Chapter 4Mature

Yami wasn't gonna lie; the boy was drunk off his ass. A pitcher of beer, two Gin & Tonics, and a humble bottle of sake (mostly finished but not quite). It was quite a lot, actually; Yami had settled for a Cranberry Vodka, and despite being in this joint for more than two hours he was only on his second glass. He was a slow drinker, and Mokuba had already called him a pussy (several times) but at least he wasn't sloppy drunk.

The jazz club was cool. They didn't play only jazz, though—there was some easy listening and slow R&B mixed into the track listing that was being whispered from the speakers in the place. Not that Yami minded. He and Mokuba had actually asked him a few questions about life since he'd left and Yami had pretty much described the comfortable rut that his life had fallen into. He hadn't been born in this time, as Mokuba already knew from his previous excursions with Yuugi, and he had no education here—no base to build on for employment. Not that it bothered him. He was very much a fan of the Game Shop and he looked forward to taking it over one day with Yuugi so that the old man could finally enjoy his retirement. This was all before Mokuba had even finished half of his pitcher of beer—the boy was a pretty avid listener for all the talking he did. They'd gone on for quite a bit about both of their lives before Mokuba started being...drunk.

Yami wasn't really the romancing type, but Mokuba hadn't given him much of a choice. The fact of the matter was that Yami really had the hots for Mokuba, and the brunette was playing hard to get. Even when the boy was drunk—hopping from subject to subject of conversation—he was delightful, entertaining and funny. It had been a while since Yami had actually been infatuated with someone and Ra knew that at first all Yami had really seen was that tight ass of his at the grocery store, but—

Ra be damned. He was being a pussy. He took an extra gulp of his vodka to ebb his self—disappointment away.

By then, drunk as hell, Mokuba was going on about how glad he was to have some regular drinking friends. "I had so much fun with you guys last night," he boomed. The patrons in the club just laughed at him. It was only a quarter til seven—there was no reason for him to be drunk already. Yami agreed with them. "Mokuba, you're fucking drunk," he chuckled. Nearing the bottom of his second glass, he was a bit buzzed himself, actually.

"I know!" Mokuba said, as though he was amazed at himself. He was leaning so far over the table that Yami could have kissed him; not that he was going to. He had no problem taking advantage of a drunk Mokuba, but not in the middle of the club. He was most definitely an asshole, but not stupid. Public decency and all that.

"Mokuba," Yami offered, "Why don't we just get you home?"

Suddenly serious, Mokuba said, "No no no They don't have—" he burped. "—excuse me. They don't have overnight fucking parking here. What time is it?"

"Almost seven."

"'Kay," Mokuba answered. He settled down in his chair. "...Fuck," he said. "Okay. Just...fucking...don't give me any more booze. I'll fucking sober up in a couple hours and we can get the fuck out of here."

Yami laughed out right. "How many times are you going to say 'fuck,' Mokuba?"

Mokuba's eyes were wide with bewilderment as he answered, "...I don't even fucking know."

Yami couldn't help his laughter. Maybe it was the vodka, but he was feeling pretty good, and Mokuba was just amusing at this point. "You're so fucked up."

"I know. I'm sorry." Mokuba said. He paused, and then said, "Shit. I have to take a piss. I'll be back."

Yami stood with him; he knew how degenerated drunken people's relationships were with the action of walking. If Yami usually needed help doing it when he was off the charts, certainly Mokuba wouldn't mind. "I got it," Mokuba said, like every other intoxicated person before him. Surprisingly, he did have it, making his way to the bathroom in an off—shooting hallway with relative ease.

There was seating on the wall opposite of the bathroom entrances. A plushy couch sat with two matching chairs on each side. Yami sat on the couch impatiently while Mokuba went in, half expecting to hear some wretching or a call for Yami to hold his hair while he did so. He chuckled at the thought, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms out. He wished that he'd brought his drink. When Mokuba emerged, wiping his hands on his slacks to dry them, he looked up at Yami and smiled.

"I wish I had gone home to change first," he said. "I look like shit in this suit."

"Very fitting, considering how shitfaced you are."

"Ha! Funny," Mokuba said sardonically, then hiccuped. "Look," he added, "I didn't just bring you in here to embarrass you." While he spoke, he shrugged off his suit jacket.

"I never said you did." Far worse things than a drunk friend had happened to Yami.

"Just let me fucking account for myself bitch I know I'm drunk."

Yami shrugged. "Alright," he said, chuckling.

Mokuba was unbuttoning his undershirt now. "It's hot," he said, "and I'm going to give you a lap dance."

"Oh, you really are drunk."

"Do you want one or not?"

Before Yami could form a witty answer two women—a blond and a brunette—entered the hallway, both dressed rather casually. They both stopped and stared at the shirtless Mokuba as though they weren't sure whether to be disgusted or turned on. They seemed to not know what to say, and Yami filled in the silence for them. "He's extremely drunk."

Mokuba was gaping for words as well; it seemed that their appearance had caught him off guard. In the end, they giggled, the blond responding to Yami with, "I bet!" before they rushed into their bathroom.

"They know I'm hot," Mokuba said after them.

Yami rolled his eyes. "You're out of control." He moved to stand. "You have to get out of here. Maybe going outside will cool you off."

Mokuba pushed him back down to the couch. "Wait. Are you saying that you don't want a lap dance?"

"To jazz music?"

"Excuse me?"

"To jazz music," Yami repeated. "They only play jazz here."

"Don't be concerned about that. Here—" Fishing a bit clumsily into his back pocket, he pulled out his phone. "It has a music player function." He pressed a few buttons, obviously navigating to it before presenting it to Yami. "Go ahead. Choose something."

"You're really going to do it."

"I said I was going to. Why not?"

"Because we're in a jazz club."

"Just choose something already."

Yami was totally unfamiliar with the slew of American artists that were on the device. However, he wanted to choose something that had a beat, he supposed; somehow he didn't see Mokuba taking no for an answer and he didn't want to cause a scene. So he did the next best thing—he went to the industrial section, which Mokuba had clearly labeled—of course a Kaiba would actually organize his music by genre—and put the thing on random. If he was really honest with himself, he did want to see Mokuba do something mildly embarrassing at this point; ever since his return he'd walked around like he owned the place—telling Yami to get the fuck out of his kitchen? Yeah, really funny. They'd see who was funny when he recounted this to Mokuba the next morning... "There. I chose something. Happy?" Yami quipped. The song that was playing had a slow, grinding base that was slightly intriguing; he would have to ask later who this actually was.

Yami had gotten better lap dances before, but there was no questioning Mokuba's attractiveness or the fact that the boy had apparently done this before. He began with his hips—something that Yami could testify that most men were afraid of learning to use—which was mildly entertaining. Yami was tempted to ask if Mokuba had worked as a prostitute in New York, just to fuck with him, but he couldn't really bring himself to ruin the moment. Although it seemed like a silly idea at first, watching Mokuba dance was actually quite a turn on. His hips had only been a precursor to a variety of other movements, dips and rolls, sways and reaches—all of which were accentuated by his lengthy hair, straight and sleek and sexy, moving right along with him. The low grumble in the song conjoined with a pounding beat, all blaring from a phone that should not have been able to replicate a song like that with such vibrant rhythm. Mokuba was all over the place, in a way—his steps seeming simultaneously random and deliberate, hands sliding up Yami's chest in harmony with a well—timed dip, the outline of his body contorting in ways that only made Yami think of other things...

The song's rhythm slid into a pulse, and Mokuba straddled his hips on the couch, Yami shifting wordlessly to accommodate him before he could actually think about what he was doing. Mokuba's hips were still moving, grinding down on his loins and Yami did not think that it was a good idea to start something like this now when Mokuba was leaning close and Yami could see from the brunette's pout of concentration that he was indeed trying to keep himself focused on what he was doing, lips grazing his neck; Yami could feel Mokuba though his pants—they were so tight and ohgodwhycan'twefucknow?

Now their foreheads were touching, Mokuba's hips moving in tandem with the song against the slighter man's body, and his hair had fallen around them like a curtain as his lips passed over Yami's. He was being teased, he was sure, but Yami was not in the mood for teasing. He took Mokuba's lips in his own for just a moment, just a second to taste a little bit of what he was going to make sure he had a piece of later, because this was so fucking unfair and if this was Egypt Mokuba would owe Yami his body for the next quarter of a century. Mokuba kissed him again, hands roaming all over and it was a breath of fresh air. But the song had gone back down from its climax of sound to the gritty grind with which it had begun and Yami knew that the song was over—might as well be over. Pulling away from him with his bangs covering his eyes in that way that made him seem even sexier somehow, Mokuba gave Yami a wicked smile. In about two more seconds Yami was just going to say screw it and take Mokuba right there on the sofa—

There was clapping from behind Mokuba, and Yami took a deep breath to prevent himself from jumping at the interruption. He had accounted for the women not coming out of the bathroom earlier, but it was hard to keep such thoughts in mind when you had someone like Mokuba grinding down on your crotch. It was Mokuba who hadn't been caught off guard by their presence this time, throwing his head back dramatically, hair settling on his back with the motion; he winked at them without saying another word, moving away from Yami's hips and sliding with more ease than he should have been able to off of the couch, reaching for Yami's hands to pull him up. Yami didn't know how he was expected to stand after that performance, but he obliged with a bit less difficulty than he had anticipated.

"Where did you learn that?" the brunette asked. "That was amazing!"

"You're being rude..." her friend warned. Yami didn't really care about the fact that they were there, but it was nice to know that they were considerate about their peeping tomfoolery.

Mokuba looked considerably better than before, actually; like he had sobered up quite a bit. He reached to the ground to pick up his clothes where he had dropped them. "Um...a few friends..." he said a bit awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend is really lucky."

Yami raised an eyebrow. "He's just some thing I've got on the side." The girls giggled and continued walking out of the hallway.

Mokuba laughed. "On the side, hm?"

"Put your damn shirt on," Yami said gruffly. He wasn't in the best of moods now, considering that he'd just been dickteased and left on the side himself; Mokuba was lucky that he hadn't said anything worse. "You're sober enough. Let's go."

"You should have had another drink," Mokuba said. "You're too uptight. I liked dancing for you."

"You should have had about six less drinks," Yami retorted. He began to head toward the exit.

"Hey, Yami," Mokuba said, and a hand found its way to Yami's shoulder, pulling him back. Yami turned, waiting. He wasn't in the mood for this shit. Mokuba stepped closer, his hand shifting to tuck itself underneath Yami's chin. Unfortunately, his stupid Kaiba charm wasn't going to work on Yami at all. He wasn't going to let it work. "Wanna fuck?"

The End

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