Ranma 1/2 Fan Fiction / InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Shameless ❯ What Love Is ( One-Shot )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

What Love Is
Souta was named for a human he’d never met, who lived in a time that his mother seldom spoke of, except to give him history lessons on his family tree. As a pup, Souta had always wanted to meet the human boy who shared his name and blood, and his mother would often smile at that, her young face gentle and indulgent. “Maybe someday you might.” The long life of an inu-hanyou was not a signed guarantee, But the Higurashi clan had survived for a hundred years so far. Every living member remained at the village in which Souta was born.

The village loved his mother, loved his entire family, but not because of any semblance of friendship. His parents were the village protectors; for one hundred years they had defended the villagers from dangerous youkai. But when they were not praising his parents and praying for their safety in a coming battle, the villagers were whispering… whispering about how his mother never changed, never grew old, whispering about the dark powers she must wield in order to achieve that longevity.

“Tainted” was a word murmured so often amongst villagers who underestimated the power of hanyou hearing. Souta had asked his mother about the villagers' hurtful gossip. “I made a wish, a long time ago,” she had told him as she fletched arrows with practiced ease, “to be with your father. You never get exactly what you wish for.”

He hadn’t understood her. Kaede, the old village miko, had told him the wish meant his mother would not die until his father did. Her body would weaken as his would weaken, and they could never be apart. “Where the heart goes the body follows.” The old miko had said, and Souta had shivered not in fear, but in excitement. It wasn’t dark magic that kept his mother young and strong, and made his parents the subject of fear and doubt; it was love. Love must be the most powerful thing in this world, Souta had concluded.

He grew slowly, like his siblings, youkai blood straining against human to pull him through time at a snail’s pace. He grew inch by agonizing inch, and thought of love. He watched the village women for any signs that they needed assistance, and always he was there before anyone could react. Always he would take up a heavy basket, or help hang up washing, or dig rows for a garden. He wrote them notes in an unsteady hand on leaves and rose petals. He serenaded them in a voice like a shocked crow. He loved every woman of the village, followed them around like a desperate pup, until his father sat him down and explained what love was.

“Love is pain, sacrifice, and death,” his golden eyes had been hard and chastising, “love is taking food from your plate to feed another; it’s giving up your comfort, your happiness, your life for another; love is a slow death.”

“Then why do you love Mom?” Souta had asked, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading; his father was never cruel, but his wrath was more terrifying than facing Kaori, the schoolmarm, when she was in one of her moods.

His father’s expression had softened, and he’d pressed his forehead against Souta’s and gripped his son's shoulders in his clawed hands. His mother had been sitting nearby, and she walked over and laid a hand callused by work and battle against one of her son’s fuzzy ears. “There are countless reasons to love, but only one way to do it, and that’s with everything, Souta. You should never love unless you’re prepared to give up everything.” His father’s grip on Souta’s shoulders had tightened fractionally, and then he’d let his son go to hug his wife.
Souta did not understand his father's words at first, but he stopped trying to court everything with a pulse.

His older brother Tai left the village when Souta was still an adolescent. He left to join the Slayer clans, formerly led by Souta’s human “cousin” Kohaku, now led by his offspring. When news of Tai’s death reached the village six years later, Souta was only slightly older by youkai standards, but he felt like he knew what love was. The pain had almost ripped him apart, thinking of his brother dead at the hands or claws or teeth of something mindless and hungry.

His parents had comforted their two remaining progeny with all their efforts, but Souta could see his brother’s death in their eyes every time he looked at them. That was also what love was: memories of what was once.

Souta became a young man at fifty years of age, body strong and supple from hours of training with his father, and with his mother and the way of the bow. His sister Izayoi grew cat-quick and keen of eye. They traded off who would go on patrols with their father or mother, killing youkai who threatened their home.

The Inu no Taisho, Souta's uncle, sought to keep youkai, and even hanyou, relevant in a world slowly being dominated by humans. The Lord Sesshomaru's efforts had worked, so far, and human and youkai and hanyou lived a peaceful, if uneasy, existence with one another. His mother often spoke of the day when she might reach the future world that she had came from, should they be blessed to live so long. “It will be so different.” Was all she ever said.

There were no youkai, no spirits in her time that she had seen. She would hum with happiness whenever they talked of those things, and Souta loved her more than ever in those moments. His mother, a human, wanted a future with hanyou and youkai living beside her people. His mother, the Visionary, with the Inu no Taisho, her brother-in-law, the hand writing her vision with ink and paper treaties.

