Koenma's Closet

A YYH crack-fic series by Yours Truly
Chapter 1: Kurama

A soft, peaceful smile drifted from her lips as Shiori fell into a nap. She was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets on the couch, with a half-drunk cup of tea by her side, and her son in the adjacent chair. Kurama slapped the book closed that he had been reading to her and smiled with more than a little wist. He wished it was that easy for him to fall asleep.

It was even more of a feat that she had done so with a constant patter and howl echoing throughout the house as heaping gusts of wind and bullets of rain slathered the windows. As he stood up to peer out to the streets, he caught his reflection in the glass. He was sure anyone would say he looked good but by his own personal standards he was feeling awfully shabby lately. Shabby, and lonely.

The Dark Tournament would commence in two weeks, and he'd had no one to turn to about it, emotionally. I mean, not really. Yusuke was like a spooked horse – the last thing he needed was his rock quivering on him. Sure, Kazuma had trained with Kurama for a while, but at the expense of his other commitments, and unlike Yusuke he had some loose ends to tie before he was off to "summer camp" or whatever his excuse was.

And Hiei? Well, he was as aloof as ever and wouldn't put out. Not only was Kurama in blue spirits, but his balls had followed suit.

"I buy him new clothes and this is the gratitude he shows," he thought, crossing his legs and frowning. "I need something to pick me up."

He tried not to roll his eyes when the clunky, pretentious, gold-painted chair at Koenma's desk swiveled around, and an equally pretentious toddler addressed him with a heavy frown and tented fingers. "What do you want?" For Kurama, nothing but a cocked brow seemed the right response to such brazenness. "Igh, look, I would pretend like I'm happy to see you, but I'm up to my eyeballs here."

"Aren't you always?"

"I'll ask you again what you want," Koenma pushed through his teeth. He had hoped to stall with a bit more bickering, but Kurama was faced with a humbling admission. He sighed.

"As you know, our circumstances will become quite harrowing, possibly lethal, in the weeks to come. I'm not only lacking a strength of resolve, but a worthy solace, and with the other members of my team preparing in their own ways, it seems I will need to find it elsewhere. Perhaps in manner of material-"

"What in all possible worlds are you talking about?!" Koenma shrieked, as though Kurama had started on something truly scandalous.

"Rumor has it you have a fine collection of garments stowed away here, and I'm more than a bit curious."

"Wait a minute – you want to see... my... private? Fashion line?" Koenma wiggled his eyebrows between each word. Suddenly, he didn't seem all that busy. In fact, he threw all of his papers off the desk and crawled towards Kurama over it.

"W-w-well, I don't want to make any commitments just yet but I am in want of something new. Something dignified for battle and, perhaps... dignified for death."

"Say no more! You've described my work to the letter. Dignified for battle, dignified for death!" He swooped his arms above his head, which only reached to about crotch level for Kurama. "I should have that carved into a plaque or something."

"As long as I'm paid my due royalties..." Kurama muttered before he felt his fingers squeezed.

"COME ON! We don't have any time to waste!" They caught Botan entering the room with her eyebrows all the way up to her hairline as they were leaving. Try as she may to smile at Kurama, her boss trampled over an explanation. "Botan, cancel all my shit. I'm busy."

"Sir, it's really not stuff I can cancel!"

"Then have Jorge sit in on it!"

Kurama would have been more offended that that was the way things were handled around there, but he never had much faith in him to begin with. And besides, this had been a lot easier than he thought.

As they descended floor after floor, and Koenma punched in access key after access key, Kurama was astounded. If security had been this tight for the three sacred artifacts, they may not have found them in time. They finally reached the end of a long hallway, where Koenma sniffed around, puckering his pacifier in and out. He stopped at a random spot on the wall. "Ah, here we go," he said before he karate-chopped it and a key fell out of a slot in the ceiling. Once he knelt down to pick it up, he turned to face Kurama, holding the key like a dainty feather in his tiny, little vienna-sausage hands. "It just didn't feel safe enough, carrying this around on my person. They might find out what it was for, and my whole cover would be blown." Kurama could only nod. He felt like he was in a fucking video game all of a sudden.

