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Summary
“Hah,” Gilgamesh somehow manages to sound sarcastic even when he’s being genuine, “it’s a celebratory event, so I’ve decided to grace you with my skills. You should feel honored.”
“Skills? I was starting to think you were just bad in bed with how often you put me to work.”
Ozymandias is lying, of course; he knows very well just how good Gilgamesh can fuck him. It pisses him off. All Gilgamesh does is lay on the bed, the damn pillow prince (pillow king?), and yet he still manages to be good when he finally gets off his ass and in Ozymandias’s?
Still, Gilgamesh scoffs, playing into their game with enthusiasm. “Why do the work when someone else can do it?” His hands make quick work of his dress shirt, shrugging it off and then focusing on Ozymandias’s buttons. “Like I said, tonight is special. Tonight, I will show you how a king sits on his throne.”