Author's Note: I came up with this fic while reading Yoshinaga Fumi's manga Gerard & Jacques. If you see the similarities (and you should), forgive me. The idea came into my head and I had to indulge it. This is an AU (which means that this isn't set in Yu Yu Hakusho's universe, but in an "author's universe" of my own creation), and just as a warning, this isn't the entire story—the entire story is up on Adultfanfiction (dot) net, under my same screenname, Sekah. There will be many, many sex scenes in this fic that you, dear Fanfiction (dot) net readers, won't get to see unless you're old enough. I am sorry about that, since I remember what it was like before I had enough years under my belt to hop between the sites, but rules are rules. In the meantime, the basic plot is right here, and I think you'll enjoy it.
A final note before we start (and I know, my A.N. shouldn't be this long): THIS FIC WILL NOT BE HISTORICALLY ACCURATE. To say I take liberties doesn't cover it, I'm incorporating some true historical places and devices with a lot of fake things. I haven't even picked an era yet, really—I want to say that it's based on the Georgian era, but this story contains strong elements from the Regency era, and even incorporates the Elizabethan or Reconstruction periods at times. 'Georgian' refers to a period in the early-to-late 1700s in England, which is where I'm trying to fit this.
And that's all, I suppose. Have fun!
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho or any of the non-OC characters in here. I'm not making money off of this, though there are times that I wish I was.
The Viscount Kurogawa, known to friends and enemies alike as Lord Karasu, readjusted his tricorne with the tip of his cane as he held his excitement in a tight fist, stepping down the rungs of the carriage with his fingers light on its doorway. His face turned from an affected look of ennui and back to one of satisfied interest, shutting the carriage's door with a swing of his stick. He adjusted his hat again, putting it to a rakish angle, clearly relieved to be out of the cramped, acrid confines of the hack, and examined the iced-over grime and animal feces that were churned to a soup beneath his feet by wheels and hooves, the soft whickers of the horses hardly stirring him. Grimacing in distaste, glad for the galoshes attached to his fashionable suede shoes, he began to pick his way through the muddy thoroughfare.
The houses that populated this rue were perched precariously above the walkway and road, looking for all the world like a row of bumpkin matrons, come together in their dotage to chatter about home and hearth in the faded background of a market square. Karasu tossed a coin to the man standing hunched on the driver's shelf behind the hack, barely glancing at him as he did so. He felt as secure of his place in this little corner of the Makai as he did everywhere else in the Great Reaches, and made no attempt to help as the driver's mittens parted and the coin was fumbled, grasped, bit, and pocketed. His manner was every inch that of an uninterested and cavalier nobleman, drawn to this street out of a perverse desire for the amusements offered by its inhabitants.
Karasu glanced sharply towards a shout from behind him, and smiled in idle greeting, both he and his hailing peer too at ease to be surreptitious about their lusts. He took in the spindly towers of the building in front of him with greedy eyes, ignoring the low rasp of the driver begging him to, "Please get out of my way, m'lord, I gotta be at me next stop." It was important, Karasu knew, to savor the moment when returning to this, his favorite of the bordellos that populated this part of the city. The White Fox prided itself on its exquisite service to the wealthy upper crust, though on the outside it was no different from any of the other limestone hovels that lined this infamous back street. Its only defining feature was its barred and shuttered windows, keeping those without from looking in and those within from looking out.
Strutting to the front door, a roughly polished slab of oak, Karasu barely noticed the distant acquaintance that laughed and hooted across the street, entertaining his rent-girl with an engaging (if entirely false) story of a duel he'd had with his elder brother. The prostitute giggled coquettishly, obviously pleased to be on the arm of a wealthy and handsome young man—doubtlessly even more pleased to be out of the stifling air of her brothel.
