Author's Note: Originally done for Yu Yu's anonymous kink meme. I really liked this one, so I'm leaving anonymity to post it. Stop by, submit some prompts and fill some, too! It's very fun.
He didn't notice Karasu approaching through the hall because he was busy, very busy, thinking about Genkai—she was on his mind even when the intruder grew so close the door opened. Toguro's eyes were closed, locked in moldering fantasies of a girl wet and straddling him, moaning wantonly in pleasure. When faced with reality in the narrow face of a cruel-eyed man, he almost sighed.
Toguro's brows bent upwards, however, as the man's violet eyes glinted at him teasingly, his hands reaching back to press the lock into its ratchet. It was a flimsy hotel device that wouldn't keep anyone but the serving men out, though Toguro was willing to accept that it was the principle of the thing that prompted it, not pragmatism.
"What do you want, Karasu?" Toguro growled, goaded by the scheming he saw on Karasu's face.
"I think it's more a question of what you want, really."
Toguro watched the man saunter up, reaching to unhook his iron mask with something close to irritation. "Is this a seduction?" he asked flatly, voice an exasperated rumble, and held back a smirk when Karasu almost stumbled at the point-blank response, the metal falling from his face to his hands. Violet eyes narrowed; newly revealed lips tightened.
"I can see you're not in the mood," Karasu derided loftily, his lips rising with distaste, enraged that his plan had failed so soon after its coalescence. He started to leave.
"Come here," Toguro commanded. Karasu stiffened. How dare the demon speak to him in that tone. He was not a servant, to be batted this way and that by the man's mere voice!
With those thoughts outraged in his mind, Karasu was twice as surprised as Toguro when, after the second come here, he turned and walked toward the man, his mouth pursed, feeling cowed but telling himself this was strategy. Toguro was watching his sullen approach with a dark expression.
"What's your objective here?"
Karasu's tongue, daring to hope, licked tentatively at pale lips, leaving them sleek and shiny, his face relaxing, his eyes bright. He stood in front of Toguro's seat; the chair seemed to tremble under Toguro's weight, the room focusing for Karasu on the huge angular face. On an impulse, Karasu squinted and reached forward impatiently to remove the sunglasses. The incendiary look in those black eyes, which flickered closed as the glasses passed them and then opened sharply once the danger was gone, stole his breath away. He was leaning in for a kiss when the voice rumbled again.
"Answer me."
His voice was ice, or iron. Karasu narrowed his eyes again, and smiled softly, coyly. Toguro found his lips fascinating. "You never partake of the call girls or enemies we vanquish. I merely assumed you to be—" he almost didn't notice the hand that drifted up and fisted in his hair, and he twisted like a cat as it arched his neck back painfully and forced him down to his knees with a solid, echoing thump, Karasu's lips drawing back as he writhed, just a bit.
"Go on," Toguro chuckled, his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. Karasu hissed, feeling something dangerous and restrictive about this, trying to remember his objectives.
"To be—frustrated. Or perhaps—" The last bit was a sneer he couldn't resist, a jibe that choked off as fingers began caressing his throat. Putting more and more pressure into his massage, narrowing Karasu's windpipe with the gentle strokes, Toguro made Karasu draw every breath in a painful wheeze.
"Perhaps…" Toguro prodded. Karasu, faced with supremacy he hadn't counted on, hadn't realized Toguro was capable of, shivered despite the iron control he had over his own body. Toguro's callused finger pads continued their rough touch up and down Karasu's delicate neck, a firm reminder of how easy it would be to snap it.
Bucking inside against Toguro's command, Karasu snarled, "…You can't. Perhaps, dear Toguro-san, you've passed the point where you can—ah—fully satisfy a lover."
The words hung in the air, Karasu's acid voice complementing his slit eyes and the dark spots of color that rose to high cheekbones.
Toguro spread his legs in his chair and leaned forward slowly until his lips were even with Karasu's ear. "Let's find out," he whispered, and then everything was violence.
A bomb exploded as Karasu was flung across the room, his narrow eyes widening as he scraped over the carpet and scrambled to get up, staring wildly at the huge man stalking towards him, undoing his pants with ease, untucking himself from his boxers almost as an afterthought.
Karasu shivered at the size of the menacing thing, rigid and thick, red and purple with need. The skin around Karasu's lips whitened as he ground his teeth together, trying to imagine the violence that could be done to him by that cock, would be. He made for the door, but was pushed down to the ground by his throat instead, with only a bare application of force.
"You won't make me cum," Karasu hissed, defiant, forgetting that he had initiated this contact in the anger of being dominated.
"We'll see," Toguro laughed, and then his enormous hands were ripping the clothing from Karasu's body, the force of the stitches rending apart jolting Karasu violently, leaving angry marks on his white skin. Toguro watched him bare his teeth in hatred, and smiled, intent. Karasu made no attempt to cover himself when he lay before Toguro, stripped, attempting regality and managing only a pathetic set to his chin that Toguro enjoyed.
Toguro grinned wryly, almost predatorily. "You know when you're beaten, Karasu. You're on your back—now submit. Hold your legs in the air and wait for me."
Karasu's eyes shined with disdain, sneering, but he spread his legs and held them there, opening himself up to Toguro. "I won't come," he snarled again, but there was something catty and insincere about it—it was just a shot at Toguro, and had no bearing in reality. If Toguro knew it, he showed no sign.
Toguro knelt heavily before his subordinate, grabbing his spread knees and forcing them to the ground, making Karasu grit his teeth.
