Cú dissolved into golden motes. The shelter felt significantly larger without him—quieter in a way that had nothing to do with volume and everything to do with the absence of his presence, which had occupied space like a physical force.
Four people remained.
Mash gripped her shield with both hands. Her knuckles had gone white. She stared at nothing. Griswald attempted to regulate his breathing. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Steady. Controlled. As though approaching the situation from a medical perspective would somehow strip away the mortifying reality of what they were about to do. Again. In front of witnesses. Again.
Ritsuka stood with one hand rubbing the back of her head, orange-red ponytail swaying as she tilted her neck side to side. Her smile was forced and awkward. The mischief that usually animated her features had dimmed into something closer to uncertainty.
Olga hadn't moved.
She stood precisely where Cú had left her, spine rigid, arms crossed beneath her chest, face locked in a glare that could have flash-frozen seawater. Her cheeks burned crimson. The contrast between her expression and her complexion created a visual paradox—fury painted across mortification, rendered in scarlet.
Silence stretched.
Ritsuka cleared her throat.
"Right. So." Her voice carried artificial brightness, the kind deployed when trying to shepherd uncomfortable situations toward resolution. "I guess we just... do the same thing as before the last fight?" She paused. Her smile shifted—acquired edges. Mischief crept back into her amber eyes like a cat that had spotted an unattended fish. "Unless—"
Her gaze swung toward Olga.
"—you want to join us this time, Director?"
The temperature in the shelter dropped ten degrees.
Olga's glare intensified into something that transcended mere facial expression and entered the realm of weaponized disapproval. Her golden amber eyes narrowed into slits. Her lips compressed into a bloodless line. She said nothing. Not a word. Not a sound. Just stared at the three of them with the concentrated fury of a woman whose patience had been tested beyond all reasonable limits and found catastrophically wanting. All while her face had the shade of a tomato.
Her mouth opened.
"Perverts."
The word emerged as barely more than a whisper—venom distilled into a single breath.
Then she turned. Her coat flared. Her silver-white hair whipped behind her like a storm banner as she marched toward the shelter's exit with footfalls that somehow managed to communicate outrage despite the rubble-strewn floor muffling any actual sound.
She vanished through the doorway.
Ritsuka watched her go. She shook her head slowly, ponytail swaying, expression caught somewhere between amusement and resignation.
"Shame." She turned back toward Mash and Griswald. Her smile returned—softer now, stripped of its earlier mockery. "She could've used the stress relief."
Mash's blush deepened. Her violet eyes remained fixed on the middle distance, as though addressing anything directly would cause spontaneous combustion.
Ritsuka's attention shifted fully to her. The playfulness drained from her posture. What remained was genuine—earnest in a way that Ritsuka rarely allowed herself to be.
"So." She gestured vaguely between herself and Mash. "Do you want to do this with me again? Or—" Her head tilted. "—would you rather do it alone with him?"
Mash's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound emerged. Her grip on the shield tightened until the metal groaned faintly under the pressure.
"I—I don't—I mean—" Her voice fractured into stammering fragments. "Either is—both are—"
"Because you do get a choice." Ritsuka's tone sharpened. Not cruel. Firm. Protective in the way someone might protect a friend from making decisions based on obligation rather than desire. "This is about you being comfortable. About what you need."
She jerked her thumb toward Griswald without looking at him.
"That horn dog doesn't get a say."
Griswald's brain required several seconds to process the statement.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." Ritsuka's grin returned—wicked, teasing, absolutely merciless. "You'd love nothing more than to have my sexy body again. Don't even try to deny it."
Heat detonated across Griswald's face. His mouth opened. Words attempted to form. His higher cognitive functions staged a complete and total walkout, leaving only incoherent sputtering in their wake.
"I—that's not—I didn't—"
"See?" Ritsuka's laugh rang bright against the concrete walls. "Look at him. Already thinking about it. Bet he's been thinking about it since the last time." Her amber eyes sparkled with undisguised mischief. "Bet he can still taste you."
Mash made a sound. Not a word. Not quite a squeak. Something between the two—a noise that suggested her brain had briefly ceased all non-essential functions and was now devoting its full processing power to figuring out how to become invisible through sheer force of will.
Griswald's hands moved on autopilot—covering his face, pressing his palms against his burning cheeks as though physical pressure could somehow force the blood back down where it belonged.
"Ritsuka, please—"
"What?" She tilted her head, expression radiating innocence so exaggerated it circled back to mockery. "I'm just being honest. We're all adults here." A pause. Her grin widened. "Well. Mostly adults."
Mash's shield lowered an inch. Her violet eyes finally unstuck themselves from the middle distance and found Ritsuka's face. Her voice emerged quiet. Uncertain.
