A/n: Long time no see, eh? I know, I know. You have this unmistakable desire to decapitate me. Hell, if I wasn’t so intent on living, I’d chop off my own head too for being such a lazy-assed author.

I pretty much lost interest in writing this story and had come seriously close to discontinuing it. But some very loyal fans decided to spam my inbox with hopeful (and sometimes threatening) emails for me to continue. And so, touched by their devotion, I decided to tie myself to my computer chair until I was able to churn out a tolerable enough chapter.

Hopefully I’ve got the old kookey still in me.

Disclaimer: We can all admit that Yu-Gi-Oh’s popularity has considerably declined since its début. I don’t think I’d WANT to own it, even if I had the chance (but the prospect of having Malik is still good so if anyone would like to buy him for me, I’d love you forever!).

Warnings: I may be a bit rusty after months of leaving this fanfic in the dust. But other than that . . . read on!

Seto vs. His Hormones
Chapter Thirteen

All was quiet in Seto and Anzu’s room. Light filtered in through the windows of their porch and onto several broken mugs, dark coffee stains, and what looked like the remains of what might have been once a very nice laptop. Outside, the sun rose on the horizon; it gave the sky a miraculous hue of red and purple while concurrently sprinkling its merry rays on the lovers of the was, all together, a rather serene moment.

Then the door of their suite was suddenly kicked open and, because of the sheer force behind the attack on the poor, defenseless piece of wood was so powerful, the knob of the said door slammed against the wall it was attached to and left a rather nasty hole in its mark.

But Seto didn’t care.

No, not in the least. Because spending six hours with Anzu on a Ferris wheel that had despondently refused to function had been the most PAINFUL and EXCRUICIATING incident in his entire life. Therefore caring about a stupid hole in the wall was the least of his problems.

For starters, the goddamn seats they were situated on were made of steel (Would it have killed them to add some cushions?) and even now, after several minutes of walking around, his butt still ached with uncomfortable numbness.

There was also the matter of sitting with Anzu all night and she went through more mood swings than pregnant women did high on estrogen. One minute, they would be sharing an intimate moment (quietly listening to each other’s heartbeats, fingers intertwined, acting as if—god forbid—they were actually in LOVE) and then in the next, he would be gasping for air as she rough handled his neck with her feet (that were, in addition, sporting a nice pare of very pointy high heals) and threatened to throw him out of their swinging cart.

Damn woman. Damn rides. Damn SHOES. I’m never going to a carnival again.

It had been a scarring and draining experience—one that would, no doubt, haunt him for years to come (the bruises from her vice-grip and Mortal Combat-like moves would be a constant reminder).

And he only had one guy to thank for that.

Yugi, you lying, vertically challenged, spontaneously-combusted-hair-styled freak. You gave me invalid information!

Anzu afraid of height? Pssf!

She was as much acrophobic as he was poor (which, COME ON people, he simply wasn’t and shuddered at the thought of being; what was life without his eighty inch wide television screen for optimum Saturday cartooning, virtual spa room with dual action masseuses, and surround sound alarm clock installations?).

Bent on revenge (because no one—not even Bakura and his sadistic ways—deserved to suffer being poked and kicked around by a fanatical female in stilettos), he briskly skimmed the inventory that existed in his mind before pushing down the hundred or so OTHER people on his “Hopeless Bastards That Need to Die by My Hands” list, scribbling Yugi’s name with an imaginary pen into the number two slot.

Proud, and thoroughly pleased that he had gotten that done and out of the way, he turned to consider the next most favorable course of action when, suddenly overwhelmed, Seto let out a loud, jaw-cracking yawn.

Anzu, who was draped over shoulder in a piggyback ride, murmured something in response to the unearthly sound that had been his yawn, tightening her legs around his waist and pressing, in a passing fancy (as if, even out cold, she dreamt about tormenting the poor fellow), her chest against his back. He tried to suppress a shudder (metaphorically blowing up the train of thought that such contact ensued) but her warm breath tickled his neck and made his eyes droop.

Sleep suddenly never felt so good.

He could practically feel himself retreating into the wonderful bliss called his unconsciousness where horrible emotions such as love were sucked into oblivion. Where hotdog stands did not exist. Where coffee poured endlessly down from the heavens. Where, above and beyond everything else, Anzu did not reign as total dictator (which only happened in real life because she had natural advantages over his equally innate and misfortunate weakness).

