Of The Grave
Ryou glanced over at the spirit on his bed. Usually Bakura was quite restless this time of day, especially on the weekend, when Ryou didn't even have the excuse of school to keep him at bay. Now, however, Bakura sat on the bed looking quite self satisfied.
Which could mean only one thing.
"Okay, Bakura. Who did you send to the Shadow Realm this time?" Ryou asked, resigned, spinning around in his chair to look at the incorporeal form, which could almost be his twin if you left out the wilder hair and completely different posture and eyes- the spirit's eyes were twin reddish orbs of cold determination.
They could pierce, look through him if they wanted, those eyes. Often, as now, Ryou found himself caught up in them helplessly, unable to do anything but stare.
"Nobody, nobody." Bakura responded, lips widening in a grin that showed off canines too sharp to be human.
Too beautiful to be human.
And he wasn't, really, Ryou reflected. He wasn't "mortal," as he called it, like the rest of them. He was all arrogance and silver and cold, cold fervor. Like the breath from the tomb of the Millennium ring which he had been trapped in for so long.
So delighted when he found out he could materialize from the ring, so disappointed when he found out he couldn't so much as get ten yards away from Ryou, couldn't touch anything, could only make his voice heard to a chosen few, and his form seen by even fewer– exactly one.
Ryou, to be truthful, didn't mind it. The silver beauty was there only for him– he alone could be entranced by the unnaturally bright red eyes, the hair like moonshine spun for the earth, and the lithe elegance with which he could turn an otherwise silly pose into the sexiest–
Okay. THAT was going too far. Time to stop this train of thought, Ryou. Nowhere to go there. Like he would ever let you touch him. Like you could even if he would let you.
"What is it, little landlord?" Bakura asked, mocking, showing even more of the fang. Ryou jumped, and realized he had been caught staring.
"Umn... Nothing." he replied. "Just.. I was thinking. You remember your past, don't you?"
Now where had that come from? Ryou certainly didn't know. It had just jumped into his mind somehow. Time to go with the flow and hope his yami wouldn't kill him for it.
"Haaiiiii..." Bakura drew the word out expectantly, demanding an explanation without saying so, never once expecting that he would be refused.
Well, Ryou wasn't about to disappoint his expectations.
"It's just... well... Can you tell me something about it?" He leapt into the fire without a thought, mind blank save for the figure in front of him, until after he had already said it. He drew back slightly, blushing at having asked such a silly question, as Bakura looked at him sharply, red eyes glowing under the line of silver.
He was surprised, then, when Bakura slowly asked,
"What do you want to know?"
Bakura was in an unusually pleasant mood. Maybe it had been battering those punks last night in a shadow game and leaving them all on the ground with their souls locked in their oversized, and rather smelly, footgear. Really, what was the point of wearing shoes that your feet lifted out of with every step you took?
Deciding not to ponder this question for too long- the youth of this day and age just did unexplainable things sometimes- he took the time to gaze his hikari. The boy was hunched over something- some schoolwork, perhaps, perhaps something else- but that wasn't what mattered.
The soft, dark chocolate eyes focused on something, bringing a life to them that wasn't there otherwise. The silvery-white strands fell about his face to one side with the softness of a cloud. His slim frame swayed back and forth to whatever music was playing in his head, the hand on his pencil thin, perfect, covered with slightly translucent pale skin. He was beautiful.
Those eyes had been flipping over to him every once in a while. Bakura couldn't help but wonder why; but then again, he had a pretty good idea. Ryou didn't know what had happened last night, so of course he would be wondering why he would be in such a good mood.
"Okay, Bakura. Who did you send to the Shadow Realm this time?" Ryou finally asked, swinging around in the chair, his silvery hair floating out behind him. Bakura grinned.
"Nobody, nobody." he ascertained. After all, he hadn't sent anyone to the Shadow Realm; just locked their souls away for an uncertain interval.
Ryou was looking at him with that same concentration he had been devoting to the paper. Bakura smiled even wider. If only he would look at him like that all the time.
"What is it, little landlord?" he asked.
"Umn... Nothing." he replied, a slight flush. Heh, that brought a warm light to those chocolate eyes, darkening them to a shining dark color, like polished ebony put under a light. He ducked his head, hiding behind the shimmery hair that flopped into his eyes obligingly. "Just... I was thinking. You remember your past, don't you?"
The boy came up with the oddest questions on the oddest time.
"Haaiiiii..." he replied, eyes lazily tracing the little figure of his hikari. If it wasn't for the absence of hips and... other features, he could have well passed for a girl. But that was okay. Bakura liked him juuuust as he was.
