Shadow: (laughter) I give up. I start this wonderful multi-chaptered story – then stop, because –due to school, holidays and life in general – I don't have time to write it. I start a one-shot to do with ghosts, hauntings and mansions…this comes out instead. (throws hands up in air) It's beyond me now.
Warnings: Blood, death, violence. Hence high rating. Shonen-ai/yaoi – boy x boy (or in this case, boy x boy x boy) – being kinda physical. Yamishipping – Yami x Bakura x Malik. You like none of these? Don't read.
Notes: The yami of the Rod – you all know who I'm talking about when I say that? The crazier yami of the crazy one. In this I call him Malik.
They hated each other, always had. They slept with each other, found it interesting. They clawed and they bit and they bruised and they hurt, and three blameless expressions left the room the following morning, perfectly neutral. That day, there was never a sound.
Yami, the 'good' one, hid his abrasions with his clothes. Long sleeves covered him to his wrists following a night in his chosen nest of vipers, collar or cold metal buckled about his throat hiding the bites that were bound to be there.
Bakura, contrary, could've cared less what others said of him. He wore his usual clothes, injuries or not, wild hair as unkempt as it had been when two pairs of hands had buried themselves into it the night before, drove in nails so deep caked blood sometimes matted his skull.
Malik, defiant, went out of his way to display every wound on his long body, his clothes sparse and his poses revealing. He was not ashamed of his actions nor was he apathetic towards them - rather, he revelled in the perverse control it gave him.
Another night, another random hotel room. Halloween. Elsewhere there were parties and children trick or treating, orange pumpkins leering from house and shop windows at passers-by. Earlier that night Yami had bid his aibou a fond 'adieu' as the younger boy had went out to a party with his friends, insisting the youth left to go have some fun. Yugi had known where he had been planning to go later. Yugi had worried. Yugi did not trust either of the two other yamis, and did not want his yami to go. Yami had gently staved off all Yugi's fears, and carefully handed his aibou into Joey's more than capable hands. The last, long look of Yugi's amethyst eyes had been fear. For Yami.
Yami had gone to the hotel room later that night, anyway.
Bakura had already been there, pale as a vampire in the dark room.
"Don't you ever think of turning the lights on?"
There hadn't been a reply, or even a greeting. Bakura had simply stood, grabbed Yami's arm, and dragged the other to him, and to the bed. Touch – scratch -, kiss – bruising –, twist, slash – Yami didn't like being pinned down. He struggled and he bucked but Bakura had him restrained too well, flat on his back beneath the other's smirking face, flushed and breathing hard.
Bakura had said his goodbyes to his hikari earlier that evening as well. Ryou had been quiet all day around him, only bidding him a soft 'goodbye' as he'd left to go out the door, heading for the same party Yugi was attending. Ryou didn't speak much around his yami, whatever he felt. Bakura might listen, but he'd rarely heed the advice.
"Come, ou-sama, surely you can do better than that?" Bakura was mocking, leaning down to nip at the bared skin of Yami's shoulder.
Yami kneed him in the crotch.
Gasping Bakura felt himself shoved to the side and then pinned just as efficiently as he'd caught his companion before. Laughter, from the room's doorway. The room's light switching on. The body perched firmly on Bakura's waist going rigid, the pharaoh stiffening and snapping at the hand that had reached out to caress his cheek.
"Hello Malik." Bakura's voice was dry, his lips curling upwards in a smirk when the hand that had previously went to caress Yami tangled in the man's belts instead, pulling the pharaoh off of the thief with a jerk and straight into the tangled complications of Malik's arms.
Hands…roamed everywhere. Touches, kissing…the sensitive skin of Yami's throat bared when someone removed his collar. Biting…dazedly, there was the vague thought that it might have been Bakura that drew first blood. Malik appeared to be devouring Bakura's mouth, yanking the albino's hair back cruelly. Someone drove sharp nails into Yami's side, pinching soft flesh through the slight material of his shirt. Obligingly, all three of them soon lost their shirts.
It was better, with no cloth in the way. They ranged in colours but their colours blurred – tan, cream, white. Something soft and slippery drew across skin, satin-like and Yami pulled back to draw breath – only to have his hands stolen from him, his arms, put behind his back with cords wrapped around them. Silken ties…the pharaoh tugged at them, clearly frustrated at being bound. He could move only so far before red ribbons jerked him back, wrists to elbows wound together behind his back, tied to the bedpost.
It took a lot to look so haughty even so trussed, but Yami managed it. A proud panther, chained, his glittering eyes watching everything. Svelte lines, long throat, faint muscles rippling under golden skin. Malik smirked, amused. Bakura leaned forwards to steal a kiss from the distracted blonde. Malik growled.
The power-play between the two…both were insane. Partially, totally – at times it was hard to tell. Crazy, cuckoo, utterly mad. Jealous, possessive –
Yami strained against his bonds. "Let me go!"
