Midnight Hour by scheherezhad
Rating: R
Pairing: Yusuke/Koenma
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't make money off of 'em. I'm just playing, so please don't sue.
Author's notes: For flamika, by request. I hope you enjoy it. Exactly 1000 words.
Feedback: Please. scheherezhad@yahoo.com

"I bruise easily," he told me once. And he does. I have to watch myself when we're together, stop my hands from clutching him too hard when he fucks me. He doesn't like having to hide the marks the next day.

He likes our sex hard and fast, no talking, no foreplay, but I don't really mind. I'm young and lonely, and I'll take sex any way I can get it.

He knows I pretend he's someone else.

He usually fucks me from behind so he doesn't have to see my face. I don't mind that, either. I know he pretends I'm someone else, too.

Sometimes, when he thinks I'm screaming too loud to hear him, he whispers a name that's not mine. That's the only thing he's ever said while we do it, and sometimes it's the only thing he says during the whole night or hour or ten minutes in a hidden corner.

I always wonder on my way to meet him if anyone knows what we do together. During, there's no time to think about it, and afterward I don't really care. But there's always this little itch at the back of my mind that says I'm being followed or that someone's watching us when I get there.

The first time, the itch was so bad I actually looked around to see if anyone was there, but no one comes here except me. Everyone else knows better. When I didn't see anything, I tried feeling down the halls with what little spirit sense I have. I caught a little feel of something silver and fast before I lost it. I tried a few times after that, but I never felt anything again; if the presence was ever there, it hid itself better after almost getting found out. If it wasn't there, well, it'd already made me nervous anyway.

Tonight I have to knock and wait for the door to open before I can go in with him. Usually, he's opening it while I'm still raising my hand to knock, like he doesn't want anyone to hear it.

He finally opens the door slowly, smiles, and reaches out to take my hand. He's wearing a long-sleeved blue silk shirt and loose black silk pants that I haven't ever seen on him.

"Hello, Yusuke," he says quietly. He's never said my name like that before.

"Hey."

"I'm glad you're here."

This is getting weird.

"Come in?"

He's never asked before, just stands back and lets me in while he locks the door behind us. I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod and walk into the room. He's still holding my hand.

I look around and immediately notice he's done some redecorating since last time. Before, it was cold and plain, the bedroom of a man who spends more time in the office than at home. Now, though, it looks warm and inviting, done up in reds and purples and gold. Candles provide the only light. The bedsheets probably cost more than my mom's condo. This is the kind of bedroom I always imagined would belong to the son of a god.

He lets go of my hand, closes the door and locks it, then he comes back and wraps his arms around me. I'm suddenly looking up at him, and I realize I'd forgotten how much taller than me he really is. He leans down to kiss me.

We've never kissed before.

His mouth is firm and warm, and it's so much better than those awkward times Keiko tried to kiss me. I think I moan a little when one of his hands slides up the back of my shirt, strong and warm against my skin. He slips his tongue in my mouth while it's open; I go a little weak in the knees. When he pulls back, I'm a sort of dizzy, and I can't focus on anything but those gold-brown eyes so close to mine. His eyes are only that color when he's in this form, tall and mature and sexual. They only glow like that when he's with me.

He just looks at me for a while, but he must like what he sees, because he's smiling again as he starts undressing me. He's slow and thorough, kissing and touching me while he takes my clothes off. No one's ever paid this much attention to me except to try to kick my ass in a fight, and by the time he's through I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to stand up.

I've forgotten to wonder why he's suddenly acting like this. I won't complain, though.

I undress him with shaky hands and try to return the favor, but he shakes his head and lays me down on the bed. All night he's like that: focused on me, finding out what I like, what gets me hot, what makes me say his name like a prayer.

He discovers a place on my chest that has me begging and swearing when he bites me there. We find out that he can almost make me come just by blowing air on the insides of my elbows. I have to beg again to get him to move on.

By the time he finally fucks me, I've come so hard and so often already that I'm exhausted and can barely lift my head. But he's still going slow, and even though I wouldn't call it making love, it's not really fucking this time. He stares into my eyes as we move, and for the first time I don't find myself thinking about sad green eyes and long red hair.

For the first time, he whispers my name when he comes.

For the first time, I spend the night and wake up in his arms.

The itch goes away when we tell the others we're together, but sometimes I still feel watched, and it makes me think of sad green eyes in the dark.