"since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
(…)Don't cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis"
Since Feeling is First (e.e. Cummings)
"Hey, Marik?" Bakura asked. They were in the bedroom, getting ready for bed.
"Hmmm?" Marik flashed Bakura a sly smile. "You have an idea of something we should do?"
Bakura bit his bottom lip. "Yes. Actually, there is something I've wanted to do for a long time, but never wanted to ask."
Marik's expression grew intrigued. "What is it?"
"Lay down."
Marik lay on his back and Bakura turned him over to his stomach. Marik glanced up over his shoulder. "You secretly want to fuck me with my face pushed into the bed?"
Bakura sighed, reaching under the mattress and pulling a bottle of baby oil from between the mattress and box spring. "This will be a lot sexier if you stop talking."
"Why baby oil? Are we out of lube?"
"No. Stop asking stupid questions."
"It's not a stupid – shit, Bakura, that's cold," Marik complained and gritted his teeth as Bakura squirted oil on his back.
"I was going to warm it up in my hands first, but you're pissing me off." Bakura straddled Marik's ass and began smoothing the oil over Marik's back.
"Oh," Marik gasped, his voice soft. His fingers curled into the sheets and he exhaled a soft moan as Bakura kneaded Marik's back. "This is what you wanted to do?"
"Yeah." Bakura felt Marik's ass hitch slightly and settle back into the mattress. He ghosted his middle finger down Marik's spine and then resumed the massage. His fingers opened out along Marik's lateral back muscles. He focused on Marik's shoulders, then neck, then arms, then worked his way down the back again. Bakura used broad, careful hand strokes, applying pressure with his fingers and palms in even gestures. Marik continued to dig his fingers into the sheets, pulling the fabric lose from the corners of the bed. He sighed and shifted his body into Bakura's hands; his hair splayed out in a golden halo around him. Marik's reaction made all the small muscles in Bakura's belly knot together.
Bakura wanted to draw out the experience, searching for something to pull his mind away from the blush on Marik's exposed cheek as he lay with his face turned to the side, or the tenor of Marik's voice as he sighed against the dawn colored sheets. Nothing drew Bakura's eye except the sight of Marik. He studied Marik's damaged back. The carvings looked beautiful, but Bakura hated them. "You know." Bakura's voice was thick and lush, like velvet. "I could vandalize these markings for you. Add some glasses to Slifer, a mustache to The Winged Dragon, feathers to Obelisk."
Marik hid his face into the bed as he laughed. He turned back to the side to speak. "Could we maybe change some of the hieratic so it says something lewd?"
"I'm sure we could."
Their banter faded as Marik relaxed into the sensation of his massage. Bakura applied more oil, this time warming it in his palms before spreading it across skin the color of fresh-ground garam masala. Bakura concentrated his touch on the lower half of Marik's back, gradually working his fingers towards Mark's ass and hips. When he tried to rub Marik's thighs, Marik started rocking back with slow, controlled movements. Bakura rolled his palms up Marik's back and raked his finger tips down.
"Bakura," Marik called out.
Bakura got away with pushing and raking Marik's skin three more times before Marik rolled to his back. He pulled Bakura to him, their erections pressing together, and kissed him. "Bakura, I need you right now."
"Then take me."
Marik sat upright. Bakura adjusted so that he sat in Marik's lap. Marik held Bakura's hips, bending forward and kissing above Bakura's navel. Marik traced the tip of his nose up Bakura's body, from the stomach, to the chest, then curving up his neck. He kissed Bakura's throat below the ear and jaw, pushing streamers of white hair out of the way.
Bakura's breath caught in his throat. "Marik."
Marik migrated his kisses along Bakura's jawline, barely touching the skin. "Yes?"
"Hurry."
"No. I want this to last all night," Marik spoke into Bakura's lips.
"In-inside me, Marik," Bakura whispered, one arm slung around Marik's neck; his other hand rubbed Marik's pectoral muscles in quick, desperate strokes.
"What was that? Didn't catch it all."
Bakura moaned, his mind nothing more than a thick layer of steam. At that moment, Marik could have gotten him to agree to anything, say or do anything; he didn't care. Bakura swallowed, finding his voice. "Please, I want you inside me, Marik."
"That badly, huh? You want me inside you bad enough to finally ask for it with a please."
"Marik, you make everything difficult," Bakura hissed, but in his husky voice the compliant sounded like a compliment.
Marik held Bakura's face, forcing Bakura to look in his eyes. "I like hearing you, that's all."
Bakura didn't need the mirror hanging across from them to know that his face was the shade of a young rosebud busting out of its green prison. He held Marik's gaze a moment longer, and then Bakura leaned his forehead against Marik's. "Yes, Marik, I want you."
Marik reached out and snatched the lube off of the dresser, pressing his chest against Bakura's, who still sat in Marik's lap. "Say it again, please."
"I want you."
"Again." Marik lathered his erection with lubrication.
"I want you."
"One last time, Bakura, your voice turns me on."
Bakura twined his hands across the back of Marik's head. He pulled his lips close to Marik, moving them above Marik's lips but denying him the suggested kiss. "Marik Ishtar, make love to me."
"Gods." Marik closed his eyes, shuttering visibly. He lifted Bakura up and settled him on his back against the crumpled sheets. Marik kissed Bakura's top lip. "I'll do anything you want."
