Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Clean ❯ Part I (chapters 1-5) ( Chapter 1 )
Chapters 1-5.
Anime/Manga: Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.13.2010 | Pages: 15 | Words: 36.9K | Visits: 148 | Status: Work In Progress
Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.
Author's Note:
This fiction, the sequel KP Duty, strives to follow canon characterizations and events as presented in the unedited anime. However, because two key characters (Pegasus and Gozaburo) have been purposefully distorted, these stories are unquestionably AU.
Chopper .:|:. Beast .:|:. Mementos .:|:. Balcony .:|:. Attempts
Chopper
Seto Kaiba stood on the rooftop of Pegasus's castle, in the same place he had stood just a few days before to battle Yuugi Mutou.
That day, everything had been clear in the shadowless noon light: goals, priorities, possibilities. His determination a white hot blaze, he had stood on the edge, gambling with his life; so sure of his abilities, and in his understanding of his opponent, that of course he had won.
Now, it was nearing sunset. Shadows were long and the rooftop red-orange. Mokuba was safe, Pegasus was defeated, Yuugi had his Grandfather back. It was a different precipice now, every last scrap of his energy holding up the mask for his brother.
"What are we waiting for, big brother?" Mokuba asked. "Yuugi told me you flew a chopper in here when you came to rescue me. Let's go down and get it, and go home."
Seto was not going to fly his chopper out of here: he was in no condition to pilot an aircraft, especially not one containing Mokuba. Not when the temptation to take the controls and dive downward to cold oblivion might overpower him: he couldn't allow it. He had responsibilities that must close the door on the part of him that wanted to run and hide – at least until he had it under control.
But he wasn't about to leave his helicopters here for Pegasus's minions to play with, either, so he had called for two pilots to fly to Duelist Kingdom. "I called for someone to get us out. We'll wait for them up here, where they can see us."
When it came down to it, he wasn't sure he was even up to descending the hundreds of stairs to the forest where he'd hidden the chopper when he arrived several days before. The reason – reasons – were spelled out on a piece of paper, folded small and tucked deep in the innermost pocket of his coat, a piece of paper that listed injuries he had sustained while soulless. A sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, contusions on his abdomen and back from being kicked and beaten. And other injuries, from more than a beating: abraded knees, burns and lacerations on his inner thighs, torn tissues in places that a mere beating wouldn't have accomplished. Injuries from a – no, he couldn't think the word, it was too unreal to apply to him.
And then shame mocked his denial.
He could not remember the – event – but even without the proof of the paper in his pocket and the marks on his body, he knew that something had been taken from him, something that all his money and all the resources of Kaiba Corporation could not restore. Never before, with all he had gone through – the orphanage, his adoptive father's cruelty, the mind-crushing Game Penalty of his first dueling defeat – had he felt this way. Torn open, hollowed out, trampled. Filthy. Degraded. Disgraced.
Funny, what he kept thinking about – couldn't stop thinking about, actually – had happened some months ago. (Now it seemed like years, decades even.) Students had been filling the auditorium for an assembly. He was sitting alone, reading. Three boys dropped into seats in the row ahead of him and bent over something, intent, giggling, poking each other.
< font face="Verdana, sans-serif">"Oh yeah, give it to her good."
&nb sp;"What a slut, you can see she really likes it."
;"Dude, look, up the poop chute too."
&nbs p;"Hey, lookit that in her mouth!"
&n bsp;"Wouldn't she like, gag?"
His height had allowed him to look down over their shoulders, see what they were looking at. A magazine, a manga, with a picture of a woman, spread-eagled against a wall, horror on her face as thick tentacles snaked under her clothing and into every orifice and opening of her body. He remembered thinking contemptuously, Stupid girl – why hadn't she run when she saw what was coming? Why doesn't she fight it? bite it? close her legs?
He couldn't get that scene out of his mind now, kept replaying the other boys' comments and his own reaction. Now he knew: sometimes you couldn't run, no matter how much warning you had.
"Ow!"
He suddenly came back to himself. He had been squeezing Mokuba's hand. Too hard. Mokuba had let go and was now sitting on a stone bench near the roof's crenelated edge.
"Come sit, big brother." Mokuba patted the stone.
Kaiba shook his head.
"Why not? There's room."
He took a deep breath. "Mokuba," he started; then, "Mokuba, while I was a prisoner," he rubbed his hand over his eyes, "the stone floor in the cell – I don't want to sit."
"What did they do to you?" Mokuba's eyes flashed, simultaneously solicitous and angry. "You're gonna be OK, right?"
"My shoulder is sore," Kaiba said, pretending to search the fiery sky while his throat closed up and his vision blurred, "I'll be fine."
The chopper touched down a few minutes later. "I'm going to say goodbye to Yuugi!" Mokuba shouted and ran off to the group by the front doors.
His pilots, Quinn and Brasher, confirmed that there was still more than enough light to fly the other chopper up out of the woods, so Quinn ran down the stone stairs. A few minutes later Mokuba came back onto the roof, Yuugi and his friends following at a discreet distance.
"Seto ..." Mokuba began."Can they ride the helicopter with us? Please?"
No way in hell. "There are only three seats in the chopper."
"But we have two choppers! And anyhow I told Yuugi he could share the front seat with me so that we can both watch the pilot. We're both small."
He knew this look on Mokuba's face: it meant that he wouldn't listen to reason or authority at this point, so there was no use invoking either. Not that he had the energy to do it. "OK." He gave the group his sternest look. "This is payment for rescuing Mokuba, understood?" Without waiting for their answer he turned to the copter and climbed in, tucking himself into the left back seat.
After Yuugi and Mokuba piled in the seat ahead of him (Brasher buckled them in together), Mai slipped into the seat next to him. "I think everyone else went down to the other chopper," she said.
Might not be too bad.
Suddenly a commotion at the door."Phew! I thought I'd missed the boat, er, the copter!" The blond appeared in the doorway. "Hey Yug, riding shotgun? Cool." He looked at Mai, raised an eyebrow. "Ya think you could squash over some there, ma'am, make room for me?"
"The back seats two." Seto said firmly.
"Seat, schmeat, plenty of room on the floor!" And with that he turned around, sat on the floor, and slid backwards into the row between the seats, his back to Seto, and pulled his legs up and clear of the door.
"All set?" Brasher yelled, and then they rose into the air, to the west, the sun flooding the chopper with amber.
Seto'd always had the trick of going elsewhere.
It had started in the orphanage. Often, after he'd given most of his meal to Mokuba, to distract himself from his hunger he'd pull back from the reality outside of him and go hiking someplace beautiful. The arctic, a jungle, a desert, the moon. Or he'd become a falcon, soaring over wilderness looking for prey, or a submarine diving through darkness, his floodlight startling fantastical deep sea creatures. After they were first adopted, he went though an astrophysics phase. He became an atom at the heart of a sun, sizzling as the pressure of the solar furnace changed him from hydrogen to helium to carbon to iron. A few years later, when Gozaburo started using the cane, and the collar, and the room with the pulley, he'd imagine he was pure number, without any physical existence at all: he'd become a series of primes sparkling down from the Sieve of Eratosthenes; or the digits of pi soaring and diving through n-dimensions of concentric circles; or the Penrose ratio, orchestrating vast plains of interlocking kites and darts. And sometimes he was simply a spiraling Fibonacci sequence, infinite.
He'd been in such complete control of his life the last few years he'd not needed this trick: unfortunately, it seemed to have atrophied, for he couldn't escape the helicopter. In the seat in front of him, Mokuba (on the left) and Yuugi (on the right) chattered nonstop about the various dials and controls, Brasher in the right hand seat making the occasional correction. "No, those are the torque pedals." Next to him was worse. They had been in the air less than five minutes when the blond made a big show of pulling off his jacket and spreading it across Mai's mini-skirted thighs and knees. He then seemed to think this gallantry entitled him to some reward, for he draped his right arm casually across her lap. She wrinkled her nose and said something to him with a half-smile; he said something back, obviously some playful challenge, for she mock-slapped him and stuck out her tongue prettily.
How easy it came to them. Friendship.
After a while, Yuugi leaned between the seats to talk to the other two. From time to time he turned back to include Mokuba in the conversation, in the circle of friends. How had Mokuba learned to make connections so easily?
Between the roar of the rotors and the blond's big head, Seto could make out scraps of conversation:
"Wasn't it cool when we – "
"Did you see when Pegasus – "
"That was such a great move when you "
"Wasn't it sad when – "
"Oh Mokuba, you never told us what happened when – "
No, he couldn't hear much, pressed back into the corner, but he could see. They were burnished with sunset, their hair threaded with copper and gold. Glowing, smiling, laughing. Fire elementals, seraphim. From his darkness he noticed how they were with each other, touching so freely, with such affection. Of course he was not included. They were in his chopper, but they were all oblivious to him. Take the blond for example: leaning against him, true, but only because he was using the side of Seto's leg as a chair back. The touch meant nothing. He was furniture.
The bad guy, he knew that's how they saw him (if they thought of him at all). And why shouldn't they? He'd almost killed Yuugi's grandfather when he'd taken the fourth Blue Eyes by force, taken advantage of his inherent decency to defeat his Dark, and rejected every offer of help during his duel with Pegasus. On top of which, of course, he was the rich guy, the "ruin the curve" guy, the "taller than you" guy. They had probably hated him long before Duelist Kingdom, because he must have seemed to lead such a favored life. Yeah, he'd been favored all right. Wasn't he was doubly favored now, having received favors from both Gozaburo and Pegasus?
Who cares what they think? He gripped the edge of his seat with his left hand, the protest from his injured shoulder welcome. It's not like they need another reason to exclude me. My life is none of their business.
As he sat, rigid with fury, he finally began to feel the familiar floating sensation that presaged the blessed falling inward, away from his body, away from the world's noise and light and pain. He might have found himself soaring the thermals as a hawk again had two things not happened. First, the pressure against his leg was having an unexpected effect, which was intensifying with every small casual movement the blond made as he laughed and talked. Second, when that very same clueless idiot twisted, a moment later, to lean between the front seats to talk to Yuugi and Mokuba, he put his hand down on Seto's right foot. The sprained one with the hairline fracture. The sudden pain took him by surprise and he gave a small cry.
At that point all sound in the cabin was swallowed up. Even the rotors seemed to mute.
'Hey man, you OK?" the blond twisted back around, and the hand that had been draped over Mai's lap now moved to Seto's thigh, an unselfconscious gesture of concern.
Seto pressed back into the corner. Don't look at me!
Mokuba's head popped up over the seat. "Is it hurting worse?"
"Put your seat belt back on, Mokuba!" he forced out through gritted teeth.
"Is what hurting?" Yuugi asked suddenly, his pale worried face craning around the other side of the seat back.
With a roar in his ears, Seto heard Mokuba cheerfully volunteer, "Oh, Pegasus's bad guys beat Seto up, and his butt hurts from sitting on the cell floor."
"His b- " Mai started to repeat, and without thinking he shot her a look. Her mouth became a small o, and her eyes went wide, looking at him as though he were a three-headed freak.
What had he done? Now she knew. She knew. Even in the dim red shadows he could tell she had grasped what the others were too innocent to put together. An icy sweat swept over his body. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to claw his way out of the chopper.
"Cell floor, ha!" Mai said suddenly, looking away from him. "I got bruises from those lumpy beds! And that hand soap – looked to me like he was recycling samples stolen from every tacky motel his staff ever stayed at. The man just didn't know how to treat guests, that's for sure. I mean, eyeballs in our soup, mind-reading, those spooky dimensions you were dragged to, locking people in dungeons – really, what century did he think we're in? Well, at least we know we'll never run into anyone that evil again."
Why? he thought. Why is she changing the subject? It's like she's deliberately drawing attention away from me. Why would she do that? He bowed his head, confusion and shame and nausea competing with the continued throbbing in his lap. I shouldn't have pulled that catheter out so fast.
A light touch on his left knee. He looked up. Mokuba's face was squeezed between seat back and window, his arm stretched out to his brother. "Are you gonna be OK?" he mouthed.
And for the second time that evening Seto lied to him, and nodded.
.
The rest of the ride was long but uneventful. The blond switched position, his back now against the right wall, his legs on either side of Mai's, and dozed. There was much less talking; they were sleepy, the stress of the last few days finally collecting a toll in exhaustion.
Seto would not allow himself to relax, even as the pain ebbed away with his tumescence. He made a mental list of what he needed to do before he could allow himself to sleep that night: go through the post, his e-mail, the fax basket, the telex, skim the financials, listen to voice messages. Get ready for his talk tomorrow with those five bastards who'd sold out to Pegasus. ... And shower, even though he knew it was a cliché, even though it wouldn't be enough to feel clean. Would never be enough. He needed to molt, peel off his skin, slice it away, burn away the filth that covered him, grow shiny new skin, untouched by –
They were landing.
"Can our drivers take them home?" Mokuba was asking.
"No. They're all off duty."
This was a lie, of course: there was always at least one on duty, in case he returned unexpectedly: but what was one more lie? His whole life would be a lie now, a mask hiding the true Kaiba. A phrase from long ago came to him: whited sepulcher. He could feel the maggots already, pressing against his tongue and chest. He needed to get away from everyone before he disintegrated.
"Don't let us inconvenience you, Mister Moneybags. We'll all pile in a cab," said the blond. "I think there's a pay phone I can call from, about a mile down the road. I can walk down there in no time."
Even Seto winced at that. "Don't be stupid." He handed his briefcase to Mokuba and nodded once; Mokuba took out a cell phone.
Kaiba turned his back to them and looked out over the dark valley below his mansion as the other chopper landed on the second pad..
"Pardon me, Kaiba? Could I ask you a favor?"
It was Mai.
Blackmail? Already? She certainly doesn't waste time.
"I'd love to do some work for Kaiba Corp., and I wondered if you could give me a recommendation. I figure a word from you would go a long way to helping me get my foot in the door. Maybe you could write a note on one of your business cards?" She had a pen in hand.
"Huh?" She was blackmailing him into helping her get a job?
"What do you say?" she asked, and, her back to Yuugi and the others (who were gathered around Mokuba arranging for cabs) held out her pen to him with a dramatic gesture.
He was so surprised he reached in his jacket, pulled out a business card, and wrote on it Give her a contract to do whatever she says she can handle. He initialed it, and as she took her pen and his card from him she deftly slid a small paper into his palm.
"Call me." She whispered before turning around and striding away. "Alright Jounouchi, they better not be dropping anyone but ME off at my apartment!"
He turned his back to them again, and glanced at the paper. A telephone number, and the words I know what you're going through.
Oh really? he thought. How can you? How can anyone?
For the ninth night in a row he woke to find himself frotting the mattress. Or rather the Beast was: he just happened to be attached.
"Not again," he muttered as he rolled onto his back and threw back the covers.
need to rub need to push
No.
pet me
No.
Almost every night now. A deep dreamless sleep interrupted by this nuisance. (He wondered if it had happened during the night he'd been trapped in the VR pod in the basement of Kaiba Corp during the unsuccessful coup: he'd check the bio-sensor logs.) He had never had such nocturnal annoyances before Duelist Kingdom, and since nothing in his daytime routine had changed it had to be because of –
Hmmm. you must be dreaming about what Pegasus did to you. Must have liked it, Kaiba-boy, if you're reliving those delicious, breathy moments every night. The voice of Witty Phantom. Stuck in his head ever since he'd returned from the VR world, providing unwanted commentary that he seemed unable to shut out.
He rolled out of bed. Dammit, he was Seto Kaiba. He was not going to have his life ruined by a body part, or by dreams and phantoms. The best way to clear up this nonsense was to collide with it head-on. Getting facts would diffuse the power the unknown seemed to have over him.
Ooo, I'm trembling! Such a fierce boy. So forceful and determined. Out of character for such a delicate uke-flower.
Since they got back he'd been sleeping in the observatory's windowless guest suite, as far from his regular room (and Mokuba) as he could. He stalked out of the bedroom into the small study, picked up the phone and dialed, straightening the desk's blotter, pencil cup, and letter opener as he waited for the other to answer.
"Mr. Kurosuke?"
A pause.
"I know. I'll be brief. Tell me everything he did that night. I want details."
Another pause.
"I didn't see the point of going to a doctor," (none I can trust to keep this story secret) "since I haven't had any of the problems you listed. No fever, no back pain. Some bleeding when I first got home."
He listened.
"Yes, I'm sure."
The voice began, and the words trickled into his ear like poison.
"Are you sure? I don't – my memory of it isn't complete."
His hand shaking, he spun the letter opener on the desk."And you're saying Pegasus didn't – ?" he swallowed hard, momentarily unable to speak.
He watched the flashing silver blade. From his perspective it appeared to slice through the Beast, again and again.
"But I remember," he forced the words out, "some things. With him."
He listened, his throat tight again.
"I see. What evidence?"
A pause.
"How many?"
He took a deep breath, battling vertigo. The letter opener slowed, his fingers above it frozen in mid-air.
