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 no copyright infringement is intended.
Pre-Note: This is going to be a collection of oneshots for my Pushing the Boundaries Challenge, where you, the readers, give me prompts instead of taking them. Unless stated otherwise, these are not interconnected.
This first prompt was given to me by Kat, who wanted a song-fic using Katy Perry's "Roar", as well as a M/F/M pairing. Enjoy!
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Kagome isn't quite sure when it starts—the wanting.
Maybe it's the very first time she sees them sitting together at one of the small couples' tables in the corner of the café where she works.
Maybe it's when she notices how they look at each other, like they're always hungry for something more than food.
Maybe it's when she watches them leave one day, blatantly ignoring the paparazzi that's almost always outside of the café; watches how a slim-fingered hand falls comfortably between broad shoulders, like that's where it belongs.
Maybe it's all or none of those things, but the result, no matter what it is, is the same: she wants them.
She wants them when they don't come in for lunch; wants them even more when they do; wants them when she walks by their table and hears the low murmur of private conversation; wants them late at night, when Inuyasha is asleep next to her and she's biting at the corner of her pillow, coming on her fingers and thinking of them.
Every time, she feels guilty. Guilty because one of them is her boyfriend's half-brother; because she should be happy with what she has; because she shouldn't want two men at once. It isn't natural to want such a thing, she's almost sure of that, and even if it were, she's nothing special—Inuyasha's always telling her about how lucky she is to have him, and he's right, she knows that, because she's knobby kneed and a little cross-eyed, and she can't see five inches in front of her face without her glasses. She's just a normal girl who just so happened to catch the attention of a rich man; just a normal girl who gets followed occasionally by cameras and talked about in the magazines and interviewed for daytime talk-shows, and even then she's clumsy and a little clueless despite having done it for nearly five years.
She's lucky and she knows it, but she'll never be that lucky; they would never want her, not even if she wasn't Inuyasha's girl.
So she does her best to ignore it. She goes to work even when she doesn't want to (again) and out on dates with Inuyasha to places she doesn't want to go (again) and suffers through nights where she has to drag Inuyasha into their shared apartment because he's knocked himself out with alcohol (again). She has bleary, three-AM conversations with their PR team when Inuyasha gets arrested (again); equally bleary five-AM conversations with her only best friend when she's on the verge of breaking down (again); and spends some weekends laying next to him after make-up sex, deciding that she's going to give him another chance (again).
She does a good job getting over them, she knows she does, because she can be in the same building as them without feeling her palms start to sweat; can greet them cheerfully and tamp down the urge to shiver when they turn their full attention to her; can even walk past what had become "their table" and manage not to do anything utterly humiliating, like trip over her feet or drop her tray.
For months, she deals with it. And then comes the banquet, and everything changes.
She goes with Inuyasha, of course. He's bought her a slinky little black dress for the occasion, mostly because he's rich and can afford it, and also because she needs to look like "less of a nerd" even though she'd refused to wear her contacts. She isn't really comfortable in it, though; it fits like a glove, tight at the bust and hips, and the hem doesn't cover her knees at all, and when she compares it to what the other women are wearing, she feels like a little girl playing dress up, not like a twenty-three year old college student who knows her way around high society.
Still, Inuyasha had done his best, she supposed, and she's been told that they do make a nice couple, so maybe she's just being especially self-conscious.
It's probably weird that she feels better once they begin to make their rounds. The banquet is a fundraiser for Yokoyama Industries' yearly donation to orphanages around the world, and everyone who's everyone is there. Kagome sees television personalities and A-list actors; international models and foreign ambassadors; lauded scholars and successful entrepreneurs, and instead of being a nervous wreck, the butterflies in her stomach settle and she forgets about how uncomfortable her dress is.
She smiles when she's supposed to, and doesn't fiddle with her clutch or her hair or her hands, and speaks clearly and competently about what she can, when she can. It's easy to do this; she likes talking to people, likes mingling face-to-face even though cameras make her nervous, and when Inuyasha smiles at her the way he used to, she feels wanted for the first time in a long time.
And then she sees them.
