A/N: This a darkshipping drabble written solely for your viewing pleasure. Rated for strong language and implied intercourse. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters used; I merely borrowed them for my own sick amusement.
Heaven and Hell
~;~
I don't know why I'm here. All I know is that he is here, sitting pompously across from me in that freakishly lime green armchair...
I mean, where the bloody hell do you even get a chair like that? And where the hell am I, besides?
Am I drunk...? I think I am, or at least somewhat intoxicated. My mind feels quite a bit fuzzier than my hair, and I'm almost positive there is an open bottle of gin on the coffee table, half empty. That arrogant son of jackal doesn't look intoxicated, though. He looks...pleased. Too pleased... His hand is cupping his chin, elbow perched on the armrest of the chair, legs crossed, spiky hair actually combed down for a change, and his mouth is curved into an obviously sultry grin that makes me want to hit him. I think I might...
So I stand, naturally. What the fuck is he going to do about it?
But the world isn't on good terms with me at the moment because as soon as I'm on my feet, it turns upside down, and I'm suddenly on my arse again. Bugger.
Yami chuckles softly, standing as well. He makes his way across the room, around the coffee table... He's standing over me, head tilted sideways and lithe hands perched on his hips. I just now notice that he's wearing full leather attire instead of his standard leather/denim combo. Not that I give a rat's arse about his fashion taste; it just struck me as odd, is all.
"Silly thief... I thought you said you 'couldn't stand the sight of me' and were 'leaving this fucking instant'?"
Had I said that? I don't remember saying that, but it sounds like a bloody good idea. Pharaoh's ugly face is in my way, though...
"Shu'up. I hate you."
Yami just smiled. "I know you do."
"Y'know what? You can go straight to hell."
"I already have. Twice."
"I rule hell. I would know if you'd been there already."
"And I would know if you ruled it since I rule heaven."
"Hah! Bloody liar."
"M'not lying."
"Prove it."
Oh hell... He's leaning forward. His lips are dangling above mine, his breath fanning little tingles all over my face. I blink rather slowly, trying to figure out what really just happened, but before he even gives me the chance I'm being smothered by a deliciously hot friction that blanks my mind out and shuts down all other trains of thought. A warm, wet tongue parts my lips and decides to ravage everything behind them. I can't even breathe.
"Heaven is this, Bakura. Why can't you see it?" he murmurs against me. I can feel his arms pinning me against the front of the chair. The hardwood floor feels cool against my hands. And his sentence finally registers in my mind a few minutes after he'd already said it.
"I don't belong in heaven," I mumble back against his feverish kisses. "Heaven's too good for me..."
"Are you saying I'm too good for you?"
"Cocky bastard..."
Yami chuckles, and kisses me harder. "I'm not, you know."
"Not what?"
"Good. Too good, or otherwise. I'm perfect for you."
"Shut up. You're dumber than a half-witted kitchen wench if you think--"
His kisses start to grow violent, now. He cut off my sentence (and my breath) with a knife-like flick of his tongue. When did his hands get a hold on my wrists? He's pressing me against the chair, nearly straddling me right there in the floor.
And now I know I'm drunk because I haven't kicked the fucking shit out of him yet for taking advantage of me like this. Yeah, so maybe his kisses do stir a part of my soul that I'd thought had died a long time ago. So what? I still hate him, regardless. I can't do anything but hate him.
And he knows that. "I do hate you. I hate you more than I have ever hated anything!"
"Stop that," Yami says. His violet-red eyes glare at me. "Stop telling yourself lies!"
"How do you know you're not the one lying to yourself?" I counter, snarling. "Telling yourself that you're attracted to me...what a joke! Are you bloody stupid?! I hate you, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it!"
"Oh really?" His violet eyes turn into a dangerous shade of burgundy, a shade that my own dark brown irises have probably also taken on. "Turn over."
"What?" I growl. I'm not taking orders from--
"I demand it. Turn over, or I will make you turn over."
"You're gonna fuckin' have to make me, 'cause I'm not doing shit for you!" I shove him back a few feet using my knee as leverage. The dark color of his eyes means that he's deadly serious...and he still hasn't released my hands from his grip.
Without a word, he proves my big mouth correct when he twists me painfully around by my arms. He made me turn over. Bastard...
"I don't know why I like you, okay?" he hisses into my ear, vehemently pinning me to the floor, hands beside my head. "I don't even know if I want to like you, but I do. There's not really anything I can do about it, so you might as well accept it. I'm not lying to myself; that's something only you can do, Bakura."
"Fucking prat! Get the hell off me!"
He sighs now. "I didn't want to have to do this..."
I pause. "...do what?"
He doesn't reply, and for several moments neither of us move. I still feel fuzzy...
Then I feel his hand start to stroke my lower back, causing a lovely warmth to creep into my skin. He caresses me lower and lower - turning me on, much to my chagrin - until he finally stops only long enough to violently yank my pants down to my knees.
"You'll understand when you wake up tomorrow," he says softly.
---
I suppose I understood. Sort of. Maybe.
The main point is that I still hated him, regardless of what he did, and not more so for it. He wanted to prove me wrong, and he failed. I was right. Well, half right. I wasn't lying about hating him, but he wasn't lying about liking me, either. We were both telling the honest truth. (Ha. Go figure.)
However, I found that I was somewhat more attracted to him, too, after that night. I craved that wholeness that he'd given me. I'd always felt empty; half the time I wondered if I even had a soul to feel with. But when he was inside me, I felt...complete. (Fuck, that does sound religiously like 'heaven' doesn't it? I hate it when I'm wrong, but I hate it even more when he's right...) I feel more like myself with him next to me. (Or, in that case, on top of me.)
Which is a good thing. It benefits me, and has nearly nothing to do with him. I get off scott free (no pun intended). Am I right?
...
Of course I'm right.
I hate him. ...Right?
...
Right. I think I shall go see him again tonight, with more gin and lime green armchairs and fake heavens and passionate kisses that leave me feeling whole, yet somehow unsatisfied.
I think I might try to kill him this time, too, just to keep things interesting. 'Cause in the end, he is more like heaven, and I'm more like hell. Our destinies were made to be intermingled.
~;~
A/N: Thank you for reading; I wrote this when I was totally as drunk as Bakura was. XD Obviously, it's also unedited. (And if you were wondering, Bakura and Yami were just being metaphorical when they were talking about ruling heaven and hell.) Comments are appreciated. --Shaku