***I don't always make Marik bottom, but when I do, he's still on top :P ***


They had to go back to work the next night. They hadn't planned on it, but Big Daddy Frank, the sleazeball owner, called them both and implied if they they weren't there by ten p.m. then they didn't work there anymore.

"Asshole isn't making any money without us- that's why he's pissed," Bakura complained, dressing in his go-to black boots and a harness of black straps with small, silver studs.

"Yeah, probably. Too bad for him when we both quit. I might set the damn building on fire- molotov cocktail style."

"Do you need to go back home and change?"

Marik shook his head. "Nah, I have a spare outfit in the dressing room." He gestured for Bakura to hurry up. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

Bakura through his hands up in the air. "I'm tired of trying to talk you out of rides at this point."

Marik chuckled. "Yeah, because I've always held that gun to your head."

"You're arguments are more of a headache than a bullet in the skull could ever be." Bakura winked at Marik and sautered towards the door.

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I want you to shut up for five minutes." Marik followed Bakura out the door, jangling his bike keys in his hand.

Bakura went straight to the stage, Frank screaming at him as soon as they walked in. Marik lagged behind in the dressing room in order to change and steal some concealer for the last green-gray shadows lingering around his healing eye.

That night was a crown and coke sort of night. The customers wanted shots or basics, no more million margaritas and Marik was more than happy with it. Pouring liquor straight into a glass made it easier to watch Bakura dance. He did Guns and Roses' November Rain, Aerosmith's Love In An Elevator, and Poison for his first set. During his break he went to the bar and Marik poured absinth and water through a sugar cube, sliding it over to him.

Bakura grinned at the drink, swallowing it without question. They exchanged glances, and although they didn't speak, it was nice to have him close, nonetheless. Bakura sometimes drank at the bar, and Marik had always liked it, but now it felt like a secret they shared in a crowded room.

When it was Bakura's turn to go back up, he switched up his songs, Murder Inc by Dr. Dre and Pony by Ginuwine, and finished with the Bloodhound Gang's The Bad Touch. By the time the night was over, Marik was eager to go back to Bakura's place and try out Diabound- maybe he'd make Bakura watch for a change. Marik enjoyed the thought, daydreamed of it as he changed in the locker room. He tossed all his extra clothes in a duffle bag he kept in his locker. If he was going to lurk at Bakura's house all the time, he needed to do some laundry.

Once everything was slung over his shoulder, Marik went out the back door as usual, and winced at the dark since the security light was out- as usual.

"'Bout time." Bakura chuckled from the shadows.

Marik jerked. "Asshole, don't startle me. You know I hate this fucking alley."

"I wasn't trying to startle you. You're just-"

The sound of rushing footsteps made them stop and spin around. Marik saw the faintest glint of steel arching down towards him. Bakura jumped in the way, shielding Marik. He tried to grabbed the attacker's wrists, but wasn't quick enough. Bakura called out in rage as the blade angled down his face. He dropped to his knees, blood slipping past his fingers as he held his face.

Marik tackled the silhouette onto the pavement below. He smashed his fists into the man's face, not ever getting a chance to see him, but based on the screams and the feel of his still mending nose, Marik suspected it was the same asshole he'd beaten up last time.

Marik was going to kill him. He'd stopped last time and this was what happened. There'd be no next time. Marik pounded the man's face into mush and he wasn't going to stop.

Until Bakura's hand rested on Marik's shoulder. He was still on his knees, one hand pressed to his face, the other resting on Marik.

Marik twisted to look at Bakura. "Get back!"

"Did he get my eye?" Bakura said, too calm.

Marik didn't like how calm Bakura was. He wondered how much blood he'd lost. Bakura's question somehow sifted through Marik's rage. He left his attacker laying in the alley, lowered Bakura's hand, and checked his face. He couldn't see well enough so he grabbed his phone, exhaling. "No."

"Oh . . . good." Bakura slumped a little.

"Hold on." Marik threw off his t-shirt and wadded the fabric up to use it as a compression for the gash tearing open Bakura's face.

