***AN: Who wants an entire chapter of Thiefshipping (ug, I meant Citronshipping, I always do that. Post canon Citron in my head is pretty much Thiefshipping, because I think of Citronshipping as specifically in Ancient Egypt)? Regardless of what I call it, I hope you raised your hand, because that's what this chapter is.***

The boat had three rooms, one for each Ishtar. Bakura found himself on a cot near the galley. He stared at the ceiling. His fingers wouldn't stop drifting to his lips. The pressure from Marik's mouth lingered within his nerves, and he couldn't sleep because of it. Irritated, he jumped up and crept down the hall until he found the room in which he knew Marik slept.

He used a length of wire as his own, personal key. The lock gave a soft, metallic click, and then the door swung open. Inside, Marik lay beneath a sheet, eyes closed and hair fanned across his pillow. A smirk curled on Marik's lips as Bakura walked towards him.

"You know, Bakura, when someone locks their door, it usually means that—"

"And when someone locks their door knowing that I'm right down the hall, it's an invitation for me to visit."

Marik sat up, his hair pulling away from the pillow and draping across his bare shoulders instead. His smirk stayed in place. "Oh? Is that what it was? And if I'd left the door unlocked?"

"Less challenge. Less temptation."

Marik patted the spot beside him and Bakura dropped himself against the mattress, laying on his side and propping his head up with his hand. He studied Marik. The boy had been attractive during Battle City, but now he'd truly grown into himself and looked breathtaking. The bratty, conceited quality to him seemed to be replaced with a more temperate elegance. "How long have I been gone?"

Marik mulled the question over in his head. "Not quite a decade, but close enough."

"Time is odd in Aaru. Everything exists in the moment, and every moment is both fleeting and eternal."

A little laugh slipped out of Marik's mouth, not bitter or sarcastic like the laughs Bakura remembered from him. It was a sincere sound. "That sounded poetic."

"Did it?" Bakura asked, paying more attention to the shape of Marik's mouth than to his words.

Marik laid back down, mirroring Bakura so they lay face-to-face. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then Marik started laughing again. He dropped his face into the mattress to hide himself from view.

"What the hell's so funny?"

Marik shook his head, face pressed into his bed-sheet.

Bakura scowled at Marik. When Marik peeked up and saw Bakura's expression, he burst into another round of laughter.

"Dammit, Ishtar, you're annoying."

"Then get the fuck out of my room." Marik composed himself enough to quit laughing, but he still hid his face as he caught his breath.

Bakura sat up and swung his legs off of the bed. Marik pushed himself up. The look on his face suggested that he hadn't expected Bakura to move. "Wait."

Bakura glanced over his shoulder. "Why?"

Marik crawled a little closer to the thief. "I'm not done looking at you." He placed his hands on Bakura's cheeks.

Bakura turned his head away. "I'm not a damn animal in a zoo."

"I was laughing at your face," Marik said.

"What?" Bakura's brow furrowed, indignation twisted his features.

"That sounded worse than I meant it."

"I'm not quite convinced of that."

Marik shifted on the mattress until he sat next to Bakura. He brushed the tip of his pointer finger across Bakura's nose. "Your features are more broad."

Bakura pulled his face away from Marik's touch yet again. "What's so funny about that, asshole?"

"Nothing. I'm . . . not sure why I started laughing."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a jerk."

"Hey, I'm not the one laughing at your face. You're the jerk."

"Well, you called me an idiot."

"So what? You called me a jerk."

"Only because you called me an idio – oh fuck it. We're just going in a circle."

Bakura laughed, a soft, precise sound. "Guess we were."

They fell into another silence. Marik reached out for a third time, touching Bakura's forehead, trailing his fingertips down the mild clef in Bakura's chin, and brushing the pads of his fingers along Bakura's thick lips. Bakura tilted his head up, the light catching the contours of his face and chest. Marik slipped his touch down Bakura's throat, and dipped his thumb into the hollow created by Bakura's collarbone.

"Is . . . how long is this going to last? Are you back, or are you only here long enough to help us retrieve the Tome?"

