***Thanks to Supersteffy and Revengineer for beta-ing, and since this chapter is already done and beta'd I'm going to post it, but I'm not sure when I'll post chapter 6 because still have to finish it (almost done). Also, thanks to everyone that reads/reviews/favorites/bla-bla-bla/et cetra . . . ***
The conversation fell back to gaming. Bakura participated, anything to veer away from thoughts of Marik and emotions. He agreed to start playing online with Ryou and they ate lunch as the pastry cooled enough to be piped with choux cream.
Ryou disappeared five minutes before two, holding a paper towel burdened with cream puffs and shoving them into his mouth as he said goodbye. Bakura sat some on a plate for Marik and devoured the rest as if he'd never eaten before.
He couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to what Ryou said. Ryou claimed that Marik spoke about Bakura often, that Marik even missed him. Something about the thought made Bakura's stomach crawl in a delightful way. In the darkness Bakura often thought of Marik. Could it even be possible that at the same time Marik was thinking of him? It didn't seem real.
The door opened and shut. Bakura heard Marik's voice. "Bakura? I'm home."
"In here." Bakura called back.
Marik entered the kitchen. A brown paper sack nestled in the crook of his arm. He opened the fridge and stuck a bottle inside. "It can chill until tonight when we drink it."
Marik turned around and Bakura slid the plate of cream puffs in his direction.
He smirked when he saw it. "I see Ryou's been here. How'd that go?"
Bakura shrugged, stealing one of Marik's cream puffs to both eat it and have an excuse not to verbally answer.
Marik laughed, swiping his finger across Bakura's bottom lip and then licking a dab of cream off of his finger. "Tasty."
Bakura told himself he wasn't blushing, but his cheeks felt warm. Marik sat next to Bakura and tasted the delicate pastries waiting on the table. "He used to make stuff all the time and bring it over. I had to tell him to stop because my pants were getting too tight." Marik popped the last creme puff into his mouth. "How do you feel?"
"Okay . . . tired," Bakura confessed.
Marik chuckled. "Too much social activity for you? Got you worn out?"
Bakura only shrugged, Ryou's words still biting at the back of Bakura's mind.
"You're talking too much again," Marik said.
Bakura stared at the kitchen floor. He wondered if Marik noticed that as well since he noticed the bathroom. He wondered what Marik would do if he sat in the Egyptian's lap and kissed him, and then Bakura decided he was going to find out.
He slipped out of his chair and slid onto Marik's lap between his legs. Marik opened his mouth to protest, but Bakura stopped the question from ever forming by pressing his mouth against Marik's. He kissed Marik three times before pulling back and asking, "Want to take a nap with me?"
"What? You need a teddy bear?"
"A stuffed bear would match the night lights."
That was the wrong thing to say. Bakura realized that as soon as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Marik's eyes narrowed. The purple of his irises dropped to a darker shade.
Quickly, before Marik could say something to start an argument, Bakura pressed his slender hands against Marik's cheeks. "I'll stay warm if you lay next to me, and your bed is more comfortable than the couch . . . I was thinking maybe I should start crashing in your room after all."
Marik jerked his face out of Bakura's hands, muttering, "so not only am I your heating pad, but now I have to put up with your snoring of top of it all?"
The sad thing was that Bakura was trying to be nice, as nice as he knew how to be. Marik always seemed upset that Bakura left for the couch. He thought his suggestion would have at least tugged a reluctant smile out of the other male.
"I don't snore!" Bakura shouted.
Marik snorted. "How would you know?"
Bakura frowned. "Do I really snore?"
Marik continued giving Bakura an insulted look, but after a moment it softened. "No, but it was fun seeing you look insecure for a moment."
Bakura jumped to his feet. "Never mind, couch sounds good after all."
"Wait!" Marik stood before Bakura could take more than three steps. "Bakura, wait."
Bakura pivoted, glaring at Marik. "What?"
