Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Can You Love Me? ❯ Just a Bit of Payback ( Chapter 6 )

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

An ice-cold fear ripped through him, he couldn't move no matter how desperately he wanted to.

 

“Pet said I should teach you a lesson.” Marik's voice was nothing more than sinister thoughts laced with malicious intent, his slit, violet eyes studying the shorter yami with dark delight.

 

Bakura clawed at the floor and tried to squirm away, shadow magic clamping onto his wrists and keeping him in place, the other grinning and flipping the paler onto his back. The white haired yami winced as Marik dug his nails into his chest, deep scratches riddling the expanse of porcelain with tiny rivulets of blood, the blond lapping hungrily at the small treat, straddling Bakura's hips.

 

“You taste like home, Baka-kura.” Marik had always enjoyed toying with the other, teasing using vicious games, and trying to please his own light with adequate punishments for the pale dark without breaking the hikari's plaything…completely. “Taste like old Egypt, sun warmed sand and Nile cooled winds.”

 

“Let me go, Marik!” It was useless, he knew, but if he fought back, struggled just enough, perhaps the Egyptian would be amused enough to get straight to the violent blow of sex rather than seeing how much Bakura could bleed before passing out.

 

Marik snickered, wry grin dancing on his lips “Let you go?” it came out a harsh whisper, searing the paler's ear as the blond leaned forward, and bit Bakura's neck lightly, teeth scraping against the white flesh, tongue leaving a sticky trail of blood and saliva. “Now why in my right mind would I let you go?”

 

“You're mind is never right.”

 

“So true, Baka-kura.” Marik grinned, sitting up with interest as he looked down at his catch, dark fingers fluttering across Bakura's chest and diving into the slits he had created. Brown eyes shut from a flood of pain when Marik took a dusky nipple in his mouth and tore through the flesh, looking back up and smiling, blood soaked teeth licked clean, smudges of scarlet on his lips. “So what makes you think you'll get away this time?”

 

The blond propped both his elbows on Bakura's chest, slender jaw cupped by his long fingers as he stared amusingly at his prey. The pressure on his chest made it difficult for the white haired yami to breathe, ribs creaking in protest to the weight, his already broken rib scratching a lung. “I'd think…” Bakura winced as the other began to draw lazy nonsense on the pale neck with the Millennium Rod, the warmth of his blood trickling to his back. “You'd take the chance at defying Malik.” The blond stopped what he was doing, dark violet burrowing through murky brown, scalding the smaller's mind.

 

“And why would I want to do that?” quiet and deadly, Marik's lips curled, how dare Bakura assumed the Egyptian would ever turn against his precious Malik.

 

“Because…” Marik was pissed, Bakura knew that well enough from the flare of pain lacing his mind as the darker slithered about in there, but surprisingly enough, Marik listened much better when he was angry. Logic and reason simply made more sense when they were filtered through rage deaf ears, something always clicked and made the Egyptian understand whoever it was opposing him, and from there, a judgment was made. “Because for once in your pathetic existence, I'd like to see you act something other than your age.”

 

Marik snarled and locked his hand around Bakura's throat, fingers digging into the pale flesh and cutting off his breathing. “Baka-baku, you should learn to keep your mouth shut sometimes.” The blond leered at the smaller and slid up so he was sitting on Bakura's chest, the white haired thief choking as more air was rushed out of his body. “You know I'm, well, what you could say, `sensitive' about my age.”

 

Despite being pinned down by a murderous maniac, Bakura snorted, the malicious humor was still very much alive within him, it was just buried beneath months of mental torture, not to mention his more than necessary punishments from Marik.

 

“I don't see what's so funny about your current situation, Baka-kura.” Marik smirked at the defiant other, it had been too long of a time since Bakura had been ordered to punishment, and even longer yet since the once thief dared to mock, much less laugh at the Egyptian.

 

Marik's grip eased and the paler took in a hearty breath, the flushed color draining slowly from his face as he quelled his thirsty lungs. “It's not *my* situation I'm laughing at, Marik.” He accentuated the name, letting it roll off his tongue like sweet oil.

 

The blond raised an elegant brow, interested as his anger began to simmer, very much enjoying the tone Bakura was using at the moment, it was something like a dangerous mix between seduction and malice, tasty and beautiful in every way. “I'm laughing right at you.”

 

Violet narrowed in rage, but Marik made no attempt to silence the white haired yami, he would let the stupid thing prattle on, just to humor himself later with full satisfaction when Bakura would be reduced to a whimpering pile of broken shards. “I pity you.” Bakura frowned, looking almost puzzled as he stared into the violent depths of purple, Marik's eyes widening in question. “Pity you, yes. You know why?” The blond looked on blankly, mind whirling with possible reasons, none making anymore sense than the last. “Because you don't see what Malik's doing to you.”

 

The Egyptian growled at the thought of his Malik being once more involved, it wasn't his light's fault any of this was happening, it was Bakura's, that's what Malik said after all.

