Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Training	By : Artemick Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Yaoi - Male/Male > Kurama/Kuwabara Views: 3306 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YYH nor do I make any money off this.

Chapter List
- 1-Training
- 2-One Minute Rounds
- 1
- 2
“You don’t need to remove your jacket,” Kurama said.

I posed, baring my chest and giving him a cheesy grin. “You intimidated? Look at these muscles. Like an MMA champ!”

Kurama laughed softly. “I’ll hurt you. I’d rather mark your jacket with the whip than your skin.”

“I’ll accept that. Price of getting better.” I put the jacket down near the base of a tree.

Hiei, leaning against the tree to watch, said, “Keep talking to him.”

“I heard that,” Kurama said.

Hiei grinned and announced, “It keeps his mind occupied.”

Kurama had a sour look when I turned.

“Uh, just ignore him,” I suggested.

Kurama stiffened with anger. “Be ready.”

“Hey Kurama,” Hiei called. “Tell us - what do you think of your invitation to the tournament?”

Kurama’s rising ki, sharp and wild as a tornado of glass, faltered. Its center wavered and he dropped his lifted arm. Kurama gave a deep sigh and turned to the small demon. “Why don’t you fight first then, Hiei?”

“Gladly.”

I put my fists on my hips. “Aw. I wanted to save the little guy for when I was tired.”

Forty minutes later, when I couldn’t stand, Kurama stepped forward.

“Fuck,” I breathed quietly, rolling onto my back.

“You still want to fight me?” His green eyes fixed on me from above. I could hear in his voice how unwise he thought that would be.

I shut my eyes and inhaled. “Yeah. In a minute.”

Kurama clenched his fists. “Do you realize the danger you’ll be in?”

“Yeah.”

“Hiei cannot prepare you for the viciousness of the fights.”

I lifted my head to peer at him. I didn’t like his tone. It seemed he was trying to give me a fair warning.

“Your weakness and his honor make him go easy on you.” Kurama stared into me. “I will not.”

I understood. Kurama knew Hiei’s going easy in training was kind, even honorable, but it would end in my death. Hiei had been gentle, condescending, in our fight. It made Kurama angry, and the fox pushed his shoulders back now, resolved against extending mercy to a friend.

“Good.” I turned to my side and hefted all my weight upright. I teetered like the Tower of Pisa after a hard rain.

I hurt, and was afraid. Kurama was channeling that anger, using it to form a certainty of purpose, of violence, that frightened me. But I set my feet in a wide stance, ready to bear it. “Come on, toughen me up.”

Kurama bowed his head. His eyes shut for a moment, then opened to fix me with furious regret and warning. As his singsong voice came, I remembered: he was a demon.

“As you wish.”

The whip was smooth, thornless but still heavy as a whale’s tail.

I was flung around like Dorothy’s house in the hurricane, getting a foot down here and there. But it was minutes before I touched the ground again, and then I fell.

I growled, pulling myself up with my elbows.

“Fight for it,” Kurama ordered sharply in my ear.

I slashed out with my ki sword, but he was gone.

Then my rib cracked.

“Wait,” I said. “You broke it – “

He didn’t wait.

He kept at me, tearing and beating, like a cat releasing a chipmunk from its teeth only for joy of chasing it into its claws.

I began to shout, “I said wait – stop!”

But he didn’t. Of course that was the lesson.

I hung in that nightmare storm of blows, where the pain blinded me like cotton thunderheads that the strikes of the whip cut into like lightning.

But my eyes adjusted.

As the posters on my bedroom wall would appear as I lay trying to fall asleep, I began to pick out what was happening around me. I saw his arms draw back and lace out, to see his feet turn and his weight shift. It was as if my brain had needed to fill up with gathered experience before it could overflow into action.

I finally grabbed the whip as it whistled past my ear. My hand closed on it. Though the momentum threw me onto my back, I hung on and jerked him a step toward me.

