Champagne Satin
Description (Chapter 3) After an incredible brush with the youko's power over his senses, Shuiichi spends a shaken night trying his best not to reach for the exhausted kitsune's mind with his own. When he finds he cannot, he realizes that something strange and shocking is to come... and soon.
Shuiichi stirred very slowly, senses coming alert like a bloom spreading its petals in the noonday sun, his breathing remaining soft and even as he took stock of himself. He lay atop the blankets, spread-eagled, bathed in moonlight flooding in from the half-open window, along with a cool breeze that made him shiver and burrow into his pillow. He'd never slept in the altogether before, and especially not before night fell...
It wasn't long before he was aware enough to catch the fragrance of spent desire on the air for a long moment, and it stirred his memories to full wakefulness. Shuiichi had to bite down on his pillow to keep from muttering a few choice words. The rogue had... had taken care of his... er.. tension exquisitely well, he thought wryly. For the thousandth time, he inwardly cursed Kurama, in a brief fury.
Once his anger was spent, Shuiichi fell very still again, listening for Kurama's answering laughter, and growing increasingly more worried when it did not come. "Oi! Kurama!" Shuiichi said softly, calling the kitsune verbally, and received no response, not even the slow ripple of consciousness within his own mind that signified Kurama was unaware, but present.
Shuiichi sighed. Perhaps the youko was carrying some sort of a grudge? Or perhaps he had finally left Shuiichi alone and gone to seek a more worthy object to bestow his attentions on? He told himself he didn't care either way -- but why did his stomach twist so at the mere thought, as though his body was rebelling against the very idea the Kurama might leave? There were some things about himself he had yet to figure out, without this added complication.
Shuiichi rose, shivering in the cold air, and let himself think as he dressed properly for bed -- loose comfortable shorts, clean soft tee shirt. Just what had happened? What had Kurama done to him anyway? Even now, hours after, his body tingled with the pleasant weary aftermath of pleasure, and his pulse leapt at the memory.
That was a simple answer, Shuiichi thought dryly. Kurama had pleasured him with his mind and naught else. Though simple to say, Shuiichi couldn't quite comprehend it. How? Had the devious, twisted youko turned his own nerves against him? Perish the thought, that Kurama could do such a thing from within him. If it were true, then he could easily inflict such incredible pain on Shuiichi that he would capitulate swiftly, or he could draw it out and Shuiichi would never find cease from it in unconsciousness or death, since he wouldn't truly be inflicting wounds, only the sensation of them. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's lean body as he sat down heavily in his desk chair. The simple question remained: where was Kurama? And again, though simple, it was a hard question to answer fully.
Idiotic, insane weakness, thought the exhausted youko from his place within Shuiichi. Though he was weak, unable to speak, he still wanted to reach out a hand and calm Shuiichi, whose mind was full of things that Kurama would not do. What could he do in this half-living state? He had expended much too much energy and thought on his impulsive 'apology' for his little pet, his little precious one. If he didn't close himself off from Shuiichi, the boy would likely come and seek him, and he would have to sap the last bits of his life in reassuring him, and then perhaps never find a way to escape and be a true mate to Shuiichi, and Kurama did not want that.
Enough with thought, he commanded himself, taking his impulses in hand. Be still, and rest, and gain energy. Soon, he promised, soon he would escape and do the things he wished with his -- as yet unclaimed -- mate.
"Damn it!" Shuiichi muttered. So close, and then the block had slammed back down on him. His pencil broke in his hand, and he slammed the two pieces down onto the desk as his search beat a quick retreat from the place he thought Kurama was. He didn't dare try to go in any further without Kurama willing it -- did he?
Seizing a stress ball from its allotted place among the pencils and papers that lay neatly stacked over his desk, Shuiichi squeezed it reflexively in one hand and rose from the chair, pacing as stealthily as a cat across the moonwashed floor. There was the question. Did he dare defy the block there and try to prod deeper?
Driven by an odd mixture of defiance, anger, and worry, Shuiichi decided that yes, he did dare, he would try. With that, his long nimble fingers clamped down hard on the rubber ball and he focused himself inward until he found the place where the block cut him off. He pushed mentally, and for a moment it gave, until a starburst of pain rocketed out behind his eyes and Shuiichi had to fall back onto the bed, gasping, the abused ball bouncing off into the corner, abandoned in favor of kneading his temples. That was out of the question, he thought irritably. At least he had confirmed to himself that Kurama remained there within his mind, and that was an incredible load of fear off his mind. He had not left, but he was barricading himself off as stoutly as a fortress's walls. Hm... that was something of a surprise to Shuiichi. So it was a grudge, or something was wrong, terribly wrong.
