CLAIMING KIN by Salome and Talon

Young Sesshoumaru Learns: A Flashback

By Talon and Salome

Authors' Note: Hearty thanks to ForgottenPrincess, for your wonderful reviews. We lust you for them.

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

Tai sits at his desk, finishing the last bit of paperwork he had before he heads to the court to receive petitioners. And today...he would need to deal with Sesshoumaru, once again. The boy was currently with his mother, but she had instructions to send him to the receiving room in a few minutes. With a small grunt he gets up and stretches, then walks easily as his fur fluffs and trails from his shoulders. Sesshoumaru would learn. He must. He was glad his only heir was indeed a true Alpha personality. This would be much harder if he were not. And he already showed signs of the strength and intelligence needed for leadership. It was just a question of molding that.

Sesshoumaru was sitting in front of his mother and letting her brush his long, silken, ice-silver hair when the servant humbly reminded her of the time once again, that he must attend his father as ordered. Perhaps “letting” is not the word, for what he did was simply place himself between his parent and the other, lesser youkai mother she was talking to and hand her the shell comb. He loved the way it glided through his locks, and how she smoothed down their length softly after each stroke. He could sit that way for hours. But no, he must go. He huffs. He cannot wait to be grown and the leader. Then no one will order him around. Yet, then Father would be gone, and the mere thought of it makes his gut clench. No, he does not wish for that. Even when he wishes to have his mother all to himself, he never wishes for that. He rises, bows to her and nods to the other mother who does not truly deserve his bow, and heads out of the chambers, rubbing the shell comb between his fingers, then bringing it to his nose to smell the combination of his smell and his mother’s.

It is a small enough gathering for today, and he is somewhat annoyed that his son does not appear when it is clearly time for him to show his pretty face. Still, he listens as one of his servants tells him that one of his inu concubines has today gone into labor with another “Inuyasha” and he nods his acceptance of this. A runner from the Southern Wolf Tribe presents him with a suitable gift and the reply of the king for a treaty. Other humans wait humbly for their turn to make their small requests.

That servant girl is looking at him again. She is not supposed to. In fact, she is forbidden from full eye contact. And yet she does it. Is she even meant to be in this corridor? Sesshoumaru doubts it. At first, he thought she was challenging him. So he told no one and considered how best to kill her. But then he realized she would be a suicidal fool to be challenging him and he got close enough to smell her. She was older than him…and her scent was heavy on her slender body. She wanted sex. But again he thought of killing her because the only reason she wanted that was to for access to his power. And sex…when it was not his own hand on his own cock, it was frightening, alien, and overwhelmed by thoughts of Father. He was not ready to mount, and he would be damned if he would give power to some servant-class female anyway. He turned from her quicksilver eyes and sped up his pace, feeling threats behind and before him and wishing he was back with his mother, having his hair combed.

"Yes, thank you. I will send workers to check and see if the earthshake did indeed cause a rock slide that caused the river to dry up." He is the picture of calm, Alpha control, and all his advisors and servants and slaves pay proper homage to his dominance. So...where is Sesshoumaru?

Entering the room with the proud gait of the spoiled firstborn son of the Great Dog Demon that he is, Sesshoumaru makes grandiose and proper bow and greets his “Esteemed and Honorable Father” with as much humility as he can muster…which isn’t much. He tucks the shell comb into his robes and awaits Father’s response before rising.

Tai finishes with his advisor, waves him off, and turns his attention to his son and heir. "Sesshoumaru. Would you care to tell me what so delayed you that you could not present yourself at the time I specified?"

Various lies flash through his mind in an instant: the servant failed to inform him of Father’s command; he was detained by his tutor; his mother needed his help with an important task… But no. The servant would be sure to be punished for his misdeed. His tutor would be fired…again. And he could never lie about his mother. In fact, he admits to himself, he is unwilling to lie to Father at all. If one lesson his powerful Sire has taught him has stuck, it is to take responsibility for his own failings. And he has many, or so his father’s sighs and punishments tell him. Thus, though the failings do not cease, the lying, from a young age, did. “I have neither adequate explanation nor excuse, my Father,” he says, almost proudly.

