A/N: NO OCs in this one folks, it's Yu-Gi-Oh characters only!
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!
The vampires were staring at him again, but then they'd been staring at him for most of the night. Malik ignored them and pulled his knees tighter to his chest, inadvertently shifting the gold-chased doe-skin collar circling his neck. He hated being collared, but as a vampire's slave Malik had little choice--at least this collar didn't have tiny metal hooks that tore at his skin with every movement. His previous owner made him continuously wear one like that, scattering permanent, deep scars over his neck-flesh. The last vampire who owned him, a man he knew only as 'Master' enjoyed his blood best when spiced with pain, just as he'd enjoyed the blood of his other slave, Ryou, while the boy screamed in pleasure. Unfortunately, that other slave was the whole reason he was a vampire captive again.
Gods, what an idiot I am, thinking Ryou loved me, cared for me. . . . In the bare concrete room Master kept them in they only had each other to soothe the mental and physical wounds Master delighted in giving them. At least until Malik caught Master unawares and killed him, nearly dying of the injuries inflicted previous to the battle and during it. In agony, Malik dragged himself several miles across the border into lands still held by his own kind. Lucky for him Master's home was that close to human lands or surely he would've been caught, especially since the best he could manage at the time was a stumbling walk punctuated by frequent rests.
Eventually, he healed somewhat and came back to rescue Ryou, who had previously been taken from Master by a vampire named Bakura as his hikari. Malik's hands spasmed into white-knuckled fists as the raw, painful memories of the night he stole into Bakura's mansion played in his mind's eye. . . .
" Malik, I don't want to hurt you, but I love Bakura now." Ryou whispered, drawing the onyx colored sheets of Bakura's bed around his nude body, a testament to the validity of his words. The bronze skinned teen stumbled back into the far wall, one hand clutching his chest as though his heart pained him. It did, but not physically. Malik's mouth sagged open, twilight purple eyes incredulous and tortured. It can't be. . . .he said he loved ME. . . .how can he love one of THEM? Thoughts whirred inside his head like panicked bats in a sealed cave.
"I love you, I always will, but I'm not in love with you. Oh Malik, I can't tell you how sorry I am. . . ." Malik couldn't utter a sound, so angry, so shocked, so incredulous he simply didn't have the ability to form coherent speech. His mind, however, was anything but silent. Sorry? SORRY! After I risk my safety by returning to vampire territory you're only SORRY? He mentally shrieked. My battle wounds are only partially healed; I exhausted myself coming here to take you to freedom in the human lands and you have the GALL to tell me you love a fucking vampire! A faint whisper of sound and a stiffening of Ryou's body was all the warning Malik got before a hard body slammed his into the plush burgundy carpet. Knowing hands well-practiced in the arts of restraint pinned Malik before he'd regained the breath driven from him. Bakura! The boy's mind screamed, indentifying him by the flood of white locks brushing his cheek. A despairing cry erupted from the blond, shocked from him when the vampire's fangs plunged into his tender neck.
Shadowed-violet eyes threw a desperate, pained look at the bed, Ryou sadly met his gaze with apologies in his eyes and gave a tiny headshake—no help for Malik there. The Egyptian cursed both white-haired males roundly, writhing like a crazed ferret beneath the dead weight of the vampire, not moving him a fingerwidth; the larger man barely noticed, continuing the drain the boy until his struggles slowed and gradually ceased. Weakened to the point of unconsciousness, Malik couldn't even get to his knees when the vampire rose and stalked from the room muttering about handcuffs and killing some inept guards. The last thing Malik saw was teary doe-brown eyes framed by silky white bangs pleading for understanding, for acceptance, for forgiveness. Then everything went black.
Why didn't I leave him to his fate? Hikari's are ALWAYS well treated, like cherished pets rather than slaves. Which makes sense, the stupid vamps think just cause the hikaris resemble them it means they're the lighter half of their soul. Nooooooo, I just HAD to rescue him, sure he wanted freedom as much as I did. Talk about stupid. . . . Malik berated himself silently.
