In front of the couch, sitting cross legged on the thin carpet, Marik played Vampire the Masquerade. The computer sat on the floor since they never bothered buying a desk. "Hey Bakura, Bakura, get in here and watch me play. I've almost beat the game!" Marik shouted towards the hall that lead to their bedrooms. Since the week before, Marik had been trying to act "normal," but he laughed too loud at everything Bakura said while avoiding eye contact or any situation that would have them within touching distance of one another.

Bakura appeared from the shadows of the hall, a small frown on his pale face. He walked into the living room proper, a tattered suitcase in his hand. "Marik, I'm leaving."

"You already did that before, Bakura," Marik lectured, not paying attention to Bakura and instead watching the loading screen of the game. "Remember? And then we intentionally took forever to have another Evil Council meeting. Hehe, the fangirls really freaked out, it was probably the third best evil plan I've ever had."

"That was your stupid Council. This time I'm leaving altogether."

Bakura's answer didn't phase Marik, "well when are you coming back?"

"I'm never coming back. I already have a new flat."

Marik turned his head, "what?"

Bakura repeated his first sentence, "I'm leaving."

"You can't leave," Marik pushed the keyboard off of his lap and stood up.

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"Because, because we're going to defeat Yugi Moto. Together."

"Are we really? Because so far your best evil plans were to steal the Pharaoh's leather pants and rearrange Yugi's sock drawer."

"Silly Bakura, that was only to throw him off balance," Marik argued. "Soon we'll plan our ultimate revenge."

Bakura gave a single nod, "good luck with that." He stepped towards the door but Marik blocked his path. Bakura glared at him, "get out of my way, Marik."

Marik shook his head, "no."

Bakura stepped around him, but Marik positioned himself in front of Bakura again, this time he grabbed Bakura's arms above the wrists so he couldn't move. "Bakura, you can't leave before we finish our evil plans," he insisted.

"Let go of me."

"No, I command you to stay."

Bakura clenched his teeth and turned his head away from Marik. "Marik, you have to let go right now. Do you understand?"

"No."

"Let me go, because if you don't, I am going to kiss you and I won't be able to stop myself."

Silence hit the room like dead weight against cement. Marik's wide, lavender irises stared at Bakura, but he didn't let go. Bakura dropped his suitcase and twisted his wrists so he could grab Marik's arms in return. He pulled Marik close and leaned forward, pressing their lips together. His intention was a single kiss and then escape out the door, but to his surprise, as he pulled away, Marik leaned closer and kissed him a second time, then a third. Bakura pulled his arms out of Marik's grip so he could dig his fingers into Marik's gold hair.

Marik's saliva tasted sweet against Bakura's tongue. The spirit kept his eyes closed, allowing his stolen body's other senses to absorb the experience, the sound of Marik's breathing, the subtle smell of his cologne, the feel of his soft hair in Bakura's hands, the pressure of Marik's lips, the warmth of their tongues. Bakura realized that they weren't going to stop. He turned Marik towards the hallway, pushed him backwards and, still kissing, they stumbled towards their rooms. Pressing Marik against the wall, Bakura whispered in his ear "which room?"

"I . . ." Marik muttered, the sentence lost to a soft moan as Bakura kissed the nape of Marik's neck.

"Sod it, mine's closer." Bakura dragged Marik three feet down the hall, and kicked the door open on their left. They entered the room and Bakura used his foot to shut the door behind them. He lowered Marik on the worn, ivory-colored comforter. Bakura slid his t-shirt up over his shoulders and head and dropped the cloth on the floor beside the bed before joining Marik on the mattress.

Bakura sucked on Marik's lower lip and his fingers fumbled with the button of Marik's pants. He kissed along the bottom ridge of Marik's abs, directing the kisses downward until his mouth enveloped Marik's erection. That's when Marik froze, pushing Bakura away. "Stop," he gasped.

Bakura sat up, breathing hard, "what's wrong this time?"

Marik sat up, "I – I just remembered that I like women. So I'll just go back to my game now."

Bakura blew an impatient sigh from his mouth, "you're not aroused by men? Then was that the Millennium Rod I had in my mouth? I thought it'd have more of a metallic after taste."

