State of Mind

PAIRING(S): Seto + Mokuba

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS: Grey-san, Corvin-san, Field-san and the Kravans.


SPOILERS: None really, since the plot is most likely more AU than anything else.

SUMMARY: Mokuba is now 15 years old and has grown into a confident young man. In the years since Secrets that Remain Mokuba has become aware of Seto's game and the brothers have become inseparably close. Yet many secrets still remain. As the eve of Mokuba's 16th birthday nears, a new and unusual tension is in the air.
What lies beneath the surface of happy days and silent nights? When the demons of the past will not die, how does one continue to live? "This ephemeral peace will one day shatter and all shall fall away...”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Yuugiou nor am I making any money from this story. Please give appropriate support toward Yuugiou's mangaka Takahashi Kazuki, the English publisher VIZ and the original publisher SHUEISHA Inc.

*****WARNINGS: PLEASE NOTE that this story contains direct mention and some description of sexual/mental child abuse between two males. This content is portrayed as a damaging, terrible act of violation toward a child as any type of child abuse is; however, if this subject offends you in ANY way, please do not read.

Contains Yaoi/MalexMale/Homosexual and incestuous situations, mature language, mention of attempted suicide, and various other not nice things.

-Blood.

---Chapter 14---

Mokuba and Seto spent the remaining two days relaxing in the warm waters of the vanity hot tub, eating, and rejuvenating their bodies to get ready to return home. Where the first few days had been action and exhaustive fun, the remainder were to be easy and peaceful. Much time was spent walking the beach or the southern cliff line and enjoying the clear weather. When it rained the pair stood beneath the warm droplets and thought silently of the beauty around them that would soon be left behind.

The last full day started out raining large, full drops that replenished the land gluttonously. It faded into warm sunlight close to noon, revealing a clear, bluer than blue sky. Thus, it was a natural decision to spend a full day on the beach. Let they would fix a large meal, perhaps on the grill Ira had set up on the back deck. Mokuba had expressed the desire for a western dish; Seto thought home made hamburgers would be an easy, interesting meal.

When evening had settled and the eastern sky darkened as the western sky glowed brilliantly with all the colors of sunset, Mokuba sat beside Seto on the cool white sand. Sunsets were never as beautiful in the city or as easily viewed, so the raven-haired male sat in awe of the sinking star. His luminous eyes glanced surreptitiously at his partner who was also enjoying the colors. His face was lit with surreal reddish tones, the bandage pushing back part of his bangs. He resembled a modern samurai if one looked at his face and arm in tandem, the bandaged forearm lying over bent knees. Seto still wore his trunks and skintight, black shirt—washed of course. The scene was tranquil and left an immediate, deep impression on the watching teen.

For the previous two days Mokuba had been attempting to find the best time to bring up Seto’s scars. The moment had never presented itself. Now it was their last day before having to pack and travel while on the island. Mokuba thought it important to have the discussion in a peaceful place so that it would be easier on Seto, but he also did not want to ruin the mood. The disconcertion was an unending circle and Mokuba now found himself with very little time. He planned to bring it up that night, no matter what. The only problem was that Mokuba’s mind kept straying to other matters.

Ambrosia was a delicious fantasy island prepared specifically for a honeymoon. It was a somehow magical space and right then beneath the radiant glow of the sinking sun Mokuba was not thinking of scars and bad memories. Mokuba’s heart beat in his ears, his mind losing rational thought as his eyes lingered on the object of his deep affection. He licked suddenly dry lips and recognized the way his hands trembled gently.

‘Now would make a memorable time to tell him. Everything is perfect. Romantic,” he thought nervously. ‘It’s a suggestively seductive scene…’ he thought with progressively thickening sensuality. Mokuba felt flushed as he imagined all the possibilities. If it weren’t for the sunset, he was sure his blush would be obvious.