"I see. Kindly make your apologies known to those who have been awaiting your presence, my son." After all, a public demonstration of dominance is worthless without public to witness it.

“Father?” Sesshoumaru rises and asks, unaware that any gathered require or deserve his “apology,” apart from his father. He looks around the room at the various youkai and humans assembled. None here are his equal, let alone his superior, except Father.

"It is rude to keep one's subjects waiting, my child. Regardless of their station, they have been waiting on your presence. You have no explanation, nor excuse for your tardiness. I await my apology, and an apology for their time wasted, waiting for their errant lordling."

Sesshoumaru flushes, fights the lump in his throat down. Let them not mistake his anger at being humiliated for humility. Standing as tall as his immature height among other adults allows, he speaks: “As my Father wishes me to do so,” he takes a breath and continues, not quite succeeding in removing all traces of resentment from his voice, “I express my regret that you have been kept waiting for my presence.”

"Good. And my apology, my son? It will not be so easy, nor so...painless."

Wincing inwardly at the word “painless” but controlling any outward display, Sesshoumaru turns to his father and lowers his eyes. “Forgive me, Father, for my failure.” There is earnestness in his voice this time. It seems his Sire is always disappointed in him. He catches his breath as nothing happens for long seconds after he speaks. Is it possible his father demands more of him in apology? Surely he is not mean to bare and present his neck…not now…in front of all these…lesser creatures? He remains still.

"Sesshoumaru, you are a good son. You are intelligent and strong. You have great focus and discipline. However, your humility leaves a great deal to be desired." He bares his teeth quite suddenly, watching his son's reaction carefully.

Sesshoumaru trembles inside from the absolute authority in his father’s calm, implacable voice. How can he begin to respond to the way his praise fills his heart while his criticism stabs through him. And those teeth. He knows what those teeth mean. But here? In this space? With the others watching? Whether it is what his father desires or not, the sight of his bared fangs brings Sesshoumaru instantly to his knees, head turned down until his hair slips from his neck. His breathing is shallow and his emotions are a jumble of fear, resentment, adoration, and need.

Perfect. He should still submit instantly to his father's authority and dominance, and he does. He rises and walks over to his errant son, ignoring the watching people, who are properly submissive as well. His son's fur wraps around him. That is fine. He will not touch the boy's fur…this time. Not with an audience. "Remove your haori, child."

Father’s voice is so calm as he commands my humiliation, thinks Sesshoumaru. He wishes with all his soul that his own voice could match its dispassion, its confidence as he refuses… Will he refuse? Surely Father is testing him. He is no longer an infant…and they are not alone. He cannot but want him to refuse. Is that right? Or is he merely trying to rationalize his own disobedience. Do not ask this of me, Father, he urges silently, with his scent. All that emerges from his throat is a whimper.

“Are you challenging my order, Sesshoumaru?”

“No, Father,” Sesshoumaru says, summoning strength in his voice and responding before he knows what he will say after it to prevent his father from exposing him…and worse…in front of the others. They will pretend this means nothing to them, but it will make Sesshoumaru forever weak to them, he is certain. He will never hold his head up if Father makes him submit this way. How can he escape? Just as the word “Please” forms in his mind, he stops it. No. He will not beg. Ever. And this brings him suddenly to realize that begging is far lower than baring himself at his father’s command. So, slowly, he undresses himself, making eye contact with no one, imagining in that they are alone and that he does this of his own free will.

"Good boy." He draws his claws down the boy's bare back. "Now your hakama." His child is struggling, and this is good. But he is obeying his dominant Alpha, and that is equally good.