"Could we—" Mash's voice caught. She swallowed. Tried again. "Could Senpai and I have some privacy?"
The question emerged barely louder than a whisper, but it carried weight—vulnerability wrapped in determination. Her knuckles had gone white around the shield's edge.
Ritsuka's teasing expression softened immediately. The mischief drained from her features, replaced by something gentler. Understanding.
"Yeah. Of course." She straightened, brushing dust from her jacket. Her smile returned—warm this time, stripped of its earlier mockery. "Take your time. Both of you."
She turned toward the doorway, then paused. Glanced back over her shoulder.
"I'll go make sure Olga doesn't set anything on fire with that glare of hers." Her grin flickered briefly. "Though honestly? Might be a useful skill against Saber."
Ritsuka's hand caught the doorframe. She stopped mid-step, body angled toward the exit but head turning back. The teasing had evaporated from her expression. What remained looked serious—almost clinical in its practicality.
"One more thing."
Her amber eyes shifted between Mash and Griswald.
"I know this is awkward. Trust me, I know." She released the doorframe, turned fully to face them. "But you should probably consider going all the way this time."
The words dropped like stones into still water.
Mash's shield wavered. The metal dipped forward an inch before she caught herself, muscles locking to compensate. Her face had progressed beyond simple embarrassment into territory that suggested her brain had begun actively searching for emergency shutdown protocols.
Griswald's mouth opened. No sound emerged. His throat had sealed itself shut.
Ritsuka continued as though she'd commented on weather patterns rather than suggesting—
"We're fighting Saber." The emphasis on the name carried weight. "Artoria fucking Pendragon. The woman who pulled Excalibur from stone and ruled Britain." She gestured vaguely toward where Cú had vanished. "Cu said Mash needs maximum reserves. He wasn't joking. This isn't like fighting that creepy chain woman or the Archer." Her expression hardened. "Saber is in a completely different league."
Mash's breathing had gone shallow. Her knuckles remained white around her shield's edge. She stared at Ritsuka with eyes that had grown very wide—violet irises ringed in white like a cornered animal.
"I'm not saying you have to." Ritsuka's voice gentled slightly. "It's your choice. Both of yours." She nodded toward Griswald without looking at him. "But if you're going in there to face like that" Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Might want every possible advantage."
She turned again. This time she completed the motion, boots scraping against rubble as she stepped through the doorway.
"Just think about it."
Her footsteps faded into the corridor beyond. The sound of rubble crunching beneath boots grew distant. Disappeared entirely.
Silence rushed in to fill the space she'd left behind.
Just the two of them now.
Griswald's heart performed gymnastics inside his ribcage. The shelter felt simultaneously too large and catastrophically small—like the walls had shifted inward while simultaneously retreating to infinite distance. His breath came shallow. Uneven. He forced himself to regulate it. Medical training kicked in on autopilot. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth.
Beside him, Mash remained frozen. Her shield rested against the floor. Her hands gripped its edge with enough force to make the metal groan faintly. Her violet eyes stayed fixed on the middle distance.
The awkwardness pressed down like humidity before a storm.
Griswald's mind raced through possible opening statements. Something reassuring. Something that would ease the tension coiling between them. Something that wouldn't make everything exponentially worse through sheer verbal incompetence.
He drew breath. Squared his shoulders. Turned to face her.
The words died unspoken.
Mash was looking directly at him.
Her violet eyes locked onto his grey ones with an intensity that hit like physical impact. Her face had flushed—soft pink spreading across her pale cheeks, delicate color that made her features seem luminous in the shelter's dim light. Her short lavender hair framed her face in soft layers. Her lips parted slightly. Her expression carried something fragile and fierce simultaneously—vulnerability worn like armor.
Griswald's brain ceased all higher functions.
She was beautiful.
The realization struck with the force of revelation. Not objectively attractive in some distant, academic way. Not pleasant to look at. Beautiful. In this exact moment, with her guard lowered and her emotions written plainly across features that usually remained carefully neutral, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
His mouth opened. No sound emerged. His thoughts had scattered like startled birds.
Mash spoke first.
"I'm sorry." Her voice came quiet. Tight. "About the Archer fight."
The statement landed wrong—unexpected, angled from a direction Griswald hadn't anticipated.
His confusion must have shown on his face because Mash's expression crumpled slightly. Her gaze dropped to the shield between them.
"You had to get so close to the fighting." Her hands tightened on the metal. "You were in range of his blades. His arrows. If Cú hadn't swept his legs when the Archer targeted you—" She swallowed. The sound carried audibly in the shelter's silence. "If I had been better. Faster. Stronger. You wouldn't have needed to risk yourself like that."
Griswald's chest tightened. Understanding crashed down belatedly—not about what she'd said, but about what she meant. The weight she was carrying. The guilt pooling in her voice.
