Prompt: Mokuba x any D/s, Mokuba being D
Title: Serve the Ego
Ship: Respectshipping (Yami x older!Mokuba)
Warnings: NSFW, BDSM, Humiliation, mild bathroom mentions; headcanon continuity
Posted on my personal blog and a few other places.
Never before had it been so hard to keep himself focused at work. Five hours and Mokuba could barely recall what happened. At some point he’d spoken to Seto and bullshitted his way through meetings with at least three other people; sat there, looked good, nodded his head every few moments and everyone believed him. There was no room to remember anything that was said, by himself or otherwise. Lips were moving, signatures were scrawled on paper, schedules were lined up yet there was only one word circulating in his thoughts.
Yami. Yami. Yami. Yami, Yami, Yami, Yami, Yami, Yami.
His secretary would take the most important points made and summarize them for him tomorrow. She would have to. Mokuba’s job damn near depended on it.
Even as he pulled up in front of the apartment, Mokuba’s mind continued to race on that single subject. What if something had happened to him?On the off chance that the apartment caught on fire or someone broke in, there would be no one to blame but himself. Everything that happened today had been his idea. You’re an idiot for taking charge. For giving him what he wants. Yami is fucked up and you shouldn’t be spoiling him.
No one had broken in; nothing was on fire. It was easy to blow everything out of proportion when he was worried. ”Take a deep breath,” Mokuba told himself, as he crossed the small front yard and ascended the stairs to the door. “Calm.” That was what Yami expected.
Pale hands grabbed ferociously at his chest, fingers grasping a silver charm at the end of a long chain. This was his. It gave him authority. Permission. He clutched it for several moments, steadying himself. Bright eyes focused on the brick exterior of the home, running up and down the grooves, following every nick. It helped.
Mokuba wouldn’t rush to Yami as soon as he entered the apartment. He would have to take his time. I’m not cut out for this, he thought. But he would do it. Once he was inside, he would relax; try as hard as he could to lounge for an hour or so and pretend that Yami wasn’t there. The latter wasn’t allowed to speak until they laid eyes on each other. That was the rule. Yami had to be an afterthought.
Well, one of several.
By the time he made it inside, Mokuba’s heart still pumped like the bass to his favorite striptease. But it was manageable. He could breathe at a reasonable pace. Off went the shoes and the jacket, and the tie was loosened before he ascended the stairs. At the top, he paused. No sound. No signs of moving. Squelching his worries, Mokuba gingerly tiptoed to his favorite chair. Yami couldn’t speak until they saw each other, after all. An hour, he told himself. Find something to do for an hour and then you can see him.
Nothing in the den looked welcoming. The lounge chair fabric, normally soft and cushy, felt like some sort of torture device. Mokuba couldn’t get comfortable no matter what position he tried. He had no desire whatsoever to turn on the television and watch anything. No article or book could hold his attention. It was impossible to keep himself from glancing in the direction of his room. Aside from the light of his bathroom flooding in, however, he saw nothing. No Yami waiting with a devious smile. The bed, visible from the doorway, appeared cold and unused.
Mokuba forced himself to turn away and instead made a list of things that he could do for the next hour. Any sort of sleep was off of the menu. He was too wired and didn’t want to watch anything. The body he wanted closest was two rooms away and there was nothing that he could do about it. They’d agreed.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask for a sign that Yami was alright. A single knock for yes, two for needing help? No, you big baby. Tough it out. Mokuba was in big boy territory now and would have to do this properly. Yami would have broken character if he needed to. He could have called Mokuba at work.
"Food," he said to himself, and it wasn’t a bad idea. Maybe he’d put together something for dinner. A reward for Yami’s good behavior. When he rummaged in the refrigerator, he struck gold. Waiting for him was some leftover mackerel, chicken and some vegetables. Perfect. The meal would practically make itself.
Once he’d talked himself into gifting Yami with food, the time passed much more quickly.Mokuba wasn’t big on cooking but maybe if he concentrated a little harder than normal Yami would forgive him for leaving him at home alone all day with no attention. Soup, cucumbers, a small stew and the mackerel worked together neatly and rice took no time to prepare at all. The radio kept him company and it was better working in silence. If anything, the meal hadn’t eaten up enough time. Mokuba was still nervous and at an hour and fifteen minutes he couldn’t afford to wait any longer. At first he hadn’t wanted to wait and now it was all happening too soon.
