Maybe taking his eyes off Hythlodaeus wasn't Dirk's best move. Then again, the specific kind of 'threat' historically posed by his shade is one that Dirk is particularly blind to--even when it's right in front of his face. Emet should know that by now.
It's over almost before Dirk realises anything is happening--and maybe that's for the best. It does, at the very least, prevent him from assuming something far worse from the razor's appearance.
Seated now half-panted, in jockstrap, calf socks, and fingerless leather gloves, his eyebrows lift.
He doesn't care about the boot. He never planned to wear it again. But it would take an idiot to believe this is about the boot. Dirk's no idiot.
The progression of events from Dirk's vantage is insane; Hythlodaeus, a stranger he knows intimately through a secondary reflection of the real deal that was really the dressed-up essence of a man he loves... this real stranger he wants to know, having already escalating from uninvited familiarity to alienating distance, has now, from Dirk's point of view, made the poor choice to stage an assault on his person.
Now that he knows which of them is off the shits, the only thing stopping him from taking Hythlodaeus' actions as a nonverbal extension of 'fighting words' is the awareness of how completely ridiculous he would look doing so.
Unfortunately, that's not enough to actually stop him.
"Now you're talking. The Gordian knot solution is my favourite, too."
That's not a precedent you want to set with Dirk Strider.
His pants might be down, but not down enough. Not down enough to stop him from making a short dive for the nightstand and snatching up the razor in his right hand, both it and his left hand closing into fists. And not enough to stop him from turning, popping up from the bed with the razor pressed between two fingers of his right hand--only to instead take a swing for Hythlodaeus' face with that left fist.
He had zero intention of using the blade for anything except a distraction.
This doesn't fool Hythlodaeus for a second. He barely spares the blade a second glance, which is tragic, because it also happens too quickly for him to do anything about it with any level of proficiency. He's not a brawler, and if you asked him he's barely a combatant.
So instead he just sighs as he watches Dirk swing and connect. He's been hit with magic before of course. Injured in the field, even. The difference is neither he nor Emet-Selch can simply magic away this consequence.
His vision goes black for a second as he realizes he just closed his eyes in a flinch as pain blooms in the front of his face. He stumbles back, hand reflexively covering his mouth, feeling wetness there as his eyes open and he's greeted by the vision of his own blood. His eyes flick to Emet-Selch to capture whatever's on his face as he looks back to Dirk.
"By cutting me on my own teeth, you declare me your Gordian knot, then? Yet I've hardly been split asunder. You will need to go much deeper, but I think our dear friend would take issue. Unless this was merely a release of pressure, a reflex of anger, and you have no good reason to have attacked me thus."
For all he would have the reflexes to evade such an attack, it not for him, nor is he in a position to pull Hythlodaeus out of the range of Dirk's swing. The connection between his two loves is not the sort of connection he was hoping for, and instead of his heart swelling with affection, it tightens with resentment.
"Enough." He says it with an authoritative tone that he has not truly weilded since his time as Emperor. Stepping forward and between them, he looks to Dirk with an expression not quite as scathing as it should be.
There's something almost pleading behind those golden eyes of his.
"Mayhap you should take this time to shower, I'm fairly certain that cloth has done little and less to truly clean your balmy skin, hm?"
He extends his hand, palm upward. Give him the damn razor blade. Neither of you are responsible enough to have that on your person!
The second before Dirk's fist connects with Hythlodaeus' face is possibly the most illuminating single moment as to Hythlodaeus himself that Dirk has experienced. The recognition in his expression--he wasn't fooled by the razor blade and he saw the punch coming, but rather than waste time and effort trying to escape a blow he wasn't enough for, he took it. Not just literally, but in a way that made Dirk extremely aware that his fist wasn't a threat--just an inconvenience.
Maybe the sensation of his own toughened knuckles and worn glove leather smashing into Hythlodaeus' face would have been more satisfying without that moment. But probably not; not unless Hythlodaeus took his fist as the conversational opening it was meant to be and responded in kind.
Which he kind of did. But not really. And anyway, Emet wasn't having it.
Dirk is bold enough enough, unembarrassed enough to meet Emet's eyes when he turns to shame him. He doesn't apologise, although he does set his mouth in a line, not tense but simply an acknowledgment. He didn't want a fight. Not the one Hythlodaeus wants to have here. He would, though. If it would gain him even the merest sliver of hope--
There's really no overestimating what he would do then.
He shakes his head, both answer to Hythlodaeus and to Emet. And hikes his pants back up enough that he can walk to the en suite without waddling or falling on his face.
"Now you're talking. The only solution to every problem I've ever had or made."
Then he extends his hand, dropping the razor neatly into Emet's palm and heads for the shower.
