Sickly Sweet

by Jem Kallop

Bakura finds Marik after Battle City and he has a lot to yell at Marik about. However, due to Marik's clever manipulation, Bakura soon finds himself wrapped up in another deal with him instead. Thiefshipping oneshot.

I'm back with a oneshot! It's for the Prompt Exchange Challenge (check out the forum of the same name by Unattainable Dreams if you're interested) and it's fluffy thiefshipping set after Battle City. It's been a while since I just wrote a simple fluffy oneshot. I thoroughly enjoyed myself hehe and I hope you do too! ^_^ - Jem

Warnings: Slight use of bad language

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! Kazuki Takahashi has all the rights XD

Prompt: Just being very sweet would leave something to be desired (Koi wa a la mode from Tokyo Mew Mew) [Sent by Otorisosa-kan]

The city of Domino had always been too sickly sweet, but as it turned out, Egypt wasn't much better any more. Bakura, the evil spirit residing in the Millennium Ring, looked out at the modern age through dark brown eyes borrowed from his host, and the sight that met his ancient gaze certainly left him wanting. There was no purity in this age. Bakura longed for the sands of his own time, all those thousands of years ago, back when he could roam the wilds of the desert freely and gaze up at the night sky to see stars staring right back at him, not corrupted by bright neon lights or flashy skyscrapers. So much had been corrupted.

Bakura roamed the streets with furrowed brows, trying to ignore the disappointment that was currently flooding his gut. Everything about this journey had been one let-down after another. When Bakura had found himself once more in possession of Ryou's body, he had at first grown hopeful that it was time to take the Pharaoh back three thousand years to finally exact his revenge, but Yugi and his crew of mindless drones had all gone off to chase some other villains that Bakura didn't care about. And Yugi had the audacity to take Bakura's Millennium Ring with him. But, Bakura knew that he had to bide his time, so, much as he hated to admit it, he would have to wait for Yugi to return before he could finally steal back his Ring and get rid of that pesky Pharaoh once and for all.

But the city of Domino held no charms for Bakura. At first, he had been content to merely sit within the confines of his soul room and allow his host to go about his usual daily life, but after three thousand years Bakura itched to get out and be free, to roam the deserts of his homeland again. Plus, he had some unfinished business with a certain Ishtar that he really must take care of at some point. So, as soon as the school holidays arrived, Bakura took over Ryou's body and purchased a ticket on the next flight to Egypt. And here he now walked in perpetual disappointment.

It was foolish to think there would be anything here for me now, Bakura berated himself silently, glancing about at the bustling streets. The place I called home has been gone for three thousand years. It was a sobering thought, and Bakura felt the familiar anger growing in his gut again, all directed towards the Pharaoh who has once again just out of his reach. Bakura growled.

As he rounded a corner in the street, Bakura stopped short at the sight of familiar blond hair bobbing away in front of him. Marik Ishtar. Well, at least one aspect of this trip wouldn't be a total waste of time – Bakura would have the chance to get his revenge on that arrogant little upstart. A wicked smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth as Bakura began to stalk Marik up the street.

And a merry dance Marik led him. Bakura found himself following the slippery Egyptian around endless corners, trudging down endless streets, across bridges, and through tunnels, but always there were too many people around for Bakura to make his move. Marik was clever, as Bakura remembered well enough, and he had no doubt that Marik would scream and make a scene when he saw Bakura again. Bakura wasn't about to risk getting caught, no matter how much he wanted to make Marik Ishtar squirm.

Finally, after countless twists and turns, Bakura spied Marik entering a record shop. This was his chance. With a sly smirk, Bakura darted into a dark little alley just opposite the shop Marik had entered, in the perfect place to spy on him. It was nice and secluded, away from any prying eyes, and Bakura's smirk stretched. Yes, this was the perfect place to have a little discussion with Marik Ishtar. Bakura settled himself in the mouth of the alley, blended with the shadows, and waited.

Soon enough, a blond head appeared back by the door of the record shop. Marik waved goodbye to someone inside before stepping back onto the street, flipping his hair back in an irritating gesture that Bakura remembered from their Battle City days. Already, Bakura could feel his fingers itching to be around Marik's throat. Marik walked on down the street, completely oblivious to the violent brown gaze watching him, until Bakura shot out an arm and captured Marik's waist, yanking him quickly into the confines of the alley with one palm pressed firmly over Marik's mouth. A startled squeak escaped Marik which Bakura quickly silenced. It was over in seconds as Bakura dragged Marik down into the alley, deep into the shadows and well out of sight of the bustling crowds.

