Fractured future

Title: Fractured future 3/4
Author: Akuchan
Rating: R
Pairing (s): Seto/Jounouchi
Wish maker: Joey
Beta: Daisey
Spoilers: Throughout the series
Disclaimer: I never have and never will own Yugioh. And I don't make
any money from this story either.
Summary: After a run-in with Kaiba, Jounouchi foolishly wishes for
something that adversely affects Kaiba, and changes the course of his
own life. The two are thrown together, and gradually become closer
but to take their relationship to its full potential Jounouchi has to
overcome his guilt.

Kaiba has been set up in a small room on the ground floor of his mansion. I’m not sure what its normal purpose is for, but it makes a good sick room. It’s in a decent location: just a few steps away from the kitchen with a washroom just across the hall. It would be better if it was attached, mind you, but all in all it’s a good set up. Kaiba’s hospital bed and rolling table take up a good portion of the room. Even though it’s not set right beside the large window, he does have a nice view into the garden. There are two comfortable chairs in the room: the wingback beside Kaiba’s bed that Mokuba usually sits in, and then a very comfortable leather chair and ottoman set closer to the window. There is a small oak desk just to the left of the doorway. And last but not least, there’s a small table with a couple of chairs. They get placed out of the way to the side, and then we move ‘em closer to the bed at mealtimes so that Mokuba can visit with his brother while he eats.

I’m about fifteen minutes into my shift and Kaiba isn’t showing any sign of stirring yet, which isn’t surprising considering that the overnight person had said that he’d had a restless night and had needed a painkiller around 5 am. I sip at my coffee as I go over Kaiba’s charts. Nah, let’s be honest, I have the charts in my lap and I’m sitting with my feet propped up on the ottoman, staring out the window at the snow covered gardens, imagining what they will look like when spring finally arrives. I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous, even though it’s hard to tell at the moment.

Being on Kaiba’s watch is a sweet deal. Sure I have to put up with ‘His Prickishness’, but he’s my only patient—or client, as the current lingo refers to the poor buggers that we take care of—which gives me a ton of free time. Honestly though, Kaiba ain’t that bad. No really, I wouldn’t have believed it myself if, back in high school, someone had tried to tell me that one day I would take care of people who were ten times more bitchy than him on a bad day. Though I’m sure that’s also the guilt talking there; I find I’m forgiving him for a whole lot of attitude.

I think it goes without saying that I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so well in my life; it’s almost better than the pay. He has a private chef, who can make even the most ordinary piece of fish taste like… oh, I don’t know… something served at a fancy restaurant. But then again, would you expect anything less from Kaiba? And his housekeeper has taken a shine to me, so she makes sure that I’m always well fed. I think she has a granddaughter that she wants to hook me up with. I don’t have the heart to tell her I’m gay – not that it’s a secret or anything, but she hasn’t figured it out on her own yet. And no, I’m not stupid; I don’t feel like risking my meal ticket, either.

“At least you didn’t drink all the coffee on me this time.” His droll voice penetrates my daydreams of warm sunny days, and ground not covered in snow. I turn my head towards Kaiba’s bed to see him smirking at me as he pours some of the aforementioned beverage from the stainless steel thermal pot into a cup that has been placed on the bedside table. He’s raised the bed up, and is now in a sitting position. Electronic beds make my life ~so~ much easier.

It never ceases to amaze me how he can go from being out cold to being wide awake and snarky in zero point three seconds. “And risk getting fired? Nah ah. I’ve learned my lesson,” I say, grinning as I get up to check on him. “Nevah, evah, take the last cup of Joe, ESPECIALLY if Kaiba sama hasn’t had any yet. Ya can’t accuse me of making the same mistake twice.” I did that once, and only once, let me tell you. The Kaiba that I knew and loathed in high school reared his ugly head that day. Seems he’s much more personable once he’s had his coffee. Ha! I crack myself up sometimes.

“No, it just means that we’re treated to your new and inventive ways for screwing things up, each and everyday,” Kaiba snarks back at me.

