[Author's Note: This is a role-play written between Sisefs and I from mid April to late June of 2010. We were still getting used to our characters, but nevertheless I think it turned out well. I wrote the part of Marik, she wrote the part of Bakura.]
Marik folded his arms and scowled out the window before him. He watched as the clouds swirled about each other, dancing in front of the moon's bright light. He hated it. The stars twinkled, as if winking at him, and he felt a throbbing urge to reach out a hand and squish them all in his hands so they would twinkle no more.
He growled to himself and turned away from the window, walking over to his temporary dresser, reaching out for the Millennium Rod. Marik turned it over in his hands, and ran a hand along it's smooth shaft. He unsheathed the knife inside, grazed the blade harmlessly along his arm, and began to laugh quietly to himself when he heard a noise at his door.
Bakura was pissed.
He could never recall a time in his long, long life when he didn't know what to do next. The path ahead had always been clear to him; no careful pondering, no second thoughts, just - do. But somehow that damned Malik had made him hesitate. The choice seemed obvious: win a shadow game, get a Millenium Item...piece of cake.
But there was just something in the back of his head that told him no. Unable to figure out why this contradiction has presented itself, Bakura simply did what he did best. That is, follow his instincts.
So he found himself at Marik's door. Knocking. And, as it opened, making his predicament known in as blunt a manner as possible. "Your hikari. He won't stop bloody pestering me."
The spirit of the ring was not the first person Marik would expect to come to his door. Although, he didn't expect anyone to, to begin with. But that voice was unmistakeable; rough with a slight british accent. Marik gripped the rod more forcefully before raising his head. He turned to face his doorway with a smirk firmly in place as he folded his arms.
"Hello to you too, Bakura. And how is this my fuckin' problem?" Marik said with a grin in his voice. There was nothing he loved more than taunting the spirit of the ring. Well, with the exception of a good kill with blood fresh on his hands, he corrected himself.
"You're his yami. Do something about it." The spirit couldn't hold back a sneer as he saw Marik's hands tighten around that Rod - as if it was any use against him. For a moment he was vaguely aware of the coolness of the Ring's metal against his chest and shivered. He hoped Marik would mistake it for a silent chuckle.
But his eyes held no mirth - they locked onto the other's, narrowed, obviously annoyed. Damned if he was going to let Marik jerk him around. Bakura did NOT do submissive.
"No." Marik grinned. "I would rather not. I have better things to do than clean up your mistakes." He turned away from Bakura, and tilted his head back to look at him with an air of condescension. "Unless of course you can't handle a 16 year old kid on your own." He smirked and walked away from Bakura, pretending to be interested in something else, knowing this would aggravate him. He placed his rod in one of his belt loops, almost daring the thief.
Oh. Ooooh. That little fucker.
Temper flaring a little more easily that he'd have liked, Bakura growled. He have liked very much to lunge after Marik, push him against the wall, and threaten him with one of his favorite torture techniques...but not yet. "Don't talk down to me. You have no goddamned right." His hands curled into fists, longing for violence (as they always did). HE was the one in control here. Marik could provoke the spirit all he wanted, but he was going to get nothing. Even if he did put away that stupid Rod like he was so damned high and mighty like he thought Bakura couldn't make him suffer and bleed until he screamed for mercy.
These images calmed him somewhat.
"Look," Bakura began again, "if he keeps haunting my dreams, I'm eventually going to say, 'fuck it' and do what he wants. That is, get rid of you. If you care that little about your existence in this world, fine. Don't do a single goddamned thing."
Marik laughed and turned around again to face Bakura. He smirked widely, eyes taking in the annoyed spirit's stance. He understood he was trying to restrain himself, and this just made him laugh all the more. "I have every right in the world." Marik said, spreading his arms. "Besides, even if you wanted to you couldn't just 'get rid of me'. You and I both know that." He raised an eyebrow in his smirking, retaining his air of superiority. "I'm more than a match for you."
Arrogant little thing. He'd get what was coming to him, one way or another. Bakura, expression fading from peeved to vaguely challenging, crossed his arms. He was better than this, he told himself. No petty insults would lose him his control tonight. Voice lowered to just above a whisper - a volume that, coupled with his gruff tone and accent, was usually more than enough to intimidate - he replied, "Oh, really?"
He'll be sad when he inevitably has to kill Bakura. He was fun to play with.
The smirk slid from Marik's face in keeping with the seriousness of Bakura's tone. While a flash of intimidation occurred in his mind, he refused to let anything but indifference show on his face. "Yes. Really."
Images flashed in his mind of the ways he could be rid of the spirit should he be attacked. A quick stab to the brain, a slash to the wrist, even a kick to the groin could buy him time for a fatal blow. This calmed any nerves he felt, and allowed him to relax a bit more. "Just you fucking try, Bakura." The ends of his lips twitched in a small smirk.
Bakura laughed and took a step forward.
"Try? I don't try. I do."
Another step. He had nothing to be afraid of here, he thought. Five thousand years of experience compared to Marik's seven. Marik may be armed, but Bakura could be deadly in any situation. However...this was not what he came here to do. Perhaps another path would lead him where he wanted to be.
He closed most of the distance between them; they were now within arms' reach of each other. Anything goes. He allowed a tense moment to pass before-
"Marik, I didn't come here to kill you. Although it would get that kid off my back, it was not my original intention." Besides, if he destroyed Malik's body, he could say goodbye to that Millenium Item. "Let's save the bloodshed for another night, hm?"
"Whatever, Yoda." Marik said, flatly.
Marik's fingers twitched at his side involuntarily. His eyes narrowed. He was very aware of the short distance that was between them, and debated backing up or going forward. "Well what did you come here for?"
That...was a good question. What did he come here for? He'd just been following his instincts.
"...I came here for answers." Bakura was loathe to put himself at risk, but to find out what he wanted, he might have to put up with appearing somewhat vulnerable...if only for a moment. If Marik took advantage of that, well, maybe he wouldn't have to postpone the bloodshed after all.
He chose his words carefully. "Malik's proposition should be a no-brainer. For some reason, it isn't. I need to know why."
Marik's eyes widened slightly, being taken off-guard. That wasn't what he was expecting.
He recovered quickly and scowled at the pale man. "Do I look like the keeper of that knowledge? Much to my displeasure, I don't control your mind. So figure it out, or get out of my room." He sneered.
Not that he wanted him to leave. But that wasn't something he wanted to broadcast.
Bakura scowled back. "You can help me figure it out. And you will." Whatever distance there was between them disappeared; in one swift move Bakura had moved to within inches of Marik's face, glaring, snarling. Not angry at Marik, but at himself. He was beginning to understand, and he didn't like it.
"Why am I so opposed to killing you? What's keeping me from hating you as I do every other being I meet?"
Marik smirked at him. "I suppose you and I are the same in that regard, Bakura." His eyes sly and half-lidded.
He took note once again of how close together they were. Suddenly an idea struck him. It wasn't smart. Nor was it a good idea in any way he could think of. But damnit, he was one to act on sudden urges and this wasn't going to be any different. If he executed this, he reasoned, one of two things would happen. Compliance, or bloodshed. Frankly, he was fine with either. Perhaps result A would feature result B as well.
Marik hummed to himself momentarily, debating. "Hold still," He said, decided. He grabbed a fistful of the spirit's striped shirt and dragged him the last few inches separating them, and forced their lips together.
Somewhere in his mind Bakura had known this would happen. Somehow, this made no difference.
Instinct. Follow instinct.
Instinct said yes. His mind said no. Again, torn. After a split second for the the fact that his lips were now locked with Marik's to register, his mind won out - his hands gripped gold-plated wrists and tore them from his shirt, ripped away from the kiss, eyes wide with something that was not quite confusion. But no sooner had he left Marik than he grabbed the boy by HIS shirt, shoved him back against a wall (none too gently), and forced their lips - and bodies - together again.
This. This was right.
Marik was none too pleased with having dominance ripped from him. He was contented with having result A, though.
He grunted at being forced against a wall. His rod was now digging into his back, and it hurt. But he could deal with it for now- he'd had worse, obviously.
Not wanting to be controlled even slightly, Marik grabbed Bakura's shoulders forcefully as he kissed him back, hard.
He growled a muffled growl into the kiss, obviously reluctant to hand over any power to Marik. Bakura did not do submissive.
Bakura's body was overtaking his mind now; no need to overthink things. Just enjoy. A desperate hunger was gnawing at him, a fire sparking from within. They had only just begun, but he wanted more. His tongue slipped uninvited past the barrier of Marik's lips, seeking out the yami's own, twirling around it, rubbing against it. His hands meanwhile had let go of the fabric and lifted it, now pressing directly against smooth, tanned skin; keeping Marik forced back, but exploring roughly all the while.
His mind urged him to fight back; to be authoritative. He shushed his mind however- turning it off in favour of doing whatever he pleased.
His tongue pushed against Bakura's, playing with it, occasionally nipping at the wet muscle which had forced its way through his mouth. Simultaneously his hands left the shoulders they had been latched to and twirled teasingly down his back. His fingers reached his lower back and slipped under his shirt, feeling the increasingly warm pale skin, until they left his body entirely.
He paused briefly, neither attacking his tongue nor assaulting his body; making the white haired one wait.
Marik then grabbed his bottom lip with his teeth and sucked on it, at the same time as his hands groped Bakura's ass.
When the tanned hands left his body, Bakura paused, wondering what the other was up to - but as he became unresponsive entirely, Bakura growled deep in his throat, body aching for his touch. His want turned the seconds into what felt like hours.
What Bakura was not expecting was the force with which Marik returned to him; it caught him off-guard, made his knees weak, made him let out the smallest of groans in a moment of weakness. He clawed now at Marik's chest, almost painfully, refusing to let his dominance go completely even as he leaned subconsciously back into the yami's touch.
Marik inwardly smirked as he continued his assault. He drew up one of his hands to wrap around Bakura's back, pressing their bodies even closer together.
He loved the feeling of the two of them close together. Their lips locked and their hands attacking each other.. Even the pain felt good. The pain, the intimacy of the touches; Marik wanted more of this. A moan involuntarily escaped his throat.
