***I thought this was going to be 7 chapters, but this chapter ended well, so I'm going to end the story here. To make it up to anyone that's bummed by this, I'll put a teaser of my current wip at the bottom (on chapter 30).***

Bakura neither lowered his hands, nor did he stop walking his imaginary line, but he spoke as he walked towards the bathroom. "It's not that you don't believe me – it's that believing me terrifies you."

"And now you're a philosopher, apparently." Marik crossed his legs and leaned back into the couch cushions. "I would have guessed you to be an angry drunk."

Bakura jumped onto an imaginary platform, his rope finished. He turned so he could look at Marik. "Be as sarcastic as you want, Marik, but in the morning, I'm not denying anything I say tonight."

Marik pushed play, informing Bakura that he'd officially taken too long and the movie was starting without him. It didn't bother Bakura. He pissed and went to the kitchen for water – he didn't want a hangover in the morning – and then zig-zagged his way back to the sofa. He sat with his shoulder pressed against Marik's.

Bakura leaned over and used his nose to tease the side of Marik's neck. "Feed me a grape."

"Feed yourself a grape."

"You told me that you'd do it."

"If you weren't mushy or cuddly. You're sitting too close and nuzzling – that's cuddly – no grapes for you."

"That is not cuddling."

Marik smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Bakura smirked in return. "Better feed me a grape, Ishtar, or I'll show you cuddly."

"Your threats have really gone downhill over the years."

Bakura swung himself so that he sat side-saddled in Marik's lap with his left arm hooked behind Marik's neck. He leaned against the curve of Marik's shoulder, and used his free hand to trace letters and random shapes against Marik's bicep.

The ceiling light, nightlights, and tv light illuminated the blush burning all the copper from Marik's complexion. Bakura bit his bottom lip, surprised about how much he enjoyed the flustered look on Marik's face. Bakura plucked a grape from the bowl, teasing it across Marik's lips before he popped it into his own mouth.

Marik released an exasperated sigh. "Okay. You win."

Bakura purred with satisfaction. "That's the loveliest thing you've ever said to me."

Marik shoved a grape into Bakura's mouth to silence him. "At least shut up and watch the movie that you picked."

Bakura nodded, half watching the movie, half watching Marik, and eating grapes as Marik fed them to him.

"So . . .?" Marik finally asked.

"So what?"

"Gonna move anytime soon?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I'm comfortable."

Marik growled. "In the morning, when you don't remember any of this, I'm going to harass you without end."

"I'm not as drunk as you think I am."

"You're exactly as drunk as I think you are."

"Shhh, I'm trying to watch the movie."

"No you're not. You're nuzzling against my neck again."

That was true, Bakura couldn't seem to stop. Marik's skin was soft, his body warm, his cologne enticing, and Bakura found himself closing his eyes and sinking into the experience which was Marik. "I'm listening to the movie."

Marik snorted, tossing the empty bowl of grapes off to the side. "Whatever."

Bakura didn't move. He occasionally pressed his lips softly against Marik's neck, but otherwise enjoyed the moment in a way Bakura wasn't aware he was capable of. After a time, he felt Marik's arms enclose around him, and that made Bakura smile as if he'd finally won at something that mattered.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes he lay alone on the sofa. Only nightlights lit the quiet living room, and the cards, dishes, and sake bottle had all been cleared from the living room floor. Bakura rubbed his eyes, a little woozy but not hung over.

"Dammit," he muttered to the squares of light patterned against the ceiling. He rolled off of the sofa, used the toilet again, and stumbled to Marik's bed.

Marik slept on his side, facing away from Bakura, so Bakura crawled under the blanket and spooned against him, kissing Marik's scarred shoulders before falling back asleep.

"Bakura?"

When he heard Marik's voice, Bakura opened his eyes. He wasn't sure what time it was, but the room was bright and had a late morning feel. "Hmmm?"

"Nothing . . . this is just the first time you've been here when I woke up."

"Do you want me to leave?"

