The wait is not as long this time, but still . . . forgive? I hope this super-uber-long chapter makes up for the tardiness. My love goes to those who told me how much they enjoy this fic and look forward the updates, I am so touched. Thank you so much. Now please enjoy~.
Warnings: Lemon/smut/Man-with-man-sex and the usual 'Blah' applies . . .
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!
O-o-O-o-O
"I am not sure if you can hear me, Mahado," the voice said hesitantly, "but I want you to know that I love you . . ." There was a pause and then a small chuckle.
The damp cloth felt cool against his feverish temple. The ministrations were gentle and caring. "Atem," he murmurs, his hand reaches out and grasps the hand with the cloth—the long, slim digits curling greedily around the slender wrist.
The action elicits a gasp from his captive forcing the man to crack open an eye . . . to see blue eyes, set in an arresting face, peering anxiously at him. Stunned, he releases his grip and tries to sit up—only to find his vision swimming before him. With a groan, he slumps back onto the bed and covers his eyes with the back of his hand.
Something did not feel right, he insisted to himself . . . like he's missing something . . . someone . . .
"Atem," he whispered hoarsely. The name was almost missed had the female not been so attentive.
"Atem?" she repeats, somewhat puzzled. The name was not altogether familiar to her.
It took a tremendous amount of effort to speak, especially after having his vocals suppressed, the voice was dry and the words sounded raspy, grating his throat as it spilt out.
"Yes . . . Atem . . ." he said with a frown, trying to convince his confused mind to concentrate. He pressed a shaky hand to his throbbing temple and rubbed it. His frown deepened as he tried to piece together the fractured thoughts—to conjure an image to the name he uttered with such familiarity.
"It's someone important . . . I think."
He felt tired; the tendrils of sleep still had its hold over him, making him dazed and befuddled. If it weren't for his anxiety, he would be content to sleep again.
"I am afraid we only found you at the deserted camp, no one else was there."
Eyes flew open and all traces of sleep fled him as the words sank in. He slowly removed the hand from his face to reveal a pained expression. He eyes dull as he stared at the speaker, "He's not here?" Deep in his heart, he already knew the answer.
"I know this is not the ideal time to make a confession, but I do not want to regret not telling you because of our circumstances. For me, it is now or never . . ."
The question was choked out; his companion could tell how reluctant it was spoken because he feared the answer. She shook her head sadly and watched him close his eyes once more and place his hand over them again. It hurt her to see such pain from one so young; the brief glimpse of emotions he bared manifested the heartache suffered from the loss of the one called "Atem".
He let out a shuddering sigh; the sound carried a certain note of acceptance. The female wanted to say something to comfort the stranger, but she didn't know what. The silence seemed to stretch on forever and the latter thought the invalid had fallen asleep again. She was startled when he spoke.
"I am grateful to you for saving me," he said softly, dropping his hand and turning to face her. Once again, brown eyes shadowed with anguish were revealed. "To whom do I owe my life to?"
The female's gaze softened. "I am Isis and I am a member of the pharaoh's hunters, a group founded for the purpose of hunting felons who are a threat to this kingdom. It so happens Bakura, the King of Thieves, is our present target, hence we came across you. And you are?"
The male turned his gaze away and focused it on the ceiling above him, his mind lost in thought.
"I am not sure if you can hear me, Mahado . . ."
"Mahado," he muttered hesitantly at first, but continued resolutely. "My name is Mahado."
A smile flitted across Isis' face before sobriety masked it. "Tell me, Mahado, do you remember anything prior to this? Your capture, perhaps?"
Mahado's brow creased in concentration as he dug deep into his mind, but came up with nothing. His blank expression informed Isis of the answer even before he had the chance to admit it.
Mahado shook his head wearily. "No, I am sorry, I cannot recall anything," he confessed. The tone of regret was heavy, and it added weight to his grieving heart.
"It is expected," sighed Isis, unable to suppress the look of disappointment on her face. "If you recall anything at all, please do not hesitate to tell us. We need all the information we can get if we are to capture Bakura."
"He got away?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Yes," Isis replied, the frustration was evident in her voice. "He managed to slip away when we were almost upon him. The devious man even succeeded in a raid before fleeing. He is always one step ahead of us, taunting us as we struggle to keep up with him. All that he left behind was you—bound, unconscious and on the verge of death. It was almost as if he was willing to let you to die to mock us for our delay. I shudder to think what would have become of you had we arrived a day later."
Mahado grimaced. "How long have I been unconscious?" he asked curiously.
"Eight days," the female enlightened. "Your body's been burning up since we found you. I suspect you've consumed something to induce such a reaction and your body's been trying to rid it with a help from your Ka."
Mahado looked vacant as he took in the information.
Taking pity on the confused man, Isis laid a gentle hand on Mahado's arm and said, "I am a healer and also a foreseer. I can sense spirits residing within a person and I know there is one living inside of you. Granted it is a little weak, but I can assure you it is there. It's very protective of you."
Mahado reached into his mind and tried to establish a connection with his spirit. He felt the faint pulse of energy from his Ka's as it responded to him—silently calling for him. The feeling of familiarity caused him to act in kind and the words to spring from his lips, "Guardian Spirit, I bid you to come forth." The air rippled briefly and then all was still. "Guardia—"
Isis held up her hand to stop him, her neat features drawn in a tight frown. "I think you should allow your body to purge the poison first before trying again," she warned. "In your weakened state, I advise against another attempt. Rest for now and we will continue the discussion later."
