With Just A Brush...
Nov. 1st, 2010 01:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pc32_ficsThe tips of her fingers dancing daintily over his twitching ears…
“So soft…” Not unnatural. Not an abomination.
The heat of her skin as she presses her hand into his…
“Don’t listen to them.” She doesn’t ask to leave. Nor does she give any other reaction to the insults and demeaning names thrown his way as they walk through a village listening for jewel shard rumors.
The tremble of her hand as she bandages his wounds…
“I wish you’d be more careful. I’m afraid for you when you just charge in like that.” No running, no screaming (well, not from him, at least, and that’s something to be thankful for). Afraid for him, not afraid of him.
The tattoo of her heart pressed up against him as they run through the woods…
Laughter. Not jeering or tears (well, no tears right now. He hadn’t been an ass all day!). Laughing with him, not laughing at him.
Late at night, InuYasha stares down at his companions sleeping around the dying fire. Sango lies with Kirara between her and the monk – a living, deadly shield from wandering hands. Shippou is tucked into Kagome, her arms wrapped around the kitsune as though he is a teddy bear.
Landing feather-soft, moving with the shadows, he pads over to the young miko. Embers reflect bronze in his golden eyes, softened as he knows nobody is awake to see. Easing himself down with silence born of nights of repetition, he softly draws his hand through her ebony locks.
Holding a strand aloft, he breathes in her fragrance. Flowers, summer, something he can’t describe… but undoubtedly real. He slowly, painstakingly detangles every knot in her hair by hand, relishing in the silken feel from her future chemicals.
He’ll never tell them his undying fear. Not of pain, of never getting the jewel, of losing to Naraku, but of losing this. He trembles at the thought of opening his eyes and finding himself pinned back to that kami-forsaken tree. He’s sickened at the very thought of being filled with the betrayal, the sorrow, the hatred that had flooded through him while Kikyou stared him down, bow in hand as he slipped into dark nothingness.
50 years of blackness – then she came. With a flick of her wrist, she freed him from his prison. With a smile, she was worming her way past his defenses, into his very soul. She loved him for him; saw him for who he was rather than who he could be. Kagome.
He runs his fingers through her sleek hair, basking in her scent once more.
The sun rises.
With a whisper of his lips over her forehead, he’s back in his tree, looking to all the world like a lazy, boneless hanyou molded firmly to his branch.
Like her, he’ll never leave. Kagome is his light, and she chases away the darkness every time she brushes against him.
“So soft…” Not unnatural. Not an abomination.
The heat of her skin as she presses her hand into his…
“Don’t listen to them.” She doesn’t ask to leave. Nor does she give any other reaction to the insults and demeaning names thrown his way as they walk through a village listening for jewel shard rumors.
The tremble of her hand as she bandages his wounds…
“I wish you’d be more careful. I’m afraid for you when you just charge in like that.” No running, no screaming (well, not from him, at least, and that’s something to be thankful for). Afraid for him, not afraid of him.
The tattoo of her heart pressed up against him as they run through the woods…
Laughter. Not jeering or tears (well, no tears right now. He hadn’t been an ass all day!). Laughing with him, not laughing at him.
Late at night, InuYasha stares down at his companions sleeping around the dying fire. Sango lies with Kirara between her and the monk – a living, deadly shield from wandering hands. Shippou is tucked into Kagome, her arms wrapped around the kitsune as though he is a teddy bear.
Landing feather-soft, moving with the shadows, he pads over to the young miko. Embers reflect bronze in his golden eyes, softened as he knows nobody is awake to see. Easing himself down with silence born of nights of repetition, he softly draws his hand through her ebony locks.
Holding a strand aloft, he breathes in her fragrance. Flowers, summer, something he can’t describe… but undoubtedly real. He slowly, painstakingly detangles every knot in her hair by hand, relishing in the silken feel from her future chemicals.
He’ll never tell them his undying fear. Not of pain, of never getting the jewel, of losing to Naraku, but of losing this. He trembles at the thought of opening his eyes and finding himself pinned back to that kami-forsaken tree. He’s sickened at the very thought of being filled with the betrayal, the sorrow, the hatred that had flooded through him while Kikyou stared him down, bow in hand as he slipped into dark nothingness.
50 years of blackness – then she came. With a flick of her wrist, she freed him from his prison. With a smile, she was worming her way past his defenses, into his very soul. She loved him for him; saw him for who he was rather than who he could be. Kagome.
He runs his fingers through her sleek hair, basking in her scent once more.
The sun rises.
With a whisper of his lips over her forehead, he’s back in his tree, looking to all the world like a lazy, boneless hanyou molded firmly to his branch.
Like her, he’ll never leave. Kagome is his light, and she chases away the darkness every time she brushes against him.
