inside of him. When he finally breaks the kiss again he speaks low against his ear.

"Are you spent now? Do you wish to rest with me?" He fully intends to pamper him up after all this. Knowing Emet could simply magic away the mess is all well, but it deprives him the pleasure of bathing together. One of his favorite activities after sex. A warm bath, some fresh water or tea, and then curling up in each other's arms. That's what the agenda holds today.

"You did so well at my little game." He adds, genuine praise, now is not the time for teasing. "I loved seeing you smile and laugh in such an unbridled way. It makes me feel light. Seeing people smile is one of my favorite things, and yours is incredible."

Perhaps saying such things would make Emet-Selch balk, but Byleth hopes he is in a good state to accept the words as affection and admiration, nothing else. Regardless, the expressions he's seen on this man tonight are committed to memories he dips into when he needs something to move him. Held closely like the finest treasure.

"A little greedy, I think. I could never, not everyday..." Is his somewhat playful yet entirely earnest reply to the thought of showing such vulnerabiliy on the daily. For all the power he commands, he has a gentle and sensitive heart, and the best protection he has for it is to seem intimidating, cold, and unapproachable. If he went about seeming kind or soft all the time, there's nothing he could do to protect himself when people would inevitably approach him to appeal to his better nature. He feels his emotions so intensely, so strongly, he needs to be able to step away, to resume the act of the unfeeling intellectual just to give his heart a rest.

Even now, as he's being cherished like this, it's almost too much for him. The feelings of adoration and love, the warmth and attention, it makes his weary heart swell but also makes him feel the need to withdraw. He doesn't, especially as Byleth kisses him and he returns the act without hesitation. Melting into it, his movements soft in their measured tenderness.

Laying there, heart to heart with Byleth, his sticky mess between their bellies. With his lips close to his ear as he speaks, this gives him a shiver down his spine, and he absentmindedly tightens around Byleth as a result. After all, his ears are rather sensitive. And maybe the praise is doing stuff to him too, but he's a little too spent (emotionally) to pursue that feeling.

"Aye. I would much rather stop while we're ahead. To take this moment, and those that come after, to bask in this warmth with you." He chews on his next words for a moment or two, heat returning to his face as he stares at the ceiling above him to try to sort himself before speaking.

"But, if you love to hear laughter and to see smiles, you picked a rather poor choice of a partner, you do realize, yes? Flatter me all you like, I fear it will not increase the occurrence."

As he says this, he raises his hand in that familiar way of his, to snap away the mess. Byleth better stop him if he wishes to preserve his aftercare routine! He isn't thinking about such care himself, used to the need to tend to the mess himself, not because of Hythlodaeus being neglectful, because he isn't. Rather, after thousands and thousands of years of absence and neglect through it, he has been broken of the habit to expect something as luxurious as aftercare.

Needless to say, Emet-Selch's sexual pursuits when living among the mortals were not always dignified, respectful, nor particularly healthy for a sensitive and grieving man to engage in. At least it was better, he rationalized during those dark times, than getting attached to someone whose life would amount to moments by comparison. Loneliness and loss build bad habits, and as much as he'd like to think he's got his shit together, there's certainly little tells that say otherwise.

Edited 2023-03-30 17:53 (UTC)

"I shall simply have to endeavor to make you happy as much as I can. I can hope, can't I? That aside, I think I picked just fine. You smile with your eyes too." He knows it isn't so simple, but he wants to rise to that challenge. Even if it is a fool's errand.

He does reach up to cover Emet's hand when he starts to prepare his magic. Bringing it to his owl lips and kissing his fingers.

"No. No magic. I want to enjoy this the slow way." The slow way indeed. He does gradually pull himself out of the other man and slide to his feet. Scooping Emet up without so much as the blink of an eye. His stature certainly disproportionate to his strength. Oh yes, he intends to carry him to the bath. Which he does- simply starts walking down the hall to the washroom. It takes a few moments to draw the warm bath, and browse the collection of salts, soaps and oils there. Once it is ready, Byleth first deposits his lover into the steaming water, and then slides in behind him, sighing gladly at the heat.

Pulling the Ancient back to rest against him, he lets his eyes slip shut for just a moment to really appreciate it.

"That's better, isn't it?" He asks, hands folding together against Emet's chest as his arms encircle him.

He's surprised at being stopped, staring owlishly at Byleth's hand on his own, before his gaze flicks over to Byleth's face as he kisses his fingers, his ears burning hot from the sight and sentiment.

No magic? Well, that's...fine. More than fine, he simply was acting automatically based on convenience and habit. Though, with Byleth's promise of making him as happy as he can, he supposes he'll have to form new habits, won't he? Though he's not so sure about the whole smiling with his eyes bit.

