Hello all of you happy people! I hope you really appreciate that I am typing this up for you all. My shoulder hurts like hell! I fell down the stairs yesterday and it is killing me, but this shows that you all mean so much to me that I would be typing in this condition. Anyways, I just thought I would mention that there is something underlined in the story, I hope you get it when you see it. Peace, love, and padded walls.
The two Hikari males brooded quietly for a short while. "Well, I guess it could be Mariku," Ryou spoke up first. "Whenever I menstion Mariku in a good way, he always gets mad and says he will…well, I won't lower myself to cursing, but you understand." Malik looked at Ryou in an unamused way. "Wait, you knew that and you didn't mention this earlier?"
Ryou shrugged, "We weren't talking about this earlier." Malik leaned forward on his hand and lowered his head and shook it sadly. "How did I end up talking to you…?" he murmmered.
Malik leaned back up against the back boards of the bench and sighed, now mentally exhausted and feeling stupid for sitting here and talking with Ryou when he could be acting happy and skipping down the sidewalk.
He glanced down at his watch and realized that they had been talking for at least an hour. "This should stay between us," Malik quickly commented and stood. Ryou nodded and smiled. He too understood the time of his absence had been prolongued.
Malik kindly took half of Ryou's groceries and walked him home. They stopped short of the front steps, "Thank you for your help, Malik."
"Its not a problem." Ryou turned and accended the steps to the front door. "Wait," Malik shouted from behind. He ran up the steps looking a bit nervous and jittery about something. Quickly he leaned forward and pecked Ryou on the cheek lightly.
The palid-haired Hikari blushed as intensensly as Malik had begun to. Malik smirked and glanced away and mummbled, "Unlike my Yami, I want to be a little more forward with my feelings and intentions."
Ryou was absolutely befuddled by what had just happened between him and the other Hikari. Malik used quite a few larger words in just one sentence, and the fact that the virgin male had never been kissed or touched by anyone, other than Bakura who usually just beat him to a bloodied pulp, was all too much for the moment.
"I really…like you, Ryou. Perhaps you feel just a tad bit the same way?" Malik figited anxiously and nervously. Ryou's heart was pounding like a hammer and a nail. His heart wanted to leap from his chest and scream bloody murder, "yes," but that wasn't about to happen. "Um…Malik?"
Ryou brought his quivering hands to Malik's rosy colored cheeks and leaned forward to return the favor. This was his way of letting Malik know how he too felt. Ryou nervously picked up his groceries and escaped into the safety of his home.
Malik turned and danced down the stairs with the biggest and happiest grin glued to his face. Ryou peered out the front window and watched Malik skip down the street and out of sight. The lighthearted Hikari arrived home as soon as he could.
He crossed his fingers as he walked into the house, but to no avail. Mariku was standing at the top of the grand, staircase, staring directly at him with a very stern look attached. "Where the hell were you?"
He decended down the staircase and stood behind him. His warm breath ran down Malik's neck and made him quiver in fear. "You left without telling me where you were going. You know very well that I get angry and you know what the consequences are for your actions," Mariku hissed in his Hikari's ear.
"I do know, Mariku," Malik replied with tremor in his tone. Mariku pushed him away sharply, "Get out of my sight." Malik did not hesitate to make a run for the kitchen. "What the hell was he so happy about?" Mariku thought to himself.
Ryou put away the groceries and ran upstairs. It was still morning and Bakura had not had breakfast yet. Ryou glanced in through the door left slightly ajar, "I'm making breakfast now," he said softly. "Whatever," Bakura replied unconcerned.
Ryou thought it best to just leave him alone, and went downstairs to cook.
Malik somehow managed an edible meal this time. Being the awful chef he was, his body was half crisped, once again, by the untaimed flam of the stove when he tried to light it. Mariku refused the meal and let Malik do with it what he wanted.
The starved male gladly accepted it and ran downstairs to the dining room to feast.
Ryou served his Yami a wonderful meal at the table, which he did eat but was quick about it so as to return to the comfort of his dimmly lit room. He knelt down in front of his dresser and opened the bottom drawer, taking from it a beautiful oak case. He carried it to his bed and sat down on the edge of the king sized mattress.
He undid the latch of the box and lifted the lid. Inside, a silver dagger with an ivory handle, lay awaiting its use. The handle and blade were tainted with the tomb robber's blood from previous uses. Again, he took up the blade and cut into his frail and colorless limbs. He felt relieved and free of pain, free of everything that plagued his mind.
