Bakura had always loved street fairs. The colorful banners lining the roads, performers calling in the curious crowd, the food wafting over their heads, calling to them, the opportunities….
"Keep moving," Marik hissed, his arm casually slipping into his bag.
Oh, so many opportunities.
Bakura smirked and did as Marik asked; their pace quick, though casual. They rounded a corner, ducking into the next alleyway they passed. "What'd you get?" Bakura asked crouching behind a dumpster.
"Dinner for two weeks, a new ring and this." he tossed the wallets to Bakura and pulled out an old chunky polaroid camera. "I think it still has film in it."
"The fuck do we need a camera for?" Bakura demanded, weeding the money out of the wallets and stuffing the bills in his pockets.
"Well think about it." They set to the streets again, wandering along once more. "For thousands of years, humans have recorded things in pictures of some kind or another…cave paintings, hieroglyphs, artwork…"
"Make your point."
Marik sighed. "Well we never record anything. We're always in and out of somewhere before anyone can find us. No one knows us…no one needs to." He looked down at the camera in his hands, frowning. "But we've been to so many places, haven't they started to all blend together?"
"So?"
"So," Marik said slowly, a smug grin on his face. "It's a great day. It's not raining, we're not being chased by cops, there's a festival all around us." He leaned in nonchalantly. "Not to mention you look as fuckable as I ever get to see you. Can you blame me for wanting to preserve a day like this?"
"If someone finds that camera—" He was interrupted by the flash, Marik's grin wide behind the viewfinder.
"We won't let that happen," he said. A small square of paper popped out of the front, to Marik's delight. He frowned, however, when he turned it over. "But…where?"
"You have to wait for it," Bakura said, stalking off through the fair. "Which you'll have to do by yourself." Marik ran after him, the picture clutched tightly between his fingers.
Bakura sighed disgruntledly. He threaded his way through the crowd, Marik following close behind. Suddenly he snorted, pulling Bakura aside. "Your face," he chuckled, pointing at Bakura's dazed expression. "It's priceless."
Bakura grumbled, attempting to swipe the picture out of his hand. Marik easily sidestepped him, slipping the picture into his bag. "One for the scrapbook," he chuckled, a spring in his step as he danced just out of reach. "Come on, Bakura, I need something for when I'm lonely and pining."
Bakura grabbed him by the collar, reeling him out of the way of a gaggle of sweat-drenched tourists. "Stop fucking around," he said quietly, a smirk on his face. "And you really want me taking those kinds of pictures in public?"
Marik only laughed again. As they passed a kebab stand, he slipped the camera into his bag, pulling out a few dollars and butting his way into the line. Bakura rolled his eyes, following him. His hand was in and out of the bag faster than anyone could blink, the camera clutched in his hands.
If Marik noticed he ignored it, ordering his skewer of vegetables and biting into them with vigor. He turned around and was immediately blinded by the flash, Bakura's smirk suddenly obscured. "You bastard!" Marik squawked, a few grilled tomatoes tumbling to the pavement. "Just you wait until we get back to the hotel."
Bakura chuckled, throwing the camera back into Marik's clutches, tucking the picture into his inside pocket. "Like you said. One for the album." He leaned in. "It's only fair, brat."
Marik sniffed, "Oh we'll just see about that." He bit into his kebab, wandering down the crowded street. "I'll meet you back at the room, I think." In only a few seconds, he had disappeared. Bakura rolled his eyes, and carried on through the crowd.
Their tiny hotel was barely a respite from the heat, even with the so-called 'air-conditioning'. Bakura wiped the sweat from his face as he took the elevator to their floor, his pockets full of his findings. He was ready for a cold shower, and possibly a nap.
