Buffet Table

Written by: RinoaDestiny

Credits at the end

King of Fighters, Mature, Vice, Iori Yagami, Kyo Kusanagi, Benimaru Nikaido, and King belong to SNK

Frustration he knew. Exasperation he'd felt before. But embarrassment – genuine embarrassment – was rare. Perhaps not so rare whenever they got involved. Iori groaned, slapping his hand over his face. It hid the sight of dropped jaws, of uneasy glances and most important of all, the reason for why his face burned hot behind his fingers.

Into the stunned silence, someone hooted encouragement.

Goddamn fool. Don't give them…

It was too late to stop them anyway. He dropped his hand, gritted his teeth and observed again the two women before him – blonde and auburn and without a care in the world, so absorbed were they into each other. It was a good thing they were dead and didn't need to breathe, because they were into each other's mouths and possibly down throats. Hands with painted nails trailed over bared arms. Suppressing the brief arousal he got from the sight, Iori clenched his hands into fists. Stalked over to where the women were by the buffet table.

"Hell you doing?"

Mature unlocked lips with Vice, giving him a pleased smile. "Why the face, Yagami? You miss us?" Her slender hand reached out to rest on his arm, scarlet-painted nails prominent against the dark violet of his suit. "You can spare us a few hours, surely."

He shook her off; the blonde smiled, no offense taken at his rebuff.

"I think he's upset. Aren't you, Yagami?" Vice turned her head to stare at him, expression bordering on maniacal. "This bothers you, doesn't it?"

Usually, it wouldn't. However, usually meant being in his apartment and throwing him out of his bedroom. Usually didn't mean doing a full display of diving down each other's throats in public view amongst all the other fighters. While he was no prude, Iori was uncomfortable with public displays of affection – also highly discouraged in Japan if excessive – and Mature and Vice were always one step away from stripping and needing to be hosed down.

Just the mental image caused him to redden.

"No naughty thoughts, Yagami." Mature teased, giving him a wicked grin. His discomfort was her pleasure. "Why don't you make a trip to the bar? You look like you need a drink."

"You can watch." Vice chipped in, her sultry tone another goad to the war between his embarrassment and suppressed libido. "No joining this time, Yagami." In the silence, that was delivered loud and clear. The effect was instantaneous.

"What? With them? Lucky bastard!"

"K', what does that mean?"

"Nothing, Kula."

"How's that lucky, unless you like crazy?"

"Totally worth it, man! Two smoking hot babes…"

"Wait – Yagami's actually getting laid?"

"Where else is he gonna get any?"

"You mean two psychos! C'mon, man! That's a crazy sandwich!"

Iori felt his face growing hotter by the second. He stepped closer to Vice and spoke, his voice a low threatening growl. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

The red-haired vixen simply smiled.

"Yagami, dear…" Mature said, tilting her head so that her diamond earrings sparkled in the room's ambient lighting. "Why don't you be a good boy and leave us alone?" He noticed the blonde woman's exchanged glance with Vice, which worried him.

"Yes. Why don't you?"

Vice's hand – slender and strong – against his chest, crushing his silk tie against the white of his shirt. Iori registered the contact for a mere second, which was a second too late. Before he knew it, he was off balance, several feet away and the two women had returned to their prior activity in full view of the still bewildered crowd. Staggering backward, regaining his footing and grateful he didn't pinwheel like an idiot, Iori watched as his teammates went at it with unabated vigor and lust. Several catcalls resounded throughout the room; others grimaced and walked away, while some returned to their tables and began talking, ignoring the resuming scene in the center of the room. No one, Iori noticed, approached the buffet table for seconds or thirds.

"Thank you!" A loud obnoxious masculine voice hollered. "'Bout time!"

Fucking idiot. He wanted to go over there and give the guy a facelift, but he didn't have any license yet to actually maim someone for being a moron, so he did the next best thing. Iori stomped off towards the bar, aware that Mature suggested just the thing for him. He wasn't following her directive – he just…there wasn't anywhere else to go. Sure, he could leave this entire stupid social gathering and stay in his hotel room, but…if he did, who knew what those broads would do. Diving down each other's throats could turn into something else and…

He ignored the fighters around him – saw a few scatter – and upon reaching the bar, planted himself down on one of the unoccupied barstools. The one next to him immediately became vacant. Iori didn't care and motioned to the bartender who unsurprisingly was King.

