InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 6: Shameless ❯ The Mists of Morning ( Chapter 20 )

~*~*~*~*~*~Lime warning~*~*~*~*~*~

 

There is no clean version of this chapter. You've been warned.

 

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~~Chapter 20~~

~The Mists of Morning~

 

 

 

`Cain . . .'

 

`Cain? Oh, come on. You can do better than Cain . . .'

 

Wincing at the taunting tone of his youkai's voice, Gavin tried to concentrate on something—anything—that could take his mind off his current predicament.

 

The proverbial cold shower hadn't worked. Thinking about entirely un-sexy things hadn't worked. Even trying to meditate hadn't worked. Working out complex mathematical algorithms hadn't worked. Playing The Empire Strikes Back in his head hadn't worked, either. Now was Ground Zero: crunch time, and Gavin . . . well, he was getting desperate.

 

The painful ache deep inside was kept alive and kicking by the incessant memories of that one lingering kiss coupled with the warmth of Jillian's entirely too-close body crushed against his. Gavin hadn't slept at all, and worse, it was nearly dawn, and she tended to wake early . . . If she woke up and realized that near frenzied state he was in, there was simply no telling what she would do, especially after he'd given in to the urge to kiss her.

 

Shifting in her sleep, her upper thigh brushed against him, and he squeezed his eyes closed tight. `Oh . . . God . . .' He moaned softly, unable to stave back the sound. He was so hard he hurt, literally. `God, God, God, God, God . . .'

 

`Evan in makeup . . . God, he makes a damn ugly woman . . . Why he's let Madison put makeup on him, I'll never know, and Jillian . . .'

 

That didn't do it. Gavin tried again.

 

`Bas . . . Bas Zelig . . . Huge . . . tall . . . always scowling . . . intimidation, at its best, and he'd kill me if Jillian and I . . .'

 

He groaned. Trying to concentrate on the male members of the Zelig family wasn't working . . . They all invariably led back to thoughts of Jillian.

 

`Then again, her grandfather is InuYasha . . . and he really would kill me, I think . . . without batting an eye . . .'

 

He almost whined. These kinds of mind games normally worked to distract him. Over the years, he'd become a master of distraction techniques. He sighed. There was no sense in gilding the lily here. He'd also become a master of the masturbation technique . . . It was damn near impossible to sleep with a woman like Jillian Zelig every night and not be forced to practice both on a regular basis. She was too alluring for her own damn good, as far as Gavin was concerned. `Damn it . . .'

 

`Umm . . . Mom and Dad having sex . . . something I wish I'd never actually seen . . .'

 

His mind locked onto the word, `sex', and Gavin sighed. Jillian's hand slipped around his neck and into his hair—he never bothered to catch it back in a ponytail at night—and her fingers grazed the nape of his neck, sending shivers racing up and down his spine. Her touch shot through him straight to his groin, forcing out the harsh whine that he'd been fighting to contain.

 

`I . . . I have to get out of here . . .' he thought in a dazed sort of way. `I . . . shit . . .'

 

Carefully untangling Jillian's hand, he managed to extricate himself from her without disturbing her sleep. The first gray fingers of pallid daylight were filtering across the sky as he grimaced, groping for his jeans. Stifling another low groan as he jerked the pants on and fastened them, he winced again. The chafing material was entirely too constricting, doubling the pain in his groin, and worse: escalating the scalding ache into a near-dizzying throb that ripped through him with every step he took as he headed out of the room.

 

He couldn't stand it. He simply couldn't stand it. Staggering along the hallway and down the stairs, he paused for a moment, leaning against the wall for support. Drawing ragged breaths, he grabbed the front of his tee-shirt with a shaking hand.

 

`You know, Gavvie, you're forgetting one key thing . . .'

 

Pushing himself away from the wall, he stumbled down the stairs and through the living room toward the back doors. `What?' he growled.

 

`Given the circumstances, do you really think Jillian would turn you away?'

 

And that, in Gavin's estimation, didn't even deserve an answer. Groaning softly, he shoved the sliding glass door open and slipped outside. As true as it might have been, there wasn't any way he could really do that. He shouldn't have given in to the impulse to kiss her, damn it. He'd burn in everlasting hell before he'd even consider marching back into the house and taking advantage of Jillian Zelig.

