Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Sickness	By : Ping Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 2303 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuYu Hakusho, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Sickness
- 1
Ping- Behold, the latest creation of my sick mind...

Yusuke- I thought my life sucked before...

Ping- There might ought to have been an NCS warning... but not really.
I'm not sure- I confused myself, with this one.

Drunky- 'K, you just go back to staring at the wall- We'll take it
from here.

Druggy- This is a YAOI fic-- hot Man-on-Boy action, so leave now if
that squicks you.

Yusuke- As if the freakin' pairing wasn't enough!

Drunky- It's graphic, too.

Druggy- And kinky.

Yusuke- -_-^ I'm going to vomit.

Drunky- Hey, me too! -^_^-
Pairing: IwamotoxYusuke (sort of)
Warnings: Yaoi, Lemon, Rough sex (NCS?), Kink, Language, Dark
Disclaimer: Yoshihiro Togashi (and others) own Yu Yu Hakusho,
and I bow before their greatness... and tie their shoelaces to slow them
down while I steal the show! HA!
Notes: Thanks to Zen for the beta and consequent stroking of
my ego! (Now get back to work. ::whip::) If after reading this you feel
the need to rant at me, go ahead- I haven't had a good laugh in ages. This
is part of an inpromtu series with 'Older Man' and 'Hobby.'

Sickness

He was back.
He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he was back.
He could feel him. He could almost smell him.
That cockroach.
Iwamoto clenched his fist and his jaw, grinding his teeth as Urameshi
Yusuke cut a path through the students in the courtyard below, classmates
wisely giving him a wide berth. Even through the closed window he could
hear that punk running his mouth like he always did.
Trash.
Iwamoto felt a pulsing pain in his skull and finally realized it was
not his overwhelming disgust at the brat he was looking at, but his teeth
gnashing each other to the point of cracking. He forced himself to relax,
to take deep, healing breaths. It didn't work very well, but he could at
least tell by his reflection in the glass that his face wasn't as red as
it was before. He continued breathing steadily, focusing on the assurance
that Urameshi would most likely skip out long before it came time to be
in his class. With a smirk, Iwamoto turned away from the window, walking
to his desk and sitting by the time the bell rang.
Yes, as it stood with his horrible attendance, Urameshi wouldn't be
a bother for much longer. He'd finally get the pleasure of kicking that
shit out of school for good. That brought another smile to his lips. At
the wary glances from the first entering students, he masked it over with
his usual bored expression and took out his pen, ready to start deducting
points as soon as the bell announced the stragglers as tardy.
The day went by with little incident- after a few hours of that moron
Takenaka blaring over the loudspeaker for Urameshi, he had finally given
up when the roach had obviously left school. Like he knew he would. The
brainless little cock was so predictable. After a boring session of glowering
over the student body as they ate lunch, followed by even less stimulating
reports from his last class, Iwamoto slammed his grade book and ungraded
papers into his satchel.
The drive home was quiet, as it always was, but he could feel it...
the cloud was building over the horizon again. He shook his head, assuring
himself he had rid himself of that pestilence. But he found himself abandoning
his work at the door and opening the closet in his bedroom. Found himself
taking out a white case and swiping the contents roughly from his desk
before setting it down. Found himself hunched over the desk until well
into the night.

**********

The next day seemed brighter, the air cleaner, sounds and smells crisper.
Iwamoto had never felt so healthy. He felt years younger and pounds lighter,
and he nearly skipped down the halls before he remembered himself, though
he did catch himself smiling a little more often than usual.
"You look like you got lucky, Iwamoto. What- or rather, who did you
do last night?" Mr. Akashi simpered at him from around his front teeth.
Iwamoto chuckled, waving the man off as he wandered from his desk in
search of some coffee before classes began. "Nothing to tell, Mr. Akashi.
Just having a good day."
"Hmph." Akashi mumbled as he plopped down in his seat, trying to adjust
his tie. "Then you obviously weren't on courtyard duty this morning. Takenaka
was dragging Urameshi, Kuwabara and all of his cronies in by their ears
this morning. It's going to be a long day." He whined, finally getting
the knot straight.
Iwamoto stood frozen in the doorway, blocking nearly all the light from
the windows in the hall with his bulk. He stared out the window as the
weight returned to him, turning his limbs to lead. His eyes felt dry and
heavy, the air thick and laden with smoke. Coffee forgotten, Iwamoto went
straight to his next class, making hell for the hapless students that filed
in.
That night found him bent over his desk again, his shirt long forgone,
his arms moving in rhythm to the steady whir of machinery.
The cloud over his head darkened. He knew it was getting dangerous-
last time he had nearly lost control, would have if the boy hadn't made
an unexpected lunge for his pocket. That scene played over and over in
his mind with startling clarity, building and fueling his anger at being
foiled. He pressed his foot down and the gears moved faster, his arms accommodating
the speed.

