InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 5: Phantasm ❯ The Big Game ( Chapter 29 )

~~Chapter 29~~

~The Big Game~

 

“Oh, come on, puppy! You can't really think I'm going to say I'm sorry for that, can you?”

 

Bas snorted and rolled his eyes but remained silent as he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and fought down the rising surge of crimson that threatened to stain his cheeks for the duration.

 

Sydnie didn't miss the heightened color and wisely hid her amused grin. “Because that would be a lie,” she went on airily, “and lying is just wrong.”

 

“You could pretend to be a little sorry,” he grumbled as the first threads of color seeped into his skin.

 

“I could,” she agreed, “but that'd still be lying.”

 

He shot her a sidelong glance but didn't reply to that.

 

“Anyway, you should have known that I'd get even eventually.”

 

He snorted.

 

“Putting me in those handcuffs wasn't really very nice of you, don't you think?”

 

“You wouldn't stay off me long enough to get you to a hotel and cleaned up, cat,” he growled.

 

She wrinkled her nose. “Turn about is fair play, pretty boy, or hadn't you heard?”

 

“So slapping me into the damn things while I'm sleeping was fair? Since when?” he shot back.

 

She giggled. “It was fair,” she assured him.

 

“Yeah? Well, you owe me for the damned bed.”

 

Sydnie squirmed around to face him, drawing her knee up against her chest despite the restraining seat belt. “I didn't make you break the headboard,” she protested.

 

He snorted again.

 

“Can't say I didn't like seeing you do it, though,” she admitted.

 

He snapped his mouth closed on the retort he'd been forming as more hot color flooded into his face. “You . . . did . . .?”

 

She leaned toward him, running her fingertips lightly down the center of his chest. “Yes, I did.”

 

He cleared his throat and fumbled with the radio station, studiously avoiding Sydnie's gaze.

 

She giggled again.

 

`You're heartless, Sydnie. You know that, right?'

 

`That's not true! I just thought that he should be taught what it's like to be put in those stupid things,' she argued.

 

`That wasn't heartless . . . what you were doing to the poor man after you had him at your mercy was, though . . .'

 

She grinned at the censure in her youkai's tone. `That was just a little harmless teasing . . .'

 

`Teasing enough to goad him into breaking the headboard . . .'

 

Her grin widened. `Yeah, he did . . .'

 

`Will you stop with the illicit thoughts and think about what you're putting the poor dog through?'

 

`Illicit? Hmm, I like that . . .'

 

`Oh, I give up . . . You're on your own, Sydnie. Don't get us killed . . .'

 

She wrinkled her nose. Was it her fault that seeing every single muscle straining and rippling under his skin did strange things to her equilibrium? Could she help it that the idea of standing there, watching him as he fought against the desire to break free, was one that she couldn't quite ignore? Furthermore, could she really be responsible when he was the careless one who had left the handcuffs sitting on the nightstand beside the bed after he'd finally unlocked her wrists the night before? `Absolutely not,' she decided with a little snort. `It's his fault—all his fault . . .'

 

He'd looked entirely apologetic when, after a few minutes of trying to push Sydnie over onto her side of the car, he'd finally grabbed his duster and retrieved the much-loathed handcuffs. “Sorry, baby,” he told her as he snapped them onto her wrists, “but you've got to stay over there while I find a hotel.”

 

“Unlock me right now!” she demanded, cheeks pinking as she tugged at her hands in a vain effort to separate them once more.

 

Bas sighed as he reached over and fastened the seat belt for her then started the engine. “No . . . and remind me that you're never, ever allowed to be around catnip again.”

 

“But I liked it!” she whined, rattling the handcuffs to emphasize her point.

 

He sighed. “I know you did.”

 

“Sebastian?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

She leaned over, rubbing her temple on his shoulder. “I really, really want to fuck you.”

 

“Dear God,” he croaked out, pushing harder on the gas pedal to hurry them along their way.

 

It hadn't been much better by the time they'd reached the hotel. In fact, it had been worse. After being trapped in the confines of the car with the intoxicating scent of the catnip clinging on both her as well as on Bas, she was near panic; every nerve in her body completely sensitized to the point that she groaned softly when he grasped her arm to pull her out of the car. He must have been able to smell just how overwrought she was, because he refused to unlock her hands in the room, escorting her straight to the bathroom instead and basically hosing both her and himself down, using all the shampoo and body wash in the little complimentary bottles to get the smell of the catnip out of their clothes. Only then did he trust her enough to unlock the handcuffs, and while it took a bit longer for the inundation of the stimulus to go away, she had to admit that maybe she could understand why he hadn't wanted to take advantage of the situation.

