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Gilgamesh has never really been something that Kirei would have considered a curiosity, as such. He has studied the nature of Servants and Heroic Spirits, and this one in particular does little to mask his own thoughts and intentions unless it serves some greater purpose, or if he is just feeling particularly obtuse at that particular moment.
Yet the more time he spends with Gil, the more curious Kirei becomes. The man is no longer a Servant, fading away to some place beyond human sight once dismissed - he is simply a flesh and blood mortal now, yet still he comes and goes in the blink of an eye without leaving so much of a trace that he had ever been there, save for a gaping hole in Kirei’s wine collection. It almost seems impossible; Gil’s very presence, along with his ego, takes up so much space when he is there, filling every inch of Kirei’s home, his world, of him. And then he leaves, never for very long, but he leaves and the world goes on as if he had never been there. The same streets, the same sermons, the same scenery in the same colours. There is no hole, no drowning silence, no dull grey where the world had once been golden, just reality in the space where reality has always been, and then he returns and fits back into his reality just as neatly as if he had never left.
Kirei never really wonders why he feels this way, or if there’s another way to feel; he is simply curious. Because despite all this, when Gilgamesh is here, he takes up so much fucking space.
Kirei has returned from Evening Mass to a scene that can only be described as intentional carnage. His house had been empty when he left; Gil had disappeared the day prior for reasons he had not deigned to share, and Kirei was not expecting to hear from him for a couple more days at least. Instead, shopping bags and empty wine bottles are now strewn across his previously immaculate living room, all of them upright as if they have been deliberately placed to take up as much surface area as humanly possible, and Gil himself is stretched out across the length of his couch, looking no worse the wear for all the alcohol save the narrow slits of his pupils being a little rounder than usual.
Kirei has never owned a cat, but he has heard people talk about them and he imagines this is what it is like. Aloof, distant and demanding all at the same time.
“I’m bored,” is all Gilgamesh offers by way of a greeting.
“I was not expecting you back so soon,” Kirei sighs as he starts to pick up the bottles littered across the floor. There is little point trying to clear up the mess just yet - there will inevitably be more - but there is also little point in pretending that he is going to get a chance to relax any time soon. Not if Gil is bored.
“You were expecting me back?” Gil asks, one eyebrow raising slightly, wine dancing in the glass he is idly swirling in his hand, and for a moment it almost sounds like a sincere question. “Ha! How presumptuous.”
Kirei knows he is not the presumptuous one here, but he bites back the comment. He has never asked Gil to stay, or to return when he leaves, yet Gil waltzes in and out of his home and his life as if he has the god given right to do so, and there is little point in arguing that fact with a man that fully, truly believes he has the god given right to do anything. Perhaps he does; Gil’s very presence on this earth is nothing short of a miracle, and his eyes blaze crimson with proof of his divinity, a divinity older than Kirei’s own. Even when he is at his pettiest, there is a fervent righteousness that pours from Gilgamesh, and as a religious man it pulls at something in the space where Kirei’s soul should be.
“Are you not speaking to me now?” Gil asks as he is met with silence while Kirei keeps his focus on discarding the empty wine bottles.
“I am simply tired,” Kirei responds, his tone as flat and even as ever. He knows he does not need to say much; whatever Gil is after will be made clear soon enough, and he has no intention of filling the space before that with idle chatter. Besides, Gil is the one with the true talent for conversation. Kirei knows he is not an unintelligent man himself, and it’s not as if he is adverse to a good discussion, but Gil is the one who finds those threads, those sparks of thoughts and philosophies that elevate their conversations above the mundane, and Kirei is happy enough to let him take the lead there.
Despite his earlier complaint, however, Gil does not actually seem to be in the mood for talking. As Kirei steps around the coffee table to pick up more bottles, a hand shoots out to grasp his wrist, tugging him towards the couch. Whatever drawbacks his new physical form may have had, diminished strength was apparently not one of them and he pulls Kirei off balance with ease. Had the priest’s reflexes not been so sharp, he would have tumbled straight onto Gil’s chest. As it was, he now finds himself hovering over Gil, face to face as he braces himself against the back of the couch.
“I am bored,” Gil repeats, before leaning up to press his lips against Kirei’s. Kirei does not respond at first, still and unyielding as Gil’s mouth works against his to demand entrance. He tastes of wine and heat, and while Kirei would never say he had missed Gil, he has missed this, this fire that sparks along his veins and burns through the bars of ice and piety to set free the carnal brute caged behind them. His resolve withers in the flames and his lips part, returning the kiss with fervour.
He was never going to say no to Gil, and they both knew it.
