"If true, that would be quite unfortunate. Perhaps I have grown complacent in immortality. I suppose it is entirely possible for our work to be snatched from us, left undone. ...However, it is worth doing, no matter where we may be interrupted. If there is a better way to live, I'm not aware of it."
He stops tugging on his shirt to press a warm palm against his jaw. "Acting with purpose, each and every day. Moving towards where you want to be no matter where you are."
He presses his other hand to the other side of his neck, leaning in to press his forehead against Dirk's. "...If for no other reason than it will make Hades very happy. I must say, you grow irritable when you grow quiet. I cannot help but worry that you keep your more troubling thoughts to yourself to torment yourself with. Hades can be much the same."
Having resolved to work on his idea later--though he really wants to go and do it now, he hates having ideas or plans and being forced to wait instead of riding that rush of focus and purposeful energy--he doesn't... have an excuse to say no, really. Maybe he doesn't really want one, either.
He can feel the tightness in his chest, and the part of his brain that wants to leave this conversation makes it so much more compelling than it should be. The cold, damp sensation of Hythlodaeus' hair against the still-chilled skin of his brow is an appealingly stark contrast with his large, warm hand against the tight set of Dirk's jaw and the tension of his neck.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, a half-declaration half-muttered for the sole purpose of openly deflecting Hythlodaeus' 'observation.'
"Fuck. I know it's part of your deal for some reason, but how about you don't dress it up as purposeful or something if you want to come in me. It's just so much weirder when you try to make it into a whole character thing."
His eyes narrow momentarily. It's a weak deflection, one that he can pick apart later when Dirk is more docile again.
"... Very well. There is little I would prefer to do than grow closer with you and Hades. One of the ways I like to do this is by folding you in half and shoving my cock inside of you while Hades watches. Are you pleased? May we do this?"
Dirk is briefly stunned into stillness; he blinks once behind his shades, his expression impassive. The moment passes partly due to mortification, but only partly--really, it's like every word out of Hythlodaeus' mouth just went straight to his dick. Fuck, he's hard.
Emet's classic use of inferential language is a huge turn on, and that's the truth. But there's something about the way Hythlodaeus weaponines the outright obscene that makes Dirk really want to let the dude wreck him--or vice versa, but he's harder to negotiate with on that subject than even Jake was. An obstinate part of him wants to turn the tables on Hythlodaeus, to hold him down and fuck him until he's gasping for release under him, but he's not so committed to the bit that he'll take no dick if that's the alternative he's going to suffer. Especially not when that alternative is also another frustrating fight.
Besides, Dirk will admit it: Hythlodaeus knows how to use every inch of that monster cock he's packing. Not that Dirk is taking every inch, but the threat is always there, and that's the kind of thrill Dirk can get into--especially with Emet's eyes on him. He likes to watch Emet even in simple, quiet hours, and he knows Emet loves to watch him. Their motives may varu, but for Dirk it's definitely a vanity thing, a selfishness that Dirk tries not to wear too boldly, but it's still hard not to be into it--that ceaselessly intelligent gaze of his on him, avid with appetite.
"Holy shitting Christ. You really know how to sweet talk a man, you know that?" The supposedly incredulous shake of his head is completely facetious, but pairs well with a very real impatience.
"Yeah, we can do that. If Hades is awake."
He reaches up to take Hythlodaeus' wrist again, but this time it's to motivate the man to move rather than hold him still.
The truth is, Hythlodaeus would let him have his way, but he finds it kind of cute that he doesn't always push it. Besides, he can tell that he likes the attention. The more potent truth is that he only speaks like this for Dirk. He's the only one that has required this sort of inspiration, anyway.
"I have been informed of this, once or twice," he says airily as he stands, though it's a bit of a jerky movement as Dirk pulls on his wrist at the same time that he's getting his footing. Sure, he'd fit in the house better if he went around on his knees, but that's just a little too silly.
