A/N: Wow, it's been awhile! I was going to abandon this but then Marquis Amon sent me a really nice PM last month and it inspired me to work on the next chapter of this! Thank you so much. :3

Also, last chapter I mentioned there were a couple of fandom references. The first one was to Sonic the Hedgehog; Marik's co-worker "Miles" is actually based off of Tails. The second was a reference to Pokemon; the guy Bakura was going to give a blowjob to was N Harmonia.

**Thief King Bakura has a scene in this chapter, and his name will be 'Itja'. Originally it was to be Akefia, but I decided to go with the name I'm using in A Book Of Going Forth By Day.

Chapter 4: Pokerface

It was strange how the erratic man named Bakura had integrated himself into Marik's life. It had been quite a while since the two first met, and in all honesty, Marik wasn't expecting the man to stick around, but he did.

It was steady at first. He would appear every few days, and they'd normally drink and hang out on the couch. Occasionally they would play video games (while Ryou let Marik borrow his Wii U), or they would watch random movies and shows. It was simple, and it became routine for Marik. After a long, stressing day working with idiotic clients, he would head back to his flat and decompress. It wouldn't be long before Bakura would appear, his calm and witty personality putting Marik at ease almost immediately.

He didn't know how somebody so absolutely infuriating could make him feel so comfortable. In the beginning Marik didn't quite realize this; he saw Bakura as an absolute annoyance. The man was peskily arrogant, always wearing that stupid smirk that was strangely attractive and made Marik shiver in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. He was always speaking in an over confident manner, as if every word out of his mouth came from the lips of a God. Irritating really, though Marik always replied with a taunt or a scoff, and eventually the conversation took to banter.

The banter, Marik found, was somewhat amusing and exciting. On the outside, he appeared to be annoyed with it, but both he and Bakura knew he enjoyed it; he would never admit it, though. Who found arguing exciting for fuck's sake?

Apparently Bakura did; Marik had learned this quickly. When they began to argue and Marik spoke with fake rage, a smirk would come across the whitette's lips. It looked almost dangerous, and he supposed to the untrained eye it actually did, but Marik knew what it meant, because minutes later he usually ended up being pinned by the hips with a mouth around his cock.

This was another thing that Marik found curious. Personally, he wasn't a fan of going around and sucking dick, even if he was gay, but Bakura did. He had given Marik more head than he could possibly count at this point (an over exaggeration of course, but the point remains the same).

Sex was different as well. For years, Marik never led. He always let himself be dominated (or rather was forced), because it was all he could do. Years spent in his last relationship had left him yearning to be dominant for once, and now he was. Not once had Bakura lead; it was always Marik, and he thrived on this new found dominance. He had no idea that somebody as prideful as Bakura would allow himself to be so violently dominated, but he wasn't about to argue.

Their strange pseudo-relationship left Marik somewhat confused, but it was becoming a ritual, a routine, and Bakura was becoming a strange and unexpected form of comfort.

…

In the early hours of the afternoon, Marik was doing an oil change on a hybrid when he got a call. He planned on ignoring it, but upon seeing the caller, he picked up.

"You know it's rude to interrupt me during work, Ryou."

There was a soft giggle, one that made his heart flutter.

"Sorry Marik. But I'm calling about something really important..."

o o o

Bakura wasn't of a sociable species, so the fact he was even doing this was entirely out of character. It was the dead of night, and the air was still and biting. He didn't feel the cold as he landed rather gracefully on a roof of one of the many buildings on the Domino skyline. At the edge of the roof, a silhouette did not turn to look at him. In fact, it seemingly ignored the newcomer for a while before actually speaking.

"It's been quite a long time, Bakura."

His voice was deep and intimidating. It scraped against Bakura's ears unpleasantly. He didn't show this discomfort as he tipped his head, letting his signature lazy smirk take his lips.

