IN FATHER'S NAME

A Sonic the Hedgehog fanfic by Fox-Li Swift

Synopsis:
Just a little yaoific speculation on what might happen if Archie comics' Sonic the Hedgehog wasn't considered a 'kid's' comic. I wrote this after issue #93 of the comic ' for some reason, the look on Elias' face when he agreed to let St. John do the ruling for him just screamed abusive relationship at me ' go fig. Anyways, if you don't mind a much more morbid tone than that of the comic, read on'

Warnings:
HENTAI! YAOI! HOTHOTGAYMANBUTTSEXXING!!!!!
If that line didn't offend you, this fic probably won't. But consider yourself warned that it contains explicit sex and sexual references regarding sado-masochistic, male/male bondage ' to spell it out, H-O-M-O-S-E-X-U-A-L-I-T-Y (refer top line). It's also debatable as to whether or not said sex is with or without consent.
IF ANY OF THESE CONCEPTS OFFEND YOU, LEAVE NOW!

Legal crap:
The Sonic the Hedgehog series and all characters contained in this piece belong to Sega of America and Archie comics (wow, Fox wrote something without shoving a new character in!). Aside of that, and several quotes taken from issue #93 of StH, this fic is an entirely original piece by and ' Fox-Li Swift, AKA Fox Lee, 2001. Plagiarism will result in alien abduction and painful experiments involving anal probes!

E-mail:
Comments? Criticism? Pretty Elias fanart? ^__^ Send 'em to me at Fox_Li_Swift@excite.com!
What's that? You actually like my fic? In that case, you can post it on your StH page if ya want! Oh! You will? ^.^ *claps*! Just e-mail me to let me know, okay?

IN FATHER'S NAME

He reaches for me, in the darkness.

I'm going to be quite candid with you, Elias.

I flinch instinctively under his callous touch. As his strong, soldier's grip tightens around my upper arm, I think for a moment of resisting him.

You're a poor excuse for a leader.

The moment passes.

Rough-furred paws, claws extended, roam my exposed body and cover it with his hollow caresses.

Skilled. Practiced.

Empty.

You were never cut out for this line of work.

His words echo through my mind, locking me stiffly into place as he eagerly explores the curve of my lips, the line of my jaw, the trembling arch of my neck. Eager not with desire, certainly not with love ' of that I was always aware. The man's lust for me is as cold as his touch, the amusement of a cruel child tearing the wings from an unfortunate butterfly.

But he never pretended to love me.

He never needed to.

Your father should have made the Princess his successor.

I wonder, as his fingers wander down past my stomach and his lips press hungrily against mine, what he truly sees as he makes 'love' to me. Is it indeed his prince, his ruler who lies in nakedness and shame beneath him? Or do my steely eyes lighten, my body slim and curve, do my auburn curls become hers when seen through this man's eyes?

He still says that he loves her, even as he uses me.

If you're smart, you'll let me help.

His mood demands haste this night. He will not be gentle with me.

If nothing else, at least I have spared her from him.

His thick fingers push at the opening under my tail, forcing their way through the tight ring with the grim, soulless determination or a conquering soldier, and of course without any thought for my pain. Indeed, I hear a small, soft whimper rise up in the black, and I think it must have come from my own throat, because my cruel lover would never make such a sound. At least, not for me.

The two fingers inside me probe only briefly, for this is all the time he will take to ready me. This does not surprise me ' after all, a child's toy has no feelings. And the pain has lessened since he first took me ' although it will not disappear.

I can guide every decision you make from behind the scenes'

He pushes me onto my stomach , not with any deliberate malice, but certainly without feeling,' and pauses only briefly to remove the necktie he wears and thread it between my jaws. For this I am grateful, in some twisted way ' we both know from past experience that I will be unable to suppress my cries once he begins, and for all that I am ashamed to be doing this, it would be far worse still if we were discovered.

As he prepares to mount me, his hands fisting in my coppery locks , and I still cannot decide, do they belong to me, or to pretty Sally?,' my mind is jerked back to the first night that he came, the first time my soldier took me like this. Always, that is what I remember ' when he touched me in the darkness on that night, when I saw his intent in his black eyes.

And I could have refused him then. It would have been such an easy thing, to rise from my bed and cast him out, to act as the sovereign that I am and prove myself worthy of the title passed down to me.

But instead, I let him in. To one who is alone in the darkness, even a touch filled with envy and greed is better than no touch at all. So I lay with him in the darkness and let him use me as he would, creating a lie to believe where I could no longer accept the truth.

He plunges into me with deep, hard, painful strokes, grunts of effort or pleasure only barely audible in the darkness. My own voice is nearly as soft, muffled by the gag in my mouth and my own fear of being caught. I do not try to lie still beneath him ' the pain is still to great, and anyway, I know he enjoys watching me as I writhe.

So Max won't be disappointed.

That was how he did it. Just five simple words, and he knew even as he said them how much they hurt me. Oh, Father, you could never have understood how everything in my entire being cried out against the destiny you set upon my shoulders. Even as I resigned myself to the fate you chose for me, I knew I could never become the proud ruler that your kingdom needed. But once my sister had conceded the crown to me, I had no choice,

No choice but to let him in.

Agreed?

Father,

You trusted him, you trusted me. Your son, your prince,your heir.

And, in the end, this is all I am good for.

I'm sorry.

If he notices my tears, he pays them no heed. He would probably think them tears of pain, anyway.

He gives a low, sharp grunt, and in a great shuddering spasm I feel his release. The thought of it is nauseating, and I shut it out.

In the darkness, beneath the dull, sickening ache of shame that fills my being just as my unloving lover fills my body, I ask the question once more.

Father, oh Father,

What have I done?

As always, my question goes unanswered. But, in the darkness, I tell myself that I have only done what I must.

In Father's name, I endure.