the holy ground i showed you (my domain alone)

you're five drinks in when he finds you. it was supposed to be the same routine as ever. you show up to a crowded bar, you pound whiskey until you can't see straight, you wake up in the morning with several regrets but an itch scratched that you can leave alone for another few months. but tonight, at the point in your routine where you're usually starting to feel out the crowd for someone who's willing to spend the night with you, someone speaks to you first. [["are you looking for someone?"]]

it's odd, hearing a voice so clear over the pound of the godawful dance music, but you don't have time to think about that when the voice keeps talking. "you look lonely, lord el-melloi." "the second," you reply automatically, your booze-addled brain struggling to match the voice to one of your students or colleagues. you always pick a location far enough away from the students' usual party haunts that you've never been recognized before, but tonight your luck must have run out. you start to turn towards the exit, fully prepared to give up on the night, but then [[there's a hand on your shoulder.]]

at this point, you're ready to take a swing at this guy whether he's a student or not, but when you start to twist your shoulder, nothing happens. the man's grip stays steady. you barely register the people whose arms you bump into and toes you step on as you're pushed through the crowd, the lights of the bar swirling around you, the whiskey tangling your limbs so you nearly fall over before you're suddenly [[pressed into a wall.]]

"you never answered my question," he says, and you can feel his breath against your ear. "is there someone you're looking for here?" your body is so warm- from the alcohol, from the stuffy heat of the bar, and now a flush is running through you as a reflexive response to being shoved around so easily. "yeah," you breathe, and when you realize you can't even hear yourself over the noise, you try again: "yes. there is." you're not sure if it's him, yet, but it's [[a decent start.]]

a hand starts running through your hair, up the back of your neck for a moment before yanking to expose your throat. you let it happen, waiting for the feeling of lips or teeth, but then the hand that's not still pulling almost too tightly on your hair is around your [[throat.]]

it's a slim, almost dainty hand, barely the surface area you were looking for, but his grip is strong, and you can sense he's still holding back. good enough for the level of inebriation you're at. you try to get a better look at the guy, now that your head's tilted back towards him--you should probably know which student it is that's trying to fuck you--but the angle doesn't allow it, and even if it did, you're suddenly pulled away from the wall by a tight grip on your wrist. you're pretty sure you're heading for [[the door.]]

you can see him from behind now, at least. he's about as tall as you, maybe a bit shorter, with a thin frame and what looks like blond hair through the lights of the bar. exactly the opposite of your type. [[and yet.]]

you want to pull away, say you're not interested, flag down a bouncer, //something//, but his grip is strong, much stronger than he looks, and your throat still feels hot from where he gripped you before, your scalp aches dully, and you're starting to feel exhausted from the atmosphere. this might be your only chance for the night. so you [[let him lead.]]

a lot happens quickly. you're out the door, then straight into a car--a nice one, not a cab--and just as you're starting to wonder if this is some sort of kidnapping attempt, you're being led into a building, an elevator, a room, scenery flashing by faster than your brain can keep up with, and then you're up against a wall again--no, a door. you're finally facing your mysterious suitor head-on, but you still don't recognize him through his bangs and your own swirling vision. you decide to stop caring. especially when he shoves one knee between your legs, grabs your hair again, and tilts your head so he can bite down just where your neck meets your shoulder. //[[finally.]]//

you let him suck a mark into your neck--you have plenty of high collars and scarves, it's never been a problem before--and let yourself start grinding against his thigh. you were already starting to get hard, even with this amount of whiskey in you, and between the manhandling and the mouth on you it doesn't take you long to start straining against your trousers. "you like to be marked," you hear. it's not a question. which, honestly, kind of pisses you off, but he keeps talking before you can tell him off. "not unexpected, i suppose. you always seemed more comfortable at the mercy of your betters." that cuts through the booze-and-heat haze in your head enough that you lift your hands from where they were scrabbling at the wall to shove him, ready to defend yourself without slurring the best you can, (link-reveal:"but-")[ he doesn't (link-reveal:"budge.")[ not an (link-reveal:"inch.")[ and then, he [[laughs.]]]]]

you go still. you know that laugh, you've heard it in your dreams, your nightmares, your idle thoughts for years, now. you try to jump back, but you're closed in between a heavy wooden door and this man's--this //monster's// body, and it just turns into a helpless wriggle. then he removes one of the hands keeping you in place, runs his fingers up through his bangs, which both reveals bright red eyes and lifts his hair to a style you're more familiar with. you're trapped in a room with the king of heroes. [["gilgamesh."]]

