Koimonogatari
Warning(s) - Yaoi/shounen-ai. 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. *looks around* Right?
Honda: Hi everybody! Look! I'm in a fic! Finally! *waves madly* Hi Mom! I'm famous!!!
Me: aheheh... ^_^; 'scuse me for a sec...
*boot*
Honda: *faintly heard* Ow!
Me: Thanks. Now can we get back to the fic? (Sorry I posted so late... my monitor kept blacking out and I couldn't use the computer until yesterday.)
Chapter 14
Kouin'yanogotoshi
kouin'yanogotoshi - (idiom) time flies like an arrow
Ryou forced himself to open his eyes and shut off the alarm clock. Stretching his arms, he vaguely thought something was amiss. Where exactly was he, and why wasn't he wearing anything under the sheets? The cloying warmth of the blankets lulled him into a sleep-like doze, and the chill air of an early December morning made it more so.
It had all been a dream, then; all one heck of a good dream. But wait, there! On the floor! The black leather pants strewn so haphazardly on the floor were Yami's, and he had worn them to school yesterday, hadn't he? Ryou blinked, adjusting to the light.
Looking closer, he saw that evidence of last night was still fresh on the sheets. Flushing a deep crimson, he realized what should have been apparent from the beginning; it was not a dream at all, and he had done what he thought he remembered doing.
Ryou was more than a little embarrassed with what had happened. His lack of modesty shocked him, and remembering what Bakura had once said about his lack of control, he decided that Bakura had been right after all. At times his body would just take over and there was little he could do about it. However, it didn't seem that Bakura had much control either.
He wondered where his yami was. It was a quarter past six in the morning, and not even an egyptian spirit ought to be up and about. Ryou sat up, the sheets falling to his hips, and looked about. The door was left ajar, and an unfamiliar but pleasant smell wafted up the stairs.
Pulling on a pair of plaid boxers and his school uniform, Ryou padded downstairs in his bare feet. The smell came from the kitchen. Rounding the corner, Ryou slipped on a pair of sandals. "Ohayou, Yami," he yawned.
Ryou blinked a few times, not sure if he was hallucinating. Bakura stood at the stove, wearing nothing but an apron that tied at the waist, furiously stirring something with a wooden spoon. Carrying the saucepan to the counter, he poured a pale pink concoction over something in a faceted glass bowl. Seeing Ryou's skeptical expression, he motioned toward him. "Come here, Ryou."
Ryou had taken only several steps into the kitchen when a small spatula clattered to the floor. Bakura swore loudly and knelt to wipe up the mess with a paper towel, scrubbing the tiles until they shone. The sight of Bakura on his hands and knees, covered by no more than the apron strings that barely hid the cleft of his ass, made Ryou's mouth go dry. "Naughty boy," Bakura whispered in his mind. "It's far too early in the morning to be thinking such thoughts."
"There's no privacy around here," Ryou muttered, but kept his end of their link open anyway. Bakura snorted. Getting to his feet, Bakura motioned for Ryou to come closer.
"Close your eyes, Hikari," Bakura commanded, and Ryou obeyed instantly. Bakura held something to his lips, and taking it into his mouth, he moaned at the extraordinary taste. It was a light, sticky cake of some kind that melted on his tongue, topped with a piece of sweet, chilled melon and a delicate wine-like syrup. Ryou licked the remnants from his yami's fingers, sucking his fingertips.
When Bakura removed his fingers, Ryou's eyes flew open. "What was that?"
"It was my sister's recipe," Bakura said smugly. "She created it exclusively for the pharaoh, before she... left. I haven't tasted it since." Ryou felt a great sadness shadow his yami, and instinctively took a piece of the confection, bringing it to Bakura's lips. As Bakura savored it, his eyes moistened, and Ryou crushed his lips to his, breathing in the sweet scent.
Dipping his fingers into the syrup, he circled Bakura's nipples and allowed Bakura to suck the remainder from his fingers before he licked away the syrup that now dripped down his bare chest. Bakura shuddered under his touch. Anything to make those tears disappear from his eyes, Ryou thought. Anything.
The clock in the hallway struck at the half hour. Straightening his clothes, he allowed Bakura to feed him the rest of his breakfast and picked up his bookbag to leave. Taking a last glance at the mirror, he adjusted the stiff collar of his uniform jacket to cover the mark on his neck that identified him as Bakura's.
