Temperance

Temperance


The room was dimly lit by the stars and moon outside, lending a soft natural glow to the floor and walls that was let in by the single window. Pausing in the doorway, he took in the city under the shifting clouds outside the glass, enthralled by the sight. It was rare for him to be granted such views of the modern world he now lived in (lived? was that an appropriate verb? what was he doing, if not leeching off of the life of his vessel?) and so he did not miss the chance to look through the glass. Still, that was not what he was there for. There was someone else in the room.


“Come to see me, Pharaoh? I knew you couldn’t resist wanting to face me, considering I just put down another one of your friends,” murmured a dark voice, as deep in tone as his vocal chords would allow. Turning from the view outside, he —Pharaoh, they all claimed, and he let the title sink in to his mind, like an ebbing of a wave, insistent and unrelenting— took in the much less desirable sight of the man stretched languidly out on the single bed.


Dark Marik, they all called him, in their minds. Marik, they called him when he was around. What other words could be used, when in the end the two were one and the same anyway? Darkness and light indeed, two sides of the same mind, but it was the tomb keeper he was looking at just the same. The one from the very beginning, the one who’d taken on the mask called Namu. All the same. One person, no matter how many names he claimed.


Tanned skin made all the more dark by the shadows in the room flexed under his gaze, muscles bunching in his arms, stomach clenching under a black tank. He stared into violet eyes so unlike his own and murmured back, just as darkly, “You’ve hurt many in your quest for power, tomb keeper. When your journey comes to an end —what then?”


Casually pulling himself up onto his elbows, Dark Marik grinned a feral smirk. “Why, I’ll stand on top, of course. Looking down on everyone who failed; the true Pharaoh at long last.”


Settling his weight into the balls of his feet, he gave a long suffering sigh and reluctantly paced forward. “Pharaohs don’t belong in this time, Marik. You know that.” Cautiously, his feet led him closer to the creature on the bed. His fingers twitched against his side, wanting to reach for a weapon for reassurance. A dagger, maybe. Or the Puzzle against his chest.


The smirk present on Dark Marik’s face was slowly getting a little wider with each step he took forward. When he stopped at the bedside, looking down with cool contemplation and expectation for him to lunge at his throat, Dark Marik’s muscles bunched tighter and he sprang up as expected. But instead of attempting to choke him, Dark Marik grasped onto his shoulders, hard, and pulled him down into his lap. He reacted immediately: gold flashing; palm outstretched; mouth open to crush his mind. Dark Marik stared back with an Eye burning on his forehead, equally ready offend. They stared into each other's eyes. “There will always be a Pharaoh to the tomb keeper clan,” Dark Marik hissed into the quiet, “even if you are called Yuugi in this time and I am called Marik.”


Yami, he wanted to say, but didn’t bother to correct him. Partner calls me Yami.


They paused in their conversation, if only to listen intently for any noise out in the hall —which was rather frivolous knowing how late it was— but only caught the sound of each other breathing instead. When neither of them seemed likely to move to harm the other (though Dark Marik grinned like he wanted to), Yami allowed his palm to lower slightly. Dark Marik let his hands drop from his shoulders, grin only growing. It was all teeth, Yami thought, all teeth and he wanted to bare his teeth too but it would have seemed too aggressive. A fight was not what he'd come there for.


Keeping his face neutral, Yami adopted a more comfortable seating position from his place half-sprawled in Dark Marik’s lap; curling his legs under him, he leaned back against the crook of his companion’s knee and watched in some satisfaction as the man's kohl lined eyes grew wider and the grin dropped off of his face. Good —shake him up a little, Yami thought to himself. Remove the tension in the atmosphere, make him drop his guard. But Dark Marik soon became wary again, and narrowed his eyes, awaiting a move from him. Yami gazed coolly back. The hands Dark Marik had removed from Yami's shoulders went back again, tightening like clamps of an unbreakable variety. Yami gave him a pointed look.


Another smirk. The hands at his shoulders didn’t move an inch. “Don’t like my touch, Your Majesty?”


