InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Web of Iniquity ❯ Illusions (Nar/Kik) ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: The characters of InuYasha are not mine, they are property of Rumiko Takahashi, Shogakukan, Yomiuri TV, Sunrise, and Viz. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Genre: Horror, Citrus

Rating: NC17

Characters: Naraku and Kikyou

Warnings: Tent, anal, blood play, violence, language

 

=#= Illusions =#=

 

 

I walk across the tatami mats, letting my white yukata slip free of my fingers to pool on the floor in a hushed whisper of silk. For a moment I pause, keeping my eyes demurely lowered as I feel his hot, hungry, possessive gaze rake over my naked body. The ghost of a smile shapes my lips into fragile, wistful expression as I stand there and let him look his fill. The heat of his stare prickles my skin with goose bumps and I do nothing to prevent my instinctual response of crossing my arms defensively over my breasts. A delicate blush rushes to my cheeks as I hear the low, sensual sound of his pleased chuckle.

He likes to think of me as innocent.

I like to use him as a surrogate for someone else.

These are our illusions.

The corners of my mouth rise as my smile widens with the soft ache of self mockery. The region of my heart gives a throb of old pain and anger, but I ignore it. The heavy, languid hunger for physical absolution fills my body with its demands; and as I lift my eyes to meet his, I am unable to keep the unladylike emotion from showing through my composure.

He chuckles again, his mood lax and indulgent with the knowledge that before the night is over, I will be his. My smile dies at the thought, but I do not turn away. I am committed; he has me right where he wants me and we both know this.

That does not mean I am powerless.

“Shall I refer to you as Onigumo tonight?” I ask with sweet venom in my voice.

He frowns, his expressive, attractive lips thinning as a dangerous light sparks in his dull crimson eyes. His thick lashes sweep down to hide the ravenous hatred that burns within his eyes like a live thing; and I hide the small shiver of excited anticipation that ripples up from my own inner wellspring of self loathing. For every little jab, for every little insult, he will take it out of my skin. This time, I cannot hide the way my nipples peak and my sex dews with moisture as another fine tremor of self destructive need shoots through me.

I hate this body of bone and clay and impure souls. Like tar and oil, it stains my soul with its filth; making my spirit writhe and churn with revulsion. But I refuse to abandon it until my purpose is fulfilled.

My will is strong…but sometimes the hatred is stronger. I need; and he provides. Onigumo's obsession cripples him and I am not so noble as to not exploit that weakness for my own uses.

It's not like he doesn't benefit too.

I smile; a small, secretive expression of smugness. These are our illusions; our necessary lies so that we each can take what we need from the other without having to admit the truth to ourselves. With his eyes veiled, he misses the brief break in my own cool composure, and by the time he once more has enough control of his own hatred to look at me again, all he sees is my exterior of maidenly demureness.

He offers me one elegant, pale, long fingered hand. His gesture is that of master to servant; in every way, he wishes to demean and debase me—but this is what I crave. With unruffled calmness and grace, I slide my small, cool hand into his, letting myself be distracted by the contrast in size of our two joined hands so that I don't see the flare of naked lust that blazes to life in his eyes. Troublesome though it is, even now I have problems letting him touch this false skin of mine. To witness the intensity of his hunger will only kill my flagging arousal with the instant recoil of my disgust at myself.

Naraku is many things, but dense is not one of them. In this we are familiar dance partners and he knows me almost as intimately as I know myself. He slides his hand forward under my limp one until he can caress the pulse point at the tender underside of my wrist with his middle finger.

I watch the motion with single minded intentness, needing yet dreading what comes next.

“Kikyou,” he says softly, tentatively; mimicking Inuyasha's voice perfectly.

Lust flutters and flares to life in my abdomen as under my stare, his hand morphs into a tanned, sword callused one with claws: Inuyasha's hand. His finger continues its little circular motion over my pulse and the touch is at once soothing and hypnotic. I feel myself relax as the subtle tension of being this close to someone I consider an enemy slowly leaves my body. Somewhere inside my mind, nervous panic finds voice and jabbers incessantly in warning, but as I allow myself to fall under his spell, the thick weight of my apathy smothers out all else but the reality of his presence. All the instinctive alarms of my trained senses gradually fall silent one by one as the guise of Inuyasha quiets my distrust.

