Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Although suitably scenic, the walk to the designated place appeared unreasonably long. Neither youkai nor humans lingered nearby. Inuyasha marched uphill, a lone figure against the quiet sprawl of the woods. Once, he would have welcomed the solitude. He had never been much of a social creature, despite Kagome’s adamant attempts to change that aspect of his nature. Now that she was gone, he found the silence terribly aggravating.

The clearing was difficult to spot. It was far from the roads and secluded in a way that almost seemed deliberate. The privacy of the setting only added to his unease. Inuyasha settled onto a rock and waited, hands folded and still upon his lap, unwilling to fidget. He wasn’t good with people as a general rule, and his half-brother most of all proved a challenge. It still wasn’t clear to him why he had agreed to this meeting.

Sesshoumaru’s arrival was announced by a subtle shift in the atmosphere. A distinctive scent flooded the glade, as if a storm were approaching. Inuyasha’s hair stood on end. He took a deep breath, fighting down the instinctive responses his half-brother never failed to awaken in him. It wasn’t fear, exactly. Trepidation felt less offensive a word. Daiyoukai could smell that sort of thing, nevertheless, and he didn’t feel like making a fool out of himself today.

It didn’t take long for Sesshoumaru to walk out of the foliage, a veneer of nonchalance in his every move. Inuyasha rose and approached him, doing his best to look unbothered. He had an idea what this was about. At least, he thought so. Double guessing was a bad habit of his, though, and one never knew when it came to the Lord of the West.

There was a chance that this encounter would end in broken bones and unnecessary bloodshed, as it wasn’t rare back in the day. It could very well be yet another of Sesshoumaru’s twisted mind games. In recent times they’d seemed to reach some type of understanding, but Inuyasha knew better than anyone how unpredictable his half-brother was.

Sesshoumaru showed no outward signs of aggressiveness, at first glance. To say his expression was amiable or welcoming in any way would have been a gross exaggeration. He remained as impassive as ever. There was, however, an evident absence of glaring, which was already an improvement from previous interactions.

“Unexpected,” Sesshoumaru said, at last. “I did not think you’d be so punctual.”

Inuyasha felt his face heat up at the remark, but some of the tension drained from him. With time, he had learned to identify the telltale signs that gave away his half-brother’s unstable moods. Although haughty, Sesshoumaru’s voice betrayed no anger. There was that gleam in his eyes that meant he was pleased.

“Khe, you know me. Always full of surprises,” Inuyasha replied, kicking a stone out of his path. “Sides, I like to keep you on your toes.”

Sesshoumaru only arched an eyebrow at that, offering no reply.

“So, are we doing this?” Inuyasha casually drew out his sword, unfazed as ever by the persistent silence. It was up to him to do the talking, as usual. “Or did you make me walk all the way here just for a chit-chat?”

Sesshoumaru was seldom affronted by his bluntness. That was something Inuyasha liked about him. He was a snob in every sense of the word, but more often than not Sesshoumaru was willing to indulge his boorish behaviors, if only to maintain a semblance of peace. Why ever his former nemesis would want to keep things civil between them when they’d always been anything but, Inuyasha wasn’t sure. He figured he would find out if he stuck around long enough.

“Already you fail to impress,” Sesshoumaru pointed out.

He didn’t unsheathe his sword, as Inuyasha expected. Instead, Sesshoumaru stepped closer, seemingly unconcerned by Tessaiga’s proximity, and reached for its handle. It was a light but insistent touch. After a moment’s hesitation, Inuyasha loosened his grip, allowing his wrists to be maneuvered so that the blade was parallel to the ground. Sesshoumaru guided his hands, repositioning the right one firmly on top of the handle and the left on the bottom.

“A warrior’s grip is firm,” he said, still not backing away, although his point had been made. “But light enough to allow for speed.”

Inuyasha could feel a faint warmth spreading down his throat. He was very aware of Sesshoumaru’s eyes trained on his face, but couldn’t force himself to look up. “Right,” he managed to reply. “Sounds like a no-brainer.”

Sesshoumaru side-eyed him. “And yet you’ve been getting it wrong all this time.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Inuyasha bit back, scowling. “I knew you’d be an asshole about this.”

When Sesshoumaru first offered to help him polish his technique with the sword, Inuyasha had to wonder if it was a joke. It appeared to be an overture of peace, but the phrasing was so condescending it gave room to doubt. A part of him was still expecting his half-brother to mock his incompetence, deem it a worthless pursuit and depart. If Sesshoumaru was amused by the situation in any way, he didn’t let it show. He seemed neither anxious nor uncertain, as if this were something they did every day.

“Your stance is lacking.” Abruptly, Sesshoumaru used his foot to push Inuyasha’s legs further apart, almost making him stumble. “Widen it.”

Inuyasha went rigid. He was ruled by instincts above all else, and being this close to his half-brother had never brought him anything but pain. His gut reaction was to back away, to put as much distance as he could between them. Still, there was an edge underneath it. A nagging feeling at the back of his head that told him these touches were not casual. This blatant disregard for personal space was intentional and increasing.

Behind Sesshoumaru’s steady gaze lay an invitation, yet to be spoken. As if he were testing the waters, hiding his intentions behind elaborate excuses. It frustrated Inuyasha to no end. He almost felt like kicking him back. Reluctant as he was to start a physical confrontation today, he went for his next best weapon.

“Hey, hey, careful there,” he grumbled, throwing Sesshoumaru an askance glance. “I know I’m quite the catch, but let’s not get handsy.”

Sesshoumaru gave him the most unimpressed look he’d ever witnessed, but for once, refrained from retaliating. He had to wonder why.

Rationally, Inuyasha knew that nowadays his half-brother had little to no reason to hurt him. Even so, there were times he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he wasn’t safe around him. That there were, perhaps, ulterior motives to this truce. He managed to ignore it for the most part. It seemed petty. As if he were hanging onto resentment while Sesshoumaru, of all people, kept holding his hand out to him.

It turned out to be a tedious affair. He’d been expecting a clash of blades. It didn’t seem like Sesshoumaru was about to entertain that idea, though. He was clearly much more preoccupied with Inuyasha’s pitiful stance and the sorry state of his blade. He couldn’t help but feel a bit affronted. He thought he’d learned the way of the sword remarkably well, for someone who’d never had a master.

Afterward, they sat together by the riverbank. The day had morphed into a breezy afternoon, and the sound of rustling leaves and rushing water filled the air. Inuyasha lay on the grass, watching the clouds drift by.

“A Tengu?” Sesshoumaru asked, making no effort to conceal his disdain.

“Yeah, one of those ugly fuckers.” Inuyasha shifted to lie on his side, pulling out a piece of grass that had gotten into his ear.

“Is that how you spend your days?” Sesshoumaru stared down at him from the large stone he'd claimed by the river, cloaked in a tree's shadow. “Guarding human villages from common vermin? How pitiful.”

“Whatever. Keeps me in shape and it ain’t hard,” Inuyasha replied evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. “And who are you to trash-talk my past times? Only thing you do when I’m not around is brood and hang out with a ten-year-old. If anyone’s lame here, I can assure you it’s not me.”

Sesshoumaru’s lips tilted faintly downwards. “I stand corrected, then.”

“Sure you do, asshole. Anyway, it was a big old fucker,” Inuyasha continue with his tale, unbothered by the interruption. “And I knew they were ugly, yaknow? But goddamn, this one was on a whole other level. It really gave me the creeps. All for show, though. Didn’t give too much of a fight.”

“Tengu rarely make for worthy opponents,” Sesshoumaru conceded. He regarded Inuyasha for a long moment. “Not all enemies are so easily defeated, though.”

Up until recently, he wouldn’t have been able to tell that anything was amiss. His half-brother was hard to read, and Inuyasha was admittedly a bit slow on the uptake when people didn’t speak straight to him. Subtlety wasn’t a virtue of his. They’d been spending a lot of time together lately, however, and the shift in Sesshoumaru’s demeanor was evident to him.

“A filthy crow might give chase. A proper Daiyoukai is not so forgiving.” Sesshoumaru was clearly not smiling. There was certainly a quiet, predatory edge to his expression, though.

Something felt off, but Inuyasha couldn't place his finger on why. He frowned, sitting upright. “Uh?”

“Your skills are… passable, for a half-breed.” Sesshoumaru’s voice remained flat and even, his gaze boring into him. “But there are levels that can only be reached through rigorous training. Your own is insufficient.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Inuyasha asked, hackles rising.

It occurred to him that Sesshoumaru might be trying to pick up a fight. Rather than a drawn blade or a fist to the face, his thunderous expression earned him nothing but a light chuckle. His half-brother looked irritated, but almost in a fond way. As if he wanted to be mad, but couldn’t quite manage.

“You’ve never had a master,” Sesshoumaru said matter-of-factly. He tilted his head slightly to the side. “One can easily tell.”

“Well, duh.” Inuyasha’s nose scrunched up. “Who would I ask, dumbass?”

Sesshoumaru propped his head in one hand, his eyes sweeping over Inuyasha. “That is unusual, for youkai your age.”

“Yeah.” Inuyasha shrugged, settling back down on the grass. “For youkai.”

Sesshoumaru did not reply. Whatever he’d been trying to convey, he seemingly decided it was not worth the trouble.

Despite Inuyasha’s initial worries, sparring with his half-brother hadn’t turned into a vicious brawl. It had all been quite dull, actually. His hands and lower back still hurt from all those smacks Sesshoumaru had dealt him with the scabbard to correct his posture. At least they’d eventually progressed to using targets, even if the bamboo sticks came across as rather underwhelming contenders.

As merciless as the scolding was, Inuyasha couldn’t complain. He knew better than anyone that his technique was sloppy, and they were far from the worst injuries he’d sustained after an encounter with Sesshoumaru. He’d be as good as new in the morning, anyway.

“I should get going,” he said, squinting at the horizon. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was setting. “My camp’s far from here.”

Sesshoumaru nodded curtly. As Inuyasha made a move to stand, he found himself staring blankly at the hand hanging before him. He hesitated, although he knew it was silly. Once he thought he’d never see the day his half-brother would willingly reach out for him. Sesshoumaru could barely stand the sight of him, just a couple of years ago. Somewhere along the line things had changed. It felt like a big deal, for some reason. As if they’d reached a milestone together.

Inuyasha took the offered hand, and with a single pull, he was brought to his feet. When he tried to back away, Sesshoumaru tightened his grip and hauled him closer. A jolt of tension ran through him. Being this close to his half-brother was a peculiar experience. Around him rose a familiar scent, cleansing and sterile, as the first drop that precedes rain. His bones resonated with a low hum.

“I do not chase,” Sesshoumaru said, a new intensity to his eyes as he stared down at Inuyasha. “I am not one for such games. A single refusal will see me gone.”

A number of things became clear to Inuyasha, all at once. Deep in his gut, a soft quiver spread. He understood now why Sesshoumaru had sought him out for a sparring session, when they’d never done such a thing in the past, and why he’d chosen this secluded clearing, away from interruptions and prying eyes. His half-brother had spoken about proper training and a master because he’d been making an offering. Inuyasha wasn’t sure what to think.

