Synchronize

September 15th, 2012 10:19 pm

Crystal eyes reflected a kaleidoscope of colour in the strobes of the hazy club. Saburōta could see that even with his heavy-lidded ebony stare concealed behind large, dark sunglasses. It probably wasn't necessary for him to be wearing them indoors, even with the bright display pulsing to the sound of music that was way too loud. After all, that's why he was there; to abuse his senses until all he could recognize was the nightlife celebrating around him. The last person he expected to be joining him was HOMRA's hunter.

Her dark, auburn hair was spilling over her shoulders and unexpectedly wavy at her back. A few styled ringlets were even pinned neatly by a jewelled clasp at the base of her crown. Saburōta hadn't recalled having ever seen her style her hair, and instead of her savage denim-and-leather guise, a sleek black gown painted her bronzed skin. Dusky, thigh-high boots met the slit that went all the way up one leg, and the low-hanging backline flashed toned muscle with every motion as subtle as raising her drink to her painted lips. Announced by the dominant play of taut muscle, the glass she returned to the bar carried marks of her perfectly curved pout in recognizable rosewood shades. Like the predator she was, her smoky eyes scoured the club like she was looking for a white collar to stain.

He had a white collar.

He must have looked ridiculous, standing there in the middle of the floor halfway between the bar and the front door with his jaw gaping, body locked in a position contemplating retreat. Whereas he had just turned twenty, getting his feet wet in the mature world of indulgence, she was six months into the experience. Not that their calendar ages would have mattered. No matter the legitimate difference, she had been one of the most mature women he'd ever met, and it showed.

A part of that had frustrated him, turning his expression sour. Baby, that was what she called him. But it wasn't a sweet-talking pet name. It was cute, unserious, and she said it in a tone that she might use if she was speaking to a child. He never heard her call to him in that sultry, seductive tone she used on Yō or Saruhiko. Sadly, he had listened to her drone flirtatiously with enemies more than she ever had with him. She'd never used it in his address. He was her pet, for all intents and purposes, since the day she found him in the boatyard and took him home like a stray.

He relaxed, moderately, picking up his jaw as he shuffled out of traffic. Somewhere between then and now, the endearment behind Neirah's sing-song voice stopped being enough, and how could it be, with her sitting at the bar looking like that? His throat dryly worked as he watched her switch the leg she had folded, her skin shimmering in the interchanging aurora. At best, it was an invitation; if not, a trap. There was no other explanation for the way she sat so poised on the leather stool of an unfamiliar bar.

She was beautiful from the start and far too deadly to be looking as vulnerable as she did that night. But as he watched her sharp expression observe the swish of melting ice in her stumpy glassware, he could have sworn there was colour in her cheeks. It might have been painted there because he had honestly never seen her with so much makeup on before, but there was also a chance that she was looking for company.

The thought struck his intoxicated mind with mixed feelings. The defensive instinct that had been predominant within him since the day he had met her made his fists tighten at his side, and his disapproving gaze had begun to comb the club. If there were a chance that she was there with someone outside of HOMRA's knowledge, there would be hell to pay; and his wrath would look mild against Izumo's. She was theirs, their hunter, their queen. Her heart belonged to them. She'd said it herself.

Then, there was something else. It was the feeling that had begun to make Saburōta's wrenching fist shake. There was a chance that their mighty lioness, despite all their fond memories, was feeling lonely. There was a chance that the heart of the woman still trying desperately to beat beneath the breast of a warrior had been yearning for tenderness.

Sometimes, he worried that he was the only one who could see it behind her eyes. Deeper than the ocean of blue that raged like a tsunami, fiercer than the fire that battled the waves for a place in her lethal stare, there was something else. There was a tender creature too cautious to love anything too deeply in fear that they would slip out of her hands forever. Sometimes he even wondered if it was only there when she wanted it to be.

It may have been because he was holding the air in his lungs without realizing it, but the heavy exhale that had escaped him startled him back to his senses and forced him to catch his breath. His gaze dropped to the floor by his feet, and he focused on the hazy grain of smoke clouds dusting the dark nightclub with mesmeric bursts of colour. The place was full of it, life and light, and so many colours. But when he raised his passing observation and watched a man, nearly too drunk to stand, lay his palm on the base of Neirah's bare spine, all he could see was red.

