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
- 11
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- 13
Afterwards, we lay as heavy as sated lions. I stayed on my back and he rubbed my chest. I put my hand on his, to restrain him. I was thinking about Kurone as we lay silent. His body had been a twin of mine, a darker Xerox. We had been wild game.

Kurone had said once that what he noticed about me was that I reacted to abuse, I rebelled. Most demons do not. Most were quiet as I was now. We are animals; we run from power we cannot touch. Most are not like me – reacting – especially nothing like Hiei. The little psycho, seeking out horrors. Those who were abused steadily begin to have no reaction at all, to anything.

When Kurone was laughed at, he was not humiliated; he did not even feel the two were connected, the laughter and his pride. He simply let it all happen around him and, without chaining himself to an emotional engagement with the atrocities that surrounded us, he saw clearly and found a way through it.

Kurone said I was chained, and he had no idea how I survived. That I was maudlin and vengeful.

Perhaps that was true when I was strong. Now was as he would wish me to be. I felt nothing, except when I moved. Then it was horrible.

“Kurama.”

I looked over.

“What are your fantasies?” He mused, dreamy. “What do you love, what do you want?”

I want to walk out of this room alive, I thought.

“Kurama?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Fair enough. We’ll do mine.” He dropped a piece of lingerie on my chest. "How do you feel about lace?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not amicably.”

“Don’t make me have to be forceful.” He rolled his eyes, smiling at the strain such effort would take. “Come on."

He refused to register my reluctance. I had thought the joke on the phone was Koenma baiting me, but it seemed that trivial fetish ran to his core.

I sat up, wincing at the hurt inside me. “I thought we came to an agreement about props.”

“About toys. This isn’t.”

“About outside items,” I insisted.

“Don’t lose your famous cool, Kurama. It’s not as if I’m putting you in costume. I considered gluing fox ears to your scalp and have you crawl around to bring me trinkets in your mouth.”

I stared. “Abusing me now will not give you power over me when I am freed.”

“Perhaps a few memories won’t hurt the professional hierarchy.”

“Whatever you believe is fine. The contract is signed. I’m free in 27 hours.”

“Fox.” He rubbed his hands over his face and looked at me. “I decide whether the contract holds.”

I moved away from him.

“I decide whether you can leave this room and most importantly, I control the flow of time within in it. That sand in the hourglass will run out as the time does, but I can speed or slow our experience in here. I can make each moment I’m in you last a year for your mother.”

Twenty-seven hours becoming twenty-seven years.

“Is that true?” I said simply.

He rose and went to the wall. A door appeared. He walked through it.

Half a moment later, Koenma returned, wearing formal robes, his hair combed, and carrying a dark bottle. His tense expression had evaporated.

“Kurama!” He greeted me. “Still waiting for me? Good boy.” He put the bottle down and erased the door, then began to disrobe. “Don’t panic. Just had breakfast. No more than a few hours.”

I imagined my mother, abandoned, ill, waiting for her son in an empty apartment. I stumbled up and shouted, “My life is not yours to toy with!”

“Now see, that’s where we’re in disagreement. Destroying the lives of others voids your right to your own.”

“Let them judge me.”

“They cannot, hence my purpose. But you have your choice: my mercy, or their justice, which I will let you know is imprisonment or death—after which you truly will be mine…”

“I am of the old faith, my spirit belongs to Gaia.”

“Still, in that body? Are you sure?”

“You care so little for a prisoner. At least kitsune understand reciprocation in love. That sexuality isn’t a weapon to be used to punish! To terrify, to control - at least humans understand mortality and suffering. You’re punishing more people than myself by my absence. My mother – “

“Kurama. For all your thundering, you’re getting off lightly.”

“Don’t pretend this is justice. You are preying on one weaker than you. You are abusing your authority to indulge your lust. You’re not asking two days of my time; you’re asking for my integrity, my will, my pride.”

“Maybe,” Nude, he sat on the bed and gestured to the floor in front of him. “Your argument would be more persuasive if you delivered it from your knees.”

