Seto does not hurry. He has three thousand years of practice at not hurrying.
He does not touch the feeling Atem carries back from the living world — that is a variable, and variables are dangerous to handle. Instead he takes the hours around it. The schedule, the rites, the priests who will say consult Seto, the tea that will be there every morning from now on. A line too thin to hold becomes a net if you run it far enough.
Kaiba can see exactly what is being done and cannot match its pace. So when the question is finally put to Atem in front of them both, the answer is already in the room, and one of the two men is not thinking about the answer at all.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 06b 時の網
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor_yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
The modern-day whelp is formidable.
Intimidation has no effect, nor majesty. He does not possess the thing called respect to begin with. He is a man wholly on the ruling side.
Furthermore, he is made too well.
There were elements predictable from the Seto of the past life, but he possessed an adaptability, a judgment, a psychological manoeuvring and a capacity for action that went beyond them.
And all of it was concentrated completely on protecting and obtaining Atem, which made him, to Seto, formidable and troublesome in the extreme.
Not merely "strength": his situational judgment and his sense of strategy were extraordinarily high.
Further, he could skilfully use even the movements of his target's heart and the tendencies of his behaviour.
The balance of thoroughness and force of breakthrough was perfect; he could not be made to move as predicted.
A being who lightly exceeded the behavioural patterns assumed of a "child of a later life."
For that reason Kaiba was, to Seto, an enemy more troublesome than anticipated, and an opponent over whom victory would not come by any straightforward road.
By the time Seto was reunited with Atem in the afterlife, Atem's heart was already inclined toward Kaiba.
But there was a winning line. To enfold him from outside.
In the middle of that calm time, Kaiba came into the afterlife. Alive.
Seto's winning line was reduced by that existence to a thin one.
The line was thin as thread. So Seto ran that line about him, like the mesh of a net.
What was to Seto's advantage. What was to Kaiba's. What were the victory conditions of each. He grasped all of it and devised his countermeasures.
But that calculation, too, was often thrown out by Kaiba, and as a result he had to insert obstructions in enormous quantity.
Atem's time, his whereabouts, the things he ought to be doing: control all of it, and arrange matters so that the feeling could not grow any larger.
But neither would it do for the feeling to be grown in the hours they could not meet. Seto stayed close through those, and by "educating" Atem as king, made trust and a sense of safety solid.
It would take time. He had intended from the first to take time.
If only Kaiba had not existed, he ought to have been able to build the relationship calmly, over time.
Even so, the direction of a scale of feeling was not going to turn overnight.
The feeling inside Atem was a variable he could not touch. He would not touch it.
He would simply, single-mindedly, overwrite it with Seto.
Atem's office.
Sorting documents and small articles, Atem asked Seto from time to time.
"How's this, Seto?"
Seto answered in a mild voice.
"No difficulty. It is arranged so as not to impair your majesty as king."
The king is Atem. But he had died young in that battle, and his reign was as good as nonexistent.
Against that, Seto's reign had been longer than Atem's, and he had worked himself to the bone for the restoration. In practical ability Seto was by far the higher.
Quite naturally, he had settled into a position something like the king's tutor.
Seto's words were concise, but the reassurance contained in them was, to Atem, overwhelming. Thanks to it, he could concentrate on the work in his hands.
Atem had already, unconsciously, entrusted his heart to Seto.
Seto did not take his eyes away; flatly, and yet at a distance that was never cold, he watched over Atem's movements.
If Atem hesitated a little, Seto would drop his voice slightly.
"That decision is not wrong either. But it would be better still to do it this way."
Following the words, Atem felt a small sense of achievement.
This scene, often to be observed, was to other eyes no more than casual "education" or "advice." Because Seto made it look so.
But it was neither education nor advice. It was dominion that bred dependency. Precisely because he was aware of it, Kaiba drew his brows together slightly each time.
And yet the entirely natural sensation of dependency, accumulating, entrusted Atem's heart to Seto little by little.
Evening; a pale light came in at the office window.
Atem finished the day's work and stretched, satisfied.
"You saved me again today. Thank you, Seto."
Seto smiled faintly.
"For my king, I shall spare nothing whatever."
Atem's hand left the documents, and he sat down naturally beside Seto. At the comfort of that distance, Atem was relieved without noticing it.
