Author's Note: This chapter is my atonement for the last one.
-Sekah.
Genkai knelt quietly in the open outer room of her temple, the fusuma unfastened to tempt a straying breeze and the sleek black wood of the table a firm divisor between her ex-lover and herself. The table was her favorite, a low-legged altar stripped down for her purposes, re-finished with glossy lacquerwork paintings of flowers and topped with a plate of onigiri she had been finishing before Toguro came. She regretted having them now as she caustically sipped her tea, refusing to offer the last few onigiri to her visitor.
Genkai felt truly uneasy for the first time since she came into possession of this property and dojo all those years ago, when Toguro had first defected. She hid it cleverly by stopping herself from looking up into the rueful face of the man who was sitting staunchly across from her, towering over her petite form as he bent upright on the tatami matting. Toguro had clearly become hedonistic after those five years of deprivation, and Genkai considered herself, with no small amount of bitterness and regret, the perfect person to set him back on the right path (if, indeed, any path he had taken could be called right).
"You've done a good job keeping this place up, Genkai," he muttered, two fingers pinching his reluctantly offered cup of tea. He was curious of how she, a woman alone, had done this for so many years, and even jealous of the men he assumed had aided her in this endeavor, but not curious enough to ask whether it had been difficult.
Genkai took another careful drink of her tea, hunkered down like a beleaguered General in the midst of a battlefield on her side of the table. "Stop toying with him, Toguro," she snapped suddenly, her voice withered and strained as she broke the quiet expectance that had been filling the room for minutes now.
"You're not concerned with the kitsune?" Toguro asked, running an enormous finger over the lip of his cup, feeling the fired clay that had once been so familiar to him, and now roused nothing but nostalgia. The surprise that lay hidden behind his flat, deep voice irritated Genkai, making her next sip a sharp one, calming herself with the curling steam and light fragrance of the tea. "I've actually tasted him."
Genkai was further irritated that her decrepit old body was responding to Toguro's words, the crow's feet beneath her eyes lengthening, a clear sign of her age and mood. Toguro couldn't quite tell whether they grew from pain or aggravation, and watched her closely, determined to find out. "Kurama can take care of himself. He won't let his guard slip for you, and he won't get his emotions tangled into it. Yusuke will. Without any doubts, Toguro," she said, opening pink eyes that bloomed with the faded petals of her youth, "he will."
Toguro seemed recalled to himself, a wry smile on his face and his back ramrod straight. His glasses, cleaned of the dust that had coated them from their long years in hell's storage, now hid his expression just as completely as ever, though nothing covered up the slight impatience of his hand as he reached for the mug of tea he had put back down thoughtlessly, dwarfing it in his giant palm before maneuvering it to the tips of his fingers, where it sat gracefully. "And is that such a bad thing?"
Genkai looked at him with a touch of softness around her mouth that would have stunned Yusuke speechless. "Oto—"
"Am I expected to remain celibate, like you, Genkai? I wasn't when I was working, I can tell you that."
"I know, Oto." She had lapsed into the nickname unconsciously, though her words had begun to bite with anger. "I know you. And now I see your logic," she said viciously. "Yusuke would be a great conquest, a piece of ass with a heart you can break. Hell, at least he's not fourteen anymore!"
"Genkai—" he said, rough voice gentling slightly as he gazed at her from behind the glasses. His inflection on her name had the sweet quality of a something that's been said so often it can't be said any other way, rousing her anger further.
"Don't Genkai me! You've stooped so low, then? You'd really use that boy for sex and then discard him?"
Toguro laughed softly in apology. "What do you think I'm doing with the kitsune?"
"I assumed you were making Yusuke jealous."
Toguro shook his head, grunting quietly. "In this, Genkai, you're wrong—Urameshi's fox is an asset, a nice way to keep my bed warm. As…" and here he paused contritely, "is Urameshi."
Genkai snorted, her anger abating slightly against her will, and looked at him from her diminutive position with a strange expression. "Try saying that to either one of their faces," she said humorously, and then just sat and looked at him again, something indefinably hard and soft in her gaze. "I was thinking of telling Koenma to hang his administrative guilt and send you back to hell; or one of the nicer ones, at least."