"It's just... well... Can you tell me something about it?"
Hmmm... Hikari was curious today, wasn't he? Usually he wouldn't even talk to him save scolding. What a perfect opportunity.
"What would you like to know?"
Ryou blinked at him, plainly shocked by this turnabout. Excellent. Bakura loved it when his hikari was off balance.
"Umn... a-anything, really." he stammered.
Bakura raised his eyebrow at him.
"Anything is rather a wide subject, hikari."
Ryou stammered something else and blushed brightly. Aww, so adorable. Maybe he'd spare him some humiliation in finding something to talk about. After all, the sun was shining in the window so brightly, lighting a curtain in such a way that it reminded him of some people from the past, in Egypt where the same sun shone just this bright every day.
They were three, and they were outside the realms of the city.
He was the greatest of them- the only one that dared venture into the realms of the dead, forward and arrogant enough to challenge the gods themselves.
The other was Aikur, who had mastered the great river itself- the one who could steal anything on or aside the water. No ship was safe from him, any crew that took him on found themselves wildly successful- for a while. Until he turned and took all of the treasure they had accumulated with him on board.
The last was Vaiya, the one who traversed the sands and the cities. She had been sold as a slave to anyone who was anyone, and continued to escape, no matter what securities were put on her. She could cross the desert on her own feet, and dealt almost more in information than material things.
They were known as the three who conquered the world- while the Pharaoh might be the representative of heaven on Earth, they jointly ruled the earth.
Bakura of the Grave, Aikur of the Nile, and Vaiya of the Sand.
While Aikur and Bakura were known to be partners, Vaiya was only assumed partnered with them. She, she was not willing to be merely partners. She was the one of them who could befriend the hearts of the people- Bakura could conquer and Aikur could find his way in, but she truly got along. She was the leader, and she resented his taking that position.
Aikur of the Nile, tall and lithe and standing high in his little boat, the fearsome pike of the river. His hair black as night, shining blue in the sun, who found the most pleasure in daring the rocks and rapids of the water- clothes wet with spray, head flung back, laughing, as water ran down his face, drawing lines with the kohl that protected his eyes from the dazzling glitter of the liquid.
He and Bakura got along- each would leave the other to his own business, firmly convinced that his was the best. They would cooperate at times, if need be- they shared a hideout, after all.
But then there was Vaiya. She, the Ruby of the Desert, could not be tamed. Her hair was red, crimson, even, like blood freshly bubbled from the wound. Her cloak would swirl around her, silver as her eyes- a darker shade than this, your hair; more like darker silver. It would shine like the sun turned the color of the moon. When it blew out all the way, it would show the tanned skin of her leg revealed by the long slit up the white linen of her gown, including the jagged scar like mother-of-pearl.
"Scar?" Ryou interrupted. It seemed like rather an anticlimactic thing to add to the tale of their beauty– he knew he could never live up to the golden beauty of those who were strong enough to rule Egypt. After all, he was weak, pale, pathetic– his yami had said so often enough. But a scar was a sign someone had marked you- a moment of weakness.
Bakura smiled at him– wait, was that a hint of softness? No, it was swallowed up in the feral glee he saw at telling his hikari off.
"Yes, a scar. What do you think it would be, a fake leg?"
"N-no..." Ryou stammered. "It's just– "
"Hush." Bakura said, reaching over to run his hand through Ryou's bangs, brushing them up much like his. "Let me continue."
The scar was the sign of her constant struggle she had declared with Bakura of the Grave.
"Hair like moonlight- white as the bone in the grave." she used to say, as they faced off in a battle of wills once again.
"Hair like ruby, bleeding like a heart." he would reply, lying on a cloak in the sand. It was he who had given her that scar, a jagged wound with little hope of recovery– yet she had done it, moving on that leg as daintily and easily as any other limb.
And yet still she could not best him in a fight- so she tried to show him up in other ways, as her nets aboveground became as elaborate as the nets he evaded belowground in the tombs of the dead.
She could shamelessly manipulate almost any man- she could get herself sold into any household buying from the slave market she wanted, even the Pharaoh's own palace. And she took any chance she could, amusing herself with the hearts of others.
Until she was sold out. Her net collapsed in on itself, revealing her at the center. And like any flaming child of the desert, she, in her eternal passion, rose up into the sky in one final blast, forming the true heart of the desert- a perfect ruby, left in the Pharaoh's palace as a testament to her existence.
