He starts with her hair.
Gilgamesh could start closer, force it down on her, but he disdains the way she would try to shield herself from his advance. So lips pressed as slowly as he could manage to those gold locks she leaves teasing by her cheeks is where it all begins. It’s almost a dance at this point, one where he invites with a smirk, and she answers with a close-eyed blush. He doesn’t feel her skin until she starts trembling, and he trails his kisses down to her ear. That’s the cue for her to start drawing away, to try pushing him away with hesitant arms.
He reaches out to arrest her by the wrists, and this is the point where his tongue finds her earlobe.
Saber gasps sharply, as though she does not expect the move. It’s too harsh a breath, too sudden a cry in response to his advances. However gentle he tries to be, however many times they’ve met till this point is not enough to render centuries worth of self preservation useless, not when it is so deeply embedded into her very character. Saber does not accept this, does not accept Gilgamesh. Maybe, but she cannot. Yet desperation is clear in her steps as she brings herself before his gaze, and Saber has still not managed to grasp any of his mocking cautions by heart.
Gilgamesh smiles often into his kisses, and pins her arms above her head. Not rough enough to hurt, but it leaves her little space to struggle against his pressing frame. With every step he takes towards her, she tries to compensate with a step backwards in vain. Left with nowhere left to run, Saber all but flattens herself against the wall and eyes him like a cornered lion.
The sparkle of tears in her eyes catches his gaze, and he brings his lips up to catch them as they fall.
Saber’s pulse races beneath his grip when he finds her parted lips in a passionate kiss; her desperation is evident, proof of her desire for this from a long, long time ago. The urge to smirk into his kisses arises, but he suppresses it in fear she might be angered, or push him away if she sees. Gilgamesh feels the burn of her forehead against his own, and his free hand glides down to rest on her waist. He is more interested in the way her chest heaves against his body with every sharp intake of breath, in those full, pink lips that quiver with unspoken delight. Then, she draws him closer with the quietest moan she could not hide, and he suckles on her lower lip, devouring that little helpless sound.
Saber’s cry of surprise is worth it.
As though realizing this is a mistake, she turns her head away sharply, almost knocking his head away. The exposed length of her throat he is allowed access to is where his next kisses find - Nipping, he thinks it’s called, when he only tugs at the skin just hard enough that it blooms in a tiny patch, like rose petals on her ivory skin. He feels her holding back cries that trembles down her neck, and he smirks out of her sight. The pulse pounds almost painfully against her skin at this point, and Saber begins to sink against the wall, gasping as if she is afraid Gilgamesh would devour her whole. Which is ridiculous in the ancient king’s opinion, because she is his pet and nothing else. He would much prefer to watch her emerald eyes water when he tugs at her pinned hands, and licks painfully slowly up her neck.
She would tremble, and he would break his grasp when she loses the strength in her legs.
Somehow, the loss of balance is an accident.
Every time.
And this is where the dance changes.
Most nights, his little lion is too tired to fight back. She struggles, only minimally, then allows him to wash away her tears and nightmares in his warm embrace. He holds her against his seated form, pushing her down on his lap, and she wrestles his hold without a fight. These are nights where she was hurt, pierced by the love not reciprocated to her, and she comes to him begging for some form, any form of attention. She clings her trembling frame to his bare chest, and he feels the tears running down his back when he cannot see her face. These are the nights he allows her to call him by a name that he cannot answer to, the name of a man he wished he could destroy a million times over for scarring his little pet. Even orgasm is a battle sometimes, because she would just suddenly crumble, crying, powerless and draped over his shoulders. These nights, he holds her tightly, and secretly wishes she would never let go.
Other nights, she moans and twists, earnestly trying to break away before she loses the battle to his skillful hands. The struggling peaks when he runs his touch teasingly up her thighs, but ceases almost immediately if he nibbles across the sensitive skin of her shoulders. If he gives her the right amount of space, she would take him all the way in without his coaxing; then it’s just a matter of pushing and sliding against her gleaming, sweat covered frame, and he enjoys watching her loses herself in his lust-filled scarlet gaze. Her breath rings moans sweetly by his ear, blurring cries with words he can never make out and sometimes, he might thrust his free fingers into Saber’s mouth to keep her busy. There is nothing quite like the wild way his feline would lick and suck at them when she is losing her mind. Grip marks, sometimes clawed, would colour his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his back.. Saber screams if he shoves just right at the end, body rigid in her trembles and head thrown back in a wide-eyed gasp. The world goes bright and Saber falls apart in his arms, tamed.
Tonight is his favorite kind of night, though.
