***AN: Beta'd by SuperSteffy. If you're ever in the mood for IC, well written, fluffy pwp, Thiefshipping one shots, then go check out her account.***

*** DISCLAIMER***

"Ladies and gentlemen
Welcome to the disclaimer
That's right, the disclaimer
This American apple pie institution
Known as parental discretion
Will cleanse any sense of innuendo or sarcasm
From the (story) that might actually make you think
And will also insult your intelligence at the same time.
So protect your family,
This (fanfic) contains explicit depictions
Of things which are real.
These real things are commonly known as life.
So, if it sounds sarcastic, don't take it seriously.
If it sounds dangerous,
Do not try this at home or at all.
And if it offends you, just don't (read) it." ~The Offspring, Disclaimer

"Real things" that includes bad words, adult content of the male/male variety, and acknowledgment of Marik's and Bakura traumatic childhoods. The title, Trigger, refers to the term "trauma trigger." This is an alternate ending fic that focuses and trauma recovery, but don't worry, I'll just ruin it for you now and tell you that Marik "doesn't get eaten by the eels at this time," wait, wrong story, oh well let's just get on with *this* story . . . ***

When Bakura answered the door, he did not expect to see Marik, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping without patience against the hallway floor. Marik turned to look at Bakura, narrowing his eyes, and instead of greeting him, asked. "Why did it take you so long to open the door?"

Bakura snorted, stepping aside as Marik barged into the apartment. "Well, look who came to visit. I thought you were off to live happily-ever-after, since the heroic Pharaoh rescued you from darkness."

Marik's hands curled into fists. "They went back to the tomb. Ishizu kept insisting there's one more duty for us to fulfill before we start our new lives." Marik stared at the sofa to his right. "It's not like I want to keep running away from my family, but I'll be damned if I'm ever going back underground."

Bakura frowned. "So you came here? How did you even know I'd been re-united with my Host?" Bakura stopped, the answer to his question apparent. He glared at Marik. "I thought you cut all the mental strings to your puppets when you forfeited the Rod to the Pharaoh?"

"Why would you think that?" Marik grinned, his true grin and not his fake, Namu smile. "Never hurts to have a contingency plan. Don't you agree, Bakura? Besides, Rishid knows all my usual haunts, but he wouldn't think to look for me here."

Bakura crossed his arms over his chest. "What makes you think you're welcome here?"

"Didn't you miss me?" Marik asked, stepping close to Bakura.

Bakura stepped back as Marik walked forward until Bakura caught the couch and fell, landing hard onto the cushions. Marik crawled into his lap, raising his hands to hold each side of Bakura's face.

"Stop fooling around." Bakura jerked his head away from Marik's grasp.

"No." Marik gripped Bakura's chin between his thumb and pointer finger, bringing Bakura's face close enough to steal a kiss.

Bakura bit Marik's lower lip. Marik slapped him and pulled away. "What the fuck, Bakura?"

"You're not seducing me into letting you stay here."

"You decided I could stay the moment you opened the door and saw me. Now, I'm just settling in."

"You're also not waltzing in here and taking charge of things."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Marik laughed.

"Nor are you mooching off of my Host for free while you hide."

"Noble words coming from you, parasite. How much rent do you give your landlord?" Marik snorted. "I can pay the rent. I have plenty of money from running the Ghouls."

A disapproving expression shadowed Bakura's face. He stared at Marik for half a minute. "Your siblings are loyal to the Pharaoh."

Marik's jaw clenched into a hard line. "Yes they are, but I'm not. I can't blame him for something I did, but that doesn't mean I'm becoming his dog and going back underground. Not for him, not for the prophecy on my back, not even for Ishizu. You still want your revenge? Take it. I won't stop you. Just leave me out of it."

"You better not let the Pharaoh or his friends see you."

"Why the hell would I? That's as good as letting my sister see me."

Marik shifted to stand up, but Bakura grabbed his waist and held him still. Marik looked down at Bakura.