Mahado nodded his agreement. His temple and body had beaded with perspiration from the summoning. He loathed admitting it, but the female hunter was right. Closing his eyes once more, he allowed himself to drift off.
Atem. His mind hummed the name and caressed it with nostalgia. Why? He did not know. Why would this faceless name evoke such sense of loss, causing him to ache with longing?
Unable to keep the fatigue at bay he fell into a dreamless sleep, appreciating how the velvety darkness numbed his sorrow and misery.
Atem . . .
O-o-O-o-O
When Mahado awoke, he saw Isis sitting at a large table not far from his bed. Spread before her were numerous vials, jars and plants whilst in her hand she held a small pestle. She was quietly grinding something inside the mortar. Her actions revealed her consideration for the sleeping youth. Mahado knew pounding the substance in the mortar would yield quicker results than grinding it. Nevertheless, he was grateful for her thoughtfulness.
He made a small noise in his throat to show he was awake—that she could go about her task without the fear of disturbing him. She turned her head around and, upon seeing him awake, sent him a smile.
Getting up, Isis walked over to a smaller table and picked up a clay jug. She filled a small beaker with the jug's content before setting it down and walking over to Mahado.
"Thirsty?" she asked, placing herself on the low stool next to the bed and watching Mahado with faint amusement as he tried to sit up. The movements were weak, but he managed eventually. Isis handed him the beaker and Mahado gulped down the water greedily.
"More?" she offered when he returned the beaker, but her companion declined with a shake of his head. Humming an acknowledgement, Isis placed the beaker on the floor and reached inside a small pouch attached around her waist. Carefully, she pulled out a small linen wrapped item and offered it to him.
Mahado stared at the item nestled in the palm of her hand, his face a picture of bewilderment as he looked up from Isis' hand to her face. The item remained with Isis.
"This was found on your person when a fellow hunter, Karim, tended you. It was conspicuously hidden in your attire and not easily found had Karim not been forced to remove your clothing to bathe you." Isis fixed her eyes on her hands whilst her cheeks burned from the effects of her comment. She did not look up until she saw shaky fingers remove the item from her possession and began unwrapping it.
Mahado stared at the heavy gold ring in his hand. The size belied its hefty weight and the design was exceptionally detailed. It signified fine workmanship. Picking it up, he turned the ring over repeatedly, carefully examining it whilst hoping—no, willing the action to trigger some recognition in his memory.
"The ring is now yours, my love. Wear it with pride and make father proud."
The words were laced with pain. Closing his eyes, Mahado's hand reached up to his cheek as he felt something ghost over it, like a hand tenderly cupping his face as soft lips pressed into his . . .
"If you value the freedom gained, do not look for me . . . Such encounter will bring nothing but humiliation and grief, for I will no longer be the person you once knew. Let me go and forget about me—that way I will feel I have accomplished something worthy. Your bartered freedom, at least, will not be for nothing."
"Atem . . ." he whispered. He knew the grief-stricken voice and the phantom touches belonged to the one named Atem. If only he could remember. If only he could recall the face to the disembodied voice. If only he could remember his past!
Frustration caused his head to throb and he instinctively curled his fingers around the ring and pounded his fist on his temple.
"Lie down," Isis ordered, drawing his hand away from his head and holding it against his chest. "I am going get you a remedy for your pain, but you must promise not to hurt yourself if I release your hand. Do you agree?"
Mahado nodded feebly.
Letting go of his hand, Isis got up and quickly went over to the table where she selected a tall vial. Clutching it tightly in her hands, she hastily retraced her steps and knelt on the floor beside the reclined figure on the bed. "Open your mouth," she instructed firmly.
Mahado complied readily.
Pulling out the stopper, she cautiously tipped the bottle on its side and tapped it expertly. A single drop spilled out of the vial and fell into the waiting mouth. "Don't move," she said, repeating the action and adding another drop. "Now swallow."
Mahado closed his mouth and swallowed, his face twisted into a grimace as he tasted something bitter slide down his throat. The aftertaste distorted his face further.
"I know it is bitter, but it works wonders," Isis supplied. She stopped up the vial and rose to return the vial to the table. There she remained, settling herself once more in front of the work Mahado's wakening had interrupted. "Rest now. When you wake up, you will feel better."
Responding with a sigh, Mahado was about to close his eyes when he remembered the ring he was holding. Opening his hand, he picked the ring up and slid it on the fourth finger of his left hand. It was too loose. Taking it off, he slid the ring on the third finger instead. It fitted perfectly. Holding up his splayed hand, he looked at the adornment with a critical eye. Questions played across his mind as he continued to stare. Mahado knew the only way he was ever going to find answers was to find Atem and to that he would have to find Bakura.
Satisfied with the revelation and strangely comforted with the weight on his finger, Mahado closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him once more. Somewhere deep in the recess of his mind, he felt the familiar voice brush against his awareness, teasing him, haunting him, and yet giving him strength to live on . . .
"I love you all my heart."
Mahado smiled and his heart murmured "Atem" in return.
When Isis looked over her shoulder to take a peek at the sleeping figure, she was surprised to see a small smile curled on Mahado lips. Returning her attention to her work, the healer gave a smile of relief.
