Sesshoumaru's Slave

Sesshoumaru's Slave
By Talon and Salome (the team that brings you CLAIMING KIN)

Welcome to our new adventure, a pre-canon Feudal era AU tale of a young adult Sesshoumaru who, through his servant Jaken's assistance, discovers the whereabouts of a young black-haired hanyou slave who is suspected of being one of his lord father's bastard offspring. It will go up in chapters and we have already written 40,000+ words. We're thrilled you're here!

Note: In this world, the fluff/fur at Sesshoumaru's shoulder is an appendage related to his inu trueform; it moves on its own and is both strong yet highly sensitive…and always horny. The slave, Sage, too, has such a fur. Slave is not Inuyasha; he's a beautiful little OC we know you'll love.

Art: We commissioned the incomparable Mistiqarts to draw Sesshoumaru and Sage for us for this fic. You can see the gorgeous image here: http://fav.me/d2xh5y5

Warning: This story contains graphic yaoi, inucest, and shota. If you feel guilty, remember that this is entirely fantasy, the characters are not human, hanyou age differently from humans, and no one is harmed in the making of our fantasy world. And Sage is played by a 22-year-old J-pop bishie. Heh.

Disclaimer: Sesshoumaru, Jaken, and SessPapa are property of Rumiko Takahashi, and we thank her for creating them that we might borrow them for our own, non-profit purposes. Sage is property of Talon.

Request: Please review as you read! We really want to know it's going over. Deciding to write with an OC as a primary character is a risky fandom venture--though we write this very much for our own pleasure. Do let us know how we're doing.

I: The Purchase
6900+ words

The rumors have proved true. The slaver (too wealthy for his own ignorant good, Lord Sesshoumaru notes instantly) does carry in tow a young, slender boy who can mask the fire in his eyes no more than his scent: familiar, inu, hanyou. Even in chains and rags he is beautiful. And he has little doubt the golden-eyed stripling with the black ruff at his shoulders is another of his father's bastards. He must remember to kick Jaken a few extra times for giving him this information and sending the slaver to him. And since the little green masochist will be away awhile on family matters for a time, Sesshoumaru will be able to surprise him with his new slave upon his return.

The collar is spelled. And the chain. Just like the rest of the group. They're branded twice, each of them; once for being a bought and sold slave, and a second time to mark troublemakers. His troublemaking these days was generally confined to discouraging bidders, but that was trouble enough.

Hanyou tended to be either entirely worthless to buyers or very valuable. The slave began his life as a valuable oddity, fallen to the worthless part, then the last several seasons has moved back up to being a prized commodity. This slaver was wealthy, but he didn't show it in the treatment of his stock. This wasn't the first time he'd been taken to an important buyer, and he shivers, the tail end of his fur wrapped around his skinny waist, holding it away from the lashes on his back. He had protested the bathing in cold water out in the open, but not so hard that the handler needed such a heavy hand.

Sesshoumaru beckons the slaver away from his stock, where he is boasting of trivialities, wrongly pointing out what he considers most likely to interest the Young Lord of the Western Lands, and admiring what is obviously his brutal handiwork in bruises and lash marks on the bodies of his property. Sesshoumaru does not let his eyes linger too long on any one slave, lest the slaver learn more than he ought. It is not difficult. The man is a fool. The temptation to unleash his poison and end his worthless life makes his fingertips itch. How would the little dark boy like that? How would he look with a smile on his face instead of that mask of poorly hidden resentment? "That one," Sesshoumaru says, pointing a slender finger elegantly and arrogantly in the boy's direction. "How are his teeth?

"Ah, my Lord has an excellent eye. Inuhanyou as you can see, but his pedigree is not so clear cut." He pulls the brat forward and jerks his head back by the shaggy hair to open his mouth. "Well formed; still young enough that he is shedding milk teeth. Quite a bite on him too," the slaver laughs. "He's been returned twice this season alone because the owners thought they could handle him without spells or proper equipment. He's well trained but needs a firm hand, this one."

The slave does his best to pretend he isn't there. That the slaver's filthy fingers weren't in his mouth. The hand in his hair hardly bothered him; he was used to it. He didn't feel like trying his luck...sometimes it didn't take much for the slaver to be encouraged to show his mastery over his slaves.

