White Dogs: Perversity.
Rating: PG-13. R, to be safe for some parts.
Pairing: Sess/Kag… err, well, not quite yet. The two aren't being willing participants.
Song-fic: Breathing by Lifehouse. Love that song…
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: The truth comes out, and not in a particularly nice way. We have wounds of five hundred years reopened and the guilt of a pure heart to deal with. To be honest, Sesshoumaru has his work cut out for him. So what he gonna do? Nothing. That's what. Though he really wants to…
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.: Head's up, readers. It's raining dreams. I had a lot of time on my hands and as a result I went trigger-happy with my dream gun. Fear my insanity. Now, you all get to see a little peak of what thoughts and images I daydream daily. What fun. You might get a slight case of motion sickness. Also, if you'll notice, I tried to make the whole dream scene seem surreal, to capture the imaginary qualities a dream has. Also, keep the dream in mind. It's a bit of a omen, if you will.
I'm trying to make this chapter exceptionally long…well, we'll see if it works.
And, Trihn thank you very much. ::turns red:: So much praise. I have considered being a writer when I grow up, it's my life dream actually. Be an artist and a writer, like Sesshoumaru here. ^___^. I'm glad you think I'm a great writer, it gives me hope for my future. Thank you again.
I cant believe I have 92 reviews, and each and every one of them are marvelous. Thank you all. I couldn't say it enough. So here's my way of thanking you in my own small way. A new chapter. With what you've all been waiting for, for the most part anyways. All right, enough with the sap. Go read.
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"The waking have one world in common. Sleepers have each
a private world of their own." –Unknown.
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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 Eight: Imaginary.
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"I'm finding my way back to sanity again
Though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there
I take a breath and hold on tight
Spin around one more time
And gracefully fall back to the arms of grace
Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying
Even if you don't wanna speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door
And listen to you breathing
Its where I wanna be, yeah
Where I wanna be
I'm looking past the shadows in my mind into the truth
And I'm trying to identify the voices in my head
God which ones you?
Let me feel one more time what if feels like to feel
And break these calluses off me one more time"
(Breathing, from Lifehouse.)
Dreaming is the portal to the world of imagination, the window of creativity. It was the route for men and woman who slept their lives away simply for the sake of having a wonderful dream. The world to where anything can happen. Whatever that was, it didn't matter. The rules of reality were null and void here; they didn't hold any power over anything within this world.
It was a wonderful world, the world of dreams. Could be that this semi-reality is the next giant leap for mankind to achieve. Dreaming while awake. Many went to bed each night, looking forward to the dreams they were sure to have.
Kagome was in the darker side of the realm. Nightmares. Horrible, nasty things that preyed upon the weakened state of one's heart or mind, feeding upon the base fears that lay there. Kagome had many fears. They came in many forms.
~~~Dream/Nightmare Realm~~~
Seeing him again, she forgot the past few days and the torment with them. He was there, what else was there to worry about? She was safe because he was protecting her. Her mind screamed out in rage at the horrid amnesia that had stolen away her strength. But her heart was deaf to its desperate cries. Fear Number One: That she would forgive him and forget. Then he'd go and murder her heart again.
She smiled, a happy curving of lips that said nothing was wrong with the world. He hadn't seen her yet, but she could try and surprise him. Coming up behind him, her steps so quiet that he had not noticed her, she twined her arms about his torso, silver white strands of his hair falling about her form.
He didn't acknowledge her, and she briefly wondered why. Her mind's cries were futile.
Her arms still wound about him, the folds of his haori draping over her forearms. It felt real to her. The rough texture of the fire rat hair against the satin of her skin.
But what did he feel?
Not her, at least. He strode forward, stepping through her flesh, bone and blood arms as though they were never there, as though she were a phantom. As though she wasn't real.
Her heart burned, her eyes burned and tears scorched trails over her cheeks. They fell to the ground, something that wasn't there. Just a black abyss that touched her feet and held her up. The tears sizzled once they hit the ebony shadows of the floor, then leapt into flames at her feet.
She wasn't aware that her clothes had caught fire, the sinuous flames licking at her flesh, bits of clothing that had become ashes drifting away from her in a jolly little dance. The flames rose higher, at her waist now, curling about her fisted hands that hung limply at her sides. Playing tag about her fingers.
Golden little dancers. Wicked.
