InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ One Less Star, Book 1 ❯ Chapter 4 ( Chapter 4 )

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

Chapter 4

After going two days without bathing because of Inuyasha's slave-driving approach to travel, Kagome and Sango were revolting.

"I refuse to walk another step without washing my hair," Kagome declared, nose in the air, and Sango stood beside her with arms folded, nodding firm agreement.

Inuyasha gave them the evil eye before leaping up into a tree. "You have an hour," said his disembodied voice from the leafy boughs above. "Not one minute longer."

Miroku sighed, watching them depart with light, eager steps toward the hot springs they'd come to. Shippo stood watching him carefully, no doubt ready to scream to the heavens should he take a single step in the direction of the springs. Miroku smiled at the kitsune in what he hoped was a reassuring and disarming manner, but Shippo knew him far too well and clearly remained unconvinced of his harmlessness.

"Guess I'll just go meditate," he said to no one in particular, and headed in the opposite direction to the springs. He found a large boulder with the sun streaming down onto it in a most appealing way and clambered up, grateful to be even a little bit warm now that winter had definitely arrived.

Folding himself into full-lotus, he cupped one hand within the other, closed his eyes, and began to count breaths. Scarcely had he reached ten when he felt it again, that prodding at the outside of his consciousness, like a persistent itch that wouldn't go away.

The youkai was watching him again. He'd come to spy on Miroku every day during meditation for the past week, and it was starting to get on Miroku's nerves. "What point is there to hiding if I know you're there?" he called out quietly. "If you're going to attack me, you should just do it."

The wind picked up then, whipping his robes and hair around and driving away whatever scant heat he'd been able to absorb from the sun's rays. "Attack?" the wind seemed to say. "I am not here to attack you."

"Then why?" asked Miroku. Ignoring the stiff, chill breeze, he remained in meditative posture, eyes lightly closed. "Why simply watch for so long?"

"It is as I was commanded to do," the wind replied. "To watch, and nothing more. Already, I risk my life by replying to you." The voice was coming closer, as if the speaker were gaining confidence from Miroku's closed eyes and relaxed demeanor.

"Surely, I can't be so interesting that I'm worth such a risk," he commented, smiling faintly.

"Actually, you are," the wind insisted. "A fascinating array of contradictions… a holy man, and a lecher. A wise man, who plays the fool. A warrior, and a man of peace. I do not understand you." The wind sounded… irate, as if distinctly put-out by the fact it couldn't figure Miroku out. "Puzzles do not please me."

"Life is a puzzle," Miroku said enigmatically. "One we have no choice but to try to solve."

"And if we do not solve it?" asked the wind, who was beginning to sound more and more feminine with each word, with each step closer. "What then? Are we doomed to a lifetime of searching, without ever finding?"

"Sometimes, yes," he replied. "But it is the quest that counts, not the discovery… Kagura." He said the last as he opened his eyes, and found the elemental youkai standing before him. She wore a kimono of palest green with a pattern of silver leaves, and a pale-grey obi over a yukata of robin's egg blue. Her hair was arranged in an elaborate array of loops and swirls and her jade earrings quivered from the force of her agitation.

"I know nothing of this," she replied impatiently.

"But you want to," he finished for her, reading correctly the curiosity in her eyes, and wondered at his lack of fear or even much apprehension in the presence of a powerful, deadly youkai. Especially one who until recently had been their fierce adversary. "You are a restless spirit, seeking for your place."

Her scarlet eyes narrowed at his presumption. "What do you know of what I seek?"

"Those happy with their lot do not betray those that rule them," Miroku said gently. "You took the shards from Naraku in a pivotal moment, and gave them to his enemy. Those are not the actions of one who has found what she was looking for."

"I hate him," she hissed. "I despise him. I would do anything to bring his downfall."

He tilted his head to one side. "That is our goal, too," he told her, as if she didn't already know. "Should we not help each other in achieving it?"

"I have taken steps of my own, houshi," Kagura told him coldly.

He bowed as low as he could whilst seated, apologizing and mocking at the same time. "But of course," he replied, seeming utterly unconcerned, and allowed his eyelids to drift shut once more.