“Good!” Kurama shouted, cracking me across the face. “Again.”

And he went faster.

I could tell that Kurama was about to call off the fight, but before he could, Hiei began talking. He spoke as casually as if he were sitting across from Kurama in a café over coffee.

“I suppose you lost a lot of power crossing over, fox. You’ve never quite recovered. Not that it can be
expected with the sacrifices you’ve made.”

This jab came on the tail of a good block I’d made, one I was rather sure Kurama hadn’t meant to give to me. Kurama was better than Hiei at bringing out that glorious animal fighter in me, that lightning fast, instinctive grit. Because of that, I was fighting at my best and Kurama was able to be a little serious. Only a little. He was still fighting with basically no intention or intellect, only functional blows. It was lazy fighting for him. But he was practicing at full speed, which gave me pride. Our fight was a stupid muscle stretch for him, as if a brilliant soccer player were asked to jog around the block to warm up.

But Hiei’s taunts were gluing up his gears.

I tried to take advantage of it and charge. Kurama snapped the whip around my ankle and threw me down.

Hiei shouted, “Fox. What of the tournament?”

Kurama was getting angry and frustrated – his emotional energy sounded like a rock tumbler to me, churning gravel.

“What about the tournament?” I gasped out. It wasn’t honorable; the broken rib made me desperate.

“You can still talk?” Kurama said.

I chuckled, pathetic. “You disappointed?”

Kurama smiled. He shrugged, undoing the first button of his dress shirt. I felt it was a small victory – I might be dying, but I had made Kurama sweat!

“You know what’s waiting for you. Going to run?” Hiei asked his companion.

“Quiet, Hiei.” Kurama’s student voice was keeping control, snappy and low. He looked to me and explained, as if I hadn’t guessed: “Hiei knows my opinion on this and he knows it makes me angry.”

“You need practice managing your temper tantrums.” Hiei called.

Kurama snorted. He looped the whip up and shrunk it to a rose. “You did well, Kuwabara. You’ve improved. Let’s stop here for today.”

Two months later, Kurama and I were watching TV before bed, gawking at the shows and lying on the floor in pajamas. Yuusuke snored in the other room and Hiei was out, so we made ourselves roommates, both wanting some conscious company, and left them other room.

The hotel TV had demon programming, which both of us found novel. Kurama knew about demons and about gameshows, but never the combination, and I was morbidly fascinated that there could be a gameshow based on entrail prophesy.

“And you didn’t want to come back here!” I gestured at the grotesque prizes two neko boys paraded on the screen. “Who doesn’t want a free t-shirt with a real intestine print on it?”

Kurama turned it off.

“I was kidding…are you – I mean, you’re really angry, aren’t you?”

Kurama wiped his hand over his face and heaved a quaking breath. He wrestled back control. “I am finding it hard to let go of my pride.”

“Why should you?” I felt lost here.

“To accept that I’m here on a team and that I’m not as strong as I was. I am sure I feel pain more intensely than either you or Yuusuke.” He dragged his hand through his tangled hair. “A cut you would hardly feel makes me cry out; a blow you would hardly notice will knock me flying. For some reason I am the most human in that way, the weakest.”

“You’re still the best out there,” I chuckled. “Even Hiei’s afraid of you. Yuusuke’s more respectful around you two than anyone. And me, I mean – if anyone should be worried about these fights…you know, it’s me. Not you.”

Kurama glanced over. “No. You did well. Practice pulling into the mindset of the fight, the awareness of your opponent. You’ll be fine if you can keep that insight.”

“Hah, liar. Okay,” I put my hands up and called up my sword. “Let’s try it!”

My ki was shaky and splintered. I was too exhausted to contain the energy into a shape, and it went nova.

“Argh!” I shook my burned hands. “Dammit – “

I registered the outcry I heard an instant later, as I turned to apologize and saw Kurama’s mouth and eyes wide.