"Now I've got you," Bakura grunted. He could feel Marik's warm body struggling in his arms, but there was no way Bakura was letting him get away now. He slammed Marik into a wall and pressed close, lips right by his ear as Bakura breathed, "Remember me, Ishtar?"

Marik's body went utterly still. His voice sounded muffled as his face was mashed against the wall, but the surprise was clearly evident in his familiar tone. "Bakura?!"

"Oh, how sweet, you remember my name," Bakura growled sarcastically. He captured both of Marik's wrist and held him firmly, not letting him move despite Marik's renewed struggles.

Marik gasped, twisting his head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"Defeating you at the moment," Bakura responded calmly, giving Marik's arm a determined twist and delighting in the hiss that was wrought from Marik's lips. Bakura smirked, giving him another shake. "It's going better than I dared to hope."

Marik snarled. "You don't fight fair."

"Ever the excuse of the weak." Bakura grinned, kneeing Marik's lower back for good measure. Marik hissed again, scrabbling to get his feet under him, but Bakura always kept him just off-balance.

Marik sighed loudly. "We both know I'm stronger than you."

"Could have fooled me, Ishtar." Bakura chuckled darkly, twisting his arm again.

Marik winced. He attempted to turn his head so his face wasn't so completely squashed by the wall but Bakura's hands were everywhere, keeping him firmly still. Marik blew a sigh between his lips. "Was there any particular reason you wanted to see me?"

"You should know." Bakura's smirk dropped from his lips for a moment. He leaned closer, breath tickling Marik's ear as he spoke in a poisonous, silky whisper. "You betrayed me and gave my Ring to my greatest enemy, after all."

There was no sound from Marik.

"No defence at all?" Bakura chuckled darkly. "That makes my job much easier. People don't usually survive double-crossing me."

A muffled snort sounded from Marik's lips.

Bakura froze. He growled, right into Marik's ear. "Did you really just laugh?"

"Well, come on." Marik chuckled, the sound too bright for Bakura's liking. He shifted against the wall, twisting just enough that one bright violet eye could be seen between the sheets of blond hair. "As if you'd actually hurt me."

"You want to test that theory?" Bakura snarled, pressing closer and giving Marik's arm a yank.

Marik barely winced. As Bakura peered at the bits of Marik's face he could see, he almost lost it again because it looked like Marik was grinning. White teeth flashed as Marik spoke. "Something tells me you didn't come all the way over here just to kill me."

Bakura snarled.

"So," Marik continued briskly, eyes still glinting. "If you'd get off me, we could have an actual civil conversation. Or have your three thousand years made you forget how to have one?"

"Insolent brat." Bakura didn't loosen his hold even an inch. He kept Marik turned firmly away from him, snarling.

Marik heaved a frustrated sigh. "This would be much easier if you'd let me go."

Bakura's only response was to tighten his hold, making Marik's face mash even more uncomfortably into the wall. Marik grimaced. "Alright, alright, I get the point."

"Oh do you?" Bakura's tone shifted to delighted amusement. "I'm so glad I'm finally getting through to you. If the rumours I've heard are true, you've completely missed the point."

Marik stilled, his muffled voice slightly darker. "Rumours?"

"Oh, yes," Bakura all but purred. "I've hear how you went through some miraculous reformation. You might think it's ok to completely forget your reason for existing and instead switch to fight for the wrong side, but I certainly won't be forgiving you."

There was no response from Marik.

Bakura gave a quiet laugh, cool breath tickling the back of Marik's neck. "Or has it not been so easy for you, Ishtar? You forget how well I know you. Is it killing you, to know that you've managed to get yourself trapped all over again? You might hate the Pharaoh just as much as you ever did, but if you didn't choose him your soul would be rotting in the Shadow Realm right now."

The muscles in Marik's back flexed, obviously tensing.

"You're stuck in your good-boy routine now," Bakura grinned, a cruel tint to his borrowed brown eyes.

