Author: Mistigri
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Yami No Matsuei does not belong to me. But it seems to have been a while since Matsushita-sama played with the boys, so if she doesn't want them anymore, I don't mind hand-me-downs;)
Warning: Well, there's Muraki being his usual evil self which means non-con...and I'll just say this isn't a *nice* fic...
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Set during the King of Swords Arc - Muraki has been found dead and an autopsy must be performed...
Pairing: Muraki/Tetsuhiro
Feedback; I don't know whether to threaten to send Muraki round if you don't give feedback, or promise to if you do!;)
Thanks to; Lipstickcat for almost making this fic my last by her enthusiastic reception of a Tetsuhiro fic - death by glomping isn't all that bad a way to go!;)
Notes; Hope everyone knows who Tetsuhiro is - he's the cute medical student who does a great ghost impression;)
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The Second Victim
Tetsuhiro eyed the body nervously as he pulled on a pair of latex surgical gloves. He was the only remaining person on board with any medical training who could perform the post mortem before crucial evidence was lost through decomposition. No one had offered to sit in on the autopsy - he understood perfectly; looking at the corpse of the doctor was a grim reminder that any one of them could be next.
He picked up his notepad and jotted down the details of how the cadaver was arranged; the scattered petals, the playing cards tossed across the bed, one arm holding a bouquet of red flowers in place. Apart from the slight trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, Muraki looked as though he had been arranged for a twisted kind of funeral.
Tetsuhiro recorded that the cause of death was not apparent at this point; there were no visible wounds, no bulging of the eyes, or blueness of the lips. He examined the body�s hand and arm; no resistance injuries, no traces of blood or skin under the fingernails. It seemed he had not put up a fight. Did that mean he had known his attacker? Tetsuhiro knew that this autopsy could hold the key to the killer�s identity.
Carefully he tidied around the body, laying everything aside as evidence. He hesitated before starting a closer examination; this was very different to what he was used to - sterile preserved corpses in a brightly lit lab. The thought weighed on his mind that it could have been him lying there; it still yet could be.
Dismissing the thought, trying to focus, be professional, he picked up a scalpel. His hand trembled as he bent forward to make the first incision.
Muraki grabbed his wrist.
Tetsuhiro cried out, dropping the scalpel, and leapt back, jerking his arm free. He stared in horror as the dead doctor slowly sat up and fixed him with a smile. This wasn�t his imagination; this wasn�t a side effect of gasses building up in the body or some automatic reflex. Tetsuhiro choked back another scream and ran for the door.
Muraki somehow got there first, his hand on the doorknob, a mocking expression on his face. Tetsuhiro took a step back, wide eyes darting to the window looking for an escape.
"If you try to leave now, the ghost will get you," Muraki said calmly. "Here, there is nothing to be afraid of."
"But�you were dead!" Tetsuhiro shook his head, still moving away from the doctor. "You�you were definitely dead!"
"Was I?" Muraki was amused. "Seems you know so much. Then tell me, please do, how it can be that now I appear to be perfectly alive."
Tetsuhiro swallowed. "You can�t be. This is the ghost�s doing! Please, I haven�t done anything. Please. Leave me alone!"
"You believe I am a ghost?" Muraki moved towards Tetsuhiro who continued to edge backwards. "Really, for a medical student, you have such an irrational mind."
Tetsuhiro backed into the table and started. Before he could recover, Muraki was next to him and he was trapped. He drew breath to cry out but a single finger pressed to his lips stopped him.
"Hush now, there�s a good boy," Muraki soothed. He brushed a strand of hair away as he cupped Tetsuhiro�s face. "Could a ghost touch you this way?"
Tetsuhiro gasped. The doctor�s hands were cold as death, but he couldn�t move. He clenched his eyes shut, praying to wake up.
He felt Muraki�s fingers brush across his face, down to his throat, another hand sliding inside his top. He was paralysed and he didn�t dare open his eyes.
"Please," he murmured and he heard the doctor chuckle.
"What is there to be afraid of?"
Muraki found the boy�s fear amusing and yet somehow quite charming. His silly superstitions which controlled him so strongly made him irresistible. The doctor needed him, but now he wanted him too.
Tetsuhiro offered no resistance as Muraki began to undress him. The doctor moved slowly; any sudden movement and the boy�s nerves would shatter and all that Muraki had worked for would be lost. He feathered gentle kisses along the exposed neck, sensing the rapid beat of his pulse, the pounding of his heart.
He guided Tetsuhiro to the bed and lay him upon it, amongst the last few lost petals. Muraki paused to admire him only briefly. Such a pity he had so little time.
The boy�s eyes flickered open as Muraki�s body pressed against his, a faint gasp escaping his lips as he felt fingers pushed inside him. Muraki stroked his cheek and shushed him, soothing him.
Tetsuhiro wanted to scream, wanted to escape, but he could do nothing. As though in a dream or drunken haze, he was unable to move, to take control. He was terrified and yet when the doctor began to push inside him, the sensation he felt was far from pain. He wanted it to stop, he didn�t want it to ever stop, he wanted to wake from this exquisite nightmare.
Muraki took his pleasure, weaving his curse about the boy. He smiled as he remembered another night like this, long ago under the falling cherry blossoms. The forgotten tragic beauty of that evening awakened and the memory once again burned bright.
The boy cried out at his release, almost sobbing as Muraki reached his own climax a couple of strokes after. Once again the doctor reflected that it was a shame that he had not more time for the boy. Still, it mattered little. He wondered if he would ever meet him again, to return to him the sweet memory of this night. An amusing distraction, nothing more. He kissed the boy�s lips and finished his work.
* * *
Tetsuhiro blinked and the page he was staring at snapped into focus. It was late and he had been very tense - had he somehow dozed off?
He read the words on the page. In his neat handwriting, he had recorded the details of Muraki�s death; the traces of poison found, the curious fact his heart had not been removed. Tetsuhiro rubbed at his eyes. The stress had to be getting to him; he scarcely remembered writing this.
He glanced across at the body, neatly rearranged on the bed. He swallowed painfully. He feared he too would be dead soon.