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Moonlight Whispers	By : northstar Category: InuYasha > Het - Male/Female > Sessh?maru/Rin > Sessh?maru/Rin Views: 17031 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Moonlight Whispers, v2
- 2-Moonlight Whispers, v1
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: I don�t own anything Inuyasha�..but man, if
I did�..:D

Warnings: NC-17, MINOR! NONCONSENTUAL!!, explicit sex,
language, violence,

all the good stuff

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Moonlight
Whispers�

Innocent
Beauty and her beautiful Beast�

She is so young, but for all of his long life, never
has time passed so slowly. He is done being patient.

He will have her.

Tonight.

The center of his palm tingles with the anticipation of
touching that which he has denied himself. Lust, sluggish and ravenous, curls
in his gut like some dark leviathan. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches
her with a predatory, assessing gaze. He imagines what it will be like to
have her under him. She is so small, with her slight hips and budding
breasts; an alien twinge of conscience makes him pause in concern for someone
besides himself. He should wait�

He catches himself, startled. Since when has the well
being of a mere human ever come before his own wants and desires?!

His resolve hardens. She is his to do with as he pleases!

�Rin, come,� he commands, a slight edge to his stoic
tone.

Trustingly, innocently, she trots after him as he
strides away from the campfire. A single glare from him keeps Jaken from
following. He glances back at Rin, meets her bright, curious eyes, and feels
a dark hunger flame to life in his abdomen. Such perfect trust. Such perfect
obedience. She is without fear; her belief in him absolute. The very thought
of tearing away that veil of innocence and seeing her eyes darken with
frightened understanding as he demonstrates just what he was capable of makes
the muscles in his groin clench.

Soon, very soon, his possession of her will be
complete.

�Sesshoumaru-sama?� Rin prompts cheerily. �Where are we
going?�

He remains silent, knowing that no answer is expected
on his part. She will follow him regardless of his destination or his intent.
He is struck anew by the depth of her adoration, of her devotion. He wonders,
idly, whether he will ever see such emotions from her again after tonight,
and finds himself memorizing the look of sweet joy that illuminates her face.
She is so delicate; fragile as a butterfly and vulnerable in a way she
couldn�t even comprehend yet. She is a woman�barely. He will tolerate no more
delays. Still, some part of him is unbending to his will, and before he
realizes it, he is stopping and turning to her.

�Leave,� he says, his tone demanding immediate
compliance.

She stops, looking up at him with puzzlement, but does
not obey. Part of him wants to lash out at her, to make her run from him
before he is ready for her to, and he knows, deep down, that if she leaves
right now, he won�t pursue her.

�Leave!� he growls, disbelief at his own actions
filling him. He wants her; why is he denying himself?!

Rin�s jaw takes on that stubborn jut and the confusion
in her eyes solidifies to defiance.

�No!� she protests.

�Rin�� he warns.

�No!� she has the audacity to interrupt. �Rin wants to
stay with Sesshoumaru-sama!�

He thinks about what he intends to do to her tonight
and twisted amusement sparks within him. A very small, very scary smile
curves his lips.

�No matter what?� he queries quietly. His voice is
deceptively even, betraying nothing as he waits for her to condemn herself
into his keeping.

�No matter what!� she insists, her ignorance making her
bold.

He faces away from her, his fangs flashing in the dark
as his sardonic smile broadens and then disappears.

�Do as you please then,� he answers, a trace of ironic
amusement warming his tone.

She, by her own admission, is here willingly.
Whatever pricked his conscience cannot hold against that and he
relaxes�marginally�when his conscience falls blessedly silent.

�Yes, Sesshoumaru-sama!� she bubbles as she follows
behind him.

Silence falls, and he can feel his beast rising. Her
enticing scent, clean and sharp and fragrant, hangs in the air like a banner.
He anticipates that same scent saturated with the bitter tinge of fear and
the heavy musk of sex. Blood rushes to his loins, bringing him to semi
erection. His lust burns; he has never felt this kind of impatience before.
It is inevitable now. He will have
her.

Before him, the forests open up into a moonlit glen
that is at once lush and wild. Arrogant and proud, he strides into the
clearing with absolute assurance of his ownership. He is Sesshoumaru, inu
taiyoukai, the most powerful demon
in Japan. Whatever he desires is his for the taking.

Behind him Rin pauses and gasps in admiration of the
beauty around her. Nothing on his face changes, but he allows himself a
moment of smug satisfaction; he has chosen well. A cold, clear stream from
melted mountain snow snakes swiftly and silently through the edge of the
glade, the low murmur of a small waterfall the only disturbance in the crisp,
starry night. He turns his head slightly, his gaze drawn to the shallow, moss
filled hollow beneath the sheltering branches of a prominent oak. There he will take her, pressing her
body into the dark, rich soil. There
in that fertile place, her blood and tears will fall, an offering to the
earth. There he will her show her
exactly what it means to be his.

He feels his erection grow and harden at that thought.

He turns to face her, his expression impassive.

�Rin,� he says with his voice low and even; but there
is an undercurrent of urgency he cannot hide.

�Yes?� she pipes in her happy voice.

�Remove your clothing,� he continues.

�Huh?� her puzzlement is obvious in her tone.

�You will not need it tonight,� he supplies, a thread
of impatience thickening his words.

�Oh,� she murmurs softly. She knows better than to push
him when his tone is like that. Her fingers drop to the knot of her obi and
she acts as if she is preoccupied with the task, but he knows that she is
acutely aware of his gaze on her. He is always her first and foremost
concern, but under the weight of his regard, she is especially attentive and
that pleases him.

She pleases him.

He quells the urge to rip the clothes from her body and
bides his time. Tonight, he will honor her above any mere human, beyond any
other female. Tonight he will gift her with his body and his attentions
because she is worthy.

With eyes as gold and brilliant as the sun at sunset,
he watches her as she writhes, working the loosened obi over her hips. His
phallus is now so taunt it is painful; he can feel it pulse in time to the
vein at his temple. Despite his discomfort his face shows nothing, but the
press of his claws against the heel of his palm is almost to the point of
drawing blood. He is Sesshoumaru
and he will not be undone by the simple act of a girl child stripping. Even
so, he can feel the first tricking excitement of the hunt pooling in his
belly like mercury. At last he will banish all the restrictions he has placed
on himself and possess her.

The obi falls to Rin�s feet and the kimono relaxes with
a whispered sound, so that the slender curves of her body are obscured by the
loose silk. She reaches for the folds of the kimono, pauses and steals a
glance at him from under her lashes. She is not coy; he can tell that his
actions truly mystify her, that she is unsure of what is expected of her. For
the briefest of moments, the warm brush of some unnamed emotion flutters
through his insides; then the sensation is gone as anticipation rises within
him in a thick, dark, electric rush. Very
soon now, he promises himself.

Without further hesitation she pulls the kimono off her
shoulders, letting the garment fall from her slack fingers to the ground.
There is a moment, when time holds its breath and the universe is still, that
she stands alone, naked and bathed in moonlight. She is delicate and
exquisite, an iris in first bloom, and for the briefest of seconds, the great
demon lord�s breath catches and his feigned indifference falters as he
stares.

She is beauty and purity, like the first blush of
spring. Against her shoulder and breast, her hair is like spilled ink, an
opulent darkness against the soft sheen of her skin. Of all the females he
has ever seen, hers is the only beauty that rivals his own; but where his is
as cold and forbidding as the crescent moon, hers is as warm and touchable as
the velvet night sky. She is his perfect complement.

