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A Gay Lion King Parody

Chapter 23

Sponsored by Johnzaloog

By Draconicon

When he ran out of ideas and Naka ran out of energy, Simba put his old bodyguard to sleep. The worship had been pleasing, but the whole time, he had been fighting a low-level guilt for what he had done. For all that he didn't want to do what Naka wanted of him - and he certainly didn't want to go back to the Pride Lands while Scar was alive - he didn't feel right about taking control to that level. The snap that he'd felt when Naka's lust had turned to obedience had gone right through him and nearly pulled his heart from his chest. The fact that he had been willing to go that far, and that he had listened to those dark instincts that happily...

He shook his head as he lowered the other lion to the ground. It was one thing to do that to the dogs in the desert, and another thing entirely to do it to his friend. Naka was someone that had helped him, guarded him for literally years. The lion mattered; the dogs were strangers, dangerous and worth being 'armed' against.

Am I any better than Scar, if I'm willing to do something like this?

Simba didn't have an answer. He wasn't sure that there existed one that would make him feel better about what he'd done, and he sighed as he stepped away from the unconscious feline.

Timon and Pumbaa hadn't come back yet. He imagined that they were still running or, failing that, unconscious and exhausted on some cliff far away. They would probably come back, eventually. They cared enough about him that they would want to make sure that he had either left or been able to get away, but it would be at least a day before they were willing to show their faces again.

Unfortunately, that left him alone with himself, and that was a place that Simba knew was a very dangerous place for him to be.

The lion prince leaned against a tree, his back flush to the bark and his head tilted back as he looked at the leaves overhead. He could just barely see the sky through the branches, the light peering through in ghostly fashion. Closing his eyes, he felt the first little tear pushing up, and he bit his lips.

"No, no..."

It didn't matter how he protested. The tears came regardless, and as they fell, he sighed, pulling his arms tight around his legs and grinding his knees against his chest.

_You're no better than your uncle. You didn't just stop him, you broke him and used him. You fucked him. You ground him under your heel and made him admit that you were better. All because you were afraid. All because you couldn't take being taken back. Because Scar hurt you, and you're afraid he's going to do it again.

You're weak, Simba. You're weak, and there's nothing you can do about it._

He lowered his head against his legs, the tears pouring and soaking his fur. So much for putting any of this behind him. So much for forgetting about his guilt and being better from now on.

So much for not being like Scar.

He had to force himself to keep breathing as the crying got worse. It was hard to get enough air as he wheezed, and the temptation to just slam his head against his knees until he knocked himself out was almost overpowering. He barely held back, biting his lips and hissing harder and harder until the crying stopped.

His eyes hurt. Rubbing them with the palm of one hand, he managed to lift his head once more, looking at the jungle around him.

He knew for a fact what was happening in the Pride Lands. It was impossible for anyone that had grown up around Mufasa and Sakabi not to have some knowledge of it. Scar was consolidating his power, pulling it closer and closer to the throne so he didn't have to rely on anyone else. Every tribal leader would be brought to him, broken in, made into a toy that the new king would be able to control directly.

Once that was done, Scar would move on, taking control of the different tribes, showing everyone that wasn't a lion where they belonged. That same dark power that allowed him to dominate Simba and his other victims would mark every prey species in the kingdom. It would become nothing but lion supremacy. Some of the Pride might even like that, while others would fight.

They'd be broken, used as examples, pushed out of the Pride and made into public toys. It'd sate the anger that the other species felt towards the lions over them, and then the whole thing would continue. Scar would have his power, his kingship, and the entire land would suffer as a result.

How can anyone stop that? he thought. Scar has more power, more influence than anyone. He knows every secret before you do. If anyone fights him...

He remembered how he had taken Naka down without that much of a struggle once he embraced that power. Naka was a great fighter, someone that knew how to put down anyone that came too close, but even he had been brought low. And Scar knew that power better than Simba did. Scar knew how to wield it with greater precision, pain, and pleasure, breaking someone in seconds.

He did it once. He'll do it again.

Even as he sat there, he could feel his uncle's clawed fingers tracing lines along his hips. Running down to the back of his thighs, he felt his legs being pushed apart, one of those digits pushing under his tail. He hissed in unwanted pleasure, his formerly sated cock rising to the occasion as the ghost of his uncle stroked him, teased him, entered him.

A boy can never rise to the throne. And a prince must always serve a king...

His uncle's soft, growling voice whispered to him, encouraging him to spread his legs further. Simba almost did -

"Nnngh!"

Until he slammed his head back against the tree. The hard, very intentional knock silenced the voice and banished the fingers, leaving him with a massive headache instead. Self-harm was a way of getting the voice to stop, but fuck it hurt.

