***This fic plays with the concept of Ryou as the collective Bakura Id - which is my psychoanalytical head-canon.***

Bakura looked around. Knickknacks, smiling, ceramic cats, and fat, wooden Buddhas rested on doilies that covered the end tables and the mantel. The place felt homey; somewhere his host would like to visit. It wasn't the sort of place he'd expected Marik Ishtar to invite him for a strategy meeting before the Battle City Finals. "Whose house is this?"

Marik shrugged. "Mine until I'm done here."

"Where's the original owner?"

Marik smirked, eyeing Bakura. "Maybe I had her take a long nap in her bed. Maybe I had her walk off the pier and drown. Would you care either way?"

Bakura shrugged. He supposed Marik was no different than himself. Moving into a house uninvited, moving into another person's body uninvited, was there much difference? Perhaps Bakura's intrusion was worse, but both cases violated the individual's privacy and daily living. Bakura sat down on the sofa, a hideous, green monstrosity, but it felt like it was stuffed with pieces of heaven.

He felt his eyes wandering. Over the room at first, but once they happened to chance upon Marik they lingered. Marik sat in a high-backed chair across from Bakura. The gold of his hair fell to his shoulders and teased the earthy-colored skin poking out from Marik's top, and Bakura couldn't seem to look away. Bakura blinked twice, trying to clear his mind from the strange hypnosis affecting him.

Bakura scowled at the blonde in front of him. "Well?"

Marik smirked. "What? No small talk?"

"Why am I here, Marik?"

"To talk. We should have some sort of game plan, don't you agree? Otherwise, we'll be stepping on each other's toes trying to defeat the Pharaoh."

"Just stay out of my way, and there will be nothing to worry about."

"It's not that simple." Marik licked his lips, an unconscious reflex. "I already have several plans in motion. I need to see how you fit into those."

Something about the sight of Marik's tongue against his lips made the muscles in Bakura's stomach tight. He frowned at the feeling, not quite understanding it. He forced his mind to focus on the conversation. "If you're so worried about our plans clashing – tell me what schemes you're up to, and I'll be sure to avoid them."

Marik shook his head, his eyes cold. "I don't trust you."

Bakura raised an eyebrow. "And yet you expect me to trust you and tell you my intentions?"

Marik displayed the Rod for Bakura to see. "I could just control you."

Bakura snorted. "That may work against my host, but you'll find it much harder to dominate me."

I'm not as easy to control as you think.

The soft, whispered thought in Bakura's mind belonged to his host. The Spirit sat, shocked, but he tried to conceal it from Marik.

I locked you into your subconscious.

Yes . . . and I found a backdoor. I'm with you more than you think, but you never notice me when I'm quiet.

This has nothing to do with you. Go back.

No.

If you don't do as I say, I'll make your friends suffer even more.

You can try, but they'll beat you in the end.

How cute. You actually believe that.

Bakura jumped as Marik sat beside him on the sofa. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying," Marik snapped back.

"Not because I'm hard of hearing. Go back to your chair."

Marik chuckled. The smirk never left his face as he leaned an inch closer to Bakura. "Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"No, I just don't trust you not to stab me in the back."

Marik used his gaze to gesture to Bakura's bandaged arm. "I don't need to stab you. You're willing to do that on your own."

Lean in and smell his hair. Ryou's voice whispered, soft and subtle, more instinct than thought.

What? The notion shocked Bakura. Then he realized, – the strange haze that clouded his mind when he first sat down, the fascination with Marik – all his host's doing.

I want to know what he smells like.

We're not having this conversation. Shut-up while I get this ridiculous meeting over with.

But doesn't his hair look soft?

"Look," Bakura snapped. His voice sounded harsh because of his impatience with his host. "We don't trust each other, fair enough, but if we're going to pull this off we need some kind of truce."

"Agreed." Marik sighed, deep in thought. "I'm not one for winging it, but I suppose we'll have to. As long as we don't fight each other or Rishid it should be a simple enough matter – win our matches until one of us faces the Pharaoh."

"And defeats him."

His skin looks like cumin. I wonder if his mouth tastes as exotic as he looks.

I don't know how, but I will find a way to lock you back into the subconscious, and I will make you suffer for distracting me.

Oh? You don't like another consciousness constantly talking in your brain while you're trying to go about your day-to-day business? I'm sorry, because I thought that's how this worked – it's what you do to me.

Shut-up!

Come on! Ryou neared screamed in their mind. Are you even looking at him? He's gorgeous.

