Disclaimer: (for entire fic) I do not claim to own any of the characters portrayed in this fic and am making no money from it.

Warnings: Blood, yaoi, angst... I think this might end up a lot like Poor Twisted Me, although I might tone down the comedy a little. Mokuba is 15 in this, by the way, and no matter how the first chapter may make it seem, it isn't a Bakura/Mokuba fic. It might not even end up as a Seto/Bakura fic...

Notes: For Hangyul, I hope you like it.

The Outlaw Torn

Bakura POV

Why is it that someone always rings the doorbell when you're in the shower? Luckily for me, Ryou gets it because I wasn't about to go out there dripping wet, looking like a drowned rat and have it turn out to be the Pharaoh here for a battle. Not that I wouldn't jump at the chance to kick his royal arse, I'd just rather do it in more than a towel.

I finish my shower and shake the water out of my insane hair, tying one of the bright red towels I had Ryou buy around my waist before heading into my room. Once there I set about getting dressed, only to notice a reflection in the full length mirror on the wall halfway through. Ra, those tomb robber instincts choose the most stupid moments to fail me, I'm glad I don't believe in karma.

"Ryou told me to wait for you in here..." Mokuba says, and I hope I traumatized the little bastard. Actually, he's looking at me like I'm a piece of meat now, which is slightly unnerving coming from a fifteen year old. Being fucking weird must run in his family or something.

"Tell me what you want before I get bored and kill you." I growl, narrowing my eyes at him threateningly. I want to see how frightened of me he is.

"I want to pay you to do a job for me." He tells me, slightly nervous but still managing to stare at my bare chest – I never got to button up my shirt. I think I'll leave it, I'm enjoying the attention.

"Do you, now? And what sort of job might this be?" I ask, my interest peaked. What would a rich brat want with me? What is it I can do that he can't trust one of the do-gooders to take care of? Theft and murder spring to mind, although I can't see Mokuba hiring me to kill someone. Then again, you never can tell. Being bought up by a sadistic bitch like Seto Kaiba probably caused all sorts of subtle psychological damage.

"It's something I couldn't ask anyone else to do for me. It's illegal, reckless and dangerous – but I promise it'll pay well." The kid grins, grey eyes still glancing down at my chest and throat every few moments. He seems to like the silver chains I wear at my wrists, ankles and throat. With the four thick, silver rings through my left ear Ryou says I look like a gypsy. He never got to see how much gold I used to wear back in the desert, although my preferences have changed to silver over the years. Gold is expensive and I like that, but there's something about the shine of silver that draws me to it like a magpie. I notice that Mokuba has an earring, although it takes a sharp eye to catch the glint of it beneath his dark hair. I wonder if his brother knows about it? What a rebel this child is turning out to be, acquainting himself with the king of thieves behind his brother's back. I can't imagine Kaiba sending his vulnerable little brother here alone to me, after all.

"I like the sound of this job so far, being that you have not told me any of the details. Perhaps you'd like to do that now...?" I suggest with a hint of sarcasm in my voice, padding across the soft carpet of my trinket-cluttered room towards him. The nervous look in his eyes grows at having me so close, but he continues with his proposal anyway. Admirable that he does not back away, I wonder how far I can take this?

"You know that Kaibacorp used to be a company that manufactured weapons, right?" He asks, as I circle him like a wolf.

"Under the guidance of the evil stepfather, yes. Continue." I say, stopping in my circling when I am behind him and taking a step closer until I am very, very close. Still he does not shy away, and I am impressed. Perhaps he is worth working for. We are in a dimly lit room and he has a murderer behind him, breathing against the back of his neck – yet he does not flinch. What horrors must the Kaiba mansion have held growing up for this one?

"Well," Mokuba says in a slightly breathless voice, "he built a bomb shelter in the desert – he thought he could market it to rich idiots during the cold war. He actually built three, but the one in the Sahara was the one he used as a show home." The boy explains, shivering at the feeling of my fingertips brushing the back of his neck. It makes me wonder how often he is touched. His brother avoids human contact if he can help it, and who else is there? I trail my long fingers down the back of his neck again, his long hair brushing my hand. He looks a lot like I would have, had I grown up without the many traumas I faced. His mention of the desert is interesting and I lean against his back, whispering 'continue' again in his ear in a low voice. He is taller than me, although the body I have is twenty years old – five years older than him. Genetics are a mystery to me, like many of the things in this place. I thought the Japanese were traditionally shorter, it only goes to show that my theory on the Kaiba family being freaks holds some merit.

