Consequences
folder
Final Fantasy X › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,352
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Final Fantasy X › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,352
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Final Fantasy X, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Consequences
<<>>
------Yup, it’s pretty damn crap, and not very original. But it's my first dirrrty fic, so be gentle now. ***By the way, this fic contains Mind Control M/C and Non-consensual sex N/C... or rape, if you like. If you're not okay with either of these things in a story, do me a favour and don't read it.***------
"CONSEQUENCES"
His chambers were silent; the only light a soft, blood-red glow issuing from beyond the monumental bed, its bizarre silhouette spearing the scene from floor to roof. All else lay in darkness, though here and there the oppressed illumination sculpted vine-like traceries where curious roots and boughs that composed the manor protruded. Before her, her own long shadow was cast from the corridor behind, the passage along which the Guado guards had led her for her meeting with him. With Seymour. She knew she was trembling as she stood in the doorway, searching the gloom with pained eyes for signs of life.
There seemed to be none. Warmth and darkness. A faint smell of something that might have been fruit…
A moment passed; Yuna remained standing, rooted in dismay, duty battling with an instinctive urge to retreat; logic forcing her to linger, patiently, as she had been bidden. How desperately she wished not to be in this place! And yet, it was the only way.
Or so she thought. Would the young stranger have thought the same? she wondered. Even to think of him brought a tightness to her chest, a crushing hopelessness to her heart; his face, his voice… and the notion she would probably never see him again - nor the others she loved like family. Sin had found them, and it seemed only she had survived. But, no… she knew, somehow, that he would have opposed her. Would’ve said there was another way, that this task was not her burden to bear… a weight she shouldn’t have to carry alone. And he would’ve stood between her and Seymour - as he had in the temple - because this would have hurt him too.
She tried to force the thought away, though it comforted her in a strange way. But it was painful also; even the frenzied events of the last few days had failed to numb the loss.
He is gone. They are gone. I’m alone. And I made a promise to do what I can. I have to do what I can…
The creeping grandeur of the manor hadn’t seemed so oppressive the first time… its branches and tendrils hadn’t looked so much like grasping hands and seeking fingers. But it was different now; alone and without her friends and protectors… a traitor to Yevon and to the Guado - she could only wonder how it was that Seymour had not yet handed her over to their whim and judgement. How cold the Guado looked upon her now, their eyes filled with spite, open hate lowered only by some ill-understood favour the Maester nursed for this turncoat. How was it that he held them at bay, and Yevon, too? she thought. Did Bevelle not know of her presence in the Guado stronghold? Did the Guado follow Seymour’s will and not the Yevon Order’s?
These Guado were strange to be sure, now furtive and aloof, fiercely loyal to their Lord… their former friendliness departed. She was now without doubt that the mansion would be her prison, at least for the time being; and perhaps the only place between herself and a traitor’s sentence. Still, there was hope; hope that she could send Seymour somehow, perhaps here in his chamber; prove him an Unsent... rid Spira of his malevolence. Perhaps then, Jyscal’s words would leave her in peace.
Glancing about the room - noting her vision had acclimated some to the low light - she ventured in several tentative steps. The chamber was wide and roughly circular, draped with Guado weavings and Yevon scrolls, and in the heights of the ceiling a scented pendulum hissed almost mutely back and forth – much like the one in the Great Hall below. Nearby stood a rich wooden dresser, ornately carved, tumbled with various sacred objects… candles, books, priest’s finery.
There’s nothing odd here…it’s all just a little… disordered.
Even so, the Lord’s quarters appeared quite empty.
Am I to wait for him, then? She pondered, intrigued to find that his seeming absence filled her, in actuality, with more dread than the presence she expected. He was dead, after all - an Unsent… one now belonging to the Otherworld, yet clinging desperately still to this one, for plans and purposes unknown. She was a Summoner, and the guidance of the dead was a part of her duty, of course – but never before had she attempted to reason with one of them. The dead were always of two kinds… the willing and the unwilling – and the unwilling were rarely apt to discuss their grievance with the living. Just what Seymour would be prepared to discuss, she had not an inkling as yet; and unlike most Unsent, he now inspired fear within her. That uncanny talent of his for derailing her confidence was already at work.
So this is what a Maester’s chamber looks like…
Distracting herself from dark thoughts was a necessity. Moving to the dresser almost reflexively, the young Summoner swept her attentions over the Lord’s effects, but felt no desire to touch.
