"He was close, was he? Perhaps you would care to enlighten us all. Or," he says with emphasis. He shrugs a shoulder as he finger combs the hair over it.
"Think of it this way, then. How would you like your evening to pan out? In lover's arms and quiet conversation... or, this?" he gestures to the physical and metaphorical space between Dirk and Emet-Selch. He bows his head slightly. His voice takes on a playful tone and cadence.
"Come sit, Hades, and I will help you with your bodice. How ever did you get into that garment by yourself?"
Indeed, he's been given enough of an indication he was right. That Dirk didn't outright deny it is more of a yes than it is a true maybe. However, he's thoroughly exhausted and finding himself a bit more emotionally frayed than he would ordinarily.
So at Hythlodaeus' offer to help him out of his dress, there's an odd sense of relief that comes with it. That they can put a pin in this, that Hythlodaeus isn't rejecting Dirk despite this, that they might yet indulge in something affectionate at the end of this terrible night.
He offers his hand to Dirk, a gesture to include him. To show him that even if he goes to Hythlodaeus, Dirk isn't being left behind, even with the hurt still fresh in his eyes.
"Come, let us enjoy the rest of the evening."
But then he looks to Hythlodaeus to answer his question, "the yamask are ever dedicated helpers. You will soon see."
Really, from a narrative standpoint, Dirk has divbulged and conceded all he'd ever need to; still, he can't help but shake the feeling that this isn't over.
Which sucks, because even as the ostensible 'victor,' he would really like it to be.
This isn't what he'd wanted. Nevermind what he'd expected, not spending more of his night like this is a fucking compelling suggestion, even before Emet extends his hand. He releases a sigh, the casual aggression in his posture relenting almost immediately.
"Yeah. I've had enough. But I can tell when I've overstayed my welcome, so you two have fun."
Emet's brow furrows, and for all he might be tired and exhausted, he is not so much that he cannot swiftly put himself between Dirk and the door.
"I believe that is for us to decide. Hythlodaeus and myself wish for you to stay, I implore that you do. Let us not end this night on such a low note. Will you do this for me?"
Maybe it's low to frame it like that, downright manipulative, but if Dirk refuses to be reasonable, then Emet will return in kind.
Dirk blinks a couple of times behind his shades as Emet cuts him off, the corners of his mouth turning down as Emet entreats him in that soft, sad way.
He still hesitates, though not for any doubt in Emet's sincerity.
"You sure that's what you want?"
He glances at Hythlodaeus as he asks--the fact that this one is an entire separate person from Emet is something he can't exactly forget.
There are two wolves inside of Hythlodaeus. One of them wants to tell Dirk to get a grip, take a walk around the premises. But it's clear how much Emet-Selch wants him.
And although he is a separate entity, he had never stopped being obsessed with Emet-Selch regardless. And he can read a situation, or at least what would be advantageous for his beau.
"Of course I do."
For all that he loved to antagonize Hades, he was by far the more agreeable man.
Dirk manages not to look surprised by this outcome. He also manages not to look smug. He doesn't really look any particular way--except that he looks at Emet one more time, establishing one final layer of certainty before he steps back from the door, a single half-step towards the bed.
Hythlodaeus might have two wolves; Dirk just has more Dirks. A certain majority wanted this, wanted to just settle down and set this aside, preferably forever but at least for now. A second majority, however, was in agreement with Hythlodaeus. Leave now, take a walk. Get a grip; cement your victory; establish your self-sovereignty; D, all of the above. To some extent, putting the decision in someone else's hands was the only guaranteed outcome. Especially with outliers, like the conceptually exhausting but cruelly practical impulse to push his advantage, really ruin the subject as a vallation against any future attempts on his adolescent baggage.
That gesture, though small, is a lot. It certainly eases some of the tension in his chest, that at the very least, has lessened. A sign that the conflict might be at an end, even if only for now.
Once again, Emet offers his hand to Dirk. The half step is a nice first step, even if only half of one, but he needs a little more evidence that he won't simply leave the moment he steps away from that door. A concession of sorts, a deeper assurance. Though, he cannot help but chastise himself privately for having any such need at all, for allowing himself to ever fall to such a low to be this vulnerable. To let himself be impacted by such small and otherwise insignificant gestures.
