Was itching to write down two humiliation scenes. Reluctantly I had to develop some sort of plot, therefore writing this first chapter crap…I really had no idea how to link it together at first, but miraculously I actually stayed up all night with bunnies attacking me. This actually follows a plot that I'm actually happy about.
Story warnings: Incest, NCS, Death, violence, humiliation. And if Ryou-seme counts as a warning, there you go.
Chapter warnings: Pseudo-gory. Not very descriptive.
Ryou could hear the faint ticks of the clock.
BakuChan has such nice hands—
"Ryou," his brother said, disappointment evident. "Pay attention." He moved the pieces accordingly, death-pale fingers shifting almost seductively across the checker board; a beautiful, macabre black against white. Ryou followed his movements, watching, shaking—
—but I just can't, I—
Bakura leaned back, frowning slightly. "Put your hands on the board! Ryou, if you're not even trying there's no way I can teach you…"
—I can't I can't I can't—
Ryou slowly, hesitantly, pulled his hands out of his pocket. His fingers nicked at the edge of the blade— I can't— and he drew in a breath loudly, making a show of looking hurt. Bakura was at his side in an instant, and Ryou wondered if perhaps he would still be able to catch him when he escaped—
"Ryou?" Bakura's face was twisted in something akin to worry, the sharp slant of his eyes creasing in awkward lines. Ryou frowned, wanting to smooth back his hair and show him what he's doing to his pretty skin, but at the same time Bakura's lips were so close to his hand— "Ryou!"
Ryou started, jumping slightly. The knife in his pocket hit the push velvet surface of the chair, not making a sound.
"Sorry," he said, blushing cutely as he tilted his head; at Bakura's angle, he was sure to see it. His brother sighed, but didn't look up— he backed off instead, and Ryou felt a pang of dissatisfaction when Bakura's kneeling form stood from his feet.
Stupid chair, Ryou thought. Bakura was walking out of the room.
Ryou looked up at his brother's retreating form. "Are you getting me a bandage?"
Bakura paused in midstride. Ryou thought he looked as if he were posing; his hands moved from his side to the back pocket of his jeans, close to his hips, his arm bending at a curve in a casual manner. Ryou kept his hands carefully on his lap. His arm is still healing, I can't—
"Sorry," Bakura started. Ryou looked up sharply. "We don't have any left…would you do for some tape for now? I'll go out and get some bandages…"
Tape? Ryou's brows furrowed, if just slightly. They'd used it as replacement bandages in elementary school. The strip had stuck to his wound unpleasantly— the cotton placed under it was spread about the wrong spaces.
"It won't hurt, I promise," Bakura added, already slipping past the doorway.
Ryou kept his voice light. "Can't you at least treat my wound first?"
Bakura turned, if just for a second. In the next moment his voice was fading down the hallway. "It's just a small cut, Ryou," he assured, "we can't really treat it in any way. Just wash it up. I'll get you some tape…" Ryou could hear him stepping down the stairway.
He sat still. Can't can't can't. He breathed slowly, taking deep, long breaths, making sure he was relatively calm before heading into the washroom. He looked into the mirror, seeing the frown twisted upon his face.
Smile, he told himself. His lips twitched upwards— then, naturally. Can't do that to him. He made sure it stayed that way.
He dried his hands on a fluffy white towel, feeling the texture thoroughly. He smiled. It wouldn't bruise…
His eyes snapped to the door. What was I thinking?! He thought frantically, Oh, I can't— but he has such nice hands—
When Bakura wrapped the tape around his finger, it was with care. Ryou sighed inwardly, enjoying the touch. Soft…
By the time Bakura was out the door again, Ryou was already asleep.
-
Two days later, Ryou raised a hand to his face and found clean, unblemished fingers. Perfect…
Bakura's voice was faint through the door, lovely in its tremor. "R-Ryou…"
Ryou twisted the knob. On one of Bakura's hands were three large cuts, bleeding across horror-red skin. No, not skin... Ryou smiled at the sight, almost in gratitude. "BakuChan," he breathed.
Bakura's voice was lovely, lovely. "W-why…?"
