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Summary
“Then,” Kurama says softly, “instead of a place to call yours, maybe home can be a person instead?”
“That’s ridiculous,” mutters Hiei. The tips of his ears burn, and Kurama squeezes at his hands, willing him to look up.
“And why is that?”
Ignoring the question Kurama poses, Hiei leans up and kisses him again, with a tinge of frustration in the force of the kiss. He pushes him back against the bedding and when he does pull away, a string of drool hanging between them, his eyes are pure fire. Fire which Kurama will gladly keep poking at with a stick, if only to see the embers fly.