"the fact that you didn't recognize me sooner is truly unforgivable," gilgamesh says, placing his hand back on your shoulder before you can recover. "i hope you're prepared to pay for your transgression." you feel sick. you think about letting it happen and vomiting on his shoes, but even starting to consider the consequences makes your throat close off in absolute terror. then he smirks, takes a step back, and says: [["kneel."]]

you're on the ground almost before he says it. maybe it's the fear, or your wobbly limbs that still won't sober up. it might even be the sheer amount of demand and control in his voice, but you'll cut your own tongue out before you admit to that. you don't move as he runs a thumb across your bottom lip, then lifts your chin to look at him. it's more like appraising an animal than caressing a lover, and your cheeks burn at the idea of (link-reveal:"either of those situations")[--in anger, [[you tell yourself.]]]

"such a waste," gilgamesh says, now tucking your hair behind your ear. "to think that so fine a face would belong to that false monarch." "i won't--!" your instinct to defend your king's honor breaks through the spell of fear freezing you, but it's quickly muffled by gilgamesh's fingers taking advantage of your open mouth to shove inside. [[you bite down.]]

gilgamesh doesn't pull back, doesn't even make a noise of pain, but he does make an expression of pure rage that sends the fear-paralysis shooting back through you. your jaw slackens, allowing him to retrieve his fingers before slapping you across the face. "you should be grateful for any touch i give you that does not kill you, [[mongrel."]]

you're frozen in place, staring directly into his eyes, so you barely have time to notice when he starts to nudge one of your collapsed knees to the side, much less move away when he [[toes at your groin.]]

it's not a stomp, or even a kick, more of an exploratory touch than anything, but your sharp intake of breath seems to spur him on to press harder, the sole of his shoe now pressing against the full length of your cock--which hasn't even had the decency to go soft after the revelation of who had been touching it. "this is what you're looking for, isn't it?" he says, punctuating his question with another push from the ball of his foot. "someone to take control, to put you in your place, to //own// you." you try to shake your head--in all honestly, that's not //quite// what you need--but it's close enough, and gilgamesh's presence and bloodlust and heel on your balls is strong enough to stop you from disagreeing. so, [[you nod.]]

you're maneuvered onto the soft hotel bed before you have the chance to process leaving the ground. you relax into it, letting yourself be moved--it's nostalgic, in a way, even if the hands are too small and the voice too haughty. "why don't you disrobe for me?" gilgamesh says once you're on your back. he's still standing next to you. "show me your surrender." you shouldn't. you have a duty to someone else, someone who might not mind anonymous hookups with other men, but who definitely deserves a better memorial than you lying with the man who killed him. [[you shouldn't.]] but you [[want-]]

you lift yourself up with all the strength you can muster. it isn't much, considering the second he lays a hand on your shoulder, you collapse again. "i can't," you pant, trying to slap his hand away without any effect. "i can't, i won't, you're not-" "not him? that hasn't stopped you before, [[has it?"]]

fuck it. you're drunk, desperate, and don't deserve any better. your shirt's gone in a flash, and you gracefully wriggle out of your trousers a few seconds later. gilgamesh frowns, apparently unimpressed with your display. "do you know nothing of patience?" "no," you snap. [["fuck me."]]

you flinch. you're not proud of what you've done, the nights you've spent with men you only walked up to because their shoulders were broad enough and their arms strong enough that you could pretend. you've tried to make peace with how weak and desperate you are, tried to assure yourself that if it keeps you from killing yourself too early, it's worth whatever disapproval you'll earn later. but the king of heroes' words tear at those wounds, make you grit your teeth against the tears threatening to well up, distract you from how wrong it should feel when gilgamesh holds a hand to your face and strokes, more gently than you thought possible from him. [["at least let it be someone who understands."]]

he moves to your neck, not pressing, just gently holding, before starting towards your top button. you'd decided to forgo the tie tonight, it's much easier to get everything else off without that in the way, but you still wouldn't feel presentable without a (link-reveal:"button-up.")[ (also, once, a man whose name you don't remember tore your shirt open and ruined every single button before kissing you senseless, and you couldn't bring yourself to be upset that you needed to buy a new one even the next morning)] but you still resist, grabbing him by the wrist and spitting "//don't touch me//" with as much venom as you can muster, and, to your surprise, he stops after one button. then, his other hand goes to [[your hair.]]

