InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ More Than Just Friends ( Chapter 49 )

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

Gin stared in the full-length mirror with a pensive scowl as she turned from side to side and stared at her reflection.

The sheer fabric of the dress seemed a little more revealing than it had been in the store, or maybe it was simply her imagination.  Either way, her lacy pink bra was as terribly visible, and since she'd already tried white and tan, she was giving up hope on that front.

'I've gone without a bra before,' Gin thought as she unhooked the fasteners.  'It won't be that bad . . .'

No, it wasn't the bra question that bothered her most.  It was that the same plaguing facet that prevented her wearing a bra was also holding quite true with her panties . . . The bright multi-shaded blue polka-dot panties that she was wearing to start with were a definite no-no.  The white lacy ones she'd tried next were little more than a fashion faux pas.  Every single pair she tried on seemed to show up worse than the last ones.  Gin was running out of hope, running out of panties, and starting to seriously consider the idea of leaving them off, altogether.

'I can't really do that, can I?  I mean, not wearing my panties?  That can't be a good idea . . .'

'Well, doll, you could wear them, but I'm afraid you'll look a little ridiculous.  I mean, you saw for yourself, the panties look bad . . . besides that, you've seen Cain's artwork.'

Gin tugged on the dress and grimaced as it fell back into place.  No matter how she stood, her panties showed.  Cain was going to laugh at her, she just knew it . . .

'Of course I have,' she thought absently, pulling out the skirt and letting go again, as though repeating the action would change the result.  She sighed when it didn't work.

'Cain paints and sculpts naked women all the time.  Do you really think that he never uses live models?  Even if he didn't, he obviously knows what a woman's body looks like, and you'll be wearing something, which is better than most of his subjects.'

That was true, she had to admit.  Cain's art tended to focus on women in varying stages of undress, and while some were clothed in something, most were not.  She bit her lip.  'It won't seem . . . bad?'

'Gin, how often have you insisted that you're not a baby anymore?  You're not posing naked, and you want him to paint you, right?  If you go over there and tell him that you can't pose because he might see your panties . . . He won't just laugh at you.  He might start thinking you really are still a pup, after all, don't you think?'

Gin bit her lip and wrung her hands, the very idea of what she was considering bringing a painful flush to her skin as she gathered her courage.  Grasping her panties as she drew a deep breath, Gin pulled them off and stood back up as the gauzy dress fell back into place.  The panty lines were gone, and to her relief only the vaguest shadows could be discerned.  There was no way he'd be able to see anything, not really, and with a soft giggle as she shook her head at her own ridiculous worries, Gin glanced at the wings, carefully set out on the bed.

She still felt bare, though, and that wasn't good . . . She only had to go next door to Cain's apartment.  Still the idea of stepping foot outside her door in this dress and without a bra or panties wasn't something she could even consider as she grabbed her robe off the bed.  She needed Cain's help with the wings anyway.  It would just have to do.

'At least I don't have to pinch my cheeks or anything to give them some color,' she thought with a silly little giggle as she grabbed the wings and squared her shoulders, shaking her hair back as she took another deep breath to calm her rapidly fraying nerves.  'I wonder what Cain will think of this dress . . .'

She'd almost forgotten that he wanted to paint her this weekend.  After lunch with L'amont-san the day before, Cain had been rather quiet.  He hadn't asked what they'd talked about, though Gin suspected he really wanted to know.  In the end, he seemed content to let it go unsaid, and if he wasn't going to bring it up, then she wasn't about to, either.  They rented a couple Disney movies on the way home from the restaurant.  It wasn't until the second one was nearly over that Cain had remarked that she needed her rest so she would look her best while he sketched her for the painting.

"You still want to?" Gin asked as she rolled off his lap and stood up.

"Don't you want me to?"

She grinned as she rose on tiptoe with her arms thrust over her head to stretch.  "Of course I do!" she insisted.  "It's not every day that great and powerful, magnificent, awe-inspiring, and ferocious North America tai-youkai, Cain Zelig says he wants to paint me."