I smile softly; but there is no joy in my expression. The vulnerability of my sadness and pain deepen my dark brown eyes until they are wide and innocent; the warm, liquid, limpid look of hurt prey.

A deep growl spills from his throat as the claws on his fingers dig into the underside of my wrist to the point of drawing blood. My breath comes out in a low hiss as the star bright kiss of pain lashes through my body and peaks my arousal.

“Naraku,” I say his name like a caress, my voice slightly hoarse with the sudden intensity of my own desire. With the spike of his own arousal he has let the falseness of his own appearance fade away, and that is just as well because there is no longer need for it.

He is crippled by his need to be himself as he takes me, and I am infinitely grateful that the one way he could break me is beyond his capabilities. A very small part of me wonders what it would be like, to lay with Naraku as he wears Inuyasha's form. A slightly greater part of me is glad it will never happen, but I still feel a pang of regret. My hatred is so completely twined with my resolve to live that I cannot protect the one I love from its bite. To be that close to Inuyasha is to be that close to destroying him; my control so far has been enough to cage the need, but only just.

With Naraku, I do not have to worry of such things.

I smile, but it is more a baring of teeth than an expression of any kind of happiness.

“Naraku,” I purr; a warm thread of lust and threat in my voice. My hand closes around his wrist in a tight grip and I send little crackles of purifying aura to dance along his exposed skin. His fingernails dig into the open wounds on my wrist as he pulls me forward with an impatient jerk, slamming me down onto the futon with inhuman strength. Immediately he rises up over me as I land on my back, the dark, wavy tendrils of his black hair escaping its tie brushing along the skin of my breasts and throat.

“Bitch,” he purrs back, his hand lifting up to strike.

Crack! The casual gesture of his backhanded slap flings my head to one side as the skin along my cheek bone reddens and swells. I taste the salty, metallic slickness of my own blood as my busted lip bleeds into my mouth. With unhurried leisure, I turn my head to look at him, my dark eyes filling with murderous, passionate heat.

“Bastard,” I whisper softly, wiping the blood off my mouth and holding my damp fingers up to his lips. As his tongue snakes out to taste me, my fingers glow pink with my aura and the lightening shock of purification rips through his innards like fire.

His body convulses then goes rigid as he exercises control. His red eyes flicker with the erotic promise of retribution and then his mouth is hard on mine, his teeth grinding against my bloodied lip with exquisite little bursts of pain.

A low moan of reaction is torn from my throat as my gut churns with greedy passion, as my nipples tighten more, as I feel myself grow fully wet, as my body goes pliant. With impatient ruthlessness, he shoves his knee between my legs and I willingly spread them for him. The hot thickness of his erection presses down against my thigh, and in the next instant, the head of it is nudging against my opening as his hips move into place.

Without ceremony or foreplay, he is on me, in me as he spears that hard, unforgiving length into my tight, tight passage. Cruel, sweet flares of pain lick their way up and down my sheath, bowing my spine as my mouth falls open in a soundless scream of agonized pleasure. Tightly I lock my thighs around his hips; demandingly I encircle my arms around his neck. With uncaring brutality I wrap my fingernails under his jawline and pull, extending his neck out until the corded muscles stand out in stark, beautiful relief. I cannot suppress the greedy sound of hungry anticipation that spills from my throat as I lock my teeth around his tender flesh and bite down hard. He gives an enraged snarl of pain which I match with a sensual, husky chuckle of my own. A jerk of his chin frees his face and strikes a glancing blow across my temple. Flashes of light dance in front of my eyes and static fuzzes of my hearing, but I only grit my teeth more, determined to hang on.

With another low snarl of anger, he cedes me my triumph, contenting himself with pinning my hips down with one of his gross appendages and driving himself into me again. Once, twice, thrice; the strength of his thrusts takes my breath away so that I am forced to let go, desperately gasping air into a body that no longer needs air. No flicker of remorse or concern crosses his face as he drags me towards him, tucking my body into a tight little ball beneath him so that every fall of his weight on me, every invasion of his thick hardness inside compresses out what little air I have managed to suck down.

