InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Heart Within ❯ Chapter Twenty-Seven ( Chapter 29 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: YoukaiFate 
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 02.13.2010 | Pages: 4 | Words: 9.2K | Visits: 608 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama / Adventure / Action | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 02.13.2010 | Pages: 4 | Words: 9.2K | Visits: 608 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, etc., of Inuyasha or Yu Yu Hakusho. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and not for profit.THE HEART WITHINSummary: She has carried vengeance in her shadowed heart for 500 years, sacrificing her self for that dream. Now, Sango just might get her chance… (IY/YYH crossover) A/N: I think the warning says it all, pretty much. I should probably remind you who Shoga is. She was featured in the IY anime only, and was Myouga’s long-suffering fiancee. An elderly flea demon who could possess others by biting them, she’d chased Myouga for centuries trying to get him to the altar. I had to use her; a woman scorned and all that blather…(smirk)
WARNING! SPOILERS FOR YYH CHAPTER BLACK, THE THREE KINGS SAGA, AND INUYASHA EPISODE 65 “FAREWELL, DAYS OF MY YOUTH,” ANGST, CHARACTER DEATH, LEMONS (AFF.NET, MM.ORG) AND LIMES (FF.NET)!
WORDS
hiruseki stone - a valuable stone created by the tears a koorime sheds at her child’s birth
koorime - ice maiden
taiji-ya - demon slayer
chirurgeon - bone doctor, surgeon
kitsune - fox demon
Jaganshi - one who bears the Jagan, or third eye (Hiei)
Amiko - Forbidden One
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sango blinked the grittiness from her dry eyes, wincing as a pure white light intruded. She groaned; her body felt like it had been run over by a herd of elephants. She ached in every joint, and her temples pounded in time to her pulse. Nausea churned up from her stomach, and she quickly rolled over, ignoring the pain and reaching desperately for the bowl or bucket or whatever it was that was thrust into her hands. The sickening convulsions finally subsided, and she let the bucket go to fall limply back on the soft bed, too raw right now to care where she was or how she came to be there.
“Still so young,” someone murmured, a hand gently sweeping her sweaty bangs off her cheek. Sango stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture, and opened her eyes. Squinting against the light, she met the amused blue eye of what would have been a fair-faced woman, if scars did not trace a spider’s web along one side of her face. Fine hair, the rusty orange of late autumn leaves, was held back by a headband that secured a cloth and curious contraption of glass and metal over half of her face.
“Who are you?” Sango managed to whisper through the dry dust in her throat. “Where am I? What happened---”
“You are foolish,” the woman said, her alto voice lightly mocking. Standing up, she crossed to a side table and poured a glass of water, which she brought back over. “But young, so that can be forgiven---for now.”
She handed Sango the glass, not bothering to help the exhausted slayer’s struggle to sit up. Sango accepted it with shaking fingers, and the woman watched as she gratefully drank. Sango took the time to look around her, and frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a room bare of furnishings, save for the bed she lay on, the side-table beside it, a littered desk and an assortment of hideous green statues placed at whim about the large space. The arched recess of the gigantic bed was draped in purple velvet, which matched the fleshy walls beyond. It was like being in the belly of some beast, and made her faintly nauseous. She fought the urge down, carefully sipping the water to help settle her stomach, and turned back to face the woman.
Slight as the woman appeared, a formidable aura surrounded her, one that distinctly reminded Sango of King Raizen and King Yama. She was dressed in a simple, if garish, outfit---a yellow-trimmed purple vest over a white shirt and light green zubon. A long, red sash was simply knotted at her waist, and she wore grey slippers similar to Kurama’s, a wrapped arrangement binding her billowy pants to her ankles. She was taller than Sango, but could not be more than five-four. For all her power, she did not look that threatening. But looks were deceiving, and Sango knew this woman was extremely dangerous.
Sango was not stupid, and suddenly realized who this formidable woman must be, if not why she was helping her. “You’re the King---Mukuro.”
The woman smiled---a faint quirk of her lips, so fleeting it was gone before she answered, “Yes.”
“But---why?” Sango lifted the glass, her brows knitting. Then the horrible realization struck her that if this was Mukuro, this woman who hid her sex behind a mask of sutras and bandages, than Naraku was still out there. But she had felt him, knew he was here, somewhere, in the castle. Her knuckles whitened around the glass in her hand and she said sharply, “Where is Naraku?”
“Him?” The demon smiled. “Oh, he’s here.”
“Where?” Sango whipped the blankets back, disregarding her nakedness as she stumbled to her feet. She fell against the side table, knocking the pitcher and glass to smash against the floor, her legs too weak to hold her up.
“Your very hatred blinds you, Sango,” the youkai said dispassionately.
“How do you know my name?” Sango spat, loathing how the woman’s cool gaze raked over her with scorn. She cried out as the youkai’s mind suddenly invaded hers, easily slipping past her weak barrier so that her vision was filled with a hazy fog of purple energies.
*You cannot hide your thoughts from me, girl.* The king’s growl echoed around her mind like tumultuous thunder. *You do not have the knowledge or the ability. Do not think my pity and tolerance for your past pain does not have limits. I can kill you, easily and without remorse. I have done so a thousand times before, and to creatures more powerful with sadder tales to tell.*
“Than why don’t you!” Sango snapped back, the force of the woman’s thoughtless power burning through every corner of her brain. Her temples pounded and sweat poured down her body as she fought to keep her own identity in the terrible tides of the woman’s overwhelming personality.
The woman abruptly broke contact, and Sango sank to her knees with a shudder. The woman mocked her with chilling disdain. “Don’t think that I wouldn’t have, even a few years ago, without thought or regret. You are lucky, half-breed changeling, that I was given this in tribute a few years ago.” The demon fished a small stone from under her shirt, and held the milk-white orb in her palm. Her expression softened as she gazed at the gleaming surface.
“What is that?” Sango demanded hoarsely. “It doesn’t look like the Shikon no Tama…”
“It isn’t,” Mukuro said, her voice amused. “It’s a hiruseki stone, one given to me by a demon I conquered a few years ago. I have no need for a petty trinket like the Jewel of Four Souls---I have already harnessed my power and abilities on my own.
“This stone’s value lies in that it gives me a peace of spirit I have never known in my many long years. A peace that has broken the bitterness and hatred that has claimed my soul for more centuries than you can know, lost child of the taiji-ya. You fear the darkness that lies in your heart, knowing what it can eventually lead to. I have lived that darkness, even embraced and reveled in it, turning it to my own advantage.”
“And nearly forsaking your humanity in the process,” Sango whispered in sudden understanding. A chill broke over her, and she was bathed in icy sweat, for she knew how easily it was to slip inside that raging madness.
“Humanity.” The demon sneered. “You mortals define everything by your own racially phobic bias.” She slid the stone on its chain back inside her shirt and shrugged. “It is no concern of yours, girl. You are lucky that I can now feel pity, even for one such as you, and that I find it more amusing to thwart the pleasures of my minion Shigure than to simply kill you and wash my hands of it.”
Sango froze at the name of the chirurgeon who had preformed her surgery, and her hand went to her chest, where the spider lay stark against her skin. The thud of her heart was loud in the silence.
“Yes, I know everything, wind-demon, and I can actually give you what it is you so desperately seek.”
Sango shivered, for the blue eye fixed on hers was untouched by any emotion whatsoever. She whispered, trying to recapture her scorn but failing miserably because it meant so damn much to her, “What I seek?”
“An end.” Mukuro smiled. It was a cruel smile, and Sango felt ice prickling across her skin.
Eying the goose-bumps, Mukuro said distastefully, “Humans are so delicate. There is a shirt and pants on the bed. Dress yourself.”
Sango fumbled into the clothes, which were too big for her. They must have been discards of the king’s, for the collarless white shirt hung loose around her and the pants slid down her hips. The king was spare in form, but had wider hips, and Sango took the red sash the woman impatiently handed her and threaded it twice through the belt loops so that it wouldn’t drag on the ground. She was conscious of her breasts moving freely beneath the white shirt, but didn’t think the king’s generosity would extend that far.
Mukuro had already shown patience in letting her take her time dressing, for it was only her iron will that kept Sango on her feet at all, exhausted as she was. She felt numb, in both mind and heart, and had to blink, asking, “Excuse me?” when she thought she had misheard the woman.
“I said, you should come and see how I’ve redecorated the bathroom. I’m quite proud of the décor.” The king smiled, the blue eye glittering with anticipation.
Sango stared at the woman incredulously. The demon was insane.
“Come,” Mukuro coaxed, waving Sango to follow as she gracefully crossed the wide room to an elongated opening in the wall---like a mouth split sideways. Sango shuddered at the mental image, and followed uncertainly. “You should see the bathmat. I’m particularly fond of it.”
The king crossed her arms and leaned companionably against the doorframe, waiting for the taiji-ya’s reaction as the interior lights came up.
Sango froze.
There, just below an elegant marble tub that could have been in any expensive home in living world, was a white fur stretched out along the purple flesh of the floor like a bear rug. Except its head was that of a baboon’s, and Sango knew---from the faint trace of jyaki that still surrounded it---that this, somehow, someway, was all that was left of Naraku.
Her heart skipped, and she whispered hoarsely, “How?”
Mukuro smiled. “Oh, it’s really rather sad. He was killed some five centuries ago by the flea demon who willed the rug to me upon her death from old age. Her name was Shoga, and she said it was fairly easy. He was a rather pathetic hanyou, and nearly half-dead when she stumbled across him. He’d insulted her fiancé, put him in some kind of danger, I guess. His name is---was---Myouga. Shoga never did catch up with the flea.”
