Slice of Life by susie

Slice of Life

Warning: Romanticisation of self-harm.

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She'd wandered farther than she intended, because intentions were pointless.

Because she was less concerned with her safety than letting the villagers see her tears.

Kagome tipped her head against the rough bark scraping her back, bookbag nestled between her knees just as she was between bulbous roots, and wondered how Inuyasha could stand it.

The constant barrage of humanity was overwhelming her senses; she couldn't imagine how crippling it would be if they were as powerful as a demon's. How did one endure seeing, hearing, scenting everything so acutely, without numbing themselves in order to withstand it? She supposed she had her answer.

She used to be fascinated with the half-demon's ability to scent almost anything on the wind. More than magic, the heightened sense operating at many times the strength of her own could simply rifle through the clues, more akin to solving a puzzle. When determining her state, for example; he couldn't smell that she was sad, but the salty fluid welling up in her ducts didn't require much problem solving to ascertain.

Perhaps it was their constant proximity, but over time, Kagome learned to pay attention to things like that, too. Her olfactory senses were no stronger than they'd ever been, but she knew what failure smelled like -her own, at least- as she'd been growing increasingly familiar with the stench as of late. She could scent it now, following relentlessly through the dense wood, and she couldn't outrun it- no matter how far she ventured.

Her failure smelled of smoke, thick and caustic, and whatever vileness it consumed. Flesh, most commonly- human and demon both. Man and woman, evil and good. But innocent, far too often.

She cursed the acrid traditions of these superstitious farmfucks as she finally tore open her pack and began to rummage. Why couldn't they be like the Vikings and set their bodies adrift after setting them aflame? Swallow her failure into the vast ocean and give her at least a chance at respite? Or better yet, why couldn't they just bury their dead like civilized folk? When was she going to stop answering her own questions?

She struggled to locate the possession she'd come to prize above all others, and the delay allowed for another lone tear to roll. Following the path of those that came before it, she spared the rogue a hand to bitterly wipe away the evidence.

She didn't know when she'd come to associate the two, but couldn't deny the well-tread path in her psyche Pavlov's footprints forged, nor the visceral reaction the moment she tasted char on the wind.

Last week, it was a demon they'd set to scorch, and the bodies of his victims soon followed in a much more mournful ceremony. Across town only days later, an entire community was set ablaze- bandits this time, and none brought to justice. Her group had arrived far too late to save any of them.

And now at that very moment, a father and his two daughters were returning to an empty house, hollow as their expressions during the morbid ritual. No sooner did the farmer lay torch to his wife's body, his short-lived newborn secured within her lifeless arms, did Kagome slip off into the woods she loathed to know so well. She was obligated to pay her respects, but once the smell of burning flesh hit the crisp autumn air, she was gone, leaving the small village to mourn young mother and son on their own.

It was far from the first child she'd lost during the delivery; and so long as she continued fulfilling her miko duties to these people, it would not be her last. In fact, it was so common in this era, she'd lost count long ago.

It was also not the first mother she'd lost to the unforgivable sin of fulfilling her womanly duty; bestowed on her at birth, by virtue of being born female, before given the chance -or choice- to wish for it. But while losing one or the other of her 'patients' was quite common, losing both was decidedly less so. And as time and experience worked to numb the agony out of her, she would never get used to arriving at a home full of joy and excitement, and leaving it in shambles. Leaving a young man a widower, often clueless and tasked to raise his children without their mother, without the little brother they were promised- and all after a quick visit from their friendly village miko.

It wasn't her fault, of course. No one thought it was her incompetence that failed their family, regardless of her own assertions. These things happened all the time- just like bandits, just like demon attacks… just like a million other tragedies these people were far too used to. It was just the reality they lived in.

And there was nothing, nothing at all, that she could do about it.

Kagome was about to upend her busted backpack in frustration when she finally located her precious treasure buried at the bottom. Smooth ivory filled her palm as she grasped the item, removing it eagerly before discarding the bag carelessly at her side.

Ritual was becoming commonplace in her life; but most, she was forced to endure for the superstitious whims of the ignorant masses to whom she'd sworn servitude. This one, however, was hers alone, and not born of any silly tradition based on ancient beliefs.

She unfolded her father's straight razor, taking a moment to marvel at its beauty as she held it before wide, wondrous eyes. She had always been inexplicably fascinated with it- even before he died. As a baby, she would grab for it whenever it breached her line of sight; and when she got a little older, she progressed to seeking it out.

It used to amuse him, her obsession with it, but concern for her safety eventually saw to Mr. Higurashi hiding his razor away from venturesome little hands, and so successfully that it would be years after he died when she finally found it again. She'd all but forgotten about it by the time a mishap with the sewing machine spurred the desperate search for bandages that allowed her to happen upon it- high atop the bathroom cabinets, pushed back so far her mother would never be able to see it, let alone reach it.

His unexpected death left Mama in a haze of loss and uncertainty -a haze Kagome knew well by now- and suddenly tasked with, among various other undertakings, the painful process of sorting out her late husband's affairs. In the midst of mind-numbing grief, most of his possessions had been simply given away.

It meant that Kagome was not left with many mementos to remember her late father by- which she lamented more than once, but no longer aloud. It made the sudden discovery a monumental one, and one she did not reveal to her mother.

Blue eyes glazed in awe at its flawless condition; the dab of sword polish she'd nicked from Inuyasha had the reinforced steel gleaming even in the dim light of the forest. Her inspection graduated from the visual as finger pads ran themselves carefully along the flat, before testing the edge of the blade. It had never once been held to the grinding stone, but remained as sharp as the day he bought it. She was glad, because toolmarks would make it ugly -sacrilege in her book- and besides; it never sliced through anything tougher than human flesh, and only superficial layers, at that.

While she rolled up her sleeve, the oppressive scents of the surrounding villages drifted beyond her detection. The telling dark clouds of death smoke fell below her notice, and the sounds of families crying, and babies not crying, and the million terrible things inside her head became drowned out by her own strong heartbeat thudding proudly in her ears, pumping her beautiful lifeforce and making her pleased to have it; thrilling her with its power and only feeding it as that excitement grew.

Only a few pale scars adorned the area, while numerous remained unhealed. Impossibly thin lines of red ran the gamut from angry and swollen to just starting to mend. Some cuts were so fine, they could barely be seen by the naked eye -a human's, at least- and had yet to begin scabbing at all.

The bare flesh below her inner elbow drew her gaze. Her chosen location was a dangerous one, very near where a doctor would place an IV or draw blood, and would lead to intervention if discovered.

But she rarely went home anymore, to the point that she no longer considered it home. It was likely she would never go to a modern doctor again, so she easily rationalized heeding the call- as much as you could rationalize this dangerous impulse.

She'd drawn out the anticipation as long as she could stand when Kagome lifted the straight razor to her arm. A light press at first graduated seamlessly to more, slicing herself open with but a gentle drag.

A gasp of pain left her lips at the splitting of skin, followed by a shaky breath of incredulity and finally, elation. Dark lashes lowered, head tipped back as if in some euphoric trance, while the cold bite of steel stilled in her parted flesh.

She felt wetness running down her elbow, nudging her to mind her clothing- not that it would take much of a cover story to explain away blood in this era. The deep, dark crimson streamed around her razor, staining the edge of it and compelling her to make it clean and perfect once more.

But despite her compulsion, her eyes tore to the thin slash rapidly beading with blood until it overflowed, spilling down the sharp angle of her joint, beading there and falling to the forest floor.

She watched herself seeping, unalarmed by the meager loss. It was nothing concerning and would close back up soon. Too soon, so she wanted to admire her body's process while she still had the chance.

The fine stream slowed until the wound had ceased draining; blood blotted the opening, but no longer threatened to fall. Fastidiously applying a sterile wipe stolen from her zipper pocket, she cleansed her precious possession of imperfections and a pass with a dry rag finished the job. Then, she finally attended herself, relishing the sting of alcohol in her open wound until the burning subsided, before sifting for her healing ointment.

Not finding it in the usual pocket, she continued her search in the main pouch, vowing to declutterize as soon as she returned to her hut. The others wouldn't ask about her little trek, as by now they were accustomed to her desire for alone time following such tragedies.

"What are you doing?"

A smooth baritone out of fucking nowhere and really fucking close caused her to start violently. Ripping her hand from the depths of her bag, she turned on instinct to defend herself from the stealthy threat looming over her.

She recognized the demon instantly, even before her body finished its involuntary reaction to being snuck upon alone in the woods. Relief flitted over her features very briefly, and while he seemed minutely annoyed at that, he remained otherwise unconcerned about the blade in her hand she appeared poised to wield.

Standing casually at arm's length, he did not appear poised to attack- or defend himself from such. Even if she had managed to scramble to her feet, he likely wouldn't have deemed it necessary. But despite that, panic claimed her once again as she moved at lightning speed to roll down her sleeve, lowering her weapon to do so and twisting her back to him.

"Hiding is pointless," he informed her flatly. "I saw you, and I scent your blood."

The news didn't quell her efforts, but once covered again, she reluctantly untwisted herself to resume her seat, albeit stiffly.

She stared ahead petulantly, pointedly avoiding his keen assessment with barely concealed displeasure and uncharacteristic fear. The way she held herself in a self-soothing manner had him cocking his head curiously.

"Are you attempting to kill yourself?" he asked. It was enough to draw wild, furious eyes to him; pupils enlarged enough to drive out every speck of blue.

"No."

Undeterred by her difficult nature, and accustomed to it, his gaze wandered to rest on the weapon in her grip. He'd never seen her with it before, and actually couldn't recall ever seeing anything quite like it anywhere.

He had a notion what it might be crafted for; but as far as human blades went, it was of finer quality than he'd grown to expect from them. He noted that her possessions typically ventured into the uncommon, if not unheard of.

Just like her odd behavior. Everything about this girl was just strange. He hated to admit that it fascinated him as much as unnerved him to encounter someone so indecipherable.

Sesshoumaru knew what he saw, but what he didn't know was why. The woman seemed to value her life, despite constantly throwing it in peril to trifle with the likes of him. He couldn't see her ending it for no good reason. But what good reason was there?

"Seppuku is performed in the gut, miko," he thought to inform her. He could certainly see her committing some unforgivable offense that needed rectifying. A short list was quickly forming pertaining to himself alone, but he did not consider it likely any were the catalyst.

"Just forget about it." Back to evading him again, she began hastily closing up zippers and -he assumed- preparing to leave.

"I don't forget anything."

The rustling ceased, and for a moment, the whole of the forest seemed to still along with her.

It only amplified the expectant silence, and the miko closed her eyes as if in pain.

"Then please," she said with soft, measured breath, "just don't tell anyone."

He considered her request, considered her, while she tried not to look as if she was clinging to his cooperation so desperately. With nothing to lose or gain, he had no reason to agree to her terms. Though, he supposed, he had no reason not to.

"You fear your friends will learn of this," he surmised.

Still seated between magnolia roots on the dirt where he had found her, deeply troubled eyes -now blue again, he noted- lifted to him at last.

"Yes," she answered, despite it not having been a question.

There was nothing in this for him, but there apparently was for her. It seemed to make her uncommonly cooperative, and Sesshoumaru saw the opportunity to finally satisfy his curiosity.

"Show me."

By the time it left his mouth, he'd already closed the distance. Kneeling at her side put his face dangerously close, giving her a clear view of intense, unwavering gold. The proximity, his command, was flustering; stretching on until she realized what he was waiting for.

The unsettling feeling ebbed as she scoured piercing amber, and learned that just as Sesshoumaru often stated his questions as facts, he apparently may also mask requests as commands.

The slightest of nods satisfied him, spurring him to proceed. He was met with no resistance when he took hold of her arm, rolling up her sleeve surprisingly gently for such a ruthless warlord.

She was frozen, almost traumatized by surrealness as Sesshoumaru inspected her, urging the limb closer despite his unrivaled demon sight. No one had ever seen before… but then, she hadn't been at it very long. This was a relatively new development, and she'd admit, not a well thought out one.

It was just something she had to do; and she recognized that if anyone found out, they wouldn't understand. They would try and make her stop- or at the very least, it would worry them.

For those reasons, it was something she had to hide- but now, he knew. A sick, nervous feeling roiled in her gut as she locked in on his handsome face, waiting for judgement or disgust, or any reaction he might have.

But his expression remained placid, she supposed not surprisingly, and she found herself relieved, though not off pins and needles completely.

Toxic claws traveled over her newest addition in a ghostly graze, making Kagome wonder distantly if she'd just been poisoned. She was afraid to move -but not for that reason- and suddenly, all she could think of was how unexpectedly gentle, and warm his touch was.

Firm lips pursed thoughtfully as his grip on her elbow tightened the slightest bit.

"This is too deep for a human," he finally declared. He abandoned his perusal of her damaged skin to pin her with a serious glare. "... if it truly is not your intention to end your life. Just a hair further would have ruptured your vein."

Saying nothing more, he simply held her gaze like that until the weight of his words settled and broke her from what looked to be paralyzation.

As she reclaimed the limb from his possession to appraise her wound more closely, it was unclear if her bewilderment was on his account or her own.

"I guess I didn't realize how deep I was going," she admitted sheepishly.

Detecting no deceit, the demon lord was willing to be satisfied, somewhat, with that response. Dangerous recklessness on her part was nothing out of the ordinary, but that wasn't a sufficient conclusion on its own.

"You have become immune to the pain over time," he deduced. Of the several lesions he'd just catalogued, the majority were very recent- days… weeks, at most. Much longer since last he'd seen her, or any of his brother's group. He couldn't help but wonder what had occurred in that time.

A shy nod accepted his assessment as she timidly rolled down her sleeve again. Struggling for an explanation for all his unexpressed thoughts came up empty. Instead, her fear-addled mind only sought assurances.

"So you promise you won't tell?" she asked again, very aware she'd never arrested any pledges from him. The way he narrowed his eyes told her he didn't appreciate more demands. Or perhaps, the insinuation?

"As if I converse with your friends, human."

The disdain in his delivery did not distract her from the non-answer.

"Then it won't hurt you to promise me."

The woman always managed to find that sweet spot somehow; issuing just enough challenge to force his hand, while employing just enough insolence to keep her head.

She was the only being he knew savvy enough to toe that line with him, and found success so consistently he'd be a fool to attribute it simply to good fortune. If he wasn't careful, an outside observer may mistake it for partiality.

She was so vexing, sending him clamoring to decipher her motives- despite his tempered façade. She was pleading for assistance one minute, then demanding it of him the next; then challenging his rationale by way of veiled threats and provocation… drifting between them so nonsensically he could make neither heads nor tails of her objective. She had no power here, yet stared fearlessly into his eyes, while trembling over the notion of upsetting a few humans.

It was so confounding, he'd almost swear she was toying with him. But as always, his curiosity with her made her just interesting enough to indulge, if only to see where this goes. Calculating amber fell to her now-concealed forearm.