Bakura's expression softened. "How long do you plan on staying?"

The grin crept back onto Marik's face. "I suppose until it's time to perform whatever stupid duty Ishizu thinks we still need to do."

Bakura snorted. "How will you know when that time comes if you avoid her?"

"If it's destiny, then it'll happen anyway, won't it?"

"I suppose so."

"So." Marik leaned forward, his nose grazing the tip Bakura's nose. "Did you miss me?"

"No."

"Do you want me?"

"No."

Marik held the sides of Bakura's face again, kissing him, and this time Bakura opened his mouth and kissed Marik in return. Marik's fingers slid down to Bakura's throat and then behind his neck and into his white hair.

Bakura growled and bucked his hips against Marik, sliding his tongue in and out of Marik's mouth. Marik ran his tongue along Bakura's bottom lip and pulled his hair. They slid off of the couch and onto the floor, Marik straddling Bakura's hips and grinding into him. Bakura grabbed Marik's waist, holding Marik in place and pushing his own body up in three hard thrusts of his hips. The teasing movement incited a small gasp from Marik.

Marik pulled back. His hands clasped the hem of his shirt and pulled the fabric over his head before tossing it onto the floor. His butter yellow hair sifted over his copper shoulders. Bakura reached up and combed his pale fingers through the yellow strands.

"You remind me of the desert," Bakura said, his mind wandering in a place that existed thousands of years ago. He traced his fingers down Marik's bare chest, curving his touch around Marik's pectoral muscles and lower to the obliques, and then down to Marik's Adonis belt. "You remind me of a silo of wheat; of a wild cat that hunts at dusk."

Marik pushed his mouth against Bakura's and they resumed their kissing.

Bakura's hands tugged at Marik's belt and then his fingers fumbled with the zipper of Marik's pants. Marik raised his ass to allow Bakura to remove his pants. He slid his hands under Bakura's shirt and lifted it over Bakura's head.

Marik licked along Bakura's chest, pushing the Ring aside and outlining the scars below Bakura's sternum. "Seems you've damaged your residence. You're not going to get your deposit back from your landlord."

"It was necessary."

Marik fingered another jagged, white scar below Bakura's shoulder. "So was this one."

Bakura nodded.

Marik held Bakura's left hand, rubbing a final scar. "What about this one?"

"Also necessary."

"Would your host agree?"

Bakura smirked. "My Host would brag that he won that game."

Marik raised an eyebrow. He kissed the scar on Bakura's hand. He pressed the hand against his chest, the white complexion more pallid when contrasted to Marik's almond colored skin. "Do you want me?"

"No."

Marik stripped Bakura's pants away from his body, rubbing the tip of Bakura's penis and kissing below Bakura's naval. "I won't do anything until you ask."

"I don't want to play games."

"It's not a game."

Bakura stared at Marik, droplets of sweat beading just below the yellow hair line. Marik stared back, his lilac eyes steady, any lust or desire he may or may not have was buried behind of wall of control. Bakura watched as Marik continued to tease his hand over Bakura's penis. His eyes never left Bakura, waiting for him to capitulate and ask for more.

In the back of Bakura's mind he heard Ryou whimpering soft, greedy mewls. His Host wanted to take control of his body and beg Marik, but he allowed the Spirit to pace the situation without argument. Bakura could wait, his mind still half lost in the forgotten memories that Marik evoked in him from a life that felt like a dream. River silt, hot wind, reeds against his ankles and calves – he let these memories filter over to Ryou's consciousness in order to calm him.

He pulled Marik back on top of him, sucking on Marik's bottom lip. Marik rubbed their bodies together, sweat tickling the fine hairs on their legs and stomachs. They kissed until both were panting into each other's mouths. Their hearts, trying to reach each other, pushed against the cages of their ribs.

"Marik," Bakura whispered.

"What?" he sneered.

"There's a bottle of lube underneath the cushions."

"Oh really?" Marik chuckled, lifting up the cushion and finding a stash of plugs, beads, lubrication, and a few sordid comics. "Shame on you Bakura. Does your sweet little host know about all this?"