He rubbed the back of his head, rolling sideways and lying down. He would not go back. Even if Naka got better and asked again, he would not go back.

This...this was better. The Pride Lands might die, but he wasn't worthy of the title of Prince. He couldn't go back and take an even more important title.

Simba closed his eyes and drifted to oblivion.

#

The realm of the dream opened as it always did, purple and black in streams and stripes, as if he sat on the back of some great zebra of the stars. He sat on one of the stripes, knowing it was a dream without having to think about it, and he let himself rest in the darkness.

This had happened more and more often of late. Sleeping brought him to this place where he could relax, where he didn't have to think too hard, where he was...not quite awake, nor quite asleep. It was a place of power, almost of magic, and it was here that he could reach out and touch other people in their dreams.

He could have wandered the desert. He could have gone through the forest and found where Timon and Pumbaa had run off to. He could have done many things. Instead, he remained where he was, his eyes closed and his hands slowly curling into fists as he tried to think of something that he could do to make himself feel better.

After all, for all that he had enjoyed doing what he did to Naka - outside of the guilt - he knew that he couldn't be in charge for long. Being in charge was for those that knew what they were doing, and he most definitely did not. He'd have to seek out someone that was able to fuck him, use him, punish him if needed, and that would be hard to find in the desert. In the dream, he could make something, so long as it didn't get out of hand, and that would probably be the better course. Less real, but more personalized, more what he needed, more -

Simba blinked. There was something else on the horizon of the dream, something moving through the purple and black in the distance. He hadn't realized that something else could come in.

Scar?

For a split-second, he wondered if his uncle had found a way to track him down, and his fear rippled through the dreamscape around him, all but shattering the calm sleep-colors that drifted here and there about him. He got to his feet, whipping his head around, trying to see where his uncle could come from. The minions of the dark, the shadowy voices of Scar, they had to be coming, yes?

But no.

No, it wasn't the darkness of his uncle coming, but something brighter, something almost like a dawn. Great oranges and yellows burned through the sky, and as they did, something that he had never expected to see again started to take form.

It was his father's face. And it was frowning.

Simba backpedaled, feeling smaller than he had for years. Naked, weak, tiny compared to the great lion that stood on the glowing horizon, he was a weakling that was sure to be punished for his failures. He turned on his heel, running, throwing up all kinds of barriers in his path. Thorns of shadow, great rocks and trees of denial: anything and everything that he could think of and draw from the dark places of his mind, he threw behind him to try and slow his father's dream presence down.

And it failed.

He could feel the light chasing him, sensed every barrier falling as he pushed himself as hard as he could. Bare feet began to sink through the shimmering ground of the dream, sinking into it and making it hard to stay upright. Every step started to suck at his feet as if he was running through mud, dragging him down, almost sending him flying to the ground with each stumbling step.

And the light came closer, and closer, consuming the dream around him and forcing him to feel the truth. The heat of warmth, of life, of what was no longer there -

Simba slipped, one leg stuck in the 'sand' of the dream, and he hit the ground. He tried to get up, slipped again, and cried as the dream-presence of his father came to him, stopping at his side and resting a hand on his back.

"Why did you run, my son?"

"I failed...I failed...you died and it's all my fault..."

Mufasa said nothing. Instead, his father sat down behind him, still keeping one hand on his back, and Simba just knelt there, staring at the ground as the light from the other lion burned through the air of the dream. There was no darkness allowed near them, nothing that might have once given them some security and secrecy. This was something else, something that didn't belong in the world of waking.

Simba didn't want to look back at the other lion. He'd seen his father's face in the dream, knew that it was the old king, but he didn't know if the rest of him was the same or if he would carry the death-wounds in this dream world. If the older lion did, Simba didn't know if he could take it. He was barely holding it together just staring ahead and being aware of his father behind him.

Please stay quiet. Please, don't talk.

The memory of being at the edge of Pride Rock, looking down at his father as he fought against the rampant hyenas and the rest of the Pride as he tried to escape, sent shivers down his spine. Tears burst from his eyes as he remembered blood, remembered the sound of blows and the roar of anger and agony. They were as fresh as the day that they had happened.

Run, he remembered his father saying. Run.

He had. He had. Why did Mufasa have to come back?

"Simba."

"Don't talk...please...please..."

"Simba. Look at me."

"I can't. I can't. I can't."

"You have to."

A strong hand wrapped around his shoulders, and then his neck. He felt it at his chin, turning him around. No matter how hard he fought - and he fought hard, indeed - it kept pushing, slowly turning him in place until the light burned at the corner of his eyes. When he tried to keep them closed, another hand brushed his face, thumbing at his eyelid.

