They found an old cloth and cut it up to fashion a sort of shenti for Bakura to wear. Dressed, more or less, Bakura looked around the room with a thoughtful expression that turned into a boisterous, pompous grin as he slipped behind a certain bookshelf in the back of the room.

"You tomb keepers don't know anything." Bakura teased, pressing a stone and then backing away.

The wall rumbled. For a moment, Marik braced himself for another trap, but instead of a trap, a narrow slit of wall slid to the side and revealed stairs going down.

"Fuck that." Marik winced. "I'm not going lower. Find a better way."

Bakura exhaled, hair falling into his face as he planted his hands into his hips. "Marik, it goes down at first, but then it goes back up. Shut up and let's go."

"You don't know if it goes back up or not!" Marik pointed his torch to the new entrance. "For all we know that leads down into another trap!"

"No, it doesn't. I know."

"Yeah? How the hell do you know?"

Bakura's face paled, something Marik thought impossible with a complexion as white as his. He looked into the shadows. "Because . . . this was the last one they ever built."

"Who?" Rishid asked.

"My family, the villagers of Kul Elna. This was the last tomb they built before they started robbing." Bakura reached out his hand, gracing his fingers down the stones. "They used sand and dull saws to hew these stones. They used their kas to lift and stack them because they were too heavy for people to lift. This passage was built so the Pharaoh's ahk could leave the tomb whenever he wanted."

Marik felt sick with Bakura's words. It was strange, thinking that Bakura's father and uncles and cousins built the prison that would trap Marik as a child, but they had also built an escape route, and for that, Marik was grateful.

He elbowed Bakura. "Fine, we'll take your stupid secret passage, but you're going first. Rishid and I are sick of traps."

Bakura took one of the torches and descended the steps. "Of course I'm going first. I don't trust you idiots not to set off a trap at this point."

Marik snorted. "Well, the stupid traps your family built are useless. It didn't kill either one of us."

"It's not our fault that your family didn't know how to do proper maintenance to keep them functioning!"

"Did you really miss this, Marik?" Rishid asked, following Marik down the stairs.

Marik grinned. "You bet your ass I did. You're awful at arguing, Rishid."

Rishid shrugged. "I would argue more, but unlike some people here, I'm smart enough not to bother. You're too stubborn, Marik."

"Wait a minute." Bakura glanced over his shoulder at Rishid before re-focusing on the stairs. "Did you just insult Marik back while simultaneously implying that I'm dumb?" He snorted. "Congratulations, Baldy, you've grown a spine since I last saw you. It suits you."

Marik couldn't help but grin. The hallway felt like it was slowly closing in on him. The ever-present pressure on his chest had returned the moment they started descending. The torches did little to dispel the terror the darkness incited in Marik; however, since there was no helping walking down this last stretch of dark hell, Marik figured he had the best companions anyone could ever ask for during an anxiety attack. It made the panic almost bearable.

Marik focused on the shape of Bakura's ass as it swished from side to side in nothing but the loose shanti. It was more of an aesthetic fascination rather than a lurid act. Bakura seemed to fit in the dark stairwell, at home in the dark. His white hipbones jutted out and held the fabric in place. His white waist and back vanished behind white hair that looked like rapids coursing down the canyon of Bakura's body.

They reached a round room with five other flights of stairs, all going up. Bakura lifted up his torch and stared at each entranceway, choosing the fourth one.

"How do you know?" Marik asked.

"They keystone was different."

"So do these stairs lead outside?" Marik tried to mask the eager tone in his voice, but it was difficult.

"Eventually."

"How much longer?"

"Soon."

Marik exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Bakura and the stairs instead of the dark. Then he noticed a hairline crack of light above them. The stairs ended and only a final stone wall separated them from the rest of the world.

Bakura gave them a satisfied smirk. "See? It's easy when you're with a pro."

Rishid leaned in a little closer and whispered to Marik. "I think this is the part where he expects you to swoon."

Marik laughed, but Bakura bristled. Snorting, Bakura ran his hands along the dust and stone, searching for the release mechanism.

"Here." He pushed with his slender arms, but the door only slid a few centimeters before freezing back into place. "Dammit," Bakura growled. "You really didn't maintain anything over the centuries."

Marik gripped his torch in one hand and slammed the other against the bricks. "That's because we were too busy maintaining our wounds and our scars. Now shut up and help me pull this damn door open."

"Marik . . . I-"

"Bakura, I just want out of this place!"

