When they flung words at each other, every one of the insults crafted and honed like a spear, they started on opposite sides. But as they fought and spat and argued, they came together.


Maybe Misaki grabbed his shirt; maybe Accelerator took a fistful of her hair. Maybe she shoved him against the wall and dragged him down for a kiss; maybe he pushed her down across a table and ground her against her ass. It never mattered how it started. It always worked the same.


She liked to bite. His throat, his shoulders, his chest, or his lip. She left her marks on his body, and they burned through to his soul. Circles of indentations in the middle of dark bruises, sometimes stained red in lines where she'd break through his skin and bleed him. When she lifted her head and smiled at him, wild and deep and smug, he grabbed her hair and jerked him back down, forcing her lips against his flesh.


She liked to taunt. Hands cupping her breasts, she offered them to him and shoved him away when he neared. She snatched at her skirt and yanked it to her waist, laughed in his face when he swore and fought through the layers of panties and knickers and curls. She teased and scoffed, provoking him from an annoyance into outrage until he hauled her legs around his hips. Until shirts were torn open and skin touched skin.


"I hate you," she said as she drove her nail into his thighs. Same to you, he said back as he drove into her. As she clung to him, he clutched at her. As their eyes met and held, as their hearts raced and blood burned.


AN:

Dunno why I suddenly ship these two.