blackwidow: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] blackwidow at 10:49pm on 26/06/2009 under , , , ,
Title: Zodiac
Rating: M
Warnings: Humiliation, bondage and domination. Brief knife-play.
Pairings: KuramaxHiei, KarasuxKurama.
Summary: Rule Number One: do not fuck bandmates or members of other bands.
Notes: Just recapping from what we know in previous chapters: Torvald and Nori are dead in present day, Yomi and Kuronue lived with their own various scars. BDSM is, well, complicated. I’m going by my own experiences and the rules I have learnt. This is also a really long chapter. 14 pages. Sorry it took a while to get out.
Previous Chapters: Prologue 1 2 3 4

--

ZODIAC



Chapter Five

First Act Overture


--

Something small to start with. Karasu didn’t know what experience Kurama had, and though he really wouldn’t mind watching the fear enter his deliciously coloured eyes, it wouldn’t do. He’d leave. The tour would break up. His freedom would be threatened. Karasu wasn’t willing to risk destroying his rising fame and power for a pretty thing.

Even if that pretty thing was Kurama.

Or, at least, he wouldn’t risk it yet.

He would only lay foundations. This was the overture to their interesting little game of cat and mouse. Surely Kurama knew a lot more than he let on. Youko was still inside somewhere, lurking beneath Kurama’s pale skin.

Karasu wanted to savour his want, his need and lust in full before he succumbed to his thirst.

But oh, how Karasu’s want, lust and need presented itself now -- as his cock straining against his too-tight leather pants; his eyes, dilated and glazed; or his lips, teeth and tongue nipping and licking and sucking at the bared neck as Kurama himself bucked beneath him. Bringing their aching cocks together through layers of leather and cloth in ways that made their breath hitch.

Kurama’s eager little mewls already desperate. He was beautifully responsive under his touch. Pretty like a doll with his moist red lips and hard nipples.

Beautiful, beautiful.

Holding him down forcefully, wrapping his fingers around his arms and holding them by his head, holding him down with the weight of his body, grinding against him for his own pleasure and not Kurama’s, was exhilarating.

-

Yomi snorted. “What good could a violinist be to us?”

Kuronue fixed him with a dry look and rolled his eyes as Nori nodded his head in agreement and slumped sideways from where he was propped against the wall precariously.

They were in Torvald’s basement for the moment, waiting for the fabled violinist - who could apparently also sing – to show his face. Down here they had placed off-cuts of old carpet and free rugs from all sorts of places. Some dirtier than others. Metal frames hung from the ceiling, making it look like an odd sort of torture chamber when combined with the rather desolate colour of the room and candlelight mixing with the chandelier hanging from considerably high ceiling.

The walls were mostly bare except for the posters and bookcases placed about. Nori’s computer, below the stairs, was placed so that they could record onto the computer and play around with their songs whenever they liked. It took up a lot of room that the amps and other equipment didn’t otherwise occupy.

For a band not yet properly formed, they seemed to be doing alright. They each had their own little specialties and experience in certain fields.

But this ‘Kurama’ had come from nowhere, and no one had heard of him. At least, not in their genre anyway.

Sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, Kuronue rested his chin on his palm as he watched the others. Nori, now leaning against the couch Yomi had slumped on, seemed to be tracking something with his eyes. Whatever is was no one else could see it.

Torvald, being the blond haired and blue eyed foreigner he was, was in a corner behind the amps cursing in his mother tongue and making strange noises. One of the amps had broken the other day, and he, being rather stubborn, seemed intent on fixing it without having to buy another one. Simply put, Torvald was stingy.

“It could be the element we need,” Kuronue said as he sighed. “It’s not like he’s the only one we’re auditioning.”

Yomi frowned and sat forward, avoiding Nori as he fell back onto the old couch with a little laugh of fascination. “What if he’s one of those sissy classical types?”

Kuronue returned the look. “Fans seem to go for the sissy classical types when it’s mixed with interesting looks and aggressive instrumentals.” He shrugged. “Stop bitching and just wait. Patience.”

“I’ll turn the light off,” Nori mumbled, as if he was agreeing with them. Which was stupid because there were no lights in the basement. He fumbled about and crawled over Yomi, who pushed him to the floor with an annoyed look. The bassist sunk to the floor quite happily and rolled onto his back, chasing things with his eyes again.

