Chapter Text
Seto vividly remembered the first time he visited the pharaoh's dimension, the first of several rendezvous that would fuel his daydreams and haunt his nightmares.
5:57a.m., June 21st–thefirst day of summer.
That morning, like many before it, he woke up in his lab. He barely slept the night before, pouring over his calibrations for the jump, but he wasn't tired. Excitement and anticipation coursed through his veins, invigorating him more than caffeine ever could. As soon as his team was ready, Seto made the experimental trip out of their world and into his.
Blinding light forced his eyes shut, and when he opened them again, the star-studded sky had been replaced by an endless expanse of sand, glittering like a sea of diamonds as a sun flare dazzled across a perfect, cloudless sky.
As he left his ship, Seto wondered if he needed to worry about someone breaking in. The ship’s jump sequence wasn't password protected, an oversight on his part that couldn't be helped now. The door would open automatically when he approached, keyed to the sensor in his collar, but a determined vandal could likely force their way in. He hoped the distance from the city would discourage unwanted attention.
A strange sensation pricked against Seto's skin, and with every step the feeling of displacement–of subtle wrongness grew. A dark aura seemed to emanate from his body. He waved his arm, watching carefully as a haze of tiny, dark dots trailed behind the movement. Whatever was causing the effect, he’d have to worry about it later. He had more important things to occupy his mind now.
With a calming breath Seto recentered his focus. He needed to prepare for battle. He might be facing off against Yuugi as soon as he stepped foot in his palace.
Not Yuugi, he reminded himself. The other Yuugi, the pharaoh–Atem.
Atem.
Calling him that felt strange, and the dissonance between his familiarity with the man and his unfamiliarity with the name clawed against his mind. For years he’d been Yuugi. Who was he to Seto now?
Seto knew what he would say. He'd called them friends, but the word felt as foreign as the name. When they finally met face to face, would Seto see a stranger or would he recognize the twinflame of his fighting spirit?
Walking through the gates of the palace, Seto didn't meet any resistance on his path to the throne room. The lack of action from security astonished him. He couldn't imagine leaving his office open to the public, where any madman could trounce in and demand his attention. Maybe the godlike power to shatter men's souls with a glance rendered security redundant. Knowing him, he probably enjoyed a little confrontation with anyone who had the gumption to try.
The sun started its long arc down to earth–or whatever they called this place. A’aru. he didn't even know how he knew the word—some ancient whisper, calling from deep within his soul. It was exactly how he’d felt when he looked at the text on Ra. Knowing but not knowing—not really wanting to know how he knew. He shrugged off the strange feeling.
The sun left the expansive room washed in a haze of warmth. The golden hour, he'd heard it called. And there he sat, bathed in the glorious light. Regal and calm, detached and superior. All things that the boy Seto knew technically could be, but in a lot of ways it was like looking at a stranger. The thought sent a hollow pang of loss through his gut.
The pharaoh stood, and his flawless skin gleamed in the light. His eyes weren't just sharp, they were feline. Not lilac like Yuugi's, but ruby–or maybe garnet. No precious gem could hope to compare as they shifted from crimson to violet in a way that harkened to flame and shadow. A golden tiara stuck out of his fringe, and it looked so natural on his head it might as well have grown out of it. He’d always been feral, a deadly force lurking in the shadows. Now Seto saw him in full daylight and the sight stole the breath from his lungs.
As they locked eyes all Seto's doubts melted away. How did he think he wouldn't recognize his one true rival? Excitement squirmed through his chest at the prospect of the challenge ahead. Not wanting to waste time, he threw his left arm out. His Duel Disk activated, indicating his intent.
Seto saw his excitement reflected in the satisfied quirk of the pharaoh’s lips.
"You're not supposed to be here.”
The words came out measured and careful, but the hint of fondness told Seto the surprise was’t unwelcome.
"We have unfinished business, pharaoh. " Seto thought back on his last defeat. "You challenged me to duel without hate, and before we could have our rematch, you ran away. Did you think I’d just let you go?" It came across more possessive than he intended.