"Mash—"
"I couldn't protect you properly." The words tumbled faster now, spilling past whatever barrier had been holding them back. "The Archer kept forcing me to choose. Between advancing and defending. Between fighting and keeping you safe. I wasn't good enough to do both." Her violet eyes lifted again. Met his. Held them. "A proper Servant wouldn't have needed her Master to expose himself to danger like that. A proper Servant would have been strong enough to handle it alone."
Her voice cracked on the final word.
Griswald's hands moved before his brain caught up. He reached out. Placed both palms on her shoulders. Felt the tension coiled in her frame—muscles locked tight, trembling faintly beneath his touch.
"Hey. Look at me." His voice came steadier than he felt. "Really look at me."
Mash's eyes found his again. Held.
"I'm alive." He squeezed her shoulders gently. Emphasis without pressure. "I'm standing here. In one piece. Because of you."
"But—"
"No." He cut her off. Not harshly. Firmly. "You don't get to carry that guilt. The Archer was impossibly skilled." Griswald's grip tightened fractionally. "And you held him off. Kept him from killing me. Kept him contained long enough for Cú to land the finishing blow."
Mash's lips pressed together. Her expression wavered between wanting to argue and wanting to believe.
"You said a proper Servant would have handled it alone." Griswald's grey eyes held hers. "But we're not operating under proper conditions. You're a Demi-Servant with a Spirit who won't tell you your Noble Phantasm's name. I'm a third-rate mage with circuits that barely function. We're improvising. Surviving. Adapting." His thumbs brushed against her shoulders—small, unconscious movement. "And we're winning because we do it together."
Mash's expression shifted. The tension in her frame didn't dissolve—not completely—but something gentler moved beneath it. Her violet eyes widened fractionally. Softened. The guilt pooling in their depths receded, replaced by something warmer. Something that made Griswald's chest constrict in ways that had nothing to do with anxiety.
The intensity of it stole his breath. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Not his family. Not his colleagues. Not anyone. Like he'd hung the moon and carved the stars from raw possibility. Like he was worth something beyond his inadequacies and failures.
"Senpai." Her voice emerged barely above a whisper. Reverent. Grateful. "Thank you."
She stepped forward. The shield clattered against the floor—dismissed, forgotten. Her hands lifted. Settled against his chest. Fingers splayed across fabric. He felt their warmth through his uniform—delicate pressure that somehow carried the weight of everything she couldn't articulate.
Griswald's arms moved on instinct. Wrapped around her shoulders. Drew her closer. She came willingly—pressing herself against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. Her lavender hair smelled faintly of smoke and dust. Her frame fit against his like they'd been designed for this exact configuration.
For several heartbeats, they simply stood there. Holding each other. Breathing in sync.
Then Mash tilted her head back. Her violet eyes found his grey ones. Her lips parted slightly—an invitation that required no words.
Griswald's heart hammered against his ribs.
He lowered his head. Brought his mouth to hers.
The kiss started gentle. Tentative. A question rather than a demand. Mash responded immediately—pressing upward, meeting him halfway, answering with her body what her voice couldn't articulate. Her hands slid from his chest to his shoulders. Gripped. Held on like he was the only solid thing in a world that had tilted dangerously off its axis.
Griswald deepened the kiss. Angled his head. Parted his lips. Tasted her—warmth and sweetness and something indefinable that made his thoughts scatter like leaves in a windstorm. His arms tightened around her frame. Drew her closer still. Eliminated whatever microscopic distance remained between them.
Mash made a small sound against his mouth. Not quite a gasp. Not quite a moan. Something between the two—soft and vulnerable and utterly devastating.
They kissed again. And again. Each one longer than the last. Deeper. More urgent. Griswald's tongue swept against hers. Explored. Discovered. Learned the texture of her mouth, the taste that lingered there, the way she trembled when he traced the roof of her mouth with deliberate slowness.
His lips left hers. Trailed across her jawline. Found the delicate curve where her jaw met her throat. Pressed there. Felt her pulse racing beneath skin that burned fever-hot.
Mash gasped. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. Her head tilted back—offering access, surrendering territory without hesitation.
"Senpai—"
His name emerged breathless. Fractured. He kissed the hollow of her throat. Felt her swallow against his lips. Her pulse hammered wildly. His hands moved—one sliding to the small of her back, pressing her against him, the other tangling in her lavender hair.
He kissed higher. Along the column of her neck. Teeth grazing lightly against skin that tasted of salt and smoke. Mash's breath hitched. Her body arched into his touch like a bowstring pulled taut.
"Master—"
Griswald's mouth found the spot just below her ear. Sucked gently. Felt Mash's entire frame shudder against him.
