Homelife

SPECIAL: For those who offered me condolances I am deeply grateful and I'd like to thank each and every one of you from the bottom of heart. You helped me smile in a really tough time and you make me so happy to know how many great people there are out there. I am flattered you read my work.
My deepest, most sincere thanks,
Courtney
(yup, my real name. I doubt you'll hold it against me. My name and I have creative differences, I'm sooo not a Courtney.)

A/N: This is a pretty dark little fic, but I tried not to be overwhelmingly angsty about it. (Although there is some angst. To be honest, I'm fairly upset and down lately and so I am trying to at least use the downness to my own advantage and get it out into some good dark-angst type fics. Whilst not terribly explicit, it does have sexual behaviour, yaoi, and ...well actually, surprisingly, no swearing. None, kinda weird, I usually throw in a word or two. The only other warning is that The senior Jounouchi-san is a big ol' jerk as usual. I'm sorry, in canon he is a drunk, but we can't tell if he's abusive. For angst and dramatic purposes though, abuse is the stuff of tormented fanfiction.

Disclamier: I own nothing, except the blue satin pyjama set. It's in my closet as I type. It's comfy and I absoltuely love it, so it's making a breif appearence. Otherwise, it all belongs to various American and Japanese business conglomerates that I have nothing to do with, but since they own half the world there's a chance they own half the companies I regularily buy from. They probably own the land my house is on and the golf course my sister works at....(hmm, Japanese owned golf course....that comes from me reading a whole bunch of stuff at a website that compares the different connected realities of television shows. They were talking about the connection between Newhart's season finale and the previous Bob Newhart show from years before....I am honestly typing all this because I wonder occassionally if people ever do read crapcrap in the disclaimers. Lol.)


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HOMELIFE
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I'm sitting in my bed casually twirling my fingers around each other and trying to appear non-chalant. The covers are carefully smoothed down and have been freshly washed; they smell of lavender now and I k thk the extra two dollars were worth shelling out for the scent alone, and the scents it soon shall mask. My feet are comfortably bare and crossed at the ankles, stretched out long before mecroscross them simply to keep them from shaking, a habit I picked up somewhere a long while ago. Nervous childhood, you know.

I'm very still and my breathing is shallow, so when the keys begin to chime slightly as they are pushed into the lock I can already hear them. I can feel my chest heave and I want to start shaking all over, but I know that my nervousness would only upset him, so I fake being calm and together. I've had practice, and even if I was only trying half-assed I doubt he'd have enough wits about him to notice. I have to wonder why I even bo the then, but it is something so simply and utterly important to my survival that it has become instinct over the years. Self-preservation has always been my most consuming intrest, that and duel monsters. Unfortunately the cards garner little favour for me here at home, but have won me some small prestige at school. There's also prize money, which probably gets me the best rewards of all. Failing to hand over said prize monies....the worst punishments. When Shizuka had her operation I basically took care of everything that mattered to me, so I dutifully turn over all else like the good son that I am.

I hear a string of angry curses and a shattering thump as he manages to trip over something or other in the living room and goes down, however momentarily it might be. I slip my shirt off and toss it into the hamper in the corner of my bare room. Bed, desk, hamper, trash can. I used to have a chair but he broke that about six weeks ago and I haven't had time to repair it yet; I've been kept busy, after all. Now that I sit placidly on my deep blue sheets, divested of my shirt, he'll likely not take me to task so much about my ill timed 'redecoration' of the living room. Mind you, I never touch anything outside my room, let alone move it, but such slips (pardon the pun), naturally fall on my shoulders.

I had a shower about an hour ago and my hair is still damp and hangs into my eyes. It's kind of messy and I didn't dry it well because he likes it that way and it is my job to take of him, to remain as appealing as possible. Despite rather loving my hair myself, I considered in one ill-fated beligerent moment to get it all cut off, just to hell with it. Sure, it's soft and surprisingly naturally blonde, it always hangs down over my eyes and swishes just right when I tilt my head, but if I did just cut it all off....I learned to never consider such childish fantasies, especially to not allow myself to get caught in these rare moments of outright disobedience. I believe, well at least according to my nurses, that I 'fell' down a flight of stairs, or two. Needless to say I take very good care of my mop of blonde tresses, and he's found no other reason to complain. Well, about my hair at least.

