A/N: Right then- this is NOT a sequel to "Lover of My Reverie", but I did promise another lemon at the end if people reviewed it. Well, thirty-three of 'em did, and they seemed to like it, and I need more practice writing lemons anyway. So here's some more Bakura x Bakura action with a little twist that I'd bet good money no one else has done. ^_~

I crown this fic "Da Lemon Dat Ate My Life" (now in dub!Jounonouchi-vision!). -_-;;

Spirit!Bakura's POV. Beware some slight OOC-ness and the total lack of plot.

"Shadows of the Heart"

"Hang on," you whisper, and it's like you're suddenly everywhere and everything, and we fall to the bed as if in a dream.

I don't understand this feeling- where did it even COME from? But you are lying beside me and kissing me so gently, with your fingers tangling in my hair and tickling my throat and I just feel so unbelievably passive. And for the first time in my life, I feel like it would be okay to just completely let go and give myself over into someone else's power. Like it would be okay to be weak.

"Ryou!" I gasp as your hand suddenly slips under my shirt and into my waistband.

You chuckle very faintly, your lips curving in a gentle smile as you slide atop me, and I can't keep the fear out of my eyes when I look up to face you.

"It's okay," you promise, and your voice is so warm as you smile down at me. "I won't hurt you."

The irony of that statement is not lost on either of us- I was always the one who hurt you, after all. But right now, I'm really scared, and you're being so gentle when you could so easily be hurting me and getting your revenge. Why can't you just do that- then at least I won't feel so stupid for being afraid of nothing.

But when you reach for me again, you are gentler than ever, and I can hardly stand to receive such kindness from you whom I treated so horribly for so long.

"Ryou," I repeat, and my voice cracks on your name. "Ryou, I'm . . . I'm really sorry . . . "

You don't ask what for, just kiss me again. "It's okay. I wouldn't be doing this if I hadn't forgiven you a long time ago," you murmur, and your hands move down to my waist again, this time unbuttoning and unzipping and slipping all the way inside my jeans.

I whimper and my hips lift slightly out of instinct. You smile at me again, pulling my pants down past my hips and knees and ankles and tossing them to the floor. I'm shivering, I think, and your eyes are so sweet and innocent even as you unbutton my shirt and dispose of it as well.

I am honestly shaking by this point. Should I be so afraid of you? You've never hurt me, and I have no reason to believe that you ever would or will, but I still am so frightened of everything you do. I have never slept with anyone before despite my age, and though I'm happy that you would want to do this with me, I can't shake my anxieties.

"Don't be scared," you whisper, and your voice is sorrowful. "I don't ever want you to be afraid of me."

Those words half-break my heart, and I start to cry. "Ryou!" I sob. "Why are you so nice to me?! Why can't you just hate me?!"

Your smile is so sad, and you kiss me so impossibly gently, your lips catching my tears and inadvertently making even more fall. You move to unfasten your own shirt, but I suddenly feel the urgent need to do so myself, and I beat you to it.

Ra, but I love to see you smile at me.

I undress you far more clumsily than you did me, but you are ridiculously patient and don't even try to hurry me. I'm grateful for that- I'm already so nervous, I think that I'd freeze up completely if you were angry with me.

When I've stripped you to your boxers, I stop, feeling my face grow hot. It isn't as if I haven't seen you naked before, but this- this is something else. I'm not even sure if I can go through with this.

But you're kissing me again before I can even properly panic, and you taste so damn GOOD and that's suddenly all that matters anymore . . . And then we're both completely naked, and I don't even know how.

Your skin is soft and slick with sweat, and your body slides along mine in a way that practically rocks my soul. You purr into my ear- not words, just noise- and I suddenly wonder if all that power that I wanted so badly might not be worth shit after all.

Then you whisper, "I love you," and I know it.

Your fingers slip inside me, long, slender, and cool from the cream you found wherever- your father's such an idiot, leaving you home alone so often and thinking you still the innocent, naïve virgin.

Not to say that I'm in any way ungrateful for said stupidity, of course.

Especially not with the way your fingers feel stroking my insides . . .

"Harder," I beg, and you comply gladly, increasing your pace and making me writhe as you find THE spot. It feels so good that I know I can't deserve it.

But I still want more.

I move in rhythm with you, playing out a strange, silent music as a part of this dance that is older than time, and when your fingers leave me, I cry out in grief.

"Shh," you whisper softly, smoothing my bangs out of my face. "It's alright."

"Don't leave me!" I gasp frantically, and tears well up in my eyes as I grab your shoulders and pull you into me in a single harsh movement. It hurts, but I don't even pretend to care.

You yell in shock and brace yourself. "I won't, I won't!" you promise quickly, nearly trembling with worry. "I'll never leave you . . . you're my other half, my soulmate . . . literally," you add with a faint, tremulous smile.

I laugh, but the tears come anyway.

I'd marry you, if I could, but seeing as we can't even physically exist at the same time, that might be a bit difficult. In here, though, in my- in OUR soul room, we can touch. We can be together here.

And really, it's amazing what the power of simply thinking something can do. And even as you so-carefully move inside me, I am half-aware that our shared "real" body lies in slumber just out of reach of the both of us; wrapped in the throes of its occupants' mental pleasures and desperately touching itself.

You'll have to do the laundry again when you wake up. I feel bad, because you'll be doing it alone. I can talk to you a bit, but I can't really be with you once you leave our soul rooms. That alone is enough reason for me to wish I had a way to keep you here forever.

But you wouldn't like that. You'd miss your friends, your life. So I'll have to deal with it.

And at least I know I'll always be with you.

You move so gently, with a maddening slowness that steals my breath. But it's you, so I hardly mind. I love you. I hate you. You are my soulmate; you are my heart. You are the only person who can destroy me with their kindness and make me giddy on their pain. This way that I feel is indescribable- it used to enrage me, to make me loathe you with everything that I had.

I still hate it, you know. As much as I love you, I hate the weakness you show, I hate how you just take everything in stride, like it's no big deal, like it'll be nothing in a few years anyway. Even though you're right, I can't help but think that it's like drifting through life.

There are just some things that you have to fight for. Ones that can't be forgotten or delayed, no matter what. You still haven't learned that.

But to change is to die. And we have both done so often enough. For now . . . for now, it's something like all right.

And there are still things you would go to war for.

My breath hitches as you finally find "the spot" again, and you whisper, "I love you," into my ear. It's not news, but it still makes me ridiculously happy, and I tighten my grip on you.

Even if it's not quite perfect, I really love living this life.

* ende *

. : review. it inspires lemons : .