Marik growled. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about." Bakura purred into Marik's ear. "I've heard how you turned all sweet once the Pharaoh banished your Yami. Everyone seemed to conveniently forget that you were the one who started the battle with Yugi."

Marik ground his teeth together. "I was influenced by my Yami..."

"Like hell you were," Bakura snorted. "You know as well as I do that the Pharaoh is a bastard who doesn't deserve his time on this earth."

Marik's silence said it all.

Bakura grinned. "And now, you have to work for him. I think that's my greatest revenge yet."

"I do not have to work for him," Marik growled.

Bakura's smirk widened into a cruel smile. "Oh, but you do, my dear!"

"No, I don't!" Marik was practically yelling now. "I can still work against him."

"And how exactly did you plan to do that?" Bakura all but purred.

Marik's eyes were glinting again as he turned his head away from the wall, making sure his next words were not muffled in the slightest. "I could give the Pharaoh's secret to his oldest, greatest enemy."

Bakura froze.

Marik took advantage of the few seconds of Bakura's distraction to slam his foot down on top of Bakura's, digging his heel in. Bakura howled and loosened his grip just enough for Marik to wriggle through and run.

"Ishtar!" Bakura roared. He doubled over, hopping as he rubbed his foot before turning to see Marik's blond hair bouncing quickly away from him. Bakura cursed. "Ishtar, I swear by all the demons in hell, if you don't get right back here..."

Marik's only response was to turn and stick his tongue out before he went running off again.

Bakura cursed again before streaking after Marik, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Marik had always been smart, and now he had weaved a clever web around Bakura all over again, just as he had during the Battle City tournament. For Marik to tempt him with the secrets of the Pharaoh's power ... well, the boy certainly knew what he was doing.

Bakura was not about to let him get away.

Darting through the crowds, Bakura spied Marik turning down another lesser-used street. Pelting straight after him, Bakura dived between a couple's legs, jumped over a child walking their dog, and skidded into the street after Marik just in time to grab him by his ridiculous purple hood. "Ishtar!"

Marik choked, flying to a stop. He kicked and struggled but Bakura ignored him, spinning Marik so his back hit the wall this time. Bakura placed his palms either side of Marik's head and leaned close, brown eyes glinting dangerously. He snarled. "Explain what the hell you meant."

"Ask me politely and I might." Marik was breathing a little heavily, but other than that he showed no sign of discomfort, much to Bakura's displeasure.

Bakura snarled. He pressed closer, eyes narrowed as his gaze pierced straight through Marik. "Don't smart-mouth me."

Marik grinned. "I'm glad I can still annoy you so much." Bakura growled again but Marik shook his head, holding his hands up as best as he could between Bakura and the wall. "Alright, don't worry, I'll explain. But get out of my space."

"Hell no," Bakura scoffed, stubbornly moving closer. "You'll just run off again."

Marik rolled his eyes, moving as far back as he could when he was squashed between Bakura's warm body and the freezing, wet wall. "Fair enough." He closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts momentarily before once more opening his violet eyes and meeting Bakura's gaze dead-on. "I have the Pharaoh's secret. I'll trade you."

"What could I possibly have that you want?" Bakura shook his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in a disbelieving smirk. "Assuming that you actually do have this secret, of course."

"Oh, I have it." Marik's features twisted bitterly and he glanced away from Bakura for a moment. "Are you interested or not?"

Bakura remained silent, turning over the proposition in his mind. He tilted his head, regarding Marik openly and very obviously, brown eyes running down his body. Marik didn't flinch at all. Bakura's jaw clicked. "Why are you offering help to me, and not the Pharaoh?"

Marik closed his eyes briefly. When they opened again, they sought out Bakura and the pale spirit found himself utterly transfixed by that deep, hurt gaze. Marik spoke softly. "Because you were right before, about me. I hate working for him. I hate being trapped as the good little tombkeeper and I would do anything to get out of it."

"Even betraying him to his greatest enemy?" Bakura smirked.

Marik spoke quietly. "I would sell my soul to the most evil of demons if it would defeat the Pharaoh."

Those words made Bakura freeze. They echoed back to his own past; a child, lost and alone, abandoned in the desert with every single person he had known and loved tossed away from him. The most evil of demons...

