Bakura lay on his back with his arms spread out on either side of him. Marik knelt at the foot of the bed, swirling Bakura's middle toe in his mouth. As if the textured feeling of Marik's tongue on Bakura's sensitive skin wasn't enough, his intense, lilac eyes never strayed from Bakura's face, and he couldn't help but shudder from the attention. More and more, they seemed to be experimenting with foreplay. Sex had come easy to them, grabbing what they wanted, biting want they wanted, moving quick and fierce against each other until they could move no more.
Foreplay was tricky. It prevented them from racing towards orgasm and falling asleep, instead they had to plan, be creative, read each other's reactions, though that's what made it appealing. However, it also felt dangerous. As Marik moved on to the next toe, Bakura felt unbound. The slow, tender affection had Bakura whispering things too sweet for his mouth to ever say. He whispered Marik's name, whispered that he wanted more, that he wanted Marik, that he wanted kisses trailed up his thighs. And he did want all those things – that was the worst of it – the longer he stayed alive, the further they moved away from the days of Dark Games, and the more they replaced those memories with nights on the couch watching television, the more Bakura wanted to drop his guard, to be gentle.
Marik listened to his pleas, creeping up Bakura's thighs with soft kisses and teasing licks. Bakura gasped. He held his breath, as if he'd miss something otherwise.
"What to you want me to do now?" Marik muttered into Bakura's thigh.
Bakura tugged at Marik's arms in order to pull him up so that they lay face to face. He hid in Marik's shoulder, unable to look at him.
It was so easy to fight, so easy to hate, but so difficult to speak.
"I want you to . . ."
The words died. As much as he wanted to say them, he couldn't. Not yet. Not yet.
Marik kissed his forehead, where his third eye would rest. He looked at Bakura. "Okay. I will."