***I haven't posted anything in a while, so here's chapter 2. Fair warning, there is no plot to this story. It's just multi-chaptered pwp. I'll even tell you how I plan to end it - with a Thiefshipping lemon and then cuddles. Bakura may or may not have a stupid smile on his face . . . he probably will. So, you've been warned.***
Bakura lay on the couch. This time a pillow rested beneath his head and a blanket lay over his body. He looked at the ceiling, staring at the squares and slants of nightlight and shadow that created a monochromatic stained -glass look on the walls and ceiling.
He shook, pulling the blanket close around his shoulders, but it didn't help. He kept thinking about the night before, how warm Marik's body felt as they touched. Bakura shut his eyes tight to avoid the memories, but shutting his eyes only made him dizzy. Bakura sat up, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, and walked down the hall to Marik's room.
He watched the way the lamp-light played off of Marik's hair, and Bakura stumbled forward, wanting to touch it. He stopped beside Marik, sneaking long, pale fingers through Marik's locks. Marik sighed, a happy expression on his sleeping face. Bakura couldn't seem to pull his hand away, although he stood there shaking from the cold.
Marik's eyes fluttered open. "Bakura? What's wrong?"
"I'm cold. Give me another blanket."
"I don't have another blanket. Lay here if you're cold."
Bakura wanted to. He couldn't stop thinking about how warm Marik felt the night before, but he didn't sit down, merely stood and touched Marik's hair.
"Are you going to lay down, or pet me all night?"
Bakura grunted, neither confirmation or rejection. He managed to drop his hand down to his side. He was afraid to lay next to Marik. If he did, he would hold Marik, and caress him, and he'd never be able to let go – never. He needed Marik, and couldn't stand the thought.
Marik rolled his eyes up to Bakura's face. "Bakura?"
"Hmmm?" Bakura asked.
Marik sat up, grabbing Bakura's hand. "Shit, Bakura, you're freezing."
"I told you I was cold."
"No. You're freezing. Come here." Marik pulled Bakura down until they both sat on the mattress. Bakura didn't have the strength to stand back up, so he sat there and watched as Marik's copper toned hands rubbed Bakura's bare shoulders.
Bakura tried not to react to the touch, but his eyes sank closed, and Bakura heard himself sigh with deep pleasure at the warmth seeping into his shoulders. He felt Marik tense slightly at the sound Bakura made, and Bakura would have ran to the couch if his legs didn't feel like well-done pasta.
"Bakura, don't fall asleep," Marik said.
Bakura opened his eyes. "Is this going to happen every night? The cold?"
Marik shook his head. "It shouldn't, but maybe for the next few nights. Your blood pressure drops when you rest – that happens to be bad for new, magically created bodies with the souls barely attached."
Marik looked at Bakura, a little panicked. He pressed Bakura against his warm, bronzed chest. Bakura heard himself sighing again, and he wished he could stop it.
"Does that help?" Marik asked.
"This is good," he whispered.
"Oh?" Marik grinned. "You like being held?"
"No!" Bakura shouted and pushed Marik away. "I was just using you like a heating-pad."
Marik's face fell, a wry expression replacing his former, happier look. "You're such a parasite."
Bakura shrugged. "Habit's a bitch."
"Fine." Marik said the word in a harsh, final way, laying back down and pushing his face in his pillow. "Go jog around the block if you're so cold. I'm not a damn space heater."
Bakura gripped the comforter back around his shoulders, shivering again without Marik's touch. Too weak to leave, too scared to admit to Marik that he wanted to be held, Bakura used the last of his energy to laugh. He laughed a long time, and after he stopped, his cackling still echoed off the wall. He smirked. "Hey Marik, want to fuck?"
Marik flinched at the suggestion, gritting his teeth before answering. "I have to work tomorrow."
"It will get my heart pumping, won't it?"
Because the damn thing doesn't work without you.
Instead of saying the last thought, Bakura licked his lips and waited for Marik's retort.
"Are you going to run off to the couch afterward?"
Bakura looked away. "Of course. I don't want to snuggle. I just want to warm up so I can go to sleep."
Marik snorted. "I don't see why I should bother with you, then. I already told you, I'm not a damn space heater."
