WARNING: Contains depictions of cheating, substance abuse, domestic violence and other potentially disturbing imagery. While I don't consider this a darkfic, it's certainly not a lightfic. As with most of my stories, which are highly mature in nature, please heed the aforementioned warnings & read at your own risk...
Author's note: If this story seems familiar, that's because it's a retitling and cross-posting of my blog series The Pact. Now that Control's done I figure I'll pick this one up next :) New updates to the story will be posted to the blog series first, so follow along on my blog site (ficaholic.com) for the latest. Bear with me for updates here, as I'm going through the process of (minor) editing and possible compiling of blog posts into story chapters.
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They met in an abandoned hut, on the far side of Inuyasha’s forest.
She had spent the majority of her morning cleaning up the place—sweeping and scrubbing, rebuilding the hearth, laying down fresh floor mats and bedding. By midday, the rundown shack was looking halfway-decent again. Normally, she would have felt a sense of accomplishment for her efforts, but not today. Today she felt only emptiness—and dread.
No one had lived in this spot for years. The villagers in Edo believed it was haunted. Kagome didn’t sense any malignant spirits nearby, but as his pale, otherworldly form broke through the line of shaded trees, a distinct chill descended over her.
Golden eyes, so like his brother’s, met her own across the distance. She turned her head and looked away. As he drew closer, she rose from where she’d been sitting on the low wooden porch and entered the hut behind her. The reed curtain chattered softly as he followed her inside.
Her back to him still, she watched the flames flicker and dance in the hearth before her. She hugged her arms about herself, trembling despite the warmth.
“Are you certain of this?” he asked her.
She looked back at him. It wasn’t like Sesshoumaru to hesitate. But it wasn’t like either of them to be in this situation in the first place.
“I’m sure,” she answered.
A shadow passed over his stoic features. “Very well.”
As his hands went to the sash at his waist, she stepped around the hearth and approached the bedroll at the back of the room. She swallowed in trepidation as she stopped at the foot of the mattress. She studied the shape of it as she imagined a condemned man would study the shape of his noose.
Behind her, Sesshoumaru’s swords thudded to the floor. His armor followed after with the faintest clang. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to breathe as she knelt down in the center of the futon. Her fingers dug convulsively into the fabric of her yukata. As he settled behind her, she hiked the material up roughly over her hips and leaned forward onto her palms.
She was shaking violently now. She couldn’t help it. A current of air drifted across her exposed skin, raising gooseflesh over her entire body. She could practically feel the weight of his eyes upon her. It was all she could do to keep herself from calling this whole arrangement off altogether and bolting from the room.
Then, he touched her.
It was the lightest press of his fingers to the outside of her thigh. But to her it felt like a red-hot brand. She exhaled harshly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
This was just a transaction, she repeated to herself. Nothing more. A life for a life. She had saved his little girl. And when this was over, when he'd repaid his debt to her and she held their baby—her and Inuyasha's baby, she thought fiercely—in her arms, it would all be worth it.
His hand was smoothing up her leg. His claws dented her skin just barely. She bowed her head and grit her teeth. His touch circled inward. When the tips of his fingers brushed against the outer fringes of her sex, she flinched.
“Please,” she hissed out, “don’t do that.”
He paused.
“If I must perform this task,” he said, his voice low with reproach, “then I will do so as I see fit.”
Kagome's shoulders squared. She bit hard into her lip as his palm slid down across her stomach. Her muscles seized at the contact. His claws threaded through the curls at the junction of her thighs. His fingers curved upward as he parted her and stroked.
Her chest constricted. Her lungs burned. No one but Inuyasha had ever touched her there—and never like this. The pads of his fingers traced along her velvety inner folds, catching against the nub of flesh between them with the slightest pressure. She gasped at the sudden jolt of pleasure that ran through her.
Setting her jaw, she berated herself for this reaction. She wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. Pain was what she’d been expecting. Pain was what she felt like she deserved.
But her body was betraying her, as she was betraying the one she loved. Unwanted desire pooled within her, welled up through her from the core. His fingers slickened as he continued his ministrations, gliding relentlessly over her aching nerves.
Just when she thought she could bear no more, he shifted, drawing back. She had a moment of reprieve before she felt the firm press of him against her dampened entrance, and her heart leapt into her throat. His strong hands grasped her hips, pulling her back toward him as he pushed forward, sinking partway into her.
His breath hitched—her own as well. She welcomed the brief flare of pain, her fingers clutching at the bedding beneath her as he sheathed himself fully inside her at last. The act was familiar, but the sensation of this intrusion was totally foreign to her. She felt herself acclimating to him slowly—tortuously—as he began to move, stretching her a little wider with every agonizing thrust.
Her eyes squeezed shut. She tried to think of Inuyasha, but it was impossible. Being with him had never felt like this.
When his hand slipped between her legs again, she whimpered low in her throat. Her back arched instinctively at the frisson of his touch. Her hips rose up to meet his own. Growling, he slanted deeper within her. His grip tightened on her waist. The tips of his claws bit into her heated skin.
An inevitable tension was building within her. Each crash of his hips shook her to the core. Each stroke of his fingers against her wet tender flesh threatened to undo her.
As his pace increased and his breathing grew ragged, her terrible ecstasy overwhelmed her at last. Bracing herself against her forearm, she sank her teeth into the side of her free hand to stifle her traitorous cries. Her walls convulsed around him, draining him greedily as he emptied into her with one final, forceful thrust.
His claws trailed up from the small of her back. Hot fluid seeped out of her as he withdrew. When he stood, she covered herself with trembling fingers and sat back on her heels, facing away from him still.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said.
She nodded faintly, pulling her knees to her chest. There was a rustle of cloth, a ring of metal as he dressed himself and departed the miserable hut.
When she was certain he was out of sight, she collapsed to the damp, mangled futon. Tears spilled from her burning eyes as she sobbed into the grimy mattress, feeling filthy inside and out. She cried until her throat went raw. Numbly, she lay in the silence that followed, awash with guilt and shame.
As daylight waned, her resolve returned. She picked herself up. Her hand strayed to the flatness of her stomach. This was only a transaction, she told herself again. A bond they had made. Once it was fulfilled, this would all be over.
And everything would be like it was before.