White Dogs: Perversity.
Rating: PG-13. R, to be safe for some parts.
Pairing: Sess/Kag, we get to see something of affection in here. Or would that be desperation?
Song-fic:
Disclaimer: ::rolls eyes upward.:: Oh, that I were the one who had created Inuyasha that I had given life to Sesshoumaru. But alas, I cannot claim anything at all. For I was not the one to do the creating merely the one to envy the creator. Translation: I own ..::checks stock:: two pieces of lint and a monkey. Nothing more. I wonder where the third piece of lint went to?…::we switch scenes to see a piece of lint, obviously the runaway one, having a snog-fest with a dust bunny.:: …!!!::pales:: I didn't want to know that bad!!
Summary: Second thoughts are wicked little things. Good thing Kagome has a will of steel; otherwise she might have gone back to Inuyasha. However, she had made a decision. And by god she was going to stick to it. But no one ever mentioned that she would be stabbed for it! But then, being saved by a god makes up for it, don't you think?
Genre: Everything left of the middle. But count on some comical relief. I can't write a good, complete uninterrupted angst-drama to save my sorry existence.
A.N.: As you read through this chapter you're going to notice a few things. One of them being that Sesshoumaru is acting a tad OOC. That's to be expected. He's dry humor is just the remedy to counter balance Kagome's angst. Otherwise we'd all be drowning in it. Another is that when in Kagome's point of view my writing style will differ from when it's in Sesshoumaru's. Which is also to be expected. They are two different people thus two different flavors. Also, keep in mind that five hundred years is a long time, and time has this quirky thing about changing things. Sesshoumaru has passed the 'I shall kill you all' stage of his life and has walked into what is termed the 'I am greatly amused by you insignificant peons' stage. And his mind tends to pinwheel off to all these random subjects. One could say this is a sign of old age…
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"I never thought of taking the place of your lost love, nor would I wish to, for if ever you choose to keep me in your heart, I want that place to be called as my own." –Pau.
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Perverse: Marked by a disposition to oppose and contradict. Resistance to guidance or discipline. Marked by immorality; deviation from what is good, right or proper.
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Chapter Two: The Stings of Fate…
Kneeling on the damp, packed earth inside the well shrine Kagome stared longingly at the wooden and stone structure. Aching to go back there and yet knowing she could not. Or should not. And in all, would not. Her hands twisted in her lap much like her guilt was twisting her mind. She shifted; her feet were going numb. It had hardly been a day since she'd come home, and to her (and her guilt consumed mind) it felt more like a month. Did they miss her? Did…he miss her? Had they even noticed she was gone? Most likely. Shippou…her heart ached for him. He must be frantic by now. They all were probably.
She'd left her backpack there after all. No doubt Inuyasha was going to figure out she'd gone home and chase after her. Of course the backpack would throw him off, but he was a dog. He would figure it out. Despite popular belief, he wasn't entirely moronic. Just hotheaded.
Her dulled eyes drifted to the wooden cover that had been placed over the well's top, as well as the wards that decorated in random order. She had no way of knowing whether or not they worked…she'd made them herself. With a little guidance from her grandfather, of course, she had also used a bit of the knowledge that Kaede had imparted to her during some basic Miko lessons.
Oh, gods, she sincerely hoped they held… her eyes closed tightly, and she curled in her position in a sudden spasm of pain centering in her heart. How could she ever stand to face him should he come after her?
The familiar prickling sensation started behind her eyes as her throat tightened so as to make her breathing slightly labored.
Bitter laughter, weak and breathy ricocheted off the sturdy shrine walls, reverberating in her ears. A lonely sound. It made her wince, and curl up tighter.
"What have you done to me?" She whispered, "Why am I so hopeless and weak?"
The rocking motion came naturally, a comforting to-and-fro lullaby for the body. Gentle, it calmed her a little. At least she wouldn't pass out from lack of oxygen. Deep breath, let it out slowly, inhale again and repeat.
