The Library of Alexandria

BY : Artemick
Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1922
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho or its characters and make nothing off this story.




Kurama felt the metal pole grow hot under the touch of his palm. It vibrated with the pitch of the train, humming so slightly that he barely noticed the buzz the trembled his bones, his teeth.


Kurama kept his eyes out the window. Plants blinked past. In the window of a danchi, a set of pale work apartments, there was a potted shamrock. A gift from a hateful boyfriend. The owner refused to kill it because she loved its flowers. They made her forget his abuse. Kurama, via the chemical structure of a Makai pollen that mimicked analgesic endorphins, also helped.


Further down the line was a large tree by a salary man’s door. He’d kept it since his college days, but had begun dumping coffee in the pot on the way out. On the train, Kurama shut his eyes. He sent energy out, theorizing acid loving and caffeine-tailored mycorrhiza.


“Do you always stand on the train?”


Kurama set the pole between himself and the voice, lifting his hand to guard – but it was only Kaito, looking slumped and exhausted. His wrinkled uniform smelled of sweat and take-out ramen.


Kurama winced at the smell. Whenever he saw Kaito in school, or even the last time they worked together on a case, in the middle of their teenage wolfpack Kaito had always been clean and kempt.


“Of course I stand. Where were you last night?”


“Did we have a date?” Kaito sat down. He kept his hands in his pockets and kicked one leg over the other.


“I meant this isn’t your train. It doesn’t connect your home and the school. Choosing it signifies you spent the night somewhere other than your home.”


His eyebrows rose, haughty. “My girlfriend’s.”


“Oh – sorry,” Kurama turned away, caught awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”


Kaito laughed, pushing up his glasses. “Someone with a more common origin might congratulate me.”


“Uh – congratulations.” Kurama swallowed, trying to recall how Kuwabara might have reacted to such banter. Kurama forced a smile. “Forgive me. I’m not at my best in the mornings.”            


“What a look.”


Kurama cleared his throat. “Kaito. School policy insists we stand during transit.”


Kaito threw out a hand. “There are plenty of seats.”


“It’s to show discipline – “


“And consideration. I read the handbook."


“Well, if you know you should have no excuse,” Kurama murmured. After a moment, he turned back to the window.




“Shuichi,” Kurama corrected.


“Sorry.” As if in apology, Kaito stood and joined him. He shifted his bag and put his hand below Kurama’s on the pole. “I was joking about the girlfriend – I got an apartment. I spent the night moving in. It’s quieter than my house with all my sisters running around. It’s a good place to study.”


Kurama glanced up at him and fought the instinct to move back. “You’re…acclimating well to the loss of your power."


“It was good while it lasted.” Kaito smiled and lowered his voice. “You know, sometimes I still feel like there’s a fraction of territory open – a kid will threaten me, but won’t be able to actually lift a fist. But I suppose that’s just growing up.”


Kurama grinned. “We can hope.”


“Are you going to the seminar today? Ecological history of Japan – should be right up your alley.”


Kurama laughed. “Maybe."


Kaito looked down, smiling. “I wondered if you wanted to come over afterwards, check out the new place? We could drop by Keiko and Yuusuke’s for dinner, if you want.”


Kurama turned to him, recounting the conversation. After a moment, he asked, “Is this a romantic invitation?”


“No, I was just…uh…” Kaito shoved up his glasses, buying time. “I thought you might like to study in a place that was…private. Where you could be yourself. Have the intellectual freedom to discuss what you were reading with someone who understood – your abilities.”


“That would be nice.”


“You’re…welcome anytime. I’d be glad to have you.”


 Kurama looked down, the fox inside him shifting. “That…that would actually be incredible. An unusual relief.”


“Seriously. Come whenever. I’m setting up my plants in a week or so; you’ll feel right at home.”


Kurama stared. “You're kind.”


He measured the girth of Kaito’s chest against his own, the boy’s slow weight. Kaito was a young man now, smarter than most, well-read, an adult living on his own and following his own pursuits and interests. Further, he was a trustworthy ally.


The fox stirred.


“Perhaps we could go now?” Kurama purred.


The city flew by the lenses of Kaito’s glasses: reflected sky, reflected life. “We have school.”


Kurama licked his lips, thinking. He slipped his hand down the pole. “You’re right.”


Kaito inhaled slightly. Kurama’s ring finger came to rest on the top of Kaito’s index finger, with his smallest finger draped over Kaito’s hand.


Kurama put a slight pressure on Kaito’s skin.


Kaito’s pupils expanded like pools of ink. He opened his mouth, breath escaping, with a look that was almost pain.


Kurama swallowed awkwardly and leaned forward, tilting his head. He pressed his lips against Kaito’s. The heat grew, and they stayed together.


This is what’s inside skin, Kurama thought, in a moment of poetry that was entirely due to his proximity to the author. It was spirit caught with osmosis. Heat on heat, dry and moist and soft. Isn’t this what we wish was inside us, rather than bone and meat– just beautiful touch, he thought. Nothing practical or hard, only giving and open, guileless as air?


Kaito shifted, causing Kurama to moan -- he let go of the bus pole and, with aplomb that made Kurama jolt, he slid both hands under Kurama’s ears and up along his skull. His stub nails drew delicious lines of sensation along his scalp. He caught Kurama’s lower lip in his mouth, sucking gently – he pulled, letting it slip, and followed back, catching it again.


Kurama shivered, crying out. The train slowed. Kaito pulled away.


The train jolted, stopping. Other students got on, from various schools, including their own.


“Well,” Kaito adjusted the shoulder strap on his bag. His eyelids were low, the barest smile in the corners of his mouth.


“Mentha spicata…” Kurama murmured.


Kaito touched his lips, then snapped his fingers, pointing. “Toothpaste.”


Students from their classes filtered in around them, sleepy and pressed, smelling of cologne and breakfast drinks.


Kurama’s body flooded with yearning; he had to touch himself. But he couldn’t, not here, with the train full of scattered and studiously quiet passengers that may or may not have seen the kiss – and he and Kaito were in their uniforms. It was so much worse than getting caught smoking. Kurama dreaded the thought of having a proper conduct conversation with his homeroom professor. He was the same man who oversaw the grants issued for independent research. It was an unacceptable risk.


“So.” Kaito lifted his eyebrows.


Kurama stepped away, clearing his throat. “I’d like to see your home.”


His voice was too low, husky.


“Yeah, and maybe help me carry a few things? I’m on the second floor. Alone, I’ll need a beanstalk to get the boxes that high.” Kaito looked off. “If only I knew some Jack who could grew magic vines…”


Kurama smothered a smile, wincing. “That's awful. I leave from the north gate.”


A student grabbed Kaito’s shoulder, greeting him warmly. He turned around, glancing backwards. Kurama tossed his hair over his shoulder, looking bored, then turned his back. He watched the windows.


Behind the path of the train, the ornamental pear trees burst into leaf.

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