Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

Paring: Yami no Bakura x Ryou Bakura (Tendershipping.)

Alternate Universe, Multiple Chapter, Slight OOC

Warnings: Violence, blood, homosexual themes (later), and mild language

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! I'm just a fan. A few minor characters are the only things I'm entitled to.

Summary: Falling into the killer's hands on a homicide case was not Ryou Bakura's cup of tea. It certainly wasn't the killer's counterpart, either.

A/N:

Haggard breathes crept about the blood stained cement walls. Flecks of green from the moisture and bitter temperature were beginning at the creases of the confinement. A rather pungent smell of rotting flesh wafted through the air; only the peaceful silence would be comforting to the man in this cell. His lanky, pallid form only being held up by the shackles on his wrists, which were anchored onto the slimy cement above him. He could barely stand, yet this is what was keeping him up. He would black out, welcomed by the abyss, waking up to his shoulder being dislocated from the strain. The muscles in his legs were his only weapon, which barely sufficed. The only other sustenance he was receiving was water. Pure, sparkling water. He was given a cup every other day, and he always looked forward to it. Every few days he was given small portions of dried out bread. All in all, he was still alive. Maybe.

Ryou had been in this confinement for at least a month, he suspected. His only indicator was the 9x9 window that remained closed most of the time. On occasion his silver-haired captor, Bakura he discovered one day, would remove the thick oak block and reveal the glorious mother moon. That was his only suggestion to the passing of time.

He contemplated the vicious man. Bakura was tall and lithe, hovering over him to give him sedatives when Ryou first arrived. His eyes were a startling crimson, only standing out more on the fair skin tone. There was always a playful sneer on his dry lips, the wry grin mocking Ryou as he pitifully gulped down the liquid. Upon those snickers, a wafted smell of cigarettes and musk would fill the room. He'd come in the cell with a lit cigarette every so often. His hair nearly reflected Ryou's own, it being a downy white seemingly pointing in every direction. It was longer than his, Ryou noted. Sometimes he'd have it tied up, but it always seemed incredibly messy no matter how he wore it. Though, Ryou supposed his own was becoming rather messy, being confined without proper cleaning conditions. Sometimes Bakura would come in with an icy wet cloth to rub his face down a little. He almost seemed to pity Ryou, which also seemed absolutely ridiculous considering he can just barely recall being captured by said man. However, in the time period they were put in, Ryou did learn bits of information about the peculiar shadow. Being a graduate student in anthropology and a minor in psychology, he could pin a few things, which also made Ryou think that Bakura was not Ryou's real threat, and he was under orders. The precise timing, and a few slips of tongue. Bakura had also let slip things such as him being orphaned, possibly being a dealer of some sort, and showing a harsh outer shell of a person who had been used in various ways. However, there was sly intensity that made Ryou nervous. He also thought back to a massacre that occurred several years prior to a neighborhood in Essex, England. It had been all over the news. Ryou was only nine at the time it happened. They reviewed it in their psychopathic course back in his sophomore year of University. One boy had been missing from the neighborhood hadn't been found, and they presumed him dead. Bakura strongly resembled the boy with distinguished silvery hair, as it wasn't every day someone came across such as well as the personality and brief back story he received. Although in this day in age, Ryou could be wrong.

He tried not to share as much with Bakura, although the crimson eyed mystique had ways of slipping past barriers and finding out what he wanted, whether for this murder game or his own personal agenda. It was incredibly hard to resist, and you must always watch your tongue. As Bakura had told him of his parents, Ryou tried to subtly inform him of his mother's passing when he was a boy, and his father was away on expeditions. He never inquired where to, so the anthropologist left it there. He had shared he was a college graduate, but Bakura had finished his sentence before he got to tell him what he had a degree in. Although he wasn't sure if he should casually mention it or not, he was informed briefly that it was a reason he was here. Ryou then figured he was working on a case to catch a dangerous mass murderer, and he was a threat. Bakura didn't fit the profile the Criminologists mapped, but they had also calculated very carefully that said criminal was not working alone, and most likely had underlings. Bakura was his ally. Probing for more factors, Bakura had refused to answer the straight-forward question Ryou threw at him in regards to his criminal status. So, he had dropped it and only hoped that there was a possibility of maybe getting closer to Bakura, as attraction was eminent. Ryou couldn't deny, despite the tousled hair, knitted brows, and harsh voice the man was incredibly attractive. How atrocious, he had formed a slight crush on him during their short spurts of banter. When Ryou got out of here, if he ever did, he'd make sure to have both Bakura, his boss, and whoever else was involved put behind bars. No preposterous ardor emotions would stop that. He was dedicated to his work, and it would stay that way.

