Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Anachronism	By : Ochodre Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Het - Male/Female Views: 4984 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Author's Notes: Here you go, folks. This isn't technically a whole chapter, but really the start of Ch 7. I wanted to keep it seperate so it'd be easy for me to leave it out of the FFnet version. Ch 7 is done, I'm just editing it. So, enjoy this for now. XP
Warnings: Uh... This is a dream of Bakura's, and it's is kind of strange. You'll see. It's not explicit though, and you'll see how it ties into the story in the next chapter. Yaoi fans will be a little happy, at least. XD
---
When the thief awoke, something felt different.
Her feet were larger, heavier, and threatened to fall off the end of the bed. As she sat up and the blankets fell away, cool air hit her back and shoulders. She blinked in confusion. She hadn't gone to bed shirtless since --
Bakura's eyes widened as she looked down and took in the sight of her body. No -- his body. His legs were once again the right length, arms once again long and sinewy instead of soft and thin, chest once again flat and smooth. Initially, it was disturbing. He'd grown more used to the changes than he wanted to admit. But, somehow, everything was back to normal.
What had happened? Did some small bit of magic still reside in him somewhere? Did he wish so hard to be male again, after experiencing the horrors of female fertility, that his body reverted? Or had any of it ever happened, and the whole previous three, four months been nothing but some sort of very realistic dream?
Bakura started to lean towards the last theory since he did feel something hanging off his chest. Something warm and metallic, pricking his bare skin with its sharp dangling points. It was the Ring, and it was alive in his hands, the tingle of Shadow magic coursing through his veins like a long-craved drug.
Everything was back. There'd been no Malik, no penalty game, no near rape. There'd been no spirit, no being haunted as he once haunted Ryou, no desperate final confrontation. There'd been no readjusting to a small, weak new body bereft of magic and strength, no dealing with a much more open and friendly Ryou, no quiet periods of holding or cuddling or laying together or almost-dancing to try and forget about...
That last part was almost disheartening, but it didn't matter. His landlord was undoubtedly still around, and now Bakura could do whatever he wanted with him. The dreams had altered him mentally, he could not deny that. Ryou would be confused by the former spirit's sudden change of heart, but it would have to be a welcome change. Bakura pulled on a shirt and strode out of his room, reveling in once again seeing things at the proper height.
Sure enough, Ryou stood in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea. Bakura stopped when he saw him. His head was hung, dark eyes clouded with a layer of melancholy the thief hadn't seen in them in a long time. When they lifted to greet Bakura, they did not brighten as they should have, and he didn't smile, not even a faint, shy crinkle. Ryou nodded to the plate he'd readied for his hungry, abrasive roommate and said nothing.
Bakura couldn't help it. He felt his face sink into one of Ryou's concerned frowns. He'd been so damn cruel to him. He looked older, broken, haunted even though Bakura was gone from his head.
Without a sound, he walked up behind Ryou and slid his arms around the now smaller boy's waist. The familiarity and strength of his old, true body had given him back his confidence and eliminated his fears and uncertainties about their relationship. He wanted Ryou, and now he had no more excuses to not take him.
When he was touched, Ryou jumped in surprise and looked around wildly. He tensed in panic, looking back over his shoulder in utter confusion. The thief finally let the denied longing for his male companion out of the dark pit of repression it'd been trapped in for so long. He pulled Ryou closer and set his face against his hair, smelling the boy and his shampoo.
"B-ba... Bak..." Ryou whimpered. Bakura could feel the smaller boy's heart pounding though his sweater.
He lowered his head, finding Ryou's ear and breathing into it. "I'm not going to hurt you, landlord."
Ryou still stared over at him with wide, frightened eyes, though now a blush also colored his face. His mouth had fallen partly open in shock, and his breath came out of it irregularly. Bakura's hormones caught up with him quickly. It'd been three thousand years since he'd touched someone like this, and right now it scarcely mattered to him whether Ryou was male or female.
But he inhaled deeply and corralled himself. The last thing he wanted was to do to Ryou what Malik had nearly done to him, at least in that vivid dream. The thief pulled back and turned the other boy around.
"Whatever I've said to you, land- Ryou, forget it. I'm a damned liar and I'm sick of it. I don't hate you." He caught Ryou's eyes. "You are my landlord, and I've been a terrible tenant. I'd like to make up for it."
Ryou struggled visibly for something to say, obviously incredulous. But still, Bakura could see a spark of hope lighting up his eyes. He wanted badly to trust Bakura, and Bakura now found himself wanting Ryou to trust him.
So he kissed him.
Not hungrily, or forcefully; it was barely even sexual. It was far more gentle than the king of thieves knew he was capable of, and in the back of his mind he wondered if even dreaming that he was a woman had a negative impact on his overall machismo. But Ryou seemed to enjoy it, so he didn't care. As he pulled back, he felt himself smiling down at his bewildered former host.
Ryou had to smile back, though it was one much smaller and shakier. The hope in his brown eyes overwhelmed them, till it manifested in the form of tears on his cheeks. The thief let him cry without so much as a snort. The look in the boy's eyes told the former spirit that he was bringing one of his most secret fantasies to life. Something about that look and the clearance it silently granted made Bakura's adolescent hormones flare.
