Author Notes: Vengeanceshipping as requested! Post Battle City. Please review, and if you have a favorite Marik shipping you'd like to see added to this collection, please make a request in a review or PM! Enjoy!
"Do I know you from somewhere?"
Marik looked up from his shirley temple at the man who'd spoken to him from three seats down the bar. He had an American flag bandanna tied around his head, studded leather wrist cuffs, and a pair of sunglasses on the counter next to his drink. Bandit Keith. Marik did know him, but he wasn't about to admit it.
"I-I don't think so," Marik stammered, looking away quickly, trying to end the interaction, but Keith was drunk enough not to care or notice.
"No, I definitely know you," Keith said slowly after a few moments. He stood, taking his drink and sunglasses with him as he moved closer to the teen and seated himself beside him. "Did I duel you once?"
"No, definitely not," Marik answered a bit too quickly, trying not to let the man's nearness unnerve him. Keith would be furious if he knew just exactly who Marik was and how he knew him.
"You sound an awful lot like someone I know," Keith said at last, gesturing to the bartender that he wished for another bottle. He already stank strongly of rum, and the stench was enough to make Marik lean away from him.
"It must be a coincidence," Marik murmured, trying to sound less like himself.
"'Spose so," Keith grumbled and nodded to the bartender who delivered a new, open bottle to his customer. "Whatchya drinkin'?"
"Shirley temple," Marik answered quietly, still trying to turn away from Keith and kill the conversation.
"Ha! That's no drink for a real man."
Marik opened his mouth to protest, but Keith spoke again before he could.
"Barkeep, two shots of tequila for my friend here."
The bartender nodded and promptly filled two shot glasses, Marik watching with a grimace.
"Go on, drink it!" Keith encouraged in his loud, brash manner.
Marik was frozen, unsure what he should do. Of course, he should not drink the tequila. He hated being out of his right mind, and now that he'd abolished his alter ego, he wanted to maintain his mental clarity. Besides, he and his siblings had a flight to Egypt in the morning. He couldn't be late, he couldn't lose track of time, he couldn't—
"Don't think, man, just drink," Keith instructed, picking up a shot glass and handing it to Marik, who, failing to see a way out of this, tipped his head back and downed the alcohol. It burned enough to make his eyes water, and as he set the glass back on the bar counter, Keith slapped him on the shoulder.
"That's the spirit! Now you're having fun! Don't stop now, keep going!"
Marik looked at the other tequila shot, feeling queasy at the thought of more alcohol. But with Keith urging him on, he didn't know how to resist.
The annoying buzz of his phone alarm woke Marik the next morning. He reached clumsily around on the bed, under and beside his pillow, then finally found the device and pulled it out, squinting one eye open just enough so he could see the snooze button. Five minutes later, he was still half asleep, and his alarm went off again. He finally turned it off and sat up, rubbing at his tired eyes in annoyance. He felt exhausted; how much sleep had he gotten last night?
He knew that he needed to get ready to leave, but his limbs felt heavy and reluctant to obey.
Leave. Why wasn't Odion reminding him to get out of bed? Why wasn't Ishizu in the bathroom with the shower running audibly? This was his hotel, his hotel room... He could finally open his eyes all the way now, so he started to look around the room, only to see something that made him gasp in shock.
This wasn't his hotel room.
This was Bandit Keith's hotel room.
That explained some things, but how had this happened? He made an effort to to recall the events of last night, but he couldn't remember anything after going to the bar and recognizing Bandit Keith. How had his former mind-slave managed to bed the mistrustful Egyptian teen?
He needed to get back to his room, now. He forced aside his confusion and consternation and got out of bed—carefully, so as not to wake the broad, muscled American sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. He stood and winced a little as he took his first step, his lower body aching internaly like nothing he'd felt before. Another step and he hised a little at the sting. Holy Ra, what on earth had they done last night?
He took a deep breath, forced away the pain, snatched his clothes off the floor, and ducked into the bathroom. He washed off quickly and threw on his clothes. He used the complimentary hotel mouthwash to remove the awful taste lingering in his mouth. Ishizu called his phone, and he could tell from the Missed Calls counter that it wasn't the first time, but he didn't know what to say to her right now, so he declined her call, then sent her a text to let her know that he was alright and he was on his way.
He was at the door to the room when he turned and looked back at Keith, who was still snoring peacefully. Marik was still trying to sort out his feelings about last night. Did he regret it? Maybe. Was he ashamed? Yes. Would he do it again, given the chance? He honestly didn't know.
Maybe he'd know how to make up his mind if he could remember the pleasure that had caused his current pain; if he could remember moaning into Keith's mouth as he was pinned against the wall; if he could remember arching on the sheets as he scored Keith's back with his fingernails; if he could remember screaming with ecstasy as Keith pounded him all the way to Nirvana.