"Stop, in the name of the Pharaoh!"

Bakura groaned – did they really think he was going to stop just because some prissy Pharaoh was commanding them? And, even if he did stop, the very next thing to happen would simply be imprisonment in some filthy dungeon or other. Or death. Either way, it didn't give the thief much incentive.

"I said stop! Stop, and we may show you mercy, thief!"

Bakura fought off a snigger. Yeah, right. Mercy. Was that before or after his Highness' torture chambers? And Bakura, unlike most of the thieves in this Ra-forsaken village, knew for a fact that those chambers were not simply a bedtime story made up for bad children – call it... personal experience. Numerous scars, mostly white and fading now, were testament to that.

"Sir! We've lost him – the torches do not light up enough ground to see which direction he took!"

"Order the guards to split into two groups, we'll cover more ground that way. And, soldier..."

"Sir?"

The captain lowered his voice, but the crisp night air carried his voice to where Bakura hid, just around the corner.

"Be wary at all times. This thief is cunning – he will use whatever tricks possible to get away, including making off with your own life if he has to."

"Yes, sir."

The soldier ran off, and Bakura forced his breathing into steadiness. A thief never won by rushing things, he reminded himself. A thief, above all, was silent and stealthy – never giving away anything.

The running footsteps were retreating, but just to make sure, Bakura placed his palm on the ground, feeling for vibrations. Of course, those palace idiots would never have done anything of the sort, he knew – too busy trying to see with only their eyes, and never the more subtle ways of doing things. That, and the fact that they were all so pompous that they feared even getting their hands dirty. Well, not Bakura. A thief never got anywhere by shirking away from dirt, or bloodshed for that matter. That was another lesson Bakura had learned very early on in life.

Now, let's see... the cave, he decided. They were all going the wrong way anyway – true, there were only two roads out of the village, but Bakura seldom used roads as a means to escape. No, there were usually much more inventive ways to pass through, and unnoticed as a bonus.

So. Up the bank, over that roof that didn't creak if you walked quickly and on just the right patches, and down that wall, and then through a house that had been deserted for over a season now, and... oh. Shit.

And 'Shit' it was indeed, for the great Thief King, in his haste, had forgotten that sometimes places weren't so abandoned as they first appeared to be, and now he stood frozen, in the middle of an almost-bare room, being stared at by large, somehow reproachful-looking brown eyes.

"Hey...? What are you-"

The youth had his words cut off abruptly, as Bakura covered his mouth none too gently with one tanned hand, the other automatically reaching for his knife.

"Shut up", he hissed, pressing the steel against pale flesh. "Unless you have a wish to die."

"Um, no, not really", said the youth, his voice muffled against the hand.

"Shut up!"

There was running outside, and low voices, words spoken in anger.

"Nothing, sir... that Ra-damned thief got away!"

There was a thud as a soldier hurled an object down to the dust in frustration – a sword, Bakura guessed, or maybe even a spear.

"Alright, let's regroup."

The voices faded away, and Bakura released his hand from the captive, but kept the dagger a mere inch away from the neck.

"Um... are you going to kill me? Because I really don't want to die just yet, but if you are could you please get it over with? The floor's cold and my feet are going numb."

Bakura stared. Were captive's supposed to talk that way? Shouldn't they be begging for their lives by now, or at least screaming for help? But this one – this youth with the very pale face and strangely even paler, almost white hair and dark eyes full of curiosity showed no signs of fear at all.

"Who are you?" Bakura demanded.

"Ryou. I live here. Who are you?"

"Baku-nobody. I'm nobody, and let's keep it that way, shall we?"

A thief never reveals his true name, he stormed to himself. Never! To do so would be to look in the eyes of certain capture.

"But that's not fair – I gave you my name and you won't tell me yours?"

"Look, my only concern is getting out of this village alive without alerting the guard – if you are in my way of that goal, I will be forced to kill you, if that is the only way to keep your silence. So. What do you propose I do?"

Ryou shrugged.

"You could kill me, I suppose. But like I said, I have no wish to die right now, and in any case, I wouldn't tell."

Ra dammit, his voice was so calm! Couldn't he at least pretend to be afraid?

Bakura lowered his blade ever so slightly, but his voice grew fierce. After all, he did have a reputation to uphold.

"And how do I know you won't?"

"Because, I said I wouldn't. That will just have to be enough for you, Thief King."

"You... you know who I am? Then you must die!"

But Bakura's arm didn't move, and Ryou merely blinked up at him from his slightly shorter height, unfazed at the threat.

"Oh, don't do that, there really is no need. Swear it on Ra", he said, as Bakura's expression told him that the thief was unconvinced.

And certainly, Bakura felt no urge to kill this pale one, whose eyes were just so... so... infuriating! They radiated complete trust and an almost child-like innocence, yet his words spoke with all the wisdom and confidence of an ancient.

"You..."

"..."

Dammit, he just couldn't do it! Not when those eyes looked at him like that; not when a child, or at least certainly not yet a full-grown man stood before him in bare feet and warm eyes and the hint of a smile that might just suggest compassion – something that Bakura had not witnessed for a long time – too long, it seemed.

"I don't know what to do", he voiced allowed, uncertainty clear in his tone. Logic told him to kill the whelp immediately – it wasn't like he hadn't taken lives before, and to be sure of a clean escape it was simply the easiest, most efficient way of guaranteeing one. But...

But, he couldn't do it.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Bakura snapped, his temper flaring.

"Are you going to kill me?"

Bakura looked away from searching brown eyes.

"No."

"Well then."

A slim pale paw slipped into Bakura's own larger tan one.

"Thank you."

Bakura turned around in one fluid motion to ask just what the fuck that meant, but found that in turning so rapidly he had accidentally brushed his lips against Ryou's, and that...

...That...

... Oh.

Oh.

"Oh."

He actually quite liked the feeling, and 'oh' seemed to sum it up quite well at that moment.

Ryou's cheeks flushed a delicate pink; Bakura would have called the sight cute, adorable, gorgeous, if such words still existed in the Thief King's dictionary. But, he reminded himself sharply, a self-respecting thief simply didn't say words like that – even thinking them was degrading enough.

"I have to go", he mumbled, while inwardly cursing himself: oh, real smooth, Bakura.

"Yes, you had better", agreed Ryou. "The Palace Guard will surely be back for another search, and you don't want to be cornered here."

"Indeed not."

But Bakura didn't move, and Ryou made no move to step away either, still staring at Bakura with some kind of wonder alighting his eyes.

"Uh... well... out of the way then!" said Bakura roughly, turning away again.

"Promise you won't stab me if I do?" asked Ryou, smiling a little, and Bakura realised that the knife was still up and facing Ryou's neck.

Feeling decidedly foolish, Bakura lowered the knife and stalked out.

Ryou looked after him, then gaped in surprise as Bakura's retreating back turned and began walking back towards him. Bakura took full advantage of Ryou's shock and, with a roguish grin, pressed deliberately onto Ryou's lips with his own, making a soft noise at the back of his throat when Ryou's lips parted slightly to allow Bakura access... and then somehow Ryou's arms were around his waist as he leaned further in, and nothing else really seemed to matter – the torture chambers becoming only a vague image... and... and-

Bakura pulled away with eyes widened – this was very dangerous! His senses, never wrong, told him to get as far away from this place as he could, and right now. Danger was coming.

"The name's Bakura. Goodbye, Ryou", he said, and then he turned and fled, leaving a heavier-breathing Ryou behind him, standing in the light of one candle with bare feet, which were now completely without feeling.

"Oh", said Ryou, to an empty space. "Well. I guess that was worth numb feet." He out a hand to his lips, feeling the warmth still there, and smiled a small, yet somehow blissful smile. "I feel certain we are to meet again", he murmured to himself, and up on the roof, a silent Bakura gave a feral grin and then jumped down, legs moving as fast as he could make them.

Sensitive ears, trained to hearing things from long distances away, caught the faint noises of guards running, a door being burst open – they were checking the houses, then. And, although Bakura really was too far away to be certain, he thought he could detect a familiar, tenor voice answering a negative to furious questions...

...Ryou closed the door behind the soldier who had just checked the house, and the hint of a blush was still gracing his features. Meanwhile, Bakura, still running to who knew where, laughed quietly to himself, an image of a tiny smile fixated in his mind.