This 'un is my meagre attempt at a one-shot. Well... here goes...
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Bakura laughs, his lip curled up into a snarl. I can see the malice in his eyes. How anyone can laugh and snarl at the same time is beyond me. But Bakura can do it. He suddenly stops laughing, and a little smirk appears on his face. I hate that smirk- it always means something unpleasant is headed my direction. I back up slowly, afriad to turn my back to him. He knows I'm afraid too- he loves it. He gets off on the fact that he intimidates me with the smalled of actions. I can't help but be afraid.
His eyes begin to roam, and I can feel fear rushing through me, clouding my rational thoughts and making me more sensitive to the way he smirks, just standing there looking at... me. Do, I don't want him to look at me like that, I know what he's thinking. He's been trying to force me into things like this for about a week now, and I've only barely been able to get away every time. It had started with him giving me suggestive looks, then progressed to the point that he would try to touch me. I don't know if he does it to creep me out, or because he's interested in men. I pray to God that it's the former.
Then it got worse. He started jumping at me from corners and shadows, forcing me against the wall and kissing me. I could taste the ash of cigarette smoke on him- I'd wondered where all the money from my part-time job was going. Now I know. I wish I didn't. His clothes smell like tabacco, and when he kisses me, it's like licking an ashtray. It's a filthy habit- thank God he doesn't smoke inside the house. Father would stop sending money if he found out, and thought that I smoked those smelly, addictive deathsticks. It's bad enough to smell it- but the taste is worse. Tenfold.
I'd been on the phone with Yugi when Bakura came back from whatever club or arcade he'd been at- I hadn't heard him come in. The next thing I knew, the phone was slammed down on the hook again, and I was on the floor. I knew that if he sat on me, I'd never be strong enough to push him back- and with that motivation, I got to my feet quickly. He's now appraoching me slowly, trying not to send off any alarms in my brain. It's too late by now- there must be at least thirty sirens wailing at me to get the hell out of the house and just run. But he'd find me. I know he would. I can't run forever... so what CAN I do?
I take another step backwards, and he takes a step forwards.
"B-Bacura... no... please... what are you doing... please, just..."
"Leave you alone?" He sneers, reaching out and holding my shoulder, sliding his fingers beneath the sleeve of my T-shirt. I can't stop a whimper from escaping my lips- his fingers are cold from being outside, and the mere contact is freaking me out.
"Y-yes, that's all I want..." I mutter, staring at my feet, hoping that this will discourage him from trying to kiss me. He only laughs, his other hand grabbing my chin, lifting my face to meet his. It's repulsive, it's wrong! But there's nothing I can do to stop him when his soot-tainted tongue finds its way into my mouth, past any weak barrier my clenched lips may have presented. I try to pull away, I really do, but his arm has found its way around my neck. I can feel myself holding in a retch, afraid of him, afraid of what he'll do to me. After what seems like a lifetime of the horrid intrusion in my mouth, he pulls away.
"You want more, don't you?" He smirked, tracing patterns along my chest and sending panicked shivers up my spine.
"No!"
"Admit it... you like it."
"No!" His smirk dissapears, and anger takes the place of his cocky attitude.
"I'll make you like it then." No, I can't let him! I don't even LIKE men! This is just wrong! But there's nothing I can do as he forces me back against the couch with one hand, fumbling with the button of his pants with his other hand.
"Oh God... no... no, don't!" It's going to far, this isn't right! Men aren't supposed to have sex with other men, it's not right! Bakura doesn't seem to think so- oh GOD! He's got his pants off- he's really going to go through with this, isn't it?
"Those are nice pants..." He purrs, making my face distort in an expression of digust and horror. "I like them better around your feet."
"N-" I don't even get the word out of my mouth before he tears my pants from around my waist, snapping the button off of the material. I feel his skin up against mine- he's holding my wrist.
"Come on, I know you're curious... touch it." I can't free my hand from his, no matter how much I struggle, and he forces my hand into his boxers.
"No! This is wrong! Let me go!" I cry, but it's almost like he can't hear me. Like he's numb to my pleas. Then his boxers are gone, thrown haphazardly onto the floor.
"Now, are we going to do this right, or do I have to coach you?" I whimper, shrinking back against the couch, wishing I could dissapear, become invisible, anything to get away from him. He straddles my chest, grabbing the hair on the back of my head in a fist.
"No! I won't do it! I have self respect! I won't just let you-"
"You don't have any self respect!" He shouted into my ear, pulling harder on my hair. "Besides- you'll like it. I know you will. Now put it in your mouth." No- this is worse than licking an ashtray. It's worse than him giving my suggestive looks. It's worse than a lot of things I could think of. And I won't. He can't make me. He can't.
"You can't! That's rape!" He snarled, becoming frustrated, and held himself in front of my mouth, and I clamped my jaw shut, the pain at the back of my head increasing.
"I don't care what you call it! Put it in your mouth now!" He tugged sharply on my hair, and I shouted out in pain. In the second that I open my mouth, there's an intrusion, an unwelcome presence. "That's better." He croons, holding himself flush against my face so that I can't pull away. "Now suck." I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I do as he says- it'll make it end sooner.
"That's it!" He shouts, his grip on the back of my head now excruciatingly painful. He bucks his hips, and I shut my eyes, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. "Harder!" I comply. "Harder!" I comply. He screams into me, and I taste him. It's the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. I feel so used, so dirty. It drips down my chin, leaves streaks down my blue shirt, gathers on the couch.
So wrong. So filthy. I hate it. I hate everything about it. Because he was right.
I did like it.
