Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ The Little Prince and the Demon ❯ Demons Lurk in the Light... ( Chapter 2 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh or Crescent Moon. In the following chapter I am using a song used in the `Crescent Moon' manga.

 

Will be rated X in the future due to content such as: explicit sex scenes, incest, violent character death, and cannibalism. Yes, cannibalism. I shit you not. Not exactly for the squeamish. It'd be a little strange for the two Bakuras to have the same name so I'm changing Ryou's last name to Kanzaki.

 

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I apologize again and again, and I pray he listens. How charmingly his hair gleams gold in the brightness of the day. I can't resist.

The sun dissolves any doubt about if I like this boy, as well as the fear of supernatural things.

Malik looks at me in an understanding way and touches my gently on the shoulder, telling me it's all right.

“You've never kissed a boy, have you?”

I am a little struck by his question, but I nod. My cheeks feel hot.

“Have you kissed anyone at all?”

My body feels rigid. Malik laughs

“You're so cute. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable …”

“N-no, don't feel bad. I…It's not like I didn't like it…” I'm so nervous I can't think straight. He smiles with gleaming white teeth.

“Hey, do you have any plans tonight?” I look at him, slightly confused, slightly hopeful.

“N-no…” Malik was beaming. “Fantastic!”

 

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“How did you learn to drive a motorcycle?”

“My older brother, Rishid, taught me.” He hands me a helmet.

The engine roars and I stop speaking, knowing it would be useless, and instead place the snug helmet on my head.

My stomach churns like I'm on a roller coaster, though I'm not sure whether it's from the motorcycle or being so close to Malik.

It could also be because a person is supposed to be eighteen before they can get their license.

He looks really good, and his clothes show that he is confident of how he looks; I'm almost embarrassed that I wore such plain, loose clothing.

It's actually the first time I've seen him out of his uniform, but I guess it's his first time seeing me out of it too.

He wears an odd, purple shirt with a hood, and gold earrings, armlets, and even a gold chain. The two colors make me think of royalty and of exotic things, like almond oil and date palms.

I'm uncertain as to how much time passes. I close my eyes to keep myself from getting dizzy, but only succeed in doing the opposite. I pull myself closer to Malik's warm back.

After a while we stop in front of a less-than-reputable looking hole-in-the-wall bar. I'm glad I wore a jacket, the fast coming twilight also bringing a chill.

Malik leads me to the door, where stands a tall, built man with dark skin the same shade as my companion's and a tattoo of hieroglyphics covering all of one side of his face. They greet each other with a smile and a nod, and a slim hand pulls mine in through the darkened doorway, like the portal to the underworld that my mother tried to hide me from….

 

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The inner workings are dark, a few dim lights here and there to add ambiance, I suppose. Nondescript jazz plays over the room.

There are many booths, with a stage in front that holds a drum set, three mikes, and a piano at the moment.

But through this silken black veil I can see bodies moving, in the booths. They hold shadowy counterparts close, kissing and groping, lying down without fear of discovery.

The only area that is lit up well is the bar at which another man with dark skin works; a stark contrast to the crisp white shirt he wears that makes him seem all the darker. He looks up at me from wiping a bar glass.

Though young, his face carries a harsh set mouth that suggests a long, hard upbringing. His eyes are dark and sharp, outlined with kohl I think; and on his right cheek are pale scars beneath his eye, one going down and two going across the first. It reminds me of a perverted cross.

His hair is the most remarkable thing about him.

It's so white. It's like mine, except it's a bit shorter and it doesn't make him seem at all feminine. It is unkempt, but fitting.

I think of my demon.

His eyes are severe as he looks at me and strikes me stiff like an electrical charge. My chest feels tight.

“Let's sit here.”

Malik sits us at one of the booths, and I can barely make him out.

“What do you think?”

“What is this place?”

“It's a… music club… of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

His tone is mischievous.

“If you haven't noticed already, we offer a very `private' atmosphere for those that are looking to disappear for a few hours.”