There was a (quite literal) shrill scream, fortunately one that they were all quite used to by now. Torvald poked his head out from behind the amps. “That’d be him,” considering Torvald had lived in Japan for a little under a year, his accent wasn’t really all that bad. He only slaughtered the occasional word or phrase. He often said things no one really knew the meaning to, however.

“It’s your house.” Kuronue smirked and shifted to the side of the steps, inviting Torvald to answer the door.

The Swiss bassist growled but complied, holding his jeans to his hips as he ascended the staircase and into the light of the house above stairs. Kicking as Kuronue as he went, who only chuckled.

When the door closed, and they were left in candle-lit darkness once again, Kuronue took to messing with the straps of his trousers. They hung about as he walked, looking like random scraps of material falling from his hips. He quite liked it, even if he did get stuck on the random nails sticking out of the steps down into the basement with annoying consistency.

There were voices coming from above. Kuronue took it as his cue to stand and push Nori off to the side so their visitor wouldn’t trip on him or something.

The door opened and a shaft of light burst through the darkness, making Yomi squint a little. He’d been down in the candle lit basement since early morning. No doubt Nori’s eyes were still fully dilated.

Down the stairs came Torvald first, dragging his hand down the metal banister for support. “Alright gentlemen, I present to you, Kurama.”

Jumping down the last step and nearly losing his low riding jeans he gestured to the man still descending the stairs in his own time.

Well, he wasn’t what they had expected.

Bleached long white hair and what seemed like streaks of crimson hung about a certainly interesting face, sharp was one word, devious another. He wasn’t wearing anything spectacular, just black denim jeans stuffed into some boots and a white singlet. He was carrying a case in his hand shaped like a coffin with a few stickers and signatures on it.

He stopped at the base of the stairs and raised an eyebrow.

The candles could be heard flickering and sparking slightly.

Yomi cleared his throat and cast an annoyed look around the room. “Alright, seem as no one else seems to be able to speak, I’m Yomi. The drummer.”

He stood as well, making no move to hold out a hand and made no move to bow either. Instead he surveyed Kurama with a suspicious look. Okay, so he dressed well in tune with them. Didn’t mean he had talent, he wasn’t about to go being all speechless over it.

“Nori. Rhythm guitarist,” Nori mumbled, pushing himself up to stand. He enveloped Kurama in a hug and received a rather blank stare in return. After a moment the violinist nodded however, then pushed Nori away gingerly.

“I’m jus’ a little, nh, you know, at the moment.” Nori shook his head and plopped back onto the couch. “Out of it, whatever.”

Kuronue winked at Kurama. The grin on his lips hadn’t left since Kurama appeared in full. He bowed his head slightly in greeting. “Kuronue. Lead guitarist and song writer.”

Kurama stared at him for a moment, seeming to calculate his grin before nodding wordlessly once again.

“Torvald, but you knew that. I’m they keyboardist, the best one if I do say so myself, if only Nori would stop throwing up all over my shit.” Torvald himself sent a glare in Nori’s direction.

The purple haired man only poked his tongue out past black lips and shrugged half heartedly. “If your shit wassn in the way the’d be no trouble, mmm? Plus isss my computer you’re usin’.”

“You know, I want to hear what good Kurama can bring the band. I mean, hell we’ve already got enough people. Nori can sing alright.” Yomi harsh gaze flicked in Kurama’s direction.

“Would you like me to play something for you?” Though it was a polite question, Kurama was clearly annoyed.

Kuronue frowned and looked between the sudden vehemence that had sparked between the two. This couldn’t be good. Yomi had a rather strong will and if it was grating against Kurama’s nerves already, it didn’t look good.

Truth was they could find any others. Or rather, no other certified singers were willing to join a group of relative nobodies. Kurama had confidence in himself. Like he’d already tasted fame and knew his way around the circuit.

“You know what? Fuck it. Just play blondie. We’ll see if you match the nightingales I got in my head. I have it all sorted out, you know. Y’see, I have a vision of where this band c’n go, but it depen’s on you. As the front man, you’ll lead us, but we have final say in the end. Right?”

It was probably the most Nori had spoken in a week, he usually only said as much when he had something worth talking about. The rest of the band seemed to accept it.

Kurama placed his case on a nearby old wooden table and opened it, ignoring Yomi’s scowl the whole way. Kuronue casually walked over to the vile tempered drummer and put an arm around his shoulders.

