Dark Roads

Disclaimer - Does it look like I own them?

Author's Notes - HERE I AM! oy, sorry for disappearing like that folks, it's been a HELLUVA time. Stress has finally gotten to me and set up a really nasty roadblock in my writing highway, and Bakura's having issues sneaking around it. Luckily we have plenty typed out on this, or you might have been stuck waiting for an update for months. You'll notice my plot bunny skills are still working . . . it's just writing itself that's not cooperating. Hopefully I will break through it soon . . . Reveiw lots to help fuel it. I"m hoping it'll help.

Chapter 6 – Psychosis


Atemu was back out on the streets that night, wandering with several other members of the Jackals, drinking and attempting to forget the humiliation he had subjected himself to that afternoon. So far, it was working well . . . but he could feel his anger at himself simmering just below the surface, barely leashed and ready to spring free the minute he let his guard down.

He took another swig from the bottle of Tequila and handed it back to Jou, shoving his hands in his pockets absently as they strode down the darkened street toward Domino Park. It had to be around midnight now . . . and he had no desire to return home as of yet. For once, he really felt like he belonged . . . not like he was some actor playing a part. It felt surprisingly good, to be able to be himself and know that he was accepted that way.

Rounding the corner into the park itself, he inhaled the smells of damp earth and recently fallen rain, taking it into his soul and letting it add another comforting layer of padding between reality and his bruised, broken heart.

“You remind me of Yugi when you do that,” Jou murmured, and Atemu glanced at him before smiling slightly.

“There’s not much of me that reminds people of Yugi outside of the hair,” he replied, gesturing toward the tri-colored mop of spikes that he and his brother shared from their genetics.

“I think there’s a lot more there than you let people see,” Jou said quietly. “There’s a goodness and vulnerability about you that you try to hide . . . but sometimes, if you look carefully enough, a person can see it.” He shrugged slightly. “But enough of my playing psychoanalyst. I’m surprised you came out tonight.”

“I needed to blow off some steam,” Atemu murmured as they fell a bit behind the rest of the Jackals that had accompanied them. “I did something completely stupid today, and sitting in the house wasn’t helping me to deal with it.” He paused, and then opened his mouth to continue . . . and then the shouting started.

He and Jou raced forward as one, and discovered the rest of the Jackals a short distance away . . . staring across a short expanse of green at another group of individuals, all wearing colors that were nearly as well known as the Jackals tan and black. The Dragons, a rival gang that typically roamed the streets on the other end of Domino . . . well away from home, and invading Jackal territory to boot.

“Well, well . . . if it isn’t the Mutt,” one of the guys said, and Jou growled, doing a fairly good impression of what they had called him.
“You guys should be on your own territory, and you know it. When Thief finds out . . .” The other laughed.

“Thief ain’t here right now, is he? What’s the matter, did the mighty Thief King let his little Jackals off their leashes tonight?” Jou stepped forward, only to be held back by Atemu.

“Let me handle this, Sand,” he murmured. Amber eyes flickered toward the smaller man . . . and Jou froze. There was a strange light in Atemu’s eyes . . . a gleam that he’d only seen on Marik or Bakura before. A hunger for something that was beyond rational thought. He watched that leather clad form stalk forward and his thoughts shifted uncomfortably.

There as something very wrong here. Atemu had never seemed this . . . deadly, this cold. He was distracted from his disturbing turn of thought when Atemu spoke, the tenor voice suddenly full of smoke and mirrors . . . and danger.

“How would a Dragon like to get it’s teeth pulled?” the tri-haired man said, his voice whispering through the suddenly still air like a whip. “Take me down, and we leave you in peace. But fail . . . and you go back to your side of town with your tails between your legs.” He tilted his head to one side, watching the group out of the corner of one eye as a slight twitch tilted his lips, his fingers tapping against his leather-clad leg.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them called out, and the smile that crept across those aquiline would have frozen a wolf in its tracks.

“Call me Yami,” he replied, his tone dripping with hunger. “Care to come play? Or are the Dragons cowards, as I’ve heard?”

Jou listened to that taunting voice and wondered where the Atemu he’d known had gone. This certainly wasn’t Atemu . . . this was Yami, true Darkness, as Bakura had named him. He wondered for a moment how Bakura had known just what to name his best friend’s brother, but put it aside. For now, what was going to be happening very soon was more interesting . . . and much more dangerous. The question was, should he stop it before it began? He’d never seen the tri-haired man like this before.

“We’ll play, runt,” one of the bigger Dragons growled, stepping forward. “Little kid’s shouldn’t be out playing with the big boys so late at night. Sure you don’t wanna run home to your mommy?” The crimson eyes narrowed slightly at the barb, but the bloodthirsty smirk only got a bit wider . . . a bit hungrier.

“Let’s just see who’ll be ‘running home to mommy’,” Yami whispered. Moonlight glittered off the edge of his knife as he pulled it from its sheath under his coat, turning it slowly to examine it before looking back up at his opponent. “Come and get me, Dragon. If you think you can.”

