A/N: Mira Night (also Mirabilis) is an original character of mine, supposedly Dartz's sister. You could find out about her more by wisiting my Quizilla domain.
Disclaimer: I still do NOT own Yu-Gi-Oh! If I would, you would've heard about it.
Warnings: YAOI, swearing, possible OOC-ness.
Weekend Psycho Style
It was an ordinary Friday's afternoon in an ordinary house with rather ordinary inhabitants, semi-silent music flooding the living room with hard rock beats. You could have easily mistaken this house for the one of your ultimately normal neighbours, been it not for a tiny, little fact…
"Ow! Damn it, Kura!"
"Fuck, that hurts!"
"Watch your mouth!"
"Watch your own!" Mira shifted aside and snarled at the pain running through her shoulder from the movement.
"Stay still!" Bakura hissed and roughly yanked her back, slight annoyance reflecting in his gravely voice.
"Ow! That hurt damn it!"
"Shut your whimpering, Mira!" the white-haired man growled. "You know better than that."
"Ahh… Ow! Oh… Damn it!" she glared at the thief's reflection in the mirror, meeting his mocking brown eyes. "Couldn't you be a little bit more gentle at least for once?"
"You're saying that as if I would be anyone else but me. You're too tense for your own good, anyway, and relaxing wouldn't hurt you. Much," he smirked at Mira, pressing even harder, extracting a wince from the girl at his mercy.
"Ahh… Damn! That's the spot…" Mira let out a wistful sigh, finding the playing music to be rather annoying. No wonder, since it was Bakura's choice. "We should do this more often."
Bakura merely smirked, observing her relaxed expression in the mirror hanging on the opposite wall.
"Ahh… Hmn… Just a tad bit lower, 'Kura!" with a moan Mira's eyelids drifted closed as Bakura continued his ministrations. "Yesss… That's it! Oh, yes… Yes… Oh, you're a God!"
"Of course I am," he gloated, putting even more pressure on the ashen-haired woman's shoulders, giving them a rough massage. "Why are you so tense, anyway?"
Mira shrugged, immediately earning a rougher handling, "Overworked. Again." She shifted to find a more comfortable position on the couch overloaded with pillows. Why the Hell did they need so many pillows was beyond her understanding though. "I should have taken care of it the last week, but delayed it all the time and had seven different things to handle at once as the result."
Previous tomb robber and current masseur snorted loudly, his full attention concentrating on the task at hand, "Lazy ass."
"The fuck do you care?" she threw back, finally relaxing under his forceful massaging. It just felt so good… "I hate to admit it, but you have hands of a magician. Where the Hell did you learn that?"
Staying ignorant on the outside, Bakura mentally noted the compliment, saving it for later to annoy Mira in some way and shrugged his answer, "The Hell?"
"Mmh… that feels way too good. Coming form Hell, that is," she relished the feeling of strong hands firmly kneading her tense muscles, easing away the built-up pain. She could stay like that for an hour. Or two. Or maybe forever.
Sometimes, Mira thought solemnly, sharing the same house with Bakura and Malik was not a bad thing at all. Unless…
"What the Hell?…" Mira frowned, looking towards the kitchen with slight concern clinging to her features.
"Ignore it! It's that baka, anyway," Bakura pulled her back, without stopping the massage even for a second. "Probably trying to find some stuff I hid there recently. He's too blond to realise that he won't be getting any in the closest time."
"That's cynical, Bakura. Then again – do I care?"
"I do daresay – no."
"Exactly," Mira sighed leaning in to Bakura's masterful hands and closing her eyes once again. "At least the bloody week's finally over. Thought this day will never come and now I'm going to sleep twenty-four hours straight."
"Doubt that you'll manage it!" the thief smirked, quite proud of himself at the moment, and he had all the damn reasons for that. Not everyone could get Mira to calm down for more than five minutes and his attempt was stretching into fifteen minutes already, her barely sufficient anger restraints still were not triggered, even though Malik had pulled some stupidity again. "I plan on having a wild night on your account."
"Psh, try me! I'll just take some medication and sleep away," she granted him an arrogant counter-smirk.
"You'll miss the whole fun."
"Survive, rather," Bakura countered with a sneer, "If I could get my hands on you…"
"You have your hands on me."
"Oh, you know what exactly am I talking about, Mira," he responder airily with a malevolent, gloating tint to it.
"And I say – when the Arctic moves to Hell!"
"The Arctic is the Hell."
"What the Hell are you doing there, Malik?" Mira yelled over the playing music, her eyes narrowing in a way that Bakura considered dangerous. Not for himself, of course.
"Err… Would you believe me, if I said I was trying to bake pancakes?" Malik yelled back to outrun the loud music suddenly blasting from the kitchen.