It was only after she’d taken several paces in that the blood-red haze closed about, shutting off the light outside, and a familiar, haunting voice pierced the breathing hush.
“I knew you would come back to me,” it said. “I had only to wait, it seems.”
At the first issue of the voice she started, whirled around seeking the source of it, though already she suspected. The chamber doors were shut, and before them a tall shape took form from the shadows.
“Do not worry… we are alone,” it said, the voice comforting, yet flavoured with a mockery that coaxed her anger. He knew she was afraid, and had good reason to be; that here in his House she was a hostage, not a guest… and that his words were mere play. But his trust – she would have to gain his trust if she were to send him. Towering above her, at least a foot in excess of the average human, Seymour was not only a powerful mage but physically impressive, too – as Guado generally were – though his hybrid origin may have accounted for a muscular prowess exceeding even the burliest Guado’s wiry strength. He was indeed a giant, as Yuna was now sharply reminded.
“Lord Seymour,” she nodded, swallowing back rising trepidation, fixing him with a determined, unfaltering stare as his countenance neared, bathed in the fervour of the sanguine radiance. “I was hoping I might… speak with you.”
“Really,” he responded with a smile, walking past her and to the dresser, somewhat nonchalant. “I’d imagine before you do that, you’ll take some wine with me. You must be quite thirsty.” From the dresser he produced a crystal amphora and drinking vessels, and laid them out. “Are you hungry as well?”
Yuna watched him, silently. Only now did it dawn upon her how long it had been since she’d eaten a decent meal. Not since the inn at Macalania at least, and that might have been days ago now. And she was thirsty, suddenly mightily so, and Guado wine was refreshing rather than stupefying - clear like spring-water, with a gentle rather than heady result.
“Yes,” she managed. “…Thank you.”
He smiled again as he offered the cup, though it seemed one of deviance, as a prison guard might hand a scrap to the condemned, not because he is good-natured, but because he wants to be reminded of his power. His position. Yuna, however, did not complain; she took the cup and drained it evenly, closing her eyes to the Maester’s enchanted scrutiny. It was good wine; the best wine – and it soothed the dryness in her throat as well as anything could. But it did not quite satisfy, and Seymour replaced the amphora on the dresser.
“Please, no need to stand,” he added, gesturing to the only piece of furniture in the room that could serve as a seat. “You’ve journeyed far for one so fresh on the road, and a Summoner should rest.”
“Lord Seymour -” she began, faltering as she sat, wondering how she might begin her task and yet find something to talk about. “What happened at Macalania… was…”
“Your intent?” he finished, taking a sip of wine and eyeing her furtively. “What then of this? Will you try to send me again?” He laughed, lightly. Seymour’s directness always seemed to catch her off-guard.
“I…”
“I thought you would be more far-sighted than that, Lady Yuna,” he chuckled dryly. “It is a shame. A shame to have to hand you over to them, as I must… they cannot even see how true a Summoner you have become… what a waste it will be! No, not just a waste – a sin.”
“I came to… apologise,” she stammered, not certain where the words were coming from, but hoping they seemed heartfelt. “At Macalania, we – no, I was short-sighted… if I had known what was to be, I would have just asked you…”
“Asked me… what?”
Now that she was there, alone, with Seymour, alone without help, alone with his gilded threats, it was not as difficult to say as before.
“Why you murdered Lord Jyscal...”
“Hm.” Seymour smiled broadly and nodded, as if to himself. “My own father? Isn’t it obvious?”
She watched him fixedly. “He was in my way, Lady Yuna. That was all, but it was enough. He would not have allowed me to become the next Maester, even after his death. I was forced to kill him… to keep him silent, you see.”
Pausing, he threw his head up as if recollecting some pleasant, carefree memory, all the while swirling the wine in his glass.
“My father was an ambassador: a peacemaker, not a strong leader. He never approved of mother’s belief that Sin could be conquered by defeating Yevon itself, and so far did he push her away that she took me to Zanarkand. I lost her there, and I turned my back on him and Yevon, as Yevon had on us.”
“I don’t quite understand…” she frowned, slowly. “You are against Yevon?”
“I had to learn the truth for myself. I had to learn the secret behind Sin. Yevon’s secret. And to do that, I had to become a Maester.” He sighed blithely. “My father saw my intent… and so I killed him.”