A gentle breeze blows, ruffling her hair and breaking
the moment before it dances lazily under his nose, laden with her fragrance.
The cool wind is so fresh he can smell each individual scent of her body: the
hazy, heavy aroma of her hair, the faintest wisp from her skin, the dewy musk
of her sex that hangs in the air like the moist promise of rain. He inhales
deeply and the predator within stirs, awakening to her scent.

Inevitably, his gaze is drawn to the tender arch of her
neck, to the hollow between her collar bones. He can see the fluttering pulse
in her throat and he promises himself that before the night is over, he will
capture that pulse between his fangs, press it against his tongue, and
balance her life on the knife�s edge of his control. Her small breasts, like
shy rabbits with pink noses, he will coax to boldness with his touch until
they are a fitting feast for his mouth. The taunt hollow of her lean stomach
he will stroke with his claws, tempting himself with how easily he could
spill her innards in one hot, glorious rush. The slim cradle of her hips he
will hold captive as he enters her, pitting his ancient youkai pride against
the primal urge to fill her to the brim with his seed.

He reaches for the knot of his sword sash, his eyes
never leaving her pale form. With one impatient jerk the tie gives and
Toukijin and Tenseiga hit the ground with an undignified clank of metal. At
any other time, he would kill anyone who dared to treat his swords in such a
manner, but tonight, this night, he
does not care.

Rin starts at the sound, dropping the folded kimono in
her hands as she turns startled eyes in his direction. She is nervous and
wary; he knows that his strange mood is making her uneasy and he loves it.
The predator within him surges forward suddenly, pushing against the iron
will of his control, and her eyes widen as she watches his gaze flicker red.

Hers is such a bright trust, fragile and blind; his is
such a nefarious intent, dark and ruthless; that he feels unexpected
amusement curl like smoke through his insides. A hint of a smile, sardonic
but not entirely cold, twisted his lips upward.

His hand goes to the fastenings of his plated armor and
with a muffled clack-clack that too falls to the ground at his feet. With one
arm he draws his spiked breast plate and shoulder band over his head. For a
moment, his movement is awkward and he hates it, hates the way she edges
closer, her intent to offer help clear. Bitterness and fury well up within
him and his tone is harsh and biting as he commands her to be still.

She flinches, as if he has physically struck her, and
immediately his hatred is gone, replaced by something akin to regret. There
is a momentary softening of his mood, and for once, he gives thought to her.

�Go,� he
tells her, �Go back to your kind, back to humanity.�

�Never!� her reply is instant, vehement. Her previous unease is
gone; she stands with her spine straight and her eyes gleaming with defiance.

Lust and need erupt in his gut at the sight of her
challenging stance and any charity he thinks to offer vanishes. He looks at
her and feels nothing but the hunger inside; that and the cool assurance that
she is his.

�Do you know why humans fear me?� he asks quietly as he
lifts his hand slowly into the air. The cracking of his knuckles is overly
loud in the sudden stillness and she watches with morbid fascination as his
hand begins to glow neon green. In the light of the glow, she can see that
his eyes are half lidded and that he is smiling that cruel, beautiful smile
of his.

�Why do humans fear me Rin?� he asks again, prompting
her to answer.

She swallows noisily, her words soft as she tries to
force them out of her constricted throat. �I don�t know,� she whispers.

�Why, Rin?� he purrs, his voice silken and dangerous.

�I�I don�t know!� she stammers, taking an involuntary
step back as he slowly glides towards her. Between one instant and the next,
he is right in front of her, tipping her chin up with one glowing claw. With
wide, stunned eyes, she stares up at him, at a loss for words.

His smile gentles and the stroke of his claw against
the tender flesh under her chin is almost a caress.

�Let me show you,� his voice is low and even and
deceptively mild.

Despite herself, she takes a step back, then another.

�Run,� he orders her, his voice low, intense. �Run!�

Instinct flares within her, urging her to instant
obedience, but she is stubborn and her belief in him holds sway over her
body, making her brave as she faces her demon lord. She looks into his eyes,
and his slumberous look is gone; gone too is the cold assessment and detached
mockery. His eyes are fiery and molten, a burning gold that is at once
ravenous and alien to her. She takes another timid step back. There is no
malice in his gaze, not exactly, but the sheer strength of the intent in his eyes, of the absolute
focus on her is enough to unsettle
her greatly, and this time when he commands her to run, she does.

His gaze follows her pale form as she flees into the
forest and not once does it stray until he can no longer catch glimpses of
her through the trees. He drops his hand, the glow fading from his claws, and
closes his eyes, reaching out with his other senses to locate her in the
night.

He begins to count.

One�

He can hear the faint echo of her foot falls, the
louder crashes as she runs blindly through the dark forest. In the light, on
a good day, she is capable of moving through the forest as well as any of the
other forest inhabitants, but tonight she is clumsy, robbed of her usual
grace by confusion and darkness.

Two�

The wind brings her scent to him: the salty tang of her
sweat, the hard, sharp spice of the adrenaline pumping through her system.

Three�

There is no other life to the forest; any and all
creatures in the area have long since abandoned it because of his presence
here. Only she, in her innocence, has remained so long by his side, ignorant
of the threat he poses to her. Because
she was a pup, because she was a
helpless child, he gave her that
bright non-reality; though he has never been able to come up with a reason
that explains, to his satisfaction, why he has done so.

Four�

She is ever a puzzlement to him. He has tolerated her�a
human�for a handful of years, a span of time that only begins to be
noteworthy when measured against the long timeline of his life. And yet,
recently, he has been gripped by the illogical assumption that her place in
his life has some permanency. He has become complacent and in his neglect, has allowed her to become so as
well.

Five�

He opens his eyes and looks to the place he has chosen.
Here, he promises himself, her
childhood will end. Here, at last,
he will teach her the harshness of reality and satisfy his own foolish
desires. Here, once and for all, he
will force her to see the truth of
his nature.

Six�

Her love is that of a child, his role in her life has
been that of a parent. Protector, provider, hero�to her, he has been all that
and more. Blindly, she has chosen and chosen again to follow where ever he
may lead.

When had he first felt that spark of lust for her? When had her worship of him first
failed to appease his ego and began to chafe?

Seven�

When had the anger cause by the other demons� assumptions
that he would demean himself by keeping a human
turned into satisfaction that one and all knew that she was his?

Eight�

He cannot allow himself to keep her; perversely, he
knows that he will never let her go. By her choice, and by her choice alone,
will she ever leave him and he knows that his pride will never let him chase
after her once it has suffered the humiliation of her rejection. It is impossible that once he has
taken his pleasure from her that she would choose to stay�

Nine�

He will sacrifice
a small part of himself to be with her tonight. He, the great Sesshoumaru, will bend the strict code he has held himself to for centuries. For
her. He is a demon and his belief that he will never need love, is in fact
incapable of feeling such a frivolous thing, has never been shaken until he
met her.

Ten�

He waits in the stillness for the burn of shame, for
the sick feeling of revulsion that never comes. He searches within himself
impatiently, seeking any conflicted emotions, and is very shaken but
unsurprised when he finds none. He is filled with the need to take her, to
touch and taste her skin, to press her beneath him and sheath himself inside
of her. He palms his erection with a low hiss, the slight friction of his
touch a torturous pleasure that does nothing to ease his pain or appease his
hunger. The sense of her presence taunts him, and with a low growl he prowls
the clearing. He stops and shrugs off his outer kimono, flinging the silk
garment down to cover the bare earth with an angry gesture. For any other
maiden there would be a soft bed, a tender lover; but not for his innocent. He is ruthless; cruel
and selfish; a perfection so cold it burns like frostbite; but never before
tonight, never before this moment has he ever regretted the lack of warmth in
his nature.

Yes.

This feeling of inadequacy.

Because of her.

But he cannot
hate her for it.

He throws back his head and ROARS. It is the howl of a canine on the hunt; but it is more;
deeper and longer than any dog or wolf could produce. It is a thunder that
causes the earth to rumble and the trees to shiver as it rolls across the
land. It is a declaration that simultaneously causes every youkai to listen
and to cower in recognition of his power. There are no challengers.

She is HIS.

His youki flares about him, a violent crimson red, and
his eyes bleed scarlet as his beast rises, demanding its release. For a
moment he toys with it, holding all that raw, primal power in his grasp until
his beast roars in frustration as it batters itself against the wall of his
will. Then a whiff, the barest whisper of her scent waifs under his nose and
his control slips ever so slightly. It is enough; the beast surges outward,
almost turning his body inside out in its haste to be free. It drags him over
the edge, down into the most primal depths of his being until lust and hunger
erode what�s left of his self control.

He bays again, the unearthly song unfurling
itself over the landscape like shadowy wings. He will hunt her; his tender, untried young doe, his iris in first bloom.
She is his by right of strength, his and no other�s. It is right and natural
for her to flee him, for he is strong,
an alpha male in his prime. And he has chosen her, the one whose scent is the sweetest, whose body is untouched
and untainted, the one who stirs his blood with lust like no other.

His muscles gather under his hide of silver ice. They
bunch and coil like wound springs, propelling him forward through the forest.
He is sleeker and quiet in this smaller form; like a ghost he phantoms
through the shadows of the undergrowth. In a matter of strides he can hear
the loud cadence of her pants, the rhythmic pounding of her bare feet. The
lingering heat of her body brushes by his face as he closes the distance
between them. He growls, low and deep in his throat. He wants her to run, to flee him with every last ounce
of her strength. He wants the taste of her fear.

He gives a sharp, shrill bark, a command that would do
any drill sergeant proud.

She startles, faltering as her head whips around at the
sound. Her adrenaline peaks and she leans into her momentum, propelling
herself forward almost faster than she can put her feet down to catch her
weight.

He hums in his throat, a rumble of satisfaction. She
must run well, for if she does not, he will kill her. She is to be his mate
and right now, she must prove herself worthy. He is beyond caring that she is
human and he demon, that he has raised her as if she were his pup, that he
has never expressed anything but disdain for those who fraternize with
humans. The need to mate is a basic demand of his nature, a driving force he
can no longer deny or suppress.

He paces her through the night, letting her catch
glimpses of his flashing tail as he flanks her. She runs blindly, extending
herself past any normal restraints. He can even smell it, the slight shift in
her smell as her blood slowly starves for oxygen. She pushes herself onward,
racing away from her unseen antagonist. Yet, despite her exertion, her
excitement and the biting tang of her sweat, he cannot smell her fear.

He gives her a glimpse of his fangs, of his red, feral
demon eyes. She flees him as if her life depends on it�and it does�but even
in the end, even as exhaustion overtakes her body, she does not fear. When at
last she collapses, as her small frame shivers with its fatigue, she is not
afraid. After a moment, she gathers herself into a ball, tucking her knees
under her chin.

He circles her in the dark, agitated by her strange
behavior. Her lack of fear, her lack of aggression and desperation puzzles
the beast. At last, with great caution, he revels himself, his form stiff
with assertive dominance. His posturing is lost on her; she watches him with
clear, dark eyes that are bold and unafraid. He growls loud in warning; but
she neither offers challenge nor displays her submission.

Quicker than a flash, he pounces, pressing her into the
ground with one large paw on her chest. She squirms and chokes out small
sounds of protest under his weight, but there is no cold reek of fear. Just
her fragrance, sharp and musky and irresistible.

He breathes into her face, inhaling deep, his fangs
less than an inch from her nose. His eyes blaze with his excitement; her
struggles please him. He growls deep and low in his throat�and it is a sound
meant to soothe rather than to threaten. In the end, now that she cannot
escape, he asks, almost gently, for
her surrender.

Rin gives one last thrash, then lies still, gradually
accepting the heavy press of his paw on her chest. She locks eyes with him
for a moment, and now at last there is challenge in her eyes. Unhurriedly,
meaningfully, she lifts her chin, exposing her throat. The gesture and the
bold light in her eyes are in direct contrast.

She is taunting him! Daring him to take her life! How dare she mock him! He knows that her offered throat is no act of
surrender at all. She is fearless; he wants her cowering before him, begging
for his favor. It is impossible to comprehend that she would do such as this.
She is a weak human; it is necessary
that she know her place as his prey. Why
won�t she fear him?!

He lunges, sinking his fangs into the satin skin of her
neck, his jaws closing like a vise as he cuts off her air. He can feel her
flesh parting under the press of his teeth; her blood, rich, hot,
intoxicating, seeps onto his tongue.

She struggles beneath him, gurgling and choking as she
tries to draw breath. She grasps his jaws with her small hands, pushing
futilely against his hold.

�Sessh-maru-sa�ma!� she gasps desperately. Tears begin
to trickle unheeded from the corners of her eyes.

�Sessh-maru�� she sobs, �-hy?!�

He grits his teeth into her flesh, determined to be
unmoved by her tears. He is
dominant. He is alpha male. He will
not be swayed by feminine tears! He will teach her to fear him once and for all!

She gives another choked sob, then relaxes into
silence, her hands falling bonelessly away. For several moments, she lies
still.

He gives her a small experimental shake, his instincts
telling him that she could be faking it, waiting for a moment to strike back.

She is passive underneath him.

Time slips by; so very little time; but such crucial
seconds. Panic, like a tiny moth in his gut, unfurls its wings as his consciousness
regains some awareness, and he immediately eases his grip. As he lets go, the
panicky fluttering in his abdomen triples as she fails to draw breath.
Between one moment and the next he comes to himself, looking down at the
unmoving girl beside him. With a shiver in the air like heat rising, he
shifts forms, kneeling over her, naked and starkly beautiful in the
moonlight.

Hooking his arm beneath her shoulders, he pulls her
face next to his. Even this close, with his keen senses, he cannot tell if she
is dead or alive. The tiny thousands of brushing wings in his gut suddenly
seize up as the jittery feeling of his panic turns into an icy, sick, heavy
feeling. The region of his chest around his heart clenches, as if squeezed
unmercifully by an unseen fist. His mouth goes dry; his heartbeat and
breathing become ragged. He can smell something thick and bitter in the air.

It takes him a moment, but he finally realizes.

He is smelling his own fear.

For a second, his mind shuts down in flat denial. He
may feel some sort of misplaced responsibility for the girl. He may lust
after her and even have cursed hanyou children by her, but he never ever
would care for her. It is impossible for him,
Sesshoumaru, to ever feel any
kind of affection for a human.

Completely impossible.

And yet�

He has never tasted his own fear on his tongue. He has
never felt that thick, coiling sickness in his abdomen. He would have sworn
that there was nothing in this world that could make him feel fear.

In his moment of weakness, he might truly have killed
her.

And it matters
to him whether she lives or not.

Because if she dies, she will no longer be with him.

And he is afraid
of losing her.

He grits his teeth until blood trickles from the corner
of his mouth, fighting his fear, fighting the sudden rush of painful feeling
that tightens his chest.

She CANNOT die. She is HIS and he WILL NOT ALLOW IT.

Calling Tenseiga to his hand, he unsheathes the sword,
pressing the naked steel against Rin�s cooling flesh.

