TITLE:Rabbit
AUTHOR:Ninetails
RATING:R
CATEGORY: Yaoi/Romance
I was thinking about this the other night:
It IS Yaoi - and it IS Romance. Who says that Romance has to be filled with hugs and kisses, and people telling each other how much they care?
[If you disagree, look at it this way - it is romance, from a certain light's point of view - it's all he's ever going to get.]
Entry for the 'Unofficial Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction Contest'
IMPORTANT NOTE: When something has been put into 'italics', it means that the point is to be emphasized.
THANK YOU: A large thank you to Maelgwyn and Pikachumaniac, who both volunteered to beta this - even though they never actually got their hands on it - but the inspiration was there!; Ravenous and Hakusen, who unknowingly lent their support by just being there; Neko-chan, whose love of a certain blonde psychopath is worse than my own.
SUMMARY: He likes screaming. He likes blood. He likes flushed faces and soft cries. He wants his light, he needs he light - but he hates his light. ::Yami no Malik's POV - Entry for 'Unofficial Yu-Gi-Oh! Contest'::

::RABBIT::

It's running all over you. Pretty you. Beautiful you. Pretty things need to be destroyed, to be broken. To be smashed over a hard surface, breaking into a thousand pieces, unable to be put back together.

You're trying to get away, your movements uncertain and hurried. It is me who is making you uncertain. I like to keep you off balance and I try to do it as often as I can. I recognize your current expression - you look like a rabbit. Your eyes are wide and terrified. You are shaking.

Just like the rabbit looked before I killed it.

You were there, of course. It was your pet rabbit. You were only eleven, weren't you? The rabbit was your first pet. You had been so happy; you had talked to me for hours on end about what you were going to name it, how you were going to take care of it and all the fun you would have together. I let you ramble. It was interesting; to see you so excited about something. Your eyes had been bright, full of light and love.

You disgusted me.

That's why I pulled the rabbit's head off its body and dropped it on your lap, it's dead black eyes staring up at you mournfully. You screamed then. Loudly. It sent tingles through me - tingles of pleasure. Your screams were magnificent - almost musical in nature. So, I fucked you. You screamed the whole time - loud, drawn-out, painful screams. If I were a decent person, I would have waited till you got older, until your body had developed.

There was a lot of blood on you then, more than what is on you now - but I haven't even really started yet. So far I've only made slits down your arms with my fingernails - and you wonder why I keep them long. I'm going to make you bleed, like you have never bled before. It's your fault too. When you cut yourself accidentally earlier with the butcher's knife, you let out a yelp. You then quickly placed your hand over your mouth, hoping I didn't hear you.

Of course I did. I always hear you. We have a connection, remember?

Didn't your sister ever tell you not to play with sharp knives? I suppose she never did - she is scared of me too. But I'll never touch her like I touch you. The thought sickens me. Anyway, her scream wouldn't be as pretty as yours. You know how much I like to make you scream.

Like you are now.

I've managed to grab hold of you again and press you against the wall. You're squirming, trying to get out of my grasp. You won't though. You never could. I'm too strong for you. I could break any of your bones in a heartbeat. I could pull out your heart and show it to you, still beating, and you wouldn't die. But I don't want you to die. If you did, I wouldn’t hear you scream anymore.

I lean forward, putting my hands on your hips. Your eyes widen. You know what's coming, don't you? You always know. Well, you should. This situation happens quite a bit - nearly once a week. Except once, earlier this year, when it was your birthday. I decided to give you a two-week break as a reward. You thought it was the best present you could have ever gotten. You thanked me, over and over. You even kissed me - that, I didn't mind that much. You thought that I was going to start being gentler.

I slip my hands under your shirt, pressing you further into the wall. I brush my fingers up your back, each caress gentle. You arch forward, letting my hands roam freely. You're enjoying it, aren't you? You like to be touched gently, with no pain - only pleasure. I'm the complete opposite. Pain is pleasure. Torn skin, burnt flesh, blood - it's pleasure. How can you enjoy something that is nothing? When a touch is gentle, it shows that the person doesn't care for the other, for they do not feel like putting energy behind it. Whereas when you hurt another, making them yell and scream in agony, it means that you WANT them to feel.