Her eyes followed his figure, unable to look away. Liquid flames continued to fall from her cheeks, joining their brethren in the dance that burned her clothes, but not her. They danced, cackling.
Just ten paces from her burning body, he paused, glancing back for a moment, amber eyes piercing right through her core. He saw right through her to the other side.
"Kikyou…where are you?" He whispered, the broken plea falling from his gruff lips, voice unusually gentle.
Kikyou?
Her eyes darkened, and the tears burned her blind. Within her chest, her heart shattered the shards tearing at her insides, and the flames swirled with rage, boiling out ward, exploding with violent ferocity. She let loose one sob, then covered her lips with both hands, the pain bowing her over. She twisted away from him, and then straitened again, tear tainted eyes back on him.
Deep inside, she gave up. Her lips tilted again, in a macabre smile. The tears still ran.
The flames danced outward, devouring his form that became a photograph.
Kagome blinked and when she reopened her eyes, she was sitting in her room on the floor flipping through a photo album. Her hand was resting over a picture of Inuyasha, a rare and brief half-smile on his face. She jerked her arm back and away as the edges of the picture slowly blackened and curled in on itself. The edges became ashes and still the black ate away at the picture. Kagome's eyes were pale with shock as she watched the memento of nostalgia burn and smoke curl and twist in a sensuous dance from the picture.
Inuyasha was left as nothing more but a scorched fragment of a photograph.
She looked up from the charred remains, and out into the forest that Inuyasha had claimed as his own. Around her the flames were no longer golden, but an oddly beautiful silver-blue. Mint filled her lungs, and she relaxed falling backwards heavenly warmth spreading through her veins healing. The earth shattered as her body hit it and she continued to fall, watching the shards of glass float about her.
Above her, at the lip of the chasm that was now swallowing her, Inuyasha crouched staring down at her blankly.
Her smile was desperate, a plea for him to save her. She reached up for him, her fingertips brushing his cheek and his image rippled like water, and then vanished entirely and she was looking at nothing more then the Tetsusaiga. Her delicate fingers wrapped about the hilt and her body gave a jerk, the Tetsusaiga had imbedded itself in something. Velvet folds of cloth spread outwards from the blade and where it disappeared into a sea of red-black.
She gasped, chocking on acidic blood as she looked up into the empty, hating eyes of Naraku. Fear curdled in the pit of her gut, as she jackknifed backwards. Her hand on the hilt of the sword was hauled out of his chest where it had sheathed itself in his heart, and she spun away from him, still falling. A ribbon of deep red silk wrapped around her like a lover's touch, the bloody droplets from the swords razor edge circling her as well. The hand that had been in his heart uncurled, and from it floated the Shikon no Tama. Kagome closed her fingers back over the smooth pearl-like jewel. Purified once more, it sank into her skin with a zephyr of light. Ribbon red, dark as blood chilled her skin and flowed around her, blossoming into a thousand more ribbons that shielded her from the evil being whose liquid crimson floated in pearls about her from.
He laughed in the demented sort of way that made chills shimmy up her spine, freezing her mind. The dark hanyou began to slag, bits and pieces of his body falling about her, melting and sizzling against her skin before they were destroyed by bolts of silver light that her milky flesh shed.
Free falling again, staring at a purple sky she sighed.
Detached, she felt separated from her mind, brushing finger tip's with her body and feeling little. Fear had passed her by, fading with Naraku's sadistic cackles.
A tragic melody wove into her hair, touching her tear-scarred flesh, cool and soothing. She didn't understand the words or the notes, even as the melody wrapped about her person and tightened, solidifying into steel cords of flesh and bone. Her body was no longer falling, and she was slammed back into her shell with a gentle push. The warmth of cool lips pressed themselves to her forehead; her body curved into his fitting like a broken heart. She felt like crying again at the tender sensation.
The body she was held so tightly against moved and breathed, radiating quiet strength and lucid power, chiseled muscles against her skin coiled and relaxing with every gentle sway of rocking motion. White gold strands floated through her vision. And he swayed.
A motion that lulled her. Her tears slowed, stopped burning her. She whispered to him, "Do you love me?"
The lips against her brow whispered across the skin there, "Of course I do, you little fool." Rough velvet finger pads traced over her features, drying the scars the tears left, and she felt the skin mend. A thumb brushed the swell of her bottom lip, then was gone. Her skin shivered at the phantom touches, left yearning more.