Within a quiet daily life, Seto's mild grasp was certainly staining his heart.
Inside Atem, the "feeling" Kaiba had left and the "vow of not changing" certainly existed.
But Seto did not hurry, did not press; he skilfully filled the gaps in Atem's life, his daily round, with "Seto."
Without knowing it, Atem's consciousness inclined toward Seto as a dependency accompanied by reassurance and a sense of obligation.
Seto's methods toward Atem were extremely simple.
For example.
He never makes Atem overexert himself.
Beside an Atem sorting documents in the office, Seto sits quietly.
"Are you tired? Let us rest."
One line, and the strength goes out of Atem's body; his breathing settles.
Kaiba is an anchor for the heart. But Seto's casual consideration works directly, as reassurance in reality.
Small supports in daily life grow Atem's psychological dependency little by little.
Or.
To an Atem hesitating over some trivial decision, Seto quietly advises.
"Rather than the process, whichever gives the better result. For my king's sake as well, this would be optimal."
Atem nods, chooses one, and is satisfied with the result. As a result, the self-respect of having decided for himself and the reassurance of having relied on Seto live side by side.
The accumulation of small judgments becomes groundwork for psychological dominion.
And.
Evening, while Atem is writing near Seto.
To Atem, sending a glance over his shoulder unconsciously, Seto only quietly corrects the angle of his own shoulder.
Without words, Atem is being taught that this distance is safety.
Seto's existence changes, gradually, into a psychological anchor.
Further.
The hour of rest.
The teacup Atem chooses with a smile, Seto receives naturally, and gives his thanks.
The fine attentiveness contained in that motion shakes Atem's heart unconsciously.
The influence of the feeling that had inclined toward Kaiba remains. But the reassurance and dependency of "reality" begin to tilt to Seto's side.
By such small accumulations, Atem was made, without noticing, to carve Seto's existence into his heart within his daily life.
The instant Kaiba appeared, the air drew tight.
Atem, standing at the side of the throne, made to take a step forward.
But faster than that, one of the attendants came forward and announced, reverently:
"Forgive me, my king. The hour of the next rite draws near. There will not be time for a long conversation—"
Atem made a troubled face, and Seto walked quietly over and put on a soft smile.
"My king, leave this to me. Your words shall certainly be conveyed. The guest's concern is understandable, but duty must take priority."
The manner of it was gentle, and to any eye it looked like the correct thing to do.
Atem's eyes hesitated for an instant, and then looked up at Seto. And he nodded, slightly.
Kaiba's eyes, seeing that, narrowed to a thin light.
But everything around Atem was solidly held in Seto's hands.
If Kaiba tried to step in, they would simply denounce him as a man lacking in courtesy. Not that such a thing could work on Kaiba — but the one who would take the injury instead was Atem.
Seto knew that structure through and through.
Slowly, he put strength into the hand laid on Atem's shoulder, and looked Kaiba straight in the face.
"This is the afterlife. Protecting the king is my office."
Beneath the softness of the voice, the certain ring of dominion concealed.
Kaiba, too, understood Seto's stratagem.
The eyes of those around them, the courtesies: if he ignored all of it entirely, who would take the greatest damage.
Even so, Kaiba threw his words straight at Atem.
"What's the matter, Atem. Your face has gone stiff."
Atem's eyes went wet for an instant.
The heart shaken by that voice inclined, just a very little, toward Kaiba.
But in that instant.
Seto said nothing; he only quietly strengthened the palm laid on Atem's shoulder.
Quietly, but certainly, a pressure that told him: come back.
Atem's body flinched slightly, and unconsciously he shifted his weight toward Seto.
The light in Kaiba's eyes sharpened.
But he did not raise his voice. He only murmured, low.
"Your way of dominating is a cunning one, ancient ghost."
Seto did not change colour by a shade.
"Dominating?"
If anything, he wore a smile. As though he had received Kaiba's words as praise.
"My king is attempting to fulfil his duty. Supporting that is my office. However you may exhaust your words, it is impossible to make him abandon that duty."
Atem lost his words, and simply stood there between the two of them.
The air was cold enough to freeze.
But on the surface it looked like nothing more than a mild exchange. And precisely for that reason, all the more, the sparks were flying.