"Whiskey on the rocks."

"Having a bad day, Yagami?" King reached for a clean tumbler, already starting her standard bartender small talk. "Why are you here? Don't you normally –"

"My drink, woman. I'm not here to talk."

"I see that." The blonde woman – different from Mature and much more neat-handed – finished his request and placed the glass before him. Warm brown liquor and one large ice cube. Perfect. "Try not to cause a scene, please."

He snorted. Picked up his glass and downed a bit of its contents. Let the warmth wash through him, which was a welcome replacement for the dying heat in his face. Behind him, he heard the whoops and continued hooting and catcalls. Goddamn immature brats. He wondered if one of them was Ramon, but Ramon was always making doe eyes at Vanessa, which Iori found sickening. He took another sip of his drink, trying to calm down and savor the flavor. It was the good stuff. While King irritated him as much as the others, at least the woman knew her liquor and kept a decent stock – none of that fake imitation bullshit.

He'd come to this social event because all the other fighters were here. Iori had intended to keep a low profile, stay in the background, and watch the others make fools of themselves. What he hadn't intended was to become a fool by proxy of Mature and Vice, but he should've known better. Thanks to them, not only did everyone know something about his sex life now (damn bitch couldn't keep her mouth shut) but probably also assumed he was responsible for their…lively display in the center of the goddamn room.

Iori took another sip, put the glass down on the counter, and reached for his pack of cigarettes. King frowned at him, gesturing to the "No Smoking" sign but he was past caring about following most established rules. He lit one up, inhaled and exhaled the smoke, and propped his leg up on the empty barstool beside him. Looked everywhere but towards the buffet table. He didn't want to have that expression again, which he knew everyone saw earlier.

He didn't like people seeing those kinds of feelings in his face.

Moreover, he didn't want to know what Mature and Vice were up to.

He went to take another drag, and that was when his shitty luck decided to have a go at him. "Oi, Yagami!"

Fuck. What does he want? "Go away, Kyo."

"Told you he doesn't want to talk to you, man."

Nikaido, too? Was the entire Japan Team here to scold him? Iori scowled.

"Yagami," Kyo said, standing before him with arms crossed. "Do something about your teammates."

"If you were watching earlier, you know I tried." He glared at the other man, resisting the urge to leap off the barstool and deck him. "Why are you concerned?"

"We have kids here."

"Kids who beat you up with ease if they could," he retorted, closing with a scoff. "You want to stop them? Go right ahead. Try, Kyo. They'll rip you a new one. You can crawl back later."

"Ew. Gross, Yagami."

"Wasn't talking to you, Nikaido."

His rival uncrossed his arms, undoing the wrinkles in his black suit. Iori noticed the formal handkerchief was missing from Kyo's breast pocket and wondered if the other man lost it. His cigarette was still between his fingers; he brought it up and took another drag. Blew the smoke out in Kyo's direction and watched the brunet's face tighten with displeasure. If his night was shitty, then he'll make Kyo's night the same for interfering with his sought-after peace.

"You know K', Maxima, and Kula left."

"Why? Because the little brat didn't like seeing –"

"You don't like seeing it, either, Yagami. I saw your face earlier."

He snapped his cigarette in half.

"Nanakase and Shermie have started at their table."

His disgust at that image must've showed, because Kyo snorted.

"Do something about it, Yagami. Before it –"

"Do what? Get in between them? You know what happens when you try that?"

"They won't –"

"I'm keeping my balls intact, Kyo. You go become a eunuch. I'm not stopping you."

"Hey, Kyo," Benimaru Nikaido said, tugging at the Japan Team leader's sleeve. "Look. You think we need to call the fire department?"

