AN:Thanks go to Sitabethel as usual for beta-ing this and kicking me in the butt until I get it finished-I know you've been waiting for me to finish this one for ages! Anyway, I hope you enjoy part one!
As a knock sounded at the front door, Marik glanced at the clock. Who would be paying him a visit at this late hour? Heaving a sigh, he set down his book and made his way over to the door. A glance in the peephole showed Ryou's white hair, his face turned toward the apartment across the way as he waited for Marik.
It was unlike Ryou to show up unannounced, especially so late at night. Confused and concerned, Marik unbolted the door and stepped out into the hallway.
"Ryou, is something wrong? It's really late for—" Marik gaped as the man before him turned, a perfect smirk in place that Ryou could never achieve. "B-Bakura?"
A pure white eyebrow shot up to hide amongst snowy hair that was as untamable as ever. "Not who you were expecting? Well, I hope you're not too disappointed."
Marik shook his head, words failing him as the impossible stood and mocked him in his own hallway. "You...but the Pharaoh—you were dead!"
A small chuckle made Marik's stomach tweak in a funny way. "Were is the key word, Ishtar. Now, I assure you, I'm very much alive."
"But...how?"
The smirk vanished. "It's a bit involved," he hedged.
"I'll bet."
There was a laden pause in which neither spoke, broken when Bakura teased, "Well, your manners certainly haven't improved, Marik. Are you going to ask me in, or have I traveled all this way for nothing?"
"Uh, right. Sorry." Marik moved out of the way as Bakura sauntered past, glancing over the apartment with the same mocking measure he'd granted Marik.
"Interesting choice of lodgings. I would have expected you to go back to Egypt with your siblings—you know, after you pledged your undying loyalty to the Pharaoh."
Marik bristled. "There is nothing for me in Egypt. I burned that bridge the moment I turned my back on my legacy as a tomb keeper. Here I at least had a chance at a fresh start."
Bakura halted to gaze at a picture of Ryou and Marik at the beach, the former's red and white complexion a stark contrast to Marik's flawless bronze. He set the picture down and moved on.
"Not an entirely fresh start. I see you've become quite chummy with my ex-host."
Marik was about to remind Bakura that Ryou had a name, but he stopped when he realized what Bakura had just said. "Ex-host? You mean that's...?"
Bakura turned after finishing his tour of the living room and smiled at Marik. "Not Ryou's body? No."
"But how?"
Bakura shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not really sure how. I woke up outside the ruins of the pyramid where the Pharaoh and the Runt had their Ceremonial Duel. After a short adjustment period, I tracked down Ryou at his place, and he happened to mention you were in town."
"So, wait. You JUST showed up? Why the long pause? The Ceremonial Duel happened, like, three years ago!"
"Your guess is as good as mine." The grin returned with a vengeance. "Perhaps even the Gods didn't know what to do with me."
"Only you would be proud of that."
Bakura chuckled again. He looked his old partner over, appreciating the way his body had filled out in the few years since Bakura had last seen it. It had been impressive before, to be sure, but where Marik's face before had still hinted at the child he'd briefly been, the features had since matured. It was a man's face that he saw, and a man's emotions that lurked in the violet depths of his eyes.
"Are you, uh, hungry? Thirsty?"
Bakura's white mane swayed as he shook his head. "I ate at Ryou's. He at least knows how to treat guests."
Marik sniffed haughtily at the jibe. "You're not a guest; you're a pest." Marik scrutinized the ex-spirit. "You look good for someone fresh out of the tombs."
"That sounded dangerously close to a compliment."
"Would you rather I picked a fight with you?"
"Maybe. It's familiar territory, after all."
Marik shrugged. "Not really. We didn't argue that much."
Bakura rolled his eyes. "Have the years addled your memory? We argued constantly."
"No, we didn't."
Bakura crossed his arms and looked pointedly at Marik. "You mean like we're not arguing now?"
Marik opened his mouth to retort, but it twisted into a smile as the irony sank in. "Precisely. This isn't an argument, we're just...talking in contradictions." Bakura shook his head.
Marik strode casually over to the couch and sank into its leather cushions. Leaning an elbow on the armrest, he surveyed Bakura with a measure of the cockiness Bakura remembered from Battle City. "So," he began, "you came back looking like Ryou—interesting choice."
Bakura grimaced. "I came back. There was no choice given or made concerning the matter. This was the body the gods stuck me with—probably as a final 'fuck you' for all the shit I put them through."
"I don't see why you're complaining." Marik's eyes glittered. "I mean, I've always liked you in that body."
"You've never seen me in my original body."
"True," he conceded, "but at least Ryou's body is pretty; the gods could just as easily have put you in a diseased and disgusting body—or worse, brought you back looking like the Pharaoh." Marik mock-shuddered and a small, almost-smile found itself forming on Bakura's lips.
"A truly cruel and unusual punishment," he agreed. Sweeping his gaze around the room once more, he asked, "So, what has the leader of the Ghouls been up to these days?"
