"You look ridiculous," Bakura said from the couch, watching Marik over the edge of his book.
The blond pursed his lips in concentration. "So what," he retorted, carefully trying to juggle the spackle and the putty knife while clinging to the bookshelf. He pointed to a large hole in the wall, a reminder of last night's escapades. "This is all your fault anyways. You just had to go a little too far, didn't you?"
"Oh, and you're not to blame at all?" Bakura grumbled. "You, sticking your ass out as far as possible, fluttering your eyelashes at me and your-" he put on a breathy, pseudo-alluring voice. "Take me here, right now. As hard as you can...let me feel your-"
"Don't you have better things to do?" Marik snapped, slamming the knife against the wall. "Torturing small animals maybe? Challenging the pharaoh to a duel? Or maybe you could, I dunno, help?"
"I am helping," The spirit replied coolly. "I'm keeping out of your way so as to not fuck you over. Again."
"What about the hole in the kitchen, the one from when you punched the wall because I was busy with dinner and wouldn't blow you until I was done?" Marik asked, sapping a large blob of putty on the wall and smoothing it over. "Or the fact that the washer squeaks something awful ever since I bent you over it and fucked you until you were screaming my name? Or the tiles that fell off when you threw me against the bathroom wall? Or the-"
"Enough," Bakura hid behind his book again, frowning. "You're exaggerating," he said, lowering his voice. "We don't do it everywhere."
Marik raised an eyebrow. He jumped off the ladder and crawled over Bakura with a gleam in his eye. "Liar," he said, grinning wickedly. "You'd do it anywhere, wouldn't you?" He stared at Bakura over the top of the large volume of PD James, trying to catch his eye. "Wouldn't y-"
"Maybe," Bakura said, not looking up. "But not while I'm reading." He pushed Marik off of him, turning the page as the boy fell to the floor with a dull thunk.
Marik brushed his hair away from his face, glaring. "Bitch."
"Your point?" Bakura asked, smirking. Marik sighed, returning to the bookshelf. Instead of clambering back on the ladder, he picked up a book, looking it over.
"Scoot," he muttered, plopping down and fitting his legs between Bakura's.
Bakura eyed him warily. "I thought you had a wall to fix."
"It has to dry before I can do anything else," Marik said. "Besides, this is as good a way as any to spend a Sunday afternoon. Wouldn't you agree?" He grinned, absentmindedly rubbing his foot against Bakura's as he became engrossed in his own read.
"Quite," Bakura murmured, smiling slightly.