It is sometime months after they met, lying about Kurama's bed in his forest fortress in a post-sex haze, that he realizes something about Kuronue is different. The blankets of his bed are strewn beneath them, abandoned sometime in the middle of the balmy summertime night. The early morning sunlight seeps in from gaps in the twisted, wooden vine walls, dappling their bare bodies and the messy nest of blankets and pillows that they're sprawled over. Kuronue lies stretched out on his side, pale skin gloriously exposed, head resting on his fist with his gaze settled lazily on Kurama. His hair is loose—Kurama likes it better that way, even though it ends up tangled in his wings. He gets the sense that Kuronue only tolerates it because the Yoko enjoys putting his fingers in it so much.

Kurama sits upright, reaching for the mug of tea that he'd brewed a few hours earlier after Kuronue had dozed off. It's long gone cold but he sips it anyway, slowly, so that he can savor the bewitched expression on his audience's face. It's not the first or fourth or fiftieth time someone has looked at the Yoko like they'd gleefully wade through a bed of sharp glass to get to him. He's usually immune to such glances, but Kuronue's dreamy, stupefied expression doesn't mean the same thing. The bat deals in taking whatever beautiful thing he wants and this is the one beautiful thing he can never own. Kurama only grants him access when it pleases him.

But the bat yokai is remarkably persistent. Kurama has yet to see him abandon treasure mid-quest. Kuronue is wholly, recklessly committed to the act of wanting, and that keeps him coming back to Kurama's bed for the prize he must know he'll never possess. The futility of it puzzles Kurama, but to Kuronue's credit, his persistence does make him an excellent lover.

Kuronue's lips press against the top of his foot and Kurama nearly chokes on his drink. He peppers little kisses over his ankle, up his calf—

"What are you doing?"

Kuronue's toothy grin only looks mildly sadistic. "Am I no longer allowed to worship you, Prince of Thieves?"

Kurama is insulted by the question, so much so that he drops his leg and hooks his knee under Kuronue's arm, then uses it to draw the bat up to him. His wings—shockingly huge when unfolded—drape forward around Kurama like something of a shield, and Kuronue kisses him. He'd thought, at first, that the wings might be an inconvenience, but they've grown on him. He's strangely fond of how close they feel when Kuronue uses them to cut them off from the rest of the world. Mostly, Kurama had been concerned with how Kuronue manages to sleep with them. He had a wild thought once that perhaps the bat slept hanging from the ceiling just to keep comfortable. As it turns out, Kuronue sleeps on his front, usually draped over Kurama, with his wings fully spread and broad enough to nearly span the width of the room. He'd knocked a small table over with them once in his sleep and hadn't seemed even slightly embarrassed by it. Rather, he'd asked why the hell Kurama needed a table next to his bed anyway.

Kurama had gotten rid of the table.

Kuronue covers Kurama's lips and jaw and neck with little kisses that turn into bites and bites that turn into kisses. He nips at the soft spot of skin at the crook of his neck and Kurama's spine seems to turn into a noodle. He nearly drops the mug of cold tea, which is saved only by Kuronue being prepared for Kurama's sudden lack of motor control. The bat sets it carefully to the side, a devious smirk on his face. It had taken him a pathetically short amount of time to figure out precisely how to work that spot to make Kurama melt, and he has since used it so sparingly that it always catches Kurama off guard.

"You're cruel."

"If I were cruel, I'd do it again." He buries his face in Kurama's neck with an affectionate nudge, "Should I?"

"No."

He can feel Kuronue's awful grin stretch against his neck.

"I think I should."

"N—hnnng…" his spine goes slack when Kuronue suckles at the spot again. Kuronue wraps his arms around Kurama and pulls him onto his lap for support.

When he deems Kurama sufficiently disoriented, he draws back from his neck and brings his lips to meet the Yoko's. His eyes form mirthful little crescents that make Kurama want to bite him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're cute when you turn into putty?"

Past lovers have called him many things, but cute was never on the list. He can't tell Kuronue that nobody else has ever managed to make him turn to goo in their arms. He can barely imagine what Kuronue would do with such information.

"I think I should keep doing it."

Before Kurama can feign another objection Kuronue starts to work the spot with his tongue. An ungraceful noise escapes Kurama's lips and he expects the bat to laugh but he doesn't—instead, he pulls Kurama closer, seals his lips over the spot, and sucks. Kurama is eternally grateful Kuronue is holding him because he doesn't have the capacity to stay upright on his own any longer.

Kuronue braces Kurama's back with one arm and starts to explore his hips with his free hand. He was certain he was spent after their long night, but Kuronue's mouth on his neck seems to have revived his erection. He's not the only one enjoying this—Kuronue's cock is hard as well, heavy as it bumps against Kurama.