"You plan to continue this," he said blandly. Her silence spoke volumes, and it irked him that she knew it. But rather than dwell on the familiarity it implied, he saw another opportunity.

"I will keep your secret," he said, "if you tell me why."

A perfectly reasonable request, and he thought a simple one. Asking him to be a party to her covert matters required, at the very least, she apprise him of the circumstances.

But even in this, she would defy him... and scowled as if he was the one being difficult.

"You won't understand," she said, and the audacious assertion bothered him.

How could she possibly assume that? Just because he didn't understand, it did not mean that he wouldn't. Or, more infuriatingly likely that she implied- couldn't.

"I understand the call to carve into living flesh." The statement was menacing as it was accurate. "Though, admittedly, not my own."

She didn't have to gauge the honesty in his words; she'd seen the truth with her own eyes - the preoccupation in his own. Raw, covetous desire inflamed to the point of obsession.

He was more than deadly with his sword- his swordsmanship was flawless. It cultivated his passion for vengeance; but in the end, it was his proficiency with the weapon that drove his ambitions to use it. His petty excuses were pointless, and his reasoning irrelevant; for at the core of it all, Sesshoumaru was an artist. And his medium was the blade.

Each cut he made was purposeful and perfect, intricate and intentional, and all part of a larger performance. And none but he could stand back and see it all for what it was. Slicing bodies was his way of life, and he was good at it- really, really good.

It was his reason for living, and the reason he was cruelly bestowed on this earthly plane by the gods of war to become one himself. He didn't need a reason- anything was a reason. Everything was.

He cut to improve, he cut to perfect. He cut because he loved it, and with each cut he made, he loved it more. His potential was limitless and his pursuit endless, and he made envy and greed and death and spite beautiful. That was his contribution.

The Killing Perfection, bestower of life. An endless circle with no beginning and no end, and he was the master over all of it. It had no meaning, but he found it regardless. He made it. He could give it.

And he made it look damn good.

Within his simple statement was an offer echoed fiercely in his amber gaze. He would understand, if only she would let him. He wanted to.

She needed him to. The bloodthirsty demon might be the only one who could.

The second she realized that, something snapped.

"Things build up inside me until I feel like I'm going to burst."

Just like the confession burst from her lips; the raw impulse she'd never even articulated in her mind exploded from the floodgates in a desperate plea for understanding. It was something she was unable to justify or explain, so no attempt had been made. All she could do was thoughtlessly obey her body's call and just act- because no reason could ever be good enough, and further exploration could only ever demand her to stop. And she didn't want to stop.

She'd been buried in shame, piling it ever higher atop her secret sickness in hopes that no one would ever see it. But suppressing her dark urges, only to let them out in private compounded her guilt, forcing her to dig deeper. She even hid it from herself, refusing her rational mind the chance to examine, until his provocation finally loosed the restraints and let it all come spewing forth.

Just as she had acted, she spoke without thinking- allowing it to fall out mindlessly and hoping against hope that he could make some sense of it for her. They had never been friends -they were little more than enemies- but for some reason, Kagome felt in her being that she could confide in him. She didn't trust another living soul with this humiliating secret, but she trusted him.

"Cutting lets it out," was the best way she could describe it. "Bleeds it like a relief valve. That moment of pain lets me forget for just that moment, and... it's like nothing I've ever felt before. It's heaven."

Keen eyes absorbed as she tried to pinpoint her plight for them both. It was interesting, watching a human attempt to dissect her heart, make sense of it, rationalize it, only to find it even less recognizable than it was at the start.

He couldn't claim to know it -those things never made sense to him- but as she described it, he understood the look on her face well enough.

Contentment. The kind you can only achieve through absolute supremacy. Though knowing one's self and the world and your place within it. It was freedom and power and mastery and control. It was perfection.

He also understood that in her case, it was artificial- or at best, incredibly short-lived. But especially for humans, with no true power or control or even basic understanding of the world around them, it had to be bliss to surrender that powerlessness and uncertainty for even a moment, and know that despite the cruel reality they lived in, it was under their control. Even if it was only an illusion, it had to be one hell of a respite.

"And my friends will worry," she said, pulling him from his reverie. "So now that you know, don't tell anyone."

He studied her, watching her wistful smile fall away and felt a strange sense of loss at its departure.

They were back to her original request of him, meaning she had reached the end of her limited understanding of her own motivations, and the reason she had confided in him albeit reluctantly.

The question now, was if he was satisfied.

He couldn't say he understood her actions much better than he did before. But apparently, neither did she.

He knew as much as she did, and as lost as she seemed to be, he supposed he couldn't expect much more than that for himself.

But what she was unable to articulate to him in words, he felt comfortable he'd gleaned through other means. That familiar way they seemed able to communicate -most likely on account of his incredibly observant nature- that he had bemoaned earlier perhaps relayed things that were not easily spoken aloud.

It was instinct, and aura, and facial expressions. It was a feeling you get, that gets lost in translation. These are natural born things the demon world uses to navigate- things he was not aware a human even could understand.

Therefore, he could comfortably attest that the miko had held up her end to an acceptable degree.

From where he continued to kneel at her side, her dazzling sapphire gaze implored his cooperation with palpable concern; however, he noted the absence of something from a moment ago -something heavy and unpleasant- and the addition of a spark.

It was inexplicably gratifying, inspiring his chin to lift and proud shoulders to square.

"I gave my word," he said at last, lifting a weight that freed the corners of her lips to curve up in exhilaration.

Her gratitude pleased him, and the approving spark in her eye satisfied something deep in his chest, causing a warmth to spread and another strange feeling he could not quite explain.

With her promise finally wrested, Kagome's attention left the daiyoukai to settle once again on her father's straight razor. Still open in her hand, she regarded the sharp, marble-handled blade with a mix of longing and reverence that made something twist uncomfortably in Sesshoumaru's gut. She looked to be considering something, and then, so was he.

"Permit This One to cut you."

Her neck snapped towards that deceptively bland tone, and she gripped the handle tighter.

"Why?"

"I am a master with a blade," he stated as if tedious fact. "I will ensure yours does not venture too deeply."

Leaning slightly closer, that calm, velvety tone lured her in securely; but the things he used it to say sent her nerves haywire, and made all the little hairs at her neck stand on end.

It scared her how careless she'd allow herself to become- how close he said she came to really hurting herself. It put into focus how dangerous this was, and how a clumsy mistake could easily turn tragic.

But he was reaching for her razor, and she couldn't tell if it was his actions or hers that had her trembling.

"You can achieve the same result while handing control to another. To me."

He spoke so confidently, but she wasn't sure she could believe him.

He'd intruded on her ritual, but promised to keep her secret. He forced her to explain herself, but didn't tell her to stop. Not that he would care. But he didn't even judge her or shame her. It was not how she expected this discovery would go.

Him knowing was weird enough, but now he wanted to involve himself. This was such a private thing- and not one she was super proud of. This was supposed to be her secret. Hers alone.

But maybe it wasn't a terrible idea, having his assistance. He certainly had experience in the matter. Better control, too. He could supervise and make sure things went okay. And if anything happened, he had Tenseiga.

But trusted or no, Sesshoumaru looming over you with a knife was not a super comfortable position to be in.

Kami, she must really be losing it.

Her nervousness on full display did not deter him, and he motioned for the razor.

Her eyes were large as saucers while she froze in indecision, the blade in her hand trembling a bit harder. No verbal demands were made, but his cool, murderous gaze locked onto hers, and she couldn't turn away as he reached across her body.

Never breaking eye contact, he used them to communicate, reminding her of some dog demon version of a spiral-eyed cobra employing his hypnotic gaze to bend her to his whims.

Powerless to fight it, she offered no resistance as sturdy fingers slid over hers to wrap around the handle. His face was dangerously close, passive and cool in response to her naked terror, until his large hand smoothed over hers, easily encasing it and the heirloom in her grip.

A gentle squeeze and a light tug requested acquiescence instead of demanding it, albeit quite insistently. Staring another moment into fiery amber pools so different from the ruthless lakes of ice she remembered, she finally relaxed her death-grip. He easily maneuvered to relieve her of her blade, sliding his palm around hers and transferring it to his possession.

He reassured her trust by maintaining eye contact once in control of the weapon, making no sudden movements. She seemed to breathe easier as he emitted waves of contentment, placating her with his aura and letting it settle atop her like a gravity blanket. The same way his fury set her on edge from the opposing end of the battlefield, his calm engulfed her, lulling her under with him. When her heartbeat evened out to a less concerning pace, he finally released her from his gaze, letting it fall upon the folding razor he pulled in for closer inspection.

It was a simple design he'd seen humans carry over the years, but never so finely forged as the one he now held. The craftsmanship was beautiful. The steel formed to perfection, tempered and reinforced with impressive knowledge and skill. He'd never seen steel mastered so expertly by human hands. And the important part: he ran his thumb along the edge, slicing his skin clean open with just the faintest pressure. It immediately healed back, of course.

This thing could cut his finger clean off, no problem… But he wasn't in the mood to regenerate a digit tonight. Another time, perhaps.

It was little more than a toy compared to anything crafted by a master demon, but all in all, he was impressed. He just appreciated dedication to craft, and wished he could meet the man who forged it to talk a little shop.

As Kagome watched him admire her father's blade with a familiar air of reverence, she felt her wariness of him begin to fade. Having Sesshoumaru so close, not to mention with a sharp new toy in his hand he looked absolutely itchy to use, should be setting her reiki-infused hackles on high alert. But through his infamously impassive facade, she was able to recognize something all too familiar. A gleam glittered within his golden gaze, glaring at her from the surface where anyone could find it; though she doubted many -if any- would be able to discern it.

She'd never seen that look in anyone else's eye before, but she knew what it represented. That awe her father's knife inspired in even the most ruthless demon in the land matched perfectly to her own; and that he was not only able to understand her odd fixation, but perhaps even achieve it for himself, left her feeling so inexpressibly mollified in that moment. She didn't think anyone could appreciate her connection to that blade; but in a second, his acknowledgement proved her wrong, and she felt a connection forge between her and the Western Lord as well.

And even though he had no way of knowing where she had gotten that knife from, it felt like he was honoring her father with his reverence of it- respecting the man somehow, when it felt like no one but her had done so in so many years. She knew he didn't deserve her gratitude for that, but it came about unbidden as he captivated her with the sight of him, his palpable awe an awesome sight of its own to behold.

It felt like more time had passed that actually had, but in mere seconds, her aura had relaxed considerably. This changed however, when Sesshoumaru broke from his reverie and grabbed her arm.

Muscles tensed right back up when, without preamble, he began rolling her sleeve, the sharp points of his claws occasionally poking and dragging along vulnerable skin. She fought the urge to pull away from him as inch by inch, her cutting marks were revealed to the cruel, judgmental forest trees.

He seemed to sense her discomfort when he let his gaze linger, rubbing his thumb over the damage in a brief assessment. He lifted the blade to her arm, setting it gingerly atop a patch of smooth skin adjacent to the others, and let it rest there. She didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until piercing gold irises lifted imploringly to hers, deceptively patient as he awaited the greenlight.

Permission, approval were also relayed non-verbally, and then the sharp edge teetering upon her skin was dragged along it with delicate pressure.

Air rushed in between her teeth and she reflexively clutched the muscular forearm that kept hers steady. He allowed it, squeezing her elbow just a little tighter in response in a way that felt almost like assurance.

Blue eyes slammed shut when she felt her skin tear, but as relief literally bled out of her, she was distantly aware of the daiyoukai's undivided attention. It didn't unsettle her like it normally would have- the complete opposite.

She didn't expect the liberating feeling his presence seemed to be having on her subconscious this time around. Giving him control not only managed to replicate the sensation she sought, but heightened it. Expanded on the results, actually, to include a sense of security that put her even more at ease.

With him there, she knew she was safe; because whether or not he gave a whit if she perished, it would be a major blow to his pride if she died in his care. It would make him a failure and a liar, and those titles were not ones he carried these days.

There was something else the demon lord's presence afforded her. Other than safety, she found there was a comfort in having him there with her. It was more than just company, or the security it brought. It relaxed her on a whole new level, allowing her satisfaction and contentment to soar to new heights, giving her the freedom to indulge without worry, like he was watching her back for her. There was a dangerous justification in it, as if he'd given her permission to proceed without the guilt and fear she'd harbored previously.

All too brief, the haze of pleasure began to ebb, dulling the roar in her ears until the stark silence of the forest brought her back to her surroundings. Her grip slackened, and as her eyes reopened slowly, she felt his steady hold on her loosen as well.

A satiated smile was still playing at her lips as she took in his handsome features; rapt, curious attention made it clear his brain was taking notes, and she couldn't help but wonder what they were.

Kagome was pleased to find that having him there didn't impede on the serenity she always found in the aftermath, so she surrendered to the calm she so desperately sought, shamelessly reveling in it for as long as the fates would allow.

Azure eyes drifted lazily to assess the damage, and he tore himself away enough to follow. Only a small amount of blood escaped an otherwise clean cut, but a cursory glance to assess her precious blade betrayed none of the life force that normally stained its edge. It was curiously pristine, but she thought little of it while reaching for another alcohol wipe.

The endorphins started to wear off with the brutal sting of the chemical; she let it distract her from the return of her discomfort with the demon- and the world in general, really. He was too quiet, even for him. And now that the show was over, she hoped he would get bored of her and be on his merry way.

But he just kept staring, leaving her to surmise that she was going to have to be the one to depart. Fine with that, Kagome grabbed her pack and began to stand, but he swiftly beat her to it, getting to his feet first.

"Only This One is permitted to cut you."

She jerked towards him, large blue eyes aimed warily. "What?"

"You have proven faulty with your blade," he said calmly. "And should you mistakenly cut too deep, you cannot expect Tenseiga to revive you."

Something changed in her expression at the emotionless decree, and he recognized the look of hurt that had been absent through the physical pain he'd inflicted earlier.

When her gaze returned from the brief journey to his hip where his famous sword rested proudly, the somberness he suddenly found there that replaced her momentary but glorious contentment irked him terribly.

"Right, of course," she muttered, then nothing else.

He considered asking something as she readied her pack on her shoulders, but decided against it; instead, folding the knife with a satisfying click and securing it within his clothes.

Watching on warily, immense loss claimed her as it disappeared from view.

"I can't expect you to be around every time I need to do it," she worded cleverly. "Aren't you busy?"

She hadn't seen him in months, and his pop-ins before that were sporadic at best. At the rate she was going, that wasn't going to work for her.

"My schedule is none of your concern," he stated simply. When her brow furrowed, he advanced on her.

Cupping under her chin, he tilted her face to his. "If you must, when you must, you will call for me," he ordered lowly, "and I shall cut you."

The shiver his low promise sent through her allayed none of her suspicion. She just couldn't imagine a scenario where Sesshoumaru would come to her when she called, like a dog would… despite, you know.