But I'm not implying you're weak. No, you are far from it. You never let people walk over you, to pass you by. You're noticeable. Your beauty stands out in a crowd, making everyone around you look at you in wanton. You are the embodiment of power and strength, which is why you are mine and mine alone. The only weakness you show is to me, and nobody else, for nobody else is worthy to touch you in ways that I do.

I trail my fingers upwards, until I reach the base of your neck. I thread my fingers through the silky golden strands, watching as they curl around each finger. I lean forward, burying my face into your hair. I take a strand in my mouth, sucking on it. Your hair doesn't taste special at all. In fact, it tastes quite bland. I spit it out, disgusted. I don't know why I expected your hair to taste nice. Maybe that's because it is beautiful, like your skin. Your skin always tastes delicious.

You've tensed up again. It's annoying when you do - it makes the whole situation seem incredibly frigid. I like it when you're relaxed, letting your primal instinct take over, your screams piercing through the darkened night like an enraged animal. You're rarely like that, though, which often makes this whole foreplay boring. I suppose you think I do this all for fun.

I'm bored now.

I raise my head slightly, enough to let me take your earlobe in my mouth. You're wearing those silly dangly gold earrings that were gift from your mother. I'll admit that they are pretty, albeit not as pretty as you. You are the example of perfection. That's why you are mine, and I'm never letting you leave me.

I suck on your ear forcefully, but no enough to hurt. You let out a soft moan, your body relaxing into mine. You think I'm going to care about you today, to make you feel completion through gently touches and caresses. You raise your hands to grab onto my shoulders. You're not holding on tightly - you're just holding me to make sure I'm real. I begin to suck harder at your ear.

I latch onto the earring with my teeth, and pull sharply downwards. You immediately let out a loud hiss, your lips parting as the grip on my shoulders tightens. I've torn a hole in your earlobe. Oh well - I always liked you better with one earring over two. I put the earring into my mouth a swirl it around experimentally. All I can taste is metallic blood - the taste of you. I love your blood - it is an addiction. You once asked why I liked your blood so much. Oh, how I had laughed at you for not knowing the answer:

I am truly sick of this foreplay, mortal. I never draw anything out - so why is tonight so special? It isn't. Enough is enough, my sweet lighter half. I spit out your earring. It clatters across the floor, the small noise echoing loudly in an empty room. We both turn to look at it, curiosity alighted on both of our faces. The moon is tracing along the gold edging, making a sharp shadow. The small sight is magnificent - but not as magnificent as you are.

I want you to really scream.

I remove my hands from your hair, and begin to trace my way down your spine as you turn to face me. Because you never let yourself slouch, or even your shoulders slump, I can run my hand straight down your back, for your spine is dead straight. Perfection - I like the way you hold yourself when you walk, tall and regal. You're like one of those beautiful birds with the colorful plumage - your sister calls them a peacock.

You bring your hand up to press lightly against your bloodied ear, concentrating on the pain for a moment. Isn't it funny how the smallest of wounds always hurt the most? I've never understood the schematics of that, but surely you do by now. You bring your fingers close to your face so that you can see the red staining your fingertips. You're probably wondering if this whole situation is a dream. Sorry, my dear lighter half.

It is real. You lean forward suddenly, threading you arms around my neck. Your smaller body presses against mine urgently, seeking comfort. You're shaking. I'm glad you've pressed your head into my neck, because, if you hadn't, you would be able to see my surprise. You do this sometimes - you'll randomly look for comfort. It's the only thing that you can do that will catch me off guard.

My neck feels wet from your tears. I don't know why you're crying - it's not going to make a difference to the inevitable. You're not even making me feel sorry for you - in fact, I feel quite disgusted. Why do you frequently indulge in these childish acts? I'm not interested in your pitiful emotional problems, mortal. Can't you see?

I push you away roughly. I'm beginning to feel revolted by you - and the way I'm letting you cry. You stumble slightly, but manage to keep yourself from falling over. You grasp onto to the wall; your knuckles white as you let out a choked sob. But you don't let out another one - when you look up again, your violet eyes are bright. I cross my arms and stand still looking at you.

You've straightened again. You look annoyed; your eyes have narrowed to bright violet slits, and you're frowning. You take a step towards me, causing me to raise an eyebrow. There isn't one thing that you can do that can hurt me - I'm not afraid of you, mortal. And apparently you are not afraid of me either, for you don't look scared at all. You look fearless, like you don't have a care in the world.