Joey watched with wide eyes as the big, lumbering hulk of a man lunged . . . and Yami simply wasn’t there anymore. Black leather slid over tanned skin as he ‘flowed’ to one side, like water moving through air. Christ, when had Atemu become so skilled with a blade? Sure, he’d heard about the fight with Bakura, but he’d barely been able to believe it. Seeing Atemu in action was an entirely different ball game, and suddenly he was wondering just how well he knew the other man – how well any of them really knew him.

“Is that the best you can do, Dragon?” he murmured, running the flat of his blade down the man’s spine before stepping back and whirling away as the man turned to grab at him. “I’m disappointed. I thought you would be more of a challenge.” He slid out of the way as the man tried to grab him again, but this time his blade tasted blood, which he raised to his lips teasingly, his tongue flicking out to run over the red fluid, sampling it.

Atemu was barely even aware of exactly what he was doing . . . and his eyes were no longer seeing the man in front of him. It was Seto he was seeing now . . . Seto manipulating him, Seto leaving him, Seto hurting him after he’d given the man everything he could. It was Seto he was playing with now. Suddenly he was angry . . . angry at being misjudged, at being taken for granted, at being used like some disposable toy.

This had started as simply a need to release some of his frustration and self-disgust. Now, it was much more . . . and much more dangerous as well. And he wasn’t enough in his right mind to realize how bad things had become in his own head.

“I will teach you to respect me,” he snarled, and suddenly lunged. The move took everyone off guard after the teasing way Atemu had been fighting up to that point, and it was a moment before they could make sense of what they were seeing.

The Dragon lay pinned beneath the lithe frame, bucking to get away, but Yami rode him like a limpet, clinging to him as the blade flashed glittering red in the moonlight. His victim was screaming now, crying out in pain, screaming desperately for help, but none of his friends wanted to get near the demon they had taunted into existence. The Jackals were just as astonished. They’d seen Atemu fight before, and watched him run the gauntlet with a smooth efficiency that had startled them, but this . . . this was something completely different, something frightening and alien and unbridled in it’s rage. And none of them knew where it had come from.

Just as suddenly as it had started, it ended, a blur of white yanking Yami up and away from the man, holding the slim figure tightly as it fought to return to it’s prey with an animalistic need. Jou was stunned to see the black leather was slick with blood . . . and Bakura was rapidly getting covered in it as well as Atemu struggled against his restraint. How much damage had the tri-haired man inflicted upon his opponent? And where had their leader come from? He hadn’t been here a moment before.

“Get your asses out of here and don’t ever come back on Jackal territory, or next time I might not be so lenient in keeping my Enforcer in check.” Thief snarled. “Take him and leave!” The Dragons were quick to obey as the gathered Jackals watched their leader struggle to maintain his hold on the demon in his grasp, hands sliding over cloth slick with red fluid. “Sand, take the others home. I’ll handle Yami” Jou nodded, but hesitated, concern for his friend outweighing the fear of that very same man.

“Thief . . .” he began, and the pale man snarled at him.

“Get out of here, now,” he growled. “I’ll deal with this myself.” The tone brooked no argument, so Jou bowed his head and turned to walk away. But inside, he wondered what was going on. He’d never seen Atemu so violent, like he was possessed. Something must have happened to cause it, and he was determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. Perhaps Yugi would have some answers.

Bakura had gotten the phone call on his cell that Dragons had been spotted in Jackal territory not long after Atemu had gone out with the others. Figuring they would be in the park, he’d headed there immediately . . . and was glad that he had done so. He’d been watching since the whole incident started, and even he was stunned by Atemu’s ferocity. He’d had to step in before Atemu killed the man . . . and that had been well on the way to happening. As it was, the other gang member would probably need stitches, but that was a secondary concern next to the man in his arms.

“Atemu, its Bakura . . . snap out of it,” he whispered in the man’s ear, tightening his arms around the struggling figure. “It’s over . . . the Dragons are gone . . . he’s gone.” He continued to whisper the litany over and over again, trying to break through to the man before he had to resort to hitting him. He was surprised when his captive suddenly went limp. Loosening his hold, he went to turn him around so he could look into Atemu’s face . . . and then grunted as he was suddenly on his back with the lithe figure sitting astride him, pressing against him desperately.

“Fuck me,” Atemu growled, grinding down atop him almost to the point of pain. “God . . . fuck me, Bakura. Right here, right now . . . I don’t give a shit, I want to feel you inside of me.” He nipped harshly at the pale neck, and Bakura groaned, bucking upwards to bring his now straining erection into sharp contact with the growing bulge in the other’s leather pants. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me . . .” the husky tenor chanted, as deft fingers undid buttons and pushed cloth aside so that the hot mouth could close around one coral nipple and suckle at it hungrily, tongue toying with the ring imbedded through the flesh. “Bakura, please . . .” His tongue trailed over the still healing cuts he had made in their previous play, leaving trails of fire across the singing nerve endings as the pale man moaned.

