InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 10: Anomaly ❯ Natural Progression ( Chapter 32 )

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

Mikio slammed the kettle on the counter, sloshing water up and out of the spout despite the cover.  If it was glass, it likely would have shattered.  At the moment, however, he was well past caring.

‘Oh, come on.  You’re not really that mad about it, are you?  I mean, you shouldn’t be.’

That, in his estimation, didn’t deserve a response.  Hell, yes, he was angry.  Why shouldn’t he be?  Not only had he been unable to control his own body, but then, to come out of the bathroom after his impromptu shower, only to find her, curled up on the bed, a slight smile on her face, and fast asleep?  And then, when he’d gotten back into bed, she’d just rolled toward him, snuggled against him, entirely content, or so it would seem, while he lay there for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out exactly what he should do.

He had no idea, and that was what really bothered him.  Was he supposed to wake her up, to make sure that she was satisfied, too?  Would she think he was dumb if he did?  Just what was the protocol after something like that, anyway?

It was strange, really, given that he had more than enough practice in masturbation, in general.  In hindsight, it had never really occurred to him that having someone else do that to him would be so incredibly different.  Or maybe . . .

‘You think that it wouldn’t be entirely different, especially with Madison?’

He grimaced.  He really hadn’t thought about it—had actively tried not to think about it.  But now . . .

And then, somewhere just before dawn, had come the debilitating questions.  Just what the hell was he doing?  He, who had decided a long time ago that he never wanted to mess around with something even close to that.  Convinced that no woman would really want him, not after they figured out how bad his limitations really were, but something about Madison . . . How had she managed to make him forget a lifetime of resolve . . .?

But he had actually fallen asleep at some point, and it must have been deep because the alarm didn’t wake him up for once, and by the time he’d opened his eyes, it was nearly eleven in the morning, and Madison was long gone.  She’d left him a note that simply said she’d see him after work, and she’d signed it simply with a print of her lipsticked lips . . .

Moving the water kettle onto the stove to heat the water for his tea, Mikio rubbed his face.

No, no matter how he tried to spin it, there was just no escaping the fact that he felt like the worst kind of failure.  After all, what had happened . . .

‘You know, I doubt she thinks anything of the sort,’ his youkai-voice pointed out in an entirely reasonable tone of voice.  ‘If she did, then she wouldn’t have gone to sleep, don’t you think?  I mean, if you think about it logically, you can’t go to sleep when you’re horny as hell.  What makes you think that she can?  And besides . . .’

‘Besides?’ Mikio prompted, irritating rising fast when his inner-youkai trailed off.  ‘Besides, what?’

That annoying voice had the gall to chuckle.  ‘You were so busy, having a snit-fit that you didn’t even notice the smell when you went back in the bedroom, now did you?’

‘The smell?  What smell?  What are you—?’

The longsuffering sigh that cut him off also pronounced quite eloquently that he was being a little—or a lot—obtuse.  ‘All right.  At the risk of being vulgar, it smelled like she’d . . . pleasured herself . . . while you were in the shower.  Damn, Miki-chan.  Pay attention, will you?’

Stopping short at that statement, Mikio could feel the blush—hot and livid—rush into his cheeks and then some, and he stifled a groan, slumping forward until his elbows crashed down on the counter, followed in quick succession by his face, falling into his open palms.  He had noticed that scent—a richer, darker, deeper scent of her—but at the time, he’d simply discarded it, maybe attributing it to the idea that she had been as moved as he was, and no, it hadn’t occurred to him that she might well have taken care of her own needs once he’d effectively retreated under the guise of needing to clean himself up.

Unfortunately, that only served to make him feel just a little worse, a little lower, a little more callous.  Really, just what in the hell did she think of him now?  He felt entirely selfish, to be honest.  After all, yes, it was the first time he’d ever, ever experienced anything even remotely close to what she’d made him feel, but that didn’t really excuse him, either.  He wasn’t ignorant, by any means.  How could he be with brothers like the twins—brothers who had spent years, trying to make sure he was educated.  Once, they had literally locked him into a room with a stack of porn, telling him that he couldn’t come out till he’d watched them, which had been mortifying enough, but they’d been serious, damned if they weren’t, and when they’d finally let him out hours later, both of them had absolutely smug grins on their faces, and Ryomaru, ass that he was, had actually sniffed Mikio to make sure that their message had been well received.

That was when he was around thirteen years old.  When he was sixteen, his baka brothers had threatened to take him to a prostitute.  They hadn’t, but he hadn’t actually trusted them enough to be left alone with either of them.  Considering they were both, in Mikio’s estimation, entirely too preoccupied with whether or not he was still a virgin, it wasn’t really surprising that he worked hard to avoid them for quite a while.

