InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Tea Flower ❯ Moon Cake ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Fuyumiko 
The scent of tea is intoxicating. [KaguraxKikyo]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.21.2004 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Completed
The scent of tea is intoxicating. [KaguraxKikyo]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Angst | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 10.21.2004 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.4K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Completed
A/N: Another One-shot KaguraxKikyo; though I admit this one is a tad bit more romantic in a… (Dare I say?) ‘Fluffy’ way then I would have hoped.
Please enjoy.
Disclaimer: InuYasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi and all of its (blah, blah) respectful owners. Any similar events in this fanfiction were not intended.
Warning: This fic contains a lot of sexual activity (not lemon material, but still) between two females (Yuri ^.^). If you are uncomfortable and find things (etc) like this lack of taste, please feel free to leave.
Tea Flower
October ?-21, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
The wind; it sung of the unbidden grace that flowed through her veins. The unheard music that rang in her ears, over and over singing- a dark tune of her forbidden desire. Made her dance the dance of her worship. It was her way of being free. Being the wind.
‘I am the wind,’ How many times had she thought this? A sweet mantra of a truth and lie. Her heart sung it. And so did the wind.
Moving with the fluid grace of every wind, she flew.
She danced.
The dark crimson of her new kimono decked with the embroidery of midnight blue feathers, moved with her like liquid. A wave. The silk felt cool and smooth against her skin.
“Like her flesh would,” Kagura thought selfishly.
Her footsteps were light; she was a twirling figure of flight. Each step she took at the entrance of the abandoned shrine she had recently taken to for thought and refuge; precise and fast.
How she loved to dance.
The thrill of moving to your own music.
She loved that melody.
The melody of her soul’s hope.
Of her true freedom.
She closed her fan sharply, the snap echoing through the cold dark woods like the bark of a fox.
Sly and clever.
Arrogant.
The lady wind would do as she pleased.
*
‘Why?’
The only word that resounded in Kikyo’s mind. She was confused, the myriad of emotions that flowed through her…she felt alive again. That time when InuYasha first held her, looked at her with that same longing that she felt.
The loneliness leaving and coming again.
Just to witness it. Something so sacred so private. So wonderfully beautiful.
Kikyo was quiet. Crouched silently with her aura masked, she watched from behind the dark tree’s bark. The meaningful moves, the poem with no words. A woven melody of hope and justice. Sweet freedom.
Freedom that she had.
And what the other did not.
While she Kikyo had gained her freedom with her death and revival some had yet to do the same.
She was a wandering being; high above her head a quarter moon shown. The taunting sliver of precaution and sight, a wavering essence of light. Kikyo shuddered, for the wind was cold.
‘Cold and unyielding,’ she thought berating herself ‘for am I not so?’
And she was so.
Her eyes were bedazzled, the eternal flame of curiosity, dancing naked in her mind’s eye. How the forest sung around her, whispering the Lady Moon’s sins.
‘As my own,’ she thought sorrowfully, her hand touched the place were her beating fragile mortal heart had been. Longing filled her, as did her cruel remorse. She pushed back her secret thoughts.
The grass allowed the crickets to sing, the fox to hunt; the nocturnal beasts keeping to themselves. Lost in the nonexistent premises of her private ritual, the deadly witch told of wishful thinking in her moves.
Kikyo was still enthralled, who was she to see such beauty? Long ago, when she had been young and a miko still in-training; a fair skinned, midnight haired fellow miko had held up a delicate white flower.
Dressed in holy robes of a different Priest’s shrine, the young lass had saw her with innocent naïve eyes, that would only burn with rage and steel hate for her as the years passed.
*
‘Do you know what this is?’ Tsbaki had a clear lovely voice, pure and stainless of little hardship. Her holy powers were indeed to be great. Kikyo felt her aura rise to Tsbaki, with their powers mending in a feigned alliance, they had had a small short childhood friendship.