Sesshoumaru fights back response. The desire to have that slaver's hands off the dark boy is intense, visceral. Well. It won't be for much longer. "You would say my eye was excellent no matter which creature I inquired about. And nothing you possess is worthy of even a moment's gaze." He waves dismissively, though his heart beats a little faster as he surreptitiously watches the fur twitch at the boy's waist.

"My Lord's exceptional taste is well known," the slaver replies smoothly with long experience in oiling over squeaky problems and soothing nobility, not to mention recognizing when a customer is interested and when one is not. Lord Sesshoumaru is harder to read than most, so he is cautious. "I apologize, if I have nothing worthy to offer you, my Lord. Still, while they may not be worthy, many of them are young, strong…and attractive."

The slave closes his mouth and turns his head down and away. Ugh. But he doesn't quite dare to spit. Doki—his pet name for his fur that has more of a mind of his own than it should--twitches slightly with the effort, but he is well practiced in staying still, even under a customer's gaze. He knows quite well if he fails to interest this customer the slaver may well take the loss of sale out on him. Still, he's not sure what this particular dog would want with the slaves in the same group he is in.

Sesshoumaru's expression does not change, but he makes a small sound--perhaps annoyance, perhaps mild amusement. "You may leave the inuhanyou, should you wish to offer tribute to the young Lord of the Western Lands, that he might recommend your trade to others, despite your questionable treatment of these wretches. I would recommend you stop beating them --or at least stop rendering them less attractive through obvious signs of beating." He turns his eyes to the others with the boy. None have half his attraction, his spirit, his promise.

The slaver falters slightly. The boy, despite his trouble, is a money maker. He makes a good earning for just renting him out, and as for his returns, he is careful with the contracts. He hasn't had to refund money in quite awhile. "But my Lord...his price alone...I..." Does he wish to make an enemy of the young Lord of the Western Lands by insisting on payment?

Sesshoumaru holds up a hand. He wants neither the scent of this slaver's weakness nor the sight and sound of him. "Let us agree that the boy is mine, shall we? Then I shall be generous and take counsel on the subject of your proper payment." He pauses, steady, dominant gaze upon the slaver.

"I...he..." No, he does not wish to court trouble. The Kingdom of the West is powerful and it's influence far reaching. He unhooks the hanyou's chain from the line and draws him out, handing the chain end to the young Lord. "Your slave, my Lord Sesshoumaru," he says with as much humility as he can muster in tone and bow.

The slave follows the lead automatically, but he's still surprised. Usually bargaining for his price or contract took much longer than this...and no payment? Was he back to being worthless in sale? He does his best to hide his confusion. Following orders is good for that. Doing what he's supposed to do. Up close the customer smelled sweet. But not sweet like fruit--thick, syrupy sweetness that warned even as it enticed.

Sesshoumaru accepts the bow, disingenuous as it is in some ways, and the chain, which he holds lightly in his hand, then lets drop to the floor in a gesture of dominance: the slave will try nothing. His aura and aroma reinforce it, full and alpha. He loves releasing scent this way. It's intoxicating, not too far from ejaculation. The fool of a slaver cannot hide his feeling that he is being robbed. The young lord wonders if he will ever meet a slaver who is worth more than his slaves. "Has he a name?"

"He will answer to whatever you choose to call him, my Lord," the slaver says, still doing his best to hide his unhappiness at losing one of his biggest money makers. "His given name is an odd, difficult to pronounce foreign word...some sort of herb or the like."

The slave watches the chain links clatter to the floor and remains quite still. There is nowhere to run, even if he could overpower the spells in his collar and the chain.

Sesshoumaru nearly raises an eyebrow. Unpronounceable foreign name? And yet his father's child, he has no doubt whatsoever. How did he end up a slave with an herb's name? He reaches out and tips up the little face, takes in its petite features, the surprisingly smooth, dark skin. "Tell your new master your 'odd' name, slave."

He swallows, his face being turned upwards, but he knows enough to keep his eyes down. And he knows better than to not answer. It's still easy for him to pronounce...he can hear it clearly in his head, a voice from a long time ago. "Sage, Master," he says clearly and without flinching or stumbling over the harsh ending sounds and omitting the general "correcting" of his name's sound.

