Bakura x Yugi
Requested by sonata hirano- thank you
Opening Doors
You've been chasing me forever
Closing in as the days grow longer
And this could be my fault
Slowly grab a hold
To try and find what really matters
- Waking Ashland
And all of a sudden, he changed.
The sharp, angular planes of his opponents features softened, the cheeks filling out slightly in the face that became much less of his adversary by the second. The frown smoothed itself off of his forehead and his lips had lost their tightly drawn grimace and were fuller, with no distaste etched into the tiny, almost none existent wrinkles around the corners, and his eyes... his eyes became something else entirely.
They lost their narrowed glare and were wider, more childish, and though the colour of them didn't change the shade did lighten, just a little, although you could probably only tell from this close. There were no locked doors in those eyes, no hidden agendas or carefully construed game plans. There was no malice, no intent, just simple, clean curiosity staring right back out at him, making him feel like he was suddenly doing something very peculiar that warranted explanation.
Perhaps even more peculiarly, Bakura, for a moment, wanted to apologise.
But of course, that moment passed quickly.
"Hi," the other Pharaoh had said, awkwardly, understandably. "Look, I know you were in the middle of an argument, but I thought I'd step in."
Bakura remained silent, still being a little unnerved the sight of those unpolluted eyes staring into his own. He had suddenly felt very self-conscious about them, as if by somehow looking the man in front of him the other could read every inch of his soul; scour his mind for its idiosyncrasies and little feelings that made up who he intrinsically was.
"I just…" Yugi too, it seemed, had lost track of what he was saying, and his sentence faded off, only to be picked up again by an audible sigh.
There was a pause.
"No fights today, okay? There is no need for any more fighting."
With that final- and rather elusive- line, the little Pharaoh had turned on his heel and walked off, leaving a still gaping Bakura behind him, eyes wide with astonishment as, for the first time, he was left as the victor- if only by default.
Bakura followed suit, heading off in the opposite direction to the other, the standard scowl fixed upon his face. He was confused, certainly, if not because the Pharaoh had backed down then because the little pharaoh had been right. There was no need for fighting anymore. It hadn't been this pharaoh's fault, everyone told him, and even if it had been Bakura had been given back life, not equal, of course, to the village lost, but as close as anyone could get: he was the only one left, after all. He had even been given his own body: for some reason no one could fathom, the Pharaoh had decided to give Bakura the honour first. But there was still so much anger burning through his soul that he found it impossible not to fight.
Especially with the pharaoh.
Dammit but he was trying he thought as he slid in through the window of the little apartment that he had saved up (read: stolen) to buy. He'd never quite grasped (or wanted to grasp) the art of keys. He believed that if you were really good at opening locks without them then there was no point in carrying one around. So he'd melted down all the spare keys to the front and back door, and kept a single one of each underneath the safe in his room.
Not in the safe. Keys were not worthy.
His apartment was small but well decorated, due, of course, to the fine art of theft and burglary: what wasn't stolen was bought with stolen money. It had three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room with a kitchenette at one end. It had hardwood floors that squeaked when you walked across it in certain parts but muffled the sound of footsteps in others. He liked that, and put things that held value next to squeaky floorboards and worked out how to walk across the rooms to different parts silently. He could keep up his silence and he could assure the safety of his possessions.
He slumped on his small, low lying sofa regally, arms across the back. It was made of cream linen with red throws, and it reminded him of the things he would slump on back in Egypt. That was why the curtains were made of too much linen material as well- they looked like tent flaps when they blew.
He was pretty certain that the Pharaoh had never spent the night in a tent.
The little one, though…
He could visualise him in one of those modern tents easily. Their little group had had one on Duellist Kingdom, and he could see his miniature nemesis sitting in front of it now, laughing, a campfire throwing shadows and orange light on his face in equal measure.
He frowned to himself.
Why was he thinking of this again?
The light was dimming outside, the sky turning a musty pink that his host would have probably commented on with some sentimental rubbish. Bakura didn't really care about the colour- it was better than rain, either way you looked at it. He stood up with the deceptive elegance of a cat, wiry strength making his movements look smooth and languid, and passed a hand over his eyes briefly. He needed sleep: he had been out most of the night, making use of the darkness, and he was starting to feel the effects.
He went to sleep that night and dreamt of firelight, with a light, carefree laughter echoing insistently around his head.
