Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-gi-oh, and I certainly hope I don't own this pairing.
Author's Note: This arose from a joke, and the plot bunnies just erupted into my head like a disease. Proceed onward for Crossdressing!Mokuba and everyone's favorite sexy Egyptian psychopath.
Mokuba sighed contentedly as he slipped the silk over his skin, nothing but the best fabric for the youngest Kaiba brother. The folds of the delicate garment molded to his slender form, caressing him and causing him to shiver. He ran his hands down the material, reveling in the way it clung to him so deliciously.
He reached out a polished nail – colored black to head off any suspicions – to lightly trace his reflection, gray eyes bright and full of mischief. His wild raven hair was held back by several jeweled clips, falling in wicked disarray past his shoulders. His lips shone a dramatic shade of red, and various creams and powders decorated his lids and lashes. The black silk dress looked positively stunning on him.
An impish smile faded as he heard footsteps outside of his bedroom door. His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat, as his gaze fixed on the closed door. If his brother happened to come home early today…
Four brief knocks on the door made him slump against the wall in relief. It was just Keito, one of the few guards he had brought into his trust, letting him know that the limo was ready to take him to the club of his choice. He called out his thanks and laughed softly at his skittishness; Seto was busy wining and dining a potential client and likely would return home later than he could hope to return. He would not be caught tonight.
Though really, would it matter? In a way, his newest fetish was his brother's fault. If he hadn't created that virtual reality game and fashioned the princess after his little brother…well, Mokuba would never have grown curious about the feel of silks and satins and high heels. When he had first laid eyes on his female counterpart, he had been shocked and disgusted, and secretly wondered what in the world Seto had been thinking. The longer he watched, however, the more intrigued he became, and his offer to temporarily switch places with the princess hadn't been entirely selfless. He had loved his first feel of feminine clothing, and had sworn that thereafter he would not hide it. He had even begun fantasizing about what it would be like to be taken out as a woman, kissed as a woman, made love to as a woman, by a man. Another secret he longed to confide in Seto.
However, he found himself slinking from club to club, purchasing his clothing and accessories in secret, desperate to keep Seto from discovering his little brother's fondness for dresses and perfumes and makeup. He had done all he could to hide it from Yuugi and his friends as well; as much as he considered them as more than casual acquaintances, he got the sick feeling they would not approve.
"Why should I care if they approve?" he growled out as he snatched up his purse and threw in his wallet and fake identification card. "It's my life and I can do with it as I wish."
He disliked how whiny he sounded, but it was the truth. He would not let their potentially biased opinions hold him back.
He slipped his feet into dangerously tall stiletto heels and tottered about until he felt he could walk without falling into things. He gave his reflection one more glance and nodded in appreciation; he looked good. He did not look at all like Kaiba Mokuba, little brother to the most powerful CEO in Japan and heir to Kaiba Corporation.
"I am Miya," he informed his reflection. Of course, it neither responded nor looked especially impressed, and he frowned briefly before patting his hair and meekly opening the door, peering up and down the hallway. Deciding the coast was clear – it always was; his trusted guards were careful to let none see, yet he always checked – he sauntered down the stairs and towards the limo waiting for him outside. Head held high, he ignored the politely disinterested stares as he slipped into the vehicle and commanded the driver to take him downtown.
"Which club?" the driver asked in a deadpan voice, his eyes hidden by dark shades. The driver was always different.
"Secrets," he said softly, nodding at his decision. He had heard excellent things about this club, and he knew he would not run into anyone he knew there.
As the limo turned down the road and began the long trek downtown, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and absently toyed with his purse. As he always did while surreptitiously sneaking out to these clubs, he considered coming out and telling Seto about his interests. In his mind, he saw Seto nod in approval and inform him that no matter what, he was his little brother, and he would always love and accept him.
He had a feeling the reality would be much more harsh.
He blinked away momentary tears and shook his head, banishing such dark thoughts. Tonight was the first night he had been able to get away in a good month and a half, and he was determined to enjoy himself. He plucked a compact mirror from his purse and touched up his makeup; it wouldn't do to arrive looking out of sorts. He then stared out the window, entranced by the passing nightlife, taking in the smiles and skimpy clothing and the constant bright lights. The steady motion nearly soothed him to sleep by the time they pulled up next to the club.
He supposed that if he wanted to avoid attention he could have arrived in a less conspicuous vehicle, but he had to admit, he liked the curious stares he got from the men and women standing outside of the club, wondering who this pretty girl was who had such a fancy ride. He felt his cheeks flush as a wave of excitement ran through him. He was here. He had escaped the confines of the mansion, and while he was here, he could pretend he was someone else, just for the night.
Mere moments passed as he flashed his card and got admitted, a paper-thin blue bracelet wrapped around his wrist to announce that he was of legal drinking age. He tossed his hair, thanked the bouncers, and slipped into the club, the warmth and sound slapping him in the face. He paused just inside the doorway and inhaled, taking in the sights and scents, the music pounding in his veins. He trailed almost listlessly towards the bar, concentrating on his balance; high heels were still rather tricky for him.
"What'll it be?" the bartender asked after a glance at his wrist, her thick blonde hair done up in a multitude of little braids.
"Cognac," he said softly, slipping her some bills. "XO."
A flicker of surprise appeared in her dark eyes as she turned to pour his drink. She set the glass in front of him, looking him up and down openly. She was pretty, he supposed, just plump enough to offer something to hold onto, her leather outfit leaving little to the imagination.
"Thanks," he said. "Keep the change." He plucked the glass off of the bar and turned around, leaning back and sipping the liquor. She wasn't his type; not anymore. His eyes roamed over the dance floor, watching couples and individuals and even groups with varying degrees of interest.
A few glasses later, Mokuba was beginning to grow bored when he caught sight of a tall, tanned blonde a few feet down the bar. Startlingly familiar violet eyes met his surprised gray, and the Egyptian offered him a slow smile. His blonde hair was spiked up wildly in all directions, longer than he remembered, and he was wearing his usual tight black muscle shirt and baggy cargo pants. Mokuba hadn't seen him since the end of Battle City.
"Malik," he breathed, a shiver running down his spine.
Memories flooded his mind: darkness, screaming, the fear Yuugi and his friends had shown in the face of this one young man. Malik, who had struck down Mai and Jounouchi, leaving them both potentially for dead, and then gone after Yuugi. He had no doubt he would have targeted Seto as well had they been destined to duel.
Malik, the insidiously handsome boy known for his violent outbursts and loosely held temper. Malik, a demon encased within a pretty shell, his eyes alight with a sick insanity that set Mokuba's blood on fire. Malik, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes upon.
The boy slid closer, casually slipping an arm around his waist. "You know me," he responded, his voice husky. "And yet I don't have the pleasure of knowing you. Have we met?"
Mokuba swallowed. "We have," he said softly, not trusting himself to say more. His skin tingled where Malik's fingers rested, a chill spreading through his skin.
Malik's eyes roamed up and down his form, and a sudden grin bloomed. He tilted his head to one side and laughed, the sound slightly unhinged. "Ah yes, I remember you! Kaiba Seto's little brother! My, haven't you changed!"
Mokuba flushed and stared down at the floor, his mouth dry and throat tight. He didn't know why he felt so nervous, or what these feelings were that Malik's touch aroused, but it was definitely something different.
"Is this your first time here?" the Egyptian prompted, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had descended. He sounded decidedly amused, and he began tracing lazy circles across Mokuba's bare back.
"No," Mokuba lied smoothly, shivering at the light feel of Malik's nails, their pressure promising more.
"Odd. I have never seen you here before. No matter." He shook his head, blonde hair flying. He leered down at Mokuba, a tongue darting out to run along his lips. "Care to dance?" he purred.
Before he could come up with a protest, any protest, Mokuba found himself dragged out onto the crowded dance floor, colored lights flashing and the floor practically bouncing with the beat. Malik crushed Mokuba's smaller form against his and began to move to the music, and closing his eyes, Mokuba allowed himself to give in to the sensations and the dance. He breathed in Malik's heady scent, acutely aware of every brush of skin, every caress and nudge, the increasingly close proximity of the Egyptian, and the rest of the people slowly faded out of his awareness.
Malik's tongue ran down Mokuba's neck and he shivered, feeling helpless in his arms. No girls, no matter how experienced, had made him feel so alive. All he knew was Malik's strong hands, his surprisingly gentle touch, and the wet warmth of his tongue. When their lips finally met, Malik's hands tangling in his hair and snapping some of the clips out, Mokuba lost himself. Malik's hand slid up Mokuba's skirt, fingers dancing and leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and Mokuba gripped Malik as hard as he could, trying to pull the Egyptian closer, closer.
For just this one night, he would be free.