They're standing against the punch wall, not exactly hidden but not out in the open either, and Kagome wonders if they know what they look like—if they know that they're every artists' perfect inspiration, every girls' perfect fantasy, every boys' perfect wet dream. Her cheeks flush at the thought, and she looks away, only to find her eyes drawn to them again.
Yokoyama Sesshomaru is and has always been absolutely gorgeous. He inherited his mother's silvery blond hair and his father's golden-brown eyes, and his skin embodies everything that's perfect about a complexion—clear, clean, glowing with health. He's tall and lean, and tonight he's wearing a three-piece suit so dark it looks like it's sucking in the light around him. His shirt is a crisp white and his tie a dark burgundy, and he stands with his hands in his pockets, casual and aloof, like he's fully aware of how beautiful he is and won't let anyone tell him differently.
Standing next to him, Hasegawa Miroku, owner and founder of Shikon Technologies, is no less enthralling. Dressed in a charcoal gray vest and slacks and a white shirt, his long black hair tied in a low tail at the nape of his neck, he looks like the business magnate he is, filthy rich and only getting richer. The lack of jacket only makes him even more handsome; draws the eye to how his vest fits against his slim waist and broad shoulders, and how his purple tie draws out the paleness of his skin. He hasn't been a part of the "in-crowd" for long, but from what the magazines are saying about him, he's more than earned his spot among the elite, and isn't likely to lose it anytime soon.
They make a beautiful couple; a contrast in coloring but a treat for the eyes nonetheless, and she has a fleeting moment of wondering what they're like in bed—if they make love the way she imagines they do, hard and fast and passionate. Her belly flutters, and as she watches, Hasegawa takes a sip of the drink he holds, and nearly before the rim of the cup has left his lips, Sesshomaru is bending down to kiss him.
It's a chaste kiss by all means, but even as far away as she's standing, Kagome can see that neither of them are unaffected—they both lick their lips, and when Sesshomaru takes Hasegawa's cup and drinks from the same spot Hasegawa's lips had been, the dark-haired man smiles a smile that should probably be illegal; hungry and hot.
And then she realizes that someone is saying her name, and she jerks her gaze away from them and to Inuyasha, cheeks hot. "Yes?"
"You want somethin' to drink?" he asks, one dark brow cocked. "You're staring at the punch table like it's gonna grow legs and run away."
Kagome laughs, and hopes that it doesn't sound as nervous as she thinks it does. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little thirsty." Which isn't what she actually meant to say because now she'll have to go toward the two people she'd much rather stay away from, but now that she has, she's got to follow through.
Inuyasha nods, and doesn't seem to notice how her forehead has suddenly beaded with sweat. "I'm gonna go talk to the old man, alright?"
"Okay."
As he walks away, hands tucked in his pockets, she vaguely wonders if the thought of getting her drink for her had even crossed his mind. He used to do things like that, back when they'd just gotten together—used to open doors for her and pull out her chairs and fetch her soup cups when she was sick and drive her to work when her car broke down and help her babysit her niece when her mother couldn't do it. She doesn't know why he stopped, or even when, but she misses it more than she's willing to admit; misses the sweet Inuyasha that she fell in love with, the one who didn't get drunk and tell her that she was useless and ugly and nerdy and apologize the next day like nothing was wrong.
The thought makes her gut clench, and she forces herself to move toward the punch table. She is a little thirsty, to be honest, and it couldn't hurt to have something to do with her hands now that she isn't talking to anyone.
Weaving through the crowd is easy enough, especially without Inuyasha to attract anyone's attention, and she's got a cup of punch in no time. It's spiked, just a bit, and the sweet bite of alcohol soothes her slightly frazzled nerves. The little plastic cup is cool between her fingers, and she moves away from the table as another group wanders to it, slipping along the edge of the room until she feels a little less in the way.
She doesn't realize she's standing near him until Sesshomaru says, lowly, "Kagome," and she jumps, just a little.
"Sesshomaru!" When she looks at him, he dips his head forward. "Hi."
