InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity Redux: Metempsychosis ❯ Butterflies ( Chapter 46 )

'Jessa!  Lass!  It's time to come inside . . .'

Head snapping up as she impatiently shoved her hair out of her face, she narrowed her eyes, held her hand up to shield the setting sun.  Across the distance of the summer grass, the whitewashed fence that ran the length of the estate, she saw him standing on a low hill, and she waved before she ducked low against the horse's neck and murmured in his ear.  "C'mon, Derry!  Go!"

The horse broke into a gallop as she tugged the reins to bring him around.  She almost reached him when he suddenly disappeared . . .

The world went black as she fell abruptly, landing on her hands and knees in the pervasive dark.  Suddenly, though, light erupted all around her—a circle of torches, and she was in the center . . .

Pushing herself to her feet, she looked around. Where she stood, it was still pitch black.  "Da . . .?" she called, spinning around, hair flying wildly as she looked for him, searched for him . . .

"Da!" she yelled as the flames burnt out, as the wispy smoke rose high in the air, as the whispers and murmurs surrounded her.  "Da!"

And she ran.  She ran, and she ran, calling out to her father, alone in the darkness—the hateful, cold darkness.  Footfalls echoing all around her, confusing her as she kept moving, running straight or moving in circles, she didn't know, didn't care.  She couldn't find him, couldn't find her father, and the farther she ran, the more distant his voice grew . . .

Skidding to a stop as a brilliant beam of light cut through the darkness, she gasped when she saw him, standing.  He smiled broadly, his red hair, like hers, sticking up, all akimbo, and he held his arms out to her.  Her eyes widened slowly as the hazy figure stepped up behind him—a being, all dressed in black, in flowing robes, a dark hood, his eyes peering out from the recesses as pinpoints of chill light.  "Da!" she shrieked, but the sound of her voice was lost.

The creature reached toward him, finger outstretched, flecks of decaying skin, falling away as the awful stench surrounded her, engulfing her mind, addling her, and all the while, her father smiled . . .

Time seemed to slow as the being touched him, hand on her father's shoulder, bony fingers, digging in deep.  She watched in horror as her father's face shifted from one of happiness to an expression of abject terror: dark eyes, widening as his eyebrows lifted, lips contorting from a smile to a horrified 'oh' . . . His cheeks stretched as his jaw dropped open, as his eyes bulged wider, wider, wider . . .

The being reached toward her again, his hands grasping nothing, closing around fistfuls of air as Jessa sank to the ground, as she dug her hands into her hair, yanking hard, as her soundless screams echoed in the confines of her own head, unable to look away as her father's body seemed to contort, to swell, and then, in a fissure of light, of flame, he exploded, smacking into her hard with the force of a gale wind, as the laughing figure that was behind him started to glide forward, coming after her . . .

"Jessa!"

With a smothered gasp, her eyes flew open, flashing wildly around the darkened room.  The sheer panic that surged through her was enough to wring a high-pitched whimper from her as she struggled against the firm grasp on her arms—not tight enough to hurt her, but enough to send her panic, spiraling higher and higher, out of her control . . .  "No!" she screeched, slapping, clawing at the creature before it could try to kill her, too.  "No!"

"Jes-sa!"

It was the sound of Ashur’s voice that stilled her, the concern in his gaze that she saw, moments before she crashed against him, as a gut-wrenching sob escaped her.  The painful remnants of the nightmare slowly, mercifully, faded, and she squeezed her eyes closed as tightly as she could, hung onto him as tightly as she could, afraid that if she loosened her grip, that creature would re-emerge from the shadows of the room, would touch her with his decaying hand . . .

Ashur sighed, wrapped his arms around her, held her close as he patted her back, as he murmured things that she didn't understand.  His heart was hammering hard against his ribcage, as though she'd frightened him, and maybe she had.  All she knew was that, as close as she was, it wasn't nearly close enough.  The feel of his arms was superficial, barely breaking through the façade of her bone-deep upset, and as hard as he tried to comfort her, it wasn't enough, either . . .

Leaning away, she rose on her knees, smashed her lips against his, uttering a stunted breath as the tears continued to stream down her cheeks.  He caught her with one arm, wrapped around her snugly, holding her tightly against his chest, his other hand cupping her cheek, wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb, returning her kiss with a fervor of his own.  Her hands grazed over his skin, lingering briefly in the slight indentation where he'd taken the hit from the bison-youkai a few days ago, her fingertips lightly tracing over it in gentle circles a few times before she dropped her hands lower, claws dragging over his bare flesh, savoring the feel of him as the nearly overwhelming need to be a part of him shot through her . . . Lips clinging to his, slipping away only at the last moment as her head fell back, as his mouth dropped to her throat, nuzzling against the throbbing pulse, stoking a fire that had reignited just under her skin, she slipped her hands up into his hair, holding his head as he savored her.

