Notes: Thanks for coming back. This chapter marks a lot of change for the story, (there's only one more to go after this!). We're definitely starting to get into the yaoi. There is a slight lemon at the end of this chapter, I put it in the "warning" just to remind you. I'm kind of nervous about it because it's the first actual lemon I've ever written…but I would write it for you, fallen-angel. I hope you all enjoy it!

Warning: I have to say that there will be a lot of yaoi in here including a slight lemon at the end of the chapter. Please know your own limits, don't blame me for not knowing them. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

Chapter 3

Although Bakura had no way of knowing, it was two days until the boy reappeared in the prison cell. Eventually it became a pattern for them to meet within this period. Ryou erected a long candle in front of Bakura's cell and lit it every time he had to leave. When the candle burned down to its middle, Ryou returned. So began the only sense of time that Bakura had in the meager cell.

Gradually, the intricate wounds that had driven him near death healed with Ryou's vigilant care. Bakura found that he was able to stay awake longer and longer for Ryou's nightly—he guessed—visits. Unfortunately, at the same time, this meant that during the daytime—maybe—he stayed awake longer and longer waiting for Ryou to arrive.

The boy had become Bakura's lifeline. The cell alone, without the pain from the progressively scarring marks, was torture enough to drive him insane with loneliness. There was not a single soul in the whole entire section of the prison to converse with, just the damp walls of his cage, throwing his own words back at him every time he screamed something in frustration. Bakura had not thought that loneliness of all things would be the most plaguing. He had always been a loner. But in the practically complete darkness it became so glaringly obvious that he had been mistaken.

Hearing the soft patter of Ryou's bare steps at the edge of the tunnel that lead to his captivity was like hearing the harsh desert winds blow wisps of sand around the endless dunes that lay beyond the palace. How Bakura missed those dunes. They symbolized freedom for him, something of which he was desperately in need. When he heard Ryou's naked feet gliding along the stone, eager to meet him, always bringing something new (food, water, companionship, sometimes even maps or books for him to study), was as close to freedom as Bakura reached.

Seeing Ryou near his cell was an even holier experience. He knew now for certain that Ryou was a male due to an unlikely experience that involved Bakura catching a short glimpse of what lay under the slave's ripped tunic, an experience that would not soon be forgotten in all its illicit glory. Bakura knew not why his memory was so phased by that moment, but it mattered not. At least he had knowledge as to the actual gender of his companion.

When Bakura witnessed the first white tendrils of Ryou's bushy mane floating in the darkness, when he saw the crystalline paleness of the boy's tight flesh paired with the creep likeness he bore in his haunted eyes, a part of the tomb robber levitated above the prison. It was such an odd, unquestionably wanted feeling that Bakura thought he would surely be driven mad without it. When asked to explain this, he merely passed it off as the desperation that occurs in prisons. He had come to accept it.

Ryou. Bakura sat in his cell, watching the candle burn quite agonizingly deliberate out of the corner of his vision as he always did, thinking about the boy. He certainly was an oddity. It seemed like an endless amount of time had passed since that day when Bakura awoke to find himself staring at his would-be twin, and still his savior, (indeed he was), refused to speak. The only word that Bakura managed to achieve was the single syllable of his short name. Even this came with much struggle.

Bakura had started with the usual questions. "What is your name?"

Never had the boy done more than his usual blink of response.

"Who are you? Why are you here, taking care of me?"

Ryou wore a paper-thin smile and continued to slather salve on him.

"What do you do here in the palace?"

The grayish blue eyes averted his glance shyly. Bakura had learned not to ask this again.

"Why do you care about me?"

Small smile. Damn it.

"Why do you remain silent? Why do you not speak? TALK TO ME!"

Ryou had flinched at this request, frowning slightly. He stared at Bakura meekly, saying so much with his eyes. The thief king had learned that Ryou spoke with those cloudy sea foam eyes. He adapted to this and came to understand Ryou's silent speech; never to the point where they upheld long conversations, but Bakura hated meaningless talk anyway. In some ways, he liked the boy's quietness. It offered reprieve from the vile humanity communicated through oral speech. This was a good thing.

But Bakura needed to have a name. At least that much.

One night, he waited until Ryou was finished administrating care in his quiet way. As usual when Ryou was done, the boy sat back at an angle to Bakura's direct line of vision with his hands folded waiting to be told to do something, enjoying the silent conversation.

