He kept staring into the face of the youko after that abominable act, the youko he was supposed to kill. He was redoing his pants slowly, silky pants that flowed like the blood seeping from his torn insides. omething must have torn from it, right?

He didn’t really know anything now. He could only see the youko’s smirking face and silky hair flowing like blood from his torn insides. He was moving away from him, laughing slowly, lowly, menacingly, elegantly, leaving him bound and paralyzed to this trunk with vines.

Let Mukuro’s minions hunt him down, kill him in every painfully slow manner, whatever. No honor, no victory, no reward, nothing but his torn clothes and torn insides and aching bones. Only that nauseating smell all over him.

Closing his eyes would do nothing, and wakefulness is just the same.

Every moment from here on he would see the youko moving away from him, laughing slowly, lowly, menacingly, elegantly. Over and over. And that laughter blended with the mocking guffaws from his past. His face became one with all of them.

Submission is not easy when you are not the losing party.

He was too easy to be found, there at the center of the noisy tavern, laughing, drinking, betting against fellow demons on a game of arm wrestling. His near-platinum hair caught the light and soon it was shining on its own, and it attracted all the moths of travelers there. He was throwing his bounty recklessly on every match, and was fattening it like a mother would a baby. The youko had the uncanny knack for it, he had to admit it. Clever. Sneaky. That’s the fox at first sight.

And that’s the fox when he tried to ambush him --- and failed miserably. The youko’s senses were so well honed that no matter how well he masked his ki. He must have been forewarned. He was detected with a foolish, slight backward step.

The vines, hirsute with stinging bristles, shot out from the black hole of forest darkness and soon sucked him out of his hiding place. He tried to tear them off when he discovered that its paralyzing poison had already immobilized his limbs.

They deposited him at the foot of the youko.

"I was about to go to the brothel when I felt you sneaking about. Who sent you?"

Silence.

"Who sent you?"

Of course he would not reply. It has been part of every deal he made as a hired mercenary --- never to reveal whoever hired him should he ever get caught. If, because he had never been caught before.

Careless.

"Too careless for a mercenary, eh? You shouldn’t have been caught in this bind if you were cautious enough. But no, you weren’t, dumb ass. So now you’re obliged to tell me who sent you if you still want to see sunrise."

He would rather die.

"Come on, child." The youko raised his chin as he scrutinized his face. "I wouldn’t want to waste your… hmm… beauty."

"I am not a child. And I am not beautiful!"

He hooted. "Ooh! The baby speaks like a man! Hmm… so let’s see if you’re man enough for this." He took out a Ningenkai flower --- was that a rose? --- from his hair, concentrated, and turned it into a glabrous green whip.

He was actually laughing his head off as the youko panted in exhaustion. "Is that all the legendary Youko Kurama can give me? A harmless little whipping?" Not exactly. He was swathed in ribbons of opened, bleeding flesh and ripped black sackcloth, but numb as he is, it was something he wouldn’t be squealing about sometime.

The youko was seated on a boulder near where he dangled. He could hear a low growl from over there as the youko slowly stood up. What’s there to fear in this idiot anyway? Why does Mukuro want him dead anyway? This was your average smart, attractive --- he can’t deny these --- and arrogant thief who depends too much on his plants, and whom Mukuro could have dispatched of easily by herself, given her incredible power and influence. And why him, a lowly mercenary, why must he dispatch him for her?

The answer must come later. The youko was edging towards him in predatory fashion, not unlike a spider delicately treading its web towards its catch. He didn’t like the look in his face --- the hard glint in them reminded him too much of the look he had seen too many times before…

And he said earlier that he was headed for a brothel.

"You don’t seem to be such a bad fuck after all, even with all that whipping… " The vines had already released him, not that he can escape now. He was prone on the forest floor, paralyzed, just for the youko’s taking. Kurama was already cradling him like a baby, lifting him so that his mouth was close to his right ear. "How old are you, child?" he blew softly into it.

At least he can run back then. Hide. Give up that fucking piece of bread. Get lost in the blizzard. Fight then all off.

But he was a weak child then, without any valuable powers or skills. He had sought to perfect all of his fighting techniques, all that he knew now to prevent a recurrence. Since he had demonstrated to every demon lusting after him that he wasn’t worth the trouble, no one had the guts to try him on for size.

