Pharaoh and the Thief

Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: Angst & Violence
Author’s Note: My sincerest apologies for not updating sooner. I’ve been in Paris all weekend, and I meant to update before I left, but unfortunately, I ran out of internet minutes, so no such luck. This chapter’s pretty short. Sorry about that. Anyway, I hope you like where this story is going and look out for a new story from me soon!

And as always, thanks to all my reviewers!

Chapter 9

Bakura ran until he couldn’t breathe anymore and the stitch in his side was threatening to make him collapse on the spot. He stumbled, gasping, into a deserted alley and sank down into the dirt.

The anger and rage at the abrupt truth was leaving him, and he was left feeling hurt and betrayed and alone. Just like he felt after Kul Elna.

As the realization of his situation hit him, Bakura wrapped his arms around his legs and buried his face in his knees, sobbing.

He was the pharaoh. His worst enemy. And Bakura had slept with him. Not just that, he had given himself to him, so intimately and trusting. Had the Pharaoh been amused by that? That Bakura had become as love-struck and trusting as a child in his arms?

What was wrong with him? He knew! He knew something was wrong from the beginning. All his barriers were stripped away in Atem’s...the Pharaoh’s presence, that should have been enough to warn him, but Bakura had paid it no heed. And now...

He thought of how he had fallen for his sworn enemy. His kind words, his warm touches, his lingering caresses... Bakura shook his head, trying to banish the spoiled memories from his mind. His skin crawled with remembered touches, and he felt disgusted with himself. He’d cried out like a whore as the pharaoh had fucked him. Bakura was sickened by the thought. He felt used and worthless. Degraded by his enemy.

He had trusted Atem. He had cared for him and look where it had got him. His heart felt like it had been torn from his chest and shredded to tiny fragments before his eyes. He had been so stupid. Stupid and selfish.

He was here to revenge his family! Instead he had succumbed to the charms of the man responsible for their deaths. First he let them die, and now he had desecrated their memories. He had been so ready to give it all up, give them all up, and for what?

Bakura was so sickened by himself, he didn’t want to be in his own body anymore. Every touch the pharaoh had bestowed on him made his skin buzz unpleasantly, an insistent reminder of his own stupidity and he hated it. Hated himself.

He had thought nothing in the world could hurt as much as watching his family die in Kul Elna, but this did. In fact, it hurt more. It was like he was reliving that tragic day, only then, at least, he had the solace of sworn revenge. And now he had failed at that too. Failed his family twice. He deserved to feel like this, so wretched that he couldn’t stop his pathetic sobbing.

What made it hurt even more was that Bakura knew he had feelings the other man. Deep feelings that he hadn’t felt for anyone since Kul Elna. For once he had felt wanted, needed, loved. He had felt happy. But it had all been a cruel joke, a punishment for abandoning his family, for letting them die.

Why were the gods so cruel to him? Was he never to be at peace? Was he never to be loved? Was he that undeserving?

Yes, the cruel voice in his head told him. He’d hidden and watched everyone die. He’d failed so miserably at revenge. He didn’t deserve any of the things he thought he had with Atem. He was weak and cowardly and knew he deserved every self-loathing, disgusted, painful feeling he had right now. But that didn’t stop it from hurting.

Renewed sobs wracked the thief’s barely healed body, pain coursing through his heart. He had just wanted to be with someone. To be loved again.

And looked what happened, he thought bitterly to himself. You don’t deserve love.

He thought of the look in Atem’s eyes as he had tried to strangle him. Hurt. Betrayal. He had no right to feel those things. Not after what he had done. Even though, Bakura felt guilt well up amidst the other emotions tearing at his heart. Those gentle violet eyes that had looked at him with lust. He never wanted to see that look in those eyes again.

He just wanted it to stop. All of it to stop. The pain, the hurt, the crying, the guilt, the need for someone else. He just wanted it all to go away so he could feel cold and empty again. Like he deserved.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Atem sat on the bed he had shared with Bakura, tears drying on his face as he absently rubbed at his raw throat. Seth stood leaning against the wall nearby, watching the pharaoh silently. It had been almost two hours since Bakura’s outburst. Akhenden had finally been calmed and the guards reassured by Seth as the Pharaoh simply sat on the bed with that dazed look in his eyes.