The nights when Saber speaks, or try to, eyes misty but struggling to focus. Her voice quivers on every word, barely louder than a whisper, incoherent as Gilgamesh nibbles his way down to her chest. Her hips try to move, to buckle, but her legs do nothing to aid her; and instead, Gilgamesh is able to lay her slackened form soft against the floor, take her by her heavily bun-up hair and kiss her so deeply that for a moment, Saber lets go of everything. The war, the grail, her home country, her useful fool of a master.. Everything. Everything becomes meaningless, and Gilgamesh loves it when she gradually dances her tongue against his own.
He likes to release her bun, and watch her rest her head on a pillow of her golden locks. They are always longer than he remembers them, longer than he could imagine, and he treasures the way his little lion trembles should he pick up a lock to inhale her sweet, innocent scent before her watery eyes. Quick fingers dances across her chest, squeezing and rubbing at the very tips of her breasts and she moans despite herself. Her dress slips off at her shoulders, coming undone with his clever fingertips; they fall noiselessly onto the ground, and by then she starts mumbling about other things. Needy, personal things that only a lonely king would know; how strange it feels to have someone love her, need her, touch her; tame her.. Like this. Gilgamesh rests a silencing finger on her lips as he licks at her navel, and if he’s lucky, she would tug at his hair in request for another one of those kisses.
Deeply, slowly and lovingly, and Gilgamesh likes this part most, because he gets to hear Saber moan his name up close.
Gilgamesh has to start slow, preparing her with swirling fingers that leaves her gripping at nothing by her sides. Then the long, careful strokes of his invading member, and Saber would stutter on her whisperings despite herself. He loses focus at the delicious sound of his name on her lips, but is brought back by her tight, familiar squeezing; and he likes this position the most, seeing her spread helplessly and pinned beneath his frame.
And no one, Gilgamesh knew, no one would deny her beauty in this very moment.
“Please,” Saber’s arms find themselves delicately around his neck, and she struggles against her need to pull him down against her chest. “Please,” she cries, her head falling back in pure pleasure.
“Please..”
He enjoys when the blabbering starts. Saber asks, requests for any answer from him, almost as if she knows that she could demand everything, anything from the ancient king in heat. Sometimes, she begs him to hurry, to hold her less tightly. Some other times, another kiss, or the gentle touch of his fingertips down her cheeks. If she seems too in control, Gilgamesh would take special measures: stroking teasingly up her waist until his fingers find her erected nipples, biting at her shoulders hard enough he can draw blood from her thin, pale skin, and pulling away to blow warm air over her. The way it makes Saber break is exquisite.
He wouldn’t have her any other way.
The tension he builds in her is evident towards the end; he takes her slow, so painfully slow, and Saber shudders without anything but him to hold onto. Her grip tightens around his neck desperately, and at times she can barely hold onto his thrusting frame properly for her hands had gone too slick with sweat. Her mumblings turn to cries, and for a king she is deliriously happy to serve another; to beg for Gilgamesh to not hold her so tightly, to make the maddening build finally end. Gilgamesh will steadily slow, until there is not but tears lining her broken voice, and there are no words left for her, no words but:
“… Gil..”
If he’s lucky, really lucky, he would hear her desperately whispering for him to call her name. The way her voice quakes at the shape of his name is almost excruciating, and he wishes he could hold it forever close to his heart. Gilgamesh leaves her hanging for a few moments, teasing her with a slow silence that always builds an unbearable heat deep within her. As her eyes roll and her head falls, he slips a hand into the shower of golden locks, and holds her as he mouths her name in her ear.
“Gil..”