Hythlodaeus is bleeding pretty profusely between the adrenaline and failure to actually compress the wound.
He huffs and sits on the bed as he looks around for something to bleed onto and chooses a pillow. Between the swelling in his lip and the muffling from the pillow, he's a little harder to make out.
"Well?"
Hythlodaeus looks to Emet and makes a gesture for him to do something about all of this. He's not sure it's wise to follow Dirk into the bathroom, but that's where all the water and towels are.
For just a moment, Emet levels a look at Hythlodaeus which can only be described as Really?
Not that he liked Dirk's violent outburst, because in truth, Dirk isn't actually predisposed to being violent. The man enjoys his sword fights and duels, but those are structured, mutual, and often times planned. This was something purely...emotional.
For all Dirk is an emotional man despite his flat affect, this was highly irregular, and it didn't help that Hythlodaeus goaded him as he did. Kind and compassionate as Hythlodaeus often is, he can have quite the meanstreak should he feel his patience tested, and Emet's willing to bet that's exactly what happened here.
"I'll handle it." He finally snaps out, his teeth clicking together at the end, his jaw tight.
Maybe if he cared, he'd feel ridiculous marching towards the bathroom in nothing but his knee-high boots and bikini styled undergarments, but he can't care at the moment. Not with Hythlodaeus bleeding and Dirk being left to lick his various emotional wounds. If only this could all be simpler...
Dirk's barely been in there a minute, but here he is already ruining his alone time. He sighs at himself internally as he opens the door, hoping that Dirk is likely inside the shower already so that he might get what he needs without some sort of conflict, but has he ever been so lucky?
It is one hell of a look to wear when walking abruptly into what Dirk has already categorised mentally as 'his' bathroom (or at least his shower.) Because Emet's luck holds true: the water is on, Dirk is nude, but he hasn't actually stepped inside yet. He is, however, completely erect.
He's still waiting for the water to get hot enough to scald his thoughts, dick be damned--but as soon as Emet opens the door, he turns his head to stare at the Ancient, then sighs and reaches to turn the water off.
There's no gawking from him as he takes in Dirk's state, but he does spare his erection a cursory glance, perhaps a mere sign of acknowledgment. Were this a different circumstance, he might find the image of Dirk thoroughly arousing, but as there are other blood-related matters at hand, he cannot well allow himself to be distracted.
"You need not stop your shower, I am merely here for aught that can aid Hythlodaeus' bloodied lip." As he speaks, he steps into the room more, closing the door behind him. Perhaps to maintain some semblance of privacy for Dirk.
As he grabs a fresh hand towel, he likewise looks below the cabinet for anything that might help--fortunately it seems Riegfried and Soy might have predicted some guests might need isopropyl alcohol and bandages. Honestly, having even the most basic of first-aid kits is the least they could do if they planned to have guests.
After all, as some people say, shit happens.
Getting what he needs, he stands up fully and looks at Dirk once more, his eyes falling to his cock for a few beats longer than before.
With his shades off, Dirk can't hide the single extra time he blinks when he receives the question.
Was it? Satisfying?
"Not enough," he says, gesturing down at what it wasn't 'enough' for and maintaining a truly incredible level of stony composure while saying it. Not enough to warrant the boner, in other words. So, not enough to get off on it, and also not enough for any kind of emotional gratification. But was it enough to be worth it? That's more complicated.
"He isn't hurt."
It's not important whether Hythlodaeus' pain alone would or wouldn't have satisfied him. He's just stating a fact. His punch didn't hurt Hythlodaeus at all. Would it have been satisfying if it did? Maybe. But it just as easily could have been much worse than what he got, which was a clear view of the situation.
If Hythlodaeus is bitching about how Dirk hurt him... then Dirk is the one relying on the knowledge that Emet knows what hurt really is, and what it really looks like.
He opens the shower door and steps inside, letting the steaming cascade run down his face and closing his eyes under the spray.
He allows Dirk his dramatic exit of sorts, thinking on his words, the implication, and the slightest bit of morbid amusement in that Dirk's punch hurt him more than it hurt Hythlodaeus.
In fact, Dirk is more hurt that he couldn't hurt Hythlodaeus than he is over the fact he felt pushed to strike him.
It'd be interesting, if it wasn't so sad. Well, that's unkind, it is interesting, something to ponder, but it's distracting in how sad it is. It really emphasizes the hurt Dirk is struggling with, the loss of Hythlodaeus' shade, and the insecurity he feels around the genuine article.
For a moment he considers saying something, but what is there to say? Would Dirk hear it?
Probably.
"Thank you," he begins, speaking loud enough to be heard over the shower. "He can be difficult, but I appreciate your effort."