He knew the command would not stop before he was bare, so he resents only the way his father makes a declaration of his shame by commanding that which he need not have. Such a show his father offers the unworthy assembly. He burns to…what? Not to disobey. But to show his mettle. Even though a child, he is still better than anyone here other than his father. Why does he not bare one of them and… He winces, visibly, as he shrugs out of his hakama. No. He loathes the idea of watching his father dominate others the way it now seems inevitable that he will dominate him as they watch. Why must everything be so full of contradiction, and always at his expense, to teach him something he already knows!

"Stand before me." His unspoken command demands the proud stance his son wears so well, and he wishes him to do so before he removes his fundoshi. He is approaching adolescence...and is beautiful. Such a beautiful combination of his and his mate's beauty and power.

Sesshoumaru rises, eyes still down. His back arches slightly, and he pushes his slender shoulders back. He knows he is beautiful, owns his grace in a way few of his age do…or could. He watches the shell comb clatter to the floor as he rises. He flinches, wants to dive for it. But he knows he must not. He straightens again, and fights the urge to pant.

Tai picks up the comb and tucks it into his obi. He will return it to the boy later, in his private quarters. He can hear and smell the gasps around them. That is fine. "Control your fur, child." He knows it wants to wrap around the boy to cover him, console him, protect him. It is something Sesshoumaru needs to learn, though his own fur does occasionally directly disobey him. Still, he knows this is within his son's capabilities, and he is pleased to see the fur relax and ripple down the boy's shoulder. He moves closer and murmurs in a beautiful pointed ear, "Are you hard for your Father, Sesshoumaru? When I remove your fundoshi, will I see a pretty, hard pink cock?"

Sesshoumaru cannot control the whine that comes out of him, even if he does control his fur. No one does what Father does to him. No one controls him so effortlessly. Mother belongs to her child. No one owns the child but Father. And Father belongs only to himself. Yet…perhaps. If he does this, gives this to Father…Father, who wants to see his cock erect now… Yes. If he does this, he will belong even more to Father and Father a little more to him. Still, it is hard to speak the words. But he will. He will succeed in all of this. He whispers, “My…cock…is hard now, Father…for you,” he says, and feels the truth of his words as his cock jumps at the approach of his father’s hand.

He breathes in the scent of his son, his son's arousal, his submission, his wanting, his need. He strokes the small bulge that presses against the white cotton of the boy's fundoshi. "Indeed you are." His voice is not unkind, nor is it filled with affection and compassion. "That is good." He bends a little closer to whisper in that delicious ear. "This pleases your Papa." He must be careful, though, and balance this. It would not do for the boy to forget why he is here, what this means. "Raise your arms above your head." When the child obeys, he runs a single claw through the twisted material at his hip and pulls it away. For the moment, only he can see the proud little penis, jutting from the child's groin. He draws his claws from the still seedless sac, gently up the shaft that is still child small, but longer now, and beginning to show thickness. Gentle, with claws that do not harbor the venom of his mate, or his son. Gentleness that few people ever see from the great Lord of the Western Lands.

Shivering does not begin to describe the sensation both within and without Sesshoumaru’s body. He loathes the vulnerability of his position, that his father will use him so, but even as he thinks this, the others melt away in the way Father’s words wash over him. He called himself “Papa…” as if Sesshoumaru were still a little boy. And he is not little anymore; he is almost grown. Well, almost-almost grown. And then oh, the feel of Father’s—of Papa’s claws…. What more can he give now to get more of Papa, all of Papa’s attention, always? Should he be obedient, submissive, good—Papa’s Best Boy? Shall he be rebellious, naughty, mischievous—Papa’s Incorrigible Child? Oh, he will be anything if he can always be Papa’s…just like this.

And then the sound of one of the humans reaches his ears. It is a throat clearing, perhaps intended only for that purpose, but to Sesshoumaru the heavens have opened upon his shame, and he is lost. He remembers that he is being punished, is now certain that his arousal serves only to further his humiliation. He whimpers in a high, soft voice—a child sound he has not made in years. His fur comes to circle his body, though he knows as it does that he will be punished for it. He is still hard, still yearning, but at this moment he cannot behave as Papa—as Father—needs him to. He would cry for help had his whimper not already made his distress plain. Why must it be so difficult, he thinks, fighting back tears he is determined not to shed.

