Three Days Grace

“Why are you here?” Short, clipped. Curious, but not obvious. Behind him, Mokuba was watching. He didn’t need to look to see the slate eyes peering anxiously past him. At his rival.



He could swear those red eyes changed color. Blood red when furious, scarlet when afraid, crimson with insecurity.



“I needed to talk to you.”



Kaiba let a sneer twist its way onto his face. “‘Talk’?” he echoed. “About what?”



His rival made a slightly smudged sentence. He didn’t bother listening, eyes capturing instead the rigid posture, over-tense limbs. Followed the eyes that strayed to Mokuba. Twice. He saw the fists clench and unclench at the other’s sides, aggravated because of his refusal to answer.



But what his rival didn’t understand was that he didn’t need to answer. He didn’t need justification here. His own place. His own rules.



The one stage where inhibitions could be forgotten completely without drugs, booze or sleep deprivation.



Kaiba stepped forward. His rival stepped back another pace. He took another step, shorter this time with the same result. In the back of his mind, he knew Mokuba was watching, but then, Mokuba was like a conscience – always watching.



His rival had succeeded in backing himself into a corner. Kaiba took a step, savoring the swaying color through eyes that realized further retreat was not an option.



“Kaiba, what are you doing?” Confusion, apprehension, frustration.



Another step, standing body to body so he was gazing down at the King of Games, feeling the same note singing in his blood as when he touched the tomb carving. A funeral dirge, melancholy but tinged with the hope for an afterlife.



Eyes, red eyes, locked with his. He let a hand snake up, tipped that face up, much as he had at the museum. Confusion melted into defiance. “Accidentally” he let his hand slip, crushed it against his rival’s windpipe, held it there, watching in detached fashion. Hands clawed at his arm, red eyes darkened.



The clock ticked slowly, birds called outside. Clouds shifted, a fly trapped inside buzzed as it zipped past. Traffic hummed.



Red eyes…began to die.



He yanked back, let the King of Games sputter back into life. Wondered how close to death he could bring him…the two of them.



Leaned in and sucked the breath from both their bodies.



xxxxx



“What the hell are you doing?” Hands had shoved him away, their owner panting, bewildered.



Kaiba smirked. Behind him, he could feel Mokuba watching. Then his little slate-eyed shadow was by him, latched onto his arm, locking the three of them tightly in the corner.



“Shut up.” With Mokuba on one arm, he lowered his head again, free hand gently, threateningly, resting about his rival’s throat. The shorter duelist was unresponsive to his kiss, but it barely mattered. Rigid, frightened – the King of Games was at his mercy.



Power…intoxicating.



The hammering pulse under his fingers. The soft, unyielding lips under his own.



His tongue brushed across those lips, tasting, exploring. To his surprise, after a moment, the other’s mouth opened slightly, just enough to allow him access. He took the dare, slipped the tip of his tongue in.



Teeth came together, hard.



Kaiba growled low in his throat, biting at his rival’s mouth, banging teeth and snarling. Somewhere along the line, Mokuba had let go of his arm and retreated. Somewhere his little brother had come back, slate eyes casting every image in stone.



His nails dug into the other’s collarbone. A gasp of surprise and pain freed his tongue. Little drips of red speckled under his fingers. More surprising still, his rival’s eyes had darkened, pupils dilated to spite the light. A trembling, half-strangled moan escaped the Game king’s perfect lips. His name, breathed out in broken, ragged syllables.



Experimentally, Kaiba dug his nails in further, gouging holes in ivory skin. The moaning increased.



His rival, a closet masochist. Who would have thought?



The other’s slim body was trembling, eyes having drifted shut from whatever messed up mechanics had switched the channels of what hurt and what felt too good.



“W-why are you d-doing this?” Words choked out, curious, confused.



Kaiba lowered his head so his mouth was beside his rival’s ear. “Maybe I like seeing you at a disadvantage,” he breathed. Then he bit the ear, earning a sharp yelp.



Deviation from an original plan. Exploration of a new route.



Mokuba’s presence had vanished, nearly extinguished by the feral rush of lest and drive for dominance. Power. Kaiba caressed pale skin that looked too perfect. Still unbroken.



xxxxx



Metal and leather, smoke and rope, provided the perfect setting. The shorter duelist had struggled at first, growling out threats that Kaiba had ignored. Now red eyes rested closed, a helpless body suspended in midair. Easy to reach, to touch, to feel.



Easy to maim, to break, to crush.



To hurt.



Tiny splatterings of rusting blood speckled the otherwise unblemished skin. Four deep holes dug so carefully into the Game King’s body. Nearly decoration, carved as a mark of ownership. Possession. Claiming.



