Well, I wrote this in about an hour just now. The idea has been around for ages though, and I wanted to actually sit down and write it about a week ago and just could not figure out how to start it. I did Bakura and Ryo simply because I think out of all the "yamis" and "hikaris" they have the most screwed up relationship. In my mind, I picture Bakura wanting to be feared rather than respected and thus, I wrote him as such.
I put this as mature because the beliefs Bakura hold are a bit messed up and thus I dont want to offend anyone. Read and review, please and thank you. Con-crit is more than welcome and encouraged.
Warnings: Ideologically sensitive material and just a tiny bit of physical torture, with a fair amount of psychological torture.
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, though I do wish I did...
The pale green sheets were tangled around the youth's pale limbs, trapping him even though he was awake enough to realize it. He was laying half on his stomach and half on his side, right arm flung over the bed, left resting casually on his side. Pale flesh gleamed like mercury in the light from the moon that trickled in from the window. White hair lay like feathers from angel's wings on the bed, brushed and shining gently. His breathing wasn't even in the slightest, jumping and slowing before speeding up. Now and then, then slender male would twitch as though trying to shudder away a bug or some invisible pest that was irritating his sleeping mind. Other times, he would jerk so suddenly that anyone watching might think that he was about to awaken. His lips moved slowly, forming nonsense words that were never actually vocalized. He appeared to be having a bad dream.
Shifting on the bed, the youth struggled against the bonds of the sheets, which were intertwined around his legs and torso. Whimpering softly, he lifted his right arm subconsciously and tugged restlessly at the sheets, sleepily trying to free himself. Once more his lips moved as though trying to articulate speech, but still, no sounds emitted. He shuddered from his ivory graced head to his toes, as though his mind was trying to rouse itself enough to awaken from whatever hell he was suffering in the confines of his psyche. He rolled, suddenly, onto his back, right left stretched out awkwardly in a position that made him look like a murder victim randomly tossed upon the ground. Moaning softly, he shook his head, milky eyelids fluttering. Unexpectedly, his vocal cords managed to shudder out enough sound to form a few words: "Don't…want…to…fear..."
As these soft, British accented vocalizations left the air, a sudden, sinister laugh filled the room. It seemed to come from nowhere, emitting from the very air itself. Then, the boy's eyes flew open in shock, their hue revealed for the first time – deep, intelligent chocolate brown, though glazed over in fear. He had enough time to draw in breath to scream before his body slumped as suddenly as though struck over the head, eyes rolling back into his skull as he sank into unconsciousness. The soft laughter continued to ripple around him as he felt himself falling far down, coming to an abrupt and painful stop. Moaning softly, the boy lay there, trying to decide if it was worth moving and seeing where he was, though part of him already knew.
Beneath him, the floor was cold and covered with a thin layer of sand, indicating that he was no longer in his bed. The right side of his face was pressed against the floor, both eyes closed, with both hands above his head. Although the clothing he was in was considered winter clothing for where he lived, it was much colder in this place and thus, he was now shivering. Scared, much too terrified to open his eyes, he instead waited, listening to the sinister laugh that continued to writhe around him. He hated that laugh, because he knew what it meant, knew that with that laugh came pain and humiliation. Shivering, quivering, he waited, because there was little more that he could do. When the spirit was ready to speak, the youth knew that he would.
Unexpectedly, the laughter halted and dead silence fell – the youth couldn't even hear himself breathing. The shaking redoubled, becoming even worse as he finally heard movement, though it was little more than a shift in weight. However, a moment later, the silence was completely shattered by a smooth, deep voice, speaking with a British accent. "So, little Ryo, what was that you were murmuring in your sleep?" The boy's breath hitched in his throat, but slowly, he pushed on the ground and lifted himself slowly up to gaze through terrified chocolate orbs at the male. The other youth was seated on an elaborate golden throne that looked like it had come straight out of a palace. Right leg crossed casually over the left, arms crossed in boredom, he gazed down through cruel, dark brown eyes at the male who was trembling and quivering before him.
"B-bakura-sama." The youth's voice was a soft whisper in his throat, the name and title stammering out of his mouth. Resting on his hands and knees, he looked up at the almost mirror image of himself. The differences between him and Bakura were little – his hair was sleek and flowing, while Bakura's was stiff and rigid, though both had the same, heavenly hue of white. Bakura's face was more angled than Ryo's and it made him look better. Swallowing thickly, the youth lifted himself from his hands and knees to just his knees, knowing better by now than to rise fully in the presence of his dark. The ancient spirit had made it very clear a long time ago that he was superior and that Ryo was never to stand before him. "I…I was j-just saying t-that I didn't want t-to fear you a-anymore, Bakura-sama."
Uncrossing his limbs, the male rose elegantly, snagging two daggers off the wall directly behind him without looking. Twirling them in his hands dully, he gazed at the shaking youth with an evil grin curled upon his lips. "Do you now, land lord?" There was a note of mild curiosity in his voice, though the words were cutting and hard. A soft chuckle escaped his mouth as he grabbed the boy by the throat and pushed him back against the wall. Holding him there with a knee to Ryo's groin, he pinned one arm to the wall, stabbing the point of the dagger through the male's long sleeved sleep shirt. This was repeated with the other arm and Bakura stepped back, ignoring the whimpers and pleads. Chuckling, he crossed his arms again, admiring his handiwork. "Land lord, do you know why I have made you fear me?"
