Half My Heart | Teardrop
Half My Heart
Chapter One: Teardrop
Inuyasha; Sesshoumaru/Inuyasha.
R for sexualized relationship between half-brothers (pre-slash, will be slash later), M/M spanking
The whole fic is for the lovely izzanami: I hope I got this right. Notes on what you like or don't like would be a godsend, as I can expand and change things as I write the next chapter. ;)
This is very probably an AU, although there's not enough known about Inuyasha's early life or the time of their father's death to require it to be one, at least for this chapter. Inuyasha's physical age doesn't change over centuries, so I imagine he looks only slightly younger, although this happened a long, long time ago. Despite Sesshoumaru calling him a 'boy,' there is no intention of shota/chan.
A deluge of rain from earlier that day had drenched the earth of the garden. Trees still dripped crystalline tears; the koi pond was swollen and stirred up with gilded silt. The chrysanthemums, heavy from that shower, bent like bowing maidens where they had not fallen to muddy their fragile cheeks against the earth.
They reminded him of her. She was still in the house, this palace built for her, this palace that had constantly reminded of her presence for decades that should have been an eyeblink but instead were an eternity. His own shame, and that of his mother, worn here upon the mountaintop like a jewel. A human house for a human...
Sesshoumaru's hand clenched at his side, his own claws biting into the skin of his palm.
Wife.
She was, no doubt, weeping still. It would suit her, tears. The shallow and useless feminine answer to a grief no doubt less profound than his own. A grief without echoing anger, and emptiness, and the old sting of betrayal. A grief that his father had died before any of these hurts could be addressed, any of these wrongs made right.
Sesshoumaru had no tears. The trees, the bowing chrysanthemums, and the frail plaything his father had somehow managed to fall in love with would have to cry for him.
Then, as always, on the tail of thoughts of her, there was the sudden thought of him.
Inuyasha. He would be crying as well, no doubt. Hot harsh tears of youth and flooded emotion, filial love... his grief would lack the edge his mother's undoubtedly held: the fear of what was to become of them.
In one instant, with teeth and claws unleashed, Sesshoumaru could paint this shameful jewel of his father's affections with their dirty blood. He could end those years of humiliation and plunge the profoundness of his grief into the stillness of death.
It would be far better for both of them, after all, to die with his father.
"Sesshoumaru-sama!"
Of course, he was not be to be granted even a moment with his own thoughts. There was always some old servant crowing at him. Here there were two voices, calling almost together. Jaken, who had always been with him, and Myoga, whom his father had tolerated perhaps out of amusement. Sesshoumaru could not imagine it otherwise.
Myouga it was that spoke, though Jaken glared as if he had wished to be the one to say it. "Your father has left you a will."
"I will hear it," Sesshoumaru said. The knuckles of his loosening fist brushed a chrysanthemum's wet petals as he turned.
*
His mood had considerably darkened by the time she came to him, and he watched with frozen dispassion as she prostrated herself, forehead to the floor. She was not well; he could smell sickness on her easily, and did not think she had long to live even if he did not tear out her slender throat. She had always shown him courtesy, but now she rightly groveled, though it did not ease his irritation to see it.
He would have been more impressed by a show of pride in her own house.
But of course she was concerned for her son. Please, she was begging, let him live.
Care for him, was what the will had requested. Care for them in my place, as I have loved them, if you bear me any more affection. Fury threatened to overwhelm him. He was expected to abide by that signed piece of garbage? Protect this human bitch and her halfbreed spawn from those among his father's servants and loyal followers who would seek to expunge their blot?
This, while preserving the great heirloom of his father's power, Tetsusaiga, which could kill one hundred demons with one swing, for Inuyasha, while he himself in some final twisted joke had been left the blade of healing, Tenseiga, which was useless to him.
