May 192007
 

Title: The Briar Rose (complete!)
Characters: Gekkou Hayate, Shiranui Genma
Rating: E
Warnings: Yaoi, violence
Notes: I had this really weird AU crossover moment. It doesn’t make sense as such to anyone else, but that’s fine, too. I know what’s going on, here. Hayate is not the delicate flower he is so frequently assumed to be, and Genma will sacrifice anything to make him smile.


1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
"Fuck off, Genma. I’m not in the mood." Hayate turned, gracefully stepping through the kata, leading with his sword. "I have had a very long day, and I am very tired of people."

He finished the kata and spun, with the sword, cleanly severing the tips off the branches of the willow that hung over Genma. "People and their —" The sword flashed again and more willow littered the ground. "— patronizing, artificial —" He struck again. "— concern."

Genma flashed into existence behind his young lover, capturing the swordsman’s arms in an embrace. "And my concerns? Mine are at least genuine," he whispered into Hayate’s ear. "I think you need to relax for a little while. Put the fools aside and let me remind you that there are better things in life than they will ever have."

Hayate protested half-heartedly. "Let me go, you bastard. I don’t need to relax. I’m fine."

"Are you, really? Then tell me this doesn’t feel good." Genma’s fingers pressed into the space under Hayate’s left shoulderblade, and the little swordsman moaned softly, and leaned back against him, sword hanging loosely from his right hand. "And this?" Genma’s fingers moved again, pushing three points around Hayate’s spine where it passed between his hips.

Hayate’s dark eyes flew wide at the touch, as pure liquid warmth spread through his body. "Ah — Genma! Don’t!" He coughed violently, holding onto Genma’s hip for balance. "Don’t do that while I’m standing."

Smirking, Genma nipped at Hayate’s ear. "Then lay down, and I’ll do it again."

"No! I don’t need your… your…" Hayate completely misplaced his train of thought as Genma’s warm fingers slid up the back of his shirt, walking up the pressure points along his spine.

"You don’t need my what?" the smug bastard purred into the swordsman’s ear.

"I forgot." Hayate just stared, stunned, into the garden for a few moments. "Weren’t you going to do something useful? Go make dinner. I have to put my sword away."

Genma opened his mouth to make an entirely tasteless comment regarding swords, but managed to check himself before it left his mouth. "Dinner. Right. Tea-rice with melon and stir-fried rabbit? I think there’s leftover rabbit from last night."

"Just make food, Shiranui." Hayate glared over his shoulder and stalked off into the garden.

"As you wish." Genma shook his head and wandered toward the kitchen. Whatever had gone on, Hayate was not pleased about it, and was, thankfully, trying very hard not to take it out on him. He could respect that. With a small shrug, he opened the fridge and began to find his ingredients.


Genma filled a bowl when he heard the back door slide open. He held it out as Hayate entered the kitchen. "Hey, sexy. I made —"

"Dinner. Yes." Hayate snatched the bowl and kept walking, headed for the parlour, where he could watch the sun set over the garden. He loved Genma dearly, but the older jounin had no idea when to stop talking unless he was distracted by sex. And Hayate had no intention of providing conversation or smutty amusements, at the moment.

Genma ate his dinner leaning against the stove. He hadn’t managed to leave the house all day, except to sit in the garden with a book. The yukata he wore was a small concession to Hayate’s sense of propriety — while Hayate had been out, he’d lain in the shade of the willow completely naked. Setting the bowl in the sink, he walked to the parlour, where Hayate sat hunched over, glaring out the window, half his dinner forgotten beside him.

"Hey, beautiful." Genma knelt behind his disgruntled lover, knees spread wide, chest flush against his back. His fingers settled into Hayate’s palms, gently pressing the tension out. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I don’t want to talk about it. Why are you bothering me? I want —" Hayate stifled a moan as he felt a knot at the base of his thumb release. "I want you to keep doing that."

