Broken Lullaby
Disclaimer: This is a purely non-profit story written for entertainment purposes only. The characters of Yami no Matsuei belong to their respective owners.
Author's Notes: Oh boy. Where to begin? First off, this idea came into my head without any real attachments, but I thought it worked best with YnM. I've never written in second person (at least not for a whole story), as well as present tense, so if you find any grammatical errors, I apologize. I found it extremely difficult to do so. In any case, there's no real plot to this. I just had the first line in my head and needed a disturbing and a traumatized character (thus, YnM). Plus, this'll really tick off cookies-at-midnight, because once again I favour Muraki. She hates him. I expect to be hit soon.
Broken Lullaby
"Picture it. Visualize it in your head."
Blank eyes stare at nothing, nowhere, and yet they are brimming with a maniac gleam. His visitor stands close by, but he might as well have been talking to no one. It makes no difference to him. He just needs to escape the voices in his head. That voice.
"It was such a beautiful night. So beautiful. I've never seen anything so clear, and… and fresh. But then he… he…"
A pause, as if recollecting something from long ago, although it was all the same memory. He takes a shuddering breath and hugs his knees to his chest.
"It was always his eyes. His eyes—the way he'd look at you. As if you were his: his prey, his-his toy, his everything."
Another pause, and his breaths come in short gasps.
"He stared at you for so long. Just kept staring, as if he'd see right into your soul. He looked at you until you felt like you couldn't breathe—as if the tree, the very air was choking you. And then you just ached… just ached everywhere. Everything just throbbed and you just wished, more than anything, that you could close your eyes or turn away or something. Anything. But he keeps on staring.
And then, when you think your head's going
to burst from the pain, he blinks. You'd never noticed it before, but he hadn't
blinked at all. It doesn't really matter, but at least the pain's gone if only
for a moment. But he looks at you again, and you just want… to be soothed, to
be touched… and as if reading your mind, he does touch you, oh yes… yessss…"
He starts rocking back and forth rapidly, startling his visitor.
"He's gorgeous. He's always been gorgeous. And the way he touches you, you feel like you'll never be untainted or as beautiful ever again. His hands are everywhere… and they touch you in all the right places. You know it's wrong, and you don't want him, and yet… you do. And when you try to deny it, it makes everything feel even better. He runs his hands over your face, and strips you of your clothes. He starts to whisper things to you—things about-about life. All the while, his hands have roamed down your body, and found your cock. You try not to react, but he's so good. You just feel so helpless and whorish and aroused, and then his lips close around you…"
A moan escapes his lips as he draws his legs even nearer, and rocks more violently.
"The world goes black. There's only this-this tingling and pulsing and your whole body is just wired. And then he's inside you, this burning hardness… and he keeps on moving faster and making it hotter and hotter… god, he's so hard and big and you just want to scream at the pain when he slams into you and grips your hair. But you're afraid that if you do, he'll stop. Or won't stop. They're just as bad. You can't even think straight anymore. When he hits that sweet spot, you can only open up to him. There's nothing else. When he calls you his angel, you can only groan his name. And you know he's using you, and will kill you in the end, but it doesn't matter, doesn't matter at all, because…"
Without warning, Hisoka abruptly gets up and overturns the tray containing his food, laughing maniacally. Juice and soup splatter all over the place.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he screams, eyes wild and the perturbing laughter still pouring forth from his throat. "Isn't it beautiful?"
He keeps moving around the room, trashing everything in his path. His visitor only has time to dodge before an alarm clock smashes at his feet.
"He loved me! He hated me! I was his angel! I was his angel!"
Strangely, tears are falling from his insane eyes.
Mirroring his partner's, tears are falling from Tsuzuki's eyes as well. He steps aside as the asylum workers rush in, two grabbing Hisoka while the other sedates him. Soon, the frail-looking blonde's eyes close as his body falls limp. The workers put him back on his bed, replacing his restraints. Tsuzuki can only watch. He knows there's nothing he can do; and deep inside, he hopes it never happens to him.
He takes out a package and puts it by Hisoka's bed. He knows that it will probably be the blonde's next victim in his impending fit, but he doesn't care. If only for one night, he wants it to be Hisoka's lullaby; a lullaby to serve as a brief reprieve from the hands of the doctor that haunts his dreams.
He vows to hunt down Muraki and make him pay for his crimes. As he turns to leave, he thinks he hears the echo of a sinister laugh that sounds far too eerily familiar.
END