Against his better judgment, Iori turned to look and regretted it the instant he did. His own jaw unhinged, mirroring Kyo's stunned expression and it was only with a considerable amount of effort that he got his mouth closed again. He whirled around on his barstool and shot a hasty glance at King. "Whiskey. On the rocks. Two."

"Yagami, I'm not getting you –"

"Dammit, woman! Two! Top it off. I don't care."

"What did…" King glanced over his head, expression changing. "Oh. I see."

His answering blush didn't help matters. Neither did hearing Kyo's strangled "Shit, Beni. What do we do?" He wanted to tell Kyo to fuck off, to go interfere with Mature and Vice's raunchy activity but his throat was tight and all he wanted to do was disappear. Since he couldn't do that, he was going to get wasted and hope the alcohol blotted out this part of his memory. Unfortunately, his tolerance was decently high, so if he had to empty out King's entire whiskey inventory, he was going to do that, her bartender rules be damned.

When the fresh glass hit the counter, he emptied it so quickly his head spun.

"Yagami!"

"Dammit, woman! Don't stop!"

That, Iori realized, sounded wrong if heard out of context. His face, already burning hot, underwent a new flush. It wasn't the alcohol – he knew that – which made all this even worse. He just wanted this night to end. He tried looking at his watch and then stopped caring about that, too.

The second – no, third glass of the night – was as water down his throat. Terrible way to treat whiskey, especially the good stuff; yet, he needed it as a buffer. He couldn't unsee Mature and Vice going at it on the buffet table and if he'd been embarrassed at their earlier throat diving, then this was…

"Another," he said, not even looking at King. When the glass hit, he knew.

That, too, joined its brethren in his stomach.

They have hotel rooms for… He didn't care if it was them in his bedroom. But this…this was…couldn't they have found an obscure spot? Under one of the tables, perhaps? Some abandoned alleyway? Why here? Why out in the open? Now everyone not only thought they were psychos but also sexed-up maniacs and that…

"Fucking shit hell…what the fuck."

"Yagami," a woman's voice said, worried with a hint of sternness. "You've had enough. Go back. Kusanagi's still here. Maybe he can –"

"Fuck Kusanagi. I'll make my own way out." He didn't sound drunk – his voice wasn't slurring – and yet the lights were too goddamn bright and he couldn't feel his legs. So when he toppled and crashed face first into the adjacent barstool, Iori considered it another humiliation of the night. Someone shook him. King, perhaps? Better not be Kyo.

Better not be Nanakase and Shermie, either. Goddamn bastards.

Fire hoses weren't needed in the end. Somehow, while he was passed out on the floor, the issue of both his teammates and of Nanakase and his girlfriend were resolved. How, he never found out and he never bothered to ask. As luck would have it, Kyo being the asshole he was, took a picture of him face-planting into the barstool and circulated it online until it became viral. "Yagami – 0 / Barstool – 1" was the caption and it became a chant for those fighters who sought to annoy him. Which it did. Tremendously.

He paid them all back for it, of course. In the ring. Blood, blood, and more blood.

As for Mature and Vice?

If they wanted to suck each other's faces off, he was out. Not there.

Never again. Never ever again.

The only good thing he got out of the whole mess was that next time he wound up at the bar that King managed for the event, she knew his drink of choice. Had it ready for him if she saw him angling her way. He didn't like her but the woman had refined tastes.

Apparently, he was also a sad drunk but that was a secret between them.

Comments: So this fic has a three-way credit. Illy from Discord posted a Twitter feed from "mewblood" about a cute little comic strip regarding kid Iori and Mature and Vice (called his lesbian wine moms in the post comment). The comic had kid Iori whining about nobody joining his team and when Mature and Vice volunteer to, kid Iori starts wailing about his moms making out in front of everyone and embarrassing him (LOL).

So then David Tai (also from Discord) chimed in about why no one has written a fanfic yet about Iori fuming while Mature and Vice make out in front of everyone. The idea was proffered my way and my Iori's internal thought process started not too long after that.

Hence, credit goes to (in the order of influence): "mewblood" (Twitter), illyrilex (Discord and FFN), and David Tai (Discord and FFN). I had fun with this fic – hope I did the idea justice, heh.