***This is Drunk!Prompt 3/5. I'm going to put a master list of Lemonade prompts on my Tumblr page, btw. A few people have asked for one. It'll show all the last of the prompts that I'll write before I stop posting in the Lemonade Stand. Now that this fic is written, I'm going to try to get back to those prompts***

Bakura was a shadow, a silhouette dancing in a haze of cigarette smoke and pale blue stage lights. Sweat garnished his skin, diamonds scattered across white marble. The thigh-high leather boots, shorts, and fingerless gloves that wandered well past his elbows all gleamed in the stage light. Swinging around the pole, he pulled off his cap, allowing a waterfall of white hair to cascade down his body and swing with his momentum on the pole. He tossed the hat into the crowd, winking.

Marik watched from the bar. He poured a line of shots and set them on a round tray, licking stray tequila off of his fingers before working on a tequila sunrise and two screwdrivers. The customers never minded when he licked his fingers clean, neither the ladies nor the gentlemen. That's why they were there. To drink, to stare, to escape the ugly, ugly cityscape around them and spend an evening in a gaudy strip club with pretty, pretty men and women.

Marik didn't mind though. He liked the money, and he liked watching the dancers. Bakura was upside down now, hair almost dragging against the floor, thighs squeezing the pole. Bakura stretched out his arms, two long, white snakes. He swayed them back and forth like a belly dancer. After a moment he sat up, grabbed the pole, and stretched his legs out straight, holding himself with nothing more than his arms on the pole and the strength of his core. He flipped and spun, sinking lower . . . lower along the pole until he lay sprawled on the floor as the music faded.

The DJ ruined it by talking over the faded hum of the last note, but it was still beautiful to watch as Marik winked at customers and handed them beers dripping with cold condensation. The other dancers were good, but Bakura carried with him a sense of mystery. Marik knew, by the way he moved, that Bakura thought of himself as an artist, too good to bother with the world around him. He didn't dance for the crowd; he danced for himself and allowed them the privilege of watching.

Bakura was the last act that night. He walked up to the pole as if he had a mind to strangle it, wrapping his hands around the metal and swinging up to catch himself with his thighs. He dropped, as if by accident, but then caught himself three centimeters up from the ground. He climbed back up the pole, setting his feet on the ground and grinding against the metal.

Marik had to look away, grabbing his tip jar and dumping it onto the counter. The bar was clearing out, and there were few customers left. Marik counted up his money, cashing out the ones and fives for twenties. Bakura was spinning, and then he flung himself from the pole, landing off-stage in a crouch. Marik raised an eyebrow- that stunt was new. Bakura looked up. Their eyes caught for a fragment of a second and he smirked before standing and walking to the back dressing room.

Marik snorted. Bakura was a damn show off and one day he was going to break his arm, and Marik would laugh at him until the ambulance came and carted his dork-ass away. The stage lights went dark and the DJ reminded the last few patrons to tip their servers before they left. Marik wiped up, and headed back to the dressing room himself to get back into normal clothes.

He slipped on ripped jeans and a white, short-sleeved hoodie, comfortable clothes. Motorcycle keys in hand, Marik snuck out the back to avoid co-workers and customers alike. He wanted to get home, take a shower, wash the smoke out of his hair, watch Adventure Time until four in the morning, and then pass out until noon when he'd have to get up and start another day.

The alley outside was almost black. Marik bit into his cheek. He fucking hated the dark. He could push his way through it, but he always felt like it was choking him somehow, and he and several of the other workers told their sleazy pig of a boss to fucking fix it three times already.

Down the alley, Marik heard a struggle. He turned to head towards his bike- one learned to mind their own business in downtown Domino- but a familiar voice froze Marik in place.

"Get off me you drunk bastard!"

There was the sound of someone being slammed into a trashcan, and then of boots hitting pavement. Marik saw Bakura. His black jacket fluttered around him as if he were part of the shadows.

The man pushed himself away from the trash can and chased after Bakura. Bakura spun to face his pursuer, flipping a butterfly knife in his right hand. The glint of steel from a far away street light was enough reason for the drunk to pause in place.

"You want some of me, precious? Then come get a taste."