"NO!" the indigo-eyed Northern girl shouted back, grimacing at the blaring sound and straightened herself up, and, much to Bakura's dismay, he felt her tense again.
The thief sighed, knowing that the moment of piece and quiet was gone forever. All the work he had done on Mira's shoulders had been wasted for nothing. What was Malik doing, anyway?
Mira stood up and stalked over to the kitchen, stopping dead in her tracks on the doorstep. Bakura, his interest arising, followed her and stopped right behind her. The view he got over her shoulder was quite amusing, if not weird.
Malik, in all his Egyptian glory, was splattered with something that looked suspiciously similar to… flour? Somehow, beyond all sane and logical explanations, he had managed to get some of it even in his hair. The once clean tile floor was now littered with torn-apart scraps of paper, shining pieces of broken glass, generous amounts of flour and sugar mixture and – from the smell of it – cinnamon.
"Cinnamon?" Bakura arched his brow, curiously sniffing the air. Cinnamon gave him a very, very bad idea and he smirked in a way that would have made anyone within a twenty-kilometer radius shiver in fear and run for cover, happened they to see it.
"MARIK ISHTAR! What the HELL is going on here!" Mira's calm indigo eyes had turned into two raging pools throwing almost tangible flames of doom.
"Like I said – I was trying to bake pancakes until you came in. Then I stopped to pay attention to you," the tanned blond shrugged like it would be the most obvious thing in the world, a wooden spoon covered with some light brown dripping substance in his hand.
"Bullshit," Mira growled, striding over to the Egyptian and quite accidentally knocked over a half-full bottle of water residing on the floor for some reason. "Oh, great," she glared at the damp substance this action created. Stopping in front of Malik, she put her hands on her hips and glared heatedly, "What is your goddamn excuse for this mess? Because the whole "I'm blonde, what's your excuse?" thing isn't going to work this time!"
Malik sighed, looking at her like she would be seriously lacking in the head, "I already told you. I'm not going to repeat myself again because it's ridiculous! Now leave!"
"I'll handle this!" Bakura pushed Mira aside.
"Fine! I'll just get myself some aspirin, because my migraine just started all over again," she glared darkly at the Egyptian and pushed past him to rummage through the medicine drawer, carelessly flipping the rather strange contents of it aside, which currently was consisting of bills, a few teaspoons, few pockets of loaf sugar and random medications. On the way of finding aspirin, she came across a packet of lube and made a face at it, but Bakura interfered before she could push it aside.
"I'll take that," he flashed a salacious grin on which Mira responded with an ignorant shrug, finally finding the medicine she had been hunting for and reached to pour herself a glass of water.
"The heck do I bother?" she mumbled and poured the water out, tossing the almost empty packet of aspirin back in the drawer, picking up sleeping pills instead and turned towards fridge, taking out a bottle of vodka to down one of the hypnotics.
"Not wise to mix that together, Mira," Bakura's crimson-brown eyes narrowed, although he couldn't care less about what she was doing.
Mira shrugged nonchalantly, "I've used so many medications lately that they've lost their effect. This is the only way it works. Have fun!" She waved them off, walking out of the kitchen and headed upstairs. "Just make sure to clean the kitchen afterwards!"
"Will do," Bakura shouted back, adding another, more silent word, "not!" before turning towards the Egyptian.
"She sure as Hell will need that aspirin tomorrow," Malik commented, not liking the look on Bakura's face. Even less now, when he knew the contents of thief's pocket.
"So," the albino started casually, "how do you fair today?"
Malik raised one cynical brow, then remembered the spoon in his hand and went to mix the light brown contents of a surprisingly intact ceramic bowl. He had seen Mira making pancakes, so it shouldn't be all too complicated. Then again, Bakura was most likely going to turn this into something of his desire, but the things this certain tomb robber desired or liked could drive terror in others. Usually getting in Bakura's way meant a whole lot of…
"What was that again, Baku?" Malik looked at him in mild wariness.
Thief smirked in delight, "I asked if I could help you."
"Uh… sure." In all honesty, Malik was nowhere near being sure about it.
What's with Bakura being so Ra-damn helpful all of a sudden? First giving Mira a massage; now this… Pondering about it, the Egyptian almost omitted thief's meaningful (to the thief himself, anyway) words.
"You know, I've always liked cinnamon," Bakura threw out casually, kicked aside some torn-up packet on the floor and decided to breathe down Malik's neck, observing him work with the spoon.
Oh, yes, the spoon…
After bumping in Bakura for the fifth or sixth time in a row, Malik finally snapped, "Why don't you do something useful instead of bothering me?"
"I don't care! Just go mix some eggs with sugar," the Egyptian snorted, with great anger attacking the mixture in the bowl. Hence he failed to notice the devilish smirk on the thief's face.