Bakura snorted, amused.

Marik glanced over his shoulder. "All this is his?"

Bakura didn't answer.

Marik dropped the cushion and turned to face Bakura, watching his eyes, trying to read the answer to his question in Bakura's face. A surprised look overtook Marik's face, replaced with a scandalous smile.

"You use them together." Marik leaned closer. "Is he aware of what's going on now?"

"That'd turn you on, wouldn't it? The thought of manipulating two at once."

"Perhaps." Marik shrugged as he poured the lubrication into his hand.

A slight trace of want broke past Marik's indifferent features as he glided his slick hand up and down Bakura's shaft. Bakura bit his bottom lip, muffling the grunts escaping out of his throat as Marik's hand moved soft and light over Bakura's phallus.

Bakura licked his lips. "Fuck me."

Marik grinned. "You never asked."

"No, I never did."

Marik forced coated fingers into Bakura's asshole. Bakura hissed at Marik's haphazard foreplay. "Use more lube."

"Ask me nicely."

Bakura sat up and took the bottle in his hand, coating his anal opening. He glared at Marik. "Why does everything have to be a power trip with you?"

Marik leaned to the side with an amused expression on his face as he watched Bakura prep himself. "Does it make you feel insecure?"

"It makes everything we do unnecessarily difficult."

"You're just not used to sharing control with anyone."

"And you're not used to having to deal with someone that isn't a mindless doll."

"Bakura, this is getting dull."

"Then fuck me."

"Ask me to."

"If you want it, take it."

Marik pushed Bakura back to the floor, laying on top of him. "Become a thief like you? Take anything that catches my eye?"

Bakura stared at Marik. "Steal what you need."

"Who says I need you?" Marik asked.

"You always have," Bakura said.

Marik snorted.

"Marik." Bakura's lips trembled as he exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. "I want you inside me."

Marik dragged his hips back and arched them forward, pushing himself inside Bakura. He doused his cock with a second coat of lubricant and swallowed a moan as he moved in and out of Bakura's ass. Marik's earrings swung like pendulums with his momentum as did strands of his hair.

"What does it feel like," Marik asked, "to have me inside you?"

Bakura looked at his face. "It burns."

Marik's body language stiffened, his thrusts slowed, almost stopped. "Do I need to use more lube?"

A crooked smiled marred Bakura's face. "You sound concerned."

"Bakura," Marik growled his name.

"You're thick; it can't be helped. Fuck me, Marik. I'm not going to ask again."

"You never did ask." Marik shot one last squirt from the bottle along the circumference of Bakura's asshole and then pushed inside him harder.

Bakura's breaths left his mouth with hot, ragged puffs of air. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Who said you could close your eyes? I want you to look at me the entire time." Marik spoke the words like a challenge – one he didn't think Bakura could complete.

Bakura opened his eyes, glaring at Marik's purple irises at first, but after a moment his stare softened. The longer they looked at each other, the more their defenses faded and their desire revealed itself on their faces. Bakura curled up into the crook of Marik's neck, panting against Marik's throat as he felt his climax building deep in his belly. Marik reached down and stroked Bakura, transforming his pants into whines not unlike the noises Ryou made in the shared spaces of their mind.

"I'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cumming." Bakura closed his eyes and gasped as his body shook and semen splashed thick onto his pale stomach. When finished, his body relaxed against Marik's shoulder.

"My turn," Marik breathed into his ear, thrusting deeper.

Bakura winced, clenching his teeth as Marik's girth pushed inside him. He rode out the pain, wanting it, wanting to feel Marik climax inside him.

"Fuck, Bakura, fuck."

They both collapsed to the carpet, soaked in sweat and breathing hard.