'Not hardly!' Kurama wanted to call to Shuiichi, but from his blank delirious state he could not. Dizzy, confused, lost, he lay in a daze. Though he was quickly regaining energy, it was not enough, and the turmoil in Shuiichi's mind was threatening to eject him neatly from his place there. 'Be still,' he wanted to say, 'sleep, so I can sleep and grow stronger!'
Closing his eyes, he leaned back onto the pillow. "Enough with this childish foolishness!" Shuiichi said aloud, taking his emotions in hand. "You are going into fits over something you have yet to confirm!" He stubbornly refused to let himself think that for one reason or another, Kurama was blocked off because he was angry, so it had to be something else.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he closed his eyes again, sighing. Perhaps, if he was lucky, everything would look better by fresh morning's light.
Shuiichi slept, and he slept deeply...
'Be still, Shuiichi. You have a sunburn -- '
'What's a sunburn, mama?'
'The sun is hot, and it shines down on the ground so hard that it can burn soft skin like yours, my little one, especially if it hasn't seen much sun lately,' Shiori laughed, as she smoothed cream over the faintly-freckled cheeks, watching Shuiichi's wide green eyes cross to follow her movements. 'Stop that, love, they'll get stuck that way if you're not careful!'
'Really?' he said in awe, and then the memory faded away...
There was a feeling of light --
Pale silver light!
-- and panic, mingled with the sense of a desperate loneliness, a singularity that was frightening in its intensity. Shuiichi was alone! For the first time in all his sixteen years, he was truly alone, and...
Pain slammed into him like a runaway train. His body spasmed and a low, keening whimper vibrated in his throat. Shuiichi's eyes clenched tightly shut, and his hands twisted in the sheets. Kurama! he cried reflexively, and was aware of no response from the youko, if he was there at all --
Then everything went mercifully blank.
Shuiichi woke very, very slowly, eyes narrowed against the assault of morning flooding in through the window. His first thought was that he had forgotten to close it -- again -- and that he was going to be angry if his room was full of bugs. His second was that he was late -- quite late -- for school, as he usually woke before dawn. He glanced toward the clock dozily.
The clock wasn't there. Curiouser and curiouser. Perhaps he had knocked it down to stop the alarm or something? He shifted to look down at the ground. There it lay... in broken pieces, cogs and wheels and bands discordantly scattered over the ground. One ruby brow quirked, and Shuiichi bent to pick up the shattered bits.
Once he had gathered up the pieces, Shuiichi sat and stared down at them where they lay in his lap. After satisfying himself that the clock was broken beyond repair, he scooped up the parts and dumped them in the trashcan.
Only then did Shuiichi look up to take stock of the room.
His already-fair face went dead white.
There, propped up on the doorjamb with a small, sadistic smirk adorning his face, was the slender, elegant, silver-haired Kurama in all his incredible glory, bathed in the morning's rose-hued light. One silver brow arched softly over narrow champagne-satin eyes that mirrored nothing at all in their depths.
Gaping, Shuiichi stammered, "W-what are y-you doing? H-how did you -- why? When?" He trembled in terror of the piercing topaz gaze that watched him insolently, calmly.
"It is of no significance to you, pet," slurred Kurama lazily, that voice carrying a velvet accent all its own, something that Shuiichi had never heard even when the kitsune spoke within his mind. He arched off the doorframe in one fluid motion, satiny tail flicking in his amusement.
Shuiichi closed his eyes tightly, wanting desperately to believe that this was just a dream, that the way the youko moved was nothing more than something his own mind had conjured up to torture him again. He quivered in trepidation, not wanting to open his eyes and look.
A moment later, Shuiichi felt a strong, slender hand clamp around his upper arm in a grip that would've done a vise proud. "Hush. Be still, little one, little redbird." As he neared, Shuiichi could begin to catch the faintest scent of roses and lemon, mingled with a sweet musky fragrance that was uniquely Kurama. The hand that gripped him was careful, long and slim, and before a moment passed, Shuiichi opened his eyes to see the youko's face, filling his vision, as beautiful and as deadly as a silver blade.
An infinitesimal smirk curved Kurama's lips as he studied Shuiichi's white, terrified face. Those large, bright green eyes were shining with unshed tears and framed by long black lashes. That beautiful ruby tumble of hair was in disarray, and his lips, as soft and smooth as a woman's, trembled in fear. He was as pretty as a girl, Kurama thought appreciatively. "Be still, pet," he repeated absently, and pulled the shivering body to him, threading his fingers in Shuiichi's satiny hair.
