Hiei Jaganshi was not, at this moment, what one might call happy.  In point of fact, not only was he not happy, Hiei was royally, and justifiably (at least in his mind), pissed off!

How dare their pompous ass of a producer arbitrarily decide what was best for his band!

A sudden mental picture of said producer flashed through Hiei’s mind.  Yomi Gandara:  tall, darkly handsome with long black hair and penetrating black eyes, and cynical to a fault.  At one time, he had been the lead guitarist in the hugely popular band, Rose Whip, but that had been three years ago, before the accident that had taken the life of one of its members and left another without his sight.  In the years since, Yomi had become a highly successful producer with Makai Productions, the record label that had recently signed the up and coming Dragon’s Flame…Hiei’s band.

And make no mistake… Dragon’s Flame was his!  Okay, so technically, his and Yusuke’s.  Hiei glanced over at the man he’d known since childhood.  Yusuke Urameshi was stretched leisurely across one of the two overstuffed sofas that decorated the small lounge, his raven black head pillowed in the lap of the band’s bassist (and Yusuke’s lover), Koenma Daioh, his eyes closed.  Long legs, encased in sinfully tight, low-slung black leather pants were crossed at the ankles; a shirt of emerald green silk opened over a tight, midriff baring tank top completing his ensemble.  Long fingered hands were clasped across his chest, which rose and fell with each easy breath the man took.  His dark hair, normally slicked back and gelled to within an inch of its life, was miraculously free of the sticky shit today.  It spilled gracefully over his ears and around his heart shaped face, much like his lover’s own tousled brown hair.

Hiei shifted his gaze from his childhood friend to the man in whose lap Yusuke’s head rested.  They were polar opposites:  the cocky punk with the devil-may-care grin from the wrong side of the tracks, and the billionaire industrialist’s son, born with the proverbial silver spoon in his mouth.  Even in looks and temperament, they were different.  Yusuke exuded sensuality from every pore of his body.  With his dark hair; wide, chocolate colored eyes; and full, pouty lips, he was a walking/talking sex machine.

Koenma, on the other hand, bore the classically handsome features of the upper class nobility.  His hair was a beautiful honeyed brown, his eyes hazel.  His nose was patrician and his mouth generous (that is, when you could see it, for the man had a fetish for lollipops and was very rarely seen without one stuck between his lips).  He was taller than Yusuke, older than the other members of Dragon’s Flame by three years.

Groomed from birth to succeed his father at the helm of the older Daioh’s electronics and computer empire, Koenma had slipped into the role of heir-apparent with very little enthusiasm, but that had changed when he’d met the man whose head lay in his lap; his own graceful fingers threading through that head of black hair. 

It was Yusuke who’d opened up a whole new world to the quiet, rather introverted, young man.  A world that included not only Yusuke himself, but also the passion for music that Koenma had kept carefully hidden for so many years as he moved indifferently within the orbit of his father’s realm.  Yet once he’d gotten a taste of that world, Koenma had quickly forsaken his old ways and followed his heart directly into Yusuke’s world and by extension, Dragon’s Flame.  To say that the elder Daioh was unhappy would have been a massive understatement.  When Koenma had finally made it clear to his father that his former life, and indeed Enma himself, meant nothing to the young man, Enma’s retaliation was swift.  He’d cut is only son out of his life completely.

Koenma could have cared less.  Power, the prestige of the Daioh name – neither of these had ever held any attraction for him.  And money?  If Enma had thought his son would come crawling back once the reality of being broke and left to wonder just exactly where your next meal might be coming from set in, he was in for a rather rude awakening.  It seemed the noble father had forgotten that disowning the boy had not left him penniless after all.  Though nowhere near as wealthy as his father, Koenma was nonetheless well off, thanks in large part to the trust fund he’d inherited from his mother, who had been wealthy in her own right prior to marrying into the powerful Daioh family.  There was nothing his father could do legally, to wrest the trust fund from his son, and thus, Koenma was left to pursue the independent life he’d always dreamt of living.

Hiei glanced once more at the man Yusuke affectionately called ‘rich boy’.  Koenma was dressed somewhat more conservatively than his lover in khaki pants, the crease of which had been pressed to all but razor sharpness, and a yellow, button-down shirt opened at the neck, sleeves rolled up over slender, yet powerful forearms.  His navy blue blazer had been carefully draped over the back of the sofa.  His brown hair was tousled, as it always was, wisps of bang hanging into the eyes, and the ever-present Tootsie Pop remained tightly clamped between his lips as his fingers continued absently stroking through Yusuke’s hair, causing the man in his lap to smile gently and murmur something unintelligible in his sleep.

Hiei’s eyes remained on the lovers for a moment more before sliding over to the final member of their band.  Kazuma Kuwabara was the drummer for Dragon’s Flame and Yusuke Urameshi’s best friend since the two were toddlers in short pants.  Thus, by extension, he was Hiei’s friend as well; not that the small man would ever admit to such or allow anyone to use the words ‘Kuwabara’ and ‘friend’ in the same sentence when referring to the relationship between the two.  In fact, if anyone did have the temerity to try, Hiei would happily kick the crap out of him or her.  

Kuwabara’s gangly, six-foot frame, encased in his usual blue jeans, white muscle shirt and jeans jacket, now lay sprawled (there was no other word for it) across the other sofa; eyes closed in sleep.  His carrot colored hair was slicked back, as always, into a tight pompadour.  The fool probably thought he could single-handedly revive that particular 50’s hairstyle if he kept wearing it long enough.  Hiei snorted at the thought before he looked over again and noticed the slightly dopey grin plastered across Kuwabara’s long, narrow face.

‘Probably dreaming of my sister again.’  That thought not only brought a scowl to Hiei’s face as he stared at the idiot who was so enamored of his twin the fool couldn’t string two words together when Yukina was around, but also served to darken further his already foul mood.

Hiei glanced down, briefly taking in his own appearance.  He was, to put it politely, rather small in stature, though his height (or lack thereof) belied the strength contained within that small, compact form.  His hair was black, darker than Yusuke’s own raven locks, swept up in a spiky style reminiscent of the flames from a fire.  He’d dyed the ends an electric blue and just recently had added an arced, white strip, resembling a lighting bolt, above the fringed bangs that hung almost to his eyes.  His eyes were wide, slightly almond-shaped; though it was their color that made people, more often than not, notice him.  They were a deep chestnut that, in certain light, looked almost red.

He was dressed today in his traditional black:  blacks jeans that fitted suggestively over slim hips, a slashed hole in one knee; black, sleeveless, v-necked t-shirt, frayed at the neck and tight enough to show off his powerful pectoral muscles; and black, lace-up boots.  The jeans were belted with a wide belt of studded black leather from which hung numerous silver chains.  A tiny silver hoop decorated his left ear.  A black, leather choker around his neck completed his wardrobe.

Hiei stopped suddenly, those unusual eyes widening even further as he realized he’d been looking over not only himself but the other band members almost as if he were ‘inspecting the troops’, so to speak.  Is that what he’d been doing… making sure they were good enough for Yomi and his interloper?  Again he snorted, this time in disgust at himself, his anger flaring once more.

‘Bastard!’ he hissed through clenched teeth.  He looked up, red eyes flashing in anger and hands clenching themselves into fists, hearing the soft rush of escaping air as the door to the lounge began to open.