Shuichi's maddened glance could have given his victim's nightmares for weeks. He was in the kitchen, by the table that he and Yuki would eat dinner, lunch and breakfast with. The poor thing called his victim was laid on top of that table, waiting for whatever strike the singer might give it.
The pop star dipped the shiny blade called a knife on the light brown skin, pushing it down lower until what came oozing out was red dripping down the punctured flesh.
The singer was smiling he didn't know why, his eyes glittering with light of lunacy.
He should be careful, as he took out a small piece from the bigger part, just an itsy bitsy piece, must leave some for dear Yuki. The wounded one on his table couldn't scream, there was no voice to give out that piercing shout. It made doing this all the much easier.
The table was dripping wet, and with that color red. There was a bit on his face, and going down the side of his lips. The floor suffered some from the knife's slash, dripping by the edge.
But he'll clean it up later; his novelist won't like to see mess. Even for just a bit.
His hand grabbed for more of the piece, breaking the brown skin apart some more and his hand dipping on the mass color that looked like blood.
He ate it, devoured each morsel that passes his mouth. Each and every time his tongue met with the delicious chunk, he savors the pleasure of having the carcass in his mouth.
As he clawed for more of the cuisine, the door behind slammed open. Yet he kept his pace of eating, not ever looking back to see Yuki's terrified face.
The blond writer walked up to him, heated steps making noise on the kitchen floor. He grabbed Shuichi's shoulders and turned him around, it was true. The boy was covered in the mess, his not so innocent smile lighting up the whole of his face.
"Shuichi… what have… you done…?" each word slowly going out of his mouth.
The usually grumpy writer looked at what happened on the poor thing on the table, and to the crimson smeared lips of the one he loves.
"Yuki… what's wrong? Why are you scared?" his lover asked, feeling the slight shake in Yuki's grasp.
He slowly peeled the hand of his shoulder and leaned his cheek on that hand, "Is there anything the matter, Yuki? You can tell me"
The older man looked at the serene face, the one being held by his hand. The sight of it depressed him, how can an angel like his brat turn to this? He sighed.
"Shuichi…"
"Yes, Yuki?"
"The pie with the strawberry fillings is for Tohma, you know that"
"Yes I do…"
"Oh"
(SPACE HERE)
A/N: That ending was so random… I knew it, reading JTHM and Hannibal Lecter reading at the same time wasn't a good thing.