What madness had seized his father's brain when he penned that will? What doddering moment of incompetence had gripped him, that he would believe Sesshoumaru would stand by and be humiliated, when the Daiyoukai's shadow no longer fell over him? What power did he think his words yet possessed, as his body moldered in some hidden tomb?
Sesshoumaru had neither spoken nor moved as the woman before him begged for her son's life. She did not care about her own. He was not surprised. She likely knew how little time she had, and knew that even if Sesshoumaru chose to let her live, she would not protect Inuyasha long.
She had now grown silent, waiting, as his amber gaze lay on her without interest.
"Summon him," he said, finally.
She rose up a little from the tatami that her forehead had been so intimate with, and bowed again deeply. Her long sleeves trailed silken brush strokes when she moved. "Yes, my lord."
She was wise. He would have been angered had she dared to address him as her son, and his name would be foul in her human mouth. There was yet the implication that this was now his house, and it was not. He would have nothing to do with it. Still, he allowed her to be wise.
Dismissed to the hall, she moved there with perfect submission. From there he heard the murmuring of her melodic voice and the voices of some other servants. There was an edge to it at the last. Sesshoumaru waited.
The door slid open, she kneeling behind it. "My Lord, my son cannot be found. Shall I seek him myself so he may attend your pleasure?"
It was Sesshoumaru's displeasure the brat would attend, but he merely inclined his head. His eyes were slightly narrowed. The boy had been summoned at the reading of the will, hours earlier, and still had not seen fit to answer. That he did not come when his elder brother commanded was something he would regret.
The decision was already half-made, though Sesshoumaru did not know why. Perhaps because his father had been so certain he would make it. Perhaps because he owed the old man something, and this would repay that debt in more than full.
*
Sesshoumaru did not wait much longer than an hour. It was incomprehensible to him that a hanyou brat could elude true youkai, even weak ones, for so long. Had they no sense of smell? The blood of their father was distinctive. Sesshoumaru did not imagine there was any place in the world that Inuyasha could hide from him.
So, rather than sit in state like a human daimyou (disgusting thought), subject to the pathetic abilities of his servants, Sesshoumaru stalked through the grounds, following the fresh traces of his brother's scent as the world expanded around him into a maze of lingering history.
It would have been easier still in his natural form, but the house was not designed to make this form possible - another reason he despised it. Nonetheless, he passed out on to the grounds and through the small orchard, pausing once to note a stolen plum, and then past, to small bridge still hung with festival lanterns.
If it were the moving water that had disrupted the youkai's noses, they were truly pathetic. More likely, Sesshoumaru thought, they were lazy and had not even ventured this far. Even a human's limited sensory awareness would have been able to discern the muffled sniffling from beneath the bridge.
It stopped.
"I sent for you," Sesshoumaru said. He knew Inuyasha was aware of his presence. "Did you not hear?"
Silence. Then, "I heard." Inuyasha's voice was hoarse and sullen.
"Is that so? What a stupid child you are."
Sesshoumaru gazed down at the bridge - painted wood, ornate and yet strong enough to bear the weight of a horse and carriage. He struck it, once, at the side, and flung it up out of the earth it was anchored in, snapping it in the center and sending a piece flipping a good distance away. Splinters rained into the brook beneath and stirred its water to a frenzy.
Inuyasha, wet-haired and wearing only his fundoshi (the carefully woven protective clothes were laid aside to keep them dry), scrambled back, on guard. Sesshoumaru caught him by the hair and pulled him backwards up the bank of the stream.
Inuyasha, proving his stupidity once more, snarled and slashed at him with his claws. He was impossibly naive, telegraphing everything as though his idea of a fighting style was to shout his intentions to his opponents at the top of his lungs. Slow, also, and half-trained.
Sesshoumaru caught his wrist and twisted his arm roughly behind his back, forcing him to a position on his knees and bent at the waist.
"How much patience do you believe this Sesshoumaru-sama has?" he murmured. He could feel Inuyasha straining to break free of his grasp. Futile.
