Kirei knew he'd have to address it at some point with his old servant, but he had been hoping to avoid the conversation for as long as possible. It was not a difficult task, as Gilgamesh's returns to the church were sporadic at best, and usually late at night. But when Kirei came home one day to see the King of Heroes standing in front of an untrimmed pine tree, tugging on one of the artificial branches, he knew they'd have to discuss it that night.
"Kotomine. I do not understand the meaning of these new decorations you've put up over the last week. I do not appreciate such tacky blights marring my place of stay." Gilgamesh did not turn around to face Kirei as he spoke, staring with disdain at the tree.
The priest rose an eyebrow at the comment. He thought there existed an interesting dissonance in how the man was so quick to dismiss the traditional ornamentations as 'tacky', while standing draped in golden jewelry and flamboyant leathers. He supposed it was just a microcosm of Gilgamesh's overall lifestyle - the arbitrary assignment of values that he regarded as law. With that in mind, Kotomine crossed the room and sat down on the couch, pulling a packet of papers from his coat and laying them on his lap. Perhaps if he looked busy, Gilgamesh would not press the issue.
"They are Christmas decorations, Gilgamesh. Surely the Grail gave you knowledge of local holidays when you were summoned, yes?" Kirei pointed out, studying one of the papers - a form sent from the Association.
"Of course. Christmas - a day in which the peasants exchange petty gifts and half-hearted platitudes. Usually spent with family, as if a person's relatives mean more on one specific day. How quaint." Gilgamesh drawled.
"Hm. Accurate enough. Then what is it you do not understand?"
Kirei heard footsteps circle around the couch, coming to a halt in front of him. Looking up, he saw that Gilgamesh had decided to take a seat on the coffee table, across from him. Gilgamesh picked up a chipped plastic figure from the miniature nativity scene and turned it over in his hands.
"Oh, I understand the symbolic purpose of these decorations. What I don't understand is why you have put them up, Kotomine. I didn't take you for a tacky man. Or was I wrong?" He said.
Shuffling the papers in his hands, Kirei refused to indulge his servant's provocations for attention. He didn't even look at the man as he answered.
"As the head of the church, I am expected to follow certain traditions. Decorating the church grounds in accordance to the Catholic celebration of the holiday is just one of them."
Not one to be denied, Gilgamesh leaned forward plucked the papers out of Kirei's hands, flipping through them for himself. "How boring." He muttered. "Will you be partaking in the giving of gifts as well?"
Forced to give his attention now to Gilgamesh, Kirei shook his head. "I don't have anybody who expects a gift from me. Perhaps I will purchase something for Rin, as she might anticipate that, but that is all."
Gilgamesh tilted his head, his red eyes sliding upward in contemplation. "If you only give gifts because they are expected, does that not render the whole affair meaningless?"
"Would you think it had meaning even if it was unexpected, Gilgamesh?"
A smile crept up on the other man's face. "Heh, I admire your observance, Kotomine. And you are correct - I think the holiday is nothing but the exchange of trifles, to appease one's moral conscience. But as king, I need no conscience, and there is nothing valuable in this world I don't already possess. What do I stand to gain from such an event?"
Kirei reached to take back the packet of paperwork, but Gilgamesh drew it further away, just out of his reach. He recognized that look in the man's slit eyes - an inescapable hold that dominated anything it chose to hold in the reflection of its crimson pools. Whenever he met such a gaze, Kirei remembered that the other man had once commanded a large portion of the world's population, and he understood the true meaning of the charismatic power that allowed the king to do so. So he kept still, and decided to let Gilgamesh play out his little game.
"Well, you assume that what people want is material gain. However -" Kirei started.
"Obviously. Wealth is what drives the heart of men." Gilgamesh interjected.
"However," Kirei continued, "proponents of the holiday would say that the gain is not in the actual value in the gift. That the giving of the gift is a symbol of your affection for another person, and that is what matters."
Gilgamesh threw back his head and laughed at the answer. It was a sound dripping with mockery, and yet it was just as filled with pleasure as when he laughed out of pure enjoyment.
"And yet, these peasants, they give gifts to those they loath, hoping it will mask their hatred for one another. What useless people this age has. And yet how entertaining! I imagine these people, they rush to see who can give each other the more lavish gift. The winner gets to pretend they are superior, and the loser is left feeling guilty over their inadequacy." Gilgamesh speculated. "Am I correct?"
Unable to restrain himself, a smirk crawled across Kirei's countenance. "Indeed, your analysis is quite astute, Gilgamesh."
Another laugh. "I'm surprised. I thought this would be a holiday you despised, but I see now that I was wrong. Of course you'd enjoy such a chaotic, insufferable holiday. May I make a suggestion?"
Though Kirei doubted any advice offered from the arrogant king would yield desirable results, he nodded his head. Leaning back into the couch, he said, "Of course."
