Psychoshipping is Boss
Setting: Abandoned House
The dim morning light carved strange shadows into the bare brush as it struggled through the forest, giving the landscape an eerie quality complimented by the silence of dawn. The wind was brisk and rattled what surviving leaves there were, occasionally sending one or two spiraling up to dance in the frigid air. Such surreal beauty did not interest Bakura, however. In fact he barely saw the world as he glided over the various sticks and stones along his path. It wasn't until he came upon a dilapidated house all shriveled and blackened with age that he even bothered to look up. The abandoned house stood in a small clearing and, much like Bakura himself, was a solitary figure in the lonely wilderness.
"When I said to call me anytime with matters regarding our plans for Battle City, that did NOT include 5 o' clock in the morning in the middle of nowhere!" muttered Bakura bitterly to himself, as he crunched through the lightly frosted undergrowth and nimbly vaulted over a heap of rotting lumber. He arrived at the threshold of the old house unsurprised to find no door to open and strolled in, wincing slightly as the wood creaked underfoot. He glanced around, noting the fractured walls and beams, the pools of water gathered in the corners, and the mildewy furniture left forgotten long ago.
Bakura gingerly stepped into what he assumed to be a kitchen, swatting at spider webs and frowning briefly at his reflection in an ancient mirror warped with time. "Marik!" He called out. "Where the hell are you, I've got tea waiting for me at home!" His scowl only deepened when there came no answer.
Spotting a staircase, he began to carefully climb it, shouting once again: "MARIK. For god's sake. I'm not in the mood for these petty games."
When Bakura reached the top he began to shiver slightly as cold drafts slithered in from large mouth-like windows that had broken glass as teeth.
"Goddammit." He swore, his breath visible in the chill.
Suddenly Bakura heard the faintest snippets of jazz, drifting in from somewhere down the long expanse of crooked hallway. He cut through the debris lying hap-hazardly across the floor, and arrived quickly at the source of the warbling: a weathered record player sitting on a crate.
Bakura sneered and kicked the player impatiently. "Just what the devil is he playing at?"
"Don't like jazz?"
Bakura froze. The voice had come from behind him, but it wasn't the abruptness that had sent the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up in alarm, it was the sound itself. The voice was similar in inflection to Marik's, but had a malicious, almost predatory character to it uncustomary in his accomplice's usual tone. Cautiously, Bakura turned around, assessing the man standing casually in the doorway. The man shared Marik's caramel skin and alluring violet eyes, but his wild hair and cruel smile screamed that this was another beast altogether.
"…You're not Marik." Bakura ventured, eyes narrowing. He felt his body tense, ready for anything.
Chuckling darkly, a smirk crept across the man's face. "You're mistaken. I am the true Marik. The one you know and tolerate is my weaker side, my pathetic whimpering little shadow who seems to follow me wherever I go...I tired of him stumbling along, blocking my way, so I removed him for the time being…" Yami Marik tilted his head to one side and leaned on the door frame, as if challenging Bakura to do something about it.
Bakura grimaced, thoughts racing. "Alright then, Marik," he replied sharply, "Enlighten me as to why you called me out to this god-forsaken place. Just what is it you want?"
As soon as the words left his mouth, the smoldering gleam in Marik's eye answered Bakura's question. Bakura instinctively took a step back, his heart beginning to pound faster as warning bells clamored in his head.
Marik grinned, revealing gleaming fangs. "Hmm. What indeed. Oh how I wonder…" he trailed off meaningfully and began to slowly advance towards the Brit. Bakura couldn't help but be mesmerized by Marik's easy swagger, brimming with dangerous grace and power, like the gait of a lion stalking its prey.
Bakura held his ground, keeping his expression stony as to not betray any of the emotion raging within him. Truth be told, he'd always been rather fond of his partner-in-crime (he wouldn't have tolerated the boy's presence if he didn't) and had, once or twice, found himself even toying with the idea of deepening their relationship. But as soon as those cancerous little thoughts wormed their way into his brain, he had choked them in seething contempt and locked them away, deep down inside. It was mainly a physical attraction, he had surmised, for more often than not Marik's predictably flamboyant personality grated on Bakura's nerves, extinguishing any flame he may have felt for the youth. Not to mention the fact that Marik had no backbone, always ordering about servants to do his bidding rather than going out and getting things done himself. As a man who had relied on his own strength for centuries, Bakura had no tolerance for such sniveling dependency…
But this.
This was not the Marik he knew. This man clothed in a clingy black tank top and cargo jeans, exotic gold wrapped attractively around his neck and muscular biceps… he was different.
