InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Slip of the Tongue ❯ Retinue ( Chapter 5 )

Author's Note: Wow. So this is longer. And crazy beyond your wildest imaginings. BUT, well, I like it. And it's AU, so I can do whatever the fuck I want.

 

…

 

Within reason.

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

 

I'm lying. Screw reason.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five - Achilles' Heel

Anyone who says gratuitous sex isn't a substitute for gratuitous violence obviously hasn't had enough gratuitous sex.

— Geoff Spear

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were both good days and bad days.

 

Kagome couldn't tell the difference anymore.

 

Miroku looked at the ground briefly, Kagome standing behind him in the doorway to her ruined kitchen, then slowly turned around to face her. She watched as he clasped his hands in front of him and met her gaze, an easy smile gracing his features, “For once, Kagome-san, I can assure you, this was not my fault. Really. Shippo, my old friend, will back me up. It was his complete and accidental doing, wasn't it?” He looked at Shippo, calm in the knowledge that he actually didn't do anything this time. Really!

 

Shippo nodded sagely, “Miroku started it by throwing all your good plates on the ground in a fit of sexual frustration.”

 

Miroku's eyes slid shut. Ah. That was the flaw in my plan I couldn't put my finger on. Kitsune are notorious liars.

 

Kagome looked at both of them, not really seeing them. Maybe it wasn't that she couldn't tell the difference between good days and bad days, maybe it was just that she'd had so many bad days in a row she didn't remember what it felt like to have a really truly good, happy day. Her brows furrowed. When was the last time nothing went wrong? Hm… Shippo and Miroku glanced at each other nervously, then looked back at her. She was obviously in a state of intense concentration, her brows furrowed with what they were positive were her plans to kill them. Probably painfully. Her face shifted a bit into angry thoughtfulness and Miroku was sure, she was going to torture them and then painfully kill them.

 

The holy pervert's head bowed, I can only hope her form of torture includes sexual persecution. Mmm, sex. With whips. And chains. Maybe some kind of mask? Oh! And feathers! OH! And—

 

“You two should start cleaning this now. If it isn't done by tomorrow morning I'm going to call the police and inform them that you both are growing illegal plants in your home.”

 

Shippo grinned, “But I live in America.” He said snootily.

 

Kagome's eyebrow rose, “Yeah, but right now you're in Japan, and even if they do eventually figure out where you really live, both Miroku and I will say you live in his house. And I know his house is a guaranteed jail-sentence.”

 

Shippo looked at Miroku pleadingly, “You wouldn't—?”

 

“What do you think I would do, Shippo?” Miroku's smile was serene and kind.

 

“Okay! Okay! I'll start cleaning right away! Just please don't put my freedom in the hands of this monster!” He was already rifling under the sink for disinfectant and a dustpan, trying not to hyperventilate. Kagome and Miroku shared a look of twisted amusement before she glared at him and he joined Shippo under the sink dejectedly. Kagome almost twirled around to leave but thought better of it and sat primly on a clean corner of counter, watching them silently. They continued about their jobs, sour expressions apparent, both wary of the corner that presently held the evil green blob spawned by some flaw in Shippo's magic. Finally, Miroku remembered why she had left the apartment to their evil deeds in the first place.

 

“How did your appointment with Ikeda go?”

 

Kagome's gaze slid to him, fury not quite directed at him roiling behind the transparent screen of her eyes. Miroku jumped a little in his skin and bent back down to sweeping the gleaming shards of a glass that wasn't actually a glass anymore, wishing he hadn't asked that question, that was a bad question to ask. Shippo glanced up briefly, snickered silently, then continued to wipe at a stain on the—fixed—fridge door that just wouldn't go the fuck away. Kagome opened her mouth, a tirade forming itself in seconds, “How did it go? How did it go? It went like I knew it was going to! It almost killed me! I was so angry the entire time that I could barely breath! That guy—he, he…he sucks!” Shippo winced at her shrill voice and caught Miroku's eye with a glare. Your fault, he projected mentally, sneering. See what you did? “I felt sorry for him a little, tiny bit and then BAM! He just threw it back in my face like an asshole! No, not “like” an asshole, `cause he is an asshole. There are no redeeming qualities to him. None. Like, you know how you can know someone who is usually in a foul mood but they'll secretly be nice or say something caring or save a bird with a broken wing and that'll make you like them? I'll tell you something—Ikeda has definitely never saved a bird with a bad wing. In fact, he probably broke the poor bird's wing!”

 

Miroku was confused. What bird?

 

Shippo looked over at the green monster he'd accidentally created with a pompous glare. You. You die now.

