Second Try

Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuu Yuu Hakusho, or any of its characters. Those belong to Yoshihiro Togashi-sama, who made a lot more out of them than I ever could have. ^^;; I just do fanfiction for fun, and earn no monetary rewards for writing it. Reviews are, of course, worth as much as silver.

Original summary(for this chapter): In the night you come, unwanted. You are everything I would never need. You are the poison that swims in my nightmares. You are… Here.

Title: Second Try
Chapter Five: Obsession
Word Count: 6,652
Anime: Yuu Yuu Hakusho
Pairing: HieixKurama, ?xKurama
Warning: Shounen ai, yaoi, violence
Author: Kita Kitsune
Date: Saturday(earth-day!), August 15, 2009
Miscellaneous Notes: Funny thing. I wrote the italicized-POV stuff all at once, then decided to go back and put in the ‘normal time’ stuff. So half of this chapter was written a few days ago, and it’s all… mixed-up, now. You might get confused—I almost get confused!—but hopefully I’ve put enough time labels in for it to work. Going to be rather heavy on the crow, and not much else, because I… didn’t feel like writing in the ‘Present Time’ setting, for some reason. Lots of historical stuff on the way—enough that it will very likely spill over into quite a few more future chapters. ;3

Ah, and one more thing, yes—the really, really, really long run-on sentence(that you’ll all know what I’m talking about when you see it) was purposefully written that way. Sorry if it’s hard to not get lost in, though. x.x;;

More Notes(August 14, 2009): Review, please—especially since I’m feeling intimidated by a wonderful Youko/Kuronue, Kurama/Kuronue fic I read on FF.net, today… wahhh, that author’s writing is so much better than mine! ;.; Fawx, and the fic is ‘Immortal’. Go read it. …although then you’ll never come back to read my drivel, again! x.x Glad I wrote this chapter two days ago, otherwise I’d never have gotten it out after reading her lovely windings and tension and plot that surpasses my own feeble attempts… hopefully I’ll write the next chapter tonight and get my steam back, though.

Reviews shall now help boost my writing-esteem back up! Gack… (hey, I’m ‘kitsune’, after all, I like silver shiny things, what else can I say… x.o;;; Pun. Gah. Please excuse—brain is rather fried, from staying up all night to finish what she’s posted of that fic... and reviewing every chapter from chapter three, onward. Reviewing is hard work, we’re all so busy… one can only hope the love comes back in a ‘similar’ form… [hinthint] ;3 )

BlueUtopiah-sama: x///x;; E-Ehe. ‘m glad you thought he was IC. I had to fine-tune that ‘seal’ scene quite a bit… and I don’t exactly know what the schedule is, for this fic—the time setting per chapter seems to jump around a lot(can you tell I’m avoiding the Yuusuke-Hiei confrontation scene like the plague?). Oo;; And, I guess… I got tired of the ‘usual’ KarasuxKurama fic. It seemed a little formulaic, when I thought about it—he’s almost always vilified(well—yeah, I know he’s a villain-character in the series, but hear me out), often to the extreme. Which spawned the idea for this, sorta—the odd character development bit of it, I suppose. x.x;;; Eep. My strange mind. Although I can’t speak for this chapter… I hope I can keep him IC(thank goodness you’re such a Karasu fan, you’ll keep me in check!) as I go into trying to develop and work with him… I’ll try really hard to(keep him from going too OOC), but— Meep. x///x;; Thank you for the review! So much!

And to everyone else—reviews are always silver love~!

Pretty please with sugar and whipped cream and cherries and sprinkles on top?

[...or shall we made that trussed-up, lovingly violated, pleasurably exhausted foxies on top? x3]

: : : : : : :

Why was I born?

: : :

A baby lay on the ground, crying and wailing, small crackles and pops in the air echoing around him. Its tiny legs kicked and kicked in futile, base attempts at action to make itself feel better. Midwives and demons gathered around inside the room huddled at the edges, too fearful of making contact with the small infant.

There was a loud crash, and suddenly a regal, intimidating lord stood at the door, shouting angrily at those cowering idly at the sides of the birthing room. A prone form lay, abdomen covered in blood and scorch marks, her dark hair fanned out around her. Nearly-lidded violet eyes moved slightly at the new sounds, then shimmering as a pale, delicate hand wandered out—

“Dearest…” Instantly, the boisterous youkai stopped his rampaging, gaze falling upon her. He gasped, running forward and cradling her trembling hand between both of his own, his features slowly shifting from anger to pained—love, could it be?

