Chapter Thirteen: Faster

It was gone. Yami frowned, scratched his cheek.

They'd taken it.

But, at least they didn't get the real one. He glowered darkly at the empty box.

Dust motes floated all around him. He sighed. His nose twitched. He sneezed.

He looked at the shelves in the storeroom. They were stained by a thick layer of gray.

When was the last time he cleaned?

Seto woke to the sound of electric guitars. He sat up stiffly in his bed, brows furrowed in sleepy confusion.

"The hell?"

It was low, a sensual strumming, nearly swinging in its lethargic energy. It was a tune he recognized but couldn't name. Something old. Like, the '70s old.

Seto stumbled out of bed. It was still early; the sun was just about to set. His bare feet padded audibly on the stone floor of the hallway. Warbling voices poured through the open door of Yami's study. The low thrum of drums.

It wiggled into his brain.

He strode in.

"What the fuck are you listening to? People were still sleeping, you know!" Seto hissed, looking around the room for his sire.

His voice came from above. "What? Not a fan of Clapton?"

Seto jerked his head up.

Yami was perched atop one of those bookshelf ladders. He didn't even spare Seto a glance as he manually dusted off the tops of the books on the shelves.

Seto gritted his teeth. The bastard was wearing that stupid black wife-beater again.

The man who had an emotional breakdown not a day before was nonchalantly cleaning his study as if all were right in the world.

Yami made a noise of disgust. "This place needed a good dusting." He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Can't remember the last time it happened."

Seto still stared at the other in befuddlement. Yami bent forward to reach farther back into the shelf. He wore distressed, faded blue jeans. The material hugged his hips and his -

Seto's fingers twitched, and he jerked his head to the side. A lukewarm blush rose to his cheeks.

"Well, fucking keep it down next time."

Yami snorted. "Yes, mother."

"Cheeky bastard," Seto hissed back, striding from the room, if only to keep himself from ogling Yami's shapely body.

Seto was tidying up his own room when the music stopped. A breath, and then a slight rap of knuckles upon his door.

"What?" He yanked his door open.

Yami stood, hand still lifted. His black shirt was streaked with thick bands of dust. He even had a blotch of gray on his cheek, a dot of it on his nose. His violet eyes blinked up at Seto.

"I'd like to request your presence in the study after I am done showering," Yami said.

Seto inclined his chin, and his lip twitched. "You're filthy." At least he wasn't caked in blood.

An arch of the eyebrow. "Hence the shower."

"Hn."

Yami walked off, and Seto's eyes strayed downward again. How he managed to get dust all over the seat of his pants, Seto couldn't even begin to guess. He blinked. He threw himself back, slammed the door.

"... Cheeky bastard."

Yami was re-arranging books when Seto walked back in.

"What did you want to talk about?" He asked, leaned against the shelf a few feet away from the other man.

A slanting glance from amaranthine eyes. "Your safety."

Seto immediately stiffened.

Yami turned to fully face him, stepped closer. His cold hand cupped Seto's cheek.

Seto resisted the urge to lean down into the gentle touch.

"I'm sorry," Yami murmured, low. "I didn't intend for my actions to put you in danger. Had I known-"

"You couldn't have," Seto interrupted. "You're many things, but I'm going to assume that clairvoyant isn't one of them."

Yami chuckled, shook his head, though his vivid eyes remained affixed to the man in front of him. "No, I'm not clairvoyant. But I should have known better than to leave you alone when you can't defend yourself."

"You'd left me alone countless times before. Nothing bad had ever happened."

Yami's brows furrowed. "But-"

Seto suddenly grabbed the sides of Yami's face. His cheeks were smooth and cool. "Dammit, you fool. I don't blame you for what happened, and I'm not going to let you convince me otherwise. You have nothing to feel bad about. Shit happens," he hissed.

Pale eyelids and thick lashes shuttered over a violet abyss, and Seto realized how close he had tugged Yami's face to his own. This close, he could see the faint creases on the red skin of Yami's lips, the ripples in his lurid irises. Unlike the majority of his hair, dark and coarse, his bangs were blonde and silky, trapped beneath Seto's fingers.

He released him, took a step back.

Yami lived the past forty-five centuries blaming himself for all that had happened.

Seto wasn't going to let him take responsibility for pure chance.

Yami's eyes were downcast, and his arm fell to his side. Quietly, he said, "That may be so, but the fact remains that I still have much to teach you."

This time, Seto wasn't going to argue. He'd had plenty of opportunities to realize that he was not equipped to protect himself against vampiric attackers.

"Hn. How do you plan to do that?"

Yami met his eyes. "Well, training of course."

Under the shadows of night, between the sickly green halos of streetlamps, they walked to an abandoned warehouse.

"This place is a mess," Seto grumbled when they ducked through a door tilted on a single hinge.

Moonlight filtered in through the missing patches of corrugated roofing. The odor of dust and mildew hung heavily on the stale air. Somewhere, water dripped. All around, old containers and pallets sat in moldy, discolored towers. Soggy cardboard littered the floor, and abandoned wires webbed the floor like veins. Somewhere, water from the rain earlier that day dripped into a puddle. The wind hissed through the dilapidated wall slats and broken garage doors.

Seto heard some animal scitter across the floor in a corner.

Yami said nothing, only strode to the center of the large, cavernous room.

"As a vampire, what do you think is your greatest asset?" Yami asked, and pivoted on his heel. His deep, authoritative voice cracked the still atmosphere like lightning does a tree.

Seto answered without second thought. "Strength."

Yami crossed his arms. His violet eyes nearly glowed in the moon-dappled dark. "Wrong."

Seto bristled.

"It is your speed." Seto barely blinked and the man was gone. His voice echoed from above. "You can have all the physical strength in the world…" A silhouette crouched on a rusty metal beam close to the ceiling. "You can move mountains with your bare hands…" A blink. Gone. A foreboding presence behind Seto. He whirled. "But if you can't dodge a well-placed attack…" Yami lunged, and Seto stumbled back. He hit the ground with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Yami pinned him down by his throat.

"... You are dead," he said, monotone, face deadpan. He stood, held out a hand for Seto.

Seto knocked it aside and stood on his own. He grimaced and brushed the dirt off his back.

Yami stared at him.

"As pissed as I am at you for knocking me down, I can admit that what you're saying makes sense," Seto growled.

If he could've evaded Rafael's attacks, he could've saved himself a lot of blood and pain.

"I have to question, though…" Seto started.

Yami's head tilted, inquisitive and attentive.

"So, from what I understand, when we feed from another vampire, we absorb some of their power."

A slight nod. "Yes."

"And you are the first vampire, arguably the most powerful one, too. I have been feeding from you since day one. Why am I not freakishly powerful?" Seto asked, visibly miffed.

"Do you expect infants to be able to do all the things their parents can, no matter how well they are being nurtured?"

Seto frowned. "No."

"It is the same principle. You are but an infant; you are not fully developed, and neither are your abilities." Yami crossed his arms again. "You can't possibly expect an infant to run as fast as a trained adult sprinter. Or to be able to run at all, for that matter."

Seto's jaw ticked. He didn't quite like being compared to an infant, but the analogy got Yami's point across.

"It had taken me centuries to develop my powers, and just as long to master to them." Yami's head ticked to the side again. "Though your growth rate might be accelerated due to my influence."

"Hn," Seto grunted. He didn't want to wait centuries to be able to defend himself properly.

Yami held up a finger. "In addition, I did not have someone with expertise to help me hone my skills. I wrote the metaphorical book on the powers of the night."

Seto resisted the urge to purse his lips.

"There are many things you could have possibly inherited from me, from shadow manipulation to shapeshifting, but, first, we're simply going to get you more attuned to your undead body."

"The plan?" Seto asked, crossing his arms and staring the other man down.

A smirk. Fangs flashed silver in the dappled moonlight. "Catch me if you can."

A blink. He was gone.

Seto whirled, whipping his head around.

Up, up, perched where two horizontal beams crossed. Red eyes glowed down upon Seto.

"What are you waiting for?" Yami's voice purred. The shadows around them danced with the syllables.

Eyes streaked long banners of red. Seto shifted on his feet to follow the movement. Yami was now crouched precariously on a tilted tower of rusted boxes.

Gone again.

Seto bared his teeth.

"Afraid to fail?" Yami boomed. Seto looked up again. The other man was crawling across the ceiling high above.

"How the hell do you expect me to catch you when I can't even see you move?" Seto snarled.

The ensuing chuckle rippled through the darkness. "Is the Seto Kaiba asking me to slow down for him?"

Seto gritted his teeth, fangs elongating in his agitation. "No!"

What the fuck was he supposed to do? Jump after Yami?

This was ridiculous.

"Remember, Seto; you have more senses than just your sight at your disposal." Yami was casually walking along the rafters on the other fucking side of the damn warehouse.

Seto's breath huffed through his nose.

He closed his eyes.

A rhythmic clicking to his right. Nails on metal. A dark chuckle to his left. Yami was deliberately playing with him.

"More than your ears," Yami intoned.

And it finally clicked.

Seto had grown so used to it - developed with it always so near - he didn't think actively about it anymore.

Yami's vampiric aura.

When he finally gave attention to it, he realized its sheer breadth and density. Now, he had several comparisons, and he knew distinctly that Yami's presence was a crushing force in relation to even that of Rafael and his companions.

He could sense him, zipping around the abandoned warehouse like a vampiric pinball.

The comparison made him chuckle.

Okay, he knew how to efficiently locate Yami. How did he actually chase after him?

Yami's sonorous voice rasped pleasantly against Seto's nerves. "Are you not up for the challenge, Kaiba?"

"That's not it," Seto snapped.

"Oh?" He darted so close, Seto could feel their shirts brush together. "Don't tell me you don't know how to jump, little fledgling?"

Seto snarled, whirled after him. Yami crouched atop another stack of metal containers. Seto's haunches tensed, and, in his rage, simply allowed himself to follow his instincts.

He launched himself after Yami. Unable to gauge his own abilities, he undershot the leap, had to dig his nails in and scramble the rest of the way up.

"Not even close," Yami said, nearly sing-song, hanging upside down from the crossbeam directly over Seto's head.

An enraged growl. The force rippled through him.

Yami was already gone.

Seto slammed into the metal beam, and it knocked the air out of his lungs. He managed to band his arms around it and haul himself up. He crouched on the beam. Rust dug into his hands. He stared down at the floor, more than a dozen feet below.

A snort. "Are you just going to admire the scenery, or are you actually going to try?"

Seto all but snapped his jaws at the other man.

Across beams, leaping from box tower to box tower, bounding off the ceiling and the walls. Each time, Yami was a bound ahead of Seto, a blurred after-image of glowing red eyes. But, he became swifter, more agile. He hit his marks, climbed and jumped and darted with ease as they danced their way through the rafters. The gap between them, feet wide, began to close, until Seto's fingers nearly brushed Yami's clothing each time.

What frustrated Seto the most was that this was probably a fraction of the speed Yami could move.

He snarled, skin clammy from the cold, wet air. He sprinted along a beam parallel to Yami, and, when they were neck-and-neck, he lunged.

If it weren't for the loose material of Yami's pants, Seto might have missed him yet again.

But he didn't. He wrapped his fingers in the material as soon as it brushed against him and threw his weight over the narrow edge of the beam.

Then, they were falling.

Cold surged up around them, and all Seto could see was black. The sinking sensation in his stomach faded away, and then suddenly he was laying on solid ground, his fingers still clenched in Yami's pant leg, just by his calf.

The shadows slithered away.

Yami had caught them.

"Gotcha," Seto panted out, slumping against the dirty ground.

Yami laughed from deep in his belly. The sound echoed boisterously in the warehouse. "Barely!" Seto snorted, released his hold on Yami's clothing, and rolled onto his back. He heard Yami shuffle around, sit up, and then he was leaning into Seto's vision. The red had cooled to an amused violet. "If I hadn't been wearing pants, you wouldn't have caught me."

Seto blinked, scrubbed a dirty hand over his face. He no longer cared about the orange-brown rust staining his palms. "I don't know about that," he muttered honestly.

If Yami hadn't been wearing any pants, Seto would've had incentive to catch him.

He blushed at his own thoughts.

Yami's grin widened. "Of course. Cocky fledgling." He patted Seto's filthy cheek. The action felt somehow sarcastic. "You did very well."

Seto's lip curled. "You were holding back."

Yami lifted a shoulder. He still hovered above Seto. "You would never have had a chance otherwise."

Seto rolled to the side. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, old fart."

Yami crawled after him. "You know it's true."

Seto rolled again, not even caring that a puddle of dirty water was soaking into his shirt. "Hn. Sure. If you say so."

"Well, I do." Yami continued crawling after Seto at a steady pace as the other man just kept rolling away. "I do say so."

"Nice," Seto replied.

"Are you trying to make me catch you now, Seto?" Yami said with a laugh.

Seto rolled again. "Maybe. I've always had a taste for revenge."

"Well, you are challenging a lion to a game of cat and mouse," Yami intoned with mock seriousness.

"That was horrible."

"It was a little tacky, was it not?"

"Hn, more than a little."

Laughter echoed through the abandoned warehouse.

They came in hordes on a moonless night. Alone, he stood no chance.

Dark blood slashed on sandstone. The ancient, intricate paintings were doused and desecrated by red.

The Scale and the Key.

They were found, and they were taken.

"Harder!" Yami barked.

Seto's teeth gritted with exertion.

"That's not fast enough, Kaiba!"

His teeth bared. His muscles, still so cold, screamed their protest.

"If I were your enemy, you would be dead already!" Yami's voice boomed, and Seto could've sworn that he heard the metal roofing rattle.

When he was human, Seto followed a strict physical training regimen. At least one hour, seven days a week. It'd help him shed more energy and sleep better at night.

But no workout, even his most intense ones, could ever compare to the hell Yami put him through.

Darting about the warehouse (hell, warehouses, when Yami would take to the roof and jump from building to building like a damn flea), tipping over heavier and heavier crates (at one point, even a giant shipping container), and reflex training (Yami whipping objects at him, even hand-to-hand combat).

Never as a vampire had he felt so physically fatigued.

He leaned against a metal beam and panted. His muscles felt like liquid.

Yami whipped a rock at him, and he weakly batted it away.

"No more," he muttered. "I can't do anymore tonight."

Yami shifted, and Seto flinched. But another rock did not come.

Yami moved closer, brushed the hair out of Seto's eyes. "Okay. You did well. You more than deserve to rest for tonight."

"Hn," Seto grunted, still breathless. He leaned into the touch. A week of this training. Every night, no matter what else was planned. Feeding? Run across rooftops afterwards. Praying? Fling some fucking rocks at Seto after.

And the cleaning. Yami dusted a majority of the rooms already. Busy, busy week.

Yami made a soft sound, caressed Seto's cheek briefly.

Seto blinked down at him.

"Do you need to feed?" Yami asked. "You spent a lot of energy tonight."

Seto nearly shuddered at the thought.

He hungered.

But not for blood.

"No," he said. "I'm fine."

But he thought about Yami, breathless and arching in his arms.

The thought had stewed for a while.

"I want to know what it feels like," he rumbled, blinking slowly, tiredly.

Yami stared at him. His dark brows furrowed. "I'm not following."

Seto reached forward, sluggish fingers tracing along Yami's neck. "To be fed from."

Those red lips parted, surprised. "Do you remember when Pegasus bit you?"

Seto snorted. "Not really." It was blurry, foggy and vague. He knew distantly the feeling of the drain.

But it certainly didn't feel like how Yami made it seem.

"Why?" Yami asked, quiet. "Why do you want to know?"

Seto lifted a shoulder. "I don't like the fact that when I feed, either from humans or from you, I don't know necessarily what they are feeling." A little growl. "And I don't like being ill-informed."

Yami looked away, still seemingly stunned. "That's understandable, I suppose." He either didn't notice or didn't mind Seto's hand lingering on his neck. "Though I will be honest in admitting that I did not expect such a consideration from you."

Seto hummed, languid, breath even and slow now.

Yami suddenly stiffened, head whipping to one side.

Seto snatched his hand away.

"We have a visitor," Yami murmured. His posture shifted, like a panther on guard.

Seto followed his gaze. He was staring toward the church. He looked back to Yami, who was creeping forward, shadows fluttering around his edges. "Do you know who it is?" Seto asked.

A hum, crimson eyes flicking toward him. "Yes…

"... It's Maximillion Pegasus."

END PART

OOOOO what is Seto getting himself intoooo~~?

Hugs and kisses! I'll see you next chapter!