 

`I think . . . I might . . . die,' he gasped as he lurched across the patio and down the steps. Breaking into a lunging gait, he headed for the forest, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder to make sure Jillian wasn't following him. `Running . . . running's good . . .' he told himself, flinching as the ache in his body reached a painful crescendo.

 

It didn't take long for him to realize that running wasn't actually helping in the least. If anything, it was making things worse. All the rubbing and the rhythmic cadence of his steps was simulating movement, and it didn't take long for him to realize that any kind of motion was just plain bad. `God,' he thought as he dropped to a staggering walk, trudging onward with no real destination in mind. `Oh, hell . . .'

 

He'd been lying in that bed all night with her scent wrapped around him, with her hands on him, with her body snuggled against him. It was simply too much for him to endure. After kissing her and feeling her easy acquiescence, it was just too much to think that he'd be able to rid himself of thoughts of her, of memories of the touch of her lips, of the way her body molded to his . . .

 

It was just too much—so much more than he could possibly endure without going mad. He couldn't take it—just couldn't. Jillian was impossible to ignore . . .

 

Stumbling out of the forest and into the open beside the pond, Gavin blinked and licked his lips. A fine sheen of perspiration had broken out on his skin, and the water looked awfully inviting. Ignoring the voice in his head that told him that the water was bound to be colder than he'd bargained for, Gavin stripped off his tee-shirt and fought with the button on his jeans as he kept moving toward the shore.

 

A sudden image of Jillian, floating on her back in the same pond assailed him, and he stopped cold. Bathed in the hateful light of the nearly full moon, she'd been, and he'd seen a little too much of her body, hadn't he? The soft rise of her breasts . . . the flushed peaks of her nipples . . . the gentle curve of her hips protruding above the rippling current . . . the moonlight had reflected off the surface of the water only to catch in glimmering sparkles of moisture in the tangled curls between her legs, and he hadn't realized fast enough that he shouldn't have been watching her . . .

 

The memories tumbled over him, one right after another. He'd seen her so often over the years . . . In the beginning, she'd been able to talk him into skinny dipping with her. It hadn't seemed like such a big deal at the time. They were just pups back then, and it hadn't ever occurred to Gavin that he ought not to be swimming naked with the tai-youkai's daughter . . .

 

The thing was, Jillian had grown and changed over the course of time, and while he'd grown a little, it was nothing in comparison to the changes in her body. Granted, he'd been warned at the start of his fourth year of training with Cain Zelig that he'd better keep his hands off Jillian if he knew what was good for him—ridiculous, in his opinion, since he might have been thirteen at the time, but Jillian was not quite eight . . . Cain told him later that he thought it best to start instilling the fear of God at a young age. Well, he'd succeeded in doing that, Gavin supposed, and now, staring at the pond, he just couldn't bring himself to get into the water, either . . .

 

“Damn it,” he muttered, turning away from the pond and heaving a long-suffering sigh. Maybe he could get a cold shower at home—not that it had worked in the night, because he'd tried that, too. `It's the boner from hell, and I think it's going to kill me . . .'

 

Nope, nothing had worked, and therein laid the problem. Somehow kissing Jillian had unleashed a torrent of uncontrollable hormones that were wreaking havoc on his system, and he had a feeling that it was the culmination of the last twenty years and every sexual frustration he'd ever experienced was manifesting itself now and in the worst way possible. If something didn't give soon, he'd be dead by noon. Either he'd die of the unendurable ache in his groin or he'd die of sheer humiliation when someone—and with his luck, it'd be Jillian—caught him with the full-on woody he just couldn't seem to get rid of. Wondering absently if his parents still carried life insurance on him, he staggered back toward the forest . . .

 

`You know, Gavin, there's one thing you could do . . .' his youkai pointed out with a heavy sigh.

 

Grimacing—he had a good idea just where his youkai was heading with this one—Gavin kept moving, smashing his hand against his throbbing penis in an effort to keep movement to a minimum. `No.'

 

`Yeah, well, you're running out of time, and you're running out of options. Jilli gets up early, remember? You know she'll come looking for you if you're gone when she wakes up.'

