The Briar Rose

Author's Note: Hayate is a pissy little git; Genma is incorrigible. And Hayate still lives at home... Chapter three will come after I clear my impressions of Ken'ichirou with Sweeetbriar, as Hayate's dad, here, is all her creation.

Warnings: Expletives, violence, smut, gratuitous Genma abuse.

"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 tokujou 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."