Genma smiled and kissed Hayate’s neck, working his way up one arm and then the other, from the wrist to the elbow. He paid special attention to the left wrist. There was one spot that —

"Oh, gods, Genma, wait!" Hayate gasped, suddenly, leaning forward to strip his vest and shirt off, and tossing them into the corner. Resting his head back against Genma’s shoulder, he turned his wide dark eyes upward. "More?"

"Anything for you, beautiful. Anything at all." His fingers played across Hayate’s chest, striking and blending away the pain and the tension, and slowly, the pale swordsman began to relax.

Hayate felt himself start to let go of the day’s anger and clung to it spitefully for a few minutes. Who the hell was Genma to make him stop wanting to stab people!? But as his shoulders released and Genma’s hands found the thumb-sized points on the inner edge of his hipbones, he remembered the answer to that question. This was the man who loved him, who took care of him, sometimes to his own detriment. This was Genma, who could make him feel bliss that lasted for hours and ended in a good night’s sleep.

As his lover’s skilled fingers worked over his body, Hayate began to wonder if smutty amusements were really such a terrible idea. He reached up and pulled on Genma’s hair, dragging the smut-monger’s pretty face to within reach of his lips. After a quiet cough to the side, Hayate busied himself licking Genma’s lips like some sweet prize.

Genma’s eyes closed, and he worked to finish what he had started before allowing himself to get distracted by Hayate’s relaxation-induced lust. "Pull your knees up so I can reach," he slurred around his lover’s tongue.

"Worry about my legs later," the slim, pale swordsman demanded, nipping at the tall assassin’s lips.

"Nope. Not done, yet." Genma reached down and slid a hand under one of Hayate’s thighs, bending the leg into reach. His fingers knew the places that would be tense — they were always the same, as were the points that gave pleasure. He skimmed over the latter, touching just enough to cause annoyance. If Hayate was bent on being an ass, he could play, too.

"Goddammit, Genma!" Hayate’s face was flushed, but his eyes were still sharp. "I said later!"

Genma smiled calmly, an irritating arrogance just below the surface. "Now, now. If I don’t finish, you’ll be walking funny all week."

"Walking funny!" Hayate burst out coughing. "I don’t care if I’m walking funny! I just want a good reason for it…" He leaned back against Genma, again, as his breathing settled, tracing his fingers up the inner edge of the taller man’s thigh.

Genma caught his breath and placed his lips beside Hayate’s ear. "I’d rather have you cripple me for the week, and you’ll need both legs in working condition for that," he breathed, pressing one long finger against a spot on the smaller man’s thigh.

Hayate arched backward, gasping and blushing. "Fine! Work faster! And do that —" He cut himself off with a ragged moan as Genma’s finger pressed into the same place again. "You bastard. You incredible bastard."

"Fatherless as I’ve ever been. But you love me, just the same." Genma was irritatingly smug as he licked the curve of Hayate’s ear and moved his hands to the other leg. He pressed and tapped, twisting his fingers into the tense muscles at Hayate pulled his hair and licked his lips again.

"And this," Genma mumbled around a mouthful of tongue, "Nobody ever sees you like this. It’s why they’re all so convinced that you’re some kind of sickly and delicate flower. Some kind of hothouse rose. But I know you better than that, my little dragon. I know that I just have to put my hands on you, and you’ll tear me apart."

As Genma’s hands moved away from his legs, Hayate twisted himself like a pennant in a wild wind, smoothly coming to rest straddling Genma’s lap in a crouch. Genma brought his knees closer together, and Hayate’s knees sank to the ground. As Genma’s warm hands played across his chest, stroking and pinching, Hayate pulled open the yukata that his lover was barely wearing (Hayate swore that Genma only wore clothes to taunt him.) and sank his ragged nails into the skin, clutching at Genma’s chest, biting roughly at his lips.