The drunk shouted something slurred and angry, reaching for Bakura, but swaying where he stood and glaring at the knife.

"Hey!" Marik shouted. "I already called the cops. You better get the fuck out of here!"

"Fuck you!" The drunk staggered back, as if his feet had more sense than his brain.

"Bitch, what did you just say to me?" Marik threw his arms out and stepped forward.

"I said fuck you!" The man shrieked before running off into the deeper shadows of the alley.

"What a fuckface." Marik scowled, watching Bakura hide his knife. "You okay?"

"This bullshit happens every other night. Dumbasses think free samples of me come with the fucking drinks they paid for."

"C'mon," Marik gestured with his head. "I lied about the cops, but my motorcycle is parked right outside this alley."

"Mmmm, tempting as it sounds to be whisked away by a knight on his steed, I'm not exactly the damsel in distress type, so I think I'll walk."

"Are you kidding? If you handle that knife like you handle a pole, then it was the drunk I just saved, not you."

Bakura smirked. "Yes. I am rather apt at handling … poles." He started to walk. "I guess a ride home wouldn't hurt. I live three blocks north of here."

Marik offered the sole helmet to Bakura, but Bakura scowled at it and shook his head. Too tired to argue, Marik wore it himself and started up his baby, gliding her into the street and taking off through the sparse, late night traffic. A few minutes later they were at a large condominium complex, golden lights shining through plate-glass windows and making the night sky seem washed out and petty. Marik approved.

He parked, dismounting the bike after Bakura and removing the helmet from his head. He looked at Bakura, who raised a white eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. Marik smirked, keeping his gaze level with Bakura's rust-colored eyes.

"What? Expecting a thank you? You're the one that wanted to give me a ride. It's not like I'm going to invite you up for a drink."

"No, you wouldn't." Marik took a step closer. "So I'm inviting myself up."

Bakura snorted, pivoted in his black leather boots, and walked towards the building. Marik followed him. They stood facing each other in the elevator, each of them leaning back against an opposite wall with their arms crossed.

"Still not offering you a drink."

"I'll mix my own, then."

"Why the sudden interest?"

Marik shrugged. "Look . . . I just want to make sure you get to your door safe, okay? I don't really need a drink."

"And I don't need a bodyguard."

"No, you really don't. I don't need a Ducati either, I still love riding it."

A grin stretched across Bakura's face. Marik suspected it was unintentional because Bakura looked somehow offended at his own smile. "Are you coming onto me?"

Marik's eyes flicked to Bakura's jacket pocket. "No, you still have the knife, I'd better not."

"See, now I know you're trying to flirt with me."

"Is it working?"

"No." Bakura turned his head.

"Pity."

"I told you already. That shit happens all the time. I'm fine."

"I've told the fucking boss three times to fix the light above the door. It doesn't help that it's pitch black out there."

"Pffft, the dark doesn't bother me," Bakura said.

The elevator stopped at Bakura's floor and he walked out into the hall. Marik watched him a moment, the way the black coat clung to Bakura's frame made Marik believe him. It was like darkness wrapping around him, shielding him. Marik should have hated it, but somehow it drew him onward, following Bakura down the hall.

"It bothers me."

"Yeah?" Bakura glanced behind his shoulder.

Marik nodded.

"Huh," Bakura said, nonplussed. "Guess we all have something. I hate fireworks."

"Really?"

Bakura shrugged, stopping in front of a door and letting them both inside- making sure to hit one of the lights before Marik walked through the threshold. "They terrify me."

"Is it the noise?"

"The sparks."

Marik nodded. He looked around Bakura's house. "You're . . . a huge fucking nerd."

"Am I?" Bakura smirked, disappearing to the back of the apartment.

Marik made himself at home on the sofa. He looked around, posters of Megaman, Chrono Trigger, and the Legend of Zelda hung on the walls in glass frames. It was a surreal blend of college dropout meets sophisticated adult. The action figures on pedestals or in cases gave the same effect. Marik's eyes sank to the coffee table in front of him. There, surrounding a salt-rock lamp, sat three glass dongs and half a dozen glass butt plugs. They were oddly beautiful, swirls of colors spiraled within the clear glass.

