Made to Order by Chiaztolite

Sleeping Beauty

Three months prior

Slowly, he came to consciousness. His lashes fluttered as he began to open his eyes, but the soft glow from the overhead lighting forced him to squint as his vision adjusted to the brightness. The soft hairs on his nape rose to attention. Even without checking, he could feel the presence of another around him.

He was not alone.

A male voice confirmed it. “Rise and shine, Gorgeous.”

The owner of the voice hovered above him, and he frowned at the face studying him. This was all wrong. This man was not whom he wanted to see when he awakened. Immediately, his fingers flexed. The desire to claw at something suffused him. But, wait— after a second thought, he somehow knew it was not a good thing to do, so he suppressed the urge.

“How are you feeling?” The man asked, smiling. “Do you feel well enough to sit up?”

Ignoring the man, he sat up. He looked around his surroundings, and he saw they had placed him inside a clean white room, sensibly but austerely furnished. There was only a bed, a desk, a task chair, and an armchair in the corner. The furnishings were sparse, but everything looked functional and well-chosen.

The sight of his hands caught his eyes. He looked down and found the elegantly tapered fingers tipped with sharp nails — almost like claws, and the slashes of magenta markings that adorned his wrists.

How strange, he thought, as he turned his arms this way and that. Yet, this feels right. He could not imagine himself any other way.

“Do you know your name?”

He flicked a glance at the man. Name? What a foolish question. Yes, of course, he knew.

“Sesshōmaru,” he answered.

Despite the name being the first word he had ever uttered, it rolled off his tongue easily, as if he had been saying it all his life.

The man grinned. “Great name, huh? That was my entry for the contest. And obviously, I won. How do you like it?”

Sesshōmaru did not know how he felt about the name, but he certainly knew how he felt about this man. He was too friendly. Too talkative. Too familiar. But, oblivious to the criticism, the man continued his chatter.

“My name is Miroku. I’m the technician tasked to — err, how should I say… to prepare you for the real world. I’m pleased to meet you, Sesshōmaru.”

Sesshōmaru stared at the hand offered to him and frowned with distaste. Then, he flicked his annoyed glance back at the man's face. “Is there someone else I can speak to?”

Miroku took his hand back, propped a fist on his waist, and sighed good-naturedly. “I see some lessons in manners are in order,” he said. Then, he chuckled lightly. “It’s alright. We have time for that.”

“Yours is not the face I wish to see upon waking,” Sesshōmaru explained. “It is as simple as that.”

“Ouch. I’ll do my best to not take offence,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder and winking. He did not seem offended at all. “It’s okay. I understand. You want to see her so badly, huh? For most, seeing their spouse is the first thing they want to do. Because of your enhanced traits, I imagine the urge is even stronger.”

Sesshōmaru did not answer, but he must have exhibited something in his face that made Miroku's face break into a soft smile of understanding.

The man lifted a remote in his hand and pointed it at a large screen on the blank wall opposite from the bed.

“Alright,” he said. “Feast your eyes on this.”

The face of a woman with raven hair and blue eyes, a slight smile on her rosy lips, appeared on the screen. He did not know what his spouse looked like, but he knew he would recognize her the moment he saw her. That missing piece of the puzzle he had felt ever since he awakened finally clicked into place.

Slowly, Sesshōmaru climbed off the bed and planted his feet on the floor, testing the strength of his limbs before he approached the screen.

He touched her face, tracing the gentle curve of her cheek, the bow of her lower lip, and the long lashes of her eyes. He soaked up the frankness of her gaze, and the softness of her half-smile.

Mate.

The thrum of anticipation coursed through him. He turned to regard the man studying him quietly and arched a perfectly silvery brow.

“Her name?” Sesshōmaru asked.

“Higurashi Kagome.”

“… When can I meet her?”

“Three months from now,” Miroku replied. “After you have completed your Orientation and passed all the health exams and other checks. Once all those are done, and you feel well enough to leave the headquarters, you can go home to your spouse."

Sesshōmaru’s shoulders slumped. Three months? It might as well be a lifetime for how long it seemed from now.

"I know it feels like a long time," Miroku said — rather kindly and with more understanding than Sesshōmaru had expected from anyone other than himself. "But you've had just woken up. We need to make sure your body is functioning properly. And we always prefer that you leave the headquarters with a full understanding of your spouse. We have videos, which were recorded with her permission, that will give you a glimpse of what her daily lives are like at home.”

The mention of his spouse – Higurashi Kagome –  had Sesshōmaru shifting his attention back onto the screen.

“Play them,” he said.

When Miroku made no move, he looked at the man and bit out: “Please.”

