ysabet (ysabet) wrote in takoyaoi_love, @ 2008-04-17 17:45:00 |
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Current mood: | Slightly weirded out |
Current music: | Hands on the alter for a charming spell (be sincere in persuasion--) |
PromptFic: 'Practical Applications' [YuGiOh, Bakura/Ryou, NC-17]
Title: Practical Applications
Author/Artist: ysabet
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Ummm... I was originally going for Humorous-With-Added-Weirdness and it sort of devolved into Rather-Creepy-Pr0nish-Thing. Don't ask me. I have no clue. However, this IS Bakura, so it's probably okay. Probably.**hides**
Word count: 1601
Summary: A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. It can be a lot of fun, too.
Prompt: "Bakura had never even thought of using the Shadows that way."
Clue Number One that told Bakura that something odd was going on was a sound: a moan. Clue Number Two was also a sound, a series of splashes—alright, maybe that wasn’t so strange, but there were a lot of them, weren’t there? And Clue Number Three—
Oh, fuck the godsdamn numbering, thought Bakura irritably, and went to have a look; math had never been his strong suit anyway.
His particular personal Millennium Item wasn’t as structured as the Royal Asshole’s (as he termed the Pharaoh), not having a multitude of insane staircases and bottomless pits and so forth as part of its soul-room; instead it contained vista upon vista of sand and tumbled stone with the occasional habitable dwelling in which he kept either the illusions, spiritual selves or memories of stolen things—he had never quite been sure which they were. If the largest of the ruins looked remarkably like Kuru Eruna, that wasn’t exactly a surprise, was it? And if his tumble of tattered blankets resembled a bedroll from his embodied days, imagine that. It was all mental or magical anyway, right? Who gave a shit? The tumbledown dwelling had a roof, had walls that blocked out the everpresent wind, had a safe hollow to build a fire in—
--and it also had an oasis nearby. And mental or magical or whatever, that was where the sounds were coming from.
* * *
Dazed and half-aware, Ryou hissed softly as he twisted in the grip of whatever it was that held him. It was a mystery to him just how he had ended up in this position, but he had no intention of fighting back. Not when the whatever-it-was that had him could make him feel like...
(mmm--oh, there-- right there-- don't stop)
...like this. One minute he had been curled up in his bed, aching and sore from a fight at school that he hadn't been able to avoid (and oh God what his darker half had done to them afterwards) and then he had been--
(Nnngh... and again and again, oh again)
--had been somewhere else. He didn't care. Ryou pushed back against the long, hard strokes and sighed in mindless animalistic bliss as the pressure increased, pleasure to the point of pain.
* * *
It had taken Thief Bakura what felt like an eternity in limbo to understand, in those very first days trapped and bodiless within the Ring, just where he was. After that it had taken the fettered spirit increasingly less periods of time to perceive the Ring's structure and powers, manipulate them, and finally bring into being his surroundings and 'body'. At that point it had become almost automatic, his soul setting the strictures and what passed for natural law within the Item's boundaries. Everything there had its substance linked to the Shadow Realm; but in some places the dark power leaked through stronger than in others.
Places like the oasis, for instance. After all, what else was more desirable and potent in a desert than water?
Not that it really was water... no. Not water.
* * *
Ryou was... starting to wake up. He fought it, struggling to stay in the euphoric depths of touch. But something was holding him--? Pressing onto him, into him, harder and harder and harder-- Oh GOD that felt so good--
He shivered, beginning to become aware.
* * *
The sounds were getting louder now, accompanied by a rhythmic splashing. Slithering around a sandworn outcropping, Bakura squinted his eyes and tried to make out just what the hell was going on with his personal oasis and accumulation of Shadow Realm potency. It figured that Ryou had finally found his way here; but what was the fool doing? Ever since their disastrous Battle City duel on Kaiba's blimp, Bakura's host had become more and more comfortable with his particular Millenium Item's powers; seeing just what some of the others were capable of had preyed on the teenager's mind, forcing him to take steps both into mastery... and into his and Bakura's shared soul-room. A door in the ruins opened into Ryou's private chamber now; and as he had learned, the room had been steadily growing larger.
Not, Bakura told himself smugly as he peered into the vague darkness, that it'll ever have a chance in hell of being a tenth as large as my desert.