"If he isn't, he soon will be, I think."
Hythlodaeus considers Dirk as they make their way towards the room. He scrubs the video of their interaction here back and forth, wondering if he got through to him properly. It seemed to at least not end worse than it started? It was always unpredictable between them, and while he would have preferred to tease and jab and play to his heart's content, he knew that he had to behave at least for a little while.
He does want to ask and check if he's sore, but he isn't sure that would pan out either. His lip quirks. He wonders why they bother speaking sometimes. At least when it isn't like this. This always delivers results.
He has been, for quite some time. Of course, he had not heard the conversation on the roof, his hearing might be far from gone, but even he cannot hear so keenly. However, the walls are thin as the house is old, and when their conversation returned as they did, he found himself wrest from sleep's gentle embrace.
There were some moments within that conversation that he had considered dragging himself out of bed to quell the dispute, but resisted its siren song. They needed to learn to communicate without him, if this was going to work at all. He could interpret at times, but he cannot do so always, and so he wished to let this conversation run its course.
...And naturally, with how the two of them simply are, the conversation has ended on the verbal side, as they usher towards the more physical. A language they are both fluent in, but idly Hades worries that it might turn into a crutch of sorts.
That, instead of a bridge to gap the divide in understanding and communication, it might merely be an inadequate bandage to the wound they continue to pick at. Though his thoughts are silenced as they enter the room. Making no effort to conceal the fact he's awake, and clearly has been for some time, he offers them a glance from his position on the futon. On his back, his hands laying upon his chest, fingers loosely weaved.
"I see you have finally come to some manner of agreement. If you wish to wake me with affections, might I inform you they land far more sweetly if they are not riding on the coattails of a precursory squabble. Food for thought."
"You really need to invest in some soundproofing," Dirk observes in return, which is as close to direct acknowledgement of their conversation as he'll be making in mixed company--or at least his present state.
Which is a really heavy combination of cold, frustrated, resolute, depressed, and still somehow kind of turned on. He won't deny that Emet's potential disinterest has him feeling some kind of way--antsy, at the very least--but admitting it would actually be a huge downer is daunting in ways he doesn't really have the energy for. At least not if he's going to be tactful.
"Or at least some noise-cancelling headphones. I've lost my appetite for words, though. If you're not feeling it, I'll pack it in." Walk home. Take a shower. Kill some time, one of two ways.
As Dirk goes on, Hades watches him a little flatly, but his expression isn't unkind, so much as unresponsive to this level of uncertainty within Dirk.
He's silent for a moment, letting Dirk's words hang in the air for a solid beat, before he unlaces his fingers and holds his arms open in beckoning welcome. Little had he meant to impress upon him some measure of disinterest, so much as to poke a little fun at their senseless dispute.
"Come now, as if I would ever feel aught short of ardent longing for your company."
Hyhlodaeus places a hand on the small of Dirk's back, pressing him forward and placing a block against the inclination of escape. He steps in place to include himself in the embrace, wrapping his arms around Hades' shoulders. His chest presses against the top of Dirk's head as he kneels into bed.
"...And he is never one to pass up a show, no matter how tired he may claim to be."
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.
His worry combats his appreciation, however. That Dirk would even put forth the effort, that he is actively trying, in his own way, to make this work. He could run away. He could try to break this off, to avoid the taxing emotional cost of going against that which one is accustom. The siren song of the familiar, regardless of its potential self-destruction and promise of isolation.
It is a testament to Dirk's own feelings for Emet, feelings he refuses to put to words, but his actions speak loud and clear. He is not so insecure that he requires Dirk to utter such loving thoughts and feelings. He is far too wise and learned of a man to fail to realize that words are merely a shortcut for communication, but they are far from the only means. Little would he deny someone their native tongue, figuratively speaking.
