Momentarything: Hello, the new chapter is up! I wanted to update once before the next two weeks get crazy. Next update will be within the next few weeks, so please check back!

I once again disclaim that I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh. I also want to thank the loyal readers, and the reviewers!! You are all great. You make this fic worth writing. I also happened to finish a one-shot during the gap between these updates, it's really M and its called Words, hope you get a chance to check it out if you are interested. I hope this chapter will be to your liking. There will some moments in this chapter that denote a shift, and by the next update, a real plot will get going pretty fast. Things will start to really happen. Maybe some new characters will enter the picture. Interesting, delightful things could even happen. But for now its gonna be a bit of a long, slow, sexy burnnnn.

CHAPTER 4: REPRESSIONS

Light danced off of the crystals of Anzu's t-strap heels. It was fluid like the motion that Seto Kaiba had used to lure her and to glide her onto the dance floor. To any of the hundreds of women eyeing him greedily, he exuded complete apathy as he twirled, flipped, and swung the limber girl with utter ease. He moved exceptionally, going through the motions without thought or inhibition. His face was as perfectly put on as he intended it to be, never faltering once or betraying just how much he was enjoying this little repartee. His body told a different story with its stark, sensual motions. And a slight smirk quivered consistently at the corner of his soft lips.

Seto took a short breath and steeled himself as he traced a finger gently down her bare arm. He could feel her momentarily shiver and he paused to laugh, but frowned instead. He had simply been toying with her earlier, questioning her about her life. However, he was slightly taken aback at the fact that he was the tiniest bit interested in her answers. Not that he had ever really listened to what anyone had said to him before. Maybe it was more the novelty of listening rather than the speaker herself.

Yet ever since the previous exchange had occurred, something had been slightly prodding at his cold, unfeeling, and bastardly composure. He couldn't put a finger on it, but it was making him act more…genial than usual. He sensed an interestingly bitter loneliness from her, perhaps even a fierce commitment to success. Almost intriguing, in the sense that none of the other blockheads she had grown up with had possessed any of these qualities. He realized sharply at that moment how much he had been thinking about a dialogue of under 2 minutes and immediately cut her out of his thoughts to spare just exactly who he was.

After all, had an immense amount of self-control and she certainly wasn't touching it. He smirked knowingly as his thoughts skittered to how far away she was from actually affecting him. Here he was, a man that could literally be unaffected by an enchanted siren. He was one of the greats in that sense. He would even like to think (thank you very much) had he been Odysseus, he wouldn't have been nearly as much of a senseless idiot. Being so powerfully in control of his own emotions that he could make his heart rate slow at will, he would have immediately cut Circe's ungrateful head off and had it delivered to her by the end of the business day. It wasn't that she was affecting him to the point where he was fazed in any way. No, but she was definitely in his arms, and she was irking him ever so slightly. It was like a gentle itch at the corner of his mind.

That damn gentle itch was starting to get in the way, as he was naturally growing bored of it. And that almost nonexistent interference was starting to grow and ever so slightly frustrate him.

If there was anything Seto Kaiba hated, it was a growing annoyance. He twirled her a little harder as he snapped out of his thoughts, and she came careening into him with a little more force than necessary. He held her there, studying the offending figure before him with his stormy blue eyes.

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Anzu was not holding up as well as her partner. Oh man, could the boy move. It angered her, as it meant that he was truly good at everything, even the art of dance that she had worked so diligently to master over the last 5 years. She had pirouetted and jeted with the best of them, and here he was, blowing her senses one by one by being the best of them all, and she was trying so hard to stop it. She managed to stay blasé as he nonchalantly held her, traced her body, and flipped her form into every achingly sensual position he could muster on the floor. She was really starting to wonder if she had been naïve enough to become one of his games for the night, a cat and mouse sort of fiasco that was bound to end poorly for her. Shaking the thought out of her head, she calmed her growing nerves. Why was she being such a stupid little girl? If she came undone any more than this, she would honestly think she was…..oh god, herself 5 years ago.

She was rudely lunged out of her reverie by an overly zealous tug by the man of the moment himself, and she went flying into his body once again.

She fairly gasped when she hit him and chided herself for doing so. As her eyes connected electrically with the storm in his ocean blues, the last coherent piece of advice she could give herself was get a grip, you silly fool.

Seto studied her as the music shifted into a light jazz. The movements became slow and casual and instead of staring at the sizzling twosome on the floor, several less-coordinated attendees made their way out onto the floor. To him she looked like a completely bored mute. But he had a feeling brunette cheerleader had learned a thing or two over the past few years. He was willing to bet she had mastered what he called "bastard-façade", the look of complete mundaneness coupled with an air of superiority and a dash of omniscience. A look that could fool the world but really now, she wasn't fooling him all that well.

To be fair, she had mastered a lot of things over that time gap. He paused to appraise her body, although it wasn't new to him, as a man like him could literally have looked (and more) at any woman in the world over the age of 18. Beautiful women didn't make him a fool like it made the average man, because women too were disposable to him.

He couldn't help but look though, because she was so conveniently placed in front of him, glittering with dancer's pride. She had truly become a sight for sore eyes, if he were to ever experience that sad state of affairs.

Long, lean, and slim with beautiful curves and tantalizing hips, she stood at a height of 5'9". Her silky brunette hair was twisted into soft, gentle curls that didn't beg for attention but flounced gently around her face and to her shoulders where they nested happily against her olive skin. He glanced at her neckline, and there was nothing to say. Muscles were gentle yet taut in her endless legs and graceful arms and he realized, as his eyes had travelled the length of her curvy yet slim body, that she was what they called the perfect 10. Her eyes smoldered against dark kohl makeup and the breathtaking blues pierced everything she glanced at.

He knew she could see his eyes flare up as he pretty openly appraised her. He wondered momentarily how that had felt for her. He would be oh so disappointed if she, like the thousands of drooling Stepford wives around him, were flattered by his attention. Wasn't it her fiery grit that interested him enough to socialize minimally with her in the first place? Perhaps deep down he had wanted to assault her with his eyes to fuel the kind of response he knew only she had the nerve to give. He had to admit, there hadn't been a last time he had paid attention to someone out of his own personal entertainment. Most socializing for him was to keep up appearances--a fake smile here, or a handshake there. There was the occasional patience with a competitor's wife who chatted idly with him as she mentally undressed him and did vile things to his being. But for the most part, he was one amazingly cold-ass piece of stone that played his part and came out on top. Yes, Mazaki was definitely something that he had approached for personal entertainment. He was determined, as his eyes narrowed dangerously, to find out just why that was.


He stopped moving with flawless grace and gently led a speechless Anzu off of the dance floor. Pausing to whisper something in fluent French to a server, he thrust his hands in his pockets fashionably and leaned on an elegant Greek column as he waited for something…she had no idea what. She couldn't help but watch him (out of the corner of her eye) frown almost childishly, check his wristwatch, and run a hand through his chestnut hair in a way that made her feel a pang of jealousy. Instantly, a tuxedo-clad and dignified man slipped to Kaiba's side and passed a bottle to him discretely. Puzzled, yet having too much pride to utter a word, Anzu pretended to look boredly at her cleanly trimmed fingernails. Her eyebrows were raised gently and the dangerous fire in her eyes grew as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. The hands in front of her parted quickly to reveal a hint of the very large bill Kaiba had cleanly slipped to the host's palm. Casually surveying the room, he turned to her, and she felt a harsh grip on her wrist as she was whisked away though a disguised corridor and into a deserted hall.