 

Kagome jumped off the counter onto her now clean floor, her hands flapping. Both men skillfully blocked her out, stuck in different worlds. Miroku was fantasizing about the European maid he was going to hire when he got home. He was going to give her a uniform, and he was going to call her “Kitten”. Shippo, trash bag clasped firmly, attacked the sludge monster, his train of thought a steady stream of curses. Kagome continued, aware that they weren't listening, just happy to be bad-mouthing the demon that was presently her vilest of enemies. Slowly, she wound down, her anger blowing away sluggishly like thick smoke. Breathing a little heavily, she sat on the cool ground, pressing her palms to the floor.

 

A small piece of glass sliced neatly into her skin, making itself a home in her palm. She winced and lifted her already bleeding hand, pouting. “Someone didn't get all the glass,” she muttered.

 

Miroku sighed, “Kagome, I'm sure that I did, I worked extra hard.” His head turned to her, and his eyes widened when he saw blood lazily trailing down her arm. “Kagome! Are you okay?”

 

“Like I said, jerk, someone didn't get all the glass. You're lucky I didn't sit on it.”

 

Both Miroku and Shippo clambered around her at the same time, expressing similar signs of concern and asking unnecessary questions. Kagome rolled her eyes, “I'm fine, thanks. Just move so I can clean this damn cut.”

 

An hour later—kitchen clean, Kagome bandaged—they all sat on the couch. The TV was off, but they didn't care much. Shippo had his head on Kagome's shoulder, his lower lip pushed out in a childish pout, “That thing tried to eat me.”

 

Miroku scratched his neck and thought about rolling his eyes, “You made it.”

 

Shippo's pout deepened, his nose crinkling, “I don't want to think about that nasty green thing coming out of anything having to do with me.”

 

“Oh, shut up. It isn't like you gave birth to it.” Kagome was still in a bad mood. She needed a hot bath and a good cup of tea. But her palm itched and she didn't want to move yet, so she stayed in her seat with the smell of cleaning chemicals rammed up her senses.

 

The only real way to preoccupy herself was to be thinking about random things she wouldn't be thinking about any other time of the day. For instance—why do I always do things other people want me to do? Why don't I ever do things for myself? And…when was the first time I didn't fight back? She shut her eyes and thought back to her earliest memories, trying to sharpen the hazy edges that surrounded all of her childhood recollections. There was one of my earliest Christmas', Souta was a couple years old, demanding and angry all the time. I opened something from Mama, a doll. Souta saw it and grabbed it from me. Claimed it. I didn't take it back. Didn't fight. She opened her eyes. That was the constant pattern in her life, it seemed. She didn't start fighting for anything until…

 

Miroku stretched next to her, looking at the remote, trying to decide if it was worth the movement to grab it. Until I followed Miroku all the way to America because I was afraid that if I went to college by myself I'd fail. And even now, even with years of being obnoxious and demanding ruling how she dealt with people, she still felt miserable about everything. What is it, exactly, that I should be fighting for? Shippo stood up next to her, and Kagome realized belatedly that he and Miroku had been slinging backhanded compliments to each other the past few minutes. She grinned in spite of herself. Yay!

 

“That's it! I'm leaving!” Shippo declared, stomping towards the door, barely remembering to grab his shoes. Miroku watched him. Counted the seconds he was gone. Tried not to giggle gleefully. Shippo popped back in. “Well, I would be making a dramatic exit if you weren't my ride, Miroku. Don't think I wouldn't!”

 

Miroku made a sound of agreement, “I know you would, Shippo. Goodbye until next time, Kagome-chan. It was a pleasure to see your shining—”

 

“Return that pair of underwear you have in your back pocket and leave. Please lock the door, too. I hate it when you don't.”

 

Already halfway out the door, Miroku sighed in defeat and reached back to place the specified panties on the table opposite her umbrella stand, restraining himself from muttering childishly about how he'd earned those, dammit! Kagome watched him, head on the back of the couch, hair a tangled river a few inches from brushing the floor. The sound of the door closing made her close her eyes tiredly.

 

Suddenly a weight was in her lap and she lifted her head to find the kitten Daisuke had given her kneading her thigh. Kagome smiled. Taro mewled then settled in her lap, purring.

 

She blinked.

 

Where was Taro yesterday?

 

She blinked again, confused, fingers scratching behind his ears absently. A smell got her attention suddenly and she looked over at the corner where the tall box she'd placed him in sat. There was an angry hole in the corner, claw and teeth marks decorating the sides. Kagome smacked herself firmly in the head—once, twice, three times.

