A/N: It's been a while. I feel like I'm drug relapsing, coming back to fanfiction but I've been convinced this story will not get out of my head until I get it on paper. Same warnings apply.
Didja miss me?
They'd found him when the morning light had just begun to dance up the floorings, found him laying amongst the warmth with his robes in ragged strips, exposing already bruising flesh. Locks of hair had landed in disarray about his skull, falling in waves indented from the intricate braided bun it held previously – indented from the braid it held before –
Inuyasha shook his head almost violently against the memory, against the other geisha boys rushed questions, against their panic. They were circling him now, faces a mixture of shock and alarm. The punctures on Inuyasha's neck were pulling painfully as he watched. Their scent was nothing but fear. They whispered, sniffing the air, scenting the smell of night, like firewood and freshwater. Scenting what Inuyasha had already had burned through his nose and into his memory, scenting the stench of their king and semen and sweat and a sorrow that lay bone deep. Inuyasha felt his head spin, his stomach climbing into his throat.
The boys were close now, getting closer still with their whispers and pointed questions, but none dared touch Inuyasha's trembling frame least their scent be marred alongside the evidence of his stolen innocence – evidence of profit taken from the tea house, profit he'd given away.
They feared him. They feared for him.
He hunched, retching bile across the wooded tile.
!i
He was presented to the Mother by one of the older boys – Mai – who'd stumbled upon them on his way elsewhere. Mai looked to him differently than the younger boys, a look of worry instead of panic, understanding as opposed to pity. He led the hanyou with a wool blanket thrown around his shoulders and a sympathetic hand placed lightly atop his lower back. Inuyasha wanted to bite it off, to rip himself away from the boy's touch, his stare. An anger he'd never felt before was burning liquid fire in his belly.
She'd answered her door with an unpainted face and the silk of her robe dragging at her feet, interrupted from her prayers and inherently angry at the fact. Her expression dropped once ruby red eyes landed upon the hanyou's shaken frame.
He stood with his lip between his teeth and sunlit eyes watching nothing but his sock clad feet as the mother towered over him wordlessly. He tried not to think of how his socks were the only garment remaining in place and whole on his body. He clutched the blanket tighter against his chest.
She turned and disappeared further into the room, their silent invite. Inuyasha followed with a limp, a wet agony between his thighs. He bit down hard against it as they began to sit, the silence stretching, the mother's eyes jumping across his person, her mind coming to conclusions before Inuyasha could so much as exhale, her expression calmly upturned – analyzing him.
"Remove it."
Her voice startled him, deep and echoing. Mai was on him before he knew what to expect, ripping the wool from his figure remorselessly. Inuyasha growled, an angry broken sound, grabbing for it with jagged broken claws and weak efforts. The air was cold, his skin raw against it.
The mother watched his exposed form without comment, watched him crumble into his efforts, shivering with his own blazing emotions. Everyone stood silent aside the sound of Inuyasha's growling breath, his strangled whine, a pitiful mixture of sound.
The mother tapped once, twice on her silk clad knee before letting her eyes look towards the window, watching dawn turn to day before speaking again, her voice a pillar of confidence.
"We will wait for his return."
Inuyasha felt the broken end of his claw dig into his palm, the point of a fang beginning to tear into his lower gums, that unfamiliar anger now roaring within him, brimming tears into his eyes and stiffness into his shoulders.
"I ain't going to see him." His voice was broken, a whisper Inuyasha didn't recognize. The Mother remained unfazed, watching the inu fight the tears that wanted to fall, watching him shake with emotion.
"Would you fetch a hot spot of tea, my sweet boy?"
Mai nodded once, leaving them with the soft pat of his trained footfalls barely audible. She rose as the older geisha slid the door shut behind him, walking to her hand mirror and fingering the powders that lay at its side.
"Do you know the sum I've spent on you, little inu-hanyou?" she asked, picking a glass case of white powder to begin mixing, "I sacrificed nearly eight hundred yen for you - quite the investment – and that is not including the gifts of housing and meals I have lent your way; raising you, watching you grow."
Inuyasha wanted to hit her, wanted to hit anyone, wanted to cry, wanted to run, wanted to get the heavy weight of shame off his shoulders, away from his hammering heartbeat that hadn't stopped roaring in his ears and against his chest since—
The glass of her bowl made soft clinks as she began her mixing. Inuyasha watched the pure white paste form in her hands with golden eyes hooded and head bowed.