"You're still forgetting one very important word," he complained as he stood up and shut off the television.

"I'm not forgetting a thing," she argued.

He sighed then laughed as he took her hand and led the way to the bedroom.

That was her favorite thing; the nights.  It seemed like she always tried to stay on the other side of the bed.  She always lay down beside him, and the first few times she'd woken up to find herself draped all over Cain, she'd been rather embarrassed.  Unsure how he'd feel about that, Gin tried not to do it again, but every morning she woke up wrapped around him.  He hadn't complained about it, ever.

She'd begun to suspect that he liked it as much as she did.  She could have sworn that he'd reached over, pulled her close just before she'd drifted off to sleep.  It wasn't clear to her.  Being half asleep, she wasn't positive if he really had done that or if she just thought he did.  Either way, she was sprawled across his chest this morning, fingers tangled in his hair with his arms wrapped around her, the air peaceful, his light breathing the only sound in the quiet.

Shaking off the reverie, Gin glanced in the mirror one last time.  'It'll be fine,' she scoffed at her own sensibilities.  'It's just one picture.  Not many people can say that Cain painted them for their birthday, right?  Maybe I am special to him then . . . At least a little special, anyway . . .'

She left Cain's door unlocked when she'd run home to change.  It was still unlocked.  Gin let herself inside and glanced around the apartment.  Cain was nowhere to be seen.  'He's probably getting stuff set up,' she mused as she slowly moved toward the short hallway and his makeshift studio.

Sure enough, he was setting up a couple standing lights and a rather large metal fan.  Gin hovered in the doorway, unsure if she ought to interrupt him or not.  He'd removed his shirt and was adjusting the lights, flicking them on to see where the shadows fell before turning them off to adjust them again.

"I'm almost ready for you," he said without turning around.  "If you've got to go to the bathroom or anything, you'd better to do it now.  I'm a slave-driver, you know.  You won't be getting any pity-breaks for at least an hour or two."

She giggled at his gruff tone since she could tell he was teasing.  "I'm okay," she told him.  "I need help with the wings, though . . ."

"All right.  Hold on.  I've almost got the lights set."

Gin set the wings against the table and bit her lip before shrugging off the robe and straightening her dress.  Cain turned around and glanced at her only to look back again with an inscrutable expression.  He stood still as stone for several agonizing moments.  Gin shifted from one foot to the other, unable to read just what he was thinking . . .

"That's . . . the dress . . .?"

She nodded.  "You . . . You don't like it?"

He shook his head.  "No, it's not that . . . I like it a lot."

Gin toyed with the gossamer cap sleeves and shrugged.  "It matched the wings . . ."

"Wings . . ."

She took the wings and walked over to Cain.  He took them from her as she turned around to let him fasten them to her back, and she wondered why his hands were shaking.

"All right," he said after clearing his throat.  "Just . . . O-Over there . . ."

Gin took her place where Cain had indicated.  He flipped on the lights without looking at her as he hurried over to the fan and turned it on, too.

Sitting down behind his worktable as he took his time sharpening his pencil and flipping through his sketchpad till he found a clean piece of paper, he drew a deep breath and ducked his chin as he slowly, almost hesitantly, lifted his gaze to her.


'Dear God in heaven, what is she trying to do to us?'

Cain stifled a groan and stared, unable to look away to save his life as Gin gnawed on her lip and shifted from one foot to the other.  Hair blowing back in the fabricated air of the fan, her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and in the harsh lights he used to chase away shadows, the already thin fabric of the translucent gown seemed to dissolve around Gin like a wisp of a cloud, like the edges of a dream, like an angel come to earth.  The wind molded the dress to her frame, revealing every curve and contour.  She hid nothing from him, and in those moments, in those breaths, Cain felt his resolve slipping away.

