InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Accidents Waiting To Happen ❯ Accidents Waiting To Happen ( One-Shot )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Resmiranda 
Missteps.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.18.2007 | Updated On: 07.18.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 7.7K | Status: Completed
Missteps.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Hentai | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 07.18.2007 | Updated On: 07.18.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 7.7K | Status: Completed
Title: Accidents Waiting To Happen
Fandom: Inuyasha
Author: Resmiranda
Genre: het, hentai, PWP
Rating: hard R
Words: 1,554
Pairing: Sesshoumaru/Rin
Summary: ...Oopsie.
A/N: I told helena_markos/liliesformary that I would write a SessRin that involved neither death nor pedophilia. Here it is.
..o..
Of the many ways a woman may find herself in trouble, Rin knows most of them.
She likes it best when they snatch their time right out of the air, making room in the world for sighs and moans where before there was none. Quick and hot and secret, she stumbles into him and he splits her open, half-hidden in plain sight.
Sometimes it is so fast and furtive that it is over in the space of a hundred heartbeats, while Jaken goes to fetch water, or while Kohaku concentrates on target practice. In a strange reversal of roles, he follows her into the forests (because, truly, there are so many ways a woman may find herself in trouble), and she laughs and turns and burns so bright that he is blinded as he shoves her against a tree, wanting her so badly he can't even stand up straight. He's been denied for days, for nights, watching her dance through the grass and stand in the sun, surrounded by eyes, more untouchable and free than he will ever be, and the world whirls around him, centered on his aching cock as he finally eases home. She likes him like that, and when he goes harder, deeper, faster she presses her face against the bark of the tree and moans, limbs straining up and back, like a thing dying, impaled and dreaming of flying --
"I slipped," she says when Kohaku frowns over the scraped skin above her left eyebrow. She smiles up at him, brushing away his questions with a grin even as her lovely fingers brush away the sap and flower petals from her wild dryad hair. Sometimes she plucks a slender twig or scarlet leaf from wayward locks and holds it to the firelight, and he watches from the corner of his eye as she smiles and then tucks it away in her obi, a dear souvenir of their coupling.
Sometimes she goes to fish. She is good at it, and he will go with her, leaving the others behind. She needs to concentrate, you see (and there are so many ways a woman may find herself in trouble). He stands on the shore and watches as she slides the bright fabric of her kimono up and up, over calves sculpted from long summer days of walking, up knees scarred from a childhood spent clambering across the land, up long, strong thighs that quiver and tremble when he noses his way between them. He watches as she stands perfectly still, waiting for her prey to come near, the water sparkling around her like a thousand shards of glass. The wind lifts her hair and lets it fall, and then she strikes, so quickly even he almost doesn't see it. Up comes one fish, and then another, and another, and another. When she is done, she turns and casts a look in his direction before taking a step toward him.
Her foot slips.
And if her fall is a little too controlled, or her lips curved just a little too much, well, it doesn't really matter, because he's still there to catch her, and she climbs him like a tree and drags him into the water. Beneath the flowing surface, he holds his breath as she rips his obi loose, shoves his hakama down just far enough, and mounts him, their sodden clothing clinging to their skin like heavy bodies, like heavy bones.
Her fingers dig in, and so does he.
He watches her rush and ripple, far away, in the land of air and sun, and the roaring silence underwater holds him as tight and wet as she does. She rides him wild, a pyre-hot point in the chill, driving him deeper and deeper inside until she comes and bears down, hard and unforgiving, sucking him dry.
When he breaks through the surface and latches onto her throat with his hungry mouth, she laughs and he swallows it and holds it still as he lifts her onto the bank and rolls her kimono high around her waist. She is slippery with their mingled desire. Dying of thirst he laps it up. The rough drag of his tongue rolls her between his lips and his teeth, and she rolls right along with it, mewling helplessly as she writhes on the wet slope. When he is finally finished with her she is covered in mud from head to toe, and he nips the tender skin of her inner thigh one last time before rising and disappearing. He dries faster than she, and when she at last comes back to camp after the sun has gone down, long-dead dinner in her hand, Jaken berates her for being so late.
"I fell in the stream," she says, but she isn't even looking at the little imp. Instead she stares at him, and he at her. She tosses her still damp hair, her throat flashing in the fallen light, and his mouth goes dry. The next morning she proclaims that her back is sore, and she lets Kohaku massage it, watching him from beneath her lashes all the while. She moans and sighs, and he is hard and distracted and thoroughly punished until well past noon.