"Why?" It was an important question; she demanded an answer. She needed to know. She wanted to….she had to… she needed…to… Understand.
~~~End Dream~~~
Kagome's latent body jackknifed, her mind falling into reality with a jarring thud. She sat bolt up right, lips opened as her lungs dragged in gasping gulps of oxygen not unlike a drowning person's reflexive actions as soon as their head broke the surface of water after being depraved of air for a substantial amount of time. The precious element filled her lungs as she slumped forward, her ebony tresses falling to curtain her face.
Wide slate gray eyes, shut tight once, and then flew open again.
"That," her throat flashed as she swallowed, "was weird." And she left it at that. Her throat was dry…odd. Or perhaps not, she reached to her neck, feeling her pulse throb under her fingers, the blood rushing through her jugular at a fevered pace, and her fingers came back clammy from the slight sheen of sweat that had formed there. Who was the man in her dream? She ached to be held like that, truly held just like that. As though she was the only thing he needed in the world. Her fingers mimicked the dream finger's path across her skin, her smoky eyes dark and distant. Coming back to herself with a start she shook her head, sending a wave of deep blue ebony fluttering and tumbling over her shoulders.
Managing to calm her racing heart and heaving breaths, Kagome became aware of the quiet mummer of male voices. Her brows furrowed, straining to pick up the words with her pathetically inept human hearing.
Unfortunately, the speakers were speaking too quietly for her to actually hear anything more then what she was hearing now. She listened to the drone for a few more seconds, and realized she recognized Hitori's low, husky voice. His voice had a certain warmth to it. Kagome caught herself relaxing, leaning into the calm timbre – metaphysically speaking of course. It was rather hypnotic, really. Any male singer would kill to be able to have his voice. Briefly, she wondered if her rescuer did that too. Sing, that is. He seemed to be rather versatile. An artist and a writer, and somewhere along the line, an actor. She'd heard somewhere that he'd stared in an American movie. The movie title escaped her at the moment. As did a lot of things about her host and savior.
He had the voice of a god. Or an Angel. My angel, she thought giddily. Her eyes rolled; she was such a moron. The rolling motion stilled as the dark brows over her eyes drew together again in confusion. And who in bloody hell did the other voice belong too? She glanced left to right, pensive. Well, there was one way to find out…
…She really should stay in bed though, injured and all.
It was a nice bed too. Really comfortable and cozy. Nice. A western bed, even. Not a futon. Funny that she just noticed this little detail. And, waitaminute, were these sheets silk? Her mouth dried with the thought that she was laying in at least a couple thousand yen's worth of sheets. Oh Kami… as far as she knew, the sheets were of real silk.
But…curiosity was such a tempting thing. She really had no choice, even as she swung her legs out from under the silken sheets, savoring the way they felt against the skin of her legs. The floor was firm under her feet, a solid comfort after that surreal dream-nightmare thing. After a pause to give her feet the chance to get reacquainted to the feeling of solid terra firma, or in this case soft carpeting, she slid her hips forwards off the edge of the bed and stood up carefully. Her side gave a little protest in the form of harsh little throbs, but they were easy to ignore for the most part.
A wave of vertigo hit her, made her sway a moment and her legs tremble with the effort of holding herself up but it passed quickly. She was a little woozy.
One arm raised, hand to her head as she tottered out of the warm room and into the shadows of the hallway. That same arm fell to her side, resting in slanted protection across her abdomen and the throbbing wound it held. Her fingers curled in the red fabric on which they rested upon for leverage against gravity. The soft carpet that swallowed her toes became hard wood flooring as soon as she moved from the bedchamber to the hall. Her movements were quiet, not even a shuffle of cloth or flesh against carpet. She felt a small prick of pride at being able to move so easily and silently. Take that, you ass she thought smugly. Then had to suppress a hysterical giggle. Nonetheless, that ass's name stayed exiled from her thoughts.
Kagome's brow lifted at herself. Where had her sanity gone? And her bunny slippers. Those would have been nice, along with some lounge pants. It made her wonder even more about where her decency had gone; she was going to inspect who this mystery visitor was wearing only a dress shirt that was entirely too big for her, and she had no right to go snooping about in Hitori's house. Apartment. Penthouse… whatever it was.
She checked herself again for decency; found nothing but discovered that the hem of her shirt fell to her knees. Well…it did cover more then her school uniform. Was it really so bad?
