Disclaimer: Do I really need one of these

Disclaimer: Do I really need one of these? I own none of Yami no Matsuei. : sigh :

Author's notes: This is a new fandom for me. : peers cautiously :

WARNING: A good part of this ff is centered on Hisoka's rape/curse. I'm a little unsure about 's tolerance for this type of a story. I don't think I made it terribly graphic, and the event in question is part of YnM's story. If anyone thinks it's too much please let me know, and I'll take the story down/revise it.

Chapter 1: Reliving the Past

The night had been stifling hot, beyond muggy to say the least. The air conditioner never quite made it to where Hisoka's parents decided to lock him up. But it was only at night when the child could escape from his prison. Pale and wobbly legged, he tightened the sash on his robe and escaped into the dark of the night. Dim lights lit the way, as the boy found himself wandering off of the expansive Kurosaki estate and down the old fashioned roads.

If only the townspeople knew, he thought, shivering despite the fact that heavy, wet heat clung to his body to his hair. No, the townspeople adored the Kurosaki family, adored his father, Nagare. They'd think I was a monster too, he thought dejectedly. Indeed, what kind of person could read other people's emotions; he was very much aware of how odd his talent was.

Looking up, he saw that foggy clouds parted to reveal the moon, glowing red, like some sick, dripping jewel in the night sky. Perhaps it was foreshadowing about what was to come, for it was a sixteen year old Hisoka's consciousness that resided in his thirteen year old body.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never quite make himself stop walking, could never stop himself before he made the awful discovery. Instead, he was doomed to relive his personal terror in his dreams over and over.

As he walked, low laughing and a wet slashing sound captured his attention. Hands in clawed form, he tried to cover his ears, tried not to hear, but something kept him from ignoring the scene.

The sound of maniacal laughter crawled down his back, sending his body into chills, as he felt his eyes widen with the sound of a knife ripping through flesh. The smell of blood was too strong. The stifling night air spread the thick, metallic, meaty smell in such a way that Hisoka felt enveloped in blood, gore, and death.

The red, red moon seemed to cry blood, as the fluid from the victim seeped into a white coat. At that time thirteen year old Hisoka didn't know who Muraki was, but at age sixteen he was all too familiar with the doctor. Muraki, covered in blood, discarded the crumpled body at his feet - a man dressed in all white, like an angel, but who looked like the devil.

Run! Hisoka's first instinct screamed at him. He didn't need to be told twice, as he whirled around and started a hurried dash back to his house. The stones in the pavement bit into his bare feet, and he cursed himself for not having worn shoes.

Each step hurt more and more, as he was certain his feet were bleeding, so he turned course. If I get past that tree and to the well, maybe I can find a place to hide.

As he ran, his heart beat accelerated to a point where he thought he could no longer breathe, but he kept on going, desperation urging him forth. Even as he made his mad race, he could hear the clicking of shoes closing in on him.

"Boy," a voice finally said near his ear. Hisoka couldn't help but scream in response. A large hand clamped firmly around his arm.

"Let me go!" he begged. "I won't say anything; I didn't see anything." Shaking his head violently, he felt damp strands of hair cling to his forehead to his neck. In the grip of the older man, Hisoka felt his dreaded power take over as he was involuntarily saturated with Muraki's thoughts, his dark intents. He had never been faced with anyone as twisted, devious, and perverse. Eyes widening with terror, he tried to pull away, mouth frozen in a silent scream, as if his voice had been scared away.

Muraki only chuckled as he pushed the boy to the ground. Hisoka had always been tiny, frail, weak, and he couldn't even put up a resistance.

"Please no," he managed to whimper writhing around on the ground. Grass, dirt, and branches tangled themselves into his hair, poked through the thin cloth of his robe.

Muraki's smile only widened. "You're a very beautiful boy indeed," he whispered, hand on Hisoka's neck. "Your eyes burn a bright green that I have never seen before." He lowered his body down on the young boy's, forcing his lips on the boy's earlobe.

"Nooooo," Hisoka protested, trying to push the man off of him, shivering when he felt a warm tongue inside of his ear. It was only a matter of moments before he began choking; it was then he realized that as he moved Muraki had put increasingly more pressure on his throat.

"Stop!" he tried again, tears of horror springing to his eyes.

"Why would I want to do something like that?" Muraki asked, moving so he could lap the tears off of the boy's face.

Sobs wracked Hisoka's body, as he continued to try to struggle. It was then that Muraki untied the sash on the robe, and it was at that point when Hisoka started screaming as loudly as his voice would allow him. "NOOOOO! STOPPPP!"

Help me, somebody, he thought. He screamed in terror when he felt Muraki's hands touch his body.

"Show me your death," the other man whispered. "Your beautiful, gruesome death." He bent his head down and put his lips on the boy's pale white throat.

The feeling of cool, dry hands on his flesh brought scream after scream of protest. "STTOOOOOOP! PLEAASEE!!"

It was the aftermath of where those hands touched that left him burning. He wanted to throw up, but he couldn't stop screaming and crying. In horror, he watched as red marks appeared on his body, feeling disgusted by how the man was running his hands in a pattern across his chest, down to his stomach. It burned; his whole body burned as if he were being branded.

Muraki dragged his hands down the pale body in front of him, his mouth following suit, leaving a trail bite marks down the shoulders and chest. His hands teasingly touched the boy's abdomen, and he laughed when the boy flinched. A cruel smile spread on his lips when he reached even lower, grabbing at the flesh.

It was at this point when the screams stopped being intelligible words and transformed into high-pitched, hideous shrieking that pierced the once quiet night.

"Hmph," Muraki commented through the cry. "You might actually enjoy this part." With that, he lowered his head to where his hands were, tongue running across sensitive skin before taking the boy into his mouth.

At that moment, Hisoka couldn't beg for help anymore, all he could do was feel Muraki's hands and mouth on his body, knowing very well that the worst was yet to come. His only response was the terrified screams that ripped from his throat, one after another…

--

"TSUZUKI!!" Hisoka cried out, sitting up straight in his bed. His heart was pounding hard, voice caught in his throat. There it was again, that dream. Dreaming about the event once in a while wasn't really that strange, but everyday for the past two weeks was indeed odd for him. And, after every night he would get farther into the dream before awakening, the details sharpening as well. Like always, after the dream, Hisoka would awaken drenched in a cold sweat, red curse appearing on his fine, ivory flesh.

He cursed softly to himself. What is happening to me? Why is Muraki plaguing me once more? What does he want from me?

Author's notes: This was just closer look in poor Hisoka's past; I'm just experimenting a little to see how this ff is received (because I'm really unsure about it). Some semblance to a plot will happen if I continue, so please review to let me know if there is an interest or not. It's a different type of story than I'd normally write. I'm just trying to expand my horizons (hopefully successfully).