Without another second of delay Mokuba made his way to the sink and the cubbard underneath. Armed with a small bucket housing a bottle of bleach, a mop and a folded towel, he took a deep breath and made his way to the bedroom. He knew how he wanted to appear and what he wanted to sound like, and tried to replay the image in his head. It was always much easier to pull it off if he could imagine it.
As he crossed the threshold into the room, Mokuba wrinkled his nose. There was a stench subtly clawing its way from the bathroom. It assaulted his senses and he had to resist a strong cough. He tried to ignore it even as he moved closer to the source. With the light pouring from the bathroom in the back, he could see that everything in his bedroom was neat and in its place. For a moment he considered turning on the light, then decided against it. I’ll be more intimidating with it off, I think. Not a single thing had been tampered with. The pillows and blankets were in place on the bed, the bits and bobs on the dressers left to their own devices. The window was still open, which explained why Mokuba hadn’t noticed the smell after arriving home.
A good idea, and one of Yami’s suggestions. Maybe he should be rewarded. But just a single glance into the bathroom made Mokuba reconsider. His stomach didn’t agree with what he saw.
Yami was slumped against the base of the sink, legs to the side. At Mokuba’s approach he scrambled up onto his knees, nearly slipping on the wet tile. Dressed in a powder blue button up, the rest of him was bare and covered in piss if Mokuba’s nose was telling the truth. His eyes were wide open. Aside from two seconds of focus on Mokuba, those violet eyes shifted direction nearly every second. His hands were bound behind him at the wrist with silver handcuffs. They, unlike the rest of him, had remained remarkably clean. The chain holding the cuffs together were attached to a third cuff, which was bound to a pipe beside the sink itself. It was lengthy enough for Yami to stand on his own, if he wanted - but he knew what position was expected of him. At the knees fluid formed an outline around the skin.
Show time.
Mokuba was very careful to stop just out of reach. It wasn’t as though he could force himself to move any closer. The sight alone was repulsive. ”Don’t speak,” he told Yami, before anything else could be said.
He knew the rules, but even opening his mouth to say that made him turn away to take a deep breath. The smell was overpowering. So he was honest about it. “And don’t touch me. You’re fucking disgusting.” Gently, he sat the bucket on the floor. Mokuba didn’t want any of that touching his clothes. “Don’t get any of that shit on my carpet. I’m serious. I’ll check. If you fucking piss on my carpet you’re going to sleep outside, like fucking dogs do. Because even animals can avoid pissing on themselves. Am I clear?”
Yami bowed his head slightly and nodded.
"Now stand up and turn so I can take the cuffs off. Slowly."
For a person who had been left alone for so long, Yami responded rather quickly. It was nothing for him to raise up onto the balls of his feet. From there, standing was a breeze and the cuffs were dropped into the sink. Mokuba made sure not to touch them; breathing in this space was difficult enough without getting any of the mess on his hands. It was hard enough to ignore the droplets rolling down towards the floor. Yami sighed deeply and his hair shook with the effort. Even though the cuffs were loose enough to prevent any sort of pressure on his wrists, just having them bound must have been a strain.
Don’t feel sorry for him, Mokuba reminded himself. He deserved this. He did this to himself.
"When you’re done with this, there’s dinner in the den. Scrub the bathroom from top to bottom. Twice. Then take a shower." Mokuba turned away again, to take a breath and hide a small gag. He couldn’t understand how some people did this every day. "Do you have any questions?"
Yami shook his head.
"You can stretch now. Ugh, I’m gonna have to wash my hands. I’m leaving. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" There was only so much he could take in before he had to avert his eyes again.
Yami didn’t quite move forward, as in taking a full step. But he leaned closer, hands at his sides, careful not to touch Mokuba. Then he bowed.
"W-w…" he stammered, and then cleared his throat. It cracked with the effort of speaking. "Welcome home, Mokuba." There was an emphasis on Mokuba’s name that sounded desperate, like he was begging. It was hard to tell what it meant. He took a deep breath. "How… how was your day? I…" He trailed off, and after a few seconds seemed a little lost about what he’d been intending to say.
