Home in Body

TITLE: Home in Body
CHAPTER: oneshot
AUTHOR: Ankh Ascendant ( setosgirl0 / neferseti0 )
DATE: 9-23-09
FANDOM: Inuyasha
DISCLAIMER: I don’t own Inuyasha, or make any money from it.
PAIRINGS: Inu no Taisho/Sesshoumaru
TYPE: Introspection/Smut
RATING: X
WARNINGS: incest
OCs: none
BETA: none
WORDS: 3535
SUMMARY: Inu no Taisho welcomes home his wandering son.
NOTES: Written from a list of writing prompts ( http://yaoigirl.com/?p=373 ) - this prompt was “Welcome Home”. Also, point A: dogs can orgasm for fifteen minutes or more, and B: dogs don't have very many sweat glands. Sesshou and InT are written more as dogs in those respects.

* * *

Home in Body


It is a beautiful night outside. The moon has risen above the clouds and paints them in stark whites and blues, with dark gray shadows in their hills and valleys, as many subtle shades as there are stars. The sky above them is deepest black, and those millions of stars such clear points of light that they almost cast shadows themselves.

The air is chill and clean; I take a deep breath of the breeze that sways my hair through the window, and let my armor melt away to feel it better. There is only one thing missing from this scene, and his scent lingers still.

Turning my back to the window and letting the breeze ruffle my fur, I wonder what he is doing down there... My son, in that human world. He has no love for them, but is not as callous as his mother, either; he wouldn't be looking at them as a snack, at least. He's too opinionated, at any rate, and says the taste disagrees with him... The fact is, humans taste like livestock and he prefers game. He's young, and still wild... He might eventually develop a more refined palate.

I set my swords aside, leaning them against the corner, and readjust the tie holding my hair to keep it from coming loose. My son is being a mystery. For now, he's not eating them... But he has been down there, among them, for a while. I think it has been a few days by this point. I have to admit, the castle feels empty without him. The last few centuries, I've become accustomed to him being here. What could be drawing him down there?

I wonder if, like me, he finds himself fascinated by them. I doubt he is old enough or wise enough yet to see the appeal in their gentle hearts, but I know he is growing up. Maybe he is beginning to see something in them. Maybe that is what he feels the need to hide from me.

There is a pause in the breeze, and then it brings me his scent; the scent brings a smile to my lips. He has finally come home.

I run my claws through my hair once more to untangle the knots wrapped in it by the wind and wait for him to come. The moonlight is more than enough to see the room by; it makes the mattress look like the clouds outside, variations of blue and white and gray, throwing subtle shadows on itself.

His scent drifts nearer; he is completely silent, but I can smell it when he enters the room. I don't yet turn around to face him, letting him ask for my acknowledgment if he wants it. Which I know he does. Though he may slip out in the dead of night, he never comes home without telling me he has returned.

His silence stretches out. I watch the bed and the shifting moonshadows, letting him look at me as much as he desires. I can feel his eyes on me; they rarely leave me when he is in my presence.

“Father.” His voice is calm and expressionless as he breaks the silence. That's my son, so very cold...

“Sesshoumaru.” I turn and grace him with a small smile; he should know that he is special, that that is a gift reserved for very few. He doesn't react, but he doesn't have to. I raised him, after all, and I can read the blank set of his face and the loose hang of his shoulders; he is weary, as though he's been running around down there without sleep. Maybe what he hides from me is the fact that he sometimes must indulge his wildness. Silly boy. “You came back.”

“You knew I would.”

“Of course. You always do.”

He dips his head down to acknowledge that without words, and with that gesture he looks young and, dare I say, adorable. I don't think he realizes he's capable of looking cute, and oh how he would growl at me for saying it... Maybe it is only my perception. I am old, older than the oldest trees in the forest, and even though he is many times the age of any of the humans below, he screams of youth and liveliness and wildness, things I have lost and grown out of. I will probably still see cuteness in him when he is approaching my age and I am as old as a mountain. I hope he never loses that.

