Disclaimer: Er…yeah. Right. No ownage. No profit. This fic is an example of what happens when you allow a fandom to eat your brain while you're hormonal.
Summary: Plot? What's that? This is a pile of fluff disguised as a fic—but we all need plotless fluff now and then. Bakura teases Ryou. Yaoi. Also, Bakura's got a body of his own.
Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endureth his torments willingly. --Proverb
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Bakura's bored.
He sprawls on Ryou's bed, legs spread wide to signify that the bed is his territory, and no matter that Ryou's the one who sleeps in it. Head tilted lazily to one side, he rolls his eyes over to where Ryou sits at his desk, pouring over homework like a good little boy.
Sixteen-year-old males are rarely good little boys, Bakura knows. And even if they actually are, like Ryou, there's a sex drive hidden in there somewhere.
Bakura's bored, so he decides to have some fun. A cocky smirk crawls across his face, and he swings his legs off the bed. He strides over to Ryou's desk and, feeling so damn smug about what he's initiating, leans down and forward so that his cheek brushes Ryou's.
No response from Ryou—well, fine, he twitched, but that hardly counts. Boy twitches whenever something moves. Moving slowly, Bakura shifts from behind Ryou to stand beside him, his body only inches away from his hikari's.
His smirk twitches wider as the boy doggedly ignores him, eyes fixed firmly on trigonometry. Not for long, Kitten.
Bakura reaches out a hand and, with a gentleness that surprises them both, scrapes his nails across Ryou's scalp.
The reaction is instant and predictable. With a high-pitched yelp, Ryou scrambles wildly to his feet. Homework scatters, papers floating gently down to the floor. He tries to step back, but Bakura's never been one to let the prey escape. Locking eyes with him, Bakura trails his fingers down to the base of Ryou's skull. He pauses for a moment, a bit surprised that Ryou is meeting his gaze squarely (if with some degree of wariness), then slides his fingers to the hollow of Ryou's throat. Ryou starts trembling, and Bakura feels the boy's pulse throbbing as he runs his fingers back up his neck, lingering around his jaw.
His lips curl back, enough that his teeth are bared, and it could almost—almost—be called a smile. 'Wicked leer' just seems to fit better.
His eyes never leaving Ryou's, he trails his hand down Ryou's throat, down his chest, down…he toys with the hem of Ryou's shirt for a moment before slipping his hand under the cotton.
A heavy shiver ripples through Ryou's body, and Bakura bares his teeth in a slightly manic, and decidedly impish, grin. He splays his hand across the boy's ribs, barely grazing his skin, teasing, daring Ryou to lean into the contact and admit something.
Ryou quivers under his touch, and though his eyes shine with noticeable fear, they're also dark, Gods be damned,and the sight gives Bakura a strange thrill.Hesitantly, Ryou slides his hands up Bakura's waist, and Bakura lets him.
He can't quite ignore the sharp pang that throbs through his stomach at Ryou's touch, nor the heat that spreads from the point of contact.
Refusing to let Ryou think he's got the upper hand, Bakura traces small circles just below Ryou's breastbone. Ryou whimpers, stiffens, and finally closes his eyes.
Grinning with a dark delight, Bakura taps into their mind-link. Ryou's thoughts are incoherent, a swirling rush of fear and guilty pleasure. Bakura's noticed that lately, every time he plays with Ryou, the boy's fear is less sharp than the last time. Like it, don't you, Kitten?
He doesn't expect a response—Ryou's fully immersed in the moment, and is getting drunk on the pleasure that floats thickly through his mind. The boy nods, though, a slow, drowsy nod, and runs his hands down to Bakura's hips, even daring to hook one finger under the waistband of his jeans.
Time for the final act, Bakura decides. Ryou's getting a bit too bold—and besides, he isn't entirely comfortable with the fact that he likes the idea of Ryou's fingers down his pants.
He leans in, putting his lips directly in front of Ryou's, a plain offer. He feels Ryou shift beneath his hands, and after a beat, Ryou leans in.
He still hasn't learned. A small part of Bakura feels guilty for always baiting and teasing Ryou, tempting him with light, sensual touches—only to pull back at the last possible moment with a mocking smile.
A very small part of him.
Before the boy can kiss him, Bakura flicks his tongue out, catching Ryou's lips for the briefest of moments. Ryou whimpers softly, hips twitching. Straightening up, Bakura slides his hand out from beneath Ryou's shirt, taking special care to graze his fingers over the boy's thigh as he steps back.
Ryou looks up at him, cheeks touched with high points of pink, breath coming raggedly, eyes shining with a dark, hungry sheen. One corner of Bakura's mouth quirks upwards, and he gently tucks Ryou's hair behind his ears.
"Kitten," he whispers, giving Ryou one last dark, lusty look before turning to the door with a dramatic swirl of his coat. As he saunters out of the room, he catches a drift of Ryou's still-incoherent, pleasure-drugged thoughts.
Gods, he loves teasing the boy.