"What is your name?" Bakura started.

Ryou glanced at him and smiled.

Heh, he had barely expected to achieve much with his first attempt. So he tried again. "I need to know this. What is your name?"

The boy began to show signs of discomfort, wringing his hands, darting his eyes across all corners of the cell, pleading with Bakura to change the subject. This had been anticipated. Nothing came easily with Ryou.

"There is no reason to remain silent. Tell me. What is your name?" Bakura went through great lengths to control the volume of his voice to seem…almost…pleasant. He hated it, but he wanted that name. He wanted it, damn it.

Ryou lips curled against each other. His eyes did not seem frightened, just sad. Bakura was used to this sadness. Apparently, Ryou was rarely happy. Still he hated causing Ryou sadness. The boy just did not deserve it. Some people might say that the heartless tomb robber offered kindness to no one and those same people were entirely incorrect. Bakura was not heartless; the only thing others would deem wrong with him is the cruel sense of justice he had obtained through the years. People—he had realized at an early age—deserved their fate. And those that had a fate they did not deserve were victims. Ryou did not deserve to be sad. By causing him sadness, Bakura saw it that he was victimizing Ryou and this was strictly against his dearest wishes.

However, in order for anything to be gained, they both needed to bleed somewhat. So he persisted still. "My name is Bakura. What is yours?"

Bakura. He had released the vital information of his own name. It was dangerous he knew. There was no telling whether or not Ryou knew the name Bakura, hated it, and longed for revenge himself, (though, he thought this unlikely). He barely even cared. The desperate prisoner wanted that name. Wanted.

Amazingly, as soon as Ryou heard the name Bakura something within him crystallized at the beauty. So finally his poor victim had a name. Ba…ku…rah…silently he tasted the name on his tongue. He liked it. Bakura. Bakura the Prisoner. Bakura the Insensitive. Bakura the Divine. Bakura Who Listened with His Eyes.

He moved quietly to the side of Bakura. The pale skin of the slave suddenly longed to come in contact with this man's, whose eyes were now lingering on him in a cautious manner, (had the tomb robber been incorrect in his reasoning? Did the weak-looking boy want revenge for people killed? Should he be…worried?). He thought about stroking the man's forehead—Bakura always seemed to enjoy this—but decided against it. Instead, he laid his head on a single muscular shoulder.

"Ryou," the boy mumbled.

Bakura had stiffened with the sudden contact, feeling slightly crowded again. Just as he was ready to lash out he heard the word.

"What was that? What did you say?"

Delicate eyelids fluttered closed in comfort. "Ryou," he whispered again.

At long last, his savior had a name. Satisfied, Bakura relaxed under the feel of the small head on his shoulder. From this moment on, he learned to accept the feeling of being crowded by Ryou—only Ryou, however. No one else. Incidentally, the fragile boy stayed there on his shoulder until the end of the night. In the morning, he awoke looking scared and hurried out of there barely remembering to light the candle. Bakura knew that he would be in trouble. Slaves did not sleep late. But still, it was nice while it lasted.

Sitting there in the darkness, the imprisoned thief let thoughts of Ryou wash over his mind. He knew that he spent way too much time thinking about the boy when he should be devoting all his attention to the master plan, (he still created escape routes for himself with the maps and the books that Ryou randomly brought with him). There was nothing else to occupy his mind except visions of revenge, so he had much time to contemplate. However the plan seemed so impossible at this point. Ryou barely found time to escape to the dungeons. It made no sense that he could leave this place without magic.

Magic…if only he had the Sen-Nin items once more. They had been so horribly stolen from him, such unfairness. But there was no way to get the items again from behind these slimy cage bars. Every time he found himself longing for these magical golden shadow powers, he forced the yearnings to the bottom of his stomach. Not until he could escape…then…then glory would be his.

Plans were made then cast aside. Nothing seemed to work. It was all so unfeasible. He hated it. He hated his inability to concoct something effective. He hated the bleakness of things.

No. No, things were not bleak. Think of all that he had.

Ryou. There was Ryou, his brightly lit candle in the darkness. Ryou. Glorious Ryou with his kindness and silence…wonderful Ryou…Bakura's eyes closed as he continued to savor theses thoughts of Ryou.