Quietly, he whispered, “Not a time to get territorial, lover.”

“Fuck off,” he snapped back. He didn’t make Kuronue move his hand however.

Kuronue was quite aware of Yomi’s constant need to have pissing matches when he was intimidated, and something beneath the surface of Kurama was certainly intimidating. Maybe it was his presence, or his way of putting himself across, whatever it was there was a kind of natural dominance in his nature.

From the coffin case with red lining inside Kurama pulled a black electric violin. He’d brought come cords with him as well, which he hooked into the nearest amp with Torvald’s assistance.

Then without a word he began to play the most evil sounding thing any of them had ever heard from a violin. The electric violin was different to its acoustic counterpart in a sense of the range of distortion and noise that could be made with the right adjustment on the amp itself, just like an electric guitar.

When he began to sing, they all smiled.

Yes, they’d struck gold with Kurama. They’d never go hungry again. This was it, this was their band.

This was the beginning of Swan Song.

-

Why Kurama was thinking of his beginnings, the first time he’d met the men of Swan Song, while Karasu was pulling him up from the couch and through to the conjoined bedroom, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was the similarities of them all, Karasu reminded him of a little of each of his old bandmates.

Karasu gestured to the bed vaguely and disappeared into the walk in closet, leaving Kurama to slip his thin nigh see through jacket off his shoulder. It fell to the floor by his feet, and then his leather vest followed soon after. He forewent folding them, his cock seemed to demand far too much attention.

He made himself comfortable, listening to his own off kilter breathing as he lay down on his back and raised his hips as he unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. Delving his hands past his underwear, his fingers sought out his own cock, stroking and gripping himself gently while he waited for Karasu to return.

Though the light in this room was dim, he still noticed when Karasu’s shadow fell over him. He hadn’t known how long the cellist had been there, watching, but he gave a slight smirk at the wide, glazed over eyes that watched him.

“Before we start,” Karasu said, finally tearing his eyes away from Kurama’s slightly arched back and parted lips, “we need to talk.”

He lifted a large metal box as if in explanation, then opened the lid to allow Kurama to see its contents.

Kurama allowed himself a groan.

Karasu set the metal box down on the bedside table. As his hair curtained his face from view but for the vague outline of his face, his voice pierced the thick air. “I presume you operate by the safe word practice? I’ve yet to meet someone who goes without when partnering with me for the first time. I’m aware there are people who like the extra danger of not having one, are you one of them? ...Perhaps the red-yellow light method suits you better?”

Reluctantly pulling his hands out from his underwear and rolling over onto his stomach, Kurama ran his eyes over Karasu as he rifled through the box. Looking for something in particular it seemed. The box was rather large, and looked quite a bit like a briefcase, only it had built in locks and such along with a sturdy metal frame.

A jewellery box of secrets, carnal pleasure and pain.

“Tofu. However, I request the light signals as well.” It was amazing how well he fell back into the familiar pattern. He was stupidly aroused, but this was something necessary. On his part, at least.

Karasu chuckled deeply and made a pleased sound when he located the item he was looking for.

“I am a harsh Master.” Karasu straitened and pulled out two items.

The first was a set of cuffs with soft lining inside – for beginners, it seemed – the second a long strap of dark, soft material. Kurama was instantly aware of the many, many possibilities of these two items.

“That I do not mind,” Kurama breathed, sitting up on his knees as Karasu allowed him to inspect the items.

Sturdier than they looked, certainly. There was a long length of chain connecting the two cuffs, which closed with a buckle. They looked like they ought to belong in a mental hospital for all their bulk. The long length of black material looked something like a long, flexible cotton scarf. Kurama was eager to know its roll.

He handed them back with a nod. Swallowing thickly. His emerald eyes were widely dilated already, his hand trembling slightly.

Karasu took them back with an odd sort of fondness, a fleeting smile pulling at his lips.

“Slave position, face the corner.” Pointing a long finger in the direction of a bare wall to his right, Karasu’s voice took on a slightly stern edge.

Kurama slid off the bed obediently. He could feel Karasu’s watchful eyes on him as he walked to the intended corner and lowered himself onto his knees, facing the wall. He spread his knees apart and let the balls of his feet touch, then lifted his arms and threaded them behind his head.

