He smiles, a dangerous thing in contrast to his usual easy-going demeanour, and his fingers tighten briefly around his throat before he moves to rake his nails down his front. Not too hard, but enough to leave lines in their wake.

"You wish for relief, yes?" He leans in, sucking another bruise into his skin. His fingers stop dragging down his front and, in contrast, ever so delicately trace along the length of his lover's cock.

"Ask nicely... else I'll leave you to your own devices." Even if he's hard himself by now, he's perfectly willing to walk away if Emet-Selch doesn't satisfy him with sweet words- and they have to be genuine.