But at least Ryou was trying; Bakura had liked him a little better for his newfound spine. And on one memorable evening when Ryou had found his way out onto the desert sands to sit by the thief's fire and talk. Bakura had been bored, frustrated by inactivity; Ryou had been lonely, shockingly so. Boredom had led to new thoughts, and loneliness had allowed them in; so when a scarred hand had tilted the white-haired boy's face up by the chin and then had lingered to slide along the line of jaw and throat, the slant of collarbone and bare chest beneath clothing...
...well. They had been getting along much better since then. Ryou's shyness had hidden quite a lot of desperation and a surprisingly passionate nature, even though he hadn't quite trusted the hands that had brought it to the surface. Of course, the element of not-quite-unwilling surrender had it's own attraction, didn't it? As did the slope of a long, pale neck, or the way the boy's face had burned, or how he had screamed out loud at the end of it, arched like a bow in the firelight, nails biting deep into the skin of the thief's hips as Ryou had tightened his legs around his darker half's waist--
--Where was he? Ah, right. Bakura shifted a little uncomfortably (because, spirit or not, the subjective reality of the Ring made everything, well, *quite* real enough) and studied the shadowy movement among the stones of the oasis' shore... He could see a little better now, clearly enough to make out more than just outlines and shapes, and that was Ryou, yes, and that was, was ......What...? That can't be, he-- The thief blinked, jaw dropping.
Ryou?
* * *
And now there was rough, cold stone instead of his bed in his apartment, and the faint feeling of dislocation that came with being ensouled inside the Ring. He had been curled up, trying to ignore the bruises, wishing someone would--
--oh--
--someone was, and Ryou struggled in earnest as the reality of his situation became clear. The intensity of touch paused, multitudinous limbs stopping in mid-stroke at his shock and dismay before they began again; and he squirmed in mixed discomfort and pleasure. It wasn't that it didn't feel good, it was just that he was, was--
* * *
He's lying there stark naked. Ryou is. On the shore. Well, that's different. Bakura stared in fascination at the scene in front of him, bare meters away now. Ammit eat my soul if I ever expected to see that without my having to damn near rip his clothes off myself.
The black, black not-waters of the oasis washed around the white-haired teenager's limbs... or to be more precise, curled around them; purest substance of the Shadow Realm, the power in the pool had apparently responded to some sort of desire in Ryou's mind to form-- Tentacles. Now who would've thought it? And what they're doing to him.... hmm. Fearlessly the thief walked forward (it was his oasis, after all), wading through the silky blackness that parted like living oil around his feet. Irritation washing away in a flood of amusement and more than a little lust at the sight (so black, so pale, like the moon this place could not have), Bakura settled alongside Ryou's futilely-thrashing form.
"You could've just said something if you fucking wanted a massage that badly," muttered the thief, admiring despite himself the way the black, shining tendrils had wound themselves around the other's straining body. The bruises from the fight earlier that day must've hurt more than he'd realized if they had sent Ryou --sleepwalking? Something of the sort. Sweat sheened the teenager's skin, and he groaned as a tentacle dug into a particularly knotted muscle. Extending from the pool, tapered from wrist-thickness to finger-thin, they stroked and worked the muscles of Bakura's host from neck to knees and everywhere in between.
Everywhere.
Bakura's expression slowly relaxed into a smirk, recollection surfacing of a night long past when he too had made similar use of the oasis. Similar use; not... quite what Ryou had done, but-- Mm; I remember now... He leaned down, skin against skin as he settled himself against his host, clothing banished with a thought. "Let me show you," whispered the thief, his lips brushing the side of Ryou's throat, "what other uses a solid manifestation of the Shadow Realm can have..."
The tentacles paused, control moving smoothly from the one mind's grip into that of the other, more practiced one. Their patterns changed, moving from massage into something altogether different and very purposeful, seeking, slick and smooth as water. Oh. God. Ryou swallowed hard, but made no move whatsoever to draw away; escape, at least for now, was the furthest thing from his mind as long-fingered hands slid down his hips and tightened for a second before moving on, stroking lower. His darker self chuckled at his obvious capitulation. "Now aren't you glad we're getting along so well?" the thief purred, reaching.
And the sleek black tentacles now sliding around and beneath Ryou's body seemed to writhe in anticipation.