I'm back!!! It feels like I'm meeting with a lost friend! Oh, Scarlett, be quiet... I'm just rather excited about this debut :) I hope everyone had the most wonderful Christmas & New Year (if you're inclined to celebrate, of course) and I thought I'd start the year with this- My new fic!
SO, to sum it up, this will be another vampire story, though it's quite... dark. Very big contrast to Camping so if you'd like some light-hearted stuff, please read that one and not get disturbed/ upset by this one. I'll put warnings at the top of each chapter so you know... Not to say I'm slacking on the lemons/ lovey stuff- on the contrary, this tangled up relationship has pleanty of opportunities for that! Oh yes, and importantly it will be BxRxMxM my favourite group pairing ever :)
Anyway, I also realise there is a book by the same title as this fic, and although it is of very different subject (the foot and mouth disease that savaged the UK- I read it and cried...) I believe the title to be quite fitting. Here I am rambling, please read and tell me what you think :)
Warnings: Drug Use, Sexual references
Discalimer: For the entirity of this story, I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, or make any money from these writings
-
Out of the Ashes – Chapter 1
-
The days were dark.
They were days spent in euphoria, rudely interrupted by the fearsome come-downs, the place where the mind knew nothing but how to get the next hit.
One did not care for food. That life-giving nourishment earned second place when compared with this incredible calm. It was a place of comfort, something longed for, needed. And it could be felt oh-so easily.
It was easy to get hold of, easy to take. If you had money and veins that weren't too trashed.
When it got to the point that Bakura was considering injecting straight into his neck, and his eyes scanned the room in a jittery glance, he knew something was different. Although his hands were still shaking, and his mind still screaming at him with longing to feel "normal" again, the sight of Malik stopped the needle he knew he would plunge quite happily into his pulsing neck. He paused for a second. Stupid idea?
No stupid idea seemed impossible nowadays.
They would do what they could for that feeling. For Junk. Malik's veins in his arms were holding up pretty well, unlike Bakura's, which explained his thought, but also directed his gaze.
Malik lay on motionless on the mattress. In the tiny room lit only by the weak sun filtering through the thick blanket roughly pulled over the window, all was quiet. Too quiet. Bakura let the spoon, lighter and bag of precious powder clatter over the side of the mattress and let the grubby blanket fall from around his naked form. He rubbed his red-rimmed eyes and looked into Malik's pale, still face.
A jolt of panic ran through him as he caught sight of the syringe embedded in his lover's vein, an air bubble visible through the plastic casing.
Suddenly, his shaking fingers were tugging the plunger up on the needle and the shoe-string off his upper arm. If the air got to Malik's brain he would die. The opposite consistency to a blood clot, but exactly the same effect, air bubbles in needles we not good.
Bakura's breathing was harsh and the blood pounded in his ears, as he pulled the needle out of Malik's arm and threw it down, the left over liquid inside a pinkish colour. He pulled the string from its cruel embrace on the tanned skin and shook Malik's shoulders roughly.
Hazy violet eyes had opened and scanned the dirty room to find the wild chocolate ones. Bakura breathed a sigh of relief and hugged the thin nude body to him gratefully.
"Whoa… Bakura… What have you been on?" Malik said, his voice gravelly and weak, snickering slightly to himself at his joke.
"You had air… in the works." Bakura whispered into the grimy hair, feeling Malik go stiff.
That was the event that changed the pair.
After slipping into a world that was complicated yet mind-blowing, it was a tough uphill struggle to get out. It felt as though their fingernails were being ripped out as they clawed their way back to reality, and a life free from the deadly commitment. As they were together, suffering the pains of withdrawal together, Bakura and Malik got back on track and after a year were clean. Living together and working together.
-
-
"Bakura! Did you eat the last doughnut!?" Malik yelled through the apartment.
Bakura smirked to himself and popped the last piece of raspberry jam coated goodness into his mouth. How possessive Malik got of these, he could understand to a certain extent, but this was ridiculous. Was a man hunt completely necessary? Though, Bakura being Bakura, it sort of turned him on.
Malik stalked into the living room to find Bakura lounging topless on the sofa, arms behind his head, innocent expression plastered to his face.
"Where is it?" Malik growled
"Hmm?" Bakura replied sweetly, looking the tanned figure up and down appreciatively, oh how he loved Malik's taste in tight cloth-
"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" he interrupted Bakura's thoughts, striding over to the sofa. Bakura gave him another mock innocent look and Malik snarled.
