Chapter Text
The bass rattled through the floor, heavy and relentless, the kind of beat that swallowed thought. Strobe lights fractured the dark, washing the crowd in flashes of neon and shadow. The air reeked of sweat, perfume, alcohol — bodies pressed close, losing themselves in the music.
Seto Kaiba was among them.
Mask tight across his face, a dark wig brushing his shoulders, leather and silk clinging to his frame in the unmistakable style of Cyber Blader, he was unrecognizable. Not CEO. Not KaibaCorp. Not the name whispered with awe and envy. Just another body moving to the rhythm.
He had been coming here for months. No expectations, no entanglements. Just the release of motion, heat, anonymity. Here, no one cared about Duel Monsters or quarterly reports. No one knew his name. And that was the point.
He rolled his hips with the beat, let his arms rise, let his movements sharpen into something deliberately provocative. The attention came, as it always did — eyes sliding toward him, strangers pressing close, drawn to the confidence and edge in his movements. But he didn’t care. This wasn’t about anyone else. It was about not thinking, not calculating. About shutting out the endless spreadsheets and strategies that consumed him everywhere else.
Tonight, like every night, he was simply here.
Until his gaze caught on someone new across the floor.
Kaiba’s smile curved beneath the mask when his eyes locked on the man across the floor — broad shoulders, well-toned arms, dressed in a sharp, stylized take on the trap card Joker’s Wild. Kaiba’s attention snagged on the man’s biceps, flexing with every shift of motion.
It had become part of his routine, these fleeting encounters. A glance across the crowd, a spark of recognition, a silent agreement to meet again.
Kaiba’s steps carried him toward the bar, body moving in time with the music until he was close enough to feel the heat radiating from the man beside him. No words. Joker slid a shot glass across the counter. Kaiba downed it in one smooth motion, the burn searing down his throat.
Moments later they were back on the floor, pressed close, moving together. The beat threaded through them both, a pulse they matched instinctively — grinding, swaying, bodies locked in rhythm. Kaiba let his head tip back, surrendering to the anonymity, to the heat and weight of the man’s presence.
It wasn’t the first time their mouths had found each other on the dance floor. The press of lips, the slide of tongue, the rush of bodies moving in sync — it was a rhythm Kaiba had come to expect when their paths crossed here.
Heat curled low in his stomach as Joker’s mouth claimed his, hard and insistent, the thrum of the music echoing in every kiss. When they pulled apart, Kaiba licked his lips, catching the faint smear of color left behind. His lipstick had smudged again. Irritating. He’d have to find a better brand.
Still, his focus snapped back to the man in the mask — the strength of his grip, the sharp gleam of his grin.Kaiba felt bold tonight. Reckless. The music throbbed through his veins, and he wanted more — more of this stranger, more of the heat that had become addictive.
He pressed his body closer, hips rolling against the man’s in a deliberate challenge. Then, with a slow turn, he put his back to him, grinding to the rhythm, letting his ass push firmly against the stranger’s hips.
Joker’s Wild answered without hesitation. Strong hands gripped Kaiba’s waist, fingers pressing into the slick fabric of the costume, guiding his movements. Thighs braced against his own, holding him close, locking them into the beat as if the rest of the club had dissolved away.
Kaiba leaned his head back, lips finding Joker’s Wild in a heated kiss. The man tasted of alcohol and smoke, the kind of sharp edge that made Kaiba crave more.
Their bodies moved in unison, hips grinding and rolling together, every motion dragging a low spark of heat through Kaiba’s core. The press of the man’s hands on his hips tightened, guiding him, urging him into a rhythm that felt less like dancing and more like possession. Kaiba didn’t resist. He let the music take him, let the stranger’s touch anchor him, their mouths colliding again as the crowd blurred into nothing.
Kaiba could feel Joker’s Wild’s grip tighten, one hand firm on his hip, the other sliding across his chest as though claiming him outright.
The pressure against his ass was impossible to ignore — the hard line of cock pressed into him, proof of just how much their rhythm had gotten under the other man’s skin.
Kaiba’s breath hitched, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he pressed back harder, every grind of his hips a deliberate answer, a silent dare.
Kaiba leaned his head back, giving in to the weight of the man behind him, his mask brushing against Joker’s Wild’s shoulder. Heat seared along his throat as the stranger’s mouth found his skin — biting, kissing, leaving marks Kaiba would notice later in the mirror.
It wasn’t enough. Not tonight.
For weeks, they had circled each other here, dancing until their lips were raw, losing themselves in the anonymity of the floor. But Kaiba’s patience had burned out. The music throbbed through him, louder than reason, louder than restraint.
He pulled away abruptly, fingers catching Joker’s Wild by the wrist. Without a word, he dragged him through the crowd, straight into the single-stall bathroom at the back of the club. The bass still pounded through the walls, rattling in their bones, but Kaiba barely heard it anymore.
The door clicked shut. And then Kaiba was on him again — mouth crushing against Joker’s, desperate and demanding, all sharp edges and heat.
