"I could kill you, you know." I breathe against his skin. Flawless, ethereal skin. Bare skin.
"I know," he answers. He sounds amused, and I know why. "You say that every time."
I whisper the words along, breathing against his skin anew. He doesn't shiver; the temperature is cozy and warm. We both hate the cold.
My fingers trace his spine and dart over his shoulder blades. I lean into him and press my lips on his perfect canvas. Gently, almost caring. I don't bite and tear like that idiot. Malik no yami no jinkaku can keep his blood, gore and guts; I prefer smoothness, calmness, even. Judging from the fairly cool, yet pristine surface, I notice that Malik's darker half hasn't been close to the Pharaoh for at least months. I can't help but grin. He's going to be so frustrated when he hears about my latest visit.
I'm not naked. I peeled him out of his clothes like I usually do; starting with that delightfully tight shirt of his. I love how it hugs his skin and how the fabric ripples and crinkles as I lift it up, revealing the perfect beauty underneath. Of course I can't pull it over his head as he's wearing that goddamn Puzzle, and he won't allow me to take it off. So we fight a little, a slight struggle while we kiss, and we push and we pull. It's the only 'game' the Pharaoh loses, and he'll remove the Puzzle for me; no one else touches the Item. It's almost endearing how he puts it to the side, cupping it as if it's a real, living thing.
He did the same to me; lifting up the shirt, that is. I discarded the garment and stopped him in his tracks. It's a bit of a ritual, he already knows; I take my time undressing him. I'm a very patient man. I expected at first that he would yell at me, to hurry up, but he never did. Maybe it's because it's the only time we get to ourselves. Despite being in charge of the body, it's not ours. We have obligations. I respect my landlord, believe it or not. It won't benefit me at all if I abuse or neglect him. The same goes for the Pharaoh; he's like a hawk watching over his 'aibou', and whichever deity may have mercy on your soul if you fuck him over.
I like that. His dark side, I mean. Literally. I like to antagonize him, no matter the consequences. I want to see his red eyes burn, I want his lips snarling, and I want his hands to push at me; I want him to push me away and to pull me back at the same time. His body against mine, his hands all over me, his breath tickling my skin. Sometimes he even says things, meaningless things, hopeless things, and I drink it all in as if there's no tomorrow. Maybe there isn't. Our time is limited, and we both know it.
I want so many things and I want it again and again. Lately I realized that I want it again and again with him by my side. It's impossible, it has never been possible, and it'll always be impossible; I live to destroy him, and he lives to gain victory. It's such a stark contrast, that it fascinates and scares me. Here I am, with my archrival, my nemesis, yet he's my Achilles heel, my weakness, my one great flaw. I don't even know why. All that I know is that I could kill him, right here and right now with my bare hands... the same hands that are stroking his sides, tracing every curve of his body.
"What are you thinking?" His voice is soft, yet demanding. Is this the limit of his patience? I don't think so. It's not like we're strangers to one another, like this. I move my hands up, my fingers curl around his neck.
"I'm thinking about what's to come," I answer.
He narrows his eyes, slightly. Long dark lashes, contrasting starkly with his pale skin. "What do you have in mind?" Funny, how many people equal nudity with vulnerability. I envy him, 'my' Pharaoh, for showing such comfort and ease with being naked, no protection from armor or clothes, and no shred of insecurity. He draws strength of having the upper hand; I'm still dressed, not prepared to expose myself yet. I lose. "Another one of your RPG's?"
"Monster world was great fun," I tell him. I have confidence of my own, clothes or no clothes. "I'm sure you're going to like this one. It's going to bring back a lot of memories."
I might be mistaken, but there's a slight bit of tension that seems to flow away. We're both not completely relaxed in each other's presence, but still... after so many times, we should know better by now.
"I like RPG's," he says and shifts a little, moving his arm. I lean into him again, pressing a kiss against his temple.
"You don't have to be afraid," I say and I'm rewarded with a loud, Kaiba-esque snort. My fingers are still on his neck. What if I would apply pressure, digging my fingers into his skin, and push so hard that I'd choke the life out of him? No. That would be too easy. I still want him to suffer, I still want him to go through pain and anguish. Yet I can't stand the thought of someone else's fingers on his body, yet I can't bear the notion that someone else kisses those lips and elicit those hungry, needy moans out of him.
"I am not."
"Just because you were the victor last time..." He turns his head at hearing my menacing growl, but all he does is to smirk at me. It annoys me for the briefest of moments and then I move my hand up, sliding past his cheek, to his hair. That's always good for a content look on his face. He likes his hair to be played with, and I'm happy to oblige. He brings up his hand, mimicking my gesture; I feel his fingers slide down my neck, twirling strands of hair around them.
"I will always be the victor." His other hand is on the waistband of my pants. My my, he's getting impatient after all.
"Not for now," I answer. I nip at his earlobe and allow the excitement to wash over me. Tilting my head, I go lower, trailing along his jaw line. A content moan follows; it's the same routine we take, the same path we walk on with a little banter back and forth, while we touch and kiss. I don't remember anymore how it exactly started. I searched him out and we yelled at each other, until we literally tore each other's clothes off.
"Not for now," he repeats, but there's no submission in his voice. That's not what I'd like to hear, either. I want him feisty, I want him fighting, I want him to cling to me and cry out my name. Those are the bare lines of our relationship. He's not the only one whose breathing grows erratic. I press against his skin, no more barriers, no more holding back. I want my access, and I want it now. This is my win. This is my victory.