And with that, he takes a moment to wet the hand towel, then he heads out, leaving Dirk to his shower. Approaching the bed, he sits down next to Hythlodaeus, gesturing for him to remove the pillow so that he might apply the warm, wetted end of the towel the wound instead.
"I see you have not bled out in mine absence, that's a good sign. You may yet survive this."
"I'm going to be cross if it scars," he manages through the washcloth and the pressure.
"I would love to know precisely why you thanked him. I knew you'd come somewhat undone over the years... But I see that you have taken to bedding wild animals to pass the time."
Hythlodaeus is certainly annoyed with this turn of events this evening. He had plans! Plans that he used to fuel himself through the grueling walking through the god damned snow for weeks! He was going to kiss Emet-Selch. Or perhaps he was going to suck a dick.But now? Now! He doubted he'd be able to hold a glass to his lips to drink with his fat, split lip.
"I thanked him because I know a thing or two about diplomacy, and when not to strike." He chides him as he pulls the wash cloth back to see the damage a bit more clearly with some of the blood cleared.
It's quick to return, but even that momentary glimpse tells him enough.
"Should you keep your mouth shut, perhaps it won't scar."
Which is just true, but also a little bit of dig. Look, he likewise was looking forward to the possibility of having those beautiful lips around the base of his cock, but sometimes these things don't work out. Sometimes you have two boyfriends who are difficult at the best of times!
He could write a sonnet on how he longs to feel Hythlodaeus' inside of him again--the real Hythlodaeus, that is. Though, that thought makes his chest tighten with grief, bizarre as it is to feel such loss over what was never real, that he would mourn that shade is laughable, and yet...
Again his jaw tightens and he busies himself with the alcohol, applying it to the clean end of the wash cloth, before gently dabbing it at the wound.
He hisses and turns his head. Between the vapors right there under his nose and the bright, painful stinging that he's never been forced to endure like that before...
It's simple enough to put together why Emet's doing this, so he doesn't feel compelled to ask, but neither does he bother to put on a stoic face.
Especially when he tells him he should keep his mouth shut! It was no secret that Hythlodaues loved talking, and the implication that he had it coming is not lost on him. Neither was Hades' non-answer about Dirk's feral status.
"Is he always like this? Or was I simply lucky tonight? And I know he was mortal or what have you once upon a time, but how old is he?"
His lack of answer was pointed and purposeful, the comment about him coming undone didn't exactly entice him to pursue that line of discussion. Hythlodaeus' unwillingness to let it go doesn't help, but he supposes if he is to get Hythlodaeus to keep his mouth shut, then he will need to do the talking.
Fine.
"He's eccentric, but no worse than Azem ever was."
As he speaks, he continues his work of cleaning the wound, applying pressure and prompting Hythlodaeus to hold the towel there, he turns to the band-aids. Looking through what's available, and what might be viable.
"Him striking you was a surprise. He is not one to resort to violence, even when notably upset. You must frighten him a great deal."
Unfortunately there does not seem to be any lip band-aids, which is to be expected, they're a bit niche--as is this whole ridiculous situation. Frowning, he supposes the best they can do is keep pressure applied until it stops bleeding on its own.
"As for his age, he is slightly above a quarter of a century."
He pauses.
"For mortals that's an adult. I am not grooming a child, ere you make any tasteless accusations."
"He may be sexually mature..." He knows he doesn't need to finish that sentiment. Hades was the one who brought up the utterly cast discrepancy in their ages.
But that's all much less interesting than the part about being frightened. He called Dirk a wild animal not five minutes ago, and it seems his assessment was correct. So he cornered a terrified, stressed creature and he got bit. Perhaps that was his fault. He certainly could have acted nicer there. But nicer isn't necessarily interesting nor does it yield useful data when running little experiments.
Oh well. He'd adjust his approach once Dirk rejoined them.
"This is a strange reunion. I'd pictured something quite different."
His tone is low and solemn, remorseful even. He is under no illusion that this isn't his fault, it certainly is. They are both dealing with this for his sake, and he feels guilty for that.
Selfish, really.
Maybe he's allowing himself this one act of selfishness, but he cannot help but feel terrible for it all the same. Yet, he would have them both, and would have them likewise see that they are not such a terrible match up. They merely needed to work past each others outer layers...
One more foray through the bandaids to see if he might have missed any that could work, only to come up with nothing, he closes the box and tosses it across the room.
"...You are right, sexually mature as he is, there is a lot of emotional growth he still needs to endure. He isn't all terrible, and he's possessed of an impressive mind. There are simply circumstances that have stunted him, but he was improving--then the shade left and I fell into my slumber..."