And, of course, what he hadn’t learned from those two, he’d learned from Morio.  Bas was just too shy when it came to women for him to be a source of information, and Gunnar tended to keep his own experiences to himself, and Mikio, for his part in it, tended to be happy enough to avoid those kinds of discussions entirely.  Morio, however, was the polar opposite of both Bas and Gunnar, and he had no qualms at all in telling Mikio about his escapades, even when Mikio told him, point blank, that he really didn’t want the details.

The point was, what he did know about the process left him feeling entirely stupid, completely inept, and like he’d completely missed the mark, and even then—even then—the truth of it was that Mikio . . .

‘You wanted her to still be awake,’ his youkai-voice concluded, and for once, there was no edge to the tone, no slight hint of the normal condescension that he could sense when topics of this nature had arisen in the past.  ‘You wanted her to be waiting for you.  It’s okay, you know.  I did, too . . . That woman . . .’

He winced and let out a deep breath that rattled through the crack between his hands and echoed in the otherwise stillness.  Yes, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he did want her to still be awake, because the feel of her, the taste of her . . .

It wasn’t nearly enough, either . . .


The absolute wonder of that kiss spun through her head as she sat in the quiet of her office.  Just the memory alone was enough to send a very delightful shiver, right down her spine.  She’d known, hadn’t she, that being intimate with Mikio would be somehow different, special, but she had no way of knowing just how right she’d be, and the reality was mind-boggling.  It had seemed to her that every little touch, every sensation, had been magnified, had transcended her own knowledge, to the point that she couldn’t really put it into words. The all-consuming need, the fierce sense of everything in the world being right . . . She’d known, and yet . . .

‘It’s just made it worse, you know.  All those thoughts, those daydreams . . . Those were nice, but now?  Why don’t we get the hell out of here, go back to the penthouse and drag that man off to bed?’

Smiling vaguely at the bawdy sound of her youkai-voice, Madison sighed.  As much as she would love to do just that, she really couldn’t.  She prided herself on her business, on her ability to run it all, to keep things going smoothly in the spas that bore her name.  She’d never been one to shirk her responsibilities, and as tempting as the idea was, she couldn’t do that now, either.

She meant to go through some of the less important mail that had been building up in the last couple weeks, mostly suppliers that wanted her to carry their products, some unsolicited resumes that had come in the mail or had been dropped off in hopes of filling a non-existent slot for a stylist in one of Madison’s spas.  She had low turnover in her associates, but every so often, a position would open up, but whenever that happened, Madison usually always had a short list of people she might ask to step in.  She’d worked damn hard to make sure that working in her spas was The Goal for the best and brightest of the up-and-coming generation—the ones who would be the names that everyone in the business knew in the future.  Even now, some of Madison’s oldest associates had moved on to work for the elite.  One of them was the makeup historian at the Coliverte Theatre in Paris—one of the newest and most celebrated live theatres in all of Europe.  Her job was to research the look and feel of various shows, to plan out the makeup looks for whatever the time periods were.  A couple of them had gone on to open their own salons—salons that were also thriving.  Some worked in Hollywood on various movie and television properties.  All in all, her alumni made her very, very proud.

There were also a handful of calls that she needed to return, other day-to-day things that needed her approval.  The spa manager did a damn good job in taking care of the things that came up, but there were still details that only she could see to, so as much as she’d like to ditch the whole thing for the day, she simply couldn’t—unfortunately.

Of course, if she could get her mind to focus on the tasks at hand, it would help.  But no, a certain sexy hanyou just kept invading her thoughts, and she smiled to herself.

‘Fine, fine . . . At least do us a favor on the way back to the penthouse, then,’ her youkai pouted.

‘Hmm?’

‘Stop by the store and pick up the biggest box of condoms you can find, will you?’

She broke into a low chuckle, biting her lip as she considered that option.  It sounded like a good idea to her, sure, but then, when she considered it—really stopped to think about it—she had to wonder.  Just because they’d gotten a little carried away last night, she still wasn’t entirely certain that Mikio would be that quick to dive right into the deep end.  She’d realized already that he wasn’t that experienced when it came right down to it—something she found incredibly sweet and ridiculously endearing—but at the heart of it, she also realized that Mikio wasn’t necessarily the rushed type, either.

‘So, we go on, letting him set the pace, you mean?  All right, but I still think you should get condoms—just in case.’

‘Point taken.’

“All right, that smile is starting to creep me out,” Brit remarked as she strode into the office with a small stack of mail in her hands.  She dropped it on the corner of Madison’s desk and tucked her balled up fist against her waist.  “I don’t think you’ve stopped smiling since you came in this morning, bright and early,” she pointed out.  “It’s not natural, you know.  You’re starting to remind me of the Joker.  Want to tell me the reason behind it?”

