Irresistable

Title: Irresistible

Summary: When the work isn’t done on time, Seto has to plead for more time to keep his footing in the Kaiba house. But what does that entail?

A/N: Yes, a gorgeous, noncon, adoptshipping goodness. Poor Seto, he’ll do anything to keep his little brother safe.

Oh, and I’ve been listening to Shakespeare and I haven’t got it all out of my system yet, so beware of some awkward wording. It’s right in the mind of Shakespeare.

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He’d been working for hours and wasn’t aware of the hour.

His tutor had left at least an hour ago, and his professor an hour before him.

The clock was now striking thirty minutes past three, in the a.m.

His work that was left to be completed was still higher in number than the work that had been completed since his professor had first assigned it at half past ten. Who could’ve expected him to complete all of this before Gozaburo awoke at four? Who ever could have imagined that he would have it done by the time the man paid him his routine visit at thirty minutes past that hour?

A mad man.

He knew sleep would something only daydreamed of by this point.

Who needed chemistry anyway? Games didn’t involve explosive chemicals. His future didn’t need this. He would hire men to figure out what chemicals would make what to make his games function properly, that’s what they’re paid for. He would be paid for dreaming up things. For putting the prototypes together by hand. He would be…

In trouble if he didn’t get all of this work done in the next hour.

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Naturally, he didn’t get all of his work done in that next hour, but the punishment for that was always the same.

“If you don’t get it done by tonight, along with the rest of today’s work, then don’t expect to remain in this house for much longer.” The slave driver that was Gozaburo Kaiba would always laugh after he’d say this. It was enough to make Seto’s blood boil, but he’d always manage to get his work done by nightfall, and he’d always have a clear conscience when his head finally hit the softness of his pillow.

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Except for that night.

The clock struck eleven thirty in the p.m.

Gozaburo would be coming. Seto could almost hear his footsteps in the hall.

No.

That was his heartbeat.

He stared down at the wooden desk that had three sheets of paper to his right and a stack of at least seventy to his left. Three unfinished pieces of parchment. One of which he knew held the demands and the criteria for a three page essay that was to be finished by his first class at five the next morning.

Unfinished.

Incomplete.

Unworthy.

As he began on his third sheet, just basic algebra equations far below his skill level, the sound of actual footfalls flooded out his heartbeat and the ticking of the clock. It was Gozaburo’s butler, the irritating, short man that oversaw his studies.

“Your step father will be here shortly to confirm that you have finished with your work,” the man said, smirking when his eyes lit upon the incomplete papers.

“Of course,” Seto said, just a whisper of breath.

Inaudible.

He managed to finish the first the page he’d been working on moments before Gozaburo’s arrival. His heart sank as he stared at the essay. He knew he shouldn’t have lest it for last. His professor had been so kind as to give him a simple topic, write about an emotional reaction to a tragedy, and he’d put it off. He could’ve written it in less than twenty minutes, twenty minutes he wasted dinning with his step father and his brother, his brother that he was striving to keep a roof over the head of.

He forlornly set the completed equation sheet on top of the stack of seventy and stared down at the essay prompt. He sifted it to the side and looked at the second page. It was just a sheet indicating a reading assignment of ten pages.

Just give me one more hour, father, he thought, not thinking about the words as they passed his mental lips. I’ll have it done in an hour, sir. I promise. Just an hour. Please. Half past twelve and I’ll have it done, and then I’ll retire to my bedroom. There I’ll sleep so that I don’t look haggard for the guests that will arrive the day after next.

Please. Just another hour and I’ll have it done.

But Gozaburo didn’t make bargains. He didn’t extend time limits. He didn’t make offers.

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“He hasn’t finished, sir,” the butler said with a smile that made Seto’s stomach churn.

“He hasn’t finished?” Gozaburo echoed with amusement. “Does he not know what the penalty for that is?” He mocked. Seto closed his eyes and answered.

“Dismissal from your family, sir.” How he hated to refer to his torturer as a sir.

