"Let's Fly as the Birds Do." Chapter One 3/3/01 By: Hikari Category: From the heart E-mail to: hikari1612@netzero.net 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 pure words.

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 well?

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 thoughtless.

Who. Could sincerely say? Without being at fault to hypocrisy himself.