 

“Let me rephrase that, you don't see how Malik's using you.” The once frightened brown had taken on a new mask, something he hadn't donned in a long while. Malik…he had told Bakura that in order to get Ryou, he'd have to tear down his own defenses, offensives, everything…everything…

 

But now it all made sense, Malik had only said such things to gradually weaken Bakura. To make him dependent on only the blond boy who was manipulating him, forging the once thief into a compliant sex slave, with only enough backbone and hope to not fear dominating Malik to some extent.

 

“Pet's not using me.” Marik's voice carried the sad tone of a well-worn belief, something he had repeated time and again to himself. “Malik's *my* pet, *my* hikari.” The blond growled, leaning forward to pierce the now hardened brown with his own gaze. “He's using *you*!” His hot breath seeped up Bakura's nose, smelling of spice and thick incense.

 

The white haired youth nodded, it was true; Malik had been using him, but not only him. “When's the last time he kissed you?”

 

Marik smirked and raked his fingers through disheveled locks of gold, “This morning, just before you came along and ruined it all.”

 

Bakura looked up, cruel grin curving his lips; “You weren't paying attention, Marik. I know you more than likely were crooning in his lap, Malik's fingers combing through your hair, massaging your scalp, and then you wanted more. So you leaned up a bit and kissed him, but I said, when's the last time *he* kissed *you*.” It felt good, becoming what he had once been, to be the master and not the puppet. His dark glee only grew as Marik's eyes blinked, recalling a flood of memories, each without what he was looking for.

 

“I…” violet flickered with broken emotion, but…but Malik…Malik was just busy, he still-

 

“Coming up blank?” Bakura grinned viciously, turning away and making a disappointed sound with his tongue, then catching it between his teeth as he smiled apologetically. “I'm sorry, Marik, but someone had to tell you.” Someone had to break his heart. Nonexistent as it was, Marik had somehow learned what a heart was and what it was capable of, his rapture of belonging to and owning his light the only proof he needed to say he had his own.

 

“Tell me?” Marik glared at the other yami, fingers curling around the Rod and bringing the blade to Bakura's throat, other hand fisted in the waves of white tresses, pulling the slender throat taut. “Someone had to tell me what?” He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear how Malik had been ignoring him, swatting his advances off and saying he was too tired, too busy, too something to deal with Marik at the moment. `Maybe later.' He always said that, `Maybe later', but `later' never came, and `maybe' always was.

 

Brown depths of renewed hunger lidded; smug grin shaping Bakura's lips as he fed on Marik's desperation. “Why, that Malik doesn't love you.” Bakura felt when Marik's `heart' shattered, more a lusty wish really. He felt when torrents of sadness crashed against the Egyptian, an emotion so very foreign to the dark, Marik didn't understand what he felt, and resorted to brushing the horrible, wrenching feeling from his mind and reforming it to anger.

 

“Fucking bastard!” Marik drove the Rod's blade through the smaller's left shoulder, Bakura crying out from the pain and wriggling helplessly beneath the other yami, the magic at his wrists, and now his ankles, stretching his lean, white frame so his muscles screamed in protest. “He loves me.” The blond hissed, seething rage rippling throughout his body as his clothes melted away to the shadows, dark, sculpted body pressing against Bakura's. “You're merely stealing time away from us, all he focuses on is you, making you better, reshaping the damn piece of shit you are so you can go back to your heap of bunny crap without beating the hell out of him every fucking minute.”

 

Bakura nearly sobbed, from the pain and from the memories, it seemed as though a dark creature created from a collection of all his fears had been sent to feed on him. Like a rabid jackal, Marik's lips twitched between fury and amusement, eyes shrinking to manic spots of violet, quivering with bloodshed and death. “I'd kill you…” Marik tongue flicked out and slithered across Bakura's cheek, fiery smear of saliva left to glisten on the pale skin. “But Pet wouldn't be too happy with that.”

 

Marik giggled hysterically, sliding roughly down the other's body and shoving Bakura's long, slender legs apart, the thief grunting as more muscles seemed to snap and wither from the abuse. “So I'll do my best to take you through hell and back while keeping you more or less in one piece.”

 

Without another word, Marik sheathed himself within Bakura, the unprepared flesh splitting and coating the Egyptian with the smaller's blood. Bakura screeched with pain, back unable to arch from being held down so tightly, his entrance ringed with flames, tattered passage throbbing with relentless agony.

 

“Gods!…Please stop!”

 

Marik snickered at the other's cries, petting the white throat with one thumb, and purring at the feel of muscles clenching and shrinking back from pain as the blond pounded viciously into his victim.

 

“Ra!…Help me…stop…pl-please…”

 

Violet drowned in the pretty screams, rolling back and nuzzling in the sweet satisfaction. Malik would be proud. “Go on, Baka-baku…scream and beg for mercy, I'm well aware of what that is.” Marik grinned lewdly, shifting his position so he slammed against the other's prostate, Bakura's breath rattling as he struggled to sob and cry out from the sensation. “Hell and back…”

 

“No…Gods…I'm…I'm sor-ry…”

 

The darker yami's brow rose in slight interest as he continued his erratic rhythm, much smoother now from the thief's red lubricant. “Sorry?” Marik panted as he crept ever closer to his completion, the white-hot coil in the pit of his stomach wrapping about his groin.