“Leave me to my step son,” he said to his butler. The small man bowed and left without a word, closing the door behind him. “Care to offer any explanations?” Seto opened his mouth to speak, but Gozaburo interjected. “Choose your words wisely. They may be your last in this house. Nothing is stopping me from having your brother roused from his bed and put in the car with yourself and returned to that miserable shack where you came from, you know.”

“If you would allow me one hour I could have it done by—”

“That is not what I asked for. I asked for an explanation. I don’t want your proposals.” He felt a tremor run down his spine, but hid it from his facial expression. He couldn’t let the man see his fear.

“I have no excuses or explanations, sir. I failed to be efficient enough to meet the demands of my professors.” He would have liked to say that the workload was unfair. He would have liked to say no human being could have completed it all, but he knew better. To make excuses was to be weak. To accept his faults was a strength, as long as those faults were his own to posses. As long as there was no one else to blame.

There was never anyone to blame in Gozaburo’s eyes. At least when it involved Seto failing at something. If Seto failed it was Seto’s fault. If Gozaburo failed it was his employees’ faults.

“So you are saying I should wake your brother and pack him and his shabby belongings into the car?” Seto bowed his head. Always his brother. Always Mokuba. His only weakness.

“According to the terms that we decided upon, yes, sir.” He heard the man laugh. “But I request one more hour. I’ll have it all done then, I promise you.”

“Time isn’t free, Seto. Surly I’ve taught you that much!”

“Then I’ll ask for the price I must pay for it.” He sighed softly, wondering what that price could be.

“There is nothing you can do to change our contract. In the business world you don’t make exceptions or pardons. You know that.” Gozaburo was frustrated, but humored at the same time. Seto could tell by his voice. He enjoyed hearing the boy plead with him, he did detest greatly, however, how ignorant he made himself sound in the process. How he acted as though he knew nothing of his previous teachings.

“I do, sir. But there must be something I can do. What will the world think if they heard that you turned me out because I couldn’t complete all of my work.”

“You agreed not to tell anyone, even if I had you removed!”

“You told me that it is fine to breech a contract when limits become too incontinent and the price to pay for it is no longer dear. There isn’t anything you can do to me outside of this house, and if you throw me out I will destroy your good name. You’re breaking laws. I’ll tell them…If you don’t allow me to pay for an extra hour to complete these two assignments.” He heard Gozaburo begin to laugh, but he didn’t know why. The tone was strange. It wasn’t humor, it wasn’t amusement. It was something else.

Unknown.

“There is one thing that can extend your time to one hour, but you’ll have to enter a verbal contract.” Was this a trick? The first thing Gozaburo said to him in the lines of business was that verbal contracts were as worthless as spoiled milk. Even the homeless wouldn’t drink it. Verbal contracts were far too easily breeched.

Unreliable.

“Verbal contract?” He didn’t like the look on his step father’s face. That look was sickening. It was so filled with deception and cunning. Something was burning in the older man’s eyes that terrified him. But what choice did he have?

He hadn’t a choice.

That was truth.

Not one.

“That’s right. This contract isn’t something that I want written on paper. I don’t want it repeated, and neither will you.” Neither will I? What is he planning? “So, do I have your word that you’ll enter this contract without question and follow all of its guidelines without fault?” A contract for a contract. What is he planning? What does he want from me?

Nothing legal, his mind whispered. He agreed with that, but what choice did he have?

“Yes, sir. I agree to your terms. I’ll enter the contract,” he paused for a moment before continuing. “Even though I haven’t heard the terms yet.” Again he paused to think. “I have no other choice.” When it came to pleading with Satan himself, he had to drop to his knees and beg, even if it made him disgusted with himself.

“There is only one term: Do not tell anyone.” What is he planning?

You know what he’s planning. Stop being foolish.

He’s sick, but not like that.

Be quiet. He’s desperate. Ever since his wife ran away…

“And the conditions, sir?” Gozaburo began to grin.

“If you do tell, I’ll do it to Mokuba.”

“You have my word,” he thought out loud. There was no reason to bother thinking over such an obvious answer. His brother’s fate rested in his hands, what could he say besides “yes”?

