Dark Roads

Disclaimer - Yes, let's all have the white coats come to get me when I say I own them. DUH! Of course I don't, or my life wouldn't be NEARLY as hellish as it currently is!

Author's Notes - Well, actually, this is muses notes, not author's note, but that's because it's been a fucking hellish ass week and I've had to . . . incapacitate the author because of a mental breakdown. Long story short, too much bullshit going wrong in too short a time.
At any rate, LOOK! We managed to salvage some shit! So here's another chapter . . . and please, for the love of Ra, REVIEW! Drac needs all the 'happy' shit she can get at this point.


Chapter 10 – Truths


Thursday, Friday, Saturday . . . the days seemed to drag by, filled with more annoying mundane bullshit, and too many thoughts that Atemu would rather not be thinking.

It was apparent to him now that there was more than just sex between him and Bakura. Deny it as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t escape the obviousness of the situation . . . nor the irony of it. Neither of them wanted a relationship. They had both entered into it for the sex, and the sex alone. And yet, in just over a week, it had developed into something completely unexpected, and just a tad bit out of hand.

Of course, the sex was still a big part of it . . . it was the emotions that were beginning to accompany the sex which were causing problems. That was the entire issue. There shouldn’t have BEEN any emotions. Physical lust, yes. Stirrings of deeper emotion, fuck no. He was still dealing with his fucked up feelings from Seto, and god only knew what kind of emotional hang-ups Bakura had in his past. The last thing either of them needed or wanted was some kind of entanglement with someone else . . . and with each other least of all.

Too bad whatever was causing these strange eruptions of feeling wasn’t listening to what either of them wanted.

That shower . . . something had happened there, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on what. It hadn’t been any different than the first time they were together, except for a lack of blood and violence . . . and yet, at the same time, some small portion of unease lingered with him. Nothing had changed outwardly between him and the white-haired man. They spoke to each other, lived with each other . . . and yet, on some indefinable and unreachable level, something had changed between them.

Atemu couldn’t help but feel it . . . and he was pretty sure Bakura felt it as well. But he’d already had thoughts on it, and had determined a way to counteract it on his end.

It was obvious to him that he was connecting with Bakura because it was the first and only intimate contact he’d had since his break up with Seto. All he needed to do was find someone else to meet his sexual needs, and it would stop. Simple, easy, and quick. And he already had the person in mind. In fact, he had a date with said person for that night.

That would fix everything. He hoped.

*-------*-------*-------*-------*

Another round with Marik, another attempt to wipe away whatever annoying virus was spreading through his system thanks to Atemu. Another failed attempt, at that.

Marik was going to be limping for a while. Of course, Bakura had bruises and other marks from this encounter himself. The violence with which they had fucked this time could have quite possibly killed either of them, and Bakura hadn’t cared. His anger and frustration at what was happening within him had needed an outlet, and Marik was a very willing target.

He just didn’t understand it. Up until that first night that he and Atemu had come together, the man had been nothing more to him than a willing, highly fuckable body. Yet since then, inch by inexorable inch, he’d come to be something more - something frightening. He’d come to be someone Bakura could very possibly care about . . . even love.

Love. Now there was a word he’d never wanted to think of seriously again. He and love didn’t mix well. He’d loved his mother dearly, and she had been taken from him. He’d loved his father, and the man had practically abandoned them. He’d loved Dartz . . . and had been betrayed.

Dartz. Even now, he felt the pain of that betrayal flash through him, as if the emotional dagger was still buried in what was left of his heart. Those different colored eyes, the long aquamarine hair . . . he’d thought he’d fallen in love with an angel. He’d found out, after eight months, that he’d been mistaken. Dartz had been no angel. He’d been a demon. A demon that had in the span of a heartbeat changed Bakura’s entire outlook on life for the worse.

Eight months he’d believed the lies the man had told him. Eight whole months of his young life, distancing himself from friends and Ryou because Dartz needed him, and wanted him - Dartz loved him. And it had all been a lie.

The long trips away on ‘family’ business, the stories of how his parents didn’t approve of his sexual choice . . . he’d believed all of it. He’d never suspected that Dartz was so much older than he was; that he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old that a fifteen-year- old Bakura had believed him to be.

He could still clearly remember the night he’d gone to the house he’d visited a handful of times . . . the house he’d given Dartz his virginity in. He’d needed to see his love after Ryou had been put in the hospital for an infection that had nearly killed him. After all, it was his fault Ryou was sick - he’d been ignoring his younger brother in favor of his love. He’d needed Dartz to comfort him, to hold him and assure him that Ryou would be fine, that everything would be as it should be again, that he wasn’t going to lose the last member of his family.

Now he understood why the butler had been hesitant to let him in, but unwilling to go against the standing order Dartz had left with him that Bakura was to be admitted whenever he arrived. Of course, the man had never expected the young boy to make the long trip on his own. He’d had to hitchhike to get there, after all.

If he’d known the truth, he could have saved himself the horror. But no, he’d believed Dartz’ lies, believed that the man loved him. He’d learned the truth that night . . . when he walked in on the man, in bed . . . with his wife.

