Archive of Our Own

It was a night so piercingly cold that one's very breath seemed to freeze in the air.

Under a night sky blanketed in a cold, deathly silence, Kyo stumbled through the dark alleys. Dragging his exhausted body, he struggled to force himself to take just one more step. His breathing was erratic, and with every breath and every footfall, the ground seemed to subtly shift beneath him. It was a sign that his body was breaking down. Sporadic puffs of white breath scattered into the freezing air.

Kyo swallowed his own recklessness, cursing himself inwardly. If only I had been a little more vigilant. He never expected that tracking NESTS would lead him straight into their trap. He thought he only needed to interrogate a few stray grunts wandering the streets. His violent rage—the burning desire to turn everything to ash and destroy them—had made him hasty, leading him to willingly walk right into the snare they had set for him.

Late on a winter night devoid of even a single passerby, a space so dark without a sliver of seeping light offered the advantage of stealth, but conversely, it meant one could just as easily be ambushed. As if they had been waiting for him, they lunged to neutralize Kyo, and ultimately, a tranquilizer aimed straight for his neck found its mark. The drug, biting into a body already worn down by days of ceaseless tension and fatigue, took over in an instant, scattering his consciousness before he even had a chance to resist.

Through his blurring vision, dark silhouettes cautiously approached. How wonderful it would be if I could just burn them all to ash right now. Glaring at them with murderous intent, Kyo bit down hard on his lower lip. A faint, metallic taste spread across his tongue. Clamping down with all his might to keep from passing out, beads of blood began to bloom on his lip. The crimson liquid seeping from the torn flesh slowly trailed down his jawline. The drug infiltrating his bloodstream may have been consuming his body at a rapid pace, but his spirit had yet to yield.

His thirst for revenge against NESTS, his resolve to never be humiliated by them again, his sheer anger, and his raw instinct to survive—it all began to shake the very limits of his physical form.

Just a second before his muscles completely gave out, Kyo's fist erupted, sending primal crimson flames exploding in all directions. The scorching heat blasted the grunts backward, and seizing the opening, Kyo used the wall for support, dragging his body deep into the alleyway between the buildings. However, he hadn't taken more than a few steps before his feet felt like lead, as if rooted to the ground. He had summoned superhuman willpower to surpass his breaking point for a fleeting moment, but as if demanding its toll, the drug was now devouring him even faster.

Is this it? Am I going to fall here?

The moment his strength vanished and he was about to collapse onto the cold pavement, he felt someone roughly grab him by the collar. Through the haze of his fading consciousness, the silhouette of striking red hair bled into his vision.

"Pathetic, Kyo."

A low, heavy voice dripping with irritation followed. The red-haired man had been hiding in the shadows, quietly observing the situation. He hadn't intervened immediately simply because Kyo was still holding his ground. Naturally, Iori figured if Kyo crumbled at a level like this, he wasn't even worth calling a rival. And yet, he remained at the scene to prevent a potential repeat of the ultimate misfortune—everything ending prematurely.

Iori was thoroughly displeased. The reality that the only man worthy of receiving the full weight of his cursed destiny was being bested by such worthless trash was utterly unacceptable. Seeing Kyo stumble so weakly felt like a personal insult, a degradation of his own existence. Iori wanted to grab the idiot by the collar and smash a fist into his face right then and there, but Kyo had already succumbed to the tranquilizer.

As his legs gave out, Kyo's body swayed and collapsed right toward Iori. In that split second, there was no time to think or judge. On instinct, to keep him from hitting the ground, Iori tightened his grip on Kyo's collar and yanked him closer. As Kyo's lifeless body slid downward, his entire mass poured heavily onto Iori. Although Iori's physical strength was several times that of an ordinary man, taking the full, dead weight of another grown man his size was no easy feat. Resisting the sinking burden threatening to crush him, Iori took a step back, but a solid wall stood in his way; there was nowhere left to retreat. As a reaction, a heavy, dull thud echoed along the brick wall.

Kyo's body continued to lean heavily into Iori, pinning him, until the redhead was essentially forced to brace his own back against the wall to keep them both standing. Before he knew it, Kyo's head drooped powerlessly, burying itself deep into the crook of Iori's neck. From a distance, they looked almost like lovers locked in a close embrace. Iori made no effort to hide his blatant disgust. Just as he was contemplating kicking Kyo away, a rush of defenseless, burning breath ghosted across Iori's cool neck, short-circuiting his thoughts. With his willpower and rationality dismantled by the drug, Kyo's sense of smell had suddenly and sharply awakened. Like a sensation exploding into pain, the sensual fragrance radiating from Iori swallowed Kyo whole.

What is this...?

It was a scent as crisp and cold as the dawn air beneath a pale crescent moon. Beneath the refreshing embrace of citrus lay a heavy, sophisticated woody note mingled with patchouli. This fragrance, harboring a spicy, decadent sensuality, further stimulated Kyo's frayed nerves. Every time Kyo's breath brushed against Iori's cold skin, the scent grew thicker, seeping deep into Kyo's lungs.

Drawn instinctively to this unfamiliar tranquility through his hazy consciousness, Kyo kept his face buried in Iori's neck, continuously drawing in deep breaths. Like a parched beast finding water, he looked so desperate, as if he would die that very instant if he let go. In the deathly quiet alleyway, only the sound of Kyo's ragged breathing echoed softly. Right before his mind fully collapsed, Kyo completely let go of his resistance. And surrendering to his fading consciousness, he mumbled weakly.

"Yagami..." His pronunciation slurred as his mind slipped away, yet he didn't stop talking. "I like it... your scent..."

Iori's crimson eyes, previously filled with contempt, trembled faintly, his shoulders giving a sudden flinch. This blatant, purely instinctual remark from a half-conscious Kyo was a completely unexpected blow. Becoming hyper-aware of Kyo's searing breath and the soft brush of the other man's lips lingering against his own neck, Iori realized he was involuntarily tensing up. Between their pressed upper bodies, the fierce, erratic pounding of a heart echoed loudly. He was thrown into confusion, unable to tell if that vivid, frantic thumping belonged to Kyo or to himself.

"Shut the hell up." Regaining his composure, Iori clicked his tongue, as if trying to erase that humiliating sensation. He then sharpened his senses, scanning his surroundings. There was a high chance the remnants of NESTS might regroup and return. Sure, if those rats showed up, tearing them limb from limb would be child's play for him. But right now, the situation was different.

"...Can't be helped."

If only to properly settle their lifelong vendetta one day, securing Kyo's safety had to be the priority. And to do that, they needed to get out of this place first. Dragging Kyo's limp body up, he grabbed Kyo's arm and slung it roughly over his own shoulder to support him. Frowning at the heavy weight bearing down on him, Iori narrowed his eyes, staring into the void as if lost in thought. Where should I go now?

"Damn it." After a brief internal conflict, a low curse slipped past his lips as he made his decision. In the end, he began walking in the direction of his own place. With every single step he took, Kyo's feverish breath and soft brown hair tickled against his neck and chest. That sensation dragged up the afterimage of what had just happened, making a horrifyingly repulsive feeling churn from the pit of his stomach. Iori let out a rough exhale, adjusting his hold on Kyo. Then, lifting his head defiantly as if to completely ignore the intimate illusion lingering on his neck, he kept walking. There was no reason to waste any more time here. Turning resolutely, he disappeared into the darkness with Kyo in tow, swallowed by the freezing air.

--------------

As the front door opened, a calm fragrance washed over them, seemingly speaking for the room owner’s temperament. The walls and ceiling flowed seamlessly into achromatic exposed concrete. Though the unfinished surfaces were rough, the space carried a distinctly urban atmosphere, as if refusing to allow even the slightest trivial decoration. The blinds, meticulously drawn over the windows, completely blocked out the outside world, permitting only the faintest sliver of light to seep through. Because the room was sparsely furnished without a hint of clutter, it felt far more spacious than its actual size.

Taking up the center of the room, a double bed was pushed neatly against the windowed wall. To its right sat a small nightstand holding a mood lamp and a few writing utensils showing signs of use, as if he had been composing music. Across the room, a wardrobe that likely held Iori's clothes stood firm like a fortress wall, a bass guitar case leaning at an angle against its end. On the opposite wall stood a full-length mirror, impassively surveying the room's deep silence. It held its place as if to reflect Iori’s refined temperament—a nature that tolerated not the slightest flaw in his appearance. That was all. Stripped down to its bare essentials, the space was completely devoid of the mundane clutter of everyday life.

Iori roughly dumped Kyo, whom he had been carrying over his shoulder, onto the bed. The mattress sank deeply to catch his dead weight. As if responding to the dull thud, the mood lamp on the nightstand flickered on, casting a faint, warm incandescent glow that comfortably illuminated the space around the bed. Even at the moment he crashed onto the mattress, Kyo didn't make a single sound.

After glaring for a long time at Kyo's sprawled, motionless silhouette, Iori finally turned his head away, struggling to tamp down the disgust he had been chewing over internally. He wanted nothing more than to wash away this sticky, suffocating tension lingering on his neck a second sooner. Irritably tearing at his shirt buttons, he headed straight for the bathroom.

As if venting his rage, he wrenched the shower faucet without a hint of hesitation, unleashing a torrent of freezing water. Every time the fierce stream cascaded over his sculpted muscles, the scorching heat radiating from his body turned into steam, clouding the bathroom in a thick haze. Amidst the freezing downpour, Iori breathed heavily, his chest heaving. He felt that only by doing this could he scatter these unfathomably complex emotions and his ruthlessly suppressed instincts.