He was holding his arm. I could see bloody scratches. The side of his thigh nearest me was scored with burns. The sparks and stray energy from my sword had scorched through his flannel pajamas and into his flesh.

“It’s okay,” Kurama whispered, gulping air. “I’m okay – “

“I’m sorry!” I got on my knees, wanting to help but afraid to touch the injuries. He looked like he’d been hit with a spray of Urameshi’s shot gun. The blood seeped quickly into the felt.

Kurama stretched his arm out, pushing me back on the collarbone. “Superficial wounds only. You’re quite powerful, Kuwabara. As I said.”

He was lying, I was sure. “I’m a moron. It was an accident.”

“Like earth caught in a meteor shower,” he said, slipping the waist of his trousers over his ass. He pulled them down to his knees.

I tried not to look at the brush of red hair in his lap, which was easy enough after he began examining the small wounds. I felt sick to have caused them. His skin was glossy white, except for the bloody dashes, and I felt guilt crushing me.

“We – we could ask Botan back to heal you.”

“I won’t bother her for something so small.” He grunted, shifting his weight to the side. He sat up on his knees and tugged the pants up.

The mess of injuries were mostly hidden by the torn flannel.

“It was an accident,” he repeated, when he saw me staring. “We’re fighters. Such a thing is to be expected.”

I grabbed my ankles, bowing over, ashamed. “Shouldn’t have screwed around.”

He shook his head and reached back, pulling his pajama top out of his bag. “This is what I meant. Even pain – you and Yuusuke are pure human, yet feel much less pain than I do.”

“No way. You’re really tough.”

“Thank you. But it’s true,” he shoved his arm out into a wide sleeve. He looked thin inside it, but even so small, he was perfectly proportioned. A small man, but a man nevertheless. A man to be admired. He jerked it up onto his shoulders and reached back to pull his hair out. Auburn swirls spilled down, hiding his long throat. “You’ll know. This tournament will provide ample time to listen to me scream.”

I laughed. “Yeah right. You’ll show all those demons the door – to the afterlife!”

Kurama shook his head, grinning. “Yeah, right.”

I pumped my fist once before correcting, “Not that there’s anything wrong with demons, I mean.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m not prejudiced or anything.”

“I’m sure you have some very good friends who are demons.” His eyes glinted as he grinned. He fished out a hair tie and held it between his teeth. He ran his hands smoothly back along his skull, herding those piles of red curls.

“Right,” I said, watching.

Kurama snapped the hair tie around his hair, catching it up in a bushy mess. He let his arms drop, giving a short sigh. “May I turn the tv back on?”

“I don’t care,” I offered, hoping it would distract him. Blood was coming through his sleeve. “Go for it.”

He did.

With my new awareness, every move he made, from tying up his hair to tossing the remote down, I could predict it all, once the action began.

He rested his chin on his knee, completely ignoring the television that splattered colors over his pale, delicate face. I could see how tense he was, how fast his mind was spinning.

“Kurama.”

Kurama looked at me and saw that I had noticed.

“I used to be a fox,” he admitted slowly. “I was very good and this whole tournament would have been so very far beneath me. It’s an insult to be invited. They should know that I am above this.”

“Er- well, I’m glad they don’t. At least one of us is totally prepared.”

Kurama exhaled, his legs dropping, spread across the floor. The pajamas were pushed up to his knees as he stretched. I noticed his legs had already scabbed over; he was healing fast. “No. I’m no longer ready.”

My brow creased. Kurama continued: “I meant that the tournament arrangers should not be aware that I am prey to their game now, like a feeder dog in a pitbull fight. I had hoped my reputation lingered. I wish that my old life had meant something permanent. Not that I can change that or should – it simply irritates me to be starting from scratch again.”

“Like when you’re 25 and they’re still carding you at the bar.”

“Like when you let your membership to a club lapse and get dragged into a horrible dive instead.”