Despite his mild understanding of it, he knew this type of arrangement wasn’t to be made lightly. Mentorship had to be traded for a price, and he didn't know if he was willing to pay it to anyone, but especially Sesshoumaru.

“I wasn’t,” he spoke through a tight throat. “Playing games, that is.”

Sesshoumaru seemed skeptical.

“I just didn’t think…” Inuyasha shifted on his feet, unsure what his face was doing. “Didn’t think you actually meant it. Like you were just—I dunno, fooling around.” He suddenly recalled the feel of Sesshoumaru’s palm between his shoulder blades, strong and steady. The heat lingering a moment too long as he adjusted his posture, then trailing down his spine. A shiver ran through him. “I mean… we ain't got a nice baggage.”

Sesshoumaru’s expression didn’t change. “That is of no consequence.”

Inuyasha was acutely aware of Sesshoumaru’s hand still holding his, a grip that was firm yet careful. With the pad of his thumb, he kept rubbing slow circles over the knuckles. It had been so long since anyone had touched him with such gentleness. He wouldn’t have thought Sesshoumaru capable of it.

“My patience is not without limit,” his half-brother said coldly, a complete disconnect from his tentative, almost soothing touch. “Speak.”

Inuyasha knew what he wanted to say, and still, he could find no words to articulate it. This is why he avoided direct confrontations whenever possible. The fluttering in his low stomach wouldn’t cease. He opened his mouth to reply, then promptly shut it again. Sesshoumaru released his hold. In the absence of touch, a sudden, strange coldness seeped across Inuyasha’s skin.

“Do you lack the courage to state your refusal?” Sesshoumaru asked, his chin tilting upwards. There was a rigidity to his shoulders that had been absent before.

“No, it ain’t that.” Inuyasha scuffed his foot on the dirt. The fiery outrage that usually would have followed such an accusation failed to ignite. “I just… don’t get it. I’m the same I ever was. Nothing’s different.”

Sesshoumaru’s brow rose ever so faintly. “Your meaning eludes me.”

“I’m a half-breed.” A familiar anger flared in Inuyasha’s chest, and he struggled to quell it down. “Why would you want this?”

Sesshoumaru kept quiet, and Inuyasha wondered if he was trying to find the words or if he had no answer to give at all. Perhaps he didn’t understand his own reasons. It could just be that he wanted him, while still resenting what he was. Inuyasha had been entangled with others in much the same manner, and that sort of grudging, hate-fueled desire no longer mystified him.

“That is a matter of the past,” Sesshoumaru reminded him.

Inuyasha grimaced, wondering why he felt the need to bring it up again. His heritage had only ever been tolerated. He was expected to be entirely human or youkai, even if it went against his very nature. People wanted to carve out the parts they liked, to tear him apart and reshape him into something easier to call their own. Kikyo had been the only one powerful enough to make it a reality, but anyone he’d ever dared call a loved one had the same pretensions, to different extents. All of them, except Kagome.

Ever since she went back to her timeline, Inuyasha hadn’t entertained the idea of pursuing anyone else. He had a taste of genuine acceptance, and now the pathetic imitations of others felt like an insult he was no longer willing to withstand. What right did Sesshoumaru have to ask that trust from him now, after everything they'd done to each other? It didn't seem fair, or rational in any way.

“You said your camp was far away,” Sesshoumaru pointed out, silently widening the distance between them. “Why do you linger?”

Inuyasha felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. He hadn't meant for his silence to be taken as rejection. For all his centuries, Sesshoumaru always acted like a brat when he felt slighted. He could see it now in the tight line of his lips and the barely-there frown creasing his brow.

“Cut it out! I didn’t say no, did I?” Inuyasha scowled, taking his half-brother by the sleeve to keep him from backing further away. Sesshoumaru’s only response was an unnervingly blank look. Inuyasha had to fight the urge to fidget again. “Can you just… give me some time?”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes trailed over him in a quiet, cold assessment. He seemed to consider his words very closely. “That would be agreeable,” he replied, at last.

Inuyasha sighed, only then realizing how tense he’d become. Neither of them tried to move away. He bunched up the white robes in his grasp, wondering what to say, then remembered something about proper Daiyoukai and filthy crows giving chase. “Not to be a hater,” he spoke carefully. “But your pickup lines are super lame.”

His attempt at banter didn’t quite earn him a smile, but for once, Inuyasha was able to identify the ghost of a smirk playing on Sesshoumaru’s lips. He stepped back into his personal space, and as intimidating as it could be to have his half-brother stand so near, Inuyasha couldn’t deny there was also a thrill to it. Underneath that primal instinct to flee, there also ran a need to stay and tempt the danger. To bare his neck and submit to this dark pull that had been gnawing at him for months now.

His awareness tunneled as he saw Sesshoumaru leaning forward. He couldn’t tell whether the way his stomach flipped was due to fear or excitement. Fingers were curling around his neck, the scent of rain steadily rising around him, sharp enough to cloud his senses. He barely registered their noses awkwardly bumping together as their lips met.

Between his own naivety and the constant lack of privacy, Inuyasha's past relationships never became physical. It was only ever with strangers that he experienced any kind of intimacy, and even that had always been swift and impersonal. This was different—exponentially so. Uncertain what to do with his hands, he gripped the yellow obi draped around Sesshoumaru’s hips.

Heat spread through him like a creeping vine, weaving its way through his bloodstream. Even with the armor on, Sesshoumaru’s body felt warm and welcoming around him. Still, as soon as the kiss began, Inuyasha could feel him pulling away. He took him by the shoulders, compelling him to stay. To prolong it for just a little longer. Sesshoumaru smiled against his chin and bit playfully into his lower lip. It felt right to let him know, however indirectly, that he was wanted back.

As they pulled apart, there was a glint in Sesshoumaru’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I will expect you here, three days from now,” he said, a peculiar roughness to his voice. “Should you not appear, your answer will be clear.”

Inuyasha nodded, not feeling up to the task of speaking just yet. When they parted ways that day, he still didn’t know what to make of what had been said, or what his answer would be next time they met. His misgivings wouldn’t leave him. It was only as he was making his way back to the village that realization dawned on him. During their training bout, Sesshoumaru laid hands on Tessaiga. Not once, but many times.

The sword had not burned him.

Chapter Text

Late in the afternoon, Inuyasha sat by the fire in his camp, stirring a concoction of lye and animal fat. Making soap required little effort. He’d often seen Kagome going through the motions, whenever her mysterious grooming potions started to run out, and emulating her had not proved a challenge. The difference lay in the ingredients. He was practical about his every choice, while she’d always made it a point to add citrus slices, lavender buds, and all sorts of feminine flourishes.

The first time Kagome caught him snitching a bar of soap from her backpack, she was too startled to muster any anger. She appeared bemused as to why a boy would be quite so fastidious about cleanliness, especially one who was generally unkept and cared little about appearances. Inuyasha had found it hard to explain to a human how offensive bad odors were to someone with a heightened sense of smell. It was both unnerving and intriguing—to be so constantly reminded of their inherently different natures.

Inuyasha shifted where he sat, trying to take some pressure off his aching knee. The discomfort subsided, if only slightly. He grabbed a handful of lemongrass and sniffed it, the smell strong enough to leave him light-headed. Barely containing a sneeze, he took care to only add a small amount into the cauldron. As he was pouring the concoction into molds, he became aware of another’s presence.

It was a familiar scent, though too faint to recognize right away. Frowning, Inuyasha’s gaze swept over the clearing where he’d made camp. There was nothing he could sense but the chirping of crickets and the rustling of leaves stirred by prey animals. Still, the feeling of being watched lingered. He placed the cauldron aside and marched into the forest, absently clutching Tessaiga’s hilt. 

Though the scent intensified, he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from. The trail led him in circles through the darkened woodland, sharpening and diminishing like a flickering light. It took him too long to understand why, and by then it was too late. The woosh of a blade was his only warning before cold steel was pressed to his throat. Inuyasha became perfectly still.

“Your carelessness shows,” spoke a well-known voice, unsettlingly close to his ear. “To lower one’s guard is to invite a swift end.”

Inuyasha released a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. “You twisted bastard!” He said, pushing the blade away with the back of his hand. No resistance was met from the other end. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

When he turned around to glare at him, Sesshoumaru had the gall to look amused rather than sheepish. He drew Bakusaiga back into its sheath, the movement so graceful one would not have been able to tell the weapon had just been used to play a prank. Exactly what he’d come to expect from Sesshoumaru. Even at his most petty, he somehow managed to look dignified.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Besides being a major creep, I mean?” Inuyasha scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. His senses, usually so sharp, had somehow failed to identify the sterile scent of a Daiyoukai. Although Sesshoumaru had largely moved past assassination attempts these days, the oversight still troubled him.

“A visit was in order.” Closing the distance, his half-brother loomed over him, forcing him to look up. “Lest you think I’d forgotten all about you.”

Inuyasha held his gaze, resisting the urge to step back. They weren’t supposed to meet for a while. Their last training bout involved a few rounds of wrestling that had left him with a limp. Despite Inuyasha’s many protests, Sesshoumaru had deemed the sight of him too pitiful to proceed. Hence the brief reprieve. It was unlike him to change his mind without cause. Besides, it was too late in the evening to get any meaningful practice done. He had to wonder what Sesshoumaru was thinking, dropping by unannounced and lacking a clear motive.

Today marked exactly one month since Inuyasha had acquiesced to their arrangement. Near-daily bouts of wrestling and sword fighting had followed in the weeks since. Although being in Sesshoumaru’s presence often and for long stretches of time was a novelty in itself, there was no notable change in their relationship. His half-brother remained as distant as ever.

While his disregard for personal space persisted, as did their barbed back-and-forth, it hadn't led to any real closeness. Inuyasha remained uncertain as to what his half-brother had been seeking, when he made this offering. He didn’t appear to be benefiting from it whatsoever. As he gazed upon him now, standing so near and poised in anticipation, it occurred to Inuyasha that this may be Sesshoumaru’s odd way of pressing forward.

“Yeah, whatever. My camp’s over there,” he said, struggling to keep his gaze steady. “Unless you wanna stay here and skulk around the forest some more.”

Although Sesshoumaru’s expression remained impassive, the unspoken invitation appeared to please him. In lieu of a response, he simply extended a hand, gesturing for Inuyasha to lead the way.

It had been a while since Inuyasha had sought out anyone in this fashion. Even when alone, Kagome had always been reserved—a perplexing trait he’d been unwilling to challenge for reasons he still couldn’t articulate to himself. He’d been able to sense, somehow, that it wouldn’t be welcomed. Her openness about her feelings was ever at odds with her readiness to deny a simple kiss. In hindsight, Inuyasha couldn’t fathom how he’d become so deeply entangled with someone he’d never shared true intimacy with. Despite the chastity vows her position required, Kikyo had been nowhere near as prudish.

The lack of privacy was also unhelpful. Going further was simply out of the question, with their traveling companions always nearby, hovering and gossiping. In this remote clearing, sheltered by thick undergrowth and the forest’s canopy, there would be no interruptions or unexpected visitors, though. Inuyasha found a certain reassurance in that fact.

“Well, here we are,” he said, shifting his weight from heel to toe. It was not a gesture born of shyness. Almost without realizing, he straightened his posture.

As his half-brother strolled into the camp, Inuyasha trailed his every movement, eyes sharp and lingering. There was no bedroll or blanket for them to lie on, but if he had any complaints, Sesshoumaru refrained from voicing them. It appeared to be one of those days when words had to be dragged out of him. He slipped the swords from his belt and laid them down on the grass. As he rose, his gaze settled on Inuyasha, expectant and unblinking.

It took him a moment to realize what was being asked of him. With a hint of reluctance, Inuyasha laid down Tessaiga as well. There was a meaning to the act of setting their weapons aside, understood by both. It was a pledge of peace. An agreement that whatever transpired between them tonight would be free of violence. His throat tightened as he stood up.

It had quickly become apparent to him that Sesshoumaru was not one for pleasantries or polite conversation. When he unbuckled the straps of his armor, Inuyasha was neither fazed nor offended, for all the tactlessness of the advance. He appeared remarkably leaner without it, somehow exposed, the fur stole across his shoulder even more prominent. It was a curious sight. Inuyasha didn’t think he’d ever seen him disarmed before. Moved by a reckless instinct, he approached.

He was pulled in by a tight grip at his waist. Inuyasha went rigid, hesitating only for a moment before resting his hands on Sesshoumaru’s chest. A scent of cold rain swirled around him, laced with the clean sharpness that usually announces lightning. Although he’d rarely given in to such impulse with others, it felt natural to lean forward and sniff at Sesshoumaru's throat, fully taking it in.

“This is nice,” he muttered, lips pressed to tender flesh.

Betraying no sign of discomfort, Sesshoumaru simply hummed in response. He nosed at the crown of Inuyasha’s hair, tickling one of his ears. It twitched at the contact, then folded back slightly. His fingers wandered, feeling the play of muscle through the silken fabric of Sesshoumaru’s robes. The strength contained within, once a constant source of frustration, was now something he relished, however grudgingly. More than once, he’d caught himself admiring his half-brother’s boundless power from afar, even dreaming of it sometimes.

As Inuyasha tilted his face up, Sesshoumaru leaned in to meet him halfway, taking him by the back of the head. It felt different from the first kiss. There was an edge underneath it, a ferocity that hadn’t been there before, their fangs occasionally bumping as they delved deeper into each other. Suddenly very aware of their stark difference in height, Inuyasha lifted his heels off the ground. Long fingers caressed his sides, then took a firm hold of his backside, pressing their hips together. He gasped faintly, only then realizing how worked up he’d gotten.

Sesshoumaru stepped back to lessen the pressure. “So easily swayed,” he spoke against Inuyasha’s mouth, a hint of mirth lighting his eyes.

“Fuck off,” he replied, not quite able to muster a scowl. “It's your fault, anyway. ‘Been giving me blue balls for a whole fuckin’ month.”

Sesshoumaru reached under his haori, caressing the skin underneath as he pushed it off his shoulders. The evening breeze should have been enough to give him goosebumps, yet Inuyasha felt warm, almost unbearably so. Sesshoumaru’s wide, fathomless eyes held him in place, stirring a peculiar restlessness. He made for a plain sight, no doubt. Before his half-brother’s imposing frame, Inuyasha’s own body appeared to him scrawny and unimpressive.

He didn’t much care to dwell on it, at the moment. Instead, he took Sesshoumaru by the forearms and dragged him into another kiss. He strived to rein in his impatience, but could barely manage. It was embarrassing to admit—how much time he’d spent ogling and waiting over the past month. A long stretch of abstinence only sharpened his need. Sesshoumaru, too, appeared on edge. With a push, he eased Inuyasha backward, and they settled together onto the grass.

The slow, placid suction of Sesshoumaru’s mouth left a tingling path across his collarbone. Unthinking, Inuyasha threw his head back, revealing the vulnerable skin of his throat. With their arrangement well-defined, and having restrained for so long, there was hardly anything reckless about surrendering now. It didn’t stop apprehension from coiling tight in his gut. Still, he offered no resistance as Sesshoumaru loosened the ties of his hakama, drawing the garment down.

Inuyasha had only ever known strangers in the dark. Clandestine encounters with humans who sought to satisfy a morbid impulse. Although there had certainly been a thrill to the mere carnality of the act, a distinct feeling of wrongness always lingered in the aftermath. He hadn’t been able to put it into words, the first few times. That itch spreading through his body, as if he’d been cut, but no wound or blood was left to show. Just a dull ache whose origin he could not determine.

He later understood it as a result of sharing himself with people who perceived him as a lower creature, and yet were drawn by his inherent otherness. Not unlike a man who pets a stray dog, but wouldn’t take it home and risk having his furniture infested with fleas. A peculiar type of cruelty that never translated into violence, and yet stung as if it had. Given the chance back then, he would have rather taken a beating than endured the humiliation of a crude remark or the affront of a cold dismissal. As desensitized as he’d grown to such treatment over the years, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it, coming from Sesshoumaru.

The hands descending upon his thighs stilled. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” It was a struggle to lift his gaze, but Inuyasha managed.

Sesshoumaru simply stared, seeming unimpressed by his poor attempt at deceit. “You have gone rigid.”

Inuyasha hesitated, a sense of raw exposure washing over him. Sesshoumaru’s thumb traced a lazy path along the bone of his hip, inches away from his erection. There was no mistaking their mutual want. He had no reason to refuse now, or delay this any further. So he simply shook his head and replied, “Nothing.”

Although his half-brother looked skeptical, he refrained from commenting. A sudden, forceful pressure on Inuyasha’s chest drove him back. His head reeled as he made contact with the ground. Sesshoumaru grasped his member firmly, and any thought of resisting vanished. The weight of him was unyielding, too strong to fight against, even if Inuyasha had been inclined. He wasn’t. Sesshoumaru wanted him down, and he felt oddly willing to indulge him.

The grip around him was steady, stroking him leisurely. “This is an improvement.”

Inuyasha let out a shuddering breath. “What is?”

“You, quiet and meek,” Sesshoumaru replied, his molten gold eyes barely illuminated by the firelight. “It’s a first.”

"Ugh, even now, you’re such a jerk.” Inuyasha shot a defiant glare upward, a well-practiced gesture and largely feigned. “Should’ve known.”

Sesshoumaru’s hands were unexpectedly warm. The friction was seamless, a welcomed heat against his skin—not the fumbling awkwardness he’d experienced with others. He had enough self-awareness to realize that his own anticipation played a part. The rush of it all left no room for embarrassment, though.

The pressure over his chest trailed upwards, halting at the base of his throat. Although he probably should have been, Inuyasha wasn’t afraid. As Sesshoumaru’s hold tightened, grazing his pulse point with a sharp claw, he opened his legs wider, moaning unabashedly. It wasn’t enough to entirely cut off his breathing. Merely a reminder that he was at another’s mercy, however briefly. He didn’t fight it. There was a liberating, almost primal sense of release that came with the act of surrender.

Blindly, he grappled with the laces of Sesshoumaru’s hakama. When he took too long, his hand was pushed aside, and they were swiftly undone for him. Inuyasha reached inside with only a hint of hesitation. Fingers dug in at his neck with alarming force, then loosened again. Sesshoumaru’s member felt hot to the touch, hardening easily beneath his palm. His stomach flipped with nervous excitement as he took note of its thickness.

Inuyasha had known for a while now that he held Sesshoumaru's attention in a way that went far beyond rivalry or contempt. There would have been no sense in their arrangement, if that weren’t the case. Still, he found it strange to realize he could affect him in this way. Sesshoumaru dragged his tongue over Inuyasha’s cheek, his breath warm against the damp flesh, making him shiver.

“Careful there, you–” he faltered, barely managing not to choke as Sesshoumaru’s mouth closed around his throat, fangs brushing against the sensitive skin. He wasn’t sure if what shot through him was fear or arousal. Blinking dazedly, he wetted his lips, then tried again. “You look like you wanna take a bite outta me.”

Sesshoumaru leaned back, just enough to meet his gaze. He hovered so close the tips of their noses brushed. “Perhaps I do.”

Certain he would regret it in the aftermath, Inuyasha clenched his teeth to hold back a whine. In the state he was in, he worried he might let him, if he asked politely enough. Taking him by the hips, Sesshoumaru rolled him onto his side. A wave of arousal left Inuyasha too pliant to resist, or even sneer at the manhandling. Sesshoumaru laid down behind him, easily sliding between his thighs. Though he was prepared to yield in a more intimate manner, he realized this was the only sensible choice, given the lack of oil.

As lingering kisses descended down his neck, Inuyasha realized this easy closeness satisfied him just as well. He squeezed his thighs closer together, enjoying the gentle sway as Sesshoumaru searched for release. It earned him a low groan that seemed to rattle through his bones. Inuyasha closed his eyes, lost to the press of hands on skin, the heat of heavy breath on his back, the insistent thudding of flesh as their pace quickened. A rush of heat gathered low in his body. He hadn’t expected it to be like this—so effortless and simple.

They lay together in the quiet that followed. As the haze of pleasure receded, Sesshoumaru's heavy breathing stirred the hair at his nape, cold lips tracing lazy patterns on his back.

“Well, we sure took our sweet time,” Inuyasha muttered.

Sesshoumaru’s throat rumbled with a quiet hum.

“I was starting to think that maybe…” Inuyasha traced the length of a blade of grass, feeling the serrated edge against his forefinger. It was easier to speak, he thought, when he didn't have to look at his half-brother in the eye. “I dunno, you were having second thoughts.”

A long silence stretched between them. Just when Inuyasha was certain he wouldn’t answer, Sesshoumaru finally spoke. "What are you questioning?"

“Ah, it’s just… you know,” Inuyasha said eloquently. He cringed at himself, then tried again. “A whole month went by. Not even a kiss.”

“That would have been ill-considered,” Sesshoumaru replied.

Inuyasha frowned, then rolled back to face him. A peculiar expression crossed his half-brother’s features—the mild discomfort that comes with explaining out loud what is common practice and widely understood.

“Uh… why?” Inuyasha ventured.

"One does not pursue the unwilling," Sesshoumaru said, his tone brooking no further argument. When all he got was a blank look from Inuyasha, he rolled his eyes, and added grudgingly, "There was no invitation."

Inuyasha considered that for a moment, lips tilted slightly downwards. “So, don’t know if you’ve realized. But I’m not really great at giving first steps.”

Sesshoumaru arched an unnervingly elegant eyebrow. “Yes, I realized.”

