Jonouchi hadn't been to Kaiba Corporation in at least a week. Waking up and realizing he had an appointment for that day, he tried preparing extra early. To his dismay, his father was home, sleeping on the couch, still. There were beer bottles on the coffee table as well as cigarettes and a can of chewing tobacco. Making a face, Jonouchi tip-toed across the room and went into the bathroom, praying to all the gods that the hot water would work that morning.
Thankfully, it was. Now that he had regular income, Jonouchi could pay the heat and water bills on time, as well as other utilities that before would be constantly turned on and off. His good-for-nothing father didn't care if the apartment was comfortable or not. Jonouchi could explicitly remember times when the old man would disappear for weeks because they had no heat.
Probably hiding at some crummy hotel. Cheap bastard.
If Jonouchi had any sense, he'd move out of there and leave his father to rot, but for some reason, he just couldn't. He didn't have it in him to just up and leave, and becoming frustrated with himself, Jonouchi washed his hair quickly, scrubbing his scalp uncomfortably hard before rinsing and getting out.
He toweled himself off quickly and tried dealing with his unruly hair the best he could. Since he was getting promotional work done later that morning, it didn't matter whether he had styled hair or not, since the hair crew would change it into whatever they liked. He didn't want to make things more complicated for them, so Jonouchi was careful just to comb it out before getting into a pair of boxers and wandering back into the main room, where his father continued to sleep on the couch.
Going into the tiny refrigerator, he took out leftover fish and rice and placed it into the microwave before goosebumps came up his arms. Turning around, Jonouchi found himself face-to-face with his father, who appeared to be suffering from a hangover.
"I need twenty thousand yen."
Jonouchi blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly before he caught himself and tried fixing his face.
"I don't have any, sorry."
"You're a fucking liar," spat his father, who moved closer and got up in Jonouchi's personal space before folding his arms across his chest. "I saw those new clothes. I don't care how or where you got them from, kid, but I know you got cash somewhere. Twenty thousand yen, that's all I'm asking for. I'll pay you back when I got it."
"You said that last time," replied Jonouchi neutrally, "Fifteen thousand yen, in fact, that I never got back. I can't loan you the money, Oyaji. I don't have it."
His father snorted derisively before he stabbed a finger in Jonouchi's chest. "I'm your fuckin' father and you keep some goddamned tally? You shit of a son-"
Jonouchi smacked his hand away, quickly growing irritated but still trying to maintain his cool. Riding the rollercoasters of his father's emotions was a skill he hadn't quite mastered yet, despite all the years they'd lived together. "Then don't make promises you can't or won't keep. Sorry, Pops, my answer is still no. I just paid all the utilities on this place. I just don't have the money," Jonouchi reiterated.
Shrinking back, Jonouchi's father turned away, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. "Today's th' last day ta' pay up… Morimoto's gonna have my ass. Gonna ask for more next time… And I still gotta put off Watanabe, before Tsunoda gets involved…"
"Yet you had enough yen to buy all that shit on the table," spat Jonouchi angrily, "Maybe if you had your addictions under control, you wouldn't be in this mess. You have a job, and I let you live here for free. Stop asking me for money already."
Jonouchi knew his dad was in too deep, but he was too done to care anymore about it. He'd gotten himself out of the gang. With the help of his friends, but still. His family hadn't done anything for him, and Jonouchi was tired of getting his father out of his messes only to fall back into them again. If he hadn't changed, Jonouchi knew he probably would have gotten involved in deeper shit besides high school street gangs, and he didn't like the idea of being involved with the yakuza at all.
No one liked bringing them up, but Jonouchi knew about it. He wasn't stupid. The neighborhood was full of those guys. Tattooed and scary, hiding around on street corners. People didn't talk about them, and most of the city acted like they didn't even exist, but Jonouchi knew.
"I'll give you five thousand yen, but that's it," Jonouchi offered, "I can't give up any more than that right now."
Jonouchi's dad didn't look appeased. His face grew dark and he stormed off, bursting into Jonouchi's bedroom before he could be stopped.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing!"
Chasing after him, Jonouchi tried stopping his father as the latter began throwing Jonouchi's possessions around. Clothes became scattered all over the room as the man flipped the futon over the floor and pulled the sheets off to look for stored cash.
"I'm not hiding shit in here, you idiot!" Jonouchi knew his words were hitting deaf ears; his father wouldn't stop. He was in a rage at this point.
"If you steal my money, I'm going to call the cops on you. I fucking mean it this time—I'll have you kicked out of this place-"
There was a hard, blunt impact as Jonouchi found himself falling, landing hard on his ass before groaning from the throbbing on his face. He touched his jaw. It felt tender, smarting from pain, and Jonouchi looked up as his dad continued throwing his belongings across the room, turning up nothing.
"You asshole, I told you there's nothing in this fucking room. Get out."
