Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ A Touch Of Darkness ❯ A Touch Of Darkness ( Chapter 1 )

I do not own Yuugiou, and I am not making any money from this.

 

It figures that I'd finally get back into the Yuugiou fandom after years of absence and the first fic I produce is for one of the least represented couples in the whole series. Which really sucks too, because these two are damn hot together.

 

***

 

He cupped her face in his hands, roughly crushing his lips against hers, delving his tongue deep, savoring the tantalizing warmth he found there. His thumbs brushed her cheeks and he felt her hands rise to grip his unruly hair. He smirked against her mouth.

 

Malik was not in love.

 

He drew closer, pressed their bodies flush against each other. He felt the soft curves of her body against his, and his hands itched to explore that body further. One hand traveled down her arm, slipped around to feel her smooth back through the fabric of her dress. The other made its way across her waist, her hip, her thigh, its movements becoming increasingly heated. He lazily stroked one finger up her inner thigh and was pleased at the thoroughly indecent noise the action extracted from her.

 

Having the use of this body was almost overwhelming, as so many sensations seemed to leap at him simultaneously. One of these sensations was touch. Given that he had been nothing but a disembodied spirit for so long, it was understandable that he would have the urge to touch things- to experience the feeling of something tangible against his skin, a feeling he had been continuously denied. Given also that his new body was that of a teenage boy, complete with the hormones expected of that age, it was also understandable that the things he most wanted to touch were often female.

 

He was even more pleased when one of her hands began to move, gliding down his chest and feeling out the contours of his muscles. To not only touch, but to be touched in return- it felt good. He growled darkly and lowered his head to nip her throat, his tongue ravaging the vulnerable flesh. She gasped harshly, and his ears drank in the sound like nectar. He nipped harder, felt the hot blood pulsing millimeters below his mouth. He wanted that blood in his mouth. He wanted to know what it tasted like.

 

Of course, it was perhaps less than understandable why the thing Malik most wanted to touch was the sister of his host.

 

His teeth grazed her skin harder each time, testing it, willing it to break. She moaned and buried her face in his hair. He wondered vaguely if she consciously wanted this, or if her body was merely responding to some base desire, but then he tasted blood in his mouth, coppery and sharp, and he remembered that he wanted this, and that was all that mattered to him.

 

Yet even this made sense, in a way. There was no denying that Ishizu was beautiful- her striking features, the way she carried herself with grace, these made her attractive. And although Malik was born from Marik's rage, although he was fueled and made stronger by every one of Marik's dark emotions, although he was solely a manifestation of Marik's murkiest thoughts and ideas... he was not Marik. Ishizu was not his sister. His attraction to her was not wrong.

 

His blood-smeared mouth continued to roam across her neck, biting and sucking and waging all-out war. Her nails dug into the nape of his neck. The sounds she made were muffled now, but somehow that aroused him even more. He could feel the surge of heat below, he recognized what this dizzying sensation signified. His hands gripped her waist and he ground his hips against hers, forcing her to recognize it as well.

 

And even if it had been wrong... Malik didn't think he would particularly care.

 

His breathing was as ragged as hers now, both of them panting with a burning, maddening craving for each other's flesh. He ground against her again, harder, demandingly, and she threw her head back and moaned wantonly as her hands crept beneath his shirt to flit across his tanned stomach. He liked it when she touched him.

 

Yet this was not love, not at all. There was no tenderness in his conduct towards her, no appreciation save of her physical aspects. Nothing meaningful existed between them, or would ever exist. She was an object. She was something he liked to touch. Nothing more.

 

His name escaped her lips before he recaptured them in a searing, bruising kiss, swallowing the cries of pleasure echoing from her throat. He pushed her insistently to the ground, exulting in how her body felt beneath his. He pulled back, looking down at her clouded blue eyes, her heaving chest, her flushed face. "You're mine," he whispered, and fell hungrily upon her, his lower muscles contracting warningly, their forms seeming to fuse into one glorious expression of passion-

 

That's when Malik would awake without warning, fists clenching the bedcovers as his release spilled unfulfillingly across his thighs. He would growl, aggravated at his denial, and sink heavily back onto his pillow, falling asleep despite his now-soiled bed. Cleanliness was not an issue. Denial was. And his dreams always seemed to end in the same way, with an ultimate denial of his satisfaction. It was enough to drive him insane. He needed- he craved- fulfillment.

 

So he would see her the next morning, purposely time it so that he would pass her in the corridor. He needed to see her. He needed to leer at her with masked desire, and she would stride past him, her cold eyes meeting his gaze every time before brushing him away as easily as a fly. That fulfilled him, somehow, in a way that even he wasn't fully sure of. He would watch her retreating back, her hips shifting to the rhythm of her footsteps, and he would wonder what she would say if she knew of his dreams.

 

It didn't really matter what she would say, though. If he loved her, if he cared about her feelings, then it would matter. But after all, this wasn't love.

 

"I want to touch you," he would whisper fiercely after her in a tone that would send shivers down anyone's spine had they heard him.

 

This was lust.