InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The House of Mirth ❯ Heart Stopping ( Chapter 9 )

The House of Mirth

By: RedHerring

 

Warning: This chapter contains graphic, yaoi content. Roughly translated, that means Gay Sex. Do not read if you are on medication, pregnant or nursing, or may become pregnant. Do not read if you have a heart condition or high cholesterol. Do not read if you are homophobic. Side effects may include dry mouth or drooling, shortness of breath, dizziness, light-headedness, nose bleeds, and, in some cases, extreme hornieness.

 

Chapter 9: Heart Stopping

 

 

Miroku passed out twenty minutes ago, right after telling me to take a left, skip two rights and take the third, and bear left onto King St. I'll have to mark the route on my map later.

 

Dayu rides on my shoulders and keeps up a steady stream of chatter and exclamations over the night life of Boston. Sixteen hours plus of sleeping has made the little mite a mass of energy. Thankfully, he is content to ride my shoulders.

 

We reach the apartment complex at around nine. I have to dig through Miroku's pocket to find the key Dr. Sao had given him to key us in. The building looks very well off; nothing like trump towers, but more than decent. It's decorated with a modern style. Odd structures of metal adorn some tables and a bench or two line the hallway outside a laundry room. While looking for flat 12D I notice the directory sign also lists where a pool is, a sauna and the parking garage.

 

How does Sao make enough money to afford this kind of flat on a paycheck from a free health clinic?

 

When we finally reach the doctor's flat I drop the suitcase inside the door and my injured arm twinges in relief. The bandage came loose and I quickly let Dayu down and dump Miroku on a tan-and-red striped couch.

 

“Nuya, is this a hotel?” Dayu's high voice chirps from next to an entertainment system. He has the glass paneling open and is studying the vast array of buttons with glee. I dash forward and pick him up again to avoid any technological mishaps. Sitting on a wooden frame chair with orange cushions, I sit Dayu on my uninjured knee, facing me.

 

“We're at that doctor's place. You know the one that fixed up my scrapes? He invited us to spend the night so we wouldn't have to go to a hotel.”

 

“That's nice!” he smiles sweetly and squirms in my lap. He is wide awake, and will probably never get to sleep, and I can't get the rest I want and leave him to wander the apartment.

 

“So Shippou,” he grins at the use of his real name. “What do you want to do?”

 

“Umm. I want to go to the park.” He bounces eagerly.

 

“Sorry, Kiddo. The park's closed because it's late. What else?”

 

“Can we go swimming?”

 

“Nope, sorry. We don't have swimming trunks, or towels, and it's the middle of fall. Pick again.”

 

“Can I jump rope, and you sing the rhymes?” Harmless enough, and if I move the coffee table, there'll be enough room for him to go wild without potential breaking of valuable things.

 

Dayu gets his rope out of the front pocket of his back pack and brings it over to the space I cleared. I sit back in the orange chair and Dayu obligingly falls into my plan to wear him out in two hours. Mwahaha!

 

Forty minuets later, he's still going, and has even dragged me into holding one end of two ropes, while a copy of himself holds the other end. He is doing Double Dutch, even doing little half-spins in between jumps. I have to repeat the same stupid rhymes over and over. Miroku is still snoring, and probably wouldn't wake if a herd of buffalo would come charging through the room.

 

“...how many doctors will it take? One, Two, three... Shippou?”

 

“Yeah?” he squeaks out between pants.

 

“Why not try shape-shifting while you jump rope?” I ask, keeping my voice in the beat of the rhyme. Shippou collapses and his copy disappears.

 

“Can't,” he's breathing heavy, and his bangs are plastered to his forehead. He falls onto his back with his arms splayed out, his head falling between my feet.

 

“Well, then it's bath time for you, mister.” He puts up no protest as I cart him to the bathroom, thankful that it has a tub. He sighs in bliss as the cool water runs over his shoulders and face, and I let him spend fifteen minuets playing with a plastic cup I found in the kitchen and a wash cloth. He likes to lie back in the water, submerging his head, and look up at me. He giggles and has to resurface when I make a grotesque face and wave.