You have a good façade - I'll give you that. You've managed to hide your emotions in a matter of seconds, which is truly admirable of you. You take a step forward, your stance reminding me of a cat's before they leap at their prey. I lick my lips expectantly. This is how I like you.

You leap forward, crashing into me. The momentum knocks us across the floor of your bedroom, landing at the foot of your bed. My back connects solidly with the wood, making me let out a low hiss. It wasn't that it hurt, mortal; it surprised me.

You gasp quietly as you quickly move off me. You're scared now, even though you may not have been before. No - you're not scared of me anymore at all, are you? You're afraid of what I might do, but you're not scared of me. I tap my chin. I don't know what to think about that one.

I reach forward, taking your face in my hands. Your skin is smooth and unblemished, silky to touch. That's the problem - you're too perfect. I rub my thumb gently across your cheek before pressing my fingernail into it. The blood wells up quickly, leaving a red crescent on your face. I move back slightly to admire my handiwork. I frown. I don't like it one bit.

I indicate for you to come to me, which you do. You crawl forward, settling in front of me like a puppy dog sits for its master. You're very moody tonight - one moment you are angry, the next crying and now you are obedient? I don't think I understand, light.

But I suppose I never will. Humans are strange creatures, erratic and indecisive in their ways. But if you're human, my dear light -

You squirm slightly, immediately drawing my attention. I raise an eyebrow slightly as you reach to touch your ear again. To your annoyance, I bat your hand away. You look at me in surprise. I'm tempted to shrug, but it would be a childish gesture, which I will not lower myself to. Don't question my motives, light. If you do, you will come away broken.

I lash out quickly, and in-snare your arm in a vice-like grip. With one strong tug, you are pulled into my lap. I note your grimace with a smirk. You don't like being tugged around at all, do you - even though you always let me. But I'm the only one. You won't let the reincarnation of the High Priest touch you, no matter how much he wants to.

No matter how much you want him to.

The High Priest should be more careful. One of these days he will wake up dead. Oh - he won't wake up if he is dead, will he? I promise to make sure of that.

You're slightly straddling my lap, looking embarrassed, your confusion portraying the fact that you have no idea what you're doing. You think I want you to lead tonight, correct? Don't be silly. It's an illusion, light. Everything is an illusion. Life is an illusion of death. Mortals start to die the moment they take their first breath, and continue dying for the rest of their life. To prevent fear, they call death 'life'.

You tentatively press your fingers lightly against the junction in my neck, just to see what my reaction is. I don't move, curious to see what you'll do next. You're not looking at me at all; rather, you're staring at a spot on my shirt, which isn't where I want you to be looking - I want you to look at me.

You droop suddenly, looking sad. Your fingers drop from my neck; you begin to cradle the hand in your arms, all the while glaring, as if blaming them for something.

I'm almost tempted to ask you what's wrong, but it isn't really worth it. I tilt your head up slightly, just enough so that you meet my gaze. You look so sad - your glossy violet eyes are lifeless.

You move out of my grasp, immediately pressing two of your fingers to your wrist. You close your eyes tightly, as if looking for something.

Oh. I understand. You're looking for your pulse, aren't you? Why though? What are you trying to find, light? Why were you - you wanted to see if I had a pulse, didn't you? Why do you put yourself through these things?

Stop being childish! Stop being naïve!

Stop making me feel sympathy for you!

I slap you across the face, making you start in shock. Your glossy violet eyes are still sad, even more so now. Stop it, light. But you won't stop, will you?

My hand is still against the side of your face. The skin under my hand is heated, is burning. I quickly backhand you with my free hand, sending you off my lap and onto the floor. You've started to cry again. Not loudly, but silently. I want you to grow up, stupid mortal! When will you realize that tears are not necessary?

But screams are.

Even with your tears, you're beautiful. Like a tainted angel - a bloodied angel. My angel.

I can't help letting out a purr as I admire you. Nobody is this beautiful. The Pharaoh's light cannot compare - the Tomb Robber's light cannot compare. You are truly in a class of your own. Therefore -

The Pharaoh was talking to you the other week, wasn't he? You had looked particularly bedraggled that day, after not having much sleep the night before. Even I had to frown at your appearance. I would have thought you would have looked better for your master, my dear lighter half.