Yami Marik shared the same features Bakura had found appealing in the Egyptian's hikari but transformed them, accentuated them, much like a sheet of metal being crafted into a beautiful dagger. When Yami Marik spoke it was with the crackle of inherent authority, the assurance of ultimate dominance. His eyes sparkled not with trivial musings but with razor-like ferocity and a bloodlust that intimidated even a man as experienced as Bakura.
Intimidated. Now that was a feeling the Brit hadn't enjoyed in a long, long while. Bakura felt the corners of his mouth twitch into the shadow of a smile, even as the taller man loomed over him, just inches away.
"Aren't you going to run, Thief?" chortled Yami Marik, his lips curling in demonic glee.
Bakura sneered, meeting the other's piercing gaze steadily. "…I wasn't aware that adults run from children."
Yami Marik beamed at the remark, laughing softly. "My, my. How surly we are today."
"Well forgive me for not enjoying the 20 degree weather and this poor excuse for a house." Bakura replied snarkily.
With a noncommittal hum, Marik folded his arms and began meandering in a lazy circle around Bakura. Bewildered, Bakura rotated to keep an eye on Marik as the Egyptian strolled along on his circuit.
"…What are you doing." Bakura said finally, annoyed.
"Admiring the view~"
"Excuse me?"
"Did I stutter?"
"…"
"Didn't think so."
"Look, Marik, I don't know what you're playing at but-"
Completely ignoring Bakura, Yami Marik ran his tongue over his lips then lunged forward, closing the space between them in a matter of seconds. He snagged Bakura's pale wrists and through sheer force slammed Bakura to the wall, pinning him there.
Leering, Marik leaned in and whispered into Bakura's ear. "I'm not going to let you escape. I'll get what I want."
"Fool. Do you confuse me for my spineless host?" Bakura sneered, laughing dryly. "I have the experience of 5000 years and you, a spoiled brat, expect to best me?"
"I know full well who you are and your capabilities, Spirit. I think it may be YOU doing the underestimating here…"
As if to prove his point, Marik licked Bakura's jugular sensually, his tongue hot against chilled skin. Bakura clenched his teeth, his control slipping as he allowed himself to savor the sensation for the briefest of moments, before twisting Marik's arm around and knocking the Egyptian's long legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.
A small smile flickered across Bakura's face as he pressed a foot to Marik's neck, loving the control and dominance the position gave him. "Tsk tsk. Pathetic. I guess the big bad wolf is all talk and no bite. Damn shame. Now it's been fun but I have other things to do besides standing around as your bloody babysitter. Goodbye, Mar-"
Abruptly Marik shot a muscular arm up and hooked a finger around Bakura's belt loop, forcefully pulling downwards and throwing the white-haired man off balance.
Seizing the opportunity, Yami Marik got back on his feet and caught Bakura as he stumbled by him. He locked the Brit into a tight headlock from behind, laughing manically. "Looks like I've caught a thief. And now, your punishment for all your wicked deeds…" He tightened his grip on Bakura, snaking a hand up his thin sweatshirt, fingers grazing Bakura's skin tantalizingly.
Almost immediately, Bakura dropped to the floor, slithering out from under his shirt and the vice-like arms of his captor. Pivoting sharply, Bakura smashed an elbow into Marik's gut, bringing the taller man to his knees. Bakura chuckled mockingly, then kicked the side of Marik's face. With his back flat on the ground, Marik raised an eyebrow at Bakura, as the shirtless man stood between his splayed legs and loomed over him.
"On the floor. Again. You look better on your knees," Bakura said, his expression unreadable, but his eyes afire.
"Mmf... Don't I get a reward for catching such a legendary criminal?" Marik replied suggestively, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Funny. I don't recall being 'caught'. Unless I'm mistaken, you're not really in the position to be making demands…" Pausing, Bakura took in the sight of Yami Marik nonchalantly lying on the crooked floor, with that seductive glare and sly smile plastered across his face. That smile seemed to speak of so many interesting possibilities…
The cold air betrayed Bakura's heavy breathing as he struggled with his burning desire to just leap on top of the prone Egyptian, to feel his skin smashed up against Marik's, blood to blood, soul to soul. Lust boiled inside him, coursing through his veins, almost making his knees weak with its overwhelming intensity.
Without a word Bakura swooped down, roughly grabbing the front of Yami Marik's shirt and crushing his lips to his own in a fiery kiss. Lacerations of intense pleasure surged through the two men as they kissed furiously, tongues entangled, teeth clashing together, until suddenly Bakura pulled back, smirked, and drove a right hook into Marik's jaw.