The hack began to drive off behind Karasu, jerking into motion as the driver shouted a final 'heeyah!' to his two misshapen horses, flicking his whip expertly at their hindquarters and rolling up the edges of his plain coat's graying cuffs. The animals trotted off wearily, their plodding gaits echoing along the lines of dirty stone as Karasu rapped the brass ring knocker fastened to the door, a look much older than his twenty-seven years in his eyes as they narrowed in delight. Once the knocker was stilled, the Viscount adjusted his fine silk gloves, their sable cloth setting off his lordship's satin-tied ponytail perfectly. He scraped the muck that defiled his shoes off of them and onto the wrought-iron boot scraper fastened to the building's landing.
Hushed voices poured and blended together in a rush behind the door, before a peeping hole was dragged aside and a lovely, if jaded set of pure hazel eyes glowered out at him. The peephole was replaced, and more muffled voices debated and murmured, before the door was suddenly swung open, revealing dim warmth and a wave of laughter to the gloomy outsides of the street.
The owner of those hazel eyes, a composed young woman of indeterminate class, smiled an entirely false and slightly satirical smile as she took in the richly dressed Viscount. Behind her, a pretty young man with long blue hair tied into a high horsetail sneered at the entering noble and retreated into a side room, the origins of his disdainful attitude unclear. Every inch the aristocrat, Karasu's eyes narrowed dangerously. He made a note to request that boy at a later date and teach him the value of manners.
"Why should I let you in, m'lord? That bastard friend of yours, Lord Kyosuke, still hasn't paid his dues to me."
Lord Karasu chuckled softly, pride and grace and cold winter evident in his voice as he replied, "You will let me in, girl, and you know you will; I have the money to pay you. And I believe you meant to say 'my lord the Earl Sakyo,' or something similar?"
"Kyosuke can posture himself as a member of the blasted peerage as frequently as he likes, he's just Lord Kyosuke to me."
"Perhaps he'd pay you your due if you showed him the proper respect, then, Miss Shizuru."
The twenty-two year old girl snorted and looked him coolly in the eyes, aware that the obeisance he'd shown by addressing her with 'Miss' was more out of mockery than deference, and quickly finished up their conversation. "We've got a new boy today, just your type. It's his first time, too, so you'll have to be a little nicer than usual." She paused, something coming to mind. "Or not, knowing you. Youko will tell you all about him in a moment. In the meantime, I'll take off your cloppers and you can come with me."
Karasu smiled a soft, sinuous smile as he was wryly directed to sit on one of the lolling chairs that were squeezed into the entrance way for this specific purpose. He watched, amused, as the girl removed the galoshes ('cloppers,' the plebes called them) from the bottom of his shoes and left them carelessly in a basket for the purpose. Shizuru took a wool rag and polished the last of the mire away, examined the soles for a moment to see if they looked presentable, and finally rose and beckoned languidly to Karasu. While he swiftly righted himself, she slipped behind him to slide the lock into place, and then slipped ahead again to lead the way. He followed her down the long aisle, smiling again, faintly, at its familiar carpet, casually worn and faded by years of the light tread of whores and the shuffling, stomping boots of patrons.
Laughter and groans, good-time noises, the thumps and creaks of beds, all echoed softly from behind closed doors as they passed by framed pictures of their Queen, Mukuro, and pleasant paintings of hanging gardens being tended by buxom young women, illuminated by a series of beeswax candles flickering in their iron sconces. If one didn't hear the sounds of men whispering sweet nothings into bought girls-and-boys' ears, one would think this was a private residence, or some sort of letting house that gave rooms to those with money to pay for them. The truth was much more sordid than that.
Shizuru didn't bother looking back at her trailing ward, well aware that Lord Karasu knew these halls better than she at times. He eyed the few things that had changed since he last came here, the night before he was called out to the palace to join in the war, and felt completely unperturbed by the narrowness of the halls or the low, richly patterned ceilings, which had been known to make lesser men cringe. He swung his cane jauntily, polishing the knob at the top with a handkerchief he kept up his ruffed sleeve as his excitement mounted.
"Tell me more about this boy," he commanded, fishing for information to feed his growing lust.
"Pretty. Very pretty. Like I said, you'll see when we get there. And, in fact, here we are!" she cried sarcastically, earning a peeved snort from the Viscount as he looked down his nose at her.