Ryo looked, terrified, left and right. He had learned long ago not to struggle when made to do something and thus, let himself be pinned and then held to the wall. Forcing himself to meet his dark's eyes, he shook his head. He had a few ideas as to why he had been abused and tortured into submission to the spirit, but did not have the nerve to voice them. The spirit utterly horrified him, as Ryo knew the things he had done in their time together. Bakura never made any attempt to hide what he did. To buy himself some time, he looked around the room, recognizing it instantly. It was his soul room – dark and creepy, with a stone floor covered with black particles of sand, it was a single room. On the left side was a bed, small and cramped, while the right side was dominated by the huge throne. Many a night he had awoken to find himself laying in that bed, staring up at the spirit as he inflected some new horror upon him. "No, Bakura-sama, I don't know."
A truly delighted expression began to crawl across the male's face, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a sick grin. His dark eyes glittered with wicked excitement and he clapped his hands together. "Oh, you don't?" He seemed quite pleased that the youth did not know the reasons behind his torture. Turning in a manner that was almost militaristic, he began to pace slowly and evenly in front of the boy, never once removing his eyes from Ryo's, who watched with blatant terror. There was wicked mirth flashing on his face now and then, and it was clear that the spirit was enjoying himself. It had been sometime since he had sat down and had a heart to heart chat with his host, so to speak. With a simple flick of his hand, he summoned another knife from the wall and began to twirl it casually while pacing back and forth. He was not searching for words, he knew exactly what he was going to say, instead he was merely letting the tension build.
Spinning sharply around to face the youth, he grinned sinisterly, allowing his voice to be heard now. "I want you to fear me, land lord, for the simple reason that, so long as you fear you, you will never dare to betray me." A nod of his head was giving, ivory locks sent to swaying with the motion. Sliding the blade from the youth's waist up to his chin, Bakura smiled softly, the expression almost caring. With a slight twist of his wrist, he opened a small cut in Ryo's smooth collarbone, causing a whimper to emit from the youth. It was not a deep cut and did not even begin to bleed immediately, but it stung like fire and made him flinch. Bakura watched without care as blood trickled down beneath the shirt, staining it wherever it touched.
Ryo did not dare to speak, knowing it would only cause more pain if he did, but he wanted to protest. He would never betray Bakura! Try and stop him at times, yes, stand in the way when it came to his friends, yes, but never betray him outright. The idea was unfathomable. Bakura removed the blade from his collarbone and continued pacing, still speaking in a low voice. "You see, fear is a much better motivator when it comes to betrayal. If you take a person, especially a weak, pathetic mongrel such as yourself, and abuse and use him until he breaks and shatters, then you have his fear. That person shall never disobey or betray you. He would fear the consequences far too much." At this, Bakura gave a soft chuckle, nodding once more.
He paused once again and turned to face the male fully, eyeing him as a butcher eyes a cut of meat or a lamb ready to be slaughtered. "And you, my dear hikari, would never dare betray me, correct?" Pressing the tip of the dagger to Ryo's side, he waited until the boy had nodded before continuing his soliloquy. "Of course not. And why? Because you fear me!" Bakura gave a harsh laugh, nodding to himself as though this made the most perfect sense. "Now, perhaps you are wondering why I never tried to earn your respect or trust." Once more, he pressed the tip of the blade into the youth's flesh, just barely breaking the skin and waited until an answering nod had been given. "Once again, this is simple: Fear will always outweigh respect. Take a man, place him in a position where he must respect and –" Here, Bakura shuddered in disgust. "- love, and the only thing you will get is a knife stabbed into your spinal column, sooner or later." Giving a laugh, he stepped away, snapping his fingers.
The blades holding Ryo up vanished and he dropped to his knees, shivering. The two daggers fell at his side, one point down in the ground, the other laying on its side. He looked up in surprise to see that the spirit had turned his back on the youth, staring at the throne in silence. Ryo gave the daggers a terrified look, expecting them to rise up and stab into his sides and cause him pain. But when Bakura spoke, it made him jump. "Case in point. Someone who respected me would have grabbed the daggers and killed me. It's that simple, land lord." Turning, the spirit took the daggers away by simply holding out his hands – they flew into his grasp. "You, little hikari, fear me and thus would never dare something so stupid." He gave a light laugh, nodding his head a third time. "It is always better to make someone fear you than to have them respect you. In the end, respect is for the weak."
Ryo closed his eyes and drew back as Bakura began to walk toward him, anticipating pain, blows, cuts, slashes. But when none of that came, he opened one eye, then both. The spirit had kneeled before him, resting one heavy hand on his shoulder and staring at him deeply. A soft smile played at the edges of Bakura's lips, an almost loving look in those sienna hued eyes. "Never forget that, land lord." Bakura's voice was a gentle whisper, his breath warm on Ryo's face. "Never forget that, in the end, you are mine and nothing you do or say will change that. Remember that I rule you by fear and fear alone. You will never have my respect and I never want yours." He moved his face closer, breathing the words into Ryo's ears, hot breath trickling down his back and making the youth shudder. "Fear me, hate me, loathe me, but never respect me." Patting the youth's head lightly, he erected his lean form and walked to his throne. "Now get some sleep, land lord. You have school."
Ryo sat for another couple of moments, trembling and panting. He hated being so physically close to Bakura, because it meant he had no chance to escape should the male try and harm him. Standing slowly, he made his way over to the bed and slowly lowered himself onto it, shivering. Thankful to have only escaped with a single, slight cut, he curled up on the bed, facing the wall rather than the watching dark. Anything to escape those evil watching eyes, that pitiless stare that made him shiver and shake. He would always hate the spirit of the Ring, until the day he died. "Goodnight, Bakura-sama." The whisper left his mouth before he could stop it, but he knew he'd get no reply. He told the spirit good night every night and the thief never replied. Closing his eyes, Ryo curled up and fell asleep.