InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Three Months ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: I know, I know, people write these roommate stories all the time and this is probably far from original. This was intended to be a writing exercise for myself (for what, I don't exactly remember...I think maybe writing something that wasn't dialogue driven...), but it actually grew into something substantial...sort of. It was also intended to be a one-shot, but that obviously isn't going to happen. There may only be two or three chapters. There isn't any deep plotting going on here (at least, there isn't supposed to be, hence the PWP code), just something a little light, a little fluffy, and maybe a little lascivious.

Also, the description of Inuyasha in this was inspired by a piece of fanart I saw awhile ago called "Domestication" by kite which I can't find anymore -_-

Enjoy.

 

Three Months

Chapter 1

 

He was just supposed to be her roommate -nothing less, and certainly nothing more. The circumstance of them living together wasn't something she particularly cared to think about. It had been one of those moments where she had been desperate and he had been convenient.

Kagome frowned as that thought flitted through her mind. It sounded...dirty…naughty. She had been having more and more of those thoughts lately; completely innocent thoughts that, when twisted around this way and that, like a Rubik's Cube, turned into wicked little things that left her blushing. She ground her teeth in frustration and pushed the shower curtain violently aside. She blamed this new ability to turn even the most innocuous comment into something lewd on her new roommate's mouth rubbing off on her.

Her fingers paused as they adjusted the temperature of the shower. There went another one of those thoughts. With a huff of exasperation, Kagome pulled off her tank top, dumping it and her underwear in a small pile under the sink.

What it really came down to, she thought as she stepped under the steaming spray of water, was the lack of modesty her roommate had. She hadn't expected him to overtake the two-bedroom apartment, hadn't really wanted to have to deal with him at all. She had been hoping he would be like her last roommate who had holed herself up in her room constantly, only coming out to use the bathroom or have the occasional chat. He was just there to pay half of the rent and the utilities.

But she couldn't seem to get away from him. When she stumbled out of her room in the mornings, there he was, standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, drinking tea -tea, of all things!- or sitting in the living room, watching television, one arm slung along the back of the couch, a foot resting on the cushions, knee pulled up to his chest and looking for all the world like he belonged there…which, technically, he did, but that wasn't the point. When she came home from school or work, he was there, sitting at the kitchen table, perched on the counter top, reading the paper, shoveling food in his mouth, or sprawled out on the living room floor, playing video games, the controller resting on his stomach.

His stomach.

That was another problem she had with the whole situation. She had seen more flesh in the past three months than she had ever seen in her life -aside from the occasional sex scene in movies or the scantily clad men in cologne advertisements, neither of which really counted. While leaning against the counter in the kitchen or watching television or playing video games, he tended to be shirtless. His fitted jeans sat dangerously low around his narrow hips, showing the trail of fine white hairs that made their way from his bellybutton and disappeared into his pants; a trail that, Kagome was sure, all too many women had been happy to follow. If he had been an average, pasty-skinned college guy with the beginnings of a beer-belly, she wouldn't have minded so much.

But no. Of course his skin would be a deep gold, like burnished copper, and pulled taut over hard muscle that shifted and flexed every time he moved.

And he did it on purpose, she knew. Yesterday morning, he had come walking out of his room, clad in only a pair of boxer shorts -red with black and white dogs running across them- and had actually posed for her. Well, not posed, exactly, but she had noticed that he had waited until she was looking at him before raising his arms up and stretching, like a cat after a particularly satisfying nap, making the muscles in his back ripple (she had never thought it was possible for muscles to really ripple until she had met him). She was instantly in need of a bib.

Until she had noticed his smirk in her direction.

Like a wall changing the flow of a river, that damn smile had instantly changed her desire into something more like annoyance.

Last night, lying in bed, staring at the black void of her ceiling, she had decided, in some fit of insanity, that two could play this game.

When she had stumbled out of her room this morning, making her way into the kitchen with eyes only half-open, following the delicious scent of coffee, she had nearly stumbled into him. Her shoulder had brushed against the firm planes of his chest, her arm had caressed his solid stomach before she had jerked away from him, scowling even as a blush blazed across her cheeks. She ignored him as she poured her coffee, as she took one large swallow of the scalding liquid, concentrating on how it burned its way down her throat and into her stomach. When she finally looked up at him, she was startled to find him watching her.

No, not exactly watching her. Staring.

"Good morning," he said, softly.

That was another thing she hated. He somehow had picked up on her irritation with loud noises or voices in the morning and now always spoke quietly to her for the first half-an-hour she was mobile.

