Warnings: Yaoi, language, rape.
Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know, Marik and Bakura don't belong to me. They're Kazuki Takahashi's…Lucky bastard…
Bakura had wanted Marik ever since he'd heard the blonde whine out his name as he slept one night in their combined bedroom. Bakura had looked over at him, a strange little smirk spreading across his face. He had to wonder what exactly Marik was dreaming, what had made him say his partner's name in such a voice. He hadn't thought much of it then, just rolled back over and went back to sleep, leaving Marik to mewl and writhe under the covers.
But that voice had haunted Bakura's dreams that night, too. He'd envisioned Marik under him, hands tied above his head, screaming delicious things as Bakura thrust into him over and over…
Everything was the same the next morning. Bakura refused to bring up either of their dreams, instead giving Marik these looks that plainly said he knew. The oblivious little Egyptian never caught on, only glared back every so often and gave him some one finger salutes. But even so, Bakura refused to let it go. Marik's voice had been so…enchanting.
They spent their day plotting, as always. Spending hours at the Egyptian's side proved to be a little much for Bakura, for every time Marik said his name, something would stir inside him that made him want to push him down and take him right there. Hours turned into days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. Bakura became absolutely infatuated with Marik and the things he'd say in his sleep. Each time the spirit knew he was having one of those dreams, he wanted to leave his bed and crawl into Marik's. Touch his sun kissed skin and run his fingers through that golden hair. Arrange him in all sorts of compromising positions and get himself lost inside him.
It wasn't long before he acted on these desires.
It was a cold, bleak day, and Marik had decided to stay inside instead of going out, leaving his to-do-list to his ghouls while he got caught up on whatever was on TV. Bakura watched him from the threshold that led into the kitchen. He'd pulled his legs under him and rested his chin in his hand, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch. He wore a black t-shirt and some gym shorts, his face blank as he stared at the screen. He didn't look all that extraordinary, but somehow, even with his hair disheveled and that fresh out-of-bed look, it made Bakura hard just looking at him. It was the most skin Bakura had ever seen Marik show, even if the Egyptian had a tendency to wear shirts that were too small for him. His hair, being as messed up as it was, made it seem like he'd just had a pretty good lay. Immediately, Bakura started to imagine all the ways that sunny mop could've gotten that way; throwing his head back with a scream, thrashing his head back and forth as moans wracked his body, Bakura pulling it as his mouth engulfed his hard length.
He turned to stone at the very thought of those wondrous pouty lips around him.
He couldn't take it anymore. He had to have him. He didn't care that Marik would never consent, nor did he care that this could ruin whatever kind of relationship they had. Hell, they already hated each other. They only moved in together in the first place so they could spend more time coming up with ways to carry out their vengeance. That was the only reason they hadn't killed each other yet. One common enemy that had to be erased…
Bakura strode over to stand behind the couch, leaning onto it with both hands on either side of Marik's shoulders. He saw the Egyptian tense slightly, but other than that there was no other sign that he knew Bakura was there. He continued watching the unnecessarily loud action movie without so much as a twitch in Bakura's direction. The spirit stared down at him, an evil smile twitching at his lips as he breathed in the scent of Marik's shampoo. Over poweringly fruity and unbelievably girly, but somehow, it fit Marik.
He soon grew tired of just staring and smelling; he had to touch. Slowly, he raised his hands from the couch and gently put them on Marik's shoulders. The Egyptian jerked violently, twisting his head around to glare at the albino man.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Marik's shoulders were so tense… Bakura gave them a few massaging squeezes to loosen them up. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Marik grumbled out something in Egyptian, leaving Bakura to what he was doing, much to the thief's satisfaction. He continued to rub his partner's shoulders, trying to work the stiffness from the younger boy. After some time, he must've decided Bakura wasn't trying to kill him, so he relaxed again, if only a little. Bakura seemed to take this as a go ahead to continue, and his hands moved along the curve of the Egyptian's shoulders to slide up his neck. Marik wasn't wearing any of his jewelry, for which Bakura was thankful, as he could feel the soft bronze skin under his fingers without the golden choker to hinder his movements. He traced the little bumps of his cervical vertebrae with his thumbs, wrapping his fingers around Marik's slim neck to massage each jugular vein, throbbing to his rising pulse.
