This is a story I came up with after reading ALL of BakuBakuRemix. I can't do the angst very well, so this has some fluff. Well, its not fluff, but its not dark either. Bloodplay, though. Enjoy!
Bakura had always liked things that were sharp. The threat of damage was exhilarating; the act was orgasmic. Nevertheless, it was imperative Marik did not know.
There was no way the Egyptian would put up with him if he found another flaw in Bakura's mind. Or on his body.
There were little scratches littering the inside of Bakura's left arm that Marik had never seen. Bakura attempted to keep it that way.
Unfortunately, he failed.
"What is that?" asked Marik, his voice very distant to Bakura's ears. The white-haired spirit pulled his arm behind his back, sticking the bloody knife into the floor behind his chair. "What is what?" he responded cheekily, his eyes slightly glazed. Marik was not in the mood for playing, and pulled Bakura's arm until it was level with his eyes.
Four crimson lines ran down the pale skin already covered with scars, dripping off the smooth skin onto the wooden floor. Bakura shifted a little at the movement, feather-light touches sending shivers down his spine. Marik's eyes widened, shock rippling through him. "Bakura did you… did you?" he tried to ask. Bakura didn't move, still watching the drops splash to the floor.
"I don't… why?" said Marik slowly, bringing the damaged arm closer. Bakura snatched it away, pulling up the knife and brandishing it at Marik. The Egyptian flinched, taking a step back, and looked as if he was about to speak. Bakura cut him off. "Look, it's not that big of a deal, okay? Just… pretend you never saw this." Marik nodded, turning on his heel and walking out of the room. Just as the door closed, Bakura realized his error, but it was too late. Marik had obviously been scared off for good.
Bakura sighed, wiping up the blood with the blunt side of the knife, and then licking it off. He cut his tongue a little, holding back his moan anxiously.
A door slammed above him.
Hmm…
He was on the second floor.
Bakura stood up, holding up the knife in a way he felt was threatening. Up the stairs and to the room he estimated would have been directly above him. The door didn't seem to be locked, so Bakura touched the knob hesitantly and turned it with three fingers.
"It's alright," whispered Marik, watching Bakura walk in, his knuckles white from his grip on the weapon.
"Why are you still here?" asked Bakura, not angrily. Curiously. "I figured it was just another one of your… quirks," he murmured, bringing Bakura to the bed he was sitting on. Bakura frowned; he didn't consider theft, vandalism, and death threats quirks. But, anything to keep Marik in his bed.
"So," continued the blonde, pushing Bakura so he was lying on the bed and straddling him. "I want to see what it's like. With you." Bakura looked at Marik for a long time, his mouth turning up in a sultry smirk. He brought the knife up to Marik's face, waiting for any sign of hesitance, and dragged the tip down his cheek. Blood welled, dripping like tears to Bakura's shirt. Marik closed his eyes, able to savor the warmth as Bakura did, and leaned in slowly. Bakura pushed him off, leaving the room hurriedly.
Marik wasn't embarrassed or regretful, just a little sad Bakura didn't want to share this with him. He wiped the blood away with his hand, wincing as it stung, and watched it dry.
Bakura walked in again, a fire in his eyes like Marik had never seen. In his left hand was the knife from before, now covered in dried blood. In his right was a smaller pocketknife, and it looked like it had never been used.
"Undress," ordered Bakura, not in a mood for playing either. Marik obeyed, stripping and sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. Bakura motioned him to lie down in the middle, and then he spread the Egyptian's legs. He accidentally nicked Marik's hip and paused to lick over it. Marik shivered, his breathing quickening. Bakura set the original knife down on the bottom of the bed, turning the pocketknife toward Marik and coming closer.
Marik trembled, more aroused than he had ever been. Bakura was lightly dragging the sharp edge on the inside of Marik's thighs, blood flowing in a way that worried the blonde. It had been painful at first, but after the first couple of cuts, Marik grew more excited. So excited, in fact, that after a few minutes, he came all over his stomach. It shocked the hell out of both of them, making Bakura cut Marik a lot deeper than he intended. He pulled the knife away, sticking it into the floor and moving up to Marik's face to calm him down.