Maybe he's just too old to be doing those all nighters, especially with this body of his. How pathetic that it would affect him this way.
Dirk stares at the proffered hand for a beat. Two beats. It's almost three by the time he reaches out and plants his hand in Emet's, calloused palm flush with Emet's significantly more well-treated one. Or. Flush except for the fingerless leather glove, which at least spares Emet contact with that rough, dry skin except where Dirk's fingers close over his hand.
It's a forcibly modern, almost bro-code reciprocation to a tender, genteel gesture, but if nothing else, it's unhesitatingly sincere.
As he does this, Dirk catches himself wondering if he's supposed to hold Emet's hand all the way to the bed. That would be weird, right?
Oh, he is absolutely going to hold Emet's hand the whole way there, if the way he entwines their fingers with a firm grip says anything. There's almost something Lord and Lady about it, except Emet has done Dirk the service of keeping his body language a touch more masculine so that it does not seem as overtly that.
With Emet taking the lead, he brings them to the bed, and—as Hythlodaeus had requested before—he sits on the edge of the bed so that he may unfasten his dress.
With a firm squeeze, he releases Dirk, and pats the bed besides him.
And unfasten he does. With his legs tucked beneath him and his ass slightly raised, he undoes every hook and eye until Hythlodaeus' fingernails just brush Hades' lower back.
His eyes slide to Dirk's little ensemble as he looks for a point of egress in all that fashion choice.
Dirk didn't really follow his instructions, but he sort of knew he wouldn't anyway. It was fine, he would speak to Emet later about Dirk's true suitability. Such anger in such a small package.
Emet's choice of dress (literal) gives the walk a strange vibe, one only slightly mitigated by the strength of his grip and the length of his stride. It's one that reminds Dirk vividly of his adolescence in more ways than one. A few adolescences, actually, from the one spent as a pair of glasses erping Roxy's lonely Adam and Eve fantasies, down to the finest age-inappropriate detail to one spent running through toxic fog, hand in hand with a boy he really did believe wouldn't break his heart. Even the hazy days of 1990-whatever, when he was still beholden to no one and nothing except himself, his pal Cal, and a purpose yet to descend from the literal heavens.
It kind of makes his skin crawl? Not just with the stomach-churning kind of nostalgia, but with embarrassment and discomfort. This is, undeniably, extremely awkward. Sitting slightly apart on the side of the bed, he lets Hythlodaeus undo the multiple unseen latches on Emet's dress and starts unsnapping the dozens of little brass studs on either side of his breast. There are a lot of them. Steampunk aesthetic is extremely impractical unless you too want to die like Franz Ferdinand, being cut out of your own clothes for lack of a way in.
Emet takes little joy in making Dirk suffer in any regard, even in ways that does not truly invoke pain. He feels how awkward this is, and he isn't immune to the feeling himself, however he's also quite used to such ignominy, thus he is quite capable of ignoring it. However, he knows that Dirk is not quite the same, and for all he might have suffered humiliation time and again, he would not wager it helped him build up a true resistance to it.
While he does not take joy in Dirk's suffering of this awkward scenario, but he knows he deserves it on some level and so he's more at peace with it than he might otherwise be. Under no delusion that this will actually truly teach the lesson it should, it might help nudge him in the right direction all the same. Or rather, Emet will be sure to make it happen.
Free of his dress's clasps, he gently peels the form-fitting gown off of him, before standing to remove it completely. He's left in knee-high leather boots and a pair of black bikini style men's underwear. Not quite as feminine as they could have been, but not near as masculine as Dirk might have liked. As he goes to remove his boots, his attention falls to Dirk and his own struggles to remove his costume.
"Allow me to assist you, my dear."
He beckons with a hand and a smile. Though Dirk might deserve to suffer this cumbrous situation, he need not be cruel nor make it worse by denying him aid in relieving himself of such a difficult outfit.
Little mister gigglepuss over here does have to hold it in when it comes to Dirk trying to get out of whatever he's in here. He can't imagine that someone like Dirk will appreciate the help, but he's willing to be surprised tonight.