"Well, if it isn't the lovely Miss Higurashi," Hasegawa says, and his voice is as rich as the warm cobalt blue of his eyes. Before she can form a reply, he's grasped her free hand and bent over it, and even though she didn't think that the back of her hand was so sensitive, she feels every hair stand on end when he brushes his lips over her knuckles; the tease of a tease of a kiss. "A pleasure to meet you, Higurashi-san."
Flustered, she just barely refrains from snatching her hand out of his grip, and even when he does let go, she can still feel the phantom heat of his fingertips on her skin. Knowing she's blushing, she sips her drink and tries to smile. "You as well, Hasegawa-san."
He waves a hand. "Please, call me Miroku."
Her smile is a little less nervous this time. "Call me Kagome."
"As the lady wishes," he responds, and then flicks his gaze around the room. "So tell me, Kagome," – hearing her name on his lips does strange things to her stomach – "do the Yokoyamas always throw such boring parties?"
The laugh is startled out of her, and if the light in Hasegawa's—Miroku's—eyes is of any indication, that had been his goal. He sips his drink, very obviously pleased with himself, and crooks a brow as he waits for his answer. She shakes her head. "Only the important ones."
He grins. "Ah, if only we could show them the error of their ways, hmm?" His eyes sparkle with mischief, and his lips quirk even more, like a cat with a canary. "Maybe take a dance across the punch table? Swing from the chandeliers?"
She laughs again, shaking her head. "If you want a show, you've only got to get Ishida-sama in the same room as Miss Eklund."
Even Sesshomaru chuckles, and at Miroku's look, he elaborates, "The Japanese ambassador to the United States has a bit of a thing for Eklund."
"Eklund? The Swiss reporter?" Miroku's face is amused and growing even more so, and Kagome knows that he's thinking about the same thing she is: short little Ishida-sama following the beautiful blonde bombshell that is Therese Eklund like a lost puppy. He rumbles out a chuckle that has no right to be as sexy as it is, and snatches his cup back from Sesshomaru. "That, I've got to see." He points at Sesshomaru. "I demand you make it happen."
He turns the cup, very deliberately, and drinks from where Sesshomaru had drank from, and Kagome's mind goes blank because she's remembering that they kissed the last time that happened and she wants them to do it again, right in front of her.
And then they do and she's close enough to hear how Miroku's breath catches; close enough to see the way that the kiss isn't as chaste as she'd thought—close enough to see the pink flick of Sesshomaru's tongue dart between Miroku's lips, like he's chasing the taste of the punch.
Her own breath hitches, and even though she turns away before Sesshomaru straightens, she knows that her face is as red as red gets. She swallows, takes a sip of her drink, tells herself to stop being so damned obvious, and then looks back to them again.
They're both looking at her with the same amused expression, though it's more muted on Sesshomaru's face than it is on Miroku's. Miroku flicks his tongue against his bottom lip, and then chuckles teasingly when the heat in her cheeks flares hotter. "Do you see something you like, Ka-Go-Me?"
He steps backward until he's hidden from view of the rest of the crowd, behind one of the ballroom's massive pillars and the heavy curtains that were draped tastefully around the edge of the room. She's surprised when Sesshomaru follows him, and if it hadn't been for his light hair and pale skin he would have disappeared in the shadow of the pillar—even Miroku is only visible because of his suit and his skin; his hair is lost in the darkness.
She wants to ask them what they're doing; wants to turn and walk away, to go and find Inuyasha before—
And then Miroku pulls Sesshomaru's head down, and this time the kiss makes her knees go weak.
It starts off slow, innocent, just quick presses of lips on lips, closemouthed and soft; and then they grow longer, sweeter, sensual; and then gradually harder, teeth nipping and tongues licking; and then they go deep, the kind of kisses only lovers can share, the kind that she's gotten less and less of the longer she's been with Inuyasha.
They're clutching at each other now, Miroku's long fingers wound through the short hairs at the nape of Sesshomaru's neck and Sesshomaru's hands roaming up and down Miroku's back, sometimes wandering over his bum and sometimes tugging at his hair.
