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Benefits	By : Kereliah Category: InuYasha > Yaoi - Male/Male > Shichi'nintai (The Band of Seven) > Shichi'nintai (The Band of Seven) Views: 1551 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Inu-Yasha, and I'm not making any financial profit off this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Benefits
- 1
Oneshot. Reposting on my new account.
Benefits
The sun had just gone down, when I felt the first raindrop. It was like one had set off the other, like there was some guy hiding behind a tree or something, and as soon as the light disappeared he flipped this big shiny switch with "rain" written on it, or—you know what, I don't know. I don’t really specialize in coming up with awesome metaphors for describing stuff like that, because hey, I'm not like a fucking poet or anything. So if that's the kind of story you're looking for, you should probably look somewhere else.
Anyway, it kind of sucked, because it was already so cold that day, and it was only getting colder as it got darker. The last thing we needed was a storm. But before I knew it it was raining, first a drop on my nose and then on my head and shit, it was just raining everywhere, just coming down like crazy and I was so not cool with that, I really wasn't. It was definitely going to ruin my hair.
"Okay," I said to him, getting up off the top step, "this is retarded. I'm going inside. Are you coming?"
"Oh." He kind of looked up then, like he didn't even notice it had been raining, and gave me this cute, crooked half-smile. "Right. Sure. Give me a second, yeah?"
"Mhmm." I didn't bother to convince him otherwise. He was going to get wet, but whatever, he knew that; I just went inside and slid the door shut behind me, hoping that he really was going to come inside in a second, and not sit out there being intense for forever and a day. He had tendency to do that, if I didn't keep an eye on him. A bad habit of thinking too much.
The house where we'd made camp was small, with only two rooms inside it. There was a little one, closed off. Then there was a bigger one, lined in straw mats, a couple of ratty pillows strewn about the floor; leaning against one wall was a mirror, chipped, set in a wooden frame, and a couple of drawers draped in a dustcloth and containing nothing of interest. I know, because I looked. Whoever had lived there before was obviously dull as dirt.
The mirror, at least, would be useful. The light wasn't great – nothing but a candle, and I was lucky for that much – but I'd done maintenance in worse places. Blinking at a reflection made fuzzy by the grime on the glass, I began by pulling out my pin, letting my hair fall loose from its knot.
It would've been nice to have a comb at hand, but I never seemed to, so I just held the pin in my mouth while I pushed my fingers through it a few times. It really didn't look half-bad, seeing as I hadn't had a bath in God knows how long. And seeing as I was, you know, dead.
I tucked the pin into the sash of my kimono, not about to trust its safety to those sketchy-looking drawers. Then, I used one sleeve to dab off most of my lipstick, smearing the cloth red, flicking my tongue over my lips to make sure they were clean. I liked myself better with lipstick on, but the evil was necessary. He wouldn't want it all over him.
Pushing myself up onto my feet, I slid my sword and its sheath up over my shoulder, and laid it by the door that was, damn it all to hell, still closed. I'd been patient, and I'd gotten ready, and he still wasn't coming in. I could hear the rain carrying on out there. By now, he was probably drenched as fuck.
"Bankotsu!" I kicked one of the wooden slats of the door, the impact rattling all throughout the little house. "Are you seriously going to sit out there all night?"
He didn't answer me. With a sigh, which was maybe the tiniest bit dramatic, I turned my back to the door; I leaned against it, arms folded, tapping one impatient foot. I could feel my face slipping into a pout. "Fine. Stay out there in the rain. By the time you do decide to come in, you'll be soaking wet, and I won't even want you any—wait—shit!"
All of a sudden, I was on my ass. Wincing at the sting of the impact, I realized the door had slid out from under me, and he must've come to his senses and come inside; now, he was standing there looking down at me and cracking a familiar grin, that remind-me-why-I-put-up-with-you smile that always made me feel like the kid in this equation. That what-am-I-going-do-with-you smile, that always made me forget I was three years older than him.
"Happy now?" he said sweetly, the door clicking as he closed it. "I came in."
I stuck out my tongue at him, ignoring the hand he extended to help me up. Taking some small pleasure, at least, in the fact that he was very wet, and he dripped all over the straw mats as he went about his business. Setting his halberd down by the door, beside my sword. Wiping his face dry with a corner of the dustcloth on the drawers. Sitting down in front of the mirror, and beginning to undo his braid—wait, fuck—damn it, he could be such a prick sometimes! He wouldn't even do that on most nights! And I was trying to pretend to be mad!
"No way! You're not playing fair!"
