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“What do we have here?”
The existence of the voice startles him more than the words, and the Exarch turns quickly on his heel. The Ascian is much closer than he anticipates, looming over him with a snide look on his face; the Exarch swallows thickly, and casts a weary glance to the mirror over his shoulder.
“I don’t recall permitting you to enter,” he says in as steady a voice he can. The Ascian’s sneer curls his lips further and he leans forward, one gloved hand finding purchase on the mirror’s housing. Golden eyes flick to what’s being displayed, and then back down to him. He raises his chin just slightly to keep Emet-Selch’s face in view, but not enough to reveal his own.
“I don’t think you have any right to be complaining about privacy, Exarch,” Emet-Selch says cooly. The Exarch presses his lips into a firm line and sighs through his nose.
“Though there is some truth to your words,” he begins, gingerly placing his crystalised hand upon Emet-Selch’s chest to push him away, “there is still truth to mine, as well.” Emet-Selch scoffs.
“Really now?” he jeers, not budging at the Exarch’s urging; he takes his free hand and mimics the Exarch’s hand on his chest, driving his back against the mirror. He grinds his teeth but retains his composure.
“State your business,” he tries, switching tactics, and lets his arm fall. Emet-Selch tilts his head to the side, humming in consideration as his hand travels down his captive’s body, until he comes to cup the tented front of his robe. His ears twitch beneath his hood and he draws in a silent breath.
“I’ve all but forgotten,” the Ascian drawls, slowly stroking him through his robe. His eyes drift back to the mirror behind him and narrow. The Exarch frowns. “I do love a good show.”
“Have you, now?” he asks calmly, pressing his palms flat against the mirror as he begs his body to not respond to Emet-Selch’s dulled touches. “Allow me to remove the distractions.”
Emet-Selch clicks his tongue and removes his hand from the mirror’s frame and places it on the small of his back, pulling him forward enough to break his connection with the mirror.
“I think not,” he breathes, pressing the Exarch closer to his body. “How about we enjoy the show together?”
He turns the Exarch in his grip, so he can see what's displayed before him—the Warrior of Light, in their room. The lights are dim but it hinders not the view of their hands stuffed beneath their clothes as they touch themselves. He can practically feel Emet-Selch’s sneer when he takes a moment to look away.
His hands paw at the various layers of his robes until he finds the waistband of his skirt and shoves it down. It lands in a heap at his feet, and he shudders as a gloved hand wraps around his cock. The Ascian’s other hand comes to grip his jaw, turning his head back towards, as he put it, the show. His cock throbs as he focuses on the Warrior of Light’s face, eyes shut to the world, mouth parted as they no doubt pant and moan.
The Exarch steadies himself with his hands on the frame of the mirror as Emet-Selch bears his weight down on him, as he ruts against his ass and rocks his body forward.
“What do you gain out of doing this,” he puffs, not quite capturing the inflection of a question. Emet-Selch laughs low in his throat, and he feels it rumble in his chest.
“Entertainment,” he says simply, stroking him faster. The Exarch’s lips part and a blissful sigh escapes before he can catch it. He feels his face flush in shame. He wants to close his eyes, he wants to shove the Ascian away, he wants to grab his staff and smite the man where he stands—yet he does none of these things. He bucks his hips into the gloved hand on his cock, he even keeps his eyes trained on the Warrior of Light as Emet-Selch’s hand leaves his jaw and disappears into the folds of his own robes.
The Ascian bunches the rest of his robes above his waist, and a soft, questioning noise leaves him. A gloved thumb brushes against the bruised and crystalised skin where his tail used to be, circling the spot until his spine starts to tingle, before following the crystal path down the side of his hip to his thigh.
“Your body is fascinating,” Emet-Selch says under his breath. The Exarch catches the barest hint of his reflection in the dark spots of the mirror, taking his eyes from the Warrior of Light to watch the shadow of his actions; he takes the middle finger of his glove between his teeth and pulls it away from his skin, then it disappears behind him again. The head of his cock rubs against him, and this time the Exarch really does shut his eyes. He hangs his head, ears laying flat as the hand on his cock resumes stroking him.
“Chin up, dear boy,” he grunts, pressing his cock in. The Exarch nearly chokes on his breath, and whines in protest as the Ascian’s hand leaves his cock to grip his chin again. He leans over him further, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. His voice is muffled against the layers of his robes and the shield of his hood. “Watch.”
The Exarch groans as a shallow thrust shoves his cock deeper, and his own throbs with want between his legs. He obeys, crimson eyes locked on the mirror.
“Use your imagination. Your little hero surely would take you just like this,” he punctuates his mocking with a rough push forward, and the Exarch gasps, clutching the mirror tighter in his hands, so tightly he fears the crystal will crack. Emet-Selch builds a steady pace, one hand gripping his chin firmly and the other just above his on the frame of the mirror.
He has no more mockery for the Exarch as he drives his hips forward, soft grunts of exertion leaving his lips in heady huffs; the Warrior of Light’s back arches off the bed and they grab a fistful of their hair. The Exarch wishes he could hear them, wishes he could swallow every sweet noise to escape their throat as they crash over the edge of release. The hand gripping his jaw slides around his throat, fingers pressing into crystal and bruised skin.
The Exarch’s own voice climbs, he pants desperately for his own release as Emet-Selch fucks him without relent. The Ascian indulges him, taking his hand from the mirror and reuniting it with his neglected cock; it only takes a shamefully small amount of seconds for him to come undone. He comes and a few sticky white ropes land towards the bottom of the mirror instead of on his skirt crumpled on the floor.
Emet-Selch huffs something between a laugh and a groan and straightens his back; his hand leaves his cock, and the other leaves his throat. The Ascian’s weight leaves him entirely, and the Exarch realises just how shakey his legs are. He slowly lowers himself to the ground, looking up at the mirror, watching the Warrior of Light’s chest rise and fall as they bask in the afterglow.
He casts a glance over his shoulder; Emet-Selch’s golden eyes are fixed to the mirror as well, but sensing his glance, he frowns and looks anywhere else. He does not grace the Exarch with this expression for long, as he turns on his heel, raising his arm to swing his wrist in a flourishing wave.
He exits not through the door but through a swirling black abyss.