 

When he is clean, I dress him in some clean pajamas from the suitcase. He brushes his teeth, and runs back to his backpack while I clean up the mess in the bathroom. The last thing I need is Sao getting upset over the mess. As I am hanging up the used towel to dry, Dayu comes around the corner carrying his Velveteen Rabbit story book, a hopeful, yet slightly nervous expression on his young face.

 

I never really liked to read to him before. The books never held enough of my interest for me to make it enjoyable for Dayu, who had to do some considerable pleading in the first place. I suppose he thinks it might be a good time to test his luck with the way I've been behaving all night.

 

I suppose it wouldn't hurt, but Dayu has to eat something first. He pouts, but agrees that he is hungry and I fix us both a bowl of cereal, and he eats an orange and a banana.

 

There are two rooms with a bed in them. The sparsely decorated one with a full size bed must be the guest room. It has a small TV on an empty dresser and a small padded bench at the foot of the bed. Dayu tucks himself into the bed and spreads the book open to the first page on his lap. I hop on the other side of the bed and snatch the book from him without a word, and he scoots closer so he can look at the pictures as I read.

 

My voice is deep and steady, and Dayu relaxes more and more until his head is lying against my chest. I even try and change my voice to differentiate the characters. When the story is done I close the book and continue to lean against the headboard in silence.

 

“Tired yet?” I ask him.

 

“Nope!” he shakes his head and gets up to sit on his legs. “Let's do something else! How about Uno?”

 

“Uugh, Shippou I'm tired. Some of us didn't sleep for fifteen hours today.” My arm is flung over my eyes dramatically and Shippou falls back in exasperation. “But I'll let you watch some TV until you get sleepy,” I compromise, and Shippou has an expression that says, “I don't like it, but I know it's the best I'm going to get.”

 

After I set the TV to the Disney channel and hide the remote, so he won't end up watching something like Howard Stern, I leave the room; shutting the door on the image of Dayu, bathed in the artificial light of the television set, and disinterestedly watching whatever “B” movie is on.

 

I can probably get a few hours of sleep in; that is if Sao doesn't wake me up when he comes back. If Miroku stops snoring in the next half hour, I'll be a lucky hanyou.

 

Before I settle down in front of the digital TV with a throw pillow from the couch I move the coffee table back. The noises seem amplified now that everything is quiet and my mind is not focusing on any tasks. The muffled noises from the Disney channel become increasingly loud as my hearing adjusts to the silence and I find myself getting up several times to lower the volume. Dayu doesn't really care, and on the fifth time I find him lightly dozing to the images of an old Popeye cartoon.

 

Exiting the darkened room I notice it is one o'clock. I hadn't thought I was restless for so long. Even as tired as I feel, I just can't get to sleep, so I wander into the small kitchen and wash some dishes. Michael Sao is a tidy man, and the only dishes in the sink are from Dayu and I, and some that were probably his breakfast dishes.

 

As I lightly place the last dish in the appropriate cabinet, I hear keys jingle in the deadbolt lock on the front door. I move to stand in the archway leading to the kitchen, and watch Sao enter, carrying two bags, and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He has changed into more casual cloths than what he was wearing in the clinic. He must have had a shower too because the heavy scent of exhaustion and sweat are absent from his body. He looks toward me with a surprised and happy expression, and greets me with a mirthful “Hello.”

 

“Hey,” I tacitly answer. He drops his keys in a dish on a table near the entrance and walks to the half-wall of the kitchen that separates it from the living room. He sets the bags down and sits on a stool, resting his elbows on the blue surface.

 

“How's your arm?” he asks. I shrug, keeping my eyes averted. He's making me uncomfortable again. I don't really know how, either. He isn't doing anything but showing concern, but the uneasy energy tingling through my spine is raising my defenses and furrowing my brow.

 

He runs his fingers through his clean hair and slides off of his stool to enter the kitchen. He has such an honest smile on his face that I feel like a complete prick for not saying anything. “Um… Thanks for letting Dayu and I stay here,” I mutter while my hand reaches up to scratch behind my right ear. Michael's eyes follow.

