Authors Note:

I LIVE!! and look my first uploaded OneShot-- to all of you who STILL have me on their Author Alert you get a YukiKyo cookie. That I baked with my very own hands. and i am so pleased to say that I am back from the dead and you can expect much more FF's from me now on!! one-shots and chappies galore! (course not all at once i'm not that epic....)
(oh and any questions about Offbalance, please visit my profile. I will not discuss it here since it has nothing to do with this fic.)

anyways this was written in one sitting, I just suddenly felt disgusting and YK deprived so I sat down and just started typing--complete improvizing, actually, and it just all kinda seemed to piece together. Of course I knitted a few spots so it's not as scattered as it started out, but i thought I would share ^^ hopefully it's pretty decent and worth a read!

(P.S... a few parts refer to their Manga!childhood meeting, but there are no spoilers.)

oh right... WARNING! Shonen-ai, slight Yaoi, Mature content-- YUKIxKYO


Bite My Tongue

There was a part of me that didn't want to touch that side.

Mainly because I didn't want to accept that part of me, but mostly because I was afraid of his reaction.

I poked at my breakfast with my chopsticks absently as my eyes watched the glowing screen from the kitchen dismissively.

There was a night when he told me something I knew he wouldn't have if he didn't trust me. And that scared me—if there was one thing could trust myself to do, it was to deceive people who trusted me. But this time was different.

I don't want to fuck this up. Again.

I lifted my food to my lips—but another pair got to my chopsticks first.

"Hey hey hey don't go eating my food that's disgusting!" I nudged the body beside me away as the boy chewed on my mouthful of breakfast.

"But I'm hungry," He brushed his lips with his thumb, his sleepy gaze eyeing my breakfast and I protected it with my arm with a defensive, "look around, dumbass, there's some on the counter"

Yuki cocked his head behind us and spotting the food I parted from my share he walked over to grab his morning breakfast.

He got up a little earlier than usual this morning, I noticed absently. He usually always slept in till noon—only after I went for a run, had a shower, made and ate breakfast would he slump from our bedroom to eat.

"Thank you,"

I flinched at the gratitude he openly showed me—and I replied as passively as I could, "I only left you some cuz you would've burnt the place down if you tried making something yourself. Don't start thinking I'm your maid or anything."

The soft chuckle that came from his mouth and eyes should be something I'd find usual by now but I still found myself having to shake off my momentary stare. I never really knew why they called him the 'Prince' at school until i saw his smile. I mean sure he was more attractive than any other guy I've ever seen but it was an arrogant kind of beauty I was used to seeing when he was trying to please people around him, he never really turned his charm on me.

The worst times were when I was pretty sure he wasn't meaning to do it. Cuz that meant it wasn't just him. It was me.

I gave him a blank look when he sat down right across me, obscuring my view of the television with his messy bed-hair and lean figure.

He was much too into his breakfast to notice though, using the concentration he was slowly gaining back from his sleepy state to properly feed himself. Flawlessly.

In fact, there was never ever a time when I haven't been impressed by the way he ate. I suppose, from the way it sounded when he talked about his time in the main house, he had to do everything as close to perfect as possible when he was in the company of Akito or even his Mother. I guess it was just habit now.

There weren't a lot of things he told me about his childhood. Yuki kept things to himself, but what the dumbass just didn't get was how that was one of the reasons he pissed me off so much—cuz i just didn't fricken get him, so I had made my own assumptions.

But now that I think of it, I guess it wouldn't have mattered back then if he tried to tell me the truth. I would've shot him down and held to my side of the story to brutal death.

So how did that change, huh? How did he convince me that he wasn't a goody two shoes who lived off everyone's love for him, how the hell did he get me to stray from the only mind-set that kept me from breaking into myself?

I suppose he knew. About how much I lived off my hate for him, how much I needed that to be able to live with myself. He helped me.

He shared my burden.

The one that was supposed to be mine and mine alone, he shared it with me until I was ready to let go.

But the funny thing was, even after I let go of it, the need to hate to survive—I found that I still needed that damn rat.

Not for myself, but for him.

It wasn't selfish this time, this time I do want to be independent from him, I don't want to rely on him for anything—and I don't.

But he's everything in this world I never thought existed.

I thought I knew everything. The world had consisted of three things: the Juunishi, me, and everyone else.

But there was more than that—there was mystery, and beauty, and innocence, laughter, freedom, and love.

And I found it all in him.

Mystery that had me side-stepped every day, Beauty that I could touch, feel, taste... innocence that I could embrace me, laughter that welcomed my own, freedom that held me captive, and...

And there was still fear. Indisputable, heart-seizing fear.

One of the night's that we had stayed up late, my sweaty back warm against the cool sheets, his hot chest on mine, his wet hair sticking to my skin... he had breathed onto my neck, told me he always wanted me but never thought I would ever think him worthy.

He told me I was beautiful, he told me he adored me, he told me for the longest time that I was the thing he admired, and that turned to desire... and that desire rotted into envy, which decayed into hate.

He told me he once blamed me for his fickle fantasies, he once looked at me with nothing but distain. That I wasn't the only one who hated out of spite.

Then he looked up, with his blizzard grey eyes, naked with regret—and he asked for my forgiveness.

He asked me to forgive him. For the exact thing I was guilty of as well.

That was the very first time it actually hurt—I mean physically hurt not to say it.

I had to slide my hand into his tangle hair, and embrace his lips with mine in order to keep my voice from speaking those disgusting words. But they did come out; they came from the corners of my closed eyes, wet and insignificant.

Where does he come off, making my sins seem so justified, so beautiful.

I hate it.

Yuki looked up, tips of his chopsticks in his mouth, eyes glancing at me—and having forgotten completely how I had just zoned out into la-la land staring at him again I quickly stuffed a mouthful of food in my mouth and chewed on it as intently as I could.

He didn't comment. I think he's used to it by now.

By the time he got up to put his dishes away, I picked mine up and held it in the air, keeping my eyes transfixed onto the television screen that came back into my view and Yuki took my plate as well to the sink.

But I didn't hear the water, and I looked back to see him go back to our bedroom.

We had an unconventional routine—I cook, he cleans.

The dishes, that was. I did the house-cleaning—damn spoiled rat was so used to getting everything cleaned up after him from all the Estate maids that I always came home to his coat on the floor, bed unmade, paperwork scattered all over the coffee table there really was no end, no matter how many times I yelled at him about it.

By the time he came out of the room I stared bluntly at the whole suit get-up he had on.

He didn't work today (despite the fact that being the Rat he was pretty much set for life, Yuki wanted to make his own living)—but before I could make a crack at him, he spoke up, smoothing out the last strands of untidy hair with his long pale hand, "I'm going to the Estate, they still want to convince me to move in with Akito."

"pff," I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the counter, "It's not like your presence will magically cure him of dying, yknow."

"No, I think they're just worried that I won't take over Head of the family when he goes."

He said it in that monotone voice, the one that triggered that feeling that he was holding back something he didn't want me to know he felt. But I knew already—Yuki, no matter how much bull shit that Akito put him through—was still gonna be a loyal pet to Akito. I didn't get it, Yuki was pretty smart in all other areas, why the hell does he give a shit if he dies or not?

"Well whatever, just decide already." I said passively. I was not gonna let him use me as an excuse to not move back into the estate if that's what he wanted. I could take care of myself.

"I told you, I've already decided." I watched as Yuki slid his arms through his jacket.

I was silent as he moved past me to the door, "I don't know when I'll be back, but if I'm staying the night again I'll give you a call."

My hand suddenly had the sleeve of his coat, stopping him from moving past the threshold of the open door. His stormy grey eyes questioned me subtly and I opened my mouth in silence for a moment before my voice came out, "Maybe I should come with you, yknow, just in case you decide to do something stupid again."

I looked pointedly at the thin scar, finally fading, that went from his eyebrow to his cheekbone—marking his once flawless face and the memory of our first confrontation with Akito.

I couldn't look at him, or myself, for months after that happened.

A suddenly soft smile spread across his lips, "Baka, that was because you two were going at it like a couple of children over a new toy."

"Hey HE was the one he kept saying he owned you, I was—"

"—very predictable."

I was about to bark back an insult when I realised through the tone he used that he wasn't being condescending. He continued, "I thought you would feel justified in being awarded some kind of punishment, but if you don't mind me being so vulgar I would rather if I was the only one to cause you harm."

I blinked at him, and he gave a short laugh, "Besides, I don't mind taking a blow for someone I care about instead of myself."

I flinched back, feeling heat in my face—and he used that opportunity to reach out and cup his thin hand around the back of my neck and press his lips to mine, opening them just enough to make my stomach tingle as he moulded our mouths together.

When he pulled back he sent that trade-mark smirk of his at me as he left before I could gather the heat from his my face and untangle my stomach and get the feeling back in my fingers.

I shot a glare at the floor, my mouth twisted in a grimace.

I hate you.

I walked away from the door—hating the way he always got the last word. Hating the way he always goddamn won.

I got to the bedroom, kicked aside the clothes he left on the floor, and threw myself on the bed with my hands locking behind my head. I glared at the ceiling.

I don't know how to do it.

I don't even know how to deal with it.

It's like when I hated him for his existence, but more intense.

Deep down inside, I know it's gross and disgusting and wrong and it makes me feel sick but—I won't let it go.

Only this time, it's not me who's holding myself back from letting it go, it's him.

Him and that damn laugh, him and that damn smirk that he's got just for me, him and those damn lips, him and the damn way he makes me out of breath, him and the damn way he guts me inside out with a few words.

The way he makes it seem like I've always been justified. The way he touches me like he's feeling the most precious thing he's always been denied. The way he looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

A part of me just knows—one day he's going to give me what I've deserved from the very start, instead of giving me the one thing I least deserve.

