Katchan Kuusou : Kurama Please don't kill me for this one ::evil grin, runs and ducks and hides very fast:: Again, note the warnings; it's lemon, and it's yaoi. Those tags are not there for decoration. Turn back now, or forever hold your peace =P Katchan ******* The jungle. Hot, steaming, full of life -- and full of vegetation. Lovely, wonderfully thick undergrowth, creepers as big around as my arm, waxy leaves broad enough to sleep on, flowers deep enough to swim in. All of them, bending to my will. I will hunt among these plants today. I dress slowly; there is no rush. The rough khaki provides an interesting stimulation on my skin. I tilt my safari helmet on my head and smile at my reflection in the mirror. One must look the part of a mighty hunter, I tell myself, when one is hunting mighty prey. And my prey, this time, is mighty indeed. No ordinary beast is this, but a cunning one, difficult to trap, impossible to tame. I have heard of it being done, have dreamed of accomplishing such a feat myself. And today I will make my first attempt, and I pray that I return alive. For today I hunt the elusive Three-Eyed Fire Demon. I have done my research, determined the best methods for tracking him, have already placed certain traps in the surrounding jungle for him, knowing that he will spot most of them with his third eye, hoping he will stumble into one of them while dodging another. I pat my pocket, feel the reassuring crinkle of the seed packet there. Always have a contingency plan, I say, and this might come down to a match of wits. I will be ready for it, if so. I move into the humid jungle and search for any signs of my prey. I hear nothing; but he is quick and silent, and may be watching me at this moment. I have ensured that he will come to me, however; I have lured him to me with the perfect bait. Myself. I am as much a challenge to him as he is to me; I have not fallen victim to his icy tones, his seemingly endless hostility. I intrigue him, I believe, for I have often felt his eyes on me when he thought I did not notice. I hear a rustle in the leaves overhead; he is not a climber but he may have been waiting on a branch to ambush me. I duck and whirl, and then sigh and straighten as a brightly plumed bird peers curiously down at me. I continue my quest, stepping carefully, noting the hundreds -- thousands -- of shades of green, above, below, around me. This truly is my element. I pause, thoughtful, and touch a smooth white blossom on a vine that has looped itself over a low branch. I close my eyes; the blossom's scent reminds me of the Demon, of his fresh-washed skin, of the first time I spotted him, bathing in a nearby tributary when he thought he was alone. I bring myself back to the present. I do not move outside the circle I have laid out for my hunt; he must come to me, must fall within one of my traps; my power is strong but not infinite, and I can only control so much of the jungle at once. I walk the perimeter of the circle, searching. My traps are empty. But I can feel him near, can sense him watching me with all three eyes, and know that he is plotting the best way around my little tricks. I wonder, briefly, what it would be like to be devoured by the Demon, and think I shouldn't mind at all. I activate my traps. If he is close to any one of them, he will be caught. I hear a sound, whirl to look, see only a flash of movement through the thick greenery. He is so quick! What a triumph it will be to capture him! I watch where he has gone, knowing he will not be still for long. I feel it as he destroys one, two, three of my traps; I smile, because he has missed the fourth, in that direction. He shouts; my smile broadens. This was much easier than I thought it would be. His overconfidence was his downfall. I walk in the direction of his sputtered protests. No sense using up my energy; he will be going nowhere for a while, and I want to save my strength for other, more important things. I finally see him. He has been caught by several vines, and is spread-eagled, more or less, in midair; one knee has been pulled up above his waist. His sword sticks out of the grass, out of his reach. He has been struggling, and has tangled himself up worse than he must have been originally. I cannot help but laugh at his undignified position. He twists, trying to see me, but is unable to move more than a little. I slip up behind him, slide my hands around his middle, flatten them on his flat stomach. "Gotcha," I whisper into his ear, pulling his hips back against me, delighting in the mighty Demon's