This is like... Really, really REALLY weird. O.o;; I'm so sorry. I got the plot bunny, thought it all out, and wrote it in less than an hour. Hence the shortness and crappyness. XD Oh well, I think it conveyed the message I wanted it to. o.o' Have fun reading it?
Disclaimer:I own nothing at all... xD
Read on...eth!
"Well, look who's home."
Bakura snarled the words, not shifting his eyes from the television. Ryou was silent as he closed the door behind him, his backpack dangling from one hand. The yami was stretched out across the couch, one hand behind his head. One leg dangled over the side of the couch, his foot less than an inch from the floor. A metallic click a few feet away from Bakura made him blink. The yami turned his head carelessly for a quick gaze, before looking back to the television. He froze.
Ryou was holding a gun.
"Fuck!" Bakura cursed, sitting straight up on the couch, staring wide-eyed at the angelic-looking teenager. Ryou held the revolver in both of his shaking hands, staring down at the barrel, aiming at the yami. "Ryou… What the fuck?"
"I bought it off a kid from school." The whitenette's voice was oddly steady. "I've been saving for weeks, and I just got it today. I'm going to kill you, Bakura. I'm going to fucking kill you." Bakura's fleeting expression of panic changed, and he burst into a chuckle, which was laced with mirth.
"You?" He laughed, standing up. Ryou took a step back, pointing the gun at Bakura's chest. "Kill someone? Me, no less? Ha." He placed his hands on his hips, staring straight into Ryou's wide brown eyes. "You couldn't even kill a fly, Ryou, let alone your master-"
"You are not my master!" Ryou burst into tears, his right index finger tightening over the trigger. "You're not… You never were…" His hands shook worse than ever, and Bakura only looked on in mild surprise.
"You don't have the guts to kill me." The yami said smoothly. He wasn't the least bit concerned. "You're all talk Ryou." Bakura took another step towards Ryou, flinging out his arms. "Go ahead. Take a fucking shot." Ryou took a step back, the nozzle of the gun shaking as he aimed at Bakura's heart. "You wont." Bakura sneered. "You don't have the guts. You're too-"
"I'm not weak!" Ryou screamed, tears coursing down pale, pristine cheeks. "Don't you ever dare say that! I'm not weak, Bakura. I'm not! And you have no right to beat me and wear me down and say that I am!" Bakura merely raised an eyebrow, his arms still outstretched. "I'm going to kill you." The pale teenager repeated, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands.
"No, you're not." Bakura chuckled. "You're weak. You've always been weak. Come on, Ryou. All you have to do is just jerk back your finger, and I'm done. This body will be dead. But you don't have the guts, do you?"
"Shut up!" Ryou screamed, his shaking voice hoarse. He had bit his lip so hard, a small stream of blood trickled down his chin. "Shut the fuck up!" Bakura blinked, staring at Ryou, who was beside himself. "I can do this! I'm going to do this! You deserve it, Bakura! You deserve to die, because you can't push me around anymore. I've had enough!" Bakura only laughed, shaking his head.
"Ger over yourself, brat." He snarled. "Drop the gun. Quit fooling yourself that you can kill me. You can't kill anyone." Ryou shook his head, sobbing. "Drop the gun, Ryou." The teenager shook his head again, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Bakura growled, dropping his arms to the side. His hands clenched into fists, and he gritted his teeth.
"Y-You don't scare me." Ryou announced, shaking his head to rid the hair out of his eyes. He glared at Bakura defiantly, ignoring the blood on his face.
"Put the gun down, Ryou." Bakura sighed. Ryou shook his head, but he was looking less and less sure of himself. "You know you can't do it. You want to, oh, you want to kill me so badly, I'm sure, but unfortunately, you just don't have the guts." Ryou shook his head again, his shoulders heaving as he sobbed.
"I-I can do it." He whimpered softly, lowering the gun just an inch. "I-I can. R-Really. I-I'm not afraid of you, Bakura. Y-You don't scare me anymore." The teenager's voice broke, and Bakura laughed. Ryou looked down, ashamed, and sniffed.
