Momiji couldn't explain her luck. She had never been able to do it in the past, and she couldn't do it now. Not only had she failed to find either man and bring them to their sanity, but had gotten herself considerably far from home with no ride. She supposed she could call home and ask Sakura to pick her up; the girl was probably hovering over the phone biting her nails at this point, waiting for Momiji to call, but she couldn't risk it. If Mr. or Mrs. Kunikida answered the phone instead, Momiji would be forced to explain herself. In addition, if her two parental figures hadn't yet discovered she was gone, the phone call would alert them. They'd demand to know why she had left the house, and where she was located. If Momiji happened to hang up on them, Kunikida had a multitude of resources and connections at his fingertips. Her call would be traced in mere minutes, and she'd have been picked up within the hour. Even if they already knew she was missing, if she didn't call they wouldn't be aware of her location. She was better off walking.. wherever she was headed.

Momiji stood on a deserted sidewalk, cursing her bad fortune. If she recalled correctly, all this mayhem had started with a walk on a rainy night. By the time she'd realized as much, she'd already cleared a good amount of sidewalk. Figuring she was cursed one way or another, she had decided not to turn back. That had been over an hour ago.

It seemed that when it came to her life being in danger, she had no common sense. But she'd never claimed to be a sensible woman, just an emotional one, and when her emotions went haywire, her actions followed suit. Some would consider that endearing as a character attribute, but she considered it a flaw.

After all, here she was, wandering the streets with no plan of action. It wasn't exactly dead outside; the nightclubs were still open, and Momiji could hear the shouts and laughter of drunken men and women from the streets. All the same, she didn't want to be there. She wanted to be curled up in her bed- alone, mitama-less, with no problems. She'd obviously taken for granted the last two years of peacefulness, wasted them. She could have spent more time going for things she'd wanted, like Kusanagi, improving her grades a little, and hell, experiencing life, no matter how silly that sounded.

She sighed. Now wasn't exactly the time to think about how much she had messed up. She could very well stand on the sidewalk for hours if that was the case. She needed to go. Home or forward was the question, however. Home seemed much more appealing, especially since she was covering no ground otherwise.

It wasn't too far of a distance to cover. It wasn't as if the whole time she been gone she'd been sprinting the miles away; she'd spent more time slowly wandering than anything else. The problem was that it was still raining pretty heavily, though not as harshly as the previous hour, and now that she was discouraged, Momiji didn't fancy walking in it. Her first trip in the rain was what had brought this on. She was dripping, she was cold, and she was cranky, which in her view wasn't the neatest trio. She was discouraged beyond belief, and worse than that, she was thoroughly at a loss for what to do. Disgusted with Murakumo and Kusanagi, but most of all, disgusted with herself, she turned tail to head home.

Her feet were wet, she noticed absently, not caring. Her sneakers oozed water with each step she took, making weird little slushy sounds. She almost wanted to laugh, though there was absolutely nothing to laugh about. Seemingly being pursued by a man she hated- and a danger to the lives of those around him- and ignored systematically by the one she wanted more than anything, she wondered if all women had problems to this degree. She hoped not, because if they did, they had her deepest sympathy.She briefly wondered if there was a support group she could join. One of those groups where women sat around for an hour or two a week and discussed their dependency on a man that was no good. If she never had any more contact with a man, would that be such a bad thing?

Probably. That thought brought a genuine, though tiny smile to her face as she resumed her walk. She wasn't a full grown woman, confident in her femininity and charm like some women she admired. She didn't exactly envy them, but she did have a healthy respect for women who knew exactly what they wanted and were comfortable with themselves and the lives they lead. Her, on the other hand. Momiji did know, however, who she was in love with, but she wasn't sure how to go about making sure her feelings were returned, or how to get him to return those feelings if he didn't already experience them. That left her stuck.

After all, what did she get after her confession? Anger. Kusanagi had stormed out on her like she'd done something wrong, which she didn't understand. Her thoughts shifted, and she groaned. What had she done that was so bad? She was meant for him, and he for her. She could have tried harder to convince him to believe what everyone else already knew. She could have made him cave in and accept their relationship as natural order, the way he should. She could have held his hand more, kissed him all by herself, or cuddled him out of his bad moods and rigid inhibitions. Surely he wouldn't have pushed her away if she had been more forward

But brave and bold she wasn't. It wasn't in her nature, but she couldn't stop beating herself up over her lack of self confidence.

Momiji had no idea of how long she walked after that, lost in her thoughts, before she stopped, blinking at her new surroundings.

What irony, she thought with a slight chuckle. An apartment complex loomed before her, a complex she'd been quite familiar with in the past. Kusanagi's room was up three flights of stairs, 2 doors down the hall on the left. Always unlocked.

She supposed it would be stupid to go inside and get dry, only to venture back into the rain, but she found herself inside the small lobby in record time, dripping water on the plush gray carpeting.

