Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Deliverance	By : thelostogg Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 8811 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. I don't profit from these ramblings.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
A/N: Yes, it's been a year since my computer ate the first version of this chapter and I gave up out of frustration! Well, actual writing projects got in the way, too... But, here it is, not quite as good as I'd like, but it's closure.
SPECIAL WARNINGS: Breath play, possible dubious consent (not really, but breath play without a safe word.... it seemed iffy in my head...)

Chapter 13

                Seto was beginning to hate police officers. Every single day since he had been transferred to a normal hospital room from intensive care, he had to put up with any of five detectives bothering him all day long. After his interesting meeting with the Tokyo police and the supposed Interpol agents, he had refused to even speak to them until the chief of police himself had come and vouched for them in person. They ignored his orders to leave. They doctors ignored his orders to have them removed. The one time his brother had bothered coming to visit, he had avoided looking Seto in the eye and left when Seto demanded he kick the police out.
                He couldn’t wait to be discharged so he could get away from them. By the tenth day, they talked to him casually, without a hint of respect. They chatted about his company, his brother, some international soccer game, and always ultimately about Jou. Seto hated them, and he hated that, after listening to their incessant attempts at conversation, he knew more about them then he would like. He really, really hated the fact that the silence in his hospital room after they left each day made him miserable. More than that, he hated that he found he could relate to them. All of them were investigating the carnage Jou and Lynn had left in Tokyo. They shuddered when they talked about it, and they made inappropriate jokes about it that left Seto shaking from trying not to laugh. Together, they scared the nurses and doctors away.
                His own doctors had brought in an expert on ballistic wounds who explained, in great detail, that he was lucky to be alive. It had to be luck. The bullets had been old solid lead rounds. They were harder than most commercial ammunition, and much harder than hollow-point rounds. When the detectives who had been his constant visitors heard this, they agreed. One of them had patiently explained that softer bullets, including those with hollow points, created a mushroom-like shock wave when they stopped within the body. They weren’t dense enough to go through the body, so all of the kinetic energy from the bullet was transferred into the soft tissue around the wound. A hollow-point round, they explained, went in the size of a dime but tended to leave a whole the size of a basketball, rather than an exit wound. The bullets that had gone through Seto had been dense and hard and had, in fact, gone through him. There were puncture wounds, and there was a good two inches of tissue damage to his lower intestines that had required surgery, but he was alive.
                It had also apparently been luck that the charge in the rounds had been cut down considerably from the amount of powder loaded into commercial shells. The expert in ballistic wounds had no idea how he had been so lucky, because the way the ammunition seemed tailored to go through the first body it hit and lodge in the one behind it was just uncanny.
                By then the detectives had been hanging around long enough that they felt comfortable making snide jokes about just how much of a coincidence they thought it was. They had also gleaned more insight than Seto would have liked about his relationship with Jounouchi, which he suspected was Mokuba’s fault. They made a few too many obvious jokes about how most gay couples meant condoms when they talked about protection, but that Seto might want to consider a bullet-proof vest if he and Jou ever hooked up again. Seto absolutely hated them.
                He tried to turn the tables on them. He interrogated them about ballistics and handguns to no end. He had used handguns before, of course, but he had never gotten much beyond the basic grip, how to turn the safety off, and how to pull the trigger. The detectives had-after trying to turn the questions back around to get more information about Jounouchi and his American friend-finally explained that there were marksmen out there who loaded their own ammunition. Even some who bought custom-cast bullets, or cast their own. They could control the shape and density of the bullet, the mix of the powder, control how the load was packed, and even control the primer charge. Every detail, they explained, could be manipulated. Most police officers who loaded their own rounds increased the primer charge and increased the amount of powder in the cartridge, to get more penetrative power out of the round. Some marksmen, though, would cut back on the charge in a cartridge if they were just shooting for target practice.
                Seto hated them. But they commiserated with him when Mokuba had, through his attorney, served Seto with formal notice that the Kaiba Corporation Board of Directors had revoked his position as CEO through a no competence vote. Mokuba had been voted in, for the interim, according to the notice.
                He wasn’t sure how his life had gotten so out of control in just a few days. The entire thing was one big whirlwind of catastrophes, and Seto found that when he stopped to try and think about it all, his brain just shut down. He had always been infatuated with Jounouchi, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how he had come to love the other man. But he had. Between the books, the cats, the psychotic friends, and the tendency to immediately express any emotions at all with firearms, he couldn’t actually list anything endearing or loveable about Jounouchi at the moment. But the feeling was there, rooted as deep in his chest as his love for Mokuba.