"Like them?" Bakura asked from behind Marik.

"I've heard of displaying a conversation piece, but this is unique."

"I would never use them." Bakura circled around Marik, dressed in a black sweatpants and a black tank top. He sat in a chair perpendicular to Marik. "I'm a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to what gets shoved up my ass and glass doesn't make the cut."

Marik winced at the bad pun. "Yeah, I'm sure you're all class in the bedroom."

Bakura leaned forward, looking smug. "I make all of my own toys."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're also a real genius when it comes to creative uses of tube socks, baby oil, and ziplock bags."

Bakura twisted his face in disgust. "No, and I'd rather not know your browser history. I mean I actually have silicone molds so I can make my own. It's . . ." Bakura shrugged, relaxing back into his chair. "A hobby of mine."

"Nice ice-breaking conversation." Marik chuckled.

"Bad Dragon is having a contest."

"Who?"

"Bad Dragon, y'know, Bad Dragon."

Marik shook his head.

"Oh my god, you're worse than a virgin!" Bakura rolled his eyes, grabbing a laptop from an end table and bringing up a web page.

He handed the computer to Marik, who scowled. "You're into this?"

Bakura waived Marik off with his hand. "I'm twenty-seven. I've seen some hot forty-year-old exotic dancers, but personally, I'm ready to find a retirement plan. Besides, I'm very passionate about making men cum, why not make it my day job?"

Marik gestured with his hand. "Why not? Have fun."

"I need someone to pre-test the damn thing. I have one for myself, but I need another opinion if it's any good or not." He shrugged, giving Marik a playful grin. "I mean, I am a slut and a narcissist, I can't really trust my opinion."

Marik blinked, shocked that they were having this conversation and shocked that it fell so casually from Bakura's lips. "You're saying you want me to just go to your room right now and let you fuck me with some sea monster penis you made out of god-knows-what materials? Are you crazy?"

Bakura tossed his head back and laughed. "Okay, one I use quality materials- two, you can still use a condom over it if you have doubts- three, it's a dark dragon god not a sea monster, those are different molds- four, I was going to give you one so you could take it home in private." He gave Marik a sultry glance. "Personal demonstrations cost extra."

Marik crossed his legs, trying to glare at Bakura, but there was no real hatred in the look. "Why would I even fuck myself with your stupid dragon toy?"

"Hey, you're the one that followed me up here like a puppy because of some knight complex, I'm just trying to turn your foolishness to my advantage."

Marik snorted, but then he smirked as an idea came to him. "Fine. I'll play with your little toy, but you have to let me give you a ride home every night this week."

Bakura made another face. "Why do you care?"

Marik started laughing. "Well, you see Bakura, I've been watching you from afar all these years, and I've secretly fallen in love with you."

Bakura laughed with Marik. "Cute. Really cute. What's the real reason?"

Marik shrugged. "We really have worked together for several years. We're not exactly buddies, but I don't like the thought of you having to fight your way home. Besides, I live two blocks past you so it's not like I'm going out of my way."

"I'm not wearing a helmet."

"What if it's a helmet with a +3 defense bonus?"

Bakura's mouth dropped, as if the reference made him considered the option of wearing a helmet. Then he snapped. "What the fuck, you called me a nerd, but then you make that lame ass joke?"

Marik shrugged. "I was in highschool once."

"Yeah, I'm sure you had perfect attendance, too."

"You don't look like you were on the honor role, either."

"How do you know I'm not paying my way through college right now?" Bakua winked.

Marik rolled his eyes. "Just give me the creepy sex toy already so I can go home and watch Adventure Time."

Bakura stood up, looking more earnest than Marik had ever seen him. "Damn, I forgot there was a new episode tonight. Why am I sitting here and wasting my time with you?" He ran to the back of his condo and returned with a white box. He shoved the box into Marik's hands. "Here."

Marik stood up, staring at the box in his hands. "Thanks . . . I guess. You know, crown and coke would have worked a little better."

Bakura shook his head. "Told you I wasn't going to offer you a drink."

"Yeah, why offer drinks when there's dildos?"

"You volunteered when you insisted on following me up to my place."