Ducking her head to avoid the disdainful stares, Momiji shuffled to the stairway, taking the steps slowly, her legs unable to do much more. Despite her turtle-like pace, before she knew it she'd cleraed the three flights of stairs. She was truly cold now that the warmth of the heated lobby had touched her skin and made it realize just how chilly the outdoor air actually was. Her fingertips and toes were going numb, her skin void of regular color. The water soaking the legs of her jeans, soks, and shoes turned her calves and feet to ice. Her whole body felt soggy and heavy; the simple act of walking was threatening to drain her.

She just needed to rest. Dry off, and rest. Now that she mentioned it, a hot shower sounded nice too. A soak would be wonderful right now. Kusanagi had a large bed, and she hadn't been able to sprawl around alone in her own bed for some time.

Well, as long as the apartment was deserted... she might as well get some use out of it. The first thing she did was head straight for his bathroom. She shed her wet, clammy garments in record time, then struggled a moment with her underthings. They felt surgically attached to her skin, and she had to literally peel them from her freezing skin. She turned on the shower spray to let it warm up while she took care of her clothing.

Next, she grabbed a towel, wrapped herself in it, and proceeded to gather up her dripping clothes. Besides the bed and the full bathroom, another perk of Kusanagi's place was owning his own washer and dryer. She loaded her clothes, liberally sprinkled laundry detergent over her clothes without measuring, and turned the washer on. The loud humming of the machine was extremely comforting, somehow keeping her from feeling too lonely. Stealing one of Kusanagi's t-shirts would have to do, so she rifled through his drawer until she lcoated his shirts and selected one.

Momiji padded on bare feet back to the bathroom, shut the door behind her, and sighed in anticipation of relaxation. She'd call home when she emerged, telling them that she'd just decided to be alone. They'd still be worried, and upset at her for leaving, but less so when they realized she wasn't wandering aimlessly through the city. She stepped into the shower, and closed her eyes as the warm spray cascaded over her face. She couldn't remember ever being this content, and after she threw her clothes in the dryer, she'd curl up in that bed and try to get a good night's sleep.

Momiji lathered up and rinsed her body and then her hair, relishing the simple pleasure of just cleansing herself. She wished she could stay in the shower forever, but all too soon the water started to become less scalding and more tepid, so with a resigned sigh, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Figuring she might as well allow herself to wallow in the luxury, she took her time drying off, making sure every last tendril of chestnut colored hair was drip-free, and then wrapped the towel securely around her.

After brushing her hair and restoring it to some sort of order, Momiji tugged the oversize shirt over her head, sighing happily. It fit like the loose knee-length gowns she wore at home. An added bonus was that it belonged to Kusanagi, and that thought alone brought a tint to her cheeks. A similar scene had played itself through her mind before, only Kusanagi was with her, instead of prowling the streets.

Feh. Fat chance of that ever happening. She drew the black robe she had found laying on the top of the washer earlier, apparently having been recently washed, around herself, tying the belt around her waist snugly. It was nice and soft, and the warmth made her even sleepier.

She stepped out of the bathroom and made her way to the washer. Her clothes were finished, so she threw them into the dryer and flipped it on. There. Now she could call home, get some sleep and face the next day with a clear head.

Climbing into bed, she slid beneath the sheets and flipped onto her back. An audible moan escaped her lips. Silence. She reached to her left, shutting off the beside lamp, and the room was blanketed in darkness. The bedside phone sat illuminated next to the lamp, and Momiji reached for it, finally ready to call the parental units and Sakura to convince them of her safety. She had arranged herself more comfortably, and finally settling into a postion she was satisfied with, when her ears perked up, picking up a slight shuffling noise.

No. Was that a mouse? She didn't think so, though she wearily heaved herself into a sitting position, tucking her legs underneath herself in order to avoid being bitten before leaning over to flip on the lamp again when an all too familiar voice filled the silence.

"There's no need to get up on my account. In fact, why don't you just remain where you are?"

No. No, no, no. And why should she be suprised?

Momiji turned on the lamp, and set her gaze on the man standing at the foot of the bed. He was a bit damp himself, though the onslaught of rain had tapered off a bit. Shining droplets of moisture clung to his raven hair, and his jacket was slick with the night's downpour.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Momiji clapped a hand over her mouth after stating her question, since she didn't normally use that term, and Murakumo chuckled.

"You're a silly girl, you do know that, don't you? And here I was expecting to have to track you down, when you come right into my lap- or my bed, rather. What brings you to my humble living quarters?" Murakumo walked around to Momiji's side, only to frown when, with a flurry of legs and arms, she rolled over and scambled off the other end, all exhaustion forgotten.

Just as quickly, his frown dissipated, replaced by that irritating smile of his. "You were looking for me, weren't you?"

"Maybe," she admitted, drawing her robe tighter around her slender body. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing here, so don't change the subject. If Kusanagi ever came-"

Murakumo stood. "What are you telling me this for?"