Hythlodaeus places a hand on Hades' cheek. He felt oddly like an interloper on the life of a creation in his likeness.
"He misses the shade, as do you."
He casts his eyes to the closed door of the bathroom and sighs. He dabs at his lip, checking to see if it's still bleeding. It seems to have mostly stopped, though it feels fragile. He sets the cloth aside as he draws his legs up onto the bed.
"I don't believe you, by the way. When you said that you never slept with the shade... He was here for years, and if he feels as I do..."
With such a direct callout, Emet cannot help how his brow furrows. Does he miss the shade? It's foolish, isn't it? He has the real Hythlodaeus here, and nothing, no one, could ever compare. Yet somewhere in his breast he feels an ache, familiar as he is with the sensation of loss, he has no excuse to name it incorrectly.
He watches silently as Hythlodaeus settles, setting the cloth aside, before accusing him of lying. At that, he scowls.
"Are you saying that were you in my shoes, and say, you created a shade in my likeness, that you would have slept with it all because it would have my feelings for you?"
"Yes, were I capable of creating such a thing, I would sleep with it because it had your likeness! Not simply for the feelings the creation may have or believe it had. I think I would be so happy to see you after all those years that I might not care if the mind was even intact. I'm not about to fault you for having a bit of fun," Hythlodaeus says with a quirk to his lip. He scuttles back onto the bed and lays his head on the pillow. He folds his hands and gazes at the canopy of the bed with soft focus.
"In fact, were our roles reversed and were I capable, I think I would make a copy of you right away to keep me company. Twelve thousand years is an awfully long time."
His own eyes have drifted from Hythlodaeus as he listens, his mind considering the past two years he's spent in this world, with Dirk and that shade. The love he felt, the intimacy he shared, the peace of mind he could sometimes believe he experienced...
It's almost embarrassing hearing Hythlodaeus talk like that, to so freely admit that he would sleep with a creation that held his likeness. It isn't surprising, Hythlodaeus isn't a man known for having shame.
Yet...the thought that he would be glad to see him, even a false him, after so very long...
There's a sting to his eyes as he thinks and listens, his heart tight as he recalls that lonely journey of his. Ever was he surrounded by others, yet they were no more than malformed recollections of those he lost, and it somehow made his loneliness that much more potent. Grim reminders of what he was fighting for.
That Hythlodaeus would have made a shade of him sooner than Emet had is surprising. He'd have assumed that Hythlodaeus would be stronger than that, but perhaps it's that strength that allows him to indulge in what the heart needs.
"It is. So very, very long."
His voice is distant, as is his gaze. However, after a moment, he blinks himself back into focus, looking to Hythlodaeus and how he's laying on the bed, appreciating the luxury of seeing him in more than his memories.
As he's about to get further on the bed, he's reminded of his own boots, and with an annoyed sigh, he busies himself with removing them.
"...I did," he begins as he takes off one boot, then goes to the other, "sleep with it, I mean. I am not particularly proud of this fact."
"You aren't terribly proud to begin with," he teases gently. He watches him take off those tall boots, casually imagining cutting them off just to see how he'd respond.
"Of course you did. 'Tis natural to want to seek that comfort. We heard how the shade behaved... You saw and met it, of course, but he sounded very lifelike. I wish I could have met him. I think it would have been fun to have an accomplice."
He turns onto his side and pulls back the covers so that Emet may join him and look at him as they talk.
"It you had to do it all again, would you have done it the same?"
That tease at least gets a small amused huff from him. Oh, how some others would love to argue with Hythlodaeus about that one, but those fools are so insecure that they take mere fact as ego, but that is neither here nor there.
The second part he's still a touch too humiliated with himself for partaking in such shameless indulgence to comfortably agree, but he doesn't entirely disagree. He still thinks he should have been above it, yet he felt so magnetized, so terribly hungry for any morsel of Hythlodaeus he could get.
As he settles into the bed besides Hythlodaeus, taking the wordless invitation, he pauses at the question, glancing to him with raised eyebrows.
What a question...
"If the parameters were the same, I do not think I would have a choice in the matter."
Which...isn't much of an answer. After fully settling down, pulling the blanket over himself, he meets his eyes.
"However, if I had to start over, without my memories taken from me..." he hesitates, his eyes seemingly searching for the answer in Hythlodaeus' own, before he glances away, "I believe I would. Cruel as they may see it, what I did was necessary. Though, mayhap I would take your suggestion about the shade."
"I don't doubt your actions were necessary. Most of them, at least. Tell me, what was life like as a megalomaniacal emperor." He grins as he brushes a hand through the brown in his hair.
"I just can't get used to this..." He pulls the sheet up experimentally, covering all but the shock of white. "Better," he giggles, as his hand falls back to the bedding.
