Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Sins of the Flesh	By : NihilEtNemo Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 10611 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1--01-
- 2--02-
- 3--03-
- 4--04-
- 5--05-
- 6--06-
- 7--07-
- 8--08-
- 9--09-
- 10--10-
- 11--11-
- 12--12-
- 13--13-
- 14--14-
- 15--15-
- 16--16-
- 17--17-
- 18--18-
- 14
- 15
- 16
So do I suck or what? It took like what, six months to get another chapter up? Aside from the six months to get the chapter before, which is cheating, since that chapter had already been written... Er, yeah, I suck. I won't make any promises to write more or more often, because I'll probably break it, but I'll try. The reviews helped galvanize me, to, by the way. So thanks to everyone who reviewed to ask for more, though I really like the reviews that are more substantial that "I like it, please continue!" a lot more.

So this is me, trying to write more.

Sins of the Flesh

- 15 -

Seto woke slowly, wondering where noise of his alarm was. It was
peaceful... And warm... He took a deep breath and leaned back in the
warmth, not opening his eyes yet. It felt too good to spoil with
reality.

That smell... Mm, it was nice. It seemed familiar. They should
make it into cologne, something nice and musky, a very manly scent...
It would be popular with the guys, and women would swoon... They
should find a way to bottle it, really. He'd buy it out and keep it
with him all the time... It was...

...Bakura...

...Right.

Bakura to whom he was now married, and had been for over
twenty-four hours.

Bakura who had been unflaggingly helpful and courteous for all
that time except for the break he took to be fed up with him and what
was, in retrospect, probably sheer stupidity on his part...

Bakura who had had ample opportunity to fuck him last night, and
who had passed, choosing instead to just go to sleep with him,
holding him, as he was still holding him...

Bakura who had in the end not hurt him.

That was, he was sure, a very important realization, but at the
moment, he was too comfortable to bother caring enough to move, or
act like himself. It couldn't do any harm, Bakura was still asleep.
It would just be polite to let him continue to sleep, after all.
Maybe he could go back to sleep himself. When he woke up again he
might be feeling normal, might forget all this so that he could go
back to hating his husband...

But apparently it wasn't to be, unfortunately, as Bakura stirred.
He squeezed him a moment, which Seto had to admit was strangely
comforting, before he let him go.

“Morning,” he said with a stretch.

“Mm,” Seto answered, shifting a little closer to the
warmth his body still offered with the arms around him gone. “Don't
move.”

“Mm?” Bakura's arms settled around him again.

“I like how you smell,” he muttered.

“Mm,” Bakura answered, and he swore he could hear a
smirk, but couldn't be bothered to care. He was comfortable, very
comfortable, with staying here and not having to move... And he loved
how Bakura smelled, why hadn't he noticed that before?

Probably because he hated Bakura. Still did.

Why was he letting Bakura touch him? Why was he fine with it? His
reaction last night did not automatically entitle him to
forgiveness... Why the hell wasn't he still afraid of him?

Not that he was complaining. Not living
in fear of a man living in his house would be nice...

“I have to piss. Sorry, babe.” Bakura patted his back
once and squirmed away, leaving him alone on the bed to sigh and open
his eyes to the morning sunlight and the empty room.

Had he just let Bakura get away with calling him 'babe'?

Bakura returned from the bathroom with another luxurious stretch,
eyes shut as he paused for a moment in the sunlight thrown through
the window. Seto's eyes traveled from the tips of his fingers
stretching to graze the ceiling, down his taut arms and muscular
chest, washboard abs and slim hips-

He stopped abruptly when he realized he wasn't so much looking at
Bakura as checking him out, and more disturbingly liking what he saw.
His eyes turned resolutely toward the opposite wall, refusing to even
let the thought that Bakura was hot surface in his mind...

Bakura was not hot. Bakura was a vicious, remorseless rapist who
now had him manipulated into a helpless position in a hopeless
situation...

...who was refusing to take advantage of the helpless position...

...trying to solve his hopeless situation...

...had apologized several dozen times for what he had done...

But he had done it. And if you were capable of something that
brutal once, you were capable of it again, and again, you never lost
that capability. This was a fact; he knew from experience. He had
killed people himself, plain, flat-out murder, and even if he had not
precisely been himself at the time he knew that that darkness was
still there and he could do it again. He would no more trust anyone
else's safety to himself than he would trust his own to Bakura's.

Bakura was a rapist. He was casually abusive toward his hikari.
His morals were lax to the point of nonexistence and he was utterly
incapable of higher human emotions like love and compassion. There
was nothing to find attractive about him. He was little better than a
Neanderthal. Perhaps he ranked as high as Cro-Magnon, on a good day.
Not someone to whom he ever should have been married.

