Claim by Aubrey Simone

Claim

Disclaimer: The anime/manga Inuyasha and all of its recognizable characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi. I, Aubrey Simone, make no money from the writing or posting of this fic, and own only the plot and any original characters therein.

Note: Right, so I should probably be doing something else with my free time, like, you know, looking for a job or doing homework, but instead, here I am, writing smut. Why, do you ask? Well, because of reasons, obviously. Anyway, enjoy!

Claim

They say that your soul mate will be perfect, and as Sesshomaru stares at his, he feels like "they", whoever they are, didn't quite explain it correctly, because perfect doesn't even begin to describe the woman standing in front of him—she is absolutely stunning. Her eyes are blue and wide, lined with just enough makeup to make them appealing, and her skin is clear except for a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He wants to kiss them. He wants to kiss her.

Almost as though she has the same thought at the same moment, her eyes flick down to his lips, and the slim fingers he's holding onto tighten momentarily. She opens her mouth—her lips are prettily pink and he can almost feel the way they would fit against his—but before she can say anything, someone notices that they haven't let go of one another and the smattering of applause quickly turns into a roaring cheer.

The noise is sudden and unexpected, but his mate smiles so brightly at the sound that he can't make himself care about how loud it is. Her eyes sparkle as she accepts the congratulations of those nearby, and when the Event coordinator approaches them with a complimentary pass for a three night stay in the Honeymoon Suite, her cheeks go red and her fingers twitch in his grasp.

It isn't until they're ushered out of the hotel's conference room and into the elevator that he realizes that he doesn't even know her name—he'd reached out to shake her hand before she had the chance to introduce herself—and when he turns to her to ask, she says, quietly, personally, "I'm Kagome. Kagome Higurashi," and even her name fits inside of the spaces in his soul, like it—like she—was always supposed to be there. He tries not to gape like he sees others do at these sorts of things, and nods instead.

"Sesshomaru Takeda," he responds, and her smile is pleased and bright, and he wants to kiss her now, right this second, and he doesn't realize that he's a few seconds from doing just that until someone clears their throat—was there someone else in the elevator, he doesn't remember, can't think of anything but her—amused and soft. He swallows, tugs her out of the elevator, and absolutely does not growl at the receptionist to hurry up when he hands her their three-night pass. Really, he doesn't.

He registers the room under his name, collects their keys (he doesn't think they need two, because his Bonded—his Kagome, his soul mate—won't be leaving until he's done with her, and doesn't that thought send a delicious shiver up his spine?) and then pulls Kagome back into the elevator. He swipes the key to get to the Honeymoon Suite, and when he turns to look at her, she's already looking at him.

They don't speak, but Sesshomaru still feels as though entire conversations are being had in the space between them—as though she's saying I found you and he's answering and I found you, too, and there's so many emotions in her eyes that he can't read them all, so many emotions in him that he can't catalog them.

The elevator stops and opens not into a hallway, but into the great room of the Suite. Kagome makes a little delighted noise in her throat, and he watches as she steps out of the elevator and goes to explore. He wanders after her and can't help but watch her as wonder steals over her expression. He can tell that she's never been in anything as opulent as this room, and he feels instantly, insanely glad that he makes enough money working for his father that he could probably buy the hotel along with the surrounding block. He wants to spoil her, to shower her with gifts and make her happy, to buy her everything she's ever wanted and even a few things she didn't know she wanted, just so she'll smile like that all the time.

"It's beautiful," she breathes when they wander into the bedroom, and even though he hums in agreement, he isn't looking at the cream colored walls or the king-sized bed or the plush white carpet.

No, he's looking at her, at her messy ponytail and overlarge, wrinkled t-shirt; at her tight jeans and beat up sneakers. He's looking at the mole on the left side of her neck, and the bitten down nails on her right hand; at the pretty bow of her upper lip and the sensual pout of her lower one. He's looking at the completely unselfconscious way she moves, at the way that her hips sway when she walks; at the slightly pointy protrusion of her elbow and the soft curve of her upper arm.

He's looking at her, and before he realizes what he's doing, he's touching her, too; running his fingers through her hair, wrapping it around them and tugging until her head falls back, lowering his face to hers until their lips are inches apart. He isn't the only one who feels the connection, the magnetism, which is their bond; Kagome sucks in a breath through her nose, and even as he holds her hair, she's nodding, stretching, meeting him halfway.

Kissing her, he soon realizes, is unlike anything he's ever experienced. Her mouth is soft and warm, and when she parts her lips for him, the inside is sweet and wet, and he spends what feels like hours exploring its depths. Kissing has always turned him on—the intimacy of it, the closeness it inspires—but kissing her, his soul mate, has him hard in an instant, and when he drops one hand to her waist and tugs her against him, the sound she makes in her throat makes him ache for her.

