October 2007 Flashfic
Title: Perfidy
Written For:
casper_san
Pairing or Character: Kikyou/Inuyasha/Kagome
Rating: M
Spoiler Warnings: None
Other Warnings: voyeurism/light smut
Author's Note: I hope this makes sense...
It was interesting to watch them together.
The first time she watched, he had been unaware of her presence until he was nearly lost and she, well, she had been pinned to a tree and unable to escape. Since that first, forced encounter, it had become something of a compulsion to watch them when they were alone together. If anything, she had to make sure that he would not give in to temptation and follow her other self to hell.
She knew better than to spy, but something kept her eyes trained on the two before her. It kept her trapped somewhere between fascination and disgust, twisted inside and unable to forget what she had seen or escape its memory. Her legs ached from the strain of crouching motionless for so long, but she dared not move, dared not risk discovery. If they saw her watching, it would very likely mean the end of her sorry excuse for a life.
All these things she knew because the thoughts flitted through her head now and then, trying in vain to distract from the scene playing itself out before her. She pushed those thoughts away when she managed to catch them, refusing to admit just yet that what she was doing was completely and utterly wrong.
It was fascinating. She was aware, and had been for almost as long as she had known him, that they had been lovers once. They were something else now - enemies, maybe. That was what she found most irresistible about them: their inability to resist one another, even with hatred and mistrust and the pain of betrayal marring the feelings between them. What she found most fascinating about them… that she refused to admit even to herself. It was shameful, and it was best not to think on it. She pretended not to, but it was ever present in her mind.
Of course, there were times when she could help but think on it. When he touched her, the dead priestess, the caress reverberated through her own flesh and she could feel each stroke as if it were made upon her own body. Whether this was from yearning (after all, it had not been like this the first time, at least not that she could recall) or from some bizarre soul-connection between her and the woman housed within that lifeless clay body, she did not know. She could not bring herself to ask any of her friends that might know. She was afraid of what answers she might discover. After all, if they shared part of the same soul, what else might be shared between them?
She lost track of the thoughts and lost a bit of herself in the sensations of the moment. She knew well what came next, but that never made it any less enticing. Her breath caught in her throat. She trembled with anticipation.
It was all she could do not to betray her presence to those she was watching. When he crushed his lips against his dead lover's and forced her lips to open to his kiss, she felt his tongue probing at the sensitive flesh within her mouth. As he responded to the other woman, she felt her own blood begin to heat. And when he stroked against her skin, bared now to his touch, and breathed her name, she pretended it was not "Kikyou" on his lips, but "Kagome" and felt the answering throb between her own legs.
She did not touch herself. She could never bring herself to do that, no matter how much she wanted to. It was a violation of trust. It would give her away. It was tempting, oh so tempting, but she was ever unwilling to risk discovery. She was already in the midst of a most terrible transgression and refused to add another. This behavior should have been beneath her, but she could not help it. Watching them hurt her in some indescribable way, but it was a pain that she could accept wholeheartedly. Indeed, there were times at which she found herself longing for it, wanting him to somehow abandon her in favor of his previous love. And then, as always, she would be compelled to watch, to see and feel the consequences of her actions. There might never be another way to be with him.
She wanted desperately to be with him. She did not know what he wanted. He was not petty enough to make declarations of love, especially not when he was still so enamored of his former love. His interest in her lay mainly, she knew, in how useful she was in battle and in how much she resembled her past self - the woman he loved. The woman he still loved, even after betrayal and even after she had tried to drag him to hell. The woman who still, in some way, felt something for him. Whatever that emotion could be called at this point. Whatever it was in truth, it sought its fulfillment through the action she most equated with love. She wished fervently for him to see her that way, to give up on the dead woman and return to the world of the living. At the same time, she knew it is unlikely. Futile, impossible, even.
It ached, to crouch motionless and watch. It ached, too, not to reach between her legs and assuage the burning need there. Instead, she stared ahead, almost unseeing, but taking in all that she needed to. Sometimes, it was enough to watch.
He had been divested of his clothing, or at least those parts that were necessarily removed for the act. The discarded garments were piled messily at his feet. She could see it clearly, the source of her eternal embarrassment and at the same time the focus of her unending curiosity. She had always been shy about that part of him without quite knowing why. It was far from embarrassing now. Instead it held some sort of sway over her, drawing her gaze and eliciting a strange sort of longing. It was long and rigidly erect: a clear indication of his excitement. Would she ever arouse him so? Could she ever arouse him so? She was beginning to think not.
She was distracted suddenly by the imagined feel of his fingers against her heated flesh. He had not touched her at all, but had slipped his fingers between his lover's legs, caressing flesh that she imagined to be already slippery and wet like her own. She wanted desperately to feel such things in reality, but bit back a strangled sound and remained as motionless and silent as possible. She hated him, they both did, both the women that together were her. He was considerate, assuring himself that his lover was ready for him, even though Kikyou desperately wanted him to be cruel. Kagome wanted him to leave the dead woman and turn to her, the living one, made of more than clay, for his love and his pleasure. She knew, of course, that it was not meant to be.
It was more than she could take, watching him with her and feeling each caress as he touched, wringing ecstasy from reluctant flesh. She wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all, though the sentiment was given voice by Kikyou, who cried out at finding herself suddenly impaled in a most decidedly pleasant way. They danced together, a dance of thrusts and writhing that made Kagome want to be sick. She throbbed with the need of it, but this time she could take no more and tore her eyes away.
She stumbled away through the trees, reckless and unable to maintain any semblance of composure. She had to get away, no longer cared if she was heard or what the consequences might be.
The lovers, twined together still and lost in one another, gave no sign of having been aware of her presence at all.
Written For:
casper_san
Pairing or Character: Kikyou/Inuyasha/Kagome
Rating: M
Spoiler Warnings: None
Other Warnings: voyeurism/light smut
Author's Note: I hope this makes sense...
It was interesting to watch them together.
The first time she watched, he had been unaware of her presence until he was nearly lost and she, well, she had been pinned to a tree and unable to escape. Since that first, forced encounter, it had become something of a compulsion to watch them when they were alone together. If anything, she had to make sure that he would not give in to temptation and follow her other self to hell.
She knew better than to spy, but something kept her eyes trained on the two before her. It kept her trapped somewhere between fascination and disgust, twisted inside and unable to forget what she had seen or escape its memory. Her legs ached from the strain of crouching motionless for so long, but she dared not move, dared not risk discovery. If they saw her watching, it would very likely mean the end of her sorry excuse for a life.
All these things she knew because the thoughts flitted through her head now and then, trying in vain to distract from the scene playing itself out before her. She pushed those thoughts away when she managed to catch them, refusing to admit just yet that what she was doing was completely and utterly wrong.
It was fascinating. She was aware, and had been for almost as long as she had known him, that they had been lovers once. They were something else now - enemies, maybe. That was what she found most irresistible about them: their inability to resist one another, even with hatred and mistrust and the pain of betrayal marring the feelings between them. What she found most fascinating about them… that she refused to admit even to herself. It was shameful, and it was best not to think on it. She pretended not to, but it was ever present in her mind.
Of course, there were times when she could help but think on it. When he touched her, the dead priestess, the caress reverberated through her own flesh and she could feel each stroke as if it were made upon her own body. Whether this was from yearning (after all, it had not been like this the first time, at least not that she could recall) or from some bizarre soul-connection between her and the woman housed within that lifeless clay body, she did not know. She could not bring herself to ask any of her friends that might know. She was afraid of what answers she might discover. After all, if they shared part of the same soul, what else might be shared between them?
She lost track of the thoughts and lost a bit of herself in the sensations of the moment. She knew well what came next, but that never made it any less enticing. Her breath caught in her throat. She trembled with anticipation.
It was all she could do not to betray her presence to those she was watching. When he crushed his lips against his dead lover's and forced her lips to open to his kiss, she felt his tongue probing at the sensitive flesh within her mouth. As he responded to the other woman, she felt her own blood begin to heat. And when he stroked against her skin, bared now to his touch, and breathed her name, she pretended it was not "Kikyou" on his lips, but "Kagome" and felt the answering throb between her own legs.
She did not touch herself. She could never bring herself to do that, no matter how much she wanted to. It was a violation of trust. It would give her away. It was tempting, oh so tempting, but she was ever unwilling to risk discovery. She was already in the midst of a most terrible transgression and refused to add another. This behavior should have been beneath her, but she could not help it. Watching them hurt her in some indescribable way, but it was a pain that she could accept wholeheartedly. Indeed, there were times at which she found herself longing for it, wanting him to somehow abandon her in favor of his previous love. And then, as always, she would be compelled to watch, to see and feel the consequences of her actions. There might never be another way to be with him.
She wanted desperately to be with him. She did not know what he wanted. He was not petty enough to make declarations of love, especially not when he was still so enamored of his former love. His interest in her lay mainly, she knew, in how useful she was in battle and in how much she resembled her past self - the woman he loved. The woman he still loved, even after betrayal and even after she had tried to drag him to hell. The woman who still, in some way, felt something for him. Whatever that emotion could be called at this point. Whatever it was in truth, it sought its fulfillment through the action she most equated with love. She wished fervently for him to see her that way, to give up on the dead woman and return to the world of the living. At the same time, she knew it is unlikely. Futile, impossible, even.
It ached, to crouch motionless and watch. It ached, too, not to reach between her legs and assuage the burning need there. Instead, she stared ahead, almost unseeing, but taking in all that she needed to. Sometimes, it was enough to watch.
He had been divested of his clothing, or at least those parts that were necessarily removed for the act. The discarded garments were piled messily at his feet. She could see it clearly, the source of her eternal embarrassment and at the same time the focus of her unending curiosity. She had always been shy about that part of him without quite knowing why. It was far from embarrassing now. Instead it held some sort of sway over her, drawing her gaze and eliciting a strange sort of longing. It was long and rigidly erect: a clear indication of his excitement. Would she ever arouse him so? Could she ever arouse him so? She was beginning to think not.
She was distracted suddenly by the imagined feel of his fingers against her heated flesh. He had not touched her at all, but had slipped his fingers between his lover's legs, caressing flesh that she imagined to be already slippery and wet like her own. She wanted desperately to feel such things in reality, but bit back a strangled sound and remained as motionless and silent as possible. She hated him, they both did, both the women that together were her. He was considerate, assuring himself that his lover was ready for him, even though Kikyou desperately wanted him to be cruel. Kagome wanted him to leave the dead woman and turn to her, the living one, made of more than clay, for his love and his pleasure. She knew, of course, that it was not meant to be.
It was more than she could take, watching him with her and feeling each caress as he touched, wringing ecstasy from reluctant flesh. She wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all, though the sentiment was given voice by Kikyou, who cried out at finding herself suddenly impaled in a most decidedly pleasant way. They danced together, a dance of thrusts and writhing that made Kagome want to be sick. She throbbed with the need of it, but this time she could take no more and tore her eyes away.
She stumbled away through the trees, reckless and unable to maintain any semblance of composure. She had to get away, no longer cared if she was heard or what the consequences might be.
The lovers, twined together still and lost in one another, gave no sign of having been aware of her presence at all.