                He was discharged after sixteen days, with three cases of bland, liquefied meal replacement drinks that he was supposed to live off of until his intestines healed. After being stuck with nothing else in the hospital, he welcomed the sickly looking brown vegetable juice that his chef brought up to his bedroom, to compliment his canned meal. What he didn’t welcome was the silence.
                He instructed his own security to keep the police out, thinking that he might finally be able to heal in peace. After two hours of quietly resting, he found that his mind was racing in circles. He needed something to keep him busy, something to focus on, to slow down his rampaging thoughts. He ended up limping his way to the guestroom where Jou had stayed and grabbing the half-dozen books that Jou had left out on the mahogany nightstand.
                When he finished those, he ventured into Mokuba’s room in search of more. The novels he found in Mokuba’s room kept his mind from reeling for nearly a week. In the library, he was surprised to find that all of the research and design data from Kaiba Corporation as it had existed under his step-father were preserved in canvas-bound hardcopy. Seto felt stupid for not remembering that, originally, Kaiba Corporation had been an arms manufacturer. He wanted to know everything he could about small arms design, manufacture, and use. He dug through everything he could find, taking to the internet for updated information when he finished the research and design notes.
                He had no delusions about why he had become so obsessed. He wanted to convince himself that Jou hadn’t meant to kill him. He wanted to convince himself that the cold, empty Jounouchi who spent his time hiding from the world behind the cover of a book or behind a gun might actually care about him, too.
                And so he learned about guns. From small Derringer two shot pistols to the most powerful of modern assault rifles. He reviewed statistics for various sniper rifles, smirking when he discovered that other companies had found new alloys and designs that had solved many of the weight and temperature issues that left Kaiba Corporation as a mediocre weapons manufacturer. And somehow, as he memorized components, calibers, and models, he found that he very much wanted to shoot one of the long range rifles for himself.   But in Japan, that wasn’t the easiest goal to accomplish.
                Seto set aside the novels, exhausted the weapons data, and went searching for something else. As he was returning books to Mokuba’s bedroom during his third week home, he noticed that things had changed. He hadn’t seen his brother for more than a few moments in nearly six weeks, despite living only ten feet from one another. Seto knew Mokuba was busy, and he hadn’t been the most accessible guy since he was discharged from the hospital. But he would have expected Mokuba to say something when Temari began to keep clothes in his closet and more than one set of running shoes beside the unused nightstand in Mokuba’s room.
                Seto found himself smiling as he realized that the clothes hanging in the closet were more than enough to keep his dear psychiatrist clothed for a week. He hoped that Mokuba loved her, and he hoped that Mokuba could give her all of the things that he thought of as sentimental crap. On the formerly un-used nightstand, he also found a pile of psychiatry books and medical journals. The book on top caught his eye, not so much for the title as for the back cover. There, in full color gloss, was the face of a serious looking blonde man with a trimmed beard, glasses, and a tweed jacket.
                Seto grabbed the book and stared at the picture. The first thing he should have done was turn the book over and find out the man’s real name. The first thing he might have done was check the title of the book. But the first thing he actually did was laugh. Without the clean-shaven face and the bright smile, Lynn looked like any other middle-aged American man.   He turned the book over and stared at the obviously clinical cover. “Functional Coping Mechanisms: Situational Conditioning for Prevention and Treatment of Stress Related Disorders, by Dr. Collin L. Montgomery.”
                Seto laughed again, tucked the book under his arm, and went back to his room to read. After he finished the text, he thought back to how excited Lynn had been to learn about Mokuba’s continued development of the virtual reality pods that Seto had pioneered. Lynn and Jou were living proof that men could adapt to anything, including the stress of constantly being hunted and in danger, but it was well beyond Seto’s capabilities to condition himself to stay calm and focused with someone shooting at him. He could hardly walk up and down a flight of stairs, much more begin the type of training that Jou must have gone through.
                But he wondered if he could use the virtual reality pods to condition himself to co-exist with Jounouchi without losing his mind, or his life. Could he expose himself to enough violence, enough weapons training programs, enough defensive tactics drills that he could survive in Jounouchi’s world. If he could obtain even a fraction of Jou’s focus, a fraction of his calm efficiency, Jounouchi might not have to worry about Seto being in danger. If Jou could learn to trust Seto’s ability to take care of himself the way he trusted Lynn, they might be able to make something between them work.
                Seto pulled his laptop over to his bed and began to lay the framework for a basic weapons simulator. He pulled statistics from every major class of rifle, added detailed variables for range, weather conditions, and different types of ammunition, and then built a virtual firing range. He used the code from a VR first-person shooter that Kaiba Corporation had suspended development on, and then imported statistics for all of the handguns he had studied. By three in the morning, he was getting excited and added training scenarios for the long range rifles, assault rifles, and defensive tactics drills. He slept during the morning and kept programming through the afternoon. Soon, the old first-person shooter that he had never launched had grown into the most detailed and realistic combat game he had ever designed. In a virtual reality setting, he would be able to run through the scenarios over and over again, to condition himself to stay calm in any situation Jounouchi’s life could throw at him.