He stood like a stone statue beneath the water for a long time, but his mind refused to settle. Even as the bitingly cold water relentlessly drenched his body, the afterimage Kyo had just left behind stubbornly clung to his skin, refusing to be washed away. Ultimately unable to overcome his surging fury, Iori spat out a vulgar curse and slammed his fist into the tiled wall. Though usually impulsive, he employed only refined language even when spewing vitriol. At this moment, however, such composed restraint was the last thing on his mind. The source of the base curse erupting from his lips was a profound, suffocating self-loathing directed at his own uncontrollably surging instincts.

His face twisting in nausea, Iori glared down at himself, already rigid with unwanted heat. There was no need to question when it had gotten like this. Iori knew perfectly well that his lust had begun to rear its head the exact second Kyo collapsed into his arms and nuzzled against him. Kyo's faint, broken voice, stubbornly etched into Iori's brain, and the wet, burning sensation that had touched his neck resurfaced like a vivid hallucination, sending violent shivers down his spine.

Feeling the bursting ache in his lower body, Iori bit his lower lip hard. Just outside that bathroom door lay Kyo Kusanagi. To secretly stroke his own shameful desire to the thought of him, within a space saturated with Kyo's very presence, was a humiliation worse than death and an utterly unforgivable act. Iori dumped freezing water directly over his head, thrashing internally to crush his instincts. The truth was, he knew. He knew perfectly well that the lust he felt toward Kyo right now was neither unfamiliar, nor merely a passing impulse.

His thoughts drifted back to three years ago, when he was dragged by the undeniable, detestable fate of his bloodline to form a team with Kyo through Chizuru Kagura's mediation. As the tournament progressed, Orochi's power reached its absolute peak, and the influence of the curse magnified immensely. Iori had been in a highly precarious state back then. His sanity was frayed like a torn scrap of paper. A fragile, destructive madness would subside only to savagely explode, oscillating constantly.

There were countless nights spent wide awake, gasping for air after being crushed by horrific nightmares. Some days, stripped of everything but cruel, destructive instincts, he raged like a rabid beast. And often, after coughing up blood in agonizing fits, he would black out before he could even change his blood-soaked shirt.

The one who dragged Iori back to the borders of reality as he was being swallowed alive by the madness inherited through his bloodline's karma was none other than Kyo Kusanagi. The one who fiercely seized the leash of a monstrous Iori no one else dared to handle, hauling him back to the realm of humanity, was that man—the one who burned wildly just like the sun crest he carried on his back, yet branded him with a purifying flame.

One day, amidst their razor-sharp antagonism and precarious truces, Kyo had found Iori miserably crushed against the floor, vomiting blood from the curse's manifestation. Kyo had gathered the broken body into his arms. Initially, it might have been a simple gesture to support a collapsed form, but at some point, the nature of that physical force shifted entirely.

The hand bracing his back for balance pulled inward, pressing their waists flush together; the fingers gripping his wrist slipped down, naturally seeking out the other's hand to lace tightly together; and the breath parting his hair brushed gently past his forehead, before their lips finally met. Beyond the body heat shared through thin fabric, their heartbeats throbbed hotly against one another, as if desperately proving they were still alive.

Feeling a bizarre, intoxicating sense of peace in his touch and warmth, Iori, despite fully recognizing exactly who it was, did not push Kyo away. The remnants of the curse festering deep in his veins were clouding his judgment, and Kyo's presence felt like the sole salvation that could silence that excruciating chaos. They had clashed so roughly and tangled together so clumsily. Yet, the hands that cradled his blood-drenched body, and the warmth carved into him as Kyo carefully—despite his clumsiness—pressed inside, were branded into his soul far deeper than he ever expected. In that suffocating heat, his memory was hazy on whether what he felt was actual pleasure, or simply a desperate need to reaffirm the sensation of being alive. 

Even thinking about it now, Iori couldn't fathom Kyo's actions back then. To even entertain the thought of holding a man covered in his own blood... Iori had absolutely no idea what could have possibly set him off.

Maybe this bastard is the crazier one. Did seeing me vomit blood as if I were about to drop dead spark some kind of twisted sympathy? Then... was it just pity?

After that impulsive night, the two of them never spoke a single word of it, as if by mutual, silent agreement. The attitude that absolutely nothing had happened despite having shared their bodies was like an unspoken promise that their relationship would remain unchanged going forward. Through that intentional, cold avoidance, the events of that day were buried. Or so he had thought.

Then those trivial thoughts should have perished by now. But the undeniable fact that this sickening reaction torturing him now was a remnant of that warmth he firmly believed he had forgotten—it humiliated Iori to the point of being unbearable.

A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. In the end, instead of seeking relief by his own hand, Iori braced himself heavily against the wet wall and hung his head. He felt that the moment he touched himself here, it would mean he alone was doomed to live trapped by the pathetic vestiges of that day. Rather than the agonizing physical need for release, the absolute certainty that he would have to relive this instinctual sense of defeat and humiliation every time he faced Kyo from now on was far more torturous.

Sweeping his soaking wet hair back, he grabbed a shower towel. If he didn't obsessively scrub his body clean right this very instant, he didn't think he could endure another second.

--------------

The bathroom door opened, and a rush of cold air spilled out. Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, Iori stepped into the room. With every step he took, drops of water fell from the tips of his damp hair, hitting the floor with a soft drip, drip. He hadn't taken more than a few steps before he stopped dead in his tracks, his expression immediately hardening into its usual icy detachment.  Kyo, who had been lying there like a corpse just moments ago, had somehow managed to sit up.

An ordinary man wouldn't have woken up from that tranquilizer until the next day. His physical capabilities and recovery speed, vastly transcending a normal human's, were a blatant testament to his monstrous metabolism. However, the drug's hazy influence had yet to fully dissipate. Leaning his head against the headboard, Kyo's expression was languid and slack. His focus was blurred, his breathing sluggish. Rather than being fully awake, it was more like his consciousness had merely breached the surface of sleep.

Iori furrowed his brows. As if acknowledging his presence, Kyo gave a slight tilt of his head before slowly parting his lips.

"Is this... your place?"

At Kyo's dry, cracked voice, Iori let out a scoff of sheer disbelief.

"Is that the first thing out of your mouth?" 

"What, you want me to say thank you or something?"

Seems you're not dead yet. His instinctual knack for grating on people's nerves with his tone and temper remained perfectly intact. Instead of replying, Iori merely snorted and moved to grab his underwear and lounge pants. If he were sticking to his usual sleeping habits, he would have slept naked after a shower, but tonight was the one exception where he absolutely could not do that. Especially not with that man, Kyo Kusanagi, in the room. Iori could feel Kyo's gaze trailing down his movements, but he didn't let it show. After pulling his clothes from the drawer, he sat on the edge of the bed, maintaining a deliberate distance.

Unconsciously, Kyo inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Perhaps due to the remnants of the drug still lingering in his system, as the red-haired man drew closer, the sudden wave of crisp scent and bizarre coldness violently scrambled Kyo’s hazy mind. The body temperature radiating from Iori was decidedly abnormal. In a dreamlike vision where he couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality, only Iori's sheer presence approached him with absolute clarity.

Kyo quietly stared at Iori's back. The still-damp hair, the firm line of his neck beneath it; the sharply defined back muscles that shifted and flexed with every breath and movement; the inverted triangle silhouette plunging flawlessly from his broad shoulders and solid chest down to the sleek curve of his waist; right down to a single transparent drop of water gliding elegantly over his pale skin. Struck by the absurdly vivid, refreshing crispness radiating from Iori, Kyo felt a sudden heat surge from within his own body.

"...Feels cold."

"You're just shivering."

"No...you're the one who's cold."

For a split second, Iori's shoulders gave a faint jolt. The searing heat that suddenly pressed against his trapezius muscle paradoxically sent a violent shiver down his spine. As if possessed, Kyo was resting his forehead against Iori's back, slowly rubbing against the skin. He wanted to dig deeper, to completely immerse himself in the lingering scent layered over the biting chill radiating from the freshly showered man's body.

There was no room left in his mind for any other rational thought.

Tilting his head slightly, Kyo pressed his lips firmly against Iori's skin. Beneath the thin surface, he could feel the turbulent, frantic flutter of a pulse. A complex layer of peculiar scents rose from Iori's flesh—a lingering trace of patchouli and woody notes seamlessly blended with the crisp, refreshing scent of his body wash, sharply stimulating Kyo's frontal lobe. The urge to merely feel the skin evolved into a desperate craving to taste it. Slowly parting his lips, Kyo kept them sealed against the cold flesh, carefully trailing the tip of his hot tongue downwards. The sweet afterglow of the fragrance and the slick texture intoxicated him; the thought of stopping never even crossed his mind.

He then began to obsessively ravish Iori's shoulder and the line of his neck. Sucking and lightly biting down on the flesh, vivid hickeys and teeth marks blossomed fiercely wherever Kyo's lips made contact. It was a bad habit of his—once he sank into an indulgence, he would lose himself completely, unable to hold back. It was a manifestation of pure possessiveness, a primal need to carve the proof of his existence directly into the person before him.

Before he knew it, Kyo's hands had naturally wrapped around Iori's waist. The chill seeping into his fingers felt refreshing and pleasant. The hands that had gripped the waist so forcefully began to stroke the skin, gliding smoothly as if swimming across his body. With every touch of his fingertips, Iori's firm muscles twitched, repeatedly contracting and relaxing.

The honest, involuntary flinching beneath the skin was delightful—as if to prove that while emotions could be disguised, the body never lied. Craving something softer, Kyo forcefully seized Iori's chest with both of his. A complex sensation—yielding yet firm—filled his grip. Like a child engrossed in play, Kyo squeezed the resilient, smooth curves, kneading them at his own wicked pace. Soon, as if that alone wasn't enough, his fingers suddenly moved to pinch and capture the hardened peaks of Iori's chest.

