Disclaimer: Yuugiou (Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters) is the property of Takahashi Kazuki and respective publishers, including Shueisha, Studio Gallop, Nihon Ad Systems, Toei Animation, 4Kids, and others. I would never claim to own it or attempt to make money off of it- just think of this as a written, free doujinshi and hopefully we'll get along fine ;)
Notes: Written as a gift-fic for lilt_epiphany. Happy birthday! Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy it!
Vocabulary: Ore-sama is essentially a self-aggrandizing personal pronoun which Bakura refers to himself by.
Colorless
It was easy to forget that Bakura was Egyptian sometimes.
There were his clothes, simply whatever his host had been wearing before he took control, and his words, Japanese twisted to his use. But most of all, he was white. Not just in hair but in skin, ivory all over, glowing when the moon was visible in the sky. It might have been beautiful, but Bakura looked far more like a restless dead spirit, spreading his dark influences over the world.
Naturally, Malik quite enjoyed his dark influences.
Bakura had meant to kill him when they first met, and Malik wasn't certain that he didn't still consider murdering him a viable option. He would unveil the spirit's threats, offer his own, and all Bakura did was laugh.
"Why bother being so wary if you're still around Ore-sama? Obviously it doesn't bother you enough for you to change your behavior," Bakura said once, voice quiet and taunting. It was another joke to him, like most everything else.
"If I can make use of you I will, regardless of the risk," Malik had replied, and again Bakura had laughed.
"Ah, so you enjoy it, then? Kh, should have expected it from the man who controls everyone who surrounds him…" Bakura moved closer, almost but not quite touching, then closer still until nothing but his form filled Malik's vision. "So, Malik," he murmured, one of those few times he bothered using Malik's name at all, "Do you think you can control Ore-sama as well?"
Everything about him was both foreign and familiar, a dark reflection regardless of what skin he wore. It was a disquieting feeling, underlying everything- from the hatred that rose in him when his clan's suffering was brought up to the cool rush of energy that came whenever the spirit's knife found its way to his skin. That Malik desired this escape which coiled about him like colorless mists, concealing the darkness but never denying it…
He did not know what it meant, but he intended to take advantage of it while it lasted.
AN:
This is probably set in Battle City- just don't think too hard about whether it fits the time-line or not ;)