Bakura looked at Marik, licking his lips again and focusing on Marik's face. "I mean . . . do you want me to stay and cuddle? You never seemed the cozy type."
A shocked, guilty look washed over Marik's face. "O-of course I'm not. That would be stupid."
"Then why do you care if I go afterward?"
"I don't." Marik sat back up and bit Bakura's bottom lip. "Fine, then, I'll fuck you."
Normally, Bakura would welcome a bite, but his body felt tender and he winced at the gesture. Marik shoved Bakura against the mattress and got the lube out of his nightstand. He pulled down Bakura's pants and started prepping Bakura without further foreplay, paying the same amount of attention to Bakura's body that one might pay to a dishwasher while loading it full of dirty plates – a duty to get over with, something mundane and habitual.
Bakura grunted when Marik added a second finger. The night before, Marik's fingers weren't enough, and Bakura couldn't wait until Marik entered him. The current moment felt different. Marik wasn't into the act, and Bakura felt uncomfortable even with the lubrication. Bakura closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. He knew it was his fault. Had he let Marik hold him a little longer, admitted what he really wanted, then they could have repeated the previous night's experience. Instead, Bakura asked to be fucked, so Marik was fucking him. Motions without feelings, a crass, biological response, Bakura shifted his body regardless, trying to get into the act despite the discomfort of it. It was still Marik, after all, it was still the only person Bakura ever felt truly connected to.
Bakura arched his back, sliding his fingers down his flat, frost-white stomach. He toyed with his flaccid cock, thinking of the night before to encourage it to grow in his hand.
"Marik," Bakura whispered, a prayer to the one who'd pulled him out of darkness when even the gods abandoned him.
And Marik, far better than the gods, seemed to hear the prayer in Bakura's tone. An irritated grunt escaped Marik's mouth, and Bakura opened his eyes to look up at his golden-haired lover. Marik looked a touch angry, but mostly miserable, like he wanted to do more but felt restricted.
"Marik," Bakura whispered again, keeping his voice as low and silky as he could, trying to express himself through tone rather than words.
The blonde made another aggravated noise before jerking his hand away from Bakura's body. He grabbed Bakura's side and flipped the paler male onto his stomach.
Bakura blinked, his view of Marik replaced by a less interesting pillow. "What are you doing, Marik?"
"Last night you did whatever you wanted to my back. I think I should get revenge for that."
Bakura opened his mouth to argue, but gasped when Marik's tongue teased Bakura's tail-bone. Bakura gripped the front edge of the mattress and tried not to squirm as Marik massaged Bakura's lower back with both lips and tongue. As Marik meandered up Bakura's back, his fingers explored Bakura's sides. They skimmed across Bakura's ribs, kneaded into his hips, and teased the sensitive skin right below his ass. The touch, the light, sweet touch of Marik's fingers brought more pleasure to Bakura's body than a thousand one-night stands ever could.
"I'm afraid my back's not as beautiful to look at," Bakura whispered into his pillow.
Marik heard him, snorting before he replied. "I think it is. It's long, and white, and there isn't a scratch on it. That makes it beautiful – the fact that it's pure."
"Unadorned," Bakura corrected. "Scars aren't impurities – they're decorations."
"Whatever," Marik mumbled into Bakura's skin as his tongue trailed up Bakura's spine.
Bakura felt his breath quicken as Marik continued to drag his tongue against Bakura's skin. "I-it's true. My first body had scars, and – O-oh Marik!"
Marik's fingers found their way back inside Bakura and this time Bakura hinged his hips back, encouraging Marik to press them deeper. Marik sucked on the nape of Bakura's neck, smothered Bakura's shoulders with light kisses, and Bakura moaned into his pillow.
Marik's mouth graced across Bakura's shoulder blades and up to his shoulders. Bakura shifted as Marik worked to always give Marik the easiest access to whatever area of Bakura's back he kissed.
Removing his fingers again, Marik slipped into Bakura's body, pressing himself all the way in and holding a moment. Bakura panted. His cheeks burned and sweat dabbled around his temples.
"Looks like you're warm now," Marik whispered into Bakura's ear, his breath a hot, soft tickle against Bakura's skin.
"Told you this would work," Bakura meant the words to sound cock-sure and bold, but he couldn't speak above a lusty whisper.
