Disclaimer: The series is not mine. If it was, then I would finish the Gensoukai arc. Seriously. : sigh :
Author's notes: Thanks for the reviews. I appreciate them, especially when writing such a … delicate subject. It's hard for me to keep it up. With that being said, happy holidays to those who like a tortured Hisoka. (Yes, this is my blanket holiday chapter, because I'm not at school and don't know when the next time I'll be able to use non-dialup internet is.) I find this chapter kind of disturbing. It's kind of bad to find oneself disturbing … right?
Chapter 3: Nightmares and Reality
Where am I, Hisoka thought, taking in the surroundings. It wasn't somewhere he recognized, and for that he was thankful. Instead of being at his home, he was in some sort of a sterile building, gray and dull. A shiver running through his body, he pulled the robe that he was wearing tighter around him. He took a step, and then another, not knowing what was drawing him.
"You're a stubborn boy," he heard a voice say.
Hisoka's blood ran cold, body frozen in place, as eyes took in the image of a familiar man in white. "Muraki," he spat the name as a curse.
"I was merely going to have a chat with you today, but you avoided sleep for as long as possible, so I think I'm going to have to … teach you what it means to be my puppet." He took a step closer. Click, the footstep echoed in the room.
"Don't come any closer!" Hisoka gasped trembling, brow breaking out in a sweat. Try as he might, he found that his body refused to obey him. Why couldn't he move?
"Oh?" Muraki asked tilting his head. "Then, I'll have you come to me."
Horrified, Hisoka felt his body respond as if some invisible hand were beckoning him forth. As he felt that wretched curse surface on his skin, he became aware of its physical effects, the burning, as if it were trying to devour his skin in its greedy flames. "NO!" he cried trying to stop it. "Please, NO!" But, surely and slowly, his left foot moved forward, followed by his right foot.
"That's right, my puppet, my beautiful little doll." The voice was sinister and held deeper intentions.
Humiliated, Hisoka found his legs folding underneath him, bringing him to a kneeling position in front of Muraki. "What do you want with me?" he asked.
"You're the bait for Tsuzuki. I thought that much would have been obvious."
"Leave him out of it!" Hisoka cried, head whipping up, green eyes glowering with anger.
"I'm jealous." Muraki admitted eyes narrowed. "You had him tonight. You could possess him if you so chose. But through you, I can possess him as well. Don't tell me you didn't feel me inside your head, in your flesh, as Tsuzuki was making love to you."
"Why?" Why do you torture me so?
Muraki ignored him. "Did Tsuzuki ever tell you why I killed you the way I did?" he asked bending down on his knees, putting his face close to Hisoka's. A languid hand ran itself down the young boy's white cheek, down his shoulders, holding him in place as he whispered the words against his lips.
Right when Muraki made physical contact with Hisoka, he was numbed by the other man's twisted thoughts. Sadistic intentions of brutal rape filled his mind, and Hisoka was unable to stop painful memories from rushing to him. Humiliation. Helplessness. Muraki wanted to inflict the worst kind of torment, planned on leaving him bleeding, used, and broken.
Swallowing hard, Hisoka could only shiver in his place, invisible strings from the puppet master holding him still. "Don't touch me." Shaking his head, golden-brown locks whipped around his face. Green eyes looked up with as much fear as anger.
"Of course you know," Muraki continued gamely, as if Hisoka hadn't spoken at all. "You have your gift. I told you that night that you were a very beautiful boy. Indeed you are, much too beautiful to have died brutally. I enjoyed watching you struggle to live, watching your body cool, watching your breathing slow. To me, you were a fascination, much like a pet."
Hisoka shuddered as Muraki reached inside the robe that he was wearing. Bile rose in his throat as he couldn't help but screaming in response to the touch, in response to what he saw in Muraki's head, in response to what he knew was coming next.
"You screamed that night," Muraki reminisced in a manner as if recalling a tender moment, while hands unknotted the sash tied around Hisoka's waist. "You know," Muraki commented. "If you don't want something like this to happen, you really should stop wearing clothing that's so easily removable."
Pulse rate increased as Hisoka gasped in breath after breath, each one faster and louder than the previous one. "Don't," he managed through his irregular, panting breaths. I hate myself.
Cool hands pushed him over and Hisoka's body tumbled, hitting the cold, sterile floor with a hard thump. The unaccustomed feeling of cold tile pressed against his bared flesh caused him to flinch at the utter wrongness of it.
"I know, the floor is cold … but you won't be cold for much longer." Muraki laughed, that laugh that Hisoka heard only in his worst nightmares, while reliving his own personal hell over and over again. The sound crawled against his skin, and gooseflesh prickled at the discomfort.
Eyes wide like a terrified horse's with white showing all around, Hisoka watched as Muraki unbuttoned the fly to his pants pulling down the zipper. "Shall we relive that sensuous night we shared together?" he whispered suggestively, pushing the tip of his freed arousal against Hisoka's groin, grinding in order to get the physical response he desired. His mouth, now against Hisoka's throat, sucked the flesh, teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin. He moved his lips carefully avoiding Hisoka's, so he could hear the boy scream, unhampered.
