Ok, this oneshot happened because I was feeling a bit down this morning and wanted some fluffy thiefshipping. It's a fair bit longer than I originally wanted, though I have to say I am quite pleased with how it turned out. To anyone waiting on an update for Thievery Amongst the Ancients, it will happen I promise, but I was in sore need of some fluff this morning and so this happened! XD
The cover photo is by the wonderful FanGirl16! Here is the link, go check out her work: #/art/Criminal-Masterminds-369622702?q=gallery%3Amywiilz&qo=2&_sid=6c272a45 (take out the spaces, and it should work!)
Warnings: Bad language and adult themes. It is rated a T, but it is a high T, because there is a lot of swearing and some rather suggestive scenes. No lemons or anything like that though.
Italics are thoughts and 'Italics with quotes' are texts.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.
Enjoy! - Jem
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
Marik tore through the streets with arms pumping at his sides, feet barely touching the pavement as he flew through the city. His breath was noisy and rattled through his chest the further through the crowds he pushed, skidding around corners and narrowly missing the low overhanging buildings of inner-city Domino. Odion was so fucking dead.
The bag slid down Marik's shoulder from where he had carelessly flung it earlier. With a snarl he ripped it out of the way, keeping it tightly gripped in his fist; he'd be damned if he lost the loot now. Odion was so fucking dead! What kind of escape route was this?
Footsteps were still slapping on the pavement behind him, so obviously they weren't going to give up the chase any time soon. Filling the air with curses to the extent that Marik was surprised his surroundings didn't turn black, he flung himself off the main road and down into the side alleys, leading the guards a merry trail through the lesser-known districts. The number of footsteps dwindled with each twist and turn Marik took, until finally he rounded a final corner and kept close to the shadows, skidding to a furious halt and listening intently to the air around him, quietening his own ragged breathing.
Silence.
Marik breathed out, sagging against the wall and dropping the bag at his feet. He buried his face in his hands and focused on calming his racing heart and soothing the ache in his chest – he hadn't had to run like that in a very long time. There was a good reason for that, too; in most of his heists he was the mastermind behind the crime, very rarely having to take the helm himself. Only the most dangerous targets drew him out of his hideout, unless someone messed up. Like today.
Marik cursed again, sounds ripping out through clenched teeth as his balled fists fell to his sides. Odion was going to pay for this. It should have been a simple job; robbing a bank was easy money for the Rare Hunters, and Odion was too experienced to continue making such amateurish mistakes, like letting Marik's fucking name slip within the hearing of the desk worker! Even the thought of it caused Marik's gut to clench and his vision to cloud red. Luckily, he had been personally monitoring this job from the criminal hideout in the centre of the city, and had got to the scene in time to make sure no one escaped alive. Of course, the gunshots had only served to rouse the guards, and so Marik had grabbed what money he could before legging it out of there, not even sparing a glance for his good-for-nothing brother and supposed right-hand-man.
Ha, Marik thought bitterly, sinking to the floor. We'll see about that. After this debacle, he'll be lucky to escape with his life. The murders of the bank worker and two members of the public (who had also seen too much) would not be easy to cover up – in fact, Marik would most likely have to leave the city for a couple of weeks, and he would most definitely have to give it at least a month before attempting his next heist. This set his schedule back months. Fucking Odion! Marik was going to lose clients over this unless he did some serious grovelling, and he loathed pleading above all else in the world. Odion was going to pay for this.
Marik shut his eyes, striving to reign in his anger and calm his racing thoughts, his mind currently providing him with various interesting and novel ways of making Odion pay. Time enough for that later – for right now, he had to get home, although Gods know he really didn't want to; as far gone with rage as he was, he didn't want to do something that he would later regret. He knew that Odion would be useful to him in the future, despite how angry Marik may be with him now.
Whipping out his phone, Marik settled on sending an angry text; it had been a good way to relieve his anger before. Seeing the furious words written down acted as a sort of release, calming him. Calm seemed like a great idea just now. Marik punched the keys furiously, paying little attention as he entered Odion's number and typed a messy text. 'I am going to fucking kill you, Odion!'
Straight after sending it, Marik felt his clenched muscles relax. Odion would understand immediately, having seen enough of his brother's rage before to know what was coming his way; that gave Marik a sadistic satisfaction. Let him tremble for a while – it never hurt to spark fear in his underlings, after all.
Needless to say, he was a little surprised when his phone buzzed. The reply only made his eyebrows shoot higher into his blonde fringe.
'Who is this?'
What was Odion playing at now? Marik sent the reply, keeping it short and sharp as he felt the twinges of anger rising once more from his gut. 'Who the hell do you think? It's Marik, you fool.'
His phone was quick to buzz again, and Marik shot up from the wall in surprise, bag crumpling as his flailing feet kicked it by accident. What the hell was this?
'Well Marik, flattered as I am that you felt the need to text me, I rather think you have the wrong number. Call me a fool again, and you won't live to see the sunrise.'
Needless to say, that reply was not what Marik had been expecting.
Clearly, he had not been texting Odion. His brother was an idiot, but he certainly was not fool enough to send his master that message; he had enough experience of Marik's short fuse to know not to try something like that. This clown was fucking threatening him! No one did that and got away with it. Scanning the message again, Marik's burning gaze flicked to the numbers, and he spotted his mistake – a 7 at the end, not an 8. Odion's number ended with an 8. He had texted some complete stranger.
Some complete stranger who now knew his name and number.
Fuck. Marik couldn't risk that – no one knew this number except his close family and criminal associates. Well, he would just have to teach this fool exactly who he was dealing with. Marik punched the digits angrily.
'Who the fuck is this? Don't you dare threaten me, you don't know who you're messing with.'
The reply, once again, was unexpected. 'That took you long enough. And you threatened me first.'
'Just tell me your fucking name.'
'Angry, aren't we? You don't need to know my name, Marik.'
Marik snarled, resisting the urge to chuck his phone away as he saw his name innocently looking back at him, printed clearly in black and white. He couldn't allow some stranger access to his private phone, it was far too dangerous. Marik would have to warn him off once and for all. 'Listen I dont know or care who the fuck u are but u just delete these txts and forget u ever heard from me and then I wont have to hurt ur family got it'
The reply was a few minutes in coming, long enough for Marik to start daring to hope that this idiot would leave him alone. No such luck, of course. 'You are in no position to be making threats, Marik, and as you texted me first you have no right to be angry that we are now having a conversation. Also, your grammar and spelling could use some work.'
Marik stared in disbelief for a long moment before swearing loudly and throwing his phone across the alley, relishing in the crack as it bounced off the opposite wall. No one ever dared talk to him like that! The bodiless voice behind the texts would need some serious talking to, because Marik was not someone to be trifled with, and he would not lose all credibility because of some arrogant upstart who thought he could talk back to him. Marik would make him pay.