"Alas, you did not disappoint. Just striking, you are." She hummed in agreeance with her own statement, studying Inuyasha through the vanity as she slowed her wrist to a lazy lull, "Suitors have been asking of you since your first dance—regardless of how hideous it may have been. A guaranteed profit," she paused, "Or so I thought."
She moved onto her brushes then, dipping the hairs into a pit of oil laying readily to the side before gently dabbing the skin of her face. There were a few moments of nothing, where she watched the shine of her reflection as Inuyasha tried to remain still, tried to ignore the slick mess exiting his body, smearing further onto his skin. He felt disgusting, wanted nothing but the burn of a bath so hot that it may dissolve his skin with it, dissolve the echoing touch and the accompanying bruises.
"You are worth next to nothing now." She sighed, speaking calmly; uncaring.
The shame erupted in his chest then and he couldn't help it any longer, suddenly feeling so small and so young as the waiting tears rolled from his eyes, dripping towards the floor on his downturned face, running off the tip of his nose in fat droplets. His arm came up to shield himself, to scrub angrily at his face, to get rid of it all.
You are worth next to nothing now.
"That's not true." Inuyasha's voice was beginning to get its base back; a hint of cracked normalcy in his tone that was betrayed by the tears that wouldn't stop, by his eyes that wouldn't leave the floor beneath them.
Her laugh was boisterous, "Isn't it?" she exclaimed before pausing to think, "Well… perhaps not."
Mai returned then, placing the steaming pot onto the mat between them, little green tea herbs floating atop the water. Peppermint wafted through the air as the mother began her work, starting at her collar bone and lifting her brush until it left an even strip of white, neck to chin.
A moment's silence until she spoke again, more to her own reflection than anyone else.
"Perhaps not, my little inu-hanyou."
!i
Inuyasha had never truly felt fear. He'd been afraid before, startled into scary thoughts—a creepy story told at the mouth of an older boy, one of his peers jumping out at him from behind the rice papered shoji door—but always only for a moment. This was different.
It wasn't until days after everything that he recognized it, when he was afraid of closing his eyes for seeing visions—long manicured claws indented into the flesh of his hips, until he felt every hair lift on his body every time another boy stood just a hair too close, until the sight of these burgundy walls made him remember a crushing hand at the back of his neck, until the memories became unavoidable. Inuyasha had never truly felt fear until he was afraid all the time.
!i
"A courtesan?"
"…Of sorts."
Inuyasha was confused.
He stayed quiet, allowing the older greyer sensei to lead him away from his original classes and to an unknown destination, to a new series of rooms where the other boys were taught—the courtesans. Their walk was quiet and elongated by the older demons weathered steps. The pair covered half the teahouse grounds before the hawk demon spoke in a slow and cracked speech, "I will miss your lopsided grin, my boy. The class will be a touch duller without your little antics to fill the time every now and again."
Neither of them mentioned how dull the classroom had already become in the weeks passing. Inuyasha hadn't uttered so much of a word to anyone, let alone a joke or a smile. He seemed to only feel two things since that night; afraid and angry. Sometimes both.
Inuyasha rolled his hands into his sleeves before speaking, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "What's a courtesan, Kiko sensei?"
There was a breath of silence where the only sound was the crunch of grass under their feet. The teacher took this moment to pause, thinking of how to phrase the information to the newly delicate hanyou, "Do you know what geisha do, inu pup?"
Inuyasha paused, "Geisha entertain the guests… so they can give money and pay their debt to mother."
Kiko hummed in agreeance, "Yes, and courtesan are the same way. Only, where geisha dance and perform, courtesan entertain matters of the flesh."
Inuyasha's breath caught, that now familiar anger burning against his spine, his claws itching to get into something, his muscles jumping under his skin. He halted where he stood, jaw clenching, claws digging into where they gripped his wrists under his sleeves.
It was a few feet before Kiko noticed his absence, "Inuyasha, what—"
"I ain't doing that."
Inuyasha's words were breathed out through chattering teeth, frozen where he stood.
Afraid and angry—sometimes both.
"You would be a special case, little hanyou—only for the king's touch, if he so wishes—"
"I ain't fucking doing that!"
He felt sick again, could feel the sting of teeth sinking into his shoulder, could feel the smothering heat from Sesshomaru's much larger frame enveloping his own, claws twisted tight in his hair—
The sensei was returning now, his pace slow and steady, "Inuyasha," he began, nearing the shaking pup with caution, "You must do what you can do to survive."
