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A Gay Lion King Parody

Chapter 16: Flight for his Life

Sponsored by Johnzaloog

By Draconicon

Simba felt his uncle's eyes searching for him an hour past his departure. They swept across the kingdom, looking for him, searching for him in the long grass and through the reeds of the river. They panned across the sandy lands to the south, and the rivers that cut through the rest of the land. Every time he felt them, every time that he became aware of their tingling passage, he went still, hiding as best he could where he stood, ducking beneath plant and earth, water and hide, doing anything that he could to keep the gaze of the new king from finding him.

Have to get away...have to get away...

Scar had set this in motion. Whatever his plans had been for the Prince, it was no use staying around to try and thwart them. Everything that Scar did came with the express intent of breaking him down, of turning him into a toy or something very similar to it. If he stayed, if he tried to fight back at Pride Rock, or in the Pride Lands at all...

Well, it wouldn't go well for him.

He kept running, his bare feet thumping through mud, then against the hard rock of the canyons that the gnu ran down during the dry season. He groaned as he stumbled, falling forward, hitting his knees against the stones, and there he lay, panting for breath as tremors of shame and fear ran down his spine.

My fault...all my fault...

The Prince groaned, trying to pull himself together, but he had been running for hours. He didn't know how much longer he could keep moving, how much further he could go.

My fault...all my fault...

And now he wasn't even there, not even present for the inevitable execution of his father. Mufasa would be taken from the Pride Lands, and then...

Scar would rise. Scar had risen, already, but there had been the slight chance that it would have been nothing but a regency, something that would be passed to the Prince, or back to his father if they had done things better. Differently. Something. He groaned under his breath, trying to push his hands under him and failing. Everything felt numb.

"All my fault," he whispered, his eyes wet with tears. "I was...I was so..."

Stupid.

Power-hungry.

Needy.

Wanting.

All kinds of things, but weak, most of all. Weak to the manipulations of his uncle. Weak to think that he could just do what he wanted without consequence. Weak to think that he could be like his dad and his uncle without putting in the work.

He could have done something. He could have seen through what Scar was doing, but he hadn't wanted to. All he wanted were the selfish things in life, the desire for more, the desire for attention and power and pleasure and -

And he was stupid. Too stupid to stop it. Too stupid to stand up and say something when it would have mattered.

And now...father will die...

And so would he, if he stuck around. Scar wouldn't be happy about him running off. The new King would see to it that there were no troubles that could threaten his reign.

He had to keep moving.

Simba eventually got his legs under him again, struggling to his feet, and then stumbled forward. The rough stone caught at him, cut at his feet, making him leave bloody footprints as he made his way down the canyon. Eventually, he found an off-shoot of the main passage and followed it.

Crooked turns and narrow passages eventually led him to a thorn patch, and past that, to a desert that ran out as far as the eye could see. This was no longer the Pride Lands, but neither was it the Outlands that his father had banished the other lions to. This was the no-man's land that existed past all known parts of the kingdom, where nobody lived, and nobody dared go. Nobody returned from the desert.

And nobody will find me there...

Simba stumbled down the rock path, making his way to the thorn bush. It caught at his fur and flesh, cutting him, ripping him in places, but he didn't care. He was running on fumes. He could hardly think; all that mattered was getting away.

And eventually, he did. Out of the bush, onto the sand, and then, on into the horizon.

The sun followed, but not Scar. There were no eyes, no ears on him, as he had left the boundaries of the Pride Lands and the power of the king. He was, so far as he could be, safe.

But he didn't stop moving. The shame of what he had done chased him further than the power of his uncle ever could. He stumbled, falling again into the sand, the cracked earth of the dead oasis. Above him, circling high, were vultures looking for a meal. Something that he'd become if he wasn't careful.

He forced himself up again, only to fall back to all fours. The call of the carrion birds grew louder as they circled lower.

