Cold Dreams

Disclaimer: Soul Eater does not belong to me. I am making no money on this fiction.

Cold Dreams

With a groan Soul collapsed, the red-and-black checkered floor hard on his elbows and knees. He turned his head and glared up at the Oni standing there in the curtained doorway, massaging its oversized hand. The bruised flesh of his knuckles matched the reddened mark on Soul's cheek.

"What do you think you're doing?" huffed Soul, hiding his surprise behind his annoyance. The little Oni had never seemed very threatening before, but he'd just found that he could move with lightning reflexes and had muscles hidden in those wiry arms.

"Soul, Soul, Soul..." tsked the red-skinned creature, moving closer to the downed boy. "I can only negotiate with you for so long before it becomes tedious. Your stubborn pride was amusing at first, but now you're trying my patience. Really, why can't you be a good boy and give in?"

"I guess it's too bad for you I'm not here to please you," grumbled the scythe. He pulled his arms in to push himself up to his feet. He didn't like the Oni standing over him like this when he was acting so unpredictable.

Before Soul could get upright, a smooth black shoe caught him in the side and sent him back down with a pained grunt. "Oh no, Soul. It's too bad for you," said the Oni, and the change in his voice caused Soul's head to snap up like it was on a wire.

The figure standing above him now, casting a black shadow over Soul with the room's dim shaded lamp behind him, was not the little red Oni in a double-breasted suit. Soul's eyes widened. Standing over him was a mirror image of himself, dressed in the familiar pinstripes. But instead of his own red eyes and blood-red dress shirt underneath, the Oni wore only black and shades of gray, like a washed out photograph. The smirk didn't even looked out of place with Soul's usual sarcastic expression.

"Who--what ARE you?" Soul demanded in a harsh whisper. As he stared at himself his skin crawled and every instinct shouted that he should get out of this room and far, far away.

"I'm Soul," Soul's image responded deadpan, sharp teeth a gleam in the shadowy features of his face. One perfectly shined black shoe, twin to the ones on his own feet, pressed under Soul's shoulder and flipped him over with a kick. The strength in that quick move knocked the breath from the boy's lungs.

For a moment Soul wanted nothing more than to see Maka's face. If she were here, he wouldn't be feeling this intense dread, this hesitation that was so unlike him. Why was he just staring at the attacker? He could handle himself without his partner. He wasn't that weak, to let a figment of his own mind defeat him. Was he?

As he struggled to draw breath into his sore lungs, his mirror image sank down to his knees, ignoring the scuff marks gained to the pinstripe suit.

Finally Soul sucked in an unencumbered breath. "I think I liked you better when you were smaller and had some color to you," Soul sneered.

The Oni in Soul's skin smirked and leaned over his face, hands planted on the red square of flooring on either side of Soul's head, trapping him in place. "I think I like you better screaming," he returned.

Soul snarled and threw himself sideways, struggling to get out from under his assailant, but the Oni's hands gripped his shoulders and slammed him down harshly on the floor. He slid one leg over the squirming body and straddled Soul's waist, and Soul felt his stomach drop with dread at the intimate position. He shoved at the hands pushing his suit jacket open and was ignored. He could feel the Oni's cold fingers against his stomach through his thin dress shirt.

"Stop it," gasped Soul, twisting his trapped body. The Oni had inhuman strength, not budging despite Soul's struggles. Fingers just like his own grabbed the buckle on Soul's belt and undid it with a quick movement. Unbeckoned, a muffled yelp escaped Soul's mouth as the belt was yanked free of his pants.

"What the hell is this!?" the boy demanded. "Leave me alone, you freak!" He threw a punch at the leering face hovering over his body, but with seemingly no effort, the Oni caught the fist. Deftly the belt was wrapped several times around Soul's wrist, and then the Oni grabbed the second flailing limb and bound it with the belt as well. He leaned down until his face was inches from his captor's, shoving Soul's hands up over his head.

The boy's breath was starting to come in strangled pants as he stared up into hard black eyes and that sharp grin. The Oni didn't respond to the question, only chuckled. His hands slid down Soul's arms to his shoulders. One touched the weapon's pointed chin with a cool finger in feigned gentleness. "There's so many ways to feel fear," he whispered. "Let me show you my favorite."

Soul swallowed harshly. "Get off me, you bastard."

Instead the Oni pushed backward, sliding down Soul's body. He pushed up on Soul's red shirt, exposing a flat, pale stomach. "Ahhh..." he breathed, as if worshiping at the alter of his personal god. A cold tongue snaked out and touched the flesh.

Soul's head jerked back in revulsion at the moist, slimy touch. He grit his teeth and shook his head from side to side; the Oni traced his scar with his tongue, up across his chest, and circled one pale nipple. No, no, this was not happening. "Get off!" screamed Soul, the command lost in his desperate tone.

Soul was afraid.

"Mmm. Scream more for me," the Oni murmured against the heaving chest. He was going fast, so fast. Soul's fear made time spin. He felt the Oni's hands drifting south to his stomach, caressing the soft skin there, and then suddenly he felt those cold fingers like a shock inside his pants, between his legs.

