content warnings: mentions of abuse, later murder and (fic spoiler) character death (suicide)
fic edited from original version: May 2014
hope you like it
Chapter Lo-
Ninety-six giggled gleefully as their opponent crashed down, his lifepoints sinking as quickly as his consciousness. The holograms surrounding them vanished, yet even the realistic image of the monster Black Mist seemed to linger a moment more to savor this deliciously easy victory before disappearing. Ninety-six allowed his feet to touch the ground and sauntered past his silent servant, stretching his arm out in a greedy claw. A Number appeared from the out-cold duelist and flew towards them.
The power of the Memory streamed into him, and Ninety-six once more felt the rush of emotions and senses that the Memory inspired. He shivered, only vaguely aware of Yuma's footsteps approaching from behind, and relished in the high, stretching his back and floating, running his own claw-like fingers through his hair just to grab onto something, as though he could hold onto the feeling and make it last.
"Does it feel good, master," Yuma murmured, and Ninety-six nearly went still at the other's sullen, serene tone. He turned, still playing with his earrings as he eyed his servant. Yuma's expression was still but somehow lazily focused, as though Ninety-six had said or done something interesting but not unusual. Perhaps, to a human, this experience could seem somewhat fascinating. Ninety-six considered that before smiling, and held out his arms.
Yuma obediently stepped forward for the other to breeze his hands on his face and sides. "Yes," he answered, and leaned next to Yuma's ear, "just like you. You've been so good, Yuma. Once everything is done, I'll make sure to take good care of you."
Yuma began to lift his arm before pausing only to let it hang again, his eyes still locked and focused on the monster's. Ninety-six frowned and ceased his petting. Yuma had been doing a lot of that lately - forcing his own movements to stop, staring at his master with more bravery than before, and yet without a trace of defiance.
Ninety-six knew, from both Yuma and the human who owned Ninety-six's card before him, that humans were much like pets; the better one treated them, the more fond they were of that person. He supposed this wasn't unusual, the way Yuma began to behave - touchy, almost, and with an intense fondness in his eyes whenever they landed on Ninety-six.
The Number backed away from Yuma and turned, dismissive. He let his feet touch the ground again and walked, trying to ignore the surprising apprehension he felt at Yuma's steps following so closely, his eyes still locked with and searing onto the back of his neck.
Yuma stepped out of his nightly shower with only the towel that the motel provided each room hung loosely around his waist. His hair hung down, weighted by the shower's remaining moisture. Ninety-six acknowledged his presence before refocusing on the television's news, again noticing that he was the first and only thing Yuma had gazed at in entering the room.
The reporters chatted about topics which had nothing to do with suspicious city activity, and gave not a hint of where or who could have their next Number. Yuma watched as well, sitting beside Ninety-six's sprawled form on the rented bed, close enough so that the Number could smell the musk of the body soap the other had used. He glanced at him before snapping his attention back at the screen.
"Maybe," Yuma broached the prolonged silence between them, and it was only then when Yuma's voice got his attention that Ninety-six realized he had a while ago ceased listening to the news, the program becoming nothing but static in the forefront of Yuma's close, smooth shoulders and still heavy bangs, "we could get a new D-Pad, one that connects to the Net. T.V. doesn't always cover everything that goes on, but if you do a little research, we could find out stuff that they're not even mentioning." He leaned back as a commercial aired, turning to Ninety-six again to see if he received his approval. "I can go looking for one tomorrow, when the stores are open. We don't need a really expensive one, so I can afford it," he worried his lips before finishing, "for you."
His fingers clenched the sheets underneath them, and he gulped. Ninety-six replied to his servant's nervousness with a blank look, not understanding what he could have done to inspire the other's seemingly spontaneous trepidation. Was Yuma seeking an answer, or a treat? Unsure, Ninety-six reached his arm out, noticing Yuma's eyes glint in expectation, and petted Yuma's hair and neck. The tension left him, but as Ninety-six retreated, Yuma frowned. Ninety-six regarded him a moment more before nodding curtly and rising, not used to feeling so inexplicably focused on and awkward.
He walked around Yuma to the fridge. "Hungry, Yuma," he asked, taking out some artistically molded pieces of rice and fish. He set the food on the bedside table, ignoring Yuma's faraway eyes for a glass of tapwater. Yuma sat down quietly, staring at his food as Ninety-six left the water in front of him and retreated back to his previous position in front of the television - though he couldn't catch a word of what was being said before he finally gave up for the night and switched the power off an hour later, after Yuma had tucked himself into bed.