Bakura intercepted his line of sight by sliding lazily back onto
the bed with a sigh of content, leaning up on his elbows with his
hands clasped casually before him and looking down at him. Seto
stared stonily back, reining in his hormones and unwanted softer
emotions and giving his husband a look similar to what he might give
something that had just crawled out from under his shoe.

A look of pure confusion crossed Bakura's face, and he frowned
down at him. “What did I do?”

Seto elected not to answer a question that didn't need answering
and rolled out of bed, pulling open the closet where he had stored
their clothes yesterday, albeit still in the suitcases. He grabbed
the first remotely comfortable thing he found and disappeared into
the bathroom without a backward glance, pretending not to feel
Bakura's nonplussed stare into his back.

Honestly... 'what did I do?'! As if he didn't know! He fumed
openly as he pulled open the shower, jerking the hot water on a
little too hard in his haste and glaring at it as he more calmly
turned it down some.

Making sure the door was locked, he stripped and stepped into the
steaming shower, giving a sigh as the water washed over him. He had
the gall to ask...

Was Bakura always going to be this damned clueless? Was he ever
going to grow a brain and stop thinking he could trick him into
trusting him? Because it wasn't going to happen... ever... When this
torturous week was over, they were going back to the mansion and
Bakura was going to live in his half, away from him and Mokuba, and
he was going to hide in his room and lock the door every night. Or
possibly live at the office, he hadn't decided yet...

But he wasn't going to trust him. Bakura was not sleeping in the
same room or bed as him, ever again. He was not about to let down his
guard, just because Bakura had been behaving... He might as well stop
trying and go back to how they all knew he was...

“Hurry up, prima donna, other people need to get a shower
too you know!”

He jumped slightly as Bakura startled him out of his reverie and
angrily grabbed the shampoo with a glare through the stall, toward
the door. Asshole...

But he didn't linger, washing his hair and body quickly.
Thankfully, Bakura would have his own damned bathroom and wouldn't be
yelling at him to hurry the hell up... Paranoid, he made sure Bakura
wasn't in the bathroom with him before he stepped out, wrapping a
towel around him as he rubbed his hair dry.

He hated Bakura with a passion. He was pretty damned certain of
that; now that the fear was gone, he could go back to focusing on
that. Fear wasn't a useful primal reflex, anyway – it caused
you to panic, to act without thinking, to let your emotions take
complete control. Now, he could calmly and coolly watch out for
Bakura, keep him at a distance, and try to make this facade of
marriage work.

Which would be, to say the least, a... challenge.

Dressed in neat slacks and a baggy shirt that would hide the small
bulge that was forming, he slipped out of the bathroom, looking
around for his husband. With a frown, he found that Bakura wasn't in
sight, and looked warily out of the room. Nor was he in the living
room.

With his heart beating in his ears and visions of his tormentor
waiting around the corner with a length of rope and a feral grin, he
silently moved across the carpet, resting one hand on the side of the
door. The texture of the wallpaper was preternaturally intense; his
fingertips felt mountains and boulders that couldn't have possibly
existed.

Maybe he would do well to start carrying a gun.

Slowly, he moved so that he could see into the kitchen, ears
trained for any sound of Bakura coming up behind him. A list of all
the places he had passed that the expert thief could have hidden ran
through his mind, from the closet to behind the door to somehow
having been in the bathroom itself. Panic was rising; if Bakura
wasn't here, he would snap and run from the house and collect himself
on the beach, where at least he wouldn't be trapped in here with
him...

Bakura was making breakfast.

It took several seconds for Seto to realize what he was seeing.
Bakura was at the stove, with a pan, and a spatula, but it didn't
compute.

“You can come in the kitchen, you know. I haven't had time
to set a tripwire to send a giant rock rolling after you for
entering.” The pale-haired thief didn't look up from the stove.

Angry more with himself for his idiocy but more than willing to
take it out on Bakura or anyone else who happened to cross his path,
Seto crossed his arms and stepped into the kitchen. “You can
cook?” His voice held the barest minimum of civility to not
start a fight. If it did, it would all be Bakura's fault, like
everything else.

“Eh.” A shrug rolled the sinfully muscular and
doubly-sinfully-naked back and shoulder muscles. Rippling muscles...
He tore his eyes away. “Kind of. You have to learn when you're
on your own. Why?” Brown eyes with a hint of red flashed over
his shoulder. “Can you?”

A slow blink was his immediate answer. He was perfectly aware of
how his words were going to sound, and he was anything but a
stereotype, but... “I have people to do that for me.”

