pawnstorm | [semi-open] come, let's fly.

[ Ah, yes. Servants. He had wanted to hear this. How he had gotten so caught up in going on about himself yet again? Simply because Gilgamesh asked direct questions, and Adra does not shy from direct answers.

He looks at Gil's hand, doing nothing, saying nothing, for nearly a full minute.

Finally, slowly, he sets his open palm on top of Gil's. He forces himself to relax, and to meet Gilgamesh's eyes again. ]

I know that, and I work towards that, every day of my life.

[ But his idea of rising above is resistance. Discipline. Denial. He curls his fingers on top of Gil's hand. It feels good, undeniably so. He sighs. ]

Enough about me. What is the Grail? How did you become bound to it?

[He will be rewarded for it. Though it's only minor contact, it initiates the flow of mana between them, warm and fulfilling. Maybe it will never be enough for the elf, could never be enough, but it is something. And so it shall remain until he tires of it. Gilgamesh could like touch enough for the both of them. And he never speaks of his own loneliness, but this sates it, too; it is not a selfless exchange by far.]

A holy artifact, comparable to the most potent of your world. Worshiped since medieval times, it commands us. It calls to us. However, it has become corrupt, and now spurs on endless war. It demands the toil and sacrifice of Servants, in exchange for one wish.

[How he became bound is a different, and difficult, story. Gilgamesh himself isn't sure wear to begin, so instead speaks in vaguer terms.]

Those who become Heroes of their age pass on as Heroic Spirits once they die. The Grail seizes our very souls in its service, so we fight forever.

[ Adra's eyes widen as Gilgamesh describes the Grail, and the circumstances surrounding it. His grip on Gil's hand tightens, unconsciously, at the thought of such brutality--such wrongness. ]

How long have you been fighting?

I no longer recall.

[The drama of the revelation isn't even intended. It's just the truth.]

[ As the mana flows between them, Adra feels his senses sharpen, his mind quicken. He wonders if Gilgamesh's earlier remark--magic itself--relates to this, to the strength and intensity of the mana he feels singing in his blood. He has a nearly vice-like grip on Gil's hand now, unusually strong, given his appearance. ]

What bids you? The Grail itself? Something else? Have you no autonomy at all?

[ His voice rises ... ]

[Gilgamesh does not appear to mind the squeezing. He will, however, correct him on one point, as a matter of pride.]

Have I ever acted so pitifully servile towards you to suggest as much?

[ He laughs, though it's mirthless, deep and uncomfortable. ]

I haven't seen you servile to anyone, least of all me. But what you've described is ... slavery. Gladiatorial.

I am King of an enslaved people.

[A sentiment that may be familiar to Adra and his kin, who once believed in the very same sort of individual.]

That does not mean I cannot act of my own will—to an extent.

[ Hmmn. ]

Do you mean to say that you rule over the other Servants?

[ It's warm in here, and the mana flow has gone from replenishing to simply pleasurable. He moderates his breathing; maintains focus. He wants to know this. He needs to know this--to understand this, and something of the man beside him. ]

[At least Adra has relaxed some. He cannot truly say how much, because Gilgamesh was beginning to learn more about him, too—and in so doing learn that his mood often sat on a razor's edge. There was a lot of passion in that perky little body of his, but there was instability, too. Something dangerous if left to simmer.

Of course, being cut from the same mold, Gilgamesh finds himself very much attracted to it.]

"King of Heroes" is my formal title, so indeed, I rule them. I was born of the gods, though I broke away from their ilk. Think of me more as...

[With his free hand, Gilgamesh swirls his fingers in the pool. Once, he could've made it shimmer and shine, but now it's left to imagination.]

...a force of nature. An agent of balance. Something powerful, beyond comprehension, so do not feel too sorry for me; I am strong all on my own.

[ Another laugh, though it's less harsh this time. He looks away again, even as his fingers stay firmly pressed against Gil's (interlocking, now, in fact). ]

Don't worry, Gilgamesh. I don't feel sorry for you. Pity is not a productive emotion for anyone.

[ Empathy on the other hand, sympathy on the other hand--those things are valuable. He considers what he's been told. Of the gods, but not. Enslaved, but not. Forgotten how long he's been fighting. It's complex, but to Adra's mind, it boils down to a basic truth.

He murmurs. ]

But you must suffer a great deal.

[ Even the wicked and the mad--and the in-between--suffer. Perhaps more than anyone. He's certain that nearly every moment of Kael's life, particularly towards the end, was pure agony. It doesn't change what he did, or the choices he made. It was simply true. ]

Edited 2016-03-30 04:41 (UTC)

[Taking this as a positive sign, that he might press a bit further, Gilgamesh's thumb begins to trace lazy circles on Adra's palm. Or at least what seems like lazy; in reality, he's drawing characters in his native language on his skin. Characters like beautiful and mesmerizing that he will never know of.

As for suffering, Gilgamesh laughs as well. It's free. It's easy, it's casual, and not quite indicative of his earnest feelings on the matter.]

So do we all. But tell me, what good does it do to dwell on such things? Why not make the most of this life, and its pleasures?

[Gilgamesh moves subtly closer so that Adra might see eye-to-eye with him, a mischievous smile curling up his lips. He looks so youthful, so true.]

If I must wear chains, then I swear, I will dance in them. And you, too... you must dance in them with me.

[ Adra can feel some deliberation in the swirl of Gil's fingertips, but he doesn't have the context to grasp it as language, as anything more than just particularly careful touch. He just knows that it feels good, that the magic hasn't stopped, and that his sharp edges are--temporarily--blunted.