". . . no."

Bakura traced the wings on Marik's back, talking quietly. "I never meant to fall asleep on the couch last night. I wanted to come to bed with you."

A snort of laughter escaped from Marik's throat. "For drunk sex?"

"No – well, I wouldn't have turned that down, obviously – but no, just to lay next to you."

Marik spun around, staring at Bakura. "Are you still drunk?"

"No." Bakura shook his head.

Marik narrowed his eyes, searching for proof that Bakura was sober. Bakura sat up, crossing his naked, white legs in half-lotus and staring back at Marik. "Let's play a game."

Marik pressed his lips together. "What kind of game?"

"A question game. For every question I ask you – you get to ask me one in return."

"What are the rules?"

"No lying or dodging."

"I don't think I'd like that game."

Bakura smirked, raking a hand through his bed-tousled hair. "Then you forfeit, and I win."

That ignited Marik's ire. He sat up, sitting opposite of Bakura. "Fine, but I can give as good as I can get, so you better think very hard about your questions, Bakura, because I can make you feel very uncomfortable."

Bakura dragged his tongue across his lips, relishing the challenge despite himself. "Fair enough."

Marik gestured for Bakura to continue. "Then ask your first question."

"What kind of job do you have? Last time I asked, you dodged my question."

A simple enough question, Bakura thought, but Marik winced at it.

"I . . . don't really have a job. I maintained ownership of several of the legitimate companies we had established to fund the Ghouls, and they provide more income than I can spend."

Bakura furrowed his eyebrows. "Then where do you go every day?"

Marik smirked. "That's a second question. I get to ask one before I have to answer the second."

Bakura huffed air from his mouth. "Fine."

Marik's smirk dropped into a frown. He looked away, toying with the rumpled bedsheets. "Do you regret that I brought you back to life?"

"No," Bakura said, scowling at Marik's question. "No, why would you even ask that – Marik, the Shadows were like an eternal downward slope. I was sliding deeper and deeper into the darkness, and I had no power over it, and you pulled me out . . . you pulled me out. Why would I regret—" he sighed, "—that's not my question. That last part was rhetorical."

"Then why are you so damn self-destructive?"

Bakura curled his lips in a grin. "That's a question."

Marik growled low in his throat. "Fine. I'll answer your last one. I volunteer. After I disbanded the Ghouls, sitting in the house all day was driving me crazy, so Rishid suggested I find something to do even if I didn't need a proper job. There's a home for troubled boys here in Domino. Most of them come from abusive homes, all of them are angry as fuck – I mentor them. Are you happy now?"

"Why would you hide that from me? That's . . ." Bakura screwed up his face. "That's . . . actually cool."

Marik sighed. "I don't know. I thought if I told you, you'd sneer at me and call me a do-goody sap or something – that's two questions, by the way."

Bakura clenched his hands when he realized he had asked two questions, and Marik had answered them both. "I'm not trying to be self-destructive. I guess three-thousand years as a spirit has me so out-of-touch with being alive that I really don't understand what the fuck I'm doing." Bakura rolled his eyes and sighed. "Speaking of which. I should probably eat breakfast."

He walked into the kitchen, his bare feet noiseless against the carpet and tiled floors. Marik followed him. They both wore boxers and wrinkled t-shirts, their hair scattered around their faces.

Marik asked his third question as Bakura poured them each a glass of orange juice – big glasses, not Marik's stupid juice glasses – and a bowl of cornflakes. "Do you like being held?"

Bakura growled at the two bowls of cornflakes before pouring almond milk into them. "By you. If anyone else tried that shit with me I'd punch them in the face."

The confession felt heavy in Bakura's chest, but it was worth seeing Marik flush at the frank answer. They ate and drank in silence. Afterward, they went into the bathroom and brushed their teeth. Bakura looked up at Marik's reflection in the mirror. "Want to take a shower with me?"

"What?"

Bakura smirked. "I want to take a shower, but I don't want to end the game. Would you like to join me in the shower so we can still play?"