Madison laughed.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she protested, rolling her eyes, but still smiling.

“Oh, oh, yes,” Brit insisted dryly.  “The only reason you’d have to be that happy is if you won the lottery, but the big drawing isn’t till the weekend, or you got laid . . . Did you have really fantastic sex, Madison?”

She couldn’t help herself as the laughter bubbled out of her.  She waved a hand as she finally wound down.  “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Brit slowly shook her head.  “You’re seriously not going to tell me?  Judging from your mood, I’d say that he’s not just a ship in the night?”

Wrinkling her nose at the melodramatic phrase Brit had chosen, Madison blinked rather coquettishly.  “No,” she replied.  “He’s . . . Well, he’s just not.”

Brit raised her eyebrows as she nodded, and then, she held out a hand.  “Okay, lemme see.”

“Let you see, what?”

Brit snorted and wiggled her fingers.  “Don’t tell me you don’t have a picture on your phone of this guy.  I wanna see who’s so special that he’s got you damn near singing show tunes.”

After a moment’s pause, Madison reached for her phone, scrolled through the images until she found on she’d taken of Mikio one evening while he was preoccupied, reading through Gavin’s case file.  Leaning forward, perched on the edge of the sofa, he held the file in his hands, his long, silvery hair, spilling over his right shoulder, but the profile of his face was etched against the sunlight, shining through the bank of windows.  Clad in a soft knit hoodie and a casual pair of blue jeans—they’d just gotten back from a long walk to the market to buy things to make a simple dinner—with his sleeves pushed up his forearms, with his ridiculously long, dark eyelashes, a stark contrast against the gentle glow of his skin . . . It was one of her favorite pictures of him.  She supposed that it had a lot to do with the absolute sense of serenity that came through, even on a digital device.

She stared at the image for a second, then handed Brit the phone.  She took it, stared at it, her eyebrows, slowly rising, an approving little smile, quirking the corner of her ruby red lips.  “Oh, he’s hot,” she decided without taking her eyes off the picture.  “His hair is so pale . . .”  Heaving a sigh, she handed the phone back.  “Does he have a brother?”

Madison giggled.  “A couple of them, but they’re both very, very married.”

Brit let out an exaggerated sigh.  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” she grumbled.  “Anyway, I’d say that he’s a pretty good reason to be in such a good mood.  I most certainly approve.”

Madison watched as the spa manager turned to go, leaving her alone once more, and she sighed.  According to her phone, it was only a little after one, so not nearly late enough to call it a day.  Reminding herself that she’d be just fine if she wasn’t able to see him for another few hours, Madison tamped down the unreasonable sense of disappointment and contented herself by composing a text to send him instead.

‘Can’t wait to see you later,’ she keyed in and hit, ‘send’.

His reply was a picture of an assortment of mushrooms, veggies, and a smallish package of some kind of meat cutlets and two words: hot pot.

And she smiled.


“I ’m home,” Madison said, leaning into the kitchen.  “Oh, that smells good . . .”

Glancing up from the simmering stock in the stoneware hot pot, he blushed the moment his gaze locked with hers, and he grimaced inwardly.  Just looking at her, remembering everything that had happened the night before was more than enough to send color, flooding to the surface of his skin, and didn’t that just figure?

He sighed.  “Hey, uh, yeah . . . We need to talk,” he blurted before he could try to find a more diplomatic way to say it.

She shot him a cursory glance, but nodded.  “Do I have time to change first?”

“Uh, sure,” he replied.  “I’m just getting the vegetables ready.  Are you hungry?”

“Starving,” she called back over her shoulder.  “I’ll be right back.”

He’d thought about it for the better portion of the day.  He made a face.  If he were entirely honest, he’d have to admit that he really hadn’t thought about anything else; not really.  But the longer he’d mulled it over in his own head, the more it had bothered him, too, and yes, a lot of it did have to do with his rather bruised ego.  Even so, he really hadn’t meant to give her the impression that he was running away from her, and even if she were content to just go to sleep when it was over, he wasn’t, and despite the tiny voice that whispered in the back of his mind that he was playing with the proverbial fire, he couldn’t resist her—he knew he couldn’t—and for once in his life, well, he didn’t really want to try.

‘And just what are you going to tell her?  You’re treading dangerous ground here, Mikio.  I mean, a woman like her doesn’t really take to being scolded well, don’t you think?  If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up, eating a big ol’ slice of humble pie.’

Mikio scowled at the vegetables he was slicing.  ‘I’m not going to do that,’ he rebutted tightly.  ‘I just . . .’

