Rolling onto his back, Hirokin breathed heavily, a clawed hand trailing from his hip. The afterglow of a good hard fucking blurred his senses, left him feeling numb and dissolute. Even his hearing, so acute, dulled to a murmur.

The first sound he heard distinctly was the breaking of the waves, far below. It steadied him, this eternal rhythm. Against it, he measured himself, as he had time and again.

“Koi?” Kou rumbled, lying on his side. Golden eyes traced over Hirokin’s frowning face. “Hirokin, are you all right?”

The demon prince waved. “Give me a moment.”

Kou nodded. “…Of course.”

He sounded disappointed, and Hirokin found this irksome, though he wondered why he should. When had he started caring what Kou felt for him? Kou…his inuyoukai lover. His stand-in for Sesshoumaru, or so it had been at the start. But now…

Now, even Hirokin himself wasn’t sure.

In a handful of seasons, so much had changed. Hirokin contemplated what had not.

“What are you thinking of?” Kou asked him, after a while.

“The sea,” Hirokin said simply.

“I love the sea.” A beat of silence passed as Kou gazed upon him again. “As I love you.”

Frowning still, Hirokin threw an arm over his eyes, and remembered.

---

FIVE YEARS EARLIER

 

In the castle above the sea, Hirokin clambered into the tower room with Sesshoumaru in tow. The demon lord was so weak he could hardly stand, and Hirokin was so weak with relief as they crossed the threshold that he all but collapsed into the silken bed beside him.

Somehow, they had made it here undetected. Of this, Hirokin’s dragon Ohana had assured him. No one had seen them. No one had witnessed Sesshoumaru in his disgrace.

Heaving a sigh, Hirokin sat up and gave his lord a scrutinizing once-over. Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes were glazed and hooded, his singed fur all that covered his patched-together flesh. The raw new skin was so thin in places Hirokin could see the glare of blood and bone beneath it.

His teeth ground together as he placed his palms to Sesshoumaru’s chest and bolstered his diminished youki. Sluggishly, Sesshoumaru’s body responded. And not very well. That fucking priestess—truly she had done her worst.

The only solace in resurrecting her, Hirokin reflected darkly, was that it gave him the chance to kill her all over again.

Such pleasure he would take in it—the sure and terrible vengeance he would exact upon her.

Kagome…

In his fevered, hate-addled thoughts, her name repeated like the blackest curse.

…

It became apparent to Hirokin, in the days that followed, that Sesshoumaru’s will had been more damaged than his flesh. When he wasn’t unconscious, he might as well be, for all the responsiveness he showed.

Never before had Hirokin seen him so defeated. Distantly, it disturbed him.

Presently, it infuriated him.

“Get up,” he said wrathfully, grinding his heel into Sesshoumaru’s spine. “You need to eat.”

“…Leave me be.”

“Up,” Hirokin hissed, “before I shove it down your throat.”

Even this didn’t get a rise out of him. Hirokin glowered. After Sesshoumaru had told him to ‘go fuck’ the choice clutch of fish that he’d brought him, Hirokin had scoured the sea to find a more enticing prey. Wasted effort, he realized now. Stalking over to the corner where the bloody carcass lay, Hirokin hefted it up and hurled it at Sesshoumaru, frustration punctuating his words.

“Eat. The fucking. Seal.”

…

Grief was a menace, Hirokin decided.

Debilitated in the throes of it, Sesshoumaru swung from extremes of sullen silence to furious interrogation. The questions he put Hirokin to had a single, incessant refrain: that damnable woman.

How was Kagome? Where was Kagome? What was Kagome doing? Who was Kagome with? What had Kagome said?

Kagome this. Kagome that.

Hirokin knew next to nothing of her, yet he was more sick of her than he’d ever been of anyone.

“I don’t know” was his answer to almost every question. It had been honest enough, the first week or so. The woman seemed to have disappeared altogether. Hidden away by her allies, no doubt, while she recovered from the ordeal of that night. An ordeal to which Hirokin’s very interrogator had subjected her. But reminding Sesshoumaru of this did nothing to satisfy his demands—or to cow him into giving Hirokin any sort of lasting reprieve.

It was obvious Sesshoumaru was mining for specific information: he wanted to know if Kagome suffered. If she hated him. If she didn’t.

The truth was, she thought nothing of him at all.

But this Hirokin could not say.

…

Past experience suggested he must wait this out. Sesshoumaru’s passions would cool, and he would see this ill-fated union for the mad fluke it had been. But, how long would it take?

No mourning lasted forever—but then, the one being mourned was generally dead.

To have lost a mate who was still alive…

This sort of divorce was unheard of. Hirokin had no frame of reference for it.

