YYH Fanfic: Restless Night, Part 2
Title: Restless Night, Part 2
Fandom: Yu Yu Hakusho
Pairing: Kurama/Hiei
Rating: PG-13? (Nope, still can’t figure out rating)
Words: 1,247
First part: http://pantherrose.livejournal.com/30582.html
Notes: Sorry I took so long to update! It’s been crazy, but hopefully summer can afford me the time to finish this fic. At first, I meant to write a two-parter, but it seems that this one won’t go down so easily. And I can almost guarantee some kind of action in the next post (my notes were actually for the next part - I have no idea where this one came from).
The smell of roses, soft scent tantalizing, trespassing upon my senses, finally awaken me from my deep and dreamless sleep. Innately alarmed by the depth of my unconscious state, I stir carefully from my position, slowly reaching my bandaged arm for the blade resting at my side. Around this bed, my senses expand, taking in the dimly lit room and the one inhabitant standing at its center.
Readying myself for a fight, I unconsciously drink deep from the alluring essence, seeking to blank my mind as my steady hand firmly grasps the sword. And then I falter, finding myself faced by the breath’s confirmation that my constant, collected awareness did not want to comprehend. Underlying the slight, pervading scent, the distinct smell of musk, of demon fox drifted in the air.
Body going rigid, I calmly raise my gaze to meet wary, though concerned, twin emerald orbs. Frozen in the midst of his neat, orderly room, he stares back at me, delicate features framed and partially obscured by the steam rising from the coffee cup held before him. For a single moment, I catch a fleeting cast of grief rise in his eyes, but then it is gone and a soft smile lights up his face.
“You’re awake,” he says, relief apparent in his voice and expression. He makes a motion as though to embrace me, and I cannot help but cringe from his forward advance.
“Oh, the chocolate!” he suddenly gasps, drawing up short before his bed, yet not before the hot liquid spills upon his fair fingertips. Quickly, he turns away from me, crimson hair hiding his expression as he searches, almost desperately, for something to clean up the stain.
I find myself speechless, floored by the instant of agony glimpsed at the moment he turned away. One tentative, trembling hand reaches for him, instinctively desiring to comfort that hurt and shaking form. But the hand falls short, and I cannot bring myself to reach him. Futilely, I fight the rising sorrow, the drowning fear keeping me from heeding my own overwhelming desires and embracing this lean and vulnerable being. Instead, I can only watch silently, helpless, as he wipes his hands with a discarded pair of jeans, head bowed and face obscured by a curtain of scarlet silk.
My palm feels slick. Looking down in surprise, I realize that it’s covered in blood.
Alarmed by the sudden smell of blood, his shocked and surprised gaze rises quickly to meet my own, arresting my vision by the pain and sorrow apparent in its depths. In those emerald eyes, I can see the hurt, the grief, my rejection has wrought upon him. And I can finally understand that those countless, haunting nights of loneliness and solitude exist as a shared experience, shackling our two lives with a macabre chain.
“Why won’t you just forget me?” I suddenly demand of him, the words tearing from my throat despite my desperate desire to simply turn and flee from this dark room and the intense emotion roiling within it. “Why do you continue wanting a worthless thief?” Jagan eye blazing, enlivened by the chaotic fire of emotion and passion burning around us, I face him steadily, boldly, and afraid to my very core.
With slow, deliberate movements, the fox makes his way towards the bed, closing in upon me as one would a dangerous animal poised to strike or flee. “May I?” he whispers gently, lightly indicating my hand, but never allowing his eyes to stray from my face. I silently nod my assent, and he cradles my injured hand in his smooth, warm grasp.
“You’re still so cold,” he says softly, almost distractedly, as he begins to wrap my hand in a seemingly endless leaf growing from within his palm. “This plant will speed up the healing process and soak up any blood that escapes from the skin.” He finishes his task, gently tucking the tip of the plant into the folds of the makeshift bandage. Watching those lean, nimble fingers, I find myself struck by the contrast between the roughness with which he treated his own wound and the tenderness of his touch upon my skin. A slight shiver runs through my body, reacting against my will to those hot, skillful hands as he turns my hand over to inspect his handiwork.
His jaw tightens, clenching almost angrily in response to my involuntary shudder, and I recoil in surprise when my Jagan picks up a sudden wave of simmering fury and despair. Hot, feverish grip tightening, the sensation bordering on the edge of aching pain and flirting with the throbbing agony of channeling so much uncontrolled, impassioned emotion, he defies my struggle to escape his heated touch and entraps my smaller, tired body within his embrace.
“Fuck, Kurama! Let me go!” I growl at him, angrily demanding my release, even as I find myself settling into the comforting warmth of his flesh and the pulsing, pounding heartbeat beneath my cheek. Having never once been embraced so passionately, so very desperately, my rational mind fails me, abandoning me to the sheer sensation of his arms around my waist and his soft, silk hair brushing against my face.
“Please calm down, Hiei,” he begs against my neck, his breath a whisper-soft touch upon my naked skin. “Let me hold you, even for just a moment, and then you can leave, ridding yourself of these hopeless, tedious advances.” Shaking my head against his assumptions, I arch my spine as another shudder races down my back, mindlessly bowing before the sensation and driving my chest flush against his own. Panting breaths harsh and ragged in my ears, he struggles to hold me tight within his embrace, fighting futilely against the furious desire mounting with my every movement.
“Is it too much?” he asks, sounding concerned, and my body falls still as sudden understanding dawns upon me. This fox, this private, powerful youko, has surrendered to the penetrating telepathic gaze of my Jagan eye, tearing down the long-enduring walls shielding his conscious mind and emotions. Despite the strong, slender arms holding me against his physical form, he now lies truly vulnerable before me, his internal psyche completely open to my possible panic and rage that could ravage his mind within the span of a moment.
“No,” I answer, quickly and simply, unable to put into words how much his trust warms this cold soul.
Yet I could feel his lips brush against my neck, curving into a soft smile as though he heard every unspoken word that I cannot bring myself to say. His arms tighten around me, and I watch transfixed as the visible glimpses of his pale skin and crimson threads begin to gleam under the glow of the Jagan. Finally capturing the fierce love he first sought to show me, I revel in the sensation of his touch, in the fervent flame awakening and enlivening me as it sets fire to my coursing blood.
With this ardent love burning within my veins, blazing inside my chest and shattering the frozen fetters of winter and concern, I gain the strength to push away from his embrace. Leaning away, though still straddling his slim, slender waist, I stare into his eyes and search for the words to span the space between us.
“I fear that I am not as strong as you, Kurama. I cannot surrender my heart so devotedly to you or any other.
“Fox, please just let me go.”
~ ~ ~
Argh, so angsty! I really should write some crazy Karasu fic after I finish this one (well, actually, I just want to blow shit up…or play with his bombs). XD
Thanks for reading! Comments/criticism greatly appreciated.
Fandom: Yu Yu Hakusho
Pairing: Kurama/Hiei
Rating: PG-13? (Nope, still can’t figure out rating)
Words: 1,247
First part: http://pantherrose.livejournal.com/30582.html
Notes: Sorry I took so long to update! It’s been crazy, but hopefully summer can afford me the time to finish this fic. At first, I meant to write a two-parter, but it seems that this one won’t go down so easily. And I can almost guarantee some kind of action in the next post (my notes were actually for the next part - I have no idea where this one came from).
The smell of roses, soft scent tantalizing, trespassing upon my senses, finally awaken me from my deep and dreamless sleep. Innately alarmed by the depth of my unconscious state, I stir carefully from my position, slowly reaching my bandaged arm for the blade resting at my side. Around this bed, my senses expand, taking in the dimly lit room and the one inhabitant standing at its center.
Readying myself for a fight, I unconsciously drink deep from the alluring essence, seeking to blank my mind as my steady hand firmly grasps the sword. And then I falter, finding myself faced by the breath’s confirmation that my constant, collected awareness did not want to comprehend. Underlying the slight, pervading scent, the distinct smell of musk, of demon fox drifted in the air.
Body going rigid, I calmly raise my gaze to meet wary, though concerned, twin emerald orbs. Frozen in the midst of his neat, orderly room, he stares back at me, delicate features framed and partially obscured by the steam rising from the coffee cup held before him. For a single moment, I catch a fleeting cast of grief rise in his eyes, but then it is gone and a soft smile lights up his face.
“You’re awake,” he says, relief apparent in his voice and expression. He makes a motion as though to embrace me, and I cannot help but cringe from his forward advance.
“Oh, the chocolate!” he suddenly gasps, drawing up short before his bed, yet not before the hot liquid spills upon his fair fingertips. Quickly, he turns away from me, crimson hair hiding his expression as he searches, almost desperately, for something to clean up the stain.
I find myself speechless, floored by the instant of agony glimpsed at the moment he turned away. One tentative, trembling hand reaches for him, instinctively desiring to comfort that hurt and shaking form. But the hand falls short, and I cannot bring myself to reach him. Futilely, I fight the rising sorrow, the drowning fear keeping me from heeding my own overwhelming desires and embracing this lean and vulnerable being. Instead, I can only watch silently, helpless, as he wipes his hands with a discarded pair of jeans, head bowed and face obscured by a curtain of scarlet silk.
