Blood Roses


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There was beauty in darkness. Real beauty, strong and powerful beauty. It was the promise of something forceful, something tangible, something... out of this world. The Shadow Realm was out of this world, only accessible by those who were able to handle it- the pulling of the shadows, the abundant Darkness, the chilling wind while there was no wind... those who were not fit to deal with the Shadows, would feel a storm, would shiver and shudder so hard from the hate, the anger, the venom, the malice that was thrown at them upon entering this dark world, that they would fall and break. They would shatter like porcelain dolls, with their eyes open, as their souls were ripped out of their bodies, leaving them screaming and wailing for mercy while the Shadows would feast upon every cry, reveling in the pain, feeding on the terror.

Darkness was more than a state of mind, was more than a way of life, and was more than life itself. He shouldn't feel so comfortable walking around here, at ease, as if he was visiting an old friend. Every time they would welcome him again and again, those dark clouds, pulsating, morphing, drifting around him, slipping past his legs, brushing his arms, caressing his face. This was his home, should he admit it to himself, as he hardly had known how home really felt. As a Pharaoh, he should be used to large palaces, lavishly decorated rooms, servants at his every beck and call, and light... lots of light. Not this darkness, this faceless, nameless darkness, this liquid malevolence and brutality, raging inside of him. It wasn't becoming of him, as a just and righteous ruler, to feel comfortable being surrounded by nothing but malice, soundless whispers into his ear, claw-like touches, the stubborn tugging at his soul to give in, to surrender himself to these feelings of... everything that was so unlike him.

Almost distractedly, he stared at the roses he held in his hands. Dark red roses, and he wondered why he even bothered to take them with him. They wouldn't be appreciated anyway, and it made him feel guilty. He wasn't used to feeling guilty either. This would be the last time- the last time of everything. The Shadow Realm wasn't his real home, despite feeling like it; there was something else waiting for him: the Afterlife, if he'd lose from Yuugi in their final duel. Should he win, then... he didn't want to think about it, not now. There were other matters to attend to.

"That's what I am, right?"

"You are not."

"I'm just another matter."

"You are not."

He took in a large gulp of breath as tan arms wrapped themselves around his chest in a painfully tight grip and he was jerked back to lean against the other, the other Other, the dark side of a tormented soul that had seen no way out but to create another personality, this personality, to deal with the horror imposed on him. Even in this darkness, the golden bands around his wrists and upper arms managed to glow a little. He didn't protest nor struggle against the squeezing embrace; he knew it would be in vain. Physically, he was no match for the other- but the Shadow Realm thrived on mind games and dark emotions in one's soul, not on brute force.

"Tell me what I am, then."

"You are living darkness..."

The other's lips curled into a grin, white teeth partly visible, and he slowly released a little of his grip, while his long, slender fingers clutched at his shirt.

"What did you bring me?"

Wordlessly, he held up the flowers, immediately taking another gulp of breath as he was forcefully kissed on his neck, above the collar, and he tilted his head, squirming, shivering from the ferociousness of the teeth sinking into his flesh.

"Roses. Pretty Pharaoh brings me roses," the other snarled, fingers clutching and tugging at the fabric as if wanting to tear it apart. "What the fuck do I care about roses?"

"Please," he simply answered. The pain followed immediately, another bite on his neck, drawing blood, and his hand started to tremble, clutching at the roses, thorns scratching his flesh.

"Please...?"

With one brusque movement, the roses were ripped out of his hand, and a frustrated sound escaped him, a low mewl of excited pain as his fingers were torn open by the small thorns. "Malik..."

A shrewd grin was his answer. The tan, platinum-blond haired... being in front of him actually observed the roses, trying to smell them... which was rather funny, as the Shadow Realm was void of any smell or taste, just morphing, motion sickness invoking shape shifting darkness. He never expected the other, the living embodiment of hate, to smell at roses. Ignoring the stinging of his hand, he mentally braced himself. The darkness was not his, in any shape or form, and tomorrow, a duel would decide his fate. He more than probably would never return here, if the gods had destined the Afterlife for him. It was only a matter of time now, time so short and achingly long. He'd longed for finding his name, regaining his memories, closing this chapter of his life, and at the same time he feared the ending of it all, as it meant that the Shadow Realm wouldn't be longer accessible to him, no longer being able to see him.

His eyes went wide as the other took a bite out of the roses, ripping the flowers of the stem and spitting the petals back at him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, giving me roses?"

