InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Moonlight Whispers ❯ MW version 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: northstar333
Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Rated: NC17
Warning: Minor, NC, Sexual Content
Pairing: Sess/Rin

Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Fantasy / Romance / Supernatural / Angst | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 05.05.2007 | Updated On: 05.05.2007 | Pages: 7 | Words: 13.4K | Visits: 1.7K | Status: Completed

Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
 
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Inuyasha…..but man, if I did…..:D
Warnings: NC-17, MINOR! NONCONSENTUAL!!, explicit sex, language, violence,             &nb sp;              all the good stuff
[AN] A Rin-Sesshoumaru lemon written from Sesshoumaru's point of view. Rin is 13 years old (more or less since her age is never determined) so this is still MINOR. No griping! I warned you! (There are some brief parts from Rin's point of view….it just got written that way…)
(Enjoy!)
[A/N cont'd] YES. IT IS DONE. IT IS COMPLETE IN ALL IT'S ENTIRETY. Rejoice. And please, no bodily harm to the author!!!!!
There are probably still typos in the last part seeing as I just wrote it. I will go back and beta proof it but since all of you seemed desperate to have the ending, I didn't wait to post it.
I luuuuv this piece of work. Sess/Rin is my fav pairing and they just deserved a good lemon.
So, as I said b4, Enjoy!
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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 twang of fear and the hot oil 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 andpossess 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, he will show her exactly what he expects from her.
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 innocence, 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 Tensaiga 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 revels 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 urges her. “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 just begins to appear as a blip on 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 tonight.
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 vastly unsettled, 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 between her thighs. 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 baying of a hound on the hunt; but it is more; deeper and longer than any canine lung 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 as right and natural for her to flee him, to test him and tease him, as it is for him to subdue and take her.
His muscles gather under his hide of silver ice. They bunch and coil like a wound spring, 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 slaps him across the face like an unseen blow. 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 prove herself worthy, for he is going to make her his mate. It is beyond the fact that she is human and he demon, beyond the fact that he has raised her as if she were his pup, beyond the fact that he has never expressed anything but disdain for those who fraternize with humans. It 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 posture 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; she should 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 is helpless to stop him, but she does not even try. He knows he is hurting her. She should be thrashing in pain, struggling to get free as panic sets in.
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 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 is himself again as his beast slinks off in shame, leaving him 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.
He is afraid that she will die.
He is afraid she will leave him forever.
He cares.
For her.
His hand balls into a fist. He refuses to let her die. He is Sesshoumaru, master of Tensaiga. Death cannot take from him what he wants most.
He closes his eyes, vanquishing his inner fear with a simple flexing of his self control. He centers himself, calling the starry midnight of Tensaiga's power to his hand. Like an eager dog, the power pools in his palm, waiting for his command. When he has gathered enough he opens his hand and presses it flat against Rin's back. The power recognizes her and flows into her as easily as a river flows down its channel.
The first soft puff of her breath against his cheek causes his heart to skip a beat and his breath to hitch. The rigidness melts from his body and he cannot stop himself from hugging her fiercely against him. Wetness floods his eyes and before he can brush it away, two tears trickle down his cheeks. Shame, like a hot, sandy wind blows through his soul, but fast on its heels in the cool, rain kissed breeze of relief.
Overcome, he buries his face in the crook of her unblemished neck, letting the moisture of his tears dew on her skin. Her musky, feminine scent fills his senses and he drinks it in. Lust, simple and uncomplicated, bursts into flame within him and he welcomes it gladly. His pride takes hold of him again, harsh and demanding, and he reluctantly eases his grip.
Their eyes meet; his shadowed with lust and emotion but guarded, hers large and very dark with startled amazement. With a small jolt, he realizes that she was awake during his lapse. His first instinct is to push her away, to bury the raw truth he has just discovered, to freeze her out like he always does. But then she looks away and down and belatedly he is reminded of his state of undress.
Her eyes grow very round, her pupils dilate, her cheeks pinken and blood instantly rushes to his groin. A very smug, predatory smirk slowly curves his lips into a smile as he watches her face as she watches his erection grow. A subtle tension leaves his body as the urge to distance himself from her disappears like smoke.
His gaze is caught and held by the way her lips sweetly part in unconscious surprise, the way her small, pink tongue flicks out to nervously wet her plump, bottom lip. Without conscious thought 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 finite, noticeable gyration as her body attunes itself to his.
