A/N: Something more lighthearted from me, because I needed a break from the action/drama genres. As always, a million thanks to ChaosRocket for the beta. :)
Timeline: Set after the end of the anime series.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. Or Sierra Mist.
Drinking Background: So just in case you don't know, here's how you play Never Have I Ever: Someone says something like, "Never have I ever owned a goldfish," and the person in the group who has owned a goldfish has to take a drink. Simple as that.
Some words you might find unfamiliar:
(1) handle = another word for bottle
(2) chaser = any type of beverage (like Sierra Mist) you drink right after hard liquor (like vodka)
Never Have I Ever
"Never have I ever died before."
Bakura took a drink.
"Never have I ever had a split personality."
Marik took a drink.
"Never have I ever had crazy, white, pointy hair."
Bakura took a drink.
"Never have I ever worn distasteful, purple belly shirts."
Marik had to draw the line at that one.
"It's not purple, first of all. And second of all, I haven't even worn a shirt like that in years. I don't think that one counts."
Bakura smiled. "What color would you say it was, then?"
Marik thought for a long moment.
"It was… lavender. A lavender belly shirt."
"Alright, then. Never have I ever worn a gaudy-looking, lavender belly shirt that showed off my perfectly toned abs and lower back before. Now take a drink."
Marik cursed under his breath, but brought the shot toppling down his throat, and then took his chaser—a gulp of carbonated and sweet Sierra Mist. The vodka burned down his throat and he felt pressure in his head, making him wonder how many shots he'd taken already. Six… seven? Damn, it was hard to remember when Bakura was looking at him like that.
"Did you just compliment my abs?" Marik asked slowly, afraid that if he spoke any faster, the words wouldn't come out right.
"Come on, quit stalling," Bakura retorted. "It's your turn, and you better make it good, because I'm not even half as sloshed as you yet."
"I don't think this is how we're supposed to play this game, Bakura. Drinking games are all about finding out new things about people, not just re—" Marik paused, making sure he said the next word extra slow to get it right, "—reiterating everything we already know about each other."
"Well, then why don't you say something you might find surprising about me? For instance, to you I'd say, 'Never have I ever made out with a guy before,' because I honestly don't know if you have or haven't. That should make things more interesting."
Marik breathed in sharply. "Do I have to drink to that one? The one you just said?"
Bakura's smile widened. "Depends. Is it true?"
Marik's cheeks burned, but he decided not to give Bakura the satisfaction of knowing whether or not it was true.
"My turn, then," Marik said, getting a sly look on his face. "Never have I ever had sex in a bathroom before."
Bakura's face turned red, and the rosiness in his cheeks was in direct contrast with his pale, alabaster skin. Slowly, his fingers curled around the shot glass and he tipped his head back to take the drink. He had no chaser because he insisted it wouldn't be manly for him to use one.
"Seriously?" Marik looked shocked to have seen him take the shot. "That was just a joke, actually."
Bakura didn't look amused, as he slammed the glass down and poured himself another shot from the handle.
"So who was it with?" Marik asked casually, trying hard to sound merely curious.
"I'm not obligated to answer that," Bakura said. "But I see where you're going with this, so I'll put you on the spot, too. Never have I ever been an insufferable, prying, blonde, nineteen-year-old virgin."
Marik's eyes widened. Giving Bakura a dark, dark look, he took the shot and then swallowed the Sierra Mist. He found that the aluminum can was now empty and crushed it with one hand, giving Bakura a vile look all the while.
Bakura smirked. "That's what I figured."
"You have no right," Marik began, "to make those kinds of presumptions about me."
Bakura just smiled and said, "It's your turn."
"No way—I'm not done with you yet. You can't just leave me hanging like that," Marik said. "Who was it that you slept with?"
Bakura laughed. "Why do you care who I sleep with?"
The alcohol dampened Marik's abilities to stay halfway in control of his mouth. "I don't give a fuck who you sleep with. I just wanted to know, given that the point of the game is to know each other better."