He awoke caged and collared here, Elegante Training Center, a complex where high-grade food slaves were trained and sold. All that occurred over 2 months ago, since then he'd frustrated every single trainer here in his refusal to roll over and become a good food human like the others. If Malik didn't have the rarest and most delicious blood type, they might have shipped him off to do grunt work somewhere remote and inhospitable. Hell, without his rare bloodtype he'd be dead, executed for slaughtering his master.
AB Negatives like himself barely made up 0.5 of the human race BEFORE the Shadow Wars devastated the human population; now they were so rare the vamps made killing one punishable by execution. Which explained why he attracted a healthy crowd even with the bright orange tag of an intractable, untrained slave hanging prominently on his cage-door beside the black-striped red tag announcing his much-desired bloodtype, and the all-gold tag of a foodslave.
The tags made it easy for a vampire to pick out the basic characteristics desired in his/her new slave at a distance so the prospective Master needed only take a closer look at what s/he really wanted. A constant stream of wealthy vampires passed by his cage, most stopping to read the thick sheaf of papers clipped to the door. After perusing them most gave him an appraising stare, which generally melted into shock when they caught a look at his appearance. In a word he looked like Hell, figure gaunt and half-starved, face palid under his bronze complexion, and hair rough and limp.
One might think after two months at the training center Malik would have looked better--the scary thing was is he DID look quite a bit better. His injuries were only partially healed when Malik went after Ryou, so were only partially healed when he came to the Training Center. Needless to say the trainers had been mortified at his appearance, as had the other slaves; which in turn surprised Malik, who expected harsh treatment at best from a vampire, out-and-out torture at worst. Apparently not all vampires were like his previous Master.
From overheard conversations between the experienced slaves Malik got the impression gourmet food slaves like himself were generally well-treated—if not pampered. A vamp could feed on a human of any blood type, but those with heavy purses were like any rich folk, they wanted gourmet food rather than common fair. Not all humans, even those within the same bloodtype, tasted the same. Diet was a factor in blood-taste easily regulated, as was general physical fitness, but the minor variations in cell-structure that made one human taste much better than another were purely genetic.
Only one blood type guaranteed exceptional taste—his, AB negative. One of the Training Center slaves said her previous master likened the taste of common slaves to water and hers to fine wine. The water was okay, it got the job done, but didn't have the punch and flavor of the wine. Then she said MY blood was like the finest of wine, from the best vintage and at the peak of perfect flavor. Recalled Malik, leaning a cheek on his drawn-up knees, his platinum locks sliding over bare shoulders.
The boy hated being without a shirt, shameful of the scars covering his back, but the Trainers wanted to show off his leanly muscled upper body. Master considered his skin a canvas on which to create his artwork of pain; unfortunately he was a rather prolific artist, carving in great detail some kind of prophecy on the teen's back using tatoo ink and heated knife-blade.
Malik felt incredibly vulnerable in only black shorts and red-jeweled collar. Especially since ONLY an AB negative got to wear crimson and ONLY an AB negative like him would be displayed on a short dais in the center of the Viewing Room. His cage matched the other slaves'--heavy glass with black iron frame to allow maximum viewing potential, the flooring covered entirely by a mat apolstered in easily-cleaned black vinyl. All the cages were large enough for their occupants to stand fully or stretch out on the floor in any direction.
Certainly comfortable enough for a slave to sleep in if they wanted—as some of the child slaves worn out from the long day were doing. Vampires in general were not a loud people, most used to melting into the shadows rather than attracting attention, so even a room full of them rarely generated more than a dull buzz. Particularly an aristocratic bunch like this, the crustiest of the upper crust of vampire society.
"Malik?" A soft, achingly familiar voice floated from the barred cage door. A voice he simulataneously loved and despised, one that had often brought him back from the precipice between sanity and insanity. One he'd heard everyday of his life for four years and gleaned much comfort from. Now all it did was remind him of his stupidity. Malik refused to acknowledge Ryou's gentle querie, still angry and hurt. Not that he'd speak to anyone else either—except to scream obsenities at the Trainers occasionally.
"It's a lost cause hikari, he won't respond to you." Grunted the husky voice of Bakura, just hearing it ratcheted his anger-level up several notches. "The Trainers have tried to make him into something marginally tractable for two months and haven't gotten anywhere. They've finally given up—which is why he's being sold today."
