Scattered Pages and Blood-Ink

Kuronue was restless.

There were many reasons for this, chief amongst them being the raging storm he could hear, even as far underground as he was. He raised his head and blinked blearily at the wall then down at his companion, blowing his dark hair from his eyes.

Youko Kurama’s limbs were entwined with his own, his eyes closed and his lips parted just slightly. His hair fell around him in a white mockery of celestial light, of otherwordness, his chest rising and falling easily as he dreamed the dreams of a content, rich man. Dead to the world, Kuronue would assume, at least for a few more hours. Last night, after their raid, their merry band of miscreants had celebrated their biggest jackpot of treasures with Makai wine and decadent close-quarter dancing.

Kuronue and Youko were still covered in the rings, necklaces and bracelets of gold and silver that had been among their loot. His biceps encased in thin bands of twisting gold, his neck heavy with the spoils of mistresses bedchamber. His pendant looked rather plain in comparison, but it only made him smile all the more fondly.

Submitting to the instinctive urge to be above ground, Kuronue placed a quick, light kiss to Kurama’s lips and rolled from their bed. It took him a moment to locate his leather pants, he hadn’t the faintest clue where his vest was, or his boots and white silken wrap. The pounding ache behind his eyes and the odd lead weight in his stomach urged him to not bother searching for it just yet.

He picked his way through the tunnels of the communal den, sliding doors carefully and quietly, stepping over slumbering demons and pointedly ignoring those still awake enough to fuck in corners where no one would be disturbed by their disregard for privacy. He stopped to watch for a bit, picking up one of the jugs and sniffing it to see if it was alcohol or water. It was water.

He poored himself a cup, then after a beat brought out two more and poured them too, then set the jug down and held his cup with one hand as he leant against a large wooden chest and watched Yomi snarl into one of the newer bandits ear as he fucked him. The younger demons little whimpers and gasps of need and pleasure, Yomi's groans and clipped words were amusing to Kuronue's sleep deprived mind.

He let them be long before either came.

A long time ago, Kurama had hollowed out the inside of a dead tree with some help from some white ants and cannibalistic plants. He’d bored the inside of a trunk out and made a small spiralling staircase of sorts.

Kuronue climbed the rotting wood carefully, and when the light of day shone through the opening above him he frowned a little. It didn’t hurt his eyes just yet, but after spending as long as he did these days underground in the dimness of Kurama’s safe-haven dens he really couldn’t be blamed for preferring little light if any at all.

The fresh air and the call of the wind, her fingers combing through his damp hair, was well worth the climb however. Crawling through the opening at the end of the staircase, Kuronue stepped out onto a levelled tree trunk. The high speed of the wind pressed against him, teased and encouraged his wings, pulled and clawed at his hair. It was cold and wet, the sky above rumbling a violent and loud warning. Lightning flashed far away, and for a second Kuronue thought he could smell burning wood.

He knew Kurama would have frowned in his sleep if that had been one of the trees he’d grown from saplings.If it was a big enough death sometimes he'd wake and clutch at him head, and Kuronue would soothe him with kisses and gentle touches until they were both more interestedin each other than the screams of creatures caught by the fire. Sometimes Kuronue wondered if the screams he heard were like the ones Youko heard.

Maybe not.

Rain beat against the newly grown leaves, and the greenery sung with the sound of new life. The pitter-patter of rain meeting soil, bark and leaf almost tap of little running feet. Kuronue raised his face to the mist that greeted him from beneath the thick canopy and extended his hand to the harsher, fuller drops of the unhindered rain that had fallen so far to merely grace his palm.

The wind was restless too, passing him by without a second thought, stealing the sigh from his lips as he lowered himself to sit, cross legged, near the end of the thick branch. He watched the sheets of rain come and pass over him, his hair soon sticking to his neck, shoulders and chest, dropping from his eyelashes and chin.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that for. Merely sitting and staring, watching the leaves sway and falter under the rain and wind.

“Kuronue?” a voice called, and a pale hand and then body appeared from the darkness of the trunk, crawling out onto the platform-like branch. Golden eyes watched him curiously, and further within the trunk, Kuronue could see a young, slightly nervous looking Yomi behind him. “You’re broadcasting.”

He hadn’t realised. He slammed down the lid on his youki; it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Suddenly the wind wasn’t whispering to him, she was merely there, passing him by, ignoring him as she did other insignificant beings with no power or grace.

“Something on your mind?” Youko asked quietly, and he could see the subtle flick of his finger that dismissed Yomi. His sunk back down into the darkness of the trunk, down the stairs. The jealous lilac of his eyes remained, burned into Kuronue’s mind for a long time however.

Yomi was relatively new to their group, and one of Youko's favourite for his young age. The fox himself had chosen him for his potential power and love of carnage. He hoped to teach him restraint and discipline within the coming years

Kuronue still believed he was a waste of time. Creatures like Yomi didn't change just for nothing. Not for pleasure, not for pain. They only cared for themselves.

“No,” Kuronue replied automatically. It wasn’t technically a lie. His mind was oddly empty and calm, despite the raging storm around them. He turned his eyes back to the Makai forest.

Youko placed himself by Kuronue’s side, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the ancient, dead branch. The trees seemed to calm, despite the beatings they took from the wind, impatient and vicious in her rush to pass them by.

Kuronue took a deep breath, the smell of damp soil and new rain filling his senses. He took the fox’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers, rested them both in his lap as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Just restless,” he murmured.

He could feel Youko’s tail brush against the tips of his wings, the damp fur seeking the heat of his body as it pressed against his middle back and coiled around his hip as well as it could. Youko said nothing, but the small acts of not pulling away, of not resisting Kuronue’s growing acts of affection, rather than mere lust, was something in itself greater than mere words.

Kuronue smiled down at their hands in his lap. "I love you," he said quietly, barely heard over the rain.

"I know," Youko replied, just as always. His tail twitched against Kuronue's hip.

Kuronue took another deep breath and sighed it out. Youko never returned the sentiment.

Not even after Kuronue's death.