A likeness of the boy was called to his mind. Behind his eyelids he watched the boy, seeing him move with the grace and subtlety of such a discreet, warm-hearted creature.

Grappling with the emotions that always came with thoughts of Ryou, Bakura was surprised to find something new amid all the…care, (did he care about Ryou? He cared about him, yes. Enough for…emotional attachment? No, he thought not. Ryou was a lifeline, nothing more. Bakura relied on him for a lot and that was the root of their relationship. Nothing more, of course). Something ravaging.

Lust.

It came like a spark on a cold night. All of his internal emotions—hateful and angry as they were always were—seemed like sleeping compared to this new arousal. Almost subconsciously, the thief king raised a hand and slid it down his own body…feeling for the site of his arousal in his figure's front …

Upon grasping the erection, (surprisingly stiff as it was), Bakura awoke from his trance, darkness meeting his demanding vision. What the…hell? Apparently this was a new emotion he felt for Ryou. Attraction?

This is ridiculous…he thought. I've been locked up for too long. He is just a boy, unattractive and puny. Why do I feel this way? Of course I do not. It is all in my head, the result of imprisonment.

Even while he said this to himself, disappointment rose within him as his length wilted. He tried to shake it off but it was like a stain. A bloody stain. Those never washed off.

Ryou…irrepressibly, his thoughts returned to the boy.

Alas! The candle. He whipped his head around to face the burning light. The flame was passed the middle.

Ryou was late.

------------------------

"Why do I give myself up like this, Ryou?"

His master always did have an insufferably ugly face. Years of sun bathing without protection had left his skin like leather, tough and unsightly. Tooth decay ripped through his mouth, leaving countless empty spaces were teeth were supposed to be rooted. Beady eyes—they always remained Ryou of a beetle's—bore down at him from the high place.

"You are such a useless servant. Why, in the name of Pharaoh Atemu himself, do I suffer for you?"

The high place was not really that high, Ryou supposed. His master was merely standing on his own two feet. But it looked extremely high from Ryou's low position, kneeling on all fours before the grueling man.

Ryou was in trouble. That much was obvious. His master, less than pleased, had stopped him earlier on in the evening just before he was heading down to meet Bakura again. "Where are you going, Ryou?" he had asked, nearly cracking the boy's thin wrist with an unnecessarily strong grip. "I gave no permission."

Now his master stood before him, overbearing and terrible in completeness. Ryou spotted the horse whip behind his back and eyed it with a sort of acceptance. He had tempted fate throughout the entire two months of nursing Bakura back to health and enjoying his fierce company. (Fierce? Yes, it was. But not fierce like his master was fierce. Fierce in a sort of…kind way. Was that possible? Fierce in a kind way? Ryou was not positive, but it barely mattered now.) His master had finally realized that in the middle of the night Ryou was not always in his slave's bed. Finally.

"You shame my family with your incompetence. Every single mistake you make—do you realize this?—reflects on me! I have been humiliated in front of the high court itself because of your inability to function like a proper slave! So tell me, Ryou. Tell me. Why do I keep you with me? Why?"

Ryou kept his head down in silence. Really, he did not believe that his master expected sounds to come from him. For years he had not spoken a word to the high man. "Of course you don't speak. You hide from life, Ryou. You hide! It is weak and disgusting, just like the dishonor you have caused me."

Ryou closed his eyes. Never did his master ever say something that actually affected him, but sometimes Ryou felt minor stings after the words he spewed. Now was a perfect example. He did not hide…did he? No…but…did he?

"Punishment is in order, slave. It is passed due, I believe, as well. Remove your shirt."

Of course he complied with the request, as if he had a choice. The beatings commenced in anger, as they always did. Ryou braced himself for them and accepted them when they came crashing against his back like a female tiger's claws mauling one of her kittens.

Throughout it all, he concentrated on Bakura's face. He found that this made the pain lessen.

------------------------

Back and forth. Side to side. One slick wall to another slick wall. Bakura was pacing his cell in agitation.

Where was Ryou? The candle was almost reduced to a puddle of wet wax. This had never happened before.

Was he alright? Had any harm come to him? Had someone found out about these late night escapades the boy went on? Was it…punishment that kept him so far away from Bakura?

