Emet isn't wrong to worry about Hythlodaeus and Dirk's resolution of last resort and how quickly and how often it's become the only form of resolution they can reach. If Dirk were less of an unsalvageably twisted knot of autodeictic associations and neuroses, the danger would probably a lot more real. As it is, a sincere, eager proposition might be a chance to work out some of the built-up pressure in his head (and elsewhere), but the interest in him also forms a kind of affirmation. Whatever it is they are or whatever it is they have--whatever it is they're even doing--it isn't done yet.

However more he may have humiliated himself begging for Hythlodaeus' cock at that hotel, taking Hythlodaeus (sexually and otherwise), wasn't a sacrifice of principle; it was a commitment he was making. The fundamental indignity of sex as an act is both part of the appeal and the cost of entry to the intimacy promised. Dirk had accepted this, even as he was grappling with it constantly; the struggle of being gratifyingly vulnerable and the reward for his efforts to do so are basically the same.

He's about to mumble something deflecting in response to Emet's outstretched arms, his professed ardour, when Hythlodaeus catches him off guard and presses him between the both of them.

As the smallest man of the three, it's really hard not to be immediately aware of the compromising nature of his position, and he ends up just mashing his face into Emet's shoulder with a quiet groan.