Inuyasha shook his head, the fear chilling his spine and heating his cheeks, the tears fighting to return. He could feel his stomach coil as he took a step backwards, then another.
"And if you cannot survive the lifestyle the fates have dealt you, then you must make a choice, young one."
Inuyasha stopped himself, watching the older demon unexpectantly. His thoughts were racing, confusion crossing his features.
"I don't only mean survival of the body—your mind—your mind is most important, pup." He continued, his stare intense, "And if you feel your mind can't survive this—you must do what you can do to survive."
He couldn't mean to leave. Inuyasha shook his head again; where would he go? How would he live, alone, with no one to help him—he couldn't.
"I got nowhere to go..." Inuyasha said, shaking his head of it.
Kiko stood over him now, old and weathered, with bellowing robes of greyed burlap surrounding his frame and sweeping his sandaled feet. He laughed then, wagging a bent finger and stepping away before continuing, "There's a whole world out there, inu-pup. There is always somewhere to go."
Inuyasha looked down at himself, the red of his pants dusted with debris, his wrists small and bloodied—weak. There was a moment before anyone said anything.
"I can't." he said finally, his voice a whisper, his eyes downcast. The bird demon sighed, coming to an old oak stump a few feet away and resting, plopping down unto it with a thud. There was a restful silence, where the birds sang faintly, and the rustle of the wind was a hush against their skin.
"I taught your mother, you know." Kiko began, calming, looking up to the blues in the sky, "She was your opposite—shy, calm, saved her voice for only a few ears." He shook his head in contentment at the memory, a whisper of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, "She was so proud when she heard your first cry—a fat little hanyou pup with white hair and golden eyes! No one could get enough of you."
His mother's memory filled him with a third feeling, one he hadn't felt since fear and anger became the only things he knew. The feeling of an old love began to crack through the enormous pressure in his chest—small but there.
"Izayoi never wanted you here—wanted to pack up the day you were born, she did." He shook his head in a different way now, saddened, "The teahouse mother wouldn't allow it. Izayoi still owed her, you see. And before she could gather enough yen together at one time—they were already taking notice of you… such a rare beauty. Profit for the teahouse, no doubt. So, the mother forced Izayoi's hand—told her if she didn't offer your name, then she'd have you cast out. And as small as you were…" he made a tsking sound with his mouth, conveying the message wordlessly, "That was then," he continued, watching Inuyasha now, his look pointed, "You are much larger now."
Inuyasha watched him with intensity, never before hearing this version of the story. He remained on the ground, the dirt cool under his palms, the spots of grass wafting pleasantly into his nostrils, and the sun warming the tips of his ears. With the sweet memory of his mother's dimpled face fresh in his mind and the suns soft warmth on his cheeks, it was the first time in a long time he felt okay.
Kiko stood then, the effort of it winding him, "You are small in body, but your strength lays within. Exercise it." He began to retreat, slowly making his way back where they came and Inuyasha watched without words, trying desperately to hang onto the brief calm they'd established.
"Inu-pup," Kiko muttered, stopping a few feet away, "Promise to see me before, if you chose to go. Promise this."
Inuyasha watched his back with confusion, squinting at the old man for a few moments before relenting, "I swear." he responded, watching the older demon's single nod and subsequent further retreat.
"You will see yourself the remaining way. It's not much farther from here."
Inuyasha said nothing. The wind began to whisper and he closed his eyes with it, feeling his body relax against the cool air, his mind whirling through one single thought.
There's a whole world out there, inu-pup. There is always somewhere to go.
!i
Sesshomaru had returned on the first night of fall, when the air sat still and cold and the surrounding trees were beginning to burst with colors, burnt oranges and rustic reds. The night stood calm and dark, the sky pitch black but for the multitude of stars stretching across the onyxed air.
Sesshomaru had returned on the first night of fall, when the air sat still and cold, and Inuyasha was human.
Inuyasha had refused.
His voice was calm, his darkened gaze staring straight forward, even as his hands shook in tight blunted fists at his side.
The apprentice dancer who was sent to fetch him pleaded with the inu-pup, throwing nervous glances backwards every few hushed words before giving up, before getting the Mother.
She'd entered with additional company, with a wailing human servant boy, a shaking mass of pale limbs kept at her side with an iron grip to his upper arm. His body was angled and awkward, slanted from the Mother's hand. Inuyasha stilled, watching the servant's erratic behavior, petrified and small, smaller than Inuyasha even, smaller than any of the boys he'd seen kept here thus far—maybe only five or six summers lived.