All the anger that had previously been directed at Odion was now focused solely on the person behind the texts, and Marik's mind was razor sharp as he covered the distance to his phone in two quick steps, snatching it from the floor and deliberating for a long while before sending his text – it would have to be carefully constructed in order to get this idiot to back off. Marik was rather proud of it when it was done. 'Alright smart-ass, I admit to texting you first although quite clearly I thought you were someone else. Now that you have made your point, you can leave me the hell alone and forget that you ever heard from me, and then we can both carry on happily with our separate lives. Deal?'
The reply was fast this time. 'Congratulations on improving your English, Marik, but I am afraid I shall have to decline your generous offer.'
Marik hissed through clenched teeth. This fool was having a laugh. Well, Marik had tried being civil, and it clearly wasn't going to work; time for more drastic measures. 'You fucking knobhead, just get the hell out of my life.'
'That is a little rich, seeing as you were the one to text me.'
'I've already told you I made a mistake now just shut the hell up!'
'But we are getting along so well, Marik. It would be a shame to ruin it now.'
Marik was seething by this point, reigning in the urge to just chuck the stupid phone into the nearest river. Instead, he turned on his heel and exited the alley, deciding he had been away from home long enough and most likely his siblings were worried about him. Not that he cared, but listening to Ishizu's constant bitching got irritating quickly. Pacing the streets, he almost stopped still in disbelief as his phone buzzed once more.
'Don't get pissy now, Marik. This is all your fault, remember.'
Marik snarled, turning the phone off completely and thrusting it back into his pocket. At least the stranger had managed one useful task: Marik was no longer angry with Odion.
His sibling's reactions were predictable, as ever. Ishizu advanced on him the moment he entered, her ice-blue eyes flashing and her voice a low hiss. "Where have you been? You just ran out of here an hour ago!"
Marik shrugged, still keeping a tight hold of his anger. "Where's Odion?"
"In his room, and he wouldn't tell me anything, as per usual." Ishizu blocked his path as Marik attempted to climb the stairs. "I mean it, Marik – where have you been?"
Marik fixed her with a furious glare.
She matched it evenly, staying cool. "You've got to stop all this sneaking out."
"I haven't got to do anything," Marik riled. "So chill. I'm going to sleep now; it's late."
Ishizu glared. "Tell me where you were."
"As if!" Marik pushed past her and climbed the stairs hurriedly, ignoring her disappointed sigh as he crashed onto his bed. He didn't even bother getting changed before sliding into an unsettled sleep.
Twenty-four texts.
Was this some kind of fucking joke? Who the hell sent twenty-four texts to a person they didn't even know? Marik massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands, sitting up in his bed and doing his utmost to ignore the phone blinking innocently away beside him. Twenty-four texts in one night was crazy, even by Marik's standards, and it had him wondering just who the hell this guy was. The texts weren't even original; after the first ten or so the stranger had resorted to just rewording the same message, and the last five or so were just a repetition of the same two words: 'Call me.'
'Call me.'
'Call me.'
Who the hell did this guy think he was? Or she, for that matter – the obsessive repetition seemed to fit some teenage girl with a hopeless crush. Marik was used to dealing with unwanted attention, but one snarl or angry look was usually enough to warn them off. Clearly, that wouldn't work with this idiot. But Marik was fine with that; he would just ignore the texts, and the fool would get bored eventually.
At least, he hoped so.
By the end of that day, Marik had changed his mind. He had been constantly interrupted by the beeping of his phone, always flashing up with a new text message, always from the same number. Marik even resorted to turning it off until he had to call a Rare Hunter, and after waiting for fifteen minutes for all the new messages to load he had resolved to leave the phone on, shoving it in a corner of the hideout and ignoring it whenever it buzzed. It even interrupted his yelling at Odion, which did nothing to improve his mood. Odion, as usual, took his harsh words and angry threats with just a mumbled apology, warning the rest of the Rare Hunters to stay away from their leader that day.
Needless to say, Marik arrived back home even more pissed off than when he left.
He stormed straight up to his room, ignoring the questioning glances from his siblings as he collapsed back on the bed, hands tangling in his blonde hair. He dared to pull out his phone with trembling hands and cursed loudly when he saw the number of texts he had received.
Fifty two.
Just as Marik was staring at the screen with disbelief in his violet eyes, the phone had the audacity to buzz again! Marik almost dropped it when that same number flashed up, with a slightly longer message this time.
'Are you irritated enough to call me yet?'
Marik had to physically restrain himself from chucking the phone at the wall, instead grabbing a cushion and chucking it into his desk, satisfied when it hit his lamp and sent papers flying through the air. He had had enough of this. Furiously punching the keys, he texted back 'Why the hell would I want to call you? Now just shut the fuck up!'
The reply was quick. 'Finally, a response. I wondered how long that would take, Ishtar.'
The phone clattered to the floor. Marik's fingers went slack with shock.
Ishtar.
How the hell did this person know his surname?
After a few moments of shock, Marik gathered himself to send a sharp reply. 'Who the hell are you?'
'With all your cursing, you should be blue in the face by now.'
'Just tell me who the fuck you are, asshole.'
The response was predictable, and it made Marik shake. 'Call me.'
Marik snarled, hands clawing viciously at the air as he sent his furious retort. 'Like hell! You fucking stalker, how the hell do you know my name?'
'Nice to see you so riled, Marik Ishtar. Call me and you'll find out.'
Marik threw his phone into the mattress, steadfastly ignoring it. He did a quick mental check of all the people who knew him, trying to work out just who this joker could be; it was true that he had many enemies, but very few actually knew his name: only those who were truly worth his time and energy were granted that privelage. Marik Ishtar was a name only known to those at the very top of the criminal side of Domino.
So who the hell could he be?
Marik did a fast inventory of all his most prized enemies, all the criminals that he held a grudging respect for and the only people outside his family and friends who knew his real name. Seto Kaiba was the first to strike him, but he couldn't be the mystery texter – Marik knew his face, and had texted his number before. The two had struck a deal a few months ago, after Marik threatened Kaiba's younger brother in order to get him to cooperate. They had an uneasy alliance now, or understanding would be the better word; they left each other alone, and didn't step into each other's territories.
Then there was Yami Moto, living a dangerous double life as both a cop and a criminal, treading the dangerous line of a gang-informant-turned-drug-dealer. His and Marik's paths only crossed fleetingly, and he had only caught his face once. It was conceivable that this mystery texter was him, but for some reason Marik wasn't quite convinced...
As he turned his attention to the last option, Marik struck gold.
Of course.
There was only one person these subtly threatening texts could have come from; only one person with the arrogance and audacity to take up his time like this. The Thief King. He had been active in the city for much longer than Marik, the latter only arriving from Egypt two years ago. At first Marik had kept away, a little intimidated by the wide-reaching operations of the lone thief and more than a little awed by his illustrious career. That had all changed in the past few months, however, as Marik's operations grew and his Rare Hunters became more skilled. He and the Thief King soon began to target the same marks, going for the same prizes and more than once clashing with each other and causing both of them to fail. Of course, neither had ever seen the other's face; Marik operated from behind-the-scenes, and the so-called Thief King was far too intelligent to allow himself to be caught, despite working solo. Marik had always been a little fascinated by him.
