Chapter Text
The Spirit of the Ring flopped down bodily on Ryou’s bed, pawing at his arm, “Hey landlord, wake up,” Ryou groaned, rolling into a tighter ball, and the Spirit poked him again, aiming for the soft space by his shoulders. Ryou gave an irritated, pained twitch and Bakura jabbed at the spot harder, “I need to borrow the car,” Ryou groaned, “Last time I tried to hotwire, I went staticky,” This time Bakura punched Ryou in the side, “Hey landlord! Give me the keys!”
Ryou turned over, and Bakura fell to the floor. He rolled as he toppled, coming to a kneel by Ryou’s bedside, the movement undeniably feline.
“What time is it?” Ryou groaned, as Bakura gave his hair a pull that was a touch too hard. Though it was undeniable that Bakura was more tolerable outside of your own skull, he made every effort to rise to the challenge, and beat his personal best, even with the handicap of his own body.
“Keys,” Bakura repeated, as Ryou reached over to pull his clock towards him.
“God, it’s like ten thirty,” Ryou flopped back into his hoard of pillows – a hoard Bakura had been slowly stealing from over the past few months, he didn’t think Ryou had noticed yet.
“Most people are awake at this time, just look at my wonderful self,” Bakura gestured towards himself, “I was awake at sunrise.”
Ryou flopped onto his back, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, “I have work this afternoon; you can’t have the car.”
Bakura scowled, standing up and springing onto the bed. He kicked at Ryou’s side, “Malik’s in town, if we didn’t live out in the middle of nowhere-” Ryou swiped at Bakura’s ankles with a tired, loose arm and Bakura simply hopped over the offending arm with the ease of practice, “I wouldn’t need the car, or-” He kicked Ryou a bit too hard in the lower back, and Ryou rolled after the leg, snarling and swatting at it. Bakura went down in a heap on the bed, grinning with one too many teeth, “Feisty! Okay, but if I had my own car then-”
“You don’t even have a license!”
Bakura snorted, “Trivial details,” He rolled onto his back, crossing his arms over his chest, “Ishtar’s only here for a few days, you know.”
Ryou eyed Bakura, brown eyes narrowing. He buried his face into his pillows once more, groaning deeply. He resurfaced, glaring at Bakura, “Alright, I’ll drive you into town, but you have to find your own way home.”
“He’s got his dangerous metal trap of a bike, I guess,” Bakura huffed, “Alright, deal then,” Ryou crawled over Bakura, staggering to his feet and stumbling into his bathroom.
“Malik’s not here tonight is he?” Ryou called back from the bathroom, yanking a hairbrush through his hair. He hissed as it caught on a knot.
Bakura stretched out, commandeering the bed in a long arch of a yawn, “Well of course he is.”
Ryou’s head poked round the doorframe, the brush embedded in his hair, “You guys kept me up all night last time, he is so not staying here.”
“Turn you on, huh?” Bakura smirked, arms hooked behind his head.
Ryou gave a dubious look, “There’s no way I can answer that without you being a prick, therefore I’m going to ignore it.”
“Thattayes,” Bakura coughed heavily, smirking at Ryou playfully, “Gee, what a perverted landlord, huh?”
Ryou rolled his eyes, and stalked back into the bathroom, “Hmph,” Another hiss of pain, “Can’t you go to his? He’s staying at a fancy hotel and all…”
“Don’t I wish?” Bakura sniffed delicately, “His sister doesn’t like me.”
“I don’t like you,” Ryou muttered darkly.
Bakura rolled up, sliding to his feet, “Aw, is that anyway to talk to your loyal housemate? We used to be so close, huh?” He poked his head round the side of the door, before sauntering into the bathroom to pull faces as Ryou brushed his teeth, “Where did we go wrong?”
“When,” Ryou jabbed his toothbrush in Bakura’s direction, “You attempted to bring about the end of days,” Bakura flicked at Ryou’s hair boredly, and Ryou waved him away, “You know the only reason we’re housemates is because I’m the only person who can even halfway manage you.”
“And what happiness I’ve brought you,” Bakura laughed, and arched an eyebrow as Ryou finished brushing his teeth, gargling water, “I should pick up some groceries, though?” Ryou spat the water out, “You’re not a swallower, I guess.”
“Don’t be crass,” A smile tugged at Ryou’s mouth, “And buy groceries, I said buy.”
“As you would have me do,” Bakura waved a hand gallantly towards the door, “After you, landlord.”
Ryou pulled his hand through his hair, fingers catching on a missed knot as he pulled a hoodie on over the top he’d slept in. He wriggled into jeans as Bakura sprang back up on the bed, kicking at the pillows and sheets boredly. Dressed – ostensibly, Bakura raised an eyebrow at Ryou’s disheveled appearance – Ryou rummaged in his pocket for a moment, before pulling out a hairband and tying his hair up into a lazy sidetail.
Bakura tutted, steering Ryou towards the breakfast table and the cup of tea already laid out, pushing him down into the spot by the shoulders, “You should dress better,” Bakura snorted, undoing the sidetail and fussing with Ryou’s hair, “Drink the tea, landlord.”
“You burnt the leaves,” Ryou muttered, sipping at the tea and wincing as Bakura pulled a bit too hard, “And my hair is fine.”
“And my tea is fine, you ass,” Bakura snapped, and retied the sidetail, “There, I can actually go out in public with you now.”
Ryou drained the cup without coming up for air, and set it down, pushing his chair back, “Hotel or museum?”
“Museum,” Bakura ran a hand through his hair, fingers sliding effortlessly through the brushed strands as Ryou stepped into the kitchen, “So you hid them in the kitchen, huh?”
“Don’t you look,” Ryou growled, and there was the sound of movement from the kitchen. The sound of china.
Cookie jar on the third shelf, Bakura decided, he’d need to remember that. He made for the door, shoving his feet into his already laced shoes and wriggling until he’d managed to get them on, “We going?”
“Give me a-” Ryou cut off mid-sentence, and Bakura rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand that. A moment later, Ryou reappeared, heading for the front door, “You look good,” Ryou appraised Bakura for a moment.
“Don’t I?” Bakura brushed at his jacket. He flicked his hair away from his shoulder proudly.
“Malik will like the new coat,” Ryou nodded, and pushed past Bakura to open the door.
“Like that matters,” Bakura snorted, hands shoving in his pockets, “I like it.”
“Uhuh,” Ryou hummed, keys jangling in his hand. He sounded unconvinced and Bakura glowered in his general direction, on general principle, “You two have been dating for what a year now? A month or something after you reappeared. That’s pretty good.”
“We’re not dating,” Bakura reminded Ryou, laughing under his breath.
“Uhuh,” Ryou gave a bird-like shrug, “I think it’s cute.”
“And I think you’re a little bitch,” Bakura snorted, “Milk, bread, the usual, some kind of tea for you?”
“Buy,” Ryou reminded Bakura pointedly, “Buy the groceries.”
Bakura and Malik returned late at night, drunk, no groceries, legs tangling and knocking into the kitchen counter. It would have been an oddly attractive moment – Malik grinning at Bakura, face flushed, hands mapping at each other’s hips – it would have been, save Ryou who entered with a small pile of used dishes, and began putting them away in the dishwasher. Malik tried to disentangle from Bakura, who locked him against the counter with his body, twisting his head to glare at Ryou.
They waited for Ryou to say something, but Ryou simply continued with his chore, ignoring them. When Ryou’s comment was not forthcoming, Bakura smirked, “Landlord,” His eyes narrowed, “To what do we owe the pleasure of your compa-”
“Don’t,” Ryou muttered in annoyance, kicking the dishwasher closed and stomping from the kitchen.
Bakura shrugged, ducking his head the crook of Malik’s neck and biting down, “Bakura,” Malik pulled at his hair, “I’m pretty sure the moment’s gone.”
“I’m stealing it back,” Bakura chuckled, fingers scraping lightly up Malik’s back, “Come on, the kitchen’s different – we haven’t used the counter much.”
“Because it’s an awful angle,” Malik wriggled out from under Bakura’s body, and Bakura growled, the low sound dark with displeasure, “We are not-”
“Oh come on,” Bakura rolled his eyes, following Malik from the kitchen, “The angle is fine,” He lunged for Malik’s hand, which twisted out of the way.
“Like you’d know,” Malik snorted, “Not like you’re the one taking it like a-” They crashed into the couch, sounding like a pair of squalling cats.
“My spine, ugh,” Bakura complained, trying to shove Malik off him, “Gerroff.”
“You didn’t even hit your back,” Malik sat up, leaning his hands on Bakura’s chest dazedly. Bakura snarled under the weight, and Malik shifted a hand, as Bakura squirmed violently beneath him. There was a yipe from Bakura, and Malik found himself flat on Bakura’s chest again.
Bakura was sucking air sharply between his gritted teeth, and coughed, “Get off, can’t fucking breathe, feel like I’m gonna’ puke,” Malik reeled his weight back, and Bakura kicked out, feet connecting with the arm of the couch. Another sharp intake of breath, and Bakura groaned in discomfort. Malik toppled forward, throwing his hands out to catch himself, hands landing just above Bakura’s head.
There was a thin shift from Bakura, a change in expression and a sticky smirk across his features; Malik looked down at him incredulously, “Honestly?” Bakura’s fingernails scratched at Malik’s hip bones. Malik grabbed Bakura by the hair, as Bakura shifted to nip at Malik’s arm, pulling him back, “You just told me to get off.”
Bakura’s hands settled on Malik’s hips, always a little too sharply, and held him in place, “Couch has a better angle?” Bakura stretched his head back, neck exposed like a submitting animal.
“Couch has to be used every day,” Malik rolled his eyes, trying to get off Bakura. Bakura bared his teeth, smirk tightening with self-confidence, and he arched his back. Hard, pressed their bodies together, and his fingers dug insistently in at Malik’s waist. Malik’s grip on Bakura’s hair tensed, “Bakura, no,” and Bakura rolled his hips, licking his teeth with a self-satisfied grin.
“Malik, yes,” Bakura slid his hands up Malik’s back, “Yes,” Malik let go of Bakura’s hair and Bakura sat up, letting Malik slide definitively into his lap. Licked at his collarbone, and nipped at the groove of his neck, and kneaded at the middle of Malik’s back, “Yes?” Bakura paused at his place on Malik’s neck, voice lilting in a question. His hands slipped back to Malik’s hips.
“Yes,” Malik grabbed a handful of Bakura’s shirt, and pulled Bakura’s grinning face from its position at Malik’s neck, kissed him with a clash of teeth.
“Ye-ess,” Bakura hissed into Malik’s mouth, hands curling around Malik’s lower back and yanking him against Bakura’s chest. He gave an annoyed grunt as Malik tugged Bakura’s shirt over his head, and pressed in to bite at Malik’s neck again, teeth a sharp critique.
Bakura pulled Malik’s shirt up at the back, bite turning into a decisive suck, and laughed into it when Malik pulled at his hair again, “10-4,” Bakura let go, licking at the flush of a forming bruise, and huffed as Malik pulled his own shirt over his head, dislodging Bakura.
Before the shirt was completely off, Bakura settled back to bite at Malik’s chest, hands slipping round the front. Where the back had been cautiously handled – claws sheathed, restrained and twitching with effort – Bakura raked gleefully down Malik’s front, leaving scoremarks across his ribs.
A huff of laughter from Malik, a twinge of pain and Bakura paused, glancing up questioningly. Malik pushed Bakura’s face back, fingers twining in his hair, before letting go and dropping to Bakura’s shoulders. Curled round them, and then scraped desperately between them, pulling at Bakura’s belt and scratching at his fly.
“Impatient today are-” Bakura cut off, uninterested in his sentence, and more interested in Malik’s jeans, “Fuck, come on,” He yanked at Malik’s belt, and it came out with a clack, catching Bakura’s fingers.
He yelped, and tossed the offending item away. It ended up curled innocently on the floor, whilst Bakura licked his injured fingers. Malik peered round at the sound of it, and threw Bakura’s belt after it.
Bakura winced, clenching his fingers rhythmically and Malik ground against him with an insistent whine. A single arched eyebrow from Bakura, a challenging kiss, and they pushed away from each other, clawing their jeans off.
“Fucking hell,” Bakura ground his teeth, half-caught in his jeans, “Why did I wear these goddamn-” His sentence came to a stutter, hitching stop as Malik – who had easily kicked his clothing off –pressed his knee between Bakura’s legs.
A low hum, and Malik shifted, pushing Bakura’s back into the couch and shucking Bakura’s jeans and underwear off simultaneously, in a series of graceless tugs. Malik straddled Bakura, hands settling on Bakura’s shoulders, toying with his hair.
“Yeah?” Malik shifted, spine straightening, the slightest hint of an arch and Bakura’s hands flicked straight to Malik’s waist, nails biting in.
“Yeah,” Bakura nodded, tipping his head up, and settling into his spot, “This works,” His expression twisted, teeth showing, and he shifted, unsettled. Malik moved, trying to give Bakura breathing space, flushing in embarrassment and Bakura gave a long, agonized snarl, “No.”
Malik rolled off Bakura’s lap, giving a rueful look at Bakura, “I knew you shouldn’t have eaten-”
“Shut up,” Bakura grimaced, curling into himself, “Shit, it feels like my body is trying to eat itself,” A shudder, “Gods, I think my organs are about to single file tango through my esophagus and back up out my eyes.”
“And there’s the mood,” Malik huffed, and Bakura gave a low whine, breath shallow and unsteady, “You okay?”
“Peachy,” Bakura whined, shivering.
Malik clicked his tongue, getting to his feet, “First aid’s in the bathroom right?” There was another groan from Bakura, “Mh-hm.”
Malik pulled his jeans on, listening to the whines and whinges shift into a mixture of whimpering, and swearing. He raised both eyebrows and darted towards the bathroom – whatever was paining Bakura had come on fast and hard and ill-timed.
Excessively ill-timed.
Hard to blame someone curled up in pain, and Malik gestured with the water and tablets, “You look like my brother when he had trouble with his gallbladder…”
“Not helping,” Bakura growled.
“Meds,” Malik held the water out and Bakura took it sloppily, downing the proffered tablets and splashing himself in the same movement, “I’m just saying maybe you should get checked; looks painful.”
“Painful? Really?” Bakura tossed the rest of the water in Malik’s face, and Malik flicked his now dripping hair out of his eyes.
Unimpressed, Malik sat down next to Bakura, and tugged his shirt on, “I can get Ryou; he’s a med student you said.”
Bakura snorted, the sound pained, “He’s barely started – hasn’t even touched one of those heart-listeners-”
“Stethoscopes,” Malik supplied, “As you like,” Malik leaned back in his spot, watching Bakura carefully as Bakura hunched over, and pulled his legs up, shifting every few seconds.