Beauty and the Beast
Michiro-Chan: I've finally returned with yet another update--and I'm jumping right into the yaoi on behalf of all those who have waited patiently. Apologies for the considerable number of times these chapters have been updated; I usually give my friends a copy of the disk (no Internet at my house) and they update it for me--sometimes more than necessary. So, what have you thought of this story? Too flowery? not flowery enough? disturbing? think I've got a few screws loose? Well, whichever response, I'm going to need a hell of a lot more reviews to tell me what I need to revise in this story to make it better. I got the gist that this fiction drove itself into a crater last chapter. Either that, or I'm going to have to withdraw rape from here on out.
Disclaimer: I don't own Yuu-Gi-Ou! nor do I own any of the characters used in this fan fiction. And thousands and thousands of apologies, but I'm really going to deface Seto's character this chapter, and frankly, in order for the Jouno x Seto pairing to work, you really have to slash their characters. Then again, Scorpios do use sex as a weapon… 0
Song Disclaimer: "Making of a Cyborg" lyrics shown in this chapter is the "Ghost In The Shell" theme for the beginning piece, composed by Kenji Kawai and sung by Saeko Higuchi. I'm borrowing it temporarily to give this chapter an alien effect--I really like it for one reason or another. I had to rent it to remember the lyrics 'cuz I saw the movie such a long time ago... 0
As for you kind reviewers:
BlueEyesjammys15: A million thank yous for your heartwarming review, and I'm glad that you like it! I'm hoping that you'll come back and read again soon.
Flame Hell: Good God, I have such kind critics! Critics…kind? Crap, that's…definitely an oxymoron. Well, I've been part of this little creative writing community since I was about twelve years old (fifteen now), and I used to only write slapstick works. Glad to hear that you enjoyed the story. I'll try to update as soon as I can.
Spazishness: Oh, you're still reading! Honestly, I'm so touched that you would come back after such a loooooong time to keep reading, and even leave another review behind! I'm so lucky to have such nice reviewers…and completely ecstatic to learn that you like my story so much! I'll keep writing and updating ASAP, and hope that that'll make up for the kindness in your good deed. And don't even be concerned about it--I absolutely do NOT mind if you put this story on your favorites. In fact, I'd be HAPPY as hell if you did. Thank you so much for your review!
Repmet: Delighted in seeing that you think the plot's interesting. It is rather different from the other dark accounts on this website, and it didn't take me too long to find it out. And yes, the language was complex, and Seto-sama did seem like he'd eaten a Britannica. If you happen to read again, you'll have to keep a watch on the language, because I'm going to keep throwing it here and there for the overall style of the story.
Thanks for your support, the hits, the reviews, the author alerts, everything.
Love,
Michiro-Chan
XXX
"When it gets dark enough, you can see stars in the sky."
XXX
(A/N: Excuse the fluffiness, I was listening to "Let Me Be With You" (Chobits) obsessively. The dialogue for this was originally written in Japanese.)
Masses of gathered prestigious academy textbooks, Britannicas, Webster's series, and almanacs beyond count were piled around the undergraduate in a tormenting circumnavigation, while heaps of cast-off, ragged notebooks and stationary were run down to the timbered floor in another startling harvest. Seto sat in the great midst of an open, college-like schoolroom, calmed by the non-existent sounds of his lecturer's scolding, trite tone-indebted to whatever god who normally didn't give a fuck about him that the brute had retired for the afternoon, as well as the rest of the haggard week.
This was the very last backdrop Kaiba Seto wanted to befall as the lead role of on the Christmas Eve of 1992. Sadly, he knew he'd be starring every following year until his adoptive father somehow managed to be assassinated or expire in some little known way. Seto would've gladly taken Gouzaburou's life if he'd been given the opening, but with such a busy schedule…
According to the grapevine, the old tutor had been struck down with a seasonal virus that'd been going round that winter regularly from child to fogey. Given that the man could easily qualify for an archeological relic, the educationalist's immunity was bound to deceive him at his primitive age. And given that, Seto was finally allowed to work at his own pace with lessons, only silence or the occasional echo of unimportant noises accompanying him on his staled, academic journey.
The brunet wasn't exactly quite what you'd say on top of things with his own welfare at the moment, as Gouzaburou strongly insisted on Seto's education over health. Easily expected. So there he was--of anything but his own free will--interpreting Aristotle's stages of the tragic hero, festering crabbily toward the Latin usage while a fiber of paled, plague-ridden mucus trailed its path along the flourishes of his pixie-like nostril.
"Arte…Hubris…Ate…Nemesis…"
A brittle, toneless hand shakily swept up the greenish lather, and loutishly swabbed away the debris onto the sleeve of his clothing as he studied the book…an act which Mr. Kaiba would undoubtedly have the boy beheaded for bad manners.
He shuddered violently, cradling the book in his dithering grasp, face even dowdier than usual because of untreated sickness, corneas blood-shot, nasal congestion only worsening, throbbing of his sinuses clear of the long-loathed migraine, and body on the point of collapse. The devoted student wanted to rest, he honestly did--as an arranged doctor had already cautioned the mustached tycoon that his son'd desperately needed it--but the child knew he would be forced into an epitome of torment if he didn't get his studies done.