Marik blinked in surprise as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. For a second Bakura thought he might have gone too far, but immediately after Marik began laughing like a child presented with a new toy, licking the blood off his face with deft flick of tongue.
Bakura smirked and shook his head disbelievingly. "My god you're just like me aren't you? A creature born from violence and hate, from blood and shadow."
"Oh don't flatter yourself, old man," Yami Marik rumbled with a wolfish grin, "The only thing you need to know about me is how hard I want to fuck you right now."
"Hah! How crude. Though I must admit, you intrigue me. And it's been too long since I've heard those words."
"Does that mean I win this little game, thief?"
"Not quite. I like watching you squirm around clutching at straws. Show me how much you want me. If I'm not impressed I'll just kill you where you stand. "
"You know all the right things to say, my dear. I think this'll go nicely…" Marik said, leaning forward.
"Hmph. What exactly do-" Bakura was cut off abruptly by Marik tackling him to the ground, the force almost knocking his breath away. He winced as he landed on shards of broken glass, the resulting crimson stark against his own white skin.
Hungrily Marik lapped up some of the blood that had smeared along Bakura's torso, his tongue skillful as it traced the contours of muscle. His hands entangled in Marik's wealth of blonde hair, Bakura bit back a moan as the heady combination of pain and pleasure roiled inside him. Flowers of blood began blooming along the length of Yami Marik's khaki pants as he braced it against Bakura's hip, the glass slitting the thick fabric with ease. Bakura wasted no time and reached downwards, unbuckling Marik's belt while biting at the Egyptian's cheek sensually. Marik kissed Bakura's neck and collarbone fiercely, grinning as the belt slid free of his jeans. With a wicked smile, Marik snagged the belt from Bakura's hands, pulling it taut and tilting his head in a wordless question.
Bakura raised a silver brow in answer, mischievously running a finger along Marik's muscular chest, then paused, fingering the dark cotton of Marik's shirt thoughtfully. Then with a sudden smile, Bakura reached over to the side and grabbed a large sliver of glass.
Though Marik's face adopted a manic, almost feral expression of lust, he remained motionless as Bakura slid closer with the blade of glass and lovingly pressed it against Marik's neck, slicing a shallow line that spilled tiny tendrils of red before inching downwards and slowly scissoring off the oppressive tank top. With a low growl, Marik waited for Bakura to finish while maintaining eye contact, before seizing Bakura's hands and binding them tightly together with the belt, the heavy leather cutting into Bakura's wrists painfully.
"Mmm… " Bakura purred, hooking his bound arms around Marik and stealing a wet kiss that deepened as the two men fought for control, Marik's hands almost bruising the landscape of Bakura's pale body. Marik broke away from the kiss with a hum of pleasure, smirking as he moved down to unzip Bakura's pants with his teeth and slid off the garment with Bakura's assistance. Bakura inhaled sharply as the movement jostled the glass beneath them, sending fresh shards into his back and legs.
Chuckling darkly, Yami Marik threw the pants behind him, then came back up to smother Bakura in a vicious kiss that left both reeling for breath. Panting slightly, Bakura traced the edge of Marik's jaw with kisses, pausing when he reached the Egyptian's ear to whisper: "Hurry up."
"My, is that begging I hear, thief?" Yami Marik murmured, narrowing his eyes slyly and nuzzling down Bakura's throat.
"Hmph." Bakura huffed, using his bound hands as a noose to ensnare Marik's neck and pull him back up again, forcing him into another impassioned kiss.
Pulling away and shifting forward a bit, Marik's eyes smoldered as he leaned in to tease Bakura's nipple. Bakura shivered at the touch, his breath beginning to hitch audibly. Snickering at the reaction, Marik traveled a bit lower, licking from Bakura's lower waist to his groin.
Running his tongue along the length, slicking it with a layer of saliva, Marik took Bakura into his mouth, sucking slightly at the tip, his tongue pressing firmly against the underside as he worked up and down the shaft. Bakura let out a stifled moan and arched his back, his body tense and his bound arms over his head as he struggled against the over-whelming pleasure, too proud to show the true extent of his emotion.
Marik's gaze flickered up to meet Bakura's as he slowly increased pressure and pace, taking him even deeper into his mouth. Helpless with his hands tied, Bakura gritted his teeth even as he panted heavily, writhing as the pain at his back only heightened the sensation to euphoria. What dim light there was intensified into blinding white as Bakura hit climax, shuddering as he came down and his muscles relaxed, until he lay still against the frigid glass and rough wood, catching his breath.
Marik rocked back to sit on his heels, licking his lips in obvious satisfaction and watching the pale man predatorily. Recovering, Bakura sat up, scowling as glass clung to him.
"Will you take these bloody things off now? I'm going to impale myself at this rate," said Bakura, brandishing his wrists in front of him.
"My dear, the show's just begun, and you're already ready to leave?" chortled Yami Marik, moving forward to plant a kiss on Bakura's forehead and sliding his hands across his chest.
Bakura smirked, then met Marik's lips with fervor, biting at them, bruising them. leaning forward to place all his weight on the caramel-skinned man, forcing him down to the floor. Marik chuckled into the sensual kiss as the glass cut into his back and he wrapped his muscular arms around Bakura's thin shoulders. Breaking away, Bakura hovered over him, propped up on his forearms along Marik's chest, his silver hair framing his sharp auburn eyes.
For a moment, they stayed like that, enjoying the warmth from each others bodies in the cold air, their breath intertwining as it rose. It was Yami Marik who moved first, ruffling Bakura's hair.
Bakura frowned and shot him a murderous look, before smacking Marik in the head with his bound fists. Marik snarled softly, pushing Bakura off and rolling to a halt on top of him, eyes glinting in the murky light filtering through the broken roof. He slowly snaked his hands up Bakura's arms and torso, pausing a bit as he ran into the leather strap confining the pale man's wrists, before continuing on to trace Bakura's jugular.
Lovingly, Marik's fingers closed around Bakura's throat, as a manic smile began to creep across his face. His thumbs pushed in, closing tighter and tighter, stopping Bakura's breath completely. Bakura choked, an answering smile mirrored in his own face, his pupils going into pin-points as adrenaline pumped through his body, the blood roaring his ears as the very life was crushed inside of him.
As blackness filtered into his vision and threatened to consume him, Marik released the pressure on Bakura's throat, moving his hands to slam Bakura to the ground, nails digging into the paler man's shoulders, drawing blood. Bakura managed to wheeze in one breath before Marik was there, kissing him, teeth slashing at the tender skin framing lips. The taste of copper flooded Bakura's mouth, and he gulped it down eagerly, tasting their mingling blood as their tongues smashed together. Bakura's hands raked down Marik's chest, leaving long scratch marks deep into his bronze skin.
Hooking his hands around Marik's head again, Bakura used Marik as support to lift himself up to bite at the cut he had made earlier on Marik's throat, until Marik snagged a length of Bakura's silky hair and yanked it to the side, almost tearing it out with the force. Savagely, he threw Bakura to the ground, Bakura's chin banging off the floor painfully.
"Oh god, yes…" breathed Bakura, panting, loving the pain that made him feel alive, made him feel real.
He heard Marik laugh behind him, as the Egyptian briskly ripped off his pants and positioned himself, before thrusting hard into Bakura without warning. His pace was immediately extremely rough and fast, each thrust seeming to threaten to tear Bakura apart with its ferocity and excruciating pain. He know longer cared about pride, no longer cared about anything but this moment that saw him complete.
With each agonizing explosion of pleasure Bakura moaned his satisfaction, hungrily called Marik's name, begged him for more, more, MORE. The fact that he couldn't move his hands, that he couldn't defend himself, it just made it more…. intense. The glass ripping into his skin was like sweet honey, slicing abominably deep and coating the floor in a shallow red carpet that shivered and shook with each violent thrust. Bakura hardly noticed Marik's hands bracing his hips, even as they turned the once translucent skin black and blue.
A blossom of ecstasy began gathering in the pit of Bakura's stomach, rapidly expanding inside him, growing bigger and bigger until it felt like it'd just burst out of him and drown the world. He was lost to that pleasure- it felt infinite and seemed to be soaking into his very soul with it's transcendent euphoria. Marik seemed to be in a similar state, as he pulled out, and leaned against Bakura's raw back, breathing heavily.
As the room slowly stopped spinning and the high trickled out of his system, all Bakura could feel was his body numb with abuse and a deep contentment that brought a satisfied smile to his beaten lips.
Gingerly plucking himself up, he turned around and laid down beside Marik, who sprawled across the floor lazily. Marik hooked an arm around Bakura's shoulders possessively, letting the white-haired man rest against his body as opposed to the glass. Turning his head, Marik kissed Bakura's cheek softly, then drew back and watched Bakura, protectively.
Glancing at Marik, Bakura laughed faintly, almost self-deprecatingly, at the sudden vulnerability he felt looking into the Egyptian's eyes.
"…What's so funny?" Yami Marik growled, tracing over the thin cuts marring the paler man's creamy skin and smearing what little blood there was into rudimentary pictures.
