Death of Flowers
by Eleventy Nine
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended by the writing or online sharing of this story. On my behalf, I do not claim to own and/or be connected to Inu Yasha in any way, shape, or form. I only draw inspiration from its characters, setting, and storyline.
Warning: Arr, there be dark themes ahead.
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Sesshoumaru watches the child run. She twirls in the wind, her legs flying through the grass with a wild grace as she tramples, tramples the life around her, laughing all the while.
Turning back, she smiles, and presents him with an uneven bouquet. She is sweet, naive, and unaware. Rin has no idea that the prettily petaled flowers she holds have been slaughtered by her gentle, ripping hands. She sees only their beauty, and thinks that means they will live forever.
She has no reason not to think so. After all, her Lord has always been alive, and truly he is beautiful. Rin knows that; she makes it a point to remember.
She smiles as he takes the flowers, reassuring her belief that he is her Sesshoumaru. He lets her tuck a blossom behind his ear, and does not protest as she leans forward to smell its perfume.
Rin sighs happily against his cheek and pulls in his scent. He smells of things she can't explain, of water specked with pepper. She inhales again, her chin dipping to brush his neck. She is unaware of the goose bumps that skip across his body.
Her face buried in his thick, silver hair, she closes her eyes. She falls asleep against his chest; his heartbeat is her lullaby.
He embraces her when he feels her breathing relax, knowing she has slipped into sleep. His single arm moves across her back, and he presses his cheek against her neck, breathing her in with one deep breath.
She smells of the death of flowers, as all little girls do, and a warm, sandy smell that he thinks must be all her own. His eyes close, and his tongue darts out, wanting to know more. She tastes the way she smells, the same as yesterday and the yesterday before. Sesshoumaru sinks down into himself, reassured in his belief. His Rin will never change.
His tongue continues to flick her collarbone, and she relaxes as he creates soft swirls, painting pictures she will never see.
She is still a child, just a child . . . but he ignores that thought. Age is immaterial, and why shouldn't she be his?
Her peaceful breathing stirs something inside of him, and his tongue slides gently, lovingly, possessively. She is his.
Despite this, his arm is loose around her. He will not be her cage. For all the resemblance, she is not a pretty bird, though he knows she could take flight if she wished.
He blows a puff of warm air against her throat, and she smiles in her sleep.
It is her smile that he loves, that silky, sweetly curving mouth. He loves her lips, and that knowledge pains him in a way he cannot comprehend.
He wants to feel sick, and it worries him that he doesn't. His eyes slide shut, and in his mind, he whispers cruelties to himself. 'Don't touch,' and 'wrong,' and 'never want you.'
He hears, but doesn't heed. She is pure, and he is pure, and he thinks that should be enough.
'No,' his mind whispers again. 'There is something else.'
He knows what that something is, and it tears at his chest. Irony has loved him well, and bestowed him alone with this powerful, pressing longing. Rin does not know she holds a part of him that has long been suppressed.
He knows so many things, but for the first time, that knowledge hurts. He is almost lonely, and the feeling is bittersweet. He watches her breathe, and can't decide if he wants to bear this pain. Maybe tonight, he'll sleep, and maybe when he wakes, he'll know.
Until then, his tongue still swirls, painting pictures she will never see.
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fin.