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"Shut up, Marik," the albino muttered, now out of habit rather than actual annoyance.
It had become a common response whenever the blonde's tanned mouth opened - regardless of what he had to say - to shut him up before he got started. More often than not, this was because the young Egyptian never really had anything interesting to say in the first place. The white-haired boy could hardly be bothered wasting his time listening to the day-dreamer's drivel that often poured from his mouth. It was neither helpful nor was it even amusing. In fact, the young albino often found himself rethinking his reasons for partnering up with this ridiculous tombkeeper in the first place. True, they shared a mutual hatred for the Pharaoh but that was about as far as it went. If the young tanned boy hadn't been in possession of the Millennium Rod, the prospect of joining forces would have seemed laughable. He probably wouldn't have agreed to working with him at all. He was in this for the Rod, he often found himself thinking. Bear with it until it's yours...
"Shut up, Marik," he found himself saying again, rolling his eyes at the pout he received in response and as he saw the blonde's mouth move to speak again he interjected with another dismissal.
Eventually the blonde folded his arms sulkily and sank into a rankled scowl, muttering something in a barely audible grunt. The albino didn't bother to ask what he'd said. It'd only mean offering the insufferable boy an opportunity to talk.
Silence descended upon them in the moments that followed and he saw the young Egyptian shift uncomfortably at the lack of sound. The white-haired boy, by the name of Bakura, allowed himself a smirk.
It had become an almost amusing game to see how long the tanned boy could stay silent for. It was normally not long at all. That was what surprised him this time around. The minutes ticked by and not a word was uttered. Where there would have been a somewhat delayed retort or sarcastic remark, a deafening silence took up residence. Silence and Marik Ishtar were not two things Bakura associated with one another. It was odd.
The silence wasn't exactly empty. Bakura could tell that much. It was a silence heavy and thick with as of yet unheard statements, remarks and announcements. But they were taking a lot longer to spout forth. What was wrong?
Not that Bakura really cared about what the other boy thought or felt. That was his host's job - to be the caring one of the two spirits.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation and ran frustrated fingers through his wild mass of snowy white hair. How was it possible for Marik's silence to be even more annoying than his talking!? He released a defeated groan and yielded to whatever silly game the boy was trying to play. "Alright, Marik," he said resignedly, in the manner with which an adult would address a stroppy child. "What is it?"
Marik didn't speak. He shifted awkwardly, back turned towards the albino, but other than that he barely showed any signs of having heard the boy speak. Bakura raised a curious eyebrow at this before rolling his eyes and furrowing his brow into a frown. "If you're sinking into one of your childish mood-swings again I suggest you reconsider," he said, watching for a response that still never came. "Marik?"
No response. Bakura felt mild anger begin to boil in the pit of his stomach. This was beginning to become excruciatingly frustrating. "Don't be such a child," he snapped irritably, earning a small jump of surprise from the tanned boy. "We'll never get any closer to our goals if neither of us can develop a plan that's going to work. Sulking like a child won't help. You're so bloody immature!"
Marik muttered something under his breath but Bakura couldn't make it out. "What was that?" he prompted, a dangerous edge to his voice.
"Nothing," came the reply.
Bakura exhaled a defeated sigh. He wasn't going to play this game of trying to get to the bottom of what was probably only going to turn into another of Marik's silly tantrums. Slipping a hand into his pocket, the albino pulled out a bound block of cards and began to flick through them half-heartedly. What was the point of joining forces if it never got anything done? He had a higher chance of obtaining Yuugi Mutou's Millennium Puzzle without Marik's help. The problem was that damn Rod. It was key to his plans too but as long as Marik's goals remained unachieved then the Millennium Rod would remain out of Bakura's grasp.
He looked up from sifting through his deck for a moment, out of an impulse to see why he suddenly felt like he was being observed, and met the stare of Marik's purple irises, glaring sullenly over at him. Bakura's brow furrowed. "Don't give me a look like that, Marik," he said.
The Egyptian held his stare as best he could but eventually his features softened and he broke eye contact. It seemed he'd held his mood for as long as his attention span allowed. Or perhaps it was for some other reason. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he stared down at the Millennium Rod in his hands, glinting gold in what light slanted in through the small window onto the outside world. "What's the point in agreeing to this alliance if I can't get a word in edgeways?" he asked, his tone bitter.
Bakura's gaze didn't shift. His facial expression remained impassive as he spoke. "Do you want my reasons in alphabetical, numerical or chronological order?"
Marik's face crumpled into a scowl and he looked the albino directly in the eyes, clearly not in the mood for his sarcasm. Bakura merely rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Well, to name but a few…" he began, inhaling deeply to have enough air to run off his reasons in one breath. "You ceaselessly monologue about the slightest of things, you're an arrogant fool who believes every hair-brained scheme is destined to succeed simply because you thought it up, your plans are mediocre, childish, lack any real evidence of having been well thought through and - to be blunt - they're doomed to fail…"
Marik opened his mouth to protest but Bakura held a hand up to silence him. "…Miserably," he finished, lowering his hand again as Marik's eyes grew narrow.
"They wouldn't be if you'd actually listen long enough for me to explain how they all pan out!" he said defensively, folding his arms moodily again.
Bakura scoffed. "That's if I can even be bothered listening to your garbage any longer!"
"You don't listen to me at all! You don't even know if it's garbage or not!" Marik cried, anger building inside him.
Bakura shot him a foul look. "I think I can make a pretty good assumption," he said coldly.
"You don't know anything!"
"I think you'll find I-"
"Well, if you're so unhappy about this why don't you go and do things your way?" Marik yelled, taking Bakura by surprise as he slammed the Rod furiously against the wall. "I can get the Egyptian God-Cards without your help!"
Bakura's face showed traces of amusement at Marik's certainty. He gave the tanned boy a pitying grin. "You think a few cards are that important," he half-scoffed, shaking his head. "You must be even more backwards than you loo-"
Marik was on his feet now, Millennium Rod gripped tightly in his fists and his face contorted in anger. "You don't know anything!" he yelled again, spittle spraying from his mouth. "I don't need your help, you know!" – a thin smile played at the corners of his mouth suddenly– "I don't need your mind, only your body."
Bakura's eyes seemed to darken dangerously at his words. "You dare to use that Millennium Rod on me," he said slowly, his voice low and menacing, "and you will rue the day you were ever born."
Marik snorted and looked away. "Nothing new there," he muttered, his grip relaxing around the Rod, eyes staring distantly at the wall.
Bakura considered the boy standing above him. A tombkeeper – supposed loyal servant of the Pharaoh of Egypt. Marik had often mentioned the title but never elaborated upon much more about it. He was a tombkeeper alright. Bakura had been told that much. But loyal to the Pharaoh was something he was not. He was no faithful servant to the Ancient Egyptian king. In fact, he resented him and held him in a deep bitter contempt which ultimately fueled his actions against him. Why? Bakura didn't know. It seemed the things Marik neglected to make known in his speeches and monologues were his reasons for everything. It was always a statement without an explanation. Considering this, Bakura realised he knew next to nothing at all about the young Egyptian. He was a tombkeeper who was rejecting his ancient role, taking a path far different from the one he was supposed to take, seeking revenge against an age-old Pharaoh for some unknown injustice. Marik at the very least – aside from the childish attitudes he held to just about everything else - spoke of revenge with some seemingly genuine seriousness. And yet still there was a kind of reluctance about it. Whether that was due to an upbringing which endorsed loyalty to the ancient Pharaoh was yet to be seen. Bakura frowned as a thought occurred to him: Perhaps this whole thing was just an act.
