Adult-FanFiction.org : YuYu Hakusho

Fugu	By : Artemick Category: Yuyu Hakusho > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 2973 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: YuYuHakusho and the characters belong to Yoshishiro Togashi; and am making no money off this.

Chapter List
- 1-Datura
- 1
~
"What did you dream about this afternoon? A woman in your arms? The sea at your doorstep? Nooooo! You dreamt of me and of the grave. I know because I was there. And I can be there every time you close your eyes. The pain I cause you, in the room upstairs, is nothing to the pain I can cause in your own mind. Remember that..." - The Serpent and the Rainbow
~
                The school lab was its own territory, markedly surreal by the sputtering florescent lighting. Fits of acrid chemical scent flooded out from various minerals, manures, blooms and fresh cuttings.
Kurama left his bag hanging on a hook at the door. He glanced over and saw two boys from the science club worked in the far corner. They were cutting up a specimen on a metal tray, one of the dead exotic fish from the aquarium that stood beyond them. They had been farming them for weeks now.
Kurama edged down the wall, where he could work near the grow-lights and watering cans. He didn't like dissection. It seemed lazy, cutting through the knot instead of untangling it. He liked to study systems that were alive and make them fiercer.
Spirit World was quiet, so he'd been indulging in his personal project, an honors thesis sponsored by the university on poisonous plants. In a locked case by the wall, he kept two dozen datura samples, beautiful and blooming. They were called moonflowers or angel's trumpets. Datura contained atropine and scopolamine, and caused powerful hallucinations. With it came fever, arousal, and occasionally death. There used to be a claim that witches used it to fly, which Kurama supposed could have a lyrical truth to it.
The university wanted health benefits. Kurama had his own reasons.
Recently some of his classmates had apparently been cutting stems off, as if they thought the lily-like flowers were decorative. Kurama liked a romantic notion as much as the next fox, and had no trouble encouraging the plants to grow back. But to avoid attention and convulsing freshman on the floor, he complied with the request of the university and high school's insurance company and locked up the plants.
Kurama set to spinning open the combination lock on the clear plastic green-box, trying very hard to be quiet. He didn't get along with the science club members; they were small minded toward the supernatural, argumentative, and noticed too much about him – when he was absent, for how long, that he often seemed ill and injured. If Kurama couldn’t stay out of sight, he could at least stay out of their way.
                There were steps behind him, and Kaito Yuu entered – a clever student Kurama met in Foreign Literature Analysis. Kurama bowed to him. As Shuichi Minamino, Kurama got tutoring in one subject, English, and Kaito Yuu taught it.
                Kaito halted, surprised. “Minamino.”
                “Good afternoon, sempai.”
                Kaito’s breath sped. He shoved up his glasses.
                “I read the - oh…” Kurama hushed as Kaito moved away without speaking. But Kaito looked back, turned. Kurama finished quickly. “The printout you gave me. Thank you. It was very useful.”
                “Yes. Well.” Kaito moved past.
                Kurama straightened. He deeply respected the human. Even if he was mainly skilled in 'softer' sciences of language, Kurama felt languages had a subjectivity and transience that made them a more difficult area. But Kaito himself seemed to feel shame when he passed Kurama, no matter what deference he was given. Kurama wanted him for a friend, but Kaito had his own business.
                Kurama went back to his plants. He took the long armed watering can from the cabinets. He set it in the sink and turned out the water, then stared into the expanding rush of bubbles hitting the tin.
                The science club boys were speaking behind him, somewhat drowned out.
Their collusion made Kurama uneasy. He didn’t think it was healthy development for so many over virile teens to be allowed together. It was too near a gang - no, the club had become a gang, just in uniform. They weren’t violent, but they’d yet to meet the promised public service and education goals they’d claimed to seek in their funding requests at the front end of the semester, when they’d propositioned the student council. Instead of their fish and research, their conversations largely focused on the sex they weren’t getting.
                “Minamino-san.”
