Dedicated to Pork Steak the Grande, just because. ;3 Here's your story, lady.

This probably won't make much sense until you know where this is coming from. xD;;

It's based off of an RP I'm doing with a bombsause gal! Bakura pisses off the wrong guy, and Ryou, the FBI agent is sent out to keep an eye on Bakura and keep him alive, but ends up falling in love with him. That's pretty much the gist of it.

This isn't actually part of the story, it's just a one-shot I wrote that goes with the plotline of it. Well, in a way, I suppose it does tie in with the story, but it doesn't fit in with the time-line, so let's just say it's a random one-shot inspired by the FBI plot! xD

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh!. Pork Steak the Grande and I (Anime-fan Meepa) do own the plot, though.

Warning: There's a soft, non-descriptive lemon in this. Could it even be called a lemon? Probably more of a citrus-flavored treat. If you want the actual lemon, lemme write it, and I'll give you the link when it's posted on AFF!

.: Intoxicating Emotions :.

It was funny, really, if you thought about it.

The smaller male let out a soft groan as Bakura latched his mouth onto his jaw, biting down lightly. In an almost clumsy way, his hands, hard and callused from years of working them, roved over the pale skin that lay beneath him. Ryou gasped, arching into the touch with a high sound of want.

"'K-kura," he whined, trying to get more contact, body hot and needing to be taken care of. "Please," he added, stretching out the word in a drunken slur.

Both of them had just gotten home from a bar, and dropped off their right mind somewhere along the way of going to it in the first place. Every time they went drinking, they always got a little worse than just tipsy. Every time they went drinking, they always ended up waking up naked (or mostly so), holding onto each other after a night of sex that had to be more than casual. Every time they went drinking, they always ended up ruining their lives just a little bit more.

Bakura still was not attracted to men.

Ryou still did not want to continue to live the lie Bakura thought was truth.

And yet, every weekend, they always, always ended up the same way: drunk, horny, and regretting it the next morning.

It happened every single time. They should have learned from the first experience, but of course, they went back for more. Alcohol had a way of allowing the consumer to become much more open and loose about things; Ryou the shy, keep-to-himself man became loud and outgoing, cracking jokes and laughing at everything. Several times he'd even gotten up and attempted to dance for anyone he was with. Bakura, who was obviously straighter than a steel rod, became sinfully attracted to Ryou, wanting to touch and grope him, not caring who saw, or who knew he lusted after the slighter male.

So why? Why did they continue on in this chain that could so easily be broken?

"Mm, so fucking hot," the blue-eyed man purred, hands sliding down Ryou abdomen, causing the latter to sigh in a pleasured manner, squirming.

The only time he had ever been called sexy was when they were in this position – metaphorically and literally – and it caused that familiar feeling of being wanted to swell up in his chest. He craved it like a drug, like he longed for the other. His cloudy brown eyes, glazed with intoxicated emotions, moved to watch the face of his lover. The man was unworldly handsome, his face sharp and dangerous. His eyes had a slight tilt to them, being one of the only indications of his birthplace. His cheekbones were high and protruding, and it only brought out his gorgeous, icy eyes more. The hair that fell around such a beautiful face was messy and almost always unbrushed, despite the fact that he worked for such a high-ranking company. Ryou often wondered how Seto Kaiba allowed this man to continue to come into work every day looking so unprofessional.

Eyes trailing lower, he took in the Adams apple that fit the other so well. His body was thin, but muscular, looking well toned but far from bulky and gross. He had such a perfect figure, Ryou wondered why no one had proclaimed Bakura a god on Earth and started a following for him. The fact that hit home the hardest, though, was that right now... Bakura was all his. No one else could touch him, and Bakura allowed no one to get so close anyway. Even if he slept with a woman, Ryou was special. He was the only man the other had ever even touched like this. Bakura never went back for another taste of the same woman, but he always ended up coming back to Ryou.

