InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Interpretation ( Chapter 7 )

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There is no clean version of this chapter. You've been warned.

 

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~~Chapter Seven~~

~Interpretation~

 

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:University of Edinburgh:

:Sunday, August 31, 2059:

 

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`You realize that they arrest people for doing this sort of thing . . .'

 

Meara winkled her nose and bit her lip as she carefully squeezed past an overgrown bush to peer in the window. `Where is he . . .?'

 

Her youkai snorted. `Are you kidding? You just spent over twenty-four hours with him, and it's a safe bet that he didn't sleep the night before, either, since he was probably running around all night setting things up for that date . . . Where do you think the man is?'

 

Drawing away from the window as a small amount of her anticipation died away, Meara pressed her lips together in a thin line as she slowly shook her head. As much as she wanted to see him, how thoughtless would it be for her to disturb his sleep now? `Maybe . . . maybe this wasn't a very good idea . . .'

 

`Oh, no . . . you're not leaving. If you leave, you'll talk yourself out of it, and you know you will. Try his cell phone again.'

 

Sucking in a sharp breath, she dug her cell phone out of the yellow purse that Iona had presented to her with a completely calculating grin. When Meara had started to put her things into the purse, she'd gasped and stared at Iona, eyes wide as a heated blush exploded on her skin.

 

“Iona!” she breathed, shoving the purse directly into Iona's chest.

 

Iona arched an articulated eyebrow and stepped back with a curt nod. “I'm not saying you have to go have sex, but if you want to, then you're prepared.”

 

“Have sex . . .?” she echoed, shaking her head in disbelief. Iona had stashed at least a dozen condoms in her purse before returning it. “Iona . . .”

 

“Just go,” Iona insisted, stuffing Meara's wallet and cell phone into the purse. “Have fun . . . and I do mean `have fun'.”

 

Meara groaned as Iona pushed her out of the apartment, locking the door behind her for good measure. “Thank me later, love!” she called through the stout steel door.

 

“Traitor,” Meara grumbled, face fevered and eyes burning as she turned and headed for the stairs . . .

 

Grimacing as she fished the cell phone out of her purse and quickly dialed Morio's number—the first number on her speed dial—she tapped her foot and gnawed on her lip. It only rang once before it redirected itself to Morio's voice mail.

 

“Oh, I can't do this!” she moaned, slumping against the smooth stone wall as she shut off the phone and dropped it into her purse.

 

`Stop being a baby, Meara . . . but you'd better do something because those people at that café across the street are starting to give you rather strange looks . . .'

 

Sparing a glance at the café in question, she grimaced when several people ducked behind newspapers or quickly looked away. `Nice, nice . . . I'm going to be arrested . . . I'll blame this on you, you ken?'

 

Her youkai sighed again. `Well, look around the back of the cottage. Maybe he left something unlocked . . . a window or something . . .'

 

`A window or something,' she repeated, pushing the bushes aside and skirting out from between them. The waist-high gate was locked—that just figured—and Meara peeked back over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching before she knelt before the wrought iron gate and carefully jammed her claw into the rusty hole to pick the lock. Flinching when her claw twisted a little too far, she blinked quickly to dispel the tears that sprang to fill her gaze just as the lock clicked with a grating creak. It pushed open to her touch, and she sighed in relief as she stood up and hurried through the passage, closing the gate behind her.

 

The old stones were covered with a configuration of ivy—very quaint really, and she couldn't help but smile when she saw the cooler from the park standing on its end with the lid open on the cobblestone porch. She tried the back door and sighed again. It was locked, of course. `He could have made this a little easier, couldn't he?' she grouched.

 

`And where would the fun be in that?' her youkai teased. `Look . . . there's an open window . . .'

 

She noticed it then, the open window. Not a very large window, and the panes were frosted glass . . . A bathroom, she supposed, but better than nothing. Wandering over, she tilted her head to the side, staring thoughtfully. `I . . . I could fit through there . . .' she mused.

 

`So you could . . . I don't imagine he would mind that you've gone and let yourself in . . .'

 

Meara smiled wanly. `No, I don't imagine he would . . .'

 

It didn't take long for her to negotiate the opening. The window pushed open easily enough. Crawling through the hole and dropping lightly onto the floor, she took a moment to look around before venturing further inside. The bathroom was neat and tidy. Even the vanity mirror over the sink was spotless and shining. A single white towel hung over the rack beside the open air shower, and she reached out to straighten it, smiling as she headed out of the bathroom.

 

Her smile widened as she investigated the rest of the cozy little cottage. It was very clean: much cleaner than most bachelors kept their homes. It spoke well of Morio's general respect toward life and toward his environment, and while she almost wondered if he employed someone to come in and clean his home, she had to appreciate it, too.

 

The kitchen wasn't large, but she was pleased to see the basket of various fruits sitting on the cupboard in easy reach along with an herb rack that was well-stocked with fresh herbs as well as some jars of dried things.

 

If he owned a television, she didn't see it, but there was a large armoire across from the sofa; easily large enough to hide whatever electronic devices he had and keeping them out of view in the quaint room where the technology would detract from the overall setting. The huge hulking fireplace near the back door was built of stones that matched the cottage's exterior with a thick wooden mantelpiece imbued with delicate scrollwork carving along the edges, and over that, suspended on shining silver hooks, hung a sheathed sword.

 

The menagerie of framed photographs arranged on the slab drew her attention, and she smiled as she examined the strange faces of those who had to be Morio's family. One image in particular made her smile. Four young men in the snow . . . The tallest and biggest of the men had the same golden bronze hair as Cain Zelig but possessed Gin Zelig's golden eyes. `Their son . . .' she mused as her gaze shifted to the next. Hair so black it shone blue in the thin light of the winter's day with little hanyou ears atop his head, he looked rather arrogant despite the slight curling of his lips. The last two men in the picture . . . one was Morio—she'd recognize that good-natured smile anywhere, and the last of them had to be a relative. Sharing the exact same coloring as Morio, the hanyou stood slightly off to the side with the fingers of his left hand covering his ear, and the almost shy nature of his smile was completely engaging . . .

 

Another picture of Morio standing behind a girl with golden eyes and bronze hair . . . He had his arms draped around her neck and was smiling broadly as she tugged on his ear. `Who . . . is she . . .?' Meara growled, turning away from the pictures.

 

Her youkai laughed. `Oh, come on, Meara . . . you're not jealous, are you?'

 

Wrinkling her nose, she snorted out a curt little sound and stomped away from the mantel with the picture still clasped in her hand. `Jealous? Please! Of course I'm not . . . but I am going to ask him who she is . . .'

 

`Yes, well, then you'd better go find him. Morio's probably sleeping . . . you're not really going to wake him up, are you?'

 

`Yes. Yes, I am,' she declared as she strode down the short hallway and peeked into the open room off to the right. It was a guest room: neat and tidy and a little cold since it lacked any real decoration. `A painting on the wall or maybe some flowers . . .' Meara mused before stepping out of the doorway and stopping abruptly as she faced the closed door across the hall. It was his room. She could sense him inside. Biting her lip as she slowly, hesitantly reached for the handle, she drew a deep breath and grasped it, pushing down on the handle until it opened with a whispering click.

 

The bedroom was darkened, the curtains drawn, and she swallowed hard as the steady, even sound of his breathing filled her ears. The scent of him was intoxicating; fresh and clean as a summer day. He lay sprawled in the middle of the bed that took up most of the floor space in the decently sized bedroom. Lying on his stomach with his arms tucked under the pillow where his face was hidden, he had a sheet draped over his rear, and Meara couldn't help the flush that surfaced as she realized that he was also very naked.

 

The muscles in his back weren't huge by any means, but they were well defined. With every breath he drew, they rippled slightly in a symmetry of motion under the smoothness of his skin. She'd felt those muscles, hadn't she? As she lay on the blanket in the park, she'd run her hands up and down his back a hundred times or more, but she had felt him through the softness of his shirt. That he was naked now . . . She just wanted to crawl into him, to hold onto him and to never let him go . . .

 

`Do you suppose his backside is as nice as the rest of him?' her youkai asked innocently.