He smiles in approval.
His mouth hovers over hers and with a small cry she kisses him, her lips meeting his with untried eagerness. She shivers again, and she reaches up to cup his face with her hands. Hesitantly, she mimics him, nibbling his lips with hers. Instantly his lust explodes like fireworks, but outwardly he is stoic. Only the glowing of his eyes shows how hot his hunger burns. He lets her coax his lips into parting, remains passive as she first touches her tongue to his lips then grows bolder in her explorations.
At last, with an almost inaudible groan, it is too much and he takes control of the kiss. Gently he palms the back of her head, threading his fingers into the lush satin of her ebony hair. He changes the angle of the kiss, bending her back under the assault of his lips. With his tongue he invades her, allowing her no quarter as he brushes against the roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. She mews for him, blossoming beneath the attentions of his mouth. In this she yields eagerly, taking more of his tongue in her mouth. Wantonly his innocent suckles his tongue, tearing an involuntary groan from low in his throat.
He breaks the kiss, evading her seeking lips as he stands up over her. Her dark eyes slide over his body, memorizing every inch of him from his feet to his face. When her gaze meets his, there is an answering heat there. Lust, dark and sweet and intoxicating, has found its way at last into his beguiling virgin.
He smiles, softly, and offers her a hand up. He knows what he looks like, with the moonlight making his pale skin luminous, bringing the angular planes of his muscular body in stark relief, with the moonlight slanting into his eyes to turn them to molten platinum, with the alabaster fall of his hair cascading over his shoulder and back like silver rain and spider silk. He is breathtakingly beautiful, ethereal otherworldliness, and deceptively delicate looking.
He is more dangerous and tempting than any other living creature.
He usually despises the way he looks.
But the struck look on her face, the way she looks at him as if she's been blind and he's the first thing she's ever seen, the way the color rises to her cheeks, the way she forgets to breath and her heartbeat flutters unsteadily, dissolves his animosity and swells his pride.
She is no less beautiful, with her lush lips swollen and flushed with his kisses, with her cheeks rosy with her passion, with her midnight tresses tussled by his hand, with her eyes large and so dark they seem to absorb the moonlight and her slender, tender body bare to the night air.
Fearlessly she slides her hand into his, getting to her feet with his help. Smoothly, gracefully, he twirls her around with his grip on her wrist so that her back is flush against his front. He drops her hand and brings his lips in next to her ear.
“Be still,” he whispers to her 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, his breath catching audibly as she takes the tip into the hot moistness of her mouth. Lightly she flicks her tongue against the pad, teasing him. In response he pushes against her, snuggling his erection into the valley between her buttocks as his hunger for flesh against flesh rises.
He pulls his finger from her mouth, tracing glistening wetness down her chin, down the arch of her throat, between her collar bones, down to between her breasts. He smiles, a hungry, anticipatory expression that is lost on her, but his touch remains gentle and his hand remains steady.
“What would you do for me, Rin?” he asks softly as he spreads his fingers, tracing his thumb and pinkie up the inner slopes of her breasts.
She draws breath to answer, but then he brushes the pads of his thumb and pinkie over the rigid tips of her nipples and she loses focus, her gasp coming out as a short, sharp cry as she shivers against him.
“What would you do for me, Rin?” he repeats, his hand hovering over her nipples.
“An-anything!” she stammers between ragged breaths. “Anything!”
“Anything?” he purrs in her ear as he flicks his claws over her erect tips.
“Anything!” she exclaims gustily as her body shutters and her core grows wet.
“Good.”
He steps back, watching in amusement as she sways on her feet. She turns to him, confusion on her face.
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. He pins her with his gaze, the whites of his eyes bleeding through to red. He takes one purposeful step forward and she hesitantly takes one back. Again he advances and she retreats until he backs her into a tree. He stops mere inches from her, ignoring the usual personal space he puts between them. His smile deepens with twisted amusement as her breath catches and she watches him with wide, trusting eyes.
“I am going to give you to the count of ten to run away from me and then I am going to come after you. When I catch you, not if, I am going to push you to your hands and knees and I am going to put this,” he says as he draws her attention down to where he has his hand curled provocatively around his erection, “In here,” he moves his hand to cup her black curls intimately, sliding the tip of his finger into her wetness.
His eyes are hooded as he watches the way that one quick invasion makes her shudder and floods her face with bright color. Just as swiftly he withdraws, lightly caressing between her nether lips, ghosting over her clitoris. Her hips give an involuntary little jerk, seeking after his finger.
