Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Risk of Conviction	By : Artemick Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 4082 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YYH characters/names/anything, or the songs and lyrics that were used to name the titles and are cited at the end of each section. I do not make any money out of their use and abuse.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Underwater, I remembered being cornered by a bull demon in a river. I had to dead so that I could let the force of the water sweep me away from the battle and escape; I was losing, badly. Water was the last place I wanted to die. I hate grappling in water. I'm bad at it. I couldn’t build up any velocity. I couldn’t use the rose whip. The only things that won in water were sharp blades slipped in, or having muscles like an anaconda to crush the other's windpipe.

When I started clawing into Koenma, he came up howling and bleeding. I pulled away and climbed out; he lunged at my foot and dragged me back, my knees banging down on the boards.

“No, you don’t!”

I rolled, wanting to kick him in the face, but as I drew my leg in, I saw his eyes and froze. He would kill me. If I hurt him, he would snap my neck.

I fell in. The heat was lost on me; I was fighting fear. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head under. When I came up, water in my eyes and ears, I yelled, “Koenma, mercy!”

“What?”

“Mercy. I beg you. Mercy.”

“Good boy,” he said, gathering me close.

He sat down on the steps, me in his lap. I coughed madly.

He said, “I can cool the water.”

“Please – “ My voice was choked.

“But you’ll owe me.”

I coughed up water. Livid, I croaked out, “I don’t owe you a thing.”

He shook me. "You little – "

His grip slipped and I fell further forward, sliding along his thighs. The sensation ground through me. Water made everything slick. I couldn’t help what my face must have shown: unwanted joy. I bit my lip.

He grinned and reached down, pulling his erection up, bumping me and settling between our stomachs. “There. Now you rub that until it’s happy.”

I reached down. My skin was flushed a terrific pink from the burning water.

He grabbed my wrist. “Ah-ah. Not with your hands. Be creative.”

I hesitated, then spread my knees. My hips lowered, close to him. I push my pelvis forward to pin his cock between the inside of my right thigh and his stomach. Pressing the sole of my foot to the curve of his calf, I pushed forward, tight to his body. The water helped me bob, sliding up and down.

The colors of our bodies flickered through the water, white against the stark black walls.

“Is that good?” I panted.

“Keep going.” He grunted.

I bent so that his cock was pressed hard against my wet flesh, and I rode him. His hands stroked my back, harder and squeezing in a distracted, pleasant massage. The pain of the water dulled. I kept riding him, working to please my own skin against his. It was slick, soft, like I would polish his thighs on mine.

Are you happy with me? I wanted to ask.

I felt stupid, made fun of, a joke. But I was aroused. His shoulders planed out, wide and round under my hands. He attracted me. My body recognized our motion with excitement. I felt a thrill up my back and grasped and ungrasped my hands, trying to flex it away.

He took me by the arms and moved out from under me in a slosh of water. My body was light in the water, hanging there. He did not let me turn, but placed both my hands on the edge. He moved behind my back.

I stared at my flushed knuckles, and held the edge gently.

Koenma reached around me, stroking my lip and chin. He worked his hands over my body like a blind man, screwing my nipples gently between his fingers, smoothing my ribs and belly. He gave my cock a few halfhearted jerks, too rough, and grabbed my hips.

I felt something trace my skin. He was dragging the head of his cock over my ass. He came forward and back with a studied rocking.

“You have to wear a condom,” I insisted.

Koenma scoffed. “No, kit, I don’t."

After another minute, my hips were pumping with his. He plunged his cock up and down along the cheeks up my ass, with no attempt to tease me further, just feeding his need. He was working through his routine.

I looked back once more. “It feels good, Koenma.”

“I know.”

“Humans get sick more easily, you know. It would calm me if you would – “

Koenma put his hand over my face, fingers spread like an octopus, and turned me around to face the front. Then he patted my shoulder. “Quiet.”