helplessness. I kiss the back of his neck, grin to see goosebumps rise on his skin. Keeping one hand on his belly, I lift the other and tug at the neckline of his shirt, pulling it away from his shoulder. I nibble the exposed area. He squirms. I make a mental note to myself: Demons are ticklish. At least this one is. "This isn't funny," he informs me, as I walk around to face him. I reach up, remove my helmet, place it on his head. It slips down over his eyes, obscuring half his face. I laugh, and tilt it back. He gives me a look I can only describe as baleful. "I think it's most amusing," I tell him softly, caressing his cheek. "I honestly didn't think I would get you so easily." He snorts, struggles again, manages to tangle himself worse. He finally relaxes, sighs, realising he cannot escape. From my hair I pull a dazzling rose, out of place in this heat but appropriate for the situation. He stares at me; he has no doubt seen my roses kill before, and does not know what to expect. I touch it to his nose, note that he pulls back slightly, nervous. When its velvet petals cause him no harm, he looks up at me, surprised. "I am master of my plants," I tell him. "They do what I want them to do." I step back, put one hand in my pocket, hold out the rose in my other hand. He watches me, silent, a single bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. I let the rose fly. He stares, disbelieving, watching it move toward him; at the last second he closes his eyes, turns his face, jerks his head back. My rose strikes its intended target, passes through easily, pierces the trunk of a tree nearly thirty paces away. Some of the vines fall to the ground. The Demon opens his eyes, and lowers the leg that had been trapped in what must have been an uncomfortable position. I smile at him as he looks at me. "I've waited too long for this," I tell him. "Do you think I'd really hurt you now?" I close the space between us. Swiftly, before I reach him, he lifts his free foot to defend himself. I raise my hand, and a new vine slithers out from the jungle to obey my will, wrapping itself around his ankle. He clenches his teeth, curses softly. I lean forward and pull his shirt out from his jeans. He squirms, unintentionally assisting me. I tug open his shirt, smooth my palms over his skin, slide my hands around him. The muscles on his back are tense. I pull him forward, press his torso to mine, massage his back slowly with my fingertips. He pulls on the vines, and they tighten. I let him go, watch him swing in midair a moment, smile. "At least," he mutters, rolling his eyes upward, "take this damned hat off me." "It's cute on you," I tell him. His sour look makes me laugh again. I take off the helmet, set it aside. I make a mental note to myself: the Demon has a sense of fashion. I bend down slowly, kiss his chest, mouth his nipples to erection. He makes small sounds as my teeth and tongue arouse him, continues to struggle against the vines. I summon another flower, this one native to the jungle, a deep, dark purple, nearly black. Its petals are broad, silken. I hold it out to him, touch his cheek, his chin. I tickle his throat with it, draw it slowly over his shoulders, down over his chest, circle his belly with it. He twitches, as though in agony. I move behind him, ponder the puzzle of his shirt; I do not want to free his hands, for if I do, I will lose my prize. The fabric tears easily, and he howls a protest. I drop the remains of his shirt, kiss the nape of his neck again, to quiet him. He shivers, subsides. I dangle the flower, touch his back with it, watch him writhe, delight in the sounds he makes. I reach around him, tickle his stomach again; he arches back against me, his head on my shoulder. I have never in my life, I muse, imagined that Demons were so incredibly sensitive. I am more than intrigued. I will have to study this phenomenon much more closely. The purple flower vanishes. I move to stand before him again. At my command, the vines imprisoning him extend, lower him to the ground, pin him there. He yelps, squirming, as his skin comes in contact with the steam-kissed jungle floor. I straddle him, kneeling. He watches as I remove my own shirt, shake out my hair, and lean forward, my hands on either side of his head. I watch him only a moment, then drop to kiss him, tucking one hand beneath his head, running my fingers through his hair, crushing his lips to mine. My tongue slips between his teeth and he inhales through his nose; his tongue touches mine tentatively, and he whimpers a little. His body is