InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ CLAIMING KIN ❯ Meeting Kin, Part I ( Chapter 1 )

Meeting Kin

By Salome and Talon

Warning: Shouta. Smut. Kinks of many varieties. Don't read it if you don't want to.

The child...is confused. The servants brought him to this room that smelled almost familiar. Away from his mother and their rooms with the other concubines and their unfavored offspring. The room is lavishly decorated and big. Big with windows and light and...since he doesn't know what else to do, he kneels where the servants left him. He thinks about what happened: seeing his father for the first time he could remember. He was so big...so...so big. He rests his palms on his clean white half-pants, his short robe still carefully tied. They aren't new, but they are clean and white, and at least he did not disgrace Mother by wetting himself like Hana had wet her mother when she met Papa. He wonders when he will be allowed to go back to Mother...

Sesshoumaru can smell him long before he can see him. The heavy scent is foreign yet familiar, cloying. It draws him, and he resents the pull. Hence, he remains in his chambers alone, pacing. He stalks the room's perimeter, feeling the frustration of self-imposed caging. But this is how it has to happen. He will not go to the half-alive, half-breed pup until he knows what he wants to do with him. Exactly what he wants to do. He will not make an effort to draw his father's attention by unleashing his claws and destroying him on sight. Neither will he attempt to curry favor with his sire by keeping silent over this outrage at being given responsibility for the worthless whelp. Above all, he will not give into that smell that lures him from his room even now.

He sighs softly. This was a long time. But Mother says, when you don't know what to do, be still and be respectful. And it has saved him from worse than beatings in the past. Still, he is tired. He did not sleep well the night before, and Mother woke him early for bathing and dressing. And he usually has a nap in the afternoon anyway. His head droops and he jerks it up several times before he gives into the fatigue and falls asleep, still kneeling respectfully, but with a finger in his sleeping mouth.

With a swift elegance he cannot but esteem in himself as he sees but does not acknowledge the admiration of those around him, Sesshoumaru glides down long halls to reach the bastard. Do they see his haste? He suspects not, for he rarely moves without distinct purpose. And if they do? None will dare speak or even make manifest their awareness. He knows he should slow his pace, slow his pulse, fight his curiosity. None of this should matter. Damn his father for making this duty his. And let him be damned himself as well for needing his father's notice so badly that he cannot keep control over himself as he approaches the chamber where the accursed creature awaits him.

The child breathes softly as he sleeps, his body tipped forward over his kneeling legs. He dreams of dogs...running and yapping and barking...dogs and children. Unwanted puppies like him are only let outside in the strictest conditions, in the walled garden where no one had to see them. It is small, but it is theirs, and though he is as likely to be pinched and poked and kicked by his half brothers and sisters and his ears are a mass of bruises to prove it, they still are each other's pack and will stand together if cornered. But he dreams of meadow grasses and flowers and blue skies where he could really RUN.

There is at least pleasure in the way servants and others who litter the hallways part at Sesshoumaru's approach, show appropriate deference. Yet they also show concern, and he loathes it. The low growl that resonates in his chest makes them avert their gaze, but this is futile. It only draws more attention to the fact that the Lord's firstborn son is not in perfect control. Feeling torn and trapped, he strides into the hall and sees the enemy: a pool of white on the floor, absurdly small and entirely defenseless.

Something...he needs to wake up. Someone is here. Someone almost as big as Papa.... He yawns and rubs his eyes, and nearly chokes on his yawn when he sees...Sesshoumaru. Oh...He is like a legend. Truly. Papa's only true heir from his mate. Even other full-blooded puppies are only the offspring of concubines or whores. They are only little better than a worthless hanyou like himself as their mothers carry the same mark his own mother does: none. His ears flatten to his head and he presses his forehead to the floor, trying not to whimper and failing utterly. What is going on? Why is he here? With...with...Sesshoumaru! Oh gods...he's so big...

So…those disgusting ears function, do they? But no, he is simply not being careful enough to keep the creature from hearing him. That is all. Sesshoumaru watches with dispassionate eyes as the mass moves into a position of submission that tempers his ire, minutely. He walks toward the child, and his eyes become fixed on those ears. Furred and pointed, now lying flat against the coarse white mane that lacks the texture and luster of nobility. Such shame in so small a body. How can he bear his own existence? Breathing in that impossibly compelling scent, he fights a sudden urge to touch the hanyou before him. The urge is overcome.