"Yes, that," the slaver says. "No one can pronounce it properly, so he is usually given a more suitable name."

Sesshoumaru does quirk an eyebrow then, just a hair. "Sage," he says, slowly and perfectly. He caresses the small face, feeling its high cheekbones and pointed chin. It is not an affectionate touch but a curious one. How will it be to own this "Sage"? He breathes in the scent of him. Much abuse, little pride. But no weakness, no apathy.

"Yes, Master," Sage says automatically. The hand is warm and sharp tipped, but not soft like most noble hands. There are roughnesses that he recognizes as sword calluses but also beyond the thick scent he can smell the faintness of balm obviously used to smooth the skin. He's surprised...most cannot pronounce his name even with practice.

The slaver has not yet been dismissed, so he remains and watches the young lord get to know his new possession. The boy knows better than to do anything but be on his best behavior at this point in the deal...at least the way it's supposed to go.

"Tell me, Sage--and with as much directness as you stated your name, for I expect no less--what price beyond my good favor and that of my Lord Father by extension should be given to your former owner for your purchase, if any?" He ponders whether a bath and oil will make that hair less limp. And will so slender a boy be good for more than his attractiveness?

Sage opens his mouth and closes it, hesitating. He's healthy and relatively clean, young and skilled in various ways Masters have uses for slaves. He's in good condition and well broken though not old enough yet to be of breeding age. On the other hand, spells are generally needed to keep him in line for long-term use and they cost good coin. He requires a decent amount of food, but is well acquainted in going without and he is hardy, he doesn't take ill easily. On the other other hand...the slaver has made many times his worth over again and he hates him.

"My Lord's good will and favor would increase the range of his selling base," he says honestly. "He will be able to sell where he could not before due to competition. He usually sells me for several silver pieces, once someone paid an entire gold piece plus some silver for me." Doki tightens around his waist. The spells force him to be honest, which is his habit anyway. "A noble unsure of his station would pay at least seven pieces of silver on top of the gift of good will and favor for me, Master. I do not see that you need pay anything more for me."

The slaver would like to protest, really he would. But he knows better than to react against such an obvious display of power. He grits his teeth at the boy's soft, clear voice and bows. Again.

Sesshoumaru's scent expresses his pleasure where his expression does not. Smart. Articulate. As his father's son should be, even a bastard hanyou slave. But there is magic in it, a spell on the collar. Still, he smells honesty and trusts his nose. "I believe that answer meets our needs, does it not, slaver?" He neither knows nor wants to know this one's name. "You may go." Before he is even out of the room, he beckons Sage forward, closer, and ponders his own eagerness. He is unsure what he wants -- the novelty of a slave that is also his bastard sibling? His father's hard-won attention? More?

Sage doesn't watch the slaver and the other slaves go. He moves closer when it is indicated and kneels without being told. He has an odd, prickling feeling in his fur that happened only one time before, and that was when he was kept for a year and a half by the same person. Did that mean this Lord was a long-term owner?

Sesshoumaru feels his fur strain at his shoulder, wanting to unfurl, to touch. He withholds it, but it is no small effort to do so. Unusual. "Will you attempt escape if I remove your collar? I dislike its charmed weight, its clunkiness, and its excessiveness." He takes the chain again in his hand and weighs it. So heavy, so wrong for this one. His gut tells him and he trusts it, though he does not and cannot trust the boy...not until he sees, hears and smells more of him.

"Not right away, Master," he says before he can stop himself. Well, it's nothing more than the truth. Unless he has an opening right away, it's usually at least a week and usually longer before he attempts escape.

"Have you somewhere you would go if you were free, or is it simply that you do not wish to be a slave?" He fingers beneath the collar, feels the skin, abraded by the metal. So crude, these methods. This one needs a collar of soft leather, black to match his hair, with his royal insignia in gold upon it, to match his eyes. Perhaps black silk wrapped as a fundoshi on those slim hips. Nothing more.

"No, Master. I have nowhere to go. I don't like being sold." He's not entirely sure whether it is because he doesn't wish to be a slave. It has been a long time...a very long time since he was anything except a slave. His original brand is well healed and faded, stretched out with growth, and he rubs his hip without thinking.

