Title: Selfless
Rating: PG-13
Squicks: sexual references, language
Pairings: Sesshoumaru/Kagura
Words: 545
Summary: Reverse psychology.
Author's Notes: Originally written for the gift theme on the 30shards LJ community. Repost, higher rating. Hopefully it won't get deleted this time.


Sesshoumaru just can't let things go.

In his collection of long-cherished desires some things will someday be achieved, like Tessaiga. He will always want Tessaiga, but he can wait; Inuyasha will die, so he can wait.

And some things will always linger, like grudges and anger, like hatred and vengeance, like the things he cannot forget that eat away at him, leaving him hollow and worn inside. It would be best to release them, but somehow he just can't.

Even the rare gifts he gives eventually come back to him. All the lives he returns pay for themselves. The headless youkai that led him to the world between worlds. His brother's companions, who will serve his cause so well at the end of this long road that they all travel together.

Even the life of the little girl - given without expectation - returned to him, now follows behind him on bare, dirty feet.

His pretty gifts cycle - over and over, through him and out again - until they aren't even gifts at all.


First he frees her hair from its bindings. Then he frees her from her clothes.

He never pins her down beneath his body - not that she would ever allow that, even if he tried - but instead he always lets her ride him, so she thinks that she has a choice. Even impaled, she always looks like she is about to fly away.

With hands, lips, tongue, she tries to brand him, tries to make him hers, and yet she never succeeds.

It doesn't matter. Kagura fucks him to prove that she doesn't have to. She fucks him to prove that she can leave.

He fucks her back so she can go on believing that.

She fears her gratitude, her lust, her debts, all the things she wants or owes, and she is wise to do so - Sesshoumaru can see them weave together, braiding in and out and over themselves, tethering her to him. He could cut her loose, if he wanted.

But he doesn't. He likes being generous.


Every time he gives her this gift, there is less to give. Or perhaps there is more, depending on how one looks at it.


And this is the truth he keeps: freedom is an aimless, worthless thing, a vessel to be filled, an endless, hopeless stretch of days, void of purpose, cluttered with minutiae. Freedom is best when longed for. Freedom is best when seen through the bars of a cage.


Some day she will notice, but for now she lies to herself, allows herself a sleepy complacency because she believes she could go and never return, if that was what she desired. She can leave. She could leave forever, if she really wanted.

Her delusion would be charming were it not so piteous, and Sesshoumaru wonders if she realizes just how many masters she has. He wonders if she knows that he is the most merciful of them all.

Over and over again he gives her this illusion of freedom, this pretty gift of prison, and each time he tugs her tether she always comes back, just so she can pretend to leave again.

Her longings and her debts stay behind, threaded through his fingers.

Sesshoumaru just can't let things go.