Marik covered himself with one of Bakura's pillows. "Do you have to be condescending about everything?"

Bakura shrugged, "you make it too easy."

Marik starred at Bakura without saying a word.

Bakura frowned, "I know you want me to stay and be your villain side kick," he exhaled a raspy breath, "but I can't do it anymore."

"Not my sidekick," Marik whispered, "I've never called you that."

Bakura stared at Marik, after a moment he shifted to the edge of the bed, reached to the floor, and grabbed his shirt.

"Bakura," Marik grabbed Bakura's arm to stop him from moving.

Bakura closed his eyes, "please, let me go." The please sounded foreign from Bakura's mouth, something his host would say, but not him. He shrugged Marik's hand off of his arm and walked towards the door.

A frustrated growl erupted from Marik's throat. He launched himself off of the bed and tackled Bakura to the carpet.

"Marik, what the—" Bakura tried to object, but Marik's mouth reduced his words to indignant muffles.

Marik dragged Bakura back to the bed, tossing him on the mattress like a doll, and diving on top of him.

Bakura pushed Marik back so he could breath, "you're sure this is what you want?"

Marik nodded his head yes.

"You're sure this is what you want?" Bakura repeated, raising an eyebrow, "because if you push me away or say you like women one more bloody time, I'm putting your Millennium Rod in the microwave and blowing this entire apartment to hell."

"It's what I've always . . ." Marik swallowed.

"Wanted?" Bakura finished the sentence for Marik.

"Shut-up," Marik bit down on Bakura's shoulder in order to drop the conversation.

They rolled to the head of the bed, Bakura swung on his side and slammed open the drawer to the nightstand. He ripped a bottle of Gun Oil from the drawer and unscrewed the cap. The orange top tumbled away from Bakura's fingers, he allowed the plastic to cartwheel along the carpet and out of sight.

Marik pounced on Bakura again. A thwack echoed in Bakura's ears and black flashed through his vision as his forehead smacked the head-board of the bed. Bakura raised his hand to rub his skull.

Marik didn't apologize, he seized Bakura's hips and jerked him towards the center of the bed. Grabbing the lube, Marik poured the clear liquid on himself. Marik pushed Bakura's legs apart and pumped his fingers into him. Marik didn't wait long, however, before he tried to force himself inside Bakura completely.

"Easy," Bakura hissed, he crunched his body to a half sitting position and reached for the small bottle and drenched both Marik's erection and his asshole with more lubrication. Slow this time, Marik slid inside and Bakura gasped, screwing his eyelids shut.

Marik didn't speak or call out, he simply pushed and pulled breaths of air into his lungs in rhythm with his movements, his hands clenching Bakura's hips.

Finally, a way to keep him quiet for twenty minutes.

Bakura suppressed the chuckle the thought produced in his lungs. Marik sped his pace and the thoughts in Bakura's head dissolved, leaving only the sound of breath and the sensation of their bodies moving.

Marik held Bakura's hips tighter and leaned closer. His gold hair fell over his copper shoulders and onto Bakura's frost complected chest. Marik's breathing grew needful and rough. Bakura hitched his hips up into Marik's thrusts, encouraged by the feedback. Bakura knew Marik was close, measuring his partner's status by the muscles flexing tight across Marik's body.

Bakura stroked himself, grip firm, pace slow but increasing in speed. He kept his gaze trained on Marik's chest and face, ripples of muscle, wisps of hair, smudged kohl around the eyes, drops of sweat carving trails along tanned skin. Bakura never looked away, as if ensuring the moment was real and not a dream-sequenced plot device used to entertain a pantheon of voyeuristic gods.

"Bakura," Marik choked out the name, barely a whisper of air from his mouth.

His name, out of Marik's mouth, shocked the nerves in Bakura's stomach and groin. Left hand clutching at the ivory comforter, a loud and low-pitched moan poured from Bakura's mouth as the orgasm overwhelmed him.

"Yes," Marik pressed harder into Bakura's body.

Bakura gasped, the full force of Marik's thrusts hurt, but Bakura clenched his teeth and savored the experience. Marik held his pace for another minute, the muscles in his deltoids and pectorals stretched taunt across his shoulders and chest. He threw his head back, sucked in a final breath, and held it.