Ninety-six opened his eyes in the dead of night to Yuma's hands in his hair. His servant wasn't fazed as his eyes flew open, imploring; Yuma continued to look down at him with the same fascinated, almost adoring expression he had earlier. "You're so smooth," he commented idly as Ninety-six reached out to grab his wrist, intending to stop Yuma's foreign actions but instead found himself passive, curious, his hand choosing to simply feel Yuma's skin brush underneath his fingers.
Yuma's eyes glinted once more at the passivity, and Ninety-six waited, excited, though as to why he felt himself begin to tremble, he had only a vague idea. He knew humans expressed affection through various physical acts, though which acts meant what in terms of their intentions seemed indefinable. Yuma's knees gave in as he slowly sat himself on Ninety-six's middle, straddling him, and he leaned forward.
"I'm going to touch you here again, master," he informed, and Ninety-six stiffened, torn with whether or not he should reposition them, force himself out of this situation where he felt, for some reason, more vulnerable despite that the Number was obviously the stronger one. Yuma felt the other's stillness and waited, watching the alien's expression become conflictingly guarded, but after the moment, Yuma's hands moved up again.
Ninety-six sucked a breath as rough fingers squeezed the gems near his neck. Yuma flinched as his wrists were grabbed off. "Wait," Ninety-six seethed, then regained his bearing before he met with Yuma's tense demeanor. Yuma just wasn't afraid anymore; his servant regarded him with apologetic concern. He elaborated, "I don't want it too fast." He loosened his grip on Yuma's wrists, released him, and his servant relaxed at the freedom. Ninety-six lay flat on his back, not having even realized he had sprung up at Yuma's touch. "Touch me slowly," he instructed before snapping his gaze from Yuma's large, smiling face and towards the expressionless blank ceiling.
Yuma obeyed, and Ninety-six moaned as soft, small fingers rubbed the gems in twirling motions. Yuma dipped his face closer. He pressed the gems down softly as he rubbed the outer base of them, and shifted his seating as Ninety-six mewled and arched his back at the action. Clawed hands sprung up to cover his palms on Yuma's shoulder blades. Yuma gave a soft, short-lived cry as Ninety-six clenched his hands and scratched down the other's skin before Yuma moved one of his hands down to play with one of the gems near his master's pelvis.
The Number bucked. "Yuma." Human methods for expressing affection, for whatever emotional or physiological or otherwise innate reason, had the effect of making one whine and scream uselessly, and without a cause for such. "Yuma," he growled, grasping his servant's hair and pulling him closer, making Yuma grunt from the shock and pain. Ninety-six's hold snapped open on its own and stroked the spot he'd tugged. "Kiss me again, Yuma." No hesitation; Ninety-six saw the other's eyes close before pink lips puckered and smashed onto his.
Yuma's tongue painted saliva on his lips. Ninety-six opened his mouth eagerly and stuck his own tongue out, bringing it into Yuma's mouth and brushing his, just as Yuma had done to him before. Yuma moaned and pressed himself against him, rubbing the gems near Ninety-six's pelvis with his thighs while burying his hands in his hair. The other gasped in his mouth, his arms locking Yuma closer, his claws pressing and scratching Yuma's back and shoulders once more.
Yuma had begun to grind himself over Ninety-six, and gradually picked up his speed. Ninety-six felt Yuma's hardness grow from beneath his underwear as it rubbed the Number's stomach. He slid the sharp tips of his fingers down Yuma's back and fondled with the hem of the boxers. His fingers dove in, stroking the shape of Yuma's bottom before pushing towards his front.
Yuma sprung up from the kiss, going down for the gem near Ninety-six's neck. Lips pecked the gem, licked and sucked it. The hand in Yuma's boxers snapped up and grabbed his hips in Ninety-six's spasm, and the Number cried out.
His legs bent beneath Yuma as they clenched the sheets, and he threw his head back as Yuma lapped at him while eager hands reached for his other gems. He haphazardly grabbed his servant's back and neck. "Yuma, Yuma." A loud, long groan vibrated his throat and escaped his lips, and his whole body went limp as Yuma gave his gem and jaw their last pleasant kisses for the night.
Ninety-six's eyes were closed, though Yuma never knew or asked if this was him sleeping or merely resting. Still, he touched Ninety-six's face, running a finger over the triangle jaw. The monster made no sound or movement. Yuma took a deep breath and laid his palm on his master's chest, eyes darting slightly in an attempt to note and memorize the details of his nightmare's unusually calm expression.
Softly, he whispered, "Did it feel good?" Ninety-six wasn't even breathing, and continued to be limp, though Yuma had not expected or sought an actual answer. He shifted and snuggled himself onto the Memory's chest. "Better than a Number?" His eyes closed, his mind focusing now only on getting some sleep. A dark arm reached down past him as his breathing slowed, and Ninety-six pulled the blanket over Yuma's shoulders.