His expression is smug as her eyes stay locked on his hand in apparent fascination. Unhurriedly he puts his finger to his lips and licks the moisture off with his tongue. She makes a tiny, strangled sound and leans towards him, his prior act of intimidation forgotten.
He catches her gaze with his, his gold eyes the color of burnt umber with their pupils so slitted they look reptilian. Instantly she shrinks back into the tree as she eyes him with wary, captivated awe.
He grins, a slow slide of the corners of his mouth upward, and whispers to her.
“Run.”
For a long moment, she is motionless, her eyes straying to where his taunt phallus rests arrogantly and aggressively against the muscular plane of his stomach. He can almost see the clockwork of her thoughts on her face as she, at that exact moment, pictures him bending her over and putting that inside of her. His dark hunger yawns insolent and ravenous in his gut as the dark pools of her eyes deepen with instant, instinctual anticipation and trepidation.
The barest hint of fear rises from her skin like steam, weaving a sharp, tart spice into her scent. His pupils dilate slowly until the pupil is lined with the aged gold of the iris. He licks his lips unhurriedly, savoring the essence of her on his tongue.
“One.”
She starts at the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly.
“Two.”
Her eyes search his face for some sign, any sign, that he is still the Sesshoumaru-sama she knows. Finding none, she straightens and pushes herself slowly away from the tree, her eyes still locked with his.
“Three.”
With every motion unhurried and purposeful, she eases her way out from between him and the tree, maintaining eye contact with him. Circling around so that she never exposes her back to him, she works her way to the edge of the clearing.
“Four.”
Her muscles tense, then with a quick pivot on the ball of one foot, she dashes off into the shadowed recesses of the forest. He watches her retreating form, pleased by the way she does not even risk a backward glance.
“Five.”
He waits, his eyes sliding closed as he lifts his face to the cool caress of the moonlight. By sound and by sense he knows exactly where she is. This time, there will be no leisurely chase.
“Six.”
He is completely still. The steady, strong beat of his heart echoes through his being as all else is discarded. Doubt, pride, hatred, anger—all falls away. He breathes, he lives, with the single minded intent of sheathing himself within her, and by that act, making her irrevocably his.
“Seven.”
He lowers his chin, lets his eyes fall open. He looks down at the pale sheen of the white silk of his outer kimono. He pictures spilling her blood onto the cloth and the edges of his vision cloud with crimson.
“Eight.”
He does not growl; he does not bark or howl or make any noise at all. He is deadly serious; as competent, unfailing, quiet, and relentless as death. His lips form the next word.
“Nine.”
There is an unsettling hiss as his youki flares to life around him and dances agitatedly like a red dust devil around his unmoving form. Faster and faster the cloud of scarlet aura twists around him until it spins with an unearthly keening. Flickers of lightening shoot jagged fingers through his youki; low rumbling pops of thunder sound a moment afterward. Within the brilliant display, his face is cold and impassive, his body stone still and unyielding. Then, suddenly, with barely a flicker of an eyelid, his youki is gone as he swallows back within himself the power that has leaked out during his rising excitement. The last number he whispers to the night; his voice sensual and filled with promise.
“Ten.”
There is a pale blur as he flows into motion; after that, there is nothing; not a flicker of a leaf moving, not a whisper of air movement to reveal his presence. In one moment, he has left the clearing and placed himself directly behind her. Without warning or preamble he snatches her up, his arm locking around her waist. Trapping her against his body, he walks purposefully towards the clearing.
After a stunned moment, she braces herself against his arm and tries futilely to squirm free. Quickly realizing the hopelessness of that, she turns large, pleading eyes towards him.
“S-sesshoumaru-sama?” she cries softly, her voice plaintive and trembling.
When he does not react, when he does not even glance down at her, she tries again.
“Sesshoumaru-sama!” she says shakily, demanding his attention.
This time he does look at her and there is no looking away for her. She is captivated by the heat in his eyes. Such hunger, such intent. There is no tenderness; no mercy in his gaze. The light that burns in his eyes is like that of an inferno; it is a fire that consumes anything in its path. And his resolve; may her ancestors have mercy on her soul. It stands behind the blazing heat like the impenetrable stone walls of a mighty fortress. Had he desired her death, she would have been dead many times over by now. But no, he desires something different. He desires her.
