Bakura carried the limp, dead body through the house, carefully in his arms. 'Can't disturb him. He's only sleeping. Only sleeping.' Bakura reasoned with himself, brushing a blond lock from the unseeing amethyst eyes. 'He had a hard day, we both did. He's just resting. He'll be up soon.'
He carried him to their bedroom, shutting the door behind them. Bakura walked to Marik's side of the bed and lay him down, situating himself in his spot, as well. He reached for him, and pulled the body into his lap, his arms wrapped around it and he buried his face in the golden locks. No different from any other night. Bakura murmured his name over and over, rocking them both slightly back and forth, paying no mind to the blood drying on his cheek from the wound to the corpse's head.
It had been a day since he had died, and Bakura just now carried him home. Beforehand, he had sat in the alley for hours, holding the lifeless body to himself, refusing to move.
They had just been walking home, hand in hand, when someone darted out of an alley and demanded their money. They smirked at each other and Marik stepped forward, challenging him.
The man didn't even pause and shot Marik in the side of the head as he smirked and looked to Bakura, saying how they could win no problem. His eyes widened and he fell down, blood gushing from his head. The man ran away as Bakura sank to his knees, pulling Marik into his arms. He was fading fast, the light in his eyes dimming every second.
Bakura's face was in shock, and he kept pushing Marik's hair out of his bloody face, repeating "Hold on, you'll be okay… you'll be okay…".
Marik looked him in the eyes and mouthed weakly, 'Bakura…' as the last of the spark of life faded from his eyes, and he died in his lover's arms.
"N-… no. No, no… No… NO. NO! NO! " Bakura screamed, holding him tightly in his arms. "MARIK!" He screamed loudly, his voice echoing the empty streets. He cupped his cheek, his eyes screaming for him. "Don't you leave me!" He cried out, his thumb rubbing over the quickly cooling cheekbones. "Marik Ishtar, don't you leave me like this!"
And he sat there, with him, like that, for hours, before he picked him up and carried him home slowly, ignoring everything and everyone.
Bakura was in the first stage of death, denial. He knew in the very back corner of his mind that he was dead, and that same corner fought to bring reason back to the grief clouded mind. If he just held him tight enough, nuzzled long enough, muttered his name enough, he would come back to him. If he just held his hand to his face long enough, kissed his paling cheek enough, looked into the unseeing, hollow eyes long enough, his love would look back…
The first night he locked the door, and refused to answer it or their phones, just holding tightly to the stiffening body. He just kissed his neck and cheek, his breath hitching and then exhaling hard occasionally.
Everything was okay. This was just a bad dream. He would wake up soon, he would be lying on top of Marik who would kiss him gently and play with his hair, easing his fears away. He'd had this dream before. He would wake up soon. He had to.
Bakura mumbled to him. "Marik… Wake up… Come on, get up…" He frowned, and his eye and lips twitched, leaning down to his face and he kissed the corner of the corpse's lips. "Get up… We can have fun together… be together…" He promised, nipping at the piercings in the other's lips, something that would always elicit a good reaction in the boy.
No response. Obviously. Bakura grew desperate. He lay the body down and pressed his lips against the colder ones, his facial features contorting with attempts to master his anguish and concentrate it into kissing with every fiber of his being. His hands first entangled in the blond locks and then just cupped the cheeks, pulling the head forward, crushing his lips against unmoving counterparts.
He lay on top of the unmoving body, warming it as he moved his body against it. He kissed the cold lips hard and ground his hips against the still ones, his hands trailing down the stiff chest. Slipping his shirt off, he pushed up the other's shirt as well, his slightly cool hands rubbing over the chill chest, warming it with friction.
Moving his lips to the stiff neck, Bakura hummed against the skin, still grinding, and starting to pant lightly. "Marik… Marik…" He murmured in between bites, half desperately and half in want. He separated their hips and undid his belt, button, and zipper, taking hold of himself as the corpse had nothing to take hold of. Bakura stroked himself, making whining noises against the body, kissing the neck, collar bones, chest, whatever he could reach.
