[Yuugiou][JyouxMalik][PG-13] - Ficclet WIP
Title: Untitled
Fandom/Pairing: Yuugiou / JyounouchixMalik
Rating: PG-13 probably eventually?
Word Count: 502 so far. 817 so far
Warnings: I don't write Jyou for a reason. :| Also this isn't finished, but I wanted to stick what I've got so far up in case anyone wants to poke at it and give me directional clues. Will pertain to cross-dressing later, none of you are surprised.
Summary: Malik doesn't want to do it, damnit, but Jyounouchi just pushes and pushes, and Honda just watches, because he never steps in in time. :3 Eventual exploration of Malik's relationships with Yuugi-tachi, but mostly Honda and Jyou, probably, because I love Honda.
The crashing of desks and chairs hitting the floor from class 1-B was not the least bit uncommon in Domino High school, especially in the recent weeks since one Ishtal Malik transferred in from Egypt. Rumors had run at their usual speed, citing the transfer student as a Battle City finalist, but nothing more, and most people who didn’t know any better assumed that any conflict between the him and Jyounouchi Katsuya had something to do with dueling and left it alone. Never mind the fact that very few people had bothered getting to know the foreign exchange student, who seemed to keep to himself when he wasn’t hanging around Yuugi’s friends; there were maybe two people at Domino High School that could take Jyounouchi in a fight, and neither wanted anything to do with his shenanigans.
So on a Thursday afternoon, when desks went crashing and the usual admonishing shout from Honda Hiroto resounded through the halls after class was up, the few conscientious authoritative figures left in the school merrily turned the other way and ignored the scuffle.
“Absolutely not! No!” The Egyptian’s voice could be heard down the hall, even if it sounded breathless, and with good reason; he was lying sprawled on the ground, still half in his upended chair, with a markedly heavier Jyounouchi Katsuya crouched over his ribcage. Malik’s face was red with anger and embarrassment, fists flailing wildly as he tried--and failed--to land a punch that counted on the bigger blonde on top of him. “Get off me, Jyounouchi!”
It was hard not to laugh at Malik’s predicament, given that he’d only been spared a concussion by Jyounouchi literally holding him up by the front of his shirt before he’d settled onto him, crouched so that he wasn’t putting his whole weight on the slimmer male. The brilliant shade of red in his cheeks almost made the entire thing better; playing rough with Malik when Rishid wasn’t there to catapult him to the mainland was a very, very enjoyable thing. “Aw, c’mon Malik, don’t be stubborn,” Jyounouchi practically jeered, but he was grinning as he batted away Malik’s clumsy attempts at decking him with such ease that it made Malik snarl. Completely unfazed by this, the heavier boy settled a little more firmly on top of his captive, earning an even darker glare. “You said yourself, you wore dresses all the time--“
“No!”
“--Back in Egypt, you did so say that,” Jyounouchi went on, unperturbed and smiling as Malik’s futile struggles slowed to a stop, even if the murderous look certainly didn’t let up in the least. “Now c’mon, somebody has to dress up for the booth, and you said you wanted it to be accurate--“
“Damn it Jyou…!” Malik wheezed, feeling his diaphragm getting progressively more squashed underneath the other boy’s weight, and with his spine arched over the back of the hard plastic chair he’d been sitting in earlier, drawing in proper breath was almost impossible. “Lemme up…!”
“Jyounouchi, you’re killing him,” Honda warned from the sidelines, privately relieved that his best friend had adopted someone else for his personal punching bag. While he wasn’t nearly as violent as he’d once been, Jyounouchi had by no means lost his inclination to fight, and Malik’s quick temper and stubborn refusal to yield made him the perfect sparring partner, even if his lack of street experience gave him a huge handicap.
If Jyounouchi heard his friend’s warning, he appeared to ignore it, although he shifted a little so that he could get one knee on the ground. Squatting was almost as undignified as Malik’s position, and now that he was winning, he wanted to look the part. “If you’d just cooperate…”
“I. Hate. Your. Guts…” Malik grunted, kicking uselessly to try dislodging the other blonde. It wasn’t that he was inherently opposed to wearing traditional garb--if Malik was anything, he was proud to hail from Egypt, and short of his family’s secrets he would be more than happy to spend hours showing people what he knew. Sharing Egypt with the world without letting foreigners desecrate the tombs of her kings was a wonderful thing.
Having Jyounouchi teasing him and trying to dress him up like a gypsy for his own amusement, however, was something he opposed with every fiber of his being. Especially with him throwing his own words back in his face!
But the older boy was right, curse him, and they both knew it. Isis would never lend their family’s heirlooms out to anyone other than Yuugi, and some of those Malik wasn’t even allowed near without his sister looming behind him. Bakura Ryou had offered to make replicas for the bulk of their props--crooks and ankhs that he could paint to look like the real thing, and Anzu had offered to make some of the beaded jewelry with his help.
