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“Hey, Thief King.”
When Bakhure opened his eyes, the last thing he expected to see was a ghost from his past. Yet overhead stood a mop of gold hair attached to a tall, tan body. The man looked more mature than Bakhure remembered him, and not just in terms of physique.
Indeed, something about Malik Ishtar, Bakhure’s partner-in-crime from what felt like a lifetime ago, seemed aged in body and soul. And it didn’t sit quite right with Bakhure. Granted, the Malik with whom he’d formed a strange partnership – friendship? relationship? – had only been a young adult, with plenty of time to grow. But something about the way this Malik looked – weary eyes, slouched shoulders, defined body haphazardly dressed – looked downright wrong in Bakhure’s eyes.
Just how long had Bakhure been gone?
“I don’t even get a thank you?” Malik smirked above, which brought a little comfort to Bakhure’s newly beating heart. Yet the grin was immediately quashed when Malik turned his head away, as if he’d misspoken. “No, that’s right… You’ve said before you don’t do niceties…”
The statement – whispered so that Bakhure had to lean in to hear – sounded enough like something Bakhure would say, so he didn’t give it more than a passing thought. Bakhure tried to rise from the floor onto which he’d been thrust back to reality – nice, tiled, clean, probably a penthouse, probably Malik’s – but found his balance off-set. Just as he was about to hit his head, though, Malik kicked a pillow from seemingly nowhere, which cushioned Bakhure’s back. Then Malik spread a hand out to grab Bakhure’s arm.
Even at his peak as King of Thieves, Bakhure couldn’t have used his reflexes so well. Baffled, Bakhure gaped as he was brought to a standing position, his bare chest touching Malik’s tank top. Mouth open like a guppy’s, Bakhure swallowed at the gesture and how close he was becoming acquainted with the toned muscles along Malik’s pecs and arms.
“You’ve been working out.”
It was all Bakhure could say as he felt himself drawn even closer to Malik’s body heat. He didn’t realise he’d been cold until now. But, as if by magic once more, Malik produced a blanket and covered Bakhure’s backside. Only when he cuddled nearer for warmth and looked down between his and Malik’s body did Bakhure realise he was stark naked. And while he was used to such bareness back in Ancient Egypt while he lived on his own… something about it, coupled with this intimacy, made Bakhure’s body boil with embarrassment.
As if he’d expected such a response, Malik chuckled and patted Bakhure’s arm.
“C’mon. You need to eat something. Get a proper meal in you before…”
Malik was being damn weird, if Bakhure was honest. But he wasn’t in any condition to question his former partner’s logic. He was sure he wouldn’t hear the end of it from the goody-goody, vegetarian-minded Malik Ishtar, but what Bakhure really wanted as his first meal back among the living was—
“Roast pig with garlic sauce. Figured you’d want to eat what you like best.”
Either Malik had somehow inherited his sister’s gift of foresight, or Malik knew Bakhure better than he’d given him credit. Neither option really mattered to Bakhure right now, though, so he dashed to the table – already laid out with his favoured wine – and dug into the tantalising meal.
Bakhure almost cried at how good the food tasted, especially after so long in the shadows. The juiciness of the pig, the tanginess of the garlic, the sweetness of the alcohol, all wrapped together on a platter for Bakhure’s taking. Bakhure couldn’t help but marvel at how the meal was almost – almost – as good as his late mother’s cooking whenever his family had the rare chance to eat pork.
And, strangely enough, if Bakhure didn’t know any better, he’d swear this was the same distinct mix of herbs and spices which his mother had told him about 3,000 years before…
It took Bakhure approximately twenty minutes and two more servings – brought out with eerie timing by a very eager Malik – before he realised that the head of the Ishtar clan didn’t have anything on his own plate.
While he picked at the bones of the meal his happy heart had consumed, Bakhure eyed Malik and contemplated why something about him was just… off. From the way he was dressed to the way his still-gorgeous face looked, there was an air to Malik which seemed melancholic, despite his success at bringing Bakhure back. Was Malik actually pissed off about it? Had sorting the spell out taken its toll on him?
Suddenly nervous, and very much hoping Malik’s dreariness was due to the latter, Bakhure cleared his throat and spoke.
“Not to be a downer on my first day back, but… you look like shit.”
Surprisingly, Malik half-smiled and sat up straight in his seat, as if he had only now noticed how odd he was acting. He clasped and unclasped his hands on the table several times before he responded.
“This spell… the one that I used to bring you here… it’s…”
While Malik trailed off, Bakhure internally beamed in relief. So Malik was happy Bakhure had returned, which wasn’t something Bakhure had expected to feel so damn worried about. Yet that giddiness was soon replaced by dread when Malik finished his sentence like a kick to Bakhure’s head.