Those red eyes looked a little too unfocused. After a bit of thought, Mokuba demanded, “Color. Now.”
"Green," was the response.
That was a bit relieving. It was hard to pull a smirk into his expression, but Mokuba managed to do it. “Excuse me? Is there someone else here you’re speaking to?”
"I’m fine, Mokuba."
"Get back on your knees." The obedience was instantaneous, and Yami murmured an acknowledgment. "You don’t deserve to look me in the eye, not with behavior like that. Look at you. Covered in shit. Pathetic." He tutted and shook his head. "I’m surprised you’re not hard, you sick fuck. How many times did you want to stroke yourself off today?"
Head bowed, Yami remained silent.
"If I have to ask again, I’m going to the chest and you’re not going to get any dinner at all. Youwon’t leave this room.”
The answer was a whisper. “…six, Mokuba… seven… I don’t know.” There was a pause. “I—”
Was that a sniffle he heard? Mokuba made a show of rolling his eyes. “Whatever else you have to say, spit it out. I’m walking away in five seconds because I don’t have time for your incompetence. Four. Three…” He heard the sound again, and it was most certainly a sniffle.
When Yami looked up again, his eyes were tearing up. Noticeably. “I… I thought you were going to just leave me here…” There was a hiccup, and that dissolved into sobbing. “I don’t know why you came back for me… I…” Though he was still on his knees, he was slumped to the side and his shoulders shook.
Seeing Yami cry was something that pushed Mokuba’s buttons. He didn’t like it. So when those five seconds passed he did turn away to head into the kitchen, and had to curb the urge to just end everything altogether and help him clean up. The sight disturbed him so much, Mokuba didn’t trust himself to say anything else on the way out. That image was just too powerful for him. Yami was normally very confident and outspoken. But he said he was fine, Mokuba told himself.
…after bursting into tears on the bathroom floor. Being left chained up in the bathroom for approximately six and a half hours was certainly crippling by most people’s standards.
When he was sure he was out of earshot, safe in the refuge of the kitchen, he exhaled loudly. ”What the fuck am I doing?” To keep himself busy, he did take the time to wash his hands. He wished he could do the same with his memory.
Mokuba wasn’t sure that he wanted to follow through on the next bit. Not that it was worse or more cruel, but it was difficult keeping this up. Hedamn near wanted to cry. It took several more breaths to calm himself. Eventually, he got his heart rate back to something resembling normal. He didn’t want to be caught looking like that.
The good news was that Yami was seemed to actually be doing well with the bathroom. Nearly a half hour passed before he emerged, bucket in hand, pausing at the opening between the kitchen and the den. In the other hand was the shirt he’d been wearing when Mokuba arrived. Now he was dressed in a new, clean, black shirt. The rest of him was still bare.
A part of Mokuba had hoped he’d forgotten. Oh, well. Another part of him was impressed that Yami was keeping himself together so well, considering. Mokuba did take a moment to study his face and it did seem as though whatever had overwhelmed him before was now under control.
"It’s clean, Mokuba," Yami said, head still bowed. "I made sure." Biting his lip, he eyed the table. "Am I allowed to eat?"
He waited a while before giving an answer and took time instead to move the food from the stove and the oven to the table. When he finished, Mokuba crossed his arms and finally gave Yami his attention. “Did you clean the bucket when you were done?”
"Yes, Mokuba."
"Good. You know where it goes. That shirt goes in the trash. I never want to see it again."
A very small smile made an appearance at the corners of Yami’s lips as he complied. His eyes roamed to the meal on the table. Even as he replaced the bucket, he kept turning to get a good look. It made sense for him to be hungry. Mokuba was hesitant to keep him waiting much longer considering how much time had passed since breakfast.
A muted thump signaled that the task was complete. “Now,” Yami asked, “can I eat?”
Mokuba took his place at the table, which was only set for one. “Not yet.” Yami seemed well enough for things to continue. The appetite, if anything, was proof of that. They were moving into more manageable territory. It might even be fun. “Go and get a pillow.” A smile followed the request. “Animals don’t eat at the table.”