The mother looked to Inuyasha, her expression unashamed as she explained his presence. They wouldn't hit Inuyasha—couldn't—not without marring him. Hurting a Kings claim was foolish indeed. Instead, they would hurt the boy—Akinari she called him. She would remove things, starting with Akinari's toes, then going upwards. It was his choice—Inuyasha's choice.
Akinari was almost hysterical now and Inuyasha hated him, hated himself. He hesitated, and the Mother growled with all teeth, pointed white fangs gleaming hugely behind red painted lips just as she flexed her fingers, filling the room with the wet sound of bones breaking and Inuyasha watched as Akinari's arm was released, broken just above the elbow and bending at an unnatural angle under his shirt. His scream was the most disturbing thing Inuyasha ever did hear, since or before.
It didn't take additional persuasion after that.
!i
Inuyasha felt nothing sitting on the cold wooden floors of that same hall, felt an enveloping emptiness in his chest, a numb void. Sitting on the cold wooden floors of that same hall at his request—Sesshomaru's request. Inuyasha couldn't think of anything that was crueler, so he forced himself not to, forced himself to let the emptiness envelop him. His darkened human eyes stared into nothing, looked passed the faint orange glow of candlelight, spilt in from the outside.
Everything had happened fast. He was scrubbed and dressed in robes he'd only ever seen, never felt; silks so soft and so expensive they felt like water. His hair fell thick and straight, more manicured than it had ever been by his own hands alone as it lay heavy over each shoulder—stark black against the white of his robes—stopping bluntly at the rum red obi tied firm and tight around his waist.
Inuyasha was trapped in someone else's skin, skin that was so opposite his own, so inherently not himself. The skin of a babydoll—empty and cold—and he may have been able to embody that charactercher if he could stop his hands from shaking, if he could stop his teeth from clamping and shuttering iron tight against one another.
There were voices he couldn't decipher with human ears, voices that were muffled but getting closer as the seconds lengthened.
"We beg your excusal of his appearance, my lord," the voice said, the mother's, "He shall be as you remember him on the morrow."
And then Sesshomaru was there, the door to the hall sliding closed with a gentle brush of sound and Sesshomaru walking towards him with the patience of a monk, the calmness you got from inheriting the top of the food chain.
Sesshomaru neared him then, sitting in the spot across from him now too small for his frame to look natural upon and Inuyasha stared straight ahead, his breath heavier with each second spent, his teeth grinding, his hands nearing a crushing degree against one another, every bit of him trembling from it—the anger.
He refused to look at him, Sesshomaru, refused to look at the side of the hall his innocence would forever be stained upon, refused to look anywhere but to that window. He concentrated on the fireflies as they flickered dim light like stars against the opaque of the screen.
Sesshomaru was silent across from him, his eyes skating Inuyasha's human form with mild interest, nose twitching, clawed fingers resting peacefully within the sleeves of his robes.
There were a million thoughts racing through Inuyasha's head, loud, angry thoughts that were coming too fast, leaving too frequently for him to keep ahold of a single one.
"Why—" Inuyasha growled, the sound more guttural than human. Everything was silent, including the thoughts in his head, the rest of the questions falling black behind this single one—the most important—what had kept him from eating his first few days, from sleeping his first few weeks. Inuyasha looked to him now, seeing Sesshomaru for the first time since he'd entered those doors.
"W-why did you—" he stopped himself, swallowing the rest of the question, tearing his glare away from the full-blood and back towards the window. Inuyasha wanted it all to stop. He felt the blunt ends of his nails break skin within his fists.
Sesshomaru considered him, slanted golden irises jumping from the dark tendrils of hair to the bloodied creases of human fingers.
"The why is of no consequence," he stated, "You were mine to claim."
There was a beat of silence where Inuyasha breathed air that felt like lead in his lungs and Sesshomaru reached a pale hand across the space between them. It was light, a slight brush of clawed fingertips against the silken fabric, featherlight touches that had Inuyasha frozen where he sat, that had his heart beat stop, his head a sudden blank canvas of noise. Then he reacted, all his fear, all at once—scowling, baring human teeth and flexing away.
Too slow.
Sesshomaru had him by the throat, just firm enough to halt his retreat, just firm enough to light a panic in his human counterpart and Inuyasha whimpered out a sound that he didn't recognize, that he didn't claim. He kicked his legs out, his hands coming forward to grip Sesshomaru's wrist, to twist and scratch at his full effort, his heart seeming to vibrate his whole body with alarm.
