Prompt #24 - "Toys"
Trying to get out of this slump I'm in, folks. It's very annoying, and school is just going to get in the way...
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Mokuba wasn't sure what to feel, just being friends - not being fuckbuddies or anything like that.
He had fallen for her. Although he had dated other people after her - good, long, fruitful relationships - he always found himself thinking about being her boyfriend, the possibility of such an outcome; having the right to take that smooth skin and lithe frame under his command, to be able to say that it was no one else's.
He couldn't understand why she was so attractive to him. It wasn't her looks. There were plenty of other women who weren't her but resembled her, light brown hair streaked with blended red, eyes that seemed to cut with a glance. For the longest time, Mokuba had wanted to claim her as his own. But he couldn't.
They still talked, yes. And she still flirted with him as though there was nothing to it. Mokuba could just hop on a plane, fuck her as she wished and nothing would change. But he wanted more than that.
He was numb to her antics after so long, unfeeling even as she sent him a photo of herself reclining in the lap of her current beau. Mokuba was too used to her sharing herself with others - he would never be able to imagine that righteous indignation at telling another guy to back down because they were too close to her, and he didn't like it; it would feel rude and out of place. This guy might even be going through the same thing.
Nice, he messaged her. There was nothing else to say. Nothing would be gained by adding more.
This cycle repeated with Yami. They were already friends, and so he'd thought it would be okay. And it was, to some degree: what they had was very ...okay. Nothing objectionable or truly frustrating. The two of them got what they needed and nothing less. But that didn't mean that there was nothing there. Though not his proudest moment, Mokuba hadn't done a good job hiding his displeasure at Marik's appearance - or involvement - with Yami. He wouldn't call it jealousy, per se, but it wasn't anything positive.
Why were the really steamy relationships the ones that he couldn't get a grasp on? He wouldn't have minded having something with Yami, but the line was drawn and it was difficult to overstep that boundary now. Between the sex and frankly, enjoying what parts of Yami's personality he had access to, it was hard to slip that kind of intention in. He had agreed to it, signed his name on that line and now the decision was practically final. If they complicated things, it'd get messy.
Yami didn't seem interested in a relationship and Mokuba wasn't going to push it. He still cherished those nights and mornings of passion, those afternoons of texting and the intermittent calls. Each moment was memorable, each session valuable, each whisper or scream a treasure.
Perhaps that was the problem. He shouldn't place value on those things because they weren't his. They were only being loaned to him.
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Mokuba wasn't sure what to feel, just being friends - not being fuckbuddies or anything like that.
He had fallen for her. Although he had dated other people after her - good, long, fruitful relationships - he always found himself thinking about being her boyfriend, the possibility of such an outcome; having the right to take that smooth skin and lithe frame under his command, to be able to say that it was no one else's.
He couldn't understand why she was so attractive to him. It wasn't her looks. There were plenty of other women who weren't her but resembled her, light brown hair streaked with blended red, eyes that seemed to cut with a glance. For the longest time, Mokuba had wanted to claim her as his own. But he couldn't.
They still talked, yes. And she still flirted with him as though there was nothing to it. Mokuba could just hop on a plane, fuck her as she wished and nothing would change. But he wanted more than that.
He was numb to her antics after so long, unfeeling even as she sent him a photo of herself reclining in the lap of her current beau. Mokuba was too used to her sharing herself with others - he would never be able to imagine that righteous indignation at telling another guy to back down because they were too close to her, and he didn't like it; it would feel rude and out of place. This guy might even be going through the same thing.
Nice, he messaged her. There was nothing else to say. Nothing would be gained by adding more.
This cycle repeated with Yami. They were already friends, and so he'd thought it would be okay. And it was, to some degree: what they had was very ...okay. Nothing objectionable or truly frustrating. The two of them got what they needed and nothing less. But that didn't mean that there was nothing there. Though not his proudest moment, Mokuba hadn't done a good job hiding his displeasure at Marik's appearance - or involvement - with Yami. He wouldn't call it jealousy, per se, but it wasn't anything positive.
Why were the really steamy relationships the ones that he couldn't get a grasp on? He wouldn't have minded having something with Yami, but the line was drawn and it was difficult to overstep that boundary now. Between the sex and frankly, enjoying what parts of Yami's personality he had access to, it was hard to slip that kind of intention in. He had agreed to it, signed his name on that line and now the decision was practically final. If they complicated things, it'd get messy.
Yami didn't seem interested in a relationship and Mokuba wasn't going to push it. He still cherished those nights and mornings of passion, those afternoons of texting and the intermittent calls. Each moment was memorable, each session valuable, each whisper or scream a treasure.
Perhaps that was the problem. He shouldn't place value on those things because they weren't his. They were only being loaned to him.