AN: This is completely unrelated to Ad Astra, aside from also taking place post-Gil ending.
Short and sweet for Valentine's Day, though a little bitterness crept in. King of Heroes and perfection made flesh he may be, but the ideal husband, he ain't.
M for a tiny bit of moderately sexual content and a whole lotta innuendo.
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A Matter of Taste
"Gilgamesh." The king is half-dozing on the couch in the sitting room but he stirs at her voice, one eye opening slightly. "Here. These are for you," she says and smiles proudly at him over the tray of chocolates in her hands.
The candy glistens temptingly against the silver of the tray and she can't keep her smile from widening as she looks them over again. I still can't believe they came out so well on my first try. Mmmm, that smell...hopefully he'll share at least one piece.
Gilgamesh opens his eye a little wider and frowns at her, and Ruka's happiness instantly shrinks. "What is the meaning of this?"
Huh? Why does he look so annoyed? Why isn't he pleased? "Um. Well, it's Valentine's Day on Earth and women are supposed to give chocolate to their partners, so, I just thought…" She holds the tray out a little further, the chocolates rattling against the metal. Her heart is pounding for some stupid reason, sweat dampening the back of her new red dress. "I made them myself. For you, specially…I made them myself."
His frown deepens. "Neither the king's wife nor the king's master should set so much as a toe in a kitchen and you are both in one; have I not spoken to you oftentimes before about your lack of concern for your position? Hmmph. I suppose I can overlook the lapse since it was done out of a desire to please me. However." He sits up suddenly and jabs a finger at her. "You should know well enough by now that chocolate was not the most suitable gift for this occasion! Instead of slaving like a kitchen wench, you should have donned decadent and obscene lingerie to tempt me!"
Ruka grits her teeth as her mind screams at her to just throw the tray at his head and leave. She clamps her trembling fingers down on the ridged edges of the tray, trying to still them: it hurts. "Gilgamesh. We have sex twice a day, every day. You don't need tempting! Everything turns you on! This morning you were groping me while I was trying to brush my teeth! When we'd just had sex literally ten minutes ago! You don't need lingerie!"
Gilgamesh grins widely and leans back gracefully amongst the cushions, his annoyance vanishing like ice on a hot griddle. "White froth on your lips and you are surprised when I desire again to embrace you? Mmm." His hand moves slowly down the narrow curve of his hip, his eyes heavy-lidded, intent. "You should know better, by now. Especially since you are the first woman I have ever known who can somewhat keep up with my desires, endurance being one of your chiefest talents. However." His mouth is stern again. "This holiday (as should be every day) is not about what you think I need, but what I want. Is that not so? I am telling you my desires: act upon them accordingly."
"Fine." She can't believe she was so stupid: husband or not, he is Gilgamesh, the king, ruler of everything except kindness. And the king always comes first. The chocolates pitch wildly on the tray as she turns to go: some almost fall, but it doesn't matter. "Fine. I'll just eat these myself then. Sorry for wasting your time. I just thought that for once I'd do something a little different for my husband, the king who's seen and done everything and is always complaining about being bored, but I'll get you your lingerie instead." Her head is fizzy with unshed tears, but she promised herself long ago that she would never cry in front of him and damned if she'll do it now. "Which will probably last for all of five seconds before you tear it off me like that other time, but if that's what you want, fine, I live to please—"
Her feet leave the ground and she's suddenly down among the couch cushions, her legs across Gilgamesh's lap; the tray, she notes numbly, is still in her hands, every chocolate present and accounted for. Servants can move at the speed of light: she'd forgotten about that. She leans her forehead against his shoulder, breathes out hard. Now what?
Gilgamesh's breath is hot against her ear. "Don't curl in on yourself like a snail in its shell. It is unattractive." His long fingers probe at the chocolates, pushing them this way and that: finally he selects one. "When did I say I would not eat them? Jumping to conclusions is also unattractive."