Shuiichi gave a soft whimper of fear, and Kurama felt himself stir, the muscles in his stomach clenching hotly with desire. He was so tempting, so precious... it was all Kurama could do to keep himself from taking Shuiichi then and there. 'Patience, Kurama,' he chided himself. What was the Ningen phrase? 'Good things come to those who wait. That's it. So wait.'
Nevertheless, he carefully brushed aside the ruby strands, baring Shuiichi's graceful white throat. 'A temporary mark,' Kurama told himself firmly. To remind Shuiichi that he, Kurama, was the dominant one in this relationship, no matter how far it went. 'Just a temporary one. For my little mate's own good, to keep him from straying.' Placing a kiss on the very spot he intended to mark, he was gratified when the tension that was so heavy in Shuiichi's slender body melted away, leaving him pliant and soft in Kurama's arms. He smiled a pleased smile, then readied the warm fragrant skin with the softest caress, before nibbling it faintly, then biting down.
A broken, strangled cry came from Shuiichi's throat as he grasped two handfuls of Kurama's silvery hair. He had expected the pain -- and intense it was -- but he had not expected the rush of pleasure and exhilaration that came with it. Unknowingly he pressed Kurama's face closer, and there it stayed for the briefest of moments until Kurama disengaged himself from the soft flesh and tossed Shuiichi's limp body onto the bed.
Smirking roguishly, Kurama's tongue darted out to lap up a crimson droplet on his lower lip that had escaped his attention. He was hard-put to keep himself from joining Shuiichi in the bed -- Inari knew his body was demanding it, straining toward the final possession. If they did not mate within one year, the mark would fade and Kurama's chance would be gone. "Two weeks," Kurama slurred decisively, his voice harsh with the torture of self-control. "To come to terms with this. Two, do you hear me?" Shuiichi was half out of his mind, but he nodded, recognizing the authoritative tone of the youko's voice and listening intently. "After that I will take you, regardless of what you desire." Again the dazed nod. "I've... business elsewhere. I will return later for you, pet." A moment later, there was no trace of the kitsune, only a trembling weak Shuiichi, a broken alarm clock and the blood trickling down along Shuiichi's collarbone from the fresh mark.
Shuiichi's first thought was that he was completely, entirely alone in his mind for the first time since his birth.
The second thought was the crushing pain of separation from the one who had claimed him, and the tears came then.
Description (Chapter 3) After an incredible brush with the youko's power over his senses, Shuiichi spends a shaken night trying his best not to reach for the exhausted kitsune's mind with his own. When he finds he cannot, he realizes that something strange and shocking is to come... and soon.
Shuiichi stirred very slowly, senses coming alert like a bloom spreading its petals in the noonday sun, his breathing remaining soft and even as he took stock of himself. He lay atop the blankets, spread-eagled, bathed in moonlight flooding in from the half-open window, along with a cool breeze that made him shiver and burrow into his pillow. He'd never slept in the altogether before, and especially not before night fell...
It wasn't long before he was aware enough to catch the fragrance of spent desire on the air for a long moment, and it stirred his memories to full wakefulness. Shuiichi had to bite down on his pillow to keep from muttering a few choice words. The rogue had... had taken care of his... er.. tension exquisitely well, he thought wryly. For the thousandth time, he inwardly cursed Kurama, in a brief fury.
Once his anger was spent, Shuiichi fell very still again, listening for Kurama's answering laughter, and growing increasingly more worried when it did not come. "Oi! Kurama!" Shuiichi said softly, calling the kitsune verbally, and received no response, not even the slow ripple of consciousness within his own mind that signified Kurama was unaware, but present.
Shuiichi sighed. Perhaps the youko was carrying some sort of a grudge? Or perhaps he had finally left Shuiichi alone and gone to seek a more worthy object to bestow his attentions on? He told himself he didn't care either way -- but why did his stomach twist so at the mere thought, as though his body was rebelling against the very idea the Kurama might leave? There were some things about himself he had yet to figure out, without this added complication.
Shuiichi rose, shivering in the cold air, and let himself think as he dressed properly for bed -- loose comfortable shorts, clean soft tee shirt. Just what had happened? What had Kurama done to him anyway? Even now, hours after, his body tingled with the pleasant weary aftermath of pleasure, and his pulse leapt at the memory.
That was a simple answer, Shuiichi thought dryly. Kurama had pleasured him with his mind and naught else. Though simple to say, Shuiichi couldn't quite comprehend it. How? Had the devious, twisted youko turned his own nerves against him? Perish the thought, that Kurama could do such a thing from within him. If it were true, then he could easily inflict such incredible pain on Shuiichi that he would capitulate swiftly, or he could draw it out and Shuiichi would never find cease from it in unconsciousness or death, since he wouldn't truly be inflicting wounds, only the sensation of them. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's lean body as he sat down heavily in his desk chair. The simple question remained: where was Kurama? And again, though simple, it was a hard question to answer fully.