**********

Filthy cockroach. Filthy, filthy vermin.
Iwamoto's eyes narrowed as he stared down the boy sitting- having the
nerve
to sit in his class. And he stared back, defiant.
Of course. Scum. He would always be defiant. He would die before submitting.
Roach.
The kid snorted and looked away- not intimidated or submissive, only
unimpressed. Iwamoto sat, eyes never leaving the punk as he leaned back
in his chair, his foot hitched up on the desk in front of him, the seat's
occupant too gutless to complain. He stared out the window, the sunlight
playing on his features.
Young. Light. Crisp.
His elbows moved back and forth, back and forth, his foot pressed all
the way forward. Sweat beaded on his brow as he frowned in concentration,
the led numbers on his counting up then down unnoticed.
Almost done.
Looming cloud.
To feel young and light again.
Someone should teach that little cock a lesson.

**********

The hands of the clock ticked loudly in the classroom, booming over
the sounds of children whispering naughty secrets and shuffling half completed
assignments. Iwamoto's eyes swung from one face to the next, looking and
yet not seeing what he wanted to- didn't want to.
The day was a blur, but it lasted too long. He felt like there were
hands, tiny hands of tiny children, pulling and pushing and fluttering
in his belly. Akashi lisped and spit, inquiring about his deadly mood.
He merely glared, the weak man cowering under his gaze.
As he walked to his car the hands played patty cake. As he reached under
the passenger side seat and took out a brown paper bag they played a musical
beat. He drove in circles for hours, never minding the honking of horns
of angry shouts of other drivers as they fought to get home as soon as
possible. The daily rush normally had him screaming out his own window,
but today he just stared at the paper bag, sitting harmlessly on the seat.
He was in no hurry. He drove past his apartment, down dark and strange
streets to stop under a neon sign, and the hands stilled, building in pressure
with nowhere to go. As he exited the car with his package tucked carefully
under his arm, kicking the trash and debris from around his feet, the hands
tried to claw their way to his mouth. Swallowing, fierce, he entered the
dark building. Put dirty money into a dirty hand. Spoke softly, growled.
Iwamoto sat on the bed and crumpled the empty bag into a ball, tossing
it into the corner. He stared at the door as he slid his jacket off his
shoulders and loosened his tie. The door across the room opened and closed,
finally, admitting a single figure.
Short, spiky black hair, greased back. Brown eyes, perhaps large enough.
Dark skin, perhaps sweet enough. Full lips, perhaps soft enough.
Green uniform.
The hands scattered and broke to the surface. With a roar, Iwamoto stormed
across the room, slamming his palms against the door and trapping the boy.
He gritted his teeth, glaring, pulsing, heavy.
The little cock needed a lesson.
A big lesson.
His big cock.
His fist closed over the chin, not nearly pointed enough, but youthful
enough, and he crushed those wicked lips beneath his own. He shifted until
his throbbing groin pinned the small body to the door, raising it inches
off the floor as he ground his hips into bone and wiry muscle.
He made a small, soft sound, and Iwamoto growled around the lips. "Fight.
You never stop fighting, damn you- you worthless little shit!" He bit down,
forcing his tongue into the hot cavern. Cigarettes- just how he knew Urameshi
would taste. He groaned as his tongue filled that mouth, that ceaselessly
moving mouth.
The body beneath his came alive, suddenly, with the fire that incensed
him so. Urameshi kicked and wriggled, sending delicious waves of heat up
Iwamoto's spine. Urameshi squealed and bit down hard, turning his head
away. He glared hard up at Iwamoto's smirk, thick brows furrowed as blood
dribbled down the corner of his mouth.
"You sick old fuck."
Iwamoto's smirk widened, but then dimmed suddenly. "You're supposed
to try and get away."
Urameshi nodded with a wink, the mask slipping back down as he quickly
sank to his knees, darting between Iwamoto's spread legs. He made it to
his feet again in time to get slammed from behind as Iwamoto bodily shoved
him onto the bed. He bounced once, twice, before Iwamoto grabbed his ankles
and flipped him over, face up.
Iwamoto's chest heaved, the cloud encompassing him, but this time there
were no meddling teachers around, no students, and he was free to teach
the little weed a lesson. His eyes focused on those lips, full and dark
from his touch, wet with his kiss and his blood. He licked his lips as
he watched Urameshi slowly pant, trying vainly to pull his legs together.