Sesshoumaru listens, watches, breathes. "Perhaps this time will be different. Perhaps it already is, if you see it as I do. You had opportunity to name your own price, and you did so, quite articulately. And somehow, Sage"---again said perfectly—"you have been educated. Can you read or write?" So many questions he has, but the boy cannot know why...not yet. Nor, it seems, does he know who he truly is. He thinks a quick thought in hopes that his father's trip across the country will last even longer than planned.

"I cannot read or write," Sage says quietly, his eyes down. He wonders if he should say he learned to speak well by merely paying attention to what got results and what did not in other people's interactions. Doki floofs and settles again and his skin dots with gooseflesh. He only just now notices his new Master's shoulder fur. Like his but entirely UNlike his.

"That is probably for the best. I do not imagine your former owner would have had patience with a literate slave." He leans back in his chair and admires his new possession...and brother. It's good the boy obviously does not know they are siblings. For now, that's how he wishes it. "What tasks do you most enjoy?" His fur cannot be held back much longer, and begins a path to the boy's.

"Whatever I can do alone," he replies. Anything alone is preferable to having to work with someone else. In general, he doesn't slot the serving people and pleasure slave tasks with actual work. He's done enough of both since he can remember and he's found that if he mentions what he's been taught to do to please a master physically it gets him fucked that much faster. Of course, if they bought him for sex or paid the slaver for his services that wasn't exactly the same thing. He takes a step to the side to avoid the coming fur without thinking. Doki shivers again and makes him shiver too. He's never seen another fur even remotely like his before.

"Does that mean you prefer isolation, or time alone with a Master?" Sesshoumaru asks. He has not told and will not tell the boy he has never owned a slave before. Though he is no more hostile to slavery as a concept than his father, he prefers those of higher caste to serve him. Some of his servants are even of noble blood, so admired are the Lord of the Western Lands and his heir. He watches Sage shift to avoid being touched by his fur and ponders both the seemingly involuntary movement as well as the way the boy shivers. He leans in and nearly touches the black fur before him, but his own fur thrashes as he brings his hand forward, and he wonders if it is possible that the appendage is as sensitive as his own.

Sage flushes. There were a few masters who made things good for him, but they were by far the minority. Lots of slaves preferred working in personal service because the work wasn't so labor intensive, but he had always found that the closer he was to a master the closer he was to the whip. "I've always preferred isolation," he says, finally, because the collar won't let him not answer. He flinches, though, hard as Master's hand approaches Doki. It's a mark of nearly a lifetime of conditioning that he only flinches but does not move from his knees or the spot where he is kneeling on the floor, unlike the unconscious movement away from Master's fur.

Such a complex combination of reactions. Separating the words from the aroma, the tension from apprehension, physical from emotional. This "Sage" is a delightful complication, a compelling curiosity for a boring life. With no real power and no real responsibilities, Sesshoumaru is bored. And a cure seems to be at hand. He lifts and tugs the chain to bring Sage back to his feet before him, then takes a razor claw and severs the weak bolt on the bulky collar. It does not fall off immediately, so he pulls it open then drops it gently to the floor. His fur wraps itself around the boy's leg, around and up, before he notices. But he feels the jolt of electric arousal as soon as it does.

It's easy to follow the tug and he only flinches a little at the collar being removed. But he can't contain his yelp when Master's fur winds around his leg. Without the spells on the collar and chain, it's harder to contain Doki, who unwraps from around his waist and thrashes behind him, very clearly doing his best to not touch the other fur. It's a struggle and he doesn't dare move even a hairsbreadth.

"It won't hurt you," Sesshoumaru says, not knowing what is going on. The boy does not seem glad the collar is gone, and he was not prepared for the reaction. He has a fur of his own -- a dark hanyou variant of the fur he shares with his father -- so he must know there is no danger of being hurt.

"But I might hurt it and and and..." he swallows as Doki floofs again. It's attached to you, is what he doesn't say. He doesn't have permission to touch and what if he did, and what if it is like Doki but what if it isn't and oh Kami he has no frame of reference for this situation! He doesn't know if it is supposed to feel good, if he should enjoy it, or what. He wants very badly to pull away, but he is far too well conditioned for that.

