A/N: Every time I log into fanfiction (which isn't very often anymore) my one thought is to finish this piece. Honestly though, I could never think of what I wanted to write. And then this happened annnnnd the piece is now more unfinished than it was before.
That said, thanks for your time. :)
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A deep inhale filled Bakura's lungs with a bittersweet sting.
He immediately felt his body relax against the back of the building he called his workplace. The gutters dripped with late-morning dew (they were in desperate need of a good pressure washing, so the condensation collected and turned to long drips of gray sludge). The smell of the dumpster shared by the multiple business suites in the building was clearly winning the battle with his cigarette smoke stink.
Even with the undesirable background, his second cigarette of the day was quite the morning treat. He found it much more refreshing than a cup of glorified mud—or as Starbucks liked to call it: coffee. (He wasn't much of a coffee-drinker.)
The proverbial thought bubble above Bakura's head popped as one of the other suite's back door was pushed open. He felt a rush of cold air from the A/C and the loud whir of air sliced through his peaceful—though smelly—retreat.
He was almost angry, until he saw the tanned legs that stepped under the door's oversized threshold.
A smug smirk formed around the cylindrical cancer stick between his rosy lips, and he blew a puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth.
.
The bitter smell of wet trash and cigarette smoke greeted Malik as he exited his store from the back.
A white plastic bag of waste was slung over his shoulder Saint-Nick-style, but he felt anything but merry when his eyes landed on the only other person in the small alley behind his unit:
"Bakura," he said aloud, unintentionally. He hid his verbal mistake by giving a little smirk of his own. "Good morning to you."
He knew the words sounded a little more hostile than he intended. He really did hope his crush was having a good morning, but the most important thing to the Egyptian was keeping his charade of nonchalance going—at least longer than Bakura could.
The pale man—whose cool-toned skin stood out in the early morning sun—responded to Malik's even words with a big puff of cigarette smoke, aimed at Malik's feet.
"Morning's aren't really my thing," Bakura deadpanned.
Malik raised a penciled-in eyebrow. "But you work at a coffee house."
He heaved the hefty bag of trash over his shoulder and tossed it into the dumpster. He could feel Bakura's wandering eyes on his back—or rather, his backside. He was wearing a pair of exceptionally complimenting gray jeans, rolled up to his mid-calf. He knew his butt looked irresistible and that every muscle in his toned legs was on display.
.
Fuck.
Bakura's eyes were locked on Malik's heavenly bum. His shirt lifted ever so slightly as he pushed the trash bag into the dirty green dumpster, revealing just enough of his tanned back to show off some muscle.
The white-haired 19-year-old forced his mind back to the conversation, which was so far turning out to be the longest he'd had with Malik. "I don't drink that shit."
"But you must drink tea?" Malik insisted, making the few steps back towards Bakura. The smell of incense entered the pale teen's nose—a musky yet floral scent he could bask in for days.
"Are you saying that because I'm British?"
Malik's eyebrow was once again raised. Bakura noted he seemed to favor the raising the right one when he was about to say something snarky. He almost wondered what the same gesture with the left one would mean.
"Of course I am. You brits love it."
"Oh? Just as much as you love riding camels in the desert?"
Malik flashed his straight teeth in a little smirk. "What I do on the weekend is my business."
Instead of chuckling, Bakura took another drag from his cigarette. He elongated it—savored it—and then released it upward into the morning breeze. He held his morning sanity out in the direction of his companion. Still facing the clouds, he gazed at Malik expectantly through the corner of his eyes.
"Agreed. Drag?"
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Malik was a social smoker.
He took the offer between his thumb and first finger, pretending not to notice that his lips were about to indirectly come in contact with his long-time crush's. He let the tainted air fill his lungs as he quietly wondered if Bakura was the kind of guy to share a smoke after intimacy. He seemed like it.
"You've never called me by my name, like you did when you said good morning." Bakura's voice was a bit shocking, after a silent moment filled with the otherworldly connection the two seemed to hold.
"Yeah, well, don't fall in love, buddy," Malik joked, a deep and horribly hidden part of him hoping the exact opposite.
Bakura raised his chin slightly and looked at Malik through impossibly elongated eyelashes, observing his body slowly up and down. He held out his hand for his cigarette and said, "Love isn't really on my agenda."
Malik narrowed his eyes, thinking to himself: Well you better pencil me in, you prick. Instead of seeing the rude statement as a turn-off as most would (it was an admittedly cold thing to say), Malik felt his heart rate increase as the innocent situation shifted into what felt like another afternoon match.
He handed the cigarette over.
.
Bakura replaced his holy grail between his lips.
He knew he'd thrown his surprise visitor off with that remark. It was true he wasn't looking for love (he wasn't a very warm person and he most certainly had never been in a relationship that actually involved emotions) but something about his game with Malik felt…nice. Something about the boy in general was extremely pleasing, and as much as he hated to admit it, he meant that in more than just a sexual way. The look in Malik's eyes when they engaged in their game—the way he simply played along day after day—was extremely sexy.
"How old are you, Malik?" he asked, passing the cigarette back once more.
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"How old do you think I am?"
Malik took a short drag as he waited for a response from his frenemy. He felt the calculating stare of Bakura on his body for the third time that morning. He was beginning to feel grateful he'd skipped breakfast.
"17."
Malik couldn't hold back the offended gasp. He removed their cigarette from between his lips. "You kidding me?"
"Okay, fine. 18."
The peeved Egyptian rolled his eyes and forfeited the cigarette through a cloud of collected smoke.
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"That's a little closer," Malik replied.
Bakura observed as his companion's right brow lifted—right on que.
He continued: "I guarantee you I'm older than you."
The energy he felt emanating from Malik was intense. The guy really loved challenges in conversation. Luckily, Bakura knew all too well that if there weren't so many complications in their almost- relationship, there wouldn't be one to speak of. They were in a constant battle of dominance, like two animals stalking each other through thick trees, sniffing each other out savagely.
Deciding to make things interesting, the pale man took a step closer to his acquaintance and blew a puff of smoke into his defined neck (since when was Malik taller than him?).
"Don't be so offended. Age isn't a determining factor in many things, Malik," he purred. He was very close to the tan boy, closer than he'd ever gotten the chance to be with a counter in between them. Their faces were inches apart, and Malik's strangely purple-toned eyes flicked between Bakura's mocha eyes and his rose-petal lips.
Bakura offered a smirk and placed the filtered end of the cigarette into Malik's mouth. It was almost out, but he hadn't even noticed. His brown eyes were fixed on the lusty sheen over his partner's lavender gaze.
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The blood rushed through Malik's entire body, and he felt his cheeks flush hot red.
He knew he had to keep his composure and not let Bakura's tricks ruin the game (or perhaps make it more interesting?). He turned his head under the pretense of not getting smoke in Bakura's face, but kept the meager distance between their bodies. He felt warmth emanating off his pale friend, something that was almost unexpected, but pleasant all the same.
"I'm not sure what you're referring to by 'many things'," Malik said around his cigarette, knowing good and well what was intended by the phrase. "But I'm 20."
Bakura was unrelenting. He lifted his hand and hooked a finger into the collar of Malik's shirt, tugging him gently to look back in his direction. Malik cursed himself as he fell into the trap and their eyes met once more, an epic clash of natural disasters.
"You know goddamn well what I meant."
The words were so demanding and cold, they sent chills up Malik's long spine. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up Bakura's hot breath nuzzled against his chin. Instinctively, he tugged the used-up cigarette from his mouth and flicked it into a puddle under the opening of the gutter. He pressed his lips together and swallowed, but not in preparation for a kiss. That would mean giving in.
"Are you hitting on me?"
The words surprised both men, but the more shocked of the two was the one who'd said it; Malik. He'd known he needed to interrupt the moment before he lost the game and ravaged the fuck out of this cruel, teasing white-haired demon.
Bakura didn't back up, stubbornly remaining inches off from Malik's face. His accent lusciously licked the words: "You'd know it if I was hitting on you."
"Then you are."
The paler of the two scoffed, but before he could say anything snarky, the door to Malik's work opened once more. The head of an attractive but unfortunately angry woman poked from behind the heavily alarmed back door. When she saw the scene unfolding in front of the dumpster, she rolled her eyes. "I need you in here, Malik. I'm not paying you to chat it up with the neighborhood dumpster hobo."
With that, the door slammed shut and they were once again left alone.
As he walked back toward the door, Malik said to no one in particular, "For the record, he was chatting me up."
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The white-haired teen watched as the lovely specimen walked away.
As he was opening the door, Malik shot him a look, and Bakura dared to throw him a wink. He knew he was testing the limits of the game by teasing the boy. It was a fragile situation, the game, and he was definitely not playing by the rules. But as he'd said before, Malik did seem to love challenges.
Besides, Bakura never was one to play fair.
..
A/N: One reason I struggled with writing another chapter to this was because the first had no dialogue, and that is how I wanted it to be. But continuing a story with no dialogue is really weird and I just couldn't write it. However, I'm glad with how this came out and I'm already thinking of what I might add. I'm leaving the status as complete, however, because in theory it was always a "complete" piece, since I don't really have an ending planned.
Thank you all and happy reading. :)
