blackwidow: (Default)
posted by [personal profile] blackwidow at 02:35am on 18/10/2008 under , , , ,
Title: The World is Spinning
Warning: Hermaphrodite sex. XD Slightly angsty if you squint. Italics abuse.
Rating: NC-17 (or 18+)
Pairings: KuramaxMotherNature. KuramaxHiei. Various others.
Summary: I don’t know if you’re worth my mentoring anymore, Kurama. Not in this body.
This is set before Kurama meets Yusuke and Kuwabara, but after he meets Hiei. Basically a little before the manga/anime starts.
This is a little bit of an exercise for myself in tense and writing style. If it feels odd that may be why.
The full title will be ‘The world is spinning, and I can’t stop it.’ There may end up being a companion fic.

The World is Spinning

“Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”

Maria Robinson

Kurama waits a moment before he opens his eyes, and when he does his room is dark, lit only by the full moon’s rays. He holds his breath for a moment, and listens, looking at the stark white of his ceiling--now a dark blue--and waiting. He waits for an attack or a taunt, but there is none. Only the wind howling past the window nearby and the normal creeks of the house under the strain of the gale.

Something stands at the foot of his bed.

But there was no yoki to tell him so. If it was a demon could they truly hide their power to that extent? There is only a presence, strong enough to be that of an angry spirit’s.

Still, the overwhelming sensation of something is there.

It’s not his demonic senses that tell him so, rather it’s his human.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart. All he can hear now is the blood flowing through his ears. His mind tries to fool his body into moving, because it’s something unknown, and it’s his training that keeps him from diving out of his bed and reaching for a weapon capable of warding off such a thing.

His hands press down on the mattress either side of him and slowly he pushes himself up, pulling his feet closer to him, until his back hits the wall and the pillows are a nuisance. Digging into his back and pushing him forward again. The air of the room is warmer than he would have expected it to be and yet there is ice creeping across his window slowly.

What stands at the foot of his bed is a collection of shadows, and yet there’s a glint of teeth that grin at him and long digits that could be fingers wave at him. There is a certain liquidness to the form. A current flowing back and forth as coils of dark matter seem to stretch out randomly, caressing the wall and the foot of the bed itself.

Kurama blinks, and then steels himself. He shuts off emotion, and listens.

Still, something tugs at him, saying, I am self.

He glares.

To his surprise it seems to frown and draw back, as if shocked. The merely suggested eyes, turn down for a moment, and then open wide, fury clearly visible in them. They burn right through him. You would attack me?

The strength of the voice shocks him so much, affects him so strongly, that his head flies back and cracks against the wall, sending stars into his vision to go along with the sudden lust obscenely creeping forth in him. He becomes confused, looses track of what is up and what is down, forgets to move, to get away. He can only slump against the wall and groan in pain laced desire. His red hair falls in his face, yet he can still see it from the corner of his eye. Vague impressions of hands curl into fists and the house itself creeks as if a ship, straining against its own boundaries.

Its scream pierces right through his skull and claws at his eyes. Again the same confusion of how to react--pain or pleasure--occurs. He covers his ears, and presses against the wall behind him, because the pain won’t let him think clearly enough to find wards or something that is capable of fighting this kind of enemy.

Insolent child! You only take and give nothing in return! Hands over his ears do nothing; the voice is inside his head while outside at the same time. His groans and writhes in the pain that overtakes all else. His bed sheets rip with his own struggles and--

Where is Hiei?

The pain stops. The pleasure stops. He looks up to the creature, and sees it standing there, watching him still, only its eyes are wide open and its hands hover near what could be a face. It looks almost…stricken.

Very quietly, this time, it asks, You are afraid of me?

He’s panting and watching it cautiously, eyes flickering to the tendrils of pure dark that seem to be crawling forward and then curling on themselves to sneak back towards the greater mass, and then back up to the creatures face. He can hear the clock ticking in the room next to his. Inside he feels that forced lust that seems to be parallel to the volume of the creature’s voice.

“What did you do to Shiori?” he demands, almost growling as the anger rises.