If the other guy was a pervert then she was certain she could still muster up enough spitfire to smack him one. Even if she did feel sort of out of touch with everything around her. It felt like she was still in her dream. The surprising thing was she could still remember it clearly. Everything.
That wasn't natural was it? Then again, what part of her life had ever been natural? A sardonic lilt of the lips and Kagome was convinced she'd gone loopy. How odd that she was not panicking. Isn't that what you were supposed to do when you find out you were crazy? Insane in the membrane and all that jazz.
She shook her head certain something was wrong with her. More than just the hole in her stomach, she felt heavy. Leaden to a point that walking was tedious. Actually, she didn't even feel like she was awake…
Ha, that was it, she was awake and dreaming, or sleep walking while dreaming. How strange… She erased that thought. Last time she'd thought that she'd had stainless steel thrust into her flesh rather rudely. Never again.
Right then. How completely odd. That's better. Though with her luck she might just end up with a spear jutted between her eyes. Gahh, bad thought Kagome. Just drop it. ….I need help. Maybe Hitori's a shrink or something. Wouldn't put it past him.
What in bloody hell was wrong with her, anyways? She should have stayed in bed.
Should've, would've, could've, didn't. No use saying should have now; it was nothing more then a waste. The two voices became more imbued with clarity as she pressed her form against the wall the closer she got to what was the kitchen. Her nose tingled with the welcome aroma of tea and she became more aware of how thirsty she was. Her mouth was parched, throat as arid as a desert at midday. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she snuck closer, still conforming her frame to the cool solidity of the wall.
It was odd that there were no picture frames to distract her from her path, nothing of a family life to show guests. Kagome found herself wondering about Hitori. Why would a man such as he not have at least one picture of his mother? Or father even? Why not a family portrait? Or a picture of the family playing at the beach? Why not a little Hitori frolicking in the sand?
Hitori- his name meant lonely. Was it his true name or just a pseudonym? Lonely… Was he an orphan? No family and no pictures on the wall. Her heart ached for him then. It ached for him even more if he did have a family for something horrible must have happened in his life that he'd hide away memories of his past. Something horrible to make him ostracize his own flesh and blood.
Even in the sanctity of his bedroom there had been nothing to say of his past. Merely those paintings broken in their solitude. She recalled how each one seemed more melancholy then joyful. What a sad man, she though her heart empathetic for him.
So caught up in the tangles of her compassion, she hardly noticed that she'd stumbled away from her cover and into the light of the kitchen that adjoined with a living room and a door that lead to somewhere else.
Two separate pairs of differently green hued orbs alighted on her figure, one merely concerned the other wide with shock and relief and years of something else behind them. Hitori rose to his feet, setting his cup of tea back on the table with a little clatter. He was tall, she realized. Exceptionally tall. It would be awkward if someone as short as she were to try and kiss him.
"Kagome?" The voice of her savior sounded curious.
Startled so badly she nearly fell back wards, Kagome gave a small mewl of pain as she felt the bandages pull across her injury. Her hand caught the corner of the wall and held her upright long enough for Hitori to move his arm around her torso gently giving her much needed support. She clung to him instead, heart pounding from it's scare.
A look of meaning was shot over her head at the other fiery-like man, which she missed seeing completely. The other man stood up and scraped a chair backwards for her to sit on. Hitori half-walked, half-carried her over there, patient with her timid steps.
The arm that was not around her somehow managed to procure a blanket from somewhere and drape it about her shoulders. Obviously, even if she wasn't thinking about her decency, someone else was. She made a note to heartily thank him later.
"Would you like some tea?" He inquired, footing the chair out of his way as her took her into the kitchen itself and two hands clasped her slim waist, lifting her up effortlessly and setting her on the counter. She blinked at him, her hands still on his shoulders from where they'd landed in her surprise as he'd lifted her.
In the background, Shippou grinned like a maniac, watching the scene. Oh, ho ho, this was sooo rich. He quickly wiped all expression from his face when 'Hitori' gave him the evil eye complete with condescending frown and lifted eyebrow before he let Kagome go and went to the teapot. His adoptive mother watching the tall form of the pale writer with a sort of wonder in her eyes.
Kagome watched Hitori's back as he worked, her peach pale cheeks rouge with a blush. He was a weird guy; she'd give him that.