The overall impression the tanned boy gave was that of someone who commanded attention and obedience, who demanded to be recognised as a force not to be reckoned with and who had his eyes set upon the exacting of a revenge born of some past event. But it seemed to Bakura that underneath that commanding, somewhat naïve persona was a vulnerable sensitivity. A weakness which Marik had gone to great lengths to keep hidden beneath a personality that was – it was beginning to seem - not quite his own. Bakura wondered whether Marik Ishtar really had any evil in him at all or whether he was trying to build an image of someone who was in control – who got what he wanted when he wanted it and could assert authority at any time while really it was all just a mask to conceal his true vulnerability and a weakness in willpower that had, up to now, been concealed beneath a hardened shell.
A sly grin spread across the albino's face, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made Marik feel increasingly uneasy. "What's with that look?" he asked, a faint tremor in his voice.
Bakura fixed him with a probing stare. "I get it now," he said in a quiet, knowing tone.
Marik shifted awkwardly on his feet, seeming almost to shrink into himself. A self-defense mechanism, Bakura assumed. To protect his true vulnerability. He found his grin spreading further across his face, delighting in the discomfort he was causing the young Egyptian. "I understand you more now," he said simply, satisfaction soaring like a bird within him as he watched Marik swallow uncomfortably, his defensive wall crumbling as what looked like mild terror began to creep across his features. It seemed the albino's assumptions had been correct. There was more to Marik beneath the dominating persona that was seen on the surface. Bakura didn't say anything more. He'd found entertainment in watching the blonde suffer from the fear of exposure and as he continued to stare up at him with probing, penetrating eyes he felt he could almost see him buckling under the intensity of his stare. "You don't know anything!" Marik said loudly, with more force than necessary.
Bakura's eyes flashed. That was the third time the boy had uttered those four words and each time had been when part of his character had been in danger of being seen for what it really was. It was fast becoming a tell-tale sign of Marik's previously hidden weakness, a sign that Bakura had touched a weak spot. The albino certainly wasn't going to let an opportunity like the one opening up before him pass him by.
Getting to his feet, an amused smirk crossed his pale features as he saw the Egyptian freeze and heard him swallow audibly again. This new Marik – the real one - was much more fun to mess around with than the forced personality he'd been seeing on the surface.
He eyed the golden item in the Egyptian's hand, noticing the way the boy's thin fingers grasped the shaft tightly, more out of fear now than the previous anger with which he had held it before. "Put that down, Marik," he said, gesturing towards it.
The blonde only grasped it tighter, fixing the albino with an uncertain, wary eye but Bakura's grin only widened, his eyes staring unblinkingly into Marik's own. "Put it down," he pressed again, a little more firmly this time.
Marik had both hands gripping it now, refusing to let go of the Millennium Rod. His source of power. His instrument of manipulation. His symbol of dominance. Marik may have come across as having been somewhat naïve at times in the past but the blonde was far sharper than he had been letting on. Bakura was crafty. He could see that clearly. Of course he'd ask him to put down the Millennium Rod, only to take it for himself and render the young tombkeeper powerless and weak. His eyes narrowed at the prospect. "No," he said firmly, fingers tightening their grip around the shaft of the Rod, arms pulling it closer in towards his chest.
Bakura's expression didn't change. He maintained the same sly grin unwaveringly. But there was something new shimmering in his eyes now. Something Marik couldn't read but it sent a fierce shiver rippling up his spine as he attempted to gauge the meaning behind it. Hypnotic and somewhat bewitching as it bore into him, Marik's gaze was held transfixed by it, rendering him completely oblivious to the albino's movements. So preoccupied was he that he didn't see the pale hand reach out towards him until those thin fingers made contact with his own.
Releasing a shriek of surprise at the unexpectedly cold touch, Marik let go of the Rod and the golden item fell clattering to the floor. But it stayed on the floor. Bakura didn't even look at it. His gaze was fixed intently upon Marik, amusement painted tauntingly across his pale features. Slightly embarrassed at his girlish shriek and with a furious blush staining his cheeks as proof, Marik sank into a humiliated scowl. "You know," he began, not looking the smirking albino in the eye. "When I say I'm not putting it down I mean it. That doesn't mean you try to make me!"
Bakura's face didn't change. That humoured grin was still plastered across his pale face, dark eyes shimmering in amusement. He shook his head and stepped forwards, shortening the gap that Marik had attempted to build between them. With one movement of his foot, Bakura nudged the Millennium Rod and sent it skidding off towards the other end of the room but it was not this action that confused Marik. It was what he did next. A mask of perplexity across his face, Marik could only watch as Bakura removed the Millennium Ring from its position hanging around his neck and, with a careless toss, threw it away. "No tricks," was all he said.
Marik blinked, looking from Bakura's grinning face to the Millennium Ring on the other side of the room and back again. This didn't make sense. Wasn't this Bakura supposed to be the Spirit of the Millennium Ring? Shouldn't it be the host, Ryou, standing now before him? It didn't make sense the fact that Yami Bakura still stood grinning before him, unless the spirit could linger a while without the Ring. That was a possibility but it didn't explain the albino's reasons for tossing it aside. Marik blinked again. "What was that about?"
Bakura's eyes became hooded and he took another step towards Marik who was acutely aware of how close he was getting to the wall. "You're weak without that Rod of yours," Bakura murmured, his eyes shimmering with delight at the insulted expression that crossed the tanned boy's face.
A furious flush tinted his cheeks. "I am not!" he cried, seemingly shocked by the suggestion, but Bakura knew the truth now.
"Oh yes you are," he said with a short laugh, extending his arm out towards the Egyptian again.
Marik's eyes widened as he registered the movement and a warning glare creased his face. "Don't even think abou-"
That icy touch against his arm ripped another shriek from his chest and he backed up against the wall, the ghosts of that chilling sensation lingering on his forearm. "By Ra, you're freezing," he gasped, furiously rubbing his arm to remove the lingering memory.
Bakura chuckled to himself lightly, eyes set upon the disconcerted Egyptian. "Oh, am I?" he asked with a smirk, inwardly satisfied with the furious look he got in return.
"Yes, you are!" came the matter-of-fact reply. "Don't play mind games with me!"
Something flashed across Bakura's eyes again. That same unknown glint. His thin mouth curved into a wider grin. "Where's the fun in that?"
Marik could only stare incredulously at him. All day the white-haired thief had shut down everything he'd tried to say and had seemed as though his presence there had done nothing but irritate him and now here he was playing around, messing with him. It made him feel extremely uneasy.
His current position against the wall didn't help to improve this so before anything else could happen he slid sideways along it and walked briskly away, watching warily as the albino stood with his back to him, laughing to himself. Marik scowled. "What's so funny?" he snapped irritably, growing more and more fed up with the boy's new behaviour.
It seemed the tables had turned now. This new Bakura was extremely frustrating. The boy's head turned slightly to face him and Marik deepened his returning scowl. "Quit messing around!" he said forcefully. "We'll never get anywhere at this rate!"
Bakura chuckled again. "Marik, Marik, Marik…" he tutted, shaking his head, a simpering tone to his voice. "This façade of yours really isn't working."
Marik faltered. "Fa-façade?" he echoed. "What do you mean by 'façade'?"
He seemed downright insulted but Bakura could see that uneasiness creep back into view behind those purple eyes. He smiled wryly. "You're not the kind of person who dominates," he explained. "You're far too weak to be able to do it by yourself – look at you!"
Marik glanced down at himself and frowned, not seeing what was being implied. Noticing this, Bakura elaborated. "Let's put it this way," he said. "You're not going to intimidate anyone looking the way you are. No-one will even take you seriously if you're dressed like a girl."
"You're one to talk!" Marik retorted, anger rising to his cheeks again. "With your long hair and-"
"Marik, you're wearing jewellery!" Bakura interjected pointedly.