Her moan filled the shelter. Soft but unrestrained. A sound of pure, uncomplicated pleasure that bypassed every intellectual defense Griswald possessed and struck directly at something primal buried beneath years of self-doubt and inadequacy.
He did it again. Kissed the same spot. Applied pressure. Felt her melt against him—her weight supported entirely by his arms, her body trusting him completely to hold her upright while he systematically dismantled her composure.
"Master—" She gasped the word again. Desperate this time. Pleading. "Please—"
Her hands slid from his shoulders. Found his face. Cupped his jaw with trembling fingers. Drew him back up until their gazes locked. Her violet eyes had gone hazy. Unfocused. Pupils blown wide. Her lips were swollen from kissing. Her cheeks flushed deep pink. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths.
Griswald's restraint, already threadbare, snapped entirely.
He kissed her again. Hard. Demanding. Poured everything he couldn't articulate into the press of his mouth against hers—gratitude and need and the bone-deep terror that he might lose her when they faced Saber. That this might be their last moment together. That he needed to memorize every detail now while he still could.
Mash matched his intensity. Met him beat for beat. Her tongue tangled with his. Her fingers threaded through his light blond hair. Her body pressed against his with enough force to leave no ambiguity about what she wanted.
They stumbled backward. Griswald's shoulders hit the wall. The impact jarred through his frame but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. His hands roamed—mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the gentle swell of her hips beneath the practical fabric of her uniform.
Mash's thigh slid between his legs. Pressed upward. The pressure sent electricity crackling through his nervous system. His hips jerked forward involuntarily. Ground against her. Drew a broken moan from her throat that vibrated against his mouth.
"Mash—" Her name escaped between kisses. Ragged. Desperate. "We should—we need to—"
Griswald didn't need to finish the thought. Mash understood—read the intention in his ragged breathing, in the way his grey eyes had darkened with desperate need.
She sank to her knees.
The movement carried grace despite the rubble-strewn floor. She knelt before him, violet eyes lifting to meet his gaze. Her lavender hair framed her flushed face. Her lips remained swollen from their kissing. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.
Her hands reached for his waistband.
Griswald's pulse hammered in his throat. His fingers pressed flat against the wall behind him—seeking stability, something solid to anchor himself while his world tilted dangerously off its axis.
Mash's fingers worked the fastenings with practiced efficiency now. The fabric loosened. Slid down his hips. His cock sprang free—already rigid, straining toward her with single-minded purpose.
It landed across her face.
The weight of it settled over her delicate features—shaft pressing against her cheek, tip resting near her temple. The contrast struck like lightning. Her pale skin. His flushed length. The sheer obscenity of the image.
Mash's eyes widened.
She stared up at him with his cock draped across her face like some profane benediction. Her pupils had blown wide. Her lips parted slightly. Her breath ghosted hot against his skin.
Griswald's brain short-circuited.
Every coherent thought evaporated. Years of medical training, academic study, careful self-control—all of it burned away in an instant. What remained was pure, animal hunger. The sight of her on her knees. His length resting against her cheek. Those violet eyes gazing up at him with unconcealed adoration.
His hips moved before his conscious mind caught up. A slow roll forward. His cock dragged across her face—gliding over soft skin, leaving a faint trail of moisture in its wake.
Mash's eyelids fluttered. Her mouth opened fractionally wider. Her tongue darted out. Wet her lips.
Griswald repeated the motion. Rubbed his length against her face with deliberate slowness. Over her cheek. Across her forehead. Down the bridge of her nose. The silky warmth of her skin against his sensitive flesh sent sparks cascading through his nervous system.
Mash leaned into the contact. Pressed her face more firmly against his cock. Nuzzled it—her nose brushing along the underside, her lips grazing the shaft, her breath coming in quick, heated puffs.
"Senpai—" Her voice emerged muffled. Reverent. She turned her head. Kissed the thick vein running along his length. "You're so—" Another kiss. Higher this time. "So hard—"
Griswald's fingers curled against the wall. His nails scraped concrete. A groan built in his chest—low, primal, completely beyond his control.
Mash's tongue emerged. Dragged along his shaft in one long, torturous stroke. Base to tip. Tracing every ridge and vein with agonizing thoroughness.
His hips jerked. The motion pressed his cock more firmly against her mouth.
Mash responded immediately. Her lips parted. Wrapped around the head. Sucked gently. Her violet eyes never left his face—maintaining eye contact with an intensity that stripped away any remaining pretense of composure.
The wet heat of her mouth enveloped him. Griswald's vision whited out at the edges. His breath punched from his lungs in a ragged gasp. His hands moved—one tangling in her lavender hair, the other remaining braced against the wall to keep his legs from buckling.
Mash's tongue swirled around the tip. Explored the sensitive underside. Found the spot where head met shaft and lavished attention there with single-minded focus.