The night’s cold lingered in the shadowed clearing when Inuyasha came awake, a shiver running down his bare skin. The spot beside him was empty. A quick inspection of the vicinity revealed Sesshoumaru sitting by the low-burning fire, idly stirring the crackling flames. For reasons Inuyasha did not much care to examine, the sight of him brought immediate relief. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Hey.”

Sesshoumaru turned to him, but didn't speak. It was a familiar silence, enough for Inuyasha to know he shouldn’t be affronted. “Didn’t sleep?” he asked, drowsiness still clinging to his voice. Sesshoumaru simply tilted his head, a gesture Inuyasha had come to recognize as his way of saying no.

He pulled his hakama back on, then flung his haori over his shoulders without bothering to tie the laces. Sesshoumaru would leave soon, and there was no reason to be aggrieved over it. At least he’d waited for him to wake up first. As his half-brother's shadow fell over him, Inuyasha stood, unwilling to be hovered over.

Sesshoumaru was once again armored and fully dressed, swords back on his belt, the sleek plates gleaming in the dark. The last few hours felt like a hazy dream, meaningless and fleeting. Inuyasha felt a hot surge of indignation, an impulse to snap at him to be done with it and leave. Then he noticed. Sesshoumaru held the sword up in both hands, offering it back with a mindfulness Inuyasha found odd.

“Uh, thanks,” he mumbled. As he took Tessaiga from him, he wondered why he was no longer nervous about his half-brother touching it.

“You did not recognize me when I first arrived,” Sesshoumaru remarked.

Inuyasha shifted on his feet, unsure why he was bringing it up. “Yeah, so?”

“A reason was found.” Sesshoumaru’s gaze drifted to the side. Following his line of sight, Inuyasha took note of the empty cauldron, and the molds brimming with soap batter. “Such herbs will dull your senses. It is a slow poison.”

“Ah.” Inuyasha struggled not to let his discomfort show, eyes stubbornly trained on the ground. His half-brother had a rare talent to expose everything he didn’t know about himself. “I guess I'll be throwing that away, then.”

A sharper comment seemed to be at the ready, but Sesshoumaru had the grace to hold it back. It was humbling in a way. If their positions were reversed, Inuyasha knew he would be relentlessly mocking him.

Sesshoumaru gave him a quick once-over. “Does your leg still slow you?”

“Mmn, just a bit,” Inuyasha replied, not quite able to look him in the eye. He felt unusually restless. “It'll be fine tomorrow morning, I think.”

Sesshoumaru nodded curtly, seeming satisfied.

“Anyway.” Inuyasha pulled his haori tighter, unsure what else to say. Awkward silences were not rare between them. “Bye, I guess.”

If his bluntness offended him, Sesshoumaru gave no sign. When he stepped closer and took Inuyasha by the waist, a wave of annoyance went through him. He wasn’t in the mood to make out or play at sweethearts anymore. From the start he had steeled himself for a cold dismissal. Then Sesshoumaru brushed his hair aside, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. Inuyasha went rigid, torn between backing away and leaning further into the embrace. He hated how hot his face felt.

Without another word, Sesshoumaru turned and vanished into the trees.

Chapter Text

Winter had come. The sky was a deep velvety black, dotted with stars like a swarm of fireflies. A gentle breeze rustled through the sleeping forest, carrying with it the scent of pine and cedar. Inuyasha welcomed it, the brisk night air a refreshing contrast to summer’s heat. The changing of the seasons didn’t come without hindrances, though—that icy burn between his toes after a heavy snowfall, and the low visibility when hunting small game.

Stirring the fire, he pulled his robes tighter, comforted by the remarkable warmth of the fabric. He had set camp in a secluded clearing by the mountains, difficult for most to reach on foot. The shadows of the trees stretched out around him, creating strange figures in the dark. Although there were malicious spirits roaming the vicinities, Inuyasha paid them little mind. They rarely dared to approach him these days. It only took a sniff for them to realize that pestering him could cost them dearly.

Never got to catch a break before now, ever, he thought, somewhat bitterly, and it's just ‘cause I reek of Daiyoukai all the time, go figure.

All day, he had worried his cuticles raw until they throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. He had agreed to meet his half-brother here. The talk about tonight was brief, yet it lacked the starkness Inuyasha had come to expect, when discussing such matters. Sesshoumaru’s wording had been subtle and unnecessarily sophisticated, but his request was easy enough to parse. It wasn’t outlandish by any means. Still, they had taken it slow from the start, and Inuyasha was finding it increasingly difficult to break the habit.

The more time they spent together, the less he understood this arrangement. The way they spoke to each other one moment, and the way they acted the next, never seemed to line up. Once he had thought of Sesshoumaru as a complete stranger. Now he appeared an ever-shifting entity, slipping into every aspect of his life until no space remained for anyone else. Even when not engaged in sparring, strong arms always seemed to be holding him down, demanding a different type of surrender. His footing was precarious at every encounter, never sure what face his half-brother would don before him.

Reluctant as he was to call him that aloud, Sesshoumaru was his master. Neither loyalty oaths nor acts of subservience were requested from him, though. Rather than affronted, his half-brother seemed amused by his insolence, so long as Inuyasha delivered it with enough charm. Vassal, retainer, servant, ward—no label seemed to properly fit his place. He often wondered whether Sesshoumaru saw him as an equal, or a mere curiosity he was indulging in. No matter how much discretion he showed while claiming his due, it was clear to both this was a transactional exchange.

The matter of their relation gnawed at him at times, though he knew it would be irrelevant to a Daiyoukai. Higher spirits didn’t mingle their blood, and when they did, it always awakened contempt in their peers. Even living as a pariah, Inuyasha had deduced that much. Once Sesshoumaru mentioned in passing that his own parents had been cousins, confirming his suspicions. Humans had a different set of rules entirely. He kept the arrangement a secret from his friends for a reason.

Raised as neither one nor the other, Inuyasha was left adrift when he attempted to untangle that particular knot. Sesshoumaru hadn’t been around while he was growing up, and for the longest time, they refused to acknowledge each other as family. Such pretension was ludicrous now. Whenever he got his ears pulled for talking back or was scolded for slacking in training, Inuyasha was keenly aware of the fact that Sesshoumaru was his older brother. 

Mother would be horrified, he thought once, then smacked his forearm with Tessaiga’s sheath, hard enough to leave a mark.

When they met late at night, all talk of sparring and sword practice forgotten, Sesshoumaru donned yet another face. It was then that his eyes would grow soft and his pupils wide. His hands, firm and callous under the sun’s glare, would turn curious as he traced warm skin. He was not what Inuyasha had been expecting. At the same time, he could not picture him carrying himself in any other way. Gentleness was not a word he would have ever associated with him in the past. 

The steady glow of the Northern Dipper told him the hour had arrived. A promise of rain permeated the air, thick as a blanket that prickled the senses. Inuyasha took in the sharp taste of lightening and damp earth. In the distance, the silhouette of a two-headed dragon appeared, enveloped by blue, simmering flames. Sesshoumaru was punctual, as usual. His silvery hair billowed in the breeze, its glow only matched by the scales of his reptile servant, glimmering in the faint light. Behind him, the moon was a pale silver crescent.

Inuyasha observed him from the ground below. Sometimes, as he gazed upon his half-brother, he was reminded of the fairytales his mother used to read to him when he was a child. Sesshoumaru was a higher spirit, and it was evident in his every trait. As unusually fond as he was of his earthly vessel, he belonged to a different plane—one that Inuyasha would never be allowed to walk. After all these years, it still left an ache. His nature made him an outsider to all, even his own kin.

As Sesshoumaru dismounted, Inuyasha kept his distance, eyeing the riding beast warily. One of Ah-Un’s heads seemed to be awfully fond of him, yet the other never missed a chance to growl and nip at his hand. Sesshoumaru had explained once that they were the same creature, though inhabited by two souls. The idea, for a mind that saw the world in black and white, simply would not fit.

Sesshoumaru fed Ah-Un a treat, then sent him flying back with a whistle. It was only then that Inuyasha approached. What followed was a dance they’d both mastered over time. The one where they engaged in banter and talked of trivial matters, pretending not to know where the night was heading. Then Inuyasha would tug Sesshoumaru’s hand, leading him to lie on a bedroll, some blankets, or behind the undergrowth. He didn’t mind making the first move, these days. 

“You’re very pensive tonight,” Sesshoumaru remarked as he held Inuyasha by the firelight, a solid presence at his back. “How unlike you.”

“Yeah, it’s a theme with me,” Inuyasha replied, fiddling with the stoker. “I’m always tense when some dude’s about to stick his dick in me.”

Sesshoumaru bit him hard on the neck, fangs sinking into vulnerable flesh. Though he hissed in pain, Inuyasha made no move to retaliate. Crude remarks during the act always brought reprisals, and protesting would only earn him another bite. “You’re mean,” he grumbled, soothing the mark left behind.

No answer was given but a noncommittal hum, one of many peculiar habits Inuyasha had grown used to. Strong hands made their way under his haori, tracing the lines of his ribcage, then the pronounced dip between his shoulder blades. He had long been self-conscious about his slender frame. Any attempt to forge his body for battle had led to unsatisfying results, gaining strength and agility, but never size. A quirk of his build perhaps, or yet another affront brought by his mingled blood. He couldn’t be sure. Sesshoumaru’s touch lingered though, ever curious, as if he found those angles interesting rather than lacking.

Inuyasha turned to face him, leaning in for a kiss. A pleased sound escaped him as Sesshoumaru licked his lower lip, then bit it gently. His hands were itching to uncover fair, creamy skin. He tugged at white robes, running his hands over the firm shoulders, the broad chest, the narrow waist crossed by mysterious violet stripes. Sesshoumaru took him by the back of the head, deepening the kiss. 

Heat bloomed inside Inuyasha. He sank into the feeling, wrapping his legs around Sesshoumaru as they lay back on the bedroll. Though he would never say so, he was drawn to the prelude as much as the deed—the first tentative advance, the tender caresses, the slow unbraiding of senses. Pulling him by the hair, Sesshoumaru left a trail of love bites across his neck. Despite the night’s cold, Inuyasha felt warm all over, a familiar ache to be closer still.

“Yaknow, I’m still not sure about this,” he said, narrowing his eyes in mock apprehension. “What if you knock me up?”

Sesshoumaru’s lips tilted downwards, unimpressed. “You’re not amusing.”

“I’m hilarious,” Inuyasha replied, unruffled.

He pressed his lips to Sesshoumaru’s throat, latching gently at his pulse point. It earned him a gasping breath, and satisfaction coiled deep within him. Inuyasha never knew he could have this effect on others. His past affairs had been detached, fulfillment simply relinquished, never freely given. He wanted Sesshoumaru to enjoy it, though—to hear his name as a feral whisper, and see eyes of captured sunlight glazed over with desire, his pale complexion flushed as the grip of pleasure released him.