A drawn look crept onto the massive angles of Toguro's face. If he had had just a fraction less control over himself that he did, his fingers would have tightened against his will and the mug shattered—not in anger, but in fear.
"But I won't do that, and I'll tell you why: you need someone to look out for you, you big idiot—and I'm curious to find out which one you'll choose, and which one will choose you. Just—" and here her eyes closed, trying to block out her emotions, "don't hurt them. They're still just boys, Toguro—neither of them deserves to have you ride in on your white horse and screw everything up."
"Like I did to you?" Toguro murmured, his voice becoming as imperceptibly drawn as his face, though he didn't deny the accusations.
She took a surprisingly dainty sip of her tea, an arch expression on her face. "Yes, Toguro. Like you did to me."
They sipped their tea in silence, Toguro balancing his and Genkai cupping hers, nursing their hurts independent of each other, and remembering the days when they were so close they breathed as one.
Meanwhile, only a few miles away, a similar conversation was playing out as Kurama stalked around his kitchen, straightening and tidying up carefully, a put-upon expression on his face.
"You fucked Toguro, Kurama."
"And so what if I did, Yusuke? I told you, it was just a favor for a grieving soul."
"Grieving? What, did he cry on you before you started riding his cock?"
Kurama's face tightened in anger, his lower lip jutting out in something that was too serious to be a pout. "I wouldn't let our new guest hear you speak like that, Yusuke. He might take some offense."
"He'll take offense? Fuck his offense! I care about you, Kurama! I don't want him to hurt you!"
"And those are noble sentiments, Yusuke, but in real life—"
"After the Dark Tournament, Kurama? After everything he did, dragging us there, and—"
"And allowing all of us, from the girls to Genkai to you, to escape alive and unscarred?" Kurama interjected harshly. "Pretending to kill Kuwabara instead of actually killing him, so you would not have to revive two people instead of one? Those are not the actions of a monster, Yusuke! And believe me," Kurama said, one hand caressing his arm slightly and his heated voice quieting, "I've known monsters."
Yusuke's mouth closed like a trap, his cheeks coloring a little at the distant expression in his friend and lover's eyes. "But why did you fuck him?" Yusuke asked, sounding sad and lost.
"Because it was a small comfort I could give him to put balm on the pain of his wasted life. I am still yours, Yusuke; don't doubt that." His voice had quelled by the end. He turned to Yusuke and leaned back against the counter, his hands gripping its edge. He was clearly upset, his crimson brows knitted and his thick sanguine lashes covertly lowered, making Yusuke want to forgo the argument and hold him, kiss him, though doing so now would feel like a betrayal of himself.
"Are you going to fuck him again?"
"If he needs it, Yusuke," Kurama replied after a slight hesitation. "If he needs it, I will."
Yusuke wanted to hit Kurama for sounding so unapologetic, but didn't. Instead, taking in the set chin and the determination in the off-center gaze, he turned to leave, saying nothing and refusing to look in his lover's direction. The hurt bowed his shoulders and angled his slicked-back head down, his eyes skimming angrily over the suddenly hateful flooring and spots of watchful green as he stomped, like a child throwing a tantrum, out the hall and towards the front door. Kurama winced as it slammed so hard the foundation shook, his slim jaw tightening and his eyes shiny, but hard.
He turned his head forcefully to the problem of dinner, all his movements rough with irritation, the dancer's carriage compromised partially as he longed for something to snap, fight, break, or kill.
Toguro returned down the long line of moss-draped steps, his slight unease from Genkai's chastisement hidden firmly behind a veneer of grim confidence. He turned to walk across the meandering forest path leading to Kurama's cottage, past patches of ever-thickening wildlife and trees that looked like they had all sprung up and matted against each other in a shockingly short period of time, all new growth in this old growth forest. As he walked calmly through the door with a greeting that sounded strange in his rumbling voice and an eye for the damage Yusuke's exit had left, he found the vegetation that climbed in and around the house, covering its sides and its miniature trellises with mixed Makaian and ningen plants, practically writhing with Kurama's ki.
He tracked the youryoku's source, finding his way through halls too narrow for his oversized body and untouchable for wriggling greenery, and into the kitchen, where he sharply hailed Kurama, bent stiffly over a chopping board and attacking the root of a carrot. "Calm down, boy. Calm down right now. The movement of your plants is compromising the structure of your house, and a little anger is not worth making yourself homeless over."