And so it was that the only thing Bakura of the Grave had ever wanted to steal from living hands lead him into the palace of the Pharaoh, and into his doom- the Ring.
Ryou blinked. 'The only thing Bakura of the Grave had ever wanted to steal from living hands-" and it was certainly more beautiful than him. After all, she equaled him in strength; she could do anything and he couldn't; he had been alive then, so she could touch him- He, Ryou, couldn't even do that.
"Landlord?" Bakura inquired in his mocking tone. Always mocking. Did he mock her? No, they exchanged insults that were more like endearing compliments, because she had the strength, the fire, to not be overwhelmed and chilled by the sharp words and cold eyes of the spirit on the bed.
"Nothing." Ryou replied. "It was a r-really good story, Bakura."
He raised an eyebrow at him. "It was more than a story. It all happened." Though he might have artsyed up the phrasing there at the end. Ah well. It was fun to remember the bright, harsh desert where he had lived his actual life. Telling it made him feel like he was living again, and the feeling extended past where the story ended.
But why was his hikari looking inward again? He had been since it came to describing Vaiya and her talents.
"Ryou?" he asked softly, forgetting himself and reaching out to touch the soft, flushed cheek. He flinched, then looked at him wide-eyed. Bakura quickly withdrew the hand. His hikari was still scared of him- not that anyone would blame him. The late afternoon sun sent its golden light through the window, lighting spirals of dust and turning Ryou's hair, that cloud spun into hair, into a blazing glory, lining each individual strand with gold.
"You... touched me..." he whispered. Bakura frowned, about to make an irate reply, then realized what he meant. He could touch Ryou. Perhaps he couldn't so much as pick up a card, but Ryou, Ryou he could touch.
The sun moved down another inch, pulling the focus of the light up and forming a brightness about the hikari's head that resembled some sort of moonglow halo.
"Like an angel..." he whispered, barely audible to himself, even. Ryou blinked, his eyes growing wide, and Bakura knew that the boy had heard it.
Ryou stared at his yami in awe. His red eyes burnt into him, turned into twin pools of liquid fire by the setting sun, which gilded the spun silver hair and made the pale skin revealed by the open button-down shirt he wore glow golden, like those of the tale he told.
And... He had said his name. He never called him by name. It was always, "you," and "hikari," and "landlord." Never "Ryou." He relished the way it sounded in that voice, rolling off the tongue like crystal water, clear and perfect. And touched him. What was that look in the hard eyes of the thief... was it... almost... affection? Was there warmth in there that was not all the sun?
"Like an angel..." Bakura whispered, leaning in towards him slightly. Ryou's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Had... he heard him correctly? No, he must be dreaming or something. There was just no chance of this happening in real life. And so he abandoned his caution and melted towards his yami as Bakura drew his face closer, slightly transparent fingers seeming very real and almost burning on his skin.
And then... Time stopped itself, turned in on itself, and exploded into nothingness, a meaningless illusion as Bakura pressed his lips to his own. His mind stopped briefly with time, and then...
With a jolt Ryou awakened to the real world and realized that no, this was not a dream. It was real, it was real, it was too good to be real but it was. His mind was becoming incoherent trying to process the sensation, until finally Bakura pulled away, a smug possessive look on his face like a cat.
"I... you, what...?" he tried to speak, not managing to make any sense. Finally he put words together. "I thought... I mean... Compared to her, I'm nothing. I'm weak, I'm shy, I can't do anything..." he whispered.
Bakura looked at him with laughing realization in his eyes.
"Hikari... so that's why you stopped listening when it came to Vaiya."
Ryou looked down, ashamed.
"It's just... she was so much better than I am..."
He snorted. "Are you being perfectly serious? I didn't even like her. She probably hated my thieving guts. The only reason I tried to steal that ruby is because of the legends of perfection– something she certainly never achieved as a person- too pushy. Like an evil Anzu."
Ryou tried to picture that, and shuddered, suddenly feeling like a huge weight had lifted from his soul. He smiled in quiet delight.
"Really?" he asked softly.
"Please, hikari." Bakura showed off his fangs again, lit with blood red by the sun for a single instant. "Really."
And then he leaned in to kiss him again.
Sao: Muahah. My first time at writing those two (it was so fun) I hope it was decent.
This is basically where it ends, but I might end up writing a sequel… possibly. (nods) I love my Vaiya and Aikur characters. I have pretty pictures of them on my deviantart. Well, I will as soon as I get Aikur colored…..
Anyhow… review!