Ryou woke up shivering. He opened his eyes and realized he lay on the floor with Marik beside him. Ryou held his breath as a pleasant spasm shook his body when he remembered why he was laying naked on the floor. Ryou looked around for a moment, staring at the texture of the ceiling and noticing a cobweb in the top right corner that needed swept. He searched his mind for the Spirit, but the other consciousness slept. Ryou stood and stumbled to the bathroom, his body sore in a way that he didn't mind. He used the toilet and cleaned himself up then went to his bedroom. Pulling the comforter and pillows off of the bed, Ryou walked back to the living room.

He spread the blanket over Marik, tucking one of the two pillows under Marik's head. Marik grunted and accepted the pillow, adjusting it under his neck while still sleeping. Ryou sat down on the carpet, covering his lap with the other half of his comforter. He watched Marik sleep, content to sit and examine the gentle rise and fall of Marik's chest as he breathed. After a minute, Ryou reached out his hand and touched Marik's lips. When Marik stayed asleep Ryou moved his finger tips across Marik's face. He traced Marik's earlobe, twirling one of his earrings before letting the jewelry fall back into Marik's hair. Ryou ghosted his fingers over Marik's arms, chest, and then back to his face, as if trying to engrave the sensation of Marik's body into his own skin.

Unless the Spirit intentionally sealed Ryou away in their subconscious, Ryou perceived experiences as the Spirit perceived them, but there was something different about feeling Marik's body for himself, choosing where his hands traveled instead of suggesting. Marik sighed at the touches and Ryou removed his hand before Marik woke up. Laying on his side, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Marik's.

"I wish I could help you." Ryou whispered as he kissed the corner of Marik's mouth. "Not by getting stabbed and not by being a pawn in a game. I wish I could help you here." Ryou touched two fingers to the center of Marik's chest.

He kissed Marik a final time. Marik, still asleep, slung his arm around Ryou. Ryou sighed and nuzzled against Marik's chest. Ryou savored each inhalation he pulled into his chest, each breath laced with the strong, warm scent of Marik's body.

Marik never had nightmares before, not since he created a darker representation of himself as a child, but when that shadowed reflection left his mind, the nightmares began. Marik couldn't move, his wrist and ankles bound as he lay on his stomach on a stone altar. Marik couldn't scream, his teeth grinding against a bit in his mouth as a fire-heated knife split open his skin. He panicked, thrashing to escape the pain that tore through his body and into his mind. His father had only carved the top of one wing, none of the feathers. Out of the corner of his eye, Marik saw the knife slice into torchlight. Marik's father held the knife in the flame to heat before he continued cutting.

Why won't someone stop this, why won't someone stop this, why won't anybody stop this?

Marik screamed, the sound waking him. His eyes snapped open, but for a brief moment he only saw a knife in torch-flame. He jerked up, the blanket around him kept him from moving and Marik clawed the cover off of his body.

"Marik." Bakura held his shoulders.

Marik looked into Bakura's face, full recognition restoring his usual calm.

"Let go of me." Marik brushed Bakura's hands away from his shoulders.

"They happen," Bakura said.

Marik knew he meant nightmares, but didn't want to admit it. Instead, he looked down at the blanket crumpled beside him. "A blanket?"

"My Host."

A single, humorless laugh exhaled from Marik's mouth as he stood up and headed for the bathroom. He helped himself to Bakura's shower and toiletries, reminding himself to purchase clothing since he'd left without packing, saying goodbye, or even thinking about what he was doing or why. Marik left the bathroom wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, and went to the kitchen.

He saw Bakura out of the corner of his eye typing on a laptop, at least he thought he saw Bakura, but when he looked, he saw startled brown eyes looking back. There was a flicker, and the eyes hardened, the hair licked up, and Marik realized it'd been Bakura's vessel.

Marik smirked. "Protecting your precious host from me, are you?"

Bakura chuckled to himself. "It's better for everyone at the moment."

Marik ignored Bakura and opened the cupboards, frowning. He checked the fridge and his frown changed into a scowl. "Bakura, don't you ever feed the poor boy?"

Bakura looked up from the laptop screen. "I forget."

"To eat?"