Idiotic, insane weakness, thought the exhausted youko from his place within Shuiichi. Though he was weak, unable to speak, he still wanted to reach out a hand and calm Shuiichi, whose mind was full of things that Kurama would not do. What could he do in this half-living state? He had expended much too much energy and thought on his impulsive 'apology' for his little pet, his little precious one. If he didn't close himself off from Shuiichi, the boy would likely come and seek him, and he would have to sap the last bits of his life in reassuring him, and then perhaps never find a way to escape and be a true mate to Shuiichi, and Kurama did not want that.
Enough with thought, he commanded himself, taking his impulses in hand. Be still, and rest, and gain energy. Soon, he promised, soon he would escape and do the things he wished with his -- as yet unclaimed -- mate.
"Damn it!" Shuiichi muttered. So close, and then the block had slammed back down on him. His pencil broke in his hand, and he slammed the two pieces down onto the desk as his search beat a quick retreat from the place he thought Kurama was. He didn't dare try to go in any further without Kurama willing it -- did he?
Seizing a stress ball from its allotted place among the pencils and papers that lay neatly stacked over his desk, Shuiichi squeezed it reflexively in one hand and rose from the chair, pacing as stealthily as a cat across the moonwashed floor. There was the question. Did he dare defy the block there and try to prod deeper?
Driven by an odd mixture of defiance, anger, and worry, Shuiichi decided that yes, he did dare, he would try. With that, his long nimble fingers clamped down hard on the rubber ball and he focused himself inward until he found the place where the block cut him off. He pushed mentally, and for a moment it gave, until a starburst of pain rocketed out behind his eyes and Shuiichi had to fall back onto the bed, gasping, the abused ball bouncing off into the corner, abandoned in favor of kneading his temples. That was out of the question, he thought irritably. At least he had confirmed to himself that Kurama remained there within his mind, and that was an incredible load of fear off his mind. He had not left, but he was barricading himself off as stoutly as a fortress's walls. Hm... that was something of a surprise to Shuiichi. So it was a grudge, or something was wrong, terribly wrong.
'Not hardly!' Kurama wanted to call to Shuiichi, but from his blank delirious state he could not. Dizzy, confused, lost, he lay in a daze. Though he was quickly regaining energy, it was not enough, and the turmoil in Shuiichi's mind was threatening to eject him neatly from his place there. 'Be still,' he wanted to say, 'sleep, so I can sleep and grow stronger!'
Closing his eyes, he leaned back onto the pillow. "Enough with this childish foolishness!" Shuiichi said aloud, taking his emotions in hand. "You are going into fits over something you have yet to confirm!" He stubbornly refused to let himself think that for one reason or another, Kurama was blocked off because he was angry, so it had to be something else.
A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he closed his eyes again, sighing. Perhaps, if he was lucky, everything would look better by fresh morning's light.
Shuiichi slept, and he slept deeply...
'Be still, Shuiichi. You have a sunburn -- '
'What's a sunburn, mama?'
'The sun is hot, and it shines down on the ground so hard that it can burn soft skin like yours, my little one, especially if it hasn't seen much sun lately,' Shiori laughed, as she smoothed cream over the faintly-freckled cheeks, watching Shuiichi's wide green eyes cross to follow her movements. 'Stop that, love, they'll get stuck that way if you're not careful!'
'Really?' he said in awe, and then the memory faded away...
There was a feeling of light --
Pale silver light!
-- and panic, mingled with the sense of a desperate loneliness, a singularity that was frightening in its intensity. Shuiichi was alone! For the first time in all his sixteen years, he was truly alone, and...
Pain slammed into him like a runaway train. His body spasmed and a low, keening whimper vibrated in his throat. Shuiichi's eyes clenched tightly shut, and his hands twisted in the sheets. Kurama! he cried reflexively, and was aware of no response from the youko, if he was there at all --
Then everything went mercifully blank.
Shuiichi woke very, very slowly, eyes narrowed against the assault of morning flooding in through the window. His first thought was that he had forgotten to close it -- again -- and that he was going to be angry if his room was full of bugs. His second was that he was late -- quite late -- for school, as he usually woke before dawn. He glanced toward the clock dozily.
The clock wasn't there. Curiouser and curiouser. Perhaps he had knocked it down to stop the alarm or something? He shifted to look down at the ground. There it lay... in broken pieces, cogs and wheels and bands discordantly scattered over the ground. One ruby brow quirked, and Shuiichi bent to pick up the shattered bits.