“Mira…” She squeezed the demon’s fingers, summoning a faint smile and her lips moved, the youkai’s eyes widening even over the screams of the baby left lying, unattended, in the middle of the room.

“Bring him—“ With some effort he managed to compose himself, moving quickly over to the infant and ignoring the cries of the women gathered around the room for him to stop. Hastily, he returned back to her, setting the wrinkled bundle in her arms and moving behind her to help her sit up, a bit. Her sated, heavily-lidded gaze fell to it and she weakly caressed the boy’s cheek, humming softly to try and quell his tears. Abruptly, mirroring purple irises popped open, gazing with all the curious intensity of an infant’s upon the lady’s face. She smiled, fingering the fine dark locks and the baby purred and wriggled, trying to get closer to the sensation. The ebony-haired lady laughed, breathlessly, and her lover smiled over his shoulder at the child, noting as he did so that those indigo optics locked immediately on him.

~A Few Years Later~

”’kaasama! ‘kaasama!” The little boy ran for her, giggling and wrapping arms around the woman’s waist, even as she sat in her wheeled wicker chair, a blanket tucked neatly over her legs and lap. She smiled to him fondly, ruffling the dark locks that matched her own, identical violet stares meeting in quiet joy.

“Mm, yes?” He smiled brighter, climbing into her lap and he uncapped his hands, just a little. A small tweet could be heard from within the fleshy prison, along with a panicked flutter of wings.

“Look what I found, ‘kaasama! A pretty little bird! I caught him for you!” She smiled to him, before gently placing her hands over his own.

“That’s very good, dear. But you shouldn’t keep such things captive—“ With the delicacy of being sure not to injure the small boy’s pride, she pried his hands apart and the tiny Makai sparrow immediately took flight, a glimmer of jeweled red and blue against the stormy sky before it disappeared from sight. At the boy’s cry of loss, his mother gently took him into her arms, turning over his hands—which were dotted with small, pecked wounds and scratches from the fowl’s tiny feet. The lady smiled softly, quietly leaning to kiss his forehead with a tender murmur, effectively silencing his tears.

“Beautiful things must be free. You cannot trap them or own them, for only then they will always find a way to run from you…”

: : :

~Two and a Half Months Earlier~

He cursed the human family and their pointless needs. If they were not hosting a gala, they were complaining that the gourmet meals he had taken to cooking were falling rather flat for their ‘refined’ tastebuds. In his boredom(thus, during the day when he had no duties and yet could not slip away unnoticed to visit the fox, for they were always calling on him, as they had still done away with all the former servants), he had acquainted himself with the easy luxuries of human life. Books upon books of pages outlining the simplest hobbies—he’d learned to read the human version of Makai script rather early on, in the pampered life of a noble’s son—and so picked them up with a hint of disdain, but, perfectionist that he was, he sought to work grander and more noble displays of his growing skills in the kitchen. Not that the humans took notice, they were a bit too occupied shoveling it all into their mouths(aside from the daughter, who he amusedly noticed would look as though pained at the wide feast spread before her before bursting into tears and rushing up to her room to cry—belatedly, he wondered if this sudden interest in the culinary arts might have had something to do with the fact he’d ‘conveniently’ forgotten she was on an eat-nothing diet…). The speed at which they inhaled his carefully-wrought creations entertained him silently, to no end—he could have poisoned them through a dozen meals by now, but(thanks to his own acting, and their dim minds, never suspecting a blood-relation to kill a family member), tempting as the prospect was, he restrained himself.

He couldn’t quite deny the humans did tend to spoil themselves rotten… he hadn’t a moment to be free, for training, other than at night—and the nights were often spent either working on the seals that swayed whether or not he would be able to remain here, unnoticed but steadily growing his power back… or seeking out his one tempting anchor to the life he had left behind, the day he died.

Tonight was one such night, and it was with a relieved sigh as he registered the sounds of the humans sleeping in drugged, peaceful sleep above his head(his senses had begun to sharpen, as of late, of which he was enormously glad). He closed the quite-near-antique culinary book resting in his hands, pale digits spreading over the cover and pressing it to the cool glass coffee table beside him as he elegantly raised a long leg over its counterpart’s knee. He should perhaps be working on that imperative second seal—in order to sap Kurama’s energy, and better restore his own—but the continuous knowledge of the kitsune’s location had been burning a hole in the back of his mind since their chance-encounter, a fortnight hence. He could wait no longer, his control was twisting itself into knots at the constant reminder of the redhead’s presence in this city, every hour of the day. He could afford himself a simple visit, could he not? Surreptitiously, he angled a glance towards the no-doubt expensive, ostentatious clock hanging above the mantle(idly, he was amused by the humans’ extravagance in such tawdry decorations), but allowed himself a muted grin at the time.