Pressing his bleeding lips to the little swordsman’s, Genma flicked his tongue into Hayate’s mouth, tasting dinner and just a touch of decay. Hayate always tasted like death to a greater or lesser degree depending on how sick he was that day, but Genma kissed him anyway — kissed him passionately in repeated wordless affirmations of life. Of course, Genma would probably also have kissed his corpse — one last taste to remember him by. Hayate tangled his fingers in Genma’s hair, sucking on the beautiful tokujou’s tongue.

There was a clack as the front door slid open. Genma pulled himself away from Hayate, yanking the yukata back onto his shoulders. "Put your shirt on!" he hissed, "Your father’s home!"

Hayate stared back blankly, blood from Genma’s lips staining his lips and chin. "He’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow."

"Well, the estimate was off! Move!" The door slid closed audibly. "See?" Genma flung his arm back in the direction of the door.

"Shit." Hayate sighed dramatically and reclaimed his clothes, pulling them on and picking up his half finished dinner. He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment before he thought to adjust his pants. "You’d better finish what you started," he grumbled sulkily.

Genma licked his lips clean, clearing the blood smears from his own face. "Oh, I’m sure I will."


Gekkou Ken’ichirou walked past the open door of the parlour, wearing a tattered and filthy uniform. He paused for a moment to talk to the boys — boys? His son was a man, and Genma had been for some time. But time passes differently for a parent. "Hayate, you’re bleeding."

The words were entirely neutral and wholly without weight, but Hayate blushed, suddenly. "I must have split my lip," he mumbled into his bowl.

Genma leaned back on his hands, tilting his head back to look at the man in the doorway. "Actually, he split my lip. I was wondering how long it would take him to notice." Genma grinned, foolishly. Ken’ichirou knew what was going on between them — after the last couple of years, it would be impossible for him not to. But, like most young couples, they preferred not to be caught in the act.

Hayate blushed even redder. "Genma!" he hissed — voiced, it might have been a whine. "It’s not like that, dad."

"On the contrary," Genma protested, "it’s exactly like that." He grinned salaciously at Hayate.

Ken’ichirou cleared his throat. "I’m beginning to wonder if you aren’t right about the family’s predilection toward damaging your face, Genma." It was a mild jest, not a threat, and executed in the same mild and neutral tone of voice as every other sentence that came out of the man. He looked back at his son. "Have you been taking your pills?"

Glaring resentfully at Genma, Hayate nodded. "Yes." He sulked, pouted, and generally looked like a very tall six-year-old.

"I sat on him and put them in his mouth." Genma tilted his head back again and offered a smugly triumphant smile.

The corner of Ken’ichirou’s mouth twitched in amusement. "I see." He yawned. "I think I’m going to go to sleep now. You boys have fun." He started to walk away, but looked back as he passed the far edge of the wide door. "And Genma? Neither too loudly nor too publicly."

Genma finally blushed, a bright red streak that stretched across the bridge of his nose. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." He was vanquished, at last — subdued and embarrassed. As Ken’ichirou continued on his way to the back of the house, Genma speculated that for all the seriously revolting and fucked up things he’d done — most more than willingly — that being overheard as his small, frail boyfriend fucked the sense back into him, by said boyfriend’s father, was absolutely on the bottom of the list of things he wanted to repeat.

Stunned silent, Hayate just looked appalled for a few long moments before he launched himself at Genma, stabbing him repeatedly with his chopsticks. Thankfully, chopsticks are not regulation piercing weapons, and did a great deal less damage than kunai might have. "I ought to kill you! Why do you have to be so fucking loud!?"

Grabbing Hayate by the front of his open vest, Genma pulled him very close and purred into his ear. "Because of you. Only you. Because every time you touch me, I don’t ever want you to stop. Because the way your hands feel on my skin is just too good, and I can’t stop begging you for more."

Hayate pushed him away, in some combination of frustration and disgust. "Bastard." His pants were visibly tighter than they had been.

"But I’m the bastard you want." Genma sounded smug as he stretched one arm forward, dragging a fingertip down the very obvious line on Hayate’s pants. "Your room or the garden?"

