I wonder if I will ever finish anything longer than a drabble.

Anyway. Yet more Seimei, this time with 60% more sadism! - I can't seem to stop.


He grasped Soubi's arm like a sceptre, marvelling at the fragility of the skin beneath which, he knew, hid bright blood and strands of fibrous muscle and bone which would shatter like glass.

He cupped Soubi's chin like an orb, fingers tracing the jawline and mouth and vein pulsing in the neck. He could feel a heartbeat; it was fast and shallow like Soubi's breathing. The breathing of prey.

The chair was his throne and, for now, the small apartment was his kingdom; and he looked down on his servant through hooded, disdainful eyes.

The gash on Soubi's cheek and the royal-purple bruise just above his eyebrow stood out beautifully against his pale skin. The way his shoulders were hunched ever-so-slightly and how his eyes were glazed, half-closed, touched by unshed tears – all this fed Seimei's sense of power (take him, break him, control him).

Soubi's pain was sustenance to him: it was a tax the masses pay the monarch, and Seimei ate and ate and ate, and he was never satisfied.

He was lucky, he supposed. Of course, this treatment would have been bestowed on any fighter unit he had chosen, but the fact that this was a tax Soubi was happy to pay, a sacrifice he was willing and eager to make, certainly made it easier for both of them.

(Soubi's screams didn't always sound so eager, though.)