Marik slipped Bakura's white mane over his left shoulder, fully exposing the nape of Bakura's neck. Marik gave the ivory skin a gentle nip, a reprimand for Bakura's back-talk. Bakura buried his face into the pillow, using the goose-down to mute his moans. Marik moved slow, and Bakura savored the sensation. He could feel the ridge of Marik's tip massage the nerves inside his body as Marik prolonged each slow thrust.
His lungs burned; Bakura lifted his head above the pillow to suck in deep breaths of cool air. Marik chose that moment to thrust quick, hard, and deep, forcing a unrestrained cry from Bakura's mouth. The thrust rammed against an area of nerves unreached the night before while Bakura had lain on his back.
Marik took Bakura's shout as encouragement, repeating the savage thrust, and Bakura shouted again. By the third pass, Bakura was all but undone. Each time Marik reached the pinnacle of his thrust, Bakura felt a stab so intense, so spectacular, that it was like a flash of orgasm, a tease of what could be, but then it was gone again before Bakura could fully ride the feeling to true completion. It drove him mad, deliriously, gorgeously mad, and he couldn't stop crying out in ecstasy as Marik continued.
Marik leaned lower, allowing their bodies to slip closer. He grabbed the tops of Bakura's hands. The position felt intimate with them stacked together like one, complete body, and Marik's weight pressed Bakura's erection into the sweat-damp, silk sheets.
"Is this what you wanted?" Marik asked, his voice a lusty purr tickling Bakura's eardrum.
"Gods yes!" Bakura called out, too lost in the beauty and thrill of the moment to worry if he sounded eager and wanton instead of indifferent.
"Really?"
"Yes!"
And it was really what he had wanted, the passion, the intensity, the intimacy of the night before repeated. Between the pressure on his cock from Marik's body-weight, the slick yet soft friction from the sheets, and the mind-numbing jolt of Marik's tip hitting Bakura's prostate, Bakura thighs quivered as orgasm approached even without being stroked.
"Is this what you wanted?" Marik asked again, his voice changed from a purr to a sultry growl.
"Yes!" Bakura arched his back, the shaking in his limbs turning violent. "Yes! Yes, baby, yes! I'm cumming!"
Through the roller-coaster of orgasm, Bakura heard a strangled noise from Marik, and then felt the warmth of Marik's own climax spill inside Bakura's body. As soon as the thrill faded, as soon as the amusement park ride ended, Bakura hid his face into the pillow, allowing his hair to mask his expression. Bakura never felt embarrassment before. A vague impression of the emotion through Ryou perhaps, but he had never known the feeling first-hand. Yet as he lay there, his eyelashes tickling the pillowcase beneath him, Bakura felt his cheeks burn. Marik had made Bakura finish without even touching him, had made Bakura call out like they were boyfriends finishing a first date.
Bakura kept his face hidden, kept his body still. He couldn't handle looking at Marik at that moment, didn't want to see the leer on Marik's face when the tomb-keeper realized how much he'd managed to unravel his lover. The experience had been what Bakura wanted, but now he couldn't stand the sheer truth of that notion.
But Marik didn't boast or make a snide remark. He merely kissed Bakura's shoulders, and the smooth, pale nape of Bakura's neck. "Bakura?"
Bakura refused to move or acknowledge Marik in any way.
Marik waited for a response, using the delay to grace more kisses up and down Bakura's neck while tracing his fingers along Bakura's hair. "Bakura? Are you asleep?"
Bakura exhaled, as if he were sleeping. Otherwise, he kept still and quiet.
Marik pressed a final kiss into Bakura's skin before shifting so he lay on his own side of the of the mattress, one copper arm and one copper leg still draped across Bakura's body. As they lay together, just so, side by side, Bakura did fall asleep, lost in comfort and warmth.
When his eyes opened, the apartment carried the still, silent feel of pre-dawn morning. Bakura crawled out from beneath Marik's limbs and grabbed his own blanket before stumbling down the hall. Bakura's thighs trembled from the exertion he'd put on them from contracting his muscles. When he reached the couch, Bakura clung to it like a man clings to driftwood when lost at sea. He didn't remember falling asleep, and he didn't hear Marik leave that morning.