Through no plan of mine, I reach out toward him; my fingers brush his jaw, and I feel a quick flutter of pulse in his throat, so near beyond my claws. I know he knows I won't hurt him, but his instincts tell him otherwise.

“Did you amuse yourself down there?” His face is still turned down, so I nudge his chin up, letting my fingertips caress his silky skin. It glows in the moonlight, reflecting it so that he seems to have an inner light, turning the moon on his forehead into an indigo void that swallows what light is unfortunate enough to fall on it.

He meets my eyes readily enough. I can't see that they are gold in this light, any more than I can see the rose color of his stripes; they all look gray to me now. “I wasn't there to amuse myself.”

“Then why were you there?”

His silver-gold eyes continue to look at me a moment, then slide away. There is something about seeing uncertainty in him, more of that youth, a sign that he has room left to grow, that is so appealing... I can't truly say why, but any sign of something even close to weakness from him makes me want to keep him. His averted eyes, in the glow of the moonlight... he looks delicate and beautiful, and the more so because he doesn't know it.

I study his face, and the way he doesn't want to look at me. What would he want to hide from me so much? Something he thinks I don't want to hear. Maybe something he thinks will anger me.

“Were you looking for your mother?”

He blinks just faster than normal, and looks at me again, surprised. I have to smile a little again. “You used to do that when you were very young,” I say to his unasked question. He wouldn't actually come out and ask me how I knew, after all; his pride is too much for that. “For years after she left you with me. You would terrorize the countryside every so often, searching...”

He glances away again, embarrassed this time by talk of his undignified childhood. I wonder if he would be blushing, if we had the light to see it... I doubt it, but it is an interesting thought.

I watch him for a long moment, letting the silence settle in the moonlight. My fingers are still on his chin, my thumb stroking his jaw lightly, and he is subtly leaning into the touch. He does like to be petted, this untamed boy of mine.

I lean forward and lightly lick the moon on his forehead. He sighs and closes his eyes. That is a trick I learned in courting his mother many centuries ago... If he were a touch shorter and had his hair pulled back, he could almost be her. He takes after her so much, and though he looks a lot like her, not only in body. She is every bit as cold and wild as he, but she hides it behind a mask of shallow emotion, playing at having depth and civility. She is not as young as he, old enough to be jaded. When I knew her centuries ago, she appealed to me the way he does, but she had already lost her youth and her potential... I didn't realize it until I saw him, though. The difference there is night and day. She is an impersonator, a childish old woman who refuses to grow in a young body, while he is and always has been genuine.

Her coldness is stagnation and distance, the cold of the air here above the clouds, never warming, never growing. His coldness is the chill of winter coming to spring, thawing imperceptibly but inevitably, ready to burst into blossoms of passion and emotion.

She gave me a son, and I could ask nothing more of her, but I have no more use for her, pale imitation that she is. I wonder if he senses that, but misinterprets that as hate for her...

“If you wish to find her, I won't stop you.”

“It doesn't matter,” he murmurs, with his head tilted forward on my hand. I lift my fingers to run along the stripes on his cheek, then trail them through his loose hair. It is as soft as his skin and the light reflecting off of it.

I don't know if he means he won't look for her anymore or he doesn't think he'll find her, or if he plans to look without my permission. It's not really all that important; he knows that he has it, whether he wants it or not. Though not for a moment do I believe he doesn't care what I think. Everything I know of him... That isn't possible.

My tongue tastes his moon again, and he sighs and leans into me, allowing me to draw my fingers through his hair once more. I gently tilt his head back and touch his lips with my claw, tracing the soft curve of them. His eyes are closed; I can see the color on his eyelids as a different shade of gray in this light. Warm breath passes my fingers, then his tongue parts his lips and touches my thumb, so gently I might not have known if I weren't watching.

He is irresistible. I don't try.

