Disclaimer – DracOnyx does not own the characters in this story, nor the song that accompanies their actions. Those belong to Kazuki Takahashi, and Three Days Grace. DracOnyx does not make any money off this piece of fanfiction, nor any other, and holds no rights to anything but the concept written.

This story contains violence, sex, dark thoughts, and hints at suicide. If you have issues with any of these contents, or are not old enough to read such things, DracOnyx takes no responsibility if you do so anyway.

Author's Notes – Look, I'm still alive! It wasn't a one time deal!

Yes, I am still working on Redemption. Gravitation I will attempt to update weekly. For those of you looking to find all my work, DracOnyx Vault in Yahoo Groups is where it is stored, and I will soon be updating that as well.

For those of you who are curious, I am also working on two or three new stories, one of which is turning into a damn novel at this point. 250 pages, and still going. Yeah, while I haven't exactly been around because of life and trying to revive certain bunnies, I have been busy.

For those of you who enjoy Antagoshipping, or Spazzshipping, I've been working on some of those because I find the relationship possibilities intriguing. Also, I am working on one that is a threesome . . . as in Yami Bakura/Seto/Jou. Hey, don't knock it until you've read it, I think you'll like it. As for the shipping . . . I have yet to find a shipping name for that particular threesome, so I've named it myself.

Maskshipping – Seto Kaiba / Jounouchi Katsuya / Yami Bakura

You'll see soon enough on that one.

With that said, on with this little oneshot.

Pain -

Seto sat at his computer, typing away at the usual pile of work that he had brought home. It was late at night, Mokuba had already gone to bed, and the rest of the staff had retired as well. For all intents and purposes, he was alone in the house.

The clock tolled midnight, and he looked up, trying to ignore his body tightening in anticipation. Soon . . .

He felt the breath of air against the back of his neck seconds before hands closed over his shoulders, long fingers digging in slightly.

"Waiting for me, Dragon?" a low voice growled into his ear.

Pain, without love

Pain, can't get enough

Pain, I like it rough

Cause I'd rather feel pain

Than nothing at all.

"Don't you ever knock?" Seto replied calmly, shaking off the shiver that threatened to run through him, continuing to type at his work. That would give away the game, and he wanted this game. Wanted it more than he would ever admit. Not only wanted it, but needed it. And this was the only way he could play. The only person he could play with.

The only person who could give him what he needed without clouding it with unnecessary words and gestures.

"Knocking is so . . . civilized," that voice responded, almost seductive in its tones. "Besides, do you really want me to come through the door like a normal person, Seto Kaiba? Have everyone know who it is that you see every night?"

"No." His lips had gone dry, and he had to force himself not to lick them . . . in nervousness or from desire he couldn't tell. How long ago had it been that he'd discovered this outlet for needs that he had refused to acknowledge? How had he come to crave it so much?

And how had HE known enough to approach him on it?

You're sick of feeling down
You're not the only one
I'll take you by the hand
And I'll show you a world that you can understand
This life is filled with hurt
When happiness doesn't work
Trust me and take my hand
When the lights go out you will understand

That's what he had said to him, that night so long ago, when one Seto Kaiba had stood atop Kaiba Corp building and wondered why he continued living. How he had found the young CEO was still something of a mystery, but by now it no longer mattered.

He had offered an alternative, and Seto had been at a loss to do anything but take it, and hope that it would do what so many other things couldn't. Now . . .

Now he needed it, like a drug. It was an anchor, a point of stability, a spike into his sanity that allowed him to continue to operate in a world that seemed to be completely useless. It let him release everything . . . his control, his past, his present, his future . . . it let him live in the moment, in the feeling after so long of being numb . . .

It let him LIVE.

Pain, without love
Paint, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all
Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

The fingers dragged him up from the computer, and he put up the token resistance that was expected of him. He knew it was useless, the man behind him knew it was useless . . . but once again, it was all part of the game. It was necessary.

Seto moaned as those fingers drifted down from his shoulder, one muscled arm wrapping around him to keep him from 'escaping', the other smoothing a hand over his body in an almost possessive fashion before fingers fasted on one nipple through his shirt, making him cry out through gritted teeth as they pinched and tugged at the sensitive nub harshly.

It hurt . . . but it was something, it was feeling! And it was good to feel something, anything, in a world that had long ago gone so cold and numb.

Teeth grazed his throat, and he shivered, turning the shiver into a weak parody of attempted escape even as those torturous fingers left what they were doing to undo the buttons of his shirt, dragging the cloth free before raking nails . . . meticulously manicured and clean, he thought idly through the haze . . . up his skin, making him shiver harder with the delicious sensation of pain that was also strange pleasure.