“But…the Jewel…” Sango faltered.
“Never came with Naraku to Makai. Only the dead body of a human boy, or so Shoga said.”
*Kohaku.*
Although her mouth opened, no sound emerged. But in her mind, Sango screamed. And kept screaming, as the darkness swamped up around her.
“Then use the other one,” the king brusquely ordered, the sacred bandages that hid his face rustling as he turned to glance at the second view of the fire elemental. “She has need of him. She is too mentally unstable to be left alone right now, and he is Jaganshi. I have managed to put a temporary block on her, but it will not last.”
“If I may dare, why does my lord Mukuro concern himself with such a pathetic creature?” Kirin asked curiously.
“You may not dare, Kirin,” the king returned acidly, and the commander bowed in mute apology. “Just see it done.”
“As you will, my lord.”
She looked like shit---her hair undone, her strange clothing too big for her. He was by her side in an instant, his eyes raking over the remerging walls for the meaning of it even as he pulled the slayer to him, for she was all but falling over her own feet.
“Where have you been, hanyou?” he demanded harshly, staring down into brown eyes empty of awareness. Her pupils were mere pinpricks, and he could feel the coercion spell dissolving even as he watched. Closing his eyes, he ruthlessly forced Sango’s mind open, hoping to tap her recent memories for what had happened. Although she was exhausted, her jyaki nearly spent, it did not warrant this catatonic lethargy.
He flinched at the raw surge of her emotions, and felt the Dragon growl its rebuke across the back of his thoughts. *Wake up, damn you!* he snarled right into the mental turmoil of the girl’s mind, and was caught by surprise when her curled fist socked him in the gut.
Dropping his sword, Hiei was able to catch her other fist as it swung for his head. He managed to avoid the sharp knee to the groin, and grappled with the slayer as she turned into a wildcat. Lips curled back to expose her blunt teeth, pupils constricted in the dark glitter of her wild gaze, she remained strangely mute even as she blindly fought like a cornered animal. Her contradictory reactions were but the inconsolable rage of one who wanted to be free of a reality too horrific for them to accept on a rational level, and Hiei used his heavier weight in both body and mind to overcome her mindless fury. He knew instantly when he cut through the last barrier she had thrown up around her mind to protect herself when the eerie silence was broken by a choked scream.
There was a lost quality to her screams that made his own anger rise. Damn her stubborn hide, he wasn’t going to let her sink into that mindless rage and despair like she was so ready to do---he thrust that thought at her, drilled it right inside her thick skull. She abruptly froze, her spine arching up against him as her body convulsed in a long, shuddering sob. Half-covering her, hands curled over her shoulders, Hiei snarled, “What happened? Damn it, Sango, tell me!”
Her eyes opened, and he saw such anguish in the brown depths it took his breath away. Hiei bared his fangs, angry at not knowing what the fuck was going on, and she slowly focused on him. Tears sparkled in her thick lashes as she tonelessly whispered, “He’s dead.”
“Who, damn it!” He shook her sharply, irritated by her lack of vocal emotion when there was such turmoil churning inside.
“Kohaku. Naraku. Everyone,” her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes, another shudder going through her.
He lurched up, hauling her with him so that they knelt facing each other. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he shook her again. “Don’t you dare sink into the darkness, you stupid little fool!”
“Stop it!” she screamed, lashing out at him. He was ready for it, glad actually, to see her anger return, for that other emotion led only to death---when a spirit grew too weary to go on, too lost to despair to care if they slipped away into darkness. Something his selfishly weak mother had done, when both he and his sister had needed her so badly, too young yet to be strong on their own…
“Fight me, hanyou, make me stop!” he growled, his bloody eyes heating with the challenge.
“Damn you, you bastard---” Her fist beat futilely against his upper arm as he continued to grip her shoulders. Tears ran down her face, and she turned her head away in shame, perhaps thinking he would despise her for them.
How little she knew him.
Sliding his hand up from her shoulder so that it curled against her neck, he used his thumb to force her chin back around to face him. She stubbornly closed her eyes, the tears coming in a flood now to seep down her flushed cheeks, and he did the only thing he could think of to distract her.
He kissed her.
Sango’s eyes flew open and she made a muffled protest against his lips, but he just used it as an excuse for his tongue to invade her mouth. His eyes half-closed, watching her reaction as he deliberately deepened the kiss. His tongue slid over hers as his thumb nudged her chin up just a little further so that he could bend her head back beneath his. Her startled gasp flushed heat across his veins, and his senses reeled as her breath turned into a whispered half-moan, half-sob as her arms crept up around his neck. Her fingers twined through the short, black hair at his nape, and his mouth moved over hers, nibbling lightly one moment and then delving deep the next. Her responsive whimper was a hot breath he greedily savored, his answering growl as he dragged her against him with his free arm making her gasp as his heat enfolded her.
They broke apart only when the need for air became too incessant, and he couldn’t help but press wet kisses and tiny licks along her jaw as she trembled in his arms. He could sense her arousal, his own was burning hot within him, but he also knew this was hardly the time---
She must have read it in his eyes, for her hands came up to cradle his face in her palms. “Please, Hiei---there’s been so much pain and death. I can’t---I need---this. To know I’m not alone. Please---I know it‘s a lot to ask---I‘m a human---”
“Hanyou,” he corrected, and kissed her again to shut her up. It didn’t matter to him one damn bit why she needed this, he needed it, too, and had never thought he would ever find one willing to come to him…
The thought stopped him, and he wrenched his mouth away. She protested, but he growled, hating the admitting of it but knowing she was as virgin as he. He could not be gentle; it was not in his nature. He had always heard a woman needed that her first time, needed someone like Kurama who had the patience and skill to make their first time pleasant rather than painful. She would hardly welcome the inept fumbling of a lust-crazed---
Somehow, she plucked the thought right from his mind, and he wondered at how deeply she affected him, that his barriers were down so much that she could. The Jagan glowed and her fingers went up to thread through the fine hairs surrounding it. He shuddered at the simple caress. It was her turn to trail her fingers down his cheek, take his hard chin in hand and kiss him as he had her, pressing her claim and willingness with words not of sound but of pure desire and haunting need.
He gave in, then, to what he wanted, and hauled her up against him, so that her legs splayed on either side of his hips. He dragged the burning core of his hard arousal against her, and she made a wanton sound of surprise, shuddering at the contact. Her heat surrounded him, and one hand slipped down her back to cradle her tighter as he dragged his arousal across that tantalizing spot once more. He combed her long hair back over her shoulder, his fingers tangling in the thick length as she buried her hands at the nape of his neck, their lips never leaving each other’s for long as they traded heavy breaths and wondering gasps at the incredibly new sensations.
Her fingers dropped to bunch on his coat, and it suddenly felt too constricting, too heavy and bulky and completely unnecessary. Their fingers tangled as each tried to slip the buttons free. She blushed and laughed a little, and his mouth quirked as his red eyes stared into hers. There was hunger there, and heat, and a measuring, as if she wondered if he wanted this as much as she. He answered her with another kiss, using his mouth to distract her as his hands shoved his coat open and dragged it over his broad shoulders.
Her hands were suddenly there, helping to push his coat down his arms so that it spilled behind him. His left wrist caught, and he jerked the cuff free and pushed the coat impatiently away. She sat back, avoiding his mouth when it sought to capture hers again, and looked at him. Her fingers trailed lightly up his bare arm and he looked down at her, wondering what she was thinking.
“You’re so strong,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the thick muscle, which rippled and tightened under her touch. She could not know how the light caress affected him, and he willed her to look up, to meet his heated gaze, but she bent her head and laid a soft kiss against his right shoulder. He shivered at the contact of her warm lips against his hot skin, and shook twice as hard when her tongue reached out to lick the same spot.
“Hn.” He bared his teeth, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and abruptly toppled her over to lie flat on her back as he exerted that strength to take her by surprise. She gasped, and then moaned breathlessly when he feverishly pressed himself between her splayed thighs. She instinctively rocked her hips up and he closed his eyes at the wondrous feel of it. She bucked, and he stilled to keep the heat from surging up to the point where he lost all control and burned her with it. Deliberately sliding his hips down, he settled his weight carefully, afraid to damage her. For all her toughness, she was so slender beneath him, so seemingly small and fragile under his wide bulk. He trailed a finger down her cheek, almost rocked anew by the revelation that she was welcoming this, and with him, the Amiko, the one forbidden and incapable of ever knowing love or, at least, the act of love.
“Hiei?” she queried sotly, and he only shook his head, his eyes drawn to her breasts, which moved freely beneath the thin white fabric of her blouse. He could see the faint shadow of her hardened nipples, which made fine points the cloth clung to. Leaning his weight on his bent left arm, his right hand hovered indecisively over the gaping neckline, his eyes seeking permission from hers.
But her gaze had dropped to the dragon tattooed along his arm, her fingers coming up to turn the back of his hand over in hers so she could see it better. His brow rose as her thumb lightly traced the dragon’s head. When she brought his wrist up to her lips, he closed his eyes and shuddered. A dark light fizzled along the tattoo etched into his arm, and he could feel the Dragon rumbling a contented growl across the back of his shaken thoughts. He was distracted when he felt her press his palm flat against her chest.
“I---” she faltered, and he opened his eyes to stare down at her sudden nervousness. “I had a heart transplant,” she said. “That was how, I---”
“Doesn’t matter,” he answered gruffly.
“The scar---”
“Means nothing.” He cut her off by sliding the first two buttons free. She was stiff, waiting for his reaction, and he studied the purple shadow of a spider centered just above the curve of her breasts. But he was more interested in the alluring valley revealed between them. His hand trembled slightly as he undid the next few buttons to shove her shirt open. He stared at her, and she flushed at the heat of his gaze, her flesh quivering under his intense scrutiny. He had seen naked women before, but never this close, and never with this kind of leisure.
His calloused fingers cupped her right breast, which was surprisingly weighty and soft. Not what he’d expected, the feel of it lolling against his palm. His thumb lightly circled the nipple, which fascinated him, puckering tighter in response as it did. Sango moaned, stirring restlessly, and he couldn’t resist bending his head to tentatively touch her nipple with the tip of his tongue.
She jumped, and he grinned at the hiss that whistled between her clenched teeth when he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub again. He let his tongue circle the dusky aureole, the wrinkled texture different from the soft suppleness of the white flesh surrounding it. He spent some time brushing his lips and tongue across her skin, diving into the valley and lightly kissing the weighty curve of her other breast. She mewled in frustration, and her spine arched, thrusting her breasts up, demanding appeasement.
He finally gave in to his true curiosity, and suckled her nipple inside his mouth. Something he had he never been given the chance to do, even as a babe. Gently, so gently---afraid to suck too hard, lest he prick the soft skin that quivered and shifted so easily beneath his sharp fangs. Her gasping cry when first he took her breast inside his mouth made him want to see how far he could press her, for she was dragging herself up against him, her hips bucking lightly as she writhed restlessly. He glanced up at her, to find her head thrown back, eyes closed as she panted. His tongue swirled over her nipple as he sharply sucked his breath in. She cried out, a lost sound of passionate longing as her lashes fluttered open in astonishment, her dark eyes wide.
He finally moved from her right breast to the left, exploring the hills and valleys to see if she reacted the same if he were to do this, and that.She did, and her fingers tangled in his spiky hair as she pressed her quivering flesh against his mouth, offering herself up to him. He spent a long time worshipping her breasts, reverent with the knowledge that he could take his time to do so, learning them and savoring her restless reactions as he manipulated her so easily with just his teeth and tongue.
Her fingers gripped at his shirt, tugging on the white fabric and jerking it free of his pants. Her hands slid under it, her calloused palms smoothing over the hard muscles of his abdomen as her wrists and elbows pulled his shirt up. He left her breasts long enough for her to drag the shirt off him. Grabbing it, he carelessly flung it aside. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tight against him, flesh on flesh. The feel of her soft breasts crushed between them was surprisingly heady, and his fingers splayed along her spine, trying to keep that feeling. But she moved away, urging him up so that she could wriggle down and kiss her way to his flat nipple as he had done hers. He gasped as she sucked hard on the sensitive nub, and wondered if the stab of raw desire that echoed from his chest to his groin like lightning was what she felt when he did the same to her.
She pushed at him, trying to reverse their positions, but he stubbornly stayed where he was, raised half-way above her. She looked up at him in question, her brown eyes confused, and he drew her chin up so that he could kiss her. He could not explain his inherent need for control, his need to be the one who set the pace lest he burn her with the hot desire that was pounding throughout his body. The fierce blaze of his rising aura was barely held in check by the passionate response she gave to even his lightest touch.
He couldn’t hold it back for much longer, and so he plucked restlessly at the red sash tied tightly around her waist. She blushed at his impatient growl, but kissed him again when he sought her mouth. His fingers finally untangled the knot, and he slid the sash free, almost cursing when he had to lift her hips up twice to get rid of it. The grey pants she wore slid down her hips, and he urgently tugged at them. She made a laughing protest, and pointedly tugged at his own belt. Impatient with the four white belts he knew he would have to unbuckle and discard one by one, he deliberately elongated his claws to quickly slice through them. She blinked as his claws shortened to the normal length he preferred to keep them, and bit her lip when he unzipped his pants. Lifting up on his knees, he tugged impatiently at his hips, wanting to be free of the constricting cloth, and she put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“I’d like to---” She blushed and couldn’t finish. He smirked, for her modesty and embarrassment were so at odds with her desire and curiosity. He played with a lock of her hair, surprised anew by the silky texture and the occasional brown strands mixed among the black. He let it fall gently against her breast, where it curled enticingly. His breath sucked in sharply as she finally freed him, and his eyes riveted on the sight of her staring down at him. He badly wanted to know her reaction, if he measured up to her expectations, but she was oddly silent, her hands still gripping the black wrinkles of his parted pants. He covered her hands with his, and she finally looked up, her eyes soft and full of something that made him want to haul her over and drive himself inside her right then and there.
Her fingers moved in his, and he let her hand go, exhaling sharply as she tentatively touched his flesh. He could feel himself growing harder, though the Gods knew how that was even possible, and threw his head back in a heady groan as her thumb lightly grazed the tip. His hand came over hers, showing her how to curve around and grip him tight. He thrust lightly, loving the feel of her fingers curling over him, his hand keeping hers tight around his cock. Their hands moved together, and he shuddered with the raw heat of it, finally pushing her away so that he didn’t embarrass himself by spilling his seed into her hand.
He stood up to draw his pants off, but had to kneel and tug impatiently at the white strips that bound them to his lower calves. He’d never realized just how fucking complicated his clothing was, and he kicked the strips away with his boots when he finally freed himself of them.
She had come to her knees, watching as he impatiently stripped, and he eyed her gaping pants, a little irritated that she was still clothed while he was naked. Grabbing her wrist, he drew her up to stand in front of him. He kissed her long and hard, loving the feel as she pressed herself against him. His palms slid over her shoulders and down her back, feeling how her spine arched beneath his gliding touch. The rough scar he had felt before was only an irregularity in the smooth expanse of skin---he was more interested in reaching the curve of her buttocks, measuring the narrowness of her waist against his broad palms. His hands could almost encircle her, and his thumbs made lazy circles against her flat abdomen as their mouths met again and again, their ardor rising as the inevitability of it rose in nervous anticipation.
Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he lifted her slightly so that he could tug her pants off with his free hand. They slid smoothly over her hips, puddling down to her knees as she bent awkwardly to pull them off, her mouth leaving his as she made a frustrated noise as they caught on one bare heel. He watched her breasts bobble with the movement, and couldn’t help but take a nipple into his mouth as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She half-fell, half-leaned against him, her foot skidding out from under her on the tangled pants. He rolled her over him, hauling her back down to lie upon the dark pool of his trench coat spread out across the ground.
He nipped his way over her shoulder, pausing to kiss her every now and then, to touch her breast and stroke his fingers against the pale skin. He wanted to see the hidden mysteries that lay between her legs, and stared at the curly mat of dark hair nestled at the apex of her thighs. He slid a wondering hand down the length of her, touching her hip and smoothing over the satin muscle of her outer thigh, circling her knee and then easing his way back up. Her thighs separated, and he felt her muscles trembling beneath his light touch as he neared his destination.
He knew the mechanics of sex---he’d been raised in a band of rough bandits who bragged how often they climbed the sotted whores they spent their spare coins on. He knew the ways a woman could take a man’s flesh inside her mouth, and the ways he could reciprocate. He didn’t know if he could hold on for long enough to try that, though. He was interested in exploring her with his tongue as he was about to do with his fingers, and he was glad she could not see how his hand shook slightly when he first combed his fingertips through the wiry curls to touch the soft folds underneath.
She threw her head back, hissing as his fingers passed over something at the top. Closing his eyes, he ran the tips of his fingers along her dripping slit, surprised by the moisture and heat that met his cautious explorations. Parting her slick folds, he delicately used two fingers to find her tightness. He let one finger sink to the knuckle, savoring the fluctuating muscles that clasped him so tightly, as if wanting to pull him deeper. He wasn’t certain how far he could press into her, worried lest he somehow hurt her, but his manhood was much thicker and longer, and if that should fit, than his fingers should, too. He slowly went deeper, and she sucked in her breath, her buttocks rising off the floor as she rocked her hips up to meet his slow thrust. He carefully added a second finger, and could feel her body adjusting to the intrusion, the damp moisture growing as her skin flushed. He knew there was some button at the top that would---ah, there.
She jumped, nearly coming up off the floor as he brushed the bundle of nerves with his thumb. Surprised by her reaction, he pressed it again, and this time she mewled, her hands fisting at her sides as her hips bucked. Fascinated, he watched as she reacted to the merest brush of his fingers, took note of how she preferred a lighter touch than he when stroking his cock. She gasped, but not as loudly, when he thrust his two fingers inside her, and rolled her hips when he went faster. Her reaction when he used both his thumb and his fingers in tandem made him smirk, and he kept at it even when she protested that it was too much, too soon, that she was about to lose control.
He liked the sight of her losing control, for her head tossed as her body moved restlessly, her thighs quivering as her breasts trembled. The sounds she made, sounds of passion, sounds of need and roughening with her gasps of astonishment as she loosened and tightened around his thrusting fingers made him smile into her mouth as he claimed it in a kiss. Her back suddenly arched like a strung bow, her heels digging into the ground as she wrenched her mouth away from his. Her hands, which had been mindlessly stroking over his chest and arms, suddenly gripped his wide shoulders with surprising strength. The agonized cry ripped from her throat as she convulsed around him made him shudder in response as the passion swirled from her mind into his, doubling the pleasure he took in hers.
He could feel her tremors as he slipped his hand free. Licking the wetness from his fingers, he was surprised by the slightly bitter taste. It was not unpleasant, just different. He savored the new experience of it, and watched with gleaming eyes as she went limp, her thighs splaying as her dewy eyes fluttered open.