The corner of Bakura's mouth turned upward. "What? Afraid I'll vanish?"

Marik's eyes lifted up from Bakura's skin to his face. A rueful, earnest expression left his face unmasked of his usual confidence. "Yes."

Bakura reached out and teased Marik's earring. "I'll go back to the gods when I die regardless if we've found the Tome or not."

"So you're alive? Truly alive?"

"Yeah, me and my hilariously broad face."

"That's not how I meant it."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I . . . wanted to touch your face – because it's handsome – but that seemed stupid, so I started laughing."

Bakura smiled. "You're an idiot."

"And you're a jerk."

Bakura grabbed Marik's hand and placed it back on his cheek. Marik smiled and continued studying Bakura's features. Bakura closed his eyes, so Marik leaned forward and kissed each eyelid. He moved to Bakura's cheeks, then forehead, then nose. Bakura reached out and slid his palm against Marik's hip.

Bakura opened his eyes. "Marik? Are you not wearing any pants?"

Marik looked down. His blanket covered his lower half, hiding everything from the navel down. "No. I sleep naked."

"Yes, but didn't you suspect I'd sneak in?"

Marik grinned. "Well, like you said, I did lock the door."

Bakura exhaled a breathy gust of air. He pressed Marik's shoulders back until Marik lay on his back against the mattress. Bakura's lips kneaded against Marik's belly. With a deft tug, Bakura pulled the sheet away from Marik's lower half. His kisses bee-lined towards Marik's forming erection, and Marik gasped. He lifted his hips, bringing his body closer to Bakura's mouth. The thief attacked Marik's cock with greedy, wet kisses. Each one made the breath hitch in Marik's throat. He rolled his eyes back into his head as Bakura began to suck.

"Yes. Oh Bakura, yes."

Marik's voice encouraged Bakura. He dipped his head lower, feeling Marik's tip jab against the back of his throat. Bakura moved faster. His own erection brushed against Marik's leg and, even though the pair of sweats Rishid lent him to sleep in, the contact made the thief moan.

"Cu-could, ah, would you touch my balls?" Marik asked, breathless, voice timid.

Bakura's free hand slid straight to where Marik wanted to be touched, and Marik moaned loudly.

It made Bakura pull back. "Shhh."

"What?" Marik asked, not understanding why Bakura wouldn't want to hear the sound. The sound of a loud, unbound moan, even though it belonged to himself, was erotic and brought Marik closer to the edge. "Bakura, please don't stop."

"You fool, your siblings are going to be knocking on the door and asking if you're okay if you keep going on like that."

Marik realized, in a dim way, that his sounds could be misinterpreted as pained, and zombies tended to moan as well. Marik nodded, unable to do more. "Please, Bakura . . ."

With a doggish grin, Bakura licked up Marik's shaft, avoiding Marik's oversensitive head. He admired the sight of Marik's erection. The bruised color of the tip, the pearl of pre-cum swelling in the center, the way Marik's length stretched past his loose foreskin. Bakura's voice turned husky and low. "Do you want to cum?"

Marik shook his head in agreement, eyes cinched shut. Bakura licked his lips, sucked the pre-cum off of Marik's flesh, and slid his lips down Marik's length. He started soft, deliberate, and slow, but allowed his head to bob faster after a moment of teasing. Marik thrust his hips in time with Bakura's mouth. His breathing grew loud. He started moaning again, but this time Marik shoved a pillow over his face to mute his noises. Bakura rolled Marik's balls in his palm.

Bakura felt Marik's heartbeat coursing through the veins in his shaft, and it warned Bakura to pull back an inch so he didn't choke when Marik came. After he swallowed, Bakura sighed over Marik's erection. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

Marik looked at Bakura. The thief's stormy eyes stayed half lidded; his eyelashes were white as lightning bolts. The thief breathed through his mouth, lips plump and dark from the friction of rubbing against Marik's skin. The white hair raged around Bakura's tanned face – more shadow than face in the weak light of the two flax-oil lamps Marik kept in his bedroom to ward off the dark.