He pulls away with a groan, and even before he says anything, she's nodding. "Yes, yes, take me to bed, Sesshomaru, please."

She doesn't need to tell him twice, and he's lacing the fingers of his free hand through one of hers, using the grip and his nearly eidetic memory to lead them to the bed. The mattress is soft and the duvet cool, and Kagome giggles when he flips her onto her back and runs his hands down her sides.

Ticklish he thinks, and his fingers are dancing across her belly before she can tell him not to, and she laughs and snorts and squirms and pushes futilely against his arms. "Uncle!" she gasps after a while, having wriggled so much that her head is hanging off of the edge of the bed. "Uncle, Sesshomaru, uncle!" When she cranes her head up to look at him, her eyes are sparkling like jewels in the sunlight that slants across the bed. Her ponytail is askew, the band loose and slipping, and when she suddenly goes shy, nibbling at her bottom lip, he notices a small gap between her two front teeth; it's adorably endearing, and he tugs her back onto the bed to kiss her again.

She sighs into his mouth and wraps her arms around his neck, and he pulls the band out of her hair so he can feel the spill of it across his fingers, like silk and cashmere and down feathers. She hums in appreciation when he begins to massage her scalp, and when he breaks the kiss to taste her throat, she tilts her head back and scratches at the nape of his neck. The bond sparks between them, and he feels her excitement swelling alongside his own, faint and growing stronger as the moments pass.

He murmurs against her throat, wordless, and she tilts her head back further in response, a plea and permission all at once. He hums and nips at her neck. Her pulse jumps wildly beneath his lips the longer he lingers, kissing and biting and licking until he finds the spot that makes her fingers clench in his hair. He lingers, suckling her flavor from her skin and unable to stop because she tastes like all of his favorite things: cinnamon and sugar and fruit. She reacts beautifully to everything he does, and when he scrapes his teeth over what little of her shoulder he can reach without removing her t-shirt, she makes a frustrated noise and shifts to pull it off.

He thinks that he might groan when he finally sees her laid out before him in only her bra, but he's far too busy staring to care what noises he makes. "Beautiful," he whispers when he can remember how to work his vocal chords, and when he reaches out to touch her, she arches into his palms; gasps, shudders, moans.

Her skin is like magic, soft and warm and right beneath his fingertips. She isn't rail thin; there's a little weight in her belly and breasts, which are nearly spilling over the plain white cups of her bra, and he can't help the way he falls into her allure, dragging his hands and lips and tongue over her skin. She cradles the back of his head and moans, shifting restlessly beneath him as he unhooks the front clasp of her bra and cups her breasts in his hands before drawing her nipples into his mouth.

She makes breathy, appreciative noises as he suckles her; noises that turn to whimpers and then to moans and then to half-whispered attempts at his name. Her hips are restless against his, and the fact that he can't feel her heat is a problem he's going to have to rectify—he stretches up to fit his mouth to hers again, and their fingers bump and twist together at the waist of her jeans. She pops the button just as he tugs at the zipper, and her teeth sink into his bottom lip as they struggle to get her out of the restrictive fabric.

"You too," she gasps, leaving him to tug her shoes and socks off while she wriggles and kicks out of the jeans and shrugs out of her bra. "Come on, you too."

He knows what she means—he'll always know what she means, because she is his and he is hers and nothing will ever be secret between them—so he pulls his shirt over his head and toes off his shoes and reaches back to push off his socks while she sits up, naked but for her bright green underwear, and unfastens his pants with nimble fingers. Her lips touch his abdomen, just above the splayed fly of his pants and the elastic band of his briefs in the same instant that he puts a hand in her hair, and then she says "Can I—" and he's hissing, "Fuck, yes" and then his cock is in her mouth and he's too lost in the bond, too lost in her, to care about the sound that he makes, punched out and gutted and raw.

It's a little awkward, because he's still got one hand in her hair and his other one stretched out behind him, trying to push his left sock the rest of the way off of his foot, but her mouth—gods her mouth!—is doing things to his brain and he can't think straight, much less straighten up or control the little abortive thrusts he's making, and when he looks at her, when he meets those bright blue eyes down the angle of his chest, she hums, licks, sucks, and he's coming suddenly, fingers curling in her hair and around the fabric of his sock.

His vision goes white around the edges, and he doesn't even realize that she's come too until he feels the bond solidify, and the small part of him that's hyper aware of everything that is his soul mate swells and widens and grows just that much larger.

His breath shakes.

"You came, you—" he says.

