Koimonogatari
Warning(s) - Yaoi/shounen-ai, angst, citrus. If you don't know what that means, you are strongly advised to leave. All flames will be publicly ridiculed at your expense.
Disclaimer - I don't own YGO, and if you didn't know that by now you must be a moron.
Chapter 4
Nagusami
nagusami - consolation; comfort
Bakura listened carefully for a moment, checking for the steady, light footsteps that he recognized as Ryou's. Something was different about his steps today; Bakura couldn't quite tell what it was. He glanced up, perplexed.
Ryou limped up the stairs, each step painful. He winced as his muscles contracted, threatening to cramp painfully. He silently reminded himself not to lose his temper so violently next time; the overdone reps cost him dearly. As it were, only the smallest steps were painless; walking up and down the stairs was agony. At least today was Friday, and he'd have an entire weekend to heal, though at his present condition he didn't think it would do any good.
Bakura narrowed his eyes, trying to recall where he had seen such an odd gait before... It was in Ancient Egypt, he was sure. Wait... Malik had walked like that once, for almost three days, after he and Bakura had... Bakura smirked at no one in particular, then instantly sobered.
It couldn't be. Could it? After all, he hadn't been watching Ryou too closely for the past few days, and the barrier the Ryou had put up on his side of their link was nearly impenetrable. His hikari could very well be hiding something of this nature from him.
"Ryou."
Ryou's head snapped up at his name. His yami's piercing kohl-rimmed eyes met his own. "Konnichi wa, Yami-sama," he said hesitantly.
"Come here." Bakura drew an invisible line in the carpet on which his hikari was to stand. Ryou was familiar with this gesture; although standing so close to Bakura intimidated him at times, Bakura had beaten him to within a breath of his life the few times he had refused to comply. He stood facing his other, his toes on the line.
Bakura stood at his full height, not particularly tall, but still a good deal taller than Ryou. "Why are you limping? Tell me." Ryou didn't know whether to answer or not. Either way he was likely to be rewarded with a sharp slap.
"Tell me!" Ryou flinched, accidentally sending through their link an image of his gym instructor and the "demonstration" in class that day. Bakura stiffened. "Who is he?" he asked.
"My gym instructor. Goshima-sensei," Ryou said timidly.
"Your teacher." Ryou nodded. "And he touched you? Without your consent?"
"With my consent, sort of --" Bakura's slap left a fading pink outline of a hand on Ryou's left cheek before he could finish explaining. "You whore!" Bakura hissed. "I'll have to teach you restraint, won't I? How can you be so weak! Why didn't you fight back? You were everyone's scapegoat, and now you're everyone's slut!"
"No... You have to listen. You don't understand! I didn't want him to... and he didn't take me!" Ryou cried in frustration. "And that's not why I was limping!" He stopped when a slap rained down on his other cheek.
"You lie," Bakura said under his breath, turning away from Ryou. Ryou bit his lip and thought it best not to say anything at the moment.
After a brief moment of silence, Bakura turned to face his hikari again with a curt one-word command.
"Strip."
Wide-eyed, Ryou did as his yami instructed and removed his clothing without ceremony. His cream-colored jumper, green oxford shirt, and slacks lay in a heap at the foot of his bed. Wearing only his Sennen Ring and a pair of blue plaid boxers, he looked up at Bakura expectantly. He wasn't sure what his yami had in store for him, but if he wanted to take him... Ryou had always wanted to give Bakura his virginity, although this wasn't exactly what he had had in mind.
Bakura allowed a small smirk to play across his lips. His aibou stood before him exactly as he had done in several of his many fantasies; it was a shame that he wouldn't be playing them out this time. He gestured toward the boxers. "Off. Then facedown on the bed."
Ryou swallowed hard. He sat on the edge of his bed, his back to Bakura, then slipped the boxers off his hips and settled on his stomach in one fluid motion. The cooling afternoon breeze raised goosebumps on his exposed skin, making him shiver nervously.
Bakura ran his fingers gently over Ryou's back and backside. No bruises marred his hikari's pale marble skin apart from those that he had created. There were no signs of forceful entry whatsoever. A pang of guilt washed over him. He had created those scars, those bruises; he had caused them in blind anger. He didn't even remember why he had done it, only that it had been the easiest thing to do at the moment.
