Breaking Kamui-kun was no fun.
Large amethyst eyes had glared at him, the long lashes that framed them trembling as fire burned in those irises…such exquisite colour…secondary to emeralds. Those flawless rows of teeth had been gritted, rose-petal lips squashed together to white flesh, white as the skin of corpse, denied from disintegration by formaldehyde…
Unlike that corpse, Kamui-kun had struggled, lean arms flailing, clenched fists beating, knuckles pearly as the porcelain display in his house, the doll he had treasured, the doll that had shattered. Kamui-kun had screamed: What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Did he not mean anything-
He cut the boy with a kiss, pressing lips together with such vehemence, enough to bruise. Kamui-kun would seem pretty with purplish flowers blossoming on the canvas of the boy's skin, jewels that matched the boy's eyes. Kamui-kun kicked his shins and was on the verge of biting the tongue that was exploring the warm cavern of the boy's mouth when he cloaked his prey in an illusion; a payback, of the sort. Those large eyes turned glassy, then, hands that shoved his chest changed their intention and curled around his broad shoulders, resistance eroded to dust. Kamui-kun whimpered when his hand slipped under the boy's shirt, when he laid his palm on the flat plane of the former savior of the world's abdomen.
Fuuma, Kamui –kun whispered.
He divested the boy off the uniform. First, the tie, later, the starchy shirt, the dark-coloured pants, the boxers, fabric hissing upon friction. Kamui-kun was wanton, pressed against his shoulder when his fingers skimmed the boy's petite inner thighs, slipped into the heat between the boy's legs. Coarse wavy strands tickled his skin, unmistakably burnt sienna under the glow of the lighting. He preferred inky black, preferred straight silky locks. The concrete was harsh against Kamui-kun's spine. He pressed the boy against the bark of his tree, shapely limbs wrapping his hips and locking behind the small of his back. The entity sprinkled them with silky petals as he shook it with the force of his thrusts, each one deeper, faster, angrier than the previous. The volume of Kamui-kun's moans rose proportionately.
Emerald and Pink looked good.
Violet and Pink looked good too.
He was fooling himself.
A/N: I'm not sure if I'm able to accomplish what I'm trying to. Anyone up to interpreting this drabble?