you shout in pain as he pulls your head straight back, so you're looking at the ceiling. "i don't know what gave you the idea," gilgamesh says, steady and dangerous, "that you could give //me// orders." his other hand remains gentle, caressing your throat for a moment, and then abruptly squeezes. [[you can't breathe.]]

the seconds pass slowly, one by one, counting down every tick of your final moments, your mind races between spells of self-defense and fear of retaliation and hopes that you might finally get what you've been working towards, your vision starts to fade at the edges and you close your eyes, waiting- and then you [[breathe.]]

you breathe, and you cough, and your body rocks with the sudden rush of oxygen and blood to your brain. it feels awful. it feels amazing. you finish coughing and try to say something to gilgamesh, but it comes out as a broken, animal noise. then, suddenly, you're on your stomach, your scalp burning as his grip on your hair doesn't let up. you feel his weight finally settle onto the bed behind you, his knees trapping your legs between them. you might still have energy to [[struggle]], somewhere in the recesses of your will, but then the hand that's not firmly tangled in your hair starts to thumb [[soothing]] circles into the back of your neck.

you shake your head, and even the pain that runs through you from the motion is dulled by sheer panic. you won't let this happen. you //won't//. gilgamesh lets out an annoyed sigh, like he's chastising a puppy, and tightens his grip. his other hand presses into the back of your neck even harder, still rubbing in slow circles. "the human body is interesting, in a few ways," he says, completely ignoring your pathetic attempts at escape. "like any object, it has points that are weaker, more susceptible to breakage." he presses down hard, and you hear the sound of bones grinding, creaking- "but by manipulating them with care, we can make the breakage clean." you hear something //[[snap-]]//

the muscles at the back of your neck are tight, from stress, from age, from this night's terror, but the pressure at the base of your neck seems to ease it almost immediately. you can feel your last attempts at escape slipping away as the relief of tension in your neck moves to the rest of your body, letting you relax completely. when he finally lets both of his hands go of you, and starts reaching around you to finish undoing your buttons, you [[let it happen.]]

you blink. you're still alive. and then a wave of relief rolls all the way down your spine--physical, not mental, something in your bones had slipped back into place, a knot you didn't even know was there loosened, and your whole body relaxes, your face hitting the mattress as gilgamesh lets your hair go. "or, perhaps, snap things back into place." both of his hands are on your back now, pressing into your [[shoulder blades.]]

you can't help but let out a harsh breath as he puts enough weight on your back to squeeze it out of your lungs, and when you hear another //crack// and feel the wave of relief roll through you again, you can't bite back the moan that escapes you. he keeps you trapped by his weight, but more than that, the way your limbs go limp and your muscles go heavy with each touch keeps you more immobile than any bondage could. by the time he reaches your lower back, you can't think hard enough to come up with a reason he shouldn't continue on, maybe touch your thighs, your ass, [[maybe-]]

your eyes flutter closed and you arch your back, vaguely aware of how pleased you must look but not finding it in you to care, not if it keeps gilgamesh's hands on you. "finally, you understand," he says, the smugness in his voice only slightly irritating. "it isn't proper for my belongings to deny their owner." you bristle, but you can't seem to gather enough tension in your body to will it to move. then, you feel his weight shift, and there are hands at the buttons of your trousers. you [[let it happen.]]

somehow, even with you on your stomach, you're stripped bare in what feels like an instant. the cool air on your skin is startling, but not enough to overpower the warm relaxation still humming through your bones. you grind a little against the mattress, what you thought was a subtle movement, but you hear gilgamesh laugh in response. "so eager after all, i see." you groan, not quite a moan, more of a complaint, but it's apparently enough to get another laugh out of gilgamesh. you can't even bring yourself to move enough to spitefully touch yourself. fortunately (perhaps), it's only a moment before he's [[touching you again.]]