Kurama, animated by his rage and pushed to the breaking point, didn't look up, though his cheeks were flushed with resentment as he shouted suddenly, voice high and breaking, "Yusuke is a naïve little fool!" Then he stopped, hand poising the knife right above the un-chopped half of the peeled carrot, wrestling with and then culling his emotions. He put his mask back in place, standing with his bangs covering his eyes. Toguro looked down at him imperturbably, the only sign of emotion he allowed himself a raised eyebrow. Kurama turned to him, his smile a dash on an empty chalkboard, and asked politely, "Do you have a request for dinner, Toguro-san?"
Deciding that it was the kitsune's business what and when he shared, Toguro said simply, "Whatever you have will be fine. I haven't eaten in so long I can barely taste the food, so as long as there's enough—"
"There will be plenty," Kurama cut in impetuously, his eyes glittering with misplaced aggression.
"Don't snap at me, boy," Toguro murmured, looking down at him vacantly. Kurama looked up into the broad angles of his face, surprised, but Toguro had already moved on, making his way back out of the kitchen and bending down clumsily in front of a mismatched bookshelf that stood coyly in the hall, with a poisonous looking orange vine curled around its top. He thumbed the bindings for a while, engrossed, and then pulled out a cloth-bound novel with pages delicately creased from Kurama's fingers, and began reading. He'd barely gotten three words in before he stopped, stared at the faded red cover, and grunted. "What language is this in?"
Kurama leaned over to glimpse the novel in his hands. "C'est en français. Pourquoi?"
"What?"
Kurama sighed, his anger mitigated somehow by the question, and said, "It's Cousine Bette, in French. There are more Japanese books down the hall."
Toguro grunted. "When it comes to the Japanese—well, I've read them."
Kurama looked over at him now, the hand (not loosening on the chopping knife) reaching up to stroke his pretty chin. "I have some recent ones, ones that have only come out in the last year or so. I'm sure you can find one or two that will interest you."
"Are they any good?"
"I only keep the ones I like."
Toguro walked down the hall, saying nothing more, and Kurama found he couldn't remember why he'd been so enraged. This conversation, when juxtaposed with his previous one, was almost bizarre. Toguro had shattered the scene of domestic hostility like glass.
Deciding that there was plenty to occupy him, and no reason to retain his anger, he went back to chopping carrots as though nothing in the world existed for him but that.
The stew Kurama ended up making was thick and hearty, and, aided by his encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and spices, had tasted delicious. He'd made enough for six people, too, which turned out to be just the right amount for Toguro. The man had even complimented him tersely on his cooking as they sat at the small dinner table that was wedged into the middle of the kitchen, everything, from the chair to the plates, dwarfed by Toguro's bulk. Kurama had had enough stew left over for himself, though he stubbornly refused to put aside a bit for any of the other Tantei to eat in case of a visit, not wanting to see Yusuke, and knowing that due to the various extended team's scheduling, Toguro's presence, and Hiei's current business in the Makai, no one but Yusuke would show up.
Toguro seemed content to give Kurama his space, and vice versa for Kurama, which made the time fly for both of them as they interacted and moved on solemnly, neither particularly eager to learn what it was that made the other brood. Eventually, the night having risen up and blotted out the sky hours ago, Kurama found that he still couldn't sleep. He considered calling Keiko, aware that Yusuke had probably gone to her and wanting to surreptitiously ascertain his state of mind, but quickly isolated that impulse as a weakness and eradicated it. He told himself he was doing so because it was two o'clock in the morning and she was doubtlessly asleep, but he knew with no uncertainty that he was lying to himself. Since Keiko and Yusuke's marriage had disintegrated and dissolved after the first year and a half, Kurama had found it difficult to talk to or spend time with Keiko, though she could be interesting conversation at times. His guilt was another worry to add to the litany of doubts that were adding up to a long, sleepless night, and he shifted on the trundle bed, back against the wall and book in his lap, reading by the light of the swing lamp above him.