Sesshoumaru calls the power, but there is nothing; the
sword lies cool and dormant in his grasp. Again, he invokes the sword�s power
and again there is no answer.

More blood seeps from the corner of his mouth as he
snuffs out all feelings of desperation; of despair. He is unshakable; his
belief in himself and his will is absolute. Once more he summons Tenseiga�s
power, his demand without a hint of hesitation, and this time the dark aura
of the blade awakens, seeping into Rin�s skin like black water. Under its
healing ministrations, the wound on Rin�s neck closes, and she draws a clear,
unlabored breath.

Satisfaction, fierce and exuberant, flares to life
within him, followed quickly by a mingled rush of shame and relief as he
throws Tenseiga aside and gathers her against him. For a moment he matches
his breathing to hers, taking those first few critical breaths with her.

Then it hits him.

He almost lost her.

Because of his own lack of self control.

His grip on her shoulder tightens to bruising as he
buries his face in her hair, drowning out all but her scent. He listens to
her heartbeat, steady and strong, and grits his teeth until he bleeds. His
body is rigid, his spine ramrod straight as he struggles to suppress his
emotions. His eyes burn where he has clenched them shut against the pain, and
his body shudders, once, as if threatening to give under the strain.

And then she makes a sound, a small, sweet cry like a
kitten crying for milk.

Immediately he relaxes his hold, watching with intense,
mixed emotions as her eyelids flutter open. His face shuts down, his features
set in their impenetrable mask, but the emotional turmoil is obvious in his
naked gaze and in the lines around the corners of his frown.

Her dark eyes regard him with confusion, and she
reaches out to touch the worry lines with hesitant, tentative fingers.

He shivers under her touch, lust unexpectedly
blossoming in his gut.

�Sesshoumaru-sama,� she says, but there is a question
in her voice.

He looks at her, his heart and emotions raw, his pride
and arrogance momentarily gone. He lets out a long, slow breath, and says
something he�s never ever said in his life.

�I am sorry, little one.�

Her eyes widen and grow shadowed with the events of the
recent past as his words trigger her memories to return. Tears make her large
eyes shimmer, but do not fall. Her entire face softens as she tries for a
smile.

�Sesshoumaru-sama is not at fault. Rin is wrong, not
Sesshoumaru-sama. Rin didn�t know what Sesshoumaru-sama wanted and did
something wrong.�

�Rin is not at fault,� he corrects her. The fault is mine, he thinks silently,
but the admission of guilt has already been torn from his soul, from his
lips, and he cannot say it again.

She opens her mouth as if to protest.

He lifts her chin with his knuckles, his eyes fierce as
he looks her directly in the eye.

�Rin�you are not
at fault. Do you understand?�

With wide eyes, she nods her consent.

He looks down at her, into her dark, deep eyes, at her
pale, beautiful face, glimpses the beginnings of an uncertain, tentative
smile hovering about her rose-pink, perfect lips; and hunger, dark, demanding, and feral, slams into his gut. The need to join his body with hers, to
hold her, warm and alive against him as he fucks her until she is screaming
her release, devours him alive as his erection swells, arrogant and demanding
against her hip.

She looks down, her eyes alighting on his groin, and he
makes no effort to hide his state of arousal from her. His eyes never leave
her face as he watches her. He is still. Tense. Waiting.

Her reaction does not disappoint him.

Her eyes grow very round, her pupils dilating, and
blood rushes to her cheeks as comprehension slowly dawns. She stares, open
mouthed, her lips sweetly parting in unconscious surprise. Her small, pink
tongue appears, touches the plump curve of her bottom lip, then darts back
inside. The thought of leaning over, covering her mouth with his, and
perusing her tongue with his sends a fresh rush of blood to his groin,
swelling his erection further. Her eyes widen impossibly more, and with a hot
blush to her cheeks, she looks up, her gaze caught by the intensity of his.

Unhurriedly, deliberately, he leans towards her,
reaching out with his tongue to trace the path left by hers. He tastes her in
a slow sweep across her lower lip, savoring how unsettled she is by his
actions. With his lips he nibbles on her lips, sensitizing them. Once, twice
he flutters his against hers in butterfly kisses. When she unconsciously wets
her lips he rewards her with soft blown breath against that wetness. Her
entire frame shivers in one smooth undulation as her body, from shoulders to
hips to legs, turns towards his like a flower turns towards the sun.

A small, pleased smile curves his cruel, sensual lips
and the movement seems to fascinate her. She stares, captivated, and licks
her lips likes someone anticipating a feast. She holds still, waiting for him
to continue, to see what he will do next. When he does nothing but smile a
smile that has a sly twist to it now, she leans forward minutely in
invitation. Again he does nothing, and she whimpers softly with impatient
frustration.

His smile widened imperceptibly with sly amusement, but
it is enough to goad her into action. Without much grace, but with much
enthusiasm, she manages to press her lips to his before he can jerk away. For
a moment, she has caught him off guard, and she takes advantage of it, boldly
sweeping the tip of her tongue along his lower lip.

He goes absolutely still, every muscle tightening in
restraint, as his senses come alive and every nerve ending in his body
attunes its self to her. The predator inside him breaks free, its demands a
roaring in his head that urges him to take her right here and now. His self
control, one of the greatest things he prides himself on, is barely enough to
keep him from pressing her beneath him and taking his fill of her body.

Taking his passivity as encouragement, she licks along
the seam of his lips, parting them with a twist of the tip of her tongue.
Daringly she runs her tongue along the slick, white enamel of his teeth, her
tongue lingering as she probes delicately around one of his fangs. He makes a
sound deep in his chest, its tone so low that she only detects it because of
the vibrations where their mouths are in contact. She shivers in response,
the sensation against her lips erotic.

He opens his mouth, and her tongue darts in, flicking
against his as she becomes more adamant in her demands. He struggles for
control, struggles to remain calm and passive; gentle reciprocation to her
advances is beyond his capabilities. In another moment, he will seize command
and set the pace between them, but for now, for this�her willing and active
participation�he will deny himself a bit longer.

At last she loses her shyness fully and thrusts her
tongue into his mouth, running the rough velvet of her tongue against the
surface of his as she slowly retracts her tongue. From the tail of his spine
to the base of his skull, a wild, electric shiver runs through him;
shattering the last of his self possession. His claws lengthen and his hand
seizures, driving them into her flesh and drawing blood.

With a whimper of pain, she jerks back and her eyes
lock onto his face. The markings on his cheeks have become jagged, like
lightening. Underneath them, there is a faint flush to his pale skin, and his
lips are open slightly as he pants. The whites of his eyes have bled to red,
making the amber of his eyes glow eerily bright against the ruby color. He is
staring at her, but it is as if he is looking through her, piercing her to the core with the intensity of his
eyes. His claws dripping with her blood he brings to his lips, his long fangs
flashing as he fastidiously and with obvious enjoyment, licks the blood from
his fingers.

He grins, a gluttonous, greedy gleam to his eyes and a
sly, expectant twist to his lips.

�Rin,� he purrs.

She shivers as the silken tone of his voice arouses a
feeling within her that is not quite nervousness, not quite fear, not quite
excitement, but a jumble of all three. Her gaze stays locked with his as he
rises, stands over her for a moment, then slowly offers her a hand up.

He is breathtaking in the moonlight; alien and
ethereal. The pale, silver glow bathes his body, bringing the angular planes
of his muscular body into stark relief and making his skin luminous. His hair
is like new fallen snow, as pure white as spider silk, and its length around
his shoulders and back shimmers and reflects the light like icicles. Like
some pale god of winter, he is starkly beautiful, delicate and fine as a
honed blade; cold, unmerciful, and unforgiving. For the first time, she sees
him as he really is; dangerous, feral, and achingly alone.