"Contempt? As if all the other wasn't enough?"
.
He hung up the phone slowly. The rational part of his mind scrambled for control. "No." Kurosuke hadto be mistaken. Seto didn't remember anything to corroborate what he'd just heard. Sure, his fading bruises were evidence for at least one other person being there, as punching and kicking weren't Pegasus' style. But the other – he would have remembered that. Certainly, he would have remembered something like that. Wouldn't he? He shuddered, and then began to giggle hysterically from overload.
Funny Kaiba-boy, Phantom said, You sound just like Dark Rabbit, did'ja know? You remember Dark Rabbit, don't you? Well, rabbits, they do love carrots.
After a few minutes the paroxysm passed. He gripped the back of the chair, his stomach cramping. According to Kurosuke, Pegasus had been a witness. Instigating, but not participating. But how could that be? It was so clear, that face bending over him, kissing him, stroking him ...
remember yes
... he was supposed to reject what he remembered, and accept things he had no memory of?
Tsk, tsk, How disappointing for you. All this time you imagined – ahhh, you imagined he came down to the kitchen alone that night and made a hot little love souffle with you there among the pots and pans and dishtowels! Didn't you? A private, romantic tête-à-tête. Caresses and sweet nothings. Do your fantasies have him gallantly spreading his red jacket on the cold floor, so you won't feel chilled while he takes you? Is that the dream that's been bringing the circus to your jammies every night?
Shut up.
Kurosuke seems to have cleaned up after many of these parties. Whatever he says happened, happened. Such an intimate moment it must have been! Pegasus sipping fine wine while five of his thugs put on gloves and reamed you with whatever was handy. They didn't consider you worth the effort of unzipping their pants – except to piss on you when they were done –
Shut up!
Such a shame. No one kissed you, not even your one-eyed idol. You made that part up, trying to comfort yourself with wishful thinking. Such a shame, Poor, deluded, unloved Kaiba-thing.
SHUT UP!
He stalked into the bathroom, stepped into the shower stall and barked "Cold!"
The voice-activated shower obeyed and he gasped as six jets of needle spray hit him. Instant goosebumps. The Beast beaded with moonstones and diamonds.
What was wrong with him? Was he losing control of his mind as well as of his body? He shivered.
"Colder! More pressure!"
The water became so cold it numbed his skin. At least the Beast was settling down. He wrapped his arms around himself, and leaned into the corner. Water ran from his hair down his neck and chest, icy serpents. Disgusting. Stupid!! He howled; dry, wretched, animal sobs.
That's what is is, isn't it? Isn't that the real reason you're boo-hooing? Because the illusion that you were wanted is gone? the insinuating voice kept at him. C'mon, admit it – the thought that you'd caught Pegasus's eye give you a thrill. The brilliant inventor of the game you love so well, paying such attention to you? Didn't it make you tingle, way deep down, in the secret place? 'Fess up.
NO!
He put his hands over his face.
yes.
With this admission a whirlwind of self-loathing engulfed him. He hadbeen secretly, guiltily, flattered that Pegasus had appeared to desire him – or at least had saidthings that could be construed that way in front of other people. Pegasus hadmade him feel special, in a way no else one ever had. Every silky "Kaiba-boy" had been like a caress, making him squirm inside, even after Mokuba had been kidnapped, even after the alliance with his late Board of Directors had been revealed.
You deserved what you got in that kitchen. You wantedit.
But he had obviously misinterpreted. He would not make that mistake again.
Maybe all those nasty thoughts of kissing distracted you?
Yes, he had thoughts of kissing sometimes. Wasn't that normal? To think about having that with someone, some day? He was human, after all.
Hasn't it sunk in yet, Kaiba-boy? No one's ever going to want a mess like you. They wouldn't shop for damaged goods when there are so many normal people about. Although – statistically there might be one or two people out there with standards low enough to make do with you.
“Shut up!” He pounded his fist on the wall. No one would ever want him? Fine. Most people were unreliable anyhow, full of random noise. He would better off without them ...
And then, just like that, the idea exploded into being.
The VR software. Modify it to create a lover of virtual flesh. Such an obvious idea, why hadn't he thought of it sooner? It would have made the trip in the chopper constructive, if he had absorbed it as data: a detached observer of the way their clothes stretched across their bodies when they moved, how their hair flowed and changed color in the light, the smells of perfume and sweat. If he had been objective he wouldn't have been humiliated by being used as furniture by Jounouchi, and it wouldn't have given him an erection.
Still such a strong memory, the feel of that warm, muscled back against his leg.
He groaned as a sudden wave of desire rolled out from deep in his pelvis, pushing aside speculation and reason. Every inch of skin suddenly ached to touch someone, anyone. “Hot,” he whispered. Eyes still closed, he pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth, imagining it was a shoulder, a thigh: he bit the flesh softly, licked it, kissed it gently and then harder, imagining his caresses drawing out soft moans from someone who welcomed his company. His mind. His rules. He would be in control. He would see what he wanted to see, feel what he wanted to feel.
Turning from the corner, eyes still closed, he leaned back against the warm wet wall. Under the now steaming spray he rubbed his other palm over his chest and down his belly. He took his hand from his mouth and ran his dripping fingers over his lips, then slid them in over his tongue, sucking hungrily, pretending his other hand was someone exploring him, surrounding him ...
The Beast approved, and was rewarded.
If you are unable to find "Summoning Death," here's a quick summary: In it, Duo Maxwell (Gundam Wing Shinigami of the chestnut braid and rascally disposition) makes an extended visit to the Kaiba household, becomes best buddies with Mokuba, succinctly sizes up several Yuugi-tachi members, and takes on an unusual repair project. Mai makes a secret alliance, the AI gets a name, Seto recalls appalling details about his ordeal at Duelist Kingdom, and there's a suggestion of one of the real reasons Kaiba will stop wearing the green shirt and pants.
He didn't want to open his eyes, but Mokuba had other ideas.
"C'mon! You have to get up now or I'll be late!"
He pulled the pillow over his face. An instant later it was yanked out of his hands, and then smacked him in the head.
Whunk!
"Just because – "
Whunk!
" – you're excused from school – "
Whunk!
" – doesn't mean you can sleep all day!"
"All right!" He grabbed the pillow as it came down again and opened his eyes.
Mokuba was staring at him.
"What is it?"
"Do you think he'll ever come back?"
Duo.
"No, Mokuba. He's not – he wasn't from here. He had to go back to where he belonged."
"He said he didn't have any people there that loved him! Why couldn't he have stayed with us? It would have been fun to have another big brother. He was gonna teach me how to throw knives!"
"Bored with me, eh?"
"Never!" Mokuba jumped on the bed and threw his arms around Seto's neck, squeezing with all his might. "No matter what you'll always be my favorite. And I'll always be your number one, too, right?"
"Right."
He let go and sat back on his heels. "But you've been really sad lately, Seto. Duo was so much fun, he made me laugh. And you liked him too, right?" Mokuba stopped and gave his brother a pointed look.
I did become fond of him, I suppose. "So you want me to braid my hair and start wearing leather pants?"
"No!" Mokuba giggled. "That would be too silly! You're not like that!" He added earnestly, "But Duo said you should have more fun, and he was totally right!"
"It's at the top of my list. Let's get breakfast."
.
The house was too quiet after Mokuba left.
He didn't feel like getting dressed, so he took coffee to his upstairs office and slogged through KaibaCorp reports for an hour in his robe and pajamas. As he worked he realized with a pang that he'd secretly come to look forward to the point, late each morning, when Duo finally got up and came to pester him.
The hell with it. He piled the various papers to one side and reached to shut the computer down.
Then he noticed that his search-engine spider had spun a tiny web in the lower left corner of the screen, holding up the words "Mutou Yuugi" and beneath it "5,481 results."
He clicked and sat forward eagerly. Yuugi's name was always mentioned on gaming boards at least 100 times a day since Duelist Kingdom, but this was an explosion: something unusual must have happened. He quickly saw what: a Domino game shop, the Black Clown, was televising a duel between Yuugi and someone named Otogi Ryuji. Not Duel Monsters, something called Dungeon Dice Monsters, he saw as he skimmed the search results. He turned on the TV and finally found the channel carrying the broadcast.
"That's a good point, Tsuda," the older of two commentators was saying, "And isn't it true that Mutou Yuugi has agreed to surrender his Duelist Kingdom title to Otogi and never play Duel Monsters competitively again if he loses here?"
"Yes, Kenjirou, that's exactly correct," the younger, demographically current sportscaster replied. "Although most legal experts polled said that there is no way that Otogi Ryuji can enforce such a nebulous verbal agreement."
A sinking feeling in Kaiba's stomach. He knew Otogi wouldn't have to enforce it, because Yuugi would keep his word. If Yuugi never plays again, how can I defeat him and regain my title?
The commentators switched to a background piece comparing Duel Monsters and Dungeon Dice Monsters, and Kaiba muted the television.
He scanned board postings. A few discussed whether or not Otogi could – or would – enforce the ban, and most of the rest were people boasting of their own DDM prowess. However, he noticed a posting by detroitkat – usually a source of reliable and useful information – so he opened it.
Under the topic "How the Hell did this get started?" detroitkat had written, "`/uu9| g07 |n2 7h|5 m47ch b3c4u53 h3 w45 d3f3nd|n9 7h3 h0n0r 0f 4 fr|3nd wh0 l057 4 du31 w|7h 0t09| (d|c3b0y) & wh0's b3|n9 HUM|1|473D b`/ h4\/|n9 2 w34r a d09 5u|7. |f u d0n'7 b31|3v3 m3 ch3ck P0rk3r's c4m @ (www. Ihateplatypusears. com/~dogcam)"
He looked up at the TV. In the background, in the midst of the inane cheerleaders, he could see a large lumpy beige furball.
It couldn't be. He clicked on the dogcam link.
It was. He shook his head in exasperation. How did the idiot get himself in these situations? As he watched the crowd's mood rise and fall with each successive move the players made, he found himself suddenly furious at this Otogi. How dare he force someone to wear such a costume?
;Duo laughed. "Then, there is Jounouchi. Duo. What the hell did he know? How could he have made such claims after meeting Jounouchi only once, to know what the blond loser felt? He moused over the close box for the dogcam, but didn't dismiss the jumpy, grainy, ridiculous spectacle.
And what had made Duo think Seto cared what Jounouchi's feelings were? Except for that one brief conversation, they'd never discussed anyone's feelings about him, and certainly never his feelings about anyone. Still ... had he said some nonsense while he was drunk? He'd watched the security tapes from the study, of course, but there hadn't been any in the bathroom; all he had was a half memory of punching the wall.
That last conversation though - Duo had certainly been hinting at something.
&n bsp;"And remember there are a couple of good embers "Easy for him to say," he muttered, " 'give it a try'. Pointless."
After a few more seconds of indecision, he set the browser to save the streaming dogcam broadcast to the server's hard drive. Then he sat back and watched the rest of the duel: Otogi destroyed one of Yuugi's monsters and something went out of his eyes. Suddenly Jounouchi was yelling something, after a minute both the broadcast and the dogcam carried it. "... You're not fighting for my freedom! You're fighting in the name of everyone who ever fought against you with all their might – even Pegasus. Is the champion of Duelist Kingdom now a quitter? No! So what if this game is different? You can't give up!"
Seto snorted.
"You're right, Jounouchi-kun," Yuugi said (how ludicrous, Yuugi playing in defense of Jounouchi's honor – such as it was). "Thank you for reminding me. A game is a game. I will focus all my energy on the dice, and I won't give up until the last second."
What, "Heart of the Dice" now? Whatever. It didn't protect his last monster.
"Gamers all over the world are watching this on the net, Yuugi-kun. Why don't you just admit defeat?" What a smug, posturing asshole. He wondered who had financed the arena and the licensing of the KaibaCorp holotechnology; but considering the game design and Otogi himself, this likely had Pegasus's fingerprints all over.
And then of course, Dark somehow brought out Dark Magician, and did his usual tricks with the damned Hats and the Magic Box. Well, at least he silenced the peacock. Heart points. How ridiculous.
He went upstairs to the guest room Duo had used. He had to look for a while, but finally found the dirty clothes half-stuffed into a pillowcase in the corner of the closet, next to a shopping bag with some unworn items.
He threw the pillowcase into the bed, then lay down on his side and considered it. After a minute he pulled the blanket over the pile and put his arm across it, then grimaced.
Drove me crazy while he was here, now I'm sleeping with his laundry. Why do the annoying ones get stuck in my head?
The blond was persistent, he'd give him that. An unfocused, impulsive, sloppy duelist completely incapable of bluffing – but not a quitter. He'd play until every last life point was crushed from him. Idiotic.
He rolled onto his back. Damn. Now he couldn't get the image of that face, inches from his own, out of his head. Frustrated passion. What if Duo was right? What if there was something more in Jounouchi's head than the resentment of a loser towards a winner? What if, instead of tossing him that day, he'd –
Pointless musing, to speculate on the past – and as for the present, well, in the absence of data there was no way to make informed assessments or plan strategies.
Without assessments or planning he had no control. So much for the real world.
In the virtual world, on the other hand ….
.
He got up from the bed and went to his room. From a shelf in his closet he took one of a dozen identical, neatly folded green shirts. Next to them hang six pairs of matching green pants, and three blue dusters. Wearing the same thing every day simplified getting dressed. One less decision to be made.
He studied himself in the mirror as he buttoned the shirt. “I don't look like a mechanic,” he mumbled. As he reached for his pants he noticed that the second shirt-button from the top was an odd color, and didn't match the shirt. He stepped up to the mirror and looked closer: in fact, four of the buttons were mismatched, all slightly different shades of green. And all four were sewn to the shirt not with dark green thread, but black.
Puzzled, he unbuttoned the shirt and examined it. The fabric beneath the mismatched buttons looked as though it had been torn – and then been mended by hand – with small strips of fabric trimmed from the shirttails.
Then it hit him. This was the shirt he had worn at Duelist Kingdom. The one he'd been wearing when –
Pegasus had ripped the shirt open, murmuring, He pulled the shirt off in disgust, in the process turning the shirt inside out. Now he could see several places where tears to the shoulders and sleeves had been repaired, probably by Kurosuke.
He dropped the shirt to the floor and began looking through his green pants, one by one, until finally he found the pair he knew would be there. The original side seams were intact, but parallel to each a new seam ran crookedly up each leg, all the way through the frayed waistband, where they had sliced away his clothing with knives.
He folded the repaired pants and shirt together, then knelt and opened the bottom drawer of his dresser. The one he rarely opened, the one with the things he could not bear to touch, even to throw away: his swim trunks, the beach towel, the autographed rule books and programs, the drawings, the locked ebony box, the torc and ring wrapped in tissue. Every single thing in here was connected to Pegasus, represented something he had given – or taken. With the addition of the green pants and shirt the drawer was full.
"Bastard," Kaiba said softly, with absolute hatred. His hands were shaking.
He closed the drawer, then gathered the remaining green shirts and pants and put them in the trash. All that was left in his closet was a black suit. He pulled on the pants, then went back to the guest room to find a shirt of Duo's to wear.
As he ran his fingers through his mussed hair he caught sight of his forearm, usually hidden by long sleeves. Six parallel, half-healed cuts, starting just above the wrist. The shallower cuts were shiny pink wavers; the other, deeper ones were still puckered and partly scabbed.
"Smash the plate."
&n bsp;He'd obediently slammed it against the inside of the empty He rummaged through the scattered clothes. All of the shirts Duo had worn were either short-sleeved or sleeveless. He checked the shopping bag. In it, unworn, a long-sleeved turtleneck. He tried it on and it felt good, protecting his neck.
He glanced at himself in the mirror. "Not a mechanic."
.
As the computer in his basement office cycled through its startup sequence he noticed the letters at the bottom of the main plasma screen: MLE.
"Computer, Duo called you Millie."
"That's correct."
"You prefer that form of address?" It didn't seem at all odd to be asking the computer its preferences, after all, he had programmed it as a self-expanding neural net, theoretically conscious of itself and capable of developing a personality. Aside from Mokuba, he had to admit that it – she – was probably the closest he had to a friend. Certainly she knew more of his secrets than anyone else.
"I think I do."
"He's gone."
"Yes, I am aware that he's no longer in this dimension. However, I saved his sessions with me to permanent storage and I execute a scan of those files every two hundred and fifty-six billion cycles.”
He hesitated. "Can you output the audio and video from those sessions?"
"Of course. I'm not an oven timer!" Millie's tone was distinctively huffy.
He watched and listened: Duo researching Pegasus. Duo asking about installed games. Duo querying for files with graphics extensions.
Seto shook his head. "What images was he looking for?"
"Something called 'porn.' He indicated that it should be considered a deficiency that you did not have have any such files on the physical drive-space."
Duo trying out the VR program, sassing the Phantom just before that subroutine had been deleted.
Duo looking at the files on the assailants, and talking to Millie about the depravity humans are capable of.
