Chapter Text
The game board crafted, the pawns set, nothing should have distracted Bakura from his long overdue vengeance, yet the thief's soul in the Ring was restless. This was not the moment for regret, and yet, for the first time in 3,000 years, the thief regretted. Zorc couldn't afford the distraction. Thus, there was nothing to be done except let the restless spirit make his peace so they could focus on their revenge.
He tracked the tombkeeper to a small apartment in Luxor that Malik shared with his brother. Bakura cased the building until he was sure Malik was alone. The bright, afternoon light bothered Zorc, so the demon retreated into the sanctuary of the Ring, but the thief didn't mind the mental quiet as both demon and host slept. The hot sun burned his stolen skin in an exquisite way, reminding him of being alive…though perhaps not half as much as Malik reminded him.
He ducked into the building and knocked on the door. Shuffling sounds reached his ears, but it took a long time for the knob to turn. Malik was bed-headed and bleary eyed. He offered Bakura a sad smile before stepping aside.
“You’re a mess.”
"I knew it was you." He led Bakura inside and shut the door. "I was dreaming about you."
"I hope it was a filthy dream."
"You're going to fight the Pharaoh, aren't you?"
"Thousands of years of plans are converging into this moment." Bakura scanned the room. "I never expected you to live so modestly."
"I'll be sure to install a hot tub before your next visit."
An awful silence suffocated them. Bakura turned, stared at Malik. Malik avoided his gaze. Occasionally, he rubbed his shoulder, as if the scars were actual feathers—tickling him and needing scratched—instead of carvings.
"You're going to lose," Malik said.
"Don't project on me."
"It's destiny. Sounds ridiculous, right? But it’s the reality of our world, and denying it won't make it go away. Isis has shown me scriptures I never had time to learn." Malik walked to him cupping his face. "You'll set up the stage for the Pharaoh's demise, in a sense, but you'll be dead and unable to enjoy the only small victory the gods will ever give you."
"Why do you think I became a thief? So I can steal my victories. Fuck your gods."
"Don't go." Malik dragged his fingers over Bakura's lips. “We can find some sort of magic to restore your old body. I'm sure Ryou would help, if you asked. You don't have to do this."
"I do." Bakura's voice cracked.
"Why?" Malik growled. "You're an idiot."
"I have to open The Door, and then the afterlife has to be sealed," Bakura whispered.
"Why?" Malik dropped his hand.
"Because it's the only way to free my people from the Items!" Bakura balled his hands into fists, Ryou's white hair falling into his face.
Malik dropped his head. "So the 'false claims' were true."
"I watched my family melt down into trinkets." A sinister laugh escaped Bakura. "Like you said, denying reality doesn't make it better, and death isn't good enough for those who took my village away. They need torment. They deserve to be crushed by despair before oblivion decimates them, but if nothing else, freeing my family is worth anything I suffer afterwards."
"At least I understand now. I won’t try to stop you." Malik smashed their mouths together before pushing away and turning his back toward Bakura. "There's so much more I want than a kiss, but it's not your body, we don't have time, and I'm sure it'll only make me hurt more after you die."
"What is death?" Bakura stood behind Malik, wrapping his arms around the tombkeeper and resting his forehead against Malik's shoulder blades. Malik didn't flinch at the touch, so Bakura continued. "I've been dead for thousands of years, haven't I? And I still found a way to talk to you in this time period."
"They don't have collect calls in the Shadow Realm." A tear rolled down Malik's cheek, but he wasn't sobbing.
"Malik Ishtar, you listen to me,” Bakura growled in a low voice. “I don't care if I'm dead. I don't care if I'm damned to the Shadows forever. I don't care if I'm melted with gold like my family and turned into the 8th Millennium Item. I will find my way back to you. Wait and fucking see."
"If anyone could, it'd be you." Malik's laugh was heavy. He turned in Bakura's arms to face him.
"You're damn right." The grin on Bakura's face was all thief. He hadn't felt so much himself in thousands of years.
He turned away from Malik. Stuffing his hand in the pocket of his stolen trench coat, Bakura fished until his fingers brushed against gold and lapis lazuli. He pulled the ring from his coat and pushed it against Malik’s palms, curling Malik’s fingers around the object so Malik couldn’t see what he’d been given. Bakura dashed towards the door to escape, but Malik grabbed Bakura’s wrist with his unburdened hand.
“No you don’t. Don’t you dare run away before I say you can go.” Malik pulled them chest to chest.
“Goodbyes are overrated, and I already told you I’m coming back, so there’s really nothing else for us to—”
“You’re giving me a ring?” Malik blinked at his open palm.
“It’s one of the few trinkets I’d stolen when I was alive. Found it when I was setting up for the grand finale with the Pharaoh.”
“So, what? Are we married now?” Malik teased, voice facetious but expression adoring.
“You wish you could tame me so easily.” Bakura snorted.
“Playing hard to get, are you?” Malik slipped the band over his right ring finger. A scarab adorned the ring, deep, deep blue even after thousands of years. “The not-wedding-hand to remind me of my not-husband-thief.”