There is no reassurance in his manner, no softness to
his stance, and his eyes as they rest on her are glowing red. Her eyes drop
to his hand, to the lengthened claws and the jagged youkai marks on his
wrist. There is the slightest of hesitations in her response as some
intuition tells her that, of all the times she has chosen to remain with him,
this choice is the final, critical
one. She knows, instinctively, that things will be forever changed between
them, and that in order to remain with her beloved Sesshoumaru-sama, she must embrace those changes.

Half a heartbeat passes, then she slips her hand into
his. He pulls her to her feet, using his grip on her wrist to twist her
around until her back is flush against his front. He drops her hand and
brings his lips in next to her ear.

�Be still,� he whispers in a rough, deep, husky tone as
his index finger traces one of her collar bones towards her throat.

One, two, three claws he slides up her throat, along
her jaw line, raising goose bumps. With the pad of his longest finger he
touches the petal softness of her lips, tracing the line of her mouth. When
she boldly dares to touch the pad of his finger with the hot, moist tip of
her tongue, it is like she shocked him with live electricity. His breath
hitches with an audible intake of breath, and his arm snakes around her
waist, holding her still as he grinds his hips against her ass, thrusting his
cock into the sensitive hollow at the tail of her spine.

His low growl vibrates through her entire body. His
hold on her abruptly loosens as he flexes his claws in the air, then fists
his hand, driving his nails into the heel of his palm so hard that blood
drips from his clenched hand. She turns, looking up into his impassive face,
startled to find blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

�Run,� he grinds out, refusing to meet her worried gaze.

�Bu-� she protests.

His eyes lock with hers. The red is glowing with a
dark, sinister, ruby light, and set against it is the bright topaz fire of
his iris. His pupils are no more than slits; his gaze is almost reptilian as
he eyes her with speculative hunger.

He smiles and it is not a nice smile. It is a smile
that promises dark things, unspeakable things that might be the sweetest
heaven or the bitterest anguish, things that will definitely ensure his pleasure.

Coyly he places his index finger on her lips, then
drags it down her chin, down the sweet curve of her neck, between her collar
bones, down to between her breasts. The smear of his blood steams against her
flesh, leaving a wet, sticky stain on her skin.

In a flash so quick there is no time for her to see and
comprehend its meaning, his smile quirks and then he strikes, capturing her
lips with his. At the same time his hand closes around her breast, cupping
its tender fullness in the bloodstained palm of his hand. Aggressively he
slants his mouth against hers, forcing her to tip her head back under his
onslaught. His lips are hard and demanding, leaving hers tender and red as he
ravishes her mouth. With a sharp probe of his tongue, he opens her up to his
invasion, taking his fill of her taste.

For all of the roughness of his kiss, his touch is
achingly gentle. With shaking fingers he smoothes the pads of his fingers
over her soft skin, memorizing the contours of her breast. Her budding curves
are barely enough to fill his hand, and with reverence he squeezes lightly,
just enough to make her aware of his touch. With the callused pad of his
thumb he brushes her nipple with feather light strokes, exciting the tip
until it tightens.

He swallows her gasp, giving her no reprieve as he nips
her lower lip with his teeth. He hauls her against him with lightening
quickness, his hand flat against the base of her spine. At this angle, he has
complete mastery of the kiss; she cannot resist. With teeth and tongue he
takes everything she can give and demands more.

Stealthily he allows his hand to drift down, cupping
her buttock and giving it an appreciative fondle as his hand seeks deeper.
Slowly and intimately, from behind, he cups her sex in his palm. With deft,
clever, and very, very gentle fingers, he parts her nether lips, seeking
after her clitoris. With the tip of his finger he circles it unhurriedly,
awakening this part of her body to his touch. Teasingly he plays with it and
immediately her body blossoms for him as slick wetness seeps onto his palm
and the musky smell of her arousal fills the air. Her clitoris swells with
blood and her inner muscles spasm, making her flesh shiver against his hand.
His arm around her keeps her pinned against him and she can do nothing more
than helplessly grind her hips against the callused heel of his palm.

Under his mouth, she gives a small throaty whimper,
part in supplication, part in fear of the rising feelings he is eliciting
from her body.

She is his
and until his mastery of her body is complete he will neither grant her
reprieve nor heed her pleas. Tearing his mouth from hers, he buries his face
in the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent as he drives her body to climax
with his touch. His entire form is rigid, his spine straight and
unyielding, his body rock hard as every muscle clenches. He shudders, once,
as the smell of her arousal, of her sweat, of her scent and the salt of her
tears overwhelms him. Against his flesh her perspiration damp skin slides and
quivers, sensitizing every inch of his chest, stomach, abdomen, and upper
thighs. Her small hips jerk as she nears her peak, and compulsively, beyond
his control, his hips begin to rock in time with hers. With his ear this
close to her throat, he can hear every silent hiccup, every involuntary
whimper, every soft keening cry she makes as she moves in his arms, restless
and agitated as her body strains towards that first, perfect, shattering
sensation. His breathing is audibly ragged, his heartbeat pounding in rhythm
with hers; deep in his chest is a rough, feral rumbling that is too demonic
to be a growl.

His world narrows to her; to her and to the task of
giving her this precious gift. With a godlike act of will, he shuts out the
demands of his body, the tormented pleasure/pain that screams through his
senses. He will grant her this; this and nothing more. He is going to take
her body, her innocence, her freedom, and her childhood; so let her, in this
moment, experience this thing of beauty.

She bucks against him, her spine stiffening, and then
with a stifled scream, she goes limp in his embrace, the aftershocks of her
climax rippling through her small form. Immediately he relaxes his grip and
she slumps to the ground, her legs refusing to hold her. He looks down at her
as she raises her eyes to his, her panted breaths misting in the cold air.

For a held breath, neither of them speaks; neither of
them moves as his dark, cold, intent eyes meet her wary, slightly glazed
ones. His eyes narrow, his amber eyes harden to flinty shards of golden ice.

�It ends tonight, Rin. You belong to this Sesshoumaru;
and tonight I will do as I please with your body and your life. Any
resistance is futile. Do you understand?�

With wide, slightly fearful eyes, she mutely nods her
head.

A small, tight smile twists his lips.

�Good.�

He reaches for her, a slight tremor to his hand. His
control is razor thin; his need for her is consuming him from the inside out.
He cannot think, he cannot feel, there is simply the hunger that must be appeased. Whatever hidden
strength that has buoyed his flagging control vanishes. His last coherent
thought is that he hopes she does not struggle, that she accepts what he is
doing to her so that he does not hurt her unnecessarily.

With inhuman speed his grip closes around the wrist of
the arm she has raised in instinctive defense. A twist and a reversal of his
grip force her arm behind her back and he applies pressure to maneuver her
into the position he wants her in. She gives a pained cry, her fear
saturating the air, but does as he wishes. She is down on her knees, her back
to him, his grip on her arm pushing her to lean forward. She whimpers again
in pain, but as he forces her down, she grits her teeth and begins to resist.
Base instincts, rooted far deeper into her being than even her trust in him
demand that she not allow him to put her in such a vulnerable position.

His growl is thunderous as it rumbles from his throat.
Anyone else would quake in fear, but all it does is spur her on. Every last
inch of her being is thrown into the struggle against his strength. He rises
to his toes, bearing down on her arm and back with all his weight. He will force her compliance!