The flush that faded from Marik's cheeks after their breakfast returned. Bakura had trouble resisting the urge to reach out and brush his hands along Marik's burning cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess, but that counts as your question."

Bakura shrugged. A shower with Marik seemed like a good way to waste a question. He allowed the shower water to heat up as they undressed. Once beneath the water, they forgot about their questions as they lathered each other's bodies, using washing as an excuse to thoroughly explore each other. They stood close, steam engulfing them while droplets slicked down their bodies. Bakura couldn't help himself from licking a few drops from Marik's throat.

Marik chuckled. "Your hair looks flat when it's wet, but your bunny ears still managed to stick out somehow."

Bakura toyed with one of his front spikes. "You should call them horns. That sounds better."

"It may sound better, but they look more like bunny ears."

"Fuck you."

"It's not bad. It's cute."

Bakura scowled. "I don't want to be cute."

"Why not?"

"That's a question."

Marik rolled his eyes. "Sure, so answer it."

"Cute things are . . . stupid, and weak. I hate both stupidity and weakness."

"Bakura . . ." Marik leaned closer, tracing Bakura's lips with his thumb. "You're the strongest person I know."

Bakura held Marik's wet shoulders, and although Marik's statement hadn't been a question, Bakura still gave an honest answer. "I don't feel strong anymore. I used to, when I was part of the Ring . . . but not anymore." Bakura looked up at Marik. "Why did you bring me back?"

"Is that why you keep freaking out? Because you feel weak?"

He knew he didn't have to answer, that Marik was playing out of turn, but continued all the same. "It has a lot to do with it, yeah. Why did you bring me back?"

"Do you really remember everything you said last night?"

"Yes. I told you I would. Why did you bring me back from the Shadows?"

Marik drew his mouth close to Bakura's, his thumb still just below Bakura's lips. "Did you mean any of it? Or was it all drunk-talk?"

"I meant every fucking word. Why did you bring me back, Marik? Why did you really bring me back? Dammit, tell me."

"Because . . ." Marik sighed, his breath tickling Bakura's lips. "Because I need you, too. As badly as you need me, I need you, too. I need you so badly that it freaks me the fuck out."

Their mouths crashed together, sucking on each other's lips as they pulled away – reluctant to let go, and then they smashed themselves together again. They gasped into their own kisses, hands shaking as they held one another's face, but they didn't fully break apart until the water ran cold and gooseflesh pulled their skin tight.

Bakura fumbled to turn off the water. Marik wrapped Bakura in a large towel and Bakura laughed because it reminded him of when he first returned, shivering, and wet, and alive in Marik's arms.

Marik sucked on Bakura's earlobe and whispered in his ear. "I have one last question."

"You're a greedy bastard, and I already gave you more than your fair share of honest answers."

Marik snorted. "Keep a tally then, I still have one more."

"What?" Bakura growled into Marik's face, but it was more sensual than threatening.

"Was it ever just fucking?"

"You know damn well it wasn't. Now quit asking me stupid questions and carry me to our bed."

Marik obeyed without argument, racing to his room and laying Bakura down. Bakura's hair was still damp, but dry enough not to soak into the sheets. Marik knelt on the mattress, looking down at Bakura. Bakura ran his frost-white toes up and down Marik's thighs while he ran his fingers along his own pale stomach. With a soft smile, Marik lowered himself on top of Bakura. They returned to kissing. Their hands raced from one area to another. Marik held Bakura's shoulders; then he dragged his fingers down to the soft skin covering Bakura's sharp hip-bones; then his fingers wandered up to tease Bakura's nipples. Meanwhile, Bakura toyed with Marik's hair; then he traced along the dip of Marik's spine; then he squeezed Marik's ass in order to lift himself against Marik's waist.

Marik broke their kiss to call out at the movement, their erections brushing together. Bakura repeated the motion, causing them both to groan.

"I need you," Bakura whispered, lost in the rapture of his body gliding against Marik's.

