I disclaim this.

Warning: Non-Con aka. rape, torture. Spoilers for Another Note.

Unbetaed.

Eisoptrophobia

Rain, rain, go away;
Come again another day;
This little boy wants to play.

He hated the feel of rain on his skin. Wet, itchy, icy and unforgiving… Each rain drop a telltale of unspent passion, moments of unleashed hatred, lost games, self-disappointments… So many of them… All caused by that same skinny fiddling who considered himself as the best.

Haha!

He was the best… In everything he was the perfect one. Even in his own experiments which resulted in failures… He was flawless even in his misery. Full stop.

Yet he hated the cold rain; his white shirt was quickly discarded.

He lit a lamp and looked at his 'mirror'.

They were eye to eye, same height, same weight, same hair, same eyes, and same bodies. Oh, his shiny little mirror…which does not reflect his image, or maybe…

His head, bent forward in an all too numbing pain, was hanging just like those straw dolls; blood half dried on the points where the hard nails went through flesh and bone fixing him on the cross he was dangling from his hands. Breaths rushing in and out in a frenzied hurry, frail body shaking vigorously, hard groans of agony filling the rotting air as the crucified man tried a way for his body to stand on tip toe to ease the pain of dangling on the edge of consciousness…

The coppery smell of blood mingling with his mild arousal, his heart rupturing in anticipation as he watched his 'reflection'… The body before him was soaked in his own blood and he himself was soaked with rain. He was panting in a haze of rage and arousal and his reflection was groaning in pain…

He was watching him since he came in from a thunderstorm yet…

His reflection was not looking at him…

This truly cannot be his image… Or maybe what he was seeing was he himself… in reality.

Mirror, mirror, little, shiny, glittery…fake mirror.

You are me and I am you…

Yet you don't treat me as your equal…

The legs of the man on the cross buckled as they gave in and he gave a sharp yell of pain, his head slightly turning to a side on an impulse to reach where it hurt most. Just like a bird with a broken wing.

He reveled at the sight and the sounds of his image, humming a rhyme quietly as he gazed at the wall the cross was hanging… So many, oh so many blood stains, countless crumbled torn newspaper cut outs all darkened in to a hue of sepia… Yet none of them capturing his face, none of them have even a glimpse of this raven head nuzzling at his own shoulder in desperation to ease the pain.

The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then,

Poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing,

Poor thing.

His gaze traveled back to his object of hatred, his reason to become what he was now. Truly a breath taking sight…

His damp steps guided him to the crucified man; he reached him with his damp hand. The man jerked his head in… in fear? …in disgust? …in rejection?

This didn't faze him; he gathered a handful of jet black hair in his grip and forced the screaming man to face him. He saw dampness staining the face of his reflection. His sickly pale lips trembling, his bottomless eyes trying to focus… Features all too familiar yet different… No, this was not his image…Or maybe his little mirror was distorted… Or may be…

He leaned in closer, his face contorting in hatred and lust.

"Should we take you down, detective?"

The said man mumbled something incoherent as his half lidded eyes gazed at his captor.

"Yes…" He hissed at his reflection licking the salty sweat from the side of his face. "We should take you down and play."

He went on humming.

Hush-a-bye, baby,

in the tree top.
When the wind blows,

the cradle will rock…

He turned away and found the pincers lying on the ground. The crucified man's eyes went as wide as his own. While his pupils were dilated with growing arousal, his image's pupils were dilated with fear of certain pain.

He chuckled as he gave a kick to the cross causing his captive to yell in agony as his body mildly swung forth and back with the cross.

He started to free the nail fixing his captive's left hand. The wild, strong movements he made with the pincers causing howls of torment to spill in the room. When the nail came with the pincers his image collapsed half way, tears falling uncontrollably.

A quick lick at the fresh blood on the nail and it was discarded. His heart wild with the virgin taste... He went for the other nail and after a short while filled with blood and tears it came loose too. And his captive's body limply fell to the floor unconscious.

…When the bough breaks,

the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby,

cradle and all.

"There, there detective…" He cooed the collapsed man, petting his raven locks. He made him lie on his back. He looked at him for a while a thumb between his lips. The ragged breaths he took excited him, blood oozing from the old wounds fired up his own blood, the sweat on the glistening sickly pale skin enticed him.

Slowly he sat on the body of his own image, legs straddling his thin hips from both sides. He leant on him to take a closer look, his arousal agitated in his jeans. He put his hands near his head and looked at him as if gazing into a pond to see his own reflection.

Oh… He looked breath taking… He looked divine in his own pathetic way… He looked so…beautiful, almost hatefully beautiful…

He reached to his face with a wary hand, soft skin glided under his bloodied fingertips. So he was real… As real as his own body… He was warm, infact, burning hot… He dove closer, his reflection's breaths licking his own face.

"Wake up… Wake up detective…So we could play…"

The man stirred and his eyes slowly opened… Oh…There was nothing as good as seeing his own reflection in the eyes of his own reflection…

He didn't give time to him and lunged forward crushing the deadly pale lips of the man with his own.

Blood soaked hands reached for him to push him back, eyes suddenly wide awake.

No way… He wouldn't stop now… No way, after so many days spent watching him from a far… He just couldn't.

He ravished the unyielding lips, biting, sucking, chewing them, and drawing sounds of protest, bloody hands sliding across his bare chest weakly trying to push him. Body writhing under him for an escape…

Not so easy…

He could feel the panic, he could taste the fear, and he liked the struggle. Yet he was impatient.

