A moment from Yami no Bakura's point of view as he thinks back. Fear the impending sorta-there-but-not-really-in-an-explicitish-way yaoi. This is continued first in Honda and Bakura's reactions, and then in a few 'sets' of sequels which I am only going to be posting on my site since they should eventually delve into lemon territory. (This fic, I believe, works fine standing on its own.)

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Ryou dozed off a few minutes ago, I think it's safe to move now. It's one of the few times I don't have to fight him for control. I've taken over at night so many times, so I can lie still and just be. I'll pretend that this is my body, that I'm right where I belong, instead of lying in someone else's body a few thousand years out of my own time.

I let my eyes open slowly. I want a little time to adjust to the unfamiliar world I'm going to see.

My body slumped to one side while Ryou was sleeping. I'm leaning on someone now. I'm unsettled, because it's too familiar. The warmth against my side, even the smell is strangely familiar.

It's disturbing.

One of Ryou's friends, I'm sure. He's well muscled, solid. His shoulder is strangely damp under my cheek, so he must have just arrived. I know it's still raining outside, I can hear it through the window.

I'm not sure which bothers me more here, the unfamiliar surroundings, or the familiar feeling of the body I'm leaning against.

If I tilt my head just a little I can see his face. Honda. I'd never forget that stubborn face, even from such an awkward angle. He's interfered with me enough to ensure that, at least.

I'd like to believe that it's just because he meddles too much that I remember him. I can't fool myself as easily from this angle. The line of his jaw and the muscles in his neck remind me of someone else. This particular view is one I've gotten so many times before. Not of Honda, but someone far more precious. Someone from a long time ago.

I used to stare up at someone just like this. I remember the way it felt then, and it's confusing me. I want to bite that neck, to run my tongue along his jaw.

I'm not thinking right now. I'm forgetting who this really is. Honda. Frustrating, stubborn, meddling, maddening Honda. It doesn't matter who he reminds me of.

I can't stay here. I'm not going to stare at him like this any longer. I sit up, push myself away from the couch, move to stand behind him. This view is much safer. At least Honda's ridiculous haircut doesn't remind me of anything.

Not that I ever saw the top of his head, that one from too long ago. Not that I remember, anyway. I want to remember his name. I want to be able to whisper his name to remind myself of my own memories.

I'm filled with visions and smells and feelings that imply things I used to know, without quite letting me make sense of them. That's all I am some days, a bundle of faulty memories. Maybe I never knew his name in the first place. I knew so little about who he actually was.

When we first met everything went so fast. I'm not even sure if 'met' is the right word. All there was between us was a moment with his arm firmly around my waist, his hand over my mouth. He shielded me from sight just as long as I would let him before I escaped.

I was too young and too angry to think straight then. In my rush, I didn't even see him until it was too late, after he had caught me. That moment was when I truly started forcing myself to focus. I shaped all of the formless hate, all the power inside of me into a perfect form. I taught myself to be silent, efficient, ruthless and even invisible whenever I needed to be. Anything to avoid being caught ever again, to avoid needing saving ever again.

I still don't like the feeling of irony that memory always gives me. He helped me escape capture, but the feeling of a stranger helping me disturbed me so much that I had to escape from him.

I always limited the time I spent near him, but now if I could just see him. . .

He knew nothing about me. I would like to think he knew nothing. I knew so little about him, or at least I do now. I would watch him sometimes. Any time he was near he caught my eye. He was a mystery. Why did he bother to shield me in that crucial moment? I looked so harmless and childish when I first arrived in that city, something I hated about myself at the time, he might have taken me for a pickpocket or something equally petty.

I don't think he waited for me. I don't want to think I went looking for him. It was just something that happened, seeing him. It felt natural that he would be somewhere near if I simply looked.

After that first time he saved me, I went out of my way to watch him. I would just skulk in the shadows and watch the way he moved. I spent plenty of time waiting, spying, in those days. It didn't make that much difference that I wasted a few moments watching him.

I'm sure I would have never gone beyond that if he hadn't caught my eye. I would never have been so stupid as to start something, to reveal myself, but he already knew I was there. I know he turned and smiled at me, and I let myself be caught.