The stage lights up suddenly, and I turn to look at it.

I didn't realize it was so close. The man from the front with the tattoo holds a bass, the bartender suddenly stands at center mike barehanded, and an elegant girl sits at a piano, also with dark skin and long black hair. Someone I can't identify is sitting behind the drums.

“That girl at the grand there is my sister, Isis, and the guy on stage left is my brother, Rishid. My cousin, Atem, is the drummer.”

Isis starts off with a decorative intro, then Atem and Rishid follow.

The bartender is last, as if he's just being woken up by the rhythm and thrum of the instruments, and he sings.

He sings softly in a rumbling baritone, like distant thunder. His hands hold the mike like an old lover, and he tries to seduce her with words.

But, the melody…it sounds like a requiem…

A requiem for the living.

 

“No rhyme or reason needed;

Only you.

 

“What about him, the singer?”

I'm rapt. He's good. It's almost like his hands are running up my back. Something about his voice makes me feel…nostalgic…

“He's Bakura.”

 

Mind and body craves

My only saving grace…

 

Arms encircle my chest and lips press to my ear, but my eyes are too busy watching another. It's almost as if he's looking at me.

Your voice…your eyes…do I know you?

Malik's tongue laps at the base of my neck as his hands slowly run over my torso, and his spell is cast once more. Oh, it feels so good…

“You're the most beautiful creature I've ever seen, Ryou.”

The words seem careless; mocking.

I'm surprised by this feeling of mistrust.

Malik turns me to face him, lithe fingers in my hair.

“Am I?” I sigh, breathing in his scent again.

Oh, how could I mistrust this golden cupid?

 

You let me watch.

I am dead on my feet.

Do you have a heart,

Or are you deaf?

 

“Yes!”

His voice is hushed and fierce, his eyes intense, and he kisses me hard.

My heart stops when I realize how detached I feel from him.

I feel his tongue and his wet lips, but…

Something isn't there. It's not right.

The more he kisses, the more this dissolving blackness fills me. Are all kisses like this?

I feel hateful.

What's wrong with me?

But then there is the shadow-specter; it holds me warm and close at night; every night bringing me to peace and turmoil at once…

I yearn for a creature that has yet to utter a word, or even reveal its true face.

Malik's body presses to mine, trapping me. My hands move on a whim through his gold hair, and it is like silk.

I love him. I'm sure of it. I have to love him.

What is this desperation to love; to be human?

Suddenly, instead of the cushioned couch of the booth, I am pressed to the table top. Malik looms over me, his lean body reminding me of a predatory cat, so smug and powerful. He pins my hands to my sides as he gives me a biting kiss, and I don't resist.

What can I do? My body is reaching for his. Only the demon can stop me now…

 

What He can not see

Is that you are mine.

 

One of his legs part both of mine as he crouches over me, getting his fill of the kill. Nipping kisses run over my neck and slender hands are intertwined with my own.

He doesn't care if anyone sees, and I don't suppose anyone else cares.

I hear the scarred man singing to me, and my body calls out.

I don't want him to stop, but…

This doesn't feel right.

 

But he tells me,

To the victor

Go the spoils.

Can you tell me,

Who is winning?

 

I feel too warm in my jacket, and Malik reads my mind, his fingers expertly removing it from my shoulders. He places his hands on my upper arms, and I place mine on his lower back. His abdomen presses to mine and I hear myself give a soft moan. He smiles, though I'm not sure if he's looking at me.

Malik moves his hands to my chest, and I start and gasp as he rubs my nipples through the fabric. He grinds his hips against mine.

 

But I'd kill

To mark what's mine,

Tear flesh,

And you'll taste his blood.

Bones have been buried in malice

Before they're dead.

 

Is he watching us? Does he hate me?

Do you love him as I can not love?

My train of thought is broken as I groan, Malik grinding against me and slim hips making me stiff. I think he's looking at Bakura, but it's too dark to tell.