Shizuru opened a door into a common living area that was almost certainly built to serve as a sitting room or dining area or something of the sort, and not the focal point of a bordello. It was spacious, with a desk situated to the left a few feet from the wall, bolted to the floor and kept there with large, obvious locks on each foot (with more on the cabinets). Behind the business-like desk leaned a tall, handsome man, quite obviously carrying the demeanor of a former prostitute, who stood and smiled, clasping his palms together with delight upon seeing one of his favorite customers.
"My Lord Kurogawa! A pleasure, a real pleasure to see you again." One of the reasons Karasu enjoyed this whorehouse, more than all the rest of them combined, was Youko, the famous (though some might say infamous) monsieur of the White Fox. It was true that his workers were always pretty, clever, and clean, and that he kept a good supply of new ones (those were the type that Karasu loved to ply his art on), but it was also rare that one found a person of such wit and taste in the lower classes. On top of that, Youko never truly deferred to Karasu, and Karasu enjoyed that.
Karasu was also exceptionally fond of the stories Youko told of a life spent in brothels—and many a night, alone in his room, Karasu had examined a mental image of what Youko would have looked like when he was young and fresh, at the top of his game, and found himself reaching the joyous pinnacles of lust as he teased himself into erection. If Youko would take the money, he'd love to couple with him, but the legendary white fox no longer did such transactions on a monetary basis.
The Viscount Kurogawa allowed himself a stifled sigh of longing as his eyes traveled the tight, well-muscled body, wanting to feel it above him, knowing it would excite even more pleasure than that of Lord Bui. Bui, a young baron Karasu had taken up with, couldn't hope to compare with the Whore of the Makai's doubtlessly unbelievable skills. Youko smiled, knowing why he was looking, and flattered to have someone so young and handsome gaze at him in such a way. Not for much longer, he thought. Such was the life of a paid man: unless you own a shop yourself, they forget all about you after a couple of years, writing you out of history as though you'd never been at all.
"I was told that you had a new boy to be showcased today, one I'd love to meet," Karasu hummed. He smirked under heavy, sardonic lids as he looked at the soft white hair perked above Youko's appealing face. A proud nose and golden slits of eyes gave Youko a clever, striking look, one that Karasu often admired.
"Ah, yes. He's been giving us some trouble, that one. I'm afraid he hasn't resigned himself to the life he must lead. Still, he's very beautiful: fifteen or sixteen, flawless skin, crimson hair like downy feathers, glass-green eyes, and…" he paused, and smiled softly, almost wolfishly to himself, as he leaned in close to whisper in Karasu's ear (a tradesman to the last), "completely untouched." Those last two words were said with the same amount of care and confidentiality used to impart a deadly secret, vital to the continued workings of the nation.
"Untouched?"
"Yes. New to the trade, and I will swear to you, no one with a mite of experience would have reacted to the virginity test like that."
"Untouched, you say. A great beauty, and untouched." Karasu thought for a moment. "What kind of trouble is he giving you?"
Youko sighed lugubriously, skillfully angling for business as he took a sip of the flask of liquor he always kept by his hip and put on a slightly theatrical tone. "He refuses to take lessons in pleasing men. To add insult to injury, he won't eat, he won't drink, he cries rather than sleep, and claims he'd rather die than be used. I'm afraid his first client will have to tie him up or hold him down, and I would need extra payment for that. If you force them, they generally won't stay willingly, and often carry on in such a way…"
Karasu smirked, recognizing that this was all being thrown in to tempt him and force him to pay a higher bill. "If he's such a prize, and requires such rough handling," he chuckled, "then give him to me. I will pay gladly for the boy's first time, if he is as precious as you say. What's the child's name?"
Youko smirked as well, glad that the pleasantries were almost over with. "We've decided to give him the name 'Kurama,' assuming he warms up to business." Youko saw the look of impatience on Lord Karasu's face, and smiled again, quite toothily. "He will insist on being called Shuuichi, though."
"Shuuichi, hm?" Karasu said. Excitement laced his velvet voice as he slowly picked up and examined the idea of plucking such a tender young flower, looking at it from every angle.