hot, slick against mine, sweaty in the jungle heat. I slide my free hand down his side, stopping just above the top of his jeans, and I squeeze the firm flesh at his waist. It makes him arch against me, and I can feel his erection through his jeans. Mental note to myself: I must prepare to study this Demon's body at great length. I pull away from his mouth, kiss his chin, his throat, the little dip just above his collarbone. My tongue traces a path down his chest, over his abdomen, tickling him, making him squirm some more, making him curse the vines that hold his hands and feet captive. I slide my tongue under his waistband. He closes his eyes, panting slightly. With both hands I unfasten his belt, unbutton his jeans, ever so slowly tug at the zipper, wondering if Humans and Demons are compatible. Preliminary research determines that, yes, they certainly are. I move up his body again, close my teeth gently on one nipple. He cries out softly, begging me to free him, to move more quickly, to offer him release -- anything. I draw my tongue over his nipple and turn to pay the same attention to the other one. He whimpers again. He obviously does not understand that these things take time; information-gathering cannot be rushed. My fingers find their way down his body, beneath his jeans, sliding round his firm buttocks, lifting him to me. He opens his teeth and bites my ear; his tongue dances along the edge, darts inside, teasing, hoping to encourage me to hurry. He sucks on my earlobe and moves his hips against me, enticing. I make a note to myself: the Demon seems most willing to please his captor, in an obvious attempt to gain freedom. It might work, were I a weaker person. I bury my face in his neck, nibbling and nuzzling and kissing, sucking none too gently, deliberately leaving faint marks on his skin. I squeeze his rear as he moves, and thrust against him, surprised to find my own arousal so apparent. I work his jeans down over his hips, feel him tremble in excitement, arch against me again, pleading with me to free him. I have never been too easily moved by compassion, and I have yet to discover just how much stimulation the Demon can withstand. I summon a flower, a blazing red bloom with yellow tendrils trailing from it. I tilt it over his chest, pour out the nectar that has gathered at the bottom of the flower's cup, laugh as he yelps and wriggles beneath me. Using the flower's petals as a brush, I paint his body with nectar. Sprinkles of bright yellow pollen swirl across his skin. I write my name on his chest, draw a happy face on his stomach, dangle the flower further down, tickling and teasing him with feathery strokes. He howls, torn between simply enjoying the experiment and threatening to wring my neck as soon as his hands are free. I toss aside the flower and use the still-wet nectar as a lubricant as I massage him, caress his skin. I bend to flick his nipples with my tongue, and close my eyes, tasting the nectar's faint sweetness, the minute graininess of the pollen on my tongue -- "Kurama!" I pull back, stare at him; the Demon knows my name. "Kurama?" I blink, and the jungle vanishes, replaced by regular deciduous trees, surrounding a hot spring, where we four sit nearly submerged. It is Yusuke, sitting next to me, who has spoken. "Hn?" I respond, regretfully watching the vision fade. "What were you daydreaming about?" he wonders, with a playful grin. "You were smiling." "Was I?" I wonder, and glance at Hiei, who sits facing me, solemn. He returns my gaze, imperturbable. He would no doubt look exactly the same encased in a block of ice as soaking in a hot spring. "The girls are way on the other side," Kuwabara teases. I manage a smile. "I know," I reply. The two of them launch into a routine of taunts, wondering which of the girls was the focus of my dream. Hiei remains silent. I give him my sweetest smile. In a moment, the corners of his mouth turn up microscopically; the others would never notice, because they could never know him as well as I do. It is our little secret; not so very little, to me. I stretch my legs across the spring, feel around with my feet. In a moment, his toes find mine, though he has to sink to his chin in order to reach far enough. I lean back against the edge of the spring again. The teasing fades; the hot spring disappears. One of these days, I decide, before returning to the jungle to find my captive Demon again, I am simply going to have to take Hiei away from these two for a couple of weeks, and fulfil some of my fantasies. Without interruption. *** end ***