The king's red eyes gleamed, his slit pupils expanding. "If you must get the Tohsaka girl a gift, why not give her something she cannot stand? Then, watch her be forced to pretend to be grateful for it, adding to her unhappiness. Does that not sound fun?" He said, leaning forward. His hand touched down on Kirei's thigh as he grinned.
"Hm. I will have to think about that." Kirei said, though the glee that lit up his eyes betrayed his answer. "And you? I suppose you do not plan to receive or give any presents?"
"Why would I? I am above such banal traditions. I do not need to prove my superiority to anyone. I do not need to win anyone's approval. As the king, I already have all of it." Gilgamesh declared.
"Of course. And I would not expect the man who cares for no one to care about such symbols." Kirei added.
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes, which drifted off to the side. "Hm. Yes."
After a second, the golden servant handed the stack of paperwork back to Kirei and stood up. He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away, in the direction of the room Kirei kept for him. He stopped, though, in front of a bowed wreath hung up on the wall.
"Kotomine. I still find these ornaments atrocious." He stated.
Kirei, who'd just started to relax at his servant's departure, gave a deep exhale. He put the papers down on the coffee table and said, "Do you have any gold tinsel in your treasury, King of Heroes? Perhaps you could improve upon their aesthetic value."
He heard a laugh from behind him. As their time together went on, Kirei became more comfortable speaking to Gilgamesh with flippancy. Instead of being insulted, which would prove fatal, the other man generally took it with amusement.
"I am going to have some wine and go to bed. Kotomine, you have permission to join me if you wish. For either activity."
"Perhaps." Kirei answered.
As he heard the footsteps disappear, he leaned back and allowed himself to finally relax some. Though he enjoyed Gilgamesh's company, being in close proximity to the man lent an air of thick tension, drawn from the knowledge that any whim could bring about a death sentence. He did not think that Gilgamesh would ever choose to dispose of him, but the rational thought mattered little. Just the sense that the servant was capable of such an act was enough to make anyone uncomfortable in his presence.
He wondered if Gilgamesh planned to do anything for the holiday. He thought the man would at least be somewhat interested, as it was his first time experiencing Christmas. Kirei shrugged the thought off, telling himself he should take relief simply that the king hadn't thrown a fit over the admittedly hideous decor. He'd expected a much worse reaction. So many months together, and the servant continued to surprise him.
Kirei turned back to his paperwork, and as the wind outside beat at the glass windowpanes and the candlelight beside him cast shadows over his face, the priest forgot all about the conversation that just transpired.
It was one in the morning on Christmas day when Kotomine Kirei arrived home from holding the annual holiday mass. The priest entered the door with hunched shoulders, fatigue darkening the skin under his eyes and deepening the creases of his visage. He'd spent all night prior putting together the holiday mass - the first he'd ever held. Understandable, as it was only his first year at the church in Fuyuki, and he'd focused his theological training on other, more physical tasks. The tiredness did not weigh on his mind, however. Rather, he found a perverse enjoyment in the aching of his body, like the flagellant holy men of past. He thought he would detest holding Christmas mass, with its message of hope and spiritual uplifting, but had actually found some pleasure in the occasion. And as he dropped his coat on the couch and entered the bedroom, he saw the reason for his enjoyment seated in the middle of his bed.
"Gilgamesh."
Earlier that day, Kirei had been halfway through the opening hymn when he heard the door open to admit a late parishioner. He hadn't thought much of it, until he looked towards the sound and saw Gilgamesh standing there in the back, dressed in casual and relatively down-played attire for the kingly man. He'd caught himself before his speech or appearance betrayed his shock, but his body tensed with the first flutters of concern. He'd thought nothing Gilgamesh did anymore could shock him, but he'd been wrong. To his relief, Gilgamesh had, after meeting Kirei's eyes, taken a seat in one of the back pews and picked up a tattered Bible, blending in with the congregation.
For the rest of the mass, Kirei's eyes had sought out his servant as often as possible without it becoming suspicious. He watched Gilgamesh's lips stretch, jaw clenched, as Kirei preached humility and charity, placing the meekest of men at the top of the hierarchy. When he listened to the parishioners engage in a trite and off-key Christmas carol, he saw Gilgamesh furrow his brow in irritation and shift in his seat, refusing to partake in the singing. He noticed the bitter disdain in the flashing red of Gilgamesh's eyes as he mouthed along to praise a God the man neither cared for or worshiped. And when the donation tray circulated back through the pews, Kirei stared straight into Gilgamesh's eyes as the king pulled gold coins from his pocket and dropped them in the tray, his fingers tensing as if the action was physically painful. Throughout the entire ceremony, Gilgamesh sat amongst the congregation as a blemish of misfortune and frustration that alone made Kirei's heart alight with pleasure. At the end of the mass, Gilgamesh had left before Kirei could seek him out.
