A/N
Hey guys! Just to let you know, I'm pretty new to this fandom so I hope I haven't broken any unwritten rules or anything like that. Please please review, I'd love to hear from you!
"Bakura!" Marik yelled from beneath the other boy. His face was pressed into the carpet, his right arm pinned behind his back in a vicious hold. The other was trapped underneath him. Bakura was sitting on Marik's back, tightening his grip slowly, obviously taking pleasure in the pain it was causing him.
"Release me, Bakura! Now! Before I…" Marik looked around the living room floor, searching for something to threaten Bakura with. Twisting his head, his eyes alighted on a pair of scissors, left carelessly on the carpet. For the first and only time in his life he thanked the Gods that Bakura was such a messy person. If the spirit had tidied up after himself as Marik was always urging him to, he would have been done for.
"Before you what?" Although he couldn't see him, Marik could imagine all too well the menacing look that was sure to be on his captor's face.
"I'm sorry Marik," Bakura continued, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "But you knew this would happen. You didn't really think you would get away with what you did, hmm?"
Marik had known that this would happen. And at the time it had seemed worth it, but now that he was facing his punishment he was definitely reconsidering.
"I said that I was sor- Ow! Do you not think you are overreacting, just slightly?" While he was talking, Marik began to slowly free his left arm, attempting to wriggle it free from beneath himself.
"Overreacting? Overreacting? Marik, you have dyed my hair purple!" Unable to control himself, Marik began to laugh breathlessly. "It is not funny," Bakura hissed, once again tightening his hold.
"Y…yes…it..is..it is," Marik choked out through his laughter. The pain was starting to make him dizzy. He moved his other arm another inch. "Are you going to break my arm, 'Kura?"
"Yes Marik, I am going to break your arm."
Marik laughed again. "Then get on with it."
"No. You are going to suffer slowly for this." The word 'slowly' was drawn out with malicious intent.
Marik, unable to stop himself, gave a moan of pain. He began to struggle again, aiming to free the arm trapped underneath his body. For all his strength, Bakura didn't weigh much, and Marik managed wriggle his limb free. Bakura didn't notice.
"Struggle all you desire, Marik, I'm not done with you. " With that, Bakura, taking Marik completely by surprise, simultaneously released his arm and flipped him onto his back. In an instant Bakura had straddled him, pinning both Marik's wrists to the floor, dramatically lessening the blonde's chances of reaching the scissors.
"Now this position, I like much better," Marik managed to say mockingly, trying to ignore the slowly fading pain in his right shoulder.
Bakura grinned wickedly. "I bet you do," Shifting slightly, his tormentor moved so that he could place his knees over Marik's upper arms, leaving his hands free so that he could…
"Bakura, I think that that is a really, really bad idea," Marik said, seeing the scissors appear in Bakura's hand. For the first time, he began to feel real fear. Usually, Marik could hold his own against his roommate, but Bakura was very, very pissed off. And he now had a blade in his hand.
Smiling malevolently, Bakura opened the scissors. A few strands of now purple hair fell over his face, making the picture seem even more menacing as his eyes were shadowed. Marik began to wish that he had never spiked Bakura's shampoo with the purple hair dye. Why it had seemed like such a good idea, he suddenly couldn't remember.
"Listen, Bakura, it's not-"
With a loud cracking sound, Bakura snapped the scissor blades apart. Marik winced at the sound.
"There is not a single thing that you could do that would make this okay, Marik." Bakura said, tossing one half of the scissors far out of reach. Marik began to struggle again.
"You're insane!" He yelled, as loud as he possibly could. "Somebody save me, there's a mad man trying to kill me help me!" His yelled were ignored. Switching tactics, Marik dropped his voice low. "If you ruin my face Bakura I swear to the Gods that there will be nowhere in this world or any other that you can hide."
Bakura's smile was scary."Hiding never was my style."
He leaned over Marik, holding the blade against the Egyptian's cheek. The millennium ring hung over Marik's throat, the spikes pointed down as if the very item itself was threatening him. Marik stilled instantly. With the scissor blade so close, struggling would only result in a lovely deep gash on his face.
While Marik didn't really think Bakura intended to hurt him, adrenaline was still rushing through his veins, his instincts urging him to fight, to struggle. It was making it hard to think.
"You won't hurt me, Bakura," He said, trying to sound reasonable. "We're friends. Roommates. Duel partners. We help each other. It's Marik."
Bakura's smile widened. "I don't care," He said, echoing his response the first time that the blonde had introduced himself.
Marik closed his eyes. Please Ra, don't let him leave scars.
Suddenly, Bakura grabbed a fistful of Marik's golden hair, and brought the blade across it. Marik opened his eyes, horrified as the sunlight strands fell around him.
"No!" He yelled, beginning to fight his captor, heedless of any injury to himself. "Not my hair! Let me go!"
Bakura sliced off another hunk of hair, causing Marik to struggle even more. Bakura let him struggle, not giving him any opportunity to free himself. Eventually, Marik went limp. Bakura began to laugh.
"Marik, only you would care more about your hair than your face."
"And only you, Bakura, would care more about your hair than your friend."
Bakura smirked. "Very true."
Suddenly, taking the spirit by surprise, Marik jerked upwards, aiming to hit Bakura in the face with his forehead. It didn't quite go as planned, the top of Marik's head slamming into his roommate's chin. But the effect was the same. Bakura jerked backwards, involuntarily freeing Marik's arms. Not one to waste an opportunity, the blonde boy kicked Bakura off him, before immediately lunging after him, effectively reversing their positions.