“Hardy, har, har, har… ya know, yer pretty cocky for someone who is completely at my mercy,” I laugh, knowing that he’s only joking. And from the way he’s smirking at me, he knows I am too, though there is a touch of sadness in his eyes at the truth of the statement. Now I feel like a complete and total ass for putting that look there. Granted, it’s never very far from the surface, but for the most part, he’s making the best of his situation. I like the way that we’re able to joke with each other. Back in high school, if we’d have had a similar repartee it would have degenerated quite quickly into a sniping match, and we’d have even come to blows depending on the mood of one or both us. Or in our first reality at least; in this altered world we barely paid each other any attention. Something has changed between us. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but I like it. Or maybe it’s me that’s changed, I don’t know.

We’ve gotten into a routine, so once he’s had his first sip of coffee, I hand him a plastic urinal bottle, and leave the room while he takes care of his morning needs. The poor guy, his legs are so fucked up he’s virtually immobile. It’s a good thing he’s young and healthy. They’ll heal, and if he’s lucky, there won’t be any lasting effects.

Much has been made over the fact that he’d only suffered two broken legs and nothing more. Granted the injuries are quite impressive, and they’re also the cause for much speculation, as they aren’t typical of the type that he should have sustained in the fall that he took. He should have had a twisted knee or maybe a broken ankle. Well, he does have a broken ankle, but the break is a lot more complicated than it should be. Not only did he break the right ankle, but the metatarsal bones, the ones on the top of the foot, were shattered as well. It’s really quite astounding, because normally wounds like that are caused by the foot being crushed under the full weight of something, not from a simple fall down the stairs. He had to have surgery to repair those bones.

The left leg fracture is highly unusual as well. He has a break clean across his thigh, which by its nature, should take longer to heal than a lower extremity break. But, because of the severity of his foot injury, the healing time on both is fairly equal. The prognosis at the moment is that he has at least another two to three weeks before they’ll even consider taking the casts off. And then he’s looking at a long stretch of intensive therapy to get his legs working again. I’m sure it’ll be a long time before he’s back to the shape that he was in before the accident.

Another thing that has most commentators and medical experts flummoxed is that, despite smacking his head pretty hard against the stairs as he went down, Kaiba didn’t suffer a concussion, let alone anything else. There weren’t any wounds on his upper body whatsoever, nada, nothing, not even a bruise, and as a primary caregiver I can testify to that. But I know why that is, even if nobody else does. I sure am glad that I didn’t wish him dead or anything like that. It’s hard enough living with myself as it is, and I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of hell that I’d be going through if I had. Just to be on the safe side, I’ve stopped uttering those two evil little words completely. I don’t even let them enter my head; they’ve been banished for life.

Once I’m sure he’s done, I go back in and retrieve the bottle to empty it in the washroom across the hall—after I’ve made sure that there’s no blood in the urine, that is. Yeah, it’s one of the highlights of the job, checking out Kaiba’s pee. At this point it’s not really necessary as the likelihood of there being any internal bleeding is slim to none, but it’s part of the job, something I do automatically. Besides, I’ll be damned if I let something like that get by on my watch.

By the time I come back, Kaiba’s younger brother is there, and breakfast has arrived. The table has been pulled over, and a place has been set for me, too, as it has been since my second morning working here. I’m sure that eating with the client and his brother breaks all kinds of proper protocol, but Mokuba insists upon it, despite his brother’s objections. Come to think of it, though, Kaiba never did raise a fuss, and the only thing that he did do was to make some smart-ass comment about the bottomless pit that is my stomach.

Kaiba’s breakfast is always more traditionally Japanese, and today he’s having miso soup and a bowl of rice, with some pickled daikon radish and umeboshi* on the side. His one exception is, of course, his coffee. As far as I’m concerned he’s still not eating enough, but his appetite is slowly coming back. He, on the other hand, likes to point out that just because he doesn’t consume the same amount as a small barn animal, doesn’t mean that he’s not eating enough. Jerk. I try not to fuss over him too much; besides the fact that he finds it extremely annoying, I really don’t want my developing feelings for him to be too transparent. As a caregiver, it’s easy to hide my concern behind a mask of professionalism. I wonder if I’m the only person who finds that phrase, when used in combination with me, to be strange. Anyway, I’m finding recently that that mask is getting harder to keep in place. Mokuba has noticed, but then I think the kid has always hoped that something
would spring up between the two of us. I try not to get my hopes up, and I try not to think that maybe he’s pushing us together because he knows something of his brother’s feelings for me. I really shouldn’t do that; Kaiba and me getting together is never going to happen. First off, professionally speaking, getting involved with a client is an ethical no no. It’s something I could lose my job over, and quite probably I’d never work in the field again. Secondly, I did this to him. I put him in this bed with his two broken legs, and if he ever found out, he’d never forgive me. Or, more than likely, he’d put me in the loony bin, because unlike Yugi, he’d never accept that this was done to him by magic.

