For a few precious seconds, Ryou's life was perfect. And then, he felt it all slipping away from him.
Most of the time, when the Spirit of the Millennium Ring took over, Ryou wasn't even aware he was doing it. He was in control of his body, going about his life, and then, all of the sudden, he wasn't. He would come back to himself hours, or even days, later and only deduce what had happened by the time that had passed and the events that had taken place. It was like a strange form of narcolepsy, almost.
This was more like falling asleep. He could feel the world around him receding, growing dimmer and duller and more distant with every second. He could sense his muscles responding to a different will as the cold, cruel presence within him yanked the reins of his life away. No! Ryou clutched at the scraps of control he still had left, but uselessly, utterly uselessly. He wasn't strong enough to match the Spirit's ruthless will.
A thick fog rolled across his awareness. He drifted through it, weightless as a leaf on the breeze, weightless except for the leaden lump of despair in his stomach. Tea. The thought of her, warm and tender, buoyed him and crushed him at the same time. How could he have lost to the Spirit when the stakes were so high? Ryou trembled. He could still feel the heat of her skin against his own. He could still smell the soft hints of lavender and the sweetness of mango. He could still hear her voice—her tiny squeaks and breathless moans. He could hear her now, calling his name.
"Bakura!"
His hairs stood on end. That wasn't the hazy voice of memory—or imagination. That was Tea. Really, truly, Tea, although muffled and distant. He went cold, then hot, then cold again. That was not what she called him.
His bare skin glowed almost silver in the dim light as he advanced towards her. A tremor ran through her, but she did not have the energy to flinch away. She was sprawled across the ancient sofa, the sheets and blankets she and Ryou had used pooled beneath her in odd lumps and bunches. Her chest was still heaving, her breath coming in great gasps—a fact which had not at all escaped the Spirit's notice. His dark, narrow eyes were drawn to her breasts and he reached down to cup one. His rough thumbpad brushed over her sensitized nipple. "So taut," he murmured, in an altogether smug tone. "Are you still going to pretend that you don't want me?"
He did not wait for a response, even if Tea could have marshaled the energy to make one. He leaned over and popped the nipple into his mouth. His tongue rolled over it, as if he was tasting some exotic candy. The sudden burst of sensation was almost enough to distract her from the movement of his hand—almost. Tea gasped as he slid his hand between her thighs. She slammed her legs closed, but only succeeding in trapping his hand against her sensitive flesh. Bakura pulled his head away from her breast, a string of saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth. He chuckled as he wiggled his fingers, eking out room to maneuver. "There's no need to panic, my dear. I had no intention of taking my hand away just yet." He curled his index finger, and a moan shivered in Tea's throat.
Sensation washed over Ryou—faint, but fiery. His fingers tingled and he could almost swear the creamy skin of Tea's breasts was beneath them. Now the sensation was at his mouth, now at his other hand. He closed his eyes against the heat and the desire. What was this? His eyes flew open as he heard the Spirit's voice. It was too low and indistinct for him to make out the words, but he recognized the sardonic cruelty of it at once. Then, he heard Tea's voice, high and strained. He labored to catch her staccato words. "Don't—don't touch me—" Her protests were broken by a moan of pleasure that sounded as though it had been forced out of her very depths. The sound would have crushed him if he were not overwhelmed with his own blast of pleasure. Desire licked through his veins, in response to some stimuli he could only dimly guess at. He wasn't certain he wanted to guess. Tea moaned again, softer this time, but no less fervid. He could hear laughter too. His stomach clenched at the familiar sound.
The mist around him flickered, hinting at shapes and colors just beyond his sight. He reached out to it, as though he could pierce it with his hand—which was just as insubstantial as the mist itself. He could not see the slightest change, but his fingers came away wet. Through the veil that separated him from reality, he could hear Tea gasp.
