Dark Roads

Disclaimer - Do you honestly think that I own them? Than why are you asking!?

Author's Notes - Now that I have gotten rid of my writer's block (and you'll recieve the fruits of that exercise soon enough, trust me) I am posting another chapter of Roads. I hope you all enjoy. And please, if you read, review. It's only polite, and it really does help fuel an author's writing fires.

Chapter 7 – Torment


Monday and Tuesday came and went, without a single sighting of Atemu by Bakura. That in its self was strange, considering that they dwelt in the same house, and Bakura found that it was actually bothering him. Finally, after catching himself once again gazing off into space musing on their odd relationship – relationship being the only word he could now think to use – he stalked toward the tri-haired man’s bedroom, intent on getting some answers.

The door was opened, however, and the room eerily silent, devoid of it’s occupant. Water running in the bathroom drew him down the hallway, and he watched through the partially open door as Atemu stripped down to his skin. He winced at the bruises decorating the golden thighs . . . had he really been that rough Sunday night?

Atemu’s moan of pain as he stepped into the water-filled tub caused a dull ache in his chest, one which he tried roughly to shove aside. The man had asked him to be rough, after all . . . and it wasn’t like he cared about him in ‘that’ way. They were simply two people meeting each other’s unique sexual appetites. That was it. But if that was the case, why did he suddenly once again feel guilty?

“Atemu?” he murmured and smiled slightly at the surprised squeak that emanated from inside the room. “Mind if I come in?”

“The tub isn’t big enough,” Atemu returned smartly, and Bakura grinned as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

“Smartass,” he said, shutting the lid to the toilet and settling onto it. “About Sunday . . .” Crimson eyes darkened and looked away for a moment, staring down at the water before answering.

“Can we not discuss it, please?” Bakura growled under his breath.

“You can’t keep bottling this up, Atemu,” he snarled. Reaching out, he took Atemu’s chin in his hand, gripping it so that he could turn those aquiline features to meet his gaze. “You keep doing that, and stuff like Sunday is going to continue to happen. And I can’t allow that. You’re a loose warhead right now, and a danger to everyone. So talk to me. What the fuck happened between you and Kaiba to push you that far into madness?”

“I don’t need you to mother me!” came the angry reply. “I’ll deal with it. That’s all that should concern you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to soak some of these bruises out and relax.” With a growl, Bakura stood and stalked out of the bathroom . . . and tried not to let the disturbing ache in his chest bother him too much. It was none of his business . . . he just had to remember that.

Crimson eyes remained on the water, refusing to watch the man walk out. Bakura was only trying to help, in his gruff way . . . but Atemu didn’t want any help right now. He wanted to be left alone.

Why did Bakura care, anyway? Was it just because he was afraid of the unstable element Atemu introduced into his life? The man had to be used to that kind of thing . . . if what he’d heard was right, Marik wasn’t exactly in his right mind, and Bakura had a thing going with the blonde as well. It didn’t make any sense, and confusion was the last thing he needed right now. He meant nothing to Bakura, and the pale man meant nothing to him. It was a way to relieve the pent up pressure of his needs . . . that was it. Right?

It bothered him that he had to add that question to the end of his thoughts. Maybe it was just his heart, latching on to the intimate contact he had with the man, but there was a dull ache in his chest whenever he considered the quasi-relationship they had. Like there was something missing there . . . like he wanted more. It had to be his hurt with Seto causing it though . . . because Bakura would be the last person for him to want a real relationship with.

Sighing, he sank under the water to wet his tri-colored hair, attempting to wash the thoughts out of his mind as he sat back to relax . . . and hopefully not think at all.


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


Bakura stormed into the Den, having needed some space from Atemu before he thought about reentering the bathroom and shaking some sense into him. Why he wanted to shake sense into the man was beyond him, but he did.

Since when did he start caring about someone’s emotional state so much? Hell, just his involvement with Marik should have inured him to that particular problem. Marik was a nutcase, and reveled in it.

Somehow, in the past few days, Atemu had gotten under his skin. That annoyed him. No one got close to him except Ryou, and even that fluctuated on a daily basis. What was it about Atemu that was bothering him so much?

Lost in thought, he didn’t see Marik until the blonde cleared his throat, forcing him to look up and notice he wasn’t alone. He rolled his eyes, wondering that his second wanted. All he wanted to do right now was catch some sleep and forget his mental turmoil for a while.

“What’s with you and the rich boy?” his second asked. “I thought you hated his guts?” Bakura growled under his breath. Was he never going to be allowed to stop thinking about the tri-haired man for one fucking minute? “You don’t fuck someone whose guts you want to rip out and hang them from the rafters with. Which, I believe, is what you said about him not too long ago.”

