Beautiful. Trite and overused as the word was, it was the only way to describe Ryou in his present state; Beautiful - and it deserved the capitalization.
Eyes shut in a deceptively peaceful manner, white hair a fluffy pillow for the minimalist bed; no blankets, just a mattress with a cloth thrown over it. The walls of the room were stained, the wallpaper peeling. In the midst of the dinginess, Ryou shone like a sacrifice, his oiled body gleaming like phosphorescent moss in a dark cave.
There was nothing to detract from his beauty, no clothing to conceal it, no jewelry to draw the eye away from your translucent skin. Translucent skin not even marred by the bruises that crept over it, like a plague engulfing it's victims. The bruises were blotchy, and wide-spread. They came in every color, fresh red, old green, painful blue, soft purple, and shocking black. No matter where Kaiba's eyes traveled, he could find some. Some sign of recent abuse. However, remembering what Ryou had wanted, they didn't surprise him in the least. Instead, they served to bear silent witness to Ryou's sincerity - Ryou's debauchery.
The only things on Ryou, besides the network of bruises, were the handcuffs. Not the delicately-wrought silver kind that were worn as jewelry, these were the real deal; heavy iron, dull and ominous, trapping his hands and feet to the sheet in a manner that made the chains connecting them to the legs of the bed completely unnecessary. Down, near the legs of the bed was a cunning setup of cogs and wheels which meant that the chains could be winched tighter, to restrict the amount of movement - or looser, for a sense of false freedom.
Idly, Kaiba wondered how often Ryou had done this, how old he had been when he fixed all the excess iron on a bed which looked like it was on the verge of collapse - from over-use. How long would it have taken the boy - for that was how Kaiba thought of him, someone strangely immature despite what had transpired in his office- how long to first find out his own predilection for pain and a show of unwillingness, and then how long to convince others to play along. Not too long, he believed, for the words that had been whispered to him yesterday had been too slick, with no shyness or hesitance preventing Ryou from describing it all in lurid detail. Every detail had been taken care of, Ryou's voice sliding over them like a mother telling her children a bedtime story, the soft tone contrasting with the crude, almost vulgar words that Ryou was using to express himself.
That contrast, between appearance and reality, purse and contents was what had hooked Kaiba, what had made him agree to Ryou's proposition. Beauty, after all, although rare was also commonplace, and readily available for people like Kaiba. Ryou, no matter how gorgeous, would have never managed to make Kaiba agree if it hadn't been for those two important factors ; the mystery he presented, and the fact that Kaiba had always been fond of that particular brand of exotic beauty. And now Kaiba was here - ready to do exactly as he had been told, and ever since he had had that first glimpse of Ryou, lying there like an angel about to be forced to fall, he had been more than eager to play the role that he had been assigned by Ryou.
The role of rapist, with Ryou as his victim.
Left on his own, he wouldn't have known where to begin, which part of Ryou's open body to fondle first, which area of his skin to lick, whether he should wake the boy up at all before he started, or let him gradually come to and feel the sensations of violation. Not that Kaiba was inexperienced by any means, he knew cutprice love as he called the act in his own private lexicon, it was merely that Ryou, lying unconscious before him, was the most unsettling sight Kaiba had ever laid eyes upon.
Despite everything, there was something crudely innocent about the contours of his face, the softness of his lips, the relaxed, trusting position he was sprawled in, as if he had drunk the nectar of the gods and found it to be oversweet. Kaiba found it intriguing, and somehow arousing that underneath that virgin exterior lurked someone capable of wanting to be defiled, in the rough, careless manner he had pleaded Kaiba for.
The very instructions which had formerly rankled at Kaiba now seemed to make sense - after all, it was Ryou's body, and this would be Ryou's game - even if Kaiba would supposedly be the agressor, and Ryou the sufferer. Besides, if he did his part well enough, perhaps Ryou would see fit to invite him back. Kaiba chuckled quietly, amused at the fact at though their first session hadn't even begun, he was already hoping for a second. Still, Kaiba knew it would be all he could desire- with his partner restrained and helpless, how could it not be?
Kneeling near the side of the bed, he waited patiently for Ryou to awaken. i'He said that he'd drug himself for the sake of realism...but I can't begin until he awakens. While I'm waiting, I might as well look my share.'/i With that thought, Kaiba gave himself over to perusal of Ryou's body, attempting to remain detached but finding it hard not to admire the pale, slightly defined muscles. i'I wonder if he skates - he has the build for it, slim yet muscular.'/i
Time passed, though nobody could say how long, and finally, Ryou began to stir.
Watching from the dark corner of the room where he chose to hide himself, Bakura gloated, and shut the link to his hikari tighter than a nun's girdle. He didn't want his light getting any foolish ideas about calling him for help.
Kaiba shifted the look on his face, hiding the admiration and replacing it with malice.
i'And now, Ryou, the game may begin.'/i
Author's Note: Look, I posted two parts in one day! *shrugs* The other one was too short to count though so yeah, take this as a peace-offering. And to be quite fair, I'd like to remind you all that I did put an appropriate warning in the summary, and if you want to flame me because you were too feckless to heed it, then it's your stupidity that's revealed, not mine. Oh, and if there are errors in this thing, please, please tell me. I'm terrified of blatantly contradicting canon.