Something like a pout appeared on Yami’s lips and Mokuba’s smile vanished just as quickly. Whatever it was that Yami was going to say next, he knew without even hearing it that he wasn’t going to like it. “Mokuba, I did everything you asked—”
“And the cane now, too, please.” He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Yami loved being bratty. Give him an inch and he would do his best to steal a mile. Mokuba hoped that this would be the extent of it. Being a disciplinarian was exhausting enough without additional transgressions that needed punishing.
There was just a hint of hesitation, but not for any longer than a second or two. A scowl made it clear that he was unhappy about it, but Yami turned on his heel and exited the room. He didn’t dally, either.
"So," Mokuba continued as Yami left and returned, "You’re going to explain to me why I have to wait to eat and deal with you." The annoyance in his tone was certainly real. ”I hate using that thing. You know I do. I really could have had dinner delivered at work instead of wasting time here with you.” Sighing, he twirled a piece of hair in his fingers. “When’s your next day off? Maybe I’ll leave you chained up then, too. Then I can do it properly and make sure I eat before I come home.”
“Please, don’t do that.” Yami’s voice was the quietest he’d ever heard it. The cane was presented politely, and Mokuba accepted it. “I’m sorry, Mokuba.”
No matter how much he disliked using it, the cane itself was an interesting piece. It was thin and not as heavy as he’d thought it would be at first. It was also the most acceptable form of punishment from his personal experience. Heavier items made him worry a lot more about the damage that could be inflicted. There was also a certain kind of comfort in it being made of wood as opposed to some other material. A cane could do worse than he was capable of in the right hands, but there was still a limit on that based on the design. It was the thing Mokuba had adjusted to using the fastest. From what he understood, it hadn’t been used much on Yami before, so getting used to it was a new experience for the both of them.
Not that knowing that made using it more enjoyable. Mokuba stood, taking a step towards Yami. He tried to get the right feel of balance for the tool in his hands. Sighing again, he met Yami’s eyes. “Why am I being inconvenienced? Tell me.” He’d said it casually, but the command was very real.
Admitting to fucking up was something Yami loathed. The least he could do was give Mokuba a squirm or two for the trouble. It wasn’t as though the list was long. Whether or not Yami was granted any privileges was completely up to Mokuba’s discretion. Questioning instructions was expressly forbidden. Even if he’d been a good boy and suffered in the bathroom, that didn’t entitle him to anything he wanted. Yami knew that, and Mokuba knew that he did - so he couldn’t let it slide.
Three strokes. He made them sharp. Across the left thigh, dangerously close to the center. Mokuba smiled with satisfaction when a loud hiss reached his ears.
It was no secret that Yami enjoyed even the slightest sting. Though he remained silent, the other signs were less obvious. Yami always rolled his shoulders when relaxing after a strike, a scratch, a squeeze; his fingers closed into fists; and this was aside from his cock hardening, breath quickening, his skin growing flush. It was a little upsetting, really. Yami had done so well so far to keep his desire in check.
Yami looked down and away, face covered in a light shade of pink. “And I didn’t answer you properly, Mokuba, when I fetched the things you asked for.” He hated blushing, too.
"I’m glad you pointed it out. Does one instead of two sound fair?" Mokuba tried not to look too pleased as he let the cane fly across Yami’s skin once more, this time on the other thigh. The strike itself was flexible, a pop on the skin rather than a smack. Pale skin beneath puckered until it was a gentle pink just like the others, in a neat line. Yami would never know it, but he’d been practicing. It was easy to see why the cane was a must have item. It didn’t draw blood and welts didn’t have to be obvious. He could control the size, even. Beginners like him could eventually become good at it without much trouble.
With that out of the way, Mokuba took his seat again and Yami scurried off to put the cane away. This hadn’t been the direction he’d planned for, but he would make use of it. “I think your problem is that you’re not appreciative.” He held up a hand to head off any protest.
True to form, Yami opened his mouth, then closed it. “So you’re going to stand there and watch me finish this first. When I’m done, I think I’ll have you provide me with some service. You’re going to suck me off and if you do it good enough, I’ll let you sit at the table while you eat.”
