Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction ❯ Painful Lessons ❯ Hisoka's Lesson ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei, though I wish I did... Then I woulda thrown Tsubaki-hime overboard at the beginning, Hisoka and Tsuzuki would be partners for more than just work, and there would have been more than 13 episodes! However, I do not own it.

Note: This is my first fan fic ever! Soka-chan (my friend!) asked about a `what if' story from Yami no Matsuei, so I told her that I'd write one! In the first episode of the Kyoto arc, what would have happened had Tsuzuki not shown up to save Hisoka from Muraki?

So here it is, Muraki's `lesson'! Gomen, I didn't plan on taking so long. I just hope it was worth the wait. This is probably one of the darkest chapters, so beware! o.o; Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! Please review more! No flames or I'll use them to toast marshmallows. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Warnings: Well, being YnM, obviously shounen-ai and yaoi... O.o If you don't like it, why are you looking at Yami no Matsuei? This chapter is where the R rating comes into effect! There is gore, violence, and non descriptive rape. If you don't like it, don't read it.

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All that Hisoka could see were his eyes. Those horrible, mismatched eyes completely filled his field of vision, blocking out everything else. One, silvery and cat like behind the lens of his glasses, and the other, wide and a strange electric blue color. The blue was usually hidden behind his long greyish strands of hair, but their faces were so close together that Hisoka could see both eyes. The shinigami wanted to look away but he couldn't; there was no room for him to turn his head.

Muraki smirked coldly, contemplating what to do next with his little toy. The very sight of those large emerald eyes wide with fear was enough to excite him. Licking his lips with anticipation, the doctor pulled his away from his face, then released his hold on the shinigami's wrists. He was not about to let the boy escape, but he could do very little if he had to hold on to Hisoka's tied hands.

Hisoka couldn't stand how close the doctor was to him... Muraki was near enough that he could feel the man's hot breath on his face. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared in his face, he was gone, and the boy found his bound wrists free from the other's grip. `What...?' Hisoka was confused, but he couldn't miss his opportunity to escape. But even before the thought to run away had even processed in his mind, Hisoka suddenly felt strong hands impact hard against his shoulders, sending him sprawling backwards. With a yelp, the shinigami was thrown against a tree, his back slamming hard against the rough trunk. Sliding to the base of the tree, his mind reeling, Hisoka coughed and spluttered as he tried to catch his breath. The force of the blow had knocked the wind out of him, making breathing and thinking difficult.

Gasping raggedly from his spot amid the tree roots, Hisoka blinked a few times as he struggled to see straight. His head was pounding as though he were still hitting the tree... Perhaps that was why he didn't notice Muraki's movements. Having shed his blood stained trench coat, the doctor now stood over the boy, a scalpel in hand, most likely from one of the many pockets in his jacket. The small blade mirrored the gory red of the moon, as though the silvery edge was already tainted with blood. Before Hisoka knew what was happening, the doctor was on top of him, pulling the shinigami's arms above his head once more.

Tugging on Hisoka's long sweater with his other hand, Muraki eyed the garment with disgust. “My my... Your kimono was much cuter, Hisoka-chan. To think, that my favorite doll would wear something like this...” Muraki shook his head dramatically, pushing his glasses higher on his nose. He then proceeded to cut the sweater down the front, then the sleeves, finally tearing the shapeless garment from his body. He tossed the frayed scraps of material aside before fiddling with the buttons of the white shirt Hisoka wore beneath.

“Muraki... stop...” Hisoka whimpered, his green eyes wet with unshed tears. It was happening again, just like it had that night. He avoided looking at his tormentor, but as he searched for something else to watch, he only found the red moon. It seemed to be taunting him, much as it did in his nightmares. He had seen that cold moon through the cherry blossoms; a moon that had watched carelessly as he was tortured and violated. He finally chose darkness, squeezing his eyelids tightly shut, trying to block everything out. But it wouldn't stop... He felt his white shirt ripped from his thin form, tossed aside with his sweater. `No...'

