(no subject)
Title: Asylum
Author: studyingstones2
Pairing: Yuugi/Yami no Yuugi
Rating: R-ish for the strange puzzleshipping equivalent of almost-masturbation and mild(ish) angst.
Summary: 676 words of Porn With a little bit of Plot (like PWP, but different if you're confused about why some of those words are capitalized) set during the first few volumes of the very first manga series.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no profit, literary value, etc.
A/N: We're going to pretend that Yuugi and Yami could touch but not see each other during the first three or so volumes of the very first series. Because, first of all, they do catch each other countless times in the anime which leads me to believe that in at least one of the many YGO canons (and here I speak of the manga, raw, sub, and dub) they can touch. And also because I said so.
He's still exhilarated over the friend found in Jonouchi and the completion of the puzzle when it starts.
And long after realization should've dawned, he's still writing the blank spots in his memory off to forgetfulness, and the disappearances around him off to coincidence. Simply because it's easier that way- because if he doesn't think about the blank spots (gaping holes, more like) in his mind, or about the insane or dead or just gone people who's disappearances coincide perfectly with the lost hours in his memory, then he doesn't have to think about his own looming insanity.
So he ignores all that, represses it, decides that the entire affair is a blessing, not a curse. And when he only looks at the shiny exterior, it is a blessing- he's gotten out of no few tight situations by forgetting an hour or two and waking up to find that whoever had been creating a problem for him is dead or dying or completely insane.
But then he starts staying partially conscious while his body moves around without his consent- bits and pieces of the outside world filtering through the darkness and, given, at least this way he's less disoriented when he "wakes up," but he doesn't want to know what his body's being used for while he's unconscious.
Not long after that- after watching yet another person fall apart (literally and metaphorically) because of him- the nightmares start: dreams where he's being chased down a long hallway (white floors, white walls, locked doors) that frighteningly resembles everything he would've thought an insane asylum would be. And he can't get out and he can't get away.
He's saved though- at the last second, someone opens one of those locked doors and pulls him through and when he looks up, that someone is him.
It startles him out of sleep.
But even more disorienting are the arms wrapped around him. He glances down after a moment, still shaking from the aftermath of the dream, only to find that where the arms he can so firmly feel around him should be, there's only air.
He considers screaming- sobbing- but instead decides that he must still be dreaming because it's so much easier than accepting any of the alternatives.
And when those invisible hands start stroking down his sides, when phantom lips caress his neck, he lets himself relax into them because it's all a dream- a comforting, warm, entirely surreal and rather terrifying, dream.
But when he stops shaking and those hands start to move downwards...
It stops being a dream.
His ear is nibbled on and licked and there are whispered words which tickle against his skin but that he's certain he hasn't heard. "I can make you feel better... help you forget."
He's not hard at first, but he's never had anyone's hands on his cock but his own and it takes only a moment to get him there.
He tries to squirm away- this isn't what he wants- but the movement is about as effective as trying to wriggle out from under his own hands and he gives up after several moments of silent struggle- lies back, eyes squeezed shut, wishing that whatever's wrong with him would just go away so that he could be normal again. Sane.
His cock's tugged- gently, yet firmly- between teasing fingers which aren't there.
Long minutes pass...
He can't breathe.
He needs this.
He can't bear it.
The mess of contradictions overwhelms him. The fingers tighten around him, stroking faster now and it's almost enough- yet far, far too much.
Invisible lips press to his, slick tongue snaking between them to explore his insides.
He gives in.
A single soft, shuddering sob escapes him- arched back, hands grasping at something he can't see.
His orgasm hurts.
He shakes himself apart- teeth clamped down on his forearm to keep himself from screaming.
Afterwards, when he's no longer being touched (but can still clearly feel the presence- this Other- next to him in bed, inside his mind) he tries to tell himself that maybe it won't be so bad- being insane.
His self doesn't believe it.
Author: studyingstones2
Pairing: Yuugi/Yami no Yuugi
Rating: R-ish for the strange puzzleshipping equivalent of almost-masturbation and mild(ish) angst.
Summary: 676 words of Porn With a little bit of Plot (like PWP, but different if you're confused about why some of those words are capitalized) set during the first few volumes of the very first manga series.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no profit, literary value, etc.
A/N: We're going to pretend that Yuugi and Yami could touch but not see each other during the first three or so volumes of the very first series. Because, first of all, they do catch each other countless times in the anime which leads me to believe that in at least one of the many YGO canons (and here I speak of the manga, raw, sub, and dub) they can touch. And also because I said so.
He's still exhilarated over the friend found in Jonouchi and the completion of the puzzle when it starts.
And long after realization should've dawned, he's still writing the blank spots in his memory off to forgetfulness, and the disappearances around him off to coincidence. Simply because it's easier that way- because if he doesn't think about the blank spots (gaping holes, more like) in his mind, or about the insane or dead or just gone people who's disappearances coincide perfectly with the lost hours in his memory, then he doesn't have to think about his own looming insanity.
So he ignores all that, represses it, decides that the entire affair is a blessing, not a curse. And when he only looks at the shiny exterior, it is a blessing- he's gotten out of no few tight situations by forgetting an hour or two and waking up to find that whoever had been creating a problem for him is dead or dying or completely insane.
But then he starts staying partially conscious while his body moves around without his consent- bits and pieces of the outside world filtering through the darkness and, given, at least this way he's less disoriented when he "wakes up," but he doesn't want to know what his body's being used for while he's unconscious.
Not long after that- after watching yet another person fall apart (literally and metaphorically) because of him- the nightmares start: dreams where he's being chased down a long hallway (white floors, white walls, locked doors) that frighteningly resembles everything he would've thought an insane asylum would be. And he can't get out and he can't get away.
He's saved though- at the last second, someone opens one of those locked doors and pulls him through and when he looks up, that someone is him.
It startles him out of sleep.
But even more disorienting are the arms wrapped around him. He glances down after a moment, still shaking from the aftermath of the dream, only to find that where the arms he can so firmly feel around him should be, there's only air.
He considers screaming- sobbing- but instead decides that he must still be dreaming because it's so much easier than accepting any of the alternatives.
And when those invisible hands start stroking down his sides, when phantom lips caress his neck, he lets himself relax into them because it's all a dream- a comforting, warm, entirely surreal and rather terrifying, dream.
But when he stops shaking and those hands start to move downwards...
It stops being a dream.
His ear is nibbled on and licked and there are whispered words which tickle against his skin but that he's certain he hasn't heard. "I can make you feel better... help you forget."
He's not hard at first, but he's never had anyone's hands on his cock but his own and it takes only a moment to get him there.
He tries to squirm away- this isn't what he wants- but the movement is about as effective as trying to wriggle out from under his own hands and he gives up after several moments of silent struggle- lies back, eyes squeezed shut, wishing that whatever's wrong with him would just go away so that he could be normal again. Sane.
His cock's tugged- gently, yet firmly- between teasing fingers which aren't there.
Long minutes pass...
He can't breathe.
He needs this.
He can't bear it.
The mess of contradictions overwhelms him. The fingers tighten around him, stroking faster now and it's almost enough- yet far, far too much.
Invisible lips press to his, slick tongue snaking between them to explore his insides.
He gives in.
A single soft, shuddering sob escapes him- arched back, hands grasping at something he can't see.
His orgasm hurts.
He shakes himself apart- teeth clamped down on his forearm to keep himself from screaming.
Afterwards, when he's no longer being touched (but can still clearly feel the presence- this Other- next to him in bed, inside his mind) he tries to tell himself that maybe it won't be so bad- being insane.
His self doesn't believe it.