I wasn't listening to Dramatic this time. I was listening to ChaosRocket. And Chain, by Back-On, but that's not the point (flails)! You can just skip to the next bolded line, if you've already read the last chapter.
Bakura no longer kept his knives hidden. They were everywhere: strewn across tables, piled in drawers, anywhere they wouldn't be in danger of being stepped on. The only danger was Bakura picking one up and chasing Marik playfully around the room, catching him and pinning him to the floor.
Marik felt closer to Bakura than he ever had, and not just because of their mingled blood. Having his life in his lover's hands was an overwhelming experience that neither of them could get enough of.
There had been a chase recently, leading Bakura upstairs and into their room. Clothes were swiftly removed, and Bakura smiled over his prey.
"Gods, Bakura, please!" shouted Marik, grabbing Bakura's wrist with both hands and attempting to pull the blade closer. The white-haired spirit was far stronger than him, however, and continued down at his own pace. The insides of Marik's thighs were saved for special occasions; the first scars had already healed and his bronze skin was flawless. Bakura was focusing on his chest, having outlined three of his ribs with blood. He was going to stop and take the Egyptian, but Marik wasn't done with the sadistic foreplay.
"Marik, no more. You can't overdo it; you'll lose too much blood." Marik shook his head, the action making him dizzy. He coughed a few times and slumped back to the pillows, his body reacting to the cold and lack of proper blood levels. "I'm fine Bakura. Keep going, please!" However, his lover was having none of it, pulling swiftly away from the bed. Marik sat up, delirious, and tried to get out as well, but Bakura pushed him down and kissed along his wounds.
There was a silence where no one was breathing. Bakura was going to move away, but Marik wrapped his arms around him and held him down. Bakura laughed, pulling back just enough to lie next to Marik and pull him closer still. "I don't think you're ready for anymore just now, Marik. Give it a minute." The Egyptian sighed, closing his eyes and trying not to focus on the slight stinging of the cuts. Bakura closed his eyes as well, breathing in Marik's warm smell.
Bakura woke up slowly, his body colder than when Marik was next to him, but still comfortably warm. He sighed, his eyes still closed. Marik must have found the thermostat and turned it up. It was a usually a little cold (~15˚C!), but Bakura had gotten used to it.
"Marik!" he called, opening his eyes and trying to stretch his arms out above his head. They were already there. He tried to bring his arms to his sides, but found they couldn't come down.
"Marik?" he called again, a little anxious. His lover walked into the room, a switchblade in his hand. "Bakura, you're awake! I figured enough time went by for us to continue. I kind of started without you, though…." He lifted his arm, rivulets of blood falling to the floor.
"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, but can you let me go?" Marik laughed contemptuously, climbing onto the bed and straddling Bakura. "It's just a little more fun for us. Bondage is no worse than what we do." Bakura felt warmth in his chest, the way Marik said 'what we do'. It was special. Marik smiled, tilting his head and closing his eyes adorably. He would look like a kid, if he wasn't naked, covered in fading scars, bruises, and dried blood, and holding a knife. Bakura chuckled, bucking up to Marik brazenly.
"Mmmph… you think you're still in control," panted Marik, giving in to both of their needs. He scratched Bakura inadvertently with the very tip of the blade, smirking when blood welled and Bakura moaned.
"So let's skip the touching, ne? That pussy foreplay is only good once. We've already had enough from before. I think we should just get down to business." Bakura frowned, still trying to free his wrists from the top of the bed. "Where shall we begin, Marik?" he asked, his eyes smoldering with lust. Marik laughed, leaning forward onto Bakura's chest and kissing the underside of his jaw. His hot tongue was next, followed by the cool edge of the knife and the warmth of Bakura's blood. Marik laved at that too, leaving dark hickies along Bakura's jaw line.
ALTERNATE ENDING! Get ready, because Marik is about to fuck Bakura into the mattress!
Marik didn't have to go far for lubricant; he reached under the pillow and found a half-filled bottle. Distracting Bakura with his mouth, he clicked the top open and turned it up in his palm. Kissing down Bakura's chest, he circled his entrance carefully while still turning tricks with the blade. Lowering further, he drew the knife down Bakura's stomach and to the top of his thigh, etching uneven circles. The first finger entered without complaint from the spirit, too wound up to be bothered with relationship aesthetics. However, when the second finger forced its way in and the knife blade stopped, he stiffened.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, not unkindly for his words. "Preparing you. Unless you want it dry?" Bakura scoffed, shutting his legs on Marik's hand until he pulled away.