Kaiba's voice, directed at Atem, was sharp and also warm.
The condition of one expression. Only that, and yet the fatigue and the loneliness that had been collecting deep in his chest were released all at once.
The warmth of the time they had spent together in the living world came vividly back.
He nearly called the name in spite of himself.
But at that moment, Seto's palm on his shoulder grew a little stronger.
When he turned round, that unwavering blue was looking quietly down at him.
Fulfil your duty. Even unspoken, the will came through.
Two voices contended inside his chest.
Kaiba desires the living Atem.
Seto supports Atem as king.
Neither is a lie.
Both of them are looking at him.
A question that would not go into words whirled deep in his heart.
The eyes of the two men before him were trying to tear him clean in half.
Atem looked down at Seto's words, and then looked up at Kaiba.
"…Kaiba. Right now I have to fulfil my duty. But afterwards, I'll come to you without fail. Wait in the room. I'll call."
A communication device in one hand, he turned a smile on him. There was no hesitation in that look; if anything there was an honest strength in it.
Kaiba let out a short breath.
"Understood. Atem. I don't run."
"Right. I promise."
Seto kept silent and smiled.
But that silence was full of a cold ease.
Fulfil his duty. At the point where he had made Atem say that one line, Seto already stood in the superior position.
Duties to be fulfilled can be stacked up without limit.
Since it is not impossible to arrange that the hour of a promise never arrives at all.
Night. With the stillness wrapping the room, Kaiba closed the door quietly.
Atem had fulfilled his duties at length and only just returned to his own room. Tired shoulders, a back gone stiff with tension. Kaiba did not let it past him.
"That's plainly overwork. Review your schedule."
Along with the low, resonant voice, Kaiba laid a hand quietly on Atem's shoulder. Neither heavy nor sharp. Only a temperature filled with gentleness.
Atem showed a startled expression for an instant, but at once let out a breath of relief.
"You think? But I'm all right. Thank you."
Kaiba smiled faintly. He was conscious of Seto's shadow. But tonight was the time to turn everything toward the Atem in front of him.
He put out a hand and touched Atem's hair. With the warmth of his fingertips and their mild weight, he quieted Atem's heart.
"Rest properly today. Tomorrow will be packed as well, I take it."
The words were exact, and carried a gentleness that resembled a firm command.
Atem nodded slightly, let his shoulders slacken, and rested his head on Kaiba's arm.
When konpeitō was pushed into his mouth, at that gentle sweetness, at the familiarity of it, Atem felt the strength going out of his body.
Kaiba calculated inwardly. Even if Seto meant to bind him by environment, it was not impossible to tilt Atem's dependency and sense of safety even slightly this way. He would not lay a hand on him. Touching was enough.
Except that there was something being taken.
Mixing composure and appetite, mildly but certainly, he wound Atem's heart in.
But it was overwhelmingly insufficient.
Confirming that Atem's breathing had settled, Kaiba smiled slightly.
And even so, a thing that was necessary.
"Sleep, and you'll recover a little."
Atem narrowed his eyes and smiled softly.
"You came all this way and I'm no use to you. Sorry."
Kaiba's fingertips stroked Atem's head gently. It was a quiet night. There was no one outside.
Atem's time was controlled by Seto. Stacking up "duties," no doubt.
Kaiba had to counter Seto's contrivances with the whole of this short interval.
The exquisite balance of sweetness and dominion ought to be comfortable enough for Atem.
But the problem was that thing being taken, overwhelmingly insufficient, and necessary.
Playing with Atem's hair between his fingertips, Kaiba turned over in his mind the situation in which Atem had been placed.
The corridor at dawn.
The thin light of morning lit the stone wall palely, and cold air clung between the two of them.
Kaiba stopped at the sight of the figure leaning against the stone wall. He had put Atem to sleep and was on his way back to the living world.
Receiving that gaze, Seto stood there with a smile on his face.
"So you're in a place like this even at this hour."
Kaiba's voice was low, and carried provocation.
"Naturally. The king is with me."
Seto answered mildly. But behind that one line was hidden a force indicating a cold-blooded superiority.
Kaiba glared at Seto. Seto glared back.