They flew open again, however, when she smacked him in the forehead with her folded fan. "Do not close your eyes when I am speaking to you," she said severely.

"Or what?" Miroku asked lazily, rubbing the red mark that blossomed under his spiky bangs. "You will destroy me? I thought you were under orders to only watch, not kill."

A sound like "ooooh" came from her lips, and she reached once more to strike him with her fan. He was prepared for an attack this time, however, and snatched her wrist before she could land the blow. "Now, now," he chided. "That simply won't do."

Slowly, he released Kagura and she drew back her arm, watching the livid fingerprints he'd left on her skin as they flushed with blood, turning pink before slowly fading. "I want to know," she said hoarsely.

"Know what?" He returned his hand to his lap, the very picture of serenity. She didn't say anything right away, and he was happy to let the silence stretch between them as she groped for an answer.

"Everything," Kagura replied after a while. "I want to know everything, not just what Naraku told me, what he wanted me to believe." She took a deep breath. "I want to know everything, and make my own decisions about what to think."

"Admirable," Miroku said. "But why have you come to me?" He laughed, a sharp and bitter little laugh. "I do not possess the secrets of the universe. All I have is a cursed hand and a strong libido." He cracked open one eye. "What makes you think I know anything?"

"You know enough," she said, and sat beside him on the boulder. She folded her limbs into full lotus, cupped one hand within the other, and looked expectantly at him. "Now what?"

He favoured her with a smile. She was persistent, if nothing else. "Now, we count breaths."

"Why do we do that?"

"Because we can."

"… ah."

* * *

Elsewhere in their little section of Sengoku Jidai, Kagome and Sango relaxed into the steaming-hot spring, immersed in both water and thoughts.

Kagome was in a quandary. Sango was right-the longer she kept her thoughts bottled up, the worse off she'd be. She really should let the others know the truth about Midoriko, about the other Kagomes and about Sesshoumaru, but… she was embarrassed.

It was mortifying to her, the idea of falling in love with him, when he'd done so little to show himself worthy of it in this dimension. Granted, he'd brought Kohaku to them, and even agreed to use Tenseiga on the boy to bring him back to life, and he hadn't killed any of them either of the times they'd met since Midoriko's extraordinary announcement to Kagome…

Hm. Perhaps he really wasn't as much of a creep as he seemed. If you knew how to look at the tiny little clues-as Kagome now did, thanks to all those foreign memories- Sesshoumaru really wasn't that bad a guy. If you got past the coldness, arrogance, insults, and general lack of personality, that is.

Still a long way to go before it could be love, Kagome thought with a sigh. The sound caught Sango's attention, and Kagome ventured a shaky little smile at her friend. Sango loved her like a sister. She could be trusted to keep this information a secret, and it would be such a relief to have someone sympathize with her…

"Sango," she said, "I'd like to explain what happened with Midoriko."

The other girl's dark eyes widened almost comically. "Finally!" she exclaimed, smiling in relief. "I thought you'd never tell me!" Kagome had to laugh at that, though it was a small and not-very-cheery laugh.

"It all started when I jumped in the well…" she began. Fifteen minutes later, she concluded with, "…and I only woke up when Inuyasha came for me and started yelling."

Sango stared at her in amazement. "Sesshoumaru?" she asked, gaping. "I can't believe… are you sure… it just seems so…"

"Horrible. Yes." Kagome sank lower in the hot water, until only her head was above its surface, and contemplated drowning herself. "I don't know whether to cry or… actually, that's pretty much the only impulse I'm having. No matter how I try to just believe in the other Kagomes' memories, all I can think is, their Sesshoumarus aren't mine."

Sango glanced at her, dark and sly. "Yours?"

"I mean, this one here! In this dimension!" Kagome hurried to correct. "The ones from those dimensions were radically different because their Inuyashas all died, instead of getting sealed to the Goshinboku. Theirs didn't have Sesshoumaru and Inuyasha in this terrible rivalry for Tetsusaiga, didn't have Inuyasha cut Sesshoumaru's arm off…"

"I wonder how upset he is over that," Sango mused. "He never acts like losing an arm is any big deal."

"I don't know," Kagome replied miserably. "His reaction could range anywhere from basic anger to fiery rage to demented and barbaric fury, I suppose."