 

`W—I—I'd think so . . . why wouldn't it be?'

 

`You could always take a quick peek and see . . .'

 

`Oh, I couldn't . . .!'

 

`And why not? He certainly took his time giving you the once-over in that bikini, didn't he?'

 

`Well, that was entirely different . . .'

 

`And why is that?'

 

Meara smashed her knuckles against her overheated cheeks and gulped like a fish out of water. `I wasn't . . . naked . . . or sleeping . . . it'd be taking advantage of the situation, as it were . . . entirely unfair, if you ask me.'

 

`Which is all the more reason for you to do it,' her youkai reasoned. `After all, he'll never know, will he?'

 

`Good point,' she allowed.

 

Drawing a deep breath, she bit her lip and reached out, her fingers shaking as she grasped the thin sheet and carefully lifted it up. `Oh . . . that's nice . . .' she breathed in her head, mesmerized by the symmetrical contours of Morio's rear.

 

“Getting a good enough look or do you want me to turn over?”

 

Uttering a strangled shriek, Meara dropped the sheet and jumped back, face exploding as a violent wash of color saturated her skin as she smashed her fist against her chest to contain her hammering heart. “Morio! You scared the life out of me!” she chided.

 

He chuckled softly, rolling onto his side and propping his head on his raised hand as his sleepy gaze slowly dragged over her. The sheet was still covering him, albeit barely, and he bent his knee, planting his foot on the mattress as his sleepy grin widened. “Do you always go around sneaking into strange men's houses?” he drawled, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand.

 

Meara opened and closed her mouth a few times. “I didn't—I never—You didn't answer your phone!”

 

“My phone?” he repeated. “My phone never rang.”

 

She wrinkled her nose, holding onto her righteous indignation despite the resurgent color that just wouldn't drain out of her face. “It did,” she argued. “It's not my fault you turned it off. I kept getting your voicemail . . .”

 

The entirely amused expression on his face bespoke his disbelief that she really had called. Meara stomped over to the bed and crawled over it to grab Morio's phone off the far nightstand.

 

“Oh, damn, Meara . . .” Morio groaned as he flopped onto his back.

 

She blinked and scooted back, scowling down at the almost pained expression on his face. “What . . .?”

 

He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze darkened with a heady light. “Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should let sleeping dogs lie?”

 

“Sleeping . . . dogs . . .?” she repeated, caught in the fire of his stare.

 

He groaned quietly and heaved a ragged sigh before forcing his gaze to the side. “Suppose you tell me why you broke into my house?” he teased.

 

“I didn't . . . well, I suppose I might have,” she admitted, sitting back and biting her lip as she considered her actions. “You're late.”

 

“I'm late?”

 

She nodded. “Yes, late.”

 

“And how do we figure that I'm late?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

 

Meara wrinkled her nose. “Because, Mr. Izayoi, we're supposed to go out to dinner, correct?”

 

He nodded slowly, knitting his hands together under the back of his neck as he settled in to listen to her argument.

 

“And since we're to go out to dinner—presumably the midday meal—”

 

“It is?”

 

She waved a hand to silence him. “Of course it is! It's always been the midday meal!”

 

“It has?”

 

“Yes, yes . . . the largest meal of the day is called `dinner', and the largest meal of the day was most often consumed in the middle of the day—still is in many parts of Europe—where you are, mind you—so it stands to reason that the dinner we were to meet for is only a couple hours away, and you, Morio, are set to sleep through it.”

 

He shook his head slowly at her powers of reasoning. “You don't say.”

 

“I do say.”

 

He chuckled again. “Well, guess I'd better get up, then, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sparing a moment to cast her an entirely calculating grin, he rolled off the bed and got to his feet, leaving the sheet behind in a tangled mess. His body had a fluidity in its movements, and he strode over to the closet without bothering to try to cover himself at all. Meara's breath caught in her throat, and she let her fingertips flutter over her lips as she stared, spellbound.

 

“How `bout this?” he asked, pulling a grayish-blue tee-shirt out of his closet.

 

“Huh . . .?”

 

“The shirt, Meara . . . is this acceptable?”

 

“Oh! Um . . . it's a little . . . uh . . . a bit too casual,” she blurted.

