Kaibas snarking on a cold day. Weather as plot device and metaphor, and Mokuba as sentimental lit-geek and brazen flirt.
Seto, who shows no sign of chill in his black pea coat (/a nice change/, Mokuba thinks), coolly lifts an eyebrow. "Your fault for forgetting your scarf and gloves in the hotel room."
Mokuba frowns, sidestepping a puddle. "Was too excited to ride the carousel," he says, staring enviously at the well-swaddled cluster of giggling children across the street.
"For your glorified book report. And you were upset there was no brass ring."
"It's method writing," Mokuba insists. "Anyways, you don't have your scarf and gloves either, and you seem to be fine."
"Icy disposition," Seto smirks.
Inspiration strikes within a half-step, and Mokuba stop-turns, double-hand grabs Seto by the coat lapels, and (praise be growth spurts) crushes his mouth against his brother's, running his tongue along Seto's bottom lip in a long, leisurely swipe.
Seto shoves Mokuba hard with one hand, wipes his mouth with the other. "What the fuck was that?" he hisses, but he's already off-kilter.
Mokuba's gaze is dreamy and unperturbed. "Just checking to see if my tongue would stick," the teenager smiles, noting that Seto's eyes scream murder, but his flushed cheeks scream shame.
/No/, Mokuba thinks smugly, /not icy at all/.