That day, under the obsolete ray of afternoon sun, before the priests would call for them again, Tsbaki was kind to her. Allowing the younger miko to place the small white flower in her hand, Kikyo’s mouth gaped in a tiny ‘o’. Both were only about nine winters old and had much to learn.
“It is you, baka,” Tsbaki had said fondly, teaching the elder always gave a form of sweet prideful relish in her actions.
“Me?” she had remember herself say, the memory of such a feeble weak voice still echoing in her head; a voice not even InuYasha had heard.
Tsbaki had only nodded, in the sunlight with the fresh smells of spring burying her, consuming her; all in this small field of multiple flowers. It was truly a great feeling to be alive.
And she was allowed to smile.
*
All that feeling, for such a small moment in her life. She was wary of this world, but craved for its security. ‘Security of what? My fate? My deprivation of what I once wanted?’
Perhaps. That was a word she would use often in her life- or per say this death.
A death only she should had.
The spider web did not catch her eye.
*
There was a faint glimmer in the wood. Sliding silk, it went back all in place. Formed and unformed perfection. The moonlight glinted on the dark molding tiles of the shrine behind her. ‘My shrine,’ Kagura thought possessively, she may not have a chance to come here again, what with Naraku hounding her action and keeping that Hakudoushi on her trail nearly 24/7.
She halted, slightly, just before she thought to quite the whispers in her head. Crimson caught the deep sorrowful maroon of one she had known about all too well.
Then she had stopped completely, folding the fan, only feeling the smooth wood and scrape of paper underneath her finger tips, Kagura forgot to think. And somewhere, where Naraku was, she knew for just a second her heart may have skipped a beat.
Blood red lips moved silently, “Kikyo?”
The night tried to keep its eternal spell cast. Or it had succeeded. For far longer Kagura had known, throughout all of her master’s incarnations, his children all knew of that ningen weakness they could feel. A mortal, pure ningen weakness a wounded bandit had had.
A love for a miko.
That Kikyo.
Now Kagura had to admit, she would be telling a hard cold lie, if she were to say that she had never thought about her. Her with the unnerving eyes; a lovely shade of the maroon silks Naraku kept in that trunk where his control of his demon puppets had sat, like the dying set of the moon before the sun rose. And her hair was deep ebony, lost night with no stars, no light, but her skin was past creamy white, down to the harsh color of untainted snow.
She shivered.
She had lain twice in the snow. Once for the time before she had sought Naraku, after the Kaze no Kizu and slashed through her, made a hot fire scar her again. Then a second time, remembering the snow’s cool effect on her skin, enough to bite into her and desecrate the flame; she had lain for a far different purpose.
Onigumo had surfaced again, and his damned memories of the woman had not been scarce or un-flight and fanciful. Cursed and pleasured dreams had plagued her for sometime. A damned different sort of heat in her belly, were liquid could seep out of her center, and perspiration could make the silk slick against her. It had made her ache terribly.
In the dark hollowing realm of night, often she would weep. Even now, the very muscles in her body froze to liquid ice. Till the memories of her need sprang on her like the hungry retched beast it was.
To not startle the ningen, she moved toward the place where Kikyo hid, a small white and huddled form amongst green quite life. Only the soft chirps of crickets and the gentle swish of her silk kimono made any sound.
The music had ceased for the moment.
Feet before her the wind witch halted. Opening her fan once again, she tried to find the calm in her. How was she to be… the cat setting the trap for the mouse. It would be fulfilled, this selfish wish, iie, Onigumo’s wish- would be.
And after that Kagura would not feel this longing in her being any longer. She would be free of it, as of that Naraku.
Weaving a tangible web was what she did best; she was truly an incarnation of Naraku.
“Come,” she seductively whispered to the priestess, making her eyes play the spell, she would succeed in hypnotizing this delectable treat, and be glutinous of her catch. Twirling, a rushing of grace and cool silk, her obi a yellow to be stark against the lightless world; her mind only wanted this.
