Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ ride ❯ and so it begins? ( Chapter 1 )

ride

by trivia-game

Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, Complete And Utter PWP, uh...pointlessness, and evidence of my motorcycle obsession. Bakura x Malik

Summary: Bakura and Malik go for a ride to discuss plans (=schemes) one night on Malik's motorcycle…

Disclaimer: Uh, well, if I owned Yu-Gi-Oh, it probably wouldn't be showing at 4:30 in the afternoon, let's just say that. Oh, and every once in a while, you'll see lyrics from Poe's song "Drive." Don't own them either...

Note-ness: Err…a lemon for a lemon's sake. ^^;; Just something that had been drifting around in my brain that I couldn't help writing down… >< I've taken some little liberties with the plot…so sue me…

>.>…<.<…>.< Please don't!

hey pretty

don't you wanna take a ride with me--

through my world?

hey pretty

don't you wanna kick and

slide

through my world?

a high pitched cry, then a whisper dropping unexpectedly, to practically
a bark, a grunt, whatever, no sense anymore, and suddenly no more curves either,

just the straightaway

- take a ride with me -

You know, Malik is too obsessed with that bike.

The thought repeats in my head as he guides me to the underground garage where his bike was comfortably stashed. I don't have a clue what he's babbling about-something about dominator motor mounts and rigid fenders. It all sounds rather perverted to me. I should have known better than to get him ranting about his motorcycle. I think he thinks I have a clue what he's talking about.

"Malik," I interrupt, "shut up."

I think he's offended. Hm, that's a first-Tomb Robber, score one.

With a little 'hmph,' he guides me to the gleaming machine, the object of his fixation. I suppose it's pretty. It has a sort of…dangerous, taunting appeal. Well, I guess it suits him.

With a smirk, he straddles the leather seat. His legs wrap around the metal frame. He leans against the handlebar, raising an eyebrow at me. You know, if he didn't talk so much, he'd probably be hot.

"Are we going to do this, or not?"

We'd arranged to go out of Domino to have a quiet, uninterrupted discussion tonight, away from prying eyes and potential threats. It had been his idea to take the motorcycle, and I'd just wanted to get out of the crowded city as fast as possible.

"Let's just go," I growl. Hm, maybe if I act like enough of a jackass, he won't notice I have no fucking clue what to do on a motorcycle.

I slide onto the bike, not quite as fluidly as he did. He's watching me with those creepy eyes. You know, they're even more unnerving, shadowed by his helmet, when he's wrapped around a machine that could cream you into sidewalk paste in an instant, with those horrifying flickers of amusement. The only thing more intimidating than a rabid megalomaniac with the upper hand is a rabid megalomaniac with the upper hand, a wicked bike, and an amused glint in his eyes.

"Bakura?" he says, adjusting his weight so that I can't see his face, "you're going to have to hold on."

I quirk an eyebrow. "Oh?"

In a couple of quick motions, he's rattled the motorcycle to life, and it's purring under us. He guides it out of the tiny parking space, and tosses a grin over his shoulder before thrusting it forward with enough violence to have me clinging to his waist for dear life.

"Mmhm," he purrs. "Hold tight."

For some reason, the sound of that voice lowered gave me a tiny shiver. I blinked. Hm. Well. That's annoying. I adjusted my arms to a more comfortable position and slid in behind him, trying to keep a safe distance from Malik's suddenly inviting skin. Damned if I was going to get turned on.

I think he tried to go slow for me, but as soon as we were out of the underground parking lot, he roared down the streets and hopped red lights, and I felt my insides churning a bit. Malik liked this feeling, why? Miles sped by in a blur. I couldn't concentrate on the ride though. He's chilly under my fingers, and my arms are pressed against the slim expanse of flesh revealed on his stomach. Damn it, he wasn't making this easy.

We wrap around a corner, and his legs tighten around the bulk of the machine. As we sped beneath a streetlight, I could see the muscles of his arms tighten to clutch the handlebars tightly. Maybe I was wrong-anyone could see he was hot. Too bad there was business to attend to. And fuck buddies in professional situations never went well.

That's what I kept telling myself anyway.

To my irritation, wasn't long before I couldn't get the idea out of my head. The shadowed movement of that smooth skin over his lithe frame, the gentle curve of his back as he maneuvered the machine with a horrifying ease, the soft moans he let out when he curled the bike around a corner...come on. Could you resist him? Especially while your arms were wrapped around that waist?

If I wanted, I thought, just a little move, and I'd...

I shook my head, the movement lost to Malik as we glided around another corner. It was eerie how he could feel the corners before we could even see them. Did the dark not affect him at all?

The devouring darkness was interrupted as we found ourselves beneath the glow of a streetlight. In flashing glimpses, I saw his hands clamped tight on the bars and the smooth arms straining with movement. From behind the protection of his helmet, I could see his eyes, half-lidded, focused and almost feral.

I swallow.

I will not...I will not...I will not...

I did.

That tantalizing strip of flesh pressed against my arm was exposed just a little more to the biting air as we drove. Leaning over his shoulder subtly, I kept my eyes focused on his. Those haunting eyes were still engaged, staring at the strip of road in front of him. He hadn't noticed.

I was still telling myself how I wouldn't when I slipped my hand lower, grazing against the smooth muscles of his abdomen. Yep. The skin was just as silky as it looked, curving with the slopes of his hips.

My eyes were still pinned to his, and he hadn't moved. I wondered if he even remembered I was there. Did the road have that much power over him?

"It's freedom," Malik had sighed to me one day. "It's something wild, something they can't touch. It's power. Escape." He'd paused, enraptured with his own portrait of driving. "You know, control." He had glanced up to meet my eyes, and knew he'd said too much. That was more than a partner in crime needed to know. "Never mind," he'd amended, and gone back to discussing the next step in their plot.

Maybe it did have just that much control.

During that little lapse in memory, my hand had grown firmer. At the same time, I was getting more and more apprehensive. No matter how wonderful driving was for him, he couldn't keep watching the road...you'd think getting practically molested by a psychotic, power-crazed maniac would draw some attention, right?

But it's not like I'd managed to resist so far...and if worse comes to worse, I could just say that he was driving like a lunatic and I had to hold on tighter for...security reasons. "And, uh, I had to have my hand down your pants to keep from falling off."

Yeah, that'd work.

But my hands were still moving firmly against that flesh, dipping dangerously down his torso to feel the hem of his pants against my fingers. I could have sworn I heard a catch in his breath from under the roar of wind past the motorcycle, but his eyes were still glued in front of him.

I almost moan. His skin is so...tantalizing. Just hinting at the vulnerability beneath the surface, begging to be touched, licked, bitten, bloodied, caressed…

When exactly did I start thinking like this?

There's a tiny brush of hair teasing my fingertips beneath the clothing, and I feel myself scooting closer on the motorbike. His body is pressed against mine, almost icy in comparison. He must be freezing. It's probably below zero, we're lashed at by winds, and he's still not wearing a jacket. Stupid annoyingly hot boy.

Was it in my head, or had he just whimpered? Some things stand out when you're surrounded by noise-the tiniest sound piques your attention enough that you can't focus on the blaring noise. And I could have sworn there was a whimper.

I had closed my eyes. I hadn't even realized it, but I mentally slap myself. I must have let them drift shut while I was busy obsessing like some stupid human. I blink them open, and see his mouth open slightly, those perfect lips separated in a timid gasp.

I think I'm drooling.

You've never seen how beautiful lips can be until you've seen his, swollen from being bitten, and open to let out those enticing little gasps. His eyes are glazed, and it's obvious he's not focused on the road.

Well...this is certainly interesting.

Encouraged (i.e. horny) beyond reason, I tighten my other arm around his waist, sliding it up beneath the hem of his shirt. His skin is still chilled. Wonder what I could do to warm it up...

His lower lip is caught between his teeth as he moans, ever so slightly. He whispers something that I can't hear.

Obliviously, I drift my hand up underneath his shirt, trailing delicate patterns over the cool flesh. I move just slightly, so that I'm aligned completely with his back, my legs firmly pressing against the backs of his. I can just feel the soft curve of his hips between my legs. I'm lost. So much for restraint.

He says something again, eyes straining to stay focused on the road.

But I'm curious now. "What?" I ask neutrally, as though my hands weren't buried underneath his clothes.

"I said..." he grinds out, only to be interrupted. My hand, still beneath the hem of his pants, moves slightly as I lean up to hear him better. He gasps and the motorcycle swerves slightly before he catches it. "You're going to get us killed!"

Before I knew what had happened, the bike was grinding to a halt, swerved abruptly to the side of the road. He got off the bike in a fluid motion, spinning around and letting the helmet drop to the pavement. Those eyes that had been fixed on nothing but the stretch of road in front of him with that near-lusty gleam were suddenly piercing mine. I raised an eyebrow, outwardly unfazed. He'd be a lot more intimidating, I think, if the zipper of his pants wasn't undone and his face wasn't flushed.

I would have said something witty, I'm sure, but it's hard to talk when that deliciously flavored tongue is shoved in your mouth and those lips are crushed against yours. Not to mention that there are other things I'd rather do with Malik than argue right now.

I'm still on the bike, but he's pressed against me, his mouth melded to mine and his arms pinning me to the back of the seat. Wow. He tastes like sin. Spice and silk and sacrilege.

Shaking myself out of my daze, I respond to his tongue, pressing into his mouth and tangling my hands in his hair. In a quick movement, he straddles my waist. His hips grind into mine, and I feel him moan into my mouth.

No, he definitely was not concentrating on the road as much as I'd thought. The hardness pressed against mine was evidence enough.

It quickly dawns on me that I'm on the bottom. And I, the great thief Bakura, egotist extraordinaire, am never on the bottom.

I flip us over, keeping him pinned against the handlebar. He pants deliciously before I attack his mouth again, feeling the hunger in his response. He squirms and arches up, only to be held down. He growls and opens his eyes, livid, to mine. I smirk against his lips, not slowing the kiss, and trail my hands down his body to find his wrists. Those furious lilac eyes widen in surprise as his arms are pulled above his head.

He writhes, trying to retaliate. He growls again, before nipping my lower lip sharply. To his glee, I slacken my hold, and he slips out of my grasp. His hands race up my sides, under my shirt, toying.

I hiss and grind against his hips, feeling him arch up to meet me. A wicked grin spreads across his lips. He keeps his eyes open, screaming into mine. His hands keep pinching, tugging, smoothing over my skin. I bite back a moan and melt into his form.

One of his legs presses up between mine, and I know I'm out of control if we don't slow now. Somehow I doubted the motorcycle would be the comfortable place to carry on. Panting, I get off Malik, leaving him pouting against the motorcycle. His lips are swollen, eyes glazed and sharp.

"You ought to know…" he whispers, getting off the bike. He backs me up off the road and onto the paved sidewalk. He keeps stalking, subtly licking his lips until the cool metal of a streetlight is pressed against my back. He points a finger at my chest, pinning me to the pole with that single digit. His eyes gleam.

"…Not to tease me."

Keep reading, ne? ::puppy dog eyes:: Please?