He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. It was cool in the room, but his heart was pounding in his chest and his blood rushing in his ears. His hair covered his eyes and back, tickling his skin gently and providing little comfort for Karasu nigh violating, hot gaze. He was oddly thankful for his trousers, which barely hung to his hips, unbuttoned as they were.

He could hear him moving closer to him, the slight swish of his jacket about his legs as he moved and the sound of button popping open, one by one. “Shall we begin?”

Kurama nodded. “Yes.”

Karasu’s silken voice became soft, almost mockingly so. “Green then.”

Warm fingers circled his wrists and wrenched his hands away from his head. He was pulled sideways until he hit the floor, face-down with a startled cry. His hands he felt, were being placed into the cuffs behind his back quickly as a knee placed itself between his shoulders, holding him to the ground. His cheek was pressed to the carpet, and he closed his eyes as he felt the cuffs tighten.

The pressure on his back eased as Karasu yanked him backwards into kneeling position once again, pulling on his arms and making his shoulders ache with the odd angle he was wrenching them in.

He was pulled back to lean against Karasu’s chest, and a hand reached around to cover his mouth while lips rested against hair. Long, dark hair slid over his shoulder, mixing with his own red tresses which now lay in disarray about him. Karasu’s other hand traced down his stomach, dancing in circles, his long nails oddly sharp against his skin.

“I’ve caught myself a delicious little prize,” Karasu breathed in a certainly convincing, odd tone of voice. He seemed eternally pleased with himself. “Dragged in off the street, a worthless little whore, subject to my affections, whatever they may be. Perhaps if you’re good enough, I’ll let you go without killing you.”

Playing along, Kurama let out a fearful little squeak and gave a token struggle. Oddly enough something in that voice sparked a real fear in him, but it only thrilled him all the more. Karasu was certainly good at this, his voice held no warmth.

Karasu shifted behind him and wrenched his head back to rest on his shoulder. Something closed over his neck. Wide and soft. It had to be the material he’d held in his hands moments before.

Behind his back, his hands were pulled up by the chain that connected them, and he could hear the material being wound around that too. When the hands disappeared his eyes flew wide as his hands tries to drop from their awkward position crossed over at his back and found the material at his neck only tightened. He coughed slightly and held his hands back up, leaning forward.

“Don’t like it, pet? Too bad. You don’t really have a choice, I’d like to see you struggle some. If not...”

There was a swish and a click. Wrenching Kurama back against him once again with a hand fisted cruelly in long crimson hair, forcing him to arch his back a little. Something sharp and cold pressed against his neck.

Emerald eyes flew wide open. He swallowed thickly.

Karasu’s lips twisted into a smirk, ah, he was a pretty as he thought he’d be. Now, the simulated fear mixed with the real, but he seemed willing enough. Masochistic little thing, this one.

His eyes flicked downwards. And what an eager little cock, too.

Yes, he was glad he chose this one. Kurama...

“So, you will do whatever I want,” he said smoothly, pressing the blade of the pocket knife against his pet a little harder. “Do you understand?”

Shaking like a leaf, Kurama didn’t nod; instead he forced his voice to work. “Yes...”

“Sir,” Karasu snapped, tightening his hand in Kurama’s hair.

“Sir!” Kurama shouted, wincing at the pain as his hair was pulled enough to have the strands begun to snap and pull from his scalp.

“Excellent.” The blade fell away, where to Kurama couldn’t say. He was too focused on trying to keep his breathing calm, to control his raging hard-on.

Karasu released him and pushed him forward again. Without being able to use his hands, he fell to the carpet and coughed as his hands jerked automatically to soften the blow. Instead he was met with soft carpet grating against his cheek and chest along with the sudden tightness at his throat. His hair fell around him in a blood-like pool, hiding his face and coating the white carpet. He tilted his head until his face couldn’t be seen. Half of it was shame, for feeling so weak, unable to defend himself. There was a sort of utter abandonment and misery that came with submitting.

He revelled in it.

Rising to his feet gracefully, Karasu looked down at the pathetic being at his feet and scowled. Having taken his boots off prior, it was with a bare foot that he nudged the red-head over onto his back rasher harshly.

He was flushed, his back arched over his hands, baring his chest and stomach, wiry muscled and scared in places, Karasu found to his delight. The outline of his terribly hard cock straining against the dark cotton of his underwear, peaking past his leather pants, was a sight that almost made his mouth water.