I stuttered, then grabbed my shirt and pulled it on. “It doesn’t matter how I feel, does it.”

“Feels good.” His hand came around my waist and he pulled me back between his splayed legs. Taking the lacy green silk, he stroked the wadded fabric over my face, leading a grossly obvious path downward. His other arm crossed my chest and slid inside my shirt, rolling my nipple between his fingertips. “Doesn’t that—“

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

He jerked me back against his erection. The sweat felt awful, but the pressure was good. He laughed, telling me I was moaning again, and pulled my legs up. “Let’s just slide this on.”

His thumbs dug into the soles of my bare foot, touching some leyline to my groin, some nerve that drove straight through my body. I rocked hard against him, reaching backwards over my shoulder to grab his neck. He let me pull his head down and nibbled at my throat.

“There.”

He pulled the bunch green silk over one foot, then the other. I reached down and clasped my fist over his as he was trying to bring them over my knees. He reached under my arm, put his hand behind my neck and forced my head down. “Put yourself on my dick.”

I let go. I placed my hands on his thighs and lifted myself. I locked my eyes on the vase in the corner to ignore the grate of his flesh inside me. His fingers helped slide it in. “That hurts – careful – “

Koenma pumped his hips twice, hard. He groaned, “That’s tight.”

I grit my teeth, whimpering, scratching into my own neck.

“Look back here.”

I looked. His eyes said he’d heard me. I turned back, seeing his hand on that green silk. I pressed my knees together, shaking from his intensity.

He kissed the back of my neck.

“G-Goddess…”

“You like that. I’ve seen you touch your back in front of the mirror. What does that mean, hm?” He traced his fingertip over the skin between my shoulders. I shuddered. “What a sweet spot you have. Delicate.”

I cringed. It was embarrassing.

He smirked and continued, bucking his hips.

I whimpered, “No no - that hurts.”

“The way you knelt on your bedroom carpet by the tissues. Your thighs look so stretched then.”

“How - how dare you watch me. All the time and responsibility in the world – but you don’t improve it, you don’t discover, or work. You use lives you’re responsible for as personal pornographies!”

He pulled me back, pinning me to his chest with his arm, fingers clawing my far arm. “That’s right.”

I opened my hands. It was an impulse of some deep memory, survival.

Koenma stood, rolled, and knelt in a single movement, dragging me with him. The room swung. My ribs bashed against the bed and I felt his fingers scrape inside my thighs, dragging up the silk and scratching lace until it was tight against my genitals. I yelled out; he massaged me viciously through the silk. I felt like ice cracking.

His arm was still there, stroking my chest. His chin dug into my shoulder and he whispered, “Beautiful creature.”

“Show some respect,” I spat.

“You weak, stupid little fox."

"You – "

"A slave to your petty - depleted - pride.” His hips leapt with each word.

“You sick child. No wonder your father keeps such a tight leash on your throat. You can’t handle the slightest bit of power with grace.”

“Put away your fangs.” He stroked my hair and used it to pull my head back.

I remember a horse I had seen once, long ago, being trained to arch its neck high for his lord. I pitied it now I knew the rancor in its gait.

Perhaps he smelled it then. My disgust.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No.”

He pushed me onto the bed, wrenching my body to the side until my shoulders were pressed to the covers, ducking under my leg, so that he could fuck me face to face. He regained a rusty, slamming rhythm.

From my own emotion or his treatment, the sinews in my neck throbbed as sharply as my insides. I screwed up my eyes, hiding beyond my eyelashes. I cried out, wailing in agonized bursts.

His eyes bore into me as he rode me.

My voice came hoarse. “You’re an awful lover.”

He slapped me hard. It surprised us both, midbreath. I choked, but after a moment snapped, “You’re hurting me!”

“Then relax, you fucking liar.” He reached back his hand and I dared block it.

I shoved myself up into his face. “What is this? Your idea of making love? You went out of your way to choose me, building this little fantasy."

"Fox – "

"The sensation of respect, admiration, understanding, trust – any sensation of love I could experience is directly dependent on your treatment of me.” I looked him over slowly, my chest heaving. “There is nothing I see here to inspire anything like love.”