After a few breathless moments, Kirei finally shifts to straddle Gil, pulling away just long enough to take the dangerously off balance wine glass from his hand and place it on the table as he glares down at his former servant. Gil’s expression is ludicrously smug, and for a moment Kirei considers refusing him after all; considers pulling back just to see the frustration and longing burn blood red in his eyes as Kirei denies him. He wonders for a moment if Gil would accept his withdrawal, or if he would try and force himself upon him in retaliation; to demand, to take, to conquer as befits a king. Kirei knows he is strong, but is he strong enough to fight off a Heroic Spirit?
He quickly realises he does not have the patience left to find out as his cock twitches at the thought of Gil’s teeth and fingers tearing at his flesh, and he crashes his mouth back down against Gil’s, just hungry and demanding as the other man had been. Now free of the wine glass, one of Gil’s hands entangles itself in Kirei’s hair as the other pushes his jacket from his shoulders and Kirei can feel the heat from his palms through his shirt. Suddenly the room feels too hot, the collar at his neck too stifling, and he shrugs the jacket off his arms before breaking the kiss to pull off his shirt, too impatient to bother with the buttons. He thinks he can feel the fabric rip as he pulls at it, but he does not care.
Gil runs his hands over Kirei’s now bare chest, fingers lingering for a moment in something that almost feels like a caress. His hands move lower and Kirei feels the muscles of his stomach shiver and spasm as his fingers trail over them. Kirei has never given a great deal of thought to the concept of beauty, but Gil looks truly beautiful as he watches the way Kirei’s body reacts to his touch, crimson eyes dark with lust and Kirei is content to stare shamelessly as Gil works at undoing his trousers enough for Kirei to kick them off along with his underwear to join the rest of the discarded clothes.
As the cool air brushes against his heated erection, Kirei is suddenly aware of his own nakedness, laid bare under Gil’s heated gaze while the other man - the one who’d wanted this first, the one who’d been writhing under him, not the other way around - still lay there fully clothed, his need hidden from the eyes of the world and gods that did not care to watch while Kirei sat exposed.
A fury he cannot explain surges in him and his hand twitches towards Gil’s neck. It comes to rest just above the flesh, fingers not quite closing around his throat but enough to feel the unnatural pulse that beats away beneath them. Gil’s eyes narrow, and the hint of a sneer tugs at his lips, but he does not protest, and Kirei realises the uncharacteristic silence is a challenge.
This time the fury coils around his guts, and he squeezes hard.
Kirei has imagined choking Gilgamesh before, though he suspects pretty much anyone who has had to talk to the man for more than five minutes has also done the same. The reality of it is startlingly different. The Einzbern homunculus had been frail beneath his grasp, her slender neck easily encased by his hands and so, so easy to snap as what little life she had left drained from her.
Gilgamesh, on the other hand, was all muscle and heat, unyielding and pulsing beneath his fingers as his body fought for air, hips bucking up wildly below Kirei as he convulses and Kirei finds himself rocking into the movement. Kirei stares at the skin turning purple beneath his fingers as they dig relentlessly into the flesh, feeling Gil’s heartbeat start to grow frantic in his hands as if it were his own. He wonders if he could kill Gil if he squeezed hard enough, but he suspects not. Despite the frantic heartbeat and strained gasps as his lungs fight for air, Gil is making no move to push Kirei away, and the hand resting on his forearm is doing just that; resting. It’s almost an encouragement, almost tender, and it’s a stark contrast to the visceral gleeful challenge blazing in Gil’s eyes.
Kirei can feel Gil’s pulse pounding in his ears, and the rest of the world falls away until all that’s left is the sensation of warm, struggling flesh beneath his fingers. He is vaguely aware, somewhere in the distance, of the strained, ragged gasps, of Gil’s reddening face, of the way his own hips thrust forward eagerly into nothing but cool air, but it all falls into insignificance against the feeling of the life struggling against his palms. It is transcendent, and it is enough to take him over the edge.
His grip tightens as the release hits him, his untouched cock throbbing painfully as he spills onto Gil’s shirt. His grip eases as the realisation hits; surprise followed by something that could almost tastes like guilt pulling him back into reality. His lungs burn and he realises he is panting almost as hard as Gil, who is just laid back watching him as his chest heaves and the redness slowly drains from his face.
Kirei does not know what to say. As he sits back, he is dimly aware of Gil’s own neglected hardness beneath him, but the other man does not seem inclined to press the issue as of yet, nor has he acknowledged the soiled shirt. He is simply looking up at Kirei with an expression of pure, unmitigated delight, and the same smugness that had set him off in the first place. It should be annoying, but Kirei does not have the breath left for that.
Gil seems to recover much more quickly, shifting slightly below Kirei as he reaches towards the coffee table.
“You owe me for that. But first…” Gil picks up his wine glass from the table and drains it in a single gulp before shaking it pointedly at Kirei. “Get me another drink.”
Kirei knows he should be annoyed at that as well, but he glances at Gil’s neck, eyes sweeping over the mottled purple marks that are almost black in the low light of his living room, and decides that no, he really isn’t annoyed at all.
For the moment, his world feels full.