Kuronue releases a puff of moist breath against his neck and trails his fingertips over the sensitive skin just below Kurama's naval, "I love it when you melt…" He nibbles the spot again, sending shivers down Kurama's spine. Melting seems like the wrong word, though this is hardly the time for Kurama to be pedantic. He feels as if something inside is unwinding, leaving him loose and exposed. If it didn't feel so damn good he'd be worried.

Kuronue's palm is soft and warm as he begins to stroke Kurama's erection at a painstakingly slow pace that somehow makes him unfurl even faster. His lips come to rest on the spot and he takes the occasional opportunity to suck the skin between his teeth until it's raw and aching. Kurama's hips jump to ease the throb of his cock.

"Keep going for me… Please, just…" Kuronue's voice is strained, as though he's the one going to pieces. Not Kurama. "Please…"

"You beg an unreasonable amount for a thief." Kurama is surprised by the quaver in his own voice when he speaks. It's undignified, but they both are right now so he brushes the thought aside.

Kuronue's breathy laugh heats his skin. He pulls his mouth away and looks up at Kurama. His lips are pink and wet from working Kurama's neck, formed into a strange little smirk.

"Only for you."

Kurama watches his lips as they form each word. He draws his fingertips over the sharp angle of Kuronue's cheekbone and runs the pad of his thumb over his lips. Kuronue is almost too pretty for a bat yokai, though Kurama would never tell him that. He draws the finger between his lips with a gentle, wet suck that makes Kurama huff. The madness of wanting is Kuronue's sin, but Kurama thinks he's beginning to understand it.

Kuronue quickens his pace working Kurama's erection and a jolt runs down his spine, causing it to buckle so he slacks over Kuronue's shoulder. Kuronue responds with a grunt and buries his mouth back in Kurama's neck. He can barely hear the words, "Only for you," muffled against his neck.

Flattery—Kurama knows that's all it is. This is for Kuronue; he enjoys reducing the Yoko to a whimpering mess in his lap. He takes the opportunity to bite one of Kuronue's long, pointed ears to remind him he knows, but it only makes the yokai's shoulders jerk under Kurama's arms before he shifts his face to catch Kurama's lips with his own once more.

"Be nice," he teases.

Kurama wants to growl at him. Kuronue only bucks his hips so the distance between their hips closes even more. Kuronue's cock, leaking and slick with precome in spite of the lack of touch, slides along Kurama's thigh.

"You must be close," he breathes the words onto Kurama's lips. "You always get feisty right before you come."

This time, Kurama throws his weight against the bat and tackles him back into the bed, and the rest is a mess of lips and bites and kisses and moans before Kurama spills onto his partner. Kuronue, in a strange feat, comes as well in spite of never having been touched. They're a sticky, tangled mess of limbs as they both lay on the remains of the bed, trying to recover. In his post-sex haze, Kurama finds himself quite comfortable with Kuronue's lips pressed to his cheekbone, breath steadying against his temple. Each little huff bounces off his skin at just the right angle to hit his ear, which twitches madly, but he doesn't have the energy to care.

He only manages to get up when he realizes his foot is wet—the mug sitting next to their pile of blankets is on its side and tea is seeping into the covers. He sets the empty mug upright and mops up the mess with what he thinks is the corner of a blanket but then realizes is his shirt. Kuronue is wiping their come from himself with a blanket. Kurama makes a mental note to wash everything soon.

He barely gets the mess cleaned before Kuronue drapes his arms around Kurama from behind, resting his chin on Kurama's shoulder. He presses something small and warm into Kurama's bare chest and he gives his jawline an affectionate nip. When his hand moves, Kurama looks down to a red jewel hanging from his neck. Kuronue had slipped the chain around his neck. His fingers gently tug Kurama's hair through the back of the chain.

"It looks good on you. Keep it."

That's a dangerous thing. The gem is the only thing keeping the bat in his yokai form. If he's without it too long, he'll revert to his animalistic form. Kurama had never minded his fox form, but Kuronue always had sparse words about his bat form—and none of them were good. He likes the power and the freedom of his yokai form.

Kurama turns to face him and starts to take it off. "It looks better on you—"

Kuronue pushes it back into Kurama's chest with two fingers. "No. Keep it. I want you to."

Tendrils of something strange and uncomfortable rise in Kurama's chest. As if to punctuate his point, Kuronue leans in and leaves another tender kiss on his lips. The uncomfortable feeling twists and squirms and Kurama is suddenly very aware that he needs to bring this to a halt.

"It's dangerous. We can't be separated." Kurama says.

Kuronue hums a vague dismissal and kisses him with the same irrational softness once more. He is, Kurama realizes, being sex-drunk and foolish.

"Would it be so bad?" Kuronue mumbles into his lips.