He seemed more likely to kill her for trying- or at best, ignoring the summons.

"How?" she asked anyway, not liking the odds of getting her father's knife back any time soon.

"Can you whistle?" he asked, and unbeknownst to him, won a new game he was playing called 'what's the least likely question Sesshoumaru has ever asked me.'

Certain the demon lord didn't make jokes or pointless small talk, she answered the serious question with a brief demonstration, while he committed the sequence to memory.

A light smirk played a his features as she removed her fingers from her mouth, and he leaned a bit closer.

"When you get the urge, whistle," he told her softly, "and I will come."

The vow was sealed in his devious eyes as he backed away. She wasn't sure if she should agree to those terms, but he appeared sure enough for them both.

He was gone before she could formulate a response, leaving only his vow as trade for her prized possession.

xXx

Two days later, Kagome and her friends were called upon to exorcise a demon from a town nearby. This was becoming fairly commonplace, as Naraku's demise only a few months prior succeeded in both creating a power vacuum for ambitious, mal-intended demon upstarts looking to fill the void, and made quick celebrities of the small group of former shard hunters who had managed to kill him, putting them in high demand.

They hadn't necessarily planned on starting new careers in the demon killing business -actually, they had quite been hoping to retire after finally defeating their arch foe- but with great power came great responsibility, and with fame and notoriety came seemingly endless calls to action. Like it or not, business was booming.

It hadn't exactly been a narrow victory -they were rather good at this by now- but Kagome was finding it more difficult to relish a win these days. No matter how many malicious troublemakers they put in the ground, another would sure as shit pop up within the week and they'd be at it again. You'd think word would be out, but these fuckers just kept coming and it was starting to feel like an exercise in futility. It was an endless, shitty cycle of death and carnage, and walking away would only cause the body count to multiply.

More pointlessness, more powerlessness, and all she could do was whistle.

It was a desperate feeling not having her razor in that moment, and the seconds that followed brought about serious doubts that he would actually show up. She wondered if he could really even hear her from wherever the hell he was, and teetered between mulling if she should try again, or what else she could perhaps fashion into a sharp point on the fly.

But then she felt it -that awesome, unmistakable power that made your knees want to buckle and every little hair on your body stand on end- and a moment later, in an orb of blinding light, he was there.

Relief and anxiety made strange bedfellows as he approached her, while the urge to take both a step back and forward kept her motionless. Keen, inhuman pools of molten gold assessed her through a famously impassive expression as his endless curiosity betrayed anything but indifference. But Sesshoumaru remained silent, despite what felt like a thousand questions being reined in with practiced control.

There was nothing she could think to comfortably say; but luckily, the Lord of the West didn't indulge in unnecessary chatter. She used it to her advantage and simply got to work rolling up her sleeve.

Kagome felt her heart rate soar when he reached into his clothes, brandishing her precious razor at long last. She had been thinking about it constantly, worrying if it was safe in his possession- not for danger of being lost or stolen, but for losing its captive's interest and simply being discarded.

For some reason, there was also a small fear of him destroying it on purpose dwelling in the back of her brain- or perhaps of him hiding it from her in an attempt to prevent her from continuing this madness. But that was illogical. Sesshoumaru had no reason she could see for forcing her to stop harming herself. He certainly didn't care if she got hurt, or worse- that much was clear.

His motives for showing up like this were still a mystery that she hoped to get to the bottom of, but her money was on boredom, curiosity, or just plain old love for disfiguring humans. Her wellbeing did not make her short list.

But she was thrilled to see he still had it with him, and even more so when he flipped open the blade and began to approach. She was nearly trembling in anticipation; she needed this so bad, and not being able to relieve her stress at will added even more anxiety to an already unbearably uncomfortable level.

She didn't know if this arrangement was going to work out, but couldn't deny that he'd come just as quickly as he said he would. Maybe she just had to call sooner, instead of waiting until things got so critical.

Her doting gaze drifted to his own to find he'd joined her in appreciation. It was just as beautiful, just as mesmerizing to her to see him bestowing the same level of respect on the heirloom as she. That warm feeling spread in her chest again, and actually made her forget all the excitement for what was to come for even a brief moment.

She'd abandoned her sleeve part way to focus on Sesshoumaru, who stopped just in front of her to turn the blade in his hand. Once he'd had his fill, he gave an approving nod and folded the razor closed.

Kagome watched in confusion while he put it away; calmer than before, but still uneasy - especially as he settled himself closer to her side.

"What are you doing?" she asked warily.

Taking her arm into his hands, he got to work gently rolling her sleeve up to her elbow.

"Your blade is impressive," he said, achieving a neatly creased fold and lifting his gaze briefly, "but my claws are perfectly forged."

She shivered when he dragged them along her forearm for emphasis; the light touch he employed rose gooseflesh up to her nape.

Mildly aware of her response, he tempered a slight smirk while zeroing in on her damaged flesh, running his claws over the cluster of thin lines.

Gathering herself back from more than one sensation, Kagome pried her eyelids open to nervously watch him graze the tips over the broken skin.

"W-Won't you poison me?" she asked, jumping a bit when he grabbed her elbow suddenly, encircling it easily within his grip. He scraped the fine points up and down her skin and she couldn't pull her eyes off the sight.

But his eyes were on her- watching tensely while he scratched the talons over her opened wounds; holding her breath, heart slamming against her ribcage…

It was interesting that she would allow him so close, yet hold reservations about his intentions.

Did she trust him, or didn't she? She didn't appear to be brimming with confidence… but then, why permit the proximity in the first place? If she suspected foul play, why not activate her troublesome reiki and remove herself from fearsome demon clutches?

Not that she would be wrong to do so, by any means. She had every reason to be frightened, and he highly doubted their very first encounter was not running through her mind over and again. It certainly was for him.

Because while he was certain to have inflicted some trauma with that initial attempt on her life, she'd dealt him some damage, too. Considerably.

"Had I been able," he drawled, "I would have. Do you not agree?"

Yes, she'd injured his pride in that tomb; he was secure enough to admit it now. But where his physical form had since made a full recovery, the damage she inflicted on his psyche left him scarred for life.

She invited herself in and defiled his father's resting place, pulling his sword -after he could not- only to wave it in his face and openly mock, disrespect and flippantly insult him. She'd goaded his brother into battling him before swallowing her bodyweight in his toxic poison and, after an earnest attempt to end her life, popped back up, wholly unharmed, to taunt him some more, proceeding then to aid in his amputation while in his true demonic form.

All that after, oh… five minutes of meeting him.

He'd been humiliated, fine. Questioned his worth as a demon and a male, doubted his abilities. Twisted his whole world view and everything he thought he understood about it.

But how many nights has she haunted his dreams since then? Too many to count.

A mere slip of a mortal girl, fearsome and fearless, crawled from a puddle of his poison unscathed, like it was but a minor inconvenience, and jumped right back in to challenge him without reservation.

She was absolutely terrifying.

She'd stood against the great Lord of the Western Lands, the most terrible demon in existence, and brought him to heel.

She'd had an effect. A lasting one. And the worst part was…

He was quite certain she hadn't lost one night's sleep troubling herself with him.

"Yet you're asking me to trust you."

He stared up at her, considering her assessment.

No. He would not expect that of her. She wasn't a fool. And only a fool would trust him in her position.

But though she may not trust him, he knew damn well she did not fear him.

Sesshoumaru pulled his attention from her and down to his poison claws. Flicking them together a few times, he chose a fresh patch of skin near the other cuts she'd done, and poised a point several times sharper than her razor blade.

A sharp gasp of air sucked around clenched human teeth as he pressed down, not allowing his poison to flow as his tip pierced her skin. He kept it shallow -much more so than any of her own- and lifted his chin to study her response.

Kagome threw her head back, spine arched sharply as if drawing away from the assault, fingers curling and clenching as her muscles all went taut.

"Fascinating," he murmured. Keeping his eyes trained on her, he dragged his claw gently down, tearing open just the surface of her skin as a small trail of blood instantly formed.

He felt the warmth of it radiating from the slight gash, staining the tip of his claw and filling the air with the sweet purity marinating her scent.

A breathy sigh invaded his hearing while full, pouty lips hung open in semi-silence. Blue eyes remained closed as if savoring the sensation, focusing in on it and filing the memory for a later date.

Air entered sharp and shaky, and each exhale was accompanied by a satiated sigh. Chest heaving, rasping harsh pants of satisfaction, her display had him enraptured until her whole body stilled. He'd served his purpose, but his tip remained embedded in her ever so slightly. Her hand flew to cover his, squeezing his fingers to rest with hers on her arm, and he squeezed in return, unable to remove his gaze from her as the muscles in her back relaxed and her body naturally regressed into her original, more comfortable seated position.

The miko's eyes were closed, incredulous elation slowly morphing into a large, satisfied smile… and then she went limp against the tree, breathing back to normal with the release of a final, happy sigh.

Kagome opened her eyes to find the dog demon's fixated on her, thoughtful expression unchanging. He was just waiting. Watching.

Learning. Memorizing.

When she released his hand with a final squeeze, he did not rush to pull it away.

Sesshoumaru followed her gaze to peruse the modest split his claw made -much finer, and lighter, and cleaner than the others she donned- before his attention drifted to the culprit.

He inspected his saturated claw only a moment before placing it between his lips, closing his eyes briefly in a muted imitation of her own visceral reaction. When he removed it moments later, all evidence of her blood was licked clean.

Awaiting her appraisal, the result seemed to indicate she was pleased; the cut was already less swollen and angry than the others. She rubbed the new damage with a strange sort of fondness, not terribly different from the way he regarded her- save for the smile.

"I shall heal your wounds," he said suddenly, sharply winning back her attention.

The shock in her eyes felt condemning, and provoked the foreign urge to explain himself.

"Your friends will notice the scars eventually. It will be easier to conceal with This One's aid."

Before she could respond, deft, deceptively gentle hands arrested her arm once again, presenting rows of slim slashes in various states of regeneration. The mortifying impulse to shield the ugly sight from view was overridden as Kagome's body appeared to shut down. Frozen in place, only her heart seemed capable of motion and more than made up for the lag.

When the daiyoukai began to descend, she held her breath, not shying away as warm lips inevitably made contact with the lightly blotting wound, and a long pass of his tongue along the length of his incision had dark lashes fluttering closed. She could already feel the wound closing, knitting back together and raw nerve endings being lathered in balm.

The unpleasant tang that briefly soured her aura was no longer detectable, and when Sesshoumaru chanced a look, saw that the expression that had accompanied it had vanished as well. It bothered him how much it had bothered him, and how much it pleased him to be rid of it. Choosing to focus on his task rather than think on it further, he channeled his youki into his saliva, saturating his tongue as he lapped at her skin with slow, scintillating purpose.

With each pass he tasted less and less of her blood. Soon new, healing skin cut off access until finally, there was no evidence of the cut at all. But he wasn't done yet.

He tended to all of her wounds in the same fashion, stroking carefully over each cut she had given herself until her skin there was perfect once more. Only then did he finally withdraw, removing himself from her person as that tongue passed over his lips, and left a panting miko in his wake.

Having a demon in her body, in her blood, was a slightly painful experience, but exhilarating to the point of being pleasurable. Her blood was alive within her, her skin tingled wherever his mouth had been.

And he'd healed her, using a demonic essence that she was bred to purify from existence- something that wasn't for her to utilize or benefit from, but rail against and destroy. He'd shared it with her to help her, ensuring she'd be safe, and it warmed her in a way that made everything else seem so trivial and distant.

She was still reeling from the feel of his mouth on her skin -the beautiful, pristine skin he'd restored there with it- when he rose to his feet. He turned on his heel, and the sudden movement forced her back into reality.

"Why are you doing this?" she called after him, halting his steps. "Why are you helping me?"

It had been bothering her since the moment he left her in the woods a few days ago, and she wasn't certain he'd give her an answer. But he glanced over his shoulder, meeting her troubled gaze with his impassive one.

"I like to cut things," he answered simply, expression as bored as usual. "Humans especially."

Even his occasionally expressive eyes were dull, save for the cat-like slits that opened a secret world to something deeper. She was drawn to him there, resolved to peering in for a glimpse of what it was simmering beneath the surface.

"You could say it provides This One relief as well."

xXx

It became a regular occurrence. At least a couple times a week, he would come at her whistle, just like a good dog should, dropping whatever he was doing the second she called him over. She was getting very comfortable with his proximity, with him in general- some would say dangerously so. But it had become routine.

He had gone from intruding on her ritual, to inserting himself in it, to becoming one on his own. He was her ritual now, and he didn't seem to mind it.

When presented to him, golden eyes fell to soft, creamy skin now unmarred by evidence of her dangerous compulsion. By his hand...er, tongue, her body was no longer tarnished- as if he'd erased it from her history all together. The only proof was in her mind, and in the relief it granted her.

A pleasured hiss entered between her teeth as he withdrew to observe, just as he always did. As they both always did, watching her proffered arm seep to fill the new opening with her warm, crimson life force. Four eyes filled with morbid intrigue and a strange sort of appreciation watched it stream back down her elbow in a path of their making, pride in their collective accomplishment filling the silent space between them.

Once the trickle slowed to a stop, he moved to close that space again.

"Wait," she said; and like a good dog, he obeyed. Her gaze remained fixed on the limb extended between them, but she could feel his flicking up to her in question. "Not yet."

A small smile played at her lips in a way which he was growing accustomed, and though her demand didn't satisfy his curiosity, he made none of his own as he acquiesced.

Retreating back slightly, his interest had shifted to the serene reverence coloring her features as she continued to admire his handiwork -he couldn't say he didn't blame her- and while the satisfaction he experienced in response was deemed perfectly reasonable, the kinship her approval inspired felt less so.

Just a couple of like-minded connoisseurs, he supposed, indulging in a shared appreciation. It simply was not anything he was accustomed to.

He was staring intently at her waning blood flow when she lifted her eyes to him.

"Can I ask you something?"

"I suppose," he said, declining to shift his focus.

Adjusting to make herself more comfortable against the tree trunk, she reclined against it while leaving her inner elbow displayed.

"In the village I just left, one of the men had a dog- not a demon, just a common mutt," she clarified. A wry smile touched her lips. "Cute little guy. Anyway, right before we killed him, the demon that attacked us… let's just say 'scared shitless' is a pretty apt term."

He tore himself from the faint trickling of miko blood to find she had resumed watch; her nose wrinkled.

"Anyway, he did. The smell was terrible. I had to go wretch behind the hut before I could tend to the wounded. And when i got back, that cute, dumb little mongrel practically had his nose in it." Her brow furrowed alongside her mesmerized gaping. "I see dogs in my time doing that too. They seem especially fascinated by the most foul smelling things: garbage, filth…"

As if suddenly regaining awareness, her gaze darted hurriedly to the inscrutable gold upon her, and she stifled a blush semi-successfully.

