InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Of Gods and Monsters ❯ Chapter 46: Midnight Watch (LEMON!) ( Chapter 46 )

A/N: Witness the Most Exhausting Chapter Ever! ;) Huge fishbowls full of bastardized margaritas for Nanda, and comforting, reassuring hugs for Kat. Ithilwen, alas, was unavailable for beta for this chapter (as it is rumored she is on vacation in the Land of the Rising Sun... or possibly the House of the Rising Sun -- I get confused sometimes) At any rate, an evil doughnut was munched in her honor. And my eternal devotion as always goes to Everstar, she of the feisty muses.

Also, to commemorate the first chapter of OGAM posted since it was yanked from FFN, this chapter contains a lemon. Not a watered down lemon, not from concentrate, and not from a powdered mix. This baby has pulp, rinds, and seeds, my friends. I suppose that means I have to rate it NC17. *sigh*

Chapter 46: Midnight Watch

Bein' good isn't always easy,

No matter how hard I try,

When he started sweet-talkin' to me,

He'd come and tell me everything is all right,

He'd kiss and tell me everything is all right,

Can I get away again tonight?

The only one who could ever reach me,

Was the son of a preacher man,

The only boy who could ever teach me,

Was the son of a preacher man...

***

Stars littered the cloudless night sky. The tiny pinpoints were the only lights above, the absent moon plunging an already dark night even further into shadow. There was a small fire illuminating a section of the clearing that was home to the Bone Eater's Well, providing warmth to the four figures sitting by its glow. The monk seemed to be lost in thought -- he was frequently pensive these days. The taiji-ya seemed thoughtful as well, but the kit and tiny, slumbering firecat snuggling firmly in her arms provided a distraction from her thoughts.

Shippou seemed largely oblivious to the change in both the monk and taiji-ya. He'd insisted upon accompanying them during their errand to protect the well, should Sesshoumaru come back. In fact, he had figured it would have taken more convincing than it did, but the kitsune certainly wasn't going to complain that he'd been allowed to come along.

As the evening progressed, Shippou's chatter slowed, and his words were increasingly interrupted by yawns. His jewel-green eyes grew heavy, and he rubbed tiredly at them with tiny fists.

Sango gave a fond smile at the small, auburn ball of fur in her arms. "It's okay, Shippou-chan -- go to sleep."

The fox-child frowned faintly. "I can't fall asleep now, Sango. I have to protect the--" he yawned widely -- "well." Kirara gave a sleepy, trilling purr, and Shippou rested his head against her soft tails.

Running her fingers through his hair, the taiji-ya chuckled. "I think houshi-sama and I can keep an eye on it until daybreak."

Shippou blinked up at her, his face a picture of muddled confusion. "But who'll help you keep an eye on Miroku?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "Shippou-chan, have I ever needed help keeping an eye on houshi-sama?"

Despite his exhaustion, the kitsune managed an incredulous look. "Uh, yeah."

Kirara opened one roseate eye and regarded Sango serenely before closing that eye and exhaling softly. A blush warmed the girl's cheeks, and for a moment she appeared minutely flustered. "Well... I don't need help," she replied lamely for as much Shippou's benefit as Kirara's.

Frowning, the kit cast a quick glance at the monk who was sitting, eyes closed, arms folded in his robes. By all appearances, he seemed asleep. Shippou lowered his voice to a whisper. "I know he hasn't been acting like the same old Miroku, but..."

Pursing her lips, Sango suppressed a sigh. "...I think it's getting late, Shippou-chan. Maybe I should take you back to Kaede-sama's."

The kitsune blinked. "So... you don't need my help?"

"Well, you wouldn't be much of a match against Sesshoumaru if you were exhausted, would you? I'm fairly confident houshi-sama and I can manage protecting the well until Inuyasha returns."

"Okay...." he replied dubiously.

His tone brought a smile to Sango's lips and she stood, lifting both the kitsune and neko youkai into her arms; after a few seconds, Kirara climbed upwards, settling at the crook of her neck. Miroku looked up for a moment, and when their gazes met, he nodded briefly. Giving the monk a quick nod and polite smile, she turned and began walking toward the village. "Surely you're exhausted after such a long watch."

Shippou snuggled into the girl's arms and exhaled a content sigh. "Well, I'm a little tired. But I want to make sure Kagome comes home."

"I know -- I do too. But we'll have to wait and see."

There was a brief pause before Shippou spoke again. "Sometimes I'm scared that she'll decide she really likes it better in her time," he said quietly. Sango could feel his tiny hands fussing lightly with the sleeve of her yukata.

She smiled faintly and brought one hand to his head, scratching lightly. "I don't think you have to worry about that, Shippou-chan." Not if she's Inuyasha's mate, anyway... "She's only there to make sure Teles-sama and the pup are safe. She'll come back, I'm sure."

"Oh--" Shippou yawned again "--kay."

By the time Sango reached Kaede's hut, the inside glowing with the welcoming warmth of the blazing firepit, Shippou was sound asleep. She deposited him on a sleeping pallet and Kirara leapt down as well, curling up into a tiny ball. Shippou rested his head against the firecat's body, and Sango covered the kitsune with a blanket before she slipped back into the darkness, returning to the well. Slowly, Miroku came into view, the flickering orange glow playing haphazardly across his features. His eyes were still closed, and if it hadn't been for the way his fingers were curled tightly around his shakujou, she would have thought him to be asleep. Just then, he opened his eyes and gazed intently at the fire.

Sango stood on the outer edges of the darkness and watched him for a moment. Her stomach gave a foreign flutter and she swallowed against the odd sensation. No, it's fine. It is. Whatever happened at the village must have been... Her train of thought trailed off and faded as she remembered the feel of his lips against her mouth. A warm blush heated her cheeks and she forced herself to tamp down on the memory of that slow, shy kiss. Giving herself a mental shake, Sango stepped out of the gloom and settled down about an arm's length from the houshi.

He smiled briefly before his expression twitched into one of curiosity. "You could have stayed with Shippou at Kaede-sama's."

She shrugged fluidly. "It's all right. I don't mind staying up." Here the monk nodded and the two lapsed into silence again. After a few moments, Sango cleared her throat. "I think he liked being included," she said, smiling faintly.

Miroku met her smile with a mild one of his own as he nodded. "He doesn't like it when Inuyasha is selfish about Kagome-sama."

The young woman shook her head, sending her low ponytail swinging gently. "No, he doesn't." She pressed her lips together thoughtfully and turned her eyes to the fire. "But then, he's missed her. Inuyasha has, I mean."

The young monk kept his eyes on the fire. It was simple conversation, and yet it was increasingly difficult for him to make any sort of intelligent contribution. They were sloughing about in a hell of small talk, and he didn't know how to make it end.

No, that wasn't entirely true -- Miroku had a few ideas on how to make it end. Unfortunately, one of those ideas involved Sesshoumaru crashing through the woods to make another attempt at destroying the well. His other idea made something tighten in his gut as a drunken warmth curled its way around his spine. He shook his head briskly. He'd been doing so well lately. Curbing his more... earthly appetites hadn't been easy, certainly, but he'd managed.

He cleared his throat. "I caught him sulking in the tree the other day," the houshi said, deliberately avoiding any and all mention of what Inuyasha said to him during their brief discussion.

'There isn't anything to deny, Inuyasha. Sango and I traveled together; we stayed in very close quarters, and worked side by side for as long as we were at her village. It should be no surprise that our scents were... intermingled.'

'Keh. Keep tellin' yourself that, monk.'

Sango exhaled -- a soft, sigh. "Mm. Well, he does sulk more frequently when she's not here, doesn't he?"

Ah -- Inuyasha. Always fodder for conversation. More to the point, fodder for conversation that has nothing to do with you or me. Miroku's dark head swiveled as he shot her a grin. "You just noticed?"