 

He stopped short. Yes, he knew that, too.

 

Gritting his teeth, he shot a fevered glance around the forest. For one dizzying moment, he thought he smelled Jillian, but he couldn't see her. `Just my imagination,' he told himself as he dropped his tee-shirt and fumbled with his jeans. Pushing the fly of his pants open wide, he pulled himself free from the confines of his underpants, gasping loudly as his hand closed around the thickness of him. “G-God,” he rasped out, eyes squeezing closed as his head fell back. Mouth slack, breathing harsh, he couldn't fight the waves of sensation that rolled over him as he stroked himself with twitching motions.

 

He felt the warmth of Jillian's body press against his back moments before her arms slipped around his waist, her hands gently pushing his aside as she gripped his penis firmly. “J-Jilli . . . n-n-no,” he grunted as his hands fell away. Her touch was like a bolt of lightning slamming straight through his body as he slipped. She caught him, braced him, uttering words that made no sense as she gently stroked him.

 

It was more than he could stand. The tingling in his balls tightened; constricted as he jerked involuntarily in her hands. A flash of fire erupted in his mind as he gritted his teeth, bit out a fierce groan. His orgasm came hard and fast as Jillian's hands pumped him. A ragged cry, a guttural moan, and she let go of him as he stumbled back, landing hard on his ass before flopping flat on his back, his breathing harsh and ragged—completely at odds with the morning song of the birds . . .

 

Eyes flashing wide open, he struggled to sit up only to fall back once again when something entirely too hot, too wet, too nice wrapped around his penis. “N-n-no . . .” he managed to hiss before his body jerked of its own volition. Jillian was straddling his legs with her mouth clamped down on him, her hand wrapped around the base of him while her other hand carefully massaged his balls. “Oh . . . God . . .”

 

He wanted to tell her to stop, but he couldn't. Her jerky motions were clumsy at best, her teeth scraping over him in an entirely unsettling almost painful way. He gasped and bucked his hips in an effort to diffuse the unbearable tension in his body. She seemed to understand, though, and he groaned loudly when she rolled her lips to cover her teeth. Stroking the length of him with her tongue, she sighed as she increased the speed of her actions.

 

Forcing his eyes open, he couldn't help but look at her. Breasts heaving against the flimsy fabric of the faded old tee-shirt, she had her eyes closed with a rosy blush staining her cheeks. They caved in as she sucked him harder, and he fell back with a loud moan. The sensations coursing through him bordered on painful, and he shivered as the cooler air of the early morning hit the hot moisture on his body.

 

It was too much for him to contain. The rapid tightening in his balls . . . the thickening of his penis . . . he could feel it all in one dizzying moment, and with a ragged cry, he pushed himself off the ground, shoving Jillian aside as he rolled onto his hands and knees, body trembling as every muscle in his being contracted, as his orgasm spilled on the decaying leaves on the forest floor.

 

He stayed that way for several minutes as he fought to get his breathing back under control; as he fought to get his mind back under control. Finally heaving himself backward, he let his head fall back as he sat on his knees, his body rioting insanely. He felt Jillian's hands on his cheeks seconds before her lips covered his. With a soft groan, he wrapped his arms around her, shifting slightly to the side before lowering her onto the ground.

 

Traversing the threadbare fabric of her nightshirt, he uttered a low growl as he slipped his hands under the hem. The taut flesh of her belly jerked under his perusal. Her knees fell apart, and he slid over her, his lips seeking out the soft hollow in her throat where her pulse fluttered precariously; the wings of a butterfly . . .

 

Silken skin combusted under his touch, scalding hot as she whimpered. His hands closed over her breasts, and with a sharp gasp, she arched up to meet him. She was perfect to him; absolutely perfect. Her soft entreaties beckoned him, and he slipped down, pressing wet kisses against the conflagrant flesh of her belly. She trembled under him, her body quaking as she keened softly; as she kneaded the muscles on his shoulders. Turning his head long enough to spit out a mouthful of his hair that had fallen in the way, he grimaced at the unwelcome intrusion of an entirely too-familiar voice calling his name somewhere in the distance.

 

“Gavin! Gavin! Where the hell are you?”