"You ruin so many good kimonos," she whispers, days later, as she nibbles on his ear. Her delicate little hand rubs his erection through cool white silk, and he fights back a growl. He wants to tell her that she started it --
-- a frog, a swamp, and now a kimono stained pond-scum green, and off Jaken and Kohaku go to find a new one while she sits in a field of summer flowers, swaddled in his daimon and smelling of him all over, like sake and smoke, and when she bends to tuck a flower behind his ear she doesn't smile, only blushes crimson, leans in, and licks --
-- and then she is face down, on her stomach in the sun-baked grass and he is mounting her from behind, long silver hair plastered to her skin, their sweat mixing and pooling in the small of her back as he presses her into the earth and she becomes a creature untamed, wild and hot and insatiable --
-- and two days after she receives her new kimono, she falls in the swamp again, and off Jaken and Kohaku go, and then she didn't even bother with the pretense of flowers that time --
-- because it's true, she did start it, but the time for speaking is long past. Instead he simply turns her around until her back is facing him, then draws her down into his lap. He trails his claws beneath her clothes, over her breasts and down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, thrusting his fingers against the swollen, aching nub he finds there, and she returns the favor by reaching back and stroking him as she rubs herself over his thigh until he growls and bucks and comes in her hand in strong, hot spurts. She cleans her fingers greedily, licking it all up...
...And sometimes she goes up a mountain and forgets to come down again, and when he finds her he bends her over a pool so she can watch her own abandon play over her face --
...And sometimes the snow builds up and she goes looking for firewood and he must go with her, and of course it is so cold she cannot stop shivering, and when at last they find a cave she shares his clothes and they make things very warm indeed --
...And sometimes it's just too hot and the whole world is napping in the late afternoon sun and she goes for a bath but he catches her first, and lifts her up and twists her up and then she is upside down, dangling from the branches of a tree, caught in the web of his long, colorful obi, and she drifts in the meager breeze while his tongue goes wild in the space between her legs and her mouth latches onto him and they quench their thirst on each other --
...And sometimes, even, it's real, and there are ronin and they think a young woman alone is easy prey, or a demon is starving for a soul to steal, or a bear or a wildcat or a pack of wolves come looking for food for their bellies, and she screams --
-- and when it is over she washes the blood from his kimono and he takes her and brands her as his own, with the bruise of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the aching pounding of hips as they reclaim each other again --
"How can you take such poor care of yourself?" Jaken wonders aloud as Kohaku smears a cut with salve and looks concerned and solicitous. "One day Sesshoumaru-sama will not be there to deliver you from the danger you seek, and you will be sorry then!"
"Oh," she says, not looking at them, watching him instead, "I don't know. It always seems to work out in the end."
He says nothing like always, and she grins, because of the many ways a woman may find herself in trouble --
Well. They know most of them.
Fandom: Inuyasha
Author: Resmiranda
Genre: het, hentai, PWP
Rating: hard R
Words: 1,554
Pairing: Sesshoumaru/Rin
Summary: ...Oopsie.
A/N: I told helena_markos/liliesformary that I would write a SessRin that involved neither death nor pedophilia. Here it is.
Of the many ways a woman may find herself in trouble, Rin knows most of them.
She likes it best when they snatch their time right out of the air, making room in the world for sighs and moans where before there was none. Quick and hot and secret, she stumbles into him and he splits her open, half-hidden in plain sight.
Sometimes it is so fast and furtive that it is over in the space of a hundred heartbeats, while Jaken goes to fetch water, or while Kohaku concentrates on target practice. In a strange reversal of roles, he follows her into the forests (because, truly, there are so many ways a woman may find herself in trouble), and she laughs and turns and burns so bright that he is blinded as he shoves her against a tree, wanting her so badly he can't even stand up straight. He's been denied for days, for nights, watching her dance through the grass and stand in the sun, surrounded by eyes, more untouchable and free than he will ever be, and the world whirls around him, centered on his aching cock as he finally eases home. She likes him like that, and when he goes harder, deeper, faster she presses her face against the bark of the tree and moans, limbs straining up and back, like a thing dying, impaled and dreaming of flying --
"I slipped," she says when Kohaku frowns over the scraped skin above her left eyebrow. She smiles up at him, brushing away his questions with a grin even as her lovely fingers brush away the sap and flower petals from her wild dryad hair. Sometimes she plucks a slender twig or scarlet leaf from wayward locks and holds it to the firelight, and he watches from the corner of his eye as she smiles and then tucks it away in her obi, a dear souvenir of their coupling.
Sometimes she goes to fish. She is good at it, and he will go with her, leaving the others behind. She needs to concentrate, you see (and there are so many ways a woman may find herself in trouble). He stands on the shore and watches as she slides the bright fabric of her kimono up and up, over calves sculpted from long summer days of walking, up knees scarred from a childhood spent clambering across the land, up long, strong thighs that quiver and tremble when he noses his way between them. He watches as she stands perfectly still, waiting for her prey to come near, the water sparkling around her like a thousand shards of glass. The wind lifts her hair and lets it fall, and then she strikes, so quickly even he almost doesn't see it. Up comes one fish, and then another, and another, and another. When she is done, she turns and casts a look in his direction before taking a step toward him.