Marik couldn't help but smile. "You're right, this really is my fault."

Bakura escorted him to the door, holding it open as Marik stepped into the hallway and giving him a finger gun. "I expect a full report."

"I'm too tired tonight. You'll have to wait until my night off."

"Your loss." Bakura closed the door, leaving Marik alone in the hallway.

The next night was business as usual. For some reason it was a margarita night. Every other order was a margarita, and Marik wondered what the hell had been on television the night before to cause it. Whatever it had been, Marik was sure everyone was disappointed when the reality didn't live up to their expectations.

A woman pushed her way up to the bar. Her bleached hair stuck out in every direction, fried from being over processed too many times. Her lipstick was also smudged and her eyelashes looked like hairy spider legs from too many coats of cheap mascara.

She pointed at the rim of her half-drank margarita. "This is salt."

Marik glanced at the glass while mixing two gin and tonics. Yeah, it sure the fuck was salt, and Marik couldn't see what the problem was. "Okay?"

She frowned, raising her voice as if she thought the problem was with Marik's hearing. "It's supposed to be sugar!"

At that moment Marik was grateful that his older brother, Rishid, had raised Marik under a strict never hit a lady policy, because Marik wanted to clock the bitch right then and there. "No, sweetie, margaritas get salt. Order a daiquiri next time if you want sugar on the glass."

Marik could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't used to being told she was wrong, but it took more than bleached hair and a spray tan to make Marik Ishtar kiss ass. He didn't put up with the flirty, spoiled princess act from the queens, so he sure as hell wasn't going to tolerate it from the bimbo standing in front of him.

"I don't want a daiquiri. The place I go to always puts sugar on the glass for the margaritas. You're doing it wrong- fix it."

Marik opened his mouth to explain his policy of never fixing drinks that were more than halfway consumed, but the DJ announced Bakura's name, and suddenly Marik didn't care anymore. He grabbed a clean glass, wet the rim and covered it in a disgusting amount of sugar, and dumped the remainder of the margarita into the new glass. He even topped it with whipped cream and a few maraschino cherries before sliding it back across the counter. It made the drink look repulsive, in Marik's opinion, but the girl's liquor-glazed eyes lit up. She snatched the drink with greedy hands and stiffed Marik on the tip yet again.

But Marik couldn't linger on his outrage because Bakura was wearing red leather boots that rose straight up into the heaven of Bakura's white thighs and god damn. The red thong disappeared into the crack of Bakura's ass, leaving his cheeks bare for Marik's feasting eyes. He'd always admired Bakura's body, and the way Bakura could control every single movement. That's what drew Marik's eyes to Bakura night after night, that specific, meticulous control. Something about it made Marik want to seize it away from Bakura, to watch him unravel until he was nothing but a mass of shaking limbs and fingernails digging into sheets.

Despite his desire, Marik was aware that he hadn't exactly played it smooth the night before at Bakura's place. He could flirt with the customers easy enough, winks and haphazard brushes of fingers and his pink tongue always darting out to lick his lips at the most opportune time. He raked in a mountain of tips each night because of his ability to manipulate people and fool them into thinking he was exactly what they wanted him to be. Daily life flirting was a struggle, however. Marik didn't like people enough to bother. They seemed ordinary and plain and boring to him; he was Narcissus and they were Echo.

Bakura was different. He didn't care. He didn't care that Marik was beautiful, arguably more beautiful than Bakura. People often wondered why Marik didn't take his turn on the stage, but Marik refused to show his body to anyone. Several long stripes scarred his back from when he was ten and his overly religious father tried to whip the gay out of Marik and the Jesus into him. In the end it turned out for the best, a teacher called CPS and Rishid ended up with custody over Marik two weeks later, but Marik still refused to take off his shirt no matter how golden and toned his chest was. The sleeveless, lavender vest and black bow tie the bartenders wore was as nude as Marik would allow.

Bakura didn't have Marik's issues with self-image. He wore a long-sleeved, cropped shirt of red mesh that showed more than it covered. His nipples perked up from the fabric. His stomach flowed white and smooth as milk below the mesh. He grabbed the pole with both hands, closing his eyes and licking up as if the filthy thing was a hard, sweaty shaft that he was about to blow. He ground against the pole, the friction making him bulge a little through his scant thong.