Bakura couldn't help but smirk into the kiss. Marik wanted this as much as he did - he was at no disadvantage. His hands ceased their attack in favor of palming, then tweaking and rubbing, the other's (despite the heat between them) perked nipples. Bakura had decided that he would find a weakpoint, a soft spot, and exploit the hell out of it; if that didn't put him in complete control, nothing would. Here began his search.
At the same time, his lips broke from Marik's and reattached themselves to his exposed throat; kissing, nipping, sucking, licking, biting. Trying to ignore that hand that kept assaulting his ass and trying to ignore the sounds that were trying to fight their way out from his throat because of it.
As lips made contact with his neck, Marik squeezed his eyes shut and focused all his energy on not making a sound. He would NOT let Bakura win this. Sensations from all over his body plagued his mind, making his head spin.
BREATHE, you idiot! He thought to himself. Marik finally exhaled the breath he had only been vaguely aware of holding. His exhalation was ragged and betrayed him- he cursed it inwardly.
With one hand still on Bakura's ass, his other began snaking up his shirt, scratching and rubbing the skin. He let out a growl.
He was gaining leverage! He had a foothold now - Bakura grinned against tanned skin, leaving more lovebites down the side of Marik's neck, confident now. He growled in response (a bit more breathy that he'd've liked), the noise vibrating against the other's neck, and shuddered as he felt hands crawling up his shirt; but he made up for it by moving a thigh subtly between Marik's legs. And pressing. And rubbing.
He wanted more of those sounds the boy was making. They were delicious.
Marik's mind grew clouded; he didn't like just being against the wall. He wanted to have more of Bakura, and (as much as he hated ceasing the contact) he stopped touching him to clasp his wrists and force Bakura off of him. He met Bakura's eyes for a moment, grinning. Marik pounced on him, tackling him to the ground, lying himself directly on top of him.
Marik grinned at him, and held his wrists down. He raised his shirt up and slowly kissed and licked his torso.
The floor hit Bakura's back hard; he winced. His immediate response was to arch his back toward the new source of pleasure; his second was to correct his mistake and still himself. Showing his pleasure was a sign of weakness, he reminded himself. And that bastard's not supposed to be on top of me, he added.
So the spirit commenced struggling against the boy, trying to wrench his wrists out of his grasp; but Marik held fast. Expressing both disapproval and wanton enjoyment, he growled, glaring up at Marik with narrowed eyes and a face that was beginning to flush.
Marik ignored Bakura's struggling and continued holding him down. He ran his tongue along the flattened abdomen and sucked at the skin. Marik rearranged his knees so they were on either side of Bakura's hips, sitting on his thighs.
He raised his head and licked Bakura's cheek, grinning at him and touching their noses, increasing the strength of his grip on his arms.
That he had to consciously control his breathing to make it seem normal annoyed Bakura. That damned boy had him pinned, was teasing him...he shouldn't be giving into this. At all. But it felt amazing.
He scowled back at Marik, weighing his options. He couldn't grind his hips up against Marik's, as Marik was on his thighs...he didn't want to injure him, either...well, Bakura doubted this would work, but it was worth a shot.
"Why exactly are we on the floor?" he asked, voice huskier than usual (if that's even possible). "There is a bed not five feet away."
Marik smirked at him. "For the same reason this whole thing started." He said, a snicker in his voice. He leaned his head down to Bakura's ear and nipped the earlobe. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." he whispered, licking his ear.
Although, he was beginning to wonder why he would have to deal with the floor, when he could be on the bed..
He gave Bakura's neck a quick bite, then shifted off of him, crouching on the floor, waiting for him to get up.
For some reason, this had Bakura laughing.
No sooner had Marik shifted off than Bakura was on him, grabbing him, shoving him onto the bed. Within seconds he was on top of Marik and had yanked his shirt halfway off - in such a way that it restricted the movement of his arms, if only momentarily. Bakura tangled his hands in the yami's wild hair, gripping it tight. Still laughing.
"You're not making this very challenging for me."
"I'm sorry, you wanted me to be difficult? I can do that." Marik hooked his legs around Bakura's and used his strength and momentum to throw Bakura off him. He ripped off his shirt the rest of the way, and grabbed the rod from behind him. He unsheathed the knife once again and pinned Bakura, once again kneeling over him and pressing the knife gently to his throat. "Don't assume I'm a pushover, thief. Even for a moment."
Marik leaned down and licked Bakura's lips, and fisted the handle of the rod. He sloppily slit holes in Bakura's shirt, not caring if he accidentally wounded him in the process. He tossed the rod away, and bit at Bakura's neck.
It was no secret Bakura was sick in the mind, but his masochism never really had a chance to show itself until now. The droplets of blood bubbling up from the fresh cuts decorating his chest made him hiss, squirm. "I never did," he replied, hands still ensnared in Marik's dusty blond hair, mimicking an action that was somewhere between petting and yanking. "Just remember I am a millennia-old spirit with more experience than you could ever dream of..." And you are the product of a sexually immature teenager's angst. But Bakura didn't want to offend, now, did he?
Now that he had Marik on his toes, the spirit could bide his time and wait for the right moment. Trust his thief instincts. Perhaps...a compromise, for now. Yes. After all, being on top and being in control were two different things. "...That blood is going to get sticky. Lick it off."