He reached over to take a lukewarm sip of the glass of water he'd brought up earlier that night and left on the ground beside his bed, not raised like the one Toguro was using, when suddenly a gruff shout tore through his eardrums and sliced the night in half, startling him so much the glass upended. The sudden low howl reverberated through the house as the cup rolled across the floor, water soaking into cloth and creating a circle of wetness on the blankets and the carpeting.
Kurama cursed, pulling fully upright, his light sleeping shirt slipping down to expose a delicate collarbone as he glanced around quickly, body tense in case of attack. Silk pajama pants hung limply from his slim waist as the sound repeated, louder, a guttural cry of pain and fear that froze the marrow of his bones and made his hair stand on end. He edged out of the room, and then relaxed slightly as he realized where the sound was resonating from.
Striding briskly down the hall, his body on full alert, he paused outside the entrance to the guest bedroom, steeling himself before turning the knob with a dull click and stepping inside. The first thing Kurama noticed was Toguro, who was propped upright against the wall in an easily defendable position, away from the windows—the bed standing tauntingly in the middle of the room, still made. The second thing he noticed was the low, desperate moans being drawn from that huge throat, and after that Kurama's mind blanked. He stood there, watching Toguro groan, and couldn't think beyond the fact that but for a lucky accident of fate, he might have joined Toguro in limbo. That thought, seeing this untouchable giant rock like a child in the midst of a nightmare, made his veins run with ice.
"Toguro-san," he said softly, realizing that the man was asleep. He hadn't taken Toguro to be a heavy sleeper, and assumed that he wasn't under ordinary circumstances, but now it was clear that more than Kurama's soothing voice would be needed to bring him back to consciousness.
Staring at the former arch-enemy of Yusuke Urameshi, the king of the Dark Tournament and the unflappable master of Sakyo's interests, which were just a cover for his own, Kurama shuddered, and began combing through his hair feverishly, determined to end this disturbing scene. He wouldn't get too close, and he didn't want to startle Toguro into lashing out, but still, he was anxious to bring Toguro back to himself. He quickly settled on a noise-making seed he usually used in bluffs and distractions, tossing it into Toguro's lap and backing away quickly as he infused it with his ki. The seed expanded for a few seconds, looking like a popcorn kernel under heat, before a hard russet plant ripped it apart with a hollow boom and a light patch of smoke. The bristly head snapped up, startled, and then Kurama was being slammed into a wall by a massive, solid force.
"How much did you see?"
"Toguro-san—"
"How much did you see, boy?"
Kurama paused, shifting uncomfortably in the stranglehold that held him against unforgiving muscle and wood. "Enough," he said, "more than enough. I promise you, I mean you no harm."
Toguro panted, his enormous fingers fisting in the loose cloth of Kurama's sleeping shirt, rending it easily in half with a simple tug. Toguro's bearish paws wrapped around Kurama's knees, lifting his legs in the air and forcing Kurama's dainty thighs to the smooth plaster of the wall. Something stopped Kurama from protesting as his shirt, no longer adequate covering, slipped down and draped over his hips, leaving nothing above the waist to the imagination. He looked straight into Toguro's eyes, confused, but Toguro hadn't returned enough to pause.
Hard lips bent and Kurama was raised, almost until his head hit the ceiling, giving Toguro full access to his chest and nipples, which were given long, feverish licks. Toguro crouched slightly to place a sordid kiss on the forgiving bulge growing beneath the silk pants, and then stopped, panting, his sweaty forehead pushing into Kurama's thigh as he held him up by his legs. He felt Kurama trembling, and looked up into a lustful face, kissed by red on the very apples of his cheeks, framed by red, red tongue and pink lips, and in the midst of it all, the big green eyes.
Toguro sighed and lowered Kurama to the ground, slowly, ignoring the incline of Kurama's head as he stared fixedly at Toguro's face. "The promise of a kitsune," Toguro said briefly, and then tenderly moved Kurama so his feet were planted firmly on the ground.
"A kitsune's promise can't be broken," Kurama informed him with a touch of humor, still staring into the broad, pleasant angles of Toguro's face.
Toguro snorted, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose. "In the stories, maybe; and even then you seemed to find plenty of ways around it." Kurama almost smiled, but instead continued to look silently into the haggard face. "Fox," Toguro said suddenly, his deep voice almost cracking.
"Yes, Toguro-san?"
"Stay with me. Just for tonight."
Startled, Kurama looked up into his huge face, and then allowed his eyes to wander idly over the massive body, resting lightly on the muscle that was as unforgiving as iron, he knew, when one was pressed between it and the bed, speaking eloquently of the immense strength that could break him in half if it so chose. He closed his eyes, lush lips widening as he took in a fortifying breath, intoxicating Toguro with the delicacy of the face before him, and the femininity of the long eyelashes that seemed to be woven from shadows on this brilliant night. "If you must, Toguro-san. I am not adverse to it."
Without another word, Toguro swept him off his feet and into a princess hold, leveraging him from his shoulder blades and the backs of his thighs and carrying him over to the bed, where he tossed him down onto his stomach and stripped him of his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. He raised Kurama to his knees on the mattress with a practiced air, and knelt sharply on the ground before his vulnerable body, hearing floorboards creak. Slowly, almost teasingly, big hands spread those bent legs farther apart as he extended a rough, preemptive tongue to prod the tightened ring of muscle that protected Kurama's ass from intrusions of this sort.
Feeling it relax as his hands sought the cock that was filling slowly but surely with pleasure, Toguro penetrated the resistant little hole with a look of weary stoicism on his face, snaking his tongue inside while closing his eyes at the deep contractions of Kurama's inner walls and the bitter taste. He twisted it judiciously, analyzing the way Kurama's body heat rose as it began to have its effect. Once he heard Kurama start to pant, his arousal quickly blanking his keen mind to nothing, he decided to forgo the tonguing and finger him instead.
Feeling the massive digit stroking his offered hole, Kurama, tense with embarrassment and quietly fearful, said, "Toguro-san, please be gentle. Your fingers are huge; I cannot take them all at once, even just one." A rough kiss on the swell of his buttocks reassured Kurama, and then the finger pushed inside, only up to the nail bed.
There was some pain at first, Toguro smiling as he heard Kurama's endearing whimpers and gasps and saw the way his legs shivered at the strange mix of discomfort and slow pleasure; but Toguro, oddly knowledgeable about the workings of the male body (and yet clumsy enough that it was clear he wasn't too knowledgeable), quickly found the method of moving his thick, calloused finger that brought the most favorable reactions from the fox.
Kurama, feeling himself being massaged and stretched so gently by Toguro's potentially ruthless fingers, began to rock, enjoying this necessity much more than he did the first time, when Toguro, in his haste, hadn't quite prepared him properly. Kurama gasped as a second finger began to push its way inside, continuing to stroke that certain spot inside him that was making his cock grow and thicken, sensitized to the fingers of Toguro's second hand, which occasionally brushed it teasingly.
The fingers retreated once Toguro was relatively sure there was room for him without too much discomfort for Kurama, and Toguro stood, his giant stature raising him high above Kurama's body on the bed. Both his hands ran idly up and down the proffered young man, marveling at the satin skin and the receptive little shivers and movements that told Toguro exactly how much Kurama could feel his caresses. He leaned over, purposefully sliding his cock below Kurama's so the two shafts, one clothed and one not, rested together, and Kurama's velvet balls were balanced near his base, allowing Kurama to feel Toguro's pulse thud through them both from the veins that fed his massive cock.
Laying rough, unshaven lips against a pretty ear, Toguro husked, "You had a plant we used as lubricant. Bring it out."
He smiled when Kurama shuddered, a labored breath easing its way out of his pink lips. Shivering fingers reached up to pluck a seed from the back of his hair, and then it was grown into a purple fruit that looked oddly, in shape and texture if not size or color, like a pumpkin. "Break its top—the juice within the rind will be more than adequate," he purred, not bothering to suppress the seduction and arousal layered into his velveteen voice. He shuddered, feeling his body full of the promises Toguro was giving, his whole awareness centered on the thick shaft that was still supporting his own, moving gently, teasingly, with both of their breaths.
Toguro's thumb broke through the skin of the fruit with the barest application of pressure, and then his zipper was grinding as it came undone, thrilling Kurama into a primal shiver as the pants Toguro had slept in were pushed down and fingers dipped into the fruit, spreading the gel inside liberally over his heavy cock, his swollen balls, and even applying it to the begging hole before him, which twitched, pleading for more. Then the fruit was tossed away, Kurama too far gone to mutter anything about his carpet, and Toguro promised, "Just the head, first."
Kurama almost bit through his lip as Toguro's cumbersome bulk slipped from below his own cock and prodded him, hitting his creamy ass and then rubbing the cleft instead, making his hips shiver in arousal as his and Toguro's cloying musk tainted the air. "Toguro—"
The man ignored the soft request, too in love with the feeling of taut mounds on either side of his cock tightening and then relaxing in cadence with his movements to put it in just yet. His hanging balls slapped pleasantly into Kurama's perineum, and he took his cock away entirely, looking at the valley that was now slick with lubricant. He teased the opening with the blunt head of his dick once more, heat making the hole dilate in a way Toguro found intensely adorable, and then playfully rubbed it between Kurama's legs again, using frottage on both of their hard, straining cocks until Kurama's back was in a permanent, curvaceous arch.
"Toguro," Kurama panted, wanting more, needing more, images of the debaucheries he longed to bring to life making his erection practically painful.
A big hand curled around his hip in answer, feeling the flesh and muscles that made up this smooth, gorgeous hind, as the other reached up to playfully flick a flushed, tightened nipple, earning a yelp from Kurama. Toguro's hand then ran its fingertips tauntingly over Kurama's chest, feeling it shiver wonderfully in response to his movements, before abandoning the magnetic skin and gripping his own huge shaft, huffing softly to himself at the feeling of his own hand's friction, his other, less sordid palm tightening just a bit on Kurama's hip. Lining himself up, he said again, "Just the tip," and then, not without kindness, forced the promised head inside.
Kurama arched impossibly, his chin jutting out and his sweet lips opening to allow little cries of pained delight to escape, droplets of pre-come collecting in the folds of his foreskin and dripping to his mother's coverlet. Toguro grunted, and then pushed himself farther in, stopping every inch or so to give Kurama time to adjust. "You said just the tip," Kurama whispered between gasping breaths, and then let out a soft 'un,' feeling the great girth stretching him, filling him, burning him, and fueling his erotic fantasies in a way that was very far from unpleasant.
Toguro paused, and then slid another inch in, groaning, feeling Kurama react by arching even more, his toes curling as his sweet spot was prodded and passed. "Should I take it out, then?" he chuckled humorously, and when Kurama, overcome, shook his head, he pulled it out teasingly and then suddenly snapped his solid hips to thrust back in wholly, earning a cut cry from the fox as he was suddenly filled to the brim, feeling the man's coarse pants, half-off, rub against the backs of his shins. Toguro slid out once more, the lubricant working wonders, and thrust back in, his width and size and heat making Kurama's eyes roll in utter pleasure, rose lips opening up beyond their owner's will.
"Here," Toguro said, and scooped Kurama off the bed, his cock still inside him, sitting down suddenly in a creak of springs with Kurama in his lap. "Try riding me." Kurama lost his balance and pitched forward, his hot cock slapping his stomach and then tilting down as he caught himself with hands on the rock hard thighs, letting out stuttered, rapturous little sounds as Toguro's member was forced further into him, penetrating him impossibly deep. He gulped down the saliva that was suddenly filling his mouth, and managed to chuckle, aroused beyond all belief as he wordlessly moved himself farther up, maneuvering his legs to give him the traction and balance he needed. He tried a few strokes like that, his thighs scraping along Toguro's as he pushed himself up and then slid back down, but Toguro, impatient, gripped him under the thighs and arched himself, bouncing Kurama in his lap, each movement dragging another delicious mewl from the magnificent fox, who leaned back into Toguro's chest, his hands gripping at the hard ridges of muscle for something to hold on to.
Toguro stood up with a growl, his cock never ceasing to thrust violently into Kurama's ass as Kurama hung from his knees, crying out in rapture. He turned him, knelt, and laid him down, hearing him mutter Toguro in that delectable husky alto as he was bent over the bed. As if a switch had been flipped, Toguro grabbed him around the hips and began to thrust, Kurama practically howling as the bed scraped sideways with loud screeches from the wood flooring, moving with the rhythm of Kurama and Toguro's desperate, pounding hips. Toguro's two hands pulled him back onto his cock as Kurama began to writhe, his own slim palms reaching down to grip the backs of Toguro's huge paws in a frantic attempt to hang on, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the still room.
