Warning: There is some swearing in here.
Pairing: Darkshipping (Yami Bakura / Yami Yuugi)
Author Note: This is actually a scrapped chapter for Games of Eternity, wherein it was supposed to explain the entire focus of the fic which is the "game" that Atem and Bakura play. However, if I was to use this for Games of Eternity, then I would need time and energy that I don't have to flesh it out into a really long complicated story. Instead, I'll just water that fic down and post this chapter here as an awkward oneshot. It's an AU which is set thirty years after the death of all the original characters except Atem and Bakura. Both of the yamis are supposed to have been "awake" for the five thousand years they were kept alive by the artefacts and lived lives in various reincarnations. They are both cursed with immortality because they displeased the gods with their sins. Bakura takes the game between himself and Atem seriously because it's the only thing that has kept him entertained for his whole life, and the Raki mentioned is a beverage from northern Europe with a dangerously high alcohol content.
P.S. There are a few references to ancient Egypt, such as the reference to "badlands accent" which is indicative of the deep desert tribes where Bakrua would have originated and the greeting Bakura uses towards Atem. This is a traditional, formal greeting that a peasant would pronounce if honoured in the presence of Pharaoh. It's actually quite accurate to what really would have been done.
Disclaimer: Let's face it, I'm poor and hopeless.
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How long had I lived? Five thousand years? Six thousand? It had taken me many of those millenniums to learn patience and self-control, but it had taken me far longer to gain any power over my own desires. I had spent so many years wallowing in self indulgence that the mere thought of ignoring my selfish instincts confused me. But thousands and thousands of years later, I had finally learned to deny myself certain desires... if the situation absolutely demanded it. Not that I enjoyed it in the least.
Personally I would rather not deny myself anything, but the pastime that I shared with Atem forced me to for the time being.
The Pharaoh and I played a game. We had played it for many, many years now. It was something that we had come up with to amuse ourselves for the eternity that we had left to live. We had never actually discussed the game, never really even acknowledged it's existence, it just remained between us as something that was there, important and inconsequential at the same time. It was not something that you could just jump into on a whim, picking up the rules as you went along. This was a game that had taken lifetime upon lifetime to create. The rules were complex and infuriatingly contradictory, designed to tempt you into wrong moves and carefully chosen to be easily broken. Consequences for illegal moves were severe and generally unavoidable. The actual goal of the game was vague, nameless and formless; but just clear enough to be undeniably tempting. Cheating was not only encouraged, it was necessary to come even close to winning. This was a dark game that bred doubt, paranoia, greed, anger, and violence, a game smothered in the deepest sins. Obviously, Atem had a strong hand in it's creation.
And we didn't play this game for an hour every now and then when we got bored. We played it all the time. Because it was game of words. Or maybe it was a game of intrigue. Honestly, even I was unsure of the details of the game: I knew what to do and how to play, but it wasn't possible to explain it anymore. It was just too old.
As I took the final step to stand beside Atem at the bar, the game was there in my mind, it's rules and goals echoing vaguely like basic instincts. Even though I hadn't seen him in years, our past was suddenly burning inside me; warning me, tempting me. He was like a drug, an addiction that always returned if given the chance. I loved it.
Red-Violet eyes turned to look at me, lamp-light glinting off the irises as if they were fine ruby. A shiver ran through me as I looked down at those eyes again for the first time in far too long. I had to stop myself from just grabbing him, leaving for the nearest backroom, and unleashing all my pent-up aggression. Control yourself. No point giving into temptation now. The game didn't permit that.
During the game one night stands were just that: one night stands. Once you were through, that was it; you both left and went your separate ways without so much as a word, and more likely than not, you wouldn't see each other again for a very long time.
If you wanted more than that, you had to go through a series of complicated measures to create a long term relationship. That was a rule that suited both of us just fine, commitment-shy as we were. Normally, I would just jump him and be okay with a couple hours of sweat drenched bliss and nothing else. But for some reason, I wanted more this time.
I wanted him over and over again for month. At least.
And that meant I had to do it the hard way:
"Praise to the glorious Horus Mighty Bull, Beloved of Seth. He of Nebty, Dark in fire of Re and Osiris. Horus of Gold, Powerful of strength, Everlasting of wisdom. Lord of the Two Lands, Mighty in house of Anubis. Son of Ra, Atem, beautiful of forms." My badlands accent naturally returned as I transgressed to ancient greetings in an ancient tongue.
Atem tried to suppress a smirk as he realized what I was doing. Quickly replacing his amused expression with one of superiority he voiced his reply in perfect Egyptian, "What business does one of the savage lands have to appear before Pharaoh?"
I came here so I could fuck you until you can't walk... No! Damn it, Focus! "I request an immediate private audience with the son of Ra." This was the final part of the game start; the person who introduced it had to make an initial request. Normally I would begin with a more subtle starting request, but right now I wasn't in the mood for hints and trickery (which was something of a surprise), all I wanted was to get this damned first step over with and get Atem as alone as possible.
"That is not possible. Such a bold meeting is exclusive to those with specific circumstances." Of course. The first request could be accepted or declined without stopping the game, but Atem basically always declined the initial petition, one of his annoying little ticks that always pissed me off and tripped me into a stupid mistake. But I wasn't going to let the Pharaoh and his mind games deter me from the prize at hand. Fine, you don't want to just give up? Then you're asking for it.
