Thiefshipping Oneshots

Last Night

I haven't been adhering to my monthly update schedule. I'm very sorry for that! I'm not dead; just studying to get into Junior Uni. If I can finish my High School before January, I can start in January, rather than having to wait to enter in August. So I'm trying really hard to do this. As a result, my fic-writing has fallen to the wayside.

Please be patient with me as I try to sort things out.
~Seqyn

Bakura yawned, stretching his tired limbs with a harsh hiss that interrupted his yawn. Everything still hurt from the previous night. He rubbed a hand over his bare side, unaware as to how his bloody side hurt after that.

He sat still, looking around for Malik. He wasn't there. Bakura shook his head, getting up and lurching toward the bathroom, hand still rubbing over his side.

"Bakura?" Marik's smooth voice slid into Bakura's ears.

The albino turned, smiling wanly. "Hey, Malik," he said. "Thanks for last night."

"What the hell even was--"

Bakura shut the bathroom door in his face.

He could hear Malik huff, and waited for retreating footsteps. But he didn't hear them. Malik wasn't leaving.

After pissing for about half-a-minute, Bakura hovered uncomfortably by the door, waiting for Malik to get gone. But never did he hear any sounds of leaving.

Five minutes later, Bakura simply opened the door, scowling his best at the Egyptian who was sitting, back against the door, waiting. Slowly, Malik looked up at him, lavender eyes like a quiet church, turned grey from age. Those eyes were thousands upon thousands of memories; cold, lonely places that left one to fend for himself. Bakura was frozen, hearing the rafters collapse in that sacred place of the boy's gaze.

"What happened last night?" Malik asked, words deliberate, tinges of his accent making the words bitter and entrancing in Bakura's ears.

"Look, that's none of your business." Bakura stepped over the other's crossed legs. "Thanks for helping me out," he said, summoning up a sneer, "but I'll be leaving now. I don't need your pitiful excuse for help anymore."

"I saved your arse from certain death." Malik said it without even getting up. His voice was monotone, flat, even calculating.

"I'm leaving."

"Do you want a shirt first, or do you just like walking about without clothes?"

"I told you, I'm fi--" Bakura turned violently as he spoke, but Malik's hand rested firmly on his shoulder, eyes narrowed. He had gotten up in silence, moved forward in that same state and now those eyes in all their beauty were dominating him.

"You're going to get arrested walking about half-naked and no way in hell you're fine. You were stabbed in the arm, and beaten up pretty bad last night. You need rest and playing a hero won't do you any good." His grip was surprisingly strong, muscular body pulling Bakura back along to the bedroom. "Sit, stay," he said, crossing his arms.

"You fucking did not just--"

"Sit," Malik said, enunciating the syllable loudly, pointing his finger at Bakura's nose. "Stay."

Bakura shook his head, eyebrows twitching up into a confused scowl. The actual hell? The lithe teen moved away, footsteps now leaving velvet-soft sounds behind carelessly, hips going forward at a leisurely, loping pace.

He was strangely enticing and sacred at the same time, unlike anything Bakura had ever seen. A diety, with dark skin and sandy hair, that held his own plus some in a fight.