Momiji was incredulous. "Why?!" she sputtered, not understanding how he could be so dense. "Because, you might as well be asking for an attack! Of all the people in the world, why did you pick Kusanagi's place to live in?" Her voice rose an octave, her fingers releasing the material of her robe, placing her hands on her hips. "How dumb are you?"

He merely chuckled. "Dumb? I don't recall being the one who went out in the middle of a rainstorm to.. by the way, exactly why did you come out to visit me?"

"I didn't come here to visit you," she huffed, crossing her arms irritably, "because I didn't know you were here." She glared at him. "But Kusanagi does know that something's wrong. He's probably still out hunting right now, you know."

Murakumo crossed his arms as well, meeting her eyes. "And you're warning me because...?"

Momiji didn't answer, at a loss for a response.

"Because you were worried about me?"

"NO!" She exploded, stomping her bare foot on the carpeted floor. "Look," she continued, uncrossing her arms and pointing at him, "I suppose that this is probably funny to you and all, staying in your worst enemy's place while he doesn't notice a thing." She approached him, until she was close enough to wag her finger in front of his nose. "Funny, funny."

"I have to admit, it is rather funny," Murakumo confessed, staring at her upraised finger in amusement, "but I am a little suprised he hasn't found out that I'm among the living again- and in his living quarters, no less."

"If he did know, you'd-"

"I'd what?" He caught her finger in his hand, squeezing it gently. "What, hmm? What makes you think that isn't exactly what I want to happen?"

She stared into his eyes, confusion overriding any anger."What?"

"Come now, think about it. Do you really think that I went to all this trouble just so I could come back to Tokyo and hide in the shadows? If Kusanagi sees me, it will be because I want him to. Don't concern yourself with me. You seem to have some issues yourself."

"What about myself?"

"You, my lovely, are apparently confused. You seem to love Kusanagi, but for some insane reason, you're alone in an aparment, half dressed with me. Just why is that?"

"You think you're sooo smart, don't you?" she demanded, shaking her finger at him again. "Well, let me tell you something! I had no idea you were going to be here, and if I had, there's no way in the world I ever would have came. You're disgusting! You live to cause chaos! I can't stand you! Ugh!" Momiji accentuated her last statement with an action that suprised both Murakumo and herself.

She kicked him as hard as she could, with her feet being bare. Her foot smarted a bit afterwards, but she ignored it, glaring at him with the meanest expression she could muster. The kick was centered at nothing in particular, but it landed on his calf, and his eyebrow raised as her foot returned to the floor.

Goodness, but she did look extremely angry. Despite his resolution to remain calm, a titter escaped his lips, and then another, until out and out laughter permeated the room. He leaned forward, his hands braced on his thighs, and laughed until tears came to his eyes. She was an amusing sight when she was angry.

And if possible, even more beautiful.

Momiji scowled at him. How dare he laugh at her? She stood her ground, her arms falling to her sides, hands forming into tightly clenched fists. She didn't think landing a punch would do much damage, if any at all, but it sure would work wonders on her anger.

He cast away all unrelated thoughts as his laughter died down, and took a step toward her. She didn't move away, almost as if she was taking his advance as a sort of challenge she couldn't lose. She stared him down, her arms resting at her sides.

"You think I'm scared of you, don't you?"

"I said nothing of the sort.." Murakumo said calmly, on guard in order to avoid any other kicks she might aim at him.

"But you were thinking it, weren't you? Well, I'm not!" Momiji yanked at the ties of her robe, binding them tighter around her slight waist. "I'm not a little kid anymore! You are not going to intimidate me."

"That's right, you're a big girl now," he agreed, an irritating smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "nearly grown."

Momiji, sensing she was being teased, opted to keep her mouth shut, merely glaring at him. Droplets of water fell from his hair, dripping onto the lush carpet. She felt her eyes being drawn to his tresses, and against her will, spoke.

"You're going to catch a cold if you don't dry your hair."

"I'll be fine. It isn't that wet." To prove his point, he ran a hand through his hair, shaking it to send the remaining water flying. "And don't try to change the subject." He tilted his head to the side, taking another two steps, two steps that brough him almost nose to nose with her. She could feel his breath, stirring the stray stands of hair that hung about her face.

"Do you love him?" His tone was soft, and even held a slight touch of humor.

Momiji ddin't have to ask who he was referring to, and answered him simply. "Yes.." The abrupt change in subjects did more than make her nervous, and her expression turned wary. She watched him closely, waiting for the next unrelated question.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, and nuzzled her throat very gently, the movement of his lips making a slight vibration against her sensitive skin. There was no preamble, no warning, though Momiji didn't seem suprised at the contact. She merely stood still in sort of a half-surrender; he could feel it in her. She seemed to melt under his touch, her admission forgotten, although her surrender seemed more mental than physical.

"I know you love him," he said quietly, one hand lightly making a circular pattern against the small of her back while the other hand buried itself in her wealth of hair, "and your family too. You would do anything for them, isn't that right?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely audible, her breath stirring the stray strands of his hair.

