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When Ashiya Douman spreads Ritsuka's legs, the view tugs his mouth into a wide, open smile. What is there to love about humans? They are filthy and small. Even now, as Douman runs his hands over Ritsuka's thighs, she trembles for him, trickles for him, her folds tender and wet as they beg for something to fill them. Foolish human. Is that all she asks for?
"Nnn, there truly is no need to hold back, Master."
For he has made her comfortable.
Ritsuka is on her bed, elbows on the mattress as she gathers the sheets into her fists and worries her lip. Her breasts spill out of her clothes, the blouse open just enough to frame them with the leather straps across her chest. Paper talismans imbued with magical energy caress her nipples, twisting and teasing them with a surge of spells that deliciously trace the tender flesh inside and out. Over her naked womb, intricate red tattoos overflowing with mana, each scrape of Douman's sharp nail triggering pulse after pulse of pleasure and light. The glyphs throb. Her hips buck. Ritsuka screams.
“Dou...man, you…”
"My Master," he says like he knows nothing. “Oh, my dear, sweet Master. Is this not what you asked for?”
Humans only like it when one knows either nothing or everything. Douman only knows what he knows, but he is better than most, so that’s the next best thing, right? But he wants to be on top. He brushes his knuckles against Ritsuka’s tender skin, the gesture slow and gentle. Her body shakes as Douman follows where it feels best and she drips with something sweeter than wine.
“Long, warm nights? Sweet, blissful dreams?”
A drawn line on her womb, another pulse of the runes. Ritsuka cries for release. Her back makes a beautiful arc as she digs her heels into the mattress, hot magical energy stirring inside her tender walls. She yearns for something to fill her, the hole of her raw and inviting, but not one can give her what she wants just yet.
“You look so adorable,” Douman purrs as he draws star-like shapes below her stomach, the sharp tips of his nails careful and feather-light as the magical energy replicates the strokes and sensations within her. “If I were a lesser beast, I would have surely ravaged you sooner.”
“Shut up, shut up, ” Ritsuka whispers, but her eyes glaze over as his words fill her with desire. “You said you'd only—”
“I would only assist, yes.”
The bells in his hair softly ring as he leans in, and Ritsuka draws a breath through her teeth. She meets his dark gaze with her own: half-lidded, hungry and expectant.
Douman laughs.
“I would only take what I require, but I must confess: even I have my limits. You're just so, nnnn, fascinating. You, who fights in the name of something so—”
Fraught, like her body’s efforts to fight her need so terribly. What do humans matter? Surely she knows what she truly needs. After all, Douman knows what she wants to do.
His hot breath tickles her lips. His tongue tastes the tip of her clit.
“But I would also like to please you to the best of my abilities. Is this not an exercise of trust? How else shall we quickly build rapport? Why, I see Servants filter in and out of these walls ever so often, I thought this was only customary.”
He licks the glyphs on her womb, and waves of pleasure crash against her core, the tattoo flashing with an intense heat and light as the pleasure coats her cunt wet. He holds Ritsuka steady as she shivers and twists, and he almost pities her.
“Imagine my surprise when I heard you've been intimate with none!”
Douman punctuates the sentence with a tug of her legs. Ritsuka squeaks and shields her face with her arms to hide her blush. Douman doesn’t understand. Why is she so shy? It’s not like pleasure is inhuman. In fact, it might even be the most human feeling of all.
“I intend to change that, I do.”
Because he wants it, too.
The feeling of a warm body against his own, telling him what it is good for.
The sound of a voice in his ears, giving him a world of all he could ever ask for.
He showers her with kisses. He kisses her clit, sucks it, presses his tongue against the bundle of nerves and licks it clean. He kisses her lips, his tongue running all the way down the glistening folds until she feels his warm breath tickling where she opens. He kisses her walls, tongue teasing the edge of her entrance so he can taste her better. She moans from it, moans for it, but when she tells him to hurry, hurry, the kisses stop.
Douman answers her glare with a click of his tongue.
“There’s no need to rush.”
Douman wants to savor this. It’s not everyday he has her full attention.
Her cunt catches the light with her slick, so Douman swirls his long, thick tongue around her rim, the motion slow, hot, and torturous on the pink, raw flesh of her. He catches her taste before it drips on the sheets. He drinks it in. Then he twists her up, shoves her down, and pushes his tongue into her wet, tight cunt.
A cry pours out of her throat.
Ritsuka’s heels frantically dig into Douman’s naked back, her hands in his hair, sweat rolling down the valley of her bosom. Her sweet voice sobs his name when she isn’t sucking her own fingers, imagining his length in her mouth. The paper shikigami slip off the peaks of her breasts, and she rubs wet circles around them, into them, pushing pleasure into the pebbled skin until she believes that this, too, is Douman’s work. The sound of her body and breath is like smoke in the air, and the spit-wet, tongue-driven ecstasy fogs her senses.
Was she always this lustful? Oh, Douman doesn’t mind. The way Ritsuka says his name only makes him like it.