My hands run over the soft fabric of my pants and I smooth the satiny material down even though there really isn't any need. The fabric clings nicely at my waist and pools pleasantly around my ankles. He bought this number for me for my birthday, and he was eager to see how it looked on me. He enjoys the feel of satin and despite the fact that I'm wearing girl's pyjamas, it's a small price to pay to keep him distracted from other intrests. Nothing actually happened on my birthday, except that he had me model my new clothing for him, and beng pleased in that he promptly fell asleep. The satin isn't exactly uncomfortable, and since it's in a light blue, not too effeminate. Honestly, if it was bright pink I'd still wear it for him and pretend to be enjoying every second of it. That's my role in this little entertainment.

My door trembles slightly in its frame, and then opens slowly and I can see one dull eye peek into my room, clouded and confused. The lust though is still apparent in the muddy depths and are continuing to burn fitfully deep inside, and I'm glad I didn't go to all this trouble for nothing. The door opens further and he takes notice ow sow scrubbed and clean my room is, the fresh scent, the candles. The whole sha-bang, really. I went all out. He'd told me to expect a visit tonight, so I did my best given the situation. Hilesiles lopsidely and his hand reaches clumsily for his tie. It's only pinned on, so it falls easily to the floor. His shirt is spotted and dirty, probably from whatever greasy spoon joint he stumbled into to catch a bite this morning. He always needs his scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and coffee in the mornings. Thankfully, since I still have school I get out of t dut duties because I leave the house before him. I always kiss him goodbye before I go.

I know better than to ask him if he got the job today, so I smile dazzlingly at him and reach for his hand. "I'm glad you're home, daddy." I say in a small trembling voice. He insists I still call him such, and since it is a relatively easy order to comply with, I obey my daddy explicitly. It also results in my never referring to him in public, my well trained tendencies become too embarassing and I can't dare let myself get out of habit. Honda knows that there is smething not quite the norm about my homelife, he once refered to my father as that damn yarou. I stood there with him, gaping mouth and wide eyed, trying not to slap him. Not that I was actually mad per-se, but that was simply something you do not do. He dropped it and it never came up again, thankfully. Secretly though, I wonder why my best friend never really takes better notice of my idiosyncracies. Honda can't be that dumb. Right?

His rough thumb is rubbing over the back of my hand as he stares down at me thoughtfully. He's as drunk as ever, but I can see he's pleased by the set-up I prepared and some of his built up anger is disappating. "I'm glad to be back home too, Katsuya-chan." He's the only one I won't deck for actually putting that 'chan' at the end of my name. Hell, he's the only who who calls me Katsuya with out receiving it right in the kisser. The few times I have talked to my mother since she left she simply called me Jounouchi. I wasn't sure if she meant to hurt me or not. Then again she did drive away and leave me here alone with him, so how much can she possibly care for me?

I duck my head timidly and keep my eyes coquettishly averted. He enjoys these games. "Dinner is ready if you would like that first." I offer simply, and shuffle my feet on the floor. I have no small talent in the kitchen, another thing I discovered and nutured in his presence, since he likes eating about as much as I enjoy cooking. There have been many peaceful nights where I stand over the stove working a new dish out of my imagination, then he'll hook one elbow around my neck and drag me to the couch. We'll sit thee for hours eating and watching dumb comedy movies, both laughing and insulting the characters' idiocy on screen. Despite whatever else happens between us I still treasure those moments, because I really think he loves me and I'm glad to sit there with him and just be his son for a while.

He's thoughtful about the meal for a moment; He saves me from an onslaught of bad jokes focussing on 'eating', or more importantly what he might really enjoy eating, and instead grabs my chin and tilts my face back up to meet his. His lips are warm and engulf mine completely, he tastes like cigarettes and alcohol...several different varieties tonight. I can deduce that the job interview went considerably bad, otherwise he usually just sticks to beer. I can be fairly sure that I taste whiskey in the mix and he usually saves that for the worst of days. Since I started winning money in Duel Tournaments there have been fewer of those, and once his other needs are taken care of his mood mellows considerably. It's a much more base reason to continue winning, certainly how I come by my dogged determination to keep going. It's served me well. Note however I will never refer to my perservearant winning as 'dogged' while Kaiba is around. I do have to maintain my rep, after all.

