...'I hate that I love you',

Pairing: SetoxKatsuya

Rating: R,

Lemon/Lime status: Lime...sort of, sort of not ;

Beta-ed (mostly) by: Aku-sama XD! thanks Elsalhir, as always xx

I had stopped, pausing at the open doorway, as if by a will, not of my own. Some would call that unknown force magic. I however, had had enough 'magic' crap to last me a lifetime, or indeed, if Yuugi would have me believe, two lifetimes. So no, this wasn't magic, or mystical in any way, but even so, despite my formidable logic, even I couldn't explain why my legs refused to move.

"What are you doing here?" The voice bought me from my daze, not that I would ever admit to spacing out of course, but it surprised me that he had been aware of my presence all along, and had just chose not to acknowledge it. I continued to watch him, my face its usual mask of apathy. I wasn't going to credit him with an answer. I didn't need to explain myself to anyone, lest of all a stupid, moronic fool like him.

"I had another meeting with the faculty," I recognised the voice as my own, my tongue feeling almost foreign as the words came of their own will. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the wall as he continued in his task. Silence fell between us, and despite myself, I felt uneasy. Out of place. Seconds ticked by, the quiet pierced only by the slight shuffling of laminated paper. My discomfort grew. I didn't want this, and if he wasn't going to make any effort to break the silence, then I certainly wasn't going to be the one speak first. Why was I even still here? I didn't give a damn about that loser, so why was I bothering to stick around and wait for him to talk to me. I should just turn around and leave him here alone like nobody that he is.

"Why are you here?" I cursed myself for a fool, chiding myself in my mind as I stepped into the long deserted classroom, setting my briefcase down upon the teacher's desk, the light glinting off the gold lettering of the initials 'K' and 'C', clear against the matt black of the case, "detention?" I added; humour finding its way into my voice. He let out a short chuckle and leaned away from the wall to survey his work.

"No, I offered to help out with the display for the open day next week," he answered, running an index finger along the edge of the poster I could now identify to be of the human body. He tutted to himself when he noticed that the poster wasn't perfectly straight and pulled the bottom right corner away from the wall, setting about removing the blu-tack and righting it. "Anything to get me away from home, right?" He stood back once again, pleased, finally, with his work before hopping off the chair and moving to the table where an assortment of display work lay. I found myself nodding, understanding only too well what it was like to have an abusive father waiting to pounce on you as soon as you got home.

"How's your day been anyway? His question caught me off guard, snapping me out of my revere. He had hopped back onto the chair, placing keywords on the wall around the poster. I couldn't help but recognise the question as small talk, a waste of both his and more importantly, my time, but even then, I knew that I would answer.

"Exceedingly dull," I answered honestly, my voice sounding rich and deep in the silence of the empty classroom. He nodded, glancing my way with a little smirk before returning his attention to the display, the gesture too fast for me to do anything in return.

"Why? Were there no companies that needed crushing today?" Was his dry response. I couldn't help but smile at the comment, my mind screaming at me for that response, raging that the comment hadn't even been funny. The smile evaporated, and I felt almost sad, though I didn't dwell on it long enough to mourn its loss.

"No, alas, no one has been stupid enough to challenge me of late. It's a shame too, I need to start teaching Mokuba how to act under the pressure of a corporate takeover," I answered, once again angered at my own need to explain myself to this person, yet it dimmed when he smiled as he placed the word 'enzyme' on the wall.

"Sounds like a riot," he joked. My annoyance returned as he turned my honest comment into a joke.

"Yes, well, it has to be done," I replied somewhat defensively as I leaned against our sensei's desk. He must have detected the sour note in my voice, because he paused once again and sent an apologetic smile my way. I shrugged it off, not wishing him to believe that he had rankled me and fixed my stare onto the blackboard. Sensing that another uncomfortable silence growing, I once again rejected my common sense, which was telling me to leave and opened my mouth, "how was your day?"