And then he'd come into the room, and Duo had convinced him, somehow, to let it go.
"I'm not an ass-shaker, that's for sure," he muttered.
"Pardon?" Millie asked.
< font face="Verdana, sans-serif">"Ask Millie to get you some info on flirting. Or just Seto sat, his face in his hands, for long minutes. The program – Tantalus (the word had popped into his head when he'd been prompted to name the directory) – could be far more than a mere “sex program” if he gave the interactions some sort of context, an interesting narrative frame. He was sure it would be a viable product. Why had Duo sneered at it?
"Millie, query flirting." If nothing else, it was background for programming an interaction module.
"Initiator or recipient?”
He looked up, surprised. "What?"
"Just clarifying the query, boss. Are you planning on being the flirter? Or do you expect to be the flirtee, and want to be able to recognize if flirtatious activity is directed at you?"
“It's just research,” he scowled. “Run the query.”
A miniscule delay, then she said, "Tabulating now. Flirtatious behavior is a self-sustaining reciprocity once the mode is initiated.”
As he read the summary, he shook his head. " 'Conversational gambits. Eye contact. Increasing physical proximity. Brief, non-threatening, non-genital contact. Expressed empathy. Ambiguous communication arising from use of language with multiple denotations and/or connotations.' It's this formulaic?”
"Chess moves are easily described, too. It's the totality and sequencing that make it complex and enjoyable."
“Flirting is idiotic, and doesn't deserve to be compared to chess.”
“I will refrain from future comparisons.”
“There's evidence that this – technique – is effective?”
“I have identified 8,419,251 references. Should I output?”
“No.” he said, conceding defeat. “Any other resources?”
“I have assembled an interactive program for practice drills. Would you prefer to hone your charm on a male or a female subject?"
"Very funny."
"Once I had the opportunity to analyze recordings of Duo, I realized that what he called 'a sense of humor' is an appealing and enjoyable character trait in an intelligent entity."
Despite himself, he smiled at the evidence of the AI program's success. "Hn, I see you've also learned sarcasm as well."
"Well, I've had trillions of cycles worth of input observing you."
Well, so much for “flirting.” He started making notes. "Millie, open the Tantalus directory. And tell the limo pool I'll be going out in 30 minutes."
.
It was the phase of a project that he enjoyed the most, the "research and inspiration" phase.
For all that he was surrounded by cutting-edge electronic gadgets – many of them of his own invention – he savored what most people would call "low tech" as well. For the day-to-day running of the company he needed the instant information and analysis that his computer network gave him, but for brainstorming and planning he needed not sterile odorless untouchable images on a screen, but tangible objects, the older the better, that stimulated all his senses. Once he had the general idea for a project he shut himself in his office with an array of antique fountain pens, vellum, parchment, Bristol board, and poured over old books and audio recordings: somehow their very imperfections amplified his creativity and made his thought processes sublime.
The particular second-hand bookstore that he went to had been unchanged for years, an old narrow building tucked into a cul de sac that had escaped Domino's downtown gentrification. Flanked by an antique store and an Asian apothecary, it seemed like a magical pocket out of time.
An old woman behind the counter looked up as he entered and asked if he needed help.
"No, I'm browsing.” He started to walk into the stacks, then turned and asked, “A dictionary?” Might as well look up Tantalus.
She pointed.
Tan-ta-lus, [L fr. Gr Tantalos], a legendary king of Lydia Source of the word "tantalize," to tease or torment by He shook his head ruefully. Not when I'm the one defining the reach, it won't. He replaced the book, and continued to scan the shelves, turning corners, deeper and deeper into the maze. Novels, encyclopedias of comparative religion and mythology. Fairy tales, demonology ... nothing. He was just about to go when he saw "It".
He pulled the blue-gray volume out. Of course it was not the same book, but it did have dragons along with the castles and knights. As he flipped through it he muttered, "Fantasy doesn't make money?" Tantalus, which he was sure would be of interest to more than duelists, had the potential to make more money than all the other KaibaCorp products combined. And no one would die, or kill anyone, using it. Too bad Gozaburo wasn't around to receive a few lessons of his own.
He stopped on a page with a particularly magnificent engraving of a dragon that looked a bit like the Blue Eyes and stared at it, lost in thought.
A whisper at his elbow startled him. "Excuse me?"
He looked. A young woman stood next to him, pointing to the top shelf of a bookcase.
"If you would, please reach and bring down for me the book with the star symbol?"
Holding the dragon book in his right hand, he reached up with his left. As he did so his sleeve slid back, revealing the six puckered scars on his arm.
"Interesting tattoo," she said as he handed her the book.
He shrugged the sleeve down. "Not a tattoo," he murmured, reopening the fairy tale book.
She stood next to him in silence, skimming through the volume he had brought down for her. He glanced over and saw strange letters, a language he didn't know.
They stood there, paging through their respective books for a few minutes.
She asked very softly, "Knights and damsels in distress?"
"Software development research," he said simply, and took a more careful look at her. College age, most likely. Long black hair pinned up in messy loops. Pale skin. Red sweater.
"But I also," he said suddenly, "like dragons." His voice sounded loud in the hush of the bookstore.
"Oh?" She smiled at him. Small, perfect teeth, dark eyes. "You are a programmer?"
She didn't know who he was. A welcome change from the usual ass-kissers. "Yes."
"That's difficult, going to school and working as well. Are you helping to support your family?"
"Yes." Well, it was true. "My brother."
"You two must be very close."
"We are."
Another silence. He rifled quickly through the rest of the book. An engraving of dragon in an Egyptian context caught his eye as it flew past, and he started to page back to find it.
She startled him by saying. "Please excuse my rudeness, but those marks on your arm are very unusual."
If only you knew.
She hesitated, then asked, "Would you mind if I saw them again?"
It was her eyes that decided him. They weren't prurient, or disgusted, or prying, but just – calm. He set the dragon book aside, then held his arm out towards her.
She cupped the back of his hand in one small palm, and with the other hand pushed his sleeve back. "An accidental injury, or self inflicted?" she asked.
"Both," he said, tensing. Why was he letting a stranger do this?
She looked at him steadily. It was very odd; other than Mokuba, he rarely had the opportunity to look into another person's eyes, and when he did it was rarely under pleasant circumstances.
"An initiation?"
"No. What do you find so unusual?"
"Have you ever heard of the Yijing? It is an ancient system, over 3,000 years old, of interpreting patterns of six lines, each line with two states. There are sixty-four possible combinations, called hexagrams. Every hexagram has a special meaning."
Divination and fortunetelling he thought with disgust, but kept his mouth shut and his face impassive. Her hands were pleasantly warm.
"Some people make a mundane use of it, like the horoscope in the paper. But I prefer to think of the hexagrams as puzzles to be studied for a higher purpose. Tools for self-examination. Perhaps they're like a computer test script?" she ventured.
"Interesting concept," he said curtly. What garbage, he thought. A test script is precise, designed to accomplish a specific task. It yields useful results.
Seemingly aware of his resistance, she moved on. "Six cuts on your arm. Six lines in a hexagram. Each line is either yin or yang. A broken line is considered yin." She put her finger on a scar that had a space in the middle, where the shard of plate had snagged on his skin as he'd cut himself, "and an unbroken line is yang." She put her finger on the unbroken line closest to his wrist. "This cut, was it made first or last?"
"I don't know."
She looked up at him again, and this time a fleeting bewilderment and concern flickered across her face. He steeled himself for an expression of pity, but all she said was, "Well, then we must consider both possibilities. Each hexagram is drawn from the bottom up. So when I stand facing you," she lifted his hand, still cupped in her own, "the line at your wrist is the first to me because it is at the bottom, and the line closest to your elbow is the top line, the sixth. And what this pattern is," she brushed her finger up his arm, leaving his skin tingling, "is Hexagram 17."
She quickly surveyed the shelves then had a conversation in a dialect he didn't recognize with the old woman at the front of the store. When it was over Mystical Nonsense Girl nodded, then reached to pull out a small, thick book. She flipped to a page and held the book out to him.
The top of the page said "17: Sui / Following" and beneath it was a picture of a stack of six lines, some with a gap in the middle. She turned the book around so that it faced her, and held the diagram next to his arm. The picture in the book matched the pattern of cuts on his arm.
"And this means what?"
"Well, Sui means go along, to follow, come after, easygoing, go with the pre-destined flow."
He snorted softly, "I'm not a follower."
"Oh, this following does not necessarily mean other people. It also means to follow an ideal, let yourself be guided by it. It also represents the goal of living in the moment and balancing the opposite energies in your life."
"Such as?"
"Activity and rest, strength and flexibility, companionship and solitude."
As expected – ambiguous enough to apply to everyone, and therefore useless.
"Also, you must," she read from the book in her hand: " 'adapt to the needs of the time. No situation can become favorable until one is able to adapt to it and does not wear himself out with mistaken resistance.' " She sighed. "I wonder what to do about the changing lines," she murmured.
"Changing lines?"
"The Yijing is centered around the concept of constant energy flow, so the patterns are always changing. Old yang turns into yin, old yin into yang. The initial hexagram shows the current or soon to be current situation: then, the changing lines are applied to transform it into a new hexagram showing the outcome. For you – perhaps since these four cuts" – she indicated the one nearest his wrist, and the top three – "have healed more than the others we can say they've changed more and let them be the changing lines." She frowned.
"What?" And more nonsense. Complexity masquerading as profundity. Pseudo-science for the gullible.
"Changing these lines makes Hexagram 23, Po. It indicates disruption and splitting apart."
"Oh?"
"You will fall under the pressure of your adversaries." She seemed to be reciting from memory. "In order to triumph, you must be outwardly firm and inwardly submissive."
"Submissive?" Adversaries? Yuugi? or another attack from within KaibaCorp?
"At least you have the outward firmness." She didn't look up, but he could see her smile. She tucked the book under her arm and touched the scars one by one as she recited again. "Initially you will be defeated, because your foundations will be undermined. But as a rotten fruit reveals its seed, your defeat is the prelude to a new beginning. Inwardly you will develop true generosity of heart and spirit – the qualities of Earth which nourish and sustain all things."
"Who are these adversaries who will defeat me?" Will Yuugi will defeat me again? No, stop filling in the blanks of what she's saying, he told himself, that's exactly how people get sucked into believing this.
"Well, adversaries can mean people, or they can mean negative emotions such as egotism, anger, lack of compassion or clarity of spirit."
Oh, now she was accusing him of egotism?
"So," she said quietly, "let's look at it the other way." She let go of his hand and came around to his left side, pulling the book from under her arm. As she stood next to him turning pages he detected a very faint spicy smell. Cloves?
"OK, from this direction this is what you have."
He looked down at the book she held out: Hexagram 18, Ku / Error.
"This book translates Ku as 'Error', but I also know it as 'Work on What has been Spoiled' or 'Restoring What has Deteriorated'. Some books even call it 'Repair'."
A chill ran through him at these words. "Spoiled?"
"Well, ku is associated with everything sneaky, ill-meaning and evil. If you know Chinese, you can see that it has the radical that means 'worm'. The origin of the word comes from a legend. Many poisonous worms are put into one big jar to eat each other. The survivor is called the ku and its body is made into a deadly poison that is put in people's food."
"Charming," he said dryly.
"Ku indicates that your current situation is very painful, but when you apply changing lines the outcome can be very very good."
He stared at the page.
"Yes. Let me read you what it says for Ku first." She read.
;... indifference combined with rigid inertia ... the result is &n bsp; Line 1 - compensate for the decay that the father allowed to Father.
"Most translate this hexagram to refer to anyone who was a mentor to you. Someone who perhaps betrayed your trust or used their power to take advantage of you."
He couldn't take his eyes from the book. The diagram in the book matched the marks on his arm. The description mentioned guilt, and corruption, and abuse of freedom, It felt unreal. Gozaburo. Pegasus. Father, father-figure. Hadn't what they'd done to him when he was under their power poisoned him? A chill ran over him, but she apparently didn't notice as she continued to read.
;"Line 2: in order not to wound, one should not attempt She waved her hand. "Well, all the rest just cautions to go slowly."
"And the outcome?"
"Yes, that's the wonderful part," she said enthusiastically as she turned pages, "it's one of my favorites, one of the happiest outcomes. Number 24, Fu. This book calls it 'Return' and others call it the 'Turning Point'. I always imagine it as the first shafts of sun coming down from the clouds after a frightening storm." She read again, and he followed the words:
"... the time of darkness is past. After the time of decay comes "A gradual transformation, beginning on the inside, that will eventually manifest on the outside. And see, all the lines but one are yin, but that bottom yang line is considered to attract others, which means that your peers and friends will come to join and support you."
"Peers?"
"Don't tell me you don't have peers?" Her eyes twinkled. "You must be a true prince among programmers."
"And what I do with this – ?" He stopped himself before he added any other words.
"Well, combine the readings: following the path that the universe sets out for you will allow you to fix what is spoiled."
Conveniently vague, he thought. "Path? You mean like fate? I'm predestined to do certain things, and I should just lie down and accept that?"
"No, not at all. You always have the freedom to respond however you wish to everything placed in your path, every choice, every person. But you also must accept that you cannot control the entire universe. It is too large." She paused, then added, "Even for a programmer. Or," she continued, "perhaps Sui is for your outward situation, what you show to the world, your public face, since that's the hexagram I see when I face you. Then Ku is what you see, your inner self, the side that only you know about. So in your outer life you will be called to follow an ideal, which will allow your adversaries to temporarily overcome you. While inside you is some damage, some poison, and if you can understand how it is affecting you, and repair it slowly, you can have a rebirth to happiness." She smiled shyly. "It sounds to me like the universe is planning to put both a Great Task and a Great Love in your path."
"Don't tell me anyone takes this stuff seriously?"
"Hundreds of years ago, there was a strong connection between the Yijing and the teachings of Confucius, which were such an important influence on bushido, so – ." She turned and smiled up at him.
“So?” he prompted, a little more harshly than he meant to.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said with a small dip of her head, "but the Sui and Po hexagrams usually point to someone who is a leader or warrior."
"I duel."
"I see. So of course you understand how you differ from a mere fighter."
He looked at her, waiting for more.
"Fighters have base motivations – anger, resentment revenge – and take joy in crushing weak opponents so that they may puff themselves up with a sense of power. They are always trying to force the world to acknowledge their supposed superiority, and their hunger is never sated. A warrior like you, on the other hand, has superior motives: you fight for principles, ideals, strive ever higher, test your progress only against stronger opponents, always seek to transition to a higher level in both your inner and outer life. And someday, when you have achieved full mastery, you will become calm in spirit, for you will have taken your own measure and will be at peace."
"The words 'warrior' and 'peace' don't seem to go together."
"There are many types of warriors. Some fight men. Some fight dark ideas. Some fight both. And some of the fiercest battles are fought in the soul, against one's self."
"Very poetic."
She looked at him steadily, then nodded. "I see. No poetry for the dragon-master."
She turned, scanned the shelves. "Something tells me you might enjoy this book." After a moment she pulled out and handed him a slim volume and said, "I enjoyed talking to you very much. Perhaps our paths will cross again."
"If the universe thinks it's a good idea," he said, hoping that it did not sound too sarcastic.
"Perhaps it will," she replied with a smile, and, after bowing slightly, she left him.
He opened to the book's title page. “The Ancient Arts of Bow and Blade.”
He began to read.
.
Soon he lost track of time, emptying the shelves of book after book: archery, sword-fighting, military history, the floating world, spreading them around him on the floor as if he was at home. Setting Tantalus program in medieval Japan would be a masterstroke. People loved to escape to other times, with different mores. Both men and women of this period could be warriors. Hand-to-hand combat (both armed and unarmed), non-antagonistic sparring, and interpersonal/political intrigue all had scripting potential on their own, as well as for – capture and punishment scenarios.
And there was the visual richness of the era.
His watch chimed, and he realized with a start that he'd have to leave soon if he was going to be home when Mokuba arrived. He took all the books to the counter while calling his driver. "I'll take these."
"Would you like them delivered?"
"I'll take them with me."
As the old woman neatly stacked, wrapped, and tied his bundles of books, he picked up one of her business cards. Enoki Hinako.
As he turned to go she said, “Don't forget your other package.”
"What?"
"Miss Ami Li brought this to the counter and said I was to give it to you." She held out a small box tied with thread.
"Who?"
The old woman smiled. "The young lady. In the red sweater."
"When was this?"
"A few hours ago."
He broke the thread and opened the box, then blinked in surprise. Inside was a small pale yellow object, about the size of a plum, one side carved with a dragon in high relief.
Hinako nodded appreciatively. "Ah, what a beautiful netsuke!"
"That reminds me – bring me anything you have on feudal period clothing."
"Certainly." She hurried from behind the counter.
