Coveted

Ryou passed a palm over his brow, shutting his eyelids. He exhaled gently and unhurriedly, an attempt to soothe the palpitations in his chest to a more normal rate.



"Ugh..." he took a fistful of his hair, near the roots, and tugged on it; what could he do about the unsureity this night had thrust upon him? So many questions lingered in the young man's mind, but he remained deprived of answers. Ryou's fingers clenched tighter on his skull as he strove to set his thoughts straight.



The spirit, instead of having drawn himself into the Ring as usual, had remained physically discernible. This action in itself was disturbing. There was very little the spirit could do when manifested at such a distance from Ryou; he could not communicate with others, or physically interact with his environment; nor could he move, not to any valuable extent. In such a state his Yami was, for all intents and purposes, useless; he'd be limited to the power of his mind and senses, capable of observing and thinking, but unable to produce a substantial effect.



He ground his teeth and grimaced. Perhaps the spirit had powers Ryou did not yet realize, and was plotting to utilize their advantages in due time. The youth, however, had his own interpretation of the situation. He was relatively certain, from the glance he got of the ghost in the bathroom, that this feat was not one of deviousness; but rather, it was a doing provoked by exasperation and personal turmoil, by the confusion of not understanding one's desires. Ryou had gone through such a stage in the past. As a youth of the digital era, he'd had many ways of acquainting himself with the concept of homosexuality; consequentially, he'd overcome the confining expectations of which society had lectured into him. The revelation had been a great relief, and he doubted whether he’d be psychologically stable if he’d denied it.



It hadn’t been very difficult to notice that his Yami had been possessed by sexual desire. Ryou drew his hands down his face, pulling on the skin beneath his eyes with the tips of his fingers. A faint blush emerged on his cheeks as, shyly, the young man confronted what the spirit's objective must have been, given the circumstances.



His shadow was... his Yami had been listening to him masturbate, hadn't he? To keep himself hushed had never been Ryou's strength; in addition, noises in his bedroom had the tendency to reverberate in contiguous rooms, virtually anything that went on there could have been heard from the bathroom. Whether or not the entity was actively listening, Ryou had been audible. The youth rolled to his side and gripped onto a pillow, wrapping bare arms about the object, burying his face in the creases of the fabric. He didn't know how to deal with this. Perhaps he ought to wait, see how his Yami decided to manage the issue.



But his heart told him that such an approach would be too passive. His cohabitant could become increasingly unpredictable and dangerous in the midst of such turbulent emotions. On the other hand, Ryou wasn't at ease with the notion of directly assailing him with the issue. Aside from the stigmatism the topic of sex carried, to be so brash might cause the man to rebel in defiance. Such a reaction would be extremely detrimental to the situation.



This left Ryou with one choice- he'd have to be discreet. He'd expose the spirit to the idea that a male could find another male appealing, and that it was possible for two men have an intimate relationship with one another; but he'd do so in a fashion that would not allow his Yami to realize it was purposeful. A plot began to form in the mind of the pearl-haired youth. He contacted Anzu the next morning, and the first steps of his scheme began to fall into place.



****************





“Anzu! Over here!” He gestured across the schoolyard. Her eyes found him, and she strolled to the young man’s side.



“Hey, Bakura! How was school for you?”



“Ah...” a grimace came to his face. “I don’t know if I did very well on the logarithms test...”



She laughed. “I don’t think any of us did. Our teacher went over the section way too fast.”



“Yeah, he really did. You ready to go?”



Anzu took the young man’s arm, pulling on him excitedly. “Definitely! Work has kept me so busy, it’s insane. I’m glad I could find someone to hang out with on my day off! I can‘t wait to get to the mall!”



Yami no Bakura frowned. It didn’t please him to see his host being fondled so by the lady. His voice snarled in Ryou‘s ear.



“Why are you hanging out with this nitwit? Don’t you have anything better to do?”



“Anzu's my friend. Why do you care?” He retorted, and raised an eyebrow.



“She’s obnoxious! I don’t see how you can stand the girl’s constant nattering!”



Bakura refused to acknowledge this remark. He fastened his attention on his female comrade, and the two made small talk as they strode through the streets of Domino City.



It was good to see Ryou smiling. Often did the young man seem distant, gloomy. Though the closer of his schoolmates did their best to include him, Ryou lacked a substantial social life; and as a result, spent many quiet evenings devoid the company of others. Of course, Yami no Bakura had never quite counted as a guest- his presence was more tedious to the boy than anything. As his host laughed leisurely at the humor of his companion, the thief's throat constricted, feeling sore. A long time had passed since he'd last been subjected to the sound of the boy's jubilancy.



