Chapter Text
Routine came easily again—a cautious trust between them. Gilgamesh wasn't willing to break that fragile trust again. Especially not when she finally slept IN his arms. She didn't pull away from him in the mornings. She may have blamed him for the wild positions she found herself him when she curled herself around him—but she no longer pulled away from him.
It was something.
But something was not everything. Gilgamesh could see it in her eyes.
There was still a distance that he hadn't been able to breach since the pavilion. There was still a distance in her eyes that was thought far too loudly.
He had learned many things about Artoria in their battles and since bringing her to Uruk.
Her mind raced.
She focused on everything and one thing all at once. She tried to carry the burden of those thoughts alone. It didn't matter that those burdens weren't hers to carry alone—it didn't matter that she woke up on his chest every morning and no longer de-tangled her limbs from his.
Her mind was a chaos of unknown emotions that were far too new to an old soul.
She would claim the warrior part of her soul. She would claim the Knight and King.
But she had yet to claim the woman.
It wasn't until that night when they were in bed and she was curled against his bare chest that he finally breached the silence. "Talk to me." He murmured, his arm beneath her, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of her shoulder.
For a moment she was quiet. Too quiet. Too thoughtful. But her palm stayed against his chest. And then she took a deep breath. "You have taken everything from me, Gilgamesh." She said softly. It wasn't anger in her tone—it was simply an observation that instantly made him want to argue that.
But she continued before he could.
"You took my kingdom. You've taken my solitude. Even the city I live in, the food I eat—it is all yours."
His gut clenched. That was not what he wanted her to think of this union. She didn't lift her head from his chest as she continued speaking. "My innocence… it is the only thing left that belongs solely to me. It is the only part of myself that you have not consumed." She drew a shaky breath. "And if I give that to you, there will be nothing left of me. I will be entirely yours."
Was that so bad, he wondered.
"And that...that loss of control is a fear I do not know how to conquer."
The silence that followed was different from their usual nightly bickering. This was deeper. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. He didn't smirk.
He lifted the hand from his chest and turned her hand, his eyes moving over her palm. "You think I want to 'take' it from you?" He asked. "Like a spice from a merchant or a city from a rival?"
"That is how you look at the world, Gilgamesh. Everything is something to be claimed. Something to be added to your treasury."
She wasn't wrong in that. That was how he looked at the world.
"You are not part of my treasury, Artoria." Gilgamesh countered softly. "The treasury is for things that are finished and can be cataloged and locked away. You...are a living storm. You would tear those treasures apart if I locked you away."
She was silent. She was so still and fragile in his arms. The feminine side of her that the Grail War had not witnessed. The silence was thick and suffocating. She didn't move. Her lashes didn't blink against his chest.
But her next words were so softly spoken that he almost didn't hear them.
"I want you."
Those three words landed in the quiet air between them like a heavy bronze seal. There was no explanation to the words. No demand. Just a raw, terrifying honesty.
Gilgamesh stilled. His gut clenched hotly at those words. He looked down at the golden head lying on his chest. His fingers tightened a fraction of an inch around the hand before he released. That same hand went to her chin. He lifted her head from his chest so that she had no choice but to look at him.
"Say it again," he commanded quietly.
Artoria took a sharp, shallow breath. Her green eyes remained locked on his. "I...want you."
His eyes darkened with a predatory heat. He shifted until she was on her back and he was leaning over her slowly. He didn't crawl over her, he simply remained on his side as he dipped his head, his lips seeking hers—
Her fingers touched his lips, halting him. "No." She whispered.
He stilled, his lips inches touching her fingertips. His brow furrowed. No? One moment she was confessing a desire that had his heart hammering against his ribs and the next, she way. He wasn't angry with her, but irritation and confusion flickered across his expression.
He'd waited so long for this moment.
Her tongue slid out to moisten her lips. "I will…" She said, her voice low and steady, though her heart was a visible frantic beat at the curve of her neck. "But on my terms."
Gilgamesh frowned. "Your terms." He echoed. His own body was already a traitor, his cock rigid and throbbing in his trousers the moment she spoke those three words.