How he wished such mocking was left in the hallway. “Given your perpetuity for harming others, do you really need an answer to that?”


The violet eyes seemed to flash with fire. Dark Marik leaned in, scanning Yami’s face for any clue as to his discomfort. Any nervous twitching, any clenching of his jaw. But there was none. Yami prided himself on his impeccable poker face. "Why enter my room, if not for a fight?” He whispered.


He was rather too tall for Yami’s liking: even sitting as they were, Dark Marik’s eyes were a good three inches higher than his own eye level, and so the Egyptian had to tilt his head downward to adjust. Feigning equal ground. Hands not squeezing tight enough to hint at some semblance of control of the situation. Yami narrowed his eyes, nonetheless. But the rest of his face stayed neutral. “Anything to pacify the violence. I have been tempered by my chosen vessel; he gives me insight into people that I would not have noticed before. From his mind, from his views on life, I see not a being dredged up from anger and hatred. In you, Marik, I see only the deepest portions of the mind of a child, cast away; rejected. You crave a point in life, so you continue forward, hating, viciously attacking those in your way. Cruel, but only because there was nothing left for you. Without this...without your need to destroy me, what would you have left?”


As Yami had spoken, the grip on his shoulders had gotten progressively tighter, fingers squeezing with the pulse of the Egyptian they were attached to. Eyes boiled over with fire. Anger. How dare a king think to know how his subordinate felt —cruel and hating and rejected indeed! Dark Marik seethed— but he let him continue to the end of his train of thought, if only to be able to hate every word he spoke.


Yami let the question sit for a moment in the empty air between them, and when no answer was forthcoming —the man holding onto him with all the need of his goal in life looked like he was debating attempting to wrench his head off, and for that Yami picked up his thoughts again quickly— he took in a breath before speaking again. “You would have nothing,” he proclaimed, calmly, words cutting like a knife. Dark Marik was as still as a statue. “And so I must give you something with which to cling onto,” Yami continued, eyeing the fingers leaving red marks in his shoulders. He placed his pale hands over the dark ones, leaned in, and took in another breath of air; Dark Marik’s exhaled air, warm and smelling vaguely of cinnamon and spice. In his mind, turmoil: anger and disgust and an incredible urge to hurt the man before him, all whirling in his head. But Yami was sick of the present situation. If he could not protect his friends in their duels, he would have no friends left by the time Dark Marik and himself met each other in the finals. So he needed to do something. Anything. The option he chose was risky, certainly, but worth it if it paid off. “Your goal is to destroy me, currently...” Yami decreased the distance between their heads another inch, breathing in more shared air, watching the fire in the violet eyes roar before him (dangerously), “...but while I will not make you focus your attention on something else, someone else —perhaps I can make you change the goal itself, even if it's just by a little.”


Their lips were touching. That was all: just a simple touch, no more than a whisper or a ghost or a feeling. But when Yami did not move from his position, still staring into the violet fire now only centimetres away from his own eyes, Dark Marik was forced to make a decision. The Pharaoh —damn Amen-Re gifted, chosen, bloody king, and stupid noble that he was— had just handed over control of the situation to him —darkness and loneliness and rejected child, that’s all, that’s all and he knew it, bloody knew it no matter how much he kicked and screamed to get his way and get noticed. How dare his king step down from his role! He was supposed to be justice! He was supposed to want to destroy any who dared to oppose him, he, son of the gods themselves! So how could he ever allow someone so, so (lowly, whispered his mind, unthinkingly) malicious as him control? Because Yuugi had taught him...? There was the word, lingering in the back of his mind, horrifyingly bold and large and all-consuming and frightening. Dark Marik refused to think it.


“Marik,” Yami demanded, lips forming the words around Dark Marik’s. He’d decided the silence had dragged on long enough. Dark Marik snapped out of his stupor, but not quite fast enough to erase the horror on his face. “Breathe,” Yami commanded.