Words bubbled out past his rival’s lips, slurred so far as to be unrecognizable. Kaiba traced the pattern of veins under the skin down those fragile arms, drawing fingertips down them gently.



All the while, he was thinking. Thinking. That maddening bit of brain function that wouldn’t simply vanish at will. He wanted. He wanted… He wanted –



Wanted…what? Red eyes so dark he could see himself reflected. Hoarse cries of mingled agony and pleasure. Power over his rival.



But more than that. Somewhere, somehow, he felt the desire to have his rival, to possess the King of Games like no other ever could. To own his soul, control his body, rewrite his mind. If such things were possible, surely he could do it.



Rewrite the Game King from the inside out, change him into an even more warped version of what he was now.



Kaiba licked his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out almost unconsciously. To taste his rival, rework the clay and fire it into a shape unrecognizable by anyone who had known him… The very idea was intoxicating.



Change for the simple sake of change had never been very high on his list of priorities in his own life. In the gaming industry, ‘new’ was what attracted buyers. Putting the concept of change into his personal life wouldn’t kill him, at any rate.



Why won’t you move? Why won’t you fight?



Kaiba tangled his hand in his rival’s hair, tugging back, causing a grimace to cross the Game King’s face. The other’s head was tilted back at a sharp angle, exposing hiss throat, devoid of the black neck belt. Sharp, shallow breathing was the only constant sound in the room.



Has the fight gone out of you?



He released his grip, but the other’s head remained tilted back, vulnerable. Red eyes opened a sliver, except they weren’t red at all but some hybrid version of black and blood –

Is this what you want?



Those eyes dipped closed once again, and his rival’s body began to shake slightly, trembling in the rigged harness that had left the cur with scars. Kaiba watched with mild interest as the shaking intensified.



What is he doing? Trying to jolt himself free?



“K-k-kaiba – ” His name, quivering on the other’s tongue, tainted with too many sensations to label. “Kaiba – ” Stronger this time, and those red eyes had opened, almost entirely black now, “ – please.”



xxxxx



When he first had met the brat, he had seen nothing extraordinary about him. There was a subtle strength contained in him, to be sure, but no fire. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that could possibly force him outside himself.



Except when they had taken to the field, something had changed. There had been a rival there. A challenge. An aggressor that enabled him to battle the world.



Because, fighting had been the only thing he understood. The soldier trapped in the past, unable to face a world at peace, so he built his own war, staged on the home front. As both commander and warrior, he had gone on.



When the brat had separated from his rival, there had been the freedom of open warfare once again. Except…they had disappeared, taking his only chance at being himself with them. Any other test subject was a poor substitute for the King of Games. They were toys that broke too easily.



Then, miracle of the impossible - he had returned. But, still, everything wasn’t as it should have been. Kaiba had felt the broken insides to the Game King. Had known his only chance of becoming real rested in rewriting the poisoned hardware.



Rebuild to invincibility, then come back to life fighting.



So what were these words coming from his trusted rival’s mouth? The only one besides Mokuba who could never betray him. Words of submission, of pleading. Where was his rival?



“Kaiba –” That deep voice, shaking. “Please – don’t leave me like this.”



Leave…leave…don’t…go.



Don’t go.” That was his voice, choked with emotion…with weakness. He watched the bitter darkness, saw a hand come towards him. Smelled the acrid scent of burning, then his shoulder was on fire. Then it was gone, when it was nearly unbearable.



His rival’s voice whispered, “I don’t want to cause you any more pain.”



Whether it was the insensible nonsense his mind had invented or some other weird phenomenon, Kaiba neither knew nor cared. He drew close to his rival’s body, giving the contact he could feel a craving for.



Rebuild from the inside out. First, there has to be a way inside.



He dug his fingers into the other’s sides, running teeth roughly over the exposed neck as well. His name again, choked, smothered. There had to be a way to get his name off his rival’s lips.



Red eyes were open, staring, daring him to come closer. Kaiba accepted the challenge.



It wasn’t a kiss. Not even close. There was more blood flooding their mouths than should have been possible. He was fairly certain he’d ripped the other’s lip open with his teeth, and quite positive his tongue was gashed. Too much clicking of teeth together for it to be called a kiss. More like they were both trying to dominate one another’s faces.



Maybe trying to rip out an eye or tongue tip in the process.



When he finally pulled away, Kaiba was aware that he was breathing blood, and that it was only partly his own. His rival was panting harshly, saliva and scarlet mingling to form a sanguinary portrait.



Kaiba’s eye caught the discarded collar he’d pulled off when they first came down here. He snatched it up and pulled it around his rival’s neck, drawing it a few loops tighter than it had been. Tight enough so he could hear the Game King struggle for breath.