Seto was giving his all to blitz on the text printed on the page set before him, but his feverish conditions weren't allowing him to do that. Sleep…yes; sleep was nice to have once in a while. Unfortunately, the youngster hadn't been getting much these days. At the least, he was naturally satisfied with the regular three hours a night, but it didn't lessen the effect of whiteness and generalized weakness to his appearance. His classmates ordinarily kept their distance from the vaporous, chalky-faced, gruesomely lean heir to the KaibaCorp throne, some marveled, others sickened. The twelve-year-old could have really cared less if Hideki Tojo himself had notified him on his lack of popularity--as if such a man had the right to talk, anyway.
Aside from his need in politeness, the boy was a physically poor participant in any workout activities. He took PE only for the required credits, but still…white, ghastly bones and eyes were the only visible participant among the other fostered, healthy bodies whom he tried so hard not to envy all of their carriers' clearly happy lifestyles. For this, the preteen was thankful his brute of a parent didn't require that Seto live out any tiring drills or maneuvers on behalf of the man's high military beliefs. On the other hand, the child hardly breathed in even traces of fresh air, knowing that he would be forever forced to stay inside and finish a term paper or read another chapter of an irritatingly worded, stupid novel.
Seto sighed. This hardly passed for the new life he'd worked so hard to get for the both them…after all, he'd been the only ten-year-old kid with the nerve--or stupidity--enough to tell off a grandee which could have very well mounted Seto's head over his mantelpiece if Gouzaburou'd fancied it at the time. But Seto was still trying his hardest. Now that he'd established his sense of pride, there would be no way he'd be homeward bound to the rat-hole he and Mokuba were once forced to call home. No way.
He didn't care if he had to give up his happiness just to prevent that from happening…what he had left of a childhood wasn't really worth anything to him either way…his physical wellbeing…his mental stability…consecrated realms of his body--provinces of which he'd already forfeited to the tyrant…time to time his younger brother was accidentally thrown into the suite…or even his life was willingly put on the line, as selfish as it was to his avowal of guarding Mokuba.
But, in the manner of any Japanese fundamental martial strategist, he would never lay down arms to his dignity, as if the failure of being belted onto the harness of havoc, and hauled off in return to the doghouse was the boy's personal bushido--the greatest dishonor of a combatant. Taking fearsome flight with a quivering tail stuck between his haunches was something he'd never lower himself to.
A samurai would decidedly disembowel himself with his own katana rather than being taken prisoner by the enemy…the flower girls had opted to grasping hands, gazing wistfully toward one another upon the budding, weeping morn, and dropping from a cliff into demise rather than being raped by the disembarking American soldiers…the propitious student coming to the shame of not being received into the university they'd applied for would puncture their skull out of shame…Kaiba Seto would rather forsake his brother, be assaulted, whipped, starved, crucified, overtaxed and underpaid by an errant pedophiliac than be towed back to the orphanage.
Anything but the orphanage. He'd sooner cross the viaduct into asceticism and watch Gouzaburou set fire to the damned bridge in apathy than be tossed back into that child penitentiary again. Still…hadn't he done that already?
Though he knew, eventually, he would vanquish this autocrat of an adoptive father, and draw their deadly dance to a finale as the victor voicing the final, "Checkmate." But instead of before, he wouldn't have to cheat this time. He would play by every one of Gouzaburou's perilous rules, and it would only make his victory all the sweeter once he triumphed in the perpetrator's own sick game.
The grand array of wooden work surfaces were disposed by uninspired architecture, row by row coming to a ceiling rise once it reached the lofty wall furthest to him, while the focus of the class offered attention to the lowest point of the room, occupying the area facing the pre-adolescent. It contained a sizeable chalkboard--dappled with smears as of forgotten teachings--and an untidy school desk beside it. It was a college-based classroom intended for many students to gather and be taught or take notes on a lecture delivered by their not-so compassionless professor. Instead, the room was being used by a twelve-year-old boy with an otherworldly IQ of 221, bordered by a never-ending cascade of books, whose tutor would feast upon the child's entrails if he dared to neglect even one assignment.
Seto wasn't the type to be optimistic about these kinds of things either. However, he did not dwell on his blunted nothingness or basked in self-pity. After all, Kaiba Seto always had work to do and lived as a militant diehard, even at his young age. And despised loafers with a passion.
Falteringly, the gingery-haired youth placed down the book onto his desk due to agonizing fatigue, and rested for a bit. Just to lay down his head down for a minute--just to shake off a bit of the exhaustion--and then he'd keep on going with his revisions. It wasn't really procrastination…just a little break. And whatever the case may be, he was working as hard as his body would let him.
His fingers shakily took hold of his nearby backpack, and managed to reach the quaking forearm inside, finally mining a small container from its depths. The mastermind quickly surveyed the bottle's contents, nodded weakly in his own approval, and undid the urn's safe-locked plastic cap, tipping a single gel capsule into his gaping palm. An expression of pure pain was shown through his suffocated features as he placed the dose into his mouth and slowly swallowed. Though clearly not pleased with the prescribed amount, the preteen spilled out three other tablets, funding an unpromising, destructive hunger he couldn't seem to resist for supplements of morphine in the medication. Luckily, Mokuba didn't know about these little episodes he'd had with the drugs before, because if the tot did end up finding out--
"Nii-sama, what're you doing--? Nii-sama--!"
"Mokuba, stop. It's my medication…give it back…!"
"Please don't do it, nii-sama! Yer hurting yourself when ya do that…just like you hurt me, too."
"Otouto--"
"When you take lots of pills, it hurts me too!" He would gawk so hauntingly with those colossal eyes strewn with tears and pearled in their wake, broad as tableware at that instant. "…C--'cause we're…a part a' each other. We pinkie-promised, nii-sama…p--please don't…don't…hurt yourself like this--ya gotta remember our promise, or ya might stop moving, and I'll never see you ever again…!"
…Otouto. He knew he was blessed to have such an angel be a part of his life. It was the only gift-wrapped keepsake Seto felt God Himself had offered into his coveting, once-unsullied hands, as little as the time had been that the babe-in-arms was duty-bound by his mother to believe in the daft parting of the Red Sea, the trusty golden-winged keepers of the Father assigned to eager children, and the only son He'd forgone to be crucified in place for all the sins of humanity. "Angelus Domini nuntiavit Mariae…"
Seto's eyes grew pained while murmuring its exultant translation in a quality of sound that bared utter heartache. "The angels of the Lord announced unto Mary…" His wrist cleared past his nostril once more, smearing off another froth of nasal residue, and as soon his arms had roosted back down onto the writing desk, the fingers of his anemic-ish hands tamped together into a taut fist. Christmas morning was what was really bothering him. It was already Christmas Eve, after all…
The celebration of the holiday was for only commercial reason in Japan, as you'd hardly come across a person in the country whom actually understood what Christmas was for--"Datte ano omiyage kunai kara?" ("Isn't it for the presents?")--but albeit that Kaiba Seto knew its true meaning, he wasn't that fond of the gifts either way. Gouzaburou wasn't really of the gift-giving, philanthropic nature, so as a rule, the two were left to plod in their misery if the man'd "forgotten" to buy presents for the occasion. Mokuba, above all, had been in hysteria after not receiving a single toy pending Christmas the first year they'd been brought to the mansion, but clearly got the message that both would have to put up with it come next year. Seto didn't care whether he got so much has a lump of coal wrapped up in an unraveling, smelly stocking, though on the contrary, pitied Mokuba when the little one was in tears to unearth nothing beneath the garlanded Christmas tree.
Seto pled with all his heart to those angels he'd always hated that the child wouldn't be in tears again because of that. That just maybe Mokuba would be strong enough to smother those sobs that festered the brunet's psychological wellbeing--or lack thereof.
Even with the guilt trip, he still tipped another dosage into his hand, with unflagging intention to consume it. He knew it really was wrong…he knew he'd really made a pinkie-promise to be the best, sealed the spit-shake, hallmarked the pledge with a kiss, and even crossed his heart…but to breach the sacred covenant of a preschooler--a baby brother--who'd only wished for his elder sibling's best, and successfully overcome the guilt complex, he knew he honestly was starting to become like that bastard.
But without warning, the echo of light, tentative footsteps into the room caught the wunderkind unawares. "…!"
Quickly, he shut the container, and plunged hastily for his backpack with the last traces of his thinned strength, dropping the bottle within the bag's inlands while finally sealing it off. The last thing Seto wanted was for a stool pigeon of the mansion to dash off to Mr. Kaiba notifying the businessman that his son was an addict, with high hopes they'd get a pathetic sum of bones of favorable payment thrown their way. Gouzaburou's workforce came almost like the Gestapo in Seto's view: him being the monitored civilian, Gouzaburou being the dictator noshed with the boy's demerits by his staff.
The schoolboy dully resumed his readings, acting even slightly fascinated, until he received an unexpected response from the faceless individual. Everything surrounding him blurred in the handiwork of a kindergartner's sloppily finger-painted portrait…a treasure Seto held dearly of which would never be pinned up on the refrigerator beside his father's approval--
"…Nii-sama?"
It was answered with a gasp of shock from the twelve-year-old. "Mokuba! Wh--what are you doing up so late?"
His retinas bit by bit focused on the tiny silhouette far below from him, until the freckled picture pushed together its stray pieces to take shape into an adoring, bug-eyed, pining, self-denying little damsel left to mosey for her prince.
And as fast as the image came together, his migraine didn't allow it to stay that way any longer. A hallucination of sick little girls and boys spiraling and holding hands played again and again in his brain, chorusing with struggled smiles, "Ring around the rosy, pocket full of poesies, ashes, ashes, we all fall dead--!" as his body began to crash down onto the wooden counter with the children's mistaken refrain, elbows clamping onto the surface by reflex and supporting his dilapidated form. God, that gesture must've looked so pathetic to his little brother…
Mokuba only perched his head to the right shoulder, in the enchanting caricature of an exotic bird, and began slowly treading toward the set of large stairs beside Seto that divided the compilation of desks. The seven-year-old's blossoming, ebony thickets were wound into snugger and shorter locks at the time--another trim recently ordered by Mr. Kaiba--although were as lustrous as ever, the flourishing ringlets sprigged with blues and blacks while enfolding fleshier, rosier, cherubim cheeks. The imp held one arm behind him coyly apparently clutching a blanket, the other being rested at his side, as a one-eyed tattered velveteen dangled limply from a dimpled fist, the plush teddy bear having been tended to by the kid since the crib.
His tarry-haired brother carried on in the usual shy, almost god-fearing approach, little by little quickening when he scaled those steps barefoot one after another while the shabby toy aimlessly bounced back against his knee. Mokuba's dark tresses spiraled as he scrambled near his brother, donning plaid nighties of pale limes and golden pastels, and expression lusting. Tone no more than a small twitter, he finally tore toward his exhausted brother through the frightening pile of books, and tossed elfin arms around the elder's neck, looking as if the youngest had lost all thoughts of ever letting go. "Nii-sama!" he moaned into the older boy's chest, slowly being adopted into his sibling's arms as well.
Seto ran soothing hands through the elementary-schooler's divine bouquet of raven hair, languid gaze lowering to the boy's slate-colored head. "Mokuba, you shouldn't be up at this hour…and where are your socks? You'll get sick if you run around the house without them on--"
"I've missed you so much, nii-sama! I was lookin' for ya all over the place--" God's most devoted soul chirped into his knight-in-shining-armor's benevolent grasp. "I'm so glad you're here with me!" The older boy could've sworn he felt tiny droplets filter into his shirt. "But don't ever think I'm losing any hope, nii-sama… 'cuz I know in the end, ya always come t' rescue me sooner or later."
As Mokuba beamed back blithely to his older brother, expecting the wholehearted smile, but instead, received a rather lethargic grin. The pull of his embrace slackened with concern, gaze now reduced to the ground. Hidden disappointment was expressly patent in this gesture. "Nii-sama? Whatcha' doin' up this late? Ya look sleepy. That big bully hasn't been makin' ya study through the night…has he?"
In the impulse of a mother troubled for their son's cheerfulness's sake, Seto brushed the burden aside, forcing himself to recite a lie to do so. "No, it's all right, Mokuba. Don't be bothered about it. He didn't force me; I just wanted to get it out of the way."
The ebony-haired youth seemed to show a bit of doubt in this statement--being as shrewd as he was with his sibling's predictable habits--though quickly concealed this skepticism. This did not go overlooked by the twelve-year-old as Mokuba only resumed his childishly-forced inspection, wistfully knowing that he'd be always given the untouched, comforting response. "H--he's feeding you okay…mm-hm? You're skinnier than normal too, nii-sama. An' ya sound sick."
Seto withdrew at that. He couldn't stand how his disease had to show in his dreary shortness of self-security and weedy, frail form. But eventually, he knew he would be able to waste this depraved asshole, and re-establish the precious health he once had. Then, he would be strong enough to pretend that the world was just the cosseting oyster that was really never once there for him…then, he could keep living as the most critical case of untreated neurosis in psychological record, still screening everything with that so-familiar cold film of disdain, and people would never dare suspect the poor boy to be tormented on the insides.
"Mokuba, don't be silly. I…just--I haven't been feeling quite myself lately." He slogged with this lingering statement even as his weak gaze decayed in the struggle for any further words, probing angst forcing long-term stay into storm-gray eyes. More like months. A year, odds-on. The dull, unbearable spasms of hunger he'd been forced to breathe underside to day after day had become one of his obnoxious companions.
Heroism, loyalty, generosity, kindness, nobility…all of these beautiful aspects to even one of the biggest humanitarians was completely forgone when that certain someone had barely anything to eat.
Seto noticed this glimmer of despair thrown out from the smaller boy and quickly shot for that smile to unfurl along the adorable face once more--even if it was fake. Either way, it was easier to glimpse into happy eyes…misery was just too much to bear anymore. "I'm fine, okay?"
"I guess if ya say so," Mokuba murmured. "But, anyhow…that big crummy ogre shouldn't be tellin' ya what t' do! Ya shouldn't let him take over your whole life--!"
"Mokuba," he cocked one brow crustily and silenced the boy.
"…Umm…sorry, nii-sama." He suddenly erupted into chiming, pixie-like laughter. "I don't think I've ever met anyone s' pretty as you, nii-sama." The child slowly embraced the older boy as he continued whispering his puerile, ridiculous tribute no child a mere year beyond the young 'un's age would ever even think of mentioning. Meanwhile, Seto was finding it surprisingly difficult not to redden in the face. "…And I never will. You're just as pretty as my guardian an--" As if in startling grasp of the reference he'd just made aloud, Mokuba quickly quashed any further words.
Seto rolled annoyed eyes heavenwards. "Mokuba. Don't act immature. There's no such thing as angels and you know better than to come here talking nonsense to me about your fairytales. They're only dreams."
The boy couldn't help but soldier on, gesturing cheerfully to prove his fanciful point. "But I could feel her, nii-sama…! She's a pretty, pretty white angel with long black hair who reads me bedtime stories and sings lullabies for me. Her face looks just like yours. Like a painting even the bestest watercolorer in the whole wide world couldn't put together! An' her eyes were the same blue as yours. Blue, blue, blue. Like sapphires or an ocean," he blathered on in his lovesick, seven-year-old zeal. "--I could really touch her when she kissed me or hugged me, nii-sama. I could even hear her heart beat. She said she'd stay with me forever and ever, an' for me to never, ever be scared 'cuz she'd always keep watching over me…"
"It's your imagination, Mokuba."
"But--" his lamblike bleat grew trancelike, features embroidered with absolute heartache at his elder's distrust. Since when did he stop believing in the faerietale that both could dwell together in their storybook happy ever after? "…What if it's okaasan comin' back for us? I know I'd want it to be her--"
"Otouto, angels don't exist and I don't want to hear anymore babbling coming from you about this. Our mother is a thing of the past and sooner or later, your babyish dreams will also have to be that too."
Mokuba's wounded gaze swayed down to an untidy pleat in his folded lap. Big brothers sure were mean sometimes. "I'm--real sorry, nii-sama."
…The only one cruel enough to set fire to a child's precious castle in the sky.
A startling thwack led the double act out of their unhappy stupor.
"What the…!"
"Ahh--!"
The smaller lad stumbled out of blunt fear, his following stagger clearly proving his reflexes were not very well practiced. Dangerously within reach of the dodgy point that his doll-delicate frame would tumble down those bleak set of steps, a redeemer's hand grasped the tiny, flailing wrist, and firmly tugged so that reckless little Moki collapsed into the safe passage of his nii-sama's lap, out of harm's way…forever.
The twelve-year-old couldn't help but smile somewhat as his adorable younger brother clumsily heaved himself back onto his bent knees and grinned back with a spangled stare, cheeks sprinkled with a rosy, undeniably enchanted dust. "You should really be more careful."
Mokuba's expression spewed into a faint-hearted grimace, "Th--thanks, Seto. But--" His limbs scrambled tensely from his last but certainly not least relative, and thrusted out behind his trembling, uneasy form. The blanket he'd dropped earlier rustled as he pushed it gently aside and grabbed something beneath it.
With yet another lovable scuttle of stubby, cherubim legs frilled in PJs, the tyke heaved up and cradled a fairly large, colorful package--or at least it seemed big for such a tiny boy--in both arms from the steep stairs he'd been forced to fully bend over to even get a hold of. After a bell-like groan rung from the raven-haired angel's parted lips, the little one bent toward the eldest and released the package onto the stair with a generous smack that sent the room in trills Mokuba found himself regretting.
Seto's gaze unwounded, exposing a bit of softness onto his classically stiff features.
It was beautifully wrapped. Sparkling, starry, silvery wrapping paper tucked and creased scruffily here and messily there, even scattered patches far and wide of Blue-Eyes White Dragons twirling their glittering, graceful, cygnet-like throats or roaring with a frightening yet pleasing show of teeth. Their silhouettes, which clashed with the brilliant silver backdrop, made it seem as if they were floating along the six panes of the package--gorgeous creatures seraphs would appoint as their own trusty steeds. To end with, the work of art was festooned at the lid with a slightly wilting, oversized ribbon, halos and curls of hoary azure laid drooping over the sides of the parcel. Absolutely breathtaking.
Why yes, at a glance, you could tell that the gift was wrapped by a child who didn't know what they were really doing to start off with, but putting all that aside…you could also tell at a glance that the present was wrapped for a very special someone.
"Merry Christmas," the youngest beamed broadly.
He was stunned. "…Mokuba."
"Aww…well, I'm sorry that I didn't wrap it that good. But, b'fore ya open it, there's a card right there, see? Couldja' read it--?"
Trembling fingertips delved beneath the glassy, sapphire locks of the bow, studiously tugged out the strip of masking tape on the card, cautious not to tear, and slipped out a sweet, crayon-drawn, also sloppily folded sheet of paper of which the words "Me--ri Kurisumasu" were scribbled out in cluttered Katakana toward the top and another three renderings of young master Kaiba's pet Duel Monsters were squiggled below it astonishingly well.
"C'mon, read it! Read it--!"
He slid it open, and read the words silently, 'Anata no koto wasurenai…itsumo anata wo kangaeteru wa…itsumo daisuki, onii-sama.' (I will never forget you…I'll always think of you…I'll always love you, big brother.)
Normally, the pre-pubescent would've been prone to correcting Mokuba's untidy Kanji strokes. Normally, Seto wouldn't even have one romantic nerve touched by his sibling's loving deed, but for some reason, tonight--he felt a shiver.
After a stretched moment of stillness, a crumple produced by the oldest made the ingénue's head turn. "Nii-sama?"
Much to the tot's wonder, he was toothily grinning. "Thanks, little brother."
Seto looked so princely when he smiled like that…just to witness those pale pink bands of flesh turned upright again, his baby brother'd pick every single star of the heavens in a bundle within bare arms.
The twelve-winter-old child was suddenly reminded of his dear departed mother--seeing a bit of her within Mokuba at that instant…fashioned into his mind as the memory of a little, ebony-haired girl divine as a porcelain doll in her white ballerina tights, pink garlands and velvet church dresses trimmed with satin frills…wafting with the childish scent of pure fairylike magic. He even dredged up the name of the perfume: Ma Cherie, Amie--petite and sweet.
He was even lucky enough to remember going to the dazzling cathedral with his hands atop his mother's and father's as only a toddler, the trio on bent, naïve knee with hands clasped praying to the bravura Mary statuettes, his mother's cheery teachings with the preschooler of the Bible and of God's Word, and the alienation of their family from the flock being that they were always social misfits, as most in Japan were usually Shinto or Buddhist.
Those days made Adam and Eve's mistake seem so fictional. Those unripe years, in themselves, were God's promised utopia.
But now…as little as the time would last, paradise was here too.
"Hey, aren'tchya gonna open the present now--?"
"Mokuba." This immediately caught the youth's attention. That tone voiced a hint of Seto's need to pick a bone with the youngster. "Why did you get a gift for me?"
The little princess's gape tilted down awkwardly. "Well, I--I don't know. I know ya've been workin' lots, an' I just wanted to make you happy. But s'gonna be the same thing all over again like last Christmas. Crummy Gouzaburou won't bother to get either one a' us even one present…! Like always."
"Really now?"
"Yeah, 'cuz he's a big, fat meanie! And all he does all day is count his money and spend it all for himself! Hmph! I hope he goes on another one a' his business trips an' never comes back!" The child's display of fury began sending their older brother into a fit of hushed laughter. "Good riddance, grouchy, mean, ole' Gouzaburou--!"
"Well, how are you so sure you're not going to get any presents this Christmas?" Seto purred teasingly.
Surprise overtook Mokuba's features. "…But, there was nothin' under the tree when I checked."
The elder's chin proceeded to rest coolly on his palm. "Oh, not under the tree, exactly--"
"Huh? Then where, nii-sama--! Where are they--? Did'jya see 'em? Were they big--!"
"Just the one," he smirked.
The little one was beginning to get sick of these never-ending jibes. "Just tell me! Tell me, will ya?"
Another rustle came and a second, much larger package pulled from Seto's schoolbag was placed, this time, in front of the little furby. "Merry Christmas to you, too." Although Kaiba-kun's parcel was so neatly enclosed and the ribbons neatly arranged, he couldn't help but like the way Mokuba wrapped his own a little better. Not because it was more flashy, but because of the hard work Mokuba had put into creating such a one-of-a-kind disaster with wrapping paper.
"Ya got me one too!"
"What kind of brother would I be if I didn't?"
Both gazed toward one another in a rather muted dreaminess during the awkward instance of silence, until the smallest's expression glowed yet again, and he leapt on the other in childish thanks, nearly decking the boy in the process of throwing his arms around him.
The grade-schooler's smile opened out enchantingly while his expression became hopelessly devoted and he tossed himself and his delicately bronzed hands onward, forelimbs roughly nestling around his nii-sama's neck. "Thank you! You're the bestest big brother in the whole world!" he twittered, resting his cheek beneath the gingery-haired heir apparent's pale jowls.
Needless to say, the seventh-grader was certainly caught off guard, but forbearing a hidden smile all the while.
"Mokuba…? Don't you want to open your present?"
"--Huh? Oh, no, nii-sama! That's not how it works." He shook his head self-righteously, and proceeded to speak patronizingly, balking slightly and pressing a russet forefinger forward to tap the small of their bearer's chest more lightly than any butterfly. Naturally, Seto wasn't intimidated in the least, after all, this was only coming from a seven-year-old. "I gave ya the first present, so you gotta open yours first."
He easily concurred and went on to carefully undo the tape securing the jumbled folds of gaudy wrapping paper, until all was left in a painstaking heap beside the gift. It was an oversized book possibly more gorgeous than the package originally was itself…and not just any regular old textbook.
The hardback appeared at a glance like a delightful little wedding album or children's scrapping book, but when observed at length, one'd find that it was a hardbound the barest shade of cherry owing to sakura trees painted in the milieu, traces of ebony brushwood seen lacing throughout the Godly pink posies of petals, while the margins of the cover were woven with pale pastel taffeta ribbons and flourishes, with an English cover hand-written in decorative cursive that told it all: "My First Book of Faerietales."
Seto's eyes widened. "An American book? Mokuba, how could you get the money to buy something like this…? It must've been expensive."
"Mm-hm, but--" the tot shrugged. "I can't read what the front says, but I thought it was super pretty."
Indeed, it was, at the midst of the cover resided a waltzing couple festooned in an old-fashioner's finest--the little lady arisen like a carroty-clothed terracotta figurine, lightly tanned, bare shoulders adorned in the monogrammed and tawny bateau of her ball gown, while the crest of her cleavage was elegantly exposed. Her orange-ish sleeves flared out at forearm in an embroidered tuft of white frills beneath, straddling the tiny span of her waistline as one hand gently held her significant other's gloved hand. Upon a dark, gorgeous, glossy head of shocking blue-black, long, unpinned locks that seemed to simply drift in the portrait, a tiara made up of three gingery roses and strung pearls was placed on top, while a necklace and a single rose to match was strewn about her beautiful collar. At the base of the girl's orangey girdle her gown bloated and swept her tiny feet in the likeness of a conservative late, Lolita 1800's design as she gazed hungrily toward her ballet companion, eyes doting blue-gray and lips faintly loving.
The gentleman of the dance, however, was garnished in military uniform. Black and olive-ish cloth adorned with pins, collar emblems, ornamented straps and belt buckles, and even a pocket watch dangling from his elaborate, lower pocket. He dressed in a pair of lavish, white hand gloves and returned his lover's stare with a somewhat more solemn one. Almost womanish in visage, defined cheekbones, broad-shouldered, tall and slender very nearly like a female in stature, while pleasurably long-legged. Cerulean-eyed, brunet, and noticeably pale. In fact, the lass's golden-brown complexion neighboring the ashy lad's caused the male's features to seem snowy. Clean as snow…while the trimmed tails of his coat soared behind the flawless couple's waltz…
--Was it just him, or was the male character made to look like an older, much, much taller version of himself? Or were their similarities just coincidence? And was that otouto as a woman…?
"…You…don't like it?" He chirped sadly, but the boy tilted his chin up so that his gawp locked with his sibling's.
"Of course I do. It's great--honestly, I love it, Mokuba. Thank you." His blank expression turned up into a coy smile at which Mokuba instantly giggled toward. The oldest pecked his little brother's slate-colored head while clasping the picture-book. It really was such a beautiful gift.
"Now I'm gonna open mine!"
