III. Defiled
Yami no Bakura never gets any lighter. Dark. The Book of the Dead contains questions related to sleeping with other men, which was (apparently at least mildly) frowned upon in ancient Egypt – at least if you were on the 'receiving' end.
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There is a fantasy that the King of Thieves entertains. He contemplates it in the dark of night and every time he sees that person, the Pharaoh gleaming through the Mutou-boy's eyes.
It makes him sick, makes his smile into a crooked rictus across his face. That slimy upright arrogance … who is he to talk about 'friendship' and 'justice'? Disgusting. What's worse, he believes every word: he is ignorant of his life, of his past. There is something deliciously pathetic about it, the thief has to admit, like a man desperately digging at a wall made of mortar with nothing but his fingernails, bleeding and raw and nothing to show for it. He overcompensates for being remade in shadow, tries to redeem himself subconsciously with his 'friends'.
It's not enough, though. Like the thrill of a perfectly executed theft, there will never be enough revenge on the Pharaoh. The list of his wrongs against Bakura's person is long: the destruction of Kul Elna. Sealing Bakura's very soul into the Millennium Ring for three thousand fucking years. Preventing him, again and again, from obtaining all of the Items. Always, this Pharaoh. This one, damned Pharaoh!
But it is not the Pharaoh's death he seeks. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Far more fitting would be to lock him in the Puzzle again, for eternity – deny him any sort of afterlife. However, that would have to wait until the rest was completed – until the Pharaoh had witnessed every destruction that Bakura could commit. The death of his beloved 'aibou' and his friends, for starters. Perhaps, the thief mused, he would find a way to turn the world on its ear, just to drive the Pharaoh mad with that martyrdom he exercised.
It would be nice if Bakura could find a way to torment the Pharaoh's vessel as well, where the Pharaoh could see but not retaliate. He wasn't entirely certain how to work that one yet, however.
In his darkest moments, there is more. The desire to break overcomes the desire to snuff out. The desire to defile overcomes the desire to destroy.
It's his arrogance, the thief thinks. That is what he wants to tread upon until it is dust. The very idea excites him, stirs his smile and his loins. To defile the Pharaoh's very being in such a way that the gods would no longer accept him into eternal peace.
He sees the Pharaoh on hands and knees, held down by Bakura's own strong hand on his neck, which is tight enough to bruise. His other hand is on that feminine hip, digging in, leaving thin crescents of blood. A gag to stop the arrogant words. A chain to stop his calloused hands.
I give you the Nameless Pharaoh, pleasure slave to the King of Thieves!
The thief laughs, rough and dark.
He knows the Book of the Dead. He knows what laws he has dragged through the dust, and that should he truly die, he will be eternally tormented. But to take the Pharaoh there with him, to the dens of thieves and madmen? Could there truly be a defilement worse than that?
He licks his lips.
Fin