Paradocs: The following is my first ever song-fic. I'd say out-and-out that this is Tendershipping, but that'd be hypocritical of me!
So I'll just prevaricate and say that there are some subtle hints at Yaoi in this. And some Shonen-ai.
Disclaimer: I only own the story. Not the song, nor the characters. Gwah.
Warm yourself by the fire, son,
And the morning will come soon.
I'll tell you stories of a better time,
In a place that we once knew...
Ryou sat, chin in hand, staring through the glass of orange juice in front of him on the table. He hadn't moved for a solid five minutes, so lost in his thoughts was he. His breakfast, creampuffs and all, sat, hardly touched, on a white plastic plate. The scrambled eggs he'd prepared so carefully earlier had grown cold,
"Wakey-wakey, hikari," a dark voice said from next to his ear. Ryou jumped out of his half-trance, turning around to glare at the black-coated figure that could have been his doppelganger and, in the process, knocking the beverage over and onto the floor in a shattering of glass. Bakura smiled wickedly at the teen's reaction, ignoring the mess he'd caused.
"D-damn it, Bakura!" Ryou swore as he stood up, white sweater splashed with orange juice. His brown eyes were blazing with sudden anger at his yami. "That's the third glass this week you've gone and bloody broken!" Bakura's grin widened.
"I haven't broken anything, Ryou," he said in an icily calm voice. "You've just overreacted. As usual. Don't forget to eat now." He turned around and started to walk out of the kitchen, leaving an infuriated Ryou to clean up the mess. "You wouldn't want to miss anything at school again, would you?" He chortled, as though he'd made a joke.
Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust,
We had a place that we could call home,
And a life no one could touch.
Ryou clenched and unclenched his fists rythymically as he grabbed a towel and dustpan from their now-permanent place on the counter. That damnable yami of his! Bakura knew perfectly well that Ryou hadn't been in school in months.
Bakura had been in the habit of picking fights in high school and pulling Ryou into them. Ryou hadn't fought in them, but Bakura had always been able to somehow get his hikari to shoulder part (or, more often than not, most) of the blame for the scuffle. One fistfight after another had led to the suspension of the two, and, finally, expulsion.
Before that, Ryou had been a model student. High marks in every subject, quiet and deferential towards others, never the sort to seek out friends, mind, but not a troublemaker either; the teacher had used him as an example to the others in the class on more than one occasion. Now...
Well, now Ryou was little more than a high school drop out living with the sadistic Bakura and cleaning up broken glass from the floor. The thought was enough to make him want to scream, if Ryou was the screaming sort.
Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don't need your help now,
You won't let me down, down, down!
Absorbed in his anger and thoughts as he was, Ryou inhaled sharply as a shard of glass jabbed into his skin. Sweeping up the last of the mess and dumping both the now-stained towel and glass-laden contents of the dustpan into the garbage can, Ryou pulled the glass out of his hand, ignoring the metallic scent of blood that entered the air as he did. Pressing a paper towel to the small wound, he stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room.
For once, there was no sign of Bakura. Ryou sighed as he sat down on the sofa, picking up a catalog of college courses he'd been reading since he'd been expelled. It was how he forgot about Bakura, about his anger with the sadist who'd once been resident in his body, and was now his roommate.
Eyes scanning a page that advertised the perks of majoring in history ("Know more than your friends! Impress people at parties!"), Ryou felt himself sinking into a sudden need to do... something about Bakura. Anything. Hell, he'd even yell at him, if it made Bakura go away. And yet, inside, Ryou knew that it would always be a thought, not an action. There was something about his yami that made him unable to yell or express his rage, verbally or otherwise. He let the magazine fall a little away from his face and onto his lap.
And then something blocked out the lights. Hands shoved the teen against the back of the couch. Ryou felt a sudden pressure applied to his lips, something trying to break through into his mouth.
We are the angry and the desperate,
The hungry, and the cold,
We are the ones who kept quiet,
And always did what we were told.
Ryou struggled, pushing at the force that was holding him down, pursing his lips shut tightly, until the pressure left and the hands ceased holding him. Bakura licked his lips as though he'd just eaten something particularly tasty.
