Week 79 - Womanizer (oneshot)
Title: Context.
Author: Sango Shadowphoenix
Genre: Romance/Humor, implied-to-low-dose smut(?)
Word count: 1834
Rating: 14+, I suppose
Warnings. Erm, very vague implications. But you should be fine if you're over 14. ^^
Canon. Essentially canon.
A/N 1: It's been so long since I wrote ANYTHING recreational. I'm really rusty. Especially for humor. But when I went hunting for different versions of the wording when defining "womanizer" in hopes of maybe, maybe being inspired to write something, it actually worked.
"Womanizer: ... Also commonly refers to man with little concern for his conquest's feelings after intimacy has occurred, ... or is matter-of-fact regarding his sexual exploits."
So those tidbits caught my eye (I usually only concern myself with the 'player' aspect of the word), and now that I finished the one-shot I can't really tell if it fits the word, but I'm sure readers will let me know if it's embarrassingly too far off. Or if my humor sucks, as I often find it does. I'm sorry for the length. It seems I can't write anything short. *wince* In any case, please enjoy!
A/N 2: Please do let me know if any of the formatting for posting to ebony_silks is off; it's been a while and I don't do this often, so... ^^'
As Kagome and her girl friends chatted animatedly over their tea, Sesshoumaru took a seat beside her, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa and absently twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. He spied the photo album on the tea table, left open to the composite of their wedding. She was all smiles that day and he had indulged her by cracking a minute smile - awkward on the glossy photo now and even more so on his facial muscles then - for that one photo. Kagome had deemed the photo a family treasure and, as if afraid that all the disasters in the world would come upon them and destroy it, had felt the need to make dozens of duplicates. He saw nothing harmful in her coveting the copies. Then he began to regret indulging her the ‘smile’ when he found that she’d gifted everyone in the village, and other ‘friends’ elsewhere, a copy.
He stared some more at their photo, and the gloss of the photo and the protective plastic covering shimmered with his memories.
The first time they had made love together, Sesshoumaru had made sure to take to heart the freely-offered advice of InuYasha, who had been around Kagome longer than himself and who must have known more about the senseless anomalies of human girls, being half-human himself.
So when, lying together on the futon, fingering the dark tresses spilled over his chest, Sesshoumaru scented her nervousness and watched through half-lidded eyes as she pulled the covers up to conceal their naked bodies with a cherry flush to her cheeks, he concluded she was likely nervous because of the issue his half-brother had gruffly divulged to him (InuYasha was not comfortable talking about the sex life of his former crush and now best friend, and Sesshoumaru was not comfortable hearing InuYasha talk about anything sexual that related to the miko in question) earlier that evening.
He decided, as her life companion, that he should assuage her worries, even if they were unfounded and utterly insignificant to any productive, greater scheme of things.
“Kagome,” he said, waiting for her full attention, feeling contentment thrum through his being as her brown eyes peered up at him under long black lashes. He continued in that solemn tone that he was so well known for: “you need not worry. This Sesshoumaru knew of your inexperience and did not expect you to be as knowing as the demonesses before.”
He was surprised when his decision to comfort her from her insecurities of his sexual experience and her lack of it made her draw away from him sharply, her scent spiked in anger, and though it made him want to lay with her again he could tell that she was in that level of rage that would not be diverted to other things.
The villagers avoided him as he walked around with a perpetual frown that threatened to turn into a murderous scowl at any time, the nights spent under the trees and the stars, amongst nature, doing nothing to calm his confusion and frustration. They only dared to approach him tentatively once more, 3 days later, and the men were especially wise enough not to congratulate him when Kagome finally deemed she felt too cold in the hut at night and let him back into their bed.
He was drawn out of his memories when the women absentmindedly flipped through the album again, coming to rest upon the proud, smiling face of Kagome, her hand overlapped by his as they rested upon her large, rounded belly. InuYasha had commented that he looked as stony as ever, but Kagome had been able to read the slightly lowered tilt of his face, and she had explained to InuYasha that Sesshoumaru had simply deemed it more important to keep his eyes glued to her belly than to spend the seconds looking up for the camera.
“Sesshoumaru-sama must have been so happy to know you were expecting your first child!” One of her friends exclaimed.
Kagome shot him an amused look over her shoulder as she answered her friend. “Oh yes, he was ecstatic. And waaay too overprotective.”
“Ecstatic” was an understatement. (He had every right, he even now believed, to be protective, so he let her sarcasm slide harmlessly from his notice.) He had been absolutely elated to know, from her lips, that she was pupped. He had known a little before she had confirmed the pregnancy for herself, with her modern ways, because of the slight change in her scent.