Once he had gathered up the pieces, Shuiichi sat and stared down at them where they lay in his lap. After satisfying himself that the clock was broken beyond repair, he scooped up the parts and dumped them in the trashcan.
Only then did Shuiichi look up to take stock of the room.
His already-fair face went dead white.
There, propped up on the doorjamb with a small, sadistic smirk adorning his face, was the slender, elegant, silver-haired Kurama in all his incredible glory, bathed in the morning's rose-hued light. One silver brow arched softly over narrow champagne-satin eyes that mirrored nothing at all in their depths.
Gaping, Shuiichi stammered, "W-what are y-you doing? H-how did you -- why? When?" He trembled in terror of the piercing topaz gaze that watched him insolently, calmly.
"It is of no significance to you, pet," slurred Kurama lazily, that voice carrying a velvet accent all its own, something that Shuiichi had never heard even when the kitsune spoke within his mind. He arched off the doorframe in one fluid motion, satiny tail flicking in his amusement.
Shuiichi closed his eyes tightly, wanting desperately to believe that this was just a dream, that the way the youko moved was nothing more than something his own mind had conjured up to torture him again. He quivered in trepidation, not wanting to open his eyes and look.
A moment later, Shuiichi felt a strong, slender hand clamp around his upper arm in a grip that would've done a vise proud. "Hush. Be still, little one, little redbird." As he neared, Shuiichi could begin to catch the faintest scent of roses and lemon, mingled with a sweet musky fragrance that was uniquely Kurama. The hand that gripped him was careful, long and slim, and before a moment passed, Shuiichi opened his eyes to see the youko's face, filling his vision, as beautiful and as deadly as a silver blade.
An infinitesimal smirk curved Kurama's lips as he studied Shuiichi's white, terrified face. Those large, bright green eyes were shining with unshed tears and framed by long black lashes. That beautiful ruby tumble of hair was in disarray, and his lips, as soft and smooth as a woman's, trembled in fear. He was as pretty as a girl, Kurama thought appreciatively. "Be still, pet," he repeated absently, and pulled the shivering body to him, threading his fingers in Shuiichi's satiny hair.
Shuiichi gave a soft whimper of fear, and Kurama felt himself stir, the muscles in his stomach clenching hotly with desire. He was so tempting, so precious... it was all Kurama could do to keep himself from taking Shuiichi then and there. 'Patience, Kurama,' he chided himself. What was the Ningen phrase? 'Good things come to those who wait. That's it. So wait.'
Nevertheless, he carefully brushed aside the ruby strands, baring Shuiichi's graceful white throat. 'A temporary mark,' Kurama told himself firmly. To remind Shuiichi that he, Kurama, was the dominant one in this relationship, no matter how far it went. 'Just a temporary one. For my little mate's own good, to keep him from straying.' Placing a kiss on the very spot he intended to mark, he was gratified when the tension that was so heavy in Shuiichi's slender body melted away, leaving him pliant and soft in Kurama's arms. He smiled a pleased smile, then readied the warm fragrant skin with the softest caress, before nibbling it faintly, then biting down.
A broken, strangled cry came from Shuiichi's throat as he grasped two handfuls of Kurama's silvery hair. He had expected the pain -- and intense it was -- but he had not expected the rush of pleasure and exhilaration that came with it. Unknowingly he pressed Kurama's face closer, and there it stayed for the briefest of moments until Kurama disengaged himself from the soft flesh and tossed Shuiichi's limp body onto the bed.
Smirking roguishly, Kurama's tongue darted out to lap up a crimson droplet on his lower lip that had escaped his attention. He was hard-put to keep himself from joining Shuiichi in the bed -- Inari knew his body was demanding it, straining toward the final possession. If they did not mate within one year, the mark would fade and Kurama's chance would be gone. "Two weeks," Kurama slurred decisively, his voice harsh with the torture of self-control. "To come to terms with this. Two, do you hear me?" Shuiichi was half out of his mind, but he nodded, recognizing the authoritative tone of the youko's voice and listening intently. "After that I will take you, regardless of what you desire." Again the dazed nod. "I've... business elsewhere. I will return later for you, pet." A moment later, there was no trace of the kitsune, only a trembling weak Shuiichi, a broken alarm clock and the blood trickling down along Shuiichi's collarbone from the fresh mark.
Shuiichi's first thought was that he was completely, entirely alone in his mind for the first time since his birth.
The second thought was the crushing pain of separation from the one who had claimed him, and the tears came then.
