Hanashobu by Aubrey Simone

The Japanese Iris

Hanashōbu

by Aubrey Simone

She hadn't meant for it to happen. It wasn't premeditated, wasn't planned out or thought over for countless hours in the middle of the night. Of course, that wasn't to say that it hadn't crossed her mind, because it had. Oh how it had crossed her mind.

She would see him, standing on the other side of a clearing, watching as his ward chased a butterfly. He would always seem so regal, so unapproachable, and she would always find herself wondering if his icy demeanor was real or if it was just something he used to keep himself distant from other people. And then he would turn, just so, and his eyes would meet hers.

It would only be a glance, just a shifting of his gaze, but she would feel the power of his fleeting look all the way through to her bones. It would ricochet off of her ribs and pound into her chest, leaving her heart to beat wildly in her throat. She would blush and look away, but he would have already looked back to the small girl-child and wouldn't see what his eyes did to her.

But who could blame her? None could say that the regal Western Lord was anything less than perfection, and no red-blooded female with eyes and the proper working parts could deny the pure sexual energy that he possessed. She would watch him, more often than she cared to admit, and would see the small movements that betrayed his passionate nature; a hair flick here, a soft stroking of his pelt there, a shifting of his head in the moments before he lightly rubbed the fingers of one hand against the wrist of the other. He might not have done it deliberately, but she saw it. She knew that he hid himself behind the cold indifference and icy remarks. She, Kagome Higurashi, knew that Sesshomaru of the West was as hot as they came.

After she returned his arm to him, she and the majestic inuyoukai formed a silent pact; he would travel with them, would help them in the fight to vanquish Naraku, both for his own desires and as a repayment of honor to her for her services.

Up until that point, she had been able to ignore the attraction she felt for him—they only saw each other at odd intervals before—but as he integrated himself into the workings of their group (much to Inuyasha's chagrin), she couldn't help what she noticed.

When the wind blew, his hair would dance as though it had a life of its own. He would reach up to tuck it behind a delicately pointed ear, and the stripes on his wrist would taunt her with their gentle slope. When he passed her, his scent would wash over her and she would barely restrain herself from inhaling deeply; he smelled of nature, of pine needles and wind, of rain and sea salt, grass and earth. And when he spoke, his voice would vibrate against her eardrums and trickle down to her toes, leaving shivers and butterflies in its wake.

It was the middle of June when she saw it—hanashōbu, the Japanese iris, growing at the banks of the river near Edo. It was a delicate flower, pure white in the center and edged with vibrant purple. She carefully stepped through the dark, loamy soil and into the middle of the tall, graceful stems. Their scent, just as soft and as beautiful as the flowers themselves, enchanted her to the point of distraction, and so she jumped violently when his voice broke through the air.

"Miko, we will depart momentarily."

As always, the baritone timbre of his voice vibrated through her body, and she turned wide eyes to his person, swallowing thickly as the warm sunlight highlighted his quicksilver hair. "O-okay, I'll just collect a few of these and then I'll come back."

"Hn."

And then he was gone. She sighed and carefully began to pick the lovely blooms, burying her nose into them as she walked back into the village. It happened later that night.

She was gazing up at the stars, standing at the top of an overhanging ledge that looked out over the ravine they had decided to follow. She hadn't heard his approach, caught up as she was in trying to see if she could find the Little Dipper—was the Little Dipper even out this time of year?—,and when his youki suddenly battered against her senses, she spun around, inadvertently taking a step backward as she did so. The sensation of falling was a gradual one, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized that she was about to plummet down to a grisly demise. She couldn't believe that her clumsy tendencies were really going to kill her. What would Inuyasha tell her mother? "Oh, Kagome? She managed to fall off of a cliff and break her neck. There was nothing we could do to save her; the gods finally decided that it was time for her to go."  She closed her eyes.

And then the feeling of a hand at her back and long fingers around her wrist brought her internal horror to a screeching halt. It took her a few moments to realize that she hadn't fallen to her death, and then she had to work up the courage to cautiously open her eyes. Sesshomaru's amber gaze bore into her own like a drill through wood, and she went rigid upon figuring out why he was so very close; he had caught her.

She opened her mouth to stutter out what was sure to be a pathetic sounding 'thank you', but her traitorous mind decided to alert her to the placement of her left hand—flat against his chest. He had removed his armor as he did every night after ensuring the safety of the campsite, and his body heat filtered easily through the layers of his thin summer kimono.

Suddenly, she found herself hyperaware of every inch of the daiyoukai's hard frame, pressed so intimately against her own much smaller figure. They were belly to belly, thigh to thigh, and each breath she breathed mingled with his. The fingers wrapped around her wrist loosened, just a little, and she swallowed, unable to help herself as her eyes trailed down over his straight nose and traced the line of his lips.