He kissed her then, his own need for release growing up inside him until he nearly shook with it. She was so relaxed now, he couldn’t hurt her if he went slowly. Brushing the sweaty bangs off her temple, he held her chin so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue laving her bottom lip before slipping inside to twine with hers. Her arms came up to hold him, as they both shifted their weight so that he now lay between her thighs. His cock twitched against her belly, his balls aching and swelling at the memory of the damp heat that had clasped so fiercely to his fingers. He wasn’t entirely certain how to proceed, if he should just drive it in or what, or if she was even ready for that.
But it was her fingers that swept down to lightly cup him. He lifted his hips, gently thrusting himself against the curl of her fingers as he closed his eyes at the feel of it. Not enough for him to come, but just the knowledge that she held him so intimately, so trustingly, was an aphrodisiac in itself.
She opened her thighs, and somehow they managed to align themselves without too much fumbling. He shuddered at the feel of her warmth against him, and hissed when she drew the tip up along her slick folds, dragging him back down until the tip caught at the bottom of her entrance. Her hand slithered free and her thighs parted as her hips rolled up. He sank a little inside her, the feel of it unbelievable. He looked down at her, and she nodded slightly, taking a deep breath as he lifted himself just enough so that he could carefully inch forward.
The feeling of her slick heat was incredible, and he could not contain the growl of pure pleasure that rippled through him, even with so slight a penetration. He wanted to sink himself inside her, feel that liquid heat tightening all around him as he buried himself to the hilt within her tight depths. He shuddered at the need for restraint, sweat beading down his back as his arms shook with the need to take it slow. But she rolled her hips up, and he was lost. Grabbing her hips in his broad hands, he pulled her up sharply to thrust home.
She winced, but raised no cry, for there had been no barrier for him to win past. He wondered how it felt to her, to have him buried so deep, and nearly choked at the feel of her walls fluctuating around him. Gods, it was so tight and hot and wet. The sensation of her surrounding him was beyond anything he could describe, and her body seemed to be drawing him in further even as he dropped his head to her shoulder with a raw groan.
She shifted slightly, and he closed his eyes, shuddering as her body rippled around him. “Don’t…move…” he ordered hoarsely, trying to pull back his control long enough to see if she was all right. He could not meet her eyes; his words were muffled into her shoulder as he asked tentatively, “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said, a trifle breathless. She moved restlessly against him, and he kissed her shoulder, dragging his lips up over the curve of her neck and kissing her softly. She closed her eyes, and relaxed, and he shifted his hips, moving himself back a bit before sinking back inside her. The feel of even such a simple movement made him shudder, and he wanted to pull her up and slam into her again and again until he climbed so deep inside he could never win free…
She made a strange noise, almost a laughing sigh, and he wondered if the thought had spilled from his mind to hers as his control slipped another notch into simple sensation and utter need. The fire burned up within him, and he tried to wrestle it back, but she moved again, damn it, and he was lost. Gripping her ass with both hands, he pulled her up sharply so that he could shove his way forward with a violence that had her wincing on a gasp. He growled, his demonic nature liking the reaction as she curled her fingers into his shoulders, her blunt nails trying to dig into his skin. She shivered at the feral growl, and his lips curled back, revealing his fangs as he licked the salty side of her neck. She wiggled away, wary of the sharpness of those fangs, and he nipped her lightly on the shoulder, his body pulling out slowly to drive his way back inside with a rough flex of his powerful hips.
“Unh.” The strange grunt hissed between her teeth, and her brows wrinkled as her eyes closed. He smirked, knowing that it was he who caused such reactions in her, and then his eyes rolled up in his head as she did something---an undulation of her hips, a tightening of the wet heat around him---and his whole world suddenly burst into flame. All sensation went straight to his groin and then burst forth in a brilliant wash of energy and light and pure electric shock as his very essence seemed to pour itself inside her, on and on, until he collapsed into pure astonishment atop her.
She sighed in dismay as he withdrew. She winced, not only from the stretching of her labia---for he had been too wide for her to accommodate easily---but the abandonment of that intimate connection between them. He immediately curled himself beside her, his strong arms hauling her tight to his side as he lay his damp forehead against hers with a sigh. His voice was the faintest whisper as he said, “Did I hurt you?”
Her thighs shifted slightly, but she would not tell him how sore she was. Not sore, exactly, but somehow stretched and…well, not bruised, either, but that felt stretched, too, and a little battered at the end, when he had pressed himself so deeply inside her he had hit something that hurt slightly. The feeling was gone, and she had been so swept up in the height of his passion she had not even felt more than a twinge through the electric shock spilling from his open mind to hers. Although she had not joined him in that final orgasm, she had felt the aftershocks of it going through her system, as if his jyaki had somehow unfurled through hers.
She felt lazy and lethargic, a strange contentment settling over her as his arms tightened around her as she mutely shook her head. He sought her lips again, a soft brush of his mouth on hers, and she laid her head against his sweaty shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling safe for the first time in so very, very long…
He was abruptly awakened by a hitch in her breath, one she tried to suppress. He blinked as she turned into him, her head burying against his chest as she shook with silent sobs. She made no sound but for the harsh gasps muffled against his skin, which was dampening beneath the tears she refused to let him see. He didn’t know what to do, had no idea if he was supposed to force her head up so he could wipe them away or let her keep hiding her silent pain against him. So he did nothing, awkward as that was, and just kept his arms around her. It seemed to be enough, for eventually she stopped shaking, her harsh breaths slowing. He moved restlessly, his hand sweeping over her shoulder and down her back, and she shuddered under the touch. She finally lifted her head up, and the pain was there, in the dark depths of her eyes, almost as new as when she first woke from her shock. He stared at her, still not knowing what to do for it, for although he might know that pain, he had always used it, controlled it, not let it use and control him.
And maybe that was what she was doing when she slipped a hand up between them to cradle his cheek and draw his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a silent desperation almost as terrible in its way as her tears. He drew back, not liking the thought, and she drew him down again, shifting so that he was now pressed full length upon her. The desire was suddenly back, blazing inside him, craving this woman who could so easily manipulate him into feeling it. That thought was troubling, too, but he thrust it away to embrace her now, his hunger growing with hers. They made sweet love, slow love, more of a rocking of his hips into hers, for he didn’t want to hurt her so soon after that first time. There was a silent desperation to it, one that felt almost guilty as he took what she gave, and gave in to what she needed.
What he needed, too, if he were honest with himself. That realization made him wary as he nestled her close in the aching aftermath. He had managed to pull her with him when he surrendered to that final passion, using his fingers on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her womanhood to draw her up as his crisis neared. The second time was even more intense and humbling than the first, and it was he who trembled and was held in her strong arms afterwards.
They nestled together, too exhausted even for sleep, and that was when she spoke, telling him in broken sentences of what had happened to send her over the edge. Her vengeance, her purpose, which had kept her going for so long, was dead along with her brother and the evil hanyou who had plagued her. Her whole life’s purpose, the reason that had fueled and driven her, was---gone. Just like that. All gone. And the emptiness that yawned before her---the guilt and bitterness and the simple hoarse demand she made of “Why?” was one he could not answer.
So he answered instead with things he had never spoken of to anyone, had never cared to, actually, for there had never been one who might understand. He spoke of the dark things he hid deep inside his heart. The bitterness he felt for a woman who had not been strong enough to find some way to smuggle him and his sister away from the cold women who despised him just for his birth and had flung him over the island to die. A woman who he later learned had committed suicide in her depression over it. He admitted in a harsh whisper how he loathed his mother for that, that she was so weak and selfish as to leave his poor sister, still so young, as alone in the world as he. He did not add how angry it made him that her depression was so much stronger than her love for either of them. He spoke of his own thwarted vengeance---how he had vowed to kill every last bitch in that icy village in the sky, and spent years tracking it down, only to find those women dead already. So fearful of life and emotion, they had become true apparitions, ghosts going through the motions of life, their hearts as cold and frozen as their isolated village.
He ignored the uneasy feeling inside him that maybe, just maybe, he had become a little bit like them, scoffing at the very idea even as it occurred to him. Instead, he found himself turning to Sango in silent hunger, needing somehow the same reassurance she had sought from him, and they made love for the third time. A little more roughly, a little more demanding, a little more desperate to grab onto something that was here and now, and not then. He used her, and was disgusted with himself for it, even though she had held as tight to him as he had to her. She cried out, her passion peaking as he sought to bury his very soul inside her soft body and let everything just go, he knew not where, just go. When she finally slept, exhausted, in the curve of his arm, he laid awake for a long time, his mind churning with too much emotion, too much hunger and too much turmoil.
She was too tired to even stir when he slipped from her side, and stood silently watching her for a long, long time, before finally, decisively, turning around and leaving. The wall opened before him, as he knew it would, and there was a King waiting, as he knew there would be, too, having made contact and a demand. The single blue eye glittered, measuring the resolution in his bloody gaze, and he sneered.
“Welcome, Hiei. I think we have much in common, you and I.” The King swept an expansive hand for him to precede, and Hiei did not look back as the fleshy walls closed behind him.
WARNING! SPOILERS FOR YYH CHAPTER BLACK, THE THREE KINGS SAGA, AND INUYASHA EPISODE 65 “FAREWELL, DAYS OF MY YOUTH,” ANGST, CHARACTER DEATH, LEMONS (AFF.NET, MM.ORG) AND LIMES (FF.NET)!
