Archive of Our Own

The soot and decay had clogged his skin's pores, but Kirei was happy for the first time in his life. The conflagration had licked across what once were skyscrapers and homes, all brought down to a state of permanent disarray. Everything glows inside Kirei. No longer does his soul bear chains, nor he himself burdened by grief. He had accepted it now, his rotten self. The hollowed core where his heart had stopped beating was now pulsating with a mud that cleanses more than it does him harm. This is what bliss is for Kirei Kotomine.

He holds it close to him now--overjoyed, overwhelmed. 

But it's not over. There are still answers to seek. So Kirei had walked the path of devastation in Fuyuki with Gilgamesh, the heroic spirit now made flesh, and who happened to be his new mentor. The King of Heroes had freed him from the bondage of his feigned religious faith, his constricting family ties with father figures who are now both dead; one of them he even murdered in cold blood.

He gave Gilgamesh a sideway glance, smirking. There were simply no words to show this proud and merciful king the depths of Kirei's gratitude. He only hoped that the words he spoke the night they formed a contract should suffice:

"Ｉ ｓｈａｌｌ ｇｌａｄｌｙ ｐｌａｙ

ｔｈｅ ｆｏｏｌ ｆｏｒ ｙｏｕ." 

The King of Heroes was rather pleased to take this leisurely walk upon a landscape of destruction with this man beside him--one whose corruption has finally come up to the surface, and reflected so genuinely enjoyable for Gilgamesh. Kirei may be silent the entire time as they walked together, but he could tell that the priest was rather endeared by what he unleashed with the help of that corrosive vessel the mongrels thought was supposed to grant wishes. How utterly tragic and quite funnily at that. 

Gilgamesh managed to look across Kirei just in time to catch his eye. The smirk on the other man's lips is unmistakably vile. Words were not exchanged. There doesn't seem to be an urgent need to anyway. Instead, the King of Heroes walked just a few inches closer to Kirei, allowing their shoulders to bump every now and then as they trudged along. The nearness didn't bother Gilgamesh. It was more or less a privilege he felt the need to bestow upon this remarkable priest who would now serve him as his personal Fool. 

He took another look at the inferno around them and smiled. This should suffice, he thought, to motivate Kirei to maintain his best version of self, and to do that, this king expects him to give in to his very worst again. 

The path before them has more miles to trek.

The sky was ashen gray, but the fires from Fuyuki had done more than enough to contrast it with bright hues of orange and death. Kirei found the route scenic because of this; he was completely besotted by everything. He didn't notice Gilgamesh walking closer until he felt the hem of the red cloak wrapped around the king's brand new corporeal body brush on his hand which lay on his side.

He said nothing, savoring the silence between them as if it was a sacred covenant. 

Indeed, words may even break this spell he felt he was under, so Kirei would rather just walk beside Gilgamesh. There was no need for conversation at least for the time being. He knew they would have plenty of that once they reach the church. A fork on the road gave them pause, however, since a pile of rubble was blocking the path. Unceremoniously, Kirei climbed until he got to the top, expecting Gilgamesh to do the same. Only when he was near the downward slope to the other side did he offer his hand to the King of Heroes. It was an instinctive reaction.

He was surprised himself, but he did not pull away. His eyes met the crimson gaze of Gilgamesh. Kirei's expression was still as blank as ever with only a tiny glint of interest in his eyes as he kept the hand outstretched towards the king.

He allowed the priest to lead the way only because he didn’t mind the aimlessness of his own gait, seeing as he had just been reincarnated and now wanted to savor this corporeal form in all its sensory offerings.

The ashes clung to his bare feet. The rotten, stale air of burning dead bodies brushed past his skin, the stench foul yet not entirely unpleasant for him. Gilgamesh pulled the tattered red cloak torn from his armor and relished the smoothness of it, and the lack of its own scent.

He is preoccupied with these things that he absentmindedly climbed up the barricade to follow Kirei, and only stopped abruptly when he saw the other man stretch out his hand for him to take. Laughter spilled out of Gilgamesh easily. Still, he took that hand, giving it a firm squeeze as he glided down the slope, grinning at Kirei because he was  amused by the rather uncharacteristic gesture.

He still hasn't spoken a word to the priest, which was fine for now.

Hearing Gilgamesh laugh like that gave Kirei pause, much more so when his hand was taken and given a squeeze. The grip could easily have been because the other man needed to put pressure on their clasped hands so he had something to lean on while walking down the slope. With that in mind, Kirei decided to dwell on more pressing concerns such as getting back to the church.

He stopped gripping Gilgamesh's hand, and decided to speak up at last for the both of them. 

"I know a shortcut out of here. We wouldn't have to worry about crowds." Kirei glanced across the path ahead of them, blinking to adjust his sight since the pollutants in the air were still strong. "Do you mind walking another long stretch of distance, Gilgamesh?" he inquired, maintaining a courteous tone. He glanced down at the other man's feet.

 "Are you not hurt? Surely you must have already stepped on a few broken fragments..." Without another thought, Kirei bent down on one knee to confirm if his speculation was correct. "Please lift your foot up. I can heal your blisters and reinforce a layer of magic to protect your skin from further bruising," he offered. "It is the least I could do to make you comfortable."

Kirei glanced up at the other man, waiting for his permission.

He had been unaccustomed to physical pain since he was only just reincarnated a short while ago, so Gilgamesh didn't even care for the blisters on his feet. Still, he raised one foot up so Kirei could attend to it.

Whatever the priest intends to do, Gilgamesh would not wince or give any kind of visible indication of pain, though there might be some degree of ache. He would look down on the sole of his foot and find the soiled appearance of it curious. 

To have a flesh form means being subjected to dirt, grime, and blood. That is exactly what Gilgamesh would find right now, and instead of deeming it as annoying, he'd think it's enchanting. With a snide tone, he'd say, "I shall allow the unrefined way this earth treats my person for now, but if you do have the magic to prevent any further inconvenience for me, then use it as you may. This king gives you permission." 

Gilgamesh would reach out then and place a hand on Kirei's shoulder so he can balance himself as gracefully as he could as he lifts one foot and then the other next. He kept one hand still clutching around the cloak that covered the rest of his naked body.

If it slipped every now and then with his every shift and movement, Gilgamesh would not care to right it, uncaring about modesty. He was also too lazy to do anything else, so if the cloak lowers further down and expose him, the King of Heroes would just ignore it and focus more on whatever magical task Kirei had in mind to protect the skin of his feet.

"Don't waste time, Kirei," he would demand with a nonchalant gaze at the other man kneeling before him. "I want to get back to the church, and drink what is left of your wine collection. There is a need for us to celebrate this eventful night after all."

The hand on the priest's shoulder will slide an inch, a few of its fingers would touch Kirei by the cheek, yet possibly absentminded in the intent.

It's not that Kirei thought of Gilgamesh any less now that he had a corporeal form. The king’s body may have been mortal  now than divine, but Kirei would not presume himself of equal status with the King of Heroes, so kneeling before him like this to tend to his wounds seemed only appropriate.

Listening attentively to Gilgamesh’s response, Kirei began the  healing process as soon as he was prompted to. A hand hovered across the god-king’s foot, the spell easily cast much like breathing in air. Kirei’s affinity with healing magic had been a source of bafflement for a long time, for how could somebody destined to destroy things also has the ability to repair wounds? The irony was never lost to him.

Neither was it lost to Gilgamesh, he was sure. The King of Heroes stood there in all his proud glory though naked and rather petulantly demanding like a child who wants to get the boring details over with so he can start having fun for himself. Kirei patiently observed that quality in the other man’s attitude, perceiving it only as natural, since he was the origin of myth and blessed with wealth and power unimaginable. Gilgamesh lifted his other foot now once Kirei was done patching up the other, and he proceeded to apply the same healing process on this foot next.

It was only after he looked up when he noticed that the loose garment Gilgamesh had been using to conceal himself was slipping, giving way to almost revealing himself if it wasn’t for Kirei quickly reaching for the hem as he slowly stood up. The king, obviously, didn’t even care and continued to speak about celebration.

Kirei was surprised to find that he wouldn’t mind  a celebratory drink. There is a cause for such a thing after all. Standing with Gilgamesh amidst the stench of burning deaths and the debris of chaos still alive around them, he thought it seemed only right to indulge in this newfound festive mood he currently shared with the King of Heroes, who had freed him from the bondage of his failed attempts at goodness and piety.

It tickled when Kirei healed the soles of his feet. Aside from reaching out to clasp the cloak so it doesn’t fall any further from Gilgamesh’s body, Kirei didn’t really do or say anything else. Unperturbed by such a disposition, the King of Heroes simply took his silence as affirmative, and now began to grin widely as he stepped forward only so he can walk past Kirei, ignoring that the priest was still holding onto the hem of his cloak. 

The healing enchantment that Kirei applied on his feet seemed to have worked, and so Gilgamesh kept walking ahead with a renewed vigor. “Come, come, Kirei, no more wasteful breaks! I want wine on my belly as I hear your reflections upon tonight’s macabre results. I better be impressed & entertained!” He laughed without even bothering to see what Kirei’s reaction would be as he marches forward.

He watched Gilgamesh walk away for a few moments, his eyes tracing down the cloak wrapped around the other man's broad shoulders, and the way it cascades in a flowing trail of scarlet. Some of the edges of the cloth's hem had burned, turning into strips of black. Kirei found that his mouth has formed another smile. He started following the King of Heroes now without another spoken word.

It was Kirei who guided their path once he reached Gilgamesh's side, making the right turns until they arrived to the shortcut he spoke of earlier. There is a crowd of people nearby composed of medics and survivors of the fire. The utter desolation of the wasteland around them is further enhanced by the anguished faces of the people whose homes were claimed by the conflagration. Kirei was still smiling but he did his best to hide his face from view lest one of the people would spot him. It was a guilty pleasure to do it, and he could not help the chuckle that escaped from his lips as he hurried his pace now. 

If he didn't, he might start laughing and call attention to himself. So he reached out next to him to take Gilgamesh's wrist, pulling him further into the darkened pathway--the  shortcut he had promised the other man.

There were wooden planks scattered beneath their feet and they creaked as the two men stepped on them. Kirei spotted that some of them protruded rusty nails. He paused abruptly to turn to Gilgamesh, gesturing at the sharp objects in question. "You do not have footwear," he remarked. "You best try to avoid the nails as much as you can." Kirei never let the other man's wrist go, thinking nothing of the contact. He began to walk again.

As macabre as it may seem, Gilgamesh waltzed around as if he's sightseeing a picturesque landscape as oppose to a barren one, appraising the burning buildings with a look of silent appreciation. He had never been close-minded; everything in the world has some worth or value, even the ugliest decay. Besides, this undoing was because of that filthy wish-granting device that deceived everyone--everyone except Gilgamesh, of course. 

They passed by a few grieving citizens while on their way to that shortcut the priest spoke about, and Gilgamesh never once averted his gaze from these people, observing their sorrow with a clinical perspective like this had all been just an experiment, and the thousands of lives that perished are just results that need to be recorded. Gilgamesh can be a cold and cruel individual, but a king must have a hardened heart every now and then to avoid being easily swayed by needless sentiments.