His mother wanted his future, his sister’s future, secure. There was love: working for a future you might or might not see, that those you love will be happy.

But nothing was set in stone yet, and this was evident in the youkai that still attacked their little village. Souta often called them insane, but his father would silence him. “No, not insane. Hungry, feral, and ignorant. They don’t know any other way to be, son.” And Souta would quell the fury in his breast even as another youkai spread pain and destruction on the farmland, or a neighbor’s hut, or the village shrine to its two former miko.

This was the backdrop of Souta’s life; a life of love and pain and sacrifice.
But it had softened and hardened him at the same time; his vital points were held close, but not out of reach, and his eyes were always open to others. So open, that when he looked and saw her that day, she crawled inside his head.


Souta ducked low at the sight of the youkai he'd smelled earlier. His tanned body blended in easily with the fractal play of light and shadow on the forest floor. The bow strung across his back shifted against the quiver, and he stilled himself. The noise of leather and wood creaking would be drowned to human ears by the noise of the creeks and the birds, but a youkai would hear a sound out of place as though Souta had screamed in an empty cave. He was already concerned that one was this close to the village during mating season, a time when youkai became even more violent and unpredictable – especially the females.

The female youkai in question was bathing, in a cool spring that was fed by several creeks and streams in the forest. Souta was perched high above her, on a cluster of boulders next to a thin trickle of a waterfall. Her back was to him, and she was running a rough cloth over her face and arms with slow, almost sensual movements. Her skin was the color of amber, and glinted wetly in the light filtering in through the towering canopy. Hair the color of burnt honey was twisted over one of her dark shoulders.

Heat spread up Souta’s chest and suffused his face, but he didn’t let the warmth affect his attention. She was a youkai, he could smell and sense her all at once, even if she appeared human. And as she was a youkai near his home, his father's territory, he would be cautious until he understood her motives for venturing into the woods of Inu Yasha. Female youkai good be especially dangerous during mating season; they were very good at seducing young humans into a false sense of safety. Right before breeding with and then consuming them, the female youkai appeared friendly as a kitten. But that fate would not befall the son of the two greatest slayers of evil youkai the world had yet seen.

But there was no harm in a closer look before he decided whether or not he had to puncture her head with an arrow.

Moving slowly, feet sliding across the earth in a random pattern to mask his presence as that of a forest animal, lest he actually make a sound, Souta crept until he was between two other, lower boulders. The boulders were on her right, but still out of her peripheral vision. There he crouched almost off-balance, ready to move in any direction. Souta made sure to angle himself so that the short nest of black hair on his head blended in with the cast shadows from the stones, and his legs, bared from the short cut of his dark blue jinbei, were masked by the earth and clay hugging the base of the stone.

Upwind and near another small waterfall from one of the many creeks feeding the lake, Souta was just another unscented part of the forest landscape.
The youkai woman ducked her body in the water and came up sputtering, tossing her cloth onto the bank. He was only about ten feet to her right and only three above, close enough that his inhuman eyes could make out the dark freckles dusting her shoulders and upper arms.

Unconsciously, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his skin, Souta moved his head to follow her movements, her back to him as she heaved herself up out of the water and onto a flat, black rock steaming in a patch of sun. A sigh escaped her lips, and eyes closed, she lounged. Her more delicate parts were protected by white wrapping, across her breasts, and a light blue loincloth over her groin.
However, these articles did not offer much protection for Souta’s imagination as they clung, wet and almost translucent, to her athletic curves.

Souta looked away from her for a moment, because he suddenly found it difficult to think. There was no evidence that she meant any harm to the village, less than an hour’s walk away. There was also no evidence that she meant to even be near their village. Obviously, she was only intending to bathe, considering herself safe in these woods.

Reluctantly, Souta moved off the way he had come and headed at impossible speed for his home. There was no danger for either of them here.

The next day, the woman was almost gone from his mind, but not quite. Vague images of her haunted his dreams; he had never gotten a good look at her face, and in his imagination it was a blank mask with dark lashes fanned across high cheekbones. When he rose from a restless sleep, and had eaten his breakfast, his mother sent him out to gather wild strawberries from the woods. “They grow best near the water,” she reminded him, handing him a basket and his weapons, “be careful; if you see any youkai, don’t—”

Souta rolled his eyes. “Mom, I’ll be fine,” she snorted and strapped the basket to his belt, “I’ll be home for dinner.” He kissed her smooth white forehead, and left their large hut, his mind off the woman almost completely.

“Don’t eat all of them!” She called after him, and he waved back to show he’d heard and headed into the woods.

Once in the safety of the dark trees, he took off at a run. During the spring rut, many youkai stayed away from the village; there were no unmated youkai in the area, except for he and Izayoi, and their hanyou impurity often made other youkai pass them by. Even the Inu no Taisho’s closest advisers had to struggle to be kind to their Lord’s strange extended family, while the Lord had long ago accepted his brother and his offspring.

Therefore, Souta was confident the young woman from the day before was just a mistake, a youkai passing through on some desire to mate in the warmer areas of the island. At the thought of her, his heart began to pound, and he ran faster in the effort to sweat the lust out of him. There was no way he was going to see her again, anyway, so any thoughts of her were best pushed from his mind.

He reached the edge of a creek where small, frilled strawberry plants grew. The red fruit peeked tantalizingly from the fronds, and Souta set to work plucking them and placing three in the basket for every one that he ate. Some of them would likely be his lunch; he’d spend the day wandering through the forest, maybe kill a deer and bring the carcass to his mother for a feast. At the thought of his family, and visions of their faces excited by his catch, he began to pluck faster.

Souta picked until his hands were red and he was almost sick from eating. He took off the cotton top of his jinbei, leaving his protective leather vest in place, and wrapped the basket of berries in the shirt. Then he buried them under a tree, which he marked for future reference by slashing the bark with his claws. The earth, cold this close to the creek, would keep the berries fresh whilst he hunted.

A splashing sound drew his attention as he was preparing to draw his bow. That wasn’t a normal sound for the forest. It was a heavy sound, like someone leaping from a great height into water. Fuzzy gray ears swiveling, Souta searched for any accompanying sounds, and heard the low humming sound of someone singing quietly to themselves. He sniffed, but whoever it was, was downwind and he couldn't catch their scent around the aroma of strawberries, earth and animal musk. But he could sense a youkai, sense its presence weighing, not uncomfortably, like a stone on his breast.

Souta moved down the creek, the forest floor sloping down gradually until he was once again at the sheltered lake from the day before, staring anew at the youkai woman.

He had originally attributed the splashing and singing to a human, perhaps doing laundry, or even fishing or bathing in the lake. The woods weren’t the ideal place for travelers to pass through, – they were thick and labyrinthine, and very cold at night – but Souta had been confident that the youkai woman had moved on, to the point that he had allowed that confidence to blind him to other possibilities.

When his father got back from visiting with the Inu no Taisho in a few days, Souta would get such a scolding for allowing the female youkai to have passed yesterday without being questioned first! Clenching his hand into a fist, he vowed that he wouldn’t let his embarrassment at seeing a woman in the – regrettably only almost – nude stop him from doing his duty to the village on this day.

Moving stealthily through the shadows, Souta kept his golden eyes trained on the woman. She wasn’t bathing, she was just relaxing in the water in her strange clothes with her back resting against a stone at the edge of the cool lake, humming.

Pausing behind a rock, a few feet of her, carefully checking that he was upwind, Souta leaned around and gazed at her. From the angle, he was able to get a clear look at her face finally, her full lips, the freckles on her long, angled nose and high, full cheeks, and her eyes… They were a solid mass of blue bleeding pale at the edges and darker at the middle, no whites, and pupils thinned to slits in the bright sunlight as she gazed up into the canopy.

He had never seen a youkai like her. Was this her natural shape, or was she disguised in human form? Was she a hebi, or a kitsune trying to trick and trap a male? Souta sniffed the air, parsing out the scents and cataloging them for inspection. He shuddered when he caught hers amongst the myriad scents of the woods; no, no serpentine or vulpine scent here, just something he’d caught whiffs of off of his sister and other female youkai during the spring, and sometimes on human females. He’d ignored the aroma when it was coming from Izayoi; long-ingrained impulses prevented him from having any sort of reaction to the smell of his hanyou sister in heat.

But the smell of desire was unmistakable on this woman, and doing unmistakable things to one very particular part of him. Taking several deep breaths, Souta wrestled with the youkai blood in him until his heart was beating at a more regular rhythm. He wouldn’t confront her with his heartbeat making him sound like prey.

Standing to his full height, Souta stepped around the rock with his bow drawn and ready – he also had a double-edged short sword tucked into his belt, a dagger strapped to his hip, and a thin sheaf of ofuda in a chest pouch on his leather vest, all precautions in case of a youkai attack. He took aim on the woman’s beautiful face, but she didn’t even glance up at him, merely content to examine now the tips of her small, slightly rounded claws. Her humming continued, a quiet whisper as she picked nonexistent dirt from her small pink nails.

“Why have you come here again?” Souta asked firmly, flushing slightly when he realized that implied he’d been watching her the day before. But he ignored his mortification; she hadn’t been naked, anyway.

The woman’s eyes shifted, the pupils expanding in the changing light. Her lilting tune cut off as her long nose wrinkled slightly. She smiled teasingly, showing off sharp, white fangs. “You were watching me?” Her voice was surprisingly soft, tinkling, like the song she’d been humming.

The strangeness of her eyes bothered Souta. They were penetrating, yet he could not read her through them. He tried to discern her intentions through her scent, but could only smell her arousal, dampened slightly by the clear water.

“I am keeping watch, and hunting,” Souta answered, “why have you come here?” He asked her again, keeping his voice firm, as his father had taught him when dealing with strange youkai.

The woman levered herself up by her hands against the rock behind her, corded muscles sliding under her dark skin, and turned slightly to face him. “I am enjoying the spring free of the youkai males sniffing after females,” she said bluntly, “but I see that I can never really escape from the season.” She smiled coyly and moved towards him, stepping up and out of the water where a small creek met the clear lake. Souta gulped, heart thudding in his chest again like a panicked rabbit’s. He backed up as she stepped forward a few paces through the creek water.

She stopped, hands on her shapely hips, eying his raised bow with her strange, blue within blue eyes.

Suddenly the air was too hot. He felt slightly ashamed, having interrupted her quiet repose; he didn’t have a right to go around sticking arrows in innocent youkai’s faces, that wasn’t terribly friendly of him. But then again, what if she was a shape shifter, a predator disguised as a beauty?

Souta hardened his eyes and kept his bow on her, but just to the left of her heart now. The woman blinked, slowly, water dripping off her lithe form. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression; I’m merely looking after my people,” when she didn’t respond, he slowly lowered the bow until the arrow was pointing at the ground, “but you do not seem like a threat.” He finally conceded. For the moment.

“I’m not,” she said simply, and the tension in the bow string slackened further, “not to you, anyway.” He cocked the arrow back again, but didn’t raise the weapon. Instead, Souta watched her, closely, checking for telltale signs of a readying attack: a tightening in the fingers of her hands, or a small movement in her taut stomach, or a twitch at her knees.

Nothing; she stood as still as a stone, only her chest rising up and down with her even, unhurried breaths. “What’s your name?” He asked without realizing he'd spoken.

“Angara,” hers was a foreign name, a word he’d never heard – she stepped a little closer to him, and her scent wrapped around his face, as soft as a lover’s arms, “what’s yours, boy?”

“Souta of the Higurashi clan, and I’m not a boy.” Souta retorted petulantly. Angara giggled, tossing her thick rope of auburn hair over one sun-kissed shoulder.

“Are you afraid I’m going to eat your village?” There was definite humor in her tone, which meant one of two things: one, she thought the idea of eating humans was funny, in which case he would tell her to get the hell out of his woods and never show her stunning face around here again – maybe leave out the stunning part, though.

The other was—

“Your paranoia is funny,” she was making fun of him, a little boy playing soldier; he almost growled in annoyance, “and misplaced. I have no interest in human flesh… at least, not to eat.”

Blushing, half from indignation and half from what her words implied, Souta relaxed and disarmed. Angara smiled, but he couldn't tell if the smile reached her eyes. “Your village is lucky to have such an able protector.” He flushed under her praise, and her smile widened.

“Thank you and… my apologies,” he said awkwardly, “I’ll let you get back to… bathing.” He finished; his voice had almost cracked.

“But it’s lonely here by myself – stay?” Heart thundering in his ears, all thoughts of sounding like prey gone, Souta nodded. If he was honest with himself, he’d like nothing more than to keep talking to her.

He had never just… talked with a woman before, except his sister and mother. He might have been old by human standards, but to a hanyou or youkai, he was largely still a very young man. His young appearance and youthful energy made people in general impatient with him. Angara, however, genuinely wanted him near her, and while he wasn’t starved for love or affection, her attitude intrigued him almost as much as her scent did.

Angara slipped back into the water and beckoned for him to join her. Souta hesitated; that would mean leaving his weapons behind, something he’d been taught not to do. “Aren’t you coming in?” Angara inquired, oblivious to the silent war within himself.

“Oh, uh,” he gulped and slowly sat down, dipping his feet in the cool water, “I’ll just sit here.”

“Suit yourself,” she said casually, shrugging; the movement caused her ample breasts to sway almost hypnotically and threaten the integrity of the white wrappings across them, “do you come into the woods often, Souta?”

“Yes, very often, to look for… predators.” He said carefully, trying not to offend her. Not all youkai were the same, he knew that, and he wouldn’t want to imply that he thought ill of her, even if he had at first.

Angara’s red mouth made a small “o” of understanding and she nodded, slowly. “Why are you here?” He asked, motioning to the trees around them. “I mean, I know it’s to escape the… season, but why this place?”

“As I said, it is empty of youkai,” she answered; her voice was oddly accented, but he couldn't place what part of the island she was from, “also, it is very beautiful, and there is a lot to eat.” She swam in a slow, lazy circle on her back, her toes, face and breasts out of the water.

“Yes, there is an abundance of game in the spring.” This conversation was going nowhere, Souta realized, but he didn’t care, the sound of her voice was pleasant enough.

“Mm, yes, but I do not eat flesh,” Angara made a small noise, like a sigh and turned her face in the water to look at him as her circle brought her past him, “you do. You are inu, the Hunter.” There was something else in the words, something ritualistic.

“What are you?” He breathed; where her hips jutted out of the water he could see a slightly darker patch through the wet fabric of her loincloth, and the color made his groin ache.

“Ondine, the Soulless.” Her eyes flashed, unreadable, and Souta’s breath hitched in his throat. She rolled onto her belly and slowly moved towards him, swimming with long, even strokes until her small, callused hands brushed his knees.

“Ondin?” Souta croaked out, stumbling over the foreign word; he’d thought her accent and name was strange, and he was right to think so. She was not from Nihon, but she spoke his tongue as though she were a native.

“Ondine – I speak all the languages of man; I hear them through the rivers,” her voice had become as water glittering across the stones; a bubbly, wet sound, “I have watched your village from the creeks for a long time.”

Swallowing nervously, Souta watched as she applied a gentle pressure to his thighs; her hands were smooth, and cold, like jade. “My mother was ondine, and my father a dark, wandering man who made my skin so strange.”

“I like your skin.” Souta said quickly, his voice cracking. His breathing had become fast and hard. The conversation was strange, still ceremonial from her end, and she watched him carefully with her queer blue eyes, as though testing him. “It’s beautiful.” He continued, suddenly terrified that she might think she didn’t appeal to him.

“And my eyes, the soulless blue of a lost woman,” she murmured as though he hadn’t spoken; her breath passed across his stomach and the juncture of his legs, increasing the almost painful hardness there, “here you would call me youkai; in my home I am Witch, and I search for someone.” And then she waited, tensely, for him to respond.

The day had started out so normally, and now Souta felt as if he had been swept up into something he didn’t fully understand. He licked dry lips and flexed his clawed fingers against the earth. “What do you want from me?” He pleaded, trying not to groan as her hands crept higher, inching under the fabric of his jinbei.

“Love,” she responded wetly, surprising him, “love, that I might become as you are, and stay with you.”

“Why me?”Souta asked; was she going to eat his soul? He’d heard of witches who did that; they ate because they did not have souls of their own. Souta looked into her eyes as she responded, trying to gauge the possibility of danger – he didn’t want to move away from her cool, wet skin… he couldn’t.

“I’ve watched you,” she said, the ceremony gone, replaced with a comfortable wryness, “the legend of the red thread?” He nodded, quickly, urging her to continue; she was referring to an old tale about two lovers bound forever by a red string of fate. The story was his mother’s favorite, because of the unusual circumstances that brought her and his father together.

“In my search, I’ve never seen or heard anyone like you. I couldn’t get away from this place after I found you,” she looked away, gripping his thighs firmly, “my mother said that would happen. That I’d be tied to a place when I found…” She trailed off, and then pressed her cool cheek against the leg of his jinbei, flexing her hands under the thin fabric. The jinbei was uncomfortable now, moistened as it was from her flesh and his sweat.

Souta panted openly, ears flattening against his skull in anxiety. What did she mean? He didn’t even know her. “Um, uh,” but he wanted something from her; his fundoshi was tight under the shorts of his jinbei, and he felt the muscles in his stomach quivering. He wasn’t affected just by the spring scents from her, either, there was something about her, about Angara.