WORDS
hiruseki stone - a valuable stone created by the tears a koorime sheds at her child’s birth
koorime - ice maiden
taiji-ya - demon slayer
chirurgeon - bone doctor, surgeon
kitsune - fox demon
Jaganshi - one who bears the Jagan, or third eye (Hiei)
Amiko - Forbidden One
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sango blinked the grittiness from her dry eyes, wincing as a pure white light intruded. She groaned; her body felt like it had been run over by a herd of elephants. She ached in every joint, and her temples pounded in time to her pulse. Nausea churned up from her stomach, and she quickly rolled over, ignoring the pain and reaching desperately for the bowl or bucket or whatever it was that was thrust into her hands. The sickening convulsions finally subsided, and she let the bucket go to fall limply back on the soft bed, too raw right now to care where she was or how she came to be there.
“Still so young,” someone murmured, a hand gently sweeping her sweaty bangs off her cheek. Sango stiffened at the unfamiliar gesture, and opened her eyes. Squinting against the light, she met the amused blue eye of what would have been a fair-faced woman, if scars did not trace a spider’s web along one side of her face. Fine hair, the rusty orange of late autumn leaves, was held back by a headband that secured a cloth and curious contraption of glass and metal over half of her face.
“Who are you?” Sango managed to whisper through the dry dust in her throat. “Where am I? What happened---”
“You are foolish,” the woman said, her alto voice lightly mocking. Standing up, she crossed to a side table and poured a glass of water, which she brought back over. “But young, so that can be forgiven---for now.”
She handed Sango the glass, not bothering to help the exhausted slayer’s struggle to sit up. Sango accepted it with shaking fingers, and the woman watched as she gratefully drank. Sango took the time to look around her, and frowned at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a room bare of furnishings, save for the bed she lay on, the side-table beside it, a littered desk and an assortment of hideous green statues placed at whim about the large space. The arched recess of the gigantic bed was draped in purple velvet, which matched the fleshy walls beyond. It was like being in the belly of some beast, and made her faintly nauseous. She fought the urge down, carefully sipping the water to help settle her stomach, and turned back to face the woman.
Slight as the woman appeared, a formidable aura surrounded her, one that distinctly reminded Sango of King Raizen and King Yama. She was dressed in a simple, if garish, outfit---a yellow-trimmed purple vest over a white shirt and light green zubon. A long, red sash was simply knotted at her waist, and she wore grey slippers similar to Kurama’s, a wrapped arrangement binding her billowy pants to her ankles. She was taller than Sango, but could not be more than five-four. For all her power, she did not look that threatening. But looks were deceiving, and Sango knew this woman was extremely dangerous.
Sango was not stupid, and suddenly realized who this formidable woman must be, if not why she was helping her. “You’re the King---Mukuro.”
The woman smiled---a faint quirk of her lips, so fleeting it was gone before she answered, “Yes.”
“But---why?” Sango lifted the glass, her brows knitting. Then the horrible realization struck her that if this was Mukuro, this woman who hid her sex behind a mask of sutras and bandages, than Naraku was still out there. But she had felt him, knew he was here, somewhere, in the castle. Her knuckles whitened around the glass in her hand and she said sharply, “Where is Naraku?”
“Him?” The demon smiled. “Oh, he’s here.”
“Where?” Sango whipped the blankets back, disregarding her nakedness as she stumbled to her feet. She fell against the side table, knocking the pitcher and glass to smash against the floor, her legs too weak to hold her up.
“Your very hatred blinds you, Sango,” the youkai said dispassionately.
“How do you know my name?” Sango spat, loathing how the woman’s cool gaze raked over her with scorn. She cried out as the youkai’s mind suddenly invaded hers, easily slipping past her weak barrier so that her vision was filled with a hazy fog of purple energies.
*You cannot hide your thoughts from me, girl.* The king’s growl echoed around her mind like tumultuous thunder. *You do not have the knowledge or the ability. Do not think my pity and tolerance for your past pain does not have limits. I can kill you, easily and without remorse. I have done so a thousand times before, and to creatures more powerful with sadder tales to tell.*
“Than why don’t you!” Sango snapped back, the force of the woman’s thoughtless power burning through every corner of her brain. Her temples pounded and sweat poured down her body as she fought to keep her own identity in the terrible tides of the woman’s overwhelming personality.
The woman abruptly broke contact, and Sango sank to her knees with a shudder. The woman mocked her with chilling disdain. “Don’t think that I wouldn’t have, even a few years ago, without thought or regret. You are lucky, half-breed changeling, that I was given this in tribute a few years ago.” The demon fished a small stone from under her shirt, and held the milk-white orb in her palm. Her expression softened as she gazed at the gleaming surface.
“What is that?” Sango demanded hoarsely. “It doesn’t look like the Shikon no Tama…”
“It isn’t,” Mukuro said, her voice amused. “It’s a hiruseki stone, one given to me by a demon I conquered a few years ago. I have no need for a petty trinket like the Jewel of Four Souls---I have already harnessed my power and abilities on my own.
“This stone’s value lies in that it gives me a peace of spirit I have never known in my many long years. A peace that has broken the bitterness and hatred that has claimed my soul for more centuries than you can know, lost child of the taiji-ya. You fear the darkness that lies in your heart, knowing what it can eventually lead to. I have lived that darkness, even embraced and reveled in it, turning it to my own advantage.”
“And nearly forsaking your humanity in the process,” Sango whispered in sudden understanding. A chill broke over her, and she was bathed in icy sweat, for she knew how easily it was to slip inside that raging madness.
“Humanity.” The demon sneered. “You mortals define everything by your own racially phobic bias.” She slid the stone on its chain back inside her shirt and shrugged. “It is no concern of yours, girl. You are lucky that I can now feel pity, even for one such as you, and that I find it more amusing to thwart the pleasures of my minion Shigure than to simply kill you and wash my hands of it.”
Sango froze at the name of the chirurgeon who had preformed her surgery, and her hand went to her chest, where the spider lay stark against her skin. The thud of her heart was loud in the silence.
“Yes, I know everything, wind-demon, and I can actually give you what it is you so desperately seek.”
Sango shivered, for the blue eye fixed on hers was untouched by any emotion whatsoever. She whispered, trying to recapture her scorn but failing miserably because it meant so damn much to her, “What I seek?”
“An end.” Mukuro smiled. It was a cruel smile, and Sango felt ice prickling across her skin.
Eying the goose-bumps, Mukuro said distastefully, “Humans are so delicate. There is a shirt and pants on the bed. Dress yourself.”
Sango fumbled into the clothes, which were too big for her. They must have been discards of the king’s, for the collarless white shirt hung loose around her and the pants slid down her hips. The king was spare in form, but had wider hips, and Sango took the red sash the woman impatiently handed her and threaded it twice through the belt loops so that it wouldn’t drag on the ground. She was conscious of her breasts moving freely beneath the white shirt, but didn’t think the king’s generosity would extend that far.
Mukuro had already shown patience in letting her take her time dressing, for it was only her iron will that kept Sango on her feet at all, exhausted as she was. She felt numb, in both mind and heart, and had to blink, asking, “Excuse me?” when she thought she had misheard the woman.
“I said, you should come and see how I’ve redecorated the bathroom. I’m quite proud of the décor.” The king smiled, the blue eye glittering with anticipation.
Sango stared at the woman incredulously. The demon was insane.
“Come,” Mukuro coaxed, waving Sango to follow as she gracefully crossed the wide room to an elongated opening in the wall---like a mouth split sideways. Sango shuddered at the mental image, and followed uncertainly. “You should see the bathmat. I’m particularly fond of it.”
The king crossed her arms and leaned companionably against the doorframe, waiting for the taiji-ya’s reaction as the interior lights came up.
Sango froze.
There, just below an elegant marble tub that could have been in any expensive home in living world, was a white fur stretched out along the purple flesh of the floor like a bear rug. Except its head was that of a baboon’s, and Sango knew---from the faint trace of jyaki that still surrounded it---that this, somehow, someway, was all that was left of Naraku.
Her heart skipped, and she whispered hoarsely, “How?”
Mukuro smiled. “Oh, it’s really rather sad. He was killed some five centuries ago by the flea demon who willed the rug to me upon her death from old age. Her name was Shoga, and she said it was fairly easy. He was a rather pathetic hanyou, and nearly half-dead when she stumbled across him. He’d insulted her fiancé, put him in some kind of danger, I guess. His name is---was---Myouga. Shoga never did catch up with the flea.”
“But…the Jewel…” Sango faltered.
“Never came with Naraku to Makai. Only the dead body of a human boy, or so Shoga said.”
*Kohaku.*
Although her mouth opened, no sound emerged. But in her mind, Sango screamed. And kept screaming, as the darkness swamped up around her.
ooOOOoo
“The kitsune still hibernates,” the commander said, flicking the screen to the ice-enshrouded cell that the fortress had built around him. The spiders gleamed whitely against the glowing pink barrier surrounding the fox.“Then use the other one,” the king brusquely ordered, the sacred bandages that hid his face rustling as he turned to glance at the second view of the fire elemental. “She has need of him. She is too mentally unstable to be left alone right now, and he is Jaganshi. I have managed to put a temporary block on her, but it will not last.”
“If I may dare, why does my lord Mukuro concern himself with such a pathetic creature?” Kirin asked curiously.
“You may not dare, Kirin,” the king returned acidly, and the commander bowed in mute apology. “Just see it done.”
“As you will, my lord.”
ooOOOoo
Hiei dispassionately watched as the blood splattered everywhere from the various youkai he’d killed was slowly absorbed by the fleshy purple walls. He took the opportunity to wipe his sword across the floor, leaving a bloody smear that disappeared as well. He kept his eyes open for the next horde of demons to come attack him, but was unprepared when the wall split open long enough for the slayer to stumble through.She looked like shit---her hair undone, her strange clothing too big for her. He was by her side in an instant, his eyes raking over the remerging walls for the meaning of it even as he pulled the slayer to him, for she was all but falling over her own feet.
