The Return

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! belongs to Kazuki Takahashi.

Takes place directly after chapter 3.
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Ryou finished brushing his teeth and rinsed, wiping his mouth on the corner of his towel. He tried to hold back a yawn, but he'd been getting so little sleep the past month that it was almost impossible.

At least his father was home now. And not just sporadically, but for three solid weeks...so he was safe. The spirit never touched him when his father was around; it would be too risky. At least, that was what Ryou assumed his reasoning was--he couldn't know for sure. But he would be okay for a few weeks, at least. It was better to just focus on that.

He reached up and touched his chest, where the Ring hung beneath his pajama top, and traced the eye that was engraved into the pyramid. He had learned a while ago that the only thing he could do was take each day as it came; it was the only way to survive. He knew that everything that was happening to him right now couldn't last forever. Nothing lasted forever, good or bad--he couldn't imagine being sixty years old and still having a piece of jewelry that was inhabited by some vicious, other half of himself. It was too strange to picture. At the least, the very least, his other would have killed him off by then, for being too weak to be useful.

Being useful, he had come to learn, was the only thing that was expected of him. It was also the last thing he wanted to be for the spirit. That left him with a problem.

Ryou still called him 'the spirit,' or his 'other,' because naming him would make it seem more real, at least to his mind. That, and the fact that he had never told Ryou what his name was, if he had one.

He let his hand fall back down with a small sigh and headed for his bedroom. He opened the door carefully, since it was beginning to squeak and he hadn't gotten around to oiling it yet, and frowned at the darkness. Ryou debated trying to reach the bed, but decided that he was more likely to ruto tto the desk first--he still hadn't memorized the layout of the new house. So he flipped on the switch.

He blinked at the light, then shut the door rapidly and locked it when he realized that his other was sitting cross-legged on the bed.

"My father's home!" he whispered frantically. There was no change on his other's face.

"Come here," he said.

Ryou stood still for a moment, trying to gauge if he could get away with defiance. He would pay for it later, of course, but later wasn't now.

The spirit's eyes narrowed, just a fraction, but Ryou knew how to read him by now. He walked slowly over to the bed, stopping when he was still an arm's length away and looking at the floor across the room.

The other didn't move to pull him closer, seemingly content with staring at him. Ryou had to fight the urge to fidget beneath his gaze.

The spirit reached out and lifted the bottom of his pajama top, running his hands up Ryou's sides. The movement wasn't so much teasing as gauging him, and he knew he'd been found lacking again when the spirit frowned.

"I told you to start eating more," he said severely.

"I have," Ryou answered quietly.

"Hmph," his other snorted, pressing his ribs where the flesh still wasn't enough to cover them. Ryou winced, but it didn't hurt enough for him to make any noise.

And his father was still out there! I can't possibly explain this, Ryou thought, staring wide-eyed at the spirit. He'd have to be silent for the whole inspection. He closed his eyes and chewed his lip.

The hands on his sides straightened his shirt with detached precision, then shifted as the spirit stood up in front of him. "Still such a weak, pitiful thing," he said near his ear. Then the spirit swung Ryou around and shoved him so he sprawled across the bed, causing him to open his eyes in startlement. His other straddled him and braced himself up on his arms so he towered over Ryou. "At least you're good for this," he smirked. Then he leaned down and bit Ryou's lip, tearing it out of his grasp. He couldn't help whimpering as his other kissed him harshly, making his split lip sting.

There was a knock at the door. Ryou ripped his head away and stared at it in disbelief. This can't be happening! he thought wildly, gazing up at the spirit. I can't....What will he do?

The spirit had a smirk on his face and showed no intent of moving as another knock came, this time with his father's voice: "Ryou, can I come in?"

He started to thrash, trying to find get away and thanking anything that was listening that he'd locked the door. The spirit glared down at him and pinned his shoulders to the bed.

The door handle rattled, and his father's voice sounded definitely suspicious now. "Ryou?"

He had no idea how he did it, but somehow he managed to knock the spirit off of him and push him over the side of the bed so he was hidden. Then Ryou ran to the door and unlocked it, trying both not to pant and to smile at his father. "Hi!" he said, sounding over-cheerful to his own ears.

"Why was the door locked?" his father asked.

Ryou shrugged a shoulder in what he hoped was a casual movement. "Oh, I must have done it out of habit. I'll usually lock my room when I'm here alone, for safety." He cringed inwardly at the lie, but he'd long ago become used to the idea that he couldn't tell his father the truth about many things.

"That's a fire hazard," was the distracted and routine reply. The elder Bakura gave his son a suspicious but concerned look, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the split lip that hadn't been there that evening, his strange behavior, and recalling his growing thinness. "Ryou..." he said slowly, as if this were a conversation he didn't want to have, "I know you're a good boy, and that you're responsible enough to take care of yourself." He paused and Ryou fidgeted, hyper-aware of the most likely now enraged spirit only a few feet away. "And I want you to know you can tell me anything."

He couldn't hear the laugh, but Ryou knew it was there, low and dark and curving up his spine like a chill. He nodded, not sure if his voice would work.

His father sighed again. "Ryou..." he tilted his chin so Ryou had to look at him. "Are you doing drugs?"

He blinked. Then he almost laughed, a sharp, hysterical giggle, the question was so off base; but he thought that might give the wrong impression so he bit his lip to restrain himself and winced at the pain. "No! No, I'm not. I wouldn't," he answered truthfully, glad that there was something he didn't need to lie about.

His father still looked unconvinced, so Ryou looked him in the eyes and said firmly, "Father, I swear I am not taking drugs."

"Then what is wrong?" his father asked, clearly at a loss. "You look like you haven't slept for a week, you're so thin, and you've been acting strangely every time I come home! What is it, Ryou?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing, Dad, nothing. I've just been busy with school and such...and you know, cooking takes so much time...." He gave the older man a weak smile in hopes of making that last statement sound like humor.

The man just gave him a sad look, not believing a word. "Is it bullies again?"

He shook his head more vigorously. "No. I don't really get picked on much here." That wasn't a total lie--at his other school it had been worse. "Really, I promise...." He reached out on impulse and hugged his father, genuinely smiling for the first time when the man's comforting arms wrapped around him. "I'm fine."

The elder Bakura ruffled his son's hair, saying, "Take care of yourself, Ryou." He pulled back to look at him critically. "Okay?"

Ryou nodded. "I will." His father held him for a moment longer, then patted him on the shoulder and left. Ryou waited until his footsteps had faded in the hallway, before locking the door again. It wouldn't do much, but it might protect the man a little. He wanted to open the door and run after his father, ask if he could sleep in his room that night, not caring how strange it would sound. But that wouldn't make him safe and it would only endanger his father, so he walked back to the bed and sat down on the edge, keeping his head down. After several minutes where nothing happened, he finally twisted around and leaned back to see over the side of the bed.

His other was stretched out along the floor, in a pose perfectly calculated to be casual and threatening at the same time. Ryou's hand tightened involuntarily around the blanket, but he didn't look away--he knew that doing so would only make it worse. He was learning.

His other shifted with a graceful ease, something he could never imitate, and stood up. Ryou never changed his gaze, so now he was staring at the floor instead of the spirit in front of him. He decided that he really disliked the color of his carpet.

He was jolted back out of his thoughts when a finger traced a slow, lazy path across his neck, making him shiver. The touch was light enough to be a feather; or a knife blade.

"If you don't want me to exploit your weaknesses, you shouldn't make them so plain," his other murmured, curling a hand around his shoulder and rubbing the hollow of his throat with a thumb. "You should take care of yourself, Ryou."

He clenched his fists at the mocking words, so when the spirit pushed him onto his back the blanket wrinkled where he had been gripping it. His other swung back onto the bed and straddled him again before leaning down and biting his lips open. Ryou complied, and a tongue curled into his mouth, flicking over the sensitive roof in order to make him shiver.

At moments like these, Ryou was angry at his father for ever giving him the Ring and putting him through this, however inadvertently the man had done it and no matter how sorry he would be if he knew; he was angry with his mother for being so broken up over his younger sister's death that she left too, so he had to stay in an empty house so often; he despised this spirit, this other half of himself, for doing this, for hurting him whenever it felt like it.

He hated himself, for wanting this.

Even admitting the thought made him flush in shame as he tried to remain still beneath his other. It was horrible, it wasn't right, he loathed himself every time he gave in...but nobody else had ever touched him before his other did, and even when he knew he was nothing in his eyes but a whore it still didn't change how good the spirit's hands could make him feel.

His other always made sure Ryou got just as much from this as he did, a fact that only made the boy hate himself more. He almost wished the spirit wouldn't be considerate, that it would just use him and throw him aside so these feelings might go away. But that never happened, leaving him both relieved and not.

Cool hands were suddenly running down his sides, and he wasn't exactly sure what had happened to his shirt. Then the mouth left his to run down his throat and onto his chest, the wet heat quickly turning cold and making him shiver. The body above him pulled away, and the sound of clothes rustling came to his ears.

Would he really....Ryou opened his eyes, startled. "What--he's just down the hall!"

His other smirked, far more comfortable in his nudity than Ryou knew he'd ever be. "That isn't a problem for me," he said. "You might want to keep quiet, though."

When the hands slid down to his pants, Ryou pushed against his other's chest. "Don't!"

The hands were gone and suddenly his wrists were wrenched away and pinned above his head, and the spirit's face hovered above his. "You've already disobeyed me once," he hissed, a breath from Ryou's lips. "Don't find out what I'll do for a second time."

Knowing that anything he pictured would probably pale in comparison to the real thing, Ryou closed his eyes and turned his face away, forcing his body to yield and go unresisting beneath the other's. The spirit let go of his wrists and trailed his hands slowly down Ryou's arms, toying with him. He stretched slightly and clenched the pillow lying further up, twisting it in his grip as his other's hands ghosted over his chest and back down to the loose fabric of his pajama bottoms.

His other pulled the pants down slowly, and Ryou's face flushed even more as the spirit chuckled when his obvious arousal was revealed. It was bad enough that he knew he wanted this, why did his stupid body have to betray him?

The pants disappeared to wherever the rest of the clothes had gone, and Ryou's other was braced on his arms again, still staring down at him, still criticizing. He couldn't take this...but what else could he do? If he tried to fight, it wouldn't do any good; and he would put his father at risk--that wasn't even an option. So he lay still and almost shredded the pillow, he was twisting it so hard.

His other leaned over and opened the drawer of his nightstand, fishing around for the bottle of lotion Ryou had bought and hidden. He watched as the spirit poured it on his hands, then smeared it over his erection before turning to him. The same familiar sensations were back as soon as a finger slipped inside him: discomfort, the feeling that this should be wrong, and a need for more. He clenched his fists tighter in the pillow, wishing he could erase the last.

A second finger slid inside, and his face scrunched up at the intrusion before he started forcing his muscles to relax. Ryou tried to ignore the fact that he could still hear the spirit laughing with every tiny surrender he made.

The fingers slipped out, and he tensed up again. Then there were hands on his waist and he was being pulled over and up so he was now straddling the spirit. Ryou opened his eyes at the unfamiliar position and looked at his other, who was concentrating on adjusting him properly. Then he was being pulled down, and Ryou bit down hard on his lip, appreciating the sting because it reminded him to be silent.

The spirit pulled him down slowly, the only consideration he ever received, and Ryou arched his back slightly at the stretching sensation, holding back a low moan.

Then the hands loosened around his hips, and the spirit lay still. When Ryou looked down at him, confused, his other smirked up at him. "Give me a reason to want you," he said.

Ryou's eyes widened. He couldn't mean...but who knew what his other was thinking. He never did.

The spirit bucked his hips, drawing a small gasp out of Ryou even through his battered lip. "Come on, bradaj. Show me you're good at something."

Ryou clenched his hands into fists even as he braced them on his other's stomach and began to push himself back up. It wasn't bad enough that he had to want this; of course his other half would know it--he was the one who'd trained him. And this was just another test, one he'd fail again because that was all he ever did.

He glanced down at the calm, mocking face of his other half, and hated him.

~~~~~
He let his hands drift down Bakura's thighs as the boy pushed himself up before bringing them up and lacing them behind his head. He watched his other through hooded eyes.

It took more self-control than he cared to admit not to fall into his usual rhythm and take the boy the way he wanted, but he'd decided that it was time for Bakura to learn that he was as much a partner in this as himself. Once the boy had accepted that, he would be able to seduce the quiet little thing into more interesting activities.

He shut his eyes when Bakura clenched his muscles around him but otherwise kept his mask on, giving the boy no sense that he was doing things right. This would teach Bakura that he was the one who knew what he was doing, and therefore he should obey unquestioningly.

And if that didn't work, he was tempted to simply start beating him again...but this method was so much more satisfying. He'd rather listen to his boy moan in unwanted pleasure than cry in futilely resisted pain.

This time Bakura clenched his muscles tight as he pushed up, forcing him to focus solely on not betraying anything--though his eyes shut tighter.

Then, at the same time the boy slid downwards, there was a sharp, burning pain along his chest. His eyes shot open, only to find Bakura glaring at him in lust and frustration.

The little bastard had scratched him. Deliberately, and deep, too, it felt. He blinked, and then, before the boy could lift himself up again, he twisted them over and pushed himself up on top. He ignored the uncomfortable position as he pulled out and thrust hard back into the boy, bending over to smother his scream. The angle was awkward and painful, so he forced Bakura's legs up and lifted the boy's hips even as he continued his assault. The new movement curved Bakura's spine in a way that hurt it with each thrust, and soon the boy was no longer screaming into his mouth but begging, pleading for him to stop in that same quiet, tearful voice that he never paid attention to.

He reached over with one hand and caught the boy's fading erection, sliding in the same fast, harsh rhythm he was taking him with, and soon Bakura was shaking and crying out against his mouth. The heat and the tightness around him increased, and he came with a low groan soon after.

When he blinked himself into consciousness a few moments later, he noticed that Bakura was still trembling beneath him, and tears were slipping out from beneath his closed eyes. The boy was shaking with suppressed sobs.

Finally. Finally. It was about time he managed this. Bakura, weak as he was, had an inner wall that resisted all forms of utter devastation; a good trait, one that would be essential in later days...but it was little use to him until he cracked it open and made his way inside. Which he had, at last.

He disentangled himself from the damaged boy and sprawled out comfortably on his back before reaching over and pulling Bakura to him. He set the boy's head on his chest and began stroking his hair.

They stayed like that for a while, and the humming of the florescent light irritated him just enough that he was unable to drowse off.

Then Bakura broke the silence. "I hate you," he whispered, never once moving from the place on his chest.

"I hate you," he replied, still stroking his boy's hair.

After Bakura drifted into sleep, he went back to the Ring.


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