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Theory of Monopoly	By : sherlock Category: InuYasha > Yaoi - Male/Male > InuYasha/Sessh?maru > InuYasha/Sessh?maru Views: 5577 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor do I profit from this story in any way.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Warnings: Beware of penetration.

Theory of Monopoly

Expect the Unexpected

Inuyasha couldn’t remember the last time he felt this so awkward around a client. That is, if the man sitting so damn regally across from him could even be called a client.
Worse yet, the awkwardness had nothing to do with his pride—at least he was familiar with that kind.
No, the cause of his current anxiety came from the intimidating way the man he just sucked off hard, whose name he still didn’t know, was staring at him, as if he was dissecting and analyzing his every move—every chest heave as he breathed, every pulse he could hear ringing in his own ears, every blink he forced because the intensity in those eyes was more stimulating than he liked and he was maybe just a little bit scared he would get caught up in it.
Inuyasha wonders about the improbability of this entire situation in the first place and imagines himself laughing sardonically because of course he can’t actually do that right now, when the silence in the room was so fucking deafening.
He reasons that if Bossman (he decides to call him Bossman because of his position as Miroku’s supervisor, and because neither Glory nor Hole or any combination of the two would help with his current poker face) was actually looking for a shag, he’d at least be going home with a fatter wallet tonight. He does this because his instincts were screaming for him to run away but the perpetually self-sacrificing portion of his brain wouldn’t have any of it; tells him he needs to try, if only for his friend’s sake, because he wasn’t a douchebag like the majority of the people he knew.
He tries harder to convince himself by looking around at the obscenely large suite, eyes darting between the bottle of wine Bossman’s got opened that looks positively delectable, and the lavish king-sized bed to his right with big, soft pillows he desired very much so to cling onto like a koala.
At some point during his visual exploration, his brows must have furrowed because Bossman finally decides to grace him with his taunting voice.
“What exactly are you looking for? The backbone you seem to have lost since you last saw me?”
Inuyasha stares, blinks, gapes at the accusation, honestly surprised and maybe a little bit snubbed because dude, he did not just go there. It takes Inuyasha only two seconds to regain his bearing and go for a snarky counter.
“No, I’m just making observations, all of which seem to support the hypothesis I made the last time I saw you.” He scoffs and narrows his eyes into a glare, crossing his legs sharply as he sits back to imitate the other man’s posture.
“Oh? And what hypothesis is that?” The man chuckles deep and encouraging, echoing tingly vibrations up Inuyasha’s spine, but he ignores it and instead makes it his mission to rip that smug sneer off that too-handsome-it’s-just-not-right face.
“That you’re a complete and genuine asshole.”
Mission accomplished.
Inuyasha smirks as the man frowns. He doesn’t want to think how pretty those lips are and how good they’d look around—
“Perhaps I’ve made you too comfortable.” The man interrupts his train of thought, lifts his chin from the back of his hand and reaches for the cup of wine at his elbow, on the table next to the sofa. He looks away, no longer speculating whatever he was speculating, because Inuyasha’s flabbergasted expression could be amusing for only so long.
“Strip.” He commands, no longer in the mood for games.
Inuyasha prepares to laugh, wanted to ask if this was all a joke but one look across the room was all the answer he needed. He berates himself immediately for being so uncharacteristically unprofessional, for only realizing now how hard he was trying to delay the inevitable as if he was still hoping for something that’ll never be, although he does put some of the blame on the insufferable man… no, client.
He lifts himself from the sofa and begins by removing his leather jacket and his white cotton top, in the most sensual way he knows possible. Slow and tight, shifting in a way that accentuated his flexible torso and rolling hips, all the while keeping seductive eyes on his client, trying to gauge what the man found pleasing and what he considered distasteful.
So far so good.
No sparks yet, Inuyasha whirrs, but no matter. He had plenty more tricks up his sleeve.
He unbuckles his belt next, letting it clang playfully and interrupt the silence he forgot was there again as it hit the plush carpet floor. He unzips his jeans leisurely as he shoves one hand down his pants to grope his cock and makes sure to let out an inviting exhale of pleasure.
Their eye contact finally breaks as Inuyasha focuses on protecting his precious manhood from the metal of the zipper; he’d gone commando today and fuck, he can admit he really wanted to sneak a glance at the client’s face to see whether he approved of his choice of wear, but no.
It wouldn’t do to spoil someone that he’d just called an asshole.
So Inuyasha lets all his garments pool at his feet, as if creating for himself a pedestal to stand on. Now fully naked, he looks at the client again for further instructions, but all he receives is a glare. An actual motherfucking glare.
No hints of arousal or appreciation, whatsoever.
He falters just a tiny bit and takes a step back unintentionally; no longer as confident as he’d been minutes ago.
He made no move to cover himself, however, because he had no qualms about his figure. He liked his body—how it appeared in certain angles, how it moved always to his advantage, how it worked even when his mind didn’t—and he knew his face was good-looking, at least by normal standards.
Inuyasha fixes himself, supposes that there were always exceptions since every person had their own tastes, but despite that… this was the first time he received such a condemning look.
No. His ego can go fuck off. The real problem here was that, for the first time ever, a client of Inuyasha’s gave him absolutely nothing to work with.
Inuyasha honestly didn’t know how to proceed.
And that scared the shit out of him.
It must have shown in his face, and is it just him or is he being read way too easily, because Bossman suddenly shifts and uncrosses his legs, his wine abandoned and his attention now fully on his new toy.
Inuyasha immediately moves to fill the space between those thighs, which felt quite toned against his knees. Or maybe it’s just him. He hadn’t noticed how tense his muscles were until Bossman’s hands were on the back of his thighs, pulling him forward so roughly, he couldn’t stop himself from clinging onto the man’s broad shoulders for support. It was a fruitless effort though, as seconds later he was jerking and curling into himself to escape the sharp pain pulsating just above his hip joint.
He hisses, seeing teeth puncturing skin between strained eyes, and digs his nails vindictively into the client’s shoulders. Inuyasha always gave back as much as he was given, after all.
He was about to curse at the rude fucker when he saw the first rivulets of blood, but the air in his lungs is stolen and gone and all he manages instead is a submissive grunt because no matter how many times he used and abused it, he didn’t think his hole—or anyone else’s for that matter—could handle 3 dry, thick fingers all at once while fucking standing up.
Inuyasha gives it a moment, remembers to breathe again and instinctively tries to spread his legs to give the man more access and lessen the damn pain but he is stopped by the man’s unwilling thighs. He attempts to escape the prison he’d unknowingly entered himself by taking a step back, but the callous fingers around his thigh held him in place. There were going to be bruises there tomorrow, amongst other places, the fucking bastard.
“Move.” Inuyasha practically whines and he surprises even himself. The man happily complies by bending his fingers and Inuyasha groans, long and breathless, as the first signs of desire hit his groin hard.
Feeling equal intensities of pain and pleasure, the half erect Inuyasha was no longer confident he knew what exactly he wanted. Feebly, he mutters, “Not there, you idiot.”
The piercing slap his buttock received as punishment for his lack of respect had him unbuckling his knees and falling, right on the merciless digits the muscles of his crack hadn’t quite fully accommodated.
He cries out then, eyes seeing impossible stars, sensory receptors enduring all of three—no, four now—fingers in him, the only things keeping him up at this point because his limbs were going unbearably weak. The more he moves, the deeper they seemed the go and Inuyasha was suddenly unbelievably scared, as if he was being abandoned by the edge of a steep, unforgiving cliff with one mere hand clinging onto dear life. He’s trembling, fucking trembling for fuck’s sake, while his client continues to scrap his insides without hesitation.
Inuyasha’s anger bellows to the surface at the lack of care and he retracts one fist to inflict some serious damage to the guy’s face (and get the fuck away!), but then he’s safely back between strong arms again, as if he was being forgiven and receiving some soothing for being a good little boy by obediently receiving his punishment.
When his eyes gain focus again, Inuyasha finds his chin resting on Bossman’s shoulder and his thighs on top of his and around his waist, sitting in the most awkward position he’s ever been in. Nevermind the hands that were currently gauchely slack around someone he still believes to be an asshole.