Chuckling, Sango shook her head. "I just noticed that he wasn't storming in and out of Kaede-sama's hut grumbling and complaining." Brows twitching, she pressed her lips together and quirked them to the left. "Of course now he's probably grumbling and complaining at Kagome-chan..."

The monk smiled a bit. "Well, she's used to it."

Sango glanced at him and grinned. It occurred to Miroku that she didn't smile nearly often enough. "I think she likes it." She nodded, but then, after a moment, the same smile he'd been admiring faded slightly. "I wonder how Teles-sama likes Kagome-chan's land."

The houshi looked thoughtful, his forehead creasing in a frown. "I'm not sure. I imagine she rather likes it. From what Kagome-sama brings back, it must be a land of marvels and wonders. Perhaps it reminds Teles of her homeland."

A brief silence passed between the two companions. "I have to admit -- I'm still a little concerned. The pup..." she trailed off in a sigh. "I feel as if we should have told Inuyasha."

"I know," he replied, blowing out a breath. A lie of omission was still a lie, and that they had kept such important information from their friend for this long... well. It was sufficient to say that Inuyasha was not going to be happy when he found out. If he found out.

Gods, I hope he doesn't have to find out.

Movement teased at the corner of his vision, and when Miroku looked up, he saw that Sango had settled onto her right hip, stretching her legs out, letting the fire warm her toes. "If it starts bothering her, he won't know what to do."

"Even if he did know what to do," Miroku reasoned, "we're not sure that it would work if it's not the pup's father."

And with the mention of the pup's father, both the monk and the taiji-ya slipped into silence yet again. The monk exhaled softly and closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the situation.

Running a hand through the dry grass, Sango shook her head and frowned. "Miroku, Sesshoumaru was afraid. You saw it; I know you did. Once we told him about the risks..."

Two dark brows drew together and the monk said nothing for nearly a full minute. "He was far too willing to assist us once we explained ourselves."

"Her safety was the most important thing to him at that moment. Why, then, attempt to destroy the well? That would just guarantee that she'd never return at all."

Miroku lapsed into a thoughtful silence. A breeze blew past, rustling the trees and causing the campfire to lurch wildly as bits of ash and spark leapt into the air. The shadows gave a sudden, hectic jump. "Consider," he said finally, holding up one index finger. "Teles passes through to Kagome-sama's land by divine intervention. No one other than Inuyasha and Kagome-sama can pass through, and, in this case, Teles. But who else is on the other side?"

"Kagome-chan," Sango said, her voice low. Sesshoumaru's attempt on the well made far more sense now. She brought a hand to her face and rubbed tiredly at her eyes. "Do you think... do you think we should tell Inuyasha when he comes back in the morning... about what could happen..."

Miroku looked at the fire for a long moment before answering. "...Yes, I think we should -- but I don't believe we should ask him to make decisions when he doesn't have all the information." Closing his eyes, Miroku rolled his shoulders, causing a series of cracks to mingle with the snapping fire. "Perhaps there's something we overlooked. I'll read once more through your elders' scrolls -- I wish I'd had time to copy more of the Inutaisho scrolls, but..." he trailed off, sighing. "If I can't find anything helpful, and we have no other recourse, then we tell him."

Sango nodded slowly, picking up a nearby stick and stoking the fire, prodding it until the flames leapt hungrily at the air. She looked at the stick for a moment before setting it aside. "It's quite a mess, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

Violet eyes gave her a sidelong glance. "Teles and Sesshoumaru?"

Sango nodded slowly, exhaling a deep breath. She raised her eyes and looked back at Miroku in the flickering firelight. "He knows the dangers of a hanyou pregnancy -- he knows what could happen, and he knows how to prevent it. Why hasn't he..." she trailed off, a frustrated, strangled sound tearing through her throat. "The pup needs Sesshoumaru, Miroku. Teles-sama's difficulties aren't just going to magically vanish in Kagome-chan's lands." The young taiji-ya blew out an annoyed sigh and rubbed hard at her face before running her fingers through her bangs.

When next Miroku spoke, his words were spoken softly, on the breath of a whisper.

"Perhaps..."

She looked up. "Yes?"

Their eyes met in the orange glow of the campfire. "I think... Well. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but... perhaps he doesn't wish her dragged back."

"If he had any concern for the welfare of his mate and child, he wouldn't let pride get in the way," she replied heatedly. "Someone needs to convince her to return. She doesn't know, Miroku. She doesn't know why the pup is bothering her -- she doesn't know the youkai father's role. You don't want Inuyasha to have to make a decision without all the facts -- but what about Teles-sama? She doesn't have all the information either. If that pup is at all important to her, then she needs to be told everything so she can make the best decision."

He appeared to consider this for some time, and Sango could see the emotions as they chased across his face. When he replied, he spoke slowly. "I realize what you're saying, Sango, but... if she didn't want to remain here, I don't believe it's fair to force her to come back. Perhaps once we know more, we can encourage Inuyasha to try and soothe the child. It may work." He shrugged once. "Besides, it may be something he'll need to know for the future." A quick grin tilted his lips. "After all, do you not think that even a theoretical quarter-inuyoukai child would most likely be strong enough to cause its hypothetical mother some discomfort?"

"If a theoretical quarter-inuyoukai had its hypothetical father's temper?" Sango replied dryly, arching an eyebrow. "Absolutely. Though probably not quite as much damage as a half-youkai child." She sighed inwardly; he was changing the subject. Very well -- she'd let it lie for now, but this wasn't over yet. Somehow the former goddess needed to learn the details of the situation. Anything else was foolhardy and needlessly dangerous.

Shifting slightly, Miroku rested his back against the well. "I must confess, this makes me rather selfishly -- and hypocritically -- glad that I've not yet fathered a child."

"...Why is that?"

He looked up with a wry grin. "It's nerve-wracking. Consider it -- we can't do anything to help. We can't... bear the child to give her a few hours or days of rest. We can't take the pain of birth away from her. We can't loan her our strength when the whole process seems overwhelming. All we can do is..." his shoulders moved fluidly beneath his robes "watch."

Sango frowned a bit, watching him as he spoke. It was as if yet another layer of the monk had been peeled away before her eyes and a half-remembered bit of conversation echoed through her mind. 'When I saw him with her, Kagome, I feel like I got a look at the man he could be.' She felt as if she were getting a glimpse of that man right now. In fact, she felt like she'd seen that man more and more frequently.

She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "...I don't think that's entirely true."

He tilted his head as he regarded her. "Enlighten me."

"Well, let's look at Teles-sama and Sesshoumaru. It's his job," Sango said pointedly, "to alleviate much of the pain associated with carrying the pup." She paused, hoping the monk took the hint. But his expression remained bland, so if Miroku had indeed taken the hint, he showed no evidence of it, so she went on. "Youkai are very involved with their mates during whelping. With humans though... I think fathers can do more than just watch. Reassurance, even protection all count."

Miroku nodded slowly, and she continued. "A father can choose to be completely uninvolved -- they're the ones who just watch. But it doesn't have to be that way." She shrugged gracefully. "Perhaps human parents can stand to learn something from youkai parents."

The young monk was quiet as he considered her words. His eyes fell to his sealed hand and a small, mirthless smile formed at his lips. "Perhaps you won't believe this... But I did, before, have every intention of... well, of trying to be an involved father." He flexed the fingers of his right hand. "Admittedly, mostly because... well. If someday, he needed to..." he cleared his throat slightly "avenge his ancestors, he'd need to be brought up understanding."

Sango was nodding slowly when violet eyes fixed on her. "It would be beyond cruel to let it simply happen to him," he explained.

"Of course."

There was a tiny movement in his throat as he swallowed. "I grew up knowing, for example."

The young woman leaned forward a bit, holding the monk's gaze. She said, in a hushed, but fiercely determined tone, "Miroku, we will avenge our ancestors."

Several seconds ticked by. "I have faith in your faith," he said quietly.

