'Dreamer'
For no good reason I got this bunny in my head, and it just plain refused to leave me alone. So, I wrote it. ^-^ And I now present it to you all. Enjoy?
Title: Dreamer
Rating: Um...I can't quite remember the ratings, but it has mentionings of gore so...er...no-one under 12?
Story:
Dreamer
Pale hands drifted across caramel skin, trailing a slow path across smooth flesh in looping curves and circles, winding whorls that slid across every inch exposed to air and moonlight, breath and touch.
The moon was very bright that night, shining in through the curtains neither of them had drawn. The spotlight both softened and enhanced the stage the players inhabited, two figures lost in silky cloth twisted about their lower limbs. One of them lay fast asleep.
The blankets stirred, sheets rippling as the sleeping one turned, curling into the warmth of the body beside them instinctively. One pale hand, ceasing its wandering, slid over the curve of a just-covered hip, falling to the lower back of the slumbering one and pressing possessively against the base of their spine. The other hand, not so questing, moved upwards, to prop a thoughtful head up from the pillow it had previously lain upon.
Yami was a lovely creature, the fact was indisputable. But…such a strange one at that! He was never completely understandable, never quite totally comprehensible, and there was always that lingering part of him that danced out of reach no matter how you snatched at it. The one unnameable part Bakura could never quite steal…
Awake, Yami was a hellcat, an intricately complicated puzzle of passion and anger and justice. Stubborn to a point, with set jaw and obstinate lips fixed firmly in a scowl, all slanting-eyed and scorching and flashing fire at any who crossed him wrongly. Long-legged and black-clad, haughty and sensual both with his collared throat and golden bangs tossed, devil-may-care smirk jumbled with righteousness, arrogance and pride. Pharaoh, God, King.
Asleep…fast asleep the perpetual frown on Yami’s face faded, forehead smoothing out as the day’s stresses slipped away. A sleeping leopard, with claws sheathed and golden bangs tousled about his face. Innocent, almost, beautiful. Dark lashes hiding drowsy fires, boneless, sleek and desirable, both stretched out with his shimmering tan skin and curled up, catlike. Youth.
Bakura…liked Yami best when he was silent, in the times, like right then, when the other was sleeping beside him. It cut out all the arguing they still indulged in, the poison and claws that were never subdued until long after the first kiss, the slow burning that still ate away at them both and sometimes drew blood before passion of another sort meant the dropping of blades. When Yami was silent he could question himself, wonder always at how the smaller body fit against his so perfectly, speculate over how his hands always seemed so selfish over their touch, how guardedly they warded away the night from the young king drowsing in his arms. The boy was so…vulnerable like that.
A fool the pharaoh was, to sleep at his enemy’s side. To lie dreaming when pale hands had their run of your body, lost in clouds and tumbling visions of the mind. The phrase ‘dead to the world’ was an irony. Yami slept deeply, justly, and barely stirred all night. Bakura knew; he had lain awake all night beside the other many a time, slinking away at dawn’s first glow. Yami was one with usually untroubled sleep, a deep sleeper and dreamer, dead to the world. Dead to the world indeed, for Bakura knew that should he choose to kill the sleeping king, Yami would never wake…
Perhaps…it was something only one who was an enemy could see, the defencelessness of the sleeping body cradled beside his own lean form. The long curve of the other’s throat; a glimmer of the moonlight and shadow marking out its hollow; where both artery and vein carried precious lifeblood to and from the heart. How simple it would be to ruin both in a single slash, to stain the satiny sheets pooled around them red, deep red, with god’s blood. Those soft lips - kissed -, parted slightly to draw breath, easily covered so the breath was trapped and slumber broken to struggle, slim fingers clawing to pull away the smothering pillow to let their owner breathe. The slow-rising and falling chest, so effortlessly sliced into, wet skin drawn back slick and bloody, white ribcage cracked and pulled so the still-beating heart could be pulled out - a prize.
Bakura lay awake, and pondered the dreamer that lay beside him bathed in moonlight. Studied the fool who trusted their foe, the idiot that drowsed at Death’s side and still dreamed softly with the faintest of smiles touching his lips. Contemplated the thousand and one ways in which he could kill him, sweetly and deadly and with a lover’s kiss goodbye…
Bakura would kill Yami some day, in revenge for all that had been done to him.
The faintest of stirrings in the blankets once more, the sheets rippling again as Yami pushed himself further into his lover’s arms, a soft breath leaving his lips: “Bakura…”
A little startled, Bakura wound his arms about the boy more firmly, allowing the other to lay their head upon his chest.
The Thief would kill the Pharaoh.
Just…not yet.
This has a yamishipping companion piece called 'Keeper' - not written yet, I hasten to add - which I'll be sticking up in the yamishipping community as soon as it's done.