The music bled through the thin walls, a relentless beat that seemed to sync with Kaiba’s pulse. The stall was too small, too hot, every breath laced with sweat and adrenaline.
Kaiba kissed him hard, pushing him back against the door, the impact making the metal shudder. Joker’s Wild responded instantly, his mouth open and eager, his hands everywhere at once. One arm wrapped strong around Kaiba’s waist, pulling him close, while the other slid up his chest, pressing against the tight fabric of the costume until his fingers grazed a nipple.
Kaiba jolted, a hiss escaping into the kiss. The faint pressure sent sparks darting through him, sharper for how unexpected it was. Joker’s thumb toyed there, slow and deliberate, while his other hand clamped harder onto Kaiba’s ass, holding him.
Kaiba leaned back just enough to look — and his gaze caught on those arms. Joker’s biceps, bare and glistening under the club’s dim light, flexed with every movement, holding him firm. The sight made Kaiba’s stomach twist with want. His usual control frayed, and he let his body answer instead.
He rolled his hips forward, then back, grinding against him, the rhythm shameless. The hard line pressed against him told him everything he needed to know: the man wanted this just as badly. Kaiba turned, putting his back to Joker, and moved deliberately — ass rolling against him, slow at first, then sharper, making his intent clear.
Joker groaned low, grip tightening, his hands sliding down to grasp Kaiba’s hips, guiding his movements with rough precision. His fingers dug into the thin fabric, controlling and urging Kaiba into a rhythm that matched the beat outside. Each grind drew them closer, the pressure almost unbearable, Kaiba’s body alive with heat.
A mouth found his neck, biting and sucking at the exposed skin, sending another shiver coursing through him. Kaiba tipped his head back, lips parted, letting the man mark him in ways no one else ever dared.
His own hands braced against the stall door, steadying himself as his body worked — hips rolling, ass grinding, pressing back harder with each motion, showing exactly what he wanted without words.
Kaiba had had enough. Weeks of teasing, weeks of stolen kisses and grinding on the dance floor — it wasn’t enough anymore. His patience shattered like glass.
Kaiba’s hands slid down. His fingers found the edge of the man’s waistband and tugged, unfastening his pants in one swift, decisive motion.
He wanted more. He wanted to feel.
Joker’s breath caught, a sharp inhale that turned into a low groan as Kaiba’s hand slipped lower. His head tipped back against the metal wall with a dull thud, arms flexing as he grabbed Kaiba’s shoulders to steady himself.
Kaiba’s eyes flicked down — to the exposed cock, the sheen of sweat, the way those biceps tensed beneath his skin as if barely holding back. Desire flared hot in Kaiba’s gut. He pushed closer, their bodies locked, the hard press of heat between them undeniable now.
Joker’s hands found him again, gripping his hips, sliding up his sides, thumbs brushing over Kaiba’s nipples through the thin costume fabric. The touch made Kaiba jolt, his breath hitching, but he didn’t stop.
And then, with the same precision he brought into everything else in his life, Kaiba slipped a hand into the pocket of his costume. When it reemerged, the foil glinted in the dim light — a condom and lube.
Of course he had come prepared. He always did.
Joker’s Wild let out a ragged laugh, half disbelief, half arousal, before Kaiba crushed it with another kiss, biting hard at his lip. This wasn’t a negotiation. This wasn’t tenderness. This was Kaiba’s decision — and tonight, he wasn’t waiting anymore.
Kaiba broke the kiss abruptly, chest heaving, mask still in place. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he turned sharply, hands going to his waistband.
The sound of fabric sliding down was swallowed by the pounding bass outside, but Joker’s Wild heard enough. Kaiba lowered his pants, the curve of his ass bared beneath the dim light.
He pressed his palms flat against the wall of the bathroom, bracing himself in front of the mirror, and rolled his hips back in a slow, deliberate motion — a wordless command, a dare.
Behind him, Joker’s breath stuttered, followed by the sharp rustle of foil tearing. Hands gripped his hips again, strong and certain, holding him in place. Kaiba felt the heat of the man’s body crowding close, the anticipation electric.
Kaiba gasped as the latex-covered tip nudged against him, pressing insistently until it breached the tight ring of muscle. He moaned softly, pushing back against the intrusion, wanting more even as his body protested the sudden stretch. Joker's Wild moaned behind him, a low growl of satisfaction that rumbled through both of them as he sank deeper. One hand gripped Kaiba's hip tightly, while the other held onto his shoulder, using it as leverage to pull Kaiba back onto him harder.
Kaiba gasped as the intruder filled him completely, the sensation overwhelming. He arched his back slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he adjusted to the size of the man behind him. Despite the initial discomfort, he couldn't help but feel a surge of pleasure as the stranger began to move within him, slowly at first, but gradually gaining momentum. Kaiba bit his lip, trying to suppress a moan of pleasure as the man's thrusts became faster and more intense, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through his body.