O-o-O-o-O
"So you wished to join the hunters?"
Mahado looked at the short, elderly man with the big amethyst eyes and bushy beard, and nodded. "Yes, I wish do," he confirmed solemnly, his voice and eyes emitting sincerity.
He had been resting for seven days and had recovered to the point he was able to move about—albeit a little weak—but able nonetheless. The fever that plagued him had subsided and the toxins in his body had been purged. Due to his frail state, he dared not summon his Ka even though he itched to do so. Like the ring, which now permanently adorned his finger, it was a part of his past he could no longer recall. Isis said his memory could simply be repressed and that familiarity could cause it to surface again.
Perhaps, he seeing his Ka would jog his memory?
Despite his eagerness, he held back. Isis had repeatedly warned him to avoid strenuous tasks and he heeded her advice stoically after he blacked out from trying. The scolding he got from his carer along with the bludgeoning headache convinced him to quell future urges. With very little to do, he let his thoughts roam and it inadvertently harked back to the mysterious Atem. The name was the only thing he was certain of. It was like a beacon of light in the darkness that shrouded his mind.
The desire to remain with the hunters had gotten stronger as the days passed and he bought the matter up with Isis. She informed him to talk to Lord Shimon, the leader of the hunters, which resulted in Mahado's current situation. Schooling his features neutrally, he continued to look passive as the elder scrutinised him in silence.
"You are young and have a long, fulfilling life ahead of you. Why squander it in a life dangerous as ours? It is wise to rethink your decision, young one. I suggest you not act hastily and reconsider."
Upon hearing Shimon's words, Mahado's jaw tightened, the muscles flexing as he bit back the retort that threaten to force its way out. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he told himself calm down before speaking again. He did not want to offend the elder if he could help it. "With due respect, my lord," he said steadily, "I have had plenty of time to think this over whilst I was recovering, therefore it is not a decision made on a whim. Though young I may be, I am also determined and dedicated. I shall not disappoint should you allow me to stay."
"Mighty words for an untried whelp such as yourself," Shimon scoffed. "You should understand this is an elite group of individuals. Each one is handpicked to serve the Pharaoh in his pursuit to rid the kingdom of rogues like Bakura. You will have to earn your place with us."
"Then give me a chance to demonstrate what I can do," Mahado pleaded.
Shimon chuckled humorously. "Then summon your Ka so I may judge for myself if you are worthy of joining us or not."
Mahado nodded and took a few steps back. Closing his eyes, he channelled his soul energy into his Ka, pulling it forward as he called it forth, "My Ka, I summon you to appear before me!" Warm brown eyes opened to see his Ka materialise.
A dark, shadowy faceless figure hovered in the air in front of him and loomed over the elderly leader. Its arms were crossed over its chest in a neutral stance, awaiting its master's orders. In one of its hand held a long staff.
Mahado's face lit up with joy on seeing his Ka, but fell when he failed to feel anything more than a sense of familiarity. Recognition was not enough to unlock his memory. He swallowed his disappointment.
"Though weak you are, your Ka is quite impressive," Shimon commended, his voice dragging Mahado's focus back to his Ka. "However, relying on voice summoning is a grave risk. Should you lose the ability to speak, you will be disadvantaged."
The spirit disappeared along with Mahado's enthusiasm. The youth bowed his head and looked down dejectedly, preparing himself for the rejection he knew was coming. Instead, he was met with a resigned sigh from Lord Shimon.
"You show immense promise and talent for one so young," Shimon said slowly. "And I am prepared to give you a chance to prove yourself." Mahado's head shot up with hope. The glimmer in his eyes revealed his optimism. "Accomplish mind summoning in fourteen days and you've earned your place amongst us. Is that acceptable?"
Mahado nodded vigorously. "You'll not regret this," he promised, his eyes bright with excitement.
Lord Shimon looked at the youth and shook his head in disagreement. "It is not I who should fear regret, young one," he sighed.
O-o-O-o-O
Lost in the realm of darkness, Atem was vaguely aware of someone angrily shaking him. He was handled so roughly that his teeth rattled.
"Why?" The question was repeated with a shake, the force of it equalled the fury in the voice.
Bakura, Atem's mind supplied through the haze as the latter repeated the same word over and over again like a chant.
"Why?"
Pulled from the brink of oblivion by the grief-stricken tone and the engulfing embrace that was crushing his body, Atem stirred slightly, his voice barely audible as he breathed out his reply.
"There's . . . no . . . reason . . . to . . . live . . ."
Then he slipped into the darkness once more.
O-o-O-o-O
Light.
Piercing through his eyelids and causing him discomfort. With a groan, he turned his head towards the shadows—to hide from what was blinding him and making his head hurt. The movement did not go unnoticed by the man lying beside him.
"So you're finally awake, Princess."
Atem's eyes opens wide to the voice, but closes them immediately after. A scowl marring his face because of the man he least wanted to see.
He was not Mahado.
Choosing to keep his silence, he turns his head away—only for the thief to still his movement by grabbing his chin.
"I am most displeased with you, Atem," Bakura said offhandedly; the brutishness of the grip belied the outward signs of casualness. "You pledged to remain by my side for as long as I live, yet you dare go back on your word. Was it wrong of me to trust you? Was it foolish of me to believe you would keep your promise?"
