Inuyasha and all its characters are created by Rumiko Takahashi. I merely occasionally borrow them for my own twisted purposes.

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Here we are, once again. The observer and the observed...

Aw, hell, now I sound like that damned monk again. And I must be twice as perverted. After all, you gotta be pretty twisted to want to peep at your own brother while he gets off. Even if I can't stand his guts.

No, especially since I hate his guts. For fuck's sake, what the fuck is wrong with me, anyway? Why do I torture myself like this, when I know I'll just end up sick to my stomach, a huge ball of envy, lust and self-disgust. There's gotta be something fucked up in my head. Why would I wanna watch that?

But I do, again and again. I watch and I marvel, I envy and I want, I hate him, and I hate myself. I hide in the shadows and I stare, rapt, as that pink tongue laves up and over, around and down, caressing the proud, pink crown that rises boldly from his foreskin, swirls and cradles those full, aching balls lovingly, knowingly hitting just the right spots to give him the perfect pleasure. There is no doubt, no hesitation; all is perfect, pressure, speed, wetness, warmth... I watch and I want that for myself: the perfect lover, always knowing just what to do, how to do it. Oh, I envy him this. Why is it that he gets everything he desires, just because he is himself? Even in this, I get the lesser part.

I can tell he's getting close now. And so am I. His breath hitches, and I stifle my own moans as my hand moves in time with that pink, slavering tongue, a poor substitute. For a moment, he loses that perfect poise, that uncanny balance, and I falter along with him, gasping my surprise. I halt, fearing discovery, but no, he is too far gone for that. A shudder ripples over him, like moonlight on water, and we sigh in unison, gone and gone. I quiver with longing as that pink tongue gathers every last pearl of his seed, even as I wipe my hand upon the grass. He lays back, loose-limbed and sated. A pink flush tinges that lily-white flesh as he dozes, unguarded. This would be the perfect opportunity, to either kill the pompous prick or to slink away like the scum I feel I am. I opt for the latter. Man, I am so low.

And stupid, too, apparently. Was I really so idiotic as to think he was unaware of his surroundings, of me? My brain must be addled from all the pent-up lust. Silently, I rise and start to pad away.

"Otouto."

Aw, fuck.

"Inuyasha, this Sesshoumaru knows you are there. Did you think I could not smell you?"

Double fuck.

"Come forth."

"Fuck you." Damn pompous ass thinks he can give me commands?

"Come forth, or do not. Sulk like a child, or skulk away like a craven beast. It truly matters not to this Sesshoumaru."

"Fuck you, cocksucker." Why can't I come up with something more original, damn it?

"Would you blame this Sesshoumaru for your birth? It is not my fault that you cannot transform and suck your own balls, as I can. That is that cause of your consternation, is it not?"

"Fuck you."