Enchantment

Chapter 4: Like Heaven


'His nails dug deeply into the flesh of Namu's back. The linen of his smock was cheap. It tore as easily as papyrus beneath his fingertips.'


For a moment Bakura did not speak. He simply stared, awestruck, at the tattoos marring his new slave's back.

Malik shivered. What's wrong? Why…why is he looking at me like that? Thrashing desperately, he managed roll out from beneath the larger male. He was halfway to the door when Bakura struck. A foot flew out, and somehow the blonde found himself crumpling to the floor.

"Please, Master! Let me…"

The slave yelled in pain as that same foot collided with his chest. It forced him down, and before he knew it Malik was lying flat on his back.

"I-I don't want to…" He tried to get up, but the lord's foot kept him pinned securely to the floor. "…please…"

"Shut up."

Bakura's glare was all fire, alive with malice and contempt. His handsome face was twisted into a snarl, and, coupled with the faint scent of arousal radiating from his body, this made him appear almost feral. Violence and sex defined him. His cruelty was laced with something almost dazzling.

"How? How did you get them?"

Malik sobbed. The lord's foot was crushing his lungs. It was becoming difficult to breathe. "I don't…I don't…"

"TELL ME!"

Saliva flew from the man's mouth as he screamed. He looked possessed, demented, a chimera from the most horrible night terror.

"Tell you what? What…what do you want from me?"

"The markings on your back! Where did they…"

"MY FATHER!" The blonde's voice cracked painfully as he spoke. He didn't want to think about that. Not at a time like this when he already felt a little bit like dying.

"…your father…"

The pressure on his chest was removed, and Malik was allowed to sit up.

"Y-yes."

"Not an accident…"

"Well, obviously."

The boy covered his mouth in horror. He hadn't meant to be so insulting. It just sort of popped out.

"Oh Ra! I-I didn't mean that! Master, please! Please don't…"

But Bakura wasn't listening. He was…he was staring out the window, a curious expression on his face. Seeing his chance, Malik began to slink away.

"Don't move."

Eyes not straying from the window, Akefia beckoned the terrified boy back into his room. "Lie down on the bed. I've not dismissed you yet."


Watching as the young slave pulled himself uneasily onto the mess of blankets, Bakura felt an unwelcome stab of remorse. He didn't mean to treat him so badly. It wasn't Namu's fault that he…

Don't make the same mistake twice, Akefia.

Hair disheveled. Clothes torn. His half naked body, quivering and covered with sweat. So vulnerable. Disgustingly vulnerable. Bakura was on him in an instant. He bit at his lips, abusing them until they were swollen and red. His skin tasted good, salty and warm. The paler male buried his face in the crook of the blonde's neck. He sucked heavily at the hollow of his collar bone. The response was gratifying…arching of the back, a fearful, desperate gasp.

"M-master…"

"Silence. I won't promise to be gentle, Namu, but I can make you like this...that is, only if you behave."

For a moment the slave tensed up. Then, lowering his eyes in resignation, he gave in with a jerky little nod.

Things progressed quickly after that. Within instants they were both naked, Bakura grinding the boy's erection solidly against his own. Namu tried to stifle a moan. His eyelids fell. His cheeks were flushed with arousal and shame. This is the first time he's experienced anything like this. The thought made the young lord harden further. Now more than ever, he was glad he hadn't raped him.

"You like it?"

"…uh...u-uh…"

He smirked. "Told you."

Grasping his plaything by the thighs, Bakura jerked him onto his lap. He grunted as the boy's pert nipples were crushed against his torso. They tickled pleasurably his overly sensitive skin.

"You gonna blow me?"

He smirked at the blonde's wide-eyed reply.

"Y-you mean you want me to…I've never…"

"Only one way to learn."

Grasping Namu's hands firmly in his own, he guided them forcefully to his erection. "Up and down," he grunted. "Faster."

The slave complied, gaping in fear and astonishment as the flesh began to swell beneath his fingertips.

"Good boy." Pulling himself out from beneath the other, Bakura allowed Namu to remove his hands, only to begin guiding his head in the same direction. At the same time he spread his legs. "I want you to suck me."

The Egyptian balked. "I…I can't!"

Akefia backhanded him, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. "Don't pull that shit with me, Namu. I've played nice so far, but my patience is rather lacking. Now get on with it!"

Looking as if he would start crying again at any moment, Namu gingerly took the head of Bakura's shaft into his mouth. The lord let out a throaty moan. Unexpectedly taking initiative, the blonde took a bit more in. His mouth felt good. Small and damp and hot. Sure it wasn't the best head he'd ever had, but who was complaining? This was the first time in months Bakura had acted on his libido, and he sure as hell was going to take advantage.

