A/N: I love these two a little too much. I have several drabbles of them, so I might post them all here. Enjoy my most recent!
It was always Kurama, Yomi knew. It was in the carefully constructed words, ulterior motive hidden under blankets of banter and small talk. The centuries the fox lived always brimmed within his voice, spilling pleasantries but suggesting cruelty. If age had a whisper, it would be Kurama's soft alto, creeping into the minds of the innocent and murmuring sickly promises. Yomi's previously stable mind twisted the words deeper into his heart, scarring them into his memory for as long as possible, if only to pick them apart and make them meaningless later. But they were never meaningless, were they? No, this was Kurama. Everything had some ridiculous meaning.
It was the way he would stride; graceful, lithe, and powerful. His hips would just barely sway if he knew Yomi was watching the vibrations, highly aware of his surroundings and the perked ears, aimed in his direction. His tread was always light, rarely making much sound unless he desired so, a dull thud against concrete. Kurama's hands would casually rest within the uniform pockets, projecting nonchalance that was always carried easily in their youth. The way Kurama's firm thighs would cross in elegance as they sat for tea, speaking of nothing but politics and the occasional past conquers. In some instances, Kurama would gesture with delicate fingers to prove a point. Oh, how Yomi wanted to break those god forsaken hands. Crush them, then kiss them and hold them in his.
At times, Kurama's fingers would barely brush Yomi's hands, his clothes—it made him furious; furious that he could not fist his hands into those silken locks, husking his unbearable feelings into an ear as Kurama would drink in the words with a shiver. However, this was not possible. Aside from professionalism as a king, it would signal Kurama's undeniable win. A mark on his proverbial bedpost. Not once had the fox humoured Yomi enough to entwine themselves within each other. Not once had Kurama spoken on Yomi's feelings, no matter how aware he was. No matter how obvious Yomi made it. Kurama was his sky, his sun, his earth. Everything.
After all this time, he was still taken, after a thousand years. A thousand bruising, gritty years of pining and rage aimed directly at that fox. It was so horribly confusing to Yomi no matter how he turned and prodded at the subject. As much as he wanted to rip Kurama apart, making him beg as he bled from every oraphis in that beautiful body, Yomi could no fathom it.
Yomi loved Kurama too much to hurt him. It was always Kurama, after all.
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