You and the Pharaoh carried a conversation for a very long time, didn't you? I don't know why you bothered. He just wanted to know if I had been hurting you after all. How dare he stick his nose into my business? I don't worry about his, nor his light's.

"Are you feeling okay?" he had said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You were sitting alone on a stone bench, looking out at all the other students playing games and having fun on the school's sporting field. You looked wistful, and almost depressed. When you were younger, you used to run around, screaming and laughing with the other children. But the innocence didn't last for long. You slowly, but surely, drew away from them, retreating into a dark, lonesome shell.

You would have been good on that… what is it called? Oh yes - the track team. You can run very fast. You've had plenty of experience, after all. You try and run away often, but I always find you and you always come back. You can't stand to be away from me for too long - it tears you in two. Not literally, of course, but figuratively. But it might as well be literal, for it hurts you just as much.

"I'm fine."

"You just look… lonely."

"Don't we all?"

"Yes, I suppose… just some more than others. Has he been hurting you?"

"No! He would never! He cares about me too much to hurt me!"

"So he doesn't hurt you, then."

"Of course not! How dare you even say such a thing? You don't understand anything!"

"Maybe not, but if he has been hurting you…"

"He hasn't! Why won't you leave me alone?"

You've stopped crying, which surprises me. Instead, you're chewing on your lower lip, making you look incredibly desirable. I move quickly - I pin you to the ground, pressing all my body weight against your own. Your legs are parted enough so that I can fit in between them, my head resting on your chest.

You are wearing a tight black tank top - a welcome change from your usual baggy purple. Of course, you look beautiful in whatever you wear - but your current garment shows off your muscles.

It's hilarious - you haven't worked out once in your life, yet, your build is that of an athlete.

I brush my fingers over each perfectly defined muscle, watching as you squirm. You don't look sad at all anymore - you look contented - pleased.

Your lips have parted slightly, for your breathing has gotten heavier. I straighten enough so that I am just above your face - dark amethyst staring into glossy violet. I trace my fingers down your forehead, your nose - your lips. I rest them there, observing you. You look playful, like a beautiful cat.

Your tongue darts out, the moist wetness slipping over my fingers. I can smell the arousal between us, heavy in the air. You have a small smile on your lips now; making you looked very pleased with yourself. You think you've got me tamed.

I smirk slightly; quickly leaning forward to press my lips against your soft parted ones. You open your mouth immediately, for you love the feeling of our mouths meshed together. I'd say you’re a hopeless romantic, but I know that you're not.

You taste beautiful. I don't know how to describe it. Honey, maybe. Hot, sticky, wet honey. I brush my tongue across your lips, wanting more - wanting to possess it all. Wanting to possess everything that is you.

Which is silly.

To prove my point, I bite down harshly onto your tongue. You gasp, as heated metallic blood fills your mouth - our mouths. You try to push me away, but I'm not moving until I want to. Until I'm ready to.

I pause, lifting my mouth from yours. There is crimson liquid trickling down your lips, your chin and down onto your neck. It's your exquisite, precious blood. I lick my lips expectantly.

I have to give you credit - you don't look nervous. I suppose that is because you're used to it. You may be scared, but you're expecting it.

You make me proud, light.

I slip my arms underneath you, pulling your body upwards so that we are pressed together. You're perfection - not too heavy, but not too light. Your body moulds perfectly against my own, which is no surprise. After all, in theory, we are opposites of each other.

You let out a soft gasp, almost like a surprised kitten, as I slip my hand up your shirt, arching your body into me. I suppose you think I'm going to let you drop back, because you thread one arm around my neck, while the other gently trails down the side of my face. You press your fingers to my lips, curious to see if I will bite you or not.

Your fingers - they're trembling. Are you scared, light?

I drop you back against the floor, your back most likely jarring. You look up at me, violet eyes narrowed, your face contorted with anger. I know what you're trying to tell me - that I have no right to treat you like this. Well, I do. I have every right. I am your dark, after all.

You sit up, rubbing your back gingerly. I notice that your gaze flickers to the bed, to me and then back to the bed.

Well, light, I can't help but agree with you. The floor is not place for a good fuck, now is it?

