I. Intemperate

There was a thing lying in the snow. It was a skeletal thing. A naked thing. And it looked a lot like a dead thing.

Bakura nudged it with his foot.

At first it didn't move. He nudged it again to be sure, and he thought he saw it shiver.

Despite its movement Bakura started to trudge away from the dead-looking-but-alive thing, but after only a few dragged steps through the foot-deep snow he turned back. There was something a bit like guilt gnawing at his insides, biting incessantly and devouring the organs piece by bloody piece.

Bakura found himself wrapping his arms around the bony thing in order to pick it up. His coat and gloves were thick so he didn't have to worry about touching its filthy skin. Its body was incredibly light, though Bakura wasn't surprised based on its emaciated frame. When he picked it up its head rolled to the side as though its neck was broken. Bakura barely noticed, though. He was much more distracted by an extremely prominent feature revealed by its slightly parted lips.

Fangs.

His first impulse was to scream bloody murder and drop the thing. Bakura did neither, of course. But he did feel his heartbeat quicken as he came to the realization that he was holding a vampire, a creature infamous for leaving humans as nothing but withered bloodless husks.

But this pitiful little thing didn't look capable of sucking the blood out of a mosquito, much less a human. And that goddamned guilt took a sizeable bite out of his heart when he considered leaving it there again.

A time later Bakura found himself gently washing the thing with a rag, scrubbing away the grayish layer of dirt with warm sudsy water. Though he could clearly see its genitalia as he washed its body, Bakura still refused to acknowledge that 'it' was a 'he'. That would make it sound human or something. And this repulsive little creature was anything but human.

"I should dump it back outside," Bakura muttered, not bothering to speak towards the unconscious thing before him. "I shouldn't have even picked it up in the first place."

The guilt came back with a vengeance. And it only grew when the little naked thing opened its eyes.

He didn't notice at first, but then he felt the weight of the thing's gaze on him. Bakura trailed his gaze up its ribs, the skin stretched taut over the bones, and its delicate neck. His eyes lingered on the pale pink pair of lips for a moment, then he darted a glance at its own eyes.

They were much less vicious then he thought they'd be. In fact, 'vicious' wouldn't even be on a list of words to describe them. Bakura unconsciously began to stare.

What happened to him—? No, it. The thing was an it.

"Th… t-th…" it let out a small, choked noise.

"What are you trying to say?"

"T-thirsty."

Bakura abruptly stood up and backed a few paces away. He didn't plan on being the one to supply the thing with a meal. Why had he even brought it into his house in the first place..? Stupid, stupid!

"W-wait!" the thing made an attempt to stand, but its limbs were too weak to support it for more than a moment.

It fell back to the floor in a heap. "No, no, p-please don't leave me here."

"You little freak. You want my blood, don't you?" Bakura tried to locate something heavy in the room that he could use to shatter its skull. "Don't you, you leech?"

"I'm sorry… but I haven't fed for months. Please… please just let me—"

"Why should I?"

The thing wailed. "My stomach feels like it's digesting itself!"

"Look, I don't care. I'm not letting you bite my neck and—"

"B-but I don't have to do that! I can drink from your wrist or your ankle or wherever you like. Just please let me have some of your blood…"

Bakura didn't know it at the time, but he would let the little creature feed off of him. Multiple times, actually.

It most certainly didn't want to kill anyone, contrary to popular belief. All it wanted was to have somewhere to sleep and someone who would feed it. Bakura was capable of providing these things… and since he didn't have the heart to just kill the thing and be done with it…

The two came to an agreement (it was more like Bakura making a command) that the thing would live in the basement of his home, not to be seen nor heard nor detected with any other sense. Once every week Bakura would climb down the stairs to visit the little 'leech' as he liked to call it, and he would allow it to drink its fill of his blood.

Maybe it was sheer pity that caused Bakura to tolerate the hated thing he then allowed to sleep under his roof and feed off of him. Maybe he had a change of heart. Or something corny like that.

Bakura still refused to acknowledge the creature as anything less than an it, even when he learned that 'it' had a name.

To him, 'Ryou' sounded much too nice a thing to call such a disgusting little parasite.

THREE MONTHS LATER

With every sluggish heartbeat blood gushed into Ryou's mouth like a draught of alcohol. It may as well have been, because he was completely and thoroughly intoxicated. A mouthful of blood with every heartbeat wasn't enough, either, he needed more. Ryou pressed his tongue into the twin wounds that his fangs had formed, then began to drink greedily. Bakura's creamy white skin was becoming paler with every second, shifting to a color whiter than bone.

It didn't matter how cold the stale air of the basement was against his trembling, naked body or how desperately he wanted to taste the world outside again or how the inside of his hollow heart felt, all that mattered was the surging warmth pouring onto his tongue. The warmth and the taste and Bakura.

Ryou dug his fingernails, long and ragged and sharp, into the pliable flesh along Bakura's arm. He was only allowed to feed from Bakura's left wrist. Every place else was strictly forbidden. He had gotten hungry enough to disobey the rule once. After having his feeding privileges restricted even more than usual he didn't try it again.

The only source of light was a candle that Bakura had left in the corner. It flickered and sputtered and did little more than show how grungy the basement was, but it was light.

Bakura himself was sitting on a chair as he allowed Ryou to feed, his free arm hanging limply at his side, and an unreadable expression on his face. No, that's not right. It wasn't quite unreadable. There was disgust shown by his curled lip as he stared down at the malnourished thing crouching on the floor and desperately grasping his left arm, a thing he regarded as a filthy parasite and nothing more. There was something that wasn't strong enough to be hatred glinting in his eyes despite the grainy light. But when he limply lifted his free hand up and began to stroke Ryou's thick white hair there was something like endearment in the gesture.