"I . . . I don't want you to be cold . . . come to bed . . ." Marik's face looked unsure, naked of its usual confidence. He walked past Bakura, out of the kitchen, down the hall, and to his bedroom, dropping his pants on the floor before crawling beneath the blanket.
Bakura followed him, scowling. He stood in the door frame, staring at Marik beneath the comforter. Marik smiled and patted the space next to his body. Bakura sighed, leaving his own pants on the floor before slipping under the covers and scooting as close as he could to Marik. He wrapped his skinny, white arms around Marik's waist and pressed his face against Marik's side.
"Are . . . are you cold?" Marik asked.
"Not like this."
"Oh . . ."
Bakura looked up. "Am I bothering you?"
"No," Marik said too quickly, as if afraid Bakura might let go.
It made Bakura smile, regaining some of the confidence he lost after Marik's snoring remark. He nuzzled into Marik's side, squeezing tighter. It was a wicked indulgence – to be able to do what he wanted without holding back, to show even a slight amount of affection.
"Wait . . . wait . . . I thought the only thing that kept you from being cold was sex?"
He wasn't even cold to begin with. He was tired, but hadn't been cold for the last few days. He merely wanted the excuse to get close. "Well," Bakura said, "that's the best way, but this works too."
"You're telling me I did all that work for nothing?"
"For nothing!" Bakura raised his head to yell louder at Marik. "Is fucking me really that much of a chore?"
Marik kissed Bakura's forehead – to annoy him, no doubt. "Not at all. You still could have told me."
"And cuddled instead of screw? Are you crazy?"
"We're cuddling now." Marik slid his hands up Bakura's sides.
Bakura had a sarcastic retort, but a boyish giggle escaped his mouth as Marik touched his ribs. Bakura slapped a hand over his mouth. Both he and Marik gave each other a shocked look.
Marik's surprise turned into a devious grin. "No fucking way."
"Marik, don't you do it," Bakura warned.
"Oh, I have to, Bakura."
"Marik fucking Ishtar, don't you fucking dare!"
Marik flipped on top of Bakura, straddling him and pinning him to the mattress. He dug his fingers into Bakura's ribs, tickling him so hard that it hurt Bakura's sides. He kicked out and grabbed at Marik's wrists, but it didn't deter the former tomb-keeper, nor was Bakura physically strong enough to push Marik away.
"Fucking . . . kill you!" Bakura gasped words out between hysterical laughter.
"Worth it, so worth it." Marik breathed hard from the effort of both tickling Bakura and keeping him pinned to the mattress.
Marik's fingers stopped moving, giving Bakura a chance to catch his breath. His chest floated up and down, his shirt bunched up to his arm pits from Marik's torture. Bakura felt flushed from laughter, and his hair tickled his face. He looked up at Marik, pondering the day-dreaming expression on Marik's face as he sat on top of Bakura and stared down at him.
"I suppose I owe you one," Marik whispered, tugging Bakura's shirt over his shoulders, and yanking Bakura's boxers away from his legs.
Bakura tried to ask what, exactly, Marik thought he owed, but he figured it out when Marik started kissing his hip bones.
"I don't know why you bitch about your body so much, Bakura. It's gorgeous."
And the way Marik's mouth treated Bakura's skin left no room for argument. Instead, Bakura moaned, and hiked his hips high into the air, trying to position his erection closer to Marik's kisses. Marik teased him with a few quick dabs of his tongue, but then returned to kissing Bakura's hips and working his way up to Bakura's ribs. Light, lavender-gray bruises scattered along Bakura's sides where Marik dug his fingers too hard into Bakura's skin. Marik soothed the marks with soft, deliberate kisses.
When Marik decided that Bakura had suffered enough and finally placed his mouth over Bakura's erection, Bakura cried out. He grabbed the wings on Marik's back, as if he thought the scars might spring from Marik's shoulders and allow the other male to fly away if Bakura didn't keep a proper hold.