"But yami, Malik was just trying to help me. . . . Do you HAVE to sell him?" Ryou protested softly. "I can't—and won't—keep a slave that bent on escape, but I get final say to who he goes to. Humph, everyone rich enough to purchase him will probably spoil him rotten." Bakura chuckled, a smirk plain in his voice. "C'mon Ryou, let's go—they're gonna start his private showing in a few minutes." The boy objected, but he went. Malik stared after him, a fleeting expression of longing sweeping his features.
His sweet voice, his gentle, soothing touch, the only person for as long as he could remember who cared for him. Or so he believed. No one has cared about me my entire life—not even my own father-- why the fuck should I think anyone would now? Malik asked himself retorically, bitterly cruel. Well, I'm guaranteed no one will care about anything other than the taste of my blood NOW. All I'll be to these vamps is a tasty snack, never a person. Malik swallowed hard at the tear-lump forming in his throat, he thought the ability to cry lost to him. He didn't want to hurt anymore, didn't want to feel the raw wound within his soul bleed, so he ruthlessly buried his hurt behind a fiery wall of anger.
This time when he stared after the white-haired tenshi, disgust curled his lip. Slut. Malik thought, noticing how Ryou practically fawned all over Bakura. A quick glance around showed much the same with the other trained food slaves; the caged slaves were no better, most pressed against the barred doors of their cages like eager puppies in a petshop window. The fresh-caught human slaves were easy to spot, they'd only been given rudimentary training so had little experience with vampires; as such most were huddled in the corners or their cage's back walls, nervous, frightened.
Leaning his cheek on the cool glass wall, Malik idly watched a fresh caught—a 16 or 17 year girl, Malik's age—cringe as a trainer unlocked her cage to admit a darkly handsome vampire man.. The vampire embraced the trembling girl, merely holding her for several minutes, probably talking soothingly to her. After the girl relaxed somewhat, he gently bite her neck, likely pumping her full of his venom; a chemical in all vamps saliva that worked something like a opiate/sedative/muscle relaxant combo.
A gentle introduction to slavery Malik never got to experience, and in a way he was oddly grateful. Master's cruelty keep his eyes open and his mind clear to cold reality, a slave was still a slave no matter the trappings or the master. He'd never forget what freedom felt like, to make his own choices, to even HAVE choices. . . . The boy was jerked from his thoughts as his cage was jolted by a pair of grunt work slaves owned by the Center.
Stoney-faced and silent, they pushed the wheeled cell into one of the private auction suites reserved for only the most premier of goods. Oh I feel SO damned SPECIAL. Heavy sarcasm practically dripped from the thought. Malik silently watched the violet-eyed blond trainer called Mai open the door with a resounding clang. "C'mon handsome, let's get you out of this glass cube." She said genially, smiling wide enough to show fang as she clapped a pair of silk-lined gold handcuffs on his wrists.
Sighing, the teen rose and stiffly followed the trainer-vamp outside to another dais; this one draped in black satin and nearly overflowing with satin-covered pillows in varying shades of deep blue and purple. Mai sat him on the wide cushioned top, clipping a thin but strong chain attached to an iron ring embedded in the marble wall to his collar. The trainers here were some of the best, Mai an old hand at dealing with stubborn humans—she made sure the chain was long enough so the boy could lay down, but short enough he couldn't stand erect or touch the dais's edge.
Lovely, I get to be displayed like a prized dish on a satiny platter. What's next, are they going to heap piles of parsley around me as a garnish? Malik growled inwardly, eyes flicking around the room. Like the Main Viewing Room, this Auction Suite consisted of polished black marble walls and flooring, the only furniture a dozen overstuffed chairs for the buyers' comfort. Malik didn't sit idly long before the room filled with chattering vampires, all eagerly lining up at the foot of his dais.
Why are they doing that? Didn't they get a close enough look in the Viewing Room? Thought Malik suspiciously, frowning at the eager expressions on the buyer's faces.
So intent on the jostling vamps in front of him he failed to notice Bakura ghosting up behind him. Silver-clothed arms snapped around him from behind, crushing him to a steely chest. Hot breath smelling of rotting copper and spearmint mouthwash washed his tender neck, his only warning before the white-haired vamp plunged fangs into bronze flesh. Twin points of jagged pain arced from his neck to jaw-hinge.