Panting, and licking his lips, Kurama looked up at his captor, blinking past the haze of arousal and odd shame at having him see just how violently he was reacting to the situation. He moaned slightly and shifted, bending a leg at the knee and lifting it up as he tilted his head to the side.

“Sir, please...” he breathed quietly, flicking his eyes down to Karasu’s foot, still resting on his hip from where he’d rolled him over onto his back.

The other man had undone his jacket, and it now hung free, bearing his slim, alabaster chest. He could see the bulge in Karasu’s leather pants easily. He licked his lips, blinking and forcing back a flinch when Karasu’s blank, emotionless eyes met his own.

He opened his mouth, thinking of asking to be let free, but Karasu beat him to it. The foot on his hip shifted, drifted across and down, until it caressed Kurama’s cock through the thin material that separated them.

“Hush, pet. I know what you want...”

Kurama clenched his teeth and closed his eyes. On the floor, at Karasu’s feet, bound so uncomfortably and completely left to Karasu’s whims, and to find that his whims matched his own desires so perfectly, was almost too much to swallow.

“You want more, do you not?”

“No,” he croaked, bitting his lip as Karasu’s foot pressed down a little harder, moving up and down. His hips wanted to press up into that pressure, to gain more of that pleasure that lay just beyond.

The foot paused and Karasu’s annoyed voice cut through the air sharply. “No? But you’re so hard your hips are trembling. You don’t want what I can give you, whore? You should be used to it after all. How many cocks have been up that loose ass of yours, how many have passed your lips?”

Kurama’s eyes flew open finally and he stared up at Karasu. “I’m sorry, Sir...I-”

But he was already reaching down, his expression the very definition for the meaning of true anger. His hand fisted in Kurama’s hair again, and yanked him upwards.

“Stand, you ungracious little whore,” Karasu spat, already making his way towards the bed before Kurama could get his feet under him.

Thrust face forward onto the bed again, Kurama’s head was held to the covers as a hand delved between his legs, winding under his underwear and cupping, gripping and squeezing his cock. It tore a gasp and then a slight scream from Kurama’s throat, in pain towards the end. The bedcovers muffled the most of it.

Hissing by his ear, pressing his body to Kurama’s back, fitting quite easily, as if they were meant to be, Karasu seethed. “Oh, what’s this, you do seem to be enjoying yourself. It seems as if you enjoy yourself a little too well however, would you prefer it if I cut it off? After all, I only need your ass and mouth to have my fun.”

“No! I’m sorry, Sir, I’m sorry...stop please stop! It hurts!” Kurama gasped shakily, squirming and writhing beneath him. Gagging and choking when he tried to use his arms. Karasu’s finger nails were digging into certainly delicate places below as his fingers gripped far too tight for what was comfortable, or even pleasurable.

“No. Your little cries only make me harder, can’t you feel it?”

As if to prove his point, Karasu shifted his hips, grinding himself into Kurama’s ass and grunting slightly as he did. He shuddered, and grinned widely as he turned his eyes back down to Kurama and tightened his hold just a little.

He watched him cry out again and writhe beneath him with sadistic glee and then lessened his hold, instead busying himself with removing Kurama’s clothes fluidly. He cast them down with the rest of his clothes on the floor and then returned to the flushed red-head.

“Up,” he commanded, slapping the pert ass that greeted him lightly in emphasis.

Moaning, Kurama rose onto his knees. His shoulders were aching terribly already, his flushed cock was dripping precome. He felt as if he were an elastic band pulled tight, enough so that it would snap at any moment. He could control his rapid breathing if he tried. His position made it a little hard, but it was nothing compared to what further discomfort he could be forced to endure.

“Better.” Karasu praised, sliding a knee onto the bed and taking place behind the bared and presented ass.

Kurama lifted his head, swallowed thickly, and tried to look back at Karasu as he grasped his hips in long thin fingers.

“Head down!” Karasu shouted, pushing his head down violently enough to have him slide along the covers a little, so that his hard nipples raked along the bed’s comforter as his back arched painfully. The chains linking his cuffs chimed lightly, along with his broken gasp of surprise.

A loud slap filled the room, quickly followed by a sharp scream from Kurama.