He pulled one ankle free and lashed out, kicking the glasses from his face.
Iwamoto's head snapped to the side as his spectacles, and he froze,
blinking back the stars as Urameshi clambered back onto all fours, although
he didn't get far up the bed, since Iwamoto's grip on his other ankle tightened.
He growled and turned his head slowly, staring at that tight ass as Urameshi
tried to yank free, making small noises from the effort.
"Let go, you old bastard! Let go of me!"
Iwamoto growled and yanked again and Urameshi slid back towards him,
gripping the sheets and bringing them with him as Iwamoto situated himself
between his legs. He bucked his hips, catching Urameshi's balls with his
cock, swollen and eager inside his pants. Urameshi grunted and tried twisting,
but Iwamoto grabbed his belt and held him firm against him as he rocked
his hips up, hissing at the contact, imagining in his mind how soft and
new those balls were.
"Time to learn your place, you roach!" Iwamoto growled, trapping Urameshi's
leg under his armpit and snaking his hand around to unbuckle the belt.
"And I'm just the one to teach you." Urameshi's hands slapped and pulled
at his own as he unbuttoned his pants and slid his hand roughly inside,
not even bothering to unzip them. He wrapped his thick fingers around his
hot flesh and squeezed hard, leaning over the boy's back. "Beg me..." He
tightened his grip and Urameshi choked on a cry. "Beg me, Yusuke."
He massaged his rapidly hardening cock, returning to his upward thrusts,
feeling his own sex pumping against his fist through the fabric of their
pants. He felt moisture soaking the briefs beneath his fingertips, and
with a grunt he forced his hand inside, finally touching that flesh, that
sweet flesh he'd dreamed of. It was so soft and so hot and firm and wet-
god, the wetness. He withdrew his hand long enough to smell his fingers,
lick the salty fluid from his fingers, sucking until the taste was gone.
Unsatisfied, he pushed his hand back in, fondling, touching, gripping every
inch of flesh between Urameshi's trembling thighs.
"Nn, so delicious... So deliciously hairless."
The boy had collapsed onto his crossed arms, moaning into his sleeve.
"Unnn... unnn... unnnmm..." He bucked his hips as the head was pinched
just so, and his balls stroked just right.
Iwamoto's breath hitched in his throat at the sounds issuing from him
and tightened his grip further, making the slender body twist as he cried
out more from pain than pleasure. "Beg me, you worthless shit. You whore."
Another squeeze and Urameshi wriggled harder, working his trapped leg free.
He leapt forward, towards the head of the bed, slipping half out of his
pants as Iwamoto held onto the black strap of his belt. His shoes tangled
in the legs of his pants, and Urameshi flipped onto his back just as Iwamoto
slammed him against the wooden headboard, his head impacting sharply.
Urameshi cried out in pain as Iwamoto attacked his neck, biting and
sucking as he gripped the front of Urameshi's underwear, ripping them off
in one tug. The feel of his skin was one thing, the look of him was another.
His caramel flesh was flushed and sweaty, his cock still half hard, thrusting
up frotweetween his slim legs. His hip bones jutted, framing his tight
belly, heaving with his breathing. Iwamoto growled, a deep, primal sound
in the back of his throat as he gripped the tender flesh painfully.
Whining, his voice cracking, Urameshi struggled beneath him as his hands
pulled and bruised his skin. "Get off me!" His demand was more panicked
now, and it drove Iwamoto to greater heights of arousal.
To see the little bastard actually afraid.
He slammed his eyes shut, fighting off the orgasm that the mere idea
and imagery invoked in him and the peripheral sensations. He opened his
eyes again and laid down, crushing the tiny body beneath his own as he
worked his way out of his shirt. Unbuttoned, he tossed it behind him and
resumed his harsh caresses, sliding his tongue into Urameshi's mouth, open
with pants and cries. Small hands tried to cover his own, tried to disengage
them from their brutal mission as his blunt nails dug gouges into his sides,
small streams of blood trickling down his ribs and onto the mattress.
"Get... off! Get OFF!" Urameshi sobbed as Iwamoto bit his jaw and shoved
two fingers into his virgin body. The dry pads gripped the tender flesh
of his insides, and Urameshi bucked his hips again, this time in an attempt
to remove the hands from his body.
Iwamoto released his grip on Urameshi's jaw, a faint copper taste lingering
in his mouth. His gaze traveled from the teeth marks to his brown eyes,
wide and wild.
Afraid. So deliciously afraid.
"Beg me." He hissed, moving his mouth close to the boy's ear. "Beg me,