The status quo, however tentatively restored, refuelled his body and suddenly allowed him to realize: it was true, he’d stopped breathing in his mild panic. Air sucked back into his lungs in a sudden rush. Yami let the oxygen tickle past his lips, not moving to allow the air intake into Dark Marik’s lungs, forcing him to breathe around the lips. Then Dark Marik opened his mouth again, determined to try to rekindle his enemy’s hate for him. Determined to become the embodiment of anger and hatred once more. But Yami had come to the assumption that their situation would go nowhere if he did not make the first move.


The touching of lips abruptly became a kiss.


He kept his eyes open, daring Dark Marik to join in. As it was, light movements were all Yami allowed himself; his mouth curled around Dark Marik’s, once, twice. He wanted a response. Dark Marik seethed to allow him it, but just then all he could think of was that he was being more passive than his nature allowed, and that was unacceptable.


Yami let himself be pushed against the wall the bed was resting against, and carefully moved his feet so as not to entangle them in the sheets. “You want something different?” Dark Marik growled, “Fine. I’ll change my goal. Let’s see just how long you can last being the centre of my attention for different reasons,” he leered, and roughly slammed their mouths together.


Neither of them had done this before, but they learned quickly, and Yami found he could mostly ignore the tight grasp at his shoulders for the more interesting sensation of the pulling and sucking motions of Dark Marik’s mouth instead. The first mutual kiss was little more than warm pressure of their mouths and jaws, but the second, though just as rough as the first, had Yami tilting his head upward to give Dark Marik better access at his mouth. Another growl spilled between the Egyptian’s lips; Yami mused quietly that he didn’t seem to be someone easily pleased. What was it...not moving fast enough? Not sucking hard enough? Did he too readily give in —was Dark Marik the type to like a fight in his bed?


“You hate me,” Dark Marik gasped out as they broke for air, briefly. His words were a feeble reaching for the normal and reliable notions of the past, at best.


“I am trying to forgi—” Yami tried to lie though his tongue felt heavy with hate for it, but Dark Marik peeled his lips back to reveal his teeth, and bit down on Yami’s lower lip to silence him.


Eyes still open, Yami stared at the heavy trembling of the man’s shoulders, and felt pity for how out of his depth Dark Marik was. He didn’t know how to react to what he saw as forgiveness, to human contact so intimate as this, so instead he rejected it, threw it aside. Pushed him away. Bit him, dug his nails into his skin. Anything to return to what he’d become so used to living. Anything to still remain the man he’d grown accustomed to being. Embodiment of hate, the darkness itself...


When he didn’t cry out at the bite, Dark Marik’s teeth slowly unlatched themselves from his lip, and their cheeks brushed against each other before the taller man buried his head in Yami’s collar. Just breathing.


Yami listened to the shuddering breaths, and waited.


“I have no claim over you,” Dark Marik managed out through his teeth, sounding like he was still debating between continuing with hating Yami and wanting to agree to his ridiculous offer, “king that you are.”


“Then I grant you permission to have it,” Yami returned, slowly, letting each word tumble from his tongue like he was completely used to giving away such gifts. To men who did not deserve them. Dark Marik did not look up, but Yami's face was a steel mask, unmoveable. With his words, Dark Marik seethed and panicked and tried to reign in his faltering mind, his trembling body, in order to make a jab.


He muffled out against pale skin, “You would give me such a right, so easily? Without a fight —no battle to have it given to me as a reward?”


Yami could not help the dark chuckle that bubbled up in his gut, and he let Dark Marik hear his amusement. “You would lose.” It came out more cruel and icy than he had meant, and in response the Egyptian’s teeth dug themselves into the skin above Yami’s collar bone. Dark Marik wanted to deny the words, to toss them away like so much used air, but his head was still wheeling and for the life of him he could not think of what to say. So his teeth just dug in harder, and he could feel the ridge of bone under his jaw move as Yami tried to alleviate the pain.


Still, the ancient king made no move to tear away.


At long last, Dark Marik turned his head. Their faces became level with each other once more. “If you’re truly serious,” Dark Marik said angrily (did every motion he have to make have to start and end in anger? Yami wondered if he could change that, too), “then you’ll let me make a mark on you.”