Sesshoumaru took him by the neck then, pinning him down with ease. Neither fazed nor alarmed, Inuyasha’s body went pliant, well-acquainted as he was with such eccentricities. A hand pressed on his throat, just hard enough to render him immobile, while the other trailed down his torso. Inuyasha inhaled sharply as Sesshoumaru gripped his member, stroking it through the fabric of his hakama.

“I always knew you were kinda kinky,” he said, just to fill the silence.

Sesshoumaru gave no sign of surprise. “Oh?” 

“Yeah, it was the outfit.” A thoughtful edge crept into Inuyasha’s voice, still finding it strange to reminisce of those days. Much had changed in so little time. His train of thought strayed, momentarily, when Sesshoumaru dug his palm harder into his groin, making him tilt his head back. “It–ah, it leaves an impression.”

“How unseemly,” Sesshoumaru replied, though the pleased gleam of his gaze belied the words. “Is it so easily discernible?” 

“You kidding, right?” Inuyasha’s eyes fluttered close, struggling to keep up with the conversation. “Your domination kink can be seen from miles away.”

“You ought not complain, then.” Sesshoumaru tightened his grip around Inuyasha’s neck ever so slightly, then untied the laces of his hakama. A shiver ran through him as his member, hard and finally bare, was bit by the night’s chill. Sesshoumaru circled the head with his thumb, pulling the foreskin down. “The risks were known.”

“No, no,” Inuyasha said breathlessly. “I ain’t complaining.”

Sesshoumaru slipped the hakama down and settled between Inuyasha’s thighs, nudging them further apart. A trail of crimson marks blossomed in his wake as he tasted the soft skin. Inuyasha threw his head back, a giggle bursting from him as hands kneaded his backside. Dimly, he became aware of Sesshoumaru’s warm breath lingering around his shaft.

“Y-you don’t gotta do that,” he gasped. 

Sesshoumaru stared at him strangely. “I do as I please.”

The tip of his tongue flicked against the underside of Inuyasha’s member. Lips enclosed around him, taking him in. It was a struggle to remain still, but he managed. Sesshoumaru’s mouth worked him steadily, his fist gripping in tandem. He halted at the crown then, nibbling it with caution. Overwhelmed, Inuyasha pushed a few errant strands of hair out of Sesshoumaru’s eyes. It was remarkable—how graceful he remained, even now.

“The ears flatten,” Sesshoumaru rasped, the gold of his irises swallowed by night-black. More than ever, he appeared a predator. “How… curious.”

“Khe, good save. I know what you were gonna say,” Inuyasha bit back, unwilling to betray any embarrassment. Sesshoumaru squeezed his balls lightly, then lapped at his lenght from base to head. The moan that followed simply could not be restrained, nor his legs parting wider. “I know, the ears are cute as fuck. You’re not–ah, you’re not the first one to notice.”

Sesshoumaru reached into his saddlebag, producing a small vial with a rich amber tint. The scent of cloves prickled at Inuyasha’s nose. Camellia oil, practical and nearly odorless, was more familiar to him. It fulfilled a purpose. This, he realized, was for pleasure. Sesshoumaru poured the liquid over his fingers, then massaged it into the stretch of skin at the base of Inuyasha’s shaft, leaving a tingling sensation behind. When he stroked just an inch lower, his toes curled. A whimper tore from him before he could suppress it.

“I–fuck,” he croaked, panting heavily. “It’s just… it’s been a while.”

Instead of replying, Sesshoumaru slid a finger inside. With the slow, deliberate thrusting and the unrelenting scrutiny of his half-brother’s gaze, he found it impossible not to feel self-conscious. “What?” he snapped, at last.

Sesshoumaru hummed to himself, tilting his head to the side. Then he curled his finger, drawing a gasping breath from him. “I’m doing the thing with the ears again, is that it?” Inuyasha asked reproachfully.

“Perhaps.” Sesshoumaru didn’t look apologetic in the slightest.

Inuyasha couldn’t help but be offended. “You’re such a fetishist!”

“I am not,” Sesshoumaru replied primly. “I’m just fond of them.”

Inuyasha’s baleful glare was met with a quick kiss, and though efforts were made, his outrage at last dissolved into warmth. His half-brother had large, elegant hands, claws filed down to blunt tips for the occasion. In the past, Inuyasha had always considered such awkward preparations a hassle, and avoided a final joining whenever possible. It felt different now, though—easy and pleasant.

He turned to lie on his stomach. When Sesshoumaru straddled him and gently spread his buttocks, pouring the tingling oil, a wave of exposure washed over him. There was no true reason to be nervous, as experience had taught him his half-brother didn’t relish pain, when asserting his right. He was content to subdue him, a fistful of hair in his grasp, and wield him as he pleased, but Inuyasha had never shed blood while laying beneath him. Still, his uneasiness persisted.

“This is overdue,” Sesshoumaru spoke, nudging his rigid length against him, right on the verge of entry. “It has occupied my thoughts for long.”

Inuyasha scrambled for a retort, a sudden flush spreading over his face. It was unnerving—how his half-brother could leave him so utterly unmoored, with only a few words. “Oh, yeah? You think of my ass a lot?” he blurted out.

A sharp, stinging pain flared across Inuyasha’s backside. When it dawned on him that Sesshoumaru had spanked him, he let out a breath of pure disbelief. “No way you did that, man!” he spluttered, whipping his head around. "You got no respect!"

"The warnings are at an end," Sesshoumaru replied evenly. “Behave.”

With a deliberate thrust, his half-brother breached him. A betraying moan cut off Inuyasha’s comeback, his muscles seizing in an involuntary fight against the intrusion. He was aware of nothing but the steady press, the invading heat, the quiet rasp of Sesshoumaru’s breathing. It was a slow, agonizing process until he settled fully inside Inuyasha, sighing in long-awaited relief.

The initial barrier crossed, an exhilarating rush followed. Sesshoumaru’s rhythm was hard yet measured—each thrust a blade of pleasure, sinking deep within him. When he took a fistful of Inuyasha’s hair, he arched his back into the delicious roughness, hips rising instinctively to meet each thrust. Sesshoumaru pulled him tight against his chest, a crushing, final comfort as they moved as one.

The fire crackled beside them, a pleasant warmth against the whisper of cold lips tracing the freckles across his shoulders. Inuyasha stared into the flames, casting shadows across the clearing as their pace slowly increased. His eyes fluttered closed, enjoying the feeling of Sesshoumaru’s hands sweeping over his body. The sting of lightening enveloped him, familiar by now and still overwhelming. Inuyasha breathed it in, content with the knowledge it would linger.

Sesshoumaru cupped his balls, the possessive squeeze sending a spike of heat through him. A strangled sound tore from Inuyasha as the tight hold climbed, sleek with his arousal, stroking him in time with the fierce thrusts. His knees buckled, going boneless in Sesshoumaru’s unyielding embrace.

“Ah, Inuyasha,” he rasped against his ear. “Do you like it?”

“You ask me if I like that, damn,” Inuyasha replied. “Say my name again?”

Sesshoumaru’s tongue traced a wet stripe along his cheek, a pleased rumble building low in his throat. He was amenable enough to comply, though that wasn’t rare in these quiet, private moments. A feral longing clawed at Inuyasha’s heart every time, threatening to burst forth but swiftly silenced—no one had ever doted on him before. Sesshoumaru was panting heavily against his nape, whispering tender words, the bruising demand of his grip hinting at an end.

All movement ceased abruptly, and Inuyasha’s body was awash in a molten heat. Sesshoumaru took a moment, breathing heavily above him. Then his hand closed around Inuyasha’s member again, the slow, coaxing motion a stark relief to the intensity that came before. Sesshoumaru’s hair had fallen all around him, mingling with his own, and it struck him that even by the firelight, the strands were indistinguishable. Warmth spread through him, unbidden.

Sesshoumaru pulled free, the slick rush of his release sliding down Inuyasha’s thighs. A cleanup in the river awaited him morning come, and he was not looking forward to it. He turned onto his back. The sight of his half-brother’s disheveled hair, eyes heavy-lidded and drowsy, gave him pause. Pleasure’s aftermath made him appear devastatingly mortal.

Inuyasha retrieved his haori and draped it over Sesshoumaru’s shoulders, tugging him down to the bedroll. Though he shot a disapproving glance at the coarse fabric, he offered no resistance. There was that softness lighting his eyes again. He gathered Inuyasha close, at peace with sharing the fire rat robe. An impossibly soft pressure brushed his feet, and his gaze dropped to Sesshoumaru’s stole coiling around them. It didn’t seem willing to let go.

“Barefoot, even in this cold,” his half-brother chided, though his voice was fond. “What am I to do with you?” 

Chapter Text

Inuyasha found no rest that night. He lay still in the pitch black, ensnared by Sesshoumaru’s unyielding embrace. It was a peculiar experience. Neither of them made it a habit to remain, once the deed was done. What usually followed was a subtle game of mimicry. Parting awkwardly and preferably in a quick fashion if his half-brother made no move toward him, and indulging in tender but fleeting caresses if he did. Afterward, a swift plunge in a nearby river and a long nap on a tree branch. That unspoken agreement had been breached tonight, and he had to wonder why. 

Even as he slept, the camp was engulfed by Sesshoumaru’s presence. Inuyasha was keenly aware of the beating of his heart, the regular cadence of his breathing, his garments carelessly sprawled over the bedroll. His swords lay on the snow next to his armor, barely illuminated by the smoldering embers. Beside them, a saddlebag filled with personal belongings. It made for an oddly domestic picture. 

Inuyasha turned around cautiously, as to not wake his half-brother. In the scarce light, soft shadows were casted over Sesshoumaru’s face. He took in the sharp features, the slightly creased brow, the marks whose meaning still eluded him, even now. If Sesshoumaru was aware of his surroundings in slumber, as most predators are, he gave no sign of it. Hesitantly, Inuyasha took a sniff of his neck before moving on to his long, silvery mane. A low grunt followed, and he went rigid.

Sesshoumaru shifted ever so faintly, but the pattern of his breathing suggested he was not awake. Pondering on his own nervousness, Inuyasha forced his tight muscles to loosen. Surely, he was allowed to take some liberties, considering how close they’d been earlier that night. Mildly placated, he pressed his nose against the soft locks of hair, taking a deep breath. 

For Inu Youkai, smell and memory were deeply intertwined. Inuyasha didn’t have to be raised in their midst to understand that aspect of his own nature. Especially when he was a child, he would often find himself unable to recall a face or name, but a person’s scent always withstood the test of time. It occurred to him that it would be nice if this moment came to mind whenever he caught a wisp of Sesshoumaru in the wind. A quiet winter night, holding each other by the fire, rather than bloodshed, wrath and the unforgiving bite of steel. 

Another smell registered, then—floral and sweet, akin to wild berries, layered over the unmistakable musk of a human. Sesshoumaru had visited his ward recently, it seemed. By now, it was second nature to smoother the burst of outrage, for it was a petty emotion to entertain. From the moment Rin was first brought into Kaede's care, it had dogged his every step, day and night. The passage of time, and even recent developments, appeared insufficient to quell it.