He pulled out of me, shoving me away. The relief was near debilitating.

“I respected you," he laughed. "I misjudged you.”

“And I you.” I whispered. How stupid, to think him incapable of such darkness because of his position as judge, or his ties to humanity. “You’re a rapist. A thug.”

“I thought you had the sense to be grateful to the one who reprieved you. You know you’re here at my intervention? I could wink and you’d be down with the torturers. Or I could blot you out of existence like a dead star. Or strangle the stupid out of you and keep your spirit in here, like a ring in a pretty little jewelry box. A cock ring.”

I sat up, drawing my legs up, knees together. Smoothing the tail of my shirt tight to cover me, I hung my head and simply tried to breathe even.

Would he kill me, now that I knew his depravity? To keep me from warning anyone, from spreading rumors?

He was staring. His lip curled. Contempt. No trace of fear. My breath came faster.

Either he thought I would say nothing when this was over – or he knew it. He would make it so.

I pulled my hair aside slightly. “You have time left.”

He looked at the hourglass, then back at me. I must have cut a pitiful figure…sweat drenched, a knotted curtain of hair over a used up skeleton. But he reached out, rubbed my thigh and dragged a finger down the shirt where the silk showed through.

“What would you have me do with it?” The prince breathed.

My eyes flashed. Could I appeal to him, or would surrender simply draw more pain? One weakness and he’d leapt on it like a wolf turns on a bleeding elder.

Koenma scowled. “You want to get out of this scot-free! You’re a damn murderer, you greasy polite coward – criticizing me when your crimes number like the leaves on a tree.”

“No…no, I…”

I could offer him some act. But my body was worn, aching. He wanted the impossible, a happy whore, someone who loved degrading themselves without pleasure, a selfless servant. No one could do but pretend it.

I hesitated too long.

His hand was faster than perception. My throat was crushed under his fingers. The room swung. I shut my eyes – there was no gravity. The carpet scraped my cheek, then my body bounced and I skid on my shoulder.

Then he was on me, groping between my legs. He kept a fist around my throat. He lifted me. I caught balance, legs wide and knees bent in horrid response to the pleasure of his hand.

His voice scraped in my ear in singsong, “You damned, lovely, twisted, manipulative bitch. I feel grimy from having been in you.” He wiped his dick, then wiped his palm across my shirt. “I feel…” He used the same hand to stroke my cheek. “Defiled. Me. Koenma, ruler, liege of the spirit world. And why? Because I got my hand bit playing with a wild little fox bitch. Thinking I could tame it, make it make love. But the little thing is too evil to form anything but a treacherous bond.”

That had some truth in it.

If my heart could beat slower, I could have focused enough to find his words interesting. We were arguing each other’s virtues, cross purpose. But he shook me hard.

“Look at yourself. Vile lying bitch. BITCH.”

I shook my head. “I heard you.”

“Oh, you’ll answer to your new name? Do you realize I have that power, to change your name, even your true name, through history? What shall I call you? I can keep you here till you rot.”

I breathed out and spoke. “This is your gilded tongue, your royal courtesy? Your fabled mercy? Listening to you now is like watching a babe play in its shit.”

His grip on my throat tightened, lifting me high, even as his other hand drew an aching moan from me. “Look at yourself. Look how you writhe for it. A loving…loving touch.”

“Love from you is not even worth the laugh.”

He dragged me to the long mirror in the other wall. “Look at yourself.”

He jerked my face up by the bangs. I looked into the mirror.

I was bleeding. The prince had thrown me with his full strength; my skin had ripped like cheap cloth. I wondered what the damage was to my shoulder, whether the shirt had helped.

“You’re not quite the dewy angel I met in the office. You’re not quite the warrior demon of old stories. You look to me like a dirty little sell-out.” Before the last word, he lifted up my shirt to emphasize.

The silk hung bizarrely. It was too loose. My erection bulged out of it. Shuichi was scandalized, being brought up in his misogynistic culture. The weakness of being dressed as a woman, a ‘girl’, infuriated him. He was such a stupid child.