Shuuichi was a good name for a newly turned rent-boy, Karasu thought, showcasing his innocence; and the sparks he exhibited by refusing to accept his lot in life were causing a similar fire, though for very different reasons, inside the handsome Viscount. In no time at all, all he could imagine was the joy of showing this firebrand the ins-and-outs of concupiscence and sexual thrill. That he would be resistant to the lessons allowed a soft, insidious grin to creep onto Karasu's face.
He was decided. It might lighten his purse considerably, but what of that? Youko never lied nor exaggerated true beauty more than a little, and this was the first time Lord Karasu had heard him speak of one of his workers in such flattering terms. It was exciting indeed, to be faced with such a proposition when he'd come expecting something much more mundane. "Take me to him, then. This transaction rests purely on whether he's pretty enough for my money."
"Believe my word, he certainly is. Shizuru, watch the desk, and make sure Shishi is out guarding the front door. I'll be back soon." Those words, directed towards Shizuru, lacked the honey he used when addressing Lord Karasu, and were backed up by an authoritative gesture towards the desk.
Shizuru snorted, her real disapproval finally showing its face. She leaned against the doorway, giving each of the men a hard look. "Why can't you leave the poor boy alone?"
Youko stopped and matched her look with another, equally hard. "What," Youko returned imperiously, "And let him starve? Allow him to be forced into a much less kind, much less spacious, much less clean low-level brothel anyway, despite his naïve bravado? What a cruel proposition you suggest."
Considering the matter closed, Youko turned to the Lord and began leading him charmingly towards the back stairs, which led to the larger rooms where the most profitable of Youko's prostitutes lived and worked, both of the men blithely ignorant of the pointed glare in Shizuru's eyes as she scowled after them. She snorted again, to herself this time, and stalked over to Youko's desk. Shizuru sat primly in the boss's chair, putting her feet up and crossing them in a way that was sure to earn a beating if Youko saw it, her slimly cut muslin dress riding immodestly up.
She pulled one of Youko's beloved tobacco knots from the unlocked drawer he kept them in, twisting it into the neatly engraved scrimshaw pipe he'd left balanced on the iron ashtray atop his desk. She pulled a straw from the broom hidden by her feet and stuck it into the coal heater that Youko used to warm himself in this cold weather, setting it aflame, and then using the flames to set the pipe smoking. Commandeering her master's pipe was the only thing she could do to show her disapproval of a virgin boy being deflowered by a man of Karasu's ilk, handed over like a lamb to slaughter, the knife held to his throat. A boy like Shuuichi, she thought, so young and impressionable, deserved better than that vulgar Lord Karasu.
In the end, though, who was she to say? Youko could be doing the best thing for Shuuichi, crushing the last of his hopes and dreams so he could be reborn from the ashes. She took another drag on the pipe, and let the smoke pour out of her mouth in a lacy cloud. Whether for good or ill, the whole thing just didn't sit right.
As she mused away, taking drag after drag of her master's best tobacco and gnawing the ivory mouthpiece out of shape, Youko kept up a mild conversation with the unresponsive Viscount, trying to turn his head from the games and debaucheries Youko was fully aware were playing behind his eyes. He attempted to distract the vicious, focused look on the lord's face by relating amusing anecdotes of other prostitutes (usually as they passed the room containing them) or stories of this new boy's many eccentricities.
"And he always demands that there be flowers in his room. Do you believe that? An introductory rent boy demanding that there be a new bouquet in his room every day! They have to be roses, too, and freshly cut. Sometimes he dashes them to the floor if they're not just-picked and dewy! It doesn't seem to matter how many times I beat the boy, I can never beat such things out of him."
"He sounds a true terror. I shall have to do some beating myself, I suppose."