Another reason Bakura was happy the tanned boy had left off his jewelry?
He was much easier to choke this way.
Bakura's fingers tightened around Marik's throat, fingernails digging into the fragile skin as Marik gasped and tried to claw the spirit's hands off him.
"Gah…Bakur-ra…Stop it…!" He growled through clenched teeth and choked gasps. Bakura only gave a short laugh and squeezed harder, ignoring the ex-tomb keeper's pleas. He wasn't planning on killing the boy. Oh no. What fun was it to fuck a corpse? No, he was just going to weaken him a little, torture him into submission, but leave him completely alive to feel the pleasure, pain, everything. Maybe he'd kill him when he was done, but for now, he wanted the boy alive.
Once Marik's grip on Bakura's hands began to loosen, the thief threw him down onto the couch and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips as he held his throat and coughed. "B-bastard…" he gasped shakily, glaring violet daggers at Bakura, who just smirked smugly. He gave Marik no time to recover as he immediately thrust his hands under the hem of his shirt.
Marik squeaked, half from surprise, half from the chill of Bakura's fingers on his warm flesh. "What are you doing?" he demanded, trying to grab for Bakura's hands, but only succeeding in getting his wrists captured and pinned above his head.
"Isn't it obvious?" Bakura hissed, not one to be forgiving of oblivious idiots. "I'm going to rape you."
Marik's eyes widened in horror and his mouth fell open in shock. He looked absolutely ridiculous, such large eyes and a slack jaw. Bakura sneered and continued to explore his chest with his free hand, dragging the t shirt up as he did so. Marik had such beautiful, tan skin. Bakura could spend hours just running his fingers over it, memorizing each curve of muscle underneath.
All the while Marik kicked and thrashed underneath him, trying desperately to get free, yelling, cursing, threatening. It didn't really matter what he said now; Bakura had made up his mind. He would have Marik, whether he did or didn't struggle, no matter what sort of painful things he swore to do later…Regardless of whether or not he lived through this.
Bakura leaned down and gave the boy's stomach a small lick, tightening his grip on Marik's hands as he struggled more violently. He needed a rope or something to keep Marik still so he could use both his hands. He wanted to take his time, explore Marik's body thoroughly, introduce himself to every little effeminate curve he could find, every manly bulge of muscle… He wanted all of him.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" Marik chanted as Bakura continued to taste him. "Just please, stop right now!"
Bakura ran his fingers down this side as a response, sharp nails leaving angry red scratches. Marik bit his lips, closing his eyes.
"Just admit you like it, little whore," Bakura growled, the Egyptian's submission only fueling the already raging fire inside of him. He loosened his grip on the boy's wrists, just to see if he would fight. When he just laid there and breathed, Bakura let go completely. Marik's eyes remained closed, face turned into his shoulder.
Bakura sneered, taking his hands and raking his fingernails over Marik's chest. "You've wanted this for a long time, haven't you Brat?" His fingers reached the hem of Marik's shorts, and he smirked at the sight of the small tent starting to form. "If this is any indication…" he purred wickedly, ghosting his hand over Marik's half-hard member. The boy pulled in a breath. "Little slut."
Before he knew what had happened, a fist slammed into his chin, a leg was hooked around him, and the submissive teen had kicked him off onto the floor. His back hit the carpet hard, the wind being knocked out of his lungs. He sat up, disoriented, in time to see Marik running towards the bedroom, where he would no doubt grab the Millennium Rod to protect himself. Bakura followed him, grinning when he saw his suspicions had been right. Marik stood with the Rod pointing at him, his other hand balled into a fist and his legs stiff.
"Don't come anywhere near me."
Bakura leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. "You're going to run away from the man who's about to rape you, so you lead him straight into your bedroom. Not the shiniest trinket in the tomb, are you?"