At the unannounced stimulation, a sharp sensation bordering on pain shot through Iori's entire body. Startled, he swallowed a stifled gasp, his hips jolting upward. The small, squishy texture—feeling like the very essence of softness condensed—tickled Kyo's fingertips. Visibly satisfied, Kyo didn't stop his wicked teasing, rolling and rubbing the nipples caught between his digits.

'This bastard... is he mistaking me for something else because he's half-asleep?'

His mind screamed at him to tear himself away, but Iori’s body refused to obey the dictates of reason. Had he truly wanted to, it would have taken no effort at all to violently reject Kyo’s touch—to drive a fist into that arrogant face and smash him against the floor. And yet, before he knew it, Iori found himself tilting his head back, surrendering his entire body to Kyo. Ignited by Kyo’s unexpected advance, the desire he had so desperately suffocated began to swell with a heavy, undeniable ache. His will to resist withered. The very sensations he had found so appallingly repulsive were now twisting into a sweet, coaxing poison, melting his rationality away.

Kyo’s lips, which had been pressing deep kisses into the nape of his neck, gradually trailed up to his ear. For a moment, it felt like a simple caress—until Kyo caught the earlobe between his teeth, pulling and lightly biting down on the sensitive flesh.

Kyo was acutely aware that the man before him—the one he was currently touching and ravishing with his mouth—was none other than Yagami. Of course, he couldn't care less. There was simply no room for any other thought to intervene. Only the pure, primal instinct to greedily devour that pleasantly cool scent and the smooth, frigid skin that was perfectly soothing his own searing heat. As if to reaffirm the identity of the man in his grasp, Kyo breathed out his name in a low, husky whisper.

"...Yagami."

At the sound of Kyo’s voice, carried on a faint, heated breath, Iori jolted upright, tearing himself away like a man harshly wrenched from a dream. The sudden momentum caused the towel loosely draped around his waist to slip off, leaving him completely bare—but he didn't give a damn. The absolute confirmation that Kyo knew exactly who he was touching became the final catalyst, shattering whatever fragile sanity Iori had left. Abandoning every last shred of his internal conflict, Iori spun around. He savagely seized Kyo by the shoulders and shoved him brutally against the headboard.

"You started this."

The words were hissed in a low, dangerous growl, thick with explosive, pent-up desire. Through the crimson strands of his hair, a murderous glare of the exact same hue flashed, pinning Kyo down with ferocious intensity. As though thoroughly delighted by Iori’s vicious hostility, Kyo narrowed his eyes and let out a languid, satisfied smile.

Iori braced one hand against the wall, remaining on his knees as he gazed down at Kyo. Seeming to understand the silent command, Kyo slid his hand down Iori’s thigh, leaning in toward his firm erection. As the straight bridge of Kyo’s nose brushed against the shaft and his hot breath fanned over the bare skin, Iori flinched slightly from the mounting tension, yet waited patiently. Hovering just a breath away, Kyo’s lips barely grazed the surface before he pressed a light kiss to the head, the tip of his tongue slowly tracing the length down to the base. Utterly captivated by the scent and the lingering chill of Iori's skin, Kyo felt no hesitation. He was consumed by a singular, surging craving to taste and devour every inch of the man before him.

Iori shuddered beneath the relentless onslaught of sensations—the gentle suction of parted lips against his skin, the teasing, maddening friction of a deft tongue. The electric jolt that had roughly swept down his spine soon gave way to a languid, melting heat that pooled throughout his entire body. Exhaling a shaky breath as he surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure, he kept his gaze locked on Kyo. Amidst the wet, slick sounds of flesh and saliva, he found himself wishing that this sweet, agonizing ecstasy—as that tongue ceaselessly roamed and mapped every sensitive nerve—could last forever.

Before long, Kyo pulled back. Iori’s brows furrowed in sharp displeasure at the abrupt halt to a rhythm he had been so thoroughly enjoying. Unfazed, Kyo slid his fingers deep into his own mouth to wet them, drawing them back out slick and glistening. Then, with his free hand, he gripped Iori’s cock, stroking it rhythmically while pressing soft, lingering kisses along the way. Soon, those saliva-slicked fingers guided themselves to the cleft of Iori's body, pressing inward. Iori’s brow twitched faintly at the sudden, intrusive sensation of fingers stretching his inner walls. His hand, which had been bracing against the wall, slipped down to rest heavily on Kyo’s shoulder, the grip tightening with every passing second.

Kyo gave the cock he had been holding a few more strokes, rubbed his thumb over the leaking tip, and then took it back into his mouth, sucking hard. Although it was difficult to take in the entire length down to the base, the stimulation transmitted through the grip of his hand was more than enough to satisfy the need. The sensation was intense as the slick lining of his mouth enveloped the cock, pulling firmly against it. As if unable to hold back any longer, Iori followed his instincts; he grasped Kyo’s head with both hands and began to move his hips in shallow thrusts. After all, simply being led passively and meekly was never in Iori’s nature.

Kyo’s hushed, intimate gasps spilled out incessantly, and whenever that faint breath brushed against his lower abdomen, Iori’s long, pale fingers tangled messily into the brown hair, raking through the strands.

Kyo showed no signs of being flustered. On the contrary, Iori’s growing roughness only seemed to excite him more. He released his hold, grabbed Iori's buttocks, and pulled him closer. The hole, which had gradually softened, made a squelching sound as it repeatedly swallowed and released Kyo's fingers. After repeating this a few more times, the movements soon became bolder, and his deeply hooked fingers began to probe around as if searching for something. When his fingertips finally found that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressed firmly against it, Iori's body jolted sharply with a gasp. At his clear reaction, Kyo smiled with the pure satisfaction of a goal achieved. As if determined not to forget the weakness he had discovered, he circled around it, pressing and tapping it repeatedly with his fingers.

He wanted to tell Kyo to ease up on him back there, but Iori didn't even have the luxury to do so. Before he knew it, his front and back were being stimulated simultaneously; heat rushed to the tips of his ears, and his breathing began to grow increasingly ragged. Just before a spine-tingling orgasm washed over him, Iori quickly pushed away Kyo's head, which he had still been holding. If he had set his mind to it, it wouldn't have been difficult to defile Kyo's face and mock him insultingly. He wanted to unleash the desires he had been suppressing more than anything else, but he did not want to cum in this manner. It was less out of consideration for Kyo, and more a matter of Iori's own stubborn fastidiousness and perfectionism.

Kyo gazed at Iori, who had pulled back, and swiped a finger across his own lips.

"You're more patient than you look."

"Shut up and take off your clothes."

The low growl of Iori's voice grated roughly in his throat. At the command, Kyo showed no sign of being fazed; maintaining his languid smile, he pulled off his gloves and let his white jacket slip off his shoulders. Following that, he pulled up and discarded the black, cross-patterned turtleneck that had tightly gripped his neck, revealing the firmly sculpted, muscular torso hidden beneath. His taut, sharply defined muscles cast shifting shadows with every movement, betraying a subtle tension. Kyo didn't stop his hands there. Though his movements were slightly sluggish and his hands slipped for a moment, he unfastened his buckle and dragged the rough denim and his underwear down past his thighs without a single hint of hesitation. In the heavy silence, after the soft rustle of fabric brushing against skin, the cool air settled over Kyo's completely bare body, causing his muscles to subtly contract and relax. Iori watched every single second of this, his gaze unyielding. His movements complete, Kyo stared directly at Iori with a calm expression.

"Get here."

He reached out, grabbed Iori's wrist, and pulled him in. As if all the strength had left his body, Iori meekly followed Kyo's lead, straddling his firm thighs. Seating a man with a build as solid as his own on his lap—as if caging him in his embrace—Kyo lifted his head to face him. As Kyo closed the distance, their faces drew near enough for their breaths to mingle, and soon, their lips met. Feeling the awkward stiffness of Iori's lips, Kyo let out a soft chuckle. Parting his own, he languidly captured Iori's lips, pressing down and coaxing them in a slow, repeating rhythm. Through his relentless, persistent attempts, it wasn't long before the tightly sealed barrier gave way helplessly.

Iori could feel the soft inner lining of their lips brushing together in friction, a gentle tongue slipping inside to entwine and sweep upward. At the strange, profound unfamiliarity of Kyo's breath and heat seeping into his mouth, Iori's brow twitched into a faint frown. Even when they had impulsively shared their body heat three years ago, there had been no kiss like this; it was something he hadn't even considered back then. Kissing him with such tender intimacy, as if they were lovers, felt impossibly awkward—like forcing on clothes that simply didn't fit, no matter how he looked at it. Forcing himself to ignore the surging wave of incongruity, Iori firmly reminded himself that the Kyo sitting in front of him right now was not in his right mind.

Every time their lips parted for a brief second, the raw sound of their ragged breathing vividly pierced each other's ears. Deepening the skilled, heavy kiss, Kyo wrapped his arms around Iori's waist, shifting his hips against him. With that sudden jolt, Their erections—which had been barely brushing against each other—abruptly ground together.

As if the teasing, agonizing friction of their cocks slipping and grinding against each other was driving him mad, Kyo’s arms tightened around Iori’s waist with even greater force. With that, any remaining gap between their abdomens was obliterated; locked seamlessly together, their bare skin pressed and ground in heavy friction. As the movement continued and gained speed, the arousal spiked, and without either of them initiating it, the breaths exchanged between their lips grew frantic. Whether from being breathless or panting from the surging heat, a faint, breathy moan slipped out from between their slick, intertwined lips—completely against Iori's will.

Soon, as if unable to take it any longer, Iori broke the kiss first, violently pushing Kyo's lips away. Their faces, flushed to the tips of their ears with sensual heat, met—but Iori stubbornly averted his gaze. Unfazed, Kyo continued his advance; he lightly bit down on Iori's jaw before burying his lips in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Then, with a hot, feverish breath, he whispered.

"...I want to do it now."

"..."

Instead of answering, Iori shot him a glare as cold as ice water and shoved Kyo by the chest, pinning him flat on his back. Reaching out, he pulled a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer. Using the momentum as if to stand, Iori spun around, turning his back, and settled his weight heavily across Kyo's pelvis. He might have been caught off guard and swept along for a moment, but he had absolutely no desire to share sweet, intimate breaths while facing someone. Especially not with that man, Kyo Kusanagi.

"You just stay still."

Iori ruthlessly cut off Kyo's gaze. There was no hesitation in his straight-backed posture; it radiated a stubborn resolve to see this through to the end relying solely on his own sensations. Yet, contrary to his made-up mind, a clear look of reluctance crossed Iori's face. Kyo had lightly prepped him with his fingers moments ago, but Iori knew it wasn't enough. With a heavy sigh bordering on a lament, Iori coated his fingers generously in lube and expertly began to stretch his own depths. Shuddering at the sensation of the cold gel soaking his sensitive skin, a sudden question struck him like an epiphany.

Why did I decide to take that bastard in as if it were a given?  It would’ve been so much easier to just dominate him, laugh at him, and fuck him myself.

Working as a bassist in a band, Iori had spent nights with countless partners he crossed paths with. He had never cared much about gender or position, nor did he ever feel any doubt or discomfort in the process. Surrendering his body was common enough that he kept lube by his bed, but it held no special meaning or thrill. It was a casual arrangement, really. A whim born of boredom, akin to fan service. He would slip into the role his partner demanded, mirroring their needs with detached precision until they unraveled into satisfaction, and that was that. That wasn't to say he was particularly interested in sex itself. Of course, being human, Iori experienced sexual urges and physical reactions to the act. But it was always just a physiological byproduct of hormones, never a thirst directed at any specific person.

To him, sexual desire was nothing more than a bothersome, trivial debt that flared up only to vanish the moment it was dealt with. He knew the sensations that accompanied climax, but he could never fathom why humans wasted their time and stamina for such a fleeting moment. That was why Iori always remained a step removed, stripped of all emotion. The more his partners unraveled in their arousal, the clearer his own mind became; watching them surrender to ecstasy only reinforced a repulsive sense of distance. To him, sex wasn't an exchange of desire but the settling of a physiological debt; his attitude was always closer to that of an observer than a participant.

But, to that man—

"......"

Faced with a man tied to him by emotions too tangled to be defined simply by the word 'hatred,' Iori felt a desire he couldn't deny. To question how he had naturally ended up volunteering for the receptive role would only add irritation laced with self-loathing at this point. That brown-haired man probably knew nothing of sex beyond the most utterly mundane, orthodox methods designed by the Creator.

Therefore, this act was merely a form of leniency—a grace bestowed by the more experienced one upon the illustrious heir of the Kusanagi clan. That was the twisted consolation Iori offered himself.

Confirming his inside was relaxed enough for a smooth entry, Iori gritted his teeth. He grasped Kyo’s vein cock, stroking it a few times before slowly sinking down onto it. The heavy cock breached the tight passage, gradually filling him from within. It was an act he had experienced before, but honestly, it was never an entirely pleasant sensation. Especially since the unyielding pressure of Kyo's presence inside him felt almost overwhelming. Once he confirmed he had taken him in entirely, down to the base, Iori let out another long sigh and began to move at a languid, rhythmic pace.

Just as Iori had commanded, Kyo lay still, quietly watching his back. From the way Iori skillfully prepared himself with his fingers, to the sight of Kyo's cock slipping deep inside him—he watched everything. He had lost the initiative, but it was quite the spectacle, so Kyo considered it no loss at all. The sight of the shadows on Iori’s back muscles deepening and fading smoothly with every sway of his torso was incredibly sensual. He had always known, but Iori's body lines were truly nothing short of beautiful. Kyo’s eyes relentlessly chased the captivating shifts in shadow, flickering under the mood lighting. The visual stimulation felt far more intense than the physical pleasure of his center being enveloped by those warm inner walls, constantly squeezing and rubbing against him.Then, as if something had snagged his attention, Kyo focused on a deep scar carved right into the middle of Iori’s back.

It was a striking imprint, engraved so deeply it seemed as if he had borne it since birth.

Traces of flames, evoking an indescribably scorching heat, were vividly gouged deep into the flesh. Expanding explosively from the pattern, the mark twisted like vines, leaving irregular ridges across his skin. Though it must have healed long ago, the wound looked as if its heat had never quite cooled.

Ah. A burn.

The fact that one who commanded fire itself bore such a burn subtly irritated Kyo’s senses. Unable to tear his questioning gaze away, his eyes obsessively traced every single texture of the uneven, hardened skin. He was gripped by a strange feeling—as if he wasn't just looking at an old wound, but facing a fragment of the past. As his dazed mind struggled to pinpoint the origin of the injury, Kyo's vaguely floating consciousness gradually sharpened.

Completely unaware that Kyo was staring intently at his back, lost in thought, Iori was focused solely on the act. He had decided to finish this on his own terms, and was moving of his own volition because of it, but to Iori, it now felt like a dry, mechanical chore, devoid of any pleasure or inspiration. He was merely, meaninglessly filling an inexplicable emptiness before releasing his swollen desires. With his eyes closed, Iori surrendered his senses entirely to the heat and stimulation beneath him. He didn't want to think about who was underneath him or what kind of expression they were wearing. The pace of his swaying hips gradually quickened, the fierce sound of damp skin slapping together echoing through the room, yet at the same time, an eerie silence lingered, as if even the sound of breathing had died away. A bizarre sense of dissonance flashed like a warning light in his mind, scrambling his thoughts, but deliberately ignoring it, Iori reached for his own cock to reach the edge even a second faster. Right at that moment—

"This is disappointing."

Along with a voice far clearer than before, the presence of Kyo raising his body could be felt. Following the cool friction of the sheets shifting, a solid palm—hardened by countless fights and training—traced up the line of Iori's spine before pressing heavily down on one of his shoulders. Before he even had time to realize it, Kyo's raw strength and burning body heat transmitted entirely through that pinned shoulder.

"You're worse at this than I thought, Yagami. I almost fell asleep out of sheer boredom."

"...I told you to stay still."

"Should I take over now? Not that I need your permission."

Swallowing Iori's disgusted glare with a lazy smirk, Kyo kept them connected as he forcefully wrenched both of Iori's arms behind his back. Iori’s upper body arched humiliatingly under the relentless grip instantly crushing his biceps. Flashing his displeasure at the sudden suppression, Iori stubbornly twisted his body to resist, but it was useless. The sight of their solidly tangled limbs thrashing violently, fighting to steal back control, resembled subduing a furious beast. As the struggle dragged on, the wrinkles on the sheets grew more chaotic, and the oppressive weight of Kyo pinning Iori down became even more absolute.

"You see," Kyo tightened his grip even harder on Iori's pulsing wrists captured within his hands, driving the final nail in. Kyo's scalding breath dug explicitly into the ear of Iori, who was growling in indignation while bound.

"You shouldn't have given my mind room to stray."

The voice of Kyo brushing eerily against the shell of Iori’s ear no longer held any trace of haziness or lethargy. It was obvious just from looking at his condition that whatever the NESTS bastards had injected him with wasn't a simple sedative. Kyo clearly hadn't been fully detoxified yet. The phase that submerged his consciousness was already over; he had passed the delirious point where his senses were unnaturally, sharply heightened, and had now entered a state of complete, awakened arousal.

The moment Iori realized this, a violent stimulation surged from his lower half, intense enough to make his head ring. Kyo seemed to pull back for a moment, only to twist his hips and mercilessly thrust his cock deep inside, accurately hunting down the sweet spot he had memorized. There was not a single shred of consideration in Kyo’s movements. Under the coercive grip and forceful intrusion, Iori’s lower back arched outward, drawing a taut, smooth curve. 

Iori gritted his teeth to swallow the sound, but as his core was ruthlessly pressed and ground against, a breathless gasp leaked out of its own accord.

Resting his forehead against those red locks, Kyo whispered low, as if interrogating him for a hidden secret.

"Guess you like it right here."

At his mocking tone, Iori clicked his tongue, biting down on his molars in pure indignation. As if finding even that reaction utterly entertaining, Kyo let out a low chuckle and soon began a sluggish, rhythmic pace. Every time Kyo's cock crushed against that hidden point, filling him to the brim before pulling out in one swift motion—a sensation reverberating deep beyond his lower abdomen—Iori spat out curses. Damn it, damn it. The feeling of being completely violated, entirely stripped of his own control, was sickeningly foul.

Kyo leaned in, using his entire body weight to pin Iori down. The scar carved into Iori’s back aligned perfectly against Kyo’s chest. Every time the rough ridges of the scar brushed and stimulated his skin, a chain reaction of memories scrambled Kyo's mind like a backdraft of flames.

Kyo recalled the origin of that indelible mark. It was undoubtedly the most primal brand—seared by Kyo's own flames, never to fade for the rest of Iori's life.

As if defying the fate that violated them through the curse flowing in their veins, Kyo had charged ruthlessly toward that red back as it choked the life out of Orochi. It was the moment when the two, who had inherited the destinies of the One Who Seals and the One Who Severs, resonated within a pillar of light surging violently enough to swallow their surroundings.