A small smile formed, curving her mouth. "Good." Sango's eyes softened slightly as she reached out, brushing her fingers across Miroku's cheek. "I haven't steered you wrong yet."

"Pity I can't say the same thing," he responded, his lips quirking a bit.

Leaning back, bracing her arms behind her, Sango tilted her head, amused. "Hmm... have you steered me wrong? I'm not entirely sure."

"Well if you don't know, I'm certainly not going to refresh your memory." The quirk at his lips warmed into a grin that reached his eyes, making a light flicker and gleam there. Sango's breath caught at that smile, but she reined in the sensation.

"Please, refresh my fading memory," she joked. But Miroku only shook his head slowly, still grinning.

"It's more fun to watch you try to remember."

"Ah, but I can't remember," she countered. "Don't I get a hint?"

Miroku leaned back a bit, laughing softly. "No. If you can't remember, that means either," he spread one hand, "that I did it very subtly, or," he spread the other hand, "that I didn't do it at all."

And then, quite unexpectedly, Sango felt the comfortable, joviality between them fade slightly. No, he hadn't steered her wrong in the past, but what about now? Things were changing between them -- was that a mistake? Was it foolish to change their friendship?

Then again, ever since they'd returned to the village, things had been strange between them. Awkward, hesitant -- at times, strained. Of course much of that was due to the circumstances arising with Sesshoumaru and Teles, but Sango couldn't help the tiny thread of uncertainty that wove its way through her mind at the thought that perhaps what had happened in the village was nothing but a fluke.

But then -- then Miroku's words, spoken so earnestly at a time when he was sure no one was listening, flitted through her mind.

'I really wish you were here, sir, because I want to do this right. She deserves to have it done right. So... when we're finished here, I'm going to marry her.'

No, that hadn't been an accident. Well, hearing it had been, but...

She blew out a shallow breath and once again picked up the stick she had used to stoke the fire. Prodding at the tinder a bit, she gathered up her courage for a moment before clearing her throat. "Miro--" here she stopped uncertainly. She had started calling him by name more frequently, but somehow now it didn't feel entirely appropriate. "Houshi-sama, may I... ask you something?"

If Miroku reacted at all to the change in address, he didn't show it. "Of course."

Gnawing lightly on her lip, Sango hesitated only a moment before inhaling deeply. "I..." she paused, frowning at the flames, "I was just... wondering." She paused again, licking her lips quickly. "I was wondering... about what happened..." her voice became softer, unsure "...while we were at my village."

The words fell upon the monk's ears, and for a moment, he was perplexed -- but only for a moment. What happened at... oh. Miroku was a lot of things, but he most certainly was not slow on the uptake. This was bound to come up sooner or later, he sighed inwardly. "I... well..." he cleared his throat and paused, considering his words carefully. "It's something I've wanted to do for a while." A very long while.

Sango nodded slowly and once again, a hush settled over the small clearing, the silence punctuated only by the occasional crackling of the campfire.

The taiji-ya snuck a glance at her companion, and as she watched him, his earlier words slid through her memory. 'I never believed I was meant to love anybody. But... I think I do. And even if... the Kazaana swallows me tomorrow, I can die knowing that. And it will almost make me happy.'

Her face grew warm as she recalled his words, and she drew in another breath. "So... what..." she hesitated again, biting her lip. "What I mean is..." Cursing at herself, she blew out a sigh. "Since we've come back, things have been..." she trailed off, suddenly wishing she hadn't brought it up at all. Things would have settled back down if she'd left them alone. She and Miroku would have resumed their old relationship, and everything would have returned to normal.

Except... it really couldn't now, could it? They'd passed a point, and it would have been impossible for them to try and recapture the old nuances of their relationship. Sango huffed another sigh. "I realize that a lot has happened, houshi-sama. It's only that... things feel stranger now."

Miroku was quiet for several seconds before nodding once. "...Ah."

Lips twitching into a tiny, wry grin, Sango offered a dry chuckle. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything, hm?"

He gave her a small, rueful smile. "I wouldn't say that."

"No?"

That same smile in place, he shook his head before reaching out and placing his left hand over hers. His hand was warm and dry, and the sudden, gentle contact made something jump and flutter in Sango's stomach. Despite the sudden tilting sensation inside, she turned her hand up in his, watching their hands intently as he threaded his fingers through hers. They sat like that for many minutes, allowing the late night hush to wrap around them.

"So," Sango ventured quietly, breaking the silence that had settled between them. "Are you still taking Teles-sama's advice?"

He huffed a soft chuckle. "Yes." He was still trying, anyway. Living by choice rather than circumstance was trickier than he'd anticipated -- and his attempts to be a better servant to Buddha were, at times, quite trying. But, as Miroku regarded the taiji-ya sitting on his right, he was only reminded of how very much he wanted the life that he'd always believed was forbidden to him. Even now, it felt as if that life -- the possibilities that existence held -- were within his grasp. A chance -- a gamble, really -- presented itself to the young monk. After a moment's hesitation, he tugged lightly at Sango's hand, pulling her a bit closer. Relief washed over him and he exhaled a silent sigh when she shifted easily, leaning against him.

"I see," she replied quietly, resting her head comfortably against his shoulder. After several moments of this, Sango's voice met his ears. "I thought maybe... something had changed."

Closing his eyes, he turned his head, and nuzzled her hair. The soft strands tickled his face, and he could smell the various scents clinging to the woman leaning against him with such familiarity. "No," he replied softly. "Nothing's changed." Miroku stayed like that for a few moments, relishing the feel of her body nestled against his.

She twisted slightly, turning to look up at him. "No?" she asked, a tiny, pleased smile at her lips, her dark eyes shining with firelight and affection.

Miroku breathed a small, wry laugh. "I just couldn't figure out how to show you when we had everything else to deal with."

White teeth sunk down against a full bottom lip as she worried the flesh thoughtfully. "...We seem to have a little less to deal with now," she said shyly.

It occurred to the monk that perhaps he needed to ask Sango if her words meant what he thought they meant. It also occurred to him that any misinterpretation on his part would presage nothing but pain. But the sensation of the lithe female figure resting against him, coupled with the scent of her hair as the mahogany locks tickled his cheek all conspired against him. Dark eyes were watching him, gauging him, full of equal parts anticipation and uncertainty. He swallowed against the increasing dryness in his throat.

"It does seem that way," he murmured, leaning down minutely. His breath stilled in his chest as he savored the moment. The scent of burning wood wrapped around them both, the comforting crackling sounds easing away the starkness of the otherwise deserted clearing. Sango's face looked up at him -- the flickering amber-orange flames gave her skin an otherworldly glow, and those same flames reflected in her eyes made her appear, for a moment, completely ethereal.

"It does, doesn't it?" she breathed, leaning up, her dark, heavy-lidded eyes closing slowly.

Miroku's only response was to let one hand drift slowly upward to cup Sango's face before kissing her softly. He felt her sigh into the kiss, her smaller, more feminine hand moving up to toy briefly with the bow in his kesa before settling at his shoulder.

Savoring the warmth of her mouth against his, the monk forced himself to keep the kiss chaste, but with every caress of Sango's lips, every exhale, every twitch of her fingers as her short, practical nails dug into his shoulder, he found it increasingly difficult to resist. He parted his lips slowly, smothering his groan as he did. Sango started slightly, and the monk could feel her soft, surprised gasp, but when her lips parted as well, he groaned raggedly, gradually deepening the kiss.

Before long, Sango had disentangled her hand from his, and soon both arms were wrapped around his neck. Her breathing was unsteady, her head was spinning, and, no, she wasn't entirely sure it was a good idea to be here with him like this, but the warmth of his mouth against hers and the solid body against her spoke volumes, drowning out the tiny voice of uncertainty. A surge of something primal welled up in her chest and Sango's fingers curled in the monk's dark robes as a tiny mewling noise came from the back of her throat.

