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The Devil's Mark

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The life she'd led before seems like little more than a dream, now.

She has been with the demon for a long time, and he is as a god to her. She knows what she is to him - an experiment gone right, gone wrong; a curiosity, and nothing more.

It doesn't matter. She could never return to the human world. There has never been anyone there who would welcome her, and even if there was -

She bears the devil's mark.

She is a woman now. She has lost count of the years, of her actual age, but this body, these curves - they don't belong to a child. She has grown into them alone; without comfort, without encouragement. If Sesshoumaru understood such things - and she would be surprised if he did - then he simply had no care for them.

He is untouchable, and she is untouched. For all that he is not his father's son and would never so debase himself as to couple with a human, neither will he share he with another. She is as pristine as a priestess; a marble statue in his unholy temple.

It doesn't stop her from thinking about it. Sesshoumaru, perfect and eternal, does not understand the changes endured by lesser creatures, nor does he understand their needs. In the shadows of their camp, while the Lord of the West sits silent and plots his rule, Rin writhes in misery beneath the trees.

Jaken sees, but does not speak. He is always there, watching her with those amphibian eyes as his master once set him to do, but he has at last learned to hold his tongue. Once, his voyeurism had set her so ill at ease as to put an end to it. Now, desire drives her mad and she no longer cares.

The visions in her head are always the same: Sesshoumaru, returning from whatever quest has taken him these past days, comes upon her while she sleeps. She wakes to find him above her, silver hair draping the both of them like a veil; his lips on her forehead, drifting down her nose, coming at last to her mouth.

To be kissed by Sesshoumaru must be akin to feasting on ambrosia. His lips part and seal to hers, and his tongue slithers out - in - to engage her own in a sinuous dance. All the while, his hands are roaming her form; loosening her obi, parting the edges of her kimono, leaving her bare and shivering under the wind's caress. She is always a virgin - she knows no other way to be - and her nipples peak with the soft and shy blush of a body explored for the first time.

The kiss ends and his mouth trails away - over her chin, now, and along the white line of her throat. Like a dog - a wolf - an alpha beast - his teeth close on it. There is first pressure, then pain, and as her skin breaks and her blood pours free, Rin tenses and cries out. The wine of life trickles down, gathering in the hollow of her collarbones. Beneath the valley, her pulse flutters like a hummingbird's wings. Sesshoumaru pauses there, lapping at the pool.

She isn't sure what to do with her hands, and as the demon's head settles to her breast, she seizes the snow-white strands that fall around it. There is nothing tender about the gesture - she is no mother to hold him close, and his only interest in her heart is how swiftly it pounds with lust and fear. She pulls his hair and he growls, taking her breast into his mouth to nip sharply at its tip. Blood flows a second time - some oozing from tiny wounds, the rest engorging the nub even more.

She is deep in heat, and the dog that hides just under his surface can smell it. His descent continues - down the center of her abdomen, over the soft swell of her belly, between the thighs that part achingly, wantonly, pleadingly. His tongue strokes the folds at their apex and she squeals loudly, a leg stretching - almost kicking - without any actual command from her.

He is above her again. She knows what will come now, and for all that she readies herself, it remains a harsh and somehow unexpected surprise. The tip of his cock is pressed to her cunt, not bothering to avail itself of the moisture that coats her inside and out. A single thrust drives him to the depths of her, halting only when the passage bottoms out and he can literally go no further.

His withdrawal is swift, though not complete. She gasps, her hips rising to follow his. For a moment, he leaves only the head of himself within her folds, indulging in a slow rock that is more torment than pleasure - and then he is fully inside her once more, size and force stretching virginal walls to such extent that she's half-afraid she'll be torn apart.

If it was Sesshoumaru to render her so, then Rin would go glady.

Clawed hands plant to her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. Each thrust pushes her body over the folds of her kimono, which in turns slides across the grass itself. Her head is a hair's-breadth from the trunk of a tree. Above her, Sesshoumaru grunts - growls - grits his teeth behind lips drawn back to bare his fangs. His eyes are as tightly shut, a bestial sort of rapture. She grasps helplessly at his hair, her fingers sliding through the silken mane and scrabbling instead for purchase on his back. Her nails scrape his skin, and though they could never hope to damage him as his do her, he hisses nonetheless.

She wraps her legs around his waist and he, unsatisfied with this, tosses them over his shoulders so that he can plunge deeper still. For all the fleshiness to the head of his cock, it slams into her with a sharpness that's surprising. A cry is torn from her each time it meets - tries to exceed - the limits of her sex. Pain or pleasure - Rin can't tell the difference, anymore, and Sesshoumaru simply doesn't care; no more than he does about anything else.

She is screaming - curses, pleas, wordless ululations of devotion. Her hands are clenched into tiny fists that pound against him with a rage that even she doesn't understand. Abruptly, her nerves are set aflame; heat rushing from a point deep in her belly out to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Her muscles tighten and the walls of her cunt lock down on him with a ferocity that must pang him as it does her. Moisture floods her, coats him, eases the continued slide of his cock for all that her body is desperate to keep him in place. She doesn't even notice when his own hips buck, when his manhood pulses and twitches and spews its seed inside her.

- and the reason she doesn't notice is because he's not there, he's never there. She is left shuddering in the darkness, one hand on her breast and the other between her thighs. The raw scratches that mar her skin are her own work, and they burn as the salt of her tears drips into them.

Jaken sees, but he doesn't speak. From the shadows, amphibian eyes blink once before retreating. The human child - woman - would never deign to lay on hand on a creature such as him, and at any rate - Lord Sesshoumaru doesn't share.

That one bears the devil's mark.


Author's Notes: Written for Porn Battle Round Eight @ Dreamwidth. The prompt was Inu Yasha - Sesshoumaru/Older!Rin, mark.