“You think you’re so funny.” Bakura narrowed his gaze.
“So does this seal our promise? You’ll come back to me?” Malik brushed the curve of the scarab’s body over Bakura’s lips.
Bakura lidded his gaze, pulled by Malik’s personal gravity. The smooth stone was cool against his dry lips, and he yearned for Malik’s tongue to dab against them instead.
Go ahead, Ryou whispered from his soul room.
This is the guy that used you and tried to kill your friends, Bakura snapped.
And you stabbed me and tried to kill my friends, a dry, bitter humor laced Ryou’s tone. But you love him. You have permission to use my body to say goodbye—
I never said I loved—
Say ‘until next time’ if ‘goodbye’ is too difficult. Ryou interrupted, not giving Bakura a chance to deny his feelings. I’ll give you some privacy...
“Bakura?” Malik cupped his cheek, glancing in his eyes.
“Ryou said I can say a proper ‘until next time.’” Bakura stood on his tiptoes, curled his fingers into Malik’s mane, and maneuvered his tongue into Malik’s mouth.
They stumbled, grouping for each other, kissing so desperately that each one was a mess of over shooting mouths as they silently argued who would suck whose lips. They fell backwards, Bakura landed on his back against the couch cushions and Malik pressed against his groin. Bakura moaned a weak, needy sound. He was surprised Zorc hadn’t ripped control away from him, and wondered exactly what Ryou meant by “give you some privacy.” His host was more powerful than he’d ever give him credit for, and it wouldn’t have surprised the thief if Ryou had found a way to seal Zorc for a short period of time.
Malik ripped Bakura’s shirt over his shoulders. He pressed his lips against the center of the Ring three times, and Bakura felt it. He could feel Malik reaching his trapped spirit directly with each kiss. Tears welled in the corner of his eyes at the sheer bliss filling his soul, and he struggled with Malik’s pants in order to help calm himself. Malik stood so they could both tug their pants off then straddled Bakura once they were naked. His right knee tucked between Bakura’s hip and the couch cushions, and his left foot pressed against the floor.
“You gave me a token of our bond, and I’ll give you one in return.”
He stripped the shirt from his body in a clean, efficient swipe of movement and placed Bakura’s fingers onto his scarred back. Bakura sucked in a shallow breath. He searched out the smooth, sensitive areas of Malik’s skin, and caressed them. He wanted Malik to feel his touch in the same, deep, intimate way Malik’s kisses to the Ring had reached his soul.
“Bakura.” Malik moaned, eyes fluttered shut as he rolled his hips.
Bakura choked on his next breath as their cocks brushed against each other. He continued to hold Malik, caressing him. And Malik continued to hold their cocks together as he writhed against Bakura’s body. As their pleasure climbed, he dropped low to reach Bakura’s mouth again. Easing into each kiss, they took their time. Pressure swelled in their loins, and precum dripped from Bakura’s aching cockhead.
“No way am I cleaning up your mess.” Malik chuckled before dropping to his knees on the carpet.
Bakura moved to a sitting position. He framed Malik with his legs as Malik swallowed his cock. Bakura’s nails dug into the upholstery, and he tossed his head backward.
“Gods.”
“Mmm…” Malik hummed, and Bakura was sure the egotistical bastard was taking the gods line as a personal compliment.
Bakura decided it was earned egotism. The heat of Malik’s mouth spread through Bakura’s body, warming everything inside him. Threads of hair clung to his face, but he couldn’t bother brushing the strands away as he eased his hips up and down in half time to Malik’s bobbing head. Then, in a beautiful rush, Bakura’s entire body convulsed as he came and poured everything he had as an offering to Malik’s sucking mouth. Malik swallowed without complaint. Pulling back, he sat on his hunches and wiped his mouth dry, smiling.
Bakura involuntarily returned the smile. Something about Malik always drove him to be a little more sincere than he was with any other creature in the universe. He gestured for them to switch places, and once he knelt before Malik, he covered Malik’s stomach and thighs with deliberate presses of his lips.
“I’ll miss you,” Malik whispered, his fingers tangling in the white mess of Bakura’s hair. “Don’t take too long to come back, all right?”
“You would try to rush the impossible.” Bakura chuckled against Malik’s wonderfully brown skin.
“I expect the best because I deserve it,” Malik moaned as he yanked Bakura’s hair.
His arousal was apparent in the tone of his voice, the glaze in his eyes, and the way his cock throbbed with his rapid heartbeat. Bakura lashed his tongue against Malik’s cockhead in mock violence, but the truth melted his facade, and soon Bakura was lavishing Malik’s shaft with deliberate massages of his lips. Malik’s skin was smooth against Bakura’s tongue as he took in Malik’s length to the base, and Bakura appreciated the way his swollen head brushed against the back of Bakura’s throat.
“Shit!” Malik bucked, shoving deeper.
Bakura took the wild thrusts in stride, relaxing his throat and accepting more and more of Malik’s dick, until Malik was swollen as taut as his skin could stretch, and he was screaming Bakura’s name and shaking as he came. As Malik caught his breath, Bakura climbed into his lap, rested his head against Malik’s chest, and simply breathed. They held each other silently until the sweat on their bodies dried and their skin puckered from the chill of the air conditioner. When nothing else could stall Bakura, he dressed, kissed the ring on Malik’s finger, and left to meet his doom head on and cackling—raging—into his own personal good night.