The child doesn't dare move. He can smell his oldest brother's anger. Disgust. He knows he is a worthless, disgusting hanyou. He has heard it every day of his life. Even Mother, who loves him secretly, cries that her son is hanyou. His mouth trembles; his ears remain plastered to his skull. He can't see anything but the stone floor beneath him. If he shifts his eyes to the side, he can see his brother's hair, with the light shining through it, but nothing else. Maybe...maybe this isn't the right posture? Sometimes his bigger sister would refuse this...she insisted on belly up, and she would kick him until he complied. Should...should he turn over? Mother, what am I supposed to do?

Curiosity provides a useful displacement of anger and the desire that hovers at the edge of his mind, the tips of his fingers. Yes: he is merely curious. The creature before him is a spectacle, merely that. His father has given the child to him to do with as he sees fit…or that is how the inuyoukai chooses interpret his indirect command. That he neither brought the order in person nor articulated specifics galls him, so deeply. He walks around the child slowly. That they are brothers, he knows; that they are nearly equals in his father's neglect, he does not wish to face. Yet he must. Still, if his father disdains his need for respect, this hanyou bastard will not. “Remove your clothing.”

He swallows and obeys automatically. Small fingers fumble with the knot in his obi; he keeps his head down, his eyes down as he disrobes. He has to stand to remove his trousers and fundoshi...Mother had insisted on undergarments though he, like most other children, rarely wore them. The fundoshi is unfamiliar and difficult. It does not want to yield to his efforts.

Better. The submissive posture obviously comes instinctually to the creature. The clumsiness is… enjoyable to watch. He did not anticipate the child would have any grace, but that he is rightly nervous before his brother is good. Smells good. He is unsure what he wants, but vulnerability above all. He lets the child fumble and pull at the fundoshi, then reaches out a slender hand and slices through the twisted cloth with ease, touching the tainted flesh with only the tip of a claw.

He can't help his startled yip at that, and he flings the undergarment away with his other clothes, and only hesitates briefly before laying belly up before his brother. He doesn't wonder why his brother wishes him naked. It doesn't matter why. He keeps his head and eyes turned away respectfully, though he can't keep the tremble from his body, or the shiver from the cold floor beneath him.

The small sound the child makes is as good as his smell. And look: so obedient. So well-versed in perfect submission. The smooth flesh, the vulnerable position. He sneers before he can stop his reaction. “Raise your eyes,” he commands to cover the weakness in himself. Damn but he needs to see the submission in those eyes. Just how afraid is the creature of him? How revered is he to this worthless half-breed? Let him see his own power reflected in the child's eyes. Now. He knows full well he should not need this, but he does. He knows he proves his father's lack of faith in him with his every thought, his every move. But this is what must be. His heart races. At least his father is not here to witness this—nor anyone else who might see through the feigned display of power and would tell his father of his failing.

His mouth trembles again. Raise his eyes? He swallows audibly and slowly obeys. Oh gods...Sesshoumaru-oniisama is HUGE!!! And his eyes are like suns and his hair...he cannot hold that gaze, no matter if it will mean punishment. He is unable, and his eyes flick away again. Perhaps if he holds very, very still his brother will not notice him anymore. Yes.

Those eyes. Inuyasha. Tainted half-brother. His. Yes, this is what he wants, what he craves. There are no words for the sight of that tiny, grotesquely beautiful form, so afraid, struggling to obey his command against the instinct that tells him that truly making eye contact would be too great a breach to be withstood. His deference not merely practiced skill. It is real. The creature feels the power and yields to it perfectly. Sesshoumaru feels the pull of a desire to punish the child for disobedience and to relish the knowledge that there was no correct way to manage the impossible challenge he gave. The bastard child's life can be taken at any time, but suddenly he can see so many more colors than blood-red in his father's casually given responsibility.

He shivers. He doesn't know what his brother is doing...what he wants. But he hasn't yelled or hit him yet.... Please...I'm trying...

He presses a slippered foot to the child's chest, looks down and breathes him in. Enjoys the way his body shakes. He would not relieve the creature's fear; he basks in it.

So...heavy. And hot. He trembles harder, his claws scratching on the floor. He tries his hardest not to move away from the pressure, his head turned away, his breath this close to panicked.

“Be still,” he says, with quiet, absolute authority. His foot slides softly up from chest to throat. The flesh is warm, trembling. He holds there, looking down, silken hair falling forward across his shoulders, eyes intent. Would he let me kill him so easily?

His breath shallows as the foot covers his throat. His limbs still, save for their tremble. That he cannot control, no matter how he tries. The whine that echoes around them startles his ears. He knows it comes from him. That frightens him.