For the first time since entering the room, Yami’s features contorted —and Dark Marik blinked, stunned at the sudden wash of expressions— into something nigh unrecognizable, annoyance and possessiveness and protectiveness and scorn and...Dark Marik had the impression that he had suddenly crossed some line he hadn’t been aware of before. “This body,” Yami intoned, enunciating each syllable to be sure Dark Marik was taking in the meaning, “is not my own. It is not my right to mar it so.”


You would dare ask to mark Yuugi’s body? Were the unspoken words, and Dark Marik noted them with some amusement and glee. Finally: the roles between them had been cut anew from the dust of ambiguity; Dark Marik was the enemy once more, and Yami the protector of Yuugi. He relaxed, almost imperceptibly, liking the sharp look Yami was giving him. Appraising. Wary. Ready to strike. Finally, something he knew and understood.


It seems we’ve gone backwards once more, Yami thought reluctantly. Softening his gaze just slightly with much effort, he watched Dark Marik’s lips curl into a frown, uneasiness trickling in again. How fragile your emotions are, Yami thought, wearily. How prone you are to manipulation. Is that why you struck out at your other personality, pushing him from your body? Because you didn’t know how to deal with his change in heart, and didn’t want to let him change you into something better than you are currently?


“Your words to let me have some piece of you, your heart—” Dark Marik drew Yami’s thoughts back to the present situation with a snap, (heart, Yami thought, hah! you deserve no such thing...my heart belongs to another, to Partner), “—mean nothing if you give me no way to be certain of their truth.”


Yami knew little of his past life, and little of his culture, but these words hit him as being off. “You would call my words false?” The words of a king?


A glint of teeth. “Just implying it, Your Majesty.”


Again with the titles. Yami scrambled for ideas, but decided soon that he was at a loss and needed to give in somehow...allow Dark Marik something, if he were to gain some ground against the roaring need to destroy —such was Dark Marik’s current path, if he could not be steered off of it. So Yami gave in, carefully, choosing the best way he could come up with to allow minimal damage to his partner, Yuugi. “I won't allow any damage to this body," Yami told him, and the look on his face would brook no argument, "if you can agree to that term, you may have it."


Dark Marik gave Yami a look that clearly read that some amount of victory was starting to sink into his anger-infested brain. Victory in winning against him. Whether it was on the dueling field or in their relationship, just between the two of them, he had so desperately wanted victory. Yami was prepared to give him the best equivalent.


(Anything to pacify hatred incarnate.)


Dark Marik was too busy grinning to notice the stony expression.


“You belong to me,” said the Egyptian, fingers trailing over his jaw line eagerly.


Yami watched the change in attitude, like a flip of a switch, from anger to enthusiasm, and withheld any mocking comments brewing on his tongue. Instead he said, pointedly, “In part.”


“And in part to your vessel,” Dark Marik said dismissively, like it wasn’t important. Yami felt his gut clench a little. His partner was always important. “He won’t ever know...?”


“No.”


“And the others?”


“No one will know,” Yami said calmly, “we are enemies, Marik, unless you feel inclined to tell me that you are willing to dissolve your current ambitions.”


“Maybe!” Dark Marik declared with a laugh, letting his shoulders shake loose any tension, his chest expanding with each laugh. Yami wondered if he should feel nervous at the apparent delight. “We could be enemies on the surface. But you will come back to me, because you offered yourself. And—”


Yami interjected, sliding forward to the edge of the bed as he did so, making to leave. “And you will cease attacking my friends. This violence against everyone in your way must be stopped. If you must hurt anyone at all —let it be me,” he said smoothly, “because that was our deal.” To change your goal, even if it’s just a little, in return for myself, Yami thought.


Dark Marik wanted to say, in a sickeningly sweet voice, “Was it?” but he felt that it would have been another line he should not cross. Friends were disgustingly important to the king, even with who he was. Even though they were all so beneath him —like there was a desert between them of endless ways they could never measure up to be his equal or even less, in all the ways they should never be allowed to even be gifted with his presence.


