Enjoy Chapter 6! I have a crapton of homework I haven't even started on yet tonight because I was busy writing. #Priorities.
Bakura pulled up to in the parking lot of an old inn. It was small, smaller than a hotel, but normal size for an inn as old as it looked to be. The walls were stained green and covered in ivy.
"Why do we have to stay in this shitty place?" Malik complained.
"You're the one who bitched about being sick of driving, plus you even pointed this place out. So shut up and help me get the bags," Bakura growled irritably, popping the truck on his black 2012 Lotus Evora S, now sporting several bullet wounds from their previous incident.
Malik growled, "I only saw the sign from the highway. And fuck you, carry your own goddamn bags."
Bakura rolled his eyes, too tired from the day's past events to argue with the moody Egyptian. Reluctantly Malik took one of the suitcases while Bakura took the duffel bag and the other suitcase. They entered into what looked to be the check-in office, a small room with a TV playing the news and some worn out old sofas that neither of them would want to sit on. They were standing on a red, stained old carpet. The lady at the front desk, old and wrinkled, hair almost as white as Bakura's, didn't look up from her magazine when they entered.
Malik stepped up before Bakura could talk, fearing he might say something rude, "Excuse me."
The lady looked up through large spectacles, eyes magnified by their thickness, "Yes?"
"Uh, my…" He tossed a look over at Bakura, searching for the right word. Bakura only glared back, "my friend and I need a room," he said bluntly.
She gave them a look and nodded, "Do you have a reservation?" She asked.
"No," he replied. We just narrowly escaped with our lies from a bunch of gang members and are now running across the country. When would we have time to make a fucking reservation? He thought.
The woman sighed, "Let me see if there's a room open for you," she said, typing on her ancient looking computer.
The place is empty, we were the only car in the parking lot. Of course there will be an open room, Malik thought impatiently.
"We have a room, will you be paying with credit or cash?"
Bakura stepped in impatiently, "Cash. How much?"
"80 pounds per night."
Bakura pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pulled out the money and handed it to the woman, who took it eagerly with shaky, spotted hands.
She handed them a key from her rack, "Your room is room 3, just left of this building. Thank you for staying with us," she said in a monotone, I-could-die-at-any-second-because-I'm-so-old voice and went back to her tabloids.
Malik and Bakura exited the small building, finding room three (which was actually to the right, not the left) and inserting the rusted key. It turned with a click and the heavy, forest green door creaked open, revealing a dark, musty room. It was similar to the office room in that it had the same stained red carpet and torn up old furniture. The whitewashed walls were turning green from age and disrepair. They didn't dare even try the plumbing at the moment. But the thing most striking was the bed. The bed, as in one single bed.
"Why the hell is there only one bed?" Malik asked, groaning. Obviously there had been some misunderstanding between them and the front desk lady.
"I don't know, but I'm not sharing a bed with you," Bakura stated, putting down his bags and sitting down on the bed, trying to ignore the musty stench and cloud of dust that erupted from the offended material.
"I couldn't agree more. You take the couch," He stated, sitting down on the opposite side of the double, sending a glare at Bakura.
Bakura glared back, "No fucking way am I taking the couch! I'm paying for the room, so I get the bed."
"And I'm the one who's slept on the cold floor of a cramped cage for the past week! I'm not sleeping on that pile of shit couch," he stated firmly, crossing his arm.
Bakura groaned, feeling a twinge of guilt, and stood up, "Don't move. I'm going to go get a different room," he growled, glaring one last time before leaving.
Malik just rolled his eyes and surveyed the now solitary room. For the first time in over a week Malik felt like he was free. No eyes watching him, no feeling of danger settling like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Nothing but him and his own thoughts. Malik only wished it could last longer. He had spent the last week locked up at some secluded location, barely fed, alone in a dark, cramped cage, and now he was fleeing the country, his home, with his kidnapper. He must be insane. Malik longed to be completely free from their grasp.
He sighed. As if that'll ever happen now. And he was right. He could never go home. He would always have to live knowing there were people out to kill him if they ever saw him, if he ever stepped foot in London again. He never liked it there, but at least he had a somewhat stable life and some semblance of freedom.
After a while Bakura came back, slamming the door behind him in a fit of anger.
"They don't have any two-bed rooms," he growled.
"What? What do you mean?"
"What I just said, idiot! They only have one-bed rooms."
"I'm not sharing a bed with you," Malik declared stubbornly.
"Well I'm not sleeping on that couch," Bakura shot back. Both glared, neither backed down. In the end Malik gave up, not wanting to deal with the pale man's bitching. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up under the covers of a real bed, and lay his head on a real pillow.
"Fine. You can have half the bed, it's a double anyway. But don't you dare molest me in my sleep."
"As if I would ever want to molest you," he shot back, stripping out of his shirt and trousers until he was just in his boxers.
"Really? Because you're practically stripping for me right now. I hope you don't plan to sleep like that."
Bakura rolled his eyes, "If you choose to interpret that way, so be it. Shows you're pretty desperate. And yes, I was planning on sleeping in this."
Malik glared, "I'm not desperate. And you're insane if you think I'm sleeping in the same bed as you when you're only in your boxers."
"Take the floor then," Bakura stated flatly, slipping under the covers. It was well past midnight and he really wanted some sleep.
Malik just growled and stripped off his trousers. Or, that is, the ones he borrowed from Bakura because his hadn't been cleaned in a week, "I guess I you won't mind if I seep naked, then."
Bakura sat upright, glaring in disgust, "Don't even think about that, you freak."
Malik just shrugged, "It's how I'm most comfortable. Why should you get to be comfortable when I'm not?"
Bakura groaned and got up, "Fine, I'll put on something else," he surrendered, too tired for more arguing. He dug around in the suitcase and pulled on a pair of black athletic shorts and an old, red t-shirt, "Happy?" He growled.
Malik grinned condescendingly, "Ecstatic," he said, taking off his shirt and going over to the suitcase to get something to wear to bed.
"Woah…" He heard Bakura say.
Malik scowled, unsure of what Bakura said, "What?"
"That back tattoo must have cost a fortune," he said, staring.
Malik's eyes widened as he spun around, hiding his back from Bakura's eyes, "That was nothing. Forget it."
"No. Where did you get it? Back in Egypt?"
"It was a long time ago, just drop it. Why do you even care?" Malik said quickly, not wanting to discuss. How could he have been so stupid to forget about his back for a second?
Bakura shrugged, "Why would I not be? It's a tattoo with a bunch of symbols and pictures, on your back of all places. Anybody would be at least slightly curious."
"Well, it's nothing. Just leave it alone," he declared, glaring at Bakura.
Bakura didn't take the hint, "Well if you didn't want people to ask you about it you shouldn't have gotten the tattoo in the first place!"
Malik's anger flared, "Fuck you! These weren't my choice to get, asshole! Not shut up and leave it alone!" He yelled.
Bakura had no intention of backing down, his curiosity spiking, "What do you mean they weren't your choice? It was one of those drunken things? That's still a choice."
"Goddammit, can't you just drop it? My dad made them, okay? They're not tattoos, they're scars. My dad carved them into my fucking skin with a hot knife. Happy now?"
Bakura didn't respond, a look of surprise on his face. He was not expecting an answer like that. He wasn't even sure if he believed him, but there was a sort of fire in Malik's eyes that burned with pained sincerity. Bakura decided it best to drop it at this point, "Whatever. Just hurry up and get dressed so we can turn off the lights."
Malik glared and quickly pulled on a purple shirt and a pair of exercise shorts, just like Bakura's except blue. He turned off the light and slipped into bed, making sure to be as far away from Bakura as possible. He laid his head on the pillow and fell asleep almost instantly.
It had indeed been a tiring day for the both of them.
…
When Malik woke up in the morning, he was greeted with a soft tickle in his face. It was soft and soothing, making Malik relax and slip back into sleep. He became aware of a warmth that enveloped him, lulling him into a dreamlike state. He felt his arms wrapped about something smooth, like a pillow, but firmer than a pillow. The fabric felt almost like…
Malik's eyes shot open, and he was blinded in a mess of white. He screamed and pushed the offending object away. It let out a scream as it fell off the bed. Oh, shit…
"What the fuck!" Bakura yelled, rubbing his head from where he hit it on the floor, "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"With me?! You're the one who was touching me!"
"What the hell are you talking about?!" Bakura yelled, glaring at him.
"You had your arms around me! I told you last night that this was my side of the bed, and that was yours!"
"Well excuse me, but it looks like you're on my side and you were molesting me."
Malik opened his mouth to protest before realizing that it was true, he was indeed on Bakura's side, "Well, you were still touching me! What, were you trying to feel my up in my sleep, pervert?"
"Like hell! You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Why the fuck would I like that?! Just don't touch me anymore!"
"I actively avoid it," Bakura growled, looking at the clock, which read ten until eleven. They had slept in, "Shit, we need to go."
"Whatever. You're just changing the subject," Malik said, digging through the suitcase for some clothes, "I want to take a shower."
"Wecan't stay in the same place for so long while I still have my same car. Once we get to the next city and I get a new car we can worry about hygiene."
"You're not the one who just spent a week locked in a cage. I want to take a shower."
A twinge of guilt shot through Bakura, but he quickly supressed it and sighed, "Make it quick."
Malik nodded and went into the bathroom. Shitty plumbing and no hot water or not, he was going to wash the past week off himself. Now if only I could wash away this week altogether and go home….
Malik enjoyed the feeling of the water cascading down his body, washing the grime out of his hair. He used all the complimentary shampoo and conditioner that was in the bathroom, as well as almost the entire bar of soap. When he turned off the water he felt refreshed and awake. He didn't have a hair dryer or his khol, but the feeling of being clean was enough for now.
When Malik was dressed and exited the bathroom, Bakura had already finished packing up all their things and checked out of their room. Both got in the car and drove away, neither saying a word.
Yay! Cliche yaoi moment! I don't actually know when I'm going to officially start the thiefshipping, but it will be soon. In the next few chapters I will have some awkwardly romantic and some angsty parts, so look forward to that! Please review because you reviews are like porn and you need to satisfy your urges.