The entire ride back was spent in silence. LaShonda purred like a kitten under Mokuba's guidance—even though he was still a bit tipsy—and Yami tried not to grasp the boy too tightly; he was still pretty angry over being teased in the club. He made sure to take the helmet when it was offered, as Mokuba had lost his hair band and the brown strands were whipping his face as they rode. He closed his eyes, taking care not to fall asleep on the ride back. He wasn't in the mood to talk very much and luckily Mokuba didn't bring up any topics of conversation. Yami figured he was too busy making sure that they weren't killed on the road. Good kid. When Mokuba wound the engine down to a stop and turned it off, Yami opened his eyes and swiftly let go of Mokuba, swinging his legs over the bike and removing the helmet.
They were at Mokuba's place.
Mokuba hopped off of the motorcycle as well, and he smiled that Kaiba smirk. "I assumed that your answer was yes." Yami didn't find anything amusing; he just sighed, looking down at his feet and trying to reflect without words that he was not in a good mood about anything that was happening in that moment. "Oh, don't be a bitch about it; I know that it was annoying, but didn't you have fun?"
Yami didn't answer, although indeed it had been a nice dance. "Got a light?" he requested as he removed a pack from his back pocket, sliding out a cig and holding it between in his fingers.
Mokuba frowned but reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a Zippo, completely silver with a Blue Eyes White Dragon decal. How predictably Kaiba of him. "You smoke?"
"Rarely," was the reply, and Yami offered the pack to him. It was new minus the one he'd just taken out, and Mokuba very nimbly grabbed one of his own, being kind enough to light them both.
"That's what I tell people," he said, eyes brushing over Yami.
But the Pharaoh paid him no attention, looking around for a bit before moving to lean against a lamp post that stood only steps away. He took a long drag, letting the warmth settle in his chest a little before exhaling. It felt good. The two of them smoked in silence; he was glad that Mokuba hadn't tried to force a conversation—he felt much better in the midst of a lack of words. When he reached the filter Yami took his last puff and held it as he tossed the butt away, letting the heating sensation spread to his fingertips before sighing it out, regretting that it was indeed the last. Mokuba had already finished his and was watching him.
"Feel better?" the brunette asked.
"Yes." Yami took a deep breath before sighing again. He actually did feel quite a bit better, because cigs made everything better.
Mokuba took a step toward him. "Good." When Mokuba began to close the distance between them, Yami closed his eyes. He felt a small vibration on his back from the lamp post, and felt fingers gripping his chin. He wished he had another smoke already. Mokuba was pinning Yami against the post with his body. He felt lips being faintly brushed against his. "Yami..." Mokuba said, his voice a whisper.
"You...are really hot."
"Then fuck me," he said simply.
Yami opened his right eye just in time to see Mokuba make a face. "Yami, you know I want to..."
"Then let's do it." He blinked, both eyes open now. "Fuck me." The hesitancy showed on Mokuba's face. Yami crossed his arms and smirked. "You scared or somethin'?"
"Of course not."
"Then what's the hold up? I'm not hiding anything. I've been wanting you for a while now."
"I know, and—"
"Then fuck me." Mokuba was quiet for a moment before pushing his lips to Yami's again. The Pharaoh's hands wrapped around Mokuba's waist, pulling him closer. Yami was relentless, pushing Mokuba's mouth open with his tongue and ravishing him, hands roughly groping Mokuba's ass as he did so. He didn't let Mokuba lead this kiss—he pulled away when he wanted to, a hand moving up to pull on Mokuba's hair and keep him from backing away at the same time. When he did pull away, they were both gasping for breath. "I'm only going to say this one more time," Yami panted. "Let's. Fuck." Mokuba was fumbling for his keys as they headed to the front door.
His earlier hesitation really bothered Yami, though he didn't show it. What had changed, besides him being upset at the club scene? He was thinking about this too much, and he shook his head to free himself of his thoughts.
They were up the stairs in no time, Mokuba pulling him into another kiss as they escorted each other across the den to the bedroom. The brunette was shedding his clothes along the way, and Yami did not mind at all helping him pull off that suit. Mokuba was being much more aggressive now and their violent dance across the room reached a stop as he shoved Yami against the door of his room, taking a moment to taste the flesh on his neck, sucking and licking—when he began biting, it was kind of hard, and Yami forcefully gasped; just the way he liked it. Mokuba stepped back to yank Yami's own shirt over his head. He was already panting and his eyes had that hungry look in them that Yami had seen in the kitchen after the party. The brunette's arousal was pushing against his thigh, courtesy of those tight pants, and without thinking Yami immediately reached for the belt buckle. But it was then that Mokuba's attention on his neck was becoming painful—those were definitely going to be hickeys in the morning—and as much as Yami had tried to reign himself in he couldn't help the shiver that coursed through his body and the sigh that escaped after.
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Mokuba said venomously, taking his lips again. This time, Yami managed to push off from the door behind him, and Mokuba reached to open it. The door swung back and in they went, Mokuba shoving Yami onto the bed. Yami immediately began to undo the zipper on his own pants to get them off. He was more turned on by Mokuba's aggressiveness—not unlike what he'd seen in the kitchen—than anything else. Mokuba stared at him from above, hands slowly removing his belt as he said, "I hope you know I'm topping, Yami," that smug smirk still on his face from earlier.
Yami laughed, still pulling himself out of his pants. "Oh no-no-no-no-no. You're not."
Suddenly he was staring at a naked Mokuba, who was playing in his hair yet again. "Yes, I fucking am," he said with a note of finality, reaching down to finish removing Yami's pants and tossing them to the wayside.
The conversation paused for a moment, all arguments forgotten while they studied each other, and all the fantasies that Yami'd lived in his head up until now replayed themselves simultaneously. When he felt satisfied, he shifted to create more room on the bed for Mokuba, and he said, "No the hell you're not."
Mokuba obliged him by getting into the bed, wasting no time in rolling over to straddle Yami's hips, smirk still firmly in place. "Yes. I am," Mokuba said, fingering the sores that Yami could already feel on his neck. "You'll get your turn later. I've been waiting too long for this, Yami. I wanted to do you in my kitchen earlier. You're not taking this from me."
Yami raised his right eyebrow. "I'm not all that easy to tame." It wasn't as though he'd never bottomed before; before the night was over, regardless, he was going to make sure Mokuba kept his promise.
"We'll see about that." Mokuba said, hands pressing down on the insides of Yami's thighs, moving up to his chest and settling on his shoulders. Their lips met again, and the brunette took that opportunity to roam his hands all over, gently moving his hips to grind down on Yami's, like he had in the club—and that memory alone, really, was all that was necessary to make Yami completely hard. That lap dance had definitely been hot, and it seemed that he was finally being rewarded for his goddamned patience. Mokuba was gasping from his kisses already; Yami wasn't going to sit back just because he was bottom this time, and if he couldn't possess Mokuba's body right now Yami was going to take ownership of his lips.
Just as Mokuba pulled away, reaching for that nightstand-that-was-always-present-on-the-left, presumably for lube, they heard a phone ring. It was Mokuba's cell on the floor by the bed, ringing with a sound reminiscent of wind chimes. "Don't you dare answer that," Yami hissed.
"Wasn't planning on it," Mokuba said, and he continued as though there hadn't been an interruption at all. His hands were back on Yami, his right fingers coated in whatever was in the top drawer of the nightstand—it was cold, much to Yami's surprise, when Mokuba's fingers brushed his arm on the way down—but that's all he felt before Mokuba's lips were on his neck again. It was a terrible idea, letting him do that. Yami liked to be bitten hard; it turned him on more than anything else in the world, but he'd have hickeys in the morning he knew. And Gramps would see them, and Yuugi would see them—"Shit, Yami, you're a violent bastard," Mokuba commented before taking another bite out of Yami, this time below the shoulder where no one would see. He ground the skin between his teeth and Yami couldn't help his moan as he felt the stinging heat of pain down his spine—which triggered a jolt of pleasure. He was heaving breaths now, relishing the feeling of trickling blood across his chest.