Murakumo moved to the delicate skin behind her ear, and Momiji felt him kiss her flesh softly, fleetingly, before his tongue began to trace a leisurely pattern. Strangely enough, the contact wasn't as revolting as she'd expected. She'd assumed that feeling a person's tongue on her skin would feel icky and slimy, but neither sensation was experienced. All that she felt was a slick warmth that wasn't unpleasant by any stretch, and despite her resolve against what was happening to her, she closed her eyes briefly as an involuntary shudder passed through her, like nothing she'd ever known. She stumbled slightly, and naturally, he caught her, bringing her closer to him in the process.

"If their lives depended on you, you'd do anything you could to protect them." He exhaled against her neck, delighting in the little shiver he felt run through her unstable form. She was warm and alive, her body almost pulsing under his exploring fingers. She was pressed to close to him, and he could feel every movement, every throb, ever shudder against his body. He'd shut his eyes, but their closeness made it impossible not to feel the feeble nod she supplied in response to his question.

"Now," he murmured, releasing his grip momentarily, "only one question remains." His hands found their way to his own body, where they worked his shirt free from the waist of his pants. He still managed to look dignified as he made short work of the fitted top, wriggling his arms free, then lifting it up and over his head.

"And that question is, if you love them all so much, why are you here with me?" he didn't doubt the effect his question had over the girl, and simply began fiddling with the knot binding the lapels of her robe together. He paused in his grapple with the annoying knot when he felt her body tense.

Murakumo's gaze slid upward from her waist to her chest, then her face. Holy, hell, she did have a stubborn streak in her, though it seemed to be faltering. It seemed she understood more than he gave her credit for. Because she would do anything in her power to protect her loved ones, she didn't push him away, but her guard was once again raised, the knowledge of why she complying-at least partially- overriding any other thoughts she might have had, any pleasure she might have been feeling. She made no move to evade him, nor to stop him, but her expression had turned most unpleasant. Liquid green met his eyes, and the gaze was laced with an intensity that made Murakumo himself blink.

Her expression was tinged with ice, but it took all of her inner strength to keep from bursting into tears. She did love Kusanagi, but she was hurt and angry. She wasn't worried about Kusanagi's safety; he could defend himself easily, especially now, but she did fear for the rest of her family and friends. Most of them didn't run around with guns in their jackets any longer. Koume still kept a bazooka in the back of her sport utility for emergencies, but Yaegashi had been sufficiently outraged at the idea, so Koume had consented to keep it unloaded to pacify him. As for Kunikida, he always kept a weapon in his car due to his training, and Sugishita was armed as well, but the rest of them rarely carried weapons on them. What was worse, none of them weren't prepared for an attack from Murakumo, thanks to Momiji's silence. She was well aware of the fact that if Murakumo wanted to hurt any of them, he most likely could. And if he was crossed, who could tell who he would go after to convince her to comply? That was part of the reason she was still here.

And the other reason she stayed....

Her mental tirade was cut short as he resumed his task, tired of waiting for her to respond. The ties of her robe came free of their binding, dropping from their restraints.

I don't have to like it, Momiji whispered to herself. It'll all be over soon. Momiji gritted her teeth behind closed lips. She refused to look at him again, because she was afraid her would seen the beaten look she was positive was in her eyes. She stood upright, strugging against reaction while he finished with the ties, parting the fabric of her robe, pushing the garment from her shoulders. It landed on the carpeted floor in a black, fluffy heap.

Murakum spent long, measured moments gazing at her body, though it was still covered from her thighs to her neck in the oversize t-shirt, cloudy eyes drinking in the sight of her still developing curves. They were still visible despite the baggy clothing she was wearing, and he couldn't help remarking on them. "To say simply that you've become lovely would be an insult."

Momiji couldn't meet his eyes with her own, instead letting her stare center on the wall behind him.

"Hey now," he cooed to her, "for this to work, you'll have to play along a bit. You don't like looking at me? You don't feel anything?" His hands slipped behind her, playing with the black fabric covering her form before returning to her hips. "I admit, the sight of your pretty little form does a little something for me. Do you have any idea?" Murakumo gave a smile as Momiji turned away, her reddened cheeks conveying her feelings.

"Come now," he said, his fingers jerking on the fabric of her shirt gently, "don't be afraid. You can touch me if you'd like. Go on." As she remained still, he took her hand in his own, bringing it upward, placing it on the firm plane of his chest. "Go ahead. I don't mind. I don't feel that bad, or so I've been told."

His bare skin felt strange; the surface was cool and solid, but underneath she felt something hot and fluid. She stood there, her hand still resting against his skin, overcome. What the hell was she doing here, and with him, no less? The only man she'd every truly liked.. wanted, had just stormed out on her hours before. If she had a choice, she'd have loved to be in this situation.. with Kusanagi. But here she was, in his own apartment, about to become horribly intimate with someone that not only Kusanagi hated, but her as well. Or at least, that was how she was supposed to feel, though that wasn't accurate at the moment. Why wasn't she hating him right now? Why wasn't she fighting? Why wasn't she delivering blows?