But here, where he lay prone on the forest floor, paralyzed, just for the youko’s taking, he could not prevent the reprisal of an old nightmare, where he wasn’t supposed to be the loser.

Kurama’s teeth were making short work of the shreds of cloth on his torso, the cloth that used to be his shirt. As lacerated skin was exposed to air the youko proceeded to lap up the dried blood with the tips of his tongue, never missing an area, delving into still-open wounds and prying open freshly closed ones.

"You won’t answer? How rude," Kurama murmured to his chest. "But your scent tells me you’re a young male, with a lot of growing up and learning to do. For one, you should be more careful when stalking your prey. Second, there is no pleasure without pain." He bit on a tender nipple.

"Ow." It was a tiny whisper.

"Hmm… not quite the man we claimed to be, eh?"

Let the fucker do as he pleased. It was the easier path back then. But he must keep his mouth shut no matter what he did to him, no matter how painful.

Which was which?

Did it matter?

He didn’t realize what was happening as he thought of these things.

The hairs on his back stood up one by one as they heralded the blast of cold through his spine. Blood rushed to his skin as his heart pounded furiously, angry at the never-before-seen treachery of the hardening cock that the youko felt up his disintegrated pants.

"So you’re a man after all." The youko was delighted, and that delight warned him of more menacing events. He gripped the penis gently and stroked it up, down, up, down, slowly and rhythmically as he looked on, disgusted yet fascinated.

"Haven’t you had an erection before, kid?" the youko asked amusedly. "Do you think the poison also paralyzed your dick to stiffness?" Of course not, he thought bitterly. He was stroking him a bit faster. "What if I also show you mine? Here, feel it."

The youko used his free hand to shove his inside his pants. Soon, within him, a leaden cannonball started rolling down a hill, accumulating gunpowder and heading for a fire.

Kurama managed to slip out of his pants, from which his cock, moist with pre-cum, sprang forth like a volunteer for a duel. He was now on his knees, facing it. His eyes can never leave unless he closed it

His arms cannot dangle, for the youko had bidden the vines return.

He couldn’t see it, but the head of Kurama’s cock was prying open his mouth for entry. When he would not acquiesce, the youko forced him to bend his head closer to the ground, where he must be sitting right now. Now it was the youko’s sharp nailed fingers prying his lips --- and succeeding.

The cock was longer, thicker and harder than it had looked earlier, and it choked him just to swallow it. Kurama was now pumping, fucking his mouth. He could feel it go faster, faster, the head going in and out, the vessels throbbing beneath it as the youko sighed at his release of cum deep into his throat.

He was only glad that it hadn’t hit his tongue first. Not much was left of it in his mouth.

What he wasn’t glad about was the cannonball in his stomach that kept rolling in…

Anticipation? He anticipated humiliation?

The youko shoved him back to the soil, face down, and kneeled near his buttocks. An intruding finger made its way through, then two, then, three, four… suddenly his whole fist was in.

"AHHHH!"

What was that flowing from him? He can’t say it’s just blood --- it felt like chunks of muscles, skin, shit…

The youko’s voice was beginning to crack with lust and maniacal joy. "Inari… do you know how much I have been fantasizing about this? N-no … whore would indulge me… this must be my lucky night."

Kurama now replaced his fist with his cock, not that it made it any more comfortable than earlier. He was sure he was still bleeding. If the youko leaves him like this he would be dead from bleeding.

Which was just as well. The mocking, lewd guffaws of everyone who came before at his expense, back when he was still weak, would be joined by this youko’s laugh later on after he leaves. The same cock thrusting in him now would not be any different than the staffs the rest have used on him, not even its size or shape would make it any different. The hands that groped him, the tongues that licked off what little dignity he had as a Forbidden Child, the cum that would blend with his blood inside him… they would belong only to cruel fate, that fate which condemned him to this life.

He was weak after all, even with all his weapons and knowledge.

And the churning cannonball within him proves it, as it rolled as fast as Kurama was thrusting. It was heading for the fire that would make it explode, the way Kurama has exploded just now inside him, his cum blending with the blood and shit.

And the cannonball stopped short of that fire and fell with him to nothingness.