I sensed, rather then saw, his face flicker in brief surprise, before he sighed lightly and replied; "It was okay I guess. I got a C on my history essay, which I'm proud of. My dad was in an even worse mood then usual this morning, which is why I'm hiding out here, but asides from that, it was just business as usual," I nodded in response, all that I could do really. My past and his present situation were so similar, yet so different. My 'father' had attacked my mind, melding me into his perfect little son, forcing my genius to expand in often unnecessarily cruel ways, using my greatest strength, and my greatest weakness; Mokuba, against me. To coin a phrase, he had fucked me up good and proper.

My peer however suffered physically, more so than I ever had, and though I had no way of telling how much his drunken loser of a father went for him on a mental level, he had none of the twisted, wicked nature that Gozubaru had had, the nature that delighted in breaking your personality and sanity. He was merely a drunken loser with a gambling problem and a personal vendetta against his own son.

Still though, who was I to assume? The years and years of constant stress, being forced to grow up against your will, having to go out and work just to get by, while still maintaining the pretence that you're just a normal seventeen year old. Now that I could relate to. I could see it, even if his friends couldn't. The over-zealous, in your face attitude one moment and the self loathing and feeling of inadequacy the next was almost extreme enough to be considered manic depressive.

And I knew- had always know even- that he was almost as fucked up as me. Perhaps that was why I felt the need to be so spiteful towards him. To show the rest of the world that I wasn't weak, like him. Perhaps that was why, when the rest of the world wasn't there, I would find myself holding, what could only be called, a civil conversation with him, and despite the sneering, bitter voice hiding in the shadows of my mind, I would always find myself enjoying his company. It made no sense really. He was everything I despised; uncivilised, uneducated, uncultured, and uncouth. He was loud, obnoxious and hot headed, scruffy and disrespectful. He was nothing more then a glorified street urchin.

But he was just so damned honest.

His innocence, despite his tough life, his naivety, his earnest, tenacious attitude, his loyalty, the stuff heroes were made of, they all drew me in, begging for an unnatural fascination from me. I'm ashamed to say that it terrified me.

"Kaiba?" his voice was strangely meek, as if fearful that I would snap at him for interrupting my internal monologue. I looked up, not quite startled, but uncomfortably close to it.

He had stepped down off the chair and padded over, keeping, what he must have deemed to be a safe distance away, and was leaning against the wall next to the board, his hand lightly resting on the wooden frame. I watched him, my casual expression belying the storm raging inside of me. Confusion. I was confused, about what, I didn't know. There was fear too, fear of being confused, fear of what else I felt, fleeting, toying coyly with my mind before retreating back into its murky depths.

But why was I confused when I already knew what I was feeling? Confused, when I had felt it before, and which I surely knew, I would feel again. It was happening all over again, and I didn't want to stop it, couldn't stop it.

I wanted him.

I always wanted him.

And it drove me even more insane then I knew I already was.

"Stupid bonkatsu," I tried, my voice sounding dryer, a little more strained then usual. His face twisted into an annoyed scowl and I had to fight to resist chuckling at how cute it made him look. After a moment, he dropped his gaze to the floor, the last remnants of his façade slipping away and leaving behind a shy boy, unsure of himself, and only wanting to be reassured that the world didn't suck as much as he feared it did. I felt a pang of protectiveness, my naturally defensive nature setting in when I realised how lost he looked for a second, probably fighting off the same feelings that I was.

"I'm sorry for bothering you," he spoke up after a while, his softened voice cutting through the still air, "you just looked really far away..." he trailed off, glancing at the clock on the wall, his eyes widening with slight horror, "oh shit! I have work in ten minutes," I blinked in surprise, before I remembered that he held down several jobs in order to pay the bills and satisfy his father's need to visit his beloved casinos, keeping up the act that they were a normal, healthy family unit, lest the Social Services get involved and make things even worse then they already were.

I felt him brush past my upper arm, reaching for his backpack, resting next to my more formal briefcase, hurrying off to whatever god-forsaken job he had. It was then a kind of belated panic set in. I was struck by the realisation that I didn't want him to leave, that despite the awkwardness of our conversation, I felt such a sense of peace when he was near me, almost like our tiny, but honest talks calmed me somehow, despite the desire singing in my veins, but then, I was used to that.

