Author's Note: Coming of Age is a Sesshoumaru/adult Rin romance novella. I composed all 13 chapters between February and March 2008 and published them here as individual stories (single or multichapter) in what I called a "story arc," because I was unfamiliar with the site or fanfic (having only written original erotica and a bit of Star Trek slash in past). I got many wonderful reviews and hits that did my fangirl heart good, and I am grateful for them still. Nonetheless, I've decided to repost the novella as a single chapter fic. For posterity, let me note the former structure: Chapter 1 (originally "Coming of Age"); Chapters 2-6 (originally "At Your Command, Sesshoumaru-sama"); Chapter 7 (originally "Nocturne"); and Chapters 8-13 (originally "Withholding").
I have kept most original chapter notes and changes in spelling (adding the "u" for the long "o" in Japanese along the way, for example).
Also, "The Mokomoko Touch" and "Offering" remain separate fics on this site, as they are side adventures within the post-canon universe I create here.
FYI: New Beginnings is a second novella, continuing from where Coming of Age (formerly the last chapter of "Withholding") leaves off, where an evil, possessed sword leads to Sesshoumaru's unintentional betrayal of Rin. Will he (with the help of a drunken monk and the rest of the Inutachi) find his way back to her and earn her forgiveness before she kills him?
Warnings: Coming of Age is M rated. Adult situations and sexuality in most chapters. Don't read if you're not of legal age, please.
Thanks for reading the long header, and I hope you enjoy the story.
Coming of Age
Chapter 1
"Sesshomaru-sama!" Rin called out, seeing her silent and noble Lord approach in the evening twilight. She fell to her knees and bowed low before him, her long raven hair tumbling around her in the soft grass. It might never grow as long and thick as her master's, she knew, but since the day Lord Sesshomaru had brought her back to the world of the living and given her safety and purpose, she had never cut it. There were many times Jaken had threatened to do so, of course, for only recently had she begun to keep it properly washed and brushed, but the blustery little green yokai had never followed through with his threats. She would simply wrap her arms around him and tell him how devoted she was to his wisdom and love, and he would bluster, scoff, smile, and tell her to cook dinner or practice with her staff. Now, at eighteen (the age she considered herself, though she could not remember a precise birth date or year), the thick black mass fell nearly to her waist. Most of the time, she left it free, framing her pointed face and angular shoulders, though when training, she tied it neatly back with a thong at the nape of her neck and tossed it over her back. She loved the heavy feel of it, the way it hung behind her or veiled her eyes when she wished it. It was comforting, and it made her feel powerful—the way Sesshomaru looked from behind as his shining silver mane blazed in the sunlight and glowed in the moonlight. She had spent most of her life studying that back, that hair. She smiled at herself from under her curtain of her own tresses. Foolish girl, she thought, it is not Sesshomaru's hair that makes him powerful.
By contrast, it could not be said that Sesshomaru ever truly smiled. Indeed, what passed for a smile on his cold yet beautiful mouth was generally cause for alarm to an enemy or a stranger and for a swift escape to a safe hiding place to Rin and Jaken. A grin on that fair, ageless face was reserved for moments of pleasure in the challenge of deterring or destroying a particularly foolish and cocksure adversary, like his ridiculous half-brother Inuyasha. Nevertheless, lately, when Rin shook out her rich dark hair and stood proudly before him, puffing out her adolescent chest (for she was a late developer) and declaring herself ready for any task he might set, she was sure that something very like a smile played about his lips. Though he never declared himself proud of her, never expressed pleasure in her company, never even praised her prowess as she developed her skills as a scout and fighter, Rin knew in her heart that he valued her, and that was enough.
Sesshomaru strode past the prostrate Rin and, beside her, the bowed form of Jaken. Pausing, he called over his shoulder: "Jaken, be prepared to leave in the morning." Knowing him ever to be a leader of few words, Jaken merely barked his single syllable of assent and understanding and went back to his work. Rin watched Sesshomaru walk away and pondered. They had not been long in this glade, but there had been time enough to take from its treasures: ripe fruits, medicinal herbs, even a thick-furred hare whose pelt would soon adorn the shoulder of Rin's kimono. An obvious homage to Sesshomaru's thick white fur, Rin carefully scraped and dried the soft skin, and this evening planned to begin the curing process to keep it supple. She had not wanted Lord Sesshomaru to return from his unspecified tasks before it was ready, but that was more foolishness. It would take weeks for the fur to be properly cured. Sesshomaru had been gone four long days, and that was more than enough time for Rin to begin to pine for her master, to long for his cold, reassuring presence.