I cup his face and kiss him, slowly licking the soft lips, absorbing the taste of him. He parts his lips for me, and I take the invitation with a small thrill. He is not often even that expressive. Maybe he missed me as I missed him...

My fingertips brush his hair as I explore his mouth, though I know it well. The touch of his sharp teeth, these long fangs that could so easily pierce my tongue. The soft tongue that presses against mine. All such familiar territory, but a place I would I could never leave.

Cloth melts back into my skin, to feel him closer to me, but his mind hasn't caught up to that yet. His young body is still hidden within his layers of imagined clothing, silk that is no more real than the shadows cast by the moonlight. It is beautiful and soft, and it is him, but it is not the part of him I wish to feel.

I do not want his illusions, I want to reality which belongs so much to me.

“Your clothes,” I murmur to him, caressing both cheeks with my thumbs, then lick his lips again. He looks dazed, and has to blink at me once before he can focus on them. His kimono melts away against my chest, leaving skin and fur on skin and fur. I can't resist letting my hands slide down the sides of his neck and begin wandering over his skin. I can almost feel the glow of the moonlight, it is so soft.

A noise escapes him, and then he's leaning into me; his touch is like a warm cloud, so delicate it's almost not there. I pull him close, relishing the feel of that youthful skin against my body and the swell of his burgeoning arousal against mine. He echoes the motion, his hands sliding up my arms and then around me beneath my fur to grasp my shoulders and pull himself to me, and he finds my mouth.

His kiss a such a contrast to his body; his touches are delicate even when they are wanting, but his kiss is fire, a bottomless well of his passion pouring into mine, burning with desire and need and that undefinable spark of life.

His kiss makes me feel young again. I would it could never end... I could drink his passion for eternity and never be satisfied.

Without breaking away from his kiss, I sink into the mattress, my hands on his hips steering him down into my lap. He easily takes his knees around me and molds himself so that we fit so perfectly together.

I let my hand wander down his back and toward his entrance, but he grabs my wrist and pushes it away, suddenly redoubling his kiss and raising himself up. Too impatient, my son, he doesn't want to wait, even to spare himself pain.

But I indulge him, because impatience and pain are both part of the life I see in him. I run my claws through the fur pooling around us and control myself, to remain still, pulling from his heated kiss to allow him to breathe; I nuzzle his throat, tilting his head back to taste above his fluttering pulse.

His hand wraps around my expanding member without looking - his touch is surprisingly gentle, given his eagerness, and completely erotic. My teeth run over his throat, urging him on.

A quiet, almost inaudible gasp as he directs me to his entrance makes me pull back, so that I can watch his face with the taste of his skin on my tongue. I don't know which I appreciate more - the wonderful heat and pressure that is him pushing himself slowly down on me, or the open look of concentration on his face as he does it. The combination is divine.

Wordlessly, he presses himself down, not pausing long enough to let himself adjust. I admire both his dedication and the flickers of discomfort that show on his face. I admire that he can let his cold mask slip that much... I admire how it compliments the innocence he pretends he doesn't have. One touch of pain accents the all beauty innate in him.

His buttocks touch my legs, but our joining is still incomplete - the knot of flesh at the base of my member is growing, but wanting, yearning to be inside of him. I put my hand on his back and guide him down, but he moves up instead, pulling himself almost off of me again. The muscles flex in his legs against mine, and I touch them instead, letting him do as he will.

His eyes are closed in concentration - I can hear his breathing, he makes no effort to control it. It catches as he pushes himself down again. He is pressed against the knot, and my hips twitch up toward him, but he is still too tight.

I press against him, and he presses against me. So close. His skin is delicious as I taste it, tugging him close again.

“Take it,” I urge in a whisper, and lick the outside of his ear, nipping at the point. He makes a noise and pushes himself down again; pressing against me. He seems too tight to take the knot, but I know he's not... He can, he has, and he will.