Marik raised his head. "Toss the lube."
Only half aware of his actions, Bakura reached up for the lube sitting on the nightstand and tossed it to Marik. Marik caught the bottle, dousing his fingers before he went back to bobbing his head up and down.
Bakura felt a shock of cold between his legs and Marik poked a slick finger into Bakura's body. Bakura squirmed for a second, but as soon as his body heat warmed up the gel, he settled back down. Marik added a second finger and teased Bakura's prostate as he sucked hard. Marik reduced Bakura's world to held breaths, soft repressed grunts, and frantic pleasure. Bakura's heart drummed so hard against his chest, that he thought he'd crack his ribs as he came.
Marik swallowed, wiping the corner of his mouth like a golden cat licking cream from his whiskers, and Bakura wanted him at that moment. Regardless of his own satisfaction, Bakura felt compelled to ensure Marik experienced the same rapture. He crawled into Marik's lap, grabbing Marik's cock and positioning his body so that he could impale his white frame.
"'Kura," Marik choked out half of Bakura's name, grabbing Bakura's hips.
"I want you," Bakura growled in Marik's ear as he started circling. "I want you to cum inside of me."
"Bakura!" Marik held Bakura's hips in a firm grip and started encouraging Bakura's body to move faster.
It threw Bakura off balance, and he had to struggle in order to keep up the pace, but he allowed Marik's hands to guide him up and down. Bakura threw his head back, enjoying each individual second of the experience. He felt like Marik split through his body the way a ray of light sometimes breaks through a ceiling of clouds.
Marik's grip grew fierce and his cries grew desperate in his pleasure. Bakura used Marik's shoulders for balance as Marik nudged Bakura's hips up and down as fast as possible, calling out and filling Bakura with warmth. When Bakura finally dropped into Marik's lap, he wrapped his arms around Marik's neck and rested his cheek on top of Marik's shoulder, listening to the tomb-keeper gasp as he recovered.
He'd been tired before, so the second he settled against Marik's hot, sweat-slick body, Bakura fell asleep. He awoke laying on his back with Marik draped across his chest. A little content moan escaped Bakura's throat. He wanted to stay wrapped up in Marik's arms, but his stomach rumbled, and Bakura figured he better not ignore his hunger least he got too dizzy to drink that night.
Crawling out of bed, he kissed the crown of Marik's head before taking a shower and starting dinner. Bakura made steak, as always, but dug through the fridge in search of some sort of vegetarian crap he could feed Marik. He found a block of tofu and tossed it on the counter. He didn't know what to do with it, so Bakura snuck back into Marik's room – his stealth the one skill from his thief days that he'd managed to maintain in his new body – and stole Marik's cell phone out of Marik's pant pocket. He found Ryou's number and sent him a text.
This is Bakura. What the hell do I do with tofu?
Bakura washed snow peas and carrots as he waited for an answer.
Eat it?
Bakura growled at the phone.
Fuck no. I'm cooking it for Marik. How?
Awww, are you making him dinner? That's so sweet! It's about time you get your act together.
FUCK YOU. IT'S NOT SWEET. WHAT DO I DO WITH THIS SHIT?
Another pause. Bakura imagined Ryou laughing. He growled several curses at the phone.
Use paper towels to squeeze out the water. Cut it into cubes. Coat a wok with sesame seed oil and let each side brown. Don't turn them too soon or they'll stick. You have to let a crust form on each side.
Okay, okay. I don't need an entire cooking lesson. Bakura typed before Ryou could give him additional instructions.
And make sure you tell him you love him.
FUCK YOU!
And invite me to the wedding.
We're done.
Hey – do you realize you just texted me? We're totally friends now!
GO PLAY IN TRAFFIC!