As Dirk mashes into his shoulder, pressed firm to his body with the weight of Hythlodaeus to the mix, he breathes out a relaxed and affectionate sigh, nestling his nose into Dirk's hair. His arms holding them both, firm and warm, as his eyes slip closed for a moment to bask in the adoring gesture. Allowing the three of them this moment of peace and affection.
One beat.
Then another.
An emphatic squeeze of his arms, then he releases them, but not before, "now, what was this about a show, hm?"
One of Hythlodaeus' hands go to Dirk's chest and squeeze as he speaks. His tone as jovial as it usually is.
"I promised to fold him in half and penetrate him, yet he still seems a touch tense for such an activity. Perhaps you could relax him? I can't find it within myself to alter the morning's program. He will need to make do." He carries on jovially, a grin spreading on his features for Hades' benefit. Hades should know well enough what he means with it.
It hardly ends up being a very long show, and show is somewhat less adept of a description unless audience participation is an understood norm. Though, with them, they are into rather eclectic theater. Twenty-five, thirty sweaty minutes later, Hythlodaeus dismounts slowly from his spot behind Dirk and walks out towards the wash room, dressed in daring little before he comes back with warm washcloths in one hand as he combs the rest back into place with his fingers.
Dirk has a moment to appreciate the shelter of Emet's shoulder, protecting any slip of his facial expression from view--a refuge precious enough when Hythlodaeus honks his tit, but vastly moreso as Hythlodaeus details a plan for Emet's involvement and the wrecking Dirk's ass directly over his own head.
And, you know, the little voice in his head (that isn't a voice at all, but an ever-excruciating and ever-present externality of awareness) with its smugly devastating tone. 'You wanted this.'
Thirty minutes does very little to take the attitude out of Dirk's own unceasing self-talk, but now those three words are a rebuttal to his present desire to never move again. Except he has to get up or he this is going to be even more of a mess.
This isn't even his bed. Not that he'd be more willing to contemplate alternatives if it were, but it wouldn't be as much anyone else's problem.... lying (more or less) facedown, he makes a reluctant groaning sound directly into Emet's handsomely scarred chest before lifting his head as Hythlodaeus returns.
"Where the hell did you put my shades?"
It's a general question, but he kinda regrets the eye contact with Emet.
Christ. He just looks so damn hot right now. They both do. This is almost humiliating--yeah, fuck. He's getting up now.
There are plenty of things that speak to Hades' fancy, but none so deeply as an act so intimate as this.
Not merely sex, but the trust and vulnerability of it and whom is involved. To have Dirk flush against his chest, eyes laid bare as he plucked the shaded spectacles from his face so that he might look into their orange depths, giving himself to Hythlodaeus in such a manner... To be earnest in his own way with his desires—not through words, but through deed—there is little more emotionally fulfilling than this.
To feel him, to hold him, to see them—not that his own physical needs were ignored, far from. With each powerful thrust from Hythlodaeus, did both his and Dirk's own aching manhoods enjoy contact as the rest of their bodies did.
Thirty minutes is a laughably short amount of time for someone like Hades and Hythlodaeus, yet it feels simultaneously like it could be stretched on forever, yet passing too quickly with the rise of passion and intimacy. And before long the three of them have found themselves spent, Hythlodaeus pulling away to clean up, and Dirk left panting against his own chest as it rises and falls from their exertions.
It's Dirk's voice that pulls him from being lost in such bliss, and while he still feels the tingling warmth of afterglow, he's capable enough to answer him and meet his gaze. For all Dirk might regret it, Hades never does.
"Do you require them so promptly? Well do I know you must feel rather exposed like this, but I must say you make such a handsome visage as you are." However, as he says this, he does fulfill Dirk's request, reaching over to grab the shades which he placed on the short nightstand besides them before offering the pair to Dirk.
He does offer Hythlodaeus a thankful smile at his return, and while he himself is quite the 'crime scene' so to speak, he makes little effort to get up at the moment.
Hythlodaeus, without warning or consulting, catches Dirk's rear in his washclothed hand. He plops the other one on Hades' stomach with a smile.
