Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ The Past Won't Go Away ❯ Chapter One ( Chapter 1 )

Priestess: I just realized that all three of my Malik/Bakura fanfictions are based on a doujinshi! Rulers of the Heavens is based on Mayonaka Junketsu-I think it's also called 'Midnight Is Pure.'

"Pitiful."

"Watch it, Malik," snarled a white-haired man as he glared at the wall. His fists clenched, itching to squeeze the neck of the Egyptian behind him. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"What are you going to do, Bakura?" replied the light-haired man behind him. His spectacular light purple eyes flashed furiously at the man in front of him. "I don't know how I was ever stupid enough to think you could help me defeat the Pharaoh. You couldn't if your life depended on it! You're incredibly incompetent, so don't you dare insult me! If I want to start a new life, I can! But you wouldn't understand that, would you? Spending lifetimes fighting for a cause that isn't even real-"

That did it. Bakura whirled around, catching Malik by surprise.

His outstretched fist connected with the Egyptian's jaw, and Malik tripped back. Not wasting any time, Bakura pushed him down-eliciting a surprised little sound from him as his head hit the ground with a thunk-and pinned him by the wrists.

Malik struggled unsuccessfully to free himself, every muscle flexing with the fruitless strain. Bakura simply laughed, and Malik glared up at him furiously. "Fuck you, Bakura," he spat. Bakura only laughed harder and smirked gleefully.

"I'm not the one who's fucked, Malik," he replied maliciously. "But," his voice lowered a note as his eyes skimmed over the Egyptian's almost unnaturally perfect figure. "You're about to be."

Malik gasped, and fear flashed over his eyes. Then his face hardened, and he challenged, "You wouldn't dare." But it was more to convince himself than Bakura.

Bakura just laughed harder, and Malik could see something like merriment glitter in his eyes. "Oh, wouldn't I? Well, we'll just see about that won't we?"

Before Malik could reply, Bakura had flipped him onto his front and held him down by his head. "Let...go," Malik snarled, trying to get free. He was suddenly, painfully aware of Bakura's weight on his.

Bakura rose up and his right hand slipped into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out the knife he always carried around with him.

He pushed the hand carrying the knife under Malik's shirt, pulling up and out. The white fabric ripped easily, revealing the hieroglyphics which had been on his back since he was twelve.

Bakura's tongue licked the hieroglyphs, making Malik gasp. His hands traveled downwards and he unbuttoned Malik's skintight jeans and undid the belt. As one hand pulled the pants off, the other hand wrapped around and massaged Malik's long thick length.

Malik clenched his teeth to keep from moaning, and a fresh surge of fury coursed through his veins. When Bakura rose up to unbutton his own pants, Malik kicked his legs off and started getting up.

He had gotten up onto both hands and his knees when Bakura slammed into him.

Malik gasped loudly before clenching his teeth again. Tears were prickling at his eyes, but it was bad enough that he was being defiled and humiliated. The last thing he needed was to weep in front of Bakura and make his humiliation complete.

He felt Bakura's hand touch one of the hieroglyphics, and a memory flashed through his mind with startling clarity. Another hand touching his back when it had been much smaller, the hieroglyphics all bleeding.

He lowered his head submissively and refused to weep as Bakura thrust again and again, jarring only the quietest sounds from that yappy little mouth of his.

Wanting to sob but refusing to in front of Bakura, Malik remembered the heated knifes slicing into his back. Like this, that had felt like it would never end.

A soft keening noise escaped Malik's throat when he paused for a second, gripping his hips tighter and shifting to find a better angle. He sunk even deeper inside Malik on his next thrust and Malik couldn't help but cry out in response.

The memories were so sharp and painful. His own father had carved the memory of an ancient Pharaoh into his back, and he would have the scars for the rest of his life.

Malik moaned when Bakura's hips jerked against him hard, and he hated himself for making these noises even more than he hated Bakura for making him produce them.

His name meant 'Lord' or 'Master', but he didn't even have influence over his own life and probably never would.

Bakura was the one with the influence now and he was wielding it over him as he continuously pounded inside Malik's tight little entrance.

Bakura's pumps started to pick up the pace and Malik was having difficulty keeping back his sounds as Bakura fucked him so hard he couldn't even see strait anymore.

No, that wasn't the truth. He could see his memories. He could see his father, carving the Pharaoh's memories into his back. He could see it and feel it.

His naked, bronze skin was entirely covered in sweat and his bare flesh felt like fire. Bakura's tee shirt clung uncomfortably to his sticky skin and he felt overheated in the jeans that he pushed down just far enough to be able to slip his length out and ram it up Malik's luscious ass. It didn't matter, though, and Bakura continued to pound inside of Malik again and again. He permitted himself a few quiet grunts, but nothing more.

Malik shuddered fitfully, but he was so caught up in flashbacks and passion that he couldn't move. He made desperate sounds, arching his back and tensing up before convulsing. He jerked and bucked uncontrollably as he released, his vision turning white.

Malik's climax triggered Bakura's, and Bakura pumped into him a few more times before filling Malik with his seed.

Malik sank to the floor and lay their quivering as he fought to catch his breath. He looked incredibly sexy and definitely well fucked.

Bakura's arms quivered ever so slightly as he held himself over Malik, and for a moment he was tempted to just give in and rest. But he snarled instead and withdrew from Malik, wiping off his cock and tucking it back into his pants.

He smirked down at Malik as he zipped up his jeans, but Malik shut his eyes and refused to look at him. Fine. Two could play that game.

He turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind him.

Malik hugged himself and gazed at the ceiling, finally alone and finally able to cry.