She can't look away, even when they pull apart for breath, foreheads touching and mouths only inches apart, and she's suddenly aware of what she must look like to anyone who might look her way, flushed and breathing as though she's been chased around the ballroom. Her entire body feels hot, and the space between her legs is slick with heat; in her embarrassment, she must make some sort of noise, because Miroku turns, his forehead still resting against Sesshomaru's. His lips look just a little puffier than before, and the sight of him—of both of them, because Sesshomaru is looking at her now, too—makes her palms itch with the urge to touch.
And then they shift, just a little, so that there's a space between them—a space she could fit into.
She can't breathe.
They're giving her the same expression; aroused, open, inviting, and she wavers between going to them and walking away; between giving in and giving up.
She swallows hard, fingertips tingling, and then, almost without any conscious thought, she sets her cup on one of the strategically places tables and her body tips forward instead of backward and she gives in to the flaring want with a whimper.
The space between them is hot with arousal, and the air sparks like electricity against her bare arms; she gasps when two pairs of hands slip across her torso and wander in different directions, one up and one down; and then there are strong fingers tipping her head upward and a mouth so close she can feel the heat of it. At her back, Miroku hums deeply, the sound vibrating through her dress, and rubs his thumbs in slow, maddening circles against the small of her back. He breathes in her ear and presses himself close, the strong line of his cock heavy in between his thumbs.
The moment stretches out until she wants it so badly she can taste it, and then Sesshomaru pulls her the last fraction of an inch upward and their mouths touch softly, sweetly.
And, oh, if she thought she couldn't breathe before then she must be dying now, because Sesshomaru's lips feel swollen and warm against hers and the reminder that he was kissing someone just a few moments ago—that he was kissing the man pressed so tightly against her back—makes her shiver with renewed arousal. She doesn't realize that she's whimpering until Miroku shushes her, fingers rubbing soothingly at her hips.
His lips trail against the junction between her shoulder and neck, and when she gasps, Sesshomaru tilts her head further and slips his tongue into her mouth. He tastes like punch and caviar and spice and something musky that she thinks might be Miroku, and his fingers tighten where they're cupped around her cheeks, pulling her closer.
Her hands are still at her sides, stuck between clenching at the air and clutching at her dress, and Miroku makes a thoughtful little noise before grasping them in his own and lifting them up onto Sesshomaru's shoulders. She holds on reflexively, and then whimpers when Sesshomaru somehow pulls her even closer, until she's almost on tiptoe even in her heels, and Miroku's erection is nestled right between her cheeks.
He grinds into her once, and then again, and when she pulls away from Sesshomaru to breathe, he grips her hips and turns her bodily around, sweeping down to kiss her before she even registers the shadowed planes of his face.
Their kisses are as different as their personalities: where Sesshomaru was thorough and attentive, Miroku is greedy and almost harsh, nipping at her lips and making sounds in his throat like she's not kissing him fast enough for his tastes. His hands are still on her hips, kneading and pulling and pushing—pulling her into him and then pushing her back into Sesshomaru, whose breath huffs over her neck in quickening puffs.
She's turned again, and again, and again; until she's dizzy with trying to keep up; dizzy with arousal and the taste and feel of both of them; dizzy because her glasses are still on but they might as well be on the floor for how often she opens her eyes. She's hardly breathing anymore, sucking in quick little gasps between kisses, lightheaded and the closest she's been to coming without actually being touched in her life.
When she's spun away from Miroku for the umpteenth time, Sesshomaru kisses her cheeks instead of her swollen lips, ghosting his lips across the bridge of her nose and straightening her glasses as he goes. "Where is Inuyasha?" he breathes, fingertips smoothing circles into her scalp. Her dress slides distractingly against her skin where Miroku has his hand pressed against her belly, and she has to swallow three times before she can answer.
"H-he said he was g-going to talk to your f-father."
"Do you want to go back with him?"
Her thoughts are liquid and slippery, and even though the mention of Inuyasha puts something of a damper on her arousal, the fact that Miroku is nipping lightly at the curve of her shoulder keeps the flames from going out completely. "I—What...what if I don't?"
"You'll come home with us," Miroku responds, "and we'll show you how you should be treated."