"And you're surprised?" He didn't look at me, but I could see his face in the mirror – smug, self-satisfied, smirking like he smirks at a man before he slaughters him. A little gentler, maybe, but the smile was the same. "I thought you were mad at me."
I let out a loud, frustrated huff of air, blowing my bangs out of my face. "I am. I mean, I was. But you—and I—and this is—I just want to do it, okay? I'm the one who gets to take out your braid."
Very coolly, he flicked it over his shoulder. "Then stop whining," he said, "and do it."
What can I say? That was Bankotsu for you. He always got what he wanted, from me and from everyone else; before I knew it, I'd lost my will to be difficult, just like I always did when he was the one giving orders.
I had hauled myself up onto my feet – still sore as shit in my tailbone, by the way – and traipsed over to settle down behind him, my fingers itching to get started on unbraiding him, longing for the familiar texture and rhythm. Somewhere along the way, we'd started kind of a pattern with these things, and now my whole body knew what was coming when he let me unbraid his hair.
To be blunt, it knew I was going to get laid.
Seriously, though, his hair was ridiculous. Fucking amazing. The more I unbraided it, the longer it got, and it was so soft and it felt so good between my fingers – you know, that was the only time I ever wanted to make up a decent metaphor, some pretty words on how much I loved just loosening each plait. God knows I couldn't, though. All I could do was sit there, and undo them one by one, and be careful not to tug too hard or anything—oh, and watch his face in the mirror. To make sure he didn't slip away again.
"Big brother," I cooed into his ear, drawing out the second word, trying my best to soften him with the nickname. "Come on. You're not going to disappear on me, are you?"
His gaze flicked up to mine in the mirror, distracted from whatever unpleasant thoughts weighed on his mind. "Disappear? What could you possibly mean by that?"
One corner of his mouth twitched upwards, so I knew he was being sarcastic—but still. I didn't trust the shadows in his eyes. They didn't bode well for our evening. "I mean," I said as I undid the last of his braid, fingers brushing the nape of his neck, "that you're thinking too much, and I don't like it. Your mind shouldn't be somewhere else, not now, not when we've got some privacy for the first time in days. I need all of you to be here."
I slid my arms around his shoulders, pressing myself up against him, nestled against the unbound kinks and waves of his hair. "With me."
He was silent for a moment, and still. Then, I felt his hand come up to touch me, his fingers stroking my forearm slow and thoughtful; while he did, my eyes sort of started to close on their own. It felt so nice, being alone with him again. "You let down your hair," he mused aloud after awhile, in the kind of voice that told me he was smiling. "And you took off your lipstick. Were you planning on this, Jakotsu?"
"Oh, cut the crap. Don't even tell me you weren't, too." I opened my eyes specifically so I could roll them, making a point to let him see it in my reflection. "One minute I'm the only person in the whole world you can trust, and the next you don't even see fit to bone me? Please."
He half-succeeded in snorting back laughter, the kind that went with his you're-so-weird grin. "Did you really just say 'you don't see fit to bone me'?"
"Yes, I did. Seriously, Bankotsu—you can be such a child sometimes."
That tore it. When I said that, the games were over, and he'd seized my face in his hands; in a motion too smooth to counter, he reached up and took my chin with firm fingers, jerked me closer, tilted his head back, holy shit it was good to be kissed by him.
He got me in all the right spots, pushed all the right buttons—he slid his tongue in my mouth and it fucking blew me away. I swear to God, I could kill a man like Inu-Yasha a thousand times over, and it wouldn't turn me on the way Bankotsu can.
By the time he let me go I was breathless, dazed from the pleasure, hard and hot as hell under my armor and kimono. He kissed me hard, sweet, for a long time but not long enough, and when he was done he raised a knowing eyebrow—peered at me, upside-down, that old smirk back and quite at home on his face. Sexier this time, though. Same as his voice.
"Call me," he said very softly, my face still clasped in his hands, "big brother."
Chills ran down my spine. I felt a purr rise up in my throat, like a cat. "Yes, big brother. I'm sorry."
"Good." My reward for that was another kiss. This one lasted longer, until I was half-melted in my skin; he took his time with it, too, breaking me down, making me wait. Before it was over, I was weak at the knees. I could hear myself sigh, even, when he made the move to pull us apart—fuck it all, there was always something with him. We couldn't get to the good stuff just yet.
He shrugged me off and got up, heading for the door at the back of the room. "Sorry. Hold on for a second." Opening it, he glanced into the tiny second room and started poking around in there, sifting through a heap of something, spreading the smell of dust and mothballs all over the place. "I'm looking for a blanket."
"Why?"