It was late—late enough, that any good ‘human’ high school student with classes in the morning would be well in bed.

It was settled, then. He rose, long, form-fitting black pants clinging to his skin as he absently adjusted the collar of the equally dark button-up shirt draped over his thin shoulders, smoothing out a few nonexistent wrinkles as he went to fetch the lengthy coat awaiting him in the closet. The inky locks had grown out, just a bit more—they were scarcely past shoulder-length, now, but his humans had insisted he either cut it to a ‘respectable’ length, or wear it back.

‘They had a reputation to uphold!’, after all.

He refused to roll his gaze ceiling-ward at the memory. A reputation, indeed. For all their seedy and dirty connections, they were quite conservative in their views on dress—and so the onyx tendrils were held at the back of his neck by an inconspicuous cord, most of the day. For now, though… he almost carelessly raked slender fingers through the small, elastic band, decommissioning it and letting the strands work themselves free once it was gone, caressing his cheeks like the fingers of a lost friend. He sighed—he did so miss the tresses and length he had worked so hard to cultivate and care for, in his past life… Short hair simply was not his style. Until he acquired more reiki, or youki, or both(or at least enough that he could spare some for visual effects), though, it would continue its slow human rate of growth.

Pushing these thoughts from his mind, he drew the long jacket around him, almost absently flicking up the collar—old habits died hard, and in his long-gone, well-worn outfit that had disintegrated along with his previous body, after Kurama’s plant had quite well used him as fodder… well, the point was he was a fan of high collars. Perhaps moreso, now, since the familiar feel of his mask did not grace his face. As it was night, he did not see the need for sunglasses—few would come near him, anyway. Weak as he was, he quite refused to allow his hard-earned ‘presence’ of intimidation to wear away… when he needed it, at any rate. No use setting the kitsune’s sixth sense on edge(despite the fact Kurama would not be able to actually sense his spirit, due to the seal)—Makai foxes were tricky, and he would be a fool to underestimate his own youko, again—, and rather unintelligently revealing himself when he was still at such a disadvantage.

Black on black, he opened the front door to the dark, silent mansion, and swept away in a languid, unobtrusive flicker of shadow, muted steps fading into nothing.

: : :

~A Few Months Later~

“’kaasama, ‘kaasama!” He waved at her, and she smiled weakly in return, her servant pushing her chair as they meandered in the forests at the edge of his lord father’s estate. Father had said not to go pulling Mother into the forests, but this was too amazing and beautiful! He had to show her! The dark-haired youth came upon the hole, and grinned impishly before focusing, and letting loose a small bomb—perhaps the size of a firecracker—inside the den. There was the sound of scuffling, and a baby kitsune tumbled out of the hole, black as night, soon followed by his siblings—red and black, as well, and then the larger snout of a red vixen, as she moved to crouch over her babies with a defensive snarl.

His mother had watched, eyes widening slowly until she gasped as the mother fox tried to defend, reaching out a hand and a soft cry for her boy to listen, to stop—He just laughed, waving off her worries and stepping forward fearlessly, eyes fierce with challenge as he detonated another bomb, this time inside the mother fox’s abdomen. She yelped, blood spraying over her kits as she jumped away, and he triumphantly walked forward and scooped up one of the red cubs. She snarled again, and went for his throat, but he threw her an annoyed look—“Leave me alone! I want these! They’re mine!”—and another explosion rent her abdomen and she howled, before it was suddenly cut short as her neck burst into bits, successfully decapitating her and sending another shower of blood everywhere.

He turned, smiling happily—not noticing the blood speckled over his cheek—and walked back to his mother, setting the whimpering, cowering fox kit in her lap.

“Here, ‘kaasama! You get the prettiest red one! I’ll take care of the others!” She was too shocked to answer… her little boy had just taken a life, and while that was a bit too ordinary in Makai—she had hoped to shelter him from that aspect of his homeland as long as she could—, it seemed his demon instincts would not be quelled by her efforts alone. She offered a slight attempt at a smile, even as her boy cheerfully went about, gathering up the fox kits and then skipping next to her as the servant, carefully silent, wheeled her back towards the estate.