A shudder ran through Marik as he watched. He doubled his efforts on mixing Tom Collins, whiskey sours, and more margaritas. It wasn't going to work. As much as Marik wanted to seduce Bakura, to steal Bakura's self-control away like a vampire stole blood from his victim's veins, when it came down to it- Marik wouldn't do it. Sordid fantasies were nice, but when it came to actually touching another human being with anything more than platonic intentions, Marik felt like something was missing in him, some chemical signal that allowed people to be physically close together without feeling alien in their own bodies.

After work, Marik stepped out into the dark alley. He'd complained, once again, about the broken security light, but as soon as the door shut behind Marik, the alley choked him in darkness.

"So I'm getting a ride, yeah?"

Bakura's voice made Marik jump. "Asshole, I didn't see you. Don't freak me out like that."

"Kiss my ass, Marik. I'd already be halfway home if I hadn't been waiting on your ass to get done."

"Let's just go. It was an annoying night."

Bakura chuckled, a shadow walking beside Marik in the dark alley. "You don't have to tell me how annoying tonight was. After you liquor them up, I'm the one that has to deal with their sloppy, grabby hands."

"At least no one's attacking you in the alley tonight."

"Yes, even in trashy, putrid Domino the clouds have silver linings."

"Anyone ever tell you that you have a special talent for dry irony?"

"No because the morons usually think I'm being sincere."

Marik smiled because he was familiar with that same problem. He handed Bakura the extra helmet he'd brought with him. Bakura frowned. "Are you really going to make me wear this?"

Marik had expected Bakura to put up more of a fight, so when he only scowled at the helmet, Marik answered. "Yes. I could draw a +3 on the side if you wanted me to."

"Fuck you," Bakura growled as he slipped the helmet on.

Marik grinned. It'd been a little too easy to get his way on that one. He drove Bakura home, staying on his bike as Bakura dismounted.

Bakura handed Marik the extra helmet. "Aren't you coming up?"

Marik shrugged, sticking his visor up so he could talk. "Well, I haven't had a chance to play with your little friend yet, so I don't really have anything to report."

Bakura shrugged. "You're here. Might as well come up and not have a drink."

Marik couldn't resist cracking a smile at Bakura's dumb joke. He turned off the engine and followed Bakura upstairs. Marik sat down, his stomach a twist of burning, quivering knots from his nerves. Marik wanted Bakura, but at the same time, Marik didn't want to be touched by anyone, especially if it meant taking his shirt off, so instead of spreading his legs out as he sat on the couch in order to invite Bakura's eye towards his crotch, Marik crossed his legs.

Bakura toyed with the remote for a moment and disappeared without a word. Marik turned his head to watch Bakura go, so it wasn't until the familiar theme song started playing that Marik realized that Bakura had put on Adventure Time reruns on the television to watch. Marik settled into the couch. They were reruns, but Marik all but forgot Bakura even existed as he zoned out of the world and into the show.

When Bakura did return, he was in a large, frumpy t-shirt and a pair of Adventure Time boxer shorts. He had a bag of microwavable popcorn in his hand, and as he sat down, he offered the open end to Marik so he could grab a handful.

Marik didn't see why he shouldn't, so they sat there, passing back and forth cheap popcorn and watching cartoons. Their conversation was sparse, mostly commentary on the show, and bag was empty and forgotten before either realized it. They actually managed to marathon the entire first season before either of them realized the sunrise slipping through the glass of the arcadia door separating the living room from the balcony.

"Damn, I need to go home." Marik stood up, eyes fixed on the gold and orange sky.

"Sorry." Bakura smirked; he didn't look sorry at all.

"I'm off tonight. I'll let you know how . . . well, you know," Marik stuttered. He wasn't sure why he felt so bashful.

"Y-yeah." Bakura kept his eyes locked on the TV and away from Marik. "I'm off too, so just call." He shrugged. "Or come over. I don't care. And if you don't like it, I guess just chuck it into the trash or something."

Marik laughed. "What? You don't want to recycle it?"