And now she was drawing lines in the sand.
Frustration clawed at him again.
"I want you." She said again—she wasn't going back on those words. "But I need to be in control."
Gilgamesh stared down at her—the look in her eyes. Her face. It wasn't defiance he saw. It wasn't fear, exactly. But he realized it for what it was. It was the agonizing fear of losing the final territory that was hers.
Control.
It had always been about control with her. The discipline of a Knight. The burden of a crown. The walls built to keep the world away. She feared she would be erased if she simply gave herself to him. The frustration in his chest dissolved—because he understood.
He understood what she was asking for.
She couldn't submit. But she was asking to choose her own undoing.
In one swift, fluid motion Gilgamesh moved. He didn't move away. He rolled onto his back and grabbed her waist. With a firm tug, he pulled her up and over him until she straddled his hips. He leaned up on his elbows, looking up at her from the position of the conquered. His red eyes were filled with dark promise. "Then take it, Artoria. Rule me as you see fit."
The words hung in the air and Artoria's heart skipped a beat.
Not long ago, such a statement from the King of Heroes would have felt like a trap or a cruel joke. But looking into his red eyes, Artoria saw only a terrifyingly bright sincerity. It sent a jolt of heat through her stomach.
It reminded her of what had happened in the garden.
Her tongue darted out to dampen her lips, a nervous gesture. Gilgamesh eyes followed the movement with a predatory focus. He began to lift his hands, his fingers reaching to twine in her hair to pull her down for a kiss but she shook her head.
She intercepted his wrists slowly, her smaller hands wrapping around them with a strength born of years of swordplay. Gently but firmly she guided his arms back towards the pillows. She held them there for a long moment, pinning him to the silk.
Gilgamesh arched a golden eyebrow.
"You won't touch me?" She asked softly.
His jaw tightened. The request was a physical blow to his intent. He wanted to feel her again. He wanted to touch the smoothness of her skin. He wanted to pull her close until there was no air left between them. His body was already straining—a rigid testament to the agony of his restraint.
She had finally offered herself to him—but she was asking he didn't touch her.
But he understood. And God help him, he cursed himself for understanding. She wanted to be the one to choose every inch of this path.
So he didn't speak. He slowly lifted his arms, breaking the gentle grasp of her hands and laced his fingers securely beneath his head. Offering himself up to her.
She exhaled the breath she hadn't even realized she was holding. Her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. This was the control she needed—the knowledge that the worlds greatest tyrant was—for the night, her subject.
She sat up slowly and her hands hovered for a moment before she touched the bar skin of his chest. It was her first act of a true, curious exploration.
She'd touched him before. She'd woken up curled around him far too many times to not have touched him. But this was different. Now she was touching and exploring for a different reason entirely. His skin was like sun-warmed marble. Smooth, firm and radiating a scorching heat that seemed into her palm. Beneath her fingertips his heart beat a heavy, erratic thud. It was racing as fast as hers.
She let her fingers trail upward, tracing the hard, defined line of pectoral muscles. His chest moved beneath her exploration—a slow inhale and shaky exhale.
The tension in his body was a physical presence. It was against his very divinity to be so still a docile. To Gilgamesh, to exist was to conquer. To desire was to claim. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to break his vow not to touch. He wanted to unlace his fingers and seize her by the waist—to flip her onto her back and drown her in the sheer force of his presence. He wanted to drive every day and every week of his stifled frustration into her until the King of Knights was a memory and she was only his.
But he didn't move. Because his Queen was finally curious.
He looked down, his lips set into a hard line when her thumb slid over one nipple. Curious. Watching.
He inhaled shakily. A tremor rolled through his pectoral muscles. His nipple hardened beneath the press of exploring thumb. But she didn't stay in one place. Her palms smoothed up his chest. She remembered the way he had looked in the garden. The way he had maneuvered her with such effortless, predatory grace.
She remembered everything he had done to her. And driven by something curious—something she couldn't name, she leaned down. Her golden hair fell forward, trailing tantalizingly against his collarbone as she flicked her tongue against his nipple.