"Mash—" Her name tore from his throat. Desperate. Pleading. "God—"
She took him deeper. Inch by agonizing inch. Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from the sheer effort of accommodating his length.
The blush spread across her cheeks like wildfire. Deep pink bleeding into scarlet. Her pale skin glowed with it. Made her look impossibly innocent and devastatingly erotic simultaneously.
She hollowed her cheeks. Drew back slowly. Her lips dragged along his shaft with exquisite friction. Then she sank forward again. Faster this time. Establishing rhythm.
Griswald's head fell back against the wall. The impact barely registered. His entire consciousness had narrowed to a single point—the wet heat of her mouth, the suction of her lips, the way her tongue traced patterns along his length with increasing confidence.
Mash's hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Stroked what her mouth couldn't reach. Her other hand gripped his hip—steadying herself, anchoring them both while she worked.
She moved faster. Took him deeper. Her throat opened. The head of his cock pushed past the resistance. Sank into tightness that bordered on overwhelming.
Griswald's fingers tightened in her hair. Not pulling. Just holding on. Grounding himself in tactile sensation before the pleasure drowned him completely.
Mash gagged slightly. Drew back. Gasped around his length. Strings of saliva connected her lips to his cock—glistening threads that caught the dim light.
Then she dove forward again. Swallowed him down with renewed determination. Her throat spasmed around him. Massaged his length with rhythmic contractions that sent electricity crackling up his spine.
His orgasm built with terrifying speed. Pressure coiling low in his abdomen. Tightening. Demanding release.
"Mash—" He forced the warning past clenched teeth. "I'm going to—"
She didn't pull back. Didn't slow. Instead she surged forward—taking him to the root, burying her nose against his pelvis, her throat working frantically to accommodate his full length.
Her violet eyes locked onto his grey ones. Held them. The blush across her cheeks had deepened to crimson. Saliva dripped from her chin. She looked utterly debauched.
And she didn't look away.
Griswald shattered.
His orgasm crashed through him with the force of a tidal wave. His cock pulsed. Emptied. Flooded her throat with thick ropes of release.
Mash swallowed. Once. Twice. Her throat rippling around him. Taking everything he gave her. Not spilling a drop.
His legs threatened to give out. Only his grip on the wall and his hand in her hair kept him upright while pleasure stripped away conscious thought and left only raw, overwhelming sensation.
Finally—after what felt like hours compressed into seconds—the contractions slowed. Stopped. Left him gasping against the wall like he'd sprinted a marathon.
Mash drew back slowly. His softening length slipped from her mouth with an obscene wet sound. She swallowed one final time. Licked her lips. Gazed up at him with eyes that glowed with satisfaction and pride.
"Was that—" Her voice came hoarse. Rough from the abuse her throat had just endured. "Did I do well, Master?"
"You—" The word emerged broken. He swallowed. Tried again. "You did so well."
Griswald's knees buckled.
The aftershocks still rippled through him—phantom pulses that made his thighs tremble and his vision blur at the edges. He slid down the wall in a graceless heap, concrete scraping against his back through his uniform. His legs splayed out in front of him. His breath came in ragged gasps that he couldn't quite control.
Mash's smile bloomed across her face like sunrise. Radiant. Proud. The kind of expression that transformed her delicate features into something luminous. She shifted forward on her knees, moving with fluid grace despite the rubble-strewn floor. Her body settled beside him. Her head lowered—came to rest in his lap, cheek pressing against his thigh mere inches from where his spent cock still glistened with saliva.
Her violet eyes remained fixed on it. Studying. Fascinated.
Griswald's breathing gradually steadied. The trembling in his limbs subsided degree by degree. His hand moved without conscious direction—fingers threading through her lavender hair, stroking the silky strands with gentle repetition. The simple tactile sensation grounded him. Pulled him back from the edge of oversensitivity where pleasure bordered on pain.
Mash's gaze never wavered. She watched his length with the kind of focused attention. Her breath ghosted warm against his skin. Her expression carried something between curiosity and reverence.
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable exactly. But weighted. Charged with unspoken questions that pressed against the inside of Griswald's skull until they demanded voice.
He cleared his throat.
"What—" The word came out rougher than intended. He tried again. "What do you think about... going further?"
Smooth. Eloquent. Truly the height of seductive discourse.
Mash's eyes lifted. Found his face. Held his gaze with an intensity that made his chest constrict. Her expression remained unreadable—something complex moving behind those violet irises that he couldn't quite parse.
She said nothing.
The silence expanded to fill the space between them. Griswald's fingers continued their repetitive motion through her hair—stroking, soothing, occupying his hands while his brain scrambled for better words that refused to materialize.
Finally, Mash spoke.