"Yeah, but-"
"And make-up."
"That's just-"
"Marik!" Bakura's tone was final. There was to be no continuation of that argument.
The Egyptian scowled and folded his arms. "What's your point anyway?" he asked moodily.
A smile returned to Bakura's face again. "You couldn't dominate someone if you tried," he said simply.
Marik's face was livid. "Have you been living in a hole this whole time?" he cried incredulously. "What do you think all the Rare Hunte-"
"I wasn't finished," Bakura interrupted.
Marik frowned and the albino's smile turned to a sneer. "You couldn't control anyone without the help of your Millennium Rod," he stated. "It's the only reason anyone really listens to you."
Marik sucked his teeth, realisation sinking sickeningly into him that the albino was right. He scowled over at him contemptuously, hating him for being so correct. "Okay," he muttered. "You made your point."
Bakura shook his head, causing Marik to raise a curious eyebrow. "Not quite," he said, eyeing him knowingly. "You can't control anyone by yourself – we've established that fact – but I also know why you continue to dominate others with that Rod of yours."
Marik felt something horrible fall into his stomach and begin to fester. He only hoped the albino was wrong, but somehow he knew he wouldn't be so lucky. Bakura sneered. "You like to think you're the one in control but it's all just an act isn't it?" he said, eyes shimmering with delight at Marik's anxious expression. "You manipulate people, assert authority over them and try to walk all over them to show the world you've got power when really…"
Marik swallowed. He could see where this was going now and he didn't want it to go there but he knew any attempt to stop it would only serve as further evidence against him. Bakura's eyes flashed with satisfaction at the look on his face. "When really, you're very easily dominated yourself. You put on this whole show of being the one in control to hide your own vulnerability, " he finished. "Am I right?"
Marik didn't speak. He wouldn't – or rather, couldn't – look Bakura in the eye. Proof enough that the albino's assumptions had been correct. He grinned at his triumph, gazing intently at the withdrawn figure before him, defenses blown and weakness exposed, a mere shadow of his usual self, almost submissively resigned to the truth of his vulnerability. This Marik was indeed more tolerable. Bakura clicked his tongue thoughtfully behind his teeth. Yes, perhaps this joining of forces will prove interesting after all…
He brought a hand up to his own chin and tapped his finger against it, a contemplating sneer across his face and once Marik finally managed to glance at him the albino's expression sent ominous shivers rippling up his spine. "You're always trying to come across as a dominating persona," the albino pondered, his sneer widening. "Perhaps you need to be dominated to know where you stand…"
There was a short pause where Bakura's words simply did not register. And then slowly the reality of what he was saying sank in and Marik felt the colour drain from his face as he took an automatic step backwards. "W-What?" he stammered, unsure of exactly what Bakura meant from his statement.
Bakura had turned round completely to face him now, his expression impossible to read. Marik gulped. There was something in those dark eyes, penetrating him, probing him. It made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. But what exacerbated the feeling was the sudden disappearance of Bakura's smile from his face. His teasing expression dissolved into one of absolute seriousness and a feeling of foreboding formed in Marik's stomach as he waited to see what was to follow.
"Marik," Bakura said suddenly, his face deadly serious, his voice even. "Come here."
Marik froze, his blood freezing in his veins at Bakura's words. For what reason had he said that? He didn't move. He only stared back in bemusement, that piercing dark stare from the albino's commanding eyes sending a shiver throughout his whole body. Instinctively, he took another step backwards. Bakura's face didn't change but when he spoke again his words were even firmer. "Marik," he said again. "Come here."
"Why?" came Marik's automatic response, the sound coming out as a strangled, weak cry.
Bakura's face softened a little, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "Just come…"
Marik was hesitant. He couldn't understand what Bakura was trying to achieve from getting him to approach and he didn't want to comply. But there was something about his last delivery of the command that had weakened his willpower by a substantial amount and almost compelled him to obey, though he resisted its perplexing pull as best he could. Bakura seemed uncharacteristically patient with him. He simply stood there watching Marik, waiting for him to yield and approach and the Egyptian stood on the other side of the room, buckling under the strain. Things would be so much easier if the Millennium Rod was in his hands right now. All he'd need to do was make a few threats with it and tell the albino to stop being so stupid and that would be that. But as it happened the Rod was lying on the other end of the room, out of his grasp, and he was left to deal with this situation by himself. For what seemed like an eternity he remained undecided, buckling under the weight of Bakura's waiting eyes upon him until he exhaled a frustrated sigh and walked forwards. "Alright," he said resignedly. "What do you wa-"
A single finger silenced him, pressed lightly against his lips, cold to the touch. Marik had gone completely rigid at the contact, eyes wide and staring, desperately probing Bakura's to find some sort of explanation for these actions. The albino smiled, shifting his hand so that it held the side of Marik's face gently, his thumb softly stroking his tanned cheek. Infuriatingly, Marik felt heat surge to his cheeks and prayed it went unnoticed. But when Bakura's knowing smile widened he knew the albino had picked up on it. That only made his cheeks burn harder and a peculiar knotted feeling formed in his gut, like something had grasped hold and begun to twist. Bakura's hand stayed stroking his cheek a while longer until Marik managed to find the ability to speak. He opened his mouth to protest but Bakura hushed him again with a single finger, this time from the other hand. Marik's expression was that of complete confusion and augmenting terror. What exactly was going on here? Where had this come from all of a sudden, this strange new behaviour? It was both perplexing and terrifying.
Bakura removed his finger from Marik's lips and slid his hand down to rest on the boy's waist. The feeling of his cold fingers slithering down his bare midriff made him shudder and as soon as this new position registered in his head his first instinct was to back away. But Bakura was not going to allow that to happen. His fingers closed tightly around Marik's blonde hair as soon as the Egyptian had shown signs of moving, holding the whimpering blonde in position, willing him to stay put. Marik complained loudly at the pain of the tug but yielded to it reluctantly. Bakura's grip relaxed again and his face softened. "Good boy," he said with a grin, his hands moving back into their previous positions.
Marik's body tensed up at his touch but he didn't move. He knew it wouldn't make a difference. The albino would only hold him in position again until he stopped resisting. Bakura smiled at his obedience. His hand slipped down the side of Marik's face, resting at his neck and, after a little fiddling, he managed to remove the Egyptian's golden neck ornamentation, revealing the bare skin beneath. Marik barely had time to register this action. His breath caught in his throat as he felt a searing heat upon his neck and the sting of tooth grazing flesh. He whimpered a little at the pain and Bakura smirked against him, pulling back a little and allowing his tongue to explore the contours of Marik's neck, his hand holding the back of it, preventing the Egyptian from escaping. Warm and moist, the albino's tongue slithered curiously across the tanned boy's collarbone and lower neck. Reaching the nape, he pressed his mouth against the skin again and began to gently nibble. Though Marik had protested to this invasive disregard for personal space his words were soon lost, dissolving into quiet, inadvertent moans. "Ba-Bakura," he stammered, regaining control over his own voice for a moment. "Stop…"
Bakura didn't comply. The hand at Marik's waist began to slide upwards under his lavender shirt, reaching around to the Egyptian's back. Though preoccupied with what was happening at his neck, Marik registered this other movement and shifted awkwardly, protesting loudly against it. Bakura nipped him harder in the neck and the Egyptian whimpered, allowing Bakura's hand to explore his back more. He could feel the rough skin beneath his fingers, the indentations and scars left behind from some event from the tombkeeper's past. Marik's protests became increasingly louder and more pleading. He didn't like being touched there at all. Bakura nipped him again and deepened the intensity of his mouth's exploration of Marik's neck for a few moments, reducing his protests to moans again and at this he resumed his hand's journey across his back, following the curving scars with his fingers, tracing the shapes he formed. He frowned at the shapes that his mind's eye conjured up. A bird? A dragon? He relieved his mouth of its previous job to look up questioningly at Marik. The young Egyptian was breathless, his breathing quick and heavy, his face flustered and red as he attempted to recover from the albino's actions. "What's on your back, Marik?" Bakura asked, noticing the reluctant pained look that clouded over Marik's eyes.
