InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Chronicles ❯ Sensations ( Chapter 78 )

~*~*~*~*~*~Lemon warning~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Newlywed bliss…

Clean version of this chapter can be read here:

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2068095/78/

 

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~~Chapter 78~~

~Sensations~

 

The sounds of the creatures in the darkened forest stilled as he wandered through the trees. As though they could sense the approach of the youkai, they were showing their just respect. Following her scent, he had come a long way in search of answers. She smelled as though her youki was greatly diminished. `What comes around goes around, does it not?'

 

Rounding a small cliff, Sesshoumaru stopped and stared at the small cave. Not obvious to the naked eye, he blinked as he stared at the opening. `She is here,' he thought was he slowly stepped forward. But why was she hiding?

 

“Ayamakita,” he called out. “Come out.”

 

A low moan answered him. As if she couldn't emerge from the cave, Sesshoumaru's gaze narrowed as he slowly stepped forward again. “It isn't like you to cower. It does better suit you, does it not?” he questioned as he ducked into the cave.

 

The lynx youkai lay curled on her side, her skin deathly pale, a stench of lingering illness clinging to the stagnant air in the cave. Sesshoumaru leaned his head to the side and tried not to smile. “Get caught in your own trap?”

 

“You don't have a sympathetic bone in your body, do you, Sesshoumaru?” she rasped out, her normally sing-song voice tempered by weakness, by pain. “That bitch . . . I'll kill her . . . .”

 

“And to whom do you refer?” Sesshoumaru pressed.

 

Ayamakita wheezed as she struggled to sit up. “InuYasha's bitch,” she answered, wincing as she fell back on the ground. “Look what she's done to me!”

 

“Ah, the miko. Did you make the mistake of underestimating her, as well?” Shaking his head slowly, clucking his tongue in mock dismay, Sesshoumaru stepped back as Ayamakita reached out in a silent entreaty for help. “Surely Katosan told you that the miko possessed vast spiritual power. Or did you think that Katosan lied to you?”

 

“You dare mock me, Sesshoumaru?” Ayamakita bit out, pushing herself up, using the wall to brace herself. “Cold bastard, aren't you?”

 

“Better a bastard than a bitch in perpetual heat, Aya. Take care. This Sesshoumaru has allowed you to live.”

 

Ayamakita tried to laugh. The sound was more of a scratch in her throat than a sound of pleasure. “Watch your back, Sesshoumaru. It'd be a pity for someone to use you as their scratching post.”

 

He turned to leave, tossing back over his shoulder, “You're in no real position to cast aspersions, are you? Pay attention, Ayamakita. Trifle with InuYasha and you run the risk of drawing the ire of his miko. Either of them is more than enough to handle the pathetic likes of you.”

 

Her invectives followed him as he strode out of the cave again, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips. Did it matter, how much he disliked his brother so long as someone dealt Ayamakita her long-needed comeuppance?

 

`No,' he thought as he shifted his form into the ball of energy that would transport him away from her stench, `it doesn't really matter at all . . . .'

 

 

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Sango watched in silence as Kagome and InuYasha disappeared into the trees. “That was just mean, InuYasha,” the miko pointed out.

 

“No real harm done,” he retorted.

 

“How would you like it, if you were him? I'll bet you'd be upset, too.”

 

“Hell, Kagome! He needles me about every fucking thing. I put him in his place one time, and you deal me a ration of shit for it. He deserved to sweat it, just this once . . . .”

 

Sango sighed and shook her head before she dared peek at Miroku, a slight smile quirking the corners of her lips. “I told you that you ought not tease InuYasha so . . . .”

 

Miroku grimaced. “Surely you didn't come all the way out here just to berate me for that,” he asked with a little smile of his own.

 

Sango's grin widened. “Surely not,” she agreed.

 

Miroku sighed and stood up, pausing long enough to kiss her quickly before turning to Kirara. “Think you could take us home?” he asked the fire cat.