"Shut up! You're not going to rape me."
"I beg to differ." He pushed off the wall and began walking towards his prey, graceful and dangerous, as a lion hunts for its meals.
Marik scrambled back, keeping his Rod level with Bakura's face. "Stop it. Stay away from me!"
"Or you'll what?"
"I'll kill you!"
"An appropriate option in this situation, but unless you intend to make good on your threats, they're just hollow words."
Bakura was five steps away from the Egyptian, and managed to stay within that space, no matter how many steps Marik took or how big they were. It wouldn't be long until Bakura was able to force him into a corner. And then…
"You don't think I can kill you? I have the blood of hundreds on my hands!"
"And I have the blood of thousands, if not more. Frankly, one stops counting after a few thousand years."
Marik tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get one more step away. Bakura advanced, still toying with him. "But there is one boy I do remember… He was about your age, maybe a little younger. He had the same sandy hair as you, in much the same style."
Marik's back finally hit a wall.
Bakura smiled. At last, victory.
"He wasn't as tan, though. About three hues lighter, I'd say."
Marik's hand loosened around the handle of his Rod, and Bakura was able to grab it from him with the smallest flick of his wrist. Marik realized his mistake too late as Bakura unsheathed the knife and stared longingly at the blade.
"His eyes were a deep blue, too. That was a major drawback…" the spirit continued, watching Marik's horrified reflection on the cold metal. He looked up at him through his eyelashes, his crooked smile not faltering for a second. "He could've been your brother for all I know. He looked just like you, save for a few…imperfections.
"I found him working on the corner last night. Yes, he was a prostitute… Not so unlike yourself." He added when Marik's eyes grew wide. He smirked and turned completely towards him, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Marik knew the look well-Bakura got it every time he saw something he would do anything to get his hands on.
"I paid him the money and he led me to his favorite alley. He knew exactly what he was doing, did all the right things at all the right times… but even though he looked so much like you, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that he wasn't the real thing. Just a copy, so pathetic when compared to the original." He touched the blade to Marik's cheek, gently grazing the skin. Marik's blood ran cold.
"Do you want to know what I did with him?"
Marik couldn't look away from those earthy brown eyes, as much as he wanted to. He didn't want to hear anymore, but he was frozen with fear.
Bakura took his silence as a yes. "I closed my eyes and pretended he was you. I pretended it was you on your knees sucking me, and you that I pinned to the wall, moaning and crying out as I fucked you. He didn't care that it was your name on my lips, as long as he got paid."
Bakura leaned in close, brushing his lips against Marik's, chuckling darkly. "But, you see, I have this old habit. I always want to see my victim's, or rather, partner's face when I cum… So when I opened my eyes and saw it wasn't you, well, I…I got a little upset." He raised his hands, knife still clutched in one, and wrapped his fingers around Marik's neck. The marks from earlier were still there. It gave Bakura dark satisfaction to see the bruises, as if he had marked his territory by leaving them. "I wrapped my hands around his pretty little neck and squeezed. I kept squeezing, tighter and tighter as I grew closer to orgasm, and when it finally hit…"
The sentence hung unfinished in the air, how it continued obvious as the color of blood. Bakura smirked, loving the look of utter horror on Marik's face. He adored the Egyptian's kohl lined eyes, high cheekbones and subtle nose even more now with beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks and pure terror frozen in his captivating lavender eyes.
He hated himself for not having a camera handy…
Without warning, Bakura dropped the knife and grabbed Marik's hips, crushing their groins together and pressing their lips violently together. To say it caught poor Marik off guard would be a horribly cruel understatement. He squeaked as his member flared to life against Bakura's, cursing himself for letting both events happen. He raised his hands to slap and punch and beat at Bakura, but somehow the thief was able to sense his movements and he caught his wrists before he could do any damage. He felt Bakura's tongue brush his lips, begging for entrance. He clamped his lips shut and shook his head, trying to get Bakura's face away from his. His last and only option was to give Bakura a kick somewhere, anywhere he could reach, and pray to Ra he was able to get away. He raised his leg up between them, kicking at the spirit, striking him in the knee and distracting him long to pull a hand free and jab him in the eye.
