Disclaimer: Nothing and no one belongs to me, except Nashwa the lighter, and the insult 'lamp shit'.

Warning: this story contains slash, pyromania, kleptomania and general psycho-mania.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited or alerted this story! Don't worry, I'm going to write as fast as possible.

2
"Good heavens, Marik," Malik called out, annoyed. He was waiting outside their house for nearly twenty minutes, and Marik still didn't come out! "Don't dawdle. We can't keep Bakura waiting for long. You know how psycho he gets."

It was the second week from hell, as Marik dubbed it. Last weekend, they went to Bakura's house, to stay for the two days. It was awful.

Bakura was a conceited, fake, holier-than-thou prat. All weekend he just insulted Marik, stole his lighter and acted like Marik was the filthiest filth in the world. And Marik was getting pretty sick of screaming at Bakura.

Still, a week later, here he was again, going to stay at the jerk's house for another whole weekend! Stupid hikari.

"I haven't packed," He called out to Malik. He was using anything as an excuse not to go. "Or washed my hair."

"Since when have you cared about your hair or packing? All you need is a toothbrush, spare clothes and your lighter." Malik rolled his eyes for the millionth time, it seemed.

"But, Malik, I get carsick."

"…"

"…"

"…No you don't," Malik finally said, staring at his yami as if he was insane. Which he was, but that wasn't the point. "It's YOUR motorcycle! You drive it every day! You love it! You drive it for hours! YOU DON'T GET CARSICK!"

"I do if I'm not driving it!"

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Marik, get down here RIGHT NOW, or it will be a repeat of the birthday disaster!"

Marik shivered. Last time, on Malik's birthday, everyone completely forgot. Every. Single. Person.

That was when Malik had a breakdown. He destroyed the house (and they had no insurance- they destroyed the house so many times, every insurance company in Japan rejected them), burned down a museum, screamed and insulted every person he knew to their face, and then tried to kill them. He tried to shoot Marik. That was not a fun day.

"I'M COMING!"

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"He soon will be arriving," Ryou said, sticking his head into Bakura's room. Bakura growled at the complete invasion of his privacy. Honestly, he was throwing knifes at Marik's picture, and Ryou surprised him! How unsafe.

"Is that respect you're showing," Ryou added. He frowned at Marik's knife covered picture. It was pinned over top the Pharaoh's picture! That was unusual.

"If you make me be polite to him, I swear I'm gonna be sick," Bakura scowled at Ryou. Ryou just rolled his eyes and said "Get changed, or no knifes."

"I hate you."
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Bakura hated Marik. Hated, hated, hated. He hated him almost as much as the Pharaoh and his cronies. Which was freaky, in its own way.

Duke was over, for the weekend. Bakura invited him, in order to not be bored all weekend. The plan was sadly failing, though. Although neither he nor Duke were bored, there was a problem; Marik.

'We've tried all weekend but we just can't lose him,' thought Bakura as he ran as fast as he could. He glanced behind him. Nope, still on their trail. Marik did look sorta pretty, though, running behind them.

…He did not just think that.

Marik was running behind his number two enemies, for only one reason; he was bored. He could careless what they were doing, but he was bored, and they were his only entertainment. Go figure.

'Wait up," he thought to himself, knowing it to be futile to yell. Futile…such a nice word. "RESISTANCE IS FUTILE!" he screamed. He liked screaming these kinds of things, and the looks he got made it all the more worthwhile.

"Quick, put on some speed!" Duke whisper-screamed. They ran faster, running left, right, ducking into this alleyway, that alleyway, doubling back, running through antique shops (and in the space of two seconds breaking nearly a million dollars worth of artefacts), saying "Hi!" to the Pharaoh, waving at the police officers (who Bakura all knew by name, because each arrested him around twenty times), until, finally, they got to a random tent they had once put up for such emergencies.

They stood there, panting, but not saying a word, in case Marik heard them. Finally, when they deemed it was safe, they sat down.

Duke took out his dice and started playing with them. Bakura just glared at nothing in particular.

"He sucks at running," Duke said absentmindedly. He tossed his dice at a random plant.