My shoulder tensed, hunching me over. “Prince, you do this with so many others. Please. You could kill me.”

“I’m clean. I’m not going to play with some latex finger puppet.”

“Please, you’re immortal but I might die – “

He slammed my head down. “Shut up, or I’ll be killing you a lot sooner than any virus.”

I grit out, “Botan knows I’m here.”

“Yeah, boy. You know why she’s worried? People disappear here. My lovers vanish. You don’t want to vanish, do you?”

My skull throbbed. The wood pattern was impressed into my cheek and his hand was still pushing down, pushing my head into the floor. I whispered, “No, no.”

Inari. I wanted to go right into the floor and never be seen again.

Koenma pet my head. “You’re the one to be worried about, Kurama. You run with a bad crowd.”

“Sir…Koenma?”

“Careful,” he warned, letting me turn.

“May I sit on your lap again?” It was a childish way to phrase it, but I hoped he would like that.

“Why the baby voice? You want me to feel protective of you?”

I winced. He sat down and pulled me to him. He wrapped his arm about my waist, pinning me to him. Our faces were close enough that he could hear me swallow.

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want…you …to feel protective of me.”

“Cute,” he laughed. His other hand slid around and he jammed his fingers into me.

I grabbed his arms with my nails.

“Get the fuck off!” the prince bellowed. And he bit me. He bit me, his teeth sunk into my shoulder. I let go, whining wordlessly. He looked embarrassed. I ignored the pounding blood where his teeth had hit, though I wanted to touch it. I smoothed my hands over his chest, waiting for him to start again.

“What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry. It hurt. You hurt me.”

He held my thighs apart. “Why are you so small?”

“I don’t want this,” I whispered.

“That’s not relevant. You’re too tight, of course it will hurt…”

I caught me breath in the silence. Then I licked my lips and asked, “Is it night yet, in the Nigenkai?”

“It’s hardly been two hours, fox.”

He scissored his fingers inside me. I scrabbled at his collar bone, then grasped my face, hiding.

“Maybe we can do this later,” he said.

It was too much to hope for. I kissed him as an answer.

“That was nice,” he said when I pulled away.

“Please, yes. Please can we wait? Later.” I panted.

“Sure.”

“Maybe y-you could sit down in your chair,” I improvised. “You can have your cigar. Skin against the brocade. I could rub your shoulders.” I stroked his jaw and kissed him again, sucking gently on his lip. “It would be good. We can do other things that are good.”

“Or,” his eyes flicked up, feigning a new thought. “You could blow me.”

I twitched my lips into a smile. “Or I could perform oral sex.”

“Don’t say it like that.” He grabbed my hand. “Say blow.”

“Blow.”

“Say you want to blow me, while I sit and watch.”

I nodded, licking my lips. “I want to take the head of your cock through my lips, wrap my hand around your thick stem, jerk you off. I want to wrap my tongue around you so tight you can’t think of breathing. S…suck you down. Is that good enough?"

“You’re a quick study, pet.” He buried his face in my neck, gnawing. I shivered, afraid he would bite again. Afraid he could bite through my throat. “Why don’t you do it here in the pool, fox?”

“Underwater?”

“Come on.”

“I’m human. I can’t. Please, I’m fifteen.”

“I know you can hold your breath. I know you practice. One minute, 42 seconds. You’ve been swimming at school.” He ran his palm loosely over my groin; it felt amazing, the suggestion of ecstasy. My heart turned over painfully from the fear and eroticism. His voice dropped. “You look so great in that uniform.”

“You - watched the meet on Tuesday.” That was my time on the 200 yard freestyle.

“You look like a porn doll in that costume. No one watched anything but your tight ass when you bent over the block.”

“I actually swim very well. I broke two school records…”

“I don’t care, fox.”

“I know you don’t care.”

He stared at me. Then he smoothed his hands down the side of my head. My wet hair sealed over my ears.
He held me and whispered, "I love watching your strain." He splashed water onto my face, wiping me off.