"I couldn't help it, but—" she responds.

"I know, me too, but I need—Just give me—" he pleads.

"Can you—" she asks.

And he's fulfilling her request as quickly as is humanly possible, finally snatching off his sock as she shoves his pants and underwear off of his hips, the hand that's still in her hair cushioning her head as they fall to the bed. Their lips touch, and he tastes himself on her tongue and doesn't care, can only think more and mine and more, and she meets him kiss for kiss, fingers winding in his hair. He kicks his clothes off of the bed and settles over her, forearms on either side of her head and cock resting heavy between her legs. He can feel himself swelling again already—he'd known it was going to happen and will continue to happen until the bond is fully established—and he thrusts lightly against her, damp from the saliva that hasn't dried and the wetness of her most secret place.

"So wet," he whispers, and she shivers, lashes fluttering against her cheeks, sunlight playing across her wet mouth and dancing in the strands of her hair.

"For you," she answers, and he can't help the grind he gifts her with no more than he can help the blood rushing to his member.

She arches into the hand he slides down her torso, shifts when he presses his fingers against her ribs, gasps when he detours to her nipples, swollen and red atop her breasts. He pinches, twists, and the sound she makes makes him lightheaded, and he thinks (although how he's still managing to think about anything with all of his blood pooling in his groin is a mystery) that she's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He says so, too, mumbles it against the upper swell of her breast, flicking his tongue to taste her skin as he shifts again, leaning on one arm so he can reach down and slip his fingers over her mound.

She's so wet that touching the cotton fabric of her underwear is like touching silk, and she keens softly when his fingers slip over her clit; turning his face into her throat as his cock jumps violently against her hip, he breathes out a curse.

"You—can I—?"

"Please," she whines, and he's not bothering with taking off her underwear because he needs to touch her now, needs to feel her skin against his fingertips, needs to ease a finger in her, to stretch her for him so that he can—

But he can't think that far ahead, not when he's so close to spilling himself untouched, and he eases her underwear aside, touches her heat for the first time—they hiss in unison and he bites at her throat, so close to coming that he can taste it.

"In me," she's saying, "in me, please, Sessho, please," and hearing the words on her lips tests his control, pushes at the threads of it until he's sliding not one but two fingers into her, tight and wet and so very hot. The bond surges.

"Come on," he groans, thrusting once, twice, three times. "Come on, come on, come the fuck on, Kagome," and then she does and the sensation of it is echoing through the bond to him, taking some of the edge off of his own urgency while piling impossibly more tension on top of it.

Her eyes are wide open the whole time, and he kisses her just because he can, twists his fingers and pushes higher, harder, squeezing a third in beside the first two and wriggling them in her wetness. He can hear it even over the sound of their breathing, can hear it even when her orgasm shifts from ebbing to building, even when she begins to wail, clutching at his shoulders so hard that it hurts. He hopes, idly, that she leaves bruises, and then she's coming again and this time the echo is stronger, longer, and his mind loses the battle with his body and he spills hot and wet over her hip.

She sighs.

He slumps against her side when his arm trembles threateningly, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses against her shoulder. She hums, and he feels her fingers drift around the place where his are still inside of her. He can't find it in him to be surprised when she slides one of hers in beside his—he'd known she was going to do it—and the sensation of her smaller finger slipping, caressing, his longer ones is enough of an invitation for the bond to rise again.

"Again," she says, lips at his temple, and he grins wickedly against her throat.

"And again, and again," he adds, and she laughs, breathless, finger sliding between his as he lifts himself over her once more.

|··**··|

Having him over her, this gorgeous man who was made for her and only her, is the sort of aphrodisiac Kagome never thought she would find—everything about him, from the way he looks at her to the way he moves, makes her hot for him. Of course, the fact that their bond hasn't fully established has something to do with it, but she knows that even after the initial rush is over, she'll still want him as much as she does now.

She smiles up at him, and he leans down in the same instant that she reaches up, and they kiss slowly, his lips warm and careful. He's methodical in the way he kisses her, tilting his head this way and that, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, pulling back and breathing against her lips before she even realizes that she's running out of breath. She feels special, partially caged underneath him the way she is, and even though she's still got one finger alongside the ones he's put in her, she doesn't feel lewd or dirty—instead she feels sexy, bold, the kind of woman that this man can adore for the rest of his life.

Pulling away, Sesshomaru lifts his head just enough for the light that spills in through the windows to light his hazel eyes to a brilliant, mesmerizing shade of gold. She instantly loves the color; loves the way that sunlight brightens his unusual white-blond hair into a silvery shade; loves how his skin, so shamelessly bared for her eyes only, looks almost luminescent, glowing with health and beauty.