Speaking of guys, she remembered as she turned away from her appraisal of the young artists frame, there was one sitting at the table and just staring at her like he knew who she was… without her consent, he walked up to her- more like swaggered really- and took her hand. A weird sense of déjà vu rolled in her gut, and she was reminded of Miroku.
"You're not going to ask me something weird are you? Like 'Will you do me the honor of bearing my child?' Because the answer is no." Her words were quiet, but frank, yet gentle. Only Kagome, he thought, could pull of a tone like that.
The fire-haired man laughed, his dry, warm hands tightening around her own. " And be like Miroku? No thanks, you'd only slap me." And then suddenly a look of horror descended on his roguish features. He went a pallid white, the coloring of a corpse well into rigor mortis. His eyes were a stark emerald hue against his sudden white skin, making them seem like true gems.
Kagome paled, wide gray eyes locked on him with a frigid intensity. Instinct made him draw back and away, way away. He ended up on the other side of the kitchen, the curdling sense of screwing up damning him. A shaking hand ran through his hair, and he dared a look at her. She was shaking worse then he was, like he'd just stabbed her in some way. Oh Gods…
Sesshoumaru wanted very much to utilize his spatula on the runt's hard head. Instead he settled for leveling the boy with a look worthy of turning Medusa and her gorgon sisters into a quivering mass of fear and submission. Whole armies of war hardened samurai would have dropped their weapons, turned tail and ran screaming bloody murder for the hills. Even the Spartans would have pissed their pleated war kilts and tried to turn into ooze and sink into the earth.
Shippou settled for sitting down hard, feeling that he was missing a very important part of his bone structure. His spine. Kagome's penetrating gaze continued to bore a tunnel big enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler through his head. He shivered, feeling very chilled, his stomach cramping with nausea. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, moron, idiot, twit, senseless pup…You're overreacting, come on, straiten yourself out and pull it together, this hasn't gone to hell yet…. His mental cheerleading was cut in half by her sweet voice speaking words that made his blood slow to a trickle.
"Who…are you?" She breathed, but in the silence that had swallowed the room, her voice was shattering. Seconds crawled by on their bellies, trying their damndest not to be noticed. After a long, tense and pregnant silence, Shippou lifted his head from his hands and braved a weak smile at her. It was received, but not returned. There was just an empty look in her eyes now. And tears shimmered upon her cheeks. His smile died a painful death, wavering on his lips and then falling away limply.
Sesshoumaru decided that he should quietly fade into the wallpaper, and let the little soap opera run its turbulent course. Though something in him crystallized when he saw her shed tears again. He turned away, contenting himself forcibly to look out the window and tried to forget those salty droplets tracing the curves of her cheeks. The move didn't help. The tangy scent of them still reached him, haunted him, jeered at him.
" Long time, no see, Kagome. It's me….Shippou." Gine was the vivacious youth and in it's place was the haggard man in Shippou's skin, looking out at the girl with tired eyes that had seen many years of lonely hurt, and the toughened spirit glimmered through.
The knife in her heart twisted, and guilt bubbled from the wound, black as ink and bitter as her tears. Right then and there, she broke. A sob escaped her lips, "N-no. You can't be…I…oh Kami… You….How can you…do this to me?" The sobs broke into her speech, but she got the knives of her words out of her, cutting her throat in the process.
The self-proclaimed Shippou recoiled from her as though she'd decked him. Regret filtered through her at her harsh words, but what was she to do? How was she to face this? Denial was her defense mechanism against the sudden guilt.
Sesshoumaru sighed, completely disgusted with the god-forsaken mess that had just dumped itself in his lap. And with himself for wishing nothing more then to go over there and protect the fragile creature sitting on his counter from the heart ache he detected in her tears. But how could he possibly shield her from her own pained heart?
"Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying
Even if you don't wanna speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside of your door
And listen to you breathing
Its where I wanna be, yeah
Oh I don't want a thing from you
Bet you're tired of me waiting for
The scraps to fall off of your table to the ground
La da da da...
Cause I just wanna be here now
Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying
Even if you don't wanna speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door
And listen to you breathing
Its where I wanna be, yeah
Where I wanna be
Cause I am hanging on every word you're saying
Even if you don't wanna speak tonight
That's alright, alright with me
Cause I want nothing more than to sit outside heaven's door
And listen to you breathing
Its where I wanna be, yeah
Where I wanna be"
(Breathing, from Lifehouse.)
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