"Fate had other plans.”
Melancholy clung to the young king’s handsome face. His tone struck something inside of Seto, and he found himself almost feeling sorry for him. But fate was an absurd excuse, and not one Seto would ever accept.
Another time, another place, he might've stewed in his resentment, but none of that mattered now. With every passing second he felt that pulling in his chest . He wouldn't waste time and energy dwelling on the past at the expense of the present. He worked too damn long, too hard–chipped away too much of his not-insubstantial fortune to get here. Not that the cost mattered; he would have paid anything.
"No more excuses, pharaoh. It's time to duel!"
“Atem,” the pharaoh said with a proud little smile. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He presented the name to Seto, as if sharing an intimate piece of himself. When Yuugi first told him that his other self–that Atem had left, the name felt like a gut punch, a reminder of all the ways he never really knew his rival. Now it felt like a gift: deliberately given and shared.
“Are we?” Seto retorted. “Funny way to say goodbye to a friend!”
Atem’s smile widened. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
Seto hissed through his teeth, with a horrible, hideous twist in his gut. “If this was some kind of test–”
“I would never,” Atem said swiftly. “Despite all your stubborn blustering and thundering, Seto Kaiba… I’m happy to see you.”
For a moment something broke in Seto’s chest, like Atem had stepped on and shattered him. Happy?
And then the usual bloodlust, hot and singing, surged in.
Seto snorted and threw down his first card. Words were pointless, meaningless. Only the duel mattered.
He didn't leave anything to chance. After his defeat at Battle City, he’d studied every duel Atem had ever played using his Duel Disk, developing new strategies in anticipation of this rematch. As they played, Seto could feel Atem adapting to him, thriving off his moves as they pushed each other to the next level. Seto's body thrummed with anticipation. This is what he needed, what no one on earth could give him. It felt organic in a way his hologram never did, never could.
And when Atem's life points hit zero, an electric buzz zinged through Seto’s core like it never would have with anyone else.
Perfect. That's what it was. It was perfect. A rare moment in time where everything felt right in the world.
“Well played,” Atem said with a slim, bright smile. “I missed… this. You've always pushed me to be better.”
Seto nodded. He knew exactly what Atem meant by this: that ineffable bond between them that only they understood. Without Atem, Seto had no one to test his skills against, and no-one who understood his constant drive to do and be more. He'd finally beaten him, and for a moment it had felt like a whole new life was about to begin–but it wasn't enough.
When he lost Atem he tightened his fist around Domino. He clung to power and control, so no one could ever slip through his fingers again. Domino Daily wrote a scathing editorial comparing him to a Bond villain. Is that who he was becoming? Atem pushed him to be a better man than the one Gozaburo tried to forge through abuse and neglect, and without Atem around, Seto felt himself sliding back on his more questionable compulsions. Standing before him now, Seto felt like the best version of himself, and he never wanted to let that go.
But he couldn't stay here. Not for very much longer. He felt that strange pulling, pulling, pulling. He looked at his arms, and the black essence coming off them seemed more frantic. Pulling so much more. The feeling of wrongness grew with every passing second.
“And now what will you do?” Atem asked. “Now that you’ve won?”
His tone was light, almost mocking. Atem’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. Seto frowned at him. What, exactly, was he hoping for here?
Now that Seto wasn't engaged in a tense duel, the discomfort from being in this realm seemed to weigh on him tenfold. The pulling brought a wave of nausea that crashed into him over and over, determined to drown him.
“I’m going home,” he announced. “I can’t waste all day on this. My company would fall apart without me.”
It wasn't not true, but it wasn't why he couldn't stay. He didn't want Atem to notice how much being here was starting to take its toll.
“Come back any time,” Atem said, as though Seto had not crossed into death itself for a game. As though he’d simply gone to the convenience store at the corner for a bag of chips and a duel. “Unless… you have everything you came for?”
