Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Skin Deep	By : lucterna Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Het - Male/Female Views: 7853 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Skin Deep
- 1
Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh, sadly enough.

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The thick shower steam surrounds you, soaking deep into your pores as you scrub away at yourself with the washrag. It had been a long night and right now the only thing you can think of is washing all the residue of it away. Scalding water pours over your skin from the showerhead, but it's just the way you like it - it feels as if it's burning off all the negativity you had accumulated along with the oil and dirt. When you step out, patting your face dry with a fluffy white towel, you feel fully refreshed. For a few moments you stand in front of the mirror; this isn't your bathroom at all, but one inside a particularly large hotel suite that you were staying in for a few days. Outside of this lavishly furnished bathroom is a large bedroom/living room deal with all the pillows one could ever ask for and done up in rich shades of lilac and violet. The colors remind you of his eyes.

Securing the towel around yourself, you step out of the bathroom on damp feet. The dark orchid carpet beneath you is plush and soft as you pad across it heading for the bed. And there he is.

It's surprising really. You had expected him to be gone the moment you crawled out of bed, but instead he lay here. His generously tanned arms are folded against the large violet pillow and his head rests on those arms, face peaceful only in sleep, those beautiful lavender eyes closed to the world. It brings a small smile to your face and a light sense of satisfaction that he is still here with you. Fleeting moments pass as you stand there, still in your dampened white towel, watching him sleep. Then you cannot help but walk forward enough to bring you to the edge of the bed, where you kneel, brushing strands of sandy blonde hair from his face.

At your touch he moans softly, but rather than leaning in, he turns over, putting his back to you. And then you see it - not for the first time - that intricate network of scars forming unreadable hieroglyphs on his back. The winged sun disk just below his neck and shoulders and the others, the gods he had called them, in their perfect little rectangles. Gently you reach out and touch one of the sun disk's wings, feeling the puckered skin, rough and taut beneath your fingers. Many others who were not you would have shuddered away from that feeling or perhaps just quickly moved onto the smoother flesh of his back, but instead you begin to trace the pattern with your index finger, careful not to scrape him with your fingernail.

Your attentions are cut short as he flops over onto his back and this time you are staring into the mistrustful pools of his eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks softly as if this is a time to whisper.

Caught up in it however, you too whisper when you speak. "I was only... admiring you."

He snorts, a derisive sound that you've come to expect from him. "Admiring me?" He rolls his eyes, turning his head away from you to face the wall. "What's there to admire?"

Although he's not looking at you and most likely will not see it, you give him a comforting sort of smile. Only the edges of it are truly sad. "Everything," you answer honestly. He may never believe you, but to you he has always been the most beautiful creature you'd ever laid eyes on. Inside and out, despite his faults.

In response, he only snorts again.

With a quiet sigh, you stand from the side of the bed, padding once more through the carpet until you've come to the other side. It is the side where you had been sleeping the night before and the one to which his head is turned now. As you climb in, shifting the towel about yourself for comfort, you can tell he is looking you over. Perhaps he is pondering your motives or your very presence in general, but honestly you do not care. Your eyes are all for the man lying stretched out before you, half covered by the satiny violet sheets which are pulled only to the middle of his stomach.

You sit down on the bed nearest the headboard, careful to hide yourself with the towel; it hardly crosses your mind that you should get dressed. A few quiet minutes slip by as the two of you regard each other. Finally you are the one to break the silence. "Malik, turn over on your stomach for me..." you whisper. It seems as if the illusion of peace and quiet must be kept.

He narrows his eyes at you, suspicion lacing through the features of his face. But there is also a mild curiosity; he must truly wonder what you hope to accomplish by this. Several seconds later and he complies, sliding around underneath the sheet until he lies prone, his head once again resting against folded arms. He is careful enough to leave the sheet pulled up over the firm rising curves of his buttocks.