Marik entered Bakura and they both cried out at the sensation. Bakura held on to the back of Marik's neck and ran his feet and calves up and down Marik's body. They both moaned, and panted, and called out as they moved. Marik slid up and down Bakura's body. He arched his back, bending his stomach out slightly to grind against Bakura's erection. Bakura clung to Marik. His calves hooked around Marik's legs and straightened out in the air. He'd glided the pad of his foot down the length of the mattress, drawing a circle against the sheet with his big toe, and then Marik pushed into him hard and Bakura hooked his leg around him again, like ganchos in an Argentinean tango. They kept their faces close so they could stare at each other. By Marik's shy expression and sunburned appearance, Bakura knew he felt as exposed and awkward as Bakura did, but they were bound to the moment and couldn't look away from each other. Bakura brought a hand up to Marik's face. Their lips grazed together and separated. Bakura slid his hand down, slow and intentional, sculpting the outline of Marik's body with his palm.
Marik took Bakura's tip in his hand and began squeezing, still grinding with his body against the base of Bakura's shaft. Bakura shut his eyes closed and tightened his legs around Marik, gasping for breath and clawing Marik's back with the blunt ends of his fingertips.
"Look in my eyes when you cum, Bakura," Marik whispered.
A slight whimper of protest broke from Bakura's mouth, but he opened his eyes.
A breath shuddered from Marik's lungs as he looked at Bakura. "I won't let him take either of you."
Bakura nodded, he and Ryou almost believed Marik as an orgasm shot through them. After he came, Marik hiked Bakura's hips higher so he could move quicker. The angle struck Bakura's prostate, the nerves sensitive because of his climax. Bakura gritted his teeth as the pleasure blurred into the boundaries of pain from over-stimulation. Marik gasped soft ah's into Bakura's ear until he climaxed, then he shouted. Bakura held his breath so he could better hear the unbridled sound running out of Marik's mouth and escaping into the free air.
The next morning, their last full day, Bakura tackled Marik to the ground as he was changing. "What are you doing?" Marik shouted as Bakura began drawing on his chest.
"Giving you another tattoo." Bakura held Marik down with his free hand and sat on top of him to pin down his body.
"I have enough."
"No, you need this one. Stay still." Bakura continued to draw with a felt pen. Marik rolled his eyes and rested on the carpet as Bakura had his way with Marik's body. When he finished, Bakura stood up and nodded, satisfied.
"Jerk, I'm not your sketchbook." Marik stood up, looking in the mirror so he could see the picture. "Bakura, why'd you draw Diabound on my chest?"
"Well, you needed my ka didn't you? Now you have it and with that you've gone as far as you can in your quest since we can't get my ba."
Marik sighed and traced the picture marked into his skin. The drawing covered Marik's entire chest. Diabound's tail curved down Marik's stomach and around his obliques, where it looked like it disappeared behind the images on Marik's back and reappeared on the other side, right above the line of his Adonis belt. A wicked grin possessed Marik's face and he turned so that his back faced Bakura, sweeping his yellow hair over his shoulder. "Well, you might as well finish."
Bakura blinked at the scars on Marik's back. "What?"
"Last night you said you were going to vandalize the Pharaoh's memories."
"Are you sure?"
"I hate these." Marik's jaw tightened as he said the words. "I want to mock them."
Bakura grinned, flourishing his pen. "You know I'm going to draw an oozing penis on at least one of the gods, don't you?"
"Do it."
"And Obelisk is getting a hair ribbon and lipstick."
"Don't forget the tits."
"And a thong."
"Do you realize how sacred these markings are, Bakura? The level of blasphemy we're committing by defiling them?"
"I love it when you talk dirty, Marik."
Turn the circle between the wings into a King Slime.
Bakura chuckled.
"Almost done?" Marik asked.
"Just let me . . . yeah, I'm done."
Marik looked over his shoulder into the mirror; the black marks looked wrong layered on top of the tough scar tissue. Marik nodded his head. "I like it."
They ate breakfast and went to the park, bringing their laptops so Bakura and Ryou could work on Monster World while Marik wrote his sister one last letter. Ryou currently typed on the computer, working on storyline.
"Are you worried?"
"Not really."
"Liar," Marik said.
"Are you projecting on me?"
"Why should I be worried? There's always a loop hole. I just have to find it."
"Then why should I worry?"
"I might not find it in time."
Ryou took Marik's hand. "Honestly, I think all three of us are so used to everything going wrong that the thought of you winning is more frightening than you losing."
Marik snorted. "That's true." Marik looked up at Ryou. "Can I cook dinner tonight? You always do it for me, so I wanted to cook for you, at least once."
Ryou nodded. "If you'd like. What are you going to make?"
"What do you want?"
Ryou pursed his lips, thinking. "Something from your childhood, but something you associate with fond memories."
"Then it has to be Kushari. Ishizu kind of used it as comfort food."
"We'll go to the store on the way home."
***AN: You know, if you're reading this you ~could~ leave a review. Right now the poor review section is kinda Miss Grey's sandbox where she builds sandcastles and trolls the hell out of me, *pats Grey on the head.* And by "leave a review" I don't necessary mean tell me you like the story; you can hate the story, leave me a review anyway and tell me why - that's useful feedback.
Two more chapters after this. I'll apologize now for any feels next week's chapter causes. I'm sorry.***