"I know a mortal dog's nose isn't as good as a demon's, but it is still a hundred times sharper than a human's. How can they stand it?" she asked. "Is it like, a 'so bad it's good' thing? Is a dog's scent so advanced that they break through to the other side and it actually smells good to them?"

For the first time, the focus was off her commissioned mutilation as he seemed to consider her heavily. The longer he remained silent, the more she feared he was mulling a response that wasn't verbal.

She relaxed when he suddenly did, taking a seat on a thickly protruding root beside her.

"The things you smell are not what is presented to a dog," he explained professorially. "They can detect every component of an object separately, so they are not scenting culminations- which is what you can scent."

Pointedly seeking her gaze, he found her rapt attention was already his.

"While you are detecting waste, a dog can pinpoint everything that creature had consumed- down to the last ingredient. If the creature had eaten another, it can also decipher everything that animal had eaten, and so on.

"But there is more than just the stomach's contents," he went on. "A dog can also detect things like illness. Irregularities in the blood, organ failure, even some injuries. Everything in this world tells its own story, gives information. A dog can simply read the story more accurately than you can. He does not enjoy a terrible smell, because he does not smell it. When you see a dog behaving thus, he is learning more than you could ever hope to."

The straightforward answer left her speechless. She didn't know why she expected something more philosophical. Sesshoumaru was a well of information she was very eager to tap into- but where to start?

"And it is not a practice demons engage in," he said more harshly, glare condemning. "Not dog demons. Simple dogs are mortal, and we have evolved far beyond such things."

"Of course," she smiled softly. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was just curious."

Befuddlement grazed his iron façade briefly. "You did not offend me."

She grinned wider at that, and finally let him take her arm.

As he dipped his head lower, the healing process commenced.

xXx

Two days later, a young girl in a neighboring farm succumbed to a simple illness. Once her body began to burn, Kagome stole away to the forest and whistled. Controlled claws tore her skin, and relief trickled down her arm. Then, his hot mouth sealed her up and sent her on her way.

Two days following that, a murderous demon attacked the village. After he was dispatched, another one was summoned.

Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they didn't. Sometimes he lingered, sometimes she stalled. Sometimes it frustrated her that no trouble came to call, and that was enough to make her whistle.

Once her most recent cut was healed and his claws had been licked clean, Sesshoumaru pulled away and it was like nothing had ever happened. The only evidence that remained of their disturbing little rendezvous resided inside their minds- but as unreliable as hers had been lately, should he ever decide to deny its occurrence, it wouldn't require too much conviction to convince her it had all been a dream.

She was wondering what good all this was. What was the point if at the end of the day, she had nothing to show for it and always ended up back in the same spot?

This outlet that used to grant her invaluable respite was quickly becoming just another part of the destructive tedium, but the thought of losing it was unbearable. What worried her most was what she would do if it stopped.

"Is it ever going to stop?"

Sesshoumaru looked up from where he knelt before her, brow cocked.

"All the senseless violence," she clarified. "The needless killing. All the tragedy and terribleness."

He made a non-committal noise and continued rolling her flannel sleeve neatly up her arm.

It had been the common practice as of late, as she had grown listless and dejected in regards to their ritual- where she used to tremble with anticipation to get it underway.

He thought little of it, for she typically called on him when things in her world had gotten dire. By the end of their meetings, however, she was as alive and rejuvenated as she had always been.

But for now, she slumped back against the tree, more involved with her errant ponderings than the reason they were there in the first place.

"I feel like no matter how many people we help, no matter how much I do, it doesn't seem to make a dent. I thought if I got rid of the bad guys, there could finally be peace in this stupid era; but for every evil thing I kill, there are two more to take his place."

Sesshoumaru listened with half an ear as his attention drifted to her newly exposed skin, wetting his lips as he raised his claw to it...

But firm fingers halted his progress, wrapping around them relatively tightly -of course, he only desisted out of courtesy- and his eyes lifted questioningly to hers.

"What's even the point of trying?" she begged. "If it doesn't make a difference?"

When he only stared back placidly, as if to let the absurdity set in, she ripped her arm away, reclaiming it against her chest in frustration.

With a light sigh, he shifted his weight back on his heels and held onto his own elbows as well.

"There is sense to it, even if you cannot see it," he said evenly, and stared straight in her eyes as he had come to do when trying to help her understand something. "Whether to eat or assert power, all death is for a reason, and that reason is survival."

"We could live in peace," she said resentfully, but softened. "It is possible."

"Perhaps," he lifted a shoulder, "but death would persist, even in your fantasy with no killers. Death must occur; so in that sense, there is no point in helping anyone avoid it. It makes no difference in the end."

Sometimes, his blasé outlook on everything settled her nerves, but this wasn't one of those times. She deflated, letting her arms fall.

"So why do I try? Why do I bother wasting my energy?"

"That I do not know, miko." He reached for her surrendered appendage again. "Perhaps to foster the world in which you reside more to your liking."

She considered his words, despite how disinterestedly tossed out -she always did- while he fastidiously refolded the sleeve she'd inadvertently loosened.

"Why do you do it?" she asked as he worked. "Why do you bother killing, or saving people, for that matter? Technically, it's just a waste of your time, too."

"It is the key to maintaining my control over all things," he said plainly. "To keep and retain my stranglehold on power. To assert my dominance over all who are inferior. To shape this world as I deem fit. But most of all," he looked up, finished repairing his fold. "I do what pleases me. At times, killing something pleases me. Occasionally -admittedly, less often- saving something does."

"Well, it doesn't please me," she muttered, slackening in his steel grip.

"Killing, or saving?" 

"Either," she answered sullenly. "Not anymore."

"Then desist, if you do not wish to continue. No one is forcing you."

His suggestion as he poised his claw was met with a scoff.

"Believe me, I would if I could," she assured him, "but it's out of my control. Evil keeps coming, and I'm powerless to stop it."

His claws ached for blood, but her dejected defeatism was enough to lower her arm yet again- though he did not yield it completely. Giving it a gentle tug did not win her attention back to him, but he wasn't deterred.

"I have been around a long time, miko," he confessed. "Long enough to tell you confidently that evil is not something you can vanquish completely. Nor power something you can fully conquer. It is a constant battle in which we all take part, with death being the only conceivable outcome. That struggle makes up our very existence- and is its purpose. Once you can accept that, you are tasked only with choosing a side and fighting as valiantly as you are capable. If you perform well, there are benefits to reap; but ultimately, your fate is that of both your comrades, and opponents."

Her gaze was somewhere off in the distance, but he could see his words settling in. He watched until he was satisfied with her progress, and then proceeded with his own.

At last, his claw sunk into her flesh, and her blood drew. He'd finally earned a reaction, but was disappointed when it was discomfort.

xXx

Months continued to pass, and their meetings were increasing in frequency. But while the miko typically left him in relatively higher spirits, she always came back daunted and drained.

Sometimes she prolonged their ritual with her lamentations; but during the worst of it, she neglected to participate at all. Simply existing, bitter and lifeless as he took them through the motions, she almost seemed to resent him for finding fulfillment when she could not.

A small distance from their usual tree, Kagome laid petulantly atop the grass with her sleeve still rolled as Sesshoumaru licked his claws clean.

"You have still yet to accept your place in the grand battle," he noted as soon as he was finished.

She sighed and finally spared a glance to her unsliced skin.

"I keep fighting," she said, rubbing over the smooth patch, "but I'm still not seeing any rewards."

Her moping earned little more than a shrug from the demon.

"If you derive no pleasure in killing your foe, nor saving your comrades, perhaps it is time to consider changing sides."

Dozens of harmless blades folded beneath her palms as she launched herself into a sitting position similar to his own.

"Like a traitor?" she demanded hotly, glaring at his arched brow. "Don't insult me, Sesshoumaru."

He smirked amusedly, making her scowl even worse.

"In that case, you may do well to change your weapon," he ventured. "Beyond that, I am afraid it is a matter of perception."

"Then perhaps you can lend me yours." Shuffling to cross her legs, she leaned in expectantly. "Tell me what you smell."

At his puzzled look, Kagome huffed.

"In the smoke, dog. Tell me what you can decipher."

After a cursory glare, Sesshoumaru lifted his nose to scent the wind. The smoke had been overwhelming enough, but he had long ago trained himself to block out the unpleasant odors of humanity.

"It is the flesh of a bear demon," he said quickly. "A female."

He was certain, but despite his accuracy, the answer didn't seem to satisfy her.

"Very good. But that doesn't teach me anything." She frowned. "I was hoping for a little more insight."

Behind his carefully guarded façade, gold eyes teemed with interest. "What is it you wish to learn?"

"Just more about her," Kagome sighed, listlessly plucking at the grass. "Something to help me make sense of it. You said it is never senseless, but I still don't see it."

"You cannot simply trust it?" he asked irritably. "Need you humanize everything to justify this life for you?"

His exasperation was short-lived, because her melancholy endured. Regarding her downtrodden, seemingly hopeless appearance a moment longer, Sesshoumaru briefly wondered why he didn't simply just get up and leave. He'd gotten what he came for.

But he tipped his nose once more, and sampled carefully.

"She was relatively young," he finally said. "Perhaps two centuries. The blood of a dozen villagers was fresh in her teeth and on her claws when she was burned, leaving no mystery as to why she was killed." It was nothing she didn't already know; he didn't need the confirmation. But scent-rifling was science more than an art, and he was going to do this right.

"The combination of fresh meat and the tang of stomach acid tell me she was taken down in the midst of a hunt. The singe of purification tells me it was a miko's arrow that claimed her."

He watched keenly while a sadness claimed her features even more deeply, but it only encouraged him.

"Her muscles were in late stages of consuming themselves, and her organs were failing. The condition of her vitals suggests that before today, she had not eaten in many months, leading me to surmise that her attack on the village was a desperate act- survival."

Kagome looked over to find that though his recount was emotionless, his eyes bore into her with something that was anything but- unnamable as it may be.

He held her gaze firmly, displaying his easy strength. Offering it.

"She was pregnant with a litter," he continued, for she hadn't told him to stop. "Too soon to determine the sexes. It was not her first pregnancy, and the amount of milk in her breasts relays that the last litter was recent. There was damage to her uterus inconsistent with birthing trauma," he said stiffly, hoping he did not need to explain further. "The variety of semen in the fire attests that it was several males, of varying species, and at intermittent intervals- days, at least."

The depressing news wilted her further as the murderous creature she despised only hours ago was suddenly worthy of her sympathy and remorse.

Her search for reason had not unearthed the solace that she sought- just more suffering.

So perhaps it was not pointless, but she maintained that it was still needless.

"She had a disease of the blood that youkai have been known to become afflicted with- fatal," he added. "She had a matter of months, perhaps, before it took her."

"What about the villagers she ate?" Kagome asked lowly. "Can you tell me about them?"

His eyes softened. "Miko-"

"Tell me!"

The wild fury he saw in her was achieved only by those too desperate not to be dangerous.

He did not react to the anger, or even the demand in her tone, other than to look on pityingly, and acquiesce.

"Eight men," he said clinically, "four women, all post-pubescent."

"Were any of them pregnant?"

He shook his head. "No, but all suffered the same ailment that would have taken them in a matter of years."

"What?"

Her elevated distress managed to meet the high cost of the terrible warlord's sympathy.

"Humanity," he said gently, and nearly chuckled when she scowled at him. "They were all certain to die at some point, miko- and I am sorry to inform, that I smell the same affliction in your blood."

The careless condescension he entered that sentence with was at odds with what it did to him to say aloud. It was nothing but a fact, and not one pertaining to him- so why did admitting such a thing cause his chest to twist in that way?

"What else can you smell about me?"

He hid how the question startled him, brushing off the foolish notion he'd been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. Though he made a brief show of considering her, there was nothing for him to decipher. He'd tasted her blood so many times, he could recite every component by memory.

No, what he considered then... was how much he should reveal. Her untamed, silent plea was relentless as he found his answer.

"You have not eaten enough in recent months, but that has slowly begun to change. The resulting damage to your organs is minimal, and they are in the process of making a full recovery."

The impersonal report left his bedside manner wanting, but she found she appreciated it. She wanted honesty, not a service animal, and knew he wouldn't sugar-coat it.

"Your cycle completed three days ago, and you are untouched," he said bluntly. "Your teeth are remarkably clean for a human and your muscles are fit, but weary from stress. This leads me to assume, based on our encounters, that you tighten them considerably when not in my presence. Your lack of decent sleep is also having an adverse affect, along with brain function."

His clinical bombardment made it difficult to keep up, but the only surprise to her so far was how accurate he was. It was creepy.

True, she had asked; but it seemed intrusive -almost violating- how little privacy she had from him. He likely knew more about her than she did.

"You become aroused when I heal your wounds," he said plainly, and she finally flushed. There was no deviation in his impassive façade and she was grateful for that- but nothing else.

"You enjoy that aspect more than the cutting now, to the point where I believe it is the main reason you call upon me."

Her face was growing hot, along with her temper, as she sputtered for a valid refute that never came.

His enduring calm only seemed to incite her further, and he tilted his head curiously.

"Though that, in part, is due to you not garnering the same relief from my claws that you used to, and your anxieties not being nearly what they were."

"And what about you?" she grit out, fists balled at her side.

"What about me?"

"What can be discerned from your scent?"

She knew it was embarrassment drawing her rage -mostly- but it made his typical apathy towards her particularly condescending.

"I do not need to discern my own scent, for I already know myself completely," he said haughtily.

"That so?" she asked. His eyebrow answered.

"Then tell me why you keep doing this?" She gestured between them hostilely, and was actually quite eager for his reply.

"I have an unquenchable thirst for separating humans from their blood," he said simply. "You assist me in satiating it."

"You can cut up any human at any time," she fired back. "Why me?"

He gave her another long, curious glare, during which she would have paid anything to hear his thoughts.

"Because you are the only one I have met so far who wishes to be cut," he said, as if it was obvious. "And you keep asking me to."

Damn his reasoning. His logic was air-tight, but it only made him more slippery.

His simple answers were impossible to get around or refute, but it made it even easier for him to hide. She couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't getting the whole truth from him.

"What would you do if I didn't?"

Would it matter? Would he stop?

Granted, up until now, he was at her beck and call- but she had been quite demanding of him. If the whistling one day stopped... would he start coming for her?

Sesshoumaru had been unnervingly accommodating, but he was not a generous demon. He always wanted something, and for how valuable he considered his time, he'd given her an awful lot of it.

She'd willfully ignored her suspicions because this arrangement had benefited her. But… had she made a deal with the devil here? And if so, when would he collect his due? What even was it?

That question, along with the other, would go unanswered.

xXx

It was a long while before she whistled for him again. Initially blaming her reluctance on mortal shame, Sesshoumaru had begun to wonder if perhaps he'd enraged her with his abrupt departure during their last encounter.

