Champagne Satin
Description (Chapter Two!) Shuiichi decides to resist, but it's not as though Youko is going to make it easy for him... And -here- is where the story earns its title. (Lime... LIME...)
"Oh, hell," Shuiichi muttered as he stared into the mirror. Two days without sleep would've made anyone look like a walking zombie, and it had just that effect on him. He was white as a sheet, for one thing. His ruby hair didn't help matters there; it only served to heighten the contrast between that pale skin and his wide, hazy green eyes, deepened the bruised shadows beneath them. His hands
shook, his body was unsteady, and he could hardly eat a thing. As a result, he was growing shades thinner each day. If he had been slender, he was now ethereal, all faint curves and willowy grace. "This isn't working."
"I told you so," came Kurama's voice, wry and velvety and rather smug. "Ready to give in yet?" Shuiichi scowled hotly.
"Not hardly," he responded. He was a redhead, after all, and despite popular belief, he had the temper to go with it. Raking his hands through that ruby tumble of hair, he sighed and let it fall back into place. He looked so fragile lately, and it was getting worse day by day. "Why am I talking to you anyway?"
"Because you're delirious," the youko promptly responded, sardonically purring. "I'll let you sleep if you'll just acknowledge --"
"I said no," Shuiichi said firmly, shocking himself. He hadn't known he still possessed such fire; he felt so faint, so confused, but there was one thing he was certain of -- he was not going to give in to the damned kitsune. All hell would break loose if he did, and he wasn't quite certain he could handle that. There was a time and a place for everything, and Shuiichi would not disrupt that delicate balance
before he was absolutely forced to. At any rate, Shuiichi thought grimly, it wasn't likely to be long. All the youko had to do was wait and, willing or not, his prize would weaken and fall.
"That's not what I want," Kurama said. "Not that way. I want to break you myself. I want that fire of yours all for myself. I want you so badly..." The youko's voice was deep, vibrant, and growing steadily more husky as he spoke. "... that I would do anything to have you need me. To have you so out of yourself you can't think, only feel..."
Shuiichi shuddered deeply. That damnable sadistic voice... that beautiful, damnable voice... Shuiichi could think of a thousand reasons to deny Kurama what he so desired, among the first being that he and Kurama were a synonym, that they were one and it had always been that way -- one entity, the same creature, two parts to one whole. The second was easily, what would the youko do when push came to shove? What would happen if Shuiichi grew ill, or if he could no longer slake Kurama's insatiable lusts? What happened when his frail human body couldn't steady the powerful youko any longer?
Kurama sighed deeply to himself. Why didn't Shuiichi -- foolish, beautiful creature; a flighty, ruby-plumed bird at best -- understand when he said things like that? Among youkai and youko alike, one didn't mate with normal humans; the simple fact remained that their unearthly short lifespan threw a neat wrench into the works, to borrow a Ningen phrase. What was supposed to happen when the
human died, and left the youkai without a reason to exist, if existing at all?
Nothing. That was the simplest, and most correct, answer. Nothing at all happened, and the unfortunate creature, left without the light to his darkness, wandered deeper into the endless black gulf of time, until something or someone killed him. Waited for the end, a merciful period to a cursed life.
It was why, above all other, Kurama wanted to fight it. Secretly, he wanted Shuiichi to fight it, too, but the driving demands of his intense need had been growing every day for the past sixteen years. Until recently, it had been tolerable; and only escaped when the youko had been feeling particularly randy. Understandable under any circumstances; it was dismissed as adolescence. But this latest development had shocked them both. Like a yolk from the white, they had separated, and it had left two conscious minds locked in one body, and Shuiichi in complete control for the first time in sixteen years. 'So, okay,' Kurama thought appreciatively. The boy had done an admirable job of continuing in his predecessor's hard-to-fill shoes. But Shuiichi -- he really must cease calling him 'the boy'; it wasn't at all proper -- was what he was: a child. A human child, no less -- tragically fragile, beautiful, and incredibly, impossibly sensual, with his child-wide green eyes and that ruby tumble of hair, that silken, unblemished white skin that quivered with even the faintest promise of pleasure.
He might be but a child, but he was the object of the youko's lust and it was a proven fact that when Kurama wanted something, he got it, regardless of that particular object desired. Four-figure years of existence had taught him quite a few things, among them to take
what he wanted, and keep it at any cost.
And if Shuiichi resisted him until he could no longer, then that was what happened.
"Come now, Shuiichi," Kurama murmured softly, seductively, from the back of the boy's mind. "No use in beating your pretty little head against a wall any longer. Leave off these protests. They are irrelevant; I will win this power struggle in the end."
Shuiichi, whose mind had been on other things, let his hand fall guiltily and turned away from the mirror for the third time that day, eyes narrowed. "Do you think you could've chosen a worse time, Kurama?" he groaned in a slightly-husky voice, eyes sparkling with a shield of irritation that nearly concealed the stolen pleasure he had attempted to find. Flicking the bathroom light out, he stormed toward his bedroom and the meager solace of the familiar surroundings -- all in subdued, soft colors that Shiori had picked out before he was born, colors that pleased his tired eyes beyond measure. Damned randy youko. Damned weak self...
"I don't believe I could," Kurama purred, laughingly, teasingly. Oh, but he could do so much better by his little redbird than -that- sorry excuse for pleasure, even in his bodiless state. "I interrupted, didn't I? So sorry."
"Liar," Shuiichi snorted, fuming, as he let himself fall back heavily onto the bed. "You're not sorry." He was nearly to the point of ripping out a goodly amount of his own crimson hair, as if the pain might bring him back to the present, to a dubious, dwindling sanity.
"You wrong me, pet," the youko murmured. He fell silent for a long moment, as though gathering himself, and was gratified quite nicely when Shuiichi's body stiffened.
That was a new sensation... the velvety feel of a kiss brushed itself along the hollows of Shuiichi's throat, following a slow damp
path down to the place where his pulse fluttered erratically. It lingered there a long moment. "Y-yes," Shuiichi whispered, his eyes closing, his voice a thready murmur that broke when the unearthly caress turned itself into a teasing nip. "Ohh, no, s-stop," he murmured brokenly.
His mind cried out for him to resist it, to make Kurama stop, but his body, oh, wicked thing, it was responding like a moth responded to the lure of flame. "Kurama, stop... please..."
This time the laughter that rippled in the back of Shuiichi's mind had a delighted strength to it, a decided change. "Not now, baby; I'm trying to apologize. Now be still. Don't think, just feel. Don't think..."
Shuiichi moaned softly when a second delicate touch sprang to life, leaving the other to explore further. While the first had reminded him of a satin-soft, well-formed mouth, this particular one felt like fingertips, trailing a path down his stomach. The solid muscles there quivered and melted beneath the light touch. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's body. The crackling embers in the pit of his stomach that Kurama's sudden intrusion had extinguished, flared back into vivid glowing light.
"Little redbird, I am indeed quite sorry for intruding upon your... carnal festivities," Kurama said, quiet and unbelievably solicitous. He let a third touch manifest itself, then a fourth, and his own nerves were afire with it but he ignored them; he was quite used to them. "But they are irrelevant. I am within you; I know quite well that you cannot prefer your own pitiable methods to mine... this is so much better, isn't it?" Shuiichi's body arched off the tangled covers and he stifled a harsh panting cry when one of the delicate wisping touches found the place where the pooling fire within him seemed to direct. Stars shimmered before his eyes, blazing, and his hands twisted in the blankets. "There, see? Oh, but you are beautiful... very, very beautiful..." Kurama's incredible trick of the mind had Shuiichi ablaze with a
fiery emotion that was nothing like fury for once, though the redhead gasped several strained oaths through his clenched teeth as Kurama teased him mercilessly. So Kurama would hover insensate in the back of Shuiichi's mind for days -- it was worth it to hear his harsh breathing, see those liquid-emerald eyes open and staring, uncomprehending, unseeing, at the ceiling.
A pair of narrow catlike golden eyes filled Shuiichi's view, and they were dark and smoldering with secret laughter, blazing with unbridled admiration. "Kurama... p-please," Shuiichi pleaded in that glorious, eloquent voice of his, begged with those eyes, let go of the covers to frantically skim his palms over his soft white skin. "Please...!"
With a final burst of ravenous enthusiasm, Kurama performed a final mental trick, and whispered, "Shuiichi..."
The boy let go, his body clenching and shuddering as he fell through the sky. It was too much for him. His overtaxed, overstrained body, plus the fact that Kurama knew his every nuance quite intimately, plus the husky satin whisper of his name, made him lose all control
over himself, finding glorious release.
And still a pair of champagne-satin eyes, half-veiled by long dark lashes, filled his vision and obliterated his mind, reducing him to soft whimpers of pleasure as he slipped downward into a spiral of darkness and rest.
'Now then,' Kurama thought faintly. 'Let us see what resistance he puts up... when I have the strength to try again...'
Both youko and human fell quite deliciously senseless.
