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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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