Hello Thiefshipping Thiefshippers! My first fic is finally done. Taken about two months (seriously...) and as much as I loved writing it, I'm so glad its finally done. It actually turned out differently from when I first imagined it, but then that's what a long writing period does to you I suppose. I originally had it as having a completely different ending - the polar opposite of what it actually ended up as, and I think I prefer it this way; there's just too much emotive stuff to be different.
I suppose its taken so long because I'm in the middle of my exams - I actually wrote some of this on my hand during my religion exam (ah, irony) and then had to type it up after.
Oh and sorry for the summary (thank you for clicking on this anyway even with the awful, un-thought-out description).
Anyway, why are you still reading this crap? Go read the story below! It's (only slightly) better :P
He needed him. Needed him now. The cold emptiness was beginning to seep back through his flaking defenses, sticking one chill finger in at a time.
Picking up the phone, he quickly dialled the only number he had committed to memory with a tense, trembling finger.
"Marik, I need to see you." His voice was deep and rough but he spoke quietly so not to make the slight shake in it noticeable. "Come here now." And then he slammed the phone down and sank to the floor, quivering in a small heap. Marik had not spoken; there was no need. Both of them knew he would come, he always did, and both knew the reason although it had never, and would never, be spoken out loud.
He sat there, shivering, and tried, with no avail, to ignore the nothingness that resided within him. It would hide, smothered beneath the warmth, the feeling of being alive that Marik gave him, wearing away the blanket that only Marik could provide until it broke through and stole a little more of his happiness, his emotions, his will to carry on.
But carry on he must, for the souls of his people were still unavenged, and that was why he needed his bronze partner; the arrangement to kill the Pharoah wasn't the only deal they had that benefited them both. He remembered making the arrangement - how he felt as if he were collapsing in on himself; the empty space inside pulling his outer shell inwards - and then Marik had been there, and been so close, and Bakura had just reached out...
After the first time, Marik had questioned the nature of their relationship and Bakura had been completely adamant on just two points. Firstly, there was to be nothing romantic about their affair, and secondly, sex was only to occur when Bakura initiated it. Marik had agreed, with a flicker of begrudgement in his eyes, to both conditions and so far, there had been no problems with either.
It hadn't taken Marik long, either, to work out Bakura's kink. He'd been surprised; that much was obvious, but then who, with proir knowledge of the thief's habits, wouldn't have been? Who'd have guessed that the spirit of the ring was a masochist? Definitely not Marik, who had found out not through Bakura telling him but by accientally biting the spirit's lip during a particularly uncoordinated and sloppy kiss, and hearing Bakura's moan of pleasure. He'd done it again, and again, and again, until they tasted blood and Bakura was a very vocal mess on the bed beneath him. Marik still didn't know the specific reasons for his partner's masochism, but he knew the other man well enough to be able to take a very good guess. His guess, one of Bakura needing a respite from his control centred and structured life wasn't a far cry from the truth: Bakura loved the pain because of the feeling of being alive that it gave him. When he was scratched or bitten or teased to the point of pain, it gave him a feeling, like nothing else could, of pure existance; for him, feeling alive was something of the past; having been for 3,000 years, he'd lost the vitality that life could hold, and pain, and being dominated, gave him back the freedom that life can supply.
Soon the knock on the door came and then Bakura's body was colliding with Marik's, and a foot had kicked the front door shut and they were stumbling, joined at the mouth, towards a room - any room. Their minds were blank and their heads were swimming and neither realised that they were falling until Bakura's back hit the carpet with a thud, Marik lying on top of him, kissing hungrily as if he would never eat again.
Bakura kissed back, although not quite as hard, tongue swirling around Marik's mouth before feeling the other's slick muscle pressing hard against his, easily forcing both back into the thief's mouth. Marik ran his tongue over Bakura's teeth before he became too impatient and began the violent kissing once again.