Bakura walked out of the kitchen and tossed the phone onto the couch so he couldn't hear if it beeped again. He heated up his pan and wrapped the block of bean curd in paper towels. Bakura tried to squeeze all the water out, but no matter how many paper towels he used, there always seemed to be more water. He finally gave up, cut the block up into cubes, and tossed the squares into the hot oil. They sizzled, and Bakura watched for a moment, wondering how the hell he was suppose to know when to turn them.
Even waiting for the tofu to cook enough, it seemed like the damn cubes wanted to stick to the pan. Bakura managed not to fuck them up too badly and he had a plate of golden brown tofu and stir fried vegetables waiting for Marik on the table when the blonde stumbled in, rubbing sleep out of one eye and grinning at the cell phone in his hand.
"You really shouldn't leave your conversations with Ryou up on the screen unless you want me to read them."
"He's so fucking annoying." Bakura growled as he cut his steak into strips.
"He's kinda right though. It is sweet that you cook."
"No it is not. I have to eat, and you'll bitch if I feed you steak every night. I'm just avoiding the lecture."
Marik grinned. "That's your problem, Bakura. You would have never tried to avoid an argument before."
"Too tired. I'll make it up to you when this body isn't so useless."
Marik used chopsticks to pick up a piece of tofu. "You could just cook for yourself."
"I'm already mooching off of you," Bakura grumbled.
"Is that why you keep cleaning?" Marik asked in a quiet voice, as if trying to avoid an argument instead of start one.
Bakura frowned at his food. "No, I just . . ." His sarcasm failed him and he couldn't think of anything to say. ". . . don't know what to do."
Marik sighed. "Bakura, rest. You've only been back a week, no one expects you to have a plan yet."
Bakura couldn't help but smile at Marik's word choice. "You said that like I'm going to design another Shadow Game in order to challenge the Pharaoh."
"Ryou works at Kaiba Corp designing computer games." Marik tried to hold in his laughter with his hand, but failed. "Maybe he'll give you a reference and you can be a janitor."
"Fuck you, Marik." Bakura tilted his head. "Where the hell do you work, anyway? You go to work every day, but I don't have a clue what you do."
Marik shrugged, chewing his food. He gestured to the tofu. "This is really good, you know. Want to try a piece?"
Bakura scrunched up his face. "Hell no. Keep your damn vegetarian food away from me."
"How is it different than the vegetables you're eating?"
Bakura shrugged again, not having a good answer, but refusing to try Marik's tofu nonetheless.
"Do you want to play cards before we drink?"
"Sure."
As was becoming their odd routine, Marik washed dishes while Bakura set up their cards and found a note pad. They each won a single game before Marik decided to bring out his bottle of sake and two cups. He poured a glass for Bakura and went to pour his own, but Bakura touched Marik's wrist to stop him. Marik looked up, eyes blinking in question.
Bakura pulled the bottle out of Marik's hand. "I'll do it."
Marik grinned. "Superstitious?"
"No . . . but it doesn't hurt."
They drank, playing a third game with Bakura taking a quick lead.
Most the bottle later, their card games fell apart. Instead of actually playing Duel Monsters, Bakura was currently walking his Star Eater across the carpet in search of weaker monsters for it to devour. Every time he found one, he'd drop his card on top of it, making gobbling sound effects as Marik lay sprawled on his stomach laughing.
Marik shuffled through his own deck, finding monsters to toss onto the carpet for Bakura's Star Eater to attack. When Marik ran out of monster cards, Bakura dropped his Star Eater and pounced on Marik instead, rolling him onto his back and giving his fingers and wrists playful bites as Bakura pretended to eat his lover alive.
"You are so fucked up right now." Marik laughed as Bakura gnawed on his tanned wrists.
"So? Your eyes are awfully glassy."
"There's enough for one last round."
Bakura scanned the mess around the floor, notebook, pen, and cards all scattered about. He found the bottle and poured Marik a cup.
Marik took the rice wine and emptied the last of it into Bakura's cup. "It cracks me up how you insist we pour for each other."
"We have to," Bakura insisted with slurred, light words. "You weren't happy in my dream until I poured your glass."
Marik narrowed his eyes, as if trying to see Bakura from far away. "Is that why you're pouring for me?"
Bakura downed his cup like it was a shot of whiskey, nodding.
"What else happened in your dream?"
"Nothing. We sat outside and drank."
Marik smirked. "And then you kissed me?"
"Did I?" Bakura bent down and kissed Marik, still laying on top of him. "Maybe I did."
"That's a dull dream."
"It was the best dream I ever had."
"Your dreams must suck, then."
Bakura flinched. Before he only dreamt of fire, screams, his family melting into gold, darkness, his hands covered in the Pharaoh's blood, a dark god eating his soul, his own body melting down to the ground in a molten puddle that always formed into the Ring.
Bakura curled against Marik's chest. "I lied."
"About the dream?"
"About not remembering my first night back. Everything was black, and then you pulled me out." Bakura lay quiet a moment, listening to Marik's heartbeat and breathing and he rested on Marik's chest. "And I meant what I said, I would have died without you that night. You're the only reason my soul settled into this stupid body. I need you . . . I need you so badly that it freaks me the fuck out."
Marik sat up, forcing Bakura to roll back onto the floor and onto their cards. "Don't be a sappy drunk, Bakura."
Bakura stared at the light hanging from the ceiling, frowning but not moving from where Marik dumped him. "Just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I don't know what I'm saying."
"You don't know what you're saying. Tomorrow you'll just snort all this off, blame the alcohol, and then we'll have to trade a few insults before one of us diverts the topic." Marik pushed himself to his feet. "I get sick of it sometimes."
Bakura tried to get up to follow him. In his swaying mind he was going to race into the kitchen, grab Marik in his arms, and say something devilishly suave. In his swaying reality, he tripped over his own feet, hit the carpet, and cursed under his breath. On attempt three, he noticed Marik standing in the doorway, eating grapes out of a bowl and grinning as he watched Bakura.
"Don't say a fucking word," Bakura warned. "I was never this bad with alcohol before."
"My fault again, of course." Marik snorted. "It's still fun to watch you flail around."
Bakura managed to reach the couch, flopping face first into it. He looked up at Marik. "Can I have a grape?"
Marik pursed his lips together. "If I sit by you, and feed you grapes, and watch a movie, do you promise not to be too cuddly or mushy?"
Bakura smirked. "Why? Afraid you might like it?"
Marik popped another grape into his mouth and shrugged.
Bakura crawled to the couch arm, leaning over it. "Admit it. You love me."
Marik laughed, stepping over their cards and empty cups as he walked to the couch with a dexterity Bakura couldn't match in his drunken state. He barely managed to crawl to the side of the sofa before Marik plopped down in the center. Bakura twisted himself around so that his head lay in Marik's lap. He opened his mouth and Marik dropped a grape into it.
"What are we watching?" Bakura asked.
"I don't know . . . you pick."
"Kill Bill. The second one where she actually kills the bastard."
"You would pick that." Marik laughed.
Bakura grinned. "I roared, and I rampaged, and I got bloody satisfaction." He huffed, sitting up. "Why couldn't my life be a Quentin Tarantino movie?"
Marik stood up to search his movies. Bakura teetered to his feet as well, succeeding.
"Where are you going?" Marik asked as he popped the movie into his dvd player.
"To take a piss."
"Can you make it?"
Bakura took one shaky step and then another, holding his hands out for balance as he went along. "Yes. I'm getting the hang of this drunk walking shit."
"Hurry up or I'll start the movie and eat all the grapes without you."
"Shhhh. I'm trying to tightrope walk," Bakura said as he put one foot in front of the other as if he walked a narrow, imaginary line.
Marik dropped back to the couch. "And you expected me to take you seriously earlier when now you're a tightrope walker?"