He remembered that, his arm around her and her weight pressing pleasantly into his chest as they lazed in the hot springs after a passionate bathing session, she had turned in his lap and began drawing nervous little squiggles on his bicep, making the muscle there dance.
“I’m pregnant,” she’d said, her breath in a rush and then she’d gone still, face upturned and waiting his response. His chest felt swollen with warmth upon the confirmation, and he breathed her in deeply, her and the child, their child, and slouched a little deeper into the hot springs in content.
The warmth of knowing for sure changed to something more heated, and he nuzzled her ear. Soon they were halfway to repeating the activities of earlier that evening. Fully expecting to, Kagome looked at him confusedly and a little insecurely when he stopped and smoothed his lips softly over her cheek and began to help her carefully out of the springs, his eyes still heated but his movements not.
Seeing her confusion, but expecting her to know that he would, as protective as his personality was, be extremely careful about the treatment of her body for the next number of months. He leaned her against himself and rubbed his cheek to hers, letting her know that it was not that he did not want her at that moment, but that he would protect her and their pup from anything, even from the physical force of their own, newly heightened passions.
“I wish you were without pup,” he growled regretfully into her hair, his hand sliding protectively and happily over her yet-flat stomach.
Again, for 3 days he spent his nights amongst the trees and stars, and every time he passed InuYasha or Sango they would shoot him glaciers with their eyes. After the days had passed and Kagome let him back into their bed, he had concluded that her strange determination against him those 3 days had been born of her new balance of hormones, as he had gradually recalled InuYasha’s mother had also suffered occasionally through mood swings during pregnancy. But then again, he frowned, men suffered through the illogical mood swings of women all the time, so he’d eventually written it off as inconsequential, and that it was not directed at him personally.
The guests had long since left, but Kagome had felt that the opportunity to finish flipping through the album from where her friends and she had left off, was not to be wasted. The sound of the album pages turning, and a thick photo slipping out to flop softly to the floor gave Kagome pause and Sesshoumaru felt a measure of masculine pride well up inside him as he recalled the event of the photo that had fallen.
Halloween was a foreign holiday that, when Kagome had taught it to the ever practical Sesshoumaru, seemed utterly pointless; he had not see what enjoyment could be taken from it by dressing up in things one was not (especially when half the odd shapes of the costumes couldn’t possibly reflect anything of reality), unless you were a child, because children could indulge in pointless events and indulge in making believe or dressing as something they were not, even if that thing was real only in their imagination.
But there had been a night, a few years after their vows to each other, that she had vexed him into agreeing to escort her and the pups to a family-oriented Halloween party hosted by the local community. She had worn a body-fitting strapless dress only slightly lighter in shade than blood but nevertheless shimmered liquidly at certain angles, her feet encased in strappy black heels, and her hands and arms in long, black gloves. She had been a devil, she’d explained, and he had told her later that night, after returning from the party and the pups in bed, just how effective a devil she had been, though perhaps not in so many words.
In the photo (he couldn’t be bothered to recall how he had gotten it, but was thankful of the reminder all the same), she had taken off the devil-horn headband that had matched her dress because it had begun to hurt her behind the ears, and she had long since tucked her other props away (her odd 3-pronged scepter, also red, and her forked tail, which she had found uncomfortable to sit on but which he had found excessively amusing). The photo was blurry for the most part, but her body was focused, shimmering in the dress, caught forever in that delectable pose she took on when angry or adamant, the one with her hand at her hip, her body leaning forward. She was turned away from the camera, her other elbow resting on the bar, her hand raised and extended elegantly, fingers fanned as she ordered some fun family cocktails. The graceful line of her bared shoulder had continued to the determined tilt of her jaw and the softness of her lips before disappearing under the luscious black waves of her hair that covered most of her face from this almost-from-the-back, almost-from-the-profile angle of the cameraman.
He recalled how he had put the photo within the album because he knew she put all her photos in one album or another, but he had not been bothered to do more than to tuck it between the pages. He realized his pleasant reminiscing of that sinful night had induced a physical smirk when he noticed Kagome’s brows pulled down into a frown, her eyes wavering between the woman in the picture and Sesshoumaru’s pleased expression.
“Who’s this?” she asked, holding up the photo and giving it an emphatic little shake.
And, feeling in a playful mood upon discovering that she did not realize or remember that the goddess in the picture was herself (and clearly remembering even less of the evening that had followed), he decided compliments were in order, so that once she recalled, she would know that he had always remembered, and had fully appreciated that night, even now, several years down the line.
His smirk widened, he drew her closer to himself, and even though he saw her eyes narrow and her lips press together thinly, he answered, “Why, the most beautiful goddess in the world, Kagome.”
Later that evening, Sesshoumaru watched the silhouette of the treetops sway before the spiraling sky. ‘Hello again, trees. Hello again, stars.’
Author: Sango Shadowphoenix
Genre: Romance/Humor, implied-to-low-dose smut(?)
Word count: 1834
Rating: 14+, I suppose
Warnings. Erm, very vague implications. But you should be fine if you're over 14. ^^
Canon. Essentially canon.
A/N 1: It's been so long since I wrote ANYTHING recreational. I'm really rusty. Especially for humor. But when I went hunting for different versions of the wording when defining "womanizer" in hopes of maybe, maybe being inspired to write something, it actually worked.
"Womanizer: ... Also commonly refers to man with little concern for his conquest's feelings after intimacy has occurred, ... or is matter-of-fact regarding his sexual exploits."
So those tidbits caught my eye (I usually only concern myself with the 'player' aspect of the word), and now that I finished the one-shot I can't really tell if it fits the word, but I'm sure readers will let me know if it's embarrassingly too far off. Or if my humor sucks, as I often find it does. I'm sorry for the length. It seems I can't write anything short. *wince* In any case, please enjoy!
A/N 2: Please do let me know if any of the formatting for posting to ebony_silks is off; it's been a while and I don't do this often, so... ^^'
As Kagome and her girl friends chatted animatedly over their tea, Sesshoumaru took a seat beside her, throwing his arm over the back of the sofa and absently twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. He spied the photo album on the tea table, left open to the composite of their wedding. She was all smiles that day and he had indulged her by cracking a minute smile - awkward on the glossy photo now and even more so on his facial muscles then - for that one photo. Kagome had deemed the photo a family treasure and, as if afraid that all the disasters in the world would come upon them and destroy it, had felt the need to make dozens of duplicates. He saw nothing harmful in her coveting the copies. Then he began to regret indulging her the ‘smile’ when he found that she’d gifted everyone in the village, and other ‘friends’ elsewhere, a copy.
He stared some more at their photo, and the gloss of the photo and the protective plastic covering shimmered with his memories.
The first time they had made love together, Sesshoumaru had made sure to take to heart the freely-offered advice of InuYasha, who had been around Kagome longer than himself and who must have known more about the senseless anomalies of human girls, being half-human himself.
So when, lying together on the futon, fingering the dark tresses spilled over his chest, Sesshoumaru scented her nervousness and watched through half-lidded eyes as she pulled the covers up to conceal their naked bodies with a cherry flush to her cheeks, he concluded she was likely nervous because of the issue his half-brother had gruffly divulged to him (InuYasha was not comfortable talking about the sex life of his former crush and now best friend, and Sesshoumaru was not comfortable hearing InuYasha talk about anything sexual that related to the miko in question) earlier that evening.
He decided, as her life companion, that he should assuage her worries, even if they were unfounded and utterly insignificant to any productive, greater scheme of things.
“Kagome,” he said, waiting for her full attention, feeling contentment thrum through his being as her brown eyes peered up at him under long black lashes. He continued in that solemn tone that he was so well known for: “you need not worry. This Sesshoumaru knew of your inexperience and did not expect you to be as knowing as the demonesses before.”
He was surprised when his decision to comfort her from her insecurities of his sexual experience and her lack of it made her draw away from him sharply, her scent spiked in anger, and though it made him want to lay with her again he could tell that she was in that level of rage that would not be diverted to other things.
The villagers avoided him as he walked around with a perpetual frown that threatened to turn into a murderous scowl at any time, the nights spent under the trees and the stars, amongst nature, doing nothing to calm his confusion and frustration. They only dared to approach him tentatively once more, 3 days later, and the men were especially wise enough not to congratulate him when Kagome finally deemed she felt too cold in the hut at night and let him back into their bed.
He was drawn out of his memories when the women absentmindedly flipped through the album again, coming to rest upon the proud, smiling face of Kagome, her hand overlapped by his as they rested upon her large, rounded belly. InuYasha had commented that he looked as stony as ever, but Kagome had been able to read the slightly lowered tilt of his face, and she had explained to InuYasha that Sesshoumaru had simply deemed it more important to keep his eyes glued to her belly than to spend the seconds looking up for the camera.
“Sesshoumaru-sama must have been so happy to know you were expecting your first child!” One of her friends exclaimed.
Kagome shot him an amused look over her shoulder as she answered her friend. “Oh yes, he was ecstatic. And waaay too overprotective.”
“Ecstatic” was an understatement. (He had every right, he even now believed, to be protective, so he let her sarcasm slide harmlessly from his notice.) He had been absolutely elated to know, from her lips, that she was pupped. He had known a little before she had confirmed the pregnancy for herself, with her modern ways, because of the slight change in her scent.