"Fine," Bakura said. "I'll humor you, then. It was some girl Ryou was with at that college party. One drinking game led to another and I was stuck in the back of his head, watching it all happen."
"Oh," Marik's anger fizzled out. "That's really disgusting, actually. But it's not like you personally had sex in a bathroom then."
"No, technically not. But this game isn't clear on how to approach things like two souls sharing one body," Bakura said dryly.
"Well, from now on, just answer yes to what you did personally, not Ryou," Marik ordered.
"Alright, fair enough. Your turn."
"Okay," Marik said, getting a predatory look in his eyes. Now that he could be sure Bakura was answering honestly—well, as honestly as a three thousand year old thief could answer, because given his track record, one couldn't be too sure—maybe he'd get something interesting out of him. The alcohol, after all, dared Marik to take it one step further.
"Never have I ever gotten a blowjob."
Marik waited for a second, as Bakura's eyebrows shot up.
"Well, well. I see you're taking things up a notch."
"Of course," Marik smirked. "Go ahead, then. Take the shot."
Bakura smiled widely as he folded his arms. Waiting.
Marik's smile faltered.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he deadpanned. "Never? Not even when you had your own body, back in Egypt? Not in all the God knows how many years you were in this world? You're lying, Bakura. I know you're lying straight to my face and I don't appreciate that at all."
Bakura laughed at the childish, wounded look on Marik's face.
"There was always something more important to worry about back then, than whether or not my dick had been sucked," he shrugged.
Marik made a disgusted sound. "Don't be so vulgar."
Bakura smirked. "You're the one who brought it up. Besides, I'm curious as to how you heard about all these sexual acts while growing up. You lived in a tomb your whole life, so forgive me for assuming that practicing your sexuality was out of the question."
Marik's face slowly turned the color of ripe tomatoes. "I acculturated myself pretty quickly after I came back from Battle City."
"Ah," Bakura said. "Nothing like porn, I'm sure, to get you up to speed with things."
"There you go being vulgar again!" Marik burst out, his face even redder. "And it wasn't porn; it was—"
"Alright, let's settle this a different way, since it's my turn anyway. Never have I ever looked at porn before."
The sound that came out of Marik's mouth was entirely unintelligible. One might have said that he'd spluttered and growled all at the same time.
But surely enough, his hand went to the shot glass and he downed the drink, leaving Bakura with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Marik smashed the glass back on the round, oak table and glared at Bakura sullenly.
He was really dizzy now. Perhaps one 'Never have I ever' that Bakura had failed to use was, 'Never have I ever been drunk before' and boy, would Marik have drunk to that. He wasn't even sure how they'd started this whole game. He only knew that Ryou had been invited to his first college party last week and had… clearly gone overboard, if the sex in the bathroom was anything to go by.
This had taught Bakura one too many things about drinking games, and he'd shown up at Marik's apartment at two in the morning, with a handle of vodka and a wide smile on his face. Marik had a new exhibit to open in the morning, so he'd groaned at Bakura's mischievous expression, ready to throw the door back in his face. But it was, after all, Bakurabeating on his door, and if Marik had learned anything about the spirit in all these years, it was that he could be very persistent.
Marik ran a hand through his hair, feeling his fingers shake.
"Alright, I'm done with this game," he announced, speaking just a bit louder than he'd intended. The walls were already spinning around him and he had to blink to make sure he was only seeing one Bakura.
Bakura reclined against the couch. They'd been sitting at the round coffee table: Marik sat Indian-style on the Egyptian rug while Bakura leaned against the foot of the couch. There was vodka sloshed all over the oak table; puddles of it pooled around the handle and the two shot glasses, while soaking a deck of dueling cards. Their first game had had something to do with Duel Monsters; Marik frowned, trying very hard to remember the game, but no details were forthcoming.
"Are you bored of it already?" Bakura asked, playing with a chipped part of the coffee table.
"No," Marik drew the word out. "I just don't appreciate you constantly getting the upper hand in this game. Plus, I didn't expect to get so hammered so fast."