Tai raises his head and narrows his eyes. They flick to one of his assistants, and the assistant bows, understanding. The human is removed, for the moment, to be explained the honor he has been given, and to be asked to refrain from making noise. It is not a bad thing that his boy remembers he is being punished. But he does not particularly care for the reaction it made in his child. “Control your fur, Sesshoumaru.” His voice is very firm now.

“Yes, Papa,” he says quietly, obeying instantly, his fur responding only in part to his conscious reaction to the commanding tone that is uniquely Papa’s. He wants to apologize for his continued failure. He knows he should not verbalize the regret, for Father has not asked for it and has taught him well that words are pale reflections of deeds. Instead, he stands tall and lifts his head a little. Eyes down, as they should be, but not in shame. “Yes, Father,” he says, correcting his reply.

"Good boy, my Sesshoumaru. You were tardy. You rightly can offer neither excuse nor reason for being tardy to my presence, and the presence of your subjects." He circles his child slowly. The humans in the room smell very confused. They do not understand dominance. They do not understand many things. But they are his responsibility, and, one day, they will be his son's responsibility. "Do you hold your father and your Lord in so little regard, Sesshoumaru, that you cannot appear before us when instructed?"

“No, Father,” Sesshoumaru says, aghast as he considers that his small self-indulgence can truly mean so much to his father—not only as his father but as the kingdom’s one true Lord. “I…I respect my Lord and Father…” he continues, the aura of the taiyoukai’s dominance growing stronger in the air. He breathes it in and it makes every hair on his body raise. The words pouring forth in a rush, he adds, “My Lord Father has no equal in this kingdom or any other. I am honored to be his son and his vassal.” His heart is pounding; his balls tighten.

He would smile, if this were not such a serious matter. Not serious because the child was late when he was called upon, but serious in this would be the first time his son is called upon to show his submission to his Lord and father in a public manner. "Let it be known...that my son, Sesshoumaru, neither bows, nor submits to anyone—man, woman, human or youkai. Save one." He growls, very very softly, his own fur snapping behind him. "To whom do you submit, my son?"

His mind bristles even as it submits. That growl and that scent: they own him more completely than he owns himself, and he knows it will always be so. It is so wrong to submit—everything in his mind, body, and soul tells him so—yet it is necessary, it is right, it is good to submit to Father. He makes his voice far stronger than he feels. “Sire, this Sesshoumaru submits only to his Lord Father.”

"Show me." He stands behind him now, in front of the ornate chair he uses to hear claimants and complaints, petitions and those who petition, vassals, other Lords, princes, youkai and hanyou, humans and holy people.

There has been no part of himself he has not yielded up to his father in his young life. Alone or, on occasion, before his mother. But now, here, in this space and with these others watching, he is truly lost as to Father’s desire, the meaning of his command. Shall he take the position of supplicant, on his knees, face to his hands at his father’s feet? Shall he kneel, then turn onto his side and show his belly, as he so often did as a small child? Shall he take to hands and knees and hike his behind like a bitch? He fears speaking at all right now, but rather than embarrass himself and his Lord further, he must ask, “How may I best show my submission, my Lord Father?” And quickly adds, “There is nothing I will not do to prove myself, Sire.”

He considers. He would have taken almost any measure of submission, but that Sesshoumaru asks—and very properly and respectfully—pleases him, though he does not let it show. "Let my son be prepared for his father's taking."

He feels desire wash over him, flood his senses. Is it Papa’s words, or does his dominant aura truly flow forth in these waves that sweep him under and hold him down? This is not the dominance-love of a father for a child. This is that other dominance. It has love in it, too, but it makes his pre-pubescent cock so hard and he finds himself on his hands and knees, his hair and his fur pooling around him as he spreads his legs and arches his back, and there is no one in the world but him and Papa and the need to be taken by the only being in the world who will ever rule him, both heart and soul.