And this city is not Uruk. He does not rule over it--at least for the time being. Every destruction yields creation. All endings sooner or later will bring forth beginnings. But then his thoughts got interrupted when Kirei grabbed hold of his wrist. Surprisingly enough, Gilgamesh didn't find it intrusive or offensive. If it was any other person, the King of Heroes would rain down weapons upon them. But he had made a curious exception with this man, so he merely hastened his steps.

Kirei took them to the shortcut at last but it wasn't going to be a leisure walk, not with those pesky planks and nails. Without preamble, Gilgamesh only said, "Carry me on your back. I don't want to further soil my feet with trash." He gave Kirei a sideways glance, looking annoyed now. "Do you protest? This king commands you to make me as comfortable as possible."

That request did take Kirei by surprise and he blinked warily at the other man as if he was still hoping he had misheard. But he saw that Gilgamesh was already starting to be in a bad mood, so Kirei felt he needed to make sure that it wouldn't worsen. After all, he didn't want to deal with whatever would happen if Gilgamesh becomes difficult; the King of Heroes is already such a haughty, self-entitled man to begin with. 

Nodding in response, Kirei bent to his  haunches slowly and presented his back to Gilgamesh. This all felt utterly ridiculous; would the King of Heroes find this offensive; that Kirei would offer to carry him like a child? But what is the alternative then? Lift Gilgamesh in front of him in both arms like he is a bride on her wedding night? The image of that is both laughable and disturbing. Kirei patiently waited either way for any further commands from the king.

Gilgamesh was unconcerned if it was awkward or uncomfortable for the priest. It's not as if anybody is around to see, and even if there are people who would witness it, the King of Heroes would not concern himself with the opinion or criticism of mongrels. So, pulling the cloak closer to him by tying it securely around his waist, he climbed unceremoniously behind Kirei's back, wrapping his legs around the other man's hips and his arms around the shoulders.

 "You may proceed," his tone is just as commanding yet neutral as ever as he held on to the priest and kept his eyes ahead.

He couldn't believe that Gilgamesh had actually agreed to be carried this way. It was rather undignified, if Kirei was to be honest, but he supposed it's unavoidable, seeing as the King of Heroes didn't want to get his feet dirty. He had already been wounded once at that, and Kirei also didn't feel like applying another layer of healing magic since it would only postpone their travel. Besides, they are only two blocks away from the church, and he was certain that people would be far too caught up with the tragedy in Fuyuki to pay attention to them. 

They wouldn't be the most peculiar sight for that night. And so Kirei placed his hands under the king's thighs, as he rose from the ground with Gilgamesh hanging on his back. The god-king's weight was heavy but manageable. Besides, Kirei was strong and agile, equipped with a new black heart. He said nothing anymore as he began to walk, avoiding the rusted nails along the way.

Being carried by the strong and sturdy priest may have been an impressive feat for the other man concerned. Gilgamesh does not look it, but he is well-toned and muscular in all the right places, and so lifting him up behind one’s back is not exactly an easy task to do, but Kirei has the upper body strength to do it, so the King of Heroes decides it’s nothing to applaud about. That being said, he is rather starting to enjoy the hellscape more from the viewpoint he is currently in; saddled behind the priest as he keeps his arms loose around Kirei’s shoulders and his legs wrapped tightly around his pelvis. 

Suddenly, he feels a pang of something both foreign and familiar at once. “Kirei,” he alerts his companion. “This is odd but I think my body is starting to crave for food. I can feel my stomach’s hunger pains. It’s rather ticklish, actually. But also very annoying.” He snorts, the smugness in his tone sharpening. “When we get back to church, I would need you to serve me sustenance.” Gilgamesh  grumbles and slides his hands to grip Kirei's shoulders.

It was rather curious to hear that the mighty Gilgamesh has a need for sustenance such as real food, but Kirei decided  not to make any kind of remark which could be misconstrued as disrespectful. Instead, he soldiered on and continued walking in a more hurried pace this time so they can arrive to the church soon. Carrying the King of Heroes on his back was something Kirei tried not to think about too much but when Gilgamesh slid his hands on his shoulders, the touch had otherwise /baffled/ Kirei. There was something about it that worried him, and he could not help but feel that to figure out what it was would be opening himself up to…

…he has no exact term for it and it seemed futile to dwell on such unproductive thoughts, so he didn’t.

About seven minutes later they were walking towards the doors of the church which Kirei knew he had left unlocked. "I think you can walk this shorter distance now. Do excuse me." He told Gilgamesh as he went down with bent knees to aid the King of Heroes on his descent. "What food would you like me to make?"

He doesn’t respond to Kirei immediately and merely fixes his stare on the looming shadows that cascaded across the oak doors before them. Gilgamesh had only removed himself from the priest’s back as if he is unsaddling from a horse, completely unconcerned of the oddity of such an arrangement to begin with.

It seems that there's a growing sort of familiarity between the two men by now, one the King of Heroes has no trouble acknowledging. After all, there were servants from the past back in Uruk who received favor from him because of their good service, and so Gilgamesh believes this is the same kind of treatment which Kirei deserves. To be close to his divine and royal presence is the greatest gift he can provide. 

Finally, he speaks up, addressing Kirei with a tone that’s almost amicable as opposed to commanding. He had used this tone around the priest since their discourses have began. He would never see Kirei Kotomine as an equal, but he does amuse Gilgamesh—his sworn Fool.

“Food of this world all pale to the delicacies from my era, so I would contend myself with what simplicity you can offer. I trust you will not fail me,” he answers promptly while shifting the red cloak to wrap even tighter around himself. The temperature is arctic, something his skin can now feel.

“Hurry, Kirei!” Gilgamesh snaps a little impatiently as he walks ahead now to push the doors open and walk in.

With dark eyes trailing after the back of the other man as he leaves, Kirei soon steps inside himself. His arms are steady on his sides as his entire countenance remains calm and composed. He doesn’t hurry as requested by the King of Heroes, but he arrives nonetheless beside Gilgamesh.

The central path between the pews had a wide enough girth to accommodate both their bodies as they walked side by side again. Gilgamesh carries himself with a regal bearing that would turn heads if only they aren’t alone whilst Kirei's presence is akin to that of a shadow, appearing only because  of the light coming from god-king’s golden visage.

They are truly a most unlikely pair bound by an alliance with benefits that are yet to fully ripen. Kirei supposes he looks forward to that. Gilgamesh is a peculiar being whose greater insights provide Kirei an opportunity to explore more of his unknown nature. He means to stay with the king for as long as it takes.

“I will go to the pantry to see what I can prepare,” he explains after they take a turn towards the hallway leading to Kirei's office. “You can wait on your usual spot on that sofa you like so much, Gilgamesh.”

He doesn’t say anything more as he keeps his gaze forward. His fingers keep brushing against the hem of the god-king's red cloak, the material slipping between the gaps of his digits every now and then. Kirei somewhat finds that comforting.

“You do not command me on what to do,” he shoots back instantly as his lips twist into a small frown. But that falls away easily, replaced by a humorless chuckle instead. “It seems to me that even after you have discovered the truth of your  desires that you, Kirei Kotomine, remain pretty much the same in behavior and attitude.”

Gilgamesh slows down his pace as a hand reaches forth and slides on the priest's forearm. He waits for Kirei to turn first before he says, “Your insolence is something I shall overlook only because I know you mean neither malice nor disrespect. And I trust you know your place. But in case you forget, I shall only be swift to remind you…”

He trails off as he leans close enough that the proximity is unsettling for both of them. He meets Kirei's gaze with seething confidence as he says in a hushed tone, “My kindness has limits. You should act accordingly.”

The hand still on the priest's arm now lowers to close around his wrist instead. Gilgamesh narrows his serpentine gaze and commands the priest next, “Take off this garment of yours. This cloak isn’t enough to satisfy me, and I need warmth as much as sustenance.”

Mild surprise now fills Kirei's expression as he blinks once at the King of Heroes as if he had only heard him wrong.  And yet the other man's grip on his arm is resolute, almost as if he isn’t going to loosen his hold unless the priest gives in to his demand. 

Kirei considers the request again even with the full knowledge he shouldn’t deny Gilgamesh anything at this point if he wishes to have a peaceful cohabitation with him for God only knows how long.

That’s the unspoken agreement which they didn’t even need to talk about. After Kirei's eyes were opened to witness the Burning of Fuyuki all around him—while Gilgamesh was sitting atop a pile of rubbish, glancing at the priest with a knowing and  satisfied smirk—it's inevitable that they would spend more time with each other hence.

A new war shall take place decades from now, and Kirei more or less plans to have the strongest heroic servant by his side. 

It's just his cassock after all. If there will ever be a time where Gilgamesh demands for something completely ludicrous, Kirei is confident enough in himself that he can find a way to reject the King of Heroes. There should be a mutual understanding of interests. Perhaps they must discuss about that and set boundaries later on.

That time isn’t tonight. Tonight, Kirei will just undress and walk to the kitchen in his undershirt so he can cook for Gilgamesh. There's nothing wrong with that. This is to be expected if they are to live together. Once Gilgamesh is in a more pleasant mood, that is when Kirei will open the floor for discussion regarding ‘living arrangements'.

“Understood,” the priest acquiesces solemnly now as he withdraws his arm from Gilgamesh's reach just so he can unbutton and shed off his clothing, presenting the black material to the god-king without another word or sound. He waits for Gilgamesh to take it.

Only a tiny smirk graces his lips once Kirei unfastens his cassock and complies, albeit ruefully. Gilgamesh excuses it because the priest’s temperament had always been solemn and blunt around the edges. Disregarding his glee earlier while he stood amongst the rubble and dust of the burnt city, Kirei had displayed little change about his countenance. It serves the King of Heroes just fine for he is patient and, sometimes, even kind as long as kindness is warranted. 

He knows enough about the priest that he’s tolerant of the man for now, but if they are to co-exist while they wait for the next Grail War, Gilgamesh supposes he needs to make certain adjustments—mostly for himself. In spite of his cruelly bold and often treacherous behavior, the god-king is still a man of principle and restraint. He just hasn’t been in his best moods ever since being summoned here to fight imbeciles to win an even stupider trinket.

“You have done well,” he tells Kirei now while pulling the sleeves of the cassock to fit around his arms. He ends up folding them around the elbows for he apparently is more on the slender side than Kirei’s built.

He glances back at the other man with a steady stare. “Do not think I don’t acknowledge you for all the progress you have made so far, Kirei. Keep this up and I may even reward you with something else other than my…shall we call it, ‘spiritual guidance’?”

Such a phrase makes his smile appear more prominently now, the pearly teeth showing. He waves a hand at the priest then adds, “I’d be in your office, finishing what’s left of your unfortunate wine collection. Do not make me wait too long, Kirei. Believe it or not, I desire more than the food. Your company shall also be appreciated.”

And with that, he turns from the priest and exits the other way.

His eyes remain fixed upon Gilgamesh as the other man clothed himself with the black cassock. The garment is two sizes  bigger than him, making the god-king seem like a younger man compared to Kirei. A part of him is rather fascinated by Gilgamesh's now-made flesh and bone vessel. He's felt the realness of it against him moments ago, and it's just unusual that someone Kirei had perceived to move as if he’s made of silk could have something as sturdy and tangible a form now.

