Marik had the evilest laugh; it chimed in your ears and made your heart turn cold. His expression held a sneer of contempt anytime their eyes met. Always one step ahead of him.

Slowly his eyes opened and he realised he was in bed. The man he had been chasing also lay there, acting as his own personal body pillow as Bakura clung to him more than he had anticipated. Marik continued to sleep peacefully, feeling positively warm in his arms, back flush against Bakura's front. The blond's limbs were tangled haphazardly, with one arm reaching behind him, fingers grasping thin air. He could only assume that Marik had buried his face in the pillow again, based on the angle of his head. He loosened his hold on the student, distracted with observing him instead.

Their night ended fairly innocently, but with a new day, he felt a little better about groping Marik, and anything else he could convince him of. Already his fingertips were trailing down the smooth exposed flesh of the Egyptian's caramel arm. The blond barely stirred, a movement akin to a shiver, deep in his slumber.

Naturally, his roaming hand went for Marik's hip, slipping beneath his shirt. The same flawless canvas greeted him as he touched the warm skin, half-bored and half-longingly, caught in a drowsy stupor.

Suddenly, ridges met the pads of his digits upon exploring Marik's lower back. Many unexplained imperfections. It just occurred to him that he'd never seen the student without a top on.

Curiously, he lifted Marik's shirt. A rather intricate and faded scar met his mildly surprised eyes. He knew about scarification, but he didn't expect the somewhat shallow student to partake in this kind of body modification. The Egyptian carvings did make sense for his personality though.

Sharp pain seared through his stomach, coughing from the wind being knocked out of him. Marik turned around with fury in his glare after elbowing the paralegal. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"Christ, I was only looking at your back!" he exclaimed, the final cough leaving his body. His own eyes hardened on the younger man. "I should hit you back for that."

Fear gleamed in the student's eyes, the threat working until he covered it up with more malice. "Don't you fucking dare," Marik's voice lowered to a menacing tone.

He was not impressed. "Looking at your back hardly warrants this kind of reaction."

"Well, I don't want you looking at it. It's disgusting," Marik spat back.

Bakura was going to ask why he hated something he'd done to himself, but then he wondered if maybe it wasn't a willing scar after all. This idea seemed to be confirmed by Marik's secretive past. Who knows what happened to this barely-functioning mental patient?

"It's not disgusting. Can I see it?" He tried a different approach to the regarded him suspiciously, attempting to dissect Bakura's intent. Slowly, he took off his shirt and turned his back to Bakura.

It was more complex than the paralegal had assumed, covering a good portion of his skin. Lightly, a finger began to trace a wing spread across the Egyptian's shoulder blade. Marik initially flinched at the touch, but slowly relaxed, letting his shoulders drop with a sigh.

Losing interest in the mysterious design, Bakura snaked an arm around the blond's torso and pulled him closer. Gently, he pressed his lips to the side of a smooth, tan neck. It was a beautiful contrast to his own pale flesh. Step 4.

To his own pleasure, and relief, Marik seemed to revel in his actions, tilting his head to the side as Bakura's taunting kisses ascended to his jaw. "Slept well, I'm guessing?" Marik teased him breathlessly.

"Not now," he hushed him. His free hand turned Marik's face to connect their mouths. Unlike the night before, it was unchaste and sensual. Lips moved against each other hungrily; soft lips daring possessive teeth to sink into them. The hand already on the blond's waist glided down a surprisingly toned torso.

"I don't want to limp tonight, Bakura," Marik mumbled, voice melting into a satisfied moan when fingers dipped into his boxers, grasping him.

"Then I'll make you limp tomorrow," he replied. Lazily, he kissed Marik's neck again, tasting him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to mark him.

"I'd like that," the student murmured.

"I wish you didn't have to make me wait," he whispered harshly. Cancel the fucking date.

The blond's mewls increased with every wonderful stroke he gave him. Spurred on by the sounds, he snagged his teeth against the student's skin, threatening to tug at any moment. The tip of his tongue languidly tasted the inviting neck.

Marik emitted a small moan as one of his sensitive spots was assaulted, fingers clenching the sheets around him. He reduced his noises to a dying hiss, too distracted by the firm hand job. He would not last long. "I'll make it up to you," was his late reply. Good.

"Hmm, how so?" Bakura spoke between kisses along his jawline, so close to his mouth again.

He could feel the younger man dripping down his fingers, coating his own heavy flesh. Maybe it was because the blond had just woken up, or maybe he wanted it very badly. Either way, Marik had no intentions of holding back. You're desperate to cum, aren't you? Or does the sadist like to be used?