He shook these thoughts. That was the worst case scenario. Most probably, Ryou had just been held up by chores or some slave work that needed to be done, (he never actually made sure of what work Ryou did in the palace). That must be it. Of course.

But why was it taking so long? What vile, unholy mutilation of fate could possibly keep them apart for this excruciatingly long block of time?

A long stream of breath exhaled from Bakura's thin lipped mouth. Alright. This could be worse than it is. The candle could be enveloped by darkness right now.

Suddenly the lights went out.

Curses erupted through the cell. "Damned hell-beasts of unblessed priest-bitches…" Why did he have to tempt fate with that thought?

Forget this foolishness. Ryou is not here. That is the most important matter, right now. Think. Where could he be?

Anywhere. But most likely—Bakura did not know why, he just had an eerie premonition—it was something painful that prevented him. This did not bode well.

Damn you, Ryou. Why have you made me so attached to you? He felt like a child, clinging to his mother's robes for comfort. No one had ever made him feel this way before. Why suddenly with Ryou? Did the boy have such a great effect on him? His mind turned back to the incident only a few candle-burnings before. The incident in which he had felt so aroused it was almost profane. That thought made him smile. Profane. For a tomb robber that had no boundaries, the word had such a perverse meaning…he found it quite amusing, really.

Still, he was greatly disturbed by the effect this boy had had on him. This was against all the rules he had set for himself regarding the subject of "love". He hated that word. Love. Bakura hated that word more than any other word that had ever been uttered. It was such a lie. There was no such thing as love, just cheap attachments that human beings felt every now and then. They came and went. Nothing was permanent in Egypt. Nothing was permanent with humans. He had heard words of "love" when he was a child. Surely his parents had spoken them before. Had he even "loved" them? He did not know. Maybe. But they were dead now, tortured, then murdered like the rest of Kul Elna. Could you still "love" someone after they were dead? He thought not. It was contrary to the farce that was "love" in the first place.

"Love". He laughed suddenly, like a rush of crazed mania had taken over. It was quiet; merely a smirk in the darkness, but the sound of it was distorted to his ears. He adored that sound. Laughter was his own unalterable insolence that remained no matter what happened in the world. His secret self-indulgent mark of satisfaction. Laughter. Unlike "love", laughter was real.

Dizziness crept up on him. It seemed as though his head was spinning. Too much pacing, he reasoned. He should sit down.

And so he did. Leaning against the wall of the prison, he allowed himself to slide down into a sitting position. The cell was now covered in complete darkness as it was in the beginning of his sentence. Should he allow himself to worry? He was already worrying, that much had been taken care of.

If it just was not for the loneliness…he missed Ryou. That was it. Nothing about this "love" nonsense. He just missed the boy in all his paleness and silence.

It was stupid of him to expect to be coddled like a child. Ryou had a life outside this dungeon. How could he demand such constant presence of the boy? It was unjust. And yet…that did not prohibit the thief king from longing for the softness of his touch.

Forget his touch. Just the sight of him would do for right now…something other than visions…

The pitter-patter of light, barefooted feet slipped their way to Bakura's ears.

Harsh gray-blue eyes sprang open. Was it…Ryou? No, it was probably just his mind tricking him again. Oh, how many times that had happened. Innumerably it seemed, almost. The eyes closed again. Why hope?

Yet, the noise did not cease. It continued. Unlike all the previous times, as well—these footsteps sounded hurried. Running. This barefooted person was running towards his cell bringing a dim promise of light and companionship with each step. Could it be?

After an eternity of waiting, the light finally reached him. Holding the torch was his ever-faithful Ryou.

An internal sigh fell within Bakura. At last, at long last the boy was back with him. But he must not show his gratitude—that would admit to having unstable feelings, the ultimate thing he hid.

Putting on a show of apathy, the now calm tomb robber growled, "You are late. Do not do that to me. Ever again."

In Ryou's eyes shown sorrow. He was sorry it seemed. Apology accepted, thought Bakura. As long as he could see the boy's face. Ryou pulled out the key he had for the lock, (at first he had been using only a butter knife or some such thing, but it was very difficult to lock the door with that same knife. So the young slave had taken it upon himself to steal the key from a drunken guard's belt and that was used ever since), and solemnly opened the cell door.

It was as if sadness radiated off him like infectious smog. Bakura caught the illness as soon as Ryou entered. What could possibly be that saddening, Bakura wondered, to make anyone in the world so pitiful?