Crimson eyes simmered with rage. Had Atem not been so weak, the glare would have seared Bakura. "What about your promise to me? What about Mahado's freedom?" Atem spat, unable to restrain the tirade of bitter-filled words at the Thief King. "I do believe you were the one who broke your promise first! If anyone had the right to feel aggrieved, it wouldn't be you, lying murderer!"
Bakura narrowed his eyes at the angry boy, his grip tensing a little. "I fail to understand what crimes you are accusing me of," he growled. "I instructed Rishid to free Mahado before we left for Kul Elna, which he later informed me he did. The pest, though unconscious at the time, was left unbound to recover and leave at will. I have no reason to believe Rishid was lying to me."
"So you plead ignorance to the knowledge that Mahado was left unconscious, bound and gagged. That you didn't know he was left in a helpless and powerless state to die a slow death?" The pinning glare turned into menacing slits. "Are you calling me a liar?"
"I am calling you a fool. A gullible fool who was tricked into taking his own life by another fool!"
Atem gave a derisive snort. "Nothing you say will persuade me to believe you. Mahado was my everything, he was the reason I was willing to endure this foul life I loathe so much." He tried to pull away from the bruising grip. "His safety was the only thing that kept me tied to you. He's the reason I continue to live. Now, with him dead that reason is gone. I would gladly give up my life than spend another moment with you!"
Releasing his hold, Bakura flipped Atem onto his back and pinned him there by the shoulders. Nudging the boy's legs apart with his knees, he settled in between them and stared down at the trapped male, his pale eyes burning into crimson.
"And nothing will convince you otherwise?" the thief asked.
"No. Without him, I am all but dead," was the numb reply.
Stung by the words, Bakura crashed his lips onto Atem's, taking the opportunity to force his tongue into Atem's mouth when the latter gasped in surprise. Initially, he was planning to be gentle when he fucked the boy . . . but now, his anger was dictating his actions. It made him aggressive. Fuelled by his resentment and abstinence, the treatment was rough and desperate. It had been days since he had tasted the boy and he hadn't sought a substitute. The whole sordid mess had dulled his libido.
The need to breathe finally compelled him to tear his mouth away. His breathing was ragged and laboured as he stared down at the terrorised boy.
"Then I shall give you a new reason to live!" Bakura growled, before latching onto the Atem's neck, his teeth biting and marking the slender throat. Enjoying the shocked boy's lapse, he made quick work of his clothing. The feel of warm flesh beneath his was exhilarating. And it jolted the motionless body into an agitated frenzy.
Atem tried to shove the thief off him, he threw all his strength into the push, but in his weakened state and the pain emitting from his wound, the attempts were feeble and inadequate. Furthermore, the squirming only served to excite his assailant more.
"Get off me, you brute!" Atem resorted to beating the man with a fist. The said fist was easily captured and pinned next to his head. Bakura did not even pause in his assault. Atem dare not use his other hand to attack so he began twisting his body in hope it would throw the man off him . . . or at least, dislodge him from where he was between his legs. The feel of the other's clothed arousal pressed against his bare flesh was disconcerting. He doubled his efforts to escape by using all means necessary.
"I said 'get off me'!" With his free hand Atem reached for the hair at the back of Bakura's head and grabbed it. The thief gave a look of surprise when his head was tugged away. He didn't have the chance to react when Atem's head smash into his.
"Shit!" Bakura had the breath knocked out of him, but he recovered quickly. "Fine, if that's how you want it, then we will play rough." He didn't know if he should be annoyed or pleased with the boy's feistiness. Either way, he was very turned on and he longed to be buried within the boy's tight heat.
Turning Atem onto his front with his arms pinned to his side, Bakura sat on the boy's back, his thighs pushed against the side of Atem's body thus adhering the arms in place. Combing his fingers through the dark spikes, Bakura grabbed a handful and pulled the captured head towards his own. Leaning down to Atem's ear, he whispered softly, "I need to get the oil to prepare you with so I am going to release you. I expect you to be a good boy and wait patiently for my return. Do you understand?"
Atem replied with a contemptuous snort, which earned him a harsher tug on the hair.
"Tsk, you may be unappreciative of it now, but when I penetrate you, I'd think you'd be grateful for the thought. Now, are you going to be a good boy and hold still or are you going to continue fighting?"
He was awarded with the profile of the boy's glowering face and his sullen silence.
"Do I have your cooperation or not?" Bakura's voice was firm as he gave the head another tug. His patience was thinning. All it required was another provocation, intentional or unintentional, from the boy and he was going to fuck him dry! "You lost a lot of blood already, don't make this any harder than it needs to be!"
Atem hissed at the pain emanating from his scalp and causing his eyes to water. "Damn you, murdering thief!" he spat. "Do you think I care what happens to me now? You either overestimate your hold over me or underestimate my desire to die! I willingly handed over my body, my life to you in exchange for Mahado's freedom and his life. Why? Why did you not ensure his safety, why did he have to die? Why did Malik want him dead?"
The outburst ended on a sob as angry tears gathered and trickled down his face. Atem closed his eyes and gulped down the rest of his sobs.
"It's for the same reason Malik wanted you dead," Bakura sighed, releasing his hold on Atem's hair, but not on his body. Without the support from the hand, Atem's head slumped onto the bed. All fight had fled him. "I never ordered to have the rodent put down. If it died, it was not by my orders I can assure you."