Scowling deeply, his father threw the mound of clothing in his hands at Jonouchi before he stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It bounced on its hinges, swinging back open with a loud crack. A second slamming soon followed, and Jonouchi just sat there in shock, covered with shirts and socks. Shoving the clothing off his torso, Jonouchi got up and stumbled to the front door, locking it. The spiteful part of him wished his dad left without his keys, so the bastard would be locked out until Jonouchi felt like letting him back in. Or until he broke the damn door down.
His own door sported a new crack, the gash splitting the particle wood at the top corner and extending diagonally near the knob. Luckily the wall it had smacked into had been cement instead of plaster, so at least there weren't any gouges to repair.
He wasn't hungry anymore. Although the food was likely ruined, Jonouchi wrapped it up and placed it back into the refrigerator. His father's antics had eaten up precious minutes of his morning, and if he didn't hurry, Jonouchi would be late for the shoot.
Running back into his room, Jonouchi rummaged through the clothes on the floor and threw on the first that he found that weren't too badly wrinkled. He quickly brushed his teeth and washed his face, hoping that the cool water would calm his aching jaw. Small purple dots were already beginning to sprout along his face. Sitting in the makeup chair while the makeup artists did their work would be absolute murder.
Shoving his feet roughly into his sneakers, Jonouchi grabbed his bag and shut the door to his room, running a hand over the new crack. It would be yet another cost his dad gifted him—there was no way around not replacing the door.
Locking the door behind him, Jonouchi sprinted off to the bus stop.
Jonouchi arrived on set mere minutes before he was scheduled to arrive. He spilled into the room, panting heavily as he chucked his bag onto a seat and scoped out the place. From the looks of it, he would be doing green screen work today: a large backdrop was set up, large spotlights blazing down on the semicircle of cameras.
Sitting down in the seat next to his bag, Jonouchi greeted his style team with a wink. "Alright, do your magic, Isa-chan."
Jonouchi frowned when the young girl gasped, the surprised expression quickly morphing into scrutinization. "Jou-kun, what have you done!" She tsked as she flitted around his seat, observing his face from all angles, her light pink pigtails swinging around.
"Aw, it's not that bad, is it? Nothing you can't fix, right?"
Isa's thin eyebrows scrunched together. "Have you even taken a look at your face, Jou-kun?" She spun him around so that he was facing the brightly-lit mirror.
Jonouchi sucked in a quick breath as he stared at it. The tiny dots had blossomed across the left side of his jaw, mottling his skin with an angry canvas of deep reds and purples. Some places—where his father's knuckles had connected, Jonouchi guessed—were so purple that they almost looked black. He leaned back disbelievingly in his chair—he hadn't thought his father had hit him all that hard.
"I don't think I can work with this…" Isa hesitated as she reached out with a brightly-polished fingernail to touch the bruise. Jonouchi hissed as soon as she made contact, recoiling in pain. "Mm yeah, sorry, Jou-kun," she said sympathetically. "Kaiba-sama!"
Oh, fan-fucking-tastic.
Kaiba sauntered over from where he had been conversing with the director. "What is it?"
"Take a look at him—I think we'll have to delay…" Isa began nervously, bridging the tips of her index fingers.
Kaiba's eyes widened as he took in Jonouchi's face, his expression growing dark. He reached out and roughly grabbed Jonouchi's chin, ignoring the curses tumbling from Jonouchi's mouth, and turned his face from side to side.
"Ow, what the fuck! Leggo-" Jonouchi cried as he slapped Kaiba's hand away. It fucking hurt, and the last thing Jonouchi needed was Kaiba's fingers digging into the newly-formed bruise. He scowled up at Kaiba, leaning far back in his seat.
"Did your clumsy ass eat concrete, or have you reverted back to high school habits?" Kaiba asked, irritation clearly written across his face.
"Fuck off, already—it's not like I asked for this."
"And yet here you are, throwing a wrench into my plans. When I hired you, Jonouchi, I expected you to leave behind all that mechanical crap," Kaiba spat.
Isa's eyes shifted nervously from Jonouchi to Kaiba as the tension between them escalated.
"You're fucking crazy if you think I did this to myself, Kaiba," snapped Jonouchi as he got up from his seat, "Shit happened that was out of my control. I'm sorry. I was actually looking forward to this shoot today, and I thought the makeup would cover the bruise..."
He didn't want to spill about his father punching him in the face. As if Kaiba would understand. He didn't care. Probably never would, about anything that happened to him.
Giving Jonouchi a long look, Kaiba snorted loudly before turning on his heel. "There's no helping it. We'll have to cancel the shoot until that thing disappears off your face. You're dismissed for today," Kaiba said with a wave of his hand. He stalked off, barking orders to the film crew.
The absurd thought that it was way too fucking early for a second bout of shock flickered through Jonouchi's mind. He fell back into his seat numbly, the slow, sinking feeling of shame and disappointment seeping through his gut.
He felt a hand brush over his. "I'm really sorry, Jou-kun. I'll get an ice pack for you. Even if I had been able to cover it up, all the poking and prodding would have just made the healing process a whole heck of a lot more uncomfortable for you." Isa patted his hand and offered a weak smile before she, too, ran off.