Since Bakura was not a person to disappoint others, he did hit a few eggs in a bowl and did sip a few teaspoons of sugar over them. Then, gathering all of his enthusiasm, he started to mix it energetically, sending sunny splutters flying all around the kitchen table, onto himself, the floor and the horrid mush on it and even Malik.
The latter one glared, "You're spilling it more than actually mixing!"
But the thief was enjoying himself far too much to stop at the moment and, receiving an exceptionally large splutter in his face, Malik huffed and turned his back on Bakura. However, he was spun around to face him almost instantly.
"What the f-" he changed his thoughts in halfway, "Hell?"
"Degustation, Malik. I need to know if the sugar's enough," Bakura smirked lecherously, pinning the Egyptian blond against the counter and leaned in to lick the yellow stuff off the other's tan cheek, thoughtful purring emanating from his chest all the time. "Hmn… You try it!"
Malik blinked, then grinned, picked up the spoon and smeared some of the sticky liquid on the albino thief's face. He chuckled amusedly, watching as it slowly dripped down the pale skin, then moved over to lick it away.
"It needs more sugar," he announced once finished.
"Really? Could've sworn it was enough," Bakura raised the spoon again, observing the sweet, sun-colored mixture flow over Malik's tan cheek and drip down his jaw and onto the flour and cinnamon-smeared lavender belly shirt.
Malik frowned at that, "It got washed just yesterday."
"That's an easy thing to fix, isn't it now?" Bakura grinned, yanking the aforementioned article of clothing over the other's head. "So much better now, don't you think?" Tomb robber's snake-like tongue travelled across the Egyptian's face, the sticky spoon leaving yellow traces on the tan chest, the firm muscles clenching slightly at the touch, then returning to the bowl for another portion. He moved down Malik's neck, sending shivers up the other's spine as he went and pushed him onto the counter.
"Shit!" the tomb keeper cursed, showing Bakura away and jumped off the counter, turning around to glare daggers at the fork he had so unfortunately sat on. Bakura chuckled and yanked on his arm, throwing the blond Egyptian onto the kitchen table. The motion knocked over the bowl with pancake batter, the ceramic shattering and adding its contents to the chaos on the floor. The table in its turn creaked dangerously upon Malik's landing, sending sprouts of concern about its stability and durability in his mind. Bakura, however, paid no heed to that, pinning Malik's arms down and slowly licking the sugary mess off of him, biting on the other's dark nipples as he went.
"Kura!" tomb keeper hissed, squirming from the pain this action had created, only to have it repeated.
Tomb robber grinned evilly and moved up to claim the other's lips for a ferocious battle to have it escalating to a frenzy fight for dominance, none of them too eager to give in to the other. Bakura pulled away, with great satisfaction noticing the slight hitch in Malik's breathing, then dipped his head to nip on the deliciously exposed bronze-colored neck, now rid of the usual golden choker. Attaching his lips to the smooth skin, he let the keeper's arms free, immediately feeling them travel up his torso and flip open the buttons of his teal shirt. With a low chuckle, he fixed his mouth above the pulse of Egyptian's life, the blood rush mirroring his fast heartbeats. For a moment he was tempted to sink his teeth into the skin to taste the blood, but unfortunately that would mean death to Malik, so he moved on to a spot just below the other's ear.
Malik's impatient, eager hands were tearing at Bakura's shirt, finally ripping it off his form, more than eager to touch his pale skin. Thief growled upon feeling those skilled hands running firm circles on his chest and dipped his head to bite into the crook of the tan neck, receiving a low groan in response. His own hands wandered down to the flour-coated front of Egyptian's pants, forcefully rubbing against the growing bulge beneath the restraints of the dark fabric.
One sharp intake of breath signalled Malik's agitation, his own hands quickly moving down to free the zip of Bakura's jeans. After a short struggle with the button he managed it and pulled at them, trying to get it off along with whatever underwear the thief had. It was a rather unsurprising discovery that he had none.
"So impatient," Bakura chuckled against his ear, mimicking the blond's action and ripped off his pants shortly after Malik had kicked his shoes off. The shattered glass on the floor made it dangerous to walk bare feet, but at the moment none of them cared, staying completely ignorant to the possibility of getting cut by some shard of glass.
"Shut it, or you aren't getting any!" Malik growled, impatiently pulling on thief's pants.
"Good joke," Bakura sneered and helped himself out of the final article of his own clothing, before getting on the table to hover over his lover. Table creaked suspiciously, but none of them noticed it and even if Bakura did, he paid no heed to that. Instead, he attached his lips to one of the ever so tempting dark nipples, sucking on it greedily; then moving on to the other, leaving a bite behind. He groaned in pleasure, feeling Malik's hand rubbing against his aching arousal.