And so I killed him…
...Silence. She could only wonder at the genial tone in which such words escaped his mouth.
“I poisoned his wine,” he added, as an afterthought, smiling.
The wine…
Yuna’s heart leaped. She ran a hand over the edge of the crystal, gaze filled with sudden betrayal, raised to Seymour’s own, laughing eyes.
Would you…!
“Don’t fret, Lady Yuna,” he finished, amused. “Yours isn’t laced with poison. Merely a mild soporific, that’ll render you rather pliant for a while. I know full well you did not agree to be taken here just to speak with me… but now that I’ve answered your question, perhaps you can indulge me.”
She was finding it hard to speak at all, noticing suddenly that her legs felt leaden and her breathing already shallow.
I’ve been…
The empty glass tumbled from her hand as she reeled forward in the sudden dizziness. Seymour only replaced his serenely upon the dresser and proceeded to remove his ceremonial cape. She coughed mechanically, drawing a palm to her face as in her vision Seymour swam, bare-chested and approaching.
“There now,” he said, sounding almost concerned. “You’ll pass out if you panic. Lie down.”
Yuna tried to reason with herself, to control her breathing, which had suddenly become wild with shock and fear. Though Seymour claimed it was merely Sleeping Powder, what reason did she have to believe him?
I failed… The miserable thought taunted her as Seymour laid her down in the deep crimson satin, his bulk looming now like some stern stone god whose retribution was about to be administered. Lulu, Wakka…Kimahri - I failed…
She had come to send him, and now she was powerless, her strength feeling as though it were being sapped from the tips of her very fingers and toes - she could only hope it would not leave her completely. How easily he had tricked her, and how glibly – though it was not as if she was not a captive already… for the Manor’s doors were shut and guarded.
What can I do now…? What?
Finding her eyes screwed shut, she dared open them to see Seymour’s face had changed – no longer haughty or cold, but lit with a new fire, blue eyes gleaming red in the glow, the smile now burned from his parted lips.
“You escaped me before, but you’ll not escape again,” he breathed, hot and close. “You are too valuable to part with, even for them. I admit, I am torn, but I can wait no longer.”
“For what?” she answered in a desperate whisper, alarmed afresh at his sudden closeness, but more so at her swiftly ebbing fear… for it felt as though she were sinking now, sinking into the sheets and into the ground, tumbling down into some dark abyss with Seymour and the blood-red world following after. Did it matter? She wasn’t sure anymore… and the sending… the sending…
“You’ll wed me, and I’ll persuade them to spare you,” his voice echoed close by. “Be far-sighted… be wise…”
She could only stare back at him, her thoughts a tangled, seething mass, the room above seeming to spin and jitter, Seymour’s visage dancing up close, so close…
“I’ll take my thanks in advance.”
A shadow passed through her vision, and she realised with crumbling revulsion that her clothing was being frittered away, piece by piece, felt the goosebumps enticed by sudden waves of colder air hitting naked flesh, and the brushing of Seymour’s cold, lengthy fingers over her prone form. Long nails raked, gently at first, then harder over the young, yielding curves of her body, and all the while, Seymour’s eyes spared her no reprieve; always they were upon her own, piercing her soul, as the soporific had pierced her strength. He was deflowering her without ceremony, without trust, and he was relishing in it.
Stop, please… please stop…
“So young, so innocent… I wonder if you’ll taste this sweet…”
Stop it…
Yet not once did he kiss her. She felt, rather than saw, Seymour turn his attentions to her lower half, working his fingers across her skin, smiling inwardly at the ease with which her delicate thighs reddened under his claws. Yuna was numb, motionless, and pliant as promised. So young and foolish, he laughed within.
Alternately teasing and punishing, the fingers snaked their way between her slender legs, pushing them gently apart, as a coldness appeared there, running down and over them - the wine. The moisture had a sudden and striking effect as the Guado Lord’s caresses worked upon her moistened clit, the liquor burning dully as it trickled down between her lips. She almost gasped – there was no resistance, no denying the stimulation that came in bolts, erratic, tormenting and terrible and hungry all at once. Trying to push it from her mind, her body seemed only to respond to it more, though whether she was struggling or surrendering she could not tell. Seymour’s fingers simultaneously raked her torso, bringing pain, while others brought a different kind of sting below. A sharp pain, and he had inserted one… two of them into her, as she, in her shock, emitted a sob of misery. It hurt, though the pain soon gave way to a burning ache as the fingers began to plunge.
