Chapter Text
You pry up the cellar door and flinch at the smell of decay. The castle festers at its core, exacerbated by Naraku’s transformation.
He detests this state, but the struggle of holding his body together is prolonged by denying it. His most precious asset is his ability to reforge flesh, And for this process he prefers to be alone. You know that. Still, you descend.
The smell is worse with your feet in the dirt. You’re careful not to grip the ladder too tightly, should your grip make the brittle wood crumble. You closed the hatch before climbing down, the only light now from the cracks around its edges.
It’s barely enough to make out the mass in the centre of the room, but your eyes adjust. A wriggling, pulsing thing blinks it’s single eye. Then, another tendril uncoils slowly, as if in sleep. Knotted together and writhing as one are a hundred demons.
At their centre is his head, bowed in sleep.
You feel a lurching sensation, a knee jerk reaction to the dirt in the cellar. It feels like old, dried blood beneath your feet. The corruption has seeped into the support beams of the cellar. You doubt the place would stand on its own if not for his magic.
Blinking slowly, you wait for the head to notice you. A demon’s maw lolls open, it’s fleshy tongue poking out at you before it also succumbs to sleep. Naraku’s body twitches unnaturally, and then his true head finally moves.
You see two red eyes beneath his black fringe. His skin is so pale, white in the shadows like a death mask. He sneers in your direction, seeing nothing but darkness and the faint outline of a person.
“Kagura?” he snarls. His eyesight is poor when he’s in pieces. Naraku inhales sharply, recognizing the new blood that woke him is human.
“No,” you reply, “it’s me.”
“Hm,” he grunts. It’s difficult to tell if he’s still angry. “I did not summon you.”
You shift your weight to your hip, hazarding to step closer. No doubt he’s irked at his sleep being interrupted, but you understand that his desires are always a double-edged sword. Regardless of your actions, it’s his natural state to be displeased.
“I missed you,” is the only excuse you can offer.
You half expect him to dismiss it as pathetic, but instead Naraku hides his shock beneath a grimace.
“I didn’t think you were foolish enough to disturb me as I regenerate,” he finally tries, though it lacks the bite you know he can have.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” your chin is still raised to look at him. But Naraku understands that it is at once both practical and an act of defiance. Despite that, he can’t bring himself to lash out.
Instead, he laughs. It’s like dark water, pulling you in a few more steps. You’re lulled into a half-way sense of safety, worried less for your own bodily health. Perhaps it’s too soon, you fear. But Naraku seems unwilling to pin you with cruelty.
“Of course, I suppose I am the one who disturbs,” he says, “at least, for the time being.”
His cheeks are gaunt and heavy bags hang under his eyes. He looks tired, his voice is barely more than a reedy breeze. He creaks more than he speaks. You move even closer, until your toes touch the edge of the mountain of demons.
Naraku’s head is supported by a nexus of thick, gray tubes. His hair is entwined with the cellar rafters. He is hideous, you can admit that, and yet you shake your head.
“Do I not terrify you?” he asks, sounding more amused than shocked or angered by your lack of reaction. He does so love fear. “Most can’t bear to look.”
“Have many people seen you like this?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. You kneel on the body of the demon at your feet, using it as a stepping stone to get to the second.
Naraku makes a dismissive noise, unwilling to grace your question with an answer. He lacks one that will prove his point, and that annoys him.
“I thought as much,” you reply, “Kagura’s opinion hardly counts, in that case.” The demons are foul to the touch, but you manage to climb them one by one. Naraku stays terribly still as you do so, waiting and watching to see what you’ll do.
“And yours does?” he asks. A hint of thank ink-black, cruel humour creeps into his voice again. Still, you don’t flinch. He wonders if you might wish to hear him laugh again.
“Generally yes,” you kneel on the back of a sturdier demon, your eyes at level with his. “As I’m your lover,” you’re close enough for him to smell your blood, and the hummingbird beat of your heart.
You’re fragile, he thinks. But then again, so is he. And you’re looking at him with the worst kind of adoration a creature like him can fathom. Still, in his chest that’s now in pieces on the cellar floor, his heart that was once human lurches in your direction.
“You make a compelling argument,” Naraku decides. There is still a sharpness in his eyes, and it comes from ugly fear. You’re close enough that in a single, violent motion he could be dead. And your knife could be bloody.
