Kurama shuddered and writhed under the touch, pulling Kusuriyuri onto him so he straddled his lap completely. He ducked his head, mimicking the kisses Kusuriyuri gave him. His tongue slid along his lover's skin and he tasted rain and heat and metal. He worked the obi of Kusuriyuri's kimono loose, more difficult now that the fabric was soaked, but was rewarded when he pulled it away from wonderful, welcoming skin.