WARNING: This is an out-of-sequence episode, a deleted scene I opted not to include in the main Control storyline.

Not for kids, or maybe even anyone.

---

 

 

 

 

She hadn’t forgotten him, of course—how could she?

Even if she’d had a mind to, it would have been impossible.

All while the mystics from Mount Senjou had droned on about her so-called ‘transcendence’, while Kohaku had riled her and Kanako had tasked her dwindling patience, Kagome’s thoughts were of the brooding darkness which only she could sense. A uniquely terrible brand of rancor served up special just for her. The miko’s jaw clenched tighter still at the loathsome sensation that continued to buffet her even now, as she left Rin behind at the training field and went grimly ahead to confront it at the source.

Perhaps it was some sadistic streak in her, or maybe it was just simply her aversion which had delayed her return. Each mounting footstep up the porch stairs seemed to drag against this inner resistance. To grate at the hatred which was lodged like a stone at the pit of her being.

She had never felt the Shikon no Tama when it was within her, but this she felt—and marveled at it all same, for having absolutely no idea where it had come from or just how long it had been lurking there.

When she swept the door curtain aside and met his simmering stare, the hatred within her burned hot as a coal, threatening to burst from her altogether. Reining it in, she stepped around him like she would any other object in the room. Prostrated on all fours as he was, he had to crane back his neck to glare after her.

“Three hours,” Sesshoumaru seethed.

Idly, Kagome glanced through a crack in the window shutters, checking the course of the sun. “Right on the money,” she said, her eyes cutting back to him. “You’ve got a fine internal clock there, Onii-san—assuming you didn’t get up from that spot.”

“Would that I could,” the demon lord said darkly.

Half-smiling, Kagome withdrew from her pocket a rectangle of four slender sticks, bound together in joints of twine—the sealing conduit which had held him fast from the moment he’d dared to touch her earlier that day. Faintly, it glimmered as she set it down on the table behind her. Some might call it baiting, the way she’d lured and trapped him here—but one had to be an animal to be baited in the first place.

Pouring herself a cup of water, Kagome leaned her hip against the edge, considering him as she sipped. “I know this is a new look for you, but I think it’s a good one.”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes narrowed at her. “Do you?”

He meant this response to be menacing—and it was. Low and intent, his tone raised gooseflesh on her arms and neck, but there was an unmistakable roughness in it which belied his desperation even more than prolonged, purpled stiffness of his cock. Kagome’s mouth twisted against the rim of the cup. Three hours, and his lust was still going strong—

Demons really were something.

Swiping her thumb across her damp lower lip, she set the cup down and picking up the seal, approached him. Heatedly, Sesshoumaru watched her, utterly still. The stakes were too high, Kagome suspected, for him to risk provoking her further. Although he wanted to, she knew.

Sweat glistened from his skin as he curled his claws into the floorboards, the muscles of his chest drawn tight as he labored not to breathe. Unable to be fully contained, his youki chafed at her in unfettered aggression, and Kagome smiled slightly.

“How does it feel,” she asked him with feigned sweetness, “to be the bitch for a change?”

Sesshoumaru’s eyes flashed red, his breath breaking from him in a snarl. “Fuck you, you vicious cunt.”

“Wrong answer,” Kagome said, giving her head a rueful shake.

Sesshoumaru snarled again as she flooded the seal with reiki, his wrists and knees smoking from the four points where its spectral bonds restrained him. Stepping toward him, she knelt down at his side, brushing the fall of his damp, frazzled hair back almost tenderly. He bit back a groan as her fingers skimmed the burning line of his jaw, his red-lidded eyes screwed shut against her.

“Right is how it should feel,” Kagome said as his gaze slid back to her, slitted and fuming.

Ignoring this baleful look, she stood and circled slowly around him. Even on his hands and knees he looked formidable, his bent form still rising to more than half her height. Tapping the seal thoughtfully to her chin, she watched as beads of perspiration skittered over his flesh like rain over marble, watched as the dark veins in his rigid sex and muscles visibly thrummed.

Pulling at the two longer twigs of the seal, she mused aloud, “Wider, I think.”

Sesshoumaru bared his fangs as his arms and legs spread apart at the plying of the twine, cords of reiki glinting around him as they stretched to match its shifting tension. Crouching down behind his lowered form, Kagome set the seal on the floor beside her and pushed back her sleeve. At the lightest touch of her hand to his hip, Sesshoumaru jerked, hissing in a breath.

“It’s only fair, really,” the miko said mildly, setting her nails against his smooth skin, although she couldn’t hope to break it with them. “Now you know how helpless it feels.”

As if to reinforce the point, she drew her fingers back farther. Gliding over the toned arch of his ass, she let her touch settle there as she contemplated him. His straining cock she couldn’t see, but his balls were on full display before her. Large and tight, they swelled prominently between his splayed thighs, and she wondered if they were as adamant as the rest of his exterior, or sensitive like a man’s. Inquisitively, she curved her fingers around one pale globe and as a whole body shiver quaked through him, learned they were the latter.

At this knowledge, a thrill of exhilaration ran through her. As he ground back against her, she tightened her grip with an infusion of reiki, reveling in the pained gasp that broke from him. In his vulnerability was vindication—for her, and all the other women who’d had no choice but to endure him.