Well, that certainly explained the subtle threats, and Marik was now a little more inclined to take his texts seriously.
It was with caution that he sent his next message. 'Nice to see you have taken an interest in me, Thief King.'
The reply, this time, took a good few minutes. Marik sat carefully on his bed, eyeing his phone with caution; the Thief King was notorious and well-feared through the city. He was supposed to be wraith-like, hidden and completely undetectable. He could be in your room watching you sleep, and you would never know...
'Congratulations, Ishtar. That took you long enough.'
Marik swore under his breath. Of all the people for him to accidentally text, it had to be his only actual threat in this whole damn city! Moving with a cautious speed Marik swiftly closed the curtains, leaving his room momentarily to lock the front and back doors and making absolutely sure to close all the windows. When he entered his room he half-expected to find a shadowy figure sprawled lazily on his bed, regarding him with cold eyes. Instead, there was only his phone, and it blinked at him with a new message. Marik locked his bedroom door before resuming his seat on the bed and hesitantly reading the text. 'Oh come now, Marik. We can be friendly, can we not?'
Marik took a deep breath before responding. 'Only as friendly as two opposing thieves can be.'
'Well said, Ishtar. Incidentally, stop stealing on my turf. And call me.'
Marik glared. No one ordered him about; not even other superb criminals who could probably out-manoeuvre him any day. Marik was not one to easily back down. 'Like hell, Thief King. And I still don't know your name.'
'You don't need to, Ishtar. You will be hearing from me soon.'
Marik breathed out, rubbing his temples and allowing his eyelids to slide shut. The barrage of texts had finally stopped, but instead of being thrilled and relieved Marik instead found himself actually missing them a bit. Over the next few days he would constantly check his phone, and he could never completely quell the small tug of disappointment somewhere deep within his stomach each time his inbox flashed up empty. Marik continued to arrange his jobs, of course, paying no heed to the Thief King's warning to keep off his turf. If the Thief King had a problem, he could just get off his lazy ass and tell Marik about it.
Unfortunately, a week had not passed before Marik got exactly what he wished for.
'Well, Ishtar, it would seem that you have ignored my warning. You really would do better to listen to me, you know.'
Marik read the text at dinner, and Ishizu didn't fail to see the widening of his violet eyes and the flaring of his nostrils. "Marik? Are you alright?"
He snapped back to her instantly, phone disappearing under the table. "Of course I'm alright. Stop fussing."
"I asked one question, that doesn't quite amount to 'fussing'," she responded primly, swallowing her last mouthful. "I cooked, so you two can wash up."
Marik snarled. "I can't. I've got stuff to do."
"You're going nowhere, Marik." Ishizu stood up calmly, making to exit the room.
"But I've got to..."
"If it's that important, send Odion," she cut in. "I mean it – you are helping me out tonight."
Marik hissed. "You can't keep me here."
"You are doing those dishes." Ishizu left the room without once looking back, ignoring the angry shouts her younger brother was aiming at her back.
Marik stood with a low growl. "Odion, do the dishes."
His brother lifted a questioning eyebrow. "What's so urgent that you must complete it tonight?"
"You don't want to know."
"I can do it for you..."
"No, Odion," Marik spat, relishing in the fear that flickered in his adopted brother's eyes. "This is on my head. Just get on with your usual duties."
Odion dipped his head in a respectful bow before turning to the sink, and Marik disappeared up to his room.
Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough.
His phone buzzed angrily in his palm just as he entered his bedroom, and he read it with trepidation. He was right to, it would seem.
'Ignoring me is a very bad idea, Ishtar. You had better call me tonight.'
Marik couldn't repress a shudder at the threat behind those words, but he still sent a quick text back. 'I will do no such thing. You need to understand that my life does not revolve around you, Thief King.'
'Well perhaps it should. Call me.'
Marik couldn't help but roll his eyes. 'How many times are you going to ask me to do that? If you want to hear my voice so badly, you could just call me, you know.'
The reply was quicker than Marik thought possible – it felt like he had barely hit the send button before his phone was vibrating again. 'You do not want me to do that.'
Marik swallowed. Before he could reply, another text came through. 'However, if you are worried about your sister and brother overhearing our conversation then call me tomorrow when you are out.'
Marik hissed. 'What the hell do you know about my family?'
'Ishtar is a rare name in Domino, fool. Tomorrow. Call.'
Marik cursed and dropped his phone. So, the Thief King had found him? Marik couldn't really pretend to be surprised; the guy was a master thief who had been operating for far longer than he had. Somehow, Marik thought it would be best to follow his orders, but he wasn't giving in any time soon. The Thief King had decided to challenge him; well then, bring it on.
Marik paced through the streets of Domino, phone bouncing around in his palm. It was past midday. Marik was almost positive that the Thief King would have expected a call by now, but it had taken him longer than expected to escape his family's questioning glances and head to the streets, well out of earshot. He had a feeling this wasn't the sort of conversation they wanted people to overhear.
So why hadn't Marik called already?
The Thief King would be less than pleased to be kept waiting, but for some reason Marik couldn't bring himself to press the button. For some reason, the thought of actually hearing the Thief King's voice was something that sent a spiral of fear shooting from his stomach into his head. It would just be so ... intimate, to have him speak directly into his ear.
Oh, fuck this. He was calling.
The button was pressed, the phone at Marik's ear before he could stop himself, and he kept up his urgent pacing as the numbers dialled. It rang once, twice, and then...
Silence.
Had he hung up? No ... there, Marik could hear him breathing. Silent, quick breaths, mere disturbances in the frequency, but they were there. Marik kept the phone tightly pressed to the side of his face, listening closely. This was him, the Thief King ... he was actually talking to the Thief King...
More breathing, and Marik finally broke. "Well, one of us has to speak first."
A low chuckle, the sound deep and enticing. "And it would have to be you, Ishtar. I don't make a habit of speaking before my subordinates."
Marik hissed. "We are equal, fool."
"You rise to the bait so easily, Marik," that low voice rasped, amusement apparent in his tone.
Marik growled. "So, are you going to tell me your name yet?"
"No."
"Asshole."
Another chuckle, this time turning into a full-throated laugh. "You know, name calling your arch nemesis isn't usually the best way to continue. If you want to hold onto your life, that is."
"Don't you threaten me," Marik responded, although the anger leaked out of his tone. "It isn't very polite for you to know my name without telling me yours."
The Thief King was grinning; Marik could feel it. "If you'll recall, Marik, you volunteered your name to me with little to no questioning on my behalf."
"I thought you were someone else!"
