It was a daily itch in his chest, a burning pressure, like the cravings of a crackhead or an alcoholic. He wondered if this was how his Ma felt when the drink dried up.
He couldn't fight it. He wanted to, every day he wanted to, but his vision filmed over, and it hurt so bad to fight it. His demonic urges, his yearnings, his addiction, continued unabated. He was ashamed. He didn't stop. He told himself he couldn't stop it.
The cravings and cruelty welled up even as Kurama whimpered and cringed, unable to meet the eyes of the boy he had loved, and now feared and disdained, even hated. He couldn't stop though diplomatic pressure from Yomi and betrayal and rage from Hiei, who had nearly died defending Kurama and kept out only for his own wounded pride and Kurama's empty explanation that he was fine, Hiei, he had succumbed to this and must pay the consequences.
He was not fine. Yusuke saw it. Sometimes the old Yusuke came back, and he'd hug the fox-boy and ask if he was alright, apologize, swear to stop. The first time it happened, Kurama broke down and sobbed in relief.
They were on the thirtieth, now, and Kurama merely cringed back from his touch, blank-eyed and bitter.
It started, of all things, with reciprocity, and a kiss.
Yusuke suffered. Nightly he suffered, daily he suffered, back then. The complete remodeling of his endocrine system changed him in ways that confused him, that he, a mere boy, didn't understand. In the beginning, he fought it constantly, rutting against pillows, beating down the aggression and rages, the coldness, feeling his whole personality change with the alteration of his brain chemistry and clinging to the child he had once been.
He tried to love Keiko. He couldn't. And his sullenness, his moody depressions, drove her away.
Kurama was on a visit one night. That was when it started. He had a bruise on his cheek and a bruised look in his eyes. Yomi, he said. Yusuke could smell sex on him.
It was intoxicating.
That night, Yusuke slipped into the stately room he'd given Kurama, plush pillows and sumptuous sheets, and Kurama woke up in a panic being battered into the mattress by a still-clothed Yusuke, heated, need-soaked lips on his as Yusuke's breath stuttered out of his mouth.
Please, Yusuke moaned, please please please.
And Kurama, pitying the man he thought was still a boy, said yes.
Yusuke fucked with desperation that night, lost his virginity to Kurama's ass. His pathetic high whines and writhing body amused Kurama, even as Yusuke's grip drew bruises on his skin to match and surpass Yomi's, even as the violence and loss of control Yusuke perpetuated worried him.
Yusuke pulled out of a bleeding hole, still coming over Kurama's slender, serpentine back, and couldn't get soft.
Kurama took pity. Most of the mistake lies in that. He leaned forward and wrapped those devious lips around Yusuke's orgasm-sensitive cock, drawing his teeth lightly over the shaft as he bobbed, lashing along the head, slit and glans with his clever tongue while both hands massaged Yusuke's swollen balls. Yusuke moaned and bucked and came again, surprised, amazed that his now exhausted body and quivering body could still orgasm.
Kurama swallowed Yusuke's cum, and, still foolishly unaware of what he was bringing about, gave Yusuke a hand job after that, Yusuke too far gone to even consider that Kurama hadn't cum even once. When that was over, splattering Kurama's chest with semen, Yusuke crying in ecstasy and need, Kurama jerked him again and slid plant-oil lubricated fingers into his ass, teasing Yusuke's prostate.
Yusuke, limited to the drug-free human male one orgasm at a time, had never experienced four orgasms in a row, and his whole body sang to the kitsune's skillful tune.
Perhaps, if it had continued like that, they could have been happy.
The next day, though, Yusuke wanted it again - wanted to feel that painful razor's edge again. Kurama was tired, bleeding, and refused.
His amusement broke something in Yusuke. Yusuke felt numb when he did what he did next.
He pushed him down, reminding him of the deal last night. Kurama shook him off coldly, no longer amused, and tried to leave. Yusuke dragged him back by the hair and beat him, hit him as he'd never done before, with his full strength, cracking two ribs and leaving sickly purple bruises.
He stood over him, panting, and couldn't fathom what he'd done: couldn't fathom what he'd do next.