My kitsune eyes had seen far worse and simply commented that the green was not a bad color on me. The absurdity of it cheered me somewhat.

Koenma held me for a moment. I didn’t hide my face in my hands or fight.

“Where is your lauded shame?”

I shrugged, unable to smother a grin. “I don’t have any.”

He stepped back, and rightly. He was dealing with a syzygy: a child too mild to punish, and a demon so perverse that punishment was impossible.

There was nowhere to go from here. I relaxed and opened my eyes. A kitsune’s face is more finely muscled than a human’s, which makes it infinitely difficult to lie. A human, however, needs only to pause before a choice to void the tells foxes strive years to hide.

I stretched once I was free of his arms, checking my body for wounds. Beyond the aches, I worried about the vertebrae in my neck.

I turned to Koenma and smiled. “Let us come to another deal.”

“What?”

“You have hours left.” I undid a few buttons. “I obviously appeal to you. Forget love; forget virtue and worth and fairness. You don’t have to protect a frightened, affectionate virgin anymore. But you have injured me too much to treat me as a whore any longer. Remember this body is fragile for your strength.” I began to braid my hair back. “Whether you believe the agent in me is human or demon, you know the vessel it's in is as weak as the rest. Let’s come to some arrangement.”

“What?” He was wary.

I motioned to the bed. “Please.” He sat. I came slowly before him and knelt, throwing my braid over my shoulder. I saw he understood. He spread his legs.

I found out very soon that Shuichi simply was not old enough to do certain things my kitsune remembered. My body was too petite. I climbed into Koenma’s lap and rode him, without taking my eyes off his face. It was every vestment of intimacy without any attachment. He was an object. I looked through him, set to gain something from him: his good favor. I smiled.

He tried to control my hips with his hands to overpower me. He forced his erratic pattern on me. I gave up any attempt to arouse myself and choose to close my eyes, imitating passion, and put my head over his shoulder while he rocked me. I was so tired of looking at him.

“You’re not pleasing me, Kurama.”

“What else can I do?”

“Seduce me. Pose. Suck on my fingers. Make me feel something.”

I groaned as he twisted inside me. “You’re hard enough just from holding me.”

Prince Koenma put his hand before my face. I met eyes with him through his fingers, then wet my lips and started at the base of longest, licking to the tip. I tasted lotion on him, greasy silk on the roof of my mouth.

Koema watched, an eyebrow arched as if he were scoring me.

I traced his fingertip with the point of my tongue.

Koenma swallowed and muttered, “That’s perfect…go on.”

I bit my lower lip, watching him. I tilted my head back and rode, snapping my hips forward. I ducked my head back, letting my hair swing messily onto my face. I was sweating lightly and strands clung to my cheek like curls of frost growing on a window pane. “Tell me what to do.”

He pressed his fingertip to my lip and ordered me, “Suck. Kurama.”

I leaned forward a fraction, biting that pad of his fingertip.

I scraped my teeth together, then sucked his fingertip into my mouth. I lapped at him, let go and ran my tongue down and up, sucked it past my lips again. I popped it in and out of my lips a few times, then curled my tongue around and went down again.

“Anything you say.”

“Was that so hard?” He condescended. “You could have cooperated this whole time. I knew it. If you didn’t have to be difficult, you wouldn’t be bleeding.”

I smiled. Happy whore.

“Go on.”

My tongue led a path across his palm. I closed my teeth on the webbing of his thumb, kissed his palm.

“Nice.”

I looked up as I sucked and gnawed my way up the stem of his thumb. Then I kissed the top and tilted my head cockily. “Thank you.”

He stroked my back and shut his eyes. His thrusts changed rhythm. I held onto his shoulder, moaning inanities, and gave myself the luxury of rolling my eyes.

For all my ease, when he came, crying out expletives, I could not keep from a shudder of revulsion.

I pretended it was lust. We fell asleep, his arms around me, mine pinned between us. He was too much larger to reach around. I relaxed, thinking, and slept immediately.
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