Simba panted, the air too hot for him to take. He was barely getting enough air to stay conscious, and that was threatened further by the lack of water for the last day and a half. He needed to find some water soon, or he'd fall asleep and never wake up.

When he couldn't get up, he crawled. Step by step, inch by inch across the desert ground, he dragged himself. There had to be water somewhere. The buzzards wouldn't be here if there wasn't something somewhere nearby. He hoped. He prayed, if there was anything listening, that he would find it.

Eventually, his arms gave out, and he fell face-down against the earth. He groaned as his breath wheezed from his lips, and the buzzards finally landed. The lion rolled onto his side, looking at them.

They were strange creatures, lacking arms and having wings instead. Big ones, broad ones, more than large enough to carry them through the skies. Their long necks were almost flexible enough to be a limb in and of themselves, allowing them to stretch their heads out and take bites of things from a distance, or hook something and pull themselves towards it. Their feathers, black and gray, spread down from their shoulders across their bodies, almost like a cloak to hide whatever they had between their legs.

He was barely able to stay conscious as they approached, so burned by the sun that the shade of their bodies was almost as relieving as water itself would have been. The vultures looked down at him, three of them, then looked at each other.

"It's the Prince, heh..."

"How do you know?"

"Only one with a mane that size. Only one that would be running from his own people."

"Looks like he's almost dead."

"Almost. Then he'll be food."

"Hmmm, I don't know if I'm hungry, though."

"Maybe there might be something worth keeping him alive for."

Simba groaned, trying to pull himself up, but his body had long since stopped listening to him. One of the vultures, the one that had mentioned keeping him alive, leaned down. Long neck, long beak, clicking sounds in the lion's ear, then words.

"Tell me, Prince. Do you want to live?"

"Mmmph...nnnngh..."

"Heh...is that a yes?"

Simba barely managed to move his head, nodding once. That, in and of itself, was almost enough to knock him out.

"That's a yes."

"Mmph..."

"Alright, Prince. You can earn your keep...we'll bring you back, and then...then we'll see how you do...after all, we'll always be hungry again...and if you aren't good enough for us, then we'll just let you die, after all."

They were going to let him live. That was all that he heard, and all that mattered. As their talons wrapped around his limbs, the vultures flapping hard to lift him and them into the air once more, Simba passed out.

He woke with his arms pinned with vines, and his legs the same, held up and over his head. He found himself staring through his toes at the leaves of a tree over him, the scant shade that it offered barely enough to soothe him. He groaned, rolling his head from one side to the other, feeling parts of his fur wet and drying. Had he been -

The rustle of feathers preceded the appearance of the vultures once more. They landed with a thump around him, more than three now. More than six, even, with a dozen gathered all around him. They looked down at him, and Simba felt more self-conscious this time. Not just because of the bondage, but because of the way that they leered over him, grinning, clicking their beaks in eagerness for his body.

They kept me alive, Simba thought. That means...that means that this is what they want...

And no surprise there. They were always hunting the dead, ripping them apart to clear the desert and the Pride Lands of the things that nobody wanted. They were seldom given the chance to be with others.

And now, they had a Prince. They had him. They could use him.

A shiver ran down his spine at the thought, remembering everything that Scar had done to him and all that he had learned. The pleasure of taking it like that, of feeling something hard and hot inside him, under his tail...

"Look at him. Not very Princely now, is he?" one of the vultures said.

"Not for now...but he looks sweet, regardless."

"His hole puckers for us."

"He must have been training."

"Or broken."

"Mmm...what will he feel like?"

They moved closer, their feathers stroking his face, down his arms, along his chest. There was something different to their touch compared to Scar or the hyenas, compared to any of his other partners. They were...delicate, for lack of a better word, almost like they were afraid that they might break him if they were too hard, too fast. He groaned as their feathers flicked across his nipples, then down, further down, along his stomach and towards the space between his legs.

"Ah!"