                Nearly a week after he began coding, Seto packed two of the cans of horrible meal replacements into a gym bag and drove himself to the office. He didn’t bother going to his office, of course. Just walking into the Kaiba Corporation lobby in sweats and a t-shirt felt awkward enough. He hurried to the basement before anyone could recognize him, to the old R&D facilities where he had stored the first of his successful VR pods. After uploading the simulator, Seto eased himself into the pod, loaded the first training sequence, and let himself embrace the terror that followed. Over and over again, he ran simulations in which he ended up killed within seconds. Every time he died, the program dumped him back into a menu, and every time, he tried again. Soon, the panic that set in the first time a bullet came towards him faded and he was able to focus on movement, reflections, and the subtle details of angle that would allow him to dodge. When he finally managed to get through the first scenario with each of the models of sniper rifle he had loaded, he moved on to learning to use every handgun he had studied, ever assault rifle, and finally, several different knives.
                Somewhere between sniper rifles and assault rifles, he had stopped and gone to the company cafeteria for lunch. A few people recognized him, but most completely ignored him. He looked at the pre-packed bentos with hungry eyes, but settled on an orange juice and pack of rice balls. His doctors had warned him that transitioning back to solid foods would be miserable, and so far the most he had managed was rice porridge in the mornings, but the rice balls were the closest thing to harmless soft foods he could find.
                He ate half of them, and then jacked back into the VR system. When he finally stopped for another break, it was nearly two in the morning. He had worked through dinner and he was starving. He finished one of the canned drinks, caught a few hours of sleep, and went back to work. This time he spent hours running through defensive tactics drills. This he was more comfortable with. He had studied martial arts for years and he’d learned various weapons in that time, including knives. Firearms were more or less new territory, but he found the hand to hand combat drills felt more like review than an actual challenge. When he stopped again, he found that the building was once again filled with people and the cafeteria was open. He chanced one of the bentos this time, but within an hour of climbing back into the VR pod, he had to close the program. He crawled out of the pod and threw up into the trash can.
                Seto went home and slept for nearly twenty-four hours. When he returned to the VR pod the next day, he brought a half-dozen of the meal replacement drinks, a thermos of fresh vegetable juice, and a dozen rice balls. For weeks, he practically lived in the VR pod, but even as his mind became conditioned to the explosions, trauma, and gore in the scenarios, his body became weak and fragile. Every time he tried eating something that his stomach wasn’t ready for, he ended up getting sick. Every time he got sick, he worried that he would cause more damage to his intestines. But the endless hours sitting still were also making his muscles wither away, too.
                Nearly a month after he began running through the simulations, he wandered upstairs into the lobby of Kaiba Corporation in the middle of the night. The lobby was empty. No one sat behind the security desk, and while that would have concerned him a month ago, Seto was surprised to find that he didn’t care. He noted the absence as odd, however, and that triggered the new thought patterns that he had spent the last month developing. He unfocused his eyes so he could rely on his peripheral vision, watched the hallway, elevators, and the reflections of the room behind him in the bank of windows to his right. He saw the two security guards in the reflection, saw the way they looked at each other, and managed to stay calm as they spread out around him.
                When one of them approached him from the side, calling out “Hey, who are you? You can’t be in here after hours!” he saw the man reach for his baton and also checked the reflection to see that the security guard behind him already had his baton drawn. When the security guard moved, Seto let his mind run on autopilot, his body following the directions his brain had been developing into a habit over the previous month. He dropped to the ground, swept his leg out behind him to knock the security guard behind him to his feet, and then deflected the baton coming at him from the side. He grabbed the guard’s wrist, bent his arm into a goose neck, and kept bending until he felt the crack of the man’s arm. He dropped the guard and kicked out just as the guard behind him regained his feet.
                He saw the third guard coming, and his body moved to deflect the man’s running tackle of its own accord. Unfortunately, his stomach chose that moment to remind him that rice balls were, as always, too much for him. Seto ended up face down on the floor of his own lobby, pinned while the third security guard radioed for Roland and the police. As the guard lifted him to his feet, he couldn’t hold back the nausea any more. When Mokuba, with Temari by his side, appeared in front of him shouting something, Seto threw up all over Mokuba’s legs and shoes.
                He woke up in the hospital again, this time hooked up to an IV and a feeding tube. He scanned the room with unfocused eyes, taking in every detail, before focusing on Mokuba standing at the foot of the bed.
                “What were you thinking?” Mokuba raged from the foot of his bed, the moment Seto opened his eyes. “Seto, you’re lucky to be alive! You need to be resting! Not running around designing virtual reality games! Do you know you broke two bones last night?”
                “The kick to the knee cap hit?” Seto couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Between the exhaustion and the nausea, he hadn’t been sure about that one.
                “I can’t believe that you actually meant to do it!” Mokuba rolled his eyes. “I’ve put up with a lot from you, Seto, but if you’re going to try and hurt Kaiba Corporation employees, I will have you committed! Do you understand me, Seto! You can’t keep doing this!”
                Seto nodded slowly. His mind was suddenly clearer than it had been in weeks. Of the four security guards in the hospital room with them, two of them were armed. Those two were not watching the door or windows, but watching Seto. The other two kept their gazes trained between Mokuba and the windows and doors.
                In just a few months, he had driven his baby brother, who hated the thought of a single body guard, to rely on four armed men just to chat with him. Whatever else he was becoming, Seto would always be Mokuba’s big brother. If that meant that he had to ground himself in the mundane, to censor himself and limit his conversations with his brother to things Mokuba could handle, then he would do it. “You’ve gotten paranoid, Mokie.”
                “This isn’t about me, Seto! If anything has made me paranoid, it’s dealing with you and your delusions! You can’t keep acting like this! I can’t keep dealing with you!”
                “You’re absolutely right,” Seto agreed. “I need more than a leave of absence. I need to get away for a while, really distress, do some soul searching. I’ll leave as soon as I get my strength back.”
                “What?” Mokuba’s eyes went wide.
                “I’ll take a vacation. Maybe buy a little island somewhere tropical, kick back and relax. Of course, I will be maintaining my holdings in Kaiba Corporation, but since I own the majority of the stock, I hereby appoint you CEO for a period not to exceed five years without a consensus vote from the Board of Directors. Do you accept?”
                Mokuba stepped back, growing pale. “Seto, that wasn’t what I meant! I don’t want your job, Seto, I really don’t!”
                “How’s Temari?”
                Mokuba gasped. “Fine. She’s fine.”
                “Glad to hear it. You two are perfect for each other, you know. You should marry her.”
                “Seto,” Mokuba shook his head.
                “No. It’s settled. I’m going to move to the country, get my strength back, and find…” Seto shook his head. He needed something to focus on that, for those moments when Mokuba’s life would intersect his own, Mokuba would see as normal. “I need to find a hobby. And maybe a pet.”
                “A hobby?”
                “Yes,” Seto nodded. “A hobby.” He would do more than get his strength back. He would become strong enough to keep up with Jounouchi physically as well as mentally. He would divide his time between the simulations and the guy, between training scenarios and real world practice. Seto looked at the tubes and wires connected to his body. “Do get a nurse for me, wont you, Mokie? My surround sound system doesn’t have this many tubes and wires.”
                “You stereo is wireless, Seto.”
                “Exactly! Subpar technology has no place in my life, much more in my body. Go on.”
                Mokuba hesitated for a moment, looked as though he wanted to say something, then hurried out.
                Seto discharged himself, against medical advice, that afternoon. Within two days he had moved out of the mansion and moved into a quiet country estate where he converted what had once been a ball room into a massive gym and dojo. The estate came with its own archery range and he had professional marksmanship targets installed. It took months, but without Kaiba Corporation to worry about, Seto Kaiba had all the time in the world.
                Almost a year after Jounouchi shot him, Seto found himself relaxing in the first class section of a 747, flying from London to New York. He spent the flight re-reading Lynn’s book.
                He also spent the flight being acutely aware that another passenger was paying far too much attention to him.
                With an hour left in the flight, the man, who might have worked in a museum with his short stature, balding head, and wire rimmed glasses, sat down in the seat across from Seto and gestured to the book. “Are you a student of Dr. Montgomery’s?” he man asked. His voice was so nasal that Seto could almost hear the asthma attack waiting to happen. Seto glanced up at him and noticed that the details of the man’s outfit, the way he carried himself, and even the way he let himself pant to exaggerate his breathing, were all nearly perfect. But the odd creases in the man’s jacket, around his chest and the left leg of his trousers, were too odd to be explained away by long, uncomfortable flight. Seto had found similar creases beneath his own clothing when he spent long days practicing drawing, using, and replacing concealed weapons.
                “No, not a student. I am definitely a fan of his work, though.”
                “His academic work,” the man quivered with an over-done chuckle, “Or his artistic pursuits?”
