Promise Me Nothing

Chapter Twenty-Three: Marik

Bakura’s arms were around me, the kind of gentle, inviting comfort I never expected to find in him. I settled into his grasp, sighing slowly. I glanced to the window, seeing snow. It’d been snowing non-stop since a few days before, but this time was the first I’d really appreciated it. “It’s snowing,” I said, sitting up slightly.

I could hear his heart now, pounding in quick, harsh beats. “We’ll have a better view of it from your room,” he said quietly, barely audible over his own heart.

“Sure,” I replied, just as quietly. In a sudden motion and quick manoeuvre, Bakura had grabbed and lifted me, hands joining under my arse to hoist me up. I clutched his shoulders, gritting my trrth against a curse out of surprise.

Bakura’s smile morphed into a smirk too easily as he carried me to my room. I raised my eyebrows, trying to be sure he wouldn’t drop me. His arms were more used to hoisting figurines, not someone taller and more muscular than he was.

But we managed to get to my bed, before he dumped me unceremoniously on the duvet. He plopped down beside me, panting softly. I flopped backward, lying on my back to stare at the ceiling, losing interest in the snow as Bakura moved to straddle me, one hand on either side of my head.

He kissed me. This one wasn’t cautious or nervous, but more free. My breath caught, my hands tangled in his hair. I slid back, pulling him along with me to rest comfortably in the pillows. The whole time, we didn’t break contact, lips moving against each other.

I slid my hand under the hem of his shirt, feeling up his thin frame to his chest. Once I’d touched there, Bakura suddenly shifted, head ducking to nip my throat—a sharp, sensual feeling that echoed from that point, furthered by his hands teasing my shirt off my skin.

We pulled apart for an instant, to let him yank away my shirt, throwing it to the floor. Then we pressed back together, my fingers finding the zipper to his trousers, toying with it.

Another break from the kiss, for Bakura to look down at me, hair sliding down to block the light, voice sending my head spinning with three words: “Take them off.”

•••

We were quiet in the buzz of bedsheets. Snow still fell outside and I smiled, curling my fingers into Bakura’s hair, the same colour as the precipitation outside. There’d never been snow in Egypt.

Tangled in love and the taste of mine and Bakura’s sweat, I closed my eyes. Today, just today, life was perfect.

We had a while of this ahead of us, probably. Not forever, but for a while. As long as I had Bakura and he was still bound to the world, I would hold onto him.

Even if he couldn’t promise me forever.

- The End -