"Rin," Sesshomaru commanded from a distance. The deep and powerful voice carried far and called her immediately to attention. She leapt to her feet, dropping the hare hide, and hasted to her Lord's presence beneath a broad old oak. She dropped again to her knees and bowed her head. She knew words were unnecessary. He would explain why he had summoned her in his own time.
"I have been injured, Rin," he said, without emotion.
"Sesshomaru-sama!" Rin gasped, tears forming in her eyes, looking as childlike and forlorn as she had the day she first came to tend the injured yokai who would become her guardian and her life's focus. "How? Where? Who did it? How could they…"
"Rin," Sesshomaru said with his usual quiet authority, and she fell silent. He raised his right arm and held it out for her to examine.
In hushed obedience and devotion, Rin moved quickly to inspect the outstretched limb. Tenderly she grasped it, her heart pounding. Though she willed it to be calm, whenever Sesshomaru was in danger—real or imagined in her loyal yet easily overwrought mind—she grew panicked. But ten years with Sesshomaru had taught her to control at least the outward signs of her distress, at least sometimes. Just below his shoulder, she saw the broken end of an arrow that had perforated his robe and pierced his flesh. Tearing the hole in his garment wider with infinite care, Rin peered at the tissue where the arrow had penetrated. Sesshomaru did not move during this procedure, and when she paused to glance at his face to see whether she had hurt him, she found his head raised, his inhuman gaze cool and level. He stared off into the distance, as if he was not even in his body. Rin longed for such self-control with an ache that reached her very soul. She swore an oath she had sworn hundreds of times, that she would someday learn some measure of the self-discipline and willpower of her beloved master.
As she examined the wound—which glowed with an eerie, milky whiteness—Sesshomaru spoke again. "Remove the arrow, Rin."
"But…but…" stuttered Rin. She did not want to hurt him.
"Force it through," he said, calmly.
Rin obeyed. First, she pushed his sleeve up and out of the way. Then, using the strength of her young, healthy body and the tenderness of her warm, young heart, she pushed the arrow through while Sesshomaru remained passive, with an unearthly stillness that made Rin shudder, despite herself.
"Rin: the poison hurts me, the arrow does not."
His words allowed her to calm herself enough to reach beneath his arm and pull the broken shaft through, and she marveled that there was no blood—just that cloudy substance that surrounded the shaft. It dripped from the arrowhead and from the wound as well. She held the arrow away from her and looked toward Lord Sesshomaru to know what to do next.
He continued to hold his arm aloft, and Rin could swear he seemed to struggle with the effort, though perhaps it was her imagination. "Drop the arrow," he said, and then looked into her eyes. "I need you to remove the poison now, Rin."
Rin felt her heart begin to pound again. Adoration blended with a fear of her own inadequacy and left her speechless, gazing up in mute impotence.
"Place your mouth on the wound and draw out the poison."
Rin nodded, bowed, and obeyed. She took the arm in her hands and brought the glowing gash to her mouth. She pressed her lips around it tightly and sucked, then turn her head and spat. Sesshomaru's flesh was cool to the touch, but the wound was hot. The poison had little taste, though it burned her tongue and she spat quickly and repeatedly, returning several times to the hole in her Lord's slender yet powerful arm, to suck and spit again. She would have continued forever, even if the fiery pain in her mouth had burned her alive, but soon Sesshomaru's voice stopped her.
"That is enough, Rin. Now go to the stream and wash your mouth out. The poison will not damage a human permanently, but it must be causing you pain."
Rin shook her head, not wanting to admit her weakness. "Go," Sesshomaru said quietly. And Rin went.
When she returned, Sesshomaru was leaning against the tree, crosslegged, his eyes closed. Without opening them, he remarked, "Go rest with Jaken now, Rin. I will be fine."
Rin fell to her knees before him. "Let me stay with you," she said, trying to keep all pleading out of her voice. She had learned young that begging did not work with one as strong and self-sufficient as Sesshomaru.
Sesshomaru opened his eyes. Rin raised her head. He had not said no…yet. She waited.
He looked into her eyes, unblinking. She risked further speech, "Let me watch over you, Sesshomaru-sama. While you sleep." She did not dare risk more, knowing as she did that no matter how weakened he might be by the traces of poison that had already entered his bloodstream, if some threat should come to them in the night it was more likely that he would save them than that she would do any good at all. Still, she wanted to be near him.
Sesshomaru frowned slightly. "Very well." He closed his eyes again and laid his wounded arm in his lap.
