Disclaimer: As Jhonen Vasquez is male and I am not, I'm pretty sure I don't own Zim.

Author's Note: Just a random idea that popped into my head. I should probably start an Invader Zim ficlet collection, too, shouldn't I? Oh well. I'll get around to it later. XD

Warning: ZADR, S-n-M, etc. Switching PoVs—Dib normal; Zim italics. Dib is narrating; Zim basically serves to tell what's really going on.

XXX

Obsessed

XXX

We are not friends.

His blood oozes from beneath those layers of pale filth— I watch the red stuff trickle down the stink monster's limbs. I hate the smell, the taste, the sight. . . I hate him. Every ounce of him. He screams.

We are not friends, buddies, pals, playmates—whatever stupid term you want to use. There is no love lost between us, no deep concern or care for the other's well being. I hate him. He hates me.

"I didn't say you could do that," I snarl, fingers tightening on this human weapon— or, perhaps I should call it a toy— the whip. I snap it; the sound amuses me beyond belief.

We are not friends.

More blood. More screams. I like this play-thing better than the knife.

Enemies, perhaps. Yes. Enemies. We detest one another; despise one another. Try to stop—kill—one another. The sight of him makes me gag and choke; the sound of my voice makes his skin crawl. I hate him. He hates me.

As I lean closer, the worm baby glares, looking abnormally pathetic in his sprawled, naked state. I laugh at him, at the pussy welts on his body, at his feeble growls; watching him squirm wildly on the cold metal table. . . then I join him there, and sample his essence on a whim. Same flavor. Always the same— garbage, slime, dookie. He bites me harshly as my tongue slithers inside his mouth, examining.

We are not friends.

At dawn we annoy each other. At skool we battle each other. At night we ignore each other.

I've discovered during these frequent visits that humans are fairly sexual creatures; I can learn anything I'd ever need to know about them though simple touches. . . sweet, revolting touches. . .

. . . But in the dark we stalk each other.

Horrid stink people.

There's a thrill in our revulsion; a joy in the disgust. To fully loath another being. . . so much that it makes you want to shriek; to squirm; to destroy—! To tear out your innards just to make the feeling end.

I want to rip them all apart; I want to hear them scream for mercy, for pity, for compassion, for release. . . For Zim.

To hurt, to hurt, to hurt. . .

I can feel him clawing at my back, and his teeth crushing my wrist. And my teeth pierce his tongue.

There's such a thin line between love and hate— both are mere obsession in disguise. Obsession is the key.

And I press him to the table.

We are obsessed.

And I force his legs apart.

We are not friends.

And I mark him as Irken territory.

We are not friends, buddies, pals, playmates. We're not in love, or in lust. We never will be.

I hate humans.

We are simply obsessed.

I hate Dib.

XXX