“Honestly, one would think you’re disobeying on purpose. Remember, if you’re good I’ll let you go. But if you’re not, well I’ll keep you for another night I think, or I could just kill you as soon as I’ve fucked you,” Karasu murmured as he leant forward and massaged Kurama red ass with his palm.

Shaking and drooling slightly, Kurama closed his eyes. Pain still lingered, his ass feeling heated and sore. Oddly bared, and hopelessly lost in arousal, Kurama acquiesced. “I’ll do as you ask, please, just...”

“Oh, so the little whore is agreeing to be my private little toy? And I can call on you whenever I wish and you’ll bend over and let me fuck you whenever and where ever I want?” Karasu teased, his voice strangely light.

His hands were travelling downwards, massaging Kurama’s thighs and calves. After a moment slender fingers travelled down the ravine of his ass and slid across his entrance, then further forward to Kurama’s balls, which he gripped lightly.

“I-I...yes...” Kurama moaned, squirming slightly shifting his knees a little further apart in compliance. His mouth fell open, and eyes fell closed, hands fisting behind his back...

“Please...Sir...”

“Hm? Tell me what you want. But don’t move.” Karasu hands left him, in fact all of him did. His warmth and his presence on the bed disappeared, leaving Kurama as a shaking achingly hard mess.

He could hear him moving about, past the sounds of his own panting and gasps for air as he turned his head, willing his hair to move out of his face.

He swallowed thickly. “I want to come.”

“No.” Karasu’s voice came from the other side of the room, along with the sound of clothing hitting the floor. “You want to be fucked. They are two very different things. And why should I let you come? You’ve done nothing but try to resist me this whole time. Perhaps I should have my fun and leave you be, hm?”

Kurama gave no reply but a slight whine from the back of his throat.

The bed dipped again, signalling Karasu’s return. This time, instead of feeling the touch of cool leather against his thighs, there was only the warm touch of silken skin and the tickle of long onyx hair on his lower back.

“I’ve had enough of playing with you.”

There was a moment where Kurama was worried that he’d be kicked out in this state and left to his own devices, but the mockingly kind touches of Karasu persisted. Feeling his ass and tracing his spine, the inside of his thighs, his balls. Feather light touches tempered with the light or not so light scrape of the other mans long nails.

Then there was the sound of a tube popping and Kurama bit his lip to restrain his small moan at the sound. Yes that was what he wanted. He was already anxious and heavily anticipating the first touches.

The tube dropped to the bedding and Kurama gasped lightly at the coold touch of slicked fingers against his hole as warm hands parted his cheeks further. Karasu teased him, running circles around his hole watching Kurama squirm before worming a finger in. If there was discomfort, Kurama didn’t have the mind to feel any.

Karasu didn’t play around much. He sought the spot inside him that made him buck and cry out hoarsely, press back on the single finger. Kurama had spent time with Hiei that morning, and he was well versed in the manner of taking, so the second finger didn’t bother him with much pain either.

Though he couldn’t stop his cries and uncontrollable contortions as Karasu’s fingers flicked back and forth inside him, rubbing, scrapping pressing without relent or pause. Kurama gasped for air between his gasps and moans, twisting his hands behind his back and sifting back on his knees. His hair trailed after him as he moved, sliding along the bedding after him and getting annoyingly in his way when he tried to lift his head.

He kept his eyes closed, and even if he could have turned around to see Karasu’s expression, he knew somehow that Karasu was eternally pleased with Kurama’s active responsive manner. He could feel Karasu excitement as he screamed and writhed and begged for more, and so he was granted a third finger, and as the fingers thrusted in and out of his greedy ass, and he moved himself back to meet each of the increasing violent touches.

“M-more...uhn, harder...”

His request was granted, surely not because of his wish, but rather Karasu's desire to.

Karasu snarled and removed his fingers, ignoring Kurama’s cry of loss, and flipped him over with a harsh grip on Kurama’s hips. Without waiting, but watching Kurama with perverse eyes as his back was forced to arch over his arms bound behind his back, he lifted Kurama’s legs up over his thighs and lifted Kurama’s hips up.

They took a moment to stare at each other. Karasu with his hair framing his slightly flushed features and wild, wide eyes, breathing harshly, needily; and Kurama lifting his head slightly with his hips quivering and his cock laying against his abdomen and twitching eagerly at the utterly possessive look Karasu had in his eyes.

Oh, to be taken and fucked with wild abandon. Yes, this Kurama missed.