‘Of course, Seto may not be happy about…my loving him. It doesn’t matter to me that we’re blood related. Not anymore.’ He felt unsure now. Should he really confess? What if Seto were angry or, worse, disgusted? Mokuba tasted fear. Not only would that ruin their relationship, but Mokuba would never be able to even dream of one day knowing the feel, the taste, of Seto’s lips under his. Not even the simplest kiss or brotherly embrace would be achievable then. The prospect chilled Mokuba to the bone. He watched the sun’s last rays disappear for the night.

A solution evolved slowly, deviously as the night claimed the island. Mokuba devised a way to confess, for better or worse, and get a taste of Seto’s lips before the brunette could declare his hatred of Mokuba. He initiated his plan immediately lest indecision and hesitation capture his nerve.

Mokuba turned to Seto, a makeshift smile already in place.

“Nii-sama,” he said. Seto turned in response to the title, icy eyes glowing in the twilight. Mokuba swallowed the lump in his throat, pushing past his want to simply stare. “Can I talk to you about something?”

Seto’s features softened with concern at the subtly nervous tone, “Of course, Otouto.”

“It’s a little…odd.” Mokuba mentally kicked himself, hard, for using the work ‘odd’, he’d meant to say ‘personal’.

“You can tell me anything.”

“Anything?”

“Absolutely. If it’s something you are embarrassed about, I won’t laugh or judge you. Okay?”

“Okay…” Mokuba took a deep breath. He would accept the statement as truth and push forward. He sat on his legs and invited Seto to sit before him so they were facing one another.

“But you have to close your eyes. Okay? I’m just nervous to say it if you are looking at me…”

“Okay then.” Seto was now very interested in what his brother was so troubled about. He was worried that something was wrong. Perhaps it was something pertaining to their fall; an injury in an embarrassing place? They rarely talked about the facts of life. Seto had given Mokuba the speech about using condoms and being careful of rich-seeking women. That was it. Had Mokuba gotten someone pregnant perhaps? He thought this unlikely since, as far as Seto was aware, Mokuba had no girlfriend or even a sex buddy.

“Just don’t get upset, okay?” When Seto again replied affirmatively, Mokuba gathered all of his determination. Now was better than later, he concluded. He could not just keep this hidden forever. Mokuba put increasing weight onto his knees, leaning forward slowly.

He concentrated on Seto’s mouth, lips waiting idly, covering the recesses within. His nervousness mounted as blood pounded in his temples. Inevitable warmth spread in his loins as Mokuba closed the distance that lay between him and his mortal god. Inexperience kept the kiss painfully chaste. Pliant and wet lips pressed affectionately against cool, suddenly still skin as the brunette noticeably tensed. Mokuba pulled back after a few seconds of contact, lips parting with a small smacking noise.

Biting his lip momentarily, his own eyes closed now, Mokuba whispered, “I love you; no, I’m ‘in’ love with you.”

Seto did not reply immediately as Mokuba remained perfectly still and silent before him. He was determined to get Seto to respond first. His muscles were taunt and ready for anything, even violence which was unlikely.

“Otouto,” Seto said with delicate pronunciation, “You are not in love with me. You are infatuated,” he said a bit too crisply. Seto’s ephemeral feelings of peace from earlier had shot out of him like a bullet from a gun. His first response as Mokuba’s mouth had touched his was blinding, absolute fear, followed closely by anger. Seto had not been kissed since Gozaburo’s last assault, nor had he known the feel of anyone else’s lips in his life. The abused has provoked him into strict, obsessive abstinence. Within the fraction of an instant, Seto’s eyes had flown open fully expecting someone else, perhaps a phantom from his own thoughts. Instead, he saw the trembling, closed eyelids of his own younger brother, obsidian hair falling over his forehead. It was all Seto could do to stay his hand. There had only been one instance where he had lost control and hurt Mokuba, backhanded him right onto his ass during their last trip to this very island. That alone had caused extreme, unyielding guilt. He would not repeat such an act.

