[Yami no Matsuei] (R)
May. 24th, 2013 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mtxref_ficAuthor's Note: Written for Author's choice, author's choice, training/conditioning a slave Muraki/Hisoka; AU in which Muraki has kept Hisoka as a pet/slave.
The boy was responding well to his training, though he still possessed a few habits that would have to be trained out of him. For starters, he wasn't eating properly, or if he did, it was just enough to keep body and soul together, never mind put much-needed flesh onto his bones. Muraki did not relish force-feeding, since there was always the risk that the boy could aspirate some of his food. But Muraki's current bed-warmer was out-growing his usefulness and attractiveness, as well as the age he favored.
"Are you trying to thwart me?" Muraki asked, standing over the boy, as he knelt before him, eyes on the floor. "Look at me when I talk to you, boy."
"Why should I look at the man who kidnapped me?" Hisoka growled, keeping his gaze glued stubbornly to the floor.
Muraki put a hand on the back of the youngster's head, tilting it back. "Now is that any way to talk to the man who took you out of such a messy situation? I know how your family treated you: I know it because I've been through it as well."
"You don't know anything about me," Hisoka snarled, yanking his head free of Muraki's grasp. "Don't talk to me like you do!"
"Oh, but I do: I've seen inside of your mind, I've seen the things to which your family subjected you," he said, moving in closer. "The prejudice, the abuse, the judgment."
"Stop talking to me like this!" the young man snarled.
Muraki's smirk grew crafty, vicious. "Don't speak to me like that," he purred. "You know what happens when you do that."
"And how is that not abuse?" Hisoka snarled.
"It is discipline: I do what I must when you act out of turn," he said, running his fingers through the youngster's hair. "I don't do it because I think that you're strange." He leaned in closer and flicked the tip of his tongue into his shell-like ear. "I enjoy your talents: I relish your discomfort."
"Then I'll have to start pulling back and disappointing you," Hisoka snarled, trying to pull away.
Muraki hauled the youngster to his feet. "Oh, you know that's impossible: I have ways of getting around those inhibitions," he said, nuzzling the youngster's hair with the tip of his nose. His free hand came up and gripped the youth's head, as he reached into his mind, finding today's memories and sealing them off. Hisoka shrieked, angered, in pain, as Muraki hid away the memory of today. The youngster would forget what had happened, and perhaps he could succeed in getting him to eat up: couldn't have the winter with a bony bedmate...
The boy was responding well to his training, though he still possessed a few habits that would have to be trained out of him. For starters, he wasn't eating properly, or if he did, it was just enough to keep body and soul together, never mind put much-needed flesh onto his bones. Muraki did not relish force-feeding, since there was always the risk that the boy could aspirate some of his food. But Muraki's current bed-warmer was out-growing his usefulness and attractiveness, as well as the age he favored.
"Are you trying to thwart me?" Muraki asked, standing over the boy, as he knelt before him, eyes on the floor. "Look at me when I talk to you, boy."
"Why should I look at the man who kidnapped me?" Hisoka growled, keeping his gaze glued stubbornly to the floor.
Muraki put a hand on the back of the youngster's head, tilting it back. "Now is that any way to talk to the man who took you out of such a messy situation? I know how your family treated you: I know it because I've been through it as well."
"You don't know anything about me," Hisoka snarled, yanking his head free of Muraki's grasp. "Don't talk to me like you do!"
"Oh, but I do: I've seen inside of your mind, I've seen the things to which your family subjected you," he said, moving in closer. "The prejudice, the abuse, the judgment."
"Stop talking to me like this!" the young man snarled.
Muraki's smirk grew crafty, vicious. "Don't speak to me like that," he purred. "You know what happens when you do that."
"And how is that not abuse?" Hisoka snarled.
"It is discipline: I do what I must when you act out of turn," he said, running his fingers through the youngster's hair. "I don't do it because I think that you're strange." He leaned in closer and flicked the tip of his tongue into his shell-like ear. "I enjoy your talents: I relish your discomfort."
"Then I'll have to start pulling back and disappointing you," Hisoka snarled, trying to pull away.
Muraki hauled the youngster to his feet. "Oh, you know that's impossible: I have ways of getting around those inhibitions," he said, nuzzling the youngster's hair with the tip of his nose. His free hand came up and gripped the youth's head, as he reached into his mind, finding today's memories and sealing them off. Hisoka shrieked, angered, in pain, as Muraki hid away the memory of today. The youngster would forget what had happened, and perhaps he could succeed in getting him to eat up: couldn't have the winter with a bony bedmate...