"Why have you done this to me?" Her head snapped up, eyes smoldering with inner conflict as she hissed at the well, and beyond that him.
"Why do you still hold me prisoner? Let me go!" She hated this…. This weak feeling in her body, it crippled her. How her voice broke with the force of her emotional pain. How her heart sped it's beat when she thought of him. In all truth, a part of her held hopes of the wooden cover shattering upwards in a parade of splinters and torn paper, of him bursting through the melee. And the majority was merely weary of the emotional roller coaster.
Quit it, Kagome. Where did your spirit go? Stand up, turn around and walk away. He is not worth it. Why love him if all that you get is this? Pain. You were never meant for pain, Kagome. He doesn't love you. The voice, unlike the ones before, was soft and held the warmth of a father's or a mother's comfort. Something to hold onto and feel safe from everything that would ever dare harm you. For Kagome it just made her hurt all the more.
Kagome's wheezing stalled, hitched and came out as a shuddering sob. "But, I love him…I wanted him to love me too. First loves aren't supposed to hurt this much… oh Kami-sama, it hurts…"
And she imagined that if she were to look down at her knees, she would see her heart there bleeding still, weakly pumping blood. She cringed, and turned her head away. Only to see that the pre-dusk sky had darkened considerably and was now nearly…a glance down at her wristwatch confirmed it… seven o'clock. Almost night…no moon… her heart clenched and her teeth grinded together.
She lifted a shaky arm to her face and rubbed her eyes on the off-white cotton sleeve, dragging herself to her feet as she did so. Habit carried her out the sliding door of the shrine and lift the straps of her bag to her shoulder. Her hand reached behind her and slid the wooden door shut, and she blinked away one last tear. For now anyways. There would be more, she knew.
Her hope was that she could just keep the mask in place long enough to hide her sorrow.
As the miko's shadow drew away from the well house, a small sphere of moisture hit the dry, thirsty dirt and was swallowed.
One foot in front of the other, lift the hind one and pull it forward placing in front of the other, shift weight and move another step. It was mechanical and instinctual. Kagome's body was there but no one was home. Her mind had gone elsewhere, back in time perhaps. Or maybe it was just lost somewhere in the void. Where ever it had gone to, her body carried on and it moved to the park nearest her shrine.
A sanctuary of sorts that she'd gone to many times to think over some problem or other. May hap that was the reason she was wandering in that general direction. Habit. Again.
Mechanics and instinct served her well as she soon stepped in the north gate of the park, which had been given a Chinese name. Shing-Shing Park*. Star Park. It was a fitting name, for the park's theme was that of a star. Star fountains and such peppered the good-sized area. As well as star shaped flowers that had been brought in from somewhere east. She'd never cared to find out, content to just enjoy the fragrant blossoms and take in their delicate beauty.
Kagome finally woke from her catatonia-like haze and blinked at her surroundings, startled.
How strange.
Something wet slid down her cheek and dropped onto her hand. She blinked and more hot droplets careened down her cheeks some trailing down her chin others falling onto her hands and shattering like glass. Kagome stared, fascinated.
How very strange.
Was it possible that she hurt so much inside that she'd become numb to the pain? And that was why she did not know she'd been weeping till just now?
The emotions had become so strong that her body wept without her knowing.
She covered her face with her hands, biting her lip willing herself not to start crying. It didn't exactly work all that well, the hot flood of tears still fell and even when she had thought they stopped a single thought brought them gushing again. So, there she sat, all alone on the park bench, struggling through a river of tears.
Kagome was unaware what predator stalked her, and that it was prepping itself to strike. Physical pain to balance the emotional turmoil…
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Inspiration was a fickle bitch, Sesshoumaru conceded. Giving you wonderful ideas one moment, then taking them away in the next. It was not helping his mentality any that he could not seem to do anything else. He found it more than just a bit irritating. It would be just the nature of his luck, would it not? He wasn't overly amused. Not to mention, a new canvas was in order…the old one (not the one with the Kagome portrait- that had went into the deepest darkest parts of his…room, the closet to be exact) was merely a pile of scraps and shreds on the hardwood floor.