His hands clamp at my shoulds and his weight is pushing me backwards until I give up and allow my body to fall back finally into the soft covers of my bed; I lay willingly beneath him as his searching mouth goes for my throat, sloppy wet kisses trailing along my jawline, his callused hands running across the smooth well-defined plains of my chest. Being a childhood delinquent I got pretty fit somewhere along the line, I'm not sure if in the end it was to my advantage or not. Considering I never got killed in a fight, it was fortuitous, but there are other reasons to wonder if maintaining an atheletic physique became my own undoing.

My eyes trace the lines of my ceiling blankly as I hold onto his back as he continues ministrations to the pulse point in my neck. One hand reaches up and brushes my hair aside so that it fans out flatteringly around my face like a halo; He stops briefly to smile down at me and I manage to draw my focus to him long enough to smile back and blush in responce to his attentions. He's said severimesimes how much he enjoys my blushing, I regularily practice now in front of my mirror so that I can manage it on cue, which always makes him smile. I've learned through much practically experience the seemingly accidental gestures and traits that make him pleased and I have done my best to mimic and adapt them to my own performances. It's worked well for me. I admit ther have been times on ocion ion that the porno mags I regularily buy, as one means of maintaining my 'guy's guy' reputaion, have become sort of inspirational and useful in a more practical way than getting myself off. Not that the secondary use isn't a good reason in itself to buy porn. I'm a seventeen year old guy, who am I kidding?

"Katsuya-chan" he mumbles drunkly into my chest as his tongue traces circles across my body. I repress my shuddering aet met my hands entwine in his hair. It is limp and dull and nothing like my own. It's deep brown and fairly short, and where the genes came from for me to have blonde hair isomplomplete mystery. Clamy hands clutch with renewed vigour at my hips and it's all I can do to keep from screaming, so I bite my lip and make small whimpering noises deep in my throat. "Katsu..." his words are lost in the jolts trembling through my body and I fight the urge to stiffen and pull away from him. He's done this many times and I still have to curb mytinctincts to tear at him and force him off my body. I'm caught between becoming paralysed by my own fears or killing him because of my own disgust. I do neither and gasp "Daddy!" once into the near silence of my room, and from around my erection I can feel him chortle and I at least know he is still well pleased with me. That's all that must matter. I will survive another day, no matter what I have to do.

Tomorrow will nothnother school day and I'll laugh and talk and shoot glares of firey death at Kaiba; Things will go on as they always have, at school and home. Yuugi will ask me what I did last night and I chuckle and tell him a ludicrous story about some late night cable porn; It'll be a regular hoot, and call forth a whole bunch of macho grandiouso and kidding, like every day before and every day after. Things will go on as every day before and every day after.

I gasp uncontrolled I shI shut my eyes tightly to ward of the tears that threaten to boil up from some deep pit of hurt inside me; I clutch at the covers as the unwanted orgasm building inside me begins to surge upwards and I wonder if every there will be a day not like before, and it could stop all the ever afters.

Who am I kidding, there are never any happy ever afters.

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A/N: There you have it. As for those who are wondering, the idea and inspiration for this fic are as thus: I was reading a whole bunch of Seto saves Jounouchi from abuse type fics and I thought about how rarely people are saved in real life. Some people are abused to the point when they no longer fight it and give in because it makes things easier, they might not be hurt so much for giving in as for fighting. So here Jounouchi has buckled under and tries to please his father with such things becaut spt spares him from harsher punishments.
I would really appreciate any reviews or comments. Flames are rather pointless, they never discourage an author and aren't worth the reviwer's time to type it out because of that. I always enjoy reviews and like hearing from people about my plots, where they inspire a new idea in someone else, or they just wanted to say 'i like this' and go back into cyberspace.
(I have gotten many 'i like this' comments, but you don't have to be shy, say whatever you want, I'm a big girl, I can take it. lol)
See ya.