He nibbled his reflection's lips, his jaw, and his neck. All the while biting down hoarsely… Yet every bite, every ting of blood proved unsatisfactory. He fumbled with the fly of the man's jeans, sliding the material down with impatient rough hands, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his hips, drawing more blood.

Oh, the smell in the air was just fine. Rain, blood, rust and decay… Sweat and arousal… This was just like the way he dreamt of. His hunt proving to be worthy as seconds passed. He already tried to punch him with his tormented fist. His legs trashing on the cement floor violently for a fragile looking man like he was.

"Didn't you like it, little detective?" he snarled as the fly of the pants came loose and he brought the pants down. As he tried to discard them to create room for himself, his reflection became violent again. He dodged a kick and lunged forwards grabbing the jet black hairs, pounding the head on the hard floor several times until the eyes of the detective were glazed with semi consciousness.

"Yeah…This is better…"

He parted the legs and unzipped his own trousers, taking his hard flesh in his hands, stroking it into fullness as he gazed at his long-awaited prize. His breathing quickened as he searched for the warm spot, two fingers burying themselves into the heat upon discovery.

The reflection gave a sharp cry as the consciousness returned to his depthless eyes. He lost no time and readied himself. With a sharp thrust he was inside all the way. His cry of bliss mingled with the cry of pain of his image. He savored the taste around himself, closing his scarlet eyes for a moment. He came to himself as a pair of slick hands grabbed on to his forearms.

He looked down with a crazed smile on his face. He laughed reveling at the pain and tears he saw on the face of his split image. He pulled back nearly all the way and lounged forward again. His grip on the detective's hips tightened as the detective dig his nails into his own arms.

His breathing grew heavier as his thrusts gained pace. He leaned forward smiling a devil's smile.

"Do you know how it feels like fucking your own reflection detective?" He licked the side of his face tasting sweat and tears. "Oh… How can you?" He chuckled insanely as he felt the passage he was riding became slicker probably with blood. He looked down seeing the limp sex of the detective, chuckling more merrily. "So you don't enjoy this? Oh…Whatever…It feels so good already."

He locked his eyes with the man below him. Seeing the pain and torment in them but not seeing what he was feeling now. "This… This man can't be my reflection…." He murmured as the pleasure kept building in the pit of his stomach.

"Who are you L?" He leaned in again. "Who am I?" The eyes he was gazing didn't even flinch a bit as he kept pushing hardly. "Have you ever dreamt of this moment L, as much as I did?" He asked through pants. "This is the moment Narcissus dreamt of. This is the actual moment he can touch his lover and nemesis at the same time…"

Yet to his discomfort L didn't even move an inch other than his body's rocking movement caused by his captor's severe thrusts.

"Damn you freak, speak!" A slap across the face… More blood from the spilled lips…

"Narcissus killed himself in order to reach himself, Beyond…" was all he said.

He pushed harder, fiercer, lost in his own frustration as he continued to gaze at his own reflection in the eyes of his reflection. Climbing to the peak his body desired yet his mind gave up and forgot already.

"Wrong answer L… You have been wrong all along." And he climaxed, hitting the peak breathlessly, his body convulsing as he rode the waves of another unsatisfactory session.

As he collapsed onto the heat of the limp body underneath him he tried to catch his breath, his limp flesh still inside of his reflection. He nuzzled the unresisting neck of the man.

"You don't even deserve to be like me L… You are not even worthy of being my split image."

The body beneath him stirred slightly, all his energy spent.

"You hate me, don't you? That's why you cover the mirrors with a cloth just like Dorian Gray…"

A soft chuckle was heard.

"I wonder what you will do when you accidentally drop the cloth one day…"

And he spoke no more.

Beyond lifted himself up and looked at the man lying on the ground. His insides burned; his mind slowly freezed. He sat for a while doing nothing, half dressed, on the cold floor.

His imagination wandered, his eyes started to burn with an unforgiving sleep. He started trembling, eyes never leaving the body lying beside him. He gazed and gazed forgetting how many minutes passed.

He reached for his reflection, gathering his broken body in his arms and started to rock forwards and backwards as if rocking a baby.

"Wake up…" He whispered suddenly feeling all alone in his madness. "Wake up…"

And he started to hum again as he petted the raven locks and marred skin.

El-sie Marley's grown so fine,
She won't get up to feed the swine,
But lies in bed 'till eight or nine!
Lazy El-sie Marley.

Beyond wake up in front of the large mirror he placed near the wall he kept the article pieces and bloody drawings of L he had been collecting. He looked at his reflection with tear stained eyes remembering his dream.

He looked at the clock and was reminded of his appointment. He quickly tended his mess in the bathroom and gathered his things.

Before he left the filth he used as home he pulled up a long black cloth from the ground and went to the mirror.

He looked at his eyes to see his own self in the reflecting glass and smiled covering the glittering object of his hatred.

As he left the apartment he thought merrily to himself.

"The one who will face with his own portrait will be you L… A decayed, corrupted, and burnt figure of your true self… Yet you'll never know that you're looking at yourself."

What he didn't know was he himself was Dorian, and L was his portrait that Beyond would never achieve to resemble.

Forever ideal even after his own death…

Eisoptrophobia: An abnormal and persistent fear of mirrors.

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