And then suddenly, without explanation, he was groaning and pulling away. Sango looked up into the monk's face, blinking dazedly as she tried to understand why he'd done such a thing.

Miroku closed his eyes and felt every hot breath as it tore into his lungs, leaving with every unsteady exhalation. When he finally pried his eyes open, Sango filled his sight; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark and luminous, and her lips the tiniest bit swollen.

He swallowed hard. "Lovely girl..." Her fingertips came up and slowly traced his lips; he closed his eyes at the gentle ministration. "I'm trying not to dishonor you," he murmured huskily.

Sango was quiet for a moment, her eyes taking in his features, flushed as if with fever. After a moment, her gaze dropped to his neck; the bruises were nearly completely gone, but they were still visible -- a fading shadow. Exhaling softly, she trailed her fingertips down to those marks at his neck. If she closed her eyes, she could still see Sesshoumaru holding him carelessly, his dispassionate amber gaze tinted with insanity. She could still feel the frigid rush of fear when her mind had quickly cataloged the various ways Sesshoumaru could have chosen to end the monk's life.

His soft chuckle dragged her away from those memories. "You're making it difficult," he said.

Questing fingertips never left his neck as they traced the remnants of the bruising. "I almost lost you, Miroku." There was no humor in her tone; she knew the statement to be true.

"You didn't, Sango," he replied gently.

Shaking her head, she leaned forward, brushing her lips across a mark left by the youkai's claws. "Almost." She felt him shiver as she kissed the spot again, closing her eyes before breathing softly, "That life... the one worth fighting for. Is it an honorable life?"

There was a breathless laugh that came from somewhere above her. "Well... mostly."

She pulled away and looked up at him, the faintest glimmer of amusement threading through her gaze. "Mostly?"

A lopsided grin formed. "I know myself well enough."

"Then it is not the sort of life that would allow you to dishonor a young woman, such as myself. Is that correct?"

She watched with thinly veiled amusement as he blinked several times, his mouth working silently.

"Unless of course you're planning on becoming the type of man who would dishonor a young woman?" she continued, a grin fighting its way to her lips.

Miroku stammered a bit before he finally managed to pull himself together. "Aren't I already?" he asked with a fair measure of his old savoir-faire.

"Hmm." She looked at him for a long moment. "If you are, then you would have dishonored me long before now, I think."

He looked struck, and it took several seconds for the monk to formulate any sort of reply. When he did, he combed his fingers slowly through her bangs before straying downward and tucking a stray lock behind her ear. "I would never dishonor you, Sango," he murmured. The next words that he said were spoken in a soft, hoarse whisper, as if the intensity of his emotions were enough to tighten his throat. "I love you too much," he breathed.

Those words, that truth was spoken in a tone so soft it seemed as if the speaker was afraid they could be taken away, wrested from him like so many other things in his life -- his innocence, his childhood, his father.

Sango blinked slowly, stunned as the words washed over her, sinking into her mind. "You... do?" she ventured, almost afraid for a moment that she'd heard him wrong.

He nodded slowly, and Sango could see sudden uncertainty reflected in the twitch of his brow as well as in the depths of his eyes. "I..." he inhaled deeply. "When this is over... when I have a future to offer you... If... you would do me the wholly undeserved honor of being my wife..."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Sango found that she could only stare at Miroku before biting her lip and nodding.

Violet eyes blinked in confusion. "Did you... is that..." But any further words were lost as Sango leaned up, kissing him abruptly. When she pulled away, she saw him staring at her, his expression dumbfounded.

Chuckling softly, she reached up and brushed his bangs back with a light touch. "You mean so much to me," she said quietly.

A beat of stupefied silence followed. "I... do?"

A warm smile lit her lips as she nodded slowly. "You're my friend, Miroku. We... talk, we travel, and we fight side by side. There are only a few other people in the world I'd trust in battle -- who I'd trust with my life. And when Sesshoumaru had you by the neck, I was terrified, because... there'd be a world that didn't have you in it." A shadow passed over his face and she bit her lip hard. Kazaana. The chances were still very good that there would someday be a world without Miroku in it. It was a reality that still existed, she knew, and it made something burn and tighten in her chest.

And then, Miroku's touch pulled her away from those unpleasant reveries, the warmth of his fingertips stroking the line of her cheek. "It's something we just have to take care of," he murmured. "Like saving Kohaku."

Sango nodded slowly, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Shifting slightly, she curled against him, closing her eyes when his arms circled her, holding her snugly against him. She let her cheek rest against his chest, finding solace in the distant thud of his heartbeat muffled by his robes.

"I love you too," Sango murmured softly. She was almost surprised when she felt him sag a bit in relief. She looked up quizzically.

"My dearest Sango," Miroku said, laughing ruefully, "I often thought that if you could never love me back because of my behavior, it was no more than simple karma."

A small smile kicked up at her lips. "Well, maybe the good outweighs the bad." She paused. "If just barely." Before he could reply, she closed the distance between them, pressing a soft kiss against his lips, her eyes sliding shut. She felt his mouth move against hers, both hands sliding into her hair as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs.

The kiss was slow, but thorough, and it occurred to Sango that he was kissing her as if his heart would break. She became increasingly aware of his gauntlet against her cheek, the gentle pressure of his rosary beads pressing into her flesh. Tears stung behind closed lids, and she moved closer, losing herself in the embrace. Her breathing hitched and she pulled him closer; she couldn't lose this -- she couldn't lose him.

For his part, Miroku was aware of very little beyond the woman in his arms and the dizzying sensation of her mouth against his. But as the moment progressed and seconds ticked into minutes, the monk dimly realized that they were no longer merely embracing, but clutching at each other desperately, kissing as if they were trying to devour one another.

No. No, he couldn't. Not like this.

He pulled away.

The silence that followed was astounding. Sango gazed up at him, slowly blinking dilated eyes as she tried to piece together what had just happened. "...Miroku?"

"Yes?" His voice was rough and hoarse and barely recognizable to his own ears.

Her tongue snuck out to wet dry lips. "I... I'm not sure..." Cutting her self off, she pursed her lips for a moment. "You keep stopping," she said quietly.

His left hand came up to smooth back her hair; he noticed with detached fascination how that hand was trembling minutely. "I don't want to dishonor you," he explained softly.

Sango reached up, capturing his hand in hers. "Miroku, we..." she paused, swallowing hard at the sheer truth of it. "We may not have a great many other chances."

He found that he could only gape at her. After several seconds, the monk managed to regain the power of speech. "Are you... do you..." She couldn't possibly be serious.

She looked down suddenly, dark bangs shielding her from his bewildered gaze. "I... I just... When Inuyasha and Kagome-chan come back, we're going to be... we'll be traveling again. And... we'll be searching again. Battling again. And... and life is uncertain enough, Miroku." She looked up at him then, tears making her eyes seem even more luminous. When she spoke, her voice was a thready whisper. "I don't want to die -- I don't want you to die -- without knowing the feel of your skin."

Her words struck him silent, and Miroku stared at the taiji-ya, who was trying desperately not to cry. He'd wanted the opportunity to build something with her, to let whatever was developing between them flourish. He'd wanted something... normal. Mundane. Traditional.

But then, there was very little about any of them that was normal, mundane, or traditional.

Part of him still disliked the idea -- she deserved better than this, better than him. And suggesting that they had to seize their opportunity while they had it -- while they were alive -- felt like little more than a flimsy excuse.

But the rest of him acknowledged the truth in her words. Nothing was guaranteed for any of them. Their lives were dangerous; it was ridiculous to pretend otherwise.

Nodding once, Miroku once again cradled Sango's face in his hands, leaning in and kissing her more slowly, deliberately. He felt her reciprocate, sliding her arms around his neck and settling against his chest.

Yes. That was where she belonged; he felt it like a final puzzle piece clicking into place.