“Good. Now follow me. Leave your papers. No one will bother them.” Gozaburo walked towards the door and Seto stood from his seat slowly, as if in a trance. He inhaled deeply, suppressing the shivers of sheer horror at the unknown that wracked his ribcage.

So he followed the man up into the portion of the mansion that resided on the third floor. There was a ballroom up here, a bar as well. But aside from that, the smaller of the servants quarters lied. No servants lived there now. There wasn’t a need for live-in housekeepers to keep his wife company.

Since she fled every woman aside from his personal secretary was relieved of their duties and privileges to stay in-home. The secretary lived on the main floor of the house, the reluctant mistress of her boss during his wife’s absence.

The third floor was vacant.

The third floor was uninhabited.

The third floor was…quiet.

Seto sunk his teeth into his lower lip and closed his eyes tightly as he followed his step father into the room farthest from the ballroom. If he were to make any noise now, it would be absorbed by the outside walls of the house, or by the floor above his study room, or by the walls of the rooms next to this room.

The cries would be unnoticed.

Unheard.

He took several steps into the room and allowed Gozaburo to close the door behind him without a thought. He knew what had to be done. He knew what the torture would be and that he could not resist. He knew that if he resisted then his brother would loose the only safe home he’d ever known. He would loose his assurance of a future. He could not resist the whims that he knew his step father would place upon him.

Gozaburo had made him enter an unfair wager.

He had made himself un-resistible.

“You know what I want from you,” Gozaburo said. It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a statement. It was a command. The light streaming in from the curtain-less windows lit up the contours of both of their faces. Seto could see the scowl on those lips and the folded wrinkles that scrunched the man’s eyes into a glare.

“Yes, I do.” Seto closed his eyes, waiting for an order more prompt than the previous one.

He watched the man raise his hand and then fist it into his hair and cringed. He was tugged forward and then released with a shove, directed towards the uncovered bed. Fear tore through him for a moment and he felt his body prepare to run. He’s distracted. He expects me to submit, but if I run he won’t catch me!

Fool. You can’t run. Mokuba…Think of him. You have to do this.

I know. I have to. For Mokuba.

So do it…and then forget.

Forget.

He felt his feet leading him towards the bed and lurched forward as Gozaburo’s thick hand grabbed onto his hair once more, shoving him down towards the exposed mattress. He felt his breath hitch as his body was forced lower and lower until he was bent over the bed’s edge like a child waiting to be physically reprimanded.

Surly he wouldn’t do it this way. It was so uncomfortable to be bent at the middle, even with a surface to rest upon. No, he was positive it wouldn’t be this way. Gozaburo would have to stoop to penetrate him. And that would be inconvenient for the man.

Uncomfortable.

He felt the man’s hands snake around his waist and felt the blood rush to his face as he felt the button and the zipper being undone…undone like his own sanity. How could this be happening? How could he submit like this? Surly there was another way than this to earn the hour. A beating, maybe. Loss of food. Public humiliation. Torture even. Anything but this.

If his father knew.

His real father.

His mother.

If they knew what he’d allowed to happen.

They wouldn’t be proud that he was willing to drop this low to protect his brother’s shelter.

It would be safer for him at the orphanage, son, He could hear his father saying. That voice was so foggy, hardly recognizable, but he knew it to be the soft, reasonable voice of his father. You don’t have to do this to yourself.

But I do, he whimpered as he felt one of his step father’s large fingers press inside of him from behind. It’s all I have to do to give him the childhood I never had. When I get older… He whimpered quietly, so his captor wouldn’t hear, as a second finger was added, stretching him more than he’d prefer. I’ll take the company and I’ll make this old man pay for this. I’ll make him wish he’d never laid eyes on that orphanage. Make him wish he hadn’t made that stupid publicity stunt. An actual cry escaped him as a third finger was added. He heard Gozaburo chortle in his lust. I’ll make him wish he’d never crossed paths with Seto Kaiba.

His previous last name was no longer in his brain. No longer remember.

Irrelevant.

After several moments of being thrust into by his torturer’s fingers, the digits were withdrawn and he was commanded to get on the bed. He pulled himself forward, his pants and undergarments discarded on the floor. He moved to lay on his stomach only to have Gozaburo grab him by the arm and twist him around to face him.

The darkness hid what mixed emotions Gozaburo’s eyes harbored, but Gozaburo could easily see the fear flashing in the blue lights that reflected on his step son’s eyes. Something like tears were forming at the corners of his eyes, but they weren’t yet developed and they weren’t prepared to fall.

On any other occasion he would have reprimanded the brat for showing such weakness at such an obviously crucial moment, during the duration of such a crucial pact, but he liked to see the tears forming. He liked to see the fear. He liked to see his own power reflected in the boy’s blue eyes.

He finally broke that stubborn will, and if he hadn’t, he would when the first tears fell.

And he would see them when they did.

He ran his hands slowly along the thin boy’s pale thighs, watching how they trembled at his very touch, watching how the boy’s expression changed between fear and revulsion. Gently he stroked the milky flesh of his step son’s inner thigh before having to forcedly push Seto’s legs apart. He could have scolded him for resisting, but it was no good to scold for a natural human instinct.

Virgins always struggled, even if they’d given consent.

Seto didn’t move to close his legs, even when Gozaburo’s hands left them. He wanted to press them together, to hide himself from the man’s judgmental eyes, but he knew he would be punished for it, knew that there was the chance that the momentary compassion would be revoked. Knew that even if he did obey he may be used and then left without his extra hour, without his pardon, and that he and his brother would be returned to the orphanage. One, if not both, of them deflowered by that time.

“Be a good boy now,” Gozaburo said as he leaned over his step son’s frail, shaking frame and planted a kiss on the boy’s stunned, parted lips. “and do your very best not to scream. We don’t want any of the servants to hear you on their way out and come investigate, now do we?” Seto shook his head and whined as he felt something hot being pressed against him. “Do we?” The hot thing was pressed against his opening harder, warning with penetration.

Why warn? The infiltration was inevitable.

“N-No, sir,” Seto said, feeling tears in his eyes. Stop it! Are you going to cry now? You’ve had worse pain than this! Don’t give him the satisfaction! Do you understand me!? Don’t you dare go weak on me! Don’t fall to him!

Slowly Gozaburo pressed his way into the nearly burning warmth of the preteen’s insides. He was unsure as to why he was bothering with being gentle. Perhaps it was more fun to see the boy writhing on the bed, fisting his hands onto the fabric of the mattress, trying hard to withhold tears and cries than to just have him scream.

The scream, he knew, would be satisfying. Just as satisfying as having his way with him. He allowed himself to consider the first thrust as foreplay.

He buried himself to the hilt and didn’t give the boy a moment to adjust before pulling out quickly. Why bother being gentle now, it was time to force the scream from him. Torture him slowly.

Seto gasped, his legs trembled, wanting to close to prevent the man above him from forcing deeper with his second thrust, but frozen with fear. He felt the tears burn at his eyes, but was determined not to let them fall.

This time Gozaburo’s thrust was quicker and harder, but not enough to force the scream. All he received was a choked cry. The previously clenched eyes shot open and reflected pain and fear, two emotions he wanted. The only one left to see was hopelessness. He was sure that by the night’s end he would see that too.

His third thrust was vicious, a scream escaped Seto’s lips involuntarily. He writhed beneath the man that now pinned his arms after he’d halfheartedly tried to push him off during a moment of feral terror. The pain shot through his guts and rattled up his spine where it exploded in his head.

After receiving his first cry, Gozaburo declared the foreplay as over. There was no longer a need to hold back.

Perhaps that was the reason his wife had only given him one child. She was afraid of just how violent he could become once he let go of his restraints. She never even touched him after Noa was conceived. Who needed her anyway. She cried too easily. Her will was too easily broken. Not like this boy’s. Not like Seto’s.

Seto was a game.

The blue eyes filled with pain and tried desperately to blink back the tears as firm thrusts were pressed deeper and deeper inside of him, sending surges of pain through previously unfelt areas. The only moment that pleasure was felt was when the hard rod that delivered indescribable tortures was being retracted. That short burst of pleasure was replaced almost instantly with the realization that the next penetration would be harder and quicker.

It always was.

This was a mistake, Seto thought as he felt one tear fall from his right eye. He saw Gozaburo’s face twist into a smirk when the light caught the contours of the liquid drop and illuminated it.

Don’t cry! Don’t let him see you fall! But that was a wretched idea. How could he stop the tears from falling when each thrust brought on new levels of pain when he was sure another did not exist?

Gozaburo’s arms snaked under the boy’s back and lifted him from the mattress slightly. The man’s short nails dug into his flesh deeply and a cry escaped his lips once more, uncontrolled as he felt the skin being torn away.

“S-stop!” He felt the words pass his lips before he could think of revoking them. He was answered with several hard thrusts and several more deep scratches across his lower back and his right shoulder. His body was pressed against the hot chest of his step father and in the immense heat and the pain he concluded that he was dead. That he was in hell.

That he was burning and at the mercy of Lucifer himself.

“Stop it! Please!” He started fighting, trying to push the man away from him, trying to get himself free of the hold around him and the hard member that was buried deep inside of him, getting deeper and deeper.

Gozaburo pressed the boy back down into the mattress and feasted his eyes on the horror and the hopelessness in the blue orbs of his stepson. That was what he wanted to see. The boy was begging now for his own safety, his own comfort. He wasn’t thinking of anyone else.

He was broken.

“S-Stop!” Large tears fell from his eyes uncontrolled as Gozaburo continued thrusting, burying himself deeper and deeper into the warmth. In a frenzy, he pressed his lips against Seto’s neck and bit at the flesh roughly, leaving mark upon mark on the soft, sensitive flesh. He didn’t care if anyone saw or noticed.

He’d won. The marks were his trophy.

“S-Stop it. P-please.” The boy laid limp in his arms as he dug his short nails deeper into the boy’s back. He was sobbing, his pale, moonlit body shaking with them and jerking in time with his step father’s thrusts.

Gozaburo pressed into him deeply and pulled out slowly, extending his own climax that he could feel nearing. At this point he had a choice. He could humiliate the boy, or he could leave him suffering. He chose the best option. He chose humiliation.

He removed one of his hands from the boy’s back and placed it over the pale, limp, virgin flesh between the boy’s legs getting an immediate hiss and a sob. Seto started to fight, but lost the will as the hot hand stroked him delicately. He felt the blood rush down, and whimpered as he felt himself harden at the man’s touch.

Sobbed as he realized that he was being mocked.

“No,” he whined, trying to close his legs, but unable to.

Soon Gozaburo began stroking Seto in time with his own thrust, his thrusts which grew more and more merciless as his climax neared.

He could not postpone it, nor did he wish to.

It wasn’t his intention to bring the child beneath him to orgasm. It was to leave him having to do it himself.

He released his seed into the bloody opening between his step son’s legs and listened to the agonized cry as he caught his breath.

He removed his hand from the boy’s reddened flesh and pulled himself free of the blood and semen filled entrance, pleased to hear only the boy’s sobs and gasps as he laid on the filthy bed.

“You have one hour, starting now, to complete your work,” Gozaburo said as he prepared himself to leave the room. Seto lay on the bed crying, scolding himself mentally for his weakness, but pleased to have saved Mokuba. “So you’d better get on it. Don’t expect me to be as understanding in the future.” Seto sobbed softly, trying to lift himself from the mattress only to be met with agony. “Do I make myself clear?” It took him several minutes to swallow his tears, his pride, and his heart before his mouth was able to form words again.

“Yes, sir,” he said as he watched Gozaburo leave.

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Write a three page essay, minimum, about his emotional reaction to a tragedy. He wondered how much trouble he would get into if he wrote about rape.

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A/N: There, all done. Pretty long, but entertaining possibly? (I am aware that "Un-resistable" is not a word...) R&R if you enjoyed and if you did not.