Inuyasha, seeming to realize this, growled, "Let --the fuck-- go of me!"
Where had he learned that? His mother was so unfailingly polite. Perhaps the lesser youkai, though why the brat would want to imitate them, Sesshoumaru could not imagine. Did he believe it made him seem stronger? Well, it made no difference. Crude vulgarities or mealy-mouthed platitudes were all the same in the end. It was only intention and power that mattered.
"I am doing this," Sesshoumaru said evenly, tightening his grasp until he could feel the bones of Inuyasha's wrist grind together beneath his fingers and heard a sharp half-controlled gasp of pain, "only because of the devotion I owe our father's memory. I could tear you and your little-more-than-an-animal mother into tiny pieces and find myself quite satisfied. Instead, I have consented to protect you until you are more than a clumsy child."
Inuyasha began to say something. Sesshoumaru interrupted it with a sharp slap across his bared buttock. Deep pink color bloomed on the fair skin, the form of fingers almost evident in its pattern. Whatever his brother had meant to say changed instantly into a cry, swallowed by gritted teeth.
"However," Sesshoumaru continued, "I will not be further humiliated by your disrespect. Father spoiled you and kept me leashed too long in this regard. You will fear me."
Sesshoumaru struck again, harder. Perhaps the burning on his brother's flushed face was pain, or perhaps it was shame. He was not a toddler, after all, to be punished with the open hand. Nonetheless, there was likely a part of him aware of how lucky he was that Sesshoumaru was being so gentle.
Each harsh spank made Inuyasha's buttocks dance, taut as they were. The red color spread, became hot and constant. Inuyasha's cries were less and less controlled, more helpless and abandoned, as Sesshoumaru blistered his bare skin with hard, considered and strict blows of his palm.
Tears squeezed from Inuyasha's tightly closed eyes and streamed down his face. They reminded Sesshoumaru of the raindrops dripping from the garden trees. This was no longer soothing.
Inuyasha's body shook slightly in his grasp. Sesshoumaru went to one knee and bent his younger brother across it, supporting his now-unresisting weight.
"Apologize," he commanded coldly. "And ask me to stop."
He cupped his hand slightly. At this point, it required very little force to pull a gasping cry or sob from the brat's mouth. He flipped his wrist and gave four fast and syncopated swats at once, then drew the tip of a claw across the place he'd struck, and followed it with six sharp blows, alternating cheeks, with no pause in between them to allow Inuyasha to catch his breath, no pause to guess at a rhythm.
"Stop... please," it seemed grated out of him, pulled. The boy's eyes were still clenched shut but his eyelashes could not stop the tears.
"Why?" Sesshoumaru asked. His voice still sounded level and perfectly calm. Indeed, he felt calmer now, more in control. There was a need there, very carefully hidden, in the body draped across his knee. A need he answered.
His fast, sharp, hard swats did not cease and Inuyasha seemed to lose himself in them, choking on a sob.
Sesshoumaru paused and once again let the tips of his claws brush bruised, heated skin. "Why?" he repeated.
Inuyasha swallowed. He was whimpering softly under his breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Sesshoumaru slapped his buttocks hard, gratified at the real cry it dragged out of him.
"Ah! I'm sorry, Sesshoumaru, I swear it, I won't disrespect you again!"
Sesshoumaru stared at him for a moment, this trembling half-human boy, lean and somewhat pretty, damp silver hair everywhere, cheeks flushed and reddened by two sets of very different tears. Then he released his grip on Inuyasha's wrist, and leaving his brother still kneeling and gathering himself together, Sesshoumaru rose to his feet.
No response was necessary, so none was given.
He waited while Inuyasha got his tears under control. Then the boy got up. Hesitantly, he came close to his elder brother and, his soft ears flat to his head, gently nuzzled his cheek against the edge of Sesshoumaru's jaw.
Sesshoumaru laid his hand on the small of Inuyasha's back and placed his chin over his brother's neck.