I stand up, stretching slightly. You're looking at me warily, your cheeks partially flushed. You back up slightly as I reach down and touch your ripped ear. The blood has now dried, which is a pity. I like it when your blood is wet and moist, liquid and flowing.

You let out what could only be akin to a squawk as I quickly let go of your ear and scoop you into my arms. You flail around, trying to grab onto to me. You finally latch onto my shoulder, your breath coming in short gasps. I'm surprised. It isn't normally that easy for you to overexert yourself.

In one step we are next to the bed. By the look on your face you think that I'm about to drop you again. I won't though - I try to avoid doing any action that you can anticipate. It doesn't make things as fun.

To your surprise, I place you down on the bed smoothly. I step back, admiring you again. You look so lost and alone, my dear light. But there is a problem - you're still wearing pants.

I sit down on the bed, observing the fact that the moment I sat down, you unknowingly snuggled into my side. Some might call your behavior cute, but I call it desperate. You really can't live without me, can you?

I suppose I don't mind, though. It makes you that much easier to break.

Suddenly, I feel my pants being tugged. You've latched onto me, and are pulling very hard. I presume you don't like being ignored, do you? Your face is still flushed, making a delightful contrast against your bronze skin. Elegance - that's what you are. Pure elegance.

You look startled when I sit back, your glossy velvet eyes blinking in surprise. I suppose I normally don't initiate any foreplay whatsoever - I tend to fuck you straight out, more often than not. But, tonight, I feel like playing with you.

I indicate for you to sit up also, which you do. Your shirt comes off easily in one fluid movement, displaying your flawless golden chest. I tilt my head forward and begin to suck on your exposed throat. Your skin is luscious.

But it would taste even better with blood.

I pull away, trailing a sharp fingernail down your chest. It leaves a trail of red, as the cut begins to bleed. You let out a gasp, falling forward into me. Isn't it strange, my dear light - you try to get away from the pain, yet you are drawn to it.

I let out a short laugh, settling myself against you again. You are so strange, my ravishing treasure.

A piece of silky golden hair has fallen in your face. Your attention draws to it, away from me. You move to brush it away, but I stop you. You look confused, but you have a soft smile on your face as I tuck the offending hair behind your ear.

You begin to trace circles on my chest in an almost lazy manner. You have very delicate hands - smooth and controlled. You never fumble at any task you do.

I start when your hands leave my chest, and begin to trace lower. I grab your hands quickly, and hold them above your head, leaving you in an awkward position. I don't want you to take control of me, mortal.

I suppose I'll have to prove it to you then.

I briefly press my free hand against your washboard stomach, before moving to the buckle on your pants. I undo it easily, quickly throwing it across the room. There is a loud clang as in connects with the full-length mirror.

You glance quickly at the mirror, checking that it isn't broken, before turning back to me, your glossy violet eyes sparkling with excitement. I suppose it would be an understatement to say that you want this too.

I let go of your hands so that I can get rid of the pants easier. You immediately start to rub you wrists - I've left bright red marks there. Oops - I didn't know I was holding your wrists so hard.

I push you back against the mattress as I drop my head and begin to jerk at the zipper of your pants with my teeth. They unzip easily. I immediately pull them off you, enjoying the bronze skin that appears as I tug downwards. You start to breathe heavily, your wonderful silky lips parting for me.

All for me - not for the High Priest, not for the Pharaoh, not for the Tomb Robber - ALL FOR ME!

I draw my hand up your leg, lingering at your inner thigh, making you hiss delicately. I suppose you don't like me drawing this out, correct?

I begin to nuzzle at your stomach, licking at your heated flesh, drawing in your unique scent. You're enjoying this, I can tell - you've thrown your head back against the pillows, and you are emitting velvety, pleasure filled gasps.

But we're not going to do this lying down, light. I slip my hands underneath you, and pull you upwards into me and onto my lap. I slip my tongue into your ear, making your breath hitch.

Well, light. Who is going to do this? Am I going to force you, or will you submit easily, pliant to my every whim?

You close your eyes tightly for a moment, drawing in a breath. We sit still for a moment, both of us waiting for you to move.

You open your eyes suddenly, and fix me with a stare. You've raised your head, and your brilliant violet orbs are looking at me, searching for something. You've put on your façade again, although it isn't as successful as last time - you're trembling, your body shivering in my arms.