Unrest less, but restless, the miko rose. The bland white and red of her attire, fetching to the eye. Silently she came.
*
Kikyo didn’t know exactly why she wished to do this, follow this youkai into such a dead place. Her ears could almost hear what had been. Now as she padded her way after Kagura, her feet bare and cold against the dark dusty wood floors. The place smelled madness and lies. Faintly of a flower she could not comprehend.
“Leave your shoes,”
Was what Kagura had told her at the entrance, Kikyo had to obey. Such murky eyes unnerved her and she loved the feeling of mystery the purple haired youkai had. She was fire and fight, but before that was a temporal calm ice. She had missed this feeling, to have a person far un-understandable then she; InuYasha had been such a creature.
They turned a corner, for a second Kikyo saw the flutter of silver locks turn with the passing. She shook her head, the mass of her ebony hair becoming tussled in her face.
She pursed her lips together; such things must be silenced and be kept under a polite manner, for things of that were like small children. She would discipline them. Her hand nervously fumbled the red tie at her breast. What was she doing?
The clack of the familiar fan in Kagura’s hand snapped shut, the long elegant neck of hers allowed the head to turn, crimson peered at the maroon. Kikyo shuddered; the hard press of the fan biting into her chin. Kagura raised Kikyo’s face to look at her.
“What a fine miko you are,” the words cut her inside, Kagura merely continued, the grimace on Kikyo’s face nonexistent to her. “And I…”
Kagura pulled Kikyo flush up against her, fingers weaving in her black hair.
“…shall have you,”
Just like that time had froze. Leaving Kikyo vulnerable to it growing antics, only knowing the feel on Kagura’s mouth on hers. It felt like her heart could beat again.
Moving like warm sunbathed silk, the colors would not fade away, Kagura’s lips were earnest and soft against hers. The feeling of being equal washed over her like fast November rain.
Kikyo flung herself into it. Tonight she would loose herself to this song.
Silent and forbidden in the dark, Kagura cupped her face. Palms warming the cold eternal flesh.
“It is so,” Kikyo said softly. Her body hot and unending to the witch. The clean Hakui fell to the floor, folds of the kimono were being brushed away by eager hands.
Warm skin was what Kikyo touched. Shifting her hands she undid the sloppy mad yellow obi. With it the moon fell. Kikyo laid her head to Kagura’s breast, one hand reaching up to cup the soft mound.
Gracefully in her movement of the still weaving spell, Kagura led the undead miko deeper into the room, then upon a soft futon. The small shrine creaked for a mere second. Shadow upon shadow, the shoji screens let a shaded light enter through their pasty tan paper.
Kagura, peeled away the red hakama, excitement filling her ‘I am getting my way,’ was the equilateral to all thought in her head. Rough and worn, the loyal article of clothing was cast aside. And naked upon the fabric of a white futon, Kikyo felt- and smelled the hidden scent of the unrecognizable flower. Her arms lying at her side, fingers carefully stroked some of the petals in her reach.
Above her, an un-quivering form. Kagura held herself up by the forearms, smiling down latently at her. The cold air barely tickled her flesh as it would have done more so when her body was entirely warm.
“You and I,” Kagura said, a dangerous and melodic tone, “are not as different as you think,” she kissed her again.
Long slender limbs reached up and pulled Kagura down, Kikyo’s breasts just below the other’s moving against each other. It felt wrong, it felt right.
Kikyo felt her hands undo the knot that held Kagura’s hair; her hair was soft and reminded Kikyo absently of the petals of flowers that had stayed in between her fingers, following her movement.
Pressing a lean thigh against Kikyo’s slick crotch, Kagura rubbed against her. Such a sweet intoxicating scent; this miko’s arousal had. Letting it sink into her being, Kagura held Kikyo close, a false impersonation of her comfort, of her warmth. Slowly creeping down with her own intentions in mind, Kagura licked and nipped at Kikyo’s throat; enjoying the soft desperate noises issuing from her throat.