"If it doesn't hurt," he quipped back, "you're not doing it hard enough." Mokuba's wicked grin was enough to let him know that he would be obliged. The brunette began to lick the wound he'd just made, purring as he did so. It was at that moment that slickened fingers entered Yami, and he jumped; he hadn't expected—
The phone rang again, Mokuba's stupid chimes. "Fuck!" Mokuba swore, and he made to move; but Yami knew it would result in the loss of Mokuba's fingers and he wasn't having that. Desperately grasping Mokuba's hair, he pulled down hard, and Mokuba's head jerked in his direction.
"None of that," Yami ordered. "Ignore it."
Mokuba seemed to think about it for a moment before he said, "Okay," and kissed Yami instead. The slighter man was moving his hips as the fingers inside of him plunged in and out, trying to enjoy his current situation as much as he could. No silly cell phone was going to ruin this. He relaxed his body, spreading his legs a bit wider as he continued to kiss Mokuba, left hand still entangled in long brown strands of hair. Everything about Mokuba seemed to become sexier the more he paid attention to them, all the things that initially made Mokuba attractive: The long hair, the lithe, flexible form, that incredible ass—he asked himself why he hadn't just raped him in the kitchen.
"More," he rasped into Mokuba's ear, his hips pounding against the brunette's fingers hard enough to make what he was talking about obvious. A few more seconds and there was the sweet sensation of being filled to the brim—
And then the ring again. It had barely registered as existing in Yami's mind, his eyes closing to focus on Mokuba and their movements. Only when Mokuba had pulled out of him to reach toward the phone on the floor did he notice, and he glared at Mokuba with utter disdain. "It's Seto, Yami," Mokuba said, sounding a bit annoyed himself—he'd better be—"He'll keep calling until I pick up."
"Give me the phone," Yami said, "I'll fucking tell him—"
"No you won't. Be quiet."
Yami gave him an incredulous look, eyes widening. "I know you're not seriously going to—"
"Shut the fuck up," Mokuba said, and Yami's back arched as the feeling of being filled overtook his body again. His hands reached back to grip the edge of the mattress behind him. Mokuba's voice had that sharp cruelty to it that could keep him subdued—the brunette wasn't about to take his shit (Yami could dish out his fair share of it), and that was fucking hot. He was less than thrilled about the idea of Mokuba being on the phone, but he supposed that as long as there was a dick in him and he was being fucked it didn't matter. "I'm going to answer this," Mokuba said, "and you're going to be a good little bastard and be quiet. Are we clear?"
Yami refused to answer that with an audible statement. Mokuba's hips were slowly grinding against his own, and he could see that the brunette was very clearly biting his lip. One hand was holding the phone—which just stopped ringing—and the other was harshly running nails over Yami's chest. It was indeed enough for the moment, the heat from between his legs spreading to his body from the friction alone.
Like clockwork, the phone rang again, and Mokuba answered it on the first ring. "What the hell do you want?" he said rudely, winking at Yami and gripping his stomach as he pulled himself out slowly before thrusting in twice as quickly. Yami held back a whimper and thought, for just a moment, about staying himself until Mokuba got off of the phone, but just as quickly as that mercy had been conjured it fled from his mind. He wrapped his legs around Mokuba's waist instead, pulling him in deeper. Mokuba gasped but a grin soon replaced the expression, and his strokes began to come a bit faster. "I know what time it is," he was saying on the phone, and his hips slowed again to that grind, much to Yami's disappointment. There was a pause, and Mokuba continued. "I'm busy now. I don't have time to listen to you." He stared meaningfully down at Yami, and for a moment it looked like he was going to hang up and Yami would finally get what he wanted...until he heard Seto raise his voice on the other end. Yami saw Mokuba's face contort in anger and his movements stopped completely—and Yami took advantage of it. He moaned, deeply, hand reaching down to stroke himself in an attempt to distract Mokuba from the phone. "No, I don't have five minutes," he answered, eyes straying to Yami's own arousal. "I'm in the middle of something important; bye," he said, pushing into Yami with more force than before. He dropped the phone, leaning down to Yami's ear. "You fucking slut," he said. They were both covered in a bit of sweat, and Mokuba's hands—now free of the phone—gripped Yami's hips, moving now at a steady beat, using the leverage to make each instance of contact more intense. This was what Yami wanted, and his back arched again involuntarily, eyes rolling back. He was panting, too ravished by all of the sensations he was experience to do anything but focus on Mokuba's body, the clenching and unclenching of muscle as their hips met a few more times.
