Malevoween Day 20: Chains & Bonds

Tags & warnings: Noncon, mind control

***

They were on a stakeout when Arthur started trembling. “John,” he whispered. “He’s doing it again.”

I know, John murmured back, and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as that sweet poisonous pleasure began to creep through Arthur’s body. He could feel it as well as Arthur could—from the wrong side.

As if there were a right side. He wondered distractedly whether it was worse to feel the King’s intrusions as the one being victimized and warped for his pleasure, or as the one doing the warping.

He wanted Arthur’s body, he wanted Arthur’s everything, but not like this.

They had to go about their life. That was what Arthur had said, with determination that had burned like a bonfire in his mind when he said it. Even though the King held Arthur’s flesh and blood body captive back in the Dreamlands, left them to wander around in this…projection, dream of a body that was the King’s laughing version of a mobile cage, mocking them with the facsimile of freedom, they couldn’t just roll over into the gutter and let him take everything else away from them. 

That determination still burned in Arthur now, even as he slid down in the driver’s seat, cursing under his breath, trying to keep a low profile while he writhed and gasped in the grip of the King’s latest entertainment. John could feel it crawling through him. From his end, it was hideously appealing.

There was no getting out of here now. It wouldn’t be safe for them to drive. No telling what this might escalate to while they both needed to be paying attention to the road.

“This feels different,” Arthur muttered after a moment. “This…ngh.” He squirmed, went still, then tossed his head. “John, what is he doing? It feels as, as though… Oh. No.” His hand went to his chest, rubbing over his shoulder, collar bone, up his neck. “John.”

Fuck, John breathed fervently.

The King was crawling in Arthur’s veins.

He felt so…tight, oh fucking hell. Arthur’s body, squeezing all around him. And endless, god, every writhing little squirm of the King’s in his body found a new twist or turn to worm down. Arthur made a little high-pitched sound of distress, and John…John felt it. In Arthur’s lungs. Felt their contraction, felt them resonate with the sound in his chest.

Oh no, John parroted Arthur in abject dismay.

“He’s in my fucking veins,” Arthur whispered. His voice shook with horror. He was squirming again, small movements but as though he couldn’t stop. “John, he’s…goddamn him, I can feel him everywhere.” He clutched his hand over his face. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

I know, John said again, and wished he had something better to offer. We’ll get away from him, Arthur. We’ll figure this out and we will tear him apart and make him regret ever trying us.

He meant every word, and maybe wrath wasn’t what Arthur needed right now, but it was all John had. Because, oh, because he wanted to tear the King’s tendrils out of Arthur’s body one by one and take their place.

How dare he.

As the King continued seeping through Arthur’s body, John could feel him like he never had before. Every muscle. Every heartbeat. His hitched breathing, his little, upset twitches. The two of them felt like one, more than they ever had before, and this. This was meant to be John’s.

Arthur’s breath was coming heavy and a little fast. His thighs flexed around John, buried within them, as he twisted in his seat, unable to find a position that did anything but make him more aware of the King creeping through his body. His throat thrummed with tiny, low noises of discomfort and unwilling pleasure that he didn’t quite let out—and John could feel all of it. It felt incredible. <em>Arthur</em> felt incredible. Christ, he wanted to wear him.

He wanted to wear him like this <em>always.</em>

But it wasn’t him. It was the King. John couldn’t even fucking tell Arthur how good he felt because how the hell was he supposed to compliment a man on how good it felt to violate him?

He seethed. How the hell indeed.

Ignore him, Arthur, he said, low and savage. Listen to me. I can feel you. I can feel every inch of you right now, from the inside out, and…and god, Arthur, you feel so good.

“What?” Arthur gasped.

His voice was pure shock. It would turn to outrage in a second if John didn’t make this good. He gulped, and knew Arthur could hear it, as he could hear everything John did. 

Well, so be it. That’s how they were. I feel so close to you right now. And I admit… He swallowed. I admit I want…to feel united with you. One, throughout our body. Not at war, not one of us controlling the other. Just…just like this. Fuck the King, Arthur. We can take this. Make it ours, for…for just a little while.

If he had breath to hold, he would have held it then. Arthur said nothing. Dead silent, though he still couldn’t stay still. John could feel…fuck, he could feel Arthur’s body responding. To the pleasure the King was forcing him to feel.

“Help me then, John,” Arthur whispered finally. “Get him out of my head.”