"Do you see my giving a fuck to your age or experience?" Marik asked, rhetorically. It was true, however, that Bakura had centuries of time whereas Marik was only 7. But this didn't bother him. You didn't have to be centuries old to listen to what your body wanted.
However, Marik was more than happy to be complacent in licking the blood off. He grinned at Bakura and his tongue glided over the precious droplets of blood, savouring the faintly metallic taste.
The sting of saliva on an open wound made Bakura hum lowly in his throat, stroking Bakura's hair in approval. Perhaps he could make this work...perhaps he wouldn't have to waste energy fighting. When he spoke again he added a slight whine to his voice, giving it an almost pleading quality. The tone usually got him what he wanted. Which was - more often than not - to make someone let down their guard.
"Lower."
Marik complied once again and licked and nuzzled lower, not thusfar becoming aware of the position Bakura was putting him into. He was not even forming coherent thoughts anymore. All his brain could put together was wantwantwant. He was highly inexperienced, much to his distaste, and only vaguely knew what he was doing. Because of this, his brain had thrown logic out the window as irrelevant, and he was acting on sheer impulse alone.
He could feel Marik's determination ebbing like the tide; he was giving way, more and more, to Bakura. And he loved it. He allowed himself a chuckle (the sound breathy to accommodate the sensations Marik's mouth was creating), hands tightening on the boy's hair. His hips jerked of their own accord. Impatient.
"Marik...have you ever even given a blowjob?"
"Nh?" Marik raised his head and an eyebrow to look at Bakura. "What do you think."
"I think you are far more naïve in bed than you are out there." In one fluid motion Bakura sat up, positioned so Marik was between his legs, and began to undo his jeans. His wit called for another snide comment, but through the fog clouding his mind he could not for the life of him come up with one.
"Just stop talking." Marik was tired of fighting him. He'd had his moment, he could fight later. He allowed Bakura to continue his actions, while he tangled his fingers in his beautiful white hair, dragging him down to his mouth for another kiss. He was still getting what he wanted, good enough for the moment.
Bakura grinned against Marik's lips, pressing into the kiss, gentler this time. His eyes slid closed as he took one of the boy's hands and guided it up his thigh, wrapped Marik's fingers around his hardness. Just the simple contact made him exhale rather sharply through his nose, and he found his free hand clenching at the sheets beneath him in anticipation.
Marik purred in his throat, vibrating his lips slightly. He didn't want to seem like such a child that he didn't know what to do, so he ran his hand up and down Bakura's length, humming in the kiss as well.
The light touch made Bakura's breath quicken; he had to break the kiss to breathe for a moment. "...Marik, just how far HAVE you gone?" he asked out of curiosity, pleased the words weren't as shaky as he felt (still had that control complex). His hand now wandered across the boy's abdomen, fingertips tracing patterns above the waistline of Marik's jeans.
"I haven't had reason to." Marik said, thoughtfully. "Standards too high." He chuckled. "Usually get to about here." He licked Bakura's cheek again, never ceasing his administrations.
"Well, I'm flattered that - ngh - you consider me worthy of your...services." Bakura exhaled the sentence, concentrating on fingering the buckle of Marik's belt and trying to keep his hips from wriggling. He smirked in spite of himself, realizing how much control he'd relinquished to his partner, and nipped at the yami's ear.
"What you're doing right now is just insufferable teasing. I want you to suck me dry."
Marik chuckled to himself. "Oh yeah?" He bit his neck lightly. "I can't do that if you're pinning me down, my dear." His coherency surprised him- His voice did not shake, nor did his eyeline waver. Marik tilted his hips upwards, into Bakuras and grinned.
Bakura said nothing, but moved to lean back on his hands and smirked. His back was arched, his hips forward, and an eyebrow cocked as if to say, "Come and get it, bitch."
Marik followed suit and sat up, leaning himself over Bakura's midsection, licking from his inner thigh, up the hardened length.
A rugged breath forced its way from Bakura's throat; his eyelids slid nearly shut. The warm, wet pressure against him sent tingles of pleasure up his spine, making that passionate fire within him spark, making his hips lean forward - wordlessly begging for more.
Marik took the tip to his mouth, sucking on it, slowly taking more and more into his hot mouth.
A hand went again to Marik's hair, pressing the back of his head, pushing him lower. Bakura's breath was slowly becoming shallower, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He had to make this last...but...
"...Tongue. Use m-more tongue."
Shit, did he just stutter?
Complying, Marik twirled his tongue around it, coating with saliva. He suppressed a gag reflex and took it deeper into his mouth, swallowing so the wet muscles contorted around it.
"Ngh..." Eyes tightly shut now, concentrating fully on the euphoria Marik's mouth created, Bakura allowed himself a quiet moan. He felt as if he were nearing the edge faster and faster; Marik was damn good for his first time. His hand dragged itself through the blonde locks, stroking, tugging, anything to cope with that building pressure.
But he couldn't come yet. They hadn't even gotten to the main course; why should he fill up on appetizer?
"Fuck...stop."
Marik hummed as he slowly let go. He sat back up and wiped the spittle clinging from his lips off with the back of his hand, and smirked up at Bakura. He felt proud for improvising on the spot, having not done that before. With cockiness emanating from his face, he grinned at him, debating another kiss.