A sharp screech from the heavy steel door brought him out of his pondering state, meeting gazes with the smirking 'care taker.' He adorned a simple olive long-sleeved cotton shirt, dark blue jeans with warn knees that showed off bits of rough skin, and beaten-up work boots. A tray with water and crumbling bread in his hands. He swiftly closed the door, making sure to lock it. Ryou had no way of getting out, but just a precaution. His boss didn't know the level of their acquaintanceship, so it was better to just seem as though he came and left whenever. He had been forbidden to speak much to the victims of his partner in crime, but Ryou seemed quite intriguing to the fellow. There was a familiar spark of fight, yet he was pinned mercilessly to the wall.

"No dislocated arms today?" Bakura questioned.

Ryou gave him a weak glare, but answered with a sturdy, "No."

"Good, good. I'm not in the mood to pop them back in place anyway." He flipped his mop of hair behind his shoulder.

Ryou rolled his eyes, becoming way too comfortable with Bakura for his liking.

The captor slowly approached the weary man leaning against the wall, observing him carefully before taking two more confident strides and setting the tray down to fish the keys out of his pocket. He stopped himself and remembered his bucket of water and a clean shirt along with 'his box of secrets'. He gave a short, hollow chuckle at the name and hurried out of the room to drag the objects in after re-locking the door.

"What's all that for?" asked Ryou.

"Figured you'd need to clean, and a new shirt as well," he answered simply.

"What about the box? What's in it?"

"You don't miss much, huh? All in due time, dear boy," Bakura teased as he unlocked the restraints.

Clink, clink.

Ryou ignored Bakura's tone and fell to his knees with a huff, rolling his shoulders and welcoming the relief. Bakura slid the tray closer to the man below him, as well as the bucket and a cloth. He kept the shirt and small cardboard box under his arm, strolling to the other side of the room. Ryou gave him a quizzical look, was he allowed eating and washing himself?

"I'm granting you a small freedom, don't waste it or I'll change my mind. Of course, you won't go unsupervised." He chuckled dryly, as if reading Ryou's mind.

"Of course. . . "

Ryou hungrily ate his bread and let the frigid water trickle down his parched throat. All the while, Bakura watched him, as if he had a secret he was waiting to spring, as well as a look of desire as Ryou slid off his muddied navy blue button-up. It was torn in a few places, but nothing drastic. He inspected his body a little, taking note of how much weight he had lost. His collar bones and ribs becoming more prominent, but that was the least of his worries. He ignored the hole that Bakura was burning into his body with his hungry crimson eyes and eagerly grabbed the cloth and dunked in the lukewarm water. He cleansed his arms, chest, stomach, neck, and anywhere else he could reach. All the while, sultry looks were being thrown in his direction.

Bakura perched himself on a shabby old stool across from Ryou. Not only did Bakura find Ryou interesting, he found him deliciously bewitching. His chocolate eyes rimmed with equally brown lashes and soft face being the center of his lurid dreams. Now, he was getting a most wonderful show. The times he'd touched him while washing his face and neck were a time of self control. Bakura took what he wanted. He was a liar, a thief, and now he was a killer's pawn as much as he hated it. But he found the need to take his sweet time, to enjoy every second of the tension bubbling throughout his being. Cahill, Bakura's denounced serial killer of a boss, wouldn't require much more of Ryou's intriguing skills, as he had refused to cooperate with the shaky duo. They would use him as bait to lure more and more of those wretched policemen, leading them on a blind trail. Bakura personally didn't see the point. He was only here for the mere excitement. Due to the fact that Cahill was away for a few weeks leaving Bakura with several of his useless servants to await further instructions, leaving Ryou to Bakura's care until he said something of the matter otherwise. When he would return, Bakura assumed Cahill would have Ryou killed, and his remains scattered about Domino City, just like the others. After that, Cahill would probably flee to another hideaway. Bakura would go where fate takes him. Unless he threw a wrench into the system, of course.