"That's enough. Now lay down on your stomach, knees bent."

"My stomach?" Malik looked up, a trail of saliva strung out between his lips and his master's member. "A-are you going to…"

"Namu."

Without another word, the boy flipped over. Bakura flinched when he saw the scars but closed his eyes and proceeded. He would simply have to bear their roughness against his skin.

"Open sesame."

"What?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just spread your legs."

Namu complied, but his entire body was shivering. Laying flat against the blonde's back, Bakura nipped delicately at his earlobe.

"If you were smart, you would relax. It makes this part a lot easier."

Not waiting for a reply, he shoved two fingers into the other's entrance. The boy screamed and tried to jerk away, but he held him down determinedly. He began to scissor back and forth, all the while trying to distract the other with bites and occasional kisses.

"Shh…"

"It hurts!"

"Shut up. That's only because…GODDAMN IT!"

In a last ditch attempt to escape, Namu twisted around. He managed to get one elbow under him. The other, however, collided squarely with his master's nose.

"Oh shit!"

"Shit? You're telling me! Now lie down and keep your fucking mouth shut!"

Pinning his slave more securely against the mattress, Bakura shoved a third finger in with the others. He ignored the blood running down his chin, concentrating instead on stretching the boy until he finally began to relax.

"You're ready."

Namu threw him a horrified glance, but, true to his orders, remained silent.

"It's fun, trust me." Angling his fingers with practiced ease, Bakura brushed lightly against a certain bundle of nerves. The boy's eyes flew shut. He buried his face in the pillows and moaned.

"I told you," the lord grumbled, withdrawing his fingers. "It's worth the pain." Taking his chance while Namu was still pleasurably incapacitated, he began guiding his member towards the boy's entrance.

"…fucking hell…"

A virgin ass. It was so good, so tight, so… Bakura hadn't had it this good in a long time. Vaguely he could hear the blonde crying, but the sobs didn't seem to register. He was alone in his own world now. His eyes remained closed, his mind momentarily lost in another point in time.

'"…Ra, I…I can't…"

"No, not yet. Just a minute longer."

"Harder! You have to…"

Two bodies locked in a violent embrace: bucking hips, rocking shoulders, harsh and strangely resonant cries. They lay out in the open, sand beneath them--above, the cold, endless radiance of the stars. Their limbs were entangled, their calloused hands caressing, squeezing, giving everything they had left. Pure enchantment. The closest they would ever come to rapture.

"Damnit, Akefia! I'm gonna…"

"I-I know! Me too."

"…harder…"

"…I'm trying…"

"Oh fuck…"'

The climax, short and sweet. No, not sweet. Hot. Tempestuous. Amazing and beautiful in every way.

"Gods, you feel like Heaven."

Exhausted, rasping laughter. "I have neither the patience nor the faith for Heaven. I'd rather find Paradise now."'


Ryou awoke early the next morning, tired and sick with remorse. He had lain awake almost the entire night, worrying his heart out over Namu. What was I thinking, handing him over to my brother like that? It was beyond reprehensible. Ryou was bound to go to hell for this one.

The sun had yet to breach the horizon, but the boy could wait no longer. The stone was chill beneath his feet as he made his way down the hall towards his brother's chambers. He didn't want to risk Akefia's anger. However, in the pale boy's mind, guilt had overruled reason. He nodded silently to the two sentinels at his brother's door. They let him by without so much as a second glance.

He had never liked the first room of his brother's quarters. It was too quiet, lifeless, a storage house for family heirlooms: golden vessels, Grecian maps, furniture made of teak wood imported all the way from India. No one used any of it. Their riches simply piled up…would have been heavy with dust if not for the maids' scrupulous eyes. It was strange that someone so bent on family vengeance as Akefia should shun such relics. They were remnants from a legacy across the sea. If anything, the lord of Baranis should have treasured them…but alas, the enigma that was Bakura.

The few things Ryou's brother did value were generally kept in his room. Swords, maps of Egypt, his books; Bakura had tons of them. Scrolls upon scrolls. Thick volumes bound in vellum and silk. Most of them were concerned with war tactics and geography, but there were a few classics thrown in as well. Aristole. Plutarch. Histories. The stories of Achilles, of Odysseus and other ancient characters. Lying in piles. Stashed everywhere in the young lord's bedroom.