The answer was simple.

Though she was scared out of her mind, and deep inside she knew that he was dishonest, emotionless, and ruthless, she couldn't help it. He still fascinated her. She wanted him too. And while these thoughts played themselves over in her head, she began to hate herself for her indecisiveness, for her weakneess. She didn't love him. She didn't even like him. She never had, and most likely never would.

Yet, her fingers moved slightly, exploring. She'd never been able to do this with Kusanagi; he'd just recently let their relationship come anything close to normal. She'd never seen him stare at her with anything close to blatant wanting in his eyes. She'd never felt his hands sweep over her with the intention of bringing her pleasure in the most intimate way possible. Kusanagi had never given her a kiss so heated that she'd had to gasp for breath and struggle for her footing afterwards. Though they'd kissed, she'd never been urged by him to go beyond that point, the territory that changed a kiss from sweet to sexual. He'd never told her she had a pretty little body, that it brought him to arousal. He'd never urged her to touch him back, wanting to feel the same pleasure himself.

Kusanagi had never given her the feelings she experienced now, and he was the one she loved. Where was the fairness in that?

She was human. She wasn't perfect. She had desires and feelings, and how long was she going to have to stifle them for him? These feelings weren't necessarily sexual, but she yeared for occasional reassurance that her emotions were returned, that she wasn't in it alone.

Murakumo wasn't Kusanagi by any stretch, and she wasn't in love with him, but he was offering her something that she'd wanted for a long time. She wanted to hold him while his movements carried her to a higher state of being, wanted to close her eyes and let the sheer pleasure of the moment consume her, wanted to feel a pair of strong arms around her while she cried out and shook, keeping her grounded until she found consciousness again. She wanted to be cradled, sheltered, and cherished. She didn't think it was too much to ask of someone who cared for her.

She just wished Kusanagi were the one to give it to her.

"Lay down, love. Just relax for me. Can you do that?" His words were spoken very slowly, and Momiji found herself following his instructions without complaint or protest. She felt his arms around her, lowering her to the soft surface of the bed, and she rested her head on the pillows in a daze, her head swimming. She opened her eyes, and as she focused on his face, she was almost alarmed at the difference in their sizes. Though he was rather slender, his height made up for his bulk.

He towered above her, his face looming ever closer, until his straight nose brushed against hers. A millisecond later, Momiji felt his mouth sweeping over hers, his breath skimming her cheeks. The coolness of his lips was a startling contrast to the heat of her own, and she couldn't stifle the little whimper or suprise that escaped her throat.

He muffled the noise with his own mouth, claiming her lips gently but firmly, molding himself to her, reaching underneath her to brace his hand against the small of her back. He pressed gently, arching her upward to meet him.

Murakumo began to tease her, the way he had the first time they had shared a kiss, pressing his lips to hers for a few brief moments, then breaking the contact. He used those free moments to place kisses on her face and neck.

Despite Momiji's reservations, the temptation of pleasure began to take over. She didn't want to enjoy what was happening to her, but she was helpless to withstand it.

Murakumo continued his game until she was straining upward, seeking the sweet pressure of his lips on her own. His mission accomplished, he resumed the assualt on her senses, his kisses less gentle, becoming more insistent. His hair fell over both of them, blocking out the light.

Her hands crept their way up to the small of his back, and as began the slow, mind-robbing task of undulating his hips against her own, Momiji's eyes slid shut, her brain registering astonishment until the the sheer wonder of it began to take over and her eyes opened at half mast. Her breathing quickened, and against her will her legs rose, her knees clutching at his hips tightly.

As she began to match his rhythm automatically, her thighs gently cradling his weight, stark realization lightly shook her. The truth of what was occuring came to the surface. Her movements stilled, and she stared up at him, confusion playing over her features.

Murakumo paused, meeting her eyes. A hand stole upward to cup her cheek, and he began to softly reassure her. "Relax, princess, relax. You're fine." He stroked her soft skin, and slowly but surely, she began to go limp underneath him, any bit of fight she may have had left draining from her body. He covered her lips again, gently coaxing her out of her reservations.

His ploy worked. Momiji's body lay soft and inviting beneath him, and the sigh that slipped past her lips was stifled by his own groaning. Someone help him. His arousal was genuine, which was expected but still suprising. He briefly wondred how a human could make mincemeat out of his nerves so thoroughly. And someone who was so obviously on a different side than him, no less. But attraction worked in mysterious ways, though he had no doubt that once this task was completed, his system would clear, and he could continue to the next stage in his plan.

Murakumo propped himself up on one arm, gripping the hem of her t-shirt between his fingers. He reminded himself that as much as he wanted to hurry, harshness was not an option. He needed to be gentle, take his time, if he wanted her to be willing. His fingers urged the material upward, and he watched, enthralled, as her legs were exposed to him little by little. They were well shaped, although slender, and just the sight of them sent a shudder rocketing through him. His free hand stole downward, and he found himself stroking her snowy skin, the urge too strong to fight.

Momiji's head sank down onto the pillows, her breathing harsh and ragged. Oh, God. Through the haze that took over her mind, she was able to formulate a thought, though it was slow in coming. Was it supposed to be this powerful? If skin to skin contact was this devastating, how was she going to handle the actual process?

Her attention was suddenly diverted from her thoughts as a request broke through the fog. It was stated very quietly, softly, and the sound of it caused Momiji to shudder once again.

"Can you lift your hips for me?" Murakumo pulled at the shirt while she heeded his request, freeing the material from her thighs. "Good girl... How about we get rid of this completely?" The last question was whispered, and though she offered no consent, she offered no protest either. He lifted the shirt in a short, swift motion, bringing the soft cotton up and over her head and dropping it to the floor.

Her body was completely exposed to him, and his breath actually caught at the sight of her. He felt as if he had been slammed from behind, as if some huge blunt object has just knocked him senseless. He leaned down, his arms wrapping around her, crushing her to him, his soft, demanding lips molding over her trembling ones. He felt a sudden need to devour her, to find solace in her, to find comfort and peace in her. While these urges were disturbing to him, he felt helpless to stop them.

His hands slid downward, gripping her hips, spanning his fingers over them, getting accustomed to her delicacy. The feel of her skin underneath his hands was absolutely exquisite. Though he hated to do so, he lifted himself from the softness of her body in order to take his first good look at her.

Her body was a work of art, youthful and beautiful. He found the bodies of most girls her age to be lacking, but in her he found her feminine agility and features fascinating. The hands gripping her hips shifted to her waist, gliding their way upward, skimming past her breasts, until they rested on her shoulders.

Her breasts were lovely and round, rising and falling as her breathing became more frantic. Her skin almost glowed, radiant and slightly rosy, flushing even more before his hands even touched her. He merely took a moment to take in the sheer beauty of her body before his hands left her smooth, flat stomach to cup the soft, pale skin of her chest.

Momiji quivered, her breath catching in her throat as he leaned down to kiss her again. He moved to her neck, then her shoulders, before giving her breasts his full atention. Her sensitive flesh tightened as she felt the cool breeze of his breath on her skin. Murakumo released a burst of air from his pursed lops, drawing an agonizd gasp from hers. His tongue moved first in a flickering motion, batting at the sensitive peak, creating sensations that caused Momiji to toss her head to the side. Sounds of pleasure began to escape from her throat, and eventually, her fingers wound their way into his hair, pressing him to her as he lovingly caressed her intimately. His patience almost reaching an end, he began to use stronger strokes, and in response, Momiji arched her back, moaning in delirious anticipation as he kissed the satiny soft area between her breasts before returning to her mouth.

Momiji had been so caught up in the attention his mouth had been bestowing on her body that she hadn't noticed his hands were on the move again, not realizing what he was doing until her hips began to move, matching the rhythm his fingers set.

He used long, gentle strokes, gaaging her excitement by her low, incoherent moans. She looked up, her eyes misty with arousal as he released her lips, using her hips to rock against his touch, making the contact more solid.

But eventually, his teasing took its toll on her, and Momiji raised her arms, wrapping them around his neck and pressing herself to him. Murakumo gasped aloud at the contact; the sensation of their bodies resting against one another was driving him slowly insane, and moving against her abated the ache a bit, though an entirely different ache took its place. Momiji's head fell back, and a thin cry pierced the otherwise silent air.

Her arched neck lay exposed, and he took the opportunity to bury his face in its gentle slope, ever so gently raking his teeth against her senstive skin. He was rewarded with a soft whimper, and Momiji undulated against him until he returned the favor, their moans mingling together.

Murakumo gained a modicum of control, pushing Momiji back onto the bed, rising to remove his remaining garments. His pants were tossed to the floor, and his undergarment followed.

Momiji watched as he removed his clothing, her mind not exactly hers, as he returned to her line of vision and she reached for him, inviting him back into her arms. Murakumo found himself automatically reaching for her in turn, easing himself back into her embrace.

Through the haze of passion, Momiji still managed to acknowlege that he was now completely undressed. She went still beneath him, her eyes wide.

Murakumo bent his head, nuzzling the curve of her neck. "It's all right, princess," he whispered, smoothing a shock of hair away from her forehead. "just relax."

Momiji stared up at him, attempting to relax, as he'd instructed. She felt his hard thighs nudging her legs apart slowly, and then the shocking sensation of his manhood pressing against her intimately. She was finding difficulty relaxing, but remaining tense was impossible; her limbs were weak and she collapsed against the pillows with an exhausted sigh.

In a daze, she was aware of a pressing, burning sensation, spreading though her innermost region. Though his penetration was exceedingly slow and gentle, the pain was searing, and she couldn't hold back the shriek of protest and surprise. Momiji prayed silently for him to please stop, and them to please continue, and again to stop, and continue, until he had completed the task of entering her fully. Her requests continued to echo in her mind, shortening until one word was decipherable. The ache was already beginning to subside, though she feared it might return full blast if he began to move.