His entire body went rigid.
A hiss of breath escaped his lips. The fingers laced behind his head tightened so hard his knuckles went white. His lids hooded as he stared down where she hovered over his chest. "You have no idea of the debt you are accruing." He murmured in a low tone that had her heart skipping a beat.
A debt—as if he meant to repay everything she was doing to him.
She liked the way he trembled beneath her. There was something about the way his muscles bunched and flexed. The power she held over him in that moment was ancient and intoxicating. She looked up at him through the curtain of her hair, her green eyes dark and heavy with the first real embers of her own desire. "You said I could rule you as I see fit." She reminded him softly, her voice shaking. And she liked this new territory.
Her hands moved again. Up and down his chest. Tracing his arms. She moved her hands down, eventually following the deep groove of his abdomen muscles. She felt him involuntarily suck in his breath, his stomach rippling beneath her touch.
She traced the indention of muscle at his abdomen. His skin was taunt, flickering with tension. When she reached the dip of his navel, she felt him shudder beneath her. She lifted her head—just for a moment. Just to look at him. He'd been watching her the entire time. Watching her exploration. And the look in his eyes was so heated and hot that it sent a jolt of heat straight between her thighs.
She shifted upward—just enough. Slow and deliberate. She leaned over him, pressing her chest against his. Leaning into him.
Leaning down.
He was already lifting his head when she leaned down. His lips met hers halfway. She kissed him slowly. Softly. She may have kissed him with gentleness—but he kissed her with a ferocity that made her head swim. With his hands still laced stubbornly behind his head, he deepened the contact, his tongue tangling with hers in a rhythmic dance of silken heat and fire.
She tasted the cedar he had drank earlier and tasted the faint, unique spice that was Gilgamesh himself. She leaned more of her weight into him, her fingers suddenly tangling in the strands of messy golden hair near his temples.
"Artoria." Gilgamesh groaned against her lips.
She angled to pull away and his shoulders lifted to follow her, keeping the kiss—keeping the heat locked between their mouths. "I can't breath." Saber gasped out when she finally managed to break the contact.
Gilgamesh laughed huskily, the sound low. "A King should be able to breathe even in the heart of a storm, Artoria." He whispered hotly as she dragged air into her lungs. His eyes were no longer just red—they were glowing with a terrifyingly beautiful, predatory light.
Her head was spinning from the sheer force of the kiss, her lips bruised with the taste of him. Cedar, sweet wine and desire. He was like a man starved and he had taken her lips in reclamation.
But her fingers were still locked in his hair.
"I have not touched you." He reminded her—reminding her that his hands were still beneath his head. His lips curved as he leaned up again. His teeth nipped her bottom lip before he sucked the sting into the warm heat of his mouth. "But you said nothing about my mouth, little lion. And I find you quite delicious."
The heat in the room was stifling. Not even the cool night air of Uruk's desert ruffling the curtains lowered the temperature gripping the two on the bed.
Gilgamesh's gaze lowered slowly—maddeningly slowly. She felt the heat of that gaze as it trailed over the white cotton of her underclothes.
He wanted to tell her to reach down. To find the rigid proof of his desire and to wrap her fingers around him. He wanted her to learn the weight of his hunger.
His gaze lifted slowly. His eyes met her. "Take your shift off." He guided, his voice dropping into a low, gentle rasp.
And there it was. The final barrier. The next step…
She didn't ask for it.
But he spoke it.
Her breath hitched and her lips trembled as Saber lifted her hands. Her fingers moved over the thin straps at her shoulders. Shyness gripped her. Unease, perhaps—but she eased both straps down. The fabric began to sag before she gathered the cotton and pulled it over her head.
Naked.
Her cheeks grew hot.
Gilgamesh's breath hitched. It caught in the back of his throat like a physical obstruction. Because she was a pale, smooth masterpiece of skin and curves. From the elegant curve of her neck to the soft, pale swell of her breasts. She was the most exquisite treasure he had ever beheld. Without armor. Without crown.