And I'm gonna have to take it like a man.


It was like drowning in silk, if that even makes sense.

I leaned my head back and open my mouth silently, feeling my back arch and my sweat slide along my skin onto him.

He exhaled, the hot moisture of his lips pressing against the underline of my jaw, my hand tangled in his damp hair.

He kissed my skin, and breathed my name, his hips gently rolling against mine. I clenched my fist into the sheets and eased up into him, biting my lip and clenching my eyes closed.


He rolled his slick forehead against my forehead and I let out a hasty breath.

Stop it.

His arms curved underneath the opening of my arched back and the bed mattress, and he sighed before pushing gently against me once more—

Stop, dammit, stop it.

I feel a familiar sensation, my insides curling underneath my pelvis, butterfly wings feathering against my soft inner flesh and my body's aching with fire and heat—

I feel his thigh against mine, and he tightens his embrace around my waist before bringing us together and he keeps going while I dig my claws into what's left of my sanity to keep my mouth closed.

Doesn't he freaken understand how hard he's making this on me? How much more difficult it is to be with him day after day after day?

My name never sounded so good, hot and velvet like milk from his lips.

I ended up sinking my teeth into my arm when heaven ascended back to the sky.

My body at peace, but my mind still in unreleased desire.

I came back to our bed when I felt his fingers lift something from my lashes. I opened my eyes to see his, uncertain and guarded.

"What is it."

"What's what?"

"What's been bothering you." He was still slightly out of breath, "You're quiet."

"I just had a damn orgasm I don't exactly feel like rushing into what a fucking great day i had." I retorted in one short breath, still feeling my lungs quiver.

He smirked at my rowdy comeback, "I don't mean just now, idiot, you've been getting more and more quiet around me. Not hearing you complain about everything makes me feel a little uneasy."

I scoffed at him but he didn't reply further except for a slight lift of his thin eyebrow, encouraging my explanation.

I let my eyes wonder to the other side of the room, away from him. Usually Yuki didn't press me about anything that seemed personal, so I guessed he was actually a bit worried. Which just made me want to scoff again.

"Just off about Akito," I told my wall, "you know how it is." I muttered.

It was true—despite how he pissed me off, part of the curse was being unconditionally bound to him. His deceasing health did have me feeling something sick and uncertain inside myself.

I abandoned the last chance at earning his acceptance when I chose Yuki over him, but now before my eyes the last chance truly was leaking away with his health.

I did think that the only reason was to earn my way out of confinement, but it seemed the blow of Yuki choosing me over him had put him into enough of a depression to dispose of the law of confinement. But I still found a part of me longing Akito's embrace.

But Yuki was slowly filling that unrequited void.


I glanced back at Yuki, and there was something understanding in his eyes—but it wasn't what I said, it was over what I didn't say.

He knew I wasn't being completely honest.

He doesn't get any credit for figuring that out, I suck at lying anyone can see that. But Yuki let it go.

That was one thing I liked about him, he got it when I didn't want to talk—unlike Tohru, who always took it personally.

I nodded and looked the other way again.

It was weird being with someone who understood. But it was a huge relief.

Then I felt something tense in the air.

And his fingers were on my chin, lifting my eyes back to his.

He actually looked completely uncertain.

I blinked. This was one of the only times I've seen him look genuinely insecure, nervous about what's going on in my head I guess. A few of the other times was the first time he kissed me, the first time we had had sex, the first time he asked me to live with him. It was a sight—he didn't look hesitant for a moment even the first time he let me beat the shit out him.

I didn't like it.

It was like he was worried that I was finally getting bored of him or something.

It was a really vain way of thinking, but that's just the impression I got and I hated it.

So I lifted my own hand, and let it frame his handsome face, and I pushed myself up until my moist lips met his. He let me convince him.

I poured my thoughts, my desires, my longing with bruising need onto his lips, my technique desperate in comparison to his smooth graceful performance earlier on that day.

Our lips moulded, meshed, set together as I ignored our lack of breath.

One day I'm going to tell him, and he's going to reject me the way I rejected him all those years ago.

He's gonna look at me with disgust and vulgarity the way I did that day.

I'm not expecting acceptance or rejoice from him, but one day I'll need to tell him the truth—just for myself.

But not right now.

I weaved my other hand into the matted swamp of his hair and pulled him back into me as I eased my body into our damp sheets.

Just like you waited until I was ready to let go of my hate for you, I have to do that for myself now. I have to wait until I'm ready to let go of you.

And I can't. I'm too happy like this.

Just a little longer.

I let our lips pull back until they were only resting on another, breathing together.

I ran my thumb along his scar.

I'm scared that I'm lying to myself again. But that's not it.

I'm scared because it isn't a lie, it's the utter truth. was so much easier hating you.


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oh and by the way, I am currently on a hunt for a Beta-reader--if you're interested feel free to message me!