Bakura wrinkled his face in disgust.

Marik laughed again. "Relax, that was a joke."

"I'm not an idiot. It was obviously a joke!"

Marik grinned. "Are you sure you're not an idiot? I have to wonder."

Bakura scowled and pointed to the door. "Get the fuck out of my house, Marik."

And with that fond farewell, Marik went home, showered the club off of his body and out of his hair, and then dropped face-first into his bed, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

Marik awoke late that afternoon. He stretched, arching his back against the mattress and scratching his scalp. He couldn't remember his dreams in detail, but he felt stuffy and aroused and his cock was hard and brushing against the duvet. Marik ignored it. He often woke up with a stiffy and the dream probably had nothing to do with it. He got up, ate breakfast, watched the weather, checked his emails, and waited for his erection to go down so he could decide what to do with his day.

But his cock stayed at least partially hard all morning, twitching against Marik's silk boxers in protest from time to time. Marik had a pretty good sex drive. He usually fooled around with himself in the shower, but he'd been too tired the night before and he figured that was why he was more randy than normal.

He thought of the box sitting beneath his bed. His cheeks heated up and his cock twitched again at the thought of using the toy, but Marik felt hesitant. Was he really going to use something Bakura made in his kitchen during his spare time? It seemed a little absurd. Still, Bakura used his own toys and he didn't look like he was dying of lead poisoning . . . he looked really good, when Marik thought of it. He felt his nipples stiffen as thoughts of Bakura and sex toys and masturbation all swirled together in Marik's brain.

He sighed, conceding. He had promised Bakura he'd give the thing a try, and he was in the mood to try something different, and it felt a little naughty (and alluring) to use something that Bakura had crafted himself, so Marik went to his bedroom. He pulled the box out from under the bed, lifting up the lid and staring at the dildo resting in the box beside a name card.

There's no way.

The thought flashed through Marik's mind the moment he saw how fat the dong was. It was opaque black, scaly ribbing trailed down the shaft and a odd protrusion stuck out from the base. It was as if the dildo has its own long, slender penis; Marik figured the extension massaged the perineum when the toy was inserted.

Did Bakura really expect Marik to shove that thing up his ass? Was Bakura a masochist? Marik picked the toy up, feeling the scales that gave the silicone texture. He noticed a suction cup fastened to the base and an idea came to him.

Marik set Zorc the Destroyer on the bed and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed a wooden chair from the kitchen table and carried it back to his room. He set it next to the bed. Licking the suction cup, Marik slammed the toy onto the wooden seat to make it stick.

He started at it, tall, and fat, and black, and sinister as any abyss. Marik bit his finger; despite the nervous flutter in his belly, he was harder than before and looking forward to trying it.

He took out a condom and a bottle of water-based lube. Marik snorted as he rolled the condom over the toy, thinking that it was a good thing he already had Magnum XL's, otherwise he'd have trouble getting the condom to fit. Finished, Marik used the lube to prep himself.

When Marik felt confident in his preparations, he stood up and straddled the kitchen chair. The position alone was enough to build up Marik's excitement. He'd never really put that much effort into jerking off before, so breaking away from his daily routine made Marik eager.

He lined up, feeling the tip press against his entrance. Marik eased his body weight down until his flesh gave way and the toy slipped into his body. Marik moaned, tilting his head back, closing his eyes, allowing his lips to part, and adjusting to the sudden sensation of being filled. He sank lower … and lower until he could feel the extension tickle just below his balls. Marik took a few deep breaths, wincing as he pulled up halfway and then dropped down again. His cheeks burned and Marik couldn't help but breathe through his parted lips in shallow huffs. His hair tickled his shoulders and he brushed all of it to one side so it wouldn't distract him. After a few more tentative ups and downs, Marik started moving in a steady rhythm. He sighed and bit his bottom lip. He was surprised about how quickly he'd adjusted to the toy's girth, but despite the fancy ribbing and extension, the toy was smoothly textured and the lube helped it slide in and out of Marik's asshole with relative ease.

