Author: Blossomwitch PM
Yomi thinks he's in possession of Kurama. Kurama disagrees. And we all know who's going to win. Shortfic, complete.Rated: Fiction M - English - Kurama M. & Yomi - Words: 1,227 - Reviews: 25 - Favs: 35 - Follows: 3 - Published: 10-25-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3855469
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This was how Yomi wanted it. His kingdom, his palace, his bed. His councilor, his follower, underneath him. Only by possessing this death, the one who could have brought death and chose not to, could it be controlled. Only by controlling the memory could it be defeated. This was exactly, precisely, how Yomi wanted it--and it showed, in the gleeful way he ran his hands over the naked skin underneath him, nails threatening to scratch the surface. "Looking for the right place to stick a knife?" his partner asked casually.
"Hardly." Yomi's voice came out as barely more than a purr; ohhh, yes, he was enjoying himself.
His movements were possessive over the body beneath him--so foreign, so strange, and he had lain with Kurama before, could this really be him? So much weaker. How much of that weakness was skin deep, and how much of Youko remained inside this fragile half-human? His sin was so soft everywhere, not just where it wasn't normally exposed to the air. His neck was long and delicate, and Yomi felt his irritation surge when Yomi placed his hand there, noting with pleasure that he could nearly wrap one hand entirely around it. "You know I hate breath play."
"Just exploring the differences." Yomi let go--not yet willing to push that far, perhaps another night--and let his hand drift up to stroke Kurama's hair, something Youko had enjoyed. Kurama's irritation did not lessen; Yomi could taste it, feel it in the air between them. He smiled.
His hands explored Kurama's body without restraint, knowing that for the moment he possessed it. Youko had never let Yomi to top him, never let anyone that Yomi knew of--so now, in his kingdom, his bed, Yomi didn't allow Kurama off his back for an instant, keeping that teenaged body trapped between his legs. Greedily his palms flowed over every inch of skin, mapping from shoulders and collarbone to chest, abdomen, lingering deliberately along his sex, stroking the slender legs; and it was with satisfaction that he felt the shudders that came in response, part arousal and part revulsion. "Humans are so delicate." His tone was mild as he probed roughly along Kurama's ribcage, letting him know how easily he could stab between each rib and pierce his lungs. Kurama would bruise from this interaction. "You make me think of a pressed flower."
"I would hope I've a little more life to me than that." Wry, also mild, as he moved subtly to avoid the equally subtle injuries Yomi was inflicting.
"But a pressed flower is only a an afterimage of its former self--the life squeezed out of it until it's small and fragile. And breakable." And Yomi grazed his nails across Kurama's neck again, wondering what would happen if he drew blood.
"Speaking of pressing--you've put a lot of weight on since the last time we did this. Do you mind?" Kurama flexed his hips, not to arouse him but as an attempt to gain space.
"On the contrary, I'm fitter than ever," Yomi replied, grinding down and hearing him gasp. "Your human body must be so weak that you think I'm the one who's changed."
Kurama's voice had more expression to it now, less calculation. It was capable of being rich with amusement. "What makes you think this is my human body?"
Yomi stilled for a moment. "What do you think I am--blind?" he finally replied wryly, pressing down even harder. "This is not your demon body."
"Have you forgotten, Yomi? Fox spirits excel at illusion. It's our natural ability, just as some apparitions are predisposed to a certain attack or element." Yomi gripped him, hard, and felt his nails finally prick through Kurama's flesh. "Now, I'll admit that I didn't stay with my parents long enough to truly master the art--but plants are useful in so many ways. They happen to compliment the natural skill nicely."
"Enough." Yomi placed a hand over Kurama's mouth, felt it smiling. "Give me the real you."
Kurama nipped lightly, as though playing, at his fingers, and Yomi removed them. "But how will you know who the real me is?" Kurama wondered, softly. His voice was smoke, insinuating itself everywhere. "What do you have to compare it to?" Yomi ground his hips fiercely against Kurama's, willing him to stop talking, but his breath didn't even hitch. "I could come to your bed a different way every night, and how would you know which is the way the rest of the world sees?"
Oh, he was malicious--Yomi could just picture in his mind the expression Kurama wore when he'd tricked someone into one of his tangled traps, but he didn't know what face was making that expression now. He ran his hand over Kurama's face, intrusive, trying to map the features, and felt Kurama's abdomen shaking with laughter. Damn him--Yomi pawed at him roughly, scrabbling with his hands, trying with increasing desperation to seize hold of him in a way that had nothing to do with trapping this small, sweating body beneath him against the mattress. "You don't know, Yomi, whether my body is really this slight or if I did it to disarm you. You can't tell by running your hands through my hair what color it is. I think this will be a most diverting exercise."
Yomi picked that slight body up, actually lifted him clear off the bed, and threw him out of it. He heard the sound of a body hitting the floor hard. "Enough." He was shaking. "I'm sick of your deceit. Get out. I don't want you in my chambers again."
He heard Kurama picking himself up, heard grace in his motions even after such a rough impact. "If you don't wish me here, then I won't bother you with my presence." Huffy, for all the world like a spurned lover. Yomi heard him leave without even bothering to gather his clothes, a haughty and insulted exit, and knew that no one would see him make his way back to his room, naked and bruised. Because Kurama had planned the events of tonight down to the last detail.
That was what made him uncontrollable. By making the preemptive strike--by willingly inviting himself into Yomi's bed before Yomi had a chance to coerce him there, and then by placing the seed of doubt, denying Yomi the possession of his humanity, twisting Yomi's game into something he could never again enjoy. By all that, Kurama had won the right to peaceful nights of undisturbed slumber here in Gandara, instead of being summoned to Yomi's bed each night, required to lie under him. And every action Yomi had taken had been exactly what Kurama had wanted him to do.
The fox had, yet again, slipped away.