Yusuke." The first name, as before, was foreign and forbidden on his tongue,
a rich treat of syllables he rarely indulged in. He repeated it over and
over again as the body beneath his shivered.
"...Pl..."
"Yes." Iwamoto's face contorted into an expression of ecstasy. So close,
so very close. He ground his hips into Urameshi's thigh.
"Please... Please..." He sounded broken and small, and most of all-
weak. He was finally cowed.
"Yes!" Iwamoto hissed again as he allowed the waves of his passion to
grip his spine and twist his gut, his pants sticking to him where he rubbed
his shaft against the boy.
"P-Please! PLEASE!" He shrieked as Iwamoto hastily removed himself from
his pants. His engorged cock was heavy and leaking in his fists as he pushed
Urameshi's legs up, roughly removing his pants and shoes and tossing them
away, wrapping his thin legs around his waist. Iwamoto looked down into
his deep eyes, shining with tears that threatened to fall.
So damn perfect.
Iwamoto reached into his pocket and took out a small packet, tearing
it open with his teeth. Taking the condom out, he rolled it onto his shaft,
groaning in anticipation- he had waited so long for this moment, no matter
how hard he tried to deny it, that he couldn't remember ever not wanting
to fuck the little bastard.
The condom allowed enough lubrication to make his discomfort negligible,
but he provided no stretching of the tight opening. He leveled the head
of his cock, gently brushing his fingers against the smooth flesh of Urameshi's
ass, a stark contrast to the fury with which he speared the delinquent.
He filled him to the hilt, bending over the painfully arched body, rocking
as Urameshi screamed himself hoarse. He choked on his cry, coughing and
sobbing as Iwamoto pulled out slowly and plunged in again as hard as he
could.
Urameshi threw his arms out, gripping the bare mattress with deadly
force, his thighs squeezing Iwamoto's waist tightly, his hole gripping
even tighter. Iwamoto felt light headed, finally realizing he had stopped
breathing, the intense heat and unbelievable tightness of the supple body
beneath him enough to make him come with his first deep gasp. His gut burned,
the hands in his belly fluttering about, but not escaping with his semen.
His body shuddered, but he continued to lazily pump, the over sensitized
flesh of his organ protesting deliciously as he was milked of his seed
and then pulled and squeezed and burned back into a slow erection.
Urameshi's temples were soaked with tears, his head thrown back, but
his cock bobbing unbearably hard against his belly, betraying him as his
prostate was speared again and again. Iwamoto released his own choked cry
as he buried to the hilt, then rotated his hips in a circular motion. Urameshi
seemed about to snap his own spine as he arched further, both clawing at
the bed to escape and pushing down harder on the intruding cock.
His mouth a silent 'o', Urameshi flung his arms up, wrapping them around
Iwamoto's broad shoulders, clawing at his back and leaving his own bloody
trails. Iwamoto grunted, gripping his slender hips and pulling them both
up into a sitting position, to bounce him up and down on his cock, Urameshi's
painful erection beautifully displayed and neglected, thumping against
one belly then the next with each snap of Iwamoto's hips. He slid one large
hand up Urameshi's taut belly, up under his shirt to twist and abuse a
nipple.
Urameshi hissed, digging his nails deeper into his shoulders, his head
rocking forward to rest against Iwamoto. "Nngod." He broke off into a mantra
of erotic pants and moans, gasping into Iwamoto's ear as he neared his
own orgasm. His body spasmed, tightening impossibly around Iwamoto's huge
membcauscausing the swarthy man to toss his own head back in a silent cry.
"So fucking tight... So good, yes... You were made for this..." Iwamoto
sprang to his knees and rushed forward, slamming Urameshi against the headboard
again, using the wood and the wall to brace the lithe body as he pounded
him ruthlessly, semen running down the length of his cock and past the
ring of the condom, dripping down his thighs just as Urameshi's precum
glistened against their bellies. Balancing himself with a firmer stance,
Iwamoto fucked Urameshi against the wall, the sound of wet skin pounding
wet skin and heavy breathing and moans, the smell of sex and sweat filling
the room. Urameshi sobbed into his shoulder as his body shuddered, his
orgasm torn from him as his cock was crushed between their bodies with
every thrust. His come splashed his jacket and belly, and Iwamoto's.
The sticky-wet sensation dripping down to his balls and the tight spasming
of the ring of muscles surrounding him pulled his second orgasm from him,