From his position above him, Muraki couldn't hold back the wicked smile as he beheld Hisoka. He ran a long finger softly over the boy's skin, retracing the symbols he had carved so many years ago. They seemed to have faded from their original bright angry red... That would never do. Continuing to drag his finger across the boys skin, he traced the symbols on his chest, down his flat stomach and finally across his narrow hips until he reached the hem of the shinigami's black pants.

“No!” Hisoka cried loudly, having found his voice again. He had stopped caring if Muraki saw his fear, he just wanted to get away. Tears began to slide down his face, soaking his cheeks. He tried to move, but the doctor was straddling his hips and holding his arms, so there was no place for him to go. “Please! Don't do this... not again...” the shinigami pleaded, his green eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

Ignoring the boy's cries completely, Muraki roughly pulled on the top of the boy's pants. Sliding off of Hisoka for a moment, he quickly freed the shinigami of the rest of his clothing. Now, all of Hisoka's creamy white skin was exposed, as well as the intricate art Muraki had created years ago. Like on his chest, these newly revealed scars didn't look near as red as they once had... It seemed it was time for the `artist' to touch them up.

With his eyes still closed, Hisoka didn't have to watch as he lost the last of his clothing. He felt the sudden bite of the chilly night air on the naked flesh, but he didn't see his pants being taken away. He didn't want to. He already knew in his heart what was going to happen... And the very thought made his heart freeze. Hisoka also didn't see the scalpel. He didn't see Muraki's hand or the blade hovering over his pale skin. Nor the twisted look of pleasure on the doctor's face as the blade sank into the tender flesh of his chest.

Hisoka's high pitched shriek of pain only made Muraki want the boy even more. Half of him wanted to take the young shinigami right then, break his spirit completely. But no, he would finish the task at hand. With precise and careful movements, Muraki calmly continued to reopen the cursed wounds as his victim moaned in pain. The small blade flashed as it slid across Hisoka's chest, its smooth movements like some sadistic dance that left a crimson trail in its wake.

Hisoka tried to scream, to tell him to stop, but all he managed was another painful groan. He'd given up on struggling physically, as he knew it would only make it worse. Trying to move away from the blade only succeeded in digging it in deeper; Hisoka knew from experience. Pain washed over him in waves, making coherent thought all but impossible. Not that he wanted to think about what was happening... Or worse, what had yet to happen.

Out of the blur of mixed thoughts and feelings in the shinigami's head, one thing did come through loud and clear. Where was Tsuzuki? Why didn't he save him from this Hell? Had he been forgotten? Tears continued to stream from his closed eyelids as he whimpered again. `Please... save me...' As the blade continued its agonizingly slow punishment, Hisoka silently wished for darkness to take him, to lose consciousness... But it seemed that there was no force that could save him from this torture.

Laughing cruelly, Muraki sat upright to admire his work. He no longer worried about his doll escaping... he had already given up struggling. Much to the doctor's disappointment, some of the earlier wounds had already begun to heal, leaving only a thin red line ofblood where they had once been. `How amusing...' Lowering his head, Muraki's tongue snaked out to lick up the pooled liquid, his silvery eyes still watching Hisoka's face. How he loved the horrified expressions of the shinigami; he found them very... entertaining. Continuing his progress, he cleaned the blood from the wounds with excruciating slowness, savoring the sweet metallic taste in his mouth.

Beneath the blood, the freshly healed incisions were an aggravated scarlet; much like the color they had been the night Muraki had first carved them. Despite his previous disappointment, the doctor couldn't help but feel pleased with the results. Hisoka's tormented wails were proof enough that the thin scalpel's blade had done its job well.

Stroking the boy's tear drenched cheek affectionately, Muraki's lips twisted into a fiendish grin. The pesky boy had gotten in the way of his plans so many times... Harming him physically just didn't seem to be enough. Physical wounds healed quickly. Psychological wounds however...

Caressing Hisoka's burning chest with his cool fingers, he leaned forward to whisper in the quaking boy's ear. “It seems Tsuzuki-san doesn't care as much as you thought, bouya. He hasn't come to save you yet...” the cruel man breathed into the shinigami's ear before licking his earlobe tauntingly. “After all, why would he want to save you?”