"Hades is quite right. It is quite the treat for us, so deprived of our Sight as we are. I imagine your soul is burning quite brightly now."
Nevermind that they would both be averting their gaze slightly to accommodate that patchwork travesty. Even still, he feels that warmth in his chest as he looks down upon them in a heap. Even if Dirk insists upon sitting up and putting his glasses back on.
"Don't they make it harder to see in such a dim room? Though I suppose the sun is nearly up." His hair tickles Dirk's collarbone with how he's situated, and he doesn't seem to be getting ready to move away.
Dirk's experience has been that a lot can happen in thirty minutes--but killing that much time with nothing at stake hardly makes a difference to the course of even a day. This is neither of the two, though, and the intimacy of his position between the two of them is... overwhelmingly addictive. Or maybe that's addictively overwhelming. It's just a lot, emotionally and physically. It's not just the size of him, but the strength--Dirk doesn't want to hope too hard that the degree of himself that Hythlodaeus applies to the act of fucking him speechless reflects some degree of actual feeling for him, but between him and Emet, the feeling of being... wanted between them.... is still real enough to be convincing.
At least it wasn't Hythlodaeus' ear he was making those sounds into this time. Half of them, at least, were words.
In contrast, the sound that he makes when Hythlo presses a damp washcloth to his ass is more like his brain's attempt to produce a keysmash through his mouth than it is any intelligible sound or sentiment.
"I can take care of myself," Dirk's tone is a bit taut, and he relieves him of the warm, wet terrycloth in short order, trying not to sound sore--literally sore--though he already is. Something under his actual back hurts; he knows it's probably muscle, but it's hard to tell when the rest of him is so... well, he didn't take the whole thing but it sure feels like Hythlodaeus tried. Maybe some day he will and Dirk will literally die impaled on that giant cock. Wouldn't that be some kind of karma.
He takes the shades from Emet, too, but now he has two conflicting tasks here and he actually just hands them back after a second of trying and failing to mentally run both processes at once. The speed with which this went from 'slow but self-motivated initiative' to 'entirely too much stimulation and cross-talk'... if he could skip back like two entire minutes to the part where he was laid out on Emet's chest, feeling his own still-racing heartbeat as the rhythm of their breathing mingled and competed, both of them messy with--
"This wouldn't be an issue if you didn't raw me every time."
He is not making eye contact with anyone right now, thank you.
That Dirk does not don the shades right away is it's own blessing, one that Hades will not remark upon, or else it may spoil it utterly. Instead, he accepts the shades back, holding them in one hand as he observes the two. The crude way in which Dirk remarks upon Hythlodaeus' preferred method of lovemaking is not surprising, but it certainly is hypocritical.
What with Dirk's own penchant for "rawing" Hades. In fact, he's fairly certain that Dirk has never once suggested doing otherwise.
"Is it truly such an issue? Or is it merely a matter of being unaccustomed to being on the receiving end?"
How rigid Dirk is certainly suggests as such, but perhaps it's merely his own embarrassment. He certainly wasn't complaining while Hythlodaeus was inside him some few minutes ago, nor when he laid upon Hades' bosom as their breathes wordlessly bantered and heartbeats emphatically synced...
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"If true, that would be quite unfortunate. Perhaps I have grown complacent in immortality. I suppose it is entirely possible for our work to be snatched from us, left undone. ...However, it is worth doing, no matter where we may be interrupted. If there is a better way to live, I'm not aware of it."
He stops tugging on his shirt to press a warm palm against his jaw. "Acting with purpose, each and every day. Moving towards where you want to be no matter where you are."
He presses his other hand to the other side of his neck, leaning in to press his forehead against Dirk's. "...If for no other reason than it will make Hades very happy. I must say, you grow irritable when you grow quiet. I cannot help but worry that you keep your more troubling thoughts to yourself to torment yourself with. Hades can be much the same."