He didn't speak but the albino saw his gaze slide towards the Millennium Rod and at that he understood. It was a carving of some sort. A mark of servitude to the Pharaoh. A burden to be carried by generations of tombkeepers, carved – it seemed – into their very bodies by the Millennium Rod itself. No wonder the boy hated being touched there. No wonder he hated the idea of being dominated by another, having been forced to for much of his early life. Unfortunately, Bakura wasn't the pitying type. He dug his nails into the skin of the tanned boy's back and dragged them across the length of it, releasing a howl of agony from Marik as pain seared through his whole body. Instinctively, his arms grasped hold of Bakura's, attempting to pry him off. But Bakura had a strength that belied his appearance. He wrestled one arm free from Marik's grasp and secured his own grip around the boy's thin wrists, pulling him closer and deliberately placing the Egyptian's hand upon his own waist, just underneath his shirt. Unlike Bakura's, Marik's hands were warm to the touch as he grasped hold of the other one, tangling his pale fingers with the tanned ones of the young tombkeeper who simply stared at him like he was mad. "What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.
Bakura only gave him a teasing smile as he let go of the hand he'd held pinned to his waist, willing Marik to keep it there himself. Slithering up the tanned boy's arm, the young Egyptian gave a small shudder and Bakura grinned in satisfaction, his hand pausing to begin the task of undoing the boy's lavender shirt. Marik's free hand grasped hold of Bakura's arm once more, preventing him from continuing and the albino shot him an icy stare but he held it reasonably well.
He didn't know what Bakura was up to or what that augmenting feeling in his gut was but he wasn't just going to stand submissively and allow this to continue. "No," he said firmly.
Bakura's eyes seemed to darken. "Marik," he growled but the Egyptian didn't falter.
"No, Bakura. That's enough!" Marik responded. "Get serious, will you?"
Bakura's mouth twitched into a grin. "I am," he said softly. "Are you?"
Marik blinked, his grip growing slack around Bakura's wrists for a moment. The albino took his chance and turned the tables so that it was he who held Marik's wrists once more. His eyes flashed and he brought one of the Egyptian's hands up towards his face, closing his mouth around his tanned fingers, nibbling the tips gently and softly sliding his hand along the length of Marik's arm. The shudder he felt ripple through the boy's body as a result brought a smile to his face. He let go and Marik pulled back his arm, wiping his hand dry hastily on his shirt, eyeing the albino warily as he licked his pale lips, the warmth of Marik's fingertips still clinging to them. The boy's eyes wandered, travelling the length of the Egyptian's body before shifting to scan the rest of the room. Something caught his eye and they seemed to flash intently for a moment. Marik had no time to question the meaning behind it. With one forceful push from Bakura he was knocked off-balance, staggering backwards and eventually landing on some discarded Rare Hunter robes on the floor where he lay disoriented and confused for a moment, splayed out on his back.
The application of weight to his hips brought him back to his senses and he looked up to see the albino straddling him at the waist, a look of intent in his dark eyes. Before a word of complaint could be uttered, his pale hands had slid across Marik's lavender shirt and wrenched it open, breaking the two gold chains on the front in the process. The purple garment slipped off the boy's tanned shoulders, revealing the fine-toned chest beneath. Bakura gazed down at him for a moment, his eyes roaming across this new territory, taking in every little detail from the leanness of his figure to the little triangle of hair that disappeared down into his trousers. He leaned forwards, hot breath ghosting across Marik's bare skin before pressing his lips against him gently. Marik could do nothing but lie and squirm beneath him, his arms held by his sides, pinned down by Bakura's grip. The albino's tongue slithered across the Egyptian's chest and Bakura observed with satisfaction the way his breathing quickened, becoming rapid and breathless, escaping him in short gasps as the albino explored the length of his exposed torso, pausing to lick and nibble against Marik's hardening nipples, provoking a low moan to escape the panting tombkeeper's lips. "Baku…" he gasped, struggling to keep his mind clear of all the messages his body was sending him. "Bakura… S-stop this…"
Bakura smirked against him, his explorations leading him further down Marik's well-toned body. He felt the Egyptian grow tense beneath him as he moved further down, his occasional shudders resonating through to him, telling him all he needed to know. He gnawed teasingly at Marik's belt-buckle, glancing up to meet the Egyptian's pleading gaze. The boy's breathing was ragged, his body lightly shimmering from the effort of maintaining control. Bakura positioned himself above him again, looking down as the Egyptian gazed like a helpless child back up at him. He leaned forwards so that their noses brushed against one another and they could feel each other's breath, hot and humid against the other's skin. Such a tiny gap stood between the unity of their two mouths and it was Marik – tired from all the teasing and resisting – who closed it, raising his head to touch his lips to Bakura's for a brief moment before pulling away again. The albino's eyes were shimmering with triumph, gazing down at the boy beneath him. Barely an hour ago, Bakura had regretted joining forces with the tombkeeper but now it seemed he'd never made a better choice. He closed the gap between them again, tongue brushing impatiently at the entrance to Marik's mouth, demanding entry. The boy was hesitant but slowly he granted him his wish, parting his lips slightly. Their tongues clashed almost instantly and Marik moaned softly at the sensation, all tension in his body fading as he relaxed beneath the albino. Bakura put more of his weight into the kiss and the Egyptian moaned loudly as the albino's tongue massaged his harder. His grip around Marik's wrists had slackened but there was no danger of the Egyptian resisting now. His tanned fingers entangled themselves in Bakura's mess of white hair while those of his other hand explored the as of yet undiscovered regions beneath the albino's striped shirt. Bakura's arms snaked their way around Marik's back and a small whimper of pain escaped the tanned boy's lips but the albino hushed him, insisting he'd be gentler this time. The Egyptian yielded and a smile lit up Bakura's face as the young tombkeeper submitted to him. He leaned forwards further, warm breath washing across Marik's ear. "Good boy," he purred, causing the Egyptian to shudder beneath him.
His heart was hammering against his ribcage. He wondered whether the albino could hear it. He turned his head slightly to meet his gaze and a moment of understanding passed between them. No-one would know of Marik's vulnerability. No-one – that is – except for Bakura. He would be the only one to take advantage of it. The only one Marik would willingly allow to do so.
A satisfied smile spread across the albino's pale face before his eyes slid closed and his body fell limp upon Marik's. Momentarily alarmed, he felt panic rise in his chest until he noticed the regularity of the albino's breathing and felt warmth begin to radiate from the boy's skin instead of the cold, leading him to realise that it was Ryou now who lay unconscious upon him. He relaxed. It made sense that Yami Bakura could maintain only a short period of control whilst the Millennium Ring was away from his body. He'd just reached his limit.
Marik didn't bother trying to wake the sleeping albino. He, himself, was exhausted from his experience so he lay there, the vessel for the Ring's spirit dozing peacefully upon his bare chest, arms inadvertently wrapped around the Egyptian's body. Marik knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do when eventually the boy woke up to find himself in such a position but at that moment, it seemed there was nothing better to do other than to wrap his own arms around the sleeping figure and allow himself to drift off into an exhausted slumber, nestled comfortably in a bed of purple robes.

