Pairing: Seto x Yami x Bakura
Genre: AU, drama, angst
Rating: R
Words: 1541
Part: 1/3
Dedication: Once again, for LilPurplFlwr, because she gave me the idea that spawned this little creation. And simply because we're Yu-Gi-Oh fanatics (and she's so awesome, I want to cuddle her). Go read her writing right now, and that's an order.
Warnings: YAOI (that'd be boy x boy... but that's what you're here for, isn't it?), sexual situations between minors.
Summary: Highschool: a place of education and improvement. But beneath it all, it's a time of rampant desires and foolish mistakes—and there's so much tension, Yami scarcely knows what to make of it. YAOI - Seto x Yami x Bakura
A/N: If highschool boys getting sexual is a problem for you, I suggest you hit the back button promptly. If not, please, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the show.
Taut
Part One
Ninety-eight percent.
Yami lifted the test nonchalantly, slender fingers flipping through the pages of calculus to check his answers absently. It was a stupid mistake, really, that had cost him the perfect score, and it was a terribly sore spot on his mind as he stared at the single red blemish upon his pristine paper. It was simply a mistake with a negative sign, and once more, Seto had beat him.
Seto. Seto always seemed to beat him in calculus.
Besides him, the brunette reclined indolently in his seat, head tilted back to expose the slender column of his throat. Besides him, a few girls were fawning over the stretch of pale skin and sinew. Yami, on the other hand, was merely glowering at the perfect 100 that stood out in crimson ink on the front of the other boy's exam.
Sighing softly to himself, Yami stared back down at his test, resigning himself to the post of second-best once more. But a soft smile eventually curved his lips as his crimson eyes landed upon the clock, the hands ticking slowly along above the monotone drone of his teacher's voice.
In ten minutes the period ended, and history would begin. Then Seto would be the one below Yami.
"Don't you ever get tired of being such a frigid bitch?"
The locker slammed shut with a metallic bang as Yami turned his head to face the speaker. Seto merely smiled sardonically at him as he leaned against the grey lockers besides the considerably shorter boy.
"I was just wondering the same thing about you—except I'd replace bitch with cocky bastard."
Full lips parted briefly in a chuckle before Seto leaned closer, invading Yami's personal space—the protective bubble of air and silence which he carried religiously around him. When their faces were level, the taller boy abruptly stopped. So there they stood, staring at each other with a mere few inches separating their longing lips.
"Cocky. Interesting word choice there, Yami."
The younger boy snorted derisively, turning his head away and pointedly ignoring the looming figure before him. "Don't you have somewhere to go?" he asked impatiently.
"Of course; but I'd much rather bother you."
Soft velvet brushed against the corner of Yami's lips, and shutting his eyes softly, he returned the kiss briefly. The touch was quick and impersonal, just like the relationship between the two boys.
"Gee, I feel honored," he finally replied. Stepping away, he brushed some golden bangs out of his eyes irritably before grabbing his backpack, slinging the pack firmly over his shoulders. Then without another word to the brunette, he proceeded to calmly walk away, head lifted and eyes carefully aimed anywhere but near Seto.
He was nearly down the empty hallway when the other's voice rang out, cool and collected. "Tonight," he said, and it wasn't a question—rather, an assertion, full of arrogant confidence, just like Seto, and it aggravated Yami to no end.
There was a stretch of silence as he formulated his reply. "Fine," he finally said, and disappeared down the corridor and out the front entrance of the school.
They always met at the same place at the same time.
At one o'clock early Saturday morning, Yami would wait patiently by the tallest slide in the park near his house. He would sit at the base of the slide, booted feet kicking idly at the sand while he waited for the object of his muddled affections to appear.
At one ten, on the dot, Seto would appear, his typical trench coat billowing around him in the night breeze in a strangely comical way. It always made Yami smirk without fail, and the very grin would then be wiped from his lips by Seto's hungry mouth, robbing him of his breath while he was at it.
At one twenty-three, they were usually breathless and covered in sand, somehow having fallen off of the slide and down into the scratchy debris beneath. But when two adolescent boys with typically hormonally charged bodies have a chance to grope wildly at each other, sand seems like a very small inconvenience. And that's why they would remain a tangled mess of limbs, clothing, and passions on the park bottom for quite some time thereafter.