‘Yeah, I get that, but really, what’s the point?  It’s done and dusted, right?  Next time, just be more careful not to let it happen again; that’s all.’

“All right.  What did you want to talk about, Mikio?” Madison asked as she breezed back into the kitchen.  She had changed out of the very stylish, but rather dressy skirt and blouse she’d worn to work, opting instead for a comfortable looking, off-white peasant blouse that flowed loose over a pair of black leggings.  She reached around him and nabbed a carrot slice off of the cutting board, earning her a dark look as Mikio lifted his arm to stave her off and jerked the knife back.

“I could have cut your fingers,” he told her.

She wasn’t cowed in the least, and she grinned at him as she popped the pilfered bite into her mouth.  “You wouldn’t,” she countered lightly.  “I have every faith in your culinary skills.”

He grunted, partially because they’d already discussed the fairly sad extent of said-skills and partially because she was summarily dismissing his warning.  “Do you have any idea how bad I’d feel—how guilty I’d feel—if I did accidentally cut you?”

Her eyes took on a strange kind of glint as she broke into the barest hint of a smile.  “If you kissed them to make them all better, then it’d be worth it.”

He sighed since it was pretty apparent to him that she had very little interest in taking anything seriously at the moment.  “Humor me, then,” he told her.

“All right,” she agreed, hopping up on the counter beside him, crossing her bare ankles, idly kicking her feet to and fro, her heels lightly thumping against the cupboard beneath her.  “Now, about that talk . . .”

He finished slicing the vegetables and carefully started to add them to the hot pot.  As uncomfortable as he was, having this particular discussion with her, his pride wouldn’t let it go, either—pride as well as a healthy dose of frustration that he just couldn’t shake.  “It’s . . . It’s about last night,” he said, clearing his throat, studiously avoiding her gaze.  “I, uh . . . I wasn’t running away from you.  I just . . .”

Madison sighed.  “If you’re about to apologize or something, don’t . . . You don’t have to—I mean, you have nothing to apologize for.”  Staring down at her hands, folded together in her lap, she gave an almost pathetic kind of shrug, little more than a slight rise and fall of her delicate shoulders.  “And . . . And I don’t want you to.”

The last part of her words was barely more than a whisper, and he shifted his gaze to the side without turning his head, only to find her, biting her lip, her happiness still there, but tinged with a hint of wariness that hadn’t been there before, and he grimaced inwardly, realizing that, on some level, it was sheer bravado that held her in place, that kept her from trying to retreat.  She thought, didn’t she?  She thought that he was going to try to tell her that what had happened should never have come about, in the first place, didn’t she . . .?  That wasn’t it, and the truth in that was scary beyond belief, at least, for someone like him—someone who had all but convinced himself that his best course of action was no action, at all . . . And, as reluctant as he was to admit it to himself, he really had to, if only to try to explain his feelings to her . . . “I only meant that I’m sorry . . . I should have . . . have had more consideration for you, and I . . .”

She leaned back, resting her hands behind her slightly, letting her head fall to the side as she stared at him.  Golden hair, spilling down , almost brushing the counter top, she blinked once, twice, and she didn’t smile, but her eyes seemed to glow.  “I don’t accept your apology,” she said at length.  “I . . . can’t . . . won’t . . . live my life with regrets, and that’s what an apology is—nothing but the acceptance of regret—and I never, ever accept one when it’s entirely unwarranted, to start with.”

“Maddy, I—”

Shaking her head stubbornly, she pinned him with a defiant little frown that drew her eyebrows together, that added a marked brightness to her gaze.  “I don’t want your apology, Mikio,” she stated once more.  “What I want—the only thing I want—is for you, never to doubt yourself; not with me.  I . . . I want to be your safe place.  I want you to know that, no matter what, it won’t change.”

He grimaced.  “It’s not . . . not that simple, you know?  All my life, I’ve known . . .” Trailing off with a sigh as he struggled to find the words he really needed to say, he shook his head, swallowed the bitterness of frustration that he couldn’t.  “What you want . . . I-I-I don’t think . . . I’m just not . . . not ready for that, and I . . .” He heaved a sigh.  “Just . . . not yet.”

She didn’t answer right away, and again, he had the feeling that she understood what he was struggling so badly to say.  In the end, she smiled , but it was an expression that was touched by a hint of reluctance that he could feel.  “Not yet,” she repeated, as though she were considering it.  “But eventually, you will be.”

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but it was more of a reflex than an actual argument, born of the years that he’d all but convinced himself that something like that was even possible for someone like him.  She didn’t allow it, moving faster than he could speak, using her hands against the counter top to push herself forward, and he blinked when she planted a light kiss on his cheek, and he chuckled despite himself.