Description
"Shut up, Marik," the albino muttered, now out of habit rather than actual annoyance.
It had become a common response whenever the blonde's tanned mouth opened - regardless of what he had to say - to shut him up before he got started. More often than not, this was because the young Egyptian never really had anything interesting to say in the first place. The white-haired boy could hardly be bothered wasting his time listening to the day-dreamer's drivel that often poured from his mouth. It was neither helpful nor was it even amusing. In fact, the young albino often found himself rethinking his reasons for partnering up with this ridiculous tombkeeper in the first place. True, they shared a mutual hatred for the Pharaoh but that was about as far as it went. If the young tanned boy hadn't been in possession of the Millennium Rod, the prospect of joining forces would have seemed laughable. He probably wouldn't have agreed to working with him at all. He was in this for the Rod, he often found himself thinking. Bear with it until it's yours...
"Shut up, Marik," he found himself saying again, rolling his eyes at the pout he received in response and as he saw the blonde's mouth move to speak again he interjected with another dismissal.
Eventually the blonde folded his arms sulkily and sank into a rankled scowl, muttering something in a barely audible grunt. The albino didn't bother to ask what he'd said. It'd only mean offering the insufferable boy an opportunity to talk.
Silence descended upon them in the moments that followed and he saw the young Egyptian shift uncomfortably at the lack of sound. The white-haired boy, by the name of Bakura, allowed himself a smirk.
It had become an almost amusing game to see how long the tanned boy could stay silent for. It was normally not long at all. That was what surprised him this time around. The minutes ticked by and not a word was uttered. Where there would have been a somewhat delayed retort or sarcastic remark, a deafening silence took up residence. Silence and Marik Ishtar were not two things Bakura associated with one another. It was odd.
The silence wasn't exactly empty. Bakura could tell that much. It was a silence heavy and thick with as of yet unheard statements, remarks and announcements. But they were taking a lot longer to spout forth. What was wrong?
Not that Bakura really cared about what the other boy thought or felt. That was his host's job - to be the caring one of the two spirits.
He rolled his eyes in exasperation and ran frustrated fingers through his wild mass of snowy white hair. How was it possible for Marik's silence to be even more annoying than his talking!? He released a defeated groan and yielded to whatever silly game the boy was trying to play. "Alright, Marik," he said resignedly, in the manner with which an adult would address a stroppy child. "What is it?"
Marik didn't speak. He shifted awkwardly, back turned towards the albino, but other than that he barely showed any signs of having heard the boy speak. Bakura raised a curious eyebrow at this before rolling his eyes and furrowing his brow into a frown. "If you're sinking into one of your childish mood-swings again I suggest you reconsider," he said, watching for a response that still never came. "Marik?"
No response. Bakura felt mild anger begin to boil in the pit of his stomach. This was beginning to become excruciatingly frustrating. "Don't be such a child," he snapped irritably, earning a small jump of surprise from the tanned boy. "We'll never get any closer to our goals if neither of us can develop a plan that's going to work. Sulking like a child won't help. You're so bloody immature!"
Marik muttered something under his breath but Bakura couldn't make it out. "What was that?" he prompted, a dangerous edge to his voice.
"Nothing," came the reply.
Bakura exhaled a defeated sigh. He wasn't going to play this game of trying to get to the bottom of what was probably only going to turn into another of Marik's silly tantrums. Slipping a hand into his pocket, the albino pulled out a bound block of cards and began to flick through them half-heartedly. What was the point of joining forces if it never got anything done? He had a higher chance of obtaining Yuugi Mutou's Millennium Puzzle without Marik's help. The problem was that damn Rod. It was key to his plans too but as long as Marik's goals remained unachieved then the Millennium Rod would remain out of Bakura's grasp.
He looked up from sifting through his deck for a moment, out of an impulse to see why he suddenly felt like he was being observed, and met the stare of Marik's purple irises, glaring sullenly over at him. Bakura's brow furrowed. "Don't give me a look like that, Marik," he said.
The Egyptian held his stare as best he could but eventually his features softened and he broke eye contact. It seemed he'd held his mood for as long as his attention span allowed. Or perhaps it was for some other reason. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he stared down at the Millennium Rod in his hands, glinting gold in what light slanted in through the small window onto the outside world. "What's the point in agreeing to this alliance if I can't get a word in edgeways?" he asked, his tone bitter.
Bakura's gaze didn't shift. His facial expression remained impassive as he spoke. "Do you want my reasons in alphabetical, numerical or chronological order?"
Marik's face crumpled into a scowl and he looked the albino directly in the eyes, clearly not in the mood for his sarcasm. Bakura merely rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Well, to name but a few…" he began, inhaling deeply to have enough air to run off his reasons in one breath. "You ceaselessly monologue about the slightest of things, you're an arrogant fool who believes every hair-brained scheme is destined to succeed simply because you thought it up, your plans are mediocre, childish, lack any real evidence of having been well thought through and - to be blunt - they're doomed to fail…"
Marik opened his mouth to protest but Bakura held a hand up to silence him. "…Miserably," he finished, lowering his hand again as Marik's eyes grew narrow.
"They wouldn't be if you'd actually listen long enough for me to explain how they all pan out!" he said defensively, folding his arms moodily again.
Bakura scoffed. "That's if I can even be bothered listening to your garbage any longer!"
"You don't listen to me at all! You don't even know if it's garbage or not!" Marik cried, anger building inside him.
Bakura shot him a foul look. "I think I can make a pretty good assumption," he said coldly.
"You don't know anything!"
"I think you'll find I-"
"Well, if you're so unhappy about this why don't you go and do things your way?" Marik yelled, taking Bakura by surprise as he slammed the Rod furiously against the wall. "I can get the Egyptian God-Cards without your help!"
Bakura's face showed traces of amusement at Marik's certainty. He gave the tanned boy a pitying grin. "You think a few cards are that important," he half-scoffed, shaking his head. "You must be even more backwards than you loo-"
Marik was on his feet now, Millennium Rod gripped tightly in his fists and his face contorted in anger. "You don't know anything!" he yelled again, spittle spraying from his mouth. "I don't need your help, you know!" – a thin smile played at the corners of his mouth suddenly– "I don't need your mind, only your body."
Bakura's eyes seemed to darken dangerously at his words. "You dare to use that Millennium Rod on me," he said slowly, his voice low and menacing, "and you will rue the day you were ever born."
Marik snorted and looked away. "Nothing new there," he muttered, his grip relaxing around the Rod, eyes staring distantly at the wall.
Bakura considered the boy standing above him. A tombkeeper – supposed loyal servant of the Pharaoh of Egypt. Marik had often mentioned the title but never elaborated upon much more about it. He was a tombkeeper alright. Bakura had been told that much. But loyal to the Pharaoh was something he was not. He was no faithful servant to the Ancient Egyptian king. In fact, he resented him and held him in a deep bitter contempt which ultimately fueled his actions against him. Why? Bakura didn't know. It seemed the things Marik neglected to make known in his speeches and monologues were his reasons for everything. It was always a statement without an explanation. Considering this, Bakura realised he knew next to nothing at all about the young Egyptian. He was a tombkeeper who was rejecting his ancient role, taking a path far different from the one he was supposed to take, seeking revenge against an age-old Pharaoh for some unknown injustice. Marik at the very least – aside from the childish attitudes he held to just about everything else - spoke of revenge with some seemingly genuine seriousness. And yet still there was a kind of reluctance about it. Whether that was due to an upbringing which endorsed loyalty to the ancient Pharaoh was yet to be seen. Bakura frowned as a thought occurred to him: Perhaps this whole thing was just an act.