 

“Oh? Well, all right,” he allowed, putting that shirt back and grabbing a dressier shirt. “This one?”

 

“Too dark,” she said.

 

“Too . . . dark . . . okay . . . This one?”

 

“Too light?”

 

“Meara?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Do you want me to get dressed?”

 

And explosion of color erupted under her skin, and she couldn't help the little choked sound that escaped. “W—I—Of course I do!”

 

“Yeah,” he replied with an over exaggerated sigh. “Then stop criticizing my clothes . . . unless you want to pick something out for me.”

 

Snapping her mouth closed, Meara forced her gaze away, only to catch sight of her purse lying on the end of the bed, and the thought of what Iona had stuck into her purse was enough to make her suck in her breath as she pressed her icy palm against her overheated forehead.

 

“You know, I'm glad you came over,” he remarked as he shuffled through his clothes.

 

“Y-you are?”

 

“Yep,” he stated, glancing over his shoulder and casting Meara a lazy grin. “I mean, it's not every day I wake up with a sexy as hell woman eyeing my parts.”

 

“I wasn't eyeing your—”

 

His chuckle cut her off. “Okay, you weren't,” he agreed amicably. “What do you have there?”

 

Glancing down and blinking as she realized that she still had the photograph smashed against her chest, she wrinkled her nose. “Who is she?” Meara demanded, stomping over to shove the picture under his nose.

 

Morio leaned back and squinted at the image, taking it from her hand and setting it on the bureau beside him. “That? That's my cousin, Bitty Belle . . . why?”

 

“Your cousin?” she repeated slowly.

 

“Well, yeah . . . did you . . .? Were you jealous?”

 

Meara snorted, whipping around on her heel to avoid Morio's amused stare. “Jealous? Please! Of course I wasn't jealous! Why on earth would I be jealous?”

 

She gasped as the warmth of his arms slipped around her waist, drawing her back against his hardened body as his husky laughter in her ear drew a wash of gooseflesh. “You don't have a thing to worry about, Meara,” he murmured, his lips grazing her ear in a most delightful way. “You're the only one for me . . . you've been the only one for me since the moment I first saw you . . .”

 

“M . . . Morio . . .”

 

He held onto her another long moment before heaving a sigh and letting his arms drop. “I know; I know . . . just friends,” he muttered, turning away and shuffling back over to the opened closet.

 

She flinched at the unmasked bitterness in his tone, and she had to wonder if he had realized that it had slipped in there, at all. The upset in his youki was a hurtful thing, and before she could think her actions through, she strode over to him, grasping his face in her hands, pulling him down into a gentle kiss.

 

Time seemed to stand still. The warmth of his lips opened around hers like a flower in the early morning. The tender flutter of velvety flesh drew on her soul with a gentle demanding. He tasted like rain in a forest; brushed over her skin like a crisp autumn wind. His arms slipped around her, drawing her up against him, the thin fabric of her summer dress yielding under the insistence of his body, molding against her contours as a wash of need roiled deep inside. Nibbling her lips, whispering endearments that made her shiver, he held her closer than his heart as the throbbing length of him pressed against her stomach.

 

“Oh, God . . .” she moaned, letting her head fall back moments before Morio's teeth grazed the sensitive skin. Her body felt like it was on fire, burning hotter, brighter, setting off an incessant burn everywhere his lips touched, every place their bodies met, with ever whisper, every growl, every touch.

 

She felt him scoop her up and whimpered when he lay her down in the middle of his bed. Surrounded by the scent of him, it took a moment for her to realize that he wasn't touching her any longer. “M-M-Morio . . .?” she breathed, forcing her eyes open in narrow slits, her breathing ragged, harsh.

 

“What do you want from me, Meara?” he asked, his tone rife with confusion as he studiously avoided her gaze.

 

Swallowing hard, she pondered his question, unable to speak past the thickness in her throat, unable to see through her tear-blurred vision. He was so precious to her that the very idea of letting him slip through her fingers hurt; hurt in a place deep down in her soul, and she knew in those moments what her youkai had been trying to tell her.

