My first YGO oneshot. Uh... just a little something something, I guess. I've gotten a little too addicted to the whole Darkshipping thing so I thought ''HEY! H, why not try out Casteshipping?''

Slightly silly, slightly pointless, but then again, every writer needs a drabble.

This felt like a challenge but I enjoyed writing it. Tell me if you enjoyed reading it.

Past Mistakes

Bakura snarled. The pounding so much like that of a thousand drums refused to cease pesturing him, although he had tried to wish the headache away for hours. As of now it was only getting worse and he wasn't sure of just how much he could take. Yes, he was the Thief King but he was no miracle man, even though he might pretend to be. But no matter his cruel, malicious eyes or bloodthirsty, wicked grin the headache was starting to get the better of him, and he didn't like when things got the better of him. And even so, this moment and all that came with it seemed to be doing just that, conquering every domain of his mind.

This is so wrong.

His heart was thumping, much like a rabbits feet as it was being chased by a hungry predator. Or perhaps even more like the thundering steps of horses, roaming the dynes of golden sand. His adrenaline was ferocious, ravaging his veins like a blissful yet sinful inferno. His breath quickening, all of his senses screaming blue murder. Hell was unleashed inside of him and every instinct he had wanted to just get away from that burning pit of damnation, passionate fire licking hungrily at a putrid soul.

This is so completely, utterly wrong.

But he couldn't deny it. He couldn't deny the chills that traveled down his spine, nor the hot, burning sensation that seemed to sizzle through his skin wherever those hands touched him. Oh God, those hands - It was as if they knew him, from skin to bone and head to feet. They traveled with such security, such confidence it was as if they were claiming him, had been claiming him a long time ago.

This is wrong. One should burn in the pit of Ammit's stomach for such profanity.

He snarled yet again, letting out a loud breath. This was not tolerable. The hands that roamed him, the skin that warmed him, the breath that tickled him. It wasn't right, it never had been. It was so wrong even the thief himself thought so, and he was a master of wrongs. If there was any atrocity, any misdeed or fault he had not yet claimed, they were not going to remain like that for long.

He was notorious to say the least. After all, one did not don the title of king for nothing. He had worked hard for it, suffered and sweated and bled. Still, so many years later, he could hear the screaming. The images of his ruined village, they still plagued him, still fueled the hatred within his black, cold and withering heart. Yes, despite what people might believe, he did have a heart.

And right that moment it was pounding, threatening to burst with the sensation, the mere smell of the other man. The mere sin he was commiting was arousing, exciting, intoxicating. For the moment, he could not think of a better place, he couldn't think much about anything. All he could see was the white dots that formed before his eyes, those hateful, sneering eyes. It was perfect, and yet it was a complete disaster.

Why him?

Maybe he had lost his mind, what was left of it at least. Bakura was not a gentle person. He fought only for himself and the bitter memories that tainted his dark mind. He lived because of hate, revenge and fury. There was nothing he loved and nothing he longed for, nothing he dreamed of more than blood. Vengeance was as sweet as wine to his ears, and he had tried to grasp it for so long. His home had been destroyed, his family, everyone he knew, were dead. All because the desires of one damned pharaoh.

But that pharaoh was dead. There was no use, when one thought about it. He had defiled his grave, haunted and terrorized his kingdom, and brought a lot of pain and suffering to the heir. Yes, the heir. That strong, content, proud and intimidating man whose mere presence demanded respect. It was so easy to hate him, almost too easy. And Bakura had succumbed to that for his entire life.

The punishment his father had avoided by dying was to be inherited by the son. An eye for an eye, as they said. Only, Bakura was not a true believer of that. After all, why take an eye when one could take so much more? He had dreamt of the demise of the new pharaoh, the former prince. He had planned and plotted nights and nights, with only shadows as his company. He had gone through so much trouble just to stain his hands with that pitiful royal blood.

And in one moment, it had all been for nothing.

As crimson eyes bored themselves into him, like claws of a monster, his heart beat even louder. Those dark, blood-colored eyes that held so much power, and so much loneliness. Like rubies in that tanned and unmarked face, accompanied by the golden, black and reddened hair. Yes, the prince was a sight for sore eyes, to say the least. His beauty, or handsomeness, he never could tell the two apart when it came to that man, was far greater than any fickle piece of jewelry the thief had ever seen.

Damn him. This isn't right.

As tanned fingers ran through white hair, Bakura let a moan escape his lips. The kisses were light at first, but then erupted into so much more, paving the path of disaster. The former prince, the Pharaoh, the offspring of the man who had ruined Bakura's life, was everywhere. His body pressed against the Thief, his breath in his ear and his tongue dancing across his throat. It was sensational, extraordinary, out of this world. And yet it was so damn wrong.

He didn't want this, he couldn't want this. He was supposed to be killing the man, bathing in his blood, ripping his kingdom apart, tarnishing his whole world. But he couldn't, not now. A while ago, in the past, it would have been as easy to the Thief as eating a mere fruit. But now, it was nearly impossible.

He had never denied his obsession for destroying the royal family. It was indeniable, so evident it couldn't be missed even by a blind. The numerous and endless attempts he had made, which had all failed miserably but still very gallantly, were proof themselves. He had been obsessed by the Pharaoh almost his whole life. But when had the obsession grown into something else? Something so much like lust, but yet so much deeper.