Neirah's gaze fluttered but didn't shift when she felt bold lips press to her ear. The club was so loud that she still couldn't quite hear his words even as he spoke them in a mild shout. Then again, that might have been because she didn't care. His hand was cold as it laid against her spine that the low cut of her dress revealed, and something about that twisted her face up in disgust — Cold, like the world. The hands to hold her were usually so warm that they'd seared marks into her heart. Anything less wasn't worthy of her attention.

Lean fingers raised to her throat to lay one long crimson fingernail on the glass bead swaying with the turn of her head. He wasn't the one, and maybe if she ignored him, he would go away. Her impatience began to increase when she felt the pressure curl around her hip like it was welcome, and she was dismayed to consider that her avoidance hadn't gotten her point across. But laying the man out on his back and choking him with the spike heel of her boot didn't seem appropriate either. Besides, some men were into that sort of thing.

With an impatient huff, her heavy cup clattered against the bar hard enough that if Izumo had been on the other side, he would have lectured her for sure. But he wasn't. She was alone and not in the mood to start a war in her current inebriated state. She could hear the man's dismay as she climbed to her feet, spinning to hasten her leave. But upon her exit, she powered straight into a familiar face instead.

It was hard to tell which one of them was more surprised by the contact, neither of them sober enough to be bumping into anything much less each other because the looks that connected warned that the two of them had a lot of explaining to do. Neirah was the first to attempt an excuse when she watched Saburōta's head rise, and she was startled into silence when she felt his arm creep around her shoulder. It didn't take her long to understand why he had done so. She tilted her alert scowl over her shoulder to the look of defeat overcoming the face of her company, and she felt a heaving sigh escape her like steam from an exhaust port.

Neirah's expression softened when Saburōta quickly retracted his arm in apology, his appearance suddenly timid with apprehension. He always acted tougher when someone was watching. She hadn't been the least bit disapproving of his efforts, though. Truthfully, she couldn't be more relieved, but it was almost too precious to watch him try to justify his intrusion, part angry, all adorable. She grinned gratefully to set him at ease. "Bandō, baby, am I glad to see you."

There it was again. Baby. The awe, look how cute you are trying to act tough tone. It grated. Usually, Saburōta might not have been so edgy because he knew she meant well, but the alcohol that he consumed working up the nerve to be where he stood wasn't helping. He knew she didn't need his help, so why did he bother? Given their history, every time he tried to support her, he always seemed to make things worse. With a hearty sigh, he surrendered the need to battle for his pride and climbed into a free seat before slumping over the ebony bar. "You're lucky it was me," he grumbled evenly. "If it had'a been any of the others, this place would be in flames right now."

"You're right. Yō probably would have killed the poor guy." Neirah's expression twisted up into a soft, amused pout, but the familiarity comforted her. "I get the feeling that was probably your intention all along." Her smile broadened as he placed his order and folded his arms on the ledge, hiding what had remained of his visible face against them.

"Kusanagi-san says you can't date until you're thirty," he reasoned in a muffled tone. Despite stirring the subject, he was careful not to delve too deep into the memory that would see his previous drunken outbursts come to light. Eventually, he diverted his face entirely to hide the spiteful flush in his cheeks just considering how ridiculous he must have sounded to her the night Misaki had returned her from the clutches of their enemies. His clanmates hadn't let him live down the sour recollection, and thus, his unspoken feelings for her became the laughingstock of their company.

Surprised by his admittance, she wrinkled her nose with feigned disgust. "So Onii-san sent you after me?" Considering the reason that she was sitting there in the first place, she somehow doubted that, but she thought it best to play along. "The coward didn't have the nerve to bust me himself?"

Saburōta tipped his head further away with a disgruntled snort, trying his hardest to conceal the way his face glowed with his withdrawn impatience. "You're too good for these losers, and you know it, so stop screwin' around and just go home. You know Totsuka's probably worried about you."

Through traces of sympathy over the misunderstanding, Neirah diverted her gaze and reclaimed her seat at the bar with a soft sigh. "Mn, that seems unlikely," she purred mischievously. "He's probably just fine somewhere with King-sama. Besides, it looks like you might need a wingman. I don't mind filling in for Shōhei."