Marik smirked, although his eyes were lidded and his lips dark and parted.

Before he could say anything facetious, Bakura tightened his hold on Marik's ass and hiked his hips hard against Marik's groin. "Now."

Marik stifled a wanting grunt before he reached over to the nightstand to get the lube. He set it beside them, but then ignored it as his lips meandered across Bakura's chest. Bakura arched his back. His hands rested on Marik's ribs and his thumbs traced along Marik's honeyed skin. His fingers climbed up to Marik's scarred back. Marik grabbed Bakura's left hand, kissing his wrist and staring straight into Bakura's clay-brown eyes as Bakura's right hand continued to smooth along torn ridges and valleys of skin.

Marik brought his mouth to Bakura's palm, kissing along his life and love lines. Then Marik kissed each of Bakura's fingertips, licking the pads, and ending by sucking on Bakura's pointer finger. Bakura watched, his breath growing shallow. Marik returned to Bakura's wrist, and then trailed along his arm. He paused again at Bakura's collarbone and throat.

Bakura's free hand continued to caress Marik's back; however, when Marik started sucking on Bakura's throat, he clutched at Marik's shoulder and squirmed.

"Stop teasing."

Marik smiled, pulling away from Bakura's throat and trailing kisses down Bakura's chest. "I'm not teasing."

"I told you now."

"Oh well," Marik blew the words from his mouth and against Bakura's skin. His kisses wandered from Bakura's chest to his stomach, from his thighs to his ribs. "I've been holding back all week, but now I'm going to enjoy this, and your impatience isn't my problem."

Marik sucked at the pulse point at Bakura's groin, causing the former spirit to almost whine in pleasure. Bakura grabbed Marik's hair and hiked his hips up high, wanting, needing any kind of stimulation on his erection. Marik pulled back from Bakura's skin with a loud pop of his lips, and then took Bakura's length fully into his mouth.

Bakura squirmed, and panted, and spread his legs as wide as he could. He didn't notice Marik grabbing the lube, but when Marik pressed his fingers inside Bakura, Bakura couldn't help but thrust between Marik's lips. Marik pulled his mouth away, concentrating on preparing Bakura.

When Marik began, he sheathed himself fully into Bakura's body, going fast and giving Bakura no time to adjust. His fingers dug into Marik's back, heedless of the scars decorating Marik's skin. Bakura shouted, so loud and so euphoric that one might think he was trying to reach the Darkness with his voice – a cruel reminder to the Shadows that they had lost their once prized possession forever.

"Marik – I'm – gonna –"

Marik froze, as deep into Bakura as their bodies allowed. Bakura gasped for breath, staring at Marik, his brown eyes wild and desperate for a release that was three good thrusts from his grasp. But instead of moving, Marik kissed Bakura, a little sloppy, as if Marik's lips were drunk. After a long string of kisses, Bakura pulled away.

"Marik."

"Shhhh," Marik whispered.

Marik pulled out slowly. The sensation made shivers riot from Bakura's belly to his groin and all the way up his spine. Marik sat cross-legged on the bed and pulled Bakura into his lap. He held Bakura's hips and set a slow, sweet, agonizing pace.

"Marik."

"Not just yet, Bakura. I'm enjoying this far too much."

Bakura curled into Marik's shoulder. His vision became a sea of gold from Marik's hair, and his world became slow, sweet, agony as the pleasure lingered in his groin, on the verge of plummeting him into orgasm but a touch too slow to send him over the edge.

"Don't you want to cum?" Bakura whispered into Marik's ear.

"You have no idea how much."

Bakura tried to circle his hips faster, but Marik held them tight.

"Not just yet, Bakura," Marik repeated.

Bakura submitted, savoring the torment. He noticed Marik's breath speed up.

"How do you want to finish?" Marik asked.

"Anyway. This way." Bakura tried to move faster again, but Marik still held him.

"No, you have to pick something specific."

