Through His Eyes

Hiei rose to his feet, hands still clenched so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms, as the door opened fully. Dragon’s Flame may have been bullied into accepting their newest member, but he’d damned sure let the fucker know that, as far as the guitarist was concerned, he was neither welcomed nor wanted.

Hiei’s eyes narrowed as the figure at the door moved completely into the room. “Why the hell are you here?” he spat, the scowl on his face darkening further.

Mukuro Koorime, the band’s manager, and one time lover of its ill-tempered lead guitarist, sauntered casually into the room, a large serving tray balanced carefully in her hands. “Ah, charming as ever, Hiei,” she smirked as she deposited the tray on the table.

“And as to my reason for being here,” she continued as she set the tray down on the table. “I should think that would be patently obvious, even to you. Yet as it seems it is not, I’ll spell it out for you in simple terms. What affects Dragon’s Flame, affects not only the band but also Makai Productions as a whole. Therefore, since the addition of this newest member is bound to have an impact on all of you, as your manager, I am here to assess precisely what that impact may be… at Raizen’s suggestion, of course,” she added as an afterthought.

“Hn… figures.” Hiei had relaxed his stance and now stood, arms crossed over his chest. “Your lover commands and you rush to obey, right?”

Mukuro straightened, rising to her full height, which was, admittedly, only two inches more than that of her erstwhile lover. Slender hands folded themselves together and blue eyes, framed by long, dark lashes calmly met Hiei’s glare. She was an attractive, elegant woman. Even the short, rather choppy hairstyle she sported, which would have looked boyish on anyone other than Mukuro, only heightened her natural beauty and poise. She had become the band’s manager shortly after its inception, and not long after that, she and the little guitarist had become lovers.

They’d come together more out of some mutual physical need rather than any great love for each other; though over time, Mukuro had grown to love the taciturn guitarist. Hiei, while he cared for the woman who was his lover and manager, found he could not return her love, and so, after a few short yet memorable months, they mutually agreed to end the affair.

Over the months that followed their breakup, even Mukuro had to admit that they were much better friends than lovers, and so they settled into the comfortable routine they now shared. Oh, Mukuro still loved Hiei, but it had changed, grown, evolved into something deeper, more real than the romantic love of novels and stories. She genuinely cared for the little guitarist. And Hiei, though he maintained his stoic façade even with her, was fiercely protective of her, just as fiercely as he was of Yukina.

Mukuro meet those unusual eyes now, staring calmly back at Hiei but with a look that clearly said, ‘I won’t dignify your comment with a reply’, before she returned her attention to the tray, removing the items it contained and placing them on the table. When she was finished, she again looked over at the small guitarist and with a wave of her hands, indicated the spread she’d laid out.

She smiled magnanimously. “I come, like the proverbial Greeks, bearing gifts. Have some coffee, Hiei. And a muffin. They may sweeten your temperament.”

Without waiting for a reply, Mukuro set about getting herself some coffee. She knew Hiei well enough; knew he couldn’t resist the tempting smell of freshly brewed coffee or the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked blueberry muffins. Sure enough, as she added cream to her own cup, he was already filling his from the insulated carafe.

Hiei filled his cup then added four sugars to the dark liquid – no cream. His stomach gurgled appreciatively as he reached out and placed a muffin onto a small plate then picked up both cup and plate and moved to the second sofa. Kicking Kuwbara’s feet off the end, which caused the taller male to startle awake and immediately begin bellowing, he sat down.

“Hey runt!” Kuwabara glowered at the smaller man as Hiei settled himself on the sofa and prepared to enjoy his repast. “It’s polite to ASK if you want to share the couch! At least,” he huffed, “that’s what CIVILIZED people do!”

The carrot-topped drummer paused in his tirade to sniff the air appreciatively. He clasped his hands together, a wide grin splitting his narrow face as he all but moaned in ecstasy, salivary glands suddenly working overtime. “Mmmmm, are those muffins? Blueberry muffins? And coffee? Oh gods! There’s NOTHING better in the whole world than the smell of hot coffee, and fresh baked muffins… unless they were made by the loving hands of my sweet lamb chop, my bea-U-tiful turtledove…my lovely YUUU… KIII… NAAA!!”

“Oh for the love of…” Hiei muttered in disgust. “Will you shut the FUCK up already?!”

