InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 6: Shameless ❯ Autographs ( Chapter 6 )

~~Chapter 6~

~Autographs~

 

 

The incessant pounding on the door wouldn't let up. “I'm coming,” Gavin grumbled, stumbling through his darkened apartment as he tried to open his sleep-grainy eyes. Stifling a yawn with his hand, he stubbed his toe on the table beside the door and grunted, catching himself just before he ended up flat on his face. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands, he sighed. “Hold on,” he called, shaking his head to dispel the fuzziness that lingered around the edges of his mind. Smacking his hand against the keypad to release the door lock, he jerked the handle with his other hand, fully prepared to give whoever was standing on the other side a very large, very loud piece of his mind.

 

The blur of a woman who threw herself against his chest, though, shocked him into silence. Unable to discern more than the tormenting scent of her fresh tears, Gavin stumbled back but caught himself, clumsily wrapping his arms around her as she trembled; as she sobbed.

 

“Jilli?” he finally asked, his voice soft, gentle. Her hair had been caught up in a sleek French twist he'd seen on the television broadcast from the Grammy Awards was now hanging in wayward strands around her drawn and peaked face. “What happened? I thought you were at that awards thing . . .”

 

His question only made her cry harder, and she shook her head, burying her face against him as though she couldn't bear to talk about what had happened. “Hold me, Gavin,” she whispered, her voice muffled by the faded black Geekfest Sci-Fi Con tee-shirt he'd worn to bed. “Please?”

 

He did as she asked, wishing he could understand what had frightened her so badly. Kicking the door closed before he scooped her up in his arms, he carried her over to the sofa and situated her on his lap without bothering to turn on the lights. “It's okay, Jilli . . . please don't cry.”

 

It seemed like forever before she wound down to sniffles and hiccups. He wasn't certain how long he sat there, holding her and rubbing her back while uttering nonsense in the hopes that he could reassure her when he hadn't a clue why she was so upset in the first place. Little by little, her body relaxed against him, and she wiped her eyes with her fingertips as she snuggled as close as she could get. “I told him `no',” she finally murmured, her voice tiny, ashamed. “I told him I wasn't interested . . . I wasn't, Gavvie, I swear!”

 

“. . . What?” he growled, unable to keep the sharpness out of his tone and equally unable to keep himself from sniffing Jillian a little more carefully. She smelled just fine, thank God . . . Just what had happened, anyway?

 

She'd gone to the Grammy Awards with one of Evan's rocker-friends: a thunder-youkai named Henson Collings, and while Gavin had been anything but pleased about the arrangement, he couldn't bring himself to ask her not to go, either, even when she joked around, telling him that if he had something better in mind, she'd be more than happy to blow off the date and fly back to New York City. Evan had maintained that Jillian would be doing him a favor, hadn't he? Thing was, she'd arranged to wear one of Zsalee Prescott's infamous designs months in advance, and she'd chattered all day over the telephone about having to have her hair and makeup done especially for the event. As if he could tell her that he didn't want her to go when she'd obviously been looking forward to it for months . . . He couldn't be that big of a jerk, even if he wanted to be.

 

She winced at Gavin's unintentionally gruff tone as another wash of tears sprang into her eyes. “I told him `no',” she stated once more. “I said I didn't want him . . .”

 

“Where is he?” Gavin demanded, struggling to keep his temper under control for her sake.

 

She choked out a little sob and shook her head, balling up her fists around handfuls of his tee-shirt. “Evan caught him, and—” Gasping as she reared back, her already pale skin paling even more, she shot Gavin a wild-eyed glance and struggled to stand up. Locking his arms around her, Gavin pulled her back against him. “Evan was arrested,” she blurted, pushing against his chest in a show of token resistance. “He's in jail, and it's all because of me.”

 

“Calm down, Jilli. It's okay. Let me make a few calls and see if he's still being held,” Gavin said. “Are you all right? Did that bastard hurt you?”

 

“No,” she whispered. “Evan stopped him before he . . .”

 

“Good,” Gavin intoned though his irritation still wasn't receding. “Let's go get you into the tub. Baths always calm you down.”

 

She whimpered in protest but wrapped her arms around his neck as he stood up without relinquishing his hold on her. “Will you stay with me?” she asked, her eyes bright as she blinked back her tears. “Don't leave me, Gavvie? I . . . I don't want to be alone . . .”

 

He sighed, unable to give voice to his belief that it simply wasn't a good idea for him to sit in the room with her while she bathed. “All right, Jilli; you win. I won't leave you . . . I'll never leave you.”

 

“I never should have gone,” she chastised herself. “I should have stayed here with you.”

