Um, don't ask, don't tell. I was thinking of Malik's back (his tattoo's not his ass!) and wondering why he was always uke, and this is what came out....
Authors Notes: Obviously it's a Malik/Bakura fic and that's all I have to say.... Flames are always more than welcome, but praise is appreciated too. (^_~) Oh, its Bakura's POV, just so you guys know; I never say it outright though, so you're free to use your imaginations....
Disclaimers: I don't (as much as I would love to.... Mmmm) own Malik or Bakura, or any one else mentioned. Please don't sue me; I fear I'm in enough debt as is.
~ON TO THE FIC~
Fighting. Our whole relationship (if you can call it that) is based on fighting. Constantly we're battling for supremacy, you stab me, I'll stab you right back. There is no real trust in our 'relationship,' it's all about who wins the games. And there are so many games.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about 'duel monsters.' God that's almost laughable.... See - look I'm laughing.
I'm not exactly sure what starts these games, or what started the first one. Suppressed frustration, the overpowering need to be near someone - a part of someone - maybe... It starts with kissing, nibbles, fevered petting - then moves on to something more. We wrestle, we hit each other, we pinch, we smack, bodies jarring and melding together even as we push each other away. It's all a test. Who will be Uke? Who will be Seme? Always in the same well lit room where light pours down from the crystal chandelier, giving my lover's skin a bronze glow. Gods it's perfect.
The outside world has no effect on this room. None whatsoever. There are no politics, no internal struggles, no attempts at world domination. Just us. Just the games and the laughter.
Every once in a while, one of us will walk away with something more serious than scrapes and bruises. We sprain muscles, we tear ligaments, we even break bones (boy was that embarrassing ~_~;;), but it's always in good fun. Always laughed at.
The bed in our room isn't very comfortable, but who needs a bed? Half the time it's on the floor, against a wall.... standing up, laying down.... it doesn't matter.
~*~
The rules of the games are as follows:
1. Nothing deadly please. Like I said, the real world doesn't apply in this room, and it would suck if our external struggles suddenly came to a crashing halt because of one misplaced blow (no pun intended). How on Earth would we (the survivor) explain it?
2. No magic. If Malik used his Millennium Rod (again no pun intended), or if I used some of my nastier card tricks, things would get gooey. Fast.
3. No Jewelry (save my Millennium ring: Ryou isn't all that fond of Malik for some reason.....). Malik hates this rule, but he's never tried to nibble on his ear and encountered earrings. I damn near chipped a tooth!
~*~
Aside from that, it's no-holds-barred in this ring. We bite, scratch, even tickle each other into submission (Malik's really ticklish, but no telling ^_~). There are toys, but mostly there aren't. Who needs toys when you've got the sexiest man on earth, and what feels like forever to play with him?
Oh I wish these days could last forever - but the world must go on, and we both have roles in it. There are days when I'm watching him beat the pants of some snot nosed kid for a rare card, and I just want to shove him up against the nearest stable object and do unspeakable things to him. But I can't.
Those are the rules. That is the rule. All the others are negotiable, mutual agreements really, but the whole game would be irreparably altered--no destroyed--if it came out into the open. Outside we're childhood friends, occasionally enemies. Tacit partners on our mutual megalomaniacal quest. Never fuck buddies. Hell, outside I very much doubt people acknowledge us as sexual human beings. Let alone active ones. But in this room.... Well it's my idea of heaven, I don't know if it's his.
Sometimes I wonder about our so-called relationship. I'm wondering now. I question what we are to each other, whether or not we're doing the right thing. One of these days, one of us (probably him) is going to win the outside fight. One of us is going to (intentionally or not) kill the other one. So I keep asking myself if it's a good idea to become attached; even if it's only for a good lay, and boy is it good.... More often than not, I come to the conclusion that what we're doing is stupid, but that doesn't stop me from doing it.
~*~
He always gets pouty when he wins. You'd think he would always want seme, but he doesn't. He complains in a subtle little way because he thinks I'm not trying hard enough. Heaven forbid! He's strong, so sue me if I don't want to put in the extra effort!
Sometimes I tease him and ask if he wants to stop playing, to which he replies with an adamant "NO!" I know him well enough to know that he'll never call my bluff, but he's always so mechanical when he's seme. He treats being in control like it's a duty not a privilege (which, if I may be so bold: it is).
His reluctance to be on top makes me think that under the easygoing, I'm-going-to-slaughter-you-and-your-whole-family personality is a child, with a child's need to be dominated. Just like a child he'll fight it, but in the end he gives in to avoid the consequences. I guess I understand his need to relinquish control for a while, I mean, he runs his own civilization!
Gods, he's so adorable stretched out on the bed (we actually used it), half asleep with this languid little smirk carelessly painted on his lush mouth. If I weren't so tired, and this moment not so precious..... Well, suffice it to say I wouldn't be just lying here.
~*~
It never ceases to amaze me, the little details about him that bring everything together. The way the light glances off his sweat sheened skin, the gentle curve of his shoulder blades. You wouldn't think a man who spends so much time wearing a cloak could be so tan, but he is. I could spend three days, stark naked under the desert sun (and get fried to a crisp mind you), but still be chalk-white once the burn flaked off. Malik's different, he spends ten minutes in direct light and he's the envy of Apollo.
I can't help touching it, running my fingers over that sun-kissed skin. You would think such browned flesh would be rougher, leathered over time, but it's anything but. His skin is baby smooth and softer than the finest silks, marred only by the tattoo's that were forced on him as a child. If Malik hadn't already killed the man that put them there, I would. Not even a record of the God cards is sacred enough to warrant such a transgression! I wonder when I got possessive...
That said, there is a kind of beauty to them. It's fun to watch my oh-so-pale fingers trace the carefully carved lines in his skin. It doesn't matter that he giggles when I do (he really is ticklish!), or that he's up and stalking me two seconds after I stop.
~*~
I love that we don't have to feign innocence with each other. That's half the appeal. His life's purpose is murder, mine is control. We don't have to be perfect to each other. He is though, I swear. Effortless grace and consummate beauty mark every move he makes, if Malik were to trip over the cat, run into a table, and fall flat on his face, he would manage to look exquisite doing it. And murder isn't the worst thing.
Malik's growling at me for not paying attention again. He doesn't realize that I was intent on what he is, not what he's doing. What he's doing is nice though.... very nice. And, Ah! Oh! Hey, that hurt!
~*~
As much as I would love to continue this little chat, it's time for me to take some action. Now if you'll excuse me.....