Hiei set his cup carefully on the low table that fronted the sofa then pinned Kuwabara with a glare that could melt stone (and probably had). “I swear by all that is holy,” he continued in a low, deadly voice, “that if you squeal my sister’s name one more time in that damned donkey’s bray you call a voice, I will personally rip your voice box out of your fucking throat!! Do I make myself clear, you moronic buffoon?!”

Kuwabara was positively apoplectic, his pale face now a rather interesting mottled red as he glared in silence at the guitarist before leaping to his feet, eyes blazing and hands clenching into fists as he towered about the smaller man. Hiei calmly stared back at his nemesis before he reached out, picked his cup back up, and took a sip of the cooling liquid.

“Just try it you midget ASSHOLE!” the drummer shrieked, fists upraised and spoiling for a fight. “That is, IF you think you’re MAN enou…..”

“HEY!” The whiplash crack of that voice cut sharply through the air, halting Kuwabara in mid-taunt. Shocked, the taller man turned to face that voice just as Hiei lifted his own eyes and glanced coolly over at the speaker. Yusuke responded with a look so fierce it rivaled even Hiei’s infamous ‘death’ glare.

“Sheesh!” the raven-haired singer groused, raising himself up on his elbows to continue staring at the two men. “Show some gods-damned consideration, will ya’?! People are tryin’ to sleep here, ya’ know?!”

“Ye… yeah… well… HE started it!” Kuwabara sputtered indignantly, jerking a thumb at the little guitarist. Hiei merely raised an eyebrow before returning to his coffee. “And you can kiss my ass, Urameshi!” The carrot-topped drummer huffed once more before settling down on the opposite end of the sofa to enjoy his own coffee and muffin.

Yusuke laughed then turned his attention to his lover. Reaching up with one hand, he removed the Tootsie Pop from Koenma’s mouth as with the other, he pulled the man’s head down, lips meeting in a kiss that soon turned passionate.

When the two finally separated, Koenma was breathing heavily and Yusuke’s mouth stretched into a lascivious grin as he ran his tongue over lips that were slightly swollen. “Mmmmm,” he purred, “cherry… my favorite flavor.”

Pulling Koenma’s head back down, he proceeded to plunder the older man’s lips and mouth once more causing Kuwabara to choke and sputter, almost spitting out the mouthful of muffin he’d taken. When he could swallow and breathe once more, he pierced the two with an icy glare. “Geez, Urameshi,” he muttered disgustedly, “why dontcha’ get a room already ‘stead of grossin’ us out while we’re tryin’ to eat?!”

The lovers pulled apart again and Yusuke turned to face his idiotic best friend. With that lascivious grin still on his face, he slowly raised his hand, middle finger extended. “Fuck you, Kuwabara,” he cheerfully replied.

While Kuwabara muttered something along the lines of ‘in your dreams’, Yusuke looked around the room, his large, dark eyes widening when they landed on Mukuro as if noticing for the first time she was in the room.

“Hey Boss Lady,” he grinned at her. “What’s up?”

Mukuro answered that grin with a smirk. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she answered, eyebrow quirking upwards as she blatantly eyed his leather-clad crotch. “Think you two can straighten yourselves out before Yomi and your new keyboardist arrive?”


Blood suffused Koenma’s cheeks and he, at least, had the grace to look abashed. Yusuke just laughed and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back into the stretch before he bounded up off the sofa and headed toward the table. “That coffee?” he asked large, brown eyes alight as he sniffed the delectable aroma and helped himself to a cup.

*****************************************************************

The sleek, black Mercedes limousine wove effortlessly through the mid-morning traffic of downtown Tokyo. Two men, separated by a Plexiglas privacy window from the chauffer, sat silently in the back, each lost in his own thoughts.

Yomi, dressed in a charcoal gray Armani silk suit and lavender, cashmere turtleneck sweater (also Armani), contemplated the man sitting across from him, taking in the other’s rather casual attire – clothing that was anything but.

While Yomi himself was handsome, this man was, quite simply, beautiful. He sat, reclined against the dark leather seat like some Greek god come to earth, his pose relaxed and easy. Long legs, encased in softest brown doeskin suede, were crossed at the ankles; small, narrow feet (sans socks) adorned in boots of the same material. A loose-fitting shirt (reminiscent of what had been known in the ‘70s as a poet’s shirt) of crème silk opened in a ‘V’ to reveal just a hint of pale throat and chest. When standing, it would reach just below slender hips. The long sleeves of the shirt ended in an elasticized ruffle that all but covered the hands folded demurely into his lap, long, slender fingers intertwined. A weskit of paisley-patterned silk in hues of moss, gold, teal, and eggplant was worn over the shirt. Thick crimson hair that reached almost to his waist was pulled into a high ponytail, wisps of which, along with twin silken forelocks, framed the elfin features of the man’s face. A tiny gold hoop pierced the lobe of one of the shell-like ears. Fashionable black sunglasses completed the ensemble, hiding the man’s eyes.

“You’re salivating.” The wry observation broke the silence between the two men; the dulcet tenor of the speaker’s voice sending a shiver along Yomi’s spine just as it always did when his companion spoke.

“That I am,” Yomi agreed amiably. “But then, how could I do otherwise when you sit there looking so delicious edible?”

Beneath the dark glasses, Shuuichi Minamino, known to the man sitting across from him and those faithful fans that refused to let Rose Whip die as ‘Kurama’, arched an elegant, crimson eyebrow before he leant forward slightly, deftly reaching across the space between them. Slender fingers quickly closed upon and snatched the lavender silk handkerchief that resided in Yomi’s breast pocket.

“Wipe your mouth,” he said, as he held the silken square out to his raven-haired friend.

Once Yomi had relieved him of the cloth, Kurama sat back. “And that type of flattery, Yomi, will not get you what you desire,” he stated flatly.

Carefully, Yomi wiped his lips then just as carefully, refolded the handkerchief and replaced it in his pocket. Only then did dark eyes return to his companion. “Tell me, then,” he asked, “exactly what type of flattery will gain me what it is I desire?”

An answer was not immediately forthcoming. Instead, thin, elegant hands rose to remove dark glasses, baring Kurama’s ruined eyes. Sightless green seemed to meet ebony, and Yomi felt a familiar tightness in his chest. Once, those eyes that stared across the cabin had been a brilliant emerald, sparkling far brighter than the gem bearing that name. Now, they were a flat jade, as dull in color as the moss green in the vest Kurama wore.

A small, almost inaudible sigh, and then, “I’d really rather not have this conversation just now.”

Not precisely the answer Yomi had wanted, and yet, it wasn’t at all unexpected. It had become Kurama’s standard reply whenever Yomi broached the subject of his feelings for his long-time friend… feelings they both knew had long ago become something far more than mere friendship. Knowing this, however, Yomi could not help the stirrings of anger and bitter frustration he felt at hearing, once again, those words spoken in that soft voice. Before he could censor his thoughts and feelings, though, he heard himself respond, his voice speaking as if of its own volition.

“Of course not! Tell me, Kurama, when would be a convenient time for you.” The words flowed freely, dripping with sarcasm and irritation. “Dammit all, it’s been three years…..”

“You think I don’t know that!” Though the voice was still soft, it was harsh, ragged with pain. “I, better than anyone, know exactly how long it’s been!”

Another sigh, this time quite audible and from Yomi. His anger dissipated as abruptly as it had come. “I’m sorry, Kurama. I have no wish to upset you. It’s just that, after all this time, I should think you’d finally be ready to move on.”

“Three years,” he finished softly. “Time enough to let him…..”

“DON’T!” Kurama spat, his hand raised as if to ward off those hateful words. “You have NO right to ask that of me!” Ruined eyes seemed to bore into Yomi, begging the man for understanding, before Kurama lowered his head, long, thick lashes hiding those eyes as he sought to regain his composure.

There was silence for a moment and then Kurama raised his head. When he spoke, his voice was quiet once again though Yomi clearly heard the steel within it. “This conversation is at an end.”

Whatever answer Yomi might have given would have to wait for another time (and Kurama, despite his words, was sure that it would), for at that moment, the limousine came to a halt, having reached its destination. At the same time there came the soft chirping the intercom system. Kurama heard the handset being lifted and a brief silence as Yomi listened to the chauffer (no doubt announcing the obvious – their arrival). A quiet ‘thank you’, and then the handset was replaced.

“We’ve arrived,” Yomi said unnecessarily. “Are you ready?”

Kurama nodded, immediately reaching to unfasten his seatbelt, his mind already leaving their argument behind; his heart and soul focusing only on the music that had been a part of him long before… before Yomi… before Rose Whip… yes, even before… him.