The night before Hirokin was to present him, he put Kou properly through his paces. With skirmishes near the southern border increasing, Sesshoumaru was beginning to draw upon his more elite reserves to stanch the uprising. A move Hirokin could hardly protest. Yet it placed his talented lover in prime position of being recruited and thus unattainable to him.

Gripping his shoulders, Hirokin eased back down onto Kou’s waiting cock. A flex of the hips guided the thick length deeper in. They were fucking in the pool tonight, at Hirokin’s behest. Here, in his element, the demon prince felt calm, balanced. Kou groaned as Hirokin undulated against him, both without and within. Stretched full and taut, Hirokin’s rear channel rippled, echoing his body’s sinuous motions over the inuyoukai’s hot, rigid sex.

“Listen to me,” Hirokin hissed, even as he surged needfully against him. “You must be impressive, do you understand? You must look her in the eyes—yes, just like that,” the demon prince gasped as Kou gripped his thighs with a bite of claw. His golden eyes pierced into Hirokin’s with primal intensity. “There is no room for humility,” Hirokin said breathlessly as he rotated his hips, eliciting a low growl. “You are an alpha male. You are deigning to be her protector. This is how you must present yourself to her.”

Kou frowned even as he shuddered in pleasure. “But, she is Sesshoumaru-sama’s mother.”

“It doesn’t matter whose mother she is,” Hirokin snapped as he plunged—though in truth he could more than understand Kou’s reservations. “Do you wish to remain with me or not?”

Though the question was rhetorical, Kou’s eager nod was gratifying nonetheless. Smirking, Hirokin leaned in and sealed his mouth to Kou’s. As his lover’s cock perfectly assailed him, Hirokin rolled his eyes back and moaned.

…

The next day, Hirokin paraded Kou, along with two other carefully selected candidates, into Inukimi’s chambers. With an air of perfectly affected disinterest, he presented them. He was mindful to keep his manner was as bored as it truly would have been otherwise.

“The palace squadrons’ best offerings, my lady,” he drawled.

As the drove of females clustered around Inukimi began to titter, the Western Lady’s golden eyes glinted keenly. Dismissing her hangers-on with an imperious glance, she slipped down from the silk couch on which she had been reclining and primly adjusted her train of flowing ivory fur. As the last of the nosy, murmuring demonesses slipped out, Inukimi approached the line of wary soldiers with a feminine stalking grace. Her red lips curved into a slight, sphinxlike smile. Even Hirokin felt a shadow of intimidation at the sheer power emanating subtly from her.

“The best, you say?” Her voice was as silken as the trailing silver tails of her hair. A faint purr underscored her tone. “My son would be sore to miss them.”

Inwardly, Hirokin sniffed. Sesshoumaru had more than enough bodies to throw at that blasted border. Yet he knew Inukimi delighted in attempting to rile her stoic son. A fact Hirokin had been counting on when he’d made his opening address—and selections.

When Inukimi had mentioned to him that she was growing ‘weary’ of one of her day guards, Hirokin had seen it as the perfect opportunity to secure Kou’s position at the palace. To take him into Hirokin’s own personal guard—composed exclusively of his warrior kin—would be too conspicuous. Not to mention no sure guarantee of exemption, should Kou happen to catch Sesshoumaru’s notice. But even the Western Lord would not dare cull from his mother’s stock.

Inukimi had an eye for quality. Kou’s obvious strength and stature worked to his advantage. He could be suitably imposing so long as he kept from opening his ignorant mouth. To put him forth was by no means an offense to Inukimi’s sensibilities, though Hirokin had been conflicted as to just how to present him to ensure success.

Not wishing to be obvious, and judging it best to appeal to Inukimi’s limited, but not insignificant, capacity for flattery, Hirokin had decided upon giving her options to choose from. It was risky, yet it lessened the likelihood of her rejecting Kou on some capricious whim. Comparison necessarily invited favor.

And so Hirokin had picked Kou’s ‘rivals’ to best accentuate his attributes and downplay his flaws. One was classically handsome, no doubt skilled with his nimble spear, but slender and effeminate, lacking Kou’s raw masculine power. The other was even more monstrously built than Kou—a great hammer-wielding beast of a demon, equally monstrous in appearance.

And Kou was the lone inuyoukai.

Inukimi walked in a measured pace before them. The expression in her sharp, brilliant eyes was inscrutable even to Hirokin as she took them in. The worry that she might reject all of them flashed briefly in the demon prince’s mind.

Then, she paused before Kou.

The dark-haired inuyoukai stood tensely at attention. The slant of his draping fur wound tighter than usual around his broad chest and torso. His jaw was wired tight, giving him an unintentionally menacing appearance as he glared straight ahead. It was the best performance Hirokin could have hoped for, under the circumstances. Kou’s powerful aura was edged, though to one who did not know him intimately, it could be attributed to aggression at being stared down by a female—not merely nervous agitation. Certainly there was a ferocious cast to his golden eyes, no doubt from his innate competitiveness, mingled with his desire to please Hirokin.

If all else failed, Hirokin mused, there was Inukimi’s past preference for lowborn, brutish curs to rely upon. At the slow, appraising slide of her gaze over Kou, Hirokin felt a dark tendril of dread that he may have struck a shade too close to her preferences…

“This one will do,” she said coolly at last. Her eyes cut to one of the guards stationed at the rear window of her solar. “You may go.”

The guard, a younger son of a minor noble house, stiffened, his expression a mixture of relief and indignation. Hirokin suppressed his wry amusement. If only this rotten brat knew what typically became of those whom Inukimi wearied of.