One found his cock, teasing it up with a feather along the bulge on the bottom. It lifted quickly, life filling his shaft despite his brush with death. They chuckled to themselves again.

"Mmm, not so dead here."

"Very living."

"Very eager."

"He wants us."

"He'll have us."

One of the vultures stepped between his legs, standing just close enough that the lion could see its cock hanging down. Long, pink, and slippery, it was rapidly rising as it knelt down. Lacking proper arms, it had to use its wings as a brace against the lion's lifted legs, pressing down in a squat rather than the other positions that might have been possible with the other animals of the Pride Lands. Simba gasped at the first touch of that heated thing between his cheeks, going right back to Scar.

Mmmm, you love it, nephew...you've learned your place...

"Nnngh...n-no..."

"You owe us," the vulture whispered. "We saved your life. This is the price."

Go on, nephew...break again...

It wasn't his uncle. Not really. Just memories, Simba told himself. There was no way that Scar could reach him from so far away, and there was no way that he could have spoken, too. That was beyond the power of the King.

But that didn't mean that the words didn't have power, nor did it mean that Simba was completely safe from them. He shivered, the old lessons hitting him again, making him lift his hips to show off his hole that much more. The vulture's cock slid further down, rubbing between his cheeks, hitting his hole for a moment before sliding off. Thick sweat and heavy musk filled the lion's nose, and the smell of the vulture was...not that bad, a little bit dark and a bit off, but not so bad as he feared for someone that fed on death.

The vulture squatted down further, bringing his cock closer to the Prince's hole. He felt the heat, the hardness. It was not so thick as his uncle's, he thought, but he wasn't sure. It was hot, though, hot to the touch, and he shivered as it rubbed up and down between his cheeks, sliming up his pucker, spreading the sweat back there further.

"Nnngh..."

"You are ready."

"Mmph...please..."

"Please...so polite, Prince..."

And then, it pushed. He groaned, forcing himself to relax, and suddenly, it was inside. Hot, hard, holding him open, and sliding right up to that button that Scar knew how to hit all too well. The vulture kept going, sliding against it, and Simba moaned, his cock resting against his belly and oozing already.

The other vultures gathered tighter around him, some of them leaning in to peck at his cheeks, others leaning down to bite and nibble at his nipples and along his body. Some dragged their tongues along him, tasting him, and he shivered as he remembered what they said.

If he wasn't good enough, they'd just let him die. He had come close once; it would be easy to slide back down.

"Nnngh...ah...ah..."

And the vulture was fucking him...not gently, but not hard. Not yet. They were testing him, seeing how much he could take. And against his better judgment, he was already moaning, already getting into it.

The darkness of his uncle laid over him, pushing him back to that place that he had fallen to so many times. That pit of pleasure, of surrender, of letting someone else just do what they wanted because he couldn't do it right himself: that was where he belonged, where he could survive. The vultures would keep him alive as long as he brought them pleasure, and Scar had taught him how to do that.

Without thinking, he lifted his hips, taking more of that shaft inside until he felt feathers against his ass. He let them rest there, clenching down with his insides, feeling that shaft, feeling every detail of every inch as the vulture moaned over him. More, more, he felt, more to keep himself alive, more to make them want to keep him alive.

He turned his head, sucking slowly, and soon enough had a vulture's cock in his mouth. He sucked harder, pulling it into his throat, and the bird that owned that shaft squawked in surprised pleasure.

"He wants it."

"Oh, wants it bad..."

"Prince? Prince of sluts, this one."

"The Slut Prince."

"Take it, Slut Prince, take it!"

Simba took it, alright. He took it good and hard. Swallowing around the rod in his mouth, he thrust his hips up, his hands curling tight. Some of the vultures forced his fingers apart, thrusting their cocks between them, and Simba stroked them as best he could while being tied up. Others ground their cocks against his feet, sliming his soles, soothing some of the heat burns, reminding him that he'd cut himself down there once or twice.