--
He felt fresher the next morning, and remembered little of his dream. What he did remember, however, was the constant feeling that he was being watched. When he opened the door a couple of hours later and found the Pharaoh on his doorstep, the feeling was elevated.
If he had been anybody but himself, he would have laughed at the look of shock on the Pharaoh's face, one hand comically raised to knock just as the door had been pulled open. Instead, he frowned.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
The Pharaoh wiped the look of his face, replacing it with a grimace of distaste.
"My other half stepped in too soon yesterday- I need to finish our fight."
Bakura rolled his eyes, bored already.
"If it makes you go away any quicker, then whatever."
"Good. I…"
A strange look came over the Pharaoh's face, and his hands balled into fists.
"No- wait. Yugi-"
And there again was the little Pharaoh, standing in front of him looking much the same as he had done yesterday.
"I'm sorry, I was sleeping. I wasn't aware that he was coming over here today."
He was met with silence and Yugi tried to fight down a blush of embarrassment. Trying to combat the silence, he continued to talk.
"Like I said yesterday, I'm bored with fights. We don't need them anymore, right? We should all just try to get along and not worry about the past anymore and-"
"That's easy for you to say. You don't have several thousand years worth of past to worry about."
"Ah. True."
"You can come in, if you want."
Yugi blinked in surprise, and Bakura fought doing the same. What the hell had he said that for?
"Um, sure. If you're sure, that is."
Bakura had already gone back inside, leaving Yugi blathering on the porch. The shorter man followed him inside, looking around him curiously. He hadn't expected to come in, and if he had, he hadn't thought that Bakura's apartment had looked like this. It was a lot less grand, for one thing, with no chandeliers dripping jewels (obviously stolen) or expensive paintings (also stolen) on the walls. It was clean and relatively neat, and there didn't even appear to be any torture implements lying around, discarded and covered in blood. Yugi sniffed. He couldn't smell any decomposing corpses, either. He could smell something though, and it smelled pretty good.
He found Bakura in the little kitchenette, stirring something in a big metal pot on the gas ring.
"I'm sorry, did I- he… did we interrupt you during lunch?"
"Yes."
"Ah, um, well, I can go, if you want?"
"Don't bother. I need to ask you something, anyway."
"Oh."
There was a long pause. Bakura knelt to find something in a cupboard, and Yugi wandered over to the other side of the room. There was a framed picture on the bookshelf in the corner, the only one in the room, and Yugi looked at it. The floorboard squeaked underneath his foot.
"It's only a bookshelf. There is nothing interesting on it."
Bakura hadn't turned around, and Yugi found himself smiling and he put the picture back down. He went back to the kitchenette, where Bakura was ladling whatever was in the pan into a bowl. The thief turned, looked at Yugi doubtfully, then pushed the bowl over to him with obvious hesitation. He got another bowl out of the cupboard and filled it for himself. He normally made two portions when he made this particular dish, because he could keep some of it and re-heat it the next day easily.
"Thanks."
A grunt was his reply.
"What is it?"
"It's not going to kill you, if that's what you're worried about."
"I was just curious."
"Oh… I used to make this, well, something similar to this, when I was out in the desert. Slow cook it on an open fire in the evening. Good to eat when the night settled in and it turned freezing."
"Did you travel alone?"
"Not always. Sometimes with a band of thieves. You cook your own food, or barter for it, when you ride with gangs. When you lead them, like I did, you defiantly didn't share."
"So, am I the only person who has ever tried this, apart from you?"
"I guess so."
Yugi took a mouthful. He still wasn't sure what it was, but smelled good and he was hungry and Bakura was eating it too. It had meat in it, and some kind of root vegetable, and was very thick. It had been cooked, seemingly, in its own juices with only a little water added to make it stew-like. It was seasoned with spices Yugi hadn't tasted before, but it was good.
He looked up to find that Bakura was watching him quizzically.
"No one's ever tried it before. I was wondering what anyone else's opinion of it would be."
"It's good."
Bakura had already finished, Yugi noticed- he was a quick eater. He had put his bowl in the sink and was standing uneasily, leaning against the counter. He was staring at Yugi still, and it was making the other feel a little uncomfortable as he ate. One he put down his empty bowl, he caught the thief's eye and smiled.
Bakura gave no noticeable indication of response to the smile, and walked over to his sofa, sitting on it with the same regal air he always did. Yugi followed him, perching on the arm. Bakura, he noticed, was still staring.
"What did you want to ask me?"
There was a long pause.
"You look different to him."
"You mean to Atem?"
"Yeah."
"Huh. Everyone has always said we're close to identical."
"Well, no one has a clue then. You don't. Your faces are different. Yours is more open, more childish."
"You make me sound like I'm a kid!"
"You are."
"I'm twenty-one in three months!"
"And I'm several thousand years old. You're still a child."
"Only by your standards."
Bakura fought a very unusual urge to smile.
"Aren't you due to have the spell cast, soon?"
A shadow of nervousness passed over Yugi's face.
"Yeah. We're flying out the day after tomorrow. We were going to do it straight after you and Ryou, you know, but he was too tired. This is the first chance we've had to return."
The spell that gave the spirit a new body was a complex and lengthy one that involved the Egyptian siblings that had fought in Battle City. Bakura cast his mind back to when he had been separated. It was such a strange feeling, to not have another voice in his head, to not feel the strange bond between him and his host, who still made tentative attempts at communication with him. It had only been eight weeks since then, and he was still getting used to it. He suppressed a smile when he remembered how annoyed everyone had been when he had reappeared, following the Pharaoh's opening from the afterlife.
He had a knack, he supposed, for coming back to where he wasn't wanted.
He realised that the silence had gone on for several minutes, and that Yugi was biting his lip nervously.
"It's not that bad. At least you won't wake up tied down to the ground like I was."
"Well, we didn't know how you would react."
"True, I am unpredictable."
"I think that may be the first piece of truth I've ever heard you say about yourself."
Bakura looked at him with a stare than unnerved him.
"Now, how would you know when I'm lying or not?"
Yugi smiled, and for a moment was sure he saw Bakura smile, too. But then it had gone, ghosted across like it had never happened at all. Yugi wasn't sure if it even had.
"I have to go, anyway. But thanks for the food."
"Forget it."
"I'll stop by when I come back, huh?"
"Whatever."
Bakura made the mistake of looking up at Yugi then. He'd shared too much, and he knew it, and when he looked into those eyes he saw the smile in them, he saw the tendrils of joy that had come from finding out that even though the thief was a bastard, he wasn't so bad all the time. And worst of all, he saw those doors again. Open doors, with lights turned on in the rooms which they opened to. No symbols, no shadows, no lurking secrets. Just lights.
--
Yugi had been gone a week, and to Bakura's frustration that was how he thought of him now. 'Yugi'. Not 'little Pharaoh' or 'the Pharaoh's host', but 'Yugi'. There had been something in the way they had sat in easy silence, the way that Yugi had smiled at him before he left, the way that he'd actually felt vaguely comfortable that really… got to Bakura, really confused him.
By all rights, it shouldn't make sense.
No.
By all rights, he just shouldn't care.
Not that he did.
Care, that is.
It was just the recollection of those eyes. The way they hid nothing. They had burned their way into his consciousness, and now he could see nothing but them, the corners creased in smile, the reflection of the light dancing across them. He saw them when he slept, he saw them when he closed his eyes, he saw them in the mirror.
He glared at his bedroom door. He'd forgotten to close it, and now he could see them stained into the wood, mocking him.
He was cooking again. Normally he didn't bother with food preparation, just kept things in that could be eaten quickly and with little fuss- precooked meats, cans (a miraculous invention, as far as he was concerned), bread. One, maybe twice a week he would feel the need for hot food, so he cooked. He stared at the cooking food, noticing that, just like he'd done when he'd cooked a couple of days ago, there was enough for two.
Damn it.
He left the food cooking- he liked food he didn't have to watch- and stomped into the bathroom, not even bothering to look in the mirror as he pulled off his clothes and stood in the shower. It came out freezing and he hissed through his teeth, the fine hairs on his arms standing up, but didn't move. He waited for it to become hot, then twisted it until it became so hot it turned his skin red. He wrapped a towel around his waist then, bundling his clothes and taking them through to his bedroom.
He glared at the door as he passed it, but didn't bother closing it. He'd just have to look at the wood from the inside as well if he did.
He threw his clothes in the washing hamper, and started pulling drawers out of his chest, looking for clothes. Shirt? Navy blue. Done. Trousers? Black jeans. Done. He put them on his bed and, grabbing a second towel from another drawer, rubbed his hair vigorously until it started to dry.
There was a knocking at the door, and Bakura fought the urge to jump to get it.
He rolled his eyes at himself. It wouldn't be him. Of course it wouldn't. He'd convinced himself it would be a couple of times over the last week: now he was conditioned to assume that it wouldn't be.
He opened the door in his towel, unembarrassed until he saw, to his surprise, that it actually was Yugi.
Shit.
"Ah. Come in."
Yugi looked a little embarrassed, and diverted his eyes as Bakura made himself walk at a normal pace back into the bedroom. There he pulled on his clothes quickly, and rubbed his hair once again to make sure it wasn't still dripping. He wandered out of his room back into the living room, deciding against kicking the door shut in misplaced anger.
Yugi was on the sofa, head back, eyes closed. He cracked one open briefly when he heard Bakura come in.
"You're back."
"Yeah. A couple of hours ago. I came right over."
"Why?"
"Oh. I, um… I just did, that's all."
"Ah."
"So, we cast the spell. It's just me. It feels really weird."
"You get used to it."
"Atem is staying in Egypt for a while- he wants to explore the cities and see all the touristy junk- what's left over from his time. Grandpa said he'd take him around some of the excavated tombs he working on."
"Why didn't you stay?"
"I… I guess I missed stuff."
"Oh?"
"Home, my bed, you know, the usual crap."
"Ah."
"How have you been?"
"Fine. I robbed a bank last night. Cracked a safe, got away with a locked down piece of sculpture."
"Oh. That's… nice. What did you do with it?"
"Gave it to a museum. Too well known to sell on. Did it for the challenge."
"That was good of you."
"Rare. You hungry?"
"Um, yeah, sure. Is it stew?"
Bakura felt his exterior warm a little at the hopeful tone of the man's voice.
"No, not this time."
"What is it?"
Bakura didn't answer, just went to the kitchen. He pulled a deep dish out of the oven and turned it off with an annoyed flick of his wrist and the dial. Yugi leant against the counter top and watched him pull back what looked like thinly sliced bacon off from several small chunks of meat.
"You'd cook this wrapped up in smoked meats on hot coals. Peel of the top meats and eat what's inside. Here."
He passed Yugi a plate, on which sat three smallish pieces of cooked meat, a dark brown colour but still obviously tender.
"I'd make it when I camped late- made a quick fire whilst I set up camp and not feed it properly so the fire would burn down but the embers stayed hot."
"It's nice."
Bakura did not reply to the compliment, just ate his meat with a slight frown creasing between his eyebrows. Yugi had a sudden urge to smooth it out with his fingertips and he blushed a little at the thought, staring down at his plate as if Bakura would see what he was thinking just by looking at his face.
The tension crackled in the room as both of them glanced over at the same time and caught each others eye. Bakura felt paralysed, as if Yugi had frozen him. Yugi just thought he might be drowning in the dark pools that were Bakura's eyes.
The atmosphere was electric as they finally broke eye contact.
"Well, I, uh, should probably get going. Unpacking, and everything."
"Sure."
They both took steps towards the door, and as Yugi pulled on his coat from the peg he turned to the thief again, studying his zip as he pulled it up. He glanced at the taller man, and felt his pulse increase.
Bakura's breathing had got heavier, he realised, and he was starting to feel a little light headed. They stared at each other in the doorway, and he felt suddenly so lost because he could see those eyes again, and he didn't know what to do, what to say, how to act.
So, born of frustration, Bakura grabbed Yugi's chin and tilted it upwards so he could kiss him hard on the mouth, the hand slipping around to fist in the smaller man's hair and the other palm on the small of his back, pulling him up against the taller man. It was rough and a little uncomfortable until Yugi's hands reached up to cup Bakura's face, warm fingers pressed against cold skin, and Bakura, a little startled, released the hold on Yugi's hair, sliding it down to rest on the back of his neck.
Yugi opened his mouth for Bakura then, the white-haired mans tongue slipping through the teeth to deepen the kiss, a tight feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach. One of the smaller man's hands trailed down his chest until it got to the hem of shirt. He slipped it under and at the feeling of the thief's skin pressed himself up against him, breathing a moan into the kiss. Bakura heard it, felt the fingertips gently pressing against his stomach, could taste him.
He didn't understand it.
Couldn't understand.
Wouldn't understand.
And with that final burst of realisation, he pulled quickly away and left, marching out of the door, leaving a flustered and pink-cheeked Yugi behind him.
--
He walked. He walked for hours, the hand that had fisted in the other mans hair clenching again, sub-consciously, every few seconds. He was frowning to himself, but for some reason did not feel particularly angry, which was most unlike him.
In fact, he didn't feel much of anything at all.
What the hell had happened? One minute they had been standing there, the next… what had he done? And why?
He'd seen the man everywhere, that much was true. Not just his eyes… he'd see a flash of blonde, of black, of red out of the corner of his eye and turned, thinking it was him, more times than he could count whilst he had been away. But that didn't mean anything, did it? Just because every time he'd slept he'd dreamt of him. It didn't mean that he cared, and just because he felt comfortable with him didn't meant shit either.
And as for the kiss… well…
Ah, fuck it.
It clearly meant everything.
--
He slipped in through the window at about half one in the morning, tired and cold and still a little shocked by his revelation.
"Hey."
Bakura, had he not be so well trained, would have visibly jumped. He spun on the balls of his feet to see Yugi curled up on the sofa, one of the red throws covering him to ward off the cold.
"I wasn't sure if you were coming back."
Bakura was struck dumb. He had not been anticipating this.
"I… I'll go turn the heating on."
When he came back, a little more composed, Yugi hadn't moved and he sat, a little unwillingly, next to him. He wasn't going to say anything, he promised himself, he wasn't going to blurt out anything he would later regret or-
"Why do you have no doors?"
Damn it.
"What?"
"In your eyes. They're so… open. Why do you hide nothing?"
"Why do you hide everything?"
"It's safer that way."
"From thieves? Could they even get past your squeaky floorboards?"
"Doors remain closed so no one can see."
"Well, what if I wanted to open them? To go into darkened, dusty rooms and find hidden secrets?"
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I want to. And, more explicitly, I want you."
"What?"
"Did you not get that? The whole, 'let's not fight', the coming over two hours after I land? The fact that every time you and my other half fought, all I was ever watching was you…"
He tailed off, biting his knuckles. He realised he'd said too much: it had not been his intention to admit that he had had a crush on his other half's nemesis for a good year or so now. He'd justified it in his head, of course: technically, Bakura wasn't a bad guy, because now there was no sides. Everything was over, had been over. It had been years since that final duel.
Bakura was staring at him, completely gob-smacked. He didn't even care that he probably looked like an idiot.
He didn't know what to think. Really, what was there to think?
He couldn't do it, he knew that much.
He couldn't let himself open up to another person, couldn't let himself feel that vulnerable.
"Say something."
Could he?
He stared down at the little man, the man sitting next to him with open doors in his eyes, his heart on his sleeve and hope written across his face. The man with the audacity to care, the bravery to admit it. The man with affection in his hands and heat on his lips.
What was he doing?
He turned towards him, and ran a long, pale finger down Yugi's face, following his cheekbone to his jaw line. Yugi caught his finger in his own and kissed the tip of it delicately.
Bakura had no control anymore. Everything he did was being directed by this strange feeling in him that wasn't simply lust, although that made part of it, and it wasn't curiosity, or boredom or anything he'd ever had an experience of. It made him feel warm and, dare he say it, even a little happy. So when he stood and pulled the other man up with him, he stopped thinking.
Their lips met in an ardour that neither had anticipated, mouths already open to explore each other again. Yugi was pressed against a wall, their legs already interwoven, hands slipping up shirts and the heat rising between them. They tripped into the bedroom, falling onto the bed in a height of temperature and passion, eyes closed, hands wandering. When Bakura heard his name being said in a breathy, heady whisper, he said it back, with feeling that he had never thought he could feel. Clothes were scattered on the floor, moans fell out of mouths and when Bakura caught Yugi's eyes as they were peaking, he knew. He knew what he had to do. He knew the answer.
--
He woke up a couple of hours later. It was warm and sticky and the air smelt of sex and intoxication. Yugi was sitting up next to him, the covers falling to his waist. Bakura saw, with satisfaction, the bite marks on the pale skin that he had left.
They looked at each other again, and Bakura hesitantly smiled.
"I think that's the first time I've ever seen you smile properly."
There was a long pause. Yugi started to look a little nervous until Bakura took his hand, his thumb brushing across the smaller man's palm.
"I suppose, if you still want to see what is behind the doors, then I can show you."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'm warning you now, it's not pretty. To be honest, you might not want to stick around afterwards."
Yugi smiled, reached up, and kissed him.
"You really, really don't have to worry about that."
Bakura stared back, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Is that a promise?"
"Uhuh."
"Well, we might have to seal the deal."
Yugi's eyes sparkled.
"What did you have in mind?"