                Kurama turned. It was – whichever boy was the captain or main speaker for the club. He had dark, thick hair done in a clever cut that didn’t suit his face. A red slash of acne cut over his jaw. He was pale from nerves, like a language major at a human dissection. The boy’s mouth hung open as he tried to find his words.
                “No,” Kurama said, holding up a hand.
                “I wasn’t asking you to join,” the boy stammered.
                Kurama made himself smile, but the fox in him was shying away. The boy was sweating and incredibly nervous. The palm he extended was sweating and filmy. The pale scent of aloe lotion didn’t cover it. Nor the scent of fish guts.
                "I heard Mo-kun shoved you last week when he asked you to join? I'm sorry. He doesn’t represent the group. We told them to get new members. They're too serious. Let me apologize."
                Kurama forced a smile, bowing. “I should as well. Please. I was too harsh – …”
                “Tokohome Shin.”
                “Shin-kun,” Kurama nodded, trying to butter him up with familiarity. “My apologies. Colleagues should be friends.”
                “Yeah, sure.”
                “Yes.” Kurama cleared his throat. They stood silent for a moment.
                “Let’s shake on it,” Shin said.
                Kurama’s expression flickered, but he put his hand out and took the boy’s. “Of course - ”
Shin's hand was wet, slick. Kurama's right hand, smeared with Shin’s sweat and lotion, began to burn as though he were reaching into an oven. The fever spread over his chest and settled in his palms, cheeks, stomach and genitals, stinging.
The boy’s wide sudden smile tore his expression in half, like an earthquake rending asphalt. Kurama jerked away instinctively, but the boy’s lupine grin only spread over his features.
                Kurama heart jolted. He wiped his hand on his jacket, trying to calm himself, but there was an unnatural rush. His heart beat began to accelerate. “Wh- …what – “
He wanted to touch me, Kurama thought. My hand. The datura. Poison.
                “Get back…” Kurama snarled. His mouth dried; his heart raced. He backed up into the table of plants and lights. Metal screeched. "What – what did you …"
                The wolf faced boy’s eyes were bright, catching reflections of the wheeling lamp. He only stood and watched.
                Kurama blinked; he found the boy was growing in height – no, Kurama was falling. His senses were failing. He sunk to the floor, that hideous beige tile. He barely felt the impact, though his head smacked into the rack that held the gurney of plants and lights. Potting soil spilled over him, that rich scent.
                There was a racket of desks and chairs being shoved aside. A light singed one cornea, then the other – a tiny flashlight. Kurama focused to see Kaito kneeling near him.
                “Kai,” Kurama croaked. So close, Kaito’s freckles stood out dark on his flushed cheeks. "Kai…Kaito, he…"
Kaito licked lips. “Shh.” He passed his hand in front of Kurama’s eyes, index extended. “Follow my finger.”
                Kurama couldn’t; he was distracted. The sensations of the poison changed. He was sure that beetles from the potting soil were swarming on him and crawling under his skin. But his whole body billowed with the euphoria and fever…he couldn’t worry about it. He couldn’t worry. He felt free. Euphoria. And under it, fear.
                Shin leaned over Kaito’s shoulder.
                “He…” Kurama accused, his mind sharpening vividly to the scent on the boy’s hand. Datura. Aloe. Poison. Hallucinating – he was hallucinating. The fish, what -
                “What if he dies?” Shin muttered.
                “He won’t die,” Kaito piped, smug, nasal. He tucked the pen light in his lapel pocket.
                Kurama felt drool wet the corner of his mouth. His jaw was slack against his will.
Kaito Yuu’s face blotted out the florescent heaven buzzing above. Kurama felt a hand on his cheek, turning his head one way, then the other.
                “Shhh. Even elite scholars got to get some sleep,” Kaito remarked. He reached out at put his middle finger and thumb above Kurama’s eyes, then dragged them down gently, smoothing Kurama’s eyelids shut. "That's good. You just relax, genius. Ha. Let us take care of you."
Kurama was forced into a blind dark. He tried to blink awake, but couldn’t even lift his eyelids.
“Get under him.”