"You're a mess, Ryou." Bakura snarled. "You have three seconds to drop the gun, and I won't punish you. Understand?" Ryou was still, glaring at Bakura with pure hate in his eyes. "One…" Ryou tightened his left hand on the handle, pulled the trigger back a fraction. "Two…" Ryou's hands clenched even tighter, and he glared at Bakura still, not look as though he would back down. "Three."
Ryou's nerve failed him. Just as the yami's lips stared to move, Ryou dropped the gun. The revolver bounced off the carpet once, and was still. Ryou's entire frame shook as he looked up at Bakura, his chin trembling. Tears were shining in his eyes, and Ryou's legs gave out. He sank to his knees, holding his head in his hands. Bakura stared down at Ryou coldly, his hands on his hips. He bent down, and grabbed the gun.
"Too bad I'm not afraid to kill." Bakura sneered, pressing the barrel of the gun against Ryou's temple. The teenager gasped, and froze in pure fear, too afraid to move or breathe. "And I ought to, for your display of disobedience." Ryou whimpered, his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. The teenager made an odd, strangled noise in his throat as Bakura pressed the nozzle of the gun deeper into the side of Ryou's head. "But I think I'll go easy on you today." Ryou's shoulders visibly slumped as Bakura stepped back, idly swinging the gun in his fingers. The teenager instantly curled into a tight ball, burying his head in his folded legs, between his knees and his chest. "Not that you don't get a punishment." Bakura smiled, aiming the gun at Ryou's foot.
A glass, containing the dregs of a soft drink on the coffee table actually shattered as Ryou screamed. It came a second after the loud crack of the gunshot filled the apartment, the stench of gunpowder lingering in the air. The whitenette clutched at his foot, howling in agony. Bakura smirked as blood gently trickled through his fingers, starting to stain the carpet. There was no sympathy, or kindness on the yamis' face as he knelt down on the carpet beside Ryou, the gun falling to the floor as he leaned in, whispering the next words into Ryou's ear.
"Stop crying." He hissed, grabbing Ryou's bony shoulder. Ryou gasped as Bakura's sharp nails dug into his skin, and arched his back. He bit down on his lip hard to keep from screaming and sobbing, clutching at his shot foot. "Good boy." Bakura chuckled, staring down at his handiwork. "Now… What have we learned today, Ryou?" The teenager whimpered, his clenched shut. He wouldn't be able to walk for weeks…
"Th-That I'm weak." Ryou tried to chose his words as best as he could, his foot throbbing. "That… That you're the master, and I'm… I'm the slave…" Ryou tried to use words that he knew would please the yami. "That I'm…. nothing." Ryou slumped into himself with the last word, utterly miserable.
"Good boy." Bakura smiled. He gave Ryou a mocking, patronizing pat on the head, smirking. "It's a crying shame we had to learn this way, though, isn't it?" Ryou was silent, and unmoving for a moment, before he nodded his head, his teeth clenched tightly. He looked down at the blood spreading across the carpet, and felt sick.
"I-I'm sorry, Bakura-sama." The words were like the final nails in Ryou's coffin. He gave up. This is it. This is the life I'm forced to lead. I can't escape. Bakura smirked, before standing up. He grabbed the gun, and walked over to the window. Ryou let out an odd cry as the yami threw the firearm out on to the street below with force, his face contorted into an ugly snarl.
"Good slave." Bakura chuckled. "Now get yourself cleaned up, and make me some dinner. I'm in the mood for some steak." The yami settled himself back onto the couch, one leg thrown over the side, his arms folded behind his head. "Oh, and clean up this glass, would ya?" Ryou closed his eyes, tears trickling down his face like tiny twin rivers.
"Yes, Bakura-sama," He whispered, feeling sick. How can you just sit there and pretend nothing happened... There was no guilt in Bakura's eyes or body language as he watched Ryou struggle into a standing position hopping on one foot into the bathroom, where the first-aid kit was located.
"About time you learned your damn lesson," Bakura snarled, seizing the remote in a claw-like hand.
Well... o.o;; That was odd... Chocolate-driven inspiration at 1AM...