While he hadn’t managed to conceal his grudge entirely, he wanted to think he’d tried his hardest to reign it in. Determined as she was to take on an apprentice, Kaede was weary in her old age, the heavy weight of her duties too much for her to bear. She had no time to cater to a child’s whims. Especially one so odd in behavior, easily moved to tears, and ever eager for adult notice. Outside of training hours, Rin was alone more often than not. 

Her own fault, Inuyasha often thought, for turning up her nose snootily whenever the village’s girls attempted to befriend her. Try as he might, he could not commiserate. Every hand reaching for him in childhood had carried a stone, words ever sharp and honed for damage. To meet an overture of friendship with a dismissive slap would have been unthinkable to him. 

Bitterness was no stranger to him, though. That simmering fury that ignites when faced by one who enjoys everything you lack—a home, parents, a place to belong. He too had nursed it for long. Rin was doing herself no favors, but that was a lesson she could only learn by herself. Priesthood was a solitary path, at any case, and perhaps it was a kindness that she learned to accept it early. In the meantime, she would linger by the forest’s edge, morose and ever sighing, as if waiting for someone to appear. 

“Keep dreaming, kid. That jerk ain’t gonna come around,” Inuyasha snapped once, the first slip of many to come. Rin gave no sign of having heard him, her gaze trained on the shadowed woodland, hands loosely clutching her hakama. Unthinking, he sank the knife deeper. “Not like he cares about you or anythin’. Why you think he left you here?”

The tears came, swift and easy as always, and regret along with them. Inuyasha bristled, then whipped his head from side to side, as if searching for witnesses to a terrible crime. Though a part of him longed to flee, and shrug off his cruelty as a sharp taste of reality, he crouched down and swept the weeping girl into a hug. Only Rin was there to hear him mumble his apology, so his pride remained intact. Despite everything and to her great misfortune, she remained naïve enough to believe that he hadn’t meant it. 

When Sesshoumaru abandoned his charge at the village’s gates, like a pet he could no longer be bothered with, or a pastime he’d lost interest in pursuing, Inuyasha was largely unsurprised. Even now, he refused to acknowledge it as satisfaction, or any sense of vindication. A thorn wedged in his side for long seemed to come loose, though. His half-brother cared for no one, and a little human peasant certainly couldn’t be the exception. For Rin to believe otherwise only awakened pity in him. 

A core of mercy, deeply scorned but acknowledged by now, kept Inuyasha from lashing out when she started shadowing him, relentlessly and for no apparent reason. He first noticed her on a balmy summer morning, as he made his way to the Bone-Eater’s Well, her messy bun barely concealed by the undergrowth. Ignoring the scrutiny proved futile, and he called out for her eventually, demanding she stopped hiding and making a fool out of herself. 

Rin made questions, and he answered, truthfully but with caution, frustrated at himself for airing his dirty laundry to a child. It couldn’t be helped. There hadn’t been anyone to listen, since Miroku and Sango returned to the Demon Slayers’ Village, and prior experiences had taught him that wounds tend to fester in silence. If kept locked away, Kagome’s memory would never leave him. Kneeling beside him, Rin stared into the murky darkness of the well, head propped on her hands. Though she refrained from speaking it, he could tell Sesshoumaru’s name was on the tip of her tongue. His hands fisted over the curb and he forced them to loosen. 

“Ain’t easy, uh?” he spoke, his mouth twisted down unhappily. As if aggrieved by this reluctant closeness, while still unable to retreat. Rin frowned at him, and he shrugged, unable to look her in the eye. “You gotta get used to it. Sucks but that’s life. It ain’t the last time someone’s gonna give you the boot.” 

“Oh,” Rin replied quietly, understanding dawning on her. No protests arose, though, no outraged insistence that her guardian would return. At least she was taking it gracefully. He’d been nowhere near as mature about it at her age. Still, it seemed to him suddenly that they shared a certain likeness.

“Well, they’re missing out,” Inuyasha said dismissively, nudging at her with his elbow. It earned him a faint laugh, at least. “We don’t need them.” 

After that day, Rin refused to leave him alone. Between the incessant chattering and her persistent attempts to braid his hair, Inuyasha never found rest. Then she would tug at his hand, and drag him into playing all the games she wouldn’t join in with the village children. The questioning maddened him the most—“Why does the moon change its shape?”, “Why do the trees drop their leaves?”, “Why do rivers flood and dry?” Embarrassing as it was to admit, he often had no answer to give, but that never made her relent. 

They played Kemari once with a stolen ball. Inuyasha had often seen the noblemen engage in such a game with their children, back at his mother’s palace, though he’d never been allowed to participate. Roughly two hundred years later, he at last had a playmate. A sad irony, and decidedly too pathetic for him to let it sting. They had managed nearly seven successful passes, when a disquieting scent reached him, and he messed up by kicking too hard. The ball flew towards the forest’s edge, disappearing into the canopy. 

Whatever expression crossed his face, Rin must have noticed. Rather than chasing the ball, she asked with a worried frown, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Inuyasha was quick to reply. For a long moment, he stood at a standstill, unsure if he ought to face this without flinching or beat a hasty retreat. Rin was free to do as she pleased, and the loss of a smelly deerskin ball meant nothing to him. Pride, his one loyal companion, quickly took hold. Loath as he was to start a fight in front of the kid, he couldn’t stomach the shame of fleeing. “Come on, let’s go get it.”

Seeming to sense his unease, Rin remained unusually quiet as they made their way through the woods. Every rustle in the thicket put Inuyasha on edge, shoulders tight and grip solid around Tessaiga's hilt. Birds had ceased their morning songs, and he could sense the forest dwellers scurrying into their burrows, aware of a larger predator lingering nearby. Though instinct too urged him to backtrack, a need stronger still held him fast. To take a deep breath and rein in any semblance of fear was an ingrained habit. 

The woodsmoke stench of the outer layer and the barley grains of the stuffing made the ball easy enough to locate. It was lodged firmly between a cedar's branches. Inuyasha levered his heels up and stretched, his fingertips barely skimming the coarse hide. Somewhere behind him, he heard the brittle crack of a stick giving way, and thought was clouded by primal reaction. Tessaiga's blade gleamed as he unsheathed it, catching on the specks of sunlight that pierced the dense foliage.

“Lord Sesshoumaru!” Rin gasped, and the joy his name alone carried shouldn’t have cut as deep, nor how easily she ran to him, eager and unafraid. 

“Hmph, finally decided to show your face?” Inuyasha scuffed, warily assessing his half-brother. He appeared unchanged from the last time he’d seen him. Armed as if heading for war, unblemished white robes flowing at his wake, meticulously groomed, and that impervious cold gaze that never failed to make Inuyasha’s temper flare. No answer was given, as expected, but for once, Sesshoumaru did not appear poised to attack. 

Inuyasha maintained his stance, nonetheless, his every sense razor-sharp and muscles coiled tight. It was for nothing. As Rin rattled on about the village, her bow practice and how much she’d missed him, Sesshoumaru had eyes only for her. It struck Inuyasha then that he wasn't even worth a glance, and that old simmering fury resurfaced with a fierceness never felt before. He had to wonder if it had ever truly left him. 

Finally, Sesshoumaru looked at him, his gaze as unnervingly blank as always. When he took a step closer, Inuyasha tightened his grasp on his sword and leapt back, widening the distance between them. Sesshoumaru only offered a quick once-over, betraying no flicker of interest.

“Still as predictably slow,” he spoke, then completely bypassed him. He had not been approaching Inuyasha at all. His presence was merely incidental, a stone he’d almost tripped with as he moved towards the cedar. He retrieved the ball without stretching even slightly, Inuyasha noted with a scowl. 

“Khe, whatever,” he muttered, reluctantly sheathing his sword. 

Seeming utterly unfazed by the dead animal’s hide he was handling, or the stench it surely carried, Sesshoumaru presented the ball back to his ward. Inuyasha understood then that he had been wrong, at the forest’s edge and by the Bone-Eater’s Well. Rin and he were nothing alike. His fury swiftly faded then, replaced by a strange hollowness that threatened to swallow him whole. He had to leave, he realized with a startling clarity, before he did something he might regret. 

“See you around, kid,” he rasped, and all but fled.

There was the shuffling of fabric then, and a chilly nose brushing up against Inuyasha’s cheek. A stray finger, cool upon his skin, traced the line of his jaw. He felt heat rising to his face, but made no attempt to move away. Sesshoumaru’s grip around him tightened, and soon he was nuzzling Inuyasha’s neck, leaving a mark. He’d scented him before, once or twice, although he’d never been quite so obvious about it. 

“You’re overdoing it, yaknow?” Inuyasha murmured, feeling a peculiar restlessness. He should have known better than to freely reminisce of the past, in his half-brother’s presence. It always brought forth grievances it was absurd to keep nursing, after all was said and done. 

Sesshoumaru leaned away, just enough to meet his gaze. There was an unusual softness to his features, eyes half-lidded after barely a few hours’ sleep. “Am I?” he asked, a trace of drowsiness still lingering in his voice. 

“I'd say you did enough of that marking stuff last night.” Inuyasha threw him an askance glance, making it plain he understood what his half-brother was doing. He was an outsider to the ways of the Inu Daiyoukai, but the meaning behind this action was crystal clear to him. “So you can relax. No one’s gonna sink their teeth into me while you aren’t looking. Not that I’d let ‘em.” 

"A curious sentiment,” Sesshoumaru replied, arching an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that matter was settled."  

Inuyasha blinked, not understanding. “What matter?” 

“Did you believe I’d be unconcerned were you to seek out another’s company?” Sesshoumaru’s voice remained mild as he carded his fingers through Inuyasha’s hair, as if the mere implication were so far beneath him, it didn’t even warrant annoyance. “I will not have you wandering.” 

“Uh?” For a long moment, Inuyasha simply stared. When he finally pieced it together, his face contorted in mortification. “That’s not what I was talking about!”

“Wasn’t it?” Although Sesshoumaru remained impassive, a subtle gleam in his gaze betrayed amusement. “Do not mind me, then.”

It was snowing when Inuyasha ventured out of the camp, a wooden pail dangling from his hand, in search of water. Pale sunlight filtered through the forest’s canopy, a fine mist clinging to every branch and leaf. The chill bit at his exposed skin. Shivering faintly, he made his way through the silent woodland, occasionally shaking off the flecks of snow gathering over his head and shoulders. It didn’t take him long to find a stream. 

After filling the wooden pail, he pulled his hair into a knot, and quickly washed himself. His demon blood made him less susceptible to the cold, but it was still a miserable experience, and he was suddenly reminded why he’d avoided going all the way with men for so long, especially in such a dreary weather. By the time he made it back to the camp his teeth were chattering and his mood had soured even further, the tips of his ears burning from the frigid air. 

Sesshoumaru sat cross-legged on the bedroll, dressed once more, but his swords and armor still lay on the ground, untouched. As he poured water into the cauldron, Inuyasha pointedly ignored him, biting back a sharp comment about lazy jerks who expected to be waited on hand and foot. Either oblivious or simply unconcerned, Sesshoumaru drew him near, pressing a kiss to his downturned mouth. Despite his irritation, Inuyasha didn’t push him away.