 

Of course, that didn't mean that she appreciated being forced into the handcuffs, which was why she didn't think twice this morning when she picked up the cold steel things and threaded them through the spindles on the headboard before snapping them around Bas' wrists. What she hadn't counted on was that Bas could and would break the bed before he deigned to beg her to release him . . .

 

“All right, you've had your fun, kitty . . . unlock me.”

 

“You didn't say `please', puppy,” she teased.

 

He snorted, golden eyes darkening dangerously. “Now, cat.”

 

Taking a moment to appreciate the hard lines, the rigid contours of Bas' large frame, she let her gaze sweep over him, and he blushed. “Give me the damn key.”

 

“What? You mean this key?” she purred, holding up the tiny silver key, dangling the loop that held it from the tip of her crooked index finger.

 

He growled.

 

She met his gaze, and very slowly, deliberately stepped forward, crawling onto the bed and running the key down the center of his chest. The muscles jumped wildly; a ripple of strength that hung in the air. The way his body moved enthralled her; the cadence of motion; the ebb and flow like the waves on the sea . . .

 

“You want the key, puppy?” she crooned, rising up on her knees and staring down at him through half-closed eyes.

 

“Sydnie . . .”

 

Hooking the delicate fabric of her panties, she pulled them away from her body and dropped the key into them before letting the thin elastic snap back into place.

 

Bas sucked in a sharp breath; a choked resonance. “That's not . . . funny, damn it,” he grumbled. “Unlock me—now.”

 

“I don't think I will,” she countered, slipping off the bed and retreating a few steps. “If you want it, come and get it.”

 

His body tensed, hardened. Muscles bulging, he hooked his hands together over his head and jerked against the restraints. Sydnie gasped as the splintering crack echoed through the hotel room, and Bas sat up, bringing his restrained hands down before him as he rolled over and slowly got to his feet. Eyes darting from the broken spindle that hung precariously from the top rail of the headboard to Bas' face, Sydnie couldn't think that she really ought to run. Standing her ground, she stared at him, her breath shallow and uneven.

 

There was something entirely primitive in his movements, something completely intrepid in the way he stalked her. Stopping before her, he slowly reached out, hooking the elastic of her panties without letting his gaze drop away from hers. He fished out the keys with his other hand, his cheeks pinking but his expression carefully stoic. She couldn't suppress the softest whimper that slipped from her as his fingertips brushed against the tiny curls between her legs. “Unlock me, cat,” he rasped out in a harsh whisper, grabbing her hand and dropping the keys into her palm.

 

And she'd done as she was told, though it took a few tries since her entire body had been trembling with such a voracity that she hadn't been able to fit the key into the lock. Luckily, he'd taken it after she'd finally managed the first one. After he'd stashed the cuffs back into the pocket of his duster, he'd yanked on a shirt, and, without looking at her, he'd told her that she had five minutes to get dressed before they left.

 

In any case, he'd barely said more than a handful of words to her since then, and not for the first time, Sydnie had to wonder if maybe—just maybe—she'd pushed him a little too far . . .

 

She blinked in surprise as she turned to scowl at Bas. He'd pulled into the underground parking lot beside a very large hotel. That wasn't surprising since he preferred to keep their vehicle out of view. She didn't understand why they were stopping so soon, though. It wasn't quite noon yet, and normally he'd be adamant that they press on `just a little longer'. “Why are we stopping already?” she asked.

 

Bas shrugged as he parked the car and got out. “You don't want to?”

 

“Tell me why I think you've got ulterior motives, puppy?”

 

“Dunno, cat. Come on.”

 

She let him open the door for her and stepped out onto the oil-stained concrete. He handed her the laptop case and grabbed the suitcase, locking the car and stowing the keys in his pocket before reaching for her hand. Following him toward the gaudily safety-yellow painted elevator, she didn't say another word.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie jerked awake and shot Bas an irritated glance, scooting away to avoid his swinging arms as he snarled curses at the television and leaned forward, apparently displeased with yet another call made by one of the squirrelly men in the black and white shirts. “You call that `pass interference'? It was a clean hit, you moron! Clean!”

 

She heaved a frustrated sigh. Having opted to nap instead of watch the `big game' with Bas, Sydnie had curled up on the bed alone until Bas decided that he should sit with her. That had lasted all of twenty minutes before he'd inadvertently scared her, bellowing like a madman at the television. She'd gotten up and headed for the bathroom. He caught her hand and pulled her over to the bed, settling down on the end with a mumbled apology and something that sounded suspiciously like a promise that he'd be quieter. Satisfied that he would keep his word, she curled up beside him and tried to go to sleep only to discover that his version of `quieter' and hers had to be completely different since he kept yelling off and on. Sydnie didn't know about his promise, but she did know that, in the course of a few hours, she'd developed an absolute loathing for all things `football'.