"I bought them especially for me! Just because you can't be bothered to get off your ass and walk to the shops doesn't mean you eat my stuff!" he fumed
"I haven't done anything." Bakura said, batting his eyelashes
Malik growled again and suddenly stepped over to straddle Bakura. Surprised, the pale haired one quickly moved his hands down to grasp the slender hips, looking up at the other in confusion – Malik did not forgive this easily. Malik swiftly bent down and crushed his lips to Bakura's, who complied instantly and allowed the other to ravage his mouth.
All of a sudden, Bakura found his hands pinned above his head and Malik's annoyed face mere inches from his own. Malik's tongue darted out and traced his lips slowly.
"You can't lie." Malik said softly and dangerously. "I can taste it."
Bakura smirked, grinding his hips upwards into Malik suggestively. If he was pushing his luck, he would soon know about it. Malik looked thoughtful for a second before flicking back his platinum hair and attacking Bakura's lips once again.
"You owe me…" Malik said harshly, pinning both of Bakura's hands with one of his own and tangling the other in the messy white mane. Bakura's lips curled into a grin,
"So fuck me already."
In some ways, sex was a substitute for the drugs. Even though the two had been active when they were also high, the true feelings had always been muffled, so sex when they were clean was a pretty great experience.
Bakura had met Malik when he was a dancer in a club. The perfectly formed Egyptian body had captivated him and the two had hit it off pretty soon after their first meeting. Bakura found Malik not to be the typical dancer: he was smart, knew what he wanted in life and wasn't completely arrogant. They suited personalities, as Malik's slightly crazed, hyper attitude was definitely a benefit to Bakura's cool demeanour.
The first time they took H was when they were together, offered to them at an expensive after party at the club. The host had like the look of Malik, and made a very suggestive move on him. Bakura had noticed and got annoyed, the gracious host flooding the attractive pair with apologies and offering them what he called "his finest"- Heroin in its purest form as a powder, easy to snort. As it is simple to believe that you will never get addicted to anything, Bakura and Malik accepted, and thus their downfall began, ending up in the room of an abandoned house, with Bakura in debt to the dealers and Malik unemployed. Both injecting up to four times a day.
Now, as Bakura lay on his side with one arm wrapped protectively around Malik's waist, and his hand propping up his pale chin, it was hard to believe they had existed in that life. The pallid curtains at the window fluttered in the late evening breeze as Bakura leant down to kiss the sleeping figure's forehead lovingly. He shifted slightly on the white mattress and pulled the sheets further over Malik, whose calm face smiled ever so slightly.
Dragging himself away from the object he adored was always hard, but a look of resignation passed over Bakura's face as he slipped out from Malik's embrace and stretched. Pulling on a clean-ish pair of tight black jeans, and an equally dark top over his head, Bakura glanced in the mirror. Dragging his fingertips under his eyes to get rid of the kohl that had worked its was down his face and pulling his tangled hair into something a bit more presentable, and he was ready to go. Sitting down on the carpet to put his boots on, and the pain that flared up in his lower back caused a smile to settle on his lips at the reasoning behind the ache.
"Where are you going?" Malik whispered
Bakura finished putting his boots on and turned to look into his lover's questioning eyes.
"Just out for a while, love." Bakura reassured, kneeling beside their bed and reaching out to run his fingers down Malik's cheek.
Malik smiled softly at the contact, but it was clear to see that exhaustion was clearly getting the better of him.
"Don't be too late."
"I won't," Bakura replied, kissing Malik's lips gently, "Don't worry."
With that, Malik slipped back into unconsciousness and Bakura stood up, heading for the door. Stopping in the kitchen to get some painkillers, his wallet and phone, Bakura was soon out of their apartment block and walking in the direction of the rougher end of town.
The sky was now truly blackened, and the streetlights threw up heavy orange circles into the atmosphere. Bakura shivered slightly, even though it wasn't that cold, the anticipation of what he was going to do was apparent. The arrival of night meant that the clubs and pubs were now truly open and dangerous people roamed the streets in force. It was fortunate Bakura could be considered among them.
Bakura stopped by the club where Malik worked. They had been only too happy to have him back after Malik had proved to the management that he was clean. Now only working weekends, and with the passing away of some rich relatives, Malik was financially secure and probably earning more that any other dancer in the city. His exotic looks made his services very attractive, though Malik never went down the prostitution road; he sometimes did executive private parties where they paid a good deal.
Quickly finishing his drink, that was declared "on the house" by the barman, who was an acquaintance of Bakura's anyway, the white haired male walked out of the club and back on the streets. He had needed that drink to calm his nerves.
