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Silver Demons
by SkyFire (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
rabid_plotbunny)
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3-4 | 5-6 | 7-8 | 9-10 | 11-12 | 13-14 | 15-16 | 17-18
Warnings: Eventual Sess/Seph (shonen-ai or yaoi, I haven't decided. We'll see when we get there. ^_^)
Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII or InuYasha and no money is being made.
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Chapter 19
The scent of blood was hot and rich, filling the air around them as they fought.
Sephiroth had ignored Sesshoumaru's almost-playful request that he run. Instead, he dodged the daiyoukai's swipe with inhuman speed, drew his short knives and struck back, and the fight moved on from there.
It was in some ways similar to their usual sparring, only now, out in the forest and well away from the palace, they were free to wreak as much destruction as they wished. But while both took advantage of that fact - as evidenced by wide swaths of shattered trees and new craters - both had yet to draw their swords.
Sesshoumaru grunted as he flew backwards, chest aching with the force of Sephiroth's kick, and went right through two healthy trees before stopping. Charging almost immediately once he regained his feet, he managed to grab the other man by the front of his haori and, with one quick spin returned the favor, the groaning and crashing of shattering trees making sure that if there was any wildlife anywhere nearby it would quickly be leaving for a quieter spot.
Hours had passed since they had started, both spurred on by the need to prove their dominance, and while they themselves had taken no major wounds, the same could not be said of their clothes. Sliced by claw and knife, their haori would never be the same; some places still somehow almost whole while others were mere tatters held together through sheer stubbornness more than anything else, edges spotted with blood from the cuts on the body beneath. Long silver hair was windswept and tangled, dotted here and there with the occasional leaf or bit of greenery. Claws and knives both bore the thin red sheen of blood and their eyes were alive with the thrill of the fight, the adrenaline rush, the feral need to prove to the other man that... what? What were they trying to do beyond holding out for the win?
Sesshoumaru shrugged away the question as unnecessary before attacking once again. He scored a shallow graze to Sephiroth's shoulder before he was forced to evade the knife-led counterattack. The scent of fresh blood in the air, coming from Sephiroth's shoulder and his own claws, was heavenly. He could feel it coming up from deep inside even as his eyes turned a darker shade of red and his fangs grew a little bigger; the almost overwhelming urge to grab the now-charging Sephiroth, throw him to the ground, and taste that blood even as he asserted himself.
As both an inuyoukai and Lord of the Western Lands, the basic urge to keep what was his by defeating any and all challengers to his rule was not a new one. What was odd was the depth and strength of it. Never before had he felt this much of a thrill, this much anticipation, this much... anything, really. Certainly he had never had such a fight with someone so close to his own level, nor had his youkai bothered to manifest itself as it was, evidenced by his eyes, fangs, and claws.
It was only with Sephiroth.
Why was he so different?
And why did he almost-purr when Sephiroth took advantage of his brief distraction to tackle him to the ground, his back hitting the leafy ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs? Almost immediately, Sephiroth had moved to solidify his hold; pinning the red-striped wrist to the ground near the daiyoukai's head, his weight settling restrictively on top of his thighs as he grinned down at him.
"Got you," the former General almost growled, pupils mere slits in excitement, a faint flush of exertion coloring his face.
This time Sesshoumaru did growl as he took stock of his position. On his back, belly up and exposed to Sephiroth, his wrist pinned and legs held down... No! He was Sesshoumaru, and the daiyoukai of the Western Lands! He would not be staying in such a submissive position! He was the lord, the ruler, the alpha male, and he would prove his right to be so-!
The pinned demon tugged against Sephiroth's hold, but the other man was clearly experienced in the ways of holding someone down. Unfortunately for him, he'd never held anyone quite like Sesshoumaru.
Though it went against every instinct he had, Sesshoumaru forced himself to relax, to let his head slip slightly to one side, almost - but not quite - baring the smooth expanse of his throat. Just enough of a glimpse to tantalize....
Human Sephiroth might be but the feral, instinct-driven part that was so much in control just then recognized a show of submission when it saw one and all but crowed in victory. Blue-green eyes were inexplicably drawn towards the pale throat even as the urge to sink his teeth in, to mark that throat, that being, as his grew. Moving on instinct, he shifted his weight slightly and leaned forward, eyes locked on the smooth column of his goal, mouth flooding with saliva in anticipation. Just one bite....