"So you say," the Thief King agreed. "But that was your mistake, not mine. You can imagine my surprise at discovering my mystery texter also happened to be the boy causing me so much trouble in my city."
Marik laughed at that. "This isn't your city, idiot."
"Yes. It is." The Thief King's tone turned dark. "You would do well to remember that you are talking to royalty, Ishtar."
"Oh please. You probably just invented that name yourself, Thief King."
"Be that as it may, it's still true."
Marik grinned. "Getting impatient, are you?"
"Shut it."
"Ha. Didn't think it would be that easy to wind you up."
"You just remember your place."
"As long as you remember yours."
Marik grinned as the Thief King fell silent, but it fell off his face at the next words to reach his ear.
"So. You are wearing a black jacket today? I rather preferred the purple hoody, myself."
Marik froze in his tracks. "...What did you just say?"
"Oh, I think you heard me." The amusement was back in the Thief King's voice. "At least, I assume that's why you've stopped dead in the middle of a busy street."
Marik executed a 360 degree turn, eyes sharp and narrowed. "Alright. Where are you?"
"That's for me to know, and you to never find out."
"That's hardly fair."
"Life isn't fair, brat. How old are you, anyway? You look like you should be in school."
Marik hissed at that. "I graduated last summer, asshole!"
"As recent as that? My, you are a child."
Marik snarled before a cunning smirk twisted his lips. "Well. It's rather ironic that a mere child has been causing you so much trouble, right?"
There was silence, and Marik crowed. "Not so smart now, huh?"
"You insolent brat." Marik could swear he heard an ounce of respect in the Thief King's tone, though. "Stay out of my way."
"You're the one who keeps texting me."
"I meant," the Thief King sounded exasperated, "Stop interrupting my jobs. You should know that these things take ages to set up, and I won't have my chances ruined by some jumpy little upstart."
"Asshole."
"You should also know that it isn't wise to piss me off." His tone was crisp now. "As fun as this has been, Ishtar, I have more important matters to deal with. No doubt you will get in my way again soon enough, and I might have to be a little more persuasive next time."
"I'd like to see you try."
"No you wouldn't, Ishtar. Do me a favour and disappear."
Marik snorted. "As if. You'd miss me if I wasn't here."
His only response was a click, and Marik finally removed the phone from his ear, staring at it for a moment longer before shoving it back into his pocket. The Thief King turned out to be very different from what he was expecting – his light, almost teasing tones were a far cry from the rabid, crazed man he had been led to believe made up the Thief King's substance. No, this man was much more civilised, pleasant even, apart from when he was threatening, of course. Marik had no doubt that he could kill without a second thought, but after that conversation Marik actually felt buoyed.
All in all, it could have been a lot worse.
Weeks passed with only the occasional text from the Thief King, and Marik continued his usual business of robbing and stealing where he could. Unfortunately, his Rare Hunters had to curb their activities a little as a result of Odion's cock-up at the bank, but as the time slipped by without suspicion flying to them, Marik decided it was time to try something a little more risky. A brand new diamond jewel had just been brought into Domino City Museum, and every thief worth his salt was eyeing it up. Of course, security was tight, so Marik decided to personally take the helm on this one; he wasn't going to risk Odion messing everything up again.
The fact that a certain Thief King was most likely after the jewel too of course had no bearing on his decision.
Marik's suspicions were confirmed a few nights after their first planning session; Marik was on his way home from a meeting, walking quickly through the busy midday streets and hurrying home as fast as he could. Ishizu had been on his back again lately, and he was doing his best to alleviate her suspicions before she did something daft like call the police. He pushed through the crowds irritably when he felt a buzz in his pocket. He whipped the phone out without bothering to check the number, answering rudely, "What?"
"That's no way to speak to your superiors, Ishtar." There was definitely a teasing lilt to the Thief King's voice, and Marik imagined a smirk.
Marik grinned despite himself. "What do you want, asshole?"
"I want you." There was a pause, in which Marik lifted an eyebrow.
"Excuse me?"
"I want you to leave me alone," The Thief King finished with a small laugh. "What did you think I meant?"
Marik chuckled. "With the way you left that sentence, I thought you meant pretty much the exact opposite."
The Thief King laughed again, but the sound was dark and threatening. "Trust me, Ishtar, you would know if I wanted you."
"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Marik grinned, twirling a strand of hair with his free hand. "You keep calling me, and you did send twenty-four texts in one night..."
"You were ignoring me."
"Yeah, sure. It isn't like you're obsessed with me or anything."
To Marik's surprise, the Thief King just laughed. "Would you really be surprised? You are fucking hot, after all."
Marik stopped, jaw falling open in shock. "...The hell did you just say?"
Another chilling laugh. "Your face is a picture."
"Where the hell are you?" Marik whirled around, peering through the crowds. "This is called stalking, you know."
"Oh, you and I both know that I'm capable of much more than that."
Marik snorted. "Now who's getting arrogant?"
"The difference is, I have every reason to be."
"Asshole."
"Will you stop calling me that?"
"If you told me your name, I'd find that easier."
"Oh, as if I'd fall for that one."
Marik snorted. "You might have. You're dumb enough too."
"What did I say about insulting me?"
Marik grinned. "Tell me your name, and I'll stop."
"As if." The Thief King sounded amused, though. "I'm calling to tell you to stay away from the museum."
Marik laughed. "I don't do what you tell me."
"Maybe you should. It would be better for your health."
"Don't start with that nonsense."
"Just stay out of the museum. You have been warned."
"I make no promises." Marik turned the final corner and his house came into view. "Sorry to cut this short, but I have other business to attend to."
"Oh, please. You're worried about being late home, and you're scared your sister will yell at you."
Marik froze, taking his phone away from his ear to stare at it. "Just who the hell are you?"
There was another low chuckle, and the sound was almost seductive. "Bakura."
"...What?"
There was a click, and the line went dead. Marik stared at the phone in his hand, thoughts racing and a strange quiver in his stomach.
Bakura.
The Thief King's name was Bakura.
The day of the museum heist came around quickly.
Marik had planned everything to the last degree, thought out every little detail that could go wrong, and had covered all his bases, excepting of course the Thief King. If Bakura decided to show up, Marik would deal with him himself. With Odion close by his side, Marik inched his way into the room containing the jewel; his Rare Hunters were guarding all the exits. Marik gestured imperiously and Odion left his side, silently going to dissemble the alarm. There was a light crash, and a soft thud, and then a familiar dark voice was breathing into Marik's ear. "I thought I warned you to stay away from the museum?"
Marik froze, heartbeat increasing despite himself. "I said I made no promises."
"So you did." Breath tickled Marik's ear, teasing him, and he fought the urge to turn around. "But equally, Ishtar, I told you it would be better for your health to obey me."
"Oh, please," Marik scoffed. "If you wanted me dead, I'm almost positive you'd have tried it by now. Not that you would have succeeded."
A low chuckle. "Perhaps."