When Bakura woke and checked the apartment for Marik, he instead found a note on the table reminding Bakura to eat and move around as much as possible throughout the day. Beneath the note lay a stack of yen. A plate of fava beans and onions also sat on the table. Bakura didn't care for the dish – it was neither meat nor a sweet – but he devoured it nonetheless. He washed the plate and went to the bathroom to shower.
As Bakura dressed, he stared at Marik's bed. An odd urge to lie on Marik's side and smell Marik's pillow consumed Bakura. He was sure he'd catch the scent of Marik's shampoo locked within the silk pillowcase. Bakura hurried out of the room, avoiding the compulsion.
At the market, Bakura bought steak; t-bones, sirloins, rib eyes, and rump steaks, anything he could get his hands on. He also bought three cartons of orange juice, two cartons of chocolate milk, peaches, strawberries, oranges, bananas, plums, and any green vegetable he saw – although he snickered when he saw the heads of romaine. He bought some anyway, considering how his first two nights alive had gone, he'd probably need the lettuce.
Marik walked in on Bakura in the middle of a steak feast.
"Do you feel better?" Marik asked.
Bakura shrugged, pointing at the grill-pan on the stove. "I saved you a fillet."
Marik nodded and put the small cut of meat on a plate. He peeked in the fridge, pulling out the lettuce, spinach, and endive Bakura bought. "At least you bought stuff for a salad."
Bakura laughed as Marik cut the lettuce.
"What's so funny?" Marik raised an eyebrow.
Bakura shook his head, filling his mouth with a too-large section of sirloin so he didn't have to answer Marik's question. Once finished, Marik set a bowl in front of Bakura of greens lightly dressed with vinegar and olive oil. Bakura stabbed the mix with his fork and ate it with the same zeal he'd given his steaks.
"Were you cold today?"
Bakura shrugged again. He'd had moments, but nothing lasting.
"Damn, Bakura, try to let me get a word in edge-wise."
"Eating," Bakura muttered into an almost empty bowl of greens.
Marik shook his head. "Oh, I saw Ryou on my lunch break today. He said he'd swing by and visit you in a few days."
Bakura looked up from his bowl. "Why?"
"To visit. Why else?"
"But . . . why?"
Ryou should hate him. Bakura couldn't imagine his former host feeling any other way.
"You really are a gods-forsaken moron." Marik shook his head.
"You have the gods-forsaken part right." Bakura left his empty bowl and plate on the table while he stood up and rummaged in the fridge for one of the cartons of chocolate milk. He drank for a long time, sighing when he finally broke away for air. "I don't really even like chocolate. I'd rather have dates or figs, but I couldn't find any."
They washed the dishes together, Marik washing and Bakura drying. He had no desire to be helpful, but there was only so much to do in Marik's apartment and the activity filled a space of time. When they finished, Marik went to the living room to watch TV.
Bakura sat next to him, not knowing what else to do. They watched a movie, then the news, Bakura watched Marik's face more than the t.v. screen. He noticed, as the night dragged on, that Marik started yawning. Bakura knew Marik would want to go to sleep, and that he wouldn't be in the mood to listen to Bakura demanding sex.
Bakura thought about trying to sleep on the couch alone, staring at the endless patterns of light and dark rectangles that sprayed out on the ceiling when it was dark and quiet in the living room. His fingers started toying with the hem of his shirt. "We should play a card game."
"Hmm?" Marik half-glanced at Bakura. "I would, but it's getting late. We can tomorrow, if you want."
What Bakura wanted was any excuse for Marik to stay on the couch instead of going to bed – even for just a few moments longer. Before he could think of plan, Bakura found himself pushing the coffee table away from the sofa. He sank to the floor, knees padded by the plush carpet. Bakura splayed his bone-white fingers along the top of Marik's lap, the white of Bakura's skin contrasting with the black of Marik's pants.
"Bakura? What are you doing?"
Bakura licked his lips. He'd been acting on instinct more than thought, but as his mind caught up with his body and realized what he wanted to do, Bakura found himself eager to continue. His fingers slid higher up Marik's pants, thumbs hitching around the belt loops and tugging them to pull Marik a centimeter closer.