“Earth to Jounouchi, come in Jounouchi.” Mokuba, the imp, taps lightly on the side of my head to get my attention. “You’re breakfast is getting cold.”

I jump; I was so deep in my thoughts that I forgot where I was for a sec. Shaking my head to clear it, I sit at what Kaiba jokingly refers to as the kids’ table, and barely taste my favourite of all favourite western breakfasts, sausage and scrambled eggs, with toast. Mokuba has the same but in smaller portions, and as a concession to his brother’s bitching that he’d better not pick up my horrendous eating habits, he’s also having a bowl of fruit salad. Today’s breakfast time, like most other days’, is rather cozy. Between bites of food, Kaiba reads the morning paper while discussing some way-over-my-head business theory with his brother. The kid – he’s not really a kid anymore I remind myself, but in my mind he always will be—is in his first year of university. The plan is for him to get his undergrad degree in Japan, and then go overseas, more than likely to the U.S., for his MBA. Then, he’ll join his brother in running Kaiba Corp. I was surprised when he
enrolled in Domino University instead of a more prestigious school, but after much research into the school’s programs and faculty, Kaiba had determined that, though it wasn’t the number one school in Japan, DU’s Business School was certainly one of the top ten. Though, personally, I think the real reason Mokuba is there is because neither brother was quite ready to be separated just yet. They’ve both said to me at different times that, especially now because of the accident, they were glad that Mokuba stayed home to go to school. Do I find it strange that Kaiba confides anything to me? Yeah, I do, but I’ve chalked a lot of that up to the painkillers loosening some of his inhibitions. I don’t know why, but the conversation that I had with Yugi chooses this moment to cross my mind, and I’m hit with a sudden sense of sadness when I realize that once we get everything back to the way it should be, I’m really going to miss this time spent with the Kaiba brothers in the
morning. If I remember it at all, that is. Of course, it all depends on if anything can be done, and that’s a big IF.

“You really are distracted this morning,” Kaiba muses. I must be imagining things, because I’m almost certain that I detected a note of concern in voice. “You’ve not annoyed me with one inane comment, yet.” I like the way his eyes crinkle in the corner when he teases me. Oh shit, I’ve got it bad. But I knew that.

“And you’ve barely touched your breakfast. Are you feeling all right, Jounouchi?” Mokuba pipes in.

“I’m fine, honest. I was just thinking about somethin’ Yug and I were talking about last night, is all.” Which isn’t a lie, but I don’t expand on it. I can tell that they’re not exactly convinced that everything is fine with me, but they don’t push it, for which I’m thankful. I do manage to focus my attention, and in doing so, am able to annoy Kaiba with an inane comment or two.

Once he’s finished eating, it’s time for Mokuba to go for the day, and for me to actually do some work. As the housekeeper clears the dishes, I get Kaiba’s things for his personal grooming. He can do most of it himself, but he does need a hand to wash his back. I think it’s a no-brainer to say that I don’t find that task to be a hardship at all. Because of the nature of his injuries it’s next to impossible to move him, so even his hair is washed while he’s sitting in his bed. Fresh clean towels are retrieved and laid down behind him, and another across his lap. I fill a basin with warm water and wait – he says hover like an old woman – while he washes his face and hair. He can manage that on his own, which in all honesty I think is a shame. I would love the opportunity to run my fingers though his hair, even if it’s only under the guise of washing it. I have to steer my mind away from that line of thinking; it can get me into a whole mess of trouble real quick.
Actually, this whole morning ritual has become a test of my professional ethics.


He’s got his routine down to a science, and after towelling his hair, he then washes his face, and then after that he strips off his hospital gown. I learned the hard way, with a bitchy slap across my hands, that he can get out of it on his own and he doesn’t need my help-- fuck you very much. Of course he’s not wearing one of those cheap cotton, everything blowing in the breeze hospital gowns. Noooo, he’s acquired quite the large collection of full privacy gowns in a variety of patterns and colours. These things are quite nice; basically they look like a nightshirt, except that they have a back flap that snaps into place at the shoulders. They cover everything, but at the same time can be easily removed when need be.

