Morning.

A few rays of sunshine through the tattered curtains rain down on their bare bodies. Legs entwined in an awkward mess, the slight hint of a hangover, hair strewn this way and that.

And Silence. Comfortable comfortable silence. Aside from the gentle rumble of Marik's snoring. But as far as he's concerned it's still bliss.

Bakura stretches beneath him, letting out something that seems to be a mix of a sigh and a groan. He can't help but feel like holding Marik closer and stroking his back beneath the carvings. His nimble fingers trace his shoulder and leave a gentle tickle in their wake.

Marik's snoring has subsided and he seems to grab at Bakura's chest like a small child. He doesn't open his eyes though, he just nuzzles deeper into the safety of his arms. A newfound warmth consumes them both.

After scratches and biting and clawing and dominating and being dominated and screams and moans and what other noises escaped their throats that night, after violence and passion and blood and fulfilling desires was silence.

Morning turns into afternoon and he wishes this would never end.

If Bakura believed in heaven, he'd imagine this must be what it feels like.