Sesshoumaru sighed, something he never would have done even two hundred years ago. And a habit that he found forming alarmingly fast. Frowning, he reached up and pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead, where a headache was spawning. Oh Joy. Marvelous.
If there was one thing about this time that he half appreciated, it was aspirin. It was a wonderful little thing really. One small capsule and thirty minutes later (provided you survived that long) you were indeed highly dandy again if not fine. No more putrid potions or other such nuisances. Honestly, one would think the healers were trying to kill you not heal you.
It was enough to give any one a stark fear of being ill. Perhaps therein lay the point. You doubled your efforts to stay healthy and out of the doctors office. What was the saying again? 'An apple a day, keeps the doctor away'?
However, their cough medicines could stand to undergo some drastic changes. Luckily, his youkai blood killed off any infection or viral contaminants but what with the mutating germs even his blood could not be one hundred percent effective.
Rousing himself from nostalgia, he waltzed into the good sized and nicely furnished kitchen and sought out the bottle of pain relievers and a glass of water.
Place pill on tongue, take a swig, tilt head back slightly and swallow. Sesshoumaru made the movements more graceful then mundane. He leaned against the counter crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. And he waited.
A dozen minutes past and apparently the miracle pills he had just praised had decided to punish him because the headache had only gotten worse and his ire had rose right along with it. Not only that, the pulsing behind his eyes could not be a headache…at least not a normal one. So said, something was off. What exactly was off, he was not certain. Migraine, perhaps.
Well, if that were the case, then the only thing he could do was suffer through it. Fresh air was also in order. Therefore a walk in the park was prominent. Very well, perhaps a little of nature's touch would get him out his rut.
He certainly couldn't keep drawing that girl. Ignoring the small part that begged to differ, he snatched his duster from the coat rack and glided out the door, closing it behind him. The door's lock clicked into place before the foot falls receded down the hall. The pent house was silent and lifeless in his wake.
Long, effortless strides propelled him out the glass doors of the high rise and onto the concrete that made up the sidewalk. The youkai lord inclined his head to the doorman slightly then continued on his way, turning in the direction of the park.
Though it was quite nearly dark, there was still life flowing through the streets of Tokyo. Late workers shuffled home after a long day at work, some even held cell phones to their ears. Housewives and teenagers trickled around him caught up in their webs of thought and idle fantasies.
He ignored them, closing his sense of smell to them all together for he himself had his own thoughts to contend with. Let them have theirs and he would stay with his; it worked wonders that way. He'd given up on trying even care about what humans could possibly think about when he'd dipping into their minds once before. They thought of the most inane and trivial things. Why was the sky blue? Why was the earth round? Why do fools fall in love?
Here was one. Why do humans bother with thinking if all they thought of were questions that did not need answers? Certainly they sometimes entertained deeper levels of sentient thought? Sesshoumaru didn't care to investigate though.
Telepathy was a marvelous thing really. As long as the out come was good, that is. It was more or less a curse when he stumbled across an idiot or a pervert. He couldn't exactly decide which was worse. Then again, there was the stereotypical schoolgirl. Giggles, pigtails, short skirts and all. Which included a mindful of all things male and more so the ones that had been classified as either 'cute', 'adorable', 'sweet' or 'hot'. There were more classifications but hell if he ever wanted to find out what they were. That would pass right past scary and straight into traumatizing.
Once again, he caught himself sighing and frowned, then wiped all expression off his face.
How strange.
His mind wondered to the most… human of subjects. Disgusting.
Yet how very strange…
He crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk then entered through the wrought iron gates of Shing-Shing park, unaware of the strings of fate tightening about him and one other, hands shoved in pockets. Barely stopping he moved forward across paths as though being led. Not unlike a dog on a leash, he mused sourly.