Bakura lowered his face close to the V where Marik's legs merged with his body. "Just thought I'd get you off before you turned in for the night."
He kissed between Marik's legs, allowing his mouth to press against the fabric of Marik's pants. Marik tossed his head back, muttering something Bakura couldn't hear.
"What was that?" Bakura intentionally spoke close to Marik's body, allowing the vibrations of his voice to tease Marik.
Marik's erection swelled behind the fabric of his slacks. Bakura kissed the bulge, encouraging it.
"I said . . ." Marik couldn't finish the sentence. His fingers fumbled for his zipper.
Bakura didn't allow Marik to get past the top button. Before Marik could un-zip, Bakura grabbed Marik's right hand and sucked on Marik's pointer and mid fingers. Marik looked down at Bakura, violet eyes reflecting the shifting colors from the television, lips parted. Bakura looked up to meet Marik's gaze, his tongue flicking against the pads of Marik's fingers as their eyes met.
A single, nervous laugh slipped from Marik's mouth. "What's gotten into you?"
Bakura shrugged, letting go of Marik's fingers in order to pull the zipper of Marik's pants down. "Maybe it was all that lettuce you fed me."
"What?" Marik asked, but the hazy glaze in his eyes suggested that Marik really didn't care what answer Bakura gave.
Bakura clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "All that time forced to study Ancient Egypt, and you never learned any of the fun stuff."
"What?"
Bakura grinned, pulling Marik's erection away from his pants and sucking until Marik forgot his question. Bakura tugged at the hem of Marik's pants, and Marik lifted his hips. They both pulled the fabric away, allowing it to crumple on the carpet beside Bakura.
Bakura didn't hesitate. He bobbed his head, allowing Marik's shaft to slide into his mouth until he felt the tip jab at the back of his throat each time he dipped downward. His right hand held Marik's base while his left brushed against Marik's lower belly.
"Damn Bakura."
Hearing Marik's voice, breathy and faint with pleasure tied Bakura's lower belly into knots. His left hand slid down to Marik's thigh, feeling the firm, taunt muscle beneath Marik's skin, but after a moment, Bakura couldn't resist lowering his left hand down to his own erection. Bakura teased himself with thumb and pointer finger. Bakura shivered, and moved his head faster.
Marik's length swelled, so plump that Bakura had trouble keeping more than a few centimeters in his mouth. A wayward hand slipped into Bakura's hair, tugging, and encouraging Bakura to go deeper. The force of Marik's hand tugging Bakura's hair made the former spirit giddy. He strained to fit another two centimeters into his mouth, relaxing his throat to accommodate the extra length.
Marik called out. His hips jerked up, and Bakura held his breath in order to swallow. Bakura's lips burned, his jaw ached, and every nerve in his body seemed to throb with satisfaction. The sleepy, unfocused look in Marik's eyes, the way his shoulders slumped and his hips sank deep into the couch cushions told Bakura that he'd done a damn good job.
"Guess you're ready for bed now," Bakura whispered into Marik's knee, giving it a quick kiss.
Marik hummed an mmmm of approval, but then he sat up straight. "Not just yet."
Bakura raised an eyebrow. Marik smiled, warm and bright as early morning sunlight.
Marik pulled Bakura up on the sofa. Bakura sat side-saddle in Marik's lap, long, white legs slung across the length of the couch. He tilted Bakura back at a slight angle, sucking on Bakura's throat and wrapping his fingers around Bakura's need.
A cry shuddered from Bakura's parted lips. His eyes fluttered shut and he focused on Marik's warm hand and warmer mouth. The pleasure pooled into Bakura's center, tighter and tighter, like the universe preparing to be born, and then it couldn't condense anymore. Bakura felt everything explode. Everything shot outward, stars, planets, entire solar systems and galaxies, a universe created inside him, and then he clung to Marik like he'd clung to the sofa the night before – a survivor clutching driftwood.
He stayed that way as long as he dared, until the enthrallment of post-orgasm could no longer justify the way he held Marik. He stood.
"I need to clean up," he muttered, an excuse to force himself away from Marik.
"Yeah, me too." Marik sighed before rising to his feet.
Bakura slept well that night, warm and sated, but he sighed as he slept, dreaming and yearning to be held.