Sesshomaru watched his futile attempts with indifference, his palm feeling the erratic beat of Inuyasha's heart against his skin and blinking down at him, his expression of light amusement and his nearly beaming yellow irises scanning the smaller human, watching the point of his jaw nearly crumble under his own rage.
Sesshomaru considered how easily he could read the hanyou now, how this human façade gave away his anger in different ways—the curl of his lip instead of the poke of a fang, the mess of emotions splayed across the scrunch of his nose. He watched him until he could count the sun spots fading from his cheeks, until he felt hot tears pitter unto his skin and his eyes jumped back to Inuyasha's, to the angry tears spilling from his flaring eyes and Inuyasha twisted his face up, curled his features into that of malice and this, too, was fear. He realized what Inuyasha was defending himself so desperately from, what had his pulse hammering though skin. Sesshomaru smiled.
"You needn't worry," he drawled, watching Inuyasha's smaller frame shimmer from the proximity—from the memory, "My tastes don't extend to humans."
Inuyasha doesn't remember how or when it had happened—the reaction so quick it teetered on instinctual. All he remembers is that anger, that overwhelming fury making his eyes burn, his teeth clenching so hard against each other he felt it in his gums and with his strength lacking, with the king's ability reigning higher than his own he did the only thing he could—he spat a glob of saliva the size of an infant's fist right in the face of the highest reigning being in the western hemisphere.
He watched in silent rage, watched the mucus trickle down a porcelain cheek and Sesshomaru remained frozen, looking down at the hanyou for a breaths time, his features a temporary mask of shock before crumpling into ferocity.
The first punch to the jaw knocked him out cold, the resounding crack of bone snapping out of place and its white hot jolt of pain being the last thing the hanyou remembered before he went black and this he believed was his reward. The God's had allowed him to fall comatose for the remainder of Sesshomaru's violent outbreak because Inuyasha had won.
He'd fought back for the first time and it felt good—a sparking energy in his veins—even in the face of the brutal repercussions. He'd fought back for the first time and it wouldn't be the last.
!i
The mother had been enraged, her punishments involved as to not leave any markings not already there from the king's own hand. It was after they'd forced him into a bath with the water nearly at a boil that she'd looked to him, eyes full of malice.
"If he does not return," she whispered, her voice a strangled hiss, "I'll kill you."
Inuyasha met her stare with even eyes laced with stubbornness, laced with the resilience of someone who'd survived worse than her. Someone who'd survived worse than most. His skin felt like the blue of a fire, raw and tight but despite this, he felt the slightest upturn of his lips as he responded.
"You can try."
!i
Sesshomaru returned a week later, this time while the sun was highest in the sky and the heat of the day made even the flies lazy in their flights, bobbing heavily within the air and close to the swatting hands of those within the teahouse.
It was a royal room this time, the same one the late king had frequented, with sheer silks lining the walls and windows and the floor being mostly made from the cushions of a futon, piles of luxury pillowed adornments littering the surface.
Inuyasha sat in the midst of it, thick snowy tendrils pulled tight into a ponytail at the top of his skull to keep it from tangling in the heat, bangs moistened with sweat on his forehead.
He hated this room. He hated it more than he hated anything. It was hot, with the embroidered fabric of the futon doing nothing but exaggerating the temperature. He took a pointed claw and plucked at the material, creating tiny tears in the shape of little horseshoes, distracting himself so he didn't have to think of what these rooms were used for, of what side of the teahouse they were now on.
The door slid open and a courtesan with a shock of short red hair and slanted black eyes shuffled into the space. Inuyasha loosely recognized him, watching him as he fell to his knees and slid into a bow so low his chin nearly hit the wooded panels of the floor. Sesshomaru walked passed him like he was a part of the décor.
Inuyasha's heart still hammered and he felt a sudden chill in the summer air as those doors slid shut, as the fox demon left them to themselves. He clamped his hands together to keep them from shaking, but he could look to him now—to Sesshomaru—he could look to him without feeling like dying. Small victories.
Sesshomaru didn't acknowledge him, getting comfortable sitting on bent knees and busying himself pouring a spot of steaming tea from the kettle between them. The steam wafted up as if it were alive, filling Inuyasha's nose with the warm scent of jasmine and white cream, a fake calm—a lie.
"I should have you muzzled."