Her breath hitches, eyes screwed shut. "Inuyasha doesn't—he isn't like that, I don't—"
"Don't make excuses for him," Sesshomaru interrupts quietly, his voice low. "Don't you dare." She sucks in a breath, but he keeps talking, the hand at her scalp clenching until he has her hair bunched in his fist. "You've been out of sight for ten fucking minutes, and where is he? Where?"
She wants to deny it, wants to tell him that he doesn't know Inuyasha like she does even though he's his brother, wants to say that her boyfriend hasn't forgotten about her, because he loves her…Doesn't he?
When she opens her eyes, Sesshomaru is looking at her, and she can feel Miroku's eyes boring into her as well, and suddenly, under the weight of their gazes, Kagome feels the last thread of denial snap.
Inuyasha doesn't love her—if he did, then he would have come looking for her, especially since she was only going to get a drink. If he did, he wouldn't belittle her, wouldn't treat their lovemaking like a chore, would put her pleasure above his own. He doesn't love her. And she doesn't love him.
The tears get stuck in her throat, and when she lets her head fall onto Sesshomaru's chest, one of his arms curls around her waist. Behind her, Miroku shifts to wind his arm just underneath her breasts, and she stands there, bracketed between them, shaking with tears she can't cry.
"We've got you," Miroku whispers, and the assenting noise Sesshomaru makes is like an extra bit of balm against the wound.
She shudders again, and then nods. "O-okay."
When they pull away, they do so slowly, and Kagome sways lightly on her feet, only now aware of the ache in her heels. Miroku puts a hand on her hip, and Sesshomaru brushes his fingers through her hair, and then they're moving around the edge of the room.
She doesn't know how they make it out without being seen, or into the parking lot and to Sesshomaru's car without the paparazzi going crazy, but when Miroku pulls her onto his lap in the passenger seat of Sesshomaru's two-seater, she feels her cheeks heating up again, her previous sorrow forgotten.
In the car, the smell of their combined cologne is like an aphrodisiac, warm and heavy without being overpowering, and sitting in Miroku's lap the way she is, facing him with Sesshomaru's jacket thrown over her shoulders in case she needs to hide (paparazzi have been known to follow his car), she knows that the man can see her flush.
He reaches up and runs the back of a finger over one cheek, and she blushes harder at the softness of the gesture. "Beautiful."
And then he's kissing her again, pulling at her lips with his teeth and winding one hand into her hair while the other one cups possessively over her ass and pulls her close.
It doesn't take long at all for her arousal to flare, and Miroku breathes encouragement over her lips when she begins to squirm, things like yeah and c'mon and show me how you'll ride me and it's the last one that hits her like a punch to the gut; swells her clit and slicks her lips and wets her underwear. She gasps against his mouth when he shifts in the seat, hitching his hips up just when she rocks forward, and the low, rumbling groan that he vocalizes against her lips is echoed by Sesshomaru.
She looks up, and the man has one hand pressed into his lap, the other gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles are bone-white against his already pale skin. Kagome swallows thickly, and even when Miroku leans forward to bite her neck, she can't look away from Sesshomaru—Sesshomaru who is far less in control than she's ever seen him; Sesshomaru who keeps glancing at her from the corner of his eye, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Miroku's fingers tighten on her hips, and in a display of strength he doesn't look like he has, he begins to force her to rock against the thick line of his cock, breathing heavily against her ear.
"Look what you do to him," he says, not quietly, "look how much he wants you." He catches the lobe of her ear between his teeth, sending a shock of arousal down her spine, and his breathing gets heavier, his voice thicker. "He wants to fuck you, little shirayuri; he wants to stuff you full of cock and come and make you his." He moves her faster, whether because of the noise she makes or the way his cock jumps she doesn't know. "And then," he continues, while she watches Sesshomaru's hand move over the expensive fabric of his slacks, "he wants to watch while I fuck you and fill you and fuck you again."
And Kagome's breath sticks in her throat, because Sesshomaru's hand goes abruptly still and he grunts, hips flexing, and—and Miroku groans, pulling her down against him—and then she's coming too, eyes wide, because how could she not, knowing that they had?