As Sesshoumaru considers how to react, his fur decides for itself, unwrapping and settling at his own feet. He and his father often make jokes about their fur, an appendage with a mind of its own, but there is something else happening here: his fur and the boy's, reacting to one another, and not with the comfort of his fur and his father's. Somehow, Sesshoumaru has no doubt the boy would not hurt his fur, nor would he hurt the boy's. But Sage does not seem to know it himself. He could reach out and touch the little black patch on Sage's shoulder, but he refrains. Just thinking of it makes his fur retract. A sudden thought that others may have groped and abused the boy's fur makes him cringe inside. Slave he may be, but the thought is terrible. "Have others touched your fur, Sage? Been rough with it?" Just asking the question brings a hint of nausea he must fight down.

"Yes, Master," he says, ducking his head so he can hide his face behind his hair. He relaxes a bit as the other fur lets him go, but the shivery feeling keeps creeping up on him. It isn't as though it should be a surprise. He's seen hanyou and youkai slaves with cropped ears, docked tails, marked up faces, castrated...he counts himself lucky no Master or slaver has ever skinned his fur or tried to remove it. If he could think past the unknown situation right at hand he might wonder at all the reactions his body and body parts are having, but there is too much unknown that needs dealing with in the here and now.

Sesshoumaru breathes out audibly, almost a snort, disgusted at the thought of anyone treating a child of his Lord Father so wrongly. But he's also a slave. A bastard. And Sesshoumaru would not endure a brother of equal status, cannot envision tolerating it. Sage is so far from his equal he is unthreatened. Young, cowering there. He is both strange and beautiful, and his. To do with as he wishes. "No one should be rough with so sensitive an appendage," he says, carefully, a hint of protective older brother that he hopes sounds merely like a master protecting his belongings. Too much newness too fast. Perhaps this was not the best of plans after all. "Turn your eyes to mine, Sage," he commands, then, when they rise, he states firmly, "None here will ever hurt your fur." Even the thought of it makes him queasy. It must just be in sympathy for his own fur. "If you do not betray my ownership, I will ensure you will not be wronged." Why such promises to one who has asked for none and perhaps deserves none? But no, he trusts his instincts, Sage's scent. This is right. Or he will make it so.

Sage obeys, sliding his eyes up and over just slightly enough to get Master's gaze. Huh. That isn't as hard as he thinks it ought to be, but then he marks it up to the absence of the collar and spells. His neck itches and irritates in response to that thought as he turns over Master's scent and words in his brain. "Betray" is such a...difficult word. He's pretty sure he understands the meaning, and he knows full well what the discrepancy is between a Master wronged and a slave wronged. Still there is only one proper response to this sort of statement and he well knows it. Carefully he kneels again and bows, Doki finally settling and curling around his feet properly once he's in place in his bow.

Sesshoumaru frowns, then removes the expression from his face. He is becoming better and better at restraining his facial reactions, keeping himself to himself. He does not like the automatic nature of the response. It does not sit well, does not smell right. In a servant, he would insist upon such reaction, demand such obedience and propriety. And Sage does not smell of deceit. Still, there is wrongness in their interaction. Too much has already been said that perhaps should not have been. Or is he worrying for nothing. Worry is unfamiliar and unwelcome in the young lord. What are the rules for a slave who is also your brother and has fur both like and unlike your own, smooth though scarred dark skin, golden eyes, and far too much life as a slave to even answer a question openly. "Have you eaten this day?"

"Yes, Master," he says his face still to his hands to the floor. They were fed before they set out to be shown to the Lord so their bodies would not make any displeasing noises and turn the negations sour. He wonders what he's done wrong. Master neither smells nor sounds pleased with him, though no strike has been forthcoming.

"No one has ever dared touch my fur," Sesshoumaru suddenly growls. More quietly, more in control, he adds, "It must be terrible." His fur reaches out again to circle the small, bowing slave. Sesshoumaru knows well he should not identify with a slave. Less than a servant. Sage's fur neither looks nor smells of royalty, of youkai power. The boy is hanyou. A slave. There is no comparison. It is probably coarse and insensitive compared to his. And yet. Just thinking of it continues to enrage him.

Sage holds his breath, sensing rather than seeing the fur surrounding him. It is terrible, worse than almost any punishment masters or slavers came up with. Almost. More immediate anyway, and more difficult to escape from. He swallows hard and fights to keep silent as the big, white, soft Master's fur rubs along Doki's edge. His fur does not share the same hesitation as the rest of his body at the touching and moves to be touched more.

Sesshoumaru breathes deeply as his fur brushes the boy's. A rush of pleasure. A gift, rushing through him, less intense than a touch with hand or mouth. But sure. And familiar, yet new. Desire as he has experienced it through his fur, but not as he shares it with his father.

Each heartbeat feels like an eternity. How long has it been since he did not know what was expected of him? How to act? How to behave? What to do? Too long for comfort. Is it because they're both inu? He knows well of course he is not a whole dog; his hanyou-ness is very obvious to those with the ability to sense or smell or see such things. He wonders suddenly if this Master has ever owned slaves before then dismisses it. Of course he has. He is nobility. He likely has dozens of slaves on hand. Which means he probably wants Sage for something specific. Maybe he's never fucked a slave before. Or maybe Sage is entirely wrong about this new Master. It is possible; he feels turned upside down.

A hint of trepidation, unsureness. The feel of his fur. "Sage," he commands, needing more. The beauty is, he can have it, whatever he wishes. He lifts the boy into his lap. His chair is ample enough for two. His fur grows bolder, wrapping softly around the slender hanyou, who is surprisingly heavier than he looks. "I would touch your fur with my hands, Sage." It is not asking permission, but it is not truly a master's command either. He is more aggressive with servants than he is being with this one. Is he a fool for his hesitation?

This is more familiar territory. Laps that is. He realizes just how ragged what he's wearing is (little enough that it is) when compared to the silk and hand embroidery he is sitting on. His breathing is a little faster, heading towards panting as the fur wraps around and around him, sliding under cloth and rubbing against skin. He blinks at his own lap, his head and eyes down properly. Well, he belongs to the Lord. If he is going to touch his fur he can hardly stop it. The statement confuses him, but a "Yes, Master," settles it fairly well.

Sesshoumaru enjoys the sound of that agreement to a master's privilege, though it is acquiescence and not desire. He is as gentle as he can ever remember being, with anyone, as he reaches out to touch Sage's shoulder, where fur meets flesh. His fingertips dance, tenderly brush in the direction the fur grows. "So dark and so soft," he murmurs, eyes on the slender pelt. His fur's adventures are bolder yet still tender, gentle. He will want to touch where his fur touches...soon. There is something magnetic about the boy...something beyond the knowledge that this must be his half-brother.

Sage gasps at the touch, first accepting then relaxing without really knowing how he got from one moment to the next. He has never been this relaxed with someone else touching his fur. Ever. Even masters and slavers and other slaves who haven't been rough exactly kept him tensed up with their hands near his fur. He is almost too relaxed to be horrified when his fur, entirely outside of his will wraps around Master's hand.

Sesshoumaru makes a soft, somewhat unfamiliar sound. Low, a rumble that is not a growl and is nearly involuntary. The feel of another's fur, touching him unbidden: only Papa has fur like this. And it is so very different in feel and sight and the reactions it produces. His cock hardens beneath Sage's slender hips, but the desire to fuck is far less strong than the desire to touch. He takes his free hand and strokes down the length of Sage's fur. So gently. So lightly. But it is warm and alive, like his. So alive. "Is it good, slave?" he asks, voice thick and gravelly.

He whimpers. "Yesss...please Master." He tries to make Doki unwrap his end from around Master's hand, but the fur will not obey him. He doesn't think he's going to be beaten for it, but even if he is, there is nothing he can do about it. He feels and smells the hardness under him. Well that answers that.

He pauses. He does not lack sexual experience. He's fucked servants. Taken a lover or two. And of course there is what he shares with Papa. Always Papa. But this? This is different. He tips the boy's head back and looks into those golden eyes. Shall he fuck Sage before he even knows who he is? Is fucking even what Sesshoumaru wants? Whatever this is, he wants it to be real...whatever real might mean between them. Consent, perhaps? Mutual pleasure? Not even necessarily that. His fur covers the boy's cock now. He senses the moment it makes contact. He could not name exactly how it feels, what lets him know. But he knows. What does he want? He brings his own hand up to his lips, rubs his mouth across the fur that will not release him. Again, so warm and soft. He inhales. The smell of inu, yes...less so of Papa, of himself. Other youkai. Could he be wrong?

It...that's never happened before. Fur around his cock. It stiffens obligingly...that's good. Sometimes his body refuses to respond to masters or customers. He is panting now, without qualification, shivering at the touches, Doki's squeezing, his own skin...he looks back into Master's eyes only just now noticing they're yellow like his. Not entirely like his...he doesn't have stripes on his face, at least not anymore. Or rather he can't get them under the collars and spells of collars. He wonders if they'll come back. He feels like he's about to say something but the fur around his cock does...something and it steals whatever it was he was going to say or do. His prick and balls are all covered in Master's fur that is so much larger and fluffier than his own, but warm and strong feeling in the same ways.

Sesshoumaru brushes the fur against his cheek, then reaches down again to touch Sage's face, to brush his own soft fur against his small, angular face. Whatever the connection, it is strong. And sexual desire isn't the half of it. Is it the control, having a slave, having this slave? "Touch me," he says, a command and a need. To be touched by hand as well as fur. He will know more, then. And where the slave touches him will speak, too.

Sage wants more. He wants Master to tell him where to touch, how to touch...please tell me what it is you wish...but his brain is beginning to wrap around the outside edges of figuring out this Master. Just enough so that the question never leaves his throat and his head tips backwards in response to the command. He hesitates, though, in the touching itself, his brain casting up a hundred possible touches and figuring out the probable reactions both simple and complex, rational and instinctive. In the end, the least intrusive, least...he can't think of the right words but the thought of touching Master's hands or face or lap all bring up possible strong negative connotations involving submission, protest and not-knowing-his-place. His fingers are gentle as only one who possesses such an appendage knows how to be.

Sesshoumaru's eyes flicker closed. Yes. There. Exactly that. He shudders: forbidden hand on his fur that no other but his father has caressed so. The forbiddenness, the newness, it rouses him deeply, urges a rush of alpha scent from him like orgasm yet so much more in his control. Their bodies twined by fur, attached by rare and beautiful appendages, Sesshoumaru turns Sage in his arms and devours his little mouth.

He has a moment to take a breath before it's kissed out of him. He flails only a little bit at the quickness and the fierceness of it but doesn't otherwise protest. He shivers at the taste in his mouth and the way his fur is still wrapped around one of Master's hands and Master's fur wrapped around his body and prick and his hands rest on Master's chest...carefully. He's panting harder now, through his nose and even into Master's mouth as he's filled up with tongue that he submits to but doesn't flinch away from.

How easily it all happens. A stranger. In his arms, taking his kiss and the embrace of his fur as if this were an everyday event. But it is not. Not for Sesshoumaru. Nor can it be…not this way…for the little slave. He feels a sudden sharp displeasure at the thought of how many tongues have forced their way inside this small, receptive mouth. How Sage has accepted this as his fate, perhaps even enjoyed it. He breaks the kiss at that. Little slave whore. He looks down at the whore's face. No choices. But he smells of enjoyment...no resistance or resentment. But, of course, he will never know the truth. Not the truth he seeks. And he loathes even that he seeks it. Giving him respite from his master's appetites will no doubt seem an insult to him, he will wonder what he has done wrong. It all sickens him. All of it. But what, then, does he want? Respect? Adulation? Arousal borne of desire a slave cannot rightly know? His breathing comes fast and hard as he gazes at the creature before him, the stranger who is his sibling.

Sage looks up curiously when Master breaks the kiss off. Doki even hesitates, before keeping his soft, warm hold around Master's hand. He knows he's dirty, despite being bathed that morning, and his garments are barely more than rags. He doesn't understand why the kissing has stopped, but the fur remains around him and he gnaws on his bottom lip wondering if he ought to say something...anything…or whether he should accept what Master wishes. Hm. His mouth doesn't taste bad, so that's not likely it either. He was just starting to really enjoy it, too.