It's while she's staring, awed, at him that he sits up, kneeling between her spread legs. His cock, slowly growing into the impressive erection she'd felt against her hip, hangs thick and heavy between his legs, and she remembers what it felt like to have it in her mouth, the heady scent of musk and sweat and the bitter salt of his ejaculate—the sense memory makes her walls flutter around their fingers, and she can't care that her mouth is hanging open or that she hasn't looked away from his cock since he'd sat up. He doesn't care—in fact, she can feel a frisson of smug satisfaction across their bond—and his contentment with his body sends an answering acceptance through her. This is my soul mate, she thinks, my one and only...my forever.

The thought feels right in a way that everything about Sesshomaru feels, and she smiles at him again, reaching up with her free hand to trail her fingers along his torso. His skin is warm and soft and smooth, and except for a pale trail of hair beneath his bellybutton, completely bare. She wants to touch him forever, wants to watch his eyes flutter closed as she ghosts the pads of her fingers over every inch of him that she can reach, wants to feel the muscles in his abdomen and thigh and forearm twitch with each caress.

Of course, spending the rest of her life in bed with him would probably be detrimental to her social life, minor as it is, and although it would be an acceptable sacrifice in her eyes, her friends would no doubt be a little miffed. Fingers stilling, Kagome allows herself the luxury of a smirk, and one of Sesshomaru's dark brows rises in question. She doesn't have to say anything, she knows she doesn't, but she whispers, "Any day now," with a teasing wriggle of her finger.

For a moment, he simply looks at her, and then his fingers twist suddenly, and she jumps at the unexpected movement. His lips, kiss-swollen and reddened, twitch with amusement. She rolls her eyes and cants her hips, and he obliges her wordless request with a slow curl of his fingers. It feels good, pleasure stretching up and down her spine in little tendrils of warmth, and she can't help the hum that vibrates in her throat.

Sesshomaru makes an answering sound, leaning over to kiss her lightly before sitting up once more. The pace he sets is slow and languid, an easy combination of thrusts and curls that makes her belly flutter with arousal. The bond rises up in the back of her mind and center of her chest, and while it clamors for completion and for the mad rush of unguarded passion, Sesshomaru watches her fall apart on his fingers.

It's strange, to be watched so closely, but as each twist of his wrist pushes her higher and higher into ecstasy, she begins to care less and less about the strangeness of it and more about the closeness she can feel swelling alongside the bond's insistent urging. There's no doubt in her mind that Sesshomaru is cataloging every one of her reactions—his eyes are sharp despite his obvious arousal, and even as she nears her peak, whimpering, he only seems to become that much more focused, that much more determined to ignore his own needs in favor of witnessing the moment he pushes her over the edge.

His scrutiny is intense, and she's far past the point of caring at the things she does and the noises she makes by the time he pulls her hand away from her wetness and guides her drenched finger to his lips—she isn't embarrassed by the immediate clench of arousal or the swift upward thrust of her hips or the whimpering plea that falls from her lips.

He doesn't respond to her words, doesn't give any indication that "faster, please" or "harder, please" or "more, please" has any effect on him, but Kagome doesn't stop talking just because he has no answer. She can feel what it does to him, to be the one to have made her beg, to be the one who makes her hang on the edge of orgasm, and she arches for him, puts on a show for him, goes past her limits for him.

"That's it," he whispers, the bond surging wildly, when she begins to ride his fingers, toes digging into the mattress and thighs trembling. "Look at you, fuck, you're so damn gorgeous, Kagome."

She shivers at the rumbling husk of his voice and clutches at his free hand as soon as he reaches for her. Fingers entwined, she stares into his eyes, marveling in the intensity of his gaze, the complete and utter focus he's giving her nearly as intoxicating as the movement of his fingers—four now, and she's so full, and she feels so good—and the echo of his own pleasure across the bond.

"Sessho, I need—please, I want—"

"Shh, I know," he rasps, and then he twists his wrist, curls his fingers and reaches into her, fingertips brushing mercilessly over the spot that sets off fireworks behind her eyes and under her skin.

She barely has time to suck in more than a startled breath before she's coming hard, thighs clenching shut around his arm and nails digging into his hand. Her feet are on his chest, toes curling against him, and she feels liquid dribbling from around his fingers—she would be embarrassed about it if it didn't feel so good, and Sesshomaru manages to twist his fingers again, and she wails.

The bond sings, and settles just a little more, but Kagome doesn't pay it any mind, too busy screwing her eyes shut as wave after wave of pleasure washes over her. She's still shaking by the time Sesshomaru pries her thighs apart and carefully removes his fingers, and she watches with lazy, pleasure-hazed satisfaction as he licks them clean.