Saburōta wanted to get the last word in, but all he could think about when she remarked was that Neirah could probably get more attention from the ladies than he could when she looked the way she did that night. That was a dangerous place for his thoughts to travel when he was feeling so disjointed. Something about her undaunted confidence made his look like a sham. Ever since he met her, she made it look so easy, even in the face of danger, and something about that pissed him off.

Noticing that he was continuing to pout, she leant over the bar curiously, reaching out and grabbing the beak of his dark cap with her thumb and forefinger. She peeked beneath it with a playful grin, catching the sight of his deep blush beneath the protection of his shades. "Mn, too bright, baby? I could probably get them to turn the lights down without maiming anyone looking like this."

There it was again, and he was helpless to stop it. He felt it as soon as he grabbed his hat with both hands and pressed it lower against his brow to hide from the woman's maternal doting. "Don't call me that," he grumbled bleakly beneath his breath. It sounded slightly less confrontational than I'm not a damn child. I'm a grown man, can't you tell? Because it was apparent, right?

Unable to catch his bitter mumbling, she edged closer and begged his pardon. "Hm? Did you say something, Wolf-kun?"

As if his childish tantrum wasn't enough, he wagged his head from side to side beneath his hood to deny her prying. Maybe it made sense that she treated him like a child. He was quite evidently too immature to even consider the woman beside him as a potential-

What?

His body stiffened as recognition sent shivers down his spine. What did he think he was going to accomplish that night trying to play the hero? Suddenly, he was stricken with a humiliation that made him feel nauseous. Neirah didn't need a hero. She didn't need anybody, and she never did. She was a proud, powerful woman; a fierce hunter born of wind and flame. The sheer intensity of her gaze alone could strike fear in the hearts of seasoned gangsters, and there he sat his juvenile hide down in her majesty's territory in hopes that she might devour him.

He felt his teeth grind, and he silently begged that Neirah hadn't detected it too. The pressure was unbearable, and by the time their host had served his drink, he required a second because he slammed it back like he thought it had the power to help him re-evaluate his circumstance. Nope. It most certainly did not, and neither did the next. The worst part was, he knew he could be a blackout drunk, and the last person he should be making himself vulnerable in front of was her; anyone but her. He knew he was going to wind up making a complete fool of himself, but he couldn't stop. If nothing else, he may have managed to get just drunk enough that her utter rejection might not leave scars on his already fragile heart. At the very least, maybe baby wouldn't sound so bad after a few more rounds because enduring it seemed like the better option for his pride.

Instead, Saburōta just watched behind the dark tint of his glasses as she stained her whisky glass with the deepest of reds, and a part of him wondered if the silence was comfortable for her. She'd always had a strange taste for bourbon, which had shocked a lot of their fellow clansmen when she came of age. Izumo teased that she was a woman after his own heart, but not even Izumo drank straight bourbon on a regular basis. Then again, she had always had a taste for something robust.

Surprisingly, that night she hadn't bothered to chastise him for his actions, his drinking especially. Ever since he'd joined, there were times when she acted like HOMRA's big sister, and he had heard her challenge many of their comrade's bad habits before. Her interference usually led to conflict, or in Misaki's case, outright violence, but he couldn't consciously recall ever being reprimanded by her. Every time she was displeased by the way he acted, she always blamed someone else for passing on their behaviours. She was still defending him, protecting him like he was delicate. Poor baby Bandō… The thought had his fist clenched around his glass.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

Saburōta almost fell right out of his stool with the impact of her words, and he immediately shot upright to focus his attention on her reassuring smile. He heaved a couple of unsteady breaths, observing her carefully as she continued to watch the liquor bottles across from them reflect the ever-changing lights. What was wrong? He didn't even know himself, so how was he supposed to pass it along to her? Even if he knew, did he want her help? Poor Saburōta's being picked on again. Despite all their battles, their years spent together, was his helplessness the night they met all she could see?

But she was a fantasy, and she had been since that day. The woman he had his hidden eye on for the past four years couldn't take him seriously. He respected her, admired her, but he wasn't the only one. She could have tapped the shoulder of any single man in the club and walked away with him. He was sure of it. But she likely wouldn't so long as he was watching, and not because she wasn't interested, but because heaven forbid, she hurt her precious Wolf-kun's feelings. Another drink, another stifled surge of destructive energy warning that the club might still end up razed. He would have, probably quite literally, killed for someone to make a move on her now.

