A/N: WARNING: watching too many amv's messes with your mind. Just don't do it. Because, whilst under the influence of the aforementioned thingy, you and your idiot friend come up with something like this. You see what happens? You get random cross-overs of wrongness! It's unhealthy, stupid, and the most fun an anime junkie can have while waiting for Fullmetal Alchemist to come on. You have been warned.

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"Get OUT!" screamed Miaka at the top of her lungs.

A door slammed, and Tamahome found himself outside in weather that felt like thirty below zero, although in reality it was more like two. And in his boxers, too. He really didn't know what her problem was tonight…maybe it was her cooking? No, that couldn't be it. She already knew about that.

Ah well. Time to wander around in the cold, dark night, and hope that there was no one like Nakago waiting in one of the dark alleys that, of course, Tamahome liked to travel down normally. So he went walking out, shivering, looking for the nearest dark crawlspace to inhabit. Since Tokyo is full of these, apparently, it wasn't that difficult.

What was her problem?

Okay, so they'd been nice and comfy in the double bed when all of a sudden she just started crying to him about some random thing, and before he really knew what was going on, Miaka was screaming at him to Get the Hell OUT! Capital letters and all. Tamahome walked down an alley that happened to have some sort of club in it for some reason. In the neon lights, dancing, he saw all those couples that were what he and Miaka would never be.

What was her problem? She was so…bipolar! Tamahome watched the dancers twirling around. He bet none of them were bipolar. He bet any one of them would take one look at him and do whatever he wanted, if he just struck the right pose. Damn, now he was getting mad. Miaka could have some other faithful slave. Tonight was his night.

A very happy smile broke on Tamahome's face as he walked toward the neon flashing, shivering uncontrollably. He had goose bumps on his arms, and the lights scalded his vision—wow, those were bright—well well well, where was a target? He chose a longhaired brunette dancing in a yellow miniskirt. Tamahome lifted one slightly-shaking hand and ran it through his dark hair, straightening up.

At that moment, two overly energetic dancers twirled past him, one woman's glittery high-heel catching his ankle. There was a sort of pain, and he ended up ass-first on the ground in this splash of deep red neon light. Then the world changed.

Falling, Tamahome screamed with pure exhilaration and landed on his feet this time, with that cat-like grace that only exists in the wonderful world of manga. It was even colder here, cold stones beneath his feet, walled in by stone. Tamahome looked up, wondering—had he somehow fallen through the club floor into some purposeless basement-like enclosure? Drug den? Huh, he thought. There was nothing above him but ceiling, unbroken stone. Huh.

He went off through the castle, as was apparent although he hadn't walked a foot, looking for a victim. It was cold here, but he was really, really hot. After a while of walking, mentally cussing out Miaka with each step, he came upon a screen opening onto a bamboo-floored room with doors leading off into several other directions. Silent and shaking, Tamahome peered in to behold inhabitants. Yummy.

There was a woman, dressed in a traditional garment with big, gaudy pink stripes and sandals. Her black hair was up in a bun, pinned impossibly with feathers and reminding him a little of the dopey hairstyles that Miaka was always bouncing around in. It didn't matter. The bun would no doubt come out if that bothered him. She had red eyes.

She was glaring at this little kid, a short misty-eyed girl with a fluff of pale white hair who was carrying a mirror. Maybe that expression on her face came from a birth defect, Tamahome thought. Maybe she was a drug baby.

"What!" hissed the red-eyed woman, and glared more menacingly, if possible, at the child. The girl raised her head with that inexplicable dramatic slow-motion opening of the eyes, and pointed a pudgy finger at Tamahome. Her kimono must've been really heavy, but somehow the woman managed to spin around and look at him intensely. She opened her lips to speak but was interrupted as someone else stepped through a side door, as people in stories have a habit of doing for no reason and with exceedingly bad timing.

"My, my, Kagura." The person, a slender person with a mass of tangling dark hair and narrow, narrow eyes, smiled a tiny smile. There was icy-blue makeup caked around those eyes, red with non-scientific white pupils. Tamahome didn't know whether it was a man or a woman, and, frankly, he didn't care. As soon as it entered the room, he knew…

"Naraku!" Cried the red-eyed woman, quite possibly the mentioned Kagura. Naraku took no notice of her and continued the long-winded, pompous speech which made Tamahome sure it was a villain of some kind. Even better. "Ah, I see we have a visitor. And it doesn't appear to be one of the usual ones, either. This may be amusing. What brings you here?"

It must've been addressing Tamahome, who said what he felt. "I'm pissed off," he said, quite levelly in his idea, "And I don't know where I am, but that really doesn't matter! I'm here to raise some hell!"

"So it would seem," said Naraku, looking Tamahome up and down. Tamahome watched its eyes. It was so skinny, and yet, it lacked the figure of a girl… But, he wasn't going to screw himself up by trying to figure out its gender. It wore makeup, after all, something Miaka did far too little. That was good enough.

"'It would seem so' isn't good enough," Tamahome said in his sexiest voice. "I intend to prove myself!" He didn't even know what he was saying.

Naraku looked at him a little weird, as though it didn't quite get the innuendo, which Tamahome was sure was BS. "How?" it inquired, a little too assuredly for Tamahome's taste. He felt his mouth break into a sadistic smile.

"Let me show you," Tamahome growled. Then he strode across the room, grabbed the creature with makeup around its waist, and kissed it. Hard. He was watching and he saw its red eyes widen in shock under those shimmering blue eyelids. Tamahome felt the heat touch his own face from the blood rushing across the person's cheeks. Its body had gone rigid.

Someone was screaming quite angrily in the background and Tamahome thought it was probably the red eyed woman. He drew back slightly and then continued kissing the creature called Naraku. If she thought he was that hot, she could be next. This was too gratifying.

Screw you, Miaka. Naraku twitched slightly—Tamahome felt a gathering of chi—the screaming stopped abruptly and there was a muffled thud. Whatever this meant, he didn't really care.

It was kissing him back.

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A/N: YOU WERE WARNED!

You see what happens when you watch too many mildly wrong amv's? You SEE? Sugar may have been involved, but, that is beside the point.

Let reader interpret last sentence, in all its nuances, on their own.

If you think you have a good sequel or anything equally wrong, email it to us (using author's email address). We really wanna know what those of you who aren't going to scream at us think. So, if you're not an obsessive Tamahome and/or Naraku fan, write up something and send it to us. Who knows? We might start a cult.

--Night Genie and Aran'sApprentice-Meahow