He thinks none of it anymore and listens to what Gilgamesh is saying instead.

For his part of this dialogue, the priest doesn’t speak at all and merely absorbs like a sponge as he had learned to do ever since meeting Gilgamesh. He might be vain and conceited, but the King of Heroes provides him with perspectives about the world and people that often fly past Kirei's own understanding due to his severe lack of deeper insight.

But he wants to think that this is slowly changing, and that he’s finally becoming more astute about things that used to baffle and frustrate him; such are the contents of his heart—the root of his own wickedness that was still growing and expanding within.

Gilgamesh's approval, unlike the ones from his own father and mentor Tokiomi, does mean something else entirely for Kirei at this point. It  serves as a verbal reassurance that he is setting onto the right path where he is more aware of his shortcomings as a man of faith and can actively turn that around.

Upon the god-king's departure, Kirei also takes that as his own cue to go his own way to the kitchen. His feet resonate with each step, matching the calm beating of his mud-filled new heart.

He makes his journey back to the priest’s office with a gait that’s subtle and languorous, as if Gilgamesh ignores  altogether any sense of time and urgency to get there. The place reeks of old age and neglect in which wood and stone become nearly indistinguishable from one another for having shared spaces together for so long. It’s almost lonely, this church and its vacant halls. 

Something unfulfilled now lurks in the passages that the god-king treks, stalking him like a persistent lover. That direness is unwanted, yet Gilgamesh hasn’t felt this empty or lost since the day he learned he  could still lose everything, and so this isolation might work for his benefit to rediscover parts about himself he was more inclined to forget.

With a new body, there’s definitely a need to explore its needs and limitations. Sustenance—a desire for melancholy and self-awareness—the intoxication brought upon by wine and sex; he can’t wait to experience them all over again.

The hallway stretches for a while before it curves to a left corner where a small staircase is located. Gilgamesh shuffles through each step with careful ease even if his bare feet are beginning to feel cold. Once he twists the door knob and pushes, the office’s modest interior greets him with the same orange glow of the lights substituting for any concept of warmth. 

He wastes no more time and hoards the couch he favored, as the priest put it simply earlier, by stretching his long limbs that are surprisingly tired and weak already. Gilgamesh doesn’t bother taking a bottle of wine from the storage anymore either and—for the first time since being summoned to this wretched era—accepts the pull of slumber while still wrapped inside Kirei’s shapeless cassock.

The church’s kitchen is bathed in complete darkness, but Kirei’s eyesight adjusts quickly enough with the memory of being here several times before. Shapes begin to take recognizable form while he approaches, and his hand reaches forward next to flick on the light switch. With the sudden glow of artificial lights from the ceiling, they make the priest blink a few times while inspecting the entire scene before him. Everything looks clean yet also a little empty.There’s hardly anything in the pantry as well; just a few scarce lettuce leaves and a tomato, which both looked fresh enough. The only protein available isn’t even meat but just eggs. ‘These will do’, Kirei thinks.

He cracks open all five eggs and mixes them altogether in a bowl. Kirei also finishes the rest of the half-full bottle of milk to hopefully give the beaten eggs more flavor and fluffiness along with a few seasonings of salt and pepper. 

Although not exactly an adventurous cook, Kirei can still consider his culinary skills serviceable. He wonders if a man of wealth and prestige like Gilgamesh could appreciate—even enjoy—such a modest meal, however. The god-king did claim he can make do  of whatever Kirei can offer him, so he supposed that should suffice.

He finalizes the omelet with the chopped tomato and lettuce leaves next. Satisfied that he had prepared a good enough dish, Kirei puts the plate of food onto a tray which he now carries back to his private office.

The priest comes in with an audible announcement, almost banging the door against the wall when he had to use his foot to push through since his hands are still preoccupied gripping the tray. Once he crosses the threshold towards the couches, he stops abruptly and narrows his gaze towards the only sleeping figure in the room.

Kirei settles down the tray of food on his desk first and then approaches Gilgamesh with a cautious and unsure gait. Standing over the other man, he wonders whether or not he should do something. The god-king’s face looks so serene; it’s rather clear that with the incarnation of a new physical body, a possibility in which Gilgamesh can feel both hunger and exhaustion is now a reality.

He stands there for a whole minute before a hand reaches to gently stir Gilgamesh awake, rubbing his shoulder with a delicate touch. Kirei doesn’t want to suffer any kind of display of wrath from the other man, so he makes sure that he remains as respectful of Gilgamesh’s space as much as he could afford. 

“Your dinner is ready,” he adds after giving the god-king a firmer shake this time, “I can only find eggs and a few vegetables. I hope they’d be enough for you.”

Instead of opening his eyes, Gilgamesh only grunts to express his annoyance in being woken up from his rather peaceful slumber. He turns to the side now so he can ignore the pesky hand on his shoulder and then fold further into himself there on the couch.

“Not now, Kirei,” he manages to mutter at last, his voice slightly muffled when he pushes his face against the smooth exterior of the couch’s foam. Determined to stay the way he is at the moment, Gilgamesh claws at the cassock he’s wearing, as if trying to get as much warmth as possible from the borrowed garment. 

Due to the priest interrupting his sleep, Gilgamesh is becoming aware of his surroundings yet again, which is the last thing he wants. Sleep has been a privilege he had overlooked while still in a summoned spirit form, but now that he can experience it again, he wants nothing more than to lose himself in its strong clutches.

“Kirei,” he calls out to the priest all of a sudden, “Put a pillow under my head. You do have pillows, don’t you? I’ve been to your bedroom once. Give me one of your pillows from there. Go now!"

For a while, Kirei doesn’t move. His eyebrows merely knit together upon hearing the new command given to him. It’s only been a short time, but Gilgamesh is already proving to be quite a handful. But the priest has no complaints about it at the moment, seeing as airing out grievances would accomplish nothing.

His main goal is to have harmonious living arrangements with Gilgamesh. Anything that would get in the way of that is unnecessary, which includes Kirei’s own objections for being treated as if he’s some ordinary servant.

But he keeps in mind that the god-king is of royalty and has become accustomed to people indulging his whims and obeying every demand. Gilgamesh also has a high opinion of himself, and therefore it wouldn’t be in his nature to pay attention to the inconveniences he might bring to others. A king only cares that he’s being serviced.

“You can sleep in my bed instead if the couch doesn’t accommodate you with enough space,” Kirei speaks in his usual monotone although some part of him instantly regrets volunteering his room for Gilgamesh’s own use.

With a patient sigh, Kirei adds, “And I know you’re still famished. I’d bring the food along if you ever decide to move to my bedroom. Your choice, Gilgamesh.”

He doesn’t move or speak for a moment as he tries to decide what he does want to do next. Even though Kirei had just provided him with options, none of them seems to appeal to Gilgamesh at the moment.

What he does take note, however, is how considerate Kirei had been during all of this. In spite of his outward audaciousness which borders on disregard for people and their own needs, Gilgamesh does possess a fastidiousness to his personality that rarely comes out unless with a person who is just as complex and contradictory as he is. 

He supposed he can easily dismiss Kirei's compliance as one that comes from indifference. The priest, after all, had lived the majority of his life and made his decisions based on the pressures of a religious upbringing and the expectations of his father and mentor. And yet Gilgamesh can ascertain that Kirei is indeed trying to be sympathetic because it's his own choice to be that way, or at least he’s seeking to maintain the peace between them.

The King of Heroes is not a malicious man. He may strike someone down with a slur ofverbal abuse, but only if they have done something despicable enough to warrant the treatment. Same goes for anyone whom Gilgamesh perceives as worthy of consideration.

He turns now from his folded position to look over at the priest, his expression sullen yet still defiant. Slowly, a smile forms. It's made his features glow with something akin to real kindness, but it's slight—controlled—momentary.

“I shall share your chambers tonight then,” he answers in a calm tone. 

 The ruby serpentine gaze of his reveals nothing except the pride in which Gilgamesh continues to carry himself with.

“And by that, I meant you need not leave your own rooms. Stay with me tonight. The bed of yours I have seen already, and it can more than fit us both in it.”

Now, with a challenging tone, he inquires, “Does sharing a bed with another man disturb you, Kirei? My body may seem mortal and ordinary, but I am still a god and a king, and you should consider it a great blessing that you are permitted the privilege to lay next to me.”

He’s got no issue standing there for a while as he waits for Gilgamesh to make his decision. The god-king looks so much like a child in a position like that; he holds himself while semi-crouched, curling in a way that reminded the priest of how a cat would do it. Gilgamesh’s curved spine looks almost fragile to touch, with the cassock draping over it as if it was just a protective cover. 

Kirei was lost in these observations for a moment that he doesn’t hear what the god-king is saying to him until he lifts his gaze just in time to meet serpentine eyes.

“What do you mean, share the bed together?” he asks once he’s pulled back from the reality of the situation then frowns noticeably after Gilgamesh mocks him next with a needless, thinly-veiled accusation.

Instead of replying promptly, Kirei merely chooses now to sit on the edge of the table that’s in the middle, facing the couch where the god-king had lazily perched his body on.

“No, I do not have qualms,” he admits with a somber yet indifferent tone as he clasps his hands together, the fingers interlacing across each other as if in prayer. “You are correct about the bed. It can accommodate us both.”

Slowly rising now, Kirei keeps his eyes on the other man’s, measuring and appraising Gilgamesh to see if the  god-king has other motives in mind for such a bizarre and unsettling proposal. With Gilgamesh, Kirei often finds it a challenge to figure out what he wants, or if there was even any logic to the things he says or does.

Nevertheless, he will not be intimidated. Kirei may have been naïve about his own person and the contents of his very nature, but the priest is certainly not ignorant of the dangerous ways this little game Gilgamesh is playing can unravel them both with one false move.

Kirei should be careful, but at this point the arrogance in the other man is getting under his skin.

Even now that he’s mortal-made because of the vessel the Grail had granted him with, Gilgamesh still possesses this otherworldly glow of the divine which accentuated the beauty he had been blessed with by those who sired the First Hero. 

Those delicate cheekbones expanded slightly each time he feels inclined to smile. Right here inside the dreary and quiet office, he seems rather meek to behold, and the softness that touches his usually hard-edged eyes possessing the color of rubies enhanced the effect. He stares at the priest in open assessment; the one who dared to challenge his authority at the moment.

He slowly rises from his own position in the couch next, leaning his weight on his elbows as he did. With the deceptive smile still in place, he tells Kirei, “I would like to eat that meal you prepared for me. Where is it? I am famished and I don’t desire to go to sleep in an empty stomach.”

After a beat, he added, “And fetch me another bottle of wine…” he trails off only so he can look around, narrowing his gaze as his search proves to be futile. 

“Where are the glasses? Ah, never mind. I shall drink from the source itself then. Now, Kirei. Impress me with the food you had slaved upon!”

Sitting on the edge of the table provided Kirei a better view of Gilgamesh's slender yet imposing figure. The god-king is clearly still getting used to his physical incarnation. That is probably the reason why he's acting rather strange, as if he is teetering on the edge and has no idea how to stay off from falling below.

