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The intimate graze of his fist flying past Gaara’s face–swift and deadly–was a more familiar touch than the gentle caress of a lover. Lee had never had a lover, and his days were defined by fighting, by surviving another day, by defying death with the violence of fists and the speed of his legs.
A hand–soft, gentle, warm, sliding smoothly to cup his cheek–was a foreign concept to him.
He stumbled as that thought crossed his mind, narrowly avoiding the sand that came up to strike at him. He shook himself.
“You’re not concentrating,” Gaara pointed out flatly.
Lee laughed. “Forgive me, I was distracted.”
Gaara didn’t respond, but his gaze grew more intent–it was the only warning Lee had before a wave of sand rose behind him and came crashing down. He flipped in midair, flying overhead too quickly for the sand to catch up. Gaara’s gaze followed him, tracking him like a hunter.
Lee’s skin sung, a thrill racing through him as he met Gaara’s gaze.
He felt transported: they were scant centimeters apart in the darkness of the night. He could close the distance, fill the space between them with lips sliding across skin and words whispered into another mouth until they were swallowed whole–the softness of ‘I love you’ gulped down like they were dying of dehydration, the sweetness of ‘kiss me’ devoured and transformed into the moan of ‘more’. The space between them vanished, they were one; infinite and whole, sand stretching across time and space at the speed of Lee weightless; they were nothing but kisses and skin and the intimacy of hands that only knew violence discovering how to make love…
Lee landed behind Gaara, panting and focused on the fight once more.
It had only lasted a few seconds, jade green melting into the deep dark blackness of space, but the moment had passed. Lee straightened, readying himself for another strike.
Gaara’s sand rose, a wall between them that needed to be breached.
Lee grinned at the challenge and prepared to shrink the space between them to nothing once more.