They left without a glance backward at the ruined corpse of the female red fox that littered the blood-soaked ground...

~A Few Months Later~

“’kaasama!” The little boy came barreling around the corner, face stricken and holding in his hands the limp form of a black fox kit. He pushed it at her, scrambling over her knees and gazing up at her imploringly.

“He’s sick, ‘kaasama! Fix it! Make him better!” Surprised violet fell to the black pup now occupying her lap, and she ran a hesitant hand over the little kit’s fur before stilling herself. She sighed, gathering the little boy into her arms and holding him tight, murmuring into his hair.

“He’s… I can’t fix him, dear—“ A choked sob greeted that, and small, slender hands gripped onto her sleeves.

“Why not, ‘kaasama?! I kept him, and I fed him and played with him and loved him—“

“I know, dear.” Her voice was gentle, as soothing caresses brushed through the boy’s hair. “But not everything can be fixed. He has died, my dear. And I know it hurts, but—“

“Why’d he die?!” Her son wailed, clutching closer to her—“I took care of him, ‘kaasama! I tried so hard, even when he didn’t want to play so much, anymore—“

“Now, dear—“ She held him close, keeping her tone soft even as her throat began to constrict. “Everyone and everything that lives must die. It is the way things are. Someday, I will die, and your father will die, and you will have to—“ She stopped, abruptly, as he stiffened, looking up to her with wide eyes.

“’kaasama’s gonna… die, too?” She smiled, tenderly, cupping the side of his face with a palm, warmly moving a thumb over the apple of his cheek.

“Everyone must die, dear. Someday, you will die, as well…” Tears began to collect in the little boy’s eyes, and she almost regretted saying this, but… it was a truth all needed to learn, eventually. She wasn’t quite prepared for the way he howled and threw himself onto her, though.

“’kaasama can’t die! No, no! ‘kaasama can’t die like Ichio did!” Referring to the little black pup… her heart was nearly breaking. She didn’t quite know what to do. She felt so helpless to ease his worries, her own fragile health set aside—suddenly distressed, she began to gasp for breath. Another attack—she couldn’t breathe! Not quite aware, she was only dimly conscious of someone screaming and batting at her arms before she passed out.

~A Few Hours Later~

“…I see. Yes. Thank you.” Out of the corner of his eye, the lord noted the sullen form of his son, knees curled to his chest and arms wrapped around them—thoughtless of the expensive dark silk he wore, that was brushing against the rough stone floor of the hall. That endless violet stare was averted from beneath shoulder-length strands of black, and the lord sighed, closing the door behind him as he waved the Makai doctor away. It was time for a long-ignored, difficult conversation with his son. He took careful steps, sure not to jar the boy with his presence, before settling silently beside him in a cushioned, high-backed chair that had been placed outside the lady’s room—for her son, no doubt. Although said son had seemed to ignore the gesture…

“Your mother is very sick.” His own voice broke the uncomfortable soundless quality of the air that had come between them. The older demon paused, unsure of how to continue. For not the first time, he cursed his status as a prominent lord for interfering with his family life. He knew practically nothing of his own son! Of course, that wasn’t to say he didn’t have dozens more, but… She had always been special. She was one of the few concubines that was allowed to live with him on a regular basis, despite the fact he did not make so much time to see her or his son—the mere fact he provided for them both was cause enough for gratitude, on her end. Not that he would ever require it of her. She was dear to him…

“’kaasama said everyone dies.” That quiet voice was almost eerily calm. It gave him an uneasy feeling—the boy had always been so exuberant, so reactive, so passionate… truthfully, he had expected tears and crying. A most unmanly way to take a stressful event such as this, but the boy was still a child, after all… “Is ‘kaasama dying?” For the second time, that voice jarred him back to reality and he forced his tone to a professional one, straightening in his chair, big hands wrapping around the ends of the seat’s ornate, sculpted armrests and holding his chin high.

“Your ‘kaasama is sick. She has been sick for years. Her condition only seems to be worsening, lately, however.” It was perhaps a bit harsh, but his son needed to learn to deal with loss. To be a proper man, a proper heir, this boy must move on from such heartache. Just as he himself was preparing to do. That she had survived the birth was a miracle in and of itself… she was so very fragile. “I would treasure the time you spend with her, at least until she becomes too ill to leave her bed.” Quite unlike himself, who would have no such luxury of time. To be a prominent lord, yet still low-ranked enough to be treated as a servant by those of higher rank… it annoyed him to no end, but he could not neglect his sworn duties.