“The spell is… complicated.”
It seemed as if all the air had left the room. Bakhure felt for a split second like he was back in the shadows – immobile, frozen to the bone, unable to even scream. Before he could recover his voice, Malik continued at lightning speed with his own.
“There are so many elements to sort out, and it’s been impossible to get close to the ruins of Kul Elna with my siblings constantly watching over my shoulder, because it really, really sucks to always be seen as a threat even when it’s been fucking years since Battle City and I’ve tried, Bakhure, I’ve tried so gods damn much to figure out what would work best and I just can’t—”
“How long?”
Bakhure uttered the words as loud as he could, and they still came out as a whisper. He couldn’t stand to delay the inevitable any longer – couldn’t bear to watch Malik on the verge of hysterics as he worked himself up with a run-on sentence. Bakhure watched Malik stare at him with an apologetic expression, and grimaced. Gods, that look did not suit the golden boy from years before.
Malik made to offer a hand of comfort, his manicured fingers coming within mere inches of Bakhure’s bony palm, before he pulled back with a sigh.
“Twenty-three hours.”
There had been no point in doing anything but rip the band aid off. Yet the truth still burned Bakhure’s heart like the flames that had consumed his family eons ago.
“I have… one day… to…”
“I can’t apologise for doing my best. You hate ‘sorry’s, anyway. Almost as much as you hate ‘goodbye’s…”
Bakhure felt Malik speak as if from far away, and all he could do was take in the crushing words. It was like having an out-of-body experience, far worse than any time Zorc Necrophades had pulled the strings of Bakhure’s soul for his own means.
Bakhure stayed silent for a long, uncomfortable while before he hung his head and spoke again.
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty in the morning on the third of September.” If Malik looked as upset as Bakhure felt, Bakhure couldn’t tell. He was too busy staring at the worn hands in his bare lap, too conflicted to look at Malik as he continued. “You’ve been back since sunrise, about a half-hour ago.”
Only when the quick math in Bakhure’s head provided a little comfort did he rise from his seat and dare to look down at Malik, who was unflinching in his gaze. There was a world-weary expression in Malik’s eyes that Bakhure couldn’t quite place, as if Malik had somehow expected this response… or was wary of another.
Whatever the reason, Bakhure willed himself to look away from Malik’s – still, despite the worry lines – stupidly beautiful face. He dared to pat Malik’s shoulder twice, quickly, and headed to the front door.
“C’mon. I’m not going to waste my one day back moping around for the Gods’ amusement.”
When Bakhure looked back over his shoulder, he was unsurprised to see Malik standing tall, and with his hands full of clothes that looked both fitting and comfortable. Bakhure chuckled at the strangeness of Malik – at how his gift of perception had grown even stronger in the intervening years since Battle City. Bakhure let the blanket around his shoulders drop as he began to dress himself.
“Well, Malik Ishtar. You seem to have planned for everything. So, tell me, because I can’t imagine you’ve let your life since escaping from the tombs go to waste…”
Bakhure spoke as he clumsily put on the last of his new clothes, unfazed at how Malik observed him the whole time. When Bakhure was fully dressed, he made a show of sauntering back to Malik with a knowing smirk – and was stunned, when there were centimetres between their faces, to see a blush ever-so-slightly form on Malik’s dark cheeks.
Storing that nugget of knowledge away for the time being, Bakhure cleared his throat and finally asked—
“What do you propose we do?”
The ride on Malik’s death trap of a motorcycle gave plenty of time for Bakhure to take in his surroundings. Gods be damned, if he was limited to one measly day back in human form before facing the jaws of Ammut – or worse – he was going to bask in every little thing he could. As such, Bakhure remained uncharacteristically quiet as Lady Death II revved across the road.
Malik’s beloved bike somehow stayed quiet enough that Bakhure could close his eyes and focus on the sounds of laughter and conversation around him, which slowly dissipated the further they ventured from the main streets. The smell of home-cooked meats and vegetables wafted across each by-lane, conjuring up memories Bakhure had thought long-forgotten. Mostly, he took in the light aroma of jasmine from being pressed so close to Malik’s body. And as they drove faster in a singular direction, Bakhure felt a sharp sting pierce his face and eyes – whether it was the wind or hidden tears, he couldn’t say.
“We’re here.”
Maybe it was the fact that they’d gotten some fresh air, were being proactive with their remaining time or had partaken in Malik’s favourite hobby. Whatever the reason, Bakhure couldn’t help but notice the lightness in Malik’s voice as they came to a stop. Bakhure opened his eyes to take in a smiling Malik – before turning his attention to where they were.