"Is there any chance the reaction might not be something to do with violence?" Sango asked with a smile. "Because I'm not hearing a lot of variation, there."

Kagome shook her head, smiling also. "No, I think it's pretty much guaranteed that Sesshoumaru's sole reaction to Inuyasha costing him his arm is wrath." She sighed. "And it all adds up to a Sesshoumaru that I don't have any way of knowing or understanding… I feel like I read all the reviews to a movie and thought I knew what to expect, but when I got to the theatre I found out that it's nothing like what I was told."

Sango bit her lip. "I… think I understand what you mean," she said haltingly. "If what you've said is true, then-"

"If what I've said is true?" Kagome pounced on her friend's statement. "Sango, don't you believe me?" She was surprised at how much Sango's skepticism hurt.

"I do!" Sango hurried to say. "It's just that, it's such a bizarre idea, all these different realities, and Midoriko, and Inutaisho, and, and Sesshoumaru. Sesshoumaru, Kagome! I just think it's possible that you hit your head or something and had a really strange dream."

Kagome thought hard about it for a long while. "I guess that's possible," she allowed after a few minutes, "but I've also tried a few things based on what the other Kagomes remember about him, like helping him use Tenseiga and asking him to hold Naraku's half of the Shikon, and he didn't kill me. Didn't even try, not once. I think he might have made fun of me a few times, actually. So I think, just maybe, I'm right in believing it was real."

She turned wide eyes to her friend. "Otherwise, Sango, wouldn't he have killed me? He's tried in the past, after all. A lot."

Sango sighed, and started squeezing water out of her hair in preparation of leaving the springs. "I suppose," she said. "It's impossible to tell, with him." She glared, suddenly, in the direction of where they'd left Inuyasha, Shippo, and Miroku. "Men are strange creatures," she intoned darkly. "They always complain they can't understand us, but they're just as bizarre."

Kagome thought of Inuyasha's inability to admit his feelings, how he insisted he didn't care when she knew darned well that he did, and of Sesshoumaru's expressionless features and inscrutable golden gaze. "Yes," she agreed faintly. "They really are."

* * *

It was unseasonably warm for this late October day a week later, sunny and almost balmy. Now that they were passing out of the southern lands, the change in season was more obvious in the fall of crimson and gold leaves, stirred into lazy circles by an unruly breeze. Miroku considered himself lucky to find this mossy little clearing a good distance from the encampment where Inuyasha sat pouting that they had to delay their travel.

The leafy cyclones picked up in speed, and he knew his companion had arrived. Miroku's lips twitched as he fought to subdue the smile that rose when Kagura sat beside him. For the past week as he and the others had travelled north toward Edo, it had been the same: he would leave the group to meditate while the women went to bathe, and she would join him soon thereafter.

They never sat in silence long, no matter that it was supposed to be zazen. Soon, Kagura's curiosity would get the better of her and she'd ask a question or make a comment. He didn't expect today to be any different.

"I have watched you fondle the women," Kagura said suddenly. "And I have seen them strike you for it."

Miroku flinched, a sheepish expression spreading over his face. Whatever he had expected her to say this time, that wasn't it. "Yes?" he said, bracing himself for a stream of accusatory invective.

"I do not understand the vehemence of their reactions to it," she continued, and he blinked in surprise. "You do not appear to be harming them, and yet they do you great violence. Why is this?"

"Because I-" he began, then stopped, groping for words to explain it. "They are-" He sighed. "They just don't like it."

"Do it to me," she commanded, standing and facing away from him. "I will see for myself how unpleasant it is."

Miroku's surprise increased exponentially, even as he automatically stood as well. The lecherous part of him exulted-a woman was asking for him to molest her?-but the other part, the part wary about receiving yet another stinging strike to the head or face, shrank back. "Oh, I don't know…" he hedged, then made a most unmanly squeak when Kagura huffed in impatience and took his hand, placing it flat against the curve of her left buttock.

"Should I be insulted at your reluctance?" she said, her voice low with annoyance. "Start rubbing."

Feeling rather like he was floating outside of his body, as if the hand resting on Kagura's backside belonged to someone else, he rubbed. At first, in his state of bemusement, all he could register was the abrading texture of fabric making his palm and fingers tingle. Then he seemed to return to himself and began to play closer attention.