Using his unoccupied hand, Malik pulled Bakura up to claim his lips with feverish and rough desire. Thief lost his balance and heavily crashed on top of him, both hissing simultaneously when length slipped past length. With a playful growl he bit Malik's lower lip, but the blond did not need much encouragement anyway, his lips parting and soon thief's intrusive tongue roamed the warm inside of the other's mouth, forcefully tracing every spot and eliciting a tiny moan from him.
Sharp pain rode up Malik's spine and Bakura let out a muffled curse against his lips.
"Uh, Bakura? I think we just broke the table."
"Damn right we did!"
It was Saturday. Bright summer sun was intruding through the drawn curtains, the shining metal hands of the clock on the wall stopping on twelve o'clock mark.
Having the headache of Millennia, Mira walked down the stairs ever so slowly and headed towards the kitchen to fetch herself some aspirin. She was forced to stop on the doorstep, her eyes taking in the scene before her with disbelief – the yesterday's chaos was topped off with a broken kitchen table. Letting out a long, tormented sigh, she cautiously stepped over the mess and headed for the medication, on the way snatching a surprisingly intact glass and filling it with water.
She had just taken in the medicine, when Bakura appeared in the kitchen, looking as bright and high in spirits as the Saturday's sun on the streets.
"Morning," with a smirk he walked over to Mira, one hand snaking around her waist, the other reaching to turn the coffee machine on. "Sleep well?"
"Didn't hear a sound so that's a good thing. Woke up with a horrid headache and that's not a good thing," she rubbed her temples. "What the fuck did you do to the kitchen?"
"THE fuck," Bakura replied with a blinding grin and pulled Mira closer to nuzzle her neck, his arms tightening around her waist. He was feeling exceptionally playful this fine Saturday morning.
Mira responded with a disdainful snort, "Sorry for asking."
"Not in the best of your moods, are you now? However, I know a cure for that."
"Thank you, I'll pass," she shrugged one shoulder in annoyance when feeling Bakura attach his lips to her neck.
"That'll make you feel better within and instant," he grinned, planting a soft bite on her skin, "I give you my word for that."
"I'll choose the suffering then," Mira pushed him away with a snort. "Go harass Malik!"
"Fine, be that way!" Bakura pretended to be hurt and put up a pout, but the broad grin easily took the upper hand, thus failing to make his insulted expression convincing.
"Don't hold your breath! I won't change my mind."
"How can you be so cold?" Bakura refused to believe in the message her stern voice carried and pulled her back in his embrace. "Come on, don't tell me that you feel nothing! Not going to believe that you can resist me!"
"You know, now that I think of it – I do feel something for you."
"Yes. Sickness to my stomach," Mira smirked, showing him away and he crushed against the counter, hitting his thigh in a very painful way.
"Aww, Baku, someone's immune towards your sexiness!" Malik, looking just as bright as the thief, practically bounced into the kitchen, a devious smirk plastered on his handsome features. "How are you going to live through this one now?" Even Mira's destructing glare, reinforced by her headache, did not mar the Egyptian's happiness. "I smell coffee!"
"I smell big trouble," Mira grounded out, murderous glints flickering in the depths of her eyes. "You didn't clear anything up, plus, you fucking. broke. the table!"
"And how right you are indeed!" Bakura brandished a devilish grin, resting his chin on Mira's shoulder. "We did break the table while fucking."
Letting out a disgusted sound, she twisted away from him, "Spare the crap! Who is going to fix it?" Receiving two shrugs as an only answer, Mira frowned and glowered at the mess like it should clear itself from her sole gaze. "I expect you to clean this chaos before I return."
"So you're leaving?" Bakura's brow elevated questioningly.
"I'll be back in an hour or so, so don't get your hopes too high!"
"Good. An hour's enough."
"I don't want to know it!" Mira's gaze darkened at Bakura's salacious grin as he leaned down and pulled a wooden spoon out of the whole mess on the floor, gazing at it in his own special and (not to mention) patented twisted way, whatever perverted thoughts revolving around the inanimate object he held in his hand. For your own safety and in order to remain sane, it was better not to get too deep in his messed-up mind.
As Mira left, mumbling something indiscernible under her breath, Malik eyed the whole mess on the tile floor. "Are we supposed to clear this?"
Bakura shrugged, with little interest shovelling the half-dried mess into the sink and turned on the water.
"I wish I had servants," the Egyptian sighed. "Or mind slaves."
"We have Mira," thief pointed out.
"She doesn't exactly count. We made a deal, remember?"
"The one not to involve her in our sex-life?" Bakura rose to his feet and kicked aside one leg of what once was a decent kitchen table. "Let me tell you something, Malik – some promises are made to be broken. Besides, that would make her forget this," he threw a wide gesture towards the mess.