“’Least you got your friends with you, right?”

Kurama wiped his forehead to hide a sarcastic look.

I didn’t mean for him to take that comment seriously. I knew he was too pragmatic to consider emotional ties not as living things to experience, rather than treasures to hoard and fight for. But I wanted to say it. He needed to hear it. I repeated it: “We got your back.”

“I’m grateful. I hope you know that extends from me to you as well?” He said it with the easy assurance of someone who has always been popular.

I remembered that he had his gang, always, his partners. He’d be vulnerable alone, I realized. He’d be formidable and ferocious, but still fragile.

That vicious anger exclaimed his lack of comfort or faith in my statement of friendship. He knew the limits of relationships, the emotional breaking and conditionality as well as physical boundaries. He was right. We could be close as brothers and still end up fighting alone.

I had seen a dogfight once. It was ugly. I broke it up; I can’t stand people hurting animals. But by then the smaller dog was dead.

I felt cold.

I reached out and rubbed his back. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll break anyone who fucks with you.”

He rested his head on his knees, letting me touch him.

I could feel the knobs of his spine through the flannel. “Eat a sandwich will you? You’re going to blow away in the wind.”

Kurama chuckled and said nothing. His eyes closed sleepily.

I saw something I recognized from Shizuru’s laundry by his hip: the Victoria Secret label. “You know those are women’s pajamas?”

“Yes, I know.” He sounded surprised. “How did you know that?”

For all his human body and upbringing, talking to him gave me an intense sense of culture shock. His accent was normal but his word choice bizarre; his grammar and idiom were perfect but the ideas he expressed with them utterly alien and cold.

I patted his shoulder and tugged at the flannel. “The brand. You and your flowers - you’re like an old lady.”

Kurama laughed. “They’re not mine. They’re my mother’s.”

“Wha-at?”

He winced, embarrassed but grinning in self deprecation. “I don’t own pajamas. I usually sleep…n-naturally.”

“Ahh,” I threw my head back. That made sense; much more sense than the odd floral flannel with its threadbare satin trim. I imagined him tossing his uniform off, brushing his teeth and wandering nude as he set out a shirt for the next day, then sliding that clean and heavy body between the sheets. Sleeping natural suited the fox. A human, an animal like any other: born in skin. “Commando, eh? Me too.”

“I didn’t know what you would be comfortable with - or who I’d end up sharing a room with. But I didn’t want to be offensive,” he said, pulling the shirt across his chest. “Though now I’m just cold. And aching. Inari! Kuwabara, what did we do to ourselves these last weeks?”

“As if you even broke a sweat.”

He looked at me with large eyes.

I tilted my head. “Did you?”

“I never show my exertion, if I can hid it. If you feel pain in the upcoming fights, hide it as best you can. A show of strength can deter their tortures. Never let them know how weak you are.”

I nodded. “Sure. It’s a deal.”

He looked out. “I tremble when I think of what I’ll suffer in this tournament. But it can’t be helped.”

“You can quit,” I insisted.

He laughed. “Hardly.”

“Sure you can. We could cover for you.”

“No,” he corrected gently. “You couldn’t.”

We ordered food up and finished it, still laying on the floor. The TV ran, Hiei had not come home, Yuusuke had not woken up. The conversation was warm, with us both exhausted and happy to be alive, if only for another few days. We didn’t hide anything, just rambled on.

“I was surprised when my father died,” Kurama said. “To be in a world where people lived long enough to die naturally was bizarre to me.”

“It’s cool that he stuck around with your mom. And vice versa.”

“Especially since I was such a horror.”

“Everyone likes a kid like you,” I said. “Honor student, responsible.”

“They’re not stupid. They knew what I was hiding – that I was wrong, somehow. I didn’t relate to them, didn’t tell jokes. I learned to later on, but at first…I was just stern.” He sat for a moment. “Marriage is an interesting concept.”