                If Seto hadn’t been expecting it, he would have flinched. Since he was expecting it, he smiled. “Just his academic work, he’s a brilliant man. His artistic pursuits… Honestly, when an artist goes out of their way to work with a large canvas, they tend to leave people expecting something a bit more detailed than finger painting. His sketches are beautiful, but I think his paintings are just childish.”
                The man’s smile cracked for a moment. The labored, heavy panting that seemed to indicate a weak chest vanished. The bald man leaned back, smiled brightly, and laughed. “That’s certainly one perspective!” the man laughed. “I wouldn’t say that to him personally, though.”
                “Of course not,” Seto smirked. “I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
                The man laughed again and propped his feet up. With the happy smile, he looked younger. He also sounded younger, without the labored breathing. “I’m Elliot,” he held out his hand, “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”
                “Seth,” said Seto.
                “Seth? So when did you have the privilege of seeing Dr. Montgomery finger paint?”
                “Japan, about a year ago. Are you an associate of his, or a friend?”
                “Just an associate, just an associate. I’m afraid there are some friendships in the world that just aren’t worth the drama involved.”
                Seto nodded slowly. If drama was code for having a friend who occasionally shot, stabbed, or maimed you, Seto could understand.
                “Still, I heard a bit about his trip to Japan. Sounded like it was one hell of a party.”
                “No,” Seto dismissed the man’s unspoken question. “A few moments of artistic abandon, a quick visit to the library, but otherwise I’m sure he thought it was a dull trip.”
                Elliot stared at him, grinning and keeping his hands up near his head. When Seto didn’t say anything, the man broke into a soft chuckle. “Artistic abandon, hu? Well, now I’m glad I wasn’t there. I try to maintain a good working relationship with my associates, though. Healthy competition is one thing, and discouraging armatures is always necessary, but when we try to make a living at each other’s throats, it’s just…”
                “Unprofessional,” Seto suggested.
                “Exactly. Tactless and unprofessional. Still, artistic abandon and library books…” Elliot shook his head, smiling.
                Seto found himself smiling too. The rush of adrenaline was hard to ignore, but he had repeated enough high adrenaline training scenarios that, rather than triggering a panic attack, the chemical dump sent him into a quiet high that was thrilling and empowering at the same time.
                When the plane landed, Seto let his eyes un-focus and fumbled his way off of the plane, keeping his body turned sideways so he could keep Elliot in his field of vision. The man’s befuddled, wheezing façade was back in place, but Seto could see the amused smile behind his wire rimmed glasses before he made it off the plane. As soon as he was on the concourse, he sprinted for the main terminal to make sure that the bald assassin wouldn’t be able to get behind him easily.
                It was another two days before Seto found the right campus, and managed to pick up a backpack and American blue jeans so he could blend in. It took him most of the afternoon to find the right class. He showed up early and sat near the back door of the lecture hall while students filed in.   He was impressed when Lynn stumbled in, apparently struggling to carry a brief case and a stack of papers. He looked like a man in his sixties, and he delivered an impressive lecture on hormonal and chemical processes in stress reactions, eventually getting fed up with his slides and drawing chemical diagrams and electrical pathways on the chalkboard. His monotone voice and exasperated mannerisms solidified the old, exhausted professor image perfectly. Even as Seto sat there, remembering the way the man had easily out run, out maneuvered, and out fought dozens of assassins and killers, he had trouble believing that this was truly the same guy. When Lynn’s eyes met his across the lecture hall, though, the flash of recognition in them was unmistakable. Seto lingered, taking his time shuffling papers into his newly acquired backpack, while Lynn answered questions, recited his office hours, and ushered his students out the door.
                When the last of the students left, Lynn changed. He coalesced the paperwork he’d been juggling into a manageable stack, shoved it all into the empty side pocket of his brief case, and leaned against the lectern at the front of the room. His movements adopted all of the grace and confidence of a relaxed lion, rather than the jerky, uncoordinated movements of a psychiatry professor. The trimmed beard and glasses still made him look a little older, but not nearly as much as they had just moments ago.
                Seto draped his backpack over one shoulder and strolled towards the front of the room, watching the other man’s hands and keeping his own hands visible. As he approached, Lynn raised curious eyebrow in his direction. “I was going to ask what took you so long,” Lynn grinned, “but you’ve been learning.”
                “Have I?”
                “Maybe just getting comfortable in your own skin,” Lynn shrugged. “Either way, it’s about damn time.”
                “You’ve been expecting me?”
                “Expecting, no, not really. Hoping, though. Definitely hoping.” Lynn pushed off of the lectern and nodded towards the door. “Come on.”
                “Where are we going?” Seto asked, moving towards the door with careful side steps. For the first time, Lynn hesitated and seemed to reconsider him. And then the man’s smile grew bright and dangerous. He kept his body turned slightly towards Seto, grabbed his brief case, and followed Seto out the door.