Turning into a narrow ally, Bakura was immediately aware of the shady figure standing in a doorway about halfway down. Taking a deep breath, Bakura strode confidently down the road.
"Evening." Bakura greeted, though not in good sprits.
"What do you want?" the man replied harshly, flicking the ash from his cigarette in Bakura's direction.
"To see King." Bakura said icily.
"You got an invitation?" the man spoke sceptically
With a mocking sneer, Bakura reached for his wallet and took out what appeared to be a bank note. Holding it up with a cool flourish, it was snatched out of his hand by the man who examined it thoroughly.
"Seems to be in order… Bakura." He spoke the last word with contempt.
"Good." Was all Bakura said.
The man jammed his cigarette against the brick wall before opening the heavy door behind him. Giving Bakura a smirk he theatrically gestured inside. This annoyed Bakura- he did not like to be made fun of. Quickly, he stepped forwards and grabbed the man by front of his shirt and slammed him up against the open door. All the bravado was gone from the other's eyes as he choked slightly, his breathing was suddenly fast.
Just as he was about to pull his fist back to show this good-for-nothing how he should behave, the startling feeling of cool metal was abruptly pressed against Bakura's temple. The owner of the gun tutted quietly and thrust the barrel into the pale skin.
"Let him down." The silky voice ordered.
Not one to mess with someone with a weapon in their hand, Bakura complied, roughly dropping the guy to fall into a heap on the ground, and turning to the well dressed person beside him.
"Good Evening, Bakura." The man said evenly, lowering the gun from its aim, but never putting the safety on.
"Hello, Count." Bakura replied shortly.
"I will ignore that small misconduct. Shall we?" Count said, holding out a hand towards the black stairwell behind the door.
The gang that ran the city was a deadly organisation known as the Royals. An ironic play on words explained the title of the director of the gang, King, and his "subjects," of which Count was his right-hand man. The Royals mainly dealt in drugs and arms, the former the reason as to why Bakura was acquainted with them and the latter the cause for the high crime level. They were know by the police, but still managed to remain unstoppable. Bakura knew to be cold but cooperative, and to never show any weakness.
Their footsteps echoed against the stone walls as they descended into the gloom. Following a short passageway, the pair entered a large room with grey walls and concrete floor, brightly lit by intermittent white lights. There was a large floor to ceiling cage against one wall, big enough to fit two cars in. A couple of other men in suits were milling about, talking quietly to each other, the bulges of their guns obvious behind their blazers. A large, throne-like chair stood against the far wall, with two smaller chairs standing either side of it. To the right of them was a metal door set into the dull wall.
Count turned to Bakura as they made their way to the chairs. Noticing Bakura's glance at the cage, which was a new acquisition since his last visit, Count spoke up.
"It's for King's new pet." He spoke conversationally, "Just wait here until he's ready to see you, Bakura."
Although his tone was pleasant enough, Count was deadly. An orphan, he had been welcomed into the gang culture and quickly learnt that loyalty to the right people got you places. Never afraid to use his gun, he had climbed his was up the criminal ladder, and now stood proudly beside King, second in command.
Bakura was wandering what could merit a cage, and his mind was running through some pretty grotesque thoughts, when King's arrival was announced by the squeaking of the metal door on its hinges.
Followed by his personal body guard, the tall, lithe frame strode confidently to the throne and sat down, his Prada suit immaculate and his shoulder-length dark blue hair bluntly chopped. The diamond handled walking pole was upright on the floor to his left, supported by his thin hands. King smirked at Bakura as he crossed his legs, his black eyes sweeping the pale body.
The body guard made to go and pat Bakura down, but Count held up his hand.
"It's alright, Marquess, I know he's not armed."
Bakura looked at Count in confusion, but then realised that his tight clothing probably gave his unarmed state away. Anyway, Count knew to look out for that kind of thing. Marquess and Count took their seats respectively on the left and right sides of their boss and the other two men sat beside them, leaving Bakura standing alone in front of the gang members.
"So, Bakura," King spoke, and the room was silent, his calm voice bouncing off the hard walls.
"I believe you owe me a little bit of money." It was not a question, but a statement.
Bakura nodded, keeping his gaze hard on King's eyes.
"How much is it again?" King asked Count.
"$50,000." Count said without lifting his eyes from Bakura.
"Hmm…" King pondered, "A drug habit, supplied by one of my dealers, not paid back for quite a while does have its problems." His mouth turned into a smirk.
