His hand is soft where it brushes against her hip, a startling contrast to her own calloused palms, and she is struck with the realization of how different their lives must be—how different they each must be. Even softer, pale thighs rock against her own, and she closes her dark eyes, allowing herself to become lulled by the steady sensation. Her apprehension wanes; her thoughts slow as her heart speeds. Soon she loses herself to a wave of pleasure.
It is the first of these experiences and will not be the last.
She grips the earth beneath her trembling fingers when the intensity catches her by surprise, something that rarely happens now. He is panting, and she feels the ghost of a smile grace her lips. It is the first time she's seen him this way. She thinks it's a pity that she discovers this experience only in death; she is certain there would be so much more to it if she were alive.
Later, when he is resting and she examines his body and the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, she takes notice to the fact that they both share scars from the one thing that draws them together. It is an unspoken connection, one she doesn't welcome but can no longer deny.
She is love's bitter tragedy. And he is heartlessness at its finest. Why then is she surprised to find comfort in his sex? The memory of their first time, now nights ago—his lips smothering hers, his hand fisted in her hair—brings a flush to her cheeks, giving the brief illusion of vitality. She is pleased when her body responds to him in ways she never before knew.
She had discovered first hand that like everything he does in life, Sesshoumaru makes love in silence. She twirls a finger through her hair, thoughtfully. She doesn't even know what she's doing anymore. Though she has no delusions about any affections between them. He despises humans, and she hates everything. On second thought, it makes for the perfect arrangement.
Later that night he thrusts into her barren womb, a choked cry escaping from her lips, and for once she doesn't think about the children she'll never have. Her fingernails claw at his back as she whines. She suspects that he enjoys the writhing of her body beneath him, though his expression gives nothing away. And so she screams for his benefit.
Once she would have thought it was unlike her, but now she thinks she isn't like anything anymore.
She stopped crying long ago. She had believed her earthen body incapable of producing fluid until he proved her wrong with one flick of the wrist. Now she is only left to question why she doesn't cry when she mourns so many things. The thought produces another rare smile. When did she become such an enigma? The smile turns bittersweet as she remembers how it used to be.
"Oh," she remarks to herself, only a little surprised to realize that she always had been.
He turns his questioning gaze to her but says nothing, and she is reminded why she spends time with him. She would be grateful if she didn't understand that it was merely his nature. He doesn't do anything for her that doesn't involve ravaging her clay body. She lets her hair down, and his eyes darken at the knowledge that she is ready.
"I'll be the one to kill him," he had once warned her, golden eyes so familiar yet unfamiliar then. Though she now knows that he is outside both their grasps. And with that thought, she no longer has a purpose to her un-living. Maybe that is why she lingers in his bed. It doesn't explain why he accepted her, but she has never chosen to ask.
As she gazes at the sky that night, she realizes that the moon cycle is nearly complete, and with it comes the thought that she has lingered too long. She can tell that he's becoming restless, but she never expected to experience sadness at their departure.
"Sesshoumaru."
He turns to look at her with impassive, golden eyes. She wishes to brush his bangs aside but knows he would not want it now.
"Nevermind. It is nothing."
He turns away without a second thought, and she plucks the grass between her fingers, certain that he has seen through her. Surely he has deciphered the emotions of a mere mortal, but for his part he doesn't rebuke her. Soon, they will part ways, much to the human child's dismay and, perhaps, even her own.
"Now Rin," she will say, "I was never meant to stay."
The irony of the words weighs on her as the child cries and clings to her chest. It is the truth, after all; she is not of this world any longer.
He doesn't look at her as he utters what could possibly be his final words in her presence. "Rin, come."
The little girl doesn't hesitate at his command, and she knows it will be the last she sees of them. But she will always have the memory of his skin against hers. And for now, that is okay.
She waits for him to address her, all the while knowing he will not.
They disappear down the dirt path, and she is once again alone save for the presence of her soul catchers. The familiarity of her solitude is like solid ground at long last, and she is surprised to feel relief at his absence. Soon her foreign emotions will be lost to eternity as she returns to someone more like the stoic priestess she has always known. Though she suspects she will never truly be the same.
It is with a nod that she closes that chapter of her life.
"Goodbye, Sesshoumaru," she whispers to the chill wind, and after a brief pause adds the honorific, "-sama."
The words fade gently into nothingness along with the image of the lone priestess.