InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 4: Justification ❯ Facing Reality ( Chapter 54 )

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

Kichiro rolled his eyes and wiggled his fingers at Bellaniece.  "Come on, wench.  You'd better get ready, because I'm going to attack you."

Bellaniece bit her bottom lip and shrugged, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she tugged at the hem of her shorts.  "I don't want to do this," she informed him.

"I know you don't.   Just do what I told you: use my weight to your advantage.  Concentrate on the fluidity of motion."

"But—"

"Belle," he warned.

She nodded as her frown deepened.

'She really doesn't want to do this.'

'I know.'

'Would it be so bad just to make sure she's always protected?'

'Nope, that wouldn't be bad at all, but it would be unrealistic to expect that it would be possible, don't you think?'

Kichiro lunged at Bellaniece.  She shrieked even though she should have been expecting it, throwing her arms up over her head and cowering away.  Kichiro was moving too fast to stop, and with a muffled curse, he caught the girl and managed to turn just enough to keep her from smacking into the ground.  He took the force of the impact flat on his back and grunted as Bellaniece's weight landed on him.  "Damn it, princess . . ."

Bellaniece buried her face in his chest.  "You scared me," she accused.

Trying not to be swayed by the way her body trembled against him, Kichiro rubbed her back for a moment to reassure her before heaving a sigh and kissing her hair.  "You knew I was going to attack you."

She shook her head but didn't answer.

"Come on, let's try it again."

She shook her head more staunchly.  "No."

"No?" he echoed.

"No."

"You're not getting out of this.  You need to learn how to defend yourself, at the very least."

"Can't we just . . . go back to bed or something?"

As appealing as that idea was, Kichiro sighed and gave her another comforting squeeze before gently scooting her off of him so he could sit up.  "Yeah, your feminine wiles aren't going to work on me, but nice try.  You've got to learn this," he teased.

"But you're supposed to protect me, right?  I won't need to learn this stuff."

"You know I'll protect you, but there are times when I can't be there . . . Belle, I want to know you're safe—do you understand?  I know you hate this, and I know you don't think you'll need it, but do you really think I'd insist if I didn't believe it was important?"

Bellaniece uttered a tiny sound, almost a whimper.  Kichiro tried to ignore the pricking of his conscience as he glared at the early morning sky.  "I know," she agreed, her voice tiny, reluctant.  "I just . . . What if I . . . What if I hurt you?"

He chuckled.  "You can't hurt me, princess; I guarantee it."

"Not on purpose, no . . . but what if—"

"We're training, not fighting for real.  You're safe; I'm safe . . . You trust me, right?"

She nodded.  "Yes."

"Good, then let's see what you've learned so far."

He stood up, brushing dried grass from his hakama before offering Bellaniece a hand to help her to her feet.  Bellaniece still looked dubious at best.  Her hair, caught back in a jaunty pony tail high atop her head swung casually in the breeze and seemed completely at odds with the marked frown on her face.

Kichiro backed up, prowled around the reluctant girl.  Bellaniece kept her eyes on him, just as she had been instructed.  He lunged at her again, aiming for the spot on her hip since most women's purses hung right about there.  Bellaniece gasped sharply but caught his hand and, using the wrist movement he'd taught her, sent him flying forward, tumbling onto the grass.

"Did I hurt you?" she demanded as she dropped to her knees beside his sprawled body.  "Kichiro!  I broke you!" she wailed.

Kichiro couldn't answer right away.  She'd managed to knock the breath out of him when he landed.  By the time he was able to roll toward her, she was sobbing, hands covering her face as she muttered over and over that she was never, never, ever going to do this again.

"Belle, it's okay," he said.  "Listen to me . . . I'm fine, see?"

She wailed louder, and he winced as the salt of her tears assailed his nostrils.

"You knocked the breath out of me, and that's good.  That's exactly what you want to do if someone attacks you.  Then you'll have time to get away, you see?"

That wasn't at all comforting to her.

"Belle . . . Stop crying; I'm fine."

Bellaniece sniffled and peeked between her fingers.  "I don't want to do it anymore," she whined as she threw herself against his chest.  He caught her and shook his head.  "I can't do that again, and you can't make me."

Cursing himself for being a little too soft, as far as she was concerned, Kichiro sighed helplessly and shook his head in self-disgust.  "Answer me this: are you just upset that you had to do it, or are you upset that you did it to me?"

Bellaniece drew a ragged breath and scooted closer to Kichiro.  "You," she answered.  "I don't want to do things like this to you.  You're going to be my mate, right?  Mates don't hurt each other."