Description (Chapter Two!) Shuiichi decides to resist, but it's not as though Youko is going to make it easy for him... And -here- is where the story earns its title. (Lime... LIME...)
"Oh, hell," Shuiichi muttered as he stared into the mirror. Two days without sleep would've made anyone look like a walking zombie, and it had just that effect on him. He was white as a sheet, for one thing. His ruby hair didn't help matters there; it only served to heighten the contrast between that pale skin and his wide, hazy green eyes, deepened the bruised shadows beneath them. His hands
shook, his body was unsteady, and he could hardly eat a thing. As a result, he was growing shades thinner each day. If he had been slender, he was now ethereal, all faint curves and willowy grace. "This isn't working."
"I told you so," came Kurama's voice, wry and velvety and rather smug. "Ready to give in yet?" Shuiichi scowled hotly.
"Not hardly," he responded. He was a redhead, after all, and despite popular belief, he had the temper to go with it. Raking his hands through that ruby tumble of hair, he sighed and let it fall back into place. He looked so fragile lately, and it was getting worse day by day. "Why am I talking to you anyway?"
"Because you're delirious," the youko promptly responded, sardonically purring. "I'll let you sleep if you'll just acknowledge --"
"I said no," Shuiichi said firmly, shocking himself. He hadn't known he still possessed such fire; he felt so faint, so confused, but there was one thing he was certain of -- he was not going to give in to the damned kitsune. All hell would break loose if he did, and he wasn't quite certain he could handle that. There was a time and a place for everything, and Shuiichi would not disrupt that delicate balance
before he was absolutely forced to. At any rate, Shuiichi thought grimly, it wasn't likely to be long. All the youko had to do was wait and, willing or not, his prize would weaken and fall.
"That's not what I want," Kurama said. "Not that way. I want to break you myself. I want that fire of yours all for myself. I want you so badly..." The youko's voice was deep, vibrant, and growing steadily more husky as he spoke. "... that I would do anything to have you need me. To have you so out of yourself you can't think, only feel..."
Shuiichi shuddered deeply. That damnable sadistic voice... that beautiful, damnable voice... Shuiichi could think of a thousand reasons to deny Kurama what he so desired, among the first being that he and Kurama were a synonym, that they were one and it had always been that way -- one entity, the same creature, two parts to one whole. The second was easily, what would the youko do when push came to shove? What would happen if Shuiichi grew ill, or if he could no longer slake Kurama's insatiable lusts? What happened when his frail human body couldn't steady the powerful youko any longer?
Kurama sighed deeply to himself. Why didn't Shuiichi -- foolish, beautiful creature; a flighty, ruby-plumed bird at best -- understand when he said things like that? Among youkai and youko alike, one didn't mate with normal humans; the simple fact remained that their unearthly short lifespan threw a neat wrench into the works, to borrow a Ningen phrase. What was supposed to happen when the
human died, and left the youkai without a reason to exist, if existing at all?
Nothing. That was the simplest, and most correct, answer. Nothing at all happened, and the unfortunate creature, left without the light to his darkness, wandered deeper into the endless black gulf of time, until something or someone killed him. Waited for the end, a merciful period to a cursed life.
It was why, above all other, Kurama wanted to fight it. Secretly, he wanted Shuiichi to fight it, too, but the driving demands of his intense need had been growing every day for the past sixteen years. Until recently, it had been tolerable; and only escaped when the youko had been feeling particularly randy. Understandable under any circumstances; it was dismissed as adolescence. But this latest development had shocked them both. Like a yolk from the white, they had separated, and it had left two conscious minds locked in one body, and Shuiichi in complete control for the first time in sixteen years. 'So, okay,' Kurama thought appreciatively. The boy had done an admirable job of continuing in his predecessor's hard-to-fill shoes. But Shuiichi -- he really must cease calling him 'the boy'; it wasn't at all proper -- was what he was: a child. A human child, no less -- tragically fragile, beautiful, and incredibly, impossibly sensual, with his child-wide green eyes and that ruby tumble of hair, that silken, unblemished white skin that quivered with even the faintest promise of pleasure.
He might be but a child, but he was the object of the youko's lust and it was a proven fact that when Kurama wanted something, he got it, regardless of that particular object desired. Four-figure years of existence had taught him quite a few things, among them to take
what he wanted, and keep it at any cost.
And if Shuiichi resisted him until he could no longer, then that was what happened.
"Come now, Shuiichi," Kurama murmured softly, seductively, from the back of the boy's mind. "No use in beating your pretty little head against a wall any longer. Leave off these protests. They are irrelevant; I will win this power struggle in the end."