"It's because of you he died!"
"If it died, Princess. Rodents are surprisingly resilient! Besides, Malik may be lying to taunt you."
Atem opened his eyes and gave a bitter laugh. "Malik was very explicit with the details. In fact, he seemed to revel in imparting me with the information. He was certain th-that . . ." Atem let out a shaky breath, "that he would die slowly and painfully from thirst and hunger with scavengers feeding off him. He wouldn't have gloated as much as he did if he hadn't actually carried out the deed. The man gains pleasure from such cruel acts."
Grimacing, Bakura could not deny the accusation. He knew Malik was more than capable of killing Mahado to spite his rival and the said methods was befitting of Malik's sadistic nature. It gave him another bone for him to pick with the idiot, but that would have to wait for another time. For now, he was eager for the reunion between him and the boy. All irritating thoughts were pushed aside as lust replaced annoyance.
Shifting back until he was straddling the boy's legs, Bakura's hands glided down the boy's back, enjoying the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He felt the boy tense when his hands reached the groove of the supple back. Smirking at the reaction, Bakura lingered on the area by massaging circles into the flesh with his thumbs. His lips soon joined the teasing digits and his tongue flicked out to lap at the heat his caresses left behind.
The hands and lips soon continued downward where it came to a stop on the buttocks. Parting the cheeks, Bakura's tongue darted out and licked the crevice. It caused Atem to hiss and involuntarily tremble in response. His arms, freed from the loose hold, were stretched out before him with hands clenched in fists.
Confident he had the boy subdued, Bakura got up to retrieve the oil. He also picked a small bundle wrapped in fine gauze and returned to the bed with it. Dropping himself on the edge, he placed the jar of oil on the floor and began unwrapping the bundle. Deftly discarding the wrapping, he delicately picked up the item.
The gold dragon armlet glinted in the light. Its slender scaly body shone bright and its ruby eyes winked enticingly at the beholder. The workmanship of the adornment was unparalleled. It was to be expected as it was a gift to the Pharaoh for his upcoming wedding, but it wasn't that which attracted him. It was those ruby eyes—so like Atem's that drew him to it. He knew he had to have it for his princess the moment he laid eyes on it.
Taking the boy's right arm, he slipped on the armlet and slid it upward until it rested snugly in the centre his upper arm. It complemented the boy's nakedness perfectly.
Unmoved by the gift, Atem paid it scant interest. He did not bother to acknowledge the other's generosity either . . . not that the thief expected it. Bakura could feel the boy's churlishness rolling off in waves; the resentment pervading the very air they breathed. An expression of gratitude was the last thing he'd expect from the angry male.
Ignoring it, the thief stared hungrily at the still form, his eyes crawling from the armlet and along the smooth planes of the naked body. Unable to resist the temptation, he placed his hand on the boy's neck and ran it along his back, tenderly tracing the ridges of his spine. However, instead of stopping on his buttocks like before, he continued over them, down the toned thighs and along a slender leg. Then he switched legs and trailed his hand up the other limb, retracing the journey on its counterpart.
Atem remained quiet; the only indication of awareness was a tiny shiver when Bakura's hand passed along the small of his back. He let out a growl of annoyance when the other gave a satisfactory grunt and leaned over him. He inwardly flinched when he felt chapped lips pressed against the nape of his neck and lavish its way down. The hands that rested stationary on his hips began to get restless again. Palms pushed down on the silky flesh and massaged languid strokes into it. The more heated the kisses, the more ardent the touches.
"I've missed you, Princess," Bakura purred between the kisses that punctuated the admission. No longer content with the unresponsive boy, he grabbed his lover and turned him over. A surprise yelp and he found, much to his delight, startled crimsons staring up at him.
Refusing to restrain himself any longer, Bakura reached down and retrieved the jar of oil. Opening it, he dipped three fingers in it and replaced it back on the floor. He saw Atem stiffened when the realisation struck him.
"Now you can show your appreciation to the gift with your body, Princess."
The red orbs slid away. "Do what you want, I don't care," Atem said lowly.
Bakura's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
Atem shrugged, his bandaged arm twitched against the bed. "Do your worse—enjoy it while you can because given the first opportunity, I'll be nothing but a lifeless corpse. That much I promise you."
"Why?" Bakura demanded, jerking his head away from the boy so he could glare at him, his tolerance evaporating fast. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer he was going to get.
"Need you ask? You took away my reason to live."
Fury now replaced the gentleness he had been exhibiting. Hurt by the other's callous remark and his insolence, Bakura gave up being considerate. He plunged two slick fingers into the other's opening without so much as a warning.
Wide-eyed with pain, a choked cry escaped Atem as he instinctively tried to push away from the invading digits. His attempts were futile. Bakura firmly held him down by the shoulder as he mercilessly jabbed him, hastily adding another finger into the tight heat.
"Why the resistance, Princess?" Bakura sneered, eyeing the boy's cock with growing interest. "I thought you didn't care what happens to you?"
Bending over the writhing body, he took Atem's limp member in his mouth and began sucking it. The action elicited a reluctant moan from his victim. Encouraged by the sound, Bakura removed his fingers and parted Atem's legs. Climbing over him, he knelt between the spread-eagled limbs and pulled Atem's lower body onto his lap. Taking his erection in his hands, he gave it a few hurried strokes with his lubricated hand before rubbing the tip on the puckered entrance. His impatience compelled him to push fully into the boy with one fluid thrust.