 

“S-so…sorry…so sor-ry…”

 

Bakura's broken sobs quieted somewhat as his lungs began to burn, throat torn from his pleas so his voice came out coarse and raspy. He felt dirty, not from this, but from his guilty conscious, how dare he beg for Marik to stop, beg forgiveness, especially since he had been in the Egyptian's exact position only hours before. His poor Ryou, his Ryou…

 

The thief tried to find some consolation by tapping into his soulroom, dark eyes widening in horror as he watched the walls bleed and pool at his feet. Quickly, he sloshed toward the doorway, ice-white hand pressing against the thick iron of the door, trying to feel his hikari through the black metal. Bakura concentrated and found he couldn't sense Ryou, creases of worry riddling his face as he realized it wasn't due to his light sleeping…

 

He tried harder, skimming the boy's mind only to find he was locked out unwillingly, but that could only mean…unconsciousness?! His heart laced with icy panic, perhaps he had injured Ryou more than he had realized, in his drunken state Bakura might have thought the trauma nothing more than the usual but…

 

“Ryou…”

 

Bakura opened his eyes to the horror of reality, Marik climaxing with a loud moan of pleasure, hot seed splashing within the paler's shredded entrance, stinging the wounds like sparks and swirling into an unpleasant mess of blood and semen, settling and dribbling out in thick strands when the Egyptian pulled out, satisfied smirk plastered across his dark face.

 

“Tsk, tsk, Baka-kura.” The blond grinned in amusement, fingers dancing over the paler yami's chest, reveling in the soft hiss passing Bakura's lips when Marik flicked the previously bitten nipple. “Don't learn your lessons, do you?” Violet flashed with twisted fun as Marik wrapped his long fingers around the Millennium Rod, tearing the Item back out from Bakura's shoulder, the white haired thief crying out in a pathetic expression of pain.

 

“Guess I fucked you with the wrong `rod'.” Marik chuckled darkly, crawling up beside Bakura, and giggling as he lapped at the thief's bleeding shoulder, darting his tongue deep within the throbbing wound to feel the smaller shiver with suffering. “Maybe I should correct the matter then…” he licked the paler's ear, trailing along the rim and nipping at the tender flesh as his hand positioned the Rod's blade between the thief's legs, Bakura shuddering as an icy sweat slicked his white skin.

 

“As amusing and arousing as it might be…”

 

Marik's breath hitched and he looked up happily, manic grin painted across his tanned face. “Pet!” Quite an irony it was, watching as the yami scampered toward his light, roles very much reversed despite what the dark would say.

 

Malik smiled cockily at his other, fingers brushing loose strands of hair away from the dark's face. “I wouldn't want any permanent damage done to dear Kura” the blond smirked as he toyed with the name, watching as Bakura slumped in defeat “Now would we, Marik?”

 

The yami pouted for a moment in disappointment, smiling eagerly as his light stroked his wild mess of hair again. “I wouldn't have done it, Pet. I would have asked you, I only wish to make you happy…” Marik purred, suckling on the hikari's neck and trailing feather light kisses along his jaw, kissing the blond boy hungrily on the mouth.

 

“Maybe later, Marik.” The dark's eyes flickered with anger when the boy said this with an airy flutter of a hand to shoo the yami off of him, but it was quickly drowned by adoration as his hikari cooed lovingly and cupped Marik's slender chin “Besides, wouldn't you rather get my full attention rather than just a quick kiss?” The spiky haired Egyptian nodded his head eagerly, throwing Bakura a triumphant smirk; his hikari loved him after all.

 

`Stupid bastard…' Bakura knew Malik was flat out lying to his dark again, though saying anything would be useless seeing how Marik was hanging on to everything his hikari did, blinded by his other's seductive looks and carefully chosen words.

 

“Well, Kura.” Malik's voice was singsong, another big joke as he sauntered over and raised his brow, throwing a look toward his yami, who immediately dissipated the thief's restraints.

 

Bakura coughed as he could finally take in a whole gulp of air, chest flaring with pain as his damaged rib scratched his lung again. The white haired youth curled in on himself just slightly, quietly whimpering as his scratches tugged painfully at the dried speckles of blood, cringing when his shoulder shifted.

 

“I'd say this session is over.” The blond boy smiled, almost warmly as he offered the thief his hand. Bakura looked up in disgust, snarling when Malik looked nearly sympathetic, the hikari pulling back with a cruel grin. “Go home, Bakura.”

 

Malik chuckled darkly, turning his back on the crumpled heap that was Bakura, Marik at his hikari's heels, demented giggles caught in his throat. “We'll see you tomorrow, Baka-kura.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*