“You brought me to…”
Bakhure had expected Malik to take him any number of places – a museum, a mall, a fancy restaurant, even the ruins of whatever remained of Kul Elna. Whether it was somewhere old or new or upscale or downtrodden, Bakhure would’ve teased and Malik would’ve teased right back and then they’d have gotten on with whatever events the day would unfold, just like they had during Battle City.
Instead, Bakhure found himself face-to-face with a sign that read “ACE – Animal Care in Egypt.”
“Old relics haven’t seemed— didn’t seem to be your thing. And based on past experience…” If Malik paused for a beat too long, Bakhure barely noticed. “I’ve found sometimes that doing quiet activities away from the city can be the best. For both of us.”
“Malik…” Bakhure looked around, transfixed by all manner of domestic creatures in the distance. “I would’ve never…”
“But if it’s not cool enough for you, we can always go back to—”
Bakhure shut Malik up with the tightest hug he could muster – still quite weak, given his recent rebirth. But it didn’t matter. Bakhure nuzzled his head against Malik’s exposed shoulder, and shuddered in pleasure when he felt strong arms encircle him for a long embrace. Only when he heard a familiar chorus of neighs did Bakhure finally choke on his emotions.
“How did you know?” Bakhure pulled back with watery eyes, too overwhelmed to notice the concerned look on Malik’s face. “It’s been so long since I’ve been near any animals, and I had such a fantastic horse back in the day and… how did you know?”
Malik shrugged, but made no effort to remove himself from Bakhure’s grip.
“Lucky guess. You must’ve mentioned it at some point.”
Bakhure highly doubted that – all too aware of how, during the one and only time he’d spent with Malik, he’d been plagued by delusions of vengeance and heightened emotions via Zorc Necrophades. But if the last however many years had proven anything – how old was Malik now, anyway? – Bakhure knew that time meant nothing and memory was unreliable.
So, without a second to spare, he didn’t think as he grasped Malik’s hand and excitedly rushed with him to the stables up ahead.
Bakhure was having such a wonderful time, his return to earth could’ve passed by and he wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe it was because there were few hours left and, for once, anything to change that was beyond his control. He actually found himself smiling alongside the veterinarians and volunteers the whole day. Bakhure reveled at holding dozens of kittens and puppies, petting a pen full of donkeys to his heart’s content and traversing the open-air buildings to watch two vets rehabilitate a large multi-coloured snake. But what made Bakhure happiest of all was when one of the volunteers led Bakhure forward with a smile and asked—
“Would you like to feed him?”
Before Bakhure stood an impressive, chestnut-coloured horse, almost a spitting image of the one he’d had 3,000 years ago – only this one had several bandages across its torso, and more than half of its mane was sheared clean off. Still, to Bakhure he looked beautiful despite – maybe because of – his injuries.
Like a child, Bakhure turned to Malik, silently asking for approval he didn’t need. Malik had remained quiet these past several hours, so it didn’t shock Bakhure that all he did was nod to give his blessing.
As soon as the oats were handed to him in a bucket, Bakhure felt a memory from long ago activate in his brain. He grabbed a handful, pet the side of the horse’s face and shushed gently while stretching out his full hand. Like a moth to a flame, the horse wasted no time in reaching down to take part in the free snack.
“That’s it, there you go. You’re so good…”
“Naji.” The volunteer piped up on cue. “He was found along the side of a desert road nearby. Almost didn’t make it, but by Allah he pulled through, in spite of his injuries.”
As Bakhure fed the magnificent steed, he was keenly aware how the eyes of everyone in proximity were fixed upon him. But he didn’t pay the attention any mind, content to feed Naji and rest his head against the horse’s in a sign of equity, until—
“Fitting that you two would get along.”
Bakhure turned his head – still nestled against Naji’s as he ate – to balk at Malik like the sun had gotten to him. With a slight smirk, Bakhure spoke in a sing-song voice.
“Jealous, Ishtar?”
Malik purposefully – conspicuously, if Bakhure was honest – sidestepped the question to move toward man and beast.
“Naji means ‘survivor,’ or ‘safe.’” Malik laid a hand next to Bakhure to pet the horse’s snout, brushing his fingers against Bakhure’s in the process. “Or ‘close friend.’”
Of course, Bakhure was never going to have known that. He was lucky to be able to communicate at all, considering the differences in his language and dialect compared with Egyptians today. But the sincerity with which Malik spoke gave Bakhure long enough pause to feel something warm and tingly bubble in the pit of his stomach. Finally, after a few more moments like that, Bakhure whispered to the horse before him.
