InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Morning Rituals ❯ Morning Rituals ( Chapter 1 )

Morning Rituals

The cerulean sky was spotless, like a well polished sword as it flashed in the blinding sunlight. The village was quiet, the few farmers littering the moist with dew ground seemingly preferring their wives asleep to badgering them as they chuckled quietly to each other and collected their time and weather roughened tools, many of which were rusty.

Miroku stretched, pushing his arms out in front of him and then up to the heavens, before he firmly shifted his neck to the left and to the right. The movement caused a loud symphony of cracks that made him shiver pleasurably as he rubbed the last of the sleep caused stiffness from his joints and wandered to the town's small, mute grey stoned that stood on the boundaries of the Northern part of the village, just inside a straggly, wooden fence. He dropped the small, pale tan pail into the cylinder, lifting it with a sigh paired with his every tug of the worn rope.

The Monk sighed as he cupped water within his left hand, careful that the other didn't get wet (the entire drying process was an uncomfortable one that made the cloth wound around it smell putrid and made his hand sweat as though he'd made it run a couple of times around Japan). Miroku sighed as the cool, if a little dirt ridden, water slid into his mouth. It managed to chase away the last sleepy thoughts that plagued him, as though a cat ridding a cellar of mice.

He sighed and stretched again, a small, content smile on his lips that only grew as Inuyasha made his grumpy presence known as he stalked out of their cabin. Miroku made sure to stand a good distance away (that he'd found was about a five paces) as he greeted the half-demon with a cheery good morning and a left handed wave, only to have a grumbled stream of muttered curses, questions and `fuck off's directed at him immediately afterwards. Miroku smiled, his dark eyebrows disappearing into his equally dark hair; all seemed well with Inuyasha.

They'd found themselves at this village the afternoon before, because Miroku had sensed a demonic aura emanating from beneath one of the young mother's house. Kagome, Shippo and Sango had been happy to get out of the sharp, angry wind (despite their eventual hut's cracks and holes) and had gladly set out to follow him and his senses. Miroku placed his hand over his heart; oh, how the wounds created by Inuyasha's doubt in him still ached! The half-demon hadn't believed his story at all, despite the - very convincing, if he did believe so himself - cleansing he'd given the village in return for shelter.

He returned to the rickety, old hut they'd slept in the cool night before. It was dark inside, the door and lonely window having been covered with a raggedly cloth each that had been nailed down crudely. Kagome and Shippo slept curled up beside each other in the centre of the floor to the left side of the house, a thick, brown, scratchy blanket drawn up around their shoulders. The tiny fox demon looked like a doll when compared to the much bigger Kagome, with her as his mother and owner. Their breathing was calm, steady and Miroku let his eyes pan to the opposite side of the hut, his eyes lingering for a moment on his shining, golden staff as it lay in the corner furthest away from the door, on the right.

Sango inhabited the nearest, right hand corner, with Kilala curled beside her left thigh as she leant against the wall, as though mortally wounded. Miroku would have been worried had he not spied the calm closing of her pink decorated eyelids, how her pink lips remained lax and slightly parted and how her breathing was even and calm. Her hands were cupped in her lap; relaxed and splayed over her auburn blanket covered thighs as her curled legs kept her propped in the position she was in. Her hiraikotsu inhabited the wall a mere two hands lengths away from her, within reaching distance should trouble pounce upon them.

Miroku couldn't help but stare at her smaller form fondly, an appreciative glimmer in his violet eyes. He'd decided a long while ago that he'd concentrate his mostly undivided attention on the feisty, yet incredibly shy demon slayer he traveled with. Despite his flirtatious ways - that really weren't his fault - he'd promised to never touch another woman. And he'd kept that vow exceptionally well.

Of course, it hadn't been an easy feat; his grandfather's curse made him a roué without his willingness to be one. But he'd sweated and slaved and he'd managed to keep his forever frisky hand from any other female's buttocks, thighs or any other part of her that could be considered inappropriate to touch. The Monk was rather proud of himself.