To be truthful, he felt a pull in a certain direction….
It was when he saw the flash of silver that his mind snapped back to reality and focused on the scene before him with startling precision. His pupils dilated then returned to normal size as his nimble mind sorted through the images his vision was passing to him. They came quickly and gave him no time to think further then impulse thoughts.
There on the bench sat a slender creature seeming to be spun of moonbeams and ebony silk. A girl. He felt recognition stir in him.
The flash of silver solidified into a dagger. Or rather a kitchen knife.
The jack holding the dagger gave cruel life to a feverish and feral smile as he slinked towards the girl.
A twig crackled like a gunshot and the girls head shot up from her hands, her broken, hazy gaze flying to the man and freezing into blue ice.
That recognition jumped into a forest fire as the smoky blue orbs were revealed to him.
That was when it all went to hell in a hand basket.
Just as he himself blurred forward, the man pounced as the girl stood. The bum grabbed her shoulder and slammed the blade to its hilt into the young woman's stomach just under the left half of her rib cage. Over the bum's raggedly clad shoulder, Sesshoumaru was able to see her sweet young face contort with shock and pain, those unearthly eyes widening to an impossible size, her lips opening in a gasp of pain. The colors swirled and shifted as her pupils grew to nearly usurp the iris before shrinking to pinpricks of black against silvery-blue crushed velvet.
He did not notice that he'd frozen in place.
Her visage relaxed as those dazed eyes found his and her eyebrows drew together in confusion even as he himself felt the white-hot dart of pain lance into his heart. A bit of empathy for him. The pastel lips shaped a word, and her small hand reached towards him.
"Sess…"
Then the dazed expression faded and she fell limp. Crimson droplets fell to the concrete staining it a dark, lusterless magenta hue. It seemed near charcoal in the night.
Time resumed its natural order.
Recognition gave the girl a name and natural instinct signed the man's death certificate. Sesshoumaru darted into motion, retracted claws growing into their full fatal glory even as the murderer removed his hand from the girl's willowy shoulder and jerked the knife from her flesh with a twisted chuckle. That same chuckle ended in a gurgle as a fountain of red liquid erupted from his jugular, the delicate flesh of his throat torn and veins severed by one quick slash of Sesshoumaru's clawed hand. The greenish toxins ate away at what had not been torn, and the man was moving right into rigor mortis before his filthy body even hit the ground.
By morning, the toxic liquid would have eaten away the man's remains and all that would be left would be dark, red nearly black stains on the ground.
Sesshoumaru had not stopped to watch his handiwork and was instead crouching over the girls still form. There was blood. Too much blood, but not enough to state a quick death. And there was none splattered on her lips that would denote a ruptured lung or severe internal bleeding. No, should he allow her to stay here she would bleed her life away slowly with each pulse of her heart.
The question was; would he leave her here?
Kagome… perhaps that was her identity. The only way to find out would be to ask her. In order to do that, she needed to speak. The dead couldn't talk. Not to mention, she had nearly said his name, so she must know him. Somehow. If she was the miko he remembered, then perhaps because she was treading the line between the waking world and the spiritual one she had been able to see him for who he really was… she'd been able to recognize his aura which would not have changed with his shape. Something to muse over later.
Without a sound he'd torn a few strips from the hem of his duster and had gently lifted the girls torso from the cold ground to wrap the cloth about her midsection in an effort to stay the bleeding. She remained in the land of forced sleep, even as he slipped one arm under her knees and pulled her to his chest as he stood and in one fluid motion, took to the air. He flew over the street, ignoring the flashing metal beasts that zoomed over asphalt, landing on a random roof here and there only to push off again and finally to the high rise pent house that was his home, or least one of them. Sesshoumaru alighted on the roof with an ease that spoke of ancient grace.
The girl, still clinging to life with a tenacity that surprised him, mumbled something or other, the words running together into incoherency. Youkai may have had exceptionally finely tuned hearing, but they didn't have built in translators for gibberish.