In a dash, he slipped off his own pants and the pants covering the corpse. Looking at the face again, his face muscles pulled into a grievous frown, and he leaned down and pressed his lips against the dead ones, his lively hips flush to his dead lover's.
Dead bodies need no preparation. And as for his pain, he didn't care.
Bakura spread apart the dead-weight thighs and aligned himself, deftly pushing himself in. He moaned against the now slightly warm lips, and started to pick up a rhythm, hips angled pointlessly to hit the corpse's prostate.
"S-see?" He mumbled between thrusts. "J-just like always…" He gasped and buried his face in the stiff shoulder, panting raggedly into it. Bakura moaned again and clenched his teeth. "Wh-... why aren't you moaning?" He was beyond reason now, completely desperate. "Fuck… Marik… D- … Would you rather take me? I-is that what you want?" He raised his head to the corpse's, looking at the blank eyes. "You can take me… I'll let you…" Bakura was so close to the cheek that his lips were pressed against the cheek as he spoke, causing the head to loll to the side slightly. "Take me… Marik… Marik, take me…"
He pulled himself out of the corpse and positioned himself on top of it, grasping the flaccid, dead body part in his hands and scrunched his face in pain, trying to force it inside of himself. "Y-you see…?" He said, finally cramming it in. "We're… We're fine…" He tried moving, but couldn't. So he just sat there, in pain, his pants now more like dry half-sobs. He looked down to the face again, and cupped the cheek. "We're together… Just you and me… You see?" He pressed a kiss to the dead lips, and stroked himself until he came. He tilted his head back and cried out for Marik as he did.
He came down from his orgasm high quickly, and didn't even pull himself off of the corpse's body as he lay down against the chest. Bakura wrapped the limp arms around himself and buried his face in his neck. "Marik…" He muttered, his eyes squeezed shut. "Marik, I love you… C-come back to me… please…" He pleaded, a single tear escaping his eye and running down his cheek against his will. "I need you... Marik, don't leave me… Please… I love you…"
Bakura stayed that way for three days, only leaving him for water. He muttered nonsense to the body, carrying out one-sided conversations. "Mm… I know, you're going to be late for work… Sure, of course I'll visit you… No, don't risk that... Well okay… I won't say no…"
I would be lying if I said I didn't want to bring Marik's ghost into the story to bring comfort to the broken spirit, but that's not how it works. His soul is gone. Marik is dead. Bakura is broken hearted at losing him, but there's nothing that can be done to bring him back. But there is one small comfort.
Marik had a ring. A gold ring with an amethyst stone and surrounding diamonds. A ring he gave to Bakura months ago so he would always have a piece of him with him. Bakura couldn't look at it, thinking of his death every time he did. So he gave it to Marik, telling him to wear it for him, so he would associate the ring with Marik, and not with his death. Marik wore it every day. And when Bakura got a grip on his mind, he took the ring from his finger and threaded the Millennium Ring's necklace through the ring, letting it rest just above the knot, ensuring it would always be close to him, the Spirit of the Millennium Ring, forevermore. He would always have the reminder of the colour of his love's eyes, the small piece of him Marik could give him, until time wore it to nothingness. It was a very small comfort, but anything was better than wallowing in misery with nothing to aid him.
If Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy, then the story of Marik and Bakura is the pinnacle of misery. Two perfect lovers drawn together over 5,000 years and the impossibility of a split personality, two soul mates, ripped apart far too soon by the hands of fate. One in the black abyss of death, the other immortal, walking the earth knowing his love was gone forever. If the other was in some afterlife, he would be burning in hell even in heaven, separated from his other half of his soul, waiting for him until the end of eternity. Romeo and Juliet suffered a miniscule amount of time compared to an eternity of being incomplete.
Bakura would visit Marik's grave when he could, replacing dead roses with fresh ones, murmuring "his favourite", every time. He would kneel before the plaque, a hand on the engraving 'Marik' and the other grasping the ring, and would mutter to it, always ending with "I miss you. I love you," before leaving the cemetery.
So Long and Good Night. So Long, not Good Night.