InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Secret Weapon ❯ Chapter 4

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Nobody can say Miroku isn't resourceful. Now he has a whole new excuse to indulge in his favorite pastime, and for a change, Sango doesn't seem to be complaining.

Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Comedy | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 01.21.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 1.0K | Status: Work In Progress

Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

*coughs* Er…wrong channel.

So…um…just in case you didn't know, this is the uncut,full lemonversionof chapter four. If you are offended by more-than-a-little-graphic descriptions of sex, then go away. Now.

Then again, most of you are probably here specifically for the graphic descriptions of sex, so…never mind. Read away!

Unless you are under the age of seventeen. If you are under seventeen, then go away. Now.

Chapter Four

Time seemed to have come to a complete standstill inside that little cave.

Hours might have passed, or perhaps mere minutes; it was all the same to Sango as she lay there on the cold floor and stared at the ceiling, forcing herself to breathe as deeply and evenly as was possible. Her many attempts to quell the panic that persisted in creeping along the edges of her sanity were growing increasingly more difficult, and the utter stillness of the cave was unnerving. The only sounds she could detect were the deep, steady breaths of her companion - he had apparently fallen asleep on her, the bastard - her own rather harsher breathing, and perhaps, farther off in the decimated tunnel, the steady, trickling drip of water against stone.

Hiraikotsu was digging uncomfortably into her back, so she distracted herself momentarily by squirming around until she could free herself from its strap, sliding it away to rest beneath lowest end of the cave, just beyond their feet. Her katana she unstrapped and lay at her side, toward the tunnel wall. After that, there was nothing else to do but lay there and wait and try to keep a tight grip on her rapidly-fraying nerves.

She didn't know how much longer she could stand being stuck in such a cramped space without breaking down into a quivering, sobbing mass of anxiety. The thought of showing such weakness in front of Miroku was unbearable, which was probably the only reason why she had held out for that long. She had never cared for enclosed areas, and after that terrible night which had occurred months before, she had since discovered her mild nervousness had turned into a full-blown case of mind-numbing, terrorizing claustrophobia.

It was a secret that she had never shared with her friends; the shame of it stilled her tongue whenever she sought to speak of her fear. She was Taijiya, one of the strongest warriors in her village and the last of her people. To show her weakness was unacceptable; it could bring everyone into danger should the wrong enemy discover it. She could not allow herself to be weak, not until she avenged the murder of her kinsmen, and took her brother back from the hands of that monster.

Still, no matter how she struggled to banish them, the horrifying memories of her struggle to claw free of the freshly-turned earth of her own grave continued to mock her, hovering at the edges of her memory, taunting her with flashes of the agony which had pierced her ruined body, as her constricted lungs sought to breathe.

Beside her, Miroku stirred, rolling to his side to face her. She jumped at the movement, startled, and couldn't stop the gasp which hissed out between her lips. He rose to rest his weight on one elbow, looking down on her with a concerned frown, and she sought to ignore him, to pretend that she was just fine, yet knowing that he would not be fooled in the least. She could feel the cold sweat beading on her forehead, and when he reached out to gently wipe his hand over it, she knew he could see it, as well.

“You're too cold, and your face is like ash,” he murmured. “Are you ill?”

“No,” she replied hoarsely. “I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

But Miroku did not go to sleep. Instead, he lowered his hand until it rested gently against her breast, just over her heart. She stared up at him, too startled to react for a moment. “Your heart is pounding,” he stated amiably, not at all concerned about the position of his hand, or what might happen to it should she come to her senses. “You're shivering. Either you're cold…or you're very frightened.”

“I'm not,” she protested immediately.

His dark, dark eyes snapped up to meet hers immediately. “I don't think I believe you,” he replied softly, removing his hand from her chest. “Why are you so frightened, Sango?”

She clenched her jaw stubbornly and refused to answer.

“Is it because of the situation?” he persisted. “They'll have realized we're missing by now. I'm sure they're looking for us.”

“I know that!” she snapped, blinking rapidly. She cursed herself inwardly, realizing that she was losing the tenuous grip she held on her sanity. “That isn't what I'm worried about,” she insisted. “It's just that—” She cast around for a suitable excuse for a moment. “I'm just…uncomfortable on this cold stone, that's all,” she finished inanely.