The door on the roof was unlocked so he managed opening it easily enough. Trekking down the stairs and into the hallway, he headed in the general direction of what humans called the living room.
He cradled the small form with one arm, using the other to remove all the junk (canvases, a pastel container and so on) from the marble coffee table. The coffee table would have to do, since it would not be stained by the blood she would be sure to get on it, and since it was a convenient make-shift operating table. Not that he'd be doing any thing such as that. There was also the fact that the edge of the coffee table was outlined by a deep groove, which would probably serve to catch any wondering blood and keep it from the pale blue carpet. Though that itself would be a bitch to clean out. Naetheless…
Delicately placing her on the marble surface, he shed his coat and made his way into the kitchen for a bowl of hot water and some clothes as well as the first aide kit he kept under the sink. Why he even had one was a mystery to him, but it would apparently serve a purpose tonight. And, there was enough gauze and bandages in it to stop up even amputated limbs. One measly knife wound would not exhaust his supplies.
Armed to the nines with gauze and otherwise he knelt beside the table and placed the materials down on the soft carpet beside him. Thusly prepared he turned to his patient and paused to eye the white (not so much white now as crimson) blouse she wore and the quasi-bandages he'd procured from his duster. Using his pointer claw he sliced away the strips of cloth then, very gently, cut the blouse down the front to the waist.
The torn material fell away to reveal a blooded mess and the puncture wound that still bled sluggishly. Keeping his eyes on just that and nothing else, Sesshoumaru reached to the washcloth at his side and dampened it in the water, he squeezed any excess water from the clothe and brought it up to dab at the wound and clear away the blood. Rinsing the cloth he repeated the motion, slowly unmasking pale cream skin over slightly toned muscles. His eyebrows rose.
Intriguing. So, this small creature was not as fragile as she seemed.
Wiping that thought from the slate of his mind, he kept dabbing and rinsing till the water in the bowl had become a diluted red and the wound was sufficiently cleansed. Once more he paused to examine it. It was a pity it would scar… his eyes drifted a little further southeast and landed on a small, jagged star shaped marring on the otherwise untouched skin of her hip. He lightly traced it with a finger, caught himself and pulled away. Perhaps she'd been stabbed before? If she was who he believed her to be then that was entirely possible.
Cracking the knuckles of his left hand, he held a finger just over the knife wound and waited. A small amount of clear liquid, not that of his poison claw, fell into the wound. The demon in disguise nodded in satisfaction and then watched the girl spasm as the liquid both burned away any infection and cauterized the torn flesh. Then he set about binding the wound much in the same way he had in the park with the strips of his duster.
Lifting her torso up and allowing her to rest against him, her head lolling to the side to rest on his shoulder nearly tucked under his chin, he wrapped the gauze around her middle then tied it off. He lifted her from the table and wiped any blood left over off of her with the washcloth. Moving her still form to the couch, he covered her with a blanket he'd grabbed from it's back and went about cleaning the mess, all the while asking himself if he was out of his mind.
Yes. Sanity was over rated anyway. And he had a right to be off his rocker, did he not?
Surprisingly there was not as much blood as he'd anticipated, rather, it seemed her body had already started to heal, in a manner of speaking. This gave him something to speculate on, as he went back to the couch to look down on the stray he'd taken in. It wouldn't do to leave her there all night in her state of dress…or lack there of, he corrected, mind recalling the blooded blouse he'd thrown away. Her skirt was ruined as well…
Pursing his lips, he reached down pulled the blanket back and lifted her up. Perhaps he had a shirt that would fit her well enough…
Later in the night, near the twelfth hour, Sesshoumaru was still awake and thinking over his new 'pet project'. He had sprawled himself artfully in a plush chair by the girls' bedside, sketch book in lap and pencil in one hand, chin in the other as he watched the small creature dream whatever dreams her pretty little head held.