When he noticed the state of what he would be sleeping on, though, certain pleasures exceedingly disappeared. The couch, which he had slept on since the dawn of their abandonment, looked as if it had been eaten, pissed, and then maltreated by a rabid dog and his friends.

Like HELL I’m going to sleep on THAT.

Plus . . . the now-barely-called-sofa gave him back problems. And with his bottom rather sore, he didn’t think it would help his meticulously abused body if he slept in such a cramped space.

So that left the master bedroom and its large, indisputably comfy bed as his only other option. So what if Anzu would be sleeping the same bed as him (he was smart enough to know that things would be detrimental for him in the morning if he left her anywhere but the bed)?

Thinking of such a question had been a mistake though, as it sparked his resting hormones and he felt his arms (that were currently supporting Anzu’s suddenly very smooth and long legs) twitch.

No! Focus! He mentally slapped himself several times, willing his feet to move while simultaneously trying to prevent his brain from conjuring disastrous images, for that indeed would be bad.

Because all he wanted was to be sleeping. Yes . . . that’s right.

Sleeping in a bed. Yes.

Sleeping in a bed that would unfortunately also be occupied by Anzu. Yes.

So therefore be sleeping WITH Anzu. Yes—NO!

Anzu, who would curl up against him, mouth so daringly close to his own. I meant no, you moron!

Anzu, whose fingers would rake his back and arch against him when he—SHUT UP!

But—I need coffee. He was visibly shaking now. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.

The mantra continued as Seto trotted to the kitchen. Something, however, clicked in his brain the instant his foot touched the marble tile of the kitchen and he made a sharp u-turn instead. He had suddenly remembered of the condoms and birth pills (courteous of the protection store) sitting in the garbage can from two days ago, very much still visible and undoubtedly very much still usable. Stepping anywhere near them would be . . . not good, so he decided, as an alternative, that disposing of the girl he was currently carrying as soon as possible would be in his best interest.

Mumbling discreet curses under his breath, he finally made his way towards their bedroom.

. . . Only to trip over a cardboard box that had either magically appeared out of no where or Seto had apparently missed in spotting and tumbled, with Anzu, onto the ground face forward.

She woke up slowly from the fall, probably wondering why her trip had stopped and what she was doing on the ground. When she lifted her head slightly, the position she and Seto were in (he was on his stomach, cheek pressed against the carpet and hands on her leg; she, in similar oddness, was cradling his hips and lying flush against his back) smacked her in the face and promptly woke her up.

“PERVERT!” she abruptly screamed and jumped up, ready to kick him in the ribs with her lethal shoes.

He got up sourly and rubbed his head, in no mood for her antics. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She shoved an accusing finger in his face, smugness in her obvious anger. “You were trying to do IT with me on the floor.”

“It?”

“IT, Seto. You know—the bird and bees. Home run.” She leaned closer, eyes narrowed. “SEX.”

Of all the reactions that could have occurred in response to such a ludicrous claim, Seto did the one least expected—he burst into spontaneous, uncharacteristic, and delirium-driven laughter, with continuous thigh slapping and all. He gasped, giggled (witnesses could even claim he may have snorted!), and wiped the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes.

Then, just as immediately, the smile fell and he regarded her in all seriousness, eyebrows knit and face wiped so clean of all delight that anyone nearby would have questioned if it really was him just five seconds ago, laughing his ass off.

“First of all,” he started, a finger raised in emphasis, “normal people don’t have sex in a position like that. Unless you’re really a guy and in which case . . .” He took a step back.

“I AM NOT A GUY!”

He smirked, giving her a look over. “Of course you’re not.”

She fumed and opened her mouth but he quickly cut her off before she could start. “Second of all, sex with you?” He exploded into a fit of mirth once again, leaning against the table for support while one hand clutched his now throbbing side.

Then, for a second time, he was back to normal and his mouth was flat, like someone had flipped the off switch of his happy mood. “Don’t be so absurd,” he scoffed, flicking pretend lint off his shoulder.

Inside, however, he secretly relished the thought. (Stupid, stupid hormones.)

“And third of all,” here, he pointed to the accursed box that had caused him to lose his balance, giving it a swift kick for further measure, “I was going to drop you off into bed when I tripped over THAT stupid thing.”

As if on cue, said stupid thing suddenly growled.

And shook violently.

Anzu automatically clung to his arm. “What the hell IS that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed the nearest chair and used one of its legs to cautiously poke the bizarre, snarling package. It barked in return and Seto instantly dropped his weapon. Whatever was in there didn’t sound very friendly and if it wanted to be left alone, by all means, he was going to leave it untouched.