Miroku laughed. "Great! Now we're learning," he said before pushing the ‘play’ button.

For hours, Sesshōmaru watched her. Over and over, until he memorized how she walked, moved, smiled, laughed, and the little habits she probably did not even know she had. For example, did she realize she tucked her hair behind her ear often? Or bit the end of her pen whenever she was lost in deep thoughts?

“She sits in front of her computer a lot,” he remarked when Miroku came back to check on him a few of hours later. “What does she do?”

“She is—“ Miroku frowned and checked his tablet, clicking a few times until he found the information he needed. “— an author. She writes fantasy romance novels.”

Sesshōmaru paused the video and approached the wall. He ran his palm over the screen, over the imprint of her face. It was a still image. Even if it moved, it was an image still.

It had no windows to neither her thoughts nor her emotions. It left him wondering: what did she like? What made her happy, and — more importantly, what made her angry?

An author. Her pictures and videos provided no clue to her innermost feelings, but perhaps her books would.

“I would like to read them," Sesshōmaru decided before turning to Miroku. "Can you obtain copies for me?"

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Present time

In her panic, Kagome stepped over the letter she dropped onto the ground, and she did not even care. Instead, her widened eyes were glued onto the massive box that lay on its base, like a coffin. Fitting, she thoughts, as it housed a body — even if the image it aroused was a little morose.

She slowly circled the box, round and round, torn between wanting to run away to some unnamed place and never returning, and opening up the package to see what they had created — just for her.

He would be based on the characters she had designed and sketched out, and mistakenly included with her application. The words she had typed up nine months ago flooded her memory:

Tall, athletic build. Full demon blood. Long silver hair. Golden eyes (with magenta eyeliner???). Facial markings of some sort. Beautiful large hands with claws. Pointed ears. Elevated senses, especially sight and smell.

Can turn into a large white dog???

Kagome raked her hair with both hands. Gone were images and fantasies of a kind, friendly man with black hair and brown eyes. The reality of it was still astounding, and she did not know if she could ever get used to it: there was a dog shapeshifter inside the box.

Shit.

She could curse a million times, and it still would not have changed a thing. She felt the pockets of her jeans for her phone, ready to call the hotline number to speak to someone, anyone, who could help her process the return of this thing she did not intend to order. But, before she pressed any number, she stopped.

Her eyes still on the box, Kagome realized: she was aghast, but she was also curious.

Before her last minute burst of courage left her, she made quick work of the box’s fastenings. She took a deep breath before she lifted the lid to uncover the person underneath – and froze.

Her breath trapped in her lungs, she stared.

He was beautiful.

His eyes were closed as though he was sleeping. His face was perfect: aristocratic features, high cheekbones, defined jawline. His long hair fanned beneath him, looking like spun silver. The facial markings they put on his face were alluring and only enhanced his beauty.

Kagome’s eyes rested on the purple crescent moon on his forehead. An interesting choice, she thought. But strangely, despite it being the first time she laid eyes on him, it was difficult to picture him without it.

Her fingers itched to touch, but putting her hands on him felt like a violation while he was unconscious, even if she had paid for him.

Nothing could have prepared her for the moment he opened his eyes. They found her at once. The golden of his irises was striking, and she found her knees weakening under the weight of his gaze.

He sat up, she backed away. Slowly, he stood and stretched to full height, and she suddenly found herself tipping her head back to keep gazing into his eyes. At more than six feet tall, he towered over her. Kagome raked her brain, trying to think back to the endless questions she had to answer before completing the application process. Wasn’t there a section for preferences on physical attributes?

Desired height.

Did she not choose ‘medium’? And for a Japanese man, that should fall somewhere around five feet and seven inches, right?

Right…?

Evidently, the Made-to-Order team decided that a taller build was more suitable for a dog shape-shifting beastman. He was dressed simply — but spectacularly — in a well-fitted white shirt and a pair of tailored grey slacks. If she ever thought long, silver hair on a man would make him look feminine, she was wrong. Not even his hair — as silky as it looked — could take away from his utterly masculine appearance.

He made her apartment seem small. It was not merely his physical size, but his presence more than anything else.

He had the aura of a predator. He was silent. Soundless. Even his footsteps did not make a noise as he stalked towards her. She, in comparison, was loud and as clumsy as a drunkard three sheets to the wind, stumbling upon a stack of books as she walked backwards one shaky step at a time.

Kagome could hardly hear her galloping heartbeats over the roaring in her ears. She retreated until her back collided with the wall on the other side of the room.

As nervous as she was, she could not look away. His golden eyes were so beautiful. So mesmerizing. She was hypnotized by the movements of his dark pupils that seemed to dilate as though he could not take in enough of the sight of her.

Even then, he uttered no word. The silence was so unbearable that she wondered:

'Is he not able to speak?’

Then, as though a cog had been loosened and set the whole machine into motion, he wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened, heart practically beating out of her chest when he lowered his head to bury his nose in the crook of her neck.

They were so close, her breasts were practically pressed against the hard planes of his chest. She quivered when she felt the tip of his nose brushing against her skin. The reverent way he inhaled deep made it seem like she was his sustenance, and her scent alone fuelled his movements and gave him purpose.

Her trembling intensified when he trailed his nose down to her clavicle, her breasts, and further to her belly as he slowly lowered himself to his knees. The iron bars that were his forearms wrapped around her waist and were pressed against the small of her back.

He said only one word as his forehead nudged gently against her ribcage.

“Kagome.”

Something in his tone made her heart clench. What was this? What was this yearning she heard in his voice? They had just met, and yet why did he act as though he had been waiting for her for a long time?

When his face kept descending lower and lower, and his nose came dangerously close to the apex of her thighs, Kagome bit back her shriek. Ants crawled along her back, and she pushed his head away, leaping out of his hold.

Cheeks hot, she pretended to busy herself by tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Errr… Gotta go take a bath!” She stammered an excuse. “Uhh… I’ll see you later, okay? Make yourself at home!”

She did not wait for him to respond before she ran into the bathroom down the hall and slammed the door behind her, heartbeats still racing a mile a minute because of her close proximity to the man.

Not just any man. Her husband. With whom she had signed an agreement to procreate.

