Title: Dependence

Warnings: Sexual situations, mild smut (nothing terribly graphic).

Notes: I hit a bit of a wall with Divergence for the moment, and wanted to get this out of my system. This was inspired by Inuyasha Quotes' week two prompt:

All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.

- Anatole France


Her life had long since spun so far out of control, that she had only the vaguest recollections of stability and sanity. At times she wondered what her life would have been like if she'd never fallen through the well — if she'd never been given a taste of the forbidden fruit she now depended on so dearly, and had been content to simply exist. And then he would appear next to her, as she stood at the edge of the stream, her bathing things scattered aimlessly around her, and she'd forget that what she was doing was wrong and not what she'd wanted. Because it was what she wanted. There was no denying it. As he pressed her flush up against the tree, pinning both her hands above her head with his own and nipping at her neck causing shudders and paroxysms to sweep through her body leaving her helpless.

She would have been hard pressed to say that she didn't enjoy it.

She enjoyed every minute of it. Every caress, every movement of his fingers which left her hanging, begging, praying for more. She revelled in the feelings he produced, became bound to them to the point where she could no longer imagine an existence without him.

And then he was moving, his hand trailing down her body, skirting teasingly over her nipples. She gasped, and he smirked. He knew that he was in complete control, and that she was his. The hand danced lower and lower, toying with the waistband of her skirt — which she wore now for him. She'd abandoned school, and life, long ago. Suddenly his warm mouth was on her breast, and she was arching into him and it felt so good, and who cared if it was wrong, and not what she'd imagined for herself? Who cared if she was in a relationship that revolved solely around sex? This feeling

She needed to touch him, to know that he at least was real and that there was some substance left to her life. Desperately, hungrily, she ran her hands over him, barely aware of his appreciative growls. Her hands brushed lower and lower wanting — wanting something. She was always wanting something these days. She felt incomplete and only he could give her occasional moments of completion.

Apparently his mind was not far from her own, as he propped her up higher against the tree, and tore through her panties with one well-practised movement.

In a moment of stillness, the breath before the plunge, she looked at him.

His normally placid amber eyes had turned liquid gold, swirling with tumultuous need. His face was lightly flushed, magenta markings beginning to enlarge and bleed into his skin in jagged lines. Silver hair fell in disarray around his face, giving him a look of wanton abandon.

For a moment their eyes met and she knew. She had destroyed him just as much as he had destroyed her. They were both caught in this inexplicable, torturous cycle of need and want, bound to each other by a need to feel.

And then the storm took hold, and he plunged deep inside her. For a moment the world was a little less empty, a little less grey, and a little less unbearable. For a moment she remembered what it was like to be content.

He shoved her harder against the tree. The bark was scratching her back, but she didn't care. All that mattered now was the precarious balance he'd created. And then she was close, so close to completion. A wave of sensations took hold, and she shivered and rocked wildly, pulling him closer and pushing him away simultaneously.

And then the world exploded with colour and feeling. He scraped his teeth over her shoulder, and she raked her nails over his back, leaving marks on his pale skin.

She needed, she wanted… She shivered and curled around him as he stilled, and they stood still for a moment.

And then he was gone, leaving with nothing but a cold tree and an empty clearing.

As she gathered her bathing things together and slipped into the water, washing away all traces of their frantic coupling she felt dirty. She had not become the daughter her mother had wanted, nor the woman she'd wanted to be. Yet wide-eyed and ignorant she stumbled inexorably onward on the path she'd created for herself, bound to a creature who had yet to even speak her name.

Yet even as she left the clearing to return to Inuyasha and the others she was looking forward to their next meeting.