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Okay.
Having resolved to work on his idea later--though he really wants to go and do it now, he hates having ideas or plans and being forced to wait instead of riding that rush of focus and purposeful energy--he doesn't... have an excuse to say no, really. Maybe he doesn't really want one, either.
He can feel the tightness in his chest, and the part of his brain that wants to leave this conversation makes it so much more compelling than it should be. The cold, damp sensation of Hythlodaeus' hair against the still-chilled skin of his brow is an appealingly stark contrast with his large, warm hand against the tight set of Dirk's jaw and the tension of his neck.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, a half-declaration half-muttered for the sole purpose of openly deflecting Hythlodaeus' 'observation.'
"Fuck. I know it's part of your deal for some reason, but how about you don't dress it up as purposeful or something if you want to come in me. It's just so much weirder when you try to make it into a whole character thing."
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"... Very well. There is little I would prefer to do than grow closer with you and Hades. One of the ways I like to do this is by folding you in half and shoving my cock inside of you while Hades watches. Are you pleased? May we do this?"
Okay this is just pornographic now
Dirk is briefly stunned into stillness; he blinks once behind his shades, his expression impassive. The moment passes partly due to mortification, but only partly--really, it's like every word out of Hythlodaeus' mouth just went straight to his dick. Fuck, he's hard.
Emet's classic use of inferential language is a huge turn on, and that's the truth. But there's something about the way Hythlodaeus weaponines the outright obscene that makes Dirk really want to let the dude wreck him--or vice versa, but he's harder to negotiate with on that subject than even Jake was. An obstinate part of him wants to turn the tables on Hythlodaeus, to hold him down and fuck him until he's gasping for release under him, but he's not so committed to the bit that he'll take no dick if that's the alternative he's going to suffer. Especially not when that alternative is also another frustrating fight.
Besides, Dirk will admit it: Hythlodaeus knows how to use every inch of that monster cock he's packing. Not that Dirk is taking every inch, but the threat is always there, and that's the kind of thrill Dirk can get into--especially with Emet's eyes on him. He likes to watch Emet even in simple, quiet hours, and he knows Emet loves to watch him. Their motives may varu, but for Dirk it's definitely a vanity thing, a selfishness that Dirk tries not to wear too boldly, but it's still hard not to be into it--that ceaselessly intelligent gaze of his on him, avid with appetite.
"Holy shitting Christ. You really know how to sweet talk a man, you know that?" The supposedly incredulous shake of his head is completely facetious, but pairs well with a very real impatience.
"Yeah, we can do that. If Hades is awake."
He reaches up to take Hythlodaeus' wrist again, but this time it's to motivate the man to move rather than hold him still.
They do that. NSFW all the way down probably
"I have been informed of this, once or twice," he says airily as he stands, though it's a bit of a jerky movement as Dirk pulls on his wrist at the same time that he's getting his footing. Sure, he'd fit in the house better if he went around on his knees, but that's just a little too silly.
"If he isn't, he soon will be, I think."
Hythlodaeus considers Dirk as they make their way towards the room. He scrubs the video of their interaction here back and forth, wondering if he got through to him properly. It seemed to at least not end worse than it started? It was always unpredictable between them, and while he would have preferred to tease and jab and play to his heart's content, he knew that he had to behave at least for a little while.
He does want to ask and check if he's sore, but he isn't sure that would pan out either. His lip quirks. He wonders why they bother speaking sometimes. At least when it isn't like this. This always delivers results.
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He has been, for quite some time. Of course, he had not heard the conversation on the roof, his hearing might be far from gone, but even he cannot hear so keenly. However, the walls are thin as the house is old, and when their conversation returned as they did, he found himself wrest from sleep's gentle embrace.
There were some moments within that conversation that he had considered dragging himself out of bed to quell the dispute, but resisted its siren song. They needed to learn to communicate without him, if this was going to work at all. He could interpret at times, but he cannot do so always, and so he wished to let this conversation run its course.