 

“No problem. To be honest, I was really worried about that wound, and I wanted to make sure it is going to heal okay. If you did have some place to stay I would have offered to drop by tomorrow and check on it for you.” My eyes widen in surprise and I can feel the guarded expression melting a little. “It looks like the bandage slipped anyway. I brought some special tape that only sticks to itself,” he says, reaching past me and into one of the paper bags. “If you take off your shirt I can put it on for you.” The corner of his mouth quirks upwards and he pulls out a roll of the red tape.

 

He exits the kitchen, grabbing a pair of scissors on his way out and I go to take out the medicine from the suitcase where I stashed it. I hesitate before taking off my shirt, but snort at my own timid response. If I could kick myself I would. I can't believe I've been acting like such a coward! Pull yourself together Inuyasha!

 

The only place to sit in the living room is on the orange chair because the couch is still taken up by Miroku. Michael gestures for me to sit and he takes the burn cream from my hands and sets it on the table along with the gauze pads, rubbing alcohol, and tape. While he tends to my arm I try to act nonchalant, but it is really hard when every time he winds the roll around my arm he manages to brush my skin.

 

“What about your leg?” he asks, reaching to grab my knee. I jerk it away quickly, and his hand retreats.

 

“It's fine.” He ignores my hostile tone and reaches to grab my knee again.

 

“I really think I should look at it,” he says seriously, and stares directly into my averted eyes. Dammit, now this guy is just acting weird. It makes me more comfortable to pull back on my shirt before I remove my jeans. Again, my wrist is making a nuisance of itself when I try to undo the button. Sao positions my injured leg between his knees and repeats the same procedure to the wound.

 

When he finishes and sticks the end of the tape on itself he does not remove his hands. Instead, he trails his fingers down to feather-brush the back of my knee.

 

“That is enough!” I shout and jump away. You can't just do that to a person! Yes, I've been ignoring it, hoping he would stop, and the offer of his apartment was just so damn convenient.

 

“Sorry, what's enough?” he asks. He frowns, as if confused, and stands up.

 

“Just - just everything. Just stop what you're doing, because I'm not like that!” I back away further. Miroku snorts and turns over.

 

“Stop what?” He has me backed against the counter top of the half wall and trapped on either side by two stools. He reaches to brush a piece of my hair off of my shoulder.

 

“That! You - You're - You keep - ”

 

“Trying to seduce you?” He finishes for me, while resting that hand on my shoulder. “Good of you to notice.” I shove his hand away and he dives in and smashes his mouth against mine. I react before I can think, and he's on his back, and my claws are at his throat.

 

“I said stop.” My nostrils flare, my body is alarmingly tense, I can feel the pulse of his body beneath my fingertips.

 

“Nuya,” he says, still calm and smiling good-naturedly. “When someone does you a favor, it is kind to return the gesture.”

 

“I don't owe you sex,” I snarl, and a small drop of blood glides down his perspiring throat.

 

“Do you know how much that medicine cost me?” He asks fiercely; his nerves are starting to show through his voice. I let him go and stand on the other end of the couch, putting Miroku between us.

 

“You said it was paid through funding.” My eyes narrow. He rises slowly and rubs his neck.

 

“Not that medicine. That cream is a burn salve for hanyous, and is made for your kind of metabolism. The pharmacy had two jars.”

 

“You lied!”

 

“So did you. You have nowhere to go, and only the money you carry. You're some runaway with a little boy and a potentially dangerous injury.” I'm shocked. I thought I was careful. I thought my lies would just let me slide away and let me deal with everything on my own terms. I am shaking, and I know it is because his shrewd analysis has caught me off guard.

 

His voice softens. “Nuya, helping people is what I do. On my off days I volunteer at the Neverland shelter.” He moves towards me, and when I continue to avoid him he stops, sighs, and puts his hands on his hips. “You think I don't know how to recognize a lost boy?”

 

“I'm not a boy,” I snarl.