 

No wonder I'm unmarried. I can't even take care of a cat.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru slammed the door of his apartment closed, dropped everything, and glided over to his bedroom, barely keeping himself from stomping around in a circle and yelling endlessly about the stupidity of everyone that wasn't him in some backwards form of an Indian fire-dance. He'd been clenching his teeth for a while now. His jaw was sore. His headache was back. He suspected his headache hadn't ever really gone away, actually. He stared at his bed for a few brief moments, clenching and unclenching his fists, I believe that there is a vacuum somewhere no one has been, and it is constantly running, constantly sucking the coherent thoughts out of everyone who isn't aware of this vacuum. Maybe it's a black hole. Or two rivers that circle around and around constantly, creating a sucking affect.

 

He stopped thinking, folded himself calmly on the edge of his mattress, evaluating that last bit of mindlessness he'd allowed to slink to the front of his mind.

 

There is something profoundly wrong with me. He placed his hands on his knees in a slow, measured move. It must be age. He glared aimlessly, eyes unfocused. No. It must be because I haven't had a decent conversation in… What? 100? 200 years? Too long. I need a good argument. Or a massacre. I believe massacres are illegal now, though, so I'll have to settle for an argument. Who will argue with me? He considered Inuyasha, then did his impression of a disgusted wince—a mere tightening of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. Myouga wouldn't argue with him. Neither would anyone at his work. The landlord? Maybe. But he was stupid. Not just rude or loud, he was pure stupid. So… Higurashi. Hm. It was five in the evening right now. It was relatively safe to assume she was in her apartment. Really? Am I really so frustrated right now I'm going to seek out this mortal girl and verbally abuse her just to calm myself down?

 

The door closed behind him with a satisfied click.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone was knocking on her door. James was about to tell his best friend of a few years that he was in love with him and someone was knocking on her door!

 

“Dammit!” She stood, still trying to watch the TV, and shuffled over. She wrenched it open, now out of sight of the show, and glared at—

 

Mrs. Yamamoto?

 

Whoa. Where am I? Kagome thought, staring dumbly. The older woman looked back at her, apparently on the verge of some kind of emotional outburst. “May I come in?” She asked in a tight voice, hands wrapped around her small purse like she was trying to strangle it. Kagome nodded, stepped aside, lamented, How come everyone knows where I live? Why are they giving this information out? Can I sue? The Yamamoto woman looked around primly, face drawn taut over delicate bones. “I have only one thing to say.”

 

Kagome was still standing next to the open door, watching the sad or angry or disgusted woman cautiously.

 

Mrs. Yamamoto whipped around, “And that is—Sesshomaru?”

 

Kagome blinked. “Um. Okay. It was nice talking to you.” Crazy, obsessive adulteress. Begone! A throat cleared itself from the hall and Kagome looked over her shoulder. Ikeda stood in the open entrance, looking the tiniest hints confused. Kagome was stuck between the two of them. “Holy crap. Did you guys plan this? Are you going to kill me? `Cause I'll scream! I will!”

 

Sesshomaru focused on Kagome, “I am not associated with her. I am here of my own accord.”

 

“What is your accord?” Kagome asked, facing him, crossing her arms and almost forgetting the woman behind her.

 

Ikeda smirked, “I'd be happy to show you why I am here. Sadly, we are not alone.” He knew that would sound like a barely veiled suggestion. He wanted it to sound like that. A dastardly, evil plan was brewing in his mind. He was seconds away from rubbing his hands together in devious glee.

 

The married woman made herself known by positioning herself between them, facing Kagome. “He is why I am here! Stay away from him! You—you—hussy!” Kagome reeled back a little. What? “Homewrecker!”

 

Kagome choked violently, “You're the married one! I'm—he's—you're…DAMMIT. Everyone needs to get out of my apartment! Right now!” Sesshomaru stepped around both of them to stand behind and a little to the right of Kagome, kicking his shoes off like he lived there.

 

“Ayumi,” he began, addressing Yamamoto's wife, “Kagome cannot stay away from me. You, however, will.”

 

Ayumi snarled and Kagome was almost relieved to have finally figured out her first name, except she was too busy being confused and angry to be relieved. “Why can't she stay away from you, Sesshomaru? Hm? Have you been seeing her?”

 

Kagome wound herself up for a good, long, hysterical bout of laughter, but it died painfully in her throat in the form of a half-cough half-screech when Ikeda murmured, “Of course.”

 

“Have not!” Kagome yelled, gripping her doorknob painfully in her injured hand. She was a little hysterical. This new world she'd entered somewhere between her television show and answering the door was baffling and crazy and really, really frightening. Miroku slipped me something. I don't know how, but he did. And now I'm having the worst hallucination ever. Except its actually a really, really good hallucination because I almost think its real. Everyone looks so lifelike. Ayumi made a sobbing sound.

 

“You're lying!” She yelled, looking between Kagome and the demon that was going to have lots of sex with her, he didn't have a fucking choice!

