InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Bumps and Bruises ( Chapter 46 )

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

Gin leaned her elbows on the counter, hunched over the Theories of Art Appreciation textbook as she waited for the timer to ring.  She had a test tomorrow, and she'd been lax in studying of late.  Hoping for a good grade, she'd opted to spend the evening alone in the quiet of her apartment with the book despite the heavy sighs and sulky glances Cain had employed to sway her resolve.  It hadn't taken her long to realize that she couldn't study as her conscience weighed on her, and to that end, she had taken extra pains to bake a really special cake for Cain in hopes that he'd be appeased, allowing her to feel less culpable while she studied.

'He's worse than a pup, really,' she mused as she shook her head and closed the textbook she wasn't really reading.

'He likes having you around, doll.  You should be glad.'

'I am,' she thought.  'I just need to study; that's all.'

'Remember the stories your mama used to tell you?  About your father and how much he hated your mother's studying?'

Gin grinned as she cracked the oven door to check on the cake.  'Comparing Papa and Cain?  Hmm . . . I doubt either would appreciate that . . .'

The soft knock on her door made her smile.  Even if she weren't hanyou, she would know who it was.  He was starting to remind her of a lost puppy—a rather pathetically sorrowful lost little puppy that she adored.

Her smile widened when she opened the door only to find Cain standing there looking both disgruntled and apologetic with a somewhat sad-looking lily in his hand.  "Your grandmother," he said slowly, holding out the peach flower, "is a little mad at me."

"Obaa-chan?"

Cain made a face.  "I went for a walk," he told her as she took the flower and brought it to her nose.  "Ended up by the shrine . . . I saw these flowers and thought about you, and . . . picked one . . . just before your grandmother asked me—very nicely, of course—what I was doing to her flowers."

"I see . . . Obaa-chan loves her flowers," she replied, trying not to laugh.

"I offered to pay for it," he said defensively.  "I don't know why that flower reminded me of you . . ."

Gin smiled.  "I helped her plant them," she answered.  "So, you actually picked one of my own flowers for me.  If you'd told her it was for me, she wouldn't have cared."

"Talk about coincidence."

"Nothing coincidental about it," she quipped.  "I planted these years ago, knowing that you were going to come along and pick this one, just for me."

"That's got to be it.  You, uh . . . done studying?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn't really started yet, but he looked so hopeful . . . "Yeah," she told him.  "Finished a little bit ago."

The relief on his face was instantaneous.  "Good . . . I smell cake.  It wouldn't be for . . . someone I know, would it?"

"Sure," she told him with a little giggle.  "You have to wait for it.  It's still in the oven."

"Can I come in?"

Gin let go of the door and wandered back toward the kitchen to search out a bud vase for the lily.  The image of Cain Zelig, wandering down the streets of Tokyo with the flower in his hand made her laugh, and that only got worse when she dared to peek up at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Not a thing," she lied, trying to hold back her amusement but only succeeding in sending blood rushing into her cheeks for the effort.

"Uh huh . . . Why do I feel like you're laughing at me?"

"I wouldn't laugh at you . . ."

"You are."

"Maybe just a little."

"Oh?  And what did I do that was so funny?"

"Well . . . I'm just imagining you walking around with the flower, is all . . ."

"All right, all right . . . that's the last time I do something nice for you," he grumbled.

"No, I like it," she assured him.  "I'll even tell Grandma that you picked it for me so she won't be irritated at you."

Cain snorted.  "Yeah, you don't have to do me any favors."

The timer rang, and Gin grabbed a towel to take the cake out of the oven.  Cain leaned over her shoulder and sniffed at the cake.  "You put coffee in that?" he asked, eyeing the chocolate cake as she set it on the stovetop.

"Yep.  This is Kichiro-nii-chan's favorite cake.  I thought you might like it, too."

"Aw, that's just too bad that he's not here to have any," Cain remarked, sounding anything but contrite.

Gin shook her head and leaned to the side as she gazed up at him.  "I'll just make him a huge one of his own when he gets back."

"Why would you do that," he countered, "when you could just make another one for me instead?"

"Didn't you ever learn to share?"

"Nope, must have missed school that day . . ."

"I always make cakes for my family."

"Yeah, your family can get their own cake fairy . . . This one's taken."

Gin giggled as Cain kissed her cheek loudly.  "Your cake fairy, huh?"

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her head.  "Absolutely."

"Are you still going to paint me?"

"Do you still want me to?"

She ran a spatula around the edge of the cake pan to loosen the cake.  "Sure . . . Unless you don't want to . . ."

He shrugged.  "If you're sure," he agreed.  "We could do that this weekend."

