Dark Roads

Disclaimer - I don't own them. If you think I do, you need a straighjacket.

Author's Notes - My life . . . is hell! I have an uncooperative muse, low finances, and serious lack of sleep going .. . but hey, it's all good, right? Yeah, right. Anyway, here's the next chapter of Roads, and I hope you all enjoy. Don't drool too much!

Added thought - Yami's knife fighting style is an actual style that I researched slightly on line. Seemed like it would be right up his alley. But, if I got anything wrong, please forgive me.

Chapter 9 – Stress Relief


The morning sun shining into his face awoke Bakura with a snarl of annoyance, but he was unfortunately now wide-awake . . . and horny.

“Fucking morning wood,” he growled, sliding from the bed to attend to more urgent matters . . . namely, relieving some of the pressure on his overstressed bladder.

After attending to that and getting himself into some semblance of normal clothing, he padded to the kitchen on the search for food. He was on his way to the fridge when the view out the back window brought him to a standstill, staring out in awe.

Sunlight glittered off the silver of a drawn blade, dancing in smooth, flowing arcs as Atemu moved with it, unhurried and graceful as he performed a kata. A fine sheen of sweat glittered across the bared upper chest and shoulders, golden bangs sticking to the high-arching cheeks around closed eyes, muscles shifting and sliding beneath the taut, firm skin.

Bakura’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he swallowed in an attempt to regain the use of his airway. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath struggling past the clog in his throat as he stared with a mixture of desire and awe on his face. His physical problem of the morning returned with a vengeance, and he groaned before forcing himself to focus on something else . . . namely, the style Atemu was using.

Now that he could watch without distraction, he identified the style as KunTao Silat, a knife fighting style of Indonesia. It wasn’t quite exact, but close enough to see where the basis for Atemu’s moves came from. Sweet god, where had Atemu learned THAT!? He knew of no one here in town that practiced the elegant, vicious style . . . if he had, he would have been taking lessons!

Admittedly, from what little he knew of the style, Atemu’s favored knife was a bit bigger than what was usually the weapon of choice, but somehow he didn’t think that mattered one bit. Actually, he knew it didn’t, because he’d seen that combined grace and deadly movement in action, and was well aware of just how lethal the man could be first hand. As it was, just watching the man perform a kata was entrancing. The larger blade certainly didn’t detract from any of the beauty and elegance of the movements.

He’d spent the last week avoiding Atemu and the strange questions the man seemed to force into his head, especially since that kiss. He’d gone to Marik twice more for release . . . and both times had left him feeling completely unsatisfied. It was getting old, and he was tired of avoidance of the issue.

To hell with his confusion over feelings and other such bullshit - he wanted Atemu. Beneath him, atop him, against him, he didn’t really care. He needed to feel the bliss of that body again . . . and he would be damned if some stupid idiocy like worrying if he developing feelings for the man would stop him. This was all about the sex. That was all he would allow it to be.

Now, all he had to do was get Atemu alone . . .

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

Crimson eyes closed with a sigh, the tri-haired head tilting back into the water spray as he let the heated fluid rain down upon him, washing away the dirt and sweat of the day.

After spending a good hour or so that morning going through his katas, he had turned his attention toward the shop, rearranging and cleaning the entire place from top to bottom. Anything to get rid of the excess energy he seemed to have acquired . . . and to keep his mind from wandering to a certain white-haired man and the thoughts he’d been having lately.
Love was a funny emotion. No one knew what it felt like, no one had ever quite managed to describe it. And it was different from person to person. Wondering if what he’d felt with Seto was love . . . wondering if it was more than lust that drew him to Bakura – it was steadily driving him insane. He was tense and on edge, prone to snapping for no reason. What he needed was a good fuck . . . but did he dare go anywhere near Bakura with his mind in such upheaval?

Intent as he was on keeping his mind blessedly free of a certain pale demon that had been plaguing it, he was unaware of his company until he felt callused hands caressing his flesh . . . especially certain areas he wished he could forget existed. Startled, his eyes flew open, just in time to meet a burning magenta gaze before his lips were possessed in a brutal, hungry kiss.

He sagged against the pale body, caught off guard as a rush of heat surged through his veins. Moaning slightly as pale flesh rubbed deliciously against his own, hands wandering of their own free will up the gentle curving of Bakura’s spine, he tried to press himself closer, needing more. Concerns and questions flew rapidly out the window as warm lips trailed over his jaw to the soft spot just behind and below his ear, suckling there lightly before moving on to other, more tempting, targets.

“I want you,” Bakura murmured against the satin skin, his tongue leaving a trail of searing heat across one collarbone. “God, I want you . . .”

“Bakura,” Atemu replied huskily, before a sharp gasp was drawn from him as teeth closed around one already overly sensitive nipple. “Shit . . . what . . .?” he panted.

