The wind howled outside. It whistled into the hollow within the roots that opened at Kurama’s command.

"This is cozy, isn’t it? We can stay through the storm here."

He dutifully entered the hollow inside the fig tree, as dutiful as could be expected of meek wives, of slaves, of young inexperienced helpless whores. He keeps his head down, the way he had always done when he was with for Kurama. Three meetings, three meetings of keeping his head down.

Whatever did possess him to toy around with a drunken Youko Kurama at the brothel, and promise to satisfy his cravings every time he’s off duty? It wasn’t a part of his master plan at all. He must have been drunk enough to mistake the silver hair for… for… any old thing.

But he kept his promise anyway. Perhaps he could take advantage of such closeness at the right time, he thought.

He remembered their first meeting in this once serene forest, placid like his confidence in his impending vengeance, but he had miscalculated --- yet again --- how sharp a youko’s wit could be. Far from the throbbing, alcohol-and-hormone-soaked bundle of sculpted ivory he had fucked with in the brothel, he had shifted back to the youko of legend.

Every word was punctuated with a thrust. He had seemed so bulky at the time, bulky enough to generate an earthquake that rattled his body back and forth and this same tree, the same tree they would now seek refuge in the storm in.

In the course of the weeks he could see how time and the youko had transformed it. Once only filled with damp earth, he had filled it with soft warm moss, sweet-smelling dried herbs and silk sheets. Cozy? Not quite.

When they have settled down inside the tree, he proceeded to take out food from his pack. The stew was still hot inside the Thermos bottle Satsujin got for him from the Ningenkai, and so was the bread he had reheated before leaving. Perfect for warming the stomach.

He perfunctorily offered the youko some of it.

"Hmm, smells good. What have you put in it? Arsenic? Hemlock?"

He forced out a breath from tightening lungs. "I don’t intend to poison you, stupid fox. If I wanted to kill you I would have done it long ago, when you were drunk. Maybe when we first dated here."

Kurama let out a laugh, loud, high, vulgar unlike his usual chortle. "Date? Date! Sigma sure teaches you how to read and write and speak!"

"Technically, it is. I set the time and place. We both showed up. I don’t define date as an opportunity to establish a romantic relationship, if you wrongly thought I was implying that."

Not that it stopped his cackling, or his slapping of his own thighs. "Oh yes he does. Oh yes!"

"Damn youko. Just do whatever. So what would it be tonight? Overripe peaches on my belly? Sake baths? Say it."

"Not that, do you hear me? You will tear me open again, just like the first time you did it to me! And I do have work tomorrow!"

Kurama twists his arm in an expert lock. "You will do as I say, whore! Wasn’t that what you offered me? Free fucks just the way I want it!"

"I want to have my own way too, Kurama! That’s why I offered this!"

"Gods, H.! You don’t believe that, do you? You’re going nuts when you start believing your own lies! You’ve always wanted to kill me, any old way you can think of. Sorry kid, you can’t."

He struggled against the tight lock. Shit, he’s so tired of every meeting ending like this, Kurama showing off his supposed superiority over him, and his plans getting nowhere!

He shoved his left knee into the seat of Kurama’s pants.

Kurama was forced to release his grip on him. He then grabbed the youko’s arm and twisted it into the same lock he was trapped in earlier, only tighter.

As Kurama tried to tug himself away from him, lashing him with a storm of curses, he felt the thin wrists and tried to estimate its circumference. Hn. The youko’s was only slightly wider than his, and … and…

He heard those thin wrists snap in his mind.

What a lovely sound.

His grip tightened instinctively.

He pushed the youko to the silk sheets. Odd, Kurama had conceded to his supposed superiority. The blood under his skin rippled faster than it usually did, rippling like his meek, fearful tone of voice just now.

"H-hey H., you’ve gotten… stronger, huh? Now I know… you’ve shown me. You can have your own way from now on, too. Just don’t kill me this way. L-let’s set… a proper duel or something."

Silence.

"H.? This isn’t honorable, you know, killing me like this…"

"Shut up, Youko!"

"N-no lubricant?’

Kurama gasped sharply upon his rushed entry.

"Now there’s…" he sighed as he established a rhythm, "… a dose of your own medicine!" He chuckled at the joke he was about to say. "Or is it… herbs?"

"N-not funny… Oh, g-gods… slow down!"

This must be why Kurama had decided to pick on him that horrible night. Every weak plead just… eggs him on to tear his tight, dry asshole further, and lubricate it with blood, and savor his sharp grunts of pain.

"Oh gods, slow down please…" he whispered.

Why slow down? Just as he was nearing the brink…

"H., I’ve… never allowed anyone to do this in all of my life I could remember. Slow down… Please…"

Why slow down? So near…

Finally! As he came inside him, he took a strange delight in the wine of fulfilled lust and vengeance and assertion as Kurama, youko thief legendary for sexual savagery, tried to catch his breath.

The storm was still raging outside, but the storm inside the hollow tree has passed.

Kurama’s back was to him. The pale ivory skin on his arms was showing purple spots. He tried to rise from his position, only to fall back from exhaustion.

He tried to break the icy silence. "You weren’t kidding with what you told me earlier?"

"What?"

"Having not let ---"

"No."

It was his turn to laugh, loud, high, vulgar unlike his usual low guffaw. "Gods, Youko Kurama! You don’t believe that, do you? You’re going nuts when you start believing your own lies!"

"I might be lying, but I really don’t remember," he whispered. "I… only could remember from my adolescence onwards." He shifted the conversation abruptly. "Say, was that all the vengeance you wanted of me? A harmless butt fuck?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"You’ve worn off your mystery, Mister. We’ve fucked too many times for that kind of pretense."

"You’re not interested in my plans, Youko; you only want a good free fuck. I am interested in your personal history."

"You first."

"There’s not much to tell."

"I'll take all that you can tell."

"You first."

And so the eye of the storm inside hovered over them, he thought. He waited for the long-lived youko to start. The storm out side has yet to subside.