She could barely think straight in the midst of her ordeal, let alone listen to her tormentor, but slowly, some of his words came filtering through.
“You know Yuna, you are too pure for this world,” he was saying. “But you’ll come with me, and we’ll end it together. It doesn’t matter what I do here, this world will be purged clean of pain and misdeed.”
It was then that he straightened up to remove his own undergarments, before he lay above, his wide feline face only inches from hers, the unnatural heat beating from his tattooed body so close she could feel it infuse her, and a hardness was pushing insistently at her opening, now dripping with wine and the juices of his previous intrusion.
Why…?
“Because I can.”
Though her own were frozen open, she found the Maester’s eyes belied no shame, no regret... only lust and perhaps amusement. He knew she was suffering, and he wanted her to suffer. A wave of fear, shame and utter dejection washed over her; he was smiling, as always, at the moment he sheathed himself inside her.
She tried to scream, but couldn’t. And he went on thrusting relentlessly, hips crashing into hers, never losing the pitiless smile or taking his eyes from hers, even when she shut them in despair, and the tears bled from them. These were no thanks; they were a penalty for her deeds at the temple, and for her brave but thoughtless attempt to send him here, in his own chambers… in his very House. He knew that she never would – and probably never could – lust for him in the same way as he did for her, but he would defile her nonetheless, before anyone else could. It didn’t matter anyway – he had long ago lost all love for the world, the Guado… even himself.
Seemingly for ever it went on, Yuna hearing only his sounds of pleasure and her own of pain… wishing it would stop, wishing it would just end, and that the blackness would take her, anywhere… as long as it was not this place. Finally, Seymour exploded inside her, the warmth of his essence trickling out even as he continued to pound, till it was over and she found him still looking down at her, like a master to some obedient pet.
She found she was sobbing.
“One must learn to accept the consequences of one’s actions,” was what he said. “To be a Summoner is to suffer. And to be an imprudent one is to suffer more.”
With this final warning he was gone from her, and she could hold off the abyss no more... though trailing behind her fluttered the impending fear that to save her own life, the pain would not end here...
~fin~
------Yup, it’s pretty damn crap, and not very original. But it's my first dirrrty fic, so be gentle now. ***By the way, this fic contains Mind Control M/C and Non-consensual sex N/C... or rape, if you like. If you're not okay with either of these things in a story, do me a favour and don't read it.***------
"CONSEQUENCES"
His chambers were silent; the only light a soft, blood-red glow issuing from beyond the monumental bed, its bizarre silhouette spearing the scene from floor to roof. All else lay in darkness, though here and there the oppressed illumination sculpted vine-like traceries where curious roots and boughs that composed the manor protruded. Before her, her own long shadow was cast from the corridor behind, the passage along which the Guado guards had led her for her meeting with him. With Seymour. She knew she was trembling as she stood in the doorway, searching the gloom with pained eyes for signs of life.
There seemed to be none. Warmth and darkness. A faint smell of something that might have been fruit…
A moment passed; Yuna remained standing, rooted in dismay, duty battling with an instinctive urge to retreat; logic forcing her to linger, patiently, as she had been bidden. How desperately she wished not to be in this place! And yet, it was the only way.
Or so she thought. Would the young stranger have thought the same? she wondered. Even to think of him brought a tightness to her chest, a crushing hopelessness to her heart; his face, his voice… and the notion she would probably never see him again - nor the others she loved like family. Sin had found them, and it seemed only she had survived. But, no… she knew, somehow, that he would have opposed her. Would’ve said there was another way, that this task was not her burden to bear… a weight she shouldn’t have to carry alone. And he would’ve stood between her and Seymour - as he had in the temple - because this would have hurt him too.
She tried to force the thought away, though it comforted her in a strange way. But it was painful also; even the frenzied events of the last few days had failed to numb the loss.