For a long time there's only the sound of their breathing and the purr of the engine and the quiet rush of the other cars on the street, and then Miroku makes a small, satisfied noise in his throat, his hands smoothing over her hips. She feels vaguely embarrassed, more like an echo of embarrassment than the actual emotion, but Miroku looks so satiated that she can't pay attention to the heat in her cheeks.
He blinks, slowly, at her, his eyelids heavy, and then shifts until she's only straddling one leg and can lie more comfortably against his chest. With her head tucked under his chin, she can see Sesshomaru, who flicks a glance at her every now and then, the flush on his cheeks only visible because of the lights that come through the windshield.
She reaches on impulse, and he lets her hold his free hand; when she tugs it across the center console, Miroku lays his hand over theirs, and Kagome feels a strange sort of rightness settle over her, like this is where she's supposed to be—like these two are who she's supposed to be with.
The sensation lasts through the rest of the drive, and even after Sesshomaru pulls into the garage of his expensive apartment building and leads them to his private elevator, it hasn't faded.
Kagome wonders if this is why she couldn't get the thought of them out of her head. Has she been denying herself something that was supposed to be hers all along? Has she been letting Inuyasha's jealousy and bullheadedness and stubborn refusal and her own learned complacency keep her from this?
She doesn't like the thought that she had, and resolves not to let Inuyasha keep her down any longer. He's not going to be the reason she fades into nothing more than "the younger Yokoyama's girlfriend"; he's not going to be the reason why she never makes anything of herself, not anymore. Now, she's going to stand on her own two feet—she's going to stand up for herself—and maybe, just maybe, she'll have these two to stand beside her.
Her thoughts trail off as Sesshomaru steps out of the elevator, and even before she gets a good look at the living room that the elevator opens into, he has her face cradled in his big hands and his lips pressed tightly to hers.
She whimpers, and this time there's no teasing; Sesshomaru kisses her hard and deep, and beside her, Miroku groans. "That's gorgeous," he whispers. "You're beautiful together, just like I knew you'd be." Kagome feels his fingers flutter over her shoulders, and then his hand in in her hair and he's tugging, hard, so hard that her mouth detaches from Sesshomaru's with a lewd smack. "I want to watch him fuck you," he says into her ear, "and I want to watch it now."
And then he's got the zipper of her dress down and is palming at her breasts and hips and ass, whispering filthy things in between harsh kisses and moving her bodily through the suite.
Kagome can't breathe around the rush of it—of knowing that Miroku, so poised in public, is apparently animalistic in private. She catches glimpses of Sesshomaru as Miroku pushes her, and the heated look he fixes them with only ratchets her own arousal higher. Sesshomaru likes this; he likes watching her be manhandled through his apartment by his boyfriend, likes listening to the filth that spills out of Miroku's mouth with every breath, likes standing back while Miroku presses bruises into her hips with his fingertips.
Miroku says something especially dirty when he shoves her onto the bed, her bra hanging off of one shoulder and her underwear around her ankles—something about eating Sesshomaru's come out of her—and then hisses when she digs her nails into his sides. It's a reflex, but the sound intrigues her, and she does it again, and Miroku grins, hips stuttering.
"Kitty's got claws," he says, sliding himself between her thighs with no apparent care to how he's wrinkling his clothes. "Do it again." There's a grin on his face, wild with arousal, and he grinds down against her, hard again already, when she complies, groaning deep in his throat. "Fuck."
The bed dips, and Kagome looks over to see Sesshomaru, dressed in everything but his jacket, kneeling on the edge. The light in his eyes is so heated that he might as well set them on fire, and then he leans forward, kisses Kagome, and hauls her from under Miroku.
By the time the world stops moving, she's laying on the edge of the bed with Sesshomaru standing between her legs and Miroku at her side, biting her shoulder and trailing his fingertips over her belly. Sesshomaru's pulled himself out of his trousers, and she only has a moment to marvel at the absolute beauty of his once more erect cock, shining wetly from his earlier orgasm, before he's peering at her, asking a question without asking. She nods—she's clean and on the pill, and Inuyasha had never wanted to do it without a condom anyway—and then he's rubbing the wet head of himself over her clit, pressing teasingly at her opening.