 

“Hey, baby,” he mumbled, turning his attention away from the television. Sydnie snorted and glanced at the set, not surprised to see that it was a commercial break—the only time that he seemed to recall that she existed at all. “Did you get a good nap?”

 

She narrowed her eyes and turned over, burying her face in the pillow she'd retrieved the last time he'd unceremoniously roused her. “Umph,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the pillow.

 

He chuckled and rubbed her back. “Come on, Sydnie . . . watch the game with me?”

 

She pushed herself up, arching her back and glancing at the television. Her already mulish scowl darkened as the game broadcast resumed, and she shook her head. “Did they change their clothes?”

 

“Wha . . .? Oh, no . . . this is the second game.”

 

Sydnie narrowed her eyes and slowly shifted them to the side to glower at Sebastian. “Second game?” she repeated incredulously. “You said you wanted to watch the game—one game.”

 

He shook his head. “I said I wanted to watch the Patriots game,” he argued distractedly, “and this is the Patriots' game.”

 

She snorted. “Then what was the last one?”

 

“That was the first game . . . not a big deal.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “You were screaming at the television. It sounded like a big deal.”

 

“It's a double-header,” he informed her. “But I have to watch both games! If the Patriots win this one, they'll be tied with the Jets in the AFC East since Buffalo just lost to the Dolphins.”

 

“And not a single part of that made any sense,” she grumbled.

 

Bas sighed and shook his head. “It just means—oh, damn! Roughing the passer, you bastard! Call the foul! Call the foul! Clean hit, my ass! Get some glasses, you nearsighted moron!”

 

Sydnie rolled her eyes and pulled the pillow over her head as Bas leapt to his feet, bellowing at the television yet again. “And yet he somehow manages to drop even more IQ points in my estimation,” she mumbled.

 

He dropped back onto the end of the bed, his weight jarring the mattress so hard that Sydnie had to dig her claws into the coverlet to keep from rolling toward him. Heaving a thoroughly irritated sigh and casting Bas a baleful glower, she rolled off the bed and stomped toward the bathroom as Bas grunted something unintelligible. “Where you going?” he called after her, more of an afterthought than a real question.

 

“Taking a bath, puppy,” she replied evenly, digging through the suitcase for a change of clothes.

 

“All right,” he agreed. “Want some milk?”

 

She peered over her shoulder at him and nodded slowly. “Okay.”

 

He glanced around quickly and grimaced since reaching the telephone would mean turning his back on the television. “I'll call in a few minutes. It's almost halftime.”

 

Sydnie bit her cheek, snatching the cream colored satin robe out of the suitcase and slamming it closed. She didn't trust herself to speak, and with a curt little grunt, she strode off to the bathroom and quietly closed the door.

 

`Stupid football,' she fumed, viciously twisting the faucet to turn on the flow of hot water. `It would serve him right if I stayed in here the rest of the night.'

 

She sighed, trying not to think about the idea that Bas had seen fit to stop early so that he could watch football when she'd been trying to talk him into stopping early for days. He wouldn't stop when she asked him to, but he'd stop so that he could sit around and yell at the television as though it would make a difference to the game . . .

 

`He said he'd order your milk,' her youkai pointed out reasonably.

 

`Yeah, he did,' she agreed, stripping off her clothes and pulling a couple towels off the high rack on the wall. She spread one on the floor and set the other on the toilet before stepping into the steaming water.

 

`At least there's that, right?'

 

Sinking down in the tub and willing the warmth to soothe her, Sydnie closed her eyes and scrunched down as low as she could. `I can deal with football,' she told herself as a violent stab of desperate hope shot through her, `so long as I'm with Sebastian . . .'

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Sydnie felt a little better when she opened the bathroom door half an hour later. Relaxed from her bath and feeling quite a bit calmer, she stepped out of the sultry bathroom and shivered slightly as the cooler, drier air hit her moist skin. Bas was still watching the game, and he didn't acknowledge Sydnie's emergence as she stashed her clothes in a plastic bag.

 

Stifling a sigh, she wandered over to the bed, pulling the simple bow of her robe a little tighter, and sat down beside him. “Are we winning?”

 

Bas nodded vaguely. “Yeah. Up by ten.”