Youko, hearing the malicious tone of Lord Karasu's voice, paused outside the door to the most spacious room in the bordello, usually given to a more recent kit (as Youko called his newest workers) to reduce jealousy and unhealthy competition amongst the others. The empathy Youko thought he'd successfully ground down into nothingness over the many years raised its head to feebly sniff at the winds. "You won't be too hard on him, will you?" he asked. "He really is very young. You would never believe that he were above fifteen if you hadn't seen incontrovertible proof. He looks it, but he doesn't act his age at all. It would be a shame…" he murmured, obviously overcome by the mild guilt, "if you were to break him completely on his first time. He's very scared of carnality, you see, for better or for worse—though that's to be expected. He is a virgin, after all."
Karasu paused, his hand tightening on the cane, and then smiled a smile that was far from settling and extremely cold, seeing that he needed to put Youko at his ease. He was unaware that his haughtiness was turning that attempt into a failure. "Even I have enough morals not to unleash myself in such a way upon someone as young and pure as you describe, M. Youko. You needn't worry."
Youko saw clearly that there was great cause to worry, but it was already too late. He couldn't back down now that things had been put in motion, and hopefully he'd get a nice thick portion of coin out of it. The boy was Lord Karasu's now. "Just… I beg of you, my lord, show him gentility if at all possible," he said, in a final attempt to assuage his nagging conscience. Then the knob was turned and the door opened, and Karasu's cold heart soared higher than it had ever soared before.
"Is he to your liking?" Youko whispered, and the boy standing silhouetted against the barred, nailed-shut window, the merest cracks of light dancing in his scarlet hair, tensed angrily. Karasu wordlessly pulled out his coin pouch and poured three-fourths of it, an extremely generous amount indeed, into Youko's hands. Hearing the clink of money, the slim, graceful form turned, and Karasu was fixed with eyes of such a pure, tender green, cracking with hate, that he nearly sank to his knees. He wanted nothing but to look into those eyes again and again, to see every expression that they held, trace every individual vein of clear emerald from its start to its finish a hundred times over.
"So he… he did. He's sold me. You're my customer," rose petal lips whispered in accusation, forming those words from inside an ethereal fairy face, round and moon-shaped and beautiful. Tears began to fill those eyes, and Karasu longed to kiss them, lick them away as he gently violated him into eternity. Graceful hands fisted, and then suddenly the fairy face was screaming. "I won't, do you hear me? I don't care who you are! I'm not some whore, I'm me, and you can't have me!"
Youko excused himself and closed the door, leaving Shuuichi alone with the Viscount. Karasu's eyes burned as he reached back to lock it behind him, a wide, cruel smile adorning his face, the widest and cruelest he'd ever smiled in his life. This young angel, Shuuichi, continued guilelessly on, obviously disturbed by the look on his face and the sound of the lock sliding into its ratchet, but determined to say his piece. "I will not! I will not! You can't make me!"
"Silence," Karasu hissed, his voice suddenly dark and thick. The boy was his, at least for the next few hours. Even those hours seemed too short; and yet the fear on this boy's face, Shuuichi (who, if Karasu had any say in it, would be called Kurama forever more after tonight), awakened fires in Lord Karasu that were better left dampened.
To be continued.
End Note: reviews are really nice, and help me know whether I'm going in a good direction with this story. If you'd like to, please, hit that button and tell me what you think. I promise you that each one, both big and small, makes my day. Also, there was a large scene cut from the bottom of this, which is up on my Adultfanfiction acount, which you can find a link for in my profile. Forgive me! I wish I could put it up here, but that's against the site's policy.
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And now, for some quick explanations and notes:
(1) Tricorne: A tricorner hat.
(2) Hackney, or hack: A horse-drawn carriage in use at the time that was the precursor to the hansom cab.
(3) Scrimshaw: Carvings of whale bones, often done by whalers as a way to pass time. Something like a usable pipe would be a rare commodity, and is a sign of the success of Youko's business. Ivory doesn't have to be from elephant tusks, too, in case you were wondering—whale bones are also considered ivory.
The reason the windows are boarded up, by the way, is because of the window tax (which is going to exist in this world). All of the less-affluent or stingy residences, you'll soon notice, will have boarded-or-bricked windows because their owners couldn't or didn't want to pay the tax.