But it was the cock in his ass that he always returned to, was always reminded of. It was thick enough to hold his hole open, long enough to go deep, and always moving. Slimy, wet, always hitting him hard and deep, keeping his cock hard.

He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to be fucking their feathered rumps, but the thought didn't last long. That would get him in trouble. That would require him to make a decision. No, no, no, no. He needed to focus on this, of being of service, not fighting his way out.

I'd only mess it up.

So, instead, he swallowed. He sucked. He bobbed his head and thrust his hips, took cock wherever they wanted to put it. His hands and feet and face were soon soaked with whatever they had to show and offer, and he groaned as he felt their pleasure oozing over him. The smell was getting stronger, musky and thick, and his own sweaty smell was getting stronger, too. His toes curled, his eyes closed.

"Take it, Prince. Take it."

"Mmmph."

"You're going to be ours."

"Mmmph..."

"Forever. Vulture-toy."

The thought was...almost tempting. Cared for, tied up, nothing but a sex toy for the things that had rescued him. They would use him again and again, and he would be able to go along with that. All in all...it wouldn't be hard.

Simba was almost ready to submit when the first vulture slammed in and came, hard. The feeling of heat rushing through his insides sent him right back to his uncle, the feeling of that hot cock inside him, that half-pleasurable, half-sickening feeling of being taken when he knew it was wrong, the evidence left inside him, everything. He roared, screaming as he fought against his bonds, weakly flailing as only a half-dead lion could do.

"Let me out, let me out!" he begged.

They didn't listen. They pulled out, yes, but they just pulled back a few paces, letting him exhaust himself rather than fighting back. They didn't need to. The sun would break him down again, exhaustion weakening him until he was back where he started. And this time, they might not give him water to bring him back from the brink again, just fuck him until he passed out and died properly. The thought was not a good one. He shivered, one of his last tears coming to the corner of his eye again.

The vultures muttered to each other, doubtlessly planning what they were going to do with him. Simba groaned, his head rolling back. Strings of cum ran down from his legs, along his toes, between them. One fell from his toes to his face, and he shivered, a little whimper pulled from his throat.

I'm going to die...I'm going to die...

Would he see his father again after that? Would he be on the other side, with Mufasa? Or would he just die out here in the desert, and never leave?

He didn't know. He closed his eyes as his weakness came crushing down again, and not even the screams and caws of the vultures could drag him back out of it this time.

#

Water, on the other hand, could. Simba groaned as water splashed against his face, colder than the air around him by some way. He groaned, lifting his head from the sand, looking through bleary eyes.

Another splash, and he blinked through it, looking at a slender man that stood over him. He didn't know what he was, at first, and it wasn't until he leaned in with his ears folded back a bit that he managed to get a good look at his rescuer.

A meerkat, oddly enough. Something that was in the Pride Lands, yes, but they were never very common. They lurked at the edge, keeping to themselves in large families...but this one was alone.

Simba grunted, trying to sit up and failing again. He must have been worse off than he thought. The meerkat dragged him to the water, shaking his head.

"You okay, kid?"

"Nnngh..."

"You nearly died," another voice, deeper than the meerkat's, said from behind him.

"I saved ya," the meerkat said. "Well, mostly. Pumbaa did most of it. I decided to bring ya here, though. Drink up, kid."

He was all but dropped in the water, though he didn't hold that against the meerkat. He was bigger, heavier. That was probably hard to deal with. His chin hit the small oasis, and he started drinking, sucking down everything that he could reach with his tongue. Every bit of water that he could get was something that would keep him alive for that little bit longer.

He coughed, sputtered, but kept drinking until he could hold no more. His legs obeyed, supporting his weight as he pushed himself to a kneeling position, and he slowly turned around to get a better look at his rescuers.