Did he?
Seto briefly entertained the idea of giving Atem no concrete answer, and then leaving him to wonder when or if he might return. It was purely hypothetical. If he was capable of leaving Atem, he wouldn't be here, but he liked the idea of Atem wanting him–eagerly waiting for their rematch.
“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” he declared. “If I come back… I can't promise when.”
“I understand.”
Seto didn't know the proper protocol to bid a pharaoh farewell. He decided he didn't care, and with a dramatic flourish of his coat, he marched out of the throne room. When he knew he was well out of sight, he let himself slump against the exterior wall as he waited for the world to stop spinning. He forced a deep breath and rallied his energy to make it back to his ship. Going seemed to take far longer than coming had, and his continued disorientation forced him to take several breaks along the way.
When he finally made it to his ship he saw that its presence hadn't gone unnoticed. A tawny cat had curled up against the juncture between the co*ckpit and the engine plate. Seto knew he'd be coming back, and he wanted to study the effects of staying in another dimension for an extended period. So, without stopping to consider the impulse, he crept forward and seized the creature.
As soon as Seto touched it, it startled awake with a surprised mew. He secured his hold and quickly moved towards the co*ckpit, which automatically opened for him. When Seto dragged the feline inside, he felt claws pierce his sleeve, ripping straight through to his flesh. He cursed, but he managed to keep his grasp, heedless of the white-hot pain in his forearm–and he didn't let go until the door sealed shut again.
When he finally relinquished his hold, the cat burrowed itself at his feet, terrified but hidden enough to want to stay still. Seto pulled his sleeve up to examine the damage. Three slashes against his forearm, one deep enough to require stitches. He grabbed a wipe from his emergency kit, but when he went to clean up the blood it was gone. The damage didn't seem nearly as bad as it did a moment ago. In fact, it looked like it was knitting itself back together.
Of course. This was the land of the dead–heavenly paradise–or whatever. Maybe pain and injury were temporary here. He wondered why they existed at all, but feelings were an important part of perception. Removing them might be more disconcerting than not. He rolled his eyes at his own assumption that there was actually some kind of intelligent design to this place.
Seto booted up the dimension cannon, and his feline prisoner made her displeasure known with a loud, mournful cry. Perhaps it had been a mistake to take her, but he needed to know what would happen if…
An idea whispered in the back of his mind–one he didn't let himself think fully. Perhaps one day Atem… Seto would be back, and if Atem ever showed an interest…
The trip home was far too short: there was a terrible, grinding squeeze through the walls of space-time itself–feeling like every atom in his body was being pulled without breaking, stretching into strands of matter, infinitesimally thin and infinitely long–and then he was home, drifting in orbit a stone’s throw from the station. The Earth turned slowly below him, marbled with clouds along its vast curve.
The station and the ship neatly docked together. Once back in the hangar, air-locked, he found himself dead tired. All of the adrenaline wore off as soon as his boots touched the floor of the station.
Earth seemed infinitely distant and unreachable, with two hundred and fifty miles of cold, empty space between him and it. A’aru, too, was so far away–what lay between dimensions was not empty space but a terrifying smash of undefined forces, fighting for control over a place that was not supposed to exist. He stood between two dreams: Earth and A’aru. Earth and Atem.
His scientists and engineers were yelling about things through the intercom on his coat–congratulations and a babbling stream of questions. He turned it off.
The cat hopped out of the ship of her own accord, her fur as prickly and disgruntled as her demeanor. She seemed to deliberately ignore him. A golden aura emanated from her, an inversion of the dark haze he had in Atem's dimension–just a small ripple at the edge of her fur. Barely noticeable, but Seto knew it would grow.
He watched her for a few moments as she crouched in a corner of the hangar, glaring at him with her tail curled around her paws and her ears flattened. Nothing happened.
He decided to submit to the attentions of his staff, watching a feed of the hangar as they ran some tests, and made some notes, and showed him endless reams of data on the ship. All well and good–for the ship.
But sure enough, the aura around the cat grew brighter as one hour turned to two. She let out several pitiable sounds, and in her catly voice Seto could hear that feeling of being pulled. She grew more agitated, letting out a never-ending stream of yowls–each one put another chink in the indifferent armor of Seto's heart, until he couldn't bare it any longer.
He instructed his team to boot up the ship for the return jump, disappointed in his failed experiment–devastated by what it meant for a future he couldn’t bring himself to imagine. By the time they were ready, the cat wasn't moving. She lay there limp–alive, but lethargic and panting in an unnatural way. Just as Seto called for a carrier to return her to her dimension, the golden aura engulfed her in a blinding light, and all at once she vanished before his eyes.
Ye Gods! Atem had died and nothing had changed: here he was, still playing stupid games with Kaiba, waltzing them closer and closer to the edge of good sense. Kaiba’s arrival had taken him more by surprise than expected. There had been no expectations–no hope–that once he had passed through the double doors of the horizon he would see anyone he knew from that life ever again. There was no telling whether his ancient gods would make exceptions for modern souls, who thought of his religion as fanciful kitsch.
But now, beyond all of his wildest dreams, Seto Kaiba had arrived.
Then they dueled.
Then he left.
Nothing important had been said. No apologies. No revelations. Atem could only stand before him and lose his duel and lose his nerve to say anything that mattered. Thank you for coming. I never thought I’d see you again. I missed this? YOU. I missed you, Seto Kaiba–you impossible creature, who defied every law the gods had ever set in their vanity, thinking no man would ever be bold enough to test them or bull-headed enough to break them.
He paced a circle around a lush, blooming planter in the gardens. Several yards away a fountain whispered–sweet nothings, as the lovers say. Dusk burned across the sky, like a slow fire turning a parchment black. Mahad sat on the edge of the planter, watching him, and Siamun stood at Atem's side, eager to give council.
“I can’t say whether or not he’ll return, your highness,” Mahad said. “He won his duel.”
“–and this is no place for the living,” Siamun piped in, a heavy warning in his voice and the stern set of his brow.
“It’s not about the duel,” Atem retorted. “I could see it in his face. The second he won–he realized something. He finally saw…”
He came to a stop on the paving stones. If he kept walking, forever, into eternity, would he wear a track into the stones? Did anything matter here?
“What did he see?” Mahad prompted.
“He saw me,” Atem said, looking at Mahad. “Do you see? He didn’t come for a duel. He came for me.”
Mahad sighed. He had a dour, noble face that did not easily give itself to joy. There was no joy in his expression now. Only a strange sadness.
“You seem quite taken with him,” he said.
“And what about it,” Atem said irritably. He could hear Jounouchi’s voice in his head: oh, you LIKE him like him? Dude. REALLY?
Mahad shared a look with Siamun.
“I simply wish to caution you–”
“What caution,” Atem snorted. “We are dead. There is nothing to risk. To Ammut with caution!!”
“We are dead,” Siamun cut in, “but the boy is not. Would you risk the gods’ wrath? Would you put a target on his back? He does not belong here–not until the end of his life… Maybe not even then.”
Atem staggered. “What do you mean?”
“We all remember what Set was like. He made a show of pious devotion, but he never truly submitted to anyone–not even you. And how much farther from our ways has he strayed in his new life? Would he submit now?”
“Unlikely,” Atem admitted with a frown.
He glanced over at Mahad, who seemed consumed by some unknown grievance.
“What is it, my friend?”
Mahad visibly tested a response, his expression tight with careful consideration.
“And what of us who have waited for you? For three thousand years? We have been waiting here for you as well,” he said.
“You think I wanted to be stranded for all those years? Losing all sense of myself? Why should I have to choose? Have I not earned some kind of joy, after all I've suffered?”
Atem huffed, wrestling against guilt, irritation, resentment, and love, all at once–as though he could be happy to see Kaiba again or happy to see Mahad and Siamun and and the others, but not both.