"What do you want, Master?"
The question emerged quiet. Careful. Not deflecting—genuinely asking.
Griswald's automatic response died unspoken. His fingers paused mid-stroke through her hair. He looked down at her—really looked. Took in the flush still staining her cheeks, the uncertainty pooling in her eyes despite the confidence she'd shown moments ago, the way her frame held tension like a coiled spring.
"What I want—" He resumed stroking her hair. Slower now. More deliberate. "—is what you want."
The words emerged with more conviction than he felt. But they were true. Fundamentally, bone-deep true in a way that bypassed his anxieties and inadequacies and struck at something essential.
Mash's lips curved. Not quite a smile. Something gentler. More fragile. A small laugh escaped her—barely more than an exhalation, carrying amusement and affection in equal measure.
"That's very you, Senpai."
Her gaze dropped back to his lap. Her expression shifted. The softness drained away, replaced by something more serious. Contemplative. Her brow furrowed slightly. Her teeth caught her lower lip.
The silence returned. Heavier this time. Griswald waited. His fingers continued their gentle path through her hair while her mind worked through whatever internal calculations occupied her thoughts.
When she finally spoke, her voice emerged smaller. More uncertain.
"The thought of sex makes me nervous."
The admission hung in the air between them. Vulnerable. Honest.
Griswald's hand stilled. His chest tightened—not with disappointment, but with something closer to protective concern. He waited. Gave her space to continue without rushing to fill the silence himself.
Mash's fingers curled against his thigh. Gripped the fabric there with enough force to wrinkle it.
"I know we should. Given what we're about to face." Her words came measured. Deliberate. Like she was processing them as she spoke. "Ritsuka was right about needing maximum reserves. About taking every advantage we can get." She paused. Swallowed audibly. "But something in me is holding back."
Her violet eyes lifted again. Met his. And this time—this time he saw it clearly. The shame pooling in their depths. The self-recrimination. The belief that she was failing him somehow by not being able to simply push past her hesitation through force of will.
"I'm sorry, Master."
The apology emerged barely above a whisper. Fractured. Heavy with guilt she had no right to carry.
Griswald's response came immediate. Instinctive.
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
His hand cupped her cheek. Tilted her face upward to maintain eye contact. His thumb brushed across her skin with feather-light pressure.
"Mash. Listen to me." His voice carried firmness despite the gentleness underlying it. "You don't owe me your body. Not for mana. Not for strategy. Not for anything."
Her lips parted. Protest formed behind her eyes.
"But—"
"No." He cut her off. Not harshly. But with enough conviction to forestall argument. "You've already given me more than I could ever ask for. Your trust. Your loyalty. Your willingness to stand beside me despite my inadequacies." His thumb continued its soothing path across her cheek. "If you're not ready for more than that, then we work with what we have."
Mash's eyes widened. Her breath caught. Something flickered across her expression—surprise bleeding into relief, vulnerability surfacing past the armor she usually wore.
"But the fight—"
"We'll figure it out." Griswald's conviction solidified with each word. "We always do. Together." His grey eyes held her violet ones. Refused to let her look away. "I won't sacrifice your comfort for tactical advantage. Ever."
The shame in her gaze began to recede. Slowly. Degree by careful degree. What remained looked softer. Warmer. Fragile in a way that suggested trust rather than weakness.
Her hand lifted. Covered his where it still cupped her cheek. Her fingers threaded between his. Held on.
"Thank you, Senpai." Her voice emerged thick. Weighted with emotion she couldn't quite articulate. "For understanding."
Griswald's chest constricted. He leaned down. Pressed his lips to her forehead. Lingered there. Let the kiss communicate what words couldn't—acceptance, protection, the bone-deep certainty that her worth had nothing to do with what she could provide and everything to do with who she was.
When he pulled back, Mash's eyes had gone bright. Glassy. Not quite tears. But close. She blinked rapidly. Cleared her throat.
Mash's fingers tightened around his. Her gaze dropped back to his lap where his cock rested against his thigh—soft, spent, glistening faintly in the shelter's dim light. Her teeth caught her lower lip. The flush across her cheeks deepened fractionally.
"Then—" Her voice emerged small. Uncertain. "Since we're not going to... go further..." She paused. Swallowed. Forced herself to continue. "We should stock up on as much mana as we can."
The words hung between them. Practical. Clinical. Utterly failing to disguise the vulnerability threaded through her tone.
Griswald's chest tightened. Understanding crashed down—what she was offering, what she was willing to do despite her nervousness. The determination beneath her shy exterior.
"Are you sure?"
Mash's violet eyes lifted. Met his. Held them with an intensity that left no room for doubt.
"Yes." No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. "I want to be as prepared as possible. For you. For the fight." Her fingers squeezed his. "Please, Master."
