A/N: ...I uploaded a second chapter to this thing. I know, I'm as surprised as you are, because I was just about ready to mark it as discontinued, but then my muse remembered it and I just had to go and write a second chapter (the Abridged Series wasn't entirely innocent in getting me back to Thiefshipping, either.)
There is one thing I don't want to do, which is make this story a PWP. Smut will doubtlessly happen, but it isn't the sole focus.
(Of course, the smut is but one reason to love Thiefshipping, right?)

xxxxxx

He had to admit that his sleeping habits were not exactly habits. Occassionally, he would just get tired enough that he would drop down for a few hours to avoid falling over. It was annoying enough, though, as he could not always keep control over his host's body when asleep, and had to go through the trouble of re-possessing him whenever he wanted to wake up, which in turn made him even more tired.

Normally, as long as the body was in his possession, he could do with minimal amounts of sleep, but this entire confrontation-relinquishing-repossessing episode, not to mention the blood loss, had pushed him too close for comfort to his breaking point. And so he practically collapsed into the hospital bed, falling asleep not soon after but managing to keep his mind at the forefront this time.

His dreams were a twisted and intermixed mess, and he was half-aware that he was dreaming, scattered bits of memory flickering through his head.

And then a kind of pulling in his head, irresistible and insistent and bearing a very distinctive mark on it. He followed the wordless beckon to find himself in a middle-of-nowhere place, a meeting point inside his own head, but real enough for the purpose nonetheless.

And facing him, head tilted slightly, his whole expression and stance – hell, his whole existence – a challenge, was Malik.

He'd established a link. Now that was just grand, couldn't the kid mess around with someone else's head for a change?

„There's been a change of plans."

Bakura said nothing. He'd already guessed this much, because Malik wouldn't go through the trouble of stepping inside his head to contact him for a social call...probably.

He could still feel the red-tinged heat somewhere at the back of his mind, residue from their last encounter, but he willed it to stay there. Instead, he motioned vaguely with his hand in a „go on" gesture. Though this all was not real, his injured arm twinged in a not entirely unpleasant way.

„You will gain six locator cards and enter the tournament to assist me."

The words were more a prediction than they were a command, obviously Malik didn't even deign to question his obedience. Bakura was just about ready to get angry about this when the sense of the words filtered through to him. He didn't bother to hold back the laughter rising up in his throat. It would serve the little brat right.

„So you lost, didn't you?"

The look of challenge on Malik's face froze, and he took three deliberate steps forward,

„Shut your mouth and stop laughing!"

It was clear from the tone that he expected to be obeyed. Bakura would have loved nothing more than to keep on laughing in his face out of pure contrariness, but the tone of the other's voice was more than just commanding, it was downright imperative and struck chords inside Bakura's head that he tried very hard and quite in vain to force into silence, resisting the urge to shake his head to clear it. His laughter stuck in his throat. How did this child dare?

„Stop talking to me in this tone." he said, dropping each syllable like a hammer.

The annoyed frown on Malik's face was slowly but surely replaced by a little smirk, just lifting the corners of his mouth and narrowing his eyes the slightest bit. In this unnatural half-gloom, they seemed to be even deeper than before, and Bakura had to resist the urge to make a fool out of himself by compulsively looking at his own feet.

„You mean you don't like it?"Malik asked, almost too close for comfort now. Bakura didn't even deign to respond to this other than scoffing at the presumptiveness that this child displayed.

„But even if you don't, you have no choice but to work with me," the look on his face was equally superior and coy, and Bakura found himself wondering how he managed that, „because you are so absolutely greedy for gold and for information, and without me, you won't get either."

Bakura would have liked to beat that smug little grin to pieces with a fist, but he was preoccupied with noticing that the other's lips were still raw and red around the eges, proof of their last encounter. He felt his libido rising, and had to resist the urge to smack himself on the head to clear it.

„I could just beat the information out of you." he nearly growled, gritting his teeth against the reeling that those damned beautiful eyes caused, wishing he could beat the other until they were swollen shut but knowing he couldn't bring himself to destroy such beauty.

„You could do that," Malik affirmed, sounding not in the least intimidated,"conversely, I could just take you over and make you do whatever I wished. For now your mind is more useful to me intact. Take care that it stays that way."

He couldn't feel the old magic that radiated from the Sennen items. Malik was using something far different, something that he was only half-aware of himself, a certain modulation to his tone and a certain look in his eyes that was capable of trapping even strong minds.

The strategically uncovered parts of his body didn't help, either. Bakura tried his hardest to keep a rein on base desires, but he had found that having a body again, feeling life coursing through it, was incredibly addicting, and twice as unnerving. He swore to himself that he would, as soon as he was supplied with all the necessary information, fuck the Egyptian raw and possibly murder him.

The kid was nothing but a pretty distraction, an uncomfortable ally as much as a roadblock.

But how dared he? How, and that was not a phrase, not a rhetoric question, it was something that Bakura wondered about. Where did he take this insolence and confidence and audacity from?

That confidence was something unfeigned. Though Malik couldn't fully step inside Bakura's head to see his thoughts – much less control them, if he didn't really want to break his for-now ally's mind – he could make a good guess at what the ringbearer was thinking.

„I did not agree to play any games," the thief(and that was an insult and an honorific equally) said, voice rough, „especially the kind where the rules keep changing as I go along."

He triede to project distaste for Malik's mind games, but his irritation at being out of his depth shone through quite clearly.

„You don't like your own medicine?" Malik asked, trying to sound conversational while gravitating closer to the stealer-of-souls.

„I don't like liars." was the flat answer he received. It did no more than make him laugh.

„Then looking into a mirror must be hard for you." and, much as it surprised him, he realized that close to all the words he'd said to Bakura were true. That was rather unsettling, and Malik decided that it wouldn't do, „You haven't taken anything from me, thief." he said, confidence in his voice as he disclosed the untruth. (but not-quite-untruth, his first kiss had been given willingly, not stolen)

„You say thief like it's a dirty word," now Bakura was smiling again, back on ground that seemed a little firmer, at least, „don't you like them?"

And also true that his mind was more use intact, sharp as it was. Malik felt half-relief and half-regret about that. Manipulating Bakura had been interesting, his mind was twisted and coiled into itself, poised to strike, and it was hazardous work to look for the strings that could be pulled.

Malik tilted his head to make his hair obscure his face and hide the smile on his lips as he carefully observed Bakura's expression. There were other methods of manipulation.

„Our agreement hasn't changed at all," he said, equal levels of poison and honey in his voice, „you help me, I make it worth your while."

Bakura didn't quite seem convinced, but he was getting closer.

„Then if I'm helping you more, you'll have to make it worth my while more." he said, sounding reasonable and only slightly dirty-minded.

„I am," Malik balanced on the thin line between business and pleasure, certain that he had the thief hooked, „I'm giving you an opportunity to practice and prove your skills."

He extended his senses, only to skim the surface of Bakura's mind, soft enough for the thief not to notice, smiled at the thread of thought he found, „enough pretence and dancing-around"

Malik found that he agreed with that. Nonetheless, they circled each other like cats for a moment longer, waiting for the other to make the first move.

„I'll hold you up to your promise," Bakura said, like a threat, and caved(yes, yes, he was the one who gave in, that was an intoxicating feeling) and closed the distance between them.

Distance, Malik though detachedly, there should be a thousand miles between him and me. Or not an inch.

It wasn't real, not really, but close enough, and Malik grabbed two fistfuls of Bakura's not-really-real shirt and held on to that, relishing the second kiss of his lifetime. He was a fast learner, it seemed.

And Bakura, ever a thief, was unable to keep his hands by his side, trailed them everywhere, trying to leave marks though it was futile, kept on trying anyway. His lips were burning and icy at the same time, quite a feat, his hands were all over Malik's chest, who smiled into the kiss and dared close his eyes - to regret it a moment later. The fingers traveled down, closer to his hips and for a fleeting moment Malik thought, eyes still closed but teetering over the edge of panic, that Bakura would make a grab for his Sennen rod (a hysterical corner of his mind informed him how incredibly dirty that sounded) before he remembered that it was stupid to worry because all of this wasn't real.

Then Bakura did something much worse. Possibly to mirror Malik's action from their first encounter, still determined to leave a mark, his fingers were now at the small of his back, under the edge of his shirt. His blood froze. This was not good(and what an understatement that was)-

His hands closed over Bakura's wrists before he could move (move his fingers, upwards) and he opened his eyes and dislodged his mouth and wrenchedBakura's arms away, so hard that the not-real cut on his not-real arm reopened. The white skin turned whiter where he had it in a death grip, senseless and speechless and Bakura stared at him for an uncomprehending moment.

(-he didn't, couldn't comprehend, and if he would-)

„Never," his voice barely obeyed him, so Malik made it harder, more commanding to drown out the edge of desperation, „never do that again!" and again Bakura had stolen his breath, but not for the same reason, this time. Malik stood, like a statue to keep from shaking, torn between advancing in this careless fury and turning and running in this careless panic.

They faced each other for a moment that stretched to infinity, before Malik said, keeping hold onto his voice, „Remember our deal," and let go of the thief's wrists and made himself vanish before he could think it through.

He came to in his own body, still half-panicked, before he caught up with himself and calmed his breathing and thought about his plans as hard as he could.

Bakura would never step down from a challenge (was that what you called phantom-pain?) so he could count on his assistance at least through the rest of Battle city (this was phantom-pain, then, this was more than a memory) and possibly beyond, at least as long as the thief listened to his greed (he wanted to be sick, violently sick) and he would always listen to that, Malik knew the symptoms of greed, which had landed him some very useful servants (maybe that would help).

He jumped to his feet, glad to be alone in his rooms right now.

After his stomach was empty and he'd rinsed out his mouth a dozen times, nothing hurt anymore. He was hollow, hollow and calm. Malik breathed in air to fill the numbness with oxygen, straightening his shoulders as if they didn't weigh a hundred pounds. It wouldn't do to damage his appearance, not for him, who would make the name of a servant the name of a king.

"See you in the finals, Bakura."

xxxxx

A/N: I lied about manga-based, sorry. Next chapter will possibly be my version (I don't own anything but my own perverted mind) of the wonderful ep 79. We'll see. Though expect the next update to be for Medicated, which I've been sadly neglecting.