He regarded her for a moment, as if pondering on the truth of her statement. Then he smiled slyly. “Well, if that's the case, you're more than welcome to lay on me, if you'd like,” he suggested slyly, and was immediately rewarded with a sharp jab in the side, compliments of her elbow. “It was just an offer,” he grunted, rubbing his tender ribs.

Regaining his serious stance, he reached out to trace her cheek with a soothing hand, earning an astonished (and highly suspicious) glare in return. “All playing aside, tell me what the problem really is,” he commanded softly. “You're frightened; that much is obvious. Is it something I can help you with? At the very least, perhaps talking will ease your fears. It pains me to see you so distressed, Sango-chan.”

She blinked at him, taken aback by his sudden, uncharacteristic gentleness. Teasing, perverted Miroku she could deal with, could fend off if he wandered too closely into her personal boundaries. But warm, caring Miroku was a complete enigma to her; he was someone she didn't understand, and he had the rather annoying habit of slipping past all of her defenses, no matter how strongly she fortified them. That made him dangerous, because once he was inside, so was the other Miroku, the one who could so easily break her with just a thoughtless gesture.

But the low, soothing timbre of his voice, the warm, calloused palm still softly caressing her cheek; they both served to make her weak in the knees and to cause a familiar heavy sensation to pool in the pit of her stomach, its liquid heat spreading slowly outward into her limbs, making her feel lax and weak all over. She was aroused by this Miroku as she never was with the other, and it scared her. She wanted with all of her strength to push him away, to keep that distance between them. But when he was so close to her, gazing at her with such tender concern, all she could see was her own image reflected within his eyes, and she wondered if he was reflected within her eyes, as well.

She didn't quite realize what she was doing as she opened her mouth, and said in a soft, tremulous voice, “I…I keep…remembering.”

“What is it you remember?” he whispered back, his thumb softly caressing the underside of her jaw and throat.

She wanted to stop, wanted to tell him it was none of his business…but…

“Enclosed spaces…make me remember the…my…grave.”

He released a soft breath, those dark-violet eyes widening for just a fraction of a second, before gentle understanding dawned within their depths. “I see,” he breathed, his stroking hand coming to rest softly against her cheek, and a thumb grazed over her dry lips. “I…see,” he repeated softly. “No wonder…of course, this situation must be terrifying.”

“Being afraid is being weak,” she protested. She didn't want him to be understanding. She wanted him to say something stupid and perverted, so she could call up her anger and chase away the strange feelings fluttering around in her body. “Weakness could get us all killed one day. This situation is nothing like that one. I'm just…being stupid, that's all. It's stupid for me to have this fear. I'm not this weak, I'm not!”

Miroku's brows furrowed as he listened to Sango berate herself. Of course she wasn't weak. How could she think otherwise? How could she believe him to think otherwise? She was the strongest woman he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. She fascinated him as no other ever had (and not only because she seemed so immune to his many advances). The only thing he wanted in life (aside from Naraku's head on a pike) was to discover everything there was to know about her. If that meant he had to follow her around for the rest of his life, observing her from the cool distance she kept between them, well…it was a small price to pay.

At the moment, seeing her there, trembling and vulnerable as she never was in battle, his admiration of her great strength and courage seemed to fade beneath the growing need to protect her against that which she feared. Were it a visible enemy, he would have gladly taken it on with his bare hands, but this was something that she could only fight on her own, and it seemed to be a losing battle. Perhaps the only way he could truly help was to distract her mind and give her something to focus on other than her fear, if only for a little while.

Fortunately, he knew of a surefire method to do so, and he let go of the last of his resistance (and with it, his sense of self-preservation) and let instinct take over. He pulled himself closer, curling his body around her in a protective embrace as one hand slid under her head and the other tilted her chin upward. He caught her startled expression and the growing protest in her eyes, before his own eyes slipped closed and he caught her lips in a deep, enthralling kiss.

Well…it was enthralling for him, perhaps. Sango didn't appear to be very thrilled about it, given the way her body immediately went rigid in his arms. He held the kiss for as long as he dared before releasing her and leaning away, smiling sheepishly at her befuddled, furious glare. “Well…I've often heard that the best way to keep bad memories at bay is to distract yourself from them,” he explained quickly.

Her brow furrowed dangerously. “Distract…?”

“It worked, didn't it?” he hastily added.