He didn't really know, it had all blurred into nothing. Endless shades and colors of gold and crimson and that soft, delicate skin which was pressed harshly onto his own scarred one. Bakura didn't know, he wasn't even sure he needed to know. He tried to tell himself every time that it was simply lust. The kisses were just something his idiotic body craved. As an instinct to produce more of his species.

But that was rather silly, since males couldn't reproduce. But his body didn't have to know that, did it? It could've been lust. Bakura could simply just have been horny. And who could deny the godsend man that was gasping in his ear? That deep and rich voice, so full of authority it was overwhelming, that haunted him. It was normal, that stab in the chest everytime he wasn't near. It was normal to long for those touches again and it was normal to feel cold whenever his body wasn't present.

Right?

''Bakura'' that deep voice whispered, sending unwanted chills down his back once more.

The Thief King gritted his teeth, closing his eyes so hard they hurt. This was so wrong.

''This is wrong'' he said, his voice hoarse and threatening.

Atemu seemed to smile, if yet barely noticeable. He held the thief closer to him, almost possessively. Kissing him roughly, longing and yet so very gentle. His hands traveled across the scarred back so caressing, almost tenderly it hurt. Bakura didn't want this. He didn't want this and he didn't need it and he certainly didn't long for it. It would be such a shame to his name. The Pharaoh's arch rival sharing bed with the very same man? Unthinkble, despicable.

But maybe that was the charm to it all. The fact that he was commiting such a disgraceful act that he was practically dragging the kingdom of Egypt in the dirt. Just by crushing his own lips onto Atemu's own, he was basically molesting the country. A man of such a low social status, an enemy who tried endlessly to destroy the country, touching its ruler.

Touching him, kissing him, holding and clawing at him. Making him scream his name.

It was priceless.

''Yes, it is'' Atemu said, leaning his forehead against the Thief's. ''It's a sin that will defile my heart so incredibly it won't stand a chance once in the scale of Ma'at.''

Bakura looked thinly at him, studying him.

''And you're content with that?''

There was that smile again, graving those soft lips like silk. The candlelight accompanied by the shining of the stars seemed to drip off the Pharaoh's hair like silvery water, making him almost glow. Bakura hated him for that, hated him for so many reasons. He hated him for the destruction of his home, hated him for his ability to survive every attack, hated him for being so close. But most of all, Bakura hated himself for letting him.

''Thief'' Atemu kissed him long, passionately, warmly. ''If an eternity of hell is what awaits me, then so be it.''

Dark met crimson, staring challengingly at each other. The throbbing searing fury inside of him made its presence known, the headache only increasing. As the Pharaoh slithered around him, holding him so closely he could feel the man's heartbeats, everything came to a halt.

This is so wrong.

And yet, he didn't care anymore. He was going to hell anyway, he knew that. It was written in the stars, the very same flickers of light that were looming above them on that black and cold sky. The ruler of Egypt nuzzled his head into the curve of the Thief's neck, drawing in his scent of sweat and blood and sand.

And Bakura let him. Despite everything, he let him. What was there to do? He had tried, by the Gods he had tried to throw the royals into doom and death and humility. He had tried with all his power, and yet it had been so futile. All it had led to was this.

''You know'' Bakura growled as he snuck his arms around the other lithe body, bringing him closer. ''This isn't going to last.''

Atemu sighed.

''I know''

A white eyebrow rose, and the Thief frowned.

''You are throwing your afterlife away for just one brief affair? I must say, Pharaoh, you are even dumber than I thought.''

Atemu shifted to lie on top of him, staring into his eyes. It was so like falling into dark pits, knowing there was no way back he kept staring. He kept drinking in the harsh and torn features of the man who had ruined so much for him. He had ravaged his father's grave, destroyed the peace of his kingdom and tried to even kill him. And yet, when it all came down to it, he held no grudge. He had heard people say that everything good starts with a war, but he had never taken them seriously. Never could he have imagined that the touch of the other would feel so right.

''Bakura'' he said then, softly, as if tasting the name and how it felt on his tongue for the very first time.

Bakura gave him a questioning and irritated glare, but said nothing.

''I know it won't last. By Ra it has plagued my mind each night. I know this is doomed to perish.''

''And still you are here, like so many other nights?''

He leaned closer then, his breath swirling against sweaty skin.

''And many more nights to come.''

The Pharaoh closed his eyes then, leaning his head down to rest against the Thief's chest. Bakura grunted, unsatisfied, but decided to leave it at that. Doomed or not, that didn't matter for the time being. Until the future unraveled its schemes and plans for them, he would have to make many memorable moments while he could.

Staring up at the stars through the window one final time, he closed his eyes and joined the Pharaoh in his silence. Whatever the morning would hold for them, that would have to wait. Because no matter how wrong, disgusting or insane it was, he would at least have one memory to cling to that wasn't covered in blood or hate. Whatever happened, the kiss of his mortal enemy would always linger on his lips, like an invisible jewel for only him to see. The last living proof that claimed Bakura could indeed steal anything, and yet this time what he wanted the most had actually been given to him willingly.

''Damn you to hell, Atemu'' he growled into the sleeping mans ear, and then himself, drifted into slumber.