He let go of her, let her fall into his lap.  She gasped, moaned, rocked her pelvis against the length of him, both loving and despising the thin silk panties that blocked him as she used her body in a pulsating caress.  He pushed her tee-shirt up, over her sides, along her ribs as she whimpered, lifted her arms, allowing him to tug the shirt up over her head and toss it on the floor as he captured the peak of one puckered nipple in the heat of his mouth.  She groaned, pushing herself up on her knees, inviting him to take more—to take all of her.  The liquid fire that coursed through her, burning under her touch, a gentle incineration of will and propriety, leaving behind the insular need that goaded her, that frothed and roiled through her body . . .

She reached down to touch him again, to grasp him through the barrier of his pants.  He growled low, pushed her hand away gently, albeit firmly. "I'm too close . . . If you touch me . . ." he murmured, heaving a deep sigh as he set her away from him, long enough for him to roll off the bed, to kick off his pants.  Biting back the desire to rise up, to reach for him again, Jessa lay back, her hair falling over her in a soft tangle of loose curls as she tossed her panties aside, discarded with the rest of the unnecessary clothes, and when he looked up, he groaned, pausing just long enough to grab a condom out of his nightstand before he fell on her, rolling to the side, grasping a handful of her hair. "I love this," he said, lifting her hair to his lips, rubbing it against his cheek as she stared, mesmerized.  His voice a little harsh, a little rasping, underlined by the uneven breaths that stuttered and sighed like the sweetest sounds in her ears.  Hands shaking, chest heaving, the crazy-mad glow in his gaze . . .

Letting her hair fall through his fingers, he caught the end of one thick lock, staring her in the eyes as he slowly shifted his fingertips—his thumb against his index and middle fingers—splaying the hair between them, staring at her in a fierce sort of way as he very deliberately took the lock of hair and flicked the ends over her nipple.  She gasped, her body reacting with a will of its own, combusting in a million different directions all at once, the burn deep inside her, exploding into a fissure of heat and light, and she reached out to grab him, to pull him down to kiss her.  He caught her hands and frowned at her, slammed them down over her head, the force of it absorbed by the pillows beneath her despite the incendiary shock that rattled straight through her.  When she tried to tug them loose, he uttered a short growl, then grabbed a good-sized lock of her hair and looped it around her wrists.

"Ashur!" she complained, trying to pull her hands free.  It was impossible, held as they were in the prison of her hair, and when she tugged a little harder, she winced as her hair held tight between her wrists and her scalp.

He looked positively exultant as he eased her hair out from under her, as he took his time, trailing it down her body, back up again, over and over, butterfly kisses in the dark . . . He very deliberately allowed the silken curls to glide over her hardened nipples, ignoring her whines, her whimpers, her keening, and chuckling softly when she shivered, when her body jerked involuntarily, willing him to stop, to continue, to end the perpetual madness that culminated in a throb, an ache that was deeper than bone, as a near painful resonance built, layer upon layer, one breath at a time . . .

Over and over, he dragged her hair over her body, everywhere that he would have touched with his hands, he touched with her hair, instead.  The need deep within her grew hotter, fiercer, and there was still no end in sight despite her whimpers, her protests.  "P-Please," she gasped, unable to articulate much more.  Every last nerve in her body was on high alert; every last one, coiled, ready, and all of it culminated in the precarious tension, as every last cell in her waited, wanted, needed, yearned . . .

"Spread your legs, Jessa," he commanded softly.

It took a minute for her brain to understand his demand, and then a moment longer for her to comply.  She felt the bed move slightly as he repositioned himself.  Forcing her heavy-lidded eyes open, she stared in mute fascination as he nudged her legs apart, as he knelt between them, slowly lifting his gaze, though he didn't move his head, staring deep into her eyes as he took the ends of her hair in one hand, dragged them down over her in a deliciously slow, maddeningly soft, whisper of silken strands and unbroken will, as he opened her with his free hand . . .

With a hoarse cry, she jerked, convulsing as he continued his relentless assault.  Her body shook, splintered, the nerves firing off, one by one, with every flick of her own hair.  The methodical cadence both goaded her and set her free, but never completely unfettering her.  Teetering so precariously, right on that edge between fantasy and reality, he held her, suspended, with deft articulations, with a maddening calm that both infuriated and captivated her by turns.  Ever so close, but not close enough, balancing on the cusp between heaven and complete oblivion . . . He slipped his hand under her, lifted her up, buried his tongue deep within her as he flipped the very tips of her hair over her—against that tiny flicker of skin—again and again and again.