But you keep your hands on your knees, looking at him with your head tilted. You move slowly, as if you know exactly what he’s afraid of. Maybe he has a right to be unnerved by this, but that won’t make you stop.
You lift your hands and put them on his cheeks, wiping dirt and grime from his face. His thin lips turn up into a smirk. He is a monster, a hateful, terrifying beast of hell and still you lean in to kiss him.
Your lips are human and soft. You’re warmed through, not disquietingly clammy the way he is. But you seem not to notice. You seem to reach through the haze of evil energy and the smell of decay to find the spark of heat belonging to Onigumo. That bit of life that makes you love him so.
He drags his tongue across your bottom lip, demanding out of habit that he be granted entry. Naraku gets what he wants, he’s used to that. So when you press your mouth closed, making a tight seal that his sharp teeth can’t break-- his eyes open.
“Did you come here only to torment me?” he asks, pulling away enough to be coherent. But he’s still so close.
He’s never felt more like an insect than when chasing your warmth. Naraku has looked on at moths flying headlong to their death, toward fire and now he understands why. It’s addictive, your humanity. It’s like a song that he could fall into.
He wishes he had arms, that’s what the longing in his displaced chest is telling him. He’ll wrap you up and keep you with him for hours when he’s finished remaking his body. And you won’t be able to deny him a thing.
But for now, you look at him with an amused expression he does not appreciate. You have ideas above your station and too little fear for his taste. At least, until you press your lips to his again.
It seems you grant him permission to deepen the kiss now, though he doesn’t know what’s changed. He’s the same as he was a minute ago, just as breathless and horrible to behold. Perhaps you simply wanted to prove you could control him.
That thought is simultaneously gut-wrenching and delicious. Naraku doesn’t know which is worse.
The smell of rot doesn’t register as pervasively, you notice. You put your hands in his long, black hair and drag his severed head against your mouth. Your fingers brush gray-mottled tendons and pale flesh.
He’s making decisions about which parts of him to keep even as he accepts your kiss, but he’s working a lot slower than before you arrived.
You have a nice time ruining his solitary confinement, sneaking kisses over his cold flesh. You try your best to warm him, he realizes, and the sentiment is unhelpfully pleasant. He loses count of how many times he needs to reconsider his decision to discard part of himself, you’re a beautiful distraction.
“I’m inhibiting you,” you say when you finally pause to breathe. He mirrors the action, struck very suddenly by how distant the need to do so was with your mouth to his jaw.
“Deeply,” he replies.
“My apologies,” you say, bowing your head. “I really did miss you.”
“If it would please you,” he begins, making you lift your head, “you may stay a while longer.”
“It would please me,” you reply. You kiss the corner of his mouth, moving too quickly for his poor vision to see. “I’ll be still as a mouse so you can be done sooner.”
Naraku closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before nodding. You can feel a shift in the cellar as he goes back to sleep. So much for parting remarks, you suppose. But he isn’t one for affection, especially not when vulnerable.
You sit back on your knees, watching his severed head hang from the rafters. And the sight, to your intense displeasure, inspires no fear. You know what he is, who he is, and still you make yourself comfortable.
Somewhere in the space between Naraku regrowing his neck and shoulders, you too succumb to sleep. The dark, cool cellar fades away, as does the smell of rot. You lean against the old wooden wall, the demons underfoot don’t bother you.
By nightfall, he’s finished. And you, his lover, lie curled up on the packed earth. His body is as it was, but now it’s much stronger. He feels better, more in control and sturdy. As much as he would like to look down on you with vague disgust brewing in his now rightly-placed heart, he can’t.
You’re roused hours later, somewhere just as dark but less oppressively macabre. You’re not in the cellar any more, you know by the smell. The wet, old air is cleaner in this new place.
Your fingers brush the floor, no longer made of packed earth. It’s tatami, you realize, the same tatami found in Naraku’s private chamber.
Sitting up, you realize how warm you are in this new place. Even in the blue-dark, you can’t feel anyone else’s eyes on you. You’re alone.
You look down next, wondering what’s covering you. You didn’t bring anything when you climbed down the ladder. But thrown over your chest, undisturbed by your heavy sleep is a white cloak of baboon fur.