Chapter One: Teardrop
Inuyasha; Sesshoumaru/Inuyasha.
R for sexualized relationship between half-brothers (pre-slash, will be slash later), M/M spanking
The whole fic is for the lovely izzanami: I hope I got this right. Notes on what you like or don't like would be a godsend, as I can expand and change things as I write the next chapter. ;)
This is very probably an AU, although there's not enough known about Inuyasha's early life or the time of their father's death to require it to be one, at least for this chapter. Inuyasha's physical age doesn't change over centuries, so I imagine he looks only slightly younger, although this happened a long, long time ago. Despite Sesshoumaru calling him a 'boy,' there is no intention of shota/chan.
A deluge of rain from earlier that day had drenched the earth of the garden. Trees still dripped crystalline tears; the koi pond was swollen and stirred up with gilded silt. The chrysanthemums, heavy from that shower, bent like bowing maidens where they had not fallen to muddy their fragile cheeks against the earth.
They reminded him of her. She was still in the house, this palace built for her, this palace that had constantly reminded of her presence for decades that should have been an eyeblink but instead were an eternity. His own shame, and that of his mother, worn here upon the mountaintop like a jewel. A human house for a human...
Sesshoumaru's hand clenched at his side, his own claws biting into the skin of his palm.
Wife.
She was, no doubt, weeping still. It would suit her, tears. The shallow and useless feminine answer to a grief no doubt less profound than his own. A grief without echoing anger, and emptiness, and the old sting of betrayal. A grief that his father had died before any of these hurts could be addressed, any of these wrongs made right.
Sesshoumaru had no tears. The trees, the bowing chrysanthemums, and the frail plaything his father had somehow managed to fall in love with would have to cry for him.
Then, as always, on the tail of thoughts of her, there was the sudden thought of him.
Inuyasha. He would be crying as well, no doubt. Hot harsh tears of youth and flooded emotion, filial love... his grief would lack the edge his mother's undoubtedly held: the fear of what was to become of them.
In one instant, with teeth and claws unleashed, Sesshoumaru could paint this shameful jewel of his father's affections with their dirty blood. He could end those years of humiliation and plunge the profoundness of his grief into the stillness of death.
It would be far better for both of them, after all, to die with his father.
"Sesshoumaru-sama!"
Of course, he was not be to be granted even a moment with his own thoughts. There was always some old servant crowing at him. Here there were two voices, calling almost together. Jaken, who had always been with him, and Myoga, whom his father had tolerated perhaps out of amusement. Sesshoumaru could not imagine it otherwise.
Myouga it was that spoke, though Jaken glared as if he had wished to be the one to say it. "Your father has left you a will."
"I will hear it," Sesshoumaru said. The knuckles of his loosening fist brushed a chrysanthemum's wet petals as he turned.
*
His mood had considerably darkened by the time she came to him, and he watched with frozen dispassion as she prostrated herself, forehead to the floor. She was not well; he could smell sickness on her easily, and did not think she had long to live even if he did not tear out her slender throat. She had always shown him courtesy, but now she rightly groveled, though it did not ease his irritation to see it.
He would have been more impressed by a show of pride in her own house.
But of course she was concerned for her son. Please, she was begging, let him live.
Care for him, was what the will had requested. Care for them in my place, as I have loved them, if you bear me any more affection. Fury threatened to overwhelm him. He was expected to abide by that signed piece of garbage? Protect this human bitch and her halfbreed spawn from those among his father's servants and loyal followers who would seek to expunge their blot?
This, while preserving the great heirloom of his father's power, Tetsusaiga, which could kill one hundred demons with one swing, for Inuyasha, while he himself in some final twisted joke had been left the blade of healing, Tenseiga, which was useless to him.
What madness had seized his father's brain when he penned that will? What doddering moment of incompetence had gripped him, that he would believe Sesshoumaru would stand by and be humiliated, when the Daiyoukai's shadow no longer fell over him? What power did he think his words yet possessed, as his body moldered in some hidden tomb?
