Inuyasha and all its characters are created by Rumiko Takahashi. I merely occasionally borrow them for my own twisted purposes. For Lynx and Ren.
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You share your smiles with all and sundry. Smiles like sunshine, day after day.
But endless days of sun leave one parched.
Only to me do you give the gift of your tears. Like rain in a desert, quenching our thirst, washing us clean of all the accumulated pain and sorrow. Some may call you coward, but it takes a certain kind of bravery to cry in front of another male.
I can always tell when the storm is about to break. That's when I find you, alone and silent, head bowed in shame. You say you are going off to meditate, but in truth, you have just reached your limit. They've called you hentai and whore once too often, made you feel weak and worthless for seeing your own truth, knowing your own heart, your desires. Fools, they. Cowards who deny themselves what you'd freely give.
I, however, would never turn away such a precious gift.
You've chosen the quiet, rocky places you know I prefer. I lift your chin, your violet eyes full of clouds meet the azure skies of my own, and the storm breaks. Tears stream down your soft cheeks; although it is dry here, you shiver as if drenched. In a pile of discarded robes and furs, we meet, we touch, we taste. I take you tenderly; I take you violently. I let this play out as it will, giving you what you need, taking what you offer. Sweat and tears, semen and sometimes blood, all wash away the guilt, the sorrow, the things that make you feel small and useless. I tear you to pieces, then rebuild you once again, stronger for the experience. I will take you as many times and as many ways as I must, with all my demonic stamina, until the storms pass.
I will not call you names to break you or box you in, labels to mold you into the shape of my desires. I call your name, and your name only: "Miroku."
"Kouga," you answer, and it blossoms in my heart, like the desert flowers after rain.