He manages to survive the riveting quiet a little longer by ogling Emet-Selch's little bikini briefs. He turns to watch Dirk openly, curious to see what he packed in under all that leather. He reaches for him as well, curious if Dirk will reject his advance. Mostly he wonders if what Dirk is wearing would be considered acceptable in most places. It's awfully revealing, but he's one to talk. That is a mindset that will take a while to break.
When was the last time he even wore something that wasn't a communal robe? Besides tonight, of course.
"Is this thing comfortable?"
Because the dress he was wearing? Exemplary. So comfortable it blew his mind. He'd have to find more chiffon.
Dirk does hesitate at Emet's offer; the stubborn streak in him (not much of a streak, it's more like an MS Paint bucket fill) and the part that wants to retain even a trace of his own dignity balk at the ignominy of scooting over to let another person unbutton him out of his own aesthetically onerous costume. Common sense tells him that sitting by himself and continuing to unfix snap after snap well after everyone else is done, however, may not be much better. Even if it is more in keeping with the character he's established.
But... well, he could at least concede this much to Emet, he guesses.
Wordlessly, and without much expression, he shifts within Emet's reach, only turning his head to Hythlodaeus once he's there.
"....s'not supposed to be." Which is pretty much all the answer that question needs. He sewed a soft, moisture-wicking liner into it to try and mitigate how sweaty he can get and also prevent chafing at points of motion (or just his nipples), but it's still not made for comfort. He'll be glad to get out of it.
Restraining the laugh that bubbles up in his throat is no simple task, but the delivery of Dirk's retort is nothing short of amusing. There's such a pouting child feel to it that cuts the tension for Emet in a way that nothing else has since the start of this whole situation.
Through what remains of his self control, frayed as it is with his lack of sleep, he merely smiles. Smiles, and goes to work helping Dirk out of it, noting the dedication he put into protecting his more sensitive parts. Something he took note of before, but he's charmed by the reminder.
"Yes, comfort is a luxury when it comes to costuming, and with so little time ere the contest, 'twasn't one easily afforded."
Were Dirk a more...aromatic man, the sweat trapped in the suit might have been a bit more potent, but fortunately for all involved, his ripeness is hardly worth noticing.
Hythlodaeus goes to unbutton the other side, pausing and pulling his his back as he touches some major sweat soaked cotton.
"Oh dear. You're awfully clammy under there, aren't you?" He manages not to grimace, though he stands instead of touching another button.
"I'll fetch you a warm washcloth," he says as if someone asked for a volunteer. He gets up quickly and heads to the en suite, looking for a non-decorative and non-monogrammed towel. He finds one at last and returns, holding it out for Emet to use at his discretion.
Dirk, meanwhile, has to resist a degree of annoyance that Hythlodaeusw would be so precious over something so overtly unremarkable; he is aware, of course, that his own sweatiness lacks a certain potency compared to Emet's or Hythlodaeus' own, which makes Hythlodaeus' reaction potentially somewhat insulting. Dirk isn't that delicate, or at least not that kind of delicate, so mostly this manifests as a feeling more akin to contempt.
"Really?" he starts with a drawl, although Hythlodaeus is already up and wandering off quickly. Dirk glances at Emet while he's gone; he takes just long enough for Dirk to be able peel the rest of the leather-and-cloth off his arms and torso before he returns.
"You didn't have to help if you didn't actually want to." Yes, he was saving that for Hythlodaeus to get back, and yes, he does notice that Hythlodaeus gives the towel to Emet and not to him.
A far cry from his shade's penchant for applying it directly to Dirk's body without warning or invitation.
Honestly, he wasn't expecting Hythlodaeus to care this much about Dirk's sweaty body. Well, he isn't making a big deal about it, not really, but it's still more than he expected. He assumed Dirk would likely take a shower, and he and Hythlodaeus could spend a little time together while Dirk allowed himself to do the closest thing he ever does to meditating.
It'd do them all some good, without Dirk leaving for the evening.
All the same, he shrugs at Dirk's single worded question, but then takes the cloth once it's handed to him. Silently he aims to tenderly wipe Dirk down--but hesitates at Dirk's comment. Not for long, deciding to let them talk as he towels down Dirk's sweat-slicked body.