and Iwamoto continued to slam Urameshi's body against the wall as he rode
out the waves, screaming into his hair, limp and sweat soaked. Finally
his legs gave out and he sank to the bed, still holding the now limp body
of his worst student against the headboard as the last of the fireworks
died out in his nerves. Urameshi shuddered against his expansive chest,
sweat and semen catching the cooler air and creating a stream of fluid
that connected them, membrane-like, until Iwamoto carelessly pushed him
to the side and off him, his limp sex slipping free of his body.
Urameshi lay in a motionless puddle on the bed, panting, as Iwamoto
began to dress, still trying to catch his own breath. He pulled his jacket
on, finally, and shoved his tie into his pocket, too exhausted to attempt
it. He looked back at the bed, at the pantless whore laying on the filthy
mattress. His hair was limp and dull, his eyes equally dull, his skin holding
a certain pallor and his limbs thin and spindly. He smiled prettily.
"I need that back." Was all Iwamoto said, as the stranger slowly stripped
the rest of the uniform from himself. He tossed it to him, and stooping
to pick up the shoes and pants, he gathered it all back into the bag. Placing
his glasses back on his face, he reached into his pocket and pulled out
more money, tossing the tip onto the foot of the bed.
"Until next time, Iwamoto-sensei?"
Iwamoto watched as he gathered the money and stood, unabashed. He turned
and left without a word.
He lied to himself on the way home that there would be no next time.
That he had indulged too many times already. But he felt so much better,
so much more free. He felt now as he had felt when he'd smacked him around
in that empty classroom, only to a higher degree. He felt he had power
over the punk. The anger and hatred and lust all mingled into an ugly sensation
that burrowed into his soul until he felt he would go mad, but not now.
The hands had stilled, the cloud had passed... and he knew it wouldn't
last. He had been freed from the curse when that shit died, but somehow
he came back- it was what he had desperately wished for, what he had madly
cursed. He hated the punk, hated him with every fiber of his being. And
yet, he was so lovely, so god damn sinfully every wet dream he'd ever had
rolled into one, and the sensation of causing him pain with his own hands
was even sweeter than the feel of his skin.
No longer was it a busty girl-child in her fuku, toting books that were
too heavy for her, needing help as she bent to retrieve fallen tomes and
revealing pink lacy panties that filled his dreams and thoughts as he touched
himself on lonely nights. No, since Urameshi arrived, with his untouchable
demeanor and careless, free attitude, it was him- naked, sweaty, afraid
and submitting, helpless beneath his hands that made him gasp into his
pillow and stain his sheets.
He couldn't explain it anymore than he could explain how he came back
from the dead, and just as final as that fact. Urameshi wasn't going anywhere,
and neither was this sickness that consumed him.
He dropped his jacket on his desk, along with his car keys and glasses.
He took off his pants and dropped bonelessly onto the bed. Yes, he felt
better now, much more stable. But it was worse than the last time- he hadn't
needed the uniform before to make it feel real.... He could remember when
he didn't even need another body to keep the fantasy going, when his own
fist was enough. This time was worst than the last, and that one worse
than the one before it. The next one... No, there would be no next time
at that dirty club.
Iwamoto looked down, at the condom still gripping, pinching his skin.
His groin was cold, dead feeling. He turned his head and after a moment's
contemplation, he pulled the bag toward himself and opened it, burying
his face in the soiled green cloth.
Next time, a stand-in would not be enough.
Next time, he would need the real thing, the real flesh and sounds and
feel and taste.
Next time, he would rape that little fucker. Claim him. Break him. Destroy
him. There would be no coming back from that- he'd go to hell and he'd
stay there. And the cycle would end and he would be at peace.
Snuffling the sweat and semen and imagining it was really Urameshi's,
he drifted to sleep, a cloud looming on the horizon, just at the edge of
his consciousness.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ping- Well, that wasn't as bad as you'd feared, now was it?

Yusuke- ::looks at teaching staff:: Uh... ::starts to back away::

Drunky- ::whispers:: Wait 'till he sees the next pairing... ^^

Ping- Heh heh.... Ping is goin' global! Your ass ain't safe from nobody!
^__^ V

Yusuke- ... Spirit Gun!
- 1
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Sickness