Before I was even aware of it, my hand was wrapped around his wrist, preventing him from leaving, pulling on it and drawing him closer.

"Kaiba," his voice was a whisper, pleading me to let go. My grip only tightened.

"Don't go," my own tone surprised me, almost begging. For such a menial thing too, I really think that I've lost it.

"I have to, I need the money," he sounded almost sad. I knew that he wanted to stay, even though he refused to meet my gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, the honey gold locks of his fringe brushing across my cheek.

"I'll give you the money, just stay," I couldn't believe it, I was negotiating with him. And for what? Company? Sex? I could get that anytime I wanted. I could have anyone I wanted! Men, women, rich, poor. Anyone. He wasn't refined, he wasn't enthralling company, he wasn't exactly world changing to look at, though granted, he was very attractive.

He was just Jounouchi Katsuya.

And I was just Kaiba Seto.

And it was wrong. I knew it and he knew it.

But it only felt right, so damned right, when our lips brushed against each other, an act so regretful yet so hauntingly familiar. How could it be wrong?

I pulled at his arm, tugging him closer as he shifted with me, our lips beginning to push against each other with more force. One of my arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him until he was leaning against me from his spot in-between my legs, the other found its way up into soft blond strands, angling his head so that I could push his lips apart with more ease. He sighed when my tongue entered him, stroking across his own, bathing in the warmth that he offered. I pulled away after a moment to stare into honey depths, noting that all thoughts of resistance had long escaped him. My hand travelled from his hair to cup at a pale, delicately rounded cheek, powdered with the beginnings of a blush. I couldn't help but run my thumb over peach skin, marvelling at the softness.

"Katsuya," his name escaped from my lips, before I had even realised it, as if all communication going to and from my brain had been switched off. He visibly shuddered at the husky way in which his name had travelled from my lips, before leaning in and shyly re-initiating the contact between our lips. My hands tightened in their grip on his school jacket, grasping at the material with all of the strength that I possessed. A lifeline to the physical world as my head swam, thoughts incomprehensible and instantly forgettable.

God the passion between us burned me, yet I couldn't- wouldn't- tear myself away. It was almost as if I were nothing more then a simple moth, inexorably drawn to his flame, no matter how futile my efforts were to catch it in my hands, even though they would be inevitably burned.

My mouth left his, my mind a haze as I attached myself to his neck, licking, suckling, biting. Harsh, I couldn't help but loose myself in the addictive taste of his skin, my actions almost animalistic in their fervour, the little whimpers falling wantonly from his lips, encouraging me. My ego swelled, a feeling of undeniable and overwhelming smugness and pride washing over me, adding to my enthusiasm as I gloated quietly over my conquest, knowing that he would willingly let me have absolute and total dominance over him.

It made no sense. He was stubborn, I was stubborn. Surrounded by people, we would argue, bicker, often over the most stupid of things, why? I myself had no idea, perhaps we had two very different ways of releasing pent up emotions, or maybe our conflicting personalities, bound by very similar circumstances made it that so that we couldn't help but force the other away, only to crave them once we had. It made no sense!

Jounouchi Katsuya, the boy who loved nothing more then to wind me up, desperately trying to 'get one over on me', to prove himself, the same boy who, without his peers around him, was nothing more then a child, clinging on to me for dear life. Someone who fought so tirelessly for his independence and sense of identity, an ex-street punk, yet who secretly craved to be dominated, who wanted to loose all of his beloved control, to me, the one who he was fighting against in the first place. It confused me, intrigued me, even in the hazy, passion-fuelled state of my mind.

He shuddered, letting out a breathy moan when one of my hands found its way into royal blue school trousers and further, hurriedly slipping past the elasticised hem of underwear, moving of its own accord to cup at flesh I knew as well as my own. I trailed delicate patterns with my fingertips, teasing, enjoying the delightful noises that came from him as I did so; before my own lust urged me on to take his erection in my fist.