On the ground Sesshoumaru waited, fighting back his instinct to struggle with an effort. He was rewarded for his effort when Sephiroth's weight shifted, his grip on the daiyoukai's wrist relaxing as he leaned in, gleaming eyes fixated on the exposed throat in a way that put his instincts on high alert.
He didn't... he couldn't.... Sephiroth, no matter his odd strength, abilities, and scent, was still just a human. He couldn't possibly understand... he couldn't.... But it certainly looked like he was planning on biting, and that could not be allowed. Not ever while Sesshoumaru was in that position. He, Sesshoumaru, was beta to no one!
Still he waited, though it was harder now that he had sensed Sephiroth's unexpected intent and knew just what he was risking. If he moved too late... it was something that didn't bear thinking about. He would just have to make sure he wasn't late. He waited... waited... waited....
Struck.
The moment a small gust of warm, moist air hit his neck, he heaved, surging up with his hips and legs even as he tore his wrist free of the slackened grip. Reaching up, he grabbed a thick handful of silver and yanked, hard, even as he twisted, shoving with demonic strength and speed.
Sephiroth blinked, thoughts filtering back into his head with an effort. What happened...? He had pinned Sesshoumaru, briefly exalted in his victory, and then... and then.... He couldn't really remember anything besides the sight of that pale throat and the driving urge to sink his teeth in.
What the-? Why would he-? Why-? He hadn't actually... had he?
Looking up, he was somewhat reassured when he saw the daiyoukai's neck free of Sephiroth-bites. He didn't know how the other man would have reacted if he had-
Wait a minute.
When did he end up on the ground?
And... and why was Sesshoumaru looking at him like that? That almost-hungry look, the one that abruptly reminded him that though the other man might look human - more or less - he wasn't. He had been almost a friend, if tentatively and cautiously, for the past few weeks since Sephiroth's arrival, but the SOLDIER knew how quickly things could get out of hand in the heat of battle.
Speaking of heat, was it getting hotter out...? He shrugged the thought aside. Whether it was or it wasn't, what mattered was getting off the ground and back into the fight, though the demon didn't seem terribly interested in fighting just then, red eyes fixed on his neck.
Where were his knives? Sesshoumaru had him well-pinned, but with only one arm the man was at a bit of a disadvantage. He had one of Sephiroth's wrists pinned with unshakable efficiency, but his other arm was just slightly beneath him and could be freed easily enough. If he could just locate his knives, he would feel a lot better about his chances of survival if Sesshoumaru really did try for his throat.
Turning his head - slowly, slowly, don't startle him! - he looked first left, then right, but didn't see his knives anywhere. Moving slowly, deliberately, he arched his back and tipped his head back as far as he could to look above him, ignoring the way the back of his head ground into the dirt. If his knives weren't there, he would have no choice but to rely on his fists and the Masamune. The long blade was terrible for close combat, but it would have to-
He froze, hardly daring to breathe as the razor-sharp points of Sesshoumaru's fangs closed almost delicately around his throat, barely grazing the skin before they stopped, what could only be a deep, rumbling purr resonating in the other man's chest.
What the-?
The thought was echoed by Sesshoumaru as the sudden submissive immobility of the body beneath him allowed conscious thought back in. What had happened...?
He remembered flipping them, getting himself out of the submissive position, pinning the other man and taking his place as dominant. He knew his own abilities, knew that he could keep Sephiroth down for only a little while if the other man made a serious effort; they were too well-matched, which gave him a distinct disadvantage when it came to brute-force wrestling thanks to his missing arm. Then Sephiroth moved, arching his back and baring all of his throat in the most blatant sign of total submission he had seen in a long time. He certainly hadn't expected to see it from Sephiroth, and the next thing he knew his mouth was wrapped around that throat and he was growling in satisfaction at the other man's implicit acknowledgement of his superiority.
Pleased, he gently eased his fangs away from the vulnerable neck, giving it a satisfied lick as he pulled away.
The warmth of dominant satisfaction didn't last long. The instant the fangs were safely away, Sephiroth attacked.
From that point on, the fight lost any sense of skill and grace it may have had, dissolving into a free-for-all of flashing claws and swinging fists as both men, instincts screaming at them to enforce their superiority and force the other into submission, went at each other with feral instinct, growls rising into the air, the scent of fresh blood - both their own and not - only spurring them on.
