Because I just couldn't resist finishing what I had already started…

Buzz buzz

"Kaiba-san, the Vice President of D'Aubigne Industries is here to see you."

The CEO in question twitched in response to the sudden interruption in what was a peaceful atmosphere. This was not to say he was particularly at peace.

He was rather pissed, for lack of a better word.

And wouldn't you be, too, if you had three meetings scheduled in the next two days along with a stack of accounting statistics, stock reports and shipment orders to look over? Not to mention try to find a way to beat your archrival and his almost faultless deck.

…

Kaiba idly wondered why he hadn't fired his secretary yet.

Buzz buzz

"Kaiba-san? Did you get my last— "

He cut her off, speaking between clenched teeth:

"Send him in. If you get another visitor or phone call asking for me, tell them I'm busy. Better yet, tell them I've come down with a mysterious ailment that science has yet to find out the cure for, and am going to die within a matter of hours."

"Ka— "

Releasing the button on his speaker, he made a mental note to find a secretary that didn't have such an annoying, stereotypical girlish voice.

He had enough fangirls as it was.

Kaiba stood and quickly skimmed over his customary silver-toned trench coat. He was concerned for a moment—a brief moment—that he had forgotten to wear a suit, but shrugged off the matter indifferently.

At any rate, he hated business suits.

As he watched the doorknob turn, Kaiba mentally checked off one of three meetings that had to be taken care of.

So he was about to be finished with approximately 33 of his meetings. Lovely. Now all he had to do was sit through some forty-year-old yak it up about why his company would "revolutionize" and "faithfully endorse" KaibaCorp for years to come.

"Forgive me. It seems I'm a bit late, aren't I?"

Kaiba blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

…

This was not what he was expecting. Not in the slightest.

His picture of a vice president had been a clichéd image of an old, spectacle-wearing balding man with noticeable wrinkles and a short stature.

What he got instead was a relatively tall man—just about his age, it seemed—dressed in a deep lavender business suit with a dark green tie. A pair of black-rimmed glasses were set onto his face while the strands of his long indigo hair had been carelessly braided back.

…

Well, at least he had been right about the glasses.

Part of him wondered if the man standing in front of him was legitimate. Another part of him wondered who in hell would wear purple and green together. Still, another part of him wondered if indigo was really this man's natural shade of hair.

Then again…perhaps it wasn't as outrageous as a tri-colored, gravity defying porcupine head.

"Kaiba-san?"

He was vaguely aware that he had been staring blankly at the alleged "vice president" for at least a minute, if not two.

Kaiba regained his composure in silence, donning his familiar there's-nothing-extraordinary-about-you persona, though he felt like changing the latter to 'there's-nothing-extraordinary-about-you-besides-your-hair-and-your-horrible-taste-in-fashion.'

"Pleased to meet you, Kaiba Seto. I'm Vice President Mikhael Alvord from D'Aubigne Industries."

He took the outstretched hand and shook it warily, noting the perfect French pronunciation.

Kaiba switched to English for his benefit, and replied curtly, "Likewise."

He sat down, gesturing for Mikhael to do the same.

"I must say, Japan is an amazing country. It's very different from our France."

He raised a brow. "You're from France, are you? Interesting. You don't seem to have an accent."

"I moved to France five years ago after signing with D'Aubigne Industries. Before that I lived in America," Mikhael replied lightly, his light blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

So perhaps he was legitimate.

"I would have never guessed you were so young," Mikhael was saying, "I suppose there are a few of us out there."

He inserted a half-smile that looked strangely familiar. Kaiba decided to brush it off.

"Yes, well— "

Kaiba cut himself off when his gaze fell on the deck in his drawer. He glanced up at Mikhael sharply, silently cursing himself for not noticing the resemblance before.

"You've heard of Magic & Wizards." He had worded the question like a statement.

At that, Mikhael's half-smile broadened.

"Ah, yes. I've been told many times that I bear some uncanny resemblance to one of the monsters. The Black Magician, apparently." He laughed a bit, his pale features brightening.

"A mere coincidence, of that I'm sure."

Kaiba nodded, albeit hesitantly. There was something about those eyes— the way they sparkled. He'd seen them before. He was sure of it.

"Let's get started then."

He caught Mikhael's enigmatic stare and complied wordlessly. Reaching for his briefcase, Kaiba resisted the urge to sigh and bash his head against his desk.

This was going to be a long meeting.

"Kaiba-san, are you feeling well? You look rather pale."

That was the understatement of the year: He always looked "rather pale."

"I'm fine," was his offhand response.

He was lying, of course. He wasn't fine at all. No, he was completely frustrated, perturbed and pissed off beyond reason, along with the slightest hint of exhaustion…

…and absolutely none of it had to do with the meeting.

Instead, it had to do with a certain individual present at the meeting—and since there were only two people, and he wasn't talking about himself, that could only mean one other person.

Now, it wasn't as if Mikhael had done something. It was more like what he didn't do that nagged him. Each time he glanced at that fair skin or grudgingly met the gaze of those bright eyes, he nearly froze.

And he hated it.

Sure, he had tried to keep his eyes averted. He'd even went so far as to set his eyes onto the documents before him, rereading them even though the words never bothered to sink in.

But it hadn't worked.

If it wasn't his face or his eyes, then it was his voice. There was something about him that seemed familiar—so familiar that he couldn't stop wondering where they had met before.

Or when, for that matter.

"Perhaps we should take a break."

Silently, Kaiba stood and turned his back to Mikhael, secretly thankful for the suggestion. He stared out the window to the streets below, his dark eyes distant.

He asked himself that question repeatedly, failing to find an answer each time.

But he wasn't sure if Mikhael—if that was really even his name—was telling the whole truth. There was something that lingered in his smile, in the way his eyes flashed whenever he caught his gaze.

"The weather is beautiful today, don't you think?"

Mikhael was suddenly by his side, holding a cup of what looked like water. From out the corner of his eye, Kaiba noticed he had removed both his coat and glasses. He turned his full attention towards Mikhael slowly.

Kaiba held his breath, suddenly remembering the deep-set eyes and auburn strands of a priest.

That face. That face.

And before even he knew what he was doing, Kaiba had him backed against the wall, cup carelessly discarded, water seeping into the carpet.

"I was going to drink that."

Mikhael didn't seem flustered in the least bit. He only smiled mischievously, as if he'd been expecting this all along.

"Drink on your own time," Kaiba stated flatly, undoing his braid with a smooth flourish of his hand. The straight locks of his indigo hair fell neatly down his shoulders.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to remember."

"You're as cunning as ever." He paused, adding, "Mahaado."

The name rolled off his tongue. Kaiba smirked to himself triumphantly as he busied himself with removing the green tie.

"I was beginning to wonder if my new appearance fooled you—or my name, for that matter."

Kaiba dropped the tie and undid the first few buttons to relax the collar. He began kissing his neck and working his way up.

"What kind of name is 'Mikhael,' anyway?" he asked recklessly between each kiss.

"It's French, isn't it?"

He grazed his teeth against his jaw line with more force than was needed, "You know what I mean."

"It sounded sophisticated."

"And I suppose you're just the pinnacle of sophistication, aren't you?"

"No, that was always you, Seth."

He gave his ear a terse nip.

"Kaiba," he corrected.

"Is that what you're going by now?" he asked offhandedly, "I beg your pardon then, 'Kaiba-san.'"

Kaiba felt his trench coat slip to the floor. He moved it away with his foot carelessly, feeling fingers twining into brunette strands.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. "And what should I call you?"

"… Mikhael, just for the sake of argument," he said softly. "'Mahaado' sounds so archaic."

Kaiba felt a hand slipping lower and lower down his chest. He pulled back and caught it as it brushed against his belt buckle.

His voice was hoarse. "That won't work twice."

"One can't be blamed for trying," he muttered.

Kaiba made a point in adding his trademark smirk before gliding his own lips across his. He jerked his head back before they could fully kiss, leaving Mikhael with an aggravated frown.

He backed away, repeating each step with a slowly broadening smirk contrasting against a quickly deepening scowl.

Kaiba stopped when he reached the door, deftly locking it with one hand as he grabbed Mikhael's shirt with the other hand and kissed him fiercely. He savored each moment of it, enjoying the familiar taste of him and the prickling at his neck.

"Don't you have work to do?" asked Mikhael breathily when he had finally let go.

Kaiba went over the million plus things in his mind.

He should have agreed, but he only smirked. Mikhael grinned.

"No."

And with that Kaiba set himself to the task of undoing a certain obtrusive belt.

GAWD.

If there's one thing that I want for my birthday, it's more appreciation for such an incredibly sexy pairing.

Oh, and I doubt if D'Aubigne Industries really exists. I just thought the named sounded pretty and…professional. Neither does Mikhael Alvord. But if he did, WHOA, wouldn't that just be hot?