Hands stroking the line of her spine and rear; Kagura enjoyed the firm soft texture of Kikyo’s skin, the delicate small invisible in color hairs; that raised on her skin a bonus to add to her delight.
The abyss was deafening, and fine. All her immoral thoughts coming to a boiling point. Her body did not mind keeping intact and agreeing with her mind. Still folded in Kagura’s embrace Kikyo held the witch’s head to her breast when she felt the hot tongue lick attentively at the nipple, rolling it back and forth causing a sharp tingle there.
She felt her own legs wrap around the one Kagura and firmly placed (and grinding) up against her.
She felt hot, the fire raging warmth curling within and recklessly charging through her body. And for once it was like she was completely and totally alive again. The air was thrumming with her energy and she could feel it, this excitement she thought she should never had.
Loosing herself un-doubtfully to the onslaught of Kagura’s touches and lips Kikyo found her self staring in the pool of a dark memory’s reflection.
*
A miko could not live in sin. She was pure, an untainted self-righteous being who overlooked the people, helped them, guided them, protected them. Kikyo had always lived to do so, do this duty of hers. She loved how everyone would look up to her, seek her advice, seem to always need to thrive on her power- because she was strong. It was a most wonderful feeling.
But as time past she didn’t like all of it so much anymore. Soon she found herself longing for sins. And as a normal mortal women, she knew she could indulge herself with them. So in the night, only when she saw the blue moon and her duties were of a minimal; she would be a mortal woman.
It was so blissful.
She remember the innocent love Tsbaki had shown her as a child; remember the odd thought that had occurred not long ago. The time the ceremonial ritual was held to bless the shrine.
She had been there.
The same grey eyes, inky black hair, high cheekbones, and smooth skin. She had been dressed in the most black of robes, made what appeared to be silk. Kikyo had thought she never looked more pretty. So, from across the koi pond, with only the small candle of the flame, the younger miko held, along with the moon’s reflected light, Kikyo had watched as Tsbaki eyes moist with dedication; bless the shrine she had loved forever.
It was then her heart skipped a beat and she knew she had fallen.
*
‘Was that me? Such a thing to long for…’ the night came back to Kikyo, the ferocious beast lurking once again. Too bad death was not like this, she wouldn’t of mind it so much. Pleasure shot through her again, the ministrations the wind witch was doing to her body were heavenly ‘As close as I may get,’ she felt herself smirk. Finding something heavenly through sin and filth.
She probably had always been like this, the quick mental image of a particular silver hair, dog-eared hanyou came to mind, but as the fleeting image it was, it also disappeared.
Still panting, she closed her eyes, the now lazy moving body of her partner resting beside her. It felt like everything had happened. ‘To get lost in a memory,’ she thought sadly. Her eyes fluttered open, only to stare into Kagura’s.
“You and I…” she whispered, lips moving curtly in the dark, “have forged an eternity of our own…” She kissed her then, desperate and lonely.
A thumb moved gently over Kagura’s cheek as something wet left a trail from her eyes. The screens rattled, blanched. Everything turned red in the dusk of the sun.
“Is it okay?” Kikyo said, pulling Kagura into her embrace, fingers stroking the woman’s shoulder blades, the skin smooth and velvet underneath her hands. “For us to lie?”
Kagura looked up to the undead miko, brows furrowed, a determined look on her face; the crimson peered at her. Snaking a hand down she felt Kagura, possessively and forcefully slide her fingers into her slick channel causing her boy to convulse and curl in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire of her ache.
The glimmer of hidden spider’s silk did catch her eye.
But it mattered no longer.
“It is not,” the heavy stoniness of her voice causing Kikyo to look up questionably.
Kagura’s face melted into a gentle smile, apologetic “, but perhaps it really doesn’t matter,”
Kagura bent her head down humbly at said that, linking her fingers with Kikyo’s.
Kikyo then noticed the room briefly smelled of tea.
Through the shaded light of morning Kikyo realized another thing as well. Scattered all across the futon were the flower petals. Flower petals of Kikyo.
So she smiled once again.
///Owari///
Please enjoy.
Disclaimer: InuYasha belongs to Rumiko Takahashi and all of its (blah, blah) respectful owners. Any similar events in this fanfiction were not intended.
Warning: This fic contains a lot of sexual activity (not lemon material, but still) between two females (Yuri ^.^). If you are uncomfortable and find things (etc) like this lack of taste, please feel free to leave.
Tea Flower
October ?-21, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
The wind; it sung of the unbidden grace that flowed through her veins. The unheard music that rang in her ears, over and over singing- a dark tune of her forbidden desire. Made her dance the dance of her worship. It was her way of being free. Being the wind.
‘I am the wind,’ How many times had she thought this? A sweet mantra of a truth and lie. Her heart sung it. And so did the wind.
Moving with the fluid grace of every wind, she flew.
She danced.
The dark crimson of her new kimono decked with the embroidery of midnight blue feathers, moved with her like liquid. A wave. The silk felt cool and smooth against her skin.
“Like her flesh would,” Kagura thought selfishly.
Her footsteps were light; she was a twirling figure of flight. Each step she took at the entrance of the abandoned shrine she had recently taken to for thought and refuge; precise and fast.
How she loved to dance.
The thrill of moving to your own music.
She loved that melody.
The melody of her soul’s hope.
Of her true freedom.
She closed her fan sharply, the snap echoing through the cold dark woods like the bark of a fox.
Sly and clever.
Arrogant.
The lady wind would do as she pleased.
*
‘Why?’
The only word that resounded in Kikyo’s mind. She was confused, the myriad of emotions that flowed through her…she felt alive again. That time when InuYasha first held her, looked at her with that same longing that she felt.
The loneliness leaving and coming again.
Just to witness it. Something so sacred so private. So wonderfully beautiful.
Kikyo was quiet. Crouched silently with her aura masked, she watched from behind the dark tree’s bark. The meaningful moves, the poem with no words. A woven melody of hope and justice. Sweet freedom.
Freedom that she had.
And what the other did not.
While she Kikyo had gained her freedom with her death and revival some had yet to do the same.
She was a wandering being; high above her head a quarter moon shown. The taunting sliver of precaution and sight, a wavering essence of light. Kikyo shuddered, for the wind was cold.
‘Cold and unyielding,’ she thought berating herself ‘for am I not so?’
And she was so.
Her eyes were bedazzled, the eternal flame of curiosity, dancing naked in her mind’s eye. How the forest sung around her, whispering the Lady Moon’s sins.
‘As my own,’ she thought sorrowfully, her hand touched the place were her beating fragile mortal heart had been. Longing filled her, as did her cruel remorse. She pushed back her secret thoughts.
The grass allowed the crickets to sing, the fox to hunt; the nocturnal beasts keeping to themselves. Lost in the nonexistent premises of her private ritual, the deadly witch told of wishful thinking in her moves.
Kikyo was still enthralled, who was she to see such beauty? Long ago, when she had been young and a miko still in-training; a fair skinned, midnight haired fellow miko had held up a delicate white flower.
Dressed in holy robes of a different Priest’s shrine, the young lass had saw her with innocent naïve eyes, that would only burn with rage and steel hate for her as the years passed.
*
‘Do you know what this is?’ Tsbaki had a clear lovely voice, pure and stainless of little hardship. Her holy powers were indeed to be great. Kikyo felt her aura rise to Tsbaki, with their powers mending in a feigned alliance, they had had a small short childhood friendship.
That day, under the obsolete ray of afternoon sun, before the priests would call for them again, Tsbaki was kind to her. Allowing the younger miko to place the small white flower in her hand, Kikyo’s mouth gaped in a tiny ‘o’. Both were only about nine winters old and had much to learn.
