More~

Contains: Violence/bondage, Sadism/bloodlust, flashbacks, non-con Darkshipping, graphic rape scene (lemon). Yeah. Also fluffy Clashshipping. :)

Passages in italics show flashbacks.

All characters (c) Kazuki Takahashi
CSI (c) Antony E Zuiker

Chapter Two

"Tell me everything, from the start."
Yami shuddered, shaking his head and rocking back and forth. The memories of that dark night beckoned him, called him to wallow in them once more. He didn't want to give in – he had spent a year trapped in their quagmire and he had only just managed to scramble out. He had been pushed back in from the brink of salvation and refused to open his eyes to see where he had landed. But she was with the police, he had to tell her… Taking a deep breath and willing some of Marik's strength into himself, Yami started talking, telling her as the memories swam before his eyes, as vivid as the day they had happened.
He carefully applied the hairgel, spiking his hair up with extra attention. He wanted to look good for tonight – it would be the first time he had met up with Marik after their separation a few months before. They had decided to see if that old flame was still there, and Yami was just a bit nervous. He hadn't seen Marik since the break-up, and worried that he wouldn't be able to please him like he had used to be able to do. He worried that he looked weird, too different. He worried that he had put on weight, though he could by no means be called overweight. Even if he wasn't sure if he wanted to date Marik again, he wanted to make a good impression. With a sour expression, he slipped his glasses case into his pocket. With all the studying he'd been doing recently for his course, his eyesight was deteriorating. He wondered if it would startle Marik.
Waving to his flatmates, saying he might not make it back until late and grinning at their supportive comments, Yami headed out of the door and started to walk briskly towards the centre of Domino, to the restaurant where he would be meeting Marik. He smiled to himself – to the restaurant where they'd had their first date, months and months ago. It wasn't far and soon he was there, and he could see Marik through the window, sitting at a table – their table. Where that date had been. Yami grinned widely, feeling his self-conscious doubts fade.
It seemed Marik wanted to find that flame as much if not more than Yami did. Yami admired him through the window as he approached; Marik looked as deadly-handsome as Yami remembered, with a few new tattoos of course. You couldn't work in a tattoo parlour and not get some fresh ink every now and then. He was dressed in tight jeans and a loose shirt that nonetheless showed off his powerful frame, blonde hair styled up just as always. Yami checked his own appearance: hair dyed and spiked, shirt and leather trousers tight and dark, his bracelets all present and correct. He fiddled with his fringe in the reflection of a closed shop window, taking a deep breath.
Yami faltered in his narrative, the dark memories creeping closer to tarnish those few sparks of light.
"Go on," the woman softly said, leaning forwards intently. "What happened?"
Yami squeezed his already-closed eyes, trying to hide in the darkness behind his lids. He held tightly to his legs, regular shivers shaking his limbs like a leaf in the storm. He drew in another breath, knowing that the sooner he finished his account the sooner she would let him see Marik. And gods how he needed Marik right now… "I never met Marik inside the restaurant," he whispered, the memories crowding in on him.
Just as he was about to walk inside, a cold hand wrapped itself vice-like around his wrist. Yami was jerked around and pulled by the owner of the hand, a tall pale-haired man in a dark coat, with burning brown eyes. Yami protested and tried to pull away but the sudden touch of cold metal against his ribs stilled him. The man spoke not a word, but the threat was implicit in every strand of his strange hair and every shadow that played over his features.
"if you want money, just take it," Yami said unsteadily, raising his palms non-threateningly. "I don't want any t-trouble."
The man looked about them, scanning the dark and near-deserted street for witnesses. No one looked their way. The man tightened his grip on Yami's wrist, the tip of the knife flicking up to tilt Yami's chin this way and that, letting the dim lamplight dapple Yami's features. Yami could do nothing but comply, not wanting to provoke this strange man with a knife at his throat and a crushing grip on his wrist.
"I always take what I want," the man said in a low, husky voice, ever so slightly accented. "And you are coming with me."
Yami swallowed hard, knowing danger signs when he saw them. At that point he wasn't sure if the man meant to kill him or rape him or what, but he knew it couldn't be good. As the man tugged him briskly down dark, seedy alleyways, into the heaving bowels of Domino, Yami looked frantically around for someone – anyone – to help him. But precious few saw them, and even fewer cared. This was a dark place, a place that could not be found by daylight, Yami was sure. A place where the wicked could play as they desired.
"What happened, Yami?" The woman asked softly, breaking him out of his reverie. Yami realised he must have gotten lost in his memories and stopped talking. "Where did he take you? I know it's hard, but if you tell me—"
"Then what?" Yami snapped, surprising himself, leaning towards her with his elbows braced on the table. "You'll make everything all better? You'll wave a magic wand, revive that bastard and haul him to court? Pah."
She was silent for a moment, and didn't really seem surprised by his reaction. "Of course I can't do that. But we can try and see if there were any others, and if they need help." Her voice was perfectly calm and reasonable, not in the least perturbed. Yami recalled Marik speaking to him in that way in the raw aftermath of That Night, and how it had soothed him to hear something so steady and unflappable in the midst of his torment. It soothed him now, and he leaned back in his chair, coming out of the unconscious aggressive pose. He hugged himself tightly, the fire of his anger burning away to smoulders that let him see the shadows of his past circling around him, like carrion wolves in the night. She made a 'carry on' motion with one hand and a sympathetic look.
"He led me through the streets, I couldn't tell you where he took me, exactly. It was just so dark and I was scared…"