His flirtatious comments hadn't halted though, despite his vow, and he still found himself on the receiving end of Sango's cruel, pain promising glares. But he preferred that to the stinging ache that originated from his cheeks whenever he over stepped his bounds in the past. His words were - as he had told Sango one day - the way to a woman's heart and thus their comfort whilst traveling. It always made him grin to think about how many nights he'd spent in a welcoming home with blankets and protection from the elements simply because he'd complimented a woman on her hair and caused her to giggle and blush. He knew Sango hated it, but sacrifices had to be made.

With a sigh, his feet tapped against the wooden floor boards as Miroku moved towards the centre of the hut and sat upon the step that lead to a pile of black and grey ashes. He could see bits and pieces of char free wood, and gently arranged them so they were the centre of the pile. He then picked up two logs from the furthest left hand corner and tossed them on top, picking up the tiny, red box of matches Kagome had brought from her own time with his opposite hand. The fire sparked and spattered into life and Miroku blew on the orange, gold and scarlet flames. It took a few minutes, but he soon had a small fire heating up the hut, he'd send Inuyasha to collect some breakfast as soon as he returned from whatever ritual he had set in place for himself during the morning.

Miroku eyed the flames that flicked and crackled a few hand lengths in front of his sandal clad feet, his robes bunched up around his knees as he carefully kept them away from the frisky flames. It reminded him so much of the passion that was presented in Sango as she fought to protect those she loved. It was also present when he got carried away in his wooing complimenting and she left a glowing, aching hand print on one of his tanned cheeks. Ah, she was a beauty, fire and all; she was dangerous, strong, but definitely feminine beneath her deadly exterior.

A pleased smile slowly tugged the corners of Miroku's thin lips up, until he was practically grinning at the image of Sango his mind had supplied him. Oh yes, she was most definitely feminine. He examined her. She wasn't as well endowed as some of the other women he'd had the pleasure of meeting in his travels as a monk, but her body was well crafted and of perfect proportions. Nothing stuck out awkwardly, there wasn't a single part of her that screamed to be corrected. From the line of her thin shoulders to the curve of her small waist and the arc of her wider set hips, Miroku could see no imperfections. Even her toes, so small and elegant were perfect to his besotted heart.

His inner eye focused on the lovely curve of her bum and he couldn't deny that her lovely, graspable rump was his favourite part of her, no matter how much he mused over the rest of Sango's slender being. He'd fondled many behinds in his twenty five years of life and hers was definitely the most succulent, firm, round and supple he could recall. It was as faultless as the rest of her, if not being the complete cause of her perfection.

The Monk sighed dreamily, his face revealing his impure thoughts as the flesh melted over his bones into a soppy expression of love and appreciation. Oh, if only Sango would return his attention! He was sure they'd both enjoy a long life together, filled with many invigorating couplings that would be filled with edible gasps, flushed cheeks and large amounts of appreciated groping that would lead to many children bounding into their lives. Miroku idly wondered if it was humanly possible to repopulate a village…

A soft hand rested itself on his shoulder, and Miroku awoke from his daydreams with a start and wide, indigo eyes, “Miroku?” The Monk blinked foolishly as an awkward silence drifted over himself and the worried looking demon slayer with her petite, delicate, callous ridden hand on his right arm.

After a moment more, he chuckled carelessly, “Sango,” He exclaimed with a bright smile, “I did not hear you wake. Did you sleep well?” His voice was light and slightly airy as he felt a pleasant giddiness flood his stomach; Sango was worried about him! Perhaps there was hope for their less than steadily progressing relationship after all!

She blinked twice; her confusion displayed on her face in the form of a slight frown and lifted brows, as she shifted to swing her green clad legs over the step Miroku inhabited. Sango's doe brown eyes became speckled with flashes of gold as she watched the fire and replied politely, “Much better than I would have in the forest, thank you.” She then turned to him and smiled, “Kagome and Shippo seem to be enjoying this well enough.”