"Not much, really. Things have been pretty lame since the Ceremonial Duel. The Ghouls have disbanded, and I've mostly been making my living bartending."
Bakura's eyes widened at that strange development. "Bartending?"
Marik nodded, a smirk stretching and sharpening. "It's pretty fun, actually. Seems I have a natural talent for it—drunk girls tip well when you're willing to flirt back."
Bakura matched Marik's expression, mocha eyes syncing with violet. "You always were a tease."
"Never seemed to bother you before."
"I never said it bothered me now," Bakura pointed out.
"What about you? What do you plan to do with this second chance you've been gifted?"
Bakura lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Haven't really considered it."
"Well, if you need a place to stay, I'm sure we could work something out."
Lips pulling into a skewed grin, Bakura replied, "Ryou offered the same, albeit without the manipulative undertone that suggested he expected anything in return."
"You should know by now I never do anything that doesn't benefit me somehow—I wouldn't have gotten this far otherwise."
"You're lucky I'm a far more charitable soul, otherwise I'd have never taken on your dark half for you."
"As I remember it, you lost that duel—and I had promised you the Rod and the secret on my back in exchange for your assistance."
"Half of which you already owed me from a previous bargain," Bakura pointed out. "And as to the other, if I had been of the mind to, I could have simply asked your other half for the secret on your back. I had no obligation to help you destroy your demented counterpart."
Marik thought about that for a second before shaking it off. "Whatever. It's not like it makes a difference either way. Yugi and the Pharaoh were the ones to defeat my dark side in the end."
"Yes. From what I hear you forfeited to them in order to banish your dark half. Seems very uncharacteristic of you. The Marik I knew didn't give up on anything."
Marik rolled his shoulders and stretched where he sat. "There was no point in drawing it out; I had to lose in order to seal my dark half in the Shadows."
"Just would have thought you would try to figure out a way to at least tie them. I know you were duelist enough to do it, even with only one life point left."
"There was no guarantee that a tie would have banished him the way a defeat would, and my family means more to me than some senseless duel." Marik pulled a dry smile. "You could say having their lives threatened by a fragment of my own subconscious granted me a measure of perspective."
Once again it struck Bakura how much Marik had matured since he'd last seen him, and not merely physically. Games were for children; putting family first was something a man did, and Bakura could respect that. He himself had lived and fought for his family his entire existence.
"So what happened to you after Battle City, anyway? I know you had some sort of Shadow Game with the Pharaoh that you lost, but I'm a little sparse on details. I got a few highlights from Yugi and company before the Pharaoh's big sendoff, but they weren't very keen on talking about it."
Bakura shuffled in place. "We had a showdown in his memories of Ancient Egypt. It was meant to be just me and Zorc—the Lord of the Shadows—against the Pharaoh." His scowl curdled into a bare-teethed grimace. "But those goddamned cheerleaders of his managed to worm their way in! They found the Pharaoh's name—the key to the Pharaoh's true strength—and he used it to turn my own game against me."
"Not surprising. That's what he did best, after all."
Bakura's eyes narrowed at Marik's nonchalant remark. "He never would have had the chance if they hadn't interfered!"
"But from what I'd gathered, wouldn't the world have been destroyed had you succeeded?"
"No. I had it under control."
Marik rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Sure you did."
"I did!"
Marik hiked up a condescending eyebrow. "You had a way of locking the Lord of Shadows back into the Shadow Realm without the Pharaoh's help—after Zorc had fully resurrected?"
"I thought you didn't know specifics?"
"I said I knew the highlights." Marik gestured with his hand for Bakura to answer the question.
"No," Bakura admitted grudgingly, "but I would have figured something out."
"Mm." Marik studied Bakura for a moment, gauging his mood. "Well, seeing as how the world isn't destroyed, you're alive, and the Pharaoh isn't, I'd say you still came out on top in the end."
Calming marginally, Bakura considered Marik's words. "Perhaps you have a point."
"I only wish you would have revived sooner—things have been dull since all of the world-breaking drama faded away with the Pharaoh."
"My apologies. Had I known I was leaving you to stew in your boredom, I would have returned sooner."
"Fuck you."
Bakura chuckled, his arms crossing and his hip jutting slightly. "Regardless, you seem to have done well for yourself in my absence."
"Yeah." Marik's blithe smile melded into a melancholy pout. "Dealing with the fallout wasn't easy, you know—for any of us."
Bakura's forehead wrinkled. "How do you mean?"
"I mean, my siblings, Yugi and his gang…they all mourned the Pharaoh's death after the Ceremonial Duel, while Ryou and I…" Marik looked poignantly at Bakura, unable to express the thought with words.
"Oh…" Bakura wasn't sure what to say. How do you console someone concerning your own death?
Marik stared down at his hands resting in his lap. "You made me feel again, and then you just...left."
Bakura shifted his weight, unable to meet Marik's eyes any more than the boy—man—could meet his.
"You know I...I wasn't with anyone else," Marik confessed softly, his cheeks staining a cabernet hue.
