[✐fanfic challenge] fanfic50, au_abc: experts at play
Title: Experts at Play
Fandom/Claim: Yugioh - Malik Ishtar/Ryou Bakura
Rating: PG
Prompt: V - Vampires (and “chance” for fanfic50)
Summary: There’s more wrong with this doll than Malik supposes.
“I’ll lend you my host,” the spirit hissed with a sneer; Malik leered grimly as the boy pitched, bleeding, to the concrete pavement. It was a slow, unhealthy bleed: thick and congealing upon contact with the pier, but Malik paid it no mind, the toe of his boot nudging the motionless body onto its back. Too pale, he reassessed, too pale even for the Japanese. Practically translucent, breathing shallow, clear eyelashes flickering in the boy’s injured sleep. This host was ill. The Spirit had found itself a porcelain doll - but it’d somehow begun to crack.
Malik chuckled. Best apply a little glue, he mused as he readied his Item: it’d be such a waste if such a pretty puppet splintered to pieces before its show was through. He knelt by the body, examined closer, found himself captivated by curiosity and the sheer stillness of the figure before him. Was it even breathing, to begin with...? And its skin - so delicate, he observed as he brushed a cheek with gentle fingertips, but so cold - the forbidding perfection of a boy for whom the heated torments of life had already rolled by...
Unnerved slightly, and intrigued by the boy’s frozen beauty more than he’d like, Malik brought the Rod carefully to that silent, sculpted neck. Crystal lashes blinked, and Malik stamped down a stab of self-critique. It wasn’t too late. Now, before the boy woke fully --
Eyes snapping open -- like a doll’s, Malik had time to notice in an odd distant slowness, exactly like a doll’s with its head tilted back -- the boy fixed Malik with a pinprick stare that rooted him to the spot. Then, as Malik’s brain scrambled to reengage, surpass, regain the upper hand, the doll had coiled and sprung directly for Malik’s unassuming neck.
Fangs hit thick gold bands, skidded; unperturbed, they found their mark at the base of Malik’s neck and sunk in deep. All nerves on alert, Malik struck his attacker with the Rod around the searing pain - but no, he couldn’t focus, it hurt too badly, spreading, and now a thick layer of clouds came rolling in....a drug? a venom? a trap....
You set me up, Malik accused blearily, wordlessly, as the beautiful doll drank deeper to recover from the wound its owner had dealt. You wanted this to happen.
Around the greyness blotting his brain, stealing his limbs one by one, Malik thought he could hear a laugh. Perhaps, replied the spirit as its puppet devoured the would-be intruder; Malik did his best to scowl before the darkness slowly sucked him in. Perhaps.
Malik offered no retort. He wasn’t listening any more.
Fandom/Claim: Yugioh - Malik Ishtar/Ryou Bakura
Rating: PG
Prompt: V - Vampires (and “chance” for fanfic50)
Summary: There’s more wrong with this doll than Malik supposes.
“I’ll lend you my host,” the spirit hissed with a sneer; Malik leered grimly as the boy pitched, bleeding, to the concrete pavement. It was a slow, unhealthy bleed: thick and congealing upon contact with the pier, but Malik paid it no mind, the toe of his boot nudging the motionless body onto its back. Too pale, he reassessed, too pale even for the Japanese. Practically translucent, breathing shallow, clear eyelashes flickering in the boy’s injured sleep. This host was ill. The Spirit had found itself a porcelain doll - but it’d somehow begun to crack.
Malik chuckled. Best apply a little glue, he mused as he readied his Item: it’d be such a waste if such a pretty puppet splintered to pieces before its show was through. He knelt by the body, examined closer, found himself captivated by curiosity and the sheer stillness of the figure before him. Was it even breathing, to begin with...? And its skin - so delicate, he observed as he brushed a cheek with gentle fingertips, but so cold - the forbidding perfection of a boy for whom the heated torments of life had already rolled by...
Unnerved slightly, and intrigued by the boy’s frozen beauty more than he’d like, Malik brought the Rod carefully to that silent, sculpted neck. Crystal lashes blinked, and Malik stamped down a stab of self-critique. It wasn’t too late. Now, before the boy woke fully --
Eyes snapping open -- like a doll’s, Malik had time to notice in an odd distant slowness, exactly like a doll’s with its head tilted back -- the boy fixed Malik with a pinprick stare that rooted him to the spot. Then, as Malik’s brain scrambled to reengage, surpass, regain the upper hand, the doll had coiled and sprung directly for Malik’s unassuming neck.
Fangs hit thick gold bands, skidded; unperturbed, they found their mark at the base of Malik’s neck and sunk in deep. All nerves on alert, Malik struck his attacker with the Rod around the searing pain - but no, he couldn’t focus, it hurt too badly, spreading, and now a thick layer of clouds came rolling in....a drug? a venom? a trap....
You set me up, Malik accused blearily, wordlessly, as the beautiful doll drank deeper to recover from the wound its owner had dealt. You wanted this to happen.
Around the greyness blotting his brain, stealing his limbs one by one, Malik thought he could hear a laugh. Perhaps, replied the spirit as its puppet devoured the would-be intruder; Malik did his best to scowl before the darkness slowly sucked him in. Perhaps.
Malik offered no retort. He wasn’t listening any more.