Yin – Yang:
Theory of Relativity
Authoress Notes: Hey everyone. I only have three short notes before this starts:
1 This is my first Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction. It's still my OTP… but not my usual place to write. However, I have been writing fanfiction for nearly six years, in the same style, with very little variety in the writing style. This is my introduction to the Yu-Gi-Oh fanfiction scene.
2 To anyone watching me as an authoress from Weiss fanfiction, I am putting all Weiss fanfics on hiatus until I get rid of this Yu-Gi-Oh kick… I will be back eventually to my loves.
3 This story is going to be somewhat short, the characters are purposely going to be somewhat OOC. You'll understand when we hit the first chapter.
Introduction
"By the Gods! Can't you do anything right?" a booming voice cut through the afternoon's idle noises. Jumping and quickly fleeing into the well-lit hallway, Ryou stared at his yami in utter horror.
The task was simple: Clean the house. A customary Thursday afternoon chore made all the more complicated once a month. The last Thursday of every month, Bakura's bedroom was added to the list of rooms to clean. He had thought it was going well enough, until Bakura came to check on him.
As it was Bakura was always edgy when Ryou was in his room – it could be him merely standing at the door, or sitting at his bedside, and he would be on guard. Bakura's room was his sanctuary and the one place that he hated to have Ryou's scent in.
Ryou felt vastly different about the room. He enjoyed what little time he spent in the room. It was the one place in which he felt in sync with his darker half; it was the room that resonated with Bakura's dark aura, smelled of his musk and read of his emotions.
Nevertheless, he respected the room, and avoided changing too much about it while cleaning. Bakura tended to be the bigger reason for that. Cringing a little, he watched Bakura's anger ridden face, and waited.
"If you insist on cleaning the room," Bakura growled, "learn where things go. Stilettos on top, knives on the bottom, no exceptions!"
And Bakura's knives, often found laying around the bedroom floor, were not to be trifled with. He never could remember each position though.
Turning his back to Ryou, Bakura took a brief moment to check that there weren't any other things that needed to be dealt with before grabbing Ryou roughly by the wrist and yanking him to the bathroom. As soon as the direction became apparent, the tears started,
"Please, Yami-sama! Please! I didn't mean to! I'll try not to forget again, I'll do better n-next time!" Ryou whimpered, tugging lightly at his wrist in protest. Bakura only yanked harder.
It took a great heave to get Ryou into the bathroom, but once there, the door was locked and Bakura pointed to the shower cubical. Ryou silenced his protests as Bakura removed scissors from the first-aid kit, and he finally pulled off his shirt.
Bakura turned back to his lighter half, watching as he quietly entered the cubical.
It was custom. Horrible, painful, destructive custom, and it would be no different today. He pressed his forehead against the tiles despairingly, flinching at the soft pcht noise of Bakura's bare feet on tile. He closed his eyes tightly, waiting as the cold metal of the scissors bit into his heavily scarred back.
"Hold still," Bakura's voice leaked amusemen at the tremble his hikari gave. "If you move, I might cut too deep."
It was always the same. Sometimes he sounded less concerned about his hikari's well-being, others he wouldn't sound remorseful at all, but the warning was always the same. The tradition was always upheld.
Slice, hiss…
Never the chest –
Slice, hiss…
- Never the stomach –
Slice, cry…
- Never the legs –
Slice, shriek…
- And never, ever the face.
A warm, wet tongue moved along his back, lapping at warm streams of blood. It was almost a lover's touch; he imaged it was sometimes, but ritualistically that touch came to a close, and four more lines were carved into his back.
Tears swam in his eyes, but didn't fall. Bakura was in a good mood, taking only a minimal pleasure in his pain today, and the pain wasn't enough for him to bed an end to.
The tongue came again, warm and sensual on his back, loving every metallic bead on his skin. Every drop of Ryou's lineage, every poet and politician whose genes made up the existing boy, was treated with utmost delicacy, before the scissors came again.
The process was long, thorough and simple, stopping the moment Ryou's world began to spin. Then came the tender period. Bakura rinsed his back, bandaged it, and finally disappeared to enjoy his blood induced high.
Was Bakura a monster? Perhaps, but only in the way of a vampire. He could be cruel – ruthless – but he wasn't stupid. If his prey lost too much blood, there could be no blood in the next week.
Also similar to a vampire, Bakura had that sensual, dark, sexy allure, walking silently through the dark with a graceful swagger, every movement a reflection of his power, his security, and that hint of something deeper that no being could touch.
Sighing, Ryou lay on his side in bed. The power, the grace, the beauty that no man should possess, they were things he wished he could have. The beauty that blossomed from self-confidence, the strength to prevent the reoccurring scars, the grace that somehow added to the fantasy. If he had those things, would he be able to create a relationship with his darker half that even remotely resembled what Yuugi had with Yami?
With a sardonic laugh, Ryou tugged his covers up. The fantasy itself was lovely, but Bakura would never bare a semblance to Yami. Yami was noble, a white knight, and Bakura was the black knight – no, not a knight. They were law and chaos, and never would one resemble the other.
He played out a short tea-party fantasy in his mind as he eased into sleep, trying to ignore the burning sensation on his back.
End Intro