Again, there was that hungry stare. It seemed almost cruel to keep him away from dinner. ”Can I speak freely, Mokuba?” Yami was already moving closer.
Mokuba chuckled. “Always. Just at your own risk.”
Arms wrapped tightly around his torso, the pillow he held stuck out behind him.“Could I… just do it now?” He paused, shifting his weight from one foot to another, holding himself as he admitted, “I didn’t think you were coming back.”
The fact that Yami thought him capable of that was off putting. “That’s ridiculous.”
Yami took another step, then eased down and onto his knees. “You don’t have to move at all. Eat, if you want. Ignore me. Just let me. Please. I need to touch you.” He pulled himself underneath the wooden table.
Mokuba wasn’t sure what to do. Yami’s tone was oddly serious, and he couldn’t decipher the emotion behind it. Were they still playing? Should they stop? “Yami…?”
The man in question seemed to sense the worry in Mokuba’s voice. “I’m fine. I just… I couldn’t handle being left alone.” Yami nuzzled the inside of his legs. With gentle touches, he nudged them apart. “I’m so lucky,” he professed, cheeks grazing against fabric.
The table blocked Mokuba’s view of his face. Tingles ran up his legs with each one of Yami’s caresses; he was a sucker for tenderness. But as he shifted to pull the chair back, firm hands stopped him from moving. “Wait—”
"Don’t look, Mokuba." Yami’s voice was eerily calm. "I’m going to cry and I don’t want you to watch."
And just like that, Mokuba lost control of the scene. He knew how sensitive Yami was about others seeing him vulnerable. If he was asking for consideration, it must have been serious. How could he say no to a request that sincere?
"…okay."
Yami’s voice was breathy when he spoke again. “I’m sorry for being impatient. I’ve been good all day, I promise.” He nuzzled Mokuba again, fingers clinging. “I didn’t touch myself and Gods know I wanted to. I still won’t.” When Yami exhaled, it was shaky. “I’ll eat on the floor. I’ll do anything you ask. But I need you.” Those breaths seemed to echo in the room, needy and desperate. “…can I?”
Mokuba didn’t realize he was waiting for permission. Yami being gentle was always a turn on for him, but this was something else entirely. Each of those softly spoken words made him shiver. There was no other answer besides, “Yes.”
The sound that came from Yami’s mouth couldn’t even qualify as a moan. It was a mixture of several higher notes, squeals and whimpers of delight that easily had Mokuba hard and ready. The press of fabric was relieved quickly, though. In a swift movement, Yami pulled the chair even closer to the table. Deft hands unfastened his belt. The soft jingle of the buckle accompanied their heavy breathing, bouncing over busy fingers.
It wasn’t until Mokuba could feel cool air grazing his thighs that Yami spoke again. “I’m so grateful,” he said, nearly sobbing. “You didn’t have to come back.” Hot breath wafted over the tip of Mokuba’s dick, and he moaned.
Not being able to see his face made Mokuba mildly uncomfortable. “I never would have left you, Yami.”
"With all due respect, I don’t think you understand. I know that, but…"
Fingers curled around the base of Mokuba’s shaft. Those fingers explored the flesh beneath them thoroughly, pressing and gripping and running along the length. Understanding anything other than wanting a hot, wet mouth all over him was going to be nearly impossible.
"Thank you," Yami said, pressing a kiss into the groove just beneath the head. Mokuba shivered. It was followed by another, and another. "Thank you. Thank you. Fuck - Mokuba - I love you." His voice seemed caught in his throat as he struggled to form the words. There was nothing more that Mokuba wanted than to end the scene altogether and haul Yami off to the bed. Dinner could wait. Everything else could wait.
Don’t— he told himself. The two of them were at home. It was only late in the afternoon. There was time. If nothing else, this was important to Yami, and he’d already consented. It seemed that the scene hadn’t broken as badly as he’d thought, even if it had evolved into something else.
"Go on. Don’t keep me waiting." It was a privileged and needy, but fuck it - he had the authority.
"I wouldn’t dream of it, Mokuba."
The tightness of that small, moist pocket of Heaven made Mokuba want to watch. He wanted to see those lips struggle for purchase on his skin. Yami’s pace was torture; each stroke and suck was slow, tongue curling around the shaft, caressing the sides. Every movement was measured, careful. It was different. Normally Yami was all vigor and ferociousness. This slow-and-steady nonsense was going to kill him. Mokuba needed something faster, less intense - he’d still need his faculties later.