...And naturally, with how the two of them simply are, the conversation has ended on the verbal side, as they usher towards the more physical. A language they are both fluent in, but idly Hades worries that it might turn into a crutch of sorts.
That, instead of a bridge to gap the divide in understanding and communication, it might merely be an inadequate bandage to the wound they continue to pick at. Though his thoughts are silenced as they enter the room. Making no effort to conceal the fact he's awake, and clearly has been for some time, he offers them a glance from his position on the futon. On his back, his hands laying upon his chest, fingers loosely weaved.
"I see you have finally come to some manner of agreement. If you wish to wake me with affections, might I inform you they land far more sweetly if they are not riding on the coattails of a precursory squabble. Food for thought."
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Which is a really heavy combination of cold, frustrated, resolute, depressed, and still somehow kind of turned on. He won't deny that Emet's potential disinterest has him feeling some kind of way--antsy, at the very least--but admitting it would actually be a huge downer is daunting in ways he doesn't really have the energy for. At least not if he's going to be tactful.
"Or at least some noise-cancelling headphones. I've lost my appetite for words, though. If you're not feeling it, I'll pack it in." Walk home. Take a shower. Kill some time, one of two ways.
Come back later.
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He's silent for a moment, letting Dirk's words hang in the air for a solid beat, before he unlaces his fingers and holds his arms open in beckoning welcome. Little had he meant to impress upon him some measure of disinterest, so much as to poke a little fun at their senseless dispute.
"Come now, as if I would ever feel aught short of ardent longing for your company."
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"...And he is never one to pass up a show, no matter how tired he may claim to be."
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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.
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It is a testament to Dirk's own feelings for Emet, feelings he refuses to put to words, but his actions speak loud and clear. He is not so insecure that he requires Dirk to utter such loving thoughts and feelings. He is far too wise and learned of a man to fail to realize that words are merely a shortcut for communication, but they are far from the only means. Little would he deny someone their native tongue, figuratively speaking.
As Dirk mashes into his shoulder, pressed firm to his body with the weight of Hythlodaeus to the mix, he breathes out a relaxed and affectionate sigh, nestling his nose into Dirk's hair. His arms holding them both, firm and warm, as his eyes slip closed for a moment to bask in the adoring gesture. Allowing the three of them this moment of peace and affection.
One beat.
Then another.
An emphatic squeeze of his arms, then he releases them, but not before, "now, what was this about a show, hm?"
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"I promised to fold him in half and penetrate him, yet he still seems a touch tense for such an activity. Perhaps you could relax him? I can't find it within myself to alter the morning's program. He will need to make do." He carries on jovially, a grin spreading on his features for Hades' benefit. Hades should know well enough what he means with it.
It hardly ends up being a very long show, and show is somewhat less adept of a description unless audience participation is an understood norm. Though, with them, they are into rather eclectic theater. Twenty-five, thirty sweaty minutes later, Hythlodaeus dismounts slowly from his spot behind Dirk and walks out towards the wash room, dressed in daring little before he comes back with warm washcloths in one hand as he combs the rest back into place with his fingers.
The yamask are surely not paid enough for this.
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And, you know, the little voice in his head (that isn't a voice at all, but an ever-excruciating and ever-present externality of awareness) with its smugly devastating tone. 'You wanted this.'
Thirty minutes does very little to take the attitude out of Dirk's own unceasing self-talk, but now those three words are a rebuttal to his present desire to never move again. Except he has to get up or
hethis is going to be even more of a mess.This isn't even his bed. Not that he'd be more willing to contemplate alternatives if it were, but it wouldn't be as much anyone else's problem.... lying (more or less) facedown, he makes a reluctant groaning sound directly into Emet's handsomely scarred chest before lifting his head as Hythlodaeus returns.
"Where the hell did you put my shades?"
It's a general question, but he kinda regrets the eye contact with Emet.