Rin came around to his other, armless side, and laid her head against his chest. She longed to hear and feel the comfort of his heartbeat, to know that in some small way he was, like her, a living being. He permitted it. More: he spoke again. "Thank you, Rin."
Tears came into Rin's closed eyes and she did not fight them. She felt such relief that he would be well. Gratitude that he had allowed her to help him. Honor that he suffered her to touch him this way. And youthful adoration, blended with that hormonal drive that defines adolescence, suddenly blossomed into something more. Taking a deep breath and steeling her courage, Rin lifted her head and moved to position herself inches from Sesshomaru's face. His eyes did not open, but he spoke: "What is it, Rin?" he asked.
Rin moved forward and answered by pressing her lips to his. She held very still there, feeling their cool softness. And oh! they were soft lips. Softer than she thought they possibly could be. She had heard words of violence and death come from those lips, curses and promises of ruin and retribution. Always spoken with calm determination, with an ease and power that she had never witnessed from another being—human or demon. And so she had assumed that the lips that uttered such words with such frightening tranquility would be hard and unyielding. But she was wrong. Knowing she would have only seconds—if that—before he would push her from him, or worse, she kissed him, pouring forth all the desire and esteem she felt for this one, solitary soul in this cold and dangerous world. And, greater wonder still than her luck in having been rescued and cared for by him, he now permitted the kiss.
She would hardly say he returned the embrace, even limited as it was to the touching of lips. She did not try to deepen it by putting her arms around him. And, after all, she had never kissed anyone before, so perhaps this was what all men did. But it was good, and it was real. Her lips were crushed against his, and he was feeling the warmth of her there, and allowing it, perhaps (she hoped against hope) even relishing it as she was.
When he moved, after long moments of silent stillness (for him) and surging emotions and a racing heart (for her), it was to raise his hand and cup her chin, with surprising gentleness. His injury might account for the tender touch he used, but even as he eased her from contact, he did not push her away. He tipped her face up to his and looked deeply into her eyes. She could read nothing there, of course. But he was reading her, that was certain. He was probably thinking what a child she was. And though she knew he'd lived centuries longer than her, she could not think of him as old. His face was so beautiful to her. She remained in the mild grip of his long, slender fingers, and indulged herself in their close proximity. She studied the crescent moon on his forehead and the slashes of color that marked his cheeks, longed to reach out and touch them. She breathed in the icy scent of him—ozone, snow, a ghostly musk. She could not help it: she smiled.
He released her face, and she immediately regretted the emotion she had displayed. But surely he already knew how she felt. She sat before him, waiting for his next action. She anticipated being told to leave him, or his getting up and moving elsewhere, in his long, fluid way. Yet he did not. She heard his breathing, steady and strong. She tried to match her own to it. Then she felt his hand on hers. Again, his touch was gentle, and, if she were not fooling herself, perhaps even hesitant. He placed her palm down between his legs, beneath his wide yellow sash. She gasped, but did not attempt to withdraw her hand. She sensed that he would allow that, at her slightest reservation, and, she guessed, this moment would never come again. He kept his hand atop hers as she pressed down, then wrapped her fingers around the hard shaft she felt there. Her desire to give him pleasure outweighed her apprehension about what she was about to do.
Sesshomaru showed Rin how to part the thick white cloth of his garment to release him, and Rin's lips parted at the awe of being permitted to see the pale flesh beneath the robes of this demon-god she had so long worshiped. She reached her hands in eagerly, at once all childlike enthusiasm and adult desire. The directness of the invitation gave her the freedom to shed fears that Sesshomaru might become displeased or reject her. Instead, she was awash with wonder, curiosity, and yearning. Gingerly, one hand felt the soft inner thigh as the other held firmly to his rigid member. It grew larger as she caressed it, and Rin could not but be fascinated at this miracle. Cool and smooth like marble yet silken and thoroughly alive in her hand, Rin was entranced. She stroked more firmly as she listened to Sesshomaru's deep, even breaths. There was evidence here of arousal, surely, yet he appeared unmoved as she glanced up at his face in the night's glow. "Your mouth would feel even better," he said, his lips barely moving as his half-closed feral eyes reflected the shimmering moonlight.
Rin gave a small nod, the pleasure in obedience blending with the knowledge that she was surely stirring a need that she and Sesshomaru, incredibly, shared. She leaned forward, tossing her long, luxurious hair over her shoulders, then brought her mouth down to that beautiful rigidness between her delicate hands. She pressed her lips softly to the tip of it, tasting the moistness that welled there, feeling the way the loose skin of the shaft slipped easily up and down as she rubbed it with her hand. Her hair slid around her as she kissed lower, tasting every inch of its smooth length and breadth. Within that circle of hair, she had a warm, secret place from which she could indulge her senses and explore. As long as his talisman stayed firm in her grasp, she could rejoice in this vivid and direct display of pleasure, so alien to her master's demeanor in voice and expression.