"I'll give you that blow job you've been wanting-" Marik's speech was cut off by a groan as a thumb swiped over his sensitive head. "Fuck! Bakura..." slipped past his parted lips.

The paralegal didn't need further encouragement, crushing their mouths again and picking up pace. The hand holding Marik's face finally let go, opting to delicately touch the secret scars. His fingertips ghosted over hieroglyphs, fingernails occasionally dragging, causing the blond to shiver.

He could hear the student's ragged breath, short pants in between rough kisses, hot tongue pushing back against his own. His own need hardening against Marik's lower back, how badly he wished he could just take him right here properly. Step 6. I mean 5. It was difficult to keep count.

He could tell Marik was close, but the selfish boy would just have to wait a bit longer. He pushed the Egyptian away from him and onto his back, splayed out before him in a confused daze. Before Marik could voice any complaints, he was already straddling the blond, hand stroking and mouth latching onto his collarbone. His free hand pulled at the boxer still partially covering the younger man.

The blond fell into his new position smoothly, arms wrapping around Bakura's shoulders, fingers digging into his back as he writhed appreciatively. He was so close, so damn close.

"Please, do make your blow job memorable," he mumbled against searing flesh, exploring the new expanse before him. Part of him still hated himself for saying such stupid things.

A light bite and firm grip were all it took to send Marik over the edge. A barely audible groan flitted past his ears as he felt a hot splotch hit his shirt, Marik arching his back, pressing his body closer to his. Barely any of Marik's residue got on his hand; most of it landed between them.

Leaning back to sit on his heels, the paralegal took off his shirt, paying particular attention to not smear any semen over his face or hair in the process. Bunching up the material, he wiped Marik's torso, and flung it to the far corner of the room, landing near the laundry basket. He didn't care. Instead, he smirked down at the man below him. "You know, this would be so much better if you would just let me do as I please."

"Well, I can't make it easy for you."

Bakura lifted a sceptical brow at those words. "You never make anything easy for me."

Marik cast his eyes to the side, fingers fiddling with the hem of Bakura's boxer, hand resting on his thigh. Gently, the paralegal's hand cupped the blond's cheek, turning his face. The student was met with Bakura's expression of ennui, causing lavender eyes to widen before narrowing. "What?" Marik asked with subtle annoyance.

"Don't tell me you're pouting now," Bakura taunted. It was more of a statement.

"I'm not pouting," Marik replied, diluting his usual insolence. Now he's acting weird about this. Focus.

"Good because you have no reason to be," he listlessly chided, their exchange almost passive. Focus.

He swept down to capture dusky lips, another contrast to his own delicate pink tint. The blond didn't give him the satisfaction for long, hands pushing against his chest with minimal force.

He broke away. "What are you doing?" Why was he stopping Step 7? No. Showing hesitance works. Stop trying to control it! Just enjoy it.

Marik pressed a finger to his mouth, silencing him. "Just sit on the ledge...and take them off."

"You'll finally kneel before me? How fittingly degrading," he couldn't help but comment, teeth glinting from his sharp smirk. Moving to sit where Marik wanted him, he discarded the last of his clothing in the process. Step 11. Stop counting for fuck's sake!

The student had managed to gracefully slide to the floor. "You really don't want to be saying that to the guy who's about to blow you. I might bite."

The paralegal briefly pouted, not wanting to test out the threat with new words. The only biting involved was his own bottom lip as Marik's palms slid up his thighs, and those cold lavender eyes looked up at him challengingly. Leaning back on his hands, Bakura released his lip from his own hold, a lazy smile adorning his mouth with eyes that bordered on boredom.

It was this strange detachment that motivated them in seeking validation. They truly had an unhealthy symbiotic affair. For their current competition, he had won. It was evident in the way Marik lowered his lids, shoulders slackening and head dipping as a hesitant lick met his skin.

His eyes were fixated on the back of that sun-bleached head. A minor sensation of pain stung his hips; Marik was digging his nails into his bones. He felt like the nerves mapping his body would actually split if Marik hadn't already crushed a blood vessel. He hates me.

His hand reached out to tug a handful of hair. He was met with the misty purple that were Marik's irises, looking up. The blond managed to convey an annoyed inquiry through his expression.

"I said make it good, not break me."