"So?" Marik's foot was tapping impatiently as he glared at Bakura, violet eyes hardening once again. Marik's shield was back up. "Are you interested or not?"

"Depends," Bakura answered after a short silence. He tilted his head, face impossibly close to Marik's, although they weren't touching anywhere. Bakura's palms rested either side of Marik's head as he clicked his tongue. "What do you want from me?"

Marik licked his lips carefully. "Get me out of here."

"Excuse me?" Bakura cocked an eyebrow.

Marik blew an impatient sigh between his lips. "Look, I'm clever enough to realise that you must have something planned. You're after the Pharaoh for something, probably something he did to you when you were both in Ancient Egypt. Something bad enough to make you follow him three thousand years into the future. Am I right?"

Bakura kept his face impassive. Screams from his village, heard through his boyish ears, echoed through millennia, but Bakura blocked them out in favour of schooling his expression into a perfect mask.

Marik pressed on despite Bakura's lack of a response. "So this is what I want from you: defeat the Pharaoh, make him pay, then come back here and set me free from my family and duties. Take me anywhere that isn't here. If you give me your word, I'll give you the Pharaoh's secret."

Bakura listened in silence. Even when Marik finished speaking, he didn't break the thread of quiet between them, instead letting the words float into his skull, making sure he fully understood them before he attempted to answer.

To Marik's surprise, Bakura's lips twitched into a smile. Not a smirk – a smile. "That's what you want? Freedom?"

Marik nodded, his expression fierce.

Bakura chuckled. "And what makes you think I can give it to you?"

"You seem powerful enough," Marik shrugged. "Or reckless enough. Plus, you're one of the few people I would trust to take me somewhere safe."

At that, Bakura outright laughed. "Why on earth would you trust me?"

"You tried to save me before." Marik spoke quietly, but his words were clear as glass. "And you saved my brother."

"Hm, I suppose that is true." Bakura didn't miss a beat as he gazed clearly at Marik. "The only person in three thousand years I've ever actually saved."

Marik remained quiet. He merely gazed at Bakura, expression mostly unreadable, except the occasional flicker of hope in violet eyes. Bakura rather liked that.

"You've got yourself a deal," Bakura abruptly stated.

Marik blinked. "Seriously?"

"What, don't you want to do this?" Bakura smirked, the air suddenly much lighter between them as he stepped back. Arrogantly, Bakura folded his arms and tipped his chin up. "So come on. Tell me all about the Pharaoh's secret."

Marik shook his head, pushing his back off the wall with a slight wince. He fixed Bakura with a glare. "Oh, no, you don't get it that easily. First, swear to me that you'll stick with my terms. And I want something precious of yours, so I know you're definitely coming back to me."

"You're nowhere near as sweet as everyone likes to think, are you?" Bakura's eyes glittered with amusement.

Marik shrugged. "Just being very sweet would leave something to be desired. Don't you think?"

Bakura's smirk widened as he regarded the young man before him, realising that once again he had underestimated Marik. The boy was cunning, very cunning, and a lot smarter than Bakura had given him credit for. Despite Bakura showing up out of nowhere, Marik had managed to twist the situation until Bakura was once again locked in a deal with him.

And, much to his surprise, Bakura didn't mind in the slightest.

"I give you my word that, once I have defeated the Pharaoh, I will return to set you free." Bakura spoke solemnly, but his eyes were still glinting with something close to warm amusement.

Marik nodded his acceptance before holding out a palm expectantly. "I want something precious to you now. Something that means you'll come back."

"My word isn't enough?" Bakura arched a brow.

Marik shook his head, laughing slightly. "With you, no. You're a thief through and through."

"How well you know me." Bakura shook his head slightly before he held up one hand. "I'll give it to you once I have the Pharaoh's secret. You need to uphold your end of the deal too, Ishtar."

Marik pursed his lips but shrugged. "Alright then. Come on." Without any more speech, Marik turned and strode out of the alley, only a careless hand gesture beckoning Bakura onwards.

Bakura arched a brow, running after Marik with a low growl in his ear. "I'm getting fed up of following you everywhere."

"I never asked you to." Marik looked smug as he led them through the maze of twisting, crowded streets.

Bakura rolled his eyes. "Where are we going? Why can't you just give me the Pharaoh's secret?"