He is gone. They are gone. I’m alone. And I made a promise to do what I can. I have to do what I can…
The creeping grandeur of the manor hadn’t seemed so oppressive the first time… its branches and tendrils hadn’t looked so much like grasping hands and seeking fingers. But it was different now; alone and without her friends and protectors… a traitor to Yevon and to the Guado - she could only wonder how it was that Seymour had not yet handed her over to their whim and judgement. How cold the Guado looked upon her now, their eyes filled with spite, open hate lowered only by some ill-understood favour the Maester nursed for this turncoat. How was it that he held them at bay, and Yevon, too? she thought. Did Bevelle not know of her presence in the Guado stronghold? Did the Guado follow Seymour’s will and not the Yevon Order’s?
These Guado were strange to be sure, now furtive and aloof, fiercely loyal to their Lord… their former friendliness departed. She was now without doubt that the mansion would be her prison, at least for the time being; and perhaps the only place between herself and a traitor’s sentence. Still, there was hope; hope that she could send Seymour somehow, perhaps here in his chamber; prove him an Unsent... rid Spira of his malevolence. Perhaps then, Jyscal’s words would leave her in peace.
Glancing about the room - noting her vision had acclimated some to the low light - she ventured in several tentative steps. The chamber was wide and roughly circular, draped with Guado weavings and Yevon scrolls, and in the heights of the ceiling a scented pendulum hissed almost mutely back and forth – much like the one in the Great Hall below. Nearby stood a rich wooden dresser, ornately carved, tumbled with various sacred objects… candles, books, priest’s finery.
There’s nothing odd here…it’s all just a little… disordered.
Even so, the Lord’s quarters appeared quite empty.
Am I to wait for him, then? She pondered, intrigued to find that his seeming absence filled her, in actuality, with more dread than the presence she expected. He was dead, after all - an Unsent… one now belonging to the Otherworld, yet clinging desperately still to this one, for plans and purposes unknown. She was a Summoner, and the guidance of the dead was a part of her duty, of course – but never before had she attempted to reason with one of them. The dead were always of two kinds… the willing and the unwilling – and the unwilling were rarely apt to discuss their grievance with the living. Just what Seymour would be prepared to discuss, she had not an inkling as yet; and unlike most Unsent, he now inspired fear within her. That uncanny talent of his for derailing her confidence was already at work.
So this is what a Maester’s chamber looks like…
Distracting herself from dark thoughts was a necessity. Moving to the dresser almost reflexively, the young Summoner swept her attentions over the Lord’s effects, but felt no desire to touch.
It was only after she’d taken several paces in that the blood-red haze closed about, shutting off the light outside, and a familiar, haunting voice pierced the breathing hush.
“I knew you would come back to me,” it said. “I had only to wait, it seems.”
At the first issue of the voice she started, whirled around seeking the source of it, though already she suspected. The chamber doors were shut, and before them a tall shape took form from the shadows.
“Do not worry… we are alone,” it said, the voice comforting, yet flavoured with a mockery that coaxed her anger. He knew she was afraid, and had good reason to be; that here in his House she was a hostage, not a guest… and that his words were mere play. But his trust – she would have to gain his trust if she were to send him. Towering above her, at least a foot in excess of the average human, Seymour was not only a powerful mage but physically impressive, too – as Guado generally were – though his hybrid origin may have accounted for a muscular prowess exceeding even the burliest Guado’s wiry strength. He was indeed a giant, as Yuna was now sharply reminded.
“Lord Seymour,” she nodded, swallowing back rising trepidation, fixing him with a determined, unfaltering stare as his countenance neared, bathed in the fervour of the sanguine radiance. “I was hoping I might… speak with you.”
“Really,” he responded with a smile, walking past her and to the dresser, somewhat nonchalant. “I’d imagine before you do that, you’ll take some wine with me. You must be quite thirsty.” From the dresser he produced a crystal amphora and drinking vessels, and laid them out. “Are you hungry as well?”
Yuna watched him, silently. Only now did it dawn upon her how long it had been since she’d eaten a decent meal. Not since the inn at Macalania at least, and that might have been days ago now. And she was thirsty, suddenly mightily so, and Guado wine was refreshing rather than stupefying - clear like spring-water, with a gentle rather than heady result.
“Yes,” she managed. “…Thank you.”
He smiled again as he offered the cup, though it seemed one of deviance, as a prison guard might hand a scrap to the condemned, not because he is good-natured, but because he wants to be reminded of his power. His position. Yuna, however, did not complain; she took the cup and drained it evenly, closing her eyes to the Maester’s enchanted scrutiny. It was good wine; the best wine – and it soothed the dryness in her throat as well as anything could. But it did not quite satisfy, and Seymour replaced the amphora on the dresser.
