Instead of a response, Iori kissed him. It didn't matter what he could call him, it mattered that he had him, that they were here, his warm body and willing lips, on the precipice of something that terrified and excited Iori. They kissed long and hard, deep enough to bruise, the way Iori liked it. He had never expected being with Kyo to be gentle or caring. He expected Kyo to bruise, to make him bleed, and the grip on his hair tightened as Iori moved back down to his throat, pulled, something that always got him off. He gasped, biting the skin just below Kyo's pulse eliciting the same reaction from his partner, his enemy, puling his hair again. One leg was still around Iori, and he could feel some thing insistent and growing between Kyo's thighs, each step in this more terrifying than the last now they wanted to be with each other without the drunken slurs. His hands pushed up Kyo's bare chest, tracing the lines and contours of skin, smooth muscle, a thin trickle of hair beneath his navel, leading into the waistband of dark jeans. His fingers traced these, watching the muscle of Kyo's stomach tighten, his hips arch, reacting to this touch. Iori cupped his hips, against denim, kissed just above his navel. Large hands held hips against Kyo's sporadic thrusting, kissed lower, nestled against the fine hairs beneath his navel, kissed just above the waistline.

"Stop!" Kyo gasped out, arching, pulling tight against Iori's hair wrenching his head up.

"Why?"

"I… I have someone… I… Can't do this."

"You wanted it."

"I do."

Iori kissed him, long, slow, lingering. He slowed from their earlier headrush, Kyo lying on his back, his hand in Iori's hair, brushing his fingers against the cool strands, his other hand against the small of Iori's back. His good leg was entwined with his enemy's, the other was splayed out against the bed, Iori ran one hand down the tight muscled thigh, still slow, still trying to calm him, convince him this was good, and there wasn't much convincing that needed be done. Kyo's kisses were eager, tasting everything he could, intrusive. But Iori made their kisses slow, practiced, gentle. He no longer craved for Kyo's desperate breathing, his arousal, he no longer needed to make Kyo want him. He was happy to lie encased in his bed, in Kyo's kisses. His hands moved up and down Iori's arms, pushing under the black shirt, nails digging into trained muscles. Iori pulled the shirt off, throwing it somewhere, presumably landing on the cat, the creature whined somewhere in the room. Kyo smirked, running both hands down Iori's firm, toned chest, as pale as the rest of him.

Iori moved so close to his face he could feel the older man breathing, caressed the other side of his face, "Are you sure you want this?"

"No," Kyo gasped out, "but there's no going back, is there?"

"I can stop right now."

"I can't."

"Then it's your fault."

"Still," Kyo gasped as Iori kissed behind his ear, ran his tongue gently against the skin, "yours."

Iori didn't mind. He ran his hands up and down Kyo's sides, tickling, teasing, making him shudder and arch against the other man, sighing deep. He kissed down from his place behind Kyo's ear, down his throat, collarbone, ribcage. He had every intention of making love to this man, making Kyo want him badly. The tension, the intensity was returning, and Kyo's body was reacting appropriately. They took each other just as fierce as the first time, and yet it was different, so different. There wasn't the drunken haze, instead their fights and vendettas seemed to fade away as they connected, physically and mentally, rough, but passionate, and very, very real. Exactly what Iori had wanted when he held Kyo by the hips and took him proper. Kyo's submission was everything he had wanted in a lover, everything he had been denied, too busy trying to chase this moment, to take it from this man, and this man alone.

Kyo curled around Iori's long, lean body, holding onto one arm with a gentleness that denied everything he was, everything Iori had previously believed of him. He ran his hands over the curve of muscle, traced it, sighed deep and drowsy.

"Yagami?"

"Mm-hmm?" Iori felt as sex sleepy as Kyo looked.

"You're… You're really beautiful, y'know that."

Iori almost laughed. He had never seen this side of Kyo, he had to wonder if it was common, for him to be partial to pillow talk. Iori ran his fingers through the lover's hair, kissing his forehead, bade him sleep. He needed to think, to go over what happened, and not just the pure eroticism. He had to wonder where this came from, sure, he wanted it, he wanted to be with Kyo as much, more, than he ever wanted anything, but he had to wonder why Kyo had come onto him, and why so suddenly. Kyo had finally found the thing that made him tick, and ignored it, for lust. Was it all lust? Iori had to wonder, was there feeling there, or not. He had to know. Kyo was sleeping soundly, naked and curled into his bed, sweet and calm and everything he wasn't. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea, around what had happened, he went to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer. He didn't know what else he could do, until Kyo woke, until he saw what Kyo thought of what had just transpired. He sat on the couch and watched the cat knead his paws into the bed beside Kyo, the man so calm, hands splayed out, the blanket barely covered his bare chest, bunched up around his legs. One foot stuck out of the white sheet, lazy and relaxed, the wounded leg made completely straight and leaned on a pillow. Iori had set it there, worried he would only get worse from the abuse laid on it, trying to find that right position where they connected, where they became a part of each other, one being, separate and perfect when they bound themselves to each other. He worried he would worsen the healing break.

If you went to the tournaments, you never saw the inside of a hospital. You worked every wound yourself, you couldn't trust the doctors, the tournaments worked under the law, creatures beyond humanity. He couldn't imagine what the hospital workers would make of the fire that ran with Kyo's blood, the curse that turned Iori himself into a monster, these inhuman abilities that were daily life to Kyo, to Iori, to the others. There were things they had seen no mental health ward would know what to do with, Iori was a murderer many times over, he had torn human beings to pieces with his bare hands, he knew the taste of blood, he knew what vital organs felt like in dirty fingers, mixed their blood with his own. He would never be able to wash these things from his mind, these were not him, these were not his desires, these things were not Iori, he watched them from another place and they burned into his mind. He could never tell anyone of these things who didn't know, and anyone who did no longer trusted him. They didn't know Iori, they knew the Orochi that was his birthright. They knew the personality that he gave them, this cruel man laughing as he tore into them, fighting only on instinct and violence. They knew his single minded pursuit of Kyo, they couldn't fathom it was for this moment. Try telling a psychiatrist these things.