Bakura growled, holding his injured eye with one hand and slapping Marik across the face with the other. He grabbed a fistful of his hair, slamming his head back on the wall, then pulling him forward, kneeing him in the gut and finally shoving him to the ground. He landed on his elbows and winced, trying to roll over before Bakura could grab him again. Unfortunately, Bakura was much faster than clumsy little Marik, and he had the boy on his stomach, arms tied behind his back with a belt he'd foolishly left on the floor, and his butt in the air before Marik could even blink.
"I win," Bakura hissed in his ear, a small chuckle on his lips.
Marik could only stare ahead in disbelief, knowing it was true. He couldn't fight now, with his arms already going numb and his stomach tight with constricted breathing. It was over. He was going to be raped by Bakura, his partner, his friend.
And as Bakura pulled his shorts from him, he finally laid his head down and cried.
"Please, s-stop…" he pleaded helplessly. "Bakura, pl-please…don't do this to m-me."
To his horror, Bakura let out a thunderous laugh that sounded like someone had released all the demons in hell, only to sic them on Marik.
"Cry and beg all you want, you little brat. I'm not letting you go."
Marik closed his eyes and sobbed, hearing Bakura undo his zipper, spit on his hand and lubricate himself.
One agonizing, scream-filled second later, Bakura was in, not waiting for Marik to adjust before he started moving, digging his nails into the other boy's hips as he thrust inside.
Marik felt teeth on his shoulder from Bakura's possessive bite, knowing he was applying a sort of mark of ownership. He bit down a cry, choking on his own sobs to make them stop. He didn't want to give Bakura the satisfaction of seeing him weakened anymore.
"You know this is all your fault," the spirit whispered harshly into his ear, running claws down his back, leaving even more marks that clashed with his scars. "You deserve every bit of this. Always running around in those tight little pants and belly shirts, looking so God damn fuckable." He accented the last three words with sharp thrusts that made Marik wish he'd been gagged.
"Always moaning my name in your sleep, always whimpering about how good it feels right there."
He grabbed Marik's half-stiff cock, giving it a long, strong stroke that definitely had Marik wishing for a gag. He hated himself for liking it, hated himself even more as he let out a soft groan.
Bakura bit his shoulder again. "Tch. Little slut." He increased his pace, simultaneously filling Marik, pulling out and filling him again and teasing his member. "You know you want this. You probably always have, ever since we first met." He hit Marik's prostate and the boy mewled involuntarily. "It feels good, doesn't it? You're enjoying every bit of it, aren't you?"
"F-fuck you," was all Marik managed to say. His voice was weak from emotion, from pain…from the pleasure. He wasn't enjoying being on the cold floor with his hands tied, he wasn't enjoying being raped by someone he thought was his friend, he didn't enjoy being told he was a slut, didn't enjoy taking it like one.
Bakura pulled out then, much to Marik's surprise and worry. He flipped the boy over so they were face to face, pushing back inside when he was situated between his thighs.
He met Marik's angry, fearful, tear filled eyes and smiled gently, stopping Marik's heart.
"You're beautiful," he murmured against the Egyptian's lips, his voice husky and tender. Marik looked at him in shock before he started moving again. He gasped, this new position bringing him even more of that forbidden, dirty pleasure. Within minutes, and with the help of Bakura's skillful hands, he was riding the edge, trying his damnedest to hold off his orgasm. He didn't want to cum, not by this bastard's, this monster's hands. He didn't want to let Bakura feel the squeeze of his internal muscles, didn't want to give him the pleasure of making him scream.
Bakura thrust once more inside, and Marik's resolve washed away. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, feeling his canines break skin and tasting blood in his mouth.
Bakura came on his heels, biting down on his shoulder as he filled Marik with his seed. Marik felt sick as he hummed and pulled out, white and red following to pool between his thighs.
