A Gift For Three

“She really messed you up, didn’t she?”

Oberon’s fingers prod at your chest, tracing the outline of teeth carved into your skin. The marks look almost human, save for the canine parts, just a bit too sharp. Bites the two of you are intimately familiar with.

“And you get off that?” Oberon snickers, forked tongue darting between his lips. “Gross.”

“Well, she does, mostly. I’m just an enabler.”

“Oh, my bad. Clearly volunteering yourself as a chew toy is a perfectly normal and sensical thing to do.” He slides down your stomach, his ass suddenly grinding against your lap, and you gasp. “Who’d have thought Britain’s heroes were such perverts.”

“As opposed to you, the worm of the abyss,” your hands come up to grab his thighs, “the most vanilla man in Chaldea.”

That statement is, in fact, almost true. By servant standards, Oberon is stupidly classic; bdsm flies right above his head, costumes aren’t of much interest to an actor, and he doesn’t seem particularly attracted to any body part.

There is one thing he likes, though.

“I’m certainly not as deranged as you people.” His clawed hand grabs your wrist, right where another bite mark reddens your skin. “You truly are her obedient pet, aren’t you?”

He likes to tease.

These teeth imprints- they’re for Artoria; she likes to bite, this little animal, to claw and spit and growl like a beast. They’re for you; you like to see her happy, and you like the reminders of your nights together. 

And, just as importantly, they’re for Oberon; they’re for him to tease, to mock, to poke viciously at, like throwing lights in a butterfly enclosure.

“Stop smiling. You’re disgusting.” So he says, grinding harder against you. He’s getting into it. He’s really getting into it.

You can’t help a laugh. “My bad, my bad.” You reach up grabbing him by the collar to pull him down. “Come here. I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep my mouth busy.”