Obsession

A/N: Okay, sorry this took forever… I really had to put it aside for a bit, since I had difficulty writing uke!sesshoumaru. I can only hope that I’ve done so in a believable, acceptable way and that I’ve done him justice. Please let me know what you think!

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He looks at me with violet eyes filled with searing need, and I am a wreck.

This ningen has reduced me to a quivering mess. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I can hear my father’s voice screaming at me, telling me to assert myself.

But I never knew that someone could bring out that particular reaction by doing... uh... that to the tip of my ear.

My hand finds its way behind his neck, and he shivers under my touch. I can smell the combination of fear and arousal off of him, and it is intoxicating. Certainly, he should be fearful. It would take only one swipe of my claws...

The skin on his neck is so soft, so tender. I rip through that ridiculous little queue that holds his hair away from his face. The dark ebony locks just brush his shoulders. I pull him down to me and my own lips trail a path up towards his ear, wondering if he’ll find the gesture just as erotic as I did.

I am rewarded by a minute shiver that goes through his body, the scent of his arousal strong now and completely overwhelming that of his fear. I don’t want that. This ningen… Miroku… needs to retain a healthy respect for me – it is the one thing that I must ensure, so I pull my lips away from his ear and graze my fangs just above his pulse point.

I’m somewhat taken aback by the ferocity of the urge to bite down, to mark him. My teeth are elongating of their own accord and I’m pretty sure that if I were to examine my reflection in the water, my eyes would be bleeding a bright crimson. Accidentally – or at least not intentionally, my sharp fangs pierce through his skin just slightly, drawing the tiniest drop of blood.

He tastes divine. Warm… a hint of coppery cinnamon and earth… and I’m forced to pull away with a low growl.

Never before has my demon been so close to the surface while rutting. The sudden fear that I might accidentally kill this ningen – or worse, mark him – passes through me, and I force myself to push him back.

“Go.”

The word falls from my lips in a soft hush, not a fierce command and even I can tell that it isn’t quite sincere.

He pulls back for a moment and studies me. I meet his violet eyes with my own reddened ones and something akin to shock passes over his face.

But not fear.

Again, I am reminded by his foolish reaction that this ningen essentially has a death wish. Can he not see that I'm fighting against my instincts? Can he not see how much danger he is in?

Does he even care?

“You should go.”

This time it is not an order, but a soft request and to my dismay, I find that I’m the first one to break eye contact.

Would that my father’s advisors saw me now, I’d be ridiculed right out of my birthright.

He doesn’t listen… did I really expect that he would? And I feel the soft brush of his hair at the nape of my neck right as a softly whispered ‘No’ reverberates against the skin of my jaw, causing me to tremble.

“You are foolish.”

My answer comes out hoarse and lusty, and his violet eyes seem to darken to the point where they’re almost entirely black. And when his lips forcefully capture mine in another strong, enthusiastic kiss, I throw the last of my reservations to the wind.

I can’t say that I didn’t give him the opportunity to back away.

He buries his hands in my hair and tugs, causing me to growl, and as I knick his tongue with my fangs, the taste of him in my mouth once again becomes the intoxicating mix of water and berries combined with the warm earthy cinnamon of his blood.

To my surprise, he groans and grinds against me, reminding me very clearly that he’s still in need. And so am I, amazingly enough, even after having been satisfied so very thoroughly.

He nudges my legs apart with his own and settles himself between them. Once again, I can hear my father’s voice in the back of my head but I ruthlessly shut it out. Yes, I do feel a slight bit of shame at my wantonness, but the enormous pleasure I’ve felt and am continuing to feel at the hands of this talented ningen offsets it just enough to make it tolerable.

Barely.

That I have to fight the instinctive urge to rip him to threads each moment that I’m with him only adds to the excitement.

He’s nipping at my neck now with his own inefficient teeth. It is not natural for a youkai to expose his neck to another being, and so I can’t control the low growl that escapes me. As expected, Miroku takes no heed of the warning and bites down hard, even as his hand once again wraps around my arousal with a gentle squeeze. I gasp; it is inevitable, and bring my legs up to lock them around him.

His hand delves lower, back towards that spot he had probed earlier and just as I brace myself for what he has planned, he pulls back suddenly – a thoughtful look on his face.

“Wait.” He says suddenly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I honestly have to control the sudden inclination to roll my eyes.

“As if you, a mere ningen, could.” I say with a snort, immediately regretting the words as a flash of something akin to hurt goes through the ningen’s eyes.

Ningens are so fragile emotionally. I should have known that after allowing the girl-child to travel with me for the past year.

That he would have been hurt by such an obvious truth never crossed my mind.

But I will not apologize. Instead, I smile very softly and brush his cheek lightly with the back of my hand. That seems to be enough for him because he’s smiling at me now, brilliantly.

Beautiful.