Rin renews her struggles, whimpering softly as she sees the trees parting to open up into the clearing. She has seen girls be taken against their will. She has seen the blood, the messiness, the horror of it all. To think that now there was no escaping as Sesshoumaru-sama did that to her.
She knows that she is making small helpless noises, and despite herself, she cannot stop. The rational part of her brain struggles to string together sentences that will resolve themselves into intelligent pleading, but she is beyond forming words. She is driven by instincts as primitive as his; instincts urging her to soften his mood with feminine guile so that the mating is one that will yield offspring in her belly rather than injury. Without thought or reason, she becomes pliant even though she is fearful and relaxes against him. Some part of her is wary and watchful; still looking for some way to escape.
Without regard to her, he looses his grip, letting her fall to her knees in the thick layer of grass under the spreading arms of the oak. Immediately she is moving to keep her back from him, but he is quicker that she is and with his fingers buried deep within her thick tresses, he prevents her from turning towards him.
With his grip on her hair, he begins to push her head down, using all of his weight and considerable strength to force her compliance. She cannot win; she is only human and a young one at that. But still, she struggles. The pressure against her skull and neck is relentless; but she fights for every inch, and every inch she is make to yield.
Their struggle is silent; only the harsh sounds of her pants and the softer hush of his breaths can be heard.
Then the moment comes when her cheek presses into the dark, rich earth and she can smell the moist, loamy scent of the soil. She gives it one last effort, one last struggle, every part of her body taunt and straining. Even with the adrenaline pumping through her system, she cannot budge. She has lost. Her entire form is tense for a moment longer as the realization sinks in. She relaxes, letting the weight of her body fall naturally between her knees and her cheek and neck. Even then, his hand on her head does not move, does not let up. It is a testing of wills and patience, hers against his. One bit of leeway and she will escape, should he arrogantly assume she has given up already.
Then the pressure eases and his hand lifts. She gathers herself, getting ready to fight, when he whispers to her.
“Stay.”
Instantly she freezes, her mind slowly processing the command. Her sense of self preservation clamors for her to flee, but she is held motionless by the power of his voice, by the power he has over her because of her feelings for him.
She stays.
Dark pleasure, sweet and heady 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 rump in the air, her sweet, secret place is displayed shamelessly for his pleasure. Like morning dew on rose petals, moisture glistens on the flushed folds of her sex. He licks his lips again, tempted to place his face in that bounty and drink until his thirst is sated.
His cock throbs impatiently and the urge to leisurely look his fill vanishes. 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 sorrowfully as she peers up at him over her shoulder, her eyes white rimmed with nervous fear.
He takes himself in his hand, positioning the tip against her sex, rubbing it back and forth until it is slick with her juices. Then he guides it to her opening and with iron restraint, slowly, slowly pushes into her so that her folds open to his invasion and the flared head of his penis spreads the clenched tightness of her opening almost gently.
Again she whimpers and rocks her body forward, shrinking away from him.
“Rin!” he clenches through his teeth as the head of his cock slips free.
“Please!” she cries, tears slipping from her closed eyes to sink into the ground.
He takes himself in hand again and guides himself into her opening. This time, he is rougher as he pushes against her until she cannot retreat from him anymore and still remain in the same position.
“The time for regrets is past, little one. From the moment you followed me into the forest instead of returning to the village, you became mine. Mine. Do you understand Rin? This is what it is to be mine. This is what you chose when you chose to follow me.”
He leans into her, letting his weight bear down on her so that the length and width of him slides into her small, tight sheath. She is virginal; he can feel the hymen stretching around the head of his cock.
“Please!” she pleads, feeling the pressure inside of her, feeling the taunt pain as something inside of her begins to rip.
With a quick flex of his hips, he drives through her hymen, making the pain fast and sharp.
“Mine, Rin. You are mine!” he declares over the sounds of her soft sobs.
He bends his body over hers, forcing her to take his thickness bit by bit. She is so tight, constricting about his penis like a cruel fist, but the inside of her is like drenched velvet; hot and slick and silky.
The sound of his groans mingle with her deep whimpers until the sound of one becomes indistinguishable with the other.
Then at last, the front of his hips settles against the curve of her ass and he is completely inside of her. He leans over, pressing his stomach and chest against her back. Her skin is soaked with sweat, gleaming pale in the moonlight. His is covered with a fine coating of moisture so that his flesh sparkled with a million tiny droplets. Against the thick shadow of the grass, his hair spills over hers like a silvery waterfall and hers pools beneath his like a deep, fathomless spring.