“Oh course you have, my pharaoh,” Siamun said. “But perhaps your… limited experience with such matters is blinding you. You have the heart and mind of a young man. I’m sure Seto Kaiba may… amuse you for a while, but all young people believe they’ve been chosen by Hathor. As though their love, and their love alone, can shake the cosmos. And I fear this will bring you more pain than joy.”
It had been a long time since anyone treated Atem like a child. But maybe Siamun was right. Atem’s lived experience amounted to a fraction of the time Siamun had walked the earth–Atem tried not to resent him for it. He should listen to his wise counsel.
But he couldn't.
He lacked experience. So what? Here was a chance to have one. There was nothing to gain from slamming the door on this.
Some part of him wanted Kaiba to see him now, to know that his unreasonable, impossible ways had made a dent: see? I can also defy fate.
“You are my dear friends,” he said. “But… this is not the only life I’ve lived. Am I not to grieve my days in Japan? Am I simply to forget the friends I made, the bonds we forged? Come now. There is no ma’at in that. They’re a part of me just as much as you are. And I came here believing that I would never see them again–any of them–I left them behind… then he walked through the doors, and he was here to see me. And I–I don’t…”
Words failed him now, as they had before. He threw a glance around the gardens, his chest tight with a knot of pain, a knot of hope. Kaiba had come and planted his banner in the sand, more triumphant than any ancient conqueror: DEATH IS NOT THE END OF US. And now what?
“Atem…” Mahad started, and the sound of his own name snapped something in Atem.
“What would you have me do?!” he said, rounding on Mahad again, keenly aware that he was begging for… something he could not name. Permission? To do what, sit and wait for Kaiba? There was nothing else to do here.
“If he comes back,” Mahad said evenly, carefully, “say what you need to say to him, and enjoy your time together.”
A suspiciously practical response. Atem didn’t care. Kaiba had already done the impossible once: arrive. Now he was due for another impossibility: return. And if he did… Atem would tell him exactly how he felt.
A week passed, and Seto couldn't keep his mind off of the jump, the cat, or Atem. He thought about them in the space between meetings and sleep and meals. Whenever his mind idled he imagined firing up his ship for another jump and finding his way back to the palace. But now he knew what would happen if he stayed too long: pain, suffering, and presumably death–or something worse. When he closed his eyes he could hear the mournful cry of the cat. He couldn't say for sure what became of her, and the thought didn't sit well with him. Guilt and longing played on his heart in equal measure.
With a few minor adjustments, Seto rigged the ship to make the jump without any secondary assistance, saving interdimensional coordinates as EARTH and A’ARU. After that, he could think of nothing else until he found himself slipping into the co*ckpit and booting up the engine.
Once back in A’aru, Seto spent a few obligatory minutes searching for the cat around the desert and the city–with no luck. If she did make it back, and she had any sense, she should be giving him a wide berth. Seto couldn't waste time wandering around, not when Atem was just a short walk away.
"You came back,” Atem said with a wistful smile, gliding down from his throne.
"I said I would, didn't I?”
“You were a bit vague. Have you come to duel?”
“Yes?” For some reason it came out like a question. “Obviously. Why else would I come?”
“You didn't bring your Duel Disk,” Atem pointed out.
Set looked down at his arm, expecting to see it there.
“I must've left it in my ship.” He wasn't even sure if he'd remembered to bring it with him.
“I thought maybe you came to see me this time ,” Atem said carefully, searching Seto's face.
Is that why he came? For Atem? He’d spent months searching for him, even longer fixated on him. Now that he'd finally won his victory, coming back felt natural. It felt like his prize. He'd earned this. But he couldn't just say that.
“I could go get it,” he suggested, after an awkward lull passed between them, but he didn't relish the thought.
“How long can you stay?”
Last time he managed almost two hours. He could maybe stay longer, but he wasn't sure how much. The cat’s despondent cry echoed through his mind–playing over and over and over–he couldn't afford to push his luck.