"You. And me, I suppose."
"Heh. Don't tell me you're feeling self-conscious. I thought better of you, Spirit."
"Oh, please," replied Bakura, his face wry. "That's not what I meant."
Marik stopped his art project and frowned in thought, pouting unconsciously. Before stopping himself, Bakura felt his heart melt a bit at the sight, but quickly silenced the intrusive emotion with bitter reality. Really, he scolded himself, This is a ONE time thing. Do you honestly believe it's anything else, after all your supposed 'experience,' Bakura?' One fling and you're putty at his feet? Pathetic.
"Hey. Stop ignoring me."
Bakura jolted back to reality as Marik jammed a shard of glass into his right thigh without hesitation.
"GODDAMMIT- What the DEVIL do you think you're doing?" Bakura swore in shock, curling up instinctively and scooting a couple feet away.
Yami Marik pursed his lips and shrugged. "You weren't answering. I needed more paint." He rocked forward and began crawling towards Bakura, seemingly unaffected by the bed of glass slicing at his hands and knees.
"I was thinking- OBVIOUSLY that is a concept LOST on you!" hissed Bakura, grimacing at the bleeding wound and making a futile effort to remove the shard with his tied hands. Suddenly he froze in his attempts, his eyes widening at the pictures Marik had painted on his leg.
Yami Marik crawled up to Bakura and sat cross-legged in-between his legs, silent.
"What… are these?" Bakura asked, eyes not leaving the red scribbles.
Drawn in crude, child-like smears, were two stick figures- one with a shock spiky hair and the other with batwing-like protrusions, holding hands in what looked to be a forest of triangles that Bakura could only assume were pyramids.
"Drawings. I like art." Marik said bluntly, obviously puzzled by Bakura's reaction.
Stunned, Bakura blinked rapidly, looking from his companion's face to the figures, completely forgetting the pain splintering through his leg and body. "Marik… is that you… and me?"
"And pyramids." replied Marik with a dark grin, pleased with himself.
Bakura felt a small smile creep across his face. A real smile: not the twisted facade that he so often wore, carved into his face by centuries of suffering, of bitterness…. of loneliness.
"I… don't know what to say," Bakura muttered, shaking his head.
Yami Marik gave Bakura a strange look, then reached over and pulled out the sliver of glass, causing fresh rivers to cascade down the pale man's leg. He then grabbed Bakura's hands and freed them from their leather prison, instead tying the strap tightly around Bakura's thigh, an effort to slow the bleeding. Bending down, Marik had started licking the blood off when Bakura's hand caught Marik's chin, bringing it back up, so that the two were face to face.
"Tell me something, Marik," Bakura said, his voice serious.
"…What?" he replied, wiping his mouth.
"How long?"
"What are you referring to, exactly?"
"Don't play dumb. How long?" Bakura repeated, searching the Egyptian's face.
Yami Marik's expression darkened dangerously, but then he averted his gaze and it soon softened into an almost abashed look. "Since my hikari met you. You didn't know I existed. Hell, you didn't know till earlier today"
Had it really been only since this morning that they met? Bakura sighed, eyes sparkling, laughing a bit again. Annoyance flickered across Marik's face and he turned his back on Bakura with an indignant huff.
Still chuckling slightly, Bakura came up behind Marik and hugged him, pressing his face against Marik's intricately scarred back.
"Actually… I think I might've."
"…What do you mean?" Bakura couldn't see Marik, but he could just imagine him scrunching up his nose in thought. "Are you saying you liked my hikari? Because if you are, then someone's getting a trip to the shadow realm here and now."
"No, no. Not what I meant. Do I have to explain everything out for you, brat?"
"Watch it…" growled Marik, tensing his shoulders.
"Don't threaten me, as I recall, I was the one knocking you on your ass earlier-"
"Yeah well I was the one doing yours-"
"Completely irrelevant." Bakura hissed, flicking Marik's shoulder blade irritably.
"Well, excuse me, princess." mumbled Marik under his breath, receiving another flick in answer.
"Now before we digress any further," Bakura continued, ignoring Marik's retaliatory elbow jab. "What I meant was… I think I knew you were there. Just below the surface."
"Still sounds like you had the hots for my hikari, I can switch out if you'd rather talk about ponies and tiaras."
Bakura shuddered in disgust, "MUST you be difficult all the bloody time?"
Marik paused at that, then leaned back to look at Bakura upside-down. "I dunno. Why don't you find out?"
"Be with you all the time, is that what you're proposing?"
"…Maybe."
Bakura bent down, his eyes closing as he kissed Marik gently and whispered, "…Brat."
-The end-