“It is you, baka,” Tsbaki had said fondly, teaching the elder always gave a form of sweet prideful relish in her actions.
“Me?” she had remember herself say, the memory of such a feeble weak voice still echoing in her head; a voice not even InuYasha had heard.
Tsbaki had only nodded, in the sunlight with the fresh smells of spring burying her, consuming her; all in this small field of multiple flowers. It was truly a great feeling to be alive.
And she was allowed to smile.
*
All that feeling, for such a small moment in her life. She was wary of this world, but craved for its security. ‘Security of what? My fate? My deprivation of what I once wanted?’
Perhaps. That was a word she would use often in her life- or per say this death.
A death only she should had.
The spider web did not catch her eye.
*
There was a faint glimmer in the wood. Sliding silk, it went back all in place. Formed and unformed perfection. The moonlight glinted on the dark molding tiles of the shrine behind her. ‘My shrine,’ Kagura thought possessively, she may not have a chance to come here again, what with Naraku hounding her action and keeping that Hakudoushi on her trail nearly 24/7.
She halted, slightly, just before she thought to quite the whispers in her head. Crimson caught the deep sorrowful maroon of one she had known about all too well.
Then she had stopped completely, folding the fan, only feeling the smooth wood and scrape of paper underneath her finger tips, Kagura forgot to think. And somewhere, where Naraku was, she knew for just a second her heart may have skipped a beat.
Blood red lips moved silently, “Kikyo?”
The night tried to keep its eternal spell cast. Or it had succeeded. For far longer Kagura had known, throughout all of her master’s incarnations, his children all knew of that ningen weakness they could feel. A mortal, pure ningen weakness a wounded bandit had had.
A love for a miko.
That Kikyo.
Now Kagura had to admit, she would be telling a hard cold lie, if she were to say that she had never thought about her. Her with the unnerving eyes; a lovely shade of the maroon silks Naraku kept in that trunk where his control of his demon puppets had sat, like the dying set of the moon before the sun rose. And her hair was deep ebony, lost night with no stars, no light, but her skin was past creamy white, down to the harsh color of untainted snow.
She shivered.
She had lain twice in the snow. Once for the time before she had sought Naraku, after the Kaze no Kizu and slashed through her, made a hot fire scar her again. Then a second time, remembering the snow’s cool effect on her skin, enough to bite into her and desecrate the flame; she had lain for a far different purpose.
Onigumo had surfaced again, and his damned memories of the woman had not been scarce or un-flight and fanciful. Cursed and pleasured dreams had plagued her for sometime. A damned different sort of heat in her belly, were liquid could seep out of her center, and perspiration could make the silk slick against her. It had made her ache terribly.
In the dark hollowing realm of night, often she would weep. Even now, the very muscles in her body froze to liquid ice. Till the memories of her need sprang on her like the hungry retched beast it was.
To not startle the ningen, she moved toward the place where Kikyo hid, a small white and huddled form amongst green quite life. Only the soft chirps of crickets and the gentle swish of her silk kimono made any sound.
The music had ceased for the moment.
Feet before her the wind witch halted. Opening her fan once again, she tried to find the calm in her. How was she to be… the cat setting the trap for the mouse. It would be fulfilled, this selfish wish, iie, Onigumo’s wish- would be.
And after that Kagura would not feel this longing in her being any longer. She would be free of it, as of that Naraku.
Weaving a tangible web was what she did best; she was truly an incarnation of Naraku.
“Come,” she seductively whispered to the priestess, making her eyes play the spell, she would succeed in hypnotizing this delectable treat, and be glutinous of her catch. Twirling, a rushing of grace and cool silk, her obi a yellow to be stark against the lightless world; her mind only wanted this.
Unrest less, but restless, the miko rose. The bland white and red of her attire, fetching to the eye. Silently she came.
*
Kikyo didn’t know exactly why she wished to do this, follow this youkai into such a dead place. Her ears could almost hear what had been. Now as she padded her way after Kagura, her feet bare and cold against the dark dusty wood floors. The place smelled madness and lies. Faintly of a flower she could not comprehend.
“Leave your shoes,”
Was what Kagura had told her at the entrance, Kikyo had to obey. Such murky eyes unnerved her and she loved the feeling of mystery the purple haired youkai had. She was fire and fight, but before that was a temporal calm ice. She had missed this feeling, to have a person far un-understandable then she; InuYasha had been such a creature.
They turned a corner, for a second Kikyo saw the flutter of silver locks turn with the passing. She shook her head, the mass of her ebony hair becoming tussled in her face.
She pursed her lips together; such things must be silenced and be kept under a polite manner, for things of that were like small children. She would discipline them. Her hand nervously fumbled the red tie at her breast. What was she doing?
The clack of the familiar fan in Kagura’s hand snapped shut, the long elegant neck of hers allowed the head to turn, crimson peered at the maroon. Kikyo shuddered; the hard press of the fan biting into her chin. Kagura raised Kikyo’s face to look at her.
“What a fine miko you are,” the words cut her inside, Kagura merely continued, the grimace on Kikyo’s face nonexistent to her. “And I…”
Kagura pulled Kikyo flush up against her, fingers weaving in her black hair.
“…shall have you,”
Just like that time had froze. Leaving Kikyo vulnerable to it growing antics, only knowing the feel on Kagura’s mouth on hers. It felt like her heart could beat again.
Moving like warm sunbathed silk, the colors would not fade away, Kagura’s lips were earnest and soft against hers. The feeling of being equal washed over her like fast November rain.
Kikyo flung herself into it. Tonight she would loose herself to this song.
Silent and forbidden in the dark, Kagura cupped her face. Palms warming the cold eternal flesh.
“It is so,” Kikyo said softly. Her body hot and unending to the witch. The clean Hakui fell to the floor, folds of the kimono were being brushed away by eager hands.
Warm skin was what Kikyo touched. Shifting her hands she undid the sloppy mad yellow obi. With it the moon fell. Kikyo laid her head to Kagura’s breast, one hand reaching up to cup the soft mound.
Gracefully in her movement of the still weaving spell, Kagura led the undead miko deeper into the room, then upon a soft futon. The small shrine creaked for a mere second. Shadow upon shadow, the shoji screens let a shaded light enter through their pasty tan paper.
Kagura, peeled away the red hakama, excitement filling her ‘I am getting my way,’ was the equilateral to all thought in her head. Rough and worn, the loyal article of clothing was cast aside. And naked upon the fabric of a white futon, Kikyo felt- and smelled the hidden scent of the unrecognizable flower. Her arms lying at her side, fingers carefully stroked some of the petals in her reach.
Above her, an un-quivering form. Kagura held herself up by the forearms, smiling down latently at her. The cold air barely tickled her flesh as it would have done more so when her body was entirely warm.
“You and I,” Kagura said, a dangerous and melodic tone, “are not as different as you think,” she kissed her again.
Long slender limbs reached up and pulled Kagura down, Kikyo’s breasts just below the other’s moving against each other. It felt wrong, it felt right.
Kikyo felt her hands undo the knot that held Kagura’s hair; her hair was soft and reminded Kikyo absently of the petals of flowers that had stayed in between her fingers, following her movement.
Pressing a lean thigh against Kikyo’s slick crotch, Kagura rubbed against her. Such a sweet intoxicating scent; this miko’s arousal had. Letting it sink into her being, Kagura held Kikyo close, a false impersonation of her comfort, of her warmth. Slowly creeping down with her own intentions in mind, Kagura licked and nipped at Kikyo’s throat; enjoying the soft desperate noises issuing from her throat.
Hands stroking the line of her spine and rear; Kagura enjoyed the firm soft texture of Kikyo’s skin, the delicate small invisible in color hairs; that raised on her skin a bonus to add to her delight.
The abyss was deafening, and fine. All her immoral thoughts coming to a boiling point. Her body did not mind keeping intact and agreeing with her mind. Still folded in Kagura’s embrace Kikyo held the witch’s head to her breast when she felt the hot tongue lick attentively at the nipple, rolling it back and forth causing a sharp tingle there.
She felt her own legs wrap around the one Kagura and firmly placed (and grinding) up against her.
She felt hot, the fire raging warmth curling within and recklessly charging through her body. And for once it was like she was completely and totally alive again. The air was thrumming with her energy and she could feel it, this excitement she thought she should never had.
Loosing herself un-doubtfully to the onslaught of Kagura’s touches and lips Kikyo found her self staring in the pool of a dark memory’s reflection.
*
A miko could not live in sin. She was pure, an untainted self-righteous being who overlooked the people, helped them, guided them, protected them. Kikyo had always lived to do so, do this duty of hers. She loved how everyone would look up to her, seek her advice, seem to always need to thrive on her power- because she was strong. It was a most wonderful feeling.
But as time past she didn’t like all of it so much anymore. Soon she found herself longing for sins. And as a normal mortal women, she knew she could indulge herself with them. So in the night, only when she saw the blue moon and her duties were of a minimal; she would be a mortal woman.
It was so blissful.
She remember the innocent love Tsbaki had shown her as a child; remember the odd thought that had occurred not long ago. The time the ceremonial ritual was held to bless the shrine.
She had been there.
The same grey eyes, inky black hair, high cheekbones, and smooth skin. She had been dressed in the most black of robes, made what appeared to be silk. Kikyo had thought she never looked more pretty. So, from across the koi pond, with only the small candle of the flame, the younger miko held, along with the moon’s reflected light, Kikyo had watched as Tsbaki eyes moist with dedication; bless the shrine she had loved forever.
It was then her heart skipped a beat and she knew she had fallen.
*
‘Was that me? Such a thing to long for…’ the night came back to Kikyo, the ferocious beast lurking once again. Too bad death was not like this, she wouldn’t of mind it so much. Pleasure shot through her again, the ministrations the wind witch was doing to her body were heavenly ‘As close as I may get,’ she felt herself smirk. Finding something heavenly through sin and filth.
She probably had always been like this, the quick mental image of a particular silver hair, dog-eared hanyou came to mind, but as the fleeting image it was, it also disappeared.
Still panting, she closed her eyes, the now lazy moving body of her partner resting beside her. It felt like everything had happened. ‘To get lost in a memory,’ she thought sadly. Her eyes fluttered open, only to stare into Kagura’s.
“You and I…” she whispered, lips moving curtly in the dark, “have forged an eternity of our own…” She kissed her then, desperate and lonely.
A thumb moved gently over Kagura’s cheek as something wet left a trail from her eyes. The screens rattled, blanched. Everything turned red in the dusk of the sun.
“Is it okay?” Kikyo said, pulling Kagura into her embrace, fingers stroking the woman’s shoulder blades, the skin smooth and velvet underneath her hands. “For us to lie?”
Kagura looked up to the undead miko, brows furrowed, a determined look on her face; the crimson peered at her. Snaking a hand down she felt Kagura, possessively and forcefully slide her fingers into her slick channel causing her boy to convulse and curl in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire of her ache.
The glimmer of hidden spider’s silk did catch her eye.
But it mattered no longer.
“It is not,” the heavy stoniness of her voice causing Kikyo to look up questionably.
Kagura’s face melted into a gentle smile, apologetic “, but perhaps it really doesn’t matter,”
Kagura bent her head down humbly at said that, linking her fingers with Kikyo’s.
Kikyo then noticed the room briefly smelled of tea.
Through the shaded light of morning Kikyo realized another thing as well. Scattered all across the futon were the flower petals. Flower petals of Kikyo.
So she smiled once again.
///Owari///