"Good. Face to the floor, my son." There is shock all around him, in the scents, and arousal, and apprehension. He tosses his own hair back, and removes his very hard cock from the folds of his robes and hakama. He holds one hand out, and one of his in-favor concubines presses a small phial into his hand. This is punishment, but not punishment that warrants taking the child dry. This is not a punishment that calls for blood. His son is submitting to him so perfectly and beautifully, he cannot help but feel his anger dissolve as though it had never been. He strokes the oil into his heavy cock, his eyes meeting every eye in the room, and every eye lowers and turns away. "Sesshoumaru," he barks. "Who commands you?"

Sesshoumaru gasps, he has pressed his face to the floor, is dizzy with the knowledge that his father will soon rend him open beyond endurance—though he will endure. He wants to be good, to be forgiven, to hear that he is good—and only good, not good but late and disrespectful, not good but needing punishment, not good but needing to be reminded that he will never be as powerful as his father… Only good. His Lord Father asks again for declaration of his submission, so that it will be heard, clearly, by all the scared-smelling humans and confused-smelling youkai and aroused servants (oh yes, he smells their worship of his father and their loathing of him…it burns in him the way his father’s cock will soon burn through him)… “You command me, my Lord Father.” His voice is now a bark, too, not of disobedience but of pride. His father loves no one the way he loves his Sesshoumaru, damn it, he must not. The tears are in his eyes and the burr in his voice as he nearly shouts, “You command all whose lives you touch and even those who do not yet know of you… Take me, Father, let my submission please you and ease your anger at my disobedience.” He places his head back down and clenches his teeth.

His child. Gods...there is nothing like the submission of his only true child. One day...he will resist. One day he will struggle and need more forceful dominance. That is right and how it should be and how it must be. But for now...for now he kneels behind his child. He jerks him close, those legs, beginning to show the lank of growth sprawled between his own great limbs, his claws gentle in the boy's skin, but his fingers strong and hard. His thumbs press those boy cheeks apart, and gods...that little wrinkled hole...he remembers when it was just a tiny dot, and could barely take his finger, back when the boy was toddling...scampering. He presses the head of his cock at that little entrance and leans over his child, and he grips that slender neck in his jaws that have lengthened for this purpose. His fur stretches, anchoring Sesshoumaru's ankles, keeping them spread and grounded for his pleasure. For his dominance.

Sesshoumaru gasps at the feel of those teeth at his throat. He wants to control himself. His father cannot want to see him pant and whine like a concubine. But that is what he wants to do…to be. Oh, the pleasure his father takes in mounting his females. He has let his firstborn watch, more than once. He knows what gives his father pleasure—at least some of what he desires. Though he is neither old enough nor of similar temperament enough to desire similar pleasures, he knows. So, he is certain his Father cannot take pleasure in this…can he? His firstborn must be strong, self-controlled, proud—like his father. He cannot melt at his touch, whimper and beg, thrust his hips back when that Alpha cock penetrates him… He must give his submission, bravely, and ignore his own needs, his own straining, immature cock above all.

He is slow...letting Sesshoumaru open for him. He feels the boy's conflicting desires...of course he wants to submit to his Alpha-father. Of course he does. But his boy is truly an Alpha, too. And rightfully he wishes his father's approval and pride. This business of raising leaders of men and youkai...his own father did it. His father's father did it. It is steeped in tradition and blood. He loves his boy, his only true son. But he cannot let that love make him soft for what his son must have to become the leader, the Lord he must be. His head is in, and barely a whimper from the child. Gods, he is proud of him.

Despite himself, he is panting. The stretching hurts so, both the fiery surface sting of it and the dark, deeper ache. He tries to feel his father’s teeth in him, hair and fur trailing over him, belly over his back, and he senses all these things, but his world is centered on that cock beginning to press in. Soon, when he is all the way in, and then, when he fucks him in earnest, he will not be able to think, not be able to speak. So now is when he must risk speech, if at all… His voice is a pup’s mewl, undignified, unworthy of the firstborn of his Lord Father, but it is for his ears alone. He whispers, “I love you, Papa.” He knows, with the same certainty that he knows his father is going to fuck him so hard he will not be able to sit down for a week, that his father is the only person he will ever say this to in his long life.

