WARNING: PLEASE READ AND HEED!
Right then, before you all delve into this fic thinking it's a delightful one-shot with rainbows and sunshine, I would like to inform you IT ISN'T! This is a rather DARK and SINISTER Sealshipping story in which I explore the dark powers that lurks within the Millennium Ring and how it could affect an outcome, pertaining Sealshipping, if Mahado had failed to suppress and control it.
The result is this rather fucked-up plot; so if you are squeamish about blood, and forced sadistic smut, then STAY AWAY! This fic is NOT FOR YOU! Curiosity does not pay if you disregard my warnings; it contains disturbing descriptions and imageries that can be upsetting if you are not a veteran sicko like me! I will NOT be held responsible of you think you can hack it and then puke all over your computer thereafter! Don't say I didn't warn you because this is a very, very, VERY dark piece of work. So proceed with EXTREME CAUTION.
Disclaimer: I only own the demonic plunny that spawned this.
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Blood.
The need for blood thrummed through his veins as he stumbled through the courtyard, barely conscious of his directions whilst driven for one thing...
Blood.
His blood.
Voices screamed in chorus in his head, drowning out reason, numbing his senses and overpowering his control.
Blinded by need, it drove him forward, pure instincts leading him to his prey.
NO!
He remonstrated, pausing by a marble column, leaning heavily on it as he panted for breath.
Must not...surrender... Weak and threadbare, the single voice of dissent jostled against the torrent of the many as it battled for dominance in his mind and over his body. Face distorted into painful grimace and his eyes closed, locking away the turbulence in the tormented brown.
NO!
He gripped his head with both hands and shook it from side to side, hoping the voices will disperse into the air along with it's incessant craving; hoping it will leave him alone. His loosened hair mimicked the motion of his head and swung violently around his face and shoulders.
The voices laughed, mocked in unison at his futile attempt to oust them.
We will not be satiated until we have his blood.
The Ring hummed with approval, vibrating on his chest as the demons made their demands. It forced his legs to move again. Dragging him against his will to the royal sleeping quarters.
NO!
His voice was down to a desperate plea, unable to fight it, he resorted to begging. His pride be damned if he could save him, but his steps did not falter.
The demons savoured the entreaty, the appeal fed their ego, and cruelty peaked as a result. It forced the unwilling body closer to the prey. If there were passers-by to witness the scene, they would have mistaken the man to be drunk; his staggering and his lack of control, much to his dismay, indicated as such. A rumble of laughter resonated through his head, jeering his useless resistance.
You cannot win against us. We will have what we desire. You cannot stop us.
He watched in horror as the pharaoh's sleeping chamber came into view. The foreign coils of feral delight slithered around his being, choking him with thoughts of sadistic pleasure. His heart sped and his feet picked up pace. He felt sick.
Please. Stop!
The demons ignored him. Their attention focused on obtaining the prey that was so near that they could smell him! His scent. His blood.
Voices, light and soft, drifted out of the room and into the hallway. It stopped abruptly when he appeared at the door, doubled over with exertion and gasping for breath—for control. He barely noticed the two servants occupying the same room as his liege. The shocked stares at his dishevelled state were lost on him.
Instead, he looked at his pharaoh, his eyes pleading for his master to flee—to run away from him.
"Leave." The word was soft spoken and commanding, it was directed at the servants who stood stock-still and dumbfounded.
"LEAVE!"
It triggered movements from the addressees and they departed in a flurry of linen and tanned limbs, leaving them alone.
NO!
Appalled, he screamed out silently, but the voices' roar of approval drowned out the opposition.
Sluggishly he made his way to the defenceless pharaoh, his eyes locked onto the fiery defiant pools, sending a shiver down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was from apprehension or delight...or both. He knew he had no control over his body anymore than he had of his master's. He could only watch with helplessness as his fingers wound around the spikey locks and tugged it back...hard. A sharp gasp was dragged from the slender throat while it was wantonly bared for him, those beautiful, oh so beautiful eyes, tearing up as he tightened his grip.
He felt himself smile.
"Atem?" He forced himself to speak. His voice sounded pathetic and feeble in his ears, spewed from his lips in a pitiful whimper. Atem smiled and shook his head. He was telling him—no, ordering him not to resist. Their bloodlust was too strong.
