Marik's scream pierced through the night air, and Bakura immediately sat up in his bed, shocked awake.

Bakura didn't sleep in the same room with Marik. After Bakura had managed to come back from the dead- for, what, the fourth time?- and regain a body, he'd started living with Marik. Because who else did he have to go to, really? No one else, not after the battle for the world was over.

So Marik was his roommate, and they fucked, but they didn't sleep together. Bakura wouldn't allow that. Bakura had his own bedroom, on the other side of the apartment. But still, every time Marik had one of his nightmares- every fucking time- he screamed loud enough to awaken Bakura.

"Damn him," Bakura mumbled to himself. "If he keeps this up, I'm going to move out."

The knife sliced through his skin, scarring him, marking him, ruining him. Destroying him. His flesh parted underneath the hot blade, and the slab he lay on was cold and hard underneath him. The pain was unbearable, unimaginable, but he did bear it, and he could imagine it, and this would happen over and over and it would never end.

The knife started to carve yet another symbol in a language he couldn't understand, tattooing on him a message of pain and loss that he would carry with him for all of his days. As his skin broke and blood flowed down his sides, he finally screamed, and his scream rang in his own ears, and he thought it would never end, just as the pain would never end, the knife flaying his back open again and again, forever.

But then it did end, the knife suddenly gone and replaced instead with a touch that was clearly meant to sooth and not to hurt.

He turned his head slowly and saw Bakura standing next to him, bathed in an ethereal light, his white hair and gray eyes almost glowing, making him look like an angel as he gently rubbed Marik's back.

And that was when Marik always realized that it was a dream, just a dream- not only because Bakura hadn't been there during his ritual, but because Bakura would never do this, never touch him with tenderness in an attempt to comfort him. Bakura let Marik fuck him- wanted Marik to fuck him, as often as possible, it seemed- but Bakura didn't touch him like this.

Besides, Bakura was sure as hell no angel. And anyways, his eyes were brown, not gray.

But still, it was always a relief to realize that he was only dreaming, that he wasn't really back there in the tomb, that all of that was over.

And then, as it always did when he came to that realization in this recurring dream- nightmare?- the scene changed, and he was in a bedroom. It wasn't his own bedroom. It was a place he'd never been before, a place apparently invented by his own mind, a room with a luxurious bed draped with red and violent hangings, and Bakura was still there, gently massaging his back.

And even though it was only the dream-version of Bakura that always allowed Marik to change his traumatic nightmare into a pleasant dream, Marik was thankful to Bakura. Even if the real Bakura would never do the things that his dream-verion of Bakura did, Marik had to be thankful, because his nightmares had never taken this more positive turn during the time Bakura was dead- this new twist in his nightly terrors had only started happening after Bakura had come back and asked to stay at his place.

He supposed it was only wish fulfillment, his subconscious dreaming up the compassion he so desired, the compassion that he would never get from another person in his real life. But it warded off the nightmare for him, changing it into something good, and that was enough.

And he wanted it, as well- this dream-Bakura who was more tender- so Marik let himself enjoy the fantasy. Though he knew it was only a dream now, he didn't want to wake up. He wanted to stay here, to savor the feeling of hands running softly over his skin, Bakura's fingers massaging him and comforting him and wordlessly telling him that everything was alright, a touch that spoke of caring and affection in a way that no touch in the waking world ever would.

He sighed softly and moved into Bakura's touch, and then suddenly, Bakura's touch was gone, and he could feel the dream breaking up around him as he regretfully began to come awake.

Marik made a contented noise and moved in his sleep, and Bakura immediately jerked his hands away from Marik's back.

It had worked, as it always did. His touch had calmed Marik and drawn him away from his dark dreams. But now he was waking up, and Bakura wouldn't let Marik catch him in his room.

He moved stealthily across the floor, out of Marik's room, and shut the door softly behind him. He could hear the quiet sounds of Marik's waking even through the wooden barrier. He crept back to his own room. Marik would never know that he had been there.

AN: Fluff? FLUFF! I hope you didn't expect anything else from me. They lived happily ever after, etc.

Written while drunk AND high AND unbeta'd, let's see how this works!

I would have asked my beta, but my online bestie is very busy, plus tomorrow we're finishing the next chapter of out joint fic, so yeah, not gonna bother her right now, and besides, I told her the plot of this fic and she told me I should write it.

As always, I hope you liked it and reviews are loved and appreciated!