                Kurama’s body prickled from the inside, like porcupines were trucking along his arteries, their quills dragging teasing lines. He felt the sensation of his head and then shoulders lifted, and then he rested on intolerably heated flesh. How could they – he'd been working on immunity. It must not be datura alone, they must have cut it with something else -
                “Start with the shoes."
                Air chilled Kurama’s black socks. His toes prickled. His legs felt asleep, as if his flooding blood had no effect; it couldn’t unload the oxygen. Kurama tried to moan, but it was like dreaming. The intention in his mind was uncoupled from his nerves, which pitched and sang and burned.
                “He’s fine – “ Kaito sounded near. Kurama felt his own breath turned back on his lips; the other boy’s hand or cheek was that close. "No, he's breathing. He's out."
“That’s fast.”
                “It’s within parameters. I’d rather not risk underdosing.”
                Someone held his chin and flesh pressed wet over his mouth. Kissing. Why? It felt good, it felt kind and deep, like a hum. But…why poison him and kiss…it was so gentle.
                “Whoa – stop. He moved his finger.”
                “Did he?” A third voice. It was gravelly; the other science club member, the quiet tall one. Three of them. Kaito, Shin the poisoner, and this third.
                A chair screeched back. An elbow thocked a hollow desk above Kurama, and Kaito droned, “I’m just here in a supervisory capacity. If you want, do nothing till he wakes up."
                There was a sound like eating candy: lips smacking sloppily, gulping. Knuckles and nails dragged over Kurama's throat. They were kissing his skin as they undressed him, but the poison cross-wired him and he perceived it in bouts of pain, color, or noise. The poison changed him, made things bleed together. Moments of terror and coherent reason were like toys floating in floodwater, instantly washed away by the magnitude of the hallucinations. He felt good though, he wanted it. Everything seemed kismet in this state.
His jacket and white button-down were pushed off and jerked down, rolling up and catching on his elbows. The tight rolls of cloth were as strong as shackles. His eyelashes weighed like tangled steel ribar, his lips drooped open as if anchors hung from them.
                “He can’t feel it?”
                “Oh, he feels it,” Kaito chuckled. "You can see him feeling it, watch his face. Watch his mouth move, his eyes go back. Aw. He loves it."
                Kurama tried to groan. He could not; the poison was frighteningly nightmarish, swinging him from ecstasy to fear to confusion. There were hands rubbing his chest. It felt like they were scrubbing the skin off, but they moved more lightly and the buzz became a pleasant deep friction that seemed to sing to his bones. One hand grabbed him, squeezing the muscle of his chest, then pinching down. Finally, the fingertips pulled his nipple.
                “Pink…” There was a twist.
                “They’re standing up,” Shin squealed.
                Kaito scoffed. "Other people aren't aliens. You didn't have to drug someone to know that. Bodies all work the same."
                “See what else you can get,” the quiet one muttered.
                Kurama panted, his breath shallow.
Someone stroked his thigh rhythmically, and then their fingers moved in, exploring him through the cloth. Kurama wanted to roll away, but the attack was mirrored his other side. His own sweat enabled it, making each stroke and pull slick and grinding. He grew hard, turgid, wanting to thrash against them, to be ridden. Fire marched through him.
There was a clinking of metal, a belt being undone. More flesh; another kiss. Then there was a vibration over Kurama’s groin. The retreating zipper released cool air over his skin. Kurama's hips pumped up. The touching was good, felt really good, and it reverberated through him, endless building echoes. His lifted up to their hands. Kurama groaned, trying to call them down.
                Fingers stroked his genitals suddenly. Against the cotton of his shorts, he was tight and moist and swollen ripe. The fingers gave them a squeeze. A stroke. A pull.
                Kurama heaved a breath. It came out as a thready moan.
                They stopped. “Did you hear that?”
                “He’s out cold. You don’t need to be concerned.” Kaito said. “He's there, he's hot for it, but he's not – remembering, not thinking. Like an animal or something. It's just reflexes."
                “He’s not going to know?”
                “No. Use a condom.”
                “I am - ”
                “And pull him out first.”