"Really?" Bakura questioned. He found it hard to believe. Marik was attractive enough to have his pick of lovers, and he knew from experience that the Egyptian had no qualms about going after the things he wanted. "Not even once? In three years?" Marik shook his head. "Hm."
Marik's head shot up and he stared at Bakura. "What?"
"Nothing, it's just...I thought perhaps you and Ryou..."
"Ryou? He's not even gay—or bi, or whatever." Marik thought for a second. "Is he?"
Bakura shrugged. "I haven't the slightest. Contrary to what you or anyone else may believe, I never snooped in his private thoughts."
"It doesn't matter. It wouldn't have felt right with Ryou. He's not you," he added softly.
Bakura caught Marik's gaze and held it. "Most people would consider that a positive thing."
"Most people don't know you as well as I do."
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think you do," Bakura challenged.
"I know you better than most."
Bakura merely grunted in reply, glancing around the room again.
"You can come sit on the couch, you know."
"I'm fine."
"Bakura." Bakura flicked a look at Marik. "Come here."
Bakura hesitated before releasing a haughty snort and slinking over to join Marik on the couch. The moment he sat, Marik grabbed him by the shoulders and turned Bakura to face him.
"What are you doing?" Bakura demanded, trying to shake off Marik's grip.
"I just want a look at you."
Bakura's body locked up in apprehension as Marik's eyes looked him all over, perhaps trying to discern the differences between Ryou's body and Bakura's new one. Marik's hands smoothed down Bakura's arms and squeezed at the muscles through his thick, black coat. The hands worked their way to his chest, pausing over his heart where the ring used to hang, before coming to rest on either side of his face.
A small sound of wonder escaped Bakura's lips the moment Marik's skin came into contact with his own. His reaction was automatic and instantaneous, his own hands coming up to cover Marik's and hold them in place and his eyes ghosting shut. It had been so long since he'd felt another person's touch. Marik's hands were warm and soft beneath his, and he nuzzled into them for a moment before realizing what he was doing.
His eyes flashed open to find Marik's held the same shock he felt. Throwing Marik's hands from him, he pulled back, blood rushing to his cheeks as he sputtered, "I-I, uh—that, I...It's just been so long since anyone's—sorry."
Marik's gaze shifted in turn from shocked, to confused, to something almost tender before returning back to confused, where it stayed. "But we...I mean, that night we were together..."
Bakura willed himself to relax. "Things didn't feel the same in Ryou's body. It wasn't mine and my spirit couldn't fully connect to what his body felt. It was like touching everything with gloves on; I only got a vague impression of what I was feeling."
Marik's expression turned downcast. "So that night you didn't feel anything? None of it?"
"I wouldn't say I felt nothing," he amended, guilt tugging at him at the hurt darkening Marik's eyes. "The physical part was dulled, it's true, but I did feel it. As for the rest..." Bakura cleared his throat. "There is more than one way to feel."
Before Bakura could register he had even moved, Marik was straddling his lap, hands holding Bakura's face once more.
"What do you think you're—?"
"Shhh." Marik placed a finger over Bakura's mouth. Once Bakura made no move to speak further, Marik traced the finger over his lips. They were soft and a little moist from nervous licking, and Marik wanted nothing more in that moment than to taste them—so he did.
Bakura gasped when Marik's finger was suddenly replaced with lips. They tugged gently at Bakura's bottom lip. Bakura's hands moved to hold Marik, one caressing Marik's hip, the other cradling the back of his head as Bakura kissed back.
"Gods, I've missed you," Marik confessed, his lips traveling over Bakura's cheeks, nose, eyebrow, and everywhere else he thought to touch. He hadn't realized how true those words were until they left his mouth. Having Bakura there, in the flesh—his own flesh—and being able to talk to him, to touch and hold him, was overwhelming. He thought he'd never see Bakura again, and now he was kissing him.
Pulling back, Marik just looked at Bakura and gauged his reaction. Bakura was flushed and breathing a bit more heavily than the situation called for, but perhaps it was all overwhelming for him as well.
"Y-you certainly know how to make a man feel welcome."
"There can be more where that came from—if you want, that is."
Bakura's tongue chased over his lips once more, drawing Marik's attention. "I wouldn't be averse to it."
Smirking, Marik rolled his hips down, his pelvis lightly brushing Bakura's before retreating. Bakura let a quiet, breathy moan free, the hand on Marik's hip tightening, urging him to repeat the motion. Fuller moans followed as Marik did just that while his lips lowered to toy with the sensitive skin behind Bakura's ear.
"Gods that feels..." Bakura couldn't even finish the thought. There were no words to describe the overload of sensations and emotions that flowed through him like the Nile. So he shared his thoughts in other ways. His hands relayed his need for human contact, smoothing under Marik's shirt and through his hair as his voice cried out his appreciation of Marik's ministrations.
"Marik, I want..."
There was a small sucking sound when Marik pulled away from kissing Bakura's neck. "You haven't gotten to finish the tour yet. Should I show you the bedroom?"
Bakura nodded and Marik grinned before shifting off of Bakura and onto his feet. He led Bakura to the back of the apartment, their fingers braiding together.