Nervously twisting her hair around her finger, Gin's ears flattened for a moment as rosy cheeks pinked a little more.  Forcing his eyes back to the blank paper, Cain couldn't comprehend where to even begin.  She was too tiny, too perfect, too stunning to capture on canvas.  For the first time in his life, Cain wasn't sure if he could draw a model in such a way that he could reproduce the essence of her, and this image, this woman . . . Gin was far too important to fail.

The pencil wasn't right.

Dropping the graphite pencil onto the table before stumbling to his feet and striding to the closet, Cain rummaged through the plastic supply bins until he found what he was looking for.  He rarely used the amber pencils.  For some reason, they seemed right.  Gin was far too delicate for the harsh darkness of lead.  The added softness of the reddish-brown shades would be better to sketch her.

He sat back down and drew a deep breath, staring at her through a more critical eye.  "Lift your chin," he told her quietly.  "Hold your hands out just a little."

She did as she was instructed.  Cain swallowed hard and tried to convince himself that she was just a model, just a face.  He'd sketched her a hundred times since he'd first met her.  Every one of the sketches was familiar to him.  The dress and the wings transformed her, adding a wistfulness and whimsy to the woman he knew so well.   'God, she's . . . beautiful . . .'

'Yeah, she is.'

The soft scratch of the amber pencil drummed in his head with the quiet hum of the fan.  His hand moved without conscious thought, danced over the paper with a will all its own.  He could hear her sighs, feel her youki pulsing with the beat of her heart.  He'd never been so closely attuned to another living soul like he was with Gin—not even with Isabelle.  Bitter certainties whispered in his mind, words that he didn't want to acknowledge, truths that he couldn't deny.

'She's the one, Cain . . . You know it's true.  Gin's the one you should have waited for.'

Ignoring the voice that droned on and on, trying to forget the things that could not be undone, Cain willed the thoughts away, determined not to think, determined not to think or feel . . . to do nothing but sketch the girl before him.

'Don't feel?  Better to tell yourself not to breathe.  It'd be easier, wouldn't it?'

'Shut up,' he thought as he shook his head and tightened his grip on the pencil.  'I can't think about that; not now . . .'

'But you know it's true, and you hate yourself for that.  You want to give her everything in the world, don't you?  You want to shelter and protect her.  You want to hold her and love her.  She's everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever needed . . .'

'I promised everything I have to Isabelle, and as much as I wish that I hadn't . . .'

'But you didn't, you know!  You really didn't . . . If you turn away from Gin . . . Can you do that to her?  Can you do that to yourself?'

Cain sighed and rubbed his smudged hand over his eyes.  'I know.  Don't say it.  Just . . . Don't say it.'

'If not me, then who?  If not now, then when?  You didn't listen to me twenty years ago.  Are you ever going to start?'

'It's too late for that, damn it.  You know that; I know that.  I can't undo anything.  I can't change what happened, can I?'

'But why do you think you have to?'

'I don't.  I told you; I can't change a thing.'

'And you're trying to anyway.  You don't see that?  Listen, Cain, what happened to Isabelle . . . It was horrible, it was tragic . . . But meeting Gin . . . Do you really think that was simple coincidence?'

'I . . . I don't know . . .'

"Cain?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

His hand was shaking, hovering over the sketchpad.  Cain blinked and scowled at the half-done image.  "It's fine," he told her, unable to keep the irritation out of his tone.  "I'm fine."

"O-Okay," Gin replied.  He glanced up at her to find her staring back at him with a troubled frown.  "If you're sure."

He forced a smile, trying not to let his gaze fall below her neck.  "Fairies don't frown," he said.

And she smiled, just for him.  Thin and fragile and full of compassion, she smiled as though she understood the thoughts that plagued him.  His throat felt as though it were closing up.  He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Why do you look like that?" she asked softly.

"Look like what?"

She shrugged and winced, hair billowing out around her, the silvery strands caught on the fingers of a breeze.  "You look like you just lost your best friend."

Cain forced a hollow laugh, dropping his gaze to the sketch once more.  "Don't be ridiculous.  You're my best friend, right?  You're right here, so I certainly didn't lose you."

