Disclaimer: Not mine. Not a bit of it.
Author's Note: Set after the end of Battle City (i.e., after Jounouchi's second duel with Kaiba). Jounouchi POV.One-shot, natch.
Thanks to Ideseth and HisxGirlxFriday for betaing various versions! And credit goes to my friend Bozette for the "Oh, God" line.
Rating: PG-13, for shounen-ai suggestiveness.
Pairings: Jounouchi/Kaiba.
Summary: Why Not to Let Your Mind Wander in Class: A Cautionary Tale.
Warnings: Jounouchi should watch his language.
Spoilers: None really.

I've gotta duel him again at some point. I know that.

What I need to figure out is, why's he always able to get under my skin? I'm no stranger to insults. Actually, I miss that about street life—the words flying back and forth, faster and faster until boom! it's our fists flying as we roll on the pavement.

But it's different with DuelMonsters. You need to keep your cool, to think ahead. I'm not real good at either of those, not like Yuugi. ('Course, no one's as good as Yuugi.) But I'm getting better.

Somehow, though, it all goes out the window when I'm around Kaiba. He just utters a couple of words with one of his sidelong glances, and I'm ready to rip his throat out and spit it back in his face. He acts so superior. Damn it, he is superior—a better Duelist, and God knows he's richer and more powerful and better-dressed. And smarter. Has to be smart to be where he is, what he is. What gets me, though, is why he even bothers to insult me. Does he get a kick out of making me angry? That's pretty sick.

So he's not superior in all ways. He's kinda mean-spirited. Really mean-spirited, mean-spirited to the core, although Yuugi keeps thinking he sees change in Kaiba. I'm not buying that.

Yeah, yeah, he loves Mokuba. Probably just sees the poor kid as an extension of himself. I don't envy Mokuba the task of trying to break free when he's a bit older. What? Kaiba'll say. My foot's declaring independence?

Okay, so I'm able to spot some weaknesses in him. How'm I going to apply that to a Duel? What'll keep me from going to pieces when he tries to zap me?

Hey! What was the speech teacher saying at the start of class about building confidence in front of an audience? If it works, imagine them sitting there in their underwear. In public.

Uh-oh. Not sure I even want to try thinking of Kaiba that way. Oh, what the heck.

Let's picture this: Me in my green jacket, clean shirt, duel disk gleaming on my arm. Across from me . . . Kaiba. In his boxers. Boxers with little yen signs on 'em. That's all, except he's got a duel disk too.

Oh, God, he's bigger than me! No, he's not. Nope.

…Y'know, this reminds me of strip poker. That'd be pretty neat, to beat Kaiba at that kinda game. He'd be gritting his teeth, yanking off one thing after another—his duster, his belt, his shoes, dress socks, that damn black turtleneck. Then those hip-hugging pants of his.

What the—this isn't hot! Who'd get off on Kaiba getting naked?

Ummm . . . guess I'd better not answer that question.

I wonder…his skin's probably cool white. Our Kaiba sure as hell doesn't go to the beach. He does seem pretty fit, though—probably works out in his mansion, has his own weight room and everything. So he's thin, but I bet he doesn't look stringy—he'll be wiry, and just really, really pale. I don't see him with body hair, really. Angles, smooth surfaces. A runner's body, a swimmer's body, that's what he has—long and narrow.

Uh, yes, so where was I? Dueling him. That's right.

Doesn't take a genius to see that Kaiba'd feel violently ill in this situation. No way he'd willingly let anyone see him even half-naked, not even his brother. . . . Far cry from Honda, swaggering around in his briefs the times he's crashed at my place.

But Kaiba's pride wouldn't let him slink away. So he'd just look at me with murder in his eyes, and say, "Get on with it."

Get on with it. The duel.

I couldn't duel him like that. It wouldn't be fair.

I'd have to go up to him, offer him my coat. That'd make him try to hit me. I'd block that easily, catch his wrist.

…God, that touch might be enough to get me started on something different.

A different kind of duel. One I bet Kaiba's never tried. I'm bound to know more about it than he does. Talk about turning the tables!

Wait, Jounouchi. Calm down. This line of thinking won't get you anywhere.

I'd take his other wrist and pull him up to me. "Don't want my jacket? All right, what else will warm you up?"

. . . Where did that come from?

Heck, let's run with it. Because I'm pretty sure that that would leave Kaiba, well, speechless. Probably a better look than any I've seen him wearing.

And I know just what I could do to make him stay speechless. Mmm.

"Small fry."

No, he wouldn't be able to say that, not if I was kissing him.

"Mediocrity." That either.

"Loser dog!"

I open my eyes to find the rest of the class draining out of the school auditorium. Kaiba must've been sitting in the same row—now he's right next to me, heavy-assed briefcase in hand, and none too pleased from the looks of things.

"My compassion for brute creation only goes so far. Up, animal!"

I sit bolt upright, fighting the urge to kick him in the shins. "Who's calling who an animal, sharkface?" He doesn't bother to answer, just rolls his lip into a sneer as he pushes past.

My usual freight-train of additional insults piles up right in my throat. 'Cause Kaiba's thigh just knocked against my knee in passing.

And luckily he doesn't look back at me, because I'm bright red and stuttering, and the speech teacher looks at me kind of funny before making shooing gestures—school's over.

People wonder why I rush into things without thinking—when it's thinking that gets me in trouble. Screw Kaiba. No, make that screw the idea of screwing Kaiba. Just wait—one of these days I'm going to pummel him good.