Bakura's mind was a golden haze. He was too close to have a preference. Finally, he pulled away and laid on his belly. Marik brushed his copper finger along Bakura's jutting shoulder blades. "Like this?"

Bakura grunted agreement, spreading his legs again to give Marik better access.

"Why like this?" Marik asked as he moved.

"No more questions," Bakura managed to growl out the words, although Marik's thrust made it hard to concentrate.

Marik leaned forward, kissing Bakura's back. Bakura gasped each time Marik's lips brushed across his skin. "But I want to know."

"Marik – Marik – w-will you t-touch—" Bakura moaned and stuttered, far too gone to spar verbally.

Marik wrapped his hand around Bakura's shaft, stroking and plunging deeper into Bakura's body.

Bakura threw his head back, screaming in pleasure, but after a moment he called out, "Marik! Softer!"

"Softer?" Marik sounded confused.

Bakura felt his face burn, both from exertion and from mild embarrassment. "You're right on my prostate."

"Oh," Marik said, as if Bakura had finally answered all of his questions. He kept a good pace, but limited his range of motion.

It was what Bakura needed. With Bakura's prostate and cock simultaneously stimulated, a wave of elation crested inside of him. Bakura held his breath as the wave broke, crashing foamy white onto the shore of sheets and pillows. He sank to his forearms, forehead resting on the cool sheets as he gasped for breath.

Marik turned him over so they could lay face-to-face just as they started. He went slow, gentle, so he could kiss Bakura with soft, languid strokes of his lips, but then he closed his eyes, gave six hard thrusts, and dropped on top of Bakura's chest.

Bakura attacked Marik's hair with little strokes and timid caresses. Marik looked up. His eyes burned wild and bright lavender. Marik shifted to the side, grabbing Bakura and pulling him into his bronzed chest. "I'm going to hold you."

Bakura sank deeper into Marik's arms. "I'll suffer through it somehow."

"So who won our game?"

"I did – you asked too many questions."

"You never said there was a penalty for that. If anything, I won because I got more answers out of you."

"Hell no. I won. I had to ask that one question four times before you gave me an answer."

"Well, you shouldn't have kept answering my questions between asking."

"That doesn't matter. I still won."

"You know, it wouldn't have been so difficult had you said something sooner."

"Which is completely irrelevant to the fact that I still won."

"Really, Bakura, how you make me want to rip off your clothes one minute and rip off your face the next is—"

"—Amazing. I know. I'm very talented."

"You should go back to being quiet and contemplative now. I don't know why I thought I missed our bantering."

Bakura shifted so he could look Marik in the eyes. A grin stretched across his pale lips. "Because you love our back-and-forth as much as I do."

Marik kissed the crown of Bakura's head, stroking his hair afterward. "I suppose I do." They lay quiet for a moment in each others arms. "So," Marik asked, "do you have any idea what you want to do with the rest of your life?"

"No." Bakura shook his head. "But laying here with you is a good start."

*** SNEAK PREVIEW OF ZOMBIE FIC:***

Marik found him sitting cross-legged on the roof of a one story, abandoned, noodle restaurant. The scarlet cloak flowed over his brown shoulders and pooled around him like blood from a gash. Marik might not have recognized him if it wasn't for the hair. The same stunning white as the creature that had rescued them.

"Bakura?" Marik asked, noticing how his voice faltered as he spoke.

"We really need to break this habit of me saving your ass. Don't you agree, Ishtar?" Bakura called down from the roof.

"Fortunately you did a better job this time. Otherwise I'd be dead."

"Is that the gratitude I get?" The thief stood up. The ka reached out with an opened palm and Bakura stepped onto the platform, allowing the creature to lower him to street level. He walked up to Marik, stopping three centimeters from Marik's face. "You ever tried saying 'thank you' before, tomb-keeper?"

Marik touched the scar on the thief's cheek. His fingers trailed from Bakura's cheek to his lips. Marik gave one quick pull with his mouth against Bakura's bottom lip before he had a chance to think about what it was he did.

Bakura smirked. "Well, that's close enough."