Sesshoumaru remains silent for long, still moments, just looking, thinking, unthinking, rethinking, questioning. "Can you even know that this is different?" he asks at last, sounding perhaps more angry than he is. He isn't angry. He feels duped: by Sage, by his own foolishness. Ideas of a fawning brother treated like the lowest servant for his father to see have given way to an adolescent hunger and curiosity. Brother. This is troublingly unique. Can he recover the pleasure in such uniqueness? Will the slave know, notice, care? Apathy and passive yielding -- they disgust Sesshoumaru most in his youthful arrogance.

Sage blinks. "Of course, Master," he says as though there had never been a question in his brain. He hesitates, but there's no collar to restrain him so he continues, his voice soft, though not exactly...quiet. However that works. "It is different." He looks at his hands, resting on Master's chest. "I don't know the right answers. I don't know what to do or what exactly you want of me. You...do not act like other Masters I have known." He hesitates again, but the habit of the truth, the entire truth compels him. "I want to please you," he says, his voice low. "Better than other Masters. But I don't know how."

Sesshoumaru feels a shudder run through him. Not only the words and the tone, but that voice: soft yet strong, neither child nor fully adult. He could not guess how many years divide them. But little else does. "I want you for mine," he responds before he fully feels in control of his mind or his words. He does not feel anything but himself, the heir to the Western Lands, a full-blood youkai of high lineage, proud and determined to have the world belong to him. And yet this small, undemanding slave has him speaking before he knows he is doing so. "I want you to please me." He takes his mouth again, to possess and claim it, to render this slave, his slave, entirely aware of his every desire.

Sage makes a soft sound as his mouth is claimed again, relief pouring through him. He can press against Master now, cling to him and Doki responds by uncoiling and recoiling around Master's fur where he is dwarfed in pure, white fluff and fur. Master wants to possess him, wants to be pleased. Knowing that makes his entire life...not exactly easier but not nearly so worrisome. At least he knows he won't be sold again if and until Master is satisfied, or else comes to the conclusion that Sage cannot please him. Either way it means time and space to hopefully learn.

Sesshoumaru groans, nearly growls, almost overwhelmed by the boy's desire, pouring forth in his hands, mouth, scent, fur. He is unaccustomed to others' desires -- except for Papa's, a desire that surpasses all others. When Sesshoumaru fucks, he pays little attention to the desires of those he fucks. Servants give little; demand little, unless it's about power, which is laughable. This one, though, damn. His cock is so hard, their furs intertwine, little blunted claws dig into his chest. He breaks the kiss just to look at that face again, to see whether the desire is truly there, or just a very skillfully played game. They are both panting as he licks across Sage's mouth and then holds his eyes.

Sage's eyes close briefly as the kiss is taken away and his mouth is licked. Oh that feels very...good. That licking. His eyes open after only a few heartbeats, partially because he can feel Master's gaze on him. Sage watches Master's face, wondering what he is thinking, but knowing Master wants to be pleased by him still has the effect of settling his insecurity. One hand scratches his neck absently, responding to the dirty, marked-up skin from where his collar had been. He hopes there is more. Master's desire...this Master's desire pushes him to his own. Usually it takes a lot more to make him truly interested and wanting fucking or anything to do with it. He's used to being taken long before he's ready, whether he wishes it or not. He wouldn't mind that from this Master, he thinks. He wants so much to please him...and his body is so warm and flushed and his prick is so hard...and Doki...and..."Master?" he queries.

He reaches a hand down, eyes still locked on the boy's face, and feels for the little hard prick. Hard. Very hard. He slits the rags away to bare him. A hard cock can be trained too, he's sure. Yet the scent, and their furs -- kami, their furs. He raises the boy up, hands beneath his arms, and his fur adjusts with a little resistance from Sage's as he brings that cock even with his mouth and inhales. The boy needs far better bathing, and care. From his irritated flesh at his throat to a groin that seems to be free of disease but far from clean, he quickly decides a bath is where he'll claim him. Taking him into his arms--for he is not ready to stop touching him regardless of filth--Sesshoumaru goes to the door of his chambers and opens it a crack. "Prepare a bath for me and my new slave. One servant to assist me. Midori." Yes, Midori.