Clash
by Lethe Seraph
Chapter Five: No Chance, No Way! I Won't Say I'm in Love!
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As always, many thanks and glomps to all of you who reviewed! Maybe I should restock my plushie bin. ^_^
Sorry it's been so long! I've just been caught up in 1) Robotics work and lack of inspiration, 2) Trip to Fall – my new Jou/Seto fic – and 3) One Plus One! If you read Demon Diary and like Raenef/Eclipse, then please read it! ^_^
I hope you enjoy this chapter! …It's kind of (kind of?!) out-of-character, though. TT_TT
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Why should I care?
He's a thief, nothing more. The only reason he spends time with me is because I have something he wants; he said it himself.
That something is the Millennium Rod.
I shouldn't feel this way. To be honest, I'm not even sure what it is I feel.
I want to scream – unsheathe the Rod, draw crimson from my arms because maybe it can put things into perspective, maybe I'll enjoy it-
I want to shout – cry out, tell him that I feel for him, so that he can slap me or curse at me and I can feel a pain worse than the blood running in rivulets down my wounded flesh-
I want to hold him close, push him away, never see him again but wrap him in my arms and stay with him forever; these are the feelings, the thoughts that run without words through my mind whenever I am near him.
Why should I care?
There's only one thing that he wants from me…
…but I want to give him so much…
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"Here we are," said Malik after stopping the motorcycle. Bakura slipped off and stood, for a moment, looking at Malik.
"Are you going to go, or come in?" said Bakura when Malik hesitated to depart. "The vessel's father isn't home."
Malik blinked, but then grinned. "No, I'll leave you be for now. See you later, Thief."
Bakura wouldn't have thought that Malik would say no. After what had happened at the restaurant? Dare or not, Malik had been acting oddly recently. Bakura wanted to find out why. It was in his nature, the curiosity and desire to seize anything that seemed worth taking, whether information or gold. It was what made him who he was.
The thief called after Malik. "I insist."
Malik turned back. His eyes were confused now. "Why?"
Bakura smirked. "I believe it's called 'hanging out', Malik-baka. Have you ever tried?"
"As a matter of fact, no," replied Malik.
Bakura motioned for Malik to follow him. "Then I'll show you. Come," he said, and Malik didn't even think to argue.
"Oh, gods," breathed Malik silently as he walked down the path. His heart was beating wildly at the thought of being with Bakura. Alone. Alone with Bakura – would they go to his room or remain in the living room? Would it even matter? The idea of being so near to that fair body… he didn't know whether he would be able to control himself. Damn his rebellious hormones to hell! …Although, if he did actually touch Bakura, that would be where the rest of him would go too.
The
white-haired boy-man-spirit looked back with a slight frown. "Something wrong, Malik?"
Yes! Yes, there is something
wrong, damn it! I'm madly in love with you!
Malik shook off the pressing feelings and quickened his pace. "Not at all."
"All right, then."
The door. It seemed to Malik like an irreversible moment, when he stepped through the door – he had chosen to enter, and now could not turn back. What would happen of it? What if…
No. He wouldn't. It was a matter of pride now, to hold his tongue.
Not just your tongue, remarked a quiet smirking voice.
He blushed and closed the door behind him.
"So by 'hanging out', you meant…"
"Yes," said Bakura. "Doing absolutely nothing that could be considered intellectually stimulating. Sitting on a couch, eating, and watching a flickering box. Thrilling, the lives of teenagers these days, ne?"
Malik inconspicuously (or so he thought) moved just a little bit closer to Bakura's side of the couch. "It is rather enjoyable," he said.
Bakura grinned at him. "What, doing nothing intellectual? You must enjoy yourself every moment of every day."
"Hey!" Malik grabbed a nearby pillow and began beating the former tomb robber about the head with it.
"You set yourself up!" laughed Bakura, strangely unannoyed by Malik's ability to hit him – him! – with anything at all. On the contrary, Bakura was bringing his arms up to block the bombardment of hits and scrambling back to find a pillow of his own. Later, Malik would reflect that the two had actually been acting as … friends. There was no menace in the competition that night; just the urge to have fun – brought about, perhaps, by the soda?
What was Bakura thinking?
Malik would wonder at that, but later. At this moment he was caught up in the game, trying to get in as many hits as possible before the other would retaliate.
Moonwhite hair tangled about his face, Bakura snatched up a pillow and quickly forced Malik back.
"Augh!" cried Malik, deciding to resort to his last option – he tossed his own pillow aside and flung himself at Bakura, fingers jabbing at ribs.
Caught by surprise, Bakura began laughing and squirming away.
"You are ticklish!" Malik grinned triumphantly, unrelenting in his new form of attack.
Bakura wasn't about to give in, however.
He ducked down – how had the two managed to remain on the couch all this time? – and began tickling Malik in return, taking advantage of the fact that the blonde's skin was significantly more exposed.
Malik began giggling uncontrollably; he was far more sensitive than Bakura and couldn't even manage to continue his assault on the other. Bakura, encouraged by Malik's weakness, kept at it mercilessly. To be fair, Malik did try to escape, but didn't succeed.
He ended up falling off of the couch – and dragging Bakura down with him.
A hushed silence where there had been laughter.
Malik looked, surprised, up into crimson eyes – his thoughts and heart became nearly uncontrollable, his body reacting to the close presence – he could feel Bakura breathing –
Bakura blinked once, but did not move.
Why? Malik was frozen underneath Bakura, barely able to process what had happened. Why wasn't Bakura moving?
The two were tangled together. If anyone had walked in – oh, gods – it would have looked like they were …
His thoughts flashed back to that first day, that fight. What had it looked like, when Malik had pressed his teeth to Bakura's neck…?
Come to think of it, Bakura had never really resisted any of his… advances, if they could be called that. He had let Malik bite him, kiss him… told Malik to kill him quickly. Why didn't Bakura fight?
Did Bakura just think he wasn't worth the effort…?
No. That line of reasoning was complete nonsense. But…
Bakura still hadn't moved.
What did he think of Malik now? Now, on top of him, unmoving. Surely Bakura had noticed, after all this time, how Malik honestly felt.
Surely…
"Malik," said Bakura quietly, and Malik was reminded again of how close the two were; his light breath tickled Malik's cheek.
His heart pounded.
"That would be me."
"Tell me." Bright white hair looped and settled upon Malik's face as Bakura moved yet closer. "Tell me why you…" For once, the robber seemed unable to describe.
"Why I…?" prompted Malik, heart still racing. Would Bakura reject him if he knew? Did Bakura already know?
What if he wasn't…?
"Damn it," said Bakura, voice soft. "I want to know why you act this way towards me."
What could he do?!
"What way is that?" Malik attempted to remain composed, calm-voiced. Was he being too obvious? Could Bakura see through him?
Could he…
Malik gazed up into the confused blood-red irises, knowing that this could full well be the last time he would be able to see them so close.
They drew closer.
