Disclaimer: I don't own Yuugiou.
Fire
My other half loves fire.
Flickering golden in the dark, dancing with shades of yellow and red and blue and orange, the forms of demons playing within. Laughing, taunting, mocking demons that you can never get a hold of, because it burns you before you can reach them. Shimmering, flowing, beautiful demons that come only when something like this happens.
He stands there in the dark at night, watching the fire and trying to touch it without being burned. I'd stand there with him, giggling as he got transfixed by the steady movement of the flames. Movement that would start the slow beat of a broken lullaby that drags us down to sleep and eternal rest, making me want to lay on the grass and breathe in the scent of my other half as he continued to feed the fire.
I've always found my other half pretty, yet as I watch him gaze at the flames - the golden light dancing across his face, hair falling into his eyes wide with wonder and almost adoration, lips parted in slow breaths and a relaxed frame standing to feel the warmth - I find him utterly gorgeous.
Sometimes he would take something non-flamable and poke into the fire, directing the movements of the demons and making them dance for us. He would hum an ancient song for them, and tell me it was to make me smile. And smile I did, always, listening to the soft hum and watching the swerving demons.
Occasionally, if I was lucky, he'd make it burn high up, over the fence, over the roof, over the top of the huge tree we have in our backyard. Then the demons would be long and thin, twining together in a sensual dance that my other and I would try to imitate, but it would always end up with him above me, our mouths melded together and tongues twisting as our hands went wild to satisfy our hunger. I never complained, though.
Of course, he also makes the fire low and wide, going across most of the lawn so we could race through, the flames licking at our feet and legs as we laughed and jumped. And when the fire died, he'd lay us out in the hot embers and we'd watch the stars, twinkling lights constantly surrounded by the rich black of dark.
He'd always wait for the grass to regrow before making the fire again. He said it made the fire last longer, and made the smell sweeter. I'll take his word for it, since I never pay that much attention.
Once, only once, he set the fire to the tree. That was the best night of fire, because the smell was even better, since my other had tied the Yuugi-tacchi to the trunk and branches. The flames ate at their flesh, turning it black as their clothes melted and merged into it, their hair being played with by demons.
Such lovely screams filled the air that night, as I watched them burn. I didn't understand why they were screaming, though; I would love to be surrounded by those embodiments of freedom and colour, life and Hell.
My other said that they didn't understand the beauty of fire, and my dislike for them grew.
That fire lasted forever, all night and into the day, and the corpses were buried in the Shadow Realm. My other didn't set the tree on fire again, to my disappointment, but he made it up to me.
My other half loves fire.
And I - his yami - do as well.
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