"Your back, Marik don't-"

"Fuck that!" Marik shouted, not mad at Bakura- mad that he stopped punching the guy who'd hurt Bakura- but not mad at Bakura. "Hospital."

"Marik, no."

"Bakura. Hospital." He tugged Bakura to his feet and half dragged him towards the bike.

He had a feeling that Bakura would have put up more of a fight in any other circumstance, but as it were, what little color Bakura's skin had was drained from him along with the blood soaking into Marik's shirt. The dim orange street lights probably made Bakura look worse, but Marik didn't think by much.

A motorcycle wasn't a good vehicle to drive with an injured passenger, but the hospital was close and Bakura managed to hang on by hooking one arm around Marik's waist as the other pressed the shirt to his face. Marik didn't bother fighting over if he wore a helmet or not, he simply let Bakura to curl against Marik's shoulders to block some of the wind.

Marik tried to pick Bakura up and carry him, but Bakura smacked Marik's shoulder to stop him. Bakura did, however, lean on Marik's shoulder as he stumbled into the emergency room. Marik imagined it'd be like the tv shows. They'd put Bakura on a stretcher and whisk him away for immediate care, but what they got was a line at the reception desk, and paperwork, and an hour wait. No one seemed to mind that Bakura was bleeding, or holding an open wound with a t-shirt. They just wanted to know who his insurance provider was and Bakura gave them a cackle as an answer.

Marik ended up taking the clipboard and dragging Bakura to the lobby. He filled out what he could, "Hey Bakura, what's your family medical history?"

"I don't fucking know."

"I mean, do your parents have any-"

"I don't fucking know!" Bakura shouted, still pale and slightly ridiculous looking with a shirt against his face. "I'm a fucking orphan, and I don't want to fucking talk about it, I don't have medical history. I haven't been to the doctor since I was 19 or something. I want to go home, Marik."

Marik sighed, pulling the shirt away from Bakura's face. "I think you need stitches." Marik winced. "It's not so bad by the nose, but your lower cheek looks like the cut got deep.

Bakura moved his tongue, jabbing the side of his mouth, making blood gush. "Yeah . . . fuck."

Marik frowned. "I'm sorry-"

"We're not having this conversation, Marik."

"Fine." Marik scribbled N/A's and question marks on the rest of the forms and turned them in.

Then he stole a pile of napkins from the cafeteria and bought a bottle of water from a vending machine. He returned to Bakura leaning forward and dozing in his chair, shirt only pressing against his face because he was propping his elbow up with his leg.

"Bakura!"

"Ngggh . . ."

Marik shook his shoulder. "Wake up, you fucking asshole!"

"Marik, I'm tired."

"Yeah, because you're bleeding. Here." Marik started using the water and napkins to clean Bakura's face. He folded some to press against the gash, throwing the shirt in the trash. It seemed like a biohazard and unfit for a hospital, but no one told him to stop or offered to look at Bakura, so Marik didn't care at that point.

Bakura tolerated Marik's fussing, too tired to fight. Something about that frightened Marik more than anything- Bakura too tired for at least a snarky comeback.

"Do you want my jacket?" Bakura asked.

"What?" Marik focused on cleaning Bakura's wound and putting pressure on the lower end of the gash.

"You're still topless."

Marik winced. He hated the feel of open air on his skin in the crowded waiting room. Each person sat in their own chairs, looking sick or hurt, reading magazines or gazing at the silent tv with CNN reporting about a flood in some rural area Marik never heard of. He knew they weren't looking at him, still, he felt their eyes, staring at the strips on his back, thinking of how ugly-

"You're a tiger," Bakura muttered, his hand holding Marik's where they both pressed the napkins against his cheek.

"Are you hallucinating? I'm going to punch a nurse and see if that gets their attention enough to treat you."

"Idiot, they'd make us wait longer, then." He reached out with his free, right hand and traced one of Marik's scars that curved to the side of his ribs. "I meant the strips. They make you a tiger."

