Sheet-and-Dagger
By the time a thief wakes, he is already in motion—indeed, his day oft begins long before consciousness ever touches him. Many times, Bakura will open his eyes only to find himself already on his feet, the coolness of the Sennen Ring jingling against his chest and languid muscles quivering to alertness.
It took him a long time to stop leaping out of bed at every sound in the night; especially in the city apartment his host had chosen. It took him even longer to stop feeling jumpy without the coils of the Ring ever-present about his neck.
Bakura will never get used to waking up to an armful of dusk and danger, in the gray hours of the morning.
He finds it impossible that Marik is so warm. That despite the ice lashing in the storm of those eyes when they are twined together amid cooling sheets he can reach out and find a living, breathing being. That despite the blood-smiles and the dark-daubed hands he can still find within a light, a blaze that burns hotter than Horus' eternal fire.
Marik is beautiful and dark and deadly, all twisted nightshade. And the gold of his hair is more tarnished than any treasure Bakura has ever stolen from a tomb. It makes his fingers itch, and more often than not he assuages the sensation by reaching for his Ring—then remembering that Marik's Rod is also nearby.
Bakura likes being the only one awake. He is always the first to open his eyes in the morning—to his knowledge. Nighttime is a moot point.
And so Bakura alone sees this hour of the morning, once again. So he calms the tingling in his fingers, watches Marik sleep.
And right now, Bakura does not want the sun to ever come up again.
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end
A/N: Written for ficklegoddess on an LJ challenge meme... I wanted to try this pairing out, too. :)