"I was just a kid!" Hisoka cried body trying to struggle as much as it was allowed. His personal hell was nothing any little boy should have gone through.
"And I'm glad," Muraki said pointedly, "I let you live for a few years before killing you. Not only was your death beautifully tragic, but it also allowed you to mature. I must say I rather like the way your body has grown. Definitely more adult without losing any of your delicate beauty, a delicate beauty that is better when it is on the verge of being crushed."
"Nonononononono!" The word escaped his lips repeating over and over again like a crazy person's chant.
Bent over him, all Hisoka could hear were pleased laughs that came from Muraki. Those cold, dry hands tortured him with gentle touches. The silver hair that tickled his chest felt like the legs of a hundred ants coming to claim portions of his body. He tried desperately to push at Muraki, his arms seeming to have no affect on the doctor. For some reason, they had no strength. He tried to wriggle away, hands managing to catch leverage against the floor. Desperately, his arms worked to drag his thin, frail figure away in a sort of backwards crawl. Tile caught his bare back in friction and rubbed the skin from his back leaving it raw, but that was okay, anything was better than staying still.
"Oh?" Muraki uttered, looking a bit surprised at the struggle. "You can still move?" A sinister smile appeared on his face as he narrowed his eyes, and Hisoka felt the puppet strings tighten around him, ensnaring him even deeper into a web of terror.
"This is just a dream," Hisoka whispered, desperately trying to convince himself. "Just a dream." From his frozen position on the floor, he stared at the approaching Muraki with wide eyes that held more fear than hatred in them. Pale lips trembled as he resigned himself to the fact that history was about to repeat itself.
"Is it?" Muraki asked drawing nearer to him, white trench coat swishing behind him. "Does the fact that it's a dream make this feel any less real?" With that, he had gotten control of Hisoka once more, his body on top of the other boy's. Hands lifted Hisoka's lower half up, roughly jerking his legs apart, as he entered the boy dry, hard, and fast without any preparation. The agonized scream that echoed through the building was his reward.
The pain was indescribable, an unwelcome object being forced into a terribly intimate place. Although he had been through it before, nothing could have prepared him. How, exactly, did one prepare himself for rape?
With the thin tissue brutally torn, hot, sticky blood - his blood - seeped out from him underneath him, and he cried out a name to beg for help. "TSUZUKI!"
"Yes," Muraki said laughing while he thrust deeper into him. "Call him. Bring him to me."
At that moment, Hisoka felt his body grow impossibly weak, felt his strength leak from him, as helpless tears coursed down his face. Muraki had him in his hand, practiced hands working gently over the tip of his erection, reminding him that even as he protested, his body still reacted to the unwanted touch. History repeated itself as he found that all he could do was scream as the doctor worked. Even in his terror, he could hear Muraki's words to him.
"You know what I realized … about last time … and this time … is that you, too, are special. The more and more deeply I progress in tormenting you, thrusting into you, the more and more I want to bathe in the hotness of your blood –to some how gain your scent, your perfect beauty, your very essence. You were much too pretty to die alone, and now here you are returned to me as a Shinigami. It's fate...fate that I be inside you like I am now … or like I was earlier tonight, always in your mind, forever lingering on your skin..."
Hisoka responded with a strangled sound of pain, bit into his lip to keep himself from crying out loudly, as he knew would excite the doctor's perverse tastes. Muraki's movements in and out sped up, moving without rhythm. Growls and grunts escaped his throat as he moved closer to his climax and closer to Hisoka's peak humiliation. Blissfully, before the doctor had a chance to finish his degrading act, the scene faded …
-----------------------------
"Hisoka! Hisoka!" Tsuzuki shook his partner, hard, watching the pale head snap back and forth on a thin, swan-like neck. But he refused to awaken and continued to scream to wake, well, to wake the dead. Tsuzuki considered himself and realized that the dead were not exactly hard to wake, except for the boy in his arms. Red curse glowing against pale skin told him that Muraki was involved with the boy's terrified shrieks.
"Hisoka!" What can I do for him? Fingers dug into the delicate white shoulders, pressure against them hard, so hard that he thought he'd crush the other boy within his hands. But the pain seemed to bring his partner to.
Gasping and panting like an animal running for his life, Hisoka awoke to find himself in Tsuzuki's arms. "Oh, God," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks one after another. Body going limp, he lied in Tsuzuki's waiting arms, waiting for the reassuring arms to close around him offering much needed warmth.
"Was it that dream again?"
"No … it was worse," Hisoka whispered hoarsely before he could stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth or the tears from streaming down his face. "So much worse …"
Author's notes: Hope y'all enjoyed. Thanks for being so patient with the updates. Review if the urge hits you. : hits readers with stick labeled "urge" : Ok, that was lame. I'm sorry.
A special thanks goes out to FlyinBison. Without her I wouldn't be able to make Muraki as twisted as he needs to be. Honestly, I find it somewhat reassuring that I have trouble writing Muraki. Having an inner Muraki would frankly terrify me.