Her laughter was warm, cosseting the frazzled edges of raw emotion.  "I'm your best friend?  Really?"

"Aren't you?"

"That's nice . . . I like it . . . best friends . . ."

"Gin?"

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat when he lifted his gaze only to see every curve of her hips, of her breasts.  The shadows of her nipples were outlined with the sheer fabric, and he couldn't seem to look away from her.

'Hell, she's . . .'

'Come on, Cain, you dog!  You're supposed to be sketching her, not thinking about that.'

'I know; I know . . . but damn it . . . Look at her, will you?'

'You think I haven't been?'

'I'm going to die.  She's going to kill me . . .'

'. . . Bumps, indeed . . .'

'Yeah,' Cain agreed as he finally managed to shift his gaze away from her breasts.  'Those . . . Those aren't bumps, not at all . . .'

'Nope . . . definitely handfuls, Cain.  You were right about that . . .'

Cain heaved a sigh and tightened his grip on the pencil.  If he lived through this little odyssey, he'd be truly amazed . . .


"All right," Cain said as he dropped the amber pencil onto the sketchpad with a heavy sigh.

"That's it?" Gin asked, letting her hands drop and rolling her head from side to side.  She'd been standing still for nearly two hours.  She'd thought it would take longer.

"Yep," he told her.  "You'd better put your robe back on.  You look . . . a little cold."

She frowned at the strange tone underlying his words.  He was staring at the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, and he had yet to stand up or even look at her.  "Is something wrong?" she asked as she stepped out from under the warmth of the lights and away from the cold air generated by the fan.

"Wrong?  Huh?  No . . . Not a thing . . ."

"Can I see the sketch?" she asked as she stepped around the table, stopping beside him and leaning on his shoulder.

Cain scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.  "All right," he agreed.  "If you really want to . . ."

He scooted the sketch pad toward her.  Gin tilted her head to the side and scowled at the image.  It was stunning, actually.  Rendered in bold lines that were tamed by the expert curves and angles of Cain's work, Gin stared at the picture, trying to come to terms with what she saw.  She didn't look short or babyish.  She didn't look tiny or resemble a little girl.  Every line, every plane of her body was there, scratched onto the paper, and yet it didn't make her as uncomfortable as it might have. 'Is that how he sees me?  Is it really?'  He'd drawn her with a grace and elegance that Gin didn't see in herself, and as she ran her claw over the outline, she slowly shook her head.  "Cain?  Are you sure that's me?"

Cain looked confused.  "Of course it is."

"I don't look . . . I don't know . . . like a little girl.  I don't look short or silly or . . ."

"Gin, I've told you, you're not a little girl.  Why would I draw you as one when that's not how I see you?"

"But . . ."

He sighed and shook his head, frowning at her for a moment before slowly standing up and taking her hand to lead her from the room and down the hallway.  Stopping in front of his empty bedroom, he pulled Gin inside, maneuvering her with his hands on her shoulders until she was standing before the floor length mirror.  Carefully unfastening the wings and setting them aside, Cain stood behind her, lifted her chin, forced her to look at herself.  "Gin . . . you're . . . beautiful; do you see?"

She tried to pull away from him as an embarrassed blush suffused her skin.  He didn't let go.  "Cain . . ."

"Nope, you're not going anywhere.  I'm tired of you saying that you're not beautiful because you are.  I don't want you comparing yourself to anyone or thinking that you're not every bit as gorgeous as any other woman.  It's not true.  It's never been true.  You're more . . . more . . . everything.  Do you understand?"

His tone was angry, but his words were kind.  Gin stared in the mirror, lifted her gaze to meet his.  The fierceness in his eyes startled her as he slowly shook his head.  A thousand emotions flickered through his stare.  Gone before she could begin to comprehend them all, he looked like he was battling something that she couldn't see.  "But I'm not . . . tall or graceful or—"

"Stop it," he growled.  "Just stop."

