"Let's Fly as the Birds Do." Chapter One
Category: From the heart
E-mail to: firstname.lastname@example.org
Notes: my first HxK fic; please be kind with criticism.
The sun was pouring in from the window- along with it a fresh breeze,
which took the silk drapes with it in waves. Black hair bristled, almost
dancing in pair to the gentle gusts. His eyelids twitch a little, slowly
opening to morning's greeting of birds chirping not far away. Rising, the
sheets that had entangled around his body slipped quietly to the mattress-
revealing his slim form and smooth skin. The one next to him was still
sleeping. Quietly. Softly. he smiled down on him and pulled the blanket to
cover the other's shoulder.
That bit of movement caused him to rise- a couple of deep green eyes
peaking through thin red strands of hair that were curtaining his fine
features. The redhead curled in, and rubbed himself against the feathery
pillows and bedding. He smiled up to him, lazily, and yet affectionately.
Hiei raised his hand, and drew his finger down the bare spine of
Kurama's back. He shivered, and later pulled Hiei down over him for a sweet
and delicate kiss. A wonderful kiss.
What had happened last night. Enchanting. Honest. How good it felt to
forget about everything for once. To just let go of everything. The world,
the rules, everything. It seemed like a dream. The both of them only
remembered the good parts. The great parts. How one of them would kiss down
his neck. The way the other would interweave his legs around him. So many
embraces. All that love. All in one night. No time was spent to quickly,
and not a moment was spared. On the contrary to their amorous actions, both
were held at an awkward instance- an awkward pace in thought.
Feelings are felt, not understood- which is most likely why neither
of them could utter a word of recognition as to where everything was going.
No, that was impossible. Not love, nor emotion, passion, or even lust could
ever be seen in the eyes of the one experiencing it.
"You can't break-down poetry into verses or stanzas," Kurama had said
once in his English class. "Real poetry comes without conscientious
thought. Beautiful words that follow a certain guideline or structure isn't
poetry, but rather a commercial show of diction. Poetry of the heart comes
from just there. The heart. You don't need to grasp exactly what the
written piece is saying because you feel what's in it. That's real poetry-
a composition of feelings with no rules."
Perhaps then, he came to terms with the connections between people-
or any living being for that matter- and others. You're not alive,
genuinely alive, unless you can cry. If you cry, one may realize the truth
about everything. Tears are made of water and sensitivity. Water and
sensitivity brings life. If you do not cry, there is no life.
That is not to say that lament is unavoidably a sign of mourning or
regret. Tears are shed for happiness too, as with last night. Last night.
Oh, how every moment somehow left a mark of sentimentality in their hearts.
It started with tender exchanges. A smile here, a small low chuckle there.
Then a susceptible gaze, which shot out of lightning. Love. Then tears, hot
water from their eyes that mingled as they splashed on each others' cheek.
While their bodies, slick with perspiration, holding tightly against each
other. Shaking and moving along in rhythmatic motions. Eyelashes fluttering
together. Lips not missing a single bit of flesh. The flesh not missing a
single bit of affection. Hands had driven and enlaced through strands of
damp hair. They panted and comforted, often saying no more than three very
By all means, they did their best to remain as inconspicuous as
possible during the greatest intimacy of their lives. It was frightening.
yes. Almost as though they were both walking down a dark and gloomy cavern.
The atmosphere around you in such a place is just intangible, every turn
and path seemingly dangerous and startling. But. Once the match has been
struck and the light caresses every corner and wall- you see the splendor.
An adventure into the new, and something so magnificent to be witnessed
that it must be discovered. And so they discovered. The love that had been
hidden and buried within for so long.
From under the sheets, which they had pulled far over their heads,
their noses met, as did their foreheads. Kurama's lips quivered as it was
touched. An incredibly warm and feathery touch. A sensation synonymous to
butterflies dancing over your skin. Hiei breathed in his air. his breath.
He mused over its flavor. Very sweet.
Still, the magic itself had to build. Something as marvelous as love
needs age- growth. Unfortunately. Mutations take growth too. Is it really
possible for a newly born miracle such as this, to be a faux pas of fate as
Kurama's palm roamed over his loved one's chest, smoothing over the
skin and fingering the contours. He nestled from underneath Hiei's chin,
eyes lowering while he allowed himself to listen to the other's heartbeat.
Such a soothing sound. So calm in pulse. The fire demon moved to hold onto
the redhead's wrist, the very same one that held the palm over his heart.
Hiei's fingers rubbed around, until he could sense the thumping coursing
through Kurama's veins. Their hearts beated together. As though singing.
Who. Could sincerely say? That evils such as this, here and now,
should be forbidden and condemned. That this display is selfish and
Who. Could sincerely say? Without being at fault to hypocrisy himself.