Still, even with who he was, just a subordinate (just a subordinate, never good enough, cast away, rejected child and anger in the mind) Dark Marik reached out and grasped Yami’s hand with one last afterthought. Yami looked down at him, having been in the process of leaving, and frowned.


Gold bangles were pressed into Yami’s hand. “Yours.”


Yami allowed his fingers to curl around the expensive, glinting objects. Had they been passed down through the millennia, once a part of his ancient past? Once worn in ancient Egypt? He didn’t know, and didn’t bother to ask. “Good night,” Yami said firmly, not meaning it in the least, and pulled out of Dark Marik’s grasp.


Dark Marik watched him disappear out the doorway and let himself grin more fully in the absence of anyone to see it. He had...someone of his very own...


The Pharaoh himself...


Dark Marik felt his chest twist as he thought, but he pushed the odd feeling aside, and just kept grinning to the wall, too delighted to sleep.


He vaguely wondered if Yami would wear his gift in public.


Nah...probably not.


It became a steadily growing urge to toss and turn on his bed, rethinking every moment from the time that the Pharaoh had stepped into his room. As he ground his teeth and tangled his fingers in his hair, half-crazed with feelings that he did not know the name to, Dark Marik found that he could no longer put up with it, and escaped out into the hall. Down it he crept, wondering if there were cameras watching his every move. Then he dropped the thought; he could care less.


Not interested in thinking about anything but the man who'd offered himself as a sacrifice to abate the growing list of casualties, Dark Marik slipped into the room he was sure belonged to the king.


"Couldn't resist, could you."


His words, thrown mockingly back at him. Dark Marik snickered. On the bed, Yami sat with his eyes on him, like he'd been waiting —counting off the seconds to see how long he could last. I knew getting away with just promises was too good a result, Yami thought. And there was his answer, closing the door behind him. Silencing the hallway once more.


Dark Marik practically leaped forward when he took in the calculating look Yami was giving him, so controlled, so measured (was there anything that man did that was not thought through at great length beforehand? was he always so in control of his emotions? how was such a thing possible? Dark Marik didn't know). There was a desire worming itself through his head; he wanted to shred that control away from the king, wanted to see that perfect mask he made of his face break into so many pieces that he fell apart and crumbled. Breath shortening in excitement, Dark Marik stalked forward.


Even towering over him, Yami made no move to adjust to increase his height, seemingly perfectly comfortable with having to tilt his head up to meet Dark Marik's eyes. Wide hands —used to crushing out life, used to clenching into fists and slamming into skulls— settled against the back of Yami's head, and Dark Marik leaned down. Whispering in the dark: "What's the point of resistance, when I can just take what I desire?"


The kiss was softer this time. Less interested in angering the king, or in making him fight back, Dark Marik moved his lips the way he'd learned the first time around; only significantly more gently. He wanted to let the memory sink into his brain —light tugging between teeth, twisting locks of hair between his fingers, feeling the Pharaoh push back into the pressure of their mouths moving together— and licked eagerly at his lower lip. Carefully; feeling the smooth skin against his tongue. His knees dropped into the mattress, giving him closer proximity to Yami. Moving back a few inches, the Pharaoh only shifted once when Dark Marik settled down into his lap.


Deciding he liked this position even better, he pressed closer and let the feeling of warm breath and the brushing of their noses against each other fill his mind. It was suddenly surprising to Dark Marik that he hadn't enjoyed such pleasures sooner; surely his other self had been greedy enough to want everything in life? But no: he'd been fully devoted to his goal. Nothing would deter him, back then.


Back then...


His more aggravating thoughts stumbled to a halt when the Pharaoh met another lick with his own tongue, and for a moment they stilled. Then, chaos: mouths more open, hungry, crushing; tongues gliding against each other and inside the other's cheeks; over their teeth, along the roof of their mouths. Dark Marik heard panting, and with a start realized it was both of them.


