Chapter Text
"You 'stop'!" she hissed again, her back hitting a shelf of folded silks. "I will not—"
"Be silent." Gilgamesh nearly roared before his palm clamped over her mouth. His other hand slammed against the shelf at her head. The scent of her rose up. Jasmine and sweat and sharp defiance. It drove him towards a breaking point he hadn't reached in what felt like hundreds of years.
Her words were muffled against his palm. Words meant to ravage and tear apart his pride and anger him even further. Oh, she was angry. Her anger heated the small confines. Or maybe it was from them both. "You will listen to me, wife." Gilgamesh said in a low tone as he leaned into her, his palm halting another scathing retort. "What is it that you are angry about? I cannot change the past. I have been with no other woman. They are in the past. Each and every one." His eyes moved over her face. "Or are you simply angry because you want the man who took ten women at once?"
The last of his words lowered in tone. Explicit. Her eyes widened for a moment before heat flooded her cheeks.
But he didn't stop there. He brushed his nose against hers—her lips still against his palm. "I was only gentle for you, Artoria. Not because I wanted to be. You asked for control—I gave it. If you wish me to be the beast I was in the Grail Wars, I can be." He murmured as he slowly dropped his hand from her lips.
"Show him to Lily." She breathed in retaliation the moment his palm left her lips.
She slapped him.
The sound of the slap seemed to echo in the small enclosure of the closet. And in one fluid, predatory movement, Gilgamesh spun her around, her silk skirts whispering frantically against the shelves until the wooden shelves hit her front. He crowded into her, his muscular frame pinning her smaller body against the shelves so tightly she could feel every ridge of abdomen muscle and the rigid, angry heat of his cock through his trousers.
Her breath hitched.
He hauled her arms across her chest and then held both of her wrists in one of his hands while his other hand cupped the front of her neck and tilted her head back against his shoulder. His lips touched her ear. "You would dare strike your King?" He whispered, the vibration of his chest rattling her spine. "Or is this the violence you have been craving? You took to the training yards viciously the other day. You want to be treated as I have others? You wish to be taken like a common prize—right here in the dark where the servants can hear every shattered sob you make?"
He didn't relinquish his hold on her wrists. The hand at her neck was suddenly at her hips, bunching in the blue silk of her gown. His hand didn't move with its usual reverence. He dragged the long skirts up with a rough, possessive friction of silk against skin. The fabric hitched higher and higher, exposing her trembling thighs to the cool air of the closet before he reached the junction of her legs.
He nipped her ear in a stinging bite. "Do you want me to fuck you in this closet? To take you like the beast you call me—until you forget every word those harlots said to you?"
His words sent a wave of forbidden heat straight to her core.
He didn't wait for a response. He didn't want her compliance. He wanted her surrender. He wanted her to realize the truth of his words. And if this was the only way...He dove his hand beneath the thin lace of her undergarments, his fingers sliding with brutal, unerring accuracy into the heat between her thighs. Her thighs instinctively clamped around his wrist, a desperate attempt at modesty and denial—but he was a conquer. He forced his way through, his thumb finding the swollen, sensitive nub of her desire and grinding into it with a relentless, rhythmic pressure.
Her hips bucked and a rough sound caught in her throat.
Gilgamesh let out a low, animistic keen of pleasure when he felt the sheer amount of dampness waiting for him. She was slick, her body betraying the fury of her words with the unmistakable evidence of her arousal.
"Look how you want me." He whispered, his fingers sliding deep inside her, stretching her as mimicked a rhythm she was all too familiar with. "You say you loath me and yet you're practically begging me to fill you. If you want the man who didn't care for your titles, the King who took what he wanted…then you'll have to be very, very quiet, my Queen."
He didn't tease her, he didn't wait for her body to soften or her heartbeat to settle. He wanted her to feel the crushing weight of the reality of what she didn't even know she wanted.
The raw power of the king she had accused of being 'gentle' out of boredom.
His fingers left her. She squirmed, her arms still crossed over her chest in his hold. She heard the sound of his leather belt sliding before it was hanging open on either side of his hips behind her. Her skirts were still bunched around her hips—she felt him. She felt the blunt, hot head of his cock as he suddenly positioned himself at her entrance. He was suddenly a massive, rigid pillar of intent that didn't tease or ask for permission.
"Remember to be quiet." Gilgamesh whispered against her ear.
"Gilgamesh—" Her protest was cut short by the sheer force of him.
He thrust.
A single, devastating thrust that drove him to the very hilt. There was no slow slide. No careful gauging of her depth. The impact jolted her body forward, even though the male arm at her chest kept her in place against him. The sound of his hips against the curve of her ass was loud in the small closet.
The shock of it—the sudden overwhelming fullness—forced a jagged high pitched scream from her throat.
His palm was there again, slapping over her lips with a firm, silencing heat. He pinned the back of her head against his shoulder, his fingers digging into her cheeks to hold her still.
"No screams either." He purred as he started moving.
He didn't give her a moment to recover. He simply started thrusting. Heavy. Rhythmic. Almost punishingly deep. His hips snapped forward with a violence that made her knees buckle.