“Where have you been, hanyou?” he demanded harshly, staring down into brown eyes empty of awareness. Her pupils were mere pinpricks, and he could feel the coercion spell dissolving even as he watched. Closing his eyes, he ruthlessly forced Sango’s mind open, hoping to tap her recent memories for what had happened. Although she was exhausted, her jyaki nearly spent, it did not warrant this catatonic lethargy.
He flinched at the raw surge of her emotions, and felt the Dragon growl its rebuke across the back of his thoughts. *Wake up, damn you!* he snarled right into the mental turmoil of the girl’s mind, and was caught by surprise when her curled fist socked him in the gut.
Dropping his sword, Hiei was able to catch her other fist as it swung for his head. He managed to avoid the sharp knee to the groin, and grappled with the slayer as she turned into a wildcat. Lips curled back to expose her blunt teeth, pupils constricted in the dark glitter of her wild gaze, she remained strangely mute even as she blindly fought like a cornered animal. Her contradictory reactions were but the inconsolable rage of one who wanted to be free of a reality too horrific for them to accept on a rational level, and Hiei used his heavier weight in both body and mind to overcome her mindless fury. He knew instantly when he cut through the last barrier she had thrown up around her mind to protect herself when the eerie silence was broken by a choked scream.
There was a lost quality to her screams that made his own anger rise. Damn her stubborn hide, he wasn’t going to let her sink into that mindless rage and despair like she was so ready to do---he thrust that thought at her, drilled it right inside her thick skull. She abruptly froze, her spine arching up against him as her body convulsed in a long, shuddering sob. Half-covering her, hands curled over her shoulders, Hiei snarled, “What happened? Damn it, Sango, tell me!”
Her eyes opened, and he saw such anguish in the brown depths it took his breath away. Hiei bared his fangs, angry at not knowing what the fuck was going on, and she slowly focused on him. Tears sparkled in her thick lashes as she tonelessly whispered, “He’s dead.”
“Who, damn it!” He shook her sharply, irritated by her lack of vocal emotion when there was such turmoil churning inside.
“Kohaku. Naraku. Everyone,” her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes, another shudder going through her.
He lurched up, hauling her with him so that they knelt facing each other. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he shook her again. “Don’t you dare sink into the darkness, you stupid little fool!”
“Stop it!” she screamed, lashing out at him. He was ready for it, glad actually, to see her anger return, for that other emotion led only to death---when a spirit grew too weary to go on, too lost to despair to care if they slipped away into darkness. Something his selfishly weak mother had done, when both he and his sister had needed her so badly, too young yet to be strong on their own…
“Fight me, hanyou, make me stop!” he growled, his bloody eyes heating with the challenge.
“Damn you, you bastard---” Her fist beat futilely against his upper arm as he continued to grip her shoulders. Tears ran down her face, and she turned her head away in shame, perhaps thinking he would despise her for them.
How little she knew him.
Sliding his hand up from her shoulder so that it curled against her neck, he used his thumb to force her chin back around to face him. She stubbornly closed her eyes, the tears coming in a flood now to seep down her flushed cheeks, and he did the only thing he could think of to distract her.
He kissed her.
Sango’s eyes flew open and she made a muffled protest against his lips, but he just used it as an excuse for his tongue to invade her mouth. His eyes half-closed, watching her reaction as he deliberately deepened the kiss. His tongue slid over hers as his thumb nudged her chin up just a little further so that he could bend her head back beneath his. Her startled gasp flushed heat across his veins, and his senses reeled as her breath turned into a whispered half-moan, half-sob as her arms crept up around his neck. Her fingers twined through the short, black hair at his nape, and his mouth moved over hers, nibbling lightly one moment and then delving deep the next. Her responsive whimper was a hot breath he greedily savored, his answering growl as he dragged her against him with his free arm making her gasp as his heat enfolded her.
They broke apart only when the need for air became too incessant, and he couldn’t help but press wet kisses and tiny licks along her jaw as she trembled in his arms. He could sense her arousal, his own was burning hot within him, but he also knew this was hardly the time---
She must have read it in his eyes, for her hands came up to cradle his face in her palms. “Please, Hiei---there’s been so much pain and death. I can’t---I need---this. To know I’m not alone. Please---I know it‘s a lot to ask---I‘m a human---”
“Hanyou,” he corrected, and kissed her again to shut her up. It didn’t matter to him one damn bit why she needed this, he needed it, too, and had never thought he would ever find one willing to come to him…
The thought stopped him, and he wrenched his mouth away. She protested, but he growled, hating the admitting of it but knowing she was as virgin as he. He could not be gentle; it was not in his nature. He had always heard a woman needed that her first time, needed someone like Kurama who had the patience and skill to make their first time pleasant rather than painful. She would hardly welcome the inept fumbling of a lust-crazed---
Somehow, she plucked the thought right from his mind, and he wondered at how deeply she affected him, that his barriers were down so much that she could. The Jagan glowed and her fingers went up to thread through the fine hairs surrounding it. He shuddered at the simple caress. It was her turn to trail her fingers down his cheek, take his hard chin in hand and kiss him as he had her, pressing her claim and willingness with words not of sound but of pure desire and haunting need.
He gave in, then, to what he wanted, and hauled her up against him, so that her legs splayed on either side of his hips. He dragged the burning core of his hard arousal against her, and she made a wanton sound of surprise, shuddering at the contact. Her heat surrounded him, and one hand slipped down her back to cradle her tighter as he dragged his arousal across that tantalizing spot once more. He combed her long hair back over her shoulder, his fingers tangling in the thick length as she buried her hands at the nape of his neck, their lips never leaving each other’s for long as they traded heavy breaths and wondering gasps at the incredibly new sensations.
Her fingers dropped to bunch on his coat, and it suddenly felt too constricting, too heavy and bulky and completely unnecessary. Their fingers tangled as each tried to slip the buttons free. She blushed and laughed a little, and his mouth quirked as his red eyes stared into hers. There was hunger there, and heat, and a measuring, as if she wondered if he wanted this as much as she. He answered her with another kiss, using his mouth to distract her as his hands shoved his coat open and dragged it over his broad shoulders.
Her hands were suddenly there, helping to push his coat down his arms so that it spilled behind him. His left wrist caught, and he jerked the cuff free and pushed the coat impatiently away. She sat back, avoiding his mouth when it sought to capture hers again, and looked at him. Her fingers trailed lightly up his bare arm and he looked down at her, wondering what she was thinking.
“You’re so strong,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the thick muscle, which rippled and tightened under her touch. She could not know how the light caress affected him, and he willed her to look up, to meet his heated gaze, but she bent her head and laid a soft kiss against his right shoulder. He shivered at the contact of her warm lips against his hot skin, and shook twice as hard when her tongue reached out to lick the same spot.
“Hn.” He bared his teeth, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and abruptly toppled her over to lie flat on her back as he exerted that strength to take her by surprise. She gasped, and then moaned breathlessly when he feverishly pressed himself between her splayed thighs. She instinctively rocked her hips up and he closed his eyes at the wondrous feel of it. She bucked, and he stilled to keep the heat from surging up to the point where he lost all control and burned her with it. Deliberately sliding his hips down, he settled his weight carefully, afraid to damage her. For all her toughness, she was so slender beneath him, so seemingly small and fragile under his wide bulk. He trailed a finger down her cheek, almost rocked anew by the revelation that she was welcoming this, and with him, the Amiko, the one forbidden and incapable of ever knowing love or, at least, the act of love.
“Hiei?” she queried sotly, and he only shook his head, his eyes drawn to her breasts, which moved freely beneath the thin white fabric of her blouse. He could see the faint shadow of her hardened nipples, which made fine points the cloth clung to. Leaning his weight on his bent left arm, his right hand hovered indecisively over the gaping neckline, his eyes seeking permission from hers.
But her gaze had dropped to the dragon tattooed along his arm, her fingers coming up to turn the back of his hand over in hers so she could see it better. His brow rose as her thumb lightly traced the dragon’s head. When she brought his wrist up to her lips, he closed his eyes and shuddered. A dark light fizzled along the tattoo etched into his arm, and he could feel the Dragon rumbling a contented growl across the back of his shaken thoughts. He was distracted when he felt her press his palm flat against her chest.
“I---” she faltered, and he opened his eyes to stare down at her sudden nervousness. “I had a heart transplant,” she said. “That was how, I---”
“Doesn’t matter,” he answered gruffly.
“The scar---”
“Means nothing.” He cut her off by sliding the first two buttons free. She was stiff, waiting for his reaction, and he studied the purple shadow of a spider centered just above the curve of her breasts. But he was more interested in the alluring valley revealed between them. His hand trembled slightly as he undid the next few buttons to shove her shirt open. He stared at her, and she flushed at the heat of his gaze, her flesh quivering under his intense scrutiny. He had seen naked women before, but never this close, and never with this kind of leisure.
His calloused fingers cupped her right breast, which was surprisingly weighty and soft. Not what he’d expected, the feel of it lolling against his palm. His thumb lightly circled the nipple, which fascinated him, puckering tighter in response as it did. Sango moaned, stirring restlessly, and he couldn’t resist bending his head to tentatively touch her nipple with the tip of his tongue.