It is my turn to snarl as I attack him with my fingernails, leaving long bloody furrows in his cheeks, neck, and shoulders. With relish I pause long enough to lick the blood away from my fingers, purifying his tainted essence from the liquid so that it spills down my throat, thick and hot and tangy. I give a pleased chuckle, mocking him as I stare up at him with scornful disdain.

With glowing red eyes filled with lust and madness, he hisses softly and pumps himself into me. One thick, coiling tentacle snakes out and snares my wrists, pulling my arms up over my head until my shoulders threaten to pop out of place. The slow, pulling ache of my stretched muscles whispers along my senses like silk, making me writhe with urgent arousal as I struggle to push him deeper into my false, filthy body.

“More!” I snarl up into his arrogant, wickedly pleased face.

“Beg me!” he purrs back with smug delight.

“Give it to me now!” I hiss back, my face contorted with rage and urgent demand.

“Make me,” he counters; his velvet voice rough with arousal and thick with need.

A slow, cold, cruel smile turns my lips up ever so slightly as I let my body go lax beneath him. In a childish and singsong voice, I began to chant.

“The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the miko's spout. Down came her power and burned the spider out. Out came the jewel and dried up all the taint. And the itsy bitsy spider was never seen again.”

I watch with satisfaction and a repulsive little slither of fear as my words have exactly the effect I want them to. The burn of his mad, obsessed eyes flares crimson bright, and then the ugliness of his true nature appears, turning the red of his irises to a thick, soulless black even as the whites of his eyes take on the shine and color of freshly shed blood.

“Miko,” Naraku hisses, but it is not his voice. Onigumo may be the heart of Naraku; but here is the clever, cruel, malicious intellect that is Naraku's mind: the youkai spider.

“Play with me,” I beg shamelessly, arching my back to rub the hard, sensitive tips of my breasts against the sculpted planes of his chest. Under the weight of his calculating, indifferent hatred, I feel myself go impossibly wet as my body surges up involuntarily, driving him into me so hard I can feel the internal bruising. The shivery sensation of bloody wetness pooling inside this hard shell of a body is like the first shy caress of a lover, making my heart race with nervous excitement. The thickening musk of blood and sex acts like an aphrodisiac as I inhale it in shallow little pants. With senses fuzzed over with pain and pleasure, I gently embrace Naraku and bring my lips up to brush a kiss of greeting against his mouth.

“Take me,” I encourage him, taunting the spider with my vulnerability.

I watch hatred, keen and cold and evil, sharpen Naraku's eyes into glittering orbs of ebony and scarlet. Like a hard jab to the gut, lust and need erupt within me and slowly spiral outward, sucking me under in a whirlpool. Here is the lover I desire; the one who will hurt me without hesitation. The youkai spider requires no reason to punish me. Tethered as he is by Onigumo's heart, he cannot destroy me, but that does not stop him from creative torture.

I shiver, knowing what is to come. The incessant roar of loathing for my disgusting clay body quiets into an appeased thrum as I feel his erection ripple and change within me. Soft and smooth, his flesh slides into mine…but as he withdraws tiny little barbs of pinprick pain latch into the tender, hypersensitive length of my sex. With jagged, short thrusts of his hips, he takes me fast and furious. Like livewires, my nerves scream with white hot agony, bowing my spine with its intensity. With a solid thump, the back of my head hits the floor and without a second thought he latches onto my exposed throat, biting down until he draws blood.

Caught up in the strike and retreat of his hips, it takes all of my concentration to ride each wave of horrid sensation. Again and again he takes me; and the purging pain courses through me like ripples of lightening. A climatic swell of razorblades and broken glass boils over in my gut, sweeping through my insides like sandpaper, leaving me scoured clean.

With one final, harsh thrust and a hoarse groan, he empties himself into me.

For a moment he is content to lap at the welling blood at my throat. Then, as the bite mark crusts over, he moves down my body to my sex, easing that long, agile tongue over every inch of abused skin. Sated and sleepy, I let him do as he pleases with my flesh. Inside, deep into every corner of my clay shell, the stolen souls of the dead are silent and still. A particularly insistent probe of his tongue makes me twitch, but otherwise I do nothing to either encourage or discourage him. In this rarest of moments, I am blissful and content. The revulsion of my soul has been quieted and the ever present, driving need of my spirit to finish its unfinished business is momentarily absent. The grating jangle of all the memories of past lives from my bodily inhabitants is completely gone.