Marik swallowed, lost in the thrill of his climax and the image of Bakura. "How long?"

Bakura smirked, looking up. "Since the aquarium when I saw you get off your bike." Bakura shifted his gaze, still sleepy with desire, but concentrated and seductive. "I wanted to be that motorcycle with your legs wrapped around me instead."

"I didn't know," Marik whispered. He reached for Bakura, pulling the other man higher on the bed until they lay together on the mattress. They lay on their sides in order to stare at one another. "At first I thought you were only helping me because I'd threaten you."

Bakura tucked Marik's flame-yellow hair behind his ear. "You were never a threat to me. I worked with you because of convenience, not fear."

"I know that now." Marik chuckled. "But you know how I was back then."

"Yeah, you were a spoiled brat."

"I was thinking I was more of a sociopath and a megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur, but I guess spoiled brat also works."

Marik flicked his finger against one of Bakura's dark nipples. Bakura gasped at the touch. Marik eyed the bulge protruding from Bakura's sweat pants and smiled. It was his turn to push Bakura flat on his back.

A grin brightened Marik's face. "At least I'm not as selfish as I used to be."

With that he dragged his tongue across Bakura's nipple. Bakura did his best to stifle a cry, but most of it echoed throughout the room. Marik meandered down Bakura's chest and stomach, paying particular attention to the area between Bakura's navel and hip bones.

"Oh gods," Bakura whispered, his breath erratic. "Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, Marik."

Marik's own breathing sped up at the soft rapture in Bakura's voice. "Damn, Bakura, I haven't even gotten your pants off yet."

"You don't understand." Bakura gasped as Marik kissed his waistline. "Three thousand years dead . . . and today alive."

Marik's breath caught in his throat as he thought about Bakura's words. He smiled. "Then you better grab that pillow and cover your mouth, because I'm about to get to the good part."

Bakura obeyed without argument, burying his face into Marik's pillow as Marik pulled the sweatpants from his waist. Marik blew hot air against Bakura's tip and watched as Bakura twitched in anticipation. Next, he graced his bottom lip up Bakura's shaft, ending with a soft kiss to Bakura's head. Bakura near squealed into the pillow.

Marik started slow, sliding his lips up and down Bakura's shaft, only stopping to swirl his tongue around the taut flesh before dipping his head down again. Bakura groaned. He pulled the pillow away long enough to gasp for air, and then smothered himself again to keep from making too much noise. It only helped so much, and the more Bakura called out, the deeper Marik went. When Bakura couldn't take it anymore, he released the pillow and twisted his fingers into Marik's hair, holding his breath to prevent more sounds as he came.

When Marik rose again to lay beside Bakura, his violet eyes gleamed in the lamplight as he stared at the thief. Bakura smiled, tracing his finger along Marik's bottom lip. Marik sighed, reaching out so he could mimic the action on Bakura. Their fingers danced across their faces, as if both men wanted to figure out everything that had happened since the last time they saw each other by touching the curves of their features.

"You're . . . different. You're not angry anymore."

Bakura laughed. "I could say the same about you."

"Well, yeah, but you know why I changed." Marik studied Bakura's face.

Bakura raked his fingers through Marik's hair. "In Aaru, the fields of wheat are as golden as your hair, and I've walked through those fields while speaking with my father, and his father, and his father before him. I've splashed in rivers with cousins I remembered and ones that died before I was born. I've danced with my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her. I've played sennet and mehen with ancestors I only heard of in village legends." He lifted an eyebrow upward. "I was angry because Pharaoh stole my family from me, but how could I stay angry after the gods returned everything I thought I lost and more besides? It didn't feel like ten years. It felt like I'd always been there."

Marik didn't cry, but his eyes looked like glass. "Good . . . I'm glad. You deserved to find some peace. I thought . . ." Marik blinked and a tear tickled his cheek.

Bakura caught it with his fingernail and kissed it away. "What? Did you think Ammit would devour my soul? It was easy to balance my heart against Ma'at's feather."