But apparently, his wicked, wench of a companion had other plans.

”Seto, go open it.”

He turned to her, glaring. “No.”

She pouted and, while pressing her thigh close to his as much was humanly possible, ran a finger over his abdomen in delicate, deceitful circles. The evil female charm was on and he felt his insides churn violently. “Please?” she whispered, breathing hot air into his ear and he instantly rubbed it, trying to get rid of the feeling. "Do it for little ol' me?"

I haaaate you.

”Fine!” he spat venomously (aware of a lost battle when he saw one), glowering at her before squatting down in front of the object of her curiosity (and maybe his demise). It was relatively tiny, now that he looked at it closely, with a jarring red and fairly unreassuringly large “WARNING” label stamped on the top. The sides were punctured periodically with holes big enough to let air in but small enough so no outsider could look within.

Carefully, he undid the string that kept the package closed and lifted the flap.

There was a flash of brown and the next thing he knew something had sunken its sharp teeth into his palm. He yelped and faintly registered Anzu’s own shriek in the background as he ferociously shook his hand to free himself of the small fiend. It didn’t work, much to his mortification, and only seemed to motivate the creature even more as it then attached its claws into his skin as well.

She screamed again, but this time it oddly sounded more like a squeal of delight than one of utmost horror.

Great. She’s finding joy in my pain.

“It’s a puppy!”

He froze.

And believe it or not, it WAS a puppy—no less than a couple of months old with chocolaty, smooth fur and bright cobalt eyes. She instantly swooped it into her arms and, completely disregarding the blatantly injured Seto, cuddled it with such vigor that it nearly made the CEO sick.

“It BIT me.”

”Stop complaining,” she chided, tickling its stomach. “He’s just a little baby.”

“It could have rabies!”

She pointedly ignored him, cooing and making other nonsensical baby noises at it. “I think,” she paused for dramatic effect, observing the puppy’s auburn fur and steel blue eyes in a critical fashion; a petite, devilish smile spread on her face then, and Seto wasn’t sure he was going to like what he was going to hear, “I’m going to name him Kaiba.”

Nope. He definitely didn't like it.

”No way in HELL!” he roared, seething and ultimately ready to throw the little fur ball out of the window. “I refuse to be the eponym of that lowly, good for nothing, ugly mutt!”

“Seto!” she gasped, covering her new pet’s ears. “Don’t talk to him like that!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a boding headache (they seamed to be a reoccurring ailment around her). “Dogs don’t understand human speech, Anzu. They’re incapable of doing so!”

She was turning her back on him; it was obvious his words of truth were falling on deaf ears.

”And that’s besides the point! You can NOT name him Kaiba! It’s disgraceful and preposterous and you—”

“And you,” she replied, speaking over him with a coy smile, “can do nothing to stop me.” With an extra flavorful wave of her hips, she disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, he could hear the opening and closing of several cabinets as she looked for something edible for the newly named puppy, “Kaiba”, to eat.

There were no words powerful enough to describe the level of Seto’s growing fury. He looked heatedly around for something to choke but there was nothing, save for an upturned chair and numerous scattered mugs.

I can never seem to get what I want.

Broodingly, he kicked the now empty box in a fit of vengeance and a postcard angelically flew out, landing right near his feet. There was a crudely drawn depiction of the Kaiba Corp building on one side and immediately he knew who it was from. Flipping it on the reverse side, it read:

Anzu,

Sorry you’re stuck with the asshole.

But, as you know, my grade depends on this.

Here’s a present to keep you company.

It doubles as a great body guard as well.

Gotta go now. Yami is trying to kill me.

He says, “Redemption is in the near future.”

Whatever the hell THAT means.

-Joey

P.S. – The dog does not like guys.

P.P.S – Mai trained it. Go figure.

He lifted his gaze to look at his namesake and saw it in a comfortable position between her breasts. And if Seto didn’t know better, he could have sworn that it was smirking at him, as if it knew it was in a position Seto could only dream about being in one day.

“Stupid (lucky) dog.” And he ripped the postcard in half.

A/n: Ta-daa! Now all that’s left to see is if I still have some readers lurking about (even thought I probably don’t deserve it). If I do, Seto vs. His Hormones will continue. If I don’t, I shall simply cease writing it.

Review to save the life of my baby!