To settle a contest by vertical breakthrough in a short psychological battle is Kaiba's way. But Seto did not hurry; he made time his ally and came at him spreading horizontally.
"You should know my memory better than anyone. In a short decisive battle you cannot beat me. Time takes my side."
At Seto's mouth was a soft smile, while inside a will hard as iron shone.
"I see. So you do come by accumulation of the everyday. But with horizontal expansion the game develops slowly."
Kaiba had been attacking in the short term. Not to be left behind at Kaiba's pace, one had at least to keep up at the same pace.
But Seto answered calmly, with horizontal expansion.
"That is what makes it solid ground. Without hurry, without pressing. To protect the king, time is required."
Kaiba took a step closer and sharpened his gaze.
"Time. But I have no need of time to take Atem's heart. The contest will be settled at once."
Yet Seto's gaze did not stir in the slightest; it was as though he received Kaiba's attack within the mesh of a net.
"However you may hurry, what is it you can do. The king's heart is under my protection."
Mild as the words were, their pressure drove Kaiba into a corner.
Sparks of words flew between the two of them.
Neither giving way, and yet not yet touching, not yet attacking.
Atem was not yet in this corridor. But it was precisely the psychological battle in this space that would be the groundwork for victory.
Kaiba let out a short breath and looked away.
"So you mean to go on with the contest after all."
Seto smiled and moved his feet forward.
"So long as the king is with me, there is nothing to hurry for."
Watching how Kaiba was, Seto laid down further words.
"For me, who have spent everything for my king's sake, there is no room for a child who appeared afterwards to force his way in."
There was no aggression in the words. But their weight put a slow pressure on Kaiba's chest.
"I won't yield easily."
Strong words. But the opponent was Seto. The impatience mounted.
Kaiba, of the short-contest type. Tactics of horizontal expansion were by no means beyond him, but he knew that on this occasion they were not suited to his own use.
A stretch of wordless time went by.
Seto wore his smile and indicated his superiority by standing position, by gaze, by distance alone.
Kaiba glared back without retreating a step, but he could tell for himself that behind that gaze the irritation was mounting.
At length Kaiba let out one deep breath.
"…A waste of time."
He said it as they passed each other, and this time he did head for the living world.
Seto saw that figure off over his shoulder and laughed faintly.
"Go safely, then."
A composed voice. Provocation does not reach Kaiba.
The stillness remaining in the corridor was proof that the sparks between them had not yet gone out.
A quiet cloister.
In the air after Kaiba had gone, a sharp afterglow still remained.
Seto straightened the hem of his robe as though to brush it away, made to walk on, and stopped.
Behind him, Atem had got up and put his head out.
"Seto? What are you doing up so early?"
Because he had woken to find himself alone, presumably. Eyes that could not quite hide their unease followed Seto's back.
"My king."
The voice of Seto, turning round, was low, and soft as a wind wrapping dry sand.
"The modern-day whelp has departed."
"I see. You saw him, then."
"Yes. As ever — he has grown into a child with remarkably sharp words."
Atem let out a small breath and lowered his eyes, as though at a loss what to answer.
Seto never hurried that silence. He only waited.
At length Atem let it fall.
"…His words do shake my heart, certainly. But at the same time they're warm, and sometimes they worry me. His future is far too fast."
Seto narrowed his eyes, walked slowly over, and laid a hand on Atem's shoulder without hesitation.
"Speed is a power, and at the same time a blade. To protect the king, speed alone is not enough. Without accumulation, the king is left behind in solitude."
Atem's shoulders trembled slightly.
As though to confirm that trembling, Seto came closer still and whispered.
"I am here. Each time my king hesitates, each time he cannot choose, as the one who holds out the answer."
The words were not sweet. But they came accompanied by a reassurance that was hard to resist.
Atem lowered his eyes and nodded briefly.
In that instant, one more invisible thread was tied.
In Seto's eyes there lodged a faint light of victory.
It was not a thing to be displayed; only something quietly accumulated.
Unlike Kaiba, who would seize the future by speed, it was a move of dominion spreading like a net.
Kaiba often spent the nights with Atem. But not playing games; only sleeping side by side.
By day Atem was completely controlled by Seto, and to Kaiba's eyes it was plainly overwork.
Morning in the afterlife. Pale light coming in at the window cast long shadows on the stone floor.