The jaunty tearing of wrapping paper came once more and the present was uncovered as a large cardboard box enclosing something very special that the little one'd been wanting for years: "Wow! Ya got me rollerblades? Ooo, can I put 'em on now? Ya gotta let me try 'em! Please--?"
"Mokuba, you don't even know how to rollerblade yet. We should wait for the snow to melt and practice in the spring at the park. If we do it inside, then--"
"Please! Just one time around! No one'll find out! Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."
Seto was forced to stifle a gasp when he stumbled upon the author and illustrator's name while flipping over the lid--'Pegasus J. Crawford.'
XXX
"…Kaiba?"
The boy, at last, made a swift motion of his head, signaling unfruitful consciousness, which shook Jounouchi out from his bolt of the blue.
Rape was a gesture of uncontained affection, wasn't it? If one were to victimize himself with hopes to benefit another? All the brunet realized was that if he were left in this room any longer, accompanied only by the teen, he would lose control. Not control in the aspect of falling bottom from first in command, but in the view that his self-control would fail him. The teen was well aware of only being capable of causing destruction when it came to social matters…as he'd done it so many times in the past.
--Because there was a time when he couldn't defend even his dearest. Yes, a massacre of guilt had bathed every one of the preteen's nerves when the ten-year-old Mokuba greeted him with aghast, wounded eyes and pled contrition as if literally imprisoned within a confessional booth…screaming apologies that should've never even built hindrance within such a childlike mind. It was something Seto never took the fault for…wasn't it?
His past was beginning to flash before his eyes all over again…
"Seto…I'm going to give you something of a--well, test, I suppose you could call it."
The preteen cringed. Gouzaburou was well aware of the boy loathing to be addressed by his given name, and in that single gesture, the legatee to KaibaCorp knew it gave the him the immediate upper-hand. Seto kept his antagonism silent and lowered his surprisingly faltering gaze, hands clasped behind him in the similar imitation of a clergyman. "Yes, Mr. Kaiba?" He dared to persist, even with the harrowing knob tightening in his throat, and gummy fluids mingling with the entrance to his gorge. "What type of test?"
…Wouldn't it just be the same with Jounouchi? Not that it really had an impact with him, but it would be just another affiliate to rack up on his register, and he knew it wouldn't do much good for his morale.
A diffident, detracting, insecure little boy who'd grown up to be such a well-bred hypocrite, such a dogmatic cheater, and such a manic, uncompromising user. Reared to be only the supreme in clash, raised recognizing that human emotion was the precipice of farewell between precision of machinery and vulnerability of mortality, and one day to be dispensed with at death by all else, left seeing that all he lived was an unfathomable lie.
That all he ever was was a dirty, scruffy, little orphan boy who'd been lucky enough to catch the right man at the right time, and had cheated all the way through to get his way.
He hated not being able to block out his emotion sometimes. Emotion, as a general rule for Kaiba Seto, sucked.
A ga maeba--
Jittery, disenchanted cobalt darted about the floors, in madcap observation of the lush, puckish scores of fitted, fanciful carpet. Pale traces of the patent luxurious leather shoes having trundled over the exquisite, arabesque material countless times, so evident through the hearth rug's elegantly scuffed up appearance. It was a rococo design many members of the residence took great pride in. In any case, the view was a much more tempting substitute to staring directly into those menacing, leaden, weathered eyes. Unfortunately, to the child's shock, a sallow palm graced their not-so gentle touch upon velvety, milky jowls and steered his glare directly toward the CEO's. The lithe, poised flounce of the man's marital band finger along the crook of his brow sent the barest gingery curl on end.
'Dammit--'
"It'll be a test of stamina, you could say." Seto's eyes hardened, repressing any traces of vulnerability to the brute. Frankly, he was terrified right out of his fucking mind--but he wasn't about to let the bastard figure that out so easily. Either way, the reek of blatant fear coagulating in the conditioned air around their woolly suit-clad forms was inevitable...and it made this insightful, sad excuse for an adoptive parent crave to have the brackish, frigid, saline, bitter traces whisk his taste buds.
"I can do anything you throw at me," the beautiful youth murmured more raspingly than he could ever intend.
Gouzaburou deftly detected the dour note of fear through the schoolboy's agitated gesture, and carried on with vast satisfaction in his coup. "Are you really certain of that, son?"
…Gauche stillness. For ever and a day, it would always be the worst kind for the two as long as they'd lived. The first to penetrate the stupor yet again proceeded with an inferno of fiery blond.
"Kaiba. Y'know you're gonna have to stop this soon. If ya keep on going the way you are--" Jounouchi delayed out of obvious discomfort with describing the grotesque possibilities that were taking vivid form into his staggered head. Instead, his upper jaw shunted bit by bit over his lower lip, and stiffened at the lucid rhythm of its pulse. "Ya might as well go out searching for a nice, swanky coffin for them to put your precious remains in, rich boy."
Seto bit back with no vigor spared, a brace of blazing ocean tides--sapphire flames--electric-cerulean lightning gawking adamantly toward him. "And since when have I taken advice from you, dog? Since when have you ever understood my ways of doing what I do? You don't know a thing about me, and even so, you've always been second-rate, especially when it's ever come to brains…you're not one to judge, Jounouchi. As long as you're under my roof, you'll be following my ground rules, pup, and if not, you can just frolic out the front door, shut the door on your merry way out, and not come back. Either one would satisfy me, more or less."