He remembered that, his arm around her and her weight pressing pleasantly into his chest as they lazed in the hot springs after a passionate bathing session, she had turned in his lap and began drawing nervous little squiggles on his bicep, making the muscle there dance.
“I’m pregnant,” she’d said, her breath in a rush and then she’d gone still, face upturned and waiting his response. His chest felt swollen with warmth upon the confirmation, and he breathed her in deeply, her and the child, their child, and slouched a little deeper into the hot springs in content.
The warmth of knowing for sure changed to something more heated, and he nuzzled her ear. Soon they were halfway to repeating the activities of earlier that evening. Fully expecting to, Kagome looked at him confusedly and a little insecurely when he stopped and smoothed his lips softly over her cheek and began to help her carefully out of the springs, his eyes still heated but his movements not.
Seeing her confusion, but expecting her to know that he would, as protective as his personality was, be extremely careful about the treatment of her body for the next number of months. He leaned her against himself and rubbed his cheek to hers, letting her know that it was not that he did not want her at that moment, but that he would protect her and their pup from anything, even from the physical force of their own, newly heightened passions.
“I wish you were without pup,” he growled regretfully into her hair, his hand sliding protectively and happily over her yet-flat stomach.
Again, for 3 days he spent his nights amongst the trees and stars, and every time he passed InuYasha or Sango they would shoot him glaciers with their eyes. After the days had passed and Kagome let him back into their bed, he had concluded that her strange determination against him those 3 days had been born of her new balance of hormones, as he had gradually recalled InuYasha’s mother had also suffered occasionally through mood swings during pregnancy. But then again, he frowned, men suffered through the illogical mood swings of women all the time, so he’d eventually written it off as inconsequential, and that it was not directed at him personally.
The guests had long since left, but Kagome had felt that the opportunity to finish flipping through the album from where her friends and she had left off, was not to be wasted. The sound of the album pages turning, and a thick photo slipping out to flop softly to the floor gave Kagome pause and Sesshoumaru felt a measure of masculine pride well up inside him as he recalled the event of the photo that had fallen.
Halloween was a foreign holiday that, when Kagome had taught it to the ever practical Sesshoumaru, seemed utterly pointless; he had not see what enjoyment could be taken from it by dressing up in things one was not (especially when half the odd shapes of the costumes couldn’t possibly reflect anything of reality), unless you were a child, because children could indulge in pointless events and indulge in making believe or dressing as something they were not, even if that thing was real only in their imagination.
But there had been a night, a few years after their vows to each other, that she had vexed him into agreeing to escort her and the pups to a family-oriented Halloween party hosted by the local community. She had worn a body-fitting strapless dress only slightly lighter in shade than blood but nevertheless shimmered liquidly at certain angles, her feet encased in strappy black heels, and her hands and arms in long, black gloves. She had been a devil, she’d explained, and he had told her later that night, after returning from the party and the pups in bed, just how effective a devil she had been, though perhaps not in so many words.
In the photo (he couldn’t be bothered to recall how he had gotten it, but was thankful of the reminder all the same), she had taken off the devil-horn headband that had matched her dress because it had begun to hurt her behind the ears, and she had long since tucked her other props away (her odd 3-pronged scepter, also red, and her forked tail, which she had found uncomfortable to sit on but which he had found excessively amusing). The photo was blurry for the most part, but her body was focused, shimmering in the dress, caught forever in that delectable pose she took on when angry or adamant, the one with her hand at her hip, her body leaning forward. She was turned away from the camera, her other elbow resting on the bar, her hand raised and extended elegantly, fingers fanned as she ordered some fun family cocktails. The graceful line of her bared shoulder had continued to the determined tilt of her jaw and the softness of her lips before disappearing under the luscious black waves of her hair that covered most of her face from this almost-from-the-back, almost-from-the-profile angle of the cameraman.
He recalled how he had put the photo within the album because he knew she put all her photos in one album or another, but he had not been bothered to do more than to tuck it between the pages. He realized his pleasant reminiscing of that sinful night had induced a physical smirk when he noticed Kagome’s brows pulled down into a frown, her eyes wavering between the woman in the picture and Sesshoumaru’s pleased expression.
“Who’s this?” she asked, holding up the photo and giving it an emphatic little shake.
And, feeling in a playful mood upon discovering that she did not realize or remember that the goddess in the picture was herself (and clearly remembering even less of the evening that had followed), he decided compliments were in order, so that once she recalled, she would know that he had always remembered, and had fully appreciated that night, even now, several years down the line.
His smirk widened, he drew her closer to himself, and even though he saw her eyes narrow and her lips press together thinly, he answered, “Why, the most beautiful goddess in the world, Kagome.”
Later that evening, Sesshoumaru watched the silhouette of the treetops sway before the spiraling sky. ‘Hello again, trees. Hello again, stars.’