She jumped, and he grinned at the hiss that whistled between her clenched teeth when he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub again. He let his tongue circle the dusky aureole, the wrinkled texture different from the soft suppleness of the white flesh surrounding it. He spent some time brushing his lips and tongue across her skin, diving into the valley and lightly kissing the weighty curve of her other breast. She mewled in frustration, and her spine arched, thrusting her breasts up, demanding appeasement.
He finally gave in to his true curiosity, and suckled her nipple inside his mouth. Something he had he never been given the chance to do, even as a babe. Gently, so gently---afraid to suck too hard, lest he prick the soft skin that quivered and shifted so easily beneath his sharp fangs. Her gasping cry when first he took her breast inside his mouth made him want to see how far he could press her, for she was dragging herself up against him, her hips bucking lightly as she writhed restlessly. He glanced up at her, to find her head thrown back, eyes closed as she panted. His tongue swirled over her nipple as he sharply sucked his breath in. She cried out, a lost sound of passionate longing as her lashes fluttered open in astonishment, her dark eyes wide.
He finally moved from her right breast to the left, exploring the hills and valleys to see if she reacted the same if he were to do this, and that.She did, and her fingers tangled in his spiky hair as she pressed her quivering flesh against his mouth, offering herself up to him. He spent a long time worshipping her breasts, reverent with the knowledge that he could take his time to do so, learning them and savoring her restless reactions as he manipulated her so easily with just his teeth and tongue.
Her fingers gripped at his shirt, tugging on the white fabric and jerking it free of his pants. Her hands slid under it, her calloused palms smoothing over the hard muscles of his abdomen as her wrists and elbows pulled his shirt up. He left her breasts long enough for her to drag the shirt off him. Grabbing it, he carelessly flung it aside. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tight against him, flesh on flesh. The feel of her soft breasts crushed between them was surprisingly heady, and his fingers splayed along her spine, trying to keep that feeling. But she moved away, urging him up so that she could wriggle down and kiss her way to his flat nipple as he had done hers. He gasped as she sucked hard on the sensitive nub, and wondered if the stab of raw desire that echoed from his chest to his groin like lightning was what she felt when he did the same to her.
She pushed at him, trying to reverse their positions, but he stubbornly stayed where he was, raised half-way above her. She looked up at him in question, her brown eyes confused, and he drew her chin up so that he could kiss her. He could not explain his inherent need for control, his need to be the one who set the pace lest he burn her with the hot desire that was pounding throughout his body. The fierce blaze of his rising aura was barely held in check by the passionate response she gave to even his lightest touch.
He couldn’t hold it back for much longer, and so he plucked restlessly at the red sash tied tightly around her waist. She blushed at his impatient growl, but kissed him again when he sought her mouth. His fingers finally untangled the knot, and he slid the sash free, almost cursing when he had to lift her hips up twice to get rid of it. The grey pants she wore slid down her hips, and he urgently tugged at them. She made a laughing protest, and pointedly tugged at his own belt. Impatient with the four white belts he knew he would have to unbuckle and discard one by one, he deliberately elongated his claws to quickly slice through them. She blinked as his claws shortened to the normal length he preferred to keep them, and bit her lip when he unzipped his pants. Lifting up on his knees, he tugged impatiently at his hips, wanting to be free of the constricting cloth, and she put a hand on his chest to stop him.
“I’d like to---” She blushed and couldn’t finish. He smirked, for her modesty and embarrassment were so at odds with her desire and curiosity. He played with a lock of her hair, surprised anew by the silky texture and the occasional brown strands mixed among the black. He let it fall gently against her breast, where it curled enticingly. His breath sucked in sharply as she finally freed him, and his eyes riveted on the sight of her staring down at him. He badly wanted to know her reaction, if he measured up to her expectations, but she was oddly silent, her hands still gripping the black wrinkles of his parted pants. He covered her hands with his, and she finally looked up, her eyes soft and full of something that made him want to haul her over and drive himself inside her right then and there.
Her fingers moved in his, and he let her hand go, exhaling sharply as she tentatively touched his flesh. He could feel himself growing harder, though the Gods knew how that was even possible, and threw his head back in a heady groan as her thumb lightly grazed the tip. His hand came over hers, showing her how to curve around and grip him tight. He thrust lightly, loving the feel of her fingers curling over him, his hand keeping hers tight around his cock. Their hands moved together, and he shuddered with the raw heat of it, finally pushing her away so that he didn’t embarrass himself by spilling his seed into her hand.
He stood up to draw his pants off, but had to kneel and tug impatiently at the white strips that bound them to his lower calves. He’d never realized just how fucking complicated his clothing was, and he kicked the strips away with his boots when he finally freed himself of them.
She had come to her knees, watching as he impatiently stripped, and he eyed her gaping pants, a little irritated that she was still clothed while he was naked. Grabbing her wrist, he drew her up to stand in front of him. He kissed her long and hard, loving the feel as she pressed herself against him. His palms slid over her shoulders and down her back, feeling how her spine arched beneath his gliding touch. The rough scar he had felt before was only an irregularity in the smooth expanse of skin---he was more interested in reaching the curve of her buttocks, measuring the narrowness of her waist against his broad palms. His hands could almost encircle her, and his thumbs made lazy circles against her flat abdomen as their mouths met again and again, their ardor rising as the inevitability of it rose in nervous anticipation.
Wrapping a strong arm around her waist, he lifted her slightly so that he could tug her pants off with his free hand. They slid smoothly over her hips, puddling down to her knees as she bent awkwardly to pull them off, her mouth leaving his as she made a frustrated noise as they caught on one bare heel. He watched her breasts bobble with the movement, and couldn’t help but take a nipple into his mouth as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She half-fell, half-leaned against him, her foot skidding out from under her on the tangled pants. He rolled her over him, hauling her back down to lie upon the dark pool of his trench coat spread out across the ground.
He nipped his way over her shoulder, pausing to kiss her every now and then, to touch her breast and stroke his fingers against the pale skin. He wanted to see the hidden mysteries that lay between her legs, and stared at the curly mat of dark hair nestled at the apex of her thighs. He slid a wondering hand down the length of her, touching her hip and smoothing over the satin muscle of her outer thigh, circling her knee and then easing his way back up. Her thighs separated, and he felt her muscles trembling beneath his light touch as he neared his destination.
He knew the mechanics of sex---he’d been raised in a band of rough bandits who bragged how often they climbed the sotted whores they spent their spare coins on. He knew the ways a woman could take a man’s flesh inside her mouth, and the ways he could reciprocate. He didn’t know if he could hold on for long enough to try that, though. He was interested in exploring her with his tongue as he was about to do with his fingers, and he was glad she could not see how his hand shook slightly when he first combed his fingertips through the wiry curls to touch the soft folds underneath.
She threw her head back, hissing as his fingers passed over something at the top. Closing his eyes, he ran the tips of his fingers along her dripping slit, surprised by the moisture and heat that met his cautious explorations. Parting her slick folds, he delicately used two fingers to find her tightness. He let one finger sink to the knuckle, savoring the fluctuating muscles that clasped him so tightly, as if wanting to pull him deeper. He wasn’t certain how far he could press into her, worried lest he somehow hurt her, but his manhood was much thicker and longer, and if that should fit, than his fingers should, too. He slowly went deeper, and she sucked in her breath, her buttocks rising off the floor as she rocked her hips up to meet his slow thrust. He carefully added a second finger, and could feel her body adjusting to the intrusion, the damp moisture growing as her skin flushed. He knew there was some button at the top that would---ah, there.
She jumped, nearly coming up off the floor as he brushed the bundle of nerves with his thumb. Surprised by her reaction, he pressed it again, and this time she mewled, her hands fisting at her sides as her hips bucked. Fascinated, he watched as she reacted to the merest brush of his fingers, took note of how she preferred a lighter touch than he when stroking his cock. She gasped, but not as loudly, when he thrust his two fingers inside her, and rolled her hips when he went faster. Her reaction when he used both his thumb and his fingers in tandem made him smirk, and he kept at it even when she protested that it was too much, too soon, that she was about to lose control.
He liked the sight of her losing control, for her head tossed as her body moved restlessly, her thighs quivering as her breasts trembled. The sounds she made, sounds of passion, sounds of need and roughening with her gasps of astonishment as she loosened and tightened around his thrusting fingers made him smile into her mouth as he claimed it in a kiss. Her back suddenly arched like a strung bow, her heels digging into the ground as she wrenched her mouth away from his. Her hands, which had been mindlessly stroking over his chest and arms, suddenly gripped his wide shoulders with surprising strength. The agonized cry ripped from her throat as she convulsed around him made him shudder in response as the passion swirled from her mind into his, doubling the pleasure he took in hers.
He could feel her tremors as he slipped his hand free. Licking the wetness from his fingers, he was surprised by the slightly bitter taste. It was not unpleasant, just different. He savored the new experience of it, and watched with gleaming eyes as she went limp, her thighs splaying as her dewy eyes fluttered open.
He kissed her then, his own need for release growing up inside him until he nearly shook with it. She was so relaxed now, he couldn’t hurt her if he went slowly. Brushing the sweaty bangs off her temple, he held her chin so he could deepen the kiss, his tongue laving her bottom lip before slipping inside to twine with hers. Her arms came up to hold him, as they both shifted their weight so that he now lay between her thighs. His cock twitched against her belly, his balls aching and swelling at the memory of the damp heat that had clasped so fiercely to his fingers. He wasn’t entirely certain how to proceed, if he should just drive it in or what, or if she was even ready for that.
But it was her fingers that swept down to lightly cup him. He lifted his hips, gently thrusting himself against the curl of her fingers as he closed his eyes at the feel of it. Not enough for him to come, but just the knowledge that she held him so intimately, so trustingly, was an aphrodisiac in itself.