"Yami," he called.
Instead of answering, there was shift in focus to the tip of his cock for the next several strokes. Yami slurped and sloshed energetically. His tongue pressed into the slit on the head, dipping in and out without mercy. Gentle hands massaged Mokuba’s balls and it was enough to to leave him gasping. Hips bucking into Yami’s mouth, the table stuttered as they jarred the sides.
"Mmn, fuck. That feels so good."
A small smack sounded as Yami unsheathed him entirely, panting for breath. “…haaagh, aah…” He was still close enough for Mokuba to feel each hot breath. Then that tongue licked a burning path up the sides. “I missed you so much today, Mokuba,” Yami said between tastes. When he kissed the tip this time, Mokuba was sensitive enough to tremble even as he throbbed.
At a loss for words, Mokuba sighed happily. “Yeah?” Maybe the table between them wasn’t so bad. Yami could have asked for anything just then and got it without question.
That tongue was working up the sides and Mokuba shuddered in his seat. “Mhm.” Then Yami swallowed every inch of him, face fully planted in Mokuba’s lap.
This time, he took charge. Even as his body stretched and shook, Mokuba braced himself. A clenching, groping hand steadied him by clinging to the left side of the chair. The other went for a fistful of hair, guiding Yami into a faster pace. His legs trembled of their own accord and he bucked further against that talented mouth. “Oh, shit.” Biting his lip, Mokuba leaned forward and couldn’t help but moan loudly. “Ah, yes… yes…” The moist refuge suddenly tightened around him and his body convulsed, back arching.
After a few more strokes, Yami’s body suddenly lurched forward and he pulled back again. He swallowed heavily, heaving breaths, and Mokuba could hear him shifting under the table. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Couldn’t breathe.”
Mokuba wanted nothing more than to dig his fingers into the back of Yami’s skull and finish. He wanted to see his lover’s face, watch the eyes squint with the effort to hold that engorged erection in his mouth. Sometimes when blowing him, Yami did choke and it was hot. Just seeing it slide in and out of such a small, tight mouth was enough to push him over the edge sometimes.
He was so close, though. ” ‘S fine. Just put my dick back in your mouth.”
Yami resumed with full vigor after just a few seconds. Hands stroked more firmly than before, tongue constantly in motion, cheeks hollowed as he moved back and forth along the length. He was moving quickly, sloppily, loudly. Both of Mokuba’s hands pulled hair in tufts. It wouldn’t take much more.
Every moment was wet and warm and messy; he could feel the spit dripping down to his balls and he fought the urge to make Yami lick it up. When Mokuba let go, let the orgasm spread through every crevice of his body, he burst from the seams. Body heaving, he arched into Yami’s mouth and the release was hard and staggered. The first load poured down Yami’s hot throat, lips pressed into Mokuba’s lap. After that he pulled back to the tip, sucking hard and fast for the next.
Three more and Mokuba was spent. He slumped forward onto to the table, mind fuzzy, breaths struggling to catch themselves. It took several moments to gather himself, to remember where he was and what he’d been doing. He wanted to curl up and sleep, but fought it. Mokuba needed to get a good look at Yami and make sure he was alright. With some effort, he pushed himself and the chair back a few feet to steal a glance.
Bright violet eyes blinked slowly. Yami looked almost calm, shoulders relaxed, arms at his sides as he sat in silence. “Are you okay?”
The way that Yami’s jaw set was reminder enough. In the heat of things, he’d forgotten. There was more to do.
"Show me," he told Yami softly. He couldn’t muster the demanding voice he wanted.
"Mnaugh." Yami opened his mouth, leaning his head back just enough for Mokuba to see his tongue rolling through a mouthful of thick, milky white fluid.
Mokuba let loose an exhausted sigh, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed. “Good. Swallow.”
Yami did as he was told, gulping twice. He opened his mouth again to show that it was gone before crawling closer. His breathing began to slow as he nuzzled Mokuba’s leg again, resting against it. Yami coughed and then said, “Thank you, Mokuba.”