Kirei is not known for any kind of compassion, no matter how many times it had been readily assumed about him because of his clerical collar and upbringing. However, Gilgamesh is an interesting case for him altogether. In a way, he owes everything to this man. If it wasn’t for his constant prodding and inquiries, Kirei never would have understood himself better, let alone find the initiative to embrace his true nature at last.

Motivated by this gratitude, he rises now from the table so he can carry the tray of food towards the god-king. He settles it down on the table and says, “Allow me…”

Taking the fork and spoon, he begins to slice through the omelet, “It’s still hot…”

Afterwards, he goes to the hole in the wall where a few more bottles of vintage wine were shelved. He picks the one he feels would suit a momentous occasion and heads back to the couch located on the right side of the one Gilgamesh is sitting on.

Uncorking the wine, he places it down the table next. Kirei then shifts his gaze towards the other man, waiting for him to begin with his little feast.

The King of Heroes glances briefly at the servings Kirei prepared for him tonight, and he easily finds himself smirking  at the somewhat dramatic fashion in which the priest claimed that this was a feast.

Instead of partaking in the food, Gilgamesh first reaches for the bottle Kirei had opened for his consumption. He brings it to his slightly parted lips, inhaling the scent of wine as his gaze now travels upward to meet the priest's.

“You continue to impress, Kirei,” he remarks as his serpentine eyes narrow once more. The orange light of the office now reflects back on them, enhancing  their already hypnotic look with a mischievous glint. “Clearly you went an extra mile with this meal. Is this egg?”

Gilgamesh quirks an eyebrow as he drinks straight from the bottle just as announced before he raises it now towards the priest. He taps the bottle’s neck gently against Kirei's abdomen, citing, “I shall feast, no doubt, but you must drink with me too, holy man.”

The bottle slides upwards, rubbing the length of its neck against Kirei's stomach area some more as if Gilgamesh is doing it out of playful intention and perhaps he is.

“Come now, Kirei,” he repeats, “Drink and regale me with the tale of your self-discovery as the ravaging fires of Fuyuki smothered everything in its path.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, the King of Heroes laughs, throwing his head back a little as he adds, “I want to build up my appetite and so I beseech you now to tell me a story—the story of your birth as a new man.”

He really doesn’t need further prompting. The ambiance that is set at present is desirable since it immediately puts Kirei at ease. It's obvious that the aroma of the hot meal he cooked coupled with the scent of wine is a combination he cannot further resist. 

Besides, his body feels wrought from the miles they had to walk together earlier, and the smoke and ash from the grand conflagration still cling to the fabric of the cassock now worn by Gilgamesh; and it has a rather odd effect on the priest's state of mind.

Death smells like home to Kirei Kotomine, it seems. The familiar hold of that devastation borne from the corrupt vessel that is Angra Maiyu doesn’t cease to give him reprieve. His nerves are shot to hell and so, with weakened knees, he falls to the cushion next to the god-king instead of his own couch. His hand has grabbed the bottle Gilgamesh offered, and without thinking much of it, he takes a large swig.

Kirei clears his throat —next, wiping the stain of wine on his lips. He tries to sound detached but the thrill playing his spine like harp strings deems the attempt moot.

“How do you want me to tell you?” his voice is raspy with an edge of flirtatious dare, “I have less reservations about myself now after I met you. You have made a true fool out of me, King of Heroes.”

He's busied himself chewing on an egg slice already when he feels Kirei sit right beside him without preamble. The two men are only a few inches away from one another on the couch which Gilgamesh ignores for the most part. 

In hindsight, he would have resented any mongrel who dared believe they can crowd his personal space, but as established since their walk across the burning wreckage that was Fuyuki, Kirei had become the interesting exception. 

The nearness isn’t invasive to the King of Heroes at all. If anything, he ends up releasing what can only be described as a chortle, as he lifts the hand holding the fork so he can cover his mouth with it. He’s surprised himself that he had laughed like that, but Kirei had never ceased to be a worthwhile entertainment, always able to surprise him with just a few words.

“I  concur greatly to that statement,” Gilgamesh ends up grinning as he angles his face down, looking at the other man with drooping eyelids as if he means to bat his eyelashes instead, “You are progressing at a rate that neither your father nor Tokiomi would have expected, I bet. That is an inherent worth, Kirei, being a student always open to learning new + horizons.”

He sets the fork down and then extends an arm over the ledge. It snakes towards Kirei's side of the couch, making it seem as if Gilgamesh could easily sling that arm over the priest's shoulder. But it remains perched there on the ledge, a reminder of a touch that will never come—at least not yet.

“Any kind of inhibitions you have should be cast aside now that I’m your mentor,” the god-king declares as he finds himself inching closer towards Kirei, those ruby eyes glowing with something else unexplained, “And you shouldn’t waste my time either. You know exactly what I want to hear. So, if you must…”

His free hand moves to rest its palm against the other man's chest. The fingers are splayed across the spot where the mud-soaked heart Angra Mainyu had granted Kirei laid. 

“Speak with the honesty of the heart, priest,” Gilgamesh urges with a hushed murmur, his lips pronouncing the next words in a manner that can be considered teasing, “No matter how much you believe otherwise, a dark heart still beats. I’d like to become familiar with the rhythm of yours.”

A man as hollow as Kirei Kotomine usually doesn’t feel most things that deeply. Every emotion just flits across a surface of water, never truly being submerged into the depths. He spent his life attempting to grasp on something real that can anchor him—his unfortunate marriage, the religion he was brought up in by a pious father, his mage tutelage under Tokiomi—but all of them proved futile. 

Now with the wisdom that comes from his rebirth, Kirei realized they have all been distractions that merely delayed what was true about his nature all along.

At present, he meets Gilgamesh’s eyes with quiet eagerness, as if he’s ready to get lost in those wine-dark seas. The moment is sharp between both men, and it prickles the priest in an odd sort of way that makes it seem as if only their layers of clothing had served to separate them. Otherwise, they might as well be naked before one another—at least as far as Kirei feels.

“The rhythm of my heartbeat?” he repeats with some reluctance, blinking a few times towards the god-king as he analyzes the situation further, “You have a way with words, Gilgamesh, but I’m afraid I’m not the type who would appreciate poetry.”

He pauses briefly as his gaze moves to the side once before returning to meet the other man’s, “That said, I think I understand what you mean. You want me to divulge what I’ve learned after that charade I witnessed regarding Emiya Kiritsugu and his pathetic wish.”

For a second, disgust crosses his features, turning his already somber features even darker. “To speak of that man offends me greatly, but there’s definitely a necessity to examine the consequences of his foolishness, and how that affects me.”

Kirei places both hands on his knees as he regards Gilgamesh with a more penetrative stare, “Is that what you want to hear, King of Heroes?”

The smile he bestows the priest this time is one that’s both benevolent and sly. He had expected that the issue regarding Emiya Kiritsugu would be brought up, but he decides to play it by ear. Kirei is still a novice in the art of personal discourse after all. There are so many things about the man that eludes even someone like the god-king who is  already blessed with sharp perception himself.

“The choice had always been yours, Kirei,” Gilgamesh's prompt answer manages to be vague all at once as he adds, “And whether or not you are ready to confront your own insights concerning  that pitiful man's ‘fall from grace’ as what you Christians would say.”

Without another word, he grabs the bottle from the priest and takes a swig as well. He then points the fork at the other man and explains next, “I told you before that  your journey will take you to routes that will never be easy, and if you truly seek answers about the nature of your wickedness, further examination as to why you consider Emiya as vital to that discovery you must be tackled, +no?”

Gilgamesh now uses the fork to stab at another slice of egg from the plate, “Why do think that corrupted vessel showed us Emiya's trial and test? Did it need an audience to witness the failure of such a wish? Or was Emiya's wish tied to something else much larger in scale that neither of us can truly know yet?”

With a shrug, he takes a bite and chews muttering, “Would it matter in the long run if all this farce counted for something?”

The priest’s immediate response is a small scoff followed by a deep frown. It couldn’t be helped, given how cavalier Gilgamesh has dismissed everything that Kirei himself finds invaluable. To raise the subject of Emiya Kiritsugu is delicate conversation for him, and even after the disappointment of their last encounter during the Burning of Fuyuki, the priest still perceives said man as a source of interest.

“It matters to me at least,” Kirei answers the god-king earnestly. “Certainly, I have neither the authority nor foresight to say that what had transpired when Angra Mainyu failed to manifest in this war would have more definitive consequences, but I would like to believe it’s a meaningful failure nonetheless.”

He eyes Gilgamesh evenly from where he sits. In absentminded fashion, he digs his nails onto the armrests on either side. There’s obvious tension on his temperament now. With a colder tone than he would have liked, he asks the other man, “Don’t you find it at least a worthwhile exploration, Gilgamesh? Do you not see what a vital endeavor it would be to examine the remains of the destruction that the corrupted lesser grail had spread across this —— city?”

Kirei knows he had spoken too much, if not out of turn. But it’s been a reactionary impulse now to question the  god-king on certain matters that would hopefully aid him in untangling the web of his own contortedly evil psyche.

“The vicious urge grows strong in me, Gilgamesh,” he admits after a pregnant pause as one of his hands move to rest on a spot in the other couch. “And you’re the only one who has proven to have greater insight when it comes to my suffering.”

“Kirei,” the god-king's tone comes off stern as he gives his prompt response, “You do yourself no credit by placing the burden of insight upon me yet again.”

He rests the fork on the side of the plate before leaning back further into the couch. A hand wraps around the collar of the cassock he still dons, “T'is true; I have seen glimpses pertaining to the real nature of your soul, but only you alone can define its contents more accurately than I ever will. So cease this talk that I’m the only one who can read you, Kirei. You should be fine on your own doing that.”

Gilgamesh's expression changes to something milder this time as he adds, “I shall be guiding you to the path you must take, of course. You are  an investment I made a decision to see all the way through the end. And there is so much potential in you, Kirei Kotomine. Now more than ever, I have…faith.”

The terminology he used sounded rather comical, concerning the context on both their ends, but the god-king decides it fits and therefore acknowledges it with a solemn nod next.

“As for that Emiya,” he remarks after a pause. The glow in those serpentine eyes dulls for a moment, “We can speak of him tonight. Rather, I shall listen as you enlighten me with the reasons why he still has this strange hold over you.”

Each uttered word that leaves Gilgamesh’s mouth seems to possess this incomprehensible ability to thaw a few more inches of ice that covers the landscape of his muddied heart. Nobody has ever been able to do that before—not his father, his mentor nor his late wife.

Kirei’s expression rarely gives any indication that he is affected, however, as he merely stares at the other man. Contemplations of what Gilgamesh had informed him with now fill his mind, forcing him yet again to re-examine his own views concerning himself.

“Your faith in me is surprising, King of Heroes,” he replies with a slight bow of his head. A pause ensues that lasts for five seconds while Kirei tries to word his next response as carefully and as clearly as he can manage.