The sociopathic killer would be gone for another three weeks, at least he had told them. This would give Bakura time to help Ryou leave. He was too captivating to waste, even if Bakura did get caught, which he didn't plan on any time soon. Besides, he loved seeing people like Cahill squirm.

Ryou innocently continued his washing, splashing his face and trying to get some in his matted hair to at least keep it slightly maintained. He picked at a few stubborn locks of messy white hair as best he could, but unfortunately it didn't help very much. He inwardly sighed and peeked up at Bakura.

"I'm finished, " he announced.

"Heh heh, all right. I was quite enjoying the sight before me, but never the less . . ." Bakura's thoughts trailed off, subconsciously fingering the edges of the box next to him.

Ryou's cheeks threatened to flush with a tint of pink, but he was able to control himself.

"Before I go," Bakura stood up, dropping the spare shirt on the floor, "I'd like to leave the cops a little evidence, as well as my boss." An ominous smirk plastered onto his face.

Ryou lifted a brow in question, "What do you mean?" So he had been correct about Bakura not working alone. He was being very casual, giving Ryou too much information.

Without hesitation, Bakura briskly stepped forward, and much to Ryou's displeasure, he was bound to the wall once again. He wanted to resist with all his might, but he knew it to be useless. He knew Bakura was much, much stronger than him. It didn't matter how desperately he would fight back. Ryou, especially in this state, was always a rather twiggy boy and was constantly picked on in school; not much changed. His only defense was his mind, and that was all he ever needed.

"What are you-"

"Hush, or I'll make this more painful than necessary," Bakura snapped.

Ryou's doe-eyes widened. What was he going to do?

Bakura's smirk faded a little, but its successor still held that feral wildcat quality. He retrieved his box, carefully opening it out of Ryou's already limited view. Pulling out a freshly sharpened switchblade of his bountiful knife collection, Bakura gleefully popped the blade out. Putting the box down, making sure to close the lid, he turned around to face Ryou.

"Now, now, little Ryou. Don't look so frightened. I'd be lying if I said I wanted to skip this part, but to be honest, my counterpart wants you dead, " he said nonchalantly, a teasing tone as he elongated certain syllables, giving a eerily seductive quality to his already honeyed voice. His smoking habits could be heard through it if you listened carefully. Stepping closer to a fidgeting, wide-eyed Ryou he could catch the intake of a shaky breath, admiring the way his eyes gave off a defiant, yet paralyzed scrutiny.

'Is he going to kill me? But . . . why so soon? They've only interrogated me. Are they already disposing of me? Why . . . why . . . ' jumbled nonsense raced through Ryou's head. 'This is ridiculous . . . no.' He tried to calm his heart, but to no avail. The closer the frightening man came, the quicker Ryou felt his heart's pace become. Almost sluggishly, Bakura rested the cool blade against the exposed, pale neck of Ryou Bakura. Leaning in, the thief's face ended up so close to Ryou's that he could nearly feel the faintest brush of heated lips against his, eyes never removing themselves from Ryou's glossy chestnuts. Chuckling darkly, Bakura moved his mouth to the ear of his victim.

"However, " Bakura whispered, " I would imagine this town more enthralling with you in it…" Warm breath fanned over Ryou's ear, causing him to involuntarily shiver.

Ryou gulped, braving speaking to the sinister figure next to him. Too close. He was too close. "S-so . . . what are you going to do?"

"Just a little fun, really." A full-blown cackle echoed off of the walls, only making Ryou more frightened by him.