It was a dangerous gamble from the start because he knew that he could be intensely emotional when he was under the influence, and that's when all his secrets spilled over. If he could keep the fire in his heart and burn with rage, he might be able to save himself the bulk of the embarrassment come morning. The last thing he needed was to gush to her for the umpteenth time without their friends there to drag him back to his senses. With his luck, he'd get in her lap and be naming their next two or three fantasy children.

But when he turned to peek her way again and make sure nobody had dared to penetrate their bubble, he froze. Like a deer caught in traffic, his wild gaze locked with the sight of hers as she slowly connected them like she had heard his thoughts. He knew there was no way she could tell where he was looking, so he couldn't figure out how her powerful stare had managed to pierce him so perfectly. His throat ached as he choked down a hard swallow, and his guilt flooded his cheeks.

Saburōta could feel it in his chest as the painfully hard knock of his heart fought to escape her intensity. He had seen a lot of things during his time with HOMRA, but nothing had buried such a deep seed of fear within him as the sight of her predatory stare. Soon, he'd begun to question whether the timid creature caged within ever really existed at all.

But why? Where was it coming from? That calm expression on her face and her relaxed body sitting next to him so casually, why weren't they communicating with her eyes? He watched the colours dance with the fire and waves, the passion and indifference.

The sentiment repeated in his mind until he heard his voice speak it within his consciousness. He wanted to reach for his chest, alarm brewing for his circumstance. It could have been the alcohol making him feel so strange, but he had consumed a lot more in a lot less time, on occasion. No, it was clear. That look in her eyes was petrifying his body like she'd cast a dark spell. Had she ever looked at him like that? Had she ever looked at anyone like that? And more importantly, did they survive it?

Maybe it was because she thought he couldn't hear her blanket statement that she leaned in closer, but that hadn't explained why her fingers curled around his thigh, lightly, casually. He still hadn't responded, and something about that was terrifying him. It was Neirah, HOMRA's Neirah, his Neirah… Together they'd challenged hell's fire and dragged devils straight back out to have their way. Through blood and battle, they were there for each other since the beginning; since his beginning, at least.

Even his gaze remained fixed over her shoulder as she approached and pressed her powdered cheek to his. He was embarrassed that he couldn't seem to catch his breath, something that he was helpless to battle and that she would undoubtedly be aware of as she lingered so closely. But when she spoke her words near enough to his ear that he could feel the warm whisper of her breath against him, the laboured heaving subsided entirely.

"Cat got your tongue?"

Consciously, that comment may not have seemed too far out of place. Neirah was their lioness, and a multitude of their fellow clansmen had made similar remarks regularly. The execution of the comment had been a little unnecessary, but not unwelcome. What had staggered him was the tone in which she drawled the smooth and seductive song. She had to speak loud enough for him to hear her over the music, but it still sounded like a whisper. At that moment, he had never felt so helpless, and the dread was making his nape perspire like the woman was unpredictable, like he didn't know her better than he knew himself. Was it his uncertainty that had filled him with such conflicting emotions or the beast in her eyes?

Cat.

The Red Lion was sitting next to him in a humid club, lapping at lips saturated with hard liquor. All he could see was a lean jungle cat, crouched in the reeds and cleaning her whiskers as she stalked her prey from the shadows with bright eyes fixed.

Tongue.

Where was his? It was pinched so tightly behind his teeth that he thought he might gag on the very thought of giving it to her.

He snapped himself out of his trance, dropping his head upon resurfacing into reality and staring wildly at the floor between them as he panted for air. She'd figured him out. "Shit…" In an instant, she had uncovered the secrets he'd been keeping from everyone and himself. Relief wasn't what came afterwards, though. He didn't feel the weight lift from his chest, but that might have been because the hand she had previously rested against his leg had climbed. Once he had started to find his way back down from the stars, he noticed that her claws had sunk into his shirt, fisting the material tightly enough that it put pressure on his shoulders and drew him forward in his seat.

He seemed to be more lifelike when she encouraged him towards her like he'd shaken whatever thoughts were keeping him distant. Gratitude flashed in her smile, even as his tension remained. He seemed to be conscious enough to comprehend her words this time, at the very least. "Sometimes we blunder, don't we?"