Sesshomaru's voice was startling, his deep sure tone interrupting the previous stretched silence. Inuyasha said nothing; his voice was stuck in his throat and he hated it, hated this feeling of weakness more than he hated Sesshomaru himself. He returned his gaze to his shaking hands, jaw clenched, eyes nearly dancing with it—the anger.
"I should have every one of those little bastard teeth ripped from behind your lips."
Sesshomaru watched him from behind the rim of his tea cup. Inuyasha could feel his eyes burning him, lifting the hairs on his arms. He said nothing.
"I should force myself down your throat until you've earned pardon."
An expression of adolescent confusion marred Inuyasha's face then, eyebrows knitted and jaw clenched. Whatever Sesshomaru had meant, Inuyasha wasn't partial towards the thought of him near his neck. He thought of when he was a boy, thought of watching the bigger geisha force a frog down a kid's throat, its legs still jumping from the inside of his cheek. He thought of the sound of their laughter, pubescent and careless. He thought of Akinari. His fingers balled themselves into fists, the anger now always waiting in the fringes heightening, advancing to the forefront.
"I'll fucking kill you if you touch me again."
There was a stony silence after those words were spoken, a beat of tense stillness that was disrupted by only Inuyasha's short fuming breathes. He kept his eyes to the floor, even seething as he was, even as the breath came out in thick spouts from his nostrils, even as his knuckles seemed to want to crack under the pressure of his own fists.
There was a moment of nothing, a pregnant pause where Sesshomaru watched; calculating. Then he heard the clink of the tea cup returning to its saucer, the whisper of silk as Sesshomaru began untying the bow holding his yukata top and Inuyasha's heat raged.
He moved to stand, stumbling, rising to his knees as to not take whatever was coming laying down because he couldn't survive that again—couldn't live through whatever came next without at least meeting it half way and it was like slow motion the happenings of things. Inuyasha couldn't even unfold to his true height before Sesshomaru was on top of him, the exchange taking less than the time it took to blink and he was so heavy, heavier than Inuyasha could remember, if he'd even allowed himself to remember, to think of the last time he couldn't breathe but for the mass of what seemed to be pure muscle caging him.
He was bucking—afraid and angry—trying to throw his torso against Sesshomaru's in a panic, movements full of dread and eyes almost blind with the rage of it and he was spitting with frustration, the terror making his heart seem like one continuous beat in his chest—but he absolutely froze when he felt it.
Sesshomaru remained immovable above him, the heavy silk of his yukata top hanging open and pooling on the floor on either side of them both. Sesshomaru's seemingly endless locs of hair settled every which way as they both remained still, a few strands tickling the skin on Inuyasha's face but he couldn't feel them to even notice, couldn't feel anything but where he and Sesshomaru met in the middle, hip to hip, with Sesshomaru in between Inuyasha's bent knees, clawed hands holding the half-blood down by his forearms crushed against the floor beneath them.
Sesshomaru felt like the hilt of a sword against Inuyasha's pelvis and he couldn't feel the anger any more, fear now feeling all consuming and he closed his eyes against it, clamping them shut so tightly he saw colors. Sesshomaru's scent seemed to be as prominent as his stature, filling his head with flashbacks so vivid, he forced his eyes back open if only to dissipate the memory.
At this point, Inuyasha didn't know if it was worse to relive the feeling of Sesshomaru's claws digging into the flesh of his hips through his torturous memory or to open his eyes to the pale planes of his chest in person, Sesshomaru's torso so close to his own that Inuyasha could see the near translucent silver hairs trailing down his lower abdomen—trailing down to the significant bulge he had to tear his eyes away from to keep from losing the small semblance of sanity he had left.
Sesshomaru was staring down at him, his expression smug, his stare bright with intensity, "I'm waiting," he'd said, taunting, pushing his hips harder onto his counterpart, deeper against Inuyasha's middle, "Kill me."
The anger. Inuyasha's anger proved to be as unpredictable as spring rain—and just as consistent. It may have been a mixture of everything—Sesshomaru's arousal like a glass bottle against his middle, the smell of him everywhere Inuyasha turned, the smell of him on Inuyasha himself, the weight of the dog king steadily feeling heavier and heavier as the seconds turned to minutes turned to what felt like an eternity crushed by him—everything was to blame and Inuyasha could feel his senses getting darker, could feel himself lose control over his own body, over his own actions and then Sesshomaru stopped—sensing something, hearing footfalls towards the direction of this room, but Inuyasha didn't see that, could only see that anger, could only feel that anger like acid in his blood.
Before he knew it, Sesshomaru's split second distraction, the young king's slight loosening of Inuyasha's weight—before he knew—he'd slipped one arm from under Sesshomaru's grasp, the motion almost inhumane and he swiped his claws—raking Sesshomaru's face from cheekbone to upper lip, four jagged claw marks; exposed skin to the bone.
Inuyasha had never before brought anyone to bleed and the smell of it shocked and intoxicated him all at once, frozen in the moment as he was bombarded with the sight of Sesshomaru's near perfect complexion split in an almost half by the ruby red of it, by the stained white of his fang now exposed through a tattered upper lip.
The anger was gone and, suddenly, the fear as well, replaced by a blanket feeling of nothing that had Inuyasha feeling almost euphoric in the emptiness of it all, trapped in a slow-motion version of things.
He watched Sesshomaru's look of almost confusion from the sting of it—confusion from someone close enough to harm succeeding in that right—and what came next was a feral growl that felt as if it had the whole house shaking and the spell was broken, the void calm Inuyasha had only just established gone quicker than it came and the anger was back like it'd never retreated so he aimed again, an instinctual move of defense. Sesshomaru blocked him with bone crushing grip to his wrist, slamming it back to the ground, but nothing more.
Sesshomaru didn't retaliate, he only stared, his vision tinting red and his jaw rocking slightly, testing the pull of the scabs already beginning to form but he said nothing—did nothing, his growl eventually calming into the sound of warning, slight in comparison.
Then there was a knock, bold and urgent upon the wooden shoji screens separating them from the rest of the teahouse; from the rest of the world. It wasn't until Sesshomaru gave oral confirmation to the visitor that Inuyasha realized that he was shaking within the elder demon's grip.
The king's guard who entered almost stumbled on nothing but air as he was presented with the sight before him, his king in between the legs of the halfling geisha, bloodied with the evidence of harm stained on the boy's claws. He fell to his knees in delayed a bow of respect once remembering himself.
"Speak." Sesshomaru commanded. He never broke eye contact with Inuyasha even as the boar demon told of an attack on the wall, men lost, a battle begun by surprise.
There was a moment where no one spoke, a stretched silence where Sesshomaru watched Inuyasha as if the guard wasn't even there and Inuyasha met his stare, the heat behind his eyes still raging, his pulse jumping at unnatural speeds.
"Leave us."
The demon retreated without comment.
Sesshomaru watched Inuyasha for a moment longer before Inuyasha could feel his grip loosen and retreat all together. He watched the young king as he straightened himself, standing and tying his yukata as if the world wasn't just flipped, as if the flesh of his face wasn't hanging from his skull.
Inuyasha remained frozen where he lay, on his back with his fists clenched and his eyes towards the panels of the ceiling. He could feel the blood drying on his skin, could feel it begin to flake against the surface of his claws.
Sesshomaru paused once he reached the shoji, his back to Inuyasha, the clean side of his face tilted slightly so that he could see him.
"A scarce few have accomplished what you have today." He goaded, almost casual in his mannerism, "I will return."
The doors slid closed and Inuyasha felt the weight of the world lift from his gut.
!i
They'd thought him dead when witnessing the king's retreat, when witnessing the monstrous scab forming across his jaw. No one believed anyone could do damage to that extent and live. When they found the inu-hanyou living, no one believed Sesshomaru would return. Inuyasha didn't bother correcting them.
This time, it was thirty lashes to the back. The Mother had broken four bamboo rods against the skin of his spine before she was through. Inuyasha couldn't even find the strength to breathe.
He regretted nothing.
!i
It was three nights this time. Lucky that because the Mother had promised she'd end him if the young lord didn't return within six days. Inuyasha couldn't find it in him to be relieved.
"I've decided that your responses are based purely on instinct."
They were standing now, present in the same room, while the sun had just started its retreat behind the clouds and the temperature was beginning to shift to that of the winter. Sesshomaru could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, but he remained within arms distance—hands by his side. Inuyasha's guard remained tense regardless, his heart still unable to calm when within the vicinity of the elder demon, his hands nearly always in defensive fists.
Sesshomaru's stare was… curious. Inuyasha didn't know how else to describe it.
"I've never trained on how to oppose instinctual movements." He continued, flexing clawed fingers without threat.
Inuyasha looked passed him. Their height difference was significant, and he wouldn't bring himself to look up to the silver haired inu, king or not. It was strange to be standing opposite of him, with Inuyasha's forehead reaching the ball of Sesshomaru's shoulder, his eyelevel at the full blood's chest. Despite this, Inuyasha decidedly liked it better than remaining seated, liked how it gave him a false confidence; a ready stance as opposed to a dormant one. He felt almost equal in a backwards way, especially with the skin of Sesshomaru's cheek still displaying the slightest trace of disturbance—a pale jagged line not yet healed—a token of their last visit. Inuyasha displayed a small sad smile at the memory, flexing his fingers within his palm.
Instinct? He could agree with that.
"So, I will train with you."
Inuyasha's gaze snapped to Sesshomaru's, his mouth opening as to respond but his mind finding that he had nothing to say. Despite the happenings as of late, Inuyasha had never found himself on the shy side of a fight. However, he was no fool and he wasn't in the business of looking for ass whooping's.
Sesshomaru was a near three summers his elder—with the proportions to prove it. He stood a near foot taller and, if experience was anything to go by, had a near quarter more body weight.
And though he would never admit it, Inuyasha was still haunted by nightmares of Sesshomaru—memories of the buck of his hips like gash of a knife, claws raking the skin of his scalp as they clutched the thick of his hair between those fingers. His stomach lurched at the thought.
He shook his head. Inuyasha was no fool.
"We will make an exchange." Sesshomaru suggested.
Inuyasha paused, not understanding. Was he giving him a choice?
"I ain't doing it." His voice was softer than intended but firm; unchanging. Inuyasha felt the progress.
Sesshomaru went on without affect, "We will spar," he mused, glancing to the twitch of Inuyasha's ears without faltering his speech, without leaving his neutral expression.
"Accomplish one hit. If you succeed against me, this Sesshomaru, Lord of the western lands, owner of the throne and ruler of my people will retract my claim indefinitely."
Inuyasha blinked.
"I will never touch you again." He clarified, and Inuyasha went still.
He may be a fool after all.
After all, he'd done it before, right?
Inuyasha's first attempt was devastating, swung too high, aim too slow. Sesshomaru stepped out of the way with ease. He tried again, this time coming closer but still missing by a longshot—Sesshomaru was too quick and he hadn't the element of surprise like previously. So Inuyasha tried to be quicker. He swung repeatedly, ignoring the pull of the bruising on his back, ignoring everything but the white of Sesshomaru's jaw, the planes of his chest.
All he needed was one hit.
He became desperate for it, winding himself, not even coming Goddamn close, and then he went for it with everything he had, pushing his whole form into to it until he was near tackling his counter, until Sesshomaru ended it with a right hook to his jaw, crumpling Inuyasha to the ground in one easy step.
The anger was trying to surface, Inuyasha could feel it in his blood, beginning to heat in his veins but he swallowed it down. He'd known this outcome was expected from the beginning. He had pride in himself for trying. He had pride in himself for fighting back.
How pathetic, he thought—proud of losing. He gave a dejected chuckle form his throat from the thought.
Sesshomaru watched his fallen form, eyes hooded as he traced the tangle of his limbs, the stiffness in his shoulders, "Hn," he concluded, flexing the knuckles that delivered the blow, "Just as I'd expected."
"Yeah?" Inuyasha responded, making a move to right himself, to stand through the now screaming pain of what seemed to be his entire spine, his skin lit with it and his words spoken through clenched teeth, "Fuck you."
He could feel Sesshomaru's eyes watching him as he fumbled with his own limbs, stumbling before finally achieving an upright position.
"You are pained." He commented, his eyes pointed; observing. Inuyasha hated it.
"You punched me in my fucking face." He said, resting himself against the cool of the wall, hooking his hand around a bent knee to glide his fingers across his bruising lower lip.
"Hardly." Sesshomaru rebutted.
There was a beat of silence, where Inuyasha rotated the hinge of his jaw, licking at the bust of his lip and Sesshomaru remained, eyes nearly glowing in the evening light—watching. Inuyasha could feel those almost piercing yellow eyes sweep his form, could feel his own blood begin to turn cold from that familiar sinking feeling of fear. His fists clenched.
"What do you want from me, Sesshomaru?" he'd asked, his voice a whisper, craning his neck to make eye contact.
Inuyasha could feel it, even if he hadn't been looking directly to the heat of Sesshomaru's eyes, the burn of their attention on his skin only seeming to intensify. Inuyasha clenched his jaw, fisting his fingers so hard within his palm, he felt they would break—but he would not look away.
Sesshomaru startled the air with his response, with the seriousness in his tone; the sureness of it.
"Everything."