"Open them, my son."

"..."

"Look at me."

Was there any way to avoid it? Not that he could think of. Not in a dream that was no longer his own. Simba slowly opened one eye, staring back.

There were no death wounds, no great scars, but it was not like looking at his father used to be. There had always been a magic to Mufasa, and now, it seemed to have consumed him. It was like seeing fire in the shape of a lion, great and golden, with a mane of red and blue. Simba tried to look away, but his father made him keep looking.

"Why can't you look at me?"

"You're dead. You're gone."

"Out there...but not here."

That same large hand - too large, too big - pressed against his chest. The warmth of the fiery lion suffused him, driving away some of the cold that he hadn't even realized was there.

"Not in here, either."

"..."

"I was...distant in life, son. I was not the best father. Nor the best king. But even I know that you don't deserve what you're doing to yourself."

Simba closed his eyes, finally.

"Simba...you have to see the truth."

"The truth is...the truth is, you're dead...and things can't go back to the way that they used to be. Because of me."

"Because of you, yes. And because of Sakabi. And because of Scar. And because of so many others," his father said, voice soft but still booming in the way that it always had. "Nothing happens because of just one person. No matter how much guilt you think you hold, as much of it was my responsibility as yours. I played into Scar's plans, just like you did; if he hadn't found you to be a good tool, then he would have found something else. I gave him too much trust; he was never going to share the land.

"But now...my insightful son...you blind yourself."

"I can't just..."

Gesturing hopelessly into the distance, Simba still felt the expanse of the Pride Lands in the distance. He could still feel what was waiting out there. His old home, his people, his second father Sakabi: they were all out there, all waiting for someone, something to change before Scar ruined things forever.

"I can't beat him."

"Someone will have to," Mufasa said.

"But...but if we fight..."

"Some wars are worth waging. There are times when a king must hold it together, and there are times when a king has to sacrifice something for the sake of others. With Scar's plans...this is the time to push."

"..."

"My son...I have taught you many things. I have taught you how to rule. I've taught you how to fight. I've taught you about the people that live within the Pride Lands...but I have never taught you how to be the king. No one ever knows before they take that mantle, Simba. They cannot; every king can, and has to be, different to the one that came before him. You can't be scared of power."

"I can...because I can't...I can't..."

He was breaking down again, and he couldn't stop it this time. Slumping forward, he lost himself in his father's chest.

Why couldn't he be like this when he was alive? Simba thought. Why couldn't we be like this when he was alive?

Cold, distant, aloof, focused on the work of ruling the kingdom: that had been the way that Mufasa had always presented himself outside of the rare lessons that they had shared together. Their bond had been there, part of the relationship between King and Prince, but they had never entirely moved beyond that. They had never been a true father and son, never allowed themselves the closeness of the other lions.

It was only here, only in death, that he could be held the way that he had wanted for so many years. He cried more at the thought.

"My son...please...tell me..."

"Why? Why can't you..."

"I could only see things. It was your uncle that could hear the unsaid. Tell me...please. My son...let me understand."

Simba clenched his hands into fists as he tried to find his words. Words. Heh. Finding his breath was hard enough; finding what to do with it was something that he wasn't sure that he was entirely capable of, and yet, he tried.

He let it all out. Everything that had happened from the moment he saw Scar dominating the zebra to everything that he had done for himself came free. Simba explicitly laid out what he had done to Naka in the graveyard and more recently. He let his father know about the vultures and the dogs. Everything that had happened with either side of his abilities came loose, and he cried it all out.

Through it all, Mufasa didn't even say a word. There was total silence between them, and it was the only thing that allowed him to get to the end. One question would have derailed him and silenced him, and he kept expecting one of the king's many questions to slow him down and stop him.

They never came. For once, Mufasa seemed to realize just what he needed.

When he reached the end of his story, his voice feeling like it was almost gone, Simba slumped against his father's stomach. He was cradled there, his head getting stroked, rubbed, and his body cuddled. It was...good. Not perfect, but good.

"You fear getting it wrong."

"When it goes wrong...it goes very wrong."

"And you don't trust yourself."

"No."

"A king must straddle the line between fearing himself and trusting his judgment," Mufasa said, shaking his head. "It is the consequence of having so much power over others, Simba. There is...little that I can tell you about that."

"So...what am I supposed to do?"

He would have taken anything. Anything, no matter how small, would have been better than the nothing that he had been avoiding for so long. Instead, the silence lingered, and the shakes returned.