 

If he touches what's mine,

His heart will be yours

On a silver platter,

But his head belongs to me…

This that even Delphi

Could not see;

I shall be Cassandra,

And you the king's fool…”

 

I hear a soft applause, but I don't bother.

I'm too preoccupied.

Malik lifts my shirt and licks a nipple, causing me to gasp.

Isn't it funny how I go from never having kissed someone to suddenly allowing them to lick and grope various private areas?

He doesn't stop or even falter when Bakura walks up to him, but his lips are pulled from mine with a jerk of the back his shirt.

“What are you doing, you whore?” The singer's voice is ice.

“Mm, jealous?”

He dips his hips in a way that makes me moan louder. My face is flushed with desire and embarrassment. Was he watching this whole time? I pull my shirt down.

He pulls the blonde in close, his words absolutely toxic.

“Why are you doing this, Malik?”

Malik stops and nearly hisses as he looks at him, like a tomcat.

“What business is it of yours?”

I'm very uncomfortable.

I clear my throat to get their attention. “Malik, maybe we should stop…”

He looks back down at me, apologetic.

“I'm sorry about Bakura, don't mind him.” He strokes my face and kisses me, but I still his hands.

“No, it's not his fault. I-I'm just…a little uncomfortable…I…I've never been…been in this position…”

Bakura laughs and Malik sighs.

“Are you sure?”

I sit up and give him a chaste, dry kiss on the lips.

“Yes, please.”

With a sigh, he climbs off, looking at Bakura, and though I cannot see him very well, I know he looks at the scarred man with an air of smugness.

Bakura turns to face me.

He is a handsome man in contrast to Malik's androgynous appeal; muscular and lean instead of lithe and thin.

There is something about his hand and how hard his eyes can get that tells me that he has tasted blood more than once.

“And what is your name?”

His voice is soft and welcoming almost, but it holds a subtle bitterness that speaks of concealed anger.

“I-I'm Kanzaki Ryou…”

“How are you enjoying your time here, Ryou?”

He talks to me too familiarly by using my first name. Is it because he does not know better, or is he purposely disrespecting me?

Malik speaks harshly.

“Leave us alone.”

Bakura doesn't break his gaze from mine. His eyes seem like dense, gray fog, but somehow I know that his mind clear and sharp.

“I was talking to Ryou.”

It's hard to speak. Through the dark veil, his gaze is even more powerful that Malik's burning lavender pools. Is he angry?

“It's wonderful, from what I can see. You…you were especially good…”

I know Malik is upset. I didn't mean to make him that way. I just had to tell Bakura…

“Thank you…” He pauses for a moment, as if he is thinking something over.

“You seem like…an honorable boy, Ryou. What is your business with this harlot that I call my brother?”

I frown a bit at that.

“He's not a harlot …” He is so kind to me. He smiles for me and makes me laugh and feel at ease….

“…he's…my boyfriend…”

Almost as quickly as the foreign word makes its awkward escape from my lips, I feel Malik's slender arms wrap around my shoulders, placing his hands on my chest and presses his cheek to mine.

“You hear that, Bakura?”

He kisses the corner of my mouth.

“I'm his boyfriend.” I can hear the grin in his voice.

Then suddenly Bakura laughs, softly at first, then it crescendos like a coming storm, loudly, horribly, spitefully, and he looks at me with strange eyes. I feel like cracking, because I know he's laughing at me. Bakura's face changes quickly to that of loathing, utter hate.

“I see. Malik has once more sung his siren's song to lure an unsuspecting victim.” Words of venom.

“Let's get a closer look at you…” He leans in close, hands gripping the edge of the table, his nose almost to mine, and fear runs it's cold fingers up my spine when he fingers my face and grasps my shoulders.

My heart pounds as his hands run down my arms, and I shiver; though not from fear.

“You're too frail for him. My brother likes it `rough', to put it nicely, and I bet you'd break, in more ways than one, if he were to bed you.”

He looks me over once more, and for a moment, I see something like longing in his eyes, like how my father looked at Mother when she got too sick in the head to pay attention to him.