"Well, that is the point of a drinking game."
Marik put two hands on the table, and sat up. Slowly, using the table as support, he unlocked his legs and stood up shakily.
Oh, man. The whole world tilted suddenly.
He swayed on his feet, wavering, about to fall, when suddenly there was something around his arm, steadying him.
"You really are hammered." Bakura's voice sounded too close for comfort. He was breathing in his hair, and there was a cool touch on Marik's arm, which was positively burning. He didn't realize that he'd gotten hot so suddenly.
"Alright, sit down," Bakura instructed, leading Marik toward a straight-backed chair in his dining room. "I think we're done for one night. We don't want to overdo it."
Marik snorted. "Oh, right. You? Not overdo something? Give me a break."
"Say what you want, but you're clearly too smashed for any more games." Bakura glanced at the dining room wall, where a clock in the shape of a Wdjat eye winked back at him. "It's late anyway, so I should go."
"Wait." Before he could help it, Marik's fingers curled around the edge of Bakura's shirt. Although several years had passed since the Battle City tournament, Bakura still wore the familiar blue and white stripes—the outfit that Marik remembered from their very first meeting.
"One more," Marik said, trying to sound firm but failing to control the slur in his own voice.
"One more what? Game? I don't know if you remember, but you have an exhibit to lead tomorrow." After another glance at the clock, he amended, "Today. In four hours."
Marik groaned. "Fuck it. Let's just play one more game and then you can go."
If he thought too hard, he would've realized it wasn't the game he was asking of Bakura. It was his time, his presence, that he wanted. Thankfully, that sort of revelation was beyond him right now.
Bakura sighed, sounding resigned. "Fine. But nothing hard, because I doubt you could even spell your own name right now."
Bakura returned to the living room to pick up the vodka and a new can of Sierra Mist, which he placed on the dining room table beside Marik.
"Okay, I've thought of something. It's another game they played at that party Ryou went to. First, you have to sit up straight and tilt your head back," Bakura ordered, opening the can of soda, which fizzled, spraying a fine sheen of mist into the air.
"What are you going to do to me?" Marik asked in one breath, watching Bakura's movements closely.
Bakura grabbed the handle in his right hand, and the fizzing Sierra Mist can in the other.
"Do you trust me?"
Undeniably, was the only word that popped into Marik's head.
Instead of answering, Marik motioned his head at the two beverages. "What are those things for?"
Bakura gave him a wide smile.
"I'm going to give you a haircut."
Marik blinked, trying to process this. "I don't remember ever getting a haircut with anything but scissors."
"It's a nickname I heard tossed around for what I'm about to do. You'll see soon enough why it's called a haircut."
"Am I going to lose any hair?" Marik looked wary.
"Nope," Bakura said. "It's just another way to take shots. Now do what I said and sit up straight, and tilt your head back. And then open your mouth."
"This sounds like another sexual game," Marik said straight-faced, though he was trying not to laugh at what Bakura had just said.
Bakura's face reddened and he snapped, "Do you want to do this or not?"
Marik did as he was told, laying his head against the back of the chair and looking up at the ceiling, letting his hands lay in his lap. "Alright. Have your way with me, then."
He heard Bakura growl at him as he approached Marik with the two beverages in hand.
Bakura loomed over him, standing behind Marik's chair and looking down through his mess of cascading white hair. He was holding the bottle and the can tightly, pausing, as though to decide how to best go about this.
"Is it going to hurt?" Marik asked on a whim, still sitting entirely immobile. Bakura was right, he realized. Sitting totally still while Bakura towered over him like that really did feel like he was about to get a haircut.
"No," Bakura replied shortly. "Now. I'm going to pour the vodka in your mouth first. And then the soda. Wait until after I've poured both, and then swallow. The last thing I need is for you to start choking on it."
Marik started laughing despite himself. "Oh, gods, Bakura. If you really want me to do something for you, you could just ask. No need to go about it in such a convoluted way."