Kichiro thought that over.  "You didn't really hurt me, and I want you to do this," he countered softly.  "Belle . . ."

"No, Kichiro!  I can't!"  Her voice was taking on a panicked, screechy sound.  "That would make me a bad, bad mate!"

"It's not like that, princess," he insisted but sighed as the idea of training her became less and less palatable.  If it was just the idea of having to fight him that bothered her, maybe she'd agree to letting someone else train her, instead.  "Okay then, what if I ask my old man to train you?  Would that be more to your liking?"

His question surprised her, and she blinked quickly as she dashed her hand over her eyes.  "I-InuYasha?"

"Yes . . . he trained Gin . . . there's no one better, and even if you wanted, I doubt you could hurt him.  I'm pretty sure he'd do it."  Even if the old man only agreed to bug the hell out of Bellaniece's father . . . Kichiro smiled.  That'd be reason enough for InuYasha to want Bellaniece to learn, actually . . . It was a win-win situation, as far as Kichiro was concerned, and he was pretty certain InuYasha would be more than happy to train her, on that basis alone.

"I . . . I could do that . . ."

Kichiro hugged her, praying that she didn't realize just how weak he was when dealing with her.  "Good . . . now about that idea of yours."

"What idea?"

He gently wiped her tear-stained cheeks before tipping her chin and brushing his lips against hers.  "The one about going back to bed . . ."

Bellaniece's cheeks pinked as the first hint of a smile surfaced.  "You're still tired?"

"Not in the least."

"Then . . . why would we have to go back to bed?"

"There're other things we could do in bed . . . besides sleep . . ."

"Do we need to go back inside for that?  There's no one else here, after all . . ." Bellaniece grinned and sat back, crossing her arms as she reached down to grasp the hem of her t-shirt.

"What are you—what the fuck is that?" Kichiro demanded, gaze coming to rest on the shiny gold loop hooked through the soft flesh of Bellaniece's belly button.

Bellaniece blinked and stopped, lowering her arms and leaning forward to see just what he was talking about.  "Oh, that?  I got my belly button pierced," she told him happily, letting go of the shirt to tweak the tiny hoop.  "Isn't it cute?"

"No!" Kichiro spat, drawing back in obvious irritation.  "Oh, for the love of . . . Listen, princess, that's all well and good . . . You can take it out now.  Joke's over."

"Why would I take it out?" she asked slowly.  "I like it."

"You like it?" he blustered.  "Who are you?  My brother?  No!"

"There's nothing wrong with doing this," she pointed out.  "It's just a belly ring.  It's fine."

"It's not fine!" he growled.  "This can't be happening . . . My mate is morphing into my twin . . ."

"That's so not funny," she argued.  "I like it—I'm keeping it."

"Belle—"

"Nope.  Forget it."

"I mean it . . ."

"So do I," she countered.  He wasn't at all sure he trusted the sudden shift in Bellaniece's mood.  She smiled and leaned toward him, pressing her palm against his bare chest as she slowly ran her fingers down the slight vale between his pectoral muscles.  "You might like it, you know . . ."

"I doubt . . . it."

"You might . . . really . . . like it . . ."

Trying to ignore the touch of her hands, Kichiro shook his head stubbornly and stared at the mansion instead.

"You can't ignore me," she pointed out, slinging one leg over his as she straddled him.  "You can try, but you know it's impossible."

"I'm not ignoring you."

The hot press of her lips against his throat unleashed a savage growl from him.  "Belle . . ."

"Hmm?"

"We should go inside for . . . this . . ."

"Why?  No one will see us.  Just you and me . . . and . . ."

'I like this girl,' Kichiro's youkai pointed out as Bellaniece's hand slipped to his crotch and squeezed.

'Yeah,' he thought as the reasons why they ought to go inside faded from his mind.  She'd managed to untie his hakama and was busy pushing aside his clothes.  He hissed in a sharp breath as the heat of her hand wrapped around him.  'Yeah . . . I like her, too . . .'


Something was bothering Cain.  Gin wasn't sure what it was or why he wouldn't tell her, but she could feel his irritation, his upset.  She'd started to ask him about that on the plane.  He said he had a headache, and while she supposed that could be it, he'd been pensive and terse since then, too.

'If you really want to know what's bothering him, maybe you should ask him, don't you think?'

'I tried that, remember?'  Glancing back over her shoulder with a quiet sigh, Gin stared at Cain's sleeping form in the huge bed in the middle of the massive bedroom.  His mansion, located on the outskirts of Chicago, was surrounded by the forest and flanked Lake Michigan.  It took nearly twenty minutes of car travel from the gates of the estate to the circular driveway in front of the mansion, and Gin hadn't missed the bored-looking youkai sitting in the guardhouse beside the heavy iron gates.  Cain obviously took his security very seriously.  It had surprised her later, when he'd mentioned that the mansion in Maine—the one where he normally resided—didn't have any guards or any fences.