Apparently, he didn’t like dirty things.

He climbed out of the pool and extended his hand backwards to me.

I ignored him and rose from the water on my own, dropping my wet robe in a sloppy heap. It hit the ground with a slap. Disposable.

He moved around me to the chair.

“Maybe I could tell you a story.” I said, watching from the corner as he sat, legs spreading out lax until his knees bumped the arms.

He picked up the cigar and relit it, matchless. “What, your literature class is teaching Scherazade?”

“I’ll keep it short.”

“I don’t want stories. Get on your knees.”

I complied, holding onto the cushion between his legs as I lowered myself down. “I find sex is more satisfying when you know the details of someone’s position.”

He grinned, eyes hooded but fixed on me. “Your knees hurt?”

I made myself laugh at his weak joke.

He liked my confidence. I tried to hold it, smiling as I reached for him. I cupped his sack and moved my fingers in gentle, firm circles as I spoke. “Why bother with me? Surely there are many demons that – “

“I don’t like demons.”

He’d done this to humans? I couldn’t imagine that.

I held his eyes and leaned forward, letting the brocade dig into my chest so that I could reach the base of his cock with my tongue. I licked upward, finally settling to flick the triangular flesh at bottom of the head. Koenma cursed and gripped the chair. I was glad he didn’t touch me.

I circled my fingers around his cock. “You like me in particular?”

“You’re a criminal.”

I sat back. “What?”

“Don’t stop,” he urged, waving me back.

I put my hands on him. Lifting him up, I suckled his scrotum, brows knitting. Finally, I pulled back. “Is that what you’re getting off on? You don’t care who I am, just what I’ve done? You want to feel righteous, dominating a criminal?”

Koenma puffed his cigar. He looked at the glowing end and showed it to me. “Kurama.”

“I don’t – “

“I will put this out on your face.”

I stared at him.

“I will.”

“Wh-why?”

He grabbed me by the hair and held it over my eye; our struggling shook hot ash onto my nose and lip and I hollered. He was yelling, “Keep your mouth shut!”

I raised my hands, spreading my fingers. I breathed, “Fine. Fine.”

“This is a fraction of the damage you’ve caused in your career – “ he threw me down. Red hairs ripped off in his fingers. I landed on my shoulder.

I tried to get up.

He stood, lunging at me, and I stammered, “Now – I, we stole from demons, I wasn’t – I wasn’t in your jurisdiction, even your dimension - ”

His fist came down like a stab, like a hammer, drilling into my skull from an angle.

I crumpled back onto the wood, at his feet. After a moment I clutched my ringing ears.

“Don’t you dare minimize what you’ve done. Your traps, your plots, they've sent me over nineteen hundred souls.”

I pushed myself up and swallowed. Was it really so many? Nineteen hundred souls. That seemed high.

“This is not how you treat a lover,” I said.

He leaned over me, speaking in my ear as I huddled over. “You’re not my lover, Kurama.”

He stepped around me, still ruthlessly erect.

I stood. He collared me with his arm and led me out. I stopped and pointed back at my robe. “May I have that? Not to wear. Just to – have.”

“I’ll send it with you. A memento.”

He threw me forward and kicked out my knees. I fell into the bed with my knees pushing the duster. My hands hit the covers like a child at prayer.

I could hear him coming up behind me. I flung my back to the bed.“Koenma, wait.”

He stopped. I held up a hand, blocking him. Then I lay it on my pounding chest, catching my breath.

“Wait. Just a moment, just…let me…rest a moment.”

Wiping his hand over his face, he covered his mouth and turned to stare out the window.

Then he sat. He sat right on the ground in front on me, cross legged. “I’m sorry. Your face is…I deal with too many… – it's the idiocy, criminals and their rationalizations. Their begging and superiority complexes…and it – makes me…moody.”

I nodded along with him.