Confusion and more shock. She sleeps. Some are good to me. She is one of the nice ones. I hold no anger towards her.

He can only make out half of what it says and the rest he has to fill in himself. It seems to be trying so hard to be quiet now, to not cause the strength of a reaction that surely would have driven him insane if it had kept up long enough. Kurama is strong.

“What do you want?” He needs to know. His mind fails him, he cannot think of ever seeing something like this creature before, not in books or in his time as Youko Kurama.

It meets his question with one of its own, drawing closer and tilting its head, reaching out with what could be a hand. Do you not remember me?

“Remember?” He is stunned. Should he remember this creature? He was sure he would have had it been around him before. It has such power while seeming to have none at all.

He shakes his head and fights to not move away from the fingers that brush along his cheek, the hand extended to an impossible length. That simple touch sends his eyes rolling back in his head and his body leaning into the touch, hungry for the power and strength that leaks into him through the raw form of matter. Remembering himself he stops and pulls away from the touch, he returns to glaring at the creature.

Our first meeting, when I made the deal with you... It began to crawl forward slowly, its form becoming more and more solid, more defined. Its weight had the mattress the bed groan, it looked like it was completely free of weight, and yet it seemed to hold much more than an average demon. His tone turned thoughtful, though somehow disappointed. It went something like this. I need to renew the pact, however...

As it formed into a human-like creature, colour seemed into it that matched his own, and little by little, memories of the creature came flooding back. Namely from that empty plane between all words, this creatures true realm, where he had made the deal to be reborn into this body that he had grown to love far more than he thought he would. It had only ever been until he was strong enough to return, and then Shiori had changed it all. She’d turned his life upside down.

“Mother Nature…” he whispers, his eyes loosing their harshness as he finally understands. Not an enemy, only something other and yet self. There was no other way to describe the uncommon connection he felt to the being.

You reme-

“-mber now? Good.” Mother’s voice is odd, as it always had been. Yet sweet. His body forms, wearing no clothing as apposed to the other times Kurama had seen him and he had been wearing many, many layers of clothing. The markings on his face shift beneath his skin before finally settling, and his eyes shine too bright for a moment, then dim. They settle as Mother settles.

Kurama nods, his lips parting as he sighs in something a kin to relief.

Mother lays on his stomach, his feet up in the air, entwined at the ankles. He holds his chin up with his palms and looks up at Kurama past his long crimson eyelashes. His hair flows everywhere, covering his back and flowing off the edge of the bed. It’s dead straight and unnaturally neat for all its length.

“Do you feel more connected to me in that body than you did in the youko bodies, the humanoid and the canine?” He asks, tilting his head and blinking slowly. He sounds as curious as he looks.

Kurama shakes his head. “No. Just… in a different way now.”

Mother grunts and slides his eyes away, as if to dismiss him, or perhaps his words. “The human connection then. You didn’t retain the demonic connection. Perhaps you’ll still have the full connection in your other body if you ever manage to change back permanently.”

Kurama wasn’t searching for a way to change back into his demonic self. He never intended too, not anymore at least. He didn’t need it. Shiori needed him. She was ill. She had been for a long time.

He looks away from Mother. His sudden appearance threw things into perspective. They, Hiei, Gouki and Kurama, were planning to retrieve the Artifacts of Darkness as it was. He would be sacrificing all Mother’s efforts to keep him alive, as well as his own life for his human mother. Was that why Mother was here? To try to discourage him?

Has Mother been coerced by Koenma?

“There must be other ways, Kurama. Surely she cannot have changed you so much.”

Kurama glares at him, and Mother meets his furious gaze with one of his own. He shifts slightly and his form seems to lose its solidity for a moment. It turns into something primal, dangerous.

“Can I not tempt you back to the demonic side once again?” He licks his upper lip slowly, his hands dropping to rest either side of Kurama’s hips and his upper half drawing itself up to be higher and his knees come forward, so that he is kneeling before him.

