Against the Grain

A/N: Somewhat AU. What would happen if the Prince didn’t find out about the Island of Time in Warrior Within, and instead continued running as far away as he could? Please Review! And be kind!!! This fic means a LOT to me and I worked really hard on making it perfect!

*****NOTE: I intend to cotinue this story, but I haven't gotten enough reviews! I've got a rough outline for a chapter two now, and even an idea for the third chapter. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE review. 20 reviews and I will post a new chappie!******

Disclaimer: Not mine.

The streets were dark, but the day’s heat had left the air dry and the sand warm underfoot. His breath came harsh and fast; his lungs burned. He had been running so long and so desperately that his legs felt at once like rubber and like lead. Blue orbs cast frantically about, even as the scenery whisked by. He had to find a place to hide, somewhere the monster could not reach. He was just swerving to try the large oaken door he saw, when the Beast rammed into him, knocking him sprawling. The Prince tumbled to the side, rolling in the sand strewn cobblestone, until his hit hard against the wall. He’d rolled into a sealed alley. A dead end.

Pausing only to regain his balance—and barely that—the Prince scrambled, awkward and desperate, to his feet. The time demon, content that it had at last cornered its prey, stalked heavily closer as the Prince threw himself against the walls of the alley. Fingernails tore and hands bloodied as he scrabbled at the rough stones, looking for some escape. With a rumble, almost a laugh, the gargantuan, black beast swept one wicked fist forward, knocking the Prince back against the wall of the alleyway, and with a surge, crushed its weight against the Persian’s panic stricken body. Frantically the Prince gasped at the air, clawing already mangled fingers and scuffing his heels across the stone behind him.

His throat constricted and a block of ice formed in his stomach. The Dahaka’s breath settled hot and fetid on his nose. The Prince closed his eyes tight. His muscles tensed. The End would come any moment now. He knew it. Minutes stretched by, confusion dawning on him, but he was too frightened to open his eyes.

It was the near gentle touch of the Dahaka’s claws that brought his eyes open. Blue eyes widened in confusion as the jagged talons trailed almost tenderly down the Prince’s supple chest. Tentatively, the beast pushed his snout forward, snuffling into the Prince’s soft, dark hair. The Persian cringed, pressing back into the rough stone. He jumped at the feeling of the demon’s moist, warm tongue questing over his tanned, scarred cheek.

The Dahaka was most pleased. It had been pursuing the Prince for many months now, chasing him across desert and city alike. It had almost given up when the Prince had boarded a ship, but his mission was too… vital, to the time line. Pride swelled inside the time guardian at his task near completion. Something else swelled larger at the thought of his prize.

The Prince quaked, trying to stiffen, tried to press farther into the mortar of the wall. But the Dahaka pressed forward, crushing its beastly hips against the Prince’s abdomen, constricting the youth’s airflow. His chest growing tight from the scant volume of air his shallow gasps could pull in. The Prince struggled harder, pushing frantically at the rough granite skin of the monster. The Dahaka, for his part, only seemed to grow more enamored of the lithe body he pressed himself against. The Persian felt the hot burn of bile rise in his throat as a solid ridge of flesh settled firmly against his stomach. Hot tears rose in his eyes, and he renewed his squirming attempts at escape. Only a deep rumble issuing from the depths of the demon answered his efforts. It could only be laughter.

Clawed fingers persisted in their exploration, hooking round the Prince’s side, and raking up over the smaller man’s back. The Dahaka’s cool moist snout pressed into the crook of the Prince’s neck. Again, the warm, fetid tongue swept across his sweaty flesh, savoring the salty taste of the mortal’s fear. The Prince was cold and wet from fear, and soon an acrid smell assailed the demon’s nostrils. It’s jagged teeth spread in a nightmare smile at the scent of urine. More sharp digits began to caress lazy patterns across the Prince’s muscular frame. The man’s eyes could only widen, already round, in realization. His head pressed back against the stones behind. The Dahaka’s coiled tentacles stroked his flesh. They undulated as the time guardian’s snout pushed higher, into the prince’s ear. Gradually, his appendages still, now poised and ready.

