A/N: Sequel to my Psychoshipping one-shot in my Miscellaneous One-Shots Collection. Mature. Super sketchy dub-con.

Yami Marik = Malik

Marik = hikari/lighter half

I suppose you could consider this to be Conspireshipping since Ryou's body is being used, but it's tagged as Fetishshipping because Ryou's soul/spirit/consciousness is not at all involved. I could have involved it, and I almost did, but... it just seemed like a little much. Besides, Fetishshipping was requested.

"What are you doing?" Marik asked hesitantly as he watched Bakura rummage through the fridge with a scowl.

"I was only able to buy a little bit of time for myself, so I need to use what time I do have preparing." The spirit of the Millennium Ring glared as fiercely at the food as if it had caused all of his problems.

"What?" Marik was a bit slow on picking up his meaning, and by the time he'd figured it out, Bakura had turned to glare at him with an inch-long carrot stick in his hand.

"You know best what I'm up against, Marik, so tell me, is this going to be enough?

Marik blushed fiercely and muttered, "My dick's bigger than that, and you know it."

"Do I?" Bakura's teasing was too harsh for Marik to withstand.

"You will soon!" The Egyptian immediately regretted his words.

"And whose fault is that, you bastard?" Bakura snapped back, still furious. He turned back to the fridge and continued shuffling through the produce drawer. "You're not worth a zucchini, that's for sure," he said to himself.

"I am too!" Marik crossed his arms to accentuate his blind protest; he barely knew what a zucchini was.

"If I had to guess, I'd say you're somewhere between a carrot and a cucumber." Bakura removed one sample of each and closed the fridge, now turning to the cabinets.

"I don't like you measuring me against vegetables," his cohort remarked uncomfortably.

"Tough." Bakura glared daggers at him. "It's still your fault." He started moving things around inside the cabinet as he searched for some kind of cooking oil he could use as a lubricant. "Why are you still around, anyways? Nothing's going to happen for now, so you should just go back into the Ring until you can get your body back."

Marik contemplated Bakura's words for a few moments. If he tried to stick around to watch, not only did he risk Bakura getting pissed enough to shove Marik out of the shelter of the Millennium Ring, but he also risked losing his ally completely. After a few moments of thought, Marik decided it was wiser to keep his peace and give Bakura his privacy.

Bakura retreated to his room with his vegetables and jar of coconut oil, securely closing the door before dumping his loot on the bed. He gazed on the items with a sigh.

Marik was such a fool, and that idiot had gotten Bakura in a heap of trouble.

The white-haired spirit took the vegetables to the small adjacent bathroom and put them in the sink, turning on the water so that he could wash them clean. The spirit of the Millennium Ring considered himself above such baseness as sexual needs. He was a god; he was better than that. He honestly had no interest in sex, no desire to engage in those actions with anyone, male or female. He was honestly considering letting his host take over and suffer the penalty for Marik's weakness. That plan was imperfect, however, since yadonushi would probably scream, rousing others on the blimp and drawing attention to himself in an unneeded way.

Bakura was strong enough not to scream, so he had to be the one to do it.

"Damn Marik," he growled as he turned the faucet off and dried his makeshift dongs on a hand towel. "Damn Malik."

Bakura undid his belt and button, pushing down his pants and boxers until they fell to the floor. He retreated to the bedroom to retrieve the coconut oil, then returned to the bathroom, contemplating his options.

Obviously, he was going to start with the carrot, whose end was small and thin enough that it was a painless place to start. He wanted to make the smallest mess possible so that, when it was over and done with, he wouldn't be left with reminders of this repulsive incident. Bakura locked the bathroom door and lay out a towel on the floor, kneeling down on it before unscrewing the lid on the oil. The jar was mostly full and half melted, so Bakura was able to just shove the narrow end of the carrot into the white clots of oil and stir it around until the end was sufficiently coated.

The process was painful, the progress was slow, and Bakura spent almost an hour unsuccessfully trying to get over his revulsion. Finally, he gave up on his task. He lowered himself to the floor and lay on his back, his breathing shallow. He closed his eyes and tried to mentally prepare himself. No doubt, Malik was in Marik's room absorbing an exorbitant amount of heavily BDSM porn while furiously pleasuring himself. If only he would just stay there...

Bakura. Marik whispered into the spirit's mind, his voice laden with a sickening amount of concern.

When he gets here, be ready to force your way out. Bakura ignored his partner's sentimentality. It was easier that way. He'll be distracted, so he won't be ready for you.

Are you alright? Marik hadn't ignored Bakura's words, but his question was more urgent. Maybe he's forgotten about how much he wants you. We might be able to call the whole thing off.

You know as well as I do that he hasn't, and won't.

You didn't answer my first question.

That's none of your business, Bakura mentally snarled. I can handle this; you do your part and I'll do mine.