There was something off about the tone of his voice. It sounded distant, fading. “Yami?”
The response was immediate. “Yes, Ma—I mean, Mokuba?”
He hated the M-word. It wasn’t a title that he felt comfortable with and Yami knew that. They’d already decided not to use it, and for it to slip out wasn’t a particularly good sign.
"Can you stand?"
"Yes, Mokuba." But on the way up, Yami nearly lost his footing and had to steady himself several times. Even though every fiber of his being strained against him, Mokuba stood and stretched without much trouble at all. Yami was silent, his posture withdrawn, and it was hard not to worry for him.
"Are you okay? What’s your color?"
Strike two was that Yami hesitated. A few seconds passed before a quiet voice answered. “I… I don’t know.” Mokuba could recognize stress when he heard it. It was a little terrifying to be able to say that Yami had been in better shape after being locked in the bathroom.
That was it, then. Game Over.
"Alright. Come on baby, we’re going to bed. Can you make it?"
When Mokuba glanced at Yami again, the man was staring intently at his hands. “I feel like I did something wrong,” he said. “Did I disappoint you?” Just like that, his voice was back to being thick with emotion.
It was quite the opposite. “No, no. You were wonderful. Perfect.” But he really wanted to get Yami to a comfortable place. “Can you make it to the bed?” he asked again.
"I think so. I’m not very steady right now."
So, no. “It’s okay. I’ll go with you.”
Carefully, they traversed the flat and Mokuba tried to put his thoughts together. He needed to figure out how he was going to handle this. Though unexpected, he understood that this was a fragile thing and Yami was fragile and they needed to take their time. Never had Yami been so uncertain about himself or his surroundings. Without him to give his thoughts or corrections and critiques after a scene this big, Mokuba was afraid he’d fuck up the aftercare.
He must be starving, Mokuba reminded himself. No sooner than he was sure that Yami could move himself onto the bed without trouble, he was back in the kitchen to collect what food he could carry. When he returned just a few seconds later, Yami was still standing - waiting for permission, Mokuba guessed. After he made space on the nightstand for what he’d brought, he pulled Yami into bed next to him.
He placed a lingering kiss on Yami’s lips - a signal they’d agreed on beforehand to signal the end - and curled around him. “Are you hungry?”
Yami shook his head.
"You should eat something. And talk. I need to make sure you’re okay. Can you talk to me right now?"
Yami gathered some blankets around himself.
Mokuba pressed another kiss to Yami’s forehead, trying his best to let on that the silence was agonizing. “You did a wonderful job today, Yami. You didn’t do anything that I didn’t like. Just relax, okay?”
When Yami exhaled rather loudly, Mokuba took that as a good sign. But then he asked. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
An absurd question, and Mokuba was tempted to ignore it. “You could eat something for me. I’d feel a lot better if you’d eat.” His priority was making sure that Yami was a good shape. “Hold on, I’ll get you something to drink, too.”
Thin brows seemed to be fighting each other over Yami’s puzzled expression. “That’s all?” His posture was still rigid and guarded. Yami wore that comforter like a piece of armor.
"And talk. I need to know what you’re feeling right now."
"I think I could do more, if you want."
Really? That was the last thing on his mind. Yami had endured quite a bit and Mokuba was absolutely fine cutting things off. It had been a bit difficult carrying on in that first place. “I’m really not thinking about anything else until you can do the first things I asked for. I’m worried.”
"I feel lightheaded. I’m not sure what else. Just strange, overall floaty."
"Floaty? No injuries though, right?"
"I—no. Don’t think so." The blanket rustled and Mokuba assumed he was feeling himself to check.
"Well, take your time. If you find or feel something different just tell me. And relax." As an afterthought, he added, "What was it like being at home today? Were there any emergencies? I noticed you hadn’t left all day."
"I was ordered not to."
"We talked about exceptions, Yami."
"There weren’t any." Yami leaned over until his head rested on Mokuba’s arm. "Mokuba?"
"Yes?"
"Can you say my name again?"
Chuckling, he retorted, “Who’s the romantic now, Yami?” When he received no reply, Mokuba nudged him. “Tell me more about it.”