“Yes, otousama.” Here the boy stood, face quietly reserved—a mask, cutting off all around him from his thoughts. The child bowed, gracefully, before turning and silently disappearing into the obscurity of the hallway. The lord watched him go, let him go—the boy needed to come to how to deal with the impending loss on his own. It was best he let him be.

: : :

~Two and a Half Months Earlier(a.k.a. the Same Night)~

He was not quite prepared for how easy it was to approach his redhead’s Ningenkai home—perhaps he had underestimated the effects of his seal. At any rate, he was understandably wary as the beacon of the kitsune’s youki pulsed softly within its housed human body inside a common-looking, old(but doubtlessly modernized, inside) two-story Japanese house set inside the traditional gate from constructions a hundred years ago, eying the innocuous-seeming plants bordering the building—roses on a lattice, crawling up the front side of the enclosure, ivy up another outer wall, and a large tree situated beside what(he could only hope) was the fox’s bedroom window.

The reincarnated youkai reached out his senses as best he could, and was rewarded with the faintest, most unnoticeable flicker of response from the now-invisible seal he had placed on the back of the fox’s neck. A thin smile drew up the corners of his mouth, just slightly, and adjusting himself gracefully, so it seemed he’d not even moved—he landed soundlessly on one of the thicker branches of the large tree, form angled just so as to keep him from slipping, hands still hidden in the pockets of his current attire. He cast a mild glance down from where he stood—a two-story jump. Not bad, for a human body—although the lack of effort it had taken was likely from his own demonic soul enhancing some of his abilities. Finally! The more attuned hearing had been slow in coming, as was the sharper eyesight, but this at least was a welcome relief—considering the numerous drastic changes he’d had to adjust to in roughly the past four months, to keep his human façade of an identity believable.

Still keeping a cautious eye on the plant life below him, confident that Kurama would not sense him—although mildly anxious that the protective greenery surrounding this abode might—he kept his thoughts carefully veered away from their usual violent tendencies. He recalled one aspect of their fight in stark clarity, suddenly—and it only solidified his reasons for caution.

“They do have feelings, so it would be bad for you if you angered them.

…Oh, it seems they’ve identified you as an enemy!”

The sharpness of the youko’s laughter washed over him, and to distract himself from the images of bombs, and crazy pods chasing him around the ring with lines of fire spewing from their ‘mouths’—he leaned forward, short inky blank strands faintly obscuring his vision until he brushed them behind an ear, impatiently. The branch was thinner, the closer he came to the window, and whilst he did not relish this method, crawling was perhaps the best method, at the moment. Moreso ‘stalking’, really(to assuage his pride), if he thought about it. Letting his years as an assassin come back to him, he calmly advanced towards the window, violet piercing past the glass pane to search the inner darkness for some sign—

Ah.

He couldn’t quite see him as well as he’d like, and a few adventurous fingertips actually dared caress the wooden sill—not bothering to hope that the kitsune slept with his window unlocked, for that would be too foolish of the redhead, even in the Ningenkai—and he shifted his weight to them, peering inside and cursing his still-weak night vision, amethyst oculars narrowing to try and discern—

The moon poked out from behind a cloud, unseen, behind him, and suddenly the window was awash in light. He drew his hands back from the wooden sill, out of the moonbeams’ reach as though they burned, gaze otherwise riveted to the scene playing out before him.

…Gods.

Had Kurama surpassed his previous beauty, in the weeks that had passed since their last brief meeting?

Or, as was the more likely option, perhaps it was that he simply hadn’t had the fortune to properly gaze upon him in too long—or so uninhibited as he could, now.

The kitsune was sprawled on his bed, above the covers—open books, scurried-in notebooks and the pen that was no doubt the doer of the written deeds lay on his desk. A potted fern took up the space between the bed and the desk, in lieu of a nightstand. The oblivious redhead was clad in a rosy-colored uniform, of sorts—or at least from the waist-down he was, the no-doubt matching jacket strewn over the back of the chair in front of his desk. A secretive glint of gold somewhere along its magenta folds was hinted at in the moonlight as a white, socked foot draped itself just over the edge of the yet-made mattress wrapped in light, likely clean, sheets. Its counterpart lay fully on the bed, the knee of it crooked at what didn’t look—but must have been—a comfortable angle into the mattress. Scarlet tresses spilled over the shoulders of the white long-sleeved shirt he wore—said sleeves rolled up to his elbows, only one having partially come undone from the tight fold, causing the sleeve to hang three-quarters of the way down his arm.