And I hate myself more for it.
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Bakura laughs, his lip curled up into a snarl. I can see the malice in his eyes. How anyone can laugh and snarl at the same time is beyond me. But Bakura can do it. He suddenly stops laughing, and a little smirk appears on his face. I hate that smirk- it always means something unpleasant is headed my direction. I back up slowly, afriad to turn my back to him. He knows I'm afraid too- he loves it. He gets off on the fact that he intimidates me with the smalled of actions. I can't help but be afraid.
His eyes begin to roam, and I can feel fear rushing through me, clouding my rational thoughts and making me more sensitive to the way he smirks, just standing there looking at... me. Do, I don't want him to look at me like that, I know what he's thinking. He's been trying to force me into things like this for about a week now, and I've only barely been able to get away every time. It had started with him giving me suggestive looks, then progressed to the point that he would try to touch me. I don't know if he does it to creep me out, or because he's interested in men. I pray to God that it's the former.
Then it got worse. He started jumping at me from corners and shadows, forcing me against the wall and kissing me. I could taste the ash of cigarette smoke on him- I'd wondered where all the money from my part-time job was going. Now I know. I wish I didn't. His clothes smell like tabacco, and when he kisses me, it's like licking an ashtray. It's a filthy habit- thank God he doesn't smoke inside the house. Father would stop sending money if he found out, and thought that I smoked those smelly, addictive deathsticks. It's bad enough to smell it- but the taste is worse. Tenfold.
I'd been on the phone with Yugi when Bakura came back from whatever club or arcade he'd been at- I hadn't heard him come in. The next thing I knew, the phone was slammed down on the hook again, and I was on the floor. I knew that if he sat on me, I'd never be strong enough to push him back- and with that motivation, I got to my feet quickly. He's now appraoching me slowly, trying not to send off any alarms in my brain. It's too late by now- there must be at least thirty sirens wailing at me to get the hell out of the house and just run. But he'd find me. I know he would. I can't run forever... so what CAN I do?
I take another step backwards, and he takes a step forwards.
"B-Bacura... no... please... what are you doing... please, just..."
"Leave you alone?" He sneers, reaching out and holding my shoulder, sliding his fingers beneath the sleeve of my T-shirt. I can't stop a whimper from escaping my lips- his fingers are cold from being outside, and the mere contact is freaking me out.
"Y-yes, that's all I want..." I mutter, staring at my feet, hoping that this will discourage him from trying to kiss me. He only laughs, his other hand grabbing my chin, lifting my face to meet his. It's repulsive, it's wrong! But there's nothing I can do to stop him when his soot-tainted tongue finds its way into my mouth, past any weak barrier my clenched lips may have presented. I try to pull away, I really do, but his arm has found its way around my neck. I can feel myself holding in a retch, afraid of him, afraid of what he'll do to me. After what seems like a lifetime of the horrid intrusion in my mouth, he pulls away.
"You want more, don't you?" He smirked, tracing patterns along my chest and sending panicked shivers up my spine.
"No!"
"Admit it... you like it."
"No!" His smirk dissapears, and anger takes the place of his cocky attitude.
"I'll make you like it then." No, I can't let him! I don't even LIKE men! This is just wrong! But there's nothing I can do as he forces me back against the couch with one hand, fumbling with the button of his pants with his other hand.
"Oh God... no... no, don't!" It's going to far, this isn't right! Men aren't supposed to have sex with other men, it's not right! Bakura doesn't seem to think so- oh GOD! He's got his pants off- he's really going to go through with this, isn't it?
"Those are nice pants..." He purrs, making my face distort in an expression of digust and horror. "I like them better around your feet."
"N-" I don't even get the word out of my mouth before he tears my pants from around my waist, snapping the button off of the material. I feel his skin up against mine- he's holding my wrist.
"Come on, I know you're curious... touch it." I can't free my hand from his, no matter how much I struggle, and he forces my hand into his boxers.
"No! This is wrong! Let me go!" I cry, but it's almost like he can't hear me. Like he's numb to my pleas. Then his boxers are gone, thrown haphazardly onto the floor.
"Now, are we going to do this right, or do I have to coach you?" I whimper, shrinking back against the couch, wishing I could dissapear, become invisible, anything to get away from him. He straddles my chest, grabbing the hair on the back of my head in a fist.
"No! I won't do it! I have self respect! I won't just let you-"
"You don't have any self respect!" He shouted into my ear, pulling harder on my hair. "Besides- you'll like it. I know you will. Now put it in your mouth." No- this is worse than licking an ashtray. It's worse than him giving my suggestive looks. It's worse than a lot of things I could think of. And I won't. He can't make me. He can't.
"You can't! That's rape!" He snarled, becoming frustrated, and held himself in front of my mouth, and I clamped my jaw shut, the pain at the back of my head increasing.
"I don't care what you call it! Put it in your mouth now!" He tugged sharply on my hair, and I shouted out in pain. In the second that I open my mouth, there's an intrusion, an unwelcome presence. "That's better." He croons, holding himself flush against my face so that I can't pull away. "Now suck." I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I do as he says- it'll make it end sooner.
"That's it!" He shouts, his grip on the back of my head now excruciatingly painful. He bucks his hips, and I shut my eyes, trying to pretend this wasn't happening. "Harder!" I comply. "Harder!" I comply. He screams into me, and I taste him. It's the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. I feel so used, so dirty. It drips down my chin, leaves streaks down my blue shirt, gathers on the couch.
So wrong. So filthy. I hate it. I hate everything about it. Because he was right.
I did like it.
And I hate myself more for it.