It's not just that it's sweat. It's a tactile nightmare, reminding him more of disease than vigorous movement. It's fine. Explaining it won't really help, probably.
"You, who were so worried about me trying to be intimate with you just a couple weeks ago. Have you changed your mind?"
Hythlodaues sits back down on the bed, unselfconsciously bare in front of this other. Really a stranger for all intents and purposes. Yet for as few friends as he had, he considered any of Emet-Selch's friends one of his own. Dirk was an odd bit to crack though, wasn't he?
"Would you actually welcome my hands on your body?"
This puts Dirk in the extremely complicated position of having to choose between focusing on Hythlodaeus' completely nonsensical answer or taking the towel from Emet and potentially making that into a whole thing. He settles for making an attempt at liberating the towel from Emet's grasp while trying not to answer Hythlodaeus in a tone he'd have reserved for a mentally-challenged two year old.
"That's not the exact word I would have used, but I wouldn't have let you lay a finger on me if I was going to take issue with the obvious consequences. That has nothing to do with whether or not I want to fuck you."
How Hythlodaeus even conflated the two, he has no idea. From Dirk's perspective, it's like if he reached down to pet someone's dog and went 'oh, but it's not fine if I kill it?' Absolutely fucking bizarre. The worst part is that he has to keep himself in check--not only because Emet is right fucking there and they've already fought twice today, but because somehow Hythlodaeus always leaves him unsure which of them is the actually insane man in the conversation.
That's honestly the charm of Hythlodaeus. He has a way of winning you over to his side, either through exploiting your emotional weaknesses, or by undermining your grasp on what the hell is going on. Emet doesn't really get suffer from the latter, but he is vulnerable to the former.
As Dirk reaches for the towel, he nearly pulls it out of his reach--if only because he's actually enjoying the task of wiping him down. Really appreciating his muscles, and Dirk rarely allows him to indulge in this sort of affectionate grooming. However, for the same reasons Dirk is withholding his own attitude, Emet likewise does not wish to fight.
Thus with a twinge of disappointment, he allows Dirk to take it.
Unoccupied as he is, he merely folds his arms over his bare chest to watch these two as they talk. It's proving interesting thus far, may as well see where this goes.
The deflection seems to work in that Dirk wasn't trying to catch him in a specific inconsistency, even if it did put his hackles up. As long as the conversation moved forward, that's all he needed.
"Very well."
With deft fingers he goes in at Dirk's waist, fully unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them open. This time he knows how clammy it is and braces for it as he tugs the material down his ass. Without missing a beat he starts to hit the laces. For as thin as he seems, there is certainly strength in his shoulders and hands and no shortage of dexterity. For this was a grueling, boring, menial task and while he would prefer to foist it upon Emet-Selch, he had a point to prove. He would take his later. He reaches the bottom of the boot and pulls it free.
Hilariously, if Emet had yanked it out of his reach, Dirk might well have just surrendered to his fate. Instead, he nets himself an extremely minor victory for his dignity and autonomy--one that he puts to use right away towelling himself off with practised efficiency, and one that he loses just as quickly when Hythlodaeus goes straight for the area below his belt.
His immediate instinct is to freeze; this is to Hythlodaeus' benefit, as it prevents him from taking, say, an impact-toughened, damp-yet-unmoisturised elbow to the face. He doesn't actually freeze, but the need to consciously make a choice in order to keep doing what he was doing prevents any of his more dangerous reflexes from going off. You know how it is. Or probably Hythlodaeus doesn't. The real one especially. Having him all up on his own personal space like this is really crossing his wires; it's one thing to keep the "real" Hythlodaeus at an emotional distance when the distance between them physically is itself very real. It's a lot more confusing when he's all up in Dirk's physical, intimate business, two feet shorter and a lot less familiar, doing things his shade wouldn't, or things his shade would.
Like, his shade wouldn't have stopped where Hythlodaeus just did and go for his boots, which is baffling enough that Dirk actually just keeps his mouth shut for the entire first boot, watching with some disbelief and not a little bemusement as this ostensible stranger goes to the incredibly tedious trouble of unlacing a knee-high piece of bullshit steampunk footwear.