What right had he to accuse Ryou of weakness? It was he who was weak; he'd always followed his impulses because they were easier to listen to than Ryou's reason was, while Ryou had taken his abuses wordlessly. He closed his eyes for a moment, determined not to be overwhelmed by the guilt.
"Ryou?" he queried softly. "Why, then, were you limping?"
Tears of relief spilled through Ryou's lashes; his yami wasn't angry, he wasn't going to hurt him, at least not now. The sheets muffled his words, and his choking sobs and gasps of hysteria distorted his speech so that he gave up trying to talk altogether.
The recent memories that Ryou flooded into his mind left him numb. Ryou's experiences nearly mirrored his own experiences of the rigorous training he'd endured as a tomb robber.
Ryou looked up at him tentatively, his wide, trusting eyes searching his face for a reaction. Bakura's features softened. "Chotto matte," he told Ryou. "And don't leave. I'll be right back."
Ryou closed his eyes. He had had a long day, and the soft mattress under him was very tempting. He yawned quietly and hoped his yami would be back soon.
Bakura rummaged through the bottles on the glass shelves of the medicine cabinet. He had no idea how Ryou could have so many different scented bubble baths, lotions, and oils. It was impossible to choose any one of them, and even more impossible to find it. Bakura finally selected a tall, ornate glass bottle of vanilla-sandalwood oil, a pale golden liquid with a delicate sweet, heady scent.
With the bottle in one hand, Bakura stepped back into Ryou's bedroom and stood stock-still. He held his breath, blinked and looked again, as if with new eyes. The boy was gorgeous. How could he not notice? A shock of unruly white hair framed his face and curled in just above his shoulder blades. His smooth ivory skin covered lithe muscles, defined but not bulky. The small of his back was arched just so, and Bakura knew his hand would fit perfectly there; in contrast to the perfectly rounded bottom that Bakura knew would fit impeccably in his palms.
Bakura's mouth went dry, his breathing erratic. He'd never wanted Ryou as much as he did right then; a vague image passed through his thoughts, of himself pounding Ryou into the headboard. He inhaled sharply, his tight leather pants tightening further.
Ryou heard his yami's breathing behind him. He looked up to meet his eyes, then looked quickly away. What was it that he had seen in Bakura's eyes? Whatever it was, it was too intense for Ryou to meet for long.
Setting the bottle on Ryou's nightstand, he poured a small pool of oil into his palm, warming it between his hands. His hikari squirmed uncomfortably in the silence, but stilled at his touch. Bakura applied the scented oil to Ryou's neck and shoulders, kneading the knots from his muscles. Ryou closed his eyes in obvious pleasure.
As Bakura worked the oil into Ryou's skin, he found that it was extremely difficult to concentrate on what he did. Ryou's muscles tightened under his fingers as he kneaded his sore buttocks and thighs. Bakura thought he heard Ryou moan quietly into the pillow, and his eyes widened as he saw Ryou's hips thrust involuntarily into the sheets.
Ryou bit his lower lip, stifling his moans. Bakura's touch was heavenly, and though Ryou had no idea what possessed Bakura to give him this massage, he didn't want to ask questions. As he felt Bakura's hand leave his now slightly flushed skin, he sighed sleepily. His yami covered him with a thin comforter and shut the blinds, then left Ryou's bedroom, closing the door quietly.
Bakura held the glass bottle in his slightly trembling fingers, not quite believing what he'd done. He didn't even know why he'd done it. He didn't do it for Ryou, he tried to convince himself, but unsurprisingly, it wasn't very convincing.
He returned the bottle to its place on the shelf, then retired to his soul room to ponder the question. Though he tried desperately to justify his actions, he found that oddly, he didn't regret it at all.
~ glossary ~
chotto matte - wait a moment (literally "a little wait")
Author's Note:
Yay! Limey! (But believe me, it took real effort to not turn this into a PWP ^^;) And... the longest chappie of this fic so far! ^^ And... I don't think you'll be seeing any real angst for five or six more chapters!
Chibi Ryou: *sniffle* *tears of happiness*
Please review? *big violet Yugi eyes* Please? *blinks cutely*
^^; *needs motivation* -- correction: needs a lot of motivation
Warning(s) - Yaoi/shounen-ai, angst, citrus. If you don't know what that means, you are strongly advised to leave. All flames will be publicly ridiculed at your expense.