"Mokuba! What the hell are you doing?" The phone. Again. Yami could feel his blood pressure going up. "Fucking take—care of that already!" he managed to half-shout.
Mokuba snatched up the phone from the bed sheets beside them. "Look, Seto, I'm fucking right now and I'll call you later," he said, trying to keep his voice even, and Yami saw him physically press the "end call" button before throwing the phone haphazardly behind him, apparently not caring where it fell. "Oh god, Yami," he professed right after, apparently having held back his moan.
Yami was getting there, slowly but surely. "...harder," he breathed. "Scratch me, hit me; fuck me up..." Mokuba's nails were on his flesh again, taking out all of his frustration on the man beneath him, and Yami began to tremble again. Mokuba was almost there, almost in that spot that would render Yami senseless—but not quite. The brunette knelt down soon after, hips shifting to another angle as he began to bite along Yami's lower stomach, but it just wasn't enough. "Deeper," Yami moaned as he arched, body writhing. He was so close and if Mokuba would just get his shit together... "Put my..." he panted, "put my legs on your shoulders." Mokuba removed himself from Yami's insides to shift into the new position, and Yami couldn't help the regretful sigh that fell through his lips. "Oh fuck," he breathed, unsure and uncaring of if Mokuba could hear him. They were both covered in sweat, and Mokuba ran his fingers through his hair, shaking it out—a sight that turned Yami on a bit more (although he was sure by now that anything could turn him on at the moment)—before moving.
"Shit, Yami...are you okay?" Mokuba asked, staring at Yami's chest, his neck; though it was dark, it must have been obvious that it was covered in wounds, all clearly a bit worse than Mokuba had meant them to be—to Yami, they were perfect. He was sure he was bleeding in at least three places. It all felt so fucking good.
"I'll be better when you're back inside of me. Hurry up," Yami whined impatiently.
But Mokuba's eyes didn't move away from the reddening injuries on the other's chest. "Seriously, Yami—"
"I'm fucking great, gorgeous. Just hurry up." Yami was feeling a bit lightheaded now. His hair was sweaty and its composition was completely haggard. He brushed strands of blond, crimson and black hair from his eyes so that he could get a better look at Mokuba. The brunette was definitely worried about him, but Yami was more concerned with his elated sense of bliss fading away.
It appeared to be with a renewed sense of passion that Mokuba moved himself in place and once again sheathed himself inside of Yami. The blond was glad that his advice had been taken; oh—things felt so much better, deeper, intense. Even Mokuba noticed the difference, and a whimper escaped from his lips even though they'd only been at it again just a few seconds. Mokuba was near upright on the bed, and while those lips weren't his to kiss at the moment the exchange was good enough to keep Yami at bay. Their fucking settled into a primal beat, not unlike the music that Mokuba had danced to earlier and the memories flooded back full force. Yami could feel himself tightening around Mokuba's erection, each stroke electrifying and it took everything in him to hold himself back from coming. "Haa...haa...haa..." Mokuba panted, eyes closing and biting his bottom lip, stomach muscles contracting with every thrust—he was holding himself back, too, and knowing that his body had brought Mokuba so close made Yami tremble with pride—hands reaching for and digging themselves into the blond's thighs.
Yami writhed as the nails burrowed themselves into his flesh, and it was then that Mokuba hit that sweet spot inside of him. Fu-uck. Yami's back arched farther up than he thought it could go, his heartbeat skyrocketing. Mokuba quickly brought a hand down to his chest, pushing him back down. "Y-yes..." Mokuba moaned from up top.
The brunette's eyes were open again, that insolent smirk back in place from before. "Right there?" his voice sunk down to a sultry whisper, hips moving with each syllable. He jerked back, driving his hips into Yami hard, and the slighter man arched again, gripping sheets, the mattress, the headboard—anything that he could get his hands on. "...right there?" Mokuba's voice purred in time with a particularly hard thrust, one hand on Yami's stomach and the other one finding its way to Yami's own erection, pumping.
"...oh, god...yes, yes...yes," Yami chanted, not having been fucked this well in a while. Mokuba's smirk grew wider the more Yami spoke, and although he wanted to do something to wipe the look off of his face he was too busy being pinned to the mattress to think up anything. Mokuba grunted, expression faltering as Yami watched his eyes roll back faintly, and the brunette pressed close to his chest, pushing Yami's knees to the sides of his body; Mokuba's pace was quickening. "Oh, fuck!" Yami managed to keep at a hiss as he came, Mokuba's fingers catching the sticky proof of his pleasure; the brunette was still thrusting into him.
"You feel so good," Mokuba professed seconds later, but as he came he grasped the skin underneath Yami's belly button between his teeth, stifling his groan and biting down. Now Yami's hands were in Mokuba's hair as the brunette rode out his orgasm, the blond trying to keep his own body steady; Mokuba didn't know what the pain did to him, driving shivers and shudders up and down his spine. Just knowing that he'd have another scar on his body aroused him a bit more than it should have, and Yami choked back yet another moan. He was panting for breath, his cock aching for more despite the fact that they'd just finished. Mokuba was breathing hard, too, and he crawled his way up to the top of the bed, throwing himself on the mattress face up, chest heaving up and down, eyes periodically darting over in Yami's direction. He wiped his sullied hand on the sheet between them, throwing his arm over his head soon after. There were more than a few moments of silence between them, and Yami took the opportunity to feel on the new scars he had for display. Now that he'd taken the chance to look around, he could see that the only light in the room was from outside and that wasn't much—there was only the glow of streetlamps and they didn't penetrate the room at all. He could feel a light trickle of blood on his fingers but he couldn't see it. He absentmindedly licked the blood from his hand, sighing as he still struggled for breath, "...I need a cigarette."
Mokuba couldn't laugh just yet, but his breathy giggle alluded to what it was supposed to be. "You're pretty loud, Yami. Jesus," he ran hands through his hair, playing with a particularly long strand. A little later, he added, "...did you want one?"
"Not now," Yami said, taking a deep breath. "...and yes, I'm loud. So what?"
"...you're pretty fucked up, Yami." Mokuba turned over onto his side looking at him directly. His chest was still heaving, but not as much. They were both settling down a bit. "You like being fucked up."
Yami had long since been subjected to this line of questioning and commentary and it rolled from his shoulders with relative ease. "You did a decent job for a first-timer. You...should be rougher next time."
"Fucking hell, Yami!" Mokuba was actually surprised. "What the hell else could I do?"
"Invest in a whip," Yami said casually, "or you could improvise. I don't mind being beaten around a bit."
Yami put both hands behind his head, stretching out. Mokuba slid a bit closer until the two of them were touching, and it was Yami's turn to laugh. "Don't tell me you're a cuddler, Mokuba."
But he was honest. "'S not so bad," Mokuba confessed. "Better than not feeling a connection to the person you're sleeping with. Besides, I just fucked your brains out. You'll give me anything I ask for."
"You must be kidding."
"Look me in the eye and tell me I can't cuddle with you."
"Ugh. Do you have to call it that?"
"...piece of shit."
"Piece of shit cuddler," Mokuba retorted, but Yami didn't say anything as the brunette moved to rest his head on Yami's chest.
Yami could feel the fatigue setting in his bones as Mokuba settled against him. "...thought I was going to have a turn."
"Shut up," Mokuba said sleepily, "you enjoyed it."
"I'm going to rape you while you're sleeping."
"I look forward to it." Mokuba sounded more and more drowsy every time he said something.
Yami sighed. He wasn't going to do anything else tonight—that much was certain. Mokuba had been pretty drunk earlier, though; he supposed that the kid deserved a break. He wasn't going to let him get away with it, though. To be truthful, he'd been sated pretty well, actually; quite well, but he wasn't going to tell Mokuba that. He could always use an extra fuck.
"Hey, Mokuba," he called.
"Mmhmm," the brunette answered lazily.
"You told your brother we were fucking." It was a statement, not a question.