Bakura caught his wrist as he was about to leave. Drawing Ryou close, he pressed his lips to his in a soft, chaste kiss. "Ryou... Ai shite imasu." Ryou wrenched himself away and flew out the door as if he could not bear to leave.
Picking up what was left of Ryou's breakfast, he finished it and left the dishes in the sink. It was good, familiar but not quite the same. Bakura tried to imagine his sister's face, but her features kept shifting and changing; he tried to say her name, but found that he had forgotten even this. Her voice was all that remained, sweet rustling like the reeds on the Nile.
Bakura returned to Ryou's bedroom, sighing in contentment. For the first time in his long life, he felt completely tranquil and yet in inner turmoil at once. How long could things stay like this -- so perfect? He knew from experience that all good things come to an end.
Now, it seemed that there was a lifetime ahead of them. There was -- one lifetime. Ryou's lifetime. And when that was over -- and he knew it would pass in a heartbeat -- would Ryou leave to go to the Heavenly Father he believed in?
He didn't want to live life without his light, but could he even kill himself? He didn't even know whether he was truly alive!
What good would it do to grieve for Ryou when his life had barely started? Bakura chided himself. If life was so fleeting, live life to the fullest -- for if he didn't, he would regret all that he hadn't done, all the time he had been grieving that he might have spent with Ryou. If he could make his time with Ryou perfect in every way, his memories would last him forever, he thought wanly. Yes, that was the answer.
He laid back on Ryou's bed, feeling his sore muscles relax beneath him. Closing his eyes, he thought wistfully of all of the things he wanted to do with -- to -- Ryou. Bakura shifted a little, making himself comfortable, and heard a faint crackle of paper beneath the pillow.
It was a page torn from a calendar, he saw as he unfolded it. On one side was a picture of a kneeling young man, nude but for his blindfold and the cords that bound him, with a whip held in his teeth. Bakura's lips curved in a knowing smile before he turned the page over.
The first two boxes had large crosses through them. Another read, "Winter Break!" followed by a sketch of a snowman, and farther down was a box that read, "Happy 17th!", four days before "Merry Christmas!" and five before "Bounen-kai omedetou gozaimasu." Bakura wasn't exactly sure what "Winter Break" or "Christmas" was, and he had always associated "Merry" with being drunk. And "Bounen-kai" -- did Ryou even celebrate bounen-kai?
But "Happy 17th" what? It suddenly dawned upon Bakura that it must be Ryou's birthday. His seventeenth? Ah... time did pass so quickly... so quickly.
Bakura had first met his hikari two years ago, on Ryou's fifteenth birthday. Then, Ryou was just a wisp of a boy, and in two years, had filled out, losing the soft curves of childhood and acquiring the lean, lanky look that Bakura sported. He'd kept his wide chocolate-colored eyes, however, that gave him the illusion of childlike innocence. But Bakura knew that his light was anything but innocent.
He had been nineteen years old when he was sealed into the Ring; at that time, it was considered well into manhood. He'd met Ryou at the age of five thousand nineteen, and this year, he would be five thousand twenty-one. But looking into his mirror of burnished copper, he hadn't changed a bit; he hadn't aged at all. Bakura looked the same as he did the first morning he woke within his soul room.
What he had most feared was already happening -- Ryou would age, while he would be nineteen forever. It reminded him of one of Ryou's animated movies, the one about the boy who didn't want to grow up. The difference was, he would give anything to have a normal lifespan, he thought wryly.
Time was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, and it seemed like the harder he clenched his fingers, the more he would lose. He would have to tell Ryou soon, before he realized it himself. Bakura glanced back at the calendar. Ryou's birthday lay on the twenty-first of December. Winter Solstice, the darkest night of the year.
Author's Note:
This is the LAST chapter before the two lemons I promised you! No doubt you've read Miko no Hoshi's "Broken Reality"? (mm.org only) She said at the bottom of her last chapter that there would be a lemon when she got a hundred reviews. Well, now there are 130 or so and she still hasn't posted it. I think maybe she's afraid that her lemon won't be up to standards and be a let down to those reviewers.
So as of now there are 45 reviews at mm.org. Guess what? No lemon until I have at least 70. I know, I know, I'm evil. But I know you want it. (And there's nothing like suspense to get you all hot and bothered, is there? *winkwink*) But you'll have your lemon soon after, I promise. (Unlike a certain "omnipotent" Miko.)
