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In the sanctity of his rooms, silence was supreme. Not even the guards walking the halls could be heard from inside, their shared breathing a clashing of iron in his ears. Darkness clung to the rough stones that made up the walls, shadows draped across wooden beams in the roof, making the space even more intimate. Here, he could shed his responsibilities like the suffocating cloak they were, to take his crown off and give it to the true owner before him.
Uther adjusted his stance on the floor of his private rooms, the ache in his knees barely noticeable with all his focus on his partner. His hands slid up a smooth calf, his lips following his hands, each kiss a reminder of his devotion, of the blessing he was being given, to lay his prayers to the skin of his god directly.
A low voice cut through his single minded prayer using his mouth, his eyes following the voice up to the source. “Say my name.” Uther found himself relaxing, shoulders lowering as he slid back into his divine worship, tracing higher up.
“Emrys.” The king breathed, the name honeyed and pure on his tongue, a height that he, as man, would never reach. But here, in his room he never needed to reach high, it was sacrilegious to even think that he could be above his god. “Emrys.” He repeated, never growing tired of his prayer.
The touch of long fingers combing through his hair had him shivering, head tilted back in stark relief, the lines of his face set in by the shadows surrounding them, the scarce light of the moon only a facsimile of Emrys’ true light. He closed his eyes upon realizing he had opened them, the ghost of an apology on his lips as he kissed downwards, pressing his lips against his ankle, forehead pressed forwards in silent reverence.
Uther awaited his punishment for daring to gaze upon his god, body pliant even as he continued his worship, but it never came, those fingers continuing to scrape along his scalp down to the nape of his neck then back again. His benevolence didn’t go unnoticed, and Uther worshiped harder, his prayers and whispers combining into one, a chorus meant for their ears only.
Each scrape of fingers had him shivering and relaxing, the stress of being king melting away until all he was, was a worshipper. It felt inadequate, that he was not building temples for Emrys, that he had not gone to the ends of the earth just to find a suitable place for him.
A sharp tug to his hair had Uther breaking out of his mental stupor and leaning on his knees harder, a shaky apology and thanks leaving his salted lips, his tongue darting out to taste the brine of his own emotions. He was crying again. “Thank you, Emrys, for pulling me back. I apologize for my lapse in focus. Please, grant me your good will.”
And so he went again, following the temple of his god’s form, kissing his prayers and his devotion into his thighs, over his hips and up to his chest, leaving no inch of skin bare. He could not see, had not earned the right to gaze upon Emrys, but Uther liked to think his actions were made manifest, that his god’s skin was peppered with physical marks that all pointed to him.
Such possession was his biggest sin, and so he went again, covering up every mark with another, an apology for his greed, for his sinful thoughts, that Uther could ever think to be worthy of leaving a single blemish to Emrys’ divine form.
Come morning, his god would hide his divinity behind skin that was not his own, would parade around under his son’s hand. But now, his god was reigning over him, controlling the devout king with little more than his own fingers.
And it was perfection.