"That it's easy to get food."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Marik asked with half interest as he retrieved his clothes from the floor and dressed.

"When I was small there was drought," Bakura said, staring at the beginning of an Egyptian diorama sitting on the table beside him. "The silos emptied and people starved."

He spoke as if far away, as if he didn't realize he spoke out loud. "I remember a boy who lived in my village. We would race and play games, but without enough food he grew weak. His stomach swelled, I would swat the flies away from his face because he couldn't do it himself. Then he died and his mother wailed and his father had to carry me home because I wouldn't let go of his body."

Bakura touched a specific hut on the model, his hand drifted to another one. "That night my father gathered the village for a meeting. All the men left and, three days later, returned with metal I'd never seen that held the light of the sun in its color. After that there was food again."

"Your village became tomb robbers?" Marik asked, he sat down on the couch, staring at Bakura.

"They were builders." A bitter smile graced Bakura's lips. "My father probably helped lay the foundation of the tomb in which you grew up. But we were a small village on the outskirts, so when the drought came, the Pharaoh did not help us or any of the outlying villages, though they kept stored grain in the city for droughts. Nor would he spare soldiers to protect us from raids. So we stole what we needed and fought when we needed."

Marik stood and went to him, taking the laptop out of his lap and straddling Bakura's legs.

"Marik, what are you doing?"

"I don't know." He shook his head and touched Bakura's cheek.

"I'd forgotten all of this, until now." Bakura shrugged his shoulders. "Not that it matters. My village is dead; only my hate survived. "

"I know."

Marik kissed him. He felt Bakura's hands press against his chest to push him away, but Marik laced his fingers with Bakura's, not wanting to break the kiss. He couldn't quantify his reason why or explain it, he simply felt driven to continue kissing Bakura's mouth – soft, pliable, gentle kisses. Marik felt a dull ache in his chest that deepened as Bakura squeezed Marik's hands and submitted to him. Something teetered in Marik's mind, like a brick about to tumble from atop its wall, and the sensation terrified him.

He stood up and walked away. "I'm going to that market across the street and buying some bento. Back in five."

Bakura snorted. "Tease."

Marik lingered by the door. "Go back to writing in your dairy."

"It's for a game. One not as simple as cards, so probably too complicated for you, Marik."

"Yes, I think I've already seen some of the pieces you and your host use for your games under the sofa cushions."

Marik's taunts didn't phase Bakura. He grinned and gestured to the couch. "If you're nice, maybe one day you can watch."

Marik smiled, the idea did appeal to him, and it gave him something pleasant to think about as he went to the market. He choose prepackaged bento for their dinner and gathered a few staples, not trusting Bakura to stock his pantry for a guest. When he returned, the sun rusted the streets in copper light, changing the world to a nightmare of fire and carnage.

Inside, Bakura's vessel sat in front of the Egypt model and painted a small figurine of a horse. He muttered to himself, or rather to the spirit haunting his mind and body. He closed his mouth when he saw Marik standing and watching him.

"I'm almost done, then I'll switch."

"I'm living here now," Marik announced, watching Bakura's host's expression to see how he'd handle the news.

Marik expected him to look uncomfortable, but Ryou didn't pay attention to Marik at all, his eyes and hands focused on the last few brush strokes on the equine's back flank. When he finished he set the toy down with a satisfied grin before acknowledging Marik. "You brought dinner. I think that's a much nicer way to move in than putting my friends into comas." Ryou scowled at the ring around his neck while he said the second sentence.

Marik stared at him, recognizing the fact that he spoke to Bakura, but not really understanding what they spoke of.

Ryou huffed at the ring. "Immersive gaming indeed."

Marik watched the familiar mirage-like flicker as Bakura reclaimed his host's body. Bakura sat in the chair, chuckling.

*** So here's Chapter 1. Tentative update schedule will be Friday mornings. I hope y'guys like this story because I really like this story. I like it so much that I don't feel like I wrote it. It's like I just kinda found it sitting on my computer one day. Y'know, Immaculate Composition.***