Random smut with Bakura as the Uke. Nothing special, really. I just got bored.



Bakura growled as he pulled the Ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet and threw a couple of the orange pills down his throat to quell the ache in his backside. It always felt so good while it was happening, but in the morning, he always felt like complete shit.

Malik drew his knife slowly across the skin of the white haired tomb robber tied to the bed before him, rewarding himself with a mewl of arousal from his partner as blood leaked from the wound.

Silently, he marveled at how pain and pleasure were one to Bakura. How he practically begged the tomb keeper to cut him.

As he thrust into the thief, Bakura groaned in delight. It hurt. Oh, yes, it hurt very much. But the hurt was half of the fun. Half of the sheer enjoyment of these stolen evenings.

Malik leaned forward and whispered in Bakura's ear.

"Scream for me."

Bakura always hated that command, but somehow found it impossible to avoid it, and as he came all over his stomach, he would scream in release.

Malik wasn't half so vocal. He would dig his nails into the thief's shoulders, snarling savagely, and occasionally moaning. Never any more than that.

But, as they lay panting next to each other in the sticky aftermath, they knew that this wasn't love. They made love, true, but they were not in love. That always implied a certain amount of emotional involvement. No, this was not love. It was merely lust. That all consuming drive that wiped every other thought from their minds.

Sure, they weren't in love. But that would never stop their fiery kisses. The way they tore each other's clothes off in a fit of passion.

Bakura turned the water in the shower on so cold goose bumps rose along his pale skin. The water running down the drain was a sickly pick color from his blood.

He jumped in surprise when two tan arms slid over his shoulders.

"Well, good morning sunshine," Malik smirked.

Bakura returned the expression, turning around to face him.

Before wither of them knew what was going on, Bakura was pressed against the shower wall, Malik running his hands up and down the tomb robber's lithe body, raking his nails across the skin, leaving fresh red marks.

So maybe this wasn't love. So what? To them, it didn't make a difference.