All right, so here it is. My first real contribution to the Yu-Gi-Oh fandom. I've written for this fandom before, but never posted anything – haha, I lurked for a long time. But I guess I'm coming out now.
Pairing: Bakura/Ryou (Tendershipping)
Summary: Once he was certain, and now all he knows is doubt.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, the characters, the card game, or anything else associated with this series in any way. Just my thoughts on it and what I write.
Hands trace up and down the boy's body, lightly and gently, the only real sensation of it being the sharpness of the nails that had yet to truly cut into his skin. Curious eyes look up at him, and lips are parted as if there were a question begging to be asked, but the decision to let it come out hadn't yet been made.
This is it.
The words aren't spoken out loud, but are formed soundlessly on his lips. He knows the boy can hear him, because his eyes and mouth close and he takes in a rattling breath, almost afraid that it will be his last. I won't hurt you, he insists. Not like they will. He pulls his hands away and steps back, simply watching as his host's body tenses and relaxes with every shaking, uncertain breath. He smirks to himself, licking his lips slowly and sensuously as he does; it's easy, too easy, but it isn't over yet.
Bakura's smirk fades, and replacing it is a coy smile, a smug expression that seems to fit him oh so well. He knows exactly what his host is feeling and why he's feeling it -- he's cast doubt in Ryou's mind, just the smallest amount of question, but enough to make him think about what might happen and scatter those thoughts about his mind for his darkness to pick up. He has power, and he knows how to use it: touch gently, grip harder, let him loose, take him back. He's found a balance that, at last, creates the uncertainty he needs in a host -- the dependence and frailty of the soul -- and how to bend him, break him enough that he is able to put the pieces together in whatever way he sees fit.
Bakura is at his host again, leaning over him and running his nails along pale skin. Blue eyes open just the smallest amount, and tears roll down the boy's face. Bakura knows he's won now -- he can hear the thoughts pounding in his entire being: Help me save me I'm alone I'm alone oh Gods don't leave me alone I've lost enough can't you see I'm alone and I need this? and the Spirit can only smile and lean down, promising the world to his host and withholding it until the last possible second. I'm here, I'm here; you're not alone, you'll never be alone again. And Ryou is shaking, the tears are rolling down his face and he reaches up and clings to his darkness, the only thing he has left (because they will leave you behind) and surrenders himself, because they both know he's going mad in this void of isolation they've both created together. Bakura has him, and there's no going back; he's in the spirit's grip, and the hold won't become any less than it is now. It will forever be suffocating and intoxicating, never relenting or relaxing long enough to allow Ryou to slip back into normalcy.
Bakura's thoughts are strewn with blood and murder and revenge, and they're seeping in to his host's mind through the cracks they made together. He pulls his other half closer to him, and licks and bites along his neck, and relishes in the strangled sobs he hears. Blood is on his hands, burning hot; it's flowing from wounds on the boy's body: five of them, in which five golden daggers have now come to sleep in. And Ryou is his at last, writhing and begging below the thief for him to make the pain go away.
Your pain is mine, landlord. It'll be over soon. Control slips further and further away from the host as the night progresses, and come morning he's reduced to nothing. His bed is stained with his blood, his skin is bruised and marked, his mind is tainted and empty. Ryou stands, guided by the whispers in his head, and dresses and eats and goes outside to go to school as he normally does. He hears his name being called, laughter and excitement radiating from the familiar voices of his friends, and yet he sees nothing: pale fingers are obscuring his vision and suddenly all other life ceases around him.
Smile, landlord, the voice whispers soothingly in his ear. The pain will go away soon.
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