Resurrection of a Monk II
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InuYasha › Yaoi - Male/Male › Sesshōmaru/Miroku
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,622
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
InuYasha › Yaoi - Male/Male › Sesshōmaru/Miroku
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,622
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.
Chapter 4
© Salome Wilde, 2008
Resurrection of a Monk II
Author’s Note: Lemon for all my friends! (This chapter also is the product of co-writing with pseudohanyou as my Miroku. I only hope the product is half as hot as the process was.)
Chapter 4
Miroku rose and dared risk eye contact to see whether his own desire would be reflected back in those godlike orbs. He was afraid to touch without being commanded to do so. Instead, he removed his robes and knelt again. “Do what you will with me, bid what you wish. My master, my Sesshomaru-sama. Adore me in this way, and I will end them all. You have done this to me.”
“Inuyasha is only a few paces behind, monk. Would you have him see you used as you know I will use you?”
“Is he so close? I can only know you in this perfect moment.” Miroku longed to feel Sesshomaru’s merciless touch. But he gathered his wits, knowing his service to his master was only as valuable as his word. “But no, I should not be seen like this. He will know I have given myself to you and I will lose my chance to end him for you.”
Sesshomaru relished the monk’s predicament, perhaps more than he should, and it inspired and stiffened his resolve. “That is not my concern. You followed me as I left you. I turned and have spent more worthless words on you than any other being in my long existence. Now take me in your mouth and prove yourself worthy of even one more word, one more moment of my time…”
I am afraid to reach my hands up to free you, Miroku thought. Afraid that it will somehow insult you. But if I do not...I will not have the pleasure of tasting you and you will leave me here, broken. And so he did, reaching inside of Sesshomaru’s thick white robes—so cool, so soft—and finding his prize. Miroku's mouth could but seek the thing which had tamed him into being this devoted mess, his lips could but wrap around it. The all too familiar flavor flooded his senses and he suppressed a moan in fear that it would displease his Lord. It was terrible, not knowing what would please and what would anger, but the need drove him on.
He knew that Sesshomaru would not be one to show response, and so he drew on the hard length in hopes that he could get something, perhaps the sound of his Lord's breath catching in his throat. Silence; it was all his Lord offered. Yet he allowed Miroku to do this and that was enough to convince him that he had succeeded, he had done something which had pleased him, else he would have died moments ago.
Sesshomaru was inhumanly still as he received Miroku’s devotion. There was nothing in his eyes, no sound from his lips, but his soul was leaking from him at the sweetness of the monk’s hesitation, the depth of his offering. His thoughts flew on wings of their own, beyond his control or desire to control them: Feed on my strength, monk. Make yourself worthy so I may admit my need for your offering without words, without a trace of weakness. That I am hard in your mouth is all I will ever show you. And it is already too much.
To know that his Lord wanted this moved Miroku deeply; to feel the hardness pushing at the back of his throat was proof. Proof that he could be worthy.
Sesshomaru reached a hand down to thread through the monk's hair and urge him on. To some, this service was degradation. But not to his monk. He felt in the urgent rhythm of a devotion that he had neither felt nor craved so deeply before. Nor would ever again with another, he was certain.
As the familiar cold heat of a demon's touch adorned Miroku’s head, he knew he was to quicken his pace. This was what Miroku longed for. And he loved this, loved that his mouth alone could seal his fate. Yes: his mouth and his actions.
The acknowledgment of his desire became too tempting for Sesshomaru, the pleasure he was allowing himself to feel was too overwhelming. It did not become his stature, however superficial was the monk’s awareness of it. He shifted his thoughts to Inuyasha, wondering why he no longer smelled him near. Had he already witnessed and fled from this scene?
Miroku felt his Lord's head raise and knew that his attention was somewhere other than on him. And so he allowed his tongue to swipe the base of his Lord's cock as his mouth engulfed him. If he could only taste that wonderful gift…. If he could provoke a release, he knew he would have proven himself enough to be allowed to continue in this service until the demon tired of him. That would be enough. It would be everything.