“What is your name, soldier?” the Western Lady purred up at Kou, as the jilted princeling strode past.

When the inuyoukai only continued frigidly to glare, Hirokin interceded, “His name is Kou, my lady.”

Inukimi arched a brow as her gaze slanted to Hirokin. “Is he mute?”

On a jolt of pure inspiration, the demon prince replied, “Yes, Inukimi-sama—completely, I am told.”

Kou’s frozen stupor abruptly broke as he looked to Hirokin in shock. The demon prince quelled him with a forbidding glance. This was an unexpected gift—Kou’s clumsy speech was his direst impediment. There was nothing to be gained, only risked, from him opening his uncouth mouth. There was no real need for a guard to talk back at any rate. One might even go so far as to call it ideal.

“Interesting.” Inukimi’s eyes glittered as she circled around Kou, cataloging him like the latest addition to her menagerie. “…We shall see about that.”

Kou’s nervous swallow mirrored Hirokin’s own stab of deepening unease. Hooking an enameled claw into her newest guard’s chestplate, Inukimi led him off in the direction of her waiting retinue, sparing Hirokin an impish smile.

“Well done, my dear,” she silkily said.

Kou met Hirokin’s eyes in one last helpless backward glance, before a painted screen snapped shut between them.

…

That evening, in the tower by the sea, Hirokin all but tackled Kou the moment he climbed through the western window.

“Well?” the demon prince demanded, gripping the soldier roughly by the pauldrons. “Is she pleased with you?”

“I think so,” Kou replied, visibly weary as he sagged in Hirokin’s hold. “…I’ve never been handled by so many bitches.”

As relieved as Hirokin was at such a reception, he couldn’t help but scowl at the obvious petting and prodding his lover had been subjected to. Kou’s fur was rumpled, his armor smudged. Even with Hirokin’s own much-less-acute sense of smell, his nose wrinkled at the muddled stenches of the various perfumes wafting from Kou. Finally taking in the state of Kou’s hair, Hirokin’s eyes flared in outrage.

“Braids?” he exclaimed as he seized vicious hold of one of Kou’s twisted locks, making the inuyoukai wince. “They braided your hair?”

It was perhaps the shoddiest example of haircraft Hirokin had witnessed—braids of varying sizes, styles, and tensions had been woven haphazardly into Kou’s long half-bound tresses. Normally a slightly skewed, tapering ribbon of dark hair, even the tail beneath the binding had been twisted into a gnarled, stumpy abomination of a braid.

Hirokin’s face scalded in fury. All thoughts of a celebratory fuck were temporarily forgotten as he dragged Kou over to the pool and shoved him in, armor and all. Kou spluttered as he surfaced. Muttering about filthy, artless cunts, Hirokin slipped in beside him. Using his own sleeve, the demon prince buffed the heavy plates as he balefully removed them, casting them aside on the tatami with a clang. After stripping both himself and Kou down the rest of the way, Hirokin attacked the inuyoukai’s hair and skin, only finding the space to think calmly again once Kou was back to himself.

All throughout the cleansing, scrubbing, and combing, Kou had remained quiet and still. Registering this now, Hirokin drew back to meet his contemplative stare.

“What?” Hirokin asked shortly.

The corner of Kou’s lips ticked upward, a crooked half-smile that had Hirokin momentarily flustered—as the inuyoukai cupped him firmly by the nape and crushed his mouth to his.

Hirokin gasped. Arousal slammed into him as he curled his fists against Kou’s naked chest. Without breaking the domineering kiss, Kou swept Hirokin up with a splash as he stood and exited the pool. In a slick tangle of limbs they fell to the bed. The fine sheets creased beneath them in eddies and waves of silk. Hungrily, relentlessly, Kou’s mouth descended over Hirokin’s writhing form, closing around the weeping head of his cock with such fiery intensity that Hirokin’s eyes brimmed as well.

The demon prince arched wantonly as his lover swallowed him whole. The smooth edges of Kou’s fangs fit around the base of him in a squeezing frame. Hirokin’s youki crashed and swelled. Kou growled around him as Hirokin’s sharp nails twisted in his sleek, thick hair. Overwhelmed with passion, with exultation, Hirokin came fierce and deep into Kou’s rumbling throat.

Breathless, trembling, Hirokin lay splayed and spent in the aftermath. Through glazed eyes, Kou’s face swam into view above him. Long dark lashes dipped as Kou captured his lips again. Hirokin moaned softly, dreamily, tasting himself on Kou’s rough tongue. Clawed hands at his thighs rearranged him, pivoting his hips upward as Kou settled between the spread of his legs. The beam of Kou’s erection grazed him. The wet head of it nudged him, seeking.

“Let me in,” Kou spoke against his lips, a frayed, gravelly whisper. “Let me inside you, koi.”

Clutching at his shoulders, Hirokin drew in a shaking breath. His face was impossibly hot as Kou pressed into him at both ends, breaching him utterly. Their dissonant energies coalesced, twining together like the threading of Kou’s clawed fingers through his own. As one, they broke and crested, surged and withdrew, a rhythm as powerful and ageless as the course of the tides themselves.

Lost in it, adrift in it, Hirokin opened himself to Kou completely.

“Knot in me,” he murmured.

…

Later that night, as they lay curled together, a rare sense of calm transcended Hirokin. Warmth suffused him. His heart felt lighter than it had in years. It felt good, to get something he wanted for a change. With all his thoughts and energies so long channeled toward the protracted and agonizing goal of securing Sesshoumaru’s happiness, Hirokin had rather forgotten the sensation—

Contentment.

