Title: Hatred
Summary: Because no matter how dominant he was, how much he abused Misaki, how much he bloodied and bruised him, Yata had Saruhiko wrapped around his little finger.
Genres: Romance/Angst
Rating: M
Characters: Misaki Yata & Fushimi Saruhiko

I RAN OUT OF SARUMISA FICS ON TUMBLR AND I COULDN'T HANDLE NOT HAVING ANYMORE SO

IM SO SORRY GUYS

He wiped idly at his broken lip, his pleasure riding too high to feel the pain. He grinned again, as he watched Yata squirm underneath, gasping, panting for breathe, barely mumbling out an insult, before releasing loud moan, one that shook Fushimi down to his very core. He knelt and bit Misaki's neck, leaving another hickey, one among many pink stains sprayed across his skin.

Faster and faster they went, and it was all just a rollercoaster of pleasure, one that ended all to abruptly. And with in moments, they were both a tangled mess of skin and bones between the sheets, neither quite knowing how this all happened, only knowing it had been happening for a while; a while much longer than they had intended.

Hateful kisses stolen at midnight in the backs of alleyways, open windows and dirtied sheets, silent 'i-hate-you's breathed under the cover of darkness.

He loved watching Misaki bleed. Thin, perfect lines of blood, slipping down tanned, sweat sheened skin, groans and gasps filling his ears, the metallic taste of blood slipping past his open lips. And it all drove him crazy, crazy as he fucked Misaki into the wall, into the bed, anywhere, anywhere he could go on forever and forget about everything that stood between them, even if it was just for a moment in the never-ending flow of time. And those fleeting moments were just enough to make him bear the consist drawling of the world.

It was quiet. The only thing he heard was the slowed breathing of Misaki, his eyes shut and his head deep inside Fushimi's neck. He mused silently, about how the boy so filled with hatred, with rage, with fear, could be so loving, even when it was he wasn't awake to know it.

They were too young for all this.

Saruhiko was nineteen and he'd already lost count of the people he'd killed. He'd remember they're faces though. The fear that ran through their eyes as he carved them open, as he made them watch and scream for mercy when he cut them.

Misaki screamed for mercy, even when he didn't want any. He screamed and screamed and screamed. Sometimes it would be his name that he screamed out. Sometimes it was meaningless swear words. But mostly, it was long, ecstatic, deafening screams of pleasure that ripped apart his lungs.

He'd hurt Misaki only once in his life, and that was when he left. He left for power, a power he still wanted.
When he left, he gave Misaki his skateboard. He didn't give it, so much as force it into the other's hands and walk away with not so much as a glance behind. And they fought.

Every time after that, the mere sight of the other drove them into a blood thirsty frenzy. It was brutal and gory, and it reminded him oh so much of what they had before. They would stab and graze and glare till they were both bruised and bloodied. Misaki's guard was always down when they fought. He was so vulnerable, so much so that Saruhiko could choose to kill at any time. Misaki did try often enough, but Fushimi was too well prepared. He knew how weak the betrayal had left the boy.

He could choose to kill Misaki at any moment. A knife thrown a little to the left. A stab of his rapier a bit higher. But not once had he ever tried to. That boy was his life line. The moment he died, so would Fushimi.

As much as he abused him, bother before and now, no matter how much he teased and bruised, he could never bring himself to finish off the boy. It was never the look in his eyes or they fought beneath the sheets or on steaming concrete. It was his rage.

He was so powerful when he was angry. He burned his heat and hatred and death surrounded him like poisonous gas and just a look was enough to drive him insane. Misaki was no enigma, but Saru took as much pleasure every night relearning every inch of the others body as he had the first time.

No matter how much he tried, he could never bring himself to hate Yata as much as Yata hated him. That boy had him wrapped around his pinkie and he didn't even know.

I LIED IM NOT SORRY AT ALL FOR WRITING THIS

#YOLO