“Please, no need to stand,” he added, gesturing to the only piece of furniture in the room that could serve as a seat. “You’ve journeyed far for one so fresh on the road, and a Summoner should rest.”
“Lord Seymour -” she began, faltering as she sat, wondering how she might begin her task and yet find something to talk about. “What happened at Macalania… was…”
“Your intent?” he finished, taking a sip of wine and eyeing her furtively. “What then of this? Will you try to send me again?” He laughed, lightly. Seymour’s directness always seemed to catch her off-guard.
“I…”
“I thought you would be more far-sighted than that, Lady Yuna,” he chuckled dryly. “It is a shame. A shame to have to hand you over to them, as I must… they cannot even see how true a Summoner you have become… what a waste it will be! No, not just a waste – a sin.”
“I came to… apologise,” she stammered, not certain where the words were coming from, but hoping they seemed heartfelt. “At Macalania, we – no, I was short-sighted… if I had known what was to be, I would have just asked you…”
“Asked me… what?”
Now that she was there, alone, with Seymour, alone without help, alone with his gilded threats, it was not as difficult to say as before.
“Why you murdered Lord Jyscal...”
“Hm.” Seymour smiled broadly and nodded, as if to himself. “My own father? Isn’t it obvious?”
She watched him fixedly. “He was in my way, Lady Yuna. That was all, but it was enough. He would not have allowed me to become the next Maester, even after his death. I was forced to kill him… to keep him silent, you see.”
Pausing, he threw his head up as if recollecting some pleasant, carefree memory, all the while swirling the wine in his glass.
“My father was an ambassador: a peacemaker, not a strong leader. He never approved of mother’s belief that Sin could be conquered by defeating Yevon itself, and so far did he push her away that she took me to Zanarkand. I lost her there, and I turned my back on him and Yevon, as Yevon had on us.”
“I don’t quite understand…” she frowned, slowly. “You are against Yevon?”
“I had to learn the truth for myself. I had to learn the secret behind Sin. Yevon’s secret. And to do that, I had to become a Maester.” He sighed blithely. “My father saw my intent… and so I killed him.”
And so I killed him…
...Silence. She could only wonder at the genial tone in which such words escaped his mouth.
“I poisoned his wine,” he added, as an afterthought, smiling.
The wine…
Yuna’s heart leaped. She ran a hand over the edge of the crystal, gaze filled with sudden betrayal, raised to Seymour’s own, laughing eyes.
Would you…!
“Don’t fret, Lady Yuna,” he finished, amused. “Yours isn’t laced with poison. Merely a mild soporific, that’ll render you rather pliant for a while. I know full well you did not agree to be taken here just to speak with me… but now that I’ve answered your question, perhaps you can indulge me.”
She was finding it hard to speak at all, noticing suddenly that her legs felt leaden and her breathing already shallow.
I’ve been…
The empty glass tumbled from her hand as she reeled forward in the sudden dizziness. Seymour only replaced his serenely upon the dresser and proceeded to remove his ceremonial cape. She coughed mechanically, drawing a palm to her face as in her vision Seymour swam, bare-chested and approaching.
“There now,” he said, sounding almost concerned. “You’ll pass out if you panic. Lie down.”
Yuna tried to reason with herself, to control her breathing, which had suddenly become wild with shock and fear. Though Seymour claimed it was merely Sleeping Powder, what reason did she have to believe him?
I failed… The miserable thought taunted her as Seymour laid her down in the deep crimson satin, his bulk looming now like some stern stone god whose retribution was about to be administered. Lulu, Wakka…Kimahri - I failed…
She had come to send him, and now she was powerless, her strength feeling as though it were being sapped from the tips of her very fingers and toes - she could only hope it would not leave her completely. How easily he had tricked her, and how glibly – though it was not as if she was not a captive already… for the Manor’s doors were shut and guarded.
What can I do now…? What?
Finding her eyes screwed shut, she dared open them to see Seymour’s face had changed – no longer haughty or cold, but lit with a new fire, blue eyes gleaming red in the glow, the smile now burned from his parted lips.
“You escaped me before, but you’ll not escape again,” he breathed, hot and close. “You are too valuable to part with, even for them. I admit, I am torn, but I can wait no longer.”