Even now, he wasn’t sure that it was precisely what he was feeling. But it was close. A frown pulled at his lips as Kou shifted against his back, nuzzled drowsily against his neck. Since throwing in his lot with Sesshoumaru, Hirokin had always assumed his emotions would be tied to him. Hadn’t they been, for almost as long as he had lived? Yet here, tonight, Hirokin hadn’t even thought of his beloved lord, until now.

Draped around him, coils of lush dark fur enfolded him in their own embrace. One end of the shaggy train rested tamely beneath his cheek. Turning his face into the fur, Hirokin breathed through the tickling down, inhaling a masculine, earthy musk that was uniquely Kou’s—and yet achingly familiar.

…

After years of mandatory residence at the Western Palace, the great lords and their immediate families had at last been granted a short leave to return to their ancestral holdings. Most of Hirokin’s peers were thrilled at the prospect. Having missed their childhood homes, the elder children longed to return to them; the youngest, to visit them for the first time.

Hirokin was in the minority of those who would rather have stayed. His last memory of the Water Palace was of his mother being marched out of it to meet her death. Even before that time, he had often felt restless and out of place there. While an excellent arena to hone his skills for intrigue, he found the majority of his relatives, his tutors, and the lesser lords and vassals to be vapid, vain, and woefully archaic. In short, it was an insular and stagnant environment, riddled with petty infighting amongst those who were largely too rich and bloated on inherited power to dream of any higher ambition besides coddling up to their betters.

Without his mother there, the upcoming visit seemed to Hirokin like a punitive sentence to be endured.

Had he staunchly resisted, he probably would have been granted permission to remain. Yet even as a child he had understood the importance of securing his position in his family’s clannish hierarchy. And so he made no outward protest as he, his father, and his siblings prepared to return.

Perhaps the only one less enthusiastic about Hirokin leaving was Sesshoumaru. Despite Hirokin’s firm insistence, Touga’s heir went behind his back to demand his friend stay behind—a demand which the Inu no Taishou flatly denied, along with Sesshoumaru’s subsequent demands to go with him. Even Inukimi refused to support her son’s petitions.

Unaccustomed to being denied anything, least of all something he fiercely wanted, Sesshoumaru grew increasingly sullen and short-tempered as the day of departure approached.

In retrospect, shougi had been a poor choice of activity for the preceding evening. While Sesshoumaru was good enough to win against Hirokin occasionally, strategy was Hirokin’s strong suit. After several embarrassingly short matches, Sesshoumaru’s frustrations reached a boiling point.

“How did that fail,” Touga’s heir growled as he glared down at the board, heatedly retracing the route his pieces had taken before Hirokin had crushed him yet again. “The attack was perfect.”

Folding his hands into his sleeves, Hirokin sighed. “A single attack doesn’t guarantee victory, Sesshoumaru—no matter how well-executed. You’re confusing tactics with strategy, again.”

Sesshoumaru’s glare sharpened upon him. “For someone so terrible at actual fighting, you are awfully full of lectures.”

At the threat in his friend’s tone, Hirokin should have backed off. But he was irritable and tense about leaving tomorrow as well, and so instead he scowled, bristling back.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t always defeat your opponent by going straight for the damn throat.”

Cracking his claws, Sesshoumaru sneered. “Can’t I?”

Even with the forewarning gesture, there was little Hirokin could do as Sesshoumaru lunged. The shougi board and pieces flew as Touga’s heir knocked Hirokin back and pinned him to the wall by the jugular. Hirokin’s eyes flashed as he viciously struggled. His nails scored bloody trenches into Sesshoumaru’s wrist, face—whatever scrap of flesh they could land upon. But suspended and trapped as he was, Hirokin had no leverage, and in a matter of moments he began to weaken in his friend’s iron hold.

Despite his torn lip, Sesshoumaru’s smile was striking in its savagery. Hirokin’s throat constricted even before Sesshoumaru’s stony fingers tightened around his windpipe. 

“Surrender,” Sesshoumaru rumbled, digging in his claws.

Grimacing, Hirokin nodded. His limp body slid down the wall as Sesshoumaru released him at his gloating leisure. Glaring up at him, Hirokin winced as he massaged the fading bruises on his neck, while Sesshoumaru swiped at the blood crusting from his healing cuts.

“It’s not my fucking fault I have to go,” Hirokin snapped. “And it’s not my fault you have to stay. So stop bullying me about it.”

Sesshoumaru’s lips thinned as he re-settled his fur at his shoulder. Had Hirokin given any indication that against his insipid father, he might have had a choice in the matter, there really would have been no end to the bullying.

“I still don’t see why I can’t go with you,” Sesshoumaru said, setting his jaw. “I’ve never left this palace before, and it’s stifling. Shouldn’t I start to see the kingdom I’ll inherit one day? How can I be expected to rule what I know nothing of?”

Hirokin frowned. It struck him as a fair point, yet they both knew the reason for it. Despite the fragile peace that had descended over the West, no one yet trusted to Touga’s rule. None of the great lords were truly loyal to him. Any of them, even Hirokin’s relatively spineless father or warmonger of an elder brother, might have sought to weaken him by striking at his only son and heir. Sesshoumaru was simply too valuable to be risked. Too young to be trusted to defend himself.

“It’s only for a month,” Hirokin finally said. “Trust me, you’d be miserable there anyway. I have about a hundred cousins, and they’re all narcissistic idiots—just like my brothers and sisters, whom you despise. When they’re not looking at themselves in the fucking mirror, they’re gossiping, boasting or otherwise clamoring for attention. It’s pathetic and vexing as hell, and about as interesting as watching the currents change—which, believe it or not, is an actual pastime there.” Realizing he was ranting, Hirokin cut himself off with a shake of the head. “Not to mention, most of the palace is underwater most of the time.”

Sesshoumaru frowned back at him. “But you would be there.” As Hirokin’s chest gave a curious clench, Touga’s heir continued bullishly on, “And I can hold my breath for a long time.”

“How long?” Hirokin asked, dubious.

It was all the challenge Sesshoumaru needed. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he started to hold his breath. As the first half-hour passed, Hirokin went from impressed to bored. While Sesshoumaru continued proving his inane point, Hirokin looked for ways to amuse himself in the interim. Opening a trunk nearby, he extracted Sesshoumaru’s practically unused calligraphy set—which was even finer than Hirokin’s own—and began to practice his brushstrokes.

He’d just perfected the trailing edge of a particularly tricky character when Inukimi entered Sesshoumaru’s room. Taking in the sight of her son sitting so strangely and breathlessly still, her amber gaze slanted to Hirokin.

“Is something the matter with him?” she asked, before stepping forward and pressing the back of her hand to Sesshoumaru’s perspiring brow.

“He’s showing off how long he can hold his breath, Inukimi-sama,” Hirokin answered, his attention returning to the parchment. “It’s been two hours so far.”

Inukimi blinked in surprise. A shrewd glint entered her eye as she considered her son. “Two hours…really.”

As with seemingly everything Sesshoumaru did, this latest stunt fast became yet another public spectacle, as word of the contest spread and Sesshoumaru’s room filled with onlookers. Sighing irritably, Hirokin gave up the calligraphy as the third hour came and went, and the gathered youkai began to place bets on how long Touga’s heir would last—Hirokin’s own father among them.

By now, Sesshoumaru’s gaze had totally unfocused. His bangs adhered to his sweaty skin as a subtle tremor wracked through him. Deciding he’d seen enough, Hirokin stood up to leave, wedging his way nearly to the door through the crowd before a loud gasp sounded behind him. A mixture of cheers and curses ensued.

Hirokin paused, glancing back. Through the throng, Sesshoumaru met his gaze, panting and red-faced and smirking.

“Four hours and one minute,” Inukimi proudly proclaimed.

“Amazing!” one of her kinsmen exclaimed. “Prince Sesshoumaru is truly peerless.”

“A genius—and so very handsome!” some gaudily-dressed demoness gushed.

“…Lost by one minute,” Hirokin’s father muttered peevishly from the sidelines as he forked over a fistful of gold. “Gods be damned.”

“That’s enough,” Touga boomed above the lot of them, slipping his own winnings into his haori. “My son needs his rest. Out with you all.”

…

“I could have lasted longer,” Sesshoumaru greeted Hirokin the next morning from his doorway.

Hirokin rolled his eyes. As the servants hefted the last of his luggage away, Sesshoumaru stepped into the near-empty room, a slight smile on his face as he eyed Hirokin. Instinctively, Hirokin tensed at this seemingly inexplicable change in mood.

“I thought of something last night.” Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes glittered as he slipped his pelt of silky white fur from his shoulder and extended it to Hirokin. “Here, you can take this with you.”

“I don’t want it,” Hirokin said flatly.

Sesshoumaru glared. “Take it.”

Warily, Hirokin accepted. At once, the train of fluff which had been so limp and seemingly innocuous in Sesshoumaru’s hands wrapped like a viper around Hirokin from head to foot. Arms banded to his sides, he stared murderously at his friend through the downy coils. Snickering at some private joke, Sesshoumaru gave a slight wave, and the pelt fell meek once more, hanging from Hirokin’s shoulder in a much less dignified approximation of how Touga’s heir typically wore it.

Glowering, Hirokin plucked at it, feeling ridiculous. “…What the hell is this thing, anyway?”

“The fur of this Sesshoumaru,” his friend replied, as though Hirokin were a simpleton.

The water demon glowered. “But, don’t you need it?”

“Don’t worry,” Sesshoumaru said with an elegant shrug. “I can call it back to me at any time.”

“…I wasn’t worried,” Hirokin muttered.

As the fur began to make him uncomfortably hot, a servant appeared.

“Prince Hirokin,” the servant said, bowing low to them both. “It is time to depart.”

Sesshoumaru looked to Hirokin. Uncertainly, Hirokin looked back. He’d never had a friend before, not a real one at any rate. He wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. Already, though they were still standing in the same room together, he’d started to miss Sesshoumaru. It was strange, and embarrassing.

“Well, goodbye for a month,” Hirokin said awkwardly, at last. 

As he began to turn, Sesshoumaru seized him around the arms and chest in an equally awkward stranglehold of an embrace.

“Goodbye,” Sesshoumaru rumbled into his ear, giving Hirokin’s ribs another squeezing crack before stepping back. “Oh, and don’t drop my fur in the water.”

Hirokin blinked. “What?—why?”

But the servants were already ushering him out. Beyond the castle gates, his father’s great dragon Okouji was waiting to ferry the royal family back to the Water Palace. Climbing up the old dragon’s craggy scales, Hirokin settled into place amongst his father and siblings, who, predictably, set in on him about the strange fur at once.

“What is this?” his father asked. The fur bristled as he pinched it in question. “Some new fashion?”

“It’s Sesshoumaru’s fur, Chichi-ue,” Hirokin woodenly replied.

“Ah, a favor,” the River Lord declared with exacerbating smugness, a greedy glint in his emerald eyes as he studied the fur anew.