He hadn't wanted to listen, but Muraki's words mirrored his own panicked thoughts. Was it true? Had Tsuzuki in fact forgotten him? It had to have been an eternity since he left his partner to get dinner... Why hadn't he come looking for him? Shaking his head violently, Hisoka tried to move his ear away from the heartless man, away from his cruel words. “No more... no... mo-” he managed weakly, his slim frame shaking as he made a pitiful attempt to escape the other man.

“You know it's true, bouya... You will always be my cherished doll,” Muraki continued, his words cutting deeper than any razor edge could, “But you will never be anything to your precious Tsuzuki-san.”

Nuzzling the sensitive skin of the boy's neck, Muraki could sense the boy's mind was breaking, giving up, just as his body had. Hisoka had finally opened his eyelids, though the emerald eyes beneath were empty and distant. Yet another salty tear had dripped down his cheek and was slowly working its way down his chin, but the shinigami seemed unfazed. His lips moved silently, though the doctor had good idea who he was soundlessly calling for. `How pathetic… Even now he calls for Tsuzuki…'

Though Muraki had to agree that the fact Tsuzuki hadn't appeared was disappointing… He could only imagine the look on the beautiful man's face when he saw his beloved partner broken, bleeding, and stripped of any dignity. He could almost see the anger and guilt in those magnificent violet eyes...

Muraki began to shed his white suit jacket, which, like his trench coat, was now decorated with scarlet stains from both from his earlier victim and the broken doll beneath him. As he proceeded to loosen his ebony tie, Hisoka's mouth opened in silent protest, something flickering behind his blank eyes. So, perhaps there was still some fight in the boy… That little mental resistance would make the experience that much more enjoyable for the doctor, and the defeat even more total for Hisoka.

Using his fingers to possessively comb through the front strands of Hisoka's hair, Muraki began to unbutton his own grey colored shirt. The boy had barely noticed the other's actions or even that his wrists had been released; then again, he couldn't do much with them bound together anyway. Beyond the tiny flash of emotion and his noiseless tears, Hisoka did very little to resist. He was a puppet and Muraki was pulling his strings, controlling him with fear and pain.

`Tsuzuki...' His name rang through his mind, clear despite the chaos of Hisoka's thoughts. Why was he thinking of him at a time like this? The amethyst eyed man had abandoned him, left him to be tortured at the hands of his murderer. And yet, the name persistently remained in his mind, as though by calling out to him, the older shinigami would appear and it would all be over. Even with that name, that one precious word, he couldn't fight back. He could only watch helplessly as Muraki discarded the rest of his ivory suit. But still, his mind whispered the name defiantly. `Tsuzuki...'

“You certainly aren't a very attentive pupil,” Muraki said softly, kissing Hisoka's delicate pink lips with a strange gentleness. The shinigami's skin crawled as he felt his own bare chest brush against Muraki's, a feeling that he remembered all to well. It was becoming harder for Hisoka to differentiate what was memory and what was reality... But no matter which it was, Hisoka could not tolerate much more. He wanted to die again, move on, get away from everyone. Even...

Ignoring the boy's blank expression, Muraki continued to speak to him. “Tsk, tsk. That will never do. You didn't learn anything at all from our last lesson, now did you?” A wicked smirk turned the corners of his lips as the doctor shifted his position slightly, placing his own knee between Hisoka's thighs. “I think that I'll let you remember our encounter this time. Perhaps it will teach you some respect, bouya,” he whispered venomously, his visible silver eye glimmering in the red moonlight.

The thought of forgetting everything hadn't actually occurred to the boy. While it was true the doctor made him forget the details of their first meeting, some brief flashes of memory had still lingered in the back of his mind. Hisoka still knew that he'd been murdered, he just didn't know how or why. In fact, it had been the pursuit of that knowledge that made him become shinigami in the first place. So, even if he were made to forget again, some tiny scrap of remembrance would remain and continue to haunt him... Wouldn't it? He'd still know something happened. Not that it mattered now; the cruel man wouldn't allow him even the small relief that came from forgetting. No, Muraki would make sure that Hisoka remembered all of it... especially in his dreams. Or more accurately, in his nightmares.