Despite that fear, the word that had been bouncing around inside her skull burst forth in the form of a softly spoken murmur. "Please."

"Yes," he murmured, his answer immediate, and almost automatic.

Murakumo paused, gathering his control, and Momiji took advantage of the moment of inactivity to grab a hold of her own wits. The pain in her abdomen was startling, but bearable. It was strange. When Momiji thought of sex, she'd always regarded the act with a certain amount of fear that was almost paralyzing in itself. However, since she'd always imagined her first time with Kusanagi, she had always been willing to take that chance and plung headfirst into the act, because with him, nothing could be horrible. Of course, it hadn't happened, but if he'd been willing, she would have been as well. With him, she wouldn't have had the fear she had now, would have had no reservations, would have welcomed any pain.

Now that the worst part had passed, the fear had started to ebb away, along with some of the initial pain. She looked up, her eyes moist with unshed tears as Murakumo towered above her. There was little light as it was, but his hair cascaded over, drowning out the remaining dimness. It hung everywhere, spilling over her face, chest and shoulders, and finally, over the pillows, mingling with her own, black and chestnut blending together.

Momiji focused on the region of his chest, lacking the confidence to look into his eyes at this point, which seemed absurb when taken into account exactly what position they both were in. That stirring that she'd read so much about in romance novels and magazine articles, that strange feeling of disorientation... she'd always assumed that it was overrated. It could never have been possible to feel so much, to be overwhelmed by it. Momiji didn't doubt those feelings were possible, just that they would be so very intense. She hadn't been prepared for this.

And what exactly did "this" entail? She wasn't sure. She felt weightless, yet grounded at the same time. She was no longer terrified, but her heart still fluttered crazily under her breast. It threatened to take flight that instant. It pounded, robbing her of already precious breath, leaving her panting. Her vision was clouding, her pulse racing, every sound echoing between her ears, becoming louder each time it was repeated instead of receding.

Her blood coursed at lighting speed underneath her skin, skin that was becoming far to tight to shelter her bones and muscles, her flesh on fire. Parts of her body ached and throbbed, though she was too far gone to decipher which parts of her body were reacting. All she knew was that these feelings did indeed exist, and she was drowning in them.

Murakumo, sensing that her fear had lessened, used one hand to steady himself, and lifted the other to her face, his thumb smoothing her cheek in an almost loving gesture as he began to move, using gentle, slow strokes until her discomfort eased and she fought unsuccessfully to bite back a groan.

The sound that emanated from her lips was more erotic than he could have imagined, and with a harsh sound of his own, he kissed his control farewell. With a hoarse sound of surrender, he lowered his head, molding his lips to hers as he let go, casting any precaution, reservations and sense that either of them may have had to the wind.

All of a sudden, in an instant, influencing her didn't matter. Beating Kusanagi, and regaining his control as the king of the Aragami didn't matter. Outsmarting that bitch of a woman who controlled him didn't matter. All that made sense to him right then was having her, being as close to her as possible for as long as possible.

Murakumo shut his eyes. A voice deep inside him told him to be careful, to keep a firm grasp on his good sense, but he was too far gone to listen. In that moment, he shut out all negative and limited thoughts, and simply concentrated on bringing the woman beneath him soaring to a shocking and release, and finally, when she was sated, finding a release of his own.

* * *

Two years of inactivity had granted him peacefulness, but also uselessness. He had been trained to fight and protect; his life had been devoted to protecting Kaede and then Momiji, but for the past two years he'd had nothing to protect anyone from. It was a boring and uneventful existence.

Then again, that period of non-aragami activity had given him a chance to sort things out with Momiji.

Too bad he hadn't taken the chance.

Damn. Ironic that he hadn't realized the chance he'd had until it was lost, though it had been thrown in his face several times. And now, after his outburst, he took a moment to reflect on the incident.

In doing so, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. What had he been thinking? That had been the first time she'd mentioned her love for him in over a year, and he'd blown her off as if he could have cared less. He felt like kicking himself in hindsight. The task at hand seemed terribly unimportant as he pondered his blunder. How could he have been so callous with her feelings?

Suddenly he felt like an idiot for trying so hard to track demons when he'd hurt the one person who meant the world to him. The thought of what he had done brought a stark look to his eyes. Why in the world were people so cruel? What was with all this love crap? It was so damn stupid!

The lines in his face softened. She loved him. Sure, she'd told him this before, nearly two years past, but it was still no less startling.

Imagine him, angry because she had told him something he'd secretly hungered to hear again for the past year. The aragami could wait. He should still be with Momiji, holding her close and returning her affection; it's what he had longed to do for quite some time, though he had never really succumed to his longing.

Sometimes he though he'd go mad when he felt the softness of her pale skin, or when he got a whiff of that indescribable, feminine fragrance that was only hers as it clung to her skin and hair. His heart thundered in his chest when she laughed, touched him, gave him a shy look, or treated him with affection, though he was not always able to respond in kind.