Sesshoumaru had neither spoken nor moved as the woman before him begged for her son's life. She did not care about her own. He was not surprised. She likely knew how little time she had, and knew that even if Sesshoumaru chose to let her live, she would not protect Inuyasha long.
She had now grown silent, waiting, as his amber gaze lay on her without interest.
"Summon him," he said, finally.
She rose up a little from the tatami that her forehead had been so intimate with, and bowed again deeply. Her long sleeves trailed silken brush strokes when she moved. "Yes, my lord."
She was wise. He would have been angered had she dared to address him as her son, and his name would be foul in her human mouth. There was yet the implication that this was now his house, and it was not. He would have nothing to do with it. Still, he allowed her to be wise.
Dismissed to the hall, she moved there with perfect submission. From there he heard the murmuring of her melodic voice and the voices of some other servants. There was an edge to it at the last. Sesshoumaru waited.
The door slid open, she kneeling behind it. "My Lord, my son cannot be found. Shall I seek him myself so he may attend your pleasure?"
It was Sesshoumaru's displeasure the brat would attend, but he merely inclined his head. His eyes were slightly narrowed. The boy had been summoned at the reading of the will, hours earlier, and still had not seen fit to answer. That he did not come when his elder brother commanded was something he would regret.
The decision was already half-made, though Sesshoumaru did not know why. Perhaps because his father had been so certain he would make it. Perhaps because he owed the old man something, and this would repay that debt in more than full.
*
Sesshoumaru did not wait much longer than an hour. It was incomprehensible to him that a hanyou brat could elude true youkai, even weak ones, for so long. Had they no sense of smell? The blood of their father was distinctive. Sesshoumaru did not imagine there was any place in the world that Inuyasha could hide from him.
So, rather than sit in state like a human daimyou (disgusting thought), subject to the pathetic abilities of his servants, Sesshoumaru stalked through the grounds, following the fresh traces of his brother's scent as the world expanded around him into a maze of lingering history.
It would have been easier still in his natural form, but the house was not designed to make this form possible - another reason he despised it. Nonetheless, he passed out on to the grounds and through the small orchard, pausing once to note a stolen plum, and then past, to small bridge still hung with festival lanterns.
If it were the moving water that had disrupted the youkai's noses, they were truly pathetic. More likely, Sesshoumaru thought, they were lazy and had not even ventured this far. Even a human's limited sensory awareness would have been able to discern the muffled sniffling from beneath the bridge.
It stopped.
"I sent for you," Sesshoumaru said. He knew Inuyasha was aware of his presence. "Did you not hear?"
Silence. Then, "I heard." Inuyasha's voice was hoarse and sullen.
"Is that so? What a stupid child you are."
Sesshoumaru gazed down at the bridge - painted wood, ornate and yet strong enough to bear the weight of a horse and carriage. He struck it, once, at the side, and flung it up out of the earth it was anchored in, snapping it in the center and sending a piece flipping a good distance away. Splinters rained into the brook beneath and stirred its water to a frenzy.
Inuyasha, wet-haired and wearing only his fundoshi (the carefully woven protective clothes were laid aside to keep them dry), scrambled back, on guard. Sesshoumaru caught him by the hair and pulled him backwards up the bank of the stream.
Inuyasha, proving his stupidity once more, snarled and slashed at him with his claws. He was impossibly naive, telegraphing everything as though his idea of a fighting style was to shout his intentions to his opponents at the top of his lungs. Slow, also, and half-trained.
Sesshoumaru caught his wrist and twisted his arm roughly behind his back, forcing him to a position on his knees and bent at the waist.
"How much patience do you believe this Sesshoumaru-sama has?" he murmured. He could feel Inuyasha straining to break free of his grasp. Futile.