 

“No, you're not,” he agrees, and the admiring tone to his voice draws another growl from my throat.

 

“If you like helping people so much, why are you asking… for stuff like that in return?” Sex makes me think of Onigumo and his “friend.” Thinking of them makes me panic. Panicking makes me angry.

 

“Whoa, calm down. I kissed you because I find you attractive. I like your hair, and your ears.” He says it with such sincerity, and I blink in surprise before deciding I don't believe him. After all, the word Hanyou is pretty much synonymous with Monstrosity. “Also, because I think you need a lot more help than is apparent.”

 

“What do you know?” I sneer and cross my arms.

 

“I know that you need a place to stay, and that I can help you find one.” He slowly retreats and sits on the orange chair, resting his hands on his knees and sitting ramrod straight. I realize my claws are still flexed and I relax, but don't move from my spot of safety, and remain silent and sullen.

 

“You don't have to do anything. I won't make you, but if you don't then I won't be willing to do you any more favors.”

 

“You're blackmailing me?” I ask incredulously. That fucker! That lousy bum! That maggoty fucktard! That cockbite!

 

“No because I won't do anything if nothing happens. You can stay here the rest of the night and leave in the morning when Miroku leaves. But if you agree, then you and your kit can stay an extra day and come with me to the shelter on Friday. It's just that if you don't pay my price, it's the last time I'll ever help you.”

 

Stupid cockbite. Shirt-lifting fairy. Asshole!

 

Option A: Allow Dr. Michael Sao to commit acts of Gay sex with me, thus paying for his `favors' and acquiring a place for me and Dayu to live, food to eat, and the promise of help in the future.

 

Option B: Do not pay Sao's disturbing price and be thrown back out on the street to fend for myself and Dayu, and probably end up loitering in libraries and fast food restaurants, maybe even attracting the attention of police. I can't even get a job without an address, and I can't pay for an apartment without a job.

 

It fucking sucks that Option A looks better.

 

Sao stands very slowly and inches towards me. “I won't hurt you.” He moves closer, bit by bit; I look at the spot where I tried to fall asleep hours earlier and uncross my arms. “I won't force you to do weird things.” Miroku and the couch no longer separate us. “You might even like it,” he whispers and moves closer still….

 

I don't move away.

 

His lips brush my cheek and my eyes tightly clamp shut. His close proximity brings his scent with him and I am reminded of the sweet aroma I noticed from the clinic. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him; stomach to stomach, knees to knees. He continues to kiss his way toward my mouth, and I… I remain unresponsive.

 

And then his lips, his soft, hard, wet, dry, and hot lips find mine. He must have some demon power I don't know about because how could lightning go shooting down my back? The hand that is stroking my shoulder, neck, hair, back, waist, hip, stomach and chest seems to sensitize my skin to everything. I realize that the pounding in my ears is my own heart.

 

His tongue invades my mouth like a drill digging for oil. It probes deep, exploring my mouth and filling it with his taste. He must have some demon blood, for no human could ever taste that good.

 

And suddenly, I am a boy. I am a boy being kissed for the first time where the world disappears and the only world that now exists is this person's lips, and hands, and breath, and feeling everything.

 

Sao pulls away to regard me seriously. My eyes are still closed, but not clamped shut. My breath forces itself violently in and out of my lungs as if I had just run fifty miles in thirty minuets.

 

“Now tell me you didn't enjoy that.” He smirks.

 

“I didn't enjoy that.”

 

“Ah, but I know you're lying,” he whispers severely and a slight push with his hips draws my attention to the lack of space and the growing arousal between us. He pushes again, and keeps pushing until I am walking backward and he is steering me down the hall toward his bedroom.

 

No, no, no nonono. Backing into corner - not good. I feel hunted and his eyes do not discourage that feeling. I grab his shoulders and spin him, and I am leading him to the bedroom. He doesn't seem to object and he pushes the collar of my shirt aside to lavish the shoulder of my injured arm.

 

We reach the bed and he releases me when he falls back. He tears his shirt off and fumbles to push his pants off as he scoots up the bed. I stand and watch in the dark room, trying to convince myself that getting on the bed will not put me in danger.