 

Kirara mewled and nodded her head as she shifted into her large form again. Miroku stopped Sango as she started to climb on Kirara's back. With slightly trembling hands, he gently grabbed her waist and deposited her on the youkai before settling himself behind her and pulling her back against his chest as Kirara leaped off the ground.

 

“Did I get a chance to tell you how beautiful you were today? Not that you're not normally beautiful . . . you were simply stunning today, Sango.”

 

Sango could feel the gentle flush as his breath brushed her cheek. “No, I don't believe you did . . . .”

 

He chuckled, another round of soft whispers against her skin. “Then consider it said, and forgive me if I have to tell you every single day. I love you, you know?”

 

“Do you?” she managed to ask as her belly erupted in a heady churning sensation as he pulled her more securely against his chest. “H—houshi-sama . . . .”

 

“When I am this close to you, I feel like I'm holding the entire world, right here,” he murmured.

 

She smiled and leaned back against his chest. “I can't believe we're finally married,” she admitted. “I almost thought it wouldn't happen.”

 

Miroku sighed as the first droplets of rain fell. “How befitting,” he mumbled as a rumble of thunder crackled through the air. “At least I'll keep your back dry,” he quipped as the rain started to pellet them harder.

 

Sango craned her neck to stare at her new husband. Staring down at her with a small grin and gaze lit with a humbling love, so complete that the emotion alone seemed to wrap around Sango's very soul, she leaned up, kissed his cheek.

 

Approaching the village, Kirara uttered a slight growl to announce to the humans that they'd reached the intended destination. Miroku slid off the cat's back and reached up to catch Sango. Normally she didn't let him help her down. This time, however, she blushed as his hands caught around her waist, a lingering caress as she lit on the ground beside him. A timid smile rewarded him as she slipped out of his grasp and hurried into the hut to make sure the fire was still burning bright and to drag out a change of clothing for Miroku.

 

He followed her inside with Kirara in tow. The youkai stretched out before the door, as though making sure no one would disturb the newlyweds any more tonight. “Going somewhere, Sango?” he asked, noting the clothes she'd laid out on the unrolled pallets.

 

She blushed. “Well, no, but you're all wet, and—”

 

He made a face as he made a point to stare down at his soaked youkai exterminator's armor. “Fire resistant doesn't mean water resistant, I take it?”

 

Sango grinned. “I suppose not. Here . . . get them off, and I'll spread them to dry,” she offered, stepping forward and extending her hand to take his clothing.

 

Arching an eyebrow at her, Miroku chuckled softly. “Will you, now?”

 

Her blush was immediate as she whirled around, her belly tying itself in thick knots. “I . . . .”

 

His arms wrapped around her, pulled her back against his chest. She felt his lips press against her temple as he chuckled again. “Be easy, Sango. I was but teasing you.”

 

“Were you?” she asked, eyes drifting closed as he kissed her temple, tightened his hold on her. “I love you.”

 

“Not nearly so much as I worship you, my goddess,” he mumbled.

 

“Blasphemy,” she gasped as his lips lingered on her temple. “Houshi-sama . . . .”

 

“No, Sango, just a man . . . and I want you.”

 

Slowly turning her to face him, he held her close, tipping her chin up, lips dropping to hers in the softest of caresses. She sighed as a stuttering warmth unfurled in her belly, a low credence, a gentle pressure.

 

A tide of something fierce and magical, a vague sense of a shift in equilibrium as Miroku's lips coaxed hers open, as his tongue slid into her mouth. A violet shockwave, a pulse of pleasure erupting somewhere so deep that it shifted the center of gravity inside her, wringing a moan, eliciting a sigh. The flick of his tongue against hers was enough to weaken her knees as she fell into him, only to be caught and held, cosseted close in the warmth of his embrace.

 

Contenting himself to hold her close, allowing her time to adjust to the rising crush of sensation, Miroku took his time kissing her, letting her clutch him to her as though she feared she would die if she let go. Soothed by the gentle crackle of the fire, bathed in the warmth of the heated air, the idea of wearing wet clothing was secondary to the burning flames of sentiment.

 

“Miroku,” she mumbled as his lips trailed along her jaw, to her ear, nibbling, sucking, gently caressing, directly contradicting the ragged breathing, the stifled sighs.

 

“Don't talk, Sango . . . just feel.”

 

She smiled vaguely as she nodded. Eyes closed as velvet lips brushed over her skin, light kisses combined with the delicate circling of his hands on her back, on her cheek . . . a yearning to be closer, a need to feel more as a blossoming weakness, a steady languor, seeped over her, tugged at her, lured her to demand more as she pulled him closer, body to body. Separated by clothing, it just wasn't enough.

 

As though he realized what she wanted, his hands tugged at her shirt, pulled it out of her skirt, pushed it off her shoulders until it fell to the floor in a whisper. Deft fingers—shaking but sure—worked the ties of her skirt, and it followed the blouse. Her skin felt as though it was crackling in the silent room. The stillness was broken only by the soft hiss of the fire, the occasional rumble of thunder. Miroku let go of her and stepped back.

 

Sango slowly opened her eyes to see him struggling with his own clothing. A few ragged breaths were necessary to steady her raging emotions, and she stepped forward, gently pushing aside his hands though hers were trembling nearly as badly as his. He watched as she worked the ties, the hidden fastenings, loosening him from the binding of his clothes as he tugged them off and cast them aside.

 

His chest seemed broader, his back wider, more sinewy muscle seemed to draw her touch, to beckon her closer. Forgetting to be timid, she stared, mesmerized, as he stepped toward her, every ripple of his body defined, starkly contrasted, in the warm firelight. Standing over her, his gaze fierce, virile, his eyes raked over her without hesitation, his hands coming up to free her from the bindings that covered her breasts. “Kami, woman,” he rasped out as the strip of cloth fell away. Instinctively her arms rose to cover her breasts. He stopped her with a gentle touch. “Don't, Sango . . . don't hide from me.” Dropping to his knees before her, he gathered her close, pulled her against him, pressing kisses onto her stomach as her head fell back, as she unleashed a moan she couldn't contain.

 

She stumbled against him as he licked at her belly button, unable to support her own weight under the barrage on her senses. Miroku caught her, laid her down on the pallet, kissed her neck, her collarbone, explored the flesh she'd so carefully hidden from him for far too long.

 

Long, sensitive fingers closed over her breast, drawing her up off the pallet with a strangled gasp of pleasure. His explorations shot surges of heat and of light straight to her belly or maybe a little lower. The lure of his touch was like dropping dry grass on a fire. Her body felt as though it was burning up under his hands. Unable to lay still, unable to endure such torment as her stomach quaked, as her entire being trembled from somewhere deep inside, she touched him, too, hands on his shoulders, over his chest, along the hidden clefts, the rise and fall of flesh.

 

Dragging his finger along the elastic of her panties—the one modern concession Sango had willingly allowed Kagome to talk her into—Miroku shivered as he muscles jumped under his touch. As though her body wanted to consume him, the surges of muscle under her silky flesh teased him, taunted him, and he complied with her wishes.

 

The torture of his hands on her drew a whimper from deep inside. Her body called to his, begged his for whatever soothing he could offer. He ignored her silent pleas, hands tracing the arc of her hip, the hollow of her stomach, the rise of her ribcage, the swell of her breasts . . . . She gasped for breath, willed him to understand, mouth opening and closing though no sound would come. She felt as though she was going to die, on the edge of something magical yet something that she had no idea how to attain.