“Angara,” he started, stumbling only slightly over the strange word, “you don’t know me.”

“I know you,” she insisted, splaying her hands flat over his vest, plucking at the ties that held the leather closed while still keeping her cheek on his thigh, “I’ve always known you. Please don’t be afraid of me.” The next was said with a whisper. “I even love your family; such strong people. I wish I’d seen your brother.”

“Did you really,” he gulped when the last of the ties on his vest came undone; the cool breeze that blew past at that moment did nothing to douse the fire in him, and the water around his calves had long since heated, “um, did you really spend your entire life looking for me?” Angara giggled and ran her hands over his exposed skin, lifting herself and lying atop his legs, breasts flattened against his thighs. Souta shivered; he could feel her erect nipples even through his shorts and her wrappings.

“No, it was casual searching,” she placed both of her hands on the ground on either side of his hips and held her torso against his, “I have lived soulless, and now I want a soul.” She breathed against his face, and her breath smelt like sweet water.

“W-what?” He asked hoarsely. Her tongue flicked out and tasted the skin of his throat and Souta groaned and wrapped an arm around her waist to bring her closer, dipping his head back on some strange impulse to give Angara better access to his overheated flesh. Her cool lips were so soothing…

“If I have a soul, I won’t be bound to the water,” her voice bubbled, “I will live as you live.” This was a ritual again, now, he could see that.

Staring up at the sky, Souta squinted into the sunlight and tried to fight the urges building up in him from the soft press of her body. “If you were a human,” she said softly, “I would love you, and then slowly die when age took you. But you are hanyou, and can only set me free, not chain me.” Half ritual, half assurance. Angara’s tongue found his throat again, licking his pulse point and making him shiver at the coolness and the wet, soft sensation. Her body felt so cold against his, as though she were made of clay smoothed over from the rain.

“What about me?” Souta ground out, shivering when she sucked on his ear.

“I would never harm you,” she whispered, and then her voice became slightly playful, “but I won’t share you.”

“How can I set you free?” The words came without him having thought of them.

“Love me.” Angara begged, the words the last rites of her ritual.

Groaning at the need she was stirring in him, Souta didn’t fight her as she moved to sit astride his lap. The pained yip from her startled him from his lustful haze, and he looked at her in surprise. “Oh, um, sorry,” he said, looking down where his sword had cut her slightly; her blood smelled like water, too, and when his hand brushed against the cut on accident, the blood was cold and clear as the lake in front of them. He looked into her ethereal eyes and, without really considering the consequences should his bizarre encounter turn ugly, Souta removed his weapons, and as an afterthought, shrugged out of his vest.

Angara laughed, sounding surprisingly excited and happy, and resumed pressing her cool lips against his throat and face, before finally settling on his lips. Souta had kissed one woman; a village girl who was lashing out at her parents. The tryst had been brief and sweet, warm and soft, but nothing like this. Angara’s flesh was almost icy; her lips were smooth as river stones, and just as cold, as was her tongue, brushing against his, sending small shivers down his legs.

“You’re so cold.” Souta whispered against her wet hair when she pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered back, kissing him again, running her tongue along his fangs before releasing his mouth with a sad sigh, “I know I’m cold.” She looked away, frowning slightly in frustration.

“You’re b-beautiful.” He blurted out. Angara smiled at him, and breathed sensually against his throat.

“I’ve waited a hundred years,” she whispered, “just for you.” Souta had seen many strange things, being the son of an impossible pair of lovers. By comparison, a strange woman from a foreign land asking him to be her husband, her lover, wasn’t so odd. It almost made sense.

“Please, love me.” She pleaded again, nuzzling his throat with her soft nose.

“I’ve never—”

“Neither have I,” Angara cut him off, “but I’ve come very close; I could never go through with it. I knew there was always someone better.” When she looked at him this time, it was with a strong conviction in her gaze. He was “someone better?”

Souta examined her face for a moment, and then leaned forward, taking the initiative. The rites of spring, the timeless dance through the seasons towards the mating time, pushed at his inner youkai, thrust that animal into the forefront of his consciousness to growl at the gates of his control and pace back and forth. His youkai was an animal caged too long. Strong, claw-tipped fingers fisted into Angara’s hair, and he pulled her head back and grazed her throat with his fangs. The river youkai gasped and ran her hands up and down the muscles of his back, her icy fingers twitching and shivering.