He, himself, was more ordinary and plain-looking than could ever be desired. At least, this was how he felt. Every time he looked at himself in the mirror, all he ever saw was some unattractive, feminine man who just barely fit the description of his own gender. He was thin and lanky, his limbs almost bony-looking, but, again, it fit. He didn't look malnourished or sick. His face was a lot softer than Bakura's and his eyes were larger, not narrow like the older male's. His own hair, which was a lighter, cleaner tone, was always brushed and kept neat, though now it was stringy and mussed from being so roughly handled and how he had been thrown onto the bed earlier. Overall, he looked like someone who would rather run from a fight and probably couldn't defend himself even if he wanted to. Bakura knew better, though. Ryou had proved that he was a force to be reckoned with when they first met and he decided to jostle the younger male around a bit. Hell, the kid had practically lifted him all the way off of his feet when he'd grabbed Bakura's shirt collar and pulled him forward over his desk. His eyes had been so fierce, that the larger man had honestly felt a rush of something akin to fear run up his spine. He never wanted to be on the receiving end of that look again.

Lifting up his hands, Ryou reached out and wrapped them around Bakura's shoulders, fingers running over the scar that was left from the first time he'd failed to do his job. He felt a wave of shame wash over him, pulling him under where it was hard to find pleasure. The image of the stranger holding a gun to Bakura's head... if he hadn't yelled out at that point and startled the guy into missing so drastically, then... Bakura wouldn't even be around right now. But if he hadn't been taking a nap, then he would have caught the scene before it ever happened. And that lead to how he was unable to reveal to the other who exactly he was. Not that he hadn't given out his real name – or first name, anyway – and certainly not that he was pretending to be someone he wasn't... But it was that he couldn't tell Bakura the real reason he was hired by Seto Kaiba, and put in the same department as the man with such a wild personality, or why he had an apartment that was directly beside Bakura's, or why he was trained to use a gun and where to hit to get the results he needed. He couldn't say a word of it.

He knew they were in too deep. Even if he wanted to, he dared not even think about telling these details now. Bakura would hate him, would think he was only getting close because he was paid to do so. How could he possibly defend himself and tell that his feelings were one-hundred and twenty percent pure? They were both so tangled in their own mess that the slightest thing might cause the threads to either unravel, dropping both of them to the hard ground, or wind them up further to the point where neither had room to breathe, much less move. And that was why he kept his secret. Why he threw caution to the wind and gave up everything and more to the man he loved stronger than words could ever describe. He knew Bakura cared for him as well, and he was only now starting to show how much he truly did. Ryou didn't want to ruin what they shared, even if it only happened when they were drunk.

"Stop thinking," came the breathy whisper in his ear, and it pulled the brown-eyed man back to reality so fast, he swore he felt whiplash strike his neck. The feeling of such hot breath on one of his most sensitive areas brought out a wonton groan from Ryou, and he held the other tighter. "I don't want you to think," Bakura continued, fingers twirling over the button on the slighter male's jeans. "I want you to scream my name!"

And suddenly, the hand slid lower and gripped his crotch. "'Kura!" Ryou cried, bucking his hips. There wasn't a trace of worry in his features any longer. Hell, he couldn't have remembered what he had been thinking only seconds before if he were asked. "Oh, God, I want you," he panted, kissing the other's face, even going as far as to place his lips over Bakura's and force his tongue into the older man's mouth. Bakura didn't mind at all, though, and kissed back forcefully while his hands fumbled with the zipper. He was thankful he had his staples removed from his shoulder not too long ago; he was tired of doing everything one-handed.

Cries of need turned into cries of passion as their bodies moved together, grinding, thrusting...

Breathing became louder as did the mutual sounds of pleasure. Even through such a carnal act, there was something behind the lust, and behind the desire to reach ultimate euphoria. Both knew they were connected through more than just physical need. Both could feel that odd sensation behind rough edges. And suddenly, both men froze, bodies rigid and words they unconsciously spoke tumbled from their lips.

And then, their intimate dance complete, Bakura shifted and rolled over, pulled Ryou's body close to his as they both gulped in air as a parched man would water. "Oh, God, 'Kura... love you so much..."

"I know," came the reply. Bakura tiredly reached down, still panting, and gripped the comforter, pulling it over both of them. "I know." With a gentle kiss, something one wouldn't expect from such a harsh man, he laid his head atop Ryou's, his chin resting against the soft nest of hair as the smaller nestled his head into the crook of his lover's neck. "Just go to sleep."

And without further prompting, Ryou did just that, an affectionate and blissful smile on his lips.

It was only times like this that both of them could mingle with such close and chaotic emotions. It was only now that they could love and not give a shit what the world thought about it. And they both soaked every last drop of it in, never letting one go to waste, for there was such a limited supply it would be a sin to let a thing so precious drift away.

It was funny, really, how alcohol could solve life's problems, even if only for a night.

.: The End :.