He didn't have to think about it long, because Bakura cupped both hands around Marik's cheeks and pulled him into a fast and sloppy kiss; he could taste the salty sweetness of his own precum in the boy's mouth, and the sensation made him more eager than ever.
His hands left Marik's face in order to yank off the yami's belt, nearly rip open his jeans, and begin to stroke his manhood - fast - all in the space of a few seconds.
When things were sudden, they felt oh so much better.
Marik inhaled sharply with a soft "Agh" trailing it, and breathed out raggedly. His mind, body, and hormones grew desperate; he entangled his hands into the spirit's hair, pulling him as close as he could, anxious for contact. This felt so good, it was intoxicating.
Bakura smirked against Marik's lips, tightening his grip; now he had the boy, quite literally, in the palm of his hand...he could do whatever he wished. He decided to tease him a little.
The thief's fast stroking suddenly slowed to an infuriating crawl; when Marik protested, he would speed back up.
Marik groaned against him, obviously annoyed. His hands grabbed on more tightly, nonverbally begging.
Chuckling, Bakura pulled away from the kiss, hand speeding back up and gripping just a tad tighter. Now that his mind was clearer, he could toy with Marik however he wanted...and he decided he would make that nonverbal begging, verbal.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you."
"Faster." He replied, breathing hard. "Harder." He gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. "Just.. ng, Make me feel good." His eyes screwed themselves shut as tight as they would go, his body unused to the sensations sweeping through his senses.
Gladly," breathed Bakura - who complied, speeding up, before an idea hit him. Immediately, he stopped. His eyes fell on the Millennium Rod, thrown to the floor some feet away. The handle wasn't thicker than a couple of his fingers...
Unable to resist watching Marik's overwhelming want cloud his judgement, Bakura issued him the order he knew the boy would mindlessly follow: "First, go get that Rod."
Marik blinked twice at him, but obeyed. He crawled over to his discarded item and held it loosely, gazing at it. His eyes turned back to Bakura and, locking eyes with him, he made his way back to his original place. He looked from Bakura to the rod and back, not yet making the connection. He was busy living in the moment, however, and cared not for thinking things through.
Bakura pounced. He tore the rod from Marik's hand and shoved him onto the bed roughly, grinning all the while. Now that he thought about it, this had more than one use... "Tell me. Are you a masochist?" Marik struck him as a sadist, but the two often went hand-in-hand.
No sooner were the words out of the spirit's mouth than the handle of the rod went in; he licked at it, tongue greeted by the metallic tang of gold, then wrapped his lips gently around it, coating the end with saliva. His eyes were locked on Marik's the whole time - half-lowered, glazy with thoughts of what he was about to do.
Marik wriggled slightly at being shoved so forcefully- although he wasn't complaining; the rough handling was somewhat of a turn on. "Masochistic?" Marik said, emptily, not concentrating on words as much as he was concentrating on watching Bakura. "I know I'm sadistic- ...But now I think about it, I suppose I must be." He stuck his tongue out to wet his lips unconsciously, keeping his eyes on the spirit.
Bakura took the rod from his mouth and slid the handle off the knife hidden inside. "Good..." he purred. "Either way, we'll soon find out."
One hand went down, slithered between Marik's legs, and prodded gently at his entrance. Bakura was cautious with the rod's handle, sliding it slowly in, because Marik would have something else to concentrate on - his free hand held the knife against the yami's chest, sharpened tip poised against his breastbone.
Another brilliant idea hit him, and Bakura set to work on his masterpiece.
He traced a slow, deliberate circle in the dead center of Marik's chest. The gold tip easily slit his tanned flesh, like a knife through butter; shining droplets of vermillion blood bubbled up through the shallow cuts, dripping, crawling down his skin like tiny liquid snakes. Beautiful.
Marik's breath caught in his chest- his eyes wrenched open as far as they would go. Pain blinded him, he could no longer distinguish shapes, colours, objects. Pain assaulted his mind, coming from between his legs and on his chest. He arched his back, his hands balling into fists and clawing at the sheets below him.
He felt the liquid from inside him drip slowly down his body, and it made him shiver.
Moaning on his exhale, Marik raised one of his hands to his chest, catching some blood. He licked it off his fingers, and pushed himself further towards the foreign object between his legs- somehow loving the searing pain it caused him.
He loved all of it.
The pain and ecstasy clear on Marik's face, the soft, needy sound of his moan, made the blood rush to Bakura's face. Bakura's hand left the handle once the rod was sufficiently submerged; he wrapped his fingers around his own aching hardness and stroked. This was just too hot.
"Relax your lower half...at this rate, you won't be able to take me." His words were breathy, rushed. He watched Marik's tongue dart out to taste the blood as his sculpting hand absently added a triangle to the inside of the circle, strokes quicker this time, more impatient.
He unconsciously complied, relaxing his lower muscles and focusing all his attention on the knife digging in his chest. His fingers traced the pattern that was now on his body into the sheets; he was mesmerized by the shining blood cascading down his sides. He was irritated at having blood on his body that he could neither reach with his mouth nor remove properly, and found himself half wishing Bakura would taste the blood that irritated him so.
"Ngh.."
