Thief

I try to keep my head on straight. If I don't, he'll win again. Not that it matters. Bakura ALWAYS gets what he wants in the end…

\\//\\//\\//\\//

Tonight, he wants me to say it again. I turn my head, trying to avoid his touch, but his lips find mine despite my efforts. I try to hold back a moan: he gets bored when he doesn't get a reaction.

He's more persistent than usual tonight. He releases one of my wrists and holds my head in place as he whispers into my ear. "Is it really that hard, Marik?" He kisses me. He knows how to break my resolve. I know he knows, and he knows that I know, but he still does it, often simply for his own amusement. Like today. He allows his lips to run down my neck and chest; they are forced to a stop by the waist of my pants. He growls and relinquishes his hold on my chin to get at the button.

I swat him away with my free hand. "I already said no!" Five times.

His lips move back toward mine; it seems he has finally given up. He traps my other wrist once more and forces a deep, aggressive kiss on me.

I believe that this is considered sexual assault. He could get into serious trouble. If he ever gave me a real reason to report it. But the thing is, his sadism isn't all that unpleasant. Does that make me a masochist? After everything my father put me through as a child, I wouldn't be surprised. It's only natural that I've searched out someone equally—if not more—egotistical than that horrible man.

He pulls my arms down to my sides. I can feel his smirk against my skin at my gasp as he pushes the waist of my pants down as far as he can with his face.

"Let go!" I struggle even though I know he is considerably stronger. Now that I've lost control, I know I can't get it back.

"Say it," he murmurs.

"I…" I try not to, but it comes out anyway. "I love you."

He chuckles and sits up. He's satisfied with just that. For now. "I'm taking a shower. Care to—"

"NO!" I'm still trying to slow my panting. I slowly rise as well. "You're not—"

He cuts me off with a kiss. "Come on," he murmurs. "You're already done?"

"Yes, I am."

His fingers brush across my wrist in a vague—unsuccessful—clutching motion as he walks away at a casual pace.

I get off the bed with a groan. Damn it.

\\//\\//\\//\\//

He pushes me back against the bathroom door. "Sometimes I doubt your common sense."

So do I. But I know what is wrong. I'm just a stolen treasure. Bakura ALWAYS gets what he wants in the end…


Another stylistic experiement. I know it was short, but I'm seeing how I do with that. Thanks for reading and please review!

As always, this is not Yami no Marik. It is Marik Ishtar.