"You taste like oranges," he said finally, breaking through the silence that had spread so suddenly. "Don't see why you had to be so defensive, though." Bakura smiled ferally. "You always did everything I said to before. Looks like you're a little grouchy toda--"
"Stop it." Ryou cut through Bakura's words, standing up with his hands balled into fists next to his sides. He ignored the flow of blood that slowly wound its way down his hand. For all his anger, Ryou sounded upset, next to tears even. It was the state that any confrontation with Bakura inevitably led to: Bakura smiling and getting his way, Ryou sounding like a scared little girl. Ryou hated it, hated the way he sounded when compared to the ever-cool-and-calm Bakura who'd tormented him for so long. "Stop playing games with me, Bakura," he said, voice quavering as he fought to get it under control. "I-I don't like it."
Bakura shrugged, smirking wickedly as he turned away from the teenager. "You wanted it, admit it." He stalked silently out of the room, leaving Ryou standing there yet again, this time with an emotional mess to clean up.
But we've been sweating while you slept so calm,
In the safety of your home.
We've been pulling out the nails that hold up
Everything you've known.
Ryou sat back down on the couch, wiping the blood on his jeans absentmindedly as he sank into his thoughts once again. Wasn't it enough that Bakura had ruined his life countless times before? Now he had to ruin his own emotions? Ryou's shoulders shook with a surge of anger at his roommate.
Bakura didn't, couldn't, actually like Ryou, not enough to even vaguely consider kissing him, could he? Ryou pulled a roll of gauze tape out of his pocket as the wound's bleeding slowed. He'd taken to carrying it with him ever since Bakura had cut him that one time; it was a handy little thing, he'd found, especially since these 'accidents' happened with such regularity around Bakura. Wrapping his hand with it, Ryou tore off what he'd used and shoved the bandage back in his pocket.
Why did he always sound like such a coward around Bakura? He could never say what he wanted to, could never voice anything he'd felt around him. Ryou found himself standing up, following the trail Bakura had taken to the black-walled bedroom the yami had taken to using. He wanted to yell at Bakura, to tell him to get the fuck out of the apartment if he couldn't behave after everything Ryou had had to put up with thanks to him.
And maybe he would now. That attempt at necking had just about pushed Ryou over the edge.
Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don't need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!
Bakura was standing in one dark-lit corner of the room when Ryou found him, twirling a vicious-looking knife in his hands. Mentally, Ryou reminded himself to lock up the knife drawer later. He'd almost forgotten what an expert Bakura was with blades.
"Bakura," Ryou said, sounding more confident than he felt, from the doorway. "We need to--" Ryou was cut off as Bakura raced to the door and yanked him inside and up against a wall, slamming the door shut as he did so. Placing one ice-cold finger against Ryou's lips, Bakura stroked his chest with one hand, using enough force to keep Ryou in place. Despite his hatred of his yami, Ryou found himself feeling lulled and, at the same time, aroused. He wanted Bakura, wanted the oft-cruel teen to keep him here.
"Shshshh," Bakura said, suddenly gentle, as his hand continued its motions. "No need to talk, Ryou. Not here, not with me." He smiled, and Ryou realized with muted horror that Bakura was playing with him again. He struggled, but this time to no avail. Bakura moved his hand to uncover Ryou's lips, replacing it to clamp his arm against the wall.
"D-damn it, Bakura!" Ryou shouted, furious at the game Bakura was playing at. "Lemme go, you goddamned pervert!"
Bakura snickered, the stroking hand moving further down Ryou's chest. "You don't like this?" He said, still sounding just as gentle as before. He moved the hand under Ryou's sweater, and Ryou found himself moaning at the feeling despite himself. Bakura pulled Ryou away from the wall, towards his bed.
So open your eyes child,
Let's be on our way.
Broken windows and ashes
Are guiding the way.
"Admit it," Bakura said as he moved his mouth closer to Ryou's ear, silver-white hair pushed aside. "You like this. You know you do. Why not just admit it, Ryou?" He pulled Ryou's shirt off expertly, pushing the boy down onto the bed with little force before taking his own shirt and coat off.