The door opened, and he almost stepped on a small piece of paper. Bakura picked it up, his stomach swooping as Marik stared up at him through the camera lens, a knowing, alluring smile on his face. Another lay a few feet away, this one portraying Marik, his shirt draped over his shoulder, his eyes half-lidded in a look that only Bakura ever got to see. He felt his pants tighten as he quickly gathered the rest of the photos, leading to their room. Each featured Marik in fewer and fewer articles of clothing; the last, slipped under the door, featuring a fully nude Marik with his hands wrapped around around the base of his cock…
Bakura unlocked their door, cursing the quiver in his hands. It opened to an empty room, the shower shutting off abruptly. A few seconds later, Marik stepped out, grinning as he wrapped a towel around his waist.
"Told you it'd be worth your while," he said, grinning at the pictures in Bakura's hands. "You'd better be ready to pay me ba—"
Bakura slammed him against the wall, his lips mashing against Marik's as the pictures fluttered to the floor. The towel joined it as they stumbled back towards the bed, the camera lying in wait as Bakura threw him back on the mattress. Marik's fingers grappled with his t-shirt, kissing him roughly between flashes of fabric.
"Lie back," he ordered breathlessly, a hand splayed across his chest. Bakura did so, water from Marik's hair running down the side of his face. He ground up against him as Marik retrieved the bottle from the side table, along with the camera.
"You're not—"
"You won't even know it's there," Marik replied, reaching for his pants with a smile. "Once I'm done with you, you won't even know where you are." He wrapped a slicked hand around Bakura's length, grinning as it hardened in his hand. "You won't know anything but me." He kissed him again, his tongue sweeping across Bakura's mouth as he rubbed sensually against him. Bakura moaned, arching up to meet him. "Fuck," he muttered. "Marik…"
"What," Marik purred, a hand stroking him once more. "You want me to help with this?" Bakura shuddered as the cool gel hit the sensitive skin between his legs, watching Marik as he prepped himself quickly.
"Just close your eyes," Marik instructed, stroking him. "And pretend we're somewhere gorgeous."
Bakura didn't need to pretend. As Marik lowered himself down onto his cock, both young men gasped in unison, breath catching in their throats.
Click, flash.
Bakura's eyes shot open but the camera was back on the bed. Marik continued sinking down on him, his mouth deliciously agape. Everything about him was perfect; the droplets of water and sweat rolling down the definitions of his chest, the way his back arched as Bakura's cock brushed just the right spot. He opened his eyes, grinning down at him. Then he began to move, and Bakura's fingers grabbed for the sheets. Every nerve of his body was on fire as they writhed together, each pushing and thrusting against the other. Once in awhile he'd hear the far off sounds of the camera, the prints raining down around them as their moans filled the air.
"Are you close?" Marik panted, brushing his hair dazedly away from his face. "Tell me when…tell me…" One hand groped for the camera once more, the other stroking himself eagerly. Bakura bucked up against him, closing his eyes. "Close," he echoed, his hands curling around Marik's waist, thrusting harder than before. Marik steadied himself, clinging to the last hazy glimpses of focus to press the button just as Bakura cried out, his back arching as he came.
"Perfect," Marik murmured, grinning as he finished himself off with a few flicks of the wrist. He sat for a moment, letting the warmth spread throughout his body before finally pulling away. He curled up beside him, draping an arm over his sticky chest. "Good?"
"Good," Bakura replied, shifting closer and pressing his lips to Marik's. "Did any of the pictures come out?"
Marik hoisted himself up, carefully collecting the squares and holding them up. "They'll do," he smiled and kissed him back. "I suppose."
Bakura smirked. "How many pictures left?"
"Just one." He fiddled with the camera for a moment before setting it on the nightstand, the self-timer ticking away. "Let's make it good." He gave him a firm, final kiss, closing his eyes just as the flash went off.
The picture came out as a tiny square of light, off center from its subjects. Marik's eyes were closed, his arms wrapped around Bakura's neck as he tried to pull him as close as he could be. Bakura's eyes were open, however, gazing up at Marik with a strange spark reflected in them.
It might have been love.
As they were packing up to leave the next evening, Marik slipped the last photo into the inside pocket of his shirt, where he kept it for the rest of his days.