Lights Out
Title: Lights Out
Fandom/Pairing: Yuugiou; Yami no Bakura x. Seto Kaiba
Rating: 14-A
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: Yuugiou is copyright Kazuki Takahashi. Story is copyright V.S.
Notes: Christmas!gift for apollymi. The rough of this was written by candlelight when the power in my house went out for a day or so. Can you tell? :3
‘The power’ Seto wrote, ‘is out.’
It had been for the past six hours or so. As far as he was aware, no one in the city had any electricity; its loss was being accredited to a freak snow storm that had blown through. Domino was in turmoil - and the radio that had died over an hour ago had recommended that citizens remain calm and stay indoors. Seto had hardly seen a reason to go out anyway.
His laptop battery had died approximately two hours previous, but he could guess that it was about nine-thirty in the evening. It was terribly dark; he couldn’t see more than a couple of feet away from him, much less out the window into the gloom. He hadn’t left this chair in his office since he’d put Mokuba to bed - and that had been a while ago. The boy had quickly grown bored after running down the batteries on everything he owned, and had crept into the office to sit on the floor next to his older brother; he’d eventually fallen asleep against Seto’s leg. It hadn’t been long after that when Seto had gently nudged him awake and taken him to bed.
‘This’ Seto wrote, ‘is unacceptable.’
He had the nagging suspicion that Bakura was somehow behind this, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. Heck, forget ridiculous - it sounded impossible. But the thief had proven his ability to go above and beyond any sort of expectation before, so Seto couldn’t help his misgivings.
Even knowing that the servants present in the house had gone and pulled all the curtains shut in an attempt to conserve heat, he found himself shivering. Granted, he wasn’t wearing any more layers than usual, but the temperature in the house hadn’t dropped that much!
Even wearing socks, his ankles were extremely cold.
Quite suddenly, he heard the door open and then close again. He swiveled sharply in his chair, peering desperately but seeing nothing. Tentatively, he spoke aloud, “Bakura?”
As if he’d been summoned by word alone, something in the dark shifted to reveal Bakura’s white hair. A second later, his teeth appeared in a wicked grin, “You called?”
Unamused, his tone bland, Seto asked, “Did you do this?”
Bakura scoffed, “Why do you think it took me so long to get here? That weather is hell.”
“That wasn’t my question.” Seto said delicately, his eyes narrowed. Being out of his comfort zone obviously made him rather testy.
“Well, I’m certainly glad you equate me to god, Seto,” Bakura’s tone seemed to have taken note of the annoyance in Seto’s, and thus had doubled in amusement level, “But I’m only taking advantage of an excellent opportunity.”
‘I’ Seto wrote, glaring at Bakura all the while, ‘am not very happy about this.’
“Cold yet?” Bakura went on casually, grinning at him through the darkness; Seto found it disturbing that his teeth and hair were the only things visible.
“Not in the least.” The stubborn Kaiba responded, crossing one leg over the other so as to keep his legs from shaking against one another. He doubted this would really fool Bakura, since the other man seemed to observe everything he tried to hide no matter how subtly he went about it.
“Liar.” The word was dropped coolly as Bakura moved maybe one or two feet closer, so Seto could see his eyes, “You’re thinner than I am and I’m cold.”
“You were outside.” Seto countered easily, further closing his posture by crossing his arms over his chest; he did, in spite of this, keep his pen between his fingers.
“And you haven’t moved in over an hour. You’d better get going some time soon or that hot ass of yours is going to freeze to the chair.”
“You’re crude.” Of course, it was obvious what Bakura wanted. Small wonder, when it was always the same thing Bakura came to him for. Well and good, even knowing that, Seto wasn’t about to make it easy.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Not quite a threat, but presented with such a smirk that one knew the joke was only a weak façade of propriety.
Seto found that he’d winced at that, unbidden; his tone was harsh and scathing. “And so grammatically well-accomplished too, that was just wonderful.”
What had been lurking beneath the joke of his previous phrase now rose with warning and Bakura’s tone darkened by several degrees, “Don’t start pushing me, Seto, it’s too early in the evening for that.”
“Then come back in an hour, if I’m allowed to be terse with you then.” Seto snapped coldly, his hand once again moving swiftly across the page in front of him.
‘I am about to receive more attention than I would like right now.’
“Seto.” Bakura’s tone commanded that Seto look up at him - and it was closer than before. The white-haired teenager was right around on Seto’s side of the desk, not even two feet away from him.
Seto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What?”
Bakura leaned in and muttered, “I love you,” before fisting his hand in the hair at the nape of Seto’s neck and yanking him forward into a rough kiss. For the impression this action gave off, he may as well have said ‘I hate you’.
The pen slipped from Seto’s limp fingers, his eyes widening slightly. He blinked hard to keep tears from slipping down his cheeks; Bakura’s grip was hard and the nerve endings where he was pulling were sensitive. It only took a second, however, for his own mouth to start reacting and wanting that kiss.
And it was precisely that moment when Bakura pulled away, his breathing hitched. He growled one word, and Seto complied, “Move.”
The next morning, Seto awoke to the sound of the furnace furiously working to reheat the chilled house. He himself was not cold, sprawled beneath the sheets and blankets of his bed. He lay still on his back for several minutes, just listening, before he rose to make a cup of coffee. A glance into the room down the hallway let him know that Mokuba was still asleep.
Not a very long time afterwards, Seto returned to his own room and seated himself at his desk. On the single sheet of paper before him was a single line of neat, clearly printed writing, every phrase placed directly on top of the previous. It was illegible.
Fandom/Pairing: Yuugiou; Yami no Bakura x. Seto Kaiba
Rating: 14-A
Warnings: Slash.
Disclaimer: Yuugiou is copyright Kazuki Takahashi. Story is copyright V.S.
Notes: Christmas!gift for apollymi. The rough of this was written by candlelight when the power in my house went out for a day or so. Can you tell? :3
‘The power’ Seto wrote, ‘is out.’
It had been for the past six hours or so. As far as he was aware, no one in the city had any electricity; its loss was being accredited to a freak snow storm that had blown through. Domino was in turmoil - and the radio that had died over an hour ago had recommended that citizens remain calm and stay indoors. Seto had hardly seen a reason to go out anyway.
His laptop battery had died approximately two hours previous, but he could guess that it was about nine-thirty in the evening. It was terribly dark; he couldn’t see more than a couple of feet away from him, much less out the window into the gloom. He hadn’t left this chair in his office since he’d put Mokuba to bed - and that had been a while ago. The boy had quickly grown bored after running down the batteries on everything he owned, and had crept into the office to sit on the floor next to his older brother; he’d eventually fallen asleep against Seto’s leg. It hadn’t been long after that when Seto had gently nudged him awake and taken him to bed.
‘This’ Seto wrote, ‘is unacceptable.’
He had the nagging suspicion that Bakura was somehow behind this, no matter how ridiculous that sounded. Heck, forget ridiculous - it sounded impossible. But the thief had proven his ability to go above and beyond any sort of expectation before, so Seto couldn’t help his misgivings.
Even knowing that the servants present in the house had gone and pulled all the curtains shut in an attempt to conserve heat, he found himself shivering. Granted, he wasn’t wearing any more layers than usual, but the temperature in the house hadn’t dropped that much!
Even wearing socks, his ankles were extremely cold.
Quite suddenly, he heard the door open and then close again. He swiveled sharply in his chair, peering desperately but seeing nothing. Tentatively, he spoke aloud, “Bakura?”
As if he’d been summoned by word alone, something in the dark shifted to reveal Bakura’s white hair. A second later, his teeth appeared in a wicked grin, “You called?”
Unamused, his tone bland, Seto asked, “Did you do this?”
Bakura scoffed, “Why do you think it took me so long to get here? That weather is hell.”
“That wasn’t my question.” Seto said delicately, his eyes narrowed. Being out of his comfort zone obviously made him rather testy.
“Well, I’m certainly glad you equate me to god, Seto,” Bakura’s tone seemed to have taken note of the annoyance in Seto’s, and thus had doubled in amusement level, “But I’m only taking advantage of an excellent opportunity.”
‘I’ Seto wrote, glaring at Bakura all the while, ‘am not very happy about this.’
“Cold yet?” Bakura went on casually, grinning at him through the darkness; Seto found it disturbing that his teeth and hair were the only things visible.
“Not in the least.” The stubborn Kaiba responded, crossing one leg over the other so as to keep his legs from shaking against one another. He doubted this would really fool Bakura, since the other man seemed to observe everything he tried to hide no matter how subtly he went about it.
“Liar.” The word was dropped coolly as Bakura moved maybe one or two feet closer, so Seto could see his eyes, “You’re thinner than I am and I’m cold.”
“You were outside.” Seto countered easily, further closing his posture by crossing his arms over his chest; he did, in spite of this, keep his pen between his fingers.
“And you haven’t moved in over an hour. You’d better get going some time soon or that hot ass of yours is going to freeze to the chair.”
“You’re crude.” Of course, it was obvious what Bakura wanted. Small wonder, when it was always the same thing Bakura came to him for. Well and good, even knowing that, Seto wasn’t about to make it easy.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Not quite a threat, but presented with such a smirk that one knew the joke was only a weak façade of propriety.
Seto found that he’d winced at that, unbidden; his tone was harsh and scathing. “And so grammatically well-accomplished too, that was just wonderful.”
What had been lurking beneath the joke of his previous phrase now rose with warning and Bakura’s tone darkened by several degrees, “Don’t start pushing me, Seto, it’s too early in the evening for that.”
“Then come back in an hour, if I’m allowed to be terse with you then.” Seto snapped coldly, his hand once again moving swiftly across the page in front of him.
‘I am about to receive more attention than I would like right now.’
“Seto.” Bakura’s tone commanded that Seto look up at him - and it was closer than before. The white-haired teenager was right around on Seto’s side of the desk, not even two feet away from him.
Seto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What?”
Bakura leaned in and muttered, “I love you,” before fisting his hand in the hair at the nape of Seto’s neck and yanking him forward into a rough kiss. For the impression this action gave off, he may as well have said ‘I hate you’.
The pen slipped from Seto’s limp fingers, his eyes widening slightly. He blinked hard to keep tears from slipping down his cheeks; Bakura’s grip was hard and the nerve endings where he was pulling were sensitive. It only took a second, however, for his own mouth to start reacting and wanting that kiss.
And it was precisely that moment when Bakura pulled away, his breathing hitched. He growled one word, and Seto complied, “Move.”
The next morning, Seto awoke to the sound of the furnace furiously working to reheat the chilled house. He himself was not cold, sprawled beneath the sheets and blankets of his bed. He lay still on his back for several minutes, just listening, before he rose to make a cup of coffee. A glance into the room down the hallway let him know that Mokuba was still asleep.
Not a very long time afterwards, Seto returned to his own room and seated himself at his desk. On the single sheet of paper before him was a single line of neat, clearly printed writing, every phrase placed directly on top of the previous. It was illegible.