The boy arched his back off the bed, a pained strangled noise emitting from his parted lips.
"So tight!" Bakura grounded out between his teeth. The tension in the boy had caused his passage to clench around his length in a relentless grip. He couldn't move because of it. "Relax or it'll hurt a lot more," he advised tersely.
Despite the earlier bravado, Bakura knew the boy was hurting. However, pushed and taunted beyond endurance, he couldn't stop himself. Pausing long enough for the boy to loosen his hold on his cock, he slowly slid out and slid back in again, maintaining this rhythm for a little while longer until desire took over and he was slamming into the small body with increasing fervour. It had been too long and he was the end of his tethers. If guilt wracked his actions, he didn't show it. The only consolidation to be had from his aggression was the sudden moan that tore free from the boy's throat when the head of his cock brushed against a certain part of the other's inner wall.
Relishing the response, Bakura focused on pleasuring the boy by repeatedly stabbing that part of his body and tweaking the nipples—pinching and pulling the cinnamon nubs until it hardened and became too sensitive to touch. The boy whimpered from the sensation. Releasing the nipples, Bakura rubbed his thumb along the boy's swollen lips, pressing it into the gap when it parted to cry out. He shoved two redundant fingers in the boy's mouth and watched enthralled when the latter began unconsciously sucking it. Bakura groaned as the tongue swirled seductively around his digits, coating it with its moisture.
Then removing it, he took the boy's cock into his hand and began stroking it to the rhythm of his thrusts, rubbing the slit with the wet fingers. He watched with satisfaction as he coaxed the other's flagging member into a hardened rod. The moans harmonising with each stab into the hot, moist passage, it intermingled with the sound of heavy panting and the rubbing of wet flesh.
Bakura felt his cock being squeezed from the inside. The boy, nearing his climax, had instinctively locked his limbs around Bakura and was pushing his hips up to meet the thief's downward thrusts. Bakura could feel his control slipping. With a throaty groan, he attached his teeth onto the soft curve of the boy's neck and bit hard on the tender flesh. Atem growled from the simultaneous pain and the pleasure and responded in kind by raking his clawed hands down the thief's back, scoring the tanned flesh with his nails.
It made Bakura reacted that much rougher. The thrusts increased in speed and ferocity and the teeth dug deeper. Driven by Atem's cries, he gave in to the inner beast and fucked his lover hard. The heat that encased his cock was intense; the fleshy walls swelled and tightened around his shaft causing delicious friction that chafed it raw.
Arching his back with a husky cry, Atem's seed spilled into Bakura's hand. The fluid oozed white as it leaked out of the pulsing cock and trickled down the fingers that fisted it. Atem surrendered his body to the spasms that assailed him and rode out his climax. In turn, the contractions provided additional stimulation to the one who caused them. The convulsions squeezing the intruder's appendage with such aggression that it could not but to yield to the demands.
Bakura came with a roar. The intensity of his climax and his loss of control had his Ka materialising. Atem in his half-conscious state thought he saw the beast appear behind its master, its transparency denoting its wielder's wavering composure and his tenuous control. It disappeared within a few heartbeats.
Collapsing on top of Atem, Bakura paused to calm himself. His breathing came out in rapid, short and greedy gulps that wafted over the sweaty body beneath him. Pushing his upper torso up and supporting it with his elbows, he gazed down the boy who was still panting heavily, half-lidded crimson held his gaze briefly before looking away.
Witnessing Atem's barefaced defiance, Bakura chuckled softly. Unwilling to pull out of his lover's body, he picked up the discarded gauze and wiped his hand with it, disposing it on the floor when he finished. The movements caused discomfort to Atem who struggled to free himself. He tried to push the bulk that was the Thief King out and off his body.
However, Bakura wasn't so obliging. He hadn't had his fill yet.
Tut-tutting his disapproval, Bakura grabbed Atem's hands with one of his and held them above the tousled head. Ignoring the pain from his wrist, Atem snarled and glowered at him. The feral display triggered a twitch from his embedded cock.
"I haven't quite finished with you yet, Princess. Since you so valiantly claim you couldn't care less what happens to your body, I will use it as I see fit." Bakura leaned his head forward to lick the bite mark on Atem's neck. He then pulled back after and grinned. "I will, however, grant you leniency if you renounce that foolish notion of taking your life. Whether you believe it or not, your pledge to me is still binding as I have not done anything to invalidate it."
Atem scoffed contemptuously at the thief, the look of hatred he threw reinforced his hostility. "Do your worse, bastard. May you be damned for an eternity for your crime."
Bakura stiffened at the boy's sobering words; the smile froze for an instance before flattening out to a grim line. "As you wish, Atem." There was no playfulness in his voice and his subsequent ministrations were cold, and void of passion and pleasure for both the participants. Bakura continuously ravished the boy if only to make him rue the words he uttered. The ordeal lasted until dusk—until he was too spent to even ejaculate and the boy, drifting in and out of unconsciousness, no longer screamed or moved.
Silence enveloped the room as Bakura unsheathed himself from Atem's body. The mixture of blood and semen coating his limp cock, and oozed from the latter's opening. The boy had finally passed out from exhaustion and pain.
