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As a rule, Bakura never took on a fair fight, not necessarily because he had the worst luck in five thousand years - although, granted - or because Bakura was a jackass, and invited trouble - although, granted. No, as a rule, it was because Bakura didn’t feel fair fights were good enough. You needed to twist and mangle the odds in your favour. Stack the damn deck, weight the damn coin, and by Renenet, load the dice like a weapon.

Two people? Two different approaches to keep your eye on. Three? Focus on them one by one. Fighting four people, well that was just–

“Fuck this,” Bakura spat, gaze searching for a good out. He could probably scale the fence dividing the alleyway if he had to. All he had to do was get past the fucker at his twelve o’clock– his eyes checked left, just in time to back away from fucker number two. 

Hissing, Bakura twisted away, and- straight into- which one was this anyway? He whipped round, snarling in warning, lashing out with a jabbing elbow. Took a hit to the back of his head, and stunned, Bakura backed up. Into another.

Fighting four people was an exercise in being surrounded. Just practice in being worn down until you went down.

Bakura’s head jerked up, hearing the sound of someone sprinting from the other side of the fence, feet hitting hard on the ground. Good. A distraction, an out for Bakura– he yelped, arm twisted up behind his back painfully. There was an immediate backwards headbutt, the slightly sickly, definitely wet crunch of meeting a target, and Bakura got his wrist out. Struck back with his elbow, and then ran for the fence.

He hit it with a metallic sound, fingers curved into the links, ready to climb.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Atem. His pulse pricked, heartbeat stuttering over the sudden rush of familiar hate. Bakura went still for a moment. A moment too long, and a moment later he was being dragged back by his hair hard enough to make his eyes water. Howling with anger, Bakura threw himself at his attacker. Four. Four fucking people.

“I don’t know if you have any drink left.” He shrugged, disinterested in that particular idea.

It was windy, and Atem hated the wind for a very good reason. HIs bangs. He absolutely hated them. They whipped about his head threatening to take out an eye. He was fairly certain he couldn’t pull off an eye patch…and he couldn’t do the whole Pegasus thing…not that he would want to…

Head bowed Atem walked into the wind. In hindsight it was probably the only reason he heard the commotion in the alley way that day. Voices carried on the wind, or so it was was said. He heard several voices, and he couldn’t make out the exact number, but he knew what a fight sounded like. Someone one was…He cocked his head. Instantly he thought of when he first woke up with Yuugi. Bullies, and beatings and that’s exactly what it sounded like to Atem. He had to help!

He ran as fast as he could down the alley only to find an obsticale in the form of an eight foot fence. He could climb that easily. He had practically lived in trees growing up, and he wouldn’t even be ashamed to say he still did on occasion. Atem’s plan was to never stop running. He would simply scale the fence and get over to help the ma-

Atem’s eyes went wide as his brain caught up with what he was seeing. Bakura. Of course. The gods must be bored this day. Still, Atem didn’t really have time dwell on the fact it was Bakura before the thief was being yanked back into the group. Atem scaled the fence  quickly, waisting no time by flipping over the top and just letting go. He landed on his feet, hoping to surprise and distract all in one go.

It seemed to have worked. All movement stopped as this new player entered the fray. Atem quickly sized up the competiton and noted Bakura’s state. This wasn’t fair. Four people fighting one. Even if it WAS Bakura, and even if something in his head said maybe he deserved a beating. It was terrifying, because he wasn’t certain if that was him…or Malice.

It mattered little. A man lunged at him and he dodged easily. “I’m not here to stop you from beating him up!” He said as he slipped under someone’s arm. “I’m only here to make sure it’s a fair fight!”

That seemed to have an effect. Everyone stopped. Atem cleared his throat. “One on one. Pick the best fighter between you…If you beat him that way I won’t interfere.” Atem had to keep the smirk from his mouth. Whoever fought Bakura was a deadman, that much was for certain.

The thugs took him in. Atem, five foot six, and all four of them turned towards him. Now he couldn’t stop the smug smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it, tiny?” Sterotypical thug one growled. Atem’s grin only grew wider as the sennen eye appeared on his brow.

“Then I would have to punish you for breaking the rules.” He said softly. That seemed to have the desired effect. “Now, pick the best fighter, and get on with it. I was on my way for ice cream and I don’t wish to be delayed more that necessary.” He crossed his arms, simply expecting to be obeyed.

“S-sure whatever you say.” The thug answered, pushing the biggest guy towards Bakura. Well it was certainly more TARGET. He had to check himself from rolling his eyes. MAYBE if they had picked the agile smaller one, they might have stood a chance. Atem, as promised, leaned against the wall and waited.

Atem was actually going to join in on this? Well, Bakura couldn’t pretend he wasn’t surprised, after-all, it ran in the family. Bakura’s nose would have crinkled, except he was still being shoved against the wall, and his entire face felt like a wet blaze of pain. Admittedly, Bakura would have probably done the same. Resigned, angered, Bakura braced himself for the inevitable impact.

There was no impact, only a game. There was a gutting, hollow feeling in him, like Atem had carved out a nasty place in Bakura’s spine.

“Fuck you,” Bakura spat, lifting his head away from the wall to stare at Atem. Blood was running down his face, and his hair was sticking against his skin, plastering and drying with the blood.

Released, Bakura pushed away from the wall, fingernails chipped. He barely glanced at fucker two, gaze set on Pharaoh Fuckface. Bakura’s weight shifted, a faint tilt to his hips, and then had his claws on the fence. Scrambling up, Bakura jumped down the other side, crouching on his landing to kill momentum. Bakura’s head turned, glancing back through the chainlinks at Atem for a split-second.

Time to leave Bakura’s enemies to distract each other.

>Send one for: 💤 - Your muse spooning mine from behind and starting to rub their crotch against my muse’s hind.

Akefia could have stayed in that blissful space between sleep and awake forever. He had the added bonus of warmth wrapped tightly around him in the form of the only friend he'd ever had in his life. It was his idea of paradise, until something interrupted it.

Where Atem's body had merely been pressed against him, he was now being rocked slightly forward, something hard pressing into his rear. The thief let out a hum halfway between pleasure and protest.