It isn't until Hythlodaeus starts actually pulling the boot off him that Dirk--perhaps a little less intelligently than he would have done otherwise--moves to plant the sole of his foot against Hythlodaeus' chest and shove him back. Not aggressively, just... typically insensitive.
The lion, the witch, and the audacity of this bitch. Hythlodaeus' brows raise. He gets pushed back of course, he wasn't anticipating it. He places his hands on his hips, walks back to the bathroom for a moment and comes back with something palmed in his hand.
He locks eyes with Dirk.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to keep your other boot and half of your trousers on?"
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no subject
"Think of it this way, then. How would you like your evening to pan out? In lover's arms and quiet conversation... or, this?" he gestures to the physical and metaphorical space between Dirk and Emet-Selch. He bows his head slightly. His voice takes on a playful tone and cadence.
"Come sit, Hades, and I will help you with your bodice. How ever did you get into that garment by yourself?"
no subject
So at Hythlodaeus' offer to help him out of his dress, there's an odd sense of relief that comes with it. That they can put a pin in this, that Hythlodaeus isn't rejecting Dirk despite this, that they might yet indulge in something affectionate at the end of this terrible night.
He offers his hand to Dirk, a gesture to include him. To show him that even if he goes to Hythlodaeus, Dirk isn't being left behind, even with the hurt still fresh in his eyes.
"Come, let us enjoy the rest of the evening."
But then he looks to Hythlodaeus to answer his question, "the yamask are ever dedicated helpers. You will soon see."
no subject
Which sucks, because even as the ostensible 'victor,' he would really like it to be.
This isn't what he'd wanted. Nevermind what he'd expected, not spending more of his night like this is a fucking compelling suggestion, even before Emet extends his hand. He releases a sigh, the casual aggression in his posture relenting almost immediately.
"Yeah. I've had enough. But I can tell when I've overstayed my welcome, so you two have fun."
Yes, he is just going to try to leave.
no subject
"I believe that is for us to decide. Hythlodaeus and myself wish for you to stay, I implore that you do. Let us not end this night on such a low note. Will you do this for me?"
Maybe it's low to frame it like that, downright manipulative, but if Dirk refuses to be reasonable, then Emet will return in kind.
"Please."
no subject
He still hesitates, though not for any doubt in Emet's sincerity.
"You sure that's what you want?"
He glances at Hythlodaeus as he asks--the fact that this one is an entire separate person from Emet is something he can't exactly forget.
no subject
And although he is a separate entity, he had never stopped being obsessed with Emet-Selch regardless. And he can read a situation, or at least what would be advantageous for his beau.
"Of course I do."
For all that he loved to antagonize Hades, he was by far the more agreeable man.
"So you will come sit, won't you?"
no subject
Hythlodaeus might have two wolves; Dirk just has more Dirks. A certain majority wanted this, wanted to just settle down and set this aside, preferably forever but at least for now. A second majority, however, was in agreement with Hythlodaeus. Leave now, take a walk. Get a grip; cement your victory; establish your self-sovereignty; D, all of the above. To some extent, putting the decision in someone else's hands was the only guaranteed outcome. Especially with outliers, like the conceptually exhausting but cruelly practical impulse to push his advantage, really ruin the subject as a vallation against any future attempts on his adolescent baggage.
no subject
Once again, Emet offers his hand to Dirk. The half step is a nice first step, even if only half of one, but he needs a little more evidence that he won't simply leave the moment he steps away from that door. A concession of sorts, a deeper assurance. Though, he cannot help but chastise himself privately for having any such need at all, for allowing himself to ever fall to such a low to be this vulnerable. To let himself be impacted by such small and otherwise insignificant gestures.
Maybe he's just too old to be doing those all nighters, especially with this body of his. How pathetic that it would affect him this way.
"Come."
no subject
It's a forcibly modern, almost bro-code reciprocation to a tender, genteel gesture, but if nothing else, it's unhesitatingly sincere.
As he does this, Dirk catches himself wondering if he's supposed to hold Emet's hand all the way to the bed. That would be weird, right?
no subject
With Emet taking the lead, he brings them to the bed, and—as Hythlodaeus had requested before—he sits on the edge of the bed so that he may unfasten his dress.