Beside them, the water began to bubble, coming to a slow boil. Sesshoumaru took a sniff at his neck, then paused, a frown creasing his brow. He didn't openly reproach him. Instead, he nuzzled against him with renewed insistence, as though to restore the scent mark that had been washed off by the stream. Inuyasha was too startled to call him out on it. He often struggled to comprehend much of his half-brother's raw, uninhibited behavior. 

Not as affronted as he’d been just moments before, Inuyasha served the tea into bowls. Handing one over, he reclaimed his seat on the bedroll. It was a simple enough concoction, lacking richness and flavor, but it certainly helped ward off the harshness of the season. Sesshoumaru's carefully blank expression as he whiffed at the bowl did little to conceal his distaste. Paying him no mind, Inuyasha sipped his drink, watching the vapor drift into the air. “I can’t take this fuckin’ weather,” he muttered, very aware of the gooseflesh spreading across his arms. 

“That is your own fault,” Sesshoumaru replied without missing a beat. He didn’t even bother to try it, but he held his tea with both hands and close to his chest, as if he too were trying to get warm. Perhaps he was not as unfazed by low temperatures as Inuyasha had first assumed. "You chose to suffer the river's cold."

Inuyasha snorted under his breath, refraining from pointing out why exactly he’d needed a bath in the first place. His half-brother’s usual dismissiveness was not the source of his frustration, and he knew it. “Drink your tea and be quiet.” 

"Insolent brat," Sesshoumaru fired back, his even tone betraying no true contempt. He wrapped an arm around Inuyasha’s waist, settling his cheek against the crown of his head. “You do not command me.”

“So you’re a grump in the mornings,” Inuyasha remarked, leaning back into his embrace, unable to refuse the body heat he provided. “More than usual, I mean.”

It occurred to him then that something had shifted last night. Sesshoumaru had never lingered this long in the aftermath. Their time together invariably ended in withdrawal, not in the silence of unaware sleep, nor in the lazy content of early morning. Inuyasha found he lacked the words to ask about it in a way that wouldn’t be taken as a dismissal. So he kept his thoughts to himself, and allowed Sesshoumaru to blow on his ears to warm them up, his breath turning into spirals of steam as the last flecks of snow melted away. As it wasn’t rare, he decided to shed his anger, and let things be.  

“You’re such an asshole,” Inuyasha grumbled, acutely conscious of the hand that had settled on his inner thigh, searingly warm even through clothing. “Why you gotta make a move when I already washed?”

Sesshoumaru attempted to withdraw, but Inuyasha was quick to dissuade him, taking him firmly by the wrist. “I didn’t say stop,” he remarked, throwing his half-brother a sharp glance. Clear as his attempt to provoke was, it was met not with rancor or annoyance, but a pleased hum and something that almost resembled a smile. If he rubbed his cheek a little too insistently against Sesshoumaru’s neck, vanishing another’s scent for good, no one ever had to know.

Chapter Text

Inuyasha was often running on fumes these days. Ever since the arrangement started, he’d been dedicating his every waking hour to sword practice, and thorough preparations for it. In the past, he’d only proved so meticulous when training under Yorei Taisei and Totosai. Even then he’d struggled to grasp the concept of spiritual discipline. Meditating to clear the mind seemed pointless to him, not to mention unspeakably hard, but Sesshoumaru insisted it was as vital as forging one’s body. Inuyasha had the strange impression that if he didn’t at least try, his half-brother would be able to tell.

This starkly different approach to mentorship had made it apparent, to his deep chagrin, that Totosai had been yanking his chain, or downright taking advantage of him, more often than not. The steam bath ploy had been uncovered long ago, but Sesshoumaru’s pitying expression when he’d regaled him with tales of the old man’s unique methods had revealed many more. So Inuyasha figured that having him think of nothing while sitting by a cliff’s edge wasn’t unreasonable, by comparison. 

Solo cutting before dawn was tedious, as well as drilling footwork and stance, though definitely less baffling. Once the day was bright and Sesshoumaru joined him, looking much too well-rested for Inuyasha’s liking, his muscles were loose and his heart rate elevated, senses sharp in a manner they wouldn’t have been otherwise. Although the effort such regimen demanded had initially seemed to him unwarranted, he could concede now that there was some logic to it. If his half-brother took him down all too easily during sparing, he could always attribute it to insufficient rest. 

When Sesshoumaru first threw a horn dispenser filled with Choji Oil at his head, calling him an ignorant fool who didn’t even know how to properly cleanse a blade, Inuyasha bit back a retort, for he knew a much harsher reprimand wouldn’t have been out of place. Any comment about him dishonoring their father’s relic out of sheer obliviousness was held back, and he had enough sense to be grateful for the silence. His fumbling attempts to repair his mistake were met with a sigh and an unimpressed glare. Sesshoumaru put the dispenser away and had him set his sword down on the grass. 

“Bow to it,” he said without preambles. 

Inuyasha bristled, taking a step back. “What?” 

“Bow to your sword,” Sesshoumaru repeated, not breaking his gaze. 

“Cut the crap.” Inuyasha crossed his arms over his chest, a deep scowl creasing his brow. He was done with tripping over this particular stone. His half-brother’s face remained blank, though, suggesting no deception or amusement, and that gave him pause. “... Are you for real?”

As unwilling as ever to repeat himself, Sesshoumaru simply gestured towards the sword again. Inuyasha held his ground, gaze wary and posture tense. His half-brother’s mouth twisted unhappily, the way it often did when he was slow to heed his command. It was only then that Inuyasha first considered that this might not be an attempt at mockery. He shifted on his feet, a strange discomfort washing over him. As he tried to bend over, his back muscles locked stubbornly, refusing to yield. He had no precedent for showing such deference. The stalemate broke when Sesshoumaru grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing him to bow by shoving his head down.

Heat crept across his features, evident despite his efforts to suppress it. Though Sesshoumaru’s touch was known to gauge such reactions from him, no gentle warmth seized him now, but a searing flush, violent and unwelcome. He scowled at the indignity, his jaw clenched tight. The ordeal must have been brief, but the fierce, unyielding pressure of Sesshoumaru’s grip made time crawl. Inuyasha suffered through it quietly, and at last, he was released. Even as he sprang back to his full height, he was unable to raise his eyes, cheeks still alight with embarrassment. 

Without so much as a glance, Sesshoumaru settled crosslegged on the grass and picked up Tessaiga. Inuyasha hesitated, but stiffly sat down beside him. As the fittings were rapidly taken apart for cleaning, he watched and listened, mildly unsettled by the sight of his sword disassembled. Not unlike meditating and solo cutting, the process appeared to him unnecessarily fastidious. The commingling aromas—rice paper for wiping, stone powder and salt for polishing, oil for the protective layer—made his nose tingle.

"Cleansing follows the shedding of blood,” Sesshoumaru spoke, easily thrusting the handle back into place. “Impurities must be expelled, or its spirit is poisoned."

“Right,” Inuyasha replied, taking Tessaiga from him with a mild frown. 

His failure to properly care for it was clear to him, as much as his half-brother’s silent condemnation. Time and again he’d claimed their father’s fang was misplaced in his hands, and Inuyasha just kept proving him right. When Sesshoumaru stood upright, his white robes miraculously unblemished by mud and dirt, Inuyasha remained on his knees, staring intently at his reflection on the blade. He could feel bright sunlit eyes boring into him. 

“Why do you linger there?” Sesshoumaru asked sharply. “Rise.” 

There was a time when Inuyasha’s deepest wish was to see his half-brother gone forever. The reason eluded him, or perhaps it was merely wilful ignorance. Over the years, he had developed many strange habits out of self-preservation, and avoidance stood chief among them. He could acknowledge that back in the day, Sesshoumaru's handling of his ward struck him as distinctly wrong, though. The chosen distance, while lurking in the nearby woods and occasionally stopping for visits, had Inuyasha’s nerves perpetually on edge. 

It was galling enough just seeing him near her. The morning strolls with Rin at his heels, the Onigokko games with the Imp under Sesshoumaru’s watchful eye, the hand that had drawn his blood so many times gently tousling her hair. His unforeseen return ensured Inuyasha's fury remained at a constant, simmering boil. However, it was Sesshoumaru’s shifting presence, the sheer inconsistency of his whereabouts, that truly irritated him. The impudence of having others handle her upbringing, while dropping by when it suited his fancy. Not content with assuming guardianship of a human peasant he had no claim over, he was also too arrogant to see the commitment through.

“Why can’t you just leave?” Inuyasha snapped once, leaning on the verge of a crumbling, old fence, his eyes fixed on Rin as she chased Jaken across the open grassland below. No answer was given, as expected, and it only made his temper flare brighter. “You got the whole Western Lands for yourself. Are you seriously just staying here to piss me off?” 

“Do not flatter yourself, half-breed,” Sesshoumaru replied evenly, refusing to even spare him a glimpse. “You hold none of my attention.”

A sudden impulse seized Inuyasha, then. He tightened his grip on the fence post, and the dry, rotten wood immediately split in half. Backing away, he stared blankly, perplexed by the intensity of his own reaction. A subtle shift by his side made him turn. Sesshoumaru was looking intently at him, his hand fastened to Bakusaiga's hilt. 

None of your attention, uh? Though he could feel a scornful smirk tugging at his mouth, Inuyasha was quick to suppress it. He wasn’t delusional enough to think he instilled fear in his half-brother, but he was no longer a kid to be so easily swatted away. Even if victory wasn't assured, he could certainly hold his ground against Sesshoumaru, and that much was clear to both.

“Just take her away,” Inuyasha said dryly, making no move to reach for his weapon. It was a challenge, but he managed to keep any emotion safely locked away, fury or worse. “If it’s about the kid, take her with you and fucking leave. The old hag’s nearing eighty, for fuck’s sake! It ain’t her job to look after your brat, and it sure ain’t mine either.”

“Does her presence affront you so?” A cold smile unfolded across Sesshoumaru’s face, and Inuyasha could see, for the first time and with a startling clarity, that his half-brother was deflecting. “Why is it then that you always linger near her?”

“Who else is gonna linger? You?” Inuyasha fired back, unable to contain his bristling. “Looks like you got better things to do. Guess changing diapers and handling fevers is beneath your lordly efforts.”

He braced for a retort, only to be met with stark silence. For a long moment, Sesshoumaru stared down at him, a faint crease of displeasure forming on his brow. The taunting curve of his mouth had flattened. Suddenly, he appeared lost in deep thought, but Inuyasha lacked the inclination, or perhaps the ability, to even try and guess why. Breaking eye contact, he turned back towards the grassland with a sullen scowl. Rin had finally caught the Imp and looked visibly delighted by her accomplishment. Against his own determination to remain angry, Inuyasha's expression softened. 