Artoria could taste the salt of his skin against her lips as she fought for air beneath his hand. She sobbed at the hot white heat that gripped her. He wasn't gentle. He was pounding into her, the darkness of the closet nothing more than a slap of skin against skin. The savage tempo didn't allow for grace—it left only room for a single minded need for release.
Saber was a mess of blue silk and shattered dignity, her body jolting against the stacked shelves with every slap of his hips—her toes barely skimming the floor with the sheer force of his entry.
His hand remained clamped over her mouth, but it couldn't stifle the low, vibrating moans that rumbled in her throat.
"Look at you." Gilgamesh hissed against her ear, his voice a ragged edge of desire. The arm around her chest disappeared and he gripped her hip to tilt her pelvis back towards him. Her arms automatically reached out, fingers gripping the shelving out of instinct. Anything to hold onto. "You can't even stay quiet."
The moaning sob against his palm said as much when he didn't slow down. The friction of wetness and the tight, panicked pulses of her inner muscles gripped him tightly. It only made him feel more feral—angry at her for believing he would purposefully hurt her by seeking pleasure elsewhere.
He drove into her harder, the rhythm wet and heavy.
Her eyes were wide and blown out—staring at the dark shelving, every cry muffled against the palm of his hand. It was too much. All of it. Every thrust that knocked her onto the tips of her toes—it was too much. Her entire body went rigid before she bucked against him—a scream muffled against the dampness of his palm. She didn't just come—she exploded from the inside out. Crushing contractions that locked around his pounding cock like a trap.
"That's it." He whispered in her ear. "Come on my cock." Elicit. Wicked. "Come for your King and husband."
But he didn't follow her into release. He held off. He stayed on the edge, watching her burn and whimper against him. His hand suddenly fisted in the top of her hair, yanking her head back so sharply she had to gasp for air.. Her face was flushed—her eyes blown wide and glossy with the shock of pleasure.
"Is this enough?" His words snarled against her forehead. "Or do you need more?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He yanked out of her with a wet, heavy suction and spun her around so fast the room blurred. She stumbled against his chest, her legs like water before she stumbled back into the shelving.
Gilgamesh's cock glistened wetly from her body's arousal and release, pulsing with a need he had yet to satisfy. But he sank to his knees with a fluid predatory grace and gripped the back of her thighs before lifting her.
"If you think I was gentle because I was afraid to break you, " He muttered against her stomach, looking up at her. "Then you were wrong." He gripped her thighs and hauled her legs over his shoulders and then stood. He STOOD. Saber had to grip his head to steady herself before her back met the shelving again—and then his tongue slid through the place between her thighs.
"Gilgamesh—!"
He buried his face between her thighs.
And Saber sobbed, her fingers tangling in his hair as his lips and tongue pushed her even higher. Her head fell back, her nails scraping his scalp as he used his tongue with the same relentless hunger he had used with his body.
Right there in the closet the King of Britain, King of Knights—the Queen of Uruk was reduced to a creature of pure raw sensation. He devoured the place between her thighs like a man starving. He didn't stroke or tease. He punished her for doubting him until another broken cry twisted in her throat and she was coming for a second time.
Gilgamesh let her fall, jerking her legs off his shoulders. He caught her at the last minute, gripping her thighs and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her arms gripped his shoulders weakly.
His re-entry was near violent. He drove back into her with a single thrust that bottomed out against her womb.
"My turn." Gilgamesh rasped, his eyes crimson and wild at the same time.
There was no time to adjust. He began to hammer into her, his fingers a death grip on the back of her thighs as he held her to him. And the anger he had carried all week—the sting of her distrust, the insult of the lock door—the pain in her eyes, he purged it through the friction of their skin.
And she cried out with every thrust. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him for what felt like dear life.
He didn't stop—didn't give her time to gather herself after coming for him twice. He was simply taking his pleasure from her after giving to her twice. And then with a hiss of breath, Gilgamesh thrust once more and pinned her against the shelving with his weight as he finally broke—spilling hot and heavy inside her.
The air in the closet was thick and humid. Heavy with the scent of sex and salt. The only sound was the heavy pants and the jagged breath of the King and Queen as they struggled to come down from the high.
Artoria felt utterly undone, her legs still around his waist, the silk of her gown wrinkled beyond repair. He was still twitching inside of her—her body echoed each pulse with ripple of internal muscles. Gilgamesh didn't move, he simply stayed buried inside her, his forehead resting against hers for a long moment as his pulse slowed.
He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her head up. He left no room for her to shy away. "Look at me, little lion." He commanded softly.
Her eyes were still hazy. Emerald green unfocused and shimmering with tears of overestimation and an anger that had simply burned out.
His thumb brushed her bottom lip. "Is this the man you've been starving for while you sat behind locked doors?" He shifted slightly inside her, a subtle reminder of his presence that made her breath catch all over again. "There are no secrets between us, Artoria. No lies. If this is what you crave, then I am here. But do not dare suggest that I would seek another when I have the only woman in history capable of surviving me."
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