Marik dropped his forehead onto Bakura's sweat-drenched chest. They held together for a moment, panting but otherwise silent. Marik withdrew and dropped to the mattress. Bakura folded his arms behind his head like a pillow, he stared at the ceiling and enjoyed the the hazy, warm, blankness of his thoughts.

Marik lay on his stomach, his forearms and elbows pressing into a pillow but his upper body pushed up so that his head was above the mattress. "Bakura," Marik whispered.

"Hmmm?" Bakura turned when he heard the unexpected discontent in Marik's voice.

"Maybe I am gay."

Bakura rolled his eyes and exhaled in relief. "It'd be a buggering shame if someone with your abs were straight."

The boy with skin the color of baked brown bread and hair the color of butter only lowered his face an inch closer to the pillow. "Villains aren't supposed to be gay."

Bakura scowled, "why the bloody hell not?"

"They're supposed to be masculine and sinister and uncaring, like Melvin. I'm not really any of that. Who will take me seriously?"

Bakura shook his head, "Yugi Moto and his crew of slobbering idiots have never taken us seriously. They waltz through life with card games and friendship speeches and because they win they get the title of protagonist. It's all bullocks." Bakura smirked, needing to change the subject. "I'm still moving."

"What?" Marik jerked up, kneeling against the mattress so he could stare at Bakura.

The smirk stretched wide on Bakura's face. "This place is a rat's nest." Bakura lifted himself off the pillow, leaning against his arms, the wicked grin never left his mouth. "You're welcomed to move in with me – but it's a one bedroom flat."

"I hate you." Marik crashed into Bakura's chest, twisting his arms around Bakura and using a shoulder as a pillow.

Bakura wrapped his left arm around Marik and squeezed, the slender muscles in his bicep burgeoned and relaxed.

Marik chuckled, "I guess I have to move with you. Your evil plans are horrible, Bakura, someone needs to help you think of better ones. Revenge is very important. It gives us something to d– I mean, it is the reason why we are evil. Yes. Revenge! Oh, and we're totally taking my bedroom furniture, everything you have is ugly."

Bakura grunted to acknowledge he heard Marik, but didn't care whose furniture they used. His eyes closed, he could feel it again, the terrifying contentment he felt last week on the sofa with Marik. "You're not going to change your mind and scream at me when we wake up, are you? Like you did last week?"

"Depends on my mood." Marik answered without hesitating.

Bakura scowled.

"And," Marik ignored Bakura's expression, "we need to have everything ready for the next Council Meeting."

"What's wrong with stabbing Yugi in the face? Then we can be done with the whole mess," Bakura grumbled.

Marik chuckled, his chest shaking against Bakura's ribs. "Bakura, you're so bad at being a villain. I don't see how you managed it before you met me."

"No," Bakura argued, "I was a respectable villain before meeting you. My victims would crawl before me, begging for mercy never given. I haven't killed a single person in months because I'm always being dragged on your half-baked plans – that never work."

Marik laughed harder, it took a moment for him to compose himself before offering a rebuttal. "Actually, my schemes go exactly as planned."

Bakura countered with three words, "leather pants, Marik."

"I didn't like your old pants."

"What? You said we were stealing them because they were the source of the Pharaoh's power."

Marik shrugged, "and you were dumb enough to believe that?"

Bakura slapped his forehead, the familiar Marik headache pushed through the veins in his temples. "Nothing else would make sense."

"Your butt looks really good in those pants."

"If you wanted me to have new pants why didn't you just ask to go shopping?" Bakura growled, his teeth clenched.

Marik teased Bakura's wild hair, "the mall is boring."

"Marik?" Bakura asked, his mind reviewing dozens of ridiculous evil plans only fit for cartoons. "Have you been sabotaging our plans for shits and giggles?"

"Sabotaging? No." Marik answered with candid honesty. "Foolish fool, I already told you, everything goes as I plan. That's what villains do – devise great schemes and execute them without flaw." His face beamed as he spoke. "Thanks Bakura, I didn't think anyone would fear a villain that liked pedicures and Lady Gaga music, but you reminded me that being crafty is just as important as being ruthless." He gestured to Bakura, "you're good at being ruthless, and I'm good at being crafty. We're like peanut butter and chocolate, only villains!"