Mariku was quietly sitting and drinking a glass of wine, when he felt a sharp burning sensation course throughout his body. He knew what was going on and didn't want to interrupt Bakura's alone time, but then again, a little intervention was in order. He set the glass aside and disappeared in a flash.
Bakura slipped off of his bed and onto the wood panneled floor and was gripping his blood-tainted weapon tightly in his right hand.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to do this to yourself?" Mariku taunted. He sat down on the black silk sheets and glanced down at the his sadist lover. Bakura glared daggers at the annoying other, "I don't bother listening to what others have to say because it's a waste of time."
Malik ignored Bakura's yammering and laid back, sprawling out on the ocean of black silk. His purple orbs wandered to the ceiling. He thought for a moment about what he wanted to talk about, being his forgetful self. "Oh yes," he chimed finally remembering.
"Bakura, was last night dream?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" He replied sarcastically, knowing very well what Mariku was talking about. He badly wanted to say "no", but something was stopping him. "Well…I think I dreamed that you kissed me and…but then it went black…" Mariku paused a moment.
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about so you must have dreamt it," he retorted in a convincing manner. "I guess so…"Mariku sadly agreed.
"It was only one of the best dreams I've ever had…" he followed up. Mariku closed his eyes and quietly laed there. Bakura stood and left his room to take a shower seeing as his limbs were steeped in blood. He left acting as if Mariku wasn't even there.
"I can't believe it was only a dream…it seemed so real," the tomb keeper dwelt heavily on the subject.
Bakura stripped away each article of clothing carefully and tossed them aside into the hamper near the bathroom sink. He climbed into the shower and drew the curtain, then he turned on the cold water. It streamed down his flawless body and washed away his pain, cares, and the blood.
Mariku slipped into the occupied bathroom and sat on the counter. He watched as Bakura's shadow danced on the nearly transparent shower curtain. Mariku inhaled the sweet smell of the bathroom that Bakura's body wash was giving off.
Bakura felt another presence in the room, and threw back the curtain completely revealing his unclothed and impeccable physique. "Are you still here!?"
Mariku smiled stupidly and nodded. "You pervert! Can't I take a god damn shower by myself!?" Bakura angrily shrieked and tossed a bar of soap at Mariku. The tomb keeper held up his hand and caught the soap aimed at him and tossed it back to Bakura. "I suppose I could leave you for a short while. Be quick," Mariku commented and then exited the room.
He returned to Bakura's room and climb back onto the bed and under the wonderful silk. The covers were warm and smelled strongly of Bakura. "It smells wonderful," Mariku marveled. He smelled the covers in a creepy, but love-sick way.
Bakura walked into the room with a towel clinging to his hips to conceal himself from Mariku's perverted eyes. He noticed Mariku lounging around in his bed and was quick to get something to wear from his dresser. He grabbed something black and left to find another room to change in where Mariku's wandering eyes could not find him.
"He hates me," Mariku sighed heavily. The tomb keeper disappeared, the covers falling flat in his absence.
Bakura closed the door to the empty room, he had found suitable, which was only Three Doors Down from his own room.
The damp towel plummeted to the floor from Bakura's luscious waist. He set his clothing of choice out on the guest bed (guest bed? More like death bed for anyone that dare come into his house) and unfolded each article. "Why does he insist on being in my house and being near me? Its fucking creepy…" he thought to himself, bringing the band of the boxers to his waist and adjusting them until he was comfortable.
"I hate him," he muttered, then pulling on the tight black shirt that flattered his well-built stomach and chest, and an even tighter pair of black jeans that clung to his perfect legs and waist. The last thing he put on were his black converse shoes which were well-worn.
Little Malik was quietly sitting in the living room on the first floor of the mansion. Mariku walked by the open area in a slump and dragged himself up the first staircase. Malik followed up not far behind. The sandy-blond egyptian came to the third floor and lazily marched down the long corridor to the master bedroom at its end, once there slamming the door behind himself, and the loud noise ringing throughout the mansion.
The little Hikari opened the door slowly, sticking only his head in through the doorway, "Is something wrong," he queried before being struck by a glass vase that had been hurled at him, stiking the intended victim. "Get out!" Mariku shrieked. Malik did not hesitate to withdraw as quickly as he could.
In a flash, Malik had left the house, not wanting to confront the raging storm of emotions that was his Yami. He'd rather confront him at another time when the storm had calmed and gone.
Malik returned to the same bus bench where he had talked with Ryou earlier. He grabbed a hand-full of snow and put it over his right eye where just above his brow he had gained a new 'battle' wound.