I'm still here. Not going anywhere, though I've been away.

Internet's a bitch, that's my excuse for now. I'll update stories later, and I'm so going to bed after this.

It's only M because T just wouldn't quite do. Makes sense, yes? And it's short. Yes.

Also, good luck figuring out who's who, and who's on top. Let me know your theories. I'm aware it's vague at parts, as usual. But it's still psychoshipping. Love me for not abandoning my OTP ok?


"You're here again."

"Do I need a reason? I just like to come here." The words come out harsh, they were intended so.

The other smirks before lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. "No reason, then." He says softly. Too softly.


"What do you want from me, Bakura?" It comes out lightly, as though he's just joking. He's not though, and Bakura knows. "What I want..." He takes one step closer, dropping the half smoked cigarette unceremoniously on the ground. "...what I want is something no one can have."

Marik raises his brows. What does that even mean?

Bakura seems to sense his barely hidden confusion and takes another step closer. Too close.

And they kiss. Just like that. And Marik can't even help himself, desperately pulling that lithe body closer, looking for something, searching, touching. But he finds nothing. Just cold lips, tense limbs and sharp nails.


It's been months, and he still hasn't found it. He comes there, every single night. And every single night someone's waiting for him, luring him in from behind long lashes and dark eyes. Whispering words, meaningless but beautiful.

Tonight is no exception.

And as he ground his hips back and forth watching that pale slicked body rock against him he had to wonder; was he really in control? Of anything? Had he not already been seduced, stripped from his pride, his sanity, that very first time he'd shared his bed with an enemy, someone he couldn't, no, shouldn't trust?

But he was still helpless. The other knew that. Knew just how much power he held over him, controlled him with.

But still, all he could do was move, move with him, feel him until he thought he couldn't even take it, so good.

Tomorrow he'd stop. He told himself that every single night, this was getting out of hand. Something was almost boiling over, becoming too much to handle properly. And he couldn't handle it, couldn't deal with such a thing, but he was helpless. He had always been, and if he was only reminded of that enough, it would be alright. But for only one more night.

So he took him, took everything he had to give, one last time.

And as he dug his fingertips into those sharp hipbones, pulling him closer, coming closer he moaned, softly and pulled until he was pressed chest to back with his lover, their bodies mixing, molding together in the most carnal of ways, moving to such an old rhythm the dance itself should have been cast aside a long, long time ago.

But he couldn't let go, he was so lost in him. In the way his eyes fluttered open and closed, as his breath came out in short gasps and pants, as his body started to shake under that insane pleasure pooling in his lower stomach. But all he could do was watch him. Hold him, have him.

And as those long locks of silver were pulled back, that slender body bending against him, cool, needy lips pressed against his own one more time he knew control had never been his in the first place.

And while dark eyes intensely locked with his own from behind long, yet black lashes he moaned one final time, burying himself in that insane warmth, heath around him. So tightly around him he feared it would never let him go. But he wouldn't mind being a captive to something so good.

He'd abandon everything for that feeling. Everything, for him. A horrible feeling. Almost sweet, as devastating as it was.

"I love you..."

It slipped from his lips without even completely realizing it. But it was true wasn't it?

Because hadn't it been love... all those times he touched him, needed him... kissed him? If that hadn't been love then what could have possibly been? He didn't know. He knew nothing about love. Nothing at all. But he knew that he was feeling, even if he didn't know exactly what, he did feel something. Something strange, that hurt whenever that soft pale body wasn't with him, moving with him, reminding him what it was like to feel. And that same something that felt like a drug when soft narrow lips pressed against his own, needing his warmth just as much as he needed their soft touch himself.

"You say foolish things, Mariku." He purrs, seductively, in that one perfectly horrible raw yet smooth tone of voice he knows his love can't bear to hear.

"Shut up..." He snarls, nails harshly pulling that delicate frame closer to him, breaking the skin and leaving marks in the color of passion.


And this is what they do. How they love, if it even is love.

Without control, abandoning sanity.

And it's good... wrong.

Somehow just...wrong. Without even a reason.

There wasn't one needed anyway, wouldn't be needed. This would be the last time, after all.