It was abnormal to see one of their kind without a disguise when they were on the mortal plane. Black wings pressed against his back, and the pointed tips of his ears could just barely be seen through his outrageously wild locks. Long horns curled out from his head in a threatening manner as well.

"Not hunting tonight, Itja?"

The question was met with a scoff, and the silhouette turned and came to full height. His eyes looked like glittering amethyst gems in the light, "Of course I am. But I don't mingle with my prey like you do; I enter their dreams and paralyze their body."

"That's so boring."

"It's better than your way. It's too much of a hassle."

"But it's far more entertaining," he argued confidently.

"We are demons. Incubi. We are a powerful species, and mortals do not deserve to speak with us, nor to look upon us unless we allow it."

"And I allow them to. I am aware that they are lesser beings, but they can be rather... amusing."

Itja narrowed his eyes suspiciously. White fangs peeked out from beneath his lips when he smirked at his counterpart, "Amusing you say? Have you found a toy?"

"Perhaps."

"Don't bullshit. Either you did or you didn't."

Bakura laughed, his eyes glistening with amusement. "I have found a toy," he licked his lips, "You wouldn't believe how delicious it is to be fucked by him."

Itja made a disgusted noise. The other demon had always favored women, and always regarded Bakura in a scrutinizing manner when he allowed himself to be taken by a human. Bakura did not mind this; he enjoyed getting pounded, and he wasn't about to allow an over dramatic sense of superiority get in his way of enjoying himself.

"Have you gone back for seconds?" When Bakura merely smirked in response, Itja continued, "You never go back. He must be pretty good."

"It's been over a month, actually."

To this, Itja almost looked stunned. "I find that hard to believe. You're the most fickle piece of shit when it comes to your men. You never stay on one for more than a single night."

Bakura shrugged; he had no reason to explain himself to the other demon. He was here on business, after all.

"I sensed your presence. Have you changed territory?" Bakura asked. He wasn't particularly territorial, especially with Itja; while they were at each others throats often, fighting for prey wasn't necessary. Itja took woman, while Bakura took men. There was plenty of prey for the both of them.

"There's a particular female I have taken interest in."

"Just don't get too comfortable here. This side of Domino is mine."

Itja knew Bakura cared little for boundaries; he was simply attempting to show dominance. Black webbing stretched out from his back, horrifying wings made his frame appear far larger than he actually was. Itja was a muscular demon; he was tall, broad, and he did not show fear, even to Bakura, who had always been very ruthless.

"I can become as comfortable as I want," he replied icily, taking a step closer to the scrawnier demon.

Bakura visibly bristled, though he didn't allow himself to shift forms. There was no point in wasting the energy, especially when he knew Itja wouldn't be intimidated. If anything, he would laugh at Bakura for even attempting to appear threatening. Bakura was an old and skilled demon, but Itja older by thousands of years.

Noticing Bakura's reaction, Itja cackled and lowered his webbed wings, "I don't plan on sticking around. Your territory is pathetically empty anyway; how you've managed to sustain yourself is beyond me."

"Maybe you just aren't as skilled of a hunter as ore-sama," Bakura merely purred back, cocking his chin upwards in a haughty manner.

Itja threw his head back and let out a barking laugh. "I am thousands of years older than you! I know far more about the art of seduction than you, my scrawny friend."

Bakura scoffed and crossed his arms. "Age means nothing. Only skill."

"Which you clearly lack if you're only sticking to one human. You know you'll probably end up killing him, right?"

He shrugged, ignoring the slight twinge in his chest. "Then I'll enjoy the ride," he said with a lick of his lip. His wings twitched as he regarded Itja seriously once more, "But really. Leave my territory as soon as you're done with your woman."

"Like I said, I wasn't going to stay long." With that said, he stretched his massive wings out and launched himself from the roof, disappearing into the night.

…

Bakura, as usual, was eager to see Marik. He had an itch only the exotic Egyptian could scratch. However, as he appeared in front of his front door, he was met with waves of negative aura. The kid is definitely in a bad place right now, Bakura thought to himself in exasperation as he gave the door a rough knock.