"I don't know, Baku…" Malik scratched his ear, "I mean – come on! She's the only one who doesn't consider us insane. It gets boring when everyone ignores you, or treats you like you're lacking something in the head. But the three of us are the terror team, and I don't want to change that."
"Treat it like reinforcing the binds."
The sly smirk on tomb robber's face was almost blinding and Malik found it very hard, even impossible to resist.
"Fine. Although, when she was just a friend it was much more nicer. She was the borderline not to be crossed."
"Right. Like you've never wanted to pound her senseless. We're living in the same house, so why not share everything?"
"You think she'll agree?"
"You think we'll let her choose?" Bakura dusted himself off, throwing the spoon into the sink as well. "This is boring." His chocolate brown eyes glinted mischievously, "I think we have approximately fifty minutes, if you get my drift."
"I haven't had my coffee yet!" Malik crossed his arms, trying to look defiant.
"I could lick it off you," the albino thief suggested, pulling him towards the living room.
"I'll drink it later," Malik decided upon seeing the turning point of events.
WhenMira returned nine hours later, the door to the kitchen was safely shut and Malik was sitting opposite Bakura in the living room, a few glasses and an intact bottle of vodka standing on the low table between them. The both of them were looking bored out of their minds. Turning to look at her, Bakura brandished a blinding grin.
She narrowed her eyes with suspicion, "What is going on here?"
"Trying to decide on what to play, and we were just waiting for you to show up," Malik leaned back against the headboard invitingly, "Why don't you join us?"
Mira's eyes had rearranged into narrow slits by now, "Going to play Russian roulette? The one where you fill seven large glasses with different alcoholic drinks and the next morning try to guess, which one gave you the headache?"
"Not a bad idea, but no," Bakura smirked. "Come, join us!"
Mira shrugged, her suspicion still not lessening. "Seeing how I have nothing better or smarter to do…" She sat down on the same couch Bakura was sitting on.
"We'll play 'spin the bottle' and on whom it lands, drinks one glass," Bakura explained with a smirk and handed Mira and empty plastic bottle. "And since you're the newcomer, you get to start."
"Is this the best you could come up with?" Mira scrunched her nose, taking the bottle from his hands. "Kindergarten level, honestly." She spun it only to have it land on herself. With a snort, she picked up the small glass and downed it in one intake of breath. The second spin landed on her once again. This time Mira was positively glaring as she lifted up the second glass, the motion accompanied by two devilish grins. "What a fucking great idea – to get myself drunk on Saturday because of some lame game!"
Next came Malik's turn to drink. He looked rather surprised that the bottle had pointed on him, but he got over it and brought Bakura into the game with his next spin.
They had had already five-six doses each, turns swapping from one man to the other, before it finally came back to Mira and after stopping on Bakura, the bottle stayed pointed at him for the next three turns, then Malik, then Mira twice and for half of the bottle's contents switched to and fro between the Egyptian and the Briton. Mira was inevitably getting bored out of her mind. All of a sudden Malik slammed his glass on the table and, quite unsurprisingly, it shattered from the force and cut his hand.
"Dammit Ra! That's your fault!" Malik pointed at Bakura.
"Heck it isn't."
"Is too!" the Egyptian both slammed his bleeding fist on the table and stomped his foot with attitude.
"Heck it isn't," Bakura snorted.
"IS TOO!" Malik got to his feet, attempting to tower over the albino.
"Malik, stop being a baby!" Mira grumbled and went to look for some bandages, the drunken fight between those two slowly escalating in volume. She grimaced at the mess in the kitchen and mentally noted to kill the both of them later. Upon walking back to the living room, she saw a rather interesting scene.
The table and bottle still intact, but the rest of the room was suffering a heavy after-effects of a pillow fight, their sintapon filling covering almost everything. Bakura's piercing stare turned towards Mira and he slowly approached her.
"You dare running from me?" Malik shouted and chased after him, but rather unsuccessfully tripped over a pillow.
Bakura snorted with cynicism and concentrated on Mira, "You shouldn't have gone in there."
She shrugged, "I would have found out, anyway."
"And still," he stopped in front of her, "You were not allowed to go in there."
"What the fuck are you talk- Bakura, look out!"
Malik had gotten back to his feet, as angry as the Winged Dragon of Ra himself. He grabbed the nearest lamp and flung it at the thief.
Bakura caught sight of the flying object and jumped aside, yanking Mira along and out of its way. Quite unfortunately, he was rather drunk and his usually perfect aiming skills were faltering slightly. In her fall, Mira collided with the wall, sharp pain searing through her shoulder and in the next moment the lamp shattered right next to her ear. Fortunately no damage was inflicted on her, but it was enough to send Malik in a state of fear, his whole body frozen and his lilac eyes wide.
Mira winced and carefully got to her feet. "I should kill you for that alone, Malik," she growled, "and I will, unless you come up with a damn good excuse for this."