A cold sweat breaks out over Kurama's skin—not because of what Kuronue is asking, but because something that approves of this recklessness is trying to worm its way out of him.

"Not out there," he says, nodding to a gap in the vined wall that shows the morning sun now above the treeline of Kurama's territory. "There's too much risk. It's too easy for us to be separated. But in here, it's mine."

Kuronue leans back on an arm, tilting his head to the side with a smile that very nearly looks sad. "I suppose I have to take whatever I can get."

"You do," Kurama says.

"Maybe you're just trying to get me to drag you back to bed more often."

His tail swishes with a reaction he can't quite contain.

"I hardly think I need to bribe you. You seem motivated enough without any blackmail."

Kuronue bites his lips to hide his growing smile, "That's probably true."

Kurama drops the pendant and it lands, warm and heavy, flat against his chest. It's just heavy enough that he can't ignore its presence around his neck. Kuronue is still leaning back, watching him with a narrow expression.

"Sometimes I wonder if there are actually two of you," he says. "The one out there, and the one in here. One is a cunning, sadistic bastard and the other is…" He falls quiet, shaking his head. "The one in here I haven't quite figured out yet."

The Yoko takes the pretty gem between his fingers again. The weight of it is just right. He's quite fond of his new treasure already, as impermanent as his possession of it may be. Kuronue is a fool for thinking Kurama should sport it outside this room, but here, it's perfect.

"I have no idea what you mean," he says, drawing the pendant up to see the morning light shine through it.

** +1000 years later… **

The train ride to the home his mother and her husband retired to sometimes feels like the only hours of peace Kurama can steal in a week. Business keeps him busy around the clock, and if it weren't for his well-practiced habit of shutting his cell phone off when the train started it would keep him busy the entire ride as well. He'll come home in the evening to thirty or forty missed calls—he's certain of it.

His mind wanders as the city gives way to the countryside in an almost hypnotic blur. His stepbrother recently married a lovely young woman from Kyoto, and she's already very pregnant. He's overjoyed for them, and for his mother and stepfather, but sometimes watching their lives is something like looking out the window of the train. From his perspective, it all passes so tragically, beautifully fast.

He should really make the trip to see his mother once a week rather than every other week, he thinks.

The train comes to a halt in a quaint little station, just a strip of concrete next to a pair of raised tracks. The village is a sight to behold—built on the side of a mountain, surrounded by lush greenery and attractive waterfalls. The pace of the people here is such a stark contrast to the city, it seems like it may have been the perfect spot for his mother to retire. Maybe, in part, because it gives him an excuse to savor the village every few weeks.

It's a short, scenic walk from the train station to his mother's home. Shiori has barely lived in the place for two whole years, but she had wasted no time making it her own. His mother had been most excited to finally have a home with a yard—which she promptly turned into a rather impressive garden.

Shiori's smile glows when she answers the door, a contagious warmth he's always prepared to welcome. She ushers him inside, and as he's slipping his loafers off, she says, "Do you remember Sachiko?"

"Your old work friend? Yes, I remember her."

"She's visiting today as well. She'll be happy to see you again."

He follows her into the kitchen, trying to recall his last encounter with Sachiko. He can't remember ever speaking with her directly, only that his mother used to go out with her on occasion. They'd been friends for many years, so he's not surprised they've kept contact even after Shiori moved.

Sachiko is seated at the kitchen table but nearly knocks her chair over as she leaps out of it when Shiori and Kurama enter. She's a fashionable woman, with short-cropped hair gone gray and a pair of unusually shaped glasses.

" That's Shuichi?"

He gives a small bow, "It's good to meet you."

"We've met before," she says, stepping to him with a suspicious look in her eye. "At least, in passing. At your mother's wedding. You must have been… 17, maybe 18 at the time. You barely look like you've aged a day since then."

Which is, oddly enough, something of a problem. His human body is almost 30 but it seems to have stopped aging sometime in his early 20s. He couldn't be sure how the body would react to his yokai presence but had hoped, for his mother's sake, that there would at least be some semblance of natural aging. He's had no such luck.

Appearing as a 20-something at the age of 30 wasn't ideal, but it was passable. But when he's 35? 40? He's going to have to find a solution soon, before what seems like a lucky trait becomes an obvious issue.

Sachiko startles him when she cups his face in her hands. "Shiori, he's beautiful . You did well."

He catches his mother hiding a little laugh at her friend's awkward behavior. Shiori is, perhaps, a little more twisted than he usually gives her credit for.

"Shuichi, there's some fresh peaches from the garden in the fridge. Why don't you cut them up so we can enjoy them?"

He pries his face away from the woman and beelines for the fridge, grateful for the excuse to get away.

"Are you married yet?" Sachiko asks.