Or worse; he began to fear something had happened to her, and had to talk himself out of several rationalizations he'd conjured to investigate it.

Luckily, the familiar tune floated through the wind before he had to result to something shameless, and he nearly broke his neck at the speed with which he answered.

He was more than a little surprised when he touched down in the forest to find her scent awash with a happiness he'd almost forgotten on her. Her bright, cheery smile looked foreign on those lips as she beamed up at him.

Impatient for his approach, she took the initiative to meet him halfway.

"Something amazing happened," she offered without preamble.

He was wary but didn't show it as her clean, perfectly straight teeth invaded his view; and instincts set off warning bells when the absent weight in her aura made her look capable of treading the clouds.

"I delivered a baby today, but it wasn't easy," she said. "It took hours, and everything seemed to go wrong."

Sesshoumaru didn't follow when she meandered over to the nearest tree and leaned against it.

"I almost lost them both at one point; but I took everything I've learned these past few months, all those failures I experienced, and I got them through it!" Pride swelled her aura into something magnetizing and formidable. "A healthy, perfect baby boy and his happy mother are recovering in her hut right now because of me."

The exhaustion in her voice made him focus on the dark circles under her eyes, but it took nothing away from her positive glow. Sesshoumaru scowled, but she didn't notice, even as she gazed happily at him.

"I've delivered a lot of babies this year, but this is the first one in so long that actually made me feel useful. It's like, all that stuff that happened suddenly wasn't for nothing; it prepared me for this day- for that boy. If it wasn't for all I'd learned, he never would have made it."

As she reveled in her accomplishment in a way he'd never seen, he thought over the recent months with impeccable recollection.

She had delivered several children in that time. He was often there for the aftermath of the unsuccessful cases, but had learned of many others that had survived the process just fine.

Something was different this time -something in the miko- that was troubling and worrisome.

"It finally clicked- what you were telling me all this time," she said, brimming with daunting gratitude. "I didn't get it for so long, because you said that nothing mattered, and that people didn't matter, because we were all going to die- but then you said that killing was never pointless, so i was like, which is it?" She chuckled, undeterred by his placid stare.

"But I get it now," she grinned. "It matters because it doesn't matter. In the end, we're all going to die, so nothing we do matters at all. There is no sense to it." She threw up her hand carelessly. "There is no point, so we make it matter. In the end, there is nothing to lose- there is nothing to win, and nothing at stake. Everything until then is just us filling the time as best we can with whatever we have at our disposal. Some people strive to destroy, others try to build something, and some are just entertaining themselves- but we are all just killing time until it's over. Nothing matters," she repeated cheerfully. "So all that matters is now."

Matters that once tormented her were now spoken with the reverence once reserved for her precious razor blade. Nothing had changed but her perception, but the difference in the overly emotional being was miraculous.

She was so pleased with her revelation that she either didn't notice or care how much it was souring the daiyoukai warlord to see it.

"It may seem bleak to some," she continued, "but realizing that actually gave me hope. Terrible things happen everyday, and that isn't going to stop." Not an ounce of despair corrupted her new blissful understanding at the admission. "But those terrible things aren't pointless; they are my tools- my weapons. And as long as I'm stuck here," she gestured around them, "I want to see how much better I can make it. That is my purpose. I may not have control over everything that happens, but I have complete control over how I use those things going forward."

With a sense of relief that surpassed any cut he had given her, she closed the distance between them. He didn't flinch as she reached out to touch his arm, gazing up at him wondrously.

"Thank you, Sesshoumaru."

Her incessant ramblings were never direct, forcing him to parse out the pertinent information and disregard the rest- but he understood. Whatever point she was trying to make, he sussed out one for himself and that was all he needed to know.

With a stiff nod, he turned on his heel and left the serene woman to her devices.

xXx

Feeling better than she had in months, Kagome now approached life with a resigned optimism that was going to change everything for the better.

But life was relentless, throwing devastating blows that tested her new outlook at every turn. She entered the woods stiffly, her body aching with new injuries alongside the old ones starting to color, and placed her fingers in her mouth.

The action was painful, but it was worth it when a tall figure clad in mostly white appeared a short moment later, unburdening her substantially with his presence alone. His expression was inscrutable as he prowled closer, predatory gaze dialed in to observe her warm smile, and came to a stop before her. Inhuman eyes raked over her curiously, almost cautious in their pursuit.

"This One thought regaining control over your circumstances has disinclined you from slicing into your flesh, miko. Have you lost sight of your purpose already?"

She smiled weakly in spite of his tsking, and the toll of the battle started to settle in her bones.

"No, but I had kind of a rough day." She arched her back in a painful stretch, grimacing. "A demon caught us off guard and Inuyasha's hurt pretty bad. We pulled together and eventually got him, but it was a really close call. I'm just really rattled."

She sighed her exhaustion; but despite a trip through the wringer, she was in relatively good spirits.

Wayward raven locks were plastered to her brow with sweat, and he waited until she'd finished clearing them before grabbing her elbow.

She jolted, and he thought perhaps it was in pain before realizing he'd simply startled her. But she tugged her limb from him nonetheless, and at her gentle encouragement, he released her.

"No," she said, causing him to furrow his brow. "I'm just really shaken up. I needed to talk to you."

Her friendly smile endured as he realized her explanation had ended, and the pieces fell into place. Annoyance within him swelled.

"So you whistled not to be cut, but to employ This One as your sounding board?" The deceptively calm assertion had a chilly edge to it that caused her holy energy to flair. She batted it down however, along with the instinctual fear his measured irritation casually inspired.

"You've really helped me out a lot these past months," she said, gushing gratitude. "I can talk to you like I can't with the others. I can tell you things." She relaxed at the thought, too easily ignoring the frigid demeanor of her glowering companion.

"You know things about me. You've given me some really good advice, and I think being able to talk things out with you is what helped me finally stop harming myself." Her cheeks colored shyly. "I thought if I told you what was wrong, it might ease my stress without it coming to that."

She'd done some soul-searching in their time apart, and after some introspection had come to the conclusion that as her desire to cut herself waned, the impulse to call for him in times of difficulty had not.

The relief she garnered from his visits no longer stemmed from the cutting- which had become less appealing to her in time- but the process of unburdening herself, of rummaging through her troubles and sorting them, with his invaluable assistance.

Unloading the critical excess from her chest meant she no longer needed to literally bleed it from her arm. It was a much healthier, and overall much more effective, means of crisis aversion. Relocating the relief valve had been relatively easy. And she had him to thank.

"We had a deal, miko," he bit coldly.

Though his expression was restrained, displeasure permeated the youki that rolled off him in threatening waves.

"You were to whistle when you needed to cut your flesh. Doing so satiated my need as well." His glare sharpened. "If you are no longer in need of my specialized skills, then I have no reason to respond to your call. I am far too busy to drop everything just to listen to your human problems."

He turned away haughtily, but not before he saw her expression fall. Stalled by confusion and disbelief, she sputtered internally.

"You... want me to keep hurting myself?" she finally managed.

"I care not either way. But if you do not wish me to cut you, then you have no call to summon me," he said curtly. "This was a mutually beneficial agreement, and apparently it has become one-sided."

The hurt his words inflicted was very clear in her features, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. The sudden frosty treatment was a shock to her system.

He'd been concerned for her before- she knew she'd seen it.

"I thought we were friends," she said shakily, voice struggling to stay even. "I thought you wanted to help me."

Praying it was true, shimmering doe eyes sought him for reassurance, but his dispassionate glance was brief and dismissive.

"I did not intend to give you that impression," he said. "I believe you projected things upon This Sesshoumaru that you wished to see. It is no fault of mine."

Apparently no longer deeming her worthy of his acknowledgement, he shifted his proud focus far off on the horizon. But, perhaps refusing to be run off, he remained, allowing her to study his regal profile as it all sank in.

Slowly coming to terms with her new reality, Kagome continued to gaze at his cruel beauty in a moment of heart wrenching resignation, and permitted herself another to mourn the painful loss.

Once it was over, she gathered herself up, back straightening.

"I see," she said rigidly. "Well, sorry for bothering you, and misinterpreting your opportunism for actually being a decent person. I won't mistake that again."

Though a few reins snapped, her poorly concealed emotion kept her tone relatively calm. Her passive-aggressive propriety did earn back his prestigious regard, however.

"I do not wish you harm, miko," he assured her, but now she was turned away. "And I am not displeased you have ceased injuring yourself as you had, but without need of my aid in cutting you, there is simply no purpose for me to return here."

"We make our own purpose, Sesshoumaru," she spun furiously. "You taught me that. You taught me a lot of things, whether it was your intention or not. For example, I used your musings as a tool to better my life. I took your advice and made you into a friend."

When only continued to stare back blankly, she shrugged. "But if you don't want that, I can repurpose this as a lesson, and in the future I will know not to mistake anything Sesshoumaru says for caring about anyone besides himself."

He offered no response as she turned in the direction of the village, prepared to depart.

"But it wasn't pointless," she said before she did, and threw him a look over her shoulder. "You really did help me a lot, and I am still grateful."

Angry and hurt as she was, he could see that her sincerity was genuine.

"That is acceptable," he said, and was surprised when she scoffed.

She twirled back around and advanced upon him with purpose, and for a paralyzing moment he wondered if she was going to attempt to strike him.

She didn't stop until she was an arm's length away, and held out her hand expectantly. He stared at it in confusion a moment before lifting a questioning brow.

"Give me my father's knife back," she demanded. "It's the only thing I have to remember him by, and I don't want you to have it anymore."

His other eyebrow joined the first at her audacity. He was almost impressed.

So, he reached into his clothing despite himself, and did as she asked.

She grabbed for it instantly, but he was quick, and held it just out of her range. She scowled murderously as he let his interest rove over it.

"Your father bequeathed you this blade?"

"No," she spat. "But I wanted it. So after he died, I just took it."

Gold eyes widened slightly and his inner-musings stirred.

"And before you start thinking we are alike, you should know that he actually would have wanted me to have this," she stressed, lifting her nose petulantly. "So the similarities end there."

"How did he die?"

She faltered at his question, and then again to see his interest was genuine.

Despite the time shared in honoring his blade, they had never discussed her father. She longed to, and nearly did a couple times- but that the daiyoukai respected his blade was enough. It meant so much to her that she didn't want to ruin the fantasy by learning how little he truly cared about him.

But the fantasy was officially ruined. He was no longer worthy.

"Sorry, that's only something I would share with a friend," she informed him, and held her palm out again. "My knife, please."

After staring a moment longer, he finally surrendered it back to her. She seemed relieved to have it in her possession, and he watched the brief reunion take place with veiled amusement.

"You know how my father died," he pointed out.

She glared. "Only because I am friends with you brother. I'm sure you never would have told me."

Shoving the precious item into her pocket didn't extinguish his interest, and he continued to gaze at her.

"Thanks for all your help." Cutting blue eyes met his fearlessly, chilling in their resolve. "But I won't be needing you anymore."

xXx

The days grew longer without him- quite literally, as those who managed to survive the test of winter collectively rejoiced in the gilded kiss of their reward. Slowly, the sun began to linger, as if cautiously probing the waters to ensure it was safe to emerge- that the danger was gone, and would not be returning.

The dark he took with him was meager compared to that which his absence bred; so her already weakened buoyancy was condemned to remain in hibernation, licking its wounds after an especially brutal season.

Somehow, it had survived it; limping through the heat until the days began to wane once again; starting a slow march to the next season of trial still crippled, and more weathered and ravaged than ever before.

And still, life kept throwing blows.

She'd grown adept at managing her emotional response to the external threats posed constantly upon her village, but found her c'est la vie approach much less effective when the offender lived within her walls.

Some friction in the family was to be expected now and again; but proximity exposed vulnerabilities, and strikes from close range always tended to cut deeper.

A rare trip to the modern era was well overdue; but instead of the warm, revitalizing embrace she'd grown to expect in trying times, Kagome was greeted with even more tragedy, more despair. And the thread of hope she'd been clinging to finally frayed enough to snap.

She stayed with the grieving shells of her flesh and blood as long as she could -they needed longer- but after a full day of emptying her eyes to the point of dehydration, the ozone around her grew too thick to breathe; and heavy, constricting around her skin as if trying to make her into a diamond.

She ran.

Her last sanctuary was no more so she fled from the hostile ruins, flinging herself into the well and 500 years away. But there was no better -though she would concede it was no worse- as the smell and sound and feel of the bygone era reminded her of the turmoil she initially sought to escape.

There was nowhere left to run, no haven left for her. Paralyzed in indecision and all out of tears, she slumped back against the well and unzipped her pack.

She vowed never to whistle again, so the urge to do so as she rummaged was quickly squashed. But another was too great to deny, and something had to give. She could do this herself.

Once she located the straight razor, she wasted little time on ritual. There was no savoring or honoring as she flipped open the knife hastily and brandished her arm.

With no sleeve this time to roll, however, she took pause. As she gazed down at her unmarked skin, a moment of clarity in the chaotic haze supplied that there would be no demon mouth to heal her this time.

Avoiding detection was key, so she scanned her scanty summer outfit for an area she could conceal. Grabbing the high hem of her skirt, Kagome inched it even higher until the thin strip of cotton stretching over her mound was exposed. She pulled the skin of her inner thigh taught beside it, shivering at the chill that passed through her at the thought of cutting there.

She didn't know why she'd never considered other areas before -possibly due to urgency and ease of access- but she lowered the blade to her tender flesh and indulged in the sin she'd lost the fire for with new relish.

Air hissed through clenched teeth as the blade slipped through her body and freed her crowded blood. It flowed like red wine down to the curve of her backside in urgent rivulets, where it stained the blades of grass beneath before being absorbed into the earth.

It stained her white panties too, but that was easy enough to explain away. What she could not explain was the persisting, painful void her actions had neglected to fill. The complete absence of even mild satisfaction, or relief, or distraction that she sought.

She hoped to rekindle the old feeling that was there in the beginning; but just like the waning weeks of her compulsion, there was nothing sweet about it, and she doubted it had anything to do with the location change. She didn't get the repose she so desperately needed, but only more stress, and disgust, and shame.

Frustration welled into rage as she stared down at her moment of weakness. While her blood seeped down her thigh without her anxieties, she wondered what she was going to do now. Her last refuge was gone, and a lack of options opened the door for new possibilities and a lowered bar for entry.

She'd never considered this acceptable behavior, but desperation and circumstance had changed that. Where would she go, then, from here? The prospects terrified her.

A firm grip like an iron band encircled her wrist suddenly, while another easily disarmed her. Before her heart could jump into her throat, a pair of blood-red eyes invaded her vision, dominating the landscape.

"We had a deal," he growled lowly. "Only I am permitted to cut you."

She struggled to wrest free, but it was hopeless. It took him no effort at all to keep his hold while she writhed fruitlessly within it, his other hand folding her blade closed with ease.