The pain worked like the trigger to an explosion of writhing, desperate movements exponentially intensified by a fist of panic that crushed Malik's heart and lungs, squeezing the breath from his body in panting gasps. Malik clawed at Bakura's arms with his bound hands, suddenly clumsy fingers having a difficult time finding purchase on the raw silk of the vampire's shirt. A brief flower of warmth bloomed under the skin around Bakura's embedded fangs, signalling he pumped a generous dose of venom into the human's bloodstream.
The teen shivered as his body relaxed involuntarily under the venom's power, a too-familiar paralysis flooding him. Master paralyzed Malik every time he used the boy, loving the instinctual panic that always lit the violet eyes. Unwanted and unbidden memories overwhelmed the platinum blond's mind in violent flashes: Master leaning over him with a knife black-edged from heating, Master delicately licking his blood from a whip's lash, Master grinning as he sunk fang into delicate skin of his inner thighs. . . .Bakura's husky voice pulled him from the terrifying mire of his worst memories, thrusting him back into a reality only marginally better.
"I almost forgot how good you taste—pity I can't trust you not to corrupt my hikari." Purred the vampire into his ear. Malik squirmed weakly in the man's hold, desperate to get away from him. To Malik, physical contact meant pain and suffering, blood, tears, and a deep lingering shame that he wasn't strong enough to defend himself. Bakura chuckled at the foolish human's antics, gently laying him down on the cushioned dais.
"What's so funny?" A new voice cut over the other vampires' muted chatter. "Huh, didn't think you'd show." Commented the white-haired vampire, rising to meet the visitor. Darkness licked at the edges of Malik's vision, a haze of blurriness making it impossible to see anything but a mostly black blob approaching the mostly silver blob that was Bakura. The multi-colored blobs of the other buyers drew back to let the black blob through, a tense silence falling over the crowd. A vampire of high rank to be sure to cause such an instant response.
"Whyever not? You did say you had something interesting to show me didn't you?" Replied the newcomer, amused. While the two chatted a gentle drowsiness wrapped Malik's senses, making the world seem remote and unimportant, the sedative/opiate part of Bakura's venom finally kicking in. "True, well here he is."
Malik's eyes were closed, but he felt the air displacement when Bakura moved and the push of cool air smelling of spicey cologne preceeded the sense of the newcomer leaning over him. "Interesting, quite tasty-looking isn't he? I see you've venomed him up to let his prospective buyers sample him." The other observed tartly. Malik fought the warm, seductive sleepiness pulling at his mind, knowing he needed to hear more of this conversation.
"Yeah, well, I SAID I didn't think you'd show. I also told you I'm selling the little bastard today come wooden stakes or broken fangs. So, you want him?" Queried the white-haired vamp bluntly. A very long pause spiced with Bakura's growing irritation and impatience ensued before the other drawled: "Yeah, sure, I'll take him. I could use a new snack/bed toy combo." With those nonchalant but chilling words echoing in his ears Malik lost his wavering grip on consciousness and the world faded away.
HELP! I'm looking for a Yu-Gi-Oh! fanfic I read about a year ago and can't remember it's name or author! I can't recall the summary, but the story had Ryou, Bakura, Malik, and Marik. Basically the yamis abused their hikari's so much they went crazy and somehow ended up on the street (I don't remember how exactly and it may just have been Ryou that ended up on the street). Bakura and Marik start needing their lights to balance their darkness and ended up taking in the other yami's hikari. In other words Bakura and Malik end up together, as do Ryou and Marik. Eventually, the hikari's regain their sanity and come to love their yami caretakers. In particular I remember at the end of the story Ryou and Malik talking together, and one asks the other if they should switch back (I don't remember who asks what). The other replies that it wouldn't be a good idea. Any help at all would be much appreciated, I've tried searching for it and am unable to find it. If this description even vaguely matches a fic you're familiar with please give me it's title. My e-mail address is: or you can just leave it in a review if you prefer. Thanks!
A/N: I know Malik's blood type isn't officially AB-, I think it's like O+ or something, but that wouldn't work in the story. It's actually true that only 0.5 of the population has AB- bloodtype.