The lower was fuller than the upper, and she wondered if they were as soft as—no! She pushed the thought away. She couldn't—no, shouldn't—be thinking those types of things about him! He was only a temporary ally with a hatred for humans and a disdain for miko, and—and his thumb was moving gently across the soft skin of her wrist. Her gaze darted back up to his.

There was an almost curious look in his eyes, a gentle question that she suspected that he wanted her to answer. A cloud passed over the moon, and his thumb continued its gentle, lazy quest over her wrist. Her breath struggled past her lips as the continued stimulation only managed to ignite a slow-burning fire in her belly, a fire that she knew would only grow if she answered the quiet inquiry that still lit his amber gaze.

Slowly, as if giving her time to reject the idea, he lowered his head, tendrils of his silken hair drifting over his shoulders to brush against her now flushed cheeks. His bangs tickled her forehead, but the instant his mouth touched her own, all other thought flew from her head, and there was only Sesshomaru.

His mouth was as soft as it looked, and the gentle pressure of his lips sent shivers coursing down her spine. Her blood rushed faster and faster, and her heart pounded against her ribs in a frantic tattoo, almost as if it were eager to knock against Sesshomaru's own, to share its desires and its fears, to merge and become the same heart, the same idea.

He pulled back slightly, only to run the tip of his tongue against her mouth, to trace its contours as though he wanted to memorize them. She could feel his gaze boring into her, and she opened her eyes, gasping lightly as the sensation intensified. The slick slide was slow, deliberate, and his taste exploded across her tongue as his own darted into her mouth only to pull back and resume the idle tracing. She whimpered.

As if the sound catered to his instincts, Sesshomaru growled lightly in response. It wasn't a threat, wasn't a warning; rather, it was an encouragement, an invitation given to her so that she would do it again. The hand at her back pulled her ever closer, and she realized that she was holding tightly to the front of his kimono, clinging to him as though he held her over the edge of the cliff at her back, as though he were the only thing keeping her grounded in reality.

His tongue darted into her mouth again, and her eyelids fluttered shut. He tasted her teeth, licked the roof of her mouth, and caressed her tongue in slow, measured strokes. Each movement was made deliberately, calculated and carried out with the purpose of making her climb higher and higher into the all-consuming fire of his passion. She could feel that he wanted her to combust, to cry out in his arms and beg him to take her, to make her his for all of eternity.

She was dangerously close to reaching some goal, some undefined objective, when the hand that had held her wrist down at their sides suddenly released the delicate joint, closing instead around her thigh and pulling it upward until her foot dangled behind his hip. His fingers danced up and down her leg, laid bare from mid-thigh downward due to the skirt she wore. Her muscles jumped, her skin heating as she responded to the light, teasing touch that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

He applied more pressure to the kiss, pulling her tight against him until her breasts were pressed against his chest. His hand traveled a little higher, and then higher still, until he cupped one round buttock in his palm, kneading and squeezing in time to the unhurried pace of his kiss. She strained toward him, trying desperately to get him to move faster, to cater to the unbelievable need that was attempting to swallow her whole.

She rocked her hips, her now free hand gripping his upper arm. She could feel the evidence of his enjoyment brushing against her belly every now and then, and she suddenly ached to truly experience it, to feel it pressed securely against her aching womanhood or ensconced safely in the palms of her hands. If her thoughts alarmed her, she didn't acknowledge it, and instead moaned into the melding of lips.

One long finger slowly slipped between her legs and in the instant that the pad of the elegant digit touched against her throbbing clit, she burst at the seams and exploded into a mass of trembling, whimpering flesh. The daiyoukai did not stop, however, and she clung to him, at the mercy of his ministrations as she climbed higher and higher into bliss, falling over the precipice for a second time as he growled against her mouth.

She came back to her senses what felt like hours later, only to realize that the dangerous youkai was nibbling at her lips, stroking her thigh as she shuddered with aftershocks. She couldn't bear standing, and he easily scooped one arm beneath her rear and lifted her against him, stepping back until he could lean against one of the many trees lining the small ledge. He sat and gathered her into his lap, mouth never leaving her own.

The sound of his voice stirred her as it vibrated against her chest. "You must stop this Sesshomaru now, miko, lest you become the Lady of the West." Emboldened by the deepened octave of his voice and the aroused, deep throated cadence of his words, she shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck. "This Sesshomaru is able to control himself only for another moment, miko." A warning, then. She gently closed her teeth around his bottom lip and pulled, soothing the bite with a flick of her tongue. Something like a groan sounded in his throat and his next words were growled, full of heat and promise. "Very well."

Clawed hands tangled themselves into her hair and he tilted her head, harshly taking her mouth until her lips stung from the force. It was such a change from his previous attentions that she felt her sex come to life once more, the smoldering embers in her belly combusting with a vicious roar.

Her back was against the ground before she could prevent it, and his hands left her hair only to trail down her sides. His claws played with the hem of her shirt and his mouth hovered near her ear. "This is your last opportunity, onna. If you wish to proceed, you will become my mate for the rest of my long life. Will you assent to be tied to this one in such a way?"