He'd had a third drink, right? Or was it a fourth? Where was it when he needed to banish the dry itch from his throat that made him want to cough it clear? He tried to make do without, understanding that the more he panted for breath like a dehydrated dog, the worse it would become. It was Neirah, their Neirah, his- "Y-you noticed, huh?" But why was she still holding onto him like she thought he might flee? Was he really that pathetic?

Satisfied with his admittance, even spurred by alcohol, Neirah slowly relaxed her grip on his collar and retracted her hand. Once she had both in front of her again, she raised them, feeling a little guilty that he flinched to the sight of them approaching his face. She slowed her approach, embarrassed that she was so abrasive her fellow clansmen felt the need to recoil whenever she made a sudden movement. A small, sheepish smile curled her lips as she took the arms of his sunglasses between her fingers. When he didn't resist her, she slowly slipped them from his face.

She was stricken, probably forcefully enough for him to have seen it in her face, but if he had, he didn't let it show. She was surprised that he didn't shy away from the contact when their eyes met without the protection of his accessory. It was a rare sight to match; his, that was. But every time it happened, those dark eyes would draw her in until she vanished into the mesmeric void of his fixed gaze. It was an enigmatic nighttime skyscape, and if you followed the flame flickering freely from within, you would find yourself lost like she had, on occasion.

The last time she'd fallen by his side, she recalled a moment similar. The apology that was in his eyes the night years ago was still there, and she couldn't understand why. He had boasted superiority on many occasions, but the bold sentiment wasn't communicating with his eyes. It never did. She couldn't help feeling like maybe that's why he kept them hidden, so they didn't tattle the secrets that couldn't make it past his lips. Before she knew it, her smoky lids were falling over her eyes like she'd been captivated by the mystery.

"It wasn't easy, you know." Forcing herself to explain her findings, she quietly folded his glasses and set them on the bar between their empty drinks. "Even after all these years, you're still intent on being the wolf, aren't you?" Neirah hoped he caught the underlying sentiment behind her statement because she didn't want to outwardly challenge his feelings when she was as lightheaded as she was. Maybe he did have someone he could tell his secrets, but if that were the case, why did they still seem locked behind his eyes?

Neirah's fluttering heart couldn't give in just yet, though. So long as those eyes remained static, she wanted to be there in their calm glassy reflection. Her curiosity wanted to know what they saw, how they could linger when everyone else would shy away.

She came closer, and if Saburōta hadn't been so horrified, he might have tried to scramble away. But then she took hold of his collar again, rooting him in place as she grew nearer still.

It wasn't until she escaped his gaze, her breath on his collar, that she could feel her face flush around her blissful sigh. Every one of her friends agreed that she was a force, one capable of protecting her future. So why did he feel the need to save her that night? A powerless nobody watched a fight between superhumans ensue, and when things turned ugly, he stood up to the monster threatening the princess, only to realize later that she was a monster too. Every time she found herself in trouble, he was there with his arm around her. I'll protect you, words he never said, but she always heard in the way he called to her. He could be so brave when he wanted to be, and it confused her to think that he had kept secrets from her for all these years.

Saburōta tipped his head back, his nervous gaze searching the dynamic room around them. Her breath was hot against his skin as she lingered, her hand still bound in his shirt to keep him from fleeing. He had to be sure of two important things before he closed his eyes; one, that none of their incriminating comrades were anywhere to be seen and two, that he had a clear path of escape if she went for the jugular.

The air he'd stolen moments ago in preparation to defend against her assault had rushed out of his lungs in a deep hiss as she peeled back his collar and tucked her nose between his hood and neck. It made the roots on his nape tingle, chills clawing up his spine like a taciturn warning. He was dizzy, unsteady, and when his head fell forward, he reached out to lay his hand against her shoulder to keep from falling out of his seat. That was when he noticed that her skin was hot, and not the typical kind of sizzle that came with a club full of raunchy gyrating bodies. She was burning up, and a brand of feverish that only a red could appreciate.

Neirah's predatory gaze had glazed over outside of his comprehension the moment he laid his touch on her skin. She was no stranger to contact with men, but there was something in the way he lingered that begged permission to stay, a courteous warning that if she didn't stop, he wouldn't either. Can I? That respect, that devoted care had made her temperature rise until her eyes were drifting shut with enraptured bliss. Yes, is what she wanted to say. Unfortunately, when she parted her lips to do just that, she realized how close she had been to him all along.

