Step 20.
Reaching this level proved easier than originally thought.
He knew where it was heading. They didn't talk for the first few minutes, just observing each other in the entrance. Marik touched his cheek, a slight sting. He didn't react. Marik's own jawline bruise looked infinitely better. It was probably makeup.
"You look terrible," the blond said matter-of-factly.
"Hmph." He gave a lopsided smile. He was certain his appearance didn't reflect just how poorly he felt inside.
"Your place looks…well normal but terrible by your standards." He wanted Marik to shut up. He didn't care what his place looked like. "Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Please stop talking," he replied calmly.
"Wha-"
Bakura took that moment to pounce, slamming the blond against a wall. Marik gasped. Then a switch flipped. The older man was roughly grabbing and pulling, hands exploring as he assaulted a tan neck. Hooking his index in beltloops, Bakura guided them to his room, never detaching from him with the exception of removing clothing.
He was determined, animalistic. Marik seemed equally enthused, but all his focus was on what he could do to the other man.
Pushing him on the bed. Climbing on top. Writhing. Rough bites. Fingers digging into flesh. New bruises. Old bruises ignored. Was his lip bleeding again? Couldn't feel it. Couldn't feel much except hot skin against his cold vessel.
Next thing he knew, Marik was on top. The glint of his gold earrings reflected in the dim light. They hadn't said anything to each other since it began. They barely even moaned, keeping sound to a minimum. Bakura had nothing left to say. This was purely carnal. He wanted this.
Vainly, he wished the Egyptian would lean down to gift him with the first soft kiss of the evening, but he knew that was never going to happen. There was nothing tender about tonight.
Like everything else that's happened these past few weeks, month, it went by in a blur. Short moments seared in his memory. His hands grasping hips. Sweat droplets hitting his face. Marik riding him, the initial struggle of getting inside forgotten. He certainly remembered the sensation though. Dopamine slowly trickling back into his system. It would have felt better in different circumstances. Despite this setback, Marik was amazing. Felt amazing. This wasn't how he wanted to remember him, them.
He could, would outlast the younger man. Flipping them over, he hitched one leg up and pressed their foreheads together. They both remained silent, save for panting, as Bakura fell into a rhythm. Sparks of ecstasy edging him on. He closed his eyes, unable to face Marik. They weren't supposed to reconcile like this. They both knew it would lead to this though. Clearly, Marik wanted it, too. It was a funny thing. He was finally inside him, as close as can be, but mentally, they were miles apart.
At some point, he came. They came. One of them came first. He doesn't remember who.
"I'm sorry," Bakura whispered. For the mess I made. "I'm sorry," he repeated. For punching you. "I'm sorry," he murmured. For this.
The paralegal realised he'd been clinging, his face buried in the younger one's neck. He was relieved to notice the other hadn't let go either.
"Same," Marik replied hollowly. Now that they got what they wanted, reality settled in. Again.
"Maybe I should go…" the blond trailed off. Panic, he felt like vomiting.
"I mean if that's what you want." He paused. "I'd rather you didn't." He had nothing to lose. He had everything to lose.
"What are we doing?" Marik laughed, a small defeated laugh. I don't even know.
"I want to go back to before-" he was cut off.
"I can't give you what you want. You know I can't." Shit.
"Don't-"
"Bakura!"
He disentangled himself. He finally saw those eyes, narrowed, venomous again. Addicting. What I'd do…
He stood up before he'd do something stupid again. Roughly pulling on trousers followed by a jumper, he left the room. He took his cigarettes and lighter with him, leaving the flat. He didn't care what Marik did or whether he left the door unlocked. Marik could leave on his own.
The paralegal made it outside, the cold fresh air burning his lungs. He shivered as he smoked, incessantly pacing. He needed to leave Marik. Again. The man was slowly killing him. Again. He rubbed his eyes as his second cigarette burned away. Internally, he was screaming. He had to return to his flat, but he preferred freezing.
Marik was waiting for him upstairs. He hadn't moved from the bed. He felt a twinge. Hopeless. I'm hopeless. What was wrong with him?
"Marik…fuck…why?" His voice sounded small. His eyes stung for a moment. He blamed it on the dryness and ignored contacts. He was so relieved to be emotionally depleted. He didn't think he could handle it in full force. I'm so sorry. "Marik, you have to realise…come on." He sounded desperate. He didn't like this.
"It's not him, but I'm touched," Marik finally spoke. The closest he'd ever gotten to saying it aloud, and it had to be to that smirking arrogant prick. Who did he sleep with? It had to be the other, right Marik. Surely.
"What are you doing here?" he replied gruffly. He was exhausted.
The blond man looked equally unimpressed. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair. "I was extremely stressed out. You really did a number on him, us." No.
"For how long?" the white haired man asked hesitantly.
"It doesn't matter. I'm always in the background. I felt it all. I really liked the fight though. A shame it ended so soon, isn't it?" Marik always managed to sound mocking in his ears. Gleefully taunting him. He only wished they didn't look the same…
"Please. Not tonight." I fucked it all up. Again.
"I'm not leaving," the other stated. The student was looking at his fingernails, bored.
"Okay…okay," he relented. It was still Marik in the end. He had to accept this.
Keeping space, not touching, slowly Bakura sat on his side of the bed. Marik was watching him from his side. He stared back at him. It was unsettling, but he didn't dare kick him out.
"He's an idiot, you know. And weak," the younger man finally spoke.
"I know." He kept his tone neutral.
"He'll never love you back." The blond sounded equally impartial.
"I don't love him," Bakura clarified.
The blond frowned sceptically. "He'll never let himself anyway."
"Hmm."
"I like your hair. It looks way better than whatever the hell you had going on before." This was bloody ridiculous.
"Thanks." What do you even say to that?
Marik continued to watch him. It was like talking to a predator. In your own flat. Bakura hated this tension. "You're handling this a lot better than Eva-"
"Ava," he corrected.
"Whatever." He was having a conversation with a madman. He wasn't fully sure what this implied and if Ava was even still in the picture. He didn't ask. He still wanted him. Fucking hell. He was ready to admit defeat. He was a fucking idiot. They only look the same.
The older man laid down in exasperation. He no longer wanted to be a part of this conversation. Wishing to high heaven that he could erase this entire evening, everything up until that bloody fine. Paying it was nothing in comparison to the punishment he'd put himself through these last few months. But no, he had to be a stubborn, miserable bastard.
"I can't believe he let you fuck him," the voice said, specifically avoiding the term us.
He draped an arm over his eyes, hoping it would block out. Of course, it didn't. "Stop talking," he whispered harshly.
Of course, that Marik ignored him. He could feel the bed shift as the other readjusted his position. Most likely staring him down. "I'd have done better. You should know that."
"Disturbing." He didn't want to find out more. Marik was rough. Next weekend was already sealed in his mind. He wondered if James could pull through with something different. Not this blond twat again.
"I know you want it." He wanted to forget. "Don't be boring, Bakura. I usually enjoy our banter. Where's your bitchy comebacks?" At least, he got his name right.
"I don't get it. How can you be there for everything, yet he forgets this?" He finally moved his arm to look at him. Lavender eyes looked positively entrancing and ice cold. What a talent.
"I told you; he's weak," Marik answered confidently, his expression a permanent leer.
"So what would you have done differently?" he found himself asking. Playing with fire again.
This got the blond's attention. The Egyptian fully turned his body, leaning on his elbow. Yet again, the paralegal felt like he was being examined. "Firstly, I'd never get involved with you. Secondly, I would have hit back harder." An index pushed his lip, a dull throb emitted from his scab. "I'd make you bleed more, too." Bakura slapped his hand away. This caused the other to smirk.
"You look better like this. That pretty little face, broken." Suddenly, Marik was on top of him, Hands encircling his throat, holding him down but not squeezing. Somehow, being called pretty felt more alarming. "I'd make you pass out. Watch the fear in your eyes. You'd try to hide it though. That's what I like about you. You fight back." Marik frowned. "That's the only thing I like about you," he clarified.
Bakura didn't react. The younger man on top of him stared, before giving him a questioning look. He let go of his throat and got off of him. "You're no fun tonight." The madman tolerated him. The weak man denied him.
"You're terrible at flirting," he said, always defiant.
"We both know I don't need to try very hard with you." Shit.
"I don't like anything about you-" He knew what he was doing. Yet again, falling for the trap. Unable to resist. He never learned.
"You like it when I bite you. Don't you think we have the same preferences? You never complained about those." He hated how triumphant that blond bastard looked.
"Yeah well, I don't hear you complaining about it either."
"Let's make one thing clear," the other snapped. Oh shit. "I'm not the one seeking you out. He is." He felt the hands press down against his throat, still not squeezing. He'd touched a nerve. Despite the gravity, it made him happy for a moment.
"Yet, you want to break my 'pretty little face'," he said sarcastically. Don't push your luck.
A hand forcefully grabbed the back of his head, bringing them closer, faces inches apart. "You'd let me," the madman replied harshly. Fuck, he was into this. What the hell was wrong with him? Don't do it.
"Try me." You fucking idiot.
The other smiled smugly. "This is what you want, so I'm not giving it to you." He felt the nails digging into his scalp. "But I like your effort." His gaze never broke. Glazed lavender stared into deep brown. He felt the faintest brush of lips against his own. Then Marik let go. He dressed in silence and left.
A fucking sociopath had better self-discipline than him.
Bakura woke up the next day and pulled a sickie. There was no way he could walk into the office in the state he was in. Dishevelled, gaunt, dark circles, yellowing bruises and that healing split lip. He'd give himself one more day.
Instead, he stayed in bed until noon. Then proceeded to open a bottle of wine and drank it across the afternoon with non-existent effects.
I won't do this anymore. I'll stop. I'll get clean again. Just occasional drinks. Everyone else can do it, so can I. The lies he would tell himself, as if he hadn't gone through multiple vicious cycles throughout his life.
Ryou had insisted on checking up on him when he tried to reschedule a dinner he forgot about. His brother brought some takeaway curry. He hated the way Ryou looked at him with worry and pity.
"I'm fine. Really," he'd told his brother. In the corner, he could see the dog chewing his shoe. He didn't care.
"Bakura. Trust me. You don't look good." Ryou looked at him doubtfully. Fuck off.
"It was a short fight, Ryou," he said dismissively. Anything to get the younger man to shut up.
"Over what? What did the other guy do?" Ryou continued to pry. Get the fucking hint.
"Exist."
"I know you're a huge asshole, but even that seems a bit much for you. You can tell me." No, I can't.
"Ryou, you don't need to fuss over me."
"Someone has to." Since when had Ryou become the adult in the room?
"Ryou…just leave me alone." He didn't have the energy to fight back. His brother was so fucking relentless and annoying. I know my life is a disaster. Have the decency to sod off.
"Bakura, when I arrived you were drinking wine and eating crackers. That's not exactly the image of okay." Those bloody green eyes looked on with concern. He wished they could become estranged like his relationship with his father.
"It was the blond boy, alright? The one who mistook you for me," he finally relented.
Ryou looked shocked, his demeanour instantly changing. "Really? Him? What did he do to piss you off?" Reject me.
"We fucking shagged, okay. Accidentally shagged might I add." Who was he kidding?
"HOW do you accidentally shag someone!?" Ryou was shouting.
"It just kept happening!" he spoke before thinking. Goddamn. If he cared more, he would be mortified at the idea of even having this conversation with Ryou of all people. He didn't care for much nowadays.
"KEPT? I don't think it counts as an accident if it happens more than once. For fuck's sake, Bakura. Why would you beat him up over that?" Ryou was starting to sound like their father. That irritated, self-righteous voice aggravated him.
"I don't know." He buried his face in his hands. Go away, you wanker!
"Well…if that's what you want in life. I totally accept that."
He felt a hand touch his shoulder, comfortingly. "Fuck off" Bakura shoved him away. "I'm not looking for acceptance here."
"Sorry…I wasn't expecting it, you know?" Ryou looked like he was trying to be a decent human. He looked like he was trying to care.
"I fucked it up, Ryou. I really fucked up." Again.
His felt his brother pat him on the back, saying nothing. Not even fake reassurance that it wasn't all his fault. Even Ryou had no faith in him. He had no clue about the rest of his life. Shambles.