Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Anachronism	By : Ochodre Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Het - Male/Female Views: 4986 -:- 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
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Author's Notes: To elusive dreamer: Thanks for the long, coherent reviews. I don't get them that often. XD Yeah, genderbending's my thing. There's a lot of psychology attached to gender and relations, and I think it's interesting to mess with them. A lot of people just like them for the lol factor of "OMG now this badass male character has to deal with bras and periods", but mine always end up being mildly serious, maybe since I've had some sincere gender angst myself in real life.
Anyway, don't worry about this becoming a smut fest. I showed a future scene to my friend and she doesn't even think it qualifies for as a lime (which are supposed to be more softcore than lemons, anyway) I'm the same way, I don't really see the point in graphically describing stuff like that. I always skip over it when I'm reading a fic here. x_x I try to be at least a little tasteful about it. So far, it's only one scene and it's technically a dream, so I dunno how much there will even be.
Yeah, that's kind of weird. I dunno why so many fangirls latch onto the idea of rape and abuse and all this nasty stuff in the YGO world. Once in a while I could see, that crops up in every fandom like that and it's fine if it's well written, but they seem damn near obsessed with it. I take some solace in the fact that the manga is a little more 'adult' than the anime, and more aimed at teenagers than kids (Yugi and Joey are stealing porn to watch, there's killing and swearing and mild innuendo), but still. It's just bad writing to have to rely on that. I felt bad for even having *attempted* rape or suicide in Powerless, or character death in Snow on the Sahara. Anyway, this fic is probably going to be somewhat light and fluffy in comparison. On with the story.
---
I'm open, you're closed

Where I'll follow, you'll go

I worry I won't see your face

Light up again
I'm quiet, you know

You make a first impression

I found I'm scared to know

I'm always on your mind
Even the best fall down sometimes

Even the wrong words seem to rhyme

Out of the doubt that fills your mind

Somehow find that you and I

Collide...