 

“Take your shirt off and come here,” he says, offering a hand. His breath is as labored as mine, and his boxers are tented around his groin. I hesitate, but force myself to pull the bottom of the shirt, inch by inch, over my head. When my head is free of the material Sao is closer and taking hold of my hand. “Come on the bed. Get comfortable,” he whispers in my ear and shivers erupt along my back when lightning shoots down my spine again.

 

He pulls me to kneel on the queen-size bed with him, stomach to stomach, knees to knees. One hand rests on my waist while the other wanders behind me to grab and knead my ass. I awkwardly rest my hands on his shoulders.

 

Sao plants a kiss on my forehead, and my eyes look around him to stare at the drapes on his window. I don't - Oh my… that felt really good. He blows in my ear again, this time while grinding his erect member into my own and a throaty groan is pulled from me. My hands grip his shoulders tightly and I grind back into him. He laughs a bit, and encourages my participation by swathing the tip of my ear with his tongue.

 

Oh, God… fuck. I bury my face in his neck and am engulfed in that sweet scent. I wonder if he tastes like he smells. I push him forward tentatively, with gentle nudges asking if he would lie down. His smile is huge and spreads across his face as he eagerly complies.

 

“I'm glad you're warming up,” he remarks huskily, and spreads himself out on the bed as if offering himself to me. I take the invitation and descend again on his neck, trying out the string of kisses he had showered me with. My lips travel down his jaw, across his cheek, and to the corner of his mouth before I practice on the other side of his face. When I reach his mouth again I enter his mouth after dragging my tongue across his chin.

 

His moan rises above both of our frenzied pants and he flips us over so he is straddling my hips and sitting on my hard length. The feeling of pressure is so exquisite that I whine from the back of my throat and lift my hips to create more sensation. My hands run from his knees and up his thighs to cling to the skin under his boxers. My eyes are shut and my head thrown to the side, but the most surprising sensation on my chest attracts my attention to it like a moth to a light. Sao's tongue baths my chest, and spend a deliciously long time on my nipples. I didn't know they were so sensitive.

 

My hands decide they want to comb through Sao's blond hair, and they travel a path that wanders around Sao's firm ass for an alarmingly long time. When they reach his hair, they are not content to brush through the flyaway locks, but must travel to caress his shoulders, then his back. I can't seem to get enough of the feel of him beneath my fingers.

 

Meanwhile, his tongue continues to cause terrifying sensations. He goes down my body further, and slowly plants his hot, open mouth across my stomach. I know where he is going, and it fills me with anticipation and a little bit of dread.

 

“God, you're so stunning, Nuya, and you taste so good.” He punctuates that statement with a long lick to my navel, stabbing the tip of his tongue into the depression and heartily slurping the surrounding skin.

 

Mmmm, it feels so nice. It is soothing, and somewhat quiets the urgent need his previous ministrations aroused. My hand returns to his soft hair to languidly pet him until he finally, tantalizingly, reaches the waistline of my boxers and runs his nose in the thin line of hair disappearing under the elastic. He pulls them down and my breath catches in my throat. His mysterious demon lightning is coursing through my arms and back and seems to be concentrating between my legs. I lift my hips off the bed to allow him to slide the material completely off.

 

It is hard to breathe, and it feels as if his piercing gaze is stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I try to hide my trembling by clenching my fists, and I sit up to face him.

 

He quickly disrobes himself, and now shares my level of physical vulnerability. Mentally, however, he is on much higher ground because he has done this before and the only time -

 

He shaves himself, which strikes me as odd. His long, slender, and hairless dick bobs almost invitingly as he shifts his weight to his knees and leans forward. Again, his eyes are hunting me, and I advance to meet him half way.

His hand reaches directly for my sex, which is almost completely hard. The touch, slightly rough with calluses, shocks me with the intensity of my reaction. His palm roughly slides down my nine inches. I never thought something could feel so good!

