#omtdd

Lando's stomach mostly consists of tequila sloshing on top of rum, a vodka shot for punctuation, and at least two Long Islands. He's also barely eaten all day. Maybe that's why alcohol is hollowing him out until he's nothing but a pulse and a reflection, gripping the sink in the pristine marble bathroom of the afterparty thrown in honor of his world championship. His World Championship. The words feel too big to hold, too bright to look at directly. So he stares into his own eyes in the mirror like he’s waiting for his reflection to blink first, his head pounding in time with the music making its way through the walls, each beat a vaguely uncomfortable pulse behind his eyeballs. And that’s when the door bangs open.

Max.

Not that Max. The other one. His Max. The one who knows him well enough to barrel in without knocking because if Lando has disappeared into the bathroom for this long, he’s either crying or drowning.

“Oi—” Max starts, though whatever else he has to say is aborted halfway through.

 Lando know it's because of how he looks. He can see it in the mirror, the wrongness there. The way his skin's gone ashen, eyes glassy. Like the night has drained through him and left only a shell propped up against porcelain.

7th plane form

Another flicker, and the beast appears smaller than previously: roughly the size of an adult lion, it circles the magician with soundless, leisurely steps. It is quadrupedal, albeit with a strange body plan which Khaba has never seen before, limbs eerily elongated like those of a shadow near the end of a sunset. “I was appointed by Lord Ra to punish the wickedness of man by feasting on the hearts of those deemed unworthy of entering the Field.” It pauses, taking a deep breath, then exhaling with a thrilled growl. A long, dark tongue drags over rows of countless teeth. “And you, little morsel, are shaping up to be quite a feast indeed.” Becoming quite a feast indeed is something which Khaba would like to avoid if possible, thank you very much. 

Ammet's 7th plane form is, at least in my headcanon, malleable; the body plan fluctuates depending on whim and necessity, as do the amounts of eyes, mouth, limbs et cetera - he's not beholden to the laws of logic, physics, and sanity. What remains consistent, however, is the mouth that goes all the way down and Khaba's mind-numbing boner at the sight of it. This particular excerpt is from chapter 6 of "Offer Me That Deathless Death", when K isn't aware that he's speaking to his brainwashed boyfriend, hence the reluctance to shoving his [redacted] into that maw right away.

How he reacts upon finding out, however...

Consumption

His head falls back, his spine arching off the altar as a positively obscene sound falls from his parted lips. The inside of him is already overcrowded, and the intrusion of Ammet's hands and teeth and tongue paints his vision with bright spots and floods his mind with a pleasure unlike any carnal delight offered by the living world.  "A-" he tries to utter and breaks off with another desperate sound. The sensation of Ammet’s long, slippery tongue dragging across the inside of his chest cavity renders him voiceless, the pleasure made only more potent by the relief when the first of his many burdens is plucked right out from between his ribs and crushed between ravenous jaws, disappearing with a wet squelch.

...is another matter entirely.

As it happens, I actually went back and edited the last couple chapters of the fic to fix some passages I wasn't happy with and expand the consumption scene. The timing just so happened to coincide with the approach of prompt week, so I'm choosing to dedicate both this art and the additional details to this oh so delicious prompt.

TITLE: Offer me that deathless death

RATING: M

RELATIONSHIPS: Ammet/Khaba

SUMMARY: In which Khaba the Cruel dies, and finds it to be the least serious of his problems.