Hirokin entered his liege lord’s private chambers unannounced, unrehearsed. The first part, though inconceivable to most, was not unusual for him. The latter, however…

In a life as meticulously and painstakingly choreographed as his, even Hirokin had to question his own sanity in the matter.

But before he could second-guess himself, he’d crossed the threshold. The moment called for unvarnished sincerity. He would have to rely on raw passion and cold reason alone. Even a whiff on subterfuge on his part might see his head cleaved neatly from his shoulders. 

The stakes were simply too high for equivocation. For vacillation, even. In a venture as daring as this, he himself would need to go straight for the throat.

Not his style, of course. But desperate times called for desperate measures, as his beloved lady liked to say.

Within, Sesshoumaru was at his leisure. He’d just thrashed several of his mightiest warriors at once—his morning constitutional—and was flush and languid in the aftermath of his exertions. Shirtless and sheening, he stood in the middle of the gleaming, sun-drenched solar, polishing his baleful sword. His long silver hair caught against the sculpted ridges of his physique in mussed abandon. His loosened hakama hung perilously low on his powerful hips.

Pausing a respectful distance from him, Hirokin fought not to let his mind wander, let alone his gaze.

Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes slanted to him, molten in the light of the morning sun. “What is it?”

“A conundrum, my lord.”

Sesshoumaru scoffed. “This early in the day?”

“I’m afraid so, sire,” Hirokin replied, smiling slightly. “Though in truth, I have felt confounded by this for some time.”

Lowering his sword, Sesshoumaru eyed him warily. “All right, then. Out with it.”

Hirokin stepped forward, his palms outstretched. “I want a child, my lord. A daughter to serve as namesake for my lady mother, and to uphold her divine legacy.”

Sesshoumaru blinked at him. Then, he laughed.

“A child, Hirokin? Is that all?” With a scathing smile, Sesshoumaru returned his attention to the edge of his sword, honing away a minute nick in the blade with a scrape of his claw. “As Lord Tactician of the Western Lands, I’m sure you can puzzle it out.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Hirokin said graciously, unfazed by Sesshoumaru’s scorn. “However, it is your assent to this endeavor which I seek.”

Sesshoumaru looked to him again. Hirokin could see that he was pleased to be asked for his permission in this—even in this most seemingly natural and trivial of requests. It was encouraging to Hirokin. It was a start.

“You have my blessing, then,” Sesshoumaru said with a wave. “Make as many daughters as you like.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Hirokin said, bowing lightly. “One true heir of Haname will suffice me. Yet I fear it will be no simple task. You know full well of my…proclivities.”

The corner of Sesshoumaru’s mouth curled faintly in distaste. He loathed to be reminded of Hirokin’s preference for males, which he had always considered to be a repugnant and damnable defect of character. A nigh-unforgivable weakness. Over the centuries, Sesshoumaru had done his level best to beat the deplorable trait out of Hirokin, and having failed at this, now contented himself with using Hirokin’s perceived flaw as ammunition against him.

For Hirokin himself to broach the subject was to court disaster. But in the current context, it could not go without mention.

“It is difficult for me to muster the wherewithal to engage in the act, let alone see it through to completion,” Hirokin resumed, with all humility. “Notwithstanding this, I would not have this precious daughter of mine conceived in anything less than the sublimest consummation of body and soul. For that, I require the perfect vessel.”

“Go and find her, then,” Sesshoumaru said, with a touch of warning Hirokin suspected even he himself was not aware of. “Though I doubt you could search another thousand years and find such a one who would suit you.”

“Indeed, my lord,” Hirokin said, sincerely. “But the real trouble is that I have found her,” and without pausing even for breath he proclaimed, “Kagome-sama.”

Sesshoumaru stared. The sword Bakusaiga fell forgotten to his side. Impossible to read the expression that shadowed his face. It could be outrage. It could be shock. It could be both of these, or none at all. 

It could be some subconscious realization, only coming now to full awareness.

“Careful, Hirokin,” Sesshoumaru said, deathly soft. His claws tightened minutely around Bakusaiga’s hilt. “What you say is tantamount to treason.”