Wiping with his hand over his face, he remained calm, showing no signs of irritation. There was something about Malik no yami no jinkaku that always infuriated him, yet he couldn't bring himself to stop seeing him, to stop talking to him. "It is over," he answered. "You. Me. Impossible."

"Really now?" With tangible contempt, the other wiped off his mouth, crushing a flower petal in the process. He stared at his fingertip, slightly colored from the mangled flower. "Dark red... at least you have some taste, Pharaoh."

"Malik," he said, "there is nothing I can do about it. Time has caught up with me, and my destiny has almost been fulfilled."

"So you know your name."

He barely refrained from gawking at the other, only groaning softly as the embrace was tightened again. So very often Malik had shown that he knew of many things, that there was something he had more knowledge of than himself; slightly unnerving, slightly... exciting. The other's nails finally tore through the fabric of his shirt and sliced his skin, and before he could hiss in pain, his lips were captured, and he felt them bruise under the pressure of the kiss.

Enemies... lovers... hate... affection? There was a constant maelstrom of thoughts swirling around in his mind, every time he was close to the other, the other Malik, who had treated him with nothing but contempt and hatred the second he saw him. The hatred was a consistent factor in his attitude, and nothing in his eyes was worth of the tiniest bit of attention or compassion. Compassion and Malik was something unfeasible, and he tilted his head again, leaning into the other's embrace, realizing how his shirt was shred to pieces, blood welling up from the cuts in his skin as the other clawed at him with feline ferocity, scratching. His air was cut off as the kiss was prolonged, and he wanted more and more and more and never stop, a Pharaoh almost on his knees begging for more from the one he had defeated before and who had sworn to kill him. It didn't matter, he couldn't even remember how it all started, how it was going to end, there was only this moment, this and now, the very present and he wanted to feel him, deep inside, all over him, clawing, pawing, pinning him down.

The hit to his face was rather unexpected. In their previous meetings, Malik had never touched his face like that- hurt him all over, but never his face, and pain exploded through his mind, knees buckling. He hadn't even noticed Malik releasing the grip on his chest, moving around to stand in front of him.

"I can't forget the things you never said," the other said, voice low, devoid of anything remotely excitement. Violet, pupil less eyes narrowed, lips turning into a bitter, wry, twisted smile. "...but you've always shown me. Your body doesn't lie, Pharaoh. I was a commodity, right? You've got what you wanted-- your name, your memories, everything fucking peachy and perfectly coming together like everything in your life, without much suffering, without pain. You're going to leave me and enjoy the company of your friends and family in the fucking Afterlife, leaving others to wither and rot!"

He brought up his hand to touch his cheek, knowing that there would be undoubtedly a print visible. It stung, and it unsettled him. The Shadow Realm was thriving on illusions, on things that weren't real, and this pain was different from any other pain. Turning his crimson red eyes to Malik, he noticed that his own breathing was slightly erratic. The obvious lustful look in the other's eyes was almost familiar, and subconsciously he parted his lips. It was all that the tan Egyptian needed, approaching him again, kissing him ferociously, hands slipping into his hair, tugging.

"Fucking perfect... destiny was always in your favor, wasn't it?"

"I... I do not know what you mean," he answered weakly, lips bruising again under the force of the kiss. Malik's hands went lower, fingers stroking his skin, nails scratching. "Destiny is..."

"... a son of a bitch," Malik supplied. "Tell me... what is your name, Pharaoh?"

"A... Atemu." It was nothing more but a mere whisper as he was craving the other's touch, to feel the pain, to feel alive. Feeling pain was to feel alive, in the sight of dying. He was already dead, dead for millennia, and he had to use his vessel to interact with the outside world. Nothing he went through made him feel as alive as in the hurting, torturing hands of the other, the only one who could give him what he wanted. What he wanted...

"You're going to leave me, Atemu?"

He was threading dangerous grounds, and his answer could either result in delightful pain or scolding silence. "I... I have no choice..."

Slightly wincing as the other yanked his belt, tearing the belt loops, he gasped out loud when the leather was wrapped around his neck. His eyes went wide again, and his breathing became more irregular as Malik held the knot in the belt close to his neck, the knuckles of his hand pressing against his skin.

"You're going to leave me, Atemu, and leave me behind and you'll be all pretty and peaceful and happy," he purred into his ear. "We can't have that now, can we? You're really going to leave the only one who can give you what you search for? Are you really going to give up everything we had? Everything we shared?" He groaned. "Preposterous..." Every word was a lie, a sweet lie, a false message of compassion and care. Malik no yami no jinkaku wasn't capable of feeling compassion, of showing it- every word was clipped, spoken in that low tone of voice that made it sound so deliciously suave and sexy, but held venom and anger in every syllable.