Warning(s) - Yaoi/shounen-ai. 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. *looks around* Right?
Honda: Hi everybody! Look! I'm in a fic! Finally! *waves madly* Hi Mom! I'm famous!!!
Me: aheheh... ^_^; 'scuse me for a sec...
*boot*
Honda: *faintly heard* Ow!
Me: Thanks. Now can we get back to the fic? (Sorry I posted so late... my monitor kept blacking out and I couldn't use the computer until yesterday.)
Chapter 14
Kouin'yanogotoshi
kouin'yanogotoshi - (idiom) time flies like an arrow
Ryou forced himself to open his eyes and shut off the alarm clock. Stretching his arms, he vaguely thought something was amiss. Where exactly was he, and why wasn't he wearing anything under the sheets? The cloying warmth of the blankets lulled him into a sleep-like doze, and the chill air of an early December morning made it more so.
It had all been a dream, then; all one heck of a good dream. But wait, there! On the floor! The black leather pants strewn so haphazardly on the floor were Yami's, and he had worn them to school yesterday, hadn't he? Ryou blinked, adjusting to the light.
Looking closer, he saw that evidence of last night was still fresh on the sheets. Flushing a deep crimson, he realized what should have been apparent from the beginning; it was not a dream at all, and he had done what he thought he remembered doing.
Ryou was more than a little embarrassed with what had happened. His lack of modesty shocked him, and remembering what Bakura had once said about his lack of control, he decided that Bakura had been right after all. At times his body would just take over and there was little he could do about it. However, it didn't seem that Bakura had much control either.
He wondered where his yami was. It was a quarter past six in the morning, and not even an egyptian spirit ought to be up and about. Ryou sat up, the sheets falling to his hips, and looked about. The door was left ajar, and an unfamiliar but pleasant smell wafted up the stairs.
Pulling on a pair of plaid boxers and his school uniform, Ryou padded downstairs in his bare feet. The smell came from the kitchen. Rounding the corner, Ryou slipped on a pair of sandals. "Ohayou, Yami," he yawned.
Ryou blinked a few times, not sure if he was hallucinating. Bakura stood at the stove, wearing nothing but an apron that tied at the waist, furiously stirring something with a wooden spoon. Carrying the saucepan to the counter, he poured a pale pink concoction over something in a faceted glass bowl. Seeing Ryou's skeptical expression, he motioned toward him. "Come here, Ryou."
Ryou had taken only several steps into the kitchen when a small spatula clattered to the floor. Bakura swore loudly and knelt to wipe up the mess with a paper towel, scrubbing the tiles until they shone. The sight of Bakura on his hands and knees, covered by no more than the apron strings that barely hid the cleft of his ass, made Ryou's mouth go dry. "Naughty boy," Bakura whispered in his mind. "It's far too early in the morning to be thinking such thoughts."
"There's no privacy around here," Ryou muttered, but kept his end of their link open anyway. Bakura snorted. Getting to his feet, Bakura motioned for Ryou to come closer.
"Close your eyes, Hikari," Bakura commanded, and Ryou obeyed instantly. Bakura held something to his lips, and taking it into his mouth, he moaned at the extraordinary taste. It was a light, sticky cake of some kind that melted on his tongue, topped with a piece of sweet, chilled melon and a delicate wine-like syrup. Ryou licked the remnants from his yami's fingers, sucking his fingertips.
When Bakura removed his fingers, Ryou's eyes flew open. "What was that?"
"It was my sister's recipe," Bakura said smugly. "She created it exclusively for the pharaoh, before she... left. I haven't tasted it since." Ryou felt a great sadness shadow his yami, and instinctively took a piece of the confection, bringing it to Bakura's lips. As Bakura savored it, his eyes moistened, and Ryou crushed his lips to his, breathing in the sweet scent.
Dipping his fingers into the syrup, he circled Bakura's nipples and allowed Bakura to suck the remainder from his fingers before he licked away the syrup that now dripped down his bare chest. Bakura shuddered under his touch. Anything to make those tears disappear from his eyes, Ryou thought. Anything.
The clock in the hallway struck at the half hour. Straightening his clothes, he allowed Bakura to feed him the rest of his breakfast and picked up his bookbag to leave. Taking a last glance at the mirror, he adjusted the stiff collar of his uniform jacket to cover the mark on his neck that identified him as Bakura's.