That sound. It seems to be created just for him. To bring him power. To bring him to life. The whine sings in his ears, sweet irritant, as beautiful as the small body that labors to still itself for him. For him. He has fought many, all so incomparably more powerful than this impure infant that he feels almost ashamed at his actions. But he knows, at a deeper level, that this is right. Something is happening here that must happen, and that it will bring him to himself in a way nothing else can. Let the child keen, let him flow with the rich aura of submission. The sight, the sound, the scent: all are meant for Sesshoumaru alone.

He...Sesshoumaru-oniisama does not seem angry with him. He doesn't smell angry, or feel angry. He is not sure how he feels, through the foot on his throat, but it does not seem...angry. He is not punished at once for whining, and he pants now, beginning to be dizzy from the efforts to keep his breathing shallow.

In a flash, Sesshoumaru is on him. His foot is so swiftly replaced by his mouth at the child's throat that there is no measure of time small enough to mark it. The panting spurs him on. No prey sweeter than this, he hums to himself as a rumble of possession begins in his throat. He bares his fangs and growls low into the soft flesh before him.

He squeaks, and suddenly his neck is pierced...well...not completely…but teeth and Sesshoumaru-oniisama and he is covered in heat now. His throat vibrates, the skin moving with the hum. He does his best not to gasp, but he can't help it. He's...terrified, but thanks to instinct, he is entirely limp. His head lolls in his brother's jaws.

He holds the creature in his teeth for long, timeless moments. He is filled with the taste of hanyou flesh, the scent of kin and yet not-kin. He holds this self-and-other being in his grasp so easily. He loves the terror, loves the power. His cock is erect. His claws want to grasp and rend. Yet, too, all he wants is this. But he blinks, and the illusion is pierced—deeper than the fang marks that barely scratch the child's flesh. He is an ignoble fool. This is a child. What pride in taming a creature so already subservient, so completely humbled from the moment of its conception. He releases his brother and walks away from him. He can scarcely breathe for the overwhelming smell of him. He must think.

And just like that it's gone. But...he still doesn't know what he's supposed to do. Did...did he displease his brother? Slowly he rolls over and gets back to his hands and knees, panting harshly. He feels...exerted. And he hears his voice saying, quite without his permission: "Have I displeased you, Oniisama?"

Sesshoumaru turns, forced to face what he could not ignore in any case. Resentment burns as self-doubt grows. He loathes this feeling. “Every moment of your worthless life displeases me, hanyou,” he spits.

He sinks back on his heels, pressing his face to his hands in front of him. Nose to the floor. "Forgive me, Oniisama—though I do not deserve your forgiveness or your attention."

The child's obsequiousness vexes him. “You deserve nothing, hanyou. Not air to breathe or nourishment to keep you alive nor our father's absurd generosity in letting you exist. And more than all, you do not deserve to be in my presence, feigning submission with words so practiced and fawning as to mean nothing!” His voice is raised and he begins to pace, to stalk the child in long circles around the room. He feels the blood pound behind his eyes. He cannot name what he feels but he knows the answer lies within that accursed stain with its obscenely innocent face to the cold floor before him.

"I...I do not understand, Oniisama..." He trembles...he can hear Sesshoumaru-oniisama moving around him, and he can smell him...but he keeps his face to the floor. It is the only thing he knows how to do.

He must get control of himself, must assert it. The power is his, of course. The other is a child. The scent makes him think otherwise. The child smells like threat…self…mate…and more. But let his eyes and his touch guide him while his nose cannot. It is unfamiliar to reject the sense that is strongest. Yet it can be done. He crosses the room and sits before the child. His legs fold gracefully under him. He is tall and poised, even seated. Yes, the child cowers, shivers. There are other ways to know him, to control him, and thereby to know and control himself. He extends an arm to bring him into his lap. “Come, child of our Lord Father, I will warm you.”

He looks up hesitantly, at the arm...at his brother's face...his hand. He does not dare disobey. He crawls forward slowly, his head bent submissively.

He expected nothing less than total obedience. He knew the posture would remain entirely submissive. What he did not know was how good it would feel to gather him and hold him. He places a hand at the child's neck as he presses his face down over Sesshoumaru's thigh; the small body is curled into his lap. His tiny pulse races.

Oniisama is warm. The child moves his face obediently, pressed to that hard thigh, the hand on the back of his neck. That whine slips out again. He has never...never been held like this. His ears flick in tiny movements, always slicking back to his skull.

This is new. He has never held anyone like this.

He turns his head, slightly, so his cheek is pressed against the soft silk of his brother's hakama. He smells...so amazing. Sandlewood and musk and...the broth that he loved but so rarely got with his meals. This...this was the best...and most terrifying moment of his entire short life.