A sob, needy and almost afraid, and she has to reach up a hand to cover her mouth despite herself. Gilgamesh nibbles at that hand until it feels the need to jerk away, and it sl
เขาเริ่มต้น ด้วยผมของเธอกิลกาเมชสามารถเริ่มใกล้ชิด บังคับลงในเธอ แต่เขา disdains วิธีเธอจะพยายามป้องกันตัวเองจากการล่วงหน้าของเขา เพื่อ ริมฝีปากที่กดเป็นช้าที่เขาสามารถจัดการล็อคทองเหล่านั้นเธอออกจากล้อเล่น โดยแก้มของเธอเป็นที่มันเริ่มต้น เกือบเป็นเต้นณจุดนี้ ซึ่งเขาเชิญเกเร และเธอตอบกับอายที่ตาปิดได้ เขาไม่รู้สึกว่าผิวของเธอจนเธอเริ่มทำงานงก ๆ และเขา trails เขาจูบลงไปที่หูของเธอ ที่เป็นสัญลักษณ์ของเธอเริ่มวาดออกไป พยายามผลักดันเขาออกไปกับแผ่นดินบว่าเขาถึงออกไปจับกุมเธอตามข้อนี้ และนี้คือจุดที่ลิ้นของเขาพบเธอ earlobeกระบี่ gasps อย่างรวดเร็ว ว่าเธอคาดหวังไป รุนแรงเกินไปลม ฉับพลันเกินไปร้องไห้ในความก้าวหน้าของเขาได้ อ่อนโยนแต่เขาพยายามที่จะ อย่างไรก็ตามหลายครั้งที่ได้พบจนถึงจุดนี้ไม่เพียงพอที่จะทำให้ศตวรรษมูลค่าของตนเองรักษาประโยชน์ ไม่เมื่อมันเป็นดังนั้นฝังลึกอยู่ในอักขระของเธอมากขึ้น กระบี่ยอมรับนี้ ไม่ยอมรับกิลกาเมช อาจจะ แต่เธอไม่ได้ สิ้นหวังยัง ไม่ชัดเจนในขั้นตอนของเธอเท่าที่เธอนำตัวเองก่อนสายตาของเขา และกระบี่มียังไม่ได้เข้าใจถึงข้อควรระวังของเขา mocking ใจกิลกาเมชยิ้มมักจะเป็นจูบของเขา และยึดหมุดแขนเหนือศีรษะของเธอ ไม่คายพอที่จะทำร้าย แต่ออกจากพื้นที่เล็ก ๆ เธอฝ่าฟันเฟรมเขากด ขั้นตอนทุกที่เขาจะต่อเธอ เธอพยายามชดเชย ด้วยขั้นตอนย้อนหลังใน vain ซ้ายกับไหนซ้ายไปรัน กระบี่ทั้งหมด แต่ flattens ตัวกำแพง และดวงตาเขาเช่นสิงห์ corneredประกายของน้ำตาในดวงตาของเธอจับสายตาของเขา และเขาริมฝีปากของเขาเปิดขึ้นมาจะจับพวกเขาเป็นพวกเขาตกแข่งขันชีพจรของกระบี่ภายใต้การจับของเขาเมื่อเขาพบเธอริมฝีปาก parted ในจูบหลงใหล สิ้นหวังของเธอคือชัด หลักฐานของเธอความนี้จากยาวนาน ยาวนานเวลาผ่านมา เกิดกระตุ้นให้ smirk เป็นจูบของเขา แต่เขาไม่ใส่ในกลัวเธออาจจะ angered หรือผลักดันให้เขาไปถ้าเธอเห็น กิลกาเมชรู้สึกเขียนของหน้าผากของเธอกับเขาเอง และมือฟรี glides ลงเหลือบนเอวของเธอ เขามีความสนใจในลักษณะหน้าอกของเธอ heaves กับร่างกายของเขากับบริโภคทุกคมของลมหายใจ ผู้เต็ม ริมฝีปากสีชมพูที่ quiver unspoken อย่างยินดีปรีดา แล้ว เธอวาดเขาใกล้ชิดกับคร่ำเงียบสงบที่สุดที่เธอสามารถซ่อน และเขา suckles ในลิเธอต่ำ devouring ที่เสียงน้อยกำพร้าร้องของกระบี่ประหลาดมีมูลค่ามันAs though realizing this is a mistake, she turns her head away sharply, almost knocking his head away. The exposed length of her throat he is allowed access to is where his next kisses find - Nipping, he thinks it’s called, when he only tugs at the skin just hard enough that it blooms in a tiny patch, like rose petals on her ivory skin. He feels her holding back cries that trembles down her neck, and he smirks out of her sight. The pulse pounds almost painfully against her skin at this point, and Saber begins to sink against the wall, gasping as if she is afraid Gilgamesh would devour her whole. Which is ridiculous in the ancient king’s opinion, because she is his pet and nothing else. He would much prefer to watch her emerald eyes water when he tugs at her pinned hands, and licks painfully slowly up her neck.She would tremble, and he would break his grasp when she loses the strength in her legs.Somehow, the loss of balance is an accident.Every time.And this is where the dance changes.Most nights, his little lion is too tired to fight back. She struggles, only minimally, then allows him to wash away her tears and nightmares in his warm embrace. He holds her against his seated form, pushing her down on his lap, and she wrestles his hold without a fight. These are nights where she was hurt, pierced by the love not reciprocated to her, and she comes to him begging for some form, any form of attention. She clings her trembling frame to his bare chest, and he feels the tears running down his back when he cannot see her face. These are the nights he allows her to call him by a name that he cannot answer to, the name of a man he wished he could destroy a million times over for scarring his little pet. Even orgasm is a battle sometimes, because she would just suddenly crumble, crying, powerless and draped over his shoulders. These nights, he holds her tightly, and secretly wishes she would never let go.Other nights, she moans and twists, earnestly trying to break away before she loses the battle to his skillful hands. The struggling peaks when he runs his touch teasingly up her thighs, but ceases almost immediately if he nibbles across the sensitive skin of her shoulders. If he gives her the right amount of space, she would take him all the way in without his coaxing; then it’s just a matter of pushing and sliding against her gleaming, sweat covered frame, and he enjoys watching her loses herself in his lust-filled scarlet gaze. Her breath rings moans sweetly by his ear, blurring cries with words he can never make out and sometimes, he might thrust his free fingers into Saber’s mouth to keep her busy. There is nothing quite like the wild way his feline would