Marik hates Halloween
He hates pumpkins and candy and costumed skanks because, as he proposes,
"Halloween is all about lying."
Pretending, he thinks, and dishonesty.
He says it over and over because he likes the way it makes him sound more sophisticated than he knows he is and he is grinning the biggest grin when he presents the idea to Bakura.
"I hate Halloween."
Why?
"It's all about lying." (Tied together with a smile and hand delivered with one slow blink of Marik's smug, sparkling eyes)
Bakura loves Halloween for the very same reason. He says:
Commit a crime and nobody can see past your Venetian mask.
Halloween is the night when monsters like us get to go out and play.
We are becoming someone new. Clean slate.
This is our night.
(Bakura sounds like a poet and he knows it. Ha. His words flow like music and he has the fingers of a pianist and in another life he was probably an artist, but in this one he twitches like a broken clock, all repetitive tics and tocks in an uneven rhythm and still learning how to live in a body and with a soul.)
Marik isn't listening but he nods his head when Bakura's pretty red mouth says, "party".
That's how he finds himself on this night, eyes hidden beneath lace and plastic and hair piled upon his head beneath a stately hat, lost in a sea of skin and bellies and breasts, bumping and grinding despite the frequent, "No thanks, I don't want to ruin my costume."
He's pressed up against what looks like an angel dressed as a devil or vice versa; it doesn't really matter because all that does is this person's electric skin against his and their artificially blue eyes that bore into lavender ones without seeing as their hips twist figure eights around each other. Marik doesn't know where Bakura is or what he looks like but he figures it doesn't matter because Halloween is all about lying-he fails to finish this thought because suddenly this stranger's lips are on his with a tongue in Marik's mouth.
Maybe tonight he will go home with this stranger and he will return tomorrow morning with Bakura's voice knocking on his skull like it always does but this time it will be different. It will reek with jealousy when he demands to know who this night was spent with, but Marik figures that he won't tell and simply lie and say he doesn't remember when there is no way that he could possibly forget this stranger's fingers on his hips or the way he presses the length of his body along Marik.
(Halloween is about lying, after all.)
Marik's lips press to this stranger's throats with his grand plans drawn and quartered and expectations rising like heat. They are pushing and pulling and flowing and ebbing in the dark and Marik has left a purple-red mark on this stranger's neck to prove to himself that this is real and all rational thought leaves when the stranger moans but comes crashing down when he says Marik because it sounds exactly like
Bakura grins like the moon and says You did know it was me, didn't you?
Marik swallows and shifts his weight and if anyone could have seen anything in the darkness of that nightclub, they would have seen his pupils dilate when he says yes.
Halloween is about lying, after all.