"And you have a bit of a large problem. If you hadn't known the right people, Bakura, my dealers could have killed you a year ago. You have been without that long I believe. Still living in your apartment with Malik – such a fine dancer I must say, I wouldn't mind him dancing for me." King paused, watching the effect his knowledge of Bakura's life had on him. As expected, the chocolate eyes hardened and the pale jaw clenched. "Well, the time has come that I must act Bakura. I know interest on money loans can be a bit of a bore, but I expect your outstanding sum to be paid in two days."
Bakura nodded sharply. He knew this had been coming. His and Malik's habit had been eating up around $200 a day, and his desperate dealings with the Royals had cost him dear. King was obviously having a boring day to waste his time on him, Bakura thought, though he knew he and Malik interested the director of the gang greatly for some reason. Bakura was not so arrogant to think that it was because of their looks, though this may have been the case.
"Now, I think you need a little incentive. We don't want to waste time, do we?" King smirked, gesturing slightly with his right hand.
The signal was greeted by the metal door opening once more, and four more men in suits entered slowly, a figure wrapped in chains was held securely by them, the tension in the metal keeping the body away from all.
"Oh, leave him, I have my gun." King said in a bored tone, and the four men were quick to obey, pulling the ring attached to the metal off the figure's neck carefully and then picking up a chain trailing on the ground to hand to King.
"Meet my new pet, Bakura." King introduced, tugging the chain harshly and pulling the creature into the light by his side.
It was the body of a male, though it was definitely not human. Skin as pale as the moon was stretched tightly over protruding bones, his ribs were clearly visible and his legs and arms were incredibly thin. A ragged grey loin-cloth covered his shame, and his head was bowed, dirty and tangled white hair spilling over his shoulders covering his face. The thing that assured Bakura he was not of the same species was that settled awkwardly on his back, were wings. Black feathered limbs were bound together with thick chains, that by the sight of the crusted blood, were actually passed right though the objects of flight. A few more chains were circled around the thin body, the pale ankles shackled together, and his bloody hands bound in strings of metal.
"Come on now, Minstrel," King spoke harshly to his 'pet', yanking the chain, that Bakura could now see with a slight sick feeling, was threaded through the creature's palms, "Be nice, show Bakura your face."
A moment of silence, a pause that seemed to resound throughout the building with tension and anticipation… and Minstrel raised his head in Bakura's direction. Bakura kept his face straight, though his mind raced. The figure was blindfolded, the black material tied over his eyes contrasting with the white skin. What was more disturbing was the intricate metal cage that was fastened over Minstrel's lower face, the form of his lips and chin visible, as were the streaks of old blood that had dripped from his mouth and down his face. King smirked slightly, giving yet another tug on the chain which made Minstrel stumble and sit on the floor by his feet, his blindfolded eyes never leaving Bakura's direction.
"Vampires are rather hard to come by." King spoke, passing his staff to Marquess and resting a hand on Minstrel's head. "Very rare. Not many in captivity. Overall, very expensive. But they have their uses." King gave Bakura a twisted grin. "You may be wandering why my pet here is blindfolded? Not that his sight is bad, in fact it is excellent. But his sense of smell is rather good as well, he can hunt perfectly on that alone, it's precautionary that he does not have extensive advantage over us," here, King's hand pointed at the metal cage, "as he is rather deadly… But-" he paused, and his grin became wider "-when he is given all of his abilities, it does make for good entertainment."
Bakura caught on. If he didn't pay up, he was vampire takeout. A private fight between him and a supernatural being in an enclosed cage was not something he would like to think about.
"I'll get you your money." He spoke in a hard voice, noting that Minstrel's head turned as though to hear him better.
"Excellent." King smirked, "So back here at 10 o'clock in two days?"
"Yes." Bakura replied harshly.
"Oh, and another thing, Bakura," King added, "If my money doesn't arrive, then I'm afraid your little partner in crime may feel the consequences as well. Very desirable isn't he?"
Bakura's heart jumped, but he kept his act up, nodding the affirmative.
Slipping back into bed with Malik felt like the ultimate guilty pleasure. The weight of his deal pressed on Bakura's chest like a suffocating pressure as he slid his cool arms around the nude, bed-warm figure. Malik immediately snuggled into his chest, a sigh of contentment escaping his lips. Bakura did not fall into a welcoming sleep for a while after. But when unconsciousness did take him, he had made up his mind on a solution to his problem. He just hoped that it wouldn't hurt Malik too much.
-
Thank you for reading, please review, it'll make my day :)