Hirokin bowed his head. “My lord, I beseech you. For the sake of our sworn brotherhood, I beg you to hear me out.”

Sesshoumaru’s silence seemed eternal. 

“Very well,” he said, at last.

Hirokin’s eyes rose to his, imploring. “It should go without saying, my lord, that I do not seek to destroy you. Although it is true your death would free Kagome-sama from the mating mark which binds her womb, it would also be the death of me. You know that I love you. But you know also that I love her. And so you must know what the depth of this sentiment means to me.”

Sesshoumaru said nothing. Hirokin took this, too, as an encouraging sign.

“Never before have I felt such desire for a female. It is nothing short of a miracle. And so, as ludicrous as it may seem, what I wish for now is to see this desire carried through to miraculous fruition. I wish for your mate to bear me this peerless daughter of mine, as she has born you a peerless son.”

Sesshoumaru’s look was incredulous. “Have you lost your mind? Such a thing is impossible.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Hirokin said dryly, “for questioning what is ‘impossible’ where you and Kagome-sama are concerned. The mating bond, though primordial, is at its essence merely a powerful and instinctive spell. Who is to say it cannot be made to bend to the will of demon as formidable as yourself?”

“Flattery will not avail you, Hirokin,” Sesshoumaru said flatly, though he knew perfectly well that Hirokin was speaking plainly of the truth as he saw it. “The mating bond cannot be thwarted, nor bamboozled. There are countless tales of those attempting to do so, and failing disastrously. Amongst my kind there is ‘The Rape of Tomoe.’ Perhaps you have heard of it.”

Hirokin had, but without waiting for him to answer, Sesshoumaru continued on, “It is the tale of two twin brothers, identical to one another in all perceptible ways. The younger twin covets all that is his elder brother’s by right, including Tomoe, his wife and mate. 

“He steals in unto her in secret while his lord brother is away at war. Even she cannot tell him apart from her beloved mate. Only when she complains to her husband that she has yet to conceive, despite how many nights he’s spent in her bed, does the lord learn of his brother’s treachery, and so slays him for it.”

Sesshoumaru let this abrupt ending hang in silence. The cold silence of implicit threat.

“Surely, my lord,” Hirokin said, after a moment, “you do not see me as this raping younger brother, come to steal what is rightfully yours.”

“No,” Sesshoumaru conceded. “I cannot see you ever being such a fool. What rankles me is your presumption. I have treated you better than a brother. I have given you even more than prudence would advise, because of your proven devotion to me. I’ve even given you liberties with my wife, the mother of my son and heir, and still it is not enough for you. Still you dare to grasp for more.”

“Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama, all that you say is true,” Hirokin said levelly, meeting his eye. “I have been bold to ask, and you have been bold to give.”

Sesshoumaru drew back slightly. Again, it was not flattery with which Hirokin spoke, but frankness. Sesshoumaru felt this. It impressed him.

“Regardless,” he said, “you overreach in this, Hirokin. The point of the tale is that the paternal right is an unalienable one. As intrinsic and fundamental to our nature as youki itself. Would you have it be otherwise? Would you have us be like mortal men, who cannot know for certain that the sons they claim are really theirs?”

“One could argue, my lord,” Hirokin said, “that the mortal plight is the more enlightened one. We lay claim by strength, often by force, whereas men and women lay claim to one another through vows of love and fidelity alone. The ideal binds them, in lieu of the physical.”

“Vows and ideals are good and well enough,” Sesshoumaru said. “But I would have more than this.”

“Naturally, my lord. And well you should. Why not possess Kagome-sama in all the ways which you desire? Letting me lie with her is in itself an extension of your dominion over her, a testament to her submission to you. A lesser demon would lack the spine to share his mate with another. But by the same token, is not the mating bond itself a constraint? An imposed limitation? And why should you be limited by it if you do not wish to be? Why presume out of hand that you lack the might to reshape it according to your will and purpose?”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes flashed at this goading remark. But Hirokin did not recant it. 

“This is madness,” Sesshoumaru bit out. “I suppose you have already put this lunatic scheme to her. And tell me, what did she say to it?”

“She found it preposterous,” Hirokin replied. “She dismissed it out of hand as absurd. But then, Kagome-sama is quite young. She lacks perspective.”

“Or perhaps your perspective is warped,” Sesshoumaru said cuttingly. “Over the centuries, your pride has gotten the better of you. You would spit in the face of the gods themselves.”

“Yes,” Hirokin, advancing. “For what are the gods, Sesshoumaru-sama, but a race of beings not unlike ourselves? Higher, true, but just as petty and capricious and fallible as we? My mother was a goddess, once. And so if my perspective on their account is warped, it is because I was endowed with such. You speak of madness,” he barreled on, becoming so inflamed with his zealotry that even Sesshoumaru looked taken aback, “you speak of the gods, but have you not seen with your own eyes the impossible occur? 

“Your hanyou half-brother was a rarity. For all his deformities, he was still one in a thousand amongst the wretched abominations birthed by women of demons. And yet your son was born pure-blooded from such a womb. Unheard of, inconceivable. Do you discount this as mere happenstance? For that matter, do you discount Kagome-sama as merely human? Why else would you have been so drawn to her? 

“Why else, if the legends about the origin of mikos were not true? That the goddess Kai and her handmaidens, who both pitied and admired mankind, forsook their immortality to enter the karmic cycle and be reborn as mortal women, spiritually equipped to war on behalf of man? Don’t you believe it not only possible, but rather likely, that Kagome-sama herself is the incarnation of the goddess Kai, now returned to immortality at long last?”

Sesshoumaru eyed him with skepticism, but Hirokin knew he had witnessed enough firsthand to lend credence to the theory. After all, Kagome had nearly killed him twice—he, the Killing Perfection. More than that, Hirokin could see that he wished to believe it. He wished to believe not only that he had subdued such a storied foe, but that he could harness her power to his liking.

“You believe this,” Sesshoumaru said.

It was not quite a question, but still Hirokin said, “Yes, my lord. I do. You know I have something of my mother’s gift of prophecy. The same foresight with which I envisioned your sure rise to power has shown me also the glimpse of her—Hanamiko, my destined daughter. I have beheld the splendor of her, the radiance of her unborn soul.” With a smile of pure ardor, he said, “Only imagine it, Sesshoumaru-sama, a being of such rarefied, deific gifts. Born of Kagome-sama, she would by rights be your daughter as well. Half-sister to Saitou, an indispensable and complementary ally to him. She would be the child of us both. A true bond of blood between us.”

“You are getting ahead of yourself, Hirokin,” Sesshoumaru said, shaking his head. “Even should the mating bond be loosened, how can you guarantee that the child will not be born a male, like yourself?”

Pushing this barb aside, Hirokin said, “That is a trivial matter, my lord. It is nothing for me to purge the male germ from within me.”

Sesshoumaru’s glance was withering. “You don’t say.”

Hirokin’s mouth twisted. “All I ask, my lord, is that you consider the possibility. Consider my request, for it is the burning desire of my heart.”

A curious light entered Sesshoumaru’s eyes. Flinty and chilling in its brightness. Hirokin feared that he had gone too far.

But then Sesshoumaru said, “Persuade her to wean my son from her breast, and then we shall see.”

Hirokin exhaled in relief. Gracefully and deeply, he bowed.

“Yes, my lord. As you say.”

Hirokin turned to leave his lord in peace. He’d barely taken a step when cold iron claws closed around his neck from behind, hauling him back into a hot, hard chest. Hirokin’s breath went out of him.

“To think,” Sesshoumaru said lowly, near his ear, “how swiftly all these fantastical contrivances of yours would end if I were simply to bend you over beneath me and shove my cock up your ass.”

Hirokin shuddered, wracked with fear and arousal both. Now he couldn’t have breathed even if he’d tried.

“A pity for you I have no taste for it. But then, if I did, you’d have been dead long ago.”

Sesshoumaru’s iron grip slackened. Hirokin collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, gasping and shame-faced and throbbing.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Lol, it’s been a while, but this scene came to me so vividly the other day, and I just had to pen it down 🙂 With The Pact drawing to a close, expect some more installments in this series in the near future, as I’m revising and ramping up to complete Absolution <3

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