Once-fine silk went flying as their haori gave way under the rush of blows, leaving behind only scraps that did more to emphasize the well-toned bodies beneath than to preserve any sense of modesty.
Instinct raging, adrenaline surging, hearts racing, neither could pinpoint the moment when the fight went from the lust for blood to lust of an entirely different sort. All they knew was that one moment they were doing their best to tear each other apart and the next....
...the next they were lying tangled together on the ground, comfortably cushioned by Sesshoumaru's mokomoko, Sephiroth's legs still wrapped around the daiyoukai's waist as they came back down from an orgasmic high, Sesshoumaru lapping almost fondly at a wicked bite mark on Sephiroth's shoulder near the base of his neck.
Both men froze as they realized where they were, what they had done, and who they were with.
What had just happened?
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Chapter 20
It was raining.
It wasn't one of those small showers that stayed just long enough to get everything good and damp before leaving as quickly as it had appeared. This was nothing short of a torrential downpour, drenching everything in mere seconds and showing no sign of moving on any time soon, the clouds dark and heavy with the promise of lots more water to come. It was falling hard enough that you could barely see across the courtyard and the faint smell of wet dog demon filled the air from those unlucky enough to have been caught outside when it hit.
The rain was fine with Sephiroth. The only way that the weather could better match his mood would be to add in a good bout of rolling thunder and crashing lightning, possibly even with the addition of a good earth tremor for good measure.
It had been a week since their spar in the forest and Sephiroth and Sesshoumaru had both done their best to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They hadn't talked about it, hadn't referred to it in any way, as if they were hoping to make it unhappen with the sheer strength of their denial.
But not talking about it didn't suppress slowly-returning memory and the once-comfortable silence that hung between them as they worked had become awkward and full of silent spikes. Still they ignored it, and while they still indulged in their daily spars, they were careful not to let them get out of hand, kept a firm stranglehold on the feral instinct that would rouse now every time they set foot into the training yard. They were never anything less than polite to each other, but the easy feeling of slowly-budding friendship had been replaced by the feeling of awkward distance.
The dreams that had started since then, memories of their fight in the woods given new life, didn't do anything to ease the new tension between them.
And now this.
In the week that had passed since their... encounter, demonic and enhanced healing had taken care of their wounds, the cuts and scrapes closed cleanly, leaving no scars to mark their passing.
All wounds except one.
When a week had passed and the wound on his shoulder was not only still there but still leaking blood if he cleaned it a bit too vigorously, Sephiroth decided that he should probably see what passed for a doctor in that place. He put it off as long as he could - his past left him no fan of the medical profession - but eventually the need to know what was going on, what was happening to him, why the wound refused to heal as it should have, drove him to ask one of the servants for directions to the healer's quarters.
As he made his way there, he couldn't help but wonder if it wasn't something he knew, something he'd seen once before. Genesis, after all, had gotten a wound to the shoulder that refused to heal, that had actually been the first sign of his impending degradation. Was he himself not immune to that degradation like they had all assumed? Was this a sign of his own impending mental meltdown and ultimate demise? If it was degradation, there would be no way he could find a cure where he was; everything was so primitive compared to the electrical wonders he was used to. If that was it....
His nerves were soothed, if only just a little, when he entered the healer's rooms at their quiet 'Come in' and was greeted not by the harsh scent of chemicals and sterile accompanied by too-bright lights and hell in lab coats but a simple room, open and smelling of the various drying plants and herbs that hung from hooks in the rafters. A wooden unit of hundreds of tiny drawers lined one wall, shelves filled with bottles of concoctions lined another. The room was open and airy and didn't bring back any unpleasant memories from his time under Hojo's thumb.
The healer herself was an older woman, old enough to have begun to show her age despite her demonic heritage. She walked over when he came in and slid the door shut behind him, abandoning the plants she had been chopping on a table without a second thought. Her clothes were plain and practical, with none of the long billowing sleeves to get in the way while she worked. The distinct lack of anything that could even vaguely be called a lab coat didn't hurt either, and a little of the tension that had crept into him on the way there left his shoulders.
"Ah," she said as she walked over. "Welcome. I am Yumeko, the palace healer. And you would be Sesshoumaru's new human, yes?"
"I am Sephiroth," the former general corrected, ignoring the little spark of irritation that appeared at the implication that he belonged to the daiyoukai. He had long since had enough of being someone's property - first Hojo's, then Shinra's - and he had no intention of ever allowing it again. He was his own being and would never again allow someone to own him, would fight to the death if he had to!