Bakura kicked his shin through the chair legs.
"Marik," he warned. "You're the one who wanted another game, so here you have it. Take it for what it is."
"Okay," Marik forced himself to be serious. "Go on then."
Bakura proceeded, bringing the bottle of vodka toward his mouth, while Marik sat motionless and watched as it descended slowly.
It was then that Marik realized what a vulnerable position he was in. He had to be perfectly still while alcohol and soda was tipped into his mouth and to resist swallowing until all of it had been poured. What if Bakura poured too much…?
Marik's heartbeat sped up.
He could choke. He could actually choke through a mere drinking game. Besides, it was the don't-swallow-right-away part which was the most problematic. He had to hold the vodka in his mouth until Bakura finished pouring the soda. What if he poured too much of both? What if a mess of soda and alcohol spilled into Marik's lungs and burned him and drowned him and killed him?
Do you trust me?
Marik flushed, flustered. He hated the complete lack of control, but still, he knew the answer.
They hadn't been friends this whole time for nothing.
Marik opened his mouth wider, as the cool rim of the bottle hit his lips, and then Bakura started pouring the vodka into his mouth. Marik sat perfectly still, waiting. He heard the bottle gulp as the liquid sloshed over his tongue, cascading into his mouth. He locked his throat and looked upward, fixing his sight on Bakura's face.
Bakura's eyebrows were knotted as he concentrated, and a few tendrils of white hair obscured his eyes. His face was red, which could have been for many reasons. After all, he was drunk too, though taking it much better than Marik was.
Okay, stop pouring, Marik thought. Bakura still had to pour the soda, and yet the vodka was still filling his mouth, until Marik wondered if there was any space left at all.
He budged, digging his fingers into the chair's padding as he started to panic.
"Quit moving!" Bakura snapped.
And promptly, he removed the bottle from Marik's mouth.
Marik took a moment to calm himself, still keeping his jaw locked and his mouth open. The vodka sat there like a reservoir and it took a lot of restraint not to swallow.
Bakura then brought the soda to Marik's lips, producing a clanking sound as the aluminum accidentally hit the top of Marik's front teeth. Marik's fingers dug tighter into the chair cushion as Bakura tipped the can slowly, letting the sweet liquid pour into his mouth.
It poured and poured, as Marik's heart raced, and he felt flushed all over his body.
Finally, the can tipped back as Bakura removed it.
"Okay. Now swallow."
Marik did so gladly, gulping down the mixture. It went down easily, refreshingly almost, and he felt no burn at all from the vodka. He sat still, waiting to feel the scorch of liquor down his throat, but felt nothing at all. Just the sweet aftertaste of Sierra Mist.
"Well?" Bakura placed the can and bottle back on the table, still standing behind Marik's chair. "How was it?"
"Surprisingly good," Marik admitted. "I didn't feel the vodka at all."
"That's the point of it. Instead of the shot, you just taste the chaser."
Marik sat still, with his head tilted up on the edge of the chair, observing Bakura's face. Though he hadn't felt the alcohol, it had still gone down, and it wasn't doing anything to clear his head.
Bakura's face broke into a smirk as he stared down at Marik. "You know, I'm impressed. You actually took that pretty well. I thought you'd be giggling and kicking my feet the whole time, but you didn't."
Something nagged at Marik's thoughts; something important. He tried to ignore the half-formed thought, but it came tumbling out of his mouth anyway.
"It's because I trust you."
Bakura's smile faded, as he looked down with piercing eyes. He had clearly not expected Marik to say anything half-way serious while he was this hammered.
"I should go," Bakura stated, but stayed rooted to the spot.
Marik said nothing. The most frustrating thing about being this drunk was that he was in freefall. He was trying very hard to stop his words and his movements, but they still emerged. He said the first thing on his tongue and did the first thing on his mind.
So really, he shouldn't have been surprised at all when his arm slowly came up, and his fingers reached toward Bakura's face. His fingertips brushed just slightly against the pale, warm skin, as Bakura tensed.