There is the sickening screech when the bones of her
wrist grind against each other as he badly sprains her wrist. She gives a
soft, sorrowful, heartfelt sob; and something in his demeanor changes. He
pauses.

��don�t��

The sound is no more than a whisper, as thin and
transparent as the cool moonlight that touches their skin.

��don�t fight me�� he whispers again.

She cannot see his face, it is hidden behind his
silvery bangs, but the agonized strain in his beautiful voice reaches her even
through her fear and pain. She goes still.

��please.�

It is the supplication in his voice that does it; she
relaxes under his hand. He lets go and her arm falls awkwardly to her side.
With mere fingertips, he guides her until her cheek is pressed into the rich,
dark soil and her ass is in the air.

Triumph, dark and electric rushes through him as she
remains as he has positioned her. Her entire body shakes and trembles; the
scent of her fear is a prominent, bitter spice to the air underscored by the
heavy musk of her arousal. With her bottom in the air, her sweet, secret
place is shamelessly displayed. Like morning dew on rose petals, moisture
glistens on the flushed folds of her sex. He steps up behind her, the smooth
skin of his thighs and legs brushing against the sensitive skin of the backs
of her thighs and her buttocks.

She starts, shivers, whimpers softly as she peers up at
him over her shoulder, her eyes wild with nervous fear.

He takes himself in hand, positioning the tip against
her virgin opening. For a moment he does nothing; struggling with his beast.
His skin ripples and writhes, as if something is trying to claw its way out.
Red youki rises off his skin like shimmering heat. His entire body trembles
from head to toe; with an unearthly howl, he sheathes himself within her with
one powerful thrust. Her sharp cry of surprise and pain is lost in the sound
of his roar.

Thick silence falls as the last of his howl dies away.
He is rock steady and still, his skin no longer crawling, his youki no longer
apparent. His youkai marks are still jagged and his eyes are still red, but
he is himself once more.

Her body trembles with shock, her skin glistening with
perspiration. Her breathing is harsh and unsteady; tears trickle unheeded
down her cheeks. A thin trickle of blood leaks its way down between his thigh
and hers.

He is as stiff and unmoving as death; only his eyes are
alive, burning with intensity, as he closely watches her face.

He has hurt her.

He still wants
her.

He will never see her smile again and that fact slices
through him like a keen edged sword. Agony and shame spiral through him, but
deep down is the cold knowledge that he would make the same choice, perform
such an act again.

Their eyes meet.

�You are mine.�

His voice is cold, his gaze is cold, but inside,
somewhere in the region of his chest, something
vital is breaking.

She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes wounded and
shadowed.

�Sesshoumaru-sama?�

He places his hand on her back, his only break in
composure is his slight hesitation as he touches her. He eases out of her,
steadies her with his hand, and slowly and easily slides back inside of her.

Something flickers in her gaze; she trembles, but
offers no resistance.

Distaste contorts his features and despite his lust, he
withdraws from her. He stands, turning his back to her, and disappears into
the dark forest. He stalks back to the clearing and to the oak, eyeing the
white cloth on the ground with contemptuous amusement as the sight of it
sparks self loathing.

He settles down, leaning against the oak, his fur
mantle wrapped around him. His head tips ever so slightly to the side and he
stares off into space as he retreats deep into his thoughts.

Coward, his pride whispers to him, she�s just a human!

Rin�

Sweet.

Beautiful.

Smiling Rin.

Gone.

A small sound pulls him from his revere. From the
shadowed recesses of the dark forest, Rin edges closer to him, looking like a
beaten, abused puppy.

The hollow ache in his chest seizes up and he clenches
his teeth against the sudden sharp pain. His throat closes with acute sorrow.

�Go,� he tells her in a tired voice.

She creeps closer, her eyes fastened on him as she
gauges his mood. She pays no heed to what he says. He eyes her, wishing she
would leave him be, and wonders exactly how much effort on his part it will
take to drive her away. His eyes catch on the blood staining her inner thighs
and he abruptly looks away.

�You don�t belong here, Rin. Go away.�

�Rin belongs with Sesshoumaru-sama!�

Her protest startles him enough to return his gaze to
her. There is a stubborn set to her jaw and although her eyes still have
their bruised look, there is a spark of her usual spirit in them.

He grinds his teeth together in irritation.

�Go!� he commands with sorely tried restraint.

�Rin wants to stay!� she cries softly, bringing his
attention fully to her.

His look of impatience melts away, leaving his
expression very serious and his eyes grave.

�Even if I hurt you again?� he asks, his entire focus,
his entire being attuned to her answer.

�Will you hurt Rin again?� she parries his question
with her own.

He studies her; and decides to gamble everything.

�Yes. Will you stay?�

Her eyes drop to her hands as she pretends to be
engrossed in the piece of grass she�s just picked. He looks away, assuming
that her silence is her answer. Despair, thick and choking, wells up inside
of him.

�Yes.�

His head whips around as his fierce amber eyes pin her
with an intense gaze.

�Yes what?� he queries in a deceptively bland tone.

�Yes Rin will stay even though Sesshoumaru-sama may
hurt Rin again.�

Her dark eyes are determined, but her defiance is so
fragile he knows he can break it with a word.

�Come here.�

The spark vanishes from her eyes and he watches as her
gaze fills with fear. The small, involuntary step she takes back shears
through his soul like hot iron. Outside he is calm; composed; cool. She
cannot see how much he is hurting inside. Then her chin lifts and on slightly
unsteady legs she comes to stand beside him. He waits a moment, giving her
time to flee, then reaches out with a gentle hand to touch her hip. He
applies light pressure, just enough to get her to shift her weight to her
other foot. His hand drifts down the outside of her thigh, the butterfly
caress of his fingertips sending a slight shiver through her. He picks up her
leg, bending her knee as he lifts it and hooks it over his shoulder. He
pauses, holding her like this, waiting for her to realize her vulnerability.
With her standing and him reclining, with her leg over his shoulder, his
face, his fangs, are mere inches from her most intimate place. He looks at
her through hooded, burning eyes and everything within him goes still,
waiting to see if she will trust him again.

She shivers under his gaze, he can feel how her body
trembles with her fear, but she does not jerk away. His thick lashes flutter
downward as his eyes focus on the bounty before him. With reverence he sets
his tongue against her skin; every stroke an atonement to her for the pain he
has caused. He loses himself in his task; enjoying the satin of her skin, the
salt of her blood, the slick, smooth taste of her sex as he cleans the blood
off of her. Gently he closes his lips around her clitoris and suckles it,
flicking it lightly with his tongue.

His arm comes up and latches around her as she wobbles.
Her fingers bury themselves in his mane of silver hair as she hangs on to
him. She gives a small, startled cry as the first sensations of pleasure
awaken in her. He sets his mouth deeper, probing her with his tongue. Fresh
moisture dampens his tongue and the mixture of her sex, her blood, and a hint
of his precum is almost more than he can resist. He eases back, rolling his
eyes to stare up into her face, pleased by the flush that pinkens her cheeks
and the heated passion in her gaze.

His denied, suppressed lust blazes anew as he lifts her
leg from his shoulder and steadies her on her feet. In this new stance she
has a foot on either side of his thighs and instinctively she reaches out to
put a hand on each of his shoulders, favoring her sprained wrist.

He gazes up at her, his eyes darkening with passion but
steady with patient restraint. There is a touch of something new in his look,
something that has never been there before.

He is looking at her with the beginnings of kindness.

Do you remember what you felt before, when I touched
you here?� he asks, his fingers sliding feather light along her sex.

She nods, her grip on his shoulders tightening.

