Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.
Warnings: It's rated 'M' for a reason; male/male sex, and some language. Not non-con/rape (although that's how it may appear at the beginning). You'll also note that I've listed this in the 'humor' section — there is a reason for that; but I won't spoil the plot.
A Semblance of Reality
There were positive aspects to being the King of Egypt, and then there were negative aspects.
Needless to say, the positives far outweighed the negatives.
Wealth — palaces with sprawling gardens, and treasuries filled with jewels and gold — beyond the wildest dreams of mere mortals. Glorious cuisine, created by the kingdom's finest culinary experts and peppered with adventurous combinations of spices, tantalising his taste-buds during each and every meal. Clothing of the finest silk, and jewellery of an assortment of precious metals.
Beautiful wives (although, perhaps he didn't find those as appealing as he should). The power of the gods manifested within an earthly body, entitling him divine right over the people — his people. Complete, absolute control.
Slaves, dedicated to serving the Horus Incarnate; slaves to feed him grapes upon the snapping of fingers, slaves to fan him with palm leaves, slaves to clean, slaves to entertain, slaves to pleasure...
Pharaoh Bakura smirked, adjusting the bronze crown upon his head and admiring the lithe, naked creature kneeling between his spread legs. A pretty, pale-skinned thing, thin-hipped and smelling strongly of frankincense, intermingled with the pungent stench of fear.
"Well, aren't you just stunning," Bakura leered, muscular arms reaching out to encircle the slave's bare torso. Eyes widened to reach massive proportions, bangles encircling the plaything's wrists jangling noisily as he brushed a strand of ivory-white hair behind his ear. "Do you have a name?"
A feeble, stuttered response of, "Ryou."
"Ryou," Bakura repeated, enunciating each individual syllable as he tested it on his tongue. An exotic name, for an equally exotic animal. "Does Ryou want to have some fun with me?"
The slightest pause. The slightest hesitation. The slightest flicker of fright dancing like a flame within huge, russet-coloured eyes.
"Yes," at this, Bakura snarled and snatched Ryou's thin wrists within his own strong grasp, "Yes... master."
The Pharaoh's smirk returned with vengeance, exposing glistening incisors and sharp, prominent canines, "That's better. Such a good little whore, aren't you?" Ryou nodded eagerly at this, shifting uncomfortably in Bakura's vice-like grip.
"Well-behaved slaves get rewarded, don't they?" the Pharaoh drawled, earning another series of desperate, vigorous nods in response.
His smirk widened to painful proportions and, without warning, he thrust the slave backwards. Ryou squeaked and flailed around, bracelets scraping noisily against one another, but Bakura straddled him and prevented him from moving.
"Good slaves get rewarded, yes?" the Pharaoh grinned sadistically, "Well... I for one can't think of anything better than the ability to please your master. Can you, Ryou?"
Tears welled in the corners of the slave's eyes as he shook his head, before tilting it towards the silk sheets and attempting to muffle his sobs. Bakura frowned, clasping elongated, ring-clad fingers around Ryou's chin and wrenching his gaze upwards. "I want you to look at me, bitch."
The look of pure, unadulterated terror on the slave's face sent a shiver down Bakura's spine. Those pleading, desperate eyes, coated with a liquid film of unshed tears; they were just so arousing.
Bakura growled ferally, before crushing their lips together in an almost brutal kiss. He sucked and nipped at the soft, supple flesh, earning a whimper and parted lips in return. He snaked his tongue inwards, savouring the taste of innocence; fresh and aromatic (excellent oral hygiene, Bakura noted), with the slight tinge of pomegranate.
Ryou didn't attempt to fight against Bakura's voracious tongue, remaining immobile, limp, lifeless beneath him. The Pharaoh smirked against the slave's mouth, before lowering his hands from cupping Ryou's cheeks to his exposed abdomen. His fingers ran languid circles around the slave's navel, before sneaking upwards, tweaking at the pebbled flesh of his nipples, hardening rapidly beneath his insistent touch.
He noted something else of the hardened variety pressing against his thigh, and grinned fiendishly. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he growled, scraping blunted nails over the overly sensitised erogenous zones. A loud moan in response. "You are. You filthy little slut."
Ryou gazed up at him, all kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, breathing erratic — practically begging to be fucked into oblivion.
Foreplay could only satisfy the insatiable ruler for a short length of time. So, Bakura roughly shoved three of his fingers between those parted lips, with the command of, "Suck."
The slave — inexperienced, and confused — obeyed without question. His moistened tongue scraped across the digits, and the current situation (hands effectively pinned beneath him, by Bakura's weight) left him unable to prevent himself from dribbling. The spittle rolled down his chin, and Bakura observed the scene in fascination; never before had such a simple act seemed so erotic.
Feeling himself hardening to near-painful proportions, Bakura retracted his fingers (now sufficiently slathered, and glistening with Ryou's saliva).
Starting from the chin, he traced a scenic pathway towards the desired destination, dragging his lubricated fingers against an exposed throat, trailing lower, and lower still, until he reached the semi-aroused member and teasingly avoided it, much to Ryou's obvious, badly concealed chagrin.
Instead, he rolled his finger playfully around Ryou's virgin entrance. "This'll hurt, gorgeous," he cooed softly, although he cared little for the well-being of the wide-eyed servant, "I'm afraid I'm far from gentle."
Without further warning, he unapologetically shoved a slickened finger inside, causing Ryou to scream — a high-pitched, agonised wail that made Bakura's cock ache with want. He added a second digit, and began scissoring viciously.
"Master," the slave panted, voice strained and tears free-falling down his cheeks, "Please, stop."
Bakura smirked, and added a third finger.
Ryou squirmed beneath him, freeing his hands and summoning all of his strength in order to fight against Bakura. Sharp-nailed fingers clawed at the Pharaoh's chest, scratching and scraping in his desperation to escape. Bakura snarled, grabbing for the strategically placed piece of rope settled atop the pillows behind him.
"I'd hoped I wouldn't have to use this," he sighed, retracting his fingers from within Ryou in order to bind the slave's wrists behind his back, "It's a pity. You seemed like such a good little whore."
Ryou's lean figure wracked with uncontrollable sobs as Bakura thrust his hardened cock inside of him, allowing the sobbing slave the briefest of moments to adjust to his sizeable length.
"Ready?" he purred, stroking Ryou's own arousal almost lovingly. A barely stifled moan was the only reply he received, and he took this as a fair signal to begin his movements.
He adjusted his position, locking eyes — brown-on-red — with his obedient servant. Oh, those conflicted eyes; pleasure and pain, ecstasy and self-contempt, love and hate. He wanted to keep a close watch on those, wanted to watch Ryou break—
Briiiiiiiiing.
An incessant wailing noise interrupted their actions, snapping Bakura from his Ryou-induced trance. "Just ignore it," he ordered, shifting his hips and preparing to begin his ministrations.
"But Bakura, what if it's..?"
The Pharaoh backhanded the outspoken servant harshly across the cheek, waiting until the end of the persistent ringing to demand, "You'll do as I say, slave. Understood?"
Ryou mumbled something incoherent. "Yes, of course," his upper-lip twitched, and he coughed exaggeratedly, as though attempting to stifle laughter, "I do apologise, master."
He didn't seem to grasp the situation at hand, Bakura thought. If Ryou persisted with this disobedient, insubordinate behaviour, then Bakura could make this unnecessarily painful for him. He could make Ryou bleed, or paralyse him for days. He could rip him apart, if he so wished. He could—
Briiiiiiiiing.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Bakura snatched the nefarious machine from the bedside table. Of course; Marik bloody Ishtar. That bastard somehow managed to interrupt everything.
"Can't you take a hint?"
"Uh, sorry," judging by the Egyptian's bored, drawling tone, he wasn't feeling apologetic in the slightest, "I needed to talk to Ryou. It's important."
"Ryou's a little bit tied up right now," Bakura deadpanned, noting the rapid rise-and-fall of Ryou's chest beneath him at the blatant double entendre.
"He means that literally, too!" Ryou chirped. He shifted, causing the bangles around his wrists and ankles to jangle loudly, "Don't you, master?"
"Um, all right—oh! I am sorry," Marik seemed to be snickering, and having difficulty in breathing, too, "Really, really sorry. If I'd known that you were reenacting one of Bakura's strange fantasies tonight, I wouldn't have bothered calling."
Bakura whitened (an even deathlier shade of his usual pale), and ground his teeth together menacingly. "What're you talking about, Ishtar?"
The laughter intensified. "You know," Marik managed to choke out, eventually, "The one where you dress up like a Pharaoh, and pretend that—"
"—I don't know what you're talking about," Bakura growled, shooting a withering look in the direction of his 'slave' who, apparently, couldn't keep a damn secret.
"Oi, you wouldn't have anything to do with the break-in at the museum last night, would you?" Marik demanded, "Someone stole some rare artefacts, including a priceless 19th Dynasty headpiece, and—"
Before the blonde-haired Egyptian could finish that sentence, Bakura hung up the phone. He then proceeded to switch off the 'infernal contraption' — as he'd dubbed the technology, after the first mishap — and hurled it towards the opposite wall.
As £150 of plastic — "Bakura, mobiles phones aren't cheap, you know! I can't afford to keep replacing them!" — collided with unyielding plaster, Ryou winced. Bakura, on the other hand, declared, "Good riddance!"
Ryou — choosing to ignore the destruction of his third cellphone in as many months — addressed the most pressing issue at hand. "You told me that crown was a replica," he reprimanded, glaring at the 3,000-year-old crown perched upon his lover's head.
"You told me that you wouldn't tell anyone about this," Bakura retaliated, shamelessly adjusting the stolen headpiece before returning the glare.
"Touché," Ryou shrugged, "You'd better give that back to Ishizu tomorrow, though. Otherwise, she'll probably see fit to punish you. She's rather adept in Shadow Magic, after all."
Bakura smirked, embedding a hand within his lover's hair. "You know what?" he snarled, savagely wrenching at the soft strands between his fingers, "I think that you need to be punished, you little whore."
"...But of course, my Pharaoh."
A/N: Anti-climatic much? This is the closest I've ever written to a full-on lemon — perhaps next time, they'll actually get the chance to finish what they started. Would you guys be interested in a prequel to this? I mentioned 'the first mishap' that Bakura experienced with the telephone, and I've got an idea for that... should I write it? It'd be a proper lemon too...
Also, can you totally not imagine Bakura doing a thing like this? Because I certainly can. Aha.
Thank you for reading, and remember; reviews are love!