"All right.  You know, you need to let go."

His arms tightened.  "Why's that?"

"I need to turn the cake out of the pan."

"So go ahead."

She sighed as her smile widened.  "All right, but you need to let go so I can do it."

He rolled his eyes.  "Fine, but only because . . . that cake smells good."

"I'm glad you came over," she told him.

"Did you think I wouldn't?"

"Well, you did seem a little irritated when I told you I needed to study."

Cain grimaced.  "I wasn't irritated," he told her.  "Well, maybe a little . . . I just like being with you.  That's not bad, is it?"

"No," she agreed.  "I like being with you, too.  I just can't study with you.  You're too distracting."

He looked a little too pleased with himself.  "I am?"

"Yeah, but don't let that go to your head. Zelig-sensei."

"Oh, absolutely not, baby girl . . . About that distraction . . . How, exactly, do I distract you?  I need examples, instances . . . details."

"I don't think you do."

"All right," he said, inflicting a measure of sadness in his tone.  "It's fine . . . Don't tell me . . ."

"Oh, stop pouting," she scoffed.  "You're as bad as Ryo-nii with Nezumi-chan . . . or Papa with Mama . . ."

He snorted and stomped over to the sofa.  Gin stifled a giggle and shook her head.  'Definitely a lot like Papa . . .'

Her youkai giggled, too.


Kichiro scowled as he stood at the top of the landing.  He could sense Bellaniece close but wasn't sure exactly where she was.  Maybe she was in her room.  Striding down the hallway toward her closed door, he heaved a sigh and shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

The ride back to the mansion had been subdued.  Rehashing Kelly's cryptic words, he was no closer to making sense of what he'd been told than he had been when he'd left the hospital.  Though he didn't believe the rumors about Cain killing his wife, he had to allow that Kelly had a good point.  Things of that nature normally did have at least a basis for support even if the entire thing wasn't entirely accurate.  The truth of it was something that no one save Cain would ever really know.  Kichiro wasn't as interested in hearing the sordid details of the past as he was in the baser need to protect Bellaniece from whatever pain it would cause her.

He had figured out one thing, though.  He'd decided that he was going to claim his three days, and he was going to do it this weekend.  The rest of the drive home had been spent on the cell phone, making arrangements and calling Japan to enlist his uncle's assistance.  Though he was taking care of everything, there were a few strings that Kichiro was more than happy to let Sesshoumaru pull.  The ends would justify the means.  Bellaniece would thank him later.

He hoped.

Knocking on her door, he tapped his foot impatiently.  She didn't answer, but he could tell she was inside.  'Maybe she's sleeping,' he thought.  'If that's the case, she'll be mad as hell at me for waking her . . .'

He almost turned away, figuring his plans could wait.  The memory of his surprise as he watched Kelly pull the items from the box—things he'd purchased for Bellaniece, or so he'd assumed—stopped him, and he slowly reached out and turned the doorknob.

But Bellaniece wasn't in her room.  Sunlight filtered in the far windows, filling the room with cheerful afternoon light.  The French doors, however, had the floor-length pink curtains drawn, and Kichiro stared at them thoughtfully.  The sound of her laughter filtered into the room.  She was out on her balcony.

The door was open just a crack, and Kichiro could hear her speaking in hushed tones on her cell phone.  He stopped to listen.

"So you liked your present?"  She sighed, waiting while Kelly answered her.  "Good . . . I thought they'd cheer you up."

Wrinkling his nose as the fabricated scent of coconuts and something he couldn't quite identify assailed his nostrils, he opened the door a crack to slip outside—and stopped dead in his tracks.  Luckily for him, he was situated behind the lounge chair she was settled on, and she had her eyes were closed as she held the phone to her ear.  The scent of the tanning oil must have overwhelmed his scent because she didn't appear to have noticed his arrival at all, which was a good thing, considering . . .

She was . . . topless—completely topless.  Wearing nothing more than the bottom half of a bikini with impossibly high cut thighs that rode the curve where her hips tapered into her narrow waist, Bellaniece's skin glistened in the sunlight, rich, warm, the golden skin of her body drawing him in like a moth to a flame.  The girls, as she liked to call them, were completely exposed, and he stifled a groan when she laughed, causing the most tempting undulations that made his mouth go dry.

'Oh, balls, Kich . . . What the fuck are you waiting for?'

Kichiro shook his head, unable to form words, even in his mind.

'Kami . . . look at them!  Just . . . damn!'

'I . . . uh . . . We . . . She . . .'

'Yeah, yeah, quit stammering and get over there!'

'Holy . . . damn . . .'