See, Emet opened his mouth to answer, but then Hythlodaeus did that little stunt with the sheet, and now he's being met with a flat stare. He'll never admit to finding that really cute, especially that giggle, so Hythlodaeus will merely have to assume he did.
Fixing the sheet, he rolls his eyes as if he were at all actually bothered by this little cutesy display.
"I suggest that you do, since this is this body's natural color."
As for the actual question, however...
"Being an Emperor was...undesirable. Sure, the role had its enjoyable quirks and what not, and ever do I enjoy such overstated drama, but it was trying at times. Not because running any sort of nation is difficult, far from, in fact.
"Rather...it had its times of being emotionally difficult. There were moments when I was reminded of Amaurot, of our people--pitiful mockeries they all proved to be in the end of course, and yet..."
His gaze lowers, focusing on some nebulous spot on Hythlodaeus' chest as he finds the words.
"There was a familiarity all the same."
A fondness which drove him to keep this look, even after he had left Garlemald, even after his time as Solus. Sentimentality ever burdened him.
"Right, of course, but what was your day to day like? You declared yourself Emperor of a nation. You had children! A woman that you had those children with, presumably. I know you too well to think that you denied yourself all pleasures for your... hundred years, give or take? This luxurious clothing I found you in earlier, for instance. Can you imagine if someone had tried to put you in that back in our days? You'd have screamed."
He wiggles closer to Hades, pressing his forehead against his breast and securing himself a cuddle.
He said before that he wanted to meet this Solus zos Galvus. And he was now, in a way.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Maybe taking his eyes off Hythlodaeus wasn't Dirk's best move. Then again, the specific kind of 'threat' historically posed by his shade is one that Dirk is particularly blind to--even when it's right in front of his face. Emet should know that by now.
It's over almost before Dirk realises anything is happening--and maybe that's for the best. It does, at the very least, prevent him from assuming something far worse from the razor's appearance.
Seated now half-panted, in jockstrap, calf socks, and fingerless leather gloves, his eyebrows lift.
He doesn't care about the boot. He never planned to wear it again. But it would take an idiot to believe this is about the boot. Dirk's no idiot.
The progression of events from Dirk's vantage is insane; Hythlodaeus, a stranger he knows intimately through a secondary reflection of the real deal that was really the dressed-up essence of a man he loves... this real stranger he wants to know, having already escalating from uninvited familiarity to alienating distance, has now, from Dirk's point of view, made the poor choice to stage an assault on his person.
Now that he knows which of them is off the shits, the only thing stopping him from taking Hythlodaeus' actions as a nonverbal extension of 'fighting words' is the awareness of how completely ridiculous he would look doing so.
Unfortunately, that's not enough to actually stop him.
"Now you're talking. The Gordian knot solution is my favourite, too."
That's not a precedent you want to set with Dirk Strider.
His pants might be down, but not down enough. Not down enough to stop him from making a short dive for the nightstand and snatching up the razor in his right hand, both it and his left hand closing into fists. And not enough to stop him from turning, popping up from the bed with the razor pressed between two fingers of his right hand--only to instead take a swing for Hythlodaeus' face with that left fist.
He had zero intention of using the blade for anything except a distraction.
He's not a monster. Just an asshole.
cw violence
So instead he just sighs as he watches Dirk swing and connect. He's been hit with magic before of course. Injured in the field, even. The difference is neither he nor Emet-Selch can simply magic away this consequence.
His vision goes black for a second as he realizes he just closed his eyes in a flinch as pain blooms in the front of his face. He stumbles back, hand reflexively covering his mouth, feeling wetness there as his eyes open and he's greeted by the vision of his own blood. His eyes flick to Emet-Selch to capture whatever's on his face as he looks back to Dirk.
"By cutting me on my own teeth, you declare me your Gordian knot, then? Yet I've hardly been split asunder. You will need to go much deeper, but I think our dear friend would take issue. Unless this was merely a release of pressure, a reflex of anger, and you have no good reason to have attacked me thus."
no subject
For all he would have the reflexes to evade such an attack, it not for him, nor is he in a position to pull Hythlodaeus out of the range of Dirk's swing. The connection between his two loves is not the sort of connection he was hoping for, and instead of his heart swelling with affection, it tightens with resentment.
"Enough." He says it with an authoritative tone that he has not truly weilded since his time as Emperor. Stepping forward and between them, he looks to Dirk with an expression not quite as scathing as it should be.
There's something almost pleading behind those golden eyes of his.
"Mayhap you should take this time to shower, I'm fairly certain that cloth has done little and less to truly clean your balmy skin, hm?"