Rolling onto his back, Bakura flung an arm over his head and stared into the distance with a tired sigh, his thoughts straying to the still form beside him and the situation they had landed themselves in.
It didn't surprise him to learn of Malik's treachery and admittedly it was part his fault for evoking the latter's jealousy by blatantly favouring the boy in front of him. He should have known better than to flaunt that preference and wound Malik's ego. The order to have Mahado freed was like rubbing salt into the said wounds. Had he not been so blinded by the boy's presence and distracted by his request, he would have acted more cautiously. Experience had taught him to be wary of Malik's possessiveness. Retaliation pertaining to Malik's resentfulness was to be expected.
Huffing exasperatedly, Bakura turned on to his side and rested his head in the crook of his arm. He looked solemnly at his lover. The rise and fall of the small chest caught his attention. Reaching out with his free hand, he gently traced the bruises and bite marks that littered the skin with his finger, connecting them all with an invisible line. Breaking off the pattern, the finger swirled in a circular motion and trailed to the red-eyed gold dragon encircling the boy's arm, the pad of his finger fondly caressing the engravings.
The gift was to replace the ring from the boy's father. The Thief King suspected the boy had got rid of it—or given away. Since the move to Kul Elna, Bakura had not seen it. The pest was the likely recipient though how Atem had passed it to him was a mystery. Not that he cared. It was better this way. Like this, Atem managed to sever himself from his past. By giving up the things that had sentimental value to him meant he no longer wished to linger on that part of his life. A life that is now dead to him . . . just like he claims he is dead to life itself.
The dark thoughts made Bakura withdraw his hand from the boy. He curled it into a tight fist and adhered it to his side to stave off the temptation to shake the boy for his foolish thoughts. He needed to make Atem see he would not be allowed to do as he pleased. He needed to learn his place. Until he tires of him . . . if he tires of him . . . Atem will remain by his side. And nothing and no one can change that. He will ensure everybody is aware of it.
O-o-O-o-O
Fire.
Screams.
The smell of burning and the sound of screaming encroached on his senses, pulling him away from the oblivion that cushioned him from the horrors and pain of consciousness . . . of reality. Atem drew his brows together and let out a small whimper.
"Nice of you to join us, Princess," a familiar voice chuckled. "I suggest you wake up and pay attention. It would be a pity to miss the performance done in your honour."
On hearing those words, eyes snapped open to reveal confusion. Atem blinked several times to clear the fog from his vision . . . and noticed a smirking King of Thieves looking down at him. He also noticed he was reclined in Bakura's arm with his head tucked under the crook of the latter's neck. The thief was mounted on his steed, which pawed the ground impatiently. He was about to protest about the position when the pungent smell of smoke hit him.
Spinning his head around, the sight that he encountered had him stunned with disbelief.
They were situated on the outskirt of what appeared to be a small village—a small village ablaze with fire. People were screaming and running amidst the dancing flames of red, orange, yellow. Grey smoke rose in the night and billowed around them, the fumes choking all those who were near.
And standing tall and menacing in the centre of it was Diabound.
"What are you doing?" Atem demanded, steering his gaze away from the scene and fixing it on Bakura, appalled at the destruction and carnage the Spirit had wrecked. "Make it stop now!"
Bakura chuckled softly again, his gaze hard and unwavering. "I am giving you a reason to live, Princess," he replied slyly, a smirk curling on his lips. The light from the fire reflected across his face, painting it in violent hues. He turned his attention back to the fire. The burning chaos was hypnotic and captivating. Its beauty mesmerised him.
"What do you mean, Bakura? Explain yourself!" Atem discerned glint of insanity in those pale eyes when it looked at him again.
"You need a reason to live . . . I am giving you one." Atem flinched from the fiendish look on Bakura's face. "Each time you attempt to escape or try to kill yourself, I will respond by burning down a village. Die and a kingdom along with its subjects will be your funerary companions. Do I make myself clear, Atem?"
Atem shook his head vigorously. "Make it stop, Bakura . . . please!" He begged with his voice, his eyes . . . his body should the thief asked it of him . . . except Bakura didn't. Instead, the thief gently picked up the injured wrist and unravelled the linen wrapping it; kissing the wound when it was exposed.
"Only you can make it stop, Atem. You have the power to decide whether these people and others like them live or die. Your life tied with theirs. One life for the many, I think it is a fair exchange, don't you agree?" Bakura cajoled deviously. "Accept my terms and the remaining lives will be spared, but don't take too long deciding. My patience has its limits." To reinforce his point, Diabound sent a fiery blast at a group of fleeing villagers. Bodies were thrown in the air, landing scorched and motionless on the arid ground.
"NO!" Atem was frantic, his eyes darting from the victims to Bakura and back again. Bakura stared at Atem impassively; the weighty silence adding further pressure to the frightened boy. With his remaining strength, Atem grabbed the thief's outer robe and pulled himself up until his face was a hand span away from Bakura's. Terrified crimson bore into the thief's, pleading for mercy. Tears from the smoke and his distress stung his eyes. He felt sick and faint; he knew was going to pass out. Doing his utmost to ward off the advancing darkness he appealed for compassion once more. "Please have mercy on them, Bakura. I beg of you!"