Ryou found himself unable to speak; his mouth, his voice, wouldn't work right as Bakura's face came closer to his own. Then, suddenly, Ryou shoved Bakura away, grabbing his sweater off the floor and pulling it on almost frantically. Bakura smiled even as he staggered backwards, moving back again towards his prey a moment later.
"D-damn it!" Ryou shouted as he stood up off the bed, moving towards the door but never letting his back face Bakura. "Why do you keep playing with me like this?" The other boy laughed, following Ryou's movements.
"Simple. You want it, I give it. That's how it's always been, hasn't it, ungrateful little hikari?"
Keep quiet no longer,
We'll sing through the day,
Of the lives that we've lost,
And the lives we've reclaimed.
"You wanted friends when you were little. You wanted people to play with you forever and ever. I made that happen, didn't I? All I asked in return was for your help, and I hardly got that.
"You wanted to be stronger, to be more than just the little quiet kid in the back of the class." Bakura's grin widened. "I made that happen, in exchange for letting me stay here. And now you want me, and you won't let me give you that little bit." He pouted a little, though Ryou still saw mischief dancing in Bakura's crimson-tinged brown eyes. "Silly little hikari. You can't even let yourself have a little fun every once in a while, can you, blanketed in morals and can-and-can'ts as you are?"
Ryou's bandaged hand brushed the doorknob. Wiggling it, Ryou found that it was locked. As if he'd leave it unlocked, he thought as he watched the shirtless nightmare of his come closer, closer, now that he was backed into the proverbial corner. For a moment, Ryou contemplated just giving in to what Bakura was doing. It wouldn't be too bad, would it, just doing what he wanted to for once instead of refusing himself what he so obviously wanted?
That moment of doubt was just enough time for Bakura to reclaim his prize, to pin him against the door just as he'd held him against the wall earlier. This time, Ryou hardly struggled as Bakura stripped him of his sweater and crushed his lips to Ryou's. For another moment, Ryou let Bakura do this, this little bit of mischief that Ryou found himself sinking into.
And then reason pushed through, and Ryou pushed at Bakura. For once, Bakura backed off willingly, seeing it as Ryou's way of doing this. How wrong he was.
Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don't need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!
Ryou found himself shouting, yelling as he'd never done before. "I don't need your goddamned help, your lies and comforts," Ryou said hotly as he jabbed one finger into Bakura's exposed chest. Bakura looked stunned, unable to do anything more than back up. Ryou smiled inwardly. How did it feel, he wondered, being tormented just as he'd tormented Ryou only minutes ago? "You got me thrown out of school, trying to help me! You're the reason I don't have any friends, picking fights with them all the time and then pulling me, blindfolded, into the brawl to beat up someone I couldn't even see! I was just fine before Dad brought that goddamned Ring of yours home! Maybe I'd still have some chance of success if you'd never shown your face around here!
Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don't need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!
"I never needed you, Bakura," Ryou said, turning around to face the door. Flicking the door's interior lock up, he opened the door. "You keep pulling me into some psychotic hell of yours. I'm not your bloody toy, and I don't need you around." Grabbing his sweater from the floor, Ryou looked over his shoulder at the still-stunned figure of Bakura.
Don't hold me up…
I don't need your help, I'll stand my ground...
"You want to stay here? Get a shirt on and stop trying to fucking rape me."
Don't hold me up…
I don't need your help...
"You want to help me out? Get out of my life."
No! No! No!
Don't hold me up!
I don't need your help, I'll stand my ground...
Bakura nodded dumbly, unable to speak after Ryou's sudden eruption of anger. Ryou smiled icily as he pulled his sweater back on. "I don't need your damn help, Bakura. Get it?"
Don't hold me up!
I don't need your help, I'll stand my ground...
Bakura nodded again. Ryou nodded in silent response as he walked away from the scene.
After a moment, he said something. One last thing, one remnant of the argument for Bakura to remember.
"You keep pulling me down. Let me get up, for God's sake, if you want to keep shoving your face in my life."
Don't hold me down, down, down, down, down!