***This hasn't really been beta'd, so feel free to point out mistakes. Thanks!***
WANTED: Roommate to split the bills. Two bedroom apartment. Clean apartment, so-so neighborhood. You can have the vegetable crispers as far as fridge space- the rest is mine. No, I won't make anymore room. No, not even for your milk. Yes, I do need that much alcohol in the fridge. You can watch t.v. or play videogames, but if I'm there first it's mine, and no I won't change the channel. I don't care if your favorite show is on. I don't care if it's the season finale. Buy your own goddamn tv. And don't fucking use my knives. I'll know if you do. Yes, even if you wash and dry them I'll know. Don't. Do. It. Also, don't talk to me unless you have to. I'm not your fuck buddy, or your regular buddy. I don't want to look at you unless you're handing me rent money. Speaking of which, rent upfront, plus a non-refundable deposit of 50,000 yen. Don't fucking call to negotiate these terms, just show up with the cash or go fuck off.
There was a knock on the door. Bakura frowned, paused his game, and pushed himself to his feet. Another knock followed the first after only half a minute.
"I'll answer the door when I'm ready!" Bakura shouted, already pissed off at whoever it was.
His shout was answered by consistent, loud, knocking.
"Fucking son-of-a-whore," Bakura grumbled, standing right in from of the door and making whoever it was wait longer for being a complete jerk-off. When he did open the door, and saw Marik grinning at him, he slammed the door again, but the tomb-keeper used his body to jam the door.
He stepped inside, a scrap of newspaper in his hand. "Bakura Touzoku? What, did you think you were being clever with that?"
"Go away." Bakura tried to push the door harder, indifferent that Marik was stuck between the door and the frame.
Marik pushed back, he was stronger and made his way into the apartment. "You know, this is no way to treat your new roommate."
"You? Ha! No! Get out of my apartment, Ishtar! I'm done with all you card-game playing losers! Let me just suffer through this life on my own."
"Yes, suffer. When did you become so dramatic, Bakura? Wait, nevermind, that's actually a bit par for the course."
"Fuck you!" Bakura marched to the living room, crossing his arms over his chest and pacing. "Maybe vengeance was a six year awkward puberty phase for you, but it was my existence," he hissed the last word, baring teeth. "I dedicated my life, and three thousand years after my life, and for what? The pharaohs are stars in the night sky. They're united with the gods. And me? I was allowed to see my family ... for a moment. I guess the gods thought they were being merciful, showing me they'd passed on, but losing them twice ... it's cruel, even for the gods ... Zorc was less cruel . . ." He raised his head. Marik stared at him with wide, lavender eyes. "They sent me back as punishment. They gave me a sip of paradise and then sent me back here, all my memories in tact ... this body is a prison cell, my life is a jail sentence."
Marik stepped closer, resting his hands on Bakura's shoulders. "Bakura …"
Bakura pushed Marik away. "And you remind me of that. Every one of you bastards reminds me of that, or I would have just stayed with Ryou."
Marik's face fell. His eyebrows knitted together in a delicate gold line. "In the two years I've been in Domino, I've moved five times. I hate everyone; I can't stand people." He raised his eyes to meet Bakura's gaze. "I get pissed off with their miserable, mundane problems, I get pissed off at howboring they are, I get pissed off because they're always trying to make some cheesy ass move on me and it makes my fucking skin crawl." He shrugged. "We didn't work well together, or efficiently, or successfully, but you never tried to put your hand up my shirt or down my pants. I could trust you."
Bakura exhaled, closing his eyes. He'd had the same problem. "You saw the ad, right?"
Marik waved the newspaper scrap in his hand. "How do you think I got your address? I knew it was you right away, and I brought cash, even the absurd deposit you wanted."
"I wasn't being facetious in the ad. It's my fridge, my tv, and anything else I happen to be near or using is mine."
Marik laughed. "Whatever, can I move in? I'd get my own damn place, I can afford it, but Ishizu freaks out and thinks I'm being anti-social when I live alone and don't date."
"Why don't you date?"
"I don't want idiots touching me."
Bakura chuckled. "You know what? Give me the cash. We can give a month a try at least."
Marik slapped a wad of paper yen into Bakura's hand. "For this deposit, I better get more than a month out of this place."
Bakura shoved the money in his pocket. "That's your problem, not mine. I'll try not to shove your face through a closed window."
"And I'll try not to slip back into my alter ego and skin you alive."
Bakura's cinnamon colored eyes widened. "Didn't you get rid of that guy?"
Marik shrugged. "Kinda. He's still in my head, but … I know that's just a fucked-up part of me that wanted to survive- which meant killing other people. I meant it as a joke though, skinning you alive."
Bakura snorted. "I don't remember you having a sense of humor."
"I still don't according to Rishid and Ishizu. Ishizu especially freaks out- that's why I moved out."
"Are they in Domino?"
Marik nodded. "Egypt …"
"Haunted?" Bakura asked.
Marik continued to nod.
Bakura tossed a hand up in the air. "I guess you should move your crap in, then."
"What the fuck are you doing?" Bakura shouted the next morning when he saw Marik in the kitchen.
"Chopping scallions for breakfast? Why are you freaking out?"
"You said you read the ad- don't fucking use my knives, Ishtar!" Bakura snatched the chef's knife out of Marik's hand, cleaning it and inspecting the edge.
"Bakura, I know how to use a knife without dulling or chipping it."
"Don't fucking care. It's mine. Buy your own."
"That would take up too much counter space."
"Don't care."