"I should drown you," Bakura growled.

"Like a sack of dumb puppies?" Marik grinned. He stopped and jumped up to his feet, still on Bakura's mattress. "Oh frig, my game! And I need a shower. I feel sticky." He leapt off the bed and ran out of the room.

Bakura turned on his stomach and shoved his pillow under his head. "Good riddance," he snorted, closing his eyes and letting the far away sounds of music and shower water escort his mind closer to unconsciousness, no need for self-induced stress relief this time.

You grumble, but now that he's gone, you miss him, don't you? It's cute.

Piss off and stay out of this.

You just gave away my virginity, I think I have a right to be present.

You weren't complaining at the time.

I didn't say I was against it, simply that my presence is justifiable considering the circumstances.

Bakura didn't care enough to argue with his host. Instead he ignored the quiet voice and allowed his spent body to finish careening to sleep.

Thirty minuets later, Marik shook Bakura hard, ripping him from peace and dreams. "What?" Bakura slapped Marik's hands away, "piss off, I'm sleeping."

"Oh no, you have to watch me beat the game."

"Aren't you even a little tired?"

"Are you kidding?" Marik cheered, "I've never felt this energetic before!"

Bakura grunted as Marik pulled him to his feet. He had enough time to snatch his blanket and bring it with him to the couch as Marik, wrapped in a towel with wet strands of hair clinging to his marked back, resumed playing his game from the last save. They bantered back and forth for several minutes, but Bakura couldn't resist the urge to fall back asleep.

Bakura awoke confused. He slept on the couch and held Marik, who fit snug and perfect in between Bakura's legs, on his chest, and in his arms. Their position was too similar to the week before. In his mind, Bakura checked off the differences between the present moment and the previous week. They were naked, Bakura still oily. The ivory comforter cocooned around both of them. Marik's towel lay discarded near his keyboard. His suitcase lay face down on the carpet near the door. Each piece of evidence that the day's events weren't a dream set Bakura's mind closer to ease. He sighed and sunk deeper into the sofa cushions.

"Oh now you're awake," Marik snorted, "you missed the end. I was a total bad-ass. There was an explosion and everything." He used Bakura's chest as a chin rest. "Anyway, I've been thinking."

"That's never good," Bakura grunted.

"Silence," Marik smacked Bakura's chest. "This is important. If the fangirls find out about this, we will never hear the end of it, Bakura. Between the art, the fics, and the fights on Tumblr, our lives will become a frigg'n nightmare. We can't let anyone know."

Sound advice, which was unsettling coming from Marik, but Bakura still gave him a sinister grin and asked, "what? You don't want me to hold your hand in public and call you cute pet names?"

Marik sat up, scowling. "I'm serious, if you do anything stupid, I'm going to tell everyone you let your host sleep with a teddy bear at night."

Now Bakura sat up, crossing his arms over his chest, "Teddy Scare, it's completely different," he pointed a finger at Marik, "and if you tell anyone that, I'll let it slip that you have tendershipping doujinshi in your yaoi collection."

"Oh, you saw those?" Marik's cheeks flared bright coral. He shook his head, balled his hands into fists, and shouted, "then I'll let everyone know about the Magic the Gathering cards hidden in your sock drawer!"

Bakura blanched, "uh, those aren't mine. They're . . . also my host's."

"Ha," Marik snickered, brushing bangs out of his face, "sure."

"Anyway," Bakura stared at the carpet and changed the subject, "I wasn't going to say anything. I don't want to deal with the fangirls anymore than you do."

"Good," Marik nodded his head once. "Now that we settled that, I'm hungry, you should make us some lunch."

Bakura realized he was also hungry, but leaned back into the sofa cushions and muttered, "do it yourself."

Marik grinned, "Oh, come on, Fluffy, go make me a sandwich."

"I'm not making you a bloody sandwich," Bakura insisted, standing up and walking away. "Marik, you're an idiot," Bakura grumbled, all the while wondering why he was walking towards the kitchen.