As he trembled in his father's arms, he realized that there was no magic piece of advice, no bit of hidden wisdom that could solve his problem. He had poured his soul out for nothing. Clenching his fist, he swung for the ground -

"Stop."

Mufasa caught his hand before it could land, and the strength of the older lion was still enough to keep him from moving any further. Simba looked up at those burning eyes, feeling them staring deep into his soul.

"My son. You cannot blame yourself for everything. You carry yourself with a king's pride, already; you already feel responsible for everything that happens, even the things that you had no hand in. Even I didn't carry that much on my back.

"You have to let it go. If you cannot see what you will do for yourself, do it for others. If you cannot find an answer for your problem, look to others. A King should not isolate himself, as I did. I believed, in that peace, seeing all the kingdom and being linked to it, I had all the answers. I clearly did not.

"Surround yourself. Learn from them. Be part of them. And let them be part of you. If you cannot trust yourself, then let them be your guide."

"And if I...break them?" Simba whispered.

"Then make them break you," Mufasa said. "Whatever you do to them, they must be allowed to do to you."

It was...surprisingly apt, he realized, and there was a part of him that was already imagining what he might allow Naka to do once he was awake again. The idea of going that hard -

His cheeks burned as he realized those thoughts were going right between his legs, and he pulled away. His father chuckled.

"I imagined that you'd find the wisdom useful, but I didn't expect that."

"Sorry."

"No, my son...I'm sorry."

As he stood up, he realized that the fiery light of his father's ghost was already fading. The great golden flames had already dimmed to a significant degree, going from the flaring sunrise to the gentler glow of sunset. It was drifting away, and his father's voice was fading, too.

"You are finding yourself, Simba. When you find who you are, remember it. Remember it, and never forget. And nobody can take it from you."

"Father..."

"Goodbye, my son...goodbye."

#

Simba gasped as he woke up, sitting up on the leaves and vines that had formed his bed. Naka was still out, chest rising and falling slowly, and Simba shook his head as he pushed himself to his knees, and then to his feet.

Finding who I am...surround myself with people...

It was so...small an idea that it felt like it could never be enough. How would that keep him a good person? How would that keep him from becoming as bad as Scar was? And how would that help to topple his uncle? It seemed like it was such a weak answer to such strength.

And yet...

If I have other voices besides his...maybe it'll be enough.

Simba looked back at Naka. The other lion had been broken, but at the same time, he was loyal. Painfully loyal, as a matter of fact, and that was something that the prince would need going home. Without that -

He shifted his footing, and Naka lifted his head. Simba blinked in shock as his old bodyguard turned to face him.

"Going somewhere?"

"You...you're alright?"

"...No," Naka admitted, grunting as he held one hand to his head while pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not, but I am better than I was when you beat me last night. You...cheated...did something to me."

"..."

"Can you do that to Scar?"

"...Maybe? Probably not, but there's...a possibility, I guess," Simba admitted.

"Then maybe there's a chance."

"Let's not think about that just yet," he said, leaning back against the tree and crossing his arms. "First, let's talk about how we're going to go back."

"Oh. Now you're willing, after you fucked me silly?"

"To be fair, your ass is more persuasive than your mouth."

"..."

"But it's not just you that made the decision. I...had a dream that made me think of things differently, and...you're not wrong. There is a responsibility that I have to take. I'm...terrified of that, but I have to take it."

As a matter of fact, it was taking everything that he had to keep from trembling just thinking about going back across the desert. He still remembered the ease with which Shenzi had played him, and how Scar had done it even better. The lion's body remembered the touches of all the others that had used him, fucked him, rutted him, and how much he had enjoyed each and every second of the abuse and use. It was nearly impossible for him to drag himself out of that dark pit without the use of self-harm...

But he did. He did by looking at the pride in Naka's face. It was something. Not much, barely enough, but something.

"Do you know what Scar's doing?"

"Some. Not all of it."

"Then tell me. I want to know it all before we leave. And maybe we can find Timon and Pumbaa before we go."

"Them? What do you want them for?"

"I don't think you'd understand."

Nor did he want to try and explain it, considering that he wasn't entirely sure that he understood it, either. All he knew was that the pair of them had something that was so different to the tiered relationships that the Pride Lands knew, and it was something that he wanted around him.

If he was going to surround himself with many voices to give him what he needed, then he was going to start with a pair that had learned how to find happiness. That, Simba thought, was something that would be very, very important going forward, and he didn't know how much longer he would have to figure it out on his own.