A barren vacancy had stolen his gaze as he stared over her shoulder into the blurring lines before him, attempting to comprehend their shape. Where was he again? How exactly did he manage to end up like this? The moment his chest had begun to burn, he exhaled the breath he'd been keeping, a deep inhale following to consider the touch. No, the kiss. It was inattentive and lazy, but the contact against the side of his neck was soft and sticky with strawberry gloss. She was kissing him. Another deep breath saw his brow furrow and tension stole his entire body. Fingers that once used her for support had curled in reaction to his strain, and he pinched his eyes shut to focus on the unexpected sensations.

Neirah's next gasping inhale had drawn the clean ocean scent out of his freshly showered hair, and an unexpected zing of excitement caused her body to tremor. Being between his shirt's hood and his scorching flesh was drawing sweat to her brow beneath the pulsing strobes whirring outside of her comprehension. Thick lashes fell heavy until they fluttered entirely closed against his jaw. She knew that he would look like he'd been assaulted by the time she was through, the way she absently dragged her tinted lips over his neck and collar. The colour was inconvenient but all too appropriate as she painted her affections over his skin to mark her territory.

Endearing thoughts ensnared her again, and she was having a hard time keeping her focus on the task at hand. He had successfully managed to distract her. Neirah had never really taken the time to consider romance in her life, so she was a little nervous to contemplate that the way he'd spoken to her made it sound like he was confessing. Neirah felt like she should maybe be considering what that would mean for them if they let their intoxicated games get out of hand, but then, she could admit that she was having a hard time controlling her baser instincts.

Dusting from one side to the other, Neirah caught her breath to the feeling of his pressure increasing against her shoulder like a warning. I'm losing control. Was it wrong of her to be stricken by triumph at that very moment? All those times he would act so docile and innocent, they rushed to the surface to put a smile on her face. Were her lips all it took to induce truth? As her nose dusted his jaw, she was careful to keep her chin from colliding with his damp skin. It was bad enough that her presence would stain his shirt. She didn't need to carry embarrassing traces of their immodest display on her face. Growing nervous about the mess she made, but in too deep to surface, she let her bright pink tongue slip from behind her swollen pout to taste his skin.

From the pit of his stomach, he felt the surprise well until he was catching the startled bark behind his teeth. He quickly drew his free hand to his face in a tight fist to stifle the sentiment he was forced to choke down. He couldn't wrap his thoughts around what was happening because every time he tried, her tongue was lapping at his flesh like she was savouring the way terror tasted on his racing pulse. Any moment, he knew she would part her salivating jaws, and that would be the end. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.

Neirah's clammy fingers had finally released his shirt, delicately sliding past the material and her wet kisses combined. Her thumb brushed against his jaw as he tipped his head back, instinctually showing her more to explore. She strained that stretch, her remaining fingers reaching the damp ends of his hair that sagged below the seam of his hat. Her heart was racing too quickly for her to catch her breath, but she was desperate to absorb the sensations laid out before her, every touch, taste, scent. And sound. She felt her thighs scour beneath her dress to the hum of him muffling his satisfied moan. When had he grown close enough that he was nearly resting his head on her shoulder?

It had to stop, all of it, and soon. With the last of his restraint, Saburōta shifted his hand from her shoulder to the back of her neck. He begged her to notice his silent plea to spare him whatever she had in store, his fingers grasping at her roots in preparation to pull her away. He would do so as soon as his hands stopped shaking, and the strength returned to the limbs that she rendered useless with her poison.

Please don't stop. Neirah felt his plea from the roots of her hair to the tips of her painted toes. The electricity made her shudder with a deep gasp, and when her jaw parted, her teeth had dragged against his pulse. What was it that was so intoxicating about such a simple, non-obtrusive action? It was a half part give me more, and a quarter I'll die if you leave me now. Just enough desperation and command with a final part promise, a promise that if she continued, nothing would ever be the same.

Suddenly stricken by the sentiment, she backed away, almost disappointed that his grip on her nape hadn't stopped her. Before she connected their gazes, she subtly rose her hand and wiped her face, making sure she didn't look like a lion after a gory meal when he looked her way. That wouldn't have been attractive in the slightest.

