The ivory expanse of his back warms to gold in the light of the lanterns.

Stepping closer as if in a trance, her throat goes dry at the sight of shadow dipping down his spine, curving along lines of muscle and carving out the Apollo holes low on his back.

More dimples.

Fingers tremble with privilege that is solely hers, the ache that demands she touch flaring as darkness and light paint a strength borne of more than muscle and power.

She feels her inhibitions crumble. "Sesshoumaru?"

"Yes, Miko?"

Leaning into him, her eyes close. "What if we didn't read?"