Christ. He just looks so damn hot right now. They both do. This is almost humiliating--yeah, fuck. He's getting up now.
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Not merely sex, but the trust and vulnerability of it and whom is involved. To have Dirk flush against his chest, eyes laid bare as he plucked the shaded spectacles from his face so that he might look into their orange depths, giving himself to Hythlodaeus in such a manner... To be earnest in his own way with his desires—not through words, but through deed—there is little more emotionally fulfilling than this.
To feel him, to hold him, to see them—not that his own physical needs were ignored, far from. With each powerful thrust from Hythlodaeus, did both his and Dirk's own aching manhoods enjoy contact as the rest of their bodies did.
Thirty minutes is a laughably short amount of time for someone like Hades and Hythlodaeus, yet it feels simultaneously like it could be stretched on forever, yet passing too quickly with the rise of passion and intimacy. And before long the three of them have found themselves spent, Hythlodaeus pulling away to clean up, and Dirk left panting against his own chest as it rises and falls from their exertions.
It's Dirk's voice that pulls him from being lost in such bliss, and while he still feels the tingling warmth of afterglow, he's capable enough to answer him and meet his gaze. For all Dirk might regret it, Hades never does.
"Do you require them so promptly? Well do I know you must feel rather exposed like this, but I must say you make such a handsome visage as you are." However, as he says this, he does fulfill Dirk's request, reaching over to grab the shades which he placed on the short nightstand besides them before offering the pair to Dirk.
He does offer Hythlodaeus a thankful smile at his return, and while he himself is quite the 'crime scene' so to speak, he makes little effort to get up at the moment.
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"Hades is quite right. It is quite the treat for us, so deprived of our Sight as we are. I imagine your soul is burning quite brightly now."
Nevermind that they would both be averting their gaze slightly to accommodate that patchwork travesty. Even still, he feels that warmth in his chest as he looks down upon them in a heap. Even if Dirk insists upon sitting up and putting his glasses back on.
"Don't they make it harder to see in such a dim room? Though I suppose the sun is nearly up." His hair tickles Dirk's collarbone with how he's situated, and he doesn't seem to be getting ready to move away.
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At least it wasn't Hythlodaeus' ear he was making those sounds into this time. Half of them, at least, were words.
In contrast, the sound that he makes when Hythlo presses a damp washcloth to his ass is more like his brain's attempt to produce a keysmash through his mouth than it is any intelligible sound or sentiment.
"I can take care of myself," Dirk's tone is a bit taut, and he relieves him of the warm, wet terrycloth in short order, trying not to sound sore--literally sore--though he already is. Something under his actual back hurts; he knows it's probably muscle, but it's hard to tell when the rest of him is so... well, he didn't take the whole thing but it sure feels like Hythlodaeus tried. Maybe some day he will and Dirk will literally die impaled on that giant cock. Wouldn't that be some kind of karma.
He takes the shades from Emet, too, but now he has two conflicting tasks here and he actually just hands them back after a second of trying and failing to mentally run both processes at once. The speed with which this went from 'slow but self-motivated initiative' to 'entirely too much stimulation and cross-talk'... if he could skip back like two entire minutes to the part where he was laid out on Emet's chest, feeling his own still-racing heartbeat as the rhythm of their breathing mingled and competed, both of them messy with--
"This wouldn't be an issue if you didn't raw me every time."
He is not making eye contact with anyone right now, thank you.
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What with Dirk's own penchant for "rawing" Hades. In fact, he's fairly certain that Dirk has never once suggested doing otherwise.
"Is it truly such an issue? Or is it merely a matter of being unaccustomed to being on the receiving end?"
How rigid Dirk is certainly suggests as such, but perhaps it's merely his own embarrassment. He certainly wasn't complaining while Hythlodaeus was inside him some few minutes ago, nor when he laid upon Hades' bosom as their breathes wordlessly bantered and heartbeats emphatically synced...