Anger and agony
Are better than misery
Trust me I've got a plan
When the lights go off you will understand

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing

Rather feel pain

They were moving toward his bed, and although he made his steps reluctant, he couldn't help the flickers of anticipation and need that were drawing his body up tight and hard. He wanted this so badly . . . it was like a physical ache, his dose of reality that made the day livable as each night gave him a release from the careful walls he had built to keep out the world.

The bed was reached, and he found himself stripped roughly of the remainder of his clothing before he was pushed down upon it. Almost, he thought to roll over, to see for himself who his nightly visitor was, even though he was sure he already knew. But the light went off before he could even make a twitch to do so, and he nodded to himself.

This, too, was a part of the game. Deniability that they ever met, that anything ever happened between them. As long as Seto never saw him, they could pretend outside of now that they knew nothing of each other. A lie like any other, to protect them both.

Seto rolled over, and bit his lip to stifle the low moan of need as silken skin settled against him, pinning him to the bed. Long fingered hands settled over his wrists, forcing his arms up over his head to be held in one as the other roved over his body, waking pain and pleasure in its wake. Teeth followed, and Seto arched into it wantonly, writhing as it all came together within him.

He felt so alive right now, so free . . .

Words whispered against skin, reiteration of a promise that had been made in the first moments of this nightly ritual.

I know that you're wounded

You know that I'm here to save you

You know I'm always here for you

I know that you'll thank me later

He wanted to say he knew, that he understood . . . that he wasn't the only one that needed this, that wanted and craved this. But that too would be breaking the rules of the game, so he held his tongue.

Soft cries of pained pleasure as his body was drawn up, tight and hard and painful and oh so good . . . and then finally completion, his now free hands scrabbling for purchase over a back that wasn't smooth, but ridged with the scars of a hard life, searching for something to hold onto as his body was taken, hard and fast and painful and real!

They moved together, fighting each other even as they worked together toward a common goal. Pain and pleasure melded into one feeling, one world, one reality until that was all that was left, their bodies striving toward that perfect end where everything could be left behind.

There would be blood on the sheets in the morning, as always. It was a symbol to him, when he woke and saw it there. It proved this was real, that he was still alive. Every morning his bed was remade with pristine sheets, symbolic really of the cleansing his soul had undergone. And every night they were ruined again as he bled on them, and his 'aggressor' bled on them, and they proved to each other that they were still here, still living, still trapped behind the masks that would only come off when the lights were extinguished.

Pain, without love

Pain, I can't get enough

Pain, I like it rough

'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

It was over far too quickly, both of them falling off the edge into the oblivion of pleasure. Seto waited with baited breath as his heart raced . . . and blinked when the usual pattern fell apart.

No withdrawal, no feeling of loss and abandonment this night. Instead, the careful shift of sweat soaked skin against his own, the feather light touch of silken hair brushing over his face before murmured words caused him to let his guard go and drift off into the exhausted sleep that always beckoned to him after one of their sessions.

"Close your eyes, Dragon. Rest."

It was a breach in the game . . . the rules had shifted. But Seto was too tired to figure it out. For now, it could be let go.

Morning would come too soon.

Pain, without love
Pain, I can't get enough
Pain, I like rough
'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Rather feel pain than nothing at all

Rather feel pain.

Sapphire eyes opened slowly, drowsy with lingering sleep. Cool breeze fluttered against bared skin, forcing him to move, to reach and draw the blanket up around him before rolling over, one arm falling across the other side of the bed . . . where it stopped, confusion flickering in its wake.

Warmth. That part of the bed was still warm, the pillow still bearing the indentation of a head not his own. Never before had his visitor left sign that he had ever been real . . . it had always been left to the blood, and the marks, to show that he had come.

Something had changed. The game had new rules.

Seto rolled from the bed gingerly, wincing as fresh marks pulled with the movement. Wrapping the blood stained sheet around him, he padded to the window, looking out over the dew-kissed gardens toward the rising sun.

He would see tonight. Did he welcome this change in their game? Did he want the rules to change?

He didn't know. But it was sure to prove interesting. His answer, he knew, would lie within dark eyes that would look at him in contempt and disdain this day, as they did every day, something else struggling within their depths.

"Bakura . . ."

A whispered prayer. It was the only thing he would ever need to say, he knew, to break the game entirely, to change it into something else.

Maybe tonight it was time.