~ Howie Day, "Collide"
Cuts of meat lined a thick-edged bin, all packaged in plastic and Styrofoam, all a deep, blood-rich shade of red. It was beef over here, but there was a long section of seafood only a few feet away. Whole fish with blurry eyes stared up from the ice packed around them, and a menagerie of tentacles and claws and legs from things she couldn't even identify were packaged, or hung, or still swimming around in tanks. Bakura stared longingly.
"I really don't think we need anything from this section to make pancakes," Ryou's voice came from over her shoulder. She looked back to glower at him.
It had no effect. He was grinning a little, apparently amused at her borderline fetish for meat.
The grin softened into a faint frown when she turned around and put on a pleading expression. "I'm sorry, I can't get any tonight. All this red meat is straining the budget dad gives me for groceries..."
"Feh, I'll steal it if I have to." Bakura's face fell into its natural scowl and she muttered, walking away from the bin.
"You're going to get sick if you keep eating like a savage," Ryou followed, stopping only to put some eggs in his basket.
"Me? Have you ever thought that the reason you're so pale and poor of health is because you subsist on tea, rice and salad?" Bakura snorted, irritation creeping into her voice. She didn't want to hear that meat could make her sick when there was a strange twinge of pain in her side, like a stitch she'd done nothing to earn. It came and went, hardly even a nuisance, but Bakura thought herself something of a pain connoisseur and could not recognize or identify this particular ache.
"Poor of health?" Ryou caught up with her, and despite his casual tone, she could sense he was watching her for something. The thief noticed she had been rubbing her side to try and pinpoint the source of the sensation, and quickly withdrew her fingers.
"You can catch a cold by looking at someone. I know you're afraid of germs, that's why you're such a cleaning fanatic." Bakura shook out her hair and crossed her arms. "And you hate razors and knives because your cuts are so prone to infection and scarring. But not, apparently, more than you hate facial hair."
"It's not really fair, you having lived in my head and all," Ryou sighed, unconsciously rubbing a nick on the side of his face, "I don't have anything to keep from you."
"I didn't need to possess you to learn any of that, landlord," she smirked, glancing back at him. "It's called -- ugh."
The boy blinked and stopped when she did. An errant look of pain must have crossed her face, since he immediately set his basket down and came close to her side. "Bakura?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," she muttered, though inwardly she groaned at the fact she probably had already set off Ryou's mothering instincts.
"Let's go home. I've gotten enough for dinner." His concerned voice verified her fears, and she rolled her eyes, but remained silent and still.
"Fine, whatever." She sighed through her clenched teeth and waved him away. Ignoring the cramp, she strode forward and headed for the exit. This damn store was too bright, anyway; far too many people, making far too much noise. Nothing sounded better than laying on Ryou's couch at the moment, not even the promise of dinner, but the apartment felt far away.
The cool night called to her from just beyond the doors of the exit, and she almost considered waiting outside, but she drew back. Something unidentifiable kept her loitering inside. It wasn't quite fear, but it compounded the feeling of nausea slowly gripping her gut. She succumbed and sat down on a small bench by the door.
A benevolent shadow soon fell on her, and she glanced up to see Ryou standing there, holding a large bag in one hand. The other hand was silently offered to her, and though he said nothing, his dark eyes spoke volumes. Bakura closed her own to tune them out, but still found herself reaching out and taking his hand.
She did her best to remain nothing but annoyed as he gently pulled her to her feet and walked out the exit with her, but it took too much energy.
---
Ryou unlocked the door to his -- though he was starting to think of it as their -- apartment. He pushed the door open and stepped back for his companion. Bakura usually bulled her way in first anyway, but Ryou grimaced when he realized he was specifically holding it open for her. He steeled himself for an annoyed comment, but there was only the sound of her feet on the carpet, followed by the squeak of coil springs as she threw herself on the couch.
That concerned him.
He closed the door behind him and set his bag down in the kitchen. It was very tempting to leave it behind and go sit with Bakura, but there were perishable goods in it. That, and one look behind him told him that Bakura had stretched herself out to the length of the couch, kicking her legs over the arm at the end.
Ryou really didn't know if that was good or bad, since it had been a long time since she had lounged on the couch instead of curling up defensively. There was nothing relaxed in her posture, though. Her hair went more wild than usual as her fingers raked it out of her face, and her lips were pulled down in a frowning snarl. He felt concern weigh down the corners of his own mouth, but he didn't want to break the silence that had followed them all the way home.
Instead, he rooted around the cabinets for his father's old frying pan. He hefted the unwieldy cast-iron pan to the sink and ran it under the warm water, but his eyes were on his roommate the entire time. They only left her to when it came time to crack eggs and pour milk into the pancake mixture, and returned as soon as he started stirring. The mixing bowl ended up moving from the counter top to his arms, so he could have his back to the kitchen and face the couch.
Butter soon started snapping and boiling on the now well-heated pan, and he hesitantly withdrew his gaze to spoon out the batter. Ryou did his best to concentrate on cooking, but Bakura's silence distracted him and burned a few of his pancakes. He winced and set those aside for himself.
"How many would you like?"
"Ngh."
Ryou had to bite his tongue to keep himself from making any more inquires. He redoubled his focus on cooking, even though he now wondered if Bakura had any appetite at all. At least there would be leftovers. A few eggs fried while the pancakes cooled, and he even found some sausage Bakura had left untouched, probably since it was frozen. Ryou hadn't made anything more involved than coffee and cereal for breakfast for a long time, and dividing all the food between two dishes at his leisure was strangely satisfying. After a moment of consideration, he rifled through his teas and found the chamomile, and replaced the frying pan with a kettle.
Bakura had never shown interest in any of his teas or coffees, but she looked like she could use some at the moment. He stirred milk into the two teacups and set one beside each plate. The thief seemed in no hurry to eat, so Ryou took the time to lay out silverware, napkins, and even washed off an old butter plate that'd been buried amongst some unused antique cookware. Ryou stepped back to look over his work, and allowed himself a slight smile, before he stepped into the living room.
He set his hand on her sneaker-clad foot and shook it, subtly moving it away from the lamp it threatened to kick over. "Hey..."
"Already?" Bakura opened one eye and made a muffled sound of frustration. She yanked her foot out of his grasp and sat up, swaying in place when she came to an upright position.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ryou kneeled to get a better look at her face. Angry, long-lashed eyes glared at him from under a mess of bangs. He must have smiled when he saw them, since they narrowed in further irritation.
"I thought you would take longer," Bakura snorted, smoothing her bangs back.