“Souta,” she breathed, saying his name like it was a small song, “Souta, Souta…” He growled against her skin and ran his hands up and down her firm curves. Suddenly, she was pulling away from him, moving out into the water. Souta cried out wordlessly in surprise and dismay at the lost contact, however cold her touch was, but she crooked a finger at him. Standing up on the bank, he stripped out of his jinbei as if in a trance, and waded in his fundoshi into the water. There was a brief moment of fear that Angara, a strange youkai who suddenly wanted to be mated with him, was about to wrap herself around his limbs and pull him under the water, drown him.

His potential lover seemed to sense his hesitation. She slipped through the water like an eel and, with the gentle insistence of her hands, bade him to walk across the lake bed until they were near the open mouth of a creek, where the water was shallow, only coming up to his knees. Smiling, standing on her tip-toes, Angara resumed her earlier attentions to his mouth.

“Why in the water?” Souta whispered as her lips left his to move across his cheek.

“I don’t know – something tells me…” She trailed off, running her hands over his muscled torso, lips quirking up in an appreciative smile. Souta blushed shyly.

“Oh, well, maybe it’s an ondin mating ritual.” He said awkwardly; inu-youkai had some, none he really knew about. But instinct often won out over sense with youkai, so perhaps it was that way even with foreigners.

Angara giggled, a noise like a handful pebbles thrown into water. The sound made him smile goofily, compulsively, and he breathed in. The scent of her arousal made his knees weak, and his youkai surged forward again.

Humor gone, the two young people explored slowly, until Souta finally got up the nerve to venture north from her belly with his roaming hands. He cupped her full breast in his palm, massaging her through the wrappings. She gasped and reached behind her to untie them. Without the tight knot to hold them against her, the wrappings fell away and drifted into the lake, disappearing under the water, though neither seemed to notice.

Groaning, Souta leaned down and kissed her breasts. They weren’t as cold as the rest of her skin, and they were impossibly soft. Angara gasped when he tongued her nipple. Rumbling ferally, Souta’s ears swiveled to attention, listening to her voice to find what she liked best. “Soft,” Angara murmured, rubbing the base of his ears and making him whine against her breast, “that’s a nice sound…”

“Ah… sensitive.” He whimpered, pulling reluctantly away from her breast when she tugged lightly on one of his furry ears.

“Sorry.” Angara tore her hand away like he was on fire and he laughed a little.

“It’s okay, just be careful.” He murmured, feeling more confident now that Angara had shown some nervousness. He palmed one of her breasts and reached down to cup her firm behind. Souta felt strange, being intimate with a stranger.
But at the same time everything felt right, and good.

Eager hands suddenly found the belt of his fundoshi and began to tug at the twist of cloth holding the garment up, “Other places are sensitive, too, Souta.” She murmured against his throat, nibbling on his jaw line. He couldn’t help her get the garment off of him quickly enough, and was relieved as it loosened, despite being slightly embarrassed when his erection sprang free. When the fundoshi was discarded into the water, Souta boldly moved his rough hands to her loincloth, and soon the cotton fabric was also floating away into the lake.

There was that smell, laced with a musk, coming from the juncture of her legs. He’d had several talks from his father, and before his death his brother had told him a few things about the one woman he’d laid with. But talking didn’t do much when he had never even seen a woman besides his own mother and sister nude, when he was very small. He would go with his instincts, then.

Looking her over, Souta’s youkai tugged at him, almost a physical presence pulling his body down. He knelt, the water coming up to his hips, and breathed in the scent that made his youkai howl. Angara looked at him through hooded blue eyes darkened by pleasure, and he watched her head tilt back when his mouth and nose burrowed through the shielding of auburn curls, to the source of the scent. She tasted smooth and cool, like a sweet tea. Souta, eyes drifting closed, moaned and dipped his tongue inside her opening.

Angara was panting above him, hands braced on his powerful shoulders. Reaching his palms up, Souta held her steady by her taught buttocks, and she wrapped one of her legs over his shoulder and ground her pelvis into his face. Souta continued to mouth her cool flesh until he found a small nub that made his new woman keen in pleasure. Growling, he suckled and licked that small organ until sweet liquid poured out of her and she cried out so loud his ears snapped back against his head. As he dipped his tongue into her opening to lap at her, he felt the muscles inside her contract.

His erection was painful now, demanding release. Souta stood, moving her leg off of his shoulder and keeping her pliant body in the circle of his arms. Angara was shivering with the afterglow of her orgasm, and the chilly water from the lake made her skin glitter. “Please, I need—” Souta cut off her plea with a deep kiss, dipping her body until she lay down against the bank of the lake.