He experienced a rush of frigid air against his throat when she jerked away from her indulgence, and it left him feeling empty, like a part of him was missing. He lingered for a long moment with his neck craned to the side like he thought she might return to finish the job. Instead, she left him to bleed, suffering her cold indifference. Look at him. Look at the sweet baby who thinks he can satisfy my appetite. It echoed in his vacant mind as his half-lidded gaze faltered with disdain.

The initiation hadn't concluded. Two, ten, a hundred new hearts could call HOMRA home, and he was still the little brother everyone teased. Was it because he was immature? Was he that weak? For a long, pitiful moment, he contemplated demanding which one of their friends put her up to it. But he didn't know whether that was so he could choke them or whole-heartedly thank them. Even if it was just a taste, it was sweeter than he could have dreamed.

After Neirah had successfully lined her lips, she let her glassy gaze climb until she could observe the regret in his diverted expression. With his head tilted, his marked skin was left exposed like he was disappointed she ever stopped. She didn't have time to watch the battle ensue between control and indulgence, though. Her self-control was just as unstable that night.

He closed his eyes as her fingers brushed against his cheeks, and he prepared himself for the numbness. He let her adjust his head, his fingers falling weakly from her nape until they touched her exposed tailbone. Why was her skin so hot? Was his the same way? All the tension had left his defeated body as he felt his fight drain.

The fiercely beautiful lioness…

The mysteriously elusive wolf…

She wanted to get lost, just once more, in those eyes, but he wouldn't raise them. Maybe it was because he knew that if he did, it would seal their fates. His responsibility had almost disappointed her. Would one taste be enough to satisfy her childish fantasies? Her brow knotted, and an ardent look of passionate determination had twisted her flushed features. What a ridiculous question - of course, it wouldn't be.

The time that their gazes had connected was less than a second, his quietly raised, hers dropping in focus, but that half an instant was just enough for them to synchronize before their lips met. Gently touching first, the embrace almost seemed intimate, startling both racing hearts into a sense of urgency like the moment needed their protection at all costs. That was when Neirah's touch on his face had crept further back, knocking the hood from his crown. That was when Saburōta's fingers raised to her temple, brushing her hair back behind her ear to expose a line of glossy studs to the explosion of colour around them. Before they knew it, it was time to breathe, and when their lips parted to do so, they stayed parted.

Her brow creased with a desperate hunger as she swept her tongue across his, her anxious fingers prying at the roots of his hair until she disturbed the cap on his head. A determined apprehension darkened his expression as his second hand raised to cup her cheek, and he slid his intrusion immodestly past her teeth to taste the hard liquor on her tongue.

How did it take us so long?

All at once, the peaks of emotional waves collided, sending a rush of catastrophic magnitude down on his head. The impact had left him winded, and he jerked away from her contact, his scrambling fingers finding her shoulders so he could shove her away from him. His chest ached to contain the aggressive thumping of his heart beneath, and he silently begged her forgiveness for his delayed reaction in a moment of sheer vulnerability.

"O-Onē-san, what are you-?!" He yelped in alarm when she grabbed the beak of his jostled cap, jerking on it until it made his head snap forward beneath the pressure. He immediately regretted the way he made his rattled expulsion sound like he was blaming her for their circumstance. For all he knew, at that point, he could have been the one who started it. And no matter which one of them was guilty, he knew that when Izumo caught wind of his misstep, he was doomed to suffer the punishment stressed in the infamous Chitose Incident of '08.

Neirah's vexed pout was highlighted with a furious blush as she glowered at him frigidly. "Would you care to try that again?"

The noise around him concealed the modest whimper that sounded under his breath, but he still felt pitiful for uttering such a meek emission. That was how you told someone they were calling you by the wrong name. He pushed back on her pressure, managing to raise his head so that it wasn't craned nearly as unnaturally. "E-eh…?" To his surprise, her intensity seemed to subside, if only momentarily, as she checked her surroundings. Then, she leaned towards him and peeled the hat entirely from his crown.

She made sure to advance into his airspace before exhaling her disgruntled sigh, and beside them, she dropped his hat down over his sunglasses. Something about watching him shiver without the defence of his effects felt intimate. Thankfully, despite his evident alarm, he didn't flee from her touch when she caught his lower lip with one long, painted claw. "I don't care what the circumstances are. You don't kiss a girl like that and then call her your sister."