Using his knee, Muraki began to open the boy's body to him, parting Hisoka's slender legs with ease. Playing these twisted games may have been enjoyable, but it was time to strike the final blow; the blow that would finally crush the annoying little shinigami. As Hisoka felt the other man's pale flesh brush against his sensitive inner thigh, another shiver coursed through his thin body. Even through the tangle of emotions and thoughts that invaded his mind, the shinigami could figure out what the sinister doctor intended to do next. Had he the choice, he would have preferred that Muraki had simply continued slicing open the cursed marks.

Chuckling at his despairing doll, Muraki roughly captured Hisoka in another kiss. Unlike the previous feather soft peck, the kiss was forceful and merciless; yet another act of domination. Harshly wrenching the boy's lips apart, the silvery haired man entwined his tongue with the other's, taking in the taste of Hisoka's mouth greedily. Hisoka wanted to gag; the feeling of Muraki's invading tongue made him sick to his stomach.

Nibbling his captive's bottom lip, the doctor finally broke the kiss, but remained eye to eye with the shinigami. Muraki preferred being intrusively close to the boy's face, as closeness evidently bothered the young empath. It also gave him an excellent view of those large frightened eyes. They were very similar to those of a rabbit trapped by a predator; one who is face to face with its own death, and knows there is no escape. And now he would snap this little rabbit's neck once again.

The shinigami felt nauseous and the lingering taste of Muraki only worked to make matters worse. His eyes were swollen and red, but it seemed he had run out of tears. The pale skin of his face had become pink and blotchy, his now dry cheeks still stained by the salty droplets. But other than his shuddering breaths and occasional muffled moan, he seemed to show no other outward signs of distress. Funny, he thought he would never stop crying...

Hisoka's limited awareness was abruptly returned to Muraki as he felt something push against his thigh again. With a whimper, Hisoka slowly began to figure out just what had occurred, each thought coming slowly, like a tiny piece of some large puzzle. As he had kept Hisoka's attention on his mouth, Muraki had taken the opportunity to position himself between the boy's legs. Unfortunately for Hisoka, by the time the boy had realized Muraki's plan, it was too late.

“Ever since that first, beautiful night when I marked you as my own, I've wished I could feel you again. You'll always be mine, bouya... My own doll,” Muraki stated calmly, though Hisoka wasn't actually listening. Without any further hesitation and without any mercy, Muraki thrust his hips forward, savagely entering the poor boy.

Hisoka screamed. He'd never screamed like that in his life, never like this shrill, ear splitting shriek. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside... An inside that was now hollow but for Muraki's vile intrusion. He felt dizzy; the pain was numbing his mind, pulling it ever closer to darkness. As his attacker began to move within him, Hisoka's mind began to slip, finally succumbing to the cool nothingness of unconsciousness. `Tsuzuki...'

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Still laying on the cold ground, Hisoka's dead looking green eyes gazed blankly at the red moon. `That moon...' Blood had pooled around his naked form on the ground; his own blood. He'd lost more than enough to kill a normal person... Then again, he wasn't normal.

The red liquid had begun to pour through the grass, trickling thickly down the stone step and gathering at the base. Just the way the woman's had. That puddle of crimson red that had started it all...

How long had the other man been gone? Or was he still there? Hisoka could still hear that horrible laughter, still feel Muraki inside him. He felt so lost and hollow. So... weak. So weak that he couldn't even manage to make a sound as a pair of strong arms closed around him, lifting him from the ground, taking him away...

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Notes: A little pointless comment. My friend, Soka-chan, whom I wrote this for had a question from this chapter: Does Hisoka go commando? Yes, I know I made no mention of underwear, but I'd like to keep my account. Also, I didn't want to embarrass poor Hisoka... Tsuzuki tried to help do the laundry, and accidently put Hisoka's white underwear in with that annoying red sweater that Muraki has now shredded. So, I didn't want to have anyone tease him about wearing pink under garments!

What can I say... weird questions get weirder answers... o.O;