Poor thing.
Marik thought that warmly, watching his little Bakura shift in his chains. He knew for a fact that Yami Bakura had no clue of his presence, hidden away as he was in the shadows of the room, for he didn't snarl. And without the snarl on that pretty face of his, there wasn't much difference between him and Ryou. Poor Ryou. Poor Yami.

I hadn't meant to kill Ryou. That had been an accident. My knife slipped.
I hadn't meant to capture Yami. That had been an accident, as well. It wasn't my fault he'd stumbled upon my castle, and I couldn't just let him live free after finding it.
Oh, but still, I so like having him here!
He was tempted to reach out, to stoke the silvery hair that fell over his dear hazel eyes. Already he could feel his lean body shuddering beneath his hand, and the thought brought him great pleasure. But he didn't want that snarl reappearing, not yet. He satisfied himself with imaginings.
His little Bakura looked like a fly, caught in a large web of chains. This was the torture chamber, after all. But this fly wasn't meant to be devoured. In fact, tonight all he would do was let him sleep, and bring him dinner. He would decide how to deal with the troublesome fly after he'd seen the outcome of that.
He'd observed how fitful his sleep was, though not yet had he hurt him. This wasn't the first time he'd awoken tonight, and probably wasn't the last. Marik admired the sweat that shimmered in a thin layer over his sleek body, lusted over it, easily imagined himself tasting it on his tongue. Most potently, he could imagine the strange pale creature he'd found sprawled and panting on his bed. How he'd fit so beautifully with his soft, red-velvet pillows and blankets, how he'd look so like a pampered kitten. And the most strong image from that was Bakura's soft, cool palm cupping his cheek, tasting his lips and smiling rather than baring his teeth. In his bed was where he belonged, Marik decided. Once he was tamed, that was where he'd go.
Patiently he waited, until Bakura once again sank into light rest. Then he stood and stretched, making his purple belly-shirt ride farther up his chest. Before he tiptoed out of the room, he softly caught one of the wispy white strands of hair, running his tan fingers through it a couple times. The strands felt so silky as they slid easily through his hand, and he enjoyed how beautiful a backdrop it made for his darker skin. Yes, Bakura would eventually be his. He would at first fight him, of course, but it would all be in vain... for eventually he would rest quite meekly in his arms, nice and obedient. He could hardly wait until then.

Bakura surfaced once again to reality when he felt the weight of his captor's hand on his hair. Shaking slightly beneath it, he went against all the senses screaming for him to jerk away. Why hadn't Marik tried to wound him yet? With so many chains, it wouldn't be hard. The thought frustrated him, his cluelessness making him want to scream. And the hand on him was not at all helping to clear his mind.
After a long minute he couldn't help himself. Moaning softly, he shied away from the touch. Where had he come from? Had he snuck in while he was sleeping? He could've sworn it had only been a couple seconds... then, he couldn't really tell. He had been asleep, after all.
"Go back to sleep." Marik murmured gently in his ear, voice breathy. But how was he supposed to sleep in his presence, when it unnerved him so? He glared up at the man shakily, snarling.
"Go to the shadow realm." he replied shortly.
Instead of becoming angry, Marik smiled and laughed.
"Probably. But I would see you there, would I not?" With that, he merely nodded and strode quietly towards the door. Bakura hissed. How infuriating!
"Where the hell are you going?" Bakura asked, teeth gritted. Marik paused at the door, looking over his shoulder. The smile widened.
"Why does it matter? Perhaps you would miss me?"
"I'm... not done... with you," he growled fiercely, hands curling into fists. Marik, in return, gave him a teasing pout.
"I was going to tell my servants to make you dinner. Is that any way to treat your gracious host?"
Bakura exploded. "Gracious? Gracious? Gracious my ass! A 'gracious' host doesn't chain their guests to the goddamn wall!"
The smile slowly fell from his face. He turned back to Bakura, and paced towards him, taking one lithe step at a time. Seconds began to seem like hours, and a slow shiver ran up Bakura's spine. When he took to one knee before him, he flinched back.
"Don't speak like that to me." he ordered softly, voice void of emotion. His warm hand caught his chin, tilting his pale head up to meet his engulfing violet gaze... their foreheads touched, he was so close. And Bakura shook again, breaths growing ragged. "Never speak like that to me again, or I will punish you. Now, go back to sleep. One of my servants will awake you when your dinner is prepared. You will eat here tonight."
This time Bakura let him leave without another word, just thankful now that he'd let him go with nothing more than that light scolding. Was this what his younger brother, Ryou, had been through? He'd always thought of him as weaker, unable to handle stresses like pain. But now he understood why such stresses could frighten something helpless to it. God, why had he teased him like that? He'd give just about anything to take it back, now... why did he have to die before he could, and in such a horrible, cruelly ironic way as this?
Quietly Bakura closed his eyes, relaxing his tensed muscles. What on earth could his captor have in store for him? Why would he chain him here, only to treat him as sweetly as this? He didn't understand, and part of him didn't want to. He could only imagine what horrible things he could do to him now, and as he waited like this he might be using the time to plan something... something even worse.
Quieter still, he let himself daydream. About what life had been like only a little while before- what life had been like before his imprisonment. He'd been a wealthy man, and obtained... everything. Everything. Every single goddamn thing his heart desired. And he'd complained. He guessed it was another example of not knowing what a good thing he'd had going, not until it was gone with the wind.
Still, it had been such a lonely life. There had been no relatives or friends for him to talk with, visit, no womenfolk quite for his taste to marry. That was why he'd left in the first place, loneliness. It was boring being by oneself, and there was always the possibility of a new opportunity elsewhere.. But in his travels, he'd come... here. To this godforsaken place. And now he could not escape.

Help me. Someone, anyone, please help me.

But when Bakura had made that plea, collapsed so silent and shaky in his cold iron chains, he'd failed to realize that fate had an amazing sense of humour. His wish, yes, would be granted... but not for what, and in the way, he could ever have expected.

Don't let me die here...