Tension thrummed between her body and his. She felt alive in every inch of her, every cell in her body stirring at his nearness, at that husky drawl of his voice. She couldn't stop her own from betraying her own nervousness, from giving herself away.
That blasted smirk on his lips, so cynical and...adult...a gesture for such a young man, like he had expected to find her like this all along... who was supposed tohave clairvoyance here, him or her?
"Don't play dumb, Ishizu. That day in the museum—don't tell me that I'm making it up. The only one who feels the need to spin fictions is you, with your ridiculous fantasy myths of ancient Egypt." He was leaning against her doorway in that way of his, as if he owned the place and everything in it; it was all easy for him, this control, this having and deigning to have.
How authoritative. The spirit of the High Priest, despite Seto's best efforts, clearly flowed through him, imbued his every movement with innate seraphic grace.
She had been right after all. And yet…
"What I feel, Seto Kaiba, has nothing to do with the situation at hand." And yet why did she raise her hand to the back of his neck to pull him in close, to brush her own lips on his?
Before she could stop herself, chastise herself for giving in this far to her own misplaced lust—
"How old are you, Seto Kaiba?" Gods. Why, oh why had she felt the need to ask him this? Would it not only serve to betray her own interests, why she was so pleased that he had come to visit her room that night? And yet...
As if he could look even more smug. He reached out his pale, long-fingered hand and brushed her lips teasingly, making her shiver disgustingly under his touch.
"Old enough for what we both have in mind, Ishizu."
There, blessedly, the dreams stopped… usually.
Once awoken, Ishizu couldn't fall asleep again for love or for money- it was oppressively hot in her room on that blasted zeppelin; she felt as if she was seeking to crawl out of her skin and melt out of her bed. Melt, ooze, flow away somewhere safer, to somewhere where the weight of the world did not sit upon her shoulders, the unceasing pressure threatening to crush the delicate chrysalis bones of her neck, her skull, her chest.
Out of one prison and into another. Being enclosed like this, despite the plethora of windows on the zeppelin that allowed sweeping, dizzyingly panoramic views of Domino, certainly did not help matters one bit, did not help to soothe the aching discomfort that accompanied her every waking thought. Of course, having the ability to see daylight was an improvement upon her childhood spent underground in that nest, that catacomb of tombs, yet the whole "thousands of feet above the ground in a hot-air balloon" hardly served to calm her nerves.
Not to mention that her own brother, her own flesh and blood, was locked away inside his evil half somewhere on this very zeppelin. Oh, Marik must be suffering so—he had known nothing but disappointment and hurt his whole life, locked away as he had been with Ishizu and Odion in that ceaseless maze of stone, without light, without fresh air…
And all she could think about, despite her duties, despite her best efforts to focus on the task at hand was him.
She could feel the sweat pooling on her body, under the sheets, between her fingers, on the back of her neck, under her Millennium Necklace, and in places she would rather not think about.
Had the circumstances not been what they were, she would have almost found it laughable. Here she was, with the fate of so many lost, struggling souls in her hands, and all she could concern herself with, lying on her bed, engulfed in this veritable sauna, was Seto Kaiba.
Ishizu Ishtar was logical. Methodical. Practical. The abstract variables were things that she did not like to have to ruminate on, especially when so much was at stake. With her careful planning securing the quantitative elements, and her Necklace providing glimpses into the qualitative, Seto Kaiba surely fell within the purview of the latter.
Had they been visions or dreams? Ishizu realized, regrettably, that she wasn't quite sure. The images that tiptoed around her mind had been blurry, hazed, yet had felt so real…
Why did part of her hope they had been a mere dream, and why did a much stronger part of her crave the certainty of a vision?
Perhaps she should make a list of the pros and cons—didn't people do that when they had questions that they couldn't answer…ordinary people without the gift of occasional foresight?
She stirred under the sheets, then threw them off her legs impulsively, hoping the motion would create a rush of cool air and help reduce this sweltering swamp in which she found herself. No luck.
She sighed and sat up, noting the sticky, wholly unpleasant gluck her flesh made as her arms slapped against her sides, her knees and thighs knocking together.
Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the thickly paneled window by the bed, she noticed that she looked positively feverish, cheeks reddened from the heat, eyes too-bright, lips swollen and warm—she looked positively obscene.
She wrapped her white linen robe around her, despite the heat, and rose to her feet, pacing around the small, spare chamber.
Pro: He is young and incredibly, almost embarrassingly handsome. If he were to offer I would be in no position to say no.
Con: He does not respect me, my knowledge, my family life, or my way of living.
Ishizu lifted her thick mass of dark hair off the back of her neck, beads of sweat trailing down her back like round pearls, almost whimpering in misery at how much she wished she could dissolve into the floor.
Con: I have much more important things to worry about, right here and now, than a dalliance with a man.
She knew this in her heart to be true. Marik, the Pharaoh, the comatose girl in the hospital wing… these things were all of the utmost importance, and it was her task to make sure that all event went according to destiny, according to fate.
Yet other parts of her were concerned with different ideas that she did not, could not, entirely hate.
Pro: I deserve this. I deserve to let myself feel some pleasure, no matter how unworthy I may be of it.
Enough. This boiling cauldron in which she found herself dropped and left to simmer had won. She slipped off her robe briskly, leaving it in a pool of white linen. Her white nightgown by now was soaked through, clinging to her form most obscenely—that is, it would be obscene if anyone were there to observe it…
Stop it. This is not right.
And yet…
A knock at the door, muted but firm, startled her out of her reverie. No. It cannot be.
She could not bear to put on the robe again, not after the mite of improvement she had obtained after casting it off.
As she made her way to the door, knowing somehow precisely who had come to her chamber at this late hour, the downright wicked part of her mind whispered in her ear: I deserve this. Clairvoyance had its benefits after all. The gold glinting at her neck positively thrummed against her skin as she reached out a trembling hand for the doorknob.
I deserve this.
She was not disappointed by the vision of a man who leaned in her doorway, looking bored and haughty, a hint of a smirk twisting his lips as his eyes flickered to hers with hunger.
"Seto Kaiba. What are you doing here? The hour is quite late…" she trailed off, distracted suddenly by the rush of icy air that flowed into her room, kissing her skin, making her eyelids flutter.
He dropped his eyes to the front of her nightgown, which she only noticed peripherally. His lips curled into an almost-smile before reverting to his normal expression.
"Yes, well, I felt…bored." The word eased itself out of him, lowering his voice from his normal drawl into something deeper, more primal, more dangerous. Ishizu looked up at him, at his expression that he was trying so damned hard to keep even and impassive, and had to smile to herself. The way he looked at her, like he knew what was scratching at the corners of her mind, unbidden, begging to be unleashed…
"And you think that I will serve as a solution to your boredom?" Ishizu cocked her head to one side and took him in—did Seto sleep in that ridiculous coat, or had he merely thrown it on over the arguably adorable white shirt and cotton pants he now wore? Seto Kaiba sleeping was an odd thought in and of itself, but the simplicity of the garb he wore was almost endearing to her.
Two can play at this game. She reached out her hand, her eyes never leaving his, and smoothed out the lapels of his white trench coat. She raised an eyebrow, awaiting his answer.
In response, Seto reached out a hand and pressed the tips of his fingers right where the neckline of her nightgown met her skin, making her tremble slightly. Crooking his finger over the white linen, he narrowed his eyes like he was appraising what he was seeing, and enjoying it very much.
He bent his head down to where the Millennium Necklace sat on her neck and whispered: "Oh, I think so."
Ishizu, despite herself, felt something uncoil and come to life within her—something in her chest thudded almost painfully, while other parts of her stirred at his nearness, at his touch. Gods.
"Nice to see you've been taking advantage of the heat," Seto quipped, running his hand along her collarbone, taking the thin fabric of her nearly-sheer nightgown between his fingertips.
Ishizu blushed, remembering herself, remembering his predatory look at her in this compromising state of undress. She stepped away from him, back behind the threshold, and fumbled for her robe. Embarrassment twisted at her insides; a cold sweat trickled along the side of her neck, despite the sweltering temperature that engulfed her body.
I must remember my duty. This boy is a distraction—a foolhardy one.
And yet…
Suddenly giddy and light-headed at his continued look of interest, the hunger shining in his cerulean eyes, she shrugged the robe off of her shoulders, biting her lip and looking up at him through lowered heavy black lashes.
She strode over to him, more confidently this time, where he still lingered in her doorway, waiting to be granted entry. His eyes widened at her abrupt motion, the scent of her filling his nostrils—his pleasure at this path of events was evident on his face, in the way he clearly was biting his cheek as he stood before her.
Ishizu copied his earlier smirk. "Well, I suppose I must have you to thank for that, Seto Kaiba. Enjoying the results?" Had she been alone, she would have bitten her fist in response to her own rashness, her quasi-humiliating efforts at being flirtatious. Gods. This was not for her; this sort of dance was not one she had studied, had memorized in her careful, methodical way.
"Well, I certainly have no complaints," Seto returned, the drawl returned to his voice, as he took the next step forward in this most delicate of exchanges and flicked the strap of her nightgown off of her shoulder, exposing the bronzed flesh.
Pro: I deserve this. I deserve to let myself feel some pleasure, no matter how unworthy I may be of it.
Ishizu fought the flutter catching her in its grasp and stepped away, fixing Seto in a coy stare. "You're here for a reason, Seto Kaiba—have you finally come to accept the truth of your destiny?" The dig was half-intended as such, yet his features bypassed annoyance, twisting into a look of coldest scorn, before settling into his usual leer.