She opened her thighs, and somehow they managed to align themselves without too much fumbling. He shuddered at the feel of her warmth against him, and hissed when she drew the tip up along her slick folds, dragging him back down until the tip caught at the bottom of her entrance. Her hand slithered free and her thighs parted as her hips rolled up. He sank a little inside her, the feel of it unbelievable. He looked down at her, and she nodded slightly, taking a deep breath as he lifted himself just enough so that he could carefully inch forward.
The feeling of her slick heat was incredible, and he could not contain the growl of pure pleasure that rippled through him, even with so slight a penetration. He wanted to sink himself inside her, feel that liquid heat tightening all around him as he buried himself to the hilt within her tight depths. He shuddered at the need for restraint, sweat beading down his back as his arms shook with the need to take it slow. But she rolled her hips up, and he was lost. Grabbing her hips in his broad hands, he pulled her up sharply to thrust home.
She winced, but raised no cry, for there had been no barrier for him to win past. He wondered how it felt to her, to have him buried so deep, and nearly choked at the feel of her walls fluctuating around him. Gods, it was so tight and hot and wet. The sensation of her surrounding him was beyond anything he could describe, and her body seemed to be drawing him in further even as he dropped his head to her shoulder with a raw groan.
She shifted slightly, and he closed his eyes, shuddering as her body rippled around him. “Don’t…move…” he ordered hoarsely, trying to pull back his control long enough to see if she was all right. He could not meet her eyes; his words were muffled into her shoulder as he asked tentatively, “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she said, a trifle breathless. She moved restlessly against him, and he kissed her shoulder, dragging his lips up over the curve of her neck and kissing her softly. She closed her eyes, and relaxed, and he shifted his hips, moving himself back a bit before sinking back inside her. The feel of even such a simple movement made him shudder, and he wanted to pull her up and slam into her again and again until he climbed so deep inside he could never win free…
She made a strange noise, almost a laughing sigh, and he wondered if the thought had spilled from his mind to hers as his control slipped another notch into simple sensation and utter need. The fire burned up within him, and he tried to wrestle it back, but she moved again, damn it, and he was lost. Gripping her ass with both hands, he pulled her up sharply so that he could shove his way forward with a violence that had her wincing on a gasp. He growled, his demonic nature liking the reaction as she curled her fingers into his shoulders, her blunt nails trying to dig into his skin. She shivered at the feral growl, and his lips curled back, revealing his fangs as he licked the salty side of her neck. She wiggled away, wary of the sharpness of those fangs, and he nipped her lightly on the shoulder, his body pulling out slowly to drive his way back inside with a rough flex of his powerful hips.
“Unh.” The strange grunt hissed between her teeth, and her brows wrinkled as her eyes closed. He smirked, knowing that it was he who caused such reactions in her, and then his eyes rolled up in his head as she did something---an undulation of her hips, a tightening of the wet heat around him---and his whole world suddenly burst into flame. All sensation went straight to his groin and then burst forth in a brilliant wash of energy and light and pure electric shock as his very essence seemed to pour itself inside her, on and on, until he collapsed into pure astonishment atop her.
ooOOOoo
His weight was both smothering and comforting as he lay like one dead. The heavy pounding of his heart and the harsh breaths slowly calming into the crook of her neck and right shoulder made Sango smile lazily as she threaded her fingers through the sweaty tangle of his thick bangs. There was something so right about cradling him so intimately inside her body, and she didn’t want to lose that feeling. Her right hand slid down the damp curve of his spine, trying to keep him there as he stirred. A shudder ran through him, and Sango searched the crimson eyes that finally opened to stare up into hers. There was such an unguarded expression in the red depths she blinked, and then he was kissing her, his mouth telling her what he could not as he gathered himself to lift off of her.She sighed in dismay as he withdrew. She winced, not only from the stretching of her labia---for he had been too wide for her to accommodate easily---but the abandonment of that intimate connection between them. He immediately curled himself beside her, his strong arms hauling her tight to his side as he lay his damp forehead against hers with a sigh. His voice was the faintest whisper as he said, “Did I hurt you?”
Her thighs shifted slightly, but she would not tell him how sore she was. Not sore, exactly, but somehow stretched and…well, not bruised, either, but that felt stretched, too, and a little battered at the end, when he had pressed himself so deeply inside her he had hit something that hurt slightly. The feeling was gone, and she had been so swept up in the height of his passion she had not even felt more than a twinge through the electric shock spilling from his open mind to hers. Although she had not joined him in that final orgasm, she had felt the aftershocks of it going through her system, as if his jyaki had somehow unfurled through hers.
She felt lazy and lethargic, a strange contentment settling over her as his arms tightened around her as she mutely shook her head. He sought her lips again, a soft brush of his mouth on hers, and she laid her head against his sweaty shoulder and closed her eyes, feeling safe for the first time in so very, very long…
ooOOOoo
He eventually slept, too, as her breaths softened into an even rhythm against his shoulder and he relaxed enough to do so. The wonder of the gift she had given him was strangely humbling. The experience was so new and mind-blowing he could not really grasp it, even though his body was already stirring with the desire to experience it again. But he knew she was exhausted and probably sore, even if there had been no hymen for him to break. Having her nestled so close against him, her heat enfolding his even as his arms enfolded hers, that was…a new experience in itself, and one he savored even as his eyes closed and he relaxed into it.He was abruptly awakened by a hitch in her breath, one she tried to suppress. He blinked as she turned into him, her head burying against his chest as she shook with silent sobs. She made no sound but for the harsh gasps muffled against his skin, which was dampening beneath the tears she refused to let him see. He didn’t know what to do, had no idea if he was supposed to force her head up so he could wipe them away or let her keep hiding her silent pain against him. So he did nothing, awkward as that was, and just kept his arms around her. It seemed to be enough, for eventually she stopped shaking, her harsh breaths slowing. He moved restlessly, his hand sweeping over her shoulder and down her back, and she shuddered under the touch. She finally lifted her head up, and the pain was there, in the dark depths of her eyes, almost as new as when she first woke from her shock. He stared at her, still not knowing what to do for it, for although he might know that pain, he had always used it, controlled it, not let it use and control him.
And maybe that was what she was doing when she slipped a hand up between them to cradle his cheek and draw his mouth down to hers, kissing him with a silent desperation almost as terrible in its way as her tears. He drew back, not liking the thought, and she drew him down again, shifting so that he was now pressed full length upon her. The desire was suddenly back, blazing inside him, craving this woman who could so easily manipulate him into feeling it. That thought was troubling, too, but he thrust it away to embrace her now, his hunger growing with hers. They made sweet love, slow love, more of a rocking of his hips into hers, for he didn’t want to hurt her so soon after that first time. There was a silent desperation to it, one that felt almost guilty as he took what she gave, and gave in to what she needed.
What he needed, too, if he were honest with himself. That realization made him wary as he nestled her close in the aching aftermath. He had managed to pull her with him when he surrendered to that final passion, using his fingers on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her womanhood to draw her up as his crisis neared. The second time was even more intense and humbling than the first, and it was he who trembled and was held in her strong arms afterwards.
They nestled together, too exhausted even for sleep, and that was when she spoke, telling him in broken sentences of what had happened to send her over the edge. Her vengeance, her purpose, which had kept her going for so long, was dead along with her brother and the evil hanyou who had plagued her. Her whole life’s purpose, the reason that had fueled and driven her, was---gone. Just like that. All gone. And the emptiness that yawned before her---the guilt and bitterness and the simple hoarse demand she made of “Why?” was one he could not answer.
So he answered instead with things he had never spoken of to anyone, had never cared to, actually, for there had never been one who might understand. He spoke of the dark things he hid deep inside his heart. The bitterness he felt for a woman who had not been strong enough to find some way to smuggle him and his sister away from the cold women who despised him just for his birth and had flung him over the island to die. A woman who he later learned had committed suicide in her depression over it. He admitted in a harsh whisper how he loathed his mother for that, that she was so weak and selfish as to leave his poor sister, still so young, as alone in the world as he. He did not add how angry it made him that her depression was so much stronger than her love for either of them. He spoke of his own thwarted vengeance---how he had vowed to kill every last bitch in that icy village in the sky, and spent years tracking it down, only to find those women dead already. So fearful of life and emotion, they had become true apparitions, ghosts going through the motions of life, their hearts as cold and frozen as their isolated village.
He ignored the uneasy feeling inside him that maybe, just maybe, he had become a little bit like them, scoffing at the very idea even as it occurred to him. Instead, he found himself turning to Sango in silent hunger, needing somehow the same reassurance she had sought from him, and they made love for the third time. A little more roughly, a little more demanding, a little more desperate to grab onto something that was here and now, and not then. He used her, and was disgusted with himself for it, even though she had held as tight to him as he had to her. She cried out, her passion peaking as he sought to bury his very soul inside her soft body and let everything just go, he knew not where, just go. When she finally slept, exhausted, in the curve of his arm, he laid awake for a long time, his mind churning with too much emotion, too much hunger and too much turmoil.
She was too tired to even stir when he slipped from her side, and stood silently watching her for a long, long time, before finally, decisively, turning around and leaving. The wall opened before him, as he knew it would, and there was a King waiting, as he knew there would be, too, having made contact and a demand. The single blue eye glittered, measuring the resolution in his bloody gaze, and he sneered.
“Welcome, Hiei. I think we have much in common, you and I.” The King swept an expansive hand for him to precede, and Hiei did not look back as the fleshy walls closed behind him.