One Does Experiment

A/N: Cause for amusement or annoyance, depending on your spin on it: I had most of this chapter roughly written out around the same time I posted the first chapter—so, almost two years ago. And of what was written then, I’ve changed very little. However, most of the latter half of this chapter wasn’t written until September or October of last year, and scenes written to tie everything together, as well as overall revision and smoothing everything out, didn’t occur until this past weekend. Talk about your Works in Progress, eh?

I’ve got a jump on the next chapter already and I’m pretty sure where I’m going with it, so we shouldn’t have anything resembling our past delay. In the meantime, read and, if you’re so inclined, review.


One Does Experiment
Chapter 2:
Eye-Candy
August 8, 2010

“Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Urameshi, you didn’t even make it to high school; don’t you dare tell me what is or what isn’t ‘that bad.’” Yusuke countered the insult with a casual flip of the Bird. “Nice,” Kuwabara said dryly, before launching back into his tirade: “This lab sucks ass. It’s too long, most of it’s totally irrelevant, and at the end they make us answer an ass-load of questions and about half of them don’t even match up with the crap we did in the lab. Bottom line: it’s STUPID. And the brainiacs I’m with aren’t much help at all. Kaito’s about as lost as I am—”

“And you were afraid he’d pull a mental bitch-slap on you, ‘you dolt.’”

Kuwabara returned the Bird. “And Kurama—or, ‘Shuichi,’ at school—doesn’t pay as much attention as he probably should—”

“Wait, you’re trying to say Kurama’s the slacker?”

“Quit interrupting me, it’s rude! And no, I’m not saying he’s a slacker…” He paused, smirked a little, and threw the brunet a pointed look. Yusuke made a face and gestured for the psychic to hurry up. “I just think he’s distracted. It’s been that way since before he left his job.”

“Go yell at Yomi about it, then—Shit!” Small eruptions of flames had just danced up on the stove. Hastily he rescued his food with one hand while the other groped for, found and poured out the contents of a box of baking soda until the fire smothered. Inspecting the remains of his lunch, he frowned down at the charred surface, shrugged, and busting open the crisp dark outside took a steaming, wincing bite of the still-intact inside. He stuck out his tongue and ran the burnt part under his front teeth. “Seriously, though, I think he was fine until he accepted that job offer in Gandhara. It gets hard trying to do shit here while you’re thinking on shit there. That’s why I dump my stuff on Hokushin whenever I’m here.”

Rolling his eyes, Kuwabara said, “Don’t burn my lunch. Or his.” Earlier Kurama had called him up, sounding flustered and explaining that he’d left things sort of a mess on Friday; could Kuwabara please bring him some food? “Oh hey!” Speaking of cleaning. “Could you have something ready for me to pick up on my way back? Shizuru said to empty out the fridge and I really want to spare Yukina.”

“You’re so chivalrous.”

“Since when the hell do you use words like ‘chivalrous’?”

“Shaddup. Pay me now or if you’re not back before I get hungry it’s my dinner.” Kuwabara tossed some money on the table. “’Sides, Keiko likes it when I use words like ‘chivalrous.’”

“Ah—Yeah, you’d better do all you can to keep the one girl who’s interested in you, interested.”

“Better the one girl interested in me than the one girl I’m interested in.”

Kuwabara shot a look, but it quickly evaporated. While he hadn’t always been a ladies’ man, Urameshi never had been. So there. “Go fuck a toaster, Urameshi,” he retorted cheerfully, taking his and Kurama’s lunches, now boxed-up and (surprisingly) un-burnt.

“’Kay, and afterwards you can eat the toaster strudel with the special creamy icing.” He grinned while Kuwabara gave him a disturbed look.

And returned the Bird, again. “You’d better not sexually harass all your customers.”

Yusuke put on a horrified widening of the eyes. “How dare you imply I cheat on you?!”

Maybe the heat of the kitchen was going to his head. “See you later, Urameshi,” Kuwabara muttered, shaking his head while the potential mad cook laughed after his exit.

***

Kuwabara’s worries had been fulfilled: Kaito was in the same lecture class and the same lab as the pair of former tantei. Although the orange-haired psychic really hadn’t much right to moan about the situation, reflected the brunet one. It was an interdivision class, but the majority were brand new incoming students, not all of whom Kaito found wholly convincing in regards to competence. Could have been the odd one out in a gaggle of those instead; he considered the three of them fortunate enough that they’d come out of the group assignment in lecture (he didn’t even want to think about the lab) with just one such companion: Takara, one of those Ganguro girls (1) with carrot-orange skin and hair that’d been tortured with chemicals until it’d blanched an almost-white light yellow, and the “Daddy’s little girl” attitude to match. Since their group’s formation she’d had the thought to appoint herself Madame Foreman, Kuwabara the Porter (“Go get that book” and other such orders), Kaito the Brain (“What does that mean?”), and Shuichi the Eye-Candy (“What are you doing this weekend?”).

The Porter would roll his eyes and open the fetched book and try to grasp the assignment as best he could on his own. The Brain would follow suit, and wonder why he hadn’t taken this class the semester before and gotten it over with.

The Eye-Candy would suffer gracefully, treating his tormentor politely and trying often to direct the flow of conversation back to an academic current. Often he failed.

Today they were meeting in the library. Initially Takara had a conflicting engagement, and Shuichi had volunteered his apartment for the study session. Then Madame Foreman had called the Brain, who called the Eye-Candy (who had “forgotten” to give his number to the Madame), who as the Brain had strongly suspected requested that the location of the session be changed, pleading that he’d been gone over the weekend and left the place a more than moderate mess. The Brain then called the Porter, who revealed that he was in fact the Double-Porter when he grumbled about changing directions and If Kurama was going out why didn’t he just do it to begin with and carry his own lunch?

Everyone sans the Eye-Candy had now arrived. Since they had not officially begun yet Madame Foreman saw no reason to speak to either the Brain or the Porter and so was on her phone while the other two each contemplated the Eye-Candy’s waiting and (for now) still intact lunch, thinking, Five more minutes…

Another minute and a half and Madame Foreman would have witnessed the Kaito vs. Kuwabara Lunch Smackdown, but then entered the Eye-Candy, looking a little less candied than usual, but not so much that he was less worthy to look at than the Brain or the Porter. Naturally Madame’s focus locked on its sweet, and any faint notion she might have had of the other two promptly dissipated.

“Busy weekend?” Kaito inquired as Shuichi sat down across from him, beside Kuwabara. (He narrowed his eyes a fraction when immediately Takara zoomed in, practically sitting on him in her haste to situate herself in the Eye-Candy’s line of vision.)

Kurama bit back a dry laugh and instead allowed a dry smile. Eventually the redhead had been able to without interruption tell Kaito that he’d been working in Gandhara as an advisor to his former second-in-command, now (obviously) boss. “Yomi has building plans,” he answered, opening his book onto a random page featuring a diagram of the human eye. Urban expansion; no, more like modernization, not sprawl, in the highly rural outskirts of the province. Nonetheless, some of the indigenous populace didn’t appreciate the “intrusion.” The Fox had spent the better part of the weekend devising and comparing less messy alternatives to pogroms (“More Mukuro’s fashion,” Yomi had said.)

“Who’s Yomi?” Takara asked languidly.

“His boyfriend,” Kuwabara answered casually, betraying just the slightest uplift of his mouth while Takara donned a mortified look.

Meanwhile the one with the “boyfriend” contemplated Kuwabara and wondered if the psychic simply thought he was joking or if he had somehow (how?) figured it out. “‘Lover’ might be more suitable,” Kurama opined just as casually, flipping to the assigned page numbers. “The term ‘boyfriend’ generally implies a younger beau, and Yomi’s more … mature.”

Kuwabara snorted. “Yeah, I guess he is a little ancient, huh?” Kurama bit his lip but smiled nonetheless, still wondering how much they were joking and how much they were serious.

While Takara stared open-mouthed at the two and appeared to be trying to figure out that same question, Kaito focused specifically on Shuichi, and what Shuichi was wearing. His apparel wasn’t usually dressy, but today it was still more relaxed than usual. “Relaxed” in this sense actually meaning hurried, which when he gave it a bit more thought didn’t on the surface make much sense. “Casual” would be an appropriate synonym, but not appropriate for his intent … put simply though, his classmate appeared thrown-together, not like his usual self at all.

But this was actually just an afterthought, prolonged as it was. His first thought had in fact been on Shuichi’s neck. Or rather, the cloth covering the neck. The library was air-conditioned, but the season was still hot and most people weren’t seeking to unnecessarily cover up: yet but for a few sporadic days since classes had begun, Shuichi as a rule sported high-collared shirts that he always kept fastened despite occasionally betraying minute signs of consequential discomfort that apparently only Kuwabara and Kaito noticed.

Relying on prior experience, he suspected that the Yomi-banter taking place really was more practical than theoretical, and if his suspicions were correct, he could take an educated guess as to what Shuichi kept concealed under those high collars…

“Did you bring lunch?” Kurama asked Kuwabara, now that it’d been decreed that in a situation where Yomi and he were intimate it would sound better if the former were deemed “lover” rather than “boyfriend” of the latter.