Pushing back the curtain, Ryou peered into the enclosure. At first glance, it appeared so peaceful. The first glimmer of morning flooded in through the window, bathing the chamber's untidiness, a trait that was in its own way almost charming, in the dusty hues of first light.

The blankets on the bed were twisted in such a way that, at first, Ryou missed the boy lying beneath them. Only on closer inspection did he see Namu. The slave was out like a light, wrapped up like a cocoon and sporting a bruise of vivid purple on one cheek. Ryou had neither the heart nor the courage to wake him. Instead he stood there and stared, blinking back the tears threatening to fall.

He's beautiful. Absolutely…absolutely gorgeous…

The pale-faced boy reached out, allowing his fingers to caress the side of Namu's face. His skin felt smooth and warm, his tousled hair soft to the touch. Ryou longed for that warmth, for the comforting softness of those bangs, strangely bright in the cool light of morning. He was often lonely here in Baranis. He had his brother, of course, but Akefia was often gone on trips…that, and he could be so unbearably cruel. Ryou didn't have any friends in the city, either. The majority of Baranis' population was made up of criminals, people Ryou wouldn't be permitted to associate with even if he wanted to.

This left the boy very lonely at times. He was sixteen. He longed for a companion, for someone to talk to. But not with Namu. Thanks to his thoughtlessness, the chance of forming even the slightest of friendships with the blonde had plummeted straight out the window.

Reluctantly, Ryou pulled away from the sleeping slave. He would have liked to stay with him longer, to find away of expressing how truly sorry he was for what he'd done, but now was not the time. He had to find his brother.


Akefia was in the armory, a place he often hid when under a great deal of stress. He looked up as Ryou walked in. His glare was less sharp than usual.

"What do you want?"

The younger of the two repressed the urge to roll his eyes. At times, Bakura's voice could sound ridiculously whiny. "What I want is to explain myself, Akefia. I need to apologize."

"Apologize?" The young lord appeared suddenly weary…tired beyond his years. "Don't…don't bother. It doesn't…"

"It does matter!" Ryou pulled himself to full height, trying, perhaps, to channel some of his brother's blistering authority. "I-I didn't mean to make you mad…or…upset you. It's just that…Akefia, why? Why did you…"

Ryou's words died to nothing at the look his brother gave him. It was the stare of a wounded animal, ugly and tortured, wild with an untamed anger he had thought no human being capable of possessing.

"Do not speak of this thing, little brother. I will not…I will not hear it."

For a moment he thought Akefia's voice was going to crack, but at the last minute the elder Bakura managed to pull himself back together. He was a master craftsman, keeper of the art of the imperial mask.

Ryou swallowed dryly. If his brother did not wish to speak of something, not even the gods themselves could pry it from him. The youth, instead, opted for a change of conversation. Something else was bothering him.

"And Namu? Is he…"

"The boy is fine." Bakura frowned slightly, shaking his head as if to get rid of something pesky buzzing in his ear. "I didn't…he's not injured or anything? No, of course not. Still sleeping where I left him, I'm sure…"

The younger nodded slowly, but continued to scrutinize his brother. Akefia appeared to be struggling with some sort of question. Ryou sighed.

"What is it?"

Akefia jerked, startled by his brother's astuteness. "W-where did you come by him? This Namu person?"

"He certainly is peculiar, isn't he?"

The lord nodded, his brows still stuck in a preoccupied furrow.

"As I've already told you, I found him at a slave auction in Alexandria." A melancholy, little smile lit on Ryou's face as he recalled the unfit rankness of that market. "He told me he was from a farm on the delta…but I'm almost positive that was a lie. I mean, he looks so…"

"Yes," Akefia agreed a little too sharply. "Yes, I know that."


An hour later Namu woke up. Ryou could hear him thrashing about upstairs. He still felt terribly guilty for what he'd done.

It won't be that bad, Namu. Akefia's not evil. He's just...

But just exactly what Akefia was Ryou never got the chance to think up. At that moment a great commotion rose from the streets. The excited shouts of the townsfolk. The braying of horses and the squeal of chariot spokes. Thoughts momentarily forgotten, the youth threw open his window and peered out into the dusty streets of Baranis.

It was a caravan. A large one, making its way majestically towards the palace gates. Ryou couldn't make out the figure at the head, surrounded as he was by soldiers and swathed in battle armor. He rode a fine horse, one of those European ones with big hooves and a muscular neck. As the group drew nearer, the man's face remained obscured by a dark hood that shut out the sun…but the hood made no difference. With a mingled sense of anxiety and dread, Ryou stared at the caravan's banner, held aloft by two flag-bearers riding on either side of their leader.

