The lyrics that inspired this song, I am ashamed to admit, are from the song "Crazy in Love" by Eminem. I do not endorse rap music. This was a fluke, you hear me! A fluke!
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It is well past midnight when Bakura arrives home. He opens the door using the hidden key near the door, and enters the small house. He doesn't bother to be quite. He knows that Malik isn't trying to sleep and that he's waiting for him, waiting to punish him for being late.
He sighs deeply as he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the nearby chair. A brown stain catches his eye and he makes a note to get it dry-cleaned. He'd have to be more careful in the future. Maybe he wouldn't get it dry cleaned at all; it'd be too risky. The police would most certainly take notice if another white-haired boy appeared with a blood-stained jacket.
In the next room Malik looks up at the noise of a key in a lock. His eyes go to the door to the front room before they dart to the clock. It's 12:52. He's 52 minutes late. He keeps the number in mind. He'd need it later. He gets up and moves through the house to stand at the door to the front room.
He leans against the door frame, crosses his arms, and says, "you're late, bitch." He looks down his chin at Bakura, eyes glazed.
"Yes, I know," he says, crossing his arms as well.
The muted television suddenly changes pictures, casting the room in a red glow.
"Care to tell me why? Or will it just give you another witness?" he says, eyeing the jacket.
"Stay out of my business; I don't meddle in yours," Bakura sneers.
Malik sneers before taking a few calm steps towards Bakura. He stops at a foot away, eyes calm. Bakura knows differently. He knows how unpredictable the man in front of him is.
"Bakura..." He says softly, sensually as he closes his eyes. It suggests a calm, almost love. Malik striks Bakura across the face.
Bakura doesn't make a sound, but he's enrages. He shoves Malik and brings a fist down on his collarbone.
Soon they're at it again. They wind up on the floor, each trying to hurt the other more than they're being hurt, but yet not to injure the other too badly. They struggle against each other for awhile, knowing neither will win.
It ends with Bakura on the floor, partially held down by Malik, kept in place by a knife at his throat. He growls and bares his teeth at Malik. He smiles wickedly as he looks down at Bakura.
"Fifty two, Bakura," he whispers. He straddles Bakura's lower legs for more support, and then releases Bakura's wrist, knowing he won't move because of the knife. Malik begins to play with Bakura shirt, trying to decide whether to just rip it off or unbutton it himself. Fifty two minutes is a long time, he reasons. He rips it to shreads.
The sex is as it always is, drawn out and bloody. At the end, both of them have hurt themselves more than just by fighting, often times because Malik loses control of himself and his sadistic instincts. Bakura never complains. It's repeated, night over night.
When morning comes, Ryou Bakura and Malik Ishtar wake up in whatever positions their bodies were left in the night before. Often times Malik is on top of Bakura, though not always. Sometimes they wake up and they're no where near each other, and sometimes, they're still in one another. But that's only on a bad day, when Malik really wants to punish Bakura.
"How late was he last night?" Malik Ishtar asks as he unties Ryou Bakura.
Ryou Bakura sighs as he looks at the many small cuts on his arms. "I can't tell. They're too close together and I can't tell the difference from last night's and the night before."
"Doesn't it ever bother you, Ryou, that they do this night after night? It's you that's taking the pounding, you know. When's the last time you woke up and you didn't ache?"
Ryou Bakura laughs. "Oh, so long ago I couldn't even tell you. It doesn't matter, though. They're in love."