Without another word, Bakura and Marik worked to slide the door back a few more centimetres. Rishid jumped in. They had to set their torches on the ground, but there was enough sunlight left in the day to pour into the tomb and help them see. They managed to widen the gap between the door and the wall, but it was slow and tedious going.

"Wait." Bakura shooed both Marik and Rishid back from the door. "I think I can fit."

"It's too small," Rishid said.

That didn't stop Bakura form poking an arm and leg out into the open air. He went more slowly with his body, shifting his scrawny torso and hips to try to wiggle through, exhaling to make himself as small as possible. Bakura's head seemed to be the biggest issue, but he growled and with a quick, final tug of his bodyweight, landed in the sand on the other side of the exit.

Marik pressed his face to the opening. "Are you okay?"

Bakura gave a little growl as he brushed sand from his sweating, bone-white skin. "Grab the door. We'll pull from each side."

He didn't waste anymore time with speaking. Instead, he grabbed the door from the other side as Marik and Rishid did the same on their end. They were able to force the door opened about a third of the way open - enough for Marik and Rishid to squeeze through.

Marik dropped his knees to the sand, ignoring his stinging muscles and scraped up body and enjoying the feeling of the fiery sunlight on his skin. He let his eyelids drop, and the sun burn his face. A breeze shifted the hair around his cheeks, tickling his skin. Then a shadow dimmed the light pushing against Marik's lids, and a hand brushed the loose, gold strands behind Marik's ear.

Marik jerked his eyes opened and saw Bakura kneeling in front of him. He looked . . . concerned. Marik had only seen the expression once on Bakura's countenance, and that was during Battle City right before he allowed himself to lose against the Pharaoh and get attacked by Slifer for Ryou's sake. Marik shrugged. He couldn't say anything at that moment. He'd held out, and held out, and pushed his way through too many memories, too much darkness, and now he was spent - unable to fake a smirk or pretend he had everything under control.

Bakura's lips parted, but no sound escaped. His fingertips drifted to Marik's lips, and he leaned in close, as if he wanted to kiss Marik. Then, Bakura flinched away as if he couldn't follow through with it, leaving Marik kneeling in the sand and dazed. Instead of a kiss, Bakura stood up and offered Marik his hand. They clasped their fingers around each other's wrists and Bakura pulled Marik to his feet.

"Come on." Rishid smiled and turned to walk back to his dune buggy. "Let's go home."

They walked to the buggy. Bakura grunted.

"What's wrong?" Marik asked.

"Nothing."

"You almost sounded hurt."

"Sand's hot. I'm fine."

Marik blinked, realizing Bakura was barefoot. "Bakura!"

Without thinking, Marik scopped Bakura up in his arms. Bakura flung and arm around Marik's shoulders to keep balance. "What the fuck, Marik! I can walk!"

"Your toes already look like they're ready to blister. Shut-up, I'm not setting you down."

"Are you going to carry him over the threshold as well?" Rishid asked.

Bakura's cheeks also looked like they might blister. "I will stab you both! Marik! Down!"

"If you don't stop squirming I'll sling you over my shoulder instead."

Bakura refused to stay docile, fighting his way out of Marik's arms and then dashing towards the buggy several meters ahead of them. He looked both pained and triumphant as he leapt into the backseat, the wind blowing his hair about like a sandstorm.

During the drive home, Rishid played the radio. Inta Hayati - the song Marik couldn't remember - even played as they reached the city limits.

Inta Hayati

Inta Habibi

Min awil nazra

Wsourti nassibi

They spent most of the trip home laughing. Rishid refused to cease his onslaught of awful jokes. Worse yet, Bakura laughed like a hyena for each one, and Marik wanted to wreck the buggy to end it all, but instead he just rolled his eyes. When they parked, Bakura had to grudgingly allow Marik to help him out of the vehicle. Several blisters kept Bakura from protesting too much about the assistance.

With Bakura's arm slung around his shoulder, because he still insisted on standing by himself, Marik turned and looked at Rishid. "Ahki, what are you doing? Get out of the buggy and let's go inside."

Rishid smiled; he looked happy. "Sorry, Marik, I promised Ishizu I'd personally check in with her when we got home safely."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. I'll call her."

"It's fine. Go on."

"Take a shower first. If she sees you like that she'll scream at both of us."

Rishid sighed, giving Bakura a look. The former dark spirit chuckled. "Marik, you're not taking the hint. Let's go."

Marik opened his mouth to ask what hint, and then he realized that Rishid was leaving them alone for the night. He glanced back at him, and Rishid laughed.

"I'll see you in the morning," Rishid said, restarting the engine and driving away.

Marik stood still for a moment, watching him go. Then he glanced at Bakura. Bakura grinned, and it spread all the way to Marik's face. They hobbled up the stairs to Marik's apartment, Marik sore from falling down the stairs, Bakura's feet blistered.

"Bath?" Marik asked, knowing that standing in the shower would hurt Bakura, and he didn't much feel like standing either.

"I won't say no to one."

Marik went to draw a bath, adding a few drops of sandalwood essential oil. He found Bakura in the kitchen drinking glass after glass of water.

"Bakura, are you okay?"

"Thirsty," Bakura muttered before finishing a final glass. "New body, I guess."

Marik looked around the kitchen, feeling more awkward than he thought he would. "Do you need some dinner . . . or . . ."

Bakura set the glass down and tugged his shenti off. "You mentioned a bath."

Marik admired Bakura's naked body for a moment and then nodded. They went to the bathroom, and Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders and placed a kiss against Marik's skin. He had them step into the tub so that Bakura sat behind Marik.

"Why like this?" Marik asked, since the positioning was obviously intentional.

Bakura leaned forward so that his chest was close to Marik's back. He wrapped his hands around Marik, toying with his pectoral muscles. "I couldn't see much in your bracers and earrings. Sometimes I would get an . . . impression, sometimes I would hear conversations, but mostly my existence was simply . . ." Bakura sighed, "you." Bakura hid his face in Marik's hair, voice muffled yet audible. "Your pulse constantly beat against me. Each breath you took in or pushed out went past the choker. When you would tighten your muscles because of stress or pleasure I'd feel the tautness of your skin straining against the gold. The way you moved your head during a conversation tilted the earrings this way or that."

"Was it hard? To be trapped like that?"

Bakura moved Marik's hair so he could kiss the nape of Marik's neck. "I'm used to being bound in gold. What I wasn't used to . . . was feeling close to something other than myself. I wanted vengeance so badly but . . . I can't remember the family I was trying to avenge." Bakura sighed, pressing his forehead against Marik's shoulder. "All this time with you . . . I've grown to know you, Marik. I know you in an impossible way. Even now I know how you feel by your breath and your heart beat."

"Do you? Then how do I feel, Bakura?"

Bakura didn't say anything. He shifted, embracing Marik, holding him, as if that were the answer enough to Marik's question.

"I also know what it took . . . for you to bring me back . . . Marik, I . . . can't repay you for that."

"Idiot." Marik snorted. "If anything, we're even now."

Bakura grabbed a sponge, rinsing dirt off of Marik's body, careful with each scrape. "Sure, Marik, whatever you say."

"Compliance is unbecoming on you, Bakura."

"Is it? I'll repeat that to you the next time you want me to stop arguing."

After their bath they bandaged their wounds and ordered some quick takeout. Neither spoke much. Marik found it unbearable; in a dream was one thing, but on his couch was another. He glanced at Bakura and erupted into a fit of laughter. "You're naked."

Bakura stared down at his pale thighs. "So what? You're in a bathrobe."

"You don't have any clothes."

"Oh." Bakura started chuckling along with Marik.

They laughed a little longer than they should have. It wasn't that funny, but it felt good to sit there and laugh. Marik shrugged. "I guess we'll worry about it in the morning."

"Oh? Don't I need something to sleep in?"

Marik pushed Bakura into the sofa cushions, laying on top of him. "Not tonight you don't, or any other night if I have my way."

Bakura smirked. "You are very persuasive about getting your way."

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"Take it however you want . . . and do the same with me."

Marik stood, pulling Bakura up with him. They made their way to the bedroom, grabbing the lube from Marik's top dresser drawer. Marik lay Bakura down intentionally in the center of the bed, combing Bakura's ivory hair with his tawny fingers. "However I want?"

Bakura shrugged. "You've earned it. We surpassed the gods today. Even Isis only brought Osiris back for a night, but I'm here as long as you are."

Marik nodded. It was true. As the spell caster, when Marik's heart stopped, the spell would end and Bakura would die with him. "Are you okay with that?"

"I . . . don't mind that we'll go at once." Bakura turned away from Marik like he always did when he felt like his emotions may be showing. "I heard you talking to Rishid . . . we could get cremated together. Wherever burned bodies go is where you'll be . . . and where my family already is . . . so I'll follow you all into oblivion."

"Maybe it won't be oblivion." Marik kissed Bakura's collarbone. "The Winged Dragon always had a way of reincarnating from the graveyard."