There is no one to tell him how to proceed. No protocol. Instinct, combined with that impossible scent, would leave the child dead at his feet. No, they are creating something new, though the child does not, cannot know this. The child is his to own, to use, to mold. There is somewhere they must go together. And it is Sesshoumaru who must take them. He removes his hand from the slender throat and allows it to roam through the thick, wild hair. He has never felt anything like it.

He squirms at the petting, smiling as he makes his happy, soft grunting noise in his chest. He likes this very much. Mother liked to pet and stroke his hair and ears...but she didn't have claws. They feel...very nice.

“Be still,” he snaps, and is goaded by the sound of his own voice. The child's small movement of pleasure: he is hard again…and hungry for something he cannot fully identify. If he cannot gain control of himself, the child will drive him to madness. He knows this as certainly as he knows he needs to touch every inch of this child with every inch of himself. “Be still,” he repeats, more softly. The hair is softer than it first seemed. He lets it pass through his slender fingers, then holds up a handful gently to bring to his lips and brush across them.

He jerks at the first order, and settles with the second, trembling only a little. He slips his finger...always the first finger of his right hand...into his mouth to help him hold still. He always had to suck his finger when mother combed his hair. Otherwise he cried and pulled away when it snarled. He does not wish to anger his brother, and he offers a breathless apology.

When is the last time he had contact with a child—any child? Sesshoumaru is a solitary individual. He seeks little in the way of company and always in short doses. Whether for sexual gratification or matters of court, he can bear no one in his presence for long. Releasing, the lush hair, he brings both hands to the child's body and smoothes them down his sides as he wonders whether his fighting prowess developed as quickly and fully as it did in part because even in battle he cannot stand long contact. Or perhaps he is simply making time and space for his father to fill. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply. When the child is still this way and he is touching him, he can think. What magic is this?

His brother's hands are warm and gentle, too. He doesn't quite dare stretch out under them...but he sucks a little harder on his finger. He likes it. And Oniisama is breathing deep. Smelling him. Maybe...maybe he does not smell revolting to his revered Oldest Brother?

He reaches a hand lower, feeling the curve of his perfect behind. Are all children so perfect, he wonders? And then wonders at his own musing. The child has the stain of mortality; he can feel its reek. But he is also open, trusting, and so delicious to touch that there are no words for it.

He can't stop his squirm as Oniisama touches the place where he sits down. It feels nice like every other place he has touched, but it makes squirmies in his belly, too.

The way the child moves is terrible…and exquisite. Does the creature know he stirs his brother's cock with his wriggling? He reaches a hand between his cheeks and through his legs and passes through to rest on his stomach. The crook of his elbow parts his cheeks and presses against his tiny cock. He does not know what to expect, and the not-knowing is new…and good.

He gasps around his finger as the warmth moves between his legs and settles on his belly. He is reasonably sure he is not supposed to be moving, but he can't help the way he wriggles, trying to get comfortable again. Is this...does his brother want satisfaction? It is common enough with the other pups...making the smaller pups “satisfy” them. The adults rarely interfere. He has never satisfied an adult before though...

It is so easy to grasp so much of the small body in his long arms. No, it is not hard. Soft and yielding beneath the pressure of his arm. There is nothing he cannot do with this being, nothing the child will not allow. Sesshoumaru is easily certain of it. He finds he enjoys this, as he has not found enjoyment in some time. Why? Whores are as pliable and skilled in giving pleasure. Slaves take what they are given without a murmur. Servants are useful, too. But gods, they do not smell like this. They do not smell like the word “his.”

He pants softly and squirms again, his legs moving, one kicking out from the confines of his brother's lap like an errant puppy. He is not uncomfortable...but uncertain.

He turns his attention to the child, or more fully to him, in any case. Does the child have desires? He cannot still himself; he lacks even basic control over his small body. He enjoys the feel of gripping the child through his legs and holding him down this way. He looks at the plump little leg that strays from its place in his lap. He feels indulgent, an experience more alien than any yet with this strange brother-pet. No: this is not desire as he has known it, control as he has sought and attained it, power as he has craved it. This is far more unique. Before he can convince himself not to utter the words, he has spoken: “Bring your lips to mine, child.”

He struggles a bit to right himself, and he keeps his eyes down as he does so, but he obeys. He doesn't know what his brother wants...but he obeys, pressing his soft mouth to his brother's with a murmured, "Yes, Oniisama..."

The small face pressed to his, he cannot resist running his hands down his sides again, the skin so pale and soft, the life so fragile in his arms. He feels those lips touch his own. There is no desire there beyond the desire to please. Hands beneath his armpits, he holds the child up before him and draws his tongue from navel to throat.

