"Hey mister?" A young boy in the middle of the tour group raised his hand,waving it slightly until it caught the guide's attention.
"Yes?"
"So does anyone actually live here in this house?"
The tour guide paused and put on a pensive face. "Not unless you count...the ghosts." He grinned at the boy's face, horrified but trying desperately not to show it. "No one has lived here since 1869, though there is a gardener who still lives in the old caretaker's cottage...have to keep the place looking spotless as it always was, you know." His eyes darted around the room, motioning the small group closer. "But, he's told me personally that some nights, he'll look up at the house and see candle light in the window. Sometimes-" He leaned in closer, a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. "Sometimes, he's even heard someone screaming from this very room. But if he runs up to check, there's never any one there." A collective shiver ran through his audience as he turned back to the room, smiling at the success of the performance.
"Let's press on, before it gets dark, shall we?"
The pack of tourists moved on and, from the back of the throng, Marik and Bakura flashed each other knowing smiles.
"Heading out, Jim?"
"Yep, just locked up. You gonna go in later and hunt some ghosts?"
The gardener laughed. "Maybe if there weren't a James Bond marathon on tonight. You have a good night Jim."
"You too, Frank."
A car engine revved and drove away as Frank hurried back into his cottage, shutting and locking the door.
Marik smiled. "Coast's clear." He and Bakura straightened up, brushing the leaves from their hair. "Let's go."
"Fucking finally," Bakura muttered. As they tiptoed up to the manor, he produced the key from his pocket, carefully unlocking the servant's side door. Marik hoisted himself over the few broken steps, hanging on the railing as he held out a hand. Bakura ignored it, landing gracefully on the step behind him.
"Hurry it up," he hissed, pushing him aside and stealing silently up the stairs. Marik followed, barely bothering to give the Victorian sitting room a glance as he passed. They had seen it before, wandering the halls and tracing the patterns on the wallpaper. The intricately carved arches and upholstered furniture, unused for years until the restoration company had moved in. Now everything was polished and dusted to gleaming splendor. Splendor that had been, for the last few weeks, their home.
Their footfalls were soft as they hurried up the stairs, retreating to the master bedroom. Marik pulled a match and a small stub of a candle out of his pocket and set it in the silver holder, lighting it and throwing their shadows against the wall.
"Finally," he murmured, grabbing Bakura around his waist and kissing him fiercely. Bakura's fingers dug into his shoulders, lips smashing against lip. He pushed him towards the bed, kissing him onto the velvet bedspread.
"Undress," he demanded, his breath pooling on Marik's collarbone. His hands were already busy, shrugging off his shirt and tossing it aside. Marik's joined it on the floor, their hands gliding over the freshly revealed skin as their lips parted and tongues tangled slickly, pulling between their mouths in a slippery tug of war.
Marik lifted his hips to Bakura's, grinding up against him. Pale slender fingers pushed him away only to unbutton his pants and pull them from his legs. They trailed along the inside of his thighs, the contours of his abs, the creases and lines that all dipped downwards towards his cock.
"Just fuck me already," Marik growled, leaning back on his elbows. "I'm not going to wait much longer."
Bakura smirked, pulling the lube from his pocket before unzipping his pants. "Like you'd get up and leave now," he said, coating his own length as slowly as possible. "If you were so frustrated, why didn't you jerk off hours ago?"
"I did." Marik's fingers were already inching towards his legs, impatient. Bakura swatted them away, fingers brushing the tender flesh. Marik shivered, hips bucking involuntarily towards Bakura's hands. "Fuck-"
Swiftly, Bakura hoisted Marik's legs over his shoulders, his hands already pressing into Marik's hips. "Gladly," he said. He pushed in, savoring every shiver and twitch he could feel running through Marik's body. As he began to move, he slid a hand up to stroke Marik's cock, just as hard and fast as to bring a cry to his throat. He writhed, moaning as he thrust up against Bakura's hand their bodies bounding against the edges of how far desire and passion could take them. The red velvet curtains surrounding the bed fluttered with their movement, curling around their moans and whispers as they hurtled towards orgasm.
"Harder," Marik's fingers wound around the silver strands of Bakura's hair, anchoring himself against the rapid thrusts and the pumps that inched him closer and closer to the headboard. "Ngh, Bakura-"
"Shh," Bakura grunted, too close to form many words at all. "Quiet."
"You wanna-make me?" Marik panted, ginning breathlessly. Bakura returned the look effortlessly and, the challenge issued, pounded him hard and fast until Marik breathed a strangled cry, shivering and splattered with his own cum. Blood pounded in his ears, the floodgates bursting open in the pit of his stomach as he thrust again before his hips rolled to a halt. They lay there for a moment, eyes closed, ecstasy still racing through their veins.
Marik's hand slid out of Bakura's hair, draping itself over his shoulder. "Get over here," he panted, pulling back against the pillow. Bakura joined him, wrapping his arm around his waist and pressing his lips to the soft skin behind his ear.
"Tell me this isn't the best idea we've ever had," he murmured, closing his eyes. "The best place we've ever stayed."
"One of them, at least," Marik replied drowsily, rolling into Bakura's arms. "Until that gardener catches us."
"We'll scare him off eventually." A slow smile crossed his face as sleep waved them closer. "Ghosts have a way of doing that."