“Drop it, Marik . . . I’d rather not discuss it with you.” He snarled as Marik chuckled.

“So, you do have buttons that can be pushed,” the blonde murmured. “He’s gotten to you somehow, and in just a week. I couldn’t get this type of response out of you before, and I’ve known you almost our entire lives.” He grunted as he found himself against the wall, violet eyes suddenly burning into angry magenta.

“What part of I don’t want to discuss it didn’t you understand?” Bakura growled, his fists tightening in the blonde’s shirt as he held that lithe body roughly. “He’s nothing but a good fuck at the moment! That’s it!” He was startled when Marik leaned forward slightly, taking his lips in a brutal, hungry kiss. They dueled for dominance of the embrace, neither coming out the winner before they parted for some much need oxygen.

“That’s more like the Bakura I know,” Marik murmured, his hands settling at the slim hips to pull them tightly against him so that they ground into each other harshly. “God, I want you. Fuck me, Thief. You need it as much as I do, and only I can give you what you really need. Only I can take what you have to give.”

“You almost killed me, Marik,” Bakura replied, not bothering to mention that he had gotten EXACTLY what he needed from Atemu not once, but twice, in the past week, and that Atemu had taken what he could give and more - easily. He was beginning to get the feeling that his blonde second was jealous . . . and he needed to straighten his head out before he dealt with that issue.

“I’ll let you have control this time, Thief,” he growled, pressing into Bakura desperately. “I need to feel you against me again . . .” He sighed as Bakura growled before a harsh cry was torn from his lips as sharp teeth settled into his throat, breaking the skin there easily. “Oh, yessss . . .” he hissed, pressing those pale hips even more tightly into his own as he felt a warm, wet tongue lap at the blood welling from the bite. “That’s what I was looking for …”

The taste of Marik’s blood was familiar, the coppery tang rolling on his tongue comforting in a way. But it wasn’t Marik’s blood he wanted, and that realization startled him, even as he grabbed a fistful of that long blonde hair and pulled , baring the long line of throat to his hungry mouth with a low snarl. God damn it, he had to get Atemu out of his fucking head! So help him, he was going to wipe the tri-haired man from his head, with pain and brutality if he had to. Marik could take it. Hell, Marik wanted it and always had!

He nuzzled at the satin skin greedily, pressing the blonde back against the wall, reaching between them to squeeze the bulge in those khaki pants roughly, listening to the ragged moan that echoed through the otherwise still room. He was panting already, his skin burning as he pressed harder into that lean body. He would forget Atemu . . .

“God, Bakura . . . fuck me, damn it . . .” Marik groaned, violet eyes closed as tan fingers danced over jean clad skin to clutch the firm muscles of the rounded ass roughly. “Enough with the fucking foreplay!” He whimpered slightly as Bakura pulled away, only to moan as his shirt was literally ripped open with the help of a blade, before sharp teeth closed round one dusky nipple as his erection was freed from the restricting cloth of his pants. “Mmm . . . need you . . .” he pleaded, wriggling out of his pants after toeing off his boots, rubbing into the lithe body wantonly. So much pain that he wanted to take and give . . . but he would take tonight. Giving could wait until Bakura trusted his control again.

Bakura pumped the throbbing flesh between them before freeing his own erection, not even bothering to fully disrobe as he lifted Marik up and impaled him on his waiting need without hesitation or lubricant. Not that Marik would have wanted him to hunt up any. The blonde head fell back, a ragged scream erupting from pale lips as tanned legs wrapped around the pale man’s waist, opening Marik for further, deeper penetration as Bakura slammed into him again.

Grunting, straining to take Marik’s weight as well as his own, Bakura tried to block the images from his mind, but it was no use. His body may have been buried deep in Marik, but in his mind it was Atemu he was fucking, Atemu’s hot flesh wrapped around his need. God, what the fuck was wrong with him? He’d never had this problem before. He worked harder, listening to the thud of flesh against wood as the blonde was slammed into the wall over and over again by the force of his thrusts. Trying to wipe the vision of a sweat soaked, golden skinned face topped with crimson, black, and gold hair from his mind with the violence of sex. Underlying the dull thuds was the harsh sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and Marik’s whimpers of pained pleasure. But even that didn’t help to rid him of the images of crimson eyes flickering with need, slim hips rising to meet his thrusts.

His legs were becoming tired under the strain of holding both Marik and himself upright. Taking Marik’s arms and wrapping them around his shoulders, he spun unsteadily and slammed the caramel-skinned body down on the wooden desk, not even minding the hoarse cry of pain as he continued to thrust toward oblivion. God, he just wanted to forget Atemu and his disturbing thoughts for one fucking night!