Bakura continued to watch the boy's movements as he came closer to him and unwrapped some food he had stolen from the kitchens. Fresh, buttery biscuits with tender meat pieces in them. By Ra, did the thief king so adore these biscuits. He took them as a special treat, an addition to the boy's apology.

"You are forgiven," he mumbled, snatched the biscuit out of the cloth and shoved it in his face. Glorious food…the taste of exquisite, well-prepared meat on floury, buttery bread…saliva dripped through the corners of Bakura's mouth as he chewed.

Ryou looked down while his prisoner ate. Bakura found this interesting. Although Ryou's foggy eyes were fixated on the floor, it was as if he saw something else. He was looking past the slimy tile and seeing something entirely different—something that made him absolutely miserable. Rising in Bakura was a feeling that he wanted to kill whatever Ryou saw vicariously through the floor. He would kill whoever made this precious boy so unhappy.

"Whuff's wrong?" Bakura managed through a mouthful of food, which had suddenly lost its heavenly taste after seeing Ryou so depressed.

Not even a slight twitch showed response.

Bakura swallowed and moved closer to his companion, inspecting him with harsh flicks of his eyes. The boy looked about the same, except for the eyes. He was dirty and unwashed, his hair wafted out from behind him like such an unruly cloud, and none of his clothes fit his bony figure well, (the shirt hung off his shoulder by a good amount). But there was something different…

The cunning eyes of the tomb robber spotted it. Blackish purple marks on the left side of his innocent face. His stony heart fell. Was this…his fault?

"What the hell happened to your face?" he demanded, wiping a curtain of hair away from the bruises, (a piece of hair that Ryou had obviously placed there purposely to hide the marks).

Ryou looked at the man looking back at him. There was a feeling undulating within him that felt so reminiscent of looking at the velvety Egyptian sky—at night, just before he had to go inside with the water basin for his master's bath. Beautiful. So Beautiful.

He could not explain why Bakura made him feel so special, so meaningful, so significant (despite the ugly beatings that leered to the world from his face—the master had been dissatisfied with just the whip on that night)…but he loved feeling that way. The young boy knew that if he had been forced to live without feeling this incomparable swelling within his heart, life would be something of a hell. He did not want to lose this feeling, (this feeling that made his breath hitch in his throat and his skin become like delicate rose petals that when touched quivered before disintegrating to the ground). He wanted to revel in it, live in it. Never leave Bakura's side. Ryou made up his mind right then: He would do whatever the thief asked of him, sacrifice his very life to him if need be, and make absolutely sure that Bakura never suffered.

Astoundingly, all these marvelous emotions made him smile. Tugging at his lips was an emotion that seemed almost alien to him. Happiness, was it? Was the feeling happiness? He supposed it was.

Bakura looked on as this abused, violated boy suddenly projected a full hearted smile at him. Every single one of the boy's teeth, as well as some of his cavernous mouth, could be seen through this smile. Ryou looked…almost gleeful.

"What's that? What are you smiling about?"

Ryou continued to look gleeful, staring straight at him with his happiness. Almost like he was challenging him with it.

Bakura was up for a challenge—it's not like the smiles frightened him or anything of that nature—he just did not understand them. Oh well. There were more pressing subjects to this, anyway. Choosing to ignore the unexplained cheerfulness, he moved on to a different subject. "Who did this to you?"

With that, the smiles quickly faded from Ryou's face, as if Bakura had taken a rag and simply erased them like dust. His first instinct was to apologize but he abandoned that. This boy needed to explain all this to him first—before any apologies were made. Even if he did…enjoy seeing the boy happy, it was no concern of his whether or not he needed an apology. Was it? Maybe that's all that Ryou did need…to hell with it.

Ryou seemed to have suddenly lost his initial optimism. He stared at the floor and shook his head. There was not one nerve in his body that condoned telling Bakura of his master and the cruelty he suffered at that man's hand. Why should Bakura need to know of this? That man was his burden and his alone.

Bakura watched Ryou's discreet reaction. An untrained eye probably could not even see the negative head shake Ryou presented. But Bakura saw it. He knew that Ryou was trying to hide the details of this from him. Why would he do that? Who could have possibly beaten him so badly and then not deserve punishment?