"He does. When picking teams, I'd never choose him," Bakura scowled. Then, he fell silent, and smiled. He was having a vision of him impaling Marik with a firepoker, his millennium ring, a dagger…Niiiiice.

"Or friends," Duke added. He got up to pick up his dice.

"Huuuh?" Bakura was now contemplating setting Marik on fire.

"Never mind," Duke said, and then they fell silent. A few minutes later, they heard Marik running up to the tent. How did they hear him? Did they have super-sonic hearing, perhaps? Or were they listening very intensely? Neither. They heard him tripping over stuff, swearing, people screaming, and him shouting "GO TO HELL, ASSHOLE!" and then a man shouting "GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU LAMP SHIT!"

"I'm guessing that's Marik," Duke hazarded a guess.

"However did you figure it out, dumbass?" Bakura seethed. He always seethed whenever Marik was around, or they were talking about him, or when he wasn't around…Hell, Bakura almost always seethed.

Marik burst into the tent. "FREEZE!" he shouted. That was another phrase he always wanted to use. Two phrases in one day!

Bakura and Duke scrambled to their feet, and started glaring down the psycho Tomb Robber. He glared back, used to glaring contests.

"Go. The. Hell. Away," Bakura hissed. He bared his teeth, looking startlingly cat-like. Marik just smirked.

"Or what? You'll propose with your ring?" He said. That was a scary thought, though. Bakura growled more, and Marik almost expected him to flip his hand and go "Mrrrow!". Almost.

"And what can you do? Hobble around on your walking stick? Ooh, I'm so scared! The old man is going to get me!" Bakura said, ignoring the fact that he was WAAAAAAAAAAAAY older than Marik. "And perhaps you'll light a cigarette with your lighter! That would really take the cake, yeah?"

'This really isn't fair,' Marik thought. They could trash him, his friends, his life, his possessions, but they couldn't trash his Rod or Nashwa, his lighter! (He spent many hours thinking of a name for her, but finally decided on Nashwa, which meant 'Wonderful Feeling' in Egyptian. He had only wonderful feelings with her)

"Okay. You assholes have two options," he said, slowly and clearly. He was getting an idea "Either you serve me for however long my hikari is going to be insane, or else." He said the 'or else' diabolically, insanely and with just the right amount of drama and sneering.

Bakura and Duke looked at each other, and smirked. "We really couldn't care. It's not like you can do anything, lamp shit."

"Boys, it's all or none," Marik said mockingly. "This is not my idea of fun."

"Oh, really?"

"This is," and with that, Marik flicked on his lighter, and set the tent on fire. "Pretty light…ooh…pretty lights…" He stared, hypnotized at the tent, and the two people inside, who were running around and screaming. Who were they again?

Who cared? They were insignificant compared to the pretty fire. It was mesmerizing, hypnotizing. Nothing in all the world could compare to it. He reached out his hand and tried to touch it.

"Ouch," he whispered, drawing his hand back, because talking was forbidden in the face of the flickering lights. He looked back at the figures. They were both screaming in pain, and one had his hair on fire.

It was the prettier one. He had pale skin, which reflected beautifully the red and yellow of the pretty lights. Mesmerized, Marik reached out to touch it. The pretty guy stared back at him, giving him a 'wtf' look. Marik wasn't deterred.

"Pretty."

That was when the guy finally said something. Marik didn't listen. Guy said something else. By that point, Marik was stroking the Guy's pretty, pretty face. It was all red and sweaty from the fire and pain. Then, Guy reached out and slapped him.

"Ouch!" Marik snapped back to reality. He glared. "What the hell was that for?"

"You were being all weird and spaced out! And this," he swung his fist with all his might at Marik's nose. It broke with a sickening snap. "Is for setting the tent on fire."

"I hate you," Marik ignored the fact that he was practically stroking Bakura's face. He grabbed Nashwa and ran. If he got arrested one more time, he was facing death by Isis's hands.

"I hate you too, you pyro," Bakura said, knowing the 'pyro' as the only explanation for Marik's practically stroking him.

R and R!