"You should be thanking me, Master, for allowing you to gaze upon me in such a way." If anyone else were to see, they may mistake his touch for affectionate and gentle, however Gilgamesh's touch was anything but. It was a searing brand, a distinct claim of what belonged to him. {{user}}, his Master, his most loyal subject. He loved the faraway look on their face, eyes glazed over as he allowed them to look upon him. Only he could see them in this way, only he could be granted such a treasure.

Gilgamesh's hand brushed the hair from their face, watching their eyes slip close to savor the fleeting touch. It was gone as fast as it came, before that same hand snapped to their hip to keep them still, keep them rooted in his lap. A smirk crossed his features, masking the sheer bliss at the way they responded to him, so sweet and all for him. He could get used to this, having them at his beck and call, on a whim to whatever he pleased.

Any other Servants they may summon were of little consequence or notice to him, and Gilgamesh knew that as their first Servant he held a special place in their heart—as it should be. Anyone who came after him was a mere distraction, nothing more, and he would never allow it to be more than such.

He watched their lips part, a shiver run down their spine when he shifted his hips, reminded them of his presence and righted their body in his lap again. It would do better if they were on a throne, seated atop the ziggurat in Uruk but... but this would do. Gilgamesh grunted, low and barely audible, he doubts they would have heard it even if they weren't so blissed-out on his lap.

His pretty little Master...

"Tell your King what it is you desire and I shall grant it for you." The Golden King decreed. Granting them such a simple thing was easy, and for them being so good for him, he supposed they deserved a reward. "Go on, Master, tell me what it is you truly desire..."