…

“Where are you going?” Sesshoumaru growled at him, as he rose to leave the tower.

To run your kingdom, you wretch, Hirokin wanted to snap back at him, but Sesshoumaru had recovered enough by then to make him regret it.

Instead he smoothed over his irritation and said placidly, “There are some affairs I must attend to, my lord.”

“Plots, you mean.” Sesshoumaru glared through the window that opened to the sea. “Go play at your schemes then. You have always cared more for them than you have for me.”

Hirokin clenched his jaw. This behavior, at least, he recognized. It was a pattern that had persisted since childhood. Whenever Sesshoumaru was feeling low, he must drag Hirokin down with him. These sorts of petty, cutting reprisals…ordinarily they would never work, but Sesshoumaru knew precisely how to hurt him best.

Schooling his tone, Hirokin replied, “I shall stay, then.”

“No,” Sesshoumaru said coldly, curling the claws that draped from his upbent knee. “Slither off to tend to your intrigues. I have no need of you.”

Hirokin knew he should retrace his steps. He should pass this day sitting by his lord’s side while he ignored him. All so that Sesshoumaru’s wounded pride would be soothed.

Inclining his head, Hirokin resumed his departure instead.

…

This, of course, had been a mistake.

With the discovery he’d made already weighing upon him, Hirokin supposed it was only the gods’ penchant for irony that this was the day Sesshoumaru had chosen to raid the castle of its sake.

Empty jars littered the tatami floor. Sprawled out on the bed, Sesshoumaru reclined flush and out of sorts in a way Hirokin had never beheld him before. The only other time Hirokin had seen him in anything approaching this state of reckless intoxication had been after Touga had discovered his son’s deviant habits, and Sesshoumaru had been desperate to drown out his shame…

“Well, well,” he said, his glare unfocused as he drew himself up in an indolent slouch. “So the great Prince Hirokin has returned to me, at last.”

“I have,” Hirokin said, calmly and patiently, as if he were speaking to a child.

Sesshoumaru scoffed, taking another swig from the jug in his hand. “‘I have’—how insufferable you are. Every word you speak is designed to subvert me.”

“Forgive me, Sesshoumaru-sama. I meant no offense.”

“Fuck your empty apologies. I know you, Hirokin—you’ve never been sorry for anything.”

Hirokin’s eyes flashed. “I’m sorry you found that wine, my lord.”

“Now that I can begin to believe,” Sesshoumaru said with an acrid smile, “though I don’t doubt you’ll twist it to your advantage.”

Tossing the jar away, he lay back against the wall, his arm bent behind his tousled head. The stripes on his wrist leered stark red above his fallen sleeve. Smiling at Hirokin sharp and slow, Sesshoumaru flicked at the collar of his haori, which was already so loose half the muscle of his torso was exposed.

“Now’s your chance, Hirokin.” Scorn dripped from Sesshoumaru’s words as his claws gestured in lewd invitation. “Male though you profess to be, there’s never been anything but a gash between your legs when it comes to me. So come here, princess—come ride me like the slippery cunt you are. I won’t stop you.”

Hirokin balled his fists. Anger boiled in him, not least of all for the fact that though he’d never been this insulted in his life, Sesshoumaru’s drunken taunting turned him on. He hated himself—he hated them both.

Never one for physical violence, there was something distinctly satisfying in the way his knuckles crunched and split against Sesshoumaru’s left cheek.

“Fuck you,” Hirokin seethed as Sesshoumaru righted himself from the blow. “Some mortal whore bleeds out on your cock a little late, and you think to throw away ten centuries of devotion for it? You pathetic fool—you’re worse than your human-fucking cur of a father.”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes glowed red as he snarled, tackling Hirokin in a blind rage. Only Sesshoumaru’s sheer drunkenness kept Hirokin’s head on his shoulders. Tangled together in the sheets, they slashed and bit and seared at one another. Uncoordinated and slow as Sesshoumaru was, Hirokin was still losing miserably. Blood poured from his mouth, streamed into his eyes as Sesshoumaru pinned him down.

“She had my mark,” he panted into Hirokin’s face, poison lacing his words. “She was my wife.”

“And now she is marrying another,” Hirokin rasped back.

Sesshoumaru went rigid, this declaration sobering him in a rush. “What,” he bit out, his claws digging into Hirokin’s arms. “What did you say?”

“Your hanyou half-brother—she is wedding him as we speak.”

“How long have you known?” Sesshoumaru raged.

“Only today, but what does it matter? Forget her, Sesshoumaru—she is dead to you now.”

But Sesshoumaru was already lurching to his feet. Before Hirokin could stop him, Sesshoumaru’s fur wound about him, restraining him in his own domain. Muzzled and bound to the bed, Hirokin could only stare helplessly on as his lord dispersed in a shimmer of light.