 

Rising off the bed, she turned away from him, reaching up behind her back to pull her zipper down. The dress slipped from her shoulders to pool around her feet. The lacy silk bra followed as she pushed her panties down her hips. They fell away, too, and she stepped out of them, kicking off her shoes before she slowly turned around, her breath catching somewhere between her lips and her lungs at the burning fire that ignited behind Morio's stark golden gaze. “I . . . I want you, Morio,” she whispered, taking one hesitant step closer to him. “I . . .”

 

She gasped as his hands shot out, catching her wrists and dragging her over him as he fell back against the mattress, rolling to rise above her as his mouth slashed down over hers, hungry, voracious, full of a desperation, a wanton need. His hands raked over her, demanding whatever Meara was willing to give. She uttered a soft whimper, rising up to meet his ardent touch, breasts smashing against his burning flesh. He trembled against her, the muscles in his body straining as he let his fangs scrape down the shallow vale in the center of her chest, his breath condensing on her skin and combining as a wave of desire ripped through her.

 

Sucking one of her nipples deep into his mouth, he growled almost viciously despite the gentle lapping of his tongue. The scrape of fangs, the nip of teeth, and the soothing draw of him. She tightened her hands on his shoulders, kneading the muscles with the pads of her fingertips. Arching her body up to meet his mouth, she gasped and moaned when he squeezed her other breast in his hand.

 

The repletion warred with the burgeoning sense that there was more that she wanted to feel. Drawing up her knees, planting her feet on the bed, she lifted her hips against him as instinct took over. His claws dragged down her sides, her skin jumped up to meet his perusal. The tide of desire was tempered by the absolute strength of his will. His hair brushed over her in a tickling caress, and he moaned as she rose up once more, pressing her body against the heat of him.

 

Dragging his mouth away, he threw his head back and shuddered, eyes squeezed closed as he bit his lip, digging his claws deep into the mattress on either side of her. “Shit,” he muttered, struggling to contain his rampant emotions. “Damn it . . .”

 

“What?” she asked, her tone breathless, harsh in the quiet.

 

He grunted and rolled to the side, sitting up on the edge of the bed and grasping his forehead between his hands. “Nothing,” he mumbled. “Just . . . I have to run to the store.”

 

“Store?” she echoed, shaking her head in confusion.

 

“Condoms,” he clarified. “I don't have any here in the house.”

 

“Oh,” she exclaimed softly, her eyes widening. “I . . . I have some,” she admitted, fighting down the urge to blush as she nodded toward her purse.

 

“Really . . .”

 

“Iona put them in there,” she blurted as the blush she'd been trying to avoid filtered into her skin.

 

“Did she . . .?”

 

She bit her lip and nodded. “She did . . .”

 

He grunted and reached for her purse, making quick work of locating the condoms before dropping the bag on the floor and rolling toward her again. Falling forward, planting wet, slow kisses on her belly, he traced her hips with his claws. She moaned, legs falling open, eyes fluttering closed as she was reduced to a series of incoherent murmurs, sighs, shivers. Kissing his way down her stomach, along the hollows of her hips, he buried his nose in the tangle of curls between her legs and breathed deep, uttering a ragged groan—a harsh sound, and she jerked wildly, unsure if she was asking him to stop or to go on . . .

 

The flick of his tongue wrung a cry from deep inside her. He parted her with his fingertips, sank his thumb into her. Closing his lips around the deepest part of her, he sucked gently, darting his tongue against her in a frenzied motion that exploded somewhere in her head. She called out his name, her body constricting as a violent surge of pleasure ripped through her. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't understand anything but Morio and the things he made her feel.

 

A sudden sense of fullness made her gasp, and she lifted her hips against the welcome intrusion. Morio gasped and moaned, eyes squeezed closed he held himself up on his elbows, his body rigid, still. The maddening ache was growing stronger by the second, and Meara whimpered, bucking her hips in an effort to alleviate the consuming pressure that built unmercifully. He shifted his hips, and she choked out a hoarse entreaty. The feel of his body so deep inside hers . . . It was almost more than she could bear.

 

Undulating his hips, he pushed against her, rose inside her, kissed her deep as she writhed beneath him. She felt as though she were melting around him, as though everything she'd ever known had converged in him. He steadied her, calmed her, drew her close as he thrust deep, slow. His body throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, and she clung to him, afraid to let him go . . . afraid to lose him . . .

 

The painful anticipation grew thicker, more cloying, closing in around her, forcing the air out of her lungs as she struggled to breathe. Running her hands up and down the length of his spine, grasping his buttocks as she lifted her hips to meet his strokes, she begged him for the fulfillment that she knew he could give her. Locking her ankles around his waist, she held on tight, meeting his body halfway, only to let him drive her back down with a fierce abandon.

 

The surge of passion enveloped her, wringing primitive sounds from her soul. Rising up on his hands, he drove into her hard, and she screamed as the last of her control shattered. His own cry mingled with hers moments later, and he collapsed against her, his body shivering, quaking, and he held her face still, kissing her a hundred times—a thousand times as she cried and clung to him, her laughter and hiccups punctuated by stunted breaths.

 

“I can't let you go,” he whispered after rolling onto his back, dragging her with him and holding her cuddled against his chest. “I won't let you go . . .”

 

She smiled, nuzzled closer against his chest. “I don't want you to let me go,” she whispered. “I . . . I don't want to leave you; not ever.”

 

“Thank kami,” he groaned, squeezing her tight and kissing her forehead.

 

She savored the feeling of being completely safe with him for a long moment before bracing herself on her elbows and leaning back to look down at him. “Morio . . .”

 

He had his eyes closed and a completely self-satisfied smile on his face. She supposed he'd earned the right to grin like that . . . “Hmm?” he breathed.

 

“I was thinking . . . I mean, Aislynn's just a baby now, sure, but she won't be a baby forever . . . and when she got older, I could tell her how to find me . . . I could tell her she'd always be welcome with us . . . right?”

 

“Anyone you love will always be welcome in my home,” Morio murmured without opening his eyes.

 

“R-really . . .?”

 

“Yes, Meara, really,” he said, kissing her knuckles, one by one.

 

“So it'd only be a few years,” she forced herself to say as her eyelids closed against her will.

 

“A few years . . .?”

 

She nodded, opening her eyes when Morio gently pushed her aside and sat up, discarding the used condom before ducking into the small bathroom across the room. “Well, I mean . . . I want to stay here with you . . . but maybe . . . we could hold off on telling anyone about us? Until Aislynn's old enough to understand . . .?”

 

Morio spared her a glance before retrieving a washcloth and dampening it under the tap. “So . . . keep us a secret, you mean.”

 

She grimaced and sat up, grabbing the sheet to haul over her naked body. “Paul isn't here often, but if I told him, he'd tell Father, and . . .”

 

“And you think he'd disown you,” Morio finished for her, resignation seeping into his tone as he wiped himself off and grabbed another wash cloth. “I understand.”

 

She sighed, shoulders slumping as she frowned at her clasped hands. “It's too much to ask of you . . .” she forced herself to say with a little shrug. “I'm . . . I'm sorry . . .”

 

Morio strode out of the bathroom and knelt beside the bed, drawing the sheet away and pushing her back gently before wiping her off with the warmed washcloth. “So you're saying we'll be together; we just won't tell anyone . . . but we will be together . . .”

 

“If . . . if you'll have me,” she said as tears filled her eyes at Morio's gentle ministrations.

 

He shot her a wry smile, noticeably dimmer but happy nonetheless. “Don't be stupid, Meara. You're my mate, and . . . and I'll wait however long it takes.”

 

“My . . . mate . . .” she repeated, mulling it over, loving the sound of the words. “You're sure?”

 

He rolled his eyes and caught her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips once more. “I'm sure, wench . . . now come here.”

 

He tossed the washcloth toward the bathroom and climbed up onto the bed, pulling Meara close as he settled back once more.

 

She closed her eyes and sighed, savoring the feel of his arms around her. `He's my . . . mate . . .' she thought absently as the first tendrils of sleep crept over her. `My . . . mate . . .'

 

She fell asleep with a smile on her lips and Morio's body curled around her.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromMorio:

Jealous, huh …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~