Kurama shakes his head and leans back against the wall, frowning as Mother drops to nuzzle the inside of his thigh and then rests his head on his hip, slowly creeping up, his fingers clawing at the sheets of the bed now. Kurama can see the curve of his spine, and the vertebrae beneath, it looks like his own back, or at least what he has seen of it, only the hips are wider, and the waist a little smaller, somewhere between masculine and feminine. Kurama reaches forward and runs his fingers through Mother’s hair. It feels like a steady stream of water passing by his fingers. He becomes distracted for a moment in the quality of it, and in the fact that it quite possibly actually is water.

“No,” he says, answering his question. “You can’t.” I care for her too much.

Mother’s deep growl fills the empty room, sounding a threatened tiger. It makes Kurama pause and stiffen, wary of Mother’s anger. There is no way he can fight Mother off if he decides to attack. It is something simply not possible.

He honestly didn’t expect Mother to take this lying down. It was an insult to Mothers own generosity. He fully expected Mother to try and force him to change his mind in the matter. Though he will not. His mind cannot be changed.

“You were so close, Kurama. So close.”

Kurama blinks down at him, almost startled by the sound of his voice, though he had not forgotten he was there.

Mother, if nothing else, looked heartbroken. He licked at Kurama’s belly, raising goosebumps along his skin, and clutched at Kurama’s hips, his long nails pressing his skin in a silent threat Kurama knew all too well.

“I could have had such a wonderful son in the human world who could have taken my side. You creatures only care about yourselves. I am one of a kind; there is no other to aid me, only creatures I dare not talk to. They are other.”

Heat rushes through Kurama when Mother shifts and dips his tongue--which is far too long to be considered normal--into his navel. He fights the blush that appears on his face tooth and nail, but he can feel the warmth in his cheeks and as it spreads further, as well as the steady rushing of blood downwards. Arousal creeps back, it hadn’t ever really left, and settles in his chest, in lower places. He swallows and watches the Mother of mankind lick a slow path up his chest with his--or her?--hot tongue.

Mother slides up and forward, settling himself in his lap, placing a knee either side of his hips, and resting his hands on the small of Kurama’s back, easily done now that he’s not trying to pass through the wall in self-preservation and instead leaning forward in curiosity. Kurama’s own hands are still caught in Mother’s hair, pushing it away from his face and drawing fingertips over the odd markings that surely meant something in whatever celestial species Mother was.

Mother is staring at him curiously, his face not far from Kurama’s own. He has a moment to think about how he should be at least slightly embarrassed about having a handful of a naked androgynous Mother Nature in his hands, but it passes. He’s had far too many naked and dubiously gendered demons in his lap over his centuries to get flustered about it. No matter how high up in the food chain they were.

He tries to think of a way to diplomatically ask if Mother is angry with him without sounding like a child--like he wants to apologise for it, which he certainly will not, not even under pain of death.

“I am disappointed,” Mother begins, perhaps reading his thoughts. “Thieves cannot be trusted. Especially not ruthless ones like you, Kurama. Whatever human regret or loyalty you have now isn’t true. It’s only emotional duty. A lie you tell yourself. Youko Kurama would have taken a mile from the inch I gave him, and you have. I believe I would have been angry if you had not done so, despite this façade of yours.”

Something inside Kurama feels terribly smug at the observation, and preens. The other half recoils, insulted by the fact that Mother feels that his loyalty to his human mother has nothing to do with the fact that she’d opened his eyes by showing just how much she loved him by risking her own safety to prevent harm from coming to him.

…Just like Kuronue had.

Both acts had knocked him for six, and rocked the foundations of what he found to be comfortable territory in his own mind. They forced him to awaken to the grander picture. Kuronue’s death threw into to motion the events that sent him spiraling from grace until he’d been dealt the final blow--and what a battle that had been--and starting his human life. His bandits, his pack, hadn’t been able to stop him. They had been too afraid of him to stand up against him. Not after Yomi.

Kurama smiles and closes his eyes. There is no heat coming from Mother, though he is obviously warm beneath his fingers as he feels along his neck, down to the lace necklace then to his chest, where his palms rest, barely touching the peak of Mother’s nipples. His breasts are not as small as he had expected, they are larger than what he’d thought they would be, but Mother transcends human capabilities in form. Mother can make himself look however he wants.