And it didn't help that his voice reminded her of the soft purr of a cat, encasing every sound he made, including the occasional petulant "keh," in rumbling velvet. It didn't help that, to her ears, simple words like "good" and "morning" seemed to have dozens of hidden implications -none of which could have conceivably received anything lower than an R rating- when passing through his lips.

His lips.

She jerked her eyes away from his face. She thought, the first few days, that after looking at him for a while he wouldn't be so knee-weakingly stunning.

But it hadn't passed and, after three months, she had come to the sullen conclusion that she would just have to get use to her heart temporarily stopping in awe when he entered a room.

He had strong features; a patrician nose, high, sweeping cheekbones, and a square jaw that had a tendency to be stubbornly set. His eyes were large and golden, like one would imagine a lion's to be, with impossibly long lashes that appeared to have been kissed by a heavy frost, weighing the lids down, making his expression eternally blasé. His eyebrows, arching like two raven's wings across his brow, tended to be pulled together whenever he was concentrating on something or when he was irritated, creating a faint crease between them. His lips looked soft, perfectly balance with the bottom one just slightly fuller than the upper, and usually were quirked up on the right side in a small grin.

Then there was the matter of his hair. It was cut short in the back, layered in a sort of haphazard way that still managed to look stylish even if he had just rolled out of bed. His bangs fell rakishly across his forehead, with two longer chunks framing his face and falling almost to his shoulders.

And it was white. Virginal white. Moonbeam white. Pristine snow white with shadows of silver ice dancing through it. It was soft and fine -Kagome knew because she had pulled a strand of it from his brush in the bathroom and had run it through her fingers, thinking how unfair it was that he should have such beautiful hair without even having to work for it.

But more unsettling than any of his physical attributes was the simple fact that he was inu-youkai. Well, inu-hanyou, but Kagome wasn't sure how much the distinction mattered. Atop his head sat two fuzzy ears, reminiscent of an Akita-ken's. Through the left one were two silver hoops that winked at her if the appendage moved -which it did. Often. His left ear would swivel toward her if she took in a sharp breath, if she made a muted sound of frustration in the back of her throat. Sometimes even when she wasn't doing anything, when she was just sitting quietly in the kitchen, textbooks open on the table in front of her, homework half-finished and forgotten because her attention was focused on the back of his head while he lounged in front of the television. It was like a satellite dish, that ear, the way it turned toward her, like a freakin' GPS monitoring her location and her actions at all times.

Kagome's fingers clenched around the handle of her coffee cup. There was something about those ears. Each time she became aware of them, she had an almost irresistible urge to reach up and pet them. He would catch her staring sometimes. And she would catch his small smile before she made her way out of the room.

This morning, he was, per usual, sans shirt. His jeans, worn and soft looking, were a little threadbare at the knees, the edges of the pockets and the bottom hems frayed. And she realized, much to her dismay, they seemed to sit lower than most of his other pants, giving a fantastic view of those shallow depressions where his hips curved in.

However, it wasn't the state of his dress, or lack of it, that bothered her this morning. It was the fact that she could still feel his skin against her shoulder, along her arm. Granted the contact had been brief, almost non-existent…

But.

His skin had been surprisingly soft and warm. So warm that it would have been considered feverish coming from anyone else.

In that moment, as his skin busied itself with searing its velvety texture into her very pores, something changed. Kagome's fingers tightened even further around the handle of her mug, and only the slight twitch of that left ear warned her something was about to happen.

The handle cracked, the mug shot to the floor. Before the ceramic could shatter against the linoleum, before the dark, inky liquid it contained could splatter across the cabinets, a long-fingered hand interfered with gravity's notorious plan.

Her roommate held the broken mug out to her, but all Kagome could do was stare at it, the handle dangling limply from her fingers.

It seemed impossible that someone could be that fast, could have reflexes like that. She watched his arm as he set the mug on the counter, fascinated by the cord of tendon standing out from the inside of his wrist. The claws that adorned all five fingers trailed lightly across the counter top as he pulled his arm back to his side.

And Kagome found herself wondering just how nimble he was with those claws. How much control did he have over them? Not to mention the inhuman strength he had been blessed with. If he were to take her, right there, right now, would she carry away scars from the affair, or merely scratches? These thoughts led to other things, indecent things never spoken of among respectable people, and Kagome felt something warm spread through her stomach before pooling somewhere more useful.

"You want another cup?"