Fortunately, Seto did not have too long to think on what to do as the kiss lasted for only a few seconds and was little more than an intimate touch. Some mothers kissed their children more thoroughly. The emotion, however, was portrayed through not only the pressure, but Mokuba’s own words following. Words Seto had never heard. Even in his current state of distress, Seto could hear the truth behind these words. Mokuba truly believed he was in love. Seto had the foresight to know he had to tread softly. The teen was on an emotionally pivotal surface and his heart would be so easy to shatter. He had meant to sound more soothing when giving his thoughts and silently cursed himself. The response he received back was anything but what he expected.

“Do you think that because we are brothers? Is that why I can’t be in love with you?” Mokuba sounded defensive and one step away from anger. Seto could only answer truthfully.

“Yes. We ‘are’ brothers. That is mostly why.” Seto tried unsuccessfully to reign in his thoughts in, to consider his answers before giving them.

“And why else?”

Seto again could only speak the truth, his mind too tangled to come up with a foolproof response. “We are very close most of the time and you rarely get a chance to go out as much as you should…”

“What, you mean go out and find a girlfriend? To party? What if I want to stay home?”

“You are sixteen. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So I love you because I’m around you a lot?”

“And…you are sixteen,” Seto stressed, stumbling over the next words, “Your hormones are…”
This was obviously the wrong thing to say, but how else could one suggest that hormones affect the way you feel about a person? Mokuba did not want to hear such an excuse. The teen raised intense platinum eyes, finally, to stare directly into Seto’s.

“Hormones have nothing to do with it! I am not in lust, I’m in love! D…don’t sit there and make excuses for me. I know what I feel. Now either turn me down properly or…or accept me,” Mokuba exclaimed on the verge of tears.

Seto was no rookie in the field of turning down partners. He was usually cold and got straight to the point. But those were always strangers, people he cared nothing for when they cried or avoided him later or even accused him of horrendously false scandals through the media. The person before him was not of that group; Mokuba was the only person whom Seto cared for. Mokuba was the only person alive that Seto feared, because Mokuba’s pain was Seto’s pain.

Caught in this nexus, Seto knew not what to say or to feel.

“Otouto, Mokuba, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said weakly, unable to bring the usual steel into his words, giving way to an increasing emotional surge threatening to flood past his usual barriers.

“Then tell me the truth,” the youth said bravely, “Did it disgust you?” The waver had returned to his voice for a moment, but his stare was strong.

“It surprised me…it didn’t disgust me.”

“Did you like it?” Another bold question, eyes unwavering.

“Mokuba…”

“Please…”

“No…I didn’t.”

Mokuba’s stare faltered a bit, but a dangerous hope sparked in translucent depths. “Then…again, to clarify. If you felt nothing then…how can you know how you feel?” He leaned forward impulsively, trying to decipher the emotion threatening to show in Seto’s eyes.

“Mokuba.” Seto said firmly. His resolve crumbled when, only a breath away, the teen jumped slightly at his tone. He did not consent, but no more reproach was given. Mokuba leaned in cautiously, eyes softening as Seto did not move away, expression slackening to one of simple contentment at first contact. Silver eyes slid closed. Seto closed his own tightly only to decide against it seconds later as the darkness invited equally blackened thoughts. Instead he watched Mokuba. He was inexperienced, but his passion was real. It made it even harder to refuse him.

Seto made the mistake of allowing Mokuba to push him backward. Seto had underestimated Mokuba, but being on his back under someone was one of his least favorite positions-beat only by being on his stomach in similar circumstances. Tension returned to the mood and Seto opened his mouth to protest only to have a nubile tongue take advantage of the opening. Mokuba was learning as he went and already acquiring sufficient skill, but skill or no, Seto was not going to let Mokuba continue further.

Mokuba was feeling confident at this point, plowing ahead with no trace of common sense or pace. The taste of Seto’s lips was even better the second time, decadent on the tip of Mokuba’s searching tongue. Kissing Seto was a sinfully joyous as he had ever dreamed, better because it was real. This could be the last time he ever had the chance to express his love physically; he intended to put everything into this one act so Seto could never again think of his love as mere infatuation. Mokuba refused to open his eyes until he was rejected or accepted in some form. Seto, so far, was not responding to his ministrations.

