Written for Mamono's fanfic writing anniversary .
Ballad
By Kysra
He is all smooth lines and sharp angles, a dark pillar of stillness amidst a backdrop of swirling pastels, glittering metallics, and shimmering faux candlelight. There is a sense of pause about him, a subtle hint of agitation fluttering beneath the calm surface as if he is holding himself stationary to prevent a necessary or wanted action. His midnight eyes flash and focus upon the subject of his disquiet, the entirety of his attention centered, intense, and drawing the attention of one who has fallen under that stare.
"I'm surprised you're not a pile of ash. He looks as if laser beams will shoot out of his eyes any minute," a handsome, pleasant-looking man murmurs to his petite dance partner even as he swings her out into a sedate turn.
Her blue eyes brighten with suppressed humor, "I don't think it's me who will be turned to ash."
They sway together, his eyes seeking and finding the source of his discomfort across the expansive dance floor for the umpteenth time in as many seconds, "He keeps staring at us."
"He's staring at me." It is said with an air of honesty that leaves no room for question.
An eyebrow is cocked and an arm tightens slightly around the trim waist, "How can you be so sure?"
She smiles impishly before patting a stubble-darkened cheek, "Because I have a great ass."
He cannot help the self-effacing grin that strokes his lips nor can he resist the temptation to smooth a stray lock of hair behind her ear, "This conversation just became very uncomfortable."
"Then allow me to relieve you from continuing it." The new voice intrudes upon their barely begun banter, shattering the little economy of humor they've woven around themselves, but the feminine sigh speaks of contentment rather than disappointment as does her pleased little smile and blushing cheeks.
It is hard to give her up to a man so young and stodgy, but she sweetens the parting with a short kiss and a long embrace. He has taken the place of the dark pillar for the moment, still and watching amidst a backdrop of swirling pastels, glittering metallics, and shimmering faux candlelight. There is a sense of pause about him, a subtle hint of heartbreak rippling beneath the jovial countenance, as he studies the way her eyes catch and embrace the light Seto Kaiba gives off in only her presence.
"He's staring at you." It is almost an accusation, but Téa seems amused rather than offended.
"He's my date. He can stare at me if he wants to."
Seto is not amused by her flippant manner and seeks to communicate his displeasure by revealing the true reason for his irritation, "You said couldn't make it tonight, because you had other plans."
She smiles her innocent smile, "And I did have plans, or have you missed the fact that I had a date?"
"Apparently, you have missed the fact that you're mine." His voice is velvet brushing gravel - soft, deep, and just this side of sexy. Her knees feel as if they are melting under the heat infused in that voice, in those words, and she summarily finds it difficult to stand upright,
"I know I'm yours, and you are mine." It is a whisper breathed into his ear, her chin propped upon his shoulder as her hands clutch at his shoulder blades. There is not room for air between them, and it occurs to neither that such closeness is not proper at such a prestigious event.
"Then you won't mind if I take the next dance as well." He nuzzles into the deliciously scented curve of bared skin where her neck and shoulder meet, relishing in the heaviness of her breath and whimpering little mewls of encouragement.
"I . . . apologize. My dance card is full." She extricates herself from him just enough to resume the stately waltz they had been engaged in before the descent into sensual madness, but he refuses to let go, the hand at her waist coming up to tilt her chin up to receive the fullness of his kiss,
"Do you know what today is?"
A low hum is his answer as heavy lids yield to smoky blue eyes, "One year since our first date."
Kaiba doesn't mind the attention he can feel from all quarters nor does he care that the orchestra has ceased in their music. The whole of his focus is personified in the woman before him, "Precisely. Why didn't you come with me?"
Téa's innocent smile again marks her face. It is an expression he knows to be wary of, "I told you. I already had plans. Enishi asked me months before you even brought it up."
"Why would my new business partner ask you to something like this?"
She frowns slightly at the inquiry, "I'm slightly offended that you seem to think it impossible an attractive older man would take an interest in me."
This comment inspired his own - all to commonplace - frown, "That's my central point: No other man - older or otherwise - should be taking an interest in you. You're mine." He must visibly suppress the rising growl, "Why is he so familiar with you?"
She chooses to ignore the last question, "And you're mine. Do you see me going crazy over every other woman who makes eyes at you?"
"He didn't just make eyes at you. He asked you out on our anniversary, and you accepted."
An unfeminine snort rent the now-completely silent ballroom, "Of course I accepted. I've known him all my life. There was no reason not to accept."
The couple now stood facing each other, a slight three foot space apart, elaborately dressed and made-up spectators circling around them, the man in question standing only a short distance away with a blatantly amused expression painted on his face.
"The reason not to accept is standing right in front of you."
"You're blowing this way out of proportion."
"Tell me honestly that, if our positions were reversed, you wouldn't feel the same way."
"I can tell you with absolute certainty that I would not feel threatened by you dancing with Mokuba. Disturbed, maybe, but not threatened."
"Mokuba?"
She couldn't help the smirk that blossomed forth at his barely-there confused look, "And here I thought you had done a thorough background check. Enishi was originally Emmanuel Gardner. He's my older brother, Seto."
For several long moments, Seto Kaiba is literally struck dumb at this unexpected news (and his rather careless oversight); but his sensibilities return in the flash of a sheepish grin (treasured greatly due to its rarity) and a fumbling apology.
Again that innocent smile from that sweet face. Again a brief all-too-familiar frown. They come together to a chorus of sighs and overloud sniffles from the impromptu audience; but the song was never ended and their ballad is written in the rustle of polyester as he bends to one knee and prefaces the promise of forever with the presentation of a little black box, his opening of, "Then, I guess I can still do this," and the crescendo of her resounding cry of, "Yes!"