My gooddess, I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote this. It just... Wouldn't go away... (Plus, it still doesn't seem to flow right to me. That or maybe I've read over it too many times...)

Warnings! None.Really. I mean, seriously, me without any warnings at all?? The world must be close to ending. That or the muses are conserving their... bad stuff for that elusive other story...


Everyone has bad luck. Daisuke, poor kid, seems to be a favorite target of fickle fate; the boy's forever tripping on nothing, or dropping something breakable. It's one of the reasons Emiko banned him from helping with the dishes.

And yes, even Dark Mousy, a fortunate and graceful phantom thief for untold centuries, has bad luck sometimes.

Normally, it's something to laugh at when he's back home, safe and sound.

Normally, his bad luck is a small, though painful thing—a missed step down a flight of stairs during a heist, or an unnoticed trap suddenly springing to life. At very, very rare times, it's someone enjoying the routine 'tackle the bandit' a little too much. He never has been able to think about that one for long—it's too odd, even for him.

But never has Dark's luck failed him so thoroughly as this; the thief was lying at the feet of his mortal enemy, helpless with pain, biting his tongue to keep from crying out even as he tried to curl into a ball as a last ditch endeavor to defend himself.

'Tried' is the keyword here, because Dark's muscles were too exhausted to do more than shudder feebly with every attempt to move.

Helplessly, Dark looked up at the golden haired hunter standing over him, blinking away the pained tears gathered in his eyes; he was panting and gasping in worn-out fear. But when Dark recognized the expression in the feline eyes, he whimpered and struggled to move away.

"Oh, gods… please… don't…"

He was begging. Dark knew it, and so did the hunter. Smirking at the wretched plea, the beautiful vision of death stepped forward, a single snow white feather appearing in his fingers as he did so.

Another pitiful whine escaped Dark when the hunter knelt in front of him, one gloved hand reaching out to cup his cheek, keeping him from drawing back.

"Why, Dark," the hunter purred. He allowed his hand to drift, circling the thief's throat leisurely before grabbing his wrists in a gentle, commanding grip and forcing Dark onto his back. Ignoring the moans coming from the thief, he leaned down, kissing the shell of one ear lightly as he continued to speak.

"I had no idea…."

The feather was drifting downwards slowly, hovering over Dark's ribs threateningly; his captor pulled away in anticipation, warm breath fanning over his face lightly.

"That your one weakness…"

Panicking, Dark clenched his eyes shut; he did not want to see the gleeful look on the hunter's angelic face as he finally got his long awaited revenge.

This is it, he thought wildly, trying to dig his back into the ground, desperate to avoid his fate a little longer. This is the end...!

And then the feather was stroking along his sides, making him gasp and buck in a weak attempt to be rid of tickling sensation, chest muscles aching anew from the shrieking laughs that escaped him.

Krad watched, amused, as Dark cracked his head against the ground; the thief was still giggling hopelessly, even after he stopped moving the feather.

"Is that you are ticklish."


FIN


Not what you were thinking, was it?