"Go the fuck away!"

He wasn't impressed by the angry hollering coming from the other side of the door. With a grunt he used basic magic that he probably shouldn't be using around humans to open the locked door. His sensitive nose picked up the rancid scent of alcohol – a lot of it. Bakura followed his nose to the couch, where Marik was planted into the cushions, empty bottles of beer surrounding him. It was truly a pitiful sight.

"What the fuck, Ishtar?" Bakura grunted at the other man. "Stop being such a pathetic piece of shit and get up."

Marik only let out a distorted growl, so he rolled his eyes and yanked him into a sitting position. He wavered back and forth before peering up at Bakura.

"You know it's fuckin' rude to break into someone's house," he scoffed, leaning against the back of the couch and starting up at him with angry, bleary eyes.

"It's also rude to leave a guest at the door. Which you did."

"I didn't want guests. Get out."

"Not likely."

Marik growled and tried to push Bakura away, but the scrawny demon didn't budge. Marik groaned and fell back against the couch, causing Bakura to give another eye roll.

"You're being pathetic. Why?"

"Ohhhh. Bakura cares. Hell is gonna fuckin' freeze over."

"I don't care. I just know I'm not going to get dick with you moping, so spill. Why are you wallowing in your own shit?"

Marik made a 'tching' noise and got up. He wobbled a bit before he stormed around the couch and through the flat. Bakura quickly followed.

"You aren't getting out of the question that easily you effeminate shit," Bakura barked after him. Marik didn't even look back as he entered his bedroom, slammed the door in his face, then locked it.

"Wow. Real mature." Bakura scoffed through the door.

"Get the fuck out! I don't want to talk about it. I just want to get drunk n' sleep."

The demon rolled his eyes for the second time. Again. Against his better judgment, he easily unlocked the door and meandered right into the room. "Look, hooker, I'm trying to be fucking nice here."

Marik was laying face down on his bed. He peered up and attempted to glare with drunken eyes."You're really bad at it."

"Be thankful I'm even trying."

Marik pushed himself into a sitting position. For a few moments, he looked as if he were having an internal debate before he suddenly growled, "He's getting fucked engaged."

Bakura sat down on the edge of the bed with enough confidence for one to assume it was his. "He? Who? Ryou?"

Marik nodded. The haze seemed to disappear from his eyes, replaced with a sizzling rage. "He told me today that he's taking his girlfriend on a romantic trip to Nara, and then he's going to propose."

Marik's words were coming out as enraged snarls. Bakura merely listened as he continued, "They've only been dating for what? Two years? And hes going to get married to her? She's a total manipulative bitch."

"But aren't all women?" Bakura hummed a he took a moment to examine his nails. This made Marik bristle more.

"No. Not like her. She pressured him into the damn relationship! Always glued to his hip like a fucking parasite. And now they're getting married. I have to be the best man at their wedding." Marik had now gotten off the bed and began to pace around the room all in a tizzy. Bakura watched wordlessly as he laid against the bed, his eyes never leaving the tense frame of the other man's body.

"Come here." Bakura demanded, causing Marik to turn and glower.

"I told you I don't want to fuck tonight."

The demon rolled his eyes. "I was going to offer a massage you idiot."

"A massage...?"

"Yes, a massage. You're all tense and freaking out. You need to calm down."

A look of discomfort came across his angry features. The change in his body language was dramatic and immediate. "I don't need a massage."

"Just get your ass over here."

Marik glared predictably at being ordered around before he meandered back to the bed and sat down on the edge.

"Okay, take off your shirt and lay on your stomach – and don't give me that look. It's not like I'm going to shove my cock up your ass."

The other man still looked skeptical. He turned away, his back hunched in a tense and uncomfortable manner before he took it by the bottom hem and slid it over his head. Prior to this, Bakura had never seen Marik's back. The other was very careful when they had sex that his shirt was never removed – so when Marik did remove his shirt, Bakura found an unexpected and shocking sight.