He moved before he could resister the betrayal of his own body or mind. His torso lurched upward, his hands flying towards her waist to pull her into him. To taste the skin he had kissed beneath the pavilion. But at the last second his hands twisted in sheets beneath his hips. The delicate fabric groaned under the strain. He stayed sitting, his eyes moving over her.
Artoria immediately hunched her shoulders, her arms crossing over her breasts. The sudden exposure was...a physical weight.
"Don't cover yourself." Gilgamesh whispered more harshly than he intended.
She couldn't breath. Saber swore she couldn't breath. It wasn't because he had almost touched her. It was because he'd stopped himself. He was simply sitting there, his hands fisted in the sheet, legs spread. She could see the physical strain in his arms. His shoulders.
She couldn't help but look again, her gaze moving over his chest. His breath came heavier with the sudden position. Her eyes moved over his stomach again and then lower—between his thighs. They settled on the unmistakable, rigid silhouette straining against the fine linen of his trousers.
She was a King. She was a warrior. She'd once been a servant in a great war. She had seen the world and its many wonders. But looking at the sheer, heavy physical manifestation of his desire for her...
Big.
The thought echoed in the silence of her mind, blunt and terrifying.
With a hand that shook she reached out without thought. She let her fingertips graze the top of his trousers—right over the straining length and the heat it permitted. Gilgamesh let out a sound that was less a human noise and more like the crack of stone under pressure.
She pressed her palm against the length of him.
He'd touched her in the gardens. He had touched her until she felt like screaming. She had screamed in her mind.
Curiosity drove. And desire.
He was scorching. She could feel the pulsing heat against her palm as she explored the shape of him. Her fingers curled around what she could reach. He was thick—impossibly so. And just as hard as the hilt of Excalibur.
Gilgamesh's head fell back, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth ground together. His eyes squeezed shut. "Artoria." He choked out.
His arms were still locked at his sides, steel cords of muscle as he sat there.
Her mouth was bone dry as she looked from her hand to his face. Desperation tightened his features and God, it was intoxicating to see the King of Heroes at the mercy of her palm.
"Am I hurting you?" Saber whispered as her thumb slid over the broad, rounded head through the linen.
His eyes opened to stare at her. Pure fire stared at her. "Very." He managed to gasp. "If you intend to continue...undo the laces, Artoria."
Her fingers moved with a life of their own—already pulling until the vee of his trousers were suddenly gaping open. The weight of him simply fell forward once the laces were loose, resting against the back of her hand.
Saber felt a jolt of alarm that nearly sent her scrambling backward.
Oh my.
She was a virgin—yes. But she was also a student of anatomy and war. She knew the mechanics of the world. She knew what was expected. She knew what went where. Yet the reality of him...she turned her hand until he rested in her palm. And then she curled her fingers around him. What she could curl around him. He was massive—a pillar of velvet wrapped iron, pulsing with a life of its own.
She couldn't even close her grip entirely. He was too broad, his skin incredibly smooth and hot. Her thumb brushed over the weeping tip and she felt the wet heat that smeared against her skin.
"This won't possibly fit." She whispered, her voice trembling with a genuine, horrified denial. And awe. She stared. She stared. Her hand tested the weight and staggering size of him. She took a gentle risk—her palm sliding up the length in a slow, experimental stroke.
Gilgamesh let out a low sound that was a mockery of a laugh. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back. "It will fit, little lion." He managed to mutter. "The body adapts...to what the heart desires."
Saber was mesmerized. The contrast between her pale, slender hand and the sun bronzed heat of his sex was startling. She grew bolder. Her fingers tightened a fraction. She squeezed, wondering if he was as solid as he felt.
The sound that left Gilgamesh was a guttural, earth-shaking groan that vibrated the very air.
Her head jerked up instantly, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did I hurt you?" she asked, her hand stilling but not releasing him.
"Hurt me?" He laughed again, the sound low and husky. His face was flushed. "Artoria...that was heaven." He stared at her hand, the way her hand cradled him. "Do not stop." He commanded softly. "See exactly what you do to your King, Artoria."
Control.