The Spirit brought his fingers to his mouth, licking each one with elaborate noises of enjoyment. He grinned obscenely at Tea when he was finished. "Care for a taste?" He chuckled at her expression. "Suit yourself. But you really don't know what you're missing." He wiped his sticky fingers on the side of her left breast. She tried to squirm away from him, but there was nowhere to go. Her right shoulder dug into the back of the old couch; her spine pressed against the worn cushions. The Spirit loomed over her, unashamedly naked. His jutting arousal brushed against the top of her thigh as he bent to steal a kiss from her lips.
Tea turned her face so that he only caught the corner of her mouth. It was enough for him. His tongue snaked out and slid along the seam of her lips, forcing its way inside. Cold fingers gripped her chin, turning her face to allow him access. He plundered her mouth, spreading a sweet, tangy savor through its depths, then sloppily broke the kiss. "When are you going to learn that you are mine?" he asked, faint exasperation in his tone. "The struggle is exciting, I admit, but surrender could be so much sweeter." He wiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb. "What did you think, by the way?"
"I'm not yours," she muttered reflexively, but it was a limp defiance, and they both knew it. "And I hated it. Just as I hate you."
"Really?" His snowy eyebrows skyrocketed. "I found it entirely delectable. Addicting, really." His lips drew back in a wolfish grin. "I want more."
His head descended again, but this time, Tea realized, he wasn't heading for her lips. Her protest peetered into a squeak as he pushed her knees apart.
With trembling legs, he took a step towards the banks of fog, and then another step. He had expected the landscape to recede as quickly as he progressed, preventing him from leaving this place, or even getting close. Much to his surprise, however, the mist let him pass. It clung to his skin, soaking into his hair and clothes. Tiny droplets beaded on his cheeks, but they weren't cold, not even remotely. The further he went into the fog, the more clearly he could hear the sounds that had been tormenting him. He heard not only Tea's throaty moans, but also the tiny gasps, the labored breaths, and the masculine grunts of satisfaction that went with them. It was more than sound, however. The sensations were becoming stronger as well. The feelings that pulsed through him were still far too indistinct for him to be certain of exactly what his body was up to, but the fire that burned through his veins was no stranger to him. This was more than sheer desire however. This was not just the desperate, fiery need that licked through him, although it was that, but also the sweet pleasure, the fulfillment of that need, which Ryou had only begun to sample before the glass was snatched from his lips. There were moments when the pleasure trembled through him so strongly that he faltered in his steps. He could feel her too. Tea. Her scent drenched him. Her heat was all around him. Not enough. Not nearly enough. Deeper and deeper, he pushed through the mist.
"Bakura." His name was almost a sob on her lips. Could you die of pleasure? If so, she was dying, or maybe she was already dead. Only her shame kept her anchored to the earth, the knowledge that it was the Spirit of the Millennium Ring who was doing this to her, who was wringing such impossible pleasures out of every fiber of her body. It was like a glowing coal in the pit of her stomach, burning steadily through her insides, counterpoint to every aria of delight.
Bakura lifted his head to meet her eyes, and she could not help the groan of disappointment that slipped out of her. How could he stop now when she was so close…? She squirmed against the couch, no longer caring that the rough fabric was abrading her bare skin. "N-no…" Somehow the words formed on her lips and sputtered into speech.
A familiar smirk flickered on the edges of Bakura's mouth. He licked a fleck of moisture from his lower lip. "No?" he echoed, reaching between their bodies to tease her breasts. "And here I thought you were starting to warm up to me." He gave her nipple a hard tweak, and she gasped in pain. It was a good reminder. It was not solely pleasure that came from the Spirit's hand. She would do well to remember that. But how could she remember anything when he was touching her like that, and she could feel every molecule in her body melting into a puddle?
He gave a little shrug. "Fine, then. Have it all your own way." He pulled away from her, and for a shocking second, she was entirely bereft of the heat of his body. Only a few minutes ago, she had been cursing his name; now it took every ounce of restraint she still possessed not to cry out for him to come back to her. Still, she sealed her lips tight. She could not stop him from taking what he wanted. He had proved that with breathtaking thoroughness. But she would not give herself away. Not to him.
Ryou. The name echoed through her, unspoken, but so much stronger than mere thought. Ryou.
For half a second, she could have sworn his fingers interlaced with hers.