Slumping in his seat, Jonouchi looked around sheepishly. The spotlights were being shut down, and the set was being broken down. A few of the crew members turned curious stares at Jonouchi (a few even somewhat hostile, Jonouchi noted), and Jonouchi ducked his head down miserably. All this was his fault. He'd let down the entire shoot staff, disrupting the Marketing department's entire new campaign.
There was nothing more to do now but go home to lick his wounds, so to speak. Jonouchi wasn't going to sit there feeling sorry for himself around Kaiba's people, and getting up from his seat, he quickly made a beeline for the door before getting outside and taking the subway back towards his part of town.
He was so angry. His hands were hidden in his pockets, and Jonouchi barely noticed when people jostled him around, the crowds thick with people. It was the middle of the morning, and all the salarymen were out in downtown, alongside tourists and shop girls. It got annoying quickly, and eventually Jonouchi took off running until he managed to get underground, finding a spot in the back of the subway car where he'd be safe to stew away without getting too many stares.
It wasn't like he wanted to get hit in the face, but he should have been more careful. His father had the propensity for violence, when he was mad enough, and Jonouchi was well-aware of that. He should have just let him tear the room apart, but he had been so angry when it had happened.
The place was still a mess, too. It would need cleaning, and Jonouchi walked slowly back home, stopping at a convenience shop for food and medication before getting all the way back to his shitty apartment.
Thankfully, the place was still empty. The only things left of his father were bottles of cheap beer in the fridge and cigarettes he'd forgotten on the coffee table. There was still a slew of clothes and books all over in Jonouchi's room, along with a stack of dirty dishes. Takeout boxes filled the countertops of the kitchen, and Jonouchi angrily set himself to cleaning the entire place up.
How the hell did the old man even manage to pay for chicken katsu when he didn't even have the money to pay off his loan sharks?
Another mystery among many others...
Pulling out a garbage bag, Jonouchi angrily shoved the trash into it, trying to burn off some of his aggression. He took out the cleaning supplies and got to work, still fuming over the events of the morning. Fucking Kaiba. He didn't have to be such a dick about it.
But he was like that about just about everything. It seemed like nothing Jonouchi ever did was right, and he was beginning to wonder why Kaiba had even offered him the sponsorship in the first place. It was clear that Kaiba didn't trust him—he'd stuck his fucking guard dog on him for the past week, and before that, Kaiba himself had latched on like some kind of parasite all throughout the anniversary party.
He acted like Jonouchi was some kind of heathen who couldn't control himself. It was just offensive, especially when Kaiba was the one who couldn't control himself around him-
Wait, backtrack on that thought. It was way too fucking early to go down that road, and Jonouchi was too irritated to entertain anything near what had occurred between them lately. Thinking about it now would only make him feel even more miserable. He didn't want to get himself messed up, trying to figure out what exactly was going on between them...
Working his way into the living room, Jonouchi cleared off the coffee table, throwing away the pack of cigarettes (shredding and wetting them for good measure, just in case his father got the bright idea to go dumpster diving) and separating the beer bottles out for recycling. He wiped down every surface, trying to at least mimic a facade of cleanliness in their otherwise shithole of a home. Jonouchi found the mindless, repetitive actions almost therapeutic, taking at least the edge off of his sour mood.
He tore apart everything: cleared out the refrigerator, chucked out rusting utensils and chipped drinkware, ripped out the couch cushions and vacuumed between the cracks (incidentally discovering his father's stash of girly magazines and throwing them out just to be mean), mopped every inch of floor. He had half a mind to raid his father's room, just to pay him back for the morning and all the trouble he'd caused, but Jonouchi knew that was only inviting more trouble in the long haul.
Sighing, he took a few deep breaths, holding the air in his lungs and releasing it slowly, before he opened the door to his room. His father had done a pretty thorough job of upturning the entire space. Cracking his knuckles, Jonouchi first sorted out his clothing—he'd probably have to re-wash his entire wardrobe, since everything was now beyond wrinkled. Or maybe he could borrow an iron from Honda—if Honda even had one. Jonouchi straightened out his futon and reorganized the items sitting atop his small desk. Luckily he had already packed all of his dueling equipment in his bag before his father had gone on his rampage, so none of that had gotten destroyed or damaged.
He couldn't say the same about his floor lamp, which lay shattered on the floor. Not only had the bulb busted, but several wires had split when it had crashed to the ground, and Jonouchi offered up a silent prayer that the house hadn't burned down after he had left for work. He unplugged it carefully, sweeping up the broken bits. His desk chair would need replacing, as well: it was old and rickety, and the poor thing had essentially fallen apart when his father had knocked it over. No amount of wood glue would salvage it. Jonouchi's chest felt heavy as he broke down its larger pieces and stuffed them into the trash bag—he'd had that chair since he was a child, one of the few relics remaining from when the Jonouchis had still been a family.