"I don't take, Marik. I give."
"You do, and it's very good," said the Egyptian absently, stabbing Bakura above his knee about half a centimetre in. The spirit hissed, pulling his leg away and allowing Marik to thrust his fingers back in. He slammed them into Bakura's prostate repeatedly, pressing the bloody tip of the knife deeper and deeper into his thigh. Bakura bit his bottom lip to hold in the scream, panting in an effort not to show his pain.
"You ready?" asked Marik, stopping the knife's slow decent. Bakura swallowed and nodded, afraid to open his mouth lest he cry out. Marik smiled at him, pulling the knife out and flipping Bakura over.
"Oh, no, no, no! I'll bottom this once, but there is no way I'm taking it doggy-style!" Marik groaned; he was going to miss his only chance. Bakura got on his knees and elbows, turning carefully and locking eyes with his lover. "Take me like you need it, not like you want it." Marik grinned, forcing Bakura's legs open and thrusting in.
This time Bakura couldn't control the sound; a scream ripped from his throat before he could cover his mouth. Marik was in such a blissful plane that it was a tinny (yes, I meant tinny) moan to his ears, but to Bakura it was deafening. "Why does it hurt so much?" he whimpered, not one for showing weakness but unable to hold all of the pain in. Marik tried to comfort him, willing himself not to move until Bakura gave the go.
"It doesn't even hurt that bad," Marik ground out, running weak hands through Bakura's hair.
"Says the man who takes it every day." Bakura shifted anxiously, raising his knees and tugging at his bound wrists. Marik took that as the signal and worked a steady pace, leaning closer to catch the words Bakura was whispering in between ragged breaths.
"Marik… faster," breathed the spirit, hands fumbling in air. Marik grinned maliciously, grasping the blade next to him and poising it over his lover's tied hands. "Say please," he teased, letting Bakura feel the blade against his forearms. Bakura glared at him, arching his back and grinding down onto the other's cock. Marik moaned headily, one cut breaking through the bonds easily. Bakura laid his hands on Marik's shoulders, holding him still for a moment.
"I said faster," he panted, wrapping his arms behind Marik's neck and pulling himself upright. The new angle shocked them both into moans, but Marik was too uncomfortable to do anything. Bakura's move was supposed to be unbelievably sexy, and it was slightly erotic. Nevertheless, Marik pushed him away and repositioned himself, one slam into Bakura's prostate sparking a new heat.
Bakura's head rested on Marik's shoulder, quiet sobs wracking his body and shaking his small frame terribly. His hair was a mess, tangled and intermingled with some of Marik's. The Egyptian had one hand entwined in Bakura's hair and the other, still holding the knife, was cutting deep lines into the small of his back.
"You close?" asked Marik, kissing Bakura's neck gently. The other didn't respond, but he did tighten his arms around Marik's neck and pull him ever closer. Bakura was the first to finish, throwing his head back in ecstasy and crying out Marik's name. Marik followed soon after, cliché-uke keening moans pouring out of his mouth. He and Bakura held each other in post-orgasm bliss for a while, the sticky warmth of come and blood binding them together.
They moved away from each other at the same time, Bakura falling to the bed and Marik lying next to him. "Are you ok?" asked Marik, knowing the pain of the 'first time'. Bakura murmured an affirmative, sighing heavily.
"Are you sure?" he demanded, looking to the spirit in alarm. Bakura sounded like he was crying, and he never cried. Marik got up, kneeling over Bakura and checking him for serious injury. All of his little cuts were scabbing over, raised red edges on Bakura's pale skin not troubling. "Bakura, what's wrong?"
"I just… wow, Marik." The Egyptian smiled, a faint reddish blush darkening his bronze cheeks. "I'm that good?" he said, panic fading and being replaced with butterflies in his stomach.
"I don't think I've ever been that close to you," Bakura stated, wiping his tears on the back of his hand. Marik collected him into his arms, holding him like a child. "Well, Bakura, I'm very flattered," started Marik, stretching languidly for a moment before embracing the spirit again. "But I don't think I'll be on top any time in the near future."
"Why?" asked Bakura, hiccupping slightly.
"It's a lot of fucking work, man." Bakura nodded, laughing quietly. "You see what I go through for you, Marik?" he asked, kissing his lover contentedly.