Disclaimer: I don't own anything… especially not Sesshmaru.

A/N: A oneshot Sess/Adult!Rin lemon written for a friend who needed to be wrapped up in something soft, white and fluffy 'cause she was having One Of Those Weeks.

Slightly edited for content.

First posted on Live Journal May 17, 2006.

Darkness

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Golden eyes watch over the young woman as she dreams, cosseted in silken luxury. Her raven-dark hair spills over the pale bedding, scribing sigils of sensuality as it trails onto the tatami mats. He permits himself the indulgence of tracing the curving, swirling line of a single lock of hair from where it beckons from the futon, trails up over her shoulder, dips down before reaching up to caress her cheek, then joins sleekly with its glossy fellows at her temple.

In the darkness of the room, he allows himself to want.

She lacks for nothing; he sees to that himself, ordering for her the very finest that can be obtained, be it bolts of silk, scrolls, music masters, tutors. He would also commission jewels, but she prefers to ornament herself with the blossoms she plucks daily in the gardens, enhancing her own delicate scent with innocent delight. In the gloaming-time, he often finds himself wandering through the gardens, searching out the flowers she had pinned into her coiffure that day, breathing in the calm and thinking of her. Always of her.

In the darkness of the room, he closes his eyes and breathes.

He knows what is whispered behind the shoji, gambled on in the kitchens and the stables, mocked in other curving-roofed castles etched against the clouds. Does he? Will he? Dare he? Shall the Lord of the West follow in his father's downward-spiralling footsteps and take a human bride? Those that do not wish to incur his wrath leave off their idle chatter with the jibe Is he fool enough? Those that seek his lands, his influence, coldly speculate Is he powerful enough?

In the darkness of the room, he clenches a fist so tight that it bleeds.

The dark hanyou has long since been defeated, these ten-odd years, and his ward has grown up into a dark-eyed, elegant, cultured beauty, educated as thoroughly as any lady of the Court. He knows that within her heart still dwells the light-hearted child that made daisy chains for the grumbling toad-imp on summer eves. Sometimes, when he retires for the night to his own chambers, he finds a nosegay tucked into his bedding, and her presence gently reaches out to him. He knows that this woman-child loves him, that her regard has grown from simple adoration to true affection. In return, he slips into her chamber in the darkest hours, but only to watch over her; he cannot, will not permit himself to….

In the darkness of the room, he curses his pride.

Boredom threatening in the midst of some droning court ceremonial, when he seeks for her with his glance among the groups of brilliantly-garbed participants, her sleek dark head turns as if she knows of his silent entreaty. Eyes sparkling with secret amusement, she winks at him, and he knows that later, she will escape from her maid and slip through the shoji into his study to repeat some new frivolity, some new rumour. She smiles at him, her eyes shining, so trusting, so lovely, so clever, so achingly beautiful, his child of the light.

In the darkness of the room, he yearns.

She was his child; now she is a woman grown, and he knows that he should set her free, return her to the humanity from whence she came, but… a filthy human male touching his Rin…scarlet comes up in his eyes, and his claws pierce his skin. Today, one of his vassals asked for her. It is an honourable match, for both his vassal and for his ward, but… He drives the sharp nails further into his palm, closes his eyes and concentrates on her dreaming scent. Slowly, very slowly, the rage recedes to prowl at the edges of his consciousness. Pale, watery light, which has crept silently across the floor on velvety moon-shade paws, touches her hair and glimmers it with the sheen of rare black pearls. He licks his blood from his claws, and slowly reaches to twine a lock around his long, deadly fingers, stroking over the silky length with a tender thumb.

In the darkest corner of his heart, he admits that he cannot let her go.

In the darkest corner of his mind, he argues that he cannot have her.

His soul rages, claws, rends, screams Why? It refuses to listen to his carefully-rehearsed arguments; demands instead that he acknowledge he already belongs, heart and soul, to this tender, vulnerable, weak human female. All that he has left to surrender….

In the darkness of the room, he admits his fear.

That he will lose her. That she will fall to the assassin's blade, or be struck down by plague or be taken from him by age before…

…before she can return the favour of Tenseiga, and save him from himself.