A silent shadow brushed past him, dressed head to toe in black, and Marik strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the infamous Thief King. Bakura chuckled again. "It isn't so easy to catch me, Ishtar."
"I don't know," Marik disagreed. "I found you easily enough. Bakura."
There was a flash of white that might have been teeth. "Well, now we're even. You know my name, and I know yours."
"Hardly. I still don't know what you look like."
Another flash of white, more substantial this time. "Think what you like. I'm getting the jewel."
"Actually," Marik disagreed, "I am."
A low growl rumbled through the shadows. "And how did you plan to stop me?"
"My Rare Hunters are..."
"Are all taken out." Bakura sounded smug.
Marik's face blanched, although he tried to keep his cool. "You liar."
"If you don't believe me, call them." There was movement in the darkness, and the sound of glass being cut through. "You may want to get out of here before the cops arrive."
"Yeah, right," Marik snorted. "Give me the jewel, and I'll be on my way."
"Now why would I do that?"
"Because I said so?"
There was a soft snort. "God, for a semi-decent thief you don't half act like a child sometimes."
Marik sent a stern glare into the shadows. "Coming from you, that's a little rich."
"Whatever, Ishtar. Out of my way."
"No." Marik positioned himself by the doorway, determined not to let the Thief King leave without at least catching a glimpse of his face.
There was a growl, and suddenly Marik's back was to a wall and there was warm breath in his face. Marik let out a soft gasp, cursing his weakness.
Bakura chuckled, emotionless. "Stay out of my way, Ishtar. Teasing you has been fun so far, but don't try my patience."
Marik gathered his scattered thoughts and drew himself up, pleased to find that he was a little taller than the pale shadow before him. Dressed all in black, all he caught of Bakura was a flash of white near his head and a deep brown glare. "Maybe you shouldn't try mine, Bakura."
There was a snarl, and cold metal pressed to his throat. "You are in no position to make threats."
Marik stayed still, but a grin still stretched his lips. "You won't kill me, though. You've had plenty of opportunities so far."
"Doesn't mean I never will."
"Perhaps. But something tells me you don't hesitate when you really want someone dead."
There was a pause before the Thief King snickered. "Now, about that, you are correct." The metal was withdrawn from Marik's throat, and Bakura stepped back. Marik caught another flash of white as he turned towards the door. "Clear up the mess your Rare Hunters have made – you don't want this traced back to you, after all."
"Nothing will ever be traced back to me."
"You hope." There was just a hint of a smirk around a pale mouth as Bakura left through the door. "A pleasure to run into you, Marik."
"Same to you, Bakura." Marik watched him out of the door with a grin on his lips and a very unfamiliar wriggling in his innards.
He hoped to be hearing from the Thief King again soon.
His wish, of course, was granted.
Barely a week passed before his phone rang again. "So, Ishtar, out and about in the city today?"
Marik grinned. "What's it to you, Bakura?"
"You're everything to me, darling."
Marik almost choked on his drink as he sat up in the cafe. Bakura chuckled down the line. "Once again, your face is priceless."
"You're here?" Marik scoured the cafe, frowning. "I don't see you..."
"Then, Ishtar, you must be the most unobservant person in this whole damned city."
Marik almost leapt out of his seat as the dark voice sounded from directly in front of him; his phone clattered out of his hand and landed on the table with a smack. A pale hand instantly reached forwards and snatched it up, twirling it between long thin fingers. Marik ran his eyes up a long black coat, to long white hair and sharp, pale features that took his breath away. There was no denying that Bakura was handsome, and he most definitely had charisma. Eventually, Marik met intense brown eyes that regarded him coolly. Bakura sat down in the seat opposite the young Egyptian, leaning back languidly, his low seductive voice sending shivers down Marik's spine. "By God, you are gorgeous."
Marik lifted a brow, trying not to show that his stomach was doing somersaults. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
Bakura snorted. "You cannot be that dense." Marik's phone was still twirled between his pale, slender fingers, and Bakura flipped it open, unashamedly searching through Marik's messages.
"Hey!" Marik leaned forwards indignantly. "Those are mine!"
"Actually, most appear to be from me." Bakura smirked. "You should delete these, you know."
Marik scoffed, leaning back and folding his arms. "No one sees that phone apart from me."
"You are not infallible."
"Don't be daft." Marik glared at him. "And give me it back."
"In a moment." Bakura looked down, frowning as he scrolled through the texts, deleting as he went. "God, you kept all those ones I sent back at the beginning?"
"Twenty-four," Marik glared. "In one night."
"My, someone sounds pissed."
"Someone irritated me." Marik hissed. "You wouldn't be best pleased if I sent you twenty-four texts in one night."
Bakura smirked, looking at Marik from underneath his lashes. "On the contrary. I would be thrilled to have got your attention so successfully."
Marik lifted a brow. "Are you implying that I should be flattered?"
"Of course you should be flattered. I don't give my time to just anyone, you know."
Marik sat back, ignoring the way that his innards seemed to be trying to escape through his mouth. "I always figured I just irritated you."
"Oh, you do." Bakura's eyes flicked to him before turning back to his phone. "Don't you ever doubt that."
"Thanks." Marik responded sarcastically, holding out a hand, palm up. "Give me my phone back."
Instead of the phone he was expecting, a pale hand suddenly grabbed his own and Bakura pulled, unceremoniously tugging Marik towards him. Warm breath blew across Marik's face as he froze, staring straight into Bakura's deep brown eyes. Bakura smirked, leaning closer. "I would rather keep it."
Marik blinked, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "...What?"
Bakura stood up fluidly, pulling Marik with him and standing far closer than was necessary. "Your phone. What did you think I was talking about?"
Marik stared back, thoughts still a little slow. "...Are you going to give it back then?"
"Depends," Bakura chuckled, leaning closer still. Marik started when he felt a finger trace his lips. "What will you give me in return?"
Marik struggled to glare, but it was difficult around the sudden lump in his throat and the desperate urge in his gut to lean forwards and close the distance between them. Marik ignored it, speaking angrily. "Asshole. It's mine. I don't owe you anything."
Bakura chuckled, deep and seductive; Marik could feel the vibrations in his chest. "We are thieves, Marik. I have something of yours, and you must give me something in order to get it back."
"Liar," Marik hissed. "I could take it back right now."
"You think so, hm?" Bakura cocked an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. "I'd like to see you try."
Marik met his stare with burning violet eyes, and found himself incapable of looking away. Bakura grasped his chin with two fingers, keeping him firmly in place as he leaned ever closer. "What are you going to do, Marik?"
Marik stared him down. "Give you something, you say."
"Yes."
"And then you'll give my phone back."
"Naturally."
Marik paused. "Can I trust you?"
Bakura chuckled. "About as far as you could throw me."
Marik licked his lips, anticipation rising in his gut. "You'd better give me my phone back, asshole." He didn't think any further for fear of chickening out, closing his eyes as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Bakura's.