“I’m not that much of an asshole, yaknow?” He gave a barely perceptible shrug, realizing the sheer futility of wasting his rage on Sesshoumaru. No amount of thrashing or bemoaning the unfairness of it all would ever change this fundamental reality. Blood bound them together, and nothing else. “Yeah, I’m pissed. So what? Not gonna take it out on a kid who’s done nothing wrong to me.” 

Even as he spoke, Inuyasha was keenly aware that he often failed to live up to his own judgment. The difference, he hoped, lay in his relentless effort to try. As he made to retreat, he cut his half-brother with a brief, parting glare from the corner of his eye. “I ain’t like you,” he spat, and left before Sesshoumaru could reply.

Inuyasha had believed, for a time, that whatever emotion had gripped him that led him to shatter the fence post had been contained and firmly brought under heel. A self-deception, flimsy and now transparent to his eyes. What truly burrowed under his skin was not the hollow insults he’d learned to anticipate, the predictable callousness, or even the burden of care Sesshoumaru had unfairly assigned to him. 

It was the incessant reminder that Inuyasha was undeserving. At an intrinsic level, and for a reason beyond his measure, that seemed to run deeper even than his mingled blood. Two centuries of scrutinizing had been insufficient to unearth that original failing, making it impossible to correct.

That must be the reason his only kin harbored nothing but disdain for him, yet freely extended a tender hand to a creature far lesser, weaker, and more human than he could ever be. His heritage was never the root, and that discovery shouldn’t have aggravated the injury, but it did. Later on, it occurred to him that his arrangement with Sesshoumaru, however temporary, might serve as a balm. Surely, his worth was proven by his half-brother’s mere willingness to teach him now, despite the countless past slights, the resentment, and the long years of feuding. 

Otherwise, he wouldn’t devote nearly every moment of the day to Inuyasha’s company, nor would he remain settled at his side long after his needs were met and dawn broke. He wouldn’t halt in the middle of the act to kiss him softly, for no apparent reason. His pupils wouldn’t grow wide when Inuyasha deliberately folded his ears back, and he’d lash out instead of snorting dismissively when confronted. Certainly, he wouldn’t have demanded exclusivity from him, nor would he scent him religiously so others would take heed. 

Sesshoumaru was not one for delicate handling, and he never altered his course or words to spare others’ sensibilities. Though much of his character was still a mystifying riddle, Inuyasha knew him well enough to understand that none of it could be merely for his benefit. All the attention, the instruction, and the rare moments of gentleness were given out of Sesshoumaru’s own volition. Why was it that he still ached?

“Brood no more,” his half-brother scolded him that afternoon, as he was preparing to depart. His grip around Inuyasha’s elbow was firm but not painful. “It’s already a ruin when unwrought. You couldn’t have made it any worse.” 

Inuyasha blinked, frowning slightly. He took longer than he should have to understand that Sesshoumaru was speaking about Tessaiga. That wasn’t the true cause of his unease. The open acknowledgement of it was disgruntling, regardless, almost as much as the realization that he’d been unable to conceal it throughout the day. Denial was futile, so he decided to save them both the trouble. 

“Do you bow to your sword?” he asked instead. Although he didn’t specify, they both knew which one he meant. His gaze reflexively fell to Tensaiga’s hilt. 

Sesshoumaru tilted his head to the side, seeming bemused. “I do.”

For some reason, Inuyasha sensed this was a very recent development. He flicked molten gold eyes toward Sesshoumaru. “Just when no one’s looking, uh?”

His half-brother simply left the statement unchallenged, and that was as good as an admission, coming from him. Suddenly, it dawned on him that Sesshoumaru wasn’t born knowing everything, and perhaps he too had been compelled to learn the hard way. A notion took hold—that neither the act of bowing nor his failure were truly marks of disgrace. Any perceived failing could be rectified, provided someone was there to point the right way. He was grateful then for his half-brother’s usual refusal to relent and for ignoring Inuyasha's heated words that day by the broken down fence.

Inuyasha arrived at his half-brother’s camp late into the night, his mane still wet from a quick stream wash and carrying the faint scent of sandalwood. His days of making soap were finished, as well as his handling of herbs and spices, after Sesshoumaru’s snide remarks about him slowly poisoning himself. Though he certainly couldn’t fault him for his own obliviousness, Inuyasha hoped he would refrain from commenting on aromatic woods. His options were scarce, as it was. 

In his younger years, his blended nature had left him frequently puzzled by the vessel he inhabited. He’d been able to surmise that he perspired like a man, while his senses were nearer to his father’s lineage, if remarkably less keen. This affront required him to perform complicated cleansing rituals that perplexed others. Higher spirits were not inconvenienced by such earthly matters, he suspected. 

Sesshoumaru sat by the fire, his weapons relinquished and armor shed, the flames casting his face in light and shadow. As he rose to approach him, Inuyasha neither tensed nor stepped back. His half-brother’s demeanor, harsh and short-tempered during training, gave way to something else after dark—a transformation he had learned to expect. Drawing him closer by the waist, Sesshoumaru pressed his nose into his hair and breathed him in. No word of approval was uttered, or anticipated, yet a hum of deep satisfaction escaped his throat.

“Hey,” Inuyasha greeted, letting the slight upward pull of his mouth go unchecked. His arms were clasped around Sesshoumaru’s neck, and he couldn't recall making the choice to put them there.

His half-brother mumbled an absent, "Late," as he traced the column of Inuyasha's spine. 

It was a shame, he mused, that this simple peace couldn’t last. If only Sesshoumaru remained always the same, instead of constantly shifting between the multitudes contained within him. He recognized such yearning as absurd and crushed it before it could take root. Sesshoumaru’s sharp edges were not forged by scorn, or at least, that’s what Inuyasha chose to believe. His ruthless instruction was, most likely, a mirror of what he himself had once endured. Deviating from that path would be a disservice in his eyes. 

As their lips met, Sesshoumaru’s hands glided lower, pushing their bodies flush. When Inuyasha felt the unmistakable pressure of his erection, a sense of triumph washed over him, misplaced as he knew it to be. The arms securing him in place clenched tighter, sharp claws biting lightly through the fabrics of his haori. Sesshoumaru forced the kiss deeper, wrapping long fingers around his throat.

It was a persistent wonder—that some gentle caresses and a few kisses could bring his half-brother to this demanding state. Throwing caution aside, he unbound the sash of Sesshoumaru’s hakama, letting the garment fall open. Inuyasha gripped his member firmly, brushing his thumb across the head. The guttural sound of pleasure that followed made him ache in response. 

“Missed me?” He asked with a brazen grin, holding Sesshoumaru's darkening golden eyes without flinching. “Was gone, what? Two hours tops?” 

“Presumptuous little–” Visibly tensing, Sesshoumaru drew a sharp intake of breath. Inuyasha was stroking him leisurely, enthralled by the warm flesh pulsing against his palm, and the faint wetness seeping from it. His half-brother’s face was a blank canvas, betraying nothing beyond a faint frown. A subtle increase in pace had his eyelids drifting shut, though. His mouth, slack and barely parted, took on an unfamiliar softness. 

Overcome by a strange desire, Inuyasha bent at the joint, lowering himself. Before his knees could graze the floor, Sesshoumaru’s arms closed like a vise around him, yanking him back up. For a moment, neither of them moved. A flush crawled up Inuyasha’s neck—mortified not by his advance, but by the clear sign that it was unwelcomed. With a hand at his waist and the other wrapped tightly around his nape, Sesshoumaru held him fast. The unrelenting heat of his arousal bore into Inuyasha’s abdomen, momentarily ignored but not forgotten. 

Inuyasha tried to break the embrace to meet his gaze, but the unyielding hold around him would not loosen. “I just thought…” 

“Silence,” Sesshoumaru replied curtly, his breath unsettlingly warm against Inuyasha's ear. His anger was evident, but the reason behind it wasn’t. 

Only when Sesshoumaru was reclined on the bedroll, propped against his fur stole and thighs parted in clear invitation, did Inuyasha risk another try. For some reason, what was denied before was now permissible. Not for the first time, he was baffled by his half-brother’s mercurial character. There was but a trivial shift between one position and the other, yet Sesshoumaru's reaction implied a vast, unseen difference. Debating on why kneeling was forbidden, and bowing encouraged, would lead them nowhere. So Inuyasha wrapped his lips around him, and took the hardened lenght into his mouth. 

The taste of him was familiar by now, yet providing Sesshoumaru this kind of pleasure was still an ongoing revelation. He traced the rim with a careful tongue before drawing the crown in firmly, gauging for a response. His half-brother gathered the heavy mane of Inuyasha’s hair, and wound it tightly around his hand. “Take it deeper,” he commanded in a low rasp, his gaze heavy-lidded as he stared down at him. Inuyasha eased his throat open and pushed forward, halting when his lips reached the base. 

He’d always found it curious—how much he could discern about someone while performing this act. No human had ever proved quite so riveting, though. The warm musk of arousal overflowing his mouth revealed Sesshoumaru’s virility, lined by the cleanliness of good health, and a sweet core of raw power. Inuyasha plunged forward and back, instinctively seeking more of it. A scent he recognized as inherently kin, for all their opposing natures, flooded his awareness. He still couldn’t reconcile his feelings when confronted by their relation in such a primal manner. One moment steeped in shame, the next resting in the unfamiliar solace of belonging.

Driven by a need he dared not name, Inuyasha quickened his pace, his every motion marked by a raw, desperate fervor. A hollow noise, barely resembling a groan, scraped from Sesshoumaru’s throat. For a fleeting instant, he appeared stripped down, his form loose and pliant as he yielded to sensation. 

“You are where I placed you,” he spoke, the words a silken thread binding them together. He brushed the pad of his thumb along Inuyasha’s cheek, tracing the firm ridge of his own member. “Why defy it? Descend no further.” 

Inuyasha felt a jolt of acute self-reproach, and swiftly pulled his features into a sneer to hide it. Though an urge seized him to sink his teeth in, he held back, aware that the bite was undeserved and would bring swift retribution. Instead, he let go of the aroused flesh and levered himself up to straddle Sesshoumaru’s waist. Pressing the vial of clove oil to his chest, Inuyasha aligned their bodies, making his demand known without a word.

“You dare?” Sesshoumaru’s expression was perfectly blank, but a subtle sparkle of mirth in his golden gaze suggested amusement. “I have been too lenient.” 

Exhaustion pulled at him in the quiet aftermath, threatening to drag him under, but Inuyasha fought against the onset of sleep. Even knowing Sesshoumaru made it a habit to linger these days, he still clung to their nighttime encounters with a strange fierceness. Dawn would bring back the cold mask. Shifting on the bedroll, he became aware of the mild soreness left by their harsh joining. Though he made no mention of it, Sesshoumaru ran a gentle hand down his back, as if he could tell.

“I’ve tired you, haven’t I?” He asked, brushing the sweat-dampened hair out of Inuyasha's eyes. They lay close enough to exchange breath, their noses just barely grazing. “Let us rest tomorrow.”