A/N- Time for the third installment of my drabbles! This goes to a bit darker edge of the spectrum and is inspired by the incredibly fitting 6918 song Lights Out by Breaking Benjamin. Seriously, check it out, it fits the two of them perfectly. A little fun fact: almost all of these drabbles are written during my study hall. I'm still waiting for someone to come up behind me and notice I'm writing about gay sex. Any song or plot suggestions are still welcome, so drop me a pm and I'll do my best! As always, R/R and enjoy!
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It was dark in the room. In his mind though, he was grateful for it, on some level. It was probably for the best, he mused as he tightened the grip on the thin waist situated between his leather covered thighs. If he saw to clearly the bleeding teen he might lose what little self control he still possessed. It was a bit surprising. For one who prided himself on always maintaining control, always putting up the blase calm front for all to see, to be so close to abandoning all of reality because of one person.

He adored having his little skylark covered in his own blood and sprawled on a bed; the dark crimson blended magnificently with the pale alabaster skin he had taken such great care to mar, hair a disheveled and most lovely mess. A sigh broke from between rose petal lips. Such a shame. To ruin the perfection it once held was a pity. Though, to be the one to cause the lattice like marks, to be the one to claim something so aloof made him almost giddy. Hell and all it's layers would freeze over before he let Hibari Kyouya be markedclaimedtouched by another. They simply weren't worthy enough.

His eyes gleamed in the wane light provided as the moon rose, shining through the high window. As he ran a finger playfully across the Cloud's hipbones a hand pulled the tattered dress shirt up higher. The cold cobalt blue glare was ignored as Mukuro chuckled. Not much the boy could do to retaliate. And he hated it, the helplessness of his situation. It was splendid. He had bound his Kyouya's hands and body the second the weapons fell from the graceful hands that were now pinned to the headboard. The skylark would never give up on trying to take him down, and this would be the result of each attempt. The never ending game of the prey chasing the hunter, and the Mist enjoyed every scorn filled moment.

Mukuro twirled a lock of the dark hair between gloved fingers thoughtfully.

"I wonder," his voice lilted lightly in the night air, "will you think of me when you see these marks? Will you remember my voice," hands made their way down a clothed leg, "my touch?".

He could almost feel the warmth drain out of the room from the brittle frigidness of his skylark's voice.

"Will you think of me when you feel my teeth biting into you, mind-whore? Will you scream and beg for the mercy I won't give as I bleed you dry under my foot?" A shiver ran unbidden down Mukuro's spine. Kyouya had the most delicious threats.

"I'll never forget how you, my precious skylark, scream."

He ghosted the tip of his trident across the expanse of the prefect's bare waist, delighting in the almost inaudible intake of breath sounding from below. Mukuro felt light headed. He swore this had to be better, so much better, than the last time he had his Kyouya under him. He hadn't the time before to fully enjoy the prefect when he'd come knocking at the hideout with Sawada Tsunayoshi and his familgia running about. He ran the tip of his tongue along the fresh cut, the sweet, coppery taste of the Cloud's blood more potent than any Italian wine or aphrodisiac. He would never get enough to sate his thirst.

His skylark hissed at the feeling, an almost unnoticeable arching pushing them ever closer. Mukuro noticed. He always noticed. His smirk widened. Oh yes. Kyouya was the favorite toy he longed never to break. He began to assault the pale neck that was angled away in resentment, in hate. The Mist chuckled, biting on a sharp collar bone as he drank in every sign and half concealed gasp. He wanted to carve into the raven's very flesh the venom of his warmth and touch, haunt his every dream and thought as the monster lurking in the shadows. When this worthless life was through, he'd definitely remember how his skylark screamed.