Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! I am making no profit from this fanfiction and would not accept it if offered. This is for fun and to improve my own writing skills.
Character(s): Marik Ishtar, Yami Bakura
Rating: T
Prompt: No prompt, inspired by Taemanaku's drawing on dA, "Hypnotized."
Word Count: 2,102
Suggested Song(s): Five Finger Death Punch's Remember Everything. RED's Hymn for the Missing.
Info/Notes: Based heavily on/inspired by the above artist on deviantArt. The rough timeline to this is that Battle City ended in spring and it is now the coming of almost winter. I took those liberties insofar as that we really do not know when Battle City ended. Read and review, lovelies and be sure to pay Taemanaku a visit.
The autumnal equinox had always been a thing of beauty to the inhabitants of Domino City. The emerald leaves of the sundry trees located within the city and its boundaries turned brilliant hues of scarlet and ember, lighting up the city. In the medium-sized park that rested about a mile out from the innermost circle of buildings that made up downtown, children ran and played while dogs yapped from leashes. Birch and oak trees rose up into the air, their boughs spreading shade out among all of those who congregated to the park on what promised to be the last reasonably warm day of the year. It was 25 degrees Celsius, pleasantly warm and brisk for the inhabitants of Domino who came out after work or early morning to enjoy the sun. In the tiny lake – little more than a glorified pond – the sun sparkled off of it and its shores were decorated with concerned parents who watched their children swimming in the crystalline waters. Further along, fishermen shouted insults at either themselves, the fish, or their bait. All in all, it was a general day in Domino City Park.
Deep in the woods of the park, shaded from the curious eyes of any who might be looking around, two males – neither looking to be more than 18 or so – were twined around one another in an embrace that, to an outsider, would look desperate. Pale lips like virgin snow eagerly sought out ones that had been darkened by the Egyptian sun, while greedy hands delved into hair like ivory and sand. The hunger of the kiss was violent and more than once a tongue out slip out to catch a droplet of blood that flowed from one lip or the other. It was the paler youth whose tongue performed this action more often than not, pearl white dentals sinking into the soft flesh of the other. But all the while, their embrace remained merely that – an embrace of passion and need, tinged with an emotion like sorrow profound. One body did not press the other to the sod and wreak his will upon the other; instead they embraced like equals, like lovers of the heart rather than just as of the mind or body.
Finally, Marik – the darker youth, an Egyptian tomb keeper who, up until quite recently, had been hellbent on gaining the world as his own – drew back, his thin chest rising and falling heavily as he sought to regain his breath. Pale lilac eyes never once flicked away from the deep brown of the pale male, who was known simply as Bakura. Despite pulling back, Marik's hand remained on the ivory flesh of his counterpart, a way to ground himself after the heat of the moment and a way to remind himself that this – that them – would end very soon. To anyone looking in, they would see a mirror of contrasts – snow to sand, in both their flesh tone and hair; lavender eyes that shone with warmth and love to a pair of sinister brown that glittered with the notion of murder and revenge. The Egyptian, upon seeing this, allowed a quiet sigh to escape from his throat as he dropped his other hand to caress the golden trinket that was strung around Bakura's neck, resting on his chest.
"You don't have to do this." Though he spoke Japanese with utmost fluency, there was a tinge of his accent to it, and some of the words were a bit skewed in their consonants. "You could stay. With me." His articulations became a plea, begging the older male to stay with him, not to go on this suicidal quest that would end with his death. Of that, Marik was absolutely certain. The grip he had on the Millennium Ring tightened suddenly, his fingers digging brutally into the iced gold; the Ring was never warm, but remained as though it had been thrust into snow, no matter how hot the air about it was. The sudden constriction of his fingers brought their mouths together again and once more, the kiss began. Warm tongues pushed, sought, and found one another, dancing about in an erotic coupling that mimicked what the two had done with one another so many times before. But as always, it was too short and Bakura pulled away, his chocolate orbs expressionless.
"But I must." There was no reproach in his tone for the plea that had been given, in contrast to what Marik had been expecting. The ivory haired male did not do well with being pled for on anything, except when they were being intimate, or mercy, perhaps. With one hand braced on the leaf-choked ground, he used the other to flick a leaf off of Marik's violet shirt, his lips twisting in amusement. He hadn't seen Marik wear that since his Ghoul days, which were long over. The sleeveless garment left his arms completely bare and revealed the bands of gold that surrounded his arms at various points. The sunlight – dying now as the hour grew late – glittered off of the gold, throwing brilliant rays onto Marik's flawless flesh. His back was covered for the moment, to Bakura's disappointment; he enjoyed tracing the scars and desensitizing the Egyptian to having them touched. "You of all people know I must." He breathed the words out in his own flawless Japanese.