He’s breathing hard and fast, heart still pumping at a faster rate than normal from the adrenaline. He feels the man remove his fingers, as if finally satisfied with the findings of their thorough exploration and he doesn’t stop himself from sighing into the man’s long, soft hair. He vaguely reminisces of freshly burnt ashes, of forest and expensive scotch.
His relief was short lived however, as immediately after, he was being lifted up by his backside, carried over to the bed, and then promptly dropped there with little patience. Inuyasha panics, shouts for the man to wait, his hand outstretched to create a weak barrier, while his pucker spasms traitorously. He really wants to smack himself at this point, because jesus, this was not him, he’s not this incompetent but fucking hell, his face must be blushing so terribly red.
“Shy now, are we?” Inuyasha hears the man chuckle and ogles appreciatively as he continues to remove his own articles of clothing in a way Inuyasha thought was so elegant, it was bordering absurd. He resists the urge to pinch himself.
“I-I’m not! I just…” Oh lord, how could he say he was embarrassed at the way his erection had bobbled so silly when his fine ass landed on the bed with legs very much wide open?
He just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. This was just so ridiculous.
“Relax.” Bossman insists, crawling on top of Inuyasha in a perfect way that mingled their bodies together comfortably and beautifully. Inuyasha stills when he sees a hand reaching for his face, but then his scalp’s being affectionately kneaded and he finds himself rocking his head harmoniously with the pattern of touches.
And if all of this somehow ends up with him baring his neck and face to the side in the universal gesture of submission, well, he’ll just claim plausible deniability.
His eyes are closed now but he could still tell when a shadow blocked his face from the lights, and he prepares. Breathes in and out, opens his legs again and relaxes, letting the man work his body any way he pleased.
He was pleased with aggressive, rough, and agonizing, apparently.
Inuyasha doesn’t seem to remember the last few seconds. All he thinks of is how suddenly tremendously full his belly felt, how much he had underestimated the man’s size and reach, how the fuck his body was not breaking from all that dizzying force.
He grabs onto bed’s frame behind him for dear life, but it’s really no good when his palms, like the rest of his body, were running sleek with sweat. Inuyasha cries because the man’s coarse fingers have finally found their way to his tender nipples, because his hands keep fucking slipping and his back is arching so much he feels like he’ll snap in two any second now.
“Too m-much…” He pants, as his prostate is violated in a manner that’s entirely new.
“Shh… you can take it, that’s it…” The man whispers throatily, one hand moving to anchor Inuyasha’s hips down while rubbing comforting circles on the crevice there with his thumb. His other hand is on Inuyasha’s lower belly, palming it down ever so slightly, so that the body underneath his could recoil just enough to allow him an exquisite view of their joining.
It amazed him to see the full length of his cock being accepted so easily by the lithe body in his lap. But it wasn’t enough.
It was as if there were infinite more space inside, begging to be filled and he found himself eager to be the one to do it. Curiously, he slows his thrusts, tosses a leg over his shoulder lazily and inserts a thumb inside the twitching hole.
“Oh, fuck!” The little slut whimpers, shivering enticingly, and he lets a smile cross his face when the ring of muscles attempts to crush its intruders in desperation. The boy had the most responsive body he’d ever touched and he found it positively addicting—wanted to learn just how much it could take and relished in seeing it destroyed by his own hands.
He decides on something wicked.
But for now, his own orgasm took priority, so he focuses on his own pleasure, only pampering his newly found plaything when it was certain there were worthwhile benefits to reap.
Soon, he reaches a pace and vigour that threatens the very stability of the bed, causing it to creak in a threatening but so very encouraging rhythm. The boy is desperate to clutch at something, he realizes somewhere in his daze of pure rapture, but he finds he rather liked the helpless, tortured look on his damp face. So he holds him down by his throat, hums appreciatively as the scorching walls tightened around his manhood in response, and proceeds to fuck the little thing absolutely senseless.
It takes several hours, and four truly convulsing orgasms from the boy for him to reach his own gut-wrenching climax. By then, the boy was no longer conscious enough to revel in the feeling of being completely and utterly gorged with semen.
The man is only slightly disappointed; had the boy remained awake, he would have demanded a thank you, sir for bestowing within him such a generous load.

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A/N: This chapter is for those readers who were kind enough to leave encouraging reviews. Thank you.
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Theory of Monopoly