Miroku allowed himself the rare luxury of running his fingers through the dark cloak of silk that hung past Sango's slender shoulders. Tugging at the tie, he released her hair and ran his hands through the length of it again. His fingers slipped through the strands, her hair parting under his touch like the finest sand.

Pulling back, Sango looked up at the monk before bringing her hand to his face, her fingertips tracing his cheek and then wandering into the inky silken locks. He closed his eyes as her fingers slid down, pulling his ponytail free.

Then, her voice was by his ear, warm breath sending shivers down his spine. "I do want this, Miroku."

He nodded slowly before dipping his head and kissing her throat lightly, his lips trailing across the skin just above the high black collar of her bodysuit. Slow, careful fingers followed the collar of her yukata. Though there was an extra layer between them, serving to protect the taiji-ya against the increasingly cooler days, Miroku's fingers slid along the black material, caressing it as if it were Sango's flesh. Her breath caught as he stroked inside the line of her deep collar, her fingers tightening as he continued to touch her reverently. Smiling a bit, he kissed a path to the other side of her throat, catching her skin between his teeth, nipping her. He felt her start and gasp at the gentle bite, shivering when he laved the spot with his tongue.

With every touch, Sango became less and less aware of their surroundings. Every inch of her skin felt alive; each of Miroku's caresses seared through her clothing, and every touch of his lips felt like fire against ice.

Her breath hitched in her chest again and she shifted against the monk. "Gods, Miroku," she breathed.

"Hmmm?" His mouth was next to her ear and as she shivered, his teeth caught at her earlobe. Sango gasped sharply, shuddering. "That feels..." she murmured thickly, her words trailing off into a whimper as heat, inebriating and addicting, unfurled in her belly. "Gods, that feels--" Miroku's mouth pressed insistently against hers, silencing the taiji-ya with a hungry, probing kiss.

The sudden presence of his mouth moving slickly against hers made a low, primal groan form in her chest and tear through her throat. She returned the kiss avidly, her hands traveling from his hair down to his shoulders before coming to rest at his chest. She felt him shiver beneath her touch, and a ribbon of satisfaction fluttered through her mind.

Tearing his mouth away, the monk took in an unsteady breath, the taiji-ya's name leaving his lips as he exhaled. Her fingertips danced lightly over the fabric of his collar. "Is this... good?" she asked, only a flicker of uncertainty evident in her eyes. He nodded, words beyond him for the moment.

Sango dipped her head, bringing her lips to the pulsepoint at the houshi's neck. She kissed the thrumming spot tenderly. "I'm still not sure... what do to," she whispered against the skin. "...What you'd like."

Miroku's right hand went to the base of Sango's neck, massaging the area gently. "Just... do what feels good," he murmured. "Just... touch me."

Swallowing hard, the young woman nodded before moving back slightly and sliding one hand down his left arm, slipping into the vast sleeve. Her palm slid across the warm flesh, feeling the corded muscles beneath the skin. As she did this, his other hand moved to her throat, dexterous fingertips following the line of her neck and tracing her collarbone through the thin, black bodysuit. Shifting a bit closer, Sango pulled her hand from Miroku's sleeve and arched her neck to give him better access. He smiled, continuing to brush her lightly with his fingertips, carefully exploring the V of the yukata collar.

Lifting her head slightly, Sango offered the monk a smile before she brought her hands to the collar of his robe, letting her fingers slip beneath the material there. After only the briefest hesitation, Miroku reached down long enough to release the bow on his kesa.

"It's all right," he breathed reassuringly, pressing a kiss to Sango's temple. "It's still tied shut."

Huffing a silent laugh, Sango swallowed nervously, drawing in a breath and holding it as she pulled the kesa away. Once the purple material was puddled around the monk, she drew back and reached behind her, releasing the strings that held her apron. She pulled the green material away, folding it slowly before setting it aside. When she looked up, she saw Miroku watching her, a tiny smile playing about his lips. She chuckled ruefully, shrugging a bit.

"Very neat of you," he observed, his eyes glimmering with warmth.

Sango didn't reply; instead, she knelt before him, her back to her fire. This cast most of the houshi's face into shadow, but when his eyes dipped, she saw it. And when his lips curved into a slow grin, she felt her pulse skip. When Sango glanced down, following his gaze, she saw that her yukata had loosened, exposing more of the black bodysuit beneath.

"Have I mentioned how much I like that?" he asked, his voice like velvet.

Smiling shyly, she reached up and further loosened the light garment. "No, actually. I don't believe you have."

There was a quick movement in his throat as he nodded. "Come here, Sango," he said, reaching out and catching her hand in his before tugging gently.

Sango watched Miroku, letting him guide her closer until she was pressed completely against his chest. Lifting her eyes to his face, she swallowed hard, noting the way the firelight makes the shadows play across his face, almost completely casting his eyes in shadow, but even his eyes reflect the flames. She took in a shallow breath before lifting her hands and releasing the ties on the yukata, never breaking Miroku's gaze. The material slid from her shoulders, hissing softly as it coasted across the taiji-ya uniform underneath. The yukata fell to the earth with barely a whisper of sound -- one that was nearly lost beneath the gentle crackling of the campfire.

There was another movement in Miroku's throat as his eyes traveled over the black-clad young woman. Swallowing hard, he ran his hands slowly up her arms. As he did this, Sango leaned forward, kissing him slowly, gasping only when his fingertips trailed down her torso. She felt the monk grin against her lips before he caressed her again. Chuckling deep in her throat, she brought her hands up to the collar of Miroku's robe, sliding them inside, groaning softly when her fingers glided over bare skin. He shivered under her touch, and that fact only made her chuckle again.

Breaking the kiss gently, Sango made a soft, content sound before leaning in and placing a soft kiss at the side of the young houshi's neck. She nuzzled his jaw for a moment before dropping a trail of teasing kisses to the other side of his neck, licking experimentally at the pulsepoint. She felt the vibration in his throat when he moaned, and the taiji-ya smiled inwardly at the sound, but when the monk's hands cupped her bound breasts reverently, a ragged gasp tore through her throat as she arched into the touch.

Dropping her head back, Sango groaned the monk's name as he kneaded the soft flesh gently, exploring every possibility, reveling in every response. In the midst of a supplication to the gods, Sango's mouth was stopped yet again as Miroku groaned throatily, kissing her hard. His mouth, hot and urgent against hers, only served to further exacerbate the heat swarming beneath her skin. One hand, lost in his robes, tightened, her fingers curling in the material. Her other hand gripped his shoulder tightly, her nails digging into his flesh.

Sango moaned against his mouth, her kisses desperate and hungry, and as she was in the midst of shifting against him, she felt the world shift abruptly as she tumbled downwards. Blinking dazedly, she looked down at Miroku, who had placed himself between her and the earth; his eyes were closed, and his hands were placed squarely on her hips. When she had landed, Sango's hands had come to rest on Miroku's chest, and there they were firmly braced, her pelvis settled snugly against his. Something became increasingly obvious to Sango in that moment, and though her face grew warmer, it had little to do with embarrassment or anger. In fact, that foreign presence, that pressure against her, ignited heat through her veins.

She took in a slow, deep breath, the scent of the fire mingling with the scent of green tea and incense that clung to Miroku like a whisper. As she exhaled, she shifted slightly against the monk's prone body. That subtle movement only served to intensify the warmth spreading through her belly, and when Miroku's husky groan cut through the night, his hands tightening on her hips, she looked down at him. She found that she wanted to move again and again, her body rocking and sliding against his. That sound had rendered her breathless, and she shifted again -- more boldly this time -- her eyes fixed on his face, watching him intently.

Dark eyes opened slowly and fixed on Sango. "Careful," he murmured, his voice far huskier than normal.

Blinking, Sango froze. "...Am I doing something wrong?"

His lips curved slowly. "No. But I don't want to throw you on your back, either."

Brown eyes widened and a shiver tingled its way across her skin. "Oh."

Miroku's lazy grin sharpened and he chuckled. "Unless you want me to, lovely girl."

Those words shot through Sango's mind, trailing down her spine, and teasing every nerve ending awake. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine it -- Miroku above her, his hair, dark and unbound, hanging down around his face in loose tendrils. The warmth between her legs surged a bit as she pictured the monk's body pressed firmly against hers.

Did she want him do? Gods, yes.

Suddenly, the reverie came to an abrupt stop as two hands glided familiarly across her body, coming to rest at her backside. She blinked and looked down at the monk again; his eyes were closed, but a grin was playing about his lips. He squeezed gently.

She could have laughed. Sneaky houshi.

Inexplicably, the impulse to slap him was there, ridiculous as it was given their current position. And yet, she wrestled with that reflex as he groped. Shaking her head, she lowered her body, sliding down alongside him. Propping herself up on her elbow, she gazed down at the monk, who was now peeking at her through barely closed lids. Sango only shook her head; there was a beat of silence before Miroku's laughter filled the air.

"I'm sorry," he said, chuckling. Sango's lips twitched as she fought back a smile, which only made the monk laugh again as he leaned over to kiss her.

Huffing a soft, dry laugh, Sango closed her eyes as Miroku's warm lips pressed against her mouth. She moved closer to him until they were both on their sides, their bodies flush against each other. His hands once again slid along her curves, eliciting pleased mewling noises from the taiji-ya.

While Miroku was quite pleased with himself for confounding Sango -- even temporarily -- he found himself once again getting lost in the taiji-ya's embrace. Her body was lean and muscular while at the same time soft beyond his imagination. Her questing hands were gentle as they roved, seldom moving below the linen of his robes. Her fingertips traced his face and neck, they slid through his hair, and drifted across his hands. Seemingly innocent caresses evoking a response nowhere near virtuous.

And then -- then her hand came to rest against his hip and the young houshi inhaled sharply before he stopped breathing altogether.

Sango broke the kiss briefly. "Miroku? Is that all right?"

He opened his mouth to formulate a reply -- but her hand was moving again and words would not form. "I..." he closed his eyes, barely managing not to babble. "Yes. That's... yes." He swallowed hard. "It's all right," he managed hoarsely.

"Is it?" she whispered. Her dark eyes were fixed on his face -- she was regarding him, touching him, watching to see what reactions her touch brought.

He sucked in a breath as her hand moved slowly downward. "...Yes."

A tiny part of the monk's brain was quite positive he'd fallen asleep leaning against the well and was dreaming every second of this. Though his senses told him otherwise, he found he simply could not believe the gift he'd been given. He let his hand stroke the length of her body before coming to rest in the dip of her waist; he could feel her shudder before arching into his touch like a cat.

Groaning softly, Sango tore her lips away from his before pressing a series of kisses along the line of his jaw and down his neck. "Miroku?" Her leg slid slowly against his, and her hand slipped downward, her fingers finding the hardened flesh hidden by his robes. "...Can I?" He could only manage a nod.

When the light, grazing touch came, he closed his eyes, committing to memory every sensation, every sound, every single nuance of the moment.

She kissed his throat again, softly. "...Like that?"

Exhaling a shaky sigh, he nodded. "That's... pretty much the idea." Swallowing hard, he pulled away long enough to release the tie holding the black kimono shut. There was only the softest sound of material shifting before he felt Sango's hand against his bare flesh. Her hand coasted across his abdomen before hesitating briefly at his tabaki.

Sensing her uncertainty, he lowered his head, pressing a kiss into her hair. "It's all right," he murmured. "You don't have--" The words died in his throat when Sango's hand slipped beneath the material, searching fingers shyly stroking his erection. He thrust into her hand, inhaling sharply, hissing as air passed through his teeth.

It had no longer become an idle wish; he wanted Sango, more fiercely now than he could remember ever wanting her before. It was by now a physical ache, a desire he could not assign words to.

Her hand slowly left his shaft, and when the monk finally managed to open his eyes, he saw that Sango had released the fastening at her neck that held her uniform shut. Smooth flesh met his gaze, and continued to meet his gaze as Sango eased her upper body out of the taiji-ya suit. The houshi's pulse jumped as he gazed at her; her skin was flushed, the faint pink tint standing out against the white linen binding her breasts. When he brought his eyes once again to her face, he saw her watching him, her color hectic, her hair tousled, and her eyes reflecting shyness that bordered on solemn.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

A soft gasp met his ears, turning into a groan when he flicked her collarbone gently with his tongue. Moaning raggedly, his name sounding like a benediction at her lips, Sango settled onto her back. Miroku pushed himself to his knees, shrugging out of the black kimono as he gazed down at her, and it occurred to the monk that, somehow, "beautiful," didn't do the taiji-ya justice.

He positioned himself over her, coming down to lean on his elbows, his lower body settling between her legs. She smiled lazily at him, reaching up to brush his bangs back. His lips curved upwards as he dipped his head, dropping a kiss against one breast, then the other -- the swollen flesh that peeked over the top of the binding.

Sango groaned, shifting underneath Miroku's weight. His presence above her had already made her pulse jump and thunder in her ears; the warmth in her belly and between her legs only grew more insistent as she lay beneath him. She knew instinctively where she wanted him, and a deep, keening groan worked its way through her throat as she moved against him, the last few layers of clothing tapping the last of her patience.

And then, moist heat teased at her bound breasts; the moan turned into a ragged cry. Brown eyes flew open and she saw Miroku, his lips brushing the binding as he breathed against the linen, heating the flesh beneath. Panting, she watched him as he considered his next move, his lust-darkened eyes lighting with a glimmer of mischievous curiosity. Slowly he ran his thumb over one breast until the nipple hardened, straining against the fabric.

His smile sharpened when she cried out again, arching up against his hand. "Gods, Miroku... "

With slow, methodical strokes, he teased the hardened, sensitized flesh until Sango writhed beneath him, her movements such that she was rubbing against the fabric as well as the monk's hands. And when the gentle pressure of his teeth closed around one hardened nub, Sango cried out again, a high, desperate sound. Fire raged beneath her skin, and with the monk's careful ministrations, the flames lapped higher, threatening to consume her.

Closer. She needed to have him closer. One slender leg came up, wrapping around Miroku's waist, joined soon by another. Sango pulled the monk closer, groaning when he nestled against her body, his mouth moving to her other breast. It was taking every remaining ounce of will that Sango possessed to keep from pulling the linen bindings away.

"Gods," she whimpered, writhing against him, "please don't stop. "

Somewhere in the muddled, lust-filled haze, Sango became aware of cooler air against her skin, making it prickle slightly. Dark eyes blinked drunkenly, and she saw Miroku pulling the linen bindings away from her torso, setting them aside where they mingled indecently with the discarded kesa. Sango found herself was bare before him; despite the gooseflesh that had broken out across her skin, she blushed faintly.

Miroku paused, looking down at her, violet eyes seeking brown. "Okay?"

She nodded slowly. "It's... it's okay."

He lowered his body until it was once again flush with hers, kissing her softly. "I'll never hurt you," he murmured.

Sango brought her hand to the side of the monk's face, cradling his cheek in her palm. "I know."

He nodded once before closing his mouth over hers and kissing her slowly. Sango's breath caught in her chest as his tongue teased against and then past her lips, sliding against her tongue. His hand once again found her breast, his thumb running over the bare, aching nipple, slowly. The sensation sent needles of pleasure humming through her veins and she groaned huskily against his mouth, arching up against him.

Unable to think beyond the warmth spreading past her thighs, Sango's hand reached down blindly, fumbling only momentarily with the material of his tabaki before sliding beneath the fabric and grasping the erection lightly. She felt Miroku shudder, his mouth moving more urgently against hers, his kisses growing hungrier, more demanding. He tore his lips away from hers, his mouth descending heatedly to her breast. Sango arched suddenly, a hoarse cry tearing past her lips, her fingers tightening around the hardening flesh.

Miroku groaned, grazing his teeth across one hardened nipple and then the other, thrusting fervently into Sango's hand as she stroked him. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, and suddenly the urge to peel away the last few remaining layers of clothing became almost too much to ignore. Swallowing hard, the monk buried his face in Sango's neck, closing his eyes and breathing deeply in an attempt to regain a modicum of control.

"Miroku..." Sango's voice was by his ear; her lips brushed the gold hoops, making them click softly. "Miroku, please... gods..." Her hand spasmed around his erection and she arched up against him. "Please..."

The desperation in her tone shot through him like quicksilver. Miroku was not a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination. He knew what she was asking of him, and he was only too willing to comply. He moved away long enough to shuck his tabaki, tossing the cotton leggings onto the slowly growing pile of clothes. As he did this, his eyes were focused on Sango, lying indolently before him, slowly working her legs out of her bodysuit. When she was completely bare, she looked up at him, her eyes half-hidden by her bangs. The campfire made her skin gleam warmly, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her flame-warmed body against his.

He joined her on the makeshift bed they'd made of their clothes, their arms twined around each other, both slowly getting used to the foreign sensation of flesh against bare flesh. Lying on her side, Sango curled against Miroku's body, his warmth combined with the fire's heat warming her comfortably. He cradled her with one arm, his other hand running slowly up and down her back, fingertips taking in every curve, every dip in her skin. She was nervous -- of course she was nervous -- but the soothing ministration eased her trepidation. When she finally braved a look up into the monk's face, what she saw made any residual anxiety melt away. He was watching her solemnly, as if he were struck by the fact that she was there, with him. He was watching her as if he expected her to vanish into the ether.

Swallowing against the sudden surge of emotion, Sango leaned forward, placing a soft kiss against Miroku's sternum. Her lips forged a path to his collarbone and, nipping softly, she lowered her head to nuzzle his neck. Shivering, he tilted his head back and she kissed his neck teasingly, letting her teeth drag across the sensitive skin. A ragged, husky groan danced across her ears and she sighed contently against his neck, savoring the taste of salt as it clung to his skin.

After a moment, Sango became aware of Miroku's fingertips traveling slowly downward, teasing the planes and curves in her flesh. But when those fingers moved past her hip, stroking her curls gently, Sango inhaled on a gasp, rolling reflexively onto her back to give him better access. Her legs parted a bit, and Miroku's fingers followed, stroking her labia lightly. Every touch sent sparks racing through her body -- his touch was gentle as he explored. The lightest brush against the sensitive skin made Sango tremble and gasp. She reached out, wanting to hold on to something. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand settling in his hair, curling into a fist as he teased gasps and sighs from her.

Eventually, as Miroku continued to coax Sango's flesh further and further into a state of arousal, she began moving against his hand, arching her back and rocking her hips as she breathed his name or cried out to the gods. After a moment, she looked at him, her gaze unfocused.

"Should I... be doing someth--" Her words were cut off suddenly by an overwhelming sensation unlike anything she had ever felt. Her entire body grew taut as she called out, her hips grinding greedily against his hand.

Miroku smiled secretively at the young woman's reaction and let his thumb graze the swollen, sensitized nub within her slick folds. "Yes," he replied, easing down her body and kissing her abdomen. "Enjoy yourself." Settling between her legs, he licked slowly, savoring both Sango's taste and her high, surprised gasp. He dragged his tongue over her trembling flesh, smiling against her when one hand found his hair, fingers winding and tightening around the strands. Gradually, he slid one finger into her, stroking gently. He lifted his head as he did this, watching the taiji-ya, memorizing everything about her -- the hitch in her cry, the way her head twisted before pressing against the bed of clothing as she arched her back, the way firelight and shadow played across her body

Sango moaned Miroku's name as her fingers tugged desperately at his hair. Groaning, she parted her legs further, crying out unintelligibly as he licked and teased, stroking her and eliciting sensations and responses she'd never imagined, not in her wildest dreams. She felt as if she were drowning as each new feeling washed over her, sending her mind spiraling into pleasure-filled depths. His mouth -- his mouth was on her, tasting her.

She whimpered, writhing, and a tiny part of her brain was astounded at her behavior. She was rocking her hips and tugging at the houshi's hair in such wild abandon -- it was quite unlike her. It occurred, however vaguely, to the taiji-ya that she should have been ashamed, she should have discouraged Miroku from touching her there, from putting his mouth there.

And then something that felt a great deal like teeth scraped lightly across her flesh and that tiny voice was drowned out completely, the niggling train of thought ceasing as pleasure, blinding and brilliant, flooded her mind. Sango screamed -- a throaty, wordless cry, and when she could once again find her voice and the ability to speak coherently, she lifted her head and regarded the monk wide, dilated eyes.

"What... what are you doing?" she panted, writhing again as she uttered a desperate, mewling noise.

Miroku lifted his head, but never stopped the motion of his hand. "I'm only trying to pleasure you, my lovely girl," he replied silkily. Considering the conversation over, he lowered his head again, licking her once before plunging his tongue inside of her, and Sango would have sworn she felt him chuckle when she let out another sharp cry.

As the houshi's ministrations continued, Sango became increasingly aware of an unfamiliar tightening inside. It began in her belly, originating in the same spot as that all-consuming heat. Coiling tighter and tighter, the taiji-ya felt her body begin to tremble with something that felt a great deal like anticipation. She tried to say his name, but every breath she drew in was shallow, leaving her breathless.

Then she felt the monk's probing touch inside of her, stroking and pressing a spot that sent fire dancing across her nerves. The tight, hot sensation that had overtaken her body finally snapped and released. Her fingers left his hair and dug into the bed of clothes as she convulsed, a wordless, incoherent cry at her lips. Fire and ice raced through her limbs leaving her feeling weightless as her hips rocked rhythmically against Miroku's hand.

The dizzying sensation abated gradually, and soon Sango lay limply, her chest heaving as she panted. Her eyes were closed -- it took too much effort to keep them open -- but she felt Miroku place a soft kiss against her abdomen before resting his head against her. After a few moments, she lifted her hand, absently wondering how her arm had come to feel so heavy, and combed her fingers through Miroku's hair.

"Gods," she managed, when she could finally speak, "I had... no idea." Miroku chuckled softly, and her lips twitched into a smile. When she lifted her head and gazed down at him, she saw him watching her with a dark, dilated gaze. A small knowing smile at his lips, he ran a hand across her skin in idle exploration. An identical smile lit Sango's lips when it became obvious to her that no, they weren't finished quite yet.

When Miroku moved up her body to lie against her, Sango noted that he too was flushed, and a faint film of sweat had broken out at his forehead. She pulled him to her, covering his mouth with hers, unable to ignore the raw hunger in his kiss, no matter how hard he tried to control it. She pulled away gently and brought her mouth to his ear.

"It's okay, Miroku," she whispered.

He nodded slowly before easing himself over her, holding her gaze with solemn eyes. Sango licked her lips; she was inexperienced, but not wholly ignorant in matters like these. She knew what came next, and she knew it was frequently uncomfortable -- she'd heard it was painful. She swallowed in an attempt to quell the nervousness that hovered just beneath the thick blanket of comfort and security that had settled over her. Miroku would not hurt her -- he wouldn't.

She parted her legs for him as he settled against her, and she could feel his erection nudging her. He dipped his head, kissing her again, and as his lips moved slickly across hers, she gradually got used to the feel of him between her legs. She could feel him rubbing against her, pressing against the flesh that still trembled from his earlier attentions. The heat she had thought extinguished blossomed again and she shifted slightly to meet him. Miroku rocked in response, groaning softly against her mouth and Sango wrapped her arms around him, splaying her hands across his back, her fingers tracing the musculature.

Slowly, his mouth moved to her neck and she closed her eyes, sighing softly as his erection slid over her, teasing but never quite entering her. His teeth caught the flesh at her neck, nipping lightly; Sango gasped, tilting her head back and moving beneath him. He placed another soft bite at her neck before laving the spot before trailing his tongue down to her collarbone again.

"Yes," she breathed, moving against him. "Yes, that's..."

As her body arched, her legs coming up to wrap around Miroku's waist, Sango felt the heated flesh press against her, sliding into her a fraction before pulling out again. The sensation made her gasp and tighten reflexively, but his absence struck her more than his presence had. Slowly Sango realized that this was nothing at all like what she'd heard it could be like. She wanted him inside of her; she wanted to feel that presence, that tightness inside of her.

"Please, Miroku," she murmured, lifting her head to brush a kiss across the corner of his mouth.

The monk groaned softly, those glorious words wrapping themselves around him. His mouth descended on hers in a deep, probing kiss as he slid into her, shuddering as her snug channel closed around him. The tightness enveloping him sent a groan rumbling through his chest, and the probing kiss grew hungrier and more insistent. He became aware of nothing but the mouth sliding against his, and the body wrapped around him. Gradually he moved his body, pulling out slowly before sliding in again. His hips moved slowly, trailing kisses down her throat and across her breasts.

He'd imagined, of course, what it would have felt like to hold her, to have her lips against his, to have her like this. But none of those fantasies could equal the reality. He felt her move beneath him, her breathless groans and whimpers grazing across his ears. She enveloped him completely, and when he felt her body tighten around him, he groaned, moving gradually faster.

Sango arched suddenly, tightening her arms and legs around him, her guttural cry swallowing him like a flame on dry tinder. Biting his lip, he angled his hips slightly as he continued to thrust, reveling in the sounds of their combined pleasure. He shifted his weight slightly, lowering himself onto one elbow before sliding his left hand between their bodies, feathering a light touch over the swollen bud of flesh between her legs. Smug satisfaction welled up in him at and Miroku touched her again, his fingers gliding firmly against the sensitized nub.

Her sharp scream pierced the night as a second orgasm broke. Miroku gritted his teeth as her body convulsed around him, tightening and releasing rhythmically, but the sensations were far too intense, too dizzying. His cry mingled with hers as he felt himself pushed over the edge, his body thrusting into her as the pulses took him. Her arms and legs tightened around him, holding him there, and Miroku shivered as aftershocks rocked both of their bodies. They clung to each other, trembling, their ragged breathing barely audible above the still-crackling fire.

As the monk lay there, his face buried in Sango's neck, he mentally berated himself. He hadn't intended to reach completion inside of her. He'd intended to withdraw. He hadn't meant to...

Her fingers drifted lazily through his hair. "I love you," she breathed.

He winced inwardly. I'm so sorry, Sango.

There was, of course, a chance that there would be no repercussions. There was a chance -- there was always a chance, and a good one at that -- that she wasn't pregnant. She didn't deserve such a fate.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his heart clenching at the sight of her lovely flushed face, flushed and limned in sweat, dark strands clinging to her cheek and forehead. Her lips were swollen and pink, and seemed to beg him to kiss them again. He did, chastely. "And I you," he murmured.

Her hand cupped his cheek as she smiled up at him. "That... was... so much more than I had anticipated."

He nodded slowly. "I know what you mean."

Sango looked thoughtful for a moment, twining a finger into his hair. "I'd heard... from village girls -- I'd heard it was supposed to be..." the taiji-ya frowned for a moment, "unpleasant, rough, quick..."

"Well," he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple, "it can be. But..." here the monk colored faintly.

"But?"

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "Mushin... and my father... always said that since our futures depended on the kindness of women...."

He could see the trepidation in her eyes and he swore at himself for it. "Yes?" she asked quietly.

Miroku dropped his head sheepishly. "There was... there were some scrolls."

Sango's dark brows twitched together. "...And?"

Again, the monk cleared his throat. "They, ah... give instructions."

Brown eyes widened in amazement. "A scroll that had... instructions on how to do... that?" He nodded and she blinked once. "...Oh."

A beat of silence passed. "It was part of my training, actually. Father and Mushin said it was the least I could do for... whomever might agree."

Sango nodded slowly. "...I see."

He huffed a soft, wry chuckle. "I didn't think it would work quite that well."

The taiji-ya's eyes widened before she blinked once, then twice, and then a third time. "You... you've never... you've never tried any of that before?"

He shrugged a bit. "I've kissed girls before. And groped them, as well you know. But... no. Beyond that..."

"...Oh."

Miroku settled comfortably against Sango's body, wrapping an arm around her. When he spoke, his voice had taken on a musing quality, as if his words were half-thoughts spoken aloud. "It was too selfish, I suppose."

"What was?" she asked, running her hand down his back, following the line of his spine.

"...Taking my pleasure where I could and then simply... walking away. Returning in a few months to see if... anything had happened."

Several moments of silence passed, and Miroku could hear the thoughts as they clicked through the taiji-ya's mind. "Ah."

He lifted his head, bringing his hand to her hair and smoothing her bangs back slowly. "And now I've been selfish after all."

She shook her head. "...You're not walking away from me, houshi."

"Absolutely not."

Her lips twitched, and she went on as if he hadn't spoken. "...It would be hard to walk with two broken legs, after all..."

Miroku's anxiety faded with those words and he laughed, hugging her. She shifted slightly, nestling against him. With one hand, Miroku felt around until his fingers closed around the corner of his kesa, which he pulled over them.

Sango tucked her head under his chin, closing her eyes. "You do realize it's very likely that Inuyasha will return at first light."

"Can you walk?" he asked, dry humor crackling through his tone.

She smiled. "Probably not very well."

"Neither can I." After a second or two, he started to chuckle. "Of course, I could simply put some ofuda on the well..."

Sango laughed softly. "Now that's an idea."

He sat up slowly, fishing through the discarded garments until he found his kimono and shrugged into it, leaving it open. A brief search yielded a few pre-written ofuda. He held the slender strips of paper between his fingers and chuckled, sending Sango a sly wink. "Let's see if I can do this after I've just finished being very unpure."

Laughing softly, Sango sat up, her eyes scanning the ground for a moment before she saw her yukata. She wrapped it around her shoulders and watched as Miroku knelt before the well, eyes closed. She swallowed hard as she took in the sight -- the monk clad only in his black robe, his hair loose about his shoulders, his face a perfect picture of concentration. She blew out a breath, shivering slightly.

After a few moments, Miroku exhaled, slapping the ofuda onto the well where they stuck, crackling faintly. Lying down suddenly, he stared dazedly up at the night sky.

"Now I really can't walk."

"Are you all right?" she asked, settling alongside him again, a tiny frown marring her forehead.

A tired grin tugged at the houshi's lips. "Yes. It just took the last of my energy."

She met his smile with one of her own. "Ah. The last of it then?" She kissed him chastely, pulling the purple kesa over them once again.

Thick dark eyebrows rose. "Were you hoping for something, my darling girl?"

Sango's affectionate smile took on a secretive, enigmatic quality. "Nothing that can't wait until you have some of your energy back."

He chuckled softly, cuddling against her. "Give me a few minutes," he paused, yawning, "and I'll see what I can marshal up."

Closing her eyes, the young woman hummed contently. And then, after a brief pause, "...You don't happen to know where those scrolls are, do you?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Interesting." His lips passed softly over hers.

"Do you want to read them?" he murmured against her mouth.

Dark eyes looked upward in a perfect parody of deep thought. "Well, it's never too late to become a better student..."

The monk shook his head, laughing. "I'll be happy to help you study."

"I bet you would," she riposted. And then, after thinking about it for a little while, Sango frowned as Miroku yawned, his arms tightening snugly around her. "What were they called, anyway?"

"The Kama Sutra."