"The shelter in the Sahara is still standing and in full working order, it's completely self-sufficient on the inside. I'm pretty sure Seto has forgotten it exists – he went on a spree of destroying anything Gozaburo built, but that shelter survived. It was probably less hassle to just leave it there." Mokuba guesses, standing still with his arms by his sides, my hand snaking around his waist. He gives a soft gasp as I pull him back against me but does not fight – a wise decision. He knows the danger he is in – what I could do to him if I chose to. He knew the risks when he sought me out and entered this room alone, and I am taking a certain sadistic pleasure in frightening him.

"I fail to see where I am needed," I purr, one hand on his stomach and the other trailing up his chest, a dark chuckle leaving my lips as I feel him hold his breath. "Tell me what it is you want me to do." I hiss against the skin at the side of his throat, making him let the breath he was holding out shakily.

"I... I want you to kidnap my brother." He says, finally getting to the damned point. I cannot help but laugh, running my tongue over the pretty skin of his shoulder and up to his neck. That makes him squeeze his eyes closed, his breath picking up. Fifteen years old and he has never been touched like this. I wonder if it is by his choice or his brother's?

"Now why would I want to do that?" I ask, scraping my sharp teeth against his skin. I think I'll leave my mark on him, give him something to hide from his big brother. Obviously he is not as tamed by that priest as I had assumed, from his request. How interesting.

"He's working himself to death and nothing I say will get him to take a break, so I'm going to force him. He'll forgive me eventually." The child predicts, the 'I hope' going unspoken but hanging heavily in the air. "If I drug his coffee to get him there, you can keep him in the shelter for a month. Without his laptop he'll have nothing to do except rest up and he'll stop walking around like a zombie. He'll be mad, but it's for his own good."

I consider this for a few moments, feeling the body in my hold trembling slightly against my bare chest.

"Why ask me to do this?" I finally ask, since I am fairly certain the Pharaoh would jump at the chance to be alone with the fucking priest for a month. Even imagining the opportunities for pathetic romance they'd undoubtedly find makes me sick. What a perfect little love story they might make. I can think of many things I would rather do than spend a month with either of them. Being burned alive is one.

"I need someone he can't hurt." Mokuba tells me, jumping in my grip when I sink my teeth into the side of his neck – not hard enough to break the skin but enough that there will be marks. He lets me do as I please, he is a clever child.

"You seem to be under the illusion that I am impervious to harm." I mention, licking the sore spot on his throat and feeling him relax slightly against me, his eyes sliding closed again and a soft breath leaving his lips. He likes it when I kiss his throat, he makes such pretty sounds.

"You heal," he breathes, one of his hands holding mine at his waist as he enjoys what I am doing to him. If only his big brother could see.

"That does not mean pain ceases to hurt me." I point out with a smirk against his skin. "But I am willing to overlook it where large amounts of money are involved." Pain does not frighten me, we have been acquainted too well for too long. I see it as an inevitability in anything. It can even be enjoyable, done right.

"I couldn't think of anyone else who had half a chance of coping with him for a month that would actually be willing to do it." Mokuba says honestly, obviously not wanting to use someone who would drive his poor brother insane. Pegasus springs to mind. Clearly he does not realize how much I despise Seto Kaiba.

"Both Marik and the Pharaoh heal as well as I do, although locking Marik in an enclosed space with a mortal for a month would not be the best of ideas. Still, I am sure Pharaoh would enjoy it." I say in a silken voice, still lavishing attention on his throat because I like having him trying not to squirm in my grip.

"Yami's a great guy and everything, but he'd want to bring all his friends in on the plan, and then the whole thing would end up as some huge, emotional intervention. That just isn't how Seto works, he'd probably murder them all." The boy says as confidently as he can manage with a three thousand year old thief's lips against his neck. I imagine it must be quite nerve-wracking.

"So, I seemed the logical choice. What makes you think I'd give him back after the month is over – in one piece or at all?" I ask in an amused voice, as though I would actually want to keep the priest for longer than I must. I will not mention to Mokuba that I would quite happily murder his brother.

"The shelter is owned by Kaibacorp, you won't be able to leave without me knowing. It's in the middle of the desert, you'd have nowhere to go." He reasons, his breath decidedly quicker than when he first began his proposal. A little molestation is such a wonderful way to put someone off their stride, especially when they're attempting to talk business.

"What gives you the impression that I would have difficulty surviving in a desert?" I laugh darkly, liking the thought of seeing Egypt again now that the opportunity has been placed before me. I will not have to see what the tourists of this modern world have done to my country – I will be in the middle of the deep desert where there is nothing but lonely sand. It sounds tempting, other than having to bear Seto Kaiba for thirty days. I can always kill him if things become too unbearable, I suppose.

"You might not have trouble, but Seto would – you'd need him alive. How far could you get, having to support both of you? As soon as you leave the compound I can have people scouring the area with dogs, jeeps, helicopters... could you get through all that to the nearest settlement? It's over seventy miles away." Mokuba points out, attempting to pull himself together. I nip at the soft skin of his throat once more and it was an admirable effort but he quickly gives in, leaning against me again. Stealing isn't all I'm good at.

