Afternoon of Dislike

This has been sitting on my computer for almost two years now - I think it's time I posted it.

Original Challenge: Horizont *there should be more PWPs without that "I love you and always have-crap*

So I've made the attempt! First time writing for YU-Gi-Oh! Fandom too, so tell me what you think!


Pairing: Bakura/Marik


Afternoon of Dislike


Bakura snickered as a cacophony of pots and pans crashing to the floor reached his ears. He could hear Marik swearing profusely in the kitchen where he’d been trying to make himself something to eat. Bakura shifted on the couch, one leg slung over the arm, a hand propping up his head as he flicked through the channels disinterestedly. More noise from the kitchen and more swearing. Bakura tilted his head back to give his voice more volume.

“Jesus! Would you shut the fuck up?! I’m trying to watch this!”

It was in no way true but the other Yami was more irritating than usual. A muffled ‘You shut up, you fuckin’ ass!’ made it down the hallway and Bakura sneered, flipping up his middle finger in the direction of the other Yami. He dropped the remote and reached a hand into the bag of chips next to his stomach, stuffing a handful in his mouth, not bothering about crumbs. Ryou could always clean them up later. He chewed lazily, eyes barely registering what flicked on the screen in front of him.

He hated it here. Living with just Ryou had been fine. Why his Hikari had felt the need to invite his little buddy-bud and that prick of a Yami to live with them was beyond his power to understand. He shoved his hand angrily into the bag again, irritation rising when he realised it was pretty much empty.

‘Fuck…’

He tilted his head back again.

“Hey bitch! Bring me food!”

He heard a snort of what could be understood as ‘fuck off’ and was promptly ignored by the Yami, fuelling his sour mood. He swung his legs off the couch and rose to his feet, face twisting into a scowl. He stomped down the hall and into the kitchen, finding Marik of the floor, picking up the pots he’s spilled earlier. Bakura lifted his foot and shoved Marik’s shoulder with it, making him lose his balance and fall back on his ass, scattering the pile of pots.

“I said bring me something! Are you fuckin’ deaf?”

Marik snarled and shot to his feet, getting right in Bakura’s face. It wasn’t his fault that they’d been kicked out of their last place and had to move in with Mr My-shit-doesn’t-stink-and-even-if-it-did-you’d-like-the-smell-of-it and his little lost lamb, although, he didn’t mind living with Ryou, the Hikari being very quiet and an exceptionally good housecleaner. He glared at the Tomb Robber with a muttered “Fuck you” while grabbing his sandwich off the counter and went to move past him, leaving the pots to deal with later. Bakura grabbed the wrist that held the sandwich and took a huge bite out of it, as anger rose on Marik’s face.

“What the fuck?! Get your own, you lazy shit!” He swiped at the Yami with his other hand, shoving him away. Bakura’s grip tightened on his wrist and Marik gasped, feeling the bones a hairsbreadth from breaking. He hand loosened, fingers losing their strength, and he dropped the sandwich, which Bakura deftly caught and shoved in his mouth. He didn’t let go till he finished it all, then patted Marik condescendingly on the head and he moved to walk away.

“Good bitch. See? I knew you had it in you…” He smirked and turned away, intending to head back into the lounge and watch TV.

Marik cradled his hand, eyes blazing, baring his teeth in a snarl. This was the absolute last straw. He was tired of being shoved around by this lazy, good-for-nothing shit of a Yami, he’d only put up with it for so long because his Hikari had asked him to.

But no more.

With a string of profanity he launched himself at Bakura’s back, grabbing the nape of his neck with his good hand and smacking his head against the wall. The Tomb Robber’s forehead met the maple panelling with a crack and Marik followed up with a fist into his kidneys.

“Fuck you! You think you can just order me around?! Like I’m your fuckin’ slave?! Huh?!”

Bakura fell against the wall, still facing away, and Marik grabbed his head again, slamming it into the wall again and again, still raining punches on his unprotected back. He heard Bakura give out a choked noise and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around to slam his back against the wall.

Blood cascaded down his face from where his forehead had split. His breath came in ragged pants from his open mouth, because his nose looked to be broken. His eyes glinted sharply from under his heavy bloodstained bangs.

He was grinning. He was laughing.

Marik’s brows knitted together even as he raised his fists to swing at the Tomb Robber again. What Bakura needed was a good beating to put him in his place, and Marik would happily oblige him. He snarled when Bakura caught the swung fist in his hand and squeezed, making Marik’s nails bite into his own palm. The Yami winced and foolishly caught Bakura’s eye. He couldn’t look away, even though he knew what was about to happen. The Tomb Robber casually leaned forward and head-butted him, chuckling insanely as Marik fell back against the opposite wall of the hallway. He followed quickly, sinking a clenched fist deep into the other Yami’s unprotected gut, feeling the sudden expelled air on his cheek as Marik curled forward. He heard Marik panting for breath and knew he’d winded him, his smile curling up even further.

‘Oh this was going to be fun…’

He drew back and punched Marik in the gut again, hearing the Yami rasp for breath as he sank to his knees. He reached down and fisted a hand in Marik’s hair, tilting his head back at an uncomfortable angle and leaning down to speak to him, almost nose to nose.

“I think this game’s a little too serious for you, pretty boy…I know I can dish it out but can you take it?”

Marik snarled at him, teeth clenched, blood running in rivulets down his face from the split skin above his eye.

“Fuck you, thief…” He spat a glob of spit and blood onto Bakura’s face, a smug grin of triumph dancing across his face at the Yami’s disgusted look. “…You couldn’t serve it up even if you tried.”

Bakura sneered, one hand wiping down his face before he smeared it onto Marik’s cheek. He loosened his hand slightly in the Yami’s hair and drew back a fist, casually slugging him across the face, blood spattering across the wall, his fingers dripping as his hand fell limp at his side. He lifted a booted foot, kicking the Yami down onto the ground.

Marik spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and shot back to his feet, hands fisted in the front of Bakura’s shirt, gripping it so hard it ripped when he shoved the Yami up against the wall. Bakura snarled at him and he clenched his teeth, the blood from his split lips filling his mouth and making his teeth red. The pale-haired Yami’s hands came up to wind themselves in Marik’s shirt, holding him just as harshly.

“Had enough already, you pathetic excuse for a piece of shit?” Bakura spat, flecks of blood and spittle flying onto Marik’s face. The Yami didn’t even blink. Bakura grinned madly, convinced he’d won.

The smirk of victory faltered slightly when Marik grinned too before promptly tearing the shirt from Bakura in two big long shreds and swinging his fist back to smack against the Yami’s ribs. They both heard an audible snap and Bakura roared in anger, his own fists ripping the shirt from Marik as he took a step backward to get more force in his next punch.

Bakura caught his fist, pushing him backwards and swinging one of his own, listening to the satisfying sound of it striking Marik’s face.

The combat raged on, hard, wet smacking sounds filling the hallway, until neither of them knowing what it was about anymore. The anger had left, along with any sense of time as they beat each other for the sheer exhilaration of the fight.

Later, neither would remember who did it first, and if they did they didn’t want to admit to it, but hands slowly gripped more than punched, hard bodies met and pressed harshly, and when lips finally brushed, a spark of raw lust seized them.

Bakura forced Marik down onto the floor, both their hands tearing at Marik’s pants, nails cutting one another in their haste. The Tomb Robber ripped them down, his fingers leaving red gouges along Marik’s thighs as the other Yami started on the pale-haired man’s pants.

Naked flesh slid, slick with blood, hands fisted in hair, neither caring as some of it was pulled out. Teeth clacked together, lips split and raw. Bite marks adorned chests red with welts. Bakura spat into his hand and slicked himself for his own benefit, Marik spread his legs, blunt nails sinking deeply into Bakura’s back as the Tomb Robber thrust himself forward.

He didn’t stop, didn’t wait, but fucked the other Yami with all the pent-up aggression he’d been repressing. Hard and rough and uncaring, just the way they both liked it. Marik cried out, teeth sinking deeply into Bakura’s shoulder, hand pulling out a chunk of pale hair as the Tomb Robber lifted his hips to get a better angle for himself and accidentally found Marik’s prostate.

It wasn’t too long after that, that Marik came, head thunking back on the floor, a stream of curses leaving his lips as Bakura rode him cruelly; the carpet burning his back, the angry bite of the Tomb Robbers balls hitting his ass till he came, pulling Marik’s hips against him hard, one last time.

Bakura rolled off him, panting and got to his feet. He stepped over the other Yami without a word and sauntered to the kitchen, one hand absently fingering a wound on his stomach. Marik arched an eyebrow at the sight and sat up, wincing slightly. He hurt in various places but nothing that time wouldn’t fix. He just hoped this little slip hadn’t changed anything.

“Fuckin’ hell! Goddamn you Marik!” Bakura swore from the kitchen. Marik rolled his eyes.

“What’s your problem now, you fuckin’ drama-queen?!” Marik shouted back.

“Did you use all the damn cheese on that sandwich you just made?!”

Marik smirked.

“Piss off, go buy some more you lazy fuck!”

Yeah, things were back just the way they should be.

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