It wasn't until after Jonouchi had tossed everything into the dumpster and scrubbed his hands of cleaning solution did he check the time. Somehow it was already four in the afternoon—seven whole hours had raced by unnoticed. Not once during his cleaning outburst had he felt hungry or thirsty, and Jonouchi hadn't even eaten in the morning. He still didn't, really, but the adrenaline rush was beginning to wane, and the cold sensation of tiredness was trickling across his body.
He didn't want to stay in the apartment any longer, though. Everytime he glanced around the room, he could feel his anger starting to rise again. Sure, if he had any sense in his head, Jonouchi would have eaten something and turned in early for the night, but he wouldn't allow himself to succumb to his physical aches. When he closed his eyes, he could still see Kaiba's face, impassively walking away from him while the entire crew stared.
Jonouchi wasn't going to take that shit lying down. Grabbing a backpack, he swore to himself as he raided the fridge, grabbing several bottles of beer before snatching his wallet off the counter. He didn't care if it got him fired. The guards wouldn't stop him; he wanted to make some trouble. Maybe it was his worse nature finally returning after trying so hard to play by everyone's rules.
Kaiba certainly didn't care about rules. He'd proven that enough times, from the drunk night at the company party to pinning Jonouchi against his car seat while kissing him. The memory burned in his mind, and Jonouchi could feel his face becoming uncomfortably warm before he swore and left the apartment. It wasn't right that Kaiba could do that shit and walk away like nothing had happened. And be such a miserable asshole all the time. Never be happy with anything Jonouchi did, no matter how hard he tried...
Kickstarting his motorcycle, Jonouchi didn't know. He didn't even care. There was no real plan in his head over what he was going to do besides just piss Kaiba off. Take the battle back to his place, so to speak. Something, anything to get some sort of payback. Jonouchi knew it was a bad idea, but his life was full of bad ideas, and he was still alive and kicking. This would just be another thing to remember (and perhaps regret) later on.
Kaiba's day had quickly deteriorated after the morning's grand failure. Rescheduling the shoot was proving to be a colossal nightmare, and Eguchi was still hammering out the details and renegotiating contracts. The unions had put up a fuss, the director was booked for the next two months, and the studio itself was due for a series of maintenance checks and technology refreshes. The Marketing department was in a panic, fervently altering their campaign timelines and calling up local media outlets to reschedule advertising spots. All in all, Kaiba had a number of perturbed (to put it lightly) employees to field, and it was all due to one person.
How in hell could Jonouchi fuck his face up that badly? Kaiba knew Jonouchi wasn't the wisest person and had a rough past, but really—Jonouchi had outdone himself this time around.
After working through the lunch hour to sort everything out as much as he could, Kaiba had received his second disruption of the day: a phone call from the airport police department. Evidently, one of his American technicians had thought it was a bright idea to bring a dime bag of pot into the country. How it had made it past American security and domestic incoming customs, Kaiba had no clue (Yet another case spectacular of ineptness, Kaiba had thought derisively), but Kaiba had spent the next two hours on the phone, trying to sort that mess out. He'd had to pay quite a hefty sum to get the kid released and sweep the entire situation under the rug—it would have been disastrous for that bit of information to leak out. "Kaiba Corporation Employs Drug Addicts"—no thanks.
But it also meant that he'd had to fire the poor sap. While he'd saved the tech from years behind foreign bars, Kaiba had his own company policy to abide, which closely mirrored the national policy on drugs: no tolerance. It was a shame—the kid was intelligent and took naturally to the Solid Vision technology, and finding someone to replace him wouldn't be an easy task. The requirements for the job were rigorous, as was the subsequent internal training. Being down a lead technician threw off the entire Kaiba Land California timeline, in addition to doubling the workload on the remaining lead techs.
His day had quickly spiraled into one huge clusterfuck. He'd sent Eguchi home after an hour of overtime, electing to finish up the loose threads himself—no point in punishing someone who wasn't even involved in the fuck-ups. So when eight o'clock rolled around, Kaiba had had enough, and all he could think about was numbing his overworked brain with some good alcohol.
He had decided to walk the few blocks to Kaiba Hotel, wishing to stretch his legs after a day of being glued to his desk—he could just take a taxi home or call one of his drivers over. Sliding into one of the back corner booths, Kaiba didn't even have to signal for a waiter before he was served his usual double Scotch on the rocks. He downed it quickly, the coolness of the liquid burning down his throat providing a satisfying, yet dichotomous, sensation.
Signaling the bartender for another, Kaiba slumped back in the booth and sighed. He hadn't even had a chance to eat from all the craziness, but he found he didn't have much of an appetite, anyway. In reality, he could probably fall asleep easily right there in the booth, but drinking the night away sounded like a much better prospect.
There was too much on his mind to try sleeping, yet. He knew as soon as he lay down on his mattress at home, his mind would start racing, and nothing good would come of that. It didn't help that Kaiba was already a bit of an insomniac, and the events of the week before were still haunting his mind. He didn't want to have to resort to doing that ever again just to get some rest.
As the bartender refilled his glass, Kaiba remembered somberly how stupid he had felt afterwards. The wave of confusion and shame that had clouded his mind as it had started to fall into sleep. Touching himself wasn't the issue—he could hardly care about that anymore. Everyone did it, and sometimes he needed that release, but thinking about the idiot of all people and coming so quickly—that thought was...
Disturbing.
He didn't want that on his mind anymore, among other things. Mokuba was still willfully ignoring him. Kaiba had tried even getting Isono to speak to him, but apparently even his assistant couldn't manage communication with the kid. Soon it would come to sending Isono over there just to get the situation under control; Kaiba couldn't even remember what the fight was about. It just kept escalating into something he could no longer control.
There was also the case of playing damage control because of the stupid American and the bag of pot he tried sneaking back over to California. Kaiba knew inexperienced college students were trouble, but even intelligent people were susceptible to bad decision making, and there was nothing that could be done about that.
Just like Jonouchi and his massive bruise... only Jonouchi wasn't intelligent. He was quite stupid, or at least Kaiba told himself frequently that was the case.
How Jonouchi had gotten that bruise was still a mystery to Kaiba. He hadn't even bothered to ask—not that it mattered much, anyway. He severely doubted that Jonouchi was getting back into the kind of shit he'd heard floated in high school rumors, but other than the initial research Kaiba had conducted on Jonouchi, he didn't know all that much about the other's situation. It really wasn't Kaiba's concern, but maybe—considering recent events—it would be worthwhile for him to start actively looking into. Kaiba didn't want a repeat of the day's events—ever.
The bruise had been fresh. It marred the entire length of Jonouchi's left jaw, slightly extending down his throat. Jonouchi had either slammed into something hard or had been slammed hard by something. Kaiba had noticed how Jonouchi's eyes had dilated in pain when he'd examined the other's face—there had been a brief moment of panic before Jonouchi had automatically pushed Kaiba away, shrinking back like a wary animal.
It was all very...curious.
Jonouchi's behavior in general, though, was curious, Kaiba mused as his fourth drink arrived. Two and a half weeks ago, they had shared a normal business relationship, and Jonouchi had been gradually trying to push it into a friendship of some sort. And then they had gotten drunk together and played that monumentally dumb idea of a game (admittedly, it had been his idea, but Kaiba hadn't been serious about it at all), and things had changed. Jonouchi, as usual, had over-thought things, and down the spiral they went. It had led to Kaiba kissing the idiot again, and Kaiba had to wonder about his own sanity.
Why did he become so undone around the loser? Kaiba kept everyone except his brother—and maybe Isono—at arm's length. So how was it that Jonouchi was always able to get under his skin, make him so riled up that he did things utterly abnormal and against reason? Lose his control...
It just didn't make any sense.
Kaiba stared at his now-empty glass, idly turning it to clink the melting ice together. Perhaps it was just the work of all the alcohol. They had gotten quite smashed during the anniversary party, and Kaiba had finished about a half a bottle of wine that night he'd kissed Jonouchi in his car. And there had been alcohol with the Americans, although he didn't think he had drunk all that much—at least nowhere near as much as Jonouchi. But Jonouchi had played it cool with Kaiba before any alcohol had been consumed, back on the golf carts, where everything had seemed normal again but wasn't.
His head felt fuzzy.
He would just have to ensure that they wouldn't ever be around each other while one of both of them was under the influence. It was a good thing, then, that it was the end of the day, and the only place Kaiba would be going was home. He just wanted to pass out and not think about anything. Not about work, or Mokuba, or any of the day's disruptions, and certainly not Jonouchi, who seemed to be on his mind more than Kaiba liked to admit.
Getting up, Kaiba stumbled to the bar, slapping two ten thousand yen bills down for the bartender. The good thing about drinking in your own establishment was the ability to write everything off as a business expense.
His vision swam when he pulled out his cell phone—it was only nine o'clock. He fumbled with the buttons on his phone, holding the screen up close to his eyes to subdue the double vision. Kaiba had finally managed to scroll down to his driver's number when he recalled it was the man's early-out day. And he'd sent Isono away on an overnight trip to Yokohama to investigate the progress of the circuit board he'd outsourced to a neighboring factory.
Well fuck. Kaiba straightened himself up as much as he could manage, taking quick, long strides to the front doors. There weren't that many people around, but Kaiba didn't want to let on that he was more inebriated than what was probably legal. Luckily, there was a cab waiting outside, and Kaiba fell into it with much less grace than usual. At least he remembered his own address.
Exhaling deeply, Kaiba slumped over across the back seat, lulled by the rhythmic vibrations from the road underneath through the upholstery. After the day he'd had, he couldn't wait to get home.
Jonouchi was in his office.
Jonouchi was in his office, and he was surrounded by a small colony of mostly empty beer bottles and cans. And he wasn't passed out, either. He was slumped on the floor against the front of Kaiba's desk, twirling an empty can around like a spinning top, Duel Monster cards scattered like confetti around him.
"You're late," he announced with slurred speech, "and a dick."
"And you," Kaiba mumbled as he held himself up by the doorframe, "are in my office. Why are you in my office."