Kurama cringes internally, grabbing a bowl for the slices. There is a small piece of him that wishes he could find some happiness in such a lifestyle. His mother would like it if he did. But he's certain a relationship with a human partner would make him extremely miserable. The thought of growing attached to yet another human who will be gone in the blink of an eye is simply too depressing. There have been brief affairs—he has to allow himself that much for his own relief. But nothing in this new life has lasted longer than a few nights.

"Work keeps me busy," he says with a dismissive laugh. "I hardly have time to take care of a relationship."

"Didn't your brother just get married though? I thought you two co-managed the business."

"His wife is pregnant," Shiori cuts in, shooing her friend back to the table. "I don't think I told you that."

It works—the two are off on a tangent about grandchildren and Kurama finds some semblance of peace in slicing the fruit. When he finishes, he returns to the table only to have Shiori snatch the bowl from him.

"It's a beautiful day, let's sit outside."

He wonders if perhaps she's doing everything in her power to delay what is bound to be an awkward conversation between Sachiko and him. If that is the case, he appreciates it immensely.

The yard is lush and green, packed with flowers and a few fruit trees. Shiori does a fantastic job tending to it, and Kurama makes a point to lend some of his influence anytime he visits. They sit at a black, ironwork table that's situated under the peach tree. Shiori moves the day's newspaper out of the way and sets the bowl in the middle of the table. She usually takes her morning coffee at the table while she reads the newspaper.

They're barely seated when he notices a familiar face peeking back at him from the newspaper. Big, ocean eyes and a pair of pointed ears—Koto, the referee from many of the Makai tournaments. It's an advertisement for an appearance she'll be making in Tokyo, likely entirely sold out by now because the pretty yoko has managed to make quite the name for herself in the human world over the past years. A number of quite famous yokai personalities have made a name for themselves in the human world—with the destruction of the barrier between the worlds, they seem to pop up more and more frequently every day.

It's another thing that constantly gnaws at the back of Kurama's mind. With an increased presence of yokai in the human world, what is the possibility that he might be recognized? His face is only known to those who watch tournaments, but the tournaments are immensely popular in Makai. He skipped the last Makai tournament when he'd noticed the growing trend of yokai crossing over into the human world, all in hopes of keeping his identity safe.

"Shuichi, are you okay?" His mother's voice draws his attention back to the table.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I fell asleep on the train ride here and I think I'm still waking up."

"Has work been keeping you up again?"

"It keeps me busy. Honestly, I wish it kept me busier. Kokoda should leave me with more work, he needs to take time away."

Sachiko tsks at him, "Such a good brother, too. I must know some nice girl I can set you up with…"

Kurama doesn't bother objecting. She wouldn't be the first to give him the phone number of some young human girl. He always politely throws them in the garbage as soon as he's alone.

The conversation drags on to other subjects, guided gently by Shiori. He spends most of the conversation spacing out, looking at the garden, wondering if he should juice the azaleas again before he goes home-until a familiar, chipper voice shocks him back to the present.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to gawk. Your garden is just so lovely!"

A grim reaper stands at the gate to the yard, dressed in a bright pink blouse tucked into slim fit jeans, giving them a theatrical wave.

The disparate worlds of Shuichi and Kurama sometimes feel like they're on a collision course in spite of his very best efforts. If he were capable of having a heart attack, he'd probably be concerned about having one.

Sachiko lands a discrete kick to his leg, giving him a severe look. "Shiori said you take good care of her garden. She's cute. Go talk to her."

Kurama is more than happy to seize the opportunity. Botan grins at him like a madwoman as he approaches, which hardly does anything good for the narrative that they've never met before but it does make a smile come to his face. It's been nearly a year since they called on him for any detective work, so he hasn't seen her in a very long time.

"Hello, gorgeous." She leans on the thin rail of the gate and bats her eyes at him. "Long time, no see, huh?"

"It has been far too long, Botan. My mother's friend thinks I came over here to get your phone number, so keep the act up."

She chuckles. "You mean you didn't come over here for my number? I'm shocked and offended, Kurama."

Whenever she's around, he has this overwhelming urge to pat her on the head and feed her snacks. She has a contagious, joyful presence that makes him value her friendship so much.

"I take it Koenma needs help?"

Her smile nearly flickers out. "Yes."

"It's bad?"

"Very bad. A yokai on the loose killing humans. Only this one goes way beyond your home turf. They've been popping up, murdering humans all over the globe."

He glances back to the table where Shiori and Sachiko are pretending to not watch them. "This is an inopportune time. My stepbrother's wife is pregnant. I have obligations here."

She nods. "Can you spare an evening to just hear about the case? Your input might be helpful. And we'll have the whole gang there."

"Of course. It's the least I can do."

"Noodle stand, tomorrow night?"

"I'll be there."

She steps back and throws him a flirtatious wink, "Perfect, it's a date."