Disclaimer - I don't own YGO, and if you didn't know that by now you must be a moron.
Chapter 4
Nagusami
nagusami - consolation; comfort
Bakura listened carefully for a moment, checking for the steady, light footsteps that he recognized as Ryou's. Something was different about his steps today; Bakura couldn't quite tell what it was. He glanced up, perplexed.
Ryou limped up the stairs, each step painful. He winced as his muscles contracted, threatening to cramp painfully. He silently reminded himself not to lose his temper so violently next time; the overdone reps cost him dearly. As it were, only the smallest steps were painless; walking up and down the stairs was agony. At least today was Friday, and he'd have an entire weekend to heal, though at his present condition he didn't think it would do any good.
Bakura narrowed his eyes, trying to recall where he had seen such an odd gait before... It was in Ancient Egypt, he was sure. Wait... Malik had walked like that once, for almost three days, after he and Bakura had... Bakura smirked at no one in particular, then instantly sobered.
It couldn't be. Could it? After all, he hadn't been watching Ryou too closely for the past few days, and the barrier the Ryou had put up on his side of their link was nearly impenetrable. His hikari could very well be hiding something of this nature from him.
"Ryou."
Ryou's head snapped up at his name. His yami's piercing kohl-rimmed eyes met his own. "Konnichi wa, Yami-sama," he said hesitantly.
"Come here." Bakura drew an invisible line in the carpet on which his hikari was to stand. Ryou was familiar with this gesture; although standing so close to Bakura intimidated him at times, Bakura had beaten him to within a breath of his life the few times he had refused to comply. He stood facing his other, his toes on the line.
Bakura stood at his full height, not particularly tall, but still a good deal taller than Ryou. "Why are you limping? Tell me." Ryou didn't know whether to answer or not. Either way he was likely to be rewarded with a sharp slap.
"Tell me!" Ryou flinched, accidentally sending through their link an image of his gym instructor and the "demonstration" in class that day. Bakura stiffened. "Who is he?" he asked.
"My gym instructor. Goshima-sensei," Ryou said timidly.
"Your teacher." Ryou nodded. "And he touched you? Without your consent?"
"With my consent, sort of --" Bakura's slap left a fading pink outline of a hand on Ryou's left cheek before he could finish explaining. "You whore!" Bakura hissed. "I'll have to teach you restraint, won't I? How can you be so weak! Why didn't you fight back? You were everyone's scapegoat, and now you're everyone's slut!"
"No... You have to listen. You don't understand! I didn't want him to... and he didn't take me!" Ryou cried in frustration. "And that's not why I was limping!" He stopped when a slap rained down on his other cheek.
"You lie," Bakura said under his breath, turning away from Ryou. Ryou bit his lip and thought it best not to say anything at the moment.
After a brief moment of silence, Bakura turned to face his hikari again with a curt one-word command.
"Strip."
Wide-eyed, Ryou did as his yami instructed and removed his clothing without ceremony. His cream-colored jumper, green oxford shirt, and slacks lay in a heap at the foot of his bed. Wearing only his Sennen Ring and a pair of blue plaid boxers, he looked up at Bakura expectantly. He wasn't sure what his yami had in store for him, but if he wanted to take him... Ryou had always wanted to give Bakura his virginity, although this wasn't exactly what he had had in mind.
Bakura allowed a small smirk to play across his lips. His aibou stood before him exactly as he had done in several of his many fantasies; it was a shame that he wouldn't be playing them out this time. He gestured toward the boxers. "Off. Then facedown on the bed."
Ryou swallowed hard. He sat on the edge of his bed, his back to Bakura, then slipped the boxers off his hips and settled on his stomach in one fluid motion. The cooling afternoon breeze raised goosebumps on his exposed skin, making him shiver nervously.
Bakura ran his fingers gently over Ryou's back and backside. No bruises marred his hikari's pale marble skin apart from those that he had created. There were no signs of forceful entry whatsoever. A pang of guilt washed over him. He had created those scars, those bruises; he had caused them in blind anger. He didn't even remember why he had done it, only that it had been the easiest thing to do at the moment.
