Disclaimer: I don't own Xiaolin Showdown.
Summary: Crows are scavengers.
Warning: yuri, smutty action

Kimiko is no longer a child. She's traded her pigtails in for a ponytail; her eyes have widened ever-so slightly, and her breasts have grown. She's got legs now, long and beautiful. A beautiful doll with all the rage and power of fire, wild and free.

When she's pinned beneath a tanned body, she doesn't feel like a fire; she feels like a mouse. When pouty lips are latched onto her neck, she feels trapped. When dagger-sharp teeth pierce her flesh, she can feel her blood turning to sludge in her veins. But it feels oh-so good the way claws pinch and pull at the tender flesh of her breasts. Pleasure shoots through her spine when she's rubbed just the right way, and how she moans when slender fingers worm their way deep inside her.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. No, Kimiko was supposed to fight and spit. The witch was supposed to scream as Kimiko unleashed her rage, the fire dancing and twirling like sprites but with all the heat of hell. Kimiko was supposed to emerge victorious, glowing with pride, skin marred with a few scratches that will eventually fade into nothing.

That's how it always was, but not this time.

Wuya had come out of nowhere, teeth gleaming, and eyes oily with lust. She'd silenced Kimiko with a slender finger to her lips and a slow shake of the head. She had led Kimiko into the shadows and had pinned her to the floor, her slender hands working at Kimiko's robes.

Kimiko hadn't fought, and she hadn't screamed. She couldn't. The scream had become caught in her throat, and she was choking on it. Her (sharp beautiful hateful gentle python) eyes gleam in the darkness, and her lips are hot against Kimiko's throat.

"Don't scream," Wuya whispers, her teeth nipping at the tender flesh of Kimiko's collar bone. "We don't want to wake anyone up now, would we?"

Here's what Kimiko remembered later: Wuya's hands sliding into her robes, slowly peeling them away, her legs slowly spreading open, Wuya's own dress falling to the floor like a puddle of ink, the click of a door being locked somewhere.

Here's what sits on the forefront of her mind: Wuya's tongue slithering into her mouth like a snake, the feeling of their breasts pressing together, Wuya's knee rubbing at her aching crotch, Wuya's teeth gently pulling at her hard nipple, Wuya's finger delving deep inside her.

The smell of sex and perfume, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wonderful friction between Kimiko's legs—it sent Kimiko reeling. She arched her hips, rubbed against Wuya, clinging to her like a child.

"Whenever you're with that boy," Wuya growls against her breast, "you think of me. He can't do this to you."

It was true. Raimundo was nice, and he was an excellent lover. This was something entirely different, and it felt wonderful. Kimiko needed more, craved it.

When Kimiko released, her world tunneled, and then there was nothing.

Xxx

When Kimiko woke up the next morning, there was nothing but her empty bedroom. (Ah, that's where they had gone.) Her robes are in a pile next to her, and the window moves to a gentle spring breeze. There was no evidence of the night before, not even a lipstick stain on Kimiko's skin.

When Kimiko went to her pile of clothing, she paused. Sitting on top of the clothes was an lacquered red hair pin in the shape of a sparrow.

When the others had asked where she got, she replied that it was a gift from home.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she feels Wuya's lips against the back of her neck, and her laughter humming against her skin.