Karasu said nothing as he lined his cock up with Kurama’s ass, but he did throw his head back and bare his teeth with a hiss as he slipped inside Kurama without much consideration. There was pain, Karasu certainly hadn’t been liberal with the lube, but that only added to Kurama’s own pleasure as the pain spiked the harsh thrusts Karasu took up soon after.

He fucked him quick and hard, his hands on Kurama’s waist, digging into pale skin as he thrust his hips forward and made Kurama scream even louder with each of his frenzied thrusts.

Pleasure built quickly and without a care for either of the men’s want to make it last and make it something even more powerful and mind blowing. Carnal lust took hold of them and refused to let go, Karasu’s cock thinking for the both of them.

Kurama’s cries turned into broken screams as tears pricked at his eyes, his eyes rolling back into his head and body arching for him. So close, oh, so close.

But he was kept from his release. Karasu reached up and slapped Kurama, hard enough to leave a red mark on Kurama’s cheekbone and jaw. Enough to have his head turn to the side and have pain uncoil in his neck.

“Don’t come until I say you can,” Karasu growled, keeping up his frantic pounding into Kurama’s ass.

Kurama gave a strangled cry of agony, not from the blow but rather from the restrictions placed on him. He was so very close and to be told to hold himself back now was more than he feared he could handle.

Karasu enjoyed himself in the meanwhile, oblivious to Kurama’s gasping attempts to rein in his orgasm. He watched him write with a look not unlike pain beneath him and shuddered, feeling himself begging to feel the effects of Kurama’s still tight passage as it clenched around him in effort.

Then he threw his head back, and as his sable hair followed his action and be felt the tides of his orgasm rush over him with the force of a full blown tsunami he barked for Kurama to come also. Still fucking his pert little ass as he spilled himself into his newest obsession.

Kurama came, his breath hitching and eyes rolling back even further as his body seized. He came all over himself, hot streams slicked his chest and stomach as he shuddered and writhed to make the orgasm last, breathing haggardly and still moaning with each of Karasu’s thrusts that tapered slowly until he pulled out of Kurama and fell elegantly, on top of him.

The caught their breath slowly, mostly ignoring each other while they revelled in their own languid and blissful states. They didn’t care about the sweat that quickly turned into a chill or about the mess of their own come on the sheet or between them.

In the tangle of hair and limbs, sated and tired now, Kurama stared at the ceiling and allowed his mind to wander.

When he was with Swan Song, this had been an almost nightly even with Yomi or Kuronue. The games the two of them thought up to get revenge on Kurama, or rather Youko as he went by when he was with them, for his own devious little plans of fucking them so hard and hot they couldn’t remember their own names let alone his.

It had been good up until the accident.

He stopped his thoughts there. He didn’t want to think about that, it would spoil his good mood. He thought himself entitled to at least be able to think about the good times in the past without his mind wandering back to that of its own volition.

Karasu stirred and raised his head, then lifted himself up onto his arms and slid off Kurama, placing him beside Kurama. “Excellent,” he murmured. “I was right in guessing that you were...something that had eluded me until now...”

Kurama hummed reply, then rolled himself onto his side and wriggled his fingers pointedly.

With a silent nod, and with reluctance also, Karasu obliged in removing Kurama’s binds almost reverently. He placed them back into the steel box directly after, with great care, then shut the lid and locked it. That done he lay back down and turned his eyes to Kurama, who was rubbing his slightly bruised wrists and clearing his throat a little.

The constant pressure of the black material around his neck had been interesting, but he feared it would have effect on his voice and if it had left a mark like on his wrists, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hide it well enough. His bandmates didn’t need to know the details of what went on between he and Karasu.

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, which still stung slightly. Burned under the seemingly cool touch of his fingertips.

Karasu sighed heavily and rolled onto his stomach, removed Kurama hand from his face and placed his lips over Kurama’s.

It was a long, possessive kiss for all its languid ease. Karasu’s long hair covered him, mixing with his own crimson mane in a way that left it looking like a maze of colour and darkness.

Kurama returned the kiss whole heartedly, shuddering as Karasu bit at his lips lightly.

Then, the thought occurred to Kurama that he would have to return to his own band.

And strangely, his heart sank.
-

Music:: Clan of Xymox - Cold Damp Day
Mood:: 'accomplished' accomplished

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