Inuyasha, seeming to realize this, growled, "Let --the fuck-- go of me!"
Where had he learned that? His mother was so unfailingly polite. Perhaps the lesser youkai, though why the brat would want to imitate them, Sesshoumaru could not imagine. Did he believe it made him seem stronger? Well, it made no difference. Crude vulgarities or mealy-mouthed platitudes were all the same in the end. It was only intention and power that mattered.
"I am doing this," Sesshoumaru said evenly, tightening his grasp until he could feel the bones of Inuyasha's wrist grind together beneath his fingers and heard a sharp half-controlled gasp of pain, "only because of the devotion I owe our father's memory. I could tear you and your little-more-than-an-animal mother into tiny pieces and find myself quite satisfied. Instead, I have consented to protect you until you are more than a clumsy child."
Inuyasha began to say something. Sesshoumaru interrupted it with a sharp slap across his bared buttock. Deep pink color bloomed on the fair skin, the form of fingers almost evident in its pattern. Whatever his brother had meant to say changed instantly into a cry, swallowed by gritted teeth.
"However," Sesshoumaru continued, "I will not be further humiliated by your disrespect. Father spoiled you and kept me leashed too long in this regard. You will fear me."
Sesshoumaru struck again, harder. Perhaps the burning on his brother's flushed face was pain, or perhaps it was shame. He was not a toddler, after all, to be punished with the open hand. Nonetheless, there was likely a part of him aware of how lucky he was that Sesshoumaru was being so gentle.
Each harsh spank made Inuyasha's buttocks dance, taut as they were. The red color spread, became hot and constant. Inuyasha's cries were less and less controlled, more helpless and abandoned, as Sesshoumaru blistered his bare skin with hard, considered and strict blows of his palm.
Tears squeezed from Inuyasha's tightly closed eyes and streamed down his face. They reminded Sesshoumaru of the raindrops dripping from the garden trees. This was no longer soothing.
Inuyasha's body shook slightly in his grasp. Sesshoumaru went to one knee and bent his younger brother across it, supporting his now-unresisting weight.
"Apologize," he commanded coldly. "And ask me to stop."
He cupped his hand slightly. At this point, it required very little force to pull a gasping cry or sob from the brat's mouth. He flipped his wrist and gave four fast and syncopated swats at once, then drew the tip of a claw across the place he'd struck, and followed it with six sharp blows, alternating cheeks, with no pause in between them to allow Inuyasha to catch his breath, no pause to guess at a rhythm.
"Stop... please," it seemed grated out of him, pulled. The boy's eyes were still clenched shut but his eyelashes could not stop the tears.
"Why?" Sesshoumaru asked. His voice still sounded level and perfectly calm. Indeed, he felt calmer now, more in control. There was a need there, very carefully hidden, in the body draped across his knee. A need he answered.
His fast, sharp, hard swats did not cease and Inuyasha seemed to lose himself in them, choking on a sob.
Sesshoumaru paused and once again let the tips of his claws brush bruised, heated skin. "Why?" he repeated.
Inuyasha swallowed. He was whimpering softly under his breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Sesshoumaru slapped his buttocks hard, gratified at the real cry it dragged out of him.
"Ah! I'm sorry, Sesshoumaru, I swear it, I won't disrespect you again!"
Sesshoumaru stared at him for a moment, this trembling half-human boy, lean and somewhat pretty, damp silver hair everywhere, cheeks flushed and reddened by two sets of very different tears. Then he released his grip on Inuyasha's wrist, and leaving his brother still kneeling and gathering himself together, Sesshoumaru rose to his feet.
No response was necessary, so none was given.
He waited while Inuyasha got his tears under control. Then the boy got up. Hesitantly, he came close to his elder brother and, his soft ears flat to his head, gently nuzzled his cheek against the edge of Sesshoumaru's jaw.
Sesshoumaru laid his hand on the small of Inuyasha's back and placed his chin over his brother's neck.