lick and suck at them when she is losing her mind. Grip marks, sometimes clawed, would colour his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his back.. Saber screams if he shoves just right at the end, body rigid in her trembles and head thrown back in a wide-eyed gasp. The world goes bright and Saber falls apart in his arms, tamed.Tonight is his favorite kind of night, though.The nights when Saber speaks, or try to, eyes misty but struggling to focus. Her voice quivers on every word, barely louder than a whisper, incoherent as Gilgamesh nibbles his way down to her chest. Her hips try to move, to buckle, but her legs do nothing to aid her; and instead, Gilgamesh is able to lay her slackened form soft against the floor, take her by her heavily bun-up hair and kiss her so deeply that for a moment, Saber lets go of everything. The war, the grail, her home country, her useful fool of a master.. Everything. Everything becomes meaningless, and Gilgamesh loves it when she gradually dances her tongue against his own.
He likes to release her bun, and watch her rest her head on a pillow of her golden locks. They are always longer than he remembers them, longer than he could imagine, and he treasures the way his little lion trembles should he pick up a lock to inhale her sweet, innocent scent before her watery eyes. Quick fingers dances across her chest, squeezing and rubbing at the very tips of her breasts and she moans despite herself. Her dress slips off at her shoulders, coming undone with his clever fingertips; they fall noiselessly onto the ground, and by then she starts mumbling about other things. Needy, personal things that only a lonely king would know; how strange it feels to have someone love her, need her, touch her; tame her.. Like this. Gilgamesh rests a silencing finger on her lips as he licks at her navel, and if he’s lucky, she would tug at his hair in request for another one of those kisses.
Deeply, slowly and lovingly, and Gilgamesh likes this part most, because he gets to hear Saber moan his name up close.
Gilgamesh has to start slow, preparing her with swirling fingers that leaves her gripping at nothing by her sides. Then the long, careful strokes of his invading member, and Saber would stutter on her whisperings despite herself. He loses focus at the delicious sound of his name on her lips, but is brought back by her tight, familiar squeezing; and he likes this position the most, seeing her spread helplessly and pinned beneath his frame.
And no one, Gilgamesh knew, no one would deny her beauty in this very moment.
“Please,” Saber’s arms find themselves delicately around his neck, and she struggles against her need to pull him down against her chest. “Please,” she cries, her head falling back in pure pleasure.
“Please..”
He enjoys when the blabbering starts. Saber asks, requests for any answer from him, almost as if she knows that she could demand everything, anything from the ancient king in heat. Sometimes, she begs him to hurry, to hold her less tightly. Some other times, another kiss, or the gentle touch of his fingertips down her cheeks. If she seems too in control, Gilgamesh would take special measures: stroking teasingly up her waist until his fingers find her erected nipples, biting at her shoulders hard enough he can draw blood from her thin, pale skin, and pulling away to blow warm air over her. The way it makes Saber break is exquisite.
He wouldn’t have her any other way.
The tension he builds in her is evident towards the end; he takes her slow, so painfully slow, and Saber shudders without anything but him to hold onto. Her grip tightens around his neck desperately, and at times she can barely hold onto his thrusting frame properly for her hands had gone too slick with sweat. Her mumblings turn to cries, and for a king she is deliriously happy to serve another; to beg for Gilgamesh to not hold her so tightly, to make the maddening build finally end. Gilgamesh will steadily slow, until there is not but tears lining her broken voice, and there are no words left for her, no words but:
“… Gil..”
If he’s lucky, really lucky, he would hear her desperately whispering for him to call her name. The way her voice quakes at the shape of his name is almost excruciating, and he wishes he could hold it forever close to his heart. Gilgamesh leaves her hanging for a few moments, teasing her with a slow silence that always builds an unbearable heat deep within her. As her eyes roll and her head falls, he slips a hand into the shower of golden locks, and holds her as he mouths her name in her ear.
“Gil..”
A sob, needy and almost afraid, and she has to reach up a hand to cover her mouth despite herself. Gilgamesh nibbles at that hand until it feels the need to jerk away, and it sl
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