Perfect Imperfections

If I have to tell you I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho, you might want to start talking to someone. Also criticism is accepted and even appreciated as long as it's constructive.

Well, to be perfectly honest this came from English. We read The Passionate Shepard to His Love and my teacher went off about ideal scenes and the perfect romantic setting. Since perfection can not truly be found, it is in the eyes of the beholder, so it really bugged me when she talked about how women love romantic promises of perfection even if they have to be broken. So I wrote a perfect moment under imperfect conditions. This couple seemed to fit the part.

The air was heavy with the salty sour scent of blood. The ground beneath her feet was warm and red, and was certain it would be forever stained that way. Distantly, she wondered if her own limbs could ever be washed clean. But that was a concern for another time; the matter at hand had yet to be resolved.

Her large pink eyes scanned the valley and the sight caused her to shiver. All around her were mementos of those that had been slain. Very few, however, were missing so much as a single limb; almost all had fallen to a single slash and all the cuts were clean. The corpses of a thousand demons littered the ground; all so that she and a few precious others could be safe. The rest of the world was just a bonus.

A soft breeze played with her sky blue strands still held securely in a high ponytail. Such softness seemed so out of place in the valley tainted with so much blood. Twisting the sleeves of her pink kimono, she considered summoning her oar to get a better look from above. Bu a shadow fell into her line of vision, and she knew it wasn't necessary.

Looking up from the blood beneath her feet, she saw him halt to look at her, the setting sun to his back as sky changed to match the ground. The fading light cast shadows all around him while giving the fire apparition himself and almost other worldly glow.

His spiky dark black hair was unusually dull and tinted red. The white head band that usually covered his forehead was gone, revealing his Jagan eye for all the world to see. His long black cloak was torn in several places and the left arm had been torn completely off. Blood smeared his face and arm and stained what was left of his cloak.

He'd never looked more wonderful.

All thoughts fled her mind as she quickly closed the space between them, save mild surprise when he opened his arms to catcher her and greater surprise when he lost his balance for the first time in his life as she tackled his to the ground. Though he was about a foot shorter than she, he managed to clutch her to his chest; another unusual display of affection for him.

Absently she felt tears leaking down her face as she stared into his beautiful ruby eyes that so closely resembled the blood surrounding them. Slowly he untangled the hand that had been tangled in her lovely blue hair and gently brushed her tears away, accidentally smearing her cheek with the blood that was on his hands.

Her smile would have lit up the deepest cave.

Quickly, without giving himself time to think, he closed the remaining distance between them by capturing her lips with his own. His hands moved to her hair, streaking the sticky red substance through her waterfall of blue, and she found herself gently stroking his oddly spiked hair in return.

He smelled of death and blood and dirt, and tasted like sweat and blood. A sharp spike of pain told her he'd nicked her lip with his fangs. Her suspicion was confirmed when she felt the warm liquid painting her lips. She shivered for a new reason when he licked it away.

In all the fantasies she'd ever had, this was not at all how she'd pictured her first kiss. There was no music, no stars, no rainbows, no fancy clothes, or pretty things. She was not princess and he certainly not a knight or prince. It was nothing like the fairytales.

And it could not have been more perfect.