“That’s for calling me a cunt,” she snapped, giving him a quick, stinging smack for good measure.

Despite the flare of his youki, Sesshoumaru’s answering curse had no real bite to it. Each muscle she could see was graven with tension. When she cupped him again, he rumbled low in his throat, his prone testicles somehow even fuller and tighter in their satin casing than they’d been before. Despite this gratuitous virility, she reflected a moment on the sheer impossibility of him having a mate, let alone fathering a child. A fleeting pity passed through her at the thought before she quashed it, her fingers heating as she squeezed and shocked him again.

Furiously, Sesshoumaru demanded, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Kagome said, her reply sounding flippant even to her own ears.

Seizing upon it, the daiyoukai bit out, “Touch my cock like that, and I’ll give you anything.”

The miko’s expression soured. He was enjoying this, the bastard. As if burned, she dropped her hand, Sesshoumaru growling in frustration. At a loss in the face of such utter deviancy, Kagome glowered. She’d wanted to chastise him, to give him a taste of how it must have felt to be one of those women at his mercy.

Seething with righteous anger, she scored her eyes over him. It really was a sin the gods had made him the way he was. As her gaze lingered at the spot between his sundered cheeks, she had to suppress a snort of exasperation. Even his asshole was perfect.

And then, it occurred to her…

Lightly, she trailed her nail over that slight pucker of flesh. It was the barest whisper of a touch, but at the contact Sesshoumaru’s youki spiked violently, his expression thunderous as he snapped his glaring eyes to hers.

“Don’t,” he warned her, the low timber of it reverberating ominously through the floorboards and walls of her home.

“Don’t what?” Kagome scoffed, prodding again at his crinkled periphery. “I’m not a male; it’s not like I can fuck you.”

But Sesshoumaru was clearly rattled nonetheless, and that was pleasing to her in the dark twisted part of her psyche which was enjoying any harm or humiliation she could bring him. Briefly, she looked around her home, now wanting to do just that. There were a few implements she could use, of course—wooden tool handles and the like, but the thought had little appeal to her in that fevered moment. What she wanted was a flesh and blood cock she could ram into him.

In lieu of that, she would just have to make do with what she had. Popping her right index finger into her mouth for an instant, she pressed it firmly against his flinching hole—a little surprised at how easily it pierced him. Sesshoumaru’s spine went deathly taut as she speared him, and Kagome knew that no one had ever breached him like this before.

Who, besides herself, would even dare to try?

The thought of her brazenness made her that much more brazen. Flush with it, she sawed the tip of her finger in and out, mesmerized by the sight of her own penetration. Still frigid with rage, Sesshoumaru remained motionless and silent at her probing, yet in spite of this, the course was undeniably getting easier.

As the tight ring of muscle relaxed another fraction, Kagome sank her finger in to the second knuckle, then to the hilt. The lush, heated grip of him was staggering, and for a moment, Kagome remained frozen in dark captivation of it. Raggedly, Sesshoumaru breathed at last—until the pad of her searching finger brushed against a curious swell inside him.

The demon lord seized, a series of savage, swear-like growls ripping from his throat. His reaction was so vitriolic that Kagome started to reflexively retract her hand—only to almost be knocked back on her own ass as he reared against her. At the force of this self-impalement, her finger seated itself within him even deeper than before, its point thrusting hard over the engorged lump of his prostate.

As Sesshoumaru’s guttural roars split the air, there was the sharp, hot tang of ejaculate, the visceral sear of youki. It was a scent and sensation that grew stronger as Kagome continued to milk him relentlessly with the slam of her finger, as violently possessed as he was.

Bringing her reiki to a simmer just below the surface of her buried flesh, she asked him breathlessly, ruthlessly, “How does it feel now?”

The raw need in him eclipsed his pride; the burning inward threat of her debased him.

“Right,” he panted harshly, groaning out her name so raggedly she could scarcely make sense of it.

It was a bitter plea if she’d ever heard one. Reaching across her lap with her free hand, she plucked sharply at the upper-right corner of the seal, snapping the tense joint of twine. Hotly, Sesshoumaru glanced back at her.

“Well, go on, then,” she said.

With his wrist freed, it was only a matter of seconds until he was coming hard into the vise of his own hand. Momentarily stunned by the echoing convulsions she felt within him, Kagome didn’t even see him seize hold of the sealing conduit next, his muscular arm little more than a blur as he whipped it forward and crushed the rectangle of twigs in his dripping fist.

With a gasp, Kagome scrambled back, raising a barrier on instinct as he swiftly stood. Cursing herself for her own carelessness, she eyed him warily as he rolled one shoulder then the next, each crack of his spine and flex of his claws making her pulse kick up another notch.

When at last he turned toward her, Kagome remained hunched and shielded. Slowly, his cold gaze scorched over her, lingering for a moment on the hand whose fingers she was unconsciously hiding in her sleeve. She had more than crossed a line, she realized, and although he said nothing as he stepped past her to retrieve his clothes and arms, that parting look of his told her she would regret it.

Trembling in self-disgust as she watched him depart, Kagome already did.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi