Bui, sans his usual armor, walked into his own former dungeon and closed the door firmly. They stared at each other, the mood painfully tense and palpably awkward. Kurama's eyes were red and itching from tears.
Bui cleared his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. "I've been given orders, Kurama."
"I know," Kurama said, suddenly unable to look the man in the eye.
Bui walked forward, footsteps heavy, and sighed when he sat beside Kurama on the bed. "Talk with me, before I demean myself. How do you think you're going to break the wall?"
Kurama turned to stare at him, shocked. He paused. "I intend to compromise its load-bearing capacity," he answered slowly. "Holes in strategic points and then a punch."
"How's it going?"
"Slow," Kurama hissed. "Too slow. It'll take days to bore the right holes. Physically, I'm not quite strong and precise enough. If only I could become Youko Kurama—"
"Have you asked Toguro for whatever let you turn?"
Kurama turned, and stared at him. "I assumed—" he started, and then paused, considering.
"Jobs need to be done, by hook or by crook, Kurama. But he always tells them he'll provide what they need to get stronger. If you ask, he may even allow you a drill."
Kurama turned to him, seeing him finally. Bui was a potential ally. He'd thought it before, but this was a freely-offered confirmation. "Thank you," he said. He meant it.
Bui sighed, rubbed his hair, and slapped his knees in an anxious motion, rumbling, "You're welcome. I bear you no ill will, Kurama," he added, hunching forward, towards the floor. "You fight bravely and well. But sex is a reality in this madhouse."
"Rape," Kurama supplied.
Bui nodded along. "You were right to choose me. I have no stomach for it. This demeans us both, Kurama. But Toguro is overwhelming," he said flatly, "and I can only hope for your sake you don't catch his eye too often or for too long. We will not do this again," Bui finished, his voice sincere.
"No," Kurama admitted. "It is likely we will not."
Determined to rid himself of passivity, of the feeling of helplessness, of being acted upon, Kurama went to the edge of his bonds and bit and sucked the lobe of Bui's ear, in easy reach from how low his hopeless head hung.
Bui ran his calloused hands over Kurama's body, not petting but caressing, curious. Kurama allowed himself to become lost in it.
It felt like sex: just sex. To Bui and to Kurama things became less complicated. Bui was more than attentive, he was kind: he soaked the boy in his mouth and fingers, and when Kurama froze, he froze too, allowing the boy to repress himself once more.
They clung, wet and shivering as drowning kittens.
Bui sucked Kurama's hardness, and swallowed his release. He carefully worked him loose, with lips and tongue and hands. He taught the body the skills the Youko mind and soul knew. Kurama had theoretical knowledge, but no muscle memory. Bui had brought lubricant, on hearing his orders: thoughtful.
When he finally pressed into the boy, neither could bear to look at the other. Both of them thought of a different person.
Both of them tried to ignore the rattle of chains.
Kurama came soon after Bui. Bui even was kind enough to keep his weight off the slim-waisted redhead who stared at the ceiling so blankly.
He removed his own shirt to clean Kurama, and himself as an afterthought.
Kurama wasn't sure if it hadn't been as bad as he'd thought, or if it were a thousand times worse. Nevertheless, Bui apologized one last time, promised he'd tell Toguro to come in so he could request what he needed, and left, with the air of a man running away from his own guilty demons.
When Toguro came, he had the decency not to ask any questions. He heard Kurama out, nodded, and promised the seeds and drill would be delivered as soon as possible. He left with the words, "Get some sleep."
Though loathe to obey an order, Kurama did just that.