The overall impression the tanned boy gave was that of someone who commanded attention and obedience, who demanded to be recognised as a force not to be reckoned with and who had his eyes set upon the exacting of a revenge born of some past event. But it seemed to Bakura that underneath that commanding, somewhat naïve persona was a vulnerable sensitivity. A weakness which Marik had gone to great lengths to keep hidden beneath a personality that was – it was beginning to seem - not quite his own. Bakura wondered whether Marik Ishtar really had any evil in him at all or whether he was trying to build an image of someone who was in control – who got what he wanted when he wanted it and could assert authority at any time while really it was all just a mask to conceal his true vulnerability and a weakness in willpower that had, up to now, been concealed beneath a hardened shell.
A sly grin spread across the albino's face, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made Marik feel increasingly uneasy. "What's with that look?" he asked, a faint tremor in his voice.
Bakura fixed him with a probing stare. "I get it now," he said in a quiet, knowing tone.
Marik shifted awkwardly on his feet, seeming almost to shrink into himself. A self-defense mechanism, Bakura assumed. To protect his true vulnerability. He found his grin spreading further across his face, delighting in the discomfort he was causing the young Egyptian. "I understand you more now," he said simply, satisfaction soaring like a bird within him as he watched Marik swallow uncomfortably, his defensive wall crumbling as what looked like mild terror began to creep across his features. It seemed the albino's assumptions had been correct. There was more to Marik beneath the dominating persona that was seen on the surface. Bakura didn't say anything more. He'd found entertainment in watching the blonde suffer from the fear of exposure and as he continued to stare up at him with probing, penetrating eyes he felt he could almost see him buckling under the intensity of his stare. "You don't know anything!" Marik said loudly, with more force than necessary.
Bakura's eyes flashed. That was the third time the boy had uttered those four words and each time had been when part of his character had been in danger of being seen for what it really was. It was fast becoming a tell-tale sign of Marik's previously hidden weakness, a sign that Bakura had touched a weak spot. The albino certainly wasn't going to let an opportunity like the one opening up before him pass him by.
Getting to his feet, an amused smirk crossed his pale features as he saw the Egyptian freeze and heard him swallow audibly again. This new Marik – the real one - was much more fun to mess around with than the forced personality he'd been seeing on the surface.
He eyed the golden item in the Egyptian's hand, noticing the way the boy's thin fingers grasped the shaft tightly, more out of fear now than the previous anger with which he had held it before. "Put that down, Marik," he said, gesturing towards it.
The blonde only grasped it tighter, fixing the albino with an uncertain, wary eye but Bakura's grin only widened, his eyes staring unblinkingly into Marik's own. "Put it down," he pressed again, a little more firmly this time.
Marik had both hands gripping it now, refusing to let go of the Millennium Rod. His source of power. His instrument of manipulation. His symbol of dominance. Marik may have come across as having been somewhat naïve at times in the past but the blonde was far sharper than he had been letting on. Bakura was crafty. He could see that clearly. Of course he'd ask him to put down the Millennium Rod, only to take it for himself and render the young tombkeeper powerless and weak. His eyes narrowed at the prospect. "No," he said firmly, fingers tightening their grip around the shaft of the Rod, arms pulling it closer in towards his chest.
Bakura's expression didn't change. He maintained the same sly grin unwaveringly. But there was something new shimmering in his eyes now. Something Marik couldn't read but it sent a fierce shiver rippling up his spine as he attempted to gauge the meaning behind it. Hypnotic and somewhat bewitching as it bore into him, Marik's gaze was held transfixed by it, rendering him completely oblivious to the albino's movements. So preoccupied was he that he didn't see the pale hand reach out towards him until those thin fingers made contact with his own.
Releasing a shriek of surprise at the unexpectedly cold touch, Marik let go of the Rod and the golden item fell clattering to the floor. But it stayed on the floor. Bakura didn't even look at it. His gaze was fixed intently upon Marik, amusement painted tauntingly across his pale features. Slightly embarrassed at his girlish shriek and with a furious blush staining his cheeks as proof, Marik sank into a humiliated scowl. "You know," he began, not looking the smirking albino in the eye. "When I say I'm not putting it down I mean it. That doesn't mean you try to make me!"
Bakura's face didn't change. That humoured grin was still plastered across his pale face, dark eyes shimmering in amusement. He shook his head and stepped forwards, shortening the gap that Marik had attempted to build between them. With one movement of his foot, Bakura nudged the Millennium Rod and sent it skidding off towards the other end of the room but it was not this action that confused Marik. It was what he did next. A mask of perplexity across his face, Marik could only watch as Bakura removed the Millennium Ring from its position hanging around his neck and, with a careless toss, threw it away. "No tricks," was all he said.
Marik blinked, looking from Bakura's grinning face to the Millennium Ring on the other side of the room and back again. This didn't make sense. Wasn't this Bakura supposed to be the Spirit of the Millennium Ring? Shouldn't it be the host, Ryou, standing now before him? It didn't make sense the fact that Yami Bakura still stood grinning before him, unless the spirit could linger a while without the Ring. That was a possibility but it didn't explain the albino's reasons for tossing it aside. Marik blinked again. "What was that about?"
Bakura's eyes became hooded and he took another step towards Marik who was acutely aware of how close he was getting to the wall. "You're weak without that Rod of yours," Bakura murmured, his eyes shimmering with delight at the insulted expression that crossed the tanned boy's face.
A furious flush tinted his cheeks. "I am not!" he cried, seemingly shocked by the suggestion, but Bakura knew the truth now.
"Oh yes you are," he said with a short laugh, extending his arm out towards the Egyptian again.
Marik's eyes widened as he registered the movement and a warning glare creased his face. "Don't even think abou-"
That icy touch against his arm ripped another shriek from his chest and he backed up against the wall, the ghosts of that chilling sensation lingering on his forearm. "By Ra, you're freezing," he gasped, furiously rubbing his arm to remove the lingering memory.
Bakura chuckled to himself lightly, eyes set upon the disconcerted Egyptian. "Oh, am I?" he asked with a smirk, inwardly satisfied with the furious look he got in return.
"Yes, you are!" came the matter-of-fact reply. "Don't play mind games with me!"
Something flashed across Bakura's eyes again. That same unknown glint. His thin mouth curved into a wider grin. "Where's the fun in that?"
Marik could only stare incredulously at him. All day the white-haired thief had shut down everything he'd tried to say and had seemed as though his presence there had done nothing but irritate him and now here he was playing around, messing with him. It made him feel extremely uneasy.
His current position against the wall didn't help to improve this so before anything else could happen he slid sideways along it and walked briskly away, watching warily as the albino stood with his back to him, laughing to himself. Marik scowled. "What's so funny?" he snapped irritably, growing more and more fed up with the boy's new behaviour.
It seemed the tables had turned now. This new Bakura was extremely frustrating. The boy's head turned slightly to face him and Marik deepened his returning scowl. "Quit messing around!" he said forcefully. "We'll never get anywhere at this rate!"
Bakura chuckled again. "Marik, Marik, Marik…" he tutted, shaking his head, a simpering tone to his voice. "This façade of yours really isn't working."
Marik faltered. "Fa-façade?" he echoed. "What do you mean by 'façade'?"
He seemed downright insulted but Bakura could see that uneasiness creep back into view behind those purple eyes. He smiled wryly. "You're not the kind of person who dominates," he explained. "You're far too weak to be able to do it by yourself – look at you!"
Marik glanced down at himself and frowned, not seeing what was being implied. Noticing this, Bakura elaborated. "Let's put it this way," he said. "You're not going to intimidate anyone looking the way you are. No-one will even take you seriously if you're dressed like a girl."
"You're one to talk!" Marik retorted, anger rising to his cheeks again. "With your long hair and-"
"Marik, you're wearing jewellery!" Bakura interjected pointedly.
