#sith ocs

*** “My Lord.” Khenta spit out the words, but he bowed low and waited for the guards to leave until he lifted his gaze from the broken and decrepit tiles of the temple floor to stare defiantly at the Sith towering over him. His hands were balled into fists, his shoulders shaking from the anger that was rising in his throat like bile, threatening to consume him. The abomination that was Ziig smirked, obviously delighted by finally having his old rival at his mercy. “No need to be so formal,” he chuckled, dark robes swirling around him as he paced around Khenta in a circle, clawed fingertips clicking in the silence of the ruins. Like a bird of prey circling over a dying animal. Khenta held his breath. He wasn't going to give Ziig the satisfaction of losing his temper. As much as he wanted to insult him, Khenta knew it would feel like a defeat. And it wasn't going to accomplish anything. It would just be an admission of how much their current situation affected him.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as the voice of his old rival suddenly came from behind. “There's no need to pretend with me. We are all alone here.” That sounded like a threat coming from Ziig's lips, but well, most things did.

Unfortunately Ziig was right. The tomb was empty, except for the troops guarding the entrance. None of them would dare and disturb a Lord of Sith, no matter how loud the screams that came from behind closed doors. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Khenta hissed, pulling himself up to his full height, turning around to face the ancient horror that was Ziig. Unfortunately his full height wasn't very impressive right now. His feeble new body only reached up to Ziig's chin, a fact that made Khenta's cheeks flush in an even darker shade. “How could you have forgotten,” Ziig mocked, his hands suddenly on Khenta's forehead, cutting into his skin with his sharp nails, mumbling an incantation in the old and forgotten language of the void. The room around them started to spin, darkness filled his lungs, but he couldn't move, couldn't do anything.

“Let me remind you,” Ziig's disembodied voice resonated in his head, and suddenly the temple around them changed, the ancient writings transformed, until they looked brand new, as if they were carved just yesterday. The dust and debris disappeared, and so did the equipment of the reclamation service that was strewn everywhere around the room.

Khenta looked down on himself and was shocked to see ornate robes, a broad chest. He raised his hands and inspected them. His own hands. Strong hands, bejeweled. Red skin. “What did you do?” That was his own voice too. Just as he remembered it. But how was that possible? His body was rotting in a grave on Yavin IV. It had probably long since turned to dust.

“Just an echo of the past,” Ziig's voice came from right behind him again.

Khenta drew a sharp breath and jerked around. His hated rival was so close he could feel his breath on his skin. His real, red skin. Ziig looked the same as he always had, dusky pink skin and glowing red eyes, captivating the hearts of all living beings with his ageless beauty. Terrifying them with the horrors they could glimpse in his eyes.

Before he could as much as blink, Khenta was pushed back against the stone wall by unnatural strength, his old body just as useless as his new one against Ziig's powers. Even if they were of a similar height now, the only advantage that gave him was that he didn't have to twist his neck at an awkward angle as his lips were captured, bitten until they parted and his mouth was plundered like the graves on Yavin. Khenta groaned into the kiss, if it deserved to be called that at all. It was as if his body still remembered how much he had always hated Ziig with every fiber of his being. Oh, Khenta hated most of the pretenders who called themselves Sith nowadays, but his hatred for Ziig was special, personal, even if he was one of the few who could rightfully claim that title.

He hated Ziig's unnatural strength and he hated his chilling laughter that made his stomach drop and set his nerves on fire. And most of all he hated himself and the way he felt when deceptively slender arms lifted him off the ground and pinned him against the wall. His cock was hard as soon as the robed figure pressed flush against him, and he couldn't even find it in himself to be glad about the familiarity of the sensation. He felt ashamed to realize that he was lusting for Ziig's dark power just as much as he had back then, no matter how many centuries had passed. But... if this was just a memory, there was no reason to hold back now, was there? Khenta bit the tongue in his mouth, hard, but all that accomplished was to spur Ziig on, make him increase his efforts. Something slippery and wet wrapped around Khenta's legs and he moaned, hating himself for how easily he was seduced, hating Ziig for how easily he made him unravel.