Marik threw his arms up, too angry for words. "Fine!" He managed after the gesture. "I was trying to be nice and cook breakfast, but you know what? Make your own damn food. I'm going out to eat. I'll bring back a knife and use it on your face." Marik swiped all the scallions, chopped and whole, onto the kitchen floor in a fit.
"I'm not cleaning that up, asshole!" Bakura shouted as Marik marched off.
"Sorry, can't hear you, jackass, I'm off to buy a fucking knife because you're a fucking three year old."
"Me? You're the one that chucked food on the floor like an infant in a high chair!"
The door slammed and Bakura knew Marik was gone. He grit his teeth, staring at the edge of his knife again. It was fine. Marik wasn't some twat like his former roommates, but Bakura was too used to everything in life being a struggle- everything- not just roommates trashing his things and trying to kiss him every time he got drunk- everything in life had always been a struggle. From the day he'd been born to a hungry, desperate village on the verge of falling to theft in order to survive.
"Fucking gods are assholes," Bakura muttered to himself, stowing the knife and sweeping up the scallions.
He grinned as he thought about Marik. He'd heard the term "redemption" thrown around a lot in regards to Marik's character, but he was still an angry brat, although Bakura supposed threats and tantrums were an improvement to playing with humans like living dolls. That's something they had in common- they'd once treated people like toys, dolls and rpg figurines, and now they were both stuck in normality hell, and they were both pacing like caged wolves because of it.
Bakura ate cereal for breakfast, and then crashed into his favorite black bean bag chair- stolen from Ryou's apartment- and loaded up Castlevania. When Marik returned he was a storm of slammed doors and cupboards, but then the sounds stopped all at once and Marik appeared from the kitchen.
Bakura could see most of him in his peripheral vision, but he didn't turn his head or acknowledge Marik's presence.
"You swept."
"The onions smelled."
"Oh … that makes sense." Marik dropped down on the couch behind Bakura. "I bought my own knife."
"Okay, I mean, maybe I overreacted on that one. If you can skin a grown man as a child, I'm sure you can handle a knife."
"That is dangerously close to both an apology and a compliment."
Bakura shrugged. "Take it as you want. Most people would be screaming at me for bringing up bad memories."
"You can't bring up what I've stopped burying." Marik exhaled. "It's always floating in the back of my mind now- all those fucked up memories."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. Why do you think there's so much rum in the fridge?"
"I thought you had delusions of piracy."
Bakura snorted. "Only when there's a movie I want to see, but not pay for."
Marik started to laugh from behind Bakura. "When I left the tomb I wanted to watch a movie in a theatre. I didn't know such things existed, but I saw it in the memories of my first Ghoul. So I try to walk right in, and the asshole wanted me to buy a ticket, so I controlled his mind so I can get in, and then I realized that I could control everyone, so I did. I made them bring me sweets, and play the movie, and then replay my favorite parts. It was amazing …" Marik's voice stopped. "I'm sorry."
"Why?" Bakrua twisted back to catch a glimpse of Marik.
"Those Items … your village was sacrificed to make them, right? And here I was, being a child and using the Rod, and a theater full of people, as children's toys."
Bakura paused his game, turning to face Marik and hugging his knees to his chest. A horrible memory flashed in his head, something that'd been bothering him since the gods sent him back but he couldn't talk about with other people. He was ashamed. He loathed himself for some of his former actions- not all of them, but some of them. But Marik was the same. He understood the loathing of waking up from a Shadow Magic induced high and being left horribly mortal, horribly aware of every action.
"When I had the Ring, I remembered that I was pissed, and I remembered that it was the Pharaoh's fault, but I forgot just about everything else. I killed Pegasus for the Eye, and I … licked it."
"Yeah, you do that. Remember the knife at the pier?" Realization hit Marik's face. "Ah, damn … awkward."
Bakura gave a bitter chuckle. "Yeah, awkward doesn't really cover it."
"Okay, but why? Why'd you lick it, dumbass?"
"I don't fucking know. There was blood on it. It looked tasty. I was pretty much harboring a demon-god in my soul at the time." Bakura shook his head. "I mean, you did things like that, right? Things messed up even by your standards?"
Marik lowered his head. "I mean, I can't vouch for every time skip, although I remember most now, but even without them-" Marik jerked up, walking over to Bakura and plopping down in the bean bag chair with him. "What game are you playing?"
Bakura exhaled through his nose. The conversation was getting too deep, and he didn't mind the blatant change of topic. "Castlevania."
"Can I play with you?"
"It's not two player …" Bakura thought a moment. "Fuck it. Hold on." He got up and changed the cartridge. "This is Super Mario Brothers 3. We can take turns- whoever conquers fewer levels has to cook dinner, though."
"That's not fair. You're better at video games than me."
"That's your problem not mine."
"Fine. Let's play. You'll regret it next time we make a deal."
"Your threats never scared me, Ishtar. Never." Bakura squirmed a bit to get comfortable. "Who the hell invited you to share my bean bag chair anyway?"
"Your ass is skinny enough for both of us to fit."
"Your arm is touching mine."
"So what?"
"Move."
"Bakura? Really? We've basically shared headspace."
"If I elbow you, don't whine like a bitch."
"This is disgusting." Bakura opened his mouth and allowed the cream-colored paste plop down onto his plate.
"Bakura, that's disgusting. What's your problem?"
Bakura tried drinking the chai Marik made, but even that wasn't enough to wash the flavor out of his mouth. He went to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of rum and downing three shots worth before pulling the bottle away and sighing.
"I put extra garlic in it just for you, asshole." Marik scowled.
