Chapter Text
Under a vibrant sky, Amaurot gleams. Pleasant winds stave off the sun’s brunt, tugging at citizens’ hoods and robes, and wafting the nearby park’s fresh scent throughout the district.
And Emet-Selch will have none of it.
Having let the curtains fall in Azem’s prolonged absence, the office of the esteemed Emet-Selch is markedly cool. Unwelcoming and chill, the unpleasant temperature seems intended to ward off intruders who might be inclined to overstay their welcome.
Unfortunately for Emet-Selch, his most frequent visitors are well accustomed to such behavior, well prepared whenever they find it necessary to visit his workplace.
There's certainly no 'necessary' to his visit this day - nor most days, Hythlodaeus supposes - but despite the behavior of his dear old friend, he is quite certain that Emet-Selch would not complain if offered an "enforced break,” courtesy of the arrival of the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, who would discuss with him the theoretical effect of -
Despite keeping an otherwise respectable appearance beneath his attire, Hythlodaeus' fingertips are rough. Calloused from prolonged practice at the traditional art of archery, such deceptive softness has proven to be a convenient trait in his workspace. Across the desk, fingers idly working at his notes while pretending to care for their contents far more than he actually does, Emet-Selch's hands are just as worn - by fault of his aid during Azem's misadventures - but unlike Hythlodaeus, he makes little effort to hide their rougher nature.
( - what was the excuse again? He can't seem to recall -)
"What trouble have you gotten into this time?"
With a frustrated sigh, Emet-Selch puts his work aside and looks up. Tired gold eyes, preparing for the worst, meet eager purple.
Taking the initiative, Hythlodaeus grasps Emet-Selch's bare inner wrists, teasing at the soft skin beneath his thumb, silken and smooth like a flower petal warmed by the midday sun. By irritable instinct more than thought, Emet-Selch tugs away, but the reaction is anticipated - expected, even - and Hythlodaeus holds tightly, laughing at his grimace in turn.
"Don't be such a sour grape." His partner’s displeasure at the comparison is palpable and mischief bubbles in Hythlodaeus’ chest.
Grasp firm, his hand slides up the loose sleeves of Emet-Selch’s robe, sneaking up his arm and into the darkness.
"Are you quite done?" Brusque as his words and demeanor may be, Emet-Selch permits Hythlodaeus’ hold. Taking advantage of his hesitance, the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect leans deeply over the esteemed Emet-Selch's equally esteemed desk, slipping a second arm into his sleeve. Their contact weaves a shuddering trail of twining essence, twisting like the braid that falls over his shoulder; soft skin gives slightly under calloused fingertips, light bumps rising in his wake before exploding seconds later in a visible tremble. So near, Emet-Selch’s color seems nigh indistinguishable from his and -
- At last, the mischief slips free of its confines.
"Hmm, what's that?" Hythlodaeus tilts his head to the side, motioning towards the single ray of light peeking through the curtains.
"What -" Emet-Selch follows suit - but there's naught to be found, save the moment of vulnerability Hythlodaeus needs.
With a fluid motion, he frees his arms, permitting a hand reach back behind Emet-Selch’s head and into his hair - a bit rough and tangled from the hood - but soft and cool between his fingers. Before his partner can react, with his free hand, Hythlodaeus pulls him forward across the desk, offering a chaste and teasing kiss in promise.
"I have work to do." Emet-Selch mumbles upon his release, a faint pink forming on his cheeks, color amplified by the red of his mask. “And so do you.”
"Of course." Satisfied amusement rings unhidden in his tone, revealing Hythlodaeus’ pleasure that his ambush had the intended effect. Turning away from the desk and from Emet-Selch, who buries his face even more deeply in his work, pretending for all the world Hythlodaeus had not just gotten the better of him, he heads to the exit. "See you tonight. I trust you'll be early for once -"
The door slams in his face at the command of his partner’s magicks and Hythlodaeus' laughter escapes at last, following him down the otherwise silent halls.