Hayate’s eyes rolled back in his head and his back arched. The chopsticks slipped from his suddenly inattentive fingers. He shuddered — and shuddered again. "Don’t care." His voice was tight and strained.

"Really…?" The word was drawn out. Genma poured himself back to his feet, moving like a gravity defying liquid. He stood temptingly before Hayate for a few moments, looking down in amusement. Hayate glared up at him and, moving swiftly and precisely, yanked open Genma’s yukata and licked the inside of his thigh. Genma moved like a significantly faster liquid as he bent down and lifted Hayate, smiling wickedly as the little swordsman’s legs wrapped around his waist.

"The garden, then. You’re going to make it up to that poor abused willow." Genma had a strange sense of the world that involved plants and animals more than it did people, most of the time. When it involved people, he either fucked them or killed them. "I think she’ll like the way you plead and moan just as much as I do."

"Genma…!" Hayate found it possible to be embarrassed by even non-living observers, and refused to let Genma suck him off in front of the stone Buddha in the side yard, more than once.

"Too late!" Genma smiled smugly. "You said you didn’t care!" He carried Hayate out of the room and into the back garden. Hayate bitched colourfully the whole way there, and rabbit-punched Genma in the side of the head a few times, just for good measure.


Genma ducked under the low-hanging branches of the willow tree and turned to sit with his back to it, settling Hayate into his lap. "You done trying to knock my teeth in, yet?"

"No." Hayate hauled off and punched Genma in the head, again. "Bastard."

Ignoring the fact that the side of his face would start to swell in a few minutes, Genma purred and stretched. "Aww, I’m so unloved." He leaned back, dramatically draping himself against the tree.

Hayate just glared for a long moment. He started several sentences, but failed to progress past the first syllable. "You— But— I— Fuck—" The glare bled away into confused annoyance. "Idiot. Bastard idiot."

Genma started to laugh but was cut off as Hayate kissed him. It wasn’t one of the violently lusty kisses that Hayate favoured when stopping Genma’s senseless chatter, but a gentle one — passionate and loving. Taken completely by surprise, Genma smacked his head on the tree and bit his own tongue.

"Ow." There might have been a further protest, but Hayate refused to let go of Genma’s face.

"Unloved, my ass. I love you." He brushed Genma’s hair back and gazed down at what was unquestionably the sexiest shinobi in the entire village. "Stupid bastard," he sighed, wholly smitten.

Genma smiled up at the sickly swordsman. "You say the sweetest things, love."

"Doubly stupid bastard." Hayate just sort of poked his lover in the chest, having already gotten most of the punching out of his system. "Didn’t we come out here for a reason?"

"I’m sure we did. I seem to have forgotten what it was, being a doubly stupid bastard and all…" A smirk crawled across Genma’s face as he failed to maintain an innocent expression.

"Here’s your reminder." Hayate looked positively wicked as he pulled Genma’s hand into his lap. The assassin took a deep, calming breath, and then matched his lover’s wicked smile, letting his fingers play across the tight cloth. It was an extremely pleasing reminder that Hayate actually wore rather loose pants.

"Wearing too much," Genma complained, looking just like the sex object he was to everyone but his friends.

Grabbing the belt of Genma’s yukata, Hayate stood up, taking it with him. The cloth fell open to reveal hints of Genma’s lithe, sleek body, and he shrugged his shoulders as he sat forward, letting the yukata fall softly to the ground. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of Hayate’s pants, Genma smiled up at the thin swordsman towering impatiently over him. He rubbed his cheek along the line of Hayate’s cock where it weighed against the fabric. Hayate’s fingers gripped Genma’s shoulders tightly as he struggled to keep his balance.

Moaning quietly, Hayate started yet another sentence he would never finish. "Genma… I—" He cut himself off, panting and whining desperately as Genma mouthed his cock through the fabric of his pants. There were times, he noted once again, when it would be brilliantly satisfying to kick Genma soundly. Unfortunately, the things that inspired these thoughts usually made kicking a bad idea. Kicking the man whose teeth were in contact with your pants was usually a bad idea.

Genma leaned back just a bit and yanked Hayate’s pants and undershorts off in one swift pull. He caught his lover’s exposed cock in his mouth as it recoiled toward his face. Hayate yelped in surprise and squealed repeatedly as he tried to recover from the sudden chill and the more shocking sudden warmth. He clutched Genma’s shoulder in one hand and covered his mouth with the other as he leaned forward, coughing. And Genma, exquisitely pornographic creature that he was, sucked in time to the coughs. It took quite some time for Hayate to catch his breath.

"Oh, Genma…" A groan rose from deep in the swordsman’s chest. "So good…"

The suction lessened as Genma’s lips twisted into a half-smile, but he made up for it admirably, purring and chuckling in the back of his throat. Hayate’s legs nearly failed him, but he recovered well enough when his hips twisted of their own volition, nearly choking the charming bastard with (thankfully) no gag reflex and a mouthful of cock. Genma could feel his own body responding to Hayate’s enthusiasm. One of the very few things that actually turned him on — that honestly filled him with a nearly uncontrollable lust — was being enjoyed. Other people’s displays of desire were his favourite things — especially when the other person was Hayate.

"Genma — nngh…" Hayate struggled to get the words out. "Please… stop."

Genma froze, perfectly still — a stone image of himself. He closed his eyes to hide a slightly regretful look as Hayate’s cock slid out of his mouth.

Hayate stood, panting, for a long moment as he collected his thoughts. "I don’t want to come like this. I don’t want to just use you — I mean, it’s nice. I like it when you suck me —" He blushed, but Genma still wasn’t watching. "— I don’t mean to say I don’t enjoy it. But… I…" He trailed off, again.

Genma waited, silent and patient. Hayate would get to the point, eventually. He usually did. And when he did, it would probably take every ounce of Genma’s intestinal fortitude not to just come all over himself. Hayate rarely asked for anything, and when he did, they were brilliant ideas. Admittedly, he’d gotten one of those brilliant ideas from Raidou, but that was just that once.

Stepping out of his pants, Hayate knelt across Genma’s lap. "I think I’m still wearing more than you are. You should fix that."

While that was still an awfully sexy offer, even after the last two years of listening to Hayate learning to say it without stuttering, it was clearly not the sentence he’d meant to say. The small swordsman was still working his way up to that sentence. Genma reached out and carefully stripped Hayate’s vest and shirt off him, one piece at a time. He traced a finger down the centre of Hayate’s bare chest.

"Fixed." Genma smiled softly.

"I just— I want—" Hayate leaned close, wrapping his arms around Genma, and placed his lips beside the assassin’s ear. "Not quick and dirty, this time. That’s good, but… Genma, make love to me."


Genma very nearly died in that instant, as he recognised the brilliance of the idea and his absolute inability to perform as requested. He was extremely good at dirty — quick and dirty, for those who liked their pleasures short and to the point, and lengthy and dirty, for those who preferred to ensure that he didn’t sleep. Here he was with the only man he’d ever loved, and no idea how to translate that into some sort of sexual act. He decided to stall for time. Maybe if Hayate got impatient, he’d take the lead.

"You know, I think you’ve managed a first, there," Genma purred, temptingly. "Who would have imagined that you could name something I’d never before been asked to do?"

"Dammit, Genma, stop teasing me." Hayate shoved him back, hard, slamming him into the tree. "I should have known it was stupid to even try to get you to —" He was suddenly distracted by the mouthful of tongue as Genma realised that stalling wasn’t going to work. As usual, Genma’s kiss was passionate and forceful, but Hayate was surprised to find it slowing down as his lover’s warm hands smoothed over his back, caressing gently rather than grabbing or teasing. Genma’s fingers worked over Hayate’s back, much as they had already, today, drawing out the tension that had settled in, since.

Drawn into the slow kiss, Hayate found himself darting his own tongue into Genma’s mouth, just to gain that contact more quickly. It was amazing the effect the assassin’s fingers and tongue inevitably had on him — shy, quiet, sickly Hayate, suddenly kissing with passion, back arched, begging to be taken. It didn’t take much to get him there, and he hoped that Genma would be able to figure out how to keep him just shy of that line for a while… It wasn’t that he didn’t want Genma to fuck him (until his nose bled from the incredible strain it put on his body, if he was lucky) it was just that he wanted so much more, first, but he’d never been able to contain himself long enough to get it. Even now, his hips began to rock gently against Genma’s thighs.

Genma leaned back from the kiss, pulling Hayate away from his lips. "No, this is all wrong." He gestured with one hand. "Lie back and let me touch all of you."

Hayate nearly bit through his lip at the suggestion, but did as he was told, smiling expectantly as Genma lay down beside him.

Rolling onto his side, head propped on one hand, Genma let his fingers play over Hayate’s chest, tracing rings around the nipples before sliding his palm down Hayate’s body with obvious restraint. "Have I mentioned, recently, that I adore you?" Hayate blinked owlishly up at Genma, who smiled at his confusion and continued to ramble. "I love your skin — the way it’s so pale I can see through it." He traced his fingers across Hayate’s belly, following the lines of the blood vessels just beneath the surface. "I can sit and watch your pulse flicker like most people would watch a pond of koi." His fingers danced across the pulse points in time to the rhythm of Hayate’s heart. "This is why they all think you’re made of glass, of porcelain, of some frail and fragile thing. You look so delicate in the afternoon sun." Genma caressed his lover’s hip, gently. "But, I know better than that." Pressing his tongue to the side of Hayate’s neck, Genma followed the blue lines down his body, pausing at a few important points before slowing to a halt, many long minutes later, with his tongue resting on the back of his lover’s knee. Gazing into Hayate’s lust-clouded eyes, he smiled seductively, and Hayate felt the world melt out from under him.

Hayate clutched at the grass as Genma lay between his legs, rhapsodising and intermittently lapping at his cock and balls. He would never, he decided, make a request like this again. It was wholly infuriating, if distressingly sweet and loving in that utterly baffling way of which only Genma seemed capable.

"And the smell of you is just intoxicating —"

Hayate cut off Genma’s rhapsodic monologue. "I smell like a festering sore, you stupid bastard!"

"No, you don’t, love. You taste like a festering sore. Not that I particularly mind. There’s a certain peace in coming to terms with systemic decay — especially when the source of that decay kisses back like you do." Genma grinned lasciviously, and Hayate kneed him in the side of the head.

"Incorrigible bastard."

"More often than not!" With a bright and thoroughly impolite smile, Genma lowered his head and began to gently suck at Hayate’s balls, and the thin swordsman slumped back to the ground, largely incoherent.

"…hate you…" he muttered as his hips twisted of their own accord to better present his flesh to Genma’s talented tongue. The assassin, of course, took gleeful advantage of the sudden offer, burying his face in the swordsman’s crotch and bathing every inch between his lover’s navel and knees in spit. Hayate writhed and scrabbled at Genma’s back with his toes, tearing out grass as his hands tore at the ground. "Hate you in the best way possible…"

Genma purred and rolled onto his back, resting his head against Hayate’s hip and stretching his hand up to the swordsman’s face. "Mmm, yes, I think you do… Always in the best way possible." He laughed as Hayate nipped at his fingers, and then gasped when the nipping dissolved into sucking. Sliding his fingers in and out of his lover’s mouth, Genma turned his head to the side to resume where he’d left off sucking. Hayate’s foot slid down Genma’s chest, and the assassin moaned as he felt the toes come into contact with his still half-hard cock. The two lovers fell into a rhythm with each other, of hands and feet and tongues, and each left the other moaning and squirming.

Hayate was the first to surrender, pushing Genma’s fingers out of his mouth in order to voice his pleas. "Please, Genma…" There was a rest of the sentence, but it didn’t make it out of the swordsman’s mouth the first time. "Please, come up here and kiss me." That wasn’t the sentence he wanted, either, but at least he could give that one voice.

After one final slow, hard suck, Genma complied, rolling over and dragging himself across Hayate’s body before finally claiming the swordsman’s thin, cold lips. Hayate’s arms wrapped around his back, and they lay a long while on the grass, together, trading tongues and breath. Slowly, Hayate brought up one leg and then the other, hooking his knees over Genma’s hips, crossing his ankles on the tall tokujou’s back.

"Fingers again." Genma held them up to Hayate’s mouth and the little swordsman sucked and licked them lustily, slathering them with spit until Genma pulled his hand away and reached between them, careful not to bump into skin and waste the precious liquid. He rubbed against Hayate’s entrance with his fingertips, teasing but not entering, nipping his lover’s lips with every playful push.

Hayate’s teeth chattered. His eyes rolled back in his head as he stuttered out small noises of pure frustration. Finally, Genma pushed forward, swiftly and seriously, driving his fingers into his lover’s thin body, and Hayate arched and writhed beneath him. As the swordsman settled, panting, to the ground, the assassin stilled his hand and gazed lovingly down at him. Genma opened his mouth to speak, but Hayate pressed his fingers to the tall tokujou’s lips and shook his head. There were no words that would not be redundant. As Hayate pulled him into a deep and vibrant kiss, Genma began to work his hand against his lover’s flesh, again, thrusting and stretching. Hayate moaned nearly continuously into the kiss as he rubbed his body against Genma’s warm skin — in fact, the assassin began to wonder if his lover breathed at all.

Eventually, Hayate wormed a hand down and grabbed at Genma’s wrist, pushing his hand away. "More. Now. Please." Retrieving his fingers, Genma switched hands, putting his weight on the dirtied one and bringing the other up to his mouth to fill his palm with spit. He gazed down at the pale swordsman with a combination of love and lust that bordered on quiet but fanatical worship, but the edge of madness might just have been his own control wearing away as he slicked his own flesh with the spit.

An eyebrow raised by the assassin, a head shake from the swordsman, and skin on skin, flesh into flesh, their bodies came together. Groaning and gasping, they tore at each other, desperate for sensation and blinded with pleasure. Genma finally forced himself to slow down, panting as he pried his teeth out of Hayate’s shoulder. "Sorry… It’s just you. Only you." He was still amazed at the way that Hayate drove him wild — there was something about the thin, frail, innocent young man with the brutal, powerful, and demanding dragon lurking just below the surface, just barely leaking through the occasional crack in his public face, but wholly in control in his own home.

The little swordsman’s only reply was to tighten a few muscles and roll his hips. In the blink of an eye, what little control Genma had regained over his body was gone, and he ravished his lover — thrusting, biting, licking, squeezing, moaning, and snarling. Hayate held tight to the beautiful assassin, coughing and gasping as each deep, hard thrust shook his body. He panted, struggling to breathe, and dug his ragged nails into Genma’s shoulderblades as the world began to waver and his nose began to bleed down his throat. Tighter and tighter his body clenched, joints locking, back arching. Genma’s breath began to stutter as Hayate’s muscles began to roll in a shuddering swift pattern, and the two lovers found each other’s lips, stifling screams of pleasure with each other’s tongues as they came together.

Genma lay still for a long time, waiting for the world to stop spinning. His chin rested on Hayate’s shoulder, and the little swordsman closed his eyes to avoid staring into the afternoon sun. "Only you," Genma whispered, "Only you can make me just let go."

Hayate smiled, even though Genma couldn’t see his face, and settled his arms more comfortably around the tall assassin as he tried, mostly in vain, to swallow the blood clot in his throat. Such, he figured, was the price one paid to have the best of everything at one’s disposal.