The knife glided down his lower neck to his exposed torso, the blade was suddenly pressed into the skin beneath it, a harsh red line appearing in its wake. Ryou hissed inwardly, thin brows wrinkled, his nose scrunching. Bakura dragged the knife in various places on Ryou's torso. Not deep enough to be dangerous, yet blood trickled down in modest drops. All the while, Ryou managed to hold the panicked groans escape his quivering lips. Bakura immediately backed away, making sure to catch the stray drops on Ryou's old shirt. Bakura's crimson eyes never leaving Ryou's chocolate ones. As the latter became distracted by the alacrity, Bakura moved the edge of the blade to Ryou's upper left arm, firmly sinking it into the flesh there. Ryou's revere was instantly broken as the searing pain spread through his arm. A strangled yowl finally made its way to the surface. Bakura cracked an unusual grin, almost as if he was sad, but continued with gashes up the pale arm to mimic the first one. Ryou began to squirm away from the pain as best he could, only irritating Bakura. He jammed the blade into Ryou's thigh with a squelch. Ryou jerked upwards, straining his wrists against the shackles, causing slivers of red to appear on the dirtied skin. His voice caught in his throat, as if letting out a scream no one could hear. The wail eventually came to the surface as the knife was slowly pulling out of his thigh, Bakura's foreboding chuckle making it to his ears over the overpowering thrumming in his ears.

Everything slowed when he was stabbed in the other thigh, Ryou's senses becoming slow and sluggish. He could feel the cold chill crawling up his spine, yet his sweat slicked down his forehead as he trembled, a few stray tears making it out of his eye as he tried to control the noises coming out of his throat. He couldn't stay focused enough, however. Groans let themselves known in between strangled pants. Patches of white and black smeared across his vision, the pain indescribable. As the blade slipped out of the second wound, Bakura dabbed both gouges with the shirt again, smearing the blood as much as possible. It irritated the wounds, making Ryou let out another whimper.

"Shh, it'll be over soon, boy," Bakura cooed.

Ryou attempted to refocus his vision, although it was difficult as making sure he was still breathing and trying to maintain the pain were already sending his muddied thought process for a demented ride. He managed to turn his gaze onto Bakura, watching the man soak up the blood and snicker all the while.

"You're sick," Ryou choked out.

"That was established awhile back, I assumed. However, you'll thank me later." Bakura answered in a snarky manner.

Ryou was taken aback by the statement. What the hell was he talking about?

The shackled man didn't get a chance to ponder further, as Bakura got up with Ryou's shirt slung over his shoulder, licking the blood off of the blade before sticking it back into his box. He turned back around to face Ryou.

"Someone will be here to clean you up again, take care of your wounds." Bakura stated flatly. "I'll be back in two days. That's when you get to thank me."

He picked up the box and was about to head out the door, but suddenly halted. He turned his gaze to Ryou, and spontaneously walking back over. He lowered his face to Ryou's level, only having Ryou scowl at him in return. Bakura raised an eyebrow and smirked. Cautiously, he leaned in only to stop right before their lips touched. Ryou held his breath as Bakura's warm one blew over Ryou's now very dry lips. Bakura's face softened before he backed away and pivoted, finally heading out the door and letting Ryou rest.

"What the hell, Bakura? I'm not taking care of him. I'm not a doctor." Malik snapped.

Bakura snickered. "Close enough. And yes, you will be taking care of him. I'm going to make some…preparations so I'll be gone. Ryou will need the medical attention until I get back."

Malik's frown deepened. "You're going to get caught. Cahill will find you and slit your throat."

"Not if he doesn't know. I won't get caught. Trust me, Malik; I have a plan."

"Ha! What plan? He'll track you down within a week. You're under him now, that's the price you pay." Flipping his bouncy blonde hair behind his shoulder and letting out a dramatic sigh, Malik started to gather supplies out of the "medical room" they had set up. "But…I'd like to see you try. Fine. I'll take care of your little cream puff. You owe me big time. "

Bakura smirked. "Of course. If I live, that is."

Malik snorted, allowing his tan lips to relax into a playful grin and continuing to gather what he needed.

Please review if you liked it, or have any suggestions for future chapters. Thank you!