Oh goodness. That...that little pup voice...for his ears only. For his heart only. In response he reaches with a hand and strokes from beneath, that thin, marked chest with a gentle hand, down...down and closing on his straining puppy cock. He doesn't answer, because his teeth are busy in the pup's neck. But...he will not let it go unnoticed, nor unrequited. He gently fondles that pretty cock as he pushes in with firm insistence until his own sac nestles against the minute sac of his son.

He has made enough sounds and more than enough, so he forces down the yelp at the unexpected feel of his father’s magnificent long-fingered hand upon his chest, his belly, and—oh, impossible—his cock. He is so gentle there, and this is even more devastating than the hilting of his massive cock. Sesshoumaru’s mouth drops open but no sound comes out as his body surrenders itself entirely to his father’s use. At this moment, he owns nothing of himself, wants for nothing, is nothing but father-love and child-submission.

He rests for several moments, as many of the youkai and some of the humans adjust themselves. His own musk dominates all others, which mingle submissively beneath his. He growls softly into his son's neck and pulls back the little foreskin to expose what he knows is the beautiful, red-pink head hidden within, and now it is beading with delicious fluid. With a slow, deep breath he begins to thrust, splitting his son apart with each movement, holding him still in his grasp, in his hands, in his teeth, in his fur. Each thrust is made of love and dominance and care and warning to each and every person in attendance. This Sesshoumaru belongs only to the Great Lord of the West. Inside he smiles, thinking of what would happen should someone else...anyone else try to dominate his child.

He is held so tightly. There is no escape from the prison of his father’s massive, commanding body. Nor would he escape, even if he could. In truth, it is no prison but shelter, protection that only an Alpha can give. He breathes in the scent of that protection as his body is forced open and made to accept the reality of his father’s power. But as his father increases his pace, thrusting deep and hard into his body—his body that feels so much smaller now than it did when he first entered the chamber with his ignorant swagger—he finds he cannot withstand the onslaught without struggle. He needs his father to hold him down…his body is not as obedient as his will now. His head jerks and tries to raise; his hips buck for release. The shelter truly is a prison and his scent is wrong now and he does not understand what is happening but he is trying, truly trying not to move. He fears his father will not understand, will mistake his panic for disobedience. He must not shame his Sire…or himself.

He pulls his teeth back, enough to nuzzle the hairline before him. He feels his son's shift to panic, and he holds him tighter, moving his hand up from that candy cock to the boy's throat, to stretch his neck out. "Shhh...Papa has you. Give yourself to me pup. Only to me." His scent is so delicious, and Tai closes his eyes that want to burst into red, for only a moment. But he has more control than that, and he will not take his son in that form. Not right now. Another time, when Sesshoumaru is older. It gives him immense pleasure to think of taking his son in his own dog form, gripping that loose ruff of his neck and driving his cock deep into his son's canine bowels and tying him...knotting him up good.

The words and the tightness of his father’s grip: they save him. He is rescued from oblivion, from destroying himself and everything he knows is right. When did it become so difficult to submit? Is this what it is to be Alpha? He feels his neck and jaw held firmly, his father’s fur holding his ankles tightly in place, his body owned and ruled by the only one who ever will. He is unsure whether he murmurs aloud or in his mind when he says, “Yes, Papa,” and lets everything go.

"Good. That is my good baby." He breathes hotly into his son's hair...gods, he is so tight, so incredibly tight it feels like his cock is being strangled. So much more than his mate or concubines. He relishes his boy's submission, because he knows one day...one day it will not be this delicious. One day his boy will grow, and this submission will be a hard-won struggle, which will be its own delight. But this small body, this growing pup—in this moment he owns him entirely. He will climax soon, but he enjoys every breathing in of his pup's scent, every strangling thrust into his ass, every gasp and moan all around the room, as the watchers try desperately not to touch themselves. "You belong to Papa." He thrusts harder, feeling his balls bang into Sesshoumaru's. "Only to Papa...and I will never let you go."

Sesshoumaru’s cock swells without being touched now, his father’s body rocking them both, taking them somewhere he has never been. And somehow he knows that though his words are true, there will come a time when he cannot be only Papa’s. He will have to find his own path. His smell changes at his father’s touch…but his father’s dominant scent is not unfamiliar. It is his own scent, too. And he will make his father proud, now and always. He will be late, he will earn punishment, he will suffer, but he will make his father proud. The pain in his body reaches a point of stasis, where he can bear it and even enjoy the way he is rocked, enjoy the way his cock feels stimulated even without being touched by the way the heavy balls press against his own, and drive his cock forward. And something is touched deep inside him too. It seems impossible, but he is certain he and his father are both moving to the same place of soaring emptiness together. He wants to tell him: “Father, let me cum with you,” but he can only whine and feel his claws scrape on hard stone floor as he is fucked by the mightiest Lord on earth.

"Saaa..." The boy is close...amazing. He really is growing. There was a time you couldn't get the brat to come with a cock in his ass, even if you promised him...well...spoiled boy, there really wasn't much TO promise him. He can feel his cock swell at the thought, and he puts his mouth to his son's neck again, this time licking the sensitive spot on the side of that slim throat between his gentle teeth.

He cannot help but press his flesh back into his father’s mouth, lose himself in the sensation of ownership that his every gesture signifies. He cannot hold back much longer, though it feels unreal to have his cock strain into the air untouched and yet…gods… “Papa!!” he cries as he feels himself crest in his father’s pounding embrace. He knows he should control himself but he cannot. He may never be forgiven but he is beyond self-restraint, beyond redemption, he is flying as he is driven on, his cock pulsing out its fluid at the rhythm of his father’s fuck.

He snarls and allows himself to join his son in the climax, holding him entirely still against him, feeling the pulse of the boy's pleasure throb against him, into him, feeling his balls empty into that tiny...not entirely tiny anymore, but small and prettily striped ass. "Mine," he murmurs into the skin of that sweet neck. "Only Papa's. Say it."

“Only Papa’s…” Sesshoumaru gushes, too much emotion in his voice, too much arousal, too much dizziness, too much child-love in a room full of wrong-smelling strangers and perfect-smelling Papa. He should not have cum, he knows it. “Yours, Papa,” he whimpers, as if this will excuse his misdeed, his excess, his childish greed. “Please, Papa, let Sesshoumaru always be Yours.” He feels Papa fill him full to overflowing, his thrusts and the force of his ejaculate pushing his body more tightly into his father’s dominant embrace. And he yelps softly in fear that there will ever come a time when he does not crave this as much as he does at this moment.

He whispers, so no one else may hear. "Always." Gently he lowers him to the floor, carefully his fur releases him, and he pulls himself from that tight embrace. "Stay," he growls, in his chest as he rises to his feet, his fur switching behind him as he gazes around the room, his cock still half hard, not bothering to tuck it into his clothing. "Will anyone here challenge this Lord Tai's dominance? His power? His self?" There is nothing, until the more astute youkai kneel in supplication, followed by their slower human counterparts. His boy lies on the floor, panting and sweating from the taking. He nods. Tucks his cock into his bloused trousers. Speaks. "Sesshoumaru, you will take yourself to my office and wait for me. Now."

“Yes, Pa—my Lord Father.” Attempting some of the magnificence of his father’s swagger, he manages only to rise to his feet without stumbling. He pauses for a brief second, bows to his father and all in the room (though he does not meet their gazes), decides that his father’s request did not include stopping to pick up his garments, and pads silently from the room as his fur wraps itself softly around him and his ass burns. That he can walk at all seems more than a miracle, and he hopes he does not look as bow-legged as he feels.