The thief snorted, and he scowled, clenching one hand into a fist.
“I never had time to learn,” he continued coldly. This
nobody criminal freak was not going to look down on him for not
having proper domestic skills because his life had been so unsettled
he hadn't had the chance... Between his mother dying when he was
five, and his father at ten, and living in an orphanage for two
years, and the variety of abuses from Gozaburo, when exactly had he
had time? A bona fide argument was brewing, but he didn't try to stop
it.

“Guess I'm one of those people now then,” Bakura said
mildly, and turned around, effectively draining his steam. He held a
plate of pancakes out before him. “Here. Eat. You didn't
yesterday.”

Without taking the plate, his eyes traveled along the counter, to
the two stale sandwiches sitting there. Presumably right where Bakura
had left them yesterday after he stormed away. “You didn't
either.”

His only answer was a shrug, still holding the plate out for him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he watched Bakura. “Why?” he
pressed. “You were out here with the food. Why didn't you eat?”

“Because. Eat. And before you even think it, I'm not taking
away your choice in the matter, I'm pointing out the smart thing to
do.”

With a scowl, he took the plate and brushed past him toward the
table.

He had just finished cutting a pancake into bite-sized portions
when the chair across from him screeched on the tiles and Bakura sat
with a thud, plate dropping to the table. Without warning his hand
stretched across the table toward his own.

He was fast but Bakura was faster; the fork ended up imbedded in
the table instead of his husband's hand.

“That's going to be a problem,” Bakura stated simply,
apparently unaffected, grabbing a syrup-soaked pancake with his fork
and ripping a bite out of it.

“I can pay for the table.” With a colossal effort, he
pried the fork free again.

“Not that.” His words were muffled by the pancake he
was talking through, but understandable. Luckily, though, he
swallowed before going on. “I mean the fact that every time I
try to touch you you either pull away or strike back. Unless you're
asleep, which is damned adorable, but doesn't help any. We don't look
like we're married.”

He scowled and ate the first piece of his pancake. “Actually,
I'd say we're acting exactly like we're married.”

“Ha ha.” With a gluttonous chug, Bakura downed half a
glass of milk. “Enough with the funnies. If you expect this to
work, you're going to have to try, or you might as well just wear a
sign that says 'fake marriage'.” He pointed to his hand with
his fork. “Might start by wearing that damned ring.”

“Men don't wear engagement rings, they wear wedding bands,
which we don't have.” Yes, he was avoiding the real subject,
but he didn't want to touch it. More to the point, he didn't want to
touch Bakura.

“Yeah we do.” He pushed his ass off the seat so he
could dig in his pocket, and pulled out a crumpled envelope. When he
unfolded it and dumped the contents into his hand, two gold rings
spilled out, and he caught them deftly.

“Are you going to stab me if I try to put this on you?”

He held out he hand, palm up. “Just give me the damned
ring.”

Instead, Bakura grabbed his hand, holding firmly when he
instinctively tried to pull away. The cold metal slid up his finger
and settled firmly against his hand before he let go and he was able
to pull it back, wiping it on his pants as though he could get rid of
the lingering feel of Bakura's skin on his.

“There,” Bakura said dryly, going back to his food.
“Now if you actually wear that one, that's one problem down.”

“It adds to the illusion,” Seto grudgingly admitted.
An odd expression crossed Bakura's face, but it was gone in a second
and he ignored it.

“There's more. I know this sound fucked up beyond belief,
but we need to practice touching so you can be comfortable with it
and not give it away the first time we show up in public.”

His blue eyes narrowed considerably. “'Practice touching',”
he repeated. “No.”

“Yes.” Bakura's hand darted out. He pulled his back,
but Bakura foresaw that and he reached further, snatching up one of
his hand holding it in a vise-like grip. His heart jumped into his
throat and he stood up, trying to pull his hand back, only to have
Bakura follow him and take his other hand, incapacitating them both.
Blind panic overwhelmed him and he pulled back, fighting to get
away...

The next thing he was conscious of was that he was wrapped snugly
in a warm embrace, strong arms holding him firmly but gently close to
a broad chest and a heartbeat in his ears, and the calm words “I'm
not going to hurt you...” He was half slumped, limp, as though
Bakura was the only thing holding him up... He stirred and tried to
stand, finding his legs unsteady. “What happened?”

“Are you back?” Bakura was in the middle of sitting
down on the couch, holding him against his chest, and there was an
odd feeling of vertigo as the world went out from under him.

“...I blacked out,” he concluded. There was a definite
chunk of missing time. “How long?”