“You are beautiful though…I'll give you that much …”

He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something more, but then he straightens up and gives Malik a hard glare.

Then, he simply leaves and disappears…

“Malik, I think I should go…”

 

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“Will you be all right?”

I hop off the motorcycle in front of my house and hand the boy back his helmet.

“I'm fine.” He kisses me tenderly; at least I think that's what it is.

“Just forget about Bakura. We used to be together and he's been an ass ever since I broke it off.”

So that's why…

“I'm really fine. In fact, I had a good time. But I am tired…”

“Of course, sleep well.” How easily he leaves.

It's so cold I can't help but shiver all the up the walk way.

I feel eyes on my back, and I can't help but look even though I know no one is there.

Inside my room it is safe. Tonight I won't open my window, but I leave the blinds open to let in the moonlight when it happens to peek through the clouds.

The shower warms me and my bed comforts me, and I sigh. Bakura creeps into my thoughts.

And I dream about his snowstorm hair and deep eyes that seem to flash and crackle like lightning. In my dream, the demon comes to me with his face and sings.

 

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I lie in a garden full of night blooming jasmine. Cherry blossoms and lilies drip of silver gilt under a full moon. The grass is soft and new under my back, not yet cut down to the perfect height and uniformity that makes each blade as tough as turf; and there he is, wearing crimson robes from days of old, like in those scroll paintings of ancient lords.

“Do you remember how I told you that I would have you under the jacaranda trees?”

I try to speak, but my voice will not come. My throat is dry. My body is so heavy and stiff, like it's made of steel and brick. I can't move. Only my eyes can roll in their sockets.

I look around and can't believe that I didn't notice till now that we are almost cradled by the drooping branches, the bursting diamond purple blossoms fragrant and decadent crowding the willow-like tree.

Silhouetted in his cloak of blood by his graceful gleaming mother, the demon looks strange and out of place in this garden of green leaves and black skies like ink; a garden of purple and blue and white blossoms; this garden with the trunks of trees that are smooth and gnarled, black and snowy, hard and pliant, all at the same time.

He stands above me, an imposing figure. It's more like he floats over me, like he's in mercury.

Clouds pass over the moon, and I think it is Selene throwing a silk scarf over herself to hide her face from him, her own child, afraid of the monster she's created who looks with ancient eyes through a youthful face.

Those very eyes peer into mine; taunting, coaxing, wanting, hating. A world of silver darkness lies behind those pale eyes.

His bloodstained hands touch my cheek so softly. So lovely and wonderful…

I could swear your touch is loving.

Though I can not see his face well, I'm sure it is him.

Do you love me, demon-Bakura?

My heart cries for him.

“You've betrayed me.”

His voice is low.

I am a rock; plain and common. Not hideous, not gorgeous; just existing in the background.

And how I want to laugh; I am so different from him and his world of night and silver and flowers and blood. Do we even exist on the same plane?

Besides, I was only a child then, with a child's understanding of love and promises concerning love. How could I have known that one day, I would come to kiss another with desire and forget him as I drank from the cup of lust; like lethe water from Hades?

I wish so very much to talk to him, but I feel so drugged and languid. My lips move slowly and somehow I spit out words. I feel queasy.

“What are you, Bakura?”

I hear my own voice, small and whispered. My voice is cracking. I am almost surprised that he can answer so evenly.

“I am a demon.”

His voice is harsh wind and hard and dark like an obsidian lake; polished and glimmering and sharpened.

The moon shines full through the clouds. Gentle light reveals bright, white hair; as thick and wild a mane as I remember it from childhood.

“Why am I here?”

Fingers brush against my broken mouth.

“You are here because I love you.”

My chest tightens. How could he love a wraith like me, who can not love as he kisses and is weird and strange and plain and out of place?

“Why do you love me?”

“Because you are beautiful.”

His words startle me. I know it's strange that such simple words strike me; Malik has told me such words before. But, there is something in the way he tells me the words, and the strange look on his dark face… Malik could never compare.

