Naming the Flame

Naming the Flame

Trei

Chapter Six

Following a herd of bizarrely-shaped urchins and an
Egyptian spirit with a slain sense of direction was really not the way
Ryuuji had planned to spend one of the last days of his vacation. His koibito,
however, didn’t seem to hear him when he pointed this out. Instead, Jounouchi
crept from one alleyway to the next, unnecessarily hiding behind dumpsters and
trash cans and humming some action movie’s theme under his breath. Ryuuji
walked after him like a weary mother, his arms folded as he lazily strode a
straight path through the grimy back streets.

At one point, Jounouchi paused mid-crouch in his
secret agent rehearsal to pout at his drab koi. “You’re ruining my fun,” he
accused, glaring childishly.

Ryuuji cast a shock of emerald to the sky, his eyes’
motion giving away the exasperation he couldn’t put entirely into words. “I’m
not going to jabber around a grubby alleyway like some skulking, freshly
escaped psychopath. It’s bad enough I’m wasting my vacation time sweating in
some back alley miles away from the nearest air conditioner, let alone the fact
that the reason I’m sweating is the damn weather and notethiething you’re
doing.”

This time ‘round, Jounouchi actually paused to
consider his koibito’s previously ignored words. Slowly, a coy grin replaced
the sullen pout that threw his countenance back ten years. “Are you saying
you’d rather be spending your vacation with me?” he asked, rubbing a finger pad
on a bent knee while he trained his eyes downward.

Ryuuji rolled his eyes in a full turn, kneeling
before the blond and pulling the older boy’s hands into his own. “Yes, you
baka,” he said, leaning in and kissing Jounouchi’s forehead tenderly. “I’d
rather you than this pointless chase. It’s obvious where the maniac is going -
everything he probably wants he can get in Domino. And while it would be
amusing to watch you try and take him down with paper cuts from your Duel
Monsters’ deck, I’d much rather you put your energy to a more…gratifying use.”

Jounouchi smiled and squeezed Ryuuji’s hands. “Like
what?” he whispered.

Grinning, Ryuuji pried a hand from Jounouchi’s and
captured the back of the blond’s neck, drawing the older boy into a piquant lip
combat. Jounouchi returned the grin and pushed against the raven-haired teen,
his hands skating from toned abdomen to the curved small of his back. Ignoring
the filth most likely covering the alley wall, Ryuuji allowed his koibito to
smash his back into the bricks, only truly conscious of the blond before him.

Jounouchi skimmed a hand beneath the close-fitting
shirt Ryuuji wore, his fingertips massaging the rippled muscles that shivered
under his touch. Ryuuji sighed shakily into the kiss, his arms winding around
Jounouchi’s neck and holding on tightly. This was more like it. No psycho
asshole was more foremost than lime time with your kichou koibito.

His body flush against Ryuuji’s, Jounouchi slid his
arms under the younger boy’s arms and lifted him slightly, a fairly obvious
hint to stand. Unsteadily Ryuuji observed the unspoken urging, pulling on
Jounouchi’s shoulders to rise to his feet. Instantly, though, he was once more
smothered against the wall, moaning as Jounouchi crushed their hips dangerously
closer.

The older boy concentrated on the kiss, his tongue
brushing Ryuuji’s as he tilted his head to gain better angle. From there he
closed his eyes and relied on touch and sense to assist him. Ryuuji writhed
under the several points of assault, trembling against the kiss and shuddering
under the pressure on his groin. He groaned again as Jounouchi ground his hips
down on his, Ryuuji holding his arms tighter around the blond’s neck. Fighting
a low cry, the younger boy delved one hand into golden strands while the other
stole beneath Jounouchi’s shirt and clawed at the damp shoulder blades.

Detaching from the kiss, Jounouchi attacked Ryuuji’s
neck, his teeth nipping at an exposed angle where neck met shoulder. Ryuuji’s
nails dug painfully into his back, the younger boy grating out a harsh gasp at
the contact. “J-Jou…” Ryuuji groaned. “Mmm, Katsuya….” The teeth came down
again, itiniting a startled cry and a fist clenching in Jounouchi’s blond hair.

“Say it,” whispered Jounouchi, his molten amber eyes
drinking in the ebony lashes trembling against high cheekbones. “Ryuuji-koi,
say it.”

“Aishiteru, Katsuya,” the other boy groaned,
“aishiteru.”

Satisfied, Jounouchi smiled and returned the
sentiment by kissing the younger boy’s forehead.

Ryuuji snapped his eyes open, panting like a wounded
animal. “Y-you’re going to finish that or I’ll fucking take you right
here.”

Eyes widening at the promise, Jounouchi said
innocently, “I thought you said the alley was too grubby?”

Ryuuji whacked Jounouchi emphatically with
passion-emblazed e. Ae. After hearing the yelp that passed Jounouchi’s lips,
Ryuuji growled, “It’s hot, now I’m sweating because of you and that
maniac is long gone by now. Now kiss me or I’ll leash you to a fire hydrant!”

Jounouchi twirled a strand of midnight silk around
one finger, smiling dotingly at Ryuuji. “I think you make a better dog in heat
than I do, koi.”

Ryuuji smothered further teasing with a
soul-shattering kiss, his wandering hands more than enough to draw an even
headier moan from his formerly smug koibito.

**

As of late, nobody dead or alive could claim to have
spoken rationally with the former tomb robber that now inhabited Ryou Bakura’s
body. This was not to say it could not be done, which was presently Yami no
Yugi’s goal to prove. The Pharaoh knew the spirit of the Ring better than one
would believe in more ways than one.

He knew, for example, that Yami no Bakura was
dangerously unstable in his airs and auras. Though he had never and would never
lay a harmful finger on his fragilely innocent host, Yami no Bakura wouldn’t
flinch to beat a total stranger - just because the stranger’s eyes were green
and colored eyes outside of brown unnerved the tomb robber. Yet on that point,
Yami no Yugi could understand his fellow spirit’s confusion and nerves - every
soul in ancient Egypt had had darkest black hair and russet irises (1).
However, this was no reason to initiate senseless violence. But he’d been
unsuccessful in explaining this to Yami no Bakura. Some things will never
change, and Yami no Bakura’s paranoia was inarguably one of them.
Schizophrenic, deluded and paranoid.

Yami no Yugi wondered if he could find the soul of
his past life’s advisor and crush it for letting him fall in love with such a
rampaging lunatic.

That…emotion had been the one thing that
saved Yami no Bakura’s afterlife when the Pharaoh discovered what the tomb
robber had done to ensure his safe passage into the Sennen Puzzle. Not only was
he now shredding off pieces of his soul to play h in in a shiny golden
triangle - he was spying on him and Yugi! Rampaging lunatic….

Said lunatic was currently leaning against a brick
pillar in the shadows of Yami no Yugi’s soul room, tilting his head forward
just enough to let his bangs fall forward and shield his eyes. It would have
looked menacing - if he hadn’t been grinning like an idiot and hysterical with
demonic little giggles.

For his part, the Pharaoh merely narrowed his eyes
and gauged the countdown to his exploding temper’s next appearance. “I take it
from your hilarity that world destruction is now amusing to you?” he growled.
He may have loved the psycho, but that by no means he was disallowed from
taking his anger out on him.

In reply, Yami no Bakura shucked his hair back and
smiled capriciously with a riddle in his eyes. “I take it from your reaction
that you have yet to discover the plans of the Rod’s former guardian,” he said,
tilting his head sideways.

The Pharaoh’s lips blanched under the strain of
their owner. If Yami no Bakura sensed a looming Pharaoh bitchfit, he made no
acknowledgement. Instead, he curled his arms around his waist and continued to
leer at the former monarch.

“What aren’t you telling me, tomb robber?”

“Everything. And nothing. For example….”

The Pharaoh arched an eyebrow.

“Did you know that the dice fanatic and the
inu cheerleader are…you would say…an item?”

Yami no Bakura’s grin doubled in maniacal degree and
the Pharaoh felt his chances of semi-sane conversation slipping with the
intensity of that grin. Baka rampaging lunatic tomb robber!

“Tomb robber - ”

“Though I severely doubt its lengthy duration.”

“ - Tomb robber - ”

“There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of physical
attraction. Every affiliation like theirs craves physical attraction.
Nobody cares for conversation when they can have - ”

“Athari!” (2)

Yami no Bakura grinned broadly, the deranged light
in his eyes fading vaguely. Clearing his throat delicately to contrast the
fuming Pharaoh and the glowing Eye of Horus now evident on the former monarch’s
forehead, the thief moved off of the wall and approached Yami no Yugi.

The Pharaoh, still furious, held his ground, his
fists ready to pummel.

Yami no Bakura paused only centimeters from the
Pharaoh’s nose, whispering, “You said my name.”

The Pharaoh’s expression failed to change, though the
Eye of Horus began to fade a little with his rage. “So I did,” he said stiffly.
“You had forgotten it?”

“No, and I knew you hadn’t. Re knows you’ve
screamed it enough.” A mischievous spark returned to Yami no Bakura’s eyes.

The Pharaoh rolled his eyes and folded his arms
regally before his chest. “In anger only, tomb robber.”

Yami no Bakura placed a hand on the Pharaoh’s
crossed arms, pulling them down and apart without once leaving the locked
stare. “You lie, Khetire.” (3) The younger Egyptian tilted his head again,
studying the older’s eyes meticulously. “It isn’t prudent for Pharaohs to lie.”

“Nor is it prudent for children to play with
explosives,” reminded Yami no Yugi with a skeptical eyebrow.

Yami no Bakura erupted into fresh giggles, almost
squealing with glee. “No, it isn’t!” he agreed in a cackle.

Yami no Yugi at last had his fill of the tomb
robber’s bizarre behavior and silenced the fiendish giggling with an impetuous
kiss. Lunatics talk too much.

Arms still crossed, the Pharaoh pulled away, leaning
his head back imperially to stare the tomb robber head on. “You enjoy the sound
of your own voice far too voraciously,” he pointed out coolly.

Yami no Bakura was grinning vaguely, his eyes still
shut. “I could think of other things I enjoy more…” he hummed.

The Pharaoh rolled his eyes. “Perhaps solitary
confinement wasn’t the most clever of my ideas.”

“No arguments from this corner.”

Yami no Yugi glared flatly at an innocently smiling
tomb robber. “Silence, Athari,” he growled.

Yami no Bakura ignored the command and leaned
forward, his arms twining around the aoh’aoh’s neck impishly. Startled by the
impulsive move, Yami no Yugi caught the tomb robber’s slim waist. The tomb
robber smiled with an edge of mischief. “How oere ere you when you died, ore no
Myoujou (4)?” he asked.

The Pharaoh, sadly for his sanity, was used to the
tomb robber’s abrupt changes of conversation and replied composedly, “I’ve been
told I was eighteen.”

Pleased with the answer, Yami no Bakura leaned more
of his weight on Yami no Yugi’s chest. “Do you know how old I was?”

“…No.”

“Sixteen.”

Yami no Yugi’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Athari - ”

Yami no Bakura kissed the Pharaoh sternly, mocking,
“You enjoy the sound of your own voice far too voraciously.”

Yami no Yugi frowned and scoured the other’s eyes.
The tomb robber was an enigma, all right. One could never tell how deeply his
riddling veins ran. Surely, he couldn’t have been this weird in Egypt.

“You’re staring,” pointed out Yami no Bakura with a
smirk.

“I’m studying.”

“You’re boring.”

The Pharaoh smirked and shoved the startled tomb
robber against a conveniently placed wall, leering perilously close. Nearly
purring, Yami no Yugi entrapped the younger Egyptian’s mouth deep in a searing
kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could attempt to accomplish.

“Boring, ne?” asked the Puzzle’s spirit as he pulled
back and took to toying with the fragile, pure locks of his thie
Ya
Yami no Bakura stared, his mouth ajar. Insanity
seemed to flee his eyes, replaced by unadulterated shock.

Chuckling, Yami no Yugi nuzzled an intimate kiss
into the softened lips, murmuring, “Silence suits you.”

The thief continued to stare. Then, “Khetire?”

The older Egyptian was occupied with cuddling
against the other spirit, his eyes closed as he left kisses on the other’s
ivory throat. “Hmm?”

“Aishiteru.”

As if struck by a ten-pound mallet, the Pharaoh
jerked back, gaping at the younger Egyptian with unrestrained shock. “Wh-what?”

Yami no Bakura grinned, the flash of madness
returning to glisten in the tip of his left eye.

“Athari?”

“Hmm?” the younger Egyptian mocked.

“What did you just say?” prompted Yami no Yugi with
a hint of urgency. That word…that underlying message…. After thousands of years
separated…. Having been told already that they had once meant more to each
other than appearances would allow…. Could the tomb robber still love the
Pharaoh?

“Say?” asked Yami no Bakura with a frown. “When?” He
would have convinced, too, had his eyes not sparkled so.

Yami no Yugi scowled. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I haven’t the barest trace of an idea what you’re
talking about, my Pharaoh,” the tomb robber said innocently.

“Why do I find that difficult to believe?”

“Because I was a thief, a liar, a murderer and a
devastatingly charming tomb robber?”

A slender eyebrow lifted. “Murderer?”

Yami no Bakura made a noise of affirmation in the
hollow of his throat. His eyes were beginning to reclaim their perpetually
crazed glint. “Egypt taught me the true meaning of ‘bleeding hearts’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bleeding a heart. Making it bleed.”

The former Pharaoh’s other eyebrow joined its twin
near the golden hairline. “I’m not following you.” Naturally. “You bled
a heart?” Without confusing himself further by demanding an explanation to
that, he instead asked, “Intentionally, then, I assume?”

“It was never my intention.”

“To make a heart bleed?”

“To make yours bleed.”

And before Yami no Yugi could even sputter his shock
properly, the tomb robber was gone. Wide-eyed at the words Yami no Bakura had
just unleashed, the former Pharaoh leaned against a pillar of his soul room and
mused over that. Riddles were the tomb robber’s way of life in this era. Why
did it seem to Yami no Yugi that his way of life was quickly plummeting
to King of Games to unpaid, overworked code breaker?

Anyone speak screwball?

**

Malik initially regarded the theatre with a
skeptical look, half listening to Ryou’s explanation of it and what was inside
while his own thoughts tried to dredge up his own representation. All he could
come up with, though, was a memory of seeing a small television set in a market
near his old home in Egypt. He remembered being entranced by the moving
pictures, the window of people moving around as though it were a portal looking
into another corner of the world. According to Ryou, this was like a very large
television set with rows of seats to accommodate other patrons.

Malik frowned and interrupted, “Why are there other
people?” He didn’t like the idea of a darkened room surrounded by total
strangers - possibly armed total strangers. In the past few days, he had
been enthusiastically reminded that his popularity in Domino was spectacularly
low.

Ryou smiled gently at Malik’s forcibly hidden
anxiety and laced an arm through the Egyptian’s, leading him toward the ticket
booth. “Trust me, koi, it’s fine. If you want to live in Japan or any country
with metropolises, you have to learn these kinds of things.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

Ryou cast a smile over his shoulder. “I know.”

Malik carefully avoided the other customers in the
lobby of the theatre as he and Ryou headed toward the theatre number printed on
their tickets. Some Egyptian god must have taken pity on Malik, for he or she
had assigned them to a nearby theatre. Malik disappeared through the door
quickly, Ryou following him with a poorly masked grin of amusement.

Malik, apparently having no idea of the implications
he was giving off, climbed the stairs leading to the topmost row of the
theatre. Ryou muffled a blush and ascended the stairs, rubbing his cheek with
his sleeve. The theatre was fairly empty save for a few who cluttered at the
bottom of the theatre. A girl and her boyfriend caught sight of the infamous
terrorist of Battle City and exchanged a panicked look before quickly
relocating their seats from the bao ono one of the middle rows. Malik looked
pleased that a girl his age had actually run in the opposite direction
for once.

Ryou slumped into a seat beside Malik, unconsciously
reaching over and twining his fingers with the older boy’s. Malik jumped and
redirected his attention from scanning the place suspiciously to their bound
hands. He smiled at Ryou and unexpectedly brushed a kiss to his ivory-haired
koibito’s lips. “You’re sweet,” he said, squeezing Ryou’s hand.

The younger boy flushed adorably and pillowed his
head between the tanned jaw line and Malik’s warm shoulder.

“Ry?”

“Mm?”

“How long is this movie?”

“Two hours, I’d say. Why?”

“Mm. No reason.”

Ryou frowned, but before he could question further,
the overhead lights began to fade into oblivion.

Malik stiffened. “What’s going on?” he hissed.

Ryou blinked and surveyed the theatre, searching for
an unorthodox peril or even a strange ad on the movie screen. Seeing nothing
out of the ordinary, he asked, “What?”

“The lights,” explained Malik sharply, his head
craned back to flit his gaze from one darkening orb to the next.

Ryou masked a smile and said, “They’re just dimming
the lights, saiai.”

“Why?”

“So you can see the screen better. Just watch.”

Malik angled his head slightly, ignoring the abrupt
brilliance of the screen to gaze stoically at his koi. Aware thanks the
peripheral sense of his gaze, Ryou turned his glimpsing eyes on Malik’s and
smiled amusedly. “I meant watch the screen, kichou,” he teased lightly.
Malik only grinned and reached out with a crooked wrist, gently guiding Ryou’s
head to his shoulder. Inwardly, Ryou initiated giggles fit for the vocal
capacity of a ten-year-old, outwardly smiling enough to split his face in half.

“IN THEATERS OCTOBER 14th!”

Malik yelped and tumbled straight out of his seat,
his hand unconsciously swiping his belt for his absent Sennen Rod. “What the
hell?!” he demanded of the ceiling.

Ryou fumbled with his hand to conceal off-timed
giggles. “It’s just the coming attractions, kichou!”

“SHHH!”

Grumbling a few foreign vulgarities, Malik sought
out his seat and took to scowling at the screen. “Fucking theatre.”

Ryou lowered his hand experimentally. Pleased when
no remnants of entertained glee bubbled from his throat, he asked quietly,
“Haven’t you heard of movie theatres before, koibito?”

The look he received was acidic. “Of course I have,”
Malik snapped. “I’m more experienced in this world than any twenty teenagers my
age put together.”

Ryou smiled mischievously.

The coming attractions continued in an avidly
expressive array of colors, splashing the pair with the odd splotch of white or
green, blue or yellow. It so happened that in the moment that Ryou grinned, the
crimson of an actor’s shirt burned into the young boy’s profile. Malik recoiled
a bit. How Change of Heart…. Creepy card. Creepy theatre. …Creepy
color-switching koibito….

“What’s that?” growled Malik, eyeing the expression
with supreme suspicion. “What’re you smiling at?”

Shaking his head, Ryou continued to smile and
returned his silken head to the tense shoulder. Once his slender fingers were
once more securely woven in Malik’s, he answered cryptically, “Just something
your sister and I realized.”

Malik looked severely threatened by this
observation. “What?” he asked, not entirely certain he wanted a reply to that.

“Oh, it’s nothing. We were discussing the same
subject, actually. We both agreed that you had a much broader scope of the
world than most your age.”

“So why the leer? My sister gives me that look when
she knows something I don’t.”

“She does, in this case. And I do not ‘leer’, thank
you.”

Malik’s eyes narrowed, platinum eyebrows kneeling
close to irritated lavender spheres.

Ryou veiled another smile and began stroking the
back of his Egyptian’s hand gently, gazing at the ivory contrast on tan before
stating, “You had a fairly suggestive Sennen Item for years, love. And you must
have known every centimeter of it like any part of your jewelry…ensemble. Yet -
that never stopped you from proclaiming, ‘Behold the power of my Millennium
Rod!’ at the top of your voice.”

Malik looked stupefied for a moment before the
implications of his former mayhem-inflicting self thundered true in his ears.
Which were now red. “Oh…oh, hell…” he muttered weakly. His face was quickly
becoming an aggressive competitor for any three layers of neon red wrapping
paper.

Ryou continued to grin, his attention and melted
chocolate gaze fixed on the exploits of his thumb on Malik’s hand. Struggling
to squash a grin, Ryou whispered, “Don’t evil villains get ‘the talk’ too,
love?”

The squeal that pierced the moviegoers’ theatrical
experience curled a satisfied smirk on Malik’s lips while Ryou clutched at his
lower abdomen, blushing frantically.

“That’s a yes,” Malik clarified.

**

Malik observed aloud that the back door was minutely
ajar and refused to allow Ryou out of his sight (or out from under his arm –
which triggered a spurt of prideful reluctance from Ryou until he realized this
new position was actually quite comfortable) while they searched the darkened
floors. Following a fruitless search, Ryou shrugged and notched a finger
underneath the living room’s light switch. Brilliant rays from above the coffee
table stained the room luridly, exposing two yelps of incredulity and two
enormously shocked islanders trying to look innocuous while shirtless in the
middle of the room.

Riku recovered first, apparently at the very most
grateful that it was his cousin and not his uncle that had discovered his and
Sora’s rather poorly disguised relationship. Smoothing hands through his awry hair,
he said calmly, “Hey, guys. Your sister called, Malik.”

Nodding emphatically, Sora added sheepishly, “She
said someone named Yugi called for Ryou.”

Malik staggered, his jaw slack. “Why was he calling
me to get to Ryou?” he asked skeptically. His relationship with Ryou wasn’t
exactly a topic of discussion amongst the chibi Pharaoh’s band of misfits and
goonies.

“Obviously, he knows Ryou’s probably there if he’s
not at home.” Sora giggled impishly, looking from Ryou to Malik after a crafty
grin shot at his own koibito. …Okay, islanders are officially bizarre,
Ryou decided internally. …Wait, Japan is an island…. Well, I suppose that’s right
then. Schizophrenic, dates a schizophrenic, hangs out with a schizophrenic with
triangular hair, attends school with a teenager richer than half of the planet….
Uh, maybe I should consider medication before this gets too long….

Swiveling his attention back towards the
conversation at hand, Ryou caught the end of Riku’s taunt of, “And my cousin’s probably
at Malik’s a lot.”

Ryou cleared his throat of the embarrassment
striving to kick his tone up an octave and said surprisingly evenly, “Are we
interrupting something?” He eyed the drained glass bottle resting stationary a
breath from Riku’s curled legs.

Riku glanced at Sora and quickly drew up his injured
arm, regarding it with mostly acted out concern. An angry burgundy stain was blotching
the bandages wrapped around his upper arm; Ryou wincingly looked away. Too many
deplorable memories like that and he’d be fully prepared to lose the
dinner he hadn’t yet eaten.

Sensing Ryou’s discomfort, Riku replaced the cloth
and said, “I have to change this, Sora’ll explain.” Thus excusing himself, Riku
stole upstairs, smirking.

Glaring at his traitor koi’s retreating back, Sora grumbled,
“We were watching the news a few minutes ago and we got…uhm…distracted.” At
Malik’s arched eyebrow, Sora rushed on, “And about that…I’m not sure how much
you know…the news had coverage of it all day…. Uh. Well, the night we met you,
me and Riku - ”

“Riku and I,” called Riku lazily from upstairs.

Sora scowled childishly at the ceiling. “Riku and I
were sent here when our world received news of the Heartless reborn in yours.
To make a long story short, when we dropped by Taki Hi, Riku was attacked by a
creature we used to fight - well, creatures. They’re called - ”

“Heartless,” said Ryou, nodding.

“How’d you know?”

“Uhm. I…overheard?”

Sora grinned. “Sure. Anyway, we’ll explain details
later, but the main brunt of the thing is, these things didn’t used to be such
a problem for us, let alone Riku,” elaborated Sora. A small fleck of tinsel shone
proudly in the core of his eyes as he spoke of his koi. “On the island, we used
to think no one could defeat Riku.” Smiling slightly, he confessed, “I still
do, to be honest.” Shaking his head with a rueful grin, he continued, “Heartless
are almost docile - incredibly easy to defeat. Four sword swipes and they fall
at your feet. Basically, the fact that Riku couldn’t even hit one was a
major concern to both of us. So we investigated today.”

“What did you find out?” Ryou asked calmly.

Sora adapted a skeptical countenance, the question
obvious in his eyes. How can Ryou be so composed about this? Wondering
over this, Sora also noticed that Malik hadn’t shown much horror or
nervousness, either. Though one may speculate that had Sora added a description
of the new and improved Heartless’ leader, the Egyptian and his koibito might
have been a stitch more responsive.

“Nothing useful,” Sora admitted finally, albeit
grudgingly. “They’ve vanished. And we haven’t heard a news report on them since
six o’clock. The news casters just…stopped.”

Malik looked interested.

Before they’d lost his attention again, Sora swiftly
explained, “The news casters just stopped their coverage on the ‘undisclosed
location of this bizarre race of dog’ right in the middle and started talking about
some freak snowstorm somewhere up north.”

Ryou soaked this in slowly, his usual pensive
silence habitually smothering the room. Unused to being a major contributor to
conversation, Ryou took a few moments to realize both Malik’s and Sora’s gazes
resting on him. Twining his arms over his chest, he prompted, “So, that doesn’t
explain why you were playing spin the bottle in my living room.”

Riku reentered the room silently and gracefully
threw himself onto the couch, flinging his legs across the cushions. Unbidden, Sora
climbed onto the cushions and nestled behind the lithe body, supporting Riku’s
back with his chest.

“So…?” Ryou prompted. “Heavy making out in my living
room because…?”

Sora tilted his head in an adorably confused manner.
“What’s ‘spin the bottle’?” he asked, deliberately avoiding Ryou’s tactfully configured
question.

Malik grinned, a mask of intense smugness capturing
his features. He smirked down on Ryou with “I told you so” dripping from his
lilac irises. “See? I’m not the only one who missed out on prepubescent
rituals.”

Grinning, Ryou teased back, “Well, I figured you may
have picked up on some teenaged culture during your travels, oh
experienced one.”

Malik kept up the lighthearted banter, quipping,
“You know…if my sister knew I made out in a movie theatre….”

“Oh, wait!” said Sora suddenly. “Isn’t that that
game where you have to kiss whoever the bottle lands on?”

Malik scowled, his smugness at having allies in the “brutally
naïve” department vanquished. “Yeah,” he grumbled, pointedly ignoring the
knowing grin Ryou was directing at him.

“This isn’t that,” said Riku helpfully, lifting the
bottle from the floor. “See, it’s a game Sora and I made up when we were kids -
”

“ - Pretty hentai island you two grew up on - ”

“ - And it was basically to determine who got to do
what first. We usually used sticks or something, but bottles work, too. Better,
actually. See, we each point out something and chuck the stick - or spin the
bottle. Whichever is closest to the marked end wins. See, we spun and Sora
chose the stereo and I chose the bookshelf. The end landed on the weird…mask…thing
on the wall, so technically Sora won because it was closer to the stereo than
to the bookshelf.”

The roles switched and Ryou took over the confused
position, ambiguity marring his forehead. “What were you…eh…spinning for?”

Riku smirked turned over, leaning perilously close
to his koibito and nipping Sora’s ear slowly. “Dominance,” he purred.

Sora allowed the mischievous glint back to his eyes
and flipped Riku onto his back pointedly. “Hai, so you gotta do what I
want for once…uke (5).”

“Mmm…yes, my seme one (6),” mocked Riku,
folding his arms around Sora’s neck indolently.

Seemingly unaware of their hosts’ continued
presence, the couple drew nearer to one another and sealed the room into a
blanket of hazed warmth. Warmth that quickly escalated to heat and passion.
Malik lifted his gaping innocent into his arms and left the pair to enjoy each
other appropriately. Only Ryou missed the grins pulling at the corners of both
islanders’ mouths, Riku cracking an azure eye open to follow the couple’s ascent
up the stairs.

**

Malik only let his koibito’s feet touch the floor
after Ryou promised to keep his eyes shut and his mind focused on the first
thing he saw upon relinquishing that hold on his snow-lashed eyelids. Giggling
slightly at the oddity of the request, Ryou agreed and felt Malik’s arms slowly
ebbing from his body. As soon as his sneakers touched the carpet, Ryou steadied
himself and allowed the remainder of Malik’s body heat to escape him. Pouting
slightly but unwilling to disobey Malik’s softly uttered command, Ryou put his
hands over his eyes and hosted a vague smile of excitement.

Moments later Ryou felt the warmth of Malik’s hands
on his wrists, gently detaching the extra shields from his vision. In a hushed
voice, Malik whispered, “Look at me.”

Ryou’s smile grew before he raised his eyelids to
meet the candlelit (yes, that candle) angles of the room, his
lavender-eyed koibito only feet away, smiling and with a buttermilk-hued rose
delicately perched between mocha fingertips. Shocked by the abruptness of this
romantic scene, Ryou gazed around the room, drinking in all of the simple
things that Malik had done somehow, sometime when Ryou wasn’t around -
just…because?

“M-Malik,” breathed the ivory-tressed boy, using
hushed tones for fear of fracturing this delicate balance. “What is this? Why?”

Chuckling at Ryou’s disbelief and awe, the Egyptian
threaded smooth fingers through the diamond-kissed hair, pressing his mouth
chastely to the warm plane of Ryou’s forehead. “Because I got bored and felt like
busting my ass trying to impress you by being clever and celebrating our
anniversary a week beforehand,” he explained with a grin. “Oh, Riku helped,
too. He and I went to the florist the morning Isis came back and got you a
bunch of these.” He twirled the stem of the rose indicatively.

Ryou’s open-mouthed shock eventually lifted into a
toothy smile, an ecstatic cry ripping from the younger boy’s throat as he dove
straight into that familiar desert-perfumed embrace. Arms alighted around his
back and squeezed until Ryou squeaked gently as a request for lung salvation.
Malik held his koibito at elbow’s length, picking up an arm to loosely cover
Ryou’s shoulder. The hand near Ryou’s ear traced the fragile skin with baby
soft rose petals while lavender pooled the younger boy into blissful oblivion.

“Mm, I wanted to take you out for dinner or
something,” Malik said regretfully, “but we did that last year.”

Ryou, an undeviating smile perching on the curve of
his lips, pilfered the rose nimbly with fingers adept at the usage of
chopsticks and studied the texture lovingly. The same expression graced Malik
just before Ryou kissed the Egyptian mouth softly. “This is just as nice,” he
reassured his exotic koibito affectionately.

“Two years,” added the younger boy quietly, laying
the rose on his desk with a fond smile. “Amazing.”

Malik smiled and curled his arms tighter around his
treasure, not daring to let him go for any span of time. “I know,” he sighed,
returning his lips to the soft skin below him, dusting the high cheekbones with
flushes of red and tinges of pink. “Amazing,” he murmured, though this time it
seemed directed more closely toward Ryou than the event.

“You know…” Ryou started slowly.

“Mm?”

“Two years is…absurdly long for teenagers our age,
ne?”

Malik nodded, withdrawing his kisses momentarily in
favor of staring affectionately into those chocolate amber jeweled eyes. He
waited for Ryou to continue, seeing the anxious glint in the other’s eyes as he
toyed with Malik’s sweatshirt idly.

“…I love you, Malik.”

A smile broke the solemn caring on Malik’s face,
drenching the juvenile face with delight. “I love you, too, kojika,” he assured
softly.

“Then forgive me for this.” And Ryou had the older
boy’s lips crushed with a bruising kiss, clinging so tightly to Malik that one
would have assumed on first sight that he couldn’t breathe with his ribs
intact.

Malik stumbled at the assault, but quickly responded
and closed his arms hastily around Ryou’s waist, his mouth already parting to
invite a new kind of attack. To keep some level of the previous affection,
Malik slowly nestled his fingertips in Ryou’s hair, massaging the back of his
neck with agile fingers. Ryou hissed against his mouth and sunk against Malik’s
chest, his wrists locking around each other at the back of the Egyptian’s neck.

The heat ambushed them both, catching them by the
ears and hauling them together into a torrent of humid surrender. Ryou gasped
against Malik’s lips, but couldn’t find the strength nor the will to break
away, even for a moment. The desperation to be like this always with this one
person was overpowering and the melody in his soul was pounding out the frantic
rhythm of his heart. Choose him. Choose him. Choose him.

At last the pressure for air drove them apart, but
their lips remained clos con contact as they found and scraped in harsh
half-breaths. Ryou kept his eyes closed, his damp forehead pressing on Malik’s.
“G-gomen,” he whispered.

“Why-why the apology?” Malik gasped. “The only thing
you should be sorry for is not doing that sooner…or longer. Gills to me are
suddenly attractive.”

“Well, you know koi can also be carp….” Winking,
Ryou burrowed his face deep into the recess of his koibito’s shoulder, soaking
in the wraithlike perfume of Malik’s-dre-drenched hair. “It’s different this
time,” he murmured, smiling.

Malik stroked Ryou’s hair absently, pacifying the
locks askew while smoothing out his own jagged breathing. “How?”

“I want you.”

Malik choked on air, withdrawing fast enough to
dizzy his vision slightly. Ryou’s chocolate eyes melted warmth through him, the
heat of his gaze setting his very pulse to breakneck. Drawing his hands to
Ryou’s neck, the Egyptian boy managed to gasp out, “Next time you say that - and
I know you lowered your voice on purpose you spiteful cat - make sure I’m not
close enough to do this - ”

Ryou’s terse gasp shuttered through his body like
suffocating wind, his chest pulling in tightly to better accommodate the closer
position. Malik scooped an arm at the curve of Ryou’s back, tugging the younger
boy that much closer to him. Ryou knelt his head back, the fire at his neck
sporadically rising and dropping with every kiss Malik’s lips delivered to his
hypersensitive skin. From somee ine in his mind where thought still meant
something, Ryou acknowledged the stiff heat in his groin and the sharp jolts of
heaven whenever Malik pushed against him.

Malik finally drew his lips away, only to rest
another kiss on Ryou’s forehead. Grinning, he commented with teasing innocence,
“So does this mean you get to ‘behold the power of my Millennium Rod’ now?”

At the pure inane absurdity of the inquiry, Ryou
doubled into laughter, taking advantage of the situation to cling tighter to
Malik’s warmth. Sheer glee tickled the walls of the room until Malik had in the
flash of a pan pinned Ryou to the mattress, flecking the giggling face with
grin-soaked kisses.

Ryou gained enough of his mind at last to return the
playful battle, his arms flying up and pummeling Malik’s shoulders. In the next
flash, Malik was securely trapped to the bed, a still giggling Ryou straddling
his hips. The jagged quavering of Ryou’s laughter-possessed body began to thrum
rhythmically against Malik’s lower abdomen, the younger boy unknowingly driving
his koibito to the point where no hot-blooded male could turn back.

Finally, the tormenting kneading on his groin proved
to be too torturous and Malik abstained his koi’s waist by wrapping his hands
around the narrow hips. The younger boy jolted at the sudden contact and
stumbled, his hips rocking unexpectedly against Malik’s harshly. Choking on a
gasp, the Egyptian’s eyelids clamped shut, his hands shaking from the frantic
hold on Ryou’s waist.

“You - you’re doing this on purpose,” he accused hoarsely,
threading his thumbs up and into the curve of Ryou’s jeans, drawing them down
until the coarse material brushed the small arc of Ryou’s back. From there,
bronzed fingers made quick work of the zipper, Malik surprised at his
adroitness - even at something he had never done before. Well - not in this
life anyway.

Mere moments trickled by until the heat of silken,
fiery skin made that first contact in this novel way. Ryou maneuvered slightly
until his body rested atop Malik’s, his arms flanking tanned shoulders while
Malik slowly brought his hands from Ryou’s waist to his shoulders. All the
while he dragged his palms over shivering sinews, taut muscles hidden under
that deceptively slender body. Suddenly, Ryou gave a particularly vicious
shudder, whimpering into the arch of Malik’s neck as his body betrayed him and
responded in time to the ragged gasp he let free.

Malik chuckled sparsely at his koibito’s attempted
stay in naivety and removed the desire easily enough with ministrations of his
own. Slowly he slipped his hands from angled shoulder blades and tied one arm
around the narrow waist, the other rubbing gently at Ryou’s lower abdomen.

A shuttering sigh fled Ryou’s lips before he could
stifle it and the pretty blush that followed melted Malik’s heart. “You’re
absolutely sure about this?” he asked tightly, reminding his breathing to
remain constant when Ryou turned that ember-hot gaze on him, answering through
his eyes what he could never say aloud. Malik tilted his head and grinned,
returning his blistering mouth to its previous vocation on Ryou’s neck.

Ryou groaned and brutally snapped his head back, a
feral gleam capturing his eyes before the ivory lashes dotted his high-placed
cheekbones. “God, Malik,” he choked out, “stop stalling!”

Chuckling, Malik pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his
tenshi’s shoulder and promised quietly, “I’d never leave you hanging, love.”

Ryou grinned and lifted his chest, leaning on bent
arms as he nuzzled his hips variably into Malik’s. The sharp torrent of sublime
bliss returned full force as the delicious length rubbed mercilessly against
his own. Malik buried blunt fingernails into Ryou’s shoulders, his body arching
into Ryou’s by its own accord.

Ryou realized too late that Malik had surrendered
seme to him. Oh, God. Now what?

Taking tips from stories he had read online (fan
fantasy or some such…fantasy…forged…fiction…one of them), Ryou sunk low and
began a slow, sensual indulgence on Malik’s entirely relinquished body. His
silken lips were soft in contrast to the firm muscles he encountered in the
Egyptian’s toned chest. Before he could reflect too long on the sizzling energy
connecting their wants and needs, Ryou plunged predatorily and fixed his hot
mouth on a raw nub, his tongue smoothing over the hard gem with calculated
sluggishness. Malik’s hands somehow found his hair, gripping tightly as a
result of the deeper stroking Ryou had begun with his other hand.

Unable to cast the quip building in the back of his
mind, Malik settled for a low groan, his hands straining in the silken ivory
locks. Capable thought owedowed capable speech into oblivion as Ryou grazed him
with his teeth. Clenching his eyes and jaw shut, Malik managed to grate out,
“Now - who’s - stalling?”

Ryou giggled, warm breath expelling against his
koibito’s chest as he lifted his gaze to the accusing lilac glare. Grinning, he
delivered a defiant lick to the other bud, retorting, “I’m not stalling. I’m
procrastinating.”

“Ryou Bakura, you damn tease, if you don’t handle
this seriously, I’m going t”
”

Ryou hovered over Malik’s lips, his eyes half-lidded
in a countenance of pure lust. “You’re going to what, love?” he purred, one
hand slowly making its descent from tanned shoulder to abdomen.

Malik shuddered, his eyes wide. “What’s gotten into
you?” he squeaked, yelping when the torturous hand made a swift pass over his
thighs.

Ryou grinned again, feral and seductive. This was not
the gentle, sweet-spoken tenshi embarrassed by the mere implications of…sex.
Decidedly entertained by the shock in Malik’s eyes, Ryou broke down into
giggles, cheerfully commenting, “Jou told me that would probably ‘scare the
psychosis out of’ you.”

Malik growled and hooked a hand behind Ryou’s neck,
dragging the smiling lips back onto his. “I told you to handle this seriously,”
he said, straining to remain severe under the innocent smile reflecting on him.

Ryou kissed him repentantly, tongue sweeping gentle
strokes over Malik’s bottom lip. Using actions in favor of words, he twined a
hand with Malik’s, squeezing apologetically. Both were using banter to divert
from the significance of this next step and they both knew it, but the need
scorching between them wouldn’t ebb or fade. The flame needed to be doused or
it would drive them crazy…or in Malik’s case, crazier.

If Malik had retained any doubt of Ryou’s
intentions, they were blinded and obliterated when the kiss broke only to
resume only breaths away from his navel. Stifling a gasp, Malik delved his
hands into Ryou’s hair again, ignoring the chuckle that emitted from his
playful koibito. Lightheartedly cursing him in some odd combination between
Arabic and ancient Egyptian, Malik shut his eyes and buried his head in Ryou’s
pillow.

Ryou glanced up and smiled at the image, his koibito
nearly wincing from holding back the sounds garbled in the hollow of his
throat. That could be fixed, thought Ryou devilishly, grinning. Something in
the back of his mind berated him for picking up such mischievous habits from
the Ring’s spirit, but Ryou passed the allegation off as trivial (and
shamefully true) and returned to his ministrations.

Malik’s facs a s a puzzle of concentration as his
mind grappled to repress short moans as Ryou’s lips coursed over his abdomen,
leaving the Egyptian’s sharp breathing to jolt his chest’s motions. The
endeavor was promptly lost, however, when the kisses once only scarcely
bearably excruciating turned demonic, a sharp cry escaping from his throat as
Ryou dipped his tongue into his navel unremorsefully.

Ryou thanked whatever deity looking out for him that
Malik eradicated his hands from clutching his hair to wringing the sheets
instead. Listening to the harsh breathing with satisfaction, Ryou closed his
eyes and began trailing the increasingly sinful kisses lower. All the while
growing nearer to the one thing that would cement his love for Malik, Ryou’s
heart rapidly knocked against his ribcage, his own discordant breathing
deafening in his ears.

Malik liked to think of himself as averagely
composed, keeping spare emotion restrained if it wasn’t needed. This was all
nice and good, but it was shot straight to hell when the next step of his
pleasurably unbearable torment began. Insufferable heat swathed him, throwing
up blinding white where the black of his eyelids had once been. Crying out
raggedly, Malik’s hands gripped the sheets until his knuckles were shaking and
stained colorless at the knuckles.

Too far into his deed to feel the blush spreading
across his face, Ryou draped an arm ovelik’lik’s hips, firmly keeping the
Egyptian from gagging him. Ryou teased the hardening flesh between his teeth
mercilessly, grazing with the gentlest of touches. Violent shuddering unfolded
over Malik’s body, soft cries fleeing his lips before their maker realized the
desperate note he was belting out. Ryou kept his misleadingly slender arm on
Malik’s hips, his mouth working sinful pleasure on the older boy.

The white behind his eyes began to pulsate with the
rhythm of his swiftly pounding heart, Malik’s cries becoming less and less
controlled. The desire inundating his body was nearly strong enough now to
drown out the current pleasure nearly blinding him. It wasn’t enough, not by
half. He needed that sweet release – the vent for the haze clouding his senses.
Groaning slowly, Malik felt the edge being reached, the crest of absolute contentment
just beyond his reach.

Ryou pulled away.

Cringing visibly, Malik couldn’t even find enough of
his bearings to pry his eyes open, the true pain augmenting to soul-ripping
degrees. “Ry,” he choked out, “e-e-even I wou-wouldn’t have….”

Ryou panted sharply, his lips somehow searching out
and melding solace into the gasping Egyptian mouth. “Shh,” he whispered
shakily. “I think – think I know…what I’m doing,” he gasped.

“You *think*?” cried Malik, his eyes only
hardly opening enough to glimpse the flushed angel so close, so sweet in the
candlelight emanating from the windowsill. Overcome by the emotion, Malik seized
hold of Ryou’s neck and pulled a fiery kiss together, his lips attacking his
tenshi’s with every intention to bruise or at least mark them as his. “I’m only
– only forgiving you,” gasped Malik when they broke away, “if you finish what
you were fucking doing.”

Ryou tilted his head down apologetically and
grinned, whispering, “If your sister could hear her baby brother now….”

Malik groaned, far past the endurance to deal with
coherent banter. “Way to kill the mood, angel,” he snapped.

Ryou made up for it tenfold, however, by stealing part
of Malik’s soul in another heart-baring kiss, his hands steeling on the bronzed
shoulders while he held his Egyptian to the mattress. Keeping one hand on the
rise of Malik’s high-set cheekbone, the ivory-haired tenshi slipped the other down,
down….

Malik severed the kiss abruptly, hissing sharply
with haze spelled over his eyes. Ryou shied away from his koibito’s mouth, his
lips making steady contours of indelibly embossed promises on the Egyptian’s
collarbone. “Aishiteru,” he whispered, driving another finger into the taut
ring.

Malik strived not to cry out, instead focusing on
the almost contrite kisses Ryou rained on his chest. Negotiating with his
lungs, the older boy finally managed to rasp out, “Aishiteru, kichou.”

The steady rising of the progress he was making
began to intimidate Ryou, worries building up inside of him while he wondered
whether or not he was truly doing this right. He would never in his life have
hurt Malik intentionally, but the deep closed-eyed grimace on his beloved’s
face couldn’t have been representative of anything else but pain. Ryou
ceased all movement, his chin reclined hesitantly on Malik’s chest.

“Koi?” he inquired softly. “Are…are you all right?”

Malik gave up every fiber of his strength to the
action as he reached out to brush Ryou’s damp bangs from his forehead. His eyes
still shut against the contesting pain and pleasure, Malik whispered, “J-just
finish it, kojika. Please.”

Ryou smiled and in efforts to lighten the mood
smacked a wet kiss onto a bronzed nipple, his teeth skimming the sensitive gem mischievously.
Ignoring the simultaneous spell of pain caused by Ryou’s other hand, Malik
moaned, snapping weakly, “Y-you’re not get-getting a-away with – with this, d-damn
you.”

Ryou didn’t answer in words, instead nudging Malik’s
knees gently with his nose. Through a communicative glance, Malik understood what Ryou wanted
him to do and hooked his legs over Ryou's shoulders. This...was going to hurt.

In the windowsill, the candle giggled with flame jumps of glee, fiery eyes scooping in the entire scene shamelessly. Oooh, but that faucet was going to have to eat its tap after this!

Ryou nearly jumped as he remembered something
crucial to the whole experience. Snapping free of the kiss, he managed to choke
out, “We…it…um….” A furious blush conquered his face, all of the heady passion
in his body nothing compared to the embarrassment of the sentence he now had to
deliver.

Rolling his eyes with some effort, Malik shifted slightly and seized something Ryou’s peripheral vision didn’t
catch. Instead focusing on Malik’s face, Ryou slipped into awe that he had had
the Egyptian all to hlf flf for two undivided years. Smiling again in a dopey
kind of fashion, Ryou pushed Malik's legs off of him and nuzzled a sweet kiss into the tensely-lipped mouth. Almost immediately Malik’s lips parted, the tension vanished instinctively under Ryou’s
warm caress.

Malik suddenly smirked into the kiss and Ryou had
only nanoseconds to wonder why before euphoria dominated all remaining scraps
and twinges of sense that might have survived so long into the sinfully blissful
exploits. As a delicious revenge, Malik cast deliberate strokes over the
hypersensitive length, the oil on his hands bringing near blindness to his poor,
unprepared koibito. Suddenly the formerly simple task of keeping upright proved
too difficult and Ryou all but collapsed onto Malik’s chest. Soothingly, Malik
hooked his free arm around Ryou’s back, his other hand caressing utopia into
the younger boy’s bloodstream.

Unable to handle the pressing elation alone, Ryou
stred aed against Malik’s arm and attacked the older boy’s mouth keenly. Malik’s
strokes became tighter and faster, the bliss and waves of scalding heat
emanating from the actions driving Ryou to the edge. In the last moments, Ryou
broke from Malik’s kiss, instead delving his face into the hollow of the
Egyptian’s sweat-slicked throat and sobbed out Malik’s name, his body ferociously
shuddering under the looming release. Malik turned his eyes to the angel’s
face, the expression represented by absolute ecstasy more than enough to push
him over the edge.

The time he was allowed for rest was less than
brief, however, as his koibito remained torn between heaven and hellish
restraint. Following his actions from before, Malik slid his calves on Ryou's shoulders again.
Trust was openly written across his face as he brought the source of Ryou’s
utter discomfort to his entrance. Not in so many words, Ryou asked silently for permission
with a half-lidded smile. Malik nodded minutely, enough to approve the next level.

Smiling tensely, Ryou buried his mouth into Malik’s,
following his koibito’s urging to the unwritten letter. At the first incursion,
fiery pain flooded Malik’s body where sheer bliss had once stood. Reluctant to
alarm Ryou more than he already was, Malik bit back the cry he felt tearing
through his throat. Instead he waited the pain out, praying to every god he
could muster up in his memory that the rumors he’d overheard of this “temporary
pain” were true. Otherwise he would impale whomever he had heard it from. Or
the first person he saw on the street. Either way worked well enough.

Ryou struggled to keep his actions consistently
gradual, seeing easily the pain scribbled across his koibito’s face. But the
torrents of pleasure, such as the kind he had never in his life experienced,
threatened to conquer his self control. Determinedly, Ryou tautly set his jaw,
ignoring the feverish need to move.

After what seemed like an age to both, Malik pried
his eyes open halfway and the clouded, desperate beaming in his gaze nearly
shoved Ryou to release. Now struggling with that dilemma, Ryou waited faithfully,
his entire body trembling under the effort of remaining still. Finally, Malik
nodded minutely, gathering Ryou deeper into him. The jolt of pleasure
raked through both of their spines, initiating a sharp rocking from both sides.

Ryou allowed Malik to set the rhythm, following his established
pace with thrusts of his own. The fire raging in the Egyptian eyes beckoned to
Ryou’sten ten chocolate gaze until the younger boy nearly toppled into the
prepared kiss. Thoroughly aroused now, Malik groaned against Ryou’s mouth, his
tongue twining nearly hostilely with his koibito’s. The delicious friction of
Ryou’s lean stomach against his length was driving spikes of pleasure through
his body, unbearably brusque and blissful. Malik was nearly drawn to fixing the
problem himself when Ryou’s hand intercepted his own as he thrust again
into the Egyptian heat.

Assaulting Malik’s neck with open-mouthed kisses,
Ryou nipped possessively at the skin there, his eyes hooded with thickly snow-lashed
eyelids. Keeping one arm unsteadily holding his chest a few inches above Malik’s,
Ryou dropped his free hand to his stomach, capturing the cause of Malik’s
suffering with a deliberate tug. Malik cried out hoarsely, desperately bucking
against Ryou’s hand. The younger of the two captured his lips again, his hips
driving in deeper to seize that f wav wave of utter heaven for both.

Caught between paradise and hell, Malik clawed at
Ryou’s shoulders, his cries joining Ryou’s harsh pants as that climaxing force
prowled closer and closer. Pounding into Malik with frantic need, Ryou was
suddenly drawn in deeper as Malik arched his hips to meet the descending
pressure. The crash between them triggered some hidden patch of personal euphoria
in Malik, the Egyptian crying out with total rapture. Another clash delivered
the same result, a cascade of bliss beating in Malik’s ears as he gave out a
final sob of Ryou’s name and relinquished to his climax.

Ryou smothered a bruising kiss against Malik’s lips as
the blissful wave crashed down over his head, crying out Malik’s name
deafeningly as a surf of his own ecstasy filled the sated Egyptian. Then, once
more blinded by the sudden brilliance behind his eyelids, Ryou groaned and caved
onto Malik’s chest. The softness of Malik’s kiss to his forehead and the softly
whispered, “Aishiteru,” were the last things Ryou registered before curling
into the protective embrace and succumbing to a desperately needed sleep.

**

Breaking away from the company of his minions
waiting in the Bakura household’s backyard, Yami no Malik scaled the drainpipe,
his intentions unclear to even the most senior of the Heartless. They were to
wait until their master returned, kill anything in the yard that moved and gnaw
pointlessly on the fence posts. Well, the gnawing part was an added bonus
thought up by one of the more addlebrained recruits, but no one saw anything
amiss with the idea.

Yami no Malik crept over the slanted roof, catching
sight of Ryou’s window below. The lack of artificial lamplight emanating from
the windowpane was encouraging, but the spirit knew better than to prematurely
open champagne bottles of celebration. Dropping down soundlessly onto the
windowsill, Yami no Malik discovered the curtains shut haphazardly - only a
ribbon of space between the two burgundy cloths.