Saber swallowed hard as she began to move her hand again, watching the way his cock throbbed in her palm. She was the one in control, but his hips gave a small, involuntary jerk in her hand.
It was a revelation. She understood the weight of a sword—but this was a different kind of weight. It was intimate. She watched as his thighs tensed and released with every downward stroke of her palm. Every time she moved her hand, he seemed to grow even more rigid, hot veins pulsing against her fingers.
One of his hands shot out—he touched her, his hand curling around the back of hers. But she didn't stop him. She didn't say anything. She just stared as his hand tightened around hers. Watched as he guided her hand into a motion that was faster.
"Squeeze it," he whispered, the command sounding more like a prayer.
And oh, she obeyed. She squeezed under the pressure of his own hand, following the motion he set before his hand fell away to the bed once more. A jagged low groan tore from his chest. His head fell back on his shoulders.
"Just like that, Artoria…" he urged, his voice a broken, beautiful wreck.
She increased the pace, her hand moving in a rhythmic, firm pumping motion. She stared, enraptured—enthralled in the way his thighs twitched. The way his hips gave involuntary little jerks in time with her hand. She felt the dampness at the tip slicking her fingers, making the friction smoother.
Watching him lose himself was utterly captivating.
She felt him swell even further, the heat becoming almost unbearable against her skin. She could feel the tension in his body, see the way it tightened his abdomen.
"Artoria," he groaned, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intimate tone. "I'm going to—if you don't slow down, I will lose this battle before it has truly begun."
She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes heavy with a mirrored desire she was finally beginning to understand. She didn't stop. She was driven by the unfiltered need gripping his face. It was horrifying to watch, but enthralling at the same time.
Gilgamesh was a man who prided himself on absolute mastery. His kingdom. His treasury. Himself. But under the pumping friction of her hand, he was dissolving.
He intended to let her explore until her curiosity was sated. After all, the outcome would be the same. She would be his in every way imaginable when they were done. He had the patience of centuries. But he had underestimated her.
Or he had underestimated his need for her.
Or just himself.
She was undoing the King of Heroes with every pump of her fist. Every time she increased the speed, a fresh jolt of white-hot lightning shot to his groin.
His hips bucked reflexively into her hand. The perfect pressure. He was so close to the edge that his lungs were on fire. He warned her—he warned her to slow down. And when she actually leaned further into the task with a quicker motion—he snapped. One hand shot from the silk sheets, lashing around her wrist like a golden manacle.
He didn't pull her away, but his grip was iron, anchoring her hang against the rigid, pulsing length of him. "I'm going to disgrace myself if you don't stop." He muttered, his voice cracking.
His chest was heaving, his skin was slick with a fine sheen of sweat. But all he saw when he looked at her was a heated, morbid curiosity that made his blood boil. Her fingers squeezed him. Breath hissed out from between his lips. "Artoria…" He warned between his teeth. "I am seconds away from spilling like a common boy in your palm. Is that what you wish to see? My pride ruined before we have even begin?"
The threat of his 'disgrace' hung in the air, but Saber didn't see it as a disgrace. She saw Gilgamesh trembling before her. She saw her husband losing himself to her touch alone. And it was an intoxicating sight.
Her hand moved again even though he held her wrist. A slow glide up. A slow glide down.
His head fell back. "Artoria." He whispered her name, a broken sound of pure sensation. Because he could feel it surging. The first thick, hot waves beginning to pulse upward. His jaw was locked so tight something popped.
The dam broke within three more glides of her hand.
Gilgamesh groaned as his hips jerked, his seed spilling over her hand. Hot, thick and plentiful. It coated her fingers and the back of her hand, shooting out over the curve of one pale thigh. He didn't stop—it was too late. His body continued to pulse, his cock jerking in frantic, involuntary spasms as he emptied himself into her palm.
His grip finally went slack on her wrist before he fell back to the pillows, his breath coming in shallow, jagegd breathes, his eyes half-closed and glazed with an expression of such pure, shattered bliss that it was almost unrecognizable. He lay ruined, his pride and power spent. All because of a single, curious touch.
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