The look of sheer confusion on his face must have been somewhat alluring to her because even as his fleeting gaze searched her expression for sincerity, she didn't falter. Instead, she curled her fingertips around his head and caressed the roots of his hair freely, combing the dishevelled mess left behind from his hat to pass the time. He hadn't consciously realized how good it felt, but he did notice that his once broad field of vision had narrowed with his satisfaction.

That's right, and what a kiss it was. It already felt like a distant memory, but that could have been because of the inebriated state they'd found themselves in. Then again, he had four years of careful planning put into the embrace, and he wished he could remember half of the elaborate daydreams she'd headlined over the years. Though, it seemed unlikely that he was going to find the courage to ask her if they could try it again.

His sedation was intoxicating, but she wasn't ready for him to surrender just yet. She wasn't naïve. She'd known for a while, through the sudden fits of jealousy and mawkish gushing, that he harboured feelings for her outside of what they'd dabbled. Her grip on his roots tightened as she drew nearer. When she was confident that she had his attention, she pulled harder until he upturned his lip to flash teeth with a discomforted hiss.

And she found him, so he was hers.

Neirah placed a tender kiss on the side of his mouth, where he'd first experienced her affections years ago. Then, she returned to the mess barely concealed beneath the bunched material of his shirt's hood. Her breath traced his jaw as she diverted towards his ear with a breathless sigh. After pinching the lobe between her teeth momentarily, she braced her brow against his temple and spoke. "I think I would have you call me Lion-chan tonight." The shiver she felt draw him away from her nearness had excited her, causing her anxious fingers to knead his scalp. "Any questions, Wolf-kun?"

The natural confidence in her tone had made him feel small as she backed away and connected their gazes. He could see the desire in her weighted gaze. He could feel the passion in her fiery touch. But most importantly, when their gazes locked and lingered, he could see it, the nervous creature attempting to flee his notice with a promise.

"Y-yeah… I have one…"

His audacity seemed to please her, and as a result, the pigment in her face deepened. "Mn, speak."

It was hard for him to focus on his passing thoughts when she leaned close and pressed her eager kisses against his throat, a cold, wet trail flaunting her persistence as he dawdled. His eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, he just let himself indulge in case his clumsy tongue ruined it for both of them. His hand raised to her head, and after a silent moment of contemplation, he weaved his fingers into her wild tresses and stimulated her affections. She was a fantasy, and he knew that.

"Why me?" He felt her breathing hitch against his pulse, and it encouraged his throat to tighten. He wasn't brave enough to pressure her to stay when she began to back away, and he was delighted that she'd only done so to fix their gazes. His observance was cautious, souls speaking while they searched their consciousness' for conversation. That was when he saw it for the first time, something that had only ever introduced itself to Tatara. The skittish beastie circling the depths of her bright eyes had stopped and looked directly back at him. Then, it vanished entirely with a wicked smile.

Relief washed over him gratefully when his troubled thoughts forfeited beneath the taste of her lips coming over his, and his heart had begun to race. She hadn't answered his question, but the way she forced herself upon him had made him forget there was ever any doubt that he was the one she wanted.

"Do you really want to know the answer?"

He wanted her to do less talking and more tasting, and he didn't even know if that was possible when she was dominating him so passionately. She spoke her words between kisses too deep for him to interrupt with a reply, and just after he was sure he lost comprehension of her first rhetorical outburst, she spoke again.

"Or do you want to get me out of this dress?"

He didn't answer her, but that may have been, in part, because he had forgotten the original tangent of their conversation entirely. Completely disregarding her inquisition, his body instinctively responded when he wobbled to his unsteady feet and let her lazily intertwine their fingers. There was only one thing he remained conscious enough to remember before stalking the mesmeric sway of her hips out of the club. Nearly toppling over onto the floor with the liquid metamorphoses of the room around him, he slammed his hand on his hat and dragged it clumsily from the top of the bar. That left his abandoned sunglasses to clatter to the floor from beneath it in hopes that they would survive the next clumsy steps to stumble towards the establishment's bar.

It was funny, the kind of things you could see when you opened your eyes.