 

“It's all right, Jilli,” he assured her as he strode down the hallway and shouldered the bathroom door open. “You're safe now, right? If Henson Collings ever comes near you again, I swear on all that is holy, I'll kill him, myself.”

 

She shivered when he set her on the counter so that he could start filling the tub with water. The simple champagne colored satin sheath dress was smudged and torn. One thin spaghetti strap dangled off her shoulder, and she rubbed her arms as though she were cold. The heel was snapped off her right sandal, and her makeup was smudged beyond repair. Smiling sadly, he stifled a sigh and held out his hand. Jillian hesitantly took it, and he gently pulled her off the counter. “You get in your bath while I call and check on Evan,” he told her.

 

“You'll be back?” she asked, unable to hide the hint of panic that surged in her soft voice.

 

“I'll be back,” he promised, sparing a moment to kiss her forehead and give her a quick hug before he ducked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

 

Jerking awake with a low groan, Gavin slowly opened his eyes. The clock on the nightstand read a quarter after three in the morning, and he sighed. It'd been awhile since he'd thought about that night . . . In the end, he'd called and gotten a hold of Evan's best friend, Madison, who had filled in the blanks that Jillian couldn't. After the awards show, Collings had wanted to go to one of the many parties, but Jillian didn't. She'd told him that she wanted to get back to the hotel early so that she could catch a flight out first thing in the morning. In the end, Madison had driven her to the airport on the way to the police station to bail out Evan, and she'd stayed long enough to make sure that Jillian had gotten on a plane heading home.

 

She'd come straight to his apartment upon arrival. She hadn't bothered to go home, and she hadn't bothered to get her luggage, either. No, she didn't want to be alone, and Gavin . . . well, he'd let her stay, of course. The first thing she'd said to him the next morning was that he ought to think about redecorating his bedroom—something that she normally mentioned at least once a week. If listening to her grumble about the framed reprint of the original Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back movie poster that hung over his bed made her feel better, then Gavin didn't mind hearing about it.

 

He sighed as Jillian snuggled closer against him in her sleep. Lips turned up with the vaguest hint of a smile on her face, she looked like she didn't have a care in the world. He'd do anything to make sure that she remained as happy as she seemed to be. It was what he'd always done, wasn't it?

 

A lifetime of protecting Jillian . . . Sometimes he thought that it was his calling. He'd thought more than once that she was a little too much like her mother, Gin. Seemingly untouched by the world that could easily jade a man, both Gin and Jillian possessed a rare sort of innocence, and while Jillian was a bit more street-savvy than her mother, she still retained an aura that could make even the strongest man's resolve falter . . .

 

Gavin yawned and closed his eyes, pulling Jillian a little closer as he willed away the unpleasant memories of the dream. Making sure that the damsel in distress was happy . . . that was the hero's job, wasn't it?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Gavin stepped out of the house, scanning the area as he tried to locate Jillian. Catching her scent on the breeze, he trailed her to the main barn and followed her inside. Not surprisingly, all the work had come to a screeching halt while the ranch hands stood around a tack table. Jillian sat atop the high surface, scribbling her autograph on magazines that the men gave her.

 

Stifling an inward sigh, Gavin stuffed his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans and ambled forward.

 

“Here,” Jillian said, handing back one magazine before reaching for another. “What's your name?” she asked, pen poised above the magazine as she peered at the coyote-hanyou before her.

 

“Max,” he replied, holding his hat in both hands. Gavin shook his head as he stopped behind Hank. He'd seen this sort of thing too often for it to really bother him. At least, he told himself that it didn't bother him.

 

“Damn, she's cute,” Hank commented without taking his eyes off Jillian.

 

“You, too, Hank?” Gavin countered, scowling at the rolled up magazine in the foreman's hand.

 

“Of course,” Hank quipped with a lopsided grin. “You think I'd pass up the chance to get her autograph?”

 

“I was hoping, yes,” he grumbled.

 

“Fat chance,” Hank retorted.

 

“There,” Jillian said, handing back the magazine with a bright smile. “I didn't even write over my boobs.”

 

That got Gavin's attention fast. Head snapping up, he narrowed his eyes on the publication, realizing too late that the magazines she was signing all appeared to be the February issue of Oliveri, a men's magazine that featured topless pictures of celebrities to boost their sales. The general interest magazine had approached Jillian late last year, citing that they wanted her to `be their Valentine's Day girl', and much to Gavin's chagrin, Jillian had actually accepted their offer.