“B-beautiful?”

“More than you could ever know.”

I will my hand to move and it twitches slightly.

He has come to me every night since I set foot in the land of my mother, coaxing my heart into his hands with a loving embrace and sweet, whispered words.

Why is it he twists my heart this way with such pretty words, making me think I could love and someone could love me?

“Do you come to torture me?”

He leans down and speaks quietly into my ear.

“What if I do?”

My eyes shift up to look up at his face, the silver of the moon casting a silver dust over his dark skin. The familiar scars run across his faultless skin.

I want to run my finger and tongue over that strange cross.

Lips smile almost maliciously and slightly elongated canines push against his bottom lip. His eyes; sharp knives that stare at me. I can't bear to look at that face… that hideous, dazzling face.

I wish he would stop teasing me this way. It hurts more than words can describe. Tears push hotly out of my eyes. I am a stone that cries.

Perhaps if I cry enough tears, I will make a spring out of myself and drown.

Fingers that are not mine wipe them away gently, and the demon sings. I wish he would go away.

“Little prince, little prince,

Why do you cry?”

Words long dormant bubble up from my lips, and though I sing, it is not of my own accord.

“In a forest painted by the setting sun,

I made a promise to a demon boy

That when the full moon ascends the sky in ten,

I will be his.”

You were the demon, weren't you Bakura? This isn't a dream, is it?

“Little prince, little prince,

Why do you laugh?”

His voice is a velvet smooth baritone. His thumb and forefinger take my chin almost roughly, and I sing back to him. My lips are dry; I feel a crack with every vowel and consonant formed.

“Veiled behind the smoke of incense,

The priestess explains that

She'll hide and protect me,

Just as clouds do the moon in a hazy sky.”

He strokes my cheek lovingly as he sings again.

“Little prince, little prince,

Why are you scared?”

And I realize that I am scared, more than can be described by `fear' or `terror', but my bleeding lips part. This can't be my voice.

“In the far off reaches of the highest mountains,

I hear the cries of a demon boy,

That if lovers are as fickle as the phases of the moon,

Then I surely shall capture and devour him.”

I remember him, and his demon song.

He told me it was a prophecy of our future, of how we would be separated for a time. However, in the end, we would be brought back together under the moon, heavy with snowy light like a pregnant mother.

“Have you come to devour me, demon?” I stare wide. Is this my fate, to be devoured by my would-be groom?

“Yes I have, my marble bride …”

He laughs so slick and thick and warm and clear; honey and rain.

“Fused with breath and blood; but what soul would want such a cold home?”

My own throat is parched, and I am able to produce sound no longer beyond a few raspy breaths. I don't belong here. This isn't my world.

A finger runs down my cheek, and my skin hurts. I feel feverish and sick.

It's as if this place, the flowers and the grass and the trees, are all exhausting me of life; feasting on my well being because I am not a part of their perfect world.

Fingers run thick through my hair, and I can feel warm breath on my lips, welcome like a drop of cool water.

“Given life by a mortal mother and demon father…”

He presses his forehead to mine. “A bastard child of an unholy union; born out of necessity and mistake.”

His mouth is so close to mine that I can almost feel the welcome press of skin; like a phantom memory. Hands take my face between their palms. My eyes slide closed in anticipation, want, and thirst.

“Oh, how I love you, my brother, my son…”

And when he kisses me, it's too much. Everything crashes; the flowers, the trees, my heart and my body, split by lightning.

My eyes are open so wide I think my eyes may fall out or the muscles cramp from strain. My nails dig so hard into my palms that they bleed from crescents. In an effort to try and draw air, my chest heaves, and I am cold; my body is ice and tin. My window is open wide, the screens torn open.

Plain white curtains billow; spectral dancers in front of the forbidden portal that was supposed to be locked.

Oh God…

I don't know whether I want him to be real or not.

Would you rather be insane, or haunted by a demon?

 

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