Marik shook his head no. "I thought you were trapped in the Shadows. In the Ring."

"Once the Pharaoh crossed over, we all crossed over. Me, my village, and all the souls trapped in stone tablets."

Marik frowned. "I forget those slabs were made from trapping kas into stone. It's easy to forget when you're playing a game with squares of paper."

"Using the Items they trapped the soul of anyone they thought of as evil." Bakura gave a bitter snort. "Those foolish priests, some of them knew how the Items were created. They should have known no good could come from something made out of slaughter, but they wanted the power."

"Was it hard? To see those priests again in the afterlife?"

"No. I never saw any of them. Space is as odd as time in Paradise. You think of someone and you can find them." He shrugged. "But if you don't want to find someone then you don't."

"Probably for the best." Marik's hands finally slipped away from Bakura's face. "Otherwise the gods would have had to deal with you and the Pharaoh fighting for all eternity." He closed his eyes, sinking his head into the mattress, his pillow somewhere behind him.

Bakura shook Marik's shoulder. "Hey, who told you to go to sleep?"

Marik cracked an eye open. "You wore me out."

The comment put a proud grin on Bakura's face. "Too bad, Ishtar. I'm not done talking to you."

Marik smirked and closed his eyes again. "Talk all you want. If I can sleep through Rishid's snoring, then I can sleep through your rambling."

Bakura pinched Marik's side.

"Ow!" Marik smacked Bakura's shoulder. "Stop it, Bakura."

"Then stop being an asshole, Marik."

Marik gave a little growl and then curled his face against Bakura's chest. "Fine. I'm awake now. What are we talking about?"

Bakura held both Marik's shoulders for a moment while thinking. He slid his palms past Marik's shoulders until they rested against Marik's back. Marik's breath hitched on an inhale and then shuddered on an exhale. He wrapped his own arms around Bakura, his fingers playing with the smooth curves of Bakura's shoulder blades.

Bakura whispered in Marik's ear. "I don't care. I just wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice."

"Selfish bastard, keeping me awake so you can fall asleep first." Even with Marik's face hidden against Bakura's chest, Bakura knew the tomb-keeper smiled.

When Bakura woke up, he stretched and scratched his scalp and looked around the room to remember where he was. He sat up, turning his head and watching Marik sleep.

The other male jerked his eyes open, and sucked in a startled breath. He looked around a moment, saw Bakura, saw the flax-lamp behind Bakura, and calmed down.

"What?" Bakura asked.

"Nothing," Marik muttered.

Bakura touched the top of Marik's hand. "Tell me."

Marik looked at their hands. "I worry that the lamps will go out at night. Sometimes they do, and it's dark in this cabin without them." Marik frowned at their sheets. "I miss electricity."

Bakura glanced at the lamp behind him, and then back to Marik. "If they ever go out at night, I'll light them again before you wake up, okay?"

Marik's eyes shot to Bakura. The tomb-keeper's mouth hung ajar, as if he couldn't breathe. "That . . . means a lot."

Bakura broke the emotional-tension by looking around the bed. "Where the hell did you throw my pants, Marik?"

"Couldn't tell you." Marik smiled. "My mind was focused elsewhere."

Bakura stood up and walked around the bed until he found them, slipping them on and tying the string to keep them in place. He slipped his crimson robe on his shoulders in order to cover himself a little better. Bakura flashed Marik a wide grin, the irony apparent on his face before he said a word. "Gee, I hope your sister makes us pancakes for breakfast."

Marik crawled out of bed and dressed as well. "If we're lucky, there's some canned tomato soup left."

They walked down the hall and towards the galley side by side, pushing each other off balance and grinning as they went along.

The sound of Ishizu and Rishid's voices bounced down the hall from the kitchen. Both Bakura and Marik stopped near the entrance to listen to the heated conversation coming from the other room.

"It's . . . it's just not our way, Rishid."

"Ishizu, by our way you mean the tomb-keepers' way, and we both know that Marik's never held to those traditions."