He can feel the rapid fluttering of her heart through his chest, can feel the way his own speeding heartbeat keeps tempo with hers. As one they lay panting in rhythm, their diaphragms expanding against each other to draw the next breath.
She is so small, delicate and exquisite; and she has taken all of him; sheathed him completely within her. She is built to accommodate someone smaller; she is stretched taunt around him and the tightness is just short of being pain. He waits, desperately, for her body to ease a little, to gradually accept the size of him. He cannot do as he pleases and take her roughly yet; he would rend her internally should he try. She would not last the mating.
 His concentration is completely taken with keeping his hips still. He does not notice, does not actively realize, the way his hand soothingly rubs along any exposed skin it can reach to gentle her. For a time, she cries unheedingly, but as her tears run out and he remains unmoving behind her, she relaxes, marginally, little bit by little bit, until strain of having him inside of her eases to the point it is no longer painful.
Once, teasingly, his hand ghosts over her nipple. Unhurriedly, it returns, toying with the hard tip. Then his hand is gone, tracing patterns in her skin as it drifts to her other breast. Then it slips down her stomach and abdomen, seeking that secret pleasure place between her legs. The pad of one finger glides over her clitoris and involuntarily her inner muscles tighten in response.
He makes a choked sound, his hand stilling. Then deliberately he does it again, causing her inner muscles to bear down on him hungrily.
His control snaps and with a savage sound he drags himself out of her. Holding her down with his hand, he drives himself into her with one swift thrust. Again, again and again he takes her until she is slick with her own moisture, slick with her own blood, slick with his precum.
With each thrust she mews and whimpers, afraid of his strength, afraid of the rising sensations within her. Each glide of his hips slides his cock over a sweet place inside of her and propels her further towards something she cannot name, something she cannot resist. High and higher he drives her into delirium and rapture until she is so tightly wound she feels as if she will break.
“Please!” she whimpers, but she knows not what she asks for. If he does not stop, she will burst, but she does not want him to stop. Her very awareness is nothing more that the press of his length into her, of the way he fulfils her inside, of the way he withdraws, leaving her aching and empty, of the way he returns to her again. In this position she cannot thrust against him; she is helpless. Only at his pace, at his time, will she reach that shining place she can almost grasp.
“Please!” she begs shamelessly. “Please!”
He surges into her, once, twice, again; and she is soaring, plummeting down from the heights she has risen to shatter gloriously on the jagged rocks below. She can feel her hips jerking, her inner muscles spasming as they clench and release, milking his cock. She can feel the strength in his hand, in his body, as he spills into her in one hot rush, growling her name into her ear. She can feel the heat of his breath on her neck, the warm press of his body against hers. She can feel the spasms of his penis as he empties himself inside of her.
In that suspended time, they are locked together, one being made whole.
In the after glow, she makes no protest as he wraps his arm around her and settles them both leaning against the tree. His touch is gentle as he smoothes her hair out of her face.
“Beautiful Rin,” he whispers to her, his voice husky and rough. “My brave one, my pure one, my mate.”
She stirs against him, noticing again that he is still inside of her.
“Mate?” she asks softly.
“Yes. Mine. Always. No one will ever take you from me, Rin,” he tells her as he softly strokes her hair.
“Not ever?” she murmurs as she yawns. She is exhausted; and the motions of his hand are lulling her into sleep.
“Never,” he assures her.
She flips onto her side, dislodging him from her, and curls up against his chest, tucking her hands under her chin.
“Rin belongs to Sesshoumaru-sama,” she repeats drowsily.
“Yes.”
“Rin loves Sesshoumaru-sama,” she continues sweetly as she drifts off.
In the quiet of the deepest part of the night, long after Rin has safely succumbed to sleep, he lies awake, savoring the feel of her against him. At last, weary of struggling with himself, he lets loose a small sigh.
“This Sesshoumaru…loves…Rin,” he admits in the darkness.
 
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 [A/N] So this is the space where I can ramble and stuff. But, I'm really tired. I finished the story (yay!). This is the first story I've written that has really inspired people to bodily harm. Dire threats to my person if I didn't finish this. I'm flattered, really—a little scared—but mostly flattered.
So thank you to all of you who have reviewed and been faithful return readers. A belated finish to this story, but a finish none the less. Hope it was everything you wanted it to be.