Of course Bakura was looking at Marik. He couldn't look anywhere else. His host locked their gaze on the other male in order to appreciate the sight of him, and Bakura couldn't turn away.

Admit it. You wouldn't mind seeing him naked.

Stop it.

In our bed. Dressed in sweat. His back arched. His fingers clutching the blanket. Screaming out swear words.

The description made Bakura shiver. For a delicious moment he allowed his host's day dream to filter over to his own mind. His vessel had a detailed imagination, creating an enticing visual of a wanton Marik; nevertheless, Bakura couldn't allow the hormone-induced nonsense to continue.

What the fuck is wrong with you? He's using both of us. This is business to him – not romance – quit being a stupid, fucking twit.

Marik laughed. "Do you realize you're blushing?"

"No I'm not," Bakura all but snarled the response into Marik's face. "I'm just fevered from the knife wound. My stupid, pathetic, weak, host should still be in the hospital, but you and I decided to have this little parley instead."

"Oh, it's his fault is it?" Marik smiled, resting his elbow against the back of the sofa so he could prop his head up with his hand. "Perhaps you should lay down and rest. You're useless to me if you pass out from blood loss."

Yes, we should lie down. I hear ice brings down a fever. Maybe we could get Marik to rub an ice-cube down our chest.

That's ridiculous. Bakura almost rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. The idea was ridiculous, so why did the thought appeal to him?

You know what your problem is, Spirit? You never have any fun.

Vengeance is the only joy in life.

Bet you wouldn't say that if Marik was between our legs right now.

"I have the situation under control." Bakura said out loud to both ignore his host and to make sure Marik didn't wonder at his silence. "We helped you infiltrate Yugi's group, didn't we?"

"We? I didn't think you gave him the option to help."

Bakura gestured with his hand, playing off the mistake. "Whatever."

Marik leaned closer. His breath tickled the side of Bakura's neck. The spirit couldn't resist taking a deep breath with Marik so close to him, and he wasn't sure if it was himself or Ryou that did it because it felt like both of them at once.

He smells like the ocean a little – salt and iodine – but his cologne smells like ozone and rain. He's a storm, wouldn't you agree?

"Hey, Bakura?"

"Hmmm?"

Look . . . Bakura had trouble forming thoughts. Marik did smell like a storm and Bakura couldn't distinguish between his host's daydreams or his own anymore. All at once fire and gold disappeared from his thoughts for the first time in thousands of years, replaced by the warm, ozone scent of Marik's body.

. . . go away right now, and I swear to the gods I'll give you more time in your body for socializing. Just not here, not now, not him.

Yes – here, now, him! He's so close. Kiss him. Kiss him. Moan into it, I'd bet the Ring he'll moan back. He'll grab our hair and use his tongue. Just look at him – his eyes are lidded; his mouth is parted, and he's too close for this to still be a business meeting.

Ryou, you have to stop this! Now!

You . . . used my name.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Marik whispered in Bakura's ear. "A token of our partnership, so to speak?"

Bakura returned to the moment. Marik's eyes did look unfocused, and his lips did seem fuller, and he was awfully close. Bakura never managed an answer. He simply stared at Marik, his mouth watering in anticipation of a kiss he was trying not to give.

You fucking, little shit. This is a dangerous game you've gotten us into and I will get you back for this.

You're just afraid to feel anything other than anger.

Marik jerked away an inch.

Bakura frowned at the action. "Marik?" A smirk slipped across his lips as he realized something. "Are you blushing?"

"I'm having trouble concentrating."

Bakura snorted. "I can relate to that."

Marik licked his lips again. "I know. I can hear everything the two of you are saying."

Ooops! Ryou laughed in their mind. Hello, I'm Ryou. We should be friends – you might find that you like friends more than slaves.

"What? How?" Bakura shouted, not laughing like Ryou; instead, he growled. "The damn Rod. Shit."

"I don't need friends." Marik spoke quick, harsh words, answering Ryou and not Bakura.

"Don't listen to him." Bakura's voice sounded like a switchblade, sharp and steely. "He's delusional from blood loss."

"Still." An uncharacteristic smile garnished Marik's face. He looked less angry, less controlling, less like the leader of the Ghouls, and more like any other teenager, like someone that might like to have a friend but didn't know how to go about making one. "You got to admit – he has a vivid mind – lurid, but creative and precise all the same."

Thanks, Marik!

That was manipulation, not a compliment. Stop talking – you've made this situation bad enough as it is.