“I have never indulged in retrospection before. There have been instances during solemn worship that my mind tends to go to places regarding my role and purpose in the world, but it was supposed to be guided by my Catholic beliefs, which ultimately proved unhelpful.”

His gaze lowers now to his lap, staring blankly at it. “I believed prematurely that Emiya Kiritsugu displayed characteristics that resembled my own, at least on — a surface level. I figured out soon enough after I abducted and had a conversation with his homunculus wife that he does not share my…’affliction’ at all.”

Without being completely aware of it, Kirei’s fists clench. 

“For a moment I thought I found a comrade in my own struggle for humanity and moral absolution. I thought Emiya Kiritsugu looked at the world as I did, and resented the very emptiness of his own nature. In the end, he was nothing more than a pretender.Worse, he’s a hopeless idealist whose wish for the Grail had caused more destruction than any of us could have imagined.”

Laughter escapes his lips all of a sudden as he remembers the burning wreckage of what was once a peaceful city.

“Pitiful, insipid coward! Curse Emiya Kiritsugu for seeking a perfection that no human can possibly grasp!”

“You claim to detest him so,” Gilgamesh responds in haste as his hand finds it way around the neck of the bottle again, gripping around it as he takes a small sip of the wine. Pursing his lips together, he continues, “…and yet you’re wounded that he is not the soulmate you believed to have been.”

He knows Kirei might raise an objection to the terminology he has just employed, so the god-king dismisses it easily by retorting, “Destiny is a curious thing. Bindings of fate are often more self-fulfilling prophecies than interventions of some merciful or malicious god who wants to dictate the course of your life even though humans are supposedly blessed with free will.”

Gilgamesh taps his finger on the bottle and stares right at the priest, “You wanted there to be somebody else who shares your turmoil, this…'affliction' you speak of. And so Emiya Kiritsugu came into the picture. But alas, he proved to be the antithesis of your wish.”

His serpentine gaze now lowers to Kirei's hand resting between that space in the couch. Without a second thought he places the bottom of the bottle atop it. He doesn’t put any pressure, however and merely allows the glass to brush through the priest's knuckles and skin.

“Some people find one another because meetings among them make the most sense in an otherwise chaotic world.”

Gilgamesh sighs through his nose and looks back at Kirei with a small smile, “Do not curse that man. His struggle does mirror yours, and you can learn a thing or two from his great fall.”

In an instant, Kirei actually cringes away from Gilgamesh for a moment. His shoulders push back involuntarily too, as if an electric current had traveled down his spine, taking him by surprise.

“What a ridiculous presumption, and so unlike you, King of Heroes, to deem Emiya Kiritsugu as my…'soulmate'.”

Even echoing the very word has once more repulsed Kirei. The priest is going to say something else caustic, but then he abruptly closes his mouth altogether as soon as he feels the cold brush of the glass against his skin. 

He forgot that he has placed his hand on a vacant spot located between himself and the god-king. The reminder is enough to shock him to a morose silence. Only his gaze gives away his doubts at the moment. 

It dawns on him that although he respects Gilgamesh and his insights particularly on the subject of his affliction, Kirei doesn’t necessarily like the other man. He’s far too elusive and fickle to the priest; the texture of Gilgamesh’s aura like silk that easily slips between the tips of his fingers.

“I have learned enough from Emiya Kiritsugu,” Without warning, he snatches his hand away from under the bottle and then cradles it with the other as if he had sustained an injury where there clearly is none. “His ‘fall’ was a fitting punishment for trying to control something beyond his own comprehension. His lack of faith is why he was undone.”

Kirei notices that his pulse is racing. Why? Why does he feel this kind of breathlessness that is only associated with running for miles?

“Sensible meetings amidst the chaos?” he phrases for himself yet still uses the same wording as the god-king has. “If we follow that reasoning, wouldn’t you consider what we have together is a meeting of that sort as well?”

The priest, in spite of his humorless personality, never ceases to intrigue Gilgamesh. Tonight is just one of those moments in which he gets to further pry into what lurks underneath that calculated façade. What he had seen so far proves to be something he deems privately as a ‘consistent mystery'.

Kirei Kotomine reminds Gilgamesh of a swamp located at the heart of a dusty, simmering environment. The polluted waters hide unpleasant entities that would prey on anyone who dares to swim the murky depths. 

So how can he, the mighty king and First Hero, resist that?

“You are a quick study indeed,” he responds as he withdraws the bottle and places it back on the table. With a languid move, Gilgamesh picks another piece of the omelette and pops it into his mouth. He stares at Kirei as he takes his time chewing.

Once done, he adds, “What you and I have is a kismet. It's been the only source of stimulation I have for now, which is why I deemed it adequate to keep you around.”

That was only a half-truth. Gilgamesh himself can acknowledge the strange way both of them had orbited around one another. He, however, would like to impose a certain degree of restraint on how much further he and the priest should get involved. 

Burdened by foresight which enables him to read anyone like an open book, he can also recognize that there's an attraction between them; an attraction he needs to control and make use of that could benefit not only Kirei but himself in the process.

“Don’t look so gloomy,” he scolds the other man as a light chuckle escape his lips. His hand then shoots out with a smooth precision and glides across Kirei's shoulder. The established contact is possibly daring for Gilgamesh, considering what he knows.

He edges a few inches closer to the priest until that vacant spot vanishes altogether. Without another word, the god-king runs his palm down Kirei's chest before traveling back upwards to grip him by the throat.

It is a possessive hold; Gilgamesh bends the priest towards him until their noses are touching. 

“You claimed that you shall gladly play the fool for me,” he whispers as he gazes into the other man's abyss for eyes, “And so what should I, your king, expect from such an arrangement, hmmm?”

To drive home the underlying vulgarity of his meaning, Gilgamesh's other hand snakes down so the fingers could fumble across Kirei's +stomach. He tenderly brushes those same fingers through the fabric of the other man's shirt.

“How can you best serve me tonight, Kirei?” the god-king's eyelids droop once he presses his lips against the other's to get a reaction. The tip of his tongue teases only slightly against the barricade. 

This entire thing is more of a provocation than an outright seduction, designed to invoke Kirei into action.

Kirei never should have expected to get a clear-cut answer from the King of Heroes, and yet he hopes anyway that this  time the other man wouldn’t be so evasive. That turned out to be a foolish endeavor in the end.

“Keep me around you say?” He straightens his back even further to indicate he is not a bit least intimidated. “Well, it pleases me to hear that the great Gilgamesh finds the stimulation I provide him to be adequate. I live only to serve, and if I am to be the source of your delight in this world, then so be it.”

Sarcasm has never been his strongest suit, but he is slowly discovering that the more he spends time with Gilgamesh, the better he’s getting at delivering such a type of humor.

He waits for the god-king to retort, but instead he is caught off-guard by the unwarranted physical contact on his shoulder—then his chest—and now his throat. Dark eyes narrow dangerously as his hands clench into fists beside him. It's more or less instinctive. He is, after all, trained to kill if he perceives a situation to be dire.

Kirei keeps staring back into those treacherous ruby eyes as he tries to process the god-king's words and the motive he has for handling him in such an aggressive physical manner.

Before he could offer any comment or subtle protestation, Kirei suddenly jolts —at the sensation of Gilgamesh's other hand now violating him below. His stomach coils as the abdominal muscles now stretch; taut and hardened as if they can serve as a shield.

He grimaces and grits his teeth next. A glare and a slight huff punctuate his dislike of this development. But then Gilgamesh is making a vile attempt to /kiss/ him which puts a strain on the ‘fight vs. flight' defense Kirei has. It's either he punches the King of Heroes or he rushes out of the office in panic and haste.

God damn it all, this is upsetting him way more than it should. It isn’t because he finds the kiss to be an aberration despite his religious upbringing that sneers on anything remotely carnal. No, it is more or less because, personally, Kirei had never understood the sins of the flesh let alone experience their effect.

But with Gilgamesh at the moment…

Against his better judgment, he allows his defense to crumble so he can part his lips and invite that insidious tongue to delve in. He would meet it with his own in reluctance—even as his own hands now cup the god-king's cheeks. Kirei would then angle his head to the left and deepen the kiss with a slight clash of teeth before entangling his tongue on the other's. It’s a dance in which the novice learns from his teacher until the lines blur.

The breathlessness is even more staggering this time. His muscles would grow tense as the pulsating beat of his muddied heart echoes profusely on his ears, haunting—urging—pushing him to fall and fall into the First Hero's wicked little game and never climb back up.

God damn it all.

Gilgamesh is now faced with two choices. As shameful as it is to admit, he has unwittingly subjected himself into this situation; so confident was he that he can catch Kirei off-guard long enough to impose himself on the priest yet again.

In a shocking twist he never could have seen coming, Kirei has responded to his sly kiss with quite a heated vigor. This in turn makes the god-king almost forget himself and the control he wishes to assert. He didn’t know the priest is capable of such passion, much less a carnal one. It's almost stupefying.

Should he deny Kirei Kotomine the chance to explore this angle to their alliance or should he let him indulge, even for just tonight?

They could both use a celebratory fuck.

Gilgamesh regains himself soon enough, thankfully, but instead of disengaging completely, he merely presses closer until he could reach and grab Kirei by the shoulders so he can push the their bodies to land on the opposite side of the couch.

He uses the momentum of that force to shove the priest against the awaiting cushion below whilst he implanted himself on top.

And only then does he break their kiss.

“Well now,” his eyes bears a weight that could crush Kirei alone in a symbolic death, if not already, “Aren’t you just eager to please?”

Without waiting for a prompt answer, Gilgamesh rakes his fingers across the priest's chest, digging the nails into the previously gaping wound where Emiya Kiritsugu shot him.

“Do you wish to go on with this venture, I wonder…”

If he didn’t know back then that he was lost and that God does not seek to redeem his black soul, Kirei certainly does now.

The pooling sensation in his gut—this unfamiliar urgency for gratification—the naked terror his lust could inflict—Kirei drinks it  all like it's offered in a cup, poisoned by the Grail itself and as muddy as the artificial heart it had blessed him with. 

He could not stop. He doesn’t want to stop. Why should he keep denying himself of sins that bleed crimson and as red as this profane god-king's eyes were upon him; seeing through every inch of shame?

Why should Kirei recoil away from the taste of said king's lips; as rich and intriguing as the flavor of wine on the tongue? Oh, the splendor of chasing that sour bitterness feels like it’s all he’d ever known.

Clearly, the only way out of the darkness is through it, and he is not alone anymore. He has the divine literally guiding him towards the only path only cursed beings like Cain would tread.

The seeds of wickedness have been planted and they were sprouting out toxic fruits that Kirei will partake in so he can doom himself to be driven away from Eden forever.

He was not born to be saved after all; only suffered for before death takes its toll, much like it did for his mother, wife, father and mentor. These good people had all been damned just by mere association with him.

Kirei doesn’t fight or resist the present. He tumbles against the cushion below and stares up in awe and surrender at the King of Heroes. Religious imagery plays on his mind; the haunting portrait of the Archangel Michael looming upon the scourge that was once God's most beautiful angel Lucifer has risen into the priest's mind as if to taunt and further put salt in his wounds.