Tai does not watch Sesshoumaru leave, and he conducts the rest of the business for the day with the semen on the floor, as well as his son's discarded clothing. Since he acts as if they are not there, so does everyone else. When he finishes, and his assistants dismiss everyone at his nod, he collects the boy's clothing, and retires to his office.

Sesshoumaru is curled in a chair by the fireplace, golden eyes reflecting the flames there. He is still bare but for his fur, his hair tousled, his gaze tense. As the door opens and his father appears, Sesshoumaru falls instantly to his knees facing him, wincing at the pain that had only just become a dull throbbing, and presses his face to his hands on the floor.

He sets the clothes down on a nearby table, and pads over to his child, lifting him up in his arms and settling down in the chair by the fire. His fur wraps around the pup and he holds him. He is silent for long minutes, stroking Sesshoumaru's beautiful hair, before he reaches in his obi and produces the shell comb, holding it to the child's hand.

A small “Oh” emerges from the shocked pup’s throat. His father is holding him as he did when he was so much smaller. And he still feels so incredibly tiny in those strong arms. He cannot remember the last time his father touched his hair this way. Why? He takes the comb, not quite knowing what to do with it. And he must ask, “Why, Papa?”

He does not answer at first. When he does, he turns the boy's head, gently to face him. "Because one day you will be Lord of the West, my son." How to explain so the child will understand? Is it even important for the boy to understand the why's? Perhaps. "Because you are my most important person." His voice is grave. "Because I love you, and because I love you, I owe it to you to do everything in my power to help you grow to be the best Alpha...the best leader and lord you may be."

Sesshoumaru nods, an overtired child’s head bobbing. “Yes, Father, I understand.” He almost does. “But Papa: why do you hold me now, when I…let myself…when I…did not control myself as I should have. I was not good for you the way I should have been. And yet you hold me, you pet me, as if I were.”

"Why do you think you were not good for me in the way you should have been, son?"

He does not know where to begin, nor why his father asks such a question. The details of his sins rush forth: “I apologized badly. I did not hold still. I spoke without permission.” He pauses, his voice becomes a whisper. “I…released…” He buries his face in his father’s chest and rubs his nose there, as if hiding will relieve his mortification.

He considers this as he strokes his child's hair. "It is true, you did not apologize the way you might have. But that you recognize this, and feel some remorse pleases me. You spoke without permission, but you asked a necessary question, and you did it in a manner that was acceptable. You did not hold still, but I could tell you struggled. You tried. The attempt was genuine, and you have come a very long way since your first time. And...the situation was new for you, something you did not expect. You did well. Of those three things, I fault only your apology. As for your release...well my son...that was a first, was it not?" His eyes smile at his precious child though his mouth does not.

His peeks out from the softly clothed chest of his Papa to see his eyes look down on him with love. He blinks. Still so much a child, he is excited by the idea that perhaps his stolen climax was somehow nonetheless a good thing, a new way of being good for his father. He bites his lower lip and thinks. It is hard to think, though, because his body hurts and his Papa smells like safety and warmth and the kind of dominance that lulls him to sleep when he is permitted to remain in his chambers at night. “I will try hard to behave, Father,” he says, as if this responds to anything in a sensible way. He shifts a little in Papa’s arms and presses his nose again into his chest. Oh, let him stay here awhile…just until he is rested…so he can really tell Papa how sorry he is like a grown boy…just a little rest and he will…

"Shhh...I know you will, baby." He cradles him until he feels his breathing even out, and the child goes limp in his arms. Still, for a long time, he remains, holding his son and watching the fire. He thinks about the first time his father did this to him, and the pain and confusion he felt, the humiliation. There would be no escaping that in the future for his boy...but now...just now let him know that his Papa loves him. Let him remember this when they fight...truly fight for dominance. When Sesshoumaru is called upon to take his father's dominance with not a word or gesture to show that it affects him in the slightest. He rises smoothly and carries his sleeping child to his own chambers, and for the rest of the night, he allows himself to not think of the future, to only think of now, and of the warm little body he loves so well in his arms.