Lazer Tag

Negotiation, he thought fiercely, compromise not dominance.


The smoke swirled in thick eddies between Seto and his target. He took careful aim, letting the moment stretch, waiting in zen patience for the right time. The gun was heavy in his hand when it finally came, the perfect shot, the golden opportunity, his finger squeezed down....

A blur of movement and the flash/buzz of his partner taking a hit startled him for the critical second his prey needed to escape. "Goddamn it Tristan," Seto yelled, whirling on his hapless comrade. "Stop doing that!"

A fierce glare met him as Tristan's suit began the 10 second countdown holding him immobile. "Sniper on the third floor woulda had you if I hadn't saved your ass," he answered heatedly.

Lazer Tag had sounded like a good idea. KaibaCorp was releasing a new version of the traditional armor and weaponry for marketing to the various arenas throughout the states. The industry was in a slump, but marketing had seen the popularity of midnight bowling, with it's flashy blacklights and heavy bass music appealing to the younger market, and Lazer Tag was the logical next step. When Kaiba had mentioned they were looking for two-man team volunteers for the final testing, Tristan had thought it would be fun.

So far, all it was turning out to be was an exercise in futility for both of them.

Before the last beep of the 10 count could finish sounding, Seto had pulled Tristan into one of the many dead end blinds in the twisty maze of the arena. Under the low lighting and with the fog rolling thick against the back wall, they were probably safe enough for the moment.

"Tristan, look at me," Seto ordered, keeping his voice low. Wary hazel eyes met his, irritation still clear in their depth. "No," Seto growled in exasperation, "look at me." Tristan's eyes flicked down his body once, then back up in a gesture of angry contempt. Seto exploded. "Do I look helpless to you?"

"You didn't even know that guy was there," Tristan insisted stubbornly. "You get too focused. You'd be dead ten times over without me to watch your ass." What at any other time would have been an innuendo went by without notice as the two men stood glaring at each other in the dark smoke.

Seto closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Heavy dance music swirled around him like the fog and color on the other side of his eyelids. Negotiation, he thought fiercely, compromise not dominance. Exhaling he opened his eyes and tried again

"Tristan," Seto said, low and even, changing tactics. "I know where you are, always. You can feel me too, can't you?" He moved closer to Tristan then, well into his partner's personal space but not touching. The wariness in Tristan's eyes was melting into something else, something warmer and more personal. "Trust me," Seto continued a smooth whisper. "Take point, and trust me to watch your back." Now he did reach out a hand to lay it on Tristan's forearm. Even through the gloves and the suit Seto felt the heat of his skin. "Together we make an unbeatable team. No one can stand against us, Tristan. No one."

By nature Seto would rather lead, but Tristan was teaching him, however obliquely, that sometimes submitting his own will was more satisfying in the long run than insisting on his own way. And truthfully, Tristan was equally as capable, if not more so, to call the shots here. So Seto would let him walk point, he'd cover the rear and hopefully they'd end up working together instead of playing this frustrating dominance game.

With that settled, they ghosted off into the fog, a silent counterpoint to the hypnotic rhythm thudding around them. Together, the two of them sliced through the opposition like the force of nature they were always meant to be.
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