“Atem,” Seth whispered, drawing his pharaoh’s attention. Wide, watery violet eyes met his, and it pained Seth to see his pharaoh is such distress. He left the wall he was leaning against and sat down next to Atem, looking questioningly at him.

Atem leaned against him, soaking up his solid warmth as he stemmed the flow of tears and rubbed the stains from his face.

“I just don’t understand,” he said in a raspy whisper. “Why would he...?”

“I don’t know,” Seth said, wrapping an arm around Atem. They stayed that way for a long time, Atem leaning on Seth, and the priest supporting his sovereign.

“I loved him,” Atem said quietly. “I thought he loved me too.”

Seth glanced down at the shorter man. “Maybe this is for the best.”

Atem glanced up at him, anger in his red-rimmed eyes. “For the best?!”

Seth nodded solemnly. “I don’t mean to sound like Akhenden, but think about it Atem. You are descended from Ra himself, and he is a thief. It would have had to end sometime. He could have been nothing more than a toy to you.”

Atem said nothing, but shook his head. He knew what Seth said was valid, but he didn’t believe it. It didn’t matter. He was descended from the Sun God, so why shouldn’t he have who he wanted, even if it was a theif?

Because he hates me, Atem thought bitterly. He thought of the feral rage in Bakura’s eyes as he had lunged at him. What did I do?

XxXxXxXxXxX

Hours later, Bakura tried to stand, but his knees shook so badly he collapsed back into the dirt. He sat there, leaning against the filthy wall and took several deep breaths, then tried again. This time he managed to stand shakily, braced against the wall. He allowed himself time to recover as he scrubbed at the tear stains on his face with the sleeve of his robe.

The thief ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened his robe before darting into the darkness of the city nightlife. He wandered aimlessly for a long time, not sure where he wanted to go, just knowing he wanted to be somewhere he could forget.

The white-haired thief soon found himself in front of a particularly vicious looking inn and decided this was as good a place as any. He headed inside the dimly lit room, and sat at a table at in the corner, glaring darkly at anyone who made eye contact.

A waitress brought him a drink and he sipped at it, letting the cold vulgarity of the place sink into his soul and replace the pain. As the number of empty glasses at his table grew, Bakura felt his heartache slipping away. He was starting to feel like himself again...almost. The hurt still lingered at the back of his mind, taunting him. Bakura found it annoying that he couldn’t drink himself into blissful forgetfulness.

He pushed himself up from the table and swept through the bar, eyes darting around the room, looking for a woman to take the pain away instead. He must have been more drunk than he thought, as he stumbled and bumped into a table occupied by three men deep in conversation, sloshing their drinks.

“Hey!” one of them yelled, “watch where you’re going fucker!” Bakura whirled around on him in drunken rage.

“Do you want to say something to me?” he growled dangerously.

“Yeah,” said one, rising to meet him, “I said watch where the fuck you’re going!”

Bakura grinned insanely ate him, pulling out a knife and laying it against the man’s throat. “Want to repeat that?” Maybe spilling vagrant blood would help.

The man backed up quickly and nearly stumbled. Bakura chuckled darkly and advanced on him, only to be met by another who had his knife out as well.

Bakura’s eyes sparkled at the thought of violence and lunged at him. The man dodged, but not enough as Bakura’s knife skimmed across the skin of his upper arm. The man glanced at his wound and growled challengingly at Bakura. “You’ll pay for that.”

Bakura almost hoped he would as he lunged again, this time not quite as quick. The other man’s blade sunk into his side up to the hilt. Bakura had managed to leave a good sized slash down the man’s other arm before he even realized he had been stabbed. He looked down at the blood darkening his robe.

The man yanked the knife out viciously, a little spurt of blood splattering the floor.

Bakura stared down at the wound in slight shock. It had been a long time since someone had bested him. Suddenly the world seemed to tilt and he stumbled to the ground, clutching a hand over the wound to try and stem the increasing flow of blood. He was mildly fascinated at the way the crimson liquid flowed through his fingers as blood loss and liquor stole him into unconsciousness.