 

“Oh, God, Sao! How do you do that?” It strikes me as a very stupid question to ask, but suddenly my mind has gone very stupid because his fingers have started to fondle my sac.

 

“Call me Michael,” he whispers, and I suddenly find my mouth pressing against his as the instigator of a heated kiss. My tongue awkwardly tries to taste him, and he accepts my clumsy attempts. He has a chipped molar, and the underside of his tongue feels like suede. He rubs the bit of skin behind my balls and stirring between my legs becomes so intense that everything is vocalized in one incoherent shout.

 

“Tell me you liked that,” Michael whispers.

 

“God, I loved that.” His hand squeezes my sac one last time and moves on to tug against my long, hard length. My hands, in their search for something to latch on to, have found their way to Michael's own aching, hot, cock. I encounter his own furiously pumping hand that immediately seizes me and guides me to pleasure him.

 

It is awkward, but Michael encourages me with light moans. When I swipe my thumb over the head of his erection he moans as loud as I did, and a small swell of pride fills my chest. When I gain a comfortable rhythm I can turn more of my attention to kissing Michael. God, I love kissing him. He bites my lip, and I nip his tongue. He traces my teeth, and I suck his tongue like a vacuum.

 

I have no idea how long we have been like this, but eventually the lightning increases. I can feel the climax of the moment coming swiftly and furiously.

 

“Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael, Michael,” I chant as if reciting a spell. The feelings are so much, and too swift, and with the force of a sledgehammer they are crashing down on me in waves, and shooting out of me in gushers. I have never felt anything so intense! God there is nothing better!

 

When the stars clear from my eyes and I can finally breathe again Michael is seductively licking my semen off his hands. My cheeks are flushed, and blush stronger at the blatantly perverted action.

 

“Ready for more?” he asks.

 

“More?” How can there be more after that? That was - I can't even describe how that was, and he wants more?

 

“Well, I haven't finished.” I notice his clean hand is stroking his straining, dripping member. “And I know just what to do with you,” his voice lowers to a whisper, and his eyes are now hunters, but I am too satiated from my orgasm.

 

He crawls to the edge of the bed and shuffles around in the night stand, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. No!

 

My eyes widen, phantom pain shoots up my backside, and suddenly I am on the other side of the bead, poised to bolt. Michael looks almost patient - his erection is still begging for attention - as he begins to unwrap the condom.

 

“No. No, Michael.” I hate that my voice shakes. I clear my throat to get the trembling under my control.

 

“I promise I won't hurt you,” he assures, but he continues to prep himself and I barely resist the urge to flee.

 

“No. I just can't. I won't.” My eyes must look wide and wild, and Michael looks doubtful. He might just remind me that this is his payment and then where would I be? I resist the insane need to protect my bottom with my hands. “Please don't,” I ask one more time, and I tell myself that I am not begging.

 

He sighs, shrugs, and tosses the unused condom and the bottle of lube back on the bedside table. He looks at me ruefully. “Well, then I hope you have a plan for this,” he says indicating his weeping dick. Then I notice the strained look on his face, and the need in his voice. I am so grateful that he didn't insist he do that that I gladly climb back onto the bed and take his lips with my mouth and his sex with my hand.

 

Almost by mutual thought, we descend to the pillows while I inexpertly try to coordinate my actions. I begin to mimic his actions, giving him a quick lick to his chin before following a similar path with my mouth down his chest. I almost linger on his nipples because it is an odd experience to suck and lick at such tiny spots of sensitivity, but his urgent hands are guiding my head to his erection.

 

I hold him in my left hand, and hesitate only a moment before I taste him in a very different spot than his mouth. A lick to the head of his penis sends his hips jerking and a pulls a loud moan from his throat.

 

“Fuck, Nuya. God - just suck it, please!” His hands start to do delicious things to my ears. However, there is one slight problem.

 

“Um… What do I do?” My hesitant voice doesn't seem to penetrate, but his flushed face becomes visible when he rises his head. His exasperated gaze locks with my apologetic and bewildered eyes before he flings his head onto the pillow again.