Of course, the Thief King did not leave it there. Before Marik knew what was happening, Bakura's hot tongue was inside his mouth, stroking the inside of his cheeks before turning to the roof of his mouth. Marik froze, shocked at the assault, before finally coming to his senses and fighting back. His tongue met Bakura's and pushed, forcing it back between Bakura's lips, and suddenly Marik was tasting the Thief King, tongue exploring hungrily. Bakura didn't allow this for long before he was fighting back, and they continued their sparring until a catcall from behind them had Marik backing off.
Bakura's eyes were gleaming as he met Marik's startled gaze. "Well, that was fun." The Thief King turned, barely sparing him a second glance as he tossed his phone onto the table, exiting the cafe in a blur of white movement.
Marik sat down very suddenly on a seat, calming his jumping nerves and allowing his eyes to slide shut. His lips were still tingling, and there was a foreign taste on his tongue. What the hell just happened?
What the hell just happened?
Marik was shaken out of his daze when his phone buzzed. And who else would be texting him apart from him?
'Of course I would give you your phone back. How else would I be able to make sure that happens again?'
Marik started laughing.
He threw his head back in the middle of the cafe and laughed, peals ringing through the walls and earning him very strange looks and a glare from the manager. But he couldn't help himself; he laughed.
Because he had just made out with the Thief King.
And the funniest thing? He wanted to do it again.
After that, nothing.
No texts, no calls, no word from Bakura at all.
Marik told himself he wasn't disappointed. And no way was he caving first.
Every night, before he went to bed, Marik would catch himself staring at the screen of his phone with a wistful expression, one hand usually unconsciously tracing his lips and remembering the taste of Bakura. That lasted until he realised what he must have looked like, and quickly snapped himself out of it. Odion and Ishizu learned to leave him alone, as he snarled even more than usual and would crack over the tiniest thing, shouting at them until they backed away with fear in their eyes. His temper had always run on a short fuse, but now it was worse than ever, and his siblings were learning to stay away from him. Marik wasn't exactly proud of that, but he there wasn't very much he could do; they always seemed to catch him at a bad time. Not that he had very many good times anymore.
He continued with his heists, of course, keeping mostly behind-the-scenes and allowing his Rare Hunters to do the dog work. There were some incidents, but nothing that wasn't smoothed over with a couple of bribes and the occasional murder. They never met the Thief King, something that even his Hunters commented on; they had all noticed the charismatic lone thief who pulled off jobs that they could only dream of. He had stolen the museum jewel right out from under their noses, after all.
Needless to say, Marik kept away from those conversations, convincing himself it was just because he missed the competition.
It was after one particularly bad day that Marik stormed up to his room, once again ignoring the question and hurt in his sister's eyes. Odion had been with him that day, and braved hesitantly entering Marik's room until he sent him away with a curse and a half-hearted projectile. Marik crashed back onto his bed, head hitting the pillow violently enough to bounce once before settling back into the feathers. His fingers inched towards his phone before he remembered himself and snatched them away, angrily rolling over and biting the pillow to stop himself from screaming. His Rare Hunters had once again mentioned the mysterious disappearance of the Thief King, until Marik had finally had enough and shut them up with a shriek and a well-aimed knife. Not to kill them, of course, because he would only have to go through the bother of replacing them, but watching them duck as the knife sailed past their heads had given him a strong sense of satisfaction.
Now they were gone, though, and Marik was alone. As ever.
He kept telling himself that this didn't bother him, but he knew he was lying to himself.
Got to sink fucking low to lie to yourself, right?
Marik's fingers itched again and he eventually gave in, rolling over on the bed enough to tug the stupid phone out of his pocket and flick it on with the press of a button. The screen lit up with the familiar depressing view of no new messages. Well what the fuck did he expect? Bakura had clearly just used him and then gone on his merry way – Marik was something to be conquered, and when he had succeeded Bakura was gone without a second thought. The worst thing was, this shouldn't have even bothered Marik. If it was anyone else, he truly wouldn't care, but because it was him ... The stupid Thief King, who thought he was better than everyone, who thought all of humanity were just objects for him to use as he saw fit...
Well. Marik would show him that he was not someone to be trifled with.
Ignoring the growing trepidation in his gut, Marik typed out an angry text. 'You fucking asshole. Where the hell have you disappeared to?'
The moments ticked by agonisingly, and Marik could not drag his attention from the screen. His gaze flicked constantly to the clock on the bedside table, counting the seconds as they turned into minutes ... three minutes ... four...
Finally, a buzz.
Marik pressed the button with a knife twisting in his gut, but he let out a relieved laugh at the message.
'About bloody time, Ishtar. I wondered how long it would take to break your pride.'
Fucking asshole. He had just been playing with Marik this whole time, hadn't he?
Marik couldn't even bring himself to be angry as he sent his reply. 'What made you think I would reply at all?'
The response was much faster this time. 'Oh please. After our last meeting, I highly doubt that you could keep away.'
Marik snorted. 'Well someone is full of themselves.'
No reply came this time. Instead, his phone began an incessant ringing.
Caller ID: Thief King.
With a roll of his eyes, Marik answered, and he was almost ashamed of the wave of relief that hit his stomach at hearing that low, cool voice once more.
"Ishtar. It's about time you picked up."
"You never called, asshole."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were my wife now."
Marik snorted. "You wish."
"Yes, I do, actually." Bakura spoke quickly, pre-empting Marik's retort. "Tomorrow. Five o'clock. The clock tower. Be there."
"Um..."
The phone clicked, and Marik stared in disbelief as the line went dead. Furious, he punched out a text. 'I'm not some fucking lapdog, asshole.'
The reply was brief and to the point. 'You are now, bitch.'
Marik hissed, but he didn't bother to deign that with a response.
Five o'clock a day later. Where did Marik find himself?
You got it. The clock tower.
What a fucking asshole. Marik paced the pavement angrily, hands balled into fists as he ignored the crowds surrounding him. He had rearranged several meetings with his Rare Hunters to be here, and now the Thief King was keeping him waiting? What an asshole. Marik's lips twisted with scorn, although it was mostly directed at himself for being weak enough to come as soon as Bakura clicked his fingers.
He wouldn't have it that way for long.
"Well, someone's early."
Marik span around quickly at the dark voice in his ear, and sure enough Bakura was stood before him, in all of his pale pallid glory. Marik crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow. "More like someone's late, actually."
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm so sorry, wife."
"Shut your cakehole."
"Very mature, Marik." Bakura snorted. "I forget what a child you are sometimes."
Marik hissed. "You're hardly older than me."
"Please." Bakura looked him up and down with a very obvious smirk. "You're still a teenager."
"And you're what? Twenty?" Marik sneered.
Bakura's smirk merely increased. "So sorry to disappoint, but I'm actually twenty-five."
"No fucking way."
"Twenty-six next month." Bakura polished his nails coolly. "I can't help my stunning good looks that make me look about ten years younger, you know."
Marik snorted at that, gaining a mischievous glint to his violet eyes. "You know, that just makes it about ten times worse that a nineteen-year-old has been running rings around you for months."
Bakura gave a feral snarl, advancing threateningly at Marik, who hesitantly took a step back. "You have not been running rings around me, Ishtar. You have been a minor inconvenience. Don't get ahead of yourself."
Marik lifted a brow. "Right. So, you make a habit of stalking all your minor inconveniences, do you?"
"Don't you question me."
Marik grinned. "Can't handle teasing, huh? That's kinda cute."
"I'll show you cute." Bakura lunged, tackling Marik and sending them both crashing onto the ground. Marik froze at the sudden weight on top of him, mind hurrying to keep up with what had just happened, only for all his thoughts to scatter and flee when he felt sharp teeth at his neck.
Bakura was biting, and Gods did it feel good.
Marik let out a low moan and shifted his head to the side, giving Bakura more access and shuddering as he sucked on his skin. His eyes flew open when Bakura pulled away and Marik snarled, suddenly very aware of the position they were in. "Get the fuck off me, you pervert!"
Bakura merely smirked. "Seemed like you were quite enjoying it to me."
Marik growled, pushing up with his elbows and forcing Bakura off. "People are staring, idiot."
"So?"
"So," Marik hissed furiously as he dragged himself upright, "I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly the sort of person who revels in public attention."
Bakura lifted a brow. "You may have a point. How about we take this somewhere more private, hm?"
"...Excuse me?"
"Oh, come now." The smirk was firmly back in place as Bakura advanced, leaning dangerously close. His breath tickled Marik's ear. "I suspect I have made my intentions perfectly clear, Ishtar." His grip was firm on Marik's elbow, fingers digging in urgently.
Marik found himself glued to the spot as Bakura looked him directly in the eyes, brown irises sparking with mischief and ... something else. Was that lust?
Marik didn't think twice. "Your place or mine?"
Bakura snorted. "As if I'm going to let your siblings hear this. Follow me. Quickly."
Marik didn't need telling twice at the undercurrent of urgency in Bakura's tone, following the white shadow down a maze of alleyways and finally entering a block of apartments. They were barely through the door of a second floor flat when Bakura pounced, stripping Marik of his clothes with a startling efficiency and launching them both onto a deep soft bed before Marik was even fully aware of what was happening.
The next morning was the first time Marik awoke in a stranger's bed.
The sheets were white and the walls were black. The carpet was a deep burgundy, littered with odd scraps of clothing and a small bottle of oil, that one or the other had chucked there at some point during the night. Marik took all this in with a small smirk, rolling on his side to meet a startling brown gaze.
He almost let out a very unmanly squeak, masking it with a deep cough and rolling quickly onto his back, staring straight at the ceiling. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
There was a snort by his side. "As you are in my bed, I think I should be the one asking that question."
"Well, it isn't like I wasn't invited," Marik muttered petulantly.
There was a movement by his side, and he was shocked to feel fingers ghosting along his crossed arms. "Don't sulk, Marik. It's very unattractive."
Marik lifted a brow, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Well, sorry for assuming that you're not exactly the type to stay in bed the next morning."
"Only for the special ones." Bakura's voice was full of laughter. "And don't expect any cuddles."
Marik smirked, going over some of the details from last night and rolling back over to meet his companion's searing brown gaze. "Or, is it more that you're afraid of not being able to walk straight? I was rather hard on you last night."
Bakura's grin turned mischievous. "Oh, you were most definitely hard, Marik."
Unfazed, the Egyptian merely laughed. "So were you, if memory serves me correctly."
"Oh, it does," Bakura smirked devilishly, rolling to hover over Marik with his elbows propped up on either side of Marik's face; breath caught in Marik's throat at the sight of him. "And, whilst I'm not denying you were good, why don't I show you how it's really done, hm?"
Marik snorted. "I think last night was evidence enough that I already know, thank you."
"We'll just see about that," Bakura breathed, leaning in to kiss him messily. "You have much left to learn, Ishtar."
Marik only struggled for a few moments before submitting; Bakura had let him lead plenty of times last night, after all. It was only fair.
Several hours later, Marik arrived back at his house with flushed cheeks and a slightly strange gait. Odion merely raised a brow at this, choosing not to question as Marik headed straight for his room. He made a few calls to his Rare Hunters, a little annoyed when none of them answered, resolving to quiz them about it at the meeting that night.
Unfortunately, that meeting was never to happen.
Ishizu's shriek sent Marik careering down the stairs, freezing in shock at the living room door when he saw the headline on the news.
Massive underground organisation uncovered in Domino.
City in turmoil as so-called 'Rare Hunters' surface; a group responsible for over half the robberies in Domino.
They allegedly worked with a lone robber calling himself the 'Thief King' in order to steal the priceless museum jewel.
"Oh fuck!" Marik roared at the TV, ignoring his sister's wide-eyed stare as a picture of him flashed up, accompanied by the words Marik Ishtar, suspected leader of the Rare Hunters, wanted immediately for questioning. "Odion, what the hell happened? How did they find us?"
Words died in Marik's throat, however, when the next picture to flash up was one of a certain white-haired thief.
Bakura.
Marik didn't even think as he tore out of the house, ignoring the confused cries of his sister and streaking through the streets back to Bakura's apartment.
There was nothing amiss when he burst through the door, save Bakura's surprised glare; Marik registered briefly that it was the first time he had seen the supposed Thief King look anything other than in control. Gasping for breath, Marik managed to choke out, "Turn on the TV. Right now."
Bakura lifted a brow. "You know, I'm flattered that you came back for more so soon, but you really should have called first. I'm right in the middle of eating."
"Just turn the fucking news on!"
Bakura finally seemed to catch on to his urgent tone and grabbed a remote, flicking on the TV and staring silently at the report, expression hardening when the pictures of Marik and himself showed up.
The report continued as the two trapped thieves eyed each other warily. Here was the moment of truth – what would they do? Sell each other out? Fight each other for their freedom? Or, the unthinkable – actually agree to work together?
Marik had already made his choice.
As violent footsteps sounded on the stairs outside, and knocks and cries of "It's the police, open up!" rang through the apartment, Bakura seemed to make up his mind as well.
"Well, fuck," the white-haired thief continued conversationally. "I was just getting comfortable. Come on, Marik."
Marik watched warily as Bakura opened the door leading to the bathroom, heading to the small window and shimmying it open. "What are you doing?"
"What does it fucking look like? Come on, we have to get out."
Marik followed him warily, eyebrows shooting up when he saw the conveniently-placed drain that led to the back alleys of the city. "Well, you look prepared."
"This isn't the first time I've been chased out of town." Bakura smirked. "First time I've not been alone, though. Get a move on; I predict the police will break down that door in about four seconds."
Marik didn't need telling twice, taking Bakura's hand and allowing himself to be forced out of the window, dropping down the pipe and tearing down the alleyways with Bakura by his side.
A year later, and things were much the same.
Marik was still thieving, of course – one didn't go from being an evil mastermind to working a boring everyday job, after all. The only difference was, he didn't just head up the Rare Hunters any more.
No. Now he had about fifty branches of organised crime, set up in various cities throughout the world.
And did he own this mighty empire on his own? Of course not.
Marik stretched as the morning sun glimmered through the penthouse apartment, spreading luxuriously out in the king-sized bed and allowing his eyes to slide shut with contentment.
That was, until the covers were rudely pulled out from under his chin, leaving his bare, naked body exposed to all the cold air of the morning.
With a snarl Marik rolled, snatching the sheets back with firm tanned hands. "What the hell are you doing?"
"What does it bloody look like?" Came the snarky reply.
Marik rolled his eyes, keeping a tight grip on the covers as Bakura made to steal them once more. "Do you really want to start this now?"
"I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep hogging all the warmth," Bakura growled, cracking open one brown eye to fix the Egyptian with a glare.
Marik heaved a sigh. "Well, you are just going to have to get used to it."
"I am bloody used to it. I've been fucking used to it for a year."
Marik laughed. "Well, if you'd rather I moved out..."
"Don't be stupid," Bakura responded with a peremptory sniff. "You're far too attractive to let go."
"Sure, whatever," Marik snorted, rolling to the other's side and running tanned fingers through white hair. "My looks are the only reason you have stayed with me, I know."
"Well, naturally. What other possible reason could there be?"
Marik rolled his eyes again, pressing his face into the crook of Bakura's neck and pushing down his disappointment, as he always did when this question came up. There was no doubt that the Thief King was loyal to him – the business empire they had built together was proof of that, if nothing else – but sometimes Marik couldn't help but yearn to hear the actual words. To figure out if he really meant to the thief at least a smidgen of what Bakura meant to him...
"You're such an idiot, Marik."
Bakura's voice was snide, as ever, but Marik had grown to ignore it. Instead, the Egyptian heaved a sigh and bit into Bakura's already-marked neck. "Yeah, yeah. So you always say."
"I mean it this time, though." Marik was more than a little shocked when one pale arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him firmly pressed into Bakura's chest. "You are such an idiot. Your emotions have always been far too easy to read – it's really the only thing holding you back from becoming a master thief."
Marik snorted. "Oh, right. Like you care so much."
"That's just the problem, Ishtar," Bakura snarled. "I do. I fucking do, alright?"
Marik froze against his side.
"That's exactly what I mean," Bakura growled lowly. "You're always ridiculously easy to read. Right now, you've gone all stiff because you are shocked that I just admitted to actually caring about you, when frankly, you have to be a complete airhead to not have realised that by now. And now you're wondering what exactly it is I'm saying here, and why I'm choosing now to say it, and truth be told, Ishtar, I don't really know the answers to that myself. All I know is that I am fucking fed up of your pitiful looks and shameful attempts at hiding what you truly feel, when all I want you to do is to fucking say it already so we can just get on with our lives. So, Marik, as usual I am the one having to just grow up and get on with it, so here we go: I fucking love you, alright? I love you, Marik, you bloody idiot, and you'd better fucking return that sentiment or you are a dead man."
Marik had been staring at his pale partner in open-mouthed shock throughout his whole impassioned speech. He was frozen and staring because he couldn't believe what Bakura had just said, because Bakura never showed emotion and he never actually cared ... sure, Marik had hoped, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that Bakura would actually love him...
Love him...
Bakura loved him.
Marik's face split into a wide, wide grin. "You'd better say that again, asshole."
Bakura glowered at him, brown eyes dangerous. "Don't you fucking push your luck, airhead."
Marik just laughed and kissed him soundly. "I love you too, asshole," he said against his lips, and burst out laughing once more at Bakura's expression, because the pale thief actually looked happy, and that was just too cute.
Bakura shoved him angrily, rolling onto his side so that his back faced Marik. The Egyptian wasn't fazed, however; instead, he just slid closer and ran a finger down Bakura's spine. "So, how long have you been bottling that up, huh?"
A feral snarl ripped between pale lips was all Marik got in reply.
Marik laughed, reaching forwards and pulling Bakura back against his chest. "Well, I'm glad you finally said it. Took you long enough."
"You," Bakura hissed, twisting his head to meet Marik's laughing gaze, "Are an idiot."
"So you're in love with an idiot," Marik smirked. "Congratulations, Bakura."
"Shut it."
"I mean, we should probably celebrate this or something. Does this mean today is like, our anniversary?"
"I am not having a bloody anniversary, and we've already been together a year."
"So it's our one year anniversary!" Marik chuckled, knowing how riled Bakura became whenever he got to cutesy. "I should take you out, or something..."
There was a snarl, and Bakura glared up at him. "Only if you're paying."
"Such a gentleman," Marik shook his head in mock disappointment.
"Oh please, Marik. Everyone knows that you're the bitch in this relationship."
Marik smirked. "You realise you just called it a relationship?"
Bakura's face blanched and Marik laughed again, the bright sound lighting up the already sparkling bedroom. "Don't worry, love. I won't tell anyone."
Bakura growled and rolled, hovering over Marik with a gleam in his brown eyes. "You know, if you want to celebrate, I can think of a perfectly good way that doesn't even involve us leaving the bed."
Marik rolled his eyes. "Your pick-up lines get worse every single time."
"They can hardly be pick-up lines when you're already in my bed."
"...Touché." Marik grinned, propping himself up enough to peck Bakura on the lips. "But not right now. I'm hungry."
"Just one round..."
"Nope." Marik pushed Bakura off him, rolling out from under the covers and stretching, the sunlight glistening off his oily skin as he tugged on a robe. "I'm going to make breakfast. You want some?"
Bakura muttered under his breath for a minute before standing up too and tugging on a pair of boxers. "Fine. But you're cooking."
"As if I'd let you near the oven."
"I can cook!"
"Sure," Marik snorted, "And I'm the queen of Sheba. Come on, I'm hungry."
Bakura watched him out of the room, stretching once more before wondering just exactly when the King of Thieves had become prey to this Egyptian's every whim.
The scariest thing was, Bakura didn't even mind that much. He was even a little bit happy. Not that he would ever admit that out loud though.
"Bakura, are you coming or what? Food's almost ready!"
The white-haired thief rolled his eyes once more before heading back out into his sickeningly familiar life, a little disgusted at the happiness that fluttered in his stomach at the sound of his lover's voice.
This should not be allowed, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Yes, it's unashamedly fluffy. I make no apologies; it's my writing therapy. ^_^ Please excuse any typos, I wrote this in one sitting so it probably isn't all that good. Reviews are very much appreciated XD Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! - Jem