Marik had visited Kul Elna dozens of times now, and never really thought anything of it. It bustled with the usual hum of activity that came with being in a quiet village. But now, visiting with Bakura, it all just felt wrong.

There shouldn't be anyone here. Not now. This won't be how he remembers it.

But to his surprise, Bakura looked rather cheerful. "It's really bounced back," he said quietly as he looked around at the place of his birth. "Very…modern. I like it."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Can't expect even a remote little place like this to not be with the times." Bakura folded his arms across his chest and grinned. "Come on, Marik. If it's still here, I'll show you where I used to play as a child."

They walked through the dusty streets, Bakura stopping every now and then, as he did in Luxor, to take a look around. He pointed out where houses had once stood, landmarks he knew, even the old stone hut where he said he was born in the middle of a violent sandstorm. He told stories of his family, starting with his mother, how she'd treat his cuts and scrapes whenever he fell over, wipe away his tears and tell him to be strong.

His father, who would go out for days at a time with the other men of the village, and would bring back gold and jewels from the tombs they raided, so they could afford to buy bread, beer and medicine.

His older sister, a beautiful girl with hair the colour of burnished steel who could dance like a feather on the wind.

His grandfather, a wizened old man, one of the eldest in the village, who told wonderful stories.

Marik listened eagerly, glad that Bakura felt comfortable enough to divulge such intimate details to him. I haven't even asked him, and yet he's willingly telling me. This is a really good sign.

"Yes…it's around here…if I just…ah. Here we go."

They were on the far end of the village now, and Bakura was pushing away some tough, dead scrub plants, revealing a sizeable cavern within the roughly-cut walls. Marik gasped. "This little cave? I can't believe it hasn't collapsed in on itself over the years."

"What's wrong? Afraid of a little falling rock?" Bakura winked. "In you go. Let's see what we can find."

Marik rolled his eyes and ducked underneath Bakura's arm to step inside. The cavern stretched back a fair way, and it was obvious that somehow, nobody had been inside here for millennia, as if something had protected it all this time. There was a clay pot in the corner, a few old coins scattered over the floor, the remains of a lamp hanging on a sharp outcrop of rock, a cracked box lying near the far wall.

Bakura stepped in behind Marik and chuckled. "God, I can't believe I used to actually live in this thing."

"I thought you said you played here."

"I did. And when I got older, when I returned to the village, I slept here too." His gaze softened as he raised a thumb to his mouth, nibbling on his nail. "It's all so well preserved. It's weird to see."

"Are you glad you came here?"

"Definitely. Now…I wonder if there's anything in this pot…"

Bakura strode over to the clay pot and tugged the lid off. A wild cackle suddenly burst from his lips. "I don't believe it! Marik, look at this!"

He reached a hand inside and drew back, holding a collar of glimmering gold. Marik went over and dropped to his knees beside the pot, admiring the jewellery. It was slim, reminding Marik of the chokers that Yugi often wore, and set with a ruby in the centre; it was probably made for women, but he thought it immensely beautiful. "Who did you steal this from?" he asked.

"Fuck if I know. I robbed that many tombs, they've all blurred together in my memory now. But that's not all…look." He lifted the pot up and emptied it onto the floor, its contents spilling out and rolling around. Marik stopped a few with his hand, hardly believing what he saw. Masses of gold, glittering gemstones, elaborate trinkets and tiny bottles of what he assumed were oil or perfume. Bakura was beside himself with excitement. "This has been here, all this time!" he whispered. "I don't know what I'll do with it, but right now I just…fuck me, wow!"

Marik couldn't help but smile, feeling his heart flutter. He'd never seen such a truly happy look on Bakura's face before, but he could definitely get used to seeing more of it. Bakura carefully put the treasures back into the pot and put the lid back on, then crossed the room to pick up the old box, giving it a tentative shake. "You know, I never had the chance to play this with anyone," he said thoughtfully. "You know what this is?"

Marik frowned at the box. "Looks like Senet."

"Exactly. Want to play?"

"Sure." Marik knew one of the many sets of rules, having had his own Senet board back in the tombs. "Can I suggest a variation, though?"

"What do you propose?"

"How about…every time one of us throws a three, we get to ask the other a question. Something that we don't know about them, and we have to answer honestly."

Bakura slid the bottom of the box out and began pulling out the game pieces, smirking. "Yeah, alright. Could be interesting."

"Don't you be putting any souls in the counting sticks, though. No cheating!"

"Ha. Like I can do that anymore. I totally would though, if I were still able." Bakura set the pieces on the board, five white egg-shaped pieces and five black discs, alternating them on the top row of the board. "And I would ask all the ridiculously awkward questions to make you squirm."

"I'm sure you'll do your very best to make me squirm anyway."

"Damn right. And I think we can make this even more interesting, if you're willing."

"Go on."

Bakura sniggered, pulling out a bottle of vodka from the pocket of his hoodie. No doubt he had filched it on the way round the market; Marik hadn't given him enough money to go about purchasing alcohol. "If we manage to get a piece off the board, we drink. Two drinks if we land a piece in the House of Waters."

Oh man, we are so fucked, Marik thought, but he couldn't help an excited peal of laughter bursting from his mouth. "Damn, Bakura, you've only been back a day and you're already trying to get me drunk! Okay, let's do it."

The two young men sat opposite each other on the chilly rock floor, cross-legged and alert, the Senet board resting between them. Bakura went first, reaching for the counting sticks and tossing them with a deft flick of the wrist. A wry smirk twisted his lips. "Three," he murmured, moving a white counter. "So, Marik…just how close are you and Ryou? Seems like there's some history between the two of you."

"I knew that would be the first thing you asked," Marik replied, picking up the sticks as it was his turn now. "We fooled around the first time he visited, but it was a one-time thing, and he started seeing Yugi not long afterwards."

"You weren't hurt by that?"

"That's two questions."

"Dammit."

Next, Marik threw a three, and moved a black piece. "Hmmm…I was told your hair was white 3,000 years ago. Why? I've never known Egyptians to have white or silver hair if they weren't also pretty old."

"Now that I don't know," Bakura replied without hesitation. "What I can tell you though, is that we were revered in Kul Elna as children of Khonsu, and we were treated with much respect. My sister's hair was darker than mine, but still much lighter than most people of the village. They used to say we were blessed by moonlight, and that darkness would never harm us, because our own innate light would chase away the shadows."

Bakura threw a two next, and Marik a five afterwards, with no more threes for several turns, so they lapsed into comfortable silence as they moved their pieces, letting them dance around each other as they overtook on multiple turns.

A strange sense of calm settled over Marik, something he hadn't felt for many years. It was something he hoped he would continue to feel for as long as Bakura was around, though he knew it wouldn't be long, if Bakura intended to leave Egypt soon. His heart gave a pang of loneliness, but he brushed it aside and with a smirk, moved his first piece off the board. Bakura handed the vodka over, and Marik poured some into the cap to fill it before swallowing. "That burns," he gasped, setting the bottle down.

"That's how you know it's good stuff," Bakura winked. He threw the sticks and got a three. "Question time. Why do you keep looking at me the way you do? You had the same look in your eye during Battle City."

Oh. I...this is not what I meant by asking questions! I thought we'd be going through favourite colours or stuff like that, not this!

Marik's words stuck in his throat and he had to swallow hard, plucking up the courage to speak. "Because you're beautiful."

Now it was Bakura's turn to look a little flustered, and his deep brown eyes blinked rapidly before he shook his head and dropped it so his hair covered his face. "Don't be stupid."

"I'm not lying."

"Shut up and throw."

Marik chuckled. "You're adorable when you're embarrassed." He threw the sticks for five, and overtook Bakura's nearest piece to land on the House of Beauty. He then threw another five, moved his piece off the board, and took a shot of vodka. "We're going to be so drunk when we get back," he groaned.

"It was about time you and I had a drinking session anyway," Bakura sniggered, throwing the sticks. He got three, and he moved his piece over, landing in the House of Waters. "Ah, fuck."

"Drink up," Marik smirked, passing the vodka back. "Two, remember."

Bakura downed two shots with a shudder, and moved his piece back onto the House of Rebirth. "What is your happiest memory?" he asked.

Marik sat back and racked his brains, trying to think of what he could consider to be his happiest moment in life. Several came to him, but in the end, he knew which he would choose. "The day I came out of the tomb with Ishizu," he smiled. "I ran through the streets, and I was so excited to see the sun and smell the air. I saw a television for the first time, and I found a magazine with a motorcycle in it. I begged Ishizu to let me take the magazine back with me, and she allowed it so long as I hid it from Father." He pressed a hand to his heart, feeling the rapid quickening beneath his ribs. "Few things in life have made me feel as alive as the roar of a motorcycle engine does, and when Rishid bought me my first Harley for my 19th birthday, I cried without shame."

An odd expression crossed Bakura's face as he gazed at Marik, nibbling on his thumbnail again. "You were on a motorcycle when I first met you," he said quietly.

"Yup. Stole that one, but I always wanted one of my own."

"You still have that Harley, I take it."

"I do. She's a 2001 Dyna Wide Glide, purple and black. She's a beauty."

"I might have to hitch a ride. Never been on anything faster than a run-of-the-mill car."

Marik's face lit up. "I'd be happy to. Well, not right now, not after we've been drinking."

"Tomorrow, then."

"Sure thing."

Marik reached for the sticks, throwing a two. He ended up in the House of Waters, and took two shots before moving his piece into the nearest available space behind the House of Rebirth, which Bakura still occupied. Bakura then threw a four, moved a piece off the board, and took a shot.

By the time they were down to one piece left each on the board, both were hopelessly drunk. Marik couldn't get enough of the deep, ruddy flush that coloured Bakura's cheeks, nor his bright, spirited laughter as they traded their questions. They had all but forgotten about their rules, and now just asked away without restraint.

"First thing you ever stole from a tomb?"

"Oh, that would be…a cask of wine, a few bolts of cloth, and all the canopic jars, just for the fun of it."

"Bakura! How could they have passed into Aaru without their organs?"

"I didn't give a fuck! Besides, it had been a few years since they were entombed. They'd have gone over by then. I threw the organs to the jackals and kept the jars. They looked good in my little den."

"Ya khabar abyad! You really were the worst."

"Had to make an example of someone. I was the Thief King after all." Bakura leaned back on one hand, using the other to drink vodka straight from the bottle. A trickle ran down his chin, and Marik had the oddest sensation to crawl over and lick it off him. "I want to know more about what happened with you and Ryou," Bakura said, a slur creeping into your voice. "Did you go all the way?"

"No," Marik replied with a grin, "but we got close. Ryou panicked and said he was too nervous."

"So what did you do?"

"Why are you so curious?"

"The kid was such a little prude when I inhabited his body, I'm just surprised he even knows what sex is. Go on, what did you do?"

"Um, I'm trying to remember…" Marik rubbed his chin, frowning. "Ah yeah. We sucked each other off, and I gave him a rim job, and then – "

"Hold up a sec, a rim job? What the fuck is that?"

"It's, um, when you, uh…dammit, forget I said anything."

Bakura leaned over the Senet board and grabbed Marik's shirt, yanking him close. "Fucking tell me already."

"Alright, I stuck my tongue in his ass. Happy?" Marik could feel Bakura's hot breath on his cheeks, and it sent a shock right down his spine.

"You…what?" Bakura blinked at him. "You're serious?"

"Yeah. He loved it, so it must feel pretty good."

"Interesting. Very…interesting." Bakura released Marik and sat back, reaching for the counting sticks. He threw them and turned a few over so they were at three, though he didn't move his piece. "So you're a virgin, then?"

"What sort of fucking question is that?"

"It's a question. Answer it."

Marik scowled. "No, I'm not a virgin. I had a couple of one-night stands last year." He snatched the vodka from Bakura and took a swig, barely registering it burning his throat now. "What about you?"

"You didn't roll a three."

"I don't care, answer my question."

"So demanding," laughed Bakura. "Honestly? I've never known an intimate touch. I kept whoever I inhabited far away from anything like that, and I wasn't exactly popular in Egypt."

"You've never even been kissed?"

"Nope."

"Want to change that?"

The flush on Bakura's cheeks grew deeper, but his eyes screamed lust as they connected with Marik's. "Fuck yes," he whispered.

With a sweep of his hand, Marik pushed the Senet board aside and they both leaned in at the same time. Bakura's mouth was hot and eager against his own, inexperienced and unsure, but Marik guided him without words. He pulled Bakura's frail body into his lap and ran his hands through his hair, pulling it free of its ponytail, and showed him how to use his tongue. Bakura picked up quickly and soon they were twining their tongues together, gasping and panting urgently. Marik felt dizzy with the overwhelming headiness and passion in their actions, but he couldn't get enough, he wanted more.

"Damn it, I…don't want…to stop…" Bakura gasped in between kisses.

"Then don't," Marik growled. Bakura's deep brown gaze became half lidded and he shoved at Marik's chest, knocking him backwards and falling down with him, attacking his lips again. "Ow!" Marik's head smacked hard against the stone floor and he rubbed the sore area, sitting up with a struggle. "Ow…I'm not opposed to you pushing me down, but at least do it on a soft surface," he laughed.

"Your bed then?" Bakura grinned down at him, still straddling his lap.

"Ryou's been sleeping in that!"

"Let's defile it then," Bakura murmured in a sultry tone, leaning down and kissing along Marik's neck, "and we won't tell him."

"Ya amar, you have the evilest, most filthy mind."

"Are you complaining?"

"…No, I don't suppose I am." Marik shoved Bakura off him and stood, pulling the lid off the old clay pot and fumbling inside for the collar he had been admiring. "But if we're doing this, I'm wearing some of your stolen gold."

"Mm…you know the way to my heart, Ishtar," Bakura winked.

"Ya khabar abyad" - Arabic for one of the many ways to express surprise, pretty much "oh white news" or "oh my god"

Also, if anyone is interested in how Senet can be played, I used a very handy video for my research. but this website sucks at letting you put links in your work, so if you check out this story over at my Archive Of our Own account, you can find the link in the footnotes.