"Maybe, well maybe he's just confused."

They heard Rishid sigh, or rather felt the pause in the conversation. "No, Ishizu. He's not confused. He's always been like that."

"How could you be so sure?"

"Sister, it's been obvious ever since he was four. Remember? He'd sneak into your room and play with your dolls."

"That doesn't prove anything. He was little."

"True, that alone doesn't prove anything, but when he played with them, it was always a male doll that rescued him and took him outside."

At the mention of dolls, Marik moved to interrupt them, but Bakura held Marik back and covered Marik's mouth with a hand.

"Okay, fine," Ishizu conceded. "Fine. I can accept that. I really just want Marik to be happy – but the thief? Why him? Can't it be anybody but him?"

Marik squirmed until he was free and barged into the kitchen.

Her eyes grew wide when she saw them. "Marik?"

"Sorry. I overheard you."

Ishizu stopped pacing the length of the galley and sank into a kitchen chair. "How much?"

"As far back as maybe I'm confused."

"I . . . I was caught off guard and didn't respond well." Ishizu sighed, folding her hands into her lap. "Marik, you need to understand that I've always accepted you just how you are, and I appreciate everything Bakura did for us yesterday . . . it's simply that . . ."

She looked at Rishid, as if he would save her, but he only turned back to the sink where he cleaned and de-boned the two fish he'd caught for their breakfast.

Bakura stood in the doorway. He snorted, bitter although he understood her. "It's simply that you want better for your brother than a thief." Bakura turned around and walked away.

As soon as Bakura walked away, Marik chased after him. Ishizu stood. She glanced at Rishid again. This time, he looked over his shoulder. "Go ahead and check on him. I'll stay here and finish cooking breakfast."

Ishizu sighed and walked down the hallway. She knocked on Marik's door first, but didn't get an answer, so she went onto the deck. She felt horrible. She hadn't meant for Marik to hear anything she said; she was merely venting out her thoughts to Rishid as she processed everything. The more she replayed the conversation in her mind, the more foolish she felt. Marik told both she and Rishid how Bakura had stopped Marik's darker self from killing Rishid and how he even destroyed himself in a Shadow Game trying to help Marik. Then there was the day before . . . Bakura saved Marik and Rishid from a horde and his singing brought Ishizu back from her panic attack. Why had she been upset by the idea of them together? She felt like a fool.

Nevertheless, something nagged at her. Some old nuance from her time serving the Pharaoh that made her feel leery against the thief despite her instincts telling her to trust him. As she left the cabin, Ishizu stopped to brace herself against a strong wind blowing at their boat. She held her braid against her shoulder, wisps of loose hair danced around her face despite her efforts to keep everything in place. Above, the clouds looked like steel, gray and heavy.

She heard arguing in the wind. Ishizu turned her head and on the other end of the ship saw her brother bickering with the thief – something about dolls and tomb-thieves and fairy-tales. Ishizu shivered as Bakura's scarlet cloak bloomed in the wind, reminding her of the spraying blood of the two men she'd killed. Bakura started laughing and then Marik joined him. Her brother reached for the thief and kissed him, and Ishizu turned her head away, not wanting to interfere. She waited a moment before looking back. She intended on apologizing to both of them and leaving them alone, but what she saw stopped her.

Bakura buried his face in Marik's hair as Marik rested his face against Bakura's shoulder. They held each other gently, and that alone might have been enough to dispel any lingering doubts Ishizu had, but something else she saw made it altogether impossible for her to ever again disapprove of the thief and her brother being together.

Marik wore a tank-top, and Bakura slipped one hand beneath the hem to rub small circles on Marik's lower back, not in lust but as a comforting gesture. The thief's other hand traced the wing-tip on Marik's shoulder. Both looked peaceful in each other's arms, so much so that Ishizu found herself wiping a tear out of her eye. Marik never allowed anyone to touch (or even look at) his back. No one, not even Rishid. The fact that Bakura could . . .

Ishizu found herself smiling as she sighed and snuck back into the cabin.