"You know why I'm here… Don't play dumb, Ishizu. That day in the museum—don't tell me that I'm making it up. The only one who feels the need to spin fictions is you, with your ridiculous fantasy myths of ancient Egypt."
Con: He does not respect me, my knowledge, my family life, or my way of living.
It was just like the dream—or had it been a vision? What he was saying, the tone of his voice, gave her the strangest sense of déjà vu.
The High Priest… and she, his match, the High Priestess. Like two perfectly paired sides of a coin. A coin she would bring into the light, and he would cast into darkness, into forgetfulness.
"What I feel, Seto Kaiba, has nothing to do with the situation at hand." And yet why did she raise her hand to the back of his neck to pull him in close, to brush her own lips on his?
"Does it?"
Before she could stop herself, chastise herself for giving in this far to her own misplaced lust—
Oh gods. It's happening. Just as I saw it…
Was that a flicker of surprise in his eyes? Before she pulled him in and pressed her lips to his?
Their lips met, clumsily and almost painfully, as if both of them wanted this too much to be able to conduct themselves properly—far from the swooning ravishment that suppressed part of her had anticipated.
Much to Ishizu's surprise, Seto was far from the skilled, haughty lover he had presented himself as—his hands were both too rough and too tenuous as they moved to her waist, and, well, there was a mite too much tongue for her liking.
Was Seto Kaiba this mediocre at kissing? Gods. I cannot imagine him during the act.
Had she called his bluff? Managed to shock him? Had the dance itself truly been enough for him?
When she finally extricated her mouth from his, his expression nearly undid her, and not in the way either of them would have liked. Seto's face had gone pale, his once-confident fingers now trembling against her, as if shy, ashamed.
Was this… second thoughts?
Doubt? Discomfort?
Fear?
He has no idea what he is doing, does he?
Something nagged at her mind and tugged itself off her tongue. "How old are you, Seto Kaiba?"
Gods. Why, oh why had she felt the need to ask him this? Would it not only serve to betray her own nagging doubts? And yet…
"Old enough for what we both have in mind, Ishizu."
Yet his voice was labored and quiet, as if he was actively trying to reclaim his earlier confidence, his cheekiness—as if this way of being did not come as easily to him as he would like.
Ishizu blushed, feel cold, icy shame grab her shoulders, drape across her chest with its painful, honest fingers. "You're just a child—you haven't even been to university. I cannot…" She backed away from him, across the threshold, while Seto struggled to catch his breath.
She buried her face in her hands to hide her utter mortification. I cannot believe I let things progress this far. He is far too young for me. He's just a boy.
"Ishizu, don't think for a moment that this changes things," Seto muttered bitterly, face still bloodless. His eyes were fixed on the ground as if looking anywhere else would cause him immeasurable pain.
Seto Kaiba, a nervous virgin. Gods. Who would have thought?
Ishizu smiled sadly at the mortified figure before her. He needs to leave with his pride. She reached out a tentative hand and tapped him on the shoulder, feeling him bristle under her touch.
"Seto Kaiba, while I greatly appreciate the offer, I must say that it is far too early for this sort of thing."
He lifted his eyes, large and round like a chastised child, to hers.
She narrowed hers, hoping her meaning was clear. "Perhaps if you came by at a later hour, a later time, things would be different… Once you have seen the world, the world outside your tower of glass. Understand?"
Perhaps the vision would come true. Not now, but later.
They were matched, after all—High Priest, High Priestess, united in their service of the mighty Pharaoh, even if Seto refused to believe the difficult truth of it.
Seto rewarded her discretion, her tacit refusal to make things any more awkward, with an almost-smile and stood up, wiping a trickle of sweat off his brow. He stood up, spine straight as an arrow, and fixed his features into his typical sneer-smirk. "That's a load of nonsense, Ishizu. You think that just because things were one way in your story, that that has any bearing on what is happening here and now…"
Despite his words, his eyes seemed to soften with thanks.
Ishizu nodded her head quietly. Seto chuckled a bit under his breath, not unkindly, and turned on his heel, retreating into the darkness of the corridor.
Closing the door with a faint click, Ishizu let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to her forehead. Gods. Forgive me my transgression. I do deserve this.
After all, she reasoned, nothing much had changed. Her duty still remained. Her loyalties were unchanged.
And as for Seto Kaiba… well… he was young. So young, and despite his protestations and posturing, so innocent, so cloistered away in his own world that things such as this did not come naturally to him, were not truly him.
She knew that while neither of them could completely forget the events that had just transpired, perhaps, with time, things would change. The things she had dreamt—foreseen—the mutual satisfaction… that could still come to pass.
In the meantime, however, she hoped to still be able to speak to him in the morning. Destiny was destiny, and he still had a part to play, whether he liked it or not—and she would not let him forget it.