This story is based on characters created by Kazuki Takahashi. Please review. I greatly appreciate it.

One Last Gentle Violation

Seto Kaiba, still in the girls' bathroom, unzipped his pants. He pulled them down slightly and carefully rolled off the full and drooping condom sheathing his cock. He threw it in the garbage can. It lay on top of the paper towels, a slug on lettuce, a naked man among brown-robed monks. Kaiba didn't care. It wasn't like the school could do a DNA test.

He wiped any excess off with a paper towel. It did make him feel better, knowing that his bodily fluids were safely contained. There would be no moisture cooling and stiffening in his clothes or in the folds of his body to remind him of that foul summer day. He felt light, relieved.

He glanced at one of the stalls and saw a blue uniform skirt, white blouse, and pink jacket draped over the divider. They were Tea's. He pulled them from the wall and placed them neatly over his arm. They seemed so small, like doll clothes. He stepped out into the hall.

Tea was walking briskly toward him, her hand frantically wiping at her face. When she saw him, her eyes widened and she veered away as he reached out and grabbed her arm.

She cried out and pulled away. Tears were running down her cheeks and traveling down the curve of her chin. Her tears made her eyelashes look darker.

Her fear didn't make him happy. It made him feel something else, something he couldn't identify, something painful.

"I won't hurt you," he said, lifting his hands and splaying them in front of her.

She stared at him, her arms wrapped around herself. He looked into her eyes and she didn't look away. Deep in her eyes, in the center of all the fear, glowed an ember of rage and hatred that made his heart jolt.

"You left your uniform in the bathroom," he said softly, holding out the clothes. "You'll probably need it."

She hesitated, rocked forward, rocked back, and then snatched the clothes off of his arm.

"I want to take you home." His mouth had moved before the filter in his brain could stop the thought from exploding off his tongue. She looked like he had slapped her. "I want to drive you to your house."

"I can walk."

"Please." He gripped her arm again. He felt as if he were asking her not to drain his blood. He felt like he was in that study, and he was smelling the sulfur of a just struck match…

Her face transformed then, softening and opening. The glowing ember of hate in her eyes dulled. Instead he saw his own face mirrored in the watery surface of her pupil. What he saw was pale, naked, and vulnerable, a wound with the scab ripped off, a forest stripped of its trees. It was horrifying.

He watched himself in her eyes as he tightened the muscles in his face and narrowed his eyes.

"I'm going to take you home."

He took her shoulder and pushed her in front of him. He kept her in front of him as he herded her down the hall and out the door. She walked with her head down, not so much lifting as swinging her feet. He watched her calves flex, her feet point slightly, and found himself riveted.

He followed her out the door and guided her from behind to his car. The driver hopped out of the car without so much as an exasperated sigh, ran around to the back, and opened the passenger door. He would have waited forever if Kaiba wanted.

Tea looked at the driver. "Thank you," she said. Her smile was wan, but still warm. "I don't live far away." She told him the address. "I hope it's not too much trouble."

"No," said Kaiba's driver, one of a fleet with a high turnover, one whom Kaiba never really bothered to get to know. "It's no trouble at all."

Kaiba wanted to punch the driver in the face.

Tea slid in and pushed herself against the opposite window. He sat next to her. The driver shut the door. The fifteen seconds from the shutting of the door to the rev of the engine was excruciating.

The car slid smoothly down the street. It was too long of a drive. It was too short.

Kaiba glanced over at Tea. She was staring out the window. The sun made her hair glow auburn. Her hands were clenched in her lap, resting on top of her uniform. The late sun's rays fell on her skin and painted it peach.

Kaiba couldn't do it, but he had to.

He scooted closer to her, reached over, and untangled the fingers of one hand from the other. He held her hand in his.

He found it interesting that holding her hand was more awkward than masturbating on her. He had to fight to keep his hand steady. Her hand was still and loose in his.

They were getting too close to her house. Kaiba had never before felt so happy for red lights. Her skin was so unbelievably soft and smooth, her bones were so small, fragile, and graceful. He felt clumsy and brutish.

He cradled her hand in both of his, stroking it with his thumbs. Did he hear her breath quicken and deepen?

The rest of the way, he didn't move at all, except to brush her hand lightly with his thumbs. He felt the stirrings of hunger for orgasm, but he was determined to ignore it this time. He would not be greedy. He would not let his appetite gape and bleed until it absorbed him.

The driver stopped in front of Tea's apartment complex. His voice went from a microphone in the front to the speaker in the back. "We're here, miss."

"Not yet," Kaiba barked. Tea flinched. He squeezed her hand and increased the pace of his thumbs. "I'll tell you when," he said, trying to put a bit of kindness in his voice.

They sat in silence. Tea's hand began to tremble. Kaiba studied that hand with his own. He memorized it—the seashell knuckles, the creamy skin, the tender palm. He kept rubbing it with his thumbs, like it was a tiny animal he wanted to tame.

He counted to sixty.

He counted to five.

He cleared his throat.

"Come and let her out now."

He waited until he saw the driver walk up to the door and pull the handle on the other side of the smoked, one-way window. He tossed Tea's hand away. His forced coolness and disdain felt painfully transparent.

She jumped out of the car, thanked the driver, and strode up the sidewalk.

As Kaiba was driven away, he swore he could feel the air next to him get colder. As he felt that cold creep over the seat and into his guts, he twisted his fists in his hair, and pounded them on his thighs, but it wasn't enough.

He wished for nothing more than a rock.