AN: Let me just start by saying I've never shipped this. I don't know where the heck this came from. But I haven't been writing at all, and out of nowhere something sparked this today. I just had to get it on paper and out of my system. Hope you enjoy.
How did it start?
They'd been arguing. He'd clenched his fist, he'd taken a broad swing.
And then.
He wasn't interested in men, least of all his companion. He loved a girl with turquoise hair. A girl with red eyes.
Didn't he?
Maybe it was the eyes, so similar to those of the girl he maybe loved. The eyes he'd been avoiding for years. The eyes always fixed on him, the gaze inscrutable.
He'd taken a swing. His arm had been blocked. But there was no retaliation. They'd stared at each other, into each other's eyes.
And then.
How could this have happened? He didn't want this, not at all. But a different story was told by his heavy breath and flushed cheeks. His pounding heart. The heart he'd convinced himself was another's.
A girl with turquoise hair. A girl with icy skin and a warm smile. A girl searching for her brother. A girl with red-
-eyes that had been locked with his own, and then he couldn't resist, not anymore, and then his hands were grabbing, his arms lifting, and then he was crushing their lips together, and then he was ignoring the roar of surprise and disgust his actions had caused, and then he was feeling the swell of yes, yes when disgust shifted to desire, and then-
The truth. He had started this. He had moved first. How? Why? The signs had never been there. Unless he missed something. Unless that's why they constantly bickered.
They were on the ground, they were on each other, struggling for dominance like animals. But he was only human, and his strength was not enough.
He was thrown on his back, half bare against the frigid earth. His breath fogged above him. His skin tingled, but not from the cold. When did he lose his jacket, his shirt? Did it matter?
Hot breath on his neck. Warm fingers splayed across his ribs. A black cloak tossed aside. The sound of buckles undone. Trails of fire down his stomach.
This can't be happening. But it is. It's happening and he had started it and he can't stop, not now.
They'd been exhausted. They'd gotten lost in the woods. They'd traded insults. They'd argued. They'd struggled.
And then.
The girl he maybe loved was ice, cold like the ground, chilled like the air. But he was now hot, he was now on fire, seeing red. Red like glowing coal, red like her eyes, red like-
Pain. Pleasure. Sharp nails grazing his arms. Strong fists yanking his hair. Needle-like teeth nipping at his waist. Tight jeans restricting his erection.
Not an issue for long. Remaining barriers are stripped away in one fluid motion. His hips involuntarily bucking upward, his bare body straining toward contact. Mismatched palms against his thighs, one calloused, one bound in cloth. Moving, grasping, fueling his need.
Too fast. Not fast enough. He had started this, he had, but now it had taken a life of its own. His head spun. He couldn't keep pace, his brain overloaded with the sensations and sounds of male skin against skin. It was almost too much.
Not yet. Not yet. But he was barely hanging on.
His lips again engulfed in flames. He bent to their will, allowed them to take him over. His moans were the logs that stoked them.
Fire. Burning everywhere. Through his flesh. Behind his eyes. Filling his lungs. Boiling his blood.
And now.
The fire shows signs of pulling back. The motion has slowed. The heat has been tempered. Those eyes are on him again, so familiar and foreign, both asking his permission and daring him not to give it.
He shivers. Catches his breath. Faces the truth. He'd been lying to himself. He did want this, he always had. These eyes weren't a substitute for the girl's. Hers had always been a substitute for the ones fixated on him now, waiting for his answer. The ones he never thought would be looking at him this way.
"Hiei," he whimpers, "don't stop."
The expression he sees is somewhat indiscernible. Rage and relief and fear and longing. Most of all, lust. It seems like an internal struggle, for once not a fight aimed at him. Time stands still. Until-
-a knowing smirk. An exhale of breath. A single word, spoken smoothly in his mind, echoing in his bones: Kazuma.
He should have been prepared, but the demon is too fast. His knees are flung back against his chest. Sudden pressure in a place no one has ever touched. It's abrupt. It hurts. He has borne worse. But still, he yelps in shock and grunts in pain as he is filled to the brim and emptied and filled again and the movement continues and it isn't stopping and he doesn't want it to stop and finally pain fully gives way to pleasure. His breath hitches at the sensation. He moans, curls himself forward, strains his neck to capture another kiss.
The bandaged hand stroking the length of him, the hardness thrusting deep inside him, deeper than he thought possible, the teeth that leave his lower lip sporting pinpricks of blood. It's so intense he sees stars.
Kazuma.
It's more strained this time, a low urgent growl instead of a sultry whisper. Even so, the reverberation against his skull sends him over the edge. He falls back but is caught by a strong arm, held close despite the mess he'd made. A brief flash of shame. He hadn't lasted long.
But looking up, he sees that the noises he'd been making all along had quite an effect. The thrusting continues, desperately now, fluid dripping down his skin and he doesn't know if it's sweat or saliva or something else but he doesn't care, he just wants to be responsible for-
There. Release. The diminutive body shuddering against him, inside him, giving him everything, becoming vulnerable to him for the very first time.
They collapse together, physically disentangling from each other but breathing in unison, the sound of one human heart thrumming in two sets of ears.