A/N: This is the first thing I've been compelled to post on here. It's largely unedited, but I did read through it once and removed quite a few large errors. This is largely based on a roleplay I have going right now~ This is totally how I want their relationship to go. c: The characters are Bakura and Marik, and this is told from Bakuras point of view, just in case that was unclear. Any out of character stuff belongs to me.
He started as just another victim, just another object to pay with, to hurt and threaten and frighten. He started just like every one else, a being I hated and lashed out at every opportunity, who I would cut and stab and hurt in every way possible at every tiny wrong he did, disciplined him to the finest degree in every way I could. He still fears me, I can see it in his eyes, and for good reason. He bears scars all over his body, carved into his bronze skin in curving arcs, beautiful in their own way, born from my anger and his forgetfulness. When he touched me wrong, when he spoke to me wrong, when he slipped and made a mistake, when he looked at me wrong, I would lash out, with knives and fists and even, once, a gun. He was my toy to play with and hurt as I pleased. He pretty much let me do it, too. He would weep and scream and tremble, and I would laugh and drive my knife in deeper, letting his blood flow openly out of wounds that he would bear scars from forever... But he never fought back.
He never ran away, and he still considered me as a friend, although I always told him the truth, that I don't have friends. There are people I can stand, people I use as playthings, and people I hate. Everyone fits into one of these categories. With the exception of him.
He fits into another category entirely, one he carved for himself in my mind, an irreplaceable presence in my life now, as much as I hate needing him so much. When I think of him, I get this dull ache in my chest, one almost like hate, but stronger, somehow. It makes me want to hurt him and protect him and make him cry. It makes me want to fuck him and stab him and kiss him, break him and shatter his mind. But then I don't at the same time, and I want to protect him from myself, because I know he can take care of himself in any other circumstance. He can take care of himself, but he's not immune to my own insanity. Sometimes, I'm not sure if he wants to be. I wouldn't call what I have for him love, exactly. I'm not sure what it is, and that makes me want to hurt him for confusing me like this.
In the moment, his violet eyes would be wild with fear, and he would beg me to stop. But immediately after he's recovered, he would continue to smile, as if erasing all the bad things out of his memory. He's strong, even though he doesn't seem it, although he doesn't think so, and I never would, either, if I hadn't seen and learned all the things he's been through, and kept his innocence. I respect him, although grudgingly. I feel like he doesn't deserve my respect, but then, does anyone? He's like a child, his innocence mainly untainted. He speculates and thinks as I used to, so long ago, although my innocence was shattered prematurely. How, in this time, he has managed to retain this innocence, is beyond me. He knows the reality of things, but he always has a bright outlook.
It confuses me to no end. That's mostly why I hurt him in the beginning, because I can't understand him, can't manipulate him the way I can my other victims, because his mind is set on a different track. Sometimes he's predictable, other times I have no idea what will come out of his mouth next. He's forgetful and seems to act mainly on impulse and instinct, which has almost got him killed several times. He thinks completely in the moment. He has no reaction to threats unless he actually has the knife to his throat. He has no regard for consequences. One of these days, I swear he's going to do something that I can't ignore, something that I'll punish with death. He knows I would kill him, given good reason. He's seen me kill before, for less reason than he's given me. I hate him. But I don't, really. I don't even know. What me and him have together is strange and probably unique. He calls it a relationship, but I don't consider it as that. He's got some strange ideas of how a lover should be, if he considers me as such.
Most people would be completely broken by now, what with all that I've done to him. Admittedly, I've gone much lighter on him than I have any of my previous victims, but that's only because of that odd ache in my chest. It prevents me from doing anything potentially fatal to him. He's strong. His mind and body can withstand any punishment that I give him. And he'll still fucking smile afterwards, as soon as the pain has abated enough for him to be distracted from it. It pisses me off so much, how he can be so damned happy all the time. I wonder why I still put up with him, after everything.
I wonder how he still puts up with me, how he can still look me in the eyes and say to me, 'I love you, Bakura.'