Marik looked away. "Zebras have stripes, and they get eaten."

Bakura chuckled. "You're no zebra. You don't run, you fight. The big cats, they're like the kings."

"That's lions."

"Fuck you it's tigers, too." Bakura giggled- probably from blood loss- toying with Marik's hair. "Or maybe you're a liger 'cause you have a mane."

Marik snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, I accept your blood-loss-induced compliment."

"I haven't lost that much blood. Quit being a drama queen."

Marik opened his mouth to argue, but the nurse called Bakura's last name and they finally were shown to a room.

The nurse stopped in from of a door, turning to Marik. "I'm sorry sir, but-"

"He's my boyfriend and I'm not leaving him." Marik snapped, his voice vicious and angry.

She jerked back a little, looked surprised, but nodded and walked away. Ten minutes later a different nurse came in and took Bakura's temperature and blood pressure, and then left them alone in the room for almost twenty more minutes.

"So, you're my boyfriend?"

Marik shrugged. "I didn't think 'business partner' would let me come with you, and there's no way I was going to sit in the lobby full of sick people."

"You're taking awfully good care of me for being just a business partner." Bakura tried to wink with his good eye, but the effect was lost with his other eye half-hidden behind paper napkins.

Marik sighed, a little smile toying with his mouth. "You know, all I wanted to do was go home and try Diabound tonight and then crash. That fucking psycho ruined my evening."

"Oh," Bakura frowned. "You were going to go home and try it? I thought maybe . . ." he let the sentence die.

Marik had to think for a moment about what he'd said. Then his cheeks fired up. "I meant your home, not mine!" He said, too loud for his own liking. "I mean, I didn't mean to call your place home or anything, I've just been there a lot lately, and assumed, you know, that we'd do it together again, since we worked on Diabound together, and . . . I don't know, it was kinda fun last time . . ."

The doctor finally arrived at that moment, making Marik jump in his seat. He felt a little busted, like a teenager who'd been caught necking, but the doctor was the personification of apathy as he started asking Bakura questions. Then there were stitches, and two police officers asking more questions. Apparently one of the waitresses at the club had called the cops and the jackass who'd stabbed Bakura was also in the hospital with them. Both Marik and Bakura refused to press charges. The police looked like they wanted to arrest Bakura. Marik suspected it was for no other reason than his outfit- and maybe his off putting attitude, but mostly the outfit, but in the end, their story matched the witness' report and Bakura hadn't done anything wrong, so the police left, looking as tired and apathetic as Bakura's doctor.

It was dawn by the time they came home. They both stripped off their clothes and fell into Bakura's bed. Marik grabbed Bakura and pulled him close. He didn't care if Bakura teased him about it or not. He was just glad the night was over.

"You can have another shirt," Bakura offered.

"I'm okay."

"I have a Jake t-shirt somewhere."

"Bakura, I'm okay."

". . . Are you sure?"

"Are you okay?" Marik asked.

"Those assholes would have kept me for more money if they had a reason to, so I must be fine."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh . . . well, I guess I'm retired now."

Marik blinked a moment, and then he realized what Bakura was saying. Being a dancer was already cruel work, the customers judging every centimeter of skin, every movement, every flaw. It's why Marik never tried it, he didn't want anyone to see his scars, but Bakura couldn't hide his scar, Bakura couldn't hide his, Bakura couldn't hide his- it would be the first thing people noticed about him for the rest of his life, and it was Marik's fault. Bakura only got stabbed because he was shielding Marik.

Marik squeezed Bakura harder, trying to pull Bakura closer still without hurting him. "Doesn't matter. We're going to be too busy with our toy business to work at that dump anyway."

Bakura gave a bitter snort, but his voice was soft. "Yeah, you're right."


Marik woke up, put his clothes in Bakura's washer, went home and grabbed a larger bag of things. He wasn't leaving Bakura alone. He knew Bakura could handle himself, but Marik felt compelled to stay.

Bakura slept most of the day and night, but the next morning he sat up and stretched. "Damn, I'd kill for some steak and eggs."