They were so pretty. Crimson, glittering. Like tiny jewels. Priceless gems, oozing from quickly healing slits, dripping in rivulets down chocolate-brown skin, seeping into virgin sheets. Fascinated with them, Bakura followed the path of one drop down the center of the yami's chest, settling in the groove between his ribcage and abdomen before creeping down his side and out of sight. In his distraction, he absently carved the remainder of his design - five straight lines from the bottom of the circle, pointing down - sloppily. They looked as if they'd been created by the claws of a wild beast. Which, in a sense, they had.
Snapping out of his daze, Bakura sneered, leaning downward. "So beautiful..." he exhaled, almost to himself, before letting the tip of his tongue trace the angry red marks. His eyes locked onto Marik's face, twisted in emotion. Taking in his reaction with a ravenous hunger.
His mouth cracked open, teeth barely exposed. The edges of his lips twitched upward in a kind of pained yet pleasured grin; adoring how the slices in his skin felt burning inside him. He chuckled internally, vaguely lucid enough to wonder of his hikari's reaction once he saw these marks, as he would inevitably see his body once again.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and met Bakura's. His eyes conveyed mixed emotions from the wide variety of feelings possible to express. The most prominent of which was written as clear on his face as if it too had been carved in with the blade of a knife: want.
Pure and unadulterated need flooded him. Without ever looking away from the gorgeous, lustful face, Bakura threw the knife unceremoniously to the floor and sat quickly back up. His hand left his cock and took hold of the rod's handle; knowing Marik (though a virgin) would be sufficiently relaxed at this point, he wasted no time in jabbing it in the direction of his sweet spot. He wanted to see this boy squirm as much as possible - milk him for all he was worth. The more Marik gave, the more Bakura wanted. It was just so...delicious.
"God...you really are so fuckable, you know that?"
Marik's face screwed up in pain as the rod began moving; although accustomed to its presence in his body, he was not used to its moving. He shied away from it, until pain was temporarily removed from his mind and replaced with absolute pleasure- his eyes seeing naught but white. He inhaled deeply, pain creeping on the periphery of his mind.
Bakura's words penetrated his consciousness, and he, unable to focus on his face, shut his eyes. "Do now.." He mumbled, his eyes roaming underneath their lids. "G-...Get the rod out of me."
In one swift movement the rod was gone and Bakura was ready to take its place. He spit into the palm of his hand and hurriedly lathered himself with the makeshift lubricant, every breath rugged, mind reeling. He hadn't had a virgin in so long, he'd almost forgotten...that tight, gripping heat...god, he couldn't wait another fucking second.
Bakura leaned over again, lips attaching themselves to Marik's neck, bodies pressed together, trapping the heat between them - as he slowly, almost to the point of being ginger, slid himself in.
Marik cried out, and bit his lip. Delicious pain... He extended his arms and wrapped them around Bakura, holding him tightly to himself. "Move."
Bakura's teeth sunk themselves into Marik's neck. Those tight walls surrounding him...sliding against him... "You sure?" he asked, lips moving against the yami's skin. "It will...hurt. A lot."
"Did I stutter?" Marik said, voice steady, although inside he was NOT sure. But he'd had excruciating pain before, and he saw no reason for him not to be capable of this.
Bakura pulled almost fully back out again, only the head submerged, and laughed quietly against his lover. "Suit yourself." And slammed back in. And out - and in. Finding a rhythm, he pulled back as far as Marik's grip would allow, watching the yami, gauging his reaction. He honestly wasn't sure whether Marik would be able to handle this, whether his masochism extended so far. But - and here he bit his lip to hold back a groan - if it was too much, he didn't know if he could bring himself to stop.
'OH. MY. GOD.' Marik thought. He had NOT anticipated this much pain all at once! He let out a muffled grunt in attempts to conceal the massive shriek that wanted out of his system. He contained himself; knowing that if it was this painful at the moment, sooner or later he would once again feel the euphoria he was expecting.
Some strange emotion presented itself when Bakura heard the stifled sound. He could not identify it...but it made him pause. His hips twitching at being denied pleasure, the spirit made to speak, but could only groan. "T-...told you..."
Why was he sacrificing his own pleasure to see that Marik wasn't hurt? Usually he used people like tissues; take one, use it, throw it away. Marik...why was Marik any different?
Bakura bit back a whimper.
Marik bit his lip so hard that it bled. He ignored the liquid seeping into his mouth. 'Well pardon me for not believing you!' He wanted to reply. But he knew if he opened his mouth, his cry would escape. He felt his eyes water at the pain. He wanted this to end, he wanted this to continue, he wanted to die before more agony, he wanted to-... he didn't know what he wanted anymore.
He took a moment to compose himself to keep from melting, then gave a stiff nod, conveying his permission for Bakura to continue.
Not completely convinced (and quite skilled at reading pain on people's faces), Bakura remained stationary, frowning. "Not until...you're relaxed," he managed - and then did something quite out of the ordinary. One hand lifted from the sheets beside Marik's head and, gently, brushed the hair from the yami's eyes. His lips pressed against the boy's cheek, then forehead.
Such a display of concern was, to say the least, uncharacteristic. But then, Bakura had learned to always follow his instincts, and that's exactly what he did.