"Uh… I aimed it at Baku?" he tried, looking hopeful.
Mira snorted, walking over to the couch in a slow pace and slapping Bakura's hand away when he tried to help her, "Will do. Bandage your arm and let's finish that bloody game!"
Once the bottle was empty and Mira could already feel the dizzy fog taking over her mind, Malik, probably the drunkest of the trio, suggested going to the club. Mira raised her brow, but since Bakura agreed, decided to go along and keep an eye on them. Just in case.
On the way there, they happened to pass by Wheeler's house. Mira squinted at a dark figure near the entrance in a side alleyway and stopped. The figure seemed strangely familiar and she decided to approach the person. As she got nearer, the person, obviously a man, shifted and moved to hide deeper in the shadows, but Mira had already recognised him.
"What are you doing here, Valon?"
The brunet gave her a once-over, "You're drunk and that's none of your business."
"I know that it isn't," she smirked, "and I will be. Later."
"Hey, Mira," Malik whined, following her, "Where are you?"
"He is drunk though," Mira grinned, pointing at the Egyptian. "Now answer my question!"
"It's okay, I guess. Since it's not in your interests, anyway," Valon muttered under his breath, but she heard him anyway. "See the house? That's Wheeler's."
"So, I'm going to blow it up, because that prick is hitting on Mai again."
"I see," Mira cocked her head, observing the house. "Need some help?"
"You serious?" Valon stared at her in surprise.
"Sort of. Blame the deliria!" she grinned, "Have the gasoline?"
Valon nodded, wondering whether Mira was so drunk that she did not register her actions, or had she kept at least half of her sanity. It was very hard to tell, but when she picked up one of the petrol cans, the Australian brunet could honestly care less if she was mad or plain crazy and just took the other can, following the Northern girl across the street. Several minutes later, a cigarette lighter flickered to life and with Malik's loud cheering, a huge pyre slowly stretched up towards the quickly darkening sky.
"Now, Valon," Mira dusted her hands off, "care to some with us for a tiny feast in the honours of Summer Solstice pyre?"
Valon pondered about this thought for a moment, noticed Yugi and his nerd bunch rounding a corner at the other end of the street and decided to disappear from the sight. "Sure. I know a shorter way to get there, come!" He dragged both slightly intoxicated Mira and still chuckling Malik into the dark alley, quickly heading down it.
"Wait, where's Baku?" The Egyptian stopped, suddenly realising that he had not seen the thief for quite a while already.
"He'll show up. Now MOVE, damn it!" Mira yanked him along, the screams and wails of Yugi Mutou and his friends echoing through the darkness.
Bakura indeed showed up. In fact, he was waiting for them in front of the pub, looking severely pissed. "Finally!" he growled, "Where the fuck where you? I had to deal with the damn Pharaoh and his bloody fuck-mates."
"We had some unplanned fun," Mira chuckled, the booze finally taking the upper hand. "I want a drink!"
All of the remaining evening Bakura was looking grim, having drink after drink and muttering something indiscernible under his breath. Malik was competing with Mira and Valon in who will drink the most, but Mira soon gave up on that. Instead she went over to some familiar people for a talk, which eventually turned into dancing on the tables. Malik decided to watch the show, but Valon, taking no notice about the happening, continued competing with himself and a random half-full bottle of vodka.
No one had noticed how it had happened, but suddenly Mira was trapped beneath some guy on the same table she had been dancing on, engulfed in a rather wild make-out session. Within a heartbeat, Bakura was up to his feet, next to the table and the guy flew across half of the room, heavily crashing atop a table and breaking it. Thief, boiling rage seething throughout him, stalked over to the crumpled form of a man lying among the remnants of once a decent fir-wood table and proceeded to beat the living daylights out of him. Meanwhile, Malik made his way towards laughing Mira, who had not even moved and yanked her up to a standing position.
"You'e 'ad ennou'," he slurred the words, not registering his own strength and Mira, in her intoxicated state, lost her balance and quite unceremoniously crushed against Egyptian's chest. He stumbled backwards, but somehow managed to remain standing. It took several seconds for the both of them to realize that their lips had met.
Mira giggled – something very non-common for her, "You too." With a drunken resolve she turned towards still drinking Valon and announced, "We're leaving. You coming?"
Non-focused blue-grey eyes lifted, "O-ay."
Malik kept one his arm around Mira's waist, Valon hooked his elbow in the Egyptian's elbow and they left, somehow managing to remember to leave the money for the drinks on the table. The guards were trying (and failing) to separate enraged Bakura from the bloody form on the ground that was not even fighting anymore and was looking more or less dead.
As they walked down the street, Mira giggled, resting her head on Malik's shoulder, "A feel like walkin' o' air."
The Egyptian stopped and laughed a loud, drunken laugh, startling the brunet solemnly trudging alongside him and dangling from his other elbow. "Ur drunk, M'ra," he finally slurred, resuming the walk down the dark street. "We'es 'omme?"
"Somewhere," Mira sighed happily, "out there."
Several blocks away someone noticed them. Someone, who was not pleased to see Mira in such a drunk state.
"Mira!" Dartz growled, striding up to the trio. "What the Leviathan?"
"He-ey," Mira smirked and waved her hand in a philosophical greeting, "bro!"
Dartz hissed with white rage, yanking on her arm and freeing her from the Egyptian's grip, "You're coming with me right. NOW! Are you insane? Just look at yourself! Getting drunk like some fool. If your mother were alive…" His infuriated grumbling and carping and Mira's silent giggling echoed down the alley as they left.
"O, 'ess ollo' 'em. 'Es 'om o-omme," Valon, not quite registering his own strength, gave Malik a nudge in the side that usually would have made the Egyptian double over, but in his heavily intoxicated state he almost didn't feel it.
The drunken obviously think differently and Valon's incoherent sentence was understood just the way it should have been, been the brunet sober. And it wasn't an Australian mantra of good luck, mind you! No, it was a clumsily built sentence. Two sentences actually – 'Yo, let's follow them. He's from home.'
At the same time, Bakura was getting thrown out of the club and, after a short relaxation on the concrete, got up to his feet, cursed loudly and headed home, keeping up the cursing as he passed from one golden spotlight into darkness and into another spotlight, just to be plunged into the darkness few steps later. Coming opposite Wheeler's house, his drunken brains registered the fact of it being aflame and he stopped to observe the beautiful (for him and only few others of his kind, anyway) scenery. Then he threw his head back, insane laughter echoing through the darkness and headed home, leaving a menacingly psychotic aura floating behind.
Bakurawoke with a killer headache and went down to fetch himself some aspirin. He solemnly trudged down the stairs and dragged himself to the kitchen. The kitchen was a mess and he almost tripped over the table's leg, cursing as he hit his bare fingers against it. Another stray of curses followed when he stepped on a broken glass.
For once, Bakura pondered, Mira might have been right forcing them to clean the kitchen. Not that she could force anything on him, anyway.
Suddenly the thief came to a realization that the house was too quiet. Way too quiet. Even scarily quiet. Of course, in any other house that would be normal for Sundays, but this was not a normal house. He checked the clock and decided that it was impossible for Mira to have overslept, since it was nearly midday. At this particular time house was filled with Mira's usual yelling at Malik and Malik's usual yelling back. Then she would storm into the kitchen to down some painkillers for her migraine and sit in the living room, grumbling about stuff. It was an unwritten ritual of sorts that never, under any circumstances, got omitted.
Bakura went up to check in Mira's room to find it empty. No, that wouldn't be the appropriate word. It was deserted. The same emptiness awaited him in Malik's room as well, and the thief was slowly getting creeped out. Well, not really. It was just his curiosity that's gotten struck by such a strange situation.
Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, feeling incapable to bear the tension for any longer and picking up the goddamn invention called telephone. He found the scrap of paper with the number of Mira's cell phone and proceeded to dial her, his foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the carpet.
"Mira?" he barely oppressed the agitation from shoving in his voice, "Where's Malik? - You were together at the pub yesterday! - Well, he's not home and neither are you, so, to your mind, what am I to think? - Isn't he at your apartment? - Yes, I did check at Ryou's!" He, of course, lied. "Are you talking about that brunet – your brother's employee? I'll kill him! - Well, this is all your damn fault that he was there in the first place! - And you, of course, helped to burn it down, didn't you?"
Their conversation got interrupted with a loud BANG! of the door that got practically thrown open to reveal a certain slightly distraught-looking Egyptian.
"Forget it! He just arrived."
And arrive he did. With the approximate speed of seventy miles per hour he dashed into the living room astride a yellow motorcycle, knocked aside the coffee table only to crash into the couch. Amidst this mayhem Bakura got thrown aside by the inertia of a flying cushion and managed to lose the receiver from his hand. Somehow, beyond all sane explanations and laws of physics, Malik had seized the item of ultimate doom called the telephone and attempted to strike up a conversation with Mira. How he knew that it was she in the first place, will forever stay unknown.
"HEY, MIRAAA! - Drop what you're doing right now and come, join us! - Aw, you're missing a whole lot of fun, and it'll be dead fun! - You do overreact there a bit, Mira! - Oi, you've got a sharp tongue! However, I know a better use for it, if you get my idea. - No? I hate you then!"