"For you, obviously. I'm not the one who's ending up on this nasty floor." He yanked a couple of tattered coverlets out from under a pile of them. "Unless, of course, you want to fuck up your back on these straw mats."
My nose wrinkled at the thought. "Eugh. You have a point." He started handing me a bunch of worn, gritty quilt-type things, and I started spreading them out over the mats; a little ways from the mirror, I layered on each one top of the next, after brushing them clean of dust and the musty smell of storage. It wasn't fancy or anything, but this would be way better than the floor. "I'd rather not end up with boning-induced injuries."
"For fuck's sake, Jakotsu. Would you quit saying that word?"
"Which word? Boning?" I flashed him an innocent smile as I kicked off my sandals, settling down on the makeshift nest of blankets. "Why should I?"
"Because I am not going to bone you."
He shut the door and came to sit beside me, not quite smiling. At first, he didn't even touch me – he just sat there, looking at me for ages, blue eyes narrowing so faintly I could hardly see it. Moving slowly over what skin I left exposed.
"I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy. Until you're screaming my name. I'm going to split you open, and fill you up, and make you feel so damn good it hurts—when I'm done with you, you won't even know where you are. You're going to beg me to do it harder, do it faster, never stop because you love how I feel inside you—because you need me so bad—because you're so close and you can hardly breathe. I'm going to make your voice tremble like it does when you're really fucking horny.
"I'm going to make you leave those goddamn nail-tracks on my shoulders, like you do when you have to hold on because you can't stand it, and they're going to bleed and it's going to drive you crazy, you beautiful sick bastard. You're going to long to cut me up. But you'll know you can't, because I'm stronger than you and that turns you on, so you'll just lie there and gasp for your big brother to make you see stars all over again—and I, if I decide to be nice—am going to fuck. You. Senseless."
He was quiet. The words sank in and he was quiet, just for a moment, before he leaned in and kissed me behind one ear. Very gently. Just barely there. "But Jakotsu," he whispered, smug as all hell, "I am never going to bone you."
Shit. I had goosebumps. Forget being senseless then, I was nearly senseless now – shaking all over, practically, and desperate for him to get at me already. For once, I couldn't think up a comeback. "Call it whatever you want," I managed to say. "Just do it to me.”
So he kissed me again, and oh, I can't even describe it. His kisses are like a fucking drug. And we were finally making out for real, with his hands buried in my hair, my arms locked hard around him - finally, he was disarmed, relaxed, back from the world inside his head and every bit of him right here. Smelling like blood, sweat, rain—the earthy scent of adrenaline—like a man who kills for a living and loves it, like the wielder of a weapon like Banry�. He was right, as always. His power gets me off.
Before long, I was on my back beneath him, my legs free of my kimono and wrapped around his waist. My sash was loosened and untied, the buckles of my armor worked by well-trained fingers; he had a skill for undressing me, and grinding up against me, and making my back arch when he kissed my neck. Not just kissing, but sucking, nipping, leaving telltale bruises and bite-marks my kimono just barely hid. Playing the predator, whenever his teeth pricked my throat. Making me shiver with the thrill.
After awhile, he drew himself back breathing hard, almost steamy in the heat that had formed between us. I would've whined, protesting the loss of his mouth on my skin, refusing to let him go—but in the faint light, I saw him start to remove his own armor.
Undoing the knots and ties, leather straps and steel plates, extracting himself from layers of metal and cloth. Handling the task way better than I could have, dizzy and dreamy as I was—hell, better than I could have, period. Bankotsu's armor was fucking complicated.
But it never seemed to take him long. His hands were sure and soon he was stripped bare, half-smiling down at me, hotter than motherfucking hell. He glistened, in what candlelight still burned, from the rain that had soaked through to his skin; I saw it gleam on the muscles in his arms and his chest, on the dark, wavy ribbons of hair that fell over his shoulders. That sexy, bloody musk was even thicker on him now, a coppery-sweet taste in my mouth.
And then there was the way he looked at me. It swept broad over his whole face, from his flicker of a grin to the tip of the star on his forehead, this thing between pride and desire—yes, this was another smile I recognized, and God, did I love it. This was his you're-mine-now smile. His the-things-I'm-going-to-do-to-you smile.
The chills came back, fluttering down in my stomach, when his fingers began tracing a path up and down my thigh. "Hey. What's with the face? You look like you're off in space or something."
"Hmm? Oh, it's nothing really." I sighed, enjoying the butterflies, gazing up at him with eyes that were melty and woozy and probably looked ten kinds of stupid. "Just that you're so fucking hot I could die."
"Again?"
I frowned at him. "That's not a very sexy thing to say."