"You called the deal off when you refused to talk to me!"

"The deal remains." He gave a firm tug for emphasis. "You simply elected to cease harming yourself- or so you claimed."

The accusation in his tone saw to slowing her futile efforts before finally stopping all together. But the fight had far from left her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry I decided to stop butchering myself!" Her voice elevated in frustration. "I wasn't thinking about how inconvenient that would be for you. How selfish of me."

Exploding at the pompous dog demon was just too cathartic, and perhaps a dangerous new bar for acceptable behavior. But rather than incite him, the crimson in his eyes had regressed to the relative safety of the rims.

"As I said, it is of no consequence what you do with yourself," he said, and the reminder did little to temper her. "But I will not allow you to break your word to This One."

"It's none of your business what I do to myself."

He clearly begged to differ; but despite more than matching the furious glare she defiantly leveled at him, he allowed her to reclaim her wrist, which she pulled back to cradle protectively.

"It stopped being your business when you stopped being my friend."

She relaxed against the wooden structure behind her, though he seriously doubted she'd over-exerted herself with the pathetic attempt at escaping him. He eased back as well, confident she'd not make a foolish attempt to flee, and took note of the dark circles shadowing puffy, dehydrated blue eyes.

"And I did stop," she said, still focused on where he'd grabbed her. She soothed the area gently. "I didn't want to do this anymore- and I hated it, but you left me no choice."

"How?"

She realized this wasn't all his fault, and took personal responsibility for her choices.

But he'd been such a jerk! It was completely unnecessary, and made him at least a catalyst.

She scowled at her wrist. "Everything was better. I was feeling good about things - like I hadn't in so long. But then I was alone, and everything built up in me again."

Letting her hand fall into her lap, she seemed to mourn the loss until revitalized by resentment. "And you added to it," she said, "with how much you hurt me. When things spun out of control… it felt like there was nothing else I could do. I tried to ignore it, but that urge came back."

"Why did you not whistle?" he demanded.

She lifted her gaze straight to his.

"Why should I? Why should I give you the satisfaction?"

He declined to answer, and watched her become sorrowful once more. "All the times you drew my blood, and that was the first time you actually hurt me."

Sesshoumaru could scent the indicators associated with human pain -one particularly strongly- and none that correlated with deceit. It was a strained, stewed version of what he scented on her during their last conversation.

"I take no pleasure in harming you, girl."

Assuring her seemed to be a tedious chore, and she wondered why he even bothered.

"Then what's in it for you, huh?" she pressed. "If you don't just get your jollies carving up human flesh?"

His glower only deepened, but she was undeterred. The hateful look he was giving her only made her question his motives even further.

"What is in it for you is you do not accidentally kill yourself, you fool."

She watched him tuck her razor into his clothing, but did not comment on it.

"So what if I do?" she asked instead. "It's not like you care if I die."

Flinty eyes snapped to her, and an unsettling chill swept through the forest.

"Do not presume to know This Sesshoumaru so well," he warned gravely.

The danger in his tone wasn't what left her stricken. She'd said nothing she wasn't certain he would proudly profess himself.

Trying to make sense of him, he didn't offer much help.

"Well, I have to presume, because you'd never tell me," she said smartly. "But I don't have to presume that one. I know for a fact my life isn't important to you."

Her words betrayed her injury well enough, but the correlating anguish that played across her features at the memory personified it tenfold. He found it jarring in its brevity before she repressed it, covering it with her own pathetic attempt at stoicism.

"And how, prey tell, are you so certain?"

She lifted her chin in bitter triumph. "That's the one thing you did tell me. You said if I died, you wouldn't use Tenseiga to save me."

He scowled. "That is not what I said."

"Yes you did," she insisted, "more than once."

Cursing her own stupidity, she wondered why she didn't see it sooner. All the signs were right there. He'd told her plainly she was on her own, and he was only in this for himself. Once her use to him disintegrated, so did their acquaintance.

She just thought after all this time, that maybe...

"I said I could not save you."

She scoffed at the semantics, drawing her knees to her chest. "What's the difference?"

"One is contingent on will," he answered. "The other, capability."

She turned back to him just enough, letting curious eyes fall to the pair of swords secured at his hip. True, she'd never seen him use it- but she just thought he didn't care to. In fact, he'd said as much several times.

She knew he resented his birthright, but then… why keep it? Especially if-

"You can't use that sword, either?"

Precise golden eyes pierced into hers as something foreign flashed through them.

"Not on you," he told her solemnly. "Not again."

A sickly feeling arose in her gut only briefly before dismissing it outright.

"What are you talking about? You never used that sword on me," she frowned. "I think I'd remember dying."

But her tone trembled tellingly, and he wondered if instincts were the culprit, or something else.

"You were unconscious when it happened," he said offhandedly, as if reviving the dead was nothing out of the ordinary. She supposed it wasn't for him. "I do not suspect you recall much of it."

It was almost too minute to tell, but something in the way he shifted made him seem uneasy. Was it disinterest drawing his gaze from her… or discomfort?

Unlikely as it seemed, just the notion gave her enough courage to pursue her curiosity.

"Well, you cared to save me once." She decided to humor the ridiculous claim. "Mind telling me why?"

Pools of cool gold flicked to her resentfully, and she got the feeling her alleged death had inconvenienced him in some way.

"I bet I can guess," she said bitterly. It always came down to the same thing- the lone reason anyone in this era wanted anything to do with her. Her only use to any of them.

"It had to be me to purify the jewel. I was insurance against Nara-"

"No," he bit harshly, causing her brow to draw.

"Then, why?"

The displeasure rolling off him in waves only intensified the longer she stared, but she continued to implore him unblinkingly.

To her surprise, he removed his gaze first, letting it drift downward where it sharpened frightfully. She gasped when a vicious sneer suddenly found her.

"Fool," he snarled. "Did you truly think I would not notice?"

Wary of his sudden spike in anger, she fixated on the sharp points of his fangs -now fully exposed- and their harrowing proximity.

But she realized the source when she saw where his sights had rested. She'd already forgotten, and as he inched closer, the futility of concealing it from him revealed something else to her.

Before she could stop herself, she revealed it to him as well.

"I-" she gasped hushly, and suddenly her knees were parting for him. "I hoped you would."

The admittance came out barely above a breath as the demon lord positioned himself between bare, bent legs. Vulnerable and exposed, she showed no embarrassment at the proximity, or concern for the danger.

It wasn't fear that kept her still, nor made her tremble as strong hands pushed the pleated skirt past her hips, bunching atop tanned thighs and exposing her fresh wound to invite the cool air inside.

She felt the invading sting where blood still trickled pathetically from the slim incision, but evidence of more had stained her pale skin in stark crimson streams, and blotched the strip of white cloth veiling her sex.

Entrusting the old well to support her weight, her breath came in heavy pants as she felt the heat of his touch at her inner thigh. He coaxed her wider with the faintest of pressure, while her own strong fingers clutched at the grass beneath them for purchase.

Sesshoumaru caught her eyes with his right before making his descent, and the disdainful glint she glimpsed caused her chest to constrict guiltily.

The pain was not given leave to fester. His tongue made contact with her flesh, vastly rivaling the heat of his hand, solving her broken heart just as handily as her broken skin with the medicinal balm he slathered between the tear.

Blue eyes slammed shut at the merciful repose, banishing all shameful thoughts save for one: she marveled at how similar the sensation felt to the times he had healed her arm, yet magnified several thousand times left the experiences incomparable.

And soon, even that thought left her. The sting of her mortal flesh knitting back together was overwhelmed by the pleasure as his youkai tongue lapped purposefully over her self-inflicted injury.

He didn't stray from his self-imposed task, though the thoroughness he resigned himself to had the edge of his wide tongue repeatedly stroking along her bloodied panty line; and despite his measured control, the drag of firm lips was commonplace, and the occasional graze of fangs was unavoidable.

She knew he didn't relish this portion of the agreement, so she made a dismal effort to restrain the many wanton sounds his care encouraged; but she couldn't restrain the moisture seeping from her core any more than the blood from her veins, and it was soon leaking past her now-transparent barrier to join the slickness left by his mouth.

She felt her clit stiffen as it strained against its dampened shield, becoming raw and sensitive where the thin material clung, announcing it in proud outlines that contoured her sensitized sex. When he changed his angle of attack as he always did along the way, his regal nose bumped the protrusion, sending a jolt of pleasure down to her toes that had her legs trembling around him.

Her walls clenched greedily and with a sharp cry out, all of her muscles tensed. The next thing Kagome knew, her death grip in the earth released and relocated to his hair, transferring the filth she'd gained into the silky, silver mass behind his head to urge him forward.

He did not falter in his chore. However, he did not protest or reprimand her, either. With harrowing resolve, he only continued dragging his tongue across the open flesh over and again, covering it with his mouth and heedless to the effects he was having on her with each thoughtless brush of his face.

One long, sinuous pass up the vertical length of the cut, and then he tilted his head to the side once more. The skin was nearly repaired, but she didn't notice as the deftly slick appendage reached the crease of her inner thigh. The slow, involved movement ensured no trace had been left untreated, but as her grip on him tightened, she was silently willing him far beyond it, beneath the elastic he carelessly grazed and saturated, and even further still.

He never did, stopping maddenly close but far too far from where she ached for him to be. His steady, affirming hold as he grasped her hips kept her from slipping to the ground; and with great difficulty, she managed to lift her head from the structure behind her enough to take in the sight of him. What she was greeted with when she did caused her hollow channel to convulse.

The powerful dog demon on his knees between her own had to hunch very low to accomplish his task. With his chest and elbows in the dirt, he'd likely never bowed so low for anyone as he did before her now. He seemed to be concentrating deeply in the way his eyes were closed; and from that angle, she was granted the arousing view of his handsome face between her legs as it deployed his long, wicked tongue for her.

The vision alone was nearly enough to unravel her, adding more heat as it pooled deep inside. His continuous touch left her twisted and frayed until only a thread of sanity remained. A soft graze would be all that it took, so a rough knock against her swollen pearl was more than enough to make her snap, and send her careening over that terrible, merciful cliff.

Her fists clenched into his silken mane without regard as she threw her head back against the well with an audible thud that echoed all the way down the wooden shaft. She couldn't care less as the strangled sob left her throat, stars exploding behind closed eyelids while the sensation wracked through her tiny form.

As it started to recede, so did his tending and he finally slowed to a stop. She was still shaking from the aftermath as he removed himself from her and retreated up on his knees, revealing the perfectly healed skin of her inner thigh once again.

But she didn't notice. The only thing she registered was the cold, empty feeling his departure left behind, and the desperate need she felt to prevent it.

Panic filled her as he prepared to stand, spurring her to reach for him.

"Wait," she said urgently. He did, albeit placidly, and she bat back the guilt trying to emerge again. She couldn't afford it.

"I have the urge again," she said, meeting his eye seriously. "I need you to cut me right now."

That was the part he liked anyway, and since she'd robbed him of it this round, it did not surprise her when it only took a minute of consideration for him to settle back in.

He reached for her without comment, but seemed pleased by the lack of sleeves to hinder him this time. She yanked her arm back before he could touch her.

"No," she said sternly. "The other side."

But she wasn't talking about her other arm. Leaning back against the well once more, she lifted her skirt for him, brandishing the smooth skin on the opposite thigh and bent it accommodatingly- like he had done with the other.

She was still flushed and panting as golden curiosity roved, feeling no shame from the release he'd given her that was surely unintentional. Perhaps she was still riding high on endorphins, but her arousal had never been an issue for him before. At least he wasn't looking at her as scornfully as he had at the start.

She forced the unpleasant image from her head as he looked to be considering her request, squelching the fear of his refusal before it had gathered much steam when he shuffled closer.

Dragging his knees against the bloodied grass afforded his priceless clothing some nasty stains, but she couldn't muster any regret. The thrill that shot through her when his warmth returned electrified everything sour and wrong and replaced it with giddy anticipation.

He splayed a large hand inside her thigh, pulling the skin taut, and brandished a deactivated poison claw. Just before it touched her however, a curious change in heart rate gave him pause, and he felt her entire form tighten beneath his palm.

His gaze flickered towards an uncommon sight: her features twisted into a fierce grimace, and eyelids screwed tightly shut- as if bracing herself from something undesirable.

She used to watch on in silent awe while he carried out the process, sharing in the appreciation of his art, and honored to be his canvas. Her shying away now didn't please him, though he supposed her enjoyment wasn't necessary. It remained curious, however.

"You truly require me to cut you?" he asked. Uncertainty sounded strange in that silky tone.

Blue eyes shot open in a panic, like he'd just walked in on her robbing him blind. A guilty conscience made itself known briefly before softening into something different.

"If it is the only way to keep you here," she answered, looking up into his eyes, "then, yes. I need you to do it."

Her response was as soft as it was firm, and one-hundred percent truthful. He took a moment to decide whether or not it mattered that her reason for needing this had changed.

Recalling how unpleasant the hiatus had been for him, he finally concluded that it didn't. That she had a reason was enough, and they both got what they wanted.

He watched relief swarm as he used his claw to mirror the cut she'd made with her knife, only with much more precision and flair, of course. But it didn't last. As he applied more pressure, the sickly feeling of being split open was more disturbing than it had ever been; and were it not for his presence, fear for her life and disfigurement would have run rampant. She hissed in pain, and wondered how she managed to indulge in this disturbing behavior so many times, how she managed to find peace in it. Now, it only made her tense... and frightened.

But this was what he needed, so it was only fair. He endured unpleasantness on his end so she could get hers. And the thought of not being able to meet like this anymore hurt much worse than his carefully administered flesh wounds.

When he resumed his deferential pose like he was humbled before her greatness, and put his warm mouth to work repairing the damage he'd done, it was more than worth the sacrifice. Like he had on the other side of her throbbing apex, he covered her with his lips, lapping and dragging and stroking and chafing, and whipping her into a desperate mess yet again. But something was different this time.

Last time, each knock and bump and brush against her sensitized flesh seemed to be accidental, but as he ground his nose into her aching bundle of nerves yet again, making her scream from the wonderfully pointed pressure with every healing lick he applied, she realized it was just as intentional, just as thorough and attentive as the way he healed her wound.

His new chore did not detract from his original duty. He performed both simultaneously, licking in time with each stimulating graze across her clit. As the broken skin began to heal, however, his tongue began to wander, encroaching the border of her panties with progressively more ingress. It was as if her silent willing finally managed to break through to him when she felt his damp heat through the flimsy cloth that kept him from her.

He didn't breach beneath like she wished him to, but experimental ventures grew more daring until finally, his tongue was travelling roughly over the length of her slit in long, forceful passes.

She didn't know how long her wound had been closed, but she'd guess it happened somewhere around the time he abandoned her inner thigh to focus more aggressively on her raw, sopping cunt, covering it with his open mouth and working his tongue furiously until he had to be drowning in her sticky desire.