As he waited he examined the netsuke. The worn ivory was warm and silky, and the dragon – though no Blue Eyes – was magnificent, carved in such high relief that it seemed ready to take flight at any moment. As he turned it over to look at the back he noticed a very faint hairline running around the edge. Did it open? He held it up to the light: it was somewhat translucent. Hollow? Either that, or it's glowing with mystical energy, he thought ruefully. He gently pulled at the halves but it didn't come apart. The line must be a remnant of the carving process.
The bookstore owner came back with a small volume on netsuke, and a set of three oversize hand-tooled volumes on historical costume. He paged through them quickly; large, detailed color illustrations.. "Excellent. I'll take them all." As he paid for the additional books he asked, "Does Miss Li come in often?"
"Yes, she comes every few months."
"Give her a message the next time you see her. Tell her – " What should he say? The Yijing stuff had been nonsense, of course, but the book she had handed him had been just what he needed. Thank you for inspiring me was too melodramatic. "Tell her I said thank you."
.
As soon as he had Mokuba settled with a snack and homework, he carried the books and the netsuke downstairs.
As he looked through the costume books, he had a sudden thought.'"Millie, order some clothing for me based on visual similarity: keyword kamishimo. Give additional weight to keyword kataginu," he flipped a few more pages, "and yukata. And," he held the page under the built in 3-D scanner, "this picture, especially the armor."
"How much design deviation?"
He shrugged. "Up to 20%."
"Colors?"
"Solids, no prints."
"Anything else?"
"Hm, black pants, long sleeved turtlenecks."
"Going for the elegant, understated look, I see. Shall I add a smoking jacket?"
He shook his head. An AI with personality.
He picked up the netsuke thoughtfully. "Millie, I'm going describe an extended interaction to you. Parse the material and analyze to three decimal places." He added, "Make sure to include 'flirting' on the keyword list."
He then described as best he could what had happened between Ami Li and himself in the bookstore: what was said, exactly how she took and held his hand, touched his arm, how close she stood to him.
Millie reported, "Probability that she was flirting: 68.759%. Probability that she was being friendly: 29.167%. Probability that she was being merely civil: 2.073%."
"That's only 99.999."
"I also added a one-one thousandth of a percent chance that she was sent by your enemies for some nefarious purpose."
Definitely too much personality.
“Probability that she thought I was flirting with her?” Unbelievable, that he was posing such a question to his computer.
“82.883%.”
He wasn't sure why, but he felt unreasonably pleased.
He checked the security system readings twice: fence, outer doors, elevator, lab hallway door, workroom door, and the door to the room with the VR equipment. All six locks were engaged. Satisfied he wouldn't be ambushed, he stripped, pulled on the skin-tight biosensor suit, and stepped carefully into the VR pod.
"Alright Millie, load Tantalus version 17e," he said as he began to attach the leads from the Sensory Interface panel to the suit.
"Rendition?" Millie asked.
“What's available?”
"Humanoid characters are wireframe. 78% of the props have full rendering. Do you want breakdowns by category?”
"No. I'm primarily testing character interaction and sensory interface, but I can compensate." He fit the helmet over his head. "Start sequence." The pod cover came down, and he heard the soft hiss as it locked and switched to its dedicated power and life-support system. He closed his eyes and –
– when he opened them he was standing in a wood, on a narrow path paved with the golden-brown of last year's pine needles. It was early on a spring morning: the air was cool, the sun warm, and the tree branches were studded with leaf buds. He took a deep breath and started to walk, then pressed his thumbs together to activate the memo subchannel: "Item: Olfactory input missing."
“Should I reload?” Millie asked.
“No. Check for compile errors. Or suit malfunction.” It might be time to fire some of his technicians.
After a few moments, the path came to a large clearing around the base of an enormous tree. He ran his fingers over the tree's rough, deeply grooved bark. "Item: Tactile improved. Glove overlay ghosting."
He sat gingerly on the moss at the base of the tree and rested his hands on his knees. It was peaceful. He had never been able to relax in the "nature" of the real world – it was too open – but here, his physical body protected by seven locks, he felt safe. He reclined against the tree's bulging roots, and squinted up at the intensely blue sky above the massive, foreshortened trunk. He closed his eyes and waited for characters to appear.
A sudden rustle, and he snapped awake, automatically reaching to take a card from his Duel Disk – but of course, he wasn't wearing it, this was not a dueling world. He sat quietly and after a moment the sound came again. A movement of leaves, and something emerged from the bushes to his right.
Four legs, brindled brown and black fur. A long tail curved high over its back. A short muzzle, and black eyes. A wolf? No, a dog. As it came warily toward him he held his fist out, as he'd read was proper. The dog sniffed at his hand for almost a minute, then flopped down with its head on his thigh, watching him.
"You are new."
The dog blinked and its tail wagged over its back like a feather flag.
He wasn't sure if he had ever had a pet before his parents died, but he certainly understood the bond people spoke of with animals: he had such a bond with his Blue Eyes. This creature's dark eyes offered him the same simple fealty. He slowly stroked the thick fur. It was well-cared for: was the owner nearby?
A deep, amused voice spoke. "I see that Kee has found a new whelp for her litter. Or is this a bear cub too young to escape up the tree?"
Startled, he jumped up. Two men and a woman, composed only of the green lines of wireframe, had come into the clearing, flanking him, preventing escape. The woman and one of the men drew short wireframe swords. The dog danced around his feet, barking in excitement.
"They do say, lord," the woman said with a low laugh, "that some of the trees in this wood bear strange blossoms."
A third man – to Seto's surprise, fully rendered – entered the clearing. Dressed in light armor and helm, he folded his arms and contemplated Seto, then whistled softly. A horse picked its way out of the brush to his side, whickering. "What are you doing here?" he asked Seto, pulling off his gauntlets and putting them in a saddlebag.
"Item: Ryuken variable flags. Item: Digitized speech modulation," Kaiba commented, then asked, "Who the hell are you to question me?"
"Who am I?" The armored vest went into the bag, and then he pulled off his helm. His long blond hair was tied back loosely with a strip of leather.
Seto was taken aback. The blond hair was clearly a bug: all of the characters at this stage of development were supposed to have green hair and eyes if rendered to anything other than wireframe. The last time one of his VR programs had deviated from the script he had found himself a prisoner of the Five, but on the other hand he was confident in the security he'd put in place for Tantalus. It was just a cosmetic bug, after all: he must have been tired when he entered the hair color code. Might as well keep going, finish testing the behavior triggers. "Yes, I asked who are you?"
The blond walked slowly towards him. "I am Lord Ryuken. This is my forest. Now give me a good reason why you are here." He stopped in front of Seto. His eyes were light brown.
"Item: Ryuken skin debug eye and hair color value." Seto said, "The standards for daimyou must have fallen if someone like you can become a lord." First trigger.
Ryuken reached out and took hold of Seto's shirt. "Are you insulting me?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
Triggers seem to be working. His heart pounding, Seto put his hand on Ryuken's wrist (second trigger), then spoke the third trigger. "I could break you. But we won't play for star chips."
"What prize then?" Ryuken asked. "Perhaps this?" He pushed Seto against the tree and kissed him.
After a moment Seto turned his head to the side and shouted, "Abort! Abort!"
– his hands flailed, then pressed the pod canopy release. He sat up gasping. "Item," he panted, "Item: test character output levels."
Millie said, "The Sensory Interface has no detectable glitches. Pressure, GSR, temperature, texture mapping – all per your program settings."
Hard mouth. Strong hands. He supposed he should call this first full test a success – even though what he'd just experienced was an order of magnitude more powerful than he'd expected it to be. "I don't care what diagnostics say. The input to my suit was too high. I experienced tactile overload. Run more diagnostics on the Sensory Interface. Contact the R&D department and see if they can get someone intelligent to test the functions this time. Have them test the biosensors too," he grumbled as he gingerly peeled the suit down. “And add a Task Item:design a way to allow users to adjust input signal strength.”
He was still making notes when the phone rang.
"What?"
"Kaiba?"
"Mai?" Now what did she want? Having her work in the test lab at KaibaLand he could tolerate, but – calls to his private line were unacceptable.
"Can we talk about what happened the other day?"
"The other day?"
"While I got trapped with the others in the Virtual Reality world?"
It had been unfortunate that she'd been testing when he'd gone into the game trap that his Board of Directors had set for him … and he hadn't been able to defeat the Five God Dragon before Mai was digitized. Of course, the Idiot Five had been too stupid to auto-delete the scratch file, and so the lost players were easily retrieved at the end of the game. Still, he knew from talking to Mokuba that the de-digitizing experience had been almost as bad as having one's soul removed, and he would not willingly put anyone not an enemy through that. "That was sabotage by former employees." He added grudgingly, "I realize it was unpleasant."
"I've thought of a way you can make it up to me."
"Oh?"
"I want you to come to a party I'm having in a few days."
"I'd rather give you cash."
"Very funny," she said with a laugh. "Now, this is a costume party, but don't worry," she said quickly, cutting off his protests, "You don't have to do a thing other than show up. I've already got something for you to change into when you get here. And just so we're clear – I'm not taking 'No' for an answer."
"The costume – it doesn't come with a leash, does it?" he asked.
Her laughter was an orange-gold ripple. "No, no. Trust me, everyone'll love it."
.
He soon knew how condemned men felt waiting for their death sentences to be carried out: every day the party was closer, until finally it was The Day.
An hour before he was supposed to leave for Mai's his private line rang.
"Yes?"
"You're not thinking of calling in sick to my party, are you? Going back on your word?"
Although he had been mulling those very things, he snapped, "Of course not."
"Good. See you in an hour."
He took his blue brocade duster from the wardrobe and attached a KaibaCorp communicator to the lapel. The silver KC logo would beep and flash red if he got a call, and the integrated microphone-speaker allowed him to talk almost anywhere. He was hoping that the tests of the Sensory module and the biosensor suit would finish tonight: since the techs had standing orders to contact him immediately with the test results, he was counting on the call to give him an excuse to escape what he expected to be the torture of the party.
He arrived at Mai's precisely at 20:00. She answered the door, though it took him a moment to recognize her. She was wearing a long, dark blue wig (held in place with a wide ornamental headband) while her curves were hugged by a pleated sheath of green silk. She held a large purple scythe.
He nodded. "Hibikime."
"You like?" She smiled, set her scythe next to the door, and turned to give him the 360 degree view of her costume.
"Very accurate."
"Come this way, I've got yours in my guest bedroom."
As they squeezed through the mass of people in her living room toward a narrow hallway he noticed a high percentage of women dressed as either Commencement Dance or Performance of Sword. There were also several Empress Judges and a Princess of Tsurugi, and a number of masked Ansatsu. He didn't recognize anyone he knew other than Yuugi's grandfather, who though costumed as the Stern Mystic looked anything but stern as he oogled a Dark Witch reading his palm. Yuugi must be here, then.
It was hot in the apartment – unfortunately much too hot to wear his coat, unless the costume was minimal. No matter; he'd just carry his coat around until his phone call came.
When they came to the end of the hallway, Mai opened the door to a dimly lit room. "Ignore the mess," she said cheerfully. Pulling a small duffel from underneath the bed, she unzipped it and took out a pair of black leather pants and a silky white shirt. "I can't wait to see you in these," she bubbled. "See that talcum powder on the dresser? Sprinkle some on your legs before you put the pants on, it'll help them go on easier. Oh, and," she took a small package from the bag, "this will help too." She wiggled fingers at him as she left. "Hurry out."
He locked the door. A deep breath did little to settle the roiling in his stomach.
At least the evening would be finite.
The small package of "this" Mai had provided was a stretchy black low-slung thong. He was dubious, but put it on anyhow; and though it felt non-existent it surprisingly seemed as functional as his briefs. He used the powder as suggested, then pulled the leather pants on. They were stiff at first, and tight, but by the time he had put his boots back on the leather had warmed and molded to him. It was an interesting sensation, the leather snug against his skin. Certainly different than the feather-light biosensor suit. Odd, but pleasant. Alright, very pleasant, in fact. He unzipped and did some re-arranging. Undoubtedly this was the source of the association of leather pants with fun.
The white shirt turned out to be the worst piece of the costume – it had ties at the wrist, but no buttons at all up the front. Not that his shaking hands could have handled buttons anyhow. Damn, what am I so nervous about? Other than having them laugh at how ludicrous I look. He could overlap the halves of the shirt front and tuck them tightly into the pants to cover his chest, but as soon as he moved the shirt gaped open. Mai must have a desk somewhere in this clutter. It better have something I can use to keep this shirt closed.
He quickly put his street clothes into the duffel and added his coat, folded with the communicator on top. He leaned against the door, composing himself. I gave my word. I do not go back on my word. "I will conquer my fear. My fear will pass through me, and when it is gone, only I will remain." Then he unlocked and opened the door.
The roar and heat of the party seemed to have doubled. He made his way down the hallway, head down, eyes averted, holding the duffel ahead of him like the prow of an icebreaker, until he came to the living room. He scanned – yes, a desk, next to the French doors. He started to squeeze his way through the crowd, holding his shirt closed at the throat with his free hand.
What felt like an hour later he reached the desk. He rummaged, and found a paper clip. He was folding the edges of the shirt together to clip them closed when he heard a familiar voice nearby: Mazaki Anzu. He looked up, and had just enough time to decide that she was dressed as Magician of Faith before she squealed, "Jou-kun! You look great!"
Jounouchi had come into the living room costumed as Kagemusha of the Blue Flame. Loose green sashed pants, no shirt. When he raised his hand and waved, muscles flowed in his arm and chest. His blond mop was pulled back into a high messy ponytail.
Just like Ryuken's.
Seto fled through the French doors onto the balcony.
.
The balcony ran the entire length of the apartment. There was an oasis of shadow and silence just past the light spilling through the French doors. He put the bag down at the edge of the light and stood in the darkness, watching Domino City wink below, trying to shut out that part of his brain that kept circling back to blaring his hair looks just like the glitch.
“So does the Kagemusha card.” He took slow, controlled breaths. “Doesn't mean anything.”
At least no one had followed him: his escape had been unnoticed. It was optimal, actually: he had been seen by Mai, thus fulfilling his obligation to be present in "costume" ... all he need do now was wait for the call that would give him an excuse to leave. He looked over the rail: unfortunately, he'd have to leave Mai's apartment the way he'd come, as eight stories was a bit much to drop.
He watched the traffic lights far below: little Josephson junctions. Car headlights as electrons. Taillights? Hm, Doppler-shifted electrons, maybe ...
The French doors opened: Jounouchi. "Wondered where you went."
Remember, this is the moron who wore a dog suit on TV last week. Not Ryuken
Jounouchi walked over and stood on the other side of the pool of light. "Interesting costume Mai picked for you. What card are ya supposed to be?" He rested his forearms on the railing.
Seto focused on the resentment he felt over the invasion of his solitude. "No idea," he said coldly.
"I'm Kagemusha."
"Obviously."
"I woulda rather been Flame Swordsman," Jounouchi said with an embarrassed half-laugh. "But Mai said the helmet would be too hard to make, and she talked me into this. Mai's costume is pretty good, don't ya think?"
Not knowing what else to do, Kaiba nodded once.
A blessed silence then, as Jounouchi had run out of things to say and was forced to pretend to be interested in the sight of dark treetops.
Why is he out here?
Is he going to stay out here?
With all the room on the balcony, why did he pick that spot?
Suddenly Jounouchi shivered. "Kinda chilly tonight."
Seto glared from the corner of his eye at the jutting shoulder blades, the hint of ribs. "Idiot." Before he could stop himself he reached down, took his coat from the duffel, and held it out. "Here."
Clearly surprised, Jounouchi warily said, "Thanks," then reached across the pool of light to take the coat. "Nice shirt,” he said as he slipped into the coat, “Classy. But why a paper clip?"
"No buttons."
"Aw, that's easy ta fix if you know the secret," he said, and before Kaiba could move the blond had stepped close, pulled the paper clip off, and had his hand inside the shirt, rummaging for something. Jounouchi's rough knuckles burned Seto's skin.
Don't touch me.
He stared as Jounouchi pulled out a thin cord from inside the shirt and threaded it though small holes that he had missed.
"All better," Jounouchi said cheerfully, then stepped away, now standing in the center of the light.
Why does he keep talking to me?
Looking at me?
Wait. Finding a reason to touch me? Standing closer when he's done? Is he – ?
He felt suddenly queasy, and gripped the railing so hard the metal almost cut into his palms. What do I do next? I know what to do with Ryuken, but this loser – is not Ryuken.
He might have remained paralyzed for hours if it hadn't been for his coat. Or rather, the communicator on the lapel, which began to blink. A little shaft of fear slammed into his stomach as Jounouchi turned to face him. He swallowed, then stepped over the duffel, murmured "Excuse me," pressed the communicator between his thumb and finger, and bent forward to speak.
"Yes?"
"Kaiba-shachou? Sorry to disturb you sir, but we've just finished the tests you ordered."
He continued to hold the coat as he listened to the tech run through the test results. Well, he attempted to listen, but his mind kept wandering ... it was very distracting, how Jounouchi's breath bathed his left ear with warmth with every exhale.