After Kaiba had quietly set out, only Seto and Atem remained in the hall.
Seto walked slowly over and stood at Atem's side.
"Did you sleep well?"
In that voice was an ease that took last night's Kaiba into account. The question was warm, and also faintly dominating. He would place even sleep, even the daily round, under his management.
Atem nodded, with a slightly vague expression.
"Mm."
His gaze dropped, and he remembered last night. The time spent with Kaiba.
"That is good."
Into every single word, calculation was put.
Atem lowered his eyes and opened his mouth.
"…Seto, I—"
At those words Seto put on a smile and laid a hand quietly on Atem's shoulder.
Seto smiled, and told him mildly:
"You must be tired. I shall adjust today so that you are not overtaxed."
Seto's fingertips were soft, but they indicated a dominion that certainly reached Atem's heart.
Deep in Atem's heart, entrusting himself to Seto had already become a matter of course.
The trust and psychological superiority built up in this space over a long stretch of time. As though to make him forget Kaiba's influence, mildly but certainly, he drew Atem into his own pace.
"I'll leave it to you. Thank you."
"You are my king. Everything is for you."
What the words contained was love and dominion. Atem's heart wavered, and at the same time his dependency on Seto deepened.
Seto did not hurry by so much as a step; he took his time thoroughly.
Smiling gently, confirming Atem's reactions, he laid the weight of his own existence up little by little.
That method was a feat of sweetness and psychological dominion mixed together — a feat built, precisely, by three thousand years of experience.
"You're—"
As though to cut the words off, Seto smiled softly.
"Just so, my king. I am here. Be at ease."
Sweetly, but certainly, the dominion was laid up, and Atem's heart was wound in, little by little, into Seto's hand.
Looking out at the morning sun beyond the window, Seto quietly grew certain in his chest. With this, no one can take him from me.
Behind him, in the morning light, Atem's smile wavered.
Sweet, at peace, and yet perfectly dominated happiness.
The fruit of an accumulated daily life was here.
Inside Atem, room had been made to hold Kaiba's actions and Seto's existence side by side.
Even if short-term provocation or sweetness or a vertical breakthrough were mounted, Atem's heart was not fixed; it would only waver.
Dominion accumulated quite naturally within the daily round, and dependency formed by use of environment and psychology.
Time, the daily round, the ripening of the mind.
Those were the means Seto used on Atem.
Seto's net of horizontal-expansion dominion was complete, and had reached the stage where it could cancel out Kaiba's influence.
What remained was the stage of playing the final move.
Kaiba is a man who wants a settlement in the form of victory or defeat. That much of his nature Seto had grasped.
Then he would settle it on the stage the man desired.
Seto summoned Atem at a time when Kaiba was in the afterlife.
Only three in the hall. Atem, who had been summoned, and beside him, naturally, Kaiba.
The moment they were assembled, Seto opened his mouth.
"My king. Choose, if you please. Myself, or the modern-day whelp."
At that one line, the air drew tight.
Kaiba watched quietly. But in his eyes were resolve and a composed calculation.
"Choose? Seto… don't tell me you as well—"
It was no wonder Atem was startled. What Seto had given him until now was love, but not a burning passion. Mild reassurance and trust; an unseen dependency and dominion.
Surprise and confusion rushed in upon Atem's chest, and beneath them a conflict whirled.
The time spent with Kaiba. Trust, safety, love. It was not that he wished to betray it.
But the environment, and the time, and all of it, Seto had controlled. Everything had worked to Seto's advantage.
The more time was taken, the more advantageous it became for Seto. Because the environment was Seto's ally. Kaiba's psychological battle alone was at an overwhelming disadvantage.
For one who makes time his ally, there is no weapon so powerful as environment. To prevent being broken vertically in a psychological battle, Seto had deliberately increased the number of battlefields. Psychological battle, environmental battle, war of attrition.
By quiet obstruction of Kaiba and by permeation of Atem's daily round, he had, before anyone noticed, carved his own place inside Atem.
Seto's tone of voice was composed throughout.
"Yes. I too am the same. And you — how is it with you?"
Looking straight at Atem, he could see plainly that he was shaken.
"Now. Answer, if you please."
That voice was mild as a desert wind, but at its core was an unwavering force of dominion.