Griswald's breath caught. His free hand moved to his cock—wrapped around the base, held it steady whilst his circuits flickered to life. The familiar warmth of his healing magic surged through his palm. Spread along his length. Blood rushed back. Tissue responded. Within seconds, his cock swelled—hardened, rose from his thigh until it stood rigid once more.
Mash's eyes widened fractionally. Her lips parted. She stared at his renewed erection with something approaching awe.
Mash's expression shifted. The uncertainty drained away, replaced by focus—that same intense concentration she brought to combat. She straightened from where she'd been resting against his thigh. Her hands lifted. One wrapped around the base of his cock. The other cupped beneath, cradling weight whilst her thumb traced along the underside.
Her head lowered.
This time, when her lips wrapped around his tip, there was no hesitation. No tentative exploration. She took him with confidence from the start—sucked firmly whilst her tongue swirled patterns that made his vision blur at the edges.
Her hand joined her mouth. Stroking. Twisting slightly on the upstroke. Creating friction that bordered on overwhelming. Her other hand remained beneath—rolling, applying gentle pressure that sent sparks cascading up his spine.
Griswald's head fell back against the wall. His fingers found her hair again. Threaded through lavender strands whilst pleasure built with terrifying efficiency.
Mash's pace increased. Her mouth descended further. Took him deeper. Her throat opened—welcomed his length past the initial resistance whilst her hands continued their coordinated assault. She gagged once. Drew back. Then plunged forward again with renewed determination.
The wet sounds filled the shelter. Obscene. Impossible to ignore. Saliva dripped from her chin. Coated his shaft. Made everything slick and hot and almost too intense to bear.
His orgasm approached faster than before. The sensitivity hadn't fully abated from the first round. Every touch landed amplified. Every stroke of her tongue felt magnified tenfold.
"Mash—"
She didn't slow. Her violet eyes lifted. Found his. Held them whilst she swallowed around his length. Her throat spasmed. Massaged. Drew him inexorably toward the edge.
Griswald came with a groan that tore from his chest. His cock pulsed. Emptied. Flooded her mouth with thick ropes whilst his vision whited out and his fingers tightened in her hair hard enough to make her whimper around his length.
Mash swallowed. Kept swallowing. Took everything whilst maintaining eye contact. Not spilling a drop.
Finally, the contractions stopped. Left him gasping. Trembling. His grip loosened in her hair whilst aftershocks rippled through his frame.
Mash drew back slowly. Released him with an audible pop. Licked her lips. Swallowed one final time. Then she looked up at him with an expression that carried satisfaction and something deeper. Something that made his chest constrict.
"Again."
The single word emerged hoarse. Determined.
Griswald's breath caught. His spent cock already beginning to soften before his mana kick in. He felt blood rush back. Felt himself harden once more despite the exhaustion creeping into his limbs.
Mash's hands returned immediately. One wrapped around his base. The other cupped beneath. Her mouth descended. Swallowed him down with practised efficiency now. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just determined focus whilst she worked.
The cycle repeated.
Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth. Her tongue traced patterns along his shaft. Her hands stroked and twisted and applied pressure in precisely coordinated rhythm. She took him deeper each time—learned his responses, adapted her technique, refined her approach with single-minded dedication.
Griswald came. She swallowed. Drew back. Looked at him with eyes that glowed violet in the dim light.
"Again."
His magic flared. His cock hardened. She descended.
Again.
And again.
The shelter narrowed to sensation. Wet heat. Suction. The obscene sounds of her throat working around him. His ragged breathing. Her quiet moans vibrating against his length. His fingers tangling in her hair. Her hands never stopping their coordinated assault.
Time lost meaning. Minutes bled together. His consciousness fragmented—reduced to peaks and valleys, pleasure cresting and breaking and building again before he'd fully recovered from the last wave.
Mash's jaw must have had to ache. Her throat must have had to burn. But she never complained. Never slowed. Just kept working with relentless determination whilst sweat beaded on her forehead and tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from the sustained effort.
"Mash—" His voice came broken. Ragged. "You don't have to—"
She pulled off long enough to speak.
"I want to." Her voice emerged hoarse. Wrecked. "For you. For us." Her violet eyes blazed with conviction. "Please don't stop me."
Then her mouth descended again. Swallowed him to the root. Her throat spasmed around his length whilst her hands resumed their assault.
Griswald surrendered. Let her take what she needed. Let himself drown in sensation whilst his magic continued its work—refilling reserves, maintaining his stamina, ensuring he could keep providing what she demanded.
The tenth climax hit harder than the previous nine combined. His vision actually blanked. His body seized. Every muscle locked whilst pleasure obliterated conscious thought.