In the back of his own mind, the darker youkai registered faintly that that white shirt provided the most excellent contrast between himself and the fox—ironic, then, that he was in fact wearing the same style of shirt, only in black… Leaning closer to the glass—although careful not to give himself away and let any part of himself be hit by the moonbeams directed as though with a spotlight onto the scene before him—he allowed his eyes to continue in their repast, falling and outlining and drinking and noticing everything he could about the sleeping angel before him.

That arm was laid out on the bed, on the side facing the window, so the observing demon had a perfect view of how it just bent at the elbow to settle a healthy, slender—elegant—hand and the long fingers attached to it just a few bare centimeters from Kurama’s turned chin. From his angle, he couldn’t quite see the settlement of the other arm, but he found violet drawn instead over the ridges of the knuckles, fascinated, then upward, tracing the baby-soft, lax cheeks with intense—longing, he registered it, building up in his chest and he found himself forcing a gasp, wrenching himself back and feeling a familiar burn at his mind, dark oculars widening at he watched the kitsune sleep on, unaware of his presence…

He was… almost humbled by the sight. It proved most unsettling, this strange sensation burying and stabbing itself into his chest… just watching Kurama—oh, he still wanted and wished he could leap in there and grab the fox by the throat, ruining the entire serenity of the scene as those too-bright jade eyes would immediately snap open in surprised terror—he could imagine it, lids slowly half-dipping to conceal the darkening shade of purple flickering in their depths—Kurama wouldn’t recognize him at first, and he would use that chance to pin him to the bed, grinding his hips into the ones beneath and hopefully startling a surprised cry from between those protesting lips before they’d be claimed and he would watch him, intensely observe those beautiful verdant hues as they somehow, inexplicably, impossibly would flicker with sharp realization and then, only then, would the fox really begin to tremble beneath him, fighter’s senses coming to the fore as he would kick and shove and try to push the crow off of him—but then he would tighten the pale hand wrapped around his neck and his fox would choke, briefly, horror and anger flashing in the emerald hues as they hardened, staring up at him defiantly even as he would continue to ravage that sweet mouth, that origin of ambrosia, that so-forbidden, deadly-exquisite poison that made true insanity swim in his veins and he would need the fox, need him, need him to be supplicating and wanting and breathless and aroused and altogether ashamed of his pleasure and wickedly beautiful as he would violate him soundly, and—then naked—Kurama would arch into the moonlight, every nerve and cord and tight muscle outlined in silvery magnificence, tears glimmering down his cheeks in shame as the crow brought him again, and again, and claimed him tirelessly until the youko was literally drained, lying slumped on those same light sheets that had been so clean earlier that night, and were now stained with blood from the criss-crossing scratches covering that pliant skin as well as deeper wounds of violation... and only then, only then—

That still form shifting sleepily on the bed jarred him from the fantasy, amethyst going wide once more as he fought to temper his rapid breaths to something a bit less obvious than the shallow panting ripping past his throat—

…No. No. He wasn’t awake. Shoulders trembling from the ornate vision, the realism of the daydream he had imposed on himself, he drew back from the window, gaze locked on the again-unmoving form of the sleeping youko—until he hit the trunk, and instantly collapsed against it, eyes closing and attempting to reel in the thoughts and demands that he do just that, live it out, go and take the kitsune as his, and then ‘save’ him just when Kurama reached the last peak of the night, so that beautiful face would be frozen in the perfect moment in time, the perfect rapture of completion as his soul fled from his body, flying away…

Out of reach.

The shaking had diminished, now, and with careful detachment that belied the warring conflict and outrage he felt at not taking what he wanted, right in this instant, he slipped from the tree, booted feet landing neatly on the ground. The youkai ignored the image of the kitsune painted on his eyelids from staring so long at that fetching scene as he strode briskly away, irritated and still fighting the very-real temptation of at last claiming the youko as he deserved to be claimed.

He had learned, now.

That first seal was yet more important than previously thought—apparently, he was just as invisible to the kitsune’s plants as he was the kitsune.