 

“Fucking Hank,” Gavin snarled, jerking his hands away from Jillian and rolling off her.

 

She looked completely dazed, and she blinked a few times as a decidedly pouty moue turned her swollen lips in a frown. “Wha . . .?”

 

Reaching out with a shaking hand, Gavin quickly tugged Jillian's shirt down. “Hank,” he stated again as he hurriedly tried to correct his jeans.

 

“Hank . . .? Why are we talking about Hank?” she demanded.

 

“Ga-a-a-a-avi-i-i-in . . .” Hank called out again. His voice was coming closer.

 

Snatching up his abandoned shirt, Gavin thrust it under Jillian's nose as she slowly got to her unsteady feet. “Put this on . . . it'll cover more than that,” he grumbled, cheeks pinking as he realized that she really hadn't bothered to grab a robe or anything. The shirt she wore barely reached her belly button, and while he was used to seeing Jillian in her panties and that God-forsaken shirt, he'd be double damned if he'd let Hank see the same.

 

She didn't argue with him, tugging the shirt over her head. She barely had time to straighten the hem when he grabbed her hand to hustle her away from the spot before Hank arrived and the ribbing that Gavin knew would be forthcoming commenced.

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

“Have another sandwich.”

 

Gavin grunted but took the sandwich Jillian offered him. “Oh, wow . . . another peanut butter and marshmallow fluff . . .”

 

She giggled. “They're your favorites, right?”

 

“Well . . . no . . .” he admitted with a grimace.

 

Jillian blinked. “They're not?”

 

His lopsided, apologetic grin was completely endearing, and she couldn't help smiling as she watched the breeze ruffle his hair. “Uh, no . . .”

 

“But you always said they were!” she protested though her tone lacked any real irritation.

 

“That's because you always looked so proud of yourself when you made these things,” he admitted, staring at the sandwich in his limp hand.

 

“And you've eaten them for years without complaining?”

 

He blushed. “Something like that.”

 

She laughed. Sitting on a blanket in the shade of a row of fir trees, they'd stopped beside a small stream for lunch. The soft nicker of the horse tethered to a stout tree branch nearby mingled with the trickle of the water, and Jillian sighed happily. The feeling that she was going to burst if she didn't share her contentment swelled, and without stopping to think about it, she leaned forward and kissed him.

 

“Wh-what was that for?” he mumbled, cheeks reddening a little more.

 

“For being you,” she said simply enough.

 

He shook his head but grinned sheepishly. “Yeah?”

 

She nodded, digging a half-frozen bottle of water out of the insulated knapsack and handing it to him before retrieving one for herself, too. “Yes,” she insisted with an impish smile. “I'm glad you agreed to bring me out here or I might have had to do something drastic.”

 

“Drastic?”

 

“Yes, drastic.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like kidnap you.”

 

He chuckled. “Really.”

 

She nodded again, scooting closer and resting her temple on his shoulder. For one brief moment, she'd thought he meant to shut her out again. They'd returned to the house, somehow managing to elude Hank. She hadn't questioned the idea that Gavin would want to retreat, and it hadn't surprised her that he'd strode straight through the house and into the bathroom to wash off any lingering scents that might give him away. She understood that, she supposed. Gavin tended to be a little too shy for his own good sometimes, and the last thing he wanted or needed was the unmerciful teasing that the ranch foreman would doubtless supply.

 

When she woke up and found him gone, she'd worried. Gavin wasn't a morning person, and it was a common thing for her to act as his alarm clock when they were in New York City, to the point that she'd make sure she called to rouse him out of bed whenever she was on location, and it never failed to amuse her that her dear, sweet Gavvie could be an absolute bear in the mornings when he was forced out of bed before he was ready. Stumbling out of bed and glancing out the window, she'd seen him disappearing into the trees, and for some reason, she was compelled to follow him.

 

She hadn't understood just why he seemed so panicked. Keeping a cautious distance since it was obvious to her that he was trying to hide something from her, she'd been stunned to see what had caused his turmoil. When he'd freed himself and started stroking, she'd come forward. In her mind, it had seemed like the most natural thing on earth to do. Slipping her arms around his waist, she leaned against his back, closing her eyes as she gently pushed his hands away and helped him with his dilemma.