Hooking his hands behind her thighs, Sesshoumaru forced her open wider to run the entirety of his beautiful face against her clothed mound. She moaned, bucking into him when she felt his tongue trace the seam of her swollen outer lips, parting them through the barrier of her underwear, only to lightly tease the bud that screamed for his attention.

He cruelly retreated to her vocal dismay, only to continue the same treatment at her quivering opening, tenting her soaked panties as he half-heartedly attempted to pierce through with his sinfully long tongue.

Her attempt at physical force proved fruitless, and begging and crying did her no good. He was steady and sturdy, measured and immovable, and he would do things exactly as he saw fit.

Luckily, he didn't see fit to torture her for long. Squirming helplessly in his hold, Kagome endured his lips and tongue as they traveled along her hot, moist center, the dangerous tickle of his fangs and even the occasional nipping in her most sensitive area. She'd thrashed against him as each new sensation drove a more frenzied response, until finally, she'd had enough.

She gasped when she felt a single clawed digit slide behind the soggy cotton, hook itself around and give a small yank to test the material's give.

"Sesshoumaru…"

Her grip on his shoulders tightened with no regard for the silks she squeezed within them as her head tipped back. Pink lips parted in pleasure as he used his knuckle to apply pressure, barely penetrating her pussy as he prodded and perused. The feel of his bare skin tracing her opening produced more fluids, and he gathered a good deal as he slid along her soft seam. Drenched in her heavy arousal, he finally withdrew his teasing touch and slipped his finger free from behind her clothing, tearing it in two with his talon.

Once freed from its confines, the air hit her dampened sex and made her whole body shiver rejoicefully. Every nerve ending felt alive and acknowledged as gooseflesh covered her form, while the tattered remains of her panties flailed uselessly around her waist like a belt.

Now fully exposed to him, her bare, glistening sex oozed her pleasure freely. It coated her thighs all the way down to the curve of her ass, and continued to seep past the defenses where inflamed, throbbing lips looked to be nearly swollen shut.

He started there, diving forward to thrust his tongue between her tight walls and pry apart her insides. Instead of ending her torment however, it only drove her wilder. His insanely long tongue was also insanely strong, and he used it to stroke every inch of her canal like he planned on mapping it from memory.

The tender nerve endings were helpless against his assault, and Kagome cried her approval out in sultry moans when she couldn't manage his name. What he couldn't lap up with his tongue he'd managed to collect with his face as he pressed himself harshly into her parted thighs until they stretched around his striped cheeks.

She cried and clawed and keened as he continued breathing through his nose, occasionally using it to taunt and jab the neglected bundle of nerves resting beneath it. Her reaction grew frenzied as he began nuzzling with more vigor, until his toying became too much for her.

Bucking her hips, she thrusted herself into his face, hoping for just a little more of that wonderful friction he was so stingy with. When he pulled away, her panicked protest sought to keep him near. It was useless, of course, to try and contain him, but his short journey up her slit didn't leave her stranded for long.

All of her suffering was worth it when he slipped that healing tongue of his between her lips, and she'd do it again in a heartbeat. Making up for lost time, he played feverishly with her clit, flicking and rubbing the distended flesh with a firm, commanding pressure that she was far too willing to abide.

The few times she'd managed to glimpse him throughout his service relayed that he kept his eyes closed in that same concentrated manner as he always did while healing her- but, to be fair, her coherency and memory in those moments were shoddy at best. But the way he wrapped his lips around her now, running his tongue over her with purpose and meticulously ensuring not any portion requiring his attention was neglected, was not dissimilar to the way he'd healed her then.

Perhaps it was. Or perhaps he simply viewed both as his due- the cost of using her body as he wished to. Being different species, it was possible he didn't see the difference.

But she was miles away from caring as he rolled his tongue over her flesh again and again; swirling and caressing, and following her cues as excitable reactions grew more and more emphatic.

He finally opened his eyes when she managed his name again. There was something in the way she said it, and when he looked up to find her panting and covered in sweat, it told him all he needed.

Tightening his grip, he angled himself and applied his tongue in the method she'd given the strongest reaction to thus far. It seemed to do the trick.

She warned him of her impending release and ordered him not to stop, though the violent threats against his person were unnecessary, and a little worrisome.

Regardless, he complied, continuing to lick and suck on her tender flesh until the bucking and grinding and convulsing stopped, muscles tensing as if frozen in time; and despite her incredibly vulgar and vocal preamble, her orgasm arrived in a silent scream, and then deep, labored breathing as she slowly regressed back into a person- albeit, a much more relaxed, satiated one.

By the time her senses returned, he had wiped the juices from his impassive face. You wouldn't know he'd just spent the last ten minutes between a woman's thighs.

Looking down, she quickly peeled off her ruined panties and tossed them in the woods. It was no hard feelings; they were destroyed long before he'd gotten to them.

As Kagome adjusted herself for walking back to the village in a short skirt and panty-less, she finally noticed that both thighs were completely bereft of any incriminating marks… self-inflicted or otherwise.

She briefly wondered if he would ask her to return the favor, and a curious glance informed that his heavy armor made it impossible to gauge is own state of arousal. He didn't look turned on, but then, he always looked like that. Points for consistency, she supposed.

But Sesshoumaru stood up in the way he always did when they were through and wordlessly prepared to leave. She was inclined to let him, though she did have many burning questions. The look he gave her before he left, however, answered her most important one.

When you whistle, I will come.

xXx

And she did.

When demons attacked, or bandits raided, or life was taken instead of coming to be, Kagome fled to the woods and whistled, as she had so often before.

And the days in between, when all was well, and there was peace in the village and not a single worry to weigh upon her heart, he answered her call and fulfilled his oath to draw her blood.

She needed him to cut her, but no longer for the relief she found in the pain. She could do without it all together, but it was the prerequisite to the new relief she found in his touch, the duty transferred to his mouth from his claws.

He indulged her in her new compulsion, because she indulged him in his own. Without one, the other could not occur; and though the frequency of his visits had progressed to a daily occurrence, they never once spoke of the new intimate nature of their rituals.

Her thighs became the new location of choice for his violent and then pleasurable attention, but the revelation awoke curiosities -among other things- within her, and in time, and always at her direction, they explored the sensation of his claws and lips on nearly every inch of her, one cut at a time.

Sometimes -usually- she'd lead him back between her thighs to complete the ceremony, but sometimes she wouldn't. He allowed her to speak to him of her troubles and anxieties, or simple musings as they struck her, and should he have any thoughts on the matter, he would engage with a response.

So long as it followed or preceded his claws tearing into her flesh, he allowed her to take solace from his mouth in whichever manner she required.

Yesterday had been a day when his lips were better spent soothing her with words, and by the time he finally got around to healing her wound, the simple mending job was all she needed physically.

Unaccustomed to speaking at such length, rendering his assurances in that manner left him feeling somewhat drained. That was the reason -and the only reason- he preferred the other method.

But he didn't complain, didn't even hint that he was bored or inconvenienced, even when the session drew out into the evening.

Today, however, she was feeling much less chatty.

No sooner had his boots touched down on the forest floor was she shrugging out of her robes and rushing to greet him. Grabbing his hand to raze his claws instructively over her nipple, she wrapped her other arm around him for stability while he did the same.

He wished she'd given him at least long enough to remove his armor, but met her eagerness with his own as he carefully split the tissue of her areola right down to her pointed peak. A sharp gasp of pain as she clenched the silk in her hands, and then she was pulling him downward with an insistent tug of his hair.

She moaned when Sesshoumaru sucked her into his mouth, head tilted back as she urged him even closer. Another steadying hand on her rear melded her to the less dangerous portion of his dragon-bone armor, and the ticklish swirls of his tongue encouraged her to grind.

She found her release on the top of his thigh by the time he completed his mend, and amidst a chorus of ragged panting, a demand was issued that he'd come to expect.

Not a word was spoken as he lowered her to the grass, and after finally shedding his protection, pulled the skin taut at her inner thigh and brandished his bloodied claw once more.

xXx

A few days later Sesshoumaru hovered over her, bracing himself on his palms as she writhed beneath him. Kagome whimpered, trying not to arch into his touch as he slowly dragged his tongue up past her navel, and back down again until he barely crested the tight curls at her hip.

He removed himself to study his work, careful to mind his claws as he softly grazed the new skin with the pads of his fingers. Satisfied, he pulled back to sit on his knees, an expectant look awaiting her as dark lashes fluttered open.

Instead of her usual command, however, she got up on her elbows and smiled lazily at the demon lord between her legs.

"Where do you want to cut me?" she asked, prompting him to raise a brow. "It's always me choosing."

He watched small fingers trace the same path down her abdomen, still damp from his tongue.

"It is your body," he pointed out. A flash of sparkling white in his periphery drew his eyes back up her nude form.

"Not anymore," she grinned- a much more common sight these days. "I'd say we share it, wouldn't you?"

Staring back inscrutably in a way that used to unnerve her, he would concede there wasn't an inch of her creamy, unblemished skin unknown to him. And that without use of the miko's body, their deal could not exist.

But did he consider it his?

"Cut wherever you want," she offered casually, resigned to his silence. "It's all for you, at this point."

Sesshoumaru frowned as she made herself comfortable on the grass again, displeased at the notion she was merely humoring him.

She garnered the same relief from his visits that she always had- if not more. Why else would she continue to call for him?

"You benefit from this," he insisted sourly.

"From the healing part," she said, "but not the cutting."

The daiyoukai was no fool. Though it was never spoken aloud between them, he knew that while she no longer relished being cut into -by herself, or anyone else- him mending those wounds yielded the desired result. It was a means to an end, and he allowed it as much as she did.

"Without cutting, there could be no healing," he said softly. Something troubling passed through him, and Kagome pushed herself up on her palms.

"You're wrong."

Hard eyes found hers. They glared back at him defiantly, but it was the confidence with which she spoke that posed the greater challenge.

"The cut gives the reason."

"Because that's how you designed it." Softening, she gently lifted her hand to caress his cheek. "Whenever you wish, the cutting can stop and we can focus on healing."

"I prefer cutting," he said smoothly. "It is where I excel."

"Even more reason to focus your energy elsewhere." Daring fingertips stroked the length of his stripes while magenta eyelids became heavy. Soon, her other hand joined in exploration.

"But I would argue your healing power is your superior talent." A small smile played fondly at her lips as she raked through his bangs, lulling him further into a state of contentment. "Anyone can destroy, and far too many out there do. Building back is the true test of skill."

Suddenly, she framed his face, leaning closer.

"You kill beautifully," she assured him, "but saving people is what sets you above the rest. It gives us more tools, instead of taking them away."

Kagome released him, only to be held captive by his stare. Her stomach fluttered as he shifted closer, suddenly very aware of her own nudity and the provocative way she sat before him.

He cradled her cheek much like she had done to him, drawing near and letting his gaze fall down to her lips. Her breath came quicker when he dragged the pad of his thumb softly over them, tracing the seam until they parted. The threat of his claw flirted with the plump lower flesh, until a firm pressure caused her to wince.

No sooner did he draw blood than his mouth descended on hers, lips and tongue working feverishly to undo the damage he inflicted. Angling her toward him, his other hand splayed across her throat, tracing gentle claws along her skin in a way that rose hairs on the back of her neck.

Kagome moaned into his mouth, tempting his tongue away from her wound to play with hers while she framed his face again, holding him in place.

The demon guided her to her back as the kiss continued, intent on washing away all the hurt and disappointment long after her flesh had healed.

xXx

One day in the fall, Kagome whistled for him. Nothing tragic or troubling had occurred to warrant it, but it hardly mattered these days. Just his absence was enough to stir her anxieties unmanageably, and she'd given up rustling the bushes to scare up a reason to call him, doing so simply for its own sake.

But something was different this time. Strange, in the way he lingered almost hesitantly once arriving at their usual spot in the woods.

She had no problems to unload on him this time, no conversation for him to endure. But she was in no rush to get things underway, and for the first time, he didn't seem to be either.

Sesshoumaru's stoic façade made him hard to read by design, and she had a dismal record when it came to cracking it open. So, thinking he was just waiting for her cue, Kagome parted her kimono to reveal the expanse of smooth skin stretching between scraps of cherry red satin and lace.

His gaze seemed to wander in a way it hadn't before, resting heavily in places that, despite the involved nature of their encounters, she was sure he hadn't noticed- not in the way she wished he would. His blase approach to handling her body had been more than a little disheartening, but she'd come to accept that while he wasn't attracted to her human form, he wasn't disgusted by it either.

But the way he was considering her barely covered areas now definitely made her feel seen; and for a long moment, she stood there with him, feeling her face heat and wondered if she should reveal more.

His dispassionate façade returned when his attention shifted to her exposed middle, and the task at hand. The typical excitement and anticipation her blank canvas incited was notably vacant in his eyes.

He went through the motions listlessly, neither exchanging a word until the last, tickling stroke of his tongue finished repairing the path up to her navel.

"Do you even enjoy it anymore?" she asked, pulling her kimono closed.

He spared only a brief glance as she sat to tie her sash.

"It is not of importance."

Rather than rising, Sesshoumaru adjusted himself to sit more comfortably on the forest floor and brushed the dirt from his knees. He apparently wasn't in a rush either, and the miko felt out of focus as his troubled gaze floated off somewhere over her shoulder.

Once she finished fastening a quick, sloppy knot, Kagome scrambled to his side. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, he didn't acknowledge her until she took his large hand in hers.

"If you stopped," she said softly, "I'd still want you to heal me."

Her voice teetered on timid, and Sesshoumaru turned his head to find sincere blue eyes peering up at him. "I'd still need you to."

Despite the certainty she offered, her own insecurity was glaring. Kagome gave him all the assurances she could while leaving none for herself, and it was up to him now to sustain her. Just a word from him would bolster her a thousand times over- and when he didn't offer it, she dug deeper within herself until she mined the confidence they both needed.

"Do you want me to heal you?" she asked, sandwiching his clawed hand between hers. He watched as she delicately toyed with the points.

"I heal myself."

A raven head shook in his periphery. "Not completely."

Sesshoumaru didn't resist when she laced her fingers with his own. She squeezed, and he reluctantly clasped back.

"I haven't a scratch on me, and any you managed would heal in an instant on its own."

"That's not true," she said. "You are covered in wounds."

Her free hand rose to gently stroke his cheek, running down the firm line of his jaw. The light touch of fingertips traveling along his stripes had snowy lashes fluttering closed.

"You just can't see them with your demon eyes," she whispered, smoothing the lines in his brow, "but to me, they are clear as day."

Finger pads ran down the incline of his nose, tracing the seam of his lips. "I don't know if I could heal them," she admitted, "but I'd like to try."

When she pulled away, her calming, coaxing touch moved down his arm.

"If you'd let me," she added, and he was drawn to her smile. "You have nothing to lose."