Smirking with satisfaction, Yami no Malik tightened
his grip on the window’s top frame and leaned closer to the pane. The door to
the hallway was partially open, permitting the barest traces of light into the
otherwise darkened room. Frowning, the spirit leaned back precariously and
glanced at the first floor’s windows. Surely enough, the living room’s lamps
were glowing, their rays carelessly seeping up the stairs. Upon closer
examination of Ryou’s room, Yami no Malik caught a shock of white that seemed
to be breathing. Knowing it was neither the pillow nor the sheets, he realized
instantaneously that he was gazing at Ryou Bakura’s unnaturally fair head of
hair. …Cushioned on his hikari’s very unclothed chest….

**

Malik’s soft breath threaded gentle wisps across his
koibito’s ivory skin, Egyptian mouth pressing indolent brushstrokes on a sinewy
shoulder. The older boy drew one arm from Ryou’s waist to recline around his
damp shoulder blades, fingers prodding the silken skin gently. Memorizing every
inch and texture of the almost textile skin, eyes soaking in the purely sated
sleeping form of his saiai tenshi. Ryou couldn’t have been more precious in
this moment…more addictive, more loveable.

Still reeling from the idea of being uke - on his
first time, to boot - he found even more to his shock that he didn’t mind.
Either way, he had shared in something without the accompaniment of bloodshed,
sadistic vengeance or bad hair held up by aid from poorly aimed lightning. He
had given Ryou something to hold forever in his heart, allowing him the
knowledge that there was no dominant half of their relationship. Only
equivalence. Plus, now that he’d been uke once, he could be seme for the next
ten or so times until Ryou realized he was being duped.

Malik strayed his line of vision from Ryou’s smiling
lips to the shadows of branches dancing on the wall beside them. Though the
curtains were shut, the line that remained dividing them revealed a strong wind
outside, emphasized by the tossing and turning of impetuous tree limbs. After
watching the wall for several moments, softly stroking his hand through Ryou’s
hair and nuzzling the angel closer to his chest, he began to drift into
slumber.

Until someone landed on the windowsill and
barricaded all light from the outside world.

Keeping entirely still, Malik watched as the shadow
moved fluidly to examine the room. Following a handful of overwrought minutes,
the shadow moved its head to glimpse the bottom floor. Malik shifted Ryou’s
head from his shoulder to his chest, straining to move his clingy koibito far
enough so he could at least lean up on his elbows without disturbing Ryou’s
sleep.

Slowly rising and putting most of his weight back on
his arms, Malik narrowed his eyes at the window. Whoever dared spy on
Ryou this late would endure severe disembowelment. No one got away with
scrutinizing his koibito anytime. As if responding to this viciously
protective mental remark, Ryou snuggled against his Egyptian koneko, his silken
white hair covering his profile as he burrowed his face in Malik’s shoulder
again.

Abruptly, Malik wondered anxiously if the reason
behind his immunity to Ryou’s saccharine syrupiness was the sugary attitude
spreading into his own personality…. The thought was more disturbing than the
former Pharaoh with pigtails hosting a tea party with fluffy stuffed animals as
guests. …Scratch that, the tea party was worse.

The shadow in the window revealed an anxiously
pointed dagger and pressed it to the glass. Too slowly, Malik realized the
shadow’s intent. Similarly too late to stop the action, Malik shouted an
Egyptian curse and flung Ryou to the other half of the mattress, shielding his
rudely wakened koibito from the shrapnel. The shadow had marked the dagger’s
point in the centre of the glass and pummeled a fist into the handle.
Instantaneously, the window shattered, sending glass in every direction.

Ryou heard the window shatter and yelped, winded by
the sudden impact of Malik unexpectedly crushing his ribs. Entirely
disoriented, the ivory-haired boy latched onto Malik’s shoulder, the only
realistic thing he could get a hold of.

“What’s going on!?”

Malik didn’t answer, instead lurching off of Ryou
and whirling to face the window. The shadow was placing a leg through the open
space, the cackling of a maniac twisting around the room like a tempest. What
stopped the intruder, however, was neither Malik nor a staggeringly bewildered
Ryou, but a stray candle sitting on the inside of the windowsill. The shadow
gave a holler of shock as its foot came down on the vanilla-scented candle, its
frame jolting before plummeting from the second story.

Exchanging a befuddled look, Ryou and Malik
scrambled from the bed and stood side by side at the window. Apart from the
remains of the pane, the front lawn was bejeweled with not a corpse, but a
cloak and a broken candle.

Ryou blinked as reality began to trickle to life in
his mind. “I’m beginning to think someone up there doesn’t appreciate yaoi,” he
said absentmindedly.

Malik nodded vaguely, still bemusedly staring at the
front lawn below. “Think whoever it is prefers yuri?”

The door to Ryou’s room burst open, Sora and Riku
clambering in wild-eyed and panicked. “What happened?!” Sora demanded.

Riku’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the
macerated glass, the rumpled state the bed was in and the pair of brazenly
clothing-less bishounen at the window. Leaning against the doorjamb with a
smirk, the ivory-haired teen commented, “You mainlanders have weird kinks,”
with a shake of his head.

To be Continued…

1 - I’m of the opinion that there are several plot
holes in Yu-Gi-Oh and the flashbacks of Egypt provide the majority of them. I
won’t go into detail right now, but this is one of them. All born in Egypt were
dark-skinned, black hair and brown-eyed. Now, Yami no Bakura may have been from
another country, but I doubt it. So he was black-haired and brown-eyed just
like everyone else. Though I made an exception for Yami no Yugi. He’d look
strange any other way. ;)

2 - Athari {ah’thah ree) (actual Egyptian for
“scar” - works well with the manga, ne?)

3 - Khetire {kett’eer ay} (more actual Egyptian;
roughly translated, it’s Egyptian for “haven of Re”)

4 - Mou Myoujou (Morning Star)

5 - Uke (submissive)

6 - Seme (dominant)

Chapter Seven Trailer

***

“Hold on,” interrupted Jounouchi, eyeing his
raven-haired koibito skeptically. “You’re actually agreeing to this?” His voice
was teetering on hysteria.

Ryuuji cast a swift, meaningful glance at Anzu and
Mai before replying smoothly, “Hai. Why, Ka-Jou-kun, you have a problem with
it?” His chilled eyes dared Jounouchi to confirm the statement.

“No,” snapped Jounouchi, emotions tightly focused on
pure annoyance now. “I just don’t want to end up kissing you.”

If the barb stung Ryuuji in any way, the dice master
didn’t display any evidence of it. Instead, he gathered the dice into his hand
and scrutinized the circle. After a moment of calculation, Ryuuji’s lips
quirked into a grin and the dice was chucked at Malik’s head. “Feel lucky,
Ishtar?” he taunted, his eyes sparkling.

Malik caught the white cube exclusive of much of an
effort, snatching it straight out of midair. Without so much as a glance in
Ryou’s direction, he said, “I’d rather stay out of your hentai sports, Otogi,”
and carelessly flung the dice back at its original pitcher.

Ryou smiled minutely across the circle, catching the
lilac gaze gratefully. Malik winked at him, grinning.

Their comfort, however, was stripped to oblivion when
the diminutive sound of clickit obliterated the silence. Malik’s gaze
snapped to the dice resting at Ryuuji’s feet, the ebony-haired boy’s hands
risen behind his head, a feral smirk on his face.

“You heard the rules, Ishtar,” Ryuuji said smoothly.
“The dice was rolled, whether it was intentional or not. You have to kiss
whoever’s number that dice landed on. Still feel lucky, punk? Do ya?”

Riku wrinkled his nose distastefully. “This should
be all the more insulting considering I spent the first fifteen years of my
life on a remote desert island…. Your Dirty Harry impression sucks like
a sandhole, Otogi.”