“Yes.” He remarked fondly, “They do not seem to care of the conditions that our refuges are in, as long as they possess a sturdy roof, walls and a floor that isn't littered with leaves or dirt.” Miroku recalled the first time they'd been offered a hut in return for his spiritual services. Kagome's nose had crinkled at the state of the cabin, and she'd taken to sweeping the entirety of it before she dared to sit down, let alone sleep.

Sango nodded, her eyes filled with tenderness as she seemed to recall an incident much like the one he had. They suddenly snapped up to meet his own, her tone a harsher one as she asked, “Where's Inuyasha? Have you sent him out to collect breakfast? Isn't it dangerous for him with the villagers around?” Her voice was laced with concern, as her dark brown eyebrows were drawn tightly into the centre of her sun kissed forehead.

Miroku couldn't help but stare for a moment, his mind strangely blank, as the woman beside him turned to look back into the flames by their feet. In turn, Miroku tilted his head back and stared at the dulled, wooden ceiling, “No, he has not returned from his morning's activities. I will accompany him once he returns, however, I doubt these villagers will cause much trouble; they seem far more keen to grow their crops.” Miroku's eyes returned to Sango's as they both turned to face the other. He beamed down at her, “What would you like for breakfast, Sango? I will be sure to work extra hard to find it.”

“Well,” She started, as she pressed a thin finger to her chin as she examined the back wall and then dropped her gaze back to the cackling fire and the finger curled so its side was pressing along the line of her dry lips. Should Miroku be so bold as to moisten those edible looking petals for her? He contemplated doing so, finding that he'd most likely be knocked out cold for attempting such a feat, but was quickly distracted as a pale pink flush was sprinkled over her cheeks.

His smile broadened into a grin that made his handsome face light up like a lantern did whilst behind the dark curtain of night, “Sango,” He said frivolously, “I do believe you are blushing! What is it that you could possibly be thinking about?” Her flush darkened, until it reached below her clothes and to the ends of her well kept hair. Miroku couldn't help but tease her, a lecherous edge threaded through his playful tone, “Could you actually be thinking of having your own devious way with me?”

The comment earned the Monk a heated glare that spoke on many volumes of the physical pain and mental torment Sango would bestow upon his personage should he continue along his aforementioned line of thought. His hands were held in front of his chest, palms facing towards the enraged demon slayer as her lips twisted into a most unbecoming scowl and her deep, brown eyes turned into raging bonfires; they were pretty when paired with the angry blush her face still possessed.

Miroku chuckled weakly, “Of course, you aren't thinking such lecherous thoughts, Sango.” He attempted to reason, as the woman's death glare continued with as much fury as it had when she had first taken to glaring at him almost two minutes ago, “I apologise. But this Monk cannot help it. You look breathtaking when you're flushed.”

“Miroku.” She warned, as the pink in her cheeks having quickly been painted over in red and she turned to stare off in the opposite direction, “I fail to see what's so amusing about acting like a complete pervert.”

“If it causes you to look so delectable, I will gladly make myself appear so everyday.” Miroku commented with passionate ardor. It seemed his sincerity only caused the shy demon slayer even more embarrassment. He felt his heart batter against his ribs pleasantly, like hands on a drum. Miroku found that he could go on like this all day.

He would have, had his stomach not decided to ache with hunger and growl lowly, as though a tiger on the prowl. He sighed dramatically, “But our feelings aside, Sango,” He stated solemnly with a sad frown and a dismissive wave of his right hand, “What do you wish to have for breakfast? I do believe I saw a stream not too far from here. Would you prefer we ate fish or hare?”

She still seemed annoyed, but she answered politely, “Fish, thank you, Miroku.”

He nodded and shifted, causing her eyes to stick to him as though they were dark flies drawn to honey. He smiled in return, finding that it was very much the other way around, “Is there anything else Sango?”

“No. No, thank you.”

“Ah, good.”

A comfortable silence held them, as Sango stared into the fire before she poked at it and added another log and Miroku took to staring ahead of him. It felt like years, but as Miroku felt his stomach gurgle again, he sighed and stated, “Well, I best get moving. Inuyasha should be finished now. It is likely that he has taken to moping; you know how he dislikes villagers.”

Sango nodded, “Alright. I will wake Kagome and Shippo soon.” She smoothed out her clothes, “Would you like to take Kilala with you? Tormenting fish is amusing to her.”

Miroku shook his head, “Thank you for the offer, Sango. But Inuyasha and I will make this excursion one of male bonding.” He leant forward slightly, so that his face was a mere hands length away from her own. She flushed again and he leered, “But, just to be sure I do not forget you, Sango, I must request that I receive a farewell kiss.”

His eyes slid shut with his last word, his lips puckered as he hummed and leant further forward, as though reaching for air, her squeak like music to his pierced ears. Miroku's dark eyebrows were raised high on his forehead as he waited for a mere moment and felt the butterflies inhabit his empty stomach. Then he felt the sharp tang of bitter rejection.

“Miroku! Do you never learn?”

He chuckled weakly and cupped his cheek as he moved to stand. He didn't respond to her question, knowing that he'd pushed his boundaries far enough that morning. He'd try again that evening, he hastily decided as his feet tapped on the wooden floor boards as he fetched his staff.

“We will return shortly. Keep the fire going.” He said with a smile and a cheerful tone. He sighed as he left, Sango's angered face engraved within his mind as she poked brutally at the charred logs in the centre of the hut. He spotted Inuyasha on the outskirts of the surrounding forest, his red clad leg hanging down from a large, thick trunked tree's branch.

He strolled towards him, as his face morphed into an expression of great happiness, his cheek still bright red and throbbing unpleasantly. Oh his Sango was definitely feisty and so passionate especially when angered. Perhaps that was why he tended towards being masochistic? His cheek tingled as though agreeing with him and he rubbed at it absently.

Inuyasha glared down at him as he came to a steady stop at the roots of the tree he was perched in. And Miroku called out to him. He smiled as Inuyasha groused and groaned. He'd decided soon after he'd met the callous half-demon that he'd never skip about his love should he find her. It was almost painful watching Kagome and Inuyasha and their bubbling feelings that would cause them to burst did they not admit that there was something between them.

Miroku had and he didn't. And even though Inuyasha raised an eyebrow, shook his head and commented on how he `never learnt' that was accompanied with a `lecherous monk' remark, Miroku would continue as he was. He'd gladly receive a thousand more slaps if Sango eventually became his and his alone. He was making progress; his heart told him so. He wouldn't give up. Perhaps Sango would have come around by that afternoon and would actually give him a goodnight kiss. Miroku grinned. Ah, the possibilities.

Sango made his life interesting and would remain the one constant within it, should he have his way. She grounded him with her honest ways. She kept him from doing too much too fast with her bashfulness and kept him from getting himself killed with her comforting jealously that made her flicker and crackle like the flames of a raging fire. His soppy expression returned; how he almost dreaded their future children; they'd be little monsters, their raging protectiveness, lecherous ways and all.

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Woffy: Yeah, yeah, I know. It took me long enough. Miroku/Sango has to be my favourite cannon pairing, and it's taken me more than a year of fangirling to write something on them. Anyway, I rather like this; in my own opinion, it's definitely one of my better one-shots. I don't usually focus on either one of them so this was a challenge and fun because it. It's an interesting place inside their heads.

Remember to review no matter what you thought of it; different opinions make for an interesting read. So even if you don't like it, review, let me know why and how I could make it to your liking. If you like it, tell me why and how I could improve. If you're neutral, then I'd still like to hear from you too. Critique is most definitely welcome.