One, the meerkat, was about a foot shorter than him and much skinnier. Tan and brown-furred, he looked like he could have been a starving little man if it wasn't for the fact that he was positively brimming with energy. The light in his eyes spoke to a sharp intelligence and that grin to a confidence that probably could use some trimming, but was nonetheless there.

The other was a warthog, and was much bigger, standing over a head taller than Simba, with a gut that made him look like he was nearly as round as he was tall. That was an exaggeration, of course, as nobody could be that fat and still get around, but one couldn't deny that the big guy had a gut. He grinned, too, his tusks making that grin seem all the bigger from the right angles.

And they were both, of course, naked, and half-hard. Fully hard, in the case of the warthog. Simba groaned, looking away from the fat shaft pointed at him.

"I'm not...no more..."

"We didn't rescue you for that, kid, though I sure wouldn't say no to some fun," the meerkat said. "I'm Timon, that's Pumbaa. And you?"

"...Simba."

"Right. Simba. So, ain't none of our business, but any chance you wanna tell us why you were letting the vultures tie ya up?"

"..."

"Yeah, didn't think so."

"Anything we can do?" Pumbaa asked.

"Hey, hey, big guy. Let me do the talking. Ya know it fries your brain when you start trying too hard."

Despite himself, Simba smiled slightly. The way that the meerkat pushed Pumbaa around might have been a bit mean, but there was always a smile on both their faces when it happened. Maybe they were just like that, teasing each other all the time.

Timon turned back to him.

"Got a place of your own, kid?"

"Not...really. Not anymore," Simba said, his smile dying.

"Heh, thought so. Nobody comes out here if they got a place that's better." He looked back at Pumbaa, then shook his head. "Well, ya don't want to talk about it, right?"

"Right."

"And there's nothing you can do about it, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong!"

Simba jerked as the meerkat suddenly filled his vision, right in front of him, too close for comfort. He blinked rapidly as Timon pulled back.

"When things go bad, you put it behind ya and start over. Put your past behind ya, you know?"

"...It's not that easy."

"Heh, kid, it's just that easy. Forget about it, and it'll forget about you."

He wanted to argue. He really did. But at the same time, anything that would let him get away from...that...

Seeing his father falling, seeing the blood, seeing the death that Mufasa had caused and the deaths that Simba could have prevented, was enough to make him close his eyes tight. He would do anything to make those ghosts go away and leave him alone.

"How?" he whispered. "How?"

"Hakuna matata," Timon said. "Put your past behind ya, and move on. The world's turns its back on you? Turn your back on it. After all, it did it first."

"And it works for us," Pumbaa said.

Despite the fact that neither of them were responsible for the death of a family member (probably), Simba was more than willing to give it a shot. If it meant that he didn't have to think about everything that he was responsible for in the Pride Lands, then he would try anything. The Prince - no, Simba - nodded.

"Alright...I'll give it a try."

"Great. Now, come on," Timon said.

"Come on...where?"

"Back home, of course. You're staying with us, right?"

"..."

"We saved ya, kid. Run off if ya want, but we're good at keeping the buzzards at bay, and Pumbaa's better at kicking ass than anything you've seen before."

Looking at the warthog, he could believe that all too well. Shaking his head, he fell in step behind them, and wondered where they'd take him.

Scar was not having a good day.

The dark-maned lion lounged in the throne room, looking down at his brother's head. The hyenas had put it up on a pike, leaving the bloody thing there for him to enjoy, but the pleasure of looking at the corpse of his long-time rival was not so sufficient as he had hoped.

And now that Simba was gone, there were other problems to consider. Namely, that he had little idea of how to make an heir for himself. And with Rafiki gone into hiding, that meant that there was precious little chance of him figuring it out on his own.

This...was not how the conquest of the Pride Land was supposed to go.

As he tapped his fingers against the arms of the throne, Shenzi emerged from the shadows. The wide-hipped hyena patriarch grinned at him, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

"Heh, why the long face, your Majesty? Looks like you're not so happy as you wanted."

"This didn't go the way I wanted."