Yet Bakura remained undeterred. "Your promise will be their mercy, Atem." The reply was cold and brusque; the voice was devoid of emotions.
Fringing on unconsciousness, Atem finally gave in, his submission slipping from his lips as his consciousness slipped from his mind. "I promise to remain by your side as long as you'll have me. Take me, break me . . . kill me. Do whatever you want with me . . . just . . . make . . . this . . . madness . . . stop. Please . . . " The hands that gripped Bakura's robe loosened and dropped down to Atem's side. The ordeal and the subsequent upheaval of emotions had him pass out from exertion.
Bakura released the hand that held the reins and wiped the fallen tears from the boy's face. His lips set in a harsh line.
"I am glad you've decided to comply, Atem," he murmured softly. "Now your punishment is to bear the mark of ownership for all to see. It will serve to remind you of your subserviency and your total surrender to my will. Your life belongs to me, my Princess. I will ensure you'll never forget it!"
Casting one final look at his handiwork he grabbed the reins and recalled Diabound. Guiding his mount away, he left the scene. The drumming of the horse's hooves drowning out the sound of cackling and cries. A smirk of satisfaction played on the thief's lips as he rode away.
Not everyone suffered a loss that night.
O-o-O-o-O
When Atem finally regained consciousness, he had a dark coppery image of Diabound etched in his upper left arm. The tattoo of the serpent, presented as an Ouroboros*, coiled possessively around his limb with the beast's head and body stretching from shoulder to mid-upper arm. It's wings extended to the front and back of his shoulder and flattened across a small area of his chest and back. Carrying the markings of his master, the King of Thieves, none could refute whom he belonged to. Bakura was right when he said he would not let him forget his place or his promise to him. The scar he bore on his wrist served to remind him of what was at stake should he attempt to take his life again. It already cost the lives and homes of one village. He dare not repeat the deed again in fear of the consequences. He had learnt his lesson.
Closing his eyes, he felt his master weight settle on top of him. Moist lips pressed against his skin, dampening the flushed surface. He gasped aloud as the ministrations becomes more heated and forceful . . .
Fate is cruel.
Mahado, his beloved is dead whilst he is forced to live a life he did not want—enslaved to man whom he did not love.
Bakura is his master now, his owner and his lover. He cannot run, he cannot hide and he cannot escape. He can only accept with crushing resignation what fate has ordained for him.
Fingers move over his body . . . fondling, grabbing, invading . . . reminding him of whom he belongs to. His master penetrates deep into his body, ploughing his rigid length into the fleshy folds like a farmer cultivating his land.
Except for the sounds of their coupling, all is quiet.
Before long they climax and his master injects and sows his seed into him. His treacherous body greedily absorbs it—sucking and squeezing everything out.
Basking in the afterglow of their orgasm, they remain tangled together. Both his arms are entwined around his master's neck. The marks of possession are stark against his clammy skin. The armlet on his right arm gleams obscenely in the semi-dark room while the Ouroboros taunts him.
Bakura: The King of Thieves. Murderer. His master . . .
Fate is indeed very cruel.
~To be continued~
O-o-o-o-O
Author's Notes: Yay! As promised there was plenty of Atem in this chapter to make up for the lack of it in the previous, I hope it was enjoyable. Furthermore, we now know what happened to Mahado, right? I am sure there will be some sighs of relief amongst some of you readers along with a few groans of disgruntlement from others. *winks*
Finally, the first arc of the story is done! I can't believe it's taken ten chappies to get to the point were I actually began writing the fic back in November 2011. The next chapter is the first ever chapter I wrote for Enslaved. It's hard to believe it's taken me this long to get to my starting point, lol~! It is ironic that so far, all this is just background. I curse my verbosity!
In the next arc, we will see a jump in time. There, we will meet our characters three years after the events of this chapter. It's exciting as we get to see a mature Atem and Mahado. How have the years change them, if it did at all? Will Mahado regain his memories? Will he reunite with Atem? How did Atem fare during those three long years with Bakura? Did Bakura manage to tame his fiery captive? And finally, is Malik still scheming to rid of Atem? New characters will be introduced along the way. I hope it will continue to keep you on the edge of your seat and captivated.
I thank each and every one of you who left your thoughts with me. It's wonderful to know you enjoy the story and it's kept me inspired throughout. I am truly grateful for the love and generosity you've all shown me. Without your encouragement, I would have doubted my ability to pen a Casteshipping fic since I am way out of my comfort zone here. I am fortunate your input has kept me on my toes and ensured the characters did not become too OoC.
I hope you lovely people will continue to support me, it makes me super happy to hear from you, old and new readers alike. *hugs all*
O-o-O-o-O
Here's a little peek of what's to come. Please enjoy:
After the irate man's departure, Bakura smiled. Heated eyes ogled hungrily at the vexed figure sprawled gracefully before him, his bare legs tantalisingly apart. Eyes travelled slowly upwards to the face whereupon he stared at the wound. Bakura licked his lips. He found Atem most exquisite after a fight; there was this wildness about him that he found mesmerising and it made him hard. His stiff cock twitched in appreciation.
"Got into a little scruff again, Princess?" he asked, amusement colouring his voice.
Atem glared back at him, his lips fixed in a pout. He stubbornly remained silent.
O-o-O-o-O
*Ouroboros: A symbol of a serpent or a dragon eating its own tail.