I was generally as into complex strategies and intricate traps as Atem, but as I mentioned, tact wasn't really my thing at the moment. As such, I passed up a few ornate plans that came immediately to mind, instead choosing a simple, effective strategy; one I had used successfully a number of times before. Get Atem slobbering drunk.
"So be it." Then, switching back to Japanese, I continued, letting my voice take on a defeated edge. "If you're going to be so damned immovable at least drink with me."
For a moment he openly considered the offer, probably gauging his ability to avoid my obvious ploy, but after a quick hesitation, he smiled coolly "Why not? I've got some time to spare." Then, with a sidelong glance at the bar, he added "What's your preferred poison?"
I smirked, knowing full well that he was convinced he could keep me from getting him drunk. Ra, was he wrong. "Raki shots, straight up. As strong as they have 'em."
He started slightly, his eyes gleaming in a familiar way. "Any rules, or just volume and speed?"
It took some real effort to suppress the laughter that his response started in me. Honestly, for being a master of deception and strategy, he was so easy sometimes! I didn't even have to hint at a drinking game and he was already drooling over the idea. "I would say 21, but considering our real ages that's just a little too ironic for me... How about seeing who finishes the most of a bottle in an hour?"
"Perfect." Atem replied, barely containing his excitement.
I turned to the counter, partially using it as a way to hide my grin. The bartender was frantic, rushing from side to side, throwing drinks together in a haphazard, desperate attempt to get all the requests to their surly masters before he was taken out back by any of the number of criminals he was currently attending. Sweat glistened on his bald head, and his piercings glinted wildly with his rushed movement as he tripped over his own platform boots frenziedly. I chuckled at his discomfort.
"Hey, you." I called to him, letting my voice gain the edge of angry authority that I was so used to. "Service. Now."
He swung his head in my direction at the sound of my voice, taking in my narrowed eyes and fanged scowl with a grimace before shuffling over to where I stood. He studied my appearance in that way that bartenders do, looking you up and down like you're some sort of diseased animal, before deciding that taking my order was probably wise. Tossing a used glass into a tub behind the counter he managed a hoarse "What do ya' want?" over the pounding music.
"Two full bottles of pure Raki. And your stuff had better be legit neat or you pay for my lot." He looked taken aback at my offer, probably considering the request for entire bottles of straight Raki a little suicidal, but he eventually regenerated his professionally unimpressed expression.
"You sure about that? That stuff's poison upfront. Not even sure we have any pure." He gave me a questioning 'this isn't your first drink tonight, is it?' look as he carefully pronounced his reply.
"Poison's just what I'm lookin' for, bitch. Now, go get me my drink!" I sneered as he spun on his heel toward the cabinet, responding like a beat dog to my angry snarl. Turning back to the Pharaoh, I smirked sardonically before adding with mock concern, "Maybe I should have only ordered one bottle... I mean, it is expecting a lot of your midget body to process that much alcohol."
He almost didn't react to my jab, but his height was always one of his buttons, so naturally his eyes narrowed at the mention of his vertical challenges. "That's the taunt of someone who's already lost. If you're so nervous about losing to me in drinking as you already have in everything else, why did you agree to it in the first place?" He retorted, almost truly angry.
I raised an eyebrow derisively, "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves. Everything? You certainly seem to have a selective memory, because I certainly recall a variety of fairly substantial losses on your part, oh mighty Pharaoh."
"Perhaps. Everyone losses on occasion. But I have never lost to you, Thief."
"Again with your shitty memory! You've lost to me more times than I can remember, but you're too chicken to admit it."
"Hmph! As if I'd ever lose to you countless times, let alone once! Obviously you're the one with memory problems, or maybe that's just your overinflated ego talking."
"Those in glass houses, midget. You want to start talking about overinflated egos? Please humour me and take a look in the mirror now and again."
"There is a huge difference between my confidence and your arrogance: mine is warranted by skill, yours is just hot air."
As I opened my mouth to reply, the bartender returned and set down two hefty bottles of 80% Raki, the thick glass of the bottles causing them to thunk heavily as the hit the counter. I eyed them hungrily for a moment before landing my gaze on the newly arrived bartender.
"Turns out we did have some strong stuff." The he shouted over the music, glancing down at the bottles. Suddenly, he looked up again, real concern swimming in his eyes. "You're sure you want two bottles of this stuff, it's fucking deadly."
I snorted. Oh, how cute. The little mortal child is concerned about the health of two eternally accursed spirits. Pft, fool. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' sure that's what I want! Ask me one more question about this, and the only thing you'll have to be worried about it is being gutted like pig."
His lip twitched at my threat, but he made no move to argue with me; instead, he just slouched his shoulders in defeat and grumbled the price of my order under his breath. I tossed some bills into his open hand, not really caring how much I'd put down. Money was easy, Atem was not.
The bartender stomped away without asking about change, slipping back easily into his frantic service. Finally, I thought as he left, now that there are no more distractions, it's time to get to work.
Atem was already reaching for one of the bottles before I'd even turned back to him. I snickered; obviously I wasn't the only one in need of a drink tonight. After his bejewelled hand easily plucked one of the heavy bottles from the counter, Atem set it in front of him, tossed the cap to the side, and turned to me with a smirk, "Whenever you're ready, Thief."
"Aren't we eager? Well, if you're so excited to lose, I won't be the one to keep you waiting." And then, with a flick of my wrist, the bottle in my hand was open.
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Cheers ;)