'Couldn't have said it better, myself . . . Now, get moving, Kich . . . That is a fine fucking rack . . .'

Forcing his feet to move, Kichiro grabbed the chair beside the door and strode around Bellaniece to sit beside her.  She gasped and sat up but didn't make a move to cover her breasts as she narrowed her gaze on him and wrinkled her nose in abject disgust.  "Sorry, Kel.  Gotta go.  I'll call you later.  Bye."  Snapping the phone closed as she reached for her water bottle and tipped it to her lips, Kichiro had to stifle another groan as a few drops of condensation dripped from the bottle onto her breast.  The icy liquid made her nipples pucker, and he forced his eyes away again.  "You could have knocked," she said mildly as she set the bottle on the table and lay back again.

"I did," he managed, perversely proud that he was able to keep his tone neutral.

"I didn't hear you."

"But I did," he replied.

"Would you mind if I said I want you to leave?" she asked pleasantly enough.

"Don't mind at all," he assured her.  "Not leaving, but I don't mind your asking."

She sighed.  "That figures."

"Do you always tan out without a top?" he asked, deliberately letting his gaze rest on her breasts.

"That's a stupid question."

"Is it?"

"Do you see tan lines, doctor?"

He grinned.  "Nope."

"Then there's your answer."

"And your father lets you do this?"

Bellaniece rolled her eyes.  "Of course he does . . . as long as I'm up here.  If I were to try it in the back yard, he'd probably have a fit."

"Up here . . . down there . . . I don't really see the difference," Kichiro challenged, his tone leaving little room for misinterpretation of his disgust over the situation.

Bellaniece snorted.  "Why is that?  I'm in my room with my door closed and my curtains drawn.  This is my balcony, and civilized people don't just barge into my room, now do they?"

"I did knock," he elaborated again.  "You could put your top on, if you're uncomfortable."

"I'm perfectly comfortable," she assured him.  "Are you uncomfortable?"

"Oh, please, princess," he scoffed.  "I see breasts all the time.  I'm a plastic surgeon, remember?"

"And a man-whore," she quipped.

"There's that, too."

She smiled insincerely, leaning to the side to reach under her chair to retrieve the bottle of tanning oil.  Slow panic wrapped around him as she deliberately unscrewed the cap, shooting him an almost triumphant look as she drizzled the oil over her breasts and stomach.

'Damn it . . .'

'Think she needs help, Kich?'

'Shut up . . .'

'Ask her!'

'No!  Oh, hell . . .'

Slowly, methodically, she massaged the oil into her already slick skin.  Again her nipples reacted, this time to the ministrations of her fingers.  He ought to look away, he thought in a Bellaniece-induced daze.  He couldn't do it.  Her hands mesmerized him as she took her time rubbing her breasts.  When she uttered a low moan, his eyes flashed up to meet her gaze.  "Enjoying the view, Dr. Izayoi?"

The huskiness in her tone had the same effect on him as watching her slather on the oil.  He shifted in the plastic chair and shrugged.  "It'll do," he answered tightly.

"It'd do?" she echoed, cheeks reddening with indignant color.  "I see . . . By the way, I called your girls today.  They're looking forward to your date Friday night.  Have fun."

"You expect me to believe you called them?"

"You think I didn't?"

"Too bad," he replied.  "We'll be out of town, you know."

"And just where are 'we' going?"

"My three days, princess.  Did you forget about them?"

"I can't believe you're still obsessing about that," she grumbled.  "The deal was twenty-four hours for a phone number."

"And I got three," he informed her.  "So suck it up.  We're leaving first thing Friday morning."

"Leaving?  Where do you think we're going?"

"For my weekend, wench.  Get used to the idea because you're not getting out of it."

It was all he could do, to force himself to his feet, and he turned on his heel, strolling off the patio even as his youkai screamed at him to go back.  As badly as he wanted her, and as much as he would give to touch her, he knew—just knew—if he manipulated her now, he'd lose her.


Cain chuckled as he turned the pages in Gin's photo album.  The tiny hanyou girl was smiling broadly at the camera with both hands in the air.  "How old were you here?"

Gin leaned over his arm and groaned, slapping her hand over the picture.  "Thirteen," she answered as he pried her hand away.  "Give me the book."

"Nope," he answered.  "You were a very cute pup, but damn, you were skinny.  All arms and legs . . . like a monkey."

She blushed and grabbed for the book again.  "Cain!"

"But you're so proud!" he told her, snatching the book out of her reach.  "What were you so proud of?"

Gin made a face.  "Nothing . . ."

"Oh, come on, Gin."

"You'll just laugh at me."

"I won't laugh; I promise."

"Sure."