I am blessedly alone in my skin; with my soul resting easier in its earthen container.

My deep euphoria is broken by the creepy sensation of a tentacle easing its way across my skin. With mild disgust I watch as the dark, shining length of it slithers down towards the apex of my thighs. Catching up the tip, I wrap a thin coil of it around my finger as I watch Naraku's dark head dip and move over my sex. Tucking my other hand under my head, I lay back and relax into the skilled ministrations of his inhuman tongue. Slick and succulent, it slides down into my tender bleeding sheath. With a swirl and a glide deep, deep inside, he tickles my body awake. With a twirl and bunch of that dexterous muscle, he teases my battered senses with featherlike pain and phantom pleasure. The twining aches of arousal and discomfort ease their way into my being, and with a little sound of protest turned pleading, I clamp my thighs around his head.

The slither of other tentacles on my exposed skin breaks through my complacency at last, and with an expression of distaste I begin to sit up in protest. Immediately a bladelike appendage slams into the ground beside me, pinning me to the ground with the press of its keen edge against the tender flesh of my throat.

“Naraku,” I hiss in warning.

His only response is a deep throated growl against my groin, a rumble of vibrations that makes my clit tingle. The sensations continue, long after his growl stops and I realize with a start that there is a slender tentacle attached to my clitoris. The tugging suckles end with little prickles; it has anchored itself to my flesh with tiny hooks so that the rising tide of my pleasure is accentuated by bright sparks of pain. I whimper, wrapping my hands around the insect arm that holds me down. Despite the strength of my push, despite the fact that I pour purifying power onto the hard shell, it does not budge.

From above my dark curls, Naraku's red eyes flash with amusement and triumph. His tongue does a sinuous little twist inside of me that makes my hips buck into his mouth. The ambidextrous tip doubles back on itself, sliding along itself back to the sensitive spot within. With a soundless cry, I forget all my struggles as he tickles me there with a flutter of his tongue.

For the first time, tears well in my eyes as the pleasure swells, sweet and uncomplicated, to fill the emptiness left behind by the pain. My fingers, where they are clenched around his limb, tremble as the pleasure does what the pain could not; breaking through the last of my self control. I whimper again, but this time the sound is unfettered and thick with my unspoken demand. Low and sultry, Naraku's chuckle washes over my senses and instantly I feel ashamed. It is just as well that he cannot speak, just as well that I cannot escape.

If he were to treat me with contempt—beat me, rape me, leave me for dead—I would be able to resist. If he was still just Onigumo, I would be able to endure his treatment without endangering myself. The clay body I reside in would take damage, but me, that which is Kikyou, would be untouched.

But this is Naraku.

He knows me, intimately, and he knows, with the sly delight of a spider, how to exploit every weakness of my soul, of my heart. He knows that I am immune to his brutality...and vulnerable to his tenderness. A child can die of starvation for a gentle touch. How more so can I; one who has loved and lived and now hovers in a perpetual state of half life.

I blink away the tears, focusing on the sleek and silky fall of his hair. If I ignore the slight wave to it—if I focus on the luscious, sinful black of it...if I ignore the oily sheen of Naraku's tentacles wrapped about my body—if I focus on the strokes of his tongue, the suckling of my nipples and clitoris, the sweet glide of his fingers over my hungry skin…I can almost imagine that he is my Inuyasha, human and forever mine. I can almost feel free from the terrible burden of the Shikon no Tama. I can almost hear the neglected yearnings of my womanly heart singing with happiness…

If only I could fool myself for more than a moment.

With quiet sobs I give up the illusion, covering my face with my arms as I cry. The sight of my tears sooths him, quieting the need he has to see me suffer.

Pleased by my capulation, Naraku presses on, using tongue and tentacle to drive my false body to fleeting absolution. Gently, tenderly he eases my body to climax. With the patient finesse of a lover, he touches and teases me until I writhe with the pain tinged pleasure.

“Please,” I beg softly, beyond letting my shame choke me into silence.