Ryou froze for a moment when Bakura's slender fingers touched him. But then his fear melted away and Ryou welcomed the touch as he gulped down another mouthful of blood. His stomach was completely and utterly full; brimming with what had become a tepid substance. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with his head rested against Bakura and sleep. Despite this he continued to drink. He gulped and slurped and swallowed and he became even fuller than before. Bakura untangled his hand from Ryou's hair and reached down to press his fingertips to the sizeable swell beneath his ribs.

He stroked the taut skin for a moment in something close to interest, then said quietly, "That's enough. You don't need any more."

A weak moan was the only response. Maybe he didn't need any more… but he most certainly wanted it…

"I said that's enough." Bakura's tone turned icy.

Ryou sank his teeth in a little more deeply. Bakura grabbed a fistful of Ryou's hair and tugged, ripping out a good number of strands and putting a large amount of strain on some others. Ryou whimpered, tears stinging like needles in his eyes. Slowly his grip on Bakura's arm relaxed and he removed his fangs from his wrist. He licked the twin wounds apologetically, but Bakura wasn't so quick to forgive.

"What the hell did I tell you about overindulging?" he demanded and gave the other's hair a sharp pull.

Though Bakura would never admit it, Ryou knew he was afraid of him. There was a constant shadow of paranoia behind the hatred in his eyes, and at the moment he could smell the distinct stench of fright coming off of Bakura in waves despite his angry expression. And why not? The rest of the world hated and feared his kind the same way. Bakura just hated him a little less than the rest. The fear, however, was still there.

Ryou pressed his face to Bakura's knees.

"I'm sorry. I got excited… and…" And you smell delicious and you're so, so warm and I don't want you to leave and— "I was thirsty."

It was always the same. Thirst. It may as well have been engraved into his face. Or his stomach. That would have been more fitting.

"Leeches like you are always thirsty," Bakura sneered, the flickering light glinting off of his teeth, then abruptly his expression shifted into a scowl, causing the shadows to hide in the contours of his face. "Why do I even bother to provide for you when you're insatiable? You're fully prepared to drink me dry."

"W-what? No! I would never do that to you!" Ryou shook his head profusely and hugged Bakura's legs with much more rigidity than before.

Despite his lean frame, Ryou thought Bakura was so very soft and gave off a lot of heat, especially when compared to the rest of the room. He wanted nothing more than to snuggle closer and leech off of his body heat… There was that word again. 'Leech'. It hurt when Bakura called him that.

"Oh, that's right," Bakura's tone held the same derisive tone. "You wouldn't want to get rid of your only source of food."

"No, no, Bakura, that's not—"

"Shut up."

Ryou fell silent despite the protests still bubbling up in his throat. It wouldn't do him any good to argue with Bakura. His anger always resulted in punishments. Not the physical kind; Bakura was too afraid of him to do that. It was much better to simply have an extended amount of time before he fed him again. That was what had happened this most recent time… it had been two weeks instead of one before Bakura came to feed him. And, like a starving animal, this resulted in Ryou becoming greedier than usual.

"I-I'm sorry, Bakura. You're right. I'm disgusting." Ryou slowly retracted his arms from around Bakura's legs and curled them around himself in a self-hug, bony hands locking onto his shoulders. "But I would never try to purposely hurt you… It's just, sometimes I can't help it. You know… your blood tastes wonderful. I wouldn't want to have anyone else's."

He was trying to be complimentary, but Bakura looked even more repulsed than before. Ryou shrank back as the other stared dispassionately at the vampire's stomach. It had become bulging and rotund as a result of this particularly gluttonous feeding session, looking very strange on his skeletal body. Ryou became disgusted with himself as Bakura continued to stare at the bulge and he brought his legs to his chest to hide it from view.

There was a long silence in which Bakura continued to gaze intently at Ryou.

"Don't take that much next time. And stop when I tell you to." he finally said, then let out a bitter chuckle, one that almost sounded as though it was grating along the sides of his throat. "One of these days you're going to wind up killing me. Then what'll you do?"

Ryou wasn't sure how or even if he should answer. It didn't matter, because Bakura stood up and walked away. Ryou stared after him as he slowly ascended the stairs and listened to the distinct sound of a key sliding into the rusty lock that was the only thing restricting him from leaving the basement. He had tried to break it a few times, but his frail body didn't provide much help breaking down doors.

The door slammed, a little harder than Bakura probably intended. The lock clicked. Ryou didn't move.

Would he be coming back? Ryou would know in a week, he supposed… What with all of the blood he had consumed, his survival until then was guaranteed. The disgust with himself from before was washing over him with renewed vigor.

Bakura was right.

Ryou stuck three clawed fingers into his mouth and gagged when he hit the reflex at the back of his throat. He probed at the soft flesh with his dirty nails until he felt bile begin to swim in his throat before he was sick. He heaved until all of the blood that Bakura had allowed him to take was on the floor. It was a waste, it was such a waste, but he didn't deserve Bakura's generosity. He didn't deserve to live.

The warmth quickly fled from his body as easily as if he had never drank anything at all, and the sweet taste in his mouth was replaced by the bitter residue of vomit.

It's ironic because Bakura is the landlord and Ryou is the parasite instead of the other way around.