Mash swallowed. Kept swallowing. Her throat working frantically whilst he emptied himself down her throat for the tenth time.
When he finally came back to himself, she was resting her cheek against his thigh. Her eyes had gone hazy. Unfocused. Her lips remained swollen—puffy and red from sustained use. Saliva coated her chin. Dripped onto his leg.
She looked thoroughly debauched.
And utterly gorgeous.
Her hand lifted. Gestured weakly toward his softening cock.
"One more?"
The words emerged slurred. Exhausted. But still determined.
Griswald's chest tightened. His hand moved to her cheek. Cupped it gently whilst his thumb brushed away moisture that might have been tears or saliva or both.
"I think—" He swallowed. Forced air into lungs that felt compressed. "I think we have enough."
Mash's expression shifted. Disappointment flickered across her features before acceptance settled there instead. She nodded slowly. Her violet eyes drifted shut whilst she rested against his thigh.
Griswald stroked her hair whilst his own breathing gradually steadied. His body felt wrung out. Hollowed. Every nerve ending singing with oversensitivity.
But Mash's reserves would be overflowing now. Enough to face Saber. Enough to survive.
Together.
Griswald's hands trembled slightly as he tucked his shirt back into place. The fabric stuck to sweat-dampened skin. Beside him, Mash adjusted her combat uniform with methodical precision—smoothing wrinkles, checking straps, ensuring everything sat properly despite the flush still staining her cheeks crimson.
Neither spoke.
The weight of what they'd done—what they were about to do—pressed down like atmospheric pressure before a storm. Mash retrieved her shield from where it had fallen earlier. The metal scraped against rubble. She hefted it with both hands, testing the weight, reacquainting herself with its balance.
Griswald watched her throat work. Swallowing. Still adjusting to the sheer volume of mana now flooding her circuits. Her eyes had regained their focus—sharp, alert, glowing faintly violet in the shelter's dim light.
She looked at him. Held his gaze for three heartbeats. Then nodded once.
Ready.
They moved toward the doorway together. Boots crunched against broken concrete. The corridor beyond stretched dark and lifeless—another artery in Fuyuki's corpse. Griswald's hand found Mash's. Squeezed briefly. She squeezed back before releasing him.
The shelter's main room came into view.
Three figures waited.
Ritsuka leaned against a crumbling pillar, arms crossed beneath her chest. Her orange-red ponytail had come slightly loose—strands framing her face in disarray. Her amber eyes tracked their approach with knowing intensity. Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
Olga stood rigid near the far wall. Her silver-white hair caught what little light remained, making it gleam like moonlight on frost. Her golden amber eyes fixed on them with an expression Griswald couldn't parse—disapproval warring with concern, authority struggling against something softer she refused to name. Her coat hung perfectly despite the ruins surrounding them. Every inch the Director even whilst the world burned.
Cú materialized from nothing.
One moment empty space. The next, the blue-haired Caster stood with his staff planted against rubble, long cloak draping behind him like a banner. His narrow eyes swept over Griswald and Mash with the kind of assessment that stripped away pretense and evaluated purely on capability.
The silence stretched. Heavy. Charged with unspoken knowledge.
Cú's gaze lingered on Mash. Noted the way she held herself—steadier now, stronger, reserves practically radiating from her frame in waves that made the air shimmer faintly.
His attention swung to Griswald. Held. Those intelligent eyes catalogued exhaustion, determination, the protective way Griswald positioned himself slightly in front of Mash despite her being the combat-capable Servant.
Then his lips curved into that familiar smirk—sharp enough to cut, carrying amusement that felt incongruous against the gravity pressing down on them all.
"Well then."
His voice rang clear in the ruined space. Confident. Almost cheerful despite what lay ahead. He spun his staff once—a flashy, unnecessary flourish that somehow felt appropriate coming from him.
His gaze swept across all of them. Griswald and Mash standing together. Ritsuka straightening from her pillar. Olga's spine somehow becoming even more rigid. His smirk widened into something fierce. Wild. The expression of a man who'd faced death countless times and emerged laughing.
"Let's go kill a king."
The words hung in the air. Final. Absolute.
No one argued. No one hesitated.
Mash's fingers tightened around her shield's edge. Griswald's hand found hers again. Squeezed once. She squeezed back—brief, grounding contact before they released and stepped forward together.
Ritsuka pushed off her pillar. Rolled her shoulders. Her grin matched Cú's now—sharp and anticipatory despite the odds.
Even Olga moved forward. Her expression remained carefully neutral, but her eyes blazed with something that might have been determination or defiance or both.
Cú turned toward the exit. His cloak billowed behind him as he strode forward without looking back. Confident they would follow.
They did.
Into darkness. Into battle.
Toward the corrupted king waiting at the heart of Fuyuki's ruins.
Together.