His love . . . the man he’d given everything for, including his virginity . . . had been married. Twenty-five years old, and married with two children. He’d been in a state of total shock when he’d turned around and walked out, his heart shattering into a million tiny, hurtful pieces. He hadn’t even really heard the fight that had broken out behind him as the woman questioned Dartz about him, and Dartz tried to stop him from leaving. He’d simply walked out . . . and walked all the way home in a daze. He was still surprised he had made it home at all.

He’d changed after that. He’d closed in on himself, grown cold and hard as Ryou had once said to him. It had been the only way to protect himself . . . because he never wanted to be hurt like that again. Sure he was cynical, and sadistic. At least he was whole . . . or at least, he’d thought he was. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

What Ryou had said the morning he’d dreamed of Mother stuck with him, and he wondered. Was he letting his past experience get in the way of him seeing something that could make him . . . happy? Ryou had made a good point about his life so far, after all. He wasn’t happy, and he wasn’t living. He was existing, moving from person to person, bedmate to bedmate, satisfying one need and denying another. A need for someone who understood and cared about him . . . really cared about him.

Maybe that was why he was so confused about Atemu. They had similar experiences, similar interests . . . Atemu could understand him, truly understand him, if only he opened up to the man. He’d never met someone like that . . . and even if he’d thought he might, he never would have expected it to be Atemu!

Could he open up? He just didn’t know . . . but maybe . . . maybe it was time for him to try.

Rolling over so that he was facing the wall, he determined that he would think more about it later. Right now, he needed sleep.

*-------*-------*-------*------*

Nervousness was not a good sign. What did he have to be nervous about? For that matter, why did he feel guilty?

He paused, his hand half raised to knock on Duke’s door. Bakura. He was feeling guilty, and the source was Bakura. For God’s sake, why!? He didn’t belong to the pale man, had nothing with him but a mutual desire to fulfill certain needs. And he certainly had no claim to the white-haired gang leader. No matter what certain parts of him had to say in the matter. Those parts were just confused right now, and still healing from Seto. That was it.

And this would take care of that.

As for the nervousness . . . well, that was to be expected. Duke was a rival businessman, and in a serious relationship to boot. Everything within him cried out against this, because he didn’t agree with people sleeping around on their partners, and he hated those who went and slept with those people. Here he was getting ready to do something very much akin to that, even if Duke did have his love’s permission for it. It still made him uneasy.

Had it been him, he knew, he would never have been able to agree to such a thing. If his partner loved him, he should be enough . . . there should be no need to look elsewhere to satisfy his urges. Atemu felt like he was stepping into the middle of a ticking time bomb by doing this . . . but he needed something, and Duke’s offer was still on the table.

Maybe he would have felt better if he had talked to Tristan before doing this . . . but the brunette had been unavailable, and Duke had wanted him to come over tonight, so he hadn’t had the chance. He knew Tristan was going to be here . . . and knew that the brunette fully intended to watch.

He wasn’t sure how comfortable he was going to be with that. He’d never been in to exhibitionism . . . it wasn’t his style. His body was for two people to see . . . him, and his lover. That was it, and what they did in the bedroom was between them.

This was going to be a new experience all the way around . . . if he could go through with it.

Taking a deep breath, settling his ruffled nerves and shoving the guilt aside, he knocked on the door.


*-------*-------*-------*-------*

Bakura walked into the house late Sunday morning, surprised to find Yugi and Ryou at the table . . . and no Atemu in sight. Figured. Just when he wanted to talk to the man, he was no where around.

“Where’s Atemu?” he growled, flopping into one of the chairs. Ryou raised an eyebrow at him, but it was Yugi that answered.

“Mokuba called earlier this morning . . . he’d found some stuff Atemu left up at the mansion. My brother went to go get it.” Amethyst eyes regarded him steadily for a moment. “He’s pretty exhausted from whatever you two were out doing last night.” Magenta eyes narrowed slightly at that, a glance out of the corner of one eye showing the boy watching him closely. Ryou was also watching him, and he growled before standing abruptly and departing from the table.

So, Atemu hadn’t been home last night. And for some reason Yugi and Ryou thought they’d been together somewhere. The question was, why would they think that? Had Atemu told them that? If he had . . . why had he lied? What had he REALLY been doing?

The surge of jealousy caught him off guard, and he staggered into one wall, barely catching himself. What the fuck?! He hadn’t even made a decision on his thoughts of the previous night! But it seemed he was already thinking of Atemu as his, and the thought of that golden body being under someone else, writhing and moaning someone else’s name, made him see red. And that had to be the reason for the lie. Atemu had been with someone else last night. Who had it been? Who had touched that body, heard that silken, husky voice that he wanted crying out his name alone?

He threw his fist into the wall, leaving a bloody print there when he misjudged his strength and threw it too hard. He stalked into his bedroom after that, magenta eyes wide and glaring . . . and cursed whatever power that had made this little farce come into play.


*-------*-------*-------*-------*


Atemu was just folding up the last of his clothing that Mokuba had found in the laundry, tucking it into the duffel bag he’d brought with him absently.