Bakura was fast losing rational thought as his body went on autopilot with Atemu’s attentions. He flipped his aggressor off him and stripped the man of his leather pants and boots quickly before freeing his own need desperately from its painful abode. He wasn’t really thinking until he realized they were without certain necessities.

“We don’t have lube,” he growled as Atemu clutched at him, nails digging into alabaster skin harshly and drawing fresh blood to mix with that which had already been spilled by another body.

“Don’t care,” came the choked reply as slim legs wrapped around his waist. “Use the blood . . . I don’t care!” He screamed as Bakura plunged into him, bucking upwards as the pain blinded him, but riding on that pain came intense pleasure and he whimpered as the pale body stilled. “Don’t stop . . . god, don’t stop!” he panted, writhing against his partner. Thought was long gone in both men as they began to move together.

Bakura slammed into that welcoming body, some small corner of his mind wondering what the fuck was going on. Atemu was almost desperate for this . . . what the hell had happened to push the usually stable man over the edge like this? There were tears flowing from those crimson eyes, choked sobs intermixed with the moans and cries of pleasure, and it confused that tiny area of rational thought that he had left. What the fuck had happened to bring out this demon that bore the form of the man he barely knew?

Release wasn’t long in coming for either of them, both of them tumbling into the abyss of ecstasy with screams that echoed through the silent park before they stilled and lay together, panting and wet with a mixture of blood, seed, and sweat. The sounds of the nighttime city slowly returned, and Bakura groaned as he pushed himself upright on his arms, still embedded deep within Atemu’s body.

He was stunned to find the crimson eyes closed, silent tears running down the caramel skin. He shifted to move, and a moan of pain was torn from that slim throat. He felt the slickness of blood, and knew that their coupling had cost Atemu dearly in pain. He was shocked by the flash of guilt that he felt.

“Atemu, what the fuck . . .” he began, and stopped as the tri-haired head shook minutely, the crimson eyes still tightly closed and leaking tears.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it right now.” The ruby orbs finally opened, their gaze glassy with the after-effects of orgasm . . . and deep within them, a soul-wrenching pain that flickered and burned, consuming the soul within. “Just get me home . . . please.”

Bakura nodded, silver-white hair flopping forward as he stood stiffly and redressed himself before helping the golden body beneath him into it’s own clothing and shoes. Atemu visibly trembled as he stood there, slight gasps of pain whispering through parted lips, and he nearly fell as he tried to take a step on his own shaking legs.

Bakura wrapped an arm around the leather-clad waist, taking one slim arm and draping it across his shoulders.

“My car isn’t too far from here,” he murmured. “Lean on me.” Atemu nodded silently, and together they made their way out of the park. Bakura was glad he’d retrieved his car from impoundment that day . . . with the way Atemu was leaning on him, he doubted they would have made a walk home.

The car was silent, the crimson eyes staring out the window duly as Bakura drove through the darkened streets. Inside, however, Bakura’s mind was anything but quiet. His thoughts were a tumult of confusion, and he wasn’t making any headway in sorting them out.

What the hell had that been about? First the fight, which had nearly turned into an all out blood bath, and then what had happened between the two of them. Something had happened during the day to cause this . . . but what? As far as he knew, the man had been home all day long.

“Seto came by,” Atemu murmured finally, breaking the silence. Magenta eyes flickered toward him in the passenger seat and he sighed. “He … invited me out to lunch. Then we . . . went back to his place. Bakura, what the fuck is wrong with me? I let him manipulate me into a situation I didn’t want, and I did something I shouldn’t have. Why did I let him do that to me?” Atemu didn’t know why he had suddenly spoken, and he quickly fell silent again, unwilling to go farther into it. He didn’t want to think about it at all.

Bakura was stunned speechless for a moment, but not by Atemu’s confession. Rather, it was his reaction to it. Had that been a spurt of jealousy? What the hell did he have to be jealous over? Atemu wasn’t his, and they’d lain no claim on each other. They were fuck buddies, nothing more. But if that was true, then why did he have to stomp on the urge to reach across the car, drag that lithe body into his arms, and reaffirm his possession of it? Maybe some of the other man’s current psychosis was rubbing off on him.

Not another word passed between them as they pulled into the driveway. Silently, Bakura helped Atemu up the stairs to his room.
They stood outside the door for a moment, neither knowing what to say, before Atemu finally managed to find his voice.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know what came over me in the park. Suddenly it was Seto in front of me, and I wanted blood. I wanted to hurt him, worse than he’d hurt me.” He sighed before reaching out for the door. “Thank you for stopping me,” he said quietly, and limped inside, leaving magenta eyes to stare at his closed door.

Growling under his breath, Bakura stalked toward the room that had been given to him, throwing himself onto the bed angrily. He wanted to know exactly what had happened between Atemu and Seto . . . and not purely out of curiosity to know what could cause such a mental breakdown in the tri-haired man. He wanted to kill Seto Kaiba.

This was wrong. Seto was nothing to him . . . and neither was Atemu. It was none of his business.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like the rest of him was listening to his logic.