She opened her mouth to protest, then reluctantly closed it again when she realized that he was right; she was very distracted at the moment. She was furious at him for taking advantage of the situation, but at the same time, the exquisite heat of his kiss threatened to melt the anger right out from under her. How could she possibly think of anything other than his very soft, warm, and tempting lips hovering only a foot away; of how those lips had felt against hers for the first time ever, of how they had warmed and weakened her body all the way to her toes?

Her mouth tingled pleasantly with the residual warmth of his, and so did other places, like the back of her neck, which he was supporting with his forearm, and her thigh, where his waist was pressed intimately against it. So was her abdomen, she realized with a shock, where his hand had, at some point that she had obviously failed to notice, come to rest gently against her flat belly. Its heat seared through the strong, supple leather of her uniform. At any other time, she would have cheerfully bludgeoned him to death with Hiraikotsu for imposing so daringly upon her person. At this moment, however, she just couldn't seem to make herself care.

She frowned briefly, disgusted with herself for giving in so easily, and glanced down toward the other end of the cave, where her weapon lay just beyond the reach of her foot. Miroku followed her glance, and a sly smile crossed his lips. She glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Don't go getting any funny ideas, Houshi,” she growled. “I can still reach my katana, you know.”

“Ah, Sango,” he sighed mournfully, his eyes holding a playful glint. “Why must you be so formal with me, after sharing such a precious moment? I do so enjoy hearing my name on your lips. Say it again.”

She rolled her eyes at his persistence, opening her mouth to tell him off, but instead squeaked in shock when he abruptly darted in for another beguiling kiss. It lasted for only a moment, and then he pulled away - barely - to stare intently into her eyes. “Say my name, Sango,” he whispered huskily, the hand resting on her stomach beginning a slow, sensual glide across her abdomen.

“N-no,” she replied, struggling to resist the magnetism of his eyes. His fingers glided lightly over a breast, and her breath hitched in her throat; he noticed, his smile turning seductive. “Say it,” he whispered again.

She attempted to glare at him. “Now isn't the time for this,” she hissed, attempting to remove the offending hand, only to find her own captured within it.

“Now is the perfect time, dearest Sango,” he purred, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. She felt him smile against her ear. “I am only trying to help you forget your fear. We are alone, in a rather intimate setting with little chance of being walked in on, at least for a few hours. Best of all, you have very limited access to your weapons.”

“I've still got my fists,” she hissed, and was silenced once again by his mouth covering hers. When he removed it a long, pleasurable time later, she was flushed all over, quite breathless, and completely flustered. “S-stop doing that,” she whined, regarding him through wide, pleading eyes.

His gaze was almost cunning, but his smile was nothing but tenderness. “But why?” he whispered in return. “You clearly enjoy it as much as I do, and as long as you're…otherwise occupied, your fear remains at bay, does it not?”

She frowned, trying to make sense of her jumbled, muddled thoughts. “Th-that's not the point,” she protested. “There are other ways to distract me, you know!”

He sighed, and she felt his chest heave against hers; to her depredation, her nipples began to tighten with growing arousal. “But other ways are so much less enjoyable,” he murmured teasingly. “I fail to see how they can distract you half as well as this method can.”

She knew she was fighting a losing battle, and her fear was returning for an entirely different reason. No matter how much her mind protested this invasion, her body welcomed it. It was what she had always yearned for, in her deepest of hearts; to let Miroku possess her, body and soul. But giving in was bound to bring nothing but heartache, because he was obviously not the kind of man that any woman with a sane mind would entrust her soul to, no matter how convincing his words or how sweet his kisses. Even knowing this, however, she found her resistance crumpling like so much rice paper beneath the sensual heat of his gaze.

Desperately, she tried to offer up one last, weak protest, horrified to feel the sting of tears behind her eyes. Miroku noticed the telltale glitter, and his expression took on a slight hint of alarm at the sight of her distress. “S-Sango,” he breathed softly. “Wh-what is—”

She ignored him and forged ahead. “Don't make me do this,” she choked out, cutting him off mid-sentence. He blinked down at her, bemused. “I don't…want to be just another one of your conquests, Miroku. Y-you'll…ruin everything.” She could feel her cheeks burning with shame, turning her face away from his. “I won't be just…another pawn in your game,” she insisted roughly. “I won't. S-so stop trying to hurt me like this.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, ever-so-softly, “Oh…Sango…” And she found her face being turned to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and fathomless and as serious as she'd ever seen them. “Is that what you think I…?” He shook his head. “Is that why you…won't let me in?” he whispered, stroking a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Do you believe I'll simply throw you away when I've finished with you?”

