Inuyasha and all its characters are created by Rumiko Takahashi. I merely occasionally borrow them for my own twisted purposes.

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I hate this.

I hate the way you come to me, with hot blood and a cold heart. You use me, pounding into me, pounding out your anger, your frustration. You leave me torn and bruised, my will and illusions shattered. I don't want this, but you neither know nor care. I hate the way you use me.

And I hate the way my body betrays me, hardening in anticipation, yearning for your touch.

What a fool I am.

Here you are again. You growl my name, and I flinch. I brace myself for the moment you throw me to the ground, rend my clothing and violate me until your sanity returns, spit on the ground and leave me to lick my own wounds.

Wait.

No.

Don't do this, damn you. Not now. Don't call my name softly, touch my cheek gently.

You've already broken my body, time and again. Please, I beg of you, don't break my heart, too.

It's a lie. It has to be. Your golden gaze has always been a devouring flame. Never has it been the warmth of the hearth, the guiding beacon of a candle. I won't believe it. It's not real.

Do you want to make me cry? I don't want to. I don't want to cry in front of you, but already I'm weeping like a bereaved woman, sobbing like a frightened child. I weep for my lost dignity. I'm frightened by your words, your actions.

Don't take me in your arms. Don't slip your hand inside my clothes, lay it over my fluttering heart. Damn you, I said don't.

You gaze into my teary eyes, rapt with wonder, and I cannot look away. Your hands are everywhere, in me and on me, giving where before you have only taken. A thready whine escapes me. Oh Buddha, I am so needy! When did I become this creature of pain and desire? It's so humiliating. Please, please stop.

Oh gods, don't stop. Touch me more. Oh, I am weak, weak. I want. All reason has flown, and I want so desperately to believe your words, murmuring like bees, weaving in and out of my consciousness as you tell me I am beautiful, I am desirable, I am beloved. I can't even form the questions that prod at me through the gaps in sensation. My lips are occupied with kisses, with gasps, with incoherent protestations. I'll give you my breath, my essence, all that I am, just, please, don't lie to me. Sheath yourself inside me, take my voice, shatter me and spread me among the heavens, but don't toy with me.

Don't break me. Please.