There were no words, no cohesive thought, just a series of explosions, triggered so deep down inside her.  The heat of his mouth was relentless as he lapped at her over and over, satisfaction, and yet, the painful emptiness that only he could fill . . . Jessa couldn't tell where one orgasm ended and the next one began, but suddenly, the achingly sweet feel of him sliding into her so deeply, so welcome, and it brought her senses to the breaking point.

He kissed her hard, his tongue invading the recesses of her mouth, capturing her moans, her stuttered breaths, she tasted herself on him, on his lips.  Something in her brain seemed to crack, a primal instinct unleashed, and she locked her ankles around him, using her body to rise against him, only to be pummeled back down against the mattress.  The blur of pleasure spiraled higher, stronger, teetering on the very cusp of the ultimate fall.  Raking his fangs against her throat, his own punctuated breathing, mingling with hers, she felt the tightening in his body, the thickening of his cock, the bone-deep spasms of his own release.  He grunted, moaned, gnashed out a loud groan as he exploded deep inside her, as he twitched and jerked and throbbed.

And his last hard stroke pushed her over the edge, into the blackened void of pleasure—sensation so strong that it ripped his name from her lips as she called out to him time and again, lost on the surge of fulfillment so vast, so deep, as she gave herself to him . . .

He wasn't sure what woke him up just as the first watery, grey rays of light filtered through the windows on the far side of the room.  He supposed that it could have been the first trills of the morning birds or the slight rise in the breeze that carried with it, the promise of rain.  It could have easily been number of things, really . . .

He stared to drift back to sleep once more, enjoying the feel of Jessa, her aura, so very close.

And then, the foot fell, and he grunted, eyes flashing wide open.  'Kells . . .?'

Glancing down, he blinked, unsure if he dared to trust what his eyes told him.  Sure enough, it was Kells, who had ferreted his way in between Ashur and Jessa, which would ordinarily be fine, wouldn't it?  Except . . .

'Why is he . . . naked . . .?'

Yep, he realized with a dazed sort of grimace.  The boy was entirely naked—and entirely sleeping, too—and Ashur sighed, using his foot to pull the duvet up far enough that he could catch it with his fingertips, tugging it up over them all.  On the one hand, he could pick the boy up and put him back in bed—after he wrangled him back into his pajamas.  Then again, he was still half-asleep, and, given the impromptu wakeup call he'd had in the middle of the night, it wasn't that surprising.  Besides, Kells was just a young child, and he figured that it had more to do with the idea of being the same as Daddy and Jessa than it did anything else, and he relented, closing his eyes for a minute, hoping that he could drift back off.

Ten minutes later, he gave up with a shake of his head as he propped himself up on his elbow, breaking into a small grin as he stared at the two others, sleeping in his bed.

'How the hell can she sleep through that?'

Ashur sighed and carefully shifted, trying not to jar Jessa and Kells too much.  She was sleeping very peacefully if the light snoring meant anything at all, her arm safely wrapped around Kells, and he chuckled to himself.  'It's not that bad,' he thought.  'I've heard worse . . .'

'Bad enough, you know.  And you do realize, don't you, that you're going to have to put up with it for a long, long time, right?'

His smile didn't fade as he gently stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles.  'I think I could live with that, too . . .'

As if in response to his thoughts, she rolled toward him just a little, face smashed against the pillow, and he chuckled again at the distortions as he lifted a handful of her hair to his lips, breathed in the smell of her that clung to the long strands . . .

That hair spilled out around her like a fiery cloud, the tangle of loose curls seeming to extend in every conceivable direction.  There was just something about it that he couldn't quite get enough of, something about it that drove him damn near crazy when he stopped and considered it.  Maybe it was just hair, but he really couldn't remember anyone who affected him in quite the way that she did, not even the brunette he'd met in Madrid once years ago.  He'd seen her across the bar, and there was just something about her . . .

She didn't know Japanese or English very well, and he didn't know much Spanish.  It hadn't mattered at the time as she'd dragged him to her room and kept him up the rest of the night . . .

That woman was as skilled as they came, he'd realized, and yet, as noteworthy as that night had been in his head, it paled in comparison to the times spent with Jessa, didn't it?  With her innocent wonder, her sense of curiosity, with a spirit that hadn't realized that maybe she ought to restrain herself, there was something entirely unsettling about her—something that drove him insane, made him forget himself, forced him to the very edge of his control . . .