Neither man said a word.
Bakura just cleaned himself with a T-shirt from the floor, pulled up his pants and left Marik to wallow in his grief. And wallow he did. He curled into a ball and cried silently into the hardwood floor. Too many emotions were running through him. He felt pathetic, violated, absolutely worthless. He wanted to die.
He wasn't aware of how long he stayed there. A few minutes, an hour. It could've been days. He was caked with cum and dried blood from the waist down. Everywhere else was sticky with sweat. He sat up, working his wrists to undo the belt, finally getting it loose after several failed attempts. He stood up on shaky legs, wincing as every muscle he had cried out in protest. He felt like he'd just been run over with a steam roller. He wished it had been so…
He took careful steps, walking slowly towards the bathroom. He knew that when you're raped, you're supposed to go to the doctor's so they could get the DNA and test you for diseases and inform the authorities, but he knew it was useless. What could human police do about Bakura? He could escape any confinement they put him in as soon as their backs were turned, or he could just kill them all first. Somehow Marik knew he'd done that before…
He turned on the shower and let the water get hot, stepping inside and wincing when the droplets stung him. He didn't dare turn it down. He showered under the scorching water, trying to scrub the filth from his body, flush the dirt from his soul. He watched the blood from his thighs dilute and wash down the drain, letting out a sigh. He knew it wasn't his fault. He heard Bakura's voice echoing in his head, telling him he deserved it and enjoyed it, but he knew he wasn't the one to blame. So why did he feel so ashamed, so guilty?
He clutched his head, feeling miserable sobs start to rack his body. Why? Why? Why had he let this happen? Why did Bakura do this to him? Why couldn't he have been strong and fought back, actually made good on his threats instead of being an idiot and holding back? He wouldn't be here, crying alone if only he'd stabbed Bakura right in the eye socket. He wouldn't feel so disgusting if he'd simply ran away or called for help. If he'd gone out today, this would've never happened…
He could think of a dozen things he could've done differently, but in the end, he knew he couldn't change what had happened just by wishing he'd done something different. He couldn't change anything now…Not the fact that he'd been raped, not the fact that Bakura had done the raping.
He wanted to stay in there until all his pain was washed away, but that could take forever. He stepped out, feeling numb all over. He dried and dressed in clean clothes, this time choosing an old pair of sweat pants and a turtle neck he'd never worn before. His movements were shaky as he pulled on his pants, bending down was a challenge, he could feel the scratches and bites all over his body throbbing to his heartbeat, he felt light headed, and he almost fell three times.
He didn't want to leave the room. Bakura could be anywhere, and he didn't want to see him now. Not ever again. But he didn't want to stay in the bedroom, either. The bedroom they'd shared for two and a half months now, where they'd told jokes and plotted their revenge and argued and swapped secrets and just hung out. There were so many memories that had formed in the house, many that Marik held dear. And now there were memories he wanted to forget.
He turned to look over his shoulder at the room, remembering all the places Bakura and him had stood and talked, or lounged as they discussed the most trivial things, where'd they'd wrestled as they fought and where they'd pushed each other out of the way. He saw their beds, Marik's with a poofy silk comforter and matching pillows, Bakura's with a dark blue sheet and a single white pillow, separated by a chest full of miscellaneous things Bakura had stolen and clothes that had grown too small for both. There weren't many things on the walls, just a few posters and a picture of Rishid and Ishizu on Marik's side, and bunch of knife cuts and scratches on Bakura's from where he'd gotten frustrated and taken out his frustrations on the dry wall. Clothes and trash littered the floor, along with piles of half-read books and discarded notes that had missed the trash can, but both were too lazy to pick up. As his eyes wandered across the floor, picking out the little details he'd often missed and seeking their significance, his eyes found and froze on the puddle of mixed bodily fluids, breath leaving him. Bakura's semen, his own blood. His breath leaved him quickly and his body heat rose with despair. Shaking his head, he turned and opened the door.