Marik looked away as tears welled into his pale eyes, not wanting his companion to see them. Showing weakness to Bakura was asking to get your throat slit during the night; if he couldn't be strong in front of Bakura, then he didn't deserve the time that the Spirit was giving him. He swallowed thickly as he warred back the tears and when he was back under control again, lifted his gaze back to the pale Spirit, who watched him without any sign of emotion. To distract himself, Marik played with the Ring again, tracing his fingers over the Eye on it and letting the spikes brush over his fingers. A question had arisen into his mouth and was blurted out before he could stop and consider the consequences of asking it. "Why are you so willing to die for this?" Glancing up at it left his mouth, he peered into the sienna hued oculars of his lover. When Bakura shifted, he fought back a cringe, expecting to be struck at for voicing such a question. It wouldn't have been the first time the Spirit of the Millennium Ring had lashed out at him in a fit of anger, deserved or not.
For a very long moment, Bakura leveled that dangerous look on him. His chocolate eyes were unhinged and wild, as though he was fighting against himself not to attack the young Egyptian in front of him. The audible grinding of teeth on teeth was heard, rising above the quiet rustling of leaves. A young couple, fingers wound about one another, passed them just a few yards away, walking along the path much as they had been earlier. He held his tongue until they had passed before tossing his head roughly, heavy bangs moving away from his dark chocolate orbs. "Because you're not alive if you've nothing you'd be willing to die for." The wisdom of three millennia dripped into his tone as he spoke, his voice ringing with a power that sent delicious shivers of need through Marik, who pressed closer. With a low growl, Bakura crushed their lips together, his free hand winding into Marik's blond locks and holding him close, not allowing him to pull away until the Spirit was ready.
Even when they parted, neither moved so far back away that the they could not taste the scent of the other's breath on their lips. Marik's grip on the Ring had become taut again, as though restraining the Ring meant he could restrain its Spirit as well. The words – so powerful they seemed almost prophetic – rang over and over in his head until they became a mantra, the only thing grounding him to the moment right then. The harsh fact of life crushed down around the young Egyptian suddenly and it was all he could do to hold back tears. "And what are you willing to die for, Bakura?" Long golden lashes brushed against his cheeks as he blinked back yet more tears, managing to control them before looking up at his partner in crime. His voice was little more than a breathy whisper, drawn from his heavy chest as he sought answers – reasons as to why he was going to be losing the best thing to happen to him since his dark half's defeat. Or even before then, because he and Bakura had been partners since the beginning of Battle City. And now the Spirit of the Ring was going to leave.
The rush of blood through his ears momentarily blotted out all other sound as brown stared into lilac, reading the emotions there. Marik wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking to stall. This was their last day, last night, together before the young Egyptian went home and before Bakura culminated the revenge that had taken three millennia to construct. The ultimate Shadow Game would begin the next night and he was more than ready to end it. His shoulders quaked under the weight placed upon them, and despite the harsh façade he had in place, the Spirit of the Millennium Ring was so very tired. The hand that had been wound into the sandy blond locks of Marik tugged him closer but instead of kissing him, he rested their foreheads together, two sets of eyes closing at once. "I would die for my people. To allow them their revenge for the wrongs done upon us all." His voice was a melodic purr that wove its way into Marik's mind and took root in his brain. "And I would die for you, Marik." Lilac flew open in shock and gazed into sienna that had lost their cold gleam and melted into warmth. It was like falling into chocolate that had been reduced to fluidity. It was as close to a declaration of love as the Egyptian tomb keeper would ever have from the coldhearted Thief.
Bakura slowly dropped his hand, resting it on Marik's thigh to hold himself together. They did not pull apart though, with Marik's golden hand still holding the Ring. "Don't you see? I have to do this, Marik." The façade of darkness incarnate broke for a moment and his powerful, ancient voice trembled. It was the only sign of weakness he allowed before his voice regained its firmness. "For the ones who died for these." His hand dropped to cover Marik's, stroking the golden surface of the Millennium Ring. Deep within the utmost recesses of his mind, he felt his host stir, knowing the weak boy could feel his touch on the Ring. He pulled his hand back only to have Marik grab it and cling to it, sorrowful desperation in his gaze. The Spirit of the Ring found it difficult to articulate his next vocals, staring slightly down into those soulful, lilac depths. "Their blood still stains the Items, Marik. It stains us, all of us who have been chosen by an Item." To cover his sudden moment of weakness, he lurched forward and crushed their lips together another time, fingers greedily tugging on sandy locks and holding the male close.
The bronze-fleshed Egyptian did not proclaim his love aloud as they continued kissing; he professed it in every move he made, every pull and tug of his lips, every gentle tease his tongue made. His arm came back around the pallid Thief, tangling long digits into snowy mane, keeping Bakura from pulling away anytime soon. The time for talking was over, Marik knew, and the last day and night to see and be with one another was upon them. He'd known it was coming for months, ever since the end of Battle City earlier in the year. But despite doing all he could to stall it, stopping the Thief from slipping away at night and remaining in Domino for months rather than returning immediately to Egypt, he was unable to save Bakura from the revenge that had wrought itself upon his mind. And so, in the shade of the autumn leaves of burnished gold and brilliant cinnabar, and in the light of the dying sun, they kissed, pulling back now and then for air, eyes half-lidded, and a faint smile on each set of lips as they enjoyed one final night together.
Finite.