"We could exist forever to spite the gods." Bakura tilted his head back so Marik had more skin to kiss.

Marik moved up to Bakura's throat, kissing him as he had every night since his dreams began. "Bakura," Marik whispered.

"What?" Bakura gasped and arched when Marik bit his throat.

Marik licked his way up to Bakura's earlobe. "You're alive."

Bakura smirked. "Then make me feel like it."

Marik kissed him, and Bakura slid his fingers down Marik's ribs and to his hips. Marik broke their kiss and gasped. Bakura raised up, sliding his length against Marik's. His fingers continued to tease Marik's skin. They danced up to Marik's jaw and throat, slid to the inside of his arm and trailed down to his wrist. Bakura traced Marik's veins, drawing little circles against Marik's pulse points and making him squirm and gasp, hips thrusting and sliding their cocks together each time Bakura found a new area.

Marik licked up Bakura's sternum. Bakura's fingers faltered a moment, pressing into Marik's skin as he arched his back. Marik pulled Bakura's head up off of the pillow so they could kiss, his white hair bunched around Marik's fingers and tickling both of their faces.

Bakura grabbed one of Marik's hands and shoved it between their bodies, silently urging Marik to grab his plump cock. Marik teased him, dragging his fingers up and down the shaft, thumbing the slit in the head. He lowered his hand, toying with Bakura's balls until Bakura started pushing his hips up for want of contact. Then Marik used the lube to slick his fingers.

Bakura was moaning by the second finger. It was hard for Marik to hold back and make sure Bakura was ready when he was a writhing storm, groaning and bucking so that Marik's fingers sank deeper with each push.

Marik couldn't stand it any longer. He cried out as he entered Bakura. Marik had to pause a moment to collect himself, and Bakura used the time to lap at Marik's earlobe, ending with a gentle suck before pulling away. Marik rolled his hips back and then forward. He felt Bakura's hands clutching his ass. Marik threw his head back and called out once more. He felt bare without the gold on his skin, but Bakura's tight, snug heat was worth more than any weight of gold.

"Marik," Bakura whispered. "Marik." His eyes fluttered closed, his voice was opulent and his breath dense. "Marik." Each time Marik reached the pinnacle of his thrust, Bakura squeezed and pushed upward to ensure Marik hit deep into his body. "Marik." His whisper drew out into a long moan, and the sound of it made the breath seize up in Marik's throat.

A small shock of warmth brought Marik's attention to his chest. He saw Bakura looking up at him, hand pressed against Marik's heart.

"Is it beating fast?" Marik asked as he rocked back and forth.

"Yes," Bakura whispered.

"Because of you." Marik's voice was thick. He wasn't sure if he should have said it out loud. They were no longer in a dream, no longer in his Soul Room. There was no excuse to expose himself so completely to Bakura.

But Bakura responded with a stare so intense that it made a sweet shudder vibrate down Marik's gut. He took Marik's left hand to put on his own chest. Marik had to readjust in order to keep moving, but he didn't complain because he liked the gesture. He felt Bakura's heart pound, fast, fast, faster as his body started to hitch and his climax neared.

"Marik. Gods, Marik, oh gods, oh god-ngh, oh-"

Marik dropped to his forearms. His lids lowered, and his lips parted as he sucked in quick breaths. Bakura moved one hand to his cock, pulling and sliding, and his other hand stayed pressed against Marik's heart. Marik started to scream, gold hair clinging to the sweat on his cheeks and brow. He almost collapsed, but he realized Bakura was screaming as well, so Marik dragged his body back and forth for a moment longer until they both lay in each other's arms and on sweat-damp sheets. As soon as his eyes closed, Marik was asleep, too exhausted for pillow talk or bickering, or even dreams.

In the middle of the night, Marik jerked awake, afraid everything he'd gone through was just another nightmare, one to add to the pile of terrors in his life. For a moment, Marik couldn't shake the feeling that it truly was another dream. He refused to look down, in case Bakura wasn't there, but an ivory hand slid along Marik's thigh. Marik dropped back to the mattress, exhaling in relief and turning to catch Bakura's gaze.

"I was afraid you were a dream," Marik spoke to the lamplight washing across the ceiling.

Bakura took Marik's hand and traced his lips along the curve of each one of Marik's knuckles. The light cast his hair in brilliant shades of pale yellow and buttercream. He kissed Marik's hand and set it down. "I told you before, I was never a dream, Marik. I've been here with you the whole time."

*** Hope everyone liked it.***