Rin risked licking the slitted head once and felt it swell. She tasted salt and, again, that rain-like musk that was uniquely Sesshomaru's. She lapped again, drawing her tongue over and across, then around its flared edge. It jumped and droplet of fluid formed, which Rin devoured. Tasting Lord Sesshomaru was an intimacy greater than she could ever articulate. And still, she sought more. She wondered whether placing the head more fully in her mouth would be pleasing. She did so and sucked lightly. The response was even greater hardening and more fluid she tasted at the back of her tongue. And suddenly, she knew just what to do. Slowly, she swallowed the beautiful column that was the core of Sesshomaru to her. Inch by inch, she took more and more into her mouth, easing it down so as not to choke. She wanted to take him deep inside herself, to embrace all of him and, at the same time, to lose herself entirely in him. She did not know how to reconcile the contradictory desires she felt—to swallow him, to be swallowed by him—but she knew the key was somehow within her hungry mouth and the intimacy of this act.
As she used her mouth to stroke and delight him, as the rhythm built, she suddenly felt Sesshomaru's hand in her hair. By all the gods and demons of the world, Sesshomaru-sama was touching her hair! He threaded his skilled, elegant fingers through those silken strands and tugged, ever so gently, at her scalp. He guided her mouth for incredible, long moments, where nothing mattered but that he touch her, lead her, help her to satisfy him. Of course, he would know exactly what he wanted, and he showed her with every sweet, tender movement of his hand. Soon, she had found the rhythm he seemed to desire and she pleased him there, her mouth warm and wet and enveloping him, a place he could lose himself, if he would let her give that to him.
Time stood still. Rin did not know whether she sucked for moments or hours, but she did not care. She gagged once or twice, paused to catch her breath a few times, but she was determined, and Sesshomaru's touch was patient and light, even as she sensed a tension building quickly and sharply within him. And as she sensed that, she also felt a tension growing in her own body, a warmth and wetness and pulse beating between her legs that she both encouraged and eased by rocking onto her heels beneath her. She wondered if the urge she felt at her core was like what he was feeling as he drove her on.
And then he burst, poured forth into her mouth and down her throat the product of his need, the evidence of his gratification. Though silent, he arched into her mouth, his hips rising and his body shaking, seemingly of its own accord. Rin did not attempt to back away, she met him thrust for thrust and devoured every drop of the fluid confirmation of his satisfaction. When his body was again at rest, he stroked her hair in two long, soft passes, and then withdrew his hand. Rin slowly removed her mouth, placed his wilting member gently back into the folds of his robes, and crawled back a few feet to kneel and touch her head to the ground before him. In truth, she was a bit ashamed of her wantonness, evident in her disheveled hair and swollen lips. She preferred not to look him in the eye.
But, of course, that was not her decision. "Rin," Sesshomaru demanded, his voice as calm and commanding as if nothing unusual had happened between them.
She raised her eyes. "Yes, Sesshomaru-sama?"
"Thank you."
Her mouth opened, but words did not form. She bowed deeply again, the only response she could make.
"You may return to Jaken and sleep."
"Yes, Sesshomaru-sama." She began to rise, then paused. She looked up into her master's shining eyes. They looked the same as always: cool, aloof, controlled. But she felt differently now, perhaps about herself even more than about Lord Sesshomaru, so he looked somehow different to her. "Sesshomaru-sama?"
His gaze was steady. "Yes, Rin?"
"May I sleep beside you tonight?" Afraid of rejection, she hurried on: "As I did when I first found you—when I tended to you—those many years ago?"
Sesshomaru seemed almost to smile. "It was not so many years ago, Rin."
Rin bowed her head slightly, waited. She wanted to continue their intimacy into sleep. She squeezed her eyes tightly and wished for it with every fiber of her young—yet no longer childish—being. She would not beg; she would accept whatever answer Sesshomaru gave unflinchingly and immediately. But let it be yes.
"Very well, then. For this night only." He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes to sleep.
Rin moved quickly and quietly to Sesshomaru's side. She lay down on the ground, her head softly resting against his thigh. She turned her face and inhaled the mild, unique scent of her yokai master. Now and forever, she knew she would crave that scent and live in hope that another day he would once again summon her aid, thank her, and share even more of the closeness he had permitted this night. She smiled to herself. Closing her eyes, she breathed quietly and deeply of the cool night air.