"Yeah, but-"
"And make-up."
"That's just-"
"Marik!" Bakura's tone was final. There was to be no continuation of that argument.
The Egyptian scowled and folded his arms. "What's your point anyway?" he asked moodily.
A smile returned to Bakura's face again. "You couldn't dominate someone if you tried," he said simply.
Marik's face was livid. "Have you been living in a hole this whole time?" he cried incredulously. "What do you think all the Rare Hunte-"
"I wasn't finished," Bakura interrupted.
Marik frowned and the albino's smile turned to a sneer. "You couldn't control anyone without the help of your Millennium Rod," he stated. "It's the only reason anyone really listens to you."
Marik sucked his teeth, realisation sinking sickeningly into him that the albino was right. He scowled over at him contemptuously, hating him for being so correct. "Okay," he muttered. "You made your point."
Bakura shook his head, causing Marik to raise a curious eyebrow. "Not quite," he said, eyeing him knowingly. "You can't control anyone by yourself – we've established that fact – but I also know why you continue to dominate others with that Rod of yours."
Marik felt something horrible fall into his stomach and begin to fester. He only hoped the albino was wrong, but somehow he knew he wouldn't be so lucky. Bakura sneered. "You like to think you're the one in control but it's all just an act isn't it?" he said, eyes shimmering with delight at Marik's anxious expression. "You manipulate people, assert authority over them and try to walk all over them to show the world you've got power when really…"
Marik swallowed. He could see where this was going now and he didn't want it to go there but he knew any attempt to stop it would only serve as further evidence against him. Bakura's eyes flashed with satisfaction at the look on his face. "When really, you're very easily dominated yourself. You put on this whole show of being the one in control to hide your own vulnerability, " he finished. "Am I right?"
Marik didn't speak. He wouldn't – or rather, couldn't – look Bakura in the eye. Proof enough that the albino's assumptions had been correct. He grinned at his triumph, gazing intently at the withdrawn figure before him, defenses blown and weakness exposed, a mere shadow of his usual self, almost submissively resigned to the truth of his vulnerability. This Marik was indeed more tolerable. Bakura clicked his tongue thoughtfully behind his teeth. Yes, perhaps this joining of forces will prove interesting after all…
He brought a hand up to his own chin and tapped his finger against it, a contemplating sneer across his face and once Marik finally managed to glance at him the albino's expression sent ominous shivers rippling up his spine. "You're always trying to come across as a dominating persona," the albino pondered, his sneer widening. "Perhaps you need to be dominated to know where you stand…"
There was a short pause where Bakura's words simply did not register. And then slowly the reality of what he was saying sank in and Marik felt the colour drain from his face as he took an automatic step backwards. "W-What?" he stammered, unsure of exactly what Bakura meant from his statement.
Bakura had turned round completely to face him now, his expression impossible to read. Marik gulped. There was something in those dark eyes, penetrating him, probing him. It made him feel incredibly uncomfortable. But what exacerbated the feeling was the sudden disappearance of Bakura's smile from his face. His teasing expression dissolved into one of absolute seriousness and a feeling of foreboding formed in Marik's stomach as he waited to see what was to follow.
"Marik," Bakura said suddenly, his face deadly serious, his voice even. "Come here."
Marik froze, his blood freezing in his veins at Bakura's words. For what reason had he said that? He didn't move. He only stared back in bemusement, that piercing dark stare from the albino's commanding eyes sending a shiver throughout his whole body. Instinctively, he took another step backwards. Bakura's face didn't change but when he spoke again his words were even firmer. "Marik," he said again. "Come here."
"Why?" came Marik's automatic response, the sound coming out as a strangled, weak cry.
Bakura's face softened a little, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. "Just come…"
Marik was hesitant. He couldn't understand what Bakura was trying to achieve from getting him to approach and he didn't want to comply. But there was something about his last delivery of the command that had weakened his willpower by a substantial amount and almost compelled him to obey, though he resisted its perplexing pull as best he could. Bakura seemed uncharacteristically patient with him. He simply stood there watching Marik, waiting for him to yield and approach and the Egyptian stood on the other side of the room, buckling under the strain. Things would be so much easier if the Millennium Rod was in his hands right now. All he'd need to do was make a few threats with it and tell the albino to stop being so stupid and that would be that. But as it happened the Rod was lying on the other end of the room, out of his grasp, and he was left to deal with this situation by himself. For what seemed like an eternity he remained undecided, buckling under the weight of Bakura's waiting eyes upon him until he exhaled a frustrated sigh and walked forwards. "Alright," he said resignedly. "What do you wa-"
A single finger silenced him, pressed lightly against his lips, cold to the touch. Marik had gone completely rigid at the contact, eyes wide and staring, desperately probing Bakura's to find some sort of explanation for these actions. The albino smiled, shifting his hand so that it held the side of Marik's face gently, his thumb softly stroking his tanned cheek. Infuriatingly, Marik felt heat surge to his cheeks and prayed it went unnoticed. But when Bakura's knowing smile widened he knew the albino had picked up on it. That only made his cheeks burn harder and a peculiar knotted feeling formed in his gut, like something had grasped hold and begun to twist. Bakura's hand stayed stroking his cheek a while longer until Marik managed to find the ability to speak. He opened his mouth to protest but Bakura hushed him again with a single finger, this time from the other hand. Marik's expression was that of complete confusion and augmenting terror. What exactly was going on here? Where had this come from all of a sudden, this strange new behaviour? It was both perplexing and terrifying.
Bakura removed his finger from Marik's lips and slid his hand down to rest on the boy's waist. The feeling of his cold fingers slithering down his bare midriff made him shudder and as soon as this new position registered in his head his first instinct was to back away. But Bakura was not going to allow that to happen. His fingers closed tightly around Marik's blonde hair as soon as the Egyptian had shown signs of moving, holding the whimpering blonde in position, willing him to stay put. Marik complained loudly at the pain of the tug but yielded to it reluctantly. Bakura's grip relaxed again and his face softened. "Good boy," he said with a grin, his hands moving back into their previous positions.
Marik's body tensed up at his touch but he didn't move. He knew it wouldn't make a difference. The albino would only hold him in position again until he stopped resisting. Bakura smiled at his obedience. His hand slipped down the side of Marik's face, resting at his neck and, after a little fiddling, he managed to remove the Egyptian's golden neck ornamentation, revealing the bare skin beneath. Marik barely had time to register this action. His breath caught in his throat as he felt a searing heat upon his neck and the sting of tooth grazing flesh. He whimpered a little at the pain and Bakura smirked against him, pulling back a little and allowing his tongue to explore the contours of Marik's neck, his hand holding the back of it, preventing the Egyptian from escaping. Warm and moist, the albino's tongue slithered curiously across the tanned boy's collarbone and lower neck. Reaching the nape, he pressed his mouth against the skin again and began to gently nibble. Though Marik had protested to this invasive disregard for personal space his words were soon lost, dissolving into quiet, inadvertent moans. "Ba-Bakura," he stammered, regaining control over his own voice for a moment. "Stop…"
Bakura didn't comply. The hand at Marik's waist began to slide upwards under his lavender shirt, reaching around to the Egyptian's back. Though preoccupied with what was happening at his neck, Marik registered this other movement and shifted awkwardly, protesting loudly against it. Bakura nipped him harder in the neck and the Egyptian whimpered, allowing Bakura's hand to explore his back more. He could feel the rough skin beneath his fingers, the indentations and scars left behind from some event from the tombkeeper's past. Marik's protests became increasingly louder and more pleading. He didn't like being touched there at all. Bakura nipped him again and deepened the intensity of his mouth's exploration of Marik's neck for a few moments, reducing his protests to moans again and at this he resumed his hand's journey across his back, following the curving scars with his fingers, tracing the shapes he formed. He frowned at the shapes that his mind's eye conjured up. A bird? A dragon? He relieved his mouth of its previous job to look up questioningly at Marik. The young Egyptian was breathless, his breathing quick and heavy, his face flustered and red as he attempted to recover from the albino's actions. "What's on your back, Marik?" Bakura asked, noticing the reluctant pained look that clouded over Marik's eyes.