Her foot slips.
And if her fall is a little too controlled, or her lips curved just a little too much, well, it doesn't really matter, because he's still there to catch her, and she climbs him like a tree and drags him into the water. Beneath the flowing surface, he holds his breath as she rips his obi loose, shoves his hakama down just far enough, and mounts him, their sodden clothing clinging to their skin like heavy bodies, like heavy bones.
Her fingers dig in, and so does he.
He watches her rush and ripple, far away, in the land of air and sun, and the roaring silence underwater holds him as tight and wet as she does. She rides him wild, a pyre-hot point in the chill, driving him deeper and deeper inside until she comes and bears down, hard and unforgiving, sucking him dry.
When he breaks through the surface and latches onto her throat with his hungry mouth, she laughs and he swallows it and holds it still as he lifts her onto the bank and rolls her kimono high around her waist. She is slippery with their mingled desire. Dying of thirst he laps it up. The rough drag of his tongue rolls her between his lips and his teeth, and she rolls right along with it, mewling helplessly as she writhes on the wet slope. When he is finally finished with her she is covered in mud from head to toe, and he nips the tender skin of her inner thigh one last time before rising and disappearing. He dries faster than she, and when she at last comes back to camp after the sun has gone down, long-dead dinner in her hand, Jaken berates her for being so late.
"I fell in the stream," she says, but she isn't even looking at the little imp. Instead she stares at him, and he at her. She tosses her still damp hair, her throat flashing in the fallen light, and his mouth goes dry. The next morning she proclaims that her back is sore, and she lets Kohaku massage it, watching him from beneath her lashes all the while. She moans and sighs, and he is hard and distracted and thoroughly punished until well past noon.
"You ruin so many good kimonos," she whispers, days later, as she nibbles on his ear. Her delicate little hand rubs his erection through cool white silk, and he fights back a growl. He wants to tell her that she started it --
-- a frog, a swamp, and now a kimono stained pond-scum green, and off Jaken and Kohaku go to find a new one while she sits in a field of summer flowers, swaddled in his daimon and smelling of him all over, like sake and smoke, and when she bends to tuck a flower behind his ear she doesn't smile, only blushes crimson, leans in, and licks --
-- and then she is face down, on her stomach in the sun-baked grass and he is mounting her from behind, long silver hair plastered to her skin, their sweat mixing and pooling in the small of her back as he presses her into the earth and she becomes a creature untamed, wild and hot and insatiable --
-- and two days after she receives her new kimono, she falls in the swamp again, and off Jaken and Kohaku go, and then she didn't even bother with the pretense of flowers that time --
-- because it's true, she did start it, but the time for speaking is long past. Instead he simply turns her around until her back is facing him, then draws her down into his lap. He trails his claws beneath her clothes, over her breasts and down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, thrusting his fingers against the swollen, aching nub he finds there, and she returns the favor by reaching back and stroking him as she rubs herself over his thigh until he growls and bucks and comes in her hand in strong, hot spurts. She cleans her fingers greedily, licking it all up...
...And sometimes she goes up a mountain and forgets to come down again, and when he finds her he bends her over a pool so she can watch her own abandon play over her face --
...And sometimes the snow builds up and she goes looking for firewood and he must go with her, and of course it is so cold she cannot stop shivering, and when at last they find a cave she shares his clothes and they make things very warm indeed --
...And sometimes it's just too hot and the whole world is napping in the late afternoon sun and she goes for a bath but he catches her first, and lifts her up and twists her up and then she is upside down, dangling from the branches of a tree, caught in the web of his long, colorful obi, and she drifts in the meager breeze while his tongue goes wild in the space between her legs and her mouth latches onto him and they quench their thirst on each other --
...And sometimes, even, it's real, and there are ronin and they think a young woman alone is easy prey, or a demon is starving for a soul to steal, or a bear or a wildcat or a pack of wolves come looking for food for their bellies, and she screams --
-- and when it is over she washes the blood from his kimono and he takes her and brands her as his own, with the bruise of his lips and the scrape of his teeth and the aching pounding of hips as they reclaim each other again --
"How can you take such poor care of yourself?" Jaken wonders aloud as Kohaku smears a cut with salve and looks concerned and solicitous. "One day Sesshoumaru-sama will not be there to deliver you from the danger you seek, and you will be sorry then!"
"Oh," she says, not looking at them, watching him instead, "I don't know. It always seems to work out in the end."
He says nothing like always, and she grins, because of the many ways a woman may find herself in trouble --
Well. They know most of them.