***
“I’m sorry,” Ryou whispered as he stared at the river.
They were on the barge. The Ishtars were ferrying Atem to the afterlife—if Ryou understood Isis’s cryptic words correctly. Laying down one’s sword...meant the battle was over. It didn’t seem fair to Ryou, the way he and Yugi would be pitted against each other, but nothing about the Items was fair. Ryou clutched his shirt where the Ring should have been.
"I’m the one who needs to say sorry." Malik stood beside him. They both leaned over the railing.
"If you're truly sorry then take care of yourself, live well, and become the sort of person you can be proud of."
"Damn Ryou, you sound like Rishid." Malik chuckled, but a sigh overtook him. "I should also say thank you."
"Hmm?"
"For letting Bakura say goodbye." Malik played with the ring on his finger.
"Ah, well, I'm a hopeless romantic." Ryou grinned.
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
“I’m not sure, but if anyone could cheat death, it’d be that bastard.” Ryou gave Malik a sad smile.
“I know, right? It’s like he makes sure never to learn the rules for the sole purpose of constantly breaking them.” Malik’s eyes gleamed.
“Would you like some privacy?” Ryou straightened, ready to leave.
“Not really.” Malik shook his head, blinking back the tears.
“Well…” Ryou pursed his lips. “I have a ton of snacks hidden in my suitcase. Want to hide in my room, cram Hello Pandas into your mouth, and cry?”
“That sounds incredible.” Malik wiped the first tear away with the back of his hand.
Malik managed to hold himself together until Ryou shut the door to his room. Then he crashed onto Ryou’s bed, shoved his face into one of the pillows, and wept. Ryou sat beside him. He reached out for Malik’s back to pat, but shifted to his upper arm instead.
“I’m an idiot,” Malik murmured into the pillow.
“No,” Ryou said in a soft voice.
“I’m going to wait for him.” Malik smeared his kohl when he wiped his face.
“If you ever need someone to talk too, I’m here, okay?” Ryou offered.
“You’re too good for this world, you know that?” Malik snorted. “I was abhorrent to you, and you’re just…”
“I think we should be friends.” Ryou fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “Real friends.”
“I honestly don’t know how to have a real friend.” Malik shook his head.
“Well, we can start with having a snack and work towards friendship later.” Ryou slammed his suitcase on the bed and popped it open.
Several boxes of pocky and seaweed crisps spilled onto the mattress. There were piles of Kit Kats, shitake shaped gummies, and savory crackers as well. Ryou lay out various treats with the skilled hand of a Vegas card dealer. Malik laughed, his tears drying.
“Did you bother to bring any clothes?”
“I have a second suitcase.” Ryou spread out his hands. “Take your pick.”
Malik grabbed some of the crackers. He nibbled on one as Ryou pulled three boxes of sweets into his lap, digging into them all at once.
“So…” Malik blushed. “What else do friends do?”
“In a situation like this, talk. You can talk about the thief, if you want to.”
“No.” Malik shook his head. “Maybe a different time.”
“What are you going to do after all this is over?”
“I’ve dreamt my entire life of being free, but now that it’s time, I’m not sure. I have business connections from my days as leader of the Ghouls. I suppose I’ll have to start some sort of honest work.”
“Design motorcycles,” Ryou said.
“You think so?” Malik asked.
“Don’t you love them?”
“Yeah...I do.” Malik grinned. “Symbols of freedom and rebellion and all that.”
“Well, design your own. I’m sure you can learn everything you need to know, and hire people for the jobs out of your expertise. Build the bike of your dreams and then sell it all over the world.”
“That’s a great idea...I’ll look into it.” Malik kept smiling, and Ryou was happy to see the sadness lifted from his expression. “What about you? What are you going to do?”
“My Ancient Egyptian diorama was a huge success at the museum. I think I’d enjoy making displays professionally. My father was never...around, but dropping his name on some resumes will help me get ahead.”
“Fathers should support their children.” Malik snorted, snapping into a cracker with a harder bite. “If he wasn’t there, the least he can do is be a useful name on a sheet of paper.”
“Yeah.” Ryou sighed. “After a few jobs, I should have enough reputation to branch out on my own. In the meantime, we should play Monster World online together. It’ll be fun, and it’ll help us stay connected even in different countries.”
“Okay.” Malik’s smile was large now. “I’d like that.”
He grabbed a box of peanut mochi. They chatted as long as they could until Malik had to sneak into his own room and fix his kohl before meeting up with Isis and the others.
Over the years, they did play games online, and visited each other from time to time. Ryou became well known for both professional and gaming dioramas, while Malik eventually founded his motorcycle company in Domino. They stayed close over the years, and any time Ryou saw Malik twisting the scarab ring on his right hand, Ryou would smile and tell him it wouldn’t be much longer...but as the years passed, the words felt more and more strained as Ryou said them.