“I saw you this morning . . . in the backyard.” Breathe whispered across wet, shivering skin as he spoke, trailing his tongue across the firm, smooth abdomen as he worked his way lower. “You were so fucking hot . . . a lethal dancer. I couldn’t wait to fuck you. But I had to wait all damn day to get you alone. I’m not taking no for an answer.” He paused, dipping his tongue teasingly into the small dimple at the center of the muscular torso, eliciting a gasp from Atemu. “What were you doing?”

“Stress . . . stress relief,” Atemu said, his head falling back against the cool tile as light fingers trailed over his sensitive thighs, gently maneuvering them apart to expose him further to the now kneeling man. One hand gripped the top of the shower stall, holding him upright as the other hand pressed against the tiles to maintain his balance. “I needed . . . to relax . . .” He choked back a scream as Bakura suddenly took him fully into his mouth, suckling hungrily at his hardened manhood. “Oh fuck.”

“You could have just come to me,” was the murmured reply, as Bakura pulled back to flick his tongue over the sensitive head. “I would have been more than happy to help.”

Atemu was about to respond that Bakura was the reason for the stress, but he never quite managed to voice the comment around the desperate, needy whimper that trickled from parted lips as a wet tongue trailed along the underside of his aching member. His knuckles at the top of the shower door were turning white with the force of his grip as his knees threatened to give out on him with the sensations running through him.

“St . . . stop . . . teasing,” he managed to get out between desperate gasps for breath as his lungs seemed to seize in his chest. In response, a pale hand rose before his face, and he accepted the slightly damp washcloth being tucked between his lips to muffle his voice before he felt that warm, damp cavern surround him, drawing a now-muffled shout of pleasure.

Teeth, tongue, lips, hands . . . he lost track of what was being used and what wasn’t in the moments that followed. They seemed to stretch for eternity and yet last mere seconds as Bakura worked at his aching flesh, drawing gasps and moans from him in a symphony of pleasure as if he were an instrument and the pale man his musician.

Lithe, dexterous fingers crept between his legs, rubbing over the sensitive flesh behind his throbbing balls before running playfully over his entrance as Bakura feasted on his length. His arms were shaking now, barely keeping him upright before that teasing hand was removed . . . only to return moments later. His head fell back, crimson eyes closing in bliss as the now slicked fingers . . . God above only knew what they were slicked with . . . probed at him before sliding inside his waiting heat. Too much . . . it was too much sensation. He was going to explode.

Just as he felt the edge of his release cresting to crash down on him, those fingers were removed, and Bakura released his erection with a wet pop that resounded loudly, even over the pounding of the water and his own thundering heartbeat. Pale flesh slid against gold as the man slithered up against him removing the cloth before lips met in a hungry duel. Bakura pulled away to press his lips to the juncture between throat and shoulder, nuzzling the soft flesh for a moment before biting down harshly, marking him.

He cried out, arching against that pale body as his arms gave, leaving him limp and near breathless with only Bakura to hold him upright. Crimson eyes were wide and glassy, hazed with desperate need as magenta stared down into them, a slight smirk tilting the firm lips of his tormentor.

“I’m going to bend you over, and fuck you raw, Atemu,” Bakura said huskily. “I hope you don’t have a problem with that.” Atemu could only shake his head weakly, a needy moan escaping past parted lips as his lover turned him around, planting his still shaking hands against the cool porcelain of the tub. It was slightly embarrassing, and degrading, to be standing there with his ass in the air, but he really didn’t give much of a damn. He wanted Bakura inside him . . . the sooner the better.

He felt the hard, thick flesh of Bakura’s cock rubbing up against him, and shifted restlessly, trying to push backward for more contact. Damn it, would the man never stop teasing him?!

Magenta eyes glowed, a low chuckle escaping the pale throat as the golden body writhed slightly against him, silently begging for more. He refused to reflect on the possessiveness surging through him . . . a need to claim Atemu as his and only his. He’d already marked the man in a spur of the moment action, and he was sure to regret it later. But right now, that hot body was in front of him, waiting for him to fulfill a need that both of them felt surging through their veins.

Pulling back for a moment, he grabbed the baby oil that he’d had the presence of mind to grab before joining Atemu in the shower, liberally coating his aching member with it before dropping it carelessly to one side and positioning himself behind that terribly tempting backside. He watched himself slide into that welcoming heat, the erotic sight of his body merging with Atemu’s nearly enough to drive him over the edge prematurely.

He was still amazed at how tight Atemu was . . . fucking hell, Kaiba had to have one hell of a small dick to have left him this tight! Either that, or he hadn’t fucked him nearly enough to loosen him up. That was his loss, in Bakura’s opinion.

Grasping the slim, tanned hips, he pulled that golden body onto his needy flesh, watching as the firm back arched in pleasure, a muffled yelp barely heard over the steadily falling water as he thrust home. The wet, silken furnace of Atemu’s body was like heaven after hell and Bakura sighed with pleasure as he set a slow, teasing pace. He wanted this to last . . . this feeling of overwhelming pleasure, of coming home . . .