Kurama stuttered and cried out as Toguro twisted him, shaft still inside, using his legs to pull him so he lay on his back on the bed, legs and hips laying off the side and holes being torn in the downy comforter from the passionate grip of his clawing nails. Toguro bent down with a snarl, listening to Kurama gasp at the strange angle of the cock inside him, and hooked his fingers on the bed frame to pull it back into its former position, before resuming the battery of thrusts, which forced Kurama backward into Toguro's hands before Toguro pulled him forward again, Kurama in paroxysms of bliss.
"Ah—oh—Toguro!" Kurama yelped as he felt a big hand start fiddling with the foreskin protecting the tip of his angry vermillion shaft, pinching it and pulling it back to reveal the swollen head in a way that nearly made him scream in pure desire, Toguro moving his fingers rhythmically so the wild movements of their two bodies wouldn't hurt him. Kurama's skin was flushed with pleasure, sweetly accentuated by a sheen of sweat that invited Toguro's lips, an invitation that he was only too happy to accept. As he tasted an offered nipple, already hardened into a tight little nub, Kurama writhed once more, body reforming into a graceful arch. Feeling muscles tighten around him, Toguro forgot himself a little and pushed forward, hands returning to their places on Kurama's hips, blunt nails clenching until there were bruises as he dug his shoes into the wood floor from his powerful kneeling position and ravished Kurama, flesh slamming against flesh, knowing that both their orgasms were getting close, the wonderful thoughtlessness building up inside them.
Toguro came first, but longer than Kurama, who wailed plaintively, unable hold himself back as he felt the come spurting inside him, filling him up. Kurama clutched the blankets in white-knuckled ecstasy as Toguro ground into him, groaning, releasing himself deep inside as Kurama's come flew through the air and settled on his chest and lips, his parched throat gulping as his head lolled back, cushioned by his mess of stunning curls, colored a dark rust-red, the red of drying blood, in the weak light from the stars and moon. Toguro's thrusts settled down, the creaking, groaning bed quieting slowly as Kurama lay there, perfectly relaxed and angelic in his afterglow state, moaning softly as the last few shocks of pleasure undid him completely.
Toguro waited for himself to soften, one hand on the bed keeping him upright as he gorged himself on the beautiful sight of Kurama, limbo now far from his thoughts. Once he had become pliant enough, he slipped himself effortlessly from Kurama's ass. On an impulse, he leaned down and licked the semen from Kurama's mouth, savoring the salty lips that gave so wonderfully to his own, and then knelt down and mouthed Kurama's genitals, suckling the come from his supple cock, pleased by the shudder that raced up Kurama's body as his still-sensitive flesh was embraced by Toguro's hard mouth.
Toguro grunted quietly to himself and picked Kurama up, carrying him through the hallway and back to his own room, where he laid him on the bed. Then, stretching his neck slightly, he stood over the fox, and was surprised by the tenderness of the sentiments that flooded him. It was nothing like love, but he certainly did enjoy Kurama in that position, naked, sated, and fast asleep. He partook for a while longer, and then walked back to his room, sighing, and returned to his position by the wall. He hoped the nightmares wouldn't be hardy enough to return after that pleasant exertion. If not, well—maybe by then the fox would be up for a second round, he thought with a chuckle.
"You fucked him again!"
"He needed it again."
Yusuke yelled wordlessly in frustration, ignoring Toguro as he came to the bottom of the stairs and looked on, brows arched in annoyance. Yusuke saw where Kurama was looking, and turned away, meaning to walk by Toguro and out the door. Just as he was moving through the hall, however, away from his lover cooking Western-style eggs for his and Toguro's breakfast, he was nabbed by the arm and found himself being dragged painfully up the stairs.
"Come here, Urameshi," Toguro muttered into Yusuke's scowling face. "We need to have a talk."
Behind them, Kurama hid a smile as he began flipping the eggs, knowing exactly where this was going. He cracked another egg into the pan, assuming Yusuke would be hungry when they finished.
To be continued.
