Preface and warnings

Hi! Thanks for taking an interest. As I wrote in the summary, this is a Yu Yu Hakusho/Detective Conan (+ Magic Kaito) fic with a Durararara! cameo crossover. I'll try very hard to be true to the canon details and when they diverge, the original source (manga, manga, and light novel respectively) will take precedence over anime except perhaps in superficial details such as voices, hair and eye colour. The Conan movies will also be taken as canon since I can't resist the crazy exchanges between the smallest detective and the magician thief.

This fic may get a higher rating later on, but that will be for the themes it deals with, rather than sexual explicitness. I would be more specific on what these themes entails but that would be spoiler and besides, seeing the series I'm writing for, I feel it would be a little redundant. Still, people are expected to make clear that they are writing fanfiction within a site for fanfiction, so I suppose the right thing to do would be to state the obvious, however much I think of it as an insult to people's intelligence. I do not own anything.Warnings for man-eating demons, language, and general lack of tact when dealing with sensitive issues. Needless to say the characters in this fic won't be pushovers, and even the heroes will occasionally walk over the moral line. There. That wasn't painful at all. I also won't be making these disclaimers with every upcoming chapter.

Pairings won't be central to the story but since emotions and relationships play a vital role in motivations, they will exist, and they will be fluid. That means your otp may get together, but they may split up in the next chapter. And then fuck someone else. Also, both het and slash will be present. I'll warn one chapter in advance for pairings, if people would prefer me to do that. I can't warn any earlier for the first chapter so I'll just write here that this starts very heavy on one sided Yomi/Kurama.

Still here? Whoa, I admire your perseverance. I personally hate long author notes.

One more thing then. This is set in the early noughties. The Spirit Detectives are mostly in their mid twenties, Kuroba Kaito's graduated high school and Izaya, Shinra and Shizuo are primary schoolers.

Pretentious Professional Liars

Through the arched window, he could see the distant clouds dissolving into mist. Even further if he focused his eyes, was the central city of Gandara where the sky was forever night and flashed with recurrent thunder. The area they were currently in was still unofficially Yomi's, though in comparison to the rest of his country, his influence and colour was conspicuously lacking. Just a little further downstream from their main water source and they'd be at a gate to the human world, one of many guarded by Mukuro's patrol.

The place had a genial, comfortable sort of charm. The surrounding villagers lived in shabby wooden huts rather than the trademark stone skyscrapers, and the weather had variation but was satisfyingly predictable. Here, plant life had a chance to develop.

It was telling of the ruler that he would choose to build his summer palace in this specific location. That was an old message, intentional or not, which both the giver and intended recipient chose to ignore for the present moment.

"Kurama," a voice called, making him turn away from the view. Yomi stood by the door looking the same as ever, his expression at peace while his actions said otherwise. There was no way to tell how long he'd been there.

Though it was nowhere close to an exact replica, the architecture of the palace had obvious influences from Gaudi's Sagrada Familia, made so by Yomi's ego wanting to live in a place designed for human worship. Curved and tall, it looked more a miracle of nature, rather than the truth being that it was built by hand. The interior attempted to coordinate merely in association by its being of Spanish design; symmetrical and elaborate, elegant colour schemes complimenting the arabesque patterns. They were rather an excellent visual distraction, which was the reason Kurama had his eyes beyond the door and onto the corridor rather than on the speaker. It was not that he had any definite basis to avoid looking at the affable ruler, but he found from experience that it was easier to mask his reactions this way and since he was at a definite disadvantage by having no clue why he was here this particular time, he decided on acting with caution.

Cautious, but not evidently so. His youko form had the merit of containing no heartbeat, meaning it was one less way for Yomi to read him. But would it be worth it to give Yomi the satisfaction of admitting his weak position? No, of course not. Not even worth considering. It was metaphorically the equivalent of a housecat hissing at the Loch Ness monster. Besides, it would be jarring for their pretence of this being merely a social call.

"Kurama," Yomi repeated, "you look well. And growing back your hair, I see."

Two sentences and already two references to his lack of vision. The needling was a firm sign that their topic of conversation would be one of significant exploitation. Kurama pinched a lock of hair, leaning back against the windowsill absently and finally letting himself fully face the demon.

"When I decided to work at my stepfathers company, I thought it respectful to at least look the part. Actually working there made me realise I stand out regardless." He shrugged, letting the strands fall back against his shoulders. If he sincerely wanted to blend in, he supposed he should have dyed it as well. Either way, no one seemed to care as much as he had expected.

Not aging since graduation was more of a problem, however.

Yomi laughed. "And here I was, thinking it was you letting go of your weapons and retiring from conflict."

And broadcast it to the world? Dramatic, aren't we. He sighed, quickly tiring of their pretence at small talk. This was one of his more indulgent reasons why he had kept his relationship with Yomi strictly platonic. It used to be forceful gropes without warning. Now it was lukewarm foreplay that wasn't going anywhere. If conversing with this man was this hopeless an experience, actual sex must truly be torture.

"I'm here. So," he prompted.

"So, you're taking very good care of them. I heard that wasn't always the case." Yomi nonchalantly slid his hands from jaw to the nape of his own neck, demonstrating. After a little consideration, he moved forward, daring him to object to the closeness. He left his hands around his neck, barely a breath away from contact with skin.

He had nowhere to move with his back pressed against the window. The only option was to remain still or to be bold enough to push Yomi away but without knowing his position, he wouldn't dare and likely, Yomi knew that as well.

If Yomi was going to be so obvious about it, there was no reason he should not return the favour. Subtlety did not seem to come to the either of them for the moment. "How is your son? I haven't spoken to him for quite some time."

It was rectified immediately but he was delighted the moment he felt fingers tense involuntarily.

. . .