"How long have we been friends, Bakura?" Marik asked, as the thoughts now bubbled up from somewhere very deep. His body was raging hot, burning. His head was a mudslide, and it took all his will to wade through the thoughts. Even his reaching arm was heavy, almost too heavy to hold up.
"A few years," Bakura replied after a moment, transfixed.
Marik smiled, making his decision. They had been friends since Battle City, and after Bakura returned to share Ryou's body, they became inseparable. They must have made an odd pair. Marik—who worked at the Japanese museum because he loved the artifacts but hated Egypt for the memories. Bakura—who robbed Ryou of his body at night and stole into Marik's apartment so they could wreak havoc together.
It had been a blissful, blissful few years, but the friendship was not enough.
Never, ever enough.
"Too bad it only lasted a few years, then," Marik replied.
Bakura frowned. "What do you mean by that—"
And suddenly, Marik's fingers dug into Bakura's hair, reaching to grab the back of his head, and he brought the spirit toppling down.
He brought their lips together. Crookedly, as their faces were in opposite directions. Marik heard the remnant of a gasp in Bakura's throat, but kept kissing him.
He couldn't stop. He didn't want to, though he knew this was unfair.
Bakura had never made a move toward him—not once in all the years they'd been friends. He'd kept his hands entirely to himself, while Marik had done all the subtle touching. Of course, he'd tried to stop his itching fingers. Since he'd never known skin on skin contact, he'd craved it. So, so badly.
"Marik," Bakura broke it off, breathless. "Stop."
Marik felt hollow as Bakura's face escaped his reach. He sat up in the chair and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the taste of something more than soda and alcohol. Bakura backed away, looking at Marik as though he'd lost his mind.
"You're drunk," he said, as though just now realizing the extent of Marik's inebriation. "You're really drunk."
"Good," Marik said venomously. "Then we can just pretend that it was an accident. And we can keep being friends. And the next time I get drunk, I can do it again, and we can just hope that it's because I'm drunk and not because of anything else."
"Well, go already," Marik snapped. "You wanted to leave so badly before."
Bakura didn't move a single muscle.
Marik felt tired and frustrated suddenly, and wanted nothing more than to be left alone. He spread his arms out on the table and laid his head over them, feeling too dizzy and sick to care what he must have looked like. His head was pounding and his blood was throbbing and roaring in his veins. The liquor must have been burning him from the inside out.
But it was nothing compared to the terrible feeling knotting in his stomach—that he had actually gone and acted on something he'd wanted to do for years. He couldn't even face Bakura right now.
Suddenly, a cool touch was on his face, and Bakura's fingers coaxed his head upward.
"I never knew," he started slowly, "that you actually wanted this."
Marik looked at him sullenly. "Wanted what? To feel this miserable because you got me so drunk that I managed to fuck everything up? No, I never wanted that."
Bakura chuckled. "Don't be an idiot, Marik."
And pulling Marik's face forward, Bakura pressed their lips together again. Marik made a strange, hiccupping noise, as though in disbelief, but Bakura kept their mouths pressed and smiled into their kiss.
Relief—that was the only thing that coursed through Marik right now. That, and a giddiness that was far more than just the result of all that alcohol. He wound his fingers into Bakura's hair, drawing him closer, and opened his mouth to deepen their kiss.
Oh, they had joked about it so many times. It was on the tip of Bakura's tongue whenever he saw Marik parading around the apartment naked—on accident, of course—and it was in Marik's longer-than-appropriate stare whenever Bakura flashed him a boyish grin. They had teased only with words, coming to the frustrated, but mutual conclusion that words should never lead to actions.
Well, nothing a bottle of vodka and some Sierra Mist couldn't fix.
After that night, it only took three weeks before the 'Never have I ever's of "sex in the bathroom," "blowjob," and "made out with another guy" were completely off the table topics.
Because to those things, they now had to drink every time.
A/N: I'd love to hear what you think!