He's still quick enough to know an evasion when he spots one, though. He has more questions to ask, about Gil's status as a god, about the nature of Servants, about everything ... he will always have more questions; always seek deeper understanding. But, at the same time, it's still not his way to pry people open like vaults. They have to open the doors on their own time, and by their own desire.

As does he.

He leans forward suddenly, moving so that they're nearly level with each other, so that his forehead is almost touching Gil's. ]

Oh? Do you use that line on everyone, or am I special?

[ Another laugh, and he pulls away (though he keeps his hand right where it is). ]

[There's a flush of pleasure fleeting across his cheeks—there and gone in seconds, but present nonetheless—with the more intimate distance, and if he had the long, graceful ears of an elf, they'd surely be twitching with satisfaction right about now. Gilgamesh was hardly some animal in heat; he liked sex, yes, but he liked the foreplay just as much. Romantic gestures, and lots of lots of teasing to go with it. The greatest pleasure, he'd always claim, lay in the pursuit.]

So a length of rope, instead? No, no, on second thought, I'll wrap you up in the prettiest stretch of ribbon. Bright red, as suits you best.

[So that's an "undetermined" regarding his query. His other hand claps atop Adra's, and it's hard to believe he's part god, as he's acting more like a dog than anything.]

Like a present, just for me. You'll permit me a bit of greed, won't you? There's room for just a little in your dream of dreams?

[...a very, very excitable dog. Indeed, one can't really feel sorry for a King who's this exuberant.]

[ This method of flirting strikes a bit closer to Adra's nerves than Gil knows. Tied up with rope, or ribbon ... just for me.

Adra chuckles nervously, looking up, feeling the tips of his ears turn scarlet. Ordinarily, he'd steel himself against even reacting to such talk, but between the drowsy heat of the steam room and the steady flow of intoxicating magic, he's not quite as controlled as usual. ]

Oh, there's room for all kinds of emotion in my dreams, Gil.

Please.

[Did that sound the slightest bit suggestive? Maybe the steam's affected his hearing. Although, even if it did, there's no hiding that devil's grin from his fel eyes, nor would Gilgamesh think to try. If it's entrapment, it's the clever sort—easing Adra in little by little, closer and closer to his waiting jaws.]

Enlighten me. I'd like to hear as much of your... dreams... as possible. Particularly those parts involving the two of us.

[This conversation was headed down a dark, dark road. Gilgamesh really did have issues with resisting temptation; honorary blood elf, indeed.]

[ Adra lies back, towels shifting, feeling his mind soften and expand. The heat's creeping up on him (much like Gil himself), and he's begun to feel sluggish. He's flat on the hot ground now, eyes still fixed upwards, fingers still intertwined with Gil's.

He mutters, vaguely, his own eyes glassy. He might be a little over full of mana, at present. ]

Or you could just talk a little more about tying me up.

[Gilgamesh, ever mindful that he was essentially dealing with a prey animal, takes care not to make any sudden movements. He slides as if to lord over him, still with that hand caught in his grasp, gazing downward into those elegant features. His words come softly, almost kindly, if not for the subject matter.]

Any way you like. For as long as you like.

[His mouth hovers close to Adra's. Close enough to feel breath, but not quite touch. Even now, Gilgamesh honors his word.]

Even a King would bow his head for the opportunity.

[ Ah ... he's very close, now. Adrasteius can't deny: down in the depths of him, there are things as dark as midnight, sharp as blades. Desires that demand blood.

His gaze flicks back down to Gil, and he can see, too, a certain depth of interest. But how far does it go? How long would it last? He can already surmise that Gilgamesh thinks of everything--and everyone--as a conquest. So what does he do after the conquering?

Adra covers Gil's mouth with his free hand. ]

Smooth as a sheer drop off a cliff, you are.

Edited 2016-03-30 06:01 (UTC)

[And Gilgamesh grazes the side of it with his mouth, not missing a beat.]

Is that drop not part of the thrill? Am I mistaken to presume we speak of mutually enjoyable pursuits?

[ He exhales, slow and soft, and lets his hand drop away. ]

Oh, it is, and perhaps we do. But what happens after you've hit the ground?

We keep going.

[Down, down, down, as far as those chains would allow.]

[ He shuts his eyes, though not out of drowsiness, not yet. He more looks like he's wincing. ]

Truly? Because in my experience, I fall off that cliff ...

[ His eyes open just a little, a bit of felfire glowing beneath the lids -- ]

... and when I come to, I'm alone.

["Isn't that how it always is?" he wants to ask. Enkidu asked something similar, once, after a terrible dream. A dream that left them separated, which would someday come to pass no matter how many reassurances he gave him it wasn't real. But of course it was. Loneliness was the most genuine emotion of all.

He could lie to him. It would be easy. Instead, his expression—which had been growing increasingly provocative—settles.]

It is said the King shines so brightly, that to leave his light is to live in eternal darkness.

[The problem laid in physical contact, didn't it? So to run fingers through his hair wouldn't pose issue. He does just that.]

But who can ever leave the light of such a sun? Surely, if you search for it, it would always find you.

[ He just grins, and touches the hand running through his hair--a sign that he doesn't mind it. Adra's hair is long, down to his midback, thick and silky. It fans around him as he lies there, like a gleaming, golden halo. ]

You're too much, Gil. Are you saying you wouldn't leave me?

[ He opens one eye fully. ]

Because--also in my experience--Kings tend to lose interest in the lands they've conquered, once they feel everything is fully under their control.

[semi-open] come, let's fly.

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