Solitude

A dark smirk pulled at his lips, Kagome spread willing and labored below him painted into his thoughts, in the haze of the humid room he was almost certain he could scent her arousal, the addictive musk that was hers alone. Back bent forward now, muscle and tendon stretched as he breathed deeply; then lightly, slowly he wound his hand around the tip of his member. The wet limb eased down until he pushed against the base, kneading his taut sack against himself. Behind his eyes, the glistening figure moaned for him.

Pulling up again to the end, then dragging back down somewhat faster, he continued the repetitive motion, every so often tugging or twisting, swirling his palm over the shaft. Soon the speed was intense and quick, crimson seeping into the whites of his eyes as he pumped. Powerful toned arm not once tiring as he moved, his opposite limb exploring his own form at will. Blues eyes memorized every inch of his body, slender fingers mapping out as she went; he remembered her actions perfectly. Cautious claws tracing the chiseled abs of his torso, brushing past erect nipples, trailing down to the sinew dip of his butt and thigh, moving over to gently massage his ass—all the while stroking his member.

The deep pleasure flooded his abdomen, his lengthened member twitching in anticipation. Eliciting a deep possessive growl—one he stifled as best as one on the verge of orgasm could possibly do—as his body climaxed, bliss shaking his limbs as he stood.

Still nebulous in the after effects, the demon noted he had used the majority of the soap to satisfy his urges rather than appropriately bathe. Filling his already worked palm another time with the sweet cleanser, he returned to covering with it, scrubbing mindlessly at the skin while his mind was off somewhere else.

Finally he retrieved a larger portion and began to work on his heavy mane, the silken strands tenderly cared for, rubbed and brushed with the fruity soap. When his nose informed him not a speck of dirt remained, he lowered into the hot water allowing the surface to close in only to burst forth a few minutes later. Sesshoumaru contently ran his fingers through the glistening silver, face softened by the comforting scent.

Wishing to forget his activities, he drew from the spring and wiped down his wet body. Perfect hair already ridding itself of water droplets he carelessly dressed again in the navy yukata, tying his obi poorly in his hurry to leave and return to the room he earlier occupied.

Pushing the waterfall of locks over his shoulder to rest commonly on his back, stoic face reset and eyes clean once more, the lord stepped into the silent corridor, all senses prepped for any and all discrepancies that may try to appear. He would not tolerate eavesdropping. Or gossip. Or the impossible possibility of his embarrassment.

Making his destination, he swept into the room easily, not a soul alive at the dreadfully early hour.