                “Home. It’s three o’clock. Trish usually doesn’t have dinner ready until seven, so that will give you four hours.”
                “Four hours?”
                “Active listening skills, too… You have been doing your homework. I am officially impressed, and that doesn’t happen often. But, impressed or not, it’s been a fucking year and I want my guest room back.”
                “What?”
                “Come on.”
                Seto followed Lynn to a newer navy blue Lexus. Lynn opened it with the key fob and climbed in the driver’s seat. He started the car before Seto even managed to climb in. Within ten minutes, they were pulling into a nice, gated brick home surrounded by large, manicured gardens. “Nice place,” said Seto.
                “Thank you. I did the sculptures myself.”
                Seto took a closer look at the sculptures in the garden. Most of them were of women, though a few were of men. All of them were nudes, and all of them were either provocative or gruesome—and several were both.
                “My daughters say they make the house too embarrassing to invite guests over, but that’s fine with me.” Lynn stopped the car, scanned the gardens and the front of the house quickly, and then hopped out. “Come on in. It is customary to leave your shoes on. Move quietly. If he knows you’re here, he’s going to bolt.”
                “He’s here?” Seto asked, heart racing despite his best efforts to control it.
                “Of course he’s here. He’s depressed. He doesn’t have his kittens, he doesn’t have you… My place is ten minutes from one of the biggest university libraries in the area. Where else would he be?”
                “Honestly, I have no idea. I tracked you down hoping to find out.”
                “Well, Trish is worried about him. She won’t let me kick him out until I can honestly tell her that he’s not going to hurt himself…” Lynn recited the words with obvious distain. And then he smiled again. “Honestly, it’s my own damn fault for marrying a woman who can tell when I’m lying...”
                “How do you survive?”
                “I’m a very lucky man.” Seto followed close behind Lynn, into the nicely decorated Tudor style home. In the foyer, Lynn dropped his brief case, entered a code into the automated security system, and took off his jacket. “Through here,” Lynn practically whispered. Lynn led him through a huge living room where Seto was surprised to see a whole series of family portraits on the wall. In a large print reproduced on stretched canvas, Lynn stood in the middle of a dozen smiling blonde girls. The oldest, obviously his wife, was breathtakingly beautiful. Around them, five blonde girls ranging in age from young adults to about ten stood grinning at the camera. Individual portraits of each of the girls hung in a row beneath the canvas.
                Lynn led Seto down a narrow, carpeted stairway, and Seto noted the change in the man’s carriage and stance immediately. Where Lynn was relaxed in the rest of the house, he became guarded as soon as he set a single foot on the stairs. He set his feet carefully on the center of each step, letting the creek of each step echo, even though from the way he grimaced each time, it was obvious that he didn’t like making that much noise. Lynn pointed to the side of the stairs near the wall. Seto kept his steps close to the wall, avoiding following in Lynn’s footsteps so that he could move silently.
                “Joey, I’m coming in!” Lynn shouted, his eyes narrow. Behind the door at the bottom of the stairs, something creaked.
                Lynn opened the door, stepped to the side fast, and threw Seto inside. Seto rolled to the side and rolled on to his feet, ready to dodge or attack. The door slammed shut behind him and Seto unfocused his eyes to get used to the dim light in the basement. For a very tense moment, he wondered why he hadn’t thought to bring a gun.
                “Seto?” Jou was sitting on an old leather couch, dressed in blue jeans and a sweat shirt, with a Kindle propped up in his lap.   Jou looked horrible. His normally silky hair was greasy, his eyes sunken and dark.
                “Hey,” said Seto, taking in as many details of the room as he could. Jou cocked his head to the side and watched him, not moving.
                When Seto’s eyes focused on Jou again, Jou set the Kindle down and stood up. “You shouldn’t have come here, Seto.”
                Seto wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He wasn’t going to let Jou argue his way out of dealing with this, or let him fight, shoot, or run away from it, either. “I am here,” said Seto.
                Jou reached out to grab Seto’s arm, moving towards the door as he moved. “Did Collin bring you?” Seto side stepped and moved behind him. Jou spun and seemed to hesitate. “You move different… How long have you been working with him?”
                “I tracked him down this morning.”
                “Ha. Funny.” Jou reached for Seto again.
                Seto caught Jou’s wrist and spun him around. He swept Jou’s feel out from under him and drove him to the floor. He braced himself to deal with whatever counter Jou threw at him, but the other man didn’t move. “Give me a little credit, Jou. I might not have your experience or training, but I’m not an idiot.”
                “Who trained you?” Jou asked quietly.
                “I’ve been working on my own,” Seto admitted.
                “No one moves like you do after a year on their own.”
                “I’m Seto Kaiba, Jou.”
                Beneath him, he felt Jou chuckle. In a flash, the world spun and Seto found himself flying. He curved his back and turned what would have been a hard slam on to floor into a roll. Jou pinned him down with confident, vice-like hands on his shoulders. Seto could feel Jou’s cock digging into his hip, despite the serious expression on Jou’s face.
                “I thought I made myself pretty clear,” said Jou. “If shooting you doesn’t convince you that I’m not interested, what would you suggest?”
                “You think watching you get scared is going to convince me that you’re not interested?” Seto spat. Seto grabbed Jou’s sweat shirt, flexed his hips up, and threw Jou’s weight off of him. “Don’t you dare try to deny it, Jou! You got scared! You care about me, and it scares you! I don’t know what was going on in your head, but I know that whatever it was, it scared the fuck out of you!”
                “So what?” Jou glared at him.
                “So I’m not going to let you walk away. I’m not going to stand there and let you shoot me again, but I am not going to let you go.”
                “Seto, do you really think learning how to fight means that you’re capable of keeping up with me?” Jou smirked, set his hands under Seto’s arm pits, and lifted Seto off of him as if he weighed less than a barbell.
                “No, I don’t think I can beat you. But I think that I can survive loving you, no matter what type of tantrum you feel like throwing tomorrow or next week.”
                “Tantrum? You arrogant asshole! You don’t know shit about my life and you do not have any place in it! And it wasn’t a fucking tantrum!” Seto shifted his arms down and tugged on the button of Jou’s jeans. Jou was so hard that his cock was pushing against the zipper of his pants. “Sex isn’t going to change my mind, Seto.”
                “Then stop me!”
                Jou threw Seto off of him easily and rolled to his feet. Seto watched him adjust his jeans, but he also walked him step sideways, circling Seto like a predator. Jou attacked fast, not even bothering to try and be discrete or efficient. Seto blocked a straight punch and dodged an upper cut that would have sent him flying. Jou picked up the pace, throwing punches and kicks faster. Seto kept blocking and it took all of his willpower to be able to relax his focus, to see all of Jou’s movements at once, and to see the environment around them at the same time. He vaulted over the couch to put more distance between him and Jou, then forced his eyes to relax.
                Seto had to do more than relax his eyes, though. He had to relax his conscious mind. He had to trust that the countless times he had run through VR scenarios had turned the responses necessary to survive hand to hand combat against someone like Jounouchi into automatic movements, into habits. He let his eyes absorb everything, let his own survival instincts direct his nervous system. He blocked and dodged faster punches and kicks. He rolled out of the way when Jou would have tackled him. And then he hit back. Jou blocked the strike easily, but it made him pause. He stared at Seto with open excitement and lust in his eyes.
                Seto had to block three more punches and another knick before he had an opening to try again. This time, Jou dodged easily and sent another straight punch at Seto’s face that connected with his cheek hard. Seto used the extra time to twist his body around, hitting Jou in the ribs with an upper cut. The position put him close to Jou’s head, his ear just inches from Jou’s mouth, and the groan that escaped from Jou’s lips was the most erotic sound Seto had ever heard. Seto took a chance and drove his body up, crushing his lips against Jou’s just as the moan ended. He grabbed Jou by the back of neck and kissed him hard, anchoring his fingers in Jou’s hair to keep him from escaping.
                He felt Jou’s hands on his head, holding him against Jou’s mouth in a grip that was bruising and arousing at the same time. Seto fumbled with the button on Jou’s jeans, found that Jou hadn’t bothered to close the button again, and shoved Jou’s jeans down over his hips. Jou’s tongue drove into his mouth, nearly choking him and forcing him backwards towards the couch behind him. He ripped at his own jeans, too, trying to shed them over his shoes.
                Jou didn’t even give him time. He forced Seto to turn around and pushed him forward until his knees sank into the cushions of the couch. Seto grabbed the back of the couch and leaned forward. Jou shoved two fingers deep inside of him. The pain was sharp, and the pleasure that he remembered hovered on the edge of perception, coaxing him to relax into Jou’s touch. Jou shoved another finger into him, then withdrew and lined his cock up against Seto’s opening. Seto felt the head of Jou’s cock penetrate him slightly, stilling after slipping inside a fraction of an inch.