“All these souls, each one willing to say anything. They’ll push and push…” He held up a hand and shrugged. “This place gets to be a nightmare.”

“I – I imagine so.”

“I know. You’re intelligent.” He sighed. “That’s why you’re here. My detective…is an idiot.”

“I liked him. He has charisma…persistence.”

“As do many, many idiots.”

We sat for a moment, still. His music blared from the corner, too loud, brash, and over-articulated, like a spit of gunfire. Then it ended with a scratch and skipped over to slinky low blues. I couldn't make myself translate it. I was too spent blocking it all out. My guts hurt. It was a strange feeling, the scrape of his fingernails in my guts, the tears…the insides of this new body confused me. Pained me. You can't lick inside wounds. You can barely heal and it takes time.

Koenma stood up and went to look outside. The light from the sunny window hit his face beautifully, edging his profile in white.

I eyed the verdant lawn. “Is that a real place?”

“Alchiri, the east side. Mukuro’s accountant owns the next place over.”

“Beautiful,” I nodded.

“You’ve travelled. Been there before?”

“I’ve been in most forests. The names have changed.”

That seemed to please him. He sighed then, bored, and looked over my body. “Do you smoke? Do you want to try, I mean? It helps calm the nerves.”

“That’s not how nicotine works in a non-addict.”

“I’m not an addict.”

“Of course not.”

He watched me.

I moved over and got a small glass. I poured it full of sake and came back, delivering it with both hands, on my knees. “May we discuss our business arrangement?”

He took it like an adult being giving a crayon drawing from a child. “When I’m satisfied.”

I went back, and while he sipped I took the bottle and swallowed as much as I could. By the time he put lowered his cup, I’d drunk two thirds. But I acted as though I had just begun pouring a cup.

I tossed that back. He noticed.

“Kurama.”

I poured another. The alcohol hit the back of the throat, burning. It was a muscle relaxant. It would blot out my ability to fear, to plan ahead, to consider consequences.

“You’re stick thin. Can you take that?”

I could still feel disgust like bile. “I want champagne. I’ve never had champagne with a human’s tongue. Let’s drink it outside.”

I grabbed the bottle. There was no handle to the window. I had to wait. Koenma hauled himself up. He grabbed the bottle in my hand and pulled it away. But he pushed on the window and it opened onto the field.

I ran out into it. The grasses were thick, many species, linked and fighting root systems, competing flowers and seeds. It was high summer, beautiful and thick. The stalks bent sharp and poked the soles of my feet and the thorns torn my elbows and legs, but I ran.

The smells opened up, the crickets and cicadas and bird racket, the echoing open space. I ran.

Deep in, I fell. Hidden, I turned back. Just as the field had opened for me, it closed behind me. Koenma was not in his kingdom anymore. For an instant, I was safe. I could run.

“You’re fast.” Koenma pushed through the grass. He came from the treeline, hemming me in.

The prince fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around me. He craned around and I felt his teeth scrape the back of my neck. He growled, pretending to bite and hang on, then said, “There. You’re dead.”

I let myself fall backwards onto the grass, my arms over my head and hair.

I stared up at the clouds. They were pristine.

The prince settled beside me.

“Now would be a good time,” I said. “Do it now.”

There was a crack. I leapt. Then I heard the fizz and he tilted the bottle of champagne in my direction. He'd flicked it with his thumb, busting the top off, using the pressure inside. I grabbed the broken neck of the bottle and drank as deeply as I could. It was like dry soda, very fine grained like something to small and light to pick up, like air. The bubbles popped on my tongue and flowed down my chin.

My mind wandered. My insides felt like I was drinking sea water.

“You’re going to be sick,” he accused.

“Let me.” My lips felt thick. I touched them.

“Give it here.”

“No…”

He tore the bottle out of my hands. As I watched, the cuts on his hands from the champagne glass closed and cleaned themselves. Mine did not. Mine stung and dribbled blood.

