Hi, this is a first effort here so it would be great if you guys could read it and leave some comment/criticisms. But remember, first time publishing anything anywhere...so...yeah.

As for the story, Sesshoumaru is tired. He's stressed out, on edge and its begining to show. Though of course who'd dare tell him. He needs something and he's waiting to have it. And while he waits, he remembers where this need came from. How it changed him.

This chapters short, just trying to see how much it takes to fill the page! So, here it is. Oh and I guess I should say :

I DON'T OWN INUYASHA OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR ANYTHING, JUST WRITING FOR FUN, NOT FOR PROFIT!

The Spring, The Moon, This Night

So long, it had been so long. His legs, finely sculpted, strong, perfect, still strained to remain still. He was tired. No one could see it. No one would dare suggest that such a thing could ever be. But this weariness spread through his body, fogged his mind. Just once, just this once and this need would no longer be.

Even as he said it, only to himself, he knew it was a lie. Knew that he would never be free of it. It happened so slowly. Began as the sliver of a distant memory. One he couldn't forget though he had tried. But no, even this was a lie. He could not forget because he would not. He treasured it. Kept it hidden, even from himself. The incredible Lord of the West, The Killing Perfection. He could not allow such a thing. All the same deep inside the heart that he denied, ignored, and despised , he could not be without it.

Tree limbs swayed and trembled as he flew past. As if they anticipated this as much as he did. It grew closer. The same one, always the same. Hidden away and so quiet. The leaves and branches of the trees and flowering shrubs surrounding it so dense that noise did not easily enter or escape. As his feet touched the ground, in the next breath his clothing followed. Pale skin, as perfect and as hard as the rare and beautiful marble that filled his home, warmed as he lowered himself into soothing water of the spring.

His body. Sometimes he barely knew it. In battle he knew and controled every muscle, every cell and the power that they held, but here, sitting alone… It shimmered in the water clearly seen by his demon eyes in the pale starlight. He was beautiful. He knew this. A large hand, elegant powerful, slid slowly over his body, muscles shifting, tensing and releasing as he moved over them. His cock just beginning to liven. He had bedded many in his years, but none had touched him. He could not remember what their hands, lips, sex, felt like. What they felt like against his. But no, that lie again. Someone had touched him. Had changed what he knew about himself, about everything. His body, all of him was awake and alive for those few minutes. Then gone. Taken from him. Then miraculously re-given. But it was a gift taken away, one that he could open and relish only a few times within each year.

His eyes closed. Their amber color was warm , but all that looked into them said that they were cold, sharp, that they might just as well have been the silver that his hair was. They'd never said that about his father's eyes, or HIS.

Now he waited. This was part of it, the waiting. It might not happen this time. His lips parted, allowing a quiet, solemn sigh to escape. It betrayed him. Heavy with all that he'd carried for so long. The worry, the loneliness that he denied, the restlessness that he'd tried to rid himself of in battle after battle. It never ended, never lessened. That need only grew inside him. And now, finally he could free it. Let it wash over him. He could feel now. And remember.