"Chicago's a more dangerous area," he told her as he flopped across the bed and reached out a hand for her.

Gin smiled, trying not to feel a little overwhelmed as she crawled onto the bed, content to let Cain wrap his arms around her just before he fell asleep.

He'd been sleeping since then.  Gin had been able to doze off and on.  Sesshoumaru's plane was comfortable with the highly developed pressure control.  Cain hadn't said a word, content to let her lean against him as she napped.  She woke up once; looked up at him.  He was staring out the window at the darkened sky, a pensive scowl on his face.  When she'd asked him about it, he forced a smile, told her she was imagining things.  She hadn't believed him, but she hadn't pressed the issue, either.

'There really is something bothering him.  Why won't he tell me?'

'Do you really have to ask that, doll?  Cain never, ever tells you things that might upset you.  He's a lot like your father that way.'

'I suppose . . . They all think I can't take it, right?  They all think that I won't understand things.'

'No, that's not it.  It's not that they don't think you'll understand, but maybe . . . Maybe they don't want you to have to try to understand, is all.'

Gin sighed.

Staring at the pre-dawn sky, Gin couldn't help but think that the old saying was right: it was always darkest just before dawn.  The stillness was eerie, too.  As if everything in the entire world was taking a moment to prepare for the day, not even the quiet slap of water meeting land could be discerned.  No birds, no movement of the trees—nothing.  She started to sigh but couldn't bring herself to break the encompassing silence.  If she listened hard enough, she could hear herself blink, could hear the thumping of her heart . . . or was that Cain's?

All at once, or so it seemed, the land awakened below her: first the breeze that rifled through the trees, then the sound of the water . . . birds chirped as the first ribbons of sunlight broke over the horizon, washing the cresting waves in somber tones of violet and dusty blue.  Gin smiled as her glum thoughts fell away.  Impossible to be depressed, she supposed, on what promised to be a beautiful day . . .

"What are you thinking about, baby girl?"

Gin gasped softly and turned to see Cain leaning up on his elbow as the thin blankets pooled around his hips.  Hair loose and mussed, spilling around his shoulders in bronze strands that seemed to glow in the dim light of the bedroom, he yawned and stretched before flopping over onto his back without taking his eyes off her.  "Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," he admitted.  "I've told you, right?  I can't sleep without you."

Gin shuffled over to the bed, sat down beside Cain to push his bangs out of his eyes.  "If I asked you what was bothering you, would you tell me?" she questioned, careful to keep her tone as playful as possible.

"Nothing's bothering me," he assured her.  "Well, aside from you thinking you can get up without me knowing . . ."

She shook her head, concern evident in her slight frown.  "Are you sure because if something's wrong, you can tell me . . ."

He caught her hand, kissed her fingers.  "Gin, don't worry, all right?  Have I told you just how gorgeous you are in the morning?  With your hair all messed up and your cheeks all flushed . . . You sort of look like you do right after we—"

"Cain!" she interrupted with an embarrassed shake of her head and tried to stand up.

He caught her around the waist and pulled her down on him.  "Oh, no . . . You're not going anywhere . . . Didn't you know the reason I wanted you here was to keep you trapped in my bed the whole time?"

"I thought you said you have business here," she retorted, her voice deep, dark.

"Yeah, they can come in long enough for me to tell them to handle stuff . . ." he mumbled, letting his gaze fall to her lips, her throat.  "Bet they'll all think you're sexy as hell . . . damn dogs . . ."

"Cain!" she gasped, pushing on his shoulders as he rolled over to pin her against the mattress.

"Keep wiggling around there, baby girl, and you'll never get out of bed."

"You're such a dog," she muttered, unable to keep her flush from manifesting.

Cain chuckled as he tugged on the buttons of the shirt Gin wore to bed—his shirt, and judging from the grin on his face, as much as he professed to enjoy seeing her in his clothes, at the moment, he'd much prefer to see her out of them, and Gin couldn't think of a single reason to stop him.

"God, I love your body, Gin . . . Did you know that?"

She shook her head, dazed by the way he stared at her.  Almost childlike awe, a quiet sense of wonder as he sat back just enough to appreciate what the billowing shirt had hidden, Cain caught her hands and held them back when she moved to cover her breasts.  She could feel the blush rising to the surface of her skin.  Cain groaned low as her nipples puckered under his scrutiny.  "Oh, damn . . ."