 

She'd gotten a couple of copies early, giving one to Gavin and sending the other one to her parents in Maine, and Gavin had nearly choked when he'd seen the seven page layout that featured the girl he knew bearing almost everything. She'd looked so hopeful, though, hadn't she? “What do you think, Gavvie?” she asked, her eyes sparkling and her tone a little breathless.

 

He thought he might have choked out that the pictures were `nice'. If he'd said more than that, he didn't remember it. He was rewarded with one of her blinding smiles and an exuberant hug as Gavin had tried not to think about what, exactly, the men who saw the pictures would be doing while they ogled the images . . .

 

With a pronounced snort, Gavin snatched the magazine from Hank's hand then stomped toward the gathering to grab those publications, too, ignoring the protests as he glowered at his hired hands. “Don't you all have work that you're supposed to be doing?” he asked with a marked arching of an eyebrow.

 

“Morning, Gavvie . . . something wrong?” Jillian asked brightly as he snatched the pen out of her hand and stuffed it into his pocket for good measure.

 

“Not any more,” he growled tightly, holding the magazines against his chest lest Jillian get any weird ideas about trying to get them back for the men.

 

“I was just signing a few autographs,” she pointed out with a soft giggle.

 

“Autographs are fine,” he allowed, “but these are not.”

 

“Oh, Gavvie!” she laughed, waving her hand dismissively. “You're so funny sometimes.”

 

“I wasn't trying to be funny,” he grumbled. “What are you doing out here?”

 

Hopping off the tack table, Jillian kissed his cheek. “I wanted to go horsie riding,” she informed him. “Why don't you come with me?”

 

Sparing a moment to glance down at her denim shorts that barely covered her bottom and the gauzy white baby-doll blouse she wore, he slowly shook his head. “You're not dressed for riding, Jilli,” he told her.

 

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

 

Gavin shook his head, grabbing a butane lighter off the work table and the metal trashcan before turning on his heel and stomping outside. “They're just not really riding clothes.”

 

Jillian watched him dump the magazines into the can, heaving a sigh as he lit them. “You shouldn't have done that,” she remarked. “Those weren't yours . . .”

 

“So I'll reimburse them later,” he growled, stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched the fire.

 

“But you said that I should do it,” she reminded him.

 

He grimaced. “I said that you should do whatever you thought was best for you,” he corrected.

 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, honestly, Gavvie . . . sometimes you are so archaic. If you didn't want me to do that shoot, you should have said so.”

 

“Not my place,” he grumbled. “Anyway, you do remember how upset your father was over the layout, right?”

 

That earned him another eye-roll. “Daddy paints and sculpts naked women all the time, and even then, I wasn't naked.”

 

“Your father might paint and sculpt naked women, but he doesn't paint or sculpt naked daughters.”

 

“That's silly,” she said. “Mama thought they were very tasteful.”

 

Gavin's only reply to that was a marked snort. “Why don't you change your clothes, and I'll take you for a tour?” he suggested in an effort to change the subject.

 

“There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing,” she insisted.

 

“Your legs'll chafe,” he predicted.

 

“I wore shorts when I took lessons,” she argued.

 

“Hour long lessons two days a week hardly qualifies as horseback riding,” he told her. “You'll be sorry if you wear that.”

 

She waved off his concern with a little giggle. “Well then, you can kiss them and make them all better, can't you?”

 

He groaned and shook his head.

 

“I want to ride that one,” she said, pointing at the corral.

 

Gavin glanced over to see what horse she was talking about. “That's nice. If that's what you—What?” he growled, his head swinging back to stare incredulously at the beast in question. “No.”

 

Jillian wasn't even fazed by the terseness in his response. “He's so pretty!”

 

“No,” Gavin stated once more, this time a little louder. “He's not a rider, Jilli.”

 

“What's his name?”

 

Shaking his head and wondering if anything he was saying was making any sense at all to the stubborn girl, Gavin sighed. “His name is Waterspell, and I just told you, right? He's not a rider; he's a breeder. No one rides him. He's not stable enough for that.”

 

“Waterspell,” she breathed, her eyes dancing merrily as she spun around to face Gavin once more. Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she shot him her most winning smile. “He was named after me!”

 

Gavin winced since the horse actually had been named after her. It was born the day after Gavin's return from college. He hadn't really understood why she'd stopped coming to see him, and even now, she'd never given him a real reason. He'd been missing her, and without thinking much about it, he'd muttered the name `Waterspell' when Hank asked. Since Jillian was a water-based youkai, it had seemed natural, at the time. Damned if he'd tell her that, though . . . “Don't be ridiculous. Why would I name a horse—a male horse—after you?”

 

She laughed. “Because you love me, Gavin Jamison, and one of these days, you'll admit it.”

 

“Not that horse, Jilli,” he told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I mean it.”

 

“You're not disagreeing with me about admitting that you love me,” she mused. “That's progress . . .”

 

“That's because it's not going to happen,” he said with a snort despite the dusting of pinkness that filtered into his cheeks. “Let's go find you a decent rider.”

 

Slipping her hand into his, she laughed as she let him lead the way back to the stable, thankfully letting the subject drop. He sighed, noticing with a scowl when everyone inside the stable stopped what they were doing and stared at Jillian. It couldn't be helped, he supposed. He'd had the same reaction to her for years. There was just something about her that commanded attention whether she realized it or not, and it wasn't simply her face or body. No, it was an inner luminance that drew people, a certain naiveté that disarmed them. She was the flame, and people gravitated to her like moths.

 

`But you do love her, Gavin. You know you do.'

 

Heaving a sigh as Jillian hurried over to ask Hank which horse she should use for the sojourn, Gavin leaned back against the tack table and contented himself to glower at the still-gawking men. They didn't even notice him, which just figured. `Does that really matter when there's no way she'd really be happy with me in the long run?'

 

`Which could be complete idiocy on your part. Who says she wouldn't be happy with you?'

 

Grimacing as he considered the question, he slowly shook his head and grunted a reply when Hank asked him if he needed a horse saddled up, too. `She's used to life in the spotlight,' he replied. `I can't give her that. I've never wanted that . . . The parties and the glitz . . . that's her world. It's not mine. It'll never be mine.'

 

`But she wants to be your mate—she's said as much.'

 

`Sure, she's said it. She's also said that she thinks that fairies exist, and she believed in Santa Claus until she was nearly fifteen . . . She's said that she wanted to move to Brazil and become an archeologist, too. Jillian's said a lot of things over the years. Doesn't mean she really believes it, now does it?'

 

His youkai voice sighed but didn't bother to argue with him. Gavin brushed the gloomy thoughts aside and forced a smile when Jillian skittered over to him, linking her arm through his. “This is going to be a great vacation,” she predicted with a bright smile.

 

“You think so?”

 

She nodded. “Yes. I'm going to save you from your boring existence, Gavvie. Just you wait and see.”

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Jillian gritted her teeth and wondered just now much ribbing she'd have to endure if she broke down and told Gavin that he'd been right about her shorts.

 

`Gavin never makes fun of you, Jilli,' her youkai chided gently.

 

She wrinkled her nose as she stifled a low moan. Her thighs were chafed and sore from the constant rub, and she had to concentrate to keep herself from begging for mercy. `Maybe not, but I would if I were him. I really should have listened . . .'

 

“You okay?” Gavin asked. As though he could read her thoughts, he frowned at her with a very real air of concern.

 

“Fine, fine,” she forced herself to say. “Never better, Gavvie.”

 

“You're sure?” he pressed.

 

Jillian forced a tight little smile. “Yes.”

 

“Want to stop for awhile?”

 

Jillian opened her mouth to say `yes', but snapped it closed again when she thought better of it. She'd love to stop. She was dying to stop. If they stopped, however, the chances of her getting back onto the horse was slim and none. `No, best to keep moving,' she told herself sternly. “I'm fine,” she assured him, inflicting enough cheer into her voice to keep him from suspecting a thing.

 

Gavin nodded, his gaze roving over the landscape of the ranch as his horse fell into step beside hers. “I'm sorry about the autographs,” he grumbled.

 

Jillian blinked, casting Gavin a quick glance. He wasn't looking at her, but she could tell that he had been moments before. He must have thought that her quiet mood was a residual effect of his unceremonious interruption of the impromptu signing session. “It's okay,” she assured him quietly. “I'm not mad about that.”

 

“Well, I'm not sorry for taking their magazines,” he countered hotly. “Next time, use regular paper. I've got some in the house.”

 

She didn't roll her eyes though she was half-tempted to do just that. “Those pictures still bother you?” she asked with a soft giggle.

 

“That's a stupid question,” he grumbled, cheeks pinking.

 

“Is it?”

 

He snorted in response.

 

Jillian stifled a sigh. She'd asked him when Oliveri had first made the offer, after all. She'd wanted to know if the idea of her doing topless photos would bother him. He'd told her that she should do whatever she was comfortable with. Truthfully, it didn't really bug her anymore. She was used to being seen in various states of undress. It went with the territory, so to speak. People were forever running in and out of her changing rooms during photo shoots. What was the difference between having a dozen people see her topless there and posing for the gentlemen's magazine?

 

`The difference is that you know very well that Gavin's never been comfortable with the idea of you being nearly nude in front of anyone, including himself,' her youkai pointed out.

 

Jillian made a face. `Being naked is natural—beautiful. That's what Mama's always told me.'

 

`Be that as it may, I don't think your mama had that in mind when you decided to pose for Oliveri magazine . . . and that's beside the point. Don't you remember what Gavin said?'

 

`What Gavin said . . .' she repeated as she tried not to smile.

 

Staring at the magazine she'd plopped into his lap, Gavin's eyes bulged as his mouth dropped open in rather dim-witted awe. “Oh, God,” he rasped out, color infusing his face as he slowly shook his head. “You did it?”

 

Jillian scrunched up her shoulders, smiling as she perched on the edge of the sofa and leaned in closer to peer at the magazine. “Sure,” she said brightly. “You said that I should do whatever I was comfortable doing.”

 

“Jilli . . .”

 

“I think they're very nicely done,” she said, narrowing her gaze as she critically eyed the photos. “Very tasteful.”

 

“Tasteful?” Gavin choked out as the magazine slipped from his slack fingers. “These aren't—I mean, you're—Do you have any idea why guys look at stuff like this?” he blurted.

 

She opened her mouth to retort then snapped it closed as a calculating grin surfaced on her face. “No, Gavvie . . . suppose you tell me why guys look at stuff like that,” she demanded.

 

Gavin made a face as his cheeks reddened. “They . . . they . . . you know . . . do . . . stuff . . . to themselves.”

 

Jillian giggled. “Do you do stuff to yourself when you look at topless women's pictures?”

 

Gavin shifted uncomfortably but was saved from answering when the telephone rang. It didn't take long for Jillian to figure out that the person on the other end of the phone was her father, who had obviously received the package she'd had delivered with the other pre-released copy of Oliveri magazine. After a few minutes of wincing and glaring at the publication that he'd dropped on the coffee table when he'd stomped off to answer the phone, he pinned her with a no-nonsense glower. “When does this hit the newsstands?” he asked, covering the receiver with his hand.

 

“Next week . . . Wednesday, I think,” she replied, flipping her hand over and extending her fingers as she inspected her perfectly manicured claws.

 

“Wednesday, she thinks,” he repeated into the telephone. A few seconds later, he sighed. “Yes, sir.”

 

“`Yes, sir', what?” Jillian asked without taking her attention off of her nails.

 

“Nothing,” he grumbled, grabbing the magazine and stuffing it back into the manila envelope she'd brought it over in.

 

She hadn't said anything else until they were in bed, the apartment as quiet as the night. “Gavvie?” she whispered, hating to break the companionable silence but wanting to say what was on her mind.

 

He didn't miss a beat as he stroked her back with an idle hand. “Hmm?”

 

“If you . . . if you did stuff to yourself when you were looking at my pictures . . . I don't think I'd mind.”

 

His body stiffened, his hand stilled, and she could feel the rush of embarrassed heat that suffused his skin. “J-Jilli . . . I . . . I . . .”

 

“Sometimes,” she went on, closing her eyes as she snuggled a little closer, “I do stuff to myself when I'm thinking about you.”

 

“G-go to sleep,” he mumbled, his tone rasping, dry.

 

She smiled—at least, she thought she did. Sleep was beckoning her, and she drifted off, cuddled close to Gavin's side.

 

The whinny of the horse she was riding broke through her reverie, and Jillian blinked as she brushed aside the lingering mists of her memories. Gavin was still glowering over the horizon. Biting her lip when she noticed the tinge of pink that kissed his cheeks for no real reason, she stifled a giggle, wondering if he was thinking about that night, too. For some strange reason, she thought he just might be. Shifting in her saddle, she groaned as the chafed skin of her inner thighs reminded her that she really ought to have worn jeans.

 

“Jilli,” Gavin grumbled, noticing her discomfort. Reigning in beside her, he reached over to pluck her off her horse, pulling her over to cradle her against his chest before grabbing her horse's lead. She couldn't repress the moan that escaped her or the grimace as her inflamed flesh protested the jarring feel of her legs pressing together. “Wear jeans next time, okay?” he said though his tone wasn't condescending or even remotely unkind.

 

She nodded vaguely, letting her temple fall against his shoulder. “My hero,” she murmured, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to him.

 

His answer was a long sigh, but he didn't complain as he headed back toward the house once more.

 

 

~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~ =~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~*~=~

A/N:

 

Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back belongs to George Lucas, et al.

 

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Final Thought from Jillian:

Doing … stuff … to himself …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Shameless): 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~