Sesshomaru felt the soft tongue swipe at the underside of his cock and longed to surrender to it. Could he allow himself to trust this monk? To give in to the softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth? To thrust deep and allow himself to again experience that gratification he had given into so recently and so fully? Nothing in his life had matched the absolute surrender of the monk that night when he had offered himself up so fully, so beautifully. That young, slender, mortal body. Now kneeling before him, just as it should be. Unafraid to be discovered.
The monk wanted to smile, wanted to cry out his victory, but he settled for the motion of his Lord's hips as he forced himself against the back of his throat again and again. Now he was even more determined, more focused on him. Yes, focused. Miroku could feel the demon's eyes on him as though he were being burned and he knew that he only had to pull on his cock a little harder….
Sesshomaru grew wild with the contradictions inside him as he guided the monk to feed and draw the desire from his body. How was it that he could be so aroused, so unconcerned with anything but the power flowing through him as the monk touched him this way? Did anyone know his greatness and might as this monk did? Did anyone else revere him as he deserved? And did he need anyone else when he had this, just this, this moment; his enter being centered on the ache in his cock, an ache that only this monk could release.
Miroku knew, he knew from his own escapades that, though silent, his Lord was fighting to keep a growl from forming in his throat, fighting to keep from pumping his cock into his mouth and obtaining release. It was a mystery to Miroku whether or not he could force this from such a powerful creature. But he needed this, needed to taste the proof that his Lord indeed found him worthy, desirable. He needed to feel it burn his tongue and flow down his throat.
Sesshomaru grabbed the monk hard by the hair and pulled him up. He could feel the desire in the monk for more than he merited and it gave him control over himself once again. Yes, the monk needed Sesshomaru's release and Sesshomaru did not permit such weakness in himself. He did not give gifts. Releasing the monk from his grip, looking down into his soul through his wide brown eyes, he watched the human's lips part and he reached down to pump forth his offering, watching it splash onto his face, into his mouth, over his chin. And before he could stop the words from spilling forth as well, he had uttered “my slave” as his body convulsed.
Yes...this, thought Miroku. This reward. This confirmation that he belonged to his demon god. He allowed his tongue to swipe over his lips, tasting the victory of being owned by one of such power.
Resurrection of a Monk II
Author’s Note: Lemon for all my friends! (This chapter also is the product of co-writing with pseudohanyou as my Miroku. I only hope the product is half as hot as the process was.)
Chapter 4
Miroku rose and dared risk eye contact to see whether his own desire would be reflected back in those godlike orbs. He was afraid to touch without being commanded to do so. Instead, he removed his robes and knelt again. “Do what you will with me, bid what you wish. My master, my Sesshomaru-sama. Adore me in this way, and I will end them all. You have done this to me.”
“Inuyasha is only a few paces behind, monk. Would you have him see you used as you know I will use you?”
“Is he so close? I can only know you in this perfect moment.” Miroku longed to feel Sesshomaru’s merciless touch. But he gathered his wits, knowing his service to his master was only as valuable as his word. “But no, I should not be seen like this. He will know I have given myself to you and I will lose my chance to end him for you.”
Sesshomaru relished the monk’s predicament, perhaps more than he should, and it inspired and stiffened his resolve. “That is not my concern. You followed me as I left you. I turned and have spent more worthless words on you than any other being in my long existence. Now take me in your mouth and prove yourself worthy of even one more word, one more moment of my time…”
I am afraid to reach my hands up to free you, Miroku thought. Afraid that it will somehow insult you. But if I do not...I will not have the pleasure of tasting you and you will leave me here, broken. And so he did, reaching inside of Sesshomaru’s thick white robes—so cool, so soft—and finding his prize. Miroku's mouth could but seek the thing which had tamed him into being this devoted mess, his lips could but wrap around it. The all too familiar flavor flooded his senses and he suppressed a moan in fear that it would displease his Lord. It was terrible, not knowing what would please and what would anger, but the need drove him on.
He knew that Sesshomaru would not be one to show response, and so he drew on the hard length in hopes that he could get something, perhaps the sound of his Lord's breath catching in his throat. Silence; it was all his Lord offered. Yet he allowed Miroku to do this and that was enough to convince him that he had succeeded, he had done something which had pleased him, else he would have died moments ago.
Sesshomaru was inhumanly still as he received Miroku’s devotion. There was nothing in his eyes, no sound from his lips, but his soul was leaking from him at the sweetness of the monk’s hesitation, the depth of his offering. His thoughts flew on wings of their own, beyond his control or desire to control them: Feed on my strength, monk. Make yourself worthy so I may admit my need for your offering without words, without a trace of weakness. That I am hard in your mouth is all I will ever show you. And it is already too much.
To know that his Lord wanted this moved Miroku deeply; to feel the hardness pushing at the back of his throat was proof. Proof that he could be worthy.
Sesshomaru reached a hand down to thread through the monk's hair and urge him on. To some, this service was degradation. But not to his monk. He felt in the urgent rhythm of a devotion that he had neither felt nor craved so deeply before. Nor would ever again with another, he was certain.
As the familiar cold heat of a demon's touch adorned Miroku’s head, he knew he was to quicken his pace. This was what Miroku longed for. And he loved this, loved that his mouth alone could seal his fate. Yes: his mouth and his actions.
The acknowledgment of his desire became too tempting for Sesshomaru, the pleasure he was allowing himself to feel was too overwhelming. It did not become his stature, however superficial was the monk’s awareness of it. He shifted his thoughts to Inuyasha, wondering why he no longer smelled him near. Had he already witnessed and fled from this scene?
Miroku felt his Lord's head raise and knew that his attention was somewhere other than on him. And so he allowed his tongue to swipe the base of his Lord's cock as his mouth engulfed him. If he could only taste that wonderful gift…. If he could provoke a release, he knew he would have proven himself enough to be allowed to continue in this service until the demon tired of him. That would be enough. It would be everything.
Sesshomaru felt the soft tongue swipe at the underside of his cock and longed to surrender to it. Could he allow himself to trust this monk? To give in to the softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth? To thrust deep and allow himself to again experience that gratification he had given into so recently and so fully? Nothing in his life had matched the absolute surrender of the monk that night when he had offered himself up so fully, so beautifully. That young, slender, mortal body. Now kneeling before him, just as it should be. Unafraid to be discovered.
The monk wanted to smile, wanted to cry out his victory, but he settled for the motion of his Lord's hips as he forced himself against the back of his throat again and again. Now he was even more determined, more focused on him. Yes, focused. Miroku could feel the demon's eyes on him as though he were being burned and he knew that he only had to pull on his cock a little harder….
Sesshomaru grew wild with the contradictions inside him as he guided the monk to feed and draw the desire from his body. How was it that he could be so aroused, so unconcerned with anything but the power flowing through him as the monk touched him this way? Did anyone know his greatness and might as this monk did? Did anyone else revere him as he deserved? And did he need anyone else when he had this, just this, this moment; his enter being centered on the ache in his cock, an ache that only this monk could release.
Miroku knew, he knew from his own escapades that, though silent, his Lord was fighting to keep a growl from forming in his throat, fighting to keep from pumping his cock into his mouth and obtaining release. It was a mystery to Miroku whether or not he could force this from such a powerful creature. But he needed this, needed to taste the proof that his Lord indeed found him worthy, desirable. He needed to feel it burn his tongue and flow down his throat.
Sesshomaru grabbed the monk hard by the hair and pulled him up. He could feel the desire in the monk for more than he merited and it gave him control over himself once again. Yes, the monk needed Sesshomaru's release and Sesshomaru did not permit such weakness in himself. He did not give gifts. Releasing the monk from his grip, looking down into his soul through his wide brown eyes, he watched the human's lips part and he reached down to pump forth his offering, watching it splash onto his face, into his mouth, over his chin. And before he could stop the words from spilling forth as well, he had uttered “my slave” as his body convulsed.
Yes...this, thought Miroku. This reward. This confirmation that he belonged to his demon god. He allowed his tongue to swipe over his lips, tasting the victory of being owned by one of such power.