"So is berating your wife when she's trying to give you a gift," she mutters against his shoulder, unable to look at his face. "Gil, I know you're you, but…just once…"
He bites into the chocolate and makes a noise that might be surprise. "Did you infuse liquor into this?"
"Yeah." The necklace he's wearing has a tiny, subtle pattern carved into the gold. "When you passed out drunk last week, I took one of the half-finished bottles. There was a recipe for a chocolate with caramel liquor crème and I thought you might like it. The chocolates are all different though: there's peanut butter and plain caramel and—"
Gilgamesh's fingers slide against her tongue as he pops the other half of the chocolate into her mouth, cutting off her voice. Bittersweet fire fills her mouth, turns her shock into wonder. Wow, this is really good.
He waits for her swallow, then selects another from the tray and holds it to her lips. It takes her a minute to catch on, then she bites it in half, copying him. Espresso chocolate. He watches her eat, then finishes the remaining bite, takes another chocolate from the tray, bites it, offers it once again to her.
The tenth chocolate bite he holds between his lips, taunting her, and she accepts his challenge, even though he doesn't deserve it. Spicy cinnamon on his lips and tongue, then stroking fingers slipping under the neckline of her dress, pinching and teasing, cupping her breast. Jerk, goat, bastard. The other hand nudges apart her thighs, touches her gently, starts to rub.
She shouldn't let him. She really shouldn't let him, this is exactly what she was complaining about, but Gil's taking the tray from her hands and placing it carefully down on the table next to the couch and laying her back against the cushions as if she's made from crystallized sugar. She lays back and watches his golden head disappear under her red skirts, then closes her eyes. The king's tongue is a white-hot brand against her skin.
It doesn't take long at all: he knows what she likes.
When she opens her eyes again, Gilgamesh is nibbling on one of the remaining chocolates.
"You did say you made these yourself, yes?"
"Huh?" She sits up, pushing her skirts back into place. Normally he'd be inside her by now and while she knows her chocolates are good, they can't be that good. "Yes, I made them."
He feeds her the last bite again, then licks his fingers clean. "Make another batch with the exact specifications and I will add them to my vault."
"I—you what? Add them to the vault?" Her disbelief bubbles out as laughter. "I know they're good, but good enough for your vault? What?"
The royal glare comes out in full force and she stops laughing. "What is so hard to believe? Any of your creations will naturally be of a superior make to the common. And…this is the first time anyone has ever made anything out of simple affection for me. So it is noteworthy for that as well." He looks down at the tray, his fingers playing with the last chocolate, then back up at her and a slow smirk crosses his face. "Look at you, blushing like a maiden. It brings back memories."
"I'll bet," she mutters and starts to stand but Gilgamesh catches her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest. "Ruka, how long does it take to make a batch of your chocolate? The liquid form, not the solid candies."
"Not that long but I'd have to go down to the hotel kitchen since we don't have one of our own. Why?"
He shakes his head. "Nnngh, no, I can't wait that long. Call down to the kitchen and tell them to send up a gallon of their finest chocolate syrup. No. Make it two gallons."
Oh boy, I wonder why on Ninsal he could possibly be asking for two gallons of chocolate syrup. It's going to be a long night. "Gil, I thought you don't like getting messy."
His smile is sweet, and hungry. "I am certain you will clean me most thoroughly. As I will you."
She shivers at the look in his eyes: more than a year and she's still not entirely used to it. King of pleasure. Maybe this, for him, is the only way he can be, she thinks: a gulp of pity and sorrow rises within her desire and is just as quickly shoved away. "Fine. Just as long as you'll help wash it out of my hair," she says as he starts to walk. "Maybe we should go into the bathroom? It'll be easier to wash the chocolate off the tile."
"Embrace on cold tile? No."
"Like that stopped you the day before yesterday? Or last week? Or the weekend before the Winter Carnival, or—"
His mouth closes over hers; he breathes into her and she relents. "Happy Valentine's Day," she murmurs when he lets go and is rewarded with the rarest gift of all: her husband's affectionate smile.