My palm feels slick. Looking down in surprise, I realize that it’s covered in blood.
Alarmed by the sudden smell of blood, his shocked and surprised gaze rises quickly to meet my own, arresting my vision by the pain and sorrow apparent in its depths. In those emerald eyes, I can see the hurt, the grief, my rejection has wrought upon him. And I can finally understand that those countless, haunting nights of loneliness and solitude exist as a shared experience, shackling our two lives with a macabre chain.
“Why won’t you just forget me?” I suddenly demand of him, the words tearing from my throat despite my desperate desire to simply turn and flee from this dark room and the intense emotion roiling within it. “Why do you continue wanting a worthless thief?” Jagan eye blazing, enlivened by the chaotic fire of emotion and passion burning around us, I face him steadily, boldly, and afraid to my very core.
With slow, deliberate movements, the fox makes his way towards the bed, closing in upon me as one would a dangerous animal poised to strike or flee. “May I?” he whispers gently, lightly indicating my hand, but never allowing his eyes to stray from my face. I silently nod my assent, and he cradles my injured hand in his smooth, warm grasp.
“You’re still so cold,” he says softly, almost distractedly, as he begins to wrap my hand in a seemingly endless leaf growing from within his palm. “This plant will speed up the healing process and soak up any blood that escapes from the skin.” He finishes his task, gently tucking the tip of the plant into the folds of the makeshift bandage. Watching those lean, nimble fingers, I find myself struck by the contrast between the roughness with which he treated his own wound and the tenderness of his touch upon my skin. A slight shiver runs through my body, reacting against my will to those hot, skillful hands as he turns my hand over to inspect his handiwork.
His jaw tightens, clenching almost angrily in response to my involuntary shudder, and I recoil in surprise when my Jagan picks up a sudden wave of simmering fury and despair. Hot, feverish grip tightening, the sensation bordering on the edge of aching pain and flirting with the throbbing agony of channeling so much uncontrolled, impassioned emotion, he defies my struggle to escape his heated touch and entraps my smaller, tired body within his embrace.
“Fuck, Kurama! Let me go!” I growl at him, angrily demanding my release, even as I find myself settling into the comforting warmth of his flesh and the pulsing, pounding heartbeat beneath my cheek. Having never once been embraced so passionately, so very desperately, my rational mind fails me, abandoning me to the sheer sensation of his arms around my waist and his soft, silk hair brushing against my face.
“Please calm down, Hiei,” he begs against my neck, his breath a whisper-soft touch upon my naked skin. “Let me hold you, even for just a moment, and then you can leave, ridding yourself of these hopeless, tedious advances.” Shaking my head against his assumptions, I arch my spine as another shudder races down my back, mindlessly bowing before the sensation and driving my chest flush against his own. Panting breaths harsh and ragged in my ears, he struggles to hold me tight within his embrace, fighting futilely against the furious desire mounting with my every movement.
“Is it too much?” he asks, sounding concerned, and my body falls still as sudden understanding dawns upon me. This fox, this private, powerful youko, has surrendered to the penetrating telepathic gaze of my Jagan eye, tearing down the long-enduring walls shielding his conscious mind and emotions. Despite the strong, slender arms holding me against his physical form, he now lies truly vulnerable before me, his internal psyche completely open to my possible panic and rage that could ravage his mind within the span of a moment.
“No,” I answer, quickly and simply, unable to put into words how much his trust warms this cold soul.
Yet I could feel his lips brush against my neck, curving into a soft smile as though he heard every unspoken word that I cannot bring myself to say. His arms tighten around me, and I watch transfixed as the visible glimpses of his pale skin and crimson threads begin to gleam under the glow of the Jagan. Finally capturing the fierce love he first sought to show me, I revel in the sensation of his touch, in the fervent flame awakening and enlivening me as it sets fire to my coursing blood.
With this ardent love burning within my veins, blazing inside my chest and shattering the frozen fetters of winter and concern, I gain the strength to push away from his embrace. Leaning away, though still straddling his slim, slender waist, I stare into his eyes and search for the words to span the space between us.
“I fear that I am not as strong as you, Kurama. I cannot surrender my heart so devotedly to you or any other.
“Fox, please just let me go.”
~ ~ ~
Argh, so angsty! I really should write some crazy Karasu fic after I finish this one (well, actually, I just want to blow shit up…or play with his bombs). XD
Thanks for reading! Comments/criticism greatly appreciated.