"They let me in, so here I am. Get over it."
This couldn't be happening. "But why are you here," Kaiba insisted, "I sent you home. Hours ago."
"So? You don't have the last word on what I do with my life, Kaiba." Jonouchi took a long chug of his drink for emphasis, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair looked like a mess, probably from driving his bike over. That was the only logical explanation for how he ended up at the Kaiba Mansion, since he probably hadn't felt like paying for a cab.
Which meant he intended to stay the night. Even Jonouchi was smart enough not to drive back home drunk.
His bruise was still unsightly, but Kaiba stopped himself from staring at it. He frowned instead, still hovering by the door. He didn't want Jonouchi here. He didn't even know why Jonouchi was here. "And how am I late. I'm never late. And this is my house. I don't remember inviting you. So get out," Kaiba babbled.
"Make me, tough guy. Besides, you don't really want me to leave, because then you'd be all by your pathetic, lonesome self, am I right?"
Jonouchi snorted darkly before nursing his bottle of booze again. He was drunk off his ass, but his words still had plenty of bite to them.
"Go fuck yourself, Jonouchi, I don't need- I don't need anyone," Kaiba said as he swayed in place. He really regretted not eating anything—the alcohol had gone straight to his brain, making him uneasy on his feet.
Instead of replying to Kaiba's words, Jonouchi just made an obscene gesture with his hands, making a jerk-off motion before giving Kaiba the middle finger. He clearly did not care what Kaiba thought and went about playing with the cans in front of him, creating a small stack.
Kaiba could feel his blood pressure begin to rise. All he'd wanted to do was pass out in his goddamn bed, and yet here this idiot was, mocking him in his own home. Stumbling across the room, Kaiba braced himself against the desk until he was standing in front of Jonouchi. He kicked out a leg and nudged Jonouchi's thigh with his foot. "Out."
"Make me."
Jonouchi inched out of the way, sliding across the floor away from Kaiba's lurking figure. He clearly wasn't prepared to get up. Probably too drunk to, if he was as intoxicated as the collection of beer bottles indicated. Kaiba certainly didn't want to risk him falling and passing out on the floor. That would be even more problematic. Kaiba was too drunk to carry him out, and the staff would ask questions. They'd seen Jonouchi plenty of times before...
Isono wouldn't approve.
Kaiba just didn't want to deal with him, yet the idea of Jonouchi skulking about his residence unhindered seemed like a far worse idea. "What are you, twelve? Get the fuck out. Or do you want a matching bruise to the one already on your stupid face?" Not that Kaiba currently had anywhere near the coordination to land a good hit, but Jonouchi didn't need to know that.
"You wouldn't dare," Jonouchi replied defiantly, "You're too much of a spoiled pretty boy to actually hit someone and mean it. Besides, you wouldn't like seeing my face wrecked any more than it already is."
Kaiba knew there was a little bit of truth to that, in more ways than one. For starters, he'd get screwed if Jonouchi ended up any more mangled-looking than he already was. Marketing needed him for the promo, but Jonouchi probably meant something completely different, and that made Kaiba's blood boil.
"Then should I just pay whoever did it to finish the job? We're already behind schedule, thanks to you, so what's another week or two," Kaiba bluffed. He didn't even want to acknowledge the hint behind Jonouchi's words, and if Jonouchi wouldn't be cooperative and just leave, maybe Kaiba could intimidate him out.
The color drained from Jonouchi's face as soon as the words escaped Kaiba's mouth, and then his face contorted with rage, his eyebrows drawing down and eyes sparking like an inferno.
"Go ahead, then," he yelled loudly, making Kaiba wince for a second from the rise in volume, "I'm sure my old man would appreciate it. He needs the money, and maybe that'll save me another fist to the face next time I tell him to stop trying to fucking rob me in my own fucking apartment. You don't know a fucking thing about my life, Kaiba. Get over yourself already—you're not as smart as you think you are, and you're not the only fucking person in this world who's been met with a touch of tragedy in their life. Maybe if you weren't so fucking miserable a person, you'd be able to see past your own bullshit for once in your life."
Jonouchi appeared almost out of breath by the time he finished. His face was flushed and his breath had quickened, but it didn't appear like he was planning on backing down anytime soon. If anything, he seemed more impassioned than ever.
The admission was more than Kaiba was prepared to process. He'd stepped on a fucking landmine, it seemed, and now the idiot was clearly looking for a fight. Kaiba's vision stretched and blurred, and the back of his skull felt tight.
Fuck this. He didn't need to deal with this shit. Not tonight. "Take your fucking sob story somewhere else, Jonouchi. I'm done." Kaiba turned away, kicking some of the bottles for good measure, and stalked across the hallway towards his own room. His mounting anger gave him a moment of enough clarity to focus on the action, and Kaiba was glad he didn't trip over his own feet as he exited.
"You're such a fucking piece of shit!"