 

Sesshomaru nodded, “Yes. I am. Goodbye.” He pulled Kagome's hand off the door, pushed Ayumi back gently, then shut and locked it. For a few minutes they heard Mrs. Yamamoto crying and yelling unintelligibly and then she was gone. They were both quiet.

 

Kagome smacked herself soundly across the face.

 

…

 

“OW!”

 

Slowly, she turned around.

 

Ikeda was watching her, not nearly far enough away, amused. Kagome decided that, from then on, she was going to say everything that came to her mind. Starting with: “I'm high. Or crazy. No, both. This is a hallucination. Except whatever Miroku slipped me wasn't morphine-based, because that really, really hurt.” Her face was a little red, she could feel it. But, more than that, Sesshomaru was a little smug. (She could feel it.) “I hate you.”

 

Sesshomaru nodded, “Fair enough.”

 

But seriously, “Why are you here? And how come you aren't gone?”

 

“Originally, I was came down here to—” Wow. It would sound really bad if he just told her the only reason he was here was to verbally spar since he had no other form of therapy. So what could he say? “—I was on my way home when I overheard that woman asking which apartment you were located in. I figured the only reason she would be confronting you would be because of me, so I followed her, figuring this might help in my ultimate goal to be left in peace (and unmolested by a woman not of my own choosing).” There. A good lie. How about a mental pat on the back, old chap?

 

Kagome's eyes narrowed, “You are a very, very selfish hallucination, and I'm ready to come down now.” She knew she wasn't actually under any sort of influence, but that non-reality was much easier to slip into than this oppressive, insane reality that seemed to be infecting everyone she knew like some kind of influenza. Because Sesshomaru isn't really here with me in my apartment for no reason other then that annoying woman who thinks she owns him. Also, SHE called ME a homewrecker! If anyone is the homewrecker it's…Ikeda? Hm. For some reason her brain took that as a cue to throw her into a quick little daydream where Ayumi was the unhappily married CEO and Sesshomaru was her needy secretary bent on seducing her. Eyes glassy, Kagome watched her inner theater's production of The Little Secretary Who Could, starring a business-suit clad Mrs. Yamamoto and Sesshomaru, dressed in an obscenely short skirt. It got as far as him bending down to pick up his accidentally dropped papers before Kagome refused to lend her brain anymore oxygen. Until further notice, her brain was Under Construction.

 

Because she was pretty sure her soul was bleeding and infected from that visual.

 

Sesshomaru watched her silently. She'd been staring at him for the past couple minutes, though he knew she wasn't aware of it. He took a small step forward as she slowly drew herself out of whatever twisted thought she'd been entertaining. Kagome's eyes cleared. When she was back in the unreal world, she wished she were daydreaming again. Ikeda was almost touching her. Was I walking just now? She thought, panicky. Was I moving towards him? How long have I been staring? Oh no! I've caught it! I've caught the insanity! I'm schizo and bi-polar and borderline!

 

“I know how easy it must be for you to imagine this one naked, but could you refrain until I've left the room?”

 

Kagome growled, “The only reason I'd be picturing you naked would be because—” Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcr “—because I was trying to divest myself of my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Hah!

 

“Unparalleled amounts of sexual desire make you sick?”

 

He didn't even miss a freakin' beat. “No, unparalleled amounts of arrogance and density make me sick,” she shot back, pushing past him to plant herself on the couch angrily. Taro was sitting on the coffee table, licking himself without bothering to acknowledge anything else. For a twisted moment Kagome wished she could devote that kind of concentration to licking herself, but a half-second after that thought assaulted her she'd gone back to denying her brain oxygen and hanging Under Construction signs up.

 

“But you don't deny I am unmatched in sexuality?” Ikeda murmured, trailing after her gracefully, settling on the opposite side of the couch with a regal air that wasn't supposed to be possible when all you're doing is sitting down. Kagome looked at him, glared, then turned her head away, nose in the air. She hated his voice the most. He was never loud, never riled, never putting much into what he was saying. But everything came out in this almost-quiet purr, wrapped in velvet, dipped in yes please. His voice was deep and collected and nice, and she hated it.

 

Hated him.

 

Jerk.

 

“Stop talking. I need to catch up. Right before you and your hussy (she called me a hussy! ME!) showed up uninvited James was going to confess his love. It was going to be so sweet and romantic but now I have no clue what's going on!”

 

Sesshomaru looked over at her, amused, then glanced at his watch. “It is over in 3 minutes.”

 

Kagome threw her hands up, “Quiet!”

 

The credits started rolling.

 

Kagome buried her face in her legs, arms wrapped around her knees. She never knew the ending to anything she wanted to. It was probably a really unpredictable ending, too!