Yami pushed forward enough to get their chests touching (throwing the weight of the Puzzle to the side, where it clinked against his ribs), separated only by the fabric of their shirts. Dark Marik tightened his grip on the wild hair, not letting the kiss end for an instant. It was far too enjoyable to notice hands tugging at his tank, loosening it from under the top of his pants. He was so far absorbed in the heat of Yami's tongue and the pressing of their lips, curling, tugging, sucking; Yami took advantage and slid both his hands along the flat expanse of Dark Marik's stomach. At the very least, Yami thought, since I hate him, hopefully I can still wrest some pleasure from the situation. Or distract myself from it.


Muscles clenched taunt under the dark skin as Yami's fingers trailed slowly past his navel, smoothing over his ribs. Dark Marik had stopped moving his mouth in surprise. Or maybe something else, Yami thought, as he noticed the increase in pressure of the thighs pressing against his own. Dark Marik abandoned the kiss then, suddenly interested in seeing how the rest of Yami's skin felt like under his lips. As fingers made circles against his stomach, Dark Marik kissed down Yami's jaw, making his way to his ear. He sucked on the lobe, eagerly running his tongue along the edge of his ear. A shuddering breath left Yami's throat. His questing fingers moved higher, still rubbing circles, running along the path of the muscles.


They pushed closer, this time moving backwards as well, giving themselves more space to stretch out their legs. Dark Marik suddenly wanted more control, and moved his hands to Yami's shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress. He hovered for a second then, as the fingers paused under his shirt, and then Yami was grabbing the black fabric and pulling it upward. Allowing it, Dark Marik lifted his arms and pulled the tank over his head before dropping it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. Hands met his skin once more, rolling upward over his chest, lightly dancing over his neck before sweeping back down again. Dark Marik dove his head into Yami's neck, feeling the pulse under his tongue. His own hands dropped to the mattress to support him over the man beneath him.


Leaning upward slightly, Yami ducked his head to avoid Dark Marik's tongue on his neck for the moment, and pressed his mouth to the broad chest he'd been exploring with his fingertips. Then he continued up to his collar bone; short meaningless kisses meant to distract him. Dark Marik settled back onto his calves and grasped Yami's shirt, and slid his hands underneath, now thinking it might have been better to get the man naked before considering his own clothing. His stomach was doing funny flip-flops and he was annoyed that the man now dropping his hands back to his waist seemed barely affected by their activities at all.


He got impatient, and settled for pressing him tightly into the mattress with his weight, and moved his hands that had been working their way up Yami's back to the waistband of his pants instead, only pausing once to push the Puzzle as far away from their bodies as possible without removing the chain from around Yami's neck. Yami tried to shift away from the fingers, subtly, but the movement was there nonetheless and was not unnoticed by Dark Marik. He grinned eagerly and slipped his thumbs an inch down the side of his hips, tugging at the clothing before realizing the presence of the belt.


Yami shifted again, but made no outward protest when Dark Marik loosened the belt and snapped open a button. His mind was too focussed on the sensation of having another body pressing so heavily on top of him, and was considering the feeling of Dark Marik's chest and hips, and legs so intriguingly tight against his own. Two hands pulled the pants down in one quick motion, leaving only boxers between Dark Marik and his open skin, startling Yami from the sensations prickling through his legs. Dark Marik moved to pull the pants down past his knees, and Yami scrambled in his head for an excuse to stop it. Hands tightened at Dark Marik's waist as he thought again of something to distract Dark Marik with; perhaps he could satisfy the man —his enemy— through other methods. Other touches.


He dropped his hands against Dark Marik's groin without another thought, leaving the man surprised again. Fingers kneaded carefully into the clothing, pressing a little hard to get at the organ underneath the fabric. His intent to distract him seemed successful, for Dark Marik moved his attentions from trying to remove Yami's pants, to his chest, sweeping his hands under the shirt and experimentally running his thumbs over his nipples.