At that time, even sensing it might be the end, Kyo had gathered his flames into his fist and driven it straight into Iori’s back. As their powers collided, creating a massive explosion that pushed everything beyond the boundaries of nothingness, even as he was losing consciousness, Iori's tragic, sorrowful gaze was vividly burned into Kyo's retinas. It was a look no different from when this man of ruthlessly cold nature had writhed, coughed up blood, and looked up at him, entirely devoid of strength.

It was undeniable that Kyo felt an intense pull toward the human frailty slipping through the cracks of Iori's impeccably honed violence and silence. The secretive, sensual aura Iori exuded, along with the profound sorrow hidden beneath his madness, completely devoured any sense of dissonance regarding gender or morality. The desire driving Kyo required neither cause nor reason; it was a purely instinctive pull, as absolute as a law of nature. Refusing to turn away from that gravity, the memory from three years ago—when he had embraced his blood-soaked archrival and claimed Iori more deeply than any lover—now melted into the scent and dampness of the present.

Burying his face into the nape of the panting man subdued under his hands, Kyo took a deep breath. At the lingering scent that boiled and awakened his instincts, the desire churning deep in his gut violently lurched once more. Like a predator whose restraints had completely snapped, only primal urges surged upward. He felt an overwhelming craving to trap this man in his arms until he shattered, to devour him whole. Kyo traced the bruised marks he had left on Iori’s nape and shoulders with his lips, then bit down on his flushed red neck, gradually picking up the pace.

Iori’s ragged breaths, gasping out as he barely suppressed his voice, echoed through the air alongside the fierce sound of flesh slapping against flesh. Their skin, beginning to glisten with sweat from the heat, rubbed smoothly against each other, the touching points sliding and creating wet, relentless friction. The sensation of being forcefully stimulated while utterly robbed of the freedom of his arms was horrific. Yet, that raw terror and disgust also doubled as a heavy, intoxicating pleasure, potent enough to melt his brain.

I'll kill him. I'll definitely kill him. On the borderline between pleasure and fury, Iori relentlessly hated and cursed Kyo. But the scalding, seemingly endless sensation drenched his entire body, obsessively trying to break him down. Iori bit his lower lip until it was nearly crushed, stubbornly holding on with everything he had. He told himself that no matter what, he could not simply submit to the bastard's actions. As if to reject Kyo's warmth as it violated him at will, Iori fiercely threw his head back, continuing his desperate resistance.

"..!!" At that moment, a humiliating sight burned itself into Iori’s eyes.

Perhaps because their positions had shifted during their earlier struggle, he found that the full-length mirror standing near the bed was reflecting him and Kyo head-on, exposing them in stark clarity. It felt as though his heart was screaming sharply, as if he had been doused in ice water.

Confronted with the sight of his own body swaying helplessly and jerking in time with Kyo’s movements, Iori furrowed his brows in utter disgust. The fact that he was being handled like this by the man he hated so deeply made him unable to stand himself. Everything was sickening—from his body that couldn't resist, to the sensations shuddering through his entire frame the longer Kyo's actions continued. Overcome by an indescribable sense of humiliation and shame, Iori wanted to bite his tongue and die right then and there. Filled with resentment, he shifted his gaze to glare at Kyo in the mirror. Fortunately, seemingly oblivious to the situation, Kyo had his face buried deep between Iori’s nape and shoulder, entirely absorbed in his own pleasure. Iori squeezed his eyes shut, praying this torturous time would end as quickly as possible.

However, the rational judgment demanding he look away crumbled helplessly beneath his fluttering eyelids. Every time he felt he was holding onto his sanity, Iori's gaze slid right back, chasing the man with a more vibrant complexion than his own. The brown hair brushing against the back of his neck, and those eyebrows slightly furrowed in pleasure, came into unusually sharp focus. That expression beneath low-hanging eyes—a mix of exhaustion and arousal—was repeatedly hidden and revealed by his shifting bangs with every movement, adding an air of secrecy. The intermittent breaths fell directly onto Iori's shoulder, lightly tickling and shaking his composure.

Before he knew it, Iori realized belatedly that he had been holding his breath while watching Kyo's face. Screams echoing in his mind told him to look away, but he couldn't withdraw his gaze, as if entirely captivated by that face. A thrilling, spine-tingling sensation filling his five senses slowly rolled in like a tide, washing away the solid hatred and fury that had built up until just moments ago.

In that instant, the last thread of restraint he had been holding onto snapped.

As if resigning himself to everything, Iori gradually surrendered his body to Kyo's lead. The voice Iori had been desperately holding back began to leak out helplessly every time Kyo thrust deep inside him. As if responding to that, Kyo's pace escalated into fierce, frantic movements, his breathing growing heavier.

As if Iori's repeatedly denied desires had reached their absolute limit, he desperately wanted to soothe his own aching cock, which stood rigidly with precarious tension after being unable to find release. Yet, with both his hands pinned down by Kyo, there was absolutely nothing Iori could do. However, rather than powerlessness, this morphed into a bizarre catharsis, endlessly scrambling his mind. 

Staring at Kyo's face through the mirror as if possessed, and feeling the deep, heavy pressure relentlessly plunging into him, Iori writhed, chasing the pleasure that shot up his spine all the way to the tip of his brain.

It was in that exact moment.

Making a mockery of his consciously clenched jaw, a short, scream-like gasp burst from his lips. Iori's lower back arched violently before his upper body immediately curled inward. Feeling the tight walls gripping him in repeating spasms, Kyo stopped his movements and released the hands he had been pinning down. 

From the recoil, Iori collapsed limply onto the bedsheets, face down. It was an explosive pleasure that felt like it was melting his brain. Stroking Iori’s hips, which continued to twitch as he failed to control the aftershocks, Kyo pulled back.

"Did you seriously just get off from taking it?"

"......."

"I'd only heard about it, but... looks like you have a talent for this, Yagami."

"...Shut... up..."

Hearing Kyo's voice, laced with suppressed laughter as if entirely amused by this unprecedented sight, Iori managed to shoot back, his tone thick with indignation. 

"If you're so interested... why don't you try it yourself."

"Not my thing."

"...You bastard."

That infuriating talent of Kyo's—smiling pleasantly while twisting a person's insides into knots—was still perfectly intact. Iori wanted nothing more than to smash Kyo's fist into that face and beat him senseless, but he didn't even have the energy to do so. Remaining face down without twitching a muscle for a long while, Iori let out pathetic, ragged breaths. Was it always this intense?  He had experienced both giving and receiving before, but this level of pleasure was a first even for him. The aftermath of the unfamiliar, overwhelming climax refused to easily shake off, a fleeting wave of confusion washing over Iori's expression.

Kyo quietly reached out, gently resting his palm against the marred skin carved into Iori’s back. He then moved his fingers, lightly stroking the texture of the skin as if tracing it. Iori flinched reflexively at the contact, but didn't reject the touch. Feeling that body heat seemingly caressing the wound with care, his ragged breathing gradually subsided, slowly regaining its steady rhythm.

"There's a scar on your back." A low, sunken voice shattered the silence. Kyo's fingertips were moving sluggishly along the uneven ridges of the wound. "Was this me?"

It was a mark that couldn't have been left by anything other than his own flames. With that question, laden with absolute certainty, Kyo's fingers had already reached the deepest center of the wound. The touch pressing against his skin was strangely tender and cautious.

"...Probably." Iori affirmed in a low murmur.

"It's etched deep. This is never going to fade."

"I don't care."

At Kyo's concerned muttering as he traced the indelible mark, Iori replied with a small shrug of his shoulders, sounding thoroughly annoyed. His attitude made it clear he genuinely gave zero thought to the permanent marks left on his body.

"A burn this bad... it must have hurt a lot."

"...It doesn't matter. I'm used to pain anyway."

Kyo remained silent for a moment. The pain Iori spoke of wasn't just the wounds sustained in battle. It was closer to the fact that he had forgotten how to even react to the endless, agonizing pain repeated throughout his life due to his bloodline's curse. Iori harbored no questions or resentment toward the inescapable fate. Nor had he simply endured it. Clinging solely to his one single goal—killing Kyo—Iori had learned the art of early resignation simply to survive. Like someone slowly breaking down under a prolonged downpour of agony, his words and actions bore the vivid traces of a body that had grown numb first, followed closely by a soul that had worn away. Kyo felt as though he could faintly grasp the root of the tragic sorrow hidden beneath Iori's exterior.

Kyo's palm was still resting on Iori's back, but he was no longer tracing the jagged lines. What he had been feeling toward Iori was certainly a sensation distinct from pity. Yet, it was also far too insufficient to just label it as lust. This bizarre emotion—tender yet grating on his nerves—stubbornly blurred his judgment, preventing Kyo from turning back to the way things were before.

"This scar," Following the brief words, a momentary silence hung in the air. "Don't show it to just anyone."

Ringing low in an ambiguous tone—neither an order nor advice—the words sounded twofold. Yet, within that tone, Iori could discern whether it was a twisted sense of attachment or cheap sympathy. At the same time, he had no desire to actually parse it out and confirm it. He felt that the moment he accepted its meaning, he would forget the very reason he had so fiercely clung to life. Iori chose to turn a blind eye, letting out a scoff.

"...Cut the crap. It doesn't suit you."

"Don't get the wrong idea." Kyo continued with a low chuckle. "We can't have you looking weak to other guys, too, now can we?"

Spitting out the words in his usual light, teasing tone as if to refresh the sunken atmosphere, Kyo pressed a soft kiss to the marred flesh. He then caught Iori's arm, pulling him and shifting his weight in the opposite direction. Losing his balance from the momentum, Iori's body naturally flipped over, his gaze abruptly fixing on the ceiling as his brow furrowed in sheer displeasure.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmm? I waited until you calmed down, didn't I?"