Let judgment be swift, and exact.
If you hesitate, take stability.
If you are troubled, rely on me.
All of it he had been drilling into him all this while. For this moment.
"…Choose, you say… I can't—"
At the situation of Seto driving Atem into a corner, Kaiba put in not a word.
This was not because he was certain of victory. It was because, this farce whose answer he already knew, he was working out how to shift to the next stage of.
Kaiba is a man who does not give up even when a settlement is reached.
Atem looked at Kaiba. Kaiba let out a small breath and stroked Atem's head.
"Atem. You may choose."
A low voice, mild but conclusive. Atem's eyes went wide.
Kaiba, who had mounted a short psychological battle of vertical breakthrough, knew that now was the time to think of the next move.
The result was in view. Seto's intention in staging this farce he could grasp as though in his palm.
Atem's eyes wavered between the two of them.
"But, I— you—"
The words broke off. Deep in Atem's chest, the feeling toward Kaiba and the existence of Seto collided.
Seto looked at Atem steadily, gently and sweetly.
Atem's hand trembled slightly.
Kaiba, who had been watching that expression quietly, let out a light breath and told him, in a voice soft and yet clear:
"That, of yours, is not betrayal. And you should know my nature."
In that one line lodged strength and gentleness and a composed certainty, all at once.
Kaiba, for the present, simply respects Atem's will. Even if it is a false one. Putting his own feeling away in his chest, turning his attention to the next battle, he gave the highest priority to the repose of the one he loved most, in front of him.
Atem's heart, while drawn to Kaiba, had certainly had roots put down in it by Seto's existence.
Within that silence, time flowed slowly, and at length Atem lowered his eyes and let out a short breath.
"I'm sorry… …Seto."
Seto looked at Atem.
At that gaze, Atem turned round.
"I choose — you, Seto."
Seto nodded faintly, and a soft smile came to his mouth.
"…Understood, my king."
That look held not the relief of victory, but a tenderness.
Kaiba drew his brows together slightly, but held it down at once and watched quietly.
Seto walked over as though cutting the air of the place, and laid a hand quietly on Atem's shoulder.
"There is no more need to hesitate. From here, together with me."
The low, mild voice rang out not as a command but as a vow that enfolded him.
In Atem's chest the feeling toward Kaiba still remained. But even that pain seemed gradually to dissolve within Seto's arms.
"Seto…"
As though answering the voice that called his name weakly, Seto drew him in and combed his hair with his fingertips.
"You chose. I shall receive it, weight and all."
Atem's body trembled with relief in the arms of the one he had chosen.
Seto received that warmth, not pinning it down by force, but simply receiving.
As though it were the natural conduct of one who had been king, of one who protects.
But deep in his heart, Seto knew.
The modern-day whelp has not given up. This battle, though on the surface it appears to have reached a settlement, is not completely over.
What he will mount next, Kaiba is already turning the calculation of.
Within a space that appeared mild, a quiet tension remained.
Even so, in this moment alone, Atem's choice enfolded everything.
Kaiba enters into preparation for his next move. A reversal is of the highest difficulty; better to begin moving early. Precisely for that reason he had played along with this farce as well.
The battle that had whirled between the two of them closes its curtain here, for the time being.
But in the hall the afterglow of sparks still drifted.
In the arms with which Seto drew Atem in was packed the craving of long years.
"…At last I may touch you."
The voice was low enough to tremble, and heavy, and made no attempt to hide appetite.
Atem felt bewilderment, and yet could not resist. He had chosen. There was no going back now.
The darkness of the afterlife was quiet, but the heat filling the space between them asserted its existence whether he would or no.
Seto's hand slid over Atem's cheek, crawled along his throat, and touched as though confirming the outlines of shoulder and chest.
The movement of his fingertips was as though reading into the depths of the body: without hesitation, but conveying heat with certainty.
Taking both his arms and bringing his face gently near — Atem quietly lowered his eyes and tilted a little upward. The lips that touched were far sweeter than fruit, and Seto let out a small breath in spite of himself.
"I have been waiting all this while. Three thousand years, for you alone."
And then he kissed him again.