"Because I am not stripping in public." Marik didn't give Bakura a chance to respond to that statement before he hurried them on, eventually arriving at the house Marik shared with his siblings. Bakura shook his head in surprise. Marik never ceased to catch him off guard, but it was part of what enticed Bakura to him, and part of what made Marik irresistible. Not that Bakura would ever admit that out loud, not even to himself.

Marik stopped on the doorstep, shimmying his key out of his pocket and slipping it into the door. He turned it, the door gliding open with a slight creak and revealing a dim room surrounded by bright furnishings. Marik didn't give Bakura more than a glimpse, however, before he was hurrying them both up the stairs and into a small, serviceable room off the hallway. As soon as Marik had ushered Bakura in, Marik turned and slammed the door shut, flicking the lock.

Bakura arched a brow. "That keen to hide me from your siblings, are you?"

"They're both working, so we should be alright for a bit." Marik flicked Bakura a slightly irritated glare. "And I don't particularly want them finding out about me betraying our family history, no."

Bakura's eyes glittered.

Marik merely shot him a tired glare before heading straight to the window, closing it with a firm snap before he drew the curtains, plunging the room into shadow. Bakura's eyes adjusted easily, more easily than Marik's, so he had the pleasure of watching Marik blunder about in the darkness for a while until he found himself directly in front of Bakura again, standing in the middle of the room, at the foot of Marik's rather simple bed.

Marik's breathing was loud in the room. "Bakura, what I'm about to show you does not leave this room. Do you understand me?"

"I can keep a secret," Bakura replied nonchalantly, not betraying even an inch of his burning curiousity.

"You word." Marik's voice dropped like a stone.

Bakura didn't even hesitate. "You have it. Show me."

Through the darkness, Bakura could just about make out Marik dipping his head in something that might have been a nod. There was a shift of movement, a rustle of clothing, and Bakura arched a slightly surprised eyebrow when Marik's shirt began to lift. He stilled, however, at the skin the material was slowly revealing.

Marik's back was decorated with scars. Intricate cuts outlined ancient hieroglyphics, spelling out the secret that Bakura needed to know – it showed him exactly how to send the Pharaoh back into the past to reclaim his memories.

It was all Bakura needed to finally exact his revenge.

Without hesitation, Bakura went to Marik and grabbed his shoulders, leaning uncomfortably close as he stared at the hieroglyphs. He had to make absolutely sure that they were saying what they thought they were, and outlining the way back to the past. He missed Marik's flinch, the way his violet eyes sparked with every touch, how Marik bit down on his cheek. However, when Bakura lifted a finger to trace the outline of the scars, Marik's voice cut through the air like a shard of broken glass. "Don't."

Bakura froze. "Don't what?"

"Don't touch them." It became evident that Marik was breathing extremely heavily.

Bakura, as usual, completely ignored those instructed. He lifted one pale index finger and lightly brushed the top of the first scar, a wing pattern that flared across Marik's shoulder blades. It was impossible to miss Marik's sharp cry, the way his muscles bunched and tensed beneath his scarred skin. Bakura watched in almost open amazement. "They cause you pain, don't they?"

Marik snarled. He ripped out of Bakura's grip and turned, hiding the scars from view and instead revealing what was (Bakura couldn't help but notice) a very well-developed chest. "It's none of your damn business."

"It's part of our deal," Bakura countered. "The Pharaoh's secret. How did you get it ripped into your back?"

Marik's jaw clenched.

Bakura held up a finger, slowly piecing together the bits and pieces of Marik's past he had learned from his host and Yugi's crew. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Your father?"

Despite himself, Marik flinched.

Bakura whistled lowly. "No wonder you hate the Pharaoh so much. All on his orders, I presume?"

"I hate him; that's all you need to know," Marik spat. "And now you've seen his secret, so you can drag him back into the past and make him pay for all of this."

Bakura tutted quietly, holding his hand up again. He moved closer, ignoring Marik's immediate noises of protest. "Turn back around. Let me see."

"Get the hell away from me," Marik growled.

Bakura sighed patiently, laying one surprisingly gentle hand on Marik's shoulder. "Do you want my help or not?"

