Many thanks to everyone who took the time to review.

Warnings for chapter three: Don't own. Use of creative license. Yaoi. And this chapter is rated NC17. If you don't know what that means, then you shouldn't be reading it.

"I didn't mean to bloody you."

Kurama paused momentarily before returning his attention to the small cup of soil that he'd managed to charm one of his guards into smuggling in to him.

"Is that an apology?" he asked quietly.

"No – it's a fact."

"Aa. Well. Nevertheless, it is still comforting to know that your old self hasn't been destroyed completely yet." He sent a thin surge of power into the soil, down to the tiny seed he had buried within. For a moment there was no response, and he feared that the land truly had been spoiled. "That temper of yours is something I remember quite clearly. I've never personally felt the effects of it before, but…" he trailed off, distracted, as he felt the seed respond.

"Kurama…" Yomi's voice was not the carefully controlled serenity he had earlier manufactured. There was regret there. A plea.

Frowning, Kurama sent another little surge into the seed, felt the life within it stir sleepily.

"What are you doing?" Yomi asked when it became clear that his statement would not be acknowledged.

"Planting. Your palace is oddly empty of plant life. A tragedy which shall be quickly and efficiently mended."

Silence. Arguing, pointing out that it had been purposeful, would only ruin the illusion of friendship.

Kurama sent the seed one last, tiny surge to ensure that it was, indeed, awake. Task completed, he set the cup of earth aside and looked up.

Yomi stood in the archway that served as the entrance to the small courtyard Kurama had found. The other man had pulled himself up from nothing, become a great and powerful king, but now, facing Kurama for the first time since their altercation nearly a week ago, he seemed awkward and unsure.

And Kurama was too tired to get any satisfaction from it.

"You're in your human form again." Yomi observed quietly.

Kurama nodded, suspecting that the blind man would be able to sense the action though the displacement in the air as his head moved.

Leaning back, he let his eyes scan the courtyard.

There was no plant life whatsoever, of course, but it was still good to be outside. Gandara was prone to fierce lightening storms, but today was a clear day. Beautiful.

Yomi moved, crossing to sit beside him on the cold, stone bench. Kurama didn't glance at him.

The architect who had designed the courtyard had done a remarkable job with it. The absence of flora had nearly been made up for by the bright, colorful mosaics that lined the walls, the glitter of the sun off the gray marble floor, the presence of the tall, proud pillars and exquisitely carved statues.

"I'm very beautiful." Kurama told his companion quietly. "Did they tell you that?"

"No. I don't want to know what humanity looks like draped around your glorious form."

Kurama gave a humorless smile.

His switch back to his human form had been painful, and really, had taklen more power than he'd wanted to spend. Shifting forms was the quickest way to heal minor injuries, but it wasn't easy. And it hurt. He still hadn't fully recovered.

But Yomi had beaten him quite thoroughly in his anger, and though it had been satisfying to make him lose control, Kurama had been unwilling to let anyone see him bruised and bloody. A quick, messy healing had been necessary.

"My hair is red," he informed Yomi meanly. "My eyes are green. Large. Innocent."

"Kurama."

One word, said simply, but it was all the warning the fox needed.

He was dangerously close to breaking the rules.

He was tired from the quick transformation. He supposed that was what was making him so careless. Yomi's earlier proposition had offended him terribly, too, and his anger had still not dimmed. Additionally, the youko mindset he had taken on when he had first changed forms had yet to fully return to dormalcy.

But it was a tightrope Kurama walked. If he stopped being civil, then so would Yomi.

And, like it or not, Yomi still had all the power.

"My apologies, Yomi. I just thought you would be curious."

"I wasn't."

Silence passed between them. The wind picked up a little, stirring their hair, and Kurama stared at his once-friend from an impossible distance.

"I suppose," Kurama said quietly, reluctantly, "That I should also apologize for my deception the other night."

"As I should apologize for becoming so angry." Yomi nodded. "I didn't negotiate for both of your personas. It was my miscalculation."

"I will not apologize."

"Nor will I."

"Good."

Breath came heavily – a struggle. The fingers that gripped his hips would leave bruises and small cuts – crescent-shaped and bloody – from where nails had bitten harshly into tender flesh.

Those hands, so large and cruel, tried to move, direct, command him. The fool did not yet realize that, whatever the position he took, the Youko was always the dominant partner.

Ignoring the unsubtle attempts to influence his movement, he tossed back his head of long, silvery hair and glared down at his partner – the pretty face flushed with passion, the lips parted with lust and bruised from not-so-tender kisses.

With a quiet growl, he slid his hands over the well-muscled chest, sinking his nails into the flesh near the shoulders and pulling them back down, leaving thin, white tracks all the way to slender hips. He began to move faster, anger spurring passion as he rode his partner with furious fervor. Almost detachedly he watched blood fill the marks he had made across the heaving chest.

The peak came quickly. The hands on his hips tightened, a moan fell from parted lips. He could feel it when the other's release came, spilling up within him.

His tail struck the mattress and he threw his head back, the welcome rush of power that filled him pushing past his careful control. A small, reluctant sound spilled from his mouth at his own release.

His head fell forward, chin resting against his chest as he fought to catch his breath. He managed to remain sitting up, though his body quaked with exhaustion.

Head bowed, he allowed himself a small smile. He enjoyed this feeling – this contrast. His body so weary as his powers coursed through his veins like a raging sea.

Yomi slipped easily from his body as he at last moved, sliding to the side to flop inelegantly atop the fine feather mattress.

He barked out a harsh, tired laugh and threw his arm up over his eyes, enjoying the rush. His pleasure only diminished a little as the body beside him shifted, as a heavy arm slid around his waist. He managed to tolerate it until the other body moved to press against his own.

He tried to shrug Yomi away.

"I'm sweaty," he complained.

"I don't mind, really."

He made an irritated noise, but it took several moments before he had the power to sit up.

Youko yawned and stretched his arms up high above his head, arching his back. Even irritation at his bedmate could not destroy the pleasure of the power coursing through his veins.

A hand began to stroke his tail, taking, in his opinion, far too much liberty. The fingertips of Yomi's other hand began to trace slowly up his spine.

"You were everything we'd always heard you were," the king said quietly, warmly.

Kurama began to gather his hair, twisting it and piling it atop his head to cool the nape of his neck.

"Was I?" he asked.

Yomi's voice had lost much of its carefully constructed control. He sounded much like his old self.

"I was a little afraid – when something is highly anticipated, it's rarely as good as one dreams. But…"

"Are you finished with me tonight?"

A pause. Stillness, as Yomi recognized the ice in Kurama's voice.

"I was going to allow you to stay here." the king answered, frost creeping into his own tones. "With me."

"I decline."

Silence.

The comfortable, friendly air began to seep from the room. Yomi sat up beside him with carefully controlled movements, and when he forced Kurama to face him, his own expression was that of the cool, controlling king.

Kurama leaned in close, and when he spoke, it was with his lips brushing those of his former friend.

"How does it feel," he asked quietly, "To know of all the power you've just given me?"

A calm smile – which meant the beginnings of anger. Yomi's hand reached to run through Kurama's hair with all the passion of a dead slug.

"You would never dare use it against me." he mumbled back.

Disgusted, Kurama rose and moved to the window. He could feel Yomi's simmering hatred like a fire at his back.

"Do you remember the orgies, Yomi?"

A quiet, un-amused laugh.

"You were 'kind' enough to let me watch a few. Yes, I remember."

"Mm. You know, we never did reach a ceiling."

"A…ceiling?"

"A limit to how much power I could take and store. The only real limit was the number of lovers I had the energy and inclination for." Kurama turned on him, regretting that Yomi was missing the sight of his pale, nude body in the moonlight. He had always used his beauty as a weapon, and felt the lack of that advantage sorely. "If I were to save up all the power I gained from every single sexual experience for a year, not using any of it for any reason…how strong do you think I could become?"

"You're too guilty to turn against me. I'll take my chances and keep you by my side – so that I can use your power."

"What can I say to convince you not to take me lightly?"

"I will never take you lightly, Kurama. But until you can face me without the slightest aroma of fear, you will never have the upper hand with me again. No matter what tricks you try." Yomi's voice was steel – a blade drawn in the dark of night to stab the back of a lover.

"I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anyone I've fucked."

Yomi's lips quirked.

"A whore and a liar, on top of being a traitor. Kurama, you never cease to amaze."

To Be Continued

Response to Unsigned Reviews:

guiltyamethyst - (grins)