It became apparent that Yami was unlikely to get out of the situation with his composure left intact and his partner's body too untouched. He felt shivers run down his spine and tried to ignore them, but the sensation of Dark Marik's fingers rubbing and squeezing was sending odd tendrils of heat through his thighs and abdomen. He massaged Dark Marik's groin a little more, feeling him begin to move under the clothing. Dark Marik shuddered, and bent his head to flick his tongue over Yami's nipple. Still grinning, Yami would have bet, though he did not twist his neck to see the expression on the Egyptian's face. His own breath had gotten short at the feeling of the tongue on him, and more heat wormed its way through Yami's body as his heart picked up its pace.


His fingers unhooked the belt on Dark Marik's pants, and then pulled the zipper down, sharply, as a nip of teeth sent goose bumps across his skin and the pleasurable tightening of nerves at the base of his spine. As he pressed his hands down once more into Dark Marik's stiffening member, the man rocked his hips forward slightly into his palms. The thin fabric of the boxers seemed to be useless in lessening the sensations of touch when he could completely feel the heat rolling off from underneath —Yami felt the heat travel up his wrists, along his arms, through to his neck, and felt his face begin to flush in arousal. And Dark Marik seemed to agree to the pointlessness of the fabric, because he abruptly grabbed Yami's hands and pushed them underneath it.


Now heat really was spreading through the rest of Yami's body, and pooling in his gut, between his legs; Dark Marik sucked in a breath through his teeth, and his shoulders tensed as if in pain though the way he'd squeezed his fingers around Yami's, forcing his grip to tighten around his dick, said anything but. Carefully, Yami searched his face for an indication of what he was thinking, but Dark Marik had closed his eyes and was trying to slow his breathing. If one touch could get that reaction, what further motions did he have to do in order to get more?


Curious, he wriggled his fingers underneath Dark Marik's, not able to loosen his grip but able to make little movements, at least. The Egyptian tightened his fingers on Yami's hands further, and his eyes snapped open as his mouth clamped shut. Yami felt his own muscles tighten at the excitement and pleasure that crossed his face. Slowly, weight still pressing him into the mattress, Dark Marik rocked his hips forward again, and Yami couldn't ignore that he'd felt the hard head of his erection against his stomach. His mouth went dry and suddenly the weight against him was all too enjoyable.


Breathing hot air onto Dark Marik's neck, Yami allowed himself to lean back as the man pushed forward again, into his stomach, rubbing his tip against the skin not covered by the shirt that had been pulled up earlier. Yami grit his teeth against a gasp. He wouldn't allow the man the satisfaction of knowing he'd made him cry out. All the same, though, he couldn't hide his hardness now pressing into Dark Marik's erection, and the separation of their skin by the boxers again seemed to annoy the man.


He released Yami's fingers with a sudden eager licking of his lips, and fisted his hands in the boxers, pulling them down hard enough to have them bunching against the pants still around Yami's knees. Excited, Dark Marik closed the inch of space between them, and Yami tensed and stopped sound from leaving his throat by holding his breath. Sparks of pleasure were shuddering through his member up through his stomach, to his chest, his nipples. His legs nearly jerked with the feeling, but he managed to restrain himself.


It made him feel slightly better to know that Dark Marik was having the same problems breathing, and a strangled noise was muffled into the sheets beside Yami's shoulder. Their dicks quivered against each other, increasing the heat around their groins by threefold. Neither had expected the sensation to be as pleasant as it was, and Dark Marik sought to rectify his ignorance of that by grabbing Yami's thighs and pulling them apart a little wider —he did not object to this out of sheer lack of air from having to keep his moans internalized, though the electric twanging of nerves in his erection was enough to make him want to grind upward— and adjusted himself to lie deeper between his legs.


Feeling the fullness of Dark Marik's hardness, from the base to the head, pressing against him and brushing past a testicle, was enough to make Yami suck in a hard breath and force his hips to rock against Dark Marik's; once, before stilling, just trying to see how he'd react. A thick wave of pleasure rolled up their erections, but it was too light to have any real power against their tense nerves, though just enough to make them start to sweat. Dark Marik noticed it first; a dampness in his thighs, sticking against his clothing. His back was similarly damp, but the cool air in the room drove it off him enough for him not to have noticed it before. Yami felt his stomach slide too easily against the man above him and cursed his body silently for reacting so. It seemed weak.