Bakura caught his wrist as he was about to leave. Drawing Ryou close, he pressed his lips to his in a soft, chaste kiss. "Ryou... Ai shite imasu." Ryou wrenched himself away and flew out the door as if he could not bear to leave.
Picking up what was left of Ryou's breakfast, he finished it and left the dishes in the sink. It was good, familiar but not quite the same. Bakura tried to imagine his sister's face, but her features kept shifting and changing; he tried to say her name, but found that he had forgotten even this. Her voice was all that remained, sweet rustling like the reeds on the Nile.
Bakura returned to Ryou's bedroom, sighing in contentment. For the first time in his long life, he felt completely tranquil and yet in inner turmoil at once. How long could things stay like this -- so perfect? He knew from experience that all good things come to an end.
Now, it seemed that there was a lifetime ahead of them. There was -- one lifetime. Ryou's lifetime. And when that was over -- and he knew it would pass in a heartbeat -- would Ryou leave to go to the Heavenly Father he believed in?
He didn't want to live life without his light, but could he even kill himself? He didn't even know whether he was truly alive!
What good would it do to grieve for Ryou when his life had barely started? Bakura chided himself. If life was so fleeting, live life to the fullest -- for if he didn't, he would regret all that he hadn't done, all the time he had been grieving that he might have spent with Ryou. If he could make his time with Ryou perfect in every way, his memories would last him forever, he thought wanly. Yes, that was the answer.
He laid back on Ryou's bed, feeling his sore muscles relax beneath him. Closing his eyes, he thought wistfully of all of the things he wanted to do with -- to -- Ryou. Bakura shifted a little, making himself comfortable, and heard a faint crackle of paper beneath the pillow.
It was a page torn from a calendar, he saw as he unfolded it. On one side was a picture of a kneeling young man, nude but for his blindfold and the cords that bound him, with a whip held in his teeth. Bakura's lips curved in a knowing smile before he turned the page over.
The first two boxes had large crosses through them. Another read, "Winter Break!" followed by a sketch of a snowman, and farther down was a box that read, "Happy 17th!", four days before "Merry Christmas!" and five before "Bounen-kai omedetou gozaimasu." Bakura wasn't exactly sure what "Winter Break" or "Christmas" was, and he had always associated "Merry" with being drunk. And "Bounen-kai" -- did Ryou even celebrate bounen-kai?
But "Happy 17th" what? It suddenly dawned upon Bakura that it must be Ryou's birthday. His seventeenth? Ah... time did pass so quickly... so quickly.
Bakura had first met his hikari two years ago, on Ryou's fifteenth birthday. Then, Ryou was just a wisp of a boy, and in two years, had filled out, losing the soft curves of childhood and acquiring the lean, lanky look that Bakura sported. He'd kept his wide chocolate-colored eyes, however, that gave him the illusion of childlike innocence. But Bakura knew that his light was anything but innocent.
He had been nineteen years old when he was sealed into the Ring; at that time, it was considered well into manhood. He'd met Ryou at the age of five thousand nineteen, and this year, he would be five thousand twenty-one. But looking into his mirror of burnished copper, he hadn't changed a bit; he hadn't aged at all. Bakura looked the same as he did the first morning he woke within his soul room.
What he had most feared was already happening -- Ryou would age, while he would be nineteen forever. It reminded him of one of Ryou's animated movies, the one about the boy who didn't want to grow up. The difference was, he would give anything to have a normal lifespan, he thought wryly.
Time was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass, and it seemed like the harder he clenched his fingers, the more he would lose. He would have to tell Ryou soon, before he realized it himself. Bakura glanced back at the calendar. Ryou's birthday lay on the twenty-first of December. Winter Solstice, the darkest night of the year.
Author's Note:
This is the LAST chapter before the two lemons I promised you! No doubt you've read Miko no Hoshi's "Broken Reality"? (mm.org only) She said at the bottom of her last chapter that there would be a lemon when she got a hundred reviews. Well, now there are 130 or so and she still hasn't posted it. I think maybe she's afraid that her lemon won't be up to standards and be a let down to those reviewers.
So as of now there are 45 reviews at mm.org. Guess what? No lemon until I have at least 70. I know, I know, I'm evil. But I know you want it. (And there's nothing like suspense to get you all hot and bothered, is there? *winkwink*) But you'll have your lemon soon after, I promise. (Unlike a certain "omnipotent" Miko.)