He felt . . . surprisingly good, all told. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as he’d feared it would to be here, standing in this room, retrieving the last remainders of his life here with Seto. And he was almost done. A few more shirts to fold, and he could say goodbye to all of it and never come back. He was looking forward to putting it behind him.

A step on the linoleum behind him sounded, but he didn’t bother to turn around. It was probably Mokuba, or one of the many servants that worked in the mansion. Nothing he needed to concern himself with.

“Atemu,” a voice murmured, and he froze. That wasn’t a voice he’d been expecting . . . and definitely not one that he wanted to hear. Crimson turned to meet sapphire warily, wondering why Seto was there. Wasn’t he supposed to be in America . . . again? “I’m surprised to find you here,” the brunette murmured, stepping further into the room.

“Hello, Seto,” he replied, before turning back to what he was doing. “I’ll just finish getting these, and then I’ll go. Sorry to have interrupted your time with Mokuba.” He froze as he felt that lithe body come up behind him, hands falling upon his slim shoulders, gripping there lightly . . . possessively.

“What’s the rush?” the light baritone murmured, and Atemu shivered.

“What do you want, Seto?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He wasn’t going to let the man know how unnerved he was by how he was acting. This was a game like any other . . . and it was one he was damn tired of playing.

“I heard,” Seto whispered, his breath puffing against the outer shell of Atemu’s ear as he nuzzled at the soft flesh behind it, “That you’ve been seen with Bakura. Is that true?” There was a flash of fire in the crimson orbs suddenly . . . not of passion, but of anger. So his ex-fiancé was keeping an eye on him?

“And what if it is?” he asked, his voice having gone cold . . . deadly. Seto didn’t seem to hear. He never really had.

“I don’t want you near him, Atemu,” the brunette rumbled, and Atemu snapped. Yanking himself out of the taller man’s grasp, he spun around, leveling a glare at the brunette as he stood upright, a look of confusion on his face. “He’s dangerous.”

“You don’t own me, Seto!” he growled. “You made that decision months ago, and forfeited any right to me.” He took a step backward as Seto moved toward him, his hands balling into fists at his side. “What do you want, Seto?” he asked again. “You made your point . . . I’m worthless, useless, not even worthy of the time you spent on me! You don’t love me, you don’t find me attractive . . . that is what you said, is it not? But no one else is allowed to have me, either? I’m not a fucking possession Seto, and if I was, I certainly wouldn’t be yours anymore! You threw me aside, and replaced me faster than I could blink!” His voice was rising, and he struggled to keep it from getting out of hand, but he was angry . . . and in pain. Why did he continue to allow Seto to hurt him like this?

“I’m not a fucking whore! You can’t just throw me aside, and then expect to come back and get a piece of ass from me whenever your boyfriend isn’t putting out for you! Damn you, you asshole, I loved you!” There were tears in his eyes, and he brushed them away angrily. “I loved you, and gave you everything I had to offer! And you took it! You took all of it, and it didn’t mean shit to you!” It was rushing out of him in a flood now, everything he’d wanted to say and hadn’t because he hadn’t wanted to hurt the man before him . . . the man who’d ruthlessly taken his heart and then stomped on it. But he’d had enough . . . all the frustration, all the pain, all the anger of the last few months just bubbling up in him and pouring out of him. He couldn’t have stopped it even if he’d wanted to. But he didn’t want to. It was time Seto knew all of it . . . even if he had to shove the man’s face into it.

“I know I wasn’t perfect . . . we all have our problems. But I tried to push past them, to make you happy. And you lied to me . . . you lied to me, and told me that you loved me and that you WERE happy! But you weren’t! All that time, I thought you were, and you weren’t! Why didn’t you just tell me!? Why didn’t you talk to me?! Maybe we could have done something, changed something! But instead you hid it, you played at it, and when it got to be too much, you just said fuck it and let it all go!” They stared at each other across the space, a strange taboo setting in, an echoing silence fraught with pain, anger, and abandoned love.

“I’m not going to pine away for you the rest of my life, Seto,” he finally whispered. “I’m going to move on, the same as you. Don’t come near me again . . . because you’re not getting anything more from me. What little I have left will go to someone who really will love me, if such a person exists. Just leave me alone and go enjoy your precious freedom.” He gathered up the things that he’d come to retrieve, and moved to walk around the still brunette. A hand reached out for him, and he froze, shying away
abruptly. “Don’t touch me, Seto. Just . . . don’t. It’s over . . . and you made that choice. Go live with it.”

“Atemu . . .” He shook his head, golden bangs waving against his face as Seto tried to stop him again.

“You didn’t know me, Seto. You never really did. You, like everyone else, saw only what you wanted to see. I know that now. So just . . . leave me alone. Let me be who I was meant to be, and go be whatever it is that you think you are.” With that, he walked out the door . . . and didn’t look back.


Muses End Notes - And for all of you who are curious . . . what Yami said to Seto about 'being told he wasn't attractive' and shit . . . yeah, Drac's husband said that to her. Anyone care to join me in hunting his ass down and killing him?