He didn't speak but the albino saw his gaze slide towards the Millennium Rod and at that he understood. It was a carving of some sort. A mark of servitude to the Pharaoh. A burden to be carried by generations of tombkeepers, carved – it seemed – into their very bodies by the Millennium Rod itself. No wonder the boy hated being touched there. No wonder he hated the idea of being dominated by another, having been forced to for much of his early life. Unfortunately, Bakura wasn't the pitying type. He dug his nails into the skin of the tanned boy's back and dragged them across the length of it, releasing a howl of agony from Marik as pain seared through his whole body. Instinctively, his arms grasped hold of Bakura's, attempting to pry him off. But Bakura had a strength that belied his appearance. He wrestled one arm free from Marik's grasp and secured his own grip around the boy's thin wrists, pulling him closer and deliberately placing the Egyptian's hand upon his own waist, just underneath his shirt. Unlike Bakura's, Marik's hands were warm to the touch as he grasped hold of the other one, tangling his pale fingers with the tanned ones of the young tombkeeper who simply stared at him like he was mad. "What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide and uncomprehending.
Bakura only gave him a teasing smile as he let go of the hand he'd held pinned to his waist, willing Marik to keep it there himself. Slithering up the tanned boy's arm, the young Egyptian gave a small shudder and Bakura grinned in satisfaction, his hand pausing to begin the task of undoing the boy's lavender shirt. Marik's free hand grasped hold of Bakura's arm once more, preventing him from continuing and the albino shot him an icy stare but he held it reasonably well.
He didn't know what Bakura was up to or what that augmenting feeling in his gut was but he wasn't just going to stand submissively and allow this to continue. "No," he said firmly.
Bakura's eyes seemed to darken. "Marik," he growled but the Egyptian didn't falter.
"No, Bakura. That's enough!" Marik responded. "Get serious, will you?"
Bakura's mouth twitched into a grin. "I am," he said softly. "Are you?"
Marik blinked, his grip growing slack around Bakura's wrists for a moment. The albino took his chance and turned the tables so that it was he who held Marik's wrists once more. His eyes flashed and he brought one of the Egyptian's hands up towards his face, closing his mouth around his tanned fingers, nibbling the tips gently and softly sliding his hand along the length of Marik's arm. The shudder he felt ripple through the boy's body as a result brought a smile to his face. He let go and Marik pulled back his arm, wiping his hand dry hastily on his shirt, eyeing the albino warily as he licked his pale lips, the warmth of Marik's fingertips still clinging to them. The boy's eyes wandered, travelling the length of the Egyptian's body before shifting to scan the rest of the room. Something caught his eye and they seemed to flash intently for a moment. Marik had no time to question the meaning behind it. With one forceful push from Bakura he was knocked off-balance, staggering backwards and eventually landing on some discarded Rare Hunter robes on the floor where he lay disoriented and confused for a moment, splayed out on his back.
The application of weight to his hips brought him back to his senses and he looked up to see the albino straddling him at the waist, a look of intent in his dark eyes. Before a word of complaint could be uttered, his pale hands had slid across Marik's lavender shirt and wrenched it open, breaking the two gold chains on the front in the process. The purple garment slipped off the boy's tanned shoulders, revealing the fine-toned chest beneath. Bakura gazed down at him for a moment, his eyes roaming across this new territory, taking in every little detail from the leanness of his figure to the little triangle of hair that disappeared down into his trousers. He leaned forwards, hot breath ghosting across Marik's bare skin before pressing his lips against him gently. Marik could do nothing but lie and squirm beneath him, his arms held by his sides, pinned down by Bakura's grip. The albino's tongue slithered across the Egyptian's chest and Bakura observed with satisfaction the way his breathing quickened, becoming rapid and breathless, escaping him in short gasps as the albino explored the length of his exposed torso, pausing to lick and nibble against Marik's hardening nipples, provoking a low moan to escape the panting tombkeeper's lips. "Baku…" he gasped, struggling to keep his mind clear of all the messages his body was sending him. "Bakura… S-stop this…"
Bakura smirked against him, his explorations leading him further down Marik's well-toned body. He felt the Egyptian grow tense beneath him as he moved further down, his occasional shudders resonating through to him, telling him all he needed to know. He gnawed teasingly at Marik's belt-buckle, glancing up to meet the Egyptian's pleading gaze. The boy's breathing was ragged, his body lightly shimmering from the effort of maintaining control. Bakura positioned himself above him again, looking down as the Egyptian gazed like a helpless child back up at him. He leaned forwards so that their noses brushed against one another and they could feel each other's breath, hot and humid against the other's skin. Such a tiny gap stood between the unity of their two mouths and it was Marik – tired from all the teasing and resisting – who closed it, raising his head to touch his lips to Bakura's for a brief moment before pulling away again. The albino's eyes were shimmering with triumph, gazing down at the boy beneath him. Barely an hour ago, Bakura had regretted joining forces with the tombkeeper but now it seemed he'd never made a better choice. He closed the gap between them again, tongue brushing impatiently at the entrance to Marik's mouth, demanding entry. The boy was hesitant but slowly he granted him his wish, parting his lips slightly. Their tongues clashed almost instantly and Marik moaned softly at the sensation, all tension in his body fading as he relaxed beneath the albino. Bakura put more of his weight into the kiss and the Egyptian moaned loudly as the albino's tongue massaged his harder. His grip around Marik's wrists had slackened but there was no danger of the Egyptian resisting now. His tanned fingers entangled themselves in Bakura's mess of white hair while those of his other hand explored the as of yet undiscovered regions beneath the albino's striped shirt. Bakura's arms snaked their way around Marik's back and a small whimper of pain escaped the tanned boy's lips but the albino hushed him, insisting he'd be gentler this time. The Egyptian yielded and a smile lit up Bakura's face as the young tombkeeper submitted to him. He leaned forwards further, warm breath washing across Marik's ear. "Good boy," he purred, causing the Egyptian to shudder beneath him.
His heart was hammering against his ribcage. He wondered whether the albino could hear it. He turned his head slightly to meet his gaze and a moment of understanding passed between them. No-one would know of Marik's vulnerability. No-one – that is – except for Bakura. He would be the only one to take advantage of it. The only one Marik would willingly allow to do so.
A satisfied smile spread across the albino's pale face before his eyes slid closed and his body fell limp upon Marik's. Momentarily alarmed, he felt panic rise in his chest until he noticed the regularity of the albino's breathing and felt warmth begin to radiate from the boy's skin instead of the cold, leading him to realise that it was Ryou now who lay unconscious upon him. He relaxed. It made sense that Yami Bakura could maintain only a short period of control whilst the Millennium Ring was away from his body. He'd just reached his limit.
Marik didn't bother trying to wake the sleeping albino. He, himself, was exhausted from his experience so he lay there, the vessel for the Ring's spirit dozing peacefully upon his bare chest, arms inadvertently wrapped around the Egyptian's body. Marik knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do when eventually the boy woke up to find himself in such a position but at that moment, it seemed there was nothing better to do other than to wrap his own arms around the sleeping figure and allow himself to drift off into an exhausted slumber, nestled comfortably in a bed of purple robes.