It is that very place that you go for, crawling across the bed until you pull yourself up and over him, straddling the lower half of his body. Softly you say to him, "Tell me to stop if it makes you uncomfortable..." And then you begin your ministrations.

Gently you run your fingertips over his back, taking in all those lines of scars. Beneath you he tenses, it sings through his body like a tangible thing just below the surface of his caramel skin. A small, sad smile crosses your face and you work to ease this tension, gently massaging the flesh that just barely resists against your hands. Underneath that elaborate network of scarred tissue you can feel his muscles. They surrender with your actions, relaxing against the pull of your hands even if Malik himself does not will it. You look up to see if you can see his face and instead you find the back of his head; all that's visible is that sandy colored hair. His face is buried deep in the pillow and in your pause you can feel him shudder.

A sigh escapes you and without hesitation, you lean forward, your palms pressing against the center of his back. You murmur, "Malik, every inch of you is beautiful to me."

The tension that you had all but eased out of him is back as he turns his head to look at you. "I don't believe you," he says, his voice still so soft. It actually pains you to hear it like that; usually it is thick with confidence, dominance - a power that seems unparalleled. But here, in the confines of the silky sheets and the quiet bedroom, he is revealed for what he truly is. A man insecure with himself and his past, ashamed by the scars on his back and what they may mean. Your heart aches.

You pull away then, to sit up again and begin working at the new threads of discomfort in him. "But it's true," you answer, "to me, Malik, you are absolutely gorgeous. All of you, everything about you."

He mutters something unintelligible, burying his face into the pillow again. It almost makes you worry that he's trying to suffocate himself.

Taking a deep breath, you stop massaging him and move forward until your chest is pressed flush against his back. You wrap your arms under and around his own until your hands come to rest upon his shoulders, and there you lay your head just above the winged sun disk. "Why can't you believe me? Believe that I love every part of you, even those you're most ashamed of?"

Malik only sighs, and does not answer you, leaving you in a silence that is only broken by the soft noises of your breathing. Untangling from him, you raise up enough to kiss the center of the sun disk before sliding off of him and sitting against the headboard once more. At the absence of your weight on his back, Malik turns over, his eyes filled with hurt and inquiry. When his gaze finds your face you only smile at him half-heartedly. Then, much to his surprise, you hold your arms out to him, beckoning him into the comforting circle you hope to provide. It is your turn to be surprised when he actually accepts, sliding out from underneath the sheets to press himself into your arms, bury his face in your shoulder, and finally wrap his arms around your towel-clad waist.

You wrap one arm around him, the other raising upwards so you can run your fingers gently through his hair. He sighs, the heavy breath running over your bare shoulder, letting you know once again that you are still in that fluffy, white towel. But it doesn't seem to matter, after all, with the towel you are the more clothed of the two. You kiss the top of his head, running your free hand from his hair and eventually down his back. It stops just before his hip and you rest it there, feeling content with his presence against you.

Finally, he pulls away, using his own hands to remove yours from him. Bewildered, you stare up at him, wondering if yet again he is rejecting you. It has happened before, at times when you'd most shown just how much you cared for him. Perhaps this is just another of those times and again your efforts have been wasted. He sits there, resting on his knees in front of you, his hands having come to rest to hide the more intimate parts of his body from your eyes. His gaze searches yours, a desperate look to it, like a treasure hunter afraid he's come to an empty tomb. You respond to that look as well as you can, showing him everything you can just with your eyes. A soft sound of amazment leaves when he moves forward again, this time pressing his lips firmly against yours. At first you're almost unable to respond, you certainly hadn't been expecting this, even after the previous night's events. His mouth works tenderly at yours, even when you don't respond right away, and it is as if he'll devour you if you don't take action soon.

Your lips give in to him and you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, holding him there, almost afraid that if you let him go he will disappear completely. His own arms find their way about your waist, before one hand snakes upwards, tugging at the towel. Any other time you might have sighed, might have felt exasperated that he was initiating such a thing so soon, but with his lips still pressing to yours and the way his tongue swipes against them, asking nearly desperately for your permission, you simply allow him to pull away the material. It spills into your lap at the same time that you open your mouth, allowing his tongue to slip inside and explore. Even at this time of morning he tastes pleasant, minty like fresh toothpaste.