Is it possible... Marik faltered, which further frustrated Bakura.

Is what possible? Bakura demanded, getting impatient.

Marik wasn't confident in expressing his proposition in words, so he shared his idea as an image instead.

Are you insane? Bakura snapped at him. How many souls do you think this body can hold? Two is a manageable strain, but three is going to cause a problem for sure.

I just thought it might be a help to you, Marik muttered, quickly growing pouty at Bakura's rejection of his attempt to remedy the situation.

It would be quite a soul shuffle if we could pull it off, Bakura commented thoughtfully as he cracked one eye open to stare at the stainless steel ceiling. Timing would be key.

Perhaps I only take over for you if I can't stop him from going through with it.

It sounds possible, Bakura grudgingly admitted. But you'd have to be ready to return to your body as soon as he reaches the point of orgasm; that's when he'll be at his weakest.

Is that why you don't like sex? Marik asked hesitantly. Because you don't like being weak?

That's none of your business. Bakura's sharp retort wasn't enough to deter Marik completely.

We should practice switching, he suggested. You take a break, and I'll work on preparing us.

Fine. Bakura sat up and held the Millennium Ring in both hands, focusing his energy as he sealed yadonushi into it and tentatively absorbed Marik into his body.

Marik opened his eyes and looked down at this new body. He shifted his shoulders and immediately found that he thought the unbuttoned outer shirt to be cumbersome. He shrugged it off, tossing it to the floor with the other clothes. Then Marik sat up properly to do what he'd promised: stretch their passage so that Malik wouldn't cause too much damage or pain to the real Bakura's body. Marik curiously dipped his fingers into the oil. It was strange that his hands were pale, that the bangs on the fringes of his face were a snowy white instead of platinum blond.

Don't get too used to this body, Bakura grumbled. This is a one-time event.

Shut up and let me have my fun. Marik was starting to get aroused by this body, and Bakura didn't want to think about what that meant Marik felt about him.

Marik wrapped his left hand around his pink member and poked both slicked fingers into his passage.

"O-Ohhh..." Marik found himself pleased by the sensation that Bakura dreaded so much. The spirit of the Millennium Ring shuddered in a way that Marik could feel. If you're going to be so openly disgusted by it, then go away and let me handle this.

The spirit of the Millennium Ring retreated into the shadows, which was for the best, because the longer Marik communed with him, the more of a headache he started to get. To distract himself, Marik focused on the feeling of the carrot slowly sliding in and out as he stretched himself. Marik closed his eyes as he panted audibly with each downward stroke. It felt good, but he wanted more. Carefully so as not to break the tip, Marik lifted himself up and pulled the carrot out all the way, then turned it around and scooped some coconut oil out of the jar with his other hand. Marik slathered the blunt end of the orange root vegetable with the oil, then held it steady beneath him as he shoved himself onto it.

A cry escaped his lips, and the Egyptian shivered with pleasure in his borrowed body. How could Bakura not want this?

He was brought out of his reverie by a sudden, fierce knocking on the door.

"Let me in, Bakura," Yami Marik snarled. "We had a deal, and I've come to collect."

Marik's heart pounded furiously, and he froze in place on the floor. Now he remembered how much he feared his dark side.

Don't just sit there; do something!

That was Bakura's voice in his mind. Marik slowly stood and dropped the carrot to the floor, walking shakily to the door and unlocking it. Only once it was unlocked did Yami Marik stop pounding on the door. Before Marik could even open the door, his dark side was shoving it open and forcing his way in. Marik stepped back as the door slid aside, the lower half of Bakura's body exposed to Malik's crazed eyes.

"You started without me," he hissed, not even bothering to pretend that he wasn't getting an eyeful—and enjoying it.

Marik's mouth was dry, and though he mentally scrambled to conceive a witty remark, he couldn't come up with anything.

"Hmph. No matter." Malik grabbed a pale hand, dragged its owner into the bedroom, and shoved him down onto the bed. He started to remove his belt and reached for both of the other's hands.

"What are you doing?" Marik snapped, pulling his hands away as fear jolted through his system.

"You said no blood." Malik didn't notice any difference between Marik possessing Ryou's body or Bakura possessing Ryou's body. "You didn't say no bondage." He tightly bound both of Marik's wrists together with his belt, showing no interest in removing the striped shirt—the only article of clothing left on that pale body. He already had access to everything he needed. Marik, in fear, couldn't help but shimmy and scramble backwards on the bed as Malik opened his pants and climbed onto it as well.

"W-Wait!" Marik protested as Yami Marik grabbed his thighs hard enough to leave bruises and pulled him close enough to turn the white-haired body on his side and straddle the bottom thigh. "We need to use the oil, or you'll violate your part of the deal!" When Malik gave him a look of puzzled frustration, Marik added, "Just get the jar that's on the bathroom floor."