 

His mouth closed over the aching peak of her breast. With a sharp gasp, a rending cry, she arched against him, her body racked with shivers as something inside her exploded. A million stars of light, shooting through the heavens swirling around the pain that grew more demanding, an aching emptiness that sought a fulfillment that she yearned for even as his tongue flicked over her nipple time and again. His moan vibrated through her, shook her to her core, forced a gush of white hot passion as his relentless perusal continued. Her limbs liquefied by his command, her body racked with frustrated desire, something so savage and yet so gentle seemed to flow from her to him and back again. The currents that shot through her all seemed to settle into a throbbing need, an ache that magnified as he slowly removed her panties.

 

Eyes squeezed closed, concentrating on the pulsing ache that wouldn't wane, she faintly heard as he removed the last of his clothing, whimpered as she felt so alone, so vulnerable, without him there beside her. When he joined her again, she gasped as he raised her knees, held her legs, waited for her to open her eyes.

 

She finally did, eyelids heavy, as though they fought to remain unaware. “Houshi-sama?” she whispered, her eyes dark, veiled in the washes of lingering desire.

 

He leaned forward, letting go of her legs as he recaptured her breasts in his hands. “Never doubt how much I love you, Sango . . . .”

 

“No,” she agreed, eyes drifting closed as his lips fell on hers again. The last thing she had seen was the blackness of his violet gaze, as though the very emotions that coursed through her had caused him to feel the same things. Coaxing her with gentle caresses, guiding her with sounds of muffled approval, Sango did some exploring of her own, her tongue hesitating yet probing as he captured it between his lips, her action bringing out moans and shivers. She felt his body probing hers, as though seeking the sort of relief she wanted, too. If her mind didn't know what she was after, her body did, and she lifted her hips against him. It was all the invitation he needed.

 

Unable to control the quaking of her body as he sought her out, she cried out in the silent hut as he melded them together, a welcomed invasion as he entered her. The slight resistance of her untried body gave in to his gentle persuasion and an encompassing heat broke through her in wave after wave of a wholly different kind of repletion. As though she hadn't really ever been complete before him, Miroku's body fit into her as though he had been made for her. He shuddered in her arms, throbbed in her core, muttered nonsense into her ear that she couldn't comprehend. Another ache started to build with a ferocity that left her breathless, a burning need for something more than what they already shared.

 

When he started to ease out of her, Sango reacted on instinct alone. Raising her hips against his, recapturing the part of him that had been taken away, he gasped as her body insisted. “Sango,” he pleaded, his voice barely a whisper in the darkness, “kami, Sango, I can't . . . .”

 

Guiding her movements to compliment his, a perfect dance of heat and flesh, bathed in the firelight and blessed by the holy union they shared, Sango reveled in every pulse, every nuance. Resting on his elbows, staring at her face, Sango felt his breath, hot and labored, as it caressed her skin. He rose and fell in her like the tide, ebbed and flowed like water lapping against the shore. But the seas grew rougher, a little more wanton, and she held to him, whispering his name, as he goaded her further with his body, with his love.

 

His breathing came in smothered gasps as hers constricted in her throat. Breathing was secondary to the wealth of emotion, to the ebb of passion. The primal desire that spurred them both closer and closer to the cusp of something both frightening and magical became a tangible goal, a gleaming star, an attainable dream. Bodies twined, balancing on the edge of death and rebirth, a beautiful give and take, a powerful surge of emotions, and with a final shove, they tumbled off the apex, plummeting into the depths of the valley only to soar so high above on the gentle wings of a joy so great, so encompassing, that the rest of the world faded.

 

Held against the powerful beat of Miroku's heart, Sango tried to smile but felt the wash of tears that rose, spilling over as she clung to him. Smoothing her hair, he whispered to her, incoherent words in a quiet tone, soothing the edges of her frayed memory. Somehow, in one beautiful moment, Miroku had healed the scars in her heart and had given her something far greater in return. The careful shroud of self-preservation she'd worn for so long fell away, leaving her naked and exposed . . . and cosseted in the warmth of his love.