It was his own fault, wasn't it? The radiant youth needed to remain guarded against the constant threat he posed, his malicious attitude and sinister dealings. For Ryou to intermingle with people he cared about put the beloved persons at risk. Why hadn't he been aware of it before? This question had scarcely slipped from his mind when he unearthed the answer himself. Bakura never had given thought to the needs of the adolescent; he'd been entirely focused on his own selfish objectives, unwilling to spare a fraction of his time for the well-being of his counterpart. In retrospect, this mannerism of his was rather ludicrous- how could the man expect his devices not be thwarted, when he was constantly skirmishing with the one whose body he inhabited?



Remorsefully he positioned a hand across his lips, directing a scowl towards the ground. This was a sweet sound, the unfettered echo of his handsome associate, released so fluidly from the tongue. His heart rate elevated as the boy expressed his mirth. Unfortunately, this delight would never be intended for him, as a result of his own words or actions. The spirit chided himself for the sentimental drivel. His attachment to the young man was more distressing with each day.



And, oh, what a distraction the boy was! Even when he forcibly turned his consciousness elsewhere, images, memories of Ryou would timidly insinuate themselves into his thoughts; after a while he'd wake, as if from a trance, and realize what he'd been fondly musing over. There was no escape from his feelings, as insufferable as they were. He'd tried to find excuses, but Yami did not believe it wise to lie to oneself, and wasn't about to start.



It was at this moment that the spirit was so consumed in reflection that he did not notice a pair of Bakura's schoolmates throwing shifty eyes at the pair. One whispered to the other and made gesticulations towards the friends; the two slunk off into the shadows between buildings, disappearing unnoticed.



****************





"Anzu, I'm hungry. What would you say about having something to eat?"



"Right now?" The bright-eyed female put a hand over her belly. "Teenagers, with their bottomless stomachs... it isn't nearly time for dinner, and yet almost anything sounds appealing at the moment..." She giggled, stretching her arms. "Anything but burgers and French fries, I mean."



"I'm in the mood for Vietnamese, myself," he answered.



Minutes later the two sat down to dine, having finally settled on Chinese. Ryou felt a hand on his shoulder. He startled at the sensation, and jerked his head around to peer at his alter ego. He was a bit taken aback when his pupils met with the serious, intent gaze.



"What is it?" Ryou had paused, and said this decidedly less harshly than he was initially persuaded to.



"Something is wrong. I sense it."



"Don't be so paranoid." The youth chuckled nervously. "Of course nothing's wrong. You don't need to look so solemn about it."



"No, listen- I'm not wrong. When I get this feeling, there's danger in the near future. I don't know what it is, but you- we- are being threatened right now. We need to leave."



"I'm not going anywhere. I'm here with my friend, and we've made plans. Why would I change that because you 'feel like there's something wrong'? It's called 'worry,' and everyone does it. Relax."



The fingers on Ryou's shoulder grasped harder. Yami no Bakura raised his voice in frustration. "You don't understand! You are in extreme danger, but don't comprehend it! I'm taking over!"



"Oh, please, don't..."



Bakura sighed and rose from the table. "Anzu, it was nice meeting with you. Thank you. Goodbye."



Anzu had heard half of the conversation, and didn't need an explanation of the situation.



"Wait..." she got up quickly, and tugged on the cuff on his shirt lightly. Her voice was troubled. "Is this Ryou, or..."



"Don't worry, Anzu, it's me. Otherwise I'd not have thanked you, would I?"



"I suppose so." She embraced the boy. "Make good decisions, all right?"



His mouth twisted to a halfhearted grin. "I'll try. See you Monday."



"See you at school..."



They parted, the brunette watching him go, concerned.



****************





"What the hell was that about?" he spat under his breath. "Why did you have to ruin a perfectly good day? The first I've had for a long time, actually- no thanks to you."



"It wasn't safe. It's up to me to protect you."



"I can protect myself just fine! I don't need a vengeful spirit hanging over me, telling me I'm going to be hurt while out with my friends!"



"And how do you know," he muttered derisively, "that I didn't just save your life?"



"I-"



Ryou's feet were on the sidewalk, and then they weren't.



"Oi, fag." The boy glanced up, the figure of the perpetrator hulking over him. There was raucous laughter. "Look, he knows his name."



"At least he's not a stupid fag." This too was met with an outburst. The young man was hoisted up by the front of his shirt and thrust against a dark concrete wall. He struggled against his captor, to no avail.



There were three of them, and the spirit wouldn't be surprised if each were concealing a weapon. In a flash his host's visceral being was his.



"Let the fuck go of me!" he roared, but even he could not break from the aggressors with the slender physique. He should make his host take up a martial art, he figured. Fortunately, bodily combat wasn't the only option available. A possessed hand twined its way toward the boy's back pocket.



"Hold his arms!"



"Hey, he's reaching for something!"



"What do you have, fag? Let me see!" The limb was wrenched forward at an awkward angle, and Yami no Bakura flinched. Periodically he forgot how it felt to be in physical pain.



"A deck of cards? What the hell is up with you?" He scattered them with a flourish.



Stars burst into Bakura's eyes, cuffed in the side of the head he was as he wrestled to free himself, and then again in the ribs. The delinquents dragged him into the alley as he writhed against their grip.



The boy felt his heart thud desperately within the cage of his ribs. This was quickly becoming a dire situation. Aching, they pulled him down, held him securely to the ground. The leader of the three (or so he appeared to be) placed a dark heel on Bakura's abdomen, his presence looming like a squall on the horizon, ready to break forth any second.



"So, cocksucker, what should we do with you, huh? What should we do with you?"



He dug his heel into the muscles, prisoner letting out an involuntary gasp. The slits that his sinister eyes made were met with a glare of futile fury.



"Ooh, what a threatening little faggot." A boot swung at the boy's face, leaving in its wake a crimson mark that would, undoubtedly, be a bruise in a day. He lowered himself to the boy's level, and spoke in a maliciously soft voice.



"How would you like to suck my cock, faggot? I bet you'd like that, huh?"



"Sure, he loves to suck cock. How do you think he makes a living?" replied the orange-haired degenerate, giggling zanily.



The third one chimed in. "Doesn't need to pay for food, though; he's full before the end of the day."



"Is that so?" The edges of his mouth turned up at the youth. "Well, then he should have no problem-"



Bakura struck his foot out at the teen, who doubled over, clutching his torso; as the delinquent fought to regain his breath, Bakura wrenched himself from the grip of the two accomplices, socket of his left shoulder making an alarming grinding noise as he maneuvered out of their hold. He stumbled forward, clutching the edge of his shoulder, past the head of the trio; but the leader’s hand shot out and caught the young man by the ankle, cutting short his flight to freedom.



“You’re gonna get it now!” Screeched his captor. Yami wiped a wrist across his jaw line, a sanguine stain on the fabric of his sleeve revealing his newest of injuries.



“Boys, you know what to do!” He breathed heavily on top of the young man, pinning his weight on the tormented captive.



“You are going to get - it - now.“ A visible change overcame the countenance of his captor. A great malevolence sunk into the features, and it seemed to the boy that the eyes had turned obscure by means of some great shadow; a certain bestial quality found its way across the wicked visage, something uncouth and feral. It was now that the full stages of fear seeped into the boy’s mentality. It dawned on him there was more than simple brutality in his future; his very being was to be defiled. He began to panic.



“Stop it! Get off of me!” he shrieked, thrashing about in vain.



“Hold a knife to his neck!”



One of the cronies obeyed. “Absolutely, boss.” The gleaming instrument was produced from an inside pocket, and positioned across Bakura’s larynx. “Don’t you cry out, bitch, or I’ll slice it open.”



The boy had, by great fortune, managed to bring himself close enough to the alley entrance that one of his duel monster cards lay within the span of his arm. It was at this moment he noticed the thing, lying face down in the mud, above and to the right of his head; if only he could touch it, if only he could reach...



The leader of the three had large, dark hands, and he held the boy’s stomach down using one, and scrabbled with his jeans using the other. Having one appendage otherwise occupied made the action more challenging; he did manage, however, and soon the button and zipper of the boy’s garment was undone.



“What’s this?” Interrupted the third follower, the one with black hair and narrow eyebrows. “He’s reaching for one of those cards. Haha!” The adolescent snorted. “A lot of good that’ll do you, boy!” He picked up the soiled card- almost, almost in Bakura’s fingers- but not quite.



“Shove it in his mouth. Give him something to bite on.”



The boss tugged, firmly, on the boy’s pants. Bakura held his thighs together tightly as he could, prolonging the effort, but not holding it off completely. His attacker was much too strong to be thwarted for long. The boy gurgled in horror as the cloth was stripped from his haunches, Adam’s apple pulsing up against the blade at his throat as the sound slid from him. There were hands at his knees, forcing his legs apart.



“Open your mouth. Open it!” He was prompted to do so with increased pressure on the dagger. He didn’t need persuasion, however; it would all soon be over, due to the grubby bit of printed cardstock. The item was shoved between his teeth, a tiny paper cut forming on both sides in the groove where his lips thinned to meet each other. Having had contact with the card, he could summon it using the power of his Millennium Ring; this he did immediately, a flash of light pervading the atmosphere as the creature stepped into its new dimension.



What monster he had called upon, he did not care nor notice; Yami did not look upon it as it made a meal of the three men. Only once their gasps had given way to silence did he realize how very loud the pounding in his chest was.



He lay on his back, wrists flung out on either side, figure throbbing in pain and exhaustion. His lashes shut together and he swallowed a sob of relief; unhurriedly, then, he allowed the eyelids to reopen, fearing that a salty trickle down his jaw would betray the extent of horror he felt. Presently he pulled himself together, and assembled his dress to the state it ought to be. He bent over his knees to exhale.



Nausea constricted the young man’s stomach and the body was racked with a fit of coughing. Even at this moment, he paused to think of Ryou; if this pain affected him to such a degree, what would it do to his host? The man did not want to deliberate the question, however; it was most critical he acquire aid, and fast. Unsteadily he rose to his feet, nearly falling over in the process; for some reason he was quaking now more than he had during the incident, and he found himself all but overwhelmed by the stress that had been exerted on brain and body.



Bakura only glanced at the bodies of his victims. The fuckers deserved it. Whatever torment they were suffering, they deserved it. On the verge of fainting, the young man tottered between buildings to the next street over. A missus, herding two children, realized his failing figure; she called for help immediately, rushing to hold him up. In minutes an ambulance came; the nurses escorted the injured boy within, and the vehicle proceeded in all haste to the hospital.



****************





Not a muscle of his would move. His body would not obey the commands he sent it, and there was intense pain upon trying. Terrified, Ryou labored against the aching with his hands, digits straining for the slightest shift; at last he could budge them, though the action proved excruciating; his eyes pushed against their lid of flesh, rolling backwards as he struggled. Finally the room came into view, and his physique stirred to waking.



He found, to his dismay and confusion, that the throbbing did not dissipate when he awoke. This place... he was surrounded by blue walls, and it smelled of sanitizing spray. Daylight was beaming from the crack between the drapes. Here was the hospital.



It was then he realized the condition he was in. "Ah- what happened to me..." he slurred to himself. The young man's features felt heavy. A translucent figure was situated at his bedside, and the exhausted boy rested his attention on the familiar being.



"You," whispered Ryou, brow tightening; though he was clueless of the exact circumstances that led to his hospitalization, he had the suspicion his alter ego had been involved.



"How did I end up like this?" he croaked. Apparently the intravenous drip did not transfer water into his system fast enough, for his throat was parched, and lips so dry that small fissures formed on them as he spoke.



"You were attacked by a group of delinquent boys. I took care of them for you."



"Why did you let me get this hurt?" The youth grimaced as he turned his torso to better view the spirit.



"Hm," replied Yami no Bakura dourly. "You should be glad you're as well as you are. If I hadn't stepped in..." he stopped, unwilling to impart to his companion what had so nearly taken place at the scene of his assault.



"As well as I am? Look at me! How can you... how can you say I should be glad! Ow..." There was a twinge of pain in his shoulder, and, unthinkingly, he attempted to lift his palm to it; his right-side wrist was set in a cast, however, and ached severely with the boy’s endeavor to reposition it. Ryou whimpered, a headache beating across his temples. The lower rims of his eyes filled with saltwater, and a rivulet of the substance escaped down his cheek, splattering its silhouette on the sterile white sheet after having departed the boy’s countenance.



"I was the one in your body," he growled. "Do you think I enjoyed it? ...If I could have stopped them sooner, I would have." He eyed his host. An uncomfortable roiling sensation filled his chest, the space which felt to have expanded to make room for the commotion.



"Please stop crying." The spirit's face grew warm, flooding with a hue of crimson. "I-it makes you look pitiful," he stuttered.



Ryou shuddered a moment, as if chilled, and turned his face so a cheek lay against the mattress, shoulders shaking as a result of gentle sobs. A few strands of pearly hair stuck upon the dampened surface, some catching in Ryou’s eyelashes. The eyelids were red, irritated by the droplets, and the young man’s face tinged rose with frustration and aggravation.



More tears splashed onto the gleaming fabric. It was at this moment Yami no Bakura found himself besieged by a remarkable urge; he was caught overwhelmingly off guard by the compulsion, and it so dominated his mentality that he, quite clearly and unintentionally, envisioned himself acting on this eccentric inclination, in a way that felt quite real. There he was, reaching across the bedside; running two fingers, the second and third, over the tears; bringing the fluid to his lips, savoring the solution, that which had been concocted in the body of his host, on the smooth wet plane of his eager tongue.



The shadow shook his head, dispelling the hallucination. Ryou’s tears taunted him, and he craved to know their texture, their taste. He wanted to take them into himself; to lick them from the cheeks and eyes, from the bedspread; and, by such procedures, to bear away the pain that stirred within his host, and comfort the aching being.