Bet Your Shirt.
Malik glared at the large heap of poker chips in front of Ryuuji, having figured out over the last hour and half why exactly people refused to play cards with the gamer. It was impossible to win! Honestly, the green-eyed boy might as well have been the now-departed Pharaoh for all his luck with pulling exactly the right card at the right moments. If Malik hadn't made Ryuuji strip to his waist, checked the room for mirrors and personally purchased three new packs of cards, he would have accused the other of cheating somehow.
But no. That wasn't the case. It just appeared that Ryuuji truly did have the luck of the devil.
Glowering slightly, Malik peered desperately at his cards, then pulled another from the deck with a resigned sigh which he had to stop himself from turning into an excited yelp. Perfect. This was just perfect! Finally, Malik had a hand of cards that he could beat Ryuuji with...only problem being now that he had nothing left to wager. Frustrated beyond measure, Malik threw his cards face down and scowled at Ryuuji, about ready to give up completely. "I am about to beat you for the first time in the evening but I am out of chips to bet, and I can't even put down my cards unless I put down a wager first. Which means that when I actually have a chance of winning, I end up losing by default!"
Ryuuji shrugged. "So? Bet your shirt."
Malik's eyes widened with shock and he threw a cushion at Ryuuji, nearly shrieking, "Idiot! This isn't strip poker!" How dare Ryuuji suggest something like that to him!
The gamer smirked, ducking the cushion easily, and he brushed a strand of hair away from his face before laughing and replying, "I know it isn't. I was just refering to the saying - haven't you ever heard anyone say that they'd would bet their shirt on something?"
Flushing slightly, Malik picked his cards back up, "Oh. Yeah, I have heard that..." Looking up suspiciously at Ryuuji, he pointed out, "Why would you want my shirt though? You've always said that the cut looks trashy, and that the gold chains are tacky."
Looking at his cards himself, eyes hidden from Malik, Ryuuji shrugged again. "And if I win it from you, then that's one way of making sure you don't wear such a travesty for the rest of the evening."
Malik chewed at his lower lip slightly. After all, with the cards he held in his hand, he couldn't possibly lose. And Ryuuji had been winning all evening. He dearly wanted to see the other lose for a change. And get back some of his chips. And besides, he couldn't lose with his current hand. Uh-oh. No way.
Without giving himself time to think about it, he stripped off the lavender, midriff-baring top and tossed it to the side, slamming his cards on the floor instantly with a triumphant smirk. "Take that!"
Ryuuji smirked in return, giving the cards a perfunctory glance. "I'd rather take your shirt." The gamer placed his own cards down, and while Malik was gaping at the fact that he had lost again, scooped up the shirt and tossed it into the fireplace easily, earning a cry of protest from the Egyptian who stared in utter shock at the burning shirt before glaring at Ryuuji.
"Don't tell me that you beat me just so that you could burn my clothing!" He snapped, more than a little vexed that his losing streak hadn't been broken and one of his favorite shirts was now fire-fodder.
Ryuuji's smirk widened. "No, I just wanted to see you shirtless."
If it had been anything except cushions that Malik had started to pummel Ryuuji with, the gamer might have actually been hurt.