He slammed into Marik’s willing body with near desperate force, barely contained violence in every action, every harsh thrust. It wasn’t enough. He reached up, pale hand closing around the golden throat, squeezing as if it were his thoughts that he could strangle the life from.

Violet eyes flew wide, staring into wild magenta as he gasped for breath, the hand around his throat tightening to near dangerous proportions. This was nothing new . . . but Bakura usually didn’t do this unless he asked for it. He wasn’t about to complain. Something was eating at the white-haired man . . . something dangerous, but he liked danger. That was why he liked fucking Bakura, or being fucked by him. They understood each other. Their souls spoke to one another in violence and pain.

He moaned as Bakura brushed his prostate harshly, bucking up wildly as his flesh twitched and writhed with need. There was a low growl coming from his partner . . . an animalistic violence to his movements that he loved. He would never get enough of this. Whatever was going on between his white haired lover and the rich boy, it couldn’t last. Rich boy couldn’t deal with this side of Bakura . . . he could, and loved every minute of it. Bakura was his and always would be - for this.

Suddenly he could breathe again, and he took in a harsh, pained breath before crying out as that same hand closed around his aching arousal, pumping it in time with the bruising thrusts. So close . . . so fucking close, and so good . . . so damned good!

“More . . .” he panted, his voice choked with pain and pleasure as he forced the sounds past his abused windpipe. “Fucking . . . harder, Bakura . . . harder!” The desk began to shiver under the force of the white haired man’s thrusts, and he bucked wildly, clenching his thighs tighter around the pale hips desperately. “Fuck yeah . . .” he moaned, his head tossing with the pleasure of the pain Bakura was inflicting on him. It hadn’t been like this between them in a long time.

He screamed as his orgasm took him, his back arching off the desk in an almost impossible angle as he shook with the force of the violence induced release. He felt Bakura bury himself deep before a harsh growl erupted as the white haired man came as well, the feel of liquid warmth painting his insides intoxicating in his high.

The strange taboo held for a few seconds before Bakura backed away, allowing Marik’s legs to drop roughly as he grabbed a towel and cleaned himself before tucking his flesh back into his pants. No words were spoken as he tossed to towel at the still prone blonde – none were needed. It was always like this between them afterward . . . they went their separate ways and that was it. Needs met, what use were words? Marik smirked as he watched Bakura straighten his clothing before flinging himself on the bed to sleep.

Cleaning himself up took little effort, and he was quickly redressed, although his shirt was a lost cause. Shrugging, he tossed the now rag aside before slipping into his jacket.

“Whatever it is going on between you and the rich kid, good luck. I’ll be here when you’re done playing with him,” he said, and strode out the door. Once the door shut behind him, the pale figure rolled over, staring up at the ceiling absently as he struggled to calm his turbulent thoughts.

He was remembering his time with Atemu again, but this time it was surprisingly welcome. Even though they hadn’t technically been ‘cuddling’, the brief period afterwards of lying against the man had somehow sustained the feeling of peace that came with sexual release. With Marik . . . it had been done, over with, and gone long before he even moved to clean up.

What did that say about his relationship with the blonde? For that matter, what did it say about his relationship with Atemu? What was so different between the two? Why did he feel so differently? He was confused, and more than a little angry at that confusion.

Why did his life have to go and get so fucking complicated?

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


Across town, another figure lay prone upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling and doing much as Bakura was.
Atemu felt guilty, and it wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed, especially not when the party he felt guilty toward was the pale Thief. He’d been harsh, because what Bakura had said to him had stung . . . but now that he was thinking semi-rationally again, he knew it was the truth.

He couldn’t keep bottling this up inside. Eventually, he would start snapping at people for no reason, and that worried him. He didn’t want to hurt Yugi or Ryou . . . and he felt guilty for taking it out on Bakura. He had to find a way to deal with this.

But how was he supposed to talk to anyone about it? Yeah, he had friends . . . but none of them were so close to him that he would open up in such a way with them. And he refused to discuss it with Yugi . . . his brother didn’t deserve to have his light dragged into his older sibling’s darkness. He hardly knew Ryou as anything other than Bakura’s brother . . . which left only the pale man himself. But his relationship with Bakura was not an emotional one and could in essence be the entire problem.

Sighing, he turned over and tried to quiet his mind so that he could sleep. But he kept seeing Bakura’s face in his mind, those magenta eyes burning into his own crimson orbs . . . and he wondered just what the hell it meant.


*pulls Ryou out of the Ring for his chibi eyes* Review, please? *bats his eyes* For me?