"How is your son? I haven't spoken to him for quite some time."

It's more refined than a smirk, but far more malicious than a mere smile; a quiet change of expression, unintended to be observed but nevertheless there. He could feel it, the air changing as Kurama slowly but surely took control of the conversation.

Yomi supposed that to go beyond mere beauty and into attraction, there needs to be a certain level of sensuality and for that, there needs to be heat. Heat could come from many places; emotion, ambition, or merely from the way one moves, the intent behind the voice, the way one goes about attaining their prize.

The youko Kurama had been utterly cold. He was the sort that had nothing to lose. To be described as such usually implied that they had once lost something dear, and that deep down was a sentimental romantic but when applied to Kurama, the phrase had a different connotation. The man simply did not value a thing in his possession and very likely, never did. Thieving seemed only a means to stave off boredom and it was not uncommon for their loot to be discarded as soon as they escaped from whatever pursued them. He was beautiful and powerful and at that particular point in time, that was more than enough to become a subject of obsession for Yomi.

Now though, this weak Kurama was warm. It is only now that he realises the foolishness of lusting after something that might as well have been carved out of marble. The youko Kurama had been a rarity in those days because he was not yet strong enough to associate with anyone else as skilful as the fox was. Yomi didn't know it then, but Kurama was far from one of a kind.

This seemingly compassionate Kurama however, that smiled frequently and spoke with playfulness was the most beguiling thing in the environment Yomi himself had created. Kurama had a potent allure, despite and because he was disgustingly complex and juxtaposed by the commonness of frozen void he used to be. He still had that old coldness, but he hid it beneath layer upon layer of superficial gentleness, genuine kindness and calculation. It was a juicy temptation to scratch, irritate and dig out that ruthlessness to the surface.

This attraction was exactly the reason why he found himself angry. At himself, at Kurama, at the whole situation.

The first betrayal, the assassination attempt as of itself he'd come to terms with long ago, but to reunite only to find Kurama willingly associating with a group of young, inexperienced, hot headed weaklings that acted on instinct and even more unforgivably, seeing him actually enjoying their company had hurt him beyond anticipation.

Because it was criticizing who he was, yet again. He'd spent almost a millennia suppressing his nature, always acting with Kurama as the template to what he should become. Detaching himself from any situation to look at it objectively had saved his life numerous times and that affirmed he was on the right track. Even now, he was sitting atop an unofficial throne made of careful political manoeuvring rather than from the brawns it took to outright win the Makai tournament. All the same, it only took a moment for Kurama to crumble his conviction just by demonstrating his altered, refined, existence. It made him wonder how he would have been received had he remained unchanged after all those years.

So how was his wilful, outspoken, unrestrained little clone that he treasured more than anything in the world?

"I suppose you haven't seen him since the last tournament. He's doing quite well, growing into a fine heir."He let his hands fall a little, nearly brushing down against Kurama's upper arm but again, not quite touching before placing them back up and arranging them around his neck.

Kurama raised his brows, amused. "Actually, I've talked with him every so often when he comes to visit Yuusuke." A slight pause for feigned contemplation before he goes on, "or perhaps sneaking into the human world would be a better way of wording it, judging by your expression. Is it about this, then? The reason for my being here."

"Well, if you want to get right to the point then yes, I am quite concerned with Shura's lack of care. As a parent, I can't help but worry that he'll be easily influenced."

"I thought you approved of Yuusuke."

"Not Yuusuke," and they both knew that.

"Me then? You think I'll corrupt your…" he trailed off, tilting his head to expose his neck from his high collar. It was enough provocation for Yomi to draw even closer, taking in Kurama's scent. His hands finally made firm contact, clawing at the opening of the Chinese style garment.

"You are playing with my buttons," Kurama observed.

"Blind man's privilege," Yomi replied lightly, but he slowed down nonetheless.

"Let go," Kurama breathed, "or you might break them."

"I have very good control," he demonstrated, tracing a finger around the very top button, a little higher than his right collarbone.

They stood there, each silent in their own rapid thoughts until Kurama broke it with a small laugh, "I had begun to suspect as much ever since the tournament, but you really are reverting, aren't you?" blissfully ignorant of the precarious subject he mindlessly went on, "the problem is, you haven't considered how …delicate this fabric is."

"Oh?" it was all Yomi could manage.

"Yes, you would likely rip the fabric before my button comes off. You see, this particular material is specially made in a village located in Myanmar. They peel strings of fibre from the stems of lotus flowers and kneed it, dye it, and weave it with their traditional handmade instruments to create a fabric far more costly than silk. It is a fastidiously delicate process, and the livelihood of their third world makers." He paused before adding, "They are said to be the inspiration behind the hagoromo robes of legends."

"The ones where the heavenly maidens shed their cloaks to bathe, only to later find their clothing stolen, unable to flee and at the mercy of human men?"

"Well yes, though that isn't the part I wanted you to focus on."

"Then what was your point?"

"That my body is covered in lotus. Lotus, symbolising chastity, purity, and," -he gently removed Yomi's hand from his chest and stepped to the side, just out of reach- "non-attachment. I will stay away from Shura. Was there anything else? I really do need to get back, if you wouldn't mind." He started to move towards the door.

"Things don't always revolve around you, Kurama. You're not that highly valued." It was a transparent lie so easy to dismiss, and he regretted saying it the instant he finished speaking.

"I know Yomi," was the simple reply.

He could see it, the serene lotus distancing itself from the muddy waters of its origin. Yomi made no move to stop when Kurama left the room.

It seemed their discussion was over.

A/N: Blugh. I haven't written in so long that my confidence has gone on a journey of self discovery and is lost somewhere in the Amazon. I welcome you to tell me what I'm doing wrong. The next chapter will probably be up sometime next week. Ciao, ciao!