A/N: Here follows the beginning of a piece that is in some aspects more unique than some of my others. For a little while now I've wanted to take a look at what might have happened to Yomi between being blinded and reuniting with Kurama in the series; so, as the title might suggest, that's what I'm doing here. Yoko Kurama will appear in at least several flashbacks, but sans that Yomi will be the sole canon character in this story, as far as I know. Maybe a few others will make cameos, I'm not sure yet.

At any rate, that detail and the theme overall grant me a lot of room to work with, which I plan to take advantage of. I've already done a bit of research for this story, and will probably wind up doing some more as we progress. Most of this research is with regard to Japanese culture and mythology, but that won't be my begin-all, end-all base for any and all references in this story, either. After all, this takes place in the Makai, so it'd be a travesty if I didn't at least attempt innovation, no?

That said, I am aiming for a specific time period, somewhere around latter Momoyama Period or early to mid-Edo. That's 17th or 18th century, for you non-über-nerds, but as of yet I've not decided for certain, and will be making some references to things from both periods anyway.

So, that being a more than sufficient introduction, I think, let's continue to the actual body of work, shall we?

Blind Man's Bluff
Prologue: Lights Out
31 May 2009

More than once, Yomi had wondered about the last thoughts and sensations of those who would be alive to see the sun explode.

Their thoughts would be many, and scattered, and quick. Childhood and adolescence and friends relatives acquaintances and first thefts best thefts fights mistakes how why did this happen where are you? Balancing out these thoughts, the more constant sensation of the sudden plunge into darkness, the instinct to feel out a solid hold but the ground crumbles away searching for the light gone waiting for it to come back never.

Fortunately they wouldn't wait long. In darkness disoriented, they would freeze, and it'd all be over.

No drawn-out pain; constant buzzing stinging of insects attracted to the dried gelatinous mess on his face, that one day two days the week prior had been whole and well-lubricated in his sockets; stumbling falling choking spitting out dirt gravel wondering why what does that mean help me where are you???

He never came, until much later, when a summons stronger than mental anguish reunited both thieves both changed.

But back then, someone came.

Middle of the night. Powerful, solid footfalls in the hall. Yomi heard the dull, heavy drone of the door sliding open. One foot, or hoof, entered the room, and then the other, the pair creating vibrations that the tatami mats couldn't completely smother, that reached Yomi where he lay, as they advanced toward him.

The hooves stopped. Yomi heard the slight creaking noise of knees bending. A hand rested on his shoulder. "Are you awake?"

The inquisitor was Koremitsu the Serow, Lord of this Manor. "I'm not sleeping," Yomi replied. But he was exhausted, and certainly Koremitsu could guess that. Yomi had worked through the day dealing with the hints of, and gone to bed with the distinct impression of, a headache.

And Koremitsu knew that. The hand on Yomi's shoulder worked its way to his neck, and began rubbing. Tired as he was, Yomi couldn't help tilting his head to accommodate the hand as it worked him.

Of course, when one gives an inch—or a little more, such as this occasion called—, one must anticipate a takeover. The hand slid down to his chest, and he could not help but roll onto his back. Of course for freer movement the hand had to do away with the sash holding Yomi's robe closed, exposing him full frontal, and from here Koremitsu moved more quickly. But the massage was good, and Yomi, despite his physical complaints, couldn't suppress a pleasured "Mm" as Koremitsu applied both hands and greater pressure on his pectoral muscles, and couldn't prevent himself from arching his back when Koremitsu rubbed the muscles of his abdomen.

Nor could he, when Koremitsu went lower, keep his legs closed. Sweat began to glisten upon his body like dew. "Ma…" he groaned, rolling his hips, feeling his face grow hot.

He could hear the rustle of fabric: Koremitsu's other hand at work, Yomi knew. Turning him on usually turned Koremitsu on, and encouraged the first hand to work harder.

And harder. "Uh—Kor—Ma—Uh!!" he growled, tossing his head back. He bit his lip hard, from the pressure giving way to release, as much as from the acute pain that flared in the back of his head—his head had landed on the recent, painful development in back.

It hadn't gone unnoticed. The hand done, it resituated itself at the base of the recent, painful development. "Are you hurting?" Koremitsu asked.

Yomi groaned, turned his head to the side. "A little," he admitted, feeling sweat trickling down his temples.

Lips pressed against one temple. He heard a whoosh, a fabric wind, which wound down into a pile by his head. "I'll be easy, then, and not put pressure on it."

Another deep sigh, and Yomi nodded, clutching together the bundle of clothes Koremitsu had shed if offering, fashioning them into a pillow of sorts when the Serow turned him over and clutched his hipbones. Koremitsu could have topped him face to face, putting painful pressure on the new horn. And hurting as he already was, he lacked the drive to protest, other than his usual utterances that came whenever Koremitsu fully acquainted their bodies, regardless of position.

"Uh—Oh—Uh-Uhh…!"

Beneath Koremitsu's body he stretched out his own, thrashing and contorting it, while above him, behind him, Koremitsu bore down, in, growing less restrained and thus more powerful with his movements. Yomi's elbows buckled, and he fell into a kneeling position, gripping his makeshift pillow and his gag for dear life, tasting salt on his perspiring arms in his attempts to quiet his cries.

"Oh, ple-ease, Ma—ah—oh, oh, oh—MASTER!!" he sobbed, squeezing his brows together and grimacing, burying his head in Koremitsu's robes, partially as a muffler, partially to get away from the grating sound of the other demon's loud, snarling climax.

Koremitsu came down from his high, grunted loudly, and crushed his arms round Yomi's hips as he gave a few final thrusts, and then lied down beside the Goat. Yomi could smell the musty, outdoors scent, like fallen leaves carpeting a wood's floor, coming off Koremitsu's hair and beard. The hand stroked the back of his head again, and Yomi couldn't decide whether the sensation prickling around the newest mutation of his skull was more pleasant or more painful.

"First chance I get," Koremitsu murmured in his quiet, throaty post-sex voice, "I'll see about finding a healer especially for you and these headaches you've been getting."

Yomi could not stop a deep, heaved sigh. "Thank you, my lord," he managed, his gratitude expressed in a drone as he fought unconsciousness.

The Seerow issued something that sounded like a strangled chuckle. "I get it. I'll let you rest now; and tomorrow, I'm sure."

A groan escaped him this time. That was the motif: Today he felt a steadily draining ache. Tomorrow, it would feel as though his skull was cracking open, and he would think that it may as well become fodder for the local carrion birds and that might be less agonizing. The pain would taper the day after, but the week overall throbbed with the promise of hell.

Brush of beard, more lips. Softly: "Good night."

He shifted so Koremitsu could retrieve his clothing, and remembered to pay his respects to the other demon's departure, as rank dictated. After all, Koremitsu didn't have to put him on light duty when his headaches set in, or give him the day off when they hit maximum pain, or make any other accommodations for his comfort. Koremitsu didn't have to pay him any favors.

Kurama never came, but Koremitsu did. And Koremitsu owned him now.

End Prologue.