A snort of effort warmed the Persian’s neck, and searing pain heralded the puncture of the scarred outer shell of flesh, sliding between each rib. The delicate bones strained to contain each rigid length, and more than one pop sounded in failure. The Prince threw back his head, his mouth forming into a prefect, round O. But no sound came, only blood to well on his lips. The thick, hot liquid drained from the wounds, slicking leathery tentacles. Something of a purr passed the Dahaka’s snout. Rigid in pain, the Prince’s vision sharpened, then began to dim. His breath came shorter as liquid seeped into his lungs. The tentacles slid slowly out, twistingly, before slamming back in with the squelch of ripped meat. This time the Prince found his voice, in a garbled shriek, but the rage that swelled in the Dahaka’s loins would not abate. Clumsily, urgently, the Dahaka ripped the Prince’s silken trousers from his weak, twitching body, exposing the Persian’s flaccid sex, and tight entrance. The Prince’s mind, growing light and dizzy, could barely grasp the new fear of what the time guardian now intended.

Claws that could in no way be construed as fingers probed urgently at the Prince’s puckered entrance. They had barely found it before one of the meaty digits was forcing its way past the tight ring of muscle. Each laceration of the sharp claw inside of the Prince was but a back ground hum to the constant tug and slide of fiery pain between his ribs. Still, the Dahaka sensed the Persian’s life ebbing out of his wounds, and impatient to feel the dry warm in his body, it removed the finger, only to force its massive member into the now vacant opening.

If the Prince had been rigid with pain before, he was now a solid rock of agony. The sharp tearing feeling that accompanied the Dahaka’s taking of him rose above the now steady movement of the time guardian’s tentacles. What had begun as a slow, near languid rhythm built quickly to a harsh staccato. Each penetration of the yielding, tortured flesh came in time, as one. And solace from the pain came only with the fading of the Prince’s senses. The world around him begin to narrow into a painful, bright light. The Persians mutilated body bobbed limply with the Dahaka’s steady use, but the monster was not finished with him yet.

One beefy, clawed hand closed firmly around the Prince’s semi-flaccid cock. His body spasmed weakly with the sensation. The pain became far away almost, and the pleasure, while buried in the Prince’s torment, built. The searing light that had engulfed his senses faded somewhat, overtaken by the burning in his now erect loins. Rumbling, the Dahaka worked his ministrations on the Prince’s sex in time with the slide and thrust its tentacles and raging member in kind. Dimly, the prince tensed, half-aware that he was close to something, something that, under the circumstances, he should feel ashamed of. His mind, however, was to distant to feel shame. Soon, the Prince tensed, rigidly convulsing, as his thick seed erupted from him, spilling across the Dahaka’s belly, as well as his own. This pinnacle of pleasure arose suddenly from his pain, and then fell sharply off, and the Prince finally screamed his agony at the ripping of the Dahaka’s appendages inside of him.

Again the hot, painful white encroached upon his senses, and the pain mercifully faded. The Dahaka looked deeply into the Prince’s eyes as they glazed and dulled in the mask of death. The dying convulsions of the young Persian’s body milking the beasts release. With a long, feral cry the Dahaka released inside the Prince’s broken body, filling every orifice the monster’s limbs occupied. The Beast slumped forward against the dead man, and the wall behind him, pausing to calm its own ragged breath. It was moments before the time demon pushed itself upright, withdrawing its tentacles, and shoving the corpse off of his newly satiated phallus. A bit clumsily the Dahaka turned to make its way out of the city. But it felt something of a loss. Who knew when next the Timeline would be disturbed and he would gain another opportunity such as this?

A/N: So what do you think? Shall I write another chapter and make it a happy ending for the poor Dahaka?