Kagome clamped her hands on her face and groaned.

~~~

Still on his knees, Sesshōmaru stared at the door at the end of the hallway before he rose to his feet and quietly approached it.

He knew Kagome was standing against the door on the other side. He could hear the pounding of her heart through the wood panel. The rush of the blood in her veins. Smell the scents of her uneasiness and panic.

His wife and mate was a beauty, though it was no surprise. He had seen her face in pictures and videos at the headquarters after all, though meeting her in the flesh had a completely different effect on him.

His visceral reaction to her presence brought him to his knees. He hungered to be near her, but he had barely touched her before she ran away. He had not kissed her, or touched her intimately. He had only enough time to commit her scent to memory, and it was a complex blend of everything warm and beautiful.

Now, she had locked herself in the bathroom instead of inviting him in so they could bathe together.

A pity.

It was not the kind of first meeting he had expected, nor preferred. He frowned. For some reason, instead of wanting to spend some time getting to know him, she could not wait to get away from him.

An alarming thought popped into his head. Could it be that his wife did not find his form attractive? He peeked at himself underneath his shirt, at the toned physique and his washboard abs, and scoffed inwardly.

Hn. Not possible.

He thought back to the first book of her newest series, in which the heroine Mayu struggled at the beginning of her relationship with the love interest, a full-blooded demon named Caledon who, from the descriptions, looked quite a bit like him.

The furrows on his forehead deepened. Coincidence? It must be.

Mayu was described in the book as shy, with little prior experience with the opposite sex. Perhaps his wife was the same?

Sesshōmaru briefly considered breaking down the door, so he could get into the bath with Kagome and wash her back. It would be an easy feat, but something inside warned him such aggression might not endear him to his new wife and mate.

He stared at the closed bathroom door for a little longer before sighing and going to the kitchen.

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Kagome stayed in the bathtub as long as she could, until her skin flushed pink from the hot water and all her fingers turned pruney. Then, she washed her hair twice, applied a deep conditioning mask, and left it for much longer than the recommended time before she made a move to rinse it off.

Afterwards, she took her time drying her hair, lathering her entire body with a tub of lotion, and lingered over clothing selection — even though she had laboured over all fashion-related decisions the night before in preparation for the arrival of her spouse.

She had chosen a dress for this occasion, but ultimately, she discarded it in favour of something comfy, because she just could not handle putting on anything more than a pair of tights and a loose-fitting sweatshirt.

And then, she set out to spy on him from behind her bedroom door.

Through the little gap, she could see that he had disposed of all the boxes and debris, clearing up her entranceway and eliminating any traces of his arrival.

Her eyes found him in her kitchen, busy preparing something she could only assume was their evening meal. The scents of dinner cooking on the stovetop made her mouth water, and her empty stomach gave a warning growl.

Worried his keen hearing might catch the noise, Kagome shrank back behind the door, although she was unable to take her eyes off him.

She practically ogled him. He had such wide shoulders. A broad back, tapering into a lean waist in an enticing V shape.

Him inside her kitchen presented such a jarring picture. An odd entity, though at the same time, he looked so perfect in it, even if he had just arrived. Even if he had never been here before. He moved around confidently, comfortably, opening drawers and cabinet doors and finding the required items without confusion or fumbling.

His sudden voice nearly made her jump.

“You may come out from your room,” he spoke to her without turning around. “After all, this is your home.”

His voice was on the deeper side of baritone. It was smooth and cultured — like gliding her hand over warm silk, and had the power to turn her stomach upside down.

Blushing, Kagome crept out from behind the door and padded into the kitchen.

“Umm… How long was I in the bathroom for?”

“About one hour and a half.” He cocked his chin towards the direction of the table. “Have a seat.”

Gingerly, she approached the dinner table. As she looked at everything he had prepared, she gaped.

“I could do better, but you do not have much inside your refrigerator in the way of fresh food,” he explained as he came up behind her to pour two cups of tea and placed them on the table. “I will go to the supermarket tomorrow to stock up.”

Kagome turned and gestured at the entirety of the table. “You put all this together from the stuff inside my fridge?”

Sesshōmaru nodded. Kagome was at a loss for words. She did not think there was anything inside her fridge fit for eating. It was a miracle he was able to whip up a complete meal.

They were simple home-cooked dishes that could be found on the dining table at any household in Japan: grilled mackerel drizzled with soy sauce and butter, steaming white rice and piping hot miso soup. A salad of shredded cabbage with ginger-sesame dressing and pickled vegetables rounded out the meal. But they were done so well and elegantly presented.

She looked at all the dishes, two of everything… The sight of them made her chest tighten.

It had been a long while since she cooked for herself. Or since the last time she had meals that did not come from a restaurant or a convenience store. After her last breakup, and since she was so busy writing her books, she had neglected herself when it came to meals and nutrition. So unless she happened to be having her mother's home-cooked dinner, she would not be eating anything so… wholesome.

Still dazed, she sat down, and he took a seat in front of her.

“Ittadakimasu,” Kagome murmured before breaking off a piece of the mackerel with her chopsticks and putting it into her mouth. Umami burst on her tongue. The silken sauce — which he made by mixing together soy sauce and melted butter — coated her taste buds.

She stared at him with widened eyes full of awe and gratitude as she swooned. His mesmerizing golden eyes watched her in silence, riveted, but he had a gentle smile on his face — something she had never expected to see on him. And strangely, it made her cheeks flush and her heart pound against her ribcage.

He began to eat. For a few minutes, they dined in silence,

“The agency said… they named you Sesshōmaru,” Kagome said, peering up at him.

“That is correct,” he said.

“How do you feel about the name?” She asked. “An instruction to change it is included if you prefer a different one."

“Do you like it?” He asked back.

Kagome thought about it. Sesshōmaru — a name in two parts: ‘Sesshō’ and ‘maru’. Together, the literal translation was ‘the destroyer of life’, or it could be interpreted as ‘the killing perfection’. It was a name with deep meaning, and whoever chose it had evidently put much thought into it.

“It is a fierce name,” she eventually said. “It suits you.”

The same name on anyone else would have been ridiculous. But for him, she could not imagine another that would suit him better.

“Then — Sesshōmaru I will remain,” he said.

“And… you can transform into… a dog?” She asked hesitantly.

He flashed her a slight smirk. “I will show you later.”

Chest constricted with uneasiness, Kagome looked down and continued eating. How would one live with a shapeshifter as a husband?

They ate without speaking. Once in a while, she snuck a furtive glance at him.

“Do you… Do you have a hobby?” She asked, breaking the silence.

“A hobby?” He repeated.

“Something you like to do in your free time,” she clarified.

He chewed quietly for a moment. “Free time is a concept I have yet to discover,” he said. “I was programmed to excel in cooking, cleaning, and other household tasks.” He paused to look at her. “There is a section in the application form for hobbies, but you skipped that part.”

Kagome looked up, a little surprised. “Uhh… yeah,” she said. “I thought it would be weird to specify your hobby when it should be something you enjoy because you enjoy it. Not because I set it up.”

“Then, I will find one, if free time proves to be attainable. I reckon I will be quite busy for the time being.”

Kagome could not stop herself from frowning. He had just arrived — and he did not have a job. She was already worried, thinking about what he would be doing every day while she worked. And yet, he said he would be busy?

“Busy… doing what?”

Sesshōmaru pinned her with those intense, inscrutable golden eyes as his gaze slid over her unhurriedly.

“Getting you pregnant, of course,” he said, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips.