Bakura sank on the sofa – a shimmering, eggshell-white creation with hand embroidered brocade – and leaned towards Marik. "So I heard about this club in Cairo."
Marik winced at Bakura's indifferent treatment to the furniture. "You remember this couch is silk, right? If you tear it, you have to buy me a new one."
Bakura pushed Marik on his back and straddled him, grinding his hips against Marik's lower body. "Marik, do I have your attention now?"
Marik tried to scowl, but he couldn't keep his lips from curving upward. "I suppose."
"I heard about this club in Cairo."
"Why on earth would we go to a club? And if we were dumb enough to go to a club, why not one in Luxor?"
"Because this club has really good reviews, and this particular club won't have any giggling, idiot girls trying to impress you while I'm in the middle of a conversation with you."
"I think we were in the middle of an argument, actually."
"I like those even more than our conversations."
"Oh? Should I turn this into an argument then?"
"Only if you want stains on your precious couch."
Marik flipped them over so they landed on the carpet with Marik straddling Bakura. "Problem solved." He bent down and nipped at Bakura's neck. After a moment he raised his head. "Why do you want to go to a club anyway?"
Bakura looked away. "You're an idiot."
Marik blinked for a moment, an uncharacteristic blush glowed on his cheeks as an idea dawned on him. "I mean, you don't actually want to dance with me . . . do you?"
"Fucking idiot." Bakura scowled. "Hurry up and fuck me so I can go take a nap."
Marik grinned when he realized that was exactly the reason Bakura wanted to go - if he wanted to admit it or not. Marik kissed the center of Bakura's throat. "No." He grabbed Bakura's chin and forced Bakura to look in his eyes. "I'm not in the mood for one of our hard, quick fucks. Today I think I'll take my time." He bent down and kissed Bakura, softer than he'd ever kissed him before.