A jolt shot through his stomach as he picked up his pace. Marik grabbed the back of the chair, trying to resist the urge to stroke himself and end it all too soon, but his cock was hard and throbbing and each time the head brushed against the chair's back, Marik grunted and wanted to clench his fist around himself. He grabbed his shaft, almost as thick and fat as the toy's, and started to squeeze and knead himself. Between his warm, slick hand gliding up and down his shaft and the toy filling him to the brink, it only took two minutes for Marik to choke out a low moan as he came over his hand and the back of the chair.

He dropped to the seat, thighs trembling from the effort of moving his bodyweight up and down. Marik panted, waiting for his breath to even out. He realized that he did not want to stop. The toy was still inside him, huge and filling, and he'd been too aroused that morning for it to already be over. Marik slung his left arm along the chair back, leaning his forehead against his forearm. He continued stroking himself, slow and lazy. He felt soft and malleable in his hand, so Marik kept his massaging light. He reached his thumb up to the tip, smearing come over the head- it was already getting cold, but it was slick.

Marik didn't rush, taking a good amount of time to toy with himself until he was firm and long again. Marik kept his arms resting against the chair back, tired from his first round. Instead of bouncing up and down, he rocked back and forth. By accident, he discovered that when he did so, the slender extension at the base of the toy put just the right kind of pressure on his perineum. He rocked a little more, throwing his head and shoulders back to shift his weight and force the tip of the toy to press closer to his prostate.

Marik wasn't huffing anymore, he was flat-out moaning with each breath, the sounds both embarrassing and arousing. A strange thought crept into Marik's mind while he rode the toy. Bakura had held it at some point, running smooth, long, white fingers across the the silicone to check the toy for flaws or imperfections. Marik was sure he'd washed the toy before passing it on, and Marik himself had added a condom, but the thought of Bakura touching the very thing inside Marik at that exact moment, making him moan and hitch and fuck himself into a frenzy, was strange, and nerve-wracking, and exciting, and inappropriate, and hot, and the more Marik tried to avoid the thought, the more his brain insisted he think about it. Before Marik realized what he was doing, he was stroking himself again- faster than before, harsher than before, more desperate than he'd ever grabbed himself before, until he was screaming with a strong, sudden orgasm.

Marik gasped, his lavender eyes wide, his mouth opened wider.

But Marik still wasn't done.

He pushed himself to his feet, using the back of the chair to keep himself steady. Marik grabbed a small towel to clean up his mess, tossed out the used condom and wrapper, and washed the toy in his bathroom sink. Then he lay on his bed, toy beside him. With small, gentle touches, Marik ran his fingers up and down his spent shaft.

His touches were so mild and so slow that he actually dozed with his cock still in hand, exhausted from his first two orgasms, but as soon as Marik's mind drifted back to the surface, refreshed from the brief rest, he started pulling at his shaft with renewed interest. He grabbed the lube, adding a touch to his skin. When he was hard, he poured more lube onto his asshole, giving himself several good, hard thrusts with his fingers to make sure he was slick.

He grabbed Zorc the Destroyer, coating it until it gleamed, and inserted it back inside his asshole. It slipped straight in, hitting Marik's prostate and making him curse in pleasure. He mouthed the word fuck over and over as he began to work the toy in and out. His cheek was pressed against his pillow, and his eyes were screwed shut. He was lost in his own mind and his own thoughts.

"Ooooh fuck," he moaned, digging his heels into the mattress and pressing his hips up into order to thrust with the toy.

His right hand fumbled for his cock, dragging the pads of his fingers up and down his golden shaft, and dropping lower to fondle his balls, all the while angling the toy as close to his prostate as he could get.

"Oh fuck . . . fuck . . . you bastard, you fucking bastard."

It took him a moment to realize he was cursing Bakura. And so what if he was thinking of his coworker while fucking himself? It was Bakura's fault. Bakura was the one that all but shoved the toy in Marik's hands and told him to try it out.

He grit his teeth to keep from screaming as he came for a third time. Well, there wasn't much semen at this point, but the orgasm had been as rich and decadent as any he'd ever had. Marik pulled out the toy and dropped it, gasping for air. He knew he needed to get up and shower again, but he felt his lids drop over his eyes as he fell not into a light doze like before, but a hard and proper sleep.