He extends his hand, palm upward. Give him the damn razor blade. Neither of you are responsible enough to have that on your person!
no subject
...
Interesting.
The second before Dirk's fist connects with Hythlodaeus' face is possibly the most illuminating single moment as to Hythlodaeus himself that Dirk has experienced. The recognition in his expression--he wasn't fooled by the razor blade and he saw the punch coming, but rather than waste time and effort trying to escape a blow he wasn't enough for, he took it. Not just literally, but in a way that made Dirk extremely aware that his fist wasn't a threat--just an inconvenience.
Maybe the sensation of his own toughened knuckles and worn glove leather smashing into Hythlodaeus' face would have been more satisfying without that moment. But probably not; not unless Hythlodaeus took his fist as the conversational opening it was meant to be and responded in kind.
Which he kind of did. But not really. And anyway, Emet wasn't having it.
Dirk is bold enough enough, unembarrassed enough to meet Emet's eyes when he turns to shame him. He doesn't apologise, although he does set his mouth in a line, not tense but simply an acknowledgment. He didn't want a fight. Not the one Hythlodaeus wants to have here. He would, though. If it would gain him even the merest sliver of hope--
There's really no overestimating what he would do then.
He shakes his head, both answer to Hythlodaeus and to Emet. And hikes his pants back up enough that he can walk to the en suite without waddling or falling on his face.
"Now you're talking. The only solution to every problem I've ever had or made."
Then he extends his hand, dropping the razor neatly into Emet's palm and heads for the shower.
no subject
He huffs and sits on the bed as he looks around for something to bleed onto and chooses a pillow. Between the swelling in his lip and the muffling from the pillow, he's a little harder to make out.
"Well?"
Hythlodaeus looks to Emet and makes a gesture for him to do something about all of this. He's not sure it's wise to follow Dirk into the bathroom, but that's where all the water and towels are.
no subject
Not that he liked Dirk's violent outburst, because in truth, Dirk isn't actually predisposed to being violent. The man enjoys his sword fights and duels, but those are structured, mutual, and often times planned. This was something purely...emotional.
For all Dirk is an emotional man despite his flat affect, this was highly irregular, and it didn't help that Hythlodaeus goaded him as he did. Kind and compassionate as Hythlodaeus often is, he can have quite the meanstreak should he feel his patience tested, and Emet's willing to bet that's exactly what happened here.
"I'll handle it." He finally snaps out, his teeth clicking together at the end, his jaw tight.
Maybe if he cared, he'd feel ridiculous marching towards the bathroom in nothing but his knee-high boots and bikini styled undergarments, but he can't care at the moment. Not with Hythlodaeus bleeding and Dirk being left to lick his various emotional wounds. If only this could all be simpler...
Dirk's barely been in there a minute, but here he is already ruining his alone time. He sighs at himself internally as he opens the door, hoping that Dirk is likely inside the shower already so that he might get what he needs without some sort of conflict, but has he ever been so lucky?
cw just a boner
It is one hell of a look to wear when walking abruptly into what Dirk has already categorised mentally as 'his' bathroom (or at least his shower.) Because Emet's luck holds true: the water is on, Dirk is nude, but he hasn't actually stepped inside yet. He is, however, completely erect.
He's still waiting for the water to get hot enough to scald his thoughts, dick be damned--but as soon as Emet opens the door, he turns his head to stare at the Ancient, then sighs and reaches to turn the water off.
no subject
There's no gawking from him as he takes in Dirk's state, but he does spare his erection a cursory glance, perhaps a mere sign of acknowledgment. Were this a different circumstance, he might find the image of Dirk thoroughly arousing, but as there are other blood-related matters at hand, he cannot well allow himself to be distracted.
"You need not stop your shower, I am merely here for aught that can aid Hythlodaeus' bloodied lip." As he speaks, he steps into the room more, closing the door behind him. Perhaps to maintain some semblance of privacy for Dirk.
As he grabs a fresh hand towel, he likewise looks below the cabinet for anything that might help--fortunately it seems Riegfried and Soy might have predicted some guests might need isopropyl alcohol and bandages. Honestly, having even the most basic of first-aid kits is the least they could do if they planned to have guests.
After all, as some people say, shit happens.
Getting what he needs, he stands up fully and looks at Dirk once more, his eyes falling to his cock for a few beats longer than before.
"...Was it satisfying?"
no subject
Was it? Satisfying?
"Not enough," he says, gesturing down at what it wasn't 'enough' for and maintaining a truly incredible level of stony composure while saying it. Not enough to warrant the boner, in other words. So, not enough to get off on it, and also not enough for any kind of emotional gratification. But was it enough to be worth it? That's more complicated.
"He isn't hurt."