                “Shut up. This is our show,” Shin quaked, obeying. He tugged Kurama’s cock loose; a bruising process more painful than erotic to Kurama, whose senses were being amplified. Every shake and shiver seemed to echo through his wiped-clean body. “You’re just supposed to watch, not critique, announcer.”
                “I want to see the game.” Kaito said lightly.
                Kurama felt his whole being drain down, filling his erection, growing against Shin’s fingers. He whimpered.
                A thought burst through Kurama’s panic – an image of himself as he glowed in their eyes: his hands and arms lax, body uncovered as if he had no shame as all, tolerating them – how long had they planned this, sneering at one another in class?
                He imagined it: he’d raise a hand, correcting some poor answer they’d given, showing up their reputation not only as individual students but as a group, as the club he scorned membership in – and they must have exchanged glances, mutual shame – and worse, imagined a loss of sexual value, a sense that Shuuichi stole attention, stole attraction. And they'd planned. Someday they'd show him – better chemistry, clever social engineering, bring him down. Make him a want it, make him tremble, rape him, bully him, make him small – small enough to step on, sneer at, ignore.
Now his face glistened, the crystal of sweat, weeping, and slack lips fracturing the light into bright flares.
                Kurama had to find meaning in it. He was sure the bullying was social – he must have violated some taboo -- he wanted the message in their violence. Spoken up too often in class. Refused their invitations. Refused their friendship, as Kaito refused Kurama's. In their minds, Kurama had earned this.
Stunned, Kurama shivered. To do such a thing, so much work – they could abuse him now as they never could in class; they were free and pleased to do what they wanted with him. What they must have always wanted, for weeks, maybe longer.
Poison. Words blew through Kurama mind: topically active, numbness, catatonic. This had taken preparation.
                They must have hated him.
                "Look how he's fucking my hand…feel him…you can feel his heartbeat here."
                Kurama pushed the fear underneath. But when he did, all that was left was the boys’ hands washing him down, gripping and clutching. Their touch was a carnival, made huge by the poison. It flushed Kurama’s blood to the surface, where their hands smeared want across his skin. The swathes of lust and fingerprints rooted in Kurama’s flesh, sprouting tendrils of aroused yearning.
                Kurama tried to suppress it – enjoy it – anything to fight the immense sense of falling, the total helplessness.
The poison wrecked his muscle control, his ki, his very desire to fight back from such tender, insistent nursing.
                Kurama wailed. It was barely audible. Like water pouring down a drain that the stopper was yanked from, Kurama’s wildness and anxiety drained from his mind to his hips, urged by Shin’s fingers.
                “He crying. What do we do?”
                “Let him.”
                The quiet boy’s left hand let go long enough to flick Kurama’s nipple with his nail.
                Kurama tried to open his eyes again, and his eyelashes parted. A slit of swirling light came in. His poisoned mind registered the brightness as sound; it sounded like opening the door of a beach house and hearing the rush of waves. He felt intensely ill.
                “Give me some of that.”
                A click. Then all, suddenly all the hands were slippery and wet. They left trails on him. The trails echoed, leaving remembrance in his skin like the shake of loud music jarring ear drums. He could not tell the difference any longer between their sweat and his; all Kurama knew was that he was melting. His body was being rubbed and tugged and milked into liquid spurts; he was going to wash off and drain off the beige tiles into the grate by the sink, lost.
                “He looks bad.”
                “He’s tripping,” Kaito pointed out, sighing. “Distract him.”
                Kurama twisted as a hand touched him, delved into him. Shin kept coming back.
                After half a minute of moaning and trembling, Kurama was gasping in time to the speed the two boys were rocking him back and forth.
Kurama’s head was floating away; white dots scraped over his eyelids.
                “Good.”
                Shin’s cock slid in his body. His cock, alive and hard, a long muscle, shivering with pulse inside Kurama’s body, opened wide to the pleasure of the boys’ rhythmic swinging.
                “Look at him. Almost ecstasy.”
                Kaito chuckled. “Let’s ask if he’s up for it next week.”
                The quiet boy rubbed loose circles over Kurama’s chest. “Maybe he’d feel warm at the invitation…won’t remember why. Do you think? We could just keep doing it. It'd be like hypnosis.”
                The loose fear formed in his head, making Kurama panic. He wouldn't remember. They'd do it again.
                More flesh, stretching him; more kisses on his lips, Kurama’s buttocks smacked by Shin’s jolting thighs. Shin pumped. Gravity was colluding, fucking him as well.
                Kurama tried screaming, unable to stand the incessant, teasing squeeze-and-pinch on his nipples and torso – the quiet boy’s strokes and pats and massage and scratches. Kurama’s cry came out as a gasp. When he sobbed, the low tone escaped.
                “Listen to him whimper.”
                Kurama's sobs were nearly inaudible. Shin’s cock was slick and liquid with him. Kurama was tensing in pleasure, coming over his stomach and the copper curls Shin was petting and knotting his fingers into. It was too much. Too much.
                The words repeated like a chomping heart beat.
The quiet boy leaned over, darkening all the light creeping past Kurama’s eyelashes. He bit Kurama’s neck. Gnawed it.
                Kurama inhaled and choked.
                “Likes it…”
                “Course he does…delicious pet…” A pause, then back to the chewing kissing. The delicate infuriating nicks.
                Too much.
The onslaught tipped Kurama into a high bliss. He came. It was like having his soul drawn out. Like an earthquake through dirt, orgasm came through his body in waves, churning his flesh with undertow, reverberation, trembling, and aftershocks.
The aftermath was magnified by the poison. The electrical systems of his body sputtered, hurricanes of sparks racing over his skin.
Kurama felt his breath normalize.
There was silence.
Then they began touching again. He panted as fast as a rabbit, trying to scream, Not yet, wait -
“Tick tock.”
“We have days.”
"No." The smooth toe of Kaito's slipper ran along the outside of Kurama's forearm. “Straight fugu could last days. Or it could kill him. You idiot. I’d never give something that intense to our little valedictorian. Precious doll. Look at him shaking already from this.”
“He’s not yours.”
“He’s not yours either, not to damage.”
“Hey. We paid you to – “
“Look at him!” Kaito laughed.”Arrogant princess Minamino-chan with his ass in your lap, all covered in sweat. Boner like a firehose. Perfect answer lips getting chapped and bitten up. And you’re going to leave a rash down his neck and your spunk in his ass. What are you complaining about?”
Kaito slapped someone’s shoulder.
“Go on, Shin. Get it out of your system. You’re the one eating fugu here -- if chance goes your way, he forgets. If it doesn’t -
“You said he wouldn’t!”
“Probably, he won’t. But if this is your last night on earth, earn that death."
Shin was silent, daunted by terror.
Kurama was too overwhelmed to treasure it: his name instilling fear in a boy who didn’t even think Shuuichi had killed. He couldn't. He had to work to form a coherent perception of anything, and then he only felt misery at the betrayal he felt. These humans, he had protected them …tried to be part of them…
The boy who held Kurama’s head slowly rolled Kurama’s nipple in his hand. Kurama gasped.
Shin let out a breath. He lifted up Kurama’s legs – pornographic intentions hampered by a lack of real experience navigating a partner’s body; he tangled himself in arms and calves. But he pressed forward. He leaned over like he were doing a push up and ground down, sinking into the body beneath him.
All Kurama could feel was pressure. Inevitable and from across his thighs, ass, and abdomen. Their pressed skin became slick with moisture. As Shin moved, Kurama slid. Back and forth. Back and forth. Rocking until Kurama’s heels tapped out a slow tattoo on the boy’s back.
Kurama heard the rasping of cloth around his head. It startled him into distraction.
Then he smelled it.
The quiet boyhad taken out his cock, dripping. He wrapped it in Kurama’s hair, pulled the red locks up and down his shaft. The slick hairs rolled, soft as satin. A rare substitute for lubricant. It made a sound in Kurama’s ear like sand churning under ocean waves.
                The quiet boy rolled Kurama’s head over. He rubbed the knob of his cock into Kurama’s lips.
                “I wouldn’t do that.” Kaito said. “As much as I’d want to. He could choke.”