"Waste of garlic." Bakura grabbed the pita bread and started eating that on it's own. "What the hell is that crap?"
"Hummus? Everybody likes hummus."
"I don't."
"Well something is wrong with you."
"Look, I tried to eat your bullshit vegetarian food. It's awful." Bakura made a face, taking a last swig of rum for good measure. "What was in it?"
Marik scowled into his own food. "Garlic, lemon juice, chickpeas-"
"Never feed me chickpeas again. Never. I hate them, not as much as the Pharaoh, but for just as long."
Marik looked up. "Is that what was wrong?"
Bakura nodded, finishing his pita bread.
Marik gave him a sheepish grin. "Uh, hey Bakura?"
"What?"
"Don't eat the falafel, either. You won't like it."
"Why don't you just eat meat like a normal person!"
"Who the hell doesn't like chickpeas!"
Bakura stood up, slamming his hand on the table. "Who the hell eats chickpeas when they can afford any fucking thing else!" He dropped back down in his seat and started to giggle.
Marik raised an eyebrow. "Did the booze kick in?"
"Fuck you. It's your fault for cooking peasant food. Make m'something else."
"Hell no. It's not my fault you didn't like it."
"Fine. This is dinner then." Bakura tilted the bottle back.
"You're going to regret that."
Bakura shrugged, still chugging. He put the bottle back in the fridge, though. He also grabbed his phone and ordered delivery. "Want egg rolls?" He asked Marik.
Marik gestured to his plate full of falafel, hummus, pita bread, and salad. Bakura shrugged and put in an order for himself. As much as he hated to admit it- he was in a good mood, drunk, with egg rolls, and a new episode of Survivor on the tv, so when Marik came and sat by him on the couch, he didn't complain.
Marik waited until commercial to speak. "There were too many leftovers because you didn't eat anything, so I had to make room in the fridge."
"You're going down the list and breaking every fucking rule to annoy me, aren't you?"
Marik gestured with his hand. "I told you, they're technically your leftovers."
Bakura rubbed his face, too drunk to argue with Marik. "Fuck. Whatever." He dropped his head down on the couch in the space between them. "Just shut up and let me watch this."
They spent the next few hours watching tv in silence, and then Marik flicked off the screen with the remote. A lamp kept the room from going dark, but it was dimmed. Bakura closed his eyes, sleepy, comfortable, mind just hazy enough to truly enjoy the moment.
He felt Marik shake his shoulder. "Hey, shouldn't you go to bed?"
"Mmmm, here's good."
"You're going to wake up with a sore neck."
"S'okay."
Marik mussed up Bakura's hair, but Bakura was too out of it to complain. "Suit yourself. Goodnight."
"Mmm, nite …"
The next day, even after a hot shower, Bakura's neck felt stiff and awful.
Marik laughed as he watched Bakura rub his own neck. "I tried to warn you."
"Seemed worth it at the time."
"Bakura," Marik frowned. "You don't drink like that all the time, do you?"
"No. I know I said I do, but I was exaggerating. I usually only keep one bottle in the fridge."
"That's a few more than one in there, Bakura."
"I did that to piss off my last roommate."
Marik smirked, tilting his head. "Okay, do tell. Why did you fill your fridge with booze to piss off your last roommate?"
"She just got really anal about her side and my side, so I made it all my side, and she hated rum because it makes her puke when she drinks it. Still tastes better than chickpeas."
"She?" Marik asked.
Bakura shrugged, then winced because his neck hurt. "I thought maybe a women wouldn't be so touchy. She wasn't, but she was a micromanaging bitch. I hated her more than all the others combined." Bakura growled at the pain in his neck.
Marik snorted, sitting on the couch. "Sit on the floor."
Bakura gave him a wary look.
Marik rolled his eyes. "I'll rub your neck. It'll work the kink out."
"Why are you being nice?"
Marik shrugged. "Well, I did serve you your least favorite food yesterday."
"Yeah, but I kinda set you up to make dinner with an unfair challenge."
"True, but you did sweep up the mess from my tantrum."
"You wouldn't have done that if I'd just let you use the knife."
"Well, you told me not to. I should have at least asked."
All at once they stopped and stared at each other in shock, both realizing at once that they were being apologetic with each other. Marik pointed to the floor at his feet. "Quit being a bitch and come sit down."
Bakura gathered his hair over his shoulder. "Whatever, at least I know you won't try to kiss my neck like the last asshole roommate that offered me a shoulder rub."
Marik wrinkled his nose on Bakura's behalf. "What the fuck is wrong with people?"
"I don't know. That's why I hate everyone."
"Me too," Marik said, working the knot out of Bakura's neck and ignoring his occasional hiss of pain.
"Well, I guess we have that in common."
"It does seem like we come together best when we have a common enemy, like Yugi, or my dark half."
"Or the entirety of the human race."
"I mean my siblings are okay, and I can sort of deal with you, but everyone else can choke."
"Yeah, I talk to Ryou sometimes, but I could burn the rest of the city down and-" Bakura groaned, hiding his face in his hands.
He felt Marik combing his hair with curved fingers. "It was just an expression of speech, Bakura."
"I know ... I know … I still hate myself."
"I know, I mean, I know how that feels."
Bakura glanced over his shoulder, his neck still tight, but much better. "Want to switch? I promise to stay above the collar."
"Uhh … o-okay, I guess." Marik sucked a breath in then blew it out. "I trust you enough. At least with a neck rub."
Bakura snorted. "I'm honored."