“I wonder if it’s worth renewing this ‘connection’,” Mother wonders aloud, leaning forward to kiss Kurama's jaw idly.

Kurama means to reply, but Mother kisses him instead, keeping him quiet with a slow, drugging kiss that he can’t find a reason to not respond to. Despite the name nagging at him from the back of his mind. Hiei.

The strangeness of Mother’s teeth returns full force. They are not sharp, but they are odd. His tongue, long as it is, operates differently. He forgets to breathe for a moment, so intent he is in working around the strangeness of it.

When Mother pulls away, Kurama licks his lips and tries not to focus too much on his arousal, or how there Mother suddenly seems, and how it’s obvious Mother is aroused as well. “I have been around for billions of years, Kurama. Far more than you could ever hope to reach. I hear and see everything, by now I have confidence in my own abilities in making educated guesses in the outcomes of certain events.”

“You sound as if you’re talking more to your self than to me,” Kurama observes, narrowing his eyes a little. The sly look he receives brings him no comfort.

“Talk to me more, Kurama, I’m always listening.” Abandoning the direction he’s pushed their conversation in, Mother leans up a little, so that Kurama is staring at his bare chest. Kurama’s hands slide down from Mother’s chest, over his breasts until they settle at his waist. Kurama tilts his head a little and licks at a nipple, teasing it to tightness. He also pulls his hips forward, so that Mother’s cock grazes against his chest, and he hears him sigh shakily.

Hands come to rest on his shoulders, fingernails scraping gently as they claw at him.

“Whisper to the trees when I talk to you through them. Whisper back when they individually talk to you of their free will.” His voice shakes and Kurama coaxes his hips forward harder until Mother is panting and pulling at Kurama’s hair, tilting his and Kurama’s head back.

He doesn’t expect the sudden violence that shudders through Mother. He finds himself on his back, feet kicking the pillows aside as Mother holds him down with a single hand splayed out on his chest, and settles over him once more as he claws at his thin cotton pants he only sleeps in, pulling them down only enough to gain access to Kurama’s cock.

He straddles Kurama, his thumb gliding over the head of his cock in a way that has Kurama want to close his eyes and thrust up, but he doesn’t have to worry for long. Wet heat engulfs him and he gasps, eyes flying open when he hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

Mother’s moan is sure to be heard from outside.

“You’re certain you are going to die, perhaps I should come back once you have gotten your shit together.”

His bluntness startles Kurama for a moment, and then he laughs as Mother leans down and kisses his forehead with a strange sort of fondness that shouldn’t be as oddly comforting as he finds it, there’s nothing he needs to be comforted in, after all. The he begins to move slowly and whines appreciatively when Kurama wraps his hand around his cock.

Kurama is for the moment glad that his other mother cannot hear them, because fucking Mother is like fucking a banshee. It’s the only time he has ever fucked Mother, and so he enjoys it. He does not entertain the thought of whether it will be his last encounter with Mother, or if it will be his last encounter full stop.

Later, Mother disappears with his usual smug parting words, “Now I leave.”

Kurama is left dazed and naked except for his cotton sleeping wear, bunched up around his knees, his own hair scattered and disheveled as the bed sheets. He sighs and closes his eyes, licking his lips absentmindedly. He realizes he must look like he’s been ravished, and he has, but he wants to revel in the strangeness of it.

Kurama, ravished.

The ice has melted from the window by the time he pulls his pants up to his hips and rolls over on his stomach, falling into the hands of fitful sleep.

Then he’s awake suddenly, opening heavy eyelids to stare at the yellow-white of the morning sun scraping along his wall. Disorientation sets in, and he rolls onto his back, staring at the wall on the other side of his room, at the window and the sky beyond, the small man suddenly blocking out that light as he crawls in through his window and stares at him almost blankly.

Kurama smiles at him and says, “Today is the day, are you ready?”

The End
For Now
Music:: Satan Complex - Velvet Acid Christ
Mood:: 'aggravated' aggravated


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