She groans at the teasing pressure, but when she arches her hips he pulls away, free hand kneading at her thigh. Kagome bites back a whine, her breath ragged in her throat, grabbing at Miroku's hand and the bedspread. She feels so wet, wetter than she's ever been, and her stomach is jittery with excitement, her nipples pebbled in the cool air. She wants, badly, to be taken—wants to feel the stretch and burn, wants the dragging pull and fiery pleasure of being stretched open.
Sesshomaru watches her for a long moment, pressing and pulling away and pressing again, and then, when she lets her head fall back against the mattress, slides in without warning. And in. And in.
She can't breathe.
He feels huge inside of her, heavy and thick and long, and what little pain there is only adds to the experience. Miroku mouths at her shoulder, and the fingers he has twined with hers massage into her belly, just above her mound. He presses down, hard, and added pressure only makes her feel fuller; she groans and he grins against her skin.
"Fuck her," he says in the instant before he moves away, and over the rustle of his clothes and the harsh rasp of her breath, Kagome hears Sesshomaru hum low in his throat. He shifts his grip, lifting her legs until her feet are braced on his shoulders and his fingertips are pressing into her thighs, and then looks at her and grins.
It's a wicked, wicked grin, like a shark or a fox or a particularly mischievous dog, and Kagome only has a few seconds to be apprehensive about it; Sesshomaru pulls free and then presses forward again, so slowly that she feels every vein, every pulse of his heartbeat, every inch of skin sliding against skin.
It doesn't take her long to realize that he fucks like he kisses; methodical, passionate, and with every intention of driving her out of her damn mind. Her toes curl against his shoulders and she makes a noise she's never heard herself make before; a strange cross between a moan and a whine. She stretches, tries to arch her hips, and can't decide whether she wants him to speed up or stay at the same maddening pace, and before she can make up her mind, Miroku comes back, naked but for a faint sheen of sweat that gleams against his pale skin.
He's unbound his hair, and the dark curtain of it looks beautiful against his skin. She forgets about it when he leans over to kiss her, and he's hardly touched his tongue to hers before he's pulling away to press his lips to her ear.
"I want to fuck your mouth," he says, and although she'd braced herself for filth, she isn't quite expecting the way that the words punch her breath out of her; isn't expecting the way her head nods just as soon as she processes the words; isn't expecting the particularly hard thrust from Sesshomaru that punctuates her approval and Miroku's groan. He bites her ear, kisses her again, and then shifts until he's laying with his groin in her face.
Sesshomaru pauses only long enough for her to get a hand on Miroku's erection, which looks to be a little longer than Sesshomaru's, though no less thick, and the fact that she wants him in her mouth comes as a surprise. She's never enjoyed performing oral sex, but Miroku's cock is, in a word, gorgeous, and she finds that the thought of getting her mouth on him, of toying with his foreskin and lapping at the precome shining at the head makes her mouth water.
She waits just long enough for Miroku to put his hand on the back of her head, hips flexing, and then she leans forward and slips her tongue along his skin. He hisses, and Sesshomaru mutters a curse, and then they're both thrusting into her, Miroku dominating her mouth with sharp, brutal thrusts and Sesshomaru driving her crazy with his methodical taking of her netherlips.
Time becomes inconsequential, and for a while the only things she's aware of are the coils of pleasure in her belly and the filth spewing from Miroku's mouth and the ragged, wet noises of the three of them moving together.
And then she slants a look from the corner of her eye to where Sesshomaru is moving between her legs, and something—maybe the fact that he's nearly fully dressed, or the flush of his cheeks or the sweat beading at his brow—snaps the coils inside her, and she comes unexpectedly, gurgling a moan in the back of her throat.
Miroku moves faster, still talking—"Fuck, you're so damned gorgeous, look at you, coming on his cock like you were made for it, fuck!"—and cuts himself off in the middle of a word with a chest-deep groan. His dick jumps once, and then she has to swallow the hot, salty flood of his come lest she choke on it, and she hums at the taste, working her numbing lips and tongue against him until he shivers and pulls away. "Fuck," he says again, shakily, and then swings himself around and kisses her upside down, his fingers trembling where they wind into her hair.