It's not important whether Hythlodaeus' pain alone would or wouldn't have satisfied him. He's just stating a fact. His punch didn't hurt Hythlodaeus at all. Would it have been satisfying if it did? Maybe. But it just as easily could have been much worse than what he got, which was a clear view of the situation.
If Hythlodaeus is bitching about how Dirk hurt him... then Dirk is the one relying on the knowledge that Emet knows what hurt really is, and what it really looks like.
He opens the shower door and steps inside, letting the steaming cascade run down his face and closing his eyes under the spray.
no subject
In fact, Dirk is more hurt that he couldn't hurt Hythlodaeus than he is over the fact he felt pushed to strike him.
It'd be interesting, if it wasn't so sad. Well, that's unkind, it is interesting, something to ponder, but it's distracting in how sad it is. It really emphasizes the hurt Dirk is struggling with, the loss of Hythlodaeus' shade, and the insecurity he feels around the genuine article.
For a moment he considers saying something, but what is there to say? Would Dirk hear it?
Probably.
"Thank you," he begins, speaking loud enough to be heard over the shower. "He can be difficult, but I appreciate your effort."
And with that, he takes a moment to wet the hand towel, then he heads out, leaving Dirk to his shower. Approaching the bed, he sits down next to Hythlodaeus, gesturing for him to remove the pillow so that he might apply the warm, wetted end of the towel the wound instead.
"I see you have not bled out in mine absence, that's a good sign. You may yet survive this."
nsfw
"I would love to know precisely why you thanked him. I knew you'd come somewhat undone over the years... But I see that you have taken to bedding wild animals to pass the time."
Hythlodaeus is certainly annoyed with this turn of events this evening. He had plans! Plans that he used to fuel himself through the grueling walking through the god damned snow for weeks! He was going to kiss Emet-Selch. Or perhaps he was going to suck a dick.But now? Now! He doubted he'd be able to hold a glass to his lips to drink with his fat, split lip.
nsfw continues...
It's quick to return, but even that momentary glimpse tells him enough.
"Should you keep your mouth shut, perhaps it won't scar."
Which is just true, but also a little bit of dig. Look, he likewise was looking forward to the possibility of having those beautiful lips around the base of his cock, but sometimes these things don't work out. Sometimes you have two boyfriends who are difficult at the best of times!
He could write a sonnet on how he longs to feel Hythlodaeus' inside of him again--the real Hythlodaeus, that is. Though, that thought makes his chest tighten with grief, bizarre as it is to feel such loss over what was never real, that he would mourn that shade is laughable, and yet...
Again his jaw tightens and he busies himself with the alcohol, applying it to the clean end of the wash cloth, before gently dabbing it at the wound.
no subject
It's simple enough to put together why Emet's doing this, so he doesn't feel compelled to ask, but neither does he bother to put on a stoic face.
Especially when he tells him he should keep his mouth shut! It was no secret that Hythlodaues loved talking, and the implication that he had it coming is not lost on him. Neither was Hades' non-answer about Dirk's feral status.
"Is he always like this? Or was I simply lucky tonight? And I know he was mortal or what have you once upon a time, but how old is he?"
no subject
Fine.
"He's eccentric, but no worse than Azem ever was."
As he speaks, he continues his work of cleaning the wound, applying pressure and prompting Hythlodaeus to hold the towel there, he turns to the band-aids. Looking through what's available, and what might be viable.
"Him striking you was a surprise. He is not one to resort to violence, even when notably upset. You must frighten him a great deal."
Unfortunately there does not seem to be any lip band-aids, which is to be expected, they're a bit niche--as is this whole ridiculous situation. Frowning, he supposes the best they can do is keep pressure applied until it stops bleeding on its own.
"As for his age, he is slightly above a quarter of a century."
He pauses.
"For mortals that's an adult. I am not grooming a child, ere you make any tasteless accusations."
no subject
But that's all much less interesting than the part about being frightened. He called Dirk a wild animal not five minutes ago, and it seems his assessment was correct. So he cornered a terrified, stressed creature and he got bit. Perhaps that was his fault. He certainly could have acted nicer there. But nicer isn't necessarily interesting nor does it yield useful data when running little experiments.
Oh well. He'd adjust his approach once Dirk rejoined them.
"This is a strange reunion. I'd pictured something quite different."
no subject
His tone is low and solemn, remorseful even. He is under no illusion that this isn't his fault, it certainly is. They are both dealing with this for his sake, and he feels guilty for that.
Selfish, really.
Maybe he's allowing himself this one act of selfishness, but he cannot help but feel terrible for it all the same. Yet, he would have them both, and would have them likewise see that they are not such a terrible match up. They merely needed to work past each others outer layers...
