This has to be the shortest piece I've ever written, but I rather like it. The song "Girl Scout" is by Jack Off Jill, and the part I've taken the bit in the beginning from is the chorus.

Disclaimers: I don't own YuGiOh! or Girl Scout from Jack Off Jill

Warnings: A little dark/angst-y, introspective a bit. Mild slash, but it can be interpreted as het (It's first person POV, and I never give away the identity of the narrator, let alone their gender. Though, I think it'd fit two guys better.)

[My little Girl Scout,

your mouth is getting sore.

Will you love me any less,

if I hurt you anymore?]

"D-don't go…" His voice his shaky, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. He looks so tantalizing, lower lip sticking out like it is, and I crush our mouths together hard, brutally. Blood trickles into my mouth as I bite down hard on that lip, then soothe the wound with my tongue, rubbing it in small circles.

I pull back, ignoring the desire that runs through me, and walk out the door. "Get up. I'm going out, and you have to get ready for the day."

Then, I leave. I don't look back, can't, because I know I'll give in and ravish him if I do. Again. I tell myself every time that it will be the last. That I won't do it anymore, hurt my precious one like this. But I can't stop myself. Every time I see that beautifully wonderful, haunted look in his eyes I can't help but do it all over again.

He loves me; it runs deep inside of him, and I can see it written all over his face, even if he can't. He opens his arms, his legs, his heart to me night after night, whenever I want, in hopes that I'll give him what he desperately craves, what he doesn't even realize he wants. But I disappear every morning like a dream that hovers just on the edge of consciousness, one he constantly strives to grasp, leaving him feeling used and like a cheap whore.

Maybe he is in some ways, too; Gods only know he fucks like one. It's not what I think of him, though, what he is to me. It's not just about the sex. I know he'd love to hear that, that it would justify every thing I've ever done to him to slowly break him and strip him of his dignity. But I'll never tell him; just like I'll never stop.

It's addictive the power I have over him, a drug I can't ever get enough of. The things he'll say for me, what I can persuade him to do, it's intoxicating. Cracks form and he bleeds, trying to keep the fragile shell of himself from shattering while I continually beat against it. And still, he comes back for more, a deranged, masochistic dependency that binds us together.

So, I push him some more, constantly trying to see how much further I can get before he's completely and utterly destroyed. I'd like to think I would stop before then, that I have that much self-control. I hate seeing him hurt, in pain because of me, but I keep doing it over again, just to prove that I can. He still loves me; I still have that hold over him.

The day passes by in a blur I barely notice, eager for night to come again, wanting to see his face again, contorted in that exhilarating mixture of ecstasy and pain. I pleasure him, make him hope and believe only to be struck back down by my hand again. The moon shines brightly, lighting my way to him, as I walk through the door.

The sight that greets me is a surprise. Normally he's sitting by the window, staring out at the world from behind the glass pane, surrounded by his own unknowing, ethereal beauty and torn between eagerness and tears. But tonight, he stands in the middle of the room, packed bag at his feet.

"I… I'm g-going…" His voice trembles, but there's a firm, determined quality to it that let's me know that I've finally pushed him too far. "You just take… Take and take and never give any back yourself, then take some more… I don't have anything left to give you…"

He stares at me uncertainly for a moment, almost as if he were expecting me to say something, anything. Shadows cover his face, the light in his eyes dimming sadly, and he sighs. He turns to leave, and I suddenly feel lost. "…Wait."

His head tips to the side, and he stares at me as I've done to him so many times before. But it's different; he has none of the coldness I often shove in his face, just grief and pain. "Yes?"

"…Don't go."

I almost expect him to laugh in my face, throw it all back in my face, but his lips turn up in a small smile. "I won't."

What did you think of it? Please, Read and Review! (By the way, in your review, what pairing did you imagine this to be?)