Marik's jaw moved in concentric circles before he jerked his head in a sort-of acquiescence. He turned reluctantly, every movement sharp. Bakura stroked along his shoulder with one hand, lightly, almost soothingly, and if Marik didn't know any better he would have thought Bakura was trying to comfort him. Bakura's brow creased slightly. "I had a scar."

"What?" Marik twisted to glance over his shoulder, expression oddly innocent.

Bakura blinked. "I had a scar. In my own body."

"You did?" Marik sounded slightly surprised, a small smirk managing to lift his lips. "I bet not as intricate as mine."

Bakura half-laughed. "Not quite. It was on my cheek." He lifted the hand that had been tracing Marik's scars and instead ran his finger down his own cheek, in a rough zig-zag down the right side of his face. "I was lucky not to lose my eye."

"How did you do it?" Marik wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as Bakura, and the curiousity was plain to hear in his tone.

Bakura's face closed. "In the fire that killed my people."

Marik's features dropped.

Bakura's eyes went distant, glowing with remembered pain, three thousand years old. "The Pharaoh needed innocent sacrifices so he sent guards to my village. I was maybe seven? My mother told me to run so I did, right out of the village as it burned behind me. There were guards circling it, though, and one of them slashed my face. I kicked him in the balls and ran. The only survivor."

"The Millennium Items." Marik's voice was faintly awed as he gazed at Bakura over his shoulder. "That means it's you – you're the Thief King."

Bakura blinked. His gaze shifted, pupils growing slightly as he focused back on the present, back on Marik. He frowned. "How do you know that name?"

"It's in the scriptures." Marik's tone changed and he moved out of Bakura's grip, tugging his shirt back on before he span to face Bakura. "The Thief King. We were told to guard against your return but you were always sort of a hero to me." Marik's lips twisted. "Ironic, really."

"Hero, eh, Ishtar?" Bakura grinned. "I think I should be flattered."

Marik merely rolled his eyes before he thrust out a hand, palm-up. He rolled his shoulders, apparently still a little uncomfortable with having his back bared, as he then tugged his shirt firmly down over his skin. "Right, I upheld my end. Now give me something precious of yours."

Bakura put on an expression of mock-hurt. "You still don't trust me?"

"About as far as I could throw you." Marik smirked in return. "Give."

Bakura's features broke into a smirk. He slipped one hand inside his jacket, reaching beneath his shirt and pulling a tiny chain out of his inner pocket. A tiny golden charm swung from the end of it. Marik's eyes glinted the moment he spotted it – a fact which did not go unnoticed by Bakura. He slipped the necklace off and held it out, charm swinging. "You're a historian, Marik – check the age of that."

Marik didn't need telling twice. He snatched up the tiny item, admiring the little gold charm that hung from it, balanced in the shape of a perfect gold triangle. The metal was worn, dimmed slightly, but it was still beautiful. Marik hummed, hazarding a guess. "It's three thousand years at least. From your village?"

Bakura nodded. "My father gave it to my mother, and she to me, on the day she died. It's all I have left of them."

Marik's jaw fell open softly. He looked back at the small metal charm with renewed intensity and respect, watching it carefully, admiring how it glinted dully in the dim light. He glanced back over at Bakura. "I guess I can be sure that you'll be back for this."

"Absolutely." Bakura didn't smirk this time, his expression appearing strangely soft. He moved a few steps closer, his hands back on Marik's shoulder as he moved closer. "I'll be coming back for this, too." Before Marik could move, Bakura's face was moving closer, so close, until finally there was no space between them as their lips joined.

Bakura pulled back after a moment, leaving Marik startled. Without another word, Bakura turned to the door and unlocked it in one swift movement, his white hair falling around him as he started to leave.

"Bakura."

Marik's voice made him pause. Bakura turned back around, brown eyes peeking through white hair to see Marik staring straight at him. "Come back."

"I will." Bakura smirked. "And promise me one more thing – "

"Anything," Marik interrupted, too quickly.

Bakura's smirk grew. "If I don't return – if the Pharaoh wins – make sure he doesn't survive long."

Marik blinked. He wanted to say how Bakura would definitely be returning, how there was no need to promise, because the Pharaoh would be defeated in the past. But something made him pause. Instead, Marik just smiled. "I promise."

There was a faint smile on Bakura's lips as he left the house.