His senses sometimes tended to go haywire when she was around, and though he was sure she could hardly tell, sometimes he wondered how Momiji would react if she understood the intensity of his feelings toward her.

It was so hard. He grimaced, fighting the urge turn around and strike the wall behind him. He wanted, needed her so badly it was sometimes crippling, but he managed. He'd always managed, and he could continue to manage. Fighting his feelings was hard, and it hurt more than he would ever admit, but he could withstand the torture and pain as long as he knew she was unharmed and happy. It was just recently that he realized the more he held back from her, the more unhappy she had become. He was doing just the opposite of what he intended.

He should go home for now. All of a sudden, fighting an unseen enemy seemed insignificant. He had spent the bulk of his life in the shadows, denying his own happiness in order to perform his duties as a protector. He'd done it for so long he'd never had a chance to enjoy any normal emotions. Sure, he'd always gotten a kick out of tormenting poor Momiji in the past, but there were other emotions that he'd never experienced, at least not without problems. He had never loved without worrying about the danger of his presence. Kusanagi had never laughed without looking over his shoulder for fear of being caught off guard.

He was tired. He would have given anything to let go for a small portion of time. To enjoy himself without threats. To just kiss and hug her without worrying about what kind of impact his being there would have on her life. To tell her he cared without fretting about the fact that he was only half a man.

With a sigh, he turned to go home. The sooner he got there, the sooner he could attempt to patch things up. As he headed back, he thought of the suprised look she would wear when he actually apologized for his behavior. For once, he'd render her speechless.

* * *

"Where the hell is she?!"

"...."

"Dammit, answer me! Where the hell is Momiji?"

Sakura was at a loss for words. "I... uh I.. She had to leave..."

"What the hell for?! Look out there! You let her run out in the middle of that?!"

Sakura gulped audibly. "She'll be home soon."

"Where is she?"

Sakura began to shake visibly, her usualy sassiness and contrary attitude lost. "I told you, sh-she'll be home soon.. Just calm down!"

Kusanagi stared at her for a few brief moments, struggling with his anger. He stared down the girl before him, his teeth bared, and tried again. "I'm going to ask one more time. Where the hell is she?"

Sakura bit her lower lip viciously, desperately thinking of any excuse she could muster. She's overheard their little argument earlier from the hallway; she knew that Kusanagi had behaved like a complete ass, and that it was only normal that Momiji be upset by it. She mentally latched onto the recent incident.

"I think it was about that argument you two had earlier.." she began, shuffling her feet. "She seemed really upset. Her eyes were red like she'd been crying, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. I just know because I... overheard..."

Kusanagi's throat tightened. "Where did she say she was headed?" He needed to get out there and find her before something happened. He didn't know where this unseen enemy was; his search had proved useless, and if he couldn't locate it, he knew for sure that Momiji wouldn't know what was coming if this thing decided to attack.

Sakura took a deep breath. "She didn't say.. probably a friend's house. Maybe that Kobayashi girl; she lives nearby."

"I'll try there first." he stated, already striding towards the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

The door slammed behind him.

Sakura stared at the door, blinking in astonishment. That had been the second time a door had been slammed on her today. She was starting to feel incredibly useless.

Her head swiveled as she heard a shrill ringing coming from upstairs. The phone? But if someone was calling, why wasn't every phone ringing? She stood for a second, giving it some serious thought; hell, anything that took her mind of their current predicament was welcome.

Her cell phone!

She slapped herself on the forehead, then set her legs into motion, her feet pounding their way through the hallway and up the stairs into Momiji's bedroom, where she pounced on her overnight bag and retrieved her phone. She answered on the seventh ring, out of breath and barely intelligible.

"Hello?"

"It's me. Is everything okay?"

Sakura's temper flared out of control. She had spent hours waiting in panicked confusion, and now that she'd heard from the girl, her anger came full force.

"No! Everything is NOT okay! Where are you?"

"At his aparment."

"Kusanagi's?"

"Yes." There was a slight pause before Momiji continued. "Does anyone besides you know I'm gone?"

"Yes! Kusanagi came home, and couldn't find you. I haven't seen him this pissed in a long tim- well, never. I'm coming to get you, Momiji. Now."

"Oh, no." came Momiji's hoarse reply. "He knows? What did you tell him?"

"Forget what I told him! Meet me outside his apartment. I'll be there soon." Sakura hung up with a muffled curse, then set about getting bundled up. It wouldn't take her much time to get there on her bike if she hurried and took a few shortcuts. She just hoped she could get Momiji home before Kusanagi arrived. She didn't think she could avoid his questioning a second time without breaking down and telling the truth. She and Momiji could think of an excuse on the way home.

She hurried down the stairs, and out the front door. She shut it quietly, unlike the previous two people who had exited. It was a wonder Kunikida and Ryoko hadn't woken from all the noise. Sakura counted this as a blessing, and hoped that she would remain lucky until she could get the girl home.