“About fifteen minutes.” He tried to sit up, but
Bakura just pulled him back against his chest, and he didn't fight
it. It was warm, comfortable, safe... “You had a backflash-”

“Flashback,” he corrected, mouth suddenly dry as
cotton. “What did I...?”

“You thought I was your stepfather trying to rape you,”
he told him bluntly.

He succeeded in pulling away this time, covering his face with one
hand and turning away from Bakura. “I'm sorry,” he said,
trying to keep his voice cool and distant. “That doesn't happen
often. I thought I was over them. I'll control myself in the future.”

Bakura snorted again and pulled him back against his chest.
“That's the most fucking retarded thing I've ever heard you
say. How the hell are you supposed to control something like that,
Little Miss Brainy?”

He didn't even argue with the feminine nickname. “Through
concentration and the will to keep control-”

“Bullshit. It wasn't you, it was your brain and your
memories, and you don't control those. Give it up.”

“Fine, I give up. Will you let go of me now?”

The arms stayed firmly in place. “No; this is practice time.
You're going to stay right there and get used to having me touch
you.”

“What? No, Bakura, let me go! You've seen for yourself that
I panic-” Bakura's fingers trailed through his hair and he
shivered, finding it hard to stay tense. “...Cheat....”

“It's not cheating if it works. Just relax.” He tucked
his head under his chin and held him close.

“...Bakura?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought I heard you say you weren't going to hurt me.”

“Yeah, I did. So? I've said it before. I'm not hurting you,
am I?” His tone turned someplace between worried – that
he was hurting him – and defensive – because he had a
habit of accusing him unfairly.

“No, you're not.” His body still didn't like the
sustained contact, it put him on edge, he was sure a blow was going
to fall, as much as he tried to tell himself it wasn't. It wasn't
hurting him, though.

“...Okay.”

Seto said nothing more, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, as
much to take in Bakura's scent as to calm his racing heart. It was
almost impossible to tell when he drifted back to sleep.

Seto sat on the edge of the bed, looking into the bottom of the
nearly empty suitcase. He'd taken everything out to repack it,
preparing to leave in the morning... and there it was.

His wedding dress, folded neatly in the bottom of the bag, with
the jewelry Bakura had given him...

“What are you doing?” His husband's head entered the
room, checking in on him. He supposed he had been in here a while,
and it had fallen silent a few minutes ago...

Silently, he tilted the suitcase so that Bakura could see.

With a frown, Bakura came into the room and rested a hand on his
shoulder. He didn't even flinch... He was too dumbfounded by the
dress to remember to. “Why did you bring that?”

“I didn't pack it,” Seto told him. “It must have
been Mokuba. I don't know why...”

For a few minutes they looked at it together in silence. There had
been no wedding, no chance to wear it. Nor would there ever be. There
was no way he could afford to take the chance of being seen in a
dress, even if he and Bakura did have a wedding, to satisfy the press
or for whatever other reason. Maybe Bakura was only thinking about
the waste of money when he saw it, but he was seeing another
sacrifice to his stepfather, another thing he couldn't have because
he needed to keep up the appearances that had been forced on him...

“Do you want to put it on?” Bakura asked suddenly.

He looked up with a slight frown, into Bakura's eyes, feeling his
nearness suddenly. He managed not to pull away. “Why would I
want to put it on?”

Bakura shrugged. Again he couldn't keep his eyes away from the way
it made his lean muscles roll under his taut skin... It was
conceivable Bakura was doing it on purpose, but if so he wasn't going
to make him stop...

“I don't know. I was just asking. If you don't, it's fine;
it's just the way you were looking at it. Do you?”

Brow furrowed gently, he looked back at the dress. Did he?
Probably better to burn it... Why cling to what he couldn't have?
What was the point? It only led to pain...

But he couldn't help himself. He nodded a little and stirred,
standing up. Bakura's hand slid down his back before it fell away.
“Give me a couple minutes to get changed.” He didn't know
why he was making this decision instead of just giving it back to
Bakura, getting it out of sight, but it felt necessary, desperately
so... If he didn't now he really would be giving it all up forever
and his stepfather would win and he couldn't, he just couldn't... He
blamed it on hormones, but still, he wanted to do it before he
changed his mind.

“All right. This door doesn't lock, so you know.”
Bakura disappeared into the living room and shut the door – it
was as innocent of lock or bolt as he said – behind him. Seto
watched the door blankly for thirty seconds before he moved again,
slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Despite the urgency, he didn't hurry. It seemed almost ritualistic
as he stripped and regarded the dress solemnly, finally pulling it on
and pulling up the zipper in the back. He pulled the choker on, and
the engagement ring, and held the earrings for a moment. His ears
were still unpierced...

