Karasu flipped over violently, the sheets entangling with his supple legs as he twisted sharply to his knees, a short burst of air drawn from between his teeth as his hand ran ruthlessly up and down his cock, blushed and curving with the wanton desire he was riding on this bleak, airless night. Beads of sweat, shimmering in the surreal glow of the moon and stars through the white hotel curtains, dripped down across the thin lines of silken lips and trim angles of his handsome face to be tasted by flicks of a red tongue. His upper body straightened out, a hand reaching forward to grip the enameled wood of the headboard, digging in red-rimmed claws until the lacquer broke and the wood splintered under his hands, Karasu relishing that destruction. His hardness burned, commanding him, small cherry bombs popping curtly in the empty space surrounding him, scalding the sheets and singeing the air, the scent of gunpowder and burnt cloth doing nothing but heightening his lust.
Kurama, he almost said aloud, thoughts a chant that possessed him, causing him to jerk himself harder, faster, a cruel smile curving on his narrow face. Kurama, Kurama. Kurama, open your eyes. Give in to me. Give everything to me. Kurama.
Seeing his obsessionís beautiful face in his mindís eye, trying to turn away, trying to hide from him, he spread his legs, ass clenching, and dug his fingers further into the antique wood, unwilling to control himself. Groans, grunts, and the harsh beginnings of laughter were music in his cold throat, complementing the hand that pushed and pulled and tugged and massaged with wild abandon, more and more frantic as he thrust into the air, thinking of tightness and heat. He ripped his fingers from the wood, abruptly, claws still sharp, and trailed them over the alabaster and ivory of his skin, relishing the blood that dripped down as the cuts healed moments after he made them. With a moan and another laugh, he stroked his own hip, running his hand around the hard mounds of his ass to shove two fingers, still clawed, far into himself, falling back to rape his own body with eyes full of red hair and lush lips, twisted in pain and unwanted arousal.
ìKurama,î he hissed, ìKurama.î His eyes rolled, his cock beginning to slick down with the precum that dripped from its head and spread across the hard, sensitive length by moving fingers, seeking heat and friction that he couldnít find with just a hand as he tore free of his own ass and moved down to grip his balls, massaging them viciously for a moment before enveloping the shaft two-handedly, a thumb rubbing callously over the slit.
He reached up and pierced his nipple between two talons, desperate to feel shoddy human nails claw at him in a hopeless attempt to be free as he lifted those slim hips, always covered so well by clothes, and spread legs harshly, tenderly, slamming his cock deep into his latest fixation and then immediately pulling half out to force in again. The fox of his fantasies was granted no lubrication, no adjustment, just sweet melodious screams as he raped him, ravaged the body until the mind broke. He heard whimpers, he heard pleas, and he writhed, hissing again, his hands frantic as they played his own body like an instrument, stroking and scraping with every devious lust that filled his mind.
He wanted bruises: on his hips, on his thighs, to ride him so hard even his own body succumbed, pistoning in and out until the carcass beneath him was a mangled, painful mess, each movement drawing a sob or a screech, Kurama too broken to spare himself that much. Unable to make these fantasies real, he growled shrilly and leaned back, his whole body rocking with his frenzied, hedonistic pace. Musk was sweet and thick in the air, as was the scent of his own blood, driving him wild. His hand rested behind him, leaning him back as he arched, ass and thighs clenching, tugging, with his sharp canines worrying his lip, wanting pain with this pleasure, wanting the sweet taste of blood on his tongue.
Kurama, and he gripped himself until there was more pain, an ocean of it he could drown in. Kurama, and he wheezed, his head tossing proudly, his curtain of midnight hair now streaked with lines of daisy as his throat tore open with husky shouts. His whole body began to writhe, the fingers prodding into the taut ring of muscle before piercing him again, earning a sharp growl, curling to find the prostate and pressure it mercilessly. His legs kicked from their kneeling position and twisted, a lascivious snarl on his face as his aching shaft was pummeled, his body moving with need, and not fulfillment.
He wanted to feel the boyís submission. His mind was full of it, frantic with it, white and thoughtless at times, and then pierced by sordid fantasies. Beatings and ravishments and torture, humiliation, abject despair, he could see them, he could taste them, and they tasted so sweet. He buried his face in the silk sheets, the cloth smooth against his slick forehead as he bared his teeth, thrusting, battering his prostate and pounding his shaft. His pace was now demonic, his hips blurs as they bucked at the mattress, two canines permanently lodged in his lips as he tried to bring himself closer, and failed, orgasm still a far off whisper in the night.
Author's Note: Karasu is just the beginning. This series is self-explanatory, really: a variety of different characters will, on a disconnected, chapterly basis, get busy with themselves. Enjoy!