The flesh beneath the kimono was firm, rounded and springy, and he found himself curving his hand more closely around it, rubbing slower, squeezing lightly and then harder. In all, it was a thoroughly satisfactory cheek, and he wondered if its mate were likewise, so he moved his hand to the right. A similar treatment there, and he was able to confirm that, whatever else Kagura had, she also possessed one of the finest arses he'd ever had the privilege of petting.

She was also, he noted with a sort of breathless and delighted shock, pressing back into his hand. Curiosity and the faint sense of alarm he'd felt since she'd commanded him to rub her backside slid inevitably into desire as heat blossomed within him, rushing down past his belly and back up again.

He became aware as never before of the slim, upright back before him, the way her short-bobbed hair revealed the slender length of neck and throat and how her jade earrings also drew attention to the pale column of flesh. Suddenly, he wanted to remove those earrings and touch his tongue to the lobes they pierced.

"I don't understand their anger. It feels… exceedingly good," Kagura said then, to his mingled horror and glee. "Can you use both hands?"

Yes, he certainly could, and gladly filled both palms with the resilient flesh. In the course of his rubbing, his fingertips brushed between her buttocks and her harsh gasp, and resultant wiggle closer to him, made him lightheaded as lust swamped him. Once again feeling like he did not control his body, his hands slid around to grip her hips and he pressed himself tightly to her. He gasped a little at the welcome pressure of the cleft of her cheeks cradling his erection, and buried his mouth against the side of her neck, inhaling her light scent deeply before opening his mouth to the creamy skin.

She jolted against him, going stiff at first, and Miroku moved a hand to press on her belly, suddenly terrified she might bolt away. His tongue swirled a random design over her neck on its way to her ear, and he carefully sucked the earring into his mouth with her earlobe, tugging gently on it until he heard her moan, and felt her trembling in his embrace.

It was her acquiescence that woke him from his lust-hazed stupor. Women maimed and brutalized him when he fondled them. Women did not melt against him with a breathy sound of mutual desire, nor did they clasp his hands closer to them and rub themselves against his rigid and aching shaft. He wrenched himself away and stumbled back several feet, passing a trembling hand over his eyes as he tried to organize his thoughts.

Kagura huffed again and spun around, hands on hips in the universal posture of the scolding female. "Oh, don't tell me you feel squeamish?"

"This is wrong," Miroku replied, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You are our enemy. I don't trust you. You're after something."

She sighed. "Enemy no longer," she reminded him. "Though I cannot fault your lack of trust. In these hard days, it is only wise to be cautious. But…" she stepped closer, and he felt sweat break out on his back and shoulders at her proximity, at the curiosity and wakening desire on her own face, "it felt very pleasant, and I cannot countenance how they would find it anything but a positive experience-"

Miroku kissed her. He couldn't help it; she smelled good, felt good, and now he wanted to see if she tasted good. She stood, pliable but still, against him until he realized it was not lack of response, but of experience that kept her from kissing him back. The idea that he could teach her everything he might want her to know scalded over him like a dipperful of boiling water thrown at him, and he wound his arms around her, pressing her close as he slanted his mouth over hers, tongue pushing insistently between her lips to show her the fullest extent of the practice of kissing.

After only a minute, she was mimicking his movements of mouth and tongue, kissing him back with increased ferocity. "You taste good," she murmured when he pulled back for breath, and he found himself staring down into scarlet eyes as lust-fogged as he knew his own must be. "How does the rest of you taste?"

Immediately, a mental image appeared in Miroku's mind's eye, and he groaned at the power of it. "What will you do?" he rasped. "What will you let me do?"

Her dark brows drew together in perplexment. "I do not know," she replied at last. "Why do we not simply try everything? If I do not enjoy it, I will tell you."

Miroku closed his eyes and tried not to pounce on her. "Will you use your mouth on me?" he asked, the mere sound of the question making him have to clench his muscles to control himself. The idea of those glossy, plump lips wrapped around his aching member made him want to fling her down and ravish her.

"You are clean?" she inquired. "I do not relish the taste of a dirty body in my mouth."