                Seto felt Jou’s fingers trace soft circles around his hips—not pulling, not thrusting, but caressing him. The contrast was striking and set his nerves on fire. He shoved his hips back, trying to urge Jou to move. That single encouragement was all it took to spur Jou on. The fingers gently circling his hips closed around him, pulling him back at the same time that Jou’s hips thrust forward. Seto choked out a quiet scream as Jou’s cock seemed to split him in half. For a moment, he was sure that Jou was going to tear him, but when Jou began to move, the friction assured him he wasn’t bleeding. And the moment Jou snapped his hips up and rammed into his prostate, he didn’t care if Jou ripped him wide open.
                Jou rammed into him hard, driving him into the back of the couch with each thrust. Each movement forced another cry from Seto’s throat until he felt hoarse. He tried to reach his own cock, but Jou didn’t stop his frantic pace long enough for Seto to move. Jou was already so close that it only took a few more solid thrusts before he buried himself deep inside of Seto and came hard. He thrust in and out a few more times, gliding in easily as his come lubricated Seto’s passage, riding out the tremors of his orgasm with a single, long groan.
                Jou collapsed on to Seto’s back, drew in a slow, heaving breath, and then rolled Seto over on to the couch. Seto felt a convoluted mixture of panic and excitement flush through him as both of Jou’s hands wrapped around him, one around his cock and the other around his neck. Seto squeezed the couch cushions in white knuckled fists and stared into Jou’s amber eyes. He didn’t look away when he felt Jou’s fingers stroke him, squeezing the head of his cock and scrapping his thumb across the slit in a teasing motion that made every muscle in Seto’s body twitch.
                “Come for me now,” Jou whispered. He squeezed both his hands and for the briefest of moment, Seto felt his lungs seize. His vision grew dark around the edges and the tension inside of him snapped. He came hard, filling Jou’s palm, and the world turned black.
                When the world came back into focus, he was laying down on the couch. Jou was crouched over him, running his fingers over Seto’s neck. Seto managed to find enough self control to stop himself from whimpering at the calloused fingers grazed his neck. The skin was tender, but the last thing he needed was to make Jou feel guilty for doing something that blew most of Seto’s fantasizes into oblivion. “Wow…” he gasped.
                “Are you alright?”
                “I haven’t been this alright in a long fucking time…”
                Despite the situation, Jou smiled. “I… Fuck, I’m sorry, I… “
                “No,” Seto shook his head. “If you ever do something that hurts me, I’ll stop you.”
                “Seto, we have to talk.”
                “Yeah, eventually,” Seto whispered. “We’ve got all the time in the world, though. Well, provided we’re done by seven. Lynn said something about dinner…”
                “I’m not going back to Japan, Seto.”
                “You and me both, Mutt.”
                “What? What about Kaiba Corp? Mokuba?”
                “Mokubka’s got the company covered. I’ll go back for the wedding, but otherwise, it’s not my problem anymore. And, honestly, if I freak him out any more, he’s likely going to have me committed.”
                “So… What are you going to do now?”
                “You.”
                Jou blushed and dropped his forehead against Seto’s. “That’s not what I meant.”
                “Yes, it was. I have more than enough money that I don’t have to worry about a job, and I know that you’re not going to have time to work around my schedule. I told you I’m not going to let you walk away again, but I’ll chase you down if I have to. So, one way or the other, the only thing I plan on doing is you. Fucking you, stalking you, buying you random used book stores… Either way, you.”
                “Books. Random used books.”
                “I meant what I said,” Seto shook his head. The jerking motion hurt more than he could hide and his grimace made Jou wince. “At the rate you go through books, I think I need to be efficient about it.”
                Jou chuckled for a moment and rubbed his forehead against Seto’s cheek. “Why? I shot you… I tried to kill you…”
                Seto sighed. “You didn’t try to kill me. If you had wanted me dead, you would have taken the head shot. You would have used hollow-point rounds, and you would have packed the charge. That was the closest thing you could get to BB gun that would still have the power to knock someone down.”
                Jou opened his eyes and looked at Seto with a smile in his eyes. After a moment, the smile broke across his face, too. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
                “Good, so no more bullshit, alright?”
                “Seto, I can’t…”
                “Ah ah,” Seto sat up. “No more bullshit. I don’t need declaration of love, a ring, the promise of a happily ever after with adopted kids or any of that shit. Just you.”
                “You know this obsession is unhealthy, right? You’re likely to get killed following me around.”
                “So what else is new?” Seto wrapped his arms around Jou and pulled him down on top of him. “Besides, Collin wants his guestroom back.”

That is it! The end of Deliverance! Stay tuned for part 2, in which Seto discovers the dangers of CIA run used book stores, explores the perils of trying to buy coffee in an American gas station, and adopts a strange and violent creature.

Also, if anyone would like a peek at one of my favorite parts of Graffiti, in its original form, it's posted on my new blog. Just follow the link the my profile:)
- 13
- 14
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Deliverance