Ryou stepped over his older brother's shaking body, admiring the way his lips were parted in such a pretty manner that his voice was so deserving of. "Don't worry, BakuChan," he smiled, "it's not that big of a wound; just a little skin." He continued down the hallway, heading downstairs. "Just wash it for now. I'll get you some tape…"
-
Ryou jolted. He fell off the chair— a chair?— at a tap. His eyes snapped open, and he looked around frantically—
"Ryou?"
Ryou whirled around, coming face to face with his brother. "B-Bakura," he gasped, shaking slightly.
Bakura stared at him for a few long moments. "I brought the bandages," he said.
Ryou froze. "I— I didn't—" He looked down at his hands, then back up at Bakura, expression twisted into shock. "I haven't—"
Bakura sighed, kneeling down once again. He took Ryou's hand— it's still here, Ryou realized— and gently peeled off the tape. "Bad dream?" he asked, reaching into a bag to take out bandages. Ryou's gaze followed his hand— dead-pale and perfect. Skin skin skin, Ryou thought, relieved. I knew I couldn't have done it.
When Bakura left the room, Ryou took the blade out of his pocket, walking shakily over to one end of the room. I couldn't, he told himself, I couldn't— no, skin doesn't mend that way—
The blade tittered at the edge of the window sill, glittering temptingly in the sun. I have to get rid of it, Ryou thought. Please, let the wind— as if answering his wish, a sudden breeze blew across the streets. For one last time, the blade tilted, then disappeared off the edge with a halo of white. Ryou stood for a moment, letting it sink in— then he ran out the door and dropped to his knees in the garden soil, right below the window of his room. He raked through the mud with his hands frantically, searching.
-
That night, Ryou dreamed of the blade— he held it confidently at his own throat, a bloody mess of something in his hands. Bakura lay face up before him, head rolled awkwardly to the side. It didn't look right somehow; sort of broken— ah, my fault, Ryou realized. He'd cut a bit too deep.
-
Ryou shot up. Instantly, he brought his hands to his throat, feeling smooth, unscarred skin. He let his breath calm before falling back onto the bed, if just to make sure this was real.
Suddenly, his fingers brushed past small dent in his throat. He froze.
I didn't—
Jumping from his bed, he ran into the bathroom, looking frantically into the mirror. I can't see it, he panted, I can't, but it's— then he saw it. A small nick, only a bit tainted red and not even bleeding. Ryou's breath hitched, and he craned his neck more to the side. This was how…BakuChan…
He shook his head. Bakura wasn't dead, he would never kill him— cut out his voice box— he breathed in slowly, then exhaled. With a bit of effort, he stood, taking one last looking into the mirror before heading back. The dent looked more like a brand— tiny, miniscule words pressed into the skin of his neck. He'd seen that pattern before; when he lay down again, he flinched, sitting up to inspect the cold metal lodged inside his pillow case. It's just the zipper, he assured himself.
There were no more dreams this time. Ryou woke up otherwise perfectly fine, padding into Bakura's room. His brother was asleep, breathing ragged, panting silently with that voice and—
–head rolled awkwardly to the side— didn't look right somehow— sort of broken— the blade, he wouldn't—
Ryou fled.
-
Bakura's eyes were pink, rimmed with red. Under the light, Ryou could see the blood pulsing inside his wrists; dark red in sickly blue and green against his hair, a pale blond-white. Alive, alive, Ryou thought, relieved.
"Ryou?"
Ryou's heart thumped almost painfully against his chest. Bakura was staring at him, not-silky hair matted to the side in sleep. It brushed against his throat, a faint mess of colours where the near-translucent skin of his neck met his jaw— bright bright hues of delicate, flowing red.
Alive, Ryou told himself, gulping. I want him alive.
-
This time, it was neither just his hand nor his throat. It was the whole of his skin, the delicate areas where Ryou could see the pulsing blood. Bakura was beautiful; everything was white, red, amazing. Ryou lacked the precision in the fault; his eyes were a dark shade of muddy brown, his skin only sickly, but not even enough.
"BakuChan," he'd breathed, out loud, but his brother could not scold him.
In this dream, he'd skinned his brother alive.
He was about to do the same to himself.
-
Ryou woke up.
Alive, he reminded himself, but this time he wasn't so sure.
Uhm. Yeah. Probably a bit boring here, but I promise it'll get better. Hopefully I'm not just typing a bunch of shit, but I don't make big promises like this so I guarantee I'll try, at least.
Click that button, yes.