Narrowed eyes glared at him analytically, then Malik shoved three fingers into the other's greasy hole without warning, making Marik cry out.

"No. I think you're ready."

"How the bloody hell would you kno-oh!" Marik closed his eyes as Malik threw Marik's top leg over his shoulder and shoved his fingers in down to the knuckles, roughly scissoring the body he'd craved. Marik turned his face into the pillow so he could moan without making much noise—and so that he didn't have to watch. It wasn't just the vulnerability induced by sex that Bakura hated, Marik now realized. It was the lack of control. Marik had enjoyed this process earlier because he'd controlled every bit of it himself. Now, he had no control whatsoever, leaving him at the mercy of a psychosadistic personality that he had zero faith in. He could feel his other half creeping closer, climbing higher on his thigh, aggressively impatient.

Without warning, Malik removed his fingers and shoved himself inside. If he hadn't been stretched, Malik was sure he would have screamed. Even so, he still had to smother a pained sob in the pillow under his head, hiding his face completely so that Malik wouldn't see him crying.

"Come on, Bakura," Malik sneered between sharp, nonrhythmic thrusts. "I thought you'd be better than this."

Marik didn't even know how to respond; what was he talking about? Marik was too distracted by the sharp pain in his rear and the forceful grip that Malik had on his arm and his thigh. Bakura would certainly feel those bruises later.

You're terrible at impersonating me, Bakura sneered from the back of Marik's mind, making his already distressed partner want to scream with outrage.

If you want to give him an earful of your attitude, then be my guest, Marik mentally retorted, biting down on the pillow itself as he grunted with each painful thrust. I've had enough of this; it's your turn.

That wasn't part of the deal, Bakura hissed immediately, his presence in Marik's aching head starting to dwindle again. Just make it as good for him as you can, then get ready to claim back your own body.

Make it good? How the hell was he supposed to do that? Marik wondered.

Let him hear you. It was Bakura's last piece of advice before he went dormant again.

Like hell I will, Marik thought at first, but as Malik's growls filled his ears and his own tears of pain wet his face and the pillow, he realized that Bakura was right. So he squirmed a little—purposeful squirming this time, as opposed to the instinctive writhing he'd done earlier—arching his back and letting himself moan aloud. Malik bit down hard on Marik's shoulder, groaning especially loudly. Marik whined—a sound that didn't even need to be forced, given their current situation—and fluttered his tearful eyelashes that framed glittering brown eyes. Marik continued his (hopefully) arousing motions and sounds up to the point where Malik was cursing under his breath, body tensing, moving fast as he lost all focus.

Now, Marik!

Marik squeezed his eyes shut as he focused his spirit as hard as he could on returning to his proper body. It felt like being squeezed through a tube, but when he was gasping awake in his own body, Marik concluded the pain had been worthwhile. First, he became aware of his own body.

"Oh~"

Marik looked down, now aware of Bakura's body, the body he'd temporarily inhabited himself, and the body that he was now causing pain to. Bakura's eyes and mouth were wide open in a soft cry, and Marik told himself to pull back and unbind Bakura's wrists. He told himself to do so, but he couldn't force himself to do so. The arousal in Marik's body hadn't dissipated or dampened simply because of the soul switch, and Marik was having a hard time fighting his instincts.

"Quit staring," Bakura gasped, trying—and failing—to sound intimidating. "Get me out of this, you fool!"

Perhaps it was being called "fool" for the dozenth time, or perhaps it was the look on Bakura's flushed, tear-stained face, but Marik decided to throw all reasonable thought to the wind. He rested his forearms on either side of Bakura's body and eased back a little before rolling his hips forward. Maybe it was the part of him that wanted revenge on Bakura for the steady stream of scornful slurs always aimed at him, or maybe it was the beautiful host that Bakura had chosen to possess. Bakura tried to protest, but Marik didn't stop. He shifted Bakura onto his back and moved at a gentle pace, and at least Bakura didn't sound like he was in pain. Marik began to realize how uncomfortable it was to have most of his clothes on, so he paused and let his cape fall from his shoulders, then kicked off his pants from around his ankles. He had just enough control to undo the belt around Bakura's wrists and lean in to kiss him as he pushed his arms down on either side of him. Bakura only put up a token resistance before letting their mouths melt together and their fingers lock.

A while later, the two of them were laying on their backs side by side on the bed, panting heavily.

"Can we just call it even?" Marik asked breathlessly.

"Fair enough," Bakura conceded. They were quiet for a few moments, then Marik felt a sharp heel being jabbed into his side.

"Hey!"

"Get out, I need to sleep."

"Why do I need to leave?"

"You have your own room!"

Their argument ended with a compromise: Marik could stay in Bakura's room if he slept on the floor.