The traitorous moonlight is in league with his heart and with his soul. It nuzzles the sleeping girl's cheek, tickles the fanning lashes, until he abruptly finds himself reflected in great, dark pools, a soft, sweet smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she gazes up at him trustingly, tenderly…lovingly.

In the darkness of the room, his heart, his soul, his mind, his eyes smile back.

Delicate fingers reach for his, still tangled in her silky locks, and Rin's dreaming thoughts awaken, sharp and clear when she realizes that he is truly with her. She rests her fingertips on the stripes twisting around his wrist, and waits, her heart, her soul, her eyes full of hope…

He captures her hand, raises her slender fingers to his lips and kisses her knuckles, never taking his eyes from her face, her soft dreaming face. She sees herself reflected in yellow intensity, uses their joined hands to pull herself up to sitting. They gaze at each other for a long moment, the moonlight shimmering between them. Rin lifts a fragile hand to his cheek, tracing the bright markings of his birthright. When he hides his vulnerability behind his lashes, feather-light sensations brush across his eyelids, dance along the curve of the moon, skip to outline a pointed ear-tip. Dimly, he wonders why he has denied himself her touch for so long.

He opens his eyes, and she is close, so very close, her warm, soft hand cupping his cheek, her thumb lightly stroking the lower curve of his lip, her dark eyes studying him intently, as if she is committing every breath he takes to memory.

In the darkness of his resolve, his soul cries her name.

The moonlight twines around them, draws them close, until only courage separates them. Rin's eyes flutter closed, and she tilts her face up…and he is lost, his resolve cracking, shattering, dissolving as their lips touch, slide, feel for the first time. When her lips part against his, he drowns in her.

He straddles her thighs, wraps his arm around her, feels her hands slide into his hair as she becomes bolder, testing the points of his fangs, duelling with his tongue. He pulls away, hears her complaining whimper, smiles and returns for a long, sweet moment, then presses his damp forehead to hers. He must know before….

In the darkness of the room, he balances on the precipice.

"Rin…will you….?" He is not accustomed to asking, even less to begging, but his soul and heart twine into his voice, and she understands the power, the gravity of what he requests, what it will mean. She has a brief flash of bloodied battlefields, chaotic with smoke and bright with flame, knows that his choice will endanger all that he has, change all that he is…but…

"Yes," she breathes against his lips, and then he laughs softly before sealing the pact with a searing kiss that makes her head spin. His hand flattens, glides down to loosen the knot of her sash where it nestles in the small of her back. It comes away in his claws and he tosses it to the side, then gently breaks the kiss as he lightly grips the material of her yukata and pulls. Rin is trapped under him by his weight on her thighs; she understands the predator that lives within him and quietly folds her hands into her lap, as he exposes her skin to his hungry eyes.

She gazes up at him, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the yukata pooling around her hips as if she is half-arisen from a silken pool. He has not seen her naked since she was a young child and he guarded her when she bathed, to make sure that she did not become a tasty morsel for some marauding creature. In the intervening years, after the defeat of evil made extensive patrols less necessary, she was taken care of by the staff of the fortress. He did not quite appreciate how much of a woman she has become, with creamy golden skin, sleek curves, a slender waist. Her dusky nipples stand proud, hardening beneath his gaze, inviting his touch.

His eyes are hooded and honey-dark; he begins by trailing a careful claw along her jaw, down the column of her throat, his gaze following his fingertip to where her pulse leaps under the delicate skin; he leans in and presses a kiss to the vulnerable flesh. His claw continues its downward path; he rolls his wrist so that his knuckles are grazing the soft curves of her breasts, and he smiles into her throat when she gasps and arches her back. He cups her, rubbing his thumb over her taut skin, elicits a soft gasp as he takes her into his mouth. Her hands fumble with the knotted sash at his waist; he had come to her room directly from his own futon, so it is a far less elaborate knot that she finally loosens and pulls away, then parts his clothing with trembling hands.

He allows her to look without distraction, straightening up and sliding his hand down to rest on the curve of her hip. She reaches up, flattens her palms on his chest and slips her fingertips under the edge of the neckline, pushing the yukata off his shoulders and down his arms in a single motion. He waits, watching how her eyes follow her warm hands as they glide over his chest, up to his shoulders and down to his elbows, lingering on the tapering stump of his left arm that now ends just below the joint. She brings her hands to his waist, pulling away the yukata until he is naked to her gaze. Slowly, she traces the markings that coil around the tops of his thighs, wrap around his hips until they dive into the silver fur concealing the base of his shaft. Her questing fingers hesitate a moment, before she circles him firmly and looks up at him as she gives him an experimental stroke, and it is his turn to gasp and shiver.

The darkness cannot hold against his need for her.

Rin watches his response to her tentative efforts, his silver hair tossing as he throws back his head and groans. She continues her ministrations until he is thrusting into her hands and growling deep in his throat… and then he gently tips her onto her back, coming down on top of her with his hand cupping the back of her head, supporting himself on his elbows. She has to let go of him, and now he is frustrated by the layers of bedding and yukata impeding his intent. He raises himself slightly, and she quickly pushes away the offending blankets and garment, until there is nothing between them but skin.

He buries his face in her throat, and his fangs and tongue trace a path up to her dainty ear, so different from his own, and he nibbles lightly on the lobe. She moans softly and her hands sweep across his back, her legs parting willingly, allowing him to settle his hips between her soft thighs. The contact of his erection on her most tender flesh sends electrical tingles cascading over her body, and when he kisses her while gently rocking his hips into her, she gasps and squirms, seeking to increase the erotic contact. He slides his hand out from under her head and moves down slightly to press open-mouthed kisses to her soft breast, brushing teasingly against the nipple several times, delighting in her mewls of pleasure, and the way her fingertips dig into his shoulders with each pass of his lips over the taut flesh.

Her scent is winding through his brain, filling his mind with a fog of pure want, and he devours her while increasing the tempo of his hips. Rin is prettily flushed, her skin deliciously warm, her voice breathy. She shivers and clasps him to her, burying her face in his shoulder even as she opens herself to him. He slips his hand underneath, tilts her hips upward, presses against her slick entrance. She gasps, tenses, waits for him… she has always waited for him, one way or another, these long years… and he begins to fit himself inside, slowly, achingly; he grits his teeth against the urge to slam into this hot, wet, tight darkness, to lose himselfwithin her.

As he slowly, very slowly eases inside, her body grips him tightly despite her sweet pain, and he kisses away the hurt even as he causes it. He meets with a point of resistance, knows that breaching it will seal their fates, and finds that he doesn't care. She trembles under him, and he rubs his cheek against hers, rumbling softly, reassuringly, and looks into her eyes.

In the darkness of her gaze, he finds his redemption.

He snaps his hips, muffles her startled cry in his mouth, and they are one. He holds still, waiting, raining small kisses across her brow, down her nose, across her eyelids, until she sighs deeply, and wraps her legs up around his hips. She tangles handfuls of silver, grips his shoulders, moans, throws her head back as he pulls out and pushes slowly in. He controls himself, controls the tempo, but can feel the tension coiling low in his belly. Her heartbeat and breathing accelerate, her body tenses beneath him, and he knows that she is close, very close, to losing herself and taking him with her.

He brushes his lips over the shell of her ear, whispers his desire. She mewls, quivering, and complies just as he rocks into her with increasing urgency…

"Sesshomaru!"

…and her body ripples around him, pulls him deeper until he doesn't know where she ends and he begins. The darkness recedes to the verges, driven back by the white lights exploding behind his eyelids as he growls her name and buries his face in her hair.

In the darkness of the room, he kisses away her tears.

Rin nestles against his chest; he trails a tender claw from her hip to her waist, up her back to her shoulder and traces filigree patterns of love and devotion lightly onto her tender skin, leaving no mark. She shivers, smiles up at him, traces her own patterns onto his chest with her fingertip, and kisses his pulse. She knows what he has sacrificed for her sake; he knows what he has gained. He clasps her against his heart, and she drifts off to sleep, her fingertips flexing on his hip-stripes. Golden eyes watch over her as she dreams; sensuous patterns of twining black and silver spill across the pale bedding and onto the tatami mats.

In the darkness of the room, he is content.