Without requital


Warnings/notes : anime-based pseudo Ancient Egyptian AU, Seto/Joey, slightly dark/weird, shortie, ooc.

Disclaimer : I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

written at 19th january 2004, by Misura


"Tell me you love me." A haughty voice, commanding and expecting to be obeyed.

"I love you." A voice without inflection or emotion, flat and toneless.

"Again." The speaker bending forwards, staring down on the person that is pinned beneath him.

"I love you." The same words, the same tone. The eyes that return the other's gaze show neither fear nor rebellion, void of any kind of feeling.

"Again." A hand that shakes for some reason, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away. In the passing, he touches the soft skin of the blonde's cheek, finding it cool, unlike his own.

"I love you." A normal person might have sound tired by now, exasperated by the returning demand, the lack of action. A normal person might have struggled to throw off the lean body holding him down, or perhaps merely pushed upwards to gain more contact.

"Do you really, now?" Intense blue eyes, reknown for their coldness, burning now as they peer down into brown ones, that stare back unblinkingly, their pupils dillated. Only a fool would think eyes like that belong to a normal person, a person in possession of his own thoughts and body.

There is no reply to the question, merely a blank stare.

"Do you love me?" Fingers dig in the flesh of the blonde's shoulders, yet not a sound of pain passes his lips. His silence is unnatural, seemingly angering the other man even more.

"Yes." The word comes out in a whisper. One might almost think it is spoken against the will of the speaker, if the situation had been different.

The golden rod on the chair next to the bed, glowing softly in the moonlight proves differently though. It's the exclusive property of the Highpriest and no one but him is able to wield it. Its power is to gain control over other people, or so it is rumored, whispered in dark corridors.

No one has ever seen it being used. No one wants to know the truth of the tales bad enough to risk incurring the Highpriest's wrath by asking about it. Besides, it is well known the use of any of the Treasures-for-a-Thousand-years is prohibited, unless ordered by the Pharaoh himself.

And yet here it is, out of its protective sheath. The Rod.

And in the bed is a young blonde man with empty eyes.

And on top of that young man is the Highpriest who seems completely unbothered by the fact that he is acting against the Law. Kissing the previously mentioned blonde as if it were his right.

As if he has done it many, many times before.

"I love you."

One might wonder why the Highpriest no longer seems pleased by those words.

"I love you."

One might wonder why the hands that brushed golden hair aside almost tenderly are now causing bruises that are sure to be noticed and hurt the next morning.

Those familiar with the younger man might also express their astonishment at seeing him like this, exclaim indignation, swear revenge upon the vilainous Highpriest. Use ugly words like 'rape' to describe what is being done here.

"I love you."

Disgust might be voiced. A human shouldn't control another human like this, so absolutely. The inherent wrongness of this act would be condemned.

The Pharaoh should be informed about the crimes commited in the very walls of his own palace, shamed by not having noticed it himself, by having made a man capable of acts like this one his Highpriest. A scandal. An outrage.


A scream is wrung from the blonde, his body finally breaking the command of silence under the strains of pleasure and pain that are linked too deeply to make any distinction between them.

The other man makes a soft noise, impossible to hear over the sound of the heavy breathing that fills the room at present, afterwards, when everything is over.

When everything is getting ready to pretend nothing has happened.

"You will not remember this. You will return to your own room and forget you ever were here." The taller man has gotten his voice under control again, speaking cold and clipped words.

The knuckles of the hand that holds the golden rod are white though, belying his calmth.

The blonde nods. Obediently. Getting up and slowly putting his clothing back on, he doesn't look at the Highpriest, keeping his eyes on the floor. Slave-like.

Before he leaves though, he lifts his head one time, to gaze at the man who controls him.

"I love you."

And the door falls shut behind him as he departs, without a single glance backwards.

And as the sun rises the next day, he doesn't go to the Captain of the Guard to demand justice being done for him, or to the Pharaoh, to complain about the Highpriest abusing his powers.

And maybe people would call him a fool if they knew, but they don't. If he says he got those bruises during practice, who will step forwards and call him a liar?


A/N : Originally, the last paragraph was to be 'Because every one of those three words is true' but I decided that sounded just a tad bit too sappy. -sweatdrops- This piece was weird enough already I think.