Bakura's hand reached out on its own – the scarred one. It lighted against Marik's cheek. The surprise of the act shocked Bakura into silence. He sat with his mouth ajar, watching Marik's reaction. The blonde closed his eyes as soon as Ryou's pale fingers brushed against his caramel colored cheek. Marik's eyelashes fluttered, his lids still shut, his mouth wide open as if to beg.

Before Bakura could collect his thoughts, and before Ryou could suggest it again, Bakura found himself leaning in and kissing Marik. They did both moan, just as Ryou predicted. Bakura raised his other hand to Marik's other cheek; he traced Marik's cheek bones with his thumbs as the tips of their tongues bumped into each other. They moaned a second time.

Bakura pulled away, trying to salvage some sanity in his fuzzy mind. He pressed his fingers hard into his temples.

Don't stop! Ryou whined in his head.

We can't do this.

Why not?

Because . . . because, this is not revenge. This is wasting time.

Marik snorted. "Ryou's right, you know. You really don't know how to have fun."

Bakura glared at Marik, furious that the tomb keeper could hear his inner dialogue with Ryou. Marik seemed to sense Bakura's anger, and he smirked in response. Marik rested both hands on Bakura's chest, toying with the muscle beneath the fabric.

Ryou moaned inside their mind, and the sound of it in Bakura's thoughts somehow made Marik's hands on Bakura's chest feel all the more arousing. Bakura leaned into Marik's hair again, so he could suck in the stormy fragrance of it. Marik grabbed Bakura's white locks and shoved his tongue into Bakura's mouth.

Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop. Ryou whispered, and Bakura didn't have enough willpower to pull away a second time. He felt like a rope in a game of tug-o-war, caught between Ryou's desires and Marik's advances. His hands stumbled along Marik's body, settling at Marik's hips.

"Isn't wise to go into a battle distracted, right?" Marik pulled Bakura's shirt up over his head and pushed him down into the sofa cushions. Marik scooped his pelvis against Bakura's groin, causing both he and Ryou to moan at the same instant.

"If it'll get you two to shut up, then let's get this over with," Bakura said.

Marik, you should definitely tease him and draw this out. Ryou laughed. Make him beg for it.

Marik grinned as he ground his body back into Bakura's. "Maybe I picked the wrong partner. Your host seems a little better at planning than you do, Bakura."

Bakura shot Marik a hard, unmoving stare. "You'll never hear me beg, and after this tournament I may kill you both."

"Yeah?" Marik cooed in Bakura's ear, teasing the lobe with his tongue before pressing their bodies together for a third time. "I'm so frightened."

It's my body – I know how to get him to beg.

Shut-up, Yadonushi.

I think it'd be fun to hear you beg, Spirit.

Marik laughed. "He's making you blush again."

Kiss our throat, Ryou whispered in his thoughts, and Bakura could only lay there and growl as Marik's lips sent a shiver down into his gut.

Suck a little. Yes, right there at the juncture.

Bakura started panting. He grabbed Marik's shoulders, but he couldn't decide between pushing away and pulling the other male closer, so he stayed still, hands only resting against Marik's body.

Now bite.

Marik obeyed. The skin on Bakura's throat was sensitive from Marik sucking on it, so when he bit down, a jolt of pleasure made Bakura's hips hitch up on their own. He bit his bottom lip to keep any sounds from slipping past his mouth, but that didn't stop his hips from grinding upward in an attempt to push into Marik's body. Nor did it prevent the pleasure from igniting in his groin each time he and Marik rubbed together.

Slip your thumb just below our belt-line – not too eager – yeah, near the hip bone . . . like that. Yes. Like that.

"Are you just going to take orders from him like a bitch?" Bakura snarled, needing to make some sort of noise to keep himself from moaning.

"Yes." Marik also sounded breathless. He was sucking Bakura's throat again, occasionally interrupting himself with a firm bite. At the same time he brushed the pad of his thumb gently and deliberately along Bakura's hip bone while giving Bakura the occasional downward thrust of his hips. "I mean . . . it's just to hear you beg, so why not play along?"

Bakura's scarred hand moved on its own again. Ryou ran his hand up their stomach, his fingers feather light. Once Ryou reached their right nipple, he gave it a hard twist. At the same time, Marik bit into their neck.

"Bastards," Bakura growled.

Beg us to stop or beg us to go on – either way you're going to beg.

Marik laughed out loud at Ryou's ultimatum. He shifted lower so he could kiss Bakura's stomach while unzipping his jeans. He pulled Bakura's pants down a few inches. His lips skimmed along the delicate skin near Bakura's hips. "Do you want me to stop?" Marik asked.

"No," Bakura whispered, his voice near inaudible.

Do you want him to bite where he's kissing?

Bakura almost said yes, but swallowed instead. Nevertheless, a brief moan pushed past his lips. Marik took that as a yes, nipping Bakura's hip and traveling down the V of his Adonis belt until he ended near Bakura's groin. Marik went back to sucking, bruising the white-as-snow skin. Bakura gasped.

"Just ask and I'll stop," Marik cooed in a sweet, manipulative voice.

Just ask and he'll spread our legs wide and make us both scream.

Fuck you, Ryou.

Marik grinned, pulling Bakura's pants down to his knees. "Don't you mean 'fuck me, Marik?' Because that's all you need to say, and I'll do it."

Just don't forget to add the please – otherwise it's demanding and not begging.

You both can go to hell.

Wouldn't you rather go to the nearest bedroom?

To punctuate his point, Ryou grazed his finger nails up their thigh; meanwhile, Marik dragged his tongue up their other thigh. Bakura's ass clenched as he arched up high into their touches.

"Please!" The word exploded from his mouth before he could filter it.

"Please what?" Marik whispered into Bakura's thigh, his breath tickling Bakura's skin. Marik nibbled the upper area of Bakura's thigh. His teeth barely touched the skin. "Please what?" Marik asked again.

Ryou used the thumb on the hand he controlled to teased the area right above their shaft, making them both wince with the need of contact on their erection.

Please, please, please, Spirit. Ryo whispered in their mind. Tell him what he needs to hear.

Bakura couldn't tell if Ryou was trying to manipulate with his soft, lustful thoughts, or if he truly felt as desperate as Bakura felt. He decided the latter when their scarred hand went back to their thigh, only this time the nails dug hard into their skin. A barrage of daydreams assaulted Bakura's mind, mixing with his own fantasies. Marik licking their cock, Marik sucking their cock, Marik pushing himself inside them, or they thrusting into Marik. Idea after idea played in their mind until Bakura found his fingers locked into Marik's brassy hair as Marik sucked on his thigh.

Marik broke away, looking up at Bakura. "Bakura," he said the name as if he, too begged.

"Then fuck me."

"You have to ask."

"No, that's your choice."

Rules of the game, Ryou said.

Then suffer – both of you, Bakura answered.

Marik jumped off the couch.

Bakura glared at him with distracted, unfocused eyes. "Where . . . are you?"

Marik smirked, leaning close to Bakura's mouth. "Was their something you wanted to ask me?"

"N-no."

"You sure?"

Bakura wanted to grab himself. A few pumps and he'd be done, but that'd feel like losing somehow – as if he wasn't strong enough to hold out.

Marik scooped Bakura up in his arms and carried he and Ryou towards the nearest room in the house.

"Let go of me," Bakura said.

"Beg me to." Marik sneered. He dropped Bakura on the bed without ceremony and rummaged through the night stand drawer until he pulled out a bottle of silicon lubricant.

"What the hell is that even doing in a house like this?" The tea-rose and lattice wallpaper and matching quilt seemed to ask the question at the same time Bakura did.

Marik smirked. "This is a guest room. Her grandson isn't a very nice boy."

Bakura kicked off his jeans the rest of the way, letting them hit the floor below. "You and your damn Rod, reading everyone's fucking minds."

Marik shrugged, kneeling on the bed beside Bakura. "I'm still not going to fuck you until you ask."

Bakura gestured with his chin at the bottle in Marik's hand. The grin on Marik's face turned into an excited look. "I'll show you," he answered Bakura's unspoken question.

Bakura noticed a deep, mauve flush on Marik's face, his gold hair wrecked from Bakura grabbing it earlier. He smothered his fingers in clear gel and circled them around Bakura's entrance. "I'll give you a taste of how good I can make it, but you have to ask for the rest."

"Don't flatter yourself." Bakura laughed, but in the back of his mind Ryou moaned and gasped as Marik continued to work lube around the perimeter of their asshole. Bakura found himself shifting lightly into Marik's fingers, wanting more than the gentle touch.

Marik, add two fingers.

Marik eyed Bakura, as if expecting Bakura to comment, but Bakura stayed silent. Marik applied an extra coating of lube and then wiggled two of his fingers inside. Bakura's breath hitched. He bucked against Marik's hand, unable to stop himself.