“Not long.”
Not nearly long enough.
“Don't bother with it then. I want to show you something,” Atem said, pulling him by the elbow, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Atem seemed different here–and not just in body. Seto had never seen him with a home field advantage. Atem had always been strung along, playing someone else’s game against impossible odds. Seto had never noticed the tension in his shoulder, the clench of his jaw, or the wrinkle in his brow. Now he saw it all in his mind's eye. But here Atem was all ease and lightness–gliding through his palace without a worry or care. Maybe that's just how death was. What would a dead man have to fear?
Seto followed him past a few corridors into what appeared to be his personal chambers. There was a luxurious lounging area, with artfully-arranged floor pillows and benches; beyond a tall doorway, hung with gauzy curtains, was a bedroom. Everything was lit by torchlight, casting the scene in warm dusky hues. The lounging area was open to a massive balcony that overlooked the city.
Atem walked to the edge of the balcony, looking down, like a god watching over his domain. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking.
Seto stared openly, and not at the view.
Atem didn't seem to mind. He glowed under the attention, with a devilish little quirk of his lips.
Normally Seto would turn away: retreat, analyze, and plan his next move, but there was a challenge simmering in Atem's eyes, and Seto felt if he turned away he'd lose–lose the game. Lose this moment. Lose Atem's attention fixed on him and only him, as it always should've been.
“Come,” Atem said. “Look.”
Seto went to the edge of the balcony with Atem, looking at–what? A hundred thousand dead souls, frozen in the amber of eternity. Children who would never grow up. His heart clenched. He looked at the sky instead, silky and streaked with blazing hot neon tones, and wondered if there were stars, hundreds of millions of miles away. The thought gripped him with an odd anxiety–as though the realms of eternity would ever meld so cleanly into the elegant structures of science–he looked at Atem instead, bold, proud, and beautiful.
“Tell me, Kaiba. Why did you come back?” Atem said. “If not to duel?”
No ready lie or retort came to his lips. Seto said nothing.
“So many things are happening in there,” Atem said, smiling.
“Where?” Seto said stupidly.
“In there,” Atem said, swiping a cheeky finger down Seto’s nose, light and teasing. He was so close. The gentle slopes of his Cupid’s Bow pulled tighter in a smile, nocking some new, mysterious arrow. He smelled completely unlike death: fragrant, fresh, floral, burning with youth. “Don’t tell me what’s in your head. Tell me what’s in here.”
He placed a hand on Seto’s chest, flat over his heart.
Neither of them moved.
Seto’s heart was a hollow drum, pounding.
As the sun slipped below the western horizon, Atem's smirk slipped off his face, replaced by something vulnerable, raw, aching with hope. Seto only had a moment to consider what it meant before there were fingers tangled in his hair and firm lips pressed against his. He wasn't even sure who moved first. The contact was new, and thrilling, and devastating, and Seto met him touch for touch as he learned the full shape of Atem's lips and the curve of his back. He couldn't keep his hands from bunching at the white fabric over his hips, and when he withdrew for a gasp of air he couldn't tear his eyes away from the revelation of Atem’s brown thighs.
He couldn’t stop himself. Atem didn’t want him to–they both knew it from the way they came together again: Seto lifting Atem clear off the floor, grabbing two firm fistfuls of supple flesh–the way Atem slung his legs around Seto’s waist, the way Atem grabbed his face with both hands and locked them together in a hungry tangle of lips and tongues.
Seto carried Atem to the nearest little hill of pillows and threw him down and threw himself down on top of him, sliding his hands up Atem’s thighs, tugging at the fabric underneath the soft material of his tunic–his shendyt, some echo of a memory whispered.
There was no doubt in Seto's mind, his heart, his co*ck what he wanted to do. Atem obviously wanted it too, threading both hands in Seto's hair, gripping tight, and firmly guiding his head down. It was like a dream and they knew they were dreaming. It was better than a dream: they knew what was about to happen, and they were going to let it happen. They were going to make it happen, and they were not going to wake up before it was over.