They switch places. Bakura used his thumbs and circled at the base of Marik's neck. Marik's breath hitched and the sound of it made Bakura feel light and queasy in his stomach. "Want me to stop?"
"If you want," Marik whispered. "I-I don't mind this, though."
Bakura focused on Marik's traps, admiring how the muscles stretched down from Marik's neck to his shoulders. The more he massaged, the harder Marik breathed, and Bakura wished he'd stop because it was making Bakura's pants tight.
"No wonder people pay for massages," Marik gasped.
"I guess."
"You don't understand … this is really good." Marik hunched forward a bit and hitched himself up into Bakura's touch, placing Bakura's finger dangerously close to scar tissue.
Bakura moved his hands up to the base of Marik's skull to avoid brushing against a scar. "Damn, Marik, say it like that and I'll have to take a cold shower when I'm done."
Marik stifled a half moan as he continued to roll into Bakura's touch.
Bakura watched the way Marik's muscles ripped as he kneaded the tension out of them. "You're not used to being touched either."
Marik gave Bakura a snort of laughter. "No, I was going to be a king and a god. Can't really let the riff raff get close when you're a god."
Bakura started laughing. It felt weird in his own chest, because it wasn't a snort or a cackle, it was something a little more free, and new, and terrifying. "Sometimes it's like you're in my head."
Marik laughed with Bakura. "I promise I don't have the Rod anymore."
"I just know the feeling too well, being a god, not letting anyone close because you're above it all. No one gets it, though. Trying to explain that feeling to anyone makes you sound like a meglomaniac, but at the time it doesn't seem vain- you're just a god. It's as factual as having skin or hair or teeth."
"Yeah, not even Rishid ever got that. Damn, now we're just a couple of assholes that can't socialize worth a damn. Ah, can you go lower, maybe?"
He'd already kneaded all up and down Marik's neck, but he hadn't minded while they spoke. Bakura lowered his fingers a touch, massaging just above Marik's scarline peaking up from his tank top.
"And you know what else I like about you," Marik said, blurting it out almost like the point of an argument instead of a compliment. "You don't ever cower when I talk to you. Even if I yell you snap back instead of stare at me like my hair will go crazy at any moment."
"People are such fucking cowards."
"Ahhh, just a little lower, Bakura."
"Marik, I- I can't."
Marik glanced over his shoulder. He looked a little concerned, as if he asked for too much.
Bakura gestured to his shoulders. "Your scars?"
Marik frowned. "Yeah, I guess that's why it hurts more there."
"I mean, I don't mind, but I figured you'd rather I not."
Marik looked down at his hands. "I mean …" He smirked, his old Battle City confidence in his features. "We are both gods, right? And it's not like you didn't see them when I showed them to the Pharaoh."
Bakura smirked. "I may have caught a glance. You were wearing the Ring, afterall."
"Yes, funny how I forgot to take that off when I showed the Pharaoh his memories. You'd think I of all people would have realized your Spirit returned to the Ring the moment I brought Ryou's body back."
Bakura shrugged, grinning. "I guess with all the excitement and redemption going on at the time it slipped your mind."
"I guess."
Bakua got up to his feet. "Hold on." He went to his room and grabbed the baby oil he kept near his bed, returning to Marik.
"Oil?"
"I don't have massage oil, but this should work."
Marik toyed with his earring. Bakura couldn't remember ever seeing Marik nervous before. It was an amusing look on him.
"You really don't mind?"
Bakura shrugged. He really didn't mind for some reason, but he couldn't say it out loud. "I want steak for dinner."
Marik scrunched up his face. "Ew, gross, no."
Bakura sloshed the oil in the bottle, tempting Marik with the sound.
"Fine, jackass, I'll cook you a steak. I'm eating yesterday's falafel."
"Gross, but as long as I get steak we have a deal."
Marik grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging it up over his head and tossing the material on the sofa. Bakura's eyes widened a little at the sight of Marik's sculpted chest. He had a sudden longing for when his own body was dark and layered with muscle, but for some reason, the gods had brought him back looking like a mangled Ryou instead of himself.
Bakura knelt next to Marik, pouring oil in his hands and warming it. He spread out the oil across Marik's back and shoulders, trying not to gasp at how beautiful and golden Marik's skin looked as it gleamed beneath the ceiling light.
He was gentle, far more gentle than anyone could have ever guessed he had the ability of being, but his soft touches were rewarded by the sight of Marik writhing beneath his fingers. Marik's hands dug into the carpet, trying to pull it out like grass, but the fibers were too short to get a proper handle on. Marik's heavy breaths became low moans, and Bakura was only down to his shoulder blades.
Bakura's mouth went dry as he watched Marik unravel beneath his touch. He couldn't focus on anything but the feel of Marik's skin, and the sounds coming from Marik's mouth. Bakura reached the center of Marik's back, and then the bottom, pressing a little more firmly as he reached one of the many knots. He tried to focus on the muscles, not the scars, but he made sure Marik's back stayed slick so the friction wouldn't bother him.
"Holy fucking gods," Marik whispered into the carpet.
"Ug, dammit," Bakura paused a moment to reach into his pants to adjust his erection into a more comfortable position.
Marik noticed and smirked. "Hmmm, are you enjoying this, too?"
"You're fucking moaning," Bakura snapped. "And you're half naked. Of course I'm going to react to that."
Marik sprung up to a sitting position, grabbing Bakura and dragging him into his lap.
"The fuck, Marik?"
"Do you want me to let go?"
Bakura gave an ambiguous grunt and looked away. "You're such a fucking nuisance."
"You're avoiding my question."