Jonouchi quickly rose up, enraged. He nearly ran after Kaiba, following from behind fast enough to stop him from bolting his bedroom door shut. He was strong enough to hold the door open long enough to wedge through, and Jonouchi clearly didn't care about getting in trouble with the staff. Kaiba wasn't prepared to do much about it, since he didn't want security listening in on what the idiot had to say, so somehow he'd have to haul Jonouchi's ass out before they actually traded blows and broke something.
"And I don't fucking care what you think of my crappy situation," Jonouchi continued, slamming the door behind him loud enough that it echoed throughout the bedroom, "I never fucking cared about yours. No one does. If it wasn't for your brother, people would have left you a long time ago.
"Mokuba had the right idea, leaving your sorry ass behind."
Kaiba stilled, rearing around to face Jonouchi. Black spots began to color his vision, and all he could feel was the anger coursing through his veins. His hands twitched beside him, and Kaiba balled them into fists, trembling. "Don't you fucking talk about my brother," he warned between gritted teeth.
"Why, because there's some fucking truth to it?" Jonouchi laughed before his face turned dark again, "Why won't he answer your phone calls? Why didn't he come back to Japan with the Americans? He's fucking avoiding you! He sent his damn secretary rather than see you himself!"
Kaiba felt something in him snap. He marched forward, balling both fists into Jonouchi's shirt and hauled him around. He could feel the adrenaline rush finally hit, and despite Jonouchi's scratching and flailing, Kaiba didn't feel a thing. Just the inner rage, culminating from the alcohol and the stress, and stupid fucking Jonouchi and his confusing actions and hurtful words. Pushing Jonouchi backwards, Kaiba took a sharp knee to his thigh, and Jonouchi's face was twisting in anger, but Kaiba simply didn't care. "Just. Shut. Up," he said, not really knowing what he was doing.
"Mokuba doesn't like you," Jonouchi shot back to Kaiba's face, his eyes a little wild and his hands grabbing where Kaiba's wrists were as he tried pulling Kaiba's grip away from the collar of his shirt, "No one can like you, Kaiba. You probably don't even like yourself."
Kaiba's eyes widened, his grip tightening on Jonouchi. Mokuba...doesn't like him? That was absurd. Kaiba had given everything to him. Everything Kaiba had ever done, every despicable thing, six years suffering under a monster—it was all for him. Kaiba didn't need anyone. He didn't even need to like himself.
But.
His brother meant everything to him. So what if Jonouchi was right?
Before Kaiba knew what he was doing, a hand had broken away and was rearing back—it was like he had no control over his own body. He caught a look of true fear in Jonouchi's eyes, and Jonouchi shut his eyes tightly in anticipation of the blow.
It never came.
Instead, Kaiba roughly shoved Jonouchi back, the latter catching the backs of his calves on the side of Kaiba's bed and falling backwards. And then Kaiba had crawled on top of him, fueled by grief and fury, crushing their mouths together. Shut up shut up shut up! The litany rang through his mind as Kaiba lost all sense of self.
Jonouchi fought back once the realization hit him, slamming his fists onto Kaiba's shoulders in an attempt to push him off. He met each of Kaiba's kisses with bites, rocking his entire body to unsteady the man on top of him, but Kaiba wrestled Jonouchi's hands away, pinning the other's legs down heavily with his knees. Jonouchi managed to successfully buck Kaiba off once, but Kaiba's reactions were faster, and he was able to sling Jonouchi further up the bed.
With each touch of lips, Kaiba could feel his anger burn away, replaced by a feeling he couldn't pinpoint. It was true—he was fucking lonely, although he didn't care to admit it, and the feeling of someone so close was almost unbearable. And by dumb bad luck, that person just had to be Jonouchi, the nearest proximity he had to a friend, and who would probably hate him after this.
But somewhere along the line, the biting and the scratching had stopped, and Kaiba felt hands clutching onto his arms, almost pulling him closer. The shift threw him for a loop, snapping him back to reality, and Kaiba pulled back, searching.
Jonouchi was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with short gasps. His eyes were closed and his cheeks were flushed, a light sheen of sweat beading across his forehead. Kaiba felt the hands squeeze against him.
"Jonouchi, I'm-" Kaiba didn't even know what to say. Sorry?
He found his words turned against him as Jonouchi opened his eyes and threaded a hand through Kaiba's hair, "Just shut up." And then Kaiba was tugged forward as Jonouchi was kissing him. It was sloppy but insistent, and Kaiba fell into the motions as Jonouchi guided them along.
The room was becoming hot. Jonouchi's hands had found their way down to the band of Kaiba's pants, tugging the tails of his shirt upwards. His palms were warm and clammy, roaming fingers over muscles before they were suddenly gone, moving away to pull the buttons open. Kaiba could feel himself getting caught up in the frenzy, unsure whether to allow the situation to continue on to wherever it was going to go or stop Jonouchi now before they did something they might later regret.
He wasn't even sure why Jonouchi was instigating it now. Kaiba knew Jonouchi had been partly receptive to his attempts in the past, but Jonouchi had said several times that he wasn't interested in men. That being homosexual was wrong and weird, and he didn't want Kaiba touching him again. It didn't make any sense, but Kaiba didn't want to dwell too long on trying to make sense of it. Jonouchi never made any fucking sense. And with hands grabbing at him continuously, urging him on, Kaiba didn't stop to think over it, either.