“Keep on surviving, Naji.” Bakhure intentionally fixed his gaze on Malik as he placed a quick kiss between Naji’s eyes and pat him one last time. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you, so don’t waste any of it.”
The sun was setting and the facilities were shutting down for the night. Bakhure steeled himself to walk back to Malik’s bike, his heart full of bittersweet adoration from the day. And if he heard Malik sigh with a shaky breath behind him, Bakhure could only guess that it was because he felt the same way, too.
By the time they stopped for a quick bite at the smallest yet most delicious kabob stand Bakhure could’ve ever dreamed of, the moon was well above them, beaming down like a beacon. Bakhure tore into his meat, waiting for Malik to make some comment about how hypocritical he was for eating animals after spending the day with them.
Instead, he found himself drawn to the still-quiet Malik – the way his hair shined in the moonlight and how his countenance seemed both inviting and inaccessible. He was radiant as he stared downward, barely eating his falafel. The contrast threw Bakhure off so much that he couldn’t help rising from the wall he was perched against to stare Malik square in the face.
“Hey…” Bakhure tilted his head and scrunched his eyebrows, dead serious. “Thank you.”
Malik scoffed, finally taking a bite of his food but keeping his eyes averted.
“It was nothing. Really. Besides, I owe it to you. After all this time, you deserve—”
Losing his last nerve at Malik’s bizarre, self-defeating behaviour from the whole day, Bakhure used his free hand to grab Malik by the chin so that they couldn’t escape each other’s gaze.
“I’m saying thank you for all of today.” It didn’t escape Bakhure’s notice that Malik hitched his breath and swallowed hard. For his part, Bakhure leaned in even more and spoke in a slow, solemn voice he didn’t know he possessed. “And… thank you… for me being here today, period… with you… even if it means…”
Maybe it was the effects of the spell starting to take its toll. Perhaps it was the serene atmosphere around them as the stars twinkled overhead. All Bakhure knew was that he was about to cry from the agony of returning to the shadows one moment – and the next, from the perfect, wonderful, right sensation of Malik’s lips pressed against his own.
“You’re worth it, Bakhure.” Malik murmured against Bakhure’s mouth after what felt like a thousand lifetimes. “You’ll always be worth it.”
Bakhure didn’t have time to parse Malik’s words before he dove in again, chasing the feeling that had been teasing his insides all day, now coming out like a tidal wave. Even if they weren’t obstructed by pitch-dark in the middle of Luxor, Bakhure would risk stealing every moment he could between now and when he’d have to say goodbye kissing Malik, touching Malik, being with Malik this one time.
“Y’know… I still have some time left.” Bakhure pulled away when his lungs annoyingly couldn’t take anymore. He hid his emotional and physical distress with a seductive smirk and a well-placed hand against Malik’s cheek. “And I can think of a couple things I’d like to do before then.”
For Bakhure, the time between riding back to Malik’s apartment and finding himself devoid of clothes in Malik’s shower was a blur. Only for a brief moment did a sense of foreboding strike him. Would he know what to do? Would he even remember this in a few short hours? Most of all… would he break Malik’s heart?
“Oh, Bakhure… You have no idea how much I missed you…”
The sound of Malik as he slid his wet skin against Bakhure’s back assuaged any doubts in his mind. Though, it mainly served to make Bakhure’s body shudder in anticipation. He felt Malik’s mouth latch onto his neck from behind, sucking hard enough to leave a mark on Bakhure’s dark skin. Bakhure moaned and braced his hands against the tiled shower wall, pressing his ass into Malik’s torso without a care in the world.
Malik seemed to take that as a cue, for he broke away from Bakhure’s neck with a loud pop and dragged not-too-sharp fingernails down Bakhure’s spine. Before Bakhure could question anything, Malik proceeded to spread Bakhure’s cheeks, gently exploring his most hidden erogenous zone with adept fingers and a wet tongue. Simultaneously, Malik used his unoccupied hand to fondle Bakhure’s balls from underneath.
“Malik— oh, gods— ah!”
Bakhure heard Malik chuckle behind him. Then he felt Malik’s hand encircle his long shaft and his tongue probe even deeper, each appendage moving with perfect synchronicity. Bakhure gasped in delight, his voice cracking as he felt he might scream, cry or lose his mind from Malik’s touch alone. He’d never felt so good before.
“How— How do you know— What are you— doing to me—”
The orgasmic sensations dissipated in Bakhure’s body for a split second as Malik sprung up and turned Bakhure around to capture his swollen lips.