He laughs low and dark and full of resignation as one hand clutches across the golden necklace that Gilgamesh wears around his ivory throat. The sharp edges of it between his fingers are a welcome sensation on his already sore skin. 

“Do it,” he whispers. He’s goading the King of Heroes to exact punishment and claim his spoils. “Plunge your sword and end it all for me.”

Kirei pulls the god-king even closer so their mouths align and their breaths mingle, precariously so. The thunder in their heartbeats blend—a restless uproar—and creates the perfect storm.

The invitation Kirei offered is slick with something as vile as the Grail's corruption had been, and Gilgamesh inwardly winces upon making that association for himself like it had been the most natural thing. 

He also did not expect that he may not have the stomach to push through with this; provoking the priest had simply been whimsical. The entire thing was just supposed to be a test of wills too, fully devoid of the resolution Kirei now seeks to have fulfilled.

How dare does this mongrel assume he deserved a place on Gilgamesh’s bed—the insolence of this man Kirei Kotomine who now looks up at him with an emotion that’s been so uncharacteristic; akin to that of reverence. 

Soon enough, the god-king's lips twitch before twisting into a sneer. It's further made nefarious by the fact that he had finally decided that this deed shall be done. There is no challenge too insurmountable for Gilgamesh after all. New quests and experiences also must be had by his now fleshed out vessel. Besides, Kirei's plea to be taken was that of worship. It may lack the self-awareness of the act itself, but it nonetheless moved Gilgamesh with its sincerity.

It would simply be a neglectful unkindness to pass up this opportunity.

“Do not presume to put your hands on me, Kirei,” he almost refers to the priest with the derogatory term ‘mongrel', but it would only be redundant to do so, “If we are to dance with blades, then where are your weapons, hmmm?”

Gilgamesh only lingers for a second or two, just to make it seem as if he is about to press another searing kiss against the other man's mouth. But then he wrenches himself free the next instant, slithering out of the couch with cat-like grace. 

“I demand of you, priest, to bring out your blades,” the god-king grins now in radiant pride, “I do not have the Gate at my disposal at the moment, so I shall only employ my physical strength. That should make this duel fairly equal, especially on your end.”

He claps his hands together once as his voice rings out in resolute pitch as if addressing an invisible audience.

“Let us have it, Kirei!” he cajoles, “Show me your worth through a duel!”

Feelings are unusual for a man like Kirei Kotomine who has long decided and accepted that there is simply no room for them in his everyday living. This is nothing more than a façade, however, for underneath that surface still lurked a menace whose emotions are always very turbulent. They swirl in motions that go against each other at times, making it more difficult for the priest to figure out their meaning and hidden messages.

And then there’s Gilgamesh. 

He seems to understand these feelings far more astutely than Kirei ever could. For a time, Kirei has believed that only his Creator knows him to the core, but it would seem that this Urukian King of Old proves that he can too. The very thought that it is indeed the case frightens the priest like no other.

“You wish to duel, King of Heroes?” he slowly rises from the cushion of the long couch to eye the other man with a steady gaze, “I don’t see how that has anything to do with our current predicament, but who am I to question your wisdom and decision on the matter?”

There’s an acidic quality to that rhetorical question, but Kirei is not someone inclined to sarcasm even if he is learning and taking social cues from Gilgamesh himself. Their verbal rapport has been an engaging sort; layered, fascinating and sometimes disruptive.

But chaos can be restorative too.

“If I would draw my weapons now,” he stands to his feet without ever breaking eye contact with the King of Heroes, “Would you show me no mercy? Your form is more corporeal than divine now, Gilgamesh. You cannot summon the Gate, not when you’re no longer connected to the Grail and without proper mana transference from your master.”

Reminding the proud king of his limitations of power is probably not the best course of action, but Kirei wants to see how Gilgamesh would react to these inconveniences.

“I’ve sworn myself to you as your Fool,” the priest steps forward once—twice—before he lifts his curled fists slightly from his sides. His pose is calm and confident; the stature of a man who has never hesitated to draw first blood and kill his adversary once the opportune moment strikes.

“If a battle is what you command of me,” Kirei adds, “Then I shall give it to you.”

A second passes. And then Kirei lurches forward with his black keys, the sharp ends of their steel mere inches away from Gilgamesh’s face and chest.

Surely this would turn out to be a worthwhile challenge for tonight, and Kirei Kotomine has more than proven lately that he’s an investment that will not disappoint. True enough, Gilgamesh was willing to stay by the priest’s side, granted he will not become an insufferable bore. He, perhaps, was a tad optimistic, but the god-king simply believes now more than ever that Kirei will not fail to be entertaining.

The untapped potentials of this man are things even Gilgamesh cannot gauge fully yet. And isn’t that what brings him to the fold? That Kirei Kotomine was a mystery he wanted to be the only one to solve?

No, it wasn’t just curiosity and the drive to figure out something before anybody else could. Gilgamesh was more than secure of his status as one who can read people in a precise degree.

This was something else—something more consuming.

He has no time to further dwell deeply on his ruminations for it is then that Kirei struck.

Avoiding it is obvious. It is almost as if Gilgamesh's body has turned as malleable as a snake, slithering past the protruding long blades as he merely steps to the side without the need to catch his breath for now effortless it had been. A few strands of his golden hair did fall away from the vicious contact, however.

“So eager,” he smiles widely at the priest, displaying his teeth like fangs. “This is not surprising. You have something more at stake now, don’t you, Kirei? Ah, but I wonder…”

His fingers curl around the collar of the cassock he wears, remembering that this belongs to the other man, and Kirei's scent is undeniable. Gilgamesh savors that in his nostrils before parting his lips so he can swipe his tongue across his own teeth.

“…do you even know what is at stake here, Fool of a priest, if you lose this grand venture before you?”

It was exactly like clockwork, the manner in which the King of Heroes had reacted to his physical assault and verbal provocation from earlier, if that was indeed what it truly was on his part. Kirei was not certain either. For a time, he considered himself the kind of man who is deliberate in his words and actions and would not needlessly question status quo.

But ever since he became invested in the company of Gilgamesh, he is beginning to learn progressively well that institutions of power, men of noble intentions and ideals of remarkable influence are not only things be questioned and examined further but also destroyed, if such a need ever arises. 

And if doing so will get Kirei closer to his desire to discover the core of his unhappiness, then so it must be done.

Fuyuki's conflagration and demise was only the first step.

Engaging this game of dominance and submission with the King of Heroes is another.

He doesn’t offer a response to Gilgamesh's beguiling question, no matter how much he would like to engage in banter just to appease the other man and to satisfy his own need to hear another insight to come from the King of Heroes.

This time around he instead allowed his body to talk—his weapons, to be specific.

Kirei's next attack was more brutal. He jabbed the black keys straight into the god-king's stomach area. If that never made contact, he readied himself for a roundhouse kick that was aimed right at Gilgamesh's chest next.

The office was spacious and would accommodate this exercise, but Kirei knew that if Gilgamesh cared to indulge in this violence that this place may not survive the onslaught, which also meant Kirei may need to rebuild this office.

In any case, he was more than capable to give the King of Heroes a worthy adversary in combat.

The priest is unbelievably primed for a zealous brawl, it seems. Gilgamesh personally doesn’t mind. If anything, it only serves to further invigorate him in meeting each attack with a lethargic defense of his own. 

To act this way may be a tad insulting to Kirei's caliber as a warrior, but the god-king had already been half-slumbering ever since this ridiculous Grail ‘war' had taken place.

He is just not in the most suitable moods to fight.

Being summoned in this land of filth and mongrels still annoys Gilgamesh. His only reprieve from that untimely burden is his desire to conquer Arturia Pendragon as well as the conversations the priest had provided. Now that the former had been postponed for now, Gilgamesh only really has Kirei to focus on and he’s determined to make the most of that.

He's able to step away before those black keys could cut through his flesh, but then he must have gotten overconfident because Gilgamesh fails to block Kirei's kick at the last second.

It lands squarely on his chest, knocking the air out of him.

Ah, that’s new.

He lies there on the ground for a few seconds before he gets back up in swift grace and throws himself at the priest. His punch connects instantly at Kirei's jaw. That should be revenge enough.

It isn’t advisable, perhaps, for him to feel somewhat confident about knocking down Gilgamesh like that, both quite literally and off his proverbial high horse. Kirei knows it and yet for a moment he still allows himself to gloat.

The King of Heroes has had such power over him ever since the night when he hoarded a space in one of the couches inside the priest’s office and significantly in turn reeled Kirei into a magnetic pull that has become rather difficult to escape from.

Kicking Gilgamesh hard enough to overpower him briefly is therefore a small victory on its own.

But it is still short-lived.

The priest anticipated swift retaliation and yet he’s unable to block the punch that vibrated across his jaw as soon as it made contact. He is thrown against the wall instantly.

Kirei coughs out and feels that his face has caved in a bit before he uses both hands to stretch out the muscles. He relocates the bones of his almost broken jaw and snaps them back in place, using the expertise of a man who had a few run-ins with such injuries before. Of course, his healing affinity helped with that task.

For his next attack, he uses his most favored Baji Quan method which were three straight punches to the cavity area with each strike deadlier than the next. 

 It's to remind Gilgamesh that he has a less than invincible vessel now and should not be so careless in his physical provocations especially when Kirei is no lightweight himself.

He doesn’t look much like a hardened warrior because of his classic handsome features and seemingly sparse and delicate built. Inside the priest’s cassock which he still donned, he looked even more harmless, which is probably why Kirei seems to haste in underestimating him. But Gilgamesh was the First Hero after all, and had faced more monsters than anyone, both literal and symbolic.

It doesn’t matter how repulsive that presumption was now because the King of Heroes—for the first time since his duel with Iskandar—feels generous enough to grant this mongrel a chance to experience the brunt of his prowess. He may not be able to summon the Gate of Babylon, but there is no brawl he never instigated first nor ran away from. Kirei will have his due.

With a narrowing of his eyes, Gilgamesh observes the fluid way Kirei attacks him in which he strategically hits him a few times on his chest. Each blow lands upon the god-king with a searing pain; but instead of coiling from the impact, he erupts in giddy laughter instead. 

Pain had been so foreign to him lately and the shock of experiencing that again is by far exhilarating. 

“Well done, Kirei,” he manages to speak after he was pushed aside to the opposite wall by the sheer force of the priest’s martial-art attack. He could tell that a few of his ribs were broken by now, judging by his labored breathing and how every breath feels agonizing. He laughs again, raspy and broken yet genuine all the same.

Blood gushes from the left corner of his mouth, yet the coppery taste is most welcome, and Gilgamesh happily licks it away while he keeps his gaze on the other man.

He waits for a second or two before he rushes towards Kirei and jumps, wrapping both lithe yet surprisingly muscular legs around the priest’s shoulders before tightening them around his neck as they both fall to the ground together. The cassock drapes across the other man’s face, dissuading his view and giving Gilgamesh more advantage.

Repositioning himself on the floor, Gilgamesh swings one leg away so he can implant that knee on Kirei’s shoulder to keep him pinned down. While the other leg slides under the priest’s head, the god-king punches Kirei squarely on his nose this time. He drives his knuckles deep enough to leave a crater on the other man’s face.