Shuiichi, whose mind had been on other things, let his hand fall guiltily and turned away from the mirror for the third time that day, eyes narrowed. "Do you think you could've chosen a worse time, Kurama?" he groaned in a slightly-husky voice, eyes sparkling with a shield of irritation that nearly concealed the stolen pleasure he had attempted to find. Flicking the bathroom light out, he stormed toward his bedroom and the meager solace of the familiar surroundings -- all in subdued, soft colors that Shiori had picked out before he was born, colors that pleased his tired eyes beyond measure. Damned randy youko. Damned weak self...
"I don't believe I could," Kurama purred, laughingly, teasingly. Oh, but he could do so much better by his little redbird than -that- sorry excuse for pleasure, even in his bodiless state. "I interrupted, didn't I? So sorry."
"Liar," Shuiichi snorted, fuming, as he let himself fall back heavily onto the bed. "You're not sorry." He was nearly to the point of ripping out a goodly amount of his own crimson hair, as if the pain might bring him back to the present, to a dubious, dwindling sanity.
"You wrong me, pet," the youko murmured. He fell silent for a long moment, as though gathering himself, and was gratified quite nicely when Shuiichi's body stiffened.
That was a new sensation... the velvety feel of a kiss brushed itself along the hollows of Shuiichi's throat, following a slow damp
path down to the place where his pulse fluttered erratically. It lingered there a long moment. "Y-yes," Shuiichi whispered, his eyes closing, his voice a thready murmur that broke when the unearthly caress turned itself into a teasing nip. "Ohh, no, s-stop," he murmured brokenly.
His mind cried out for him to resist it, to make Kurama stop, but his body, oh, wicked thing, it was responding like a moth responded to the lure of flame. "Kurama, stop... please..."
This time the laughter that rippled in the back of Shuiichi's mind had a delighted strength to it, a decided change. "Not now, baby; I'm trying to apologize. Now be still. Don't think, just feel. Don't think..."
Shuiichi moaned softly when a second delicate touch sprang to life, leaving the other to explore further. While the first had reminded him of a satin-soft, well-formed mouth, this particular one felt like fingertips, trailing a path down his stomach. The solid muscles there quivered and melted beneath the light touch. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's body. The crackling embers in the pit of his stomach that Kurama's sudden intrusion had extinguished, flared back into vivid glowing light.
"Little redbird, I am indeed quite sorry for intruding upon your... carnal festivities," Kurama said, quiet and unbelievably solicitous. He let a third touch manifest itself, then a fourth, and his own nerves were afire with it but he ignored them; he was quite used to them. "But they are irrelevant. I am within you; I know quite well that you cannot prefer your own pitiable methods to mine... this is so much better, isn't it?" Shuiichi's body arched off the tangled covers and he stifled a harsh panting cry when one of the delicate wisping touches found the place where the pooling fire within him seemed to direct. Stars shimmered before his eyes, blazing, and his hands twisted in the blankets. "There, see? Oh, but you are beautiful... very, very beautiful..." Kurama's incredible trick of the mind had Shuiichi ablaze with a
fiery emotion that was nothing like fury for once, though the redhead gasped several strained oaths through his clenched teeth as Kurama teased him mercilessly. So Kurama would hover insensate in the back of Shuiichi's mind for days -- it was worth it to hear his harsh breathing, see those liquid-emerald eyes open and staring, uncomprehending, unseeing, at the ceiling.
A pair of narrow catlike golden eyes filled Shuiichi's view, and they were dark and smoldering with secret laughter, blazing with unbridled admiration. "Kurama... p-please," Shuiichi pleaded in that glorious, eloquent voice of his, begged with those eyes, let go of the covers to frantically skim his palms over his soft white skin. "Please...!"
With a final burst of ravenous enthusiasm, Kurama performed a final mental trick, and whispered, "Shuiichi..."
The boy let go, his body clenching and shuddering as he fell through the sky. It was too much for him. His overtaxed, overstrained body, plus the fact that Kurama knew his every nuance quite intimately, plus the husky satin whisper of his name, made him lose all control
over himself, finding glorious release.
And still a pair of champagne-satin eyes, half-veiled by long dark lashes, filled his vision and obliterated his mind, reducing him to soft whimpers of pleasure as he slipped downward into a spiral of darkness and rest.
'Now then,' Kurama thought faintly. 'Let us see what resistance he puts up... when I have the strength to try again...'
Both youko and human fell quite deliciously senseless.