"Now, what you're about to see might shock you. But you've got to promise to keep it to yourself! Do you understand?" Kurama nodded with his brow furrowed, which Koenma considered good enough, so he lead him to a snack machine that was just randomly around the corner. When he put the key into a random slot beside the button for Strawberry-Apricot Snapple, the whole display opened up like a door. Kurama's eyes were now bulging out of his head, but he was not going to waste time hesitating.

He stepped through the threshold. Inside was some mixture of a walk-in closet and a dry-cleaners. There were multiple floors, swinging ladders for hard to reach shelves, full vanity mirrors, and candelabras. Smooth jazz was emanating from unseen speakers. When Kurama looked up, the ceiling was even a mirror, in case he wasn't sure how good he looked from a bird's eye view. "Tell me Kurama~... Were there rumors about this?" Koenma had climbed up onto a table and was sprawled Hollywood style beside a tray of chocolates, from which he had plucked a single Herschey's kiss and waved it in front of him. Kurama frowned. Little did Koenma know, it was from jealousy. "What, you're not impressed?"

"I... I-It is something. Well, what do you think would be good for me?"

"Hm... that's a fair question. Well, nothing on this level. This is all for sprouts. Come, come upstairs!" Koenma launched himself towards a spiral staircase leading up to a balcony. Kurama sighed and followed him with heavy, possibly pouty steps.

He couldn't pout for long. The walls were lined with divine suits and sashes, hats, gloves, and canes. There was even a mask or two for those extra mischievous days. Kurama was usually very good at keeping his hands to himself, but – "UGH! I've never seen anything so–"

"Luxurious?" Instead of answering, Kurama flicked vigorously through the selections, his eyes hungry for all that sweet eye candy, his fingers so starved for decent textures. "Yeahhh, well, I decided I needed some new clothes, since I won't be the same size anymore," Koenma said all casually from behind him. Confused, Kurama turned around, only to find him propped against an alcove, and... immediately six feet tall.

"Koenma?" He asked, not sure if he'd been cat-fished or something. A young man was standing in front of him, wearing the same shade of azure, with the same impish twinkle in his eye.

"HmmMMm?" He answered, muffled still by the pacifier, which now looked remarkably odd beside such mature features. Kurama knew he'd better say something, and he could usually pull words like rabbits out of a hat, but today he was patting desperately for nothing. "What, you've never seen someone go through puberty in ten seconds?"

"Can't say that I have," Kurama answered.

"Well, just goes to show the sophistication of my spirit power." It was clear by the way Koenma sought out a mirror and posed beside Kurama that he thought he was hot shit. "Hey, we don't look too bad for a thousand years old."

Kurama was not going to admit he was kind of attractive like that, so he pretended their hips hadn't grazed and got back to searching the clothes. "Now, what color is it, you'd like? I think you'd look good in yellow," he heard over his shoulder, in a deeper voice than he was used to. "Nice, cheery, fresh, and springy."

"Does that sound like me, to you?"

"Well..." Koenma trailed. As Kurama stopped to admire a tunic as glimmering yellow as the glaze on a lemon meringue pie, Koenma reached around from behind him to hold up the hip of the garment. As he did so, a lock of Kurama's hair curled around his chin. "Fresh and springy, yes." He let the garment fall back into place and rested his hand on Kurama's waist. "You like that one don't you? You could always...try it on." Kurama was not oblivious to what was going on. He snapped around to face him and unknowingly whipped all of his hair in his face. "You know... I'm getting awfully thirsty for one of those Snapples right about now."

"Koenma! Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Seduce you?" He seemed ever-so shocked by the accusation before his eyes narrowed. I daresay, his expression almost had the outwitting sharpness of a kitsune, for a moment. "Why would I need to seduce you here? This entire room is like one giant hard-on." It was true, Kurama realized. It was a giant hard-on, poking at his ass with fervor. Koenma leaned close enough to mingle their bangs and asked in a haughty whisper: "Tell me, Kurama, have you ever stolen Venetian silk?"

