Anticipation blisters between them.
He cups her jaw and leans in, spinning her senses as his lips hover just over hers, his thumb sweeping across her cheekbone.
Her breath quickens under his gaze. There's uncertainty. Grief.
Lust.
Her own stirs. "Sesshoumaru," she murmurs, and then she leans up, gently brushing his nose.
Something deeper flashes through the gold like a kaleidoscope cranked too fast, the torrential force of it baring his soul more naked even than he is. For a moment, he looks like he might speak, but the emotion passes.
Instead, he tugs at her yukata, his request silent.