"Anything you put between these lips will be severed!" the crow tengu hissed, seeing Toguro's stormy gaze slide lazily from Karasu's mouth to his own cock. Toguro just laughed—and moved, thighs on either side of Karasu's abdomen, to bury his massive penis deep inside the mouth his thick fingers pried wide, grunting at the gnashing teeth that couldn't even scratch him, there, on his most sensitive length of skin.
It couldn't enter Karasu's throat without suffocating him. Toguro rolled his solid hips a few times to illustrate his control instead, feeling Karasu's tongue thrash and his throat tighten in fear when the thick head pressed the back of his mouth before it was yanked out.
"Keep your legs up."
Karasu's face was shining, a mask of hatred and fear. He reached down reluctantly to the knees that had straightened, and then yelped when Toguro cuffed him, Karasu's body half rolling, eyes closing woozily as Toguro slid off him and yanked him onto his back.
"Are you a bitch? Do I need to train you? Hold up your legs and wait for me."
Karasu was shivering in rage, but, a sickly smile on his face, he pulled his legs into position. He was even prompt about it.
Toguro patted him on his head, two hard hits that made Karasu's body jerk. "Good girl, good dog." Karasu hissed, his breath wheezing. So used to being in Toguro's position, he could not fathom how he could have become this weak. Surely he was better than this. Surely he could bite back.
He was too afraid to. And that, more than anything, was insufferable. He kept his eyes open as Toguro aligned himself. He swore that he would be revenged.
Toguro looked up into Karasu's face, and then smirked. He buried himself inside of Karasu with significantly less kindness than he had ever used before, and found something intriguing and pleasurable in that action. Karasu ripped up a chunk of hotel carpeting and stuffed it into his mouth to stifle the pained shouts. His stomach heaved and he spat the dusty trash out, coughing between screams, before giving himself his own arm as a gag. Toguro grunted and breathed, but didn't do anything to help or hinder Karasu's efforts—he merely set a bloody, blistering pace, driving into Karasu with massive, solid hips.
"Karasu, you're very tight, I'm surprised. How did you think this would play out? You thought to gain my trust? What? Tell me."
Karasu grit his teeth until they were in danger of shattering, and ground them. He would not answer. Until he felt Toguro's hand on his cock, that is. "No!" he snarled, and then bit holes through his lip at Toguro's laugh, sucking his own blood in attempt to resume control.
"I could stroke this. Or crush it. It's all the same to me. You're most suited for Urameshi's kitsune, but perhaps an easy win for their team will make them complacent. Then the next fight will be a loss, and the fight after that fair. You're certainly not irreplaceable." Toguro had never stopped thrusting, spoke through occasionally gritted teeth. Karasu felt like he was losing all sanity, but if there was one thing he was not prepared to live without, it was his cock.
"I w—ah—wanted to s-seduce you, to gain the upper hand."
"Ah, so you really thought it would work? An obvious ploy like this? Well—" he chuckled, "isn't that sweet."
Karasu roared spontaneously, provoked, clawing at Toguro, but the man just laughed. He scooped up Karasu's hips and slammed him, over and over again, into the carpet, until even Karasu's durable skin had rug burns. As he did it, though, he did a crueler thing: he toyed with Karasu's cock, which stood up and hard against all odds, against the blood that was pooling beneath them from the force of Toguro's rape. Big fingers sometimes pinched or pulled, cruel and curious, and other times stroked—never gentle, rarely even pleasurable in a normal sense, but provoking.
Karasu fought and bled, attempting to bite Toguro's shoulder when it got close enough, cursing fluently in a Makaian tongue. The words Toguro picked up made him laugh.
"Sister-fucker, eh?" Toguro finally said. He picked Karasu up, ignoring his writhes, his wordless howls of frustration, and dragged him, fighting wildly, to the balcony. He kicked it open, and tossed Karasu against the railing so hard he jackknifed. Karasu found his arms grabbed before he could vault over to safety, and watched his blood dribbling down from his bitten and re-bitten lip. He dared not make a sound—they were on the cliff side. Maybe no one would notice if he didn't scream. Maybe no one would see this abject humiliation. Karasu's mind was a whirl of revenge and hatred and despair; he was almost frothing at the mouth.
"What is it you always say when you're raping someone, Karasu? Walk like a dog? If you do that nicely I'll close the door and finish quicker."
Karasu shook, but didn't question it. Every inch of him shrieked reluctance as he got down on his hands and knees. He snarled, unable to speak, as Toguro took a fistful of his long hair and helped guide the degrading crawl forward.
"You're even sounding the part! Good girl."
It was one more, Karasu told himself. One more insult. One more thing to throw in his face when I am finally avenged.
He made it in, and Toguro closed the door. Karasu stayed on his hands and knees, too lanky and tall to cut a fine figure in that position, though Toguro didn't care.
The last round of fucking was dirty and hard, Toguro holding Karasu's head down and hips up, nigh breaking his back. Karasu, battered, took the cock pistoning in and out of him as quietly as he could: that is to say, with continual hisses, yelps and moans. He didn't dare swear again, worried that it would provoke another round of exhibitionism.
Toguro clenched until the skin broke when he finally came, grinding into Karasu and groaning. Karasu kept his word, his last shred of dignity. He didn't come.
"Thank you Karasu. I was feeling a bit frustrated, actually."
Toguro, pants undone, cock hanging huge, bloody, wet and limp, walked to the window and lit a cigarette. Karasu picked himself up, hands fisted. He stumbled, gasping quietly with every breath, and left.
The next day, Karasu blamed his excessive limp on training, and would say nothing more than that.