[It's not wrong, not exactly: Gilgamesh was using Masamune.
But it's nothing personal, nothing he didn't already do to everyone else he lured into his lair. He's simply a machine, made to give and receive pleasure. Made to watch over humanity, made to do battle with the gods. In part, he can only act as he was designed. He doesn't hate the man, in fact rather likes him. But he's hardly special in the grander scheme of things, which means Gilgamesh beds him as he does all the others.
Except he does with the explicit purpose of fucking him in the near future. An investment instead of a throwaway encounter. To that extent, Masamune should feel rather good about himself—he'd made it further than most, even earned a pet name which hinted at some form of attachment beyond a one night stand. All in all, a worthy performance, which the King will remember and catalogue with all the rest. The dragon with the pretty hair and the pretty eye that he traded fond Japanese with in the privacy of his tent.
Gilgamesh hits his peak shortly after Masamune, and does so more than once, orgasms running into each other in a sloppy chain. He's easy to please and so easy to get off, coming in prolonged and powerful bursts. He makes a mess of them both but doesn't mind it. Nothing a quick bath won't fix, and some part of him even likes it, a physical reminder of what took place. Sticky and hot and splashing over his chest and abdomen as if some sort of perverse painting.
He collapses panting onto his back, and perhaps surprisingly, reaches to draw Masamune into an embrace.]
Come.
[He wants to hold him, wants to be held. He's not entirely a monster, just mostly.]
no subject
But it's nothing personal, nothing he didn't already do to everyone else he lured into his lair. He's simply a machine, made to give and receive pleasure. Made to watch over humanity, made to do battle with the gods. In part, he can only act as he was designed. He doesn't hate the man, in fact rather likes him. But he's hardly special in the grander scheme of things, which means Gilgamesh beds him as he does all the others.
Except he does with the explicit purpose of fucking him in the near future. An investment instead of a throwaway encounter. To that extent, Masamune should feel rather good about himself—he'd made it further than most, even earned a pet name which hinted at some form of attachment beyond a one night stand. All in all, a worthy performance, which the King will remember and catalogue with all the rest. The dragon with the pretty hair and the pretty eye that he traded fond Japanese with in the privacy of his tent.
Gilgamesh hits his peak shortly after Masamune, and does so more than once, orgasms running into each other in a sloppy chain. He's easy to please and so easy to get off, coming in prolonged and powerful bursts. He makes a mess of them both but doesn't mind it. Nothing a quick bath won't fix, and some part of him even likes it, a physical reminder of what took place. Sticky and hot and splashing over his chest and abdomen as if some sort of perverse painting.
He collapses panting onto his back, and perhaps surprisingly, reaches to draw Masamune into an embrace.]
Come.
[He wants to hold him, wants to be held. He's not entirely a monster, just mostly.]