Finally closing his hand around them, he stepped out into the
living room. Bakura jumped to his feet and stared for a second before
he looked away.

Seto shifted uncomfortably. Why wouldn't he look at him? This was
a bad idea, a mistake... “Bakura...?”

“Yeah?” He still didn't look at him.

“...My ears aren't pierced. Will you?”

“...Sure...” He turned, taking the earrings from his
hand, but didn't look into his face. He concentrated on his task
completely.

“Hold still,” he said, and he obediently went still.
There was a pressure on his ear, then a sharp pain as the sharp point
of the earring was driven through his ear and out the other side.

“Stay put for the other one.” There was no danger of
him moving, but he held his stance, ignoring the throb. The sharp
pain was repeated, and then there was a strange warm wet feeling,
breath puffing across hi ear...

With a jerk, he pulled away, looking at Bakura.

“Sorry.” Bakura covered his mouth for a moment.
“Blood. I can't help myself...”

He raised is hand to his ear and found a spot of blood. Blankly,
he looked back at Bakura. “You're a freak.”

“Yeah, and?” he said defensively. “So I like the
taste of blood. Get over it.”

Seto shrugged slightly and said nothing, not feeling up to
fighting, only watching Bakura look everywhere but at him. Why
wouldn't he...? Was there something wrong? Was it making him
uncomfortable?

“Look at me,” he said after a couple minutes of the
avoidance, when he couldn't take it anymore. “...Please.”
Even if it was Bakura, he needed him to look at him to see him... He
needed to know there was still something worth looking at. That he
wasn't completely gone...

With a show of reluctance, Bakura looked up into his face for a
second, then glanced away again. Something inside of him wilted and
began to shrivel up, and he turned away, unable to face Bakura unable
to face him...

A hand rested lightly in the small of his back. “I'm sorry,”
Bakura said. “Don't take it the wrong way, all right?”

“How am I supposed to take it, Bakura?” He refused to
look at him.

“You're still gorgeous. Too gorgeous. I didn't want to make
you uncomfortable.”

“...I don't think it would make me uncomfortable...”
he said quietly, leaning, gently against Bakura's hand. “I
don't mind hearing it...”

“Then you're gorgeous.” Bakura wrapped his arms around
him and held him against his chest. Seto tried to relax. “You're
beautiful. You make my-”

“That's enough,” Seto said. “But thank you.”
It was strangely nice to hear... strange that it was Bakura who was
accepting him like this...

“Good, because I was running out of words.” Bakura
gave him a quick squeeze, and he tensed momentarily. “Let's go
outside.”

“Outside?” He turned his head to look at him with a
frown.

“Yeah. Where that big yellow thing we call 'the sun' lives.”

“Stop it, I'm not an idiot.” It should be safe, right?
There was nobody for a hundred miles... Almost not believing he was
agreeing, he nodded.

Bakura grinned and took hold of his wrist to lead him toward the
door, gallantly holding it open. He carefully picked up his skirt so
that it wouldn't get sandy and followed, watching his step across the
beach.

Bakura was fifteen feet ahead of him when he looked up to his
laughter. “Come on, prissy,” Bakura was taunting. “A
little dirt won't ruin it. Unless you think you can't catch up?”

One slim eyebrow rose to the taunting. Then he gathered up the
skirt and sprinted down the beach. Bakura's laughter trailed behind
him as he ran away, bare feet leaving deep prints in the wet sand on
the water's edge. Seto chased after him, feeling a wave lap around
his toes and pull the sand back out to sea with it.

Bakura suddenly stopped and turned around as Seto caught up,
opening his arms to catch him and using his dying momentum to spin
them around. Water and sand flew in a small plume as they came to a
rest looking out into the ocean, both laughing breathlessly and
panting a little. Bakura's warm arms settled around him, his head
resting on his shoulder, and he just leaned back against him with a
small sigh.

“You're beautiful,” Bakura said quietly across his ear
as they stood there, looking out at the sun sparkling on the water.

“You don't have to keep saying it...”

“I know,” he assured him. “But it's true. You're
beautiful whatever you're wearing, whatever you look like. I'd steal
you if you weren't already mine.”

“I guess that's a compliment.”

“Yeah, it is. I don't steal ugly things unless I need it.”

Seto glanced sideways at Bakura's face, but he looked sincere.
“Thanks, then, I suppose. But I don't belong to you.”

“I know,” Bakura said quietly.

The sun sparkled off the waves obliviously.
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Sins of the Flesh