A/n: Back with the third chapter. Aren't you so excited? That you just can't hide it? About to lose control and think you like it?

I thought not.

Omote kinda means surface or outer... thingy... well it's apparently what the hikaris were called a couple times in the anime (or manga?). Figured I'd use it.

Note- I've been using some lyrics from Sarah Mclachlan's Possession for the chapter titles. So they're not really mine.

It wasn't often that a yami materialized itself, and even if they were powerful enough to do so it was only temporary, and usually wasn't worth the time or stamina when one could simply use their vessel's body. This situation seemed to call for it, though, seeing the state that Ryou's body was in.

The large boy blinked stupidly and looked from Bakura to Ryou and then back again. Only upon looking back, his face met with Bakura's fist.

Before the young man had time to get back up from that first blow Bakura was holding him down, and his cold eyes seemed to petrify the former attacker.

"When I ask for something I expect to get it without hesitations," the spirit hissed, "And I don't like what is mine to be touched. If you lay one of your grubby fingers on him again, the consequences will be substantial."

He paused a moment, then snickered.

"That word, however, may not be in your vocabulary, so to make it simpler let's just say you touch him, I kill you. You hit him, and I break you. You even consider tainting his innocence again, and I leave your mind to be devoured by the shadows of your own fears, never to escape. Do you understand?"

He nodded fearfully.

"If I chose to I could have my fun with you now, but you aren't worth my time. So get out of my sight- before I change my mind."

The bully (to be forever scarred by this encounter with shadow magic) left the moment Bakura allowed him to, not daring to look behind him. Bakura only glared disgustedly. He tried to take what was his, tried to hurt it...

'The body and soul both belong to me. They are not for anyone else to touch.'

Sniffing with finalization he turned- and found himself suddenly panicked by the sight that met his eyes. His cheeks burned to a slightly darker shade as he took a closer look at the crumpled body on the ground.

Dropping to the boy's side, he searched the body for any serious breaks or sprains. The torn skin tainted the creamy white of his face with deep, rose-red. His lips were parted slightly, as he took in air slowly- very slowly, never once even stirring. That and his now unsteady pulse were the only indications that he was even still alive.

'He looks nothing like me. How could anyone mistake me for him?'

With an arm keeping Ryou in a sitting position, Bakura raised his hand above the lovely face, still unable to touch it.

'Wait, what am I doing!'

Attempting to clear his head, Bakura drew his hand away and wondered what to do about his fallen vessel. He couldn't simply take over this time; the body was too damaged for that. His time as solid was growing thin, and to top it all off it looked like it was going to rain.

He figured that he may as well clean him off a little. The sooner he's better, the sooner he'll be able to take over, right?

Bakura emptied a nearby building of people (ah, shadow magic and its many uses) and, gathering Ryou in his arms, easily carried him to one of its washrooms. Pinning him against one of the walls to keep him still, Bakura began to wash away the blood and to smooth out the tumbled hair, roughly at first, telling himself again and again that he was just readying the vessel for his use. The truth was that touching his lighter self still unnerved him.

Soft locks slipped through his fingers, almost clutching to them as he pulled away, coaxing him back. He felt his mind begin to numb. The boy's sheer beauty had once again caught him in a trance, and his hands began to work more gently across the broken surface of skin. Every touch was drawn out as long as possible, slowly absorbing his utter softness.

Noticing the stains seeping through the school uniform, he unbuttoned Ryou's jacket and slipped off his shirt, cleaning the wounds underneath. Sensations of delight flickered through his fingers with every firm stroke, causing him to tremble slightly.

It occurred to him suddenly that there would be lower body wounds as well as upper, and his eyes fell to the belt clinging to the boy's waist.

'...This is going too far!'

Pulling away, he carefully set Ryou down and tried not to look at him.

But he was so... still. And he hated stillness.

Hated it.

It was far too reminiscent of a time when he was unable to wake someone close to him. Eyes glazing over for not more than a moment, he looked back on a memory he had set aside long before.

"Mother?"

A boy crept around the debris of what had once been his village, passing over the scattered bodies. There were faces he knew lying at his feet; faces of children clinging to the decaying figures of their parents.

He stumbled over a bundle that he, with an apprehensive gasp, realized was the remains of what once was a young girl, eyes still open, seeming to stare accusingly at the boy still alive. Where was he when the rest of them had suffered?

Face twisted in horror, he backed shakingly away from the reeking carcass, scrambling to his numbing feet, looking again for them.

"Father!"

Calling for them, he tried to hide from the faces that continually stared at him; tried to ignore the stench of the blood that dripped from their open mouths.

"Mother!"

His voice was breaking up, and his eyes began to sting from the dust that had settled in the air when the houses had collapsed. Falling again, the boy found that he could not bring himself to rise, and so he crawled over the ashen surface of what once was a beautiful place.

And he found them.

"Mother..."

Slipping down towards the bodies of a man and woman, the man with his arms protectively surrounding the woman, the young teen desperately reached out a hand.

"Mother... Father... no... no, get up, stop it, get up!"

The boy crawled into the lap of his father's corpse, mumbling near nonsense.

"Don't leave me here! Wake up! Wake up... please wake up... please..."

Interlacing his fingers with the woman's cold and lifeless one's, he ignored the tears dripping down his face.

"Don't leave me..."

He finally stood, and closed his now tear-drained eyes. When they opened, a piercing coldness had filled them, his fear well hidden with hatred. In that one moment, all empathy was forgotten and replaced with a fierce sense of revenge, leading steadily to sadism.

He began stealing not so much for survival, but the pleasure in taking from others. Tomb robbingwas both the most bountiful and hated form of thieving, as it was disrespectful to the dead who could not even defend themselves. So naturally, he became one of the most feared tomb robbers in Egypt. He was even at one time called the Thief King.

It was a title well-placed. He was of course king of all thieves; he was the most relentless. Soulless even, some said. None could match his sheer hatred for humanity and love of suffering...

Blinking, Bakura pushed the memory away again. It didn't matter. Not who he was, or how he became who he was. Nothing could change that.

But suddenly, he snapped his eyes back to Ryou. He could feel the other soul's pulse... and it was beginning to falter...

A/n: Yea. Fluff. And a cliffie-type thing. Wasn't that fun?

I know, a little disappointing how Bakura had an opportunity to get into Ryou's pants right in front of him and he didn't take it. But I figure authoresses (seriously, how many guys are there on this site?) really need to make an effort, at least, to stop promoting teen sex. I mean, I know it's just a story, but it starts getting a little weird. You'd be surprised how influential things like these can be.

Woah, disturbing thought.

Until next time. Peace, Love, Rock & Roll, and REVIEW!