One more foray through the bandaids to see if he might have missed any that could work, only to come up with nothing, he closes the box and tosses it across the room.
"...You are right, sexually mature as he is, there is a lot of emotional growth he still needs to endure. He isn't all terrible, and he's possessed of an impressive mind. There are simply circumstances that have stunted him, but he was improving--then the shade left and I fell into my slumber..."
no subject
"He misses the shade, as do you."
He casts his eyes to the closed door of the bathroom and sighs. He dabs at his lip, checking to see if it's still bleeding. It seems to have mostly stopped, though it feels fragile. He sets the cloth aside as he draws his legs up onto the bed.
"I don't believe you, by the way. When you said that you never slept with the shade... He was here for years, and if he feels as I do..."
no subject
He watches silently as Hythlodaeus settles, setting the cloth aside, before accusing him of lying. At that, he scowls.
"Are you saying that were you in my shoes, and say, you created a shade in my likeness, that you would have slept with it all because it would have my feelings for you?"
no subject
"In fact, were our roles reversed and were I capable, I think I would make a copy of you right away to keep me company. Twelve thousand years is an awfully long time."
no subject
It's almost embarrassing hearing Hythlodaeus talk like that, to so freely admit that he would sleep with a creation that held his likeness. It isn't surprising, Hythlodaeus isn't a man known for having shame.
Yet...the thought that he would be glad to see him, even a false him, after so very long...
There's a sting to his eyes as he thinks and listens, his heart tight as he recalls that lonely journey of his. Ever was he surrounded by others, yet they were no more than malformed recollections of those he lost, and it somehow made his loneliness that much more potent. Grim reminders of what he was fighting for.
That Hythlodaeus would have made a shade of him sooner than Emet had is surprising. He'd have assumed that Hythlodaeus would be stronger than that, but perhaps it's that strength that allows him to indulge in what the heart needs.
"It is. So very, very long."
His voice is distant, as is his gaze. However, after a moment, he blinks himself back into focus, looking to Hythlodaeus and how he's laying on the bed, appreciating the luxury of seeing him in more than his memories.
As he's about to get further on the bed, he's reminded of his own boots, and with an annoyed sigh, he busies himself with removing them.
"...I did," he begins as he takes off one boot, then goes to the other, "sleep with it, I mean. I am not particularly proud of this fact."
no subject
"Of course you did. 'Tis natural to want to seek that comfort. We heard how the shade behaved... You saw and met it, of course, but he sounded very lifelike. I wish I could have met him. I think it would have been fun to have an accomplice."
He turns onto his side and pulls back the covers so that Emet may join him and look at him as they talk.
"It you had to do it all again, would you have done it the same?"
no subject
The second part he's still a touch too humiliated with himself for partaking in such shameless indulgence to comfortably agree, but he doesn't entirely disagree. He still thinks he should have been above it, yet he felt so magnetized, so terribly hungry for any morsel of Hythlodaeus he could get.
As he settles into the bed besides Hythlodaeus, taking the wordless invitation, he pauses at the question, glancing to him with raised eyebrows.
What a question...
"If the parameters were the same, I do not think I would have a choice in the matter."
Which...isn't much of an answer. After fully settling down, pulling the blanket over himself, he meets his eyes.
"However, if I had to start over, without my memories taken from me..." he hesitates, his eyes seemingly searching for the answer in Hythlodaeus' own, before he glances away, "I believe I would. Cruel as they may see it, what I did was necessary. Though, mayhap I would take your suggestion about the shade."
no subject
"I just can't get used to this..." He pulls the sheet up experimentally, covering all but the shock of white. "Better," he giggles, as his hand falls back to the bedding.
"Sorry, go on."
no subject
Fixing the sheet, he rolls his eyes as if he were at all actually bothered by this little cutesy display.
"I suggest that you do, since this is this body's natural color."
As for the actual question, however...
"Being an Emperor was...undesirable. Sure, the role had its enjoyable quirks and what not, and ever do I enjoy such overstated drama, but it was trying at times. Not because running any sort of nation is difficult, far from, in fact.
"Rather...it had its times of being emotionally difficult. There were moments when I was reminded of Amaurot, of our people--pitiful mockeries they all proved to be in the end of course, and yet..."
His gaze lowers, focusing on some nebulous spot on Hythlodaeus' chest as he finds the words.
"There was a familiarity all the same."
A fondness which drove him to keep this look, even after he had left Garlemald, even after his time as Solus. Sentimentality ever burdened him.
no subject
He wiggles closer to Hades, pressing his forehead against his breast and securing himself a cuddle.
He said before that he wanted to meet this Solus zos Galvus. And he was now, in a way.
(no subject)