Used
folder
InuYasha › Yaoi - Male/Male › Sesshōmaru/Miroku
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,061
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
InuYasha › Yaoi - Male/Male › Sesshōmaru/Miroku
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,061
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.
Used
A/N: This was written as the second out of ten to Kaira as part of my free oneshots. She asked for angsty Sess/Miro. She loved this.
Warnings: rape, violence, Miroku being abused, angst
Used
He knew the taiyoukai was only using his body.
There was nothing gentle, sweet, caring or even emotional in their joining. It wasn't intimate. No sweet words and kisses to his face, caresses and moans of pleasure, none of it.
Nor was it gentle.
It was just for release. Harsh, meaningless and painful. The only moans those of pain, claws slashing at his skin, tearing, teeth sunk into his flesh to mark him as property.
A quick easy fuck to slate lust. A way to taunt his half brother. A way to say: look what I can do and you can't stop me.
A way to be used.
That's what Miroku was.
Sesshoumaru came and snatched him away again, right in the middle of a conversation with his friends. So swift it took a moment to realize it was happening again. He heard his friends cries echoing after him before the nightmare began.
There was such pain, always such pain. Had he had the chance to retaliate, his hands bound as always, he'd have fought back. He loved pleasure, was sensuous, loving the delights a body could offer, but not this, never this.
To be taken fry, fucked raw onto the forest floor, ground against it until his body bled. Inside and out.
A hard pain stabbing through his back and up his spine, his insides raked raw and bleeding.
He never cried any more, during. It was of no use. Redundant as was any emotion other than total submission during the sex. And Sesshoumaru's iron willed control of him.
And besides, the other would not heed.
Taken repeatedly, on the forest floor, against a tree, broken, his body was demeaned and spirit torn to shreds.
And dumped back to his friends, broken and bleeding. To be mended as best as they could. But never fully. He was past that point. A nearly empty shell of a man.
There was always a second before he was scooped up on those strong arms and taken away, before his hands were bound when he could have acted. Could have prevented himself of going through the pain again. The living nightmare.
He never did.
Because he loved him.
Warnings: rape, violence, Miroku being abused, angst
Used
He knew the taiyoukai was only using his body.
There was nothing gentle, sweet, caring or even emotional in their joining. It wasn't intimate. No sweet words and kisses to his face, caresses and moans of pleasure, none of it.
Nor was it gentle.
It was just for release. Harsh, meaningless and painful. The only moans those of pain, claws slashing at his skin, tearing, teeth sunk into his flesh to mark him as property.
A quick easy fuck to slate lust. A way to taunt his half brother. A way to say: look what I can do and you can't stop me.
A way to be used.
That's what Miroku was.
Sesshoumaru came and snatched him away again, right in the middle of a conversation with his friends. So swift it took a moment to realize it was happening again. He heard his friends cries echoing after him before the nightmare began.
There was such pain, always such pain. Had he had the chance to retaliate, his hands bound as always, he'd have fought back. He loved pleasure, was sensuous, loving the delights a body could offer, but not this, never this.
To be taken fry, fucked raw onto the forest floor, ground against it until his body bled. Inside and out.
A hard pain stabbing through his back and up his spine, his insides raked raw and bleeding.
He never cried any more, during. It was of no use. Redundant as was any emotion other than total submission during the sex. And Sesshoumaru's iron willed control of him.
And besides, the other would not heed.
Taken repeatedly, on the forest floor, against a tree, broken, his body was demeaned and spirit torn to shreds.
And dumped back to his friends, broken and bleeding. To be mended as best as they could. But never fully. He was past that point. A nearly empty shell of a man.
There was always a second before he was scooped up on those strong arms and taken away, before his hands were bound when he could have acted. Could have prevented himself of going through the pain again. The living nightmare.
He never did.
Because he loved him.