Mokuba’s hand found the edge of Seto’s soft shirt and started to slide underneath. A sudden pressure on his hand stopped the movement, gentle yet unyielding. Suddenly, Mokuba’s momentum slowed as if a pin were pressed into a balloon to release all the air. A second pressure was now at his shoulder. He stopped his mouth’s motion and pulled back. Mokuba opened his eyes of shining opalescence and finally looked down at Seto. The hand pressing softly on his shoulder was the bandaged one. He removed his hand from the supine brunette’s stomach and looked right into azure eyes. There was a severe sadness there and Mokuba knew the answer Seto would give before he ever opened his swollen lips.

Seto’s right arm extended up further, laying a slender, cold palm on Mokuba’s cheek. The teen leaned into the touch.

“Otouto,” Seto said delicately. “I’m sorry.”

Mokuba nodded lethargically, afraid that any speech might spark an onset of tears.

Seto opened his arms to Mokuba, the teen folding forward instantly from his position straddling the brunette and let Seto hold him. After several minutes, Mokuba sat up a bit, wiping tears from his red eyes.

A small, sad smile, “You still didn’t feel anything?” One last hopeful inquiry.

“No, Otouto.”

“But you weren’t…aren’t grossed out, are you?” The sheen in Mokuba’s eyes was tell-tale of how important the answer would be. Even if it was obvious, the brokenhearted Mokuba needed confirmation.

“No. ‘Nothing’ about you ‘grosses me out’,” Seto said firmly.

Mokuba looked somewhat relieved. He sat up straighter, sitting astride Seto’s waist. He looked down and blushed slightly at his position. He was sure Seto could feel the semi-erection even if it was not visible yet, so he moved to sit beside Seto cross-legged. A few stray tears traced damp cheeks as the teen watched Seto sit up after him. Mokuba wiped at them absently, mind astray. He was staring at Seto’s stomach where, before Seto sat up, Mokuba had glimpsed stark, red marks. Only then did he remember his original objective for the night. As the mood could not possibly get any worse, Mokuba decided now would suffice to ask about Seto’s scars.
“Nii-sama,” Mokuba said his voice husky and quiet. “Will you tell me how you got the scars?” Platinum pools were again fixed intently upon Seto’s face.

Seto looked up at the younger man, his blood brother, eyes more than a little troubled. His eyes had not been as expressive even after the impromptu kiss. Mokuba found he really did believe Seto’s claim of not being disgusted now. The look the man had now was disturbing, but the teen could not relent. He needed to know. Seto needed to tell his story.

Seto stared at Mokuba, eyes locking for nearly a minute with not a sound between them. Seto had known since Mokuba was thirteen that this moment would arrive. The second the child had seen the physical part of his secret, Mokuba had begged his older brother for answers. At that time, Seto had refused point-blank, using the excuse of the boy’s young age. Now, as he looking into the face of the figure before him, could he possibly call this person a child? Could he really still say Mokuba was too young? In Seto’s heart, he thought the boy would never be old enough for the whole truth, but, yes, he owed the tearful young man the answers he had been waiting years for.

Mokuba saw the change in Seto, the breaking of an inner wall was complete and Seto released ancient an sigh.

With little need or want for technicalities, Seto skipped answering and dived right into the explanation.

“These marks did not occur all at one, but over the course of several years. When we were first adopted by…Gozaburo I was given several responsibilities. I was often reprimanded if I was not up to the challenge, you see. This became pretty standard early on." He paused, glancing up from his hands to Mokuba. It was obvious already where Seto was taking this story and Mokuba had locked his jaw to keep from interjecting. His eyes were fierce as he listened. "Then after the first few months, he grew increasingly verbally abusive until finally the violence became physical. The severity only escalated from that point. He rarely touched my face," Seto added somewhat absently.

"That fat bastard," Mokuba breathed, unable to contain it any longer. He had never had a clue; that got to him as much as the information itself. He cursed his own ignorance and for being so young at the time, so naive. He had been stupidly happy in his fancy, albeit increasingly lonely, new life. No wonder Seto had become so indurate and severe in attitude. It made perfect sense now. Mokuba released a long breath witholding further anger. His belated rage would do nothing to help Seto.