“For what?” she answered in a desperate whisper, alarmed afresh at his sudden closeness, but more so at her swiftly ebbing fear… for it felt as though she were sinking now, sinking into the sheets and into the ground, tumbling down into some dark abyss with Seymour and the blood-red world following after. Did it matter? She wasn’t sure anymore… and the sending… the sending…
“You’ll wed me, and I’ll persuade them to spare you,” his voice echoed close by. “Be far-sighted… be wise…”
She could only stare back at him, her thoughts a tangled, seething mass, the room above seeming to spin and jitter, Seymour’s visage dancing up close, so close…
“I’ll take my thanks in advance.”
A shadow passed through her vision, and she realised with crumbling revulsion that her clothing was being frittered away, piece by piece, felt the goosebumps enticed by sudden waves of colder air hitting naked flesh, and the brushing of Seymour’s cold, lengthy fingers over her prone form. Long nails raked, gently at first, then harder over the young, yielding curves of her body, and all the while, Seymour’s eyes spared her no reprieve; always they were upon her own, piercing her soul, as the soporific had pierced her strength. He was deflowering her without ceremony, without trust, and he was relishing in it.
Stop, please… please stop…
“So young, so innocent… I wonder if you’ll taste this sweet…”
Stop it…
Yet not once did he kiss her. She felt, rather than saw, Seymour turn his attentions to her lower half, working his fingers across her skin, smiling inwardly at the ease with which her delicate thighs reddened under his claws. Yuna was numb, motionless, and pliant as promised. So young and foolish, he laughed within.
Alternately teasing and punishing, the fingers snaked their way between her slender legs, pushing them gently apart, as a coldness appeared there, running down and over them - the wine. The moisture had a sudden and striking effect as the Guado Lord’s caresses worked upon her moistened clit, the liquor burning dully as it trickled down between her lips. She almost gasped – there was no resistance, no denying the stimulation that came in bolts, erratic, tormenting and terrible and hungry all at once. Trying to push it from her mind, her body seemed only to respond to it more, though whether she was struggling or surrendering she could not tell. Seymour’s fingers simultaneously raked her torso, bringing pain, while others brought a different kind of sting below. A sharp pain, and he had inserted one… two of them into her, as she, in her shock, emitted a sob of misery. It hurt, though the pain soon gave way to a burning ache as the fingers began to plunge.
She could barely think straight in the midst of her ordeal, let alone listen to her tormentor, but slowly, some of his words came filtering through.
“You know Yuna, you are too pure for this world,” he was saying. “But you’ll come with me, and we’ll end it together. It doesn’t matter what I do here, this world will be purged clean of pain and misdeed.”
It was then that he straightened up to remove his own undergarments, before he lay above, his wide feline face only inches from hers, the unnatural heat beating from his tattooed body so close she could feel it infuse her, and a hardness was pushing insistently at her opening, now dripping with wine and the juices of his previous intrusion.
Why…?
“Because I can.”
Though her own were frozen open, she found the Maester’s eyes belied no shame, no regret... only lust and perhaps amusement. He knew she was suffering, and he wanted her to suffer. A wave of fear, shame and utter dejection washed over her; he was smiling, as always, at the moment he sheathed himself inside her.
She tried to scream, but couldn’t. And he went on thrusting relentlessly, hips crashing into hers, never losing the pitiless smile or taking his eyes from hers, even when she shut them in despair, and the tears bled from them. These were no thanks; they were a penalty for her deeds at the temple, and for her brave but thoughtless attempt to send him here, in his own chambers… in his very House. He knew that she never would – and probably never could – lust for him in the same way as he did for her, but he would defile her nonetheless, before anyone else could. It didn’t matter anyway – he had long ago lost all love for the world, the Guado… even himself.
Seemingly for ever it went on, Yuna hearing only his sounds of pleasure and her own of pain… wishing it would stop, wishing it would just end, and that the blackness would take her, anywhere… as long as it was not this place. Finally, Seymour exploded inside her, the warmth of his essence trickling out even as he continued to pound, till it was over and she found him still looking down at her, like a master to some obedient pet.
She found she was sobbing.
“One must learn to accept the consequences of one’s actions,” was what he said. “To be a Summoner is to suffer. And to be an imprudent one is to suffer more.”
With this final warning he was gone from her, and she could hold off the abyss no more... though trailing behind her fluttered the impending fear that to save her own life, the pain would not end here...
~fin~