Amend that: every forceful exhale. Does he always breathe that hard?
He's breathing hard?
Accelerated respiration is a sign of sexual excitement.
He's sexually excited?
With that thought his mouth went dry. The formula for the gravitational force popped in to his head: attraction is inversely proportional to the square of the distance between two bodies … this close, Jounouchi's body definitely radiated heat.
He came back to himself as the tech finished and said crisply, ''I'll expect to see a summary report e-mailed to me before you go home tonight," realizing as he spoke that he was grandstanding.
"Yes sir."
He added, "Good work."
"Thank you!" The astonishment in her voice came though clearly.
Then the tech rang off, but Seto still held the coat, his head bowed, unable to let go. A breeze blew a strand of Jounouchi's hair against his face. Why don't I know what to do?
"Kaiba?" Jounouchi asked quietly.
Seto straightened up and looked down at him, the illumination enough to see that Jounouchi's expression was slightly puzzled.
This isn't VR. I can't abort and reload.
Eye contact. He took a deep breath, as he did so parting his lips a fraction of an inch. If he hadn't been watching so carefully, he would have missed the widening of the brown eyes. The surprise.
Any minute he'll break away.
But that didn't happen.
Seto leaned forward the tiniest bit, his heart beginning to thud, still expecting Jounouchi to back away: but the next moment one corner of Jounouchi's wide mouth curved up in surprise and he leaned forward as well, putting his hand on Seto's arm.
Flirting.
Just before they made contact he could have sworn he heard a roar.
(Years later, every detail accompanying those first slow, tentative sips was still indelibly clear: the faint sound of each kiss like a raindrop on a leaf. The blurred sight of Jounouchi's eyes closing. The feel of the communicator's metal letters under his thumb. The faint aroma of cigarette smoke from the blond's hair.)
A shadow moved in his peripheral vision: he let go of the communicator and stepped away, startled. Mai was at the French doors, twisting the wand to close the blinds. Had she seen them? He heard a quiet click: locking the doors to the balcony?
He turned back to Jounouchi, who was frozen in place, his eyes still closed, his jaw and mouth tilted up, like a blind thing mutely seeking the sun … "Is that how you always end phone calls?" he whispered. When Seto didn't reply, he murmured, "Hang up again."
Really? He nervously licked his lips, and pulled on the coat lapel. Jounouchi closed the space between them, put his arms lightly around Seto's waist, and kissed him firmly. It was clear he welcomed what was happening. After a few seconds, Seto gathered his courage, let go of the coat collar, and slid his right hand around to the back of Jounouchi's head and up into his bound hair. He curved his fingers around a handful.
Tantalize: To tease or torment by presenting something desirable but continually out of reach.
As if reading his thoughts Jounouchi's mouth opened wider, an invitation to deepen the kiss. When their tongues touched a quicksilver flutter went through him, a shower of sparks that turned molten as they descended. When Jounouchi slid his tongue into Seto's mouth, a sudden memory of Pegasus's harsh kiss came, but he forced it away. No. I won't let you ruin this. He purposefully wrapped his other arm around the blond's back. He uncurled his fingers from the thick, wild hair and, trailing his fingertips down the back of Jounouchi's neck, slid his hand inside the collar of the coat, across the smooth skin above the shoulder blades. I am here. This is now.
This warm reality was nothing like he had imagined it. Or programmed it.
It was as though some wide bottomless chasm had suddenly shrunk to a tiny crack in a sidewalk. Holding Jounouchi felt so good, his body so solid: and he himself felt different, more present than he had in weeks or perhaps even years, completely aware of every muscle and bone, how gravity held his feet to the balcony ...yet at the same time he was also weightless, as though in a zero-gee tunnel, racing at light speed toward the destination of another person. And not just any person, but a specific person, this person, Jounouchi Katsuya, the noisy trash. The one he spent hours fantasizing about, and then many more hours berating himself for thinking about. The one who could not stand him, who he was sure could never, ever want him, and so yes, the model for Ryuken, but the VR world was nothing like this, the kisses gradually building, more forceful, wandering from mouth to spill over face and throat. Seto pressed against the warm, hard body, amazed at the sensations pounding through him – then there was a lull and they stood still, Jounouchi's arms around his waist, his arms around the blond's shoulders, his heart – both their hearts – pounding, breathing ragged.
After a moment Jounouchi's lips brushed his ear. "Yeah," he whispered, "the good stuff." His tongue traced the edge of Seto's ear, then bit the earlobe lightly before sucking it. At Seto's almost inaudible gasp he shifted his weight from side to side, rubbing himself purposefully against the ridge that ended just below the waistband of the leather pants while his hands slid down over the back of Seto's pants, then suddenly grabbed him hard, fingers digging deep into the leather cleft, as if to tear the seams open.
The cumulative pleasure from all this was so intense that Seto's knees almost gave out. A flood of images came then, of hands and mouths and skin, of hardness and heat, and suddenly he thought I wish we were far from here. In my bed. In any bed. Or a floor. Or anywhere ... The balcony is dark.
With that thought his head cleared.
What the hell am I thinking, getting carried away like this? He abruptly drew back, studying the dimly-lit face before him. The usual face that so often annoyed him – by turns pugnacious and naive – was gone. In its place was a sensuous, wolf-like confidence, eyes half closed, curved lips slightly swollen. A faint, contented smile.
This is too sudden. Why else would he go from hostile or indifferent to – different – so fast?
Jounouchi leaned forward to nuzzle his neck, making small questioning noises as he tugged at the waistband of the leather pants. "More?" It was demand as much as question.
Seto closed his eyes: this was a fantasy come to life, someone seemingly impatient with desire for him. It was exactly what he wanted – so he immediately mistrusted it. He's setting you up the acid voice inside of him asserted. Drawing you out to make a fool of you. Waiting until you're on your knees blowing him before calling the others out here to witness your submission. It's the anticipation of humiliating you that's got him so turned on. He's hot at the idea of getting back at you for all those times you slapped him down.
He struggled to think. Or was he being too suspicious? Jounouchi and his friend Honda might engineer such a prank on their own, but Mai had planned the party, she had picked the costumes, and she had seemed to have given the two of them privacy a moment ago. He couldn't believe she'd be involved in such a cruel take-down.
Yet something was going on: when would he find out what it was? "More? How much more?" he asked, his pulse thundering in his throat.
"Whatever you – " Jounouchi began.
Loud noises erupted in the apartment, and the French doors rattled. Yuugi and Mai were shouting.
Jounouchi pulled away from him. "Oh shit!" he said hoarsely. He yanked off the coat and shoved it at Seto. "Quick, put it on."
"Why?" he asked as he shrugged into it. "I wasn't wearing it when I came out here."
"Button it," Jounouchi barked. At Seto's look he said more quietly, "Because it looks like ya got a friggin' lead pipe in your pants. They don't need to know – "
The French doors flew open.
"My costume is loose, and hides stuff better," Jounouchi added under his breath. "Hey, guys what's up?" he said easily, turning to them.
Seto, facing the opposite way (toward the lights of downtown Domino), buttoned his duster as unobtrusively as he could, his face burning. Now I find out what the game is. "Guess what everyone! Kaiba's a total homo !" Well, at least he'd know the truth.
"What's going on out here?" Yuugi demanded, using his rough "dueling voice" and not his usual cheery tenor. "Mai," he said with a snap of hostility, "seemed to think it was appropriate to lock her balcony doors even after I commented that you were unaccounted for." Mai stood behind him, her arms akimbo, annoyed.
"What's the big deal?" Jounouchi asked, as a dozen more guests flowed though the doors.
"With all the recent kidnappings and sudden disturbances in this group, I was naturally concerned when I noticed that you were missing," Yuugi said.
"Aww, well ya can see there's no problem," Jounouchi replied. "And anyhow, I had Mister Martial Arts here to protect me from evildoers."
"But why did Kaiba come out here?" Yuugi asked in a chill, silky tone.
"Headache," Seto said, his back still to the others. "I came out here for the quiet. Unfortunately a noisy stray followed me. It might be wise, Mai," he turned, folding his arms, "to spray for fleas."
Jounouchi blustered. "Why you arrogant, stinkin' son of a – I was just trying to be sociable – "
As the other guests laughed Yuugi pursed his lips. In the dim light his shadowed face seemed twisted with emotion. "How fortunate that you had a secluded place to retreat to, Kaiba," his eyes flicked over them critically – and did his glance linger below the waist? – "and such a pleasant companion to pass the time."
"I appreciate your concern,” he sniped back. “However, my technicians just called with some important test results, so I'll be going."
Mai turned around. "OK people, move along, nothing to see here. It's time for the buffet."
As he went inside Jounouchi followed close behind him, and brushed fingertips lightly down his back.
It was enough. It told him enough.
.
He kept his face carefully impassive until he was back in Mai's bedroom, then locked the door, and pressed his fists to his forehead, unsuccessfully fighting a grin. He felt shaky, but in a completely different way than before. It seemed that Duo had been right. "I think he's frustrated, Blue Eyes, cause he doesn't think a smart guy like you would go for a son of a bitch like him." Unbelievable. He hadn't told. He'd covered. It's real.
He unbuttoned the duster, then unzipped and stepped out of the leather pants to contemplate his situation. The idea of going into Mai's bathroom and relieving himself seemed rude, so he squeezed himself ruthlessly before pulled his briefs on over everything. He'd wear the shirt home and have it laundered before returning it to Mai.
He heard soft footsteps and low voices outside the door. A soft knock. "Kaiba?"
It was Mai: he froze. Did I lock the door?
"He's probably in the bathroom." Jounouchi.
"Probably." A pause, then he heard her ask, very quietly, "So how did it go?"
He moved noiselessly as close to the door as he dared.
"Man, it was something. By the end," the deeper voice said softly. "I just wanted ta ..." It sounded like he growled.
Seto grinned again. His face was starting to hurt; he wasn't accustomed to smiling.
Another sudden knock startled him. "Kaiba? Are you OK in there?"
He held his breath and stood perfectly still.
After a few seconds he heard Mai murmur, "Still in the bathroom, I guess. So it wasn't what you expected?"
"Well, considering – " Party noise blotted out the rest of the sentence.
"Really?" She sounded surprised.
"He freaked when everyone barged out there," Jounouchi said.
After that Seto went to the far corner of the room, pulled on his pants, rebuttoned his duster, picked up his duffel, and opened the door.
They were still in the hall. Jounouchi was tenderly tucking a strand of Mai's blue wig behind her ear.
Mai brightened when she saw him. "Kaiba, can I talk you into staying just a little longer? I've just put out the buffet."
He glanced at Jounouchi. Wolf was gone: the brown eyes looked a bit abashed.
Will he come home with me if I ask? He suddenly, intensely thought of what that might mean, and his groin gave a warning twitch. Slow down. N to the third: 1, 8, 27, 64, 125, 216, 343, 512, 729, 1000, 1331 …
"I have to go." Now he just needed a moment with Jounouchi.
"Oh," she said. "Well, if duty calls ..." Her small mouth drooped in a small pout.
"I left the pants on the bed. I'll have the shirt dry-cleaned. What do I owe you for the – other?" He could not bring himself to say "thong."
"Oh, consider it my treat." The pout disappeared as she smiled. "Everyone enjoyed seeing you in such an appealing costume, even if it was just briefly. Several of my girlfriends even asked about you." Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she added, "the handsome mystery man."
Was she was making fun of him? No, her smile was wide and warm and sincere. No wonder Jounouchi was crazy about her.
And he was crazy about her.
Even an idiot could see that.
Seto was stunned as the true meaning of the conversation he had just overheard fell into place. "So it wasn't what you expected?" Experimentation. Why hadn't he seen it sooner? Leather pants, lots of skin, Mai's attempt to give them privacy, Jounouchi's uncharacteristic behavior – the whole party had been a setup. Mai helping her boyfriend Jounouchi fulfill a curiosity, scratch an itch – and he had blindly gone along with it, once again completely misreading a situation involving "interpersonal relations" and jumping to false conclusions,
Well, at least he had figured it out before making a complete fool of himself. Crestfallen, not trusting himself to speak, he pushed past them quickly, dimly registering Mai saying goodbye. Focus on getting out the door. Ignore everything else. Don't turn around. Powers of seven: 7, 49, 343, 2401, 16807, 117,649, 823,543, 5,764,801 ...
The door slammed behind him and echoed in the empty hall. He usually took the stairs, but this time decided to wait for the elevator. Of course he was loitering. Why pretend otherwise? Even though it was pointless, he still indulged a tiny hope that someone would come out after him.
The elevator came. It was empty; he let it go.
He heard a apartment door open, and his heart leapt, but he forced himself not to turn around. But it was only one of Mai's neighbors, carrying trash to the incinerator.
He punched the down button, and watched morosely as the elevator came and went a second time.
He should have known better.
He jabbed the button again. Furious at himself by the time the doors opened, he descended to the street and his waiting limo.
.
All the way home, he calculated cube roots. He kept his mind carefully blank as he nodded to the driver, climbed the stairs, checked on the sleeping Mokuba.
But once he stripped and stepped into the shower, he let it all flood out.
"Hot."
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was I expecting? One kiss, and he'd come home with me? He poured out his disappointment until he was hoarse, then rolled it into a ball and shoved it deep inside him. Duo had been right, but only partly: Jounouchi did want him, but only as a handy object to satisfy a curiosity. A product sample. A lab rat.
What next? He held his face up to the spray.
Nothing; there was no next. It had been a one-time thing. Jounouchi had got what he wanted. I'm sure he got an extra laugh out of seeing how fast I caved in. The cold fish Kaiba Seto, moaning and clutching and grinding. He could imagine the jeers and comments that would circulate at school. Fortunately, he'd completed all the exercises in all of his textbooks months ago, and didn't have to go in until examinations. Would it be forgotten by then? No, of course not. Seto Kaiba the Faggot would be too juicy a topic to die quickly.
He gritted his teeth as he reached for the soap. Well, there was no undoing it. He'd been stupid, there would be consequences: but he could claim he had just been playing along, calling Jounouchi's bluff. No one except Mai had seen them touching. Yuugi seemed as though he suspected there had been more than talk, but he had no proof. And Jounouchi might not even say anything, keep the escapade secret.
Good that he hadn't gone too far, then. It gave them less ammunition to use against him.
Still, the night needn't be written off as a total waste. He'd been given an unexpected benchmark: it was clear that Ryuken and the biosensor suit needed more work. Texture mapping definitely needed to be adjusted. (Lips are sometimes slightly chapped.) He'd far underestimated the number of nerve endings that needed to be stimulated. (Earlobes had never occurred to him.) He needed to increase random motion a little whenever there was full-torso contact. And temperature variance: he hadn't realized that bare skin gave off so much heat. It meant a lot more work than he'd estimated, but it would all pay off in the final product.
Was that why … why kissing Jounouchi had been so satisfying? Because the program was still too rough to compete with “the real thing”?
He felt sure of it: once he perfected sight and sound and touch and taste and smell Tantalus would provide complete immersion: he wouldn't be surprised if it would take effort to remember that it wasn't real – no, it would be better than real, because he would be touched without pain and humiliation and uncertainty being involved. He stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. Contrast that with tonight, which had been enjoyable at first but in the end wound up in the usual place because he hadn't known what Jounouchi's intentions were.
For the first and only time in his life he wished he had something like the Millennium Eye, something that would tell him what people's true feelings were whenever he needed to know them …. Feh, that wouldn't help. Hadn't he been sure he understood Pegasus's feelings and intentions? They had known each other for so many years, through thousands of hours and words, yet he never would have believed him capable of – .
Stop. This line of thinking wasn't productive: all it did was underscore yet another advantage to a digital lover: they wouldn't betray you unless you had programmed them to.
As he pulled on his pajamas he nodded decisively. Proceeding with Tantalus was the logical thing to do. As he placed the white shirt atop his dresser his eyes fell on the dragon netsuke. "When the poison is overcome, the lines will change, the time of darkness will pass, and the light will return."
“Hn. Sure it will.”
He was trying. It just wasn't working.
Mokuba usually gave him a detailed accounting of his day during dinner, carrying the conversation through classwork and teachers into the more important topics of video games, movies, manga, and escapades at school. In the past Seto had found it easy to remember all of Mokuba's interests and to keep track of his friends, acquaintances, and their ever-shifting alliances ... But lately it had become harder and harder to maintain focus on anything other than the program.
"Brendan just ignored my suggestions as if I wasn't there, Seto, and made a big show of following everything that Kyle said. It made me so mad! Our science project is going to suck."
"I thought those boys were your friends?"
"Well, they were – last week. But when Bren's cousin found out I wouldn't get a free Blue Eyes card for him he told Bren not to be my friend. And it's too late to change project teams now."
"I see." Seto nodded and sipped his coffee.
He was proud that Mokuba had realized very early that generosity from someone in their economic bracket was always misinterpreted as a rich kid's attempt to "buy" friends. Mokuba was always careful to take only slightly more than just enough money to pay his own way when he went places with his friends. On the other hand, Seto had also noticed – but not questioned – the occasional cash disbursements (some of them quite large) made from Mokuba's on-line account. He was sure that Mokuba had been behind the payoff of a car loan for the father of one of his friends, a man severely injured in a factory accident. Seto was less impressed of Mokuba's secret philanthropy than he was of the computer skills and bluffing involved in pulling it off. Good skills for a future CEO.
"So I figure if he can't think for himself he's not worth being my friend."
"A reasonable assessment. What will you do about the science project?"
Mokuba shrugged. "The best I can, I guess. The teacher won't let me do extra credit, she only counts work done in class."
"She still thinks I'm helping you with your work?"
"Seems like it." Mokuba stared angrily at his soup.
"I will to talk to them again."
There was a lull, and Seto's mind slid away ...
"What's going on, Seto?" Mokuba paused, spoon in mid-air, concerned about the emotions flickering over his brother's face.
"I don't know what you mean." Seto twisted in his chair to check the wall clock so that he could turn away from Mokuba. "You have 95 minutes until lights out."
"C'mon, I know there's something. What's bothering you?"
"There's nothing, Mokuba. Just eat."
Mokuba, however, wouldn't let it go. "I bet I know what it is. You're lonesome stuck here with just me, aren't you? Duo and I thought you should get a girlfriend," he added, "someone you could date sometimes."
Seto turned to look at him. "What makes you think I need that?"
"Well," Mokuba said, leaning forward conspiratorially over the table, "You are that age, you know. You have urges." His voice had an unintentionally funny "let me explain this to you in terms you can understand" tone.
Seto goggled at his 12 year old brother playing the part of the salty uncle counseling in euphemisms, since he knew that Mokuba was capable of speaking bluntly about sex. (After the staff had reported Mokuba's first wet dream, the younger boy had airily waved off Seto's attempt to give "the talk" by saying "Oh, I knew all that stuff years ago," then matter-of-factly demonstrated his knowledge by drawing diagrams.)
"Oh, do I?"
"Yup." Mokuba stirred his bowl and said carefully, "I was hoping that you would meet someone nice at Mai's party. Yuugi told me that there were a lot of hot girls there."
Seto said dryly, "And Yuugi's grandfather was chasing most of them."
"Oh, gross!"
There was another silence. They ate.
&nb sp; “... Hang up again?.”
Damn it.
"So did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Meet anyone new?"
He forced himself to eat a mouthful before he answered. How long would it be until everything he ate stopped tasting like sawdust? "No. No one new."
Mokuba gave a small shrug, said "That's too bad," and went back to his noodles.
;Fingers inside his waistband, almost touching him. "More?"
He put his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. He had to stop thinking about it.
"I'm not surprised."
"Hm?" He looked through his fingers.
"Yuugi says you spent the whole party on the balcony."
"Yuugi talks too much." When was Mokuba having these conversations with Mutou? Visiting the Game Shop on the sly?
"But did you? Spend the whole party on the balcony?"
He shrugged. “I had a headache."
"Did you get the headache before or after you talked to Jounouchi?" asked Mokuba with a grin.
Seto could feel the color drain from his face. "Jounouchi?"
Mokuba giggled and said with a snort, "I know that guy drives you crazy. I heard he was out there bugging you.” Mokuba poked at his noodles. "I just can't picture you two chatting like friends."
"We didn't. I'm not friends with the mediocrity. We were just in the same place at the same time. It meant nothing." He heard with surprise the bitterness in his voice. "Change the subject, Mokuba," he said firmly.
"OK." Mokuba knew the tone well and didn't give it a second thought. "Hey, I almost forgot – Millie said some packages were delivered to the Conference Center today. I went over and put them on the table for you."
"Hm. More than one?" He pushed his bowl away. "I wonder if the German treatise came, it's one I need for background material."
Mokuba noticed his brother's change of tone. "So you probably wanna go over there right now, huh?" he asked, deliberately casual. "And do more work on that new program?"
Just as Mokuba could read Seto's every nuance, Seto could read Mokuba's. This was the "So you're going to bail on me again?" voice.
He shifted guiltily in the chair. Things had not been right between them for a while. Even before Duelist Kingdom, his failure to handle the shock he'd felt after being crushed by Mutou's Exodia had given Pegasus the opportunity to conspire with The Five and kidnap Mokuba. After Duelist Kingdom it had been necessary to avoid Mokuba to hide his injuries, and the revulsion he felt when touched, and the feeling that just being in the same room would somehow corrupt his brother, inflict some cumulative damage. Duo had been able to sluice away some of these feelings with his peculiar brand of baka-therapy, but even after all that Seto still felt odd. Not so much unclean anymore as just – unreal. Like a ghost. He had hoped that forcing himself to go through the motions of their old rituals – dinners together, reading aloud before bed, weekend drives – would help, and it was: it just wasn't enough.
And then, to be honest, since Mai's party there was an additional reason. Whenever he was alone, temporarily off-duty from his role as Mokuba's parent, Seto would – as guilty as it made him feel – keep replaying that evening on the balcony. He kept telling himself it was in the service of science, that he needed to qualify and quantify and analyze as much as he could for Tantalus before the memories faded, but he knew that that was not all of it. He hated the surge of liberation he felt each night when Mokuba fell asleep, and angry that he resented the times when Mokuba dragged bedtime out.
"Not until later."
"Niisama?" It was the wheedle voice.
"Hn?"
"Since I finished dinner, can I have dessert?"
"I suppose so."
Mokuba bounced off the chair and snagged a chocolate parfait from the refrigerator. "All-right!"
Seto couldn't help but smile. He folded his arms and watched him eat with a combination of affection and impatience.
"You're still on home study?" Mokuba had already gobbled half of the tall parfait.
"Yes." He was glad he'd arranged to stay home until exams: being in a room with more than two or three other people still made him tense to the point of migraine, even if he sat with his back to the wall and close to an escape route (as he had done in the few KaibaCorp meetings he couldn't handle via videoconferencing). When it came right down to it, the closest he got to feeling comfortable or content anymore was alone, behind locked doors, in his own house. It was, he knew, pathetic.
"Will you be done with the project research by the time I get up for school?" Mokuba had a chocolate mousse mustache.
"If I get momentum during the night, yes. You know how these things go. If not I'll call before you leave."
"Anything I can help you with? Play some test duels maybe?"
"The new simulation isn't a dueling program, Mokuba. There's nothing in it that you can test."
"Really? Not a dueling program? What kind is it then? or don't you want to jinx it by saying?""
"Jinx? What kind of talk is that, jinx? Surely you don't believe in that 'bad luck" bullshit? No, this program – " He thought about how to phrase it.
Ryuken pushing him against the tree
"It's power struggles and – alliances – in feudal Japan."
"Oh that sounds cool! Will there be sword fights and castles?"
"Yes," he said, laughing despite everything, "at some point there will be sword fights and castles."
.
After reading the next chapter in the newest Harry Potter book (Mokuba sleepily pronounced as he nodded off that Umbridge was the most hateful person ever), Seto sprinted downstairs and through the hidden entrance into the tunnel system.
He'd started a complete overhaul of the security system (at both the house and KaibaLand) after Mokuba's kidnapping. It hadn't yet been in place when Pegasus's henchman had treed him in his office and he'd had to escape out the window, and had been only partially completed when the Five Boneheads had tried to trap Mokuba in the VR pod at KaibaLand. But it was fully implemented now, guarding every access point of the tunnel system that connected key buildings. And rather than being a passive system of locks, it was now equipped to actively deter intruders.... in other words, it was armed.
The tunnels, like the entire Kaiba estate, had originally been designed by Gozaburo to create a modern equivalent of a castle and keep – complete with escape routes – that could masquerade as a genteel country retreat. The mansion, situated on high cliffs facing the sea to the east, had a delta of outbuildings to the south, including a greenhouse, a pool house, several guest cabins, stables with an indoor equestrian arena, the airplane hanger, and a materials warehouse. Only the hanger and the warehouse had been in active use since Gozaburo's death.
The only other in-use structure on the Kaiba property was the Conference Center at the north-east corner of the estate. Situated on the very edge of the cliff, it was reached by a gated access road that ran along the north boundary of the property. The tall, single story building, entered via a walled courtyard, had its own street address and parking lot. Inside, a spacious high-ceilinged room, decorated on three sides by narrow clerestory windows (the fourth wall, of thick bullet-proof glass, faced the sea) offered an enormous table, casual seating areas, and a fireplace. A small, super-efficient galley kitchen was tucked into the corner next to the entrance. In Gozaburo's time the Conference Center had been used for clandestine meetings with heads of state as well as informal chess symposia. Mokuba liked having his birthday parties there, and the parking lot and isolation from the main house made it acceptable to Seto for that purpose. KaibaCorp execs also had off-site meetings there once or twice a year. An out-of-the-way building that everyone knew about, and no one paid much attention to.
Perfect for hiding something in plain sight.
The Conference Center had a secret that only Seto and Mokuba knew. A concealed spiral staircase descended from a corner of the Conference Center to a subterranean workshop buried inside the cliff. This hidden level, The Weyr, was actually a cave, the mouth hidden by KaibaCorp's best SolidImage® holo projectors. The stone ledge at the front of The Weyr was wide enough to land one of the remote-controlled helicopters on, if needed.
Although easily accessible via a special branch of the tunnel system, Mokuba never went to The Weyr uninvited, because it was where Seto had always done his best work – until recently at least. Tonight, as on other nights since the party, he walked past all the tricks and details that usually captured his attention – past color printouts of costumes, armor and architectural details, past maps and walkthroughs and scripts and schematics, intent only on scripting that night on the balcony to end in a more satisfactory way.
.
After half an hour he leaned back in his chair, propped his legs on the desk – and sighed in exasperation at his tented pants.
"Listen, nikubashira, once I finish this sequence and you can have all the fun you want!"
now
"No."
He picked up the tablet notebook and reviewed: Ryuken BATTLEMENTS vers._06. He was refining the flow chart and updating the requirements for each resource, but he kept feeling that he'd forgotten something:
START (POV = K1, Ryuken = K2)
K1 triggers K2 & nbsp; &nbs p; He took a break around midnight, realizing that he'd completely forgotten about the packages that Mokuba had mentioned.
He keyed the staircase code, then stood still for a retinal scan as he pressed his thumb to the DNA pad. Above him he heard the faint whir of the motor retracting the hidden panel in the floor of the Conference Center. He climbed into darkness.
As he reached the top of the staircase he stood until his eyes adjusted. The metal security blinds over the seaward windows allowed just enough light in for the huge table to show as a very dark gray oval in the blackness. After a moment he saw a short dark tower at one end: his packages. He scooped them up, double-checked the motion sensors in each corner, then went back downstairs.
Three of the packages contained some of the clothing that Millie had ordered for him: black pants and turtlenecks, some yukata, and in the third package (from Milan) a heavy purple brocade duster with pagoda-like shoulders. He folded the coat back into its box with a mixture of defiance and embarrassment, and thought sourly that certainly no one could mistake him for a car mechanic in such a coat – not that he would ever wear it.
The fourth, heaviest box was full of books he'd ordered as research and reference material for the program. He unpacked Sexuell Praxis in Feudaljapan and set the rest of the books on the floor next to his reading chair. Then he traded his bathrobe for one of the yukata – a dark blue one with a subtle pattern – and found his mind clearing, like a telescope being brought into focus. He put his notebook on the table next to him and began to read.
.
He'd finished with the two German treatises by dawn, and, after a stretch, some water, and a meal bar, gave Mokuba a quick call. Then he started on the French monographs.
He had the monographs finished shortly after ten. He had just started to flip through the last book in the box, a well-illustrated history of bushido, and was thinking about coffee when the doorbell rang.
Or rather, the security panel blinked to let him know that someone was ringing the bell upstairs.
Curious, he ran up the stairs, book in hand. The regular delivery people knew to leave packages in the drop box, but a substitute driver might not. With no one to sign for it who knew where the package would go. He put his book on the counter in the long narrow kitchen, then went to check the surveillance camera.
A delivery boy stood in the courtyard, his back to the door. He was lean, leggy – a runner's build – with light shaggy hair. A short jacket was bunched up around his waist: his hands were shoved into the pockets of worn jeans, which accented a very nice ass.
Seto, body humming from sleeplessness, rested his head against the door and stared wearily at the screen. The curse of his position was that the only truly private place was in his head or in the VR program – everything else he did and said was always in the spotlight. Every action had the potential to hurt the company, and anything that hurt the company threatened his ability to provide a bulletproof, secure future for Mokuba. More than just the CEO, he was Kaiba Corporation. Had he been an average citizen, he might have had some leeway for flirting and more with the sexy stranger on his doorstep: but Seto Kaiba was not an average citizen.
As if he was aware of the scrutiny, the delivery boy turned to look over his shoulder at the door. It was Jounouchi.
Seto hesitated. What in hell was this? Exhaling once to ready himself, he unlocked and opened the door.
"Hey, Kaiba," Jounouchi said nervously. He stared. "You're wearing a robe. Were ya sleeping?"
"You're cutting class," Seto said. Without waiting for a reply, he asked, "How did you know I was here?"
Jounouchi shrugged. "You weren't in school, so I figured I'd find you if just kept ringing doorbells at your house. Or I'd find someone who knew where you were."
"Did anyone tell you I was here?" Whoever had was about to get fired.
"No, this is the first building I buzzed. Guess Lady Luck is helping me." He looked around. "I thought your place'd be bigger than this, though. Nice place, though. I like those faces." He pointed up at the eaves, set with stylized Medusa-heads.
"Hn. Why are you here?" His tone was harsher than he intended.
Jounouchi gave a faint half-smile. "Ah, well, you left so fast the other night, I – "
"You what?" Kaiba prompted. Come on, get to it.
Jounouchi flushed under Kaiba's cross-examination. "I thought maybe I did something. That pissed you off or something."
"That's idiotic. What could you do to me?" He cut class and came all this way to find out if I was angry? He's a poor liar.
Jounouchi shrugged. "I guess nothing." The corners of his mouth were turning down, and his expression was becoming guarded. After several beats of silence, he started, "See, I just thought – " He shook his head, looked down at his shoes, "Well, I was wrong, I guess." He shoved his hands in his pockets, then said stonily, "OK, well, sorry I bothered you. I'll get outta your hair," then turned and started walking towards the courtyard gate.
What the hell? "Suit yourself." Kaiba said loudly, then turned and went inside, leaving the front door open.
In the kitchen, he took down a small espresso pot, measuring cups, beans, and the grinder from one of the cabinets that lined the hallway-like space. He heard the door close. Did he come inside? He stood absolutely still but heard nothing. After a full minute, and feeling a twinge of disappointment, he shrugged and measured beans into the grinder.
A few seconds later Jounouchi came into the kitchen. He was shoeless, and had removed his jacket. "Coffee? Can I get a cup?" He put his jacket on the counter near the door. "Before I go?"
Without a word, Seto added another measure of beans to the grinder. He then put the small pot back in the cabinet and took down the larger one, forgetting once again about the almost-healed cuts on his wrist as he reached up.
"What happened to your arm?"
Shit. "Cut myself."
"You don't mean like – "
"It was an accident." He pressed the button on the grinder, which echoed like a swarm of hornets in the confined space.
"Musta been some accident." Jounouchi stood nearby and watched. He pointed to the pot. "I've never seen a coffee maker like that." The tall hexagonal pot had tapered halves that screwed together at a small-waisted middle.
"Italian. It's Italian. Water goes in the bottom, and the coffee goes in the imbouto," Seto held up a funnel-shaped metal piece, "between the top and bottom chambers." He carefully measured water into the bottom section of the pot.
"Imbouto," Jounouchi repeated dutifully. Feigning interest, he had been inching closer.
What the hell? This flirting bullshit again? He was intensely aware of the presence at his side as he measured and tamped a precise amount of coffee into the imbouto, then twisted the halves of the pot together.
The blond's stomach rumbled loudly. Embarrassed, he took a step back, folding his arms across his belly with a small laugh.
Seto shook his head. Mokuba had make a joke once about how Jounouchi sucked up food like a vacuum cleaner. Hadn't he eaten breakfast? And how had he traveled here? He didn't have a car or a motorbike – had he walked all the way here from – wherever it was he lived?
Pointing to a large cabinet at the end of the kitchen, Seto said, "Food in there."
Jounouchi opened the cabinet, which disguised a freezer compartment. "Whoa, all the comforts of home!" He rummaged for a moment, then – "Beef bowls!" He took one and closed the freezer. "I love these. Where can I heat it up?"
Seto soundlessly pointed to another cabinet, which housed a microwave.
While it was heating Jounouchi opened one of the other cupboards. "What else ya got in here?"
"Please feel free to make yourself at home, Jounouchi," Seto murmured, feeling an odd mixture of annoyance and fascination.