One Month Later~
Marik grumbled, looking in the fridge for something edible to eat. He hadn't been to the store in weeks. He'd been living off canned vegetables and crackers for the last month or so, not daring to touch the left over take out or the bloody meat in the lower shelves. It made him sick just thinking it was in the same ice box as his food, but if Bakura were to return to all his steaks missing, he'd have hell to pay.
He hadn't seen Bakura since that. He'd taken off as soon as it was over and hadn't come back since. While Marik didn't miss the man himself, he did miss having someone to talk to when he was bored, and sleepless nights weren't the same without Bakura's soft breathing to listen to. But he'd rather be alone for the rest of his life than look that man in the face one more time. He honestly wished with all his heart that Bakura had been hit by a bus or something and died. A very painful death. He deserved it after he'd made Marik suffer so much.
Finally finding some spaghetti noodles in the cupboard, Marik filled a pot with hot water and set it on the stove to boil. He watched the bubbles form on the sides of the pan, grow steadily bigger until they broke away and rose slowly to the top, only to pop once it reached the surface. He added the noodles as soon as it was boiling, continuing to stare into the bubbling water. For whatever reason, he was transfixed. The water reminded him so much of himself, of his emotions. Churning, disorderly, feelings rising and falling with no real reason, scattered and random.
But most of all, hot. He'd had nothing but negative, angry feelings since Bakura had raped him. He'd tried to get right back into his daily routine, but hobbies and favorite pastimes that used to be able to turn his bad mood right around no longer held his interest. He was depressed and numb. He couldn't watch TV without an image of Bakura flashing into his head, smiling, angry, even sad… All he could think of was Bakura, the soft, gentle side he'd grown used to and the foul, wicked side he'd hidden until now.
He sighed, slowly stirring the noodles. He had to stop thinking about this. If he didn't, he'd get even more depressed than he already was. But even though he knew that, he couldn't stop. He…He had loved Bakura, damn it! And the bastard had had taken him and his emotions, and crushed them like they were nothing! He didn't even care about him. He'd probably just stuck around this long for Marik's body anyway. He'd never really cared.
Why did that surprise him?
Marik let out another sigh, this one shaking as he exhaled. Tears had been threatening his eyes for the past few seconds, but as he tried to blink them away they escaped and slid slowly down his cheeks. He shouldn't be crying. Bakura had raped him and left him on his own. Why should he care now?
"Why so sad, Marik?" A cold voice said from behind him. He froze.
"Do you really miss me that much?" The voice got closer, and he felt hot breath on his ear. Cold hands slid up to rest on his bare shoulders, hips were pressed against his rear. Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he speak? Why couldn't he turn around and strangle the man who had tortured and abused him?
"Or are you just happy I'm still alive?" He was spun around and cold lips were forced against him in a long, hard kiss.
He pushed Bakura off of him, and the man stepped back without a struggle. "What the fuck are you doing? Get out!" He demanded, voice shrill. He didn't want Bakura here… He still wasn't over everything that had happened between them, and his presence was only bringing back everything he'd been trying to forget. Pain that melted into pleasure, pleasure into pain, pain into suffering. Dark brown eyes clouded with lust and arrogance, his own screams as he was taken over the edge by force. Bakura didn't seem to notice the inner turmoil he'd gone through that plainly showed on the outside. His ratty hair, baggy eyes and thinner waist were unobserved as he walked closer to the shaking boy, grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.
"Aren't you happy to see me, dear Marik? Because I'm ecstatic to see you again. I know I've been gone a while, but I felt it best that I give you some time to…cool off."
Marik just glared at him, trying to burn holes through his head. The bastard had the nerve to talk to him, to touch him, as if nothing had happened. He hated him. His casualness, and his superiority, and those soulless mahogany eyes…
Bakura smirked and stroked his cheek, wiping the earlier tears from his skin and watching him shudder under the touch.
He pulled Marik away from the stove, forgotten spaghetti boiling over as he ripped the Egyptian's clothes off and made him scream deliciously, forcing him to cum over and over again.