Fandom/Pairing: Yuugiou / JyounouchixMalik
Rating: PG-13 probably eventually?
Word Count: 502 so far. 817 so far
Warnings: I don't write Jyou for a reason. :| Also this isn't finished, but I wanted to stick what I've got so far up in case anyone wants to poke at it and give me directional clues. Will pertain to cross-dressing later, none of you are surprised.
Summary: Malik doesn't want to do it, damnit, but Jyounouchi just pushes and pushes, and Honda just watches, because he never steps in in time. :3 Eventual exploration of Malik's relationships with Yuugi-tachi, but mostly Honda and Jyou, probably, because I love Honda.
The crashing of desks and chairs hitting the floor from class 1-B was not the least bit uncommon in Domino High school, especially in the recent weeks since one Ishtal Malik transferred in from Egypt. Rumors had run at their usual speed, citing the transfer student as a Battle City finalist, but nothing more, and most people who didn’t know any better assumed that any conflict between the him and Jyounouchi Katsuya had something to do with dueling and left it alone. Never mind the fact that very few people had bothered getting to know the foreign exchange student, who seemed to keep to himself when he wasn’t hanging around Yuugi’s friends; there were maybe two people at Domino High School that could take Jyounouchi in a fight, and neither wanted anything to do with his shenanigans.
So on a Thursday afternoon, when desks went crashing and the usual admonishing shout from Honda Hiroto resounded through the halls after class was up, the few conscientious authoritative figures left in the school merrily turned the other way and ignored the scuffle.
“Absolutely not! No!” The Egyptian’s voice could be heard down the hall, even if it sounded breathless, and with good reason; he was lying sprawled on the ground, still half in his upended chair, with a markedly heavier Jyounouchi Katsuya crouched over his ribcage. Malik’s face was red with anger and embarrassment, fists flailing wildly as he tried--and failed--to land a punch that counted on the bigger blonde on top of him. “Get off me, Jyounouchi!”
It was hard not to laugh at Malik’s predicament, given that he’d only been spared a concussion by Jyounouchi literally holding him up by the front of his shirt before he’d settled onto him, crouched so that he wasn’t putting his whole weight on the slimmer male. The brilliant shade of red in his cheeks almost made the entire thing better; playing rough with Malik when Rishid wasn’t there to catapult him to the mainland was a very, very enjoyable thing. “Aw, c’mon Malik, don’t be stubborn,” Jyounouchi practically jeered, but he was grinning as he batted away Malik’s clumsy attempts at decking him with such ease that it made Malik snarl. Completely unfazed by this, the heavier boy settled a little more firmly on top of his captive, earning an even darker glare. “You said yourself, you wore dresses all the time--“
“No!”
“--Back in Egypt, you did so say that,” Jyounouchi went on, unperturbed and smiling as Malik’s futile struggles slowed to a stop, even if the murderous look certainly didn’t let up in the least. “Now c’mon, somebody has to dress up for the booth, and you said you wanted it to be accurate--“
“Damn it Jyou…!” Malik wheezed, feeling his diaphragm getting progressively more squashed underneath the other boy’s weight, and with his spine arched over the back of the hard plastic chair he’d been sitting in earlier, drawing in proper breath was almost impossible. “Lemme up…!”
“Jyounouchi, you’re killing him,” Honda warned from the sidelines, privately relieved that his best friend had adopted someone else for his personal punching bag. While he wasn’t nearly as violent as he’d once been, Jyounouchi had by no means lost his inclination to fight, and Malik’s quick temper and stubborn refusal to yield made him the perfect sparring partner, even if his lack of street experience gave him a huge handicap.
If Jyounouchi heard his friend’s warning, he appeared to ignore it, although he shifted a little so that he could get one knee on the ground. Squatting was almost as undignified as Malik’s position, and now that he was winning, he wanted to look the part. “If you’d just cooperate…”
“I. Hate. Your. Guts…” Malik grunted, kicking uselessly to try dislodging the other blonde. It wasn’t that he was inherently opposed to wearing traditional garb--if Malik was anything, he was proud to hail from Egypt, and short of his family’s secrets he would be more than happy to spend hours showing people what he knew. Sharing Egypt with the world without letting foreigners desecrate the tombs of her kings was a wonderful thing.
Having Jyounouchi teasing him and trying to dress him up like a gypsy for his own amusement, however, was something he opposed with every fiber of his being. Especially with him throwing his own words back in his face!
But the older boy was right, curse him, and they both knew it. Isis would never lend their family’s heirlooms out to anyone other than Yuugi, and some of those Malik wasn’t even allowed near without his sister looming behind him. Bakura Ryou had offered to make replicas for the bulk of their props--crooks and ankhs that he could paint to look like the real thing, and Anzu had offered to make some of the beaded jewelry with his help.