A Very Merry Unbirthday

"Seto..." The sound of his name being purred lowly alerted Seto instantly as to who the intruder was. Not that there were many options; only his boyfriend and his brother had access to his basement lab.

Seto didn't bother to take off his visor, looking at the meadow landscape instead of turning to look at Ryuuji. He'd been working on the new VR program obsessively for weeks now, trying to create a fully immersive environment via an optical interface. Much less clumsy and easier to produce than the full-body VR pods.

If he'd broken a few dates along the way, so what of it? It was for the ultimate good of Kaiba Corp. And Ryuuji tended to get just as obsessed with his own projects.

"Seto!" The voice was sharper now, Ryuuji clearly displeased. A moment later, warm fingertips trailed over the back of Seto's neck, toying with the ends of his hair. "Do you know what today is?"

Ohshit. Seto Kaiba wasn't scared of his boyfriend. Not in the least. It'd take more than a somewhat sociopathic child that was raised by a lunatic clown to scare him.

Seto Kaiba was, however, appropriately wary of pissing off people who had switchblades hidden in their wristlets and their hands at his throat. He liked living. He didn't want Mokuba to have to deal with headlines like "KAIBA PRESIDENT MURDERED BY IRATE LOVER!"

Hastily, Seto ran through the dates in his head. It wasn't Ryuuji's birthday. It wasn't Mokuba's birthday. It wasn't his own birthday. Neither of them were girly enough to pay attention to anniversaries. Unless Ryuuji had suddenly changed his mind about 'having enough to remember and not needing to add anything else'?

Ryuuji's hands were now down on his shoulders, massaging him, working skillfully to press hard against the knots of tension that came from sitting at his desk for hours at a time. Seto relaxed marginally and answered. "No. What day?"

Apparently that was the wrong answer.

Before Seto could chide himself for having relaxed, Ryuuji had suddenly pushed him forwards, kicking the chair backwards at the same time so that Seto had no choice but to stumble upwards awkwardly. "What--"

Taking full advantage of Seto's surprise, Ryuuji grabbed his arm, pulling it behind Seto's body painfully and shoved, forcing him face down against the desk. Seto's visor hit the wood with a thud, the forehead brace biting cruelly against his skin.

"Ryuuji!" He snapped the name, not amused at all, "What do you think you're doing?"

A laugh was the only response he got as Ryuuji leaned over him and bit a kiss to the join of his neck and shoulder. It was one of Seto's erogenous zones, as Ryuuji knew full well. It calmed Seto down enough to not quite mind his boyfriend draping himself over Seto like a large cat.

"I," Ryuuji declared as he kept Seto's arm twisted behind him, "Am making sure you never forget today."

He used his free hand to push Seto's black turtleneck up, and Seto found himself momentarily grateful that he hadn't bothered with the trenchcoat today. He was fairly sure that Ryuuji would've thought nothing of just flipping it over his head and leaving Seto trapped in its folds.

Ryuuji licked a wet line along Seto's exposed spine, then trailed his mouth back down, teeth taking little nibbles and full, lush lips pressing slow kisses to the wet skin. Where he'd licked, Seto's skin shone like saliva.

Ryuuji loved the texture of Seto's scars against his tongue. The contrast of skin and the eerie smooth of the raised ridges of scars made him pay especial attention to Seto's back, leaving it alone only when the skin was flushed red and wet in patches, and Seto's muscles were tight in that way that indicated he was trying not to squirm. As much as Ryuuji liked Seto's scars, Seto liked Ryuuji's mouth better and all the shameless, so good, wicked things that Ryuuji did with it.

Letting go of Seto's arm was an afterthought; Ryuuji forestalled any attempt on Seto's part to rise by keeping his palm down between Seto's shoulderblades. It was more symbolic than anything else, but it was also a warning: hush, lover, stay still and enjoy this.

When Ryuuji reached around to undo Seto's belt buckle, he was kind enough to caress Seto through his trousers for a moment, cupping his hand and smoothing his palm over the hardness that the material strained to hold back. When he moved his hand up, Seto only partly managed to stifle his groan.

Ryuuji laughed, and pressed his hand against the buckle for a moment, fanning out his fingers so that the tip of his little finger teased against Seto's erection. "Wait. I promise it'll feel better if you do."

The shape of the KC was cold against his palm when he finally undid the belt and unzipped Seto's trousers, pulling them down along with his briefs to give Ryuuji complete access. Seto's cock was already wet at the tip, and Ryuuji indulged Seto for a few minutes, stroking him gently before bringing his fingers up to Seto's lips. "Suck."

The command wasn't necessary. Seto knew what to do, and eagerly complied, parting his lips and taking Ryuuji's fingers into his mouth. Ryuuji was usually very playful in bed. He treated everything like a game, or worse, a performance. On the rare occasions that Ryuuji suddenly decided to seize control, Seto liked it more than he'd ever admit. Power was an aphrodisiac, after all; Seto liked the reminder that Ryuuji was powerful too.