 

She blinked. She wasn't sure what that meant, but the `yeah' was clear enough. “Good.” Looking around the room, she frowned. She didn't see milk anywhere. “Sebastian?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

She bit her lip, cheeks pinking. “Did you—?”

 

“What the fuck!” he bellowed, jerking his arm away from Sydnie as he leaned forward even further. “You have to tackle the guy with the ball, you dumb ass! Don't just stand there and let him run past you!”

 

Sydnie recoiled.

 

Bas snorted in obvious disgust and growled under his breath. His cell phone rang, and Sydnie glanced at him. He made no move to answer it. “Your phone,” she pointed out, raising her voice just enough to be heard over the fuss he was making.

 

“Pfft! They'll call back,” he grumbled.

 

Sydnie wrinkled her nose. The ringing stopped after the fourth time only to start up again minutes later. Unable to ignore the incessant trill, Sydnie scooted off the bed and ran over to the table. She had every intention of turning off the ringer until she noticed the name that appeared on the caller ID. `Gunnar', it said. Sydnie flipped it open and lifted the device to her ear. “Come get me,” she demanded in lieu of greeting.

 

“Sydnie? You want me to come get you. You and Bas not getting along?”

 

She shrugged and paced the floor near the table. “It's fine,” she lied. “I'm just bored.”

 

“Bored? What's Bas doing?”

 

“He's busy,” she replied, plugging her ear when Bas started growling again. “Football.”

 

“Oh, the game,” Gunnar mused. “Yeah, he loves football.”

 

“I see,” Sydnie remarked. “So will you?”

 

“Come get you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I'll send you a plane ticket,” he offered.

 

“I don't like to fly.”

 

Gunnar sighed. “I'm not too fond of it, myself,” he admitted. “Tell him to stop being stupid and pay attention to you?”

 

Sydnie scowled. “He . . . he forgot my milk.”

 

“Aww . . . did he?”

 

She nodded. “Yeah.”

 

“Tell you what. Give me the name of your hotel.”

 

“The Windsor,” she replied.

 

“And the city?”

 

“I think we're in Memphis, Tennessee.”

 

“Okay. I'll call your hotel and have them send you some milk. How's that?”

 

She shook her head. “You'd do that for me?”

 

“Sure, I would. If Bas is too busy to do it, then someone has to make sure you have milk, don't you think?”

 

“I don't know.”

 

“Hang up now, Sydnie. I'll call back when I'm done, okay?”

 

“All right,” she agreed, then snapped the phone closed.

 

Her frown deepened. Somehow, the idea of someone else ordering milk for her . . .

 

She just didn't like it; not at all . . .

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Bas scowled at the television, trying to comprehend just how the Patriots could lose an early twenty-four point lead. It made no sense. Chalk it up to messy plays and inept refs, he supposed. `Just figures,' he fumed. `The first time in twenty years we've got a decent shot to win the division standings, and the referee blows ass.'

 

A knock sounded on the door, and Bas forced his attention off the game as Sydnie wandered over to answer it. “Sydnie, no! You don't know who—”

 

She shot him a mulish glance and ignored him, deliberately grasping the handle and opening the door wide. “Room service,” the young man said. Sydnie stood aside, allowing the bellhop to step into the room. He deposited a gallon of milk on the table. She slipped a couple bucks into his hand, and he bowed before closing the door behind himself.

 

“Shit,” Bas mumbled, watching as she snapped the plastic cap off the gallon and lifted the entire thing to her lips. `Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit . . .' He grimaced, realizing a little too late that he'd promised to order her milk awhile ago—and that he'd completely forgotten to do it. “You . . . ordered yourself . . .?”

 

“Don't be ridiculous, puppy,” she shot back with a narrow-eyed glare, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “You said you would.”

 

“Yeah, well, I . . .” He winced then sighed. “I . . . forgot.”

 

Sydnie nodded slowly. “I know,” she replied quietly, unable to mask the hurt in her voice at the perceived betrayal.

 

He winced again. “I meant to,” he began.

 

“Don't worry about it, puppy,” she forced herself to say. “I don't need your milk.”

 

Bas glanced back at the television when the crowd erupted in a chorus of jeers. “Ah, son of a b—” he growled, shaking his head furiously as one of the other team's men intercepted a pass and sprinted down the sideline toward the Patriots' end zone. Catching sight of Sydnie's disgusted expression, he cut himself off abruptly. “So you ordered it for yourself?” he questioned, jerking his head at the jug of milk in her hands.

 

“Nope,” she responded, a tight little smile gracing her lips.

