Disclaimer: I claim no rights to Yu Yu Hakusho, nor any related characters or merchandise, and make no profit from the writing or distribution of this work of fiction.
Kuwabara figures he shouldn't be too surprised. After all, for as long as he can remember, Kurama's been plagued by hoards of adoring fans – it stands to reason that there's something universally captivating about him. But the ferocity of Kuwabara's fixation with the fox-demon does still startle him, sometimes.
Generally, it's bearable. Kuwabara can get through his days only mildly distracted by thoughts of his lover. He takes brief moments to enjoy the sensation of phantom hands flitting across his skin; closes his eyes and revels in memories of his latest encounter with the sensual fox-demon; and feeds his fixation.
But then there are times he can't stand it anymore, days when Kuwabara feels like the worst kind of addict. There are instances when Kuwabara is sent home for his pallid skin, his dilated pupils; for the way his body is wracked with shudders, his forehead slicked with cold sweat. On these days, the memories aren't enough, and Kuwabara finds himself heading vaguely in the direction of his home, only to end up – inevitably, he supposes – wherever Kurama is that day.
Desperation makes Kuwabara forget who he is then, for as long as that hunger is pounding through his veins. Modesty, discretion, even his trademark gentleness are lost as he presses Kurama against anything in reach. Pristine clothes are torn away, scarlet locks are tugged from their conservative style, calloused fingers dip and plunge in rough preparation. And then Kuwabara is seated deep within his lover, and the blood sings through his veins.
These frantic sessions yield completions almost violent in their intensity; screams are hastily muffled in rent fabric and loose hair, and for a long time afterward, the only sound is harsh panting against flushed skin. Often, Kurama chuckles and murmurs softly, "Miss me?"
Kuwabara can only respond, "You have no idea."
He wonders, sometimes, if he ought to be worried – this strange fixation of his; the overwhelming need to see, to feel, to taste his demon lover can't be healthy. In the end, though, that strange and thrilling high – better, he is sure, than any a common drug could give – is always worth it.