She knew that he would not simply rut with her and move on; no, he was much too honorable for that. He knew that she was untouched, pure, and he would never deflower a maiden of her caliber without accepting the consequences. She forced her brain to work and her mouth to move. "Do you want to be tied to me?"

He knew what she was asking. Did he want her, a human, as his mate? Would he accept the ridicule for following in his father's footsteps and the possibility of hanyou pups?

His lips traced the shell of her ear and his tongue dipped into the crevices. Despite their whispered conversation, her fire hadn't diminished and only grew hotter as his hands slipped underneath her shirt and flattened against her stomach. The feel of his skin against hers was like lightening that sparked and popped between the surfaces where their bodies met. He raised himself slightly, gazed into her eyes for a moment, and then lowered his mouth to hers.

"You are worth the trouble."

After that, there was only feeling. She gasped, moaned, groaned and whimpered at his movements. She arched up into him as his mouth closed around a taut nipple, held the back of his head as he laved and suckled her. She bucked her hips into the palm of his hand as he cupped her dripping core, ground against him in the moments where he pressed himself close to her and they were connected from belly to thigh.

The first full body contact without the barrier of clothing sent jolts of electricity shooting through her system. She might have gasped, might have cried out at the sensation, but she was lost in a haze of passion, her senses overloading on everything that was Sesshomaru—she couldn't breathe unless he gave her the breath to gasp, couldn't feel until he pressed the pads of his fingers against the insides of her thighs and didn't know taste until he laved her nether lips with his tongue and kissed her with her essence coating his lips.

The pain of his entry was soothed by comforting sounds and gentle caresses, and he held still for her even as he shook with the restraint it took. Only when she whispered her assent did he begin to move, and it was then that she reached for the stars and grazed their brilliance with the tips of her fingers.

She never knew true pleasure, she realized, not until this youkai, this passionate, heated inu, introduced it to her. It was everything and nothing, here and there, everywhere and nowhere. It was a pulling, a pushing, and a straining toward something that seemed to dance along the edges of her senses, keeping just out of reach. She tried to find it, tried to grasp at it, but missed at every attempt, unable to capture it on her own.

Tension pulled at every nerve in her body and the heat in her belly wound itself into a coil, wrapping tighter and tighter around itself at each long stroke. She raked her nails down his back, clasped his hips with her thighs, and raised her hips to meet him halfway as he quickened his pace. His mouth was on her shoulder, his lips skipping across her jaw and along her collarbone.

Before she could react, he pulled out of her and flipped her over to her hands and knees, pressing her torso down to the ground and pressing his turgid length back into her clenching folds. She cried out at the new angle, tried to rise up and look at him over her shoulder, but the hand between her shoulder blades prevented any movement.

It wasn't lost on her, that he was dominating her, asserting his power over her in the last moments of their joining. He was the one who presented her with such riotous sensations, he was the one who made her cry out in ecstasy and beg her completion. "Only me," his thrusts viciously told her, growling and snarling as the primal meaning jolted up her spine and clacked her teeth together. "From now until the end of time, only me!"

He marked her as she reached the pinnacle, pushed his youki into her body as his seed spilled into her womb, the head of his spurting length pressed deliciously against the opening of her cervix—a position that induced a mixture of pleasure and pain, rapture and hell.

As the stars faded from her vision and she slowly came back to her senses, Kagome realized that she had indeed reached that elusive goal. Contentment flooded her system, and she sagged, exhausted but sated as Sesshomaru turned to the side and gathered her close to him. A growl reverberated against her back, and she snuggled into the protection of his arms, drifting off to sleep as his tongue cleaned the blood from her shoulder.

At the official mating ceremony a week later, she presented him with a single, perfect flower—a hanashōbu. Her words echoed true and strong, and it was she who would be granted the honor of forever inscribing the meaning of that flower into hearts around the world.

"For you, my lord, to symbolize my undying faith and to give you the promise of my love, now and forever."

~&~

Author's Note: Man, I feel so much better after having gotten this out. It's been tearing at my mind for the better part of a month at the least. I blame it entirely on the song Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. The story actually has nothing to do with the song, except for the fact that I used the name to find an acceptable flower to use...There are actually three Japanese iris's, so I used the one (according to Wikipedia) that can be grown in Edo. You'll forgive me for any mistakes on that count, right?

Anyway, I wanted to get this out to let you all know that I'm still alive. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

p.s. - I'll be participating in NaNoWriMo next month, so I won't be updating anything until the end of November...maybe. If you'd like to be kept up to date on my progress during that time, feel free to follow my blog --> http://thenanowrimochronicles.blogspot.com/ and I'm also on Twitter (which is used just to talk about my writing in general) --> http://twitter.com/aubreysimone

~Aubrey