Bakura snatched the poor, abused receiver from the blond's hand to resume his rudely interrupted talk, "Mira? We're going to occupy the living room for…" The thief got interrupted before he even got the chance to finish the sentence. "It's such a shame that you'll miss the whole fun, Mira. We've planned something special just for you. - Oh, I think I'll leave that up to you! I bet you'll be overly pleased," he smirked with glee, his mood obviously brightened, then slammed the receiver atop the phone.
Malik had closed the door that was now barely hanging in its hinges and trotted up to the second and miraculously intact couch, sprawling flat on it with obvious exhaustion.
Bakura, envious of the other's happy prance, walked up to the couch and made a sullen expression, "Where the fuck where you?"
"Not fucking around, don't you worry! Mira isn't coming, right?" Malik smirked at the albino, then mock-pouted, "I missed you."
"Hmph," the thief crossed his arms, pretending to be cold and ignorant.
"Really, really missed you," a lustful trace sipped into the Egyptian's voice as he reached up, his fingers tapping against the front of Bakura's jeans.
Tomb robber grunted under his breath, incapable to deny that this action had caused a counter-reaction from his body. Swiftly he had pounced atop the other, pinning him down with the weight of his body, "Missed me, eh?"
"Yes," Malik reached up for a kiss, "missed you badly."
"Poor you," Bakura lightly bit his lower lip, hands running under the blond's ruffled shirt, the muscles on the other's chest contracting slightly at the touch and the tomb keeper wiggled to get the garment off, hips bucking under the thief's weight. Malik growled with impatience, feeling thankful that Bakura had the tendency to walk shirtless in the mornings. Their lips met in a bruising dance, tongues twisting and battling with fierce desire, heat escalating and their blood coming near the boiling point as the passion got unleashed.
Malik brought the thief's head closer to him, hungrily attacking his neck with blunt nipping and greedy sucking, while the remaining pieces of their clothing got disposed. Moving back, he smirked at the look of flaring desire in those chocolate eyes and whispered, "Yes. Poor me indeed."
It felt so good to lay like that – exhausted limbs entwined, breathes getting tangled in each other's hair, their sweat mixing together… The living room was death-still and quiet. Not a sound was heard, not a sound was made. Only the clock on the wall silently ticked the minutes away.
"So where were you at?"
"What?" Bakura moved away to glare at Malik, "Did I head that right?"
Malik nodded, "We got a run-in with Mira's psycho brother yesterday, and let me tell you this one – scary he is! I wonder how Mira can stand him at all."
"Mira is so going to hear a few words about that!" the thief growled, eyes flashing dangerously.
"Give it a rest! She was drunk, anyway, and won't remember a thing. You know how she is after getting drunk. Part of her memories just disappears."
"Hmph," Bakura sat down on Malik's hips, towering above him. "Even if so…"
"Aww, come now! Give it a rest! Or get her to come home to extract your punishment on her."
A very scary smirk lit up Bakura's face and he got up to retrieve the phone from the nearest junk pile it had landed, but the telephone outrun Bakura, giving away a loud, obnoxious ring. Frowning all the while, he exchanged a few words with the person, then set to dial Mira. The talk with her was even less beneficial what with Malik interfering once in a while and when he finally managed to cajole her into coming home (by promising to make some of his special cocktails as a cure for her hangover-induced migraine), his contented expression changed in a flash. Few seconds later, he threw the phone away with a dark expression of disgust on his face.
"Can you bloody believe it? She's having a fucking threesome!"
"Who? Mira? With whom?" Malik stared at Bakura wide-eyed. Mira certainly was not the type to go for something like that.
"That redhead. Her ex, whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was," Bakura scowled with mild disgust as if there would be a bad taste in his mouth. "You know him."
"Oh, yeah, Amelda," Egyptian's face brightened with recognition of the name and the appropriate face for the name. "He's not bad, if you ask me and they looked good together. Well, but who's the other?"
"The third, you wanted to say," the expression of disgust deepened on tomb robber's face. "Seto Kaiba."
"WHAT! But Mira hates his guts!"
"Well, apparently she doesn't hate his…"
"Don't say it!" Malik interrupted, shuddering at the very thought. "Now who would've thought that Mr I'm-Oh-So-Straight Kaiba would go for something like that? This gives me an inferiority complex."
"Mira surprises me. Just when I started to think that nothing can surprise me, seeing how I am about five thousand years old. And now she just goes screwing around with Kaiba and having random threesomes!"
"ARGH!" Malik clutched his head. "Bad image, BAD image! AHH! Too late. I think it just seared itself into my brain."
"Want me to remove it?" Bakura arched a fine brow.
"Just. Get. It. OUT!"
"Maybe I shouldn't," he smirked, approaching the Egyptian, "seeing how you are enjoying yourself quite a bit."
"Just fucking kiss me already!" Malik growled, reaching out towards the albino thief.
"Fucking kiss you?" brown eyes flashed with vicious shadows, promising long and sweet agony. "That can be arranged."