I wonder how tight it could go before he couldn’t breathe. I wonder how long he would struggle for air. How long after he stopped breathing that his heart would stop beating. How long after that would it never start again?



He came close again, put his bloody mouth beside his rival’s ear. “How long will you fight? How indestructible are you? What would it take to break you? Rebuild you? Destroy you?”



Shivers, violent shivers as his only answers. A shaking body that seemed to be saying “touch me” and “back off” all at once.



Who listens to the mind anymore? Obey the senses.



His hands flew over the familiar restraints, undoing knots, locks, fetters. Letting the captive loose.



The Game King tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap, but while his breathing was still forced, his hands made no move toward unfastening the collar. Interesting.



Kaiba drew in again, lowering himself to his knees, pulling at the tight black fabric encasing his rival’s torso. Arms raised, aiding in the eventual removal of the shirt.



Why was he so close to the other? Why was he touching that soft, pale skin so gently? Bruises had already begun to form along the Game King’s sides. Why not add to them? One look in crimson eyes and he had his answer, even if he couldn’t put words to it.



His rival’s hands caught his wrists and pulled them downward, until they rested at the other’s hipbones.



It’s okay, red eyes whispered to him. Touch me. Take me. Own me.



Kaiba slid the belts out of their loops, off the Game King’s hips. Lowered one hand, used the other to wind behind his rival’s head. The hand that wasn’t tangled in hair brushed lightly up the crotch seam of the other’s pants. Hips jerked in response. Forward. Towards him.



Touch me, please.



He watched his rival’s face as he traced the seam again, more slowly this time. Forefront in the other’s face was need, desire.



Light hisses, grinding hips, dilated eyes – all asking for more. Asking to be dominated. This couldn’t be his rival. Not like this. He’d rebuild him, remake him from the inside out.



Kaiba ripped open the zipper and stripped the leather off the Game King with a swift efficiency that was anything but erotic. It bordered on brutal, considering just how tight those pants were.



Soft moans greeted him, and heavy-lidded eyes. Open legs, hiding nothing, making no attempt to conceal. A nude body, bearing the simplest of markings – four red dots across the collarbone, newly forming bruises down both sides, a black collar pulled tight around that strong neck…



Hands pulled at his own clothing. Kaiba batted them away, impatiently. Too slow, too slow. He stood and backed off a bit, divesting himself of the starched shirt and pants that were suddenly too confining. Then he was back, kneeling beside his rival, rolling the other over. Not overly gentle, but he wasn’t forcing, either.



Red eyes glanced back at him. Kaiba met them.



A shriek of pain broke their silent stalemate. He smirked, scissoring dry fingers within the Game King’s body. His rival jerked under him, still making that unearthly sound. After a moment longer, Kaiba withdrew his fingers, earning himself a dark glare. He held the other’s hips steady. Moved in slowly.



His rival’s head was thrown back, panting and growling both stifled somewhat by the neck belt. He moved much slower than he had ever done with the cur, but then, he’d been in the business of breaking the dog, not rebuilding him.



Once seated inside his rival’s body, Kaiba paused, thought choosing that moment to attack him. But then hips slammed up against his. He growled and drove his own forward, holding his rival’s body up, moving with him. Thrusting, panting, growling.



Feeling like this was part of some ancient rhythm…some backward path his body remembered where his mind didn’t.



Under him, the Game King hissed in what had to be agonized pleasure. He was moving more easily in the other now. Something warm and wet was aiding his movements. The heat of the body below seemed to increase to an impossible height.



Just as he crashed over the edge, releasing into his rival, he felt transported, viewing a scene clothed in darkness.



“I asked Isis to ensure I would see you again.” The Game King’s voice… “Sometimes it takes a mirror to see reflected pain. In some new life, we might have a real chance.”



Then he was back, coming down off his sexual high with his rival still writing with pent up tension. He slipped a hand down to help the Game King finish, sticky release coating it when his rival did.



Slowly he withdrew, noticing with detached fascination that there was blood coating their thighs as well as semen and sweat…



“Kaiba – ”



He caught the other’s gaze and held it.



”Why?”





____________________________________________________

Author’s Notes:

Just on a random note, my restraint of choice is thread, because it’s easy to break. So if you get tied up in a hard-to-hold position, it’s even more work to stay like that. Interesting stuff, thread is…

Looks like a bit of the man-whore Atemu is left over from the AE arc, yes?

So, there was the lemon-ishness.

One little extra thing…I have a confession. I like reviews. A lot. And lack of reviews makes me depressed beyond measure. I have a pair of faithful reviewers… ((Many thanks to barrie18 and dragonlady222)) and I shall continue the story for them, but maybe someone else from the 600+ hits might like to contribute a few words? *nudgenudge* I write faster when I get reviews! =P