Title: Desert Flower
Author: KohakoShadow
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything of YGO and co. I just
happen to use them for my nefarious pleasures. But the poem in the story is mine.
Warnings: No beta, just spell-check and we know how reliable that is. Still looking for beta, pm if you're interested
Universe: Brothers
Pairing(s): Bakura/Jou, mention of Atemu/Ryou
Summary: A weed in the desert is still a flower

Before we even left our place Bakura was bitching about everything.

Off course this could have had to do with our present company. Aside from Barney the purple dinosaur, Bakura hates Atemu even more. And as much as I dislike seeing Atemu tense up every time my big brother creeps closer, I'm doing this for a good cause, so he just has to endure my slightly maniacal brother for a couple of hours. I know I should have probably ordered Bakura to leave his knives back home.

"Oh For God's Sake Atemu don't be such a wimp." I whisper quitly to him. He spins around and glare at me before frowning to the ground. On the other side of me, Bakura is staring right back with a smug grin adorning his face. Idly fondling a tiny butterlfy knife. I roll my eyes at his attempt to mind-fuck with my boyfriend and grab his knife. I stuff it deep in my pocket. He's wearing a matching frown like my boyfriend but I resist. I like my boyfriends not broken, if you please.

Eventually we break contact and resume our walk. I sigh. I can never figure Bakura out. For someone as highly skilled in Martial Arts he's one of the most paranoid people alive. He keeps multitude of knives on his body, all are strategically placed. They are hardly noticeable, even though some are taller than my arm. I've stopped counting after number 15. I mean I knew he had a passion for knives but he could easily kill someone with his thumb. So why the overcompensation with ancient knives and sabers.

But I'm getting off track.

I urge the others gently but quickly toward our destination and head off any decapitation, mutilation or the manhandling of passerbyers by Bakura and push the others inside the dreary building in front of us. We pass a huge banner overhead and I don't have to be blind to know everyone is looking chagrined at the prospect of listening to some dreary people recite their own angsty poems to a handful of not so interested people pretending to be interested just for the laughs and jeers. Human beings are such cruel and pathetic creatures on earth.

Anyway as we sit here listening to some guy tell us about his pet lizard in free verse, I look the others over. Judging from the squirming of limbs, Tristan and Duke are holding one of their impromptu thumb wars again. I swear they are such little children. It's so obvious that they are meant for each other. Just friends my ass, hah, you are not fooling anyone with that!

I'm guessing that Marik and Malik are off into their own little world again, someplace quiet and where the only company they've got are their PS3 and a variety of games. They should really have somebody check over their hands and fingers, those twitches are very distracting. I am actually pretty proud with myself in manipulating them into going with us. Note to myself, buy a box of chocolate for Mai.

I could not have done this without her, although she probably should have mentioned the hazard of the job. I didn't exactly expect Malik to attack me with a pen of all things, just because I lied about where we were going. I mean a open podium night is kind of like watching DOA: Dead or Alive.

I mean there's the action, although not astonishing, it is still very entertaining. I mean that act with the fruit was, uh, something. 'Sides it's kind of like staring at a car accident in morbid fascination. Despite the bloods, guts and destruction, you can't look away.

And off course there are a lot of women; it's not my fault all of them are above their 50's and more of them are old cat lady. You know the one that always smell funky, 'cause of all those cats she takes home with her and all. The woman were definitely nothing like those Desperate Housewives Mokuba keeps telling me about. I'm deeply worried about where his mind is off to. And we can't forget about the diabolic plan of this establishment. I mean being here is such torture I'm actually considering seppuku.

I hope Bakura and Jou appreciate everything that I've done because this will be the last time I ever do this for one of my friends. Another note to myself: must resist Jou next time when he uses his puppy dog eyes. Kaiba is so right about him. Although he acts more like a overgrown puppy than a mutt.

Finally! Jou is coming up. I can tell by his tense shoulders that he's nervous. Oh, and he's flushing. He looks so cute when he does that. Oh crap, Atemu is looking funny at me, really must tone down my libido. Sorry loverboy, but 'just because I have you doesn't mean I can't have my fantasies. I mean,come one. Jou is so adorable and I'm very thankful for every deity in the world that I know, which is a lot thanks to my father, that Bakura has not mastered the power of telepathy or else I would have long been shred to ribbons.

"Hello, my name is Jou. I'll just cut to the chase so I can be done with it." A big sigh. "I'm not that good actually but I wanted to read to you a poem that I made for this special person that I have a crush on."

He blushes deeper when everyone's is awwing at him. After a minute or two he straigthens his back and looks directly out into the audience. The entire place is silent, everyone was curious fot what he had to say. Maybe i ess the fact that he had something personal to say. It could have been that the lighting made him look like a nervous angel with his golden hair, mussed up in all the right places due to his constant re-arranging of it. Whatever it was, it made people take notice and listen.

"This poem is called 'Desert Flower'"

"It stands there alone with naught a patch of shade around it.
Frail yet sturdy; it stands there through the sand and rain.

Every day and night he stands vigil over his domain.
Unwavering and loyal he defies the heaven with his every breath.

Despite his torn petalsm, he stand tall and proud.
Showing the world that he is proud of his scars.

At times he is tired; stem tensing with strain.
Shaking and searching for an outlet for his pain.

Even though he is alone and prickly with anger,
I still venture forward and shower him with my light.

And though I do not delude myself,
I am happy that I made him smile.

Even for a little while."

The scraping of a chair drew everyone's attention to a white-haired boy leaving before most started to clap. Gradually everyone joined in 'till the shout of "Bakura!" was drowned out by the noise, leaving a desperate boy attempting to charge after his crush. An attempt made hard due to the appreciative audience blocking his way.

To be continued