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?"
Really, that could have gone worse. For an action that was spurred largely by a sample of his consciousness that often does him no favours save in self-defence, he managed not to be too rough about it and no one is raising their voice or looking like they're going to cry.
Still.
Dirk is... impressed, in a way, by the composure retained in Hythlodaeus' flounce. He does not look at Emet yet, but hikes up his leg to begin the unlacing process on his other boot on his own. He doesn't get very far before Hythlodaeus is back, and he regards the pastel primadonna with a completely neutral brospression as he's... threatened? Maybe? It's not actually clear to him what Hythloidaeus' point is.
Now he looks at Emet.
What the hell is he going on about? asks the completely expressionless stare he levels at his partner-in-questionably defined relationship.
This whole...everything before him is honestly pretty fascinating. Between Hythlodaeus' restraint in keeping his hands away from Dirk's newly exposed body parts, to Dirk essentially kicking Hythlodaeus in the chest, till finally Hythlodaeus' little exit and return. There were so many ways this could have exploded, yet it did not.
At least not yet.
The look that Dirk gives Emet, though otherwise expressionless, impresses upon him the question all the same. What Emet does in kind is not verbally answer him, in fact, what he does do, is quirk an eyebrow with his own question spoken through expression alone.
You really are going to turn your gaze from him while he's armed with a mysterious item?
Dirk should know better. He knows Hythlodaeus more than Hythlodaeus knows him, after all.
As Dirk looks to Emet, Hythlodaeus steps forward and seemingly just glides his hand over the laces. He tucks the razor blade between his fingertips before just pulling off Dirk's boot entirely. He tosses it aside before setting the blade on the night stand.
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.
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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.
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"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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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.
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"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.
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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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Still.
Dirk is... impressed, in a way, by the composure retained in Hythlodaeus' flounce. He does not look at Emet yet, but hikes up his leg to begin the unlacing process on his other boot on his own. He doesn't get very far before Hythlodaeus is back, and he regards the pastel primadonna with a completely neutral brospression as he's... threatened? Maybe? It's not actually clear to him what Hythloidaeus' point is.
Now he looks at Emet.
What the hell is he going on about? asks the completely expressionless stare he levels at his partner-in-questionably defined relationship.
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At least not yet.
The look that Dirk gives Emet, though otherwise expressionless, impresses upon him the question all the same. What Emet does in kind is not verbally answer him, in fact, what he does do, is quirk an eyebrow with his own question spoken through expression alone.
You really are going to turn your gaze from him while he's armed with a mysterious item?
Dirk should know better. He knows Hythlodaeus more than Hythlodaeus knows him, after all.
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"My, that was getting tedious."
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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."
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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!
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...
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.
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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.
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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.
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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?"
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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.
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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.
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