 

“You are aware that Ayumi is not my hussy,” Sesshomaru said suddenly while reaching for the remote sitting next to the cat on the table. The cat hissed at him. He scowled. His hand had almost touched the remote when the animal swatted at him, claws extended. His scowl deepened. It hissed again. He bared a fang. It raised a small paw threateningly. His own clawed hand twitched.

 

Kagome giggled.

 

He looked over at her, sitting back, remote in hand. “Cats are useless, lazy creatures.”

 

Her head tilted, “Obviously he's not useless if he attempted to claw you. He's a good judge of character.”

 

Sesshomaru switched through the channels, not paying attention, “It is a stupid creature.”

 

“Is not! And stop calling him a creature! And give me my remote!” She reached for it, but he batted her hand away without any form of effort. He was…amused. Worried about what Ayumi would pull next—he could sense this wasn't done, wouldn't be for a while—but he was mostly amused. Not angry, not thinking about imaginary intelligence-sucking vacuums, not performing some kind of backward Native American dance of fury, just…amused. Scary. Kagome reached for the remote again and he repeated his earlier action, smirking a little at her sound of anger. “Hey! You don't live here, and you definitely haven't earned any TV privileges! Do something useful or leave.”

 

“What happened to your hand?”

 

Kagome looked down at the bandage around her left palm, at the small rust-colored spots where she'd started to bleed through, “I accidentally cut myself on some glass. My two friends made a huge mess in the kitchen when I was out on that meeting of hell with you and they didn't quite get all the broken pieces.”

 

Sesshomaru snorted, ignoring the hell reference, “Did you make them clean it up?”

 

She gave him a look that clearly said `Duh', “Of course I made their lazy butts' clean it up…though Shippo some how managed to create this weird green goo-monster that tried to eat him. I thought it was funny until it made one of my towels disappear. Then I was angry.”

 

“How did you dispose of it?”

 

Her head bowed, “Um, well, we tried smacking it but that only broke it into smaller pieces, so we…um…flushed it down the toilet.”

 

He glared. “You realize everyone's sewage system is connected?”

 

She nodded.

 

“So if it happens to come back up it will be your fault.”

 

Kagome met his eyes sheepishly, “Maybe, if it does come back up, we'll get ridiculously lucky and it'll attack the Yamamoto couple?” Her voice trailed off with false enthusiasm, and Sesshomaru's eyebrow rose. “Oh come on, you wouldn't be sad to hear that they'd been painlessly eaten by a sludge monster from the toilet! It would kinda be like those alligators that come up from the swamps into Louisiana toilets except more magical!”

 

“Magical.”

 

“Yeah, since Shippo's kitsune magic spawned it. Magically.” He'd stopped channel surfing a while ago, his attention on her, and Kagome jumped a little when she looked at the television to see cable porn playing out soundlessly. “Eek!” She covered her eyes.

 

Sesshomaru blinked and looked at the TV. Heh. Oops. He turned the channel to some news station, “You act as though you've never seen sex before, Higurashi.”

 

She glared at him, “Excuse me for having some modesty you big man-whore!” Watching porn with Ikeda is not on my life's to-do list. He looked at her, his lips turned upwards slightly, his brows raised. Not on my to-do list, yet. Maybe soon. If I can figure out how to give him a personality transplant. Oh. That would be neat. Then he'd be beautiful and charming! A deadly mix. But he'd also be devoted to her. Oh! And she'd make him be able to cook and clean. And do her work. And pay bills. And he'd wear an apron. Just an apron. A white one. With a chef's hat. Mmm.

 

She was staring at him with that vacant expression again. He didn't know what to think. So he decided to travel the smart-ass road, a well-worn road with scenic views and a rewarding end. “Once again, you're picturing me naked. Did I not ask that you wait until I was out of the room?” This time, instead of firing back with her own sarcasm, she blinked then blushed a dark hue, facing forwards so fast her hair flew about her head. Sesshomaru could feel his ego swelling. He hadn't actually thought she was picturing him naked, but clearly she was. Or at least vaguely inappropriately. His eyes narrowed in triumph. “Ah. I see that you find this Sesshomaru irresistible. I suppose that, since you are clearly incapable of lucid thoughts while I am around, I could indulge you in a meaningless bout of passion.”

 

She smacked him in the arm as hard as she could. “How dare you!” He blinked. That had stung a little. “Get out!” He hadn't actually meant it. “Out!” Kagome smacked him again. It hurt the cut on her hand, but that wasn't important.

 

Sesshomaru sighed and grabbed the hand that was assaulting him. “I was merely trying to rile you, Higurashi. Stop over-reacting. Though I am aware it is your forte.”

 

She pulled her hand back, rubbed it, and sunk further into the couch. “Yeah, well, you riled me. Happy? Now leave. I want to sulk alone.” Kagome turned to him, pouting, not really angry at all. She would've said the same thing if someone had been staring at her. And picturing aprons and chefs hats.