So yeah, he shrugs out of the blue plaid flannel one that he had had on, and bares himself for the washing of his torso and lower regions. Same thing happens everyday; I have to turn my head, or else I’ll have a raging hard on through a good portion of the morning. Nobody should be cut like that, let me tell you, especially when they’ve been laid up in a hospital bed for weeks on end. But then, he’s been using free weights to keep his upper body in shape; which is another spectacle that I have to struggle through. I’m glad today is his off day for that, for some reason I’m having a bitch of a time keeping my body under control. Which brings me to the sad conclusion that staring out the window is a useless effort, because soon enough I’ll have to wash his back.

Almost as if he’s reading my mind, he calls out, “You can wash my back now, if you want.” Fuck if that doesn’t sound like a goddamned invitation. I swear the bugger was purring, or teasing, or maybe even both. My preferences have never been a secret--that he’s at the top of my wish list ~is~ one though, I hope – and he was outted last year; we’re both young, attractive men (more than attractive, he’s dead sexy, and I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I’m not hard on the eyes) so there has been a fair bit of innuendo peppered in amongst our banter. I don’t know about him, but I’ve turned his ‘bath time’ into a really bad, cliché-filled, porno flick in my mind, more times than I can count. I soap up a thick white washcloth and attempt to keep my touch clinical, fighting the urge to map every inch of his strong, sexy back. I try to convince myself that I don’t want to run my fingers down his spine and watch the gooseflesh pop up in response, nor do I want to
hear his breathing catch in his throat when I do something that he finds particularly pleasing, like sneak my fingers around and toy with one of his nipples. Fuck. I need to stop thinking about this stuff. I realize that it’s a good thing that I’m wearing latex gloves, and that I’m not able to actually feel skin on skin. And, as far as I can tell, he doesn’t have a rubber fetish. Not sure if I think that’s a good thing or not. Not soon enough, or maybe it’s too soon, I don’t know, I’m finished and am towelling him off.

He smells all fresh and clean, and to my horror I find that my nose is just millimetres away from the top of his head. In fact, you could probably put forth the argument that I ~was~ smelling his hair. I try to be cool, to ease away like it’s nothing, but I find that my escape is impeded by the fact that my shirt is bunched up and held fast in Kaiba’s fist. Once my mind focuses, I find that my eyes can’t, because my entire field of vision is drowning in a stunning pool of azure flame. My cock springs to life with the realization that the fire I see is being fanned by lust, and not by anger. Next thing I know, he’s pulling me forward and kissing me senseless. Who knew that a guy who’d just finished breakfast could be so hungry? Now, whom I’m referring to I can’t say, because we’re both trying to eat the other one whole.

The kiss seems to go on forever – not that I’m complaining mind you – and in the meantime he’s pulled me down across his chest. He’s somehow managed to get my shirt out of my pants, and he’s now teasing me the way I’d imagined teasing him earlier. I want to ask him if he’s a fucking mind reader but my lips are otherwise engaged – more pleasantly engaged, I should say. One of my hands wends its way into his hair; it’s as silky as I’d imagined it would be. My other hand is just sort of resting along his side, and some sense starts to work its way past my lust-induced euphoria, when his hand covers mine and he guides it to one of the most perfectly sized erections I’ve ever had the pleasure to personally encounter. He’s not only long-- blind ballpark, I’d say he’s at least seven inches—he’s thick. Fuck me! I smirk at that expletive; I can’t wait until he can. God dammit – nurse -- client -- no, NO! FUCK!

I pull away from his mouth and try to lift my hand from his cock, but his is still covering mine, and I can’t without engaging in a huge struggle. Never mind that a part of me doesn’t want to let go, yet. “Kaiba, we can’t. I can’t.”

“Of course we can.” I’m surprised that the words aren’t carried in his normally confident timber, and if I weren’t looking straight at him, I would never, ever believe that he was actually pleading with me. And not in an ‘I’m so horny, ya ~have~ ta do this for me, I really love ya baby’, kind of way either. The man is desperate, and I realize then just how powerless he really is. He can’t even take care of this basic need by himself. Well he can, mechanics-wise, but he has absolutely no privacy, and there’s no way that he could without somebody knowing. I can’t even begin to imagine how humiliating that must be. I’m suddenly struck with the fact that he trusts me enough to show me this vulnerability. I wonder when that happened, and who am I to throw away that gift?