The King of Heroes is taking all of this rather seriously, which Kirei finds both shocking and thrilling. It’s not everyday that one can be locked in a duel with a warrior of legend after all, and an understated part of Kirei might consider it even flattering. 

Add that to the fact that Gilgamesh had displayed nothing but boredom and insolence during the Holy Grail War, so his sudden enthusiasm for this small brawl is quite staggering.

Of course, he has no time to think about this fully because Gilgamesh is ruthlessly attacking him at the present. Kirei had to admit too that the punch to his face is painful. He recoils and writhes underneath the weight of the other man now, trying to gasp for air as he did everything he could to liberate himself.

After he coughs out blood, the priest’s hand shoots up to wrap around Gilgamesh’s throat while the other implants itself on the ground for purchase so he could lift his torso a few inches. One leg  stretches in the air and, using the momentum of his hips, Kirei twists the position between himself and the other man so that he has ended on top. 

It happens within two heartbeats, but Kirei wastes no time and begins to choke Gilgamesh with both hands. Blood still leaks from his own mouth and nose, but Kirei is undeterred. 

He doesn’t really intend to kill the King of Heroes—although this murderous attempt should warrant enough entertainment for them both.

He should punish this mongrel for his corrupted ways and desire to gain the advantage on him, the Great king of Uruk and rightful ruler of creation. These are the initial thoughts that understandably crossed Gilgamesh’s mind for he remained as proud as the day the gods sired him to be the First Hero.

That said, these thoughts along his birthright offered no consolation whatsoever once Kirei had him shoved underneath his muscular weight. Those large hands are latched around his throat before he could process what is happening, and for the briefest of moments he is actually fearful that Kirei meant to do him serious harm.

But only for a moment.

He grins at the priest, his pearly teeth he had no doubt would be gleaming under the harsh lights of the fluorescent lights.

It is an invitation. He wants to see if Kirei could really go through with it. Of course, Gilgamesh doubts it. But the temptation is real between them, considering the priest’s tendencies.

To further drive home his challenge, the god-king lifts one knee to brush across Kirei's crotch, daring him to find more pleasure in this violence and unleash the full extent of his rottenness.

But of course he would be this sneaky and depraved! 

Gilgamesh was, and will always be, a king who rules over the profane and vulgar. 

He should have known better than to tango with a snake who had—from the very beginning—coiled around his mind with a vice grip, refusing to let go. And now this same fiend is making a mockery of Kirei’s attempt on his life. 

Gilgamesh should be frightened of the force in which the priest is throttling him with but is instead smugly pleased about the entire thing.

Although infuriated, the priest does loosen his grip an inch, allowing air to flow through the other man's lungs again. This should give the King of Heroes enough time and energy to speak his piece, but whatever damnable words would leave his mouth will be ignored this time.

“You insult my hospitality with this crude excursion of yours,” Kirei decides to comment first. His fingers remain wrapped around Gilgamesh's throat. 

“I clothed you, fed you and indulged your every whim so far, and yet you have demeaned these rare displays of kindness by instigating a brawl. It would seem that you have the emotional self-restraint of a prepubescent boy, First Hero.”

He might have gone too far with that last part, but perhaps Kirei has a desire to be punished severely, and that is driving him to be reckless with his speech. 

As if to further add insult to injury, the priest accepts Gilgamesh’s coquettish brush of knee against his groin by lifting his head from the ground so he can forcibly collide their lips together until his teeth was gnawing at the other man's lower lip.

Kirei then slams the god-king back on the floor, intent on giving him a concussion. This is even more exhilarating than he thought. Who knew he does have a hatchet to bury with the insufferable demigod?

Gilgamesh’s creepily cheery disposition begins to transform now to crude annoyance. His once sparkling ruby eyes harden alongside his mouth which has twisted into a scolding frown.

Having the back of his head unceremoniously slammed against the concrete floor was something he could let Kirei get away with. Physical pain was a welcome sensation, given that it had been a long time since he experienced it. Besides, this exercise was not only to provoke the priest into revealing aspects of his psyche yet again but also a way to ‘break in’ his incarnated vessel.

But what the god-king could not let this mongrel clergyman get away with were the acidic words that came pouring out of his blasphemous mouth. His insults did nothing to wound Gilgamesh deeply, but the very fact that Kirei thought he had /any right/ to speak them was a grave insolence in itself.

“Kotomine,” he voices his own opinion now as soon as he gathers his bearings long enough to glare into those dark pools of nothing the priest has instead of normal eyes.

A second or two passes before he adds, “It is nigh time I remind you of your place—”

As swiftly as Kirei switched their positions earlier, the god-king does the same thing too and slams the priest below him. He doesn’t even bother making Kirei loosen the grip he still had on his throat.

“You look better like this, mongrel,” Gilgamesh grins. It makes his features rather menacing especially with the light hovering above him. 

His own hand with its delicate, slender fingers wrap around Kirei’s neck next. The thumb pushes down against the trachea. 

”And I know exactly what sort of punishment would fit your crime.”

His body—hardened by both his rigorous training at an early age and his resolve not to surrender to the King of Heroes—doesn't break apart even after Gilgamesh had once again applied his monstrous strength into slamming him against the floor.

In fact, he only ends up laughing. The pain is immense but liberating nonetheless. Kirei doesn’t even realize it, but his eyes have just come alive at the mention of being punished. To the priest, the prospect sounded more like a  reward than anything else he had ever heard. 

He laughs, though brokenly, and grasps around the other man's wrists with both hands. Kirei means to pull Gilgamesh closer yet knows he must conserve his energy sparingly, especially if he hopes to survive this ordeal.

The tightening clutch Gilgamesh had captured his throat in makes Kirei even more aware of their closeness, and how easy it would be now to take what was originally the god-king's game—and win it.

He lifts one of his legs and wraps it around the other male, but instead of using that as a way to switch positions again, Kirei merely imitates what Gilgamesh had done moments ago which is to rub himself against the body of the other, particularly aligning their crotches for the most stimulating contact.

A smirk rises on his lips, beckoning the arrogant king to finish once and for all what he had started. It would be interesting to see how Gilgamesh reacts to this dare.

How vile. How insolent. 

It looks to the god-king as if the priest is actually beginning to /enjoy/ himself.

Gilgamesh cannot help but have mixed feelings on the matter. On one hand, he commends Kirei for at last giving up the idea that joy and sin always have to correlate. On the other, he is annoyed that the priest seems to believe that this is enough to try and take the upper hand from the god-king.

Still, Gilgamesh responds by moving the fingers that clutched around Kirei's throat to cup his jaws instead. They are like talons of an eagle that would never let go of prey.

“Your boldness becomes you, Kotomine Kirei,” he announces in a hushed whisper just in time as he lowers himself to press a very uncharacteristic tender kiss upon the other man's lips.

Though a man of true prudence (as long as the mood suits him, that is), Gilgamesh does pause as he feels that unmistakable pooling in his gut the second Kirei begins to brush himself roughly against him; rubbing with the intent of making him shudder and surrender to the arousal.

The god-king's eyes flash in anger once before he grins widely and returns the favor by nipping on the priest’s chin until he reaches the curve of his throat where the bruises of his previous mishandling are already starting to bloom.

Afterwards, he pushes back against the other man until both of them are moving in a synced, maddening rhythm.

The kiss does not excite, but nor does it illicit repulsion from Kirei neither. He just stares into space as soon as he feels the god-king's lips touching his. To him, this remains as a surreal experience where half of his mind has shut down while the other foolishly keeps participating.

He will not deny that there is indeed a small surge of something electric that shoots right up his spine once Gilgamesh’s mouth begins exploring his throat, with kisses that feel more savage than when he was choking Kirei with his hands previously.

In spite of his own self-control, Kirei writhes against the demand of the god-king's warm body against his own. The priest has no doubt that his skin is flushed as well, coiling tight around his bones and muscles as his own naked desire takes control.

Kirei pushes back against Gilgamesh now too, doing all his best to match the other man in ferocity and rhythm as their bodies kept colliding against one another.

How far he has truly fallen to succumb to this sin—to find himself enslaved by the ambition to keep up with the vile temptations of Gilgamesh, who is, in more ways the salvation that he could be looking for all this time.

Dare he declare such blasphemy and abandon his Creator altogether?

Of all the insufferable indignities that someone of Gilgamesh's power and prestige had to endure, it had to be this era. He still has not developed a fondness for it, but perhaps in time he shall learn to appreciate the small compensations it can offer.

He is, by far, savoring one at the moment after all.

It delights him that Kirei is responding rather warmly and positive to this…bizarre game they are playing. He cannot describe it even more pointedly so an approximation should do. Gilgamesh is frankly stupefied himself. All he knows is that it felt /good/ to rub himself against the other man like this; to feel the pooling sensation in his gut spread across his body, making his toes and fingers /tingle/.

Soft, bated breaths quickly transform into heated grunts as his hands grab at Kirei at the back of his head while he dragged him upwards for a moment to find the best alignment for their crotches to meet. He rakes his fingersn through the dark brown locks and digs the nails on the scalp as if to further drive home that the priest is being claimed…

…and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

Gilgamesh wants to kiss Kirei again, but then at the last second he refrains from it. He speaks instead, “Sing praises of me, Kotomine. Proclaim that I am now /your/ god and this is heaven-sent for you!”

A smile mildly touches his lips as he then perches himself on the priest's lap. The stare he gives the other man is intense and filled with dark intent.

“Don’t be silent! Worship me, mongrel!”

He is still debating about this bizarre moral dilemma he can’t seem to unshackle himself from when he suddenly hears Gilgamesh demand ‘worship’. Kirei's eyes narrow considerably at the provocation to denounce his faith on the Almighty Father he had been brought up to love and obey since a wee boy. 

And for what? Just so he could please the lecherous and vile carnal intentions of a certain King of Heroes during this moment of passion?

He may be dizzy with lust and stupefied by the madness in which this small event had escalated, but Kirei still has a firm grip on his faculties. There is only one God for him, even if He had forsaken Kirei. And so, with a decisive move, he once again pins down Gilgamesh on the ground and withdraws in haste to ensure that the god-king will not have another opportunity to reverse their roles in this disgusting farce.

“That’s enough,” he asserts while taking a few cautious steps back, “Fire may have been cleansing to me back there at the heart of the city, but to burn for the sake of quenching lust with you would not be the same. So let us end this, Gilgamesh, before we regret the result.”

One moment he was on top of the world and the next he was shoved back to the ground, which is the last place a god-king of his ilk belongs. 

Since he’s still in an indulgent mood, Gilgamesh is more than willing to overlook this transgression once more, particularly since it was a means to an end—the end of which is to satisfy both his curiosity and pleasure.

But then Kirei pulls away and dare mocks the exceptional sanctity of this moment by claiming it could only lead to a ‘regrettable result'.
 
“You sound so certain with that conclusion, mongrel,” Gilgamesh spats out, ignoring his lowly placement on the floor for now whilst Kirei hovers above him, “But need I remind you that our encounters had been full of surprises lately, and some of which had even led to your miraculous discovery concerning who you are—what you are.”