Before she could respond, he was embracing her to him, cradling her securely in his arms. “To throw away as magnificent a woman as you, dearest Sango, would be a stupid, foolish thing for anyone to do,” he breathed, gazing into her astonished eyes. “As I am neither a fool, nor stupid, throwing you away has always been the very last intention on my mind.” He leaned in closer, splaying his hand into her hair possessively, his eyes alight with sincerity. “I intend to enjoy you…for as often as you'll allow me the pleasure of your company…for a very, very long time.” He punctuated his words with soft kisses to her face and throat, feeling her pulse pounding rapidly against the pale flesh, her breath hissing in short gasps past his ear.

It didn't matter that her skin was grimy with dust and the efforts of their recent battles, and that her clothes and hair smelled unpleasantly of deceased youkai. All he could taste was Sango as he caught her lips yet again, drinking in her flavor deeply, relishing in the feel of her soft, pliant body melting beneath his own, finally relenting, giving in to his passion. The arousal surged strong and hot between his legs, and he moaned softly and rubbed himself against her thigh to ease the ache, feeling her tremble in response.

The hand at her throat slid over her sleek uniform, pausing to cup a breast within his palm. He tensed, waiting for the fist to come down on his head, but when no pain was forthcoming, he grew bolder, caressing her lightly through the thin, strong leather. She shivered again, and he moved on, suckling at her throat while allowing his hand to glide down over her waist; gripping the back of her thigh, he pulled her toward him so that the warm junction of her thighs was centered directly over his erection, cradling him sensually. He sighed and pushed into her, and she whimpered at the warm, heavy bulge that probed insistently at the core of her arousal, grinding against her in a slow, sensual dance as she allowed him to drape her leg over his waist.

His clever fingers found the clasps of her uniform, undoing them one by one, pushing the fabric aside to bare her to his eager gaze. She lay there, flushed and wanting, self-conscious and horribly aware of the many scars crisscrossing her body, the permanent brands of her lifestyle as Taijiya. She wondered if he was horrified to see so many of them, and could only be glad that the ugliest scar - the large spider which Naraku had bestowed upon her - was hidden from his view. “I suppose…you've seen prettier women than me before,” she whispered self-consciously when the silence became too much to bear. “Women with flawless skin and soft hands and…”

Miroku leaned forward, softly pressing his lips to the thin, white scar gracing her bare shoulder, effectively halting the flow of words. Then he kissed another scar beneath it, which looked distressingly like a set of teeth; all that remained of the young tiger youkai she'd tangled with three years earlier. Sango lay there breathing heavily, trembling with increasing excitement as she fought to hold back tears, feeling his lips meet her skin again and again as he paid homage to each scar he encountered, softly murmuring nonsensical words against her heated skin. Although he didn't say it aloud, she felt that she understood what those kisses meant:

I love you, I love everything about you, and you are perfect in my eyes.

And even if she would not say them back - not just yet; it was still too soon - she returned every unspoken sentiment with her entire heart.

Before she was quite aware of what had happened, the top half of her uniform had been stripped from her torso, pushed down around her waist, freeing her arms to drape limply around Miroku's back as he nuzzled the valley between her breasts. She felt his mouth slip caressingly over one soft slope, coming to rest against her peak before opening his lips to touch her softly with his tongue, stroking lightly over the tingling nipple. “Miroku,” she gasped out, tightening her arms around his neck, and he rewarded her by suckling gently for a moment before moving on, traveling down her quivering abdomen, pausing to taste the dip of her navel, to kiss another scar he found on her hip, his warm, calloused hand caressing every part of her body that his mouth had touched.

He paused at her lower belly, raising his head to regard her with heated eyes as his hand played idly with the rest of the fastenings, clearly asking permission to continue. She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes, nodding slowly, and was rewarded with his hand slipping under the fabric, his palm hot against her skin as it glided down between her legs to finally touch her there, the source of everything. She hissed between her teeth as she felt his fingers slip between her warm folds, sinking and caressing as her hips bucked wildly against the welