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Title: Breathe Out, Relax
Author: Evandar
Fandom: YuGiOh!
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Mild Yami no Bakura/Bakura Ryou
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh! and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Ryou finds the dark relaxing.
AN: YuGiOh! was my second ever fandom and I've been binge-watching it recently in between bouts of ficcing and thesis writing. So, really, I'm not overly surprised that this has happened.
He turns off the light and breathes in slowly. The tension in his shoulders eases. His hand trembles as he lowers it and he breathes out. He counts to five, breathes in, counts out once more – seven. On the next breath, nine. Slowly, slowly, in the shadowy clutches of his room, he begins to relax.
Outside, the summer sun is blazing down on Domino city; it’s so bright that it stings his eyes and makes his skin tingle. It reminds him of the time before the Ring and his childhood conviction that he didn’t have a shadow – (crying “not the one on the ground, mama. I don’t have one here!” and pointing at his heart) – of the time when his soul shone so brightly that it hurt. But the sun doesn’t reach his room. He has blackout curtains for a reason, and he keeps them drawn tightly shut.
His eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light. There’s only a faint sliver of it slipping in under his bedroom door, and it’s just enough for him to see by as he makes his way carefully to his bed. He falls back onto it, draping himself over the sheets and letting his head hang over the edge so that he can feel the ends of his hair brushing against the carpet on the other side. Everything feels more intense in the dark – from the sound of the air conditioning and its breeze on his skin, right down to the weight of the Ring on his chest. He slides a hand up over his hips and his belly, slips it under his shirt to caress his own skin and the pointed pendants warmed by his body.
His yami stirs in the back of his mind, warm and sleepy and amused by Ryou’s actions rather than offended – Ryou doesn’t think too hard on why his shadow (he has one now) might approve of his love of the dark. Instead he trails his fingers downwards once more, skirting his bellybutton to trace along the waistband of his jeans.
There’s a stirring of interest – he’s not sure who from – but it’s so faint that when he drops his hand back to the coverlet beneath him, there is no sense of disappointment. There’s only peace. Peace and the darkness that holds him: it’s his private addiction.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: YuGiOh!
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen
Pairing: Mild Yami no Bakura/Bakura Ryou
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh! and I am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Ryou finds the dark relaxing.
AN: YuGiOh! was my second ever fandom and I've been binge-watching it recently in between bouts of ficcing and thesis writing. So, really, I'm not overly surprised that this has happened.
He turns off the light and breathes in slowly. The tension in his shoulders eases. His hand trembles as he lowers it and he breathes out. He counts to five, breathes in, counts out once more – seven. On the next breath, nine. Slowly, slowly, in the shadowy clutches of his room, he begins to relax.
Outside, the summer sun is blazing down on Domino city; it’s so bright that it stings his eyes and makes his skin tingle. It reminds him of the time before the Ring and his childhood conviction that he didn’t have a shadow – (crying “not the one on the ground, mama. I don’t have one here!” and pointing at his heart) – of the time when his soul shone so brightly that it hurt. But the sun doesn’t reach his room. He has blackout curtains for a reason, and he keeps them drawn tightly shut.
His eyes slowly adjust to the lack of light. There’s only a faint sliver of it slipping in under his bedroom door, and it’s just enough for him to see by as he makes his way carefully to his bed. He falls back onto it, draping himself over the sheets and letting his head hang over the edge so that he can feel the ends of his hair brushing against the carpet on the other side. Everything feels more intense in the dark – from the sound of the air conditioning and its breeze on his skin, right down to the weight of the Ring on his chest. He slides a hand up over his hips and his belly, slips it under his shirt to caress his own skin and the pointed pendants warmed by his body.
His yami stirs in the back of his mind, warm and sleepy and amused by Ryou’s actions rather than offended – Ryou doesn’t think too hard on why his shadow (he has one now) might approve of his love of the dark. Instead he trails his fingers downwards once more, skirting his bellybutton to trace along the waistband of his jeans.
There’s a stirring of interest – he’s not sure who from – but it’s so faint that when he drops his hand back to the coverlet beneath him, there is no sense of disappointment. There’s only peace. Peace and the darkness that holds him: it’s his private addiction.