�Would you like to feel it again?� he continues,
teasing her clitoris with his fingertip.

She swallows compulsively before nodding again.

His eyes grow guarded. �Sheath me within you and I will
show you how.�

Her body stiffens as she looks down to where his
erection is still hard and ready and stained with her innocence. Her eyes
flicker back up to his, but there is no assurance in his gaze.

Once again, he tests her, and once again, he waits to
see how she will respond.

�Will it hurt again?� she asks him.

He answers her with silence, his expression unchanging.
The anxiety and trepidation in her expression tug at his emotions, but he
ignores them.

The space of several seconds passes and she does
nothing; then with aching slowness she reaches down and curls her small hand
around his erection. It twitches in her delicate grasp as he almost spills
his seed then and there. She kneels and guides him to her opening with a
trembling hand. The head of his cock presses against her and she clenches her
eyes shut, obviously bracing herself for the pain to come. The walls of her
tight sheath close around the tip of his erection in a grip that is sensual,
hot, and silky. In the awkward process of trying to slowly lower herself onto
him, she slips, her knees buckle, and in one quick movement she is penetrated
to her core.

Her face is comical as she realizes that there is very
little pain. Her shock is further multiplied as she looks upon his face.

He is smiling, and it is a gentle, amused smile. His
beauty, lit by inner radiance, is dazzling beyond comprehension and it is
several minutes before she recovers from her awe.

A rough, rusty sound grates through the air as he
chokes back his laughter and his action is so unexpected, his grip on her
shoulder is the only thing that keeps her from falling off his lap.

Reaching up, he threads his fingers through her dark
hair, bringing her lips to his. He nibbles at her lax, surprised mouth,
coaxing her into responding. Their breaths mingle, mix, and become one shared
breath as she opens her mouth to his and invites his tongue to play with
hers. A shudder runs through him and he leans into the kiss, deepening the
angle in his favor.

His hand strays to her breasts, and his fingers are
long enough that he can tease both her nipples at once using his thumb and
middle finger. Tension melts from her body as her arousal heightens, and when
his fingers wander lower to touch her clitoris, she automatically rocks back
to give him better access.

Of their own accord, her hips jerk and grind against
his, tightening her inner muscles around his erection. He startles, pausing
in his attentions, then deepens their kiss and lavishes her clit with short,
firm strokes of his thumb pad. She responds instinctively with erratic jerks
of her hips, her movements gradually settling into a smooth, fast paced
motion that drives him up inside of her with every thrust and slides his cock
along the sweet spot inside of her as she withdraws.

She breaks the kiss, coming up for air, and he knows
that he has seen none more beautiful than the one who rides him now, with her
eyes alive with passion, her cheeks pink with exertion, her dark hair falling
about her shoulders like spun ebony. He has eyes only for her as she drives
them to shared completion.

At the moment when she is cresting her peak, and he can
hold back his climax no longer, he drags her mouth to his, sealing his fate,
his life, his pleasure to hers. With a hoarse cry, her spine arches as her
climax overtakes her. His is the barest of heartbeats behind hers as her
clenching, spasming inner muscles mercilessly milk his erection, tearing a
low, guttural groan from his chest as he spills himself inside of her.

For a moment they can do nothing more than rest their
foreheads together and pant for breath as the aftershocks ripple through both
their bodies.

Slowly, a satisfied, smug smile spreads across his
face, and slowly, she returns it with a cheeky grin.

He leans back, still smiling. His gaze, as it rests on
her, is warm, pleased, and possessive.

She gives a shaky, giddy laugh and gifts him with the
same spirited, brilliant smile that drew him to her in the first place. Confidently,
trustingly, she lays her head against his chest and stretches her smaller
form out on top of his. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she settles in to
sleep with him still inside of her. Protectively he arranges his fur mantle
to cover her and keep her warm. With a couple minute adjustments, he too
settles for the night. He will not sleep�he doesn�t need it�but he does not
mind lying still as she rests. The simple joy of holding her is one he has
long denied himself.

His hand falls to stroking her hair, and as she lies
quiet for several minutes, he assumes that she is sleeping. When she stirs
and turns her head to look up at him, he is slightly startled, but only the
pause in the motion of his hand gives him away.

�Rin loves Sesshoumaru-sama,� she states quietly, her
dark eyes large and serious.

He freezes for a second, then dips his chin once in
acknowledgement of her confession.

That, it seems, is enough to appease her and she gives
him a soft, affectionate smile before again resting her head against his
chest.

This time, he is careful to listen for the subtle
change in her breathing pattern that signals that she is truly asleep. He
raises his head, using all of his keen senses to scan the area and make sure
they are alone. When he is confident that none surround him but the trees and
the sleeping girl in his embrace and the moon and stars above, he lifts his
face to the moon�s cool caress and whispers into the night.

�This Sesshoumaru�loves�Rin.�

=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=#=

[AN at the end] I had lots of fun writing this
fic. So much fun, in fact, that maybe a sequel with wakeup sex and water play
set during the following morning will follow. Maybe even Jaken�s comical
reaction as Sess and Rin return to camp. Who knows. We�ll see. ;P

Their eyes meet.
�You are mine.�
His voice is cold, his gaze is cold, but inside,
somewhere in the region of his chest, something
vital is breaking.
She turns her head slightly, her dark eyes wounded and
shadowed.
�Sesshoumaru-sama?�
He places his hand on her back, his only break in
composure is his slight hesitation as he touches her. He eases out of her,
steadies her with his hand, and slowly and easily slides back inside of her.
Something flickers in her gaze; she trembles, but offers
no resistance.
Distaste contorts his features and despite his lust, he
withdraws from her. He stands, turning his back to her, and disappears into the
dark forest. He stalks back to the clearing and to the oak, eyeing the white
cloth on the ground with contemptuous amusement as the sight of it sparks self
loathing.
He settles down, leaning against the oak, his fur mantle
wrapped around him. His head tips ever so slightly to the side and he stares
off into space as he retreats deep into his thoughts.
Coward, his pride whispers to him, she�s just a human!
Rin�
Sweet.
Beautiful.
Smiling Rin.
Gone.
A small sound pulls him from his revere. From the
shadowed recesses of the dark forest, Rin edges closer to him, looking like a
beaten, abused puppy.
The hollow ache in his chest seizes up and he clenches
his teeth against the sudden sharp pain. His throat closes with acute sorrow.
�Go,� he tells her in a tired voice.
She creeps closer, her eyes fastened on him as she gauges
his mood. She pays no heed to what he says. He eyes her, wishing she would
leave him be, and wonders exactly how much effort on his part it will take to
drive her away. His eyes catch on the blood staining her inner thighs and he
abruptly looks away.
�You don�t belong here, Rin. Go away.�
�Rin belongs with Sesshoumaru-sama!�
Her protest startles him enough to return his gaze to
her. There is a stubborn set to her jaw and although her eyes still have their
bruised look, there is a spark of her usual spirit in them.
He grinds his teeth together in irritation.
�Go!� he commands with sorely tried restraint.
�Rin wants to stay!� she cries softly, bringing his
attention fully to her.
His look of impatience melts away, leaving his expression
very serious and his eyes grave.
�Even if I hurt you again?� he asks, his entire focus,
his entire being attuned to her answer.
�Will you hurt Rin again?� she parries his question with
her own.
He studies her; and decides to gamble everything.
�Yes. Will you stay?�
Her eyes drop to her hands as she pretends to be
engrossed in the piece of grass she�s just picked. He looks away, assuming that
her silence is her answer. Despair, thick and choking, wells up inside of him.
�Yes.�
His head whips around as his fierce amber eyes pin her
with an intense gaze.
�Yes what?� he queries in a deceptively bland tone.
�Yes Rin will stay even though Sesshoumaru-sama may hurt
Rin again.�
Her dark eyes are determined, but her defiance is so
fragile he knows he can break it with a word.
�Come here.�
The spark vanishes from her eyes and he watches as her
gaze fills with fear. The small, involuntary step she takes back shears through
his soul like hot iron. Outside he is calm; composed; cool. She cannot see how
much he is hurting inside. Then her chin lifts and on slightly unsteady legs
she comes to stand beside him. He waits a moment, giving her time to flee, then
reaches out with a gentle hand to touch her hip. He applies light pressure,
just enough to get her to shift her weight to her other foot. His hand drifts
down the outside of her thigh, the butterfly caress of his fingertips sending a
slight shiver through her. He picks up her leg, bending her knee as he lifts it
and hooks it over his shoulder. He pauses, holding her like this, waiting for
her to realize her vulnerability. With her standing and him reclining, with her
leg over his shoulder, his face, his fangs, are mere inches from her most
intimate place. He looks at her through hooded, burning eyes and everything
within him goes still, waiting to see if she will trust him again.
She shivers under his gaze, he can feel how her body
trembles with her fear, but she does not jerk away. His thick lashes flutter
downward as his eyes focus on the bounty before him. With reverence he sets his
tongue against her skin; every stroke an atonement to her for the pain he has
caused. He loses himself in his task; enjoying the satin of her skin, the salt
of her blood, the slick, smooth taste of her sex as he cleans the blood off of
her. Gently he closes his lips around her clitoris and suckles it, flicking it
lightly with his tongue.
His arm comes up and latches around her as she wobbles.
Her fingers bury themselves in his mane of silver hair as she hangs on to him.
She gives a small, startled cry as the first sensations of pleasure awaken in
her. He sets his mouth deeper, probing her with his tongue. Fresh moisture
dampens his tongue and the mixture of her sex, her blood, and a hint of his
precum is almost more than he can resist. He eases back, rolling his eyes to
stare up into her face, pleased by the flush that pinkens her cheeks and the
heated passion in her gaze.
His denied, suppressed lust blazes anew as he lifts her
leg from his shoulder and steadies her on her feet. In this new stance she has
a foot on either side of his thighs and instinctively she reaches out to put a
hand on each of his shoulders, favoring her sprained wrist.
He gazes up at her, his eyes darkening with passion but
steady with patient restraint. There is a touch of something new in his look,
something that has never been there before.
He is looking at her with the beginnings of kindness.
Do you remember what you felt before, when I touched you
here?� he asks, his fingers sliding feather light along her sex.
She nods, her grip on his shoulders tightening.
�Would you like to feel it again?� he continues, teasing
her clitoris with his fingertip.
She swallows compulsively before nodding again.
His eyes grow guarded. �Sheath me within you and I will
show you how.�
Her body stiffens as she looks down to where his erection
is still hard and ready and stained with her innocence. Her eyes flicker back
up to his, but there is no assurance in his gaze.
Once again, he tests her, and once again, he waits to see
how she will respond.
�Will it hurt again?� she asks him.
He answers her with silence, his expression unchanging.
The anxiety and trepidation in her expression tug at his emotions, but he
ignores them.
The space of several seconds passes and she does nothing;
then with aching slowness she reaches down and curls her small hand around his
erection. It twitches in her delicate grasp as he almost spills his seed then
and there. She kneels and guides him to her opening with a trembling hand. The
head of his cock presses against her and she clenches her eyes shut, obviously
bracing herself for the pain to come. The walls of her tight sheath close
around the tip of his erection in a grip that is sensual, hot, and silky. In
the awkward process of trying to slowly lower herself onto him, she slips, her
knees buckle, and in one quick movement she is penetrated to her core.
Her face is comical as she realizes that there is very
little pain. Her shock is further multiplied as she looks upon his face.
He is smiling, and it is a gentle, amused smile. His
beauty, lit by inner radiance, is dazzling beyond comprehension and it is
several minutes before she recovers from her awe.
A rough, rusty sound grates through the air as he chokes
back his laughter and his action is so unexpected, his grip on her shoulder is
the only thing that keeps her from falling off his lap.
Reaching up, he threads his fingers through her dark
hair, bringing her lips to his. He nibbles at her lax, surprised mouth, coaxing
her into responding. Their breaths mingle, mix, and become one shared breath as
she opens her mouth to his and invites his tongue to play with hers. A shudder
runs through him and he leans into the kiss, deepening the angle in his favor.
His hand strays to her breasts, and his fingers are long
enough that he can tease both her nipples at once using his thumb and middle
finger. Tension melts from her body as her arousal heightens, and when his
fingers wander lower to touch her clitoris, she automatically rocks back to
give him better access.
Of their own accord, her hips jerk and grind against his,
tightening her inner muscles around his erection. He startles, pausing in his
attentions, then deepens their kiss and lavishes her clit with short, firm
strokes of his thumb pad. She responds instinctively with erratic jerks of her
hips, her movements gradually settling into a smooth, fast paced motion that
drives him up inside of her with every thrust and slides his cock along the
sweet spot inside of her as she withdraws.
She breaks the kiss, coming up for air, and he knows that
he has seen none more beautiful than the one who rides him now, with her eyes
alive with passion, her cheeks pink with exertion, her dark hair falling about
her shoulders like spun ebony. He has eyes only for her as she drives them to
shared completion.
At the moment when she is cresting her peak, and he can
hold back his climax no longer, he drags her mouth to his, sealing his fate,
his life, his pleasure to hers. With a hoarse cry, her spine arches as her
climax overtakes her. His is the barest of heartbeats behind hers as her
clenching, spasming inner muscles mercilessly milk his erection, tearing a low,
guttural groan from his chest as he spills himself inside of her.
For a moment they can do nothing more than rest their
foreheads together and pant for breath as the aftershocks ripple through both
their bodies.
Slowly, a satisfied, smug smile spreads across his face,
and slowly, she returns it with a cheeky grin.
He leans back, still smiling. His gaze, as it rests on
her, is warm, pleased, and possessive.
She gives a shaky, giddy laugh and gifts him with the
same spirited, brilliant smile that drew him to her in the first place.
Confidently, trustingly, she lays her head against his chest and stretches her
smaller form out on top of his. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she settles
in to sleep with him still inside of her. Protectively he arranges his fur
mantle to cover her and keep her warm. With a couple minute adjustments, he too
settles for the night. He will not sleep�he doesn�t need it�but he does not
mind lying still as she rests. The simple joy of holding her is one he has long
denied himself.
His hand falls to stroking her hair, and as she lies
quiet for several minutes, he assumes that she is sleeping. When she stirs and
turns her head to look up at him, he is slightly startled, but only the pause
in the motion of his hand gives him away.
�Rin loves Sesshoumaru-sama,� she states quietly, her
dark eyes large and serious.
He freezes for a second, then dips his chin once in
acknowledgement of her confession.
That, it seems, is enough to appease her and she gives
him a soft, affectionate smile before again resting her head against his chest.
This time, he is careful to listen for the subtle change
in her breathing pattern that signals that she is truly asleep. He raises his
head, using all of his keen senses to scan the area and make sure they are
alone. When he is confident that none surround him but the trees and the
sleeping girl in his embrace and the moon and stars above, he lifts his face to
the moon�s cool caress and whispers into the night.
�This Sesshoumaru�loves�Rin.�

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Moonlight Whispers