Bakura was drowning. He was drowning and floating and plunging straight into the sensations filling his body, filling the cavity that made him feel dead inside. He gripped onto Marik, pulling him closer not out of desire but out of need, need for him to smother the nothingness that was currently knee deep in emotion and panicking. He reveled in the screams, the helpless cries that his demon was emitting, getting swept away as wave after wave washed over him and loving the battle for control; Marik was gaining control over his body and he was gaining control over the space inside himself.
Marik could both feel that Bakura wasn't focused on him; the half-hearted responses from his mouth were expected it by now, but it never hurt any less that he was putting everything he was and had into the kiss, yet receiving almost nothing in return. He needed his partner's attention, needed it now, and he wanted to say he would leave unless he had it, but he couldn't. He could never leave whilst Bakura still wanted him there, and he hated that.
Eventually, he grabbed hold control, knowing that would bring the thief back, and sure enough, as he bit down hard on Bakura's ear, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh, Bakura came back out of his thoughts with a startled, and rather aroused, cry.
Bakura managed to untangle his arms from the heap of limbs and tried to flip them both over but failed as Marik pinned him back down. The spirit whimpered at the submissive position he found himself in and felt his arousal grow stronger.
Marik, knowing he needed to hold the other's attention until he was sufficiently aroused, sat so that he was straddling Bakura's hips, ass pressing against the bulge in the spirit's trousers. He slid his hips round in one long, languorous circle, causing Bakura to to make more of the erotic sounds that Marik loved, and buck up into the pressure. The Egyptian smirked and lifted himself off so he was over Bakura on his hands and knees.
He lifted one hand off the carpet to grip Bakura's jaw tightly and roughly push his head back, exposing the long white neck. His teeth met flesh and then he really went to work, all lips and tongue and teeth and suction, making his partner writhe and whimper beneath him, the only point of contact on their electrically charged bodies being Marik's mouth on the the skin of the other's neck.
Once Bakura's neck had been thoroughly marked with a dark and purple welt surrounded by the imprints of Marik's teeth, they returned to the frantic kissing for a while longer, tongues fighting and teeth clashing and lips being bitten and suckled to the sounds of gasps and moans and mewls.
A pair of bronze hands began to slide their way down Bakura's sides, torturously slowly, and when they reached the hem of the striped top, they stopped their journey completely.
"What the fuck are you doing? Don't stop!" Bakura couldn't keep the desperate, shakey edge out of his voice, nor ignore the worry that if Marik stopped, he might realise the problems within their relationship and never start again.
"Maybe I don't want to carry on," came his reply, along with a smirk, which earned him a slap and a furious expression.
"I am telling you to carry on."
And carry on Marik did, because he always did what Bakura said, for the same unspoken reason that he always came running when Bakura beckoned.
His fingers began to pull the hem of the t-shirt up deliberately and he allowed his fingers to brush the sensitive skin at the base of the milky back, sending shivers and desire coursing through them both. His fingers worked higher and higher, lifting the cotton off Bakura's body and revealing his flawless back to the floor.
"Marik..." Bakura moaned, arching slightly and lifting first one arm, then the other so Marik could slide the top over his head. He shivered again at the feel of the cold air on his hot skin, a stark contrast to the faint heat radiating from the body of the man above him and the rate of his breaths increased.
The Egyptian let his fingers ghost over the toned white torso, slipping over the hard, tensed muscles, darting round and over his pinkish nipples, eliciting a bitten back moan that turned into a whimper and finally a begging whine which sent shocks of pleasure darting southwards through Marik's body and strengthening his arousal. Not only were Bakura's noises deliciously erotic, but they also told Marik that he was wanted, that what he was doing was right and good and that the person that important to him needed him for something.
He dipped his head; slick tongue sliding round the edges of Bakura's left nipple, then began to brush small circles with a fingertip, rounding his chest in a large loop, gradually getting closer and closer to where his tongue had left a shiny ring around the pink skin. Bakura gasped and whimpered beneath him, but refused to beg for Marik's touch on the raised bud. He shook from the contained desperation and his face was contorted with the effort of repressing his needy desire. Eventually, Marik's fingertip reached the sensitive, rosy skin and he continued brushing around it, changing from circles to small, smooth half moons. His finger repeatedly grazed the outline of the circle but never crossed the boundary completely, nor touched the center where Bakura needed it most.
Eventually, Bakura could stand it no longer and opened his screwed up eyes to stare directly at Marik, lusty tension clouding his gaze as the bronze face smirked.
"Oh, you want it do you?"
Bakura pressed his lips into a tighter line.
"Well if you don't want it, then I suppose I won't give it to you." His finger continued the lazy pattern round Bakura's nipple.
The spirit kept his mouth firmly shut, but he could feel the strain behind his lips. God, how he loved to feel so completely helpless and desperate. He loved the immense pressure that would build through his body; in his mouth, his chest, his fingers, his toes and especially his groin. Oh God, that delicious ache he felt in his groin when he was aroused to breaking point. Nothing felt as good as that, except the release he would get after being teased to the brink and back several times.
The pressure was at his lips, pushing against them with such enormous force that it was all he could do to keep them shut. He knew that eventually, they would give, and he loved the humiliation of the seal bursting just as much as compressing his lips to hold the barrage of words back.
"I want you to beg for it. Tell me how much you want my fingers on you. Convince me of how much you need it. Beg."
Suddenly, Bakura felt the circling stop and he turned his eyes down to see what was going on, and couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath as he saw Marik's finger hovering dangerously close to the hard, pointed tip.
That breath was all it needed; as the seal on his mouth opened just a fraction to let the burst of air through, the words he had been gripping onto exploded from between his kiss swollen lips and assulted the air with their force.
"Fuck! FUCK! Marik, oh God, please, oh fucking hell, please touch me. Please. I need you to touch me. I need you to pinch and rub and make it hurt and- OHHH FUUUUKK..."
His back arched up into the touch as Marik's lithe fingers gripped onto the little buds, rolling them fiercely between the pads of his fingers. Bakura's hands clutched uselessly at the carpet, scrabbling for something to grip onto as the intense rolls of relief and pleasure and pain courses through his nerves.
He cried out as Marik's shiny wet teeth latched onto the other nipple, pulling the small, reddening nub up, whilst his fingers worked the other side. Bakura shook and moaned on the carpet of his lounge, driven mad by the pleasure and gasping for breaths that hitched in his throat.
Eventually, Marik's mouth shifted upwards and met Bakura's in a frantic lustful kiss. Bakura's hands left the carpet and the slim digits tangled with the long blond locks. He clenched his fingers against the bones of Marik's head and pulled him down hard against his own face. Their mouths fought to taste, pressure displacing their swollen, slippery lips as they traversed over each other. Marik's teeth gripped Bakura's bottom lip, pulling it away from his mouth and biting down hard until they tasted blood in their kiss. Bakura moaned loudly at the coppery taste and licked as much blood from their mouths as he could. His nails dug into Marik's head and yanked on the strands of hair as the pleasure from pain shot through him for the second time in minutes.
"You're such a fucking masochist," Marik whispered into his ear. "Getting off on pain, you can't fucking get enough." As if to hammer his point in, he raked his nails over Bakura's chest, leaving red welts swelling in their wake and smirked as Bakura cried out again. "See? God, I fucking love you like this: all broken and submissive, desperate for my touch, desperate for the pain. It's such a turn on; this contrast to how you usually are.
Bakura said nothing, just lay under Marik, quivering and needing more. When Marik realised that he wasn't going to get a reply, he ground his hips hard, once, over Bakura's and, when he discovered how hard the thief was, had to stifle a groan.
"Fuuuck... Bakura..."
Bakura's mouth twitched into a smirk, which was swiftly wiped away as Marik's grabbed him through his jeans, squeezing roughly and making him buck up into his hand.
Bakura whimpered, a very uncharacteristic sound, but one frequently made when he was alone with the Egyptian. "Marik, please..."
"Please what?"
"Please" he paused, blushing slightly. He still wasn't used to voicing his desires and although he loved the slight humiliation, he still felt self conscious. "Please touch me."
"I am touching you."
"I- I mean inside my trousers."
Marik didn't reply, instead settling for softly running his tongue over the outline of Bakura's lips, tasting and memorizing their every detail.
"Please Marik," Bakura murmured against the searching mouth. "Oh God, please."
Again, Marik didn't reply, but his fingers stopped their rough treatment of the front of Bakura's jeans and quickly thumbed open the button and pulled the zip down. He allowed himself to lightly brush the tip of Bakura's cock as he passed over it, causing the spirit to whimper with need.
Suddenly Marik sat up, settling himself on Bakura's knees, his legs spread wantonly.
Bakura's eyes grew wide. "Wh- What are you doing!" He cried as Marik reached for the fastening of his own trousers.
"You're not the only one who can get pleasure out of this arrangement, you know." And then his fingers slipped inside the waistband of his boxer briefs and began slowly stroking up and down. Bakura could only stare at the movements beneath the black fabric with a morbid fascination.
After a minute, Marik's hand withdrew and he began shuffling the garment down over his ass and thighs. Bakura's eyes never left their position as the material slipped off the sharp bronze hips and revealed his erection. The spirit's breath hitched as he took in the sight of the tanned cock sitting plumb against the Egyptian's taught stomach muscles.
Marik's fingers reached for the exposed member once again, closing round it and letting out a shaky groan at the contact. His fist began pumping slowly, drawing out the first few agonizingly pleasurable touches and letting his head loll back on his spine, lips parted and eyes closed.
Bakura could not believe just how sexy he looked like that and he released a low moan himself and reached for his own cock.
Apparently, Marik's eyes weren't closed as the hand that wasn't stroking himself slapped Bakura's pale ones away. "No touching yourself. Or me," he added when Bakura grabbed at him a moment later. "Just watch."
Bakura couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Marik's hand was sliding over his erection with increasing speed, thumb spreading the clear leakage over the tip and sides, lubricating his rhythmic pumps and giving the organ a tantalizing shine that drew Bakura's eyes back to it every time he grew too aroused to watch any more. His own dick had never ached so hard, not even that time when he'd been teased for so long that he thought he might pass out from desperation. Seeing Marik caught in the throes of his own pleasure and not being able to touch either his partner or himself was almost more than he could take. His fingers, so used to just reaching out and grabbing what they wanted, tingled and twitched from the effort of staying away from where they wanted most to be.
"AH! Uggh….bbb…kura...BAKURA, fuck!" Marik thrust harder into his hand at the sound of the spirit's name escaping his dry, parted lips. Eventually, with his knuckles turning white from gripping his cock and sweat beading on his exposed skin, he arched his back and moaned loudly as he came, most of his pearly come spurting over the base of his shirt and the rest rolling down the sides of his twitching cock and dripping onto Bakura's thighs.
By the time that his currently limited blood supply had reached his brain, Bakura was far too aroused to even move his eyelids to blink. Even breathing was a strain for his stunted brain capacity, and so, when Marik lowered his face to Bakura's legs, the spirit was absolutely not expecting what he felt next.
Marik's pointed tongue slithered from between the lips that had been panting Bakura's name just moments before and began gently licking the mess of warm, slippery come from his partner's pale thighs.
Bakura gasped and moaned as the hot muscle ran all over his sensitive inner thighs, the blazing arousal in his cock now spreading to every other part of his body and streaming through his veins. He stared, transfixed, as Marik relesed a small moan at the taste of himself, his hot breath sliding over the hotter skin. The slick muscle circled the skin slowly, curling around the pearly fluid and pushing itself back into it's warm cavern of a mouth. He slid his tongue down into the meeting point of Bakura's thighs where a small pool of come had collected and gently kissed around the liquid, smearing it all over his lips before licking them clean.
Finally, Bakura couldn't watch the show any longer. "Marik," he whispered hoarsely. "Marik, stop. I- I can't take... just do something, please."
Marik could hear the desperation in his partner's voice and compassion took over as he reached for the waistband of Bakura's jeans. He slid the denim off Bakura's hips, wriggling them slightly to get them past his ass where they had caught between the flesh and the carpet. Once the trousers had been flung away behind Marik, he reached back up for the spirit's pants. Bakura was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly but when Marik's fingers made contact with the elastic round the top of his underwear, his breathing ceased completely.
The Egyptian edged the red cotton down painfully slowly, revealing Bakura's arousal bit by bit. He ensured that he lifted the garment high enough so none of the fabric brushed against the part of Bakura where the majority of his lust was contained. Once the pants had joined the jeans in a messy pile of cotton and denim in the corner, Marik turned his full attention to Bakura's straining member. He stared at the beautiful naked male lying on the floor underneath him. He gazed, transfixed, at Bakura's cock, enraptured by the contrast between his dark tan organ and Bakura's incredibly pale one. He took in every detail, as he did every time they did this, never tiring of seeing Bakura naked, seeing him at his most vulnerable, seeing him losing control and losing his tough, built up exterior. He loved having him, witnessing this hidden Bakura; he loved being able to see and have and hold the Bakura that no one else knew existed. This Bakura was his. His, and no one else's. He loved it, most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, when Bakura hadn't called for a while, the worm of reality would burrow its way into Marik's head, reminding him that for all his feelings for the spirit, he himself was a convenience. He was someone to summon when Bakura felt empty. But, for all the truth in the worm's words, Marik didn't care. He was content with just being able to have Bakura, even on the thief's terms.
"Marik..." The whimper from beneath him dragged him out of his thoughts. He shifted his eyes up to his partner's face, reveling in the expression of painful desire that he so often saw on Bakura's features that still managed to excite him every time. "Marik, oh, God. I can't take much more waiting. It's making me go crazy."
Bakura's breathing was harsh and heavy once again and Marik could see the muscles coiled under the white skin, tensed and quivering slightly.
He stretched out a bronze hand slowly and ran the pad of one finger lightly up the length of Bakura's erection, all the way up to the slit and then circled the ridge once. The white haired thief whimpered, shuddering with need.
"Fuck, Marik," his voice was no more than a whisper. "Oh God, please don't tease me. I can't take it."
Marik loved the pain and desperation on his partner's face. Bakura may get off on pain, but Marik got off on the expressions that he could cause the spirit's face to contort into whilst in the grip of his desire.
Suddenly his fingers closed tightly arouond Bakura's erection, squeezing slightly and letting his thumb wander over the side in a sloppy pattern that seemed almost absent minded, but was anything but. Bakura bucked up into the touch, desperate to work friction in between Marik's stationary fingers and the skin of his cock, but his partner's hold was too firm to allow any movement.
After a few short moments that seemed to last forever, in which Marik just took in the feel of the part of Bakura beneath his grip, enjoying every bump and ridge, every vein and crease under the tight, silky skin, and noticing, as he always did, the fast, powerful pulse that pounded through the swollen flesh, he loosened his fingers and slid his fist down to the base, holding Bakura firmly in his grip. Leaning over, he flicked the underside of his tongue over the tip, leaving a slick trail of the mix of precum and saliva glistening in its wake.
"Nnggghhh!" Bakura flung his head back in shock as the tiny touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through his cock and he whimpered as he stared down at his partner with half lidded eyes and an expression of pure, unfiltered desire.
"Fuck! Oh fu- ahghh!" His curse was cut off by a cry of surprised pleasure as Marik took his entire member into his mouth without warning. He slid down as far as he could go, sucking on the shaft, his tongue slithering over the side, flat and wet and deliciously sensual while Bakura writhed and moaned beneath him.
Slowly, Marik began drawing his mouth back up the organ; when he reached the top, he increased the pressure on the head and swirled his tongue around it. After a second of this treatment, with minimal movement, he began bobbing his head, taking the first half an inch in and out of his mouth, then increasing that to an inch, then two. His hands pinned Bakura's hips to the floor to prevent the spirit bucking up, and he couldn't help noticing, even with his current preoccupation, the stunning contrast between their colours.
The room was echoing with the noises coming from between Bakura's lips and Marik couldn't help but moan slightly too as the erotic sounds went straight to his crotch, re-awakening his arousal and his moans sending vibrations through Bakura's cock, making the spirit cry out from the intense sensations.
He could feel his saliva dripping from the seal between his lips and the skin and running down the shaft, lubricating his movements.
He looked up at Bakura, taking in the flushed cheeks and half lidded eyes and groaned at just how agonizingly sexy and simply beautiful the spirit looked.
"Marik! Shit, M-Marik... I'm- I'm so... close..." he whispered and screwed up his eyes in preparation for his oncoming climax.
"Tell me when you're about to come" Marik instructed, removing his mouth to voice the demand before placing it back around the turgid flesh.
Bakura didn't answer, too far gone to even think of a coherent reply.
It took less than half a minute before Bakura tensed, crying out that he was coming, and then Marik slipped the organ from his mouth, smirking at the cry of pain from the spirit as he teetered on the edge of the cliff; unable to fall, unable to tumble into the pit that would give him his orgasm.
A moment later, he began begging and slandering Marik's name alternately in a strained, choked voice. "You bastard! You, you, you... bastard! Why would you do that to me? You know how much I need to come! Oh fuck, please Marik. Please let me come." His voice became very small. "Please?"
Marik continued smirking, but Bakura's pleading was tugging on his heart. "I will let you come, but not yet." He couldn't ignore the feeling that the thief's expression of torment gave him, although he didn't acknowledge it openly. "I promise I'll let you come later. As for now, I still have other things to do to you."
He shucked off the remainder of his clothes and pushed them to one side before sliding up Bakura's body and lying down on him.
Suddenly, without warning, Bakura grabbed Marik's head, twisting his fingers round the blond locks and dragging his face down to meet his own. Their lips clashed and there was a moment where neither of them moved; Marik not quite understanding what just happened, seeing as the thief didn't kiss, and Bakura squashed underneath his partner. Then, as they shifted slightly, their lips began to move, not as before, although there was still a definite desperation behind the kiss, but there was no harshness, no battling; it wasn't frantic or needy or violent. It was a kiss, a kiss with some unspecified feeling behind it. They were both pouring everything that the arrangement mean to them into this touch and their contrasting sources of desperation for the other were combining and fusing and building a new environment for their affair - for Bakura, one of desire for the actual person, rather than the security that he knew he would be left with, and for Marik, a place that he was needed, him as himself, not as a tombkeeper or a leader or even as a convenience, but him as a person, as Marik Ishtar.
When they broke the kiss, still gripping onto each other, they stared at each other for a moment, lavender meeting with the fire of mahogany and twisting and turning and being thrown about above the flames, but never burning. The lavender was peaceful and hypnotic as it danced in the fire, somehow quenching the glowing embers and calming them to a flicker, that although was more controlled, was by no means less powerful.
"Marik," Bakura whispered into the bronze collarbone. "Marik, please will you..." he stopped, unable to complete his request out loud as feeling, for the first time since witnessing his village's massacre 3,000 years ago, overtook him completely.
Marik gave a small noise of understanding and Bakura felt him shifting slightly on top of him and rearranging his white legs over his own tanned shoulders.
The spirit gasped slightly as the skin of their cocks rubbed slightly as their positions were adjusted. After a moment, he felt a finger, slick with warming lube, circle his entrance, nudging at the hole before sliding in slowly. Bakura winced slightly, not in pain since there wasn't any now that they had fucked so many times (although he wouldn't have minded the pain anyway), but because the intrusion, however gentle, always felt... well, odd. There was no other way to describe it. It was almost uncomfortable, but pleasantly so, and when Marik slipped a second finger in, scissoring them slightly, he moaned, a delicious, deep noise that seemed to convey the exact pleasure that he felt from being stretched and filled.
A little while later, once the ring of muscle had relaxed enough to allow three fingers to slide in and out easily, and the silence was only broken by the sounds of Bakura crying out as his body was saturated with a barrage of emotions he didn't even know existed, Marik removed his hand and coated his cock with a fresh stream of lube, spreading it all over the organ and rubbing the remainder around Bakura's entrance.
"You ready?" Marik enquired quietly as he placed his own lubricated member at the small, slippery hole.
Bakura gave a tiny nod. "Yes."
Marik bit his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth as he readied himself to enter and leaned over so his forehead and the tip of his nose were resting against Bakura's. The latter whimpered slightly at the intimate contact that caused so many unknown and conflicting emotions within him and closed his eyes.
"Marik," he breathed. "Oh God, Marik."
Marik, for his part, nearly came right there as his partner murmured his name, and he had to pause for a moment to regain his composition. "Bakura," he replied, using the spirit's name too. "Bakura, I'm..." He couldn't find the words to tell the other that he was starting, and instead conveyed it physically, by beginning to push into him.
"Nggahhhh..." Bakura moaned softly as he felt himself being stretched further than before, loving the feeling of having someone entering him, and for some reason, incredibly glad that it was Marik.
Once the Egyptian was fully sheathed inside him, and both were breathing hard and heavy, Marik just waited for a while, getting lost in the in the insufferable heat in Bakura's ass, and trying to control himself as the slick, ridiculously tight walls clenched against him.
Even with the pause, he hadn't left enough time for Bakura to adjust to his size, and as he pulled out slowly, losing all his composure and slamming back in, he heard Bakura's cry of pain. He opened one eye slightly to make sure the sound was one of pleasurable hurt rather than actual distress and then, when he saw the look of ecstasy contorting his partner's features, began thrusting once again, both of them crying out, lost in one another, intoxicated on sensation.
As Marik thrust rapidly in and out of his paler counterpart, Bakura's back was being repeatedly shoved along the rough carpet, the friction wearing against the sensitive skin of his back and heightening both the pleasure and his arousal. He wasn't sliding far - just enough for the coarse fabric to cause small, red abrasions to appear on the smooth skin, matching the thin red welts Marik had raised on his front earlier.
He was still impossibly aroused from his denied orgasm, so when Marik reached between their bodies and began slowly pumping him in the alternate direction to his thrusts: hand sliding up as he pulled out, down as he pounded back in, it really didn't take long before he was coming, head thrown back, hair strewn about his head like some ironic halo, and voice screaming Marik's name whilst the owner of said name gasped and thrust harder into the tight heat as the muscles contracted around his own cock and wrenched his own climax out in a long, drawn out series of pulses.
When his orgasm died down, he realised his face was buried in the gap between Bakura's neck and right shoulder, his chin nestled in the crook of his collarbone. Without pausing to think, he kissed the bone, murmuring incoherencies against it and rubbing his nose affectionately on the side of the neck and feeling the powerful pulse beneath the skin.
Suddenly, he realised what he was doing. He tensed, waiting for a harsh admonishment from his partner, foto Bakura had always been clear that the 'relationship' was sex based, not romantic or intimate, but then again, hadn't the previous kiss and forehead touching been both those things? When the beration didn't come, he relaxed a little, before freezing once again as he felt a pair of strong, slender, rather tense and shakey arms closing round him, one across his back, the other on his shoulders, and pulling him closer.
Marik wasn't sure if it was the lack of blood circulating in his brain at that moment, actual caring emotions or merely the strong desire to have someone else's skin on your own post sex, but whatever was causing Bakura's extremely uncharacteristic display of affection was very unusual. He was almost certain that it wasn't the lack of blood in his head causing this, so it had to be the third option. There was no way he would ever let himself hope for any reciprocation of his feelings, because he knew that if he did, even for a second, he would be wretched one again.
He managed to lift his head slightly, peering at Bakura, searching for anything that would fit with his explanation for the sudden show of affection, and once again, their eyes met. Once again, the lavender was caught in the heat, mesmerized by the twisting flames. Once again, the lavender soothed and subdued the fire, finding nothing within, bringing it down to its raw components and quietly settling against the glowing remnants.
And as the embers smouldered, Bakura finally relaxed and sank, quietly and unexplained, into the embrace of his partner.
A/N So, that was it. Deep stuff, and as I said, I prefer the more bitter-sweet ending to the original idea of it being an angsty end.
Please review :)