Hirokin sighed. His father was always speaking of ‘favors’—and seeing them in things that decidedly were not. While the pelt might actually have seemed like a gift, to Hirokin it felt distinctly like a burden.

“Well, I think it looks stupid on you,” his middle brother Houseki sniffed.

Hirokin agreed, although he sensed his brother had only made this observation out of spite.

“Dog fur,” his eldest brother Hiraitou remarked with genuine disdain. “Disgusting.”

Dusted with a shimmer of snowy sparks, the sleek, silky fur was hardly ‘disgusting’, yet Hirokin’s younger sister Hanako wrinkled her pretty nose and nodded just the same. Back then, she had alternated regularly between which of her elder brothers she loved the most, and parroted whatever he said or did.

Picking and tugging at the trailing end of the fur, his baby sister Himamori reeled with a sharp cry as it lashed her across the cheek. “Chichi-ue!” she wailed. “Hirokin struck me with his fur!”

“Don’t be cruel to your sister,” the River Lord admonished Hirokin, with a yawn and a lazy wave—which had been more of an opportunity for admiring his latest ring than a scolding gesture.

Hirokin sighed again.

…

The rest of the month passed in a similar vein. Hirokin’s stay at the Water Palace was every bit as tedious as he’d envisioned. A tireless parade of dinners and parties, dances and contests—all so mired in an attitude of one-upmanship and vanity that any entertainment they might have provided was negated in Hirokin’s mind.

The demon prince began to understand just how easy it must have been for even a barbarian like Touga to have conquered them, inept and petty as they were. When he bothered to raise the point to his ponderous tutors, they glared at him and resumed pontificating upon the glories of ages past. The sheer backwardness and arrogance rankled Hirokin to the core. He shirked his lessons altogether after that, afraid that even by attending them he’d become stupider.

His only solace was the dragons. He spent as much time in their company as he could spare. In their swift and silent escort, he explored the depths of lakes and rivers, discovered ancient relics and underwater keeps. Okouji, his father’s dragon, was Hirokin’s favorite—an impossibly huge, yet serene and gentle beast. With a stream of bubbles blossoming from his massive snout, he slumbered on the grassy lake floor like a submerged mountain range while Hirokin rested against him, watching the other dragons hunt and chase—ribbons of flashing scale and glinting fang.

And then there was the fur.

More of an annoyance than a comfort, it nevertheless served to provide Hirokin with distraction. At times, it clung to him so tightly that Hirokin could scarcely breathe—at others, so loosely as to drag on the floor and nearly trip him. It encroached upon others and even flicked them at inopportune times, and always seemed to wind up falling into Hirokin’s bowls and plates, often flinging the contents on whoever happened to be within range. Admittedly, Hirokin did find the fur’s antics amusing—though not so much when it twitched in his sleep or insisted upon resting just against his nose, making him sneeze for a minute straight.

In essence the fur was just as aggressive, uncanny, and demanding as its owner. Even if Hirokin hadn’t always been thinking of Sesshoumaru, the fur would have made it impossible not to. And, much like Touga’s heir, it attracted unending attention and speculation.

“What else could it be,” one of his great aunts whispered with an air of hushed suspense, “but a sign?”

The others murmured in varying shades of agreement and dissent at this empty proclamation—all checking one another’s reactions to gauge how impressed or disdainful they should be.

“If it is a sign, it is one of ownership,” another aunt said, sneering. “These dogs and their ‘markings.’ The little cur thinks to make you his creature, does he not, Hirokin dear?”

“I don’t know why he gave it to me, Obasan,” Hirokin said irritably, for what seemed like the thousandth time. “Probably just to piss me off.”

“Hirokin!” his aunt gasped, affronted, while his brother Houseki chuckled at the smacking Hirokin’s vulgar retort should have earned him.

But Hirokin calculated correctly. Their father was too far into his cups—and into his own delusions—to bother reprimanding his son for offending his least favorite sister.

“A sign,” the River Lord agreed belatedly, with a slur, “a most favorable sign. That Prince Sesshoumaru views our Hirokin as his equal. Our house shall rise,” he continued zealously, wine sloshing from his cup as he thrust it upward at a precarious tilt. “Rise to even greater heights.”

“His equal?” Hirokin’s aunt scoffed, narrowing her jade-colored eyes. “Don’t be absurd, Ryuutarou.”

“I have it on good authority,” Hirokin’s father snapped peevishly. “Haname’s spirit told me.” A chorus of awed, simpering coos rose up at this otherworldly declaration. Ryuutarou’s own brilliant green gaze misted over as he took another sip. “She visited me in a dream.”

His twin sister’s lip curled in derision. “‘Haname’s spirit’, or the one in that cup?”

The ivory chalice shattered in Ryuutarou’s bejeweled fist. “Damn you, Mizuchi…” he seethed. 

As tongues and auras hissed and flared, Hirokin took his leave. Rage simmered within him. How dare his father drag his mother into his drunken pretensions. It was beyond disgraceful.

Stalking back to his rooms, Hirokin headed straight for his private bath—a spring whose vein tapped at the boiling heart of the world. Ripping off his clothes, he sank straight into the steaming depths, or would have, except for the frizzed-out fur that glued itself to his upper half in a stubborn, ballooning cinch.

“Get. The. Fuck. Off,” Hirokin grit out, prising savagely at the pesky coils. “You shitty dog fur!”

In his desperation, he drew upon his burgeoning juvenile youki—a horribly tattered and unfocused wave of energy that nevertheless served to shock the fur straight off him.

And into the pool.

