Kagome dug her fingers into the empty sheets.

She wanted to get up. She wanted to go right now, out into the cold gathering dark. She should go—go and press her lips to the unyielding stone of her husband’s grave. But her tired body wouldn’t respond to her wishes.

Paralyzed, she closed her eyes and listened as an icy, sleeting rain began to fall. It hissed against the eaves of her home, lashed her guilt-ridden conscience. Against her will, she was dragged off into a fitful sleep.

Maybe it was because of her guilt that she dreamed of him. Maybe it was because of her terrible loneliness. Either way, as she surfaced from the abyssal depths of her unconscious mind, it was his clawed hands she felt on her naked flesh. Possessively, they smoothed over her breasts and hips, their fine points biting into her like acupuncture needles—infinitely soothing in their deliberate prick and scrape.

Kagome shivered, gooseflesh rising on her skin. Even in this fiction, her eyes remained shut, as though even her dream-self was aware that this caress was too good to be true, and the moment she cracked open her shuttered lids and looked upon him, her husband would vanish from sight.

The way he was touching her felt entirely unbelievable, had a decidedly imagined quality to it. Because in real life he hadn’t touched her like this—hadn’t firmed his palms over her stomach and sides with such claiming force, hadn’t squeezed her breasts until they ached, until the raised tips of them screamed with a need so violent that a tortured moan broke from her lips when he finally rolled them brisk and hard between the vise of his thumb and forefinger.

Still, Kagome kept her eyes shut as her belly caved and flinched beneath the relentless, downward course of his fingers. Lashes trembling, she arched and gasped at the carding of his claws through her thatch of curls, ceased breathing altogether when he flattened her bent thigh to the futon and peeled apart the outer lobes of her sex.

Slick and swollen, her hot neglected inner flesh spilled forth, chilling in the night air. Kagome whimpered at her sudden and total exposure—whimpered again at the sultry heat that bathed over her tingling nerves. The flicker of his tongue against the crest of them felt like deliverance. The deft, rough plying of that muscle between her delicate folds had tears of relief seeping from her lashes’ twitching seams.

As if divining where she needed to feel him most, he pushed past the sensitive periphery of her entrance and into her feminine depths. “Yes,” her dream-self sobbed in encouragement, her hips rolling eagerly to meet him.

Her husband’s answering growl had her walls fluttering around his thrusting tongue anew. Kagome panted, her chest and thighs tight and wracked to the point of cramping. Like in any dream, the pain was only a shadow of sensation, but the pressure building within her core was real and tangible enough.

As that sweet pressure continued to steep, the urge to see her beloved’s face buried between her thighs grew equally irrepressible. Opening her eyes at last, Kagome craned up her neck. With dreamlike dizziness and sluggishness, she beheld the fuzzy, gleaming outline of his silver hair, the glint of his ivory claws against the splayed, shadowed flesh of her inner thigh.

Kagome’s heart constricted with longing as she breathed out his name, “…Inuyasha.”

Abruptly, he stilled against her. The messy fall of his bangs obscured his features as he slowly raised his face. Only his golden eyes were visible to her, the darkness around them seeming to deepen as his narrowed gaze seared into hers.

“Wait,” she cried out as he withdrew from her altogether, into the shadows—before her heavy head fell back, and she was plunged into oblivion once more.

When Kagome awakened into the harsh light of day, her frustration and disappointment were no less keen. She remembered those imagined sensations so vividly and acutely, as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her stiff spine creaked. Her eyes were bloodshot and bleary. A faint, mocking throbbing still reverberated in her skull.

“Damn it, how pathetic,” she muttered as she ground her knuckles against her temples, feeling wretched and forlorn at the fruitless wetness that adhered her lower half.

Her right thigh still ached from its desperate splay. She must really have strained it during the course of that stupid sex dream. Flexing it open and closed with a wince, Kagome caught sight of a curious glimmer against her skin.

Frowning, she picked at the spot, all the blood draining from her face as something came away, pinched beneath her nail and its bed—

A long, shimmering strand of silver hair.

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

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