Atem smirked, watching this happen from his vantage point, cradled in a little slope of pillows, admiring the staggering boldness of Kaiba's desires–Kaiba taking his soft co*ck into his mouth and working him to full hardness with a reckless, sloppy extravagance. But then their eyes met, Kaiba's gaze dark and shining, like stones pulled from a river. There was something shy and anxious there–as though Kaiba could not believe, even now, with his lips stretched around Atem’s co*ck, that Atem might want him.
Kaiba dropped his gaze, swallowing him whole with a hot velvet mouth–and Atem’s mind went to pieces.
Ye gods, yes, he thought, as Kaiba gamely, indulgently took him deeper and deeper. I want you like nothing I’ve ever wanted. Aren’t you tired of boundaries? Of wondering? Of hoping, but never having?
Everything had come between them: destiny and time and death and the sordid past and their own stupid hearts, full of pride and shame. At last they had reached the place where the boundaries began to ripple and collapse. Kaiba came up for air and kissed him with a tangy, sour, slippery mouth–the taste of Atem. And Atem kissed him harder, tasting himself through Kaiba–through Kaiba’s own desperate hunger.
“Do–” Kaiba panted, “–you…?”
Atem smiled, marveling at him, the way his hair fell down over his ears, his wide, wondering eyes.
“Yes?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Kaiba gasped for breath above him. Slowly his expression changed, harder, sharper, charged with bold energy. He was no longer surprised by the force or speed of his own desires. Something else was taking over.
“f*ck me,” he growled.
His voice dropped through Atem’s chest, gripped him, rang him like a bell. Everything began to vibrate. Atem took him by the jaw and kissed him again, shoving his tongue into Kaiba's mouth. Then he shoved his face away.
“Get up,” he ordered, and Kaiba got up, both indignant and delighted.
“Take off your clothes,” Atem said.
He enjoyed the show: first that high-collared shirt, with the asymmetrical zip; some kind of interstellar body-armor vest thing; then the belt and the boots and the sleek, tight pants, revealing toned, well-fed muscle. There was something oddly charming about Kaiba stooping to take off his socks, one at a time, with his reddened erection bumping around.
There was Kaiba, naked, flushed from his cheeks to his navel, and Atem was still wearing his shendyt, hiked up around his hips. Now what? How?
He held out his hands, beckoning Kaiba forward, and Kaiba eagerly tumbled back on top of him, capturing his mouth in an urgent kiss, then his neck, licking a wide, reckless stripe, then to his ear, and back again, trying, testing, exploring, relishing, slowly. Every warm damp touch and every undulating grind of their hips together sent new, unnamed sensations rocketing through Atem. Kaiba was turning his body into waves of pure feeling.
Together they half-rolled, half-tumbled off the pillows onto the rich carpet, Kaiba sprawled out below Atem, his hands resting by his head in a gesture of surrender. They heaved for breath, saying nothing.
Yes, Atem thought, stroking his cheek. Like this. I want to see your face. I want you to see mine. No more hiding.
“I…” Kaiba breathed, and swallowed. “So. Is this really paradise? Or should I come back with lube next time?”
“Let’s find out,” Atem said, smiling.
They did not need lube. That, like food, was only a pretense in this place, where nothing really hurt unless you willed it to, and no need went unanswered.
They only needed a few moments of fingering, stretching, anxious waiting. Then Atem was squeezing, sinking into his hole, tight but smooth, smooth but oh so tight, and Kaiba was draping his legs around Atem’s waist, and a thousand different emotions were flashing across his face at once, like sunlight on the waters of the Great River–fear, disbelief, a nervous thrill, the open-mouthed shock of discovery: pain and pleasure coming together, becoming each other. His eyes locked onto Atem’s, wordless with hope: do I feel as good to you as you do to me?