'Give Jessa another . . . ten years.  Then you'd better watch the hell out because the second that girl realizes the power she has over you?  You're done.  Done like dinner, done—done.'

And yet, that idea?  It didn't bother him in the least, either . . .

'And Kells . . . He loves her, doesn't he?'

'Of course, he does . . . Why wouldn’t he?'

Turning his head to peer over his shoulder at the clock on his nightstand, he sighed.  It was a little after six, which meant he needed to get the child up and moving for the day.

Gently shaking the boy's shoulder, Ashur held his fingers to his lips before he started jabbering.  Then he scooted off the bed and picked him up to head into the bathroom for their morning shower.

"Daddy!  You smell like Jessa!" Kells said when Ashur shut the door and set him on his feet.

"Do I?"

Kells nodded rather happily as he hopped up and down, trying to reach the control panel.  "I wanna smell like Jessa, too!"

Ashur chuckled and tapped the panel.  "Well, I'm not sure that's possible, but . . . Tell me something.  You don't mind that Jessa was in bed with me today, did you?"

The boy cast him a cursory glance and quickly shook his head.  "You were naked, so I got naked, too!  Daddy!  Why doesn't Jessa have a penis?"

Heaving a sigh as he wondered if Kells would forget what he'd just asked if he ignored him, Ashur motioned for Kells to get in the shower.

"I like being naked," Kells went on.  "I can scratch my butt!"

"Better mind your claws if you do that," Ashur reminded him, dousing his hair under the warm flow.  "Scratch too hard, and you'll be sorry . . ."

Kells laughed, slapping his shampoo-covered hands onto his head and scrubbing vigorously.  "Does Jessa have a penis inside?"

"Inside?"

Kells nodded, bright blue eyes gazing up at him in an eerily frank kind of way as bubbles dripped down his cheeks, his tiny nose.  "Yeah, an' it pops out when she has to pee!"

"Uh . . . N-Not all the . . . the time . . ."

'Did you really just say that?  To your son?'

'. . . I panicked.  Shut up!'

"Just some of the time?"

Ashur sighed and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as the visual of that idea occurred to him. It was both highly disturbing, yet somehow, entirely hilarious, too, and he cleared his throat.  "Kells, Jessa is a girl.  Since she's a girl and not a boy like you, she doesn't have a penis.  She has breasts and . . ." He grimaced.  "No . . . penis . . ."

He pondered that for a moment.  Ashur was pretty sure he already knew what was coming next.  "So, how does she go pee?"

"Girls don't need a penis to go pee," he told Kells, wishing that this conversation would die sooner rather than later.  "They pee, just not in the same way that boys do. That's all."

He could see the wheels turning in the boy's head, and he sighed again.  "They have to sit down to pee.  It comes out of their bodies in a different way."

"But how do you know if they're going pee or poop?"

Ashur snorted, squeezing a good amount of baby body wash onto Kells' washcloth and handing it over.  "All right, Kells, we've talked enough about that.   That's just how it works, and you're not supposed to be in the bathroom when anyone else is peeing or pooping except for yourself, so your question is entirely irrelevant."

Kells shrugged as he washed the front of his body and started to set the cloth aside.

"Your back, and your butt, Kells," Ashur reminded him.

The boy giggled but did as he was told before handing the cloth to Ashur to reach the parts of his back that he couldn’t.  "Can I sleep naked every night, Daddy?"

"No," Ashur replied.  "Not if you're going to keep crawling in bed with me."

"I have to wear my jammies to bed wif you?"

Ashur shrugged, shutting off the water and shaking some of the moisture out of his hair.  "Or just stay in your room."

Kells watched his father, and then, he shook himself, too.  He wasn't nearly as effective as Ashur, but that was all right.  Then he grabbed his towel and wrapped up in it, waddling around like a very small Yoda while Ashur got a pair of underpants out of the closet for him.

Kells giggled and scrubbed at his damp head with a dry towel after shimmying his way into his underpants.  "Jessa's beautiful, huh, Daddy?"

Ashur finally smiled as he lifted Kells up and sat him on the sink to brush out his hair.  "She is," he agreed.

"An' she's family, right, Daddy?"

"Y-Yeah . . . Yeah, she is . . ."

"Ms. Tanner said family is the people we love, and we love Jessa."

"We . . . We do," Ashur agreed quietly, realizing that what he'd said was absolutely true . . . When had that happened . . .?  He didn't know, but he didn't think to question it further, either.  "Now, go get dressed," he went on, opening the door as he tucked the end of a towel around his waist.

Kells giggled like a small megalomaniac and took off out of the bathroom.