 

She'd loved the way his body had reacted to her. Every straining muscle rippled, undulated under his skin. Driven by the need to touch him, it seemed, and touch him, she had . . . She'd ended up so frazzled by his hands on her, by the unrestrained passion in his kisses that she hadn't heard Hank calling out to them at all.

 

After his shower, Jillian had asked him to take her on a horseback ride and picnic. He'd looked completely unsure of himself, and he'd stammered something about having to check the eastern pasture. He must have seen the upset in her expression—she'd tried to hide it from him—and in the end, he shot her an uncertain little smile and told her that it should only take an hour or so to ride out and have a look around.

 

So she'd packed up a nice little lunch of fluffer-nutter sandwiches and potato chips, and then she'd waited patiently for Gavin's return.

 

He'd blushed and stammered when she insisted on riding on his horse with him. He'd been firing off reasons why she'd be better off on her own horse when Hank, rolling his eyes and chuckling softly, strolled over to grasp Jillian around the waist and lift her up onto Gavin's lap where she'd cuddled against him for the better part of the morning until he'd suggested that they stop for lunch . . .

 

He did want her, didn't he? He'd never have let her do those things with him if he didn't. She'd almost given up, and that thought made her grimace. Wild hope surged inside her, coupled with the joy that she could barely keep inside. `Maybe . . . maybe he's ready to admit it . . .'

 

“Jilli . . .”

 

The rapid clanging of an instant alarm bell rang in her head as his smile faded and his gaze fell away. Dropping the sandwich onto the plastic baggy she'd packed the food into earlier in the day, he cleared his throat and licked his lips as he scowled at the blanket.

 

“Yes?” she forced herself to ask, hoping that she didn't sound as reluctant as she felt inside.

 

He grimaced, sitting up and draping his forearm over his raised knee. “I-I don't know how this works,” he admitted quietly.

 

“How what works?”

 

He shrugged. “Any of this . . . it's just . . .” He winced. “I-I-I . . . I have to know . . .”

 

“Know what?” she asked, unable to make sense of his claims.

 

He swallowed hard and shook his head, but he slipped his arm around her waist. “Why'd you leave me?”

 

His question was so soft that she almost missed it. Craning her neck to look up at him, Jillian's eyes met his and lingered. “I never left you,” she began slowly.

 

“You did,” he countered quietly. “Just before Christmas my last year of college . . .”

 

She stiffened and tried pulled away from him. He'd never asked her that before, and to be honest it was something that Jillian didn't like to think about. “Gavin . . .”

 

He held onto her, his arm tightening around her waist just enough to keep her beside him. “I . . . I have to know, Jilli.” Grimacing, he licked his lips and caught her chin, forcing her to meet his stare. “Please.”

 

The confusion in his expression was enough to tear at her heart. Still the pain that the memory of that time was entirely too fresh, too sharp, and she felt her gaze slip away. To talk about all of that . . . could she? “But . . .” she whispered, her voice cracking, breaking as the word came out a little squeak. “You know why.”

 

“Maybe,” he said, flinching as he let his hand fall away from her face. “That's the thing, Jillian. I . . . I need to hear you say it.”

 

“Is it really that important?” she whispered, abruptly scooping up the remnants of their lunch and packing it away again.

 

“I think it is,” he replied.

 

Heaving a sigh, she bit her lip, fighting back the rising tears that threatened to choke her. “I . . .”

 

“Please,” he urged again, his voice raw.

 

She lifted her hand to her mouth, casting Gavin a sidelong glance.

 

He was staring at the stream with an unfathomable expression in his eyes. If she'd ever seen him look quite so sad, she didn't remember it. Wincing as she let her hand drop away from her face, she sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as she willed away the pain the memories always inspired. Why would he make her tell him? What kind of purpose would it really serve?” Stifling a little sob that rose in her throat, she drew an unsteady breath and nodded. “Okay,” she forced herself to say—anything to dispel that haunted look in his eyes . . .

 

`Anything for Gavvie . . .' she told herself . . . even if it meant breaking Jillian's heart all over again . . .

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromGavin:

I ... have to hear her say it …

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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~