You take a sharp breath as you feel his hand skim your side before cupping around your breast, kneading it gently once before his thumb rolls slowly over the nipple. It is easy to notice your reaction pleases him, as you feel his lips smirk against your mouth. He pulls them away and you almost lament the loss of the kiss until he draws those lips down your throat, over your collarbone and eventually to the same breast his hand had worked before. You steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders as his mouth closes over you, tongue curling hotly around the taut flesh. A moan escapes you and your eyes close just briefly until his attentions stop. He moves away again, his hands falling away from you, even as you grip his shoulders tightly. You search those pale violet eyes for a few moments, watching them nearly shine with need, with want. The gaze is broken, when in one fluid movement, he has shoved you down and beneath him. That fluffy towel slides with you, but he makes quick work of that, tossing it off the bed where it lands in the pile of clothing the two of you had made the night before.

His mouth finds yours again, pressing hungrily against your lips until again you have that feeling of being devoured. At this point everything is pleasantly warm, tingly even, as goosebumps have risen along your body. Low in your belly, you can feel the beginning of an ache, one which only the man on all fours above you will be able to satisfy. You whisper his name but it is lost in the warm confines of your mouths pressed so tightly together. Your hand gropes about for him then, wanting to quell the feeling of being useless until that point. When at last your fingers wrap around him, you can nearly feel his pulse through the hard length of him. He gasps into your mouth, breaking away for air and to growl with satisfaction. You grin up at him, watching the way his face contorts when you give his shaft one firm pump. Your name leaves him with a shuddery breath as you do it again. However, you only do it once or twice more, enjoying the way his body shivers above you, the way you can see the muscles in his arms quiver as he tries to hold himself up. You let go, arching your back to rise and meet his face, swallowing up another moan that escapes him as your lips meet again.

You let out another gasp when suddenly his hand leaves its place beside your head and finds its way between your thighs, brushing up the trembling flesh until he slips two fingers inside you. His thumb grinds into the most sensitive part of you, bring several groans from you as his hand builds a rhythm only slightly slower than that which you know his body is capable of. As his mouth leaves yours again, you bury your face in his shoulder, arching with every thrust of his able fingers. He slips a third digit deep inside and with the force of it, you muffle a cry in the same shoulder where your face is hidden. However, almost as soon as the rhythm is built up again, he pulls his hand away, wiping it across the sheets before cupping your face with it and pulling you over for another searing kiss.

This time neither of you waste a moment with your hands, already you can feel yourself dangerously close to the edge and you know he must certainly be there as well. Using his knee, he nudges your legs farther apart, positioning himself more intimately above you. For an almost achingly long moment your eyes meet again, locking steadily, until your head is thrown back when he swiftly pushes himself into you. Your breathing comes in pants as he sets the pace inside you, filling you like no other man has ever been able to. Your hips meet his in the fierce speed of it and you can feel the warmth growing inside you, threatening to overflow at any moment. Suddenly Malik drops down, his arms bending in a mock pushup and with one last jerking thrust, he spills into you with a rush of heat. It is enough to send you spiraling over the last of your own barriers, a feverish heat flowing from your belly to your toes and back up again, until you cry out his name one more time before collapsing beneath him, as he does on you, and closing your eyes tightly.

After a few moments, he pulls himself up onto his knees, withdrawing slowly from your body and it sends several small tingles through you. You feel his lips kissing your face in little flutters, from your forehead and eyelids, to your nose and finally a soft press against your lips and then he is plopping down beside you on the bed, groaning with lingering pleasure and exhaustion. You hear him murmur something, just before he slips off to sleep, and with a tiny smile, you reply quietly, "I love you too, Malik."
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Skin Deep