"You little prick! You could have chipped a tooth!" Bakura yelled, glaring up at Marik's hypnotic purple eyes. Marik grinned at the modern slur. It wasn't like Bakura to use obscenities from this time.
Marik studied him. The purple really did suit him. He'd see. Although… Marik ran a hand through his own hair. Parts of it were dramatically shortened, the ends rough and untidy. Marik glowered. Bakura knew how much he cared about his hair. Luckily for Bakura, the makeshift knife had been lost somewhere in the scuffle, otherwise he too might have had a compulsory haircut.
"You may call me vain, Bakura, but you are just as bad. This is not even your body!"
"It is now," He pointed out truthfully. It had been almost a year since he'd finally figured out how to use the power of the millennium ring to lock Ryou's soul away within his own mind, and gain full control over their shared body. Marik thought that Bakura still had a soft spot for Ryou, and talked him often in the confines of his mind, but he'd never admitted it. Thankfully for both of them, Marik's own dark side had been completely destroyed in the duel against Yami.
"This body is mine now and I do not appreciate you ruining it with your ridiculous. Purple. Dye."
"Yes, so I gathered. Well I think it looks good."
Bakura ignored this. "Get off me, boy."
"Do you promise not to hurt me? Or my hair?"
"I don't make promises that I can't keep."
"Then no, I will not get off you," Marik grabbed one of Bakura's slender hands, the forearm still pinned beneath his knee. Slowly, he began to bend back his thumb.
"What the- Marik! I'm supposed to be the sadistic one he- Uh!" He grunted, obviously not liking this taste of his own medicine at all.
Suddenly, Bakura's face changed, all traces of pain vanishing. His smile was light, and slightly sad.
"I am so sorry for cutting your hair, Marik. I was angry. I know that that is no excuse. But you still look beautiful to me, Marik. I only hope that you can forgive me," He held eye contact, lifting his head as much as his position would allow, gazing at Marik as if seeing him for the first time.
Marik wasn't impressed.
"Nice try, Bakura. Oh no wait, actually it wasn't. I don't think your heart was really in that little performance."
Bakura let his head fall back, defeated. "You are far too cynical, Marik."
Marik shook his head. "Prove to me that you are sorry and I shall let you go," His pressure on the newly purple haired man's thumb increased, causing him to flinch.
Bakura's face changed, seeming to some to a decision. And then, in a show of strength that Marik had forgotten the pale man possessed, he pulled both his arms free and wrapped them around Marik's waist, tilting him so that they were face to face. For a moment, he started into Marik's violet eyes, as if memorising what he saw there.
And then he kissed him.
It was forceful. Possessive. Hungry. There was nothing sweet about Bakura's kiss.
Their tongues met and melded. Their lips slid over each other in an unrelenting battle for dominance, and Marik suddenly realized just how long he had wanted this. Bakura's hands slid underneath the Egyptian's shirt, his fingers cold against the now flushed bronze skin, and his teeth came down hard on Marik's lower lip. Marik moaned.
And then, without warning, Bakura pulled away. He got lightly to his feet, and walked out of the room.
Marik sat stunned for a few moments, trying not to feel the disappointment flooding through him. Confused, he too stood, and went after Bakura.
He found him in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. The brilliant purple looked amazing with his skin, the white light in the room making him look even paler than usual. His hair was the same colour as Marik's eyes.
"It's only temporary, you know."
Bakura turned to stare at him. "What?"
"The dye will wash out in about a week or two," Marik turned to look at his own reflection. "My hair will take much longer than that to grow out," He grinned at his roommate. "You owe me. For the haircut."
When they had first been assigned to room together as tutors at the Elite Duellist's Academy, they had clashed every day. It was a power struggle, only enhanced by the fact that duelling after hours was banned. They had to fight it out in their own ways. Once, his roommate had started setting fire to the cards in Marik's deck one by one in retaliation for him regularly burning incense in their room. That incident had ended with the owner of the academy, banning matches and lighters, which had only further infuriated Bakura as he could no longer smoke on the grounds. Marik was sure that Bakura would have been fired long ago if it weren't for the fact that he, along with the other tutors, was one of the top duellists in the country. Although why anyone would allow their child to be coached by Bakura, regardless of his skill, was something that baffled Marik. Bakura, he knew, only took the job so that he could corrupt young duellists, and get paid doing it.
Eventually the two had come to the agreement that in the best interests of the both of them, a system had to be worked out. If one of them wronged the other, then they were in their debt. The person wronged was supposed to call in that favour, rather than taking revenge their own way. Needless to say, Bakura had far more trouble keeping to the system.
"I don't owe you anything, Ishtar."
Marik continued as if he hadn't heard. "And you owe me for hurting my arm."
Bakura narrowed his eyes, although there was a smile playing about his lips.
"That debt is paid. You hurt my hand."
"Regardless. You still owe me favour for the hair."
"And for scaring you out of your mind," Bakura reminded him, his smirk widening.
"Exactly," Marik agreed, not caring that he was admitting weakness. It was worth it to have Bakura in his debt.
Marik caught his wicked smile in the mirror.
"And what would you have me do?" The mirror Bakura said, eyes on Marik.
"Oh, Bakura, I'm sure I will think of something."