"Preposterous?" He cried out at the sharp tug at his hair, immediately followed by a choking sound as the belt was snuck tighter around his throat. "What... what are you doing?"

"If you're going to treat me like this, pretty Pharaoh mine, then I suppose you've learned nothing. The question is: have you learned anything at all? That you fucking can't treat me like something disposable? Others may kiss the ground you walk on, grovel before your feet, and even fucking destiny itself may serve you, but not me. You bound yourself to darkness, Atemu, and don't even think you can walk into the light now it's convenient to you."

"Stop it," he snarled, voice raspy. "I do not know what you are talking about! If anything..." This should never have happened in the first place. Aibou. Anzu. Jounouchi. If they knew... if they suspected... if they...

"You're not going to leave me here!"

"You..." and then it dawned to him. In the back of his mind, he'd thought that maybe, maybe even the darkness itself was afraid of being left alone. That maybe even the darkness could care. He had learned nothing at all indeed, and the realization hit him hard. Used, he was being used, just as he had used the other. As he had used everyone and everything before, without saying as much as a 'thank you'. Darkness wouldn't care but for its own survival, darkness wouldn't be able to love, to care, and it was preposterous of him to think he could've changed it. Compassion wasn't his forte either; wasn't Yuugi, his aibou, the only one he really cared about because he was his vessel?

His lungs started to burn as he was fighting for air, the belt tightening, the leather chafing his skin. It couldn't be this real, this pain, pain without delight, pain without nothing but pain, and he wanted to scream, wanted to cry, eyes closed tightly, not wanting to see. All I wanted was to feel alive. Prying at the belt, his body started to tremble and shake, his voice strained, struggling for breath, as the hand of the other touched his bare chest, dipping lower, touch burning and caressing at the same time.

"Stop..." Emptiness, a word without a meaning... it was too late, and he wasn't sure if he was aware of what was happening or not. He felt hands on his body, touching him everywhere, words were whispered into his ear, his lungs were on fire, and all he could do was pant and moan as pleasure started overtaking the pain, longing for release, longing for setting his soul free in any other way than winning a duel, a duel that seemed far away, something extremely insignificant compared to this-- this assault on his every sense, his mind clouded, not able to respond coherently.

Loud laughter interrupted his hazy thoughts, and he dared to open his eyes, slowly. A faint smile curled his lips as he saw Malik, face close to his, lips brushing past his bruised cheek.

"Sometimes, Pharaoh..." he said, voice as low as ever, bringing a coated finger to his skin, caressing slowly, "sometimes..."

He turned his head towards him, pale skin against tan skin, sated crimson eyes close to narrow, blank, pupil-less violet ones. His attention was shortly pulled towards the stinging he felt at his feet, only to realize that he was standing on the remnants of the roses. Opening his mouth to say something, the other shushed him, smiling friendly-- friendly at first sight, but anyone could see the deranged hint to it. He was curious, wanted to hear what the other had to say, as slight fear crept back into his posture. A shiver ran through him, the leather around his throat still chafing.

"Sometimes you're nothing but meat, Pharaoh," the other finally said and laughed again, the used having used the user, draining him of his energy and spilling his blood. The belt was suddenly removed, and while loudly gasping for breath, he stumbled forward, out of balance, no longer being supported by the other. This time, the Shadows didn't seem to catch him, as the dark clouds fled away from him as he fell, the fallen Pharaoh, a son of the Gods who had destroyed his own pedestal. A scream was torn from his throat, his abused throat and no sound was heard as he fell, out of grace, out of shadows, out of the place he had called home... had wanted to call home.

He didn't know when his fall would end, with the maniacal laughter still ringing in his ears, and he embraced the darkness, this different darkness, wholeheartedly. The cuts, scratches and wounds were impossible to explain to his aibou, his aibou who had done nothing but trust him, looking up at him, admire him for his strength and determination. He was crying, but as he was crying, he couldn't be heard by the other. No more darkness, and if destiny was on his side, he would walk only in the light from now on. Why he was crying was a riddle to him, and his feelings were indescribable; he wanted to wash himself, rid himself of the other's touches, wanted to feel clean and... sane again. How could he face his aibou, his friends, after... a bitter laugh left his lips as he was crying. The gods knew that he knew that he'd thrown away all those graces. Friendship, strength, dignity, respect. They were all gone, and all that remained was meat, an outer shell with emptiness on the inside, wrapped around the other's feet, wrapped around like good little roses.



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