For those of you who notice this before skipping to the latest chapter, everything's been rewritten for the heck of it. Minor details changed, so there's no real need to reread everything if you don't want to. Love you all!
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: I do not own it 8P
Chapter Title: More (-_-;)
You know without needing to be told that this is a fragile situation. Stable as it may seem with the supposed simplicity of your intent, you know that it could fall apart in so many ways with a word or a careless touch. It's precariously balanced, you know, and you make sure that every time you come into contract with him or speak to him, it is under control. Every word deliberate. Every emotion exactly what it should be. It's not much of a challenge, seeing as how you've had a lot of practice in the game of make-believe. All you have to do is pretend that nothing is going on around others, or even when it's just you and him. It's easy, what with his predictable behavior, and the unspoken agreement between the two of you certainly helps.
You do have to check yourself, though. Your act is not perfect, as much as you (and everyone else) would like to believe, and in front of others you have to watch yourself – not him. For whatever reason, without really any intention whatsoever, you've begun to stare at him. Your mind is drawn to him. Your eyes seek him out. It's a strange, spontaneous reaction that you have no real way to manage.
You can't help but admit, though, that you're rather intrigued by him. You're finding him interesting to watch. His interaction with others. He's grown confident in himself, but you enjoy the fact that you can still see telltale signs of his social instability. His awkwardness, though subtle, has never quite left him. When he's aware of you, especially, you find yourself watching him closely out of the corner of your eye. You don't fail to notice the stiffness that wasn't always there (and on occasion, neither does Tohru).
Really, that you have an affect on him like this is rather appealing to you, as, you suppose, it always has been. There was never any other rationale behind why you gave way to fights with him, or stayed near him even when it wasn't necessary. If you had never really wanted to be around him, it was easily within your power to make sure you had as little contact as possible. But that's not the case; sometimes you want him to react to you to the point where you're almost egging him on – being near him just to see him get angry.
That's not to say you don't also enjoy those rare times when the air is comfortable between you. Both of you on equal ground and equal understanding, tolerating each other quietly.
You didn't like him though. No, you did not. It was a curiosity with him like so many other seemed to have – swarming to him like moths to a fire. You didn't look at him in a romantic way, not even now when you know that an hour ago you were holding him against a wall, kissing him. You don't like him, you tell yourself. You like his body ("Disgusting, your heart says. "Disgusting.") for the discharge he gave you, and that was all.
When you go to him, it's always in raw emotion. Raw frustration. Anger. You make sure of it. You make sure it's never just because you want to touch his skin, or feel his lips move against yours, loose and submissive or hard and demanding. Never because you want to. Never.
But still, you're worried.
You know (knew) that maybe, after a while, a kiss wouldn't be enough for you. That maybe, after a little while, you'd start to want something more.
--Kyo—
The fact that you kiss each other to vent doesn't change your attitudes. You make sure of that much, at least. You feel him fall into the familiar habit of fighting you and hating you, and you follow behind. Your bickering worries, as always, the other two members of the house, which often gives way to more bickering just because of that. Hot words are shared, uncertain pleas for you to stop fall between the two of you, and threats to your bank accounts are made for any damages to the house. In a roundabout way, it's all as normal as it's ever been.
So normal, in fact, that sometimes you get a little bewildered by the fact that behind closed doors you push one another against a wall in anger, forcibly and thoroughly ravaging the mouth before you even while the houses other two occupants move about downstairs. He seems so unchanged by everything that you can't help but wonder how he does it. You certainly don't know how to so casually sit beside or across from him without feeling awkward, though you hide it as best you can. Maybe if you would put just a little thought into it, you could fall into some sort of acceptance with it. But you don't, and your feelings of unrest only disappear in those moments that you both hide so carefully.
Still, you always manage to keep up your act, though you're nowhere as good as he is. No one seems to be the wiser, not even Shigure – and that was saying something – and that's exactly how you want it. If others found out, it might be the end of you. Humiliation, guilt, fear – it all hints at your senses every time you almost slip up, reminding you of the road you've taken and the consequences that might lie ahead.
He's the same as ever, though, what foreshadowing hints there are remaining unrecognizable for what they really mean. He's so good at keeping up his act… and to be honest, you're thankful for that. It makes it that much easier to fall into step with him, balancing out your own actions with his. Especially during fights. You hardly need to think about it. It's just heated speech. They occur often enough, and you find that to be a good thing, because it helps you to vent just a little bit, and you can stay away from him that much longer.
But you can never really stay away, can you?
--Y—
The goal you aimed for wasn't the one that you achieved. He was being annoying, getting worked up about little things that maybe weren't so little, and you were getting fed up. The two of you were alone, as you remember it; Tohru was out shopping, Shigure out avoiding his editor. All you wanted for him was to shut up, really. You yelled at each other – yeah, you actually yelled. He was stubborn, adamant in his opinions, and that only served to make you angrier as he scoffed your every word. He was getting a rise out of you, you knew, but your blood was hot that day and you quarreled with him easily. Frustration rose. You felt like hitting him. Hard.