Despite attempting to start things up again, Kyo looked down at him with an innocent expression, as if he had no idea what was wrong. Iori ground his teeth together, looking as though he wanted to tear him apart.

"Like I care."

"You haven't exactly gotten it out of your system either, have you?"

It was true; completely separate from the dry orgasm he had, Iori's cock remained taut with unreleased tension. And Kyo was using that as a convenient excuse to satisfy his own lingering desires. Iori's lips parted for a moment before he let out a low, displeased sigh.

"...Do whatever you want."

The moment the resignation-laced permission fell from his lips, Iori sat up, as if suddenly remembering something.

"Turn off the light."

"Now?" At Kyo's unenthusiastic response, Iori clicked his tongue and reached out toward the mood lamp. Instantly, his wrist was snatched out of the air and pinned down. Kyo laced their fingers together, using his body weight to push Iori back down onto the sheets.

"Kyo!!!"

"I prefer watching you."

"You perverted bastard."

"What's wrong with that? Connection is important."

"I hate it."

Was he reluctant to show his disheveled state? Was it pride, or a form of self-loathing? Kyo didn't bother coming to a conclusion. Instead, narrowing his eyes, he lowered his upper body and whispered against Iori's ear, his breath barely brushing the skin.

"Even though you were stealing glances at my face earlier."

"That was..."  Caught off guard, Iori's breath hitched ever so slightly. At that reaction, Kyo didn't hide his laughter.

"You were quite a sight, too, you know? It felt like a waste to keep it to myself."

At the provocative remark, Iori's eyes wavered in turmoil. He really is a wicked bastard. Kyo had known all along and was just playing dumb to enjoy the situation. Iori felt a rush of embarrassment at the realization that Kyo had watched him staring through the mirror—watched his raw, panting form as he was pinned down and ravaged. But there was no time to feign ignorance or get angry. Kyo didn't wait for Iori's reply. Intentionally making thick, suckling sounds against his skin, Kyo's lips traveled from Iori's earlobe, down his cheek and nape, heading straight for his collarbones.

Soon, Kyo's lips reached his chest. No matter how many times he saw them, his chest had a soft, voluptuous weight that defied his masculine frame.

With a soft sound, Kyo kissed the skin before taking it into his mouth, sucking gently. He traced the areola with the tip of his tongue, circling it a few times before relentlessly teasing the nipple. He rolled it playfully with his tongue, then scraped his teeth against it, biting down lightly. Hot breath battered the nerve-dense area, keeping up a constant interchange of slick, yielding stimulation and sharp, biting pressure. As he wetly worshipped one side with his mouth, his hand kneaded the other, pinching and flicking the flushed, sensitive bud. Feeling his senses melting away into something thick and heavy, Iori wrapped his arms around the back of Kyo's head. Hot, feverish breaths leaked thinly through his slackened lips.

Kyo sucked deeply on the stiffened nipple, savoring it for a moment before pulling away. Immediately after, something soft and slick pushed past Iori’s parted lips in a surprise attack. A rough, mischievous kiss ensued, crushing their lips together and ravaging the inside of his mouth. Iori didn't bother trying to figure out what it was. Far from pushing him away, he accepted it actively. But perhaps still angry, he grabbed the back of Kyo's head and began to intertwine with him desperately, as if trying to steal every last breath from his lungs. Hot breaths clashed between connected lips, the obscene sounds of their saliva mixing filling the quiet room with explicit clarity. The rough entanglement, which felt more like a fierce battle, finally ceased as they broke apart with breathless gasps. The moment their lips separated, ragged breaths crossed in the narrow space between them. Their hearts pounded so violently it felt as though they were echoing into one another.

Kyo lightly pressed his lips against Iori's once more before pulling away, slowly looking down at his face. Iori's expression was surprisingly calm, yet his parted lips, panting heavily, were red. The bloody trace smeared beneath his red hair and crimson eyes was far too vivid. Iori could feel the foreign sensation of fresh blood on his lips, but he didn't wipe it away. Reflected in Kyo's eyes, that callous expression and apathy looked beautiful enough to be dangerous.

Suddenly, the lukewarm taste of blood spread in Kyo's mouth. The healing wound on his own lip had burst open again, unable to withstand the forceful contact. As he inhaled, the slight sting of pain washed over him. Furrowing his brows slightly, Kyo swept his tongue over the trace of blood. That trivial gesture to mask the pain, mixed with his heated arousal and the fresh blood, completely captured Iori's gaze. Iori quietly watched the subtle tension flickering in Kyo's Adam's apple and the look in his eyes beneath those brown bangs—a gaze swirling with both discomfort and pure elation.

Unable to withstand the mounting impatience, leaving him no time to even register Iori's gaze on him, Kyo boldly pushed Iori's legs back. He pressed his rigid erection against the entrance, grinding against it a few times, before pushing deep inside. As the heavy cock pierced the membrane and filled the inner walls, it pressed thickly against the sensitive spots. The slower he was swallowed down to the root, the more Iori's breathing began to unravel. Without needing to say who started it, their arousal rapidly awakened, the heat surging upward. Having buried himself completely inside Iori, Kyo let out a shallow breath at the sensation of being sucked in and enveloped by the scalding heat. Slowly lifting his head, he locked eyes with Iori. Like two men about to brawl, their gazes tangled fiercely. With a strange, playful glint in his eyes, Kyo whispered, erasing all vibration from his vocal cords.

"...Should I turn off the light?"

"No need."

No sound carried in Iori's reply either. Stripped of the weight of their voices, the whispered exchange of mere breath served as a willing confirmation to Kyo's obvious question. Iori knew he wasn't really asking for his opinion. The question was merely a formality—a subtle provocation to confirm their absolute certainty in facing each other completely. There was no longer any room for leisurely wordplay. The emotions violently churning from below could no longer be controlled, spreading like wildfire. The red beneath him looked so devastatingly beautiful that, paradoxically, it sharply stimulated the sadism dormant within Kyo.

Gripping Iori's hips with enough force to leave handprints, Kyo began to thrust. Pulling out almost entirely before slamming back in with a heavy thud, he repeated the brutal motion a few times before settling into a violent, rhythmic pounding. With every upward strike accompanied by the aggressive sound of flesh slapping flesh, a heavy impact transferred directly into Iori's pelvis. Kyo usually relished the wicked game of taking his sweet time—teasing his partner before ruthlessly cornering them. But his instincts, already pushed to the absolute limit, allowed for no such luxury.

Iori was equally devoid of restraint. Kyo had become more skilled than he expected, and every time his cock rutted inside him, accurately striking the awakened erogenous zone, Iori's face flushed with burning heat. At the relentless, sharp collision against his nerves, Iori gasped, grabbing onto Kyo's solid forearms that were roughly gripping his hips. Following Kyo's movements, his nails dug sharply into Kyo's skin, but it wasn't nearly enough to break their immersion. As if they were beings carved out specifically to fill each other's empty spaces, their bodies meshed perfectly, requiring no further taming.

The hands gripping Iori's hips eventually trailed up his waistlines, reaching his chest. Kyo kneaded the flesh as if wringing it out, before leaning down, unable to hold back any longer, to claim it with his mouth. Every time the soft tongue and hot moisture brushed the sensitively swollen nipple, Iori's shoulders jerked sporadically. Pulling away with a bite mark blossoming with redness, Kyo moved further up, biting down hard on Iori's shoulder before finding his lips, continuing a wet, melting kiss. The metallic taste of the blood smeared there earlier melted in. Every time Kyo caressed the tender skin inside his lips as if savoring it, a slow, dense, obscene sound echoed, and Iori willingly accepted the soft pressure. The kiss was tender, but the violent pleasure rocking his lower half showed no signs of subsiding.

Breaking the kiss, they shared passionate, seemingly unquenchable breaths. The look in their eyes as they stared at one another flashed with the sole desire to surrender completely to instinct. Meeting Kyo's downward gaze from below, Iori saw that his eyes were ablaze with lust, yet simultaneously, far too transparent. Reflected within them was not just pleasure, but the deep longing and attachment that Iori himself had tried so hard to ignore. Every time their gazes locked, raw, unedited emotions were exchanged without a filter. The more Iori felt something deep and guarded within him finally give way. Iori stroked the sweat-slicked line of Kyo's back, pulling him closer as if tickling him. Drenched in sweat from the intense heat, their bodies pressed tightly together, creating smooth, slippery friction. As they hugged each other tightly, their faces crossing, overwhelmingly breathless pants were delivered directly into their ears. The barely suppressed low voices and the rhythm of their fierce breathing, felt through their touching skin, fueled each other far more explicitly than any provocative words could.

As the dense tension persisted, Iori's fingers, wrapped around Kyo's back, curled in spasmodic twitches. Emotions too massive to describe lingered at his fingertips, wandering aimlessly. Intoxicated by the heavy pleasure melting his entire body, his aimless nails scratched down Kyo's skin, as if trying to express his uncontrollable heart, obsessively reading the tremors of Kyo's muscles and bones against his palms. Under the soft mood lighting, the red scratch marks spread vividly, much like the brand Kyo had left on his own body.  The sound of dull flesh crashing aggressively, the wet, sticky noises, and the breathy pants flushed with arousal all tangled dizzily together, echoing ceaselessly throughout the room. It felt as though only the sound of their breathing existed in the entire world. Kyo's breath, distorted by excitement and pleasure, constantly tickled the nape of Iori's neck. As if knowing his body perfectly, Kyo's relentless pounding against his core awakened every single sense, sharpening them to an agonizing edge. The low voice seeping through Kyo's overwhelmed pants, and the heat-drenched expression blindly chasing a primal thirst—everything intensely stimulated and filled all of Iori's senses. Realizing he was being marinated in every sensation, Iori intuitively knew that an explosive climax would soon seize his entire body. 

Soon, his breath thick with heat climbing up his throat and leaking out as suppressed moans, it mercilessly shook Kyo's sanity. Every time those broken breaths brushed his ear, he felt his lower abdomen grow even more taut, feeling as though it would burst at any second. Kyo wrapped his arms deeply around Iori. Following his movements, Iori's cock was caught between their tightly pressed torsos, rubbing fiercely against Kyo's solid abs. With sweat and pre-cum acting as a lubricant, the sensation of being pressed under a heavy weight, sliding and grinding against hot moisture and ridged muscles, blossomed into an indescribably sweet erosion. Beyond the ruthless sensations crashing in from front and back, it felt as though the very vitality of the human named Kyo was completely devouring Iori's body. It approached as a sense of unity that absolutely nothing else could ever replace.

His mind blanketed in brilliant flashes of light and white noise from the mercilessly pouring pleasure, Iori let out helpless, ragged breaths. The only thing ruling his mind was an indescribable, languid affirmation. A sensation he had never yielded to anyone before broke apart through his parted lips in a loose word—yes...—seeping into Kyo's shoulder along with his feverish pants. That secretive murmur, falling repeatedly in a state of trance, became the fuse that turned Kyo's thrusting into even more passionate, frantic movements. Soon, a stimulation intense enough to shake his brain shot up his spine, tickling his entire body and sending shudders through him.

Finally, with a short, gasp-like cry, the pleasure wrapping his whole body detonated like an explosion. As if unable to handle the continuous waves of climax rattling his head, Iori's head threw back, his hips jerking violently upward. At the same time, the carnal heat that had been suppressed burst through the narrow gap, painting Kyo's abs in a stark white. Spasms wrecked Iori's body from the intense orgasm that left him numb from head to toe. Unaware that saliva was trailing down the corner of his mouth, Iori hugged Kyo's broad shoulders tightly, his loins squirming endlessly.

As if synchronized with the intense tightening from below and Iori's violent reaction to being swallowed by pleasure, Kyo also began to feel the verge of climax. As Kyo stilled and tried to pull away, Iori traced the dimples at the base of his spine, planted his hands firmly on his backside, and yanked him fiercely back in.

"...Don't stop."

"I didn't use a condom."

"Fine... it's fine, just..."

Panting heavily, struggling to catch his breath, Iori continued his words, not losing his absolute resolve amidst his broken breaths.

"Cum, inside me."

The thought of the lingering heat of the climax and the endlessly rising pleasure being severed felt far more cruel than the bothersome cleanup that would follow. Iori's bold proposal shook Kyo's consciousness into a distant haze. Amidst the dizzying shock, as if he had been struck directly in the head by something solid, Kyo's heart pounded like crazy. Letting out a laugh through his overwhelmingly heavy breaths, Kyo answered in a whisper.

"Just how you want it."

Moral censorship or concerns about whether this was okay were buried under the ecstasy wrapping his entire body; they no longer mattered. The sight of Iori, devoid of any resistance or pushing away—his explicit honesty, stripped of logic or pride—felt so devastatingly lovely. The thrusting, which resumed with a smooth, swimming rhythm, gradually grew violent, as if Kyo could no longer tolerate that loveliness. The merciless pounding continued, echoing with heavy, obscene thuds of flesh slapping together. Before long, reaching his critical limit, Kyo raised his upper body and desperately grabbed onto Iori's waist.

Like a possessed man, Kyo continued his frantic movements, fixing his heat-wavering gaze entirely onto Iori. Those half-lidded red eyes were hazily wet as they met Kyo's gaze. The corners of his mouth, which usually spat harsh venom, were parted in excitement and pleasure, exhaling heat through ragged breaths. His face, usually hardened with intentional, intimidating edges, was softened and pliant, its boundaries entirely broken down. His smooth, firm muscles glistened with sweat, creating an elegant harmony of light and shadow under the mood lamp, while the reddish bruises and bite marks Kyo had left on his almost palely white skin stood out like vivid scars. The dense collision of visual afterimages and physical pleasure rapidly hauled Kyo to the peak.

Soon, unrefined, raw sensations erupted like a fountain, flashing his mind pure white. At the tail end of his escalating, shallow breaths, the sound he had tried to hold back burst out in a short, sharp tone. The sensation of his swollen arousal bursting from below and scattering inside violently shook his entire body. At the same time, he felt Iori's body trembling in fine spasms once again. Kyo managed the lingering heat of the climax by twitching his hips from the recoil of ejaculation, repeatedly thrusting deep inside. After pressing his palm firmly against Iori's lower abdomen and pumping a few more times, he pulled out, a sticky trail of the white fluid that had filled the inner walls following him out.

The apex moment that oxidized their thought circuits had passed, but like two people who had sprinted at full speed for a long time, the heavy pounding of their heartbeats reverberating through their bodies and their ragged breaths filled the silence. The burning heat radiating around their flushed faces showed no signs of cooling down. Letting out a languid laugh through his heated breaths, Kyo leaned down, lying flat as if pressing his face against Iori's. He gently brushed up Iori's sweat-drenched hair as he caught his breath, meeting his eyes.

"See, you're cute when you're honest..."

Normally, Iori might have shown his displeasure and pushed him away. However, Iori simply stared at Kyo with languid eyes. Then, grabbing Kyo's face, he pulled him closer, leaving a deep, warm kiss on his forehead. As if answering in kind, Kyo scattered several light kisses across Iori's lips. Then, with a satisfied expression, Kyo collapsed on top of Iori, overlapping their bodies. He wrapped his solid arms around Iori's waist, maintaining the embrace for quite some time.

By the time their breathing had steadily calmed, Kyo naturally rolled over to the side, keeping his arm wrapped around him. Resting his head on the pillow, he lightly placed his chin on Iori's shoulder. As he breathed in, the thick scent spreading across the skin tickled Kyo's nasal cavity. The scent that had driven the two of them into this mess had already fulfilled its purpose, yet it hadn't disappeared, remaining like a lingering trace in the air and on their skin. That lingering scent, along with Iori's heartbeat that had settled into a steady rhythm, embraced Kyo in a languid peace.

The aftermath of the explosively spiking adrenaline hit Kyo's body belatedly. The arousal that had pushed away the remnants of the drug had already exceeded its limits, and all his energy drained at once, as if the stamina consumed by their passionate movements was leaving him entirely. As his consciousness slowly sank, a heavy drowsiness rolled in like the tide. Unable to hold up his heavy eyelids any longer, Kyo let out a long yawn. Smiling faintly as if embarrassed, he muttered hazily to himself.

"...I'm dead tired..."

"Sleep." Iori's voice, brushing against Kyo's ear, was softly subdued. "Don't think about anything. Just rest."

Iori gently pressed a kiss to Kyo's slowly fluttering eyelids. It was an action he had never even imagined himself doing, but right now, a profound, tender generosity had completely softened his heart.

Before long, the face of the deeply sleeping Kyo had lost all tension in a rare sight. His long eyelashes cast shallow shadows, and the sharp tension that usually dominated his thick eyebrows and forehead had completely dissolved without a trace. The rhythm of his body rising and falling in time with his steady breathing was peaceful. Kyo's fierce demeanor, wildly chasing his instincts just moments ago, seemed to have sunk deeply away, as if it were all just a dream. Unlike his usual confident, arrogant self that loved to grate on people's nerves, Kyo's sleeping face—having let go of everything—looked as pure as a young boy's.

Suddenly, a thought crossed Iori's mind—perhaps he had awakened to an irreversibly dangerous sensation. However, the judgment that it didn't matter quickly followed. Kyo and he stood at polar opposites, destined never to mix, bearing the cruel fate where their lives could only be completed by inevitably claiming the other's life. And yet, despite that, they were like the only irreplaceable pieces to one another in this world. It felt as though his relationship with this man would inevitably become a certainty, filling the cracks of his remaining life.

The thought briefly crossed his mind that he should pull away, get up, and clean the mess, but he wanted to hold onto this moment, where their body heat was intertwined, just a little longer. Iori wrapped his arm around Kyo's shoulder and pulled him in tighter. The peacefully sleeping breaths settled deeply into his embrace. Feeling nothing but that warmth, Iori finally let himself go.

--------------

"Yagami!! I'm telling you, the wrap party this time is gonna be a blast!"

The back door of the live house, still radiating the lingering heat of the performance, burst open roughly. A young man in a flashy painted t-shirt and jeans dashed out, unable to hide his frustration. His gaze was fixed on the red-haired man walking ahead of him, carrying a bass gig bag. The urgency of not losing him and the desperation to catch up fueled his hurried steps.  As the neglected neon lights flickered in the grimy back alley, his breathing grew increasingly ragged.

"I believe I already told you I wasn't going. I humored you enough, shouldn't that suffice?"

"Humored us?! You haven't shown up to a single after-party the entire tour! We've got VIPs coming tonight, and everyone's gonna be disappointed if you don't show!!!"

"...Too loud."

True to his role as a vocalist, his booming voice resonated between the narrow alley walls, amplifying the sound. It was a talent that was strictly meant for the stage. Iori narrowed his eyes, looking back at him with an even more apathetic gaze.

The vocalist was consumed by the desperate need to drag this arrogant bassist back into the mix, but seemingly afraid to actually touch him, his tattooed arms merely flailed hesitantly in the air. As if annoyed by the unnecessarily amplified voice piercing his eardrums, Iori furrowed his brow and replied indifferently.

"Not my problem. Contact me when the next schedule is set."

"Yagami—!!!!"

The desperate, drawn-out cry of his name filled the alley, but Iori coldly adjusted the strap of his bass bag, took a step back, and walked away. The click of his shoes against the concrete held not a single ounce of hesitation. He disappeared into the distance, thoroughly ignoring the voice pouring out behind him, without so much as a single backward glance.

"Haa... What a stone-cold bastard..."

The vocalist roughly ruffled the back of his hair in frustration, staring blankly down the end of the alley where Iori had vanished. He lingered, unable to tear his eyes away as if clinging to some leftover hope, before finally clicking his tongue and sighing in resignation.

Just then, the iron door creaked open. Pushing past the noise and heat from inside the venue, a soft-featured young man—the band's drummer—peeked his head out. The one responsible for keeping the heavy rhythm and beat on stage was naturally observant and had a knack for mediating among the members. Smiling as if he had entirely expected this outcome, he spoke up.

"See? I told you to give it up. He was never one to hang out much anyway... but it's gotten worse lately, hasn't it?"

"He's done with his late-night company. I heard he just chases away anyone who tries to get close." Feeling stifled, the vocalist roughly dug through his pockets to fish out a cigarette. Following the short rasp of a lighter, a small flame flared. He cupped it with one hand, taking a few drags to light it. Soon, the smoke escaping his lips blended into the air and faintly dispersed.

"You don't think he's seeing someone, do you?" At the drummer's guess, who had approached him at some point, the vocalist shook his head slightly with the cigarette still in his mouth.

"Nah. I tried to feel him out once, but he just scowled at me."

"Really? Then—"  The drummer cut himself off, tilting his head. Looking down the opposite side of the alley as if lost in thought, he continued with a half-doubtful expression.

"—Maybe he's... raising a cat?"

At the half-joking, absurd guess, the vocalist raised an eyebrow and looked up at the sky in bewilderment. Though it was still early evening, the winter sky had already darkened. Only a crescent moon, revealed through the gaps between the buildings in the chill air, held its place silently, casting a cold silver glow.

The moment he stepped out of the alley, the brilliant lights of the bustling downtown flooded his vision. Neon signs and billboards flashed in overlapping layers, while the street’s fervor—a mix of music and people's joyous laughter—filled the surroundings with vibrant energy. Iori hurried his pace, cutting straight through it all.

His tall stature and perfectly honed, muscular build, along with his crimson hair and black leather coat, stood out strikingly even in the crowded streets. The gazes of passersby instinctively gravitated toward him, and excited whispers flowed softly amidst the stolen glances. Some recognized him as a famous martial artist and bassist, but no one dared to approach. His coldly sunken expression and overbearing aura created an unapproachable distance. After a few blocks, Iori changed direction, heading toward a deserted alleyway. The clamor of the downtown area gradually faded, bouncing off the building walls, until only the click of his shoes and the sound of the wind drifting through the empty air lingered vividly in his ears.

Before long, he stopped, spotting a figure standing at the end of the alley. A brown-haired man with broad shoulders and a solid, perfectly balanced physique, dressed in a leather jacket and jeans, stood there. The man was leaning casually against a motorcycle, idly gazing up at the crescent moon. In the shadows untouched by the streetlights, only his silhouette was distinctly visible. Staring at his back, Iori deliberately shortened his stride. He painstakingly masked the sound of his shoes scraping the ground, slowly closing the distance. Just as natural strength gathered in his fingertips and he sharpened his nails for a surprise attack—

"You're late."

The slightly irritated voice, sounding worn out from a wait longer than expected, brought Iori's movements to an immediate halt. Letting out a low breath of displeasure, Iori withdrew his chillingly raised offensive stance.

"How did you know?"

"Your cologne."

"...Need a new one, then."

Iori muttered low, doing nothing to hide his displeasure. Unfazed by his attitude, the man continued the conversation with a laugh in his voice.

"Why not keep using it? I like that scent."

Slowly tearing his gaze away from the crescent moon, the man leisurely pushed himself off the bike and turned to face Iori. Despite his relaxed demeanor, his brown eyes held a warm glint as they rested on him.

"Long time no see."

"......"

"How long has it been?"

"About... five months, I suppose..." Acting as if their reunion after several months meant nothing to him, Iori pulled a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Even the flick of his hand to light it was apathetic. Kyo watched him for a moment before shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning his back against the wall beside him. The cigarette smoke, slowly dissipating in the cold air, lazily drifted across the space between them. The two men stood side by side in silence, looking straight ahead. They didn't share a glance, yet within the same breath of air, they were acutely aware of each other’s presence. Their silence was as familiar as an old conversation.

Right around the time the burning cigarette shed half of its ash, Kyo broke the silence. His tone was light, but his core message didn't waver.

"It's coming up soon. KOF."

"So it is." Iori turned his head to the side, exhaling the smoke in the opposite direction as he offered a curt reply.

As if a sudden memory rubbed him the wrong way, Kyo crossed his arms and continued with a displeased edge to his voice.

"According to Kagura, it'd be too much for me to handle alone if you sit this one out. Honestly, that ticked me off a bit... but whatever, it is what it is."  He trailed off, shooting a sidelong glance at Iori. "We ended up on the same team again this time, you cool with that?"

Iori let out a short scoff at Kyo's words.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be the one to kill you in the end, anyway."

"Yeah, yeah. Can't wait. Give it your best shot."

Kyo replied with a light, rhythmic cadence, playing along with Iori's unchanging attitude. To anyone else, the chilling threat would have been profoundly uncomfortable, but to Kyo, it sounded like nothing more than a familiar greeting. He had become so accustomed to their cutthroat relationship that such a declaration felt like just another part of his everyday life.

"Never mind that... What do you mean, 'long time no see'?"  Iori continued, crushing his cigarette into a blackened public ashtray.  "Didn't you pretend not to know me last time?"

"What? When did we see each other?" Kyo, who had been watching Iori finish his smoke, pulled a spare helmet from his bike. Seemingly clueless about Iori's sharp-edged accusation, Kyo fell into thought for a moment before his mouth parted in realization. A memory from a few days ago vividly surfaced. While heading to Chizuru's estate at her summons ahead of the impending tournament, the two of them had crossed paths very briefly at a railway crossing. But while the train roared loudly between them, Kyo had unceremoniously turned his bike around and disappeared.

"Ah—when Kagura called for us? We weren't scheduled to meet that day anyway. I figured if I stopped to deal with you, I'd be late, so I just took a different route."

"......"  Iori looked like he was about to spit something out, but shut his mouth firmly. As if the words were caught in his throat, unable to be voiced, the corners of his lips turned down infinitesimally. For a moment, an awkward silence fell between the two men. Catching onto the shift in the atmosphere, Kyo knitted one brow and tossed out a remark in disbelief.

"Don't tell me... your feelings were actually hurt?"

Instead of answering, Iori scowled fiercely, reached out, and roughly snatched the helmet from Kyo's hand. Shoving it onto his head, he climbed onto the back of the motorcycle, stifling his churning emotions.

"I'm hungry. Just lead the way."

His tone had grown far more overbearing than before. Barely swallowing the laugh that threatened to burst out at the sight, Kyo put on his own helmet.

"Sure, let's go. I know a great spot for yakiniku."

Leaving Iori's displeased scoff behind, Kyo took his seat at the front and inhaled briefly. Mixed with the cold, crisp air seeping into the helmet was the faint, distinct scent of Iori. Ruminating over the other man's recent behavior and words, Kyo tilted his head slightly.

'He's gotten awfully spoiled while I wasn't looking...'

This was an Iori who usually hid his emotions behind a frigid expression, pushing everything away with a cynical sneer no matter what he was thinking. For a guy like that to accidentally reveal his hurt feelings, only to change the subject and bark orders to avoid admitting it... It suddenly made sense why he had been so abrasive and indifferent right from the start of their reunion after such a long time.

Kyo had assumed he was just snapping out of exhaustion, but in reality, it was Iori's own awkward way of throwing a tantrum. Kyo found that this clumsy display of affection—likely permitted to him and him alone—was far from annoying. In fact, it wasn't bad at all. More than just liking it, he found it highly amusing.

Without wiping the smile from his lips, Kyo started the bike. The moment he lightly twisted his wrist, the engine's low vibration coursed through the chassis. He kicked up the gear and gently pulled the throttle, the heavy hum of the engine pushing against the night air. As the motorcycle glided forward, the body heat and the subtle shift in weight pressing against Kyo’s back distinctly announced Iori's presence. With the acceleration, Iori's body naturally leaned in, the solid lines of his torso pressing against Kyo's back through the leather jacket. 

Through the fluttering hems of their clothes in the wind, Iori's warmth and scent seeped in, as if filling Kyo's back entirely.

Turning onto the asphalt road, the city lights stretched into long afterimages, streaking by like shooting stars. Amidst the fierce wind rushing against their speed, the two men, bodies silently pressed together, were steeped in a bizarrely profound sense of peace. Kyo kept his unwavering gaze fixed ahead, securing the handlebars, while Iori surrendered his entire weight to that sturdy back. The low hum of the engine beat on like a rhythmic pulse, and through every variation of acceleration and deceleration, their shared center of gravity never faltered. This fluid distance between them—maintained without any need to hold on tightly or push away—was as stable as the bond that tied them together.

Cutting through the cold winter night air, the motorcycle raced toward the blindingly bright streets. The silhouettes of the two men gradually lost their borders, melting into one as they disappeared into the overlapping lights of the city.