Some of that feeling must have bled through into his tone because the healer smiled gently. "Of course, my apologies," she said. "So, Sephiroth, what brings you to me today?"
Now that the moment had come, all his apprehension towards doctors and scientists returned full force. If this was Shinra, the only thing he would have had to look forward to after announcing his injury was being locked up in a lab in the Shinra building and being tested and experimented on until Hojo was satisfied that they had solved the mystery of his unhealing wound - and any other questions or tests that had popped into his deranged mind while he had Sephiroth strapped down on the cold metal table and helpless.
He opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again silently in trepidation. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Maybe he should wait another week. The wound didn't actually hurt, after all... though that strange lack of pain had been one of the reasons he had decided to go to a healer in the first place....
Yumeko saw his brief glance at the door and knew he was thinking about leaving. She also knew that anything that could have driven him to come to her in the first place was most likely something that needed to be seen to and had probably already been left for longer than it should have. Men! It seemed that the stronger they were, the stupider they got when it came to getting their injuries tended properly. Most of them tried brushing them off as nothing, though, and this Sephiroth seemed more nervous than anything else. She didn't doubt that if she got between him and the door that he would go right through a wall to get away.
That was no good; she couldn't work on someone that nerved up.
Sephiroth watched as she went over to the wall of drawers, took up a small bowl and added dried plants from three different drawers to it before taking it to the small fireplace and dumping them into a warm kettle there to brew. She looked up, saw him watching her, and gestured at a floor pillow across from her.
"Sit, please," she said. "We will have tea, and then we will talk."
Knowing that refusing would be considered very rude didn't stop Sephiroth from casting a last longing glance at the door before he went to the indicated pillow and sat down. It didn't take long before he had a tall mug of tea clasped in hands he was still getting used to seeing without his gloves.
The clothing he'd arrived in, the leathers that were his trademark back on Gaia, had been expertly repaired, cleaned, and returned to him. They were in his room, neatly put away, and likely to remain there unless he could find some way to get back. The clothes he'd been provided with, still along the same lines as those he had borrowed from Sesshoumaru, were more than adequate and he found himself enjoying the new freedom of movement they allowed him during their spars.
...Why did so many of his trains of thought end up with Sesshoumaru lately? If it kept up it seemed like he would be turning into a human - and less vocal - version of Sesshoumaru's green toad-thing Jaken!
He took a quick sniff of his tea, then a cautious sip, pleased it turned out to be quite pleasant instead of the bitter stuff he'd had back on Gaia.
"Good?" Yumeko asked with a small smile.
"Acceptable," he said, taking another sip. "What's in it?"
"This and that," she answered. "It is a good tea for nervous pups like yourself."
Sephiroth ignored the 'pup' comment; it was something he had gotten used to in a palace ruled and run by dog demons. "I see."
They finished their tea in companionable silence.
Then there was no more putting it off and Sephiroth, after one last glance at the door, decided to trust her. At least a little; he had finished her tea and was still perfectly conscious, without even a little grogginess that would point to treachery. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as he'd feared....
"I have a wound," he said at last, "and even though it's small, it refuses to close."
"I see," she said. "And how long have you had this wound?"
"A week."
"Hmmm. From a fight, I'm guessing?"
A faint flush appeared on Sephiroth's face as the memory of exactly how he had ended up with that injury flashed in his mind. Still, it had started as a normal spar.... "...Yes."
"Can I take a look at it?"
One last, brief hesitation, then Sephiroth shrugged his haori off on one side, baring the area, then pulled free the bandage that both protected the wound and kept the blood from staining his clothes.
Yumeko came closer and looked at it. Her eyes widened in surprise, then she looked at him. "This is no ordinary wound, pup," she said.
So it was degradation, then? But how could she be so sure? It had taken Hollander days of tests to diagnose it in Genesis! But what else could it be? "What do you mean?" he asked at last.
She told him, and explained what it meant.
Now he stalked towards the study where he and Sesshoumaru usually worked at that time of day, his thoughts awash in a blind, red rage that would have done Genesis proud, blue-green eyes screaming death and sending servants skittering out of his way in fear.
One thought and one thought only echoed endlessly in his head, only feeding the anger that surged through him.
He would not be owned again.
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