"Seto…"
Each time the low, wrung-out voice stroked his ear, Atem's heart leapt and his body was wrapped in a sweet trembling. Fear and pleasure mixed together, and heat pressed into the gaps in his reason.
Seto's fingertips slipped beneath his robe, felt the beat of his chest directly, and slid along his stomach and his waist. Each time he was touched, Atem felt his whole body being drawn toward Seto.
With a hand laid at his back, Atem threw his neck back hard and received the lips that came down again and again.
Atem's heart was filled with safety and trust, and in its depths a sensation both terrible and sweet ached. An inescapable tension and an irresistible craving twined together.
Seto laughed faintly and whispered, as though confirming Atem's reaction.
"Entrust yourself to me. Heart and all, body and all. I shall not let you go now."
Behind the words were a ceaseless possessiveness and a violent feeling. Atem nodded slightly, and felt himself, rather than attempting to resist, giving himself over naturally.
It was at the kiss — which number he no longer knew — that a slight movement of Atem's turned Seto's sense of something wrong into certainty.
"…My king. So you did, after all."
The voice was low, without inflection, as though emotion had vanished out of it.
"Seto…?"
Seto's finger traced his cheek. Lovingly — and yet deep in those eyes a shadow wavered.
"…You allowed the past, did you."
Those words, like something said to himself, were a blade of ice.
Without a smile, with one gesture of putting out a hand, the strength went out of Atem's shoulders.
Atem understood what he was being asked.
"I don't… intend to hide it. It is as you imagine."
Atem looked away. In that instant, the anger inside Seto blazed up.
"That you were touched. By that man."
Seto's tone was low and cold. His fingertips gripped Atem's chin hard.
"Of all men. That one."
A quiet voice. Holding the violent feeling down, and yet in his eyes a blazing anger and possessiveness whirled.
"I won't make excuses. I won't lie. If you tell me to speak I'll tell you everything. But I—"
When Atem put out his arms, meaning that he would accept even that violent feeling, Seto narrowed his eyes and whispered as though sneering.
"Then here, now, I shall paint over every trace of it for you. You are mine."
Atem froze.
Seto did not shout, but the temperature of a moment ago was gone from his face.
Still gripping his chin, he kissed him as though biting.
Kissing him, as though violating him. The more Atem answered it, the hotter Seto became.
Paint it over. Every trace of that man, with his own hands.
At the breathlessness, the arms that tried in spite of themselves to resist were pinned down, and Seto laid the body bare.
"Resistance… is a meaningless thing for you to be doing."
"Seto…"
When he called the name, Seto smiled thinly and kissed him all over his body, leaving marks. Wordlessly asserting that he was no one else's.
Turned face down with his hips raised, kissed even at the place that received, Atem flinched in spite of himself.
He refused the tongue that tried to enter, but he was opened with fingers and something warm came in, and a small voice escaped him.
"Refusing, too, is meaningless."
Seto took up the perfumed oil he himself used, and overturned the jar over Atem's hips. At the coldness, Atem's body shook.
It ran along his thighs, along his back, and with the hours it rose in scent with Atem's body heat. The room filled with Seto's scent.
A scent dense enough to make the head swim.
When he was stirred inside with fingers, Atem could not breathe properly, and although it ought to have been fear it was somewhere comfortable, and the breath he finally let out was hot.
The body that had gone rigid at the situation, however, could not resist the pleasure of slippery fingers rubbing and working inside him, opening him out, and it came undone.
"Ah— no… don't."
"The truth?"
"That's— ah—"
His voice trembled and would not become words.
The point was set against him, and before he could steady his breathing it was pushed in.
"Ahh… nn."
Atem felt pleasure even in the pain of entry, and at the sweet voice that escaped him he opened his eyes wide. He had no choice but to admit that he could not resist.
"…I see."
At the sight of Atem feeling it, Seto narrowed his eyes, entertained.
"That's not— wait— ahh—"
His usual mildness had withdrawn into shadow, and Atem was overwhelmed by the heat that had lain behind it.
It was as though not only his body but his heart as well were being shaken to every corner.
"Do you understand who it is that holds you?"
"Nn… S-Seto—"
Each time he called the name, the marks increased.
Pierced from behind, when he reached the peak the arms supporting his body lost their strength and he collapsed on the bed.
Even so Seto did not stop. He could not stop.