Chaos erupted as every fine hair stood on end. The pelt zinged madly around the surface of the pool—a lightning streak of pure silken insanity. It barreled repeatedly and violently into Hirokin in its mad, pinging circuit, forcing him to dive for cover before the fur finally shot several feet into the air and launched itself over the stone ledge.

Utterly exhausted and bewildered, Hirokin dredged himself up after it. His frustration abated at the sight of the fur huddled wet and shivering on the ledge. It was a strangely pathetic sight to witness—even more so when it shied away from his touch. Hirokin grit his teeth, feeling stupidly guilty.

“…I’m sorry,” he muttered, giving it a soothing pat.

After a few moments of petting, the fur lost its frightened stiffness. Hirokin gathered it up, thanking the gods—as it smothered around him once again—that they’d be returning to the Western Palace soon.

…

Everyone but Hirokin was in a sour mood as they boarded Okouji. What for them was a return to internment, for Hirokin was a return from exile. An end to his forced separation from the place that had become his true home.

Sesshoumaru’s excitement was just as palpable as his own. As Hirokin’s father and siblings clambered grudgingly down to shore, Sesshoumaru scaled Okouji’s opposite flank with his usual stunning agility. Swinging nimbly up to meet Hirokin at the dragon’s towering crown, Sesshoumaru stared out. His golden eyes widened briefly as he took in the rest of the dragon’s impressive, twisting bulk.

Touga’s heir had a fondness for beasts.

“This is Okouji,” Hirokin said, smiling as he gave the edge of the dragon’s fanned purple ear a scratch. “I was wrong when I said you’d be miserable at the palace—you would have liked the dragons, at least.”

Nodding, Sesshoumaru ran his claws over Okouji’s bumpy hide as well. The dragon rumbled in pleasure at the added attention. “You will have to show them to me, someday.”

“Hirokin!” the River Lord snapped up at them, even more peevish than usual after over-drinking the night before. “Stop dawdling and get the hell down from there.” Catching sight of Sesshoumaru standing beside him, Ryuutarou’s greenish face paled. “Ah, Sesshoumaru-sama…Please, stay as long as you like.”

With an eye roll, Hirokin started to pick his way down Okouji’s neck, before Sesshoumaru pulled him back with a sigh.

“The sun will set at the pace you’re making,” Touga’s heir said, crouching down. “Get on.”

Clutching his arms around Sesshoumaru’s shoulders, Hirokin climbed onto Sesshoumaru’s proffered back, closing his thighs around Sesshoumaru’s waist. Hirokin’s stomach dropped as Sesshoumaru pitched them from Okouji’s neck. Air rushed past Hirokin’s face and through his hair as they briefly plummeted—before Sesshoumaru’s hand caught hold of a scale further down, using it merely as a leverage point to sail to the next. Each movement was so fluid and precise. Effortless.

Hirokin’s heart pounded as he tightened his grip, mesmerized by the flex and flow of Sesshoumaru’s powerful muscles beneath him. Even after they’d gracefully landed, Hirokin didn’t want to let go.

Flustered by feelings he didn’t understand, Hirokin unwrapped Sesshoumaru’s fur from his shoulder and thrust it at him. “Here.”

Touga’s heir accepted it, replacing the fur on his own shoulder with an expression of sheer relief. Hirokin frowned.

“What did it feel like,” he asked, “to be apart from it?”

Intently, Sesshoumaru met his gaze. A slight, furtive smile crooked his lips at the corners. “Like holding my breath.”

At that look, Hirokin’s own lungs temporarily stilled. Holding a span of the fur up for inspection, Sesshoumaru narrowed his eyes.

“You dropped it in the bath, didn’t you?”

Hirokin blanched. “…Sort of.” Recovering a little from the accusation, he asked, “Why does it go so batshit when that happens?”

A brief flash of indignation lit Sesshoumaru’s eyes before he glanced away. “…Because I can’t swim.”

“Really,” Hirokin said, very much surprised. Even babies knew how to swim.

As if reading his mind, Sesshoumaru glared. “Chichi-ue was supposed to teach me, but then he went off to war. I never learned, though everyone assumes I know.”

“There’s really nothing to it,” Hirokin replied. “I’ll teach you.”

…

Hirokin had never seen Sesshoumaru look nervous before, but that was exactly how he looked as they stepped up to the edge of the lake. Not wishing for anyone to discover his embarrassing secret, Sesshoumaru had insisted upon leaving the palace. That had been an adventure in itself, sneaking out from his bedroom and past the palace guards.

Bedtime was the largest stretch of hours during which they could both comfortably disappear, though Hirokin wished otherwise. To Sesshoumaru, there was little difference between night and day. But without the effects of youki to enhance Hirokin’s vision, the world appeared to him back then in shades of muted grey.

Still, the sight of water was a comfort. Baring himself of his clothes, he waded into the lake at once, glancing back at Sesshoumaru as he continued to waver on the shore.

“This was a stupid idea,” Touga’s heir muttered, turning. “Let’s go back.”

Hirokin sneered, hitting him squarely in the back with a splash. “Stop being such a sissy, Sesshoumaru. It’s just water.”

Fangs bared, Sesshoumaru whipped around. On land, Hirokin would have been beaten to a pulp, but in the water, Sesshoumaru couldn’t touch him. The provocation, though, had been enough. Fuming, Sesshoumaru stripped off his clothes. Hirokin’s eyes strained to make out the grainy details of his form.

Of course, he had seen Sesshoumaru naked before, but never from this angle, or with this eye for scrutiny. Low and at a distance, he took in the sight of Sesshoumaru’s body in full. Beneath his ivory skin, lean, wiry muscle stretched taut, the beginnings of definition visible on his arms, chest and legs. Falling to just below his shoulders, his silky silver-white hair softened the sharp angles of his frame, along with the fur that wreathed it. Gazing at him, Hirokin felt oddly warm, low in his stomach. A peculiar tension tightened his chest.