Kaiba could feel the man's breath on the back of his neck, warm and steady despite the exertion. He closed his eyes, leaning forward slightly to give the stranger better access, giving into the moment. A soft gasp escaped Kaiba's lips as the man hit a particularly sensitive spot, causing Kaiba to grip the edge of the sink tightly.
His breath came in short gasps, mingling with the harsh rhythm of their movements and the distant thump of music outside. He felt consumed by sensation-the hardness filling him, stretching him wide; the firm grip on his hip, guiding him back onto it; the warmth of Joker's body, radiating heat against his own. But when Joker's other hand wrapped around his cock, Kaiba shuddered, a shocked moan tearing from his lips.
Kaiba's heart pounded wildly in his chest, the unexpected contact sending a shockwave through him. He hadn't expected this turn of events, not in his wildest dreams. As Joker's hand expertly stroked him, matching the rhythm of their bodies moving together, Kaiba struggled to find his voice. He felt the Joker's warm breath on his neck, the steady rhythm of his strokes, and the firm grip on his hip. It was all too much, yet not enough.
Kaiba's breath became quicker as his orgasm crashed over him, leaving him gasping and shivering. He felt the joker behind him tense, the pace quickened until finally he groaned, his grip tightening briefly before releasing. The aftershocks were making Kaiba weak at the knees. Both men remained panting in silence for several moments, allowing the world to come back into focus. As reality set in, the weight of what had just happened settled upon Kaiba, the shame creeping up his cheeks.
Kaiba leaned over the cracked sink, palms braced on the porcelain as he caught his reflection in the spotted mirror. His chest still rose and fell with uneven breaths, the club’s bass rattling faintly through the walls. His wig had shifted, his makeup smeared, his lips raw from kissing.
But the mask was still in place.
That was what mattered.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out the slim tube of lipstick. The familiar weight steadied him — a small ritual, the armor he needed before stepping back into the crowd. He uncapped it with a practiced flick, ready to redraw the sharp line of color across his mouth.
Before he could, a hand slipped in front of him. Joker’s Wild plucked the tube from his grasp, their fingers brushing briefly. Kaiba straightened, startled, but didn’t stop him.
The man smirked through his own mask and, with deliberate care, dragged the lipstick across the mirror. Numbers bloomed in bold red strokes, messy but unmistakable. A phone number.
Kaiba’s eyes narrowed. His first instinct was to scoff — how reckless, how presumptuous. And yet… he didn’t move to wipe it away. His gaze lingered on the digits, the crimson mark stark against the dirty glass.
Joker set the lipstick back on the sink between them. Then, without a word, he slipped past Kaiba, unhurried, and disappeared into the pulse of the club.
Kaiba stared at the number until the music swallowed the silence again.
——
It was Monday morning when Kaiba found himself staring at his phone, thumb hovering above the blank message window.
He should have deleted that number the moment it appeared in red on the bathroom mirror. That would have been the logical choice — clean, efficient, a problem erased before it could take root. But instead, he’d copied it down. Worse, he’d thought about it.
All through Sunday, in the spaces between meetings and reports, it had lingered. The thought of a stranger’s hand on his hip, of the taste of sweat and vodka on his lips, of how easy it had been to lose himself in a body that didn’t care about KaibaCorp or Duel Monsters or the name Seto Kaiba.
It had been supposed to stay simple. A release. An escape.
But Saturday night… he’d gone too far. Kaiba shouldn’t have brought lube. He shouldn’t have brought a condom. He shouldn’t have prepared his own for something he had sworn to himself he’d never let happen — certainly not with someone faceless and nameless behind a mask in a bathroom.
His jaw tightened as he sank back in his office chair, the morning light spilling cold across the glass desk. He hated the way his body still remembered the weight of that man’s hands. He hated that a part of him wanted more.
Kaiba locked the phone screen, set it down, and folded his hands neatly in front of him. The workday was beginning; he had no time for foolish distractions.
And yet, as his eyes slid back toward the phone, he realized distraction was exactly what he craved.
Godfuckingdamn.
The app masked his real number, spitting out a randomized burner line. Untraceable. Anonymous. Just as it should be.
Kaiba’s message blinked on the screen:
Kaiba: What made you choose the Joker’s Wild?
For two long minutes, nothing. He told himself he didn’t care. He opened an email, half-read a paragraph, and then—
Joker: Why not? A wild card keeps things interesting.
Kaiba’s mouth twitched. He didn’t reply right away. Let him wait. Still, his fingers hovered.
Kaiba: A reckless choice. Traps are easy to play into.
The dots appeared. Paused. Reappeared.
Joker: Reckless makes it fun. Didn’t hear you complaining on Saturday.
Heat stirred low in Kaiba’s chest. He scowled at the phone, as if that could cool it down.
Kaiba set the phone down, forcing himself to look away. He had work to do. Deadlines. Stockholders. His world didn’t allow for distractions like this.
But when the screen lit up again, he didn’t stop himself from reading.
Joker: So when am I seeing you again Cyber Blader?