My hand begins to slide over his still very hard erection, and I must say that I’m surprised when he stays the movement. “I don’t want a pity hand job, Jounouchi.”

The fuck? Prideful asshole. “Trust me, Kaiba, there’s no pity involved here.” I continue to look him straight in the eye as I say that, and he must recognize the passion that’s still burning in me. His nod is almost imperceptible, and then the next thing I know he’s kissing the daylights out of me again. My hand begins to work his shaft once more, and it’s not long before he’s shuddering beneath me, and groaning into my mouth. Only then do we break the kiss, but he keeps me held in his arms instead of pushing me away. I like it, mind you, I like it a whole lot, and I settle my head on his chest, ignoring the ache in my back from being bent over at such an odd angle for a long time, not to mention the one in my pants. But that’s something I will take care of later. Kaiba, it seems, has a different idea. He’s managed to loosen the drawstring on my pants, and he’s worked his hand between us and is palming my erection through my underwear. As much as I don’t want to,
I remove his hand and step away from the bed. There’s no way I can let him do this.

“I said I didn’t want a pity hand job, Jounouchi, and I meant it.” His voice is dripping with ice, but his eyes are loaded with the pain of rejection.

I scrub my fists through my hair. “Fuck, Kaiba, it’s not that. You don’t think I don’t want you to finish me off? But I can’t, I shouldn’t have even done you. And before you even say it, no, it wasn’t out of pity. I’ve fuckin’ had the hots for you, since I can’t remember when! It was a fantasy fulfilled, but we can’t take this further. I can’t risk losing my career. Not that you’re not worth it, Kaib… but, fuck…” talk about making a bad situation even worse.

He looks pissed off, but he seems to mull this over in his head for a while. Then he asks me that, if I weren’t his caregiver, would I be all right with something happening between us. He sounds wary, but hopeful, and I try not to read too much into that. “Ok, so you’re fired,” he says when I nod my head.

“What? You’re joking, right?” I stare at him slack-jawed, and I have an awful feeling that he’s not.

He grins evilly, but not maliciously at me. “No. I’ll just tell the agency that you’re not working out, and that I’d like a replacement for you. Then you and I can move this forward.”

“And I’ll be without a job, because they sure as shit won’t keep me on if I’ve displeased you, and in turn, show the company to have had bad judgment for ever having had hired me,” I say coldly.

I can see that that thought never crossed his mind, and his face falls. That actually makes me feel better. Not that he’s thoughtless, but that once it’s pointed out to him why his plan wouldn’t work for me, he feels bad. More than words ever could, it tells me that he has some level of feeling for me, beyond just wanting to nail me. “Look, you’re not going to be in this bed forever, right? And I won’t be your caregiver much longer; we’ll just have to tough it out.” I can tell he doesn’t like it any more than I do, but eventually he nods his head in agreement.

He’s getting tired; the poor guy, he really doesn’t have a lot of stamina these days. But he has enough for the important stuff, my little Jounouchi devil voice echoes in my head. He still needs to be cleaned up before he falls asleep, but by now the water has grown cold. I run to the washroom quick to refill the basin and come back with a fresh washcloth as well. I strip off the gloves that I was wearing, but before I can replace them with a fresh pair, he tells me not to. I hesitate for a moment and then think what the hell, there’s really not much of a chance of me spreading germs that’ll cause him to get sick, and for just this once it can’t hurt. Besides, if he’s not going to put up a fuss about me cleaning him, I want to feel him underneath my fingers. I don’t linger too long over his washing up, no matter how tempted I am. He’s losing steam fast, and needs to sleep. I help him into a new nightshirt, black and red plaid flannel this time. I push the button for the bed to go back into the straight horizontal position, and then pull the blankets up over his shoulders. He’s almost asleep now, and he looks so angelic that I can’t resist brushing away a lock of hair on his forehead and then kissing the exposed patch of skin.

“Mmm, that makes breaking both my legs worth it,” he mumbles before sleep takes him completely.

TBC

1. Umeboshi - sour plum.