His pace stuttered as that thought flickered through his mind, his muscles locking up for a moment in shock. Had he really just thought that?! Before he could analyze it further, however, Atemu was taking up the pace where he had left off, thrusting his hips back systematically, roughly. Bakura moaned, his errant mind leaving off its idiocy to concentrate on more immediate issues . . . like fucking Atemu senseless.

An outline of white traced around delicate hands as they tightened their grip on golden skinned hips to painful proportions, but Atemu was well past caring. The feel of Bakura against him, inside him, filling him awoke a hunger that he’d been attempting to deny since the surprisingly gentle kiss they had shared. He needed Bakura . . . needed what this one man could give him like no other. Release.

Bakura’s sudden moment of stillness had barely registered in his passion-hazed mind. All he knew was that the delicious friction of movement had stopped, when he wanted it desperately to continue. He didn’t even realize that he had unconsciously begun moving himself, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in an attempt to regain that feeling. The moan that issued from the man behind him made him burn all the hotter, pleasure flickering up and down his bent spine as the pace quickened, racing them toward their explosive climaxes.

He moaned, a shudder ripping through him as one pale hand left his hip to play with his neglected member, each thrust of slim hips driving his flesh through the hand closed about it. He was whimpering softly, panting as mewls of need and want issued forth from his throat. So close . . . god, so close . . .

“Kuraaaa . . . please . . . oh fuck, please . . .” he murmured, the words becoming a mantra that he chanted unconsciously as the pleasure grew, a dull throbbing at the base of his spine crying out for release. He rose up slightly, moving to rest on his toes, and cried out as the change in position angled the thrust’s deeper, the tip of Bakura’s hard flesh stabbing at his prostate. “Fuck me . . . god, Bakura, harder . . . harder . . . please . . .” he begged.

The change in position did nothing to help Bakura in his quest to draw things out. He hadn’t thought he could bury himself any deeper in that velvet heat, but Atemu’s change in position drove him out of his mind. That, along with the desperate pleas, made the fire in the pit of his stomach turn into a consuming flame, and he rammed himself deep. He barely heard the hoarse cry of pleasure that rushed from Atemu as his own release crashed over him, burying him in an avalanche of ecstasy as thick fluid covered the hand wrapped around the other’s erection. The very force of his climax shook him to his core, and he fell in a boneless heap against the other man, driving them both to their knees. His head fell forward, resting between the shuddering shoulder-blades of the tri-haired man as he rode out the final waves of his orgasm, feeling the golden body he lay against doing the same.

The same languor took him as it had the first time he and Atemu had come together for release, and this time he analyzed it, trying to find it’s cause as his body relaxed. Nothing was really different that he could think of, outside of his choice in partner for the activity. And yet, he felt . . . better. More relaxed, infinitely more fulfilled and . . . happy. That last disturbed him. Why was it that with Marik he felt nothing other than a vague sense of relief, and with Atemu he felt happy?

His knees were beginning to ache, and he found himself absently wishing they’d taken this to a bed so that they could be more comfortable. He blinked in astonishment as the thought registered. But analyzing that particularly disturbing concept would have to wait, because the golden body he was leaning against moved suddenly, shifting restlessly as a slight moan drifted to his ears.

“This isn’t exactly easy on the knees, you know,” Atemu murmured dryly, and the blunt statement drew a slightly amused chuckle from Bakura. He shifted backward, a slight sigh of disappointment issuing from him as his flesh became separate and wholly his own once again. Another new and disturbing occurrence, another change in his usual way of handling such things . . . he wanted to remain buried in that body even after his seed had been spilled. This was getting far out of hand now.

“Mind if I share the remaining hot water?” he asked, and smiled as Atemu flopped over onto his back, staring up at him with an arched eyebrow before a smirk crossed the aquiline features.

“A little late to be asking that, don’t you think? You’re already in here with me,” he pointed out. Bakura chuckled slightly, silently admitting that the man had a point before reaching down to help the prone figure upright. The rest of the hot water was spent in silence between the two, neither knowing what to say as they washed up and rinsed out their hair in turn. Bakura stepped out and grabbed a towel, tossing a second towel back to Atemu as the man shut off the water before emerging from the shower himself.

“Thanks,” Atemu murmured finally, wrapping his towel around his waist, the usually gravity defying tri-colored spikes hanging slightly limp down to his shoulders. “I needed that.” Bakura shrugged and nodded, not quite sure how to respond.

“Anytime,” he replied after a moment, and got a soft grunt in response. “How’s the kanji?” Crimson eyes flickered to the mirror, examining the tattoo on the side of his neck for a moment.

“Just about healed,” he said. “I shouldn’t have to keep putting shit on it for much more than a couple of days.”

They were acting like idiots, and they both knew it. Carefully discussing mundane bullshit, when they should have been discussing what was going on between them. But neither was ready to face it yet, and so they went their separate ways at the bathroom door, drifting to their bedrooms as if nothing untoward had happened between them . . . and both knowing that they were living on borrowed time in denial.