Cross-posted to darkshipping. ^-^
Title: Dreamer
Rating: Um...I can't quite remember the ratings, but it has mentionings of gore so...er...no-one under 12?
Story:
Dreamer
Pale hands drifted across caramel skin, trailing a slow path across smooth flesh in looping curves and circles, winding whorls that slid across every inch exposed to air and moonlight, breath and touch.
The moon was very bright that night, shining in through the curtains neither of them had drawn. The spotlight both softened and enhanced the stage the players inhabited, two figures lost in silky cloth twisted about their lower limbs. One of them lay fast asleep.
The blankets stirred, sheets rippling as the sleeping one turned, curling into the warmth of the body beside them instinctively. One pale hand, ceasing its wandering, slid over the curve of a just-covered hip, falling to the lower back of the slumbering one and pressing possessively against the base of their spine. The other hand, not so questing, moved upwards, to prop a thoughtful head up from the pillow it had previously lain upon.
Yami was a lovely creature, the fact was indisputable. But…such a strange one at that! He was never completely understandable, never quite totally comprehensible, and there was always that lingering part of him that danced out of reach no matter how you snatched at it. The one unnameable part Bakura could never quite steal…
Awake, Yami was a hellcat, an intricately complicated puzzle of passion and anger and justice. Stubborn to a point, with set jaw and obstinate lips fixed firmly in a scowl, all slanting-eyed and scorching and flashing fire at any who crossed him wrongly. Long-legged and black-clad, haughty and sensual both with his collared throat and golden bangs tossed, devil-may-care smirk jumbled with righteousness, arrogance and pride. Pharaoh, God, King.
Asleep…fast asleep the perpetual frown on Yami’s face faded, forehead smoothing out as the day’s stresses slipped away. A sleeping leopard, with claws sheathed and golden bangs tousled about his face. Innocent, almost, beautiful. Dark lashes hiding drowsy fires, boneless, sleek and desirable, both stretched out with his shimmering tan skin and curled up, catlike. Youth.
Bakura…liked Yami best when he was silent, in the times, like right then, when the other was sleeping beside him. It cut out all the arguing they still indulged in, the poison and claws that were never subdued until long after the first kiss, the slow burning that still ate away at them both and sometimes drew blood before passion of another sort meant the dropping of blades. When Yami was silent he could question himself, wonder always at how the smaller body fit against his so perfectly, speculate over how his hands always seemed so selfish over their touch, how guardedly they warded away the night from the young king drowsing in his arms. The boy was so…vulnerable like that.
A fool the pharaoh was, to sleep at his enemy’s side. To lie dreaming when pale hands had their run of your body, lost in clouds and tumbling visions of the mind. The phrase ‘dead to the world’ was an irony. Yami slept deeply, justly, and barely stirred all night. Bakura knew; he had lain awake all night beside the other many a time, slinking away at dawn’s first glow. Yami was one with usually untroubled sleep, a deep sleeper and dreamer, dead to the world. Dead to the world indeed, for Bakura knew that should he choose to kill the sleeping king, Yami would never wake…
Perhaps…it was something only one who was an enemy could see, the defencelessness of the sleeping body cradled beside his own lean form. The long curve of the other’s throat; a glimmer of the moonlight and shadow marking out its hollow; where both artery and vein carried precious lifeblood to and from the heart. How simple it would be to ruin both in a single slash, to stain the satiny sheets pooled around them red, deep red, with god’s blood. Those soft lips - kissed -, parted slightly to draw breath, easily covered so the breath was trapped and slumber broken to struggle, slim fingers clawing to pull away the smothering pillow to let their owner breathe. The slow-rising and falling chest, so effortlessly sliced into, wet skin drawn back slick and bloody, white ribcage cracked and pulled so the still-beating heart could be pulled out - a prize.
Bakura lay awake, and pondered the dreamer that lay beside him bathed in moonlight. Studied the fool who trusted their foe, the idiot that drowsed at Death’s side and still dreamed softly with the faintest of smiles touching his lips. Contemplated the thousand and one ways in which he could kill him, sweetly and deadly and with a lover’s kiss goodbye…
Bakura would kill Yami some day, in revenge for all that had been done to him.
The faintest of stirrings in the blankets once more, the sheets rippling again as Yami pushed himself further into his lover’s arms, a soft breath leaving his lips: “Bakura…”
A little startled, Bakura wound his arms about the boy more firmly, allowing the other to lay their head upon his chest.
The Thief would kill the Pharaoh.
Just…not yet.
This has a yamishipping companion piece called 'Keeper' - not written yet, I hasten to add - which I'll be sticking up in the yamishipping community as soon as it's done.
Cross-posted to darkshipping. ^-^