"I don't care what you do."
"You don't?" Marik ran a finger up Bakura's cheekbone. "You're pink."
Bakura turned back towards Marik's face, leaning in to snarl, "Fuck you."
Marik leaned in as well, brushing their noses together. Bakura fell into Marik's rhythm, leaning in close, allowing the tip of his nose to brush against Marik's skin, and then pulling away. They fell into a loop, leaning in as if to kiss, but never letting their lips touch.
"This is probably the dumbest thing we've done yet," Marik whispered, as if sensing the inevitable progression to their movements.
"Is it? I think fighting your dark half was worse."
"We don't even get along with each other."
"We don't really get along with anyone."
"That's a solid point." Marik used the tip of his nose to trace near Bakura's mouth. "Shouldn't you be talking me out of this?"
"Probably."
"Well?"
Bakura grinned, parting his lips and daring Marik to take them.
"Okay, but you can't blame me when this ends in another one of our disasters."
"Shut up and kiss me."
Marik only teased his bottom lip against Bakura's top lip. He'd dart in and pull away as quick as lightning. Bakura's eyelids sank low, his mouth parted wider. When Marik finally latched on and began to suck at Bakura's bottom lip, Bakura groaned. He slid his fingers along Marik's sides, trying not to grind down as he sat in Marik's lap.
"I've never done this before," Marik confessed, his breaths growing short.
Bakura just shook his head. Not only had he'd never kissed before, the thought had never even crossed his mind. Whenever he saw people kiss his stomach would cramp in aversion. Now their tongues slid against each other. He could taste Marik's saliva dripping into his mouth. It should have been disgusting. It should have been revolting, but Bakura moaned, and tilted his head so he could deepen each kiss, and savored the taste of Marik in his mouth.
So when Marik grabbed Bakura by the waist and eased him into a laying position on the carpet, Bakura spread his legs so Marik could lay between them and on top of Bakura. Marik pinned Bakura's wrists over his head, breathing hard through his nose. He gave a slow, hard roll of his hips, and Bakura hitched up to add to the pressure. It wasn't long until Marik rolled down a second time, and Bakura couldn't think of anything except the warm, buzzing thrill running from his shaft to his balls.
He gave an impatient buck, and Marik answered with one of his own. They moved like they argued, back and forth, fast, fierce. Bakura didn't even realize he was on the edge until a final arch upward caused him to come even as Marik was whining into Bakura's mouth.
They exchanged another look, and he realized that they'd both finished too soon. Which, he supposed, meant they finished on time since they'd done so together, but it had felt far too soon.
"I, uh," Bakura stumbled for words, still hazy from his orgasm.
"If you play Castlevania. I'll watch," Marik said.
It sounded like a good excuse to get them untangled from each other. Now that the tension was gone, Bakura wasn't even sure why he'd been so swept up by it all. Sure Marik was beautiful, but by those standards the Pharaoh was also beautiful and Bakura would scoop his eyes out of his skull before coveting that sort of relationship with Atem. Nevertheless, Bakura had no problem with the thought of sharing his favorite beanbag chair with Marik and playing Castlevania, even after their quick, impromptu exchange.
"I need to change first." Marik stood up and excused himself from the living room.
"Me too," Bakura said as he followed Marik down the hall and to his own room for a change of pants.
"You're being bitchier than normal. Shut-up for five minutes or I swear to the gods I'll evict you."
"Bitch, my rent's paid up till the end of the month, and I'm staying here for the entire, miserable month."
"If you're so miserable why don't you get the fuck out?"
"And go where?" Marik crossed his hands over his chest.
"Anywhere! Go for a walk. Jump off the pier. Whatever strikes your fancy."
Marik dropped his arms, looking at Bakura. "I haven't seen the pier in awhile."
"Okay. Well problem solved. Go there for an hour so I can have some peace and quiet."
"Come with me."
"What? Are you stupid? I'm trying to separate us because we've been fighting for three days non-stop."
"I don't want to go alone."
"Go with Baldy."
"I'm pissed off, and when I'm angry Rishid gives me a sad look. I'm not in the mood for it." Marik huffed out a breath.
Bakura tossed his head back, swearing at the ceiling. "Fuck! What's wrong with me? You always have stupid ideas, and I just do what you say like a fucking moron."
Marik started laughing. "Yeah, you do. It's great. Walk around with me and we can stop for ramen on the way home. I'll buy you a beef bowl."
Bakura pouted. He did love beef bowls. "Okay, but if you nag too much I'm stealing your wallet and getting my own lunch and leaving you in a back alley in Domino somewhere."
"That's so romantic, Bakura."
"Shut up and let's go."
They wandered down the street. Marik leaned close so he could whisper in Bakura's ear. "What the hell is up with that guy's hair?"
"That's hair? I thought he was a hedgehog walking around in pants."
Marik chortled at the mean spirited comment. "Speaking of retarded hair-"
"Yugi?"
"Does he use product?"
"I don't think so. Pharaoh's used to look the same."
"What did you look like?"
Bakura frowned. "Darker. A little less scrawny."
"Did you have white hair?"
"Not quite this white."
"Why didn't the gods send you back in your old body?"
Bakura shrugged. "I guess it's part of the punishment. Whatever, they piss me off."
They reached the pier. The wind blew their hair around their faces. Bakura sat down, dangling his legs off the wooden ledge. "I came here the first night. I don't know why."
"Oh?" Marik asked, a strange quality to his voice.
Bakura shook his head, staring at the waves lapping at the pier posts. Bakura jumped up. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Marik frowned. "Why not?"