His erection rests hotly against her belly when he leans over her, and she kisses him messily and uncoordinated, her legs folded up around his sides and her knees squeezing at his ribs. His hands roam over her skin before settling on her hips, and she's shifting even before he moves her, mumbling her yes's against his lips before his can I's reach her ears.

Sighing as though her permission was the most sought after thing in the world, Sesshomaru slides his erection down and she doesn't feel pain when he presses into her, only a bone-deep sense of satisfaction and pure pleasure. The bond hums quietly, and Sesshomaru's forehead rests against hers, sunlight catching on his lashes. His fingers flex at her hips, and her breath hitches uncontrollably as he slides in and in and in, and when he's fully sheathed she feels full to bursting, and the breaths he's breathing against her mouth are short and strained.

"Kagome," he whispers, and shifts out, and then says, again, "Kagome," when his hips rejoin hers.

His hands move to cup her face, and she hitches her legs higher on his hips in response, and they kiss, wet and lazy, as the bond slowly rises once more.

Everyone says that Bonding is one of the most intense experiences a person will ever feel, and as she stares into her soul-mate's eyes, as he moves in and out of her, as they share the same breath and the same passion and the same soul, Kagome has to agree, because everything she is and everything she's ever wanted to be is right in front of her, is hovering over her, is saying her name like a prayer and a curse. His skin is slicked with sweat and his bangs are sticking to his forehead and hers, and she can feel his abdomen clenching each time their hips meet, can feel, through the bond, how she feels to him; how she's wet and tight and hot and his.

The bond pulses higher and Kagome feels it grow stronger, swirling in her head and in her chest in a maelstrom of sensation and emotion. She hears his voice in her head, hears how she's all he's ever wanted, how he can't believe he'd almost decided against going to another Bond Event this year, how he would've missed seeing her and not even known it.

She hears him tell her that he loves her already; that he'll love her forever if she'll let him, that he'll get her a ring and a house and give her children and pets and more children; that he'll happily provide for her in every way possible (and in every way the rest of the world thinks is impossible, too).

Never letting you go, his thoughts say, and his length pistons faster as the bond begins to cement. His hands slip behind her head and he closes them gently into her hair, and she whimpers, arching, as his pleasure echoes to her, compounding on the taught coil of arousal winding in her belly.

"Sessho," she mumbles, "you have to say the—oh gods, right there—you have to—oh!"

Jaw tight, Sesshomaru stops his strokes and grinds his hips into hers, her clit jumping against his pelvis. "Do you acknowledge?"

He's shaking with the urge to move, and she forces her eyes open, forces herself to look at him as she responds, "I do acknowledge."

And then he's moving again, pupils blown wide with wonder and love and lust, and his thrusts shorten, his fingers tightening in her hair as the bond swells larger and larger. It reaches with greedy fingers for Sesshomaru's soul, and in the instant that her side of the bond meets his, her senses overload with everything that is Sesshomaru, and for a long moment, she is him—she shares his life experiences, his joys, his pains, his times of pure elation and the times where desolation was his only friend—and then orgasm crashes into her chest like a freight train, and she comes so hard it hurts.

Sesshomaru is pulsing inside of her, fingers locked tight in her hair and body completely rigid, and he's making the sounds that she can't; sounds like he's drowning in euphoria or maybe falling to his death.

The bond clicks, slots into place like a long-lost puzzle piece, and Kagome closes her eyes, sighing shakily as her soul mate's presence slides into the space in her soul that was made just for him. It feels like coming home, like finding the place where she fits perfectly just as she is, and she makes a small, contented noise as Sesshomaru settles against her, softening length slipping from her folds.

It takes a long time for her to come back to herself, but in the instant that Sesshomaru stirs, so does she, and when he lifts his head from where it's fallen against her shoulder, his eyes are so alive, so vibrant, that she stares.

The kiss that he thinks of as he watches her watch him, when it comes, is slow and languid and right, and when she thinks, I love you, he says, I know, and they drift off to sleep with twin smiles on their lips.

|··**··|

Author's Note: And there you have it: 4,912 words of soulbond!universe fic. I do have another story in the works that'll feature Kagome and Sesshomaru as soul-mates, but it's a D/s AU with quite a bit of angst and some triggery stuff, so I wanted to post something, well, nice, before I posted that. I also have a new story posted called Post Tenebras: Lux, which features a dark!youkai!Kagome and is not open to anonymous reading, in case anyone would like to read something new—you'll find it on my profile. At any rate, please let me know what you think, whether you enjoyed this or not! Thanks for reading!

~Aubrey