The bulge began trapping itself in his throat, in stingy company with a harried pulse in the jugular region--the two being the bearer of bad news. Seto's breath began coming up in silent pants only Gouzaburou had the precision enough to notice--and blithely watch the brace of the little one's lilied nostrils varying with release and frazzled inhalation; every wisp of carbon dioxide juddering from the youngster's narrowly parted lips resembling a potpourri of rapture brought to wanton mortal relish alone himself could taste.
"Yes." Seto knew dark sarcasm couldn't be effectively voiced by him--at least, not now.
…kuwashime yoini keri.
A tone of near complacency strummed sound into Jounouchi's voice as he wittered on, temporarily shaking the boy out from his flicker of insight-- "Well Kaiba, I'm getting the feeling ya actually don't want me to leave. I mean, with that mention ya made before--"
The blond was heaved to a standstill by a scornful thud interrupting his triumphant, deceptive head-feint. Tonight, Seto was going to face his fears all over again. "--Tch. Easy for someone as simple as you to misinterpret it."
Bile laced through the hardly compos mentis barrier of his tongue and teeth as Gouzaburou continued. "To begin with--" the despot's lingering physique bent forward with amazing poise, twisting his broadened upper lip unswervingly toward the tyke's paled lobe, searing sounds eddying into the deafened depth of his cochlea to the pulse of a heretical waltz he pined to sit out from. The kempt, dark garnishes of the man's mustache were so tempted to just ease along the child's temple--in bittersweet company of syrupy saliva--as he murmured a flustering request: "Unbutton your pants."
'You can't---'
Jou began slowly noticing that Kaiba was occasionally dozing off in a strange mental interference, but couldn't seem to hit on what exactly was glazing over the brunet's expression. "What's there to cotton on! Honestly, Kaiba, you weren't really low key. You were totally throwin' it out there for--!"
Unnervingly withered hands had interned the boy's throat, wasted knuckle ensnaring the bronzed, bobbing apple. The youngest yet nimbler slanted his aplomb with poise, and shifted water-starved lips intimately to his lobe, the lick of every muted pant singeing Jounouchi's adrenaline. "You and I know very well that both of us share these sentiments exactly. I could really care less for the whole romance bit. But I'm not about to act subtle for something that can be easily done in later on. I could give a fuck for whether it's a sin or not…so, I'm insisting. Listen well when I speak to you, dog. Call it what you will, but…" His consonants were tongues against the ruddy crook of the urchin's cheekbone. "--Take me."
The ballet of macabre--a pageant of moldering corpses of Seto's indigenous necropolis…garlanded in their finest, somewhat unfulfilling dress, fleshless tibias jangling with the chords of the pianist, with cock-crow upon its wake. The short while the gods would smear their valiant dyes thrice of rubies, whites, and vapors among the slumbering universe would be the moment their festivities would clatter to a lethal end--that is to say, until twilight returned again to the skeletal recitalists.
A tiny bulk thudded as the little one struck back his wrist from everything but a gentleman's touch and bit back with electric-nautica engulfing his gaze, pale draping intensifying his facial decorum. "You sick, twisted bastard. I could get you arrested for sodomy! I know my fucking rights, you old fool…I won't let you lay a damn finger on--!"
The mannish fist wrung the porcelain, morose waif of the boy's forearm as he resisted. Gouzaburou's sallow hand began pearling, Seto observed, packing together so that the twelve-year-old saw the cloying thumb tamp past the first range of brawny knuckles and inch toward the second set.
"Let go…! Let go--! You fucking coward…!"
"Kaiba, are you cra--!"
…Piercing tendons tugged Seto yet again to reality, the lesser of the two wallowing within ensured silence just as the semee voiced his riposte. He heaved heavily in and growled, "Don't go easy on me. Don't withhold anything. Do everything on a whim. Don't tease. Make it forceful; bitter. Do that…" --with a giddying squeeze that sent almost electric dizzy spells of no traceable end throughout every track of Katsuya's nerves-- "…And I'll return it in full."
"Ya do realize that you're asking me to--"
"Spare me the pleasantries, Jounouchi. I don't care whether its insensible, or whether its faulty enough to get me thrown into an asylum," he hissed, "you lit a fire, Jounouchi…we're not about to let it die down to nothing, and I'm not going to be toyed with for the sake of your own personal amusement. As it is already, you've wasted about twenty minutes of my time at my home bickering about something that, frankly, shouldn't even involve you. So…" His joints began to slacken. "D'you plan to pay your due?"
"I've noticed over time, son, you've grown up quite a bit over the past two years. I felt you were prepared to take the next step in your training. However, if it's not in your forte, all you have to do is whisper--" the twang calmly vaporized into a vocal concoction of utter nausea for him as a profane, "…I surrender."
A sharp still sedated vibration licked through the mangled muscle in his static limb and progressed to his heart. "You're throwing around empty threats, just to keep your adoptive twelve-year-old son in line! Pathetic--I don't have to do a damn thing for anyone, let alone you--!"
"And if you happen to refuse, scamper out that door, and tell anyone," he wisped, "something precious to you will be at stake--in punishment for your disobedience."
'No...you can't...that's not fair...that's not fair…!'
A ga maeba--
XXX
Michiro-Chan: This chapter is actually STILL undone and unedited. When I get the chance to sit and actually work on the yaoi, I'll have more than a teaser posted up for all of you.