His tongue reaches places her fingers couldn’t. He sends mana into her tattoo, his tongue curls into where she likes it, and she says his name louder, the pleasure irresistible and arresting. She locks her ankles behind his back as her walls coil around his tongue, clinging for dear life, but he keeps licking the same place that makes her cry for the gods, and her thighs tremble violently in rebellion. The scent of sex fills the room as she struggles under his strength and sharp claws. Finally, Ritsuka throws her back against the mattress in surrender, and Douman’s tongue conquers her long after she loses the ability to speak.
Then, he relents. Thin lines of clear liquid stretch and break from open cunt to open mouth, letting his tongue hang and spit dribble onto her slick skin before slurping it up with satisfaction.
Douman hums. In the dim light of the room, his eyes gleam with mischief.
“Your body must be so tired, Master, if it desires to be touched so desperately.”
“ Douman, ” she growls, and he is satisfied to know where her frustration lies.
“Shh,” he whispers, the mattress sinking as he climbs it, “be still, my master. The night is far from over.”
But Ritsuka is already a mess, hair disheveled and body drenched in sweat. Her exposed and raw chest rises and falls to the rhythm of their hearts as she gazes up at Douman, looming over her in all his bewitching beauty. Their eyes meet, and Douman feels a heat travel down his core. Why does she lie there and take it? It is so much easier to use a command spell. He’d like to see her try it.
“Nnn, I may have underestimated myself. That is not so often the case.”
Their laughter is low in his broad, bare chest.
“Now, Master. As you can see, this humble priest has fulfilled the objective you have given them. I would never disobey your very command.” Douman draws another star on Ritsuka’s womb, slow and deliberate. She grabs the sheets and makes another high-pitched sound between clenched teeth. “However, I see your body aching with a new desire, and it spurs me to hear your next wish. Please tell me, my dear master. What is it that you want?”
"Nnh, Douman," she chokes, still caught in the near constant pleasure against her walls, magical energy drilling into that same sweet spot. “Please, I don’t— Fuck—”
“Nnn! Yes, yes. I do believe that would be the most proper course of action. I must admit that I would like that very much for myself, but even I realize there is a certain order to these things.”
Douman rises, light and shadow tracing his form forged by ghosts and gods and dreams he was never able to reach. Even now, in all his divine, statuesque glory, he has yet to surpass humanity. That is fine and well; his victory will be in due time. For now, he learns.
What is there to love about humans? Douman watches as Ritsuka gazes upon him in awe, his body like a marble statue of some forgotten age, sculpted in the shape of some ancient, powerful deity. He likes the attention. He takes a bottle from the nightstand and smears the liquid over his solid erection, his fingers spreading it from the head to the root, coating every inch until the lotion drips between his fingers. Is Ritsuka watching? He so badly wants her to.
Douman’s cock is thick in his palm as he strokes it with purpose, working himself until he is rugged and rock-hard. He can feel Ritsuka’s gaze trace the shape of his cock and follow the hand that pulls back its skin. He waits for her move, and slowly, surely, her fingers run down the jut of her hips and the folds of her slit. Her digits begin to pump to his rhythm. She opens her mouth. He licks his lips.
“Now, Master. I am always at your command.”
Ritsuka rolls over and, after some deliberation, shyly spreads her flushed cunt, hot and dripping with sweat.
“Please just get it over with.”
“My, my,” Douman sighs, “you sound as if you don’t like this, Master. Does my body not satisfy you? I suppose you already have a fine selection of partners. Who am I? I simply pale in comparison. We can always stop if you’re unwilling—”
“Don’t stop!” she shouts, but the next words are a trembling whisper: “Don’t say that. I asked you to do this. I asked you.”
Her face sinks into the pillow. His heart skips a beat.
“I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to, okay? You’re the only one who—”
Douman’s hips thrust into her before she can finish, and he is certain her cries pierce the walls of the Wandering Sea. He wraps his large hand around her small neck and grunts as pleasure courses through his veins, the wet and shameless sounds of their bodies echoing throughout the room as he fucks her like a dog in heat, desperate to fill her to the brim. He wets his lips, dry from his ragged breath, and cackles in momentary victory. Like this, he is no longer a Servant. He is a beast of instinct, hungry for blood, clawing for Ritsuka so he can crush her in his arms.
“How is it, Master?” he pants between the slamming of their hips, “I hope you're enjoying yourself.”
“Dou, man…” Ritsuka gasps, twisting the sheets in her hands. She feels her cunt dribble each time his cock sinks into her, and she burns with embarrassment. “Can't, breathe…”
“I deeply—” He thrusts on a stroke in. Ritsuka shivers and moans. “—apologize. Am I lacking in affection? Nnn, that won’t do. To be lacking is most undesirable.”
Douman lets go, but he doesn’t leave. His weight shifts, Ritsuka’s walls still tight around him, and he embraces her from behind, arms around her shoulders. He caresses her head and presses gentle kisses to her neck, the motion practiced and cold. When humans intertwine, it is rarely love.
But Ritsuka says this, and Douman is not sure what to think.
“You’re perfect.”
She murmurs before he reaches her lips, “Shut up. You’re perfect.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he kisses her before she takes it back. He can hardly be blamed for what happens after this.