 

“I'm sorry, Sango,” he said softly when her sobs had diminished. Kissing her forehead, stroking her cheek, he sighed.

 

“Sorry?” she echoed, sniffling as she leaned up to wipe away the lingering tears. “Why?”

 

He shrugged with a deep frown, a sadness in his gaze. “I didn't mean to . . . I wanted you to . . . I'm sorry.”

 

She shook her head as a slow understanding dawned on her. “No, houshi-sama . . . don't be sorry . . . why should you be?”

 

A deep blush as he looked away, he sighed. “I must have done something wrong, to have made you cry like that . . . I'm sorry.”

 

Sango gasped and gently turned his face to kiss him. “That wasn't why I was crying,” she assured him. “I just realized how much you've given me . . . that's all . . . .”

 

A cautious hope lit his gaze as he searched her face for any signs of untruth. “Sango . . . I'd give you the world, if I could. You must know that.”

 

She nodded and kissed him again. “I know . . . but what you just gave me . . . I think that's enough.”

 

He chuckled and leaned up on his elbow, pinning Sango against the pallet. “Think again, my goddess. The night is still young.”

 

She blushed but smiled. “Oh?”

 

He didn't answer as he leaned down to kiss her.

 

 

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InuYasha yawned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to block out the incessant thumping on the wall beside the doorway. Kagome reached over and shoved his shoulder. “Mmph,” he mumbled.

 

She sighed and tried to roll over. “You. You're closer.”

 

“Go the fuck away,” he unburied his head long enough to yell.

 

The bamboo blind opened as Miroku and Sango strolled into the hut. InuYasha growled and buried his head again as Kagome sat up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. “Hey, you two. You look . . . rested . . . why are you so rested?” she asked suspiciously.

 

Sango knelt down by the glowing coals of the central fire as Miroku set about rekindling the burning embers. “No reason,” Miroku remarked innocently. Sango blushed.

 

“Keh!” InuYasha snorted from under his blankets. “Remind me, wench, I want to make a real door.”

 

Kagome shoved at him again but giggled. “Ignore him. He's just being a grouch.”

 

“Anything we can help with?” Miroku asked as he poked the fire.

 

“Sure,” InuYasha growled, “get out. That'd be a great help.”

 

Kagome crawled over the surly hanyou and got up as Shippou bounded through the doorway and leapt into her arms. “Kagome!” he greeted with an exuberant hug.

 

“Shippou! Were you good for Kaede?”

 

Shippou dropped to the floor and hugged Sango. “Yep. I even fetched water for her this morning,” he remarked happily. Skittering over to the blanket-covered pile of hanyou, Shippou hopped onto InuYasha's back and plopped down. “Why's he still sleeping?”

 

“I'm not,” InuYasha snarled. “Though it ain't from lack of trying.”

 

“Are you sick?” Shippou demanded since normally InuYasha was the first up and around in the morning.

 

“Oi, wench! Get him off me, will you?”

 

“Stop grumbling, InuYasha,” Kagome retorted though she did retrieve Shippou before the grumpy hanyou could grab for the kit.

 

“Shippou, why don't you go get some water for us, then?” InuYasha asked, still buried in his blankets.

 

Shippou hopped down and grabbed the bucket that was almost as big as he was. “All right, Father. Be right back!” With that, the happy kitsune darted back outside.

 

Kagome measured out loose tea leaves into the coffee pot and set it aside to wait for Shippou to return with the water. Miroku and Sango seemed lost as they stared into each other's eyes. InuYasha suddenly sat up again, a strange frown engulfing his features as he stared incredulously at Kagome and raised a clawed finger to point at the door. “Did . . . did he just call me . . . Father?”

 

 

 

 

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A/N:

 

Kami: God/Gods . . .

 

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Final Thought from InuYasha :

Seriously . . . did that runt call me `Father'???

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Chronicles): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~