"Heh, did you expect it to?"

"Yes. I planned it, after all," Scar said, shaking his head.

"Well, plans don't always go the way that you want, do they? I could tell you stories..."

"I don't care, Shenzi."

"Heh, tell me something I don't know..."

He would have to watch that one. Shenzi had always been a slippery figure, and when he had silenced Scar's ears, talking with the Prince, something had obviously passed between them. Whatever Shenzi wanted, it was likely to be something that Scar was loathe to give up. He would have to be very, very careful with the hyena.

He put it out of his mind, thinking of the future, instead. Looking away from the hyena patriarch, he asked something else.

"Any news of my nephew?"

"Heh, not really. We followed him to the canyon, but after that..."

"He ran."

"Hehehehe, yeah, he ran."

"Because of you."

"Heh, and why would you think I'd do something like that?"

Scar didn't have a clue. There was no clear reason why Shenzi would want Simba out of the picture, particularly when it didn't benefit the hyenas to have the new King angry at them. Yet, at the same time, he could only think of one person that could manipulate his nephew like that, and they were standing in front of him. Shenzi had magics of his own, older ones, darker ones, and they were potent enough to cause problems.

Scar wished that he could get a message to the Outlanders, calling them back so that he could have a proper alliance with other lions, not merely with hyenas, but Shenzi continued to stand in his way. That blackmail still hung over his head. Shenzi could expose him at any time for being the one to set up this plot and causing the deaths of various individuals throughout the Pride Lands. The only thing stopping the patriarch from doing just that was the fact that once Scar was out of power, the hyenas would be kicked back to the Graveyard, and there'd be plenty of others willing to take revenge on them at that point.

He couldn't push Shenzi too far, and Shenzi couldn't push him. They were in a game of mutual annihilation if either stepped too far out of line, and he hated it.

But until he could prove that Shenzi had sabotaged him, he couldn't make a move. Not against the hyenas, at any rate, and that gnawed at him. Nearly as much as losing Simba did.

"Well, you will have to work harder," Scar said, getting to his feet. "Simba could have kept the kingdom in line. You'll have to do it for him."

"He was your bitch, Scar."

"He was still a Prince...and someone that could have been trained to be useful." The lion looked down at the hyena. "Do I need to train you?"

"Heh...I don't know if you could."

"Shall we find out?"

Scar loomed as tall as he could, reaching out with the powers of the King, with all the force of domination that he had tried to teach Simba. The Prince had failed, but the King? Well, he had lived in the darkness, savored it, enjoyed it...

And it came when he called. Shenzi hissed, stiffening, standing up straighter and thrusting his hips forward that little bit, just enough to put his cock and balls on display. Scar reached down with one delicate hand, squeezing the offered sac until the hyena's face twisted in discomfort.

"Do not mock me, Shenzi. You only have what you have because of me. Push me too far, and you'll lose it."

"Mmmph...that goes...both ways, Scar."

"Only for now."

"..."

"Get to work."

He released the hyena's sac, and Shenzi stormed out. He watched the hyena leader leave, shaking his head as he made his way through Pride Rock himself. There was someone else that needed his attention, someone else that needed to learn their place.

Sakabi...

He had long fantasized about putting that one in their place. The 'Chosen' of Mufasa had been a thorn in his side for far too long. Always looking into what he was doing, always trying to poke his nose into Scar's personal business. But no more. He was King, now, and that meant that he was due some certain amount of respect. With the death of Mufasa, there was no protection for Sakabi any longer.

I look forward to breaking you...

The End

Summary: Simba flees the pride lands and meets a few friends.

Tags: M/M, Orgy, Bondage, Anal, Oral, Foot Fetish, Masturbation, Dub-Con, Nudity, Humiliation, Vulture, Lion, Hyena, Warthog, Meerkat, Series, Rule 34, All Gay, All Guys, Dick, Orgasm, Cum, PTSD,