The feel of lips on his cheek and forehead calmed Marik, and he took a deep breath. He was taken aback at the sudden display of gentleness, but found himself grateful for it. He relaxed his muscles and found the pain not to strike him as brutally as it did seconds (which felt like hours) ago. Marik extended a hand to the spirit's neck and brought him down for a quick, thanking kiss. "Okay." he finally responded, the shriek inside him extinguished.
The tone of Marik's voice convinced Bakura he was ready. His hips started their rhythm again, pulling out and snapping back, and he let out a heavy exhale at the surge of pleasure that followed; it felt as if he'd been still for much, much too long.
Even if Marik wasn't as thrilled with the current situation as Bakura was, he did enjoy that his body could make Bakura's feel apparently so good. It hurt still, undoubtably, but Marik found if he breathed in time with his rhythm, and moved his hips to match, the pain began to ebb and he wasn't as stiff in most regards. He longed for Bakura to hit his spot.
And hit that spot, Bakura did. After gaining back some control of his mind, the spirit took a moment to readjust his hips so he could thrust in the direction of the spot he knew would make Marik go wild; and after thousands of years, his aim was dead-on.
This time, Marik could not contain himself. He let out a low-pitched moan filled with ecstasy and released tension. He grabbed on more forcefully to Bakura and arched his back. He moved more with him, finally glad that he endured the excruciating pain. It was worth it to get to this- this feeling.
"...Heh." Now that Bakura found it, he intended to exploit it. Every exhale an under-his-breath moan, Bakura sped up, keeping aligned and on target. His hands curled into fists around the sheets and his face flushed; every thrust send shockwaves of euphoria through him, making him hotter, hungrier - he sucked and licked and bit at Marik's collarbone, shoulder, neck, not caring what sounds he made, lost in his own pleasure.
"Bakura,". Marik wasn't sure if he mouthed it or if he yelled it. He wasn't sure if he cared, either. The feelings he was getting, electrifying his body- they left little room for such trivial things as self-awareness.
"Fuck..." Their extensive foreplay, coupled with the fact that Marik was a virgin, had brought Bakura close, fast. His rhythm was beginning to get rather erratic, and his moans more frequent. "Marik..." He snaked a hand between the two of them, taking hold of Marik, stroking him in time to their dance.
"Nhhg." Marik groaned and closed his eyes. His lips pressed themselves against Bakura's skin (his shoulder, it seemed), and bit down hard. My, were they each going to be covered in love bites when this was over. Each exhale was like a small moan escaping his throat.
A hiss escaped Bakura's lips as he felt skin breaking, followed by a low and drawn-out moan. The sting only accentuated the sweet pleasure that was now sending sparks of color behind his eyelids. "Marik," he groaned again, squeezing slightly as his forehead came to rest against the yami's shoulder. "Tell me...w-when you're - ngh - close."
Marik licked the skin and turned his head to the crook of Bakura's neck. "You're insi-aaaah-ed of me and touching me. How can I no-ahggg-...t be?" He licked his neck in a quick flick and resumed biting his skin.
Bakura swore again. "Then-" His next words were interrupted by a gasp; he entangled a hand in Marik's wild hair and shut eyes eyes tight. "Fuck, I can't take m-much more of this..."
"Good. Because I know I ca-.. nh...can't." He stopped biting and gritted his teeth.
Breath hot against Marik's ear, Bakura leaned in to whisper - because he wasn't sure he could find his voice anymore. "Then...come with me." Both grips tightened. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of the cliff, poised to fall at any moment - with a word, he would step over the edge...
Marik nuzzled the side of his face and licked his cheek. "Gladly." He made little kisses down Bakura's neck, periodically nuzzling with his nose, distracting himself from imminent release.
Bakura didn't just step off that metaphorical cliff, he threw himself off.
A sharp gasp, hands clawing at sheets they might rip at this rate, back arching until he thought it might break, eyes open wide as they would go and he saw nothing but white, blinding snow white, his whole muscles tensing as wave after wave of euphoria racked his body and his hips rocking with every one - "Marik-!"
The sight of Bakura losing it made Marik lose it himself. He threw his head backwards into the bed and writhed as pleasure waves shook through him. The last shock of euphoria coursed through his body, making him feel as though he were exploding from deep in his core, out. He clawed at the air blindly and cried "Bakura!"
Marik clamping down around him like a vice only furthered Bakura's pleasure; the final spasms were punctuated with a long, low moan as the last dregs of ecstasy faded and his vision began to return. His muscles went limp, his hands slack. Too lethargic to even pull out, he lay on top of Marik, half-lidded eyes glazed in his post-orgasm high.
Marik, tired and feeling as exhausted as a work out, wrapped his arms loosely around Bakura's back, smelling the post-coital scent strong on him. He snuggled in the closeness he had made an embrace; Bakura still inside him, and his own arms wrapped around his lover. He had never been so close to someone.
Then his mind began gaining coherency back from the reeling high it was on not too long ago. He began processing fully what had just happened.
Bakura had fucked him. Bakura had fucked him. ... Now what the hell does that mean?
Marik nudged him with his shoulder. "...Bakura?"
Bakura never recovered quite as quickly. His cheek nuzzled against Marik's damp skin, eyes sliding closed, content in a state of half-thoughts and laziness. Marik's nudge did little to stir him. "Mn?"
