The cat yawned, stretched out long and laid down beside Kyo's head. Paws reached out and moved his hair, mangled orange fur sticking to the pads of the cat's hands, brushing the smooth skin at the back of Kyo's neck. Kyo shuddered against the touch, his eyes squeezed shut and opened, slightly, hazy, confusion set in. He sat up, incurring an irritated swat from the cat, who had lost his kneading post at the back of Kyo's neck.

"Good evening, Kyo."

"S'Fuck?"

"Yes, Kyo, we fucked. What about it?"

"Why?"

"You wanted it, didn't you?"

"I have a girlfriend."

"You said that. Somewhere in between 'please' and 'oh yes, take me, take me.'"

"The fuck is your problem?" Kyo's eyes narrowed, he leaned over the side of the bed, sheet up around his waist, searching for his clothing.

"I could ask the same of you. You wanted this."

"You didn't think I'd get mad about it?"

"I kind of thought you'd remember you wanted it."

"You took advantage of me."

"Or you me."

"How did I manage that?" Kyo was defensive.

"You pushed me for this. I told you we could stop, we didn't have to go this far-"

"You wanted-"

"Yes, yes I wanted it. I've wanted it for years and years, it's the only reason I ever went to the tournaments, went after you so hard, but it didn't have to come this far, Kyo. You had every chance to stop. You didn't."

"You went to the tournaments to fucking kill people, Yagami."

"You really think that was me?"

"I watched you."

"That was the demon, Kyo, that, I never wanted that."

"Bullshit. And why do you insist on Kyo? You've got no right to call me that."

"We had sex, I can call you whatever I want."

"Don't do it."

"I'm going to."

Kyo sighed, shook his head. He pulled his clothes back on, shameless in letting Iori watch the trained, toned fighter's physique, muscles playing out over tanned skin, framing his body to the ideal of human perfection. His eyes fluttered shut, remembered vividly the way every muscle clenched, the way he shook when he became close, how Iori could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He was vaguely unaware that he was crushing the empty beer can in his hand, the cold metal of it tearing and biting into his hand. He didn't know if he was bleeding, and he didn't care.

Kyo couldn't look at him. Yes, he had led him on, betrayed him, tempted him and teased him with the one thing he knew Yagami wanted. Because he was a selfish bastard. He wanted him, without any strings attached, just to fuck him and take the kindness and the affection and offer him none of that in return. But wasn't he doing him a favor, offering him what he wanted, if only for a short while? No, he was doing it for himself entirely, tempting him with the one thing he wanted, just for those few moments, the only ones he ever had, of being truly loved. But he could never love Yagami in return, he knew this, but he wasn't sure he believed it. He couldn't love Yagami, for all the right reasons, an enemy, a demon, a murderer, another man, nothing socially acceptable whatsoever about the beautiful man. He could never bring him out, he could never meet the family, they would be stared at, talked about, harassed if they tried to do something so simple as go out for coffee. And the demon, the demon, that thing in Yagami that made him kill, that gave him the blue tint in their shared flame, it took his life just to keep it in this world, shortened it, he didn't have ten years left. Kyo wondered if he knew. He didn't live like he knew. His own father had likely died before he could tell him about the realities of the curse, too busy filling him with the rage and hatred he needed to single-mindedly pursue Kyo as he had done.

And then stopped.

So abruptly, he had stopped his attempts at killing him. He had still hunted him down, of course, of course, but there was no murderous intent. He did his duties at the tournament, but the violence was replaced by a too calm sarcasm, a sense of being finished with all of this, cold cruelty to everyone besides. A few years ago, Kyo realized, killing him had ceased to matter to Yagami at all. Kyo still wanted it, of course he still wanted it, it was his life's purpose to take this man out of the world, to kill that demon his family had done the deal with so long ago none of the survivors remembered why. And to get rid of this, Yagami had to die. Sick, strange thing was, Kyo realized, he could do it right then. He could have his hands around Yagami's throat, he could rip the last life from his body at that moment, and there would be no one to see, no one to care that he was dead. He could do home and be the hero, his father would be proud of him, finally, and that demon would be gone.

Yagami would be gone.

Kyo wasn't sure he could live with that.

Kyo laid back on the bed. It was almost certainly old, the way the springs protested to all weight, dipped in the same position as Yagami slept. The sheets were clean, but a mottled yellow that would never come out, once white, a few blankets, mismatched flea market finds, piled on the floor, covered in orange cat hair, the animal in question slept in their center. They had forgotten the blankets, like that morning's rain. He felt the bed dip, the springs squeaked, Yagami had sat down near him. A strong hand brushed away his hair, ran his fingers down his face. Kyo arched against the touch, compulsively. Yagami kissed him, gently, a touch of lip to lip, Yagami leaning down over his body, so Kyo can feel the heat radiating off of him. Kyo wanted to push him away, he wanted to shove Yagami into the opposite wall and throw so much fire there was nothing of Yagami left to bring to the Kusanagi clan, to prove his victory.

But he couldn't move.

He let Yagami kiss him, brush his lips over Kyo's face, his earlobe, down his throat. His hand brushed down Kyo's arm, traces his fingers, cupped his hip. There was no sexuality to his touches, no further desire, just to touch Kyo. Just to worship this body. He lifted Kyo into his arms, nuzzle against the side of his neck, his shoulder. He held Kyo close, the warmth of his body, Kyo could almost feel the affection, the obsession with Kyo that Yagami held so dear. Kyo let him. Yagami pulled Kyo against him, and he fell naturally into his lap, his hands on Yagami's strong arm, draped over him. The position was a real to them as breathing, as comfortable as anything else. It felt right. Kyo had never felt so natural in someone's arms as this. She was not as soft, as warm and welcoming. When he held her, she squirmed back against him, wouldn't let him. Yagami, Iori, he wrapped one arm around him and held on like he was made to.