He forces himself down, straining a moment, then the ring of muscle gives way and I am pulled inside him to my base. His muscles spasm wildly against the intruder, but I only tighten my arm around him and admire his face, breathing in his scent and controlling myself a moment longer. He makes no noise this time, but as I watch him I am treated to an exquisite expression of mixed pain and ecstasy on his face. Beautiful...

I kiss him again, because he is so hard to resist and I am hungry for that passion within him, and he kisses back with all of that passion. I find his hands on my shoulders, squeezing tightly. I have no idea how this feels to him, but to me it is heaven, to be joined with him, locked into his supple body. I would like to savor it. I could control myself for some time yet, to admire him and the feelings he gives me, but I can savor it later... I'll have pity on him now. It's clear how much he wants me, and, to be honest, I have never been able to deny him.

I let my hips twitch toward him, instinct though my member has nowhere to go and continues to grow on its own within him, and in one moment of glorious freedom I let go my control let the endless pleasure of my release begin. His body shakes as he begins to receive the seed that he has wanted and waited for, and he presses against me with a tremor.

He makes a quiet noise and then pulls away from the kiss, leaning his head into my shoulder with a gasp. I pull him close to my chest, and wrap my hand tightly around his stiff and wanting organ, squeezing to trick it into thinking that he too is buried inside some willing perfect body like his own. And with another quiet noise, pressing to me like he wants to be a part of me, he too begins to climax.

For a long time there is nothing but perfection, losing myself in him and making him part of me.

I am not sure when we go from sitting to reclining, but when my mind has cleared enough to notice I am partially propped up by my fur and partially covered by his, and his silky hair has become a cover for us both. Though I am panting to cool myself and beginning to recover, he is still wracked with tremors, pressing himself into me with tiny noises he does not know he is making, still emptying seed into the nonexistent space between us. He has buried his face in my shoulder and clings to me, and he is both sexy and absolutely adorable; to see him and know that he is mine makes my heart swell.

We are locked together still, and will be for a good time yet if I have any control over it... which to an extent I do. Now is my time to savor him, when he is still so innocently free of his mind, trapped in his climax. I stroke his hair and hold him to me, listening to breathless, almost whining sounds of pleasure that only barely reach my ear. He fits my lap and my arms so perfectly, and his body so perfectly hugs my knot, as though he is made for this place.

He will always fill this spot, if I have my way. I do not think I will want another.

The subtle, erratic motions of his body are so very enticing, and the scent of him is an arousal by itself. If I could let it build and come again, we could pass the rest of the night this way... Ah, but I am not that young. Maybe centuries ago we could have spent a week in bed without pausing to eat, but now my pleasure comes in quality, not quantity, and I find the pleasures of the eye more meaningful than I once thought. This beautiful creature I have spawned and shaped is the most pleasing thing of all.

He is younger and more virile than I am, and his climax lasts for several very long minutes longer than mine, but finally his body relaxes and he simply leans against me, panting. His skin is hot, almost feverish, even his back as I slowly stroke it. It is a beautiful moment, my son so relaxed in the silence and moonlight.

A small nuzzle against my neck alerts me that he has found his mind against, and I run my claws through his hair. A surreptitious breath, a quiet inhaling of my scent, makes me smile, and my arm not petting his body wraps lightly around his waist, holding him in this comfortable scene.

"You are beautiful," I murmur, and press my nose against his cheek briefly. A kiss finds his ear.

His voice is not even a whisper. If it were not in my ear I would never know it existed. "So are you..."

I smile again and squeeze him briefly, then lift my eyes to the ceiling, relaxing with him. This... not this room, or this castle, or this place above the clouds, but this position, this body, this moment... this is home. My home, and his...

"I'll never let you go," I promise. This perfection... it must last forever. In our race, it can, and I would be so remiss to let it escape.

"I know," he breathes, and then buries his face in my neck again.

I only smile and stroke his hair, tugging his fur around us so that we will be comfortable in our sleep.

~end~