He whines softly again, panting as he's held up and licked. His belly twitches, and his breath catches. "Oniisama..." he whispers.

There is a hum in Sesshoumaru's throat that is reserved for mating, yet this is not mating. The child's whine arouses and soothes, invigorates and quenches. He laps again at the flesh he holds before him. He licks his neck and his chin, then lets his teeth settle gently in the tiny jaw. “Mine,” his grip says.

He stills completely at the teeth in his jaw. His feet twitch slightly, but it is a muscle reaction, and not conscious movement. "Nnnhhh...," he says.

This is what is real: how he comes to himself through the child's stillness. But he is greedy. He wonders what more can the child offer him. The possibilities seem endless in this moment. He releases his grip, maneuvers the pup to sit within the space between his folded legs, curled and looking up at him. He takes a finger and tips up the tiny chin. He does not know how to speak to a child, so he simply speaks. “Are you as curious for a taste of your Onii-sama as he is of you, ototo-san?”

"A taste, oniisama?" He thinks a moment, because he wishes to be honest with this mysterious elder brother of his. "Onii-sama smells very very good, so Onii-sama must taste very very nice as well."

The earnestness of the child-voice startles him; the words and the tone are wrong, harsh and displeasing to his ears. The smell and sight of the pup and that animal whine intoxicate him. But he is also this infantile, too-human thing. Can he tolerate the child-human to attain what he desires of the animal-youkai within?

His ears have crept upwards to rest at roughly half mast. He keeps his eyes down, even though he wants to drink in the sight of his brother's beauty. The youkai markings that he does not have except when the other him comes out to play. The moon on his face. The eyes that are like his own. Very few of his brothers and sisters have their sire's eyes.

“You will learn to act when prompted, child, for I will never make an offer more than once.”

He had to think about that. Had Oniisama made him an offer? His brows draw together in concentration. "I can taste you, Oniisama?"

He has never made so generous an offer, he is certain. No servant or slave or even noble would accept such an offer, knowing it must have consequences if Sesshoumaru made it. Nor, however, would any question it. And now he had to face the fact that he wanted nothing more than to know what the child would do if allowed to “taste” him. The curious indulgence feels odd in his bones, but it feels right. It entertains more than threatens. How quickly he has come to see how little there is to threaten him in this creature that only moments before he thought of killing. “Yes,” he replies, drawing a finger along the tip of the child's left ear. The softness makes his mouth water.

He shivers at the gentle touch to his ear. They are rich with bruises from his brothers and sisters...and the mothers of his brothers and sisters. He tries not to flick it away, but he can't help it. "Where may I taste you, Oniisama?"

Sesshoumaru tires of the game quickly, even as he knows it is no game to the child. True innocence has no place in his world. It was permitted him only when very young, he muses, reaching into a past in which fatherly attention was primarily given in harsh, humiliating public mountings. He forces himself not to shudder as he thinks of the lips at his ear, growling low, “You will be powerful my son, but never as powerful as I,” punctuated by thrusts that tore into his soul as well as his body. His erection jumps at the memory, and he grasps the hanyou bastard by the ears. “Do not pull away from me, ever,” he barks.

His eyes widen, and he shrinks, his ears flattening automatically. "Yes, Oniisama. Kin is sorry, Oniisama." His mouth trembles, as he does his best to make himself hold still. He whines LOUDLY though. "Please...it hurts...Oniisama...please..." His poor ears are already sore, and now...tears well in his eyes.

He can bear no more of this child, his soft ears oversensitive, his voice overwrought, and his small, plump body too alluring to resist. Let him learn his place, if a place he is to have. He releases his cock from his loose garments with one hand, and forces his brother's head down with the other. “Take me into your mouth and show that you are properly sorry.”

He gasps one breath before his face is pushed against Oniisama's need. It is SO big. Much bigger than any he has satisfied before, but he opens his mouth obediently and gags as he's pushed too far too fast. But he knows how to do this!! He does!! He can satisfy his brother...he has satisfied other brothers and sisters. Just...not this BIG!!

Sesshoumaru looks down at the sight of the too-small mouth on his cock. It is the smallest mouth he has ever been pleasured by, he is certain. He wonders at this. There are children in the castle; he is not prohibited from their use. Yet they have never interested him. And none whom he has summoned for servant work is so young, so small. Nor are they so eager. He finds surprising gratification in the child's earnest attentions. Yes, his place is here. And “Onii-sama” will teach him everything he will ever need to know to keep it.