At one thirty-one, Seto would groan as he thrust his hips firmly against Yami's thigh, encased firmly in soft, time-worn leather. Yami would then hiss softly and bite down upon Seto's neck, muffling the sound of his own pleasure as they settled into a pattern. Thrust, retreat, and they would continue gyrating until their breaths stuck in the sticky passage of their throats and their hearts danced in time with the ever present need coursing through their blood.
At one thirty-nine, Seto would abruptly jerk away, panting. Yami would then sprawl out upon the sand, his own breathing labored and a tense sensation trickling all the way up his stomach. The stars spread out dimly above them, and by one forty-two, Seto would be gone.
One forty-seven saw Yami climbing back into the window of his bedroom, brushing sand and bitter expectations off from his clothing.
"Hey, you."
A slender eyebrow arched as Yami turned around, the sound of the voice oddly alluring—securing his attention in the manner that a dream catcher clings to the nightmares that would sneak upon us, holding it tight and swallowing it whole.
In a crook by the wall between two sets of lockers stood a boy. He was around Yami's age, as far as he could tell, and was considerably taller. Slender build and striking platinum hair—and Yami lost his train of thought as a devilish smirk curled the wan lips of the other boy.
"Find something interesting?" the stranger inquired, the pink tip of his tongue sticking out lewdly to wet his lips.
Yami turned his head away coolly, arms crossing before him in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. "What do you want?"
"To know if you're free Friday evening."
The question received a blank stare, and Yami merely looked bored as he watched the other boy. "Excuse me?"
"A date," the boy in black replied, flicking a luxurious strand of silver away from his eyes. They were lined thickly in kohl, exaggerating the smoky appearance of his eyes—and Yami couldn't help but think that it was very possible to drown within them.
One, two, three. Yami counted mentally to regain his composure before shrugging nonchalantly, turning and preparing to walk away (though he was finding it dreadfully difficult to do so). "What if I'm not interested?"
"Oh," the other started knowingly, his voice sultry and convincing, "but you are."
Yami walked down the hallway in silence, leaving the image of the smirking boy imprinted upon the canvas of his mind.
You were talking to Bakura.
Across the page it sprawled, in soft loops and crisp lines. Yami stared at the note in his hand, eyes skimming over Seto's handwriting curiously. Grabbing his own pen, he quickly scrawled a reply—a single word, a terse inquiry, before sending the note back to its original owner.
So?
Scritch scratch went the pens and pencils around the room as the teacher lectured endlessly. The sound of Seto's own pen blended into the chorus around them, and Yami couldn't help but watch the shadows play across his cheeks as he wrote.
Their fingers touched momentarily as the note was handed back, and a painful sort of sensation crawled into the pit of his stomach as he thought of the other night
So why? You aren't known to hang around with delinquents.
A slight smirk curved the shorter boy's lips as he read.
Are you jealous?
Of course not. I'm merely curious.
Curious, of course, translated into envy in the mental dictionary Yami had formulated from years of Seto's companionship. Somehow, it didn't seem as pleasing a feeling as he had expected, finding out that maybe he mattered more to Seto than just the occasional grope. After a bit of thought, he figured it was merely a possessive nature—it fit the compulsive personality of the brunette.
Seto was watching him as he wrote. He could feel the eyes upon his neck, and it unnerved him to no end, that intense stare.
Whatever you say, Seto. So how do you know him, anyway?
I tutor him.
Well, that somehow complicated things an awful lot.
I see.
There was nothing else to say, after all. Seto was even tutoring more students than he was now.
And just how did you meet him?
That was the first time I spoke to him. I didn't even know his name until you told me.
When the note was handed back, Seto merely stared at it for a moment, pen dangling lifelessly between his elegant fingers. Yami returned to the study of his notebook, mind too preoccupied to pay any heed to the words spilling from his teacher's lips.
The reply he received, written as impeccably as all the others, made Yami want to hit Seto. It made him want to connect his fist to that perfect, sculpted face and feel flesh and bone crumple beneath his hand.
Stay away from him.
Yami hated being told what to do.
-TBC-