With a firm squeeze, he releases Dirk, and pats the bed besides him.
no subject
His eyes slide to Dirk's little ensemble as he looks for a point of egress in all that fashion choice.
Dirk didn't really follow his instructions, but he sort of knew he wouldn't anyway. It was fine, he would speak to Emet later about Dirk's true suitability. Such anger in such a small package.
no subject
It kind of makes his skin crawl? Not just with the stomach-churning kind of nostalgia, but with embarrassment and discomfort. This is, undeniably, extremely awkward. Sitting slightly apart on the side of the bed, he lets Hythlodaeus undo the multiple unseen latches on Emet's dress and starts unsnapping the dozens of little brass studs on either side of his breast. There are a lot of them. Steampunk aesthetic is extremely impractical unless you too want to die like Franz Ferdinand, being cut out of your own clothes for lack of a way in.
no subject
While he does not take joy in Dirk's suffering of this awkward scenario, but he knows he deserves it on some level and so he's more at peace with it than he might otherwise be. Under no delusion that this will actually truly teach the lesson it should, it might help nudge him in the right direction all the same. Or rather, Emet will be sure to make it happen.
Free of his dress's clasps, he gently peels the form-fitting gown off of him, before standing to remove it completely. He's left in knee-high leather boots and a pair of black bikini style men's underwear. Not quite as feminine as they could have been, but not near as masculine as Dirk might have liked. As he goes to remove his boots, his attention falls to Dirk and his own struggles to remove his costume.
"Allow me to assist you, my dear."
He beckons with a hand and a smile. Though Dirk might deserve to suffer this cumbrous situation, he need not be cruel nor make it worse by denying him aid in relieving himself of such a difficult outfit.
no subject
He manages to survive the riveting quiet a little longer by ogling Emet-Selch's little bikini briefs. He turns to watch Dirk openly, curious to see what he packed in under all that leather. He reaches for him as well, curious if Dirk will reject his advance. Mostly he wonders if what Dirk is wearing would be considered acceptable in most places. It's awfully revealing, but he's one to talk. That is a mindset that will take a while to break.
When was the last time he even wore something that wasn't a communal robe? Besides tonight, of course.
"Is this thing comfortable?"
Because the dress he was wearing? Exemplary. So comfortable it blew his mind. He'd have to find more chiffon.
no subject
But... well, he could at least concede this much to Emet, he guesses.
Wordlessly, and without much expression, he shifts within Emet's reach, only turning his head to Hythlodaeus once he's there.
"....s'not supposed to be." Which is pretty much all the answer that question needs. He sewed a soft, moisture-wicking liner into it to try and mitigate how sweaty he can get and also prevent chafing at points of motion (or just his nipples), but it's still not made for comfort. He'll be glad to get out of it.
no subject
Through what remains of his self control, frayed as it is with his lack of sleep, he merely smiles. Smiles, and goes to work helping Dirk out of it, noting the dedication he put into protecting his more sensitive parts. Something he took note of before, but he's charmed by the reminder.
"Yes, comfort is a luxury when it comes to costuming, and with so little time ere the contest, 'twasn't one easily afforded."
Were Dirk a more...aromatic man, the sweat trapped in the suit might have been a bit more potent, but fortunately for all involved, his ripeness is hardly worth noticing.
no subject
"Oh dear. You're awfully clammy under there, aren't you?" He manages not to grimace, though he stands instead of touching another button.
"I'll fetch you a warm washcloth," he says as if someone asked for a volunteer. He gets up quickly and heads to the en suite, looking for a non-decorative and non-monogrammed towel. He finds one at last and returns, holding it out for Emet to use at his discretion.
no subject
"Really?" he starts with a drawl, although Hythlodaeus is already up and wandering off quickly. Dirk glances at Emet while he's gone; he takes just long enough for Dirk to be able peel the rest of the leather-and-cloth off his arms and torso before he returns.
"You didn't have to help if you didn't actually want to." Yes, he was saving that for Hythlodaeus to get back, and yes, he does notice that Hythlodaeus gives the towel to Emet and not to him.