I want to remember his smile. I want to know what look he gave me that managed to overcome my every instinct for survival and draw me to him. The look I picture in my head is too warm, too satisfied. I would never yield for a smile like that. It's Honda's smile I'm imagining. I hate him all the more for getting tangled in my memories.

Whatever look it was, I knew it was meant for me alone. I let him carelessly come to me. I remember how he put a firm hand on my shoulder and leaned down to look into my face, and in that moment I knew I was caught.

It was thrilling for a moment. The risk of being caught and executed was always a thrill, but only because I knew I was too strong and far too clever to ever be caught. When he leaned in and told me he was glad I was all right, I knew this was different. There was no thrill of danger when he pulled me close.

I tried to steal a kiss. The first and only time I can clearly remember trying. He tilted his head up to avoid me and I ended up kissing his neck, just beneath his jaw. Even then I was getting used to being able to take what I wanted, but I didn't move. I just sucked hungrily on the spot I had accidentally taken. I was satisfied enough to be able to do that. I remember how his arm felt, pressed tight over my shoulders, trapping me.

That view of his neck shouldn't be the first thing I think about. I want to remember his eyes and his voice, but those memories always come in slowly, and they're always blurred.

I want to remember his mouth, the feel of his lips and tongue, his kiss. . . but I can't. I never kissed him. Never. That was always just out of reach. I hate people who insist on being taller than me, almost as much as I hate people who are too stubborn to know when to let me have what I want. He was both.

Maybe I could have claimed his lips if I tried, but I told myself I didn't care. At least I knew how his skin tasted, even if I've forgotten now. His neck was my solace. I always bit him, venting just a tiny bit of my anger at the world on him. For a second or two I think I even lived for the sound he made in his throat when I bit hard enough to leave marks.

I must have been able to feel his pulse under my tongue. For the few minutes while I had my mouth on him and I could get him to put an arm around me, he was mine. That feeling was powerful enough that I remember it even now. It was all he would let me have, but it was enough to start. I never imagined it was all I would ever have of him.

I lean on the back of Honda's chair. Ryou's so impractical. I should know, I've shared a body with him long enough. There's another free chair, and there's plenty of room on the floor, and he chooses to nap on Honda's armrest.

I let my eyes memorize the back of Honda's neck. Even though there are no memories attached to this angle, I still want to bite it. It's because I'm still thinking of him. He's like poison in my mind, keeping me from thinking straight.

The last time I saw him, he wasn't himself. That was after my first, failed, attempt at the millennium items, when the search to bring me in had just begun. He probably could have asked anything as compensation for turning me in. Now I wonder if he was thinking of that, if that was why he was no longer the calm, solid man I had let myself seek again and again.

He put his arms around me and wouldn't let go. He tilted my face towards him, ran his tongue over the scar on my cheek. He tried to tell me what to do.

He had no right. No one touches me there. No one tells me what to do.

'Don't go.' That was all. Simple, stupid words said with such feeling. I wanted to lash out, just to prove I could make him let go, but he drew back by himself.

He kissed my forehead, whispered it again against my skin, 'don't go.'

I know what lay under the words, because of the way he sounded, the way he touched me. He was promising everything I wanted for such a simple favor, everything I could have ever wanted from him. He was promising so much more than a kiss.

But he would only give it on his terms. I would not, could not, give in. Not then.

I left him. I never saw him again. I meant to, but there was never another chance. I wanted to capture him as soon as I had the rest of Egypt under my control, right before the end. If nothing else, that would show him that I come and go as I please. A petty victory, but after a hard battle I think I would have enjoyed the diversion.

I could have had him. He was mine already, he just needed to be informed of the fact. A few more touches and bites and a bit of force was all I needed to convince him. Not the crowning achievement of my career by anyone's reckoning, but taking him for my own would have been extremely enjoyable.

He must have died. When, how, I have no idea, but I know it happened. He's beyond my reach.

I trace one finger over the back of Honda's neck. I'm not thinking. I'm not going to think about him anymore. Someone who disappeared from this world thousands of years ago should be allowed to fall into obscurity. I don't even know his name anymore. I'm sure it won't appear on the wall of any monument or tomb. The fact that he existed, and the fact that he no longer exists, aren't important to anyone but me now.