“Yeah, yeah…” The psychic passed over the box of by-now cold food, though this didn’t deter its recipient, who somehow managed to make digging in look neat and civilized.

Takara rolled her eyes. “Looks like you’re the boyfriend.”

“Or would that be ‘lover’?” Kaito chimed in.

“Hey, I like girls!” retorted the other psychic.

“That doesn’t rule out males; it’s called bisexuality.” The brunet smirked while Kuwabara gave him an ugly look. “Now that I think about it, he’s not mature enough for ‘lover,’ so Takara must have been correct with ‘boyfriend,’ right, Shuichi?”

Shuichi gave him a vaguely amused look, but tried his best to suppress it when Kuwabara’s ugly look turned on him. “In such a situation, I believe that would be the case, as Kuwabara’s considerably younger than Yomi—and I would at this moment like to remind my ‘boyfriend’ that he is the one who steered the conversation onto this track to begin with…”

“You were the one who started the whole ‘boyfriend’ or ‘lover’ thing!”

“Okay, can we stop talking about gays and bisexuality and get back on track?” The vocalized prospect that the stunning Shuichi Minamino might not be orientated exclusively or at all toward women had apparently not set well with Takara. “All right. Yuu, can you look up…?”

***

“Oh-my-god-she’s-bossier-than-my-sister!” Kuwabara let out in one quick, clenched breath. Their study session had ended ten minutes before, and Kurama and he had separated from the other two and just left the campus.

Kurama shrugged thoughtfully. “Shizuru’s the reason you studied so much and did so well on your exams, right? So you really owe your presence here today to her bossiness. I think that Takara has similar motivational skills.”

“Yeah, but she’s more obnoxious.”

“Which should motivate you to work harder, so you spend less time around her. Besides, she’s far less intimidating than your sister.” Kuwabara scrunched up one eye in contemplation, then nodded concession to both of Kurama’s points. “At any rate, you’ve survived another session. What do you plan on doing with the free time now allotted you?”

That had to be a joke. “Trying to read over that big stupid book,” he answered acridly. “Have you looked into that thing yet?”

Wearing a smile that was still a little too warm to call smug, Kurama replied, “A few times. I read portions of the first copies of the Genji to circulate outside of the Heian court.”(2)

“Glad to know you and it are on first-name basis,” remarked Kuwabara dryly. Now the smile turned smug. “I’ll bet you think it makes you cultured, but really it just means you’re old.”

“Some days I’m inclined to agree.” The curved tips of his smile loosened; smugness softened into nostalgia. “Kuronue was the Genji aficionado, but I had better luck achieving proximity to copies; a tail is generally easier to disguise than a pair of wings, after all. I believe he saw something of ourselves in Genji and To no Chojo.”

“Who?”

“To no Chojo is Genji’s best friend and rival, have you not read that far?”

“I haven’t read any of it! Kurama, the professors want to kill me!”

The redhead smiled again, this time as the elder does over the exaggerative child. “This too shall pass. I’ll give you an overview to get you and the Genji acquainted, if you buy me lunch and promise to stay away from the edges of rooftops.”

“Hah, hah, and didn’t I bring you lunch?”

“You did, and it was much appreciated; however, I’m still hungry.” Kuwabara gave him a disbelieving look. “Am I not allowed?” he defended.

“Yomi doesn’t starve you, does he? Because that would make him an abusive lover.”

“Hardly,” Kurama rejoined with a smirk. “But as you so kindly pointed out, I’m old, and have by now accrued many duties and responsibilities, and consequently don’t have time to sit down to every meal.”

“Right, so buying you lunch would make me a good citizen?”

“As well as not a loaf who dodges fair trade with friends for homework help.”

“I’m going to blame that snipe on low blood sugar or something!” Kuwabara exclaimed.

Mischief in the redhead’s newest smile. “Thank you for finding the avenue for review as well as overview. Now Kuwabara, tell me, do you recall what a glycogen is?”

***

Kuwabara didn’t get literature. Or rather, he didn’t comprehend it as quickly as he did subjects such as sociology, or even math.

Kurama shrugged off his backpack onto the table and began to gut it of its contents. As with the entrails of a bird, these would inform him on his future, for the next week. The academic portion, at least.

He put his own current copy of the Genji in one pile. He would make Kuwabara comprehend literature, if only passably. Even if it meant utilizing outside resources that Kuwabara might not immediately appreciate.

His biology textbook and lab book he put in a different pile. The lab’s prequestions were due on Thursday; the class’s review questions, on Friday, and also called for illustrations of the phases of meiosis and mitosis. Sketching might be a relaxing activity to do during dinner.

Adding more textbooks, notebooks and folders to both piles, he then left the one with his biology materials on the corner of the table, and moved the other pile to a spot on the counter by the wall. He would revisit it later, after working through the assignments with due dates marked at the end of this week and the beginning of next, as well as several thick folders stacked on another table in his room, containing information unrelated to school entirely.

In short, he surmised as he opened his biology textbook, there was a lot to do before the weekend.

***

A cathartic, breathless moment, in which all demands and diversion suffocated, and everything was sublimely vacant and clear. Afterward his mind tingled pleasantly, and he lay in repose, comfortably numb, until…

Pressure on his shoulder. “Kurama.”

“Mm,” he replied lackadaisically. This was where Yomi kicked him out for the night. All he wanted to do was just lie here.

But instead of the usual pointed “Good night,” Yomi said, in a differently pointed tone, “Turn over.”

Impulsively Kurama squeezed his eyes shut. Now he wished Yomi was kicking him out.

When a few moments had passed and he didn’t comply the warlord scooped one arm round his waist and simply flipped him over. He let out a little “Uh” at being tossed this way, but otherwise he didn’t object while Yomi arranged him to the larger demon’s own preferences, paying specific attention to positioning his head. A hand pressed itself in the middle of his chest, a thumb began tracing circles over one of his nipples. The other hand touched his face and he squeezed his eyes shut again, blinking rapidly, tearing up when fingers forced themselves on an exposed eyelid and pried it open.

Really, he probably had little right to be so squeamish. Yomi went along with his fetish without protest, and it was probably his own fault that his friend had acquired a taste for this to begin with—.

Though that thought couldn’t prevent him from cringing, and even whimpering a little when Yomi’s tongue dipped down and began lapping at his eye.

His eyelid was fluttering, wanting to close. Yomi prevented its doing so with his index finger; his thumb stroked Kurama’s eyebrow as tenderly as his other thumb did the now well-perked nipple below. He squirmed, muscles tensing, feet tangling themselves in the sheets. In response his friend shifted on top of him, keeping him relatively in place. Involuntarily the redhead was crying, and Yomi’s tongue lapped this up too. He bit his lips, clenched his teeth when he felt his nipple pinched, twisted; gasped when it was at last let alone, only in favor of another sensitive area further down. “Oh,” he groaned, tilting his head back as much as he could within the Goat’s hold. The other demon would keep going until peaking, he knew. With that in consideration, he groped around until he felt a thigh, then reached up and began massaging as sensuously as he could psych himself to.

Hot breath, already on his face, came quicker. To his relief the tongue finally moved away from the eye itself and took to caressing the lid above and the soft skin below it, tracing all the way over to the bridge of his nose. No correction came this time when he closed his eyes, and he was able to draw more pleasure from Yomi’s more conventional touch, and put more enthusiasm in his to Yomi.

When Yomi peaked he drew his head back, allowing Kurama to move his own without constraint. Kurama promptly took advantage of his regained freedom, twisting his neck and half-burying his face in the pillow, muffling the sounds of his own orgasm. Yomi’s hand left him; he released his hold, body relaxing.

Ah, but Yomi hadn’t finished quite yet. Scooping him up, the blind demon tilted his face upward and gingerly kissed each eye, and then set him back down. Waiting what must have been deemed a respectable lapse of time, the warlord then smiled, and then said pointedly, “Good night, Kurama.”

Ass, thought Kurama, who now that the oral-optic love was over had resumed his reluctance to get up. Yomi must have known this, as his smirk widened as he provided assistance in the form of helping the Fox to his feet and showing him the direction toward the door, away from the bed. Kurama pulled his clothes back on, then grabbed his companion’s shirt and wiped his eyes on it.

“Good night,” he replied mildly, tossing the shirt onto the bed, ignoring its owner chuckling at him as he made his exit.

Kurama preferred it so much more when Yomi had him wear the blindfold instead.

------------

A/N: A few quick references:

1) Ganguro girls – one of the subcultures among Japanese youth (Gothic Lolita would be another, better known subculture), defined by much the same descriptions I gave of Takara above. Think sort of like The Hills, in Japan.

2) The Genji – the Genji Monogatari, or Tale of Genji, is recognized by many as the world’s first novel, written in the 11th century by Lady Murasaki. The protagonist is Hikaru Genji, one of the emperor’s illegitimate sons, who’s so awesome and charming that he gets away with being called “prince” and pursuing a bunch of (usually) women he shouldn’t, such his stepmother, the emperor’s favorite concubine—and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. More on the Genji later.

As for that last scene, whether you were amused or appalled, or a little of both, more on that and the inspiration for it come next chapter. See you then.