I doubt you're just cold, mortal.

You bite your lower lip again, unaware of how appealing you look. I don't suppose you know how ready I am to just throw you down on the bed and fuck you? It's taking all of my control, and the only reason I'm waiting is because I want you to start.

You shake your head of whatever thoughts are there, quickly sealing your resolve. You move forward a little, so that you're straddling my lap more effectively.

I smirk. You're going to do it, for once. You're actually going to do it.

Without warning you ease yourself down onto me, crying out softly. I caress your face gently, observing you leaning into my touch, again proving how much you crave me - like I crave you. You're an addiction, my angelic light - and you claim that I am yours. Well, I am - the only difference is that I am -

A suicidal addiction.

I run my fingers along your slender cheekbones, enjoying how flushed they are. You're still trying to adjust to me, hissing quietly at every small movement you make. I presume you're hurting, yes? Well, pain is pleasure, light.

You will feel the pleasure in a moment.

Heated whimpers fill the room, as you begin rocking into me. You've threaded your fingers into my hair, and pressed your face into my shoulder. I wrap my arms around your waist and start nibbling at your bloodied ear, emitting soft gasps from you. A sudden flash of movement makes me look up.

It's the mirror - It's us.

I bite down roughly on the cartilage in your ear, drawing more blood and making you let out a yielding moan. The reason that I'm so mad is because I just saw the only thing that mars your ethereal beauty.

The only position I hate fucking you in, is when you're laying on your stomach, your scars in full view. I hate your scars. I detest them with every fiber in my being. That bastard that you considered your father MARKED you, like you were his property.

I snarl loudly as our rocking becomes more urgent. You're so tight - hot, wet, silky tightness. There is so much heat between our bodies. But I'm the only one being satisfied, aren't I?

I smirk as I free one arm from you waist, and begin to trail it down your stomach. You gasp, arching into me. I draw my touch lower, and brush your length. You moan loudly, as I begin to begin to run my fingers up and down it.

You cry out, your pink lips parting and displaying your perfect, white pointed teeth - not unlike my own. I lean over to kiss you again, pressing further into you, causing your body to shudder. I run my tongue over the sharp ridges in your mouth, reveling in the sharp pricks of pain I can feel. You've made me bleed, my light.

You're drawing to the edge, I can fell it. Even though you are not screaming, your body is. It's screaming loudly, powerful screams of pleasure. I wish you would scream too. I know you want to. You just don't what me to hear it, do you?

You press the back of your hand against your mouth, trying to suppress your howls. You know that screaming in a sign of weakness. I quickly pull your hand away from your mouth - I really want to hear you.

With a melodious scream, you collapse into me, causing me to growl loudly as your heat tightens around me. You are gasping softly, and shaking. I stroke your neck, and gently push you back against the bed. You look so tired. Your long black eyelashes are brushing gently against your cheeks, concealing your glossy violet eyes.

I crawl on top of you, careful not to crush you. I'm surprised by how tired I feel. I suppose, my ravishing light, you are the only one who can truly satisfy me. I drop my head down and press my lips against your swollen pink ones.

I don't know when you'll die. Maybe when you are young, or maybe when you are old. Nevertheless, as aesthetic as you are, you're only a mortal, and you'll have to die at some point. I can promise you this, pretty one, it will be by my hands, for you will never die of natural causes. You are too strong for that.

You are above all the other mortals.

I wonder what will happen to me when you die? I'll most likely die too. Well, I won't die as such - I'll evaporate into thin air. After all, I am you. A part of you that you can't live without, as I discovered. You need me. You need the pain I give you. You live for the attention I bestow on you.

You wouldn't exist without me, would you?

"Yami," you gasp suddenly, opening your lustrous violet eyes and making me look down at you curiously. You normally don't talk at all after I have fucked you senseless; in fact we rarely exchange conversation. Words are not needed; your body language always portrays exactly what you're thinking. While I wait for you to speak I drag my finger down the cut that I made earlier on your chest, watching you writhe. I lap at the dried blood, savoring the taste. You shut your eyes tightly, trying to hide your emotions. You're not fooling me.

"I love you," you murmur softly, as you began to drift into a dreamless sleep. I stare at you in amusement. I was right - you are not weak. You are spirited - that, I shall reward you for. But first I will have to break you.