Opportunity…

: : :

The remaining pups gathered around him, one red and two more blacks—the other red, his mother had released. When he’d protested, she had merely smiled at him and said, once again,

“Beautiful things must be free. You cannot trap them or own them, for only then they will always find a way to run from you…”

It made him a little angry that she had let the red fox kit go. The kit was a present for her, and she should have kept it! He’d said as such, with a scowl, but his mother had only laughed softly, warmly ruffling his hair.

“But you gave her to me, didn’t you~? What I do with my own things should not be any concern of yours, my dear…”

He had grumbled, but she made a good point. He’d taken his four—now three—remaining kits and cuddled and laughed and played and trained with them. Then Ichio—the first one he’d seen, who was all black—had gotten sick and he’d almost tripped over himself trying to make him better. But he’d only gotten worse, and then the kit had started to get colder and colder… until the boy got worried enough, and poked him, but he hadn’t moved and so he’d run to his mother with the cold pup, but—

Mother said everyone died. Father said Mother was very sick. Was Mother going to die? Was he going to have to watch her die like he’d watched Ichio die? Was she going to want to stop playing, and stop smiling, and stop loving him as she got sicker and sicker? Was she going to get cold and fade away as a shell of her former self, like Ichio had?

The wet noses of the foxes around him nudged and poked at him as small paws pressed at his arms and legs. He raised his head, staring blankly at the little creatures as they perked upon having thought they gained his attention, tails wagging tentatively behind them.

Ichio was dead. The red one—Sano—the bigger black one—Yono—and the smallest black one—Goko—were all that were left. He watched as they grew bored with his lack of reaction and began to play with themselves, indigo optics growing distant. Were they all going to die like Ichio had, too? Out of his control, unable to be saved, they were all doomed…

Almost idly, a finger twitched. The playing foxes paid it no mind, but when an explosion went off by Yono’s ear he yelped, rolling away only to find himself in the midst of another explosion. His two siblings scurried away in utter terror, and the boy rose, walking slowly over to the pile of dust that had risen from the ground with the bombs. A glint of red hovered in his eyes, and suddenly-obvious, long red nails glowed as the debris cleared, and he saw the limp, ruined form of little Yono in the scorched grass.

He stood staring at the dead black pup at his feet for a few minutes, before he suddenly began to laugh, bending over and holding his chest, mindless of the acid dripping from his nails starting to eat away at the expensive silk of his dark shirt.

It felt so good! Why had no one told him of this?!

That it felt so, so good to kill something you loved…

Now, Yono wasn’t gone. Oh, no. The little black pup was forever his, and now utterly unable to be taken away.

The spring-fresh memory of Yono would linger in his mind for ever and ever, and he would always have this wonderful feeling of knowing that the pup hadn’t wasted away. That he had saved him from a horrible death. He’d killed the little kit! Yono’s life was his, now, and that couldn’t ever be taken away from him…

Slowly, he turned his head, spying the retreating forms of the other red and black pups, running away. He felt a distant shot of worry. He had to catch them! They could run into the forest, and something might kill them! He had to save them before they were taken away from him! The ebony-haired boy ran after them, calling their names with a terrifying glee that infused his voice, glowing red still hovering over his eyes—

“Sano! Goko! Come here~! I want to play, I love you~! Come here!”

: : :

After the deed was done he was nearly gasping in pleasure, feeling the coils tightly wind around him as he panted, nails embedded in the fur of the two dead pups. His hands bore the scratches of their pathetic struggles to live, and he just threw back his head and laughed, again. It felt so good! It didn’t hurt, anymore! All of his worries about the pups dying were gone! And he felt so much better! This feeling washed away his hurt! Giddy with delight, he ran through his mind all the people he liked, in the manor… all the servants who had ever been nice to him. The cook, the maid that came in the morning…

Mother. He shuddered, momentarily swaying on his feet.

Oooooh, Mother. Would it feel just as good to keep her? She was his most precious person. He could keep her like she was, now, in his memory, for ever and ever if he killed her, now—oh, no. Not now. Mother was sick. Father said she would only get worse, but… he would wait for Mother to get a little better. Her life deserved to end in a fitting setting, because she was too beautiful for anything else to be appropriate. And he wanted to keep her just as lovely in his memory. She wouldn’t be pretty anymore if he waited too long to make her life his, though.

Giggling happily at finding a solution to his dilemma, he tossed the furry bodies up in the air, and they exploded into dust before ever hitting the ground…

~A Few Weeks Later~

“How is your training coming along, dear?” It was the first beautiful day she’d been allowed outside, after her most recent attack—and her son had insisted they go together, just the two of them, with no servants. He had been acting oddly, recently—but…

“Just fine, ‘kaasama.” That voice was pleasant, genuine, but… for some reason, it gave her pause, and the glance she cast back to him was just the slightest bit uneasy, even as her voice was soft, affectionate. She had no reason to fear her son.

“That’s wonderful. How are Sano, Yono and Goko, then? I haven’t seen them around, so much…” He chuckled, a gentle sound, and violet hues settled upon her own.

“I decided to keep them somewhere where they couldn’t get hurt.” She felt her lips tip down, at the corners, lifting fingers to tenderly brush over her son’s cheek.

“…then you’re keeping them inside? M’lord won’t like that, they’ll make a mess—and besides, dear, such animals are meant to live outside. They’re foxes, after all!” The light laughter that followed was warm and endearing—he closed his eyes, savoring it, letting the memory of it fill his heart. Eyes half-lidding, he stopped pushing her wheeled chair, casting a quiet glance around them. No one. Perfect…

He moved, then, kneeling in front of her and taking her face in his hands. She blinked softly, in surprise, before offering a slightly bemused smile towards him, and made to rest her own palms over the backs of the hands resting on her cheeks. The violet gaze that was surveying her was so intense—it was as though he was drinking in each and every feature of her face with slow, but firm, scrutiny. At last the silence was too much for her and she glanced away, hands tightening over the slender fingers that cupped her own face, about to comment on—

“You are the one I love most of all.” The voice surprised her, and she looked up, blinking softly at her son, once more. He looked conflicted but… resigned, was perhaps the word, and she hesitantly lifted a delicate pale hand to touch his face.

“…dear? You are the one I love most, as well—“ She wasn’t precisely sure where this was coming from, but… she smiled, nonetheless, feeling the beginnings of tears in her eyes. With his father’s hand in her son’s upbringing, she knew he had been told to never voice his feelings, that it was ‘unmanly’—and so to hear such words of affection, spoken so truly and quietly… it was a great boon, to her. Especially since his father had never been able to handle making such an utterance…

He smiled, and although she couldn’t help but feel a shiver of intuition at the gesture, she allowed her own returned smile to augment itself, just a notch—

Until she felt something detonate within her, and her eyes went wide with pain, a choked gasp spraying blood on her own lips as well as his face. When her vision cleared enough, she at last noticed the odd red glow those indigo orbs across from her had taken… and felt her bones freeze. She had seen that look too often in his father’s eyes. The bloodlust. Her boy had never been gentle, but he had been caring—wholesomely caring, wanting to studiously watch over everything he held responsibility over…

A disturbingly gentle pair of pale digits caressed her cheek, then, and the velvety voice that reached the air had the same tenor as her dear son’s, but the inflection was so, so much darker—what had happened to him, in such a short amount of time? Had he suffered, silently hiding his pain, keeping his troubles unknown to her, while she was sick? She had no time to puzzle over the change, though—

“It is all right, ‘kaasama. It will stop hurting, soon.” Glowing crimson seemed to overtake his vision—and hers, as she couldn’t quite tear her now-horrified gaze from her boy’s stare… she tried to find him, tried to find the delicate little son she had doted on, so lovingly, since his birth—she tried to find him, but all that met her efforts was that same enraptured stare, as though what was playing out before him was a fascinating, sacred, once-in-a-lifetime performance…

“I—” She coughed as another explosion ripped through her, cutting off her words and was only mildly aware of circular, hovering green things hemming in her view of the world—then, she realized his hand had retreated. She reached out for him, trying to find her son amidst the haze of floating death—but that hand brushed one of the glowing orbs and she cried out as it and its fingers were blown clean off, bleeding heavily as she cradled the broken stump to her bloodstained chest. It was getting darker—she could just see the silhouette of his figure beyond the obscurity, and tried to voice something once more, but the blood stuck in her throat—

Another slew of bombs went off, exploding the last remains of the wicker chair and the body that had been settled upon it, a still, quietly enchanted voice piercing the air in the aftermath of still-smoldering silence as the blissful feeling settled into his chest, lifting him up onto the wings of rapture.

“…I love you, Mother.”

~*~To Be Continued~*~