The thief king thought. There were quite a number of things that Ryou had not told him about the life he led in the palace. Bakura could guess from the boy's dirty attire and weak appearance, but nothing else really helped him in the matter. Perhaps he was a slave who had received a beating from his master for some kind of misdeed. Bakura had suspected this all along. But then, did that make the abuse his fault? For knowing that the boy could likely get a whipping for his sake, and then doing nothing to stop it? For needing help in the first place?

This was all so confusing…he wished that Ryou would reach beyond his strict boundaries of speech and tell him what had happened. Bakura knew, however, that Ryou would never do that. So, like all the countless other times, he was forced to guess the problem.

"Your master? Did your master do this to you?"

Ryou twitched. Aha. He had struck upon something.

How? The boy's mind worked fast. How had Bakura known? His gaze slowly rose to meet that of the prisoner's. How? Had he just guessed that? Had he known all along that Ryou was nothing but a frail, inconsequential slave, consistently unable to do anything correctly? A slave who…hid from life, as his master had told him. (Why had those words stuck so deeply within him?)

When the tomb robber looked into the eyes of his savior, he saw emotion twinkling on the edge of reason. Ryou stared at him with such intensity Bakura was surprised to find that he almost had to look away. Luckily, he controlled himself and continued to hold the gaze with strong if not equal force.

With slight regret, Bakura realized that his hand was still resting on the side of Ryou's face. Why did he feel regretful? If anything, having his hand there would be a relief. It gave him some small power over the boy, (like he needed anymore power, but that last gaze had shaken his masculinity). He left it where it was.

"Tell me what happened." As he said this, the thief's left hand began softly caressing Ryou's beaten side, moving in time with his speech.

The boy closed his eyes against the touch. His interior had begun to swell again. He wanted to tell Bakura what happened, he really did. But he just…could not. Why should he tarnish the prisoner with his voice? He hated speaking, loathed it with every part of him that was whole. Silence was his subliminal testimony to the ugliness of life. Ryou was unable to speak.

Bakura could not at all describe the emotion within him as frustration. With the silence, Ryou had already told him so much. But he doubted that the facial bruises were all that his master gave.

"What else did he do, Ryou?" he asked calmly, continuing his quiet ministrations. (The thief king had assumed the master was a male, but he really had no idea.)

The fragile slave, who had begun to lean into the tender touch with inexpressible need, now opened his eyes and moved back. Startled, Bakura was about to pour out his apologies, thinking that Ryou had been hurt by this request. But then his slender companion stood up, pulled his hair to the front, and removed his unkempt shirt in one movement.

At first, shivers attacked Bakura upon seeing the bare flesh of his healer—something he had only seen in imagination up until now. However, his sensual side was only fleetingly aroused as in the next few seconds Ryou turned around and showed the marred part of him: His back.

Long, four feet lashes scraped their way across the boy's pale flesh, leaving lines of bloody, irritated abrasions in their wake. Ryou must have had at least ten pinkish-red, (the color of coral), lashes on him that were fresh. The bulk of the marks came from the past, as Bakura suspected by seeing the countless milky white scars that followed similar patterns. This boy was definitely a slave. He had been beaten all his life.

The deadly gray-blues on Bakura's face flashed with seriousness. This offense was not just an offense on Ryou. It was for him. Ryou had been punished unnecessarily, for Bakura's own sake. That made him a victim. This offense would not be taken lightly. If Bakura ever got out of here, he vowed to kill the man who had done such a wicked thing to his Ryou, and he would not do it quietly. No, he would make the bastard suffer within an inch of sanity until he begged him for death between bloody gasps for breath—

Wait. His Ryou? That's what he had called him. Since when did Ryou belong to him?

Well…Bakura supposed. He does belong to me. It was apparent that no one else in the world cared for the boy very much, (in a similar way to how the rest of the world loathed the sight of the notorious Tomb Robber of Akhenamkhanen). So why should he not belong to Bakura? He cared for him—that much was certain—and he vowed retribution on his behalf. That alone was reason enough.

The thief king's mind smirked. He liked the idea of having Ryou with him whenever he wanted. He liked the idea of owning him.

But currently, the prisoner was in deep distress. His Ryou had been severely hurt. Grasping onto the wall of support, (he was still not very good at the walking thing, a slight aftereffect of his injuries), Bakura pulled himself up and moved up against the boy's back, laying coarse-skinned hands on the slave's beaten shoulders.