"NO!" Soul's hips bucked up as he tried to drive away the insistent touch. His bound hands pushed at his assailant, awkward because they were bound with the backs touching, but the Oni effortlessly ignored the weak motion. Firm fingers tightened around his limp member and Soul howled a wordless objection.

The washed-out reflection on top of the boy laughed breathlessly. "Learn to love yourself," he whispered, demented, against Soul's neck. His fingers ran the length of Soul's cock, up and down, squeezing cruelly, and he caught and held Soul's red gaze with his own dark eyes as he did it. There was no intimacy in the gesture, just another aspect of the torture. Soul tried to glare, tried to demand his release, but his voice was stolen by the intense pain and pressure around his most intimate area.

Then the pressure was gone, and Soul sucked in a gasp of air for his oxygen-starved lungs. He panted and tried to reclaim his senses until the little demon's voice cut through. "I'd rather see your cute little face for this next part, Soul, but I think this will be easier if you turn over."

"Fuck off!" snarled the scythe.

"Why yes, that's the idea." The Oni rose up on his knees, freeing Soul's legs trapped underneath him, and immediately the boy tried to squirm away. One blow to the side of his head stilled him and made Soul's ears ring. The one wearing his face wrapped his arms around Soul and tossed him over onto his stomach.

"Rrrra!" Soul shouted out his frustration and whipped his body from side to side, but the Oni easily held him down with one hand and yanked his dress pants down with the other. A sharp pinch to his exposed rear made Soul yelp. "Cut it out!"

Snide laughter was his only response, and the feeling of the room's cool air making him shiver as his boxers were dragged down to his knees. That was his only warning. There was no preparation. There was only hands on his hips, then on his ass, spreading him open against his will. Then pain.

Soul screamed from it, but more than the pain, the degradation stabbed him in the chest like a blade. In any battle he would face his opponent without flinching. He didn't hesitate to throw himself at danger, but right now, completely owned and controlled, he was a coward. And he hated it. Hated himself for his weakness. He would never be good enough to defeat this opponent, this part of his own soul that owned him.

He sobbed as the Oni cooed whispery pleased breaths on the back of his ear. "What a good boy," panted the demon, sliding fingers into Soul's white hair. He used that as leverage to hold the boy still as he pulled out and thrust in again. Soul howled. Sharp teeth nipped his ear.

He felt wetness pool between his legs as the Oni continued to use his body for his pleasure, and Soul knew he was bleeding. His reflection murmured praise to him. "What a nice body we have, Soul. You behave like the perfect little bitch. Good boy. My boy." Soul bowed his head in shame and waited for it to be over.

The panting breath against his ear grew quicker and the pain in his body spiked up as the demon's thrusts grew wilder and more frantic. His own voice moaned pleasurably in his ear, but it wasn't coming from him. Suddenly the heavy body on top of him went taunt and Soul felt something flood his internal passage. His flinched as his opponent marked him in such a personal way. The thought of the demon's essence being inside of him made his stomach clench. He was soiled.

For a moment the room was silent save for two twin voices gasping for air. Soul tried to move his hands but he was drained of strength, exhausted, his muscles only able to twitch weakly. A whimper escaped against his will.

Then the Oni stood up and, as Soul lay there a mess and panted, he meticulously fixed his pinstripe suit. Did up the front of his pants. Pulled his sleeves straight. Black eyes looked down at Soul one last time and sharp teeth poked through the smirk. "Remember what happens when you don't listen, Soul," murmured the Oni. "It's better to give in the first time I ask. Next time maybe I'll wait for your partner to come back, hmm?" As he walked away, his shadow shrunk back to the shape of a small red demon.

Soul curled up on the cold floor, shaking, and stared at the color of red smeared across his thighs.

~.~.~

With a gasp Soul bolted upright in bed, the muggy summer air making the sheets stick to his clammy chest. Red eyes darted around the room, the blessedly normal apartment bedroom where he lived with Maka. Not that damn bastard's little warped corner of his mind. Awake.

Unsettled, the scythe slid from his bed and padded to the door in nothing but his pajama bottoms. He knew full well that nothing had happened in reality, that it was all just toying going on in his head, a new form of negotiation. But still he wanted out of his bedroom and that memory of being held down and defenseless.

He went to the kitchen and grabbed a clean glass from the sideboard where Maka had done dishes earlier. Filling it from the tap, he threw back his head and drank deeply. Then he filled it again.

"Soul?"

The boy quickly turned to the kitchen doorway. Maka blinked at him, green eyes foggy with sleep, dressed in a nightgown. Her voice sounded confused, most likely because Soul was usually a very heavy sleeper. It wasn't often she saw him up in the middle of the night.

"Are you okay?" Maka asked him quietly.

Soul drained the glass of water a second time and set it down beside the sink with a clink. "Yeah, it's nothing," he grunted. "Just cold dreams."