When her small, quivering hand came into cool contact with his cock, Souta bucked his hips and the youkai in him clawed through the last vestiges of his human control like a bear through rice paper. A snarl tore from his throat and the edges of his vision tinged red, centering on the shivering woman under him. He had seen his father’s youkai form, and that beast was terrifying. Souta saw and felt without really registering the elongation of his claws and fangs, felt the clan markings flush into being across his face and hips, felt his eyes burn with red. Power swelled inside him and he shuddered.

Angara didn’t seem terrified, though, just curious. Her small pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and she undulated her hips against his thigh. With a reassuring rumble, Souta slowly rolled Angara over onto her stomach and lifted her onto her forearms and knees, leaning over her back and blowing the light coating of dirt off of her neck before mouthing the flesh. She was shivering, and his youkai smelled now the sour scent of fear lancing crudely through her arousal.

Something erupted from his throat, like a purr, a noise he didn’t know he could make. Despite his almost mindless state, he hugged her from behind, rubbing her breasts, careful of his longer claws. Reaching down, he brushing his knuckles over her nub and she cried out, arching her back, presenting her sex to him and grinding her buttocks into his cock.

Growling in approval, Souta leaned back and entered her in one smooth thrust, earning a squeak of surprise from the woman under him. The cold that met him almost made his erection shrivel, and he whined softly in lustful confusion. But just as his youkai started to retreat, and his body began to shiver with the chill emanating from Angara’s center, she began to moan, softly. The noise brought his youkai back full force, as did the sudden rush of warmth from her body. Her entire being was suddenly blazing with heat; where his hands had been gripping her hips, the skin became more warm and pliable, and inside her was now a liquid heat. In response to this gratifying change, his cock sprang back to even fuller attention.

“Souta!” Angara cried, sounding afraid for just a moment. As a response, the transformed hanyou leaned down and nuzzled her hair, purring. He started to move, slowly at first, but when she began gasping and moaning in pleasure, his youkai wouldn’t stand for the pace and he sped up. She was so hot, and wet, and tight around him.

After a few more pulses of his hips, Souta leaned down and began rubbing where their bodies joined with the heel of his hand, nibbling on the newly-warmed flesh of her back and shoulders. Angara began moaning rhythmically, until her body suddenly went taut and she cried out his name. A rush of her cum, hot and sweet-smelling poured across his hips and thighs, and Souta rumbled in satisfaction. Gripping her shoulder and hip with his hands, he thrust faster until the tension building in his body released and with one final thrust, he roared out his pleasure as his body was swept into oblivion.

Collapsing onto his hands, still sheathed inside of her, his youkai receded. Souta shivered at the change as it passed through him, and slipped reluctantly out of her, lying down on the bank and pulling her shivering, warm body into his arms.

“I’m so warm.” Angara said after a few moments, lifting her head to look into his eyes; he blinked in surprise. Her eyes had whites, and red blood ran through the tiny vessels there, though the blue color remained in her irises. All over her body he could feel warm life blood rushing through her.

“How do you feel?” Souta asked worriedly.

Angara frowned, considering her hands for a moment as she snuggled against him. “I don’t feel any different, really, just… warm,” she kissed him tenderly, “your family will be surprised.”

Puzzled at her non-sequitur, his addled brain caught up to what she’d said and he huffed into her drying hair. “Yeah,” he responded, “but I think they’ll understand.” His heart was swelling in his chest, a sensation that was three parts pleasure and one part pain.

“Why?” She yawned, sinking heavily into his arms.

“They know what love is.”

>*<>*<>*<

Nota Bene: I… have no words. I do not know where this came from. I just liked this idea so much, though, that I had to write it. A few explanations:

Ondine/Undine: A mythological water spirit. The legend says that if she marries a human man and bears his child, she will gain a soul and become a mortal. I twisted the tale, because I didn’t like the implication of “zero agency” for the ondine – not getting to choose your partner, and having to grow old and die when you could be wandering around, doing awesome immortal water-spirit things.

Angara: The name of a river in Russia. I couldn’t find if the river was named this before or after this story takes place [100 years after Naraku’s defeat], but I’m saying it was. In my mind, Angara looks a lot like M.I.A. [Look her up on Youtube, she’s pretty cool.]

Ofuda: Special pieces of metal, wood or paper with blessings on them; meant to keep away bad spirits.

Jinbei: An outfit made of a wraparound shirt and a pair of matching shorts, usually worn in the summer.