"Venetian?" Kurama whispered back. With haste, Koenma seized his hands and pulled him towards a wooden drawer.

"Reach in. You can kill me if it doesn't feel like you're plunging into a bowl of whipped... icy-cool... pudding'uh." Kurama didn't even think. He wanted to feel the pudding, and he was not disappointed. Koenma might have even seen his "oh" face.

"I-I won't have to kill you." Suddenly, he realized what he was touching and gasped. "You make male lingerie?" Koenma leaned towards his face again to answer:

"Of course."

"Ogh, please tell me it's for sale," Kurama moaned, eyes half closed.

"Oh, it is."

"Yesssssss."

"But I don't know..." Suddenly, Kurama's eyes popped open. "The price might be too high, even for you."

"Try me," Kurama demanded, grabbing a fist full of his collar. A playful chuckle spilled past Koenma's lips.

"We'll make our negotiations once you've seen it all, Kurama. Don't get so hasty."

"You make me hasty!" He growled.

"I can't be having a fox running amok in here. Contain yourself. What about the Italian spandex?" The feral vitriol building in Kurama's gaze began to dissipate. "You don't know... about Italian spandex?"

And so he showed him the Italian spandex, and it was glorious. "If I fought in this, there's no way I'd lose," Kurama said more to himself. Before he could fall down a rabbit hole of pleasure in his own head, Koenma pulled him back.

"No doubt, it's a thick layer of mojo, but Kurama, you deserve even better." He lead him to a mystery fabric, in the form of a jump suit. Together, they smoothed its soft delicate sleeves. It was so simple, yet so sophisticated.

"What is this?" Kurama asked, trying and failing to mask his desperation.

"In Turkmenistan, this fabric, this very material we have in our hands is only purchased by the richest of brides for their wedding nights. Imagine wearing it: wedding night sheets, gliding and TIT-illatinggg your skin as you rose-whip demon trailer-trash into bite-size bits."

"I want to do that..." Kurama admitted in a gasp. "All night long..." As he fell into Koenma's chest and turning his chin, his neck became the perfect landing pad for his lips.

"Do you want to know the thread-count?"

Kurama surrendered to the hands hooking round his wrists. "What is it...?" Koenma made sure to be close enough that the breath of his words tickled Kurama's ear.

"Eight-hundred and fifty..."

"Eiiihheiight-hundred–?!" Kurama sputtered before his voice collapsed in his throat. In part because that was a highly impressive thread count, and also because Koenma's fingers had just jammed straight down his ass-crack.

"You wanted to know the payment for that Venetian silk?!"

"I have a fine idea!" Kurama told him, fumbling with his zipper.

In no time, all the mirrors in that closet were fogged, and the smooth jazz over the intercom was overrun with sated moans. Sometimes you could hear a belting saxophone; other times, a wailing fox. After all that domineering advertisement, Koenma was the one squealing like a bitch on the bear-skin rug, while Kurama pumped and threw Herschey's kisses on him.

They had unknowingly made so much racket, Botan could hear them while she was picking out her potato chips. And anyway, they hadn't closed the snack machine properly, and from all the way back there it didn't quite sound like sex, so she went to investigate.

It looked like Kurama had naked football-tackled him. Melted chocolate was everywhere, but she couldn't actually tell it was chocolate anymore. It took every ounce of will power not to scream like she had wandered into a murder scene. She backtracked out, even closed the snack machine door for them. They were none the wiser that she had been there at all, and she would never speak of it.

"Kurama... you must promise me... that my closet will always be a rumor. That everything that happens here will stay here," Koenma plead to his partner in lust. Kurama slowly lifted up his head and stared at him dreamily.

"It's too good a deal to share with anyone else. I want it all. I want all of it to be mine," he breathed into his ear, although now, instead of sensual, it just seemed irritating. Koenma flinched a little and gained some strength back in his voice.

"You can't have all of it. It's mine. Now take your Venetian silk and get the fuck off me."