Common sense be damned—he was too drunk and lonely to care about anything at this point besides being touched by another person. Even if it was Jonouchi doing it.
They began to grind against one another, their bodies tangling as they continued to press their lips together. Jonouchi tasted like cheap beer and copper, and Kaiba wondered for a moment whether he or Jonouchi had split a lip during the initial fight. His chest felt constricted, and Kaiba closed his eyes and lost himself in the moment. He let his mind drift, trying to identify the strange ache in his chest, and Kaiba was surprised to recognize the feeling as desire. It was unfamiliar and at the same time thrilling: the only time he'd felt anything close to it was when he had hunted after his Blue-Eyes White Dragons. The feeling had been consuming—he'd needed to possess them, tirelessly pursuing their whereabouts until they were in his grasp. But this, this was different—the desire burned through him, set his body aflame. He needed to touch, to explore, to feel. Kaiba felt like a magnet pulled towards an opposing force: there was no rhyme or reason, it simply was, existed as truth. And in that moment, he needed Jonouchi.
Kaiba could feel Jonouchi's arousal through the fabric of his jeans. It spurred him on more, and he slid his hands down Jonouchi's waist, kneading at the cut of his hip. Jonouchi pushed up against him, and the feeling was maddening. Kaiba trailed his hand forward, until it was resting against the opening of Jonouchi's jeans.
Jonouchi had stilled for a split-second, but then the arms wrapped around Kaiba's shoulders tightened, Jonouchi's lips becoming more urgent against his own. Kaiba ducked down to press a kiss under Jonouchi's jaw, and Jonouchi hissed at the pressure, fingers digging into Kaiba's shoulder blades. Moving fractionally downwards, Kaiba raked teeth over Jonouchi's neck, working his tongue against the taut flesh, and Jonouchi gasped, hips bucking.
Taking that as encouragement, Kaiba pulled the top button of Jonouchi's jeans open, sliding down the zipper before pulling the pants entirely off him. He touched him, eliciting a full-body shudder, before removing Jonouchi's boxers as well. Taking Jonouchi into his hands, he also worked the hem of Jonouchi's shirt up, exposing his chest as Kaiba worked his way down.
Jonouchi seemed to find his head at that point, and his hands scrambled to Kaiba's pants, fingers hooking into Kaiba's belt and tugging. Kaiba almost let out a snort of laughter at the other's insistence, and he moved his hands over Jonouchi's, working the belt free. Pushing his pants and underwear down his hips, Kaiba didn't bother completely removing them. He was too aroused to struggle with clothing past removing the essentials—it was like they were under some kind of spell, and if one of them paused too long, reality would come crashing down, and the spell would be broken.
"Turn over," Kaiba said, and Jonouchi, dazed, complied—twisting so that his chest was flush against the mattress. He seemed to lose momentum mid-shift, and his legs were still turned on their side, but he made no further motion to move. He lay there and breathed heavily through his mouth, and the sight of Jonouchi—his eyes half-lidded and glazed over with his own desire and his body exposed—almost made Kaiba lose it right there. He leaned forward, groping against the nightstand for a bottle of lube and a condom. Pouring an overly-generous amount onto his fingers, Kaiba tossed the bottle aside. Jonouchi almost jumped at first, and Kaiba leaned forward again to distract him, nipping at Jonouchi's bottom lip and pressing his tongue against Jonouchi's. Kaiba knew he was going too quickly, but he couldn't slow himself down. He felt ready to burst, like all the intersections of his body would explode if he didn't have Jonouchi soon.
Kaiba could feel Jonouchi's heart hammering, hot puffs of air released in short exhalations, his body tensing as he reacted to Kaiba's touches. Kaiba tried to wait.
And then he couldn't wait any longer.
With Jonouchi lying below him alluringly, Kaiba took his chance. He could feel himself falling deep- quick breaths and warm moist skin- his heart nearly beating out of his chest. The smell of desire filling his nostrils. Every nerve in his body was on fire. His skin felt very sensation, his moans deep and full. Jonouchi at that moment fully belonged to him, and he savored every moment of it, his brain trying to stash away the sensations of euphoria until it came to a sudden climax.
Jonouchi shuddered underneath. Kaiba grunted from satisfaction, watching as Jonouchi collapsed on the bed. He'd made his mark, and staring at Jonouchi's back admiringly, he suddenly just realized what he'd done before feeling something warm dripping down his left nostril.
He felt light-headed. There were strange red dots on the sheets. Brain snapping back on, Kaiba's hand flew to his nose, and sure enough, his fingers were smeared with blood when he pulled them away. Luckily, it was just a small trickle and not a full-on nosebleed, but it was still mortifying all the same. Hastily wiping away the evidence on the already ruined sheets, Kaiba collapsed next to Jonouchi and joined him in sleep.