When he set his teeth in the defenceless nape, and sucked, and ran his tongue over it, Atem shook his body and cried out sweetly.
"Hah… no…"
The heat was drawn out with a slither, and just as he thought he could take a breath he was turned face up, and at once it was put in again and he was rocked.
"Ah— stop— no more— ah—"
"Do you imagine lies work on me?"
Each time his hips were driven against him, at a thrusting fierce enough that the bed seemed to be shaking, his consciousness dissolved.
The voice of resistance was no longer anything but a sweet moan.
Sweet gasping, physiological tears. The dearness he felt at Atem, taken as he was, drowning in appetite and falling into pleasure; the possessiveness being filled.
In the intervals of the fierce movement, he bit at his earlobe and pressed his lips to his throat as though setting fangs in it.
Each time, a red mark was carved.
"…You understand by now, surely."
A voice heavy with heat came down as though licking at his earlobe.
"You need not think of anyone but me."
Seto whispered at his ear.
"Nn……"
Rocking his hips slowly, his fingertips traced the sweat-damp skin. Each time the fingertips slid over his skin, Atem made his body jump.
Atem's throat trembled slightly.
"Resistance, refusal — all of it has lost its meaning. You can find peace nowhere but in my arms."
The words were like a curse, and at the same time like a salvation.
Atem's gaze wavered; there was already no will in him that would try to resist.
Lips touched.
A kiss that seemed to give heat, and at the same time to set a chain on him.
"All of you may simply be shut away here."
The whisper is gentle.
But the dominion mixed into the gentleness winds Atem in, little by little.
Flee, and it does not reach. Cling, and you sink deeper.
"Now. Look at no one but me."
Love, or dominion.
Bathed in both at once, Atem fell, enraptured, into Seto's black grasp.
A deep joining, a fierce rhythm, thought swallowed under.
What sounded in the night of the afterlife was only hot breathing and the sound of skin striking skin. A craving held down through long years surged between the two of them and was released.
Seto's heat, fierce past all imagining from his usual self; an overwhelming will; and a sweet dominion.
All of it twined together, and Atem sank into a whirl there was no escaping.
With the afterglow of the night still on it, a quiet morning came.
The traces do not disappear. The red marks at his throat, the teeth marks left on arm and shoulder — those marks, pain and pleasure mixed together, were the proof of last night's fierceness, and at the same time a memory of love and of dominion.
When Atem got up from the bed, Seto had already finished dressing. Robed, without letting his composed expression break, he came near.
"Good morning."
"Seto… so it wasn't a dream after all…"
Atem's voice, loved to exhaustion until daybreak, was hoarse.
Atem slowly steadied his breathing and stretched. Each time his fingertips touched a mark remaining on his body, last night's sensation came vividly back and his body reacted slightly. A sweet, dense, fierce afterglow, never to be forgotten.
Seto laughed, amused.
"Does a dream tire you so? First, this."
What was held out was a warm tea with herbs dissolved in it. The same scent as last night drifted from it, and Atem felt his chest loosen in spite of himself.
"The scent settles the heart. …From now on, every morning, together."
Seto casually laid down the first step of a habit of daily life.
As Atem put the tea to his mouth, Seto passed a slender ornament onto his left arm.
"Here, my mark. Anyone who sees it will know at a glance what sort of loyal retainer my king has."
Smiling lightly as he said it, in the gesture of adjusting that ornament with his fingertips a certain sense of ownership seeped through.
From that day, Atem's time came, little by little, under Seto's management.
For instance: rites and training in the morning, dialogue with the people in the afternoon. All of them necessary, and all of them, at the same time, things Seto presided over.
The priests were men Seto had chosen, and if Atem hesitated they would invariably urge him to consult Seto.
When Atem tried to call Kaiba to mind, the room for it was gradually narrowing.
A comfortable habit, the weight of the ornament at his wrist, and the words of the priests who stayed close, quietly but certainly steeped Seto into the daily round.
Seto smiles faintly.
This branch continues.
Chapter 6 exists in two versions. The other is 6a — Seizing the Trump Card, which begins from the same point in Chapter 5 and ends there.
This one goes on: Chapter 7 — To Stand Together — and from there into one of three endings.
Neither branch is the "true" one.