I stretched, groaning, and Kurama offered his chiropractic skill picked up from his old life. I lay down, face in my folded arms. He knelt beside me, his hands hard, fingers unnaturally powerful for their thinness. He still finally straddled me, apologizing, to get a stronger angle.

“You’re beating the evil out of me,” I groaned, mouth half smashed against the carpet.

“Can I fix your feet?” Kurama asked, rubbing over my neck and skull. “It would help your ki cycle.”

“Go for it!”

I didn’t ask why, but he was massaging me with the intensity of a perfectionist. His hands groped over my ass, to the base of my thighs, down to my knees, and over my calves. Just as Kurama knew vaguely that it was unnatural to wear a woman’s pajamas, but not why, and still did it, he seemed to have a little awareness that squeezing the tense muscle of another man’s ass was a slight social risk – but he did it anyway.

I got a thick boner, involuntarily, and decided to fall asleep there and not roll over. I concentrated on not letting my hips tilt; I was longing to grind into the floor.

Kurama got one of my feet in his small, impossible hands.

“That’s really good,” I groaned. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Calcium buildup. Feel that, like sand?” He pushed his thumbs hard up the center of my foot. There was a sensation like crushing a sheet of tiny bubble wrap. “That’s the calcium crystals breaking up. Drink a lot of water after this to wash it all out, though, or it’ll just lodge somewhere else.”

I thought suddenly that I knew where it would lodge: my cock, where all my blood was draining away to fill. I imagined enough calcium build up that my erection would become like cartilage, like bone, evolved into a perma-rection. I would be the world’s first human unicorn, a bone horn for virgins. I began laughing like crazy at the wild thought, laughing till I choked.

Kurama looked back. He didn’t ask, but his eyes picked at me like I was a knot to be teased apart. “What?”

“Sorry,” I wheezed. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m a moron.” I fought the urge to explain because I knew I would end up insisting on a happy ending massage to avoid any unfortunate calcification. And I had seen Kurama’s nails.

His fingers picked over my toes, stretching them forward and back. I could hear that Kurama was waiting, curious, still listening for my answer.

He was going to have to keep waiting, I thought, for a long, long time.

I felt his ass settle in the hollows of my knees. His folded legs rested along the outside of my calves.

Another silly thought occurred to me, that if I were to lift my feet together and pull them outward, I would be able to force Kurama’s legs wide, baring his groin and tenders to the wind. But I wouldn’t be able to see it, much less touch him or do anything with him. Although I could feel him struggle. Feel his strong thighs pull on mine.

No, I thought. He wouldn’t like it. He didn’t like being held down. I wouldn’t.

Besides, I thought, cock quivering, he was nearly an acrobat. He could spread his legs out into a perfect split easily. I pictured the creamy thighs wide open, his brows drawn in a whimpering expression of protest and pleasure.

My buttocks tensed, pounding my cock against the carpet.

A hot, wetness spread over the arch of my foot. My toes curled and I jerked my foot back instinctively.

I twisted up. “What was that?”

Kurama looked like a raccoon caught in the light, his hands up like paws.

“Coach. Did you lick me?”

Kurama half smiled, pushing himself off me. He scuttled, settling his back against the bureau the TV was set on with a thump. He pulled up his knees. “I – I’m just tired.”

I grinned. I had thought I was mistaken, thought the heat was – I wasn’t sure, but not tongue. To think that Kurama was attracted enough to touch me, to run his hands over me, made me think suddenly that our whole day was his contrivance. He wasn’t above it, and was certainly clever enough to try.

I asked smugly, “You always suck on people’s feet when you’re tired?”

“No! No, I just – “ he wiped his bangs out of his face, staring at the floor. “Forget it.”

I rolled over, reaching down to feel if it was actually saliva on my foot. It was sticky, slick. “You don’t know where that’s been.”

“The shower, the carpet,” he listed, staring. “I can smell it.”

