What Runs Deeper
a fanfiction by andrivette and psychoheidi
chapter four
"Three Words"
Her men needed to resume their normal duties—to regain their strength, and spread that strength and will to the others. So Mukuro saw for a while that they did just that: they ate and they trained and she showed to them new methods of attack.
Hiei had still been alive after their fight earlier, she reflected, so that was probably good. Maybe the beating taught him a lesson and he would be more agreeable later. She had the strange desire to be close to him again, but he had been far too injured then to be useful at all.
But Mukuro was tired again, anyway. She hadn't fully rested and the strain of work was reminding her of that. She needed to sleep more.
Her bed was gone, though. Damn Hiei. But he never used his bed, so she could easily just relocate and it wasn't as if he could say anything about the matter. She wasn't sure if she had enough patience to allow another bed-burning, though.
It was dark when Mukuro found herself in Hiei's room, and it was as undisturbed as she had expected it to be. The bed was somewhat stiff from disuse but there was nothing particularly wrong with it, and she curled up in it, prepared to finally get the rest that had been so rudely ripped away from her.
It was late when Hiei entered Mukuro's room and remembered that he had destroyed her bed. For a moment he felt pride, then a strange sort of loss.
He had never willingly shared a bed with anyone like he had with her, and knowing that spot was desecrated created a small empty hole inside of him.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But Hiei was still bruised from her punches, and that made it matter more.
The halls were quiet. He didn't know if that was because things had finally returned to normal or if everyone was too exhausted from a day of training to want to assault him.
He found Mukuro in another room, curled up in bed, and he watched her for a time before shedding his cloak and shoes and joining her, his back to hers.
Hiei didn't understand how someone who had slept for three days straight could want to sleep more, but he was too tired to question it.
Yet she must have heard him enter—must have, because she shifted behind him on the mattress, and the next moment, her body was pushed against his back, her arms sliding around him.
His eyes snapped open.
Her mood must have improved—that was the most he could think on before her hands found their way beneath his shirt, and the feeling of warm metal and flesh on his bare skin made something in his stomach flutter.
When Mukuro's lips ghosted over the back of his neck, Hiei turned. Their mouths met, and he draped one arm over her hip, the nearness of her igniting an irrational need for him to fall asleep in her embrace.
Mukuro snuggled into him, and Hiei sighed, an imperceptible smile hinting on his features while her lips and nose moved downward over his face until the top of her hair was tickling his chin.
The room was quiet, her movements all that he could hear in the darkness.
Then he felt her breathing pause.
"I love you." It was the softest he had ever heard her, and he did not know what to think of it before she was nuzzling into this throat, the same throat she had so harshly gripped earlier that day, but that was not what made him stop.
They had endured worse spats than the one that morning and recovered in shorter spaces of time. This should have been commonplace, but her words were far from common.
Hiei could feel his blood heating, his body gone mysteriously numb. "What did you just say?" he asked.
But rather than repeat herself, Mukuro gave him a kiss, continuing to touch him, and past his reeling thoughts, Hiei found his own hands mirroring hers, finding the edge of her shirt and the softness of her navel beneath it.
He was not sure he wanted her to say it again.
Through the darkness there was a rustle of fabric. Then Hiei inhaled sharply as Mukuro suddenly and completely melded herself to him, mouth flirting with his in an almost delicate way, but the increasingly insistent exploration of her hands suggesting much, much more.
His shirt had now been pushed all the way up to his chest, and her hands worked at the material, clearly intent on removing it entirely. Hiei could feel each rough and supple detail of her bare torso as she seemed to make every effort to press herself as close to him as possible.
Her tummy, slender and smooth . . .
Her chest, lifting before every sigh . . .
Her scars, making friction like sandpaper . . .
Her breast . . .
I love you.
Her voice repeated itself in his head, and Hiei couldn't breathe.
He sat up, pushing her away.
"Hiei," she whispered through the darkness, still and inviting, but he could not bring himself to look at her.
Her fingertips brushed his arm, and he let out a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, his body quivering from the pressure building up inside of him.
He knew what Mukuro wanted from him now, and beneath it all, Hiei felt deeply that it was something he wanted, too.
But he just couldn't . . . couldn't . . . think.
And because he didn't know what to do, Hiei did the only thing he knew: He rose from bed, donned his shoes and cloak, and left without a word.
He had left her with nothing.
Alone.
Damn.
Mukuro clung to the bed, swallowing down the emotions that rose in her throat, the whole confusing mass of them, until she settled on the one that made the most sense: anger.
She was angry at him for leaving her. For ending what they had.
But it would be fine. She could put it all to use tomorrow, and Hiei would regret getting in her way then.