"No!" He protested weakly, to whom it was spoken to, he wasn't sure, but he felt the spirits' displeasure.
Contempt surged forth like a raging tempest, overwhelming him and the recipient of their wrath.
He is ours. There is nothing you can do now.
To drive home the point, he felt his head bend down and lather a wet tongue down the arched neck before biting on the tender flesh. He felt the body beneath immediately stiffen, and the cry of pain vibrated silently in the throat he was latched onto. He knew his pharaoh would not burden him further with his helpless cries.
The demons hummed their appreciation as crimson spilled from the wound, filling his mouth with its warm, rich and coppery taste.
Yes, the voices purred. More...
His other hand trailed down to the only garment adorning the lithe body, the half-dressed state indicated the pharaoh was readying for bed when he was rudely interrupted.
They smirked at the perfect timing.
With an impatient tug, the loincloth came away, exposing the intimate part of his royal master that only he was familiar with.
Please, he begged. Don't do this!
To his disgust, his cock twitched with anticipation, his traitorous body responding to the needs of the invaders. Without warning, he straightened up and proceeded to drag his victim by the hair to the bed where he unceremoniously threw the body across. Atem curled up on the bed, his hands clutching his head and his face contorted in pain.
Pain. Blood. His. More!
The voices were becoming incoherent. The image of their victim was too enthralling and it was making them frenzy. His hands tore at his own garments, removing them with the agility he was renowned for in battles; only this was one battle he could not win. Naked, except for the Ring, he climbed on the bed and onto his pharaoh; the fear in the latter's eyes spoke volumes of how predatory he must have looked and the demons basked in that fear.
He felt his lips part and words that were not his own spilled forth. "We smell your apprehension, Pharaoh," he heard himself say. The voice was harsh and cold, his gaze no less so as he stared down at his prey. He sniffed the air to support his point, and then his hand shot out and curled itself around the wounded neck, squeezing tightly.
The pharaoh who, up until now, remained passive began to struggle. He tried bucking his hips to throw off his assailant, but to no avail. The piteous attempts amused the demons until he stopped and glared.
They laughed at the antics, to the foolish boldness exhibited by the captive, the cruelness in the tone made him inwardly wince thus heightening their amusement. He felt his hips ground with the one under him; the contact hardened his arousal as it strained with his growing need. He felt his body shift until it was kneeling between the pharaoh's parted legs; dread trickled down his spine as knowledge dawned on him. One look at the terrified face of his pharaoh had told him that he, too, knew what was coming. Releasing his chokehold, a leer stretched across his face as he grabbed the pharaoh's legs and pushed them back until the thighs rested on the small chest. His grin widened when his hard length brushed against the tiny puckered entrance.
NO!
His mind was frantic and his body strove to regain control.
"You will pay, Pharaoh," the voice cooed, "with your blood." The threat was spoken with an odd mixture of menace and lust.
The young pharaoh bared his teeth in response, his face twisted into an expression of scorn and fury. "Take what you need and return to whence you came!" he growled.
The spirits bristled from the retort and with a snarl they thrust into the unprepared opening, breaching the tight ring of muscle with spite and force.
Heat engulfed his length, the dry passage painfully pulling back the skin on his shaft as he pushed further into the body. He saw Atem pale and scrabble for purchase on the sheets as pain seared through his body, his teeth biting down on his lips to prevent sound from escaping. The wilful monarch refused to satisfy the demons with the sound of his suffering, no matter how much he hurt.
Blood. His blood.
It formed on the trembling lips and coated the pearly white teeth with red stains; the excess trickled down the smooth chin, marking a path with its vivid starkness.
Blood. More blood...
It filled his nostrils with its metallic stench, heavily permeating the air and mingling with the sweat that oozed from their pores so he could almost taste it. He knew it gushed from the place where they were greedily plunging into, liberally lubricating the passage and his length with red until both was slick with it.
It was sickening.
The voices laughed at the bewitching sight. They revelled in the pain that was radiating off the small male in waves, their minds delirious with each savage thrust and it made him heady.
"You are so beautiful, Pharaoh."
Thrust.
"Your pain is so addictive and your blood so sweet."
Bite.
"You will serve us for an eternity."
Suck.
"You will continue to pay for your father's sin."