A thousand lewd responses rose to Miroku's lips, but he restrained himself. Barely. "I am clean," he promised, and began to untie the cords holding his robes closed. When his chest was exposed, Kagura pushed his hands aside and smoothed her own over the strong planes of it, her fingertips plucking at his nipples experimentally. When he gasped and arched against her, she made an expression of astonishment.

"These, too, are sensitive?" At his nod, she frowned, and looked down at her own chest, then began unwrapping herself. "I wish to feel this, as well."

Miroku's fingers felt thick as sausages but he pushed her hands hastily away, discarding her obi and parting layer after layer of kimono until he longed for a knife to simply cut them off. Then she was revealed to him, pale slope of her breasts and belly making his ribcage tighten around him, the lushness of her skin marred only by the long, thin line of a scar directly between.

The small pink nipples seemed to beckon his lips to wrap around them, and he pushed her backwards almost roughly, crouched on hands and knees above her as he lowered his mouth to her breasts. Immediately, the delicate flesh stiffened in his mouth, distending as if eager of its own volition for more contact with the rough surface of his tongue, lapping and curling over it. She arched under him and twined her fingers into his hair, holding him securely against her.

Miroku balanced himself over her on just one hand, the other traveling lower, parting her kimonos to expose all of her to him. Her belly was gently curved and he kneaded it before sliding lower, over the small thicket of hair to the centre of her that pulsed with heat and wetness. He cupped his hand between her thighs, feeling her moisten his palm, and moaned around her nipple.

"Oh, yes!" Kagura cried out. Miroku's passion-drenched brain echoed the sentiment as his fingers slid easily between and down, brushing first over the hard nub at the top before seeking out the welling fluid lower. He eased one finger inside, and she positively bucked against him, legs falling apart.

Pushing in further, he felt her clench around the invasion, and a wave of desire nearly knocked him over at the idea of those slick muscles clamped around him. He ventured another finger and was rewarded with another encouraging moan and undulation of hips. His thumb found that little knot at the top of her slit and he sucked harder on her nipple, timing the pulls of his mouth with thrusts of fingers and brushes of thumb until she was shrieking breathlessly beneath him.

Her hands were clenched in his hair, and his tiny queue had long since disappeared beneath her questing fingers. She pulled him tighter and tighter against her, hips rising more and more erratically, until finally she arched beneath him, torso tight as a strung bow, and cried out long and low. A rush of wetness drenched Miroku's hand. Her scent, hot and heady, surrounded them like miasma, and he wasn't sure that she was any less dangerous than Naraku if she'd been able to so easily ensnare him.

For a moment, Miroku was overcome with apprehension and even disgust at his own weakness of flesh. He hoped fervently that Kagura has not been lying when she insisted she was no danger to him or their group, for he was in no position at the moment to fight her. But as she opened her eyes once more, smiling and stretching lazily as the last tremors of her climax faded away, he thought that perhaps fighting was not on her mind… he brought his hand to his mouth and lapped at the fluids coating it.

He thought the taste of her, salty-sweet with a surprising hint of charcoal, was the pinnacle of his arousal but then she took him by the wrist and brought his hand to her mouth for a taste of her own.

"Hm," she said thoughtfully as his body caught on fire and began to burn. "Will you taste the same?"

"I don't know," he said faintly, falling to the side and his back as strength deserted him. Desperately, he pushed open his robes to reveal all of himself.

Kagura knelt beside him, sitting back on her heels with hands on knees as she studied him. "You are well-formed, houshi," she complimented as those vermilion eyes scanned his body. "Strong, fit, lean." She met his eyes and nodded. "Nicely done."

"Thank you," he panted, feeling that this could not possibly become more surreal. He was, of course, wrong.

"And this," she said, indicating his erection. "I have seen no other, you understand, but it appears to quite exceed its purpose." She began ticking off its merits on her fingers. "Long, thick, well-proportioned, attractive in colour- first, I will touch it."

So she did, trailing cool fingertips from crown to base before wrapping her hand around it, squeezing lightly, then harder. Miroku sighed in relief and moved against her hand. "It is very hot," Kagura commented, "and somehow soft and hard at the same time." She squeezed harder, to his heartfelt appreciation. "But this friction cannot be entirely pleasant."

He was prepared to admit that a bit of lubrication would not be unwelcome, and said so. More accurately, he leant up on his elbows and demanded, "Will you just suck it, already?" If she didn't do something soon, he was going to die. He was sure of it.

She slid a narrow glance at him. "In my own time, houshi," she told him. She crawled around to his feet, taking his ankles and spreading his legs to situate herself between. "Oh, there's a pouch underneath!" she exclaimed, as if she'd received an extra and unexpected birthday present, and cupped her hands around it.

Miroku writhed at the sensation of cool palms and fingers massaging and rolling his balls within their protective sac and thought that if she were intent upon killing him, this was the best way to go about it, ever. "Stop fooling around and get to it," he growled.

Another slitted gaze, but Kagura bent her face low to him. She sniffed delicately. "A strong aroma, earthy and musky and masculine." She rubbed her face against his pubic hair, making him jolt in shock as her chin brushed against his shaft. "I like it."

"I'm glad," he said tightly. "Be so kind as to show your approval in a more tangible way, will you?"

She smiled at this, a tiny smile of purely female satisfaction. "Are all males as impatient as you, or is it particular to humans?"

"I think it's safe to say we're all impatient when it comes to this," he replied, hating the begging tone to his words but he was so hard. "Please," he mumbled.

"You did not hesitate when you pleasured me," Kagura commented. "I shall make you wait no longer." And she took him into her mouth, at first not sucking, just moving her lips over the hard flesh.

Relief washed over Miroku and he was proud when he managed to control himself instead of grabbing her head and thrusting madly. But that control began to slip as she grew bolder and more confident, moving her tongue against the vein pulsing madly along the underside of his shaft and sucking lightly, then harder.

Pleasure crashed through Miroku, and dimly he wondered what he had done right in the recent past to deserve such a karmic treat. Perhaps-oh, gods, yesss-his offer to share his bedroll with Sango (merely for the purposes of sharing body heat, of course) had been mistaken by the gods as actual generosity instead of the flimsy excuse for lechery it had been.

Whatever he'd done, he'd be sure to repeat it soon, and often: despite Kagura's inexperience, it was clear she took great pride in a job well done. And this was very well done, indeed. With a twist of her hand and flutter of her tongue in the tiny slit, Miroku came with a mighty, heaving gasp, his hands on her shoulders holding her immobile as he shuddered endlessly beneath her.

When he finally released her, she sprang back, wiping her chin and glaring at him with fierce eyes. "You might have warned me something was going to come out!" she shouted. "You almost drowned me!"

"Yes, well, it's been a while," he murmured, unable to wipe the satisfied grin from his face. When there was no reply, he propped himself up on his elbows. She was sitting across the little clearing, watching him. "Is something wrong?"

Miroku forced his heavy eyelids to open and propped himself up on his elbows. She was sitting across the little clearing, watching him. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," she said, looking pensive. "I am feeling very… solitary at the moment."

"Is that good or bad?" he ventured, trying to understand what she meant.

"Bad, I think. I do not like it. I would like…" She trailed off, uncertain. "I think I would like to be embraced."

She wanted to cuddle, Miroku thought, and was reassured by this typically female post-coital behaviour. Extending his hand outward, he gestured for her to come to him, and she dove into his arms, seeming to weave her limbs around and through his, vinelike, until he had trouble determining where he ended and she began.

"This has been a valuable experience," Kagura told him happily. "I thank you for it."

He was only prevented from gaping by her head snuggled under his chin. She'd just brought him to a staggering climax with her mouth and she was thanking him? "You're welcome," he replied faintly, mentally saying a prayer of gratitude to every deity he could think of. As a trained monk, he could think of quite a few.

He was only halfway through the deity list when she continued, "It seems to me that this is not the only way one might be brought to such pleasure."

…Kuan-yin, and Manjushri, and Bishamon, and what? "Yes," he replied when his mind caught up to his ears. "There's…" He coughed. "There's many other ways."

She nodded, rubbing her cheek with affection against his bare chest. "We should try them all."

He blinked. Avolokitesvara, and Hotei, and Izanami, and Amaterasu, you have my profoundest thanks for your benevolence… "Okay."