Then you felt that boiling itch under your skin, and you knew exactly what it meant.
Fighting was normal. Fists flew less often, yes, but the two of you never seemed to get tired of verbal sparring. And that's all it ever was. A fight. It wasn't as if you wrestled – you were trained in martial arts, and that's the only way you ever fought – and it never, ever became sexual. Whenever you sought the other out or vice-versa, it was completely random. In a weird way, it was business, and your personal relations never got involved. It was always because of an outside force. Never because you were angry at the other. It was another unspoken agreement to just not go there. However, the agrier you got, the more it boiled, and the tension got the better of you.
You shoved him and he fell back onto the couch with a soft 'umph'. He snarled at you as you towered over him, swearing as you seized a wrist, one knee settling between his legs. His other hand was pressing painfully into your side, fingers clenching in your shirt, still caught up in the fight and noticing the change until you fisted a hand in his hair, jerking his head back sharply to look up at you directly. He wavers then, realizing what you're doing, his struggling muscles pausing for a brief second while you lean imposingly against him.
Then you kiss him, and you can't help but notice the fact that this is a lot better than just hitting or insulting him. You relish in the way his mouth opens almost willingly as you take complete advantage of your grip on his hair to angle him back and kiss him all the more deeply. He doesn't succumb completely; he's still pushing you away, struggling under your hold slightly, kissing back not quite willingly enough. You press into him, using your body to hold him down sufficiently. Your grip is tight, a little too tight, and you realize that you want it to hurt just a little to get back at him for being such a hot head. Realize that you want to force yourself onto him until he's completely submissive under you. His free hand is still fisted in your shirt, nails biting your skin, but his resolve is dropping and you can feel it until he's not so much pushing you away as holding you back. His groan is almost inaudible. Almost.
Neither of you ever made noise. Not ever. For whatever reason, it was another line that the two of you unconsciously drew. Besides the wet sound of lips parting and coming together, clothes rustling, and that low, adrenaline induced rush in the ears, noise was never emitted.
This is the first time he's slipped up, and you can feel it as well as hear it in low vibration against your chest as it rises up his throat. You quite nearly let out a moan in response – the sound surprisingly appealing – but this is still too much of a fight for you, and you're not willing to give in just yet. Instead, you tug his hair a little harder, testing him. He doesn't slip up again and bites you sharply in annoyance.
It sends a jolt down your spine, the taste of blood already on your tongue.
And then Honda-san is home, struggling noisily with one too many bags in her hand as she opens the door, giving you two plenty of time to separate and send fiery glares at one another. It doesn't give you enough time to wipe away the blood you only just realize is trickling down from the cut on your lip, though, and the poor girl practically drops her bags when she sees it dripping off your chin.
"Y-Yuki-kun! Are you alright!? What happened?" You guess her worry is understandable, seeing as how you practically never get hurt. You wipe the blood away, a little irked to find that the cut won't stop bleeding.
"I'm fine, Honda-san." You reassure her. "It's just a small cut."
Kyo hurries to help her carry the bags while you lick your lip and follow them into the kitchen, where she presses again as to what happened. You're about to say you cut your lips when she exclaims:
"Kyo-kun, you're bleeding too!" she pulls him a little closer by the sleeve to stare at his mouth worriedly, where a few smudges of blood are just barely visible. "Were you two fighting again?"
You pause where you stand at the sink, paper napkin to your lip, hoping Kyo will just go along with it. You're sure it wouldn't go well if Honda-san knew the blood on his mouth is actually yours.
"So what?" He grumbles, brushing her off to put away groceries as he swipes his tongue over the red stains. They're gone in moments. "It's not like he didn't deserve it."
Honda-san frowns, and you give him a disapproving glare that you hope he can feel through the back of his skull. He's only going to worry her more if he keeps it up. "It was a lucky shot." You say dismissively, leaning back against the sink to gauge his reaction quietly. You notice his ears turn a little pink.
"You were wide open." He retorts, and you're just a little surprised. You wouldn't have thought he'd offer a verbal spar over this in front of anyone.
"I think I was rather on top of the situation." You say, vaguely aware that you want to embarrass him. You notice him fumble a little with the next bag, and have to control a smirk threatening to rise on your face.
"Really. I would've thought you'd have more experience being bottom." Now that makes you twitch. You have to take enough crap having girly looks at it is – you don't need him, of all people, adding to that. You're about to snap back at him, but Honda-san cuts in.
"U-um… I think the two of you have equal skills!" She tries, looking rather confused. "You should take turns being top and bottom!"
You both nearly choke. The brunette starts a little, surprised by the strange reactions you have, but can't possibly understand the meaning of what she just said. Before any more damage can be done, he makes a noncommittal sound before leaving the room quickly, not looking at either of you.
"Oh! N-not that you should fight with each other!" She exclaims, looking desperate to fix the situation. You reassure her quietly, telling her it's fine while you help her put away the last of the groceries.
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