So I finally had to do it. Can I really be penalized for writing this? After all, I must admit that Lord Yomi is in competition with the boys from Basilisk as anime's arguably hottest blind guy. Seriously! Compare him especially with Muroga Hyouma; you'll be blown away.

But penetrating beyond superficial motives, Yomi just doesn't get enough fan-love. A significant reason for this is probably his using Shiori to manipulate Kurama. Looking at the picture as an entirety, though, So what? Our goat friend stands as a testament to that side of Kurama that is clearly there but that his contemporaries in the show and fans who watch often obscure. Kurama can be cold, can be cutthroat—can even possibly be cruel.

And yet Yomi not only overcomes his adversity and thrives, he also forgives and makes peace with the person responsible for that adversity. Now, why the overwhelming rapist! stalker! villain cast in so much fanfiction? Was Karasu finally exhausted or something?

That's my assessment, at least, and I thought it appropriate to do something for the underdog Makai lord (well, one of them—Mukuro certainly has had her share of shit), and at the same time touch on the optic-centric sentiment described in the summary. Don't be afraid to go further now; I promise that it's actually clear and devoid of any complicated philosophical jargon!

Senses
February 13, 2008

Touch. Sound. Scent. Taste. And that infamous Sixth Sense. Why should Sight get all the attention?

Rain pelted the sides of the industrial buildings, running down walls of concrete and steel, slanting in through the occasional open window and spattering the floor inside. Its stream was drowned out every few moments by near deafening roars of thunder.

"Does it hurt?"

Had his eyebrows twitched, or his forehead creased? "I adjusted to these 'concerts' a long time ago," he answered.

Save for in the immediate vicinity of technological bodies, all of his windows were open, admitting the energy accumulated outside. The scene of cleansing rain permeated the room, laced with that of building mediums, of earth and vegetation below, and of the musk gradually strengthening in his bed, on his self, and on the demon reclining against his hip. He turned over, laying his companion out beneath him. "And what about you? Am I pressing too hard?"

"N … No, Yomi." Kurama's chest expanded, making the Ganderran lord's hand more intimate with the pectoral muscles beneath. Legs made a soft rustling sound against the sheets. Soon after, he felt the arched bones of a foot slide up between his thighs. It ventured higher; a toe nudged—

Smirking, he grabbed the humanized Fox by the waist and flipped him over. "All in good time, old friend." The body in his grasp had matured: still slender and fair to trace, but the contents beneath were denser. Something he needn't worry so much over breaking. Keeping that in mind, he braced his weight onto his right forearm, splaying his hand between his Second's shoulder blades, digging his elbow into the small of the other demon's back. Liking the feel of Kurama semi-immobilized under him, he moved his left hand between the thighs spread on either side of him. Immediately a moan filled his ears, like honey. Muscles tensed up beneath silky skin, prodded gently by his fingers. Feeling his friend squirm, hearing light whimpering, he smiled the smug smile of the captor, and repeated, "All in good time."

He lowered his head and drank up the Kitsune's perfume; like sandalwood accented with flowers. His tongue lapped at the sweat gathered on Kurama's back. The salt tasted good. Wanting more, he extended his tongue and scoured his friend's skin, absorbing more and more of the taste, until he reached the neck. He added teeth, drawing out a ragged cry. The neck twisted, soft hair brushed the side of his face. A dry "Please," almost without decibel, kissed his ears and faintly tickled.

Well, Yomi was not cruel—unnecessarily, at least—, and his old friend had asked so courteously…

As he eased up the weight on his arm, he felt the back beneath arch, hips elevating. The hand that Yomi had left to grow hot between Kurama's thighs moved to cup the swollen flesh at the juncture of the Fox's legs. A pair of taut mounds pressed against his stomach. He responded with a squeeze. Another gasp: "Y-Yo…"

" 'Yo' yourself," he answered wryly. Feeling that his right arm had grown too idle, it made a smacking noise as he slung it across his companion's torso and crushed their bodies together. Kurama now straddled and was supported by the warlord's left forearm. The back of his ribcage expanded, pressed into the lean flesh of Yomi's abdomen, and contracted, as pant after choppy pant came forth from deep in his diaphragm, encouraged by the larger demon's massage. Yomi tilted his head to avoid being smothered by the silk pillow of his friend's hair. Unfortunately, this angle left his throat open, and when his fingers shifted just a little—"Unh!" he grunted—, the back of Kurama's head promptly and violently became acquainted with the exposed body part. He held his breath while his Second pressed back harder, cried out louder.

The cries stopped. Yomi's hand was wet. Able to breathe again, now that Kurama was slumped against him, he loosened his right arm's hold, and wiped his left hand on the sheets that had bunched up around them. He heard the other demon hum, felt the body before him shift and brush against his.

And increase his need to purge, so to speak. Clearing his throat, he caught a nearby, slender hand, and brought his condition to attention. The hand drew back abruptly, accompanied by an "Uh?," so small and startled that the only thing suppressing Yomi's laughter was an ever widening, knowing grin. "I apologize," Kurama stammered hastily. "I was caught up with—"

Yomi's grin gave, and the Kitsune was cut off by a throaty laugh—and a swipe that knocked him flat on his back. A loud grunt escaped him as he bounced against the mattress. Pinning his sternum with one hand, Yomi had returned them to their previous position, except that now the primal urgency had switched. In the warlord's focus the thunderclaps, the sweet rain, and the temperate air were all subdued. He heard the beat of Kurama's human heart, the groan of the bed as one of their bodies would shift minutely. His friend's odor dominated his nostrils, intoxicated. More and more of his attention diverted to the mounting pressure in his hips.

His mouth felt dry. Leaning down, he found the tingling skin of his bedfellow's lips and pushed his tongue through them, moistening it against its counterpart inside. The mouth pressed back on his own, the muscles inside alternating between the two caverns. Fingertips brushed the goat's skin, followed by arms that wrapped around his neck and across his shoulders. If what he felt pressed against his abdomen were any indication, Kurama was in danger of becoming "caught up" again.

The Fox wasn't alone, and Yomi was glad that they had made all preparations in particular respect to Kurama's comfort earlier. Engrossed in his own sensations, he groped between his Second's legs (eliciting a few smothered moans as he did), poking, prodding … there. Thighs tensed against his ribs as he explored with one finger, two, not daring a third just yet. Against his chest he felt the contents of Kurama's, the human organ like a drum.

A sharp gasp, and Kurama cleaved to him, toes curling into his ribs, the contents of his friend's human chest pounding as audible as a timpani drum. The smell was as heavy as ever, though somehow altered. Even in this state, Yomi from experience recognized it and identified it for what it was. The scent of desire was unchanged, but had become the fragrant supplement to another, different sort of emanation. It was a component in the Kitsune's energy that surfaced and took over in amorous scenarios.

And proved to be a potent aphrodisiac. Yomi couldn't contain himself any longer.

Kurama shrieked as the warlord bore down onto him, into him. The larger demon hissed—it wasn't thunder, but nonetheless it was right in his ears—but recovered, and clutched the Fox's body as he thrust against it. He felt the sting of fingernails in his skin, smelt something faintly coppery. A hand wandered through his hair, conjuring a grunt as it yanked here and there, until finally it located a sufficient hold. Somewhere in his mind's recesses the goat reflected wryly on his friend's choice. The horn protruding from the back of his skull had been successful in preventing attacks from the rear (in all contexts), but he hadn't before considered its use in non-defensive activities. But then, Kurama was ever the resourceful … supple … delectable…

Melodic: "YOH-MI!" It reverberated in his ears, an aural orgy in its own right. A calf muscle tensed against his shoulder blade. The sting in his back, and the copper smell, became more pronounced.

So did the erotic emanation. Something feral belched from his stomach and escaped as a strained half-growl, half-hiss, through teeth clenched so tightly that his face tensed from his temples to his jaw. With a harsh sob everything relaxed, everything muted for a moment, save for his own breath and pulse, and another nearby.

Gradually the venereal essence subsided. The world came alive again, beginning with an interesting combination of the heady bedroom smell and the rain. He took several deep breaths, stretched, and cocked his head to listen to the thunder.

A loud sigh ghosted the ears on his right. "… Should anyone ever offer you horny goat weed," Kurama murmured languidly, "you don't need it."

He snorted. "Peripheral potency, compared to you."

There was an "Mm," followed by a rustling sound. A foot brushed his side. More rustling. Yomi ended the fidgeting with a wordless seizure of his companion's waist, pulling its owner atop him. "You're flushed," he remarked offhandedly, burying his fingers in mussed hair. Ironic that Kurama could effortlessly reach in and locate the tiniest of seeds, but needed help with—there was his target: a silk knot. The goat loosened it, felt the material caress his stomach upon its descent.

Promptly he felt the humanized demon's gaze on him. "As are you."

Another snort, this one disdainful. "You didn't need me to remove the blindfold to have known that," he chastised.

In reply, an "I know…," somewhat sheepish.

Yomi raised one hand in halt. No defense was necessary, no excuse required. "Demons do it as well as humans."

His facial muscles twitched as feathery tendrils stroked his skin; teeth nipped at his bottom lip. "Do you know that you smell like birch tar?" Kurama asked.

It sounded like he was offering up something to save face. "You're the botanist." No response this time. The Fox's hair tickled his skin as it trailed downward with its owner…

Before he could stop himself he jolted—his Second had just demonstrated a different function for the blindfold. He suppressed any exclamation, however; merely an amused, somewhat strained "Heh." Reach out, his fingers traced over the contours of a suggestive leer.

Suspicions confirmed. Though he wasn't capable of conventional sight, he was still intuitive.

Aesthetics: Frequently used. Overrated.

End.

Horny goat weed: another name for the herb Epimedium, which is found largely in China, but also as far west as Europe, and in Japan as well. It has a popular (and from everything I've heard, well-earned) reputation as an aphrodisiac.

Birch tar: this is an oil that is distilled from the wood of the white birch tree. Medicinally it can be applied to the skin for different ailments. Coming from a tree, it has a very woodsy scent, and in the perfume booth I sometimes work at it is put into some of the "manlier" scents, such as Thor. A lot of people think it smells like barbecue sauce.