"No, really . . . I won't."

She could feel her face redden.  "I'd just gotten that swim suit."

"And it was lovely," he agreed, trying not to laugh at the bright pink one piece suit.

"That's so embarrassing."

He chuckled.  "What's embarrassing about your swimming suit?"

She blushed darker.  "It wasn't the suit . . ."

"What was it?"

"That was right after Mama bought me my first bra," she mumbled.  "I thought I was finally getting . . ." She paused, covering her face with her hands.  "I thought I was finally growing bumps."

Cain blinked and tried not to laugh.  "Bumps?" he choked.

"Bumps," she answered.  "You know . . . breasts."

"I figured," he replied.  "You called them . . . bumps?"

"Mama did," Gin said.  "She told me that when I was really small."

"Bumps?"

She slowly uncovered her face.  "I told you; I was little!"

"But you just said it!"

Gin made a face.  "What did you tell Bellaniece they were?"

Cain snorted.  "Breasts."

"I mean when she was a pup."

Cain nodded.  ". . . Breasts."

Her mouth fell open.  "You didn't!"

"I did.  I thought it was better to teach her the actual name for her body parts."

"I learned the actual names," Gin replied.

Cain tried not to chuckle.  "I'm sorry, Gin, but those—" he said, pointing at her breasts, "—are absolutely not 'bumps'."

She stared at him for a moment before dropping her gaze to her white blouse.  "And just what should I call them, then?" she countered.

He shook his head, grasping at the air with his hands as he considered her question.  "Ah . . . uh . . . I don't know . . . handfuls?"

"Cain!" she gasped, mouth hanging agape as her already flushed skin darkened another few shades.  "I can't believe you just said that!"

'Oh, crap . . . I said that out loud?'

'Yeah, you did, you dog . . .'

Cain winced then shrugged inwardly.  'It's true enough.  They look like they are . . .'

"They're breasts, Gin, breasts.  I've heard you say the word before.  I know you can."

"Of course I can," she scoffed, waving off his teasing with a flutter of her hand.  "I mean, I know they're breasts . . . Why are we discussing this?"

"You were telling me why you were so happy in that picture," he reminded her, "and you were sidetracked when I said that I taught Bellaniece the word 'breasts'."

"Oh, yeah," she replied.  She snapped her mouth closed and shook her head as a puzzled scowl stole over her features.  "What did you tell her your . . . thing . . . was?"

Cain coughed indelicately.  "What thing?  My penis?"

Gin jerked her head 'yes', biting her lip, obviously distressed over the word he'd so casually tossed out there.

He did laugh at that.  "A penis."

She gasped loudly and slapped a hand over her mouth as her cheeks grew painfully red.  "You taught her . . . No-o-o . . ."

Cain rolled his eyes.  "Of course I did.  That's what it is, isn't it?  What did your mother teach you?"

Her ears flattened as she shook her head.  "She said it was a . . . pee-pee."

Cain looked absolutely appalled.  "I do not have a 'pee-pee'," he informed her.

She lifted her eyebrows in silent question.  "Oh?"

He snorted.  "No, I've always had a penis, thank you."

"You're so bad," she said with a shake of her head.

He closed the photo album and set it on the coffee table before turning his attention back to Gin once more.  "You don't know the half of it."

"Really?"

"Nope . . . Am I making you uncomfortable?"

She shook her head.  "Not really . . . Well, maybe a little."

"Gin?"

She twisted a lock of her hair around her finger as she studiously avoided his gaze.  "Hmm?"

"You're sexy as hell when you blush."

Her blush darkened, eyes darting to meet his before skittering away.  "I-I am?"

"Absolutely."  He leaned toward her as her eyelashes fluttered closed.  His lips brushed over hers as her suddenly ragged breathing rolled over him in a soft caress.  Closer, closer, heartbeats twining together in an intricate patter of an entirely erratic rhythm . . .

And his stomach growled.

Gin giggled as Cain sighed.  She pushed on his shoulders, and he sat back in defeat.  She scampered to her feet and headed for the kitchen to cut him a slice of cake.

He watched her go with a disheartened shake of his head, but he smiled.

'Nice, Cain . . . ruining the moment with your stomach.'

'Well, I haven't had anything to eat all day . . .'

'I'd have preferred to have kissed her.'

His smile faltered then faded away.  'I would have, too.'

'So why don't you seem happier?'

'I shouldn't want to kiss her, should I?  I shouldn't feel the things she makes me feel . . .'

'Who says?  It's not bad . . . Gin . . . Gin's good for us.'

'Yeah,' he thought with a grimace.  'Trouble is . . . I'm not really good for her.'