Relations

Title: Relations
Author: Talon
Rating: Adult+++
Characters: Mir/San…oh come on…you don’t think I’d write JUST Mir/San…do you?
Genre: post-canon angsty waffy smut factory
Word Count: 990
Summary: Love is a many splendored thing…and family is vastly complicated.
Warnings: Consider yourself warned. If you know my fic, you won’t be traumatized. If you don’t…well…trauma builds character.

Authors Note: Happy Birthday Oniisama

Written for and First Place Winner at LJ's IYhedonism Community for Week 40's prompt: Hate to Love You.


My wife sleeps deeply beside me, aided not only by the sutra that eases her rest and discomfort from the two growing babies in her belly, but tremendous orgasm I gave her just an hour ago.

Sango has grown unwieldy enough that actual sex is uncomfortable for her, however she craves it constantly. That offers me no real difficulties…my beloved Sango is delicious and her pregnancy has given a flavor to her that is even more enticing than before she carried my progeny...if that is at all possible.

She worried, when it first became clear that we would not be able to fuck, not comfortably in any position about my own release and I was quick to comfort her. If she would give me her blessing, than I was more than happy to take care of matters myself. She was relieved, then worried, then aroused. Occasionally I will stroke myself off onto her at her request, but mostly if I pleasure myself, I spill my seed into the dirt.


I love my wife. I love my brother-in-law who I am raising as my own child and brother. I am happier than any man deserves to be with her. She is carrying not one, but two of my offspring and at least one of them has a strong, spiritual aura I can detect already. Perhaps the other is destined to be a slayer. Either way Naraku is dead, my curse is no longer a curse and my life is beautiful and rich.


And yet…I cannot stop. And I hate that. I should have control over myself. But I do not.


Earlier today, through sheer carelessness Kohaku broke the large machete we use for splitting the big bamboo that we are using to build onto our house. It will be very expensive to replace. I hated to do it…but I had no choice and Kohaku well knew it. Sango under normal circumstances would not have protested the punishment, but being pregnant, and given what Kohaku has been through in his past she begged me to not punish him.

Kohaku took the whipping that I gave him well. I took him where Sango could not hear his screams, and forbade her to put salve on his bruised welts. He needs to think on his transgression, and tomorrow I will allow the healing salve.


Tonight I run my hands over the welts and hear his whimper. I stroke his face and shush him. I can’t help myself and I hate it. I hate that I can’t stop this. I hate…that I love him so.


Some nights it is the same. Other nights…just like with Sango. And just like with Sango, he is so beautiful. His skin is so warm and soft and I kiss him even as I make him cry out softly with my hands on the marks I gave him. Tonight he takes me back to my days as a novitiate …welts from my own punishments and the warmth and touch of the monk above me and the cries of my own pain and pleasure. Back to the touch even before then; to the remembrance of the touches of my own father.


“Spread your legs for me, beautiful boy bitch,” I murmur to him. He is not hard tonight, but he will be before we are done. My eyes adjust easily to the darkness and I push his legs back to expose his entrance.


I’m far too eager to hear his cries to prepare him properly but I will not harm him. I never will. I love him. How can I love him so much when I love my wife so? My spit and precum slicked dick pushes into him and his cries turn to sobs, begging me, not to stop…no he doesn’t beg for me to stop…he begs for oil. He won’t get any. Not tonight and my body presses into the abraded flesh and begins to rock and rub. The smell and feel of boy surrounds me as I grind into him, kissing his mouth and stroking his arms to stretch above his head. I taste his tears. I love the taste. I hate that I love it so much.


“How can you be so beautiful?” He can’t answer when he’s being fucked like this, but I can feel him begin to respond…the pleasure in pain. Just as I learned it, I will teach him. In the next room, on our futon, Sango sleeps peacefully as Kohaku’s cock hardens between us and his cries begin to shift from the sobs of pain to breathless whines of pleasure.


When his arms go around my neck to cling to me, and in my ear he calls me “father” and tells me he loves me, begs me never to leave him, my reassurances are sincere. I love you. I say. You are my precious little child.


And he is. And I do.


How I love my wife. How I adore my adopted brother-son.


How I hate that I could not so easily free myself of the curse of my father. Not the curse of Naraku’s making…the kazaana that once controlled my life and destiny I now control. But that was not the only curse my father left me a legacy of.


Oh Father, I think. How I hate you for this. How I hate myself for this weakness.


“’Tou-san, I love you,” Kohaku says, through his moans, and I know the truth of his words.


I hate that I love you like this, is what I want to say. I hate that I cannot be your father and your brother and deny this side of myself. What I instead say echoes my own father’s words. “You are my beloved child,” I murmur as my cock pounds his well-beaten ass, and as my own arms once did, his tighten around my neck as I take my pleasure from his pain.

owari