She shook her head, her gaze clouding in confusion.  Cain stifled a groan and closed his eyes, as though he needed a moment to gather his scattered thoughts.  Maybe he did because when he opened his eyes, the indecision was gone, replaced by an intense burn, a fire that frightened her and thrilled her at the same time.  "Damn it, Gin . . . You don't know, do you?  You have no idea what you do to me?"

Her heart stopped for the briefest of moments before slamming hard into her ribcage.  His words were more potent than she could have ever imagined, and she stared, transfixed, as he carefully slipped the dress off her shoulders.  It caught on the rise of her breasts.  His ragged breath rippled over her skin as he pushed the material down.  Swollen nipples puckering at the sheer fabric brushed against them, Gin whimpered quietly.  She could feel her legs shake, her entire body quivering as she struggled to remain standing.  Cain uttered a terse growl that reassured her as his hands slipped down her sides, catching the dress gathered around her hips and pushing it down until it fell, pooling around her feet in a whisper of gossamer.  "Look at yourself, baby girl," Cain rasped out in a barely audible voice.  "I want you, you know, like I've never wanted any other woman before."

Gin gasped as he tilted her head to the side, as his mouth closed over the soft contour of her throat.  Fangs grazing over her as he wrapped his arms around her, Cain pulled her flush against his body, cradled her against his heart.  Hands rising to cross over her belly, claws dragging against tender flesh, his fingers danced over her nipples as Gin's knees buckled.  She couldn't watch what he was doing to her as his hands closed over her breasts.  It was enough that she could feel it, feel everything about him.  Unprepared for the torrent of sheer sensation, she couldn't even remember that she needed to breathe.  Strength in motion, beauty veiled in the wash of discovery, a thousand explosive tremors shot through her body.

Trailing kisses over her shoulder, scraping his fangs over the rise of her shoulder blades while his thumbs flicked the hardened buds of her nipples, Cain was relentless in his exploration.  Shifting her body as though she were weightless, he ignored her broken words, her half-sobs, her half-moans.  Whining in protest as his hands slipped away from her breasts, Gin felt him lift her, carry her, laying her in the softness of his bed, surrounded by the comfort of his scent.  She forced her eyes open to find him standing at the foot of the bed, one hand grasping the tall bedpost, eyes shining as a enigmatic little smile tugged at his lips.  She stared at him through half-closed eyes, waiting, wondering . . . hoping . . . "Cain?"

He slowly, deliberately knelt on the bed, crawled toward her as his ponytail fell over his shoulder, his hair trailing up her calf, up her thigh, over her hip and along the hollow of her belly, flicking across her nipple as an almost painful ache surged through her, and she grasped his shoulders, pulled and pushed at him, willing him to help her, to save her.

He kissed her sweetly, calmly, his hands tangling in her hair as he tried to soothe her.  Gin's kiss was impatient, demanding.  Cain's chuckle rumbled through her, captured between their lips.  She gripped his biceps, tried to convey her need as she arched against him, writhed under him, whimpered softly.  "Calm down, baby girl," he murmured in her ear.  "It's all right . . ."

"It's not," she insisted in a harsh whisper.  "It hurts, Cain . . . kami, I hurt . . ."

He moaned in answer, heaved a sigh.  "Damn . . . you're really trying to destroy me, aren't you?"

She didn't understand what he meant.  The question that rose to her lips was cut off with a vicious gasp as the heat of Cain's mouth closed over one breast; as his hand squeezed the other.  Gently but firmly he drew on her, nuzzled against her as a smoldering burn ignited.  Tongue flicking over the hardened peak, Cain's assault was tender but brutal, stripping away her sanity as her body reacted on instinct alone.  She arched off the bed, uttered a sound somewhere between his name and a plea for help.  He leaned to the side, freeing his other hand, lazily dragging his fingertips up and down her quivering stomach.  Every nerve in her body reacted to him, centering around an escalating burn, a desire so fierce she felt like she was coming undone.

