A/N: I'm not a fan of the whole seme/uke archetype for yaoi. It's kinda boring. Plus, in the case of thiefshipping, I doubt either one of them would surrender control for too long.

There's some discussion of knifeplay, so if that squicks you, then you should probably not read this.

…

…

Bakura glared at the ceiling, as if it were responsible for his current misfortune.

HGGGGGGGGHzzzzzz…

Oh, sure, it had all started romantic enough. Not that the Spirit was particularly inclined towards romance, but nevertheless. It wasn't terrible. In fact, he might even admit to himself that it was rather enjoyable. There was wine, and candles, and knives, and more wine, and further wine. Oh, yes. The part with the wine and the knives was extra fun. He imagined that Malik would have a whole new set of scars in a few days' time.

But then it was over, and Malik immediately fell asleep. He had been proud of that at first, since it was proof that he had – blast it, what do those kids say – "rocked his world", but then he realized that Malik was pinning him down in sleep with his body, and that he couldn't get up.

And he snored. A lot.

Like a broken jackhammer.

Bakura only had two options – wake him up, or try to fall asleep himself. He didn't want to fall asleep, because that would mean giving control back to his host, who would probably be immensely disturbed upon waking. He thought it was rather rude to leave him naked in a strange, bloody man's bed surrounded by bottles of wine and no idea where he was.

So that left waking him up.

"Hey," he grumbled, "get up. Malik. Malik."

Malik responded with another obnoxious, engine-like snore. Bakura growled.

"Get the fuck up." He shoved him as hard as he could, and unbelievably he was STILL fucking asleep. Bakura swore inventively and creatively.

"MALIK BLOODY ISHTAR GET THE BLOODY FUCK OFF ME OR I WILL STICK A KNIFE IN YOUR BLOODY STOMACH AND I WON'T EVEN CARE IF YOU DIE."

Malik snorted, and his head shot up.

"Ughh…" he mumbled, "…what the fuck are you shouting about…"

"Get up. I can't move, and you snore, and it's bloody annoying."

"Why would I do that? I think I like having you under me for a change…" Malik purred. Amazing. He could be utterly smashed, half-asleep, and he would still try to seduce him.

"You want me to give you a few more of those cuts?" Bakura growled. The idea was always a comforting one. If he had a problem, it could usually be solved with a card game and a knife under the ribs.

"Mmm…maybe…"

Oh, buggeration. Why did Malik have to be such a bloody masochist? Now the idea of getting out of bed was becoming less and less appealing. Drawing his knife across delicate, yielding skin, watching the blood slowly seep out, hearing him cry out in pain instead of constantly talking back…

"HAH!" Malik shrieked.

"What?"

"I got you."

"You what?"

"You're hard."

Oh, for Ra's sake. Bloody Egyptian twit knew him too well. He had done it on purpose.

"Do you intend to take care of that?" Bakura felt his hand creeping in a downward direction

"Hmmm…nah."

Then, without another word, Malik dropped his head onto his chest and immediately fell back asleep, his hand barely a few inches from where, in Bakura's opinion, it ought to always be.

To illustrate his annoyance, Bakura punched the headboard.

*bang* zzzzzzzHGGGGGHHHHzzzz…

The ceiling mocked his pain from its cozy position above him. Fuck that ceiling.

---------------