"You underestimate me." I smirk, knowing full well that I'm right. If I wanted to I could easily get past all his little security lackeys – not without a little bloodshed, perhaps, but these things are inevitable. I can charm my way into most anything if I feel the need, I know full well how most men and women see me. Pretty, harmless, eccentric. They have no idea. What was the phrase Malik used to describe me...? 'Supremely fuckable'. That was it. It has its uses when it comes to getting away with things; this body may not be as physically strong or tall as my old one but that, too, has its advantages. I can still look decidedly threatening when I want to, though.

"Would you really hurt Seto? He's one of the few people you've never directly threatened, I thought maybe you had some kind of feelings for him." Mokuba guesses. Poor, disillusioned boy. I dither for a moment over whether to murder him outright or laugh – in the end I choose the latter. The truth is I've never thought up a sufficiently horrific way to kill Seto Kaiba, and the depths of my imagination when it comes to such things is truly staggering. Rest assured, when I do come up with a fittingly painful, humiliating and fucking evil way to murder that bastard there will be no hesitation on my part.

"Very astute, I'm sure." I smirk, still laughing at the sheer absurdity of what he said. "The only feeling I hold for your brother is hatred, but yet again it can be overlooked where money is concerned." Never let it be said that I don't have my priorities straight.

"Hatred? Why?" The boy asks, and it surprises me that he isn't used to people hating his brother yet. Seto isn't exactly known for making friends easily. He's more of a backstabbing corporate pirate, not too much different from how he used to be three thousand years ago.

"Let's just say your brother isn't one of my favourite people. Still, watching him suffer imprisonment for a month at the hands of his own brother sounds appealing. I will not harm him, but do not expect me to be civil to him either." I warn, imagining how livid Seto will be when he wakes up to find that he has been kidnapped by his helpless little brother and the sociopath he hired. The thought brings a smile to my lips, still playing gently against Mokuba's throat. It only occurs to me to wonder so late in the proceedings if he is even attracted to men. He isn't openly struggling, although that could be because he knows what will happen to him if he does. Well, I am too old to have a preference over men or women, so it doesn't matter to me. From his soft, hitched breathing he seems to be enjoying what I'm doing to him anyway, not that I would particularly care if he wasn't.

"Then you'll do it?" Mokuba asks, stumbling forward a little as I release my hold on him. He turns around to face me, looking hopeful - as though that will sway me in any way.

"There is nothing of any great importance that I should be doing for the next month. At least this way I will not be bored. When am I to start?" I demand, turning with a jingle of silver jewellery to run my fingers through my unruly hair in front of the mirror. There is nothing that can be done for hair with such a mind of its own. I used to think it made me look too feminine – I even cut it off once. It grew back within an hour and I have since come to prefer it long, regardless of the fact that it would be dangerous in battle.

"Tomorrow morning - I'll have a car pick you up. You'll be taken to the compound, Seto will already be there, I'll drug his morning coffee, he shouldn't wake up until you're both safely locked in. There'll be one emergency key, I'll give it to you tomorrow. Hide it somewhere in the compound and make sure Seto doesn't find out where it is." The child explains to me, his confidence returning now that he is no longer being touched. I can see the light flush on his cheeks in the mirror – he is still trying to shake the feeling of my lips at his throat while he talks business. Clearly he has thought this plan through and it is no spur-of-the-moment idea, I am pleased. I will let him decide how much to pay me and then demand twice that, I think. He can afford it, that I am certain of. I watch in the mirror as he turns to leave, pausing in the doorway to my room.

"Pack for summer, it's temperature controlled in the compound but it still gets a little warm. Everything else you'll need is already there." He advises, touching the red mark at his throat absently. I turn to face him, peeling off my shirt – which is damp from my hair - simply to see the effect it has on him. His eyes fix on my chest again and his blush returns, even more so when he notices the wicked smile on my lips.

"Then I will be ready in the morning." I purr, laughing darkly to myself as he murmurs his thanks and exits. I hear him mumble something to Ryou on the way out, and then I am alone with nothing but my reflection in the mirror. For a long moment I stare into my own garnet eyes, remembering the sight of crimson blood staining golden sand, and my jaw clenches in annoyance. Black hatred coils within my soul but I crush it down, narrowing my eyes at the image of myself in the mirror. Forcing myself to think of the money and what I could do with it I turn away, grab a bag from the floor next to the wardrobe and begin packing. A few minutes of imagining all the jewels I could buy lightens my mood and within half an hour I am smirking again. I will take this job regardless of the fact that I despise Seto Kaiba.

Regardless of the fact that he is the man who killed me.

TBC