                “Not far? I just want…”
                Kaito hemmed. “Careful…”
                Kurama soon felt his lips greased with the slick, dripping head.
                “Shin. Finish up,” Kaito muttered. “You’re at twenty eight minutes. You don’t want him to wake up with you inside him.”
                “I can’t quite…wait, let me....” Shin caught impatient inspiration and heaved Kurama’s thigh over his shoulder. Straddling Kurama’s other leg, he eased in. Then he began pegging quick strokes. Kurama winced; the pain was intense and sudden. His stomach heaved twice, to weak to vomit but helped by the jolting thrusts and the pain of the raw friction.
                Shin cried out, “Oh – yeah! Yeah – Mina…mino. You…”
                He came. The wet inside felt like spit.
                Kurama did not have to be a rapist to understand Shin's reaction after that. Without the promising build to orgasm, the act suddenly seemed mechanical, tawdry. It seemed silly and plain, and that made Kurama seem as unwanted as a stained dish rag.
                This is the part where the john chokes the woman, cuts her throat, Kurama thought, weakly hysterical: This is where Shin despises himself. Despises me, blames me. My fault. Earned it. Poison.
                Shin cleared his throat and pulled away, laying Kurama’s leg to the side. He looked off and zipped himself.
                They were only children.
                Kurama felt a pale, desperate relief.
                Kaito hoisted himself, waving them toward the door. “Go on. Get out of here. I’ll clean him up.”
                The quiet boy stayed a moment, combing Kurama’s sweat drenched hair with his fingers. Using his sleeve, he wiped Kurama’s mouth. He whispered, “Thanks.”
                Shin stood. “Need help, Kaito?”
                “He’s thin as an eel. That porcelain ribcage. I can lift him alone, it’s no worry.”
                The shy boy left Kurama’s bared back on the cold tile.
                “His fingers are twitching,” Shin warned.
                “Yes. Thank you,” Kaito drawled. “Guard the door.”
                Kurama managed to open his eyes. Heaven above him in squares of white, shimmering fluorescents. The bulbs seemed to speak, to buzz in odd iambic lilt. The poison still swam through him. Kurama’s lips moved.
                The door shut.
                Kaito Yuu knelt. Hands touched Kurama, touched him where everything was melted and pounding. Kaito murmured, “How’d you get to be so wet down here. It’s pouring out of you…he isn’t such a stud as all that. Tch. Look at you, so sticky. That’s the lubricant, I suppose. You’re made of glass, like we all expected.”
Hands danced over the surface of him, sticking to his skin, or his wet skin reaching up, like the tensile strength of water. They worked towards his injured thighs. Kurama grew terrified that the hands would dive, plunge like loons into the water he’d become, pushing fast. He tried to plead. Please. Please go away. Being alone with Kaito was more frightening than the boys.
Cold slid into his body. Kurama whined.
                “Now, now. A little medicine.”
                The massage rubbed that spot, that awful aching spot, with focus disguised as accident.
                Kaito Yuu chuckled.
Kurama’s body was exhausted. He tried to draw his muscles up and ended up tipping one foot to the side, only one.
                “There you go,” Kaito congratulated him. “This paralysis will wear off soon. If you can hear me…or understand…”
                Kaito's massaging fingers retreated.
A cool cloth licked Kurama’s body, like a dog sucking after a thorn. The cloth was cleaning the wound that stretched over Kurama’s skin – a single wound made everywhere that had been touched, and inside his chest, where trust might have lived.
                “You messy beast…you sweet dish.”
The cloth licked him.
The poison was still blanketing him, confusing everything, making the real come across in dreams. But as the sensations blurred, a piece of mechanics dropped in his brain. Kurama’s focus shifted to Kaito – and his every thought was to slaughter him.
“I wouldn’t let them do anything to hurt you. Days. Idiots – what assholes…” Kaito scorned. He tugged Kurama’s shirt together and began to button it. Before closing it, he pressed his lips to Kurama’s sternum. Then he polished away the mark with his thumb.