I followed his gaze down between my legs. He knew, I realized. He’d scented that rock demon so long ago at Maze Castle; it would be no trouble to smell me. He knew I was aroused, and yet he kept touching me. Perhaps there was no plan then, only pheromones.

Modesty forgotten, I had let my legs hang open and displayed straining boxers, lifted in a high, tight tent. My dick would have made the army drill sergeant thrilled. Rain would bounce off that fabric like a dimes off a hospital cornered bed sheet, I thought. Or Kurama’s ass. Whichever was closer.

Inappropriate, I thought.

Kurama’s knees were pressed together, swathed in those long odd flannels with great colored sunflowers on them, and a flushed peach ground. He looked warm as summer. His toes were curled in, his face downturned.

I stretched my legs out, pinning his in, watching his cheeks redden. I didn’t want to scare him. My classmates called it a monster cock, but I was really only the high side of average. I think it was the rest of my body, tall broad muscle, that was oversized, so the perception and rumor stuck. But I was a healthy thick five and seven eighths inches, maybe a bit pudgy. Not monster.

I fished my cock out. “Look what you did, Kurama, licking things you shouldn’t.”

“Kuwabara, stop it.”

“What?” I tugged the fabric around the base of my balls, so the whole statue was out and upright, head to foot and beet red.

“Exposing yourself.” He couldn’t look away. “You don’t need to do that.”

“No, I don’t.” I rocked my hips, waggling it. “Ha ha! I just think it’s fun. Come on. I showed you mine.”

Kurama reached over his chest, holding his other arm protectively. “I think we should both just go to bed.”

I shook my head decisively. “Nope. Show me yours.”

“No.”

When I interrupted his caress, him acting out and dragging his tongue over the sole of my foot, I must have triggered all the etiquette he’d forgotten. But I’d get that other side of him back, that impulsive tongue.

I looped my fingers around my cock. Pulling slowly down and up, keeping hard, I asked Kurama, “Are you circumcised? Everyone says you lived abroad.”

“I go to ecology conferences. They don’t offer circumcisions there,” he said.

“I bet you’re a snake. How long are you?”

“That’s – not your business.”

“What’s going on under there? How long are you when you’re hard?” I pumped my hand. “Six inches? Seven?”

“That’s…” Kurama looked away, pulling his knees tighter. “This is ridiculous.”

I sat up, masturbating. While he avoided looking at me, I reached around his tightly closed legs, pressed together down to the ankle, and pinched his scrotum lightly. Just chucked it a little.

His legs sprang apart to help him escape my groping. I reached out and grabbed at him. He leapt away, light, but the flannels came down in my hand. His white cock was swinging, interested and wild, the head sore and swollen.

Kurama yanked the pants from my hand and tugged them up. He tucked himself away. “Stop it!”

“Don’t pretend to be a prude. You smelled that rock beast back at Maze Castle; I know you could smell me getting hot,” I pointed out. I wasn’t exactly roses either.

Kurama rubbed his nose.

“Or maybe you thought it was you?”

“I knew it wasn’t me.”

“You still rubbed my ass down and rode me and massaged me. You licked my foot.”

“That was just fun…”

I imagined going after him. We would wreck the room, chasing one another over the bed, me rushing, his light gymnastics. There would be a noise complaint call from the lobby and if I were very lucky, I would have caught him up in the circle of my arms and be kissing his neck while he struggled, begging me, stop Kuwabara, oh stop.

Or I would not catch him and he would give me a concussion. More likely.

I pulled my shorts off and lay back, feeling the grain of the carpet on my ass. “Forget it then. If you don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

I smoothed my cock up against my stomach, covering my eyes. I groaned, as the warm skin on my stomach rubbed the top. I traced the underside.

I opened my eyes and he was standing over me. His green eyes poured into me, like the first day of training.

“But I think you do,” I said. “I don’t care what your rules are, long as we play.”
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