Disclaimer :: I wish.
Author's Note :: Written because I was starting to get fed up with stories where Kyo is a blubbering ninny who has the hots for Yuki, and never finding the vice. So, I made one. Please enjoy.
Lips parting, sweat dripping, a burning heat pulsating throughout their bodies like an electromagnetic wave. Rushed breath, exciting scents, and the underlying tones of an unsated desire urging to be fulfilled.
Sohma Yuki savored each thought, each sight, each sound that surrounded him as he weaved around punch after punch, kick after kick. The heat of the room came at him in waves, digging in with its nails and tearing at his stamina, his determination, his resolve. Ho wove on, though; for this time he could see her was close, could taste it as if it was a tangible thing, could feel it. His victory.
Before him the redhead staggered. Yuki watched the rise and fall of his bare chest, saw just how different that sun darkened skin was to his own moon pale flesh. The glisten of sweat on that lithe brawler's form shimmered faintly in the dim light, casting a the appearance that instead of an outraged Kyo there was some anonymous Greek god kneeling before him in all his glory.
'Perhaps Nike', Yuki mused; God of Endurance. A snarl interrupted his thoughts.
"F-fuck….you," the redhead hissed laboriously. "You bastard."
Yuki ignored him, turning his attentions instead to his beauteous body. His face was full of sharp angles caressed by soft curves. Furious eyes rested there, ageless pools of maroon whisked from ruthlessness by the pockets of kindness wedged beside the smooth curl of lip.
Kyo glared up at him through dark lashes. Yuki's stomach fluttered. A growl squeezed between parted lips.
Yuki watched him; the feeling in his stomach advanced, red and blue, embarrassed. He was no fool. He knew it was attraction, and he knew he was in it deep by the way he memorized every movement made by the redhead.
Yuki spouted something derogative at the cat. As desired, those lips he wanted to kiss until they bruised opened. The flutter increased.
He knew he wasn't like him. Didn't feel the same way he did. Didn't know the agony in his loins when he changed with other men. Didn't know the way he hurt inside with each 'faggot' or 'queer' that was muttered.
But when he looked at him, that delicious sweat soaked form of fury and beauty, when he felt that familiar fluttering, he decided he could wait.
Kyo took a breathe. Sweat dribbled from his forehead, trickled towards his mouth, caressed his lips.
Yes. He could wait. He could change him. And then he'd be his.