#

Sakabi flicked his eyes between the supposedly-sleeping hyena and the entrance to his sleeping cavern. The piercings through his nipples felt heavier than usual today, and the rope around his cock pulling it down, weighting it, reminding him of his own denied virility, only added to the erotic frustration. What had once been pure, agonizing humiliation had become something else, something that made him whimper and huff if he thought about it for too long. Little pieces of his mind wanted nothing more than to strut down the halls of Pride Rock and show off his body until one of the lions -

Or one of the hyenas...one of those gray, filthy things...pinning me to the wall and using me...

The shiver that ran down his spine rivaled anything that Mufasa had once been able to draw from him, and he hated it. Feared it, too, considering how it meant he was closer to breaking than he thought. He clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the tensing and clenching going on under his tail as his imagination continued to run wild.

The sound of footsteps called to him, and he almost reached out for Shenzi. Any closer and -

No, they started walking away. He lowered his hand and shook his head, his heart slowly coming down from the thundering beats that they'd started.

How much longer?

That was the question that he just didn't know the answer to. This was supposedly a ritual that Shenzi had come up with to make sure that Simba actually came home in case Naka failed, but for all the edging that the hyena patriarch had put him through and all the draining that his balls had endured, he didn't know what it was supposed to do. All he'd seen was Shenzi sucking down pre-cum and then drawing a circle around himself before passing out.

If this was just some perverted joke -

"Mmmm..."

The hyena was waking up. Shenzi groaned, stretching his legs and rubbing his eyes as Sakabi glared at him.

"Well, that worked better than I thought. Stop snarling, hon; it doesn't work with you."

"What did you do?"

"Oh, raised a ghost. You're welcome."

"You - what?"

Shenzi waved a hand dismissively. As the hyena stumbled to his feet, he wobbled and fell right back down.

"Oof. Okay...not ready to stand up yet, then."

"What did you do? You...can summon ghosts?"

"Heh, oh, I wish. I can barely get them to show their faces in a dream, most of the time. But Simba felt bad enough that I could use that - and all your pleasure, heh - to get the ghost of a ghost. Not the real Mufasa, but something close enough to what Simba wanted. Something that could talk to him."

"And that...how would that work?"

"Deep down, we all know what we want. We have answers we don't want to hear from ourselves. That part of the Prince might know enough to tell him to get his ass back here."

"Might?"

"I can't control it; I can only call it out. Maybe it worked, maybe it doesn't, but -"

"Ah, the traitor finally confesses their incompetence."

Wanton lion and hyena patriarch froze in mid-conversation as Scar stepped through the door into the little chamber. The red-furred, black-maned lion smirked, his cock rising slowly between his legs from sheer smugness. He rested one hand under his chin and the other at his hip as he shook his head.

"And here I thought that there was such a thing as a bought ally. It seems, Shenzi, that you were nothing more than a selfish little bitch, after all. What's the matter? The many males I've sent for your pleasures not enough for you? You have to try and turn my nephew against me as well?"

"..."

"I thought that I knew you better than that."

Scar snapped his fingers. Two new thugs - one rhino and one wildebeest - stepped in behind him. They had the same glassy-eyed stare that many around Pride Rock had these days; they were being broken in, slowly but surely, and they did nothing but obey the dark lion. Even now, in a situation that should have turned them against him, they obeyed as he gestured at Shenzi.

"Lock him up. One of the lower chambers; I'll tend to him myself when I have time."

"You bastard," Shenzi growled. "You know why I'm doing this. When the others find out -"

"They won't, if you value their lives. Now, take him below."

The thugs did as they were told, and Scar turned to face Sakabi. The once-Chosen lover of the old king kept his eyes down, slowly falling to his knees under the pressure of the other lion's stare. It was so powerful, so intense that it was impossible for him to remain standing when it was turned toward him. He gritted his teeth, trying to fight the urge to flag his tail off to the side and expose himself to Scar right then and there. It was hard, so hard.

"Now, Sakabi. You're going to tell me what happened with my nephew, and what Shenzi told you."

"..."

"And you know you will. You've already begun to believe the truth. That I am better than your Mufasa was...stronger...more pleasing...better for this land. All you have to do is give in again, let me have what I want, and I'll give you all the pleasure that you can handle..."

He knew that, too. There was no eternal resistance; there was only temporary holding out. If Simba didn't come back, and soon, Sakabi would break. He was already at his limits, and -

"Ah...ah..."

"Now, let's start with what Shenzi told you...one stroke with my toes for every answer...that seems fair, doesn't it?"

The End

Summary: Simba goes to sleep after having his time with Naka and has a surprising dream.

Tags: M/M, The Lion King, Gay Lion King, Gay, All Male, Shenzi, Simba, Scar, Bondage, Piercings, Nudity, Post-Sex, Ritual, Discovery, Series, Near-Climax, Rule 34,