A . . . little . . . more, Ryou said, his thoughts unraveling as sheer sensation consumed them.

Marik pressed deeper, and the moan that Ryou thought – Bakura cried out.

Now . . . press up. Close. Hook your fingers – there!

"Marik!" Bakura screamed as Ryou thought there.

Press – harder . . . fuck yes!

When Marik pressed his fingers deep and hard inside them, Bakura was done. The jolts ripping across his nervous system felt so sharp and so good that they almost hurt. Bakura licked his lips, stalling the inevitable, but stalling only gave Marik more time to stimulate them, and neither Bakura nor his host could take it anymore.

"Please," Bakura whispered. His voice so soft that he could barely hear it, but he noticed Marik's lilac eyes dart straight to his mouth as he spoke. "Please Marik, please. Please. Please. Please f-fuck me. I can't take it."

Marik tore his pants from his body and anointed his erection with lubricant. He didn't bother removing his own shirt; instead, Marik hovered above Bakura and guided himself into them. Bakura screamed, too far gone from their foreplay to censor himself. Marik's every movement felt like a thunderstorm ravaging Bakura's stolen body.

Ryou stroked them while Marik pushed in and out. Ten minutes latter Bakura's vision darkened as he came hard enough to shoot past his belly and onto his chest and even his throat. A deep, sultry groan resonated deep in the back of Marik's throat as he watched, and it ended in a string of aahs as he himself came a few minutes later.

Marik crashed to the mattress, barely rolling to the side in time to avoid staining the satin material of his pale lavender shirt. He glanced over at Bakura, his hair in a worse state than before.

He sat up. "I'll get you a towel."

Too tired to argue or make a quip, Bakura stayed still and waited for Marik to return. Marik's face wasn't mauve, but he still had a champagne hue overlapping his complexion as he wiped the mess from Bakura's sweat-slick skin.

Thanks, Ryou whispered, almost asleep.

The pink on Marik's cheeks lit up a touch. A tender, perhaps even affectionate look softened the usually hard lines on Marik's face. It was wrong. The look was wrong. It didn't belong to the megalomaniac seeking vengeance on the Pharaoh. It belonged to a person – a normal person the same age as Bakura's host. It belonged to someone who secretly wanted to go to the movies, and hold hands, and lick ice cream off of a single, shared cone.

And the worst of it, the worst of it, was that Bakura preferred that look on Marik. Enough to want to see what was playing at the theaters, but of course that wasn't an option, and Bakura loathed his host for putting such an absurd notion into the back of his thoughts.

No, that was you. I like the thought, but it wasn't mine.

Bakura started. He hadn't realized the thought was formed enough for Ryou to catch.

"What thought?" Marik asked as he set aside the towel and dropped back down onto the mattress.

"Nothing," Bakura murmured, thanking the Darkness that Marik hadn't caught the full impression of Bakura's mind.

He thinks you're cute. Ryou's tone conveyed the smile that his mouth wouldn't show as long as Bakura controlled it – but at least his host downplayed the truth of Bakura's thoughts.

"Fuckable," Bakura responded. "Not cute."

"Both are good." Marik smiled, worse than before.

He looked sleepy, and content, and breathtaking at that moment, and Bakura struggled not to kiss him again. Marik's eyes fluttered shut. He leaned his face against Bakura's shoulders.

"I could get use to this . . . closing my eyes without wanting to scream," Marik whispered, and Bakura wondered if they were meant to hear the statement.

Another image sifted from Ryou's subconscious to Marik's thoughts. Nothing lewd, nothing seductive, nothing even very imaginative. A simple image – a single lit candle blessing their minds with soft, golden light. Marik sucked in a breath, opening his eyes again to look at Bakura.

I can feel it, Ryou confessed. You hate the dark. Close your eyes. I'll stay awake and think of light until you're asleep.

"Why?" Marik asked, as if Ryou's kindness hurt.

For a moment, Bakura lost control of Ryou's body. He watched, from the back of Ryou's mind, as his host leaned forward and kissed Marik instead of answering. Bakura didn't protest; it was better that Ryou didn't answer Marik's question.

Marik seemed to agree because he didn't ask again. Instead, he sighed, and closed his eyes. Even after Marik fell asleep, and even after Ryou did as well – the candle disappearing and their minds going dark – Bakura stayed awake. He lay in bed, eyes half closed, and watched Marik's sleeping countenance.