                To Kurama, it only spread the sensation. His breath came ragged. He heard words, words, but not consequence. Not meaning. Kaito’s voice was like a school of exotic fish swimming through the air around them both.
                “What you got was very watered down, a little tetrodotoxin. From the club's fish, you know? I saw your datura and – well. I enjoyed your presentation. I was reading up on it, witches and all – and I couldn't help following along. This – “
                Kaito pulled Kurama’s hair off his face and stared just above his eyes.
                “This is safe. Don't worry. You’re safe. What matters is safe. This is pretty.” He tapped Kurama’s hip. “But this is beautiful.” He kissed Kurama’s forehead. "That's safe. That brilliant mind."
                Sitting back, he let Kurama fall back.
                The tilting made Kurama feel ill, voyaging on seas where the sun was square sputtering florescence and the ocean he sailed over was so hard and cold.
                “Well. While you’re here.”
                Kaito ran his hands up Kurama from thigh to shoulder.
Kurama yelped. His sempai’s hands closed over his ears then, making the sound swim. Kaito’s teeth nipped his throat, suckling.
Then it was gone.
“You’re tired,” Kaito chuckled. His voice had grown low. He coughed. “Let me just finish up…”
Kaito’s slick swollen erection rubbed along his throat, the hollow of his cheek, then his lips. Kaito’s fingernails scratched over Kurama’s hair and forced his head left, then right. Kaito jerked, panting. Liquid splattered the bridge of Kurama's nose.
                Kaito sighed. He cleared his throat. He began to wipe Kurama’s face off, fastidious.
                Liar, Kurama thought. Betrayer. Coward. Liar! How dare he act feign care, act like he could feel, when he had done such a callous, cruel, sick thing – humans. They were the only demons in this plane. Humans.
                Kaito stroked his cheeks with the cold wash cloth until the smell was gone.
                “What happened here?" Kaito laughed, oblivious. He tried to run his hand through Kurama’s hair, pulling it sharply. “Did we tangle that? No. Ha. The smartest boy in the school can’t work a comb, huh?”
Kurama could not speak as the fog in his mind cleared.
Kaito laughed and dressed his classmate, down to tying his shoes.
                Kurama woke, napping on a desk. He was seated in one of the lab chairs, pulled in, with his arms folded neatly and his forehead down. His neck ached, as if he’d been lying there for some time, and when he looked at the windows, the sky was dark orange.
                He lifted his head and felt immediately and severely ill – as if he’d had food poisoning. His breath reeked. He could tell he’d been feverish, sweating damply in his sleep.
                Groaning, Kurama leaned sideways, putting his head between his knees.
                The motion made him suddenly aware of a vicious, raw pain inside of him; the kind from sores or shredded skin.
                He grabbed the desk, white knuckled, and began to cry – because no one was around, leaving him alone.
                He was scared. He wanted help.
                Kurama’s stomach seized. He spread his feet, then got to his knees and held onto the seat. He vomited onto the floor. Hardly anything rushed up, but his guts spasmed and choked him until he was staring at a tepid mess.
                He sat back. Because no one was there, he put his hand on the seam of his trousers. It hurt badly. It hurt as if – …it hurt badly.
                He couldn't think of what could have happened. Perhaps he'd touched something. Perhaps someone had left some chemical open in the lab. Or something more common food poisoning, or that awful flu strain which had floored him before, caused him to be sick and to sleep in sudden deep fits. That was human, and natural.
Kurama was trying to remember what could make his body ache and cramp so, when he perceived Yoko was cackling.
                Yoko remembered every pinch, pump, and grind. He had enjoyed watching the harmless trap. He enjoyed the forced pleasures. He could see moral tangles that Kurama was too dazed to note, and Yoko appreciated the flattery of becoming such a prize. There was notoriety in it. That was something Yoko liked.
He was more than happy to relive it. He explained it to Kurama, whose neuron-link memory was so easily fooled.
                Kaito Yuu dropped his keys, took off his shoes, and dropped his bag. He flicked on the light – and stepped back, eyes whitening.
                Scrawled into the sheet rock of the opposing wall, above his bed, was an exquisite line of calligraphy, a classic proverb: ‘If you want to throw away life, eat fugu.’
                Kaito stepped back. "Shit."
A small sound interrupted him.
                Kaito turned, stumbling.
Leaning against the kitchenette counter was Shuuichi Minamino, his hand wrapped around a steaming cup of tea. He murmured, “Sempai. Good to see you.”
                The other boy choked.
                Kurama smiled, putting the cup down. “Thanks for your hospitality.”
                “What do you mean?”
                His voice came low. “Who are you to dole out that kind of misery? For nothing – for a thrill.”
                “I – I love you – “
                The words came out, stripped from him.
                Kurama stared, as if he had not heard the words correctly. Then he looked down. “People like you should have their tongues cut out when they say that word. Love. You have no right to me – not to my mind, not to my body, not to my time.”
                Kaito lifted his chin. “I don’t know what you mean.”
                “I remember. I’m a little different than you think, you see...” Kurama looked off. “People say I’m a monster. It’s laughable, but it's true. I've tried, but I can’t fathom what drives your sad little needs. How does a desire become so insistent and overwhelming that you would throw everything away in its pursuit? Freedom. Academics. Especially when the manner of pursuit destroys the object of your desire."
                “I’m…sure I don’t follow, Minamino,” Kaito tugged down his jacket.
                “Who?”
                Kaito blinked. “What?”
                “Minamino. Right. Right.” Kurama looked him over. “I can’t touch you, I’ve realized. There is the school, my family, and my employers, all watching. My need is not that insistent; you’re not worth their suspicion. This rape, that experience – it’s over, it happened, I can't undo it. But I promise you, the only reason you’re alive is because I haven’t figured out how to kill you yet, not without drawing attention. You see, I also want to live without consequences, doing what I like.”
                “Kill me?”
                “The only way to ensure this doesn’t happen again. To anyone.”
                Kaito crumpled. “Minamino. I…it won’t.”
“It won’t.”
“They can’t. And I won’t, Kurama. I won't. It was only because you were exceptional. You're the sort of thing one only touches once. Like staring into the sun." Kaito Yuu swallowed. "I wanted to make sure they didn't hurt you. They were going to do it either way, I just…"
                Kurama held up a hand. "Fugu and datura. You know what the poison you made was used for? It's used to enforce social morays on outcasts."
                They stood in silence.
                "What did I do? What stupid human law did I break this time? What taboo did I break to attract your attention? To make them hate me? To make you hate me?"
                "You're – but you're brilliant. You're popular. Everyone – "
                "Popular is not the same as loved. Or hunted, or assaulted. It's not acceptance. It's commodification. You treated me with absolute derision. Complete cruelty."
                "No – "
“Live your life. Enjoy it. Because all I need is one tiny crack. One opportunity."
                Every light in the room shattered.
                Kaito felt teeth close on his neck, like ivory knives pinching – he screamed, but something drew down his face, raking lines of his skin. Something tightened around his limbs, then bit in and ripped off, tearing through his clothes.
                The front door slammed.
                Kaito panicked. His cloths were rent in spirals. He saw red drops splattering his socks, the floor.
                He ran to the bathroom. He hit the light switch. There was a tinkling sound at the light heated, betraying his reflection like a monster in the dark.
                Blood painted him like a mask. It poured from jagged cuts down his face and from the gashes in his neck. His arms, through the torn cloth, looked like someone had dragged a razor along his skin. It was as though he’d been mauled by a dog in the space of an instant.
                His phone rang. He looked at it, stupidly, in shock. A campus alert. Two other boys were missing.
                Kaito looked into the mirror. Far from mutilated, he felt lucky.

---------
Sources:
Sekah’s gallery : http://pics.livejournal.com/sekahyyh/pic/0016czsc
'The Serpent and the Rainbow'
Two proverbs about it collected from Daniel Crump Buchanan are: “You’re an idiot to eat fugu – but you’re an idiot not to.” And: “I desire to eat fugu – but I value my life.”
--
Please let me know what you think. I read reviews and take your recs very seriously and try to improve.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Fugu