Though he cannot help the noise of surprise when Byleth scoops him up like he's some fair maiden to be swept off her feet, carrying him similarly to the bathroom! It's all rather ridiculous with their size difference, Byleth's innate strength aside! Then a bath is being drawn, salts or soaps or oils selected, and then he's being put into the fresh hot bath like he is incapable of doing the task himself!

Okay, he knows it isn't something so condescending as that, and maybe it's nice to be appreciated and doted on like this, but part of him finds it a little hard to just accept from someone he cares about. Which is ridiculous, but there's such a line of intimacy toed with this, genuine affection, that leaves him antsy.

Appreciative of the way he's pulled back against Byleth as the hot water soothes and eases him, how his presence leaves his heart beating with such emphatic warmth he could put the bath to shame. Yet, there's a sense of unease that tinges all of this, of worry, of fear.

He brings his hands up, resting them on the arms encircling him, his thumb rubbing against the Byleth's skin as he leans his head back on his shoulder. His dimly glowing eyes only half open as he just allows himself to accept this momentary bliss for what it is.

"Aye, it is."

Such comfortable simplicity is simply the best. Happy that he'd finally gotten Emet more pliable, at least for right now, Byleth leans his head against the other man's. It feels utterly divine to be this sated. He takes his time, massaging the tension from Emet's shoulders, his arms, his hands, what he can reach like this without moving him too much. The position allows him the occasional kiss on the ear, neck or cheek. Not only that, he gets his hair gently washed, fingers tugging and scraping his scalp pleasantly.

Byleth isn't shy about washing the rest of him, either. Though perhaps there's the ulterior motive of being able to put his hands all over his body again, but look- he can't complain when Byleth is rubbing so nicely, right?

A little fire magic keeps the water from going cold, and it's only when they are both washed, and Byleth feels himself starting to drift off that he posits the idea of finally getting out and going to bed. Of course, naturally, he's going to want to tend to him even then. If Emet wanted the intensive aftercare, he's certainly found it. Pampering is something Byleth does extremely well. Something he fully enjoys too. Leaving someone feeling so completely loved is one of the best feelings in the entire world, he thinks.

"Are you feeling sleepy?" He asks, a slight yawn in his voice.

It's strange, being so cared for in this manner. It isn't that he hasn't been doted on before, he has, plenty of times. Hythlodaeus himself does it in his own ways, and even before that he played the part of an Emperor. He had staff that would tend to his every need, he had luxurious baths, and attendants, and so forth. For all his character might not have had the happiest life, he certainly lived one steeped in the privilege that was afforded by that ridiculous crown he bore. All of it lacked the intimacy that currently fills this room, the love that warms them more than the water or Byleth's fire magic.

For all it tended to his vessel, all that care he received at that time didn't reach his heart, not as Byleth does now. After eons of being the one to fuss over the other Unsundered, to be the one to take care of himself, to varying degrees of success, to have someone else lavish him in this way...

All of it soothes him in ways deeper than skin, coaxes him into such relaxation that he almost feels guilty over it. Over the fussing, over Byleth doing this for him. It isn't that he doesn't enjoy the actions, he does, but it feels too indulgent, too selfish when he does not like to burden those that he cares for in such a manner. Yet he is not immune to the affects, to the calming sensation of it all, and so his eye lids feel as heavy as Byleth's question implies.

"Mmm." Is his unhelpful acknowledgment that he heard him, but not much of an answer to the question. "Aye, that I am. Little surprise, given how relaxing this bath is, and the work of your dutiful hands. Mayhap we should retire."

"I'm glad, and I agree. Though I could happily stay in here with you forever, we'd get all... squiggly." Squiggly? Sure. That's the word for it. Reluctantly though, he extracts himself, fetching a towel for each of them. He drapes Emet's over his head and gently rubs his hair, using the towel to pull him into a kiss before he can complain about it. He offers the man a hand up, and lets the water drain. He'll keep the thought that Emet looks like a scruffly cat with his hair in disarray like that. No, he'd rather not rouse the man's comical ire at the moment. Keeping him in a placid, sleepy state is so much better a thought. Better to cuddle with, after all.

Byleth dries, but doesn't bother dressing, instead, leading him in to bed and slipping under the covers bare. It would be such a waste to not be able to feel skin to skin, being so soft after a bath full of oils and scent.

"Do you want to be the big spoon or the little one?" This is a serious question, that he asks with the same candor as one would ask someone what they prefer for supper. The confidence which comes through it makes clear that he is utterly serious and does not find the question silly at all.

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