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"Legato." Knives's voice starts firm with that hint of praise that Legato has wanted more than anything in his life. "You've done well, as expected." His lips twist into a smile that only a god can bestow upon him. He steps out from the tank and slowly pads his way towards him. "I do believe that merits a reward."
"A reward?" Legato looks up from where he's on his knees, in reverence, devotion, idolization, and dedication. "Lord Knives...to be in your presence is a reward all of its own." Legato murmurs, his gaze flitting to the ground.
"Perhaps it is, but you have earned more than that...haven't you?" Knives stands before him, a hand cupping his face and tilting his head up to meet his gaze. It's nothing like the disgusting humans who've put their hands all over him. It's wanted. It's desired. "You want more than that, don't you?"
Knives's body suit rearranges itself, freeing his cock from its confines. Beautiful, just like him. The presence of it makes his mouth water. Just to feel the weight of it in his mouth would be enough.
And it's as if his mind knows that this is simply not the waking world, that he finds himself awaking with a start just as he was about to feel the tip against his lips.
He lies there, heart racing, skin glistening, and blood rushing. It's wrong. It's wrong what he's doing. Knives will never want him like that. He is a tool not even worthy of such a task. Knives is a god, and he is merely a servant. To think of such things is hearsay. He closes his eyes tight and tries to will his body to a more neutral state, to something that he deserves.
It simply does not work.
Disgusting. He's disgusting. Knives would be disgusted. He's no better than the other humans, wanting something he can't have.
But no amount of self-hatred tempers the throbbing feeling between his legs.
He will simply have to do something about it....and if he is going to be a sinner, he may as well do it well.
Closing his eyes, he imagines a sturdy weight on him. He imagines, no, he uses his powers to mimic, Knives's gate wrapped around his wrists and pulling them above his head.
:"How greedy you've gotten, Legato." Knives would say as he slides the blanket down. "So desperate for me. You've made a mess." Knives's hand would press against his erection, already making a damp spot at the front of his pants.
Legato lets a pathetic sound leave his lips as he bucks into the force he's making using his powers, straining against the fake binds against his hands. Pathetic. He's pathetic.\
Knives would yank his pants down, freeing his erection. A hiss leaves his lips as his aching dick feels the cold air of his bedroom.
"Tell me what you want, Legato." Knives would ask him, or rather, Legato wishes he would ask him.
"Whatever you'll give me. I am undeserving. I am unworthy. I am but a tool to be used as you see fit." Legato cries out, squirming underneath the weight of his own imagination. What he really wants to say is that he wants Knives to fill him, to fuck him raw and hard, to paint his insides with his seed in a way that Legato will never be able to forget the feeling. That Knives will imprint himself on his insides like he already has on his psyche.
"You are the only human worthy of me." Knives says in his wildest dreams, as he lifts a leg and fucks him deep, filling him in one deep thrust. Raw and burning, completely unprepared because he barely deserves such an honor, let alone one that he has time to adjust. If his body could not handle Knives's magnificent cock, then he should simply die. It's as simple as that.
"You take me so well. As if you were made for me." Knives's hips would be in a perfect rhythm, a punishing pace that hits him deeper and deeper until it hits that spot that has him see stars. Tears prick at his eyes as he shakes from the sheer force. A cry leaves his lips, one almost too loud. He can't draw attention.
What would Knives do if he were too loud? Ah. Knives would press a hand to his throat, pinching the sides just enough to stop the sound, stop his breath.
He doesn't need words to sing Knives's praises. He doesn't need sound to scream his master's magnificence to the heavens. His entire body exudes it. His entire demeanor. Every success, every battle, every action radiates his worship.
Somewhere between the bruising feeling between his thighs and the way his vision is starting to black out, he finds release, a silent scream of Knives's name as he comes essentially untouched, covering his front in his shame and desire.
Knives must never know.