Visibly, Ryou shook. He normally did not like to be touched anywhere near his back; it only began the pain again. But, when Bakura did it…somehow it felt better. Like the pain was actually lessening rather than increasing. Then why the shaking? He could not explain it. All the same, the rising in his chest had never fully gone away.

Bakura leaned against the body in front of him, making sure not to touch the wounds or irritate any further. He put his mouth directly next to the boy's ear and whispered, "Whoever has done this to you will pay. I will make them suffer as much as you did. More. Now. You have you to tell me. Who did this?"

Ryou listened to the words, but he did not really hear them. Yes, there were some threats there. To him? No, he was sure that Bakura was threatening whoever had harmed him. (At least, he hoped. Bakura had threatened his life before…only once had he ever raised a hand to him. But the thief had stopped before anything got too far. Ryou was glad for that. And he had actually deserved that almost-beating as well. He left Bakura in the dungeons alone for over a week without reason. He had been thinking of leaving him there to end their relationship after his wounds could heal on their own. Of course, this was impossible. So he had returned after a week to an angered Bakura—one with a hand ready to strike him.) Yet, the words uttered washed over him quickly, with an equal sensation as had the earlier caresses. He never fully absorbed their meaning. He did not care. As long as Bakura kept whispering to him…

There was no answer coming from Ryou. Bakura realized that he was just going to have to drop the subject, (for now). Later maybe they could talk about this again. Right now, so close to Ryou, the long abandoned captive had other ideas in mind.

With his left hand, Bakura reached to the front of the boy and grasped his fluffy hair. He pulled it slowly back behind him and turned to direct his full attention to it.

Darkened, thin hands spread the fine, silky material over his fingers, marveling at the delicate feel of it. "You know…" he began, still using a voice barely above a whisper. "I always did love the sight of your hair…it is so much like mine, and yet…it is so much more innocent." Dropping the hair, finally beginning to notice Ryou's shaking and worrying about it slightly, he placed both hands on either side of Ryou's pelvis.

"You are shaking, Ryou. What's wrong?" He did not expect nor want an answer to that question.

All these advances were affecting Ryou. He was fully aware that his shaking had become more noticeable but he could not identify the cause of them. Was it anticipation, (he was not so innocent that he did not know where this was going)? Was it the flutters within him? Was it fear? Did he want this?

Bakura slowly moved his hands into the center of Ryou's pelvis, pressing downward slightly.

Ryou's breath caught and he closed his eyes once more. Yes. Yes, he wanted this. He wanted this very much.

Bakura had lost all hope of reasoning out his actions. He could give a damn about them at this point. As a thief, he was a person who acted on feeling. What he wanted, he took. He wanted Ryou. So he would take him and enjoy him, damn it.

The hands on Ryou's lower stomach continued downward, reaching the top of his thighs. Bakura situated his thumbs into the boy's inner thigh and slowly massaged the tight muscles there. A small moan escaped the boy. The tomb robber smirked. So Ryou did enjoy this. Also, it was a sound. Victory at last.

Moving ever so gradually down still, Bakura found the hem of Ryou's tunic. He reached underneath the thin fabric. Fully aware of the heavy breathing coming from his prey, Bakura began to rub his inner thighs once more, with his whole hand. After giving light, teasing touches to Ryou's innocent yet very hard member, (eliciting whimpers of want), he reached out and pulled the tunic down to the floor.

Now the boy was completely nude inside the cell. Bakura was pleased with this. He wanted to see it, though. Putting his hands again on the boy's shoulders, he shifted him, making sure that Ryou would not fall over or be hurt. On slowly moving feet, Ryou's front turned to face Bakura's.

Hungry eyes feasted on the delicious sight of Ryou, (how hungry he had been for this for so long now). White skin matched with white hair, a slight blush tinting the needy face…Ryou himself was…beautiful.

Bakura wrapped his arms around the boy's lower back and pulled him directly up against him with minor cries in return. "You are so beautiful," he panted into Ryou's face. How he desired this boy.