Now, the man lounged in the middle of his bed, a half-drunk glass of wine in one hand. The bottle laid empty on the floor. With the wave of his free hand, Gilgamesh beckoned Kirei forward, and the priest obeyed, sitting down on the bed beside the man.
"Kotomine. Did I surprise you, today?" He asked, extending the glass of wine towards the other man.
"Yes, if that was your goal, you succeeded in taking me by surprise, Gilgamesh." Kirei said. He accepted the glass and put it to his lips, downing the remaining half of the smooth, ripe liquid.
"You are more eloquent than I expected. But just as loquacious as I thought too. I was surprised your congregation did not nod off at some points. You ought to work on that. Unless, of course, you prefer that effect?" He said, eyes trained on his master. From the dilation of his pupils, the way the red tint of his irises swirled, he appeared to take delight in watching Kirei swallow his wine.
"If you did not already know the answer to that, you would not have shown up at the church tonight." Kirei answered.
That haughty laugh slipped from Gilgamesh's lips. "True, true. So you understand what I intended to do, then."
"Was it miserable, King of Heroes?"
"Oh, incredibly. What a tedious affair, filled with insolent teachings." Gilgamesh said, the words clashing with the pleased smirk that tainted his expression, with the lust that deepened the color of his eyes and swallowed Kirei's reflection whole.
Kirei decided to call him out on it, as his curiosity was peaked. "For someone claiming to be suffering, you appear rather enthralled, Gilgamesh." He said.
The King of Heroes reached out and rested a hand on the back of Kirei's head, fingers enmeshed in his longer-than-usual locks. Gilgamesh had a particular penchant for that move, often combing his fingers through the priest's hair when the man was trying to work. Before he knew it, Kirei had started growing it out to better accommodate Gilgamesh's enjoyment. He kept still as Gilgamesh drew nearer to him.
"Haven't you learned anything, Kotomine? I'm disappointed. You of all people should know that suffering and pleasure can coexist with no problem. That terrible ceremony evokes misery, yes. But in doing so, I get to watch you struggle with your inevitable sadistic pleasure. I get to watch you indulge your deepest desires - in front of your pious peers to boot. And I get to know that I controlled that reaction. How entertaining, indeed." Gilgamesh said, leaning in further so that those reptilian orbs took up most of Kirei's line of sight.
"Then you do understand purpose of Christmas, I see. I did not expect this. But I suppose it was inevitable, for people such as you and I. Our gifts towards each other cannot be corrupted by the usual human treachery, because our desires themselves are already corrupt. And we know it." Kirei speculated.
"Exactly. Much better, Kotomine, perhaps you can redeem yourself after all. And you are right - your pleasure was a gift towards me. What an interesting exchange." Gilgamesh said.
"And what was the meaning of your gift, Gilgamesh? Was it only to get pleasure for yourself? Or was it the symbol we talked about, that of affection?" Kirei pressed. He did not have to worry about treading carefully around the man verbally anymore. Gilgamesh took no challenges seriously, and he always viewed their conversations more like a game than a threat.
Gilgamesh's smirk crept even further upward, baring a glint of sharp incisors. He looked upon his master as a predator might upon a feisty morsel - with desire and narcissistic derision, and just a touch of admiration. "It would be more entertaining to leave that to your deduction. If you can't figure it out, you are yet another mongrel not worthy of my time." He said.
Kirei drew back as the servant slithered his free hand under his shirt, running up his torso. But Gilgamesh's grip on the back of his head only tightened, and he moved forward to compensate for the distance. "You look tired, Kotomine. This is a source of pleasure for you, yes? Let us further your exhaustion, before you turn in for the night." He suggested.
However, the edge in his gaze left no room for refusal, so it came across as a command instead. In fact, Gilgamesh seemed incapable of just suggesting anything, with his imposing nature. But Kirei would not protest. Because Gilgamesh still stood as the only being to view him with those eyes, as if he was a treasure worthy of praise instead of a broken item. The only person who knew the truth of him, that was.
As if reading his thoughts, Gilgamesh pushed Kirei down until the priest's back pressed against the mattress, the wine glass rolling out of Kirei's hand. And, tilting his head, he said, "You want me to say I find you beautiful? How womanly of you. I do, of course. I find all who engage in that miserable and impossible struggle to possess beauty."
Kirei wrapped one arm around the slender king's waist, causing the other man's eyes to widen in a moment of surprise. Kirei was not usually so openly reciprocal. But today was different.
"Merry Christmas, Gilgamesh." Kirei said, pulling the man's body to press firmly against his own.
Gilgamesh buried his head in the crook between Kirei's shoulder and his neck. As his lips hovered over the tender flesh of his partner, his body tense with anticipation, he whispered the words for the first time.
"Merry Christmas, Kotomine."