 

“Just… Cover your teeth with your lips and suck,” he gasps out because I have started licking him from the base to the tip. “And use your tongue like that,” he adds.

 

I follow his instructions and soon have him withering beneath me. The sensation of control fills me, even though he has as much control as I do. He looks so wanton. His hands rub his body up and down, and they stop to play with his nipples. His hips are bucking, and I have to use one arm to hold him down or else I will end up choking. I lavish his cock with attention, and turn the attentions of my tongue to his sac. He seems to appreciate that.

 

My jaw begins to ache, but there is a kind of hypnotic rhythm that develops when sucking cock. I feel Michael's hands tug at my ears, and a familiar thrill winds through my body - Ack!

 

Apparently the tugging was a warning that he was going to come. Well, I got a mouthful of that. Some gets on my chin and dribbles down my neck. I quickly spit it out in my hands and scrape my tongue on the roof of my mouth. Spunk is nasty stuff, no matter how sweet his mouth might taste.

 

While Michael recovers I clean off my hands and face with some tissues and toss them in a waste bin by his closet. When I return to the bed he is smiling lazily at me and spreads his arms in an invitation. I enter the circle of his arms, licking his chin once more before we kiss again. I am grateful for many reasons, but mostly because this sex was not wrong, and oily, and filthy.

 

“So I told you you'd like it,” he remarks sleepily.

 

“I guess I did. Thanks for not making me… you know,” I mumble. He nods, but shifts so he is facing me.

 

“Why didn't you want to? Virgins aren't usually so terrified.”

 

“I wasn't scared!” I'm no pansy-assed virgin girl either, wailing to her boyfriend to be gentle.

 

“Well, you were uncomfortable about something.” He won't let it go. I don't want to tell him, but he's rubbing my back so soothingly and Onigumo and his bitch seem so far away that it is now safe.

 

“The miko that attacked me was teamed up with my step father. He used her to subdue me and tie me up. They knocked me unconscious and then raped me. The miko attacked me after I managed to escape the rosaries she used.” I am a hanyou after all. Weakling is my middle name, and Michael probably never expected more - Ack!

 

“Why didn't you tell me that to begin with, you dunce!” he berates me even as he hugs me tightly. Kisses litter my face, and I sputter. “I would never have asked you to do this if I had known. I probably made it worse!” He seems really agitated and worried and his concern unnerves me. I know I don't deserve it.

 

“No big deal. It was my fault anyway,” I brush of his attention.

 

“Nuya, it is a big deal because something very wrong was done to you.” He grabs my face between his hands to stare into my eyes. “The first thing rape victims do is blame themselves, and you can't,” he insists.

 

“Alright,” I admit uncomfortably, breaking the eye contact and trying to look away. I can tell from his expression that he doesn't believe me, but he lets it drop and pulls me into a bear hug so strong it's as if he is trying to push all my troubles away. And it kind of works.

 

It is chilly in the room when our heated bodies are not creating friction to warm us. Michael pulls the covers over us and spoons my back, his naked body flush with mine. “G'night,” he mumbles, and I hear his heart rate slow down and his breath slows it's tickling journey across my shoulder.

 

Concerns, consequences, insecurities, they can all wait until morning. I'm sure I will think of some when my mind isn't so muddled. It would be nice to not worry about this, though. I thought I liked women. Now I have a whole new list of things to worry about, like being discriminated against for two things instead of only one.

 

I can handle it. Michael seems like a good teacher. If he deals with it, why can't I?

 

Hmm. I wonder if I have enough money to do some laundry….

 

AN: Bet you weren't expecting that. Or maybe you were. No homophobic flames please. They will be laughed at and passed around like a smoke pipe at a 70's hippie party. It is 2:20, and I have spent all night writing the last five pages so you can have the chapter.

I just recently looked back at my original outline of the story, and am startled at how different a turn the story took. I'm a bad `cop story' writer, though. I need to watch more CSI and Law and Order before I even attempt something like that. But don't forget that a book is the best place to learn how to write something.

Again, no promises on when the next chapter will be out.

 

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or any related characters.