He shoved Ryou's teapot aside and nudged Ryou back onto the countertop, unleashing what had been pent up for months, years, centuries on his old vessel's lips and earlobe and throat.
He must've been doing something right. He could feel and hear the boy responding, in the sounds he made, in the way he clung to Bakura's shoulders, in how he arched and pressed his disturbed jeans into the thief's stomach. Bakura adjusted his weight and straddled Ryou to show him the feeling was mutual --
Except it wasn't.
Bakura went still, blinking against Ryou's collar bone. He'd stopped so suddenly that Ryou let out a breathy sound of confusion and frustration, before his senses returned. The ex-spirit had been so intent on Ryou that he had failed to notice that his own pants and shorts were completely slack.
It certainly wasn't for lack of interest. He'd felt all the other signs of arousal so clearly -- the sharp spike of his heart rate, a hot hungry tingle in his nether regions, skin going warm -- the lack of the most obvious and important one had completely escaped him.
He was briefly humiliated, wondering if something had rendered him impotent, but it wasn't that. When he concentrated, he couldn't feel anything down there, flaccid or not. The thief sputtered and stood up suddenly, stumbling back.
That wasn't true. He could feel something, all right. The throbbing that should've been straining at his boxers was instead deep in his gut, under his stomach in an area he had never even realized he had. The crotch of his shorts felt far too empty. Bakura forgot completely about Ryou for a moment, tearing his own jeans open and groping himself in confusion.
His fingers ran over smooth skin and a brief thin coat of hair, and then -- nothing. He reached farther back, his jeans starting to slide down, and his fingers found someplace that was warm, soft and moist. A deep, painless gash of slick flesh.
Bakura heard himself let out a choked cry that sounded entirely too feminine, and his gaze darted around the kitchen like that of a crazed animal. He finally noticed Ryou, who was still laid back on the counter, watching him with a disconcerted expression. The boy looked torn between concern and amazement.
Bakura hissed defensively and withdrew his fingers, quickly yanking up his jeans. His horrible revelation brought all his insecurity back with a vengeance. The thief backed farther away from Ryou, unable to look at him, trying to quickly figure out an escape route.
He heard a pair of shoes hit the linoleum and walk towards him. Bakura whirled around to defend himself in his panicked rage, but Ryou's arms were too fast and captured him in a warm hug.
Bakura struggled, but Ryou held him tightly and set his head against his chest. The fears of a dozen nightmares Malik had given him strained Bakura's psyche, but he soon realized that Ryou was not trying to push him or pin him or trap him, just holding him. He stared down at the boy -- the real boy -- nearly hyperventilating.
"It's okay."
Bakura blinked slowly at the simple phrase, and Ryou lifted his head. He smiled one of his warm, slight, but immensely caring smiles at the thief. Bakura calmed enough that Ryou could pull back one of his hands and use it to brush away the tangle of bangs obscuring the thief king's wild eyes. Ryou set his chin on Bakura's shoulder and nuzzled close.
"I'm not going to hurt you either, yatet-shenee."
Bakura started to become vaguely aware of the fact this was probably another dream, not only due to his strange hermaphroditic anatomy, but for the fact that only his mother had ever called him that. Ryou knew several languages, but ancient Egyptian wasn't one of them. Even so, the long-lost pet name was comforting, and he relaxed into Ryou's arms. He felt warm hands knead his back. The boy's nose and lips landed softly on his neck. The thief's arms moved to return the embrace.
Ryou's fingers started to circle lower, and something stirred again in the recesses of Bakura's body. The sensation, both so familiar and so alien, had not ebbed much despite the interruption. It was new and disorienting, and Bakura felt like a virgin again; with detached humility he realized that's exactly what he was. Ryou pulled the slumped thief even closer, and Bakura saw -- or felt, rather -- that the boy was in a similar state. His breathing was still nervous and uneven, the motions of his hands light and uncertain, but they had gentle intent in them. He was actually kissing the taller not-quite-boy's throat between shallow breaths, and Bakura writhed.
The wandering hands on Bakura's back eventually found the waist of his jeans, and the boy pulled back to discern the thief's reaction. He was asking permission, as he did before he ever asked a question, or before he dared to say something kind, or patted Bakura's shoulder or offered him a cup of something warm. Bakura lifted his face and gave it in the subtle way he always had, always did, no matter what else he might say or do.
The thief had done a lot of kissing in his time, but he wasn't sure he had ever been kissed. If he had been, it certainly wasn't the same as what Ryou gave to him. He made Bakura's earlier fumbling attempt at being gentle and kind look like something brutal in comparison. If Bakura still had any fear, it melted into the ocean of warmth that now rocked his head.
He distantly felt his hands fiddling with Ryou's zipper, much to the boy's embarrassment. The thief would've been ashamed at his own vulgar neediness if he hadn't been too caught up in it to give a damn.
Ryou finally gave in and set Bakura against the table top, roles completely reversed now. But Ryou was able to get farther than the thief; Bakura's legs ended up crossed behind his lower back, arms wrapped around his shoulders, wild hair dangling off the edge of the table. He might've been fully female at that point, but he or she or whatever confused thing the thief was hardly cared...
---
Yatet-shenee -- 'Milk Hair' according to my little Egyptian book. Don't quote me on that though.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Anachronism