When he pulls away, he holds her head in one hand and kisses her cheek. "Watch," he says, and tilts her head until she can see Sesshomaru moving in and out of her without straining her neck. "He's gonna come soon." He's slurring, just a little, like he's drunk off his second orgasm, drunk off her, and Kagome feels her sensitive walls flutter at the thought. "Gonna fill you up and let me suck it out of you when he's done."
And that's it, that's all it takes. Kagome flutters again, overstimulated and aroused in spite of it, and Sesshomaru shoves into her as deeply as he can get, grunting under his breath. She feels him pulse, feels the slickness of his come against her, and then he's leaning over to kiss her, lazy and soft and almost affectionate.
For a while, there's only the sound of their kiss and the contented, pleased hum Miroku makes when Sesshomaru lifts his head to kiss him, too, and then they're shifting again, Miroku going to the floor and Sesshomaru standing up to pull out of her.
He falls away with a squelch that she would be embarrassed about if she hadn't had two orgasms in less than an hour, and nearly before she's had time to process the coolness of the air against her, Miroku's mouth is there, his tongue wet and soft and warm.
She shivers, watching him lick at her, but he isn't trying to arouse her despite the frission of heat that works up her spine when he closes his lips around her hole and sucks. He's finishes with a teasing little lick at her clit, and by the time he's helped her lie correctly on the bed, Sesshomaru has undressed and joined them.
Miroku plasters himself to her back when she snuggles close to Sesshomaru's chest, and even though she doesn't want to ask, Kagome's mind whirls, because what are they going to do now? She can't possibly go back to Inuyasha after this, even if she wanted to, and the tabloids are probably going to be going crazy before the morning news. Dear gods, social media is going to have a ball as soon as someone Tweets that she didn't leave the fundraiser with Inuyasha, and—
"Hey," Miroku mutters, trailing his fingers over her belly. "Don't worry."
She almost wants to laugh. "How am I supposed to not worry?"
"Easy," he responds, and presses a firm, unwavering kiss against her shoulder. "We've got you; that's all you need to know."
And Sesshomaru's gaze, when she catches it, is just as steady as the limbs they have curled around her; just as steady as the heartbeats she can feel beating against her skin.
She bites her lip, spends one more moment worrying over the world, and then sighs and lets it go, because if they say that they've got her, then she's going to believe them.
|~*~*~*~*~|
Transcript of Higurashi Interview for Ishida Talks:
Reiko Ishida: And now, Higurashi-san, the thing everyone wants to hear about: your new relationship.
Kagome Higurashi: [laughter] Oh no, should I be making a run for it?
RI: No, no! [laugh] It's just that you've refused to talk about it, and, well, your adoring fans want to know just who is it that's got you all aglow!
KH: Ah, well. [blushes] I didn't want to talk about it before, because breaking up with Inuyasha was really hard for me, and I didn't really want the attention—I'm sure everyone understands how hard it is to be in the spotlight all the time—while the relationship was still new. [pause] But I'm ready to spill the beans now, at least to settle a few bets!
RI: [laugh] An admirable goal, Higurashi-san!
KH: Yes, well, so long as the public is happy, right?
RI: [pause] Do you think the public will approve of your choice?
KH: [sternly] What the public does and doesn't approve of won't keep me up at night, Ishida-san, [smiles] but I suppose it'd be nice if everyone could be happy for me.
RI: I completely understand. [leans forward] Now, who is this lucky guy, hmm?
KH: [smiles] Who says it's just one?
[studio audience erupts]
FIN.
|~*~*~*~*~|
End Notes:
And there's that! This took a lot longer than I wanted it to, and ended up being even longer than I expected at 6,670 words, but it's definitely one of my favorites.
Kat, I hope this met your expectations, and to everyone else, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
~Aubrey
p.s. - if you'd like to submit a request for my challenge, please feel free to do so—the thread is in the Challenges section on the forums! Please be aware that I will only write oneshots, and unless the majority calls for a follow-up, you can assume that every individual chapter in this collection is complete and will not be added to.