 

She was blushing again. Fuck.

 

Ikeda shifted towards her comfortably, still looking regal and—and—

 

He was too big for her apartment, Kagome realized suddenly. He had too much limb to be folded up on her couch, to be shoved into her one-room one-bathroom one-woman home. He seemed to take up that entire side of her living room, looking at her with that detached mix of ease he had masked over whatever it was he might or might not be feeling. She shrank a little against the couch's armrest, drew her eyes down his legs once, then back to his face, calculating. Thinking back to the first night she'd actually met him, after the dreaded elevator incident (still need to burn those clothes), when he'd been standing in her kitchen, making his demands. She wondered suddenly if he'd ever not demanded anything.

 

Kagome doubted it.

 

All his life it had probably been do this, do that, don't follow me, don't eat like that, show more respect, stop that, follow, correctly!

 

“—and clearly you haven't heard a thing I just said.”

 

She jumped a little. “Sorry! I was, um, having a really great daydream where you weren't here.” You just told the worst lie ever. Wipe the drool off that accumulated while you were staring at his mouth and walk into your room and never come out.

 

Sesshomaru faced the television and made the impression he was stretching languidly without actually doing so. “That is the third time tonight. I believe you should do your best not to look at me anymore. I know it will be a heart-breaking loss in aesthetic pleasure, but your brain might actually form a—”

 

“How old are you?” She asked suddenly, surprising herself even more than him.

 

His brow creased. “What?”

 

“Er, nothing, nevermind.” She looked down at her hands, twiddling her thumbs. Where had that come from? How did her brain jump from sex to age? Well, there was a slight connection, but… I need to not be here right now. No. He needs to not be here. Actually, I think we should both just leave. He can go prance around doing whatever it is he does at night while I go out and find myself something incredibly distracting. Like funnel cake. Funnel cake would distract me right now.

 

Sesshomaru had to admit, he was a tiny bit scared to be in a room alone with this obviously unstable woman. Yes, she barely came up to his shoulders, but didn't mental problems sometimes give people super-strength? Should he be worried? He evaluated her from the corner of his eye, she wouldn't really pose too much of a threat to him, but she could be dangerous if he was caught off-guard. Hm.

 

Meanwhile, Kagome's thoughts had drifted from funnel cake to a random song, and she was on the verge of bobbing her head to the beat when she suddenly snapped out of it. “Tell me, how long has Ayumi been after your penis?”

 

Sesshomaru snorted, eyes wide. Kagome smirked, because that was his form of shock and maybe disgust. How she knew that was anyone's guess. “Two months. More or less…”

 

“That's pathetic. I wonder why you. I mean, I can think of better people to devote two months of sexual dissatisfaction to,” Kagome muttered the last part, eyebrows drawn down. Someone like, erm, uh…some guy. Don't ask who, don't ask who, don't ask—

 

“Who?” He asked airily.

 

Shit! “You know, I could list a lot of guys I know, but it wouldn't matter because you don't know any of them.” Drop-it-drop-it-drop-it.

 

“I'm sure.” They both turned to the TV, watching as some haughty weather girl gave them the forecast. Sesshomaru noted indifferently that he knew her. He wasn't quite sure, but he was pretty positive he'd seen her naked. She screeched a lot. Unless I'm mixing her up with someone else. Another anchor made some sad joke—clearly trying to be funny and not succeeding—and the demoness tittered coldly. Ah. Kagura. Now that bitch was scary.

 

Kagome, noticing his attention was unfocused, smirked.

 

Then lunged.

 

Her hand wrapped around the remote, victory was in sight! She pulled her weight back, trying to get away, but Sesshomaru merely tightened his hold again with those infuriating demon reflexes of his and she was left crouching over his lap, tugging at the remote with no results. Sesshomaru sniffed, So no super-strength. Good. Kagome stopped pulling for a moment, looked at him—he was close, like, `I can see your human pores and they're gross' close—and blushed. Then glared. “May I please have my remote now?” Sesshomaru considered it for a moment, looking at her, then decided No.

 

His other hand began prying her fingers off the remote, but she grabbed it with her free hand. He scowled slightly and pulled the remote further away from her. Kagome simply followed, her desire to rule her remote overriding her embarrassment about how she was basically sitting in his lap. Nope. Don't care. It's like Miroku's lap—uninteresting and basically just a walking penis. Her eyes widened in panic, face melting into horror, ACK! Bad comparison! Can't breathe! Sesshomaru watched her, wondering what twisted thought had plastered that hysterical look on her. He wrenched the remote away quickly while she was distracted. Pitching forward, Kagome managed a high-pitched “Eep!” before landing face-down onto the demon. Sesshomaru looked at her, her head pressed into his left thigh, and thought about all the things he should not be entertaining thoughts about right now. Things like, if I shifted a little to the side, her head would be…, and other stuff like, she never did say `no' to that bout of meaningless passion.