Marik wrinkled his nose at the thought of steak, but he sat up with Bakura "Give me a few minutes, and I can go to the store and make some."

Bakura looked at Marik, blinking. "Um … I probably won't try Diabound for a few days-"

"Are you crazy? Of course not! You should wait until your stitches heal."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, so … there's not really any need for you to stick around. You can go home, and I'll call you."

"Oh, am I bothering you?"

Bakura scratched around the slash across his face, careful to avoid the actual wound, but Marik could tell that it was irritating him. "No … I don't mind. I just, I'm sure you-"

Marik pressed two fingers against Bakura's lips to silence him. He leaned in, giving Bakura a soft, breath-stopping kiss. When he pulled away he had to force himself to keep eye-level with Bakura despite his nervous stomach. "Can I stay?"

"Pffft," Bakura turned away. "Want to borrow my nurse costume while you're at it?"

Marik smirked. "I'm sure I couldn't pull it off half as well as you do."

"Don't do this because you're feeling guilty," Bakura said.

"That's not why," Marik said. "But this is my fault."

"Fuck that, Marik. That guy was crazy. Why do you think light's always broken out there? Crazy lurker was always stalking me."

"That knife was meant for me. You jumped in the way."

"So what?"

"So what? Look in the mirror? It- It'll scar, and-"

"Oh fucking well." Bakura snorted.

"Don't act like it doesn't bother you." Marik clenched his teeth.

"Don't stick around and mother me because you feel responsible!"

"I'm sticking around because I care, you asshole!" Marik bit his bottom lip at the slipped confession. He marched out of Bakura's bedroom and went to the kitchen, pacing in front of the fridge and remembering that he was supposed to make breakfast.

Bakura appeared, and Marik turned away. "Look, let me at least cook you breakfast. Then I can go if you want me to-"

Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders and spun him around, pushing Marik against the counter and bringing their noses a breath apart. "If I wasn't afraid of tearing every stitch in my face right now I'd slam you down on the floor and work you over like a pole." He pressed a kiss against Marik's lips. It was determined, but restrained, and Marik had to hold Bakura's waist to keep from tugging at his hair.

Marik pulled back, looking down into Bakura's eyes. "If I wasn't afraid of tearing every stitch in your face right now I'd slam you on the table and show you there's a few things a toy can't do."

"On second thought, maybe we could-"

"Bakura, no-"

"Just a little bit."

Marik kissed Bakura's forehead. "I'm going to go to the store about buy you a steak now."

It didn't take him very long to run to the store, or to cook the steak since Bakura insisted that the poor thing still bled as he ate it. Bakura spent the rest of the day napping and watching Netflix as Marik researched options for small business loans and how to self-market. Regardless of how the contest went, Marik was determined for their hobby to become a legitimate business.

"What should we design next?" he asked as Bakura woke up that evening from dozing on the sofa beside Marik.

"Dunno … matching nipple clamps? If we do themes with the dongs, cockrings, and other accessories, people will want to buy more."

Marik chuckled. "I could model some of the some nipple clamps for advertising."

"Pffft, with your chest? We'll be rich by week's end."

Marik gave Bakura a lidded stare. "Will you promise to behave if I try something?"

"Hard to say without context, but my educated guess is no. I will not promise because I will not behave."

"Might be worth it if you do."

Bakura gave Marik a seductive stare. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, since we can't test how good your box spring is, and we can't try Diabound, I thought maybe I could give you a little show." Marik combed his fingers through his hair. "And if you're good, if you're very good, and don't do anything to hurt your stitches while you watch, I might be inclined to add a bit of a grande finale to your show."

Bakura pushed himself to his feet and marched towards his room.

"You didn't promise to behave!" Marik called after him.

"Let's face it- what good is that promise?" Bakura asked.

Marik couldn't argue, so he went to the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and carried it to Bakura's room. Marik took his Zorc the Destroyer, gave the suction cup a long, slow lick, and smacked it down on the wooden seat. Then he stared at Bakura. His eyes didn't blink or shift, he kept them trained on Bakura's face, realizing how beautiful it'd look, even with a scar.

Marik's face flushed. He was about to do something terrifying and unlike him. With his eyes still locked onto Bakura's, Marik teased the hem of his shirt. He started to roll his abs, pulling the shirt upward and over head head as he moved. He tossed it onto the ground and brushed his fingers over his nipples as he continued to sway.

Bakura's gaze grew unfocused. Marik felt his cheeks burning, but at least he knew the light dusting of pink on his skin was nothing compared to the crimson tinting Bakura's pale skin. Marik's fingers slipped lower, down each rise and fall of muscles from his chest to his stomach. When he reached his waistline, he dipped his fingers beneath his pants. Then he used his thumb to pop the snap loose and his fingers to pull the zipper down. Marik played with his happy trail, the same sunny yellow as the regular hair. Marik slipped his pants and underwear to the ground, still swaying, still watching Bakura as Bakura watched him.

A weak current of nerves hummed in his lower stomach. Marik had never shown his body to anyone, and here he was, dancing for Bakura, touching himself and allowing Bakura to watch as his hands teased around his growing cock, but avoided the hardening shaft as he worked himself over.

He was sure he wasn't doing as good of a job as Bakura, but he continued to writhe and touch himself, fascinated by the way Bakura's eyes seemed to drink in the image. When Marik was too worked up to dance any further, he found Bakura's bottle of lube. Marik sat on Bakura's bed while he prepped himself, legs splayed wide so that Bakura could see everything, from Marik's three fingers stretching out his asshole to Marik's cock reaching up towards Marik's navel as it lay on his stomach.

Bakura lay on his side as Marik prepped, tracing his finger around the top of Marik's left foot and ankle. "I think you've ruined me."

"How so?" Marik asked, slipping his fingers out and shifting over to the chair. He gave the toy a indulgent coat of lube, and then eased down on it, still staring straight into Bakura's deep, rich eyes.

Bakura brushed loose hair away from his face, keeping the white strands away from his stitches. "After watching you, nothing else will ever turn me on again."

Marik snorted, convinced he was being flattered, but devouring the attention nonetheless. It was a little harder to ride the toy without the back of the chair to hold onto, but Marik stayed facing Bakura, still nervous about showing the stripes on his back.

Marik gripped the sides of the seat of his chair instead of the back, using it to help push himself up and down. With the toy's girth, it didn't take much movement to make Marik pant. His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself to way the toy pushed into him. He dropped his body weight down, rocking back and forth in order to grind the toy's thickness against his prostate.

A groan made Marik open his eyes, Bakura was experimenting with his own cock, sliding his hand up the shaft, toying his thumb around the head.

"Not yet, Bakura," Marik said in a soft, breathy voice. "I-I want to do it for you when I'm done."

Bakura smirked, sliding his palm away from his shaft. "Maybe you playing nurse isn't so bad after all."

"Ngggh." Marik grit his teeth as a wave of pleasure shot through him. He was grabbing his own cock now, moving his hand up and down. He pulled away from the dong slow and dropped his weight hard, holding that rhythm until his nerves were aching for the thrill of release.

Marik dropped all his weight onto the chair, unable to hold himself up. His thighs flexed as he pumped at his cock in a frenzy.

"Work it, Marik," Bakura purred, from his spot on the bed.

Marik gave a soft cry as he came, twitching in his own hand when it was all over. As soon as he could breathe again, he eased to a standing position and stumbled to Bakura's bed. Bakura kept expectant eyes on Marik, but Marik wasn't done yet and, therefore, wasn't ready for Bakura to finish.

Then he remembered how badly he'd wanted to taste Bakura's entrance in his fantasies, so Marik crawled up the bed where Bakura sat and watched. He pressed his hand on Bakura's chest, shoving him into the mattress. Bakura already had his pants halfway down, but Marik tugged them fully of off Bakura's legs and dropped the to the floor. Propping a pillow beneath Bakura's ass, Marik spread his legs wide to reveal his ass and sweet, pink hole.

Marik hummed at the sight, leaning forward and giving Bakura's balls a few, preliminary licks. The sound Bakura made caused the nerves in Marik's stomach to hitch. Marik was soft from his orgasm, but that didn't stop the desire from making his entire body feel flushed. He kissed down Bakura's creamy thighs, and then towards his ass.

When Marik's tongue brushed against the hot skin of Bakura's asshole, Bakura screamed, shoving himself towards Marik on instinct. Marik gave another slow, deep lick, humming after he flicked up his tongue.

"Don't stop!"

Marik did stop, wanting to draw out the experience. He sighed hot breath against Bakura's skin, barely brushing his lips against Bakura's body.

"Marik … Marik please …" Bakura grit his teeth.

"Calm down, Bakura, don't hurt your stitches."

"I don't give a fuck about the stitches," Bakura growled.

Marik sighed through his nose, deciding the best way to calm Bakura down was to give him what he wanted. He pressed his lips against Bakura's hole, sucking and licking. Once Bakura's entrance was gleaming with spit, Marik shoved the tip of his tongue into Bakura's body. Bakura wailed with each stab of Marik's tongue.

"Ngggh, nnnnnm … Marik, touch me."

Marik had been going at it for quite some time, swirling his tongue, flicking his tongue, plunging his tongue in so deep and fast that he felt like his was fucking Bakura with his mouth. He was already growing stiff again, and Bakura's supple, needy voice was all it took to flush out Marik's growing erection.

Marik pulled away, wiping his mouth. "Sorry Bakura, I'm not done yet."

"Marik, don't you dare!" Bakura hissed. Marik knew he wanted to sound threatening, but there was a tremble in his voice.

"Watch me, Bakura," Marik whispered in a low, commanding voice and he went back to the chair and dumped more lube over the black dong. He lined himself up and plummeted down on the toy, groaning and gripping the back of the chair with both hands. It wasn't until he was already bouncing up and down, thighs taut, hair swaying around his shoulders, that Marik realized the he'd sat down on the chair in his usual way- exposing his back to Bakura. He'd been so aroused that he'd forgotten to be self conscious for two beautiful minutes.

Marik thought about turning around again, but the dong was thick and filling inside him, and the angle was better when he straddled the chair backwards. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Bakura. Bakura's cheeks were burning fever-dark. He stared at Marik with a mixture of rage and lust as he bit his bottom lip and dragged his nails into the sheets.

"I won't forget about you," Marik said with a smirk. "I said that once I was done I'd- oh fuck it-"

Marik pulled himself off of the toy and lunged for the bed again, bottle of lube in hand. He couldn't stand it, the wanting, infuriated, lust-drunk look on Bakura's face was driving Marik insane. Bakura's cock felt burning hot in Marik's hand as he glazed it over with cold lubricant.

Bakura panted hard, near hyperventilating.

Marik pointed a warning finger at him. "You lay there and relax or we're done. I don't want you hurting yourself."

Bakura made a noise of complaint, lips parted so he could take deeper breaths, but his wavering control disappeared the moment Marik sat on his cock.

"Don't you dare come before me," Marik growled down at Bakura, setting up a rhythm.

Compared to Zorc, Bakura was an easy ride. Marik started circling his hips front to back, leaning his head back and enjoying the feel of real flesh inside of him.

"Hurry, Marik, hur-hurry-"

"Don't rush me," Marik snapped, already stroking himself with a lube-slick hand.

"I- I- oh God, I can't-" Bakura stuttered, closing his eyes and turning his head to rest his uninjured cheek against the mattress.

Marik raised a little higher, clenching and stroking and holding his breath. He grunted permission for Bakura to come even as the first trembles of pleasure hummed through his core.

Bakura made a soft, whimpering sound that cut off in a gasp, and Marik felt warmth spill inside of him. The sensation helped titled him the rest of the way into orgasm and he moaned before easing back down to lay beside Bakura.