Bakura held his arm where a scar should sit, but didn't. "I'm sick and tired of remembering what a fucking moron I was. Let's go somewhere else."
"Where?"
"I don't know. Let's walk."
Marik nodded, leading the way down a different street. They reached a section of town that was unfamiliar to them.
Marik pointed across the street. "What's that? A park?"
"I think it's for joggers."
"Well it looks interesting. Let's jog really slow through the trails."
"You mean walk?" Bakura raised an eyebrow and they crossed the street.
"It's all a matter of labeling." Marik gestured.
The trail they chose cut into a thicket of trees. The deeper they went, the easier it was to forget they were in the middle of Domino City. Everything was green, the trees, the grass, the licen on the stones. They came to a pond covered with jade colored algae.
"I never knew there were places like this in the city." Marik reached out his hand, touching a leaf.
"Yeah, I guess. I usually stay inside and play games. Ryou was much the same so neither one of us ever went to places like this."
"I like it here. I'm definitely coming back."
Bakura snorted, sitting down on a boulder near the pound and drawing patterns around a patch of lichen. "Then I better charge up my gameboy, because I have a feeling I'm going to get dragged along if I like it or not."
Marik plopped down on the rock, leaning against Bakura. "Is that so bad?"
Bakura smirked. "Maybe you're also a punishment from the gods."
"Yes, because it's really going to hurt you to breathe outside air once in awhile."
"It might. Maybe I'm allergic."
"Shut up. You're not funny."
"At least you bitch less when you're outside."
"Let's play strip poker tonight."
"That … was really random, Marik."
"I bet I can get you really mad in a game of poker."
"Pffft, you're on. We should make it interesting."
"Yeah? How so?"
"Each time we take of a piece of clothing, we have to share a memory."
"Ah, true vulnerability. I like how cruel you are, Bakura."
Bakura responded by messing up Marik's hair. Marik straightened and combed his hair with his fingers to straighten it back up. "You're such an asshole."
"You're cute when you're mad."
"What!" Marik screamed, and Bakura cackled.
"Fuck." Bakura pulled off his socks.
They both cheated. Bakura wore layers, and Marik wore all his jewelry. After an argument, they decided that braclets and bangles each counted as a set that came off together, making them two rounds instead of four. Marik had won the first round.
"Don't forget the side bet."
"I … can't think of anything."
"Tell me about the first time you killed someone."
"Oh." Bakura's face fell. "I was eight? Almost nine? I was in a town, sleeping in an alley, and a man grabbed my arm, trying to drag me away. I don't know who he was, or what he wanted, even to this day. One second everything was black and still in my mind as I slept, and then out of nowhere hands and a voice that scared me. I had my knife and I cut the tendon behind his heel. That made him fall, so it was easy to get his throat. After that I ran into the desert. After that, I stayed away from the towns unless I had to get supplies."
Marik leaned forward, eyes locked on Bakura. "You know, I always forget just how alike we are."
Bakura gave Marik a wry smile. "Products of the Pharaoh's rule."
Marik slid the cards over the Bakura. "It's your turn to shuffle."
Bakura didn't have quite the flare for shuffling that Marik did, but he got the job done. His pair of fives wasn't enough to beat Marik's full house, so Bakura groaned in frustration as he slid the belt off his waist. "I had a scar on my cheek." He drew down his cheek to show Marik. "I was fifteen. A guard kept slashing at my face. I dodged, but he got me three times." Bakura smirked. "It actually looked pretty good on me."
Marik snorted. "You would think so."
"Just shuffle the cards. I can't believe I lost twice."
"Ha, now you know how I felt when we played Mario."
"That was totally different."
"How so?"
"I was winning so it was fun."
"Stop talking and show me your cards."
Bakura won that time. He face a victorious grin.
Marik took off his belt. "Don't laugh at what I'm about to say."
"I promise nothing."
"I'll punch your smug prick face if you laugh."
"The suspense will only make it more hilarious, Marik."
"My first night in a proper city we stayed at a hotel … I'd never seen electric lights before, so I …" Marik flushed and Bakura had to struggle to keep from laughing. "Kept racing around the room with Rishid, making him turn different ones on and off. Some always stayed on, but to be able to control the lights like that, with a touch, it seemed like a greater power that the Rod. I must have run around for at least an hour screaming in laughter each time a light came back on. Click. Light. A child holding real Ancient Egyptian magic in his hand falling in love with the concept of a light switch."
Bakura thought a moment.
"What?" Marik shouted at him.
"I'm trying to think of how I would have reacted to a hotel when I was eleven. I think the bathroom would have been the thing that had me screaming." Bakura looked up, his grin was that of a mangy wolf with fresh blood on his muzzle. "You know those little bottles of shampoo and bars of soap? I probably would have gone around and stole twenty of them, or at least as many as I could carry."
Marik started giggling, his face flushing more than before. "Okay, so, I kinda did do that. Well, I made people go get them for me. Then I found the maid's cart and I completely lost it. And their towels were so soft to me back then. I made a nest, and watched tv, and kept a bottle of shampoo close by so I could sniff it during the commercials."
Bakura's grin became sleek. "That's another confession, you should have to take off another piece of clothing."
Marik snorted, but indulged Bakura by removing his socks. Bakura stood up, walked around to Marik, and sat on the table, knocking the deck over with his butt and ignoring the cards altogether.
"What are you doing?"
Bakura slipped off his overshirt, dropping it to the floor. "The first time I robbed a proper tomb I was twelve, and there was a room loaded with jars of wine. So, I sat down in the middle of the room and opened jar after jar until I was drunk, but then I was too drunk to realize I was drinking too much and I tried to drink it all so the nobleman buried there would have none for the afterlife."
"And then you threw it all up?"
"Then I dressed up like a nobleman, danced and sang until I got dizzy, threw up on the sarcophagus, and passed out using a mummified cat as a pillow."
Marik's mouth dropped. "You did not!"
"Yes I did."
Marik held his stomach, laughing until his face turned red. He unclasped his choker and tossed it beside Bakura on the table. "So when I was fourteen and recruiting Ghouls in the States, I took over a shopping mall once, and tried on every single type of underwear on in the Victorian Secret."
Bakura snorted laughter. "That would be much more fun to watch now, now that you've grown into your body."
Marik winked at Bakura. "I didn't take any of them, though. I just had the girl at the register put them back where she'd gotten them from, but I did find that purple shirt I wore when we met."
"I remember. It matched your eyes. Hmmm …" Bakura grabbed the hem of his undershirt.
"Before you take that off," Marik interrupted, giving Bakura a sleepy stare. "Why don't we finish this in my room?"
"You room?" Bakura gave Marik a wicked grin.
"Well, I'm sure my bed is more comfortable than the table you're sitting on."
Bakura shrugged, hopping off of the table and following Marik to his room. In front of the bed, Marik spun around and pulled Bakura's shirt up over his head. "Go on. I believe you were about to tell me a story."
"I ejactulated into the Nile once."
Marik smacked Bakura's bare chest. "You are making these up! I know you didn't!"
"Pffft, yes I did. I was bathing and the mood struck me."
"Did you ever jerk off while thinking about your own godhood?"
Bakura shook his head. "Not when I had the Ring. Then all I could think about was revenge, but when I was alive I thought of overthrowing the Pharaoh and becoming king."
Bakura grabbed Marik's hand, slipping off his gold bracelets and kissing the pulse points at Marik's wrists.
Marik smiled as he watched. "Should I be allowing a thief to take my gold?"
"I'm after something more beautiful than gold tonight."
Marik's eyes rounded, caught off by the line. His face broke into a smile, and then a laugh. "Hold up. Wait. When did you become so smooth?"
Bakura scowled a little into Marik's other wrist. "I can be smooth."
"Could have fooled me. I had you pegged for an Ancient Egyptian dork."
With an indignant huff, Bakura shoved Marik down onto the mattress. He stripped Marik of his bangles, kissing along Marik's biceps and trailing up to Marik's neck. Marik growled, tugging at Bakura's pants. When he had them half way down, Bakura stood in order to completely strip. Meanwhile, Marik hitched up his hips and removed his own pants and underwear in one, quick movement. Bakura settle back down on the bed, kissing Marik's lower abs but leaving Marik's shirt in place.
"It's okay, Bakura," Marik said, his voice husky and his gaze lidded but trained on Bakura.
Bakura raised up his head, looking at Marik.
"You saw them last time, remember?"
With a single nod Bakura eased the shirt off of Marik's torso. His fingers glided down Marik's chest, admiring the contours of Marik's body. He bent low, kissing everything he could reach. He traveled up Marik's chest, lingered at his neck with slow, lush presses of his lips, and then he reached Marik's lips. Marik grabbed Bakura's face, their kisses a tug-o-war of lips until Marik finally broke away with a wince.
"What's wrong?" Bakura asked, watching Marik's face.
"I can't. It was fine at first, so I thought I'd be okay, but they're itching."
Confusion creased Bakura's brow, but then realization struck him. He rolled to the side of Marik, pulling Marik on top of him instead, and dragging his fingers up and down Marik's back. "Better?"
Marik crained his head back and pressed his chest forward, moaning in delight at Bakura`s touch. The movement also dragging his hips forward, making their erections slide together and forcing Bakura to bite his bottom lip.
Marik looked down at Bakura. His were eyes bright and hot as magma, only a surreal lavender instead of red-orange. "Bakura."
"Yeah?"
"Do you want me?" He bent down and plucked a kiss from Bakura's lips. "Do you want me? If you do I'll-"
"Yes." Bakura growled, grabbing Marik by the hair and smashing their lips together in a rushed, desperate kiss.
Marik shifted up and went to his dresser. While he was preoccupied, Bakura sucked his middle and ring finger, coating them with saliva and then shoving them up his asshole. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped his mouth at the rough entry but he kept going, knowing he'd get used to the feeling.
"Bakura, what are you doing?"
Bakura blinked, looking away and feeling a uncharacteristic blush on his cheeks. "Getting ready? I thought you wanted to-"
"I'm not fucking you dry."
Marik tossed something on the bed next to Bakura. With his free hand, Bakura picked it up to look at it. "Annal lube?" Bakura pulled his fingers out of his ass and sat up. "This is a thing? They actually invented this?"
Marik gave Bakura a look of mild horror. "You mean every time you've ever pleasured yourself you've used spit?"
"Sometimes I use the baby oil."
"What the fuck, Bakura? Why do you do everything the hard way?"
"It's not like I knew there were other options!"
Marik chuckled a bit, licking his lips and giving Bakura a seductive stare. "Lay back."
Bakura huffed, as if inconvenienced, but he obeyed, spreading his legs. Marik poured clear gel onto his fingertips, and slipped a single finger inside. Bakura hissed at the initial chill, but it choked into a gasp at how smoothly Marik's finger went in.
"Put in another one," Bakura ordered.
Marik nodded and obliged him.
Bakura moaned, his cheeks warming again and his thoughts dissolving in the pleasure of Marik's touch. "Holy fucking gods. Holy fucking- put in another finger."
"Are you sure?" Marik asked. "I can take my time."
"Marik," Bakura near begged, hitching his hips up into Marik's touch.
"All right."
Marik inserted another finger, stretching Bakura further. Bakura scooped his body upward, trying to get Marik's fingers as deep as possible. In the few fantasies that Bakura ever had of actual sex, he was always dominant, a king commanding a subject, a god demanding worship, but he couldn't bother with any of that at the moment. He wanted Marik inside him. He wanted to be fucked into submission, fingers yanking his hair, cock pounding into his ass without mercy or rest. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly. He wanted Marik, but instead of saying it, he groaned and bucked at Marik's fingers.
And then the exquisite feeling of Marik's fingers withdrew, leaving Bakura empty and wanting, he groaned a complaint, already too lost for articulation.
"Don't worry," Marik cooed above Bakura. "I'm not finished with you yet."
It was then Bakura realized that Marik had pulled away his hand in order to coat his cock and Bakura's asshole with more gel. Bakura's pupils dilated as he stared at the thickness of Marik's shaft. Marik shifted into a better position, looking bashful instead of his usual confident attitude. Seeing Marik a little nervous was more endearing than Bakura wanted to admit.
Bakura smirked, shifting up a little and inviting Marik to take what he wanted. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
Marik snorted, pressing the head of his cock against Bakura's entrance. He closed his eyes, feeling his way into Bakura, slow at first and then all at once.
When the rush of Marik's cock entered Bakura's body, Bakura sucked in a sharp breath, stomach and thighs both trembling. He reached up, clawing at Marik's back on instinct.
"Bakura," Marik clenched his teeth as Bakura's nails scraped against his scars.
"Sorry. Gods, sorry." Bakura rubbed the area he'd scratched.
Marik growled, and bit into Bakura's neck harder than he should have, slamming forward in the same instant. Bakura screamed, hands going right back to Marik's back, but this time him managed not to scratch. After two more intense thrusts from Marik, however, Bakura's hands jumped to Marik's ass in order to grab, and scratch, and encourage Marik to go harder and deeper.
It was as if a sliver of Marik's dark half had returned, or rather, it was as if Marik had learned to incorporate that part of his nature into his movements without fear of being lost to it. He grunted, and bit, and slammed deeply into Bakura's body, and Bakura drank in every second of it. He could hear himself wailing but he couldn't stop himself from sounding so wanton and needy.
"God! Marik! God! Marik! Marik!"
"Am I?" Marik asked, hot breath panting against Bakura's ear.
"Yes!" Bakura screamed, and in that moment he meant it. Marik was a god, a ruler of Bakura's flesh, and Bakura prayed to him with wails of pleasure and gasps of breath.
He felt Marik shudder, felt Marik swell inside him. He knew Marik didn't have long before he came. Bakura pressed up, his own cock rubbing against Marik's belly. The friction combined with Marik's hard thrusts was enough to make Bakura come between their sliding bellies.
Marik let out a sigh of relief after Bakura came and sped up. Their skin smacked together, and the bed creaked like a ship in a typhoon, and then Marik poured hot and sweet into Bakura's body. He looked at Bakura expectantly, but Bakura wasn't sure what he should say. There was too much swirling in his chest at that moment, and his thoughts were scrambled. All Bakura wanted to do was take a shower and go to sleep with Marik laying draped across him like he was currently.
"So …" Bakura began, trying to fill in the silence and ease the worry from Marik face, but his chest clenched up at the thought of saying anything sentimental. "Want to sign onto the lease? There's five months left on it."
Marik smiled. "Yeah, maybe I will." He pulled away from Bakura. "I'm going to take a shower." Marik toyed with the duvet below them. "You want to help me wash my back?"
Now Bakura smiled.
"You bastard!" Bakura jumped up from his boulder seat when Marik snatched the Game Boy out of his hands. "Give it back right now!"
"No." Marik smirked, backing away. "You damn nerd, we're outside, quit playing video games the entire time and enjoy the fresh air with me."
Bakura stepped forward as Marik stepped back. "I hate fresh air and you. Give me back the game or I'll string your guts up from the trees."
"Hate me, do you? That's not what you were whispering into my hair last night- or the night before that, or the night before that."
Bakura hoped he wasn't blushing, but his face felt sunburned. "Those were all lies!"
He lunched for the handheld, but Marik dodged and started to run. "You need some exercise, Bakura!"
"Fuck you and get back here!" Bakura dashed after him.
He chased Marik along sections of trail and through trees. They ended in a private cove with only a small stone Buddha to watch them. There, Marik allowed himself to be caught. Bakura grabbed Marik's left arm, but he held up his right hand to keep the Game Boy out of reach. They both breathed hard and looked flushed from their race.
"Dammit Marik!"
"I'll toss it into the woods if you don't let go of my arm."
"I'll evict you!"
"Ha! You can't! Remember? Both our names are on the lease and we have two more months to go."
"I can't wait, so I can kick you out of my apartment and get rid of you once and for all."
Marik leaned closer. "You'd miss me."
Bakura forgot about the game. Marik smelled like body heat and aftershave and some undefinable outside quality, and Bakura found himself closing in to kiss Marik's mouth. Even when Bakura felt Marik tuck the Game Boy into his back pocket, Bakura didn't reach for it. Instead, he twined his arms around Marik's waist and pulled them closer together because it was Marik, and not the Game Boy, that Bakura really wanted.