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

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.

I wouldn't have to.

[Gilgamesh props up his head on his free hand and, reading into the affirmative body language, now rests quite comfortably against Adrasteius. His apparent bulk is deceptive; he doesn't weigh much more than an average elf, and he's got the natural hum of magic about him, too.

It goes without saying that the beauty of King, up close, could rival his own people.]

My guardianship is a perpetual endeavor, not temporary dictatorship. I will always have eyes upon my flock, as that is what it means to tend a garden.

[By definition, Gilgamesh couldn't, and wouldn't, leave. This came with its own share of drawbacks... namely that the so-called sun was endlessly possessive of his things.]

[ By any objective measure, Gilgamesh is a prime example of humanity. Perfectly sculpted, precisely cut, slim-hipped and lean. His face all elegant planes, his jawline sharp, nose straight. The ruby eyes, graceful and strange. Unblemished skin.

But Adra, though a man of his people and not immune to aesthetics, is never held in thrall by appearances. Only what lies beneath compels him, or turns him away. Only passion, or apathy. Principles, or lack thereof.

There is a code to how Gil lives, or so it seems to Adra. He doesn't agree with it, but it's interesting, nevertheless. ]

I don't much like the idea of being livestock. Or a flower, for that matter.

[ Eyes shut again. ]

Nondescript, one among many ...

[ Though to be possessed appeals, in a way he won't name. Couldn't, at this point. ]

You are as I donned you before. Utu, or "little sun" in my tongue.

[And only Gilgamesh would be arrogant enough to claim he owned the sun. He isn't to be blamed for shying away from the idea of being anything less, so Gilgamesh brands him as he deserves. Even if he took many to his bed, and even if his heart was restless and belonged to no one, he was good to his companions, to his lovers. He showered them with affection and with attention until they tired of it, as it was simply in his nature.

That is what it meant to be cared for by a King of Gilgamesh's stature. It would be pleasant, but it would also be intense... like staring into the sun.]

One among one. I do not compare my lovers to each other; they are kingdoms onto themselves.

[And thus Gilgamesh gives him a little kiss atop his head, a brief brush of lips, to cement this.]

I wondered what that meant.

[ A very chaste kiss. Adra feels boneless enough, weightless enough, soft enough to allow it. But he looks Gil directly in the eyes again, and the hazy sheen of earlier is gone. ]

How lovely for your lovers, Gil.

[ He taps Gil on the nose with his index finger, and the subtext is clear: But I'm not one of them. ]

[Gilgamesh... does not look concerned. Not even remotely. He's too cocksure to even entertain the notion that, eventually, he won't get exactly what he's after. But he'll play along for now, pretending to shrug in all modesty. It doesn't suit him; it's immediately transparent.]

Great romances are like great wars: they take time to wage, and are best administered by the very patient.

[Or the very brash. Gilgamesh bops him back on the nose to tease, and to subtly assure him that he's suffered no offense, no blows to his pride.]

Worry not, little sun. I will chase after your light for some time to come, I am most certain.

[ COMPARING ROMANCE TO WAR .. he'd have taken Gil to task over that on a different day. A day when he was not so very mana sated, and so very warm, and so very sleepy. ]

You are, of course, free to do as you like.

[ He yawns, and his body relaxes completely, his fingers going slack in Gil's hand. ]

As for me ... I'm going to take a little nap.

[ And, not more than a few minutes later, he's out. Eyes closed again, breathing even, muscles loose. ]

[Is this the second thread Gil is getting blueballed in IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING

GOD

DAMMIT

@#$%]

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hymnals - 2016-03-30 12:07 (UTC) - Expand