At last, the god-king rises and crosses his arms to display a stance of authoritative command. 

“You’re a two-faced fiend, always so eager to fall back on your capriciously pious ways that never once brought you any of the answers I allow you to pursue now with my guidance. Is this how you repay my kindness?”

He steps forward and grabs a fistful of Kirei's black shirt. There was no end to the words he could express but instead he brings his mouth against Kirei's, his tongue and teeth claiming ownership without any expectation of resistance.

The other hand rakes through the priest's scalp to hold him in place as the god-king once more brutalizes his personal space. 

Gilgamesh only pulls away, breathless for a moment, so he could search Kirei's eyes and demand, “We are doing this, Kotomine. Think nothing of regrets and better think even less about challenging me.”
Hands now cup Kirei's cheeks, framing his face.

“Let this be a lesson in obedience. I am your god to worship now, priest. Look no more to your false prophets and lying bible verses. It is I, Gilgamesh of Uruk, who shall provide you the liberation you’ve been to fearful to take.”

Fatigue and arousal are an unlikely combination, which is why Kirei doesn’t react as promptly as he would have done otherwise if he is in better form. But the night's events had taken their toll on him. 

Fuyuki still smolders in his mind's  eye, its embers glowing orange across the darkness of the sky. There is poetry in such an indulgently macabre visual, and it certainly helped him detach from the current situation he has with the King of Heroes. 

But when Gilgamesh claims his mouth and further imposes his person against the priest's body, Kirei does recoil and pushes the other man away; it was hard enough to send him stepping away to gain back even just a short distance between them.

“I have no worship to offer and honor you with,” he stretches his arms to the sides, palms upturned, “I told you already that I am as aimless as I am godless now, Gilgamesh. I see you as divine, this is true, but divinity has little to do with worship or  faith.”

Kirei pauses to lock eyes with the King of Heroes, “This capricious piety you say that I possess, holds together what I deem fit to see through, and that is my religious doctrine as a Catholic man.”

He steps closer to Gilgamesh only so he could cup the god-king's face too, his fingers splayed across the skin of his cheeks.

“You are not so divine anymore either,” he mutters, “…as inconvenient and annoying it may be to hear it. Just as Angra Mainyu provided me with a new organ, so did it do the same with this vessel mortal of yours. Don’t tarnish it so hastily by corrupting what is still pure. To engage in such an activity with the likes of me will indeed be a toxic waste of time.”

He releases the King of Heroes and watches as his words take effect. It could prove to be suicidal for him to speak up like that towards the proud king.

Gilgamesh ought to be offended by this blatant display of insolence, not to mention the misguided rejection on the priest's part in which he spurned the advances of the First Hero and rightful ruler of creation. He should be livid and already coming up with the best ways to punish the mongrel. 

And yet it seemed rather ill-fitted to do so. The god-king may be brash and conceited at times, but he did not get this far ahead in his rule over Uruk if a hot-headed, womanizing hedonist is all her ever was in the end. A king does uphold prudence when it is the right course of action. This is exactly the kind of scenario that demands it. 

Gilgamesh was gifted enough with the subtlety of speech and behavior to convincingly let go of his hurt ego easily right now and level with Kirei's reasoning. And so he manages a smile; one that makes the hard rubies of his eyes even colder, if not a tad threatening.

“Very well, we shall cease these distractions,” he plops over to the couch again as if nothing out of the ordinary happened at all. The wine bottle is still within reach. He takes that and gulps down a generous amount of drink. 

“The night is still young, Kirei, is it not?  I do not feel like slumbering,” he brushes a hand over the creases of the cassock he still adorned. 

“So shall we talk of Fuyuki and what remains of that desolate city, hmm? I know it is still what occupies your mind.”

Grievously astute and insightful as ever, Gilgamesh has indeed guessed correctly what was playing in Kirei's mind. The priest isn’t surprised anymore, for the King of Heroes has proven time and time again that he can see through not only the cracks in the armor but also ascertain the contents of Kirei's black soul.

This earns a half-hearted yet promising smile nonetheless, one that speaks volumes to how /pleasurable/ it was to learn that Gilgamesh wishes to further uncover Kirei's filthy secrets.

“I have no urgent desire to tackle that,” he admits somewhat whilst he settles back on his own armchair. “The discourse may not be readily available at the moment because I myself am still trying to process thetumultuous event of what had just transpired. It had little to do with Emiya Kiritsugu…”

He adds warningly, to state that he has no interest in touching upon the subject of that pitiful man again.

“I think I’m standing on the cusp of something frightening yet wonderful, Gilgamesh,” he leans his elbows on his haunches, staring at the wine bottle's rim.

“And I would beseech some sage advice from you yet again on how best to deal with such a unique circumstance.”

It seems almost impossible that Gilgamesh would show restraint and patience at this point in time after his overt intentions to fuck the other man had been turned down. But the King of Heroes is never going to be a predictable man and canrecover from any insult or injury to his pride with quite a display of discipline and grace that even he himself would be surprised by.

“I have no qualms playing counselor to your demons, Kirei,” Gilgamesh fiddles with the collar of the cassock and then folds the sleeves further so that his wrists are exposed.

All while he addresses the other man, “With Fuyuki reduced to ashes and bones, somewhat of an ending took place. Every destruction, no matter how small, yields a beginning, and now that you are at the cusp of what you consider frightening and wonderful as you say, I would like to know first how you would make of this opportunity.”

He rests one leg over the small table before him, avoiding the bottle of wine just in time as he picks it up again and takes another mouthful of swig. 

Gilgamesh offers it to Kirei, “Do not mince your words. We both know I can see right through any masks you had audaciously hidden yourself in for so many years now. You'd enjoy the freedom that entails in letting them all go, if you were ever so brave.”

At first, Kirei could only admire the smooth display of grace in which Gilgamesh has rearranged himself both in conduct and demeanor. Gone was that lecherous man who had just tried to force Kirei to fornicate with him in sin less than two minutes ago. 

This was the old King of Heroes once more at the peak of his self-belief, and the wine-dark seas he has for eyes examine Kirei now with gleeful observation. 

And the priest has to admit that he is floored by its astounding quality. He truly will never meet anyone as individualistic as Gilgamesh.

“I wear no masks in your presence,” is how he decides to answer the regal man, “I long abandoned them to burn in Fuyuki, perhaps right after I died by gunshot and was given life again…”

He places a hand on his chest and then uses the other to take the bottle. Kirei also takes a generous swig, allowing the tangy bitterness yet rich texture of the wine to quench his throat.

“I seek more answers to the nature of my being—this core of my unhappiness that gets in the way of deepening my insight on what shape my soul now has taken.”

Kirei pauses, “As to how I start with such a quest, can you offer any advice?”

Playing counselor to Kirei Kotomine's demons is something he could see himself getting behind indeed. For one thing, he enjoyed the other man's complexity. He could certainly say once and for all that he was not bereft of emotion when it comes to Kirei.

That’s saying something, since Gilgamesh rarely feels any fondness for anyone aside from a friend he had lost long ago, yet he would never consider the priest a worthy holder of such affections. 

The one individual who came so close to such a distinction was that stubborn King of Knights whose iron defiance only served to titillate Gilgamesh, for such a fierce woman surely proves to be a most worthy prize.

“The ‘ᴄᴏʀᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴜɴʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇss', you say?” Such a poetic declaration was unexpected from the priest, but then again Kirei was always a mixed bag of surprises. 

He regards the man with a leisurely gaze, taking the time to allow his eyes to rake through every inch of the priest's face before settling on the fingers clutching around the bottle of wine they have shared.

“You are on the right track for this quest you speak of,” he remarks next, “Fuyuki has been destroyed, but as I’ve said, something else will rise from its debris and fragments. I don’t mean the physical state of it for which I’m sure your world's architects and slaves will erect new buildings and homes in its lands soon enough.”

With an impatient huff, Gilgamesh crosses one leg on top of the other, “No, I meant the spirit of it. Much like your destroyed vessel has been renewed by Angra Mainyu, you have risen yourself, forged to become a new man.”

He pauses to smile in contemplative silence at first before he adds, “You Christian folk speak of resurrection so loosely, do you not? So, tell me, Kirei Kotomine; what shall herald your own second coming? Surely, you are moved by the parallel you share with the one you praise in scripture as ‘rєdєєmєr’.”

Gilgamesh inclines himself closer to the priest, “Or, better yet, s̲h̲o̲w̲ ̲m̲e̲.”

This private office is located below three flights of stairs. It used to be a cellar before the late Risei Kotomine has decided that it's the perfect place for his son to work and sleep in. There’s a certain isolation about it that suited Kirei more than his father could have known, however.

Whilst the two men conversed, the damp air around them seems to now have a deeper chill, in spite of the bright yellow and orange glow emanating from the lampshades on either side of the couch where Gilgamesh remains seated upon as if it was his new throne.

“I know you mean well when you compare my rebirth to that of Christ’s resurrection, but I advise strongly that you do not equate them to be of the same nature. Jesus of Nazarene was the son of God Almighty, my Creator, and one he had sacrificed to bear the sins of mankind on the cross.”

He doesn’t know why he needs to explain the details of his faith to someone of Gilgamesh’s self-belief and antiquity, but alas it must be done.

“It would seem like an apt metaphor to you, but nothing could be further from the truth. I will never claim to be some kind of messiah whose death and resurrection has a meaningful scope in the larger scale of things. That’s blasphemy.”

Kirei slowly rises from the sofa and eyes Gilgamesh from his six-foot-five stature for a second or two. And then:

“But you did ask me to show you what I intend to do with this new life, and that request I shall oblige.”

Without realizing nor meaning to, the priest extends a hand towards the god-king, his palm upturned.

“Come. There are things about me I have never explored out in the open, but since you have taken such a keen interest, you might as well know about them yourself.”

Gilgamesh busies himself finishing the rest of the omelette since his body still requires sufficient sustenance, and the abruptly concluded excursion with the priest earlier had certainly built up his appetite.

He is listening to Kirei spout on about religious doctrine, though he pays as little attention to it as possible. The flavor and texture of the food he’s enjoying at the moment is more engrossing than whatever Christianity is about. 

True, the god-king has taken some interest with the Bible back when he’d spend time here in Kirei's office waiting for him, in which he not only drank a fair amount of the priest’s wine but also explored his small library.

But other than that, Gilgamesh doesn’t care to know the nuances of a religion he isn’t the center of anyway.

He only has two scoops left of his food when Kirei stands up. Crimson gaze follows him in a languorous fashion before he blinks in mild surprise as he sees a hand outstretched towards him.

A smile spreads on the god-king's lips. He can’t help but remember that strange moment they shared back Fuyuki; when they have to climb a hill together, and Kirei then had also outstretched his hand as soon they reached the bottom.

Gilgamesh keeps his eyes on the priest's palm, as if trying to read his fate as written in the whorls and lines on the skin.

“You will never cease to amaze me…” he pierces through those obsidian eyes above him, “…don’t you, Kirei Kotomine?”

There’s no need for a real answer. Gilgamesh merely slips his fingers across the other man's awaiting hand and clutches it.

“By all means, keep surprising me, and lead the way.”