The two madmen ignored him.
Bakura was the one with the control on the bed; Malik appeared to have given him it. Both were a tangle of limbs, silvery-white hair sliding over strands of golden blond, over tan flesh, across every inch –
Evil should not be beautiful. A thief, a tomb-robber, a stealer of souls…the bane of Yami's existence…why was he beautiful? Strong? Proud? Desirable? Pale as moonlight, with the face of an angel, and the eyes of a demon. And a hand, and lips, and teeth and tongue and touch that kept leading Yami straight to hell…
Malik wasn't far behind him. Perhaps they were as one… The King of hell would rue the day one of the two should appear on his doorstep, and they should they both…well, the eternal flames would have two new rulers by the end of the day.
Malik had brought some pretty claws out to play. Metal caps for his fingers, the nails long, thin blades, gleaming in the light. Deadly sharp, the lightest scratch across Bakura's stomach drawing a thin red line, a trickle of blood staining the blank canvas. Work in progress…
Yami started, the image settling uncomfortably in his mind. It left him uneasy, though he couldn't say why. Bakura had 'played' with knives before in their bed, Yami himself had felt the taste of steel, and Malik had as well.
And Malik was always, always aware of the dark crimson eyes on his back. His smile, when he turned to look at the bound one, was dark, and twisted, and attractive as hell. More in fact – just…what was attractive about perpetual torture, exactly? The blond slid over to Yami, withdrawing…Yami didn't see, but felt the cloth against his lips.
"Don't you d-!" Not the best idea. Lips opened to pour out righteous anger, scorn, abuse, cloth tied tightly about his face. The great cat gagged. Yami was furious. Bakura was beyond amused. Malik was…secretive. He reached up to pet the pharaoh but…well, it was just a good thing Yami was gagged, or else the blond would've been short a limb.
Bakura pressed a hand to Yami's thigh, almost taking pity on him, but Malik whisked it away, pulled Bakura away, distracting him with kisses and the light scrape of metal against snowy skin. The thief now appeared to be the inferior one, always a step behind his other free companion, losing clothes quickly and always feeling the bite of claws to encourage him to move that little bit faster. But…Bakura's eyes were being clouded as time passed, sinking deeper and deeper into haze. Yami was following him, unable to stop himself from reacting to the actions of his two lovers right in front of his face. But still, small bells rang in his mind – Malik's gaze was clear. Sharp. So were his blades…
The blond still had his trousers; Bakura was down to bare skin. Bakura was lost, his pretty hair fanning around him as he arched his back and drove fingers into Malik's shoulder when the other touched him…
Malik's fingers drove into Bakura too, into the soft, vulnerable skin of the thief's stomach. Malik's fingers were tipped with blades.
Bakura uttered a soft, choked sound, his dark eyes flaring impossibly wide, hands flying to the fist buried in his abdomen. Yami too, cried out, but his sound was muffled, his whole body jerking when he made as if to lunge forward, yanked back by red ribbons.
Malik withdrew his clawed hand from Bakura's lower half, staring at the scarlet liquid dripping from each finger in fascination. Clear eyes, the eyes of a true madman, slid from the pained, gasping gaze of a dying thief to the horrified eyes of a bound King. Malik smirked, and pounded his fist into Bakura again. And again. And again.
Yami…closed his eyes, after a while. Bakura had long since stopped crying out, and he was totally unable to move. He couldn't watch Malik pound blades into a corpse anymore, into that red, smeared mess of what had once been such an arrogant, vivacious life. Knives hitting flesh made a wet smack, dull and liquid and something that would haunt Yami till eternity's end…
The sounds stopped.
Yami hesitantly let his lashes flicker open again, hastily drawing crimson orbs away from the slick, oozing mass on the bed barely half a metre away from him, and to the danger that still waited beside him, expression feral.
The pharaoh glared at Malik, angry. Defiant. Afraid. The faintest lacing of fear in his eyes…
He couldn't get away; his arms were bound too tightly. He couldn't scream, his mouth was rather effectively gagged.
Maybe I should have listened to Yugi…?
Bakura – pretty, deadly, infuriating, annoying Bakura – was no more. No more. Nevermore. Dead. Malik was mad.
…What fools took a madman to their bed? Ha. And they said Bakura and I were clever.
Malik drew closer to the other, gently undoing Yami's gag. Their eyes locked; neither spoke. There were no words. They hated each other, always had. One long, thin point traced lightly down the side of Yami's throat. The pharaoh grew very, very still. In the dead silent room, his breathing was so loud. Malik swore he could hear the pounding beneath the other's ribs, small heart beating fiercely, frantically. The blond smiled, shifted. Sticky red from before was clinging to his legs.
Later Yami screamed. Once.
Then it was quiet.
Shadow: Happy Halloween. Don't kill me?