A far cry from his shade's penchant for applying it directly to Dirk's body without warning or invitation.
no subject
It'd do them all some good, without Dirk leaving for the evening.
All the same, he shrugs at Dirk's single worded question, but then takes the cloth once it's handed to him. Silently he aims to tenderly wipe Dirk down--but hesitates at Dirk's comment. Not for long, deciding to let them talk as he towels down Dirk's sweat-slicked body.
no subject
"You, who were so worried about me trying to be intimate with you just a couple weeks ago. Have you changed your mind?"
Hythlodaues sits back down on the bed, unselfconsciously bare in front of this other. Really a stranger for all intents and purposes. Yet for as few friends as he had, he considered any of Emet-Selch's friends one of his own. Dirk was an odd bit to crack though, wasn't he?
"Would you actually welcome my hands on your body?"
cw ableism
"That's not the exact word I would have used, but I wouldn't have let you lay a finger on me if I was going to take issue with the obvious consequences. That has nothing to do with whether or not I want to fuck you."
How Hythlodaeus even conflated the two, he has no idea. From Dirk's perspective, it's like if he reached down to pet someone's dog and went 'oh, but it's not fine if I kill it?' Absolutely fucking bizarre. The worst part is that he has to keep himself in check--not only because Emet is right fucking there and they've already fought twice today, but because somehow Hythlodaeus always leaves him unsure which of them is the actually insane man in the conversation.
no subject
As Dirk reaches for the towel, he nearly pulls it out of his reach--if only because he's actually enjoying the task of wiping him down. Really appreciating his muscles, and Dirk rarely allows him to indulge in this sort of affectionate grooming. However, for the same reasons Dirk is withholding his own attitude, Emet likewise does not wish to fight.
Thus with a twinge of disappointment, he allows Dirk to take it.
Unoccupied as he is, he merely folds his arms over his bare chest to watch these two as they talk. It's proving interesting thus far, may as well see where this goes.
no subject
"Very well."
With deft fingers he goes in at Dirk's waist, fully unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them open. This time he knows how clammy it is and braces for it as he tugs the material down his ass. Without missing a beat he starts to hit the laces. For as thin as he seems, there is certainly strength in his shoulders and hands and no shortage of dexterity. For this was a grueling, boring, menial task and while he would prefer to foist it upon Emet-Selch, he had a point to prove. He would take his later. He reaches the bottom of the boot and pulls it free.
no subject
Hilariously, if Emet had yanked it out of his reach, Dirk might well have just surrendered to his fate. Instead, he nets himself an extremely minor victory for his dignity and autonomy--one that he puts to use right away towelling himself off with practised efficiency, and one that he loses just as quickly when Hythlodaeus goes straight for the area below his belt.
His immediate instinct is to freeze; this is to Hythlodaeus' benefit, as it prevents him from taking, say, an impact-toughened, damp-yet-unmoisturised elbow to the face. He doesn't actually freeze, but the need to consciously make a choice in order to keep doing what he was doing prevents any of his more dangerous reflexes from going off. You know how it is. Or probably Hythlodaeus doesn't. The real one especially. Having him all up on his own personal space like this is really crossing his wires; it's one thing to keep the "real" Hythlodaeus at an emotional distance when the distance between them physically is itself very real. It's a lot more confusing when he's all up in Dirk's physical, intimate business, two feet shorter and a lot less familiar, doing things his shade wouldn't, or things his shade would.
Like, his shade wouldn't have stopped where Hythlodaeus just did and go for his boots, which is baffling enough that Dirk actually just keeps his mouth shut for the entire first boot, watching with some disbelief and not a little bemusement as this ostensible stranger goes to the incredibly tedious trouble of unlacing a knee-high piece of bullshit steampunk footwear.
It isn't until Hythlodaeus starts actually pulling the boot off him that Dirk--perhaps a little less intelligently than he would have done otherwise--moves to plant the sole of his foot against Hythlodaeus' chest and shove him back. Not aggressively, just... typically insensitive.
"Okay, that's enough."
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He locks eyes with Dirk.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to keep your other boot and half of your trousers on?"
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cw violence
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cw just a boner
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nsfw
nsfw continues...
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