Dark Marik found the feeling of the sweat of Yami's stomach to be strangely appealing, and ran his hands over him, licking as low as his head would dip without forcing him to pull his hips away from man below him. Yami's breath hitched at the pressure of his hands, only adding to the feelings building in his gut. His hips rocked upward again, more slowly, tantalizingly; attempting to get a reaction. All thoughts had fled from both their minds.


Turning his mouth to suck on the spot in the crook of Yami's neck, Dark Marik met his thrust with one of his own, equally slow. Every warm wave of pleasure was savoured, every taste of the salt of Yami's sweat on his tongue as he moved his mouth carefully enough not to leave a mark. They thrust again, in time with each other now, but Dark Marik moved to keep himself grinding in the opposite direction, pushing the base of his member low as Yami pushed into his stomach. This seemed to work for optimal pleasure, and they gradually increased their pace, keeping their heads against each other's shoulders, not able to hide the panting but not wanting the other to see the emotions spilling across their features.


Moaning became a little too difficult to hide, and muffled noises broke through their teeth against pale skin and dark —each thrust became a little harder than the last, a little quicker— before finally Dark Marik gave up hiding it and simply groaned deeply into Yami's shoulder. Heat was flushing completely through their bodies now, warming everything from the tips of their toes to the back of their necks, and sweat made rubbing and sliding motions smoother; gentler. This wasn't the roughness Dark Marik thought he needed, and so he picked up their pace, waiting a beat as Yami adjusted his motions to match it. Panting noises filled the room. Waves of pleasure became thicker and heavier as they rolled up from the base to the head of their stiff members. Yami arched his back and gave up trying to keep his body from trembling, and then soon his every muscle was shuddering all over as he kept thrusting.


Dark Marik groaned again, and Yami sucked in air through his teeth as their hips knocked against each other, and for one second their movements went jerky. The pace increased again, as fast as they could go; thinking less of the pleasure now and more interested in the release. Dark Marik's nails dug into the sheets, though he wanted to push them into the skin below him instead. His teeth found purchase in his knuckles, and he made another noise as Yami arched his back further, elbows pushing under him to get even the slightest inch closer to him.


He couldn't take the pressure anymore. Dark Marik squeezed his eyes shut and stopped thinking about his own movements or Yami's, and just pushed as hard as he could. With another intake of breath, his whole body went taunt and he cried out in ecstasy into the mattress, letting the pulsing feeling of release flow through him as his dick and thighs suddenly became slick with fluid. Yami ignored the increase in weight on him, and, legs twisting frantically in the sheets, pumped out his own release, letting the jerking of his body and the dropping of his head backwards signal his own pleasure more than any sound. As it was, his mouth was clamped so firmly shut Dark Marik doubted he'd been breathing at all.


They let their bodies become lax, and just breathed, feeling the heat of each other and the wetness of their stomachs and groins. Both thought it was key to regain their composure before attempting to move, and were grateful when they felt their erections fall as their brains recognized satisfaction for the moment.


Finally, having decided his breathing was back to normal, Yami gave a push at Dark Marik's shoulder. The darker skinned man made no protest to his unspoken words, and rolled his weight off of him. Dark Marik zipped his pants back up, snapping the belt back into place though his fingers were likely slippery from ejaculate. He gave one last glance to Yami on the bed, and scowled at how quickly the man must have pulled his clothing back into its proper place. His hair also seemed to have righted itself when he wasn't looking. Yami gave him a cool stare.


"Another time...Pharaoh..." Dark Marik promised him with a thinly veiled look of lust.


And Yami thought, I'll have destroyed you before then.


As the Egyptian made his way to the door, he stopped abruptly, realizing his shirt, and Yami threw it to him. "Good night," came the lie, again, from Yami's mouth. He wished he'd brushed his lips in poison.


Dark Marik opened the door and grinned a shark grin. "Good night."


End