Scattered Pages and Blood-Ink

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-Dr Seuss

 

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Youko Kurama’s tongue could sting like a whip. His fingers could burn like hot coals as they ran down his sides, and up his length. He could entrance with one single steely-eyed gaze, and pull the strongest of demons under his spell with a single gesture of his delicate finger. His glare could punish, and his fury could have the earth itself shake along with him.

 

He was in the very air he breathed, in the very forest he walked through, the very sustenance he devoured. He was everywhere, he was always watching. He was aware of every movement made, he was the eyes that watched from the dark.

 

He was the only living being that could make Kuronue’s breath catch in his throat, just from the simple sight of him.

 

Other demons, compared to Youko, seemed like paper cutouts. They did not reach the detail, nor finesse, of true beauty, in all its terrifying aspects. Yes, he was brutally flawed in some ways, but that only accented the exquisite legend that he had bred more.

 

Kuronue saw behind the veil.

 

He saw the moments, when, Youko’s true self was bared, and it wasn’t the imitation of expression, a mere copy of what it should have been. No, it was something that leaked from his core and bled into his features. It was Youko; and it was beautiful.

 

Of course there were the moments when the true darkness revealed itself, and Youko would loose complete control of everything, and run, run, run. Then Kuronue would find him, and pull him out of whatever hole he’d found, and he’d force him to enjoy in the pleasures of his sordid existence, and forget whatever it was that ran around, and around in his head.

 

Because Youko was beautiful and how could he not want to take advantage of it, just to see the trueness beneath the lies, the façades, the masquerades. Inside, where everything mattered, and carnal lust overtook all else. Inside, where his inner workings ticked overtime and screamed for him. Screaming, screaming until he could only scream back.

 

But sometimes they would sing a different song, dance a different dance, and they would scream another tune at each other. Hatred winding around their souls and taking over their very minds, because whatever the other had done was not just, nor right by the other. Or perhaps simply because it did not suit the other, and seemed ugly, and because that was not how the effected wanted to be viewed.

 

Though they screamed and fought in hatred, only a few times, and they raped each other into sanity, not often enough for their vicious likings, and they acted as if things were as calm as they were on the surface, too much, they could not deny that something greater than death, than life itself, bound them together. Between them was the eternal connection, the connection of lust for the body, and the whole body. The muscle sliding underneath the skin, the organs held inside ribcages, the blood bubbling to the surface with a particularly vicious blow, the insides of insides where only his length could reach and where he could pretend that they truly were connected.

 

That they were one being. Because that was what he wanted, what everyone should have wanted, was it not?

 

Oh, yes. But they didn’t, not that he knew of.

 

Death was…insubstantial. No one could understand what went on between them, or perhaps they did. Perhaps it was deep rooted into the demonic nature to and lust, and lust, and lust for nothing but blood and the warmth of a body, the warmth of blood, and the flesh, against him, slick and sliding and an oh, so beautiful taste.

 

He could moan at the simple glance of Youko’s bare thigh, and he’d have to hold himself back from brutally grasping the demons neck to hold him still while sinking his teeth past that pale veneer to get to the truth below. The inside, the true inside. The only thing that he wished to truly do, yearned to do, was to sink his pearly fangs into the flesh and hear the perfect man above him scream, in pain, or pleasure, or fury.

 

And he wanted to be taken over too. He would be, oh, so pleased to have Youko cast away his foolish lies, façades, masquerades and to own him. To take him truly, once and for all, in the last moment of everything and be pleased with it all. It would be good, oh… it would be so good, and he would enjoy every last moment of it.

 

He would enjoy the blood on Youko’s face and the pain that contorted him. He would look like the savage beast whom had eaten the young and innocent, and Kuronue would love him eternally for it. The deep, lurking, hunger of love would eat his soul just as the body against him did and everything would be so perfectly in sync and oh, oh…

 

But Youko Kurama was a stone wall. A dead end for Kuronue.