What right had he to accuse Ryou of weakness? It was he who was weak; he'd always followed his impulses because they were easier to listen to than Ryou's reason was, while Ryou had taken his abuses wordlessly. He closed his eyes for a moment, determined not to be overwhelmed by the guilt.
"Ryou?" he queried softly. "Why, then, were you limping?"
Tears of relief spilled through Ryou's lashes; his yami wasn't angry, he wasn't going to hurt him, at least not now. The sheets muffled his words, and his choking sobs and gasps of hysteria distorted his speech so that he gave up trying to talk altogether.
The recent memories that Ryou flooded into his mind left him numb. Ryou's experiences nearly mirrored his own experiences of the rigorous training he'd endured as a tomb robber.
Ryou looked up at him tentatively, his wide, trusting eyes searching his face for a reaction. Bakura's features softened. "Chotto matte," he told Ryou. "And don't leave. I'll be right back."
Ryou closed his eyes. He had had a long day, and the soft mattress under him was very tempting. He yawned quietly and hoped his yami would be back soon.
Bakura rummaged through the bottles on the glass shelves of the medicine cabinet. He had no idea how Ryou could have so many different scented bubble baths, lotions, and oils. It was impossible to choose any one of them, and even more impossible to find it. Bakura finally selected a tall, ornate glass bottle of vanilla-sandalwood oil, a pale golden liquid with a delicate sweet, heady scent.
With the bottle in one hand, Bakura stepped back into Ryou's bedroom and stood stock-still. He held his breath, blinked and looked again, as if with new eyes. The boy was gorgeous. How could he not notice? A shock of unruly white hair framed his face and curled in just above his shoulder blades. His smooth ivory skin covered lithe muscles, defined but not bulky. The small of his back was arched just so, and Bakura knew his hand would fit perfectly there; in contrast to the perfectly rounded bottom that Bakura knew would fit impeccably in his palms.
Bakura's mouth went dry, his breathing erratic. He'd never wanted Ryou as much as he did right then; a vague image passed through his thoughts, of himself pounding Ryou into the headboard. He inhaled sharply, his tight leather pants tightening further.
Ryou heard his yami's breathing behind him. He looked up to meet his eyes, then looked quickly away. What was it that he had seen in Bakura's eyes? Whatever it was, it was too intense for Ryou to meet for long.
Setting the bottle on Ryou's nightstand, he poured a small pool of oil into his palm, warming it between his hands. His hikari squirmed uncomfortably in the silence, but stilled at his touch. Bakura applied the scented oil to Ryou's neck and shoulders, kneading the knots from his muscles. Ryou closed his eyes in obvious pleasure.
As Bakura worked the oil into Ryou's skin, he found that it was extremely difficult to concentrate on what he did. Ryou's muscles tightened under his fingers as he kneaded his sore buttocks and thighs. Bakura thought he heard Ryou moan quietly into the pillow, and his eyes widened as he saw Ryou's hips thrust involuntarily into the sheets.
Ryou bit his lower lip, stifling his moans. Bakura's touch was heavenly, and though Ryou had no idea what possessed Bakura to give him this massage, he didn't want to ask questions. As he felt Bakura's hand leave his now slightly flushed skin, he sighed sleepily. His yami covered him with a thin comforter and shut the blinds, then left Ryou's bedroom, closing the door quietly.
Bakura held the glass bottle in his slightly trembling fingers, not quite believing what he'd done. He didn't even know why he'd done it. He didn't do it for Ryou, he tried to convince himself, but unsurprisingly, it wasn't very convincing.
He returned the bottle to its place on the shelf, then retired to his soul room to ponder the question. Though he tried desperately to justify his actions, he found that oddly, he didn't regret it at all.
~ glossary ~
chotto matte - wait a moment (literally "a little wait")
Author's Note:
Yay! Limey! (But believe me, it took real effort to not turn this into a PWP ^^;) And... the longest chappie of this fic so far! ^^ And... I don't think you'll be seeing any real angst for five or six more chapters!
Chibi Ryou: *sniffle* *tears of happiness*
Please review? *big violet Yugi eyes* Please? *blinks cutely*
^^; *needs motivation* -- correction: needs a lot of motivation