InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Moonlight Whispers ❯ MW version 2 ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

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: 10 | Words: 19.3K | Visits: 1.3K | 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!)

[AN 2] I went back and did a rewrite. This is the second (most likely final) version of this story. I promise to come back and re-proof read in a couple days since this one still has some typos. The ending is mostly the same but there are several subtle differences between version 1 and this version. If you read both and are going to review, tell me which one you liked better.

Happy belated Halloween!

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Moonlight Whispers…

Innocent Beauty and her beautiful Beast…

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

He will have her.

Tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remains silent, knowing that no answer is expected on his part. She will follow him regardless of his destination or his intent. He is struck anew by the depth of her adoration, of her devotion. He wonders, idly, whether he will ever see such emotions from her again after tonight, and finds himself memorizing the look of sweet joy that illuminates her face. She is so delicate; fragile as a butterfly and vulnerable in a way she couldn't even comprehend yet. She is a woman—barely. He will tolerate no more delays. Still, some part of him is unbending to his will, and before he realizes it, he is stopping and turning to her.

“Leave,” he says, his tone demanding immediate compliance.

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

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

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

“No!” she protests.

“Rin—” he warns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He feels his erection grow and harden at that thought.

He turns to face her, his expression impassive.

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

“Yes?” she pipes in her happy voice.

“Remove your clothing,” he continues.

“Huh?” her puzzlement is obvious in her tone.

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

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

She pleases him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” he tells her, “Go back to your kind, back to humanity.”

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

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

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

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

She swallows noisily, her words soft as she tries to force them out of her constricted throat. “I don't know,” she whispers.

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

“I—I don't know!” she stammers, taking an involuntary step back as he slowly glides towards her. Between one instant and the next, he is right in front of her, tipping her chin up with one glowing claw. With wide, stunned eyes, she stares up at him, at a loss for words.

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

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

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

“Run,” he orders her, his voice low, intense. “Run!”

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

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

He begins to count.

One…

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

Two…

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

Three…

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

Four…

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

Five…

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

Six…

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

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

Seven…

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

Eight…

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

Nine…

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

Ten…

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

Yes.

This feeling of inadequacy.

Because of her.

But he cannot hate her for it.

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

She is HIS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She is taunting him! Daring him to take her life! How dare she mock him! He knows that her offered throat is no act of surrender at all. She is fearless; he wants her cowering before him, begging for his favor. It is impossible to comprehend that she would do such as this. She is a weak human; it is necessary that she know her place as his prey. Why won't she fear him?!

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

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

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

“Sessh-maru…” she sobs, “-hy?!”

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

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

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

She is passive underneath him.

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

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

It takes him a moment, but he finally realizes.

He is smelling his own fear.

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

Completely impossible.

And yet…

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

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

And it matters to him whether she lives or not.

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

And he is afraid of losing her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it hits him.

He almost lost her.

Because of his own lack of self control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry, little one.”

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

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

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

She opens her mouth as if to protest.

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

“Rin…you are not at fault. Do you understand?”

With wide eyes, she nods her consent.

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

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

Her reaction does not disappoint him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rin,” he purrs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bu-” she protests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A small, tight smile twists his lips.

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

“…don't…”

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

“…don't fight me…” he whispers again.

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

“…please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He has hurt her.

He still wants her.

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

Their eyes meet.

“You are mine.”

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

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

“Sesshoumaru-sama?”

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

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

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

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

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

Rin…

Sweet.

Beautiful.

Smiling Rin.

Gone.

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

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

“Go,” he tells her in a tired voice.

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

“You don't belong here, Rin. Go away.”

“Rin belongs with Sesshoumaru-sama!”

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

He grinds his teeth together in irritation.

“Go!” he commands with sorely tried restraint.

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

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

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

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

He studies her; and decides to gamble everything.

“Yes. Will you stay?”

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

“Yes.”

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

“Yes what?” he queries in a deceptively bland tone.

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

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

“Come here.”

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

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

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

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

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

He is looking at her with the beginnings of kindness.

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

She nods, her grip on his shoulders tightening.

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

She swallows compulsively before nodding again.

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

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

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

“Will it hurt again?” she asks him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This Sesshoumaru…loves…Rin.”

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