Mercurial grey collided with molten amber as Kagome looked into his eyes. She saw his nose twitch, saw his left ear swivel toward her, silver hoops winking shrewdly at her. And, much to her dismay, the other ear joined its twin, both standing at attention while a look of intense concentration came over his face.

"No," she managed to rasp.

Because she needed to escape. She knew the power of youkai senses, knew what the twitch of his nose and the sudden rigidness of his normally relaxed ears meant. He could smell the changes in her mood before she could even sort them out sometimes. And if she was…blood suffused her cheeks…if she was aroused, he would know.

And he did know. She watched the awareness bloom in his eyes like a flower opening to the sun. Slowly, he set his own mug on the counter. Slowly, he started to lean toward her, eyes heavy-lidded as he pulled a deep breath in through his nose.

The handle from the mug clattered noisily against fake wood laminate as Kagome tossed it on the counter. She turned on her heel and walked out of the kitchen, seeking the sanctuary of her bedroom. She closed her eyes as she leaned against the door. She couldn't believe herself. He was her roommate, for kami's sake! And here she was, thinking about how sexy he looked leaning against the cabinets, about how that small smirk, which never seemed to leave his lips, made her want to drop to her knees in front of him.

And his skin.

Kagome ran her fingertips lightly over her shoulder, down her arm, almost expecting something to be there, something that would outwardly announce the touch of his skin against hers. What would it feel like to have his bare skin flush against hers, her legs wrapped around that narrow waist? What would it be like to have her breasts pushing into that firm chest, to have him pressed against her?

Or inside of her?

Kagome let her head fall back against the door with a loud thump once...twice, in the hope that if she did it hard enough it would derail the loop her thoughts had suddenly become stuck in.

A shower. A nice hot shower would wash everything away.

She peeked out of her bedroom. Her roommate was nowhere in sight. She managed to walk calmly across the hall to the bathroom, and let out a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her.

Now, as she stood under the hot water, as puffs of thick steam surrounded her, she tried to put all prurient thoughts out of her head.

But the heat wasn't helping. It matched the heat in her body, almost encouraged it, and she felt something thicker than water make the insides of her thighs wet. Her fingers wandered down her stomach, touching the tops of her thighs hesitantly. She squeezed her eyes closed, bit her lower lip, and spread her legs.

And who should pop into her mind as her fingers worked eagerly over herself, but her roommate. She couldn't help imagining how those lips would feel running over her skin, couldn't help wondering how dangerously close he would come to injuring her every time he ran his fingers over her body. And, despite the risk to her skin, she found that it was the thrill of it all that aroused her.

With a moan, Kagome's fingers moved faster. She propped one foot up on the edge of the bathtub, flexing it so that most of her weight rested on the ball. Her knee pressed hard into the ceramic tiled wall, but her restless fingers slid over her clit again and she ignored the pain.

Her head fell back, her mouth opened, and she let out a loud moan of pleasure. Her breathing started to become erratic, pushed from her lungs only to be sucked back in loudly. Water poured over her skin, the curtain stuck to her arm, and she thought she heard her name being called. But she ignored everything, concentrating on the heat that her fingers stoked to greater intensity.

A hard gasp pushed out from behind her lips and she suddenly heard the bathroom door banging forcefully against the wall as it was thrown open.

"Kagome, are you okay?"

His voice pierced through the steam, carried over the water, the concern in it clear. But it still contained that note, that underlying tenor that promised to make every iniquitous desire come true.

He hesitated just on the other side of the curtain, perhaps weighing his options. She could just imagine the look on his handsome face as he tried to figure out how much trouble he was already in just by bursting into the bathroom. He must have figured he had made it this far, and seemed to come to some sort of final decision when she didn't answer him.

Because she couldn't answer him. She bit her lip against the sounds crawling out of her throat even as her hips jerked under her fingers. Coppery sweetness burst in her mouth and she ran her tongue over the cut her teeth had made on her lower lip.

"Kagome?" The concern was gone, replaced by an uncertain alarm.

The opaque deep purple curtain was ripped forcefully aside, its plastic loops stretching and tearing. The rings bounced along the edge of the bathtub, rolled across the floor.

Anxious yellow suns pierced passionate clouds of grey. Kagome watched as his lips parted, as dark amber started to swirl through the gold when his eyes ran down her body, stopping at her hips.

That was how Inuyasha found his roommate; back arched, hips jutted back, breasts straining forward. Her legs were spread, her fingers pushing into her in short, quick strokes.

Oh, fuck.