Throwing off his clothes as if shirking any last bits of impermanence, Bakura brought his lips to meet his companion's. As if massaging each other, they kissed impatiently. Bakura ripped open Ryou's jaws and licked the cavernous interior; fully welcome to any new sensation he tasted there. What did the boy taste like? It was an unnamed taste, unlike anything he had ever known before. Maybe such a wonderful thing had not been invented yet. Maybe it never would.

Bakura moved his hands to envelop the width of Ryou's small ass, squeezing eagerly. A wanton moan filled the passage of their kiss. The thief smirked again, happy with Ryou's pliability.

Suddenly in need of breath more than pleasure, Bakura pulled away from the temptation of Ryou's mouth. They both paused for a moment, filling their deprived lungs with damp prison air. But the prison itself had been forgotten. They were no longer in the pharaoh's deepest, darkest hell. They were in a place all their own, someplace they could never describe in words, but they knew how it felt to be there. It was a place without fear and pain, without suffering and enemies. It was a place that both of them had wanted to be for their entire gratuitously painful lives.

Hungry again, Bakura pulled Ryou down to the floor of the cell and spread him out beneath him. Ryou's hands were clasped tightly to the skin of Bakura's back and he kept them there, pushing Bakura down upon him. Bakura positioned himself between the supple legs of his lover and allowed Ryou to show him all the places he wanted to be kissed.

Under Ryou's gentle but fervent guidance, Bakura ran his lips along the boy's shoulders moving steadily across to his prominent collarbone. He let himself linger on his region for a brief moment, leaving a noticeable love bite, before moving upward to the soft skin on his neck. Ryou gave distinct groans of pleasure, urging his lover onward, as the prisoner moved to his earlobe and bit down rather forcefully.

A load moan escaped. The more experienced of the two, Bakura chuckled and left that area, running strong hands along the surface of his chest. He found an unnoticed nipple and gently massaged it with his tongue. Ryou whimpered, begging him to move on. Bakura pretended not to comprehend and continued to suck and nibble the now pink piece of flesh. Ryou began to squirm, almost tormented by the pleasure.

Realizing that his lover needed reprieve, Bakura moved farther downward to his pelvis—the beginning of this interaction—which he kissed passionately reaching his lover's very stiff arousal. Not entirely sure how Ryou would handle this, he began to kiss the erection very tenderly, causing it to kick against him in reflex. He smirked and moved down to the head, wrapping his mouth slowly around it. The boy began to moan, heaving his shoulders into the act as if that gave him more relief, and Bakura moved up the shaft at—what seemed to Ryou—an agonizing pace.

Perhaps if he continued this long enough, Ryou would speak. Bakura liked that idea and decided not to offer his lover any moderation. So, his talented tongue continued where he was, deciding that he strongly wanted to hear Ryou's voice.

After a few more moments, it came. Almost inaudible over the suckling sounds, Ryou spoke. "Please…" he whimpered. "Please, Bakura…"

That was enough. He had heard the plea—as well as his name, which offered much arousal for him—and was satisfied with it. The tomb robber could ask no more of his lover. So, removing Ryou's erection after tasting slight pre-cum, he positioned himself and entered. They came at relatively the same time, creating a sense of unity with it, something both of them enjoyed.

Lying together on the now warm prison floor, Ryou wrapped Bakura around himself in an intricate embrace. He had done acts like that before with unkind men, (slaves never remained virgin for long), so he had expected something like that. But Bakura had shown him something different with his love. There was no question which one he preferred. As he lay in the arms of the prisoner, whom he met only by chance, he could not help feeling happy. Happy? Oh yes. Quite. This man…this beautiful, wonderful, kind, passionate man who listened with his eyes…this man completed him.

Bakura eyes closed slowly, content with the feeling of Ryou safe in his arms. All thoughts of revenge, of the pharaoh, of the lost victims of Kul Elna, of the Sen-Nin items had left him momentarily. Right now there was Ryou and that was very much desirable.

He fell asleep shortly after that. It was a warm unconsciousness, much like with what it was supposed to be: Sleep.

A/N: Wow, ok…what did you guys think? Was it bad? Ah, not bad for someone whose never written a lemon before. Thanks guys.

Let me just ask…does anyone think that Bakura is slightly OOC? It might seem a little farfetched that he actually loves Ryou, but in my opinion…let him be the judge of that. Most of this confusing aspect will be explained in the next chapter. Hopefully you guys will stick with me, thanks for reading.