The door was slammed shut behind him and the man led Yami through dark unlit rooms in the house until they reached what Yami presumed to be the bedroom. Yami now had few doubts about what was going to happen and his breathing was erratic, heart jumping and skipping in fear. A cold sweat bathed his skin and made him tremble. He would have struggled, but the man's grip on the knife was steady and sure, unfazed and cool. More than anything, Yami wanted to get out of here alive.
The man produced a length of leather thong from a pocket in his swishy black coat and quickly wound it around Yami's wrists, binding them so tightly his fingertips turned purple, in front of his chest. Yami was too scared to resist in that vital moment when the knife was out of the man's hand. It was snatched up again quickly, though, and the moment was lost.
"Tell me your name." The man commanded, brooking no opposition as he pushed a wide-eyed Yami hard down onto the bed and onto his back, tying the long end of the cord binding Yami's wrists to the headboard.
"Y-Yami," he replied fearfully, tugging at the bonds to no avail. The knife pressed just slightly under his jaw and he stilled, feeling the skin break in a thin, stinging line. He hissed slightly at the pain and was almost revolted to see the look of taut anticipation on the man's face. "Why are you doing this?" Yami whispered, going completely rigid as the man stroked the knife's tip down Yami's neck to catch and effortlessly shear through his shirt as if it were made of nothing more substantial than mist. A thin line of weeping red was left trailing in its wake, spilling slowly down Yami's sides. "Wh-Who are you?"
"I am the man of your nightmares," he replied, reaching into his pocket and bringing out, of all things, a mobile phone. Yami was surprised to say the least – he had been expecting something more… kinked, he supposed. There was an automated shutter-click noise and a red light started slowly pulsing on the phone. Yami shuddered. The man was filmingthis.
"Your name," he demanded again, bringing the knife up to trace a design just under Yami's left eye, camera sweeping over his body.
"Yami," he breathed in panic, watching the blade nervously as sweat broke out afresh over his skin. "Please, let me go…"
The man laughed cruelly, knife slashing.
Yami stopped abruptly in his story, tracing a thin white line under his left eye, the mark of That Night. It was completely silent in the interrogation room; even the policemen seemed engrossed in his tale. He clamped his lips shut, unable to tell them of what had happened in all its hideous detail, though he could not escape the memories.
The knife slashing over and over into his neck, face, arms, chest, abdomen. Shearing through his leather trousers and through his underwear, scoring his skin in its path with red taint. His cries of pain and terror ignored, smothered by the man's bloodied palm or his dark laughter. Trying to kick at his torturer as his legs were splayed wide, stretching his muscles beyond any pain threshold. The punishment that followed, and the ugly scar of a letter B carved into his hip, marking him forever. The horrifying sensation as he was penetrated and thrust into with no mercy, no pleasure. Feeling the stranger's hard erection tearing his insides apart with every stab, blood pooling around him. Pain shrieking up his back as the man thrust harder and harder, slamming his body into the rock-hard mattress. Banging his head on the bedpost from the sheer force of his abuse and feeling dizzy, knowing all the while his tormentor was lapping it up and saving it for future perusal on his phone. Screaming in pain and gripping the bonds around his wrists, hoping to slicken them with the blood flowing from his everywhere enough to escape… but growing weaker and weaker as the man forced himself harder and closer and tighter inside Yami, widening as needed with brute force. Yami could feel the man being more and more turned on with each dose of pain he delivered direct into Yami's body.
Yami shook his head briskly, digging his fingers into his knees to focus on the present. "He cut and raped me." He said shortly, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't make him tell the exact details. No one but Yami knew all the details, not even Marik. Marik knew most of it, sure, but not all.
Sobbing and trying to turn his face away, twitching and tense against the pain, ignoring the blinking red light as much as he could. Screaming louder than ever before, screaming for help. And then bang bang bang bangbangbangbaaang! Marik exploding into the room, punching the man square in the face and knocking him out, pulling him out of Yami to sprawl on the floor. The glint in Marik's eye as he spat on the unconscious figure of the half-naked rapist. The way his whole bearing softened and became gentler than Yami had ever seen when Marik turned to help him. Marik untying him and washing clean his wounds, lending him his jacket to drive them back to Marik's flat he shared with Otogi above the tattoo parlour. Having to pull over half way because Yami started crying and needed comforting.
"You can stay here as long as you like, Yami," Marik said, handing him some pyjamas and a spare toothbrush. They were sat on Marik's bed, though Yami seemed uncomfortable and still in pain; Marik had given him painkillers, but any more and he might overdose.
Yami was unable to do anything but weep and tremble , lost in his world of imaginings. Warm arms winding around him and gently pulling him down to pillow his head on the older man's chest. "Sleep, Yami. Sleep of rest."

Much later, the CSIs met in their usual café.
"I don't know," one said sceptically, running a hand through his short afro absent-mindedly. "He could be lying to plead self-defence."
The woman shook her head. "You weren't there when he was talking."
"So let me get this straight," their boss said, frowning slightly. "We have two suspects, each of whom has their own motive for killing our victim."
"Correct."
"We have no murder weapon, no evidence to conclusively link it to either of their stories?"
"Er… correct," the CSIs answered briefly.
"Well then," the boss said and retreated to his pickled-foetus-filled study. "Find evidence, and go where it leads you."
The CSIs looked at each other and groaned. More grunt work.

Here's a special mention of some truly cool beans~
Crazycatkin for being my unofficial Beta and for Clashshipping as obsessively as I do 3
Yaminisu and Coolaloo for being such lovely reviewers, and my first reviewers! Thank you so much for your support, hopefully see you in the next chapter :)