Thrust. Deep. Deeper.
"You will forever suffer."
Claw. Skin. Red. Trails.
"Because we will never forgive you."
Thrust. Harder. Deeper.
"The wearer of the Ring will carry out our wishes."
Blood. Essence. Gushes. Climax.
"For he is the vessel for our vengeance."
Faints.
O-o-O-o-O
He woke to fingers raking through his long tresses; the gesture was tender and affectionate. He mentally searched for the voices, yet encountered nothing but a mind-numbing silence. The spirits, with their bloodlust satiated, had retreated leaving him exhausted and wracked with guilt. He turned to observe the person who was cradling his head so gently; his eyes softened at the sight of his pharaoh, his lover, his damnation and his salvation.
"Atem?" his voice cracked and it came out sounding like a half-sob.
His lover hushed him with a chaste kiss on the temple; his hand stroking the damp face and hair whilst comforting him like a mother would to a troubled child. "I am fine, albeit a little sore, but do not fret, my love," he soothed. "It's over now."
He looked down at his chest and noticed the Ring had been removed and then he scanned his lover with concern, a frown appeared at what he saw. Littered all over the slim body were wounds encrusted with dried blood. Bite marks, hand imprints and bloody scores had revealed the extent of his brutality and that did not count for what he could not see. The lower part of his pharaoh's body remained hidden beneath the fine woven linen. He itched to pull back the covers.
His lover sensing his intentions stilled him with a firm squeeze on his shoulder and a gentle command. "No, Mahado. Don't."
"But, my pharaoh. Atem, please—" he began, but a finger pressed against his lips silenced the plea, the vibrant eyes briefly clouded over with pain due to the sudden movement, but was expertly masked moments later.
"I said, 'No' and I mean it, Mahado," the rebuke was gentle, but firm. It was the pharaoh who spoke and his servant dared not challenge it. His disgruntlement must have shown because the young royal heaved a long sigh. "What is done cannot be undone, my love. It is a sacrifice I am willing to pay if it means keeping my kingdom peaceful and my people safe."
The voice trailed off slightly due to the implications of the words uttered and he was about to refute the claim when his pharaoh continued, "I need the power the Ring offers to guarantee the security of the realm and if it demands my blood in return, I would gladly give it." The speaker gazes remorsefully at him. "My only regret is that it directly involves you. I cannot forgive them or myself for putting you through it. If only the violation was—"
"No!" he interjected with a stubborn shake of his head. "I would rather it were me to carry out their punishment than another person. To have someone else to touch you is unthinkable, I would not be able to bear it otherwise."
Atem hugged his lover closer and smiled. The expression, the beauty of the smile, completely took his breath away. The radiance it emitted would have made Ra envious for it far outshone even his brightest rays.
"Then I am glad it was you who was chosen to wear the Ring," the youth confessed with a suppressed grimace. "Now let's not lament over the things we have no control over. Just remember, as long you are by my side, I can endure anything that is thrown my way. So let us get some rest because I need to heal and you need to recover. We'll worry about the damage sustained on my body after we have rested. If worse comes to the worse, and the others get too suspicious of my injuries, I'll blame your insatiable libido and leave the rest to their imagination!"
A snort escaped from him at the casual dismissal, but the steady beating of the heart beneath his ear was beginning to lure him into euphoric oblivion, extinguishing the desire to dispute further.
Peace.
"Rest well, Atem" he murmured, nestling into the warm embrace, a small smile tugging gently on the corner of his lips when the other responded with a sleepy grunt.
Bliss.
Before sleep overcame him—he, High Priest Mahado, spell-caster and wielder of the Millennium Ring—noticed one vital thing.
The whispers were silent once more.
~The End~
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A/N: I am sure most of you who managed to survive this must have been wondering, "What the fuck did I just read?" Well, truthfully, I am not sure either. The evil plunny that spawned this had a warped and sadistic mind and demanded I explore it. I apologise if you found this disturbing, but I did give sufficient warning beforehand so don't complain if you found it's not all fluff and cuddles.
All in all, ever since Mahado confessed he had to seal a lot of his power to contain the darkness/evil of the Millennium Ring, the idea has stuck and I thought it was a worthwhile concept to explore. Your thoughts would be much appreciated, so please let me know what you thought about it.