The scars of an old wound was strewn across his back in a haphazard arrangement of random white streaks. Each mark was a straight line that had obviously been a horrible wound when it was first inflicted – the scars were risen and puffy, even though the white hue suggested they were years old. From what Bakura could see from the marks... Marik had been whipped at some point in his life, and by somebody not very kind.

Bakura took only a second to take all this in. He reached over to the bedside table where there was a convenient tube of lotion and squirted some onto his palm while Marik laid on his stomach. Bakura moved to straddle his upper thighs as he rubbed his slick hands together to warm them up.

"...Don't pretend like you don't see them," Marik growled quietly from beneath him.

Bakura scoffed at the other. "What, were you expecting sympathy?"

"No."

"Good. Fishing for acceptance is so unattractive."

"These scars are unattractive."

"So is lack of confidence. I didn't take you for being as self-conscious as a teenage girl."

Marik finally looked back at him and threw a glare over his shoulder. "I'm not!"

Bakura planted his palms against his shoulders and leaned over his body to glare down at him. "Yes, you are. Stop being a little bitch about it."

Marik suddenly began wiggling and tried to throw him off. In his inebriated state, he put up a pathetic fight. Bakura remained on his legs, easily holding him down until he wore himself out with struggles and curses.

"Now, if you're done throwing a tantrum..." Bakura muttered, sitting back again and moving his slick fingers over the marred surface of his back. "I'm going to finish this massage, then maybe you'll calm the fuck down."

"...I hate you."

Bakura merely smirked and continued with his work, his fingers moving expertly over the flesh of the other. In his many years, he learned exactly which spots of the body brought the most pleasure, and which brought the most pain. He ran his palms softly over the expansion of Marik's back with surprisingly soft strokes, moving down to the small of his back up to his perfect neck, spreading the lotion across his skin. Bakura could still feel how tense his partner was, so he decided to use his knuckles. He could feel the muscles beneath the back of his fingers twitch as they began to relax.

He gently kneaded Marik's shoulders, feeling the small knots beneath the risen white skin. They felt like rubber as Bakura flipped his hands back around and began running his fingers along his back again. He twisted his wrists, allowing his hands to bring Marik much needed pleasure. A groan escaped the others lips finally, and Bakura smirked to himself victoriously.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked with a haughty tone.

Marik let out another moan in response. It might have been an actual response, but it was indistinguishable past his slurred noises of bliss.

Bakura continued his work, finding himself gaining enjoyment by listening to Marik's noises. After a few moments of quiet, broken only by moans, he pushed out a question.

"How did you get them?"

The reason for asking such a question wasn't clear to him. He did not care about the affairs and problems of mortals; they were insignificant and selfish beings. And yet this specific mortal sparked his interest enough for him to care, even if it was a miniscule amount. Perhaps he was merely afraid of losing his toy.

Bakura felt the muscles tense beneath his nimble strokes. There was an expansion of silence until Marik began to speak.

"I grew up in Egypt, you know," Marik began. Bakura sensed a long story, but he didn't stop him. "With my brother, my sister, and my father. My mother had died when I was very young, so it was Ishizu – my sister – who took care of us. Even though Rishid – my brother – was way older, she resembled a mother to both of us. My father expected her to be the woman of the house because he refused to re-marry. He saw me as the man of the family, the one to carry on the Ishtar name – which is apparently a really powerful name. I don't know, I never paid attention, but he had a lot of pride in the family name. Rishid was a disappointment, since he was merely adopted. Luckily, my father wasn't around much, so we didn't have to deal with him in the early years...

"I was always on the flamboyant side I suppose – I was always considered 'feminine', which if you know anything about the culture there, that's a very bad thing. I liked keeping my hair long and I liked wearing my sister's jewelry. The gold always made me shimmer and I liked that. She tried to explain to be I shouldn't be doing that. She was always on the soft side though, so when I begged her to let me wear her necklace to school, she let me. It was just an amethyst stone on a cheap golden chain. This was a mistake, because I was instantly called a girl when I got to school. I was a house of cards when I was younger, so I left school early and ran home crying."

Marik halted for a moment to scoff. "Over the years, I kept getting the insults, and they progressed, so I became tough. I began throwing insults back. I said things no child should say. I became a rotten child, I admit, but it was because people are assholes. It wasn't long before the whole school knew who I was, including the principal. He contacted by father when I actually punched somebody in the face for calling me a faggot. Needless to say, my father wasn't happy. He smacked me and told me not to do things to disrespect the family name. Suddenly, he became more involved. It constantly told me to cut my hair, to stop being so 'girly'.

"He wasn't afraid to get physical, but it was usually just a smack across the face. This just made me angrier. I was sick of the damn insults – they wouldn't go the fuck away. At that point. I didn't even know my sexuality. They were just assuming based on ridiculous fucking stereotypes. It wasn't until I was twelve that I realized I was different... there was a boy at school. Unlike the other boys, he wasn't cruel to me. He would talk to me behind the school building during lunch. He would draw inappropriate things in the dust – like tits. For some reason I remember this discussion so clearly – he started talking about women. The conversation bored me, though I wasn't sure why. Surely, as a preteen, I should have been obsessed with boobs?"

Marik let out a dry laugh. "I hung around him a lot. We never were together during school, but we would walk home together. Sometimes we would play pranks on the neighbors, which was really fun because he had a sick sense of humor like I did. It progressed from flaming bags of dog shit on their front door to roadkill in their mailboxes. We became best friends... but during that time, I was attempting to come to terms with my sexuality. I found that sometimes I felt compelled to hold his hand, to sit next to him on a bench under the stars – and don't laugh you shit, I was still young."

Bakura had begun snickering at Marik's cheesiness. He quieted down and allowed the other to continue.

"Then, when I was thirteen, I made a mistake. We were going over homework in my room – and by going over homework, I mean we were bickering and wrestling. Our homework didn't even make it out of our backpacks. Then, during a quiet moment, I suddenly got the compulsion to kiss him, so I did. I didn't even have a chance to pull away when my father chose the worst fucking time to walk in. He told my friend to leave, who did without hesitation. My father, as you can imagine, was not happy. He yelled about how he should have seen this coming, and how I was a disgrace. I wasn't offended by his words, I was angry. I was angry with him and myself."

Marik pushed out a pained sigh. "That's when it happened. He took the belt out of his pant looks and told me he would teach me a lesson, that I was not to be a 'cock-sucker', as he so gracefully put it. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I stayed there."

There was a quiet pause. Bakura's fingers were tracing the long streaks of scars as he reflected on Marik's story. He then spoke, "...I just asked how you got them, I didn't ask for your life story."

Marik wiggled and turned onto his back before glaring up at him. "Too bad. You got to hear my tragic past," he joked dryly, causing Bakura to smirk.

"Ah yes, you poor soul," Bakura replied, scooting up to straddle his hips. "Perhaps you would like me to sate your paint a bit?"

"I told you, I'm not in the mood to fuck you."

"Not even after that massage?" Bakura purred, dragging his fingers up the other man's muscled front, noting the way they shivered beneath his touch.

"Nope." Marik was adamant in his refusal, causing Bakura to scoff.

"I suppose you don't have to fuck me. There are other ways to bring gratification."

"I'm not in the mood for any sexual activity – oooh – g-god damn it, don't do that!" Marik suddenly hissed as Bakura ground himself against his groin.

"I could make you in the mood." Bakura replied, peering down at the other in a cocky manner. He was sure of his skills as a master seducer, whether he used his magic or not.

Marik glared, but he remained quiet. Both of them obviously knew that Marik couldn't resist Bakura, so saying otherwise would be a blatant lie.

"...Fine. You'll probably coerce me into something anyway." Marik growled finally and glanced away.

Bakura trailed a finger sensually across Marik's delicious neck. He could see the skin twitch slightly in the digit's wake. "I'll make you forget all about that tragic past of yours, hm?"

"We'll see."

Bakura dipped down and began showering Marik's body in attention. His touches were feather-light as he trailed them up and down his front, before curling his fingers ever so slightly to allow his nails to rake his skin lightly. A gasp was drawn from Marik's lips.

"Are you sure you're not in the mood? You certainly sound like it..." Bakura murmured with a dangerous tinge on the edge of his tone as he rolled his hips downwards.

I won't tell you that I love you

Marik wordlessly hissed. He peered up at the demon, his expression wanton. With a smirk, he sat back and pulled off his shirt. He quickly rid them both of their pants and socks, leaving them grinding against one another in their underwear. The arrival of their erections came quick with their grinding. Bakura pushed out a moan as he dipped his face into Marik's lovely neck, enjoying the sensation spreading through the lower half of his body. Even through the thin cloth, it wasn't enough.

Kiss or hug you[1]

It was Marik who tugged their underwear down so their erections were bare. They eagerly ground against one another, both finding their orgasms against each others stomachs. With a final moan Marik pulled away and rolled onto his side, the emotional turmoil, alcohol and sexual gratification causing sleep to come almost immediately. Bakura peered down at the drooling mess before he got off the bed.

"Attractive." Bakura hummed to himself as he clothes himself and stared down at the man. He smirked, a bit of fang peeking out from beneath a pink lip. "I'll be back... I have some business."

o o o

His evening routine was simple. Burn dinner, sit on the stained armchair, and read torn history textbooks that he had practically memorized. To read them made him feel educated, even if he already knew the material. Ancient Egypt was a fascinating time period. He loved the values they held. If only those values still existed today... He sighed in an angry manner and thought of his "son", the pathetic excuse for a man. There was no way he would have survived the harsh world of Ancient Egypt.

He took a bite of the blackened potatoes he assumed was food and kept eating, unbeknownst to the shadows shifting around him. The light bulb in his lamp flickered, though it didn't catch his attention; most things in his house were old and faulty. He worked a simple job in a mosque, so he did not get paid well enough to live in the luxury he had once known. He took the edge of the old paper between his wrinkled fingers.

Suddenly the torn curtains began going wild. He glanced up at the tattered cloth, not appearing to be particularly worried. Perhaps he left the window open and there was a breeze? He sighed at his own mistake and got up to close the window, mumbling tiredly all the while. It was getting harder and harder to stay awake these days; he was a tired man. The simple task of closing the window was an effort, let alone remembering if he had actually left it open in the first place. What had he been thinking?

He turned back to his dinner and book, only to find both missing from where he had left the next to the chair. He barely had time to furrow his brows in confusion before the light-bulb beneath the lampshade suddenly shattered to pieces with a wild spark. He jumped back with a startled yell as the lampshade went up in flames.

"These damn old appliances!"He hissed madly to himself as he spun around to grab the fire extinguisher that he left under the sink, only to stop in horror at the sight of a physical shadow standing in the doorway. It shifted and rolled before taking a form.

"A... a demon?!" He took a step back, nearly forgetting about the fire as the beast stood in front of him. Though he took the form of a man, he had curled horns and massive wings.

The creature stared and grinned. Cackles echoed around the room as he took a few steps, forcing the man against the wall. The fire began to spread, flames lapping around the demon.

He was horrified. He screamed prayers, though they did nothing to stop the advancing form. If anything, the attempts at keeping the creature at bay caused the cruel laughter to become louder. He squeezed his eyes shut, hearing words echo forth as icy pain enveloped his body.

"Have fun in Hell, Ishtar."

[1] Pokerface by Ladygaga (though my Thiefshipping playlist has the version done by Blowsight)