1.

Bakura was fascinated by the woman across the room. Through his hooded robe he watched the way the servants fussed over her making sure her hair was perfect, her gown straight and her shoes polished. One attended to her make-up, reapplying kohl around her eyes. It was almost scary to witness such a perfect woman. She looked like a doll and appeared to have the personality of one too. Her face was unemotional and her body static. Their eyes met for a brief moment, even from a far he could tell she had been crying. He had a habit of being able to feel other's pain. She looked away quickly which didn't surprise him; no-one ever held his gaze for long. Most were intimidated by the aggressive scar that lined his face. It invited questions people didn't want the answers to and ones he wasn't ready to give. Taking a sip of wine he studied her figure. His eyes mentally undressed her, tracing the soft curves of her hips and the small swell of her breasts. She appeared well fed; her cheeks were full unlike many of the other woman he'd seen here. His mouth dried at the vision he had of her slowly undressing for him, then taking his hand and giving him permission to roam her body. With that thought in mind, Bakura turned to the barman.

"Who's she?" he asked. He needed not point, all eyes were on her.

"Merneith," he said.

"I've not seen her before."

"She's a rare sight indeed." He poured the remainder of the bottle in Bakura's mug. "She's late."

"Late for what?"

At that moment Sabu, the establishment's owner, came out to yell abuse and hurry everyone along. The bartender skilfully averted Sabu's gaze by pretending to polish the counter. It was a poor attempt to look busy but it didn't matter for it was mid-afternoon, the calm of the day.

When Sabu finally left, he leant over to his favourite patron. "She's the Pharaoh's mistress."

"The Pharaoh's?"

He nodded. "Paid Sabu a handsome sum to assure his is the only bed she lays in."

"Yeah?" He raised a brow and looked to where she had just departed.

"I hear she's quite the entertainer."

"Is she now?" Bakura could feel his loins ache with desire. "So where's she going now?"

"The Pharaoh is having a celebration. His son's coming of age. He's a only year older than her, can you believe it?"

He could. The Pharaoh had always been the lucky one. Bakura pulled out a few gold coins and slid them across the bar.

"Rudjek," he said as he stood, "always a pleasure."

The man greedily pocketed the coins without saying another word.

Fueled with liquor, Bakura gently swayed as he walked through the hall. He found Sabu in the next room, critiquing the new girls. He turned at the sound of his name.

"Bakura, what an honour to see you again."

Bakura nodded.

"The new girls," Sabu announced with a swing of his hand.

The girls were merely children, no doubt traded by their fathers for settlement of unpaid debt. Not Bakura's type but Sabu accepted them as he would money. They were better than no payment at all. Sabu was a businessman and had a reputation to uphold. Bakura appreciated that in a man.

"How can I be of service today?" Sabu asked.

"Have Mert sent to my room," he said.

Bakura needed to blow off some steam and Mert had always been his favourite. To put it nicely, she was eager to please. She didn't talk much which was an ideal quality in a woman.

"Of course," Sabu bowed. "But you don't fancy something new?"

"Not today," he half-lied.

Bakura made his way upstairs. He was a regular at the brothel and spent a lot of money there, so in return they looked after him well. He had his own room and when he made it inside he removed his robe and flopped down on the bed. A headache was forming and he closed his eyes, hoping to catch a moment's peace before his entertainment arrived.

Bakura had always paid for the company of woman. It was easier that way. They didn't cling to him. They needed not be showered with fancy gifts or made to feel special. There was only one thing men wanted and that could be easily obtained with money. Being a thief Bakura would visit the brothel in the early afternoon when there were less people about. Then come evening, the night belonged to him.

He heard the door open and close softly, and the scent of a woman filled the room. Mert hadn't taken long. Sometimes he thought she must wait for him. He opened her eyes and watched her crawl across the bed on all fours. She straddled him and ground her hips against his.

"I've missed you," she said, and ran her hands across his bare chest.

He smirked. The bruises on her arms were still visible from the other day. It was well known Bakura was not a gentle lover.

She leant down and tried to kiss him but he wouldn't allow it. He rolled her over quickly so she was beneath him. He had to be in control.