"Sorry, pancakes only take a few minutes." Ryou got back to his feet and brushed off his pants. "I also made some eggs and sausage, in case you didn't like them."
"Eh?" She stood with him and circled around the coffee table, taking the long way around to avoid passing him very closely. Ryou lost his smile. She didn't even have the energy to snap at him to get out of her way?
He followed and stopped beside her when she paused. Bakura almost looked confused as she took in the spread he'd laid out on the table, as if it were something puzzling. Ryou cocked his head, trying to discern whether her expression was negative or positive. Her shoulders briefly sank like she'd lost some kind of internal battle, and she slid into one of the chairs.
Ryou took the other, scooting up to the table. The ex-spirit was prodding the melting butter he had set atop her pancakes, watching it slide through the powdered sugar he'd topped them with in lieu of maple syrup.
He wondered, then got an idea. Ryou set his knife to one of his pancakes, carving out a bite-sized chunk and spearing it on his fork. Bakura watched him discretely out of the corner of her eye, before picking up her own implements and copying him. The boy was far more obvious about observing her as he chewed quietly and waited for her reaction.
Her jaws ground the food thoughtfully, and seemed to bring her to a pleasantly surprised conclusion. She hacked off a much larger chunk of pancake and shoved it in her mouth, hot butter dribbling down her chin.
Ryou smiled broadly. Apparently she had an appetite after all. He shook his head and handed her a well-worn napkin, one that seen about as much of Bakura's meals as Bakura herself. Her thin hand snatched it out of his and quickly swept it over her chin, as she eyed the piping, milky substance in the cup beside her plate.
"It's chamomile," Ryou noted, lifting his own cup, "Herbal tea, no caffeine in it. It's very relaxing."
"For the last time, I am fine," Bakura growled, but had her hand around the cup. The pancakes were rather dry without syrup on them, so she settled for what she had. "I don't need your damn herbal remedies--" She closed her eyes in indignation and took a sip as if against her will. The half-hearted scowl remained on her face even as she brought the cup away, and she started to raise her lip, the start of some kind of dismissive comment about tea.
Instead, she blinked, her glare dissolving into a look of mild surprise. Bakura looked down into the cup, and Ryou raised his eyebrows. He took a sip of his cup to see if anything was off about it, but it tasted normal to him. The milk took the some of the heat and bitter edge out of the tea -- besides, he was sure Bakura had tasted far worse -- but didn't water down the herb's relaxant abilities at all.
When he opened his eyes again and set his cup down, he saw that Bakura had hers tilted far back and was taking one long swig.
"Wha -- don't drink so fast, you'll get scalded!" Ryou sputtered, reaching over to take hold of her wrist and lower it. She grunted and twisted out of his grasp, setting her nearly emptied cup back down and panting slightly. Ryou stared at her with worry for a moment, but when it was obvious she hadn't burnt her throat or choked, he relaxed and laughed quietly.
"You have to drink it slowly, or else it doesn't work," he instructed, demonstrating by taking a slow sip. He offered her the rest of his cup. "Here. I'll make us some more."
Bakura took his cup, still recovering from trying to down hers in one fell swoop. He glanced over at her over his shoulder as he refilled the kettle. While he waited, she moved on to the rest of her meal and by the time he poured hot water into his tea pot, she had nearly cleaned off her plate.
"Good grief, did you eat at all today?" Ryou asked as he poured tea and milk into a new cup and added more to the one Bakura held. She only twitched her lip in response, mouth too full of eggs and sausage to speak. He didn't mind; as long as she enjoyed the meal and didn't make too much of a mess, he was happy.
Ryou soon finished off his own plate, refilling Bakura's mug whenever she thrust it in his direction and grunted. He almost made a comment about her sudden taste for tea being a sign he was rubbing off on her, but made sure to take a bite of sausage or pancake whenever he felt the urge to open his mouth.
Despite her stoic silence, she didn't look nearly as miserable or out of it as she had earlier. When she finished, she sat back in her seat and seemed to wait, looking content even though she didn't smile. Ryou gathered up all the plates and set them in the sink, put the condiments away, and quickly wiped off the table. When he was sure he had eliminated every crumb, he leaned against the edge of the table and peered down at his roommate, who hadn't moved.
"What did you think?" he dared, even though he knew full well that set him up for some kind of snapping brush off or a compliment well-disguised with insults and dismissal, but she said nothing. He almost became worried, but something occurred to him. He quickly recalled how many times he'd refilled her cup -- at least three or four. Two cups of chamomile was usually more than enough to knock him out. Ryou shook Bakura's shoulder lightly, and her head dipped forward.
"Heh, you'll probably sleep for a week," he murmured to his sleeping companion, and felt himself smiling more widely than he would have allowed himself if she were conscious. It faltered when he realized he couldn't well leave her in an uncomfortable wooden chair.
Hesitantly, he leaned down. His arms hovered in the air, moving with the careful, nervous precision of someone defusing a bomb, before he determined the safest place to hold her. Ryou set one of her arms over his shoulder and eased her forward so she leaned against him. His other arm wound around her waist, slowly hefting her up as he rose back to a standing position.
She was heavy and warm against his chest, and her breath and bangs teased his throat. He relaxed when he saw he hadn't disturbed her, particularly since he'd had to slide the arm on her waist much lower to keep her aloft. Ryou was hesitant to move at all, so he stood in the dim light of the kitchen and tried to rationalize what he was doing.
Well, he knew what he was doing. He was smelling her hair, listening to her breathe, and enjoying the warmth of her weight far too much. And blushing like hell, it felt like. Ryou closed his eyes and sighed into the white hair tickling his lips. He'd have to put her down sooner or later.
Walking as slow as he could -- so he didn't jostle her, he told himself, though in reality he may just have been trying to prolong their contact -- he headed down the hall to her bedroom. He nudged the door open with his foot and stood on the threshold, frowning at her bed with what dangerously resembled jealousy. Shaking himself out of it, Ryou stepped over to the side of her bed. His breath stopped as he leaned far over it to transfer her to the covers, and ended up leaning atop her so his grip didn't slip.
He froze when he felt her arm slowly shift across his shoulder blades, her fingernails digging into his sweater. Ryou's eyes flew open and he looked down at her head, waiting for it to tilt upwards and glare venomously at him. But nothing else moved, and he let himself inhale. He slid his arms out from under her at a snail's pace, and reached up, taking her elbow and gently pushing it off his shoulder with great reluctance. Ryou pulled back, trying to ignore the warmth her body had left imprinted on his sweater and the skin underneath.
Bakura seemed comfortable enough where he'd laid her. She looked much better than before, and a slight smile curved the corner of Ryou's mouth. He turned and headed back to the door, flipping off the light. He was nearly out the doorway when something made him pause, and he looked back at her.
"Goodnight."
Ryou closed the door as quietly as possible.
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