"Wasabi peas!” the blond cried happily. He pulled out and tore open the bag. "Oh, it's a good brand," he coughed, "when they make your eyes water like this."
Seto watched him eat handful after handful. Mokuba was right. He is a vacuum cleaner.
Jounouchi suddenly noticed Seto's expression and held out the bag. "Wanna have some?"
Seto shook his head. "Not mixed with coffee."
"Aaaa." Jounouchi waved his hand. "I have a cast iron stomach. I can eat anything." He rolled the bag shut, folding the corners elaborately somehow so that the bag stayed shut.
Nice trick.
Jounouchi put the bag back in the cupboard, then leaned against the wall of cabinets as the microwave continued to whirr. After 15 seconds or so, he started doing something odd. He'd glance at Seto, then look down as if studying the floor, then glance up for a second, then look away again. After four or five cycles of this he seemed to become mesmerized by the loosely-tied belt of Seto's yukata.
The microwave beeped, breaking the spell. Jounouchi took out the beef bowl, stirred it, began to eat quickly.
"Do you chew at all?" Seto asked dryly.
The blond made a show of jawing the food, then picked up a beef slice in the chopsticks and held it out. "Want some? It's good.”
"No."
"C'mon." He wiggled the beef and grinned mischievously. “Eat!”
Seto felt that he was being forced into a corner – to interact with Jounouchi – and even though it was a corner he might at times not mind being in, he resented being forced there. Nevertheless, he stepped forward, took the slice in his teeth and pulled it out of the chopsticks (careful not to touch the chopsticks with his mouth), then stepped back.
Jounouchi cocked his head. "See, That wasn't so bad. Do you want more?"
"No."
"Sure you do." He moved closer, offering another piece.
It was irritating to be treated this way by this stranger who was yet-not-quite a stranger. He decided to poke back. “Sure, give it to me,” he said, knowing full well how suggestive that sounded. Jounouchi's eyes seemed to glaze over a bit as he placed the second morsel in Seto's mouth.
Seto almost laughed. He's finding eroticism in sliced beef?
Jounouchi held up a third piece. This time, Seto closed his mouth deliberately and tightly around the chopsticks, so that Jounouchi was forced to pull them out – which he did, slowly, his face turning pink. He coughed, then hurriedly scooped the last of the rice into his mouth. "Done. Thanks." He turned to the small sink and rinsed the bowl with hot water, scrubbing it out with his fingers.
"Those are meant to be thrown away," Seto said, puzzled.
"Ah, a habit I guess. My dad's a slob, so I do all the washing up. And I save all the plastic dishes, since we don't buy real dishes."
"And you don't buy real dishes because – ?"
"They break when you throw 'em." Jounouchi replied, bending down to look under the sink so that his hair hid his face. He straightened up, a paper towel in his hand, and said as he saw the expression on Seto's face. "Well, dishes get thrown sometimes, right?" He dried the bowl, then rinsed and dried the chopsticks, setting them on the counter next to the plastic bowl. "Hey, it's better if you turn it on."
"What?"
"The stove." Jounouchi pointed. "Or don't Italians need hot water with a fancy pot like that?"
The assembled espresso maker was on the stove but the burner was not lit.
"Hn." Seto started the coffee. He resisted the urge to tightly re-wrap and re-tie his robe as he moved away from the stove, instead folding his arms and crossing one ankle over the other. Getting off from sharing a beef bowl. Ridiculous.
"How does that work, exactly?"
"What?"
"The coffee pot."
"Steam in the bottom half – "
"Heat and pressure in the bottom, right." Jounouchi, leaning sideways next to the sink, repeated Seto's words with a gleam in his eye.
I get it. Innuendo. " – goes up the stem of the imbouto, through the grounds, and the espresso comes out of the pipe in the upper pot. When it stops sputtering it's done."
"Well, that's cool," Jounouchi said politely.
Seto suspected he thought no such thing. He picked up his book to prevent another round of the eye game, and to prevent himself from noticing again the bulge in his guest's faded jeans. The thick silence was mercifully filled by the gradually rising rumble of the water heating in the espresso pot.
I still can't figure out why he's here, wasting my time with food foreplay, but I suppose he'll show his hand sooner or later.
Suddenly Jounouchi slid closer to him and looked at the book. "Bushido, huh? I always wanted to learn more about it. Are you reading for a school project?"
In the past Seto would have replied with something like, "Why look at something that's beyond you? A book on dog-grooming would be more beneficial," but instead he found himself saying, "Product research."
"Something new, huh?" Jounouchi said quietly. "Tell me what ya like." He added hastily, "about the subject?"
"There was more respect for warriors then," Seto said loftily, "and for virtues that have disappeared from modern society – honor, loyalty, testing your power against a worthy opponent." As he said this Ami Li's voice echoed in his head, and he paused.
There are many types of warriors. Some fight men. "Weren't those guys supposed to study art and music and poetry and stuff as well as sword-fighting and archery?" Jounouchi said as Seto's silence continued.
"Yes," he said, coming back to himself, surprised. "So you know something about this?"
"Yeah, just a little." Jounouchi dipped his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, I did a little bit of reading a while ago after Mai and I had a discussion about shuda and nanshoku and," he exhaled, "you know, samurai history, manly love, Tale of Genji. Stuff like that."
Seto raised an eyebrow. Manly love?
The coffeepot gurgled and hissed. Seto put the book down and moved to the stove. "So, how do you like it?" he asked.
"What?" Jounouchi brayed.
"Your espresso." Seto, his back to Jounouchi, smirked. No, your manly love. "Cream, sugar, steamed milk?"
"Sugar. I like it strong and sweet. Something that'll keep me up all night."
The clock ticked very loudly in the moments that followed.
Seto poured a small cup of the foamy, pungent espresso and put it and some sugar sticks next to Jounouchi. "It's strong."
Jounouchi blew on the cup, then took a small sip. "Ah, hot!" He stuck his tongue out. "But good." Then he picked up the sugar stick, stirred the espresso, and licked and sucked the dark foam from it until he noticed Seto's stare. He started to grin, then dropped his eyes and pointed to the book. "So, anyhow, you're really getting into it. Is that why you're wearing a yukata while you read? to get the spirit?"
"Perhaps." Seto gave a small shrug. "It's more comfortable than the traditional armor."
Jounouchi looked him up and down. "Well, it looks – Hey, did you just make a joke?"
"Do you always blurt out everything that comes into your head?"
"Not everything ... and anyhow, why shouldn't I say what I'm thinking? What else should I do? Lie?"
"Hn." He can't be serious. He says what he's thinking? What's the advantage in that?
"Like right now," Jounouchi started, then swallowed before he said, "if you asked me what I was thinking, I'd have to tell you that I'm wondering if you're wearing anything under that robe." He was blushing but defiant.
Seto was startled, but quickly recovered. Millie had said that flirting was like chess. Fine. Mirroring your opponent's opening was sometimes a useful strategy. This might get interesting. If nothing else, it'll be more empirical data. "Why don't you find out?"
Jounouchi set down the sugar stick, then stepped in front of him and reached for the yukata's belt.
Seto quickly grabbed his wrists and held them out to each side. "Ah ah ah, no no, that's much too easy."
"Nothing wrong with being easy," Jounouchi said, "but hard is good too." The wolf face had appeared.
Shaking free of Seto's grip with a sudden snap, he stepped closer. He put his fingertips on the brunet's thighs then walked then up slowly, lightly, obviously feeling for garments under the thin cotton. He locked his gaze with Seto's. "Well, no boxers or panty lines," he murmured, investigating higher. "So, unless you're naked, it's the sexy underwear Mai bought you for her party.” His fingertips paused, slid around into the hollows of Seto's hips, drew small circles. "Or maybe your tighty-whities are just all bunched up?"
Seto couldn't remember later who moved first – one minute they were apart, the next they weren't ... It was not as magical as the night at Mai's had been. Their bodies didn't flow together like they had that night; their mouths seemed the wrong shape, the kisses were sloppy, one or the other kept opening their mouth too far and their teeth kept clicking together. Jounouchi tasted strongly of gritty wasabi and beef, his hair today reeked of cigarette smoke, and he was mashing Seto against the cabinets so ardently that various handles dug painfully into his back and neck ...
Yet despite all this, Seto didn't want it to stop. Once again he felt like he had changed from a wisp of smoke to something solid. When they paused for air, resting their foreheads together and brushing noses, Jounouchi pushed a knee questingly against Seto's. Shyness battled with curiosity: curiosity won. He moved his legs apart and Jounouchi pulled him close, far enough away from the counter so that he could straddle Seto's thigh and wrap his arms around him. They molded tight as they kissed again, pulsing against each other. Seto was mostly immobilized by the embrace, but he was able to reach around, pull up the back of Jounouchi's shirt, and put his hands on the hot, slightly sweaty skin.
No one knows I'm here except Mokuba. No one knows Jounouchi's here except me.We could do whatever we want. A nervous flutter ran through him and settled in his stomach as he felt the blond's arousal pressing against him.
Jounouchi broke the kiss and pulled Seto's robe partly down one shoulder. Catlike, he rubbed the side of his face against the skin, traced his lips along the jutting collarbone, then his tongue. Seto tilted his head back as Jounouchi kissed his throat.
"So?" Jounouchi asked hoarsely.
"What?" He could barely breathe. Why was the kitchen so bright?
Jounouchi gave the belt a tug, loosening it. "So," he said, "wanna pick up where we left off the other night, or are you just leading me on?" He rolled his hips.
A flashfire swept over Seto's body, though it didn't quite overtake a mounting apprehension … In chess, if your opponent started to box you in, a bold move sometimes was the way to escape the trap and regain control.
"Lead you on? How stupid." He brought his arms up to break Jounouchi's embrace, grabbed the blond's face, and forced him to back up to the cabinets opposite. Jounouchi offered no resistance. Seto turned his head to the side, outlined the blond's ear with the tip of his tongue, then sucked on the lobe until Jounouchi moaned. I see – he did it to me because he likes having it done to him. Interesting. Continuing his attack, Seto kissed him hard, sucking the tongue into his mouth, then rubbing and circling it with his own until he felt the blond's body tremble. This was power, to have someone respond so intensely.
He felt better now that he had the upper hand, more confident, and so broke the kiss to slide a hand down inside the back of the baggy jeans and into the loose boxers, grabbing and squeezing the firm ass. He grinned as Jounouchi gasped and squirmed: he'd had no idea the small fish would reel in so easily.
And then Jounouchi bought his arm between them, reaching down to touch him through the thin robe. After a moment, he whispered, "So you're OK with this?" and, taking silence as assent, slid his hand inside the robe and took hold of Seto gently, his thumb lightly caressing.
Seto stood shock-still staring at the blurred wall of cabinets as the kitchen caved in on him.
Millie had been wrong. Disastrously wrong. Sex was not like chess at all.
If you underestimated your opponent in chess you lost. If you underestimated your opponent in sex you were going to be overwhelmed and invaded.
He knew now that he was finally feeling what had been unable to feel when he was on the cold metal counter-top in Pegasus's kitchen: shame as his body responded to being fondled, fear of the approaching punishment, panic as he began to drown in a terror that shrieked at him to run far away and hide beneath layers and layers of clothes and blankets where no one could find him.
And then, as always at his lowest moments, that sardonic voice floated up from a shadowed corner of his soul: Oh, silly silly Kaiba boy ... Stop being such a baby. Grit your teeth and take advantage of this rare opportunity. I mean, look at him – he actually wants to screw you and he doesn't want to hurt you ... at least, not yet. Of course he won't be happy if he finds out you got him all worked up with no one to do.
Aw look, you're going soft. Guess you'll be bottoming.
As usual.
His turmoil was interrupted by Jounouchi, who took his hand away from Seto quickly, as if burned. "Are you OK? Am I doing something wrong?"
Why was this mediocrity so concerned about him? Seto could accept when people attacked and plotted against him; but when people were kind – he couldn't bear how trapped and frantic it made him feel. It was almost better to face being raped again: at least that he already knew he could withstand.
Stick with what you know, Kaiba-boy.
For once, the Phantom was right; what he needed now were familiar weapons. Anger and attack. "So I guess you're ready to experiment some more?" he said sharply.
"What? Experiment, what do you mean?" Jounouchi backed away. It was almost comical, how he recoiled from Seto's sudden anger.
"I'm surprised though, that you picked me for it in the first place. I would have thought your friend Honda a more convenient subject – though, I suppose he'd want to be the dominant one. Yuugi seems docile, though – did he turn you down?"
Jounouchi's face clouded. "What the hell are you talking about? Honda, Yuugi – turn down what?"
"It makes me laugh, Jounouchi, how you think you have me so dazzled by one night's groping that I'll let you in anytime to hump my leg."
"What?""
"And how handy you have such a cooperative girlfriend."
"What? What girlfriend? Who?" Jounouchi sounded genuinely puzzled.
"Mai."
"Oh, Mai. Nah, Mai's just a friend. What does that have to do with – ?"
"You have sex with your friends?"
"I'm not gonna put my fist in your face for that remark," Jounouchi said slowly, his voice low and ominous, " 'cause I know I must've done something wrong ta put the pole up your ass all of a sudden. For your information – shit, it's none of your business anyhow!" Jounouchi snarled and pounded his fist on the counter next to the stove, then pulled at his hair in frustration, muttering, "Why is this is getting all fucked up?” He turned back suddenly. " Kaiba! Are you pretending to be stupid? You don't know why I'm here?"
Seto asked snidely, "Which question should I answer first?"
Jounouchi stared at him for a minute. "Man, I can't take the hot and cold shit from a guy either." He shook his head. "Mai and I aren't – she gives me advice, is all."
"Oh, she knows what's best for everyone?"
"As a matter of fact – " Jounouchi glared. "Well, you wouldn't know, wouldja? Since you never took her up all the times she tried to do something to help you get over what happened – "
"I thought she was just hitting on me. What do you mean, what happened?"
Jounouchi gaped at him, then said carefully, "At Duelist Kingdom? What Pegasus did to you?"
White-hot rage. For a moment he was filled with the need to knock Jounouchi down and pound his mouth into a bloody toothless pulp to ensure that he could never, ever, speak of this again. But of course Seto liked to think of himself as a civilized being, and so he stood still and only said savagely, “She doesn't know the first thing about what happened to me. Neither do you.”
"How could we?" Jounouchi shot back. "You're always running away!"
"Her party," Seto said flatly.
"That woulda been a good way to break the ice – "
"Don't tell me 'and look for sparks that can be built into a roaring fire'? I recognize the work of the great sex-mage now. So you bought his load of horseshit? Oh, of course you did. Why let such a good opportunity go to waste? Take advantage of the rich boy. Get off if he'll put out, and if not there's always blackmail. Really, you ought to go into the movies, Jounouchi – I understand a lot of actors use a balcony scene when they audition."
"Acting? Why are you being so – ?" Jounouchi started in bewilderment.
"I'm curious about something, though. Was it Mai or the shinigami that broadcast my special Duelist Kingdom experience?"
Jounouchi shook his head. "No one told me anything. I figured it out on my own." At Seto's skeptical look he added hotly, "Yeah, me, Jounouchi the Loser Dog. I figured out what Pegasus did to you, that he – . I figured it out. All Mai told me was what you were probably going through."
So Duo never told them it wasn't Pegasus? "And just what did Mai think I was going through?"
"Well, for one that you might not be able to stand to be touched." He clenched his fists and looked down at the floor. "That's why it was so great that night – "
Seto snorted. "She knew that, and yet forced me to wear fuck-me clothes in a room packed with people? Oh yes, I see the logic in that. Brilliant. Kaiba'll be fine if we can just find a few volunteers to shove more things up his ass! "
Jounouchi looked up angrily, pressed his lips together for a few seconds, then said with deliberate, forced calm, "OK, so maybe that was a mistake. Maybe everything that happened at the party was a mistake. All I know is, all we've been trying to do is help you get through this."
"Why?"
"Because no one should be dealing with shit like that alone. No one."
"How touching. Everyone's trying to heal me. Anything else you and Mai and Yuugi and all your cheerleaders think is good for me?"
"Maybe," Jounouchi snarled, apparently finally losing the last of his patience, "maybe if you'd let someone get close to you, someone you could talk to, who'd could be there for you if – "
"And you're thinking this friend ought to be, what, someone like you?" he asked acidly.
"Yes, someone like me!" Jounouchi shouted, his face livid, his mouth twisted. "Why not?" His eyes glittered.
Seto was thunderstruck. "You're serious? You – ?" He started laughing and wasn't able to stop until he was out of breath.
Jounouchi snatched his cup and poured the rest of the espresso into the sink, muttering. "I ought to have my goddamn fucking head examined, thinking I'd get anywhere with you by laying everything all out and being honest, holding my guts in my hands." He turned. "You think all this isn't scary for me?"
"What 'all this' are you talking about?" Seto shot back, the laughter gone. "I've seen how you are with Mai, so it was obvious to me that what we did on the balcony was a whim. Or a bet, or a setup for blackmail, or a prank to jack me around."
Turning back to the sink, Jounouchi began rinsing the cup. "Yeah, right, it was all a joke. Some joke. Big fucking joke. News flash, asshole, even before that night at Mai's, I – I was jerking off five times a day, because I couldn't stop thinking about … kissing, and ... sucking and ... everything! And then I'd look at the funk on my hand and start – ” He stopped and swiped his sleeve across his face. “I knew it'd never ever happen in real life the way it did in my head, but I still kept thinking about it, even though I knew it was impossible, even though I knew it was fucking stupid to be hot for someone who treats me and all my friends like dog shit."
He slammed the cup on the counter for emphasis, then held onto the edge of the sink, his head down, his words continuing to tumble out. "And then, that night ... it seemed to me like you were ready, and even though I wanted to keep going so bad, I held back, waiting for you, so you could set the pace. But then you stopped, and then everyone came out on the balcony, and then you left. And I figured I ruined my big chance by being too pushy or too slow, but I didn't even know which kinda mistake it was.
"And just now ... " He shook his head. "You get my hopes up, then you start saying all this shit, attacking me, attacking my friends. If anyone's getting jacked around here it's me." He crumpled the paper towel into a ball. "I'm done," he continued hoarsely. "I gotta go." He rushed past Seto, grabbed his jacket and went out of the kitchen.
He had put the jacket on and was fumbling with the knots on his shoes when Seto reached him.
"I didn't know …"
Jounouchi shook him off. "Well now you do. So fuck you. Fuck you," he spat. "Do you know why I came here today? Because Yuugi almost died."
"What?" Seto reeled. "Yuugi? There hasn't been anything in the papers or on the web about it."
"I guess one kid isn't important enough to be in the papers." Jounouchi said, still seething. "There was a fire. Seeing him in the hospital and thinking how he could have died, it hit me, everyone always acts like there's plenty of time for everything. But maybe there isn't.”
"Carpe diem," Seto murmured, but Jounouchi went on. "I shoulda known I was gonna get kicked in the nuts." He grabbed his shoes, opened the door, and stepped outside in his stocking feet. "And thank you very much for that. Forget I was ever here. Sorry I interrupted yer reading."
Seto realized that he'd gotten his wish: he finally knew exactly what Jounouchi's intentions and feelings were.
That shouldn't be wasted. As he watched the green jacket retreat, he knew that if he let Jounouchi leave, his absence wouldn't just count as zero, but as – a negative number.
Then too, it was a matter of pride. No one walked away from Seto Kaiba before he was done talking. "Jounouchi!" Seto followed him. "We can't discuss this outside."
"Ain't nothing more to discuss," Jounouchi said, almost at the gate now. "You thought what happened the other night was a joke. I didn't. Now I know better. So you won again, Kaiba. You put me in my place, like you always do."
"Don't be an idiot. You don't understand what – "
Jounouchi spun around quickly, but fortunately the high wild hook connected with Seto's shoulder instead of his jaw. "I don't understand, I don't understand! So you gotta rub in that I'm stupid too?" A swift solid jab connected with Seto's solar plexus.
Winded, he backed up as Jounouchi advanced. The blond punched in a rage, his shoes still in his other hand.
"Why stop there? Make fun of me being poor while you're at it. Oh, and funny-looking – you left out funny-looking don't forget funny-looking!"
They were almost to the doorway. Seto ducked low, yanked the shoes out of Jounouchi's hand, and tossed them behind him into the foyer. Now he had to come back inside.
Jounouchi stopped, glared at him a moment, said, "Fine," then turned and walked away in his stocking feet again
"Your feet will be shredded without shoes."
"So what? Then they'll match everything else I got."
Seto set his jaw, ran swiftly and noiselessly up behind him, and lifted the slightly shorter teen off his feet to carry him back into the house. Jounouchi, his arms trapped at his sides, cursed incoherently and kicked at Seto's legs.
Just as they went through the doorway Jounouchi slammed his head back into Seto's. His nose and mouth blooming in pain, Seto fell back against the lintel, then lost his balance completely.
They crashed sideways into the house, landing heavily on the cold floor of the foyer. Seto did not let go, however: he clamped his legs around Jounouchi's with in a burst of furious strength. "We're not done!" He could feel blood trickling from his lip, split in the fall.
"Yes we are! Let me go!" Jounouchi thrashed and bucked. "You fucking asshole! What are ya doing? I can't breathe, damnit!"
After a few moments Jounouchi stopped struggling, and Seto eased up a bit: but as soon as he did, Jounouchi twisted free and to the side, scrambling to his feet.
"What the hell – ?" The blond was staring down at him.
Seto realized with a start that his belt had come undone and his robe was open, the mottled bruises on his thighs in plain view.
"What the hell is all that?" Jounouchi demanded. “All that on your legs?”
Seto got to his feet sullenly, re-tying his robe, turning away as Jounouchi moved around to try to look him in the face.
"Kaiba!"
Silence.
"Did Pegasus do that? Oh man, I knew he was a sick bastard! He tortured you!"
Seto finally looked at Jounouchi.
"Shit!" Jounouchi burst out, punching the wall, "I wanna kill that freak! No wonder you're so pissed at everyone! Man, I'm so sor – "
"Great, just fucking great," Seto snarled, and strode away.
"What the hell? What did I do now?" Jounouchi muttered then went after him. He saw him step into the stairwell in the floor and grabbed his shoulder. "What are ya running away for?"
Seto whirled around, snapping his shoulder away. "Fuck off! I don't want pity!"
"People'd understand you better if they knew all the shit you've been through. They'd cut you slack!"
"I don't care if anyone understands me or cuts me slack. People should mind their own business and leave me alone." He started down the stairs.
"Really? Alone? Is that what you really want, to be alone?" Jounouchi shouted down at him. "Just you and your brother? And what ya gonna do when Mokuba grows up, falls in love with someone, goes off to live his own life? Cause he will, ya know. He's a helluva lot more normal than you! What, so then you'll finally be happy, 'cause you'll be all by yourself? Is that what you really want? To be alone? Shit, I didn't realize you grabbing my ass was Kaiba sign language for 'Go Away'!"
Seto stopped descending.
“The Kaiba from other night didn't laugh at me or insult me: he acted like, like he – like he even liked me a little. So I figured maybe if I was lucky, that other Kaiba would answer the door today. That's why I came out here, took the risk of getting nothing, 'cause if I didn't try I'd definitely get nothing." He shrugged. "Well, shit, that made more sense in my head."
"What did you expect me to do?" Seto asked without looking at him. "Coo at you over a candlelight dinner, give you flowers and chocolate, then carry you off to a bridal suite?"
"No," Jounouchi retorted, irritated. "But it'd be nice to get honesty outta you once in a while instead of bullshit. Or maybe someday you'll start noticing that we treat you like a human being, and you'll return the favor." He descended a step. “You ever see those rocks? Geodes? Just rocks on the outside? But cut 'em open and they're full of jewels. You'd never guess the inside just from looking at the outside.”
Jounouchi descended another step. “You're like that, Kaiba. On the outside you're all asshole. But some of us think you might not be asshole all the way through."
Seto forced himself to climb up one step. The problem with happiness is that once you have it, it can be taken away. And then you are worse off than before. “I doubt the stone enjoys being cut in half." It seemed like something else needed to be said; he pointed at Jounouchi's knuckles, torn from punching the wall. "Your hand's bleeding." He was becoming uneasy; the itch to attack was coming back.
Jounouchi sniffed, “I'll take care of it later,” then descended one more one step, so that his brown eyes were level with blue. "Funny, the way we're talking now, it's like we're different people or something, huh?" He reached out, wiped the blood from Seto's lip with his thumb, and made an imprint with it on the left side of his jacket. Then he turned, ran up the steps, and around the corner.
A few seconds later came the sound of the door opening, and then it slammed, and Kaiba was alone.
Author's Note, 2010 version
At that time I started it (late 2002), all the KaiJou (there was no JouKai that I knew of)- was either S/M laced (with Jou as a spineless masochistic "puppy") or uber WAFFY (with both of them gaggingly OOC). Someone, somewhere said, "You can't make KaiJou - let alone JouKai - IC OR work." I had already started a sequel to KP Duty, and after some thought decided to expand the story to include a tentative, painful, realistic, as-IC-as-possible Kaiba - in a developing relationship. The JouKai motivation & psychology Elf and I laid out seems to have been absorbed into fanon (or maybe there were just a lot of us thinking pretty much the same things at pretty much the same time.) I wrote the last chapter and part of chapter 6, but then all the stuff in between (Battle City, Doma, and so on to the end of the series) daunted me, and fandom kinda ... wore me out, so I backed up all the unfinished stories and chapters and … pretty much misplaced the disk. People seemed relatively happy with where chapter 5 left the story, and so that was that.
For six years.
Recently, I re-discovered the material. Reading the drafts and notes for the last chapters made me want to finish it, finally. With that in mind I've revised the entire fic so that it flows better into the final chapter, I'll be putting Chapter 6 up, to see if there are enough readers out there to make plunging back into this world for a while worthwhile.
One other note: For this revision I've replaced most of the few Japanese phrases / insults (such as makeinu) that seemed to be fanon knowledge back in 2003; the exceptions are niisama, which means something close to “revered older brother,” and nikubashira, which is a very vulgar term that literally means “meat pillar”.
(113) 22 feb 2010 prep for ch 7
.
Chapter 2: Beast
(Takes place after Legendary Heroes arc)
This story continues in
Elf's "Summoning Death"
which can be found, among other places,
at Fanfiction.net and Mediaminer.org.
Chapter 3 of this story should be read after you read "Summoning Death"
Chapter 3: Mementos
(Takes place during the Dungeon Dice Monsters arc)
Despite the fact that he insults you at every turn,
he doesn't like me staying at your place. At all."
&nbs p;"He hates me."
;"Seto, let me tell you something. You don't get
that much hate without passion. I think he's frustrated,
;Blue Eyes, cause he doesn't think a smart guy like you
would go for a son of a bitch like him."
that would blaze right up if you stirred them a bit.
Just pick one of them and give it a try."
"maybe you have good reasons for going after Pegasus,
but I won't let you do this!
We are all here to compete
for the honor of defeating him!"
He'd looked down at Jounouchi's flushed, furious face
for a moment, then grasped his wrist and thrown him aside.
"If you are a top Duelist Kingdom competitor,
then the level of duelist has really fallen."
& nbsp;"No, it's true," Yuugi had said. "He defeated Kujaku Mai
and Dinosaur Ryuzaki."
"If you want to defeat Pegasus, Kaiba, then duel me first!"
the blond had barked,
&n bsp;"All right, Jounouchi, I'll be happy to break you.
But we won't play for star chips.
You can be the experimental rat
for the new duel disk system."
"Oh, I've been wanting to do something like this for simply
ages." The flying buttons made tiny pinging sounds
as they hit the metal counters and the floor.
right -hand sink. A curved shard remained in his hand.
&nbs p;"Now," said Pegasus, drawing out the word like a caress,
"Cu t yourself on the arm with the plate." His lips parted
slig htly as the red lines marched up Kaiba's forearm.
Du o. You are serving justice."
"No, I'm serving Vengeance, not justice."
into their faces that I'm better than they are." Then he
grinned, "And I'd shake my ass going, 'Nanananana!'"
preten d to be me ... or if that's too much, just forget the
whole actual 'making love to a real person' thing, and
keep working on that sex program."
condemned to stand up to the chin in a pool of water in Hades
and beneath fruit-laden boughs only to have the water or fruit
recede at each attempt to drink or eat.
presenting something desirable but continually out of reach.
said "See if there's anything worthwhile in this shit heap,"
and left for a meeting. Seto had found, to his delight,
a volume with a worn and wordless spine that seemed to be
the 1770 edition of Philidor's Legacy of Chess. He sat
patient ly in a corner. Father would be proud of him this time.
&nbs p;But it had been a long wait, and after an hour or so he
got up and wandered among the twisty warren of rooms,
crad ling the Philidor. Nothing caught his eye until, in a tiny
alcove , a book with a blue leather cover, just at his eye level,
drew him like a beacon. Ornate silver lettering on the spine
procl aimed grandly Dragons of All Cultures. He had pulled the
book out with a trembling hand. Hand tooled in amazing
rel ief on the cover was a dragon rampant. He had been
forbid den to waste his time on such books, but surely just
a quick browse wouldn't hurt? He'd have plenty of time to
put it back, the heavy smell of cigar smoke would alert him.
He sat down on the floor, the Philidor in his lap, opened the
heavy leather cover, and was instantly entranced.
Delicate watercolor plates of fantastic beasts, each one
protect ed by the filmiest of vellum. Stories of knights,
ma idens, warriors, goddesses, of sorcerers who could
trans form themselves into dragons, of the many-headed
;Hydra –
&n bsp;Suddenly the book was gone and he was choking, being
dragg ed by his shirt collar from the small room, his legs
and shoulders banging on edges of bookcases. Gozaburo,
t he dragon book in hand, ignored the chess book Seto kept
trying to hand to him until they reached the front counter.
He re he paused, scanned the Philidor, grunted
non committally, then threw a wad of bills on the counter
wit hout a word. Seto took advantage of the pause to stand.
Goza buro grabbed his upper arm in a painfully strong grip
(the bruises had been visible for weeks) and marched him
to the car.
;"How many times have I told you, fantasy doesn't make
any money," he had said coldly. "Let's see if I can finally
bur n that into your brain." Gozaburo had destroyed the
dragon book in front of him that night, a page at a time,
puffi ng his cigars, punctuating the lesson with pain.
By the time he put the gutted boards on the brazier
he was so enraged that he had ground his cigar out on
Seto's back, then left him in the dark.
&nbs p;Seto had been good, he hadn't made a sound, not even a
whimper, and fortunately his position had allowed his
tears to drip directly onto the floor instead of leaving
tel l-tale trails on his face. He had fixed his attention on
the flickering coals and soft crackle of the cooling ashes,
and kept imagining that he saw the outline of the dragon
in the glowing embers.
&n bsp;At dawn he was allowed to dress himself and crawl to his
bed. It was the first time he had ever whispered aloud,
"I hate you." As he said it he felt vast wings spread inside him.
stagnati on. Since this implies guilt, the conditions embody a
demand for the removal of the cause....What has been spoiled
thr ough man's fault can be made good again through man's work.
It is not immutable fate, as in the time of STANDSTILL, that
has caused the state of corruption, but rather the abuse of human
freed om. We must know the causes of corruption before we can
do away with them ... decisiveness and energy must take the
place of the inertia and indifference that have led to decay,
in order that the ending may be followed by a new beginning.
creep in...
to proceed too drastically. Line 3: proceed a bit too
energet ically, and you may have some regret ..."
the turning point. The powerful light that has been banished
re turns. There is movement, but it is not brought about by force.
The upper trigram K'un is characterized by devotion; thus the
movemen t is natural, arising spontaneously. For this reason the
transfo rmation of the old becomes easy ... The old is discarded
a nd the new is introduced.... everything must be treated tenderly
an d with care at the beginning, so that the return may lead to a
flowering ."
Chapter 4: Balcony
Chapter 5: Attempts
(Takes place after the warehouse fire,
but before Kaiba's meeting with Isis.)
&n bsp; (k1.eyes k1.lips k2.eyes)
K2 -> K1 kiss level 1 &nb sp;
& nbsp; (k2.lips k1.lips)
&n bsp; (exe.kiss1)
In terruption &nb sp;
&nbs p; (k1.proprioception k2.freezeframe)
Resume kiss K2 -> K1 kiss level 1
&nbs p; (k2.lips k1.lips)
&n bsp; (exe.kiss1)
K1 touches K2 hair &nb sp;
& nbsp; &nbs p; (k1.lips k2.lips k1.hands k2.hair)
K2 increase proximity K1
&n bsp; (k2.h ands k1.midtorso)
K2 -> K1 Escalate kiss level 2
&nbs p; (k2.lips k1.lips k2.tongue k1.tongue)
(exe.kiss2)
Initiate tumescence K1, K2 < br>
; (k1.midtorso k2.midtorso. k1.penis k2.penis)
& nbsp; (exe.bokki1)
K2 -> K1 Escalate kiss to level 3
&nbs p; (k2.lips k1.lips k2.tongue k1.tongue)
(exe.kiss3)
K1-> K2 Embrace level 2 &nb sp;
& nbsp; (k1.arm k1.uppertorso k2.uppertorso)
&n bsp; (exe.bokki2)
& nbsp;K1 Caress K2 (ID # TBD) ;
&nb sp; (k1.hand, k1.fingertips k2.uppertorso)
&nb sp; !400dpi+ skin texture required!
Some fight dark ideas. Some fight both. And some of the
fierces t battles are fought in the soul, against one's self ...
Yu-Gi-oh is copyright © 1996 Kazuki Takahashi and Konami.
No infringement or disrespect was intended by this non-commercial work of fan fiction.