"A black flag," he muttered.

There is only one man with the audacity to fly a black flag during a meeting of allies.


Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't consider himself suicidal. Nor depressed, for that matter. No. The fact that he wished for death, longed for it, dwelt upon it with his every waking moment, had nothing to do with a diseased mind. Rather, this fetish was a direct result of his environment. There was only one problem. He was too proud to kill himself.

Too proud and much too stubborn. Which was why, for some time now, he had been hoping for a stroke of luck. A falling statue. Water poisoning. Malaria. To be honest, the young man didn't really care. He had simply had enough. Pain he could deal with. Drawn out, bone-splitting, terrible, unending, embarrassing agony? Not so much. It all came back to that pride thing. Sure, it would be easier for him to just lie down and take it, but the youth's brain tended to value ego over physical wellbeing. In short, he liked to piss people off.

It's fucking cold out here. He stood on the battlements, staring out across a moonlit waste of sand dunes. They seemed to roll on forever in all directions, occasionally pierced by an island of desert shrubbery or rocky spires. The full moon shone down on all of this, mocking in its pristine whiteness, in the fact that it could retain beauty despite the fault of its surface, the imperfection of its scars. The man snorted. He had never much liked the moon. It was too bright. Because of it, he could barely see the stars.

Shivering, he folded his arms against his chest. Ra damn it, why am I out here? His own body seemed foreign to him. It was too small, too…poky. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? I haven't eaten in three days. How bizarre. He wasn't even hungry. No. Scratch that. He was starving. He was ravenous. He would have licked the sand from the very walls of this fortress if his pride hadn't…

Damn. That pride thing again.

Turning his face from the moon, the youth began descending the staircase that led back to the courtyard. He could feel the eyes of the guards upon him. They wouldn't touch him—even if they wanted to, seeing the state I'm in now—but they wouldn't allow him to escape either

"Tell me…" His voice rang out, hoarse and ghastly, in the midnight stillness. "What's the first thing the Gods ask for when you come to them before the scales?"

No answer. There never was.

"Nothing, you fools! They already have your heart!" The young man laughed raucously at his own joke, laughed until his breath caught in his throat and he collapsed instead into a fit of coughing. His lungs ached. His head was throbbing. He was on the last stair, but the earth seemed so far away. He stumbled, caught himself, and stumbled again.

The next thing he knew, the youth was on his back, staring up at that cursed moon. He didn't have the strength to get up. Master was going to be gone for a few days and maybe if he slept out here, maybe…

I could freeze to death. The thought was rather appealing. Underweight. Dehydrated. Hell, I'm probably anemic! It wouldn't take much. Just a few degrees cooler and…

"You! Return to your quarters at once!"

He looked up. It was a guard, a young guard, peering down at him earnestly from one of the watchtowers. How annoying. What was it to this man if he felt like dying? Certainly, it wasn't any of his business! Lurching to his feet, he blew the sentinel a kiss, topping it off with a flirtatious and rather overdone wink.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart."

He laughed all the way back to the palace, the look of pity and disgust that had flashed across the young guard's face still sharp and poignant in his mind.

And he was disgusting, wasn't he? Bony and limping. His hair falling out and his nails discolored with malnourishment. Not that he had exactly considered himself a sex god in the first place. Even in his prime, he hadn't been what you would call appealing. No. He was always too callous, too heartless, too crazy, too…too expendable. But that was okay. It was their problem, not his, right? Right.

Great. Now I'm answering my own questions. Does that mean I've finally lost it? I'm a wacko, a fucking nut. If only Father could see me now!

Somehow, the youth had managed to find his quarters. A blanket in the corner of his master's lavish bedroom. He supposed he could have slept in the lord's bed if he had wished to, but…but no. The thought itself was repugnant.

Lying down, he tried to stretch. The result was excruciatingly painful. His back was hurting, always hurting. Constantly, perpetually, unendingly in pain. The agony was relentless, but it was darkness that he truly found unnerving. Here in his master's vacant chambers…silence, shadows, like a crypt, like passages hidden deep within the earth. He had horrible nightmares about it. The dreams were terrible, full of haunts and phantoms, creatures Hell alone could dream up. Sometimes he would wake from them sobbing, but he never cried out.

It was that pride thing again, damn it. He just couldn't get rid of it.


-TOT (This is definitely my favorite chapter so far. The plot's finally starting to fall into place, and I feel that characterization is coming along nicely. I even managed a quick update! Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up by the end of Christmas break.)

(BTW, thanks for the reviews! I love knowing what you think of my stories.)