Author's Note: Originally done for the kink meme, this exists in its own little time pocket. It's pre-Dark Tournament, but an alternate reality in which Kurama is captured before he ever meets Yusuke Urameshi.

The smoky air of the Black Book Club's auction was ridden with perfume, cologne and poison. The businessmen, his partners in crime, were the focal points, prostitutes of both sexes pushed out of their laps or dragged stumbling into them. Waitresses and whores, trophy wives and abused slaves, all circled around the juncture of the men, who circled around the juncture of the stage, where a sad-looking young lizard demon was going for less than he was worth. Sakyo took a deep drag of his cigarette, feeling the sick, slow thrill of it. He watched the gavel come down, the demon's fate sealed, through the exhale of smoke.

Johnson was racking it up tonight: another for his whorehouse.

Sakyo rarely bought at these auctions. Most of the time, he was the one who provided the slaves used in them, and if there were any that caught his eye they never made it to sale. Many times, they never made it to another morning. But Sakyo was feeling violent and lustful tonight, Toguro stood behind him like an impenetrable wall, and, worse for the merchandise, a very nice glass of Irish whiskey was swirling idly in his hand.

Sakyo leaned forward slightly when the auctioneer held up his hand, the gavel held loosely in it bobbing with his deep breaths, just as choked as Sakyo was by the various inhalable drugs and thick odors permeating the air as he settled them all down. Butajiri shoved a little mouse demon off his cock, knowing that the final bid was always the best, the rarest. Sakyo didn't have to look around to know that interest was stirring, thanks to the rumors that had been carefully leaked of the uncommon quality of the final bid.

Sakyo himself leaned forward, knowing that this was an item that hadn't come from his own demon trade, and had remained quite hush-hush. Sakyo hadn't pushed the envelope, curious and wanting a surprise, hoping he would not merely be bored. An elegant silver cage on wheels, a tarp of exquisite velvet draped over its top, was maneuvered forward.

"We found this one in the human realm," the auctioneer intimated, smiling conspiringly with the crowd. "He's unbroken and put up quite a fight, so you'll have to forgive the sedation. The auction's sponsors are proud to present to you our first ever silver kitsune, in human form."

The curtain rose, yanked from the cage by the auctioneer, revealing two beefy men, dressed in suits and sunglasses, and between them, Adonis.

It was small: average sized or a bit short for a Japanese boy in his early teens, fourteen or fifteen and obviously no more, and thin, wan, pale, beautiful, without an ounce of fat on it, just rippling and smooth young muscle. Dainty feet hung in front of the two men's hands, which held it up by his knees, and hair colored like rubies, like blood, curled around its face, with two lax white animal ears hanging from its head, and a single tail, catching the light like spun silver, hanging limply from its rear. It was male: the proof was well proportioned and flaccid between its legs, soft and dangling.

"This little angel conned a human woman into giving birth to him when he was close to death, and has lived out the last fourteen years as a human boy; until we found and subdued him, that is. Look at his skin, a smooth cream, and his face…" One of the two men tilted up its chin, showing a fine-boned and plush-lipped visage that had Sakyo leaning forward imperceptibly, surprised to hear Toguro shifting beside him, for the man never, when he was in guard mode, moved a centimeter, not one millimeter left, right, back, or forward. "Well, I don't think I can find an appropriate adjective for such a face." The auctioneer opened his hands, inviting the chuckles and leers, skillfully goading the men forward until there wasn't a man in the room who didn't dream, pulse, yearn to break in the little kitsune.

Sakyo settled in, determined to wait it out as the bidding was started at 50 million and began to jump higher and higher.

"Did I mention its back is untried? Well—perhaps the front is too."

The lust was filling the air, the wide eyes, a pretty shade of green, watering with tears even through the drug.

"It's a deceitful little thing, gentlemen," the auctioneer chuckled, "you'll have to punish it often and well."

Sakyo didn't miss the way the auctioneer stopped calling it 'he' and started objectifying it with 'it' once the bidding intensified, a common enough practice to set lusts on edge, tantalize the bidders.

"700 million!"

"750."

"Ma . . . ma . . ."

The voice shocked everyone, people looking around for the husky, mellifluous thing.

"I'll . . . kill you," the kitsune, the source of the sudden sound, whispered, slurring the last two words together with its neck lolling out of the grunt's hand, big emerald eyes filling with tears that overflowed down porcelain cheeks, catching the makeup that had been used to enhance its pretty features on the way down to its chin.

Sakyo's eyebrow cocked. He knew what drugs they'd used on the kit. It shouldn't have been able to do much more than blink, the barbiturate a special thing to relax the senses so one lay catatonic, though engineered to cause dry-mouth, so the victim stayed barely conscious without any unpleasant drooling.

Watching it shift a little, Sakyo was struck by how hard it must be fighting the drug, how desperate it must be. He could feel his erection, but did nothing for it yet, knowing that no one would be able to outbid him, and surprised and intrigued, as he'd hoped he'd be, as had happened so rarely in the past.

This kitsune was worth everything Sakyo needed to give. He would have him tonight.

The weak sadists, the ones who preferred an easy break, had been frightened off by the little thing's tenacity. The sadists who were thrilled at the idea of a challenge lay down rising bids, 800, 900, and so forth. Sakyo bided his time, offering nothing.

Finally, the moment to strike hit.

"I hear 1.2 billion! Going at 1.2 billion. Anyone willing to top Mr. Johnson's 1.2 billion? I hear no one. Going," the gavel rose, "going," the gavel rose higher, "go—"

Sakyo's voice echoed out like a striking snake, like a grandmaster's hand darting towards a piece. "Two billion," he announced. Sakyo took a drag on his cigarette, listening to shocked murmurs. It seemed the other members of the Black Book Club had become complacent, forgotten that Sakyo also indulged in things like this. Sakyo didn't have to turn to see Johnson was spluttering, but he wouldn't top a bid like that for a single piece of merchandise, and he certainly didn't want to risk making an enemy of Sakyo. Sakyo was pleased. Forcing Johnson to give up the item after he'd won it wouldn't have been impossible, but Johnson would have started his "modifications" the second he got it in the car, and Sakyo would rather the kitsune keep both pairs of pretty arms and legs.

For now.

Sakyo felt his lips pull into a trademark sickening grin, his cold blue eyes glowing like neon at the thought of all the twisted desires he could bring to life. He wouldn't even kill it yet; it had some months still to live. It was young—it would keep—but within a week it would seek death. They always did, and Sakyo always stopped them. It was only when they gave up hope, or gained hope, that he killed them. Complacency was their end.

Toguro shifted again—unprecedented, twice in one night—and then leaned down to speak in Sakyo's ear.

"Grant a favor, Mr. Sakyo?"

"Oh?"

The demon whispered into a devil's ear, and the devil listened, his smile running bizarre, sublime, as he thought of the torture to come.

To be continued.