DO YOU LOVE ME?-SDA-Bakura POV
Bakura/Ryou, Ryou/Marik nonconsentual
CHELSEA WELSH
Summary-If He Hadn't Asked Questions I Wouldn't Have Had To Hurt Him. If He Wasn't So Needy, He Would Never Cry...
Damn him. Damn his melted coffee eyes, the soft voice that never acuses but always seems to make me feel that he is. I pinned his hands to the bed, purposfully bruising the slender wrists.
Stop screaming.
"Stop writhing; you can't get away."
He shut his eyes tightly, body ridged beneath my own, chest heaving as he awaited the pain that would consume him. My own hands that would eventually be his downfall.
...This never would have happened if he hadn't spoken. If he had kept that pretty mouth shut he wouldn't have to be crying right now.
"Never ask stupid questions Ryou."
"Gomen nasai." His voice was muffled against my shoulder, his arms limp, no longer struggling. He just lay there, waiting. As I wanted; I wasn't satisfied anymore.
With a snort, I sat up, straddling bare, slender hips and watching the delicate throat move as he swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands were palm-up by his head, wrists twisting at awkward angles as he tried to get the feeling back into the digits. My hands were still imprinted, dark blue against the white. I caressed his stomach, enjoying the jutting ribcage, the spaces between the individual ribs themselves. "Don't you eat Ryou?" My voice, although I had whispered, sounded as though it would shatter his curtained window.
He shook his head quickly.
"...Good..."
I stood, gathering pieces of my clothing as I went, waiting for him to say something. To accuse me of being a monster; he would lie and say he never wanted to see me again, only to hug me two hours later and say he didn't mean it.
He didn't. He simply lay there, a pretty porcelain doll amongst stained and twisted sheets.
Disgusting.
"Foolish boy!" My fist connected with the still-tender lower lip, blood leaving a trail like paint down his porcelain skin. "I'm sor-" "Don't!" I had an overwhelming urge to dig glass into his face. To pierce his pretty skin with slivers of metal until he's nothing but silver and crimson, "Don't apologise. Your weak enough as is, don't insult me by trying to get me into pity."
He rubbed the bruises beneath his sleeve, eyes on my shoes. They were shimmering.
"Ryou don't you dare cry," I hissed, grabbing the very same arm that was bringing him pain, "Hasn't anything I taught you gone through that thick skull?!" He flinched. A tear fell down his face and I wanted to kill him. I wanted to feel his pulse die beneath my hands. I took a deep breath, letting it out and looking at the bruises that showed from beneath the collar of his worn shirt. A small hole in the bottom where he often tugged at it in a state of fear or nervousness.
Teeth bit into the tender flesh of his lip, opening the fresh cut.
Beautiful...
I could hear it.
Ryou's muffled cries as someone who's violent taste could rival my own fucked him. Beat him. Used him.
...Was it abuse?
Of course. But who really cared? Ryou thought people did, those stupid mortals and the pharoah. He really is naieve to think that each smile they show to him, each kind word spoken is just a sick little game. They pity him; they fear me. I reside within his body so they believe that in befriending my hikari I myself will pity them.
Stupid children. I honestly don't know what the boy sees in them.
I didn't hear him leave. I didn't hear the front door's painfully loud creaking when he left. But a while later, while I watched in a distatched fascination the show on television, Ryou stood a few feet in front of the couch, something held in his shaking hands. He was looking at me, shivering in the thin cotton pajamas he was in. Or perhaps it was fear. "What do you want?"
He handed me a bundle of green paper, fifties tied together with a weak rubber band. "Marik told me to give you this..." He muttered, his eyes focused on my hand instead of my face. I took it from him wordlessly, my eyes focused on the idiot being arrested for smuggling cocaine. The tag in his shirt stuck out. I checked the back of my own t-shirt for a small, rough piece of paper. Nothing.
"Bakura-san?"
"What? What the hell do you want, Ryou?!"
He took a shaking breath, eyes dancing from my face to my chest, my hands and back.
"...I wanted to say I'm sorry..."
What?
He wrung his hands uselessly as he continued, lips struggling to form syllables, "I n-never should have asked such stupid th-things. And I...I..." He shook his head violently, taking a step backwards as if I had threatened to strike him. Maybe I did with a piercing gaze. Maybe now, as I merely sat here, I was the one making him dizzy and breathless with fear.
As he turned and walked away, the short sleeve of his t-shirt rode up, revealing yet more black and blue and green hidden beneath the green fabric.
Damn him and his useless emotions...
END