When Ryuuji felt his fingers were wet enough, he withdrew them carelessly from Seto's mouth, pausing for just a moment to crook them behind the upper line of Seto's teeth. He pulled up, then yanked them out, making Seto's head drop hard against the table. The visor didn't break, made of Plexiglass as it was, but the scenario in front of Seto's eyes was jarred into a mess of blue and green pixels for a moment.

Seto made a note to fix that later, already thinking of ways to protect the visors against sudden shocks -- then there were two fingers in him, not one but two, and they were scissoring expertly, opening him up, brushing against his prostate in touches that made him cry out and writhe, trying to bring his cock against the table's edge for the sake of some contact. Any contact.

When Ryuuji laughed again, Seto found himself wondering what Ryuuji's father had sounded like, and then he felt an arm over the back of his neck, holding him down as Ryuuji pushed inside him in one quick thrust.

"Ah--" The sound was muffled, but not enough. Seto hated making any noise during sex. Ryuuji was always the one talking; teasing, mocking, promising. The sudden entry burnt, but he adjusted soon enough. Ryuuji was considerate enough to stay still as Seto flexed around him, taking him in deeper.

"Go." The gritted command from Seto didn't come soon enough for Ryuuji, whose first thrusts were a little too hard, a little too fast, need driving him to be rougher than he meant to. He forced himself to slow down, bending over Seto so that the mesh of his sleeveless top pressed against Seto's skin as well, and reached around to wrap his long, delicate fingers around Seto's cock. Seto rocked back against every thrust, then into Ryuuji's hand, eyes still seeing the meadow scene instead of his desk. The wires from the visors fell over his arms and hands, pulling back and forth as the two boys moved together.

A hot breath against his ear, and Seto knew Ryuuji was going to start talking to him, as he always did. Seto refused to admit how much he liked the sound of his lover's voice during such moments, low and honey-sweet, as potent an aphrodisiac as any drug that Seto's yakuza sold.

"You look so pretty like this, Seto." The words were just a little too mocking to be a compliment. "Trapped. Exposed. Willing. I'm going to think about this next week at the Pan-Asia Gaming Conference. You know that I will. We'll be sitting at the tables, on opposite sides, and every time that I shift, you'll be wondering if I'm hard -- and I'll watch you as you give your presentation and wonder how much shock there'd be if I replaced one of your slides with a photo of you like this."

It was an empty threat. Ryuuji would never do anything to fuck with Seto's business. But Seto felt a familiar twist of anger at the idea, coupled with fear-shame-horror. It was a darker undertone to his arousal. It matched how he'd felt when he realized that Ryuuji's hands were at his throat.

Seto liked it. It was better when it was complicated. Figuring Ryuuji out was always a challenge.

"Nobody would ever respect you again." Ryuuji licked the shell of Seto's ear, and stopped moving for a moment, just until Seto twitched underneath him, silently begging with his body for Ryuuji to go on. "They'd all second-guess why Gozaburo adopted you--"

And that was an uncrossable line.

"Enough." Seto said, the breathlessness of his voice annoying him.

"Are you sure?" Ryuuji stilled the motions of his hips again, making Seto growl and slam his hands against the desk.

"I didn't mean that, you idiot!"

Ryuuji's laugh was like spilled blood; Seto fancied that he could feel it trickle down his back, warm and wet, just like Ryuuji's tongue.

Ryuuji picked up the pace, fucking Seto with a deliberate casualness, each thrust hard and precise but unhurried. As if Ryuuji were showing off that he too had self-control. He too had a pressure-cooker childhood (the only difference between diamonds and coal is how much pressure is applied to them).

It was only after Seto came, spilled into Ryuuji's hand with no sound, that Ryuuji allowed himself to move faster. Seto's body was limp with post-coital languidness, and now Ryuuji could thrust as hard as he liked without worrying about hurting him. He came, but didn't pull out, still lying over Seto, mouth still near Seto's ear. "So, do you know what today is now?"

Seto elbowed him to indicate he'd like his boyfriend -- light as he might be -- to get off him. And possibly go get the shower running. "No."

"It's Monday." Ryuuji said, pulling out and starting to tuck himself back in.

"...And?" Seto asked blankly, unable to comprehend why that mattered. He pushed the visors up, finally able to look over his shoulder and see his boyfriend, beautiful as always with the post-sex flush painting his cheeks a dark pink.

"And nothing." Ryuuji shrugged and gave Seto that infuriatingly cocky smirk that nothing seemed able to destroy. "I just wanted an excuse to fuck you."

It was only the fact that his trousers were around his ankles and would've surely tripped him up that prevented Seto from trying to strangle Ryuuji on the spot.