Bakura felt a tongue lazily run up his shaft, a prequel to Marik's bite. "I can't damage what's already broken," the student laughed low and disdainfully, coupled with a sweet smile. Before his own snide remarks could take over, Marik cupped his face, "Have some faith in me...for once." It will be a victory when I finally get to fuck you.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you weren't glaring at me. It's not the most encouraging expression in the world." The blond managed a playful smirk.

He softened his eyes, oblivious to his previously hardened gaze. Leaning down so that his mouth was grazing the student's own, he drawled his sentence with slowed movements, "If you were any good at this, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Please shut the fuck up.

"Oh, I know I'm good. You're just too damn stubborn," the blond countered, his tone turning commanding. "Now sit back and don't pull on my hair." Better.

"And," the blond felt compelled to add, "I will fucking bruise you if I want."

"I'll make you regret it later," he replied seconds before the Egyptian returned to living up to his word. Although Bakura no longer felt like Marik was trying to rip off his skin, there was still undeniable pressure from his fingers, but even more welcomed pressure along his erection. I hate you, too.

He held in a sigh and wondered if he had discovered some weird new kink. A sharp intake of breath overtook him when he noticed Marik grazing his teeth ever so slightly. He always knew there was something dangerous about him.

His adrenaline died into a moan when the blond had returned to the usual, more sensual method. Eyelids naturally falling, his palms twisted against the bed sheets, clenching. Yet again submerged in his self-produced darkness, he only felt what the blond was doing to him. Unlike the cold gaze he sometimes received, all he felt was euphoric warmth reminiscent of the times Marik was more than nice to him. Of course, the fact that the student was blowing him helped.

A small part of him scolded himself for being so distracted and filled with disillusionment. A faint tapping against his windowpane notified him that it was, unsurprisingly, raining somewhere in England again.

Even with clouded thoughts, his body had a plan of its own. His hand snaked into Marik's hair, silky tangles between his fingers. A pleased sound came from that perfect student, fingertips tracing his thigh, tongue driving him to the brink of insanity. His own parted lips released a long-held sigh, a coil tightening, muscles tensing as his skeletal digits dug into the mattress while the others rested against Marik's scalp.

Daring to open his eyes, he saw the scars etched into a bronze back, bowing to him. Everything was melting towards his finish as that golden boy worshipped a ghost of a human. Yet, it felt too damn good for him to be really alive. Christ.

There was a moment of respite, until a tongue moved tauntingly against his head. Sensual lips cresting the tip, painfully grazing engorged flesh, tasting into his slit. He snapped. A brief moment of foresight gave Bakura the chance to push back Marik's head resulting in a rushed cum shot. Half in the blond's mouth, half on his face, most coating his lips.

Marik did say he'd let him do it, and he wasn't going to miss his opportunity.

Partially shocked at the sudden turn of events, the student brought a hand to his face, smearing a droplet off his chin. He had already been forced to swallow whatever his mouth caught. He was shaken out of his daze by the sound of a shutter.

"What are you doing? Did you just take a picture!?" Marik's eyes widened, especially considering the state he was in.

"Yes, this is for me later," Bakura answered casually, placing his mobile back on the bedside table.

"I never pegged you as the kind to...take photos. Perv."

"I have my preferences." His gaze returned to Marik's painted face with a leering grin. "Please, do tell, Marik, what do I taste like?"

"I wish you would have given me a warning," the Egyptian replied reproachfully, small frown furrowing his brow. "As bitter as you said you did."

"It's not so bad, is it?"

"No, but I bet I'm sweeter." Well fuck.

Bakura sat in a booth wedged between his promise and her obstacle.

His hand was permanently clamped around his pint, finding comfort in holding his amber glass.

"What have you been up to?" a nameless face asked him.

Bakura actually knew all of these people, meeting them at various affairs, but not bothering beyond that. "Busy."

It was best not to get too involved with these people. It was also the problem; he just could not be bothered with anyone. The older he got, the less motivation he had in forging social bonds. Keeping his current arrangements already proved to be challenging. He felt more isolated with people than without them. Why do they even bother asking these questions when they know we both don't care?

It was odd, knowing the source of all these anti-social tendencies were himself. He barely resisted his own self-alienation, except for Marik. Marik, the one wanker he actually felt...a connection with. Why the hell was he fabricating a liability? He brought everything upon himself, even his own vulnerabilities. Fuck.

"Sorry, I know you're bored," the woman to his right whispered into his ear.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, "Well, maybe if someone had more self-control." Hypocrite.

"Asshole." Natalie's elbow awkwardly jabbed him in the side. Luckily for him, it had little effect and he kept his face expressionless. I just don't care about these people.

"Bakura? Fancy seeing you here. Surprising, actually."

Everyone on his side of the table looked up at the new woman addressing him. "Oh? And what's surprising about it, Gemma?"

In one hand, she held a drink. Her free hand flicked her dark fringe out of her eyes. "Well, I thought you would be the one out with Marik tonight."

"He's on a date. How could I be the one out with him?" he kept his voice steady, no hints of bitterness escaping him.

A strange look crossed Gemma's face before she answered, "Yeah. I guess you're right. Why would it be you. I'll see you later, alright?" He nodded, appreciating her ability to not linger on unwanted topics.

"Who was that?" the infamous Declan spoke beside him. His peripheral vision told him that Natalie was frowning. Don't get jealous, you idiot.

"Someone you'll never know."

"So, Bakura does have friends. He just doesn't like us," a man across the table laughed at his half-joke. Laughter filled the air, free of nervousness from what would be an, otherwise, uncomfortable truth.

He took a sip of his drink as the words hit him. Out. Marik. Tonight. He could no longer deny that the wanker was with someone else right now.

"I was only having a laugh," the same man spoke.

"What?" he replied confused.

"About you hating us." Did I look sad or something?

"Oh. I wasn't listening. Zoned out."

"Never mind, proved my point," the man continued his obnoxious laughter.

"If you'll just excuse me for a moment," he replied, glancing at Natalie. It took her a moment to realise he wanted out.

"Oh, yes, sorry," she babbled as she slid out of the booth, allowing Bakura to leave his seat.

He briefly saw Natalie filling up his vacant space, sitting close to Declan. She was even too distracted to notice that she took a sip out of his pint. Hopeless.

Scanning the pub, he walked aimlessly between tables, searching for a certain woman.

He spotted Gemma sitting with a group of people. He needed to talk to her.

As he approached his destination, the dark haired woman in question looked up at him with an inviting smile. "Have you come to join my more desirable company?" she asked, smirking.

"What makes you say that?" he countered, quirking a brow.

"You looked miserable at the other table and sought me out instead. I must have some better qualities."

"You do. Sometimes even better than Marik," he admitted. Although he did not know Gemma personally, somehow he never had any reason to dislike her. Yet.

"Pull up a chair," she suggested.

He obliged, suffering a brief introduction with the faces at the table. When all social obligations were over, he began his semi-private conversation with Gemma.

"Who was he with?" he began his interrogation. Surely this doesn't count as stalking.

"I couldn't tell you. He left the flat to meet the person."

"So he might not actually be meeting anyone tonight?"

"This is really bothering you, isn't it?" Her eyes darkened knowingly, getting some amusement out of his discomfort.

"No," he lied.

"I can text him if you'd like?" she offered what she assumed would be a surreptitious way of getting confirmation.

"No, it's his own business. He can do what he likes." He struggled to accept the words he was speaking.

"Come with me." She pulled at his arm.

He followed with little resistance, and next thing he knew, they were outside in the shadows of an alley.

"Marik is fickle, you know that right?" she spoke, pulling out a metal cigarette case. She appeared to be unaffected by the cold, oxblood jacket left open. Not a hint of a shiver.

"I'm aware. I don't want to talk about him anymore." His hands automatically started digging in his own pockets for his faithful pack of fags.

"You came to me for a reason, and I doubt it's my delightful personality," she continued to prod.

"Maybe I want to forget about him for a while, okay?" he sighed in response.

"By hanging out with his flatmate?"

"I thought you were supposed to have a delightful personality," he remarked dryly.

"I do," she claimed with minor smugness. Flicking her lighter, the cigarette in her hand was revealed to be a spliff. Of course, she's a student.

He didn't even need to search for his own cancer stick when a conveniently laced one was held in front of him. It had been nearly half a year since he'd had one by chance. The familiar taste crept down his throat, mixing with harsh tobacco, scent clinging to his clothing if only for a little while. Memories of different days gave him an odd sense of nostalgia.

"You know, Bakura, I have more of that at home. We could have a night in and wait for Marik to come back?"

Exhale. "What about your friends?" He passed the spliff back to its owner.

"Says the man who abandoned his own."

"They aren't all my friends," he clarified.

"Let's just say you seem more interesting than the rest of them."

Gemma's room had a mattress on the floor with bright pillows strewn around it. She had a string of fairy lights above her bohemian version of a bed. Various feminine decor filled her room along with functional items like an actual desk to sit at. Gemma's room was different from Marik.

It was nearly one in the morning, and they had forgotten about Marik between the first and second bottle of wine. A bag of crisps lay between them, half-eaten. Frankly, it was a little too reminiscent of Bakura's student days. Minus the fairy lights, he never had any of those in his room.

At Gemma's suggestion, he was expertly rolling another spliff despite his lessened motor skills; his own capabilities amazed him sometimes. Self-medicating was what he always did best. No wanker to plague his mind. That cheating son of a bitch... Even if they weren't technically dating.

"Okay...Bakura, tell me the truth," Gemma spoke slowly, the words leaving her mouth with great difficulty.

Dry leaves crumbled between his fingers, microscopic crystals sticking to his skin against his will. "Hmm?" He barely responded from his concentration.

"Are you and Marik shagging?"

"Kinda," he answered.

"Marik still denies it to me."

He looked up from his work, the words leaving a hollowness inside him. "Marik is in denial about a lot."

"Do you know about Marik's past?" she asked, before tipping back her wine glass. It made him want some, too.

He grabbed his own wine glass with his other unsteady hand. After downing his drink, he replied, "Only what he's told me."

"Whatever you do know, I'm sure you've gathered he's been through a lot. It explains so much about him."

"Haven't we all?"

"Dark, traumatic past?" she inquired. It was apparent she was not taking him seriously.

"I do," he replied, returning to his task. He needed more to numb out his thoughts. "And Marik has no idea, so don't tell him."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because you're not the one..." he paused, his mind swaying. "Why bother lying?"

"Fair." She raised her glass in mock ceremony. "Do you mind...can you tell me what's your secret?" It was so much easier to speak when one wasn't thinking.

"I led my sister to her untimely death," the words fell from his mouth like feathers, but his heart sunk like lead. He gave the dry paper one smooth lick and sealed the spliff, vaguely aware of the silence filling the room.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago," he watered down the gravity of his words. It seemed to have worked as she appeared less tense, nodding in acknowledgement. He lit the spliff, nicotine rush before the rest hit. He didn't need any more bad habits.

By the time their second bottle of wine was finished, the front door opened. Marik was home, and it was almost two. Naturally, he was attracted to the light seeping out of the door left ajar. Upon seeing Bakura, his tired face twisted into rage. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded.

Bakura's only reaction was twitching his lips into a faint smirk.

"Relax, Marik. We met in the pub and got to talking." Gemma laughed, fully aware of the effects of her words.

Before the paralegal could even join in the laughter, Marik was dragging him out of the room, hand clamped tightly around his arm. He stumbled behind the vexed Egyptian, barely keeping his balance as he was roughly shoved onto the bed.

"What the hell were you doing in there?" the student whispered in harsh tones.

"Talking."

"You're not allowed to-"

"Fuck you, I can do whatever the hell I want! You certainly are, going off on some date after spending the morning with me!" Oh god. He'd gone ahead and actually said. Sick.

Marik sighed in defeat, but his clenched fists told something different.

"Is this our first lovers' spat, Marik?" Bakura laughed derisively. The student ignored his taunt and proceeded to rub circles on his temples in an attempt to calm himself.

"How was your date anyway?" the older man continued to pry, some spirit returning after being flung around.

"None of your damned business. Now, go the fuck to sleep."

"Maybe I'd prefer the sofa."

"Don't push me."

Contemptuously, Bakura took off his shirt and slid out of his pants, stripping away all but his boxers. Unfortunately for him, he forgot about his contact lenses, something he'd hate himself for in the morning. "There, I'm ready for bed!" he declared angrily, crawling under the sheets on one side, his back turned to the blond.

Contrary to their current situation, he mentally congratulated himself. I'm as pissed as he was that one night and then some, but at least I'm functional! His resolve withered the moment arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"I don't want us to argue." Shit.

"Bakura?"

Lazily, he turned his head to face tired lavender eyes. His own dark brown remained bleary and emotionless.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," the blond added, looking for quick closure.

"I loathe you sometimes," he replied. His body felt so heavy and this bed felt cramped. The sheets were too warm against his skin, so was Marik. The student loosened his grip, and Bakura relaxed as the constriction left him. He needed the freedom to move. He didn't want Marik holding him, that was an urge he could fight.

"I fucking hate you," he added, ignorant of any emotion that passed over Marik's face as he chose to roll over. Circling his arms around the blond's waist, he hid his face against a tan collarbone.

Marik didn't question him. A hand combed through his hair.

He lost.