…

Time passed in excruciating slowness. There was no question in Hirokin’s mind that Sesshoumaru would confront Inuyasha. And in his weakened, disoriented state…

Hirokin cursed himself. How could he have been so rash? Burying his face in the fur that bound him, he could only hope it would keep smothering him still. The alternative—the dissipation of its hold—was not one which Hirokin could bear.

Sesshoumaru…

Night fell, dark and brooding. At last, Hirokin sensed his lord returning to the castle, but his relief was short-lived. Sesshoumaru’s virulent gaze trained upon him, as he recalled his fur to him.

“Kagome,” he said, as Hirokin dragged himself up. “She doesn’t remember what happened between us.” Sesshoumaru’s voice pitched low. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“Sesshoumaru—”

“You fucking snake,” Sesshoumaru seethed, his claws curling around Hirokin’s throat as he slammed him back into the wall. “You did this—you made her forget.”

Grimacing, Hirokin pried at his lord’s stony grip. “…What…would you have her remember…”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed fiercely. Desperately, Hirokin watched the conflict war through his gaze. Watched as Sesshoumaru arrived at the grim truth—that he could not have it both ways. He could not have Kagome remember him without the pain.

“Make me forget,” he said as he relaxed his hold, following Hirokin down to the mangled sheets. “Make me forget her, as she has forgotten me.”

Hirokin sighed. His eyes slid shut as he took Sesshoumaru’s face in his hands and leaned his brow against his, as he hadn’t since they were children. “…I cannot.”

“Why not?” Sesshoumaru said, his fingers curving around Hirokin’s.

“If I take your memories of her, you’ll only attack her again. Tenseiga will be of no use to you, then.” Frowning, Hirokin drew back. “Don’t you see, Sesshoumaru? Only you can control these urges of yours.”

Sesshoumaru grit his fangs, his expression pained. Yet he nodded at last.

…

Hirokin thought, then, that the worst of this nightmare had finally passed.

Until Sesshoumaru said to him, quietly and intently, “Even still, I must have her.”

…

In the face of an unstoppable flood, one’s only hope was to divert the course.

“And Inuyasha,” Hirokin asked, switching tactics, “will you kill him for her?”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes cut away, and Hirokin knew then what he had always suspected: how jealously Sesshoumaru coveted his father’s blood. “I do not wish it, but so it must be. With Tenseiga, I can revive him, after.”

“Still, you should wait,” Hirokin said, with subtle insistence. “Did you not say yourself that she was too young? Inuyasha fights like a wild dog. Like as not, Naraku will sever their mating bond for you. She is no demoness; human hearts are fragile. Do not push her beyond what she can bear.”

“I will wait,” Sesshoumaru said.

…

Yet, when in the course of battling Naraku, Tenseiga was sacrificed in order to strengthen Tessaiga, once again, Touga seemed to mock Hirokin from beyond the grave.

“What now?” Sesshoumaru snarled, throwing the broken sword hilt at Hirokin’s feet. “You cautioned me to wait, and the chance has been lost. My brother’s life is forfeit.”

“There is another way…” Hirokin said slowly, knowing Sesshoumaru could scent a lie from miles off. “Your mother’s meidou amulet can restore him. Yet…”

“Yet what?”

“Because she used it to revive your ward, it must first regain its charge.”

“And how long will that take?”

“…One hundred years,” Hirokin replied.

…

One hundred years—

Enough time, Hirokin reckoned, as Sesshoumaru’s wrath subsided into simmering resignation, for him to think of something else. Yet the gods saw fit to thwart him, even in this.

Only a few years had passed when Hirokin received the news which threw his world into chaos yet again. One look at Sesshoumaru’s calamitous expression, and Hirokin fell to his knees.

“My lord…”

“Inuyasha is dead,” Sesshoumaru said, cold fury underscoring each word. “Once Kagome’s mourning has ended, there will be no more delays. No more miscalculations. You will see to it.”

Hirokin swallowed tightly. Protests rose and died in his throat. Sesshoumaru’s desire for her had not diminished—in the hard, flat surface of his gaze, Hirokin perceived that no amount of time would make it so. And the knowledge of this was more of a knife in his heart than the sight of them knotted together had ever been.

How could it be, that one encounter with a slip of a girl could have meant more to Sesshoumaru than his lifelong companionship with Hirokin ever had? And yet it did—this was brutally clear to him now.

“…Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama—I will.”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Call it artistic license, but I never did like how Tenseiga was later just ‘ok’ after being broken to perfect the Meidou Zangetsuha. So at least in Control, the sacrifice was real <3