“Wait.” He says again, and this time it is softer, filled with tenderness. And then he is gone from me, scampering up the side of the riverbank, completely natural and unmindful of his nakedness, apparently searching for something. Though his actions are completely bizarre, I’m too distracted by the way the moon highlights his supple form to really think about what he is doing.

As I watch him I’m reminded of the flowers Rin is so fond of picking. For a brief moment in time, they are the definition of perfection. Their smell, color, form and shape… truly beautiful. And somehow, the knowledge that they will only remain that way for a short time before they begin to wilt and eventually die makes them even more so.

It is a bittersweet pain that fills my heart as he returns, a sly smile on his face, everything about him so much like a dying flower.

The irony that it is a flower that he returns with is not lost on me. I look at him quizzically. Is the need to procure flowers a ningen thing? I suppose I’ve come to expect this behavior from Rin, but I thought it was inherent to the female of the species.

He notices the quizzical look on my face, because he blushes furiously. He lays down besides me once again and nips at my jawline, causing me to put his inane behavior out of my mind for a moment – that is, until he speaks.

“It’s a Camellia flower. The stems excrete an oily substance that can be used to flavor teas and… for other things.”

Oh.

“I’ve told you already that you could not possibly hurt me.”

I try to keep my voice level as I respond but fail, since I can’t help the shudder that goes through me at the implications of his admission.

“Maybe.” He laughs, and the sound is musical.

Insolent… he is insolent, and I am ashamed that I’m submitting to this…

I’m further shamed to know that I want it.

And then his fingers, lubricated from the plant’s oil, probe at me again and I don’t care about shame, it feels…

“Are you okay?”

His violet eyes are burning into mine. I can feel his erection against the inside of my thigh. His breath is hot against my skin and the beat of his mortal heart is thunderous in my ears.

I don’t answer his question. I just raise my head and capture his lips with mine as I lift and spread my hips to accommodate him, putting all thoughts of who I am and who he is out of my mind.

He smiles against my lips and his fingers are gone, replaced with his erection. It is an odd feeling, having him against me in such a place. He starts to push inside and despite myself, I wince.

That had hurt!

“Shhh…”

I don’t need his platitudes… the growl that escapes me is intentional.

I can’t even explain how exhilarating it is to me that the scent of his arousal heightens even more in response.

And then he’s fully sheathed inside me, suddenly and fiercely and I cry out softly, only to find my lips captured by his.

We move against each other, and the discomfort soon abides. He repeatedly brushes against that spot inside of me, causing me to hiss and cry out like a virgin bitch. I’m completely lost, and for several long minutes my world exists only of Miroku inside of me and his lips and hands as they explore me, eventually wrapping around my arousal and pumping it in time with his thrusts.

I don’t know how long it is that we are like this, completely unconcerned about anything but each other and the pressure that is building inside. My mind is gone, I’m reduced to instincts, and I’m vaguely aware of the taste of blood in my mouth and him crying out as I attach my lips to his neck.

And then he is crying, cresting inside of me and I soon follow, my eyes that I’m sure are as red as blood rolling backwards, the sound that escapes my lips a cross between a growl and his name. My legs are locked around his back, and I’m vaguely aware of a hiss escaping him as I dig my claws into his backside, not hard enough to cause permanent damage, but hard enough to draw blood.

Miroku collapses against me, his mortal body strained with exhaustion, his eyes locked on mine. They widen minutely when I raise my hand to lick the blood that I’ve drawn off of my claws, savoring the flavor on my lips. His breath catches, his eyes darken and for a moment, I can smell the distinct scent of his arousal again, strong and sudden.

“You… ah…”

He’s fumbling for words. I am embarrassed to say that I find it endearing and I embrace him around the waist, enjoying the feel of him against me. His eyes are filled with a bewildered radiance and remained locked on mine for several moments before he sighs and lays his head against my chest. I lift my hand and gently comb it through his hair, taking great care not to hurt the soft skin on his head with my claws as I once again silently bemoan the loss of my other arm.

His breathing evens out, and his eyelids began to flutter. It is apparent to me that he is falling asleep, and I have to resist the impulse to follow him. Never have I felt so… satisfied.

“Is this a dream?” He finally asks, the question almost a whisper. I do not answer for several minutes, and by the time I do, he’s already fast asleep.

“No.”

It is a good hour before I sadly disentangle myself from him, rapidly gathering our clothes and dressing both myself and the monk, so quickly and carefully as to not wake him in the process. I gather him into my arms and take to the skies, bringing us both back to where I found him. With a pain in my heart, I quietly and gently return him to his bedroll, taking great care to ensure that I remain undetected by that fool of a half brother of mine.

I remain watching him for a moment, thinking of how I had initially come to his camp to take his life in the hopes that it would end my obsession with him.

But as he smiles softly in his sleep, his head gently rolls to the side, exposing my mark very clearly upon his neck. With a small sigh, I realize that he is so much more than an obsession. And what’s more, I am no longer ashamed of it.


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