 

Bas blinked, shaking his head in confusion. “Then who did?”

 

The phone rang, and Sydnie nodded. “Him.”

 

“Him?” Bas echoed, slowly reaching for the device. “Fuck,” he muttered, staring at the name on the caller ID before he heaved a sigh and flipped open the phone. “What do you want?” he snarled.

 

“Commercial break?” Gunnar quipped.

 

“What the hell do you think you're doing? I was going to get milk for her, damn it.”

 

“She said that you said you'd get it for her awhile ago, and that you forgot, Bas-tard. Did you?”

 

Bas ground his teeth together. “Shut it, Gunsie.”

 

Gunnar sighed. “So what the hell do you think you're doing?” he demanded.

 

“Look, smart-ass, I haven't watched a game since I came after her . . . Anyway, she was napping.”

 

Sydnie uttered a terse little `hrumph' sound. Bas grimaced.

 

“Yeah, well, I've seen you while you were watching your `games' . . . you tend to be a little involved, don't you think?”

 

“So?”

 

Gunnar sighed again. “So do you really think Sydnie enjoys watching you make a damn fool out of yourself while you bellow at a television set?”

 

“Butt out, Gunnar,” he snapped, cheeks pinking since he probably had sounded a bit like a raving lunatic.

 

“Turn the damn TV off and spend some time with your mate, baka—before she decides that she doesn't want to have an idiot puppy like you as her mate.”

 

“I mean it, Gunnar: butt—out.”

 

“You're stupid, Bas—really stupid. No wonder she wants me to come pick her up.”

 

“. . . What?”

 

“You heard me. She asked me to come get her.”

 

Bas' eyes widened then narrowed as he stared at the cat. “Sydnie?”

 

“Hmm?” she replied, staring at her claws haughtily.

 

“Fix it before you dig yourself a deeper hole, baka,” Gunnar grumbled. “I'll call you later to tell you what I've found out. Damn fool.” He hung up, and Bas flinched inwardly as he snapped the phone closed and dropped it back onto the table.

 

“You . . . you really asked him to come get you?”

 

Sydnie shrugged, striding away from the table and crawling onto the bed, tucking her legs to the side and presenting him with her back. “He bought me milk,” she muttered with a sad shake of her head.

 

Bas glanced at the television. Two minutes left in regulation time, and the score was tied. With an inward sigh, he grabbed the remote and turned off the set, tossing it down on the table before stepping over to the bed and sitting behind Sydnie. “I'm sorry, baby,” he told her softly, hesitantly pushing her hair off her shoulder.

 

“I've asked you for days to stop early,” she replied in a tiny voice. “You always said that we had to keep moving.”

 

“Sydnie . . .”

 

“Then you finally stop so you can watch a game—a stupid football game.”

 

“It's a big game!” he argued, tossing his arms up at his sides.

 

Sydnie turned her head enough to stare at him out of the corner of her eyes. “So you've said; so you've said.”

 

“It's an important game,” he grumbled, cheeks pinking as he tried to ignore the desire to turn the television back on to check the score again.

 

“More important than me; I got it.”

 

Bas froze and blinked in surprise at the vehemence in Sydnie's normally melodic voice. “What? No! I don't think—I didn't . . . I didn't mean to,” he told her. “I really—”

 

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin proudly. “I don't need you, Bas the Hunter. I don't.”

 

He flinched, scooting toward her to pull her into his lap. She stiffened but didn't resist him though she didn't relax against him, either. “I want you to,” he admitted quietly.

 

“You . . . want me . . . to?”

 

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

 

She shrugged. “Why?”

 

“Because I need you—I need you . . . a lot.”

 

She ducked her chin, shoulders slumping as she let out a noiseless sigh. “You . . . do?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispered, burying his nose in her hair. “More than I should . . . yeah.”

 

“You forgot about me,” she pouted.

 

Bas kissed her temple and held her a little closer. She leaned on his shoulder, content to let him hold her for the time being. “I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to.”

 

She sniffled. “Don't do it again, puppy.”

 

He swallowed hard, stroking her hair, her back, trying to soothe her and feeling like a complete ogre in the process. He had to clear his throat before he could speak, had to force down the painful lump that swelled in his chest. “I won't.”

 

 

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A/N:

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Inuyoukaimama ------ OROsan0677 ------ Crimson Dawns Dragon ------ inuyashaloverr ------ JasonC ------ Kurisu no Ryuujin ------ angelfire777 ------ Simonkal of Inuy ------ vvkimbo07

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Final Thought fromSydnie:

Stupid football …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Phantasm): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~