There was more rustling as Yami shifted to make himself more comfortable, sinking down until he was laying in Mokuba’s lap. “Hm.” Mokuba couldn’t help but slip his fingers into Yami’s hair. It had already lost most of its composition, though, so he was sure that Yami wouldn’t mind. “It was scary. But I didn’t hate it. All I could think of was whether you would even come back, or how badly you’d punish me for the mess.”
Mokuba would never understand the appeal in being treated abusively. The thought of Yami being left there indefinitely had been brought up earlier, hadn’t it? “Why did you think I wasn’t coming back?”
Kicking around the covers a bit, Yami declared, “I don’t want to talk about it.” The answer was straightforward and his voice sounded a bit more stable. There were no breathy lilts, no shuddering or clenching or hugging himself.
“I really want to know, Yami.” It took an effort to keep from retreating, or withdrawing his comfort. He needed to know more about how Yami felt, and this was beyond frustrating.
Coming this far had been no easy task. Two people on a bed with some lube was just fine for him. But Yami wanted all these things from the start, and no matter how gradually they had reached their current standing it involved significant effort. How could it be anything other than disappointing to know that Yami could open up about his needs and desires, but not this?
Yami was practically begging. “Can we pass for now?” Though it was only slight, Mokuba could feel his body tensing under the covers. “Please?”
Regardless of how hurtful the denial was, Mokuba’s duty was to be comforting. “Of course.” He tried to sound upbeat, but the tone was wrong and he couldn’t hide what he felt.
Whatever the issue was, he told himself, he would just have to wait for Yami to feel comfortable enough to discuss it. A few seconds of silence passed between them but he wasn’t sure how to fill them, so he said nothing. If he’d learned nothing about this over the last few months, it was that perception was everything. When Mokuba knew he couldn’t pull off a certain effect, he didn’t force it.
The silence didn’t last long before Yami began squirming again. “Actually, I lied. I’m really hungry.”
Mokuba didn’t want to chuckle, but he did. “It’s cold, you know.”
“‘Doesn’t matter.” Yami pulled himself up from underneath the covers. He made sure to avoid Mokuba’s eyes as he maneuvered to reach for the side table. With a little help and a bit of rearranging they were both able to eat.
Mokuba would have preferred his food warm but his appetite was quelled nonetheless. Considering what had been received in exchange, he would call it a fair trade. Yami dining quietly was still worrying, though. Nothing good had ever come of his lover being quiet.
As they were in between bites, he made one last attempt. Sighing, Mokuba decided to break the facade completely. “Are you sure you’re okay, Yami? I just want to make sure.” He’d been trying to do the right thing and the struggle would have to be good enough. “I want to talk about this, at least later. I have a lot of questions.” Most of them were obvious. What was going through Yami’s head? Had he done anything wrong?
"Later," Yami said. This time there was an edge to his voice. Whatever emotion that had been holding him back before seemed to be dissipating. "And I’m fine. I have… I need time to think about what happened." There was a small pause before he added, "…if that’s okay. I don’t want to make you nervous, but this has never happened to me before."
Dark brows knitted in thought. Mokuba was curious. “What’s never happened to you before?” He understood that Yami didn’t want to divulge his feelings just yet, but maybe he’d get a little something to tide him over. There was no intent whatsoever to order or make Yami talk about it, as had been implied.
It was Yami’s turn to chuckle just a little. “All of it, mostly. I’m not sure what I think about the domestic thing just yet. It’s …nice though.” Their eyes finally met for the first time in several minutes, and Yami’s face flushed before the contact was broken again. “I think.”
Though it wasn’t exactly what he wanted to hear, it was much better than what he’d expected. Mokuba still wanted to address, well, everything. He had so many questions. There was too much that he didn’t understand.
"You’re thinking about it too much," Yami said. "We’ll do the thinking later." Leaning over, he kissed Mokuba on the cheek. They were just going to keep trading expressions, weren’t they?
"I just want to know if I did a good job." Mokuba felt just a little pathetic. Blushing like an idiot, looking for praise after a day of virtually torturing his boyfriend - what sort of person was he turning into? None of this made sense.
"Too good, maybe."
"What does that mean?"
"It means let’s shut the fuck up and go to sleep."