Closing her eyes as her body dissolved as his hands closed over her breasts, Gin reveled in the rising ache; the familiar reaction setting off a comforting lethargy, a rising swell of need.  His touch was something she needed, craved, and the feel of his hair, falling over his shoulders to tickle her skin set off another wave of fire coursing through her veins.

He kissed her gently, kissed her completely.  Lips warm, moist on hers as the absolute heat of his mouth scorched her, Cain's body pressed against her.  She could feel every contour of him.  His muscles rippled as he moved against her in an intricate dance of sinew and flesh.  He didn't try to hide his need from her, pressed his hips against hers as he groaned once more, as she whimpered at the contact.  Gin forced her arms to move—funny, how heavy they seemed—driven by an overwhelming desire to touch him, to love him, to show him how she felt, even if she couldn't say it out loud.

Drawing away from her as he tossed his head back, a harsh cry caught somewhere between a gasp and a growl, Cain shuddered as Gin's hands encircled him.  He looked almost like he was in pain, but when she slowly squeezed, he groaned again, forehead dropping against hers as he struggled to breathe.  "Gin," he gasped.  "Stop . . . I  . . ."

"I want to touch you," she whispered.  "Cain . . ."

"Please, Gin . . . You're going to—"

It was too late.  His entire being tensed as the trembling of his limbs escalated into a quake.  Face contorting in an expression that was both tortured and intense, she watched in silent fascination as the arc of fluid shot out of him.  Scalding, burning, she stared in mute fascination as the pearly droplets rained down on her, around her.  Cain uttered a harsh curse, an entreaty to whatever God was listening, and he shivered, his body jerking as he tried to control his movements.  A strange sense of satisfaction surged through her, a skewed sense of accomplishment as the heat of his orgasm rolled down her bare stomach.

He collapsed against her, barely able to support his weight on his elbows.  Dragging in a succession of ragged breaths, it took a minute before he could even speak.  Gin ran her fingers up and down his spine, cooed in his ear as she tried to soothe him.  Slowly he rose up, frowned at her as he shook his head, as he smoothed her hair back.  "Gin . . . You don't have to do that . . .  You don't have to . . . Come on," he said at last, unable to find the right words to say.  He rolled off the bed, picked her up to carry her into the adjoining bathroom.  

Settling her on the edge of the sunken tub before turning on the taps and adjusting the temperature, Cain grabbed a thick white washcloth off the rack above the tub and held it under the flow of water.  He sat down beside her, pulled her into his lap and wiped her belly with still-trembling hands.

"Did I do something . . . wrong?" she forced herself to ask, wincing at the irritation on Cain's features.

"What?  No . . . Gin . . . I just . . ." Cain trailed off, dropping the cloth into the water as he wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek on her head.  "I wasn't expecting you to do . . . that."

She shrugged, realizing that he really wasn't angry with her, but maybe he was angry with himself, even if she didn't understand why he would be.  "I wanted to," she said, listening to the erratic beat of his heart.  "I love to touch you, and . . . and I wanted to do it."

He chuckled a little roughly, squeezed her tight for a moment before standing up and sinking into the water without letting go of her.  "You're too curious for your own good."

She giggled and kissed his cheek.  "Maybe I am," she agreed as he grabbed the washcloth and squeezed water over Gin's shoulder.  "You should be happy.  You get to train me . . . Teach me everything you like me to do."

He shook his head and heaved a sigh.  "You're perfect the way you are, you know.  I don't expect you to do anything . . . I just want you to let me . . ."

She twisted around to face him, capturing his face in her hands.  "You make me happy, Cain.  I want to make you happy, too."

A fleeting hint of sadness filtered through his gaze.  He hid it quickly but not before Gin saw it.  "You make me happier than I deserve to be."

"Good," she insisted, ignoring the sadness.  Cain wouldn't want her to think about that, would he?  "Maybe we can just worry about making each other happy . . ."

He smiled finally, tipping her chin to kiss her.  "Speaking of making each other happy," he drawled, dropping the cloth to pull her close.  "I think I owe you . . ."

"You don't," she argued, eyes closing as he nipped her chin, lips trailing down her throat.  "But if you're going to insist . . ."

His breathy chuckle was almost devilish as his hand slipped between her legs.  Gin lifted her hips, relaxing against him as his fingers rubbed against her in gentle exploration.  A hundred explosions ignited as he whispered in her ear, lips brushing against the fine hairs—so sensitive that the touch of his breath on them set off another spiral of sensation that culminated in the surging fire.  The world seemed to still then to explode as a violent culmination of need and desire collided within her, as Cain pressed his finger into her.  She called out to him, cried out his name, her body tensing, her mind blanking as pure sensation ravaged her senses.

"Something wrong, Gin?  What's the matter?  Can't speak?"

She shook her head, unsure if she was agreeing or disagreeing with his assessment.  "C-Cain . . ."

He lifted her up, suspended her with his hands under her armpits.  Still trapped in the vortex of her lingering orgasm, she was scarcely aware of what he was doing until she was leaning against the cool tile of the backsplash, sitting on the edge of the tub.  Cain's hands supported her on both sides.  He nudged her knees apart as he kissed his way up her thighs.  "Open your eyes, baby girl," he commanded.

Gin whimpered softly, tried to do as he ordered.

"You can do it," he assured her.  "I want to see you."

She stared at him through heavily-lidded eyes.  Moving one hand from her hip, he held her open, gazed at her as he flicked out his tongue, pressed against the part of her that ached for him.  She arched away from the backsplash as a sob, a wail, broke from her lips.  He traced every part of her, touched her deep, touched her long, touched while she felt herself coming apart at the seams.

He kept her that way, caught between fantasy and reality where the two worlds collided in a white hot burn.  When she thought she couldn't take any more, Cain was there to lull her back only to send her spiraling higher, further, faster, catapulting her to the stars, to touch the world where only birds could fly.  Heat and light fused as the wet sounds of his endeavors mingled with the shallow breaths she struggled to draw.  A gentle sucking, a flick of his tongue, and Gin felt herself melting and surging.  Hands clutching the edge of the tub, she pressed against his mouth.  Cain's fingers created a rhythm inside her.  A vicious need built upon itself, twisted and turned to form a deeper ache.  The myriad of explosions that raged through her were goaded higher, further.  She could feel herself slipping into a world of sensation, a private realm where the only things she knew were the touch of Cain's hands, the probing of his fingers, the gentle insistence of his lips and teeth and tongue.  Her body shivered, trembled, burned.  Calling out his name as pleasure swept through her, she sat up, reared back, gave herself up to him as her ragged cry echoed through the bathroom.

She found herself cuddled to him, body cradled against his as the haze of pleasure faded only to be replaced by a satisfaction so deep that it almost frightened her.  He was absently rubbing her shoulder with a sudsy washcloth, and when she leaned up to look at him, his lips brushed over hers with gentle reassurance.  "Can we stay like this all day?" she asked, only half-joking.

He chuckled, tweaking her nose with his before kissing her forehead.  "Whatever you want, baby girl."

"Really?"

"Absolutely . . . Of course, we'll both end up wrinkly . . . if you don't mind that, then I'm all for it . . ."

"Do you have plans for today?"

He shrugged, pulling Gin's hand out of the water to kiss her fingers.  "Nope.  My generals will be here in a few days, but until then, I didn't make any plans."

"Why do you need to meet with them?" she asked, giggling as he forcibly slipped her arms around him.

"There . . . That's better . . . and I need to meet with them because I've been neglecting my responsibilities of late . . . running around Tokyo . . . Teaching this adorable hanyou girl everything I know . . ."

Gin ducked her head and smashed her face against his chest.  "You can't blame that on me."

"I can, and I do . . . If it hadn't been for you in that lecture, I'd—" He trailed off and cleared his throat, body tensing as he seemed to realize what he'd almost said.

Gin sat up, caught Cain's cheek, forced him to look at her.  "Is that true?  You stayed . . . for me?"

He refused to meet her gaze.  "I . . . No!  Hell, no!  I wouldn't have—That's ridiculous!  Disrupting everything in my life because—"

"I see," she muttered, face reddening as she tried to tell herself not to be so silly.  Men didn't stay because they met some stupid little girl, did they?

He sighed, sparing a glance at Gin as she started to rise.  He caught her, pulled her back, wrapped his arms around her to prevent her escape.  "Yeah," he admitted softly.  "I stayed because . . . because of you."

She could see it in his eyes, how much it cost him to admit that.  Torn between the things that he thought were inevitable and the things he wished he could believe was taking a hefty toll on him.  Gin grimaced and hugged him.  "Would it be easier for you if . . . if we didn't see each other?" she asked, unable to keep the slight tremor from her voice as she told herself not to cry.

"Probably," he admitted.  "Thing is . . . easier or not, it doesn't matter.  I want—I need—to be here with you."

She relaxed at his answer, content enough that he chose to be with her now.  The future seemed too cloudy, too far away.

There'd be time enough to think about regrets then, wouldn't there?