"are you grateful?" he asks as you feel one slick--when did he--finger enter you, so slow, too slow, you feel underestimated, somehow. the tightness starts to form back in your neck when he says that, and as much as you're afraid to (link-reveal:"say it,")[ you have to. [["more."]]]

his fingers aren't large, but they're long enough that when you feel his hand stop against your ass, it's almost satisfying. almost. "//more//." you breathe it out, fear creeping into your voice as you realize mid-word what a risk you're taking, but you can't help it, you //want//. [[he doesn't give it to you.]]

instead, he keeps moving his single finger, slowly, seemingly deliberately avoiding the one spot that might make this pathetic fingerbang worthwhile. "i don't believe you're in a position to be giving orders." you try to rock back against him, anger rising through the languid relaxation he subjected you to, but his free hand grips your hip and doesn't allow any further movement. "you'll take what i give you, and be grateful." you try to spit a retort, but then he finally, //finally// presses into your prostate and stays there, mercilessly, like he's trying to bruise it, and your body shakes even through the frustration. [["thank me."]]

you take an unsteady breath, fully prepared to tell him where he can stick his thanks, but then you're suddenly opened up by three fingers instead of one, your muscles stretching and burning to accommodate, and he keeps going, thrusting at a brutal pace, letting go of your hip to let you writhe and buck back against him. the words //yes, fuck, need it// are tumbling out of your mouth before your brain can catch up and tack on a //thank you// in the hopes that it will earn you [[more.]]

but, as soon as you say it, he goes back to his slow pace, like he's trying to blueball you to death. you let out a heavy grunt of frustration, which only seems to make him laugh. then, just as you're about to scream at him, he picks up the pace, then slows back down only seconds later. it keeps happening, this teasing cycle, over and over again until you're scrabbling at the sheets and fighting back tears and then you're shouting, //[["please!"]]//

//[["take me"]]//

//(link-reveal:"i want it ")[(link-reveal:"i want it ")[(link-reveal:"i want it ")[(link-goto:"i need")]]]//

"good boy," gilgamesh says, and then he's inside you, gripping your hips to adjust the angle until he's fucking into you at an angle that has you screaming. "keep begging. it suits you." "//please,//" you say automatically, barely even in response to him, because- "i need it, need more, //[[more-"]]//

"do you?" he asks, and you feel your stomach drop as he slows down again, a litany of //no no no no no// escaping from your lips until you feel something slip in next to his cock--his thumb, you think, you don't care, anything that opens you up further has you moaning against the mattress and gripping the sheets like you're ready to tear them open, and you hiss out a muffled //[[yes.]]//

you actually start crying at the feeling of finally, //finally// being stretched open far enough to scratch the itch in your core, tears soaking the sheets beneath you, your cock straining against your stomach, and when you think you feel //another// finger starting to press in, you stop breathing. you feel lightheaded. it //hurts//. and then gilgamesh asks, "do you think you've earned it?" and reaches around with his other hand to trail feather-light up your cock, and you're coming before you can answer, shaking so hard you think you'll throw him off the bed, before you collapse forward, slowly catching your breath. [[gilgamesh growls.]]

it's a low, terrifying sound, like he's become the dog he ascribes to everyone else in his sight. "pathetic," he spits. "an untrained mongrel through and through." you're too dizzy to answer, still shaking from aftershocks, so it's all the more startling when your head is snapped back. you can feel some of your hair being torn out, and you shout in pain. "take this lesson to heart," he says, and after another scalp-searing tug, he puts both hands on your hips and continues fucking you at a brutal, bruising pace. it hurts, there's no breathing room to recover, and so the warmth of your orgasm is quickly drowned out by pain and pressure and the tears never stopped flowing, but now they're angry and exhausted rather than cathartic. [[and then, it stops]]

you collapse like a broken marionette when he lets go of you, a sticky mess cooling between your legs and on your stomach. your scalp is still aching when you feel the weight lift from the bed, and you feel like you're going to lose consciousness, the exhaustion of being teased and fucked and //used// finally catching up to you. "think on your transgressions for next time," you hear, just before you pass out. [["boy."]]

end 1

gilgamesh blinks, then lets out a laugh. "you've become bolder, little mage," he says, and he almost sounds impressed. "but," and he's maneuvering you so easily to make room for him, and the next thing you know, you're sitting between his legs, your back against his chest, "boldness means little when you've no right to make [[demands]] in the first place."

he runs his hands over your skin, tracing each dip between your ribs, teasing at your nipples with both thumbs, and when you squirm at the stimulation, he holds you still. "you're going to need to work for what you want," he says, moving to your inner thighs, "as all who are not already graced with greatness [[must."]]

there's not much you can do from the position you're in besides grind back against him a little, but it does get a response--soft, smug sighs and a hard cock digging into your lower back. "what do you want?" you ask, trying to sound seductive and not annoyed. you're not sure how well you succeed. "your undivided attention." gilgamesh strokes the creases between your thighs and hips, laughing softly at the impatient moan it drags out of you. "for you to only think of [[me."]]

you try not to frown too deeply, in case he stops touching you. you've agreed to this, but only after a lot of whiskey and some definite coercion. but instead of complaining, you let him flip you around again, catching your balance on his thighs. he looks at your prone form with what you assume is appreciation, or maybe appraisal. well, at least he's [[obvious.]]

gilgamesh still hasn't taken off his godawful club outfit, so you start to work his buttons and zipper, and with--surprise--no undergarments in the way, you take him into your mouth. for all your years, you can still only recall a small number of times you've done this, much less remember many details learned from those encounters. but you're plenty confident in one technique, and it's not giving up until your throat is [[stuffed full.]]

(but you remember your first time, of course, you remember the determination of wanting to fit it all in your mouth, the embarrassment when you absolutely couldn't, a warm hand on your shoulder laughing without any malice and reassuring you that you could take it slow, use your hands, just relax, [[everything's--)]]

either gilgamesh is a mind reader or you're damn lucky, because then he tightens his grip on your hair and thrusts up into your mouth and //yes//. you make muffled noises at the pain, the loss of control, and gilgamesh makes an approving noise--which shouldn't make you groan even [[louder.]]

"so eager to please," he says, sounding totally unaffected by having his dick halfway down your throat, like an asshole. "not selfless, no, but rather you're greedy for praise and recognition, aren't you?" you don't have any method of answering him, which is probably for the best. he doesn't seem to expect one anyway, still grinding up into your mouth and holding your hair tight. "that can be your reward, once i'm thoroughly [[satisfied."]]

he laughs at the full-body shiver that you can't stop from running through you, but you can only huff through your nose in annoyance in response. even when he tugs up a little harder to pull you off, you can't come up with a good retort, too busy panting for air and trying to gauge his next move from his face. unfortunately, no amount of telegraphing could cut through the freshly-throatfucked haze in your head (or maybe you can still blame it on the alcohol, that's a little less embarrassing) and before you know it, you're [[turned around again.]]

you hear a noise, like wind blowing where it shouldn't be, like space tearing a hole in itself, and you freeze. you know that sound, you've heard it play over and over in your head for years, you can't- "relax." the sound stops, and you hear the sound of a bottle opening in its place. "the gate of babylon opens for reasons other than to kill." you can't relax, not with the memories that sound just dredged up, not with the image of weapons flying, blood spraying, the person you- "i said, //relax//," gilgamesh says, lower, more dangerous, and it normally would only have you tense up more, but then there are slick fingers [[probing at you.]]

you shift your focus to that feeling as quickly as possible, grateful for something else to concentrate on, and before you know it, you are relaxed, focused on the familiar feeling of two fingers easing inside you. they're slender, but a bit longer than yours, reaching inside and pressing right where you want them over and over again, letting you sink further away from your thoughts. your legs spread, and you press your face into the mattress, one hand curling around one of the posts at the foot of the bed, just to have something to hold onto as gilgamesh pulls out, then quickly replaces his fingers. you almost thank him for [[not prepping you further.]]

it's a slow, burning slide, opening you up inch by inch, and it's not the biggest cock you've taken, but it's big enough that it feels perfect after only two fingers. briefly, you wonder if you should have grabbed for the condoms in your discarded clothes' pockets, but then the image of the king of heroes rolling on a rubber has you laughing out loud. "something amusing?" he asks, but you don't get to answer, because then he [[starts moving.]]

you don't have enough time to adjust to him before he's fucking into you hard and fast, and you choke on the rest of your laugh. there's plenty of lube, or oil, or whatever it is gilgamesh retrieved from his treasury, so the pace doesn't burn as much as it could, but it's still a lot to take in. his hands migrate from your hips to your chest, hold your wrists in place for a few moments, and then finally settle into your hair. he doesn't tangle and tug like he was before, just cards his fingers of one hand through it while gripping your hips again with the other. he leans in at one point, his face against the back of your neck, and just breathes. "keep it long," he says, almost too quietly to hear over your own pants and moans and the sound of skin on skin. "it suits you." you nod, not because you agree with him, but because you can't think of any other response, and going with whatever he says seems like a great idea [[right now.]]

the hand in your hair is relaxing, even at the pace gilgamesh is going. your forehead is still mashed into the mattress, and you can feel a wet spot forming from the sweat and drool seeping into it, but you can't bring yourself to care enough to lift your head. you start to drift. it's the only time you can really forget, getting fucked and held and controlled--the alcohol only helps the process, it doesn't do the whole job. you let your mind wander into [[memories]] that normally bring tears to your eyes, but in this state, you can actually call up the warmth and joy you've been denied for years. it's so easy to pretend, like this, to imagine larger hands in your hair, a deeper voice in your ear, a kinder laugh, a warmer smile. it's so easy to forget that the person you want isn't with you right now, will never be with you again, and when you try to speak, it's easy to imagine you're [[speaking to him.]]

a light, brighter than any magic you've ever cast, and within it, an enormous figure. a sunset by a river, arms enclosing you for a moment, wanting to have them back once they let go. a first kiss. a first touch. a voice, choked off, desperate not to make noise in the dead of night, but unable to stop the [[words->speaking to him.]] spilling from your lips-

//(link-reveal:"yes")[ (link-reveal:"so good")[ (link-reveal:"take me")[ [[please]]]]]//

everything stops for a moment. the man behind you stops moving, you stop breathing, the entire earth might have stopped rotating, for all you know. then, the hand in your hair pulls tight, wrenching your head to the side, so you have no choice but to look behind you. "and [[who is your king?"]]

//who is your king?// [[iskandar, king of conquerors]] [[gilgamesh, king of heroes]]

"i am loyal to one man," you say, more sober than you've been the entire night. "he is my king, and none other. my loyalties are not determined by whom i lie with." gilgamesh stares at you for a long, long moment. at this point, if you were to die, naked in a hotel bed with another man's cock in you, you would still feel no shame. but instead, he smiles, haughty but genuine. "your misguided devotion never wanes." [[time starts again.]]

time starts up again, abruptly, without any warning, and you feel the wooden frame creak as you tug on the bedpost you were holding onto for dear life as gilgamesh starts fucking you again. "you've learned your lesson well," he says, one hand snaking around your throat to lift your chin up. you've only just noticed the mirror on the opposite wall. "of course, all creatures are beholden to me, but you..." he stares your reflection in the eyes. "you thought yourself as belonging to another for so long, [[didn't you?"]]

"i believe i can convince you otherwise," gilgamesh says as he thrusts into you again, the pace only slightly slower than before. "your loyalties run deep, but in the end, you are but a worshipper of someone under me." it's not a threat. he sounds amused, if anything, and you can't help but let out a laugh that quickly morphs into a moan. you're getting close, even with the interruption, your cock bouncing against your stomach with every thrust, and gilgamesh seems to know. he angles himself in just the right way to make your jaw go slack and your eyes roll back, and when he reaches around to stroke you and whispers "but i will let you be his for another night," you're shaking and coming in [[seconds.]]

you cry out, //loud//, you can feel your already hoarse voice going even weaker, and the sheets become even more of a wet, sticky mess than before as you tremble through the rest of your orgasm. you go almost completely still, with nothing but gilgamesh's thrusts moving you, and even that only lasts another minute or so. he bites down on your shoulder when he comes, probably getting a mouthful of hair in the process, and you smile at the thought. [[serves him right.]]

when he finally pulls out, he stays collapsed on top of you. he's not very heavy, so it's not entirely unpleasant--except for the wet sheets underneath you, but you're too busy recovering to care that much. after a moment, you realize his hand is in your hair again--apparently a common theme of the night. it's strange how gentle it is, his fingers twisting through the strands and letting them fall softly onto your back before he makes another pass through. it's soothing, especially after how rough he was before, but it's still //gilgamesh//, so it still sets your teeth on edge a bit. just as you're about to tell him to shove off, you hear a mumble. "what?" "i said nothing." you sit in silence for a few minutes, not quite comfortable enough to fall asleep, but not sure what to do next. then, gilgamesh [[stands up.]]

"not a cuddler?" you ask, apparently regaining your ability to make sarcastic comments now that you're sated and sober(ish). "i've done what i came to do," he says, smirking down at your prone body. "let me know if you need another taste of true royalty." and before you can snap at him that you doubt he even has a phone for you to call, [[he's gone.]]

you reposition yourself on the bed, grabbing at one of the spare blankets to spread over the disgusting sheets. you're assuming gilgamesh paid for this hotel room, you might as well enjoy it. you're still bothered, though. you try to replay that soft mumble you heard earlier in your head, make sense of what he might have said. it almost [[sounded like-]]

[["you're not the only one with someone to grieve."]]

you can't answer, your eyes locked with his, your mouth unable to articulate anything but breathing and moaning. you feel a flush of something--shame? disappointment?--but cast it aside, consider it nothing but pure desire. something you can hold onto, something you can act on. your brain shorts out when he starts to touch your cock, your voice going high and needy, but- [["wait."]]

you don't //want// to wait, every petulant bone in your body is rebelling against the order, but- the //order//. you grit your teeth, fighting back the warm rush of orgasm trying to rise out of you, concentrating on how good it might feel to obey, to do well, to be [[praised.]]

gilgamesh gives your cock one last squeeze before mercifully letting go, instead running a hand over your chest. "you would have made a good slave," he says. you watch your cheeks burn in real time at the comment, you try to come up with a reason to protest, but he continues. "so eager to please, so obedient once you've been shown your place." he gives one of your nipples a painful tug, and you gasp. "but still rebellious enough that your master could indulge in a whipping or beating once in a while, without it being unnecessary." his nails start to bite into your side, digging lines over your ribcage that send sparks through you where you're not expecting them. "i should find you some more fitting attire than those modest suits of yours." you can't find it in you to [[fight.]]

you want this. you want him. you can't pretend, can't ignore it, not with him staring you down with those piercing red eyes and gripping you like a precious possession. any other turn this night could have taken feels wrong, fake, imperfect. this is where you [[belong.]]

"do you think you've earned your reward?" gilgamesh asks, his hand back on your cock, and you tense up so tight with the effort of not coming that you think you hear him moan in response. you can't answer him, you don't know what he wants to hear, so you just say, "//please, please, please//." you keep your eyes on him as you gasp, "//my king//." gilgamesh makes what you hope is a noise of approval. the theory seems to hold up when he looks away from the mirror and speaks into the back of your neck. "you're meant to be here, like this, completely at my mercy." he starts to stroke you faster, until you're nearly crying with exertion. "i can't help but be proud of a subject that understands his position [[so clearly."]]

he tips your chin up again, making absolute sure that you're seeing the sight before you. [["come for your king."]]

you scream, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, your limbs shaking and then collapsing under you as you go limp and boneless from the sheer force of the climax wracking your body. gilgamesh doesn't stop even with the abrupt change in position, continuing to fuck into your oversensitive body at the same pace he was keeping. "such a well-behaved dog," he says, and even in your weakened state you can tell his voice is cracking--and sure enough, a few strokes later, you feel warmth pulsing inside you and hear a long, sated sigh against your ear. you start to feel [[dizzy.]]

you're fully prepared to pass out after getting fucked into next week, but this--this is a different kind of exhaustion. mana depletion. you should panic. you should be furious. you should have known. you should- gilgamesh strokes your hair, so gently, any residual tension collapses. "you've done exactly what you were meant to." he's right. [[he's right.]]

you drift into unconsciousness. no fears. no thoughts. [[no memories.]]

end 3

(enchant: ?page, (text-colour: black) + (background: white))//"the holy ground i showed you (my domain alone)"//, a gilwaver interactive fuck story includes not just gilgamesh/waver but also past/implied waver/rider and gil/enkidu content, for posterity [[click here for warnings]] [[click here to start]]

(enchant: ?page, (text-colour: black) + (background: white))this twine fic contains: -''nonconsent ranging from "pretty damn dubious due to alcohol" to "explicit refusal"'' -use and implied abuse of alcohol -vague suicidal ideation -choking, facefucking, hairpulling, barebacking, general d/s tones, all totally unnegotiated -mentions of slavery also includes: -sad gay feelings -spoilers for fate/zero -three endings in total for you completionists if that's cool with you, [[click here to start]]

it's not quite as good as getting fucked, which is why you've focused on getting that as quickly as possible on previous dates, but there's still some good things: the stretch of your lips, the burn in your throat, the noises of approval from above you as he grips you by the hair and guides you at his own pace, taking choice and control away from you so you can relax into it. you don't want to lose your balance by moving your arms from their position under you, but you want to touch, open his jeans further, feel how strong his open thighs are, grab his wrist to signal how you want him to [[fuck your throat-]]

//[[my king]]//

end 2