Yu Yu Hakusho Fan Fiction ❯ From what I’ve tasted of desire ❯ From what I’ve tasted of desire ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own YYH.

Warning: dark, angsty, includes violence and non-con.

 

 

There is so much to be gained from taking a firedemon as a lover, especially in winter when everyone stands over their cars, swearing, freezing, trying to get the ice of the windowpanes, fingers turning blue. Kurama doesn't need to bother. When, slipping and sliding, even limping, he runs towards his car, late but not too late to make it to work on time, mist rises from the vehicle while water drips down, collecting in puddles. The former thief will wait for a moment before touching the car - he has learnt from experience that this will reduce the chance of blisters appearing on his fingers -, then get in and drive away, while Hiei, standing by the bedroom window, watches him leave. Nine or ten hours to kill before his fox returns… maybe he'll visit him in between, see what he's up to, and where he plans to have lunch. Idiot forgot to take food along again.

 

Kurama enters his office at eight sharp, looking cool and collected if moving a little stiffly. He spends the morning trying to answer several e-mails from impatient customers, apologising to them for the delay, but is distracted throughout by phone calls from other just as impatient customers demanding to know what the hold-up is. At some point during the two years he has been working for his stepfather, Kurama was relegated - though supposedly it was a promotion - to the role of assistant director of the customer service department. This had not best pleased him and even made him curse himself for “being so good with people”, as his mother's husband put it when telling him of the decision.

 

Noon arrives and Kurama is still buried up to his eyes in work. His stomach growls - he had no time for breakfast this morning -, but he doesn't seem to be able to leave his desk. Each time he tries, the phone will ring or a colleague, back from his own lunch, will talk to him. At half past one, a chance presents himself and Kurama uses it gladly, hurriedly grabbing his coat and walking out of the building before -

 

“Minamino, wait!”

 

Before something like this happens. He really should continue on his way, pretending he hadn't heard but Yamamoto shouts a second time, much louder, much closer, and there is no way he couldn't have noticed. Slowing down, he waits for his colleague to catch up and he does so, grinning and talking at him and Minamino sure is distracted, thinking about work or perhaps something else? Nudge, nudge, laugh.

 

Well, if it is work, then his mind needs to be taken off it and Yamamoto offers to help out there, he has not yet had lunch either - this is where Minamino is headed, right? - and he would not be unwelcome, he hoped?

 

Kurama says that no, it isn't, and in a way it's true, because his company is not unpleasant, at all, even if he makes too many crude jokes and often boasts of his conquests in an exaggerated fashion. However, Kurama knows what to make of his claims and sometimes laughs at the tales he is regaled with. Yamamoto is the world's greatest storyteller and probably, the worst liar in all the three worlds - or maybe Kurama is just too good at noticing inconsistencies and too bad at suspending his disbelief, which, of course, already implies the fictionality of the stories. Whatever it is, it doesn't really matter, even less so when Kurama, smiling good-naturedly at his colleague, notices just the faintest flicker of a familiar ki signature before it is gone. This does not bode well.

 

The rest of the day passes slowly but quickly, minutes dragging by whenever another sharp stick is rammed into Kurama's brain - that's how it feels like anyway and his headache is only worsened by the fact that he had found himself without appetite while out with Yamamoto - while hours speed past when he thinks of the approaching evening. For a few minutes he considers working overtime but this would only aggravate Hiei's mood and it would be difficult enough to convince him that nothing had happened.

 

Damn Hiei for being a jealous bastard, damn himself for loving him despite (because of?) it.

 

Driving home, parking the car, climbing the stairs, opening and closing the door, Kurama goes over what he will say when - or better put - if he gets the chance. He doesn't. In fact, he can't even rid himself of his coat and boots before he is tackled to the floor, but there's no need, for Hiei takes care of the superfluous layers of clothing, ripping, tearing, burning them off, though using what's left of Kurama's clothes to trap his arms and head in it. Breathing becomes difficult and he'd rather not, anyway, for the smell of burnt wool makes him cough and his eyes water. Meanwhile, Hiei ignores his plight, bent on divesting him of his trousers, which put up quite the struggle, especially when they get caught on the boots. To hell with it, he tears those, as well, before taking off his own.

 

Kurama is still coughing but it's easing up and it seems as if he will soon try to say something, but Hiei does not want to hear it. Before more than his name can pass those traitorous lips, Hiei grabs his fox's hips, raising them, spreading the cheeks and plunging in without preparation. Whatever excuse Kurama was about to give, he cannot utter it for a cry leaves his throat, strangled, muted, choking. It turns into mewling and sobbing and louder screams as Hiei draws back, only to rip into him again and again and again, picking up the pace with each thrust, doubling, tripling the violence, increasing the heat.

 

And Kurama can only imagine the frown his lover wears, the flames that dance in his eyes, the boiling rage that manifests itself quite literarily. When Hiei is angry, he burns and his skin is scalding hot and the knee that touches Kurama's leg hurts and the hands on his hips hurt and even Hiei's cock inside him hurts, unlubricated and scorching, and Kurama keens and wails and pleads, stop, stop, stop. Please!

 

Hiei hears his fox blubber and whimper and moan and he knows Kurama wants him to stop but he won't, not before he's made his point that Kurama is his, his, his, and his alone! So he grabs him harder, making the flesh burn and leave imprints of his hands, a sign of ownership like brands on cattle, and his lover cries, he can hear him, but it will do nothing. The tears won't soothe the burns, won't check the raging flames that smiling eyes incited - eyes that smiled not at him but someone else. They won't be extinguished with water, fire can only be fought with fire, and so his anger boils until hot seed spilling from his pulsing cock sears his lover's inside, ripping a cry from Kurama so shrill it hurts his ears. But Hiei is cooling down now, leaving his fox's body, kissing his back with not-too-warm lips, freeing him from his sweater, stroking his hair. The sobs begin to cease, though slowly, and Hiei decides that he does not like lying on the floor and carries Kurama through the aisle and towards their bedroom. There he puts him down and assesses the injuries, coming to the conclusion that Kurama will not be in any state to go to work tomorrow, and if he does he will certainly not be able to more than grimace at anyone. Hiei smirks self-satisfied, then crawls into bed and rests beside his fox, his lover, his.