Reincarnation must be a very messy business. How do you recognize someone you barely knew after so long? If all I have to go on is the shape of his neck and the shadow of his face, Honda is as close as anybody.

I don't know why I'm giving in, now of all times. I always wanted him to be mine on my own terms. I know Honda is never going to give me that, not without me destroying what few interesting points he has. I also don't think he's sleeping as deeply as he should be if I'm going to get away with what I want to do. . .

I lean down and drag my teeth over his exposed neck. I can hear his breath catch when I do. I can feel it.

"Bakura?" he asks sleepily.

He wants to question my actions. I'm not about to answer him. Let Ryou explain it later. I press down to leave a half-circle of tooth marks in his skin. It won't stay there more than a few minutes. I want to bite harder, but I know I'm better off not leaving him any evidence.

It's awkward biting the back of his neck. I can feel his muscles tense under my lips, but that's not all I want. I want to know what it felt like before, in my other life. Then I was in a position to feel his pulse.

I want to experiment with Honda, because I don't know how it felt before. I should have memorized every second, but I took it for granted. I don't know if his heart sped up when I was close. I wish I knew how his throat felt when he started to breathe faster, what noises he made, if I could feel the vibrations when he spoke.

This must be my most pathetic moment. I want to use Honda to pretend a person I knew countless lifetimes ago is still alive. I want to feel his pulse and pretend that it's someone else's life I'm tasting.

"The hell are you doing?" He twists around in the chair to look at me. He must be uncomfortable.

I bite him again. Let him have that for an answer. He hisses when I tighten my grip on him.

"You."

Me. Realization and accusation all in one. That's convenient for him, I'm sure, but I don't care if he knows I'm not his precious friend.

If I stand on my toes I can lean far enough over the chair to reach the point where his neck meets his shoulder. I bite there, hard. I would latch on and stay, but the feeling of his breath on my own neck bothers me too much.

He's still. Just watching me, not even complaining. He should complain, rant and yell. He's making me feel stupid by staying so calm. "You don't care?"

He shrugs. "Whatever time you waste playing vampire you can't use to cause real trouble."

They might look similar, but Honda really is nothing like him. Nothing like my nameless one. It's comforting to know that the resemblance is only skin deep.

I pull away. It's not that I don't still want to bite something, but I at least have self control. I'm sick of him. I hate the familiar taste of him. I hate the way his hair smells while damp with rain.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Taking him home." I've played with my host's body enough for now. I want to retreat for now, to pretend I don't exist for an hour or two.

There are other things I might say. I could look him in the eye and tell him the craziest things. I want to trap him, chain him in gold and leave my marks all over his body. I want to take his life out of his hands and into my own. All because he looks like someone who died long before he was born.

I could tell Honda he sounded better before. No, tell him I once knew someone who was far more eloquent than him. It wasn't him. Familiar, but too different to be him. 'Don't go.' At least ask me for something simple, Honda. Ask for something I could actually give if I felt like it. Ask for an action, not an explanation.

It's still raining. My host is going to be upset later, wanting to know how he got home and how he got soaked in the process. I can't bring myself to care.

I wanted to have him on my own terms, back then. I truly hated him along with the rest of the world, just not in quite the same way. It wasn't the same cold hate I had for the others, for the ones who would have stolen the breath from my lungs and the warmth from my blood if I had let them.

Out of a whole world full of despicable people that needed to be destroyed, he was mine. He was different. I never wanted to destroy him. I would have stolen his blood, his breath and his soul. I would have made him unfit for anyone else to touch, made him mine.

He offered me something else. I couldn't take it, because then it would have been him who unmade me. He would have been the one to steal me away. I had to be the one in control. I had to hate him on my own terms.

Sometimes I think I wouldn't put it past Honda to make the same offer, to try to take me away. I'm lucky he's too disgusted with me to care.

I don't know what I think I'm doing with this meddling boy. I'm looking for the strangest resemblances. The curve of his profile and the way his hair smells when wet are too shallow to base anything on, but it doesn't matter. This time at least I'm winning this pathetic, personal battle. I won't make him mine. I don't want him for myself. But at least I'll hate Honda on my own terms.