"I'm sorry. I know." He chuckled faintly, but that wasn't what I was focused on—no—fuck, no, now I was focused on that hand, which had slipped down between my legs and was doing something totally amazing and completely unfair. "Is that better?"
I probably made some sort of noise in response, but it wasn't a word. I was too busy trying to keep myself from shuddering, as he ran his fingers over my erection; over and over again, he did it, too slowly and too lightly but oh, was it ever good to be touched by him. That sentiment twitched in my face, fueling his grin. My cheeks turned pink, flushing all around the violet stripes that crossed them, and my nails anchored themselves in the quilts; around him, my legs quivered despite myself.
I shut my eyes because I couldn't bear to look at him, smirking at me like I knew he was. Still, the embarrassing sounds escaped. He went on stroking me, applying more pressure, finding those hot spots that made me squeak and gasp and get his hand all sticky with precum.
Of course, the noises I made only got worse, when he slipped two fingers in his mouth and then into me; he wasn't too gentle about it, either, pushing them in all the way like he owned the place. It hurt just a little, in an erotic, pulse-quickening way.
And if I liked it, he knew it, and he was going to milk it for all it was worth. He knew how sensitive I was in there. He knew how to slide those fingers in past all my barriers, all of the places where my body was tight and tense; how to open me up, all slick and warm, receptive to him and his games.
To his special kind of massage, caressing all of those tender places. To the way he'd flick a fingertip and get me shaking all over. He found a rhythm he liked, working my sweet spots outside and in, getting me so damn ready for him—God, the sounds were unreal. I was blissing out like mad.
"Mmm." I heard him make a soft, husky noise deep in his throat. His hair tickled on my chest and my shoulders, his breath heating my neck—I hadn't opened my eyes, and I couldn't see him, but I could tell that he'd leaned in close. "Jakotsu. How do I always forget how cute you are?"
He said my name and my face reddened all over again, at the affection in his voice. There weren't a lot of words he said so fondly. "Shut up."
"No, really. I mean it." I opened my eyes to peer up at him, looking at me with the kindest smile in his inventory. His moment-of-weakness smile. His letting-my-guard-down smile. The type of smile that said he could trust me, with the knowledge that I was special to him—that would've really touched me, in my heart I mean, if he hadn't been touching me somewhere else. If he hadn't been distracting me from getting too sappy, with his fingers being especially devious inside me.
"This is why I love foreplay with you," he murmured into my ear. "You're adorable when you're tripping out. The way you get to blushing, until you're so red I can hardly see your stripes—the way you start biting down on your lip, harder and harder, until I can taste blood when I kiss you. Those noises that you make, the little pants and gasps. How they're a language all their own."
With the tip of his finger, he circled the very deepest of my sweet spots, the one that always earned him a reaction like no other. No doubt, I made one of those sounds he had mentioned, and his silky laughter hummed against my skin. "I like it. It's sexy."
God. If my face got any warmer, I would burst into flames. "Quit being such a girl, Bankotsu" I mumbled instead, my voice weaker than I would've liked, trembling just like he'd said it would. "Let's go already."
"One second."
Before I could process his hands leaving me, they were cradling my face, and there was another kiss and it was brief, gentle – but spine-tingling, all the same – almost romantic, if there could've been romance between us. If we had been in love, if we had been lovers, and not just two dead mercenaries hooking up in a worn-down shack. It would've been the sweetest damn thing, him kissing me just then, if we were sentimental types.
"Okay."
I never got tired of it – having him inside me. He slid himself in like he belonged there. Contrary to rumor, his halberd wasn't compensating for anything, and he was more than equipped to make me shiver with every inch—to get my breath hitching, my mouth wettening with a moan—to hit that terribly sensitive place right off the bat. He released his breath, a sort of satisfied sigh, being still for a moment before starting to move. I closed my eyes.
Okay, so I'll admit it: I'm kind of a screamer. I'm not good at holding it in, when something feels really good, and fuck if he didn't make me feel really, really good; I cried out for him over and over, in between other, less coherent pleasure-sounds, just like he'd said I would.
He got me deep and hard and fast, grinding ceaselessly into that sweet spot, keeping up a pace with just enough friction and just enough sting. He did it just how he knew I liked it, rough and intense, so good it hurt—just like he'd said he would—he filled holes, scratched itches, sated cravings I didn't know I had. Until my chest burned, I gasped out his name.
There are few things better in the world, than being skin-to-skin with him. Than the way he'd brush up against me, slick with sweat, his chest heaving and his teeth pressed into his lower lip. Than his hair falling like a black curtain around us. As I got closer, I started begging him to go faster, to do it harder, calling him big brother between cracks in my voice—and yes, I dug my nails into his back. I clung to him and clawed him up like crazy, all along his shoulder blades. I couldn't help myself.
Once I could smell blood, I was gone. That scent got into my nose – that scent that was uniquely him, musky, metallic, with traces of something only he could provide – and it was over for me, just a few smooth, strong thrusts and wetness on my fingers and fuck, I lost it so hard.
All at once, I was all screams and spasms and the best feeling in the whole damn world, the kind of climax that made my hips snap into his and my back arch over the quilts. The kind of release that grabs you, and owns you – if only for a blissful moment or two.
It wasn't long after that he let go, too, swearing under his breath, a wave of tension rippling through his body. I heard him grit his teeth and hiss. Then, there was something warm and creamy inside me, sending little currents up under my skin, and we were both drained and panting misty clouds of breath; his arms, braced on either side of me, finally gave out. His weight came down, heavy and hot against me.
Bankotsu and I weren't in love. We weren't lovers, and we didn't make love; we were friends, maybe best friends but still just friends, and we had sex. Friends with benefits, I've heard it called.
I mean, we were really just kids – he was seventeen, which translates to 'horny all the damn time,' and turning twenty hadn't chastened me any – and we needed to let off steam, with somebody who understood. With somebody who was always there, whenever we had a spare hour to kill. Somebody who wouldn't ask us to commit.
We weren't official. We weren't exclusive. We were a secret from everyone else. So it follows, then, that we wouldn't waste time snuggling, or breathing sweet nothings, or some other retarded shit; we'd never been prone to dozing off in each other's arms, and I knew we weren't going to start now. After all, we were dead. We'd already slept enough.
"Goddamn." After a minute or so of recovery, he hauled himself up and off of me, letting loose a decisive huff of breath. He sat beside me, pushing his hair over one shoulder, glancing over the other to get a look at the marks I'd left. "Nice work, Jakotsu. You really fucked me up."
I half-smiled, inspecting my fingers—gleaming red down to the first knuckles. "Oh, right. Sorry."
He eyed me knowingly, as I licked his blood from my fingers. One by one, I slipped them into my mouth and sucked them clean, very much enjoying the familiar taste on my tongue. "Don't say it if you don't mean it."
"Fine. I'm not sorry." I scooted myself into an upright position, my hands leaving scarlet prints on the blankets. Briefly, I wondered if anyone else would stay here after us, and smirked at the thought; what would they make of the stains we left behind? "But it's not my fault," I added. "You know I can't help it. Besides, you came inside me; thanks to you, I'm going to be leaking all night."
"You like it when I do that. You told me so."
"Yes, but still."
He sneered at me, and I sneered at him, and he punched me in the shoulder a little harder than was necessary; I gave an indignant sniff and acted hurt. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's be serious for a second. Are we getting dressed or what?"
"Hell no. We're going again."
"Is that so?"
"Absolutely. No getting out of it, big brother." I wet my lips and grinned at him, more suggestively than usual. "Come on. We've got ages before we have to go. Besides, just listen to that rain out there – it doesn't sound like it's stopping, does it?" Winding my fingers slowly around a lock of his hair, I gave it a tug, and he cocked an eyebrow at me. Amusement played at the corners of his lips, nearly turning them to smile. "It's telling us we should stay here, where it's dry. It's saying we have time to kill."
He studied me from beneath half-lidded eyes, like he was trying to decide if I was worth coming back to. He acted indecisive, but I knew this game too well; with enough incentive, I could always reel him back in. "I don't know, Jakotsu. I think Naraku expects us to kill more than time."
"Yeah, well. Naraku's not here, is he?" My eyes rose innocently towards the ceiling. "But I am. And if we stay, I might just be offering to give you head."
Hook, line and sinker. Bankotsu might be able to fell an army in one strike, but he's still a teenage boy. "Huh. Well, when you put it that way…"
Finally, he cracked a smile, a cute little shameless-horndog smile, an I'm only-human smile, and I took it as a sign to push him back down onto the quilts. This time, I was the one to climb on top, with the intention to love him up some before fulfilling my promise. "I have to say, I'm kind of honored. You're wasting precious time with Inu-Yasha, you know."
"I know. It's tragic, isn't it?" I leaned down so we were nose to nose, ignoring the soft rustle of laughter in his chest. "But alas," I sighed, in a tone sweet with melodrama. "Inu-Yasha's not the one who's going to bone me."
"How very sad."
"Yes. I think I'll survive, though." Very lightly – almost tenderly – I kissed him. "At least I'll always have you."
- 1
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Benefits