I do not own the characters, and I am sure I'd show them more respect if I did. This story is purely for fun, and no billionaire CEOs were harmed in the making of it.
Two businessmen. Just two businessmen together, and one is holding a glass of wine. The other has a briefcase full of papers that are already growing warped in the dampness. Rather like his host's attitude, he thinks, and "admit it," he says in a growl.
His host raises one elegant eyebrow.
"Admit it, you drunken pervert," this time he's almost shouting, "you planned this, didn't you?""Oh yes," Pegasus' voice is as dry as the wine Seto thinks. Actually, it's dryer; 1973 was a sweet year for your French reds. "Oh yes," and he takes an elegant sip that somehow doesn't bring the level down at all in his glass, "you've caught me Kaiba-boi, I planned it all." He shrugs, "that's me, setting up a full-on tropical storm, just so I could get you alone. Your character insight is as flawless as always."
He's as elegant as always himself, and he moves the same as always, like a pervert with a color-blind tailor. "No wait," he also emphasizes his words like always, with the wine glass perpetually in his right hand. And his voice still sounds like he thinks everything's a joke. "That's right," he says brightly, "it was so I could have Mokuba kidnapped again. Wine, Kaiba-boi?" He raises the bottle invitingly, not that Seto's touched a drop of what he poured him to begin with.
He's just joking, Seto's sure of it. At least he thinks he is, and anyway, he can trust Roland to watch his brother. ...He thinks he can... His hand goes to his pocket.
"Don't bother trying to call," Pegasus says languidly, "rain always knocks out cell service on the Island." He takes another drink, then he stretches lazily, and then he pats the sofa right next to him. "Come sit down and relax, it's not like there's anything else you can do."
The crazy thing is Seto almost wants to. After all, there isn't anything he can do, is there? Just for a minute, it's as if he can see himself: He's got his trenchcoat off, and it's hanging on a nearby chair. He's sitting next to Pegasus, and he's tasting the vinegary, sour stuff that he calls Chateau Pegasus. ...He realizes with a start that that's because this is what he's doing. ...And he has Pegasus' arm around his shoulder. "How long do you think this storm will last?" he hears himself asking.
"Oh, until six maybe," Pegasus sets his glass to one side, "or longer," he says, "if things start getting good."