 

Kagome hadn't ever felt so suicidal. She calculated how long it would take her to run into the kitchen and grab a knife or create a long enough rope out of dishtowels and decided too long. Then she thought about the bathroom, but that would require running a bath and that would take even longer. Dilemmas, dilemmas.

 

Sesshomaru smirked at her hair. She wasn't moving except for the fingers of her right hand (also on his thigh) which were tapping lightly (on his thigh). He didn't say anything, simply looked at his left hand, holding the remote. This is your fault, he accused his left hand, trying not to chuckle. Good job. What would he do without that hand?

 

Shippo flew in through Kagome's door, Sango behind him, Miroku behind her. “Kagome, we've come back to say we're really sorry and—HOLY CRAP.”

 

Sesshomaru looked at them over his shoulder, indifferent, and Kagome's head popped up out of his lap, her eyes wide. “It isn't—!”

 

Sango looked between the two of them, speechless. Shippo had his eyes covered and he was trying not to whimper. Miroku was—

 

Giving them two thumbs-up and doing a happy dance in his head.

 

Sesshomaru smirked at the monk. Kagome jumped away from Sesshomaru, tumbled over the opposite arm of the couch, and shot up onto her feet, “Okay! Everyone needs to understand that what you just saw wasn't—”

 

“Moral?!” Sango interrupted angrily. “Decent?! Ethical!” Her voice continued to get louder and louder, “You could've at least locked your door!”

 

Kagome, forgetting she wasn't actually trying to do anything freaky with Ikeda, immediately got defensive, “Hey! I'm a grown woman in my OWN apartment! I shouldn't be forced to lock it! You guys should STOP barging in unannounced!” Wait a minute… “Why are you even angry?”

 

Sango sputtered for a second, “Because I don't even know this guy! I'm your best friend, how come I haven't heard about any conquests? What else don't I know?”

 

Shippo was still pretending he was back at Miroku's place playing World Of Warcraft on his computer. Miroku contemplated arguing with Sango that he was Kagome's best friend but knew it would be futile and, ultimately, reckless. So instead he did a little bit more dancing in his head.

 

“Its just Ikeda, Sango. And I wasn't—!”

 

“IKEDA! The demon you supposedly despise? What? When did this happen?”

 

Kagome rubbed her forehead, eyes shut. “It didn't happen. Wasn't happening. Is not ever going to happen. See, what was going on—”

 

“I really don't want you to explain what was about to happen,” Sango said, hands waving in front of her like she was trying to block some vicious animal.

 

Kagome, exasperated, turned to Sesshomaru. “Will you please explain to them what I was doing?”

 

Sesshomaru nodded, looking at the television, “Certainly. Higurashi was in my lap.”

 

Kagome's brain tried to eat her face. You suck! See what happens when you leave your bed in the morning? No more waking up! Ever! “No! I—”

 

Miroku took a couple steps forward, pretending to be concerned and serene, “Now dearest, I do believe we should listen to what Kagome has to say.” He looked at Kagome sagaciously, hands clasped together, “Please inform us as to what actions you two were partaking in before we so rudely barged in. And don't be afraid to be frank. And give details. Details will help us get more in touch with—” A magazine hit his cheek “—That did not warrant a paper-cut.” He rubbed his face, sulking, and slid behind Sango.

 

Kagome had a headache. A headache that was continuing to get worse. Sango was still glaring aimlessly, Miroku was still sulking, Shippo was still somewhere else! I'm not here! La la la la, I'm killing virtual things right now! and Sesshomaru was somewhere between Cartoonnetwork and The Discovery Channel. Finally, after a couple seconds of rubbing at her temples to try and ward off the pain building, she sighed and sat down on her side of the couch. “What are we watching?” She asked listlessly.

 

Sesshomaru set the remote down next to her and didn't say anything.

 

Kagome looked at it.

 

She got up to grab a knife from the kitchen, mentally deciphering which would be best for stabbing herself through the heart.

 

She managed to get as far as the other end of the couch before tripping over Sesshomaru's foot.

 

Miroku, Sango, and Shippo looked at each other, then Miroku decided it was time to show the world his Kagome Got Booty dance. He got to the part where he placed his hand on Sango's ass in an artistic, graceful way before she hit him hard enough to make him reel back a few steps. Shippo, at this point, decided screw it and walked out the door to go sit in Miroku's car until everyone was done tripping on acid or heroin or some kind of food that had gone rotten. Sango glared at Miroku, declared loudly that Kagome was going to tell her everything tomorrow and wasn't going to leave a damn fuckin' thing out! before trailing behind Shippo. Miroku, vision a little blurry from all the pain he'd been dealt in the past few minutes, tried to follow them. He ran into that table next to Kagome's door and remembered, “We brought you chocolate and those movies you and Sango-dearest never watched, but they should prove to be rather helpful aphrodisiacs—not that you two need aphrodisiacs [leer]—and am I to assume that the fact that you haven't yet put away those panties I grabbed earlier mean that I can—?”

 

“OUT!”

 

They were alone again.

 

Kagome was still on the ground where she'd tripped, her face pressed against the carpet, her foot still laying over Ikeda's as evidence. The little bastard was out to get her. Her foot, not Ikeda. Wait, no, Ikeda too. On a positive note her headache was clearing. On a significantly less positive note—

 

“Are you going to stay down there?”

 

Ikeda.

 

“Yes. I am. Why? Because I can. Because this is my apartment and I can lay wherever I want. Which reminds me, when I said `out' I meant you too, you big, nasty, unhelpful whore. OUT!”

 

Sesshomaru merely put the foot Kagome had tripped over on his knee, turning up the volume on the television. He didn't even know what was happening in the show, all he knew was that this was fun. Were he any less of a man, he'd be thinking, Wee! Pain and suffering and sexual fantasies! This is better than Christmas! But he wasn't thinking that, because he wasn't less of a man.

 

Kagome rolled over onto her back. What time is it? Am I dead yet? Taro crawled over her face. Sesshomaru looked down at her then away, “While you're up get me a glass of water.”

 

Kagome sat up—slowly, deliberately—hair mussed, eyes narrowed, snarling. “Ice or no ice?”

 

“Ice.”

 

She stood and stomped into the kitchen, muttering. Sesshomaru watched her then glared down at the cat that had placed itself next to his side of the couch. Taro looked up at him, flicked his tail, then sauntered away. Sesshomaru got the distinct impression it was mocking him. Kagome returned just then, full glass of ice water in her hand. She paused in front of him then smiled pleasantly.

 

Sesshomaru was immediately on edge.

 

Slowly she held the glass out then tipped all the contents directly onto his crotch.

 

Sesshomaru blinked, suddenly feeling a chill, then looked back up at her. “You realize that not only have you managed to potentially ruin this cushion of your couch, but now I will be forced to let my pants dry before I can leave.”

 

Kagome's fake pleasant demeanor melted. “Nu-uh! You can leave now! Just go back to whatever floor you live on!” Her voice had a slight hysterical edge to it and she was gripping the glass with both hands, contemplating running back to the kitchen and grabbing a towel, then throwing the demon in front of her into the TV while she dabbed at the wet spot she'd caused. Somehow it didn't seem like full-proof plan. None of my plans ever are, she groused in her head.

 

Ikeda smirked.

 

He wasn't going to leave until his pants were dry. There was no way he was going to let someone see him with a big wet spot on his slacks. Sure, they were black, but he was Sesshomaru. And he was cold now. So he stood up (had Kagome been in a minutely better mood the sound the ice cubes made as they hit the floor would've made her giggle), towering over Kagome as she still hadn't moved an inch, and brushed past her. Kagome wavered at the full-body contact then looked down at where he had been sitting. That was going to take days to dry. At the sound of a door closing she looked up to realize Sesshomaru was in her bathroom, which was attached to her bedroom. And he was taking off his pants, because they were wet.

 

Ikeda is in my apartment. Half-naked.

 

Kagome's head grew light and she figured she was probably about to faint or something of the like. Fainting wouldn't help anything, though. So instead she closed her eyes and tried to stay upright while the feeling passed. After it was gone, she set the glass down on the table behind her, then grabbed the cushion and walked into the kitchen. She didn't really know what she was doing.

 

Her thoughts were scattered and flitting from subject to subject faster than she could keep up, but she realized something suddenly.

 

There were both good days and bad days.

 

And Kagome couldn't tell the difference.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sesshomaru: Had this gone as I wanted it to, we'd be naked.

 

Kagome: You're already not wearing any pants! God. You're never happy.

 

Sesshomaru: You want to make me happy? Get naked.

 

Miroku: …So…wait. Did Kagome actually succeed in giving Sesshomaru-sama the personality transplant? Because he sounds like me. I was just thinking that exact thing!

 

Daisuke: Has everyone forgotten about ME? I need to get laid!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm not going to lie (again). I was thinking about just making them jump each other's bones. But, uh…I got distracted. Thankfully, I don't know that I'll be able to escape them sexing next chapter. I should be thankful about that, correct? Am I being too quick in assuming you want them to screw ASAP?