Scraping his fangs over her skin, wet, openmouthed kisses foraging a path down the slope and up the rise to the flushed peak of her other breast, Cain chuckled, the reverberations rocking through her as she felt the last strands of reason slip away.  Lost in a realm of sensation, nothing made sense to her except the touch of his hands, of his mouth, of his skin as it caressed her, as it left her breathless.

A strangled cry escaped her as his fingers slipped between her legs.  The coil of nerves, of raw emotion, snapped and broke, set off a chain reaction of new sensation.  Heat became energy, and energy became light.  It all converged in her, surrounding her in a blissful repletion that shocked her, frightened her, comforted her.  Through the fog of wonder, the sound of Cain's voice seemed too far away.  She couldn't understand his words, his endearments.  She felt him slide down toward the foot of the bed, felt his arms slip under her thighs, over her stomach as his hands closed over her breasts, as a damp heat invaded her.

Pushing herself up on her elbows and forcing her eyes open only to find him lying on his stomach between her spread thighs, Gin started to ask him what he was doing.  Flashing her a predatory grin as he ducked his head, as he flicked out his tongue, Gin fell back, the harsh cry ripped from her as her world exploded again.

Shock was forgotten as he goaded her.  Losing the sense of time and of space, the question of right and proper dissolved.  Cain held her to him, pressed into her with his tongue, teased her with his lips, his fangs, forced her into the light again and again as she shivered, as she sobbed, as she crumbled and dissolved.  

The next thing she knew, she was slowly opening her eyes.  Cuddled against Cain's chest, held in the crook of his arm, he stroked her hair, smiled at her, kissed her forehead as he held her close.  "Cain?"

He chuckled softly, pulled her just a little closer.  He was wearing a pair of shorts, and his hair was damp.  "You all right, baby girl?"

She nodded slowly as she frowned in confusion.  "How did you get all wet?"

"You must have passed out or fell asleep.  I took a shower.  That's all."

"Oh . . ."

"Are you tired?" he asked gently.

Gin shook her head.  "No . . . That was really . . ."

He sighed when she faltered, squeezing her as he kissed her forehead again.  "Yeah, it was," he agreed.

She frowned and leaned up on her shoulder.  He pulled the sheet up to cover her.  "Did we . . .?  We didn't . . . We're not . . ."

Cain's smile faltered, and he dragged his hand over his face with a sigh.  "I didn't mate you," he told her.  "I wouldn't . . . I couldn't . . ." He shook his head.  "Even if I could, I wouldn't just do that."

She nodded slowly, digesting that for a moment before smiling shyly and daring a glance at him.  He was staring at her with an unreadable expression.  She reached up to soothe away the furrows between his eyebrows.  "Cain, can I ask you something?"

He caught her hand and brought her knuckles to her lips.  "Of course."

She drew a deep breath, gathering her courage to ask the one thing that she desperately needed to know.  "What . . . are we, exactly?"

Grimacing when Cain winced, Gin wished she could take back her question.  "Do we have to define it?  Can it just be enough that we're  . . . together?"

Gin bit her lip and forced a smile.  She could tell from the look on his face that he could see right through it.  "Yeah . . . you're right.  We're friends.  Friends . . . don't need to put labels on each other."

He looked like he wanted to say something.  Gin lay back down and squeezed her eyes closed, pressed her cheek against his chest, willed the steady rhythm of his heart to soothe her.

In the end, he sighed and gathered her close.  Gin could feel the sadness that he was trying so desperately to hide from her.

'Friends?' her youkai echoed dubiously.

'Yes, friends . . . maybe a little more than just friends . . .'

'That's not really all it is.  You've got to know that, don't you?'

'He's . . . He's my mate, isn't he?'

'Listen, doll . . .'

She smiled and blinked quickly.  'It's okay . . . Maybe I can make him want to live.'

'Do you think it'll be that simple?'

Gin hugged Cain tight.  'Yes, it is.  Sure, it is.'

At least, she hoped it would be . . .