Stupid question! Atem had no answer for him except yes, and pinning his wrists to the carpet; yes, and bending to kiss his neck, and yes –coaxing a low, throaty groan out of Kaiba, his back arching up against Atem’s chest in a pose of ecstatic torture. Yes, yes, yes –thrusting slow, hard, deep, drinking in every breath Kaiba exhaled. Kaiba was so quiet–stunned into silence. He was clenched tighter than a fist around Atem’s co*ck, sheathing him in an exquisite heat. The only sounds were their hard breathing and the meaty rhythm of Atem rolling into him. Beyond the balcony, the sky had darkened to a deep royal blue, with a single brilliant golden seam tearing across the horizon.
Pleasure was building in Atem’s head–in his groin, with a delirious, consuming pressure, pushing out all semblance of thoughts or self. He only knew one thing: he’d be happy if Kaiba was happy–if he succeeded in bringing him past the brink, and if he showed this brilliant, proud man that he’d been right to come here and right to return, right to pull apart his heart and reveal the soft, fragile truth of his desires. What he wanted was Atem. What he wanted was for Atem to have him.
A sudden blinding light swept through him. He shuddered and spilled into Kaiba. Desperate not to leave him behind, alone, he reached for Kaiba’s co*ck and pumped until he also came, without a sound, hot and milky-white over Atem’s hand.
Atem pried himself off and out of Kaiba and flopped onto his back, spent, sweating, breathless. The whole room–the whole world, all of A’aru and whatever lay beyond it–was whirling around them, as though they were the axis on which everything turned.
So that was sex–ordinary, sticky, and slimy. An earthly scene on the floor. But he fumbled out a hand, touching Kaiba’s chest, the side of his face–are you here? Still with me?–and Kaiba caught his hand, bringing it gently to his mouth for a kiss of dreamy, exhausted reverence.
So much for gods and pharaohs, so much for the legend Kaiba was becoming, all of the ancient choices rendered myth by the fog of time. To the bottom of the Great River with all of that! They were human and they were aching for each other, even now.
After a while they got up, washed themselves, dressed, and got drunk on beer over a game of senet, not sure what to say to each other now, but unwilling to let the night end just yet. Kaiba seemed to be glowing, his silhouette rimmed in fine lines of shimmering purple dust. Every time he cast the pieces, smoky tendrils trailed from his hands and disappeared. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the linen tunic he’d chosen to wear, rather than suffocate in his modern clothes, imbued with heavenly glow. Or maybe it was love, re-casting him in a new light.
If it was love, then Atem had to know: is that all you wanted from me? Are you going to leave me for good now?
He stared at Kaiba’s hand as he moved a piece across the senet board. There was a long swath of bare skin from his wrist to his elbow, pale and untouched by the sun, which he had never seen before. Just beyond Kaiba’s wrist bones, there was a little set of raised scars, arrayed together like a gate or the bars of a cage.
“Well, do your worst. Or your best, it doesn’t matter. The dice will decide,” Kaiba announced. “For all that your people built, they couldn’t come up with anything better than a ‘get there first’ game–”
He stopped, suddenly self-conscious under Atem’s hesitant, inquisitive gaze, and visibly braced himself for the question, whatever it might be.
“What…” Atem steeled himself with a small huff. He took Kaiba’s hand by the wrist and slowly turned it over. “...happened here?”
“Oh. These,” Kaiba said, as though he’d forgotten about them.
There was a slight tension in his arm. Atem relaxed his grip. If Kaiba wanted to pull away, he could. He looked at Atem with a strange expression, almost calculating, measuring something inside himself against Atem.
He pulled his wrist away, covering the scars with his other hand. Atem’s breath hitched.
Then Kaiba let out a deep sigh, gazing out over the night-cloaked city sprawled before them. Little fires and torches glittered across the rooftops, in imitation of the stars above.
“So. When I was thirteen, and my stepfather was still alive…” he said, pulling back the dusty veil concealing his past, and told Atem everything.