“Let’s go.” He said. He wasn’t going to heal me.

“Here is fine.” I stared at my hands. Here I could heal the cuts. I was in living plants. I felt safe.

“I want to be inside.” He stood, then grabbed my upper arm and dragged me.

“I like it here. Please.”

He ignored me. Grass tore by our legs and in moments we were at the window. He pushed me inside.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

I had tilted my forehead down, glaring out at him with slit eyes.

“Get on the bed. On your back. Hold your legs.” He swept his arm before me, pointing at the bed. “Or I’ll waste you. It’d be a shame, but there’s others.”

I took two steps and toppled into the window. Inner ear was telling me to stand straight, but it thought straight was east.

He grabbed me around the waist and led me to the bed, then shoved me on.

“If I were home,” I sneered – the words were coming out, not because I thought they were a good idea, but because I couldn’t consider why not. I started to tell myself that this was because 15 year olds did not have the liver development necessary to strain that amount of alcohol out of blood, but I couldn’t complete the thought. Didn’t see the point in focusing. “I could get lubricant from the subway. But I don’t suppose you like lubricant either.”

He climbed over me. “What’s your favorite brand?”

“I don’t have a favorite brand. You idiot."

“Now you see it,” he opened his hand. There was a small plastic bottle. He looked at it. “Well, this is what’s in the vending machine in the station. ‘Pure’ lotion. That’s the brand name.”

I wheezed, hysterical. Pure. Pure sex lubricant for a rapist.

“Melon. Is that taste or flavor?” He unscrewed the ball top and dumped it along his cock and into his hand. He pushed my legs apart, coming forward on his knees, head down and intent. "Why don't you tell me?"

He rubbed the pure, pure lotion around my asshole before pressing inside, slick as a toy. I felt like I was being approached like a shrine. Koenma grinned and held up his erection. “Give me a little kiss for luck. Let me know if it tastes like melon.”

“Get it over with.”

He lifted my legs. The alcohol didn’t let me worry. I was like a drowned thing caught in the reeds. I could barely see the ceiling for the flaring light.

He pulled me against him and began to slid in. The lubricant helped. So did the alcohol. I stared at the ceiling and thought of nothing, absolutely nothing but nausea, while he tore into me with agonizing slowness.

“Feel good, fox?”

“Please stop hitting me…” I shut my eyes and rode the alcohol. My face twinged once or twice when the pain inside got too much. I concentrated on breathing. I began to heave. "I'm going to be sick."

He stopped, and I managed to curb it. I held my hand to my mouth, breathing slow.

“It’s hard, your first time,” he joked.

“How are you so old and still this awful in bed? You’re like a teenager!”

He seemed to consider slapping me. I wouldn’t even have moved.

I remembered lovers that spent hours teasing my ears, sucking my toes, bathing my body in their touch. I remembered which ones had found the spot between my shoulder blades that drove me into orgasms when they kissed it.

Koenma was – what he was: a distracted executive who had emotions but no time for them. So he found a way his work could satisfy him. He moved up and down. After a moment, his intense look and odd angling made me realize he was trying to hit my prostate more directly. It was a kind, but poor effort by a man who barely cared.

I turned to the side and threw up.

He began beating me with his open hand. He wasn’t slapping me, just hitting, hitting down. Curbing his strength, it was still bone-bruising.

I curled up, holding my head, smelling vomit. I understood.

He didn’t like dirty things.


“I’m sorry, Kurama. Really.” He cowered in front of me.

I nodded.

“No, don’t nod.”

I kept my hands over my head, my knees over my guts, like a snail packed tightly in a shell even a child could crush. I imagined myself crushed. Shell stabbing into my innards. Yes. That was how it was.

He pulled me into his lap and held me. Rocked me. Sung.

I wept from the pain, just the physical pain and hurt of what he’d done.

The fear I had from being touched by him was too much to process.

He began to kiss me.

We made something like love.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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