“I’ve had this play out in my head so many ways, Bakhure.” Malik couldn’t stop running his hands up and down Bakhure’s body. He sounded like he could hardly breathe – as if he might burst into tears if he didn’t touch every part of Bakhure right this second. “I— I want us—”
“I know. I know.” Bakhure suddenly found himself copying Malik, unable to keep his hands, his body, his cock from brushing over Malik. He reversed their position, pushing Malik against the cool wall as the shower streamed down them like tearful rain. “I swear, if not in this lifetime—”
“No.” Malik kissed Bakhure several times in rapid succession, trailing his lips down Bakhure’s shoulder while his hand pumped around both their cocks. “I’ll find a way to… to… Gods, Bakhure… I love…”
Bakhure felt the pleasure inside him build up forever, yet not long enough. And as he peaked, he couldn’t tell if he called out Malik’s name or kissed him hard or caressed his scars – or if they came at the same time, painting each other’s chests with the only proof that this moment was real and theirs.
All Bakhure knew was that he felt tired, so very tired, right after. Strong arms carried Bakhure to a plush, welcoming bed in the room over, illuminated by fairy lights and made even warmer by Malik’s body flush against his own. Bakhure hadn’t had a day so perfect – followed by an equally amazing night – in his entire life. He knew the sun would rise soon, and that this would all be over for him. But something about the way Malik was looking at him as they fell asleep together gave him hope.
This couldn’t be the way things would end for them. They’d faced worse together. And as Bakhure drifted into slumber and eventually, subconsciously, felt his body pulled back into the void, he couldn’t have felt sad even if he’d wanted to. Not when he knew he and Malik would be reunited soon enough, one way or another…
Malik didn’t cry when he woke to find Bakhure no longer by his side. After all that had happened between them, it would be a waste of tears to mourn the loss of something, someone, so fleeting. Not when he could instead celebrate the beauty of their brief time together. After all, it was that exact celebration within Malik which had kept him going after so long.
How long had it been by now? Days? Weeks? Months? After so many attempts to bring back the one person in all of time and space who’d really understood him, Malik had lost track.
And so, on this umpteenth third of September, he rose from bed and proceeded to spend the early hour of the day as he always did now – preparing a roast pig to the exact specifications of Bakhure’s mother’s recipe, making sure Lady Death II had a full tank of gas, ensuring that any and all hazards around the apartment would be accounted for, among a million other things he’d picked up from previous efforts.
On past tries, Malik had learned about the way Bakhure’s family lived, how he loved animals, the sort of modern marvels that either riveted him or overwhelmed him to the point of collapse. Mostly, he’d gleaned how Bakhure liked to be touched, whether it was a coy caress or a passionate bite or surprisingly tender sex. Though, it was a surprise this last go-around when Bakhure had wanted to make love in the shower of all places. And after Malik had laid the bed out so nicely beforehand…
The thought made Malik wince at the memory – a memory for himself alone, for Bakhure never remembered anything from this single day that they spent together time and again. But Malik never forgot anything from these dozens, if not hundreds, of tries. He would always remember every faint smile aimed his way, every curse spat in his face, every brush of fingers against his skin, every sob against his shoulders, every emotion that Bakhure worked so hard to keep sealed – and which would inevitably spill out by the end of their allotted time together.
Indeed, this day may have been relived more times than Bakhure knew, but within it was an infinite number of possibilities, paths and lives viciously cut short – even during the worst versions where Malik wished he was the one doomed to fall back into the shadows by sunrise.
Yet, foolishly or not, Malik felt that this next time had to be different. This time would finally work in making Bakhure stay so that he and Malik could spend their days together, instead of one day lived over and over. Malik would endure the joys and grief of these repeated twenty-three hours for the rest of eternity if it meant being with the one he loved – if it meant each time brought him a little closer to bringing Bakhure back for good, so that they could stare at each other in sublime happiness forevermore.
His current life, his family, his health, the world be damned. Malik would use time for his own purposes until he got the spell right, no matter how wizened or tired or old he became from each physically- and emotionally-taxing attempt. Malik could feel it in his bones, as he had every other try before – this time would work.
He’d know when the spell was cast and Bakhure would land on the arrangement of pillows and open his eyes. He’d know then if this would be another futile attempt… or the day when he and Bakhure could really start their life together.
His body trembling and his nerves alight, Malik approached the gorgeous, stark-naked man in the center of his living room who, like always, arrived right on cue after the spell’s incantation. Malik gathered his beloved’s limp body in his arms, pushed aside those soft silver bangs and muttered in his ear like an ancient prayer – just like he had countless times before.
“Hey, Thief King.”