Abruptly, Sesshoumaru straightened, his eyes sharp upon his. “Quit staring at me, Hirokin. Chichi-ue says only perverts stare at naked boys.”

Hirokin flushed defensively. “I’m not staring, and I’m not a pervert—I’m a boy, too!”

Sesshoumaru smirked, obviously pleased to have rattled him. Striding waist-deep into the water, he fixed Hirokin with a haughty look.

“All right, teach me.”

Hirokin glided back a few feet, where the bottom of the lake dropped off steeply beneath him. Floating at the surface, he gestured for Sesshoumaru to approach. Jaw clenched, Touga’s heir advanced. Clearly expecting Hirokin to have still been standing on solid ground, he reeled with a spluttering shout as the water rushed up over his head.

At Sesshoumaru’s venomous glare, Hirokin grinned. “It’s easier just to dive in. Then you don’t have a choice.”

“Except to drown?” Sesshoumaru snarled. “You are supposed to be teaching me the opposite!”

“First, you need to awaken your instincts,” Hirokin said. “Go on, you’ll get a feel for it if you just let go.”

Dubious, Sesshoumaru stepped out again, leaving the submerged ledge. A look of pure panic crossed his face as he sank like a stone. It was all Hirokin could do not to burst out laughing as Sesshoumaru desperately flailed—a fierce, riotous confusion of limbs so at odds with the inuyoukai’s usual grace and fluid precision.

By raw force alone, Sesshoumaru finally propelled himself back above the surface, hacking and thrashing. But the fact that he’d done it seemed to embolden him, along with the fresh breath of air in his lungs. As his panic subsided, his motions slowed and smoothed, falling into the instinctual, treading pattern Hirokin had often witnessed land-born creatures employing.

“I’m swimming!” Sesshoumaru exclaimed, smiling triumphantly as he paddled in place. “That was easy.”

Hirokin laughed. “You’re keeping yourself afloat,” he corrected. “Now that you’ve managed that, you can actually learn to swim.”

In truth, he had little real idea of how to instruct Sesshoumaru. Born in the water—of the water—it was just as much a part of Hirokin as the blood in his veins. Skimming his nails over his chin, he considered which of his movements might be translatable to Sesshoumaru and began to coach him through the patterns.

“Try this,” Hirokin said.

Striking forward with his arms, he cut a series of swift, smooth lines into the still surface of the lake, using his legs for propulsion. After a moment of intense study, Sesshoumaru attempted to do the same, managing a choppy approximation of Hirokin’s flawless form.

“Now this,” Hirokin said, adopting a backward stroke, which completely threw Sesshoumaru at first. “Keep yourself straight through the middle—yes, like that.”

For the next few hours, Sesshoumaru continued to practice, quickly gaining in confidence and skill. With his natural strength and coordination, Hirokin really shouldn’t have been surprised at this rapid progress, yet he still felt a prickle of annoyance at how once again Sesshoumaru proved that he was good at everything. It was impressive, but also mildly irritating. A sentiment Hirokin felt still to this day.

Perhaps it was this irritation which made him dart off toward the depths of the lake, with a fleetness and serpentine agility Sesshoumaru couldn’t possibly hope to emulate. Pausing in his practice, Touga’s heir stared after him.

“Well,” Hirokin yelled back waspishly, his voice carrying loud and clear across the open water, “are you just going to keep splashing around in the shallows, or are you going to pull your prick out of your ass and fucking swim?”

At the challenge, Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed, glaring slits of whitish-gold in the darkness. With a speed that caught even Hirokin off guard, Touga’s heir charged at him. Blades of water flew up in twin white sprays as he cleaved through the lake. Hirokin wasn’t sure it could even properly be called ‘swimming’, but whatever it was, the water demon was forced to brace himself as Sesshoumaru smashed into him, bowling them both over in a series of underwater flips. Correcting them quickly before Sesshoumaru could panic, Hirokin grasped his friend’s sides and launched them both up. The water broke over their heads in a loud and violent crash.

Clutching hard at Hirokin’s shoulders, Sesshoumaru panted and coughed, grinning broadly as he cracked his forehead against Hirokin’s. At the lancing pain, Hirokin let out a series of vicious swears. Still shaking with adrenaline, Sesshoumaru snickered. His warm ragged breath flowed over Hirokin’s face.

“You’re so pretty,” Touga’s heir sneered, his brow still crushed to Hirokin’s own. “None of your admirers would believe what a filthy mouth you have.”

Hirokin scowled. It wasn’t even remotely a compliment—quite the opposite—but hearing Sesshoumaru call him ‘pretty’ still made Hirokin feel squirmy inside. Chest-to-chest like they were, with Sesshoumaru’s heart thundering against his, the feeling quickly became just that much more unbearable.

Wriggling free of his friend’s strong grip, Hirokin streaked off toward a small island of rock in the center of the lake—ostensibly, to set another challenge. In truth, to give himself a reprieve from Sesshoumaru’s oppressive closeness.

Hauling himself up to shore, Hirokin sat perched on a ledge of rock. Water dripped from the shining ribbons of his hair, trailing in a glitter down his alabaster skin. At a much steadier and saner clip than before, Sesshoumaru chased after him on the course Hirokin had set. Touga’s heir had been making good progress when he suddenly stopped. Frowning, Hirokin stood, but it didn’t seem like Sesshoumaru had gotten tangled in anything or become over-tired.

The look on his face wasn’t one of exhaustion—it was one of frozen horror.

“Hirokin!” Sesshoumaru yelled, pointing furiously. “Behind you!“

Hirokin should have felt it—the dank, foreboding chill in the air. But he had been so focused on Sesshoumaru he’d neglected to sense it. Terror slammed into his throat as he turned at last, to find a trio of huge glowing eyes glaring out at him from a dark fracture in the rock. Blindingly fast, a pincer shot toward him, slicing Hirokin across the arm as he narrowly managed to roll aside. A cry of fiery pain tore from him. His instincts screamed at him to get to the water—in a voice which had sounded so very much like his dead mother’s.

But the direction he’d been forced to take in his dodge sent him that much farther from it. Eyes streaming, he gasped as the fell demon emerged from its cave. Dread settled like lead in his bones. The demon was massive—a crustaceous monstrosity of a beast, pincered and tentacled and layered in armored plates. Hirokin stumbled back, his left arm torn through to the bone. Uselessly, it hung at his side, the ligaments and tendons shredded bloody. Clutching his broken flesh back together, Hirokin willed it to heal, but the progress was agonizingly slow.

“A little princeling,” the youkai’s voice slithered over him, reeking of blood and rot. “What a treat…“

Almost lazily, the demon sent one of its foul tentacles at him. Hirokin shrieked as the slimy appendage wrapped around his calf and sent him crashing to the ground. Knowing that if this monster dragged him back to his cave, he would surely die, Hirokin dug his nails into the rock. Sparks rained as the demon dragged him over the land. A chittering growl of annoyance issued from its filthy maw.

As the monster pulled harder, Hirokin drew desperately upon his immature youki. The tentacle’s grip broke suddenly as Hirokin’s leg turned liquid. The appendage phased straight through it. Hastily, Hirokin scrambled up as his leg re-materialized. His vision peppered with sparks of exhaustion from the effort.

“Dragon scum,” the monster seethed, its tentacle blistered and steaming where Hirokin’s leg must have boiled it raw.

As a pincer swung down at him, Hirokin helplessly tensed—before another body smacked into his, knocking him aside. Landing in a sprawl, Hirokin stared in wild-eyed distress at the sight of the clawed limb falling upon Sesshoumaru instead. Gritting his fangs, Touga’s heir bowed beneath the force of the landing blow, every muscle in him veined and straining as he pushed back with a savage roar, forcing the gigantic pincer off him just enough for him to break free.

As the pincer slammed like a hammer against the rock, Sesshoumaru transformed in a blaze. Hirokin’s jaw fell slack at the sight. As large as a small dragon, Sesshoumaru’s true canine form loomed growling through the clearing dust, not quite as huge as the attacking youkai, but equally as fearsome—all raised fur, coiled muscle, searing eye, and glinting claw and fang.

Hirokin was amazed. Sesshoumaru should still have been too young to maintain his bestial form, yet Hirokin witnessed it first-hand…

There was little contest after that. The enemy demon lunged and slashed, but Sesshoumaru was agile as ever—adeptly feinting and leaping only to strike back with brutal intensity, ripping off limbs, tentacles, and segmented plating with savage glee before pouncing on the dismembered youkai and tearing out its throat. The bloodsport thrilled and terrified Hirokin in equal measure, his own pain forgotten as he drank in his enemy’s. A true chill of fear washed through him as Sesshoumaru’s dripping muzzle turned slowly toward him.

There was madness in those feral eyes—

Frenzy.

“…Sesshoumaru?” Hirokin whispered, shrinking.

A shiver seemed to run through Sesshoumaru’s rangy bulk. His virulent eyes sealed shut. In a shimmer of light, he returned to himself, looking slightly dazed as he rose from his crouch and padded over.

“You’re going to lose that arm,” he said tiredly, bending down and hefting Hirokin up by his good one. “And Chichi-ue’s going to string me up by the fur.”

Attempting to lift his deadened limb, Hirokin grit out, “It’ll grow back, eventually.” He winced as Sesshoumaru led them to the water’s edge. Bloodless and numb, his left arm dangled like a limp piece of meat. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

Sesshoumaru shook his head, frowning heavily. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt like that in the first place.”

Hirokin’s grip tightened around Sesshoumaru’s shoulders. As the water rose around them, a bit of Hirokin’s strength returned. He was almost able to feel it flowing into him. Furrowing his brow, he focused in on that feeling as Sesshoumaru took them deeper. The water around them began to glow. Sesshoumaru paused. His eyes fixed on Hirokin’s left arm in an expression of surprise.

Liquid blue light filled the gash in Hirokin’s flesh. As the light slowly receded, new muscle and skin appeared in its wake. The sizzling pain ebbed out of Hirokin like a tide. In relief, he groaned, testing his arm and finding it good as new.

Still, Sesshoumaru held onto him.

“How did you do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Hirokin answered honestly, giving the new muscle another testing flex before meeting his gaze. “How did you transform into a giant dog?”

“I don’t know, either,” Sesshoumaru said, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “That was the first time I’ve done it. I just knew that I had to do something. I couldn’t let that bastard get you.” A low growl entered his voice. “Just seeing that he’d touched you made everything go red.”

“Why?” Hirokin asked, slightly stilted.

Sesshoumaru looked at him. Despite the grey tones that suffused Hirokin’s night vision, despite the cool measured voice that replied, the glint in Sesshoumaru’s eyes was bloody.

Red.

“Because,” Sesshoumaru said to him, half-smiling still, “you are mine.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 6/13/23