It was then, as my body occupied it's self with jerking that arm rhythmically up and down, I realised how close he was to me. It was insane, for such a thought to reach me as my mind and body was overwhelmed with desire, yet it was a clear message, warning me and unsettling my state of mind. It was natural to be close during such activities, we always were, but somehow... somehow he seemed so much closer, and that made me uncomfortable, uncomfortable enough to make me think clearly for a second.

Comprehension hit me like a bombshell, making my whole body stop suddenly, my mind froze in something that could only be described as fear and horror and my heart seemed to pause in my chest.

I had been wrong; all of my theories were false, crumbling into nothingness. Was my own logic failing me? Insecurity flooded in, washing away and replacing the smugness, because in that instant, as my mind sobered and reality hit me like a cold blow, I realised; all along, it had been me who had been clinging to him. My arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him as close to me as I could.

It frightened me. Had I always been so subconsciously needy? Was this even just about sex any more?

'It never was,' my mind whispered, tone malicious, so like my late 'father'. I felt my insides heave in response, both at the memory and the realisation. I was paralysed, unsure of what to do for a moment, before my mind began to work once again, cool and calculating, just like normal, and almost comforting; I had started all of this, and I had to finish it. No matter what, I couldn't allow myself to become so utterly dependent on someone, lest of all an idiotic fool like him.

'Bonkatsu,' my mind hissed, taunting me, forcing me to pull my hand away and roughly shove Katsuya away from me as I slid off the wooden surface of the teachers desk.

"S-Seto... what?" I ignored him and the bewilderment in his voice, choosing to occupy myself with straightening out my clothes, intent on fixing myself with that same old emotionless façade, hiding the shame and guilt I felt from the golden haired boy standing two feet away from me.

I spun around utterly silent as I reached out to grab at the handle of my briefcase, freezing as another hand found its way to my wrist, gripping onto me and preventing me from pulling away. Though my mind protested, I turned to face him, instantly greeted with his lovely honey-brown eyes, glimmering with hurt. He looked ready to cry.

"Seto... what did I do wrong?" His voice was weak, weaker then I could ever have imagined it sounding. I was so used to that voice being loud and brash, yet at that moment, it was meek and almost frightened. I felt guilt sting at my insides. Did I really want to reduce him to this? I needed to think, think on this. It was all getting far too complicated.

"Nothing," I grunted, tearing my wrist from his grasp and walking to the door of the classroom.

"Please! Why are you leaving!?" his voice was desperate and I couldn't help but turn around, despite my logic strongly advising against it. He hadn't moved from the spot where I had shoved him off me, and in the emptiness of the classroom he looked even lonelier and lost then his eyes gave away. "Why?" he implored once again.

"Why?" I answered back,

'Because I hate you!

'I hate everything about you!

'I hate how stupid you are!

'I hate how weak you are!

'I hate you! Stupid bonkatsu!'

"I hate it that you love me," I said after a time, giving him his precious answer, leaving the room before I could witness the tears that I knew that his eyes were holding spill onto his flawless skin, marching down the corridor, anywhere away from him, before my resolve broke.

'And what I hate,' I thought finally as I made my way out of that abandoned building and climbed into the comfort of my limousine, 'truly, utterly despise the most of all...' I sighed heavily and stared out of the window, catching a lone figure stumbling from the school gates as the car pulled away.

'I hate that I love you.'

I was weak, and that was his fault. Maybe that was the reason that I felt so bitter towards him, because as I stared out of that window, he simply stood there and stared right back, not moving, even as the car drove out of sight. I let out the breath, unaware until that moment that I had been holding one in and shifted in my seat, switching my gaze to the wall that separated me from my chauffer. The all too familiar feeling of self-loathing surged within me as that voice jeered at me, mocking me for my own weakness, sneering at me, telling me that I was pathetic for finding such, dare I say, contentment, in the arms of a poor, ex-street punk who would never be good enough for a person like me. I ignored it; the guilt was far stronger then my mind's belated self- attack.

If he was really so inadequate for me, then why was I the one who was running away?