"Yes, he was," Seto agreed, interrupting Mokuba's thoughts. The brunette sounded far away, lost in thought.

Moving closer to Seto, Mokuba became very serious, "May I see them, Nii-sama? Please?"
It was not such a strange request to Seto, but he did hesitate for an extended moment. He then closed blue eyes and nodded, resolutely removing the shirt he wore as cover. He watched Mokuba’s reaction idly. There was nothing he could say that the scars did not. The teen’s face darkened as he studied the upper arm scars, moving to the chest marks and the stomach. A tentative hand rose, grey eyes questioning approval.
“They no longer hurt. You can touch them.” Seto said with a composed tone, clenching his teeth in steadfast preparation; once again Mokuba was about to do what no one alive had ever been allowed. Only Seto had touched the tangible memories since their creator’s death. Seto was wary, but not afraid of this development; he trusted Mokuba. He was unsure of what would happen next, what this allowance might cause, and he felt ambiguously expectant.

Several minutes were lost as Mokuba studied the dark tale of secrecy inscribed into Seto’s flesh. The teen was trying to keep silent, but Seto could hear the tiny gasps, the miniscule exclamations, could feel the concern and anger searing into his skin from Mokuba’s eyes. There were surely silent, churning questions, also.
Mokuba traced a curved scar, shaped like a crescent moon next to stout shoulder blades. There were similar places along Seto’s spine.

“What made these?”

The curiosity was better received with Seto than concern; therefore, an answer was achieved more readily.

“Over the years, there were several. A common tool was the whip. There were also rods, random objects, feet, and fists.” He stopped there, thinking it best not to continue and specifically mention the use of flame or blades. He felt small fingers prodding old wounds, tracing delicately down the chaos that was Seto’s back. This was by far the recipient of the more lasting physical wounds; barely a single square inch had been left unmarred.

“Mokuba?” Seto inquired suddenly. The teen was now lingering at the small of Seto’s back. This alone did not shock him; it was when Mokuba slipped a slim digit into the waistband of his trunks and pushed it down.

“I’m only seeing how far down these go…” All at once, Mokuba seemed to have a new sense of urgency in his movements. “Nii-sama…these scars go down pretty far…” With unconfined, unabashed curiosity Mokuba presumptuously yanks the waistband outward and looks at the pale exposed skin. The flesh was as utterly scarred as the rest of Seto’s higher posterior. Mokuba scowled down at the marks. Something at the back of his mind was stirring, ravenously conceptualizing what he knew and had seen into an insidious, terrible idea.

“You…were you undressed when these were made? You ‘had’ to be for this amount of coverage.” Mokuba answered himself, keeping his theory repressed with great difficulty. Seto only nodded mutely in response. Mokuba growled through clenched teeth, imagining too vividly how many times Seto would have been victim to the disgusting man that had been their caretaker. The thoughts were further aggravated by the image of Seto as a small, naked child in front of the man as he was beaten. Now that dark little theory charged forward into Mokuba’s consciousness as a full blown fear. He voiced the question that he hoped would prove his worries wrong.

“The bastard, he beat you often…fucking ‘severely’. That’s why he wanted you naked, to make the pain worse. Right?” Seto did not move to respond; Mokuba felt the abrupt constriction beneath his fingers on Seto’s back.

“He beat you badly, wanted to humiliate you by making you undress…but that’s all he did, right?” Seto still did not move, had seemed to stop breathing. “Nii-sama, answer me. He…he didn’t just beat you did he? He, oh gods, did he…?” Mokuba could not pass the words past his lips: ‘Did he rape you?’ He told himself that he was wrong, utterly off track. Seto would understand and rebuke the unasked question as Mokuba thinking too deeply. Instead, Mokuba watched as Seto leaned forward, as if propping his chin on his hands, elbows on knees. His face was downturned.

“No. He did not just beat me,” Seto admitted in a whisper. Mokuba’s world was suddenly blinding white.