Marik furrowed his brow in thought. He contemplated saving the conversation for later, but he thought Bakura was likely the kind to leave as soon as cognitive thought was achieved once again. So if they were going to talk, now was probably a good time.. He unconsciously tightened his grip, not wanting to let go.
"Bakura. We just fucked." And HEY.. he never did remember going submissive... "Now what does that mean."
After a moment's pause, Bakura mumbled - mainly to himself - "I guess it means I've found my answer." When Marik's grip tightened, he looked up, meeting the yami's violet eyes. The effect was beginning to fade, but only just. He took another moment to consider an answer, mind still like molasses, and decided to take the easy route: "I don't know. You tell me."
His eye twitched. "Nh," he considered. He didn't see any particular easy way out of this. Marik chewed on his cheek. "I.. don't want to let you go." he said, scowling at verbalizing himself, looking anywhere but at Bakura. He hated when these types of things were said, let alone he, himself saying them.
"Aww." Bakura's lips curled into a lazy grin; he poked absently at Marik's cheek. "Big bad Yami Marik is getting sentimental." Whether he said this to lighten Marik's embarrassment at having made verbal his feelings or for his own amusement, he didn't know anymore.
With a huff, the spirit pulled himself off and out of Marik, relocating to the mattress space next to him in order to meet his averting gaze. His fingertips began to trace light circles on the boy's chest. "...So, what, you want a relationship now?"
Marik made a face at these words. "Well that just sounds like something from some shitty romance movie." His face was still pink, more from embarrassment than anything. He shrugged. "I said it once, I suppose I can say it again. I don't want to let you go." He still refused to meet Bakura's eyes. He wasn't sure at all how he was being received, and he didn't know if he could pull off joking if this didn't work. "I don't want those mushy, gooey, sappy things you see, with the orchestra following them around and skipping through flowers?" He gagged at the thought. "But I don't want to just, I dunno, let you walk away from this, scott-free."
"So you want a relationship." The urge to reach over and kiss away the yami's embarrassment presented itself, but Bakura ignored it for the moment. He chose to remain ambiguous. "What exactly are you asking of me? Because subtract the lovey-dovey parts, and all that's left is sex (in the relationships I've seen, at least). Do you want me to keep fucking you? Or...?" He trailed off, hoping Marik would sort of fill in the blank. Meanwhile, his hand strayed toward Marik's face, and began to twirl around a lock of his hair.
Marik scowled more and grew redder. "I do like the sex." He chewed on his cheek again. Sighing, he said, "Eh. I was wrong I guess. Never mind." He looked at the ceiling, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
Bakura frowned. He leaned in, breathed against his lover's ear. "Come now. I thought you were more assertive than that." At this point, his mouth was overtaking his mind; he didn't have to think to speak, and he liked it that way. No hesitation. "When you want something, you take it. Hell...the other person may just want it, too."
There. His own little confession.
"Well the other person could've helped me out a little instead of making me feel like a jackass." Marik said with a slightly more comfortable tone to his words, teasing Bakura. "Hn." He reached a hand over to Bakura's face and brushed some of the stray hairs out of the spirit's eyes. "If you put it that way." Marik rolled himself enough to gently press his lips to Bakura's. "I want this."
Bakura's grin returned, and he pressed ever so slightly against Marik's soft lips. It wasn't sloppy or needy or hungry, didn't hold any unspoken threats or desires. Just...chaste. Simple. He really, really liked that. "Then it's yours." Then, a thought occurred to him. "...On one condition."
Marik smiled at the first words, and paused at the loophole tacked on at the end. "What condition?"
Bakura broke away to bury his face in Marik's neck, and for the first time in a long time he smiled an actual, true smile. "You get your Ra-damned hikari off my back."
Marik laughed. "I think I can do that." He hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "I seem to remember that same conversation earlier. Went a bit better this time." He grinned.
"Yes, I think I like these terms better." Bakura nuzzled against the boy, sighing in contentment. His instincts had led him, as they always did, to the place he wanted to be. "...Question. What made you kiss me in the first place?"
"Nh?" Marik thought back to try and recall his reasoning. "Hn... You know, I don't really know." He said, shrugging. "I just sort of did it. Wanted something. Took it. I didn't think it would go as far as it did," he said, chuckling and looking pointedly at the bedspread. "But I'm not complaining."
"Neither am I," added the spirit. He had taken to nipping lazy love bites along Marik's neck, feeling rather affectionate in his lingering afterglow. His mind jumped to another thought: "...You know, once I got past your first defenses, you really didn't put up much of a fight."
Marik nuzzled his head against Bakura. "Mmn, I know." He said, with some distaste. "I wasn't really thinking about anything. But believe you me, I shall not let you win next time." He grinned, nudging with his nose.
Bakura had to laugh. In his thousands of years he'd been with countless people, and not one of them had been able to make him submit. He was not going to give up his dominant streak so easily. "We'll see about that," he simply said. With a grin, he sat up, eyes falling on the streaks of dried blood that were beginning to cake to Marik's skin and the milky white droplets that were quickly drying on both their abdomens. It was a pleasant sight, the chaos that resulted from their conjoining, but it was going to be a bitch to get off if they waited much longer. "Mmm. As much as I like admiring my handiwork, we really ought to clean up."