Energy directed toward transformations which may have seemed impossible.

[24 Hour Themes: 11AM]

Yuri doesn't particularly care for the physical flesh. No, what draws him to a person is their mind – how strong or delicate is it? Can he bend it between his fingertips and snap it as easily as a matchstick, or is it as unyielding as if it were carved from the hardest diamond?

Kaburagi T. Kotetsu, without a doubt, is the latter.

Whom else would dare argue with him as this man does? Who, but Wild Tiger, debates on the topic of justice without hesitation, unyielding in his views and so steadfastly genuine?

Yuri doesn't understand how the man can do such a thing, and so he is drawn to such an intriguing mind.

The comparison is stark when Kotetsu is played next to his partner – young and impulsive and far too childlike in his actions, Barnaby is, no matter how he clings to the facade of calmness, of coolness, as if it were some security blanket that he would shatter without. Such a straight forward answer is always what Yuri can recall of that boy, and he laughs when he remembers how Barnaby was so desperately intent on tearing him limb from limb, as if that would help anything.

Kotetsu is different.

It is that difference that makes Yuri take a second look, and realize that his mind is not the only attractive thing about him.

Thus, when he is locked up within his own bedroom, rain scoring down the windows in pelting sheets and his legs tangled within the linens of his own bed, Yuri allows his mind to wander – his hands to wander. When has he ever cared about the more carnal ideas of the flesh? Never, never, before this man, but Kotetsu riles his blood like none other and he can imagine that same genuineness, that same heated strength when Kotetsu would slide over him, broad hands wrapped up in his hair, tugging his head back to press those damnably honest lips to his throat –

Yuri can't think past that.

His own hands drag southward, wrapping around his cock for one long, hard strong. He gasps, the sound stuttering in his throat and he can just feel every inch of Kotetsu's form, dragging over him – all hard muscle, broader lines than his own but all the better for it. Yuri wants to feel all of it, wants Kotetsu between his thighs, his own legs, long and sinewy, wrapped around his waist as the hero – because only Kotetsu is worthy of such a title, in his mind – bears over him and shoves him to the bed and takes him.

He wonders if Barnaby fantasizes about the same thing.

He wonders if he'll get a chance at Kotetsu first.

Oh, but Kotetsu would never be his. It was fine, this ideal – the thought of him so worshipfully, so possessively claiming him is too much by itself, after all, and Yuri simply loses himself, a panting, shivering mess in a half-curl, tangled up in his own sheets with the strands of his hair sticking haphazardly around his face.

Perhaps thinking about him is far more delicious than having the real thing. Wild animals never take kindly to being collared, after all.