The slide and creep of a tentacle along my tail bone, down into the hollow between my buttocks, draws a hiccupped cry from my throat. Revulsion and excitement curl in my abdomen—silencing my sobs—as I wait with held breath for what comes next. The twist and curl of the tip teases me for a long tortured moment until I feel it give a slow swirling stroke over the pucker of my anus. Spreading secretion onto my flesh, it begins to worm its way past the tight clench of muscles there, pushing its way inside. Each thickening squirm of it entering is accompanied by a flicking undulation of his tongue. Over and over I feel the double violation intimately, choking down sobbing cries of horror and ecstasy as I greedily pump my hips, seeking after the elusive relief of mind numbing orgasm.

“Please!” I sob, abandoning the tattered remains of my pride as I arch myself into his mouth.

His smug, satisfied chuckle taunts me; and for a moment shame and despair rips through my soul as I wait for him to take pity on me. My eyelids drop down, squeezing the last of my tears out so that they trickle down my cheeks. With a soft slurping sound, he withdraws his tongue and smacks his lips. I do not have to open my eyes to know he wears an arrogant, amused smirk. I do not have to look to know that he has withdrawn his blade appendage from my throat. He and I know both know I am beyond trying to resist or run.

I feel his hands encircle my hips, easing their way up my waist and ribs with timid, trembling touch. Slitting my eyes, I see the raw emotions play across his face as he eyes me with obsessive hunger and intense possessiveness. The way his red gaze scorches my flesh reminds me that I am not alone in my need, and I glance farther down his pale, muscular body to see the thick length of him curving against his taunt stomach.

I smile bitterly as the reverent, exploring touch of his fingertips smoothes over my sensitive flesh. Poised as I am on the brink of climax, I make no move to rush him as I soak in the disbelief and wonder he feels. For all that he hurts me, for all that he hates me, Naraku cannot deny Onigumo's lustful, obsessive, passionate love.

The tiniest flare of compassion and sympathy for him tempers the urgency of my body as I reach for him with sad, desperate longing. Cradling his face in my hands, I guide his lips to mine for a bloody, anguished kiss. I cannot have Inuyasha; but I can have this; I can bask in Naraku's blind, all consuming need to have me.

It is better than love, for my love for Inuyasha only cripples my resolve while my hatred for Naraku strengthens it.

And each time I come to him, each time I feel the pain and pleasure and self contempt, I draw closer to making him mine. I tell myself that I don't care whether Inuyasha honors his promise as long as I take Naraku with me to hell. Sometimes, I almost believe that.

If it came down to a choice; to have the comfort of Inuyasha with me as my soul burns in hell or to have the satisfaction of watching Naraku burn along side me for eternity…which would I choose? Does the strength exist within me to let go of my past love, to let him have his second chance at happiness?

I don't know. I cling to my hatred, uncaring whether it is for Inuyasha or Naraku. As long as I have the cold, sweet chill of that strength, I know I can go on existing as I am, tainted and twisted. I know I can reach my final goal.

The destruction of the Shikon no Tama.

Naraku's lips whisper over my own, and with a small gasp I feel him sink into me, filling the ache of my body. Gentle and slow, his tentacle undulates as he thrusts into me. Graceful as a dancer, my hips rise to meet the fall of his; and I spin into oblivion as the crest of my climax sweeps through me. Trustingly I let my eyes flutter close as the flash of Inuyasha's beloved face flits across my mind. One sorrowful sob manages to escape from my chest, and then I lie quietly as he finishes inside me, reaching his own peak with a small, broken cry.

Cool, blessed silence falls between us, as impersonal and comfortable as two strangers passing in the night. He rolls off of me, withdrawing from my body. By the time I raise up and open my eyes, he is pulling on his black, silk yukata. Shrugging off the small ache of hurt that blossoms in my heart, I follow his example, pulling the snowy white of my own robe about my battered and bruised body. With all the dignity I can muster, I rise to my feet and belt it closed. My footfalls are silent on the wooden floor, but somehow he knows when I reach the door without even without turning around.

“You will come to me again,” he states confidently.

Perhaps it is just my imagination, but I think I hear undertones of demand and pleading in his voice. Looking deep within myself, I know I will come again. The knowledge brings me no comfort, just a hollow sort of ache that comes after there are no more tears. With the slightest smile and a heavy weight of sadness, I answer him as I softly close the door behind me.

“Yes.”

 

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