He considered her carefully, noting it was not the first time she'd thrown his own teachings back in his face. It was nice to know she was listening, if only to weaponize his wisdom against him in moments like these.

Confident he wasn't just a blowhard who liked to hear himself talk, Sesshoumaru had to concede she -so really, he- was right. But any right-minded person could reasonably argue that he had nothing to gain, either. Though somehow, that just didn't feel honest.

He couldn't conceive of any wound a mortal would be privy to that he could not detect; but tiny, confident hands were guiding him onto his back, and he found himself acquiescing without a fight.

Nor did he protest next when they were yanking at priceless silk and shoving it aside, allowing flawless pale skin to be assaulted by the cooling season's sun-starved breeze.

She'd yet to reveal an injury, or even a glimpse of imperfection as far as his keen demon eyes could see; but despite his skepticism, he let her carry on under his curious, watchful gaze to see how she might attempt to heal him of his various wounds unseen.

Her methods appeared to be the same ones he had employed on her, though he had not heard of an instance in which human saliva displayed any value medicinally. Still, when met with the firm press of full, moist lips, the ridges of powerful muscle resting below his exposed navel jumped at the contact, as if in a start.

His view became obscured by a sea of midnight strands that tickled as she drifted lower on his torso; but the sudden involvement of her slick, swirling tongue between the drag of her lips stole the bulk of his notice as she continued her unhurried journey downward.

His pulse pumped urgently, jumping dramatically beneath his skin, but it barely registered as the miko's mouth left a glistening trail to his waistband. Once she reached it, she paused to luxuriate in the patch of fine silver hairs sprouting out past low-hanging silk, and a gentle tug of human teeth distracted from the graze of soft hands traveling down his sides.

She pulled his hakama lower, and a sharp intake of breath announced his surprise as her venturing mouth quickly capitalized on the newly exposed maroon flesh that curled around his left hip.

Noticing the heightened sensitivity, she sucked the skin between her lips, running her tongue pointedly along the lengthy stripe while her hand moved to stroke the opposite side. The sensation was so overpowering, he didn't even note that he'd become powerfully aroused until he felt the wet, welcoming heat engulf him.

The whisper of her name left his lips as hers slid down his shaft in an attempt to swallow him. He bucked lightly into her touch as claws wove into her locks of their own accord, and it was all Sesshoumaru could do to keep his amber eyes open just enough to watch as the soft, damp heat absorbed him inch by inch.

He felt the head of his cock drag down her throat until he could go no further, and with her lips straining around his girth, Kagome's eyes shot open. He was visibly trembling beneath her as a sultry blue gaze locked with his, leaving him otherwise paralyzed and forcing an inaudible gasp from his throat. He dared not blink as she held his gold eyes captive for an endless moment, before tightening her lips and retreating up his member with a long, firm pull.

The daiyoukai threw his head back, helplessly baring his throat to her unblinking gaze. Clawed fingers clenched in her hair for purchase, but didn't pull or cause any pain while the cool air rushed to the moist skin left in her wake.

Heavy, incredulous breathing escaped around his pleasured groans when Kagome began bobbing on his cock with increased fervor. His large shaft throbbed within the tight grip of her mouth as he slid into her again and again, her relentless enthusiasm and boundless energy causing the heat within him to coil unbearably.

With one final thrust, the taut thread he dangled from snapped, setting him free. He went rigid, exploding inside her mouth while pleasure and relief exploded loudly from his own. She continued pumping as he emptied himself inside her, only slowing when she felt the hot stream of Sesshoumaru's pleasure finally stop.

Kagome gently removed herself from his spent manhood as weak claws untangled and fell away. She crawled up the length of the breathless daiyoukai, curling up against his side and watched on thoughtfully as he slowly recovered in the grass.

When the stars cleared from his vision and the fog lifted from his brain, Sesshoumaru's arm was already loosely around the miko's waist. He stared at her a long time, concern and worry not even attempting to vacate his features as he pondered the young woman in silence, coming to terms with the fact that while what remained unclear, she had certainly healed him of something.

She wanted him to break the silence, so not a word was spoken for some time as they lay there together, waiting for him to recover.

Or a short while later, when he hadn't, so he grabbed his things and left.

xXx

The thoughtful, troubled silence Sesshoumaru left her in followed along on the journey back to camp, and carried on through dinner while her friends chatted companionably around the fire. It stretched on as she got ready for bed, and long into the night as she lay sleeplessly in her hut until the morning.

It continued through the next day, and if the others noticed a change in the miko as she meandered through the motions of their routine, they made no mention of it to her. It was possible she had just been too distracted to notice- or perhaps the strange behavior wasn't such a jarring shift, but the next rung in a gradual progression that didn't warrant raising eyebrows.

The others did seem to take note, however, when she failed to depart for what had become her daily stroll through the woods. But just as they didn't ask her where she went -or why- all alone for sometimes hours on end, no one asked on this day why she did not.

The urge came as it always did -screaming at her to go, anxieties clamoring desperately as the sun inched closer to the horizon- But she tempered it, showing no outward strain as night fell upon the camp once again; forcing the indifference she projected inward, seeping in until it allowed her a peaceful slumber.

Two more days passed without Kagome's whistle travelling on the wind. The temptation to give in and end her suffering was ever-looming, but as much as she longed to place twitching fingers inside her lips, it was one she constantly suppressed. The strength and will it took to stay her hand were the unadmirable variety mustered by fear, and she feared the repercussions of that simple action more than any battle in recent memory.

Sesshoumaru had never failed to respond to her summons -not once in all these months- but something heavy and terrifying roiling in her gut had her all but certain that the next time she whistled, he would not come.

An even scarier thought was that he would- and that they would carry on no differently than before. The prospect of continuing their arrangement now with nothing changing between them was even more unbearable than not seeing him at all- but only barely.

So long as she didn't summon him, she wouldn't have to find out. But she didn't know how long she could withhold. Until he confirmed her worst suspicions, that last vestige of hope within her could remain alive that the promise of a refuge- while far off and distant- wasn't lost to her completely.

Perhaps he needed time- he'd certainly seemed out of sorts. But unlike him, she didn't have the luxury of centuries to consider prudent paths. No, it was in her best interests to find a suitable outlet -at least in the meantime- and the healthier the better, before things got away from her and spun out of control. Again. She loathed to think what her sick mind might conjure up the next time she found herself overburdened, or blindsided by tragedy.

Focusing on her archery would be shrewd… but perhaps a sharp weapon wasn't the best place to start.

xXx

Breaking one's self of a habit is easy enough. All that's required is that you stop. And it had been weeks since last she whistled, so in effect, she'd succeeded.

Breaking one's self of an impulse is another story. A habit is just an impulse that you act upon, so as long as you don't indulge, the habit is broken. But how do you break yourself of an impulse? Can you, even? Or are you simply resigned to a life of self-denial?

What a torturous existence that would be. She hoped, with time, that the impulses would regress to something far less constant. Or maybe resistance just becomes easier.

Until then, distraction was key. Busy hands- or in her case, legs.

Running was a good option- accessible. Physically draining. Perfectly healthy.

It wasn't satisfying. She didn't feel an urge for it. But when she did get urges, it served as a non-destructive placeholder. At least she was getting back into shape.

Afternoon walks had become afternoon runs. Sometimes morning runs, and on stressful days, evening runs as well.

Today, she was on her second, and chose a path alongside a creek that ran into the next town over, but only made it halfway before something yanked on her powers, causing her to stop cold.

It had been uncommonly, annoyingly peaceful without the threat of attack, to the point where she had wondered if finally now, of all times, word had gotten around that fucking with the miko of Inuyasha's Forest was a fool's errand that should be avoided at all costs.

The menacing, insistent pull alerted her of the demon's direction, and it looked like someone hadn't gotten the memo. An attack on her village appeared imminent; so she turned back the way she came, more than eager for the distraction, and increased her haste. Hopefully her new hobby would see her cutting the youkai off at the pass before he caused too much trouble.

The beast's dark, malicious youki would lead her right to him, so she simply latched on and let it guide her like a beacon. Exhilarated by the hunt in a way she hadn't been in ages, holy energy flared to the surface, anxious for a challenge, eager to prove something- and her excitement grew. She bulleted through the trees and her power continued to build until the impending miko threat sent every youkai for miles scurrying to safety. All except one, and it only made tracking him down easier.

The demon led her on a familiar path through the woods, and by the time she recognized the powerful aura, it came as no surprise. Turning back never crossed her mind, and despite weeks of apprehension and fear, the pace of her footfall -and heartbeat- only increased, anticipation only grew taller, until at last, the magnolia tree finally came into view.

And at its base, she could easily make out the tall, white-clad figure leaning casually against the trunk; long, silver hair fluttering lightly in the breeze while he stared disinterestedly far off in another direction.

His aloofness didn't fool her, though- it never had.

Kagome didn't stop to catch her breath, despite the burning in her lungs and legs, continuing instead at a much less demanding pace compared to her previous rush to get there. Much like he had always done.

After travelling ungodly distances at breakneck speeds in his orb of light, she always thought Sesshoumaru's painfully measured stride for the last leg of his journey was some form of grand entrance- something to draw out her anguish and anticipation while she was forced to wait for him.

But now, as she came to him for the first time, and he was forced to wait, it was not for malice or amusement that she slowed her final steps. It was trepidation.

A thousand things ran through her mind as she closed the distance between them- and not one was regret over the last time they were together. Not that the image of him writhing beneath her -inside her- hadn't entered her thoughts.

She doubted the daiyoukai was capable of shame, but he still hadn't acknowledged her even as she drew close. Confidence faltered with every step of her approach, but she pressed on until she was standing before him.

With nothing prepared and nothing in the works, her foolish plan seemed to hinge on playing off the Ice Prince's expressive façade. As she waited breathlessly for a cue, his gaze drifted to boredly inspect his perfect claws, and something painful twisted in her chest.

So, it was just as she'd feared. He wanted her blood, and he was simply tired of waiting. That was it.

Him calling upon her was never part of the bargain, but she would admit that the terms had shifted since then. On her end, anyway. It appeared they hadn't for him- at least, not in any way he was willing to acknowledge. While it hurt in a way she couldn't begin to understand, Kagome could not deny longing for him to fulfill his end of their little arrangement as well.

Had his need been just as painful? If he was seeking her out like this, it had to be.

Steeling her wild emotions into something less bothersome, she reached for her sleeve and began to roll it up her arm. They hadn't gone the classic route in a while, but after the last time, she could respect that he probably needed a return to formalities.

As disappointing as it was, she couldn't deny the rush she felt at being here with him again. What was just around the corner, after weeks of yearning… all she had to do was get this over with-

"I do not wish to cut you any longer."

Freezing mid-roll, large blue eyes looked up from her sleeve and finally found his gaze upon her.

"I no longer require it," he added.

His unreadable mask and cold, succinct cadence bore down on her dauntingly. It would have made for an intimidating sight, if not for the golden warmth piercing through it, and straight into her core. The fiery intensity of those molten pools had her burning from within, paralyzing her with a passionate gleam that caused the blood in her veins to simmer.

It was quickly doused, however, with well-honed fear that protected her heart by keeping expectations at bay.

She straightened, dropping her sleeve, and locked her gaze with his. He appeared to be steeling himself, while it took every ounce of her resolve not to crumble apart at his feet.

"Do you still want to heal me?" she asked, and felt herself numb in preparation.

This was the moment she'd been evading, dreading. The last cut he would make would be to sever their ties for good- and that one, she didn't know she could survive.

She needed to be stronger, needed to build herself up. She wasn't ready for it. She would never be ready.

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips that bled all the tension from her body. That sweet, addictive relief she craved released into her bloodstream even before the soothing, honeyed tone hit her eardrums.

"Do you need me to?"

The graze of claws encircling her hips guided Kagome closer as every ounce of stress she'd held fell away at once. All the trouble and chaos she'd collected in his absence escaped through the valve the instant that his touch, and reassurance settled over her. And as he watched a pleasurable warmth work its way through her system, she gazed up at him in awe, noting the subtle changes as an unnamed contentment emanated from his ethereal form, blanketing them both.

She smoothed both palms up a firm, unarmored chest as he pulled her closer.

"No," she smiled, pressing against him. "Do you need a reason?"

His grip tightened. "That it pleases me is enough."

Strands of silver fell around her, tickling her forehead as he leaned to meet it; and when she looked up from his embrace, Kagome finally found what she'd been searching so desperately for. That feeling she'd been chasing.

He was all the respite she needed. The only urge to satisfy.

And she would satisfy him too.

"Does my pleasure count for anything?" she asked coyly, and protested when he pulled away.

"Count?" He tilted his head to the side. "It is the very matter itself. The reason we are here."

She simply stared back, and Sesshoumaru huffed.

Pulling her into him again, he bent slightly to bury his nose in thick, raven locks. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, as if becoming drugged on the fragrance, and breathed out a heavy sigh, sliding his lips to her ear.

"Your pleasure has always been the point," he said lowly, holding himself close.

That only confused her further. But she enjoyed the heat of his body pressing through their clothes as he draped himself around her, and surrendered in the security of his hold. She relaxed as he nuzzled into her hair more deeply, and squeezed him around the middle with a contented sigh.

"I thought it was the means to an end," she said after a moment. "I thought the reason you did all this was so you could cut me."

He pulled back, and found concern troubling her dazzling blue gaze.

"I convinced myself of that farce just as handily," he admitted, sprouting a slight smirk. "Until I realized it was the other way around."

Scanning his features, dark brows drew together. "So then… cutting me was the means?"

"It was my excuse." Gathering her to him again; warm lips brushed her ear. "Demon eyes simply could not see it."

She had more questions poised on her tongue, which were effectively quashed by the sinful drag of his own.

As Kagome kissed him back with unrestrained passion, she decided it wasn't important. What did methods and motivations matter when your objectives were the same? When in the end, it led you to the same place?

Then, as her arms slid up behind his neck and through his hair, and razor sharp claws traced over bare skin gently so as not to slice through, she felt an impressive hardness pressing persistently at her hip, and curiosity got the better of her.

"If 'my pleasure' is the real endgame," she teased, grinding lewdly against him for emphasis, "what are the means?"

She giggled at the deep groan she wrested from him, but then he tightened his grip on her waist. The steep roll of his hips into hers caused her jaw to hang on its hinges.

"They are one and the same," he growled into her hair before sweeping it aside, allowing his lips to travel down smooth, undamaged skin.

She shivered as his tongue traced along her flesh, gasping sharply when he stopped to suck on her collarbone.

"H-How can it be both?"

Sesshoumaru loosened her kimono and let his mouth travel further down her body- just for the sake of it. Just because it pleased him to do so. Not to mention, her.

As he helped her shrug out of her clothing, his answer was the last thing she registered before the pleasure swamping her mind took over completely.

"Just as we live by virtue of doing so, and for that express purpose entirely," healing lips rumbled against her chest. "It is no more difficult or simple than that."