He was almost sobbing, wracked with pleasure and pain, but there was something else. Something he was saying.
"Bakura I- it feels so- I want more, please!" Well, the stabbing hadn't fazed him, mused Bakura, having to use effort to pull the knife up. He put the butt of the knife into Marik's mouth, kissing his bloodied legs, and held his hips still. After a moment, he pulled the cold steel away and shoved the slick end into Marik's entrance. The Egyptian cried out, moaning his pleads loudly. Bakura nodded absently, pushing Marik's knees up and pulling the knife out. He undid his jeans, pulling them off and throwing them to the floor.
Let's see just how masochistic he's become, thought the spirit, grinning wildly.
He thrust in without warning, preparation minimal and no added lubrication. Marik couldn't handle it, pulling away and scrambling off the bed. Bakura, too high in pleasure to control his actions, followed him, shoving him to the wall and leaving bloody streaks as he lifted his legs. Marik, almost hysterical, followed the knife with his eyes as it cut across his shoulders and down to his collarbone. The hollow was almost too tempting, Bakura restraining himself from plunging the knife in and just reentering his lover.
Marik screamed, habitually wrapping his legs around Bakura's waist, but the lacerations on his legsreopened and bled fresh, even more so the stab wound. Bakura no longer cared, slamming into Marik for his own completion. He held Marik's hands above his head with one hand, the one holding the knife bracing him on the wall. At first, it was slightly enjoyable for Marik, but then Bakura neared completion and started to thrust too deep. His unprepared channel bled more than his legs, thankfully lubricating him, but pain was prevalent.
Marik was slipping in and out of consciousness by the time Bakura finished, his head swimming and the room seeming to spin around them. Bakura almost dropped him in dismissal before he regained composure and saw the abuse he put the blonde through. Pink was dripping out of his entrance and down his legs, his shoulders ringed with crimson like a necklace. Bakura just looked for a while, setting Marik on his feet but still holding him by his wrists.
"Marik?" asked the sprit, leaning to him. Marik's eyes fluttered but he didn't respond. Bakura sighed and laid him carefully on the bed. Blood was everywhere; on Bakura's clothes, on the wall, on the bed, on the floor, all over Marik. The reeked of copper, like a thousand melting pennies, to the point where Marik was nauseous. Bakura carried him to the shower, standing him up in the warm water, undressing, and getting in with him. Being cleaned in comfortable temperatures (rather than cut in the frozen wasteland that was Bakura's room) woke Marik up a little, watching the faded red run down the drain as Bakura ran his hands over every part of Marik's body.
"Bakura, I love you," stated Marik, not expecting a definite answer. "Mmm," hummed Bakura. He never did say it, but both of them knew. Bakura, satisfied with his job, looked up into Marik's eyes from kneeling in front of his lover. Realizing his selfish taking, Bakura continued to stare into Marik's eyes, holding him still by his hips and stroking his flaccid cock simultaneously. Marik was almost immediately aroused, the blood flowing to his erection lessening the pain of his wounds. Bakura's hair looked longer, straight under the water. He could have passed for a girl, if not for the devilishly handsome look in his eyes.
Bakura wanted foreplay, but Marik held the beck of his head and pushed him forward until his mouth was millimetres from the leaking head of Marik's member. Bakura smirked, having to close his eyes from all the water running down his face, and took Marik into his mouth.
The Egyptian almost fell, hard, but Bakura was still keeping him upright. Guiding Bakura (little patience at this point) to bring him off, Marik panted and moaned out his lover's name. Bakura was aroused as well, but didn't have the will to do anything about it, after what he had done to Marik. When the blonde finally did come, Bakura helped him with the aftershock before sitting him down. Every trace of completion washed down the drain; Bakura turned off the water and reached for a box of band-aids.
"I feel like such a pussy," whimpered Marik, having cried the whole process of Bakura fixing him up (some of the cuts had started to bleed again). "You never need band aids!" Bakura chuckled, his arms around Marik (whining from on his chest), and kissed his lover on the top of his head. "Maybe I'm just used to it." Marik sighed, his warm breath ghosting over Bakura's shoulder. "Well, we're going to have to practice until I get it right."
The white-haired spirit grinned. "Practice, we will."