Through the skylights, pure silver moonbeams fell across the room acting as natural spotlights for him as well as the girl. The girl…he didn't dare give her the name Kagome, to think of her as anything other then 'girl'. If he did…
He frowned, shifting his weight and leaning forward, listening to the sound of her breathing. It was a clear rhythm; no hitching or halting, nothing to state that there was blood in her lungs. The sound of her heart was also strong and deep. Obviously, his little rescue-ee was healthy creature. There was something… off about her though. He could not quite place his finger on it, try though he did. It was not possible to have a human survive such a wound without having to be hospitalized, and here was this nameless girl whom had nearly died five hours earlier, but was now merely deeply asleep instead of …well, whatever it was humans did when they were on the scythe's edge of Death.
Finally, he decided to test his theory of her identity.
Every being had a scent signature, so to speak. Each scent was as unique as a fingerprint and could never be duplicated. Unfortunately, or fortunately which ever way you viewed it, a humans olfactory senses were so very poor that they could not identify anyone by scent, well, they could but not too well. Dogs, on the other hand, had a powerful sense of smell and used it to their advantage. Their hypersensitive noses allowed them to tag, name and identify their humans easily. They were able to store the scent in their memories for later use. Sesshoumaru, being of the canine youkai family had this ability as well.
Therefore, he remembered the miko's scent from even as long ago as it was. Keenly recalling the miko's scent, he opened his senses further and took a deep breath.
Roses, rainwater and a hint of pure female fragrance accosted his mind washing over him and going strait to his head. A perfect match for the memory's scent. He blinked, and then focused on the girl with disbelieving eyes.
How in the seven hells…?
Completely confounded, he sat back, eyes a fraction of a millimeter wider then normal, staring at the creature that had defied him so many years in that past and had earned his respect despite her humanity. Five hundred years in the past, and now, he was finding her in the present. Seemingly untouched by time.
Kami-sama, how on earth had she lived for so long? Her scent signature was all the proof he needed to know that she was the real thing and not a reincarnation or some such nonsense.
Brightly glowing jade eyes took in the gir- No, Kagome's sleeping form under the concealment of a comforter, and beneath that one of his smaller dress shirts that quite nearly swallowed her.
Shocking. How had a human survived for so very long? Or, perhaps, there was something else, a hidden element that he was unaware of. His eyes narrowed as he speculated once again leaning back in his plush chair, rubbing his chin. Pensive.
Too have aged not even a little since he'd last threatened her life or that of his mongrel sibling for the Tetsusaiga… it was mind-boggling. His curiosity for the little miko was rekindled. It leapt into an inferno and despite his efforts would not be squelched or pushed back.
Well, he mused, turning back to his sketchpad. He'd have all the time to satisfy his curiosity. The question was, how to go about it?
Perhaps he would test the ice first. And go from there. What good was a plan? The strange human seemed to have an inane knack for spoiling his plans, no matter how meticulously he'd put them together. She was always the random element that he's underestimated. Besides, he mused, expression brooding, it would be nice to have someone who remembered the way things had been so long ago. And, honesty would be the best approach. The bizarre little thing would most likely see through his fables in a heartbeat. He wouldn't put it past her.
…If he was honest with himself, he was lonely in this horrid world of humans. She… was some one who he could possibly share a common bond with. Someone to remember the past and what it had been with.
Oh, how the mighty hath fallen, was his last sardonic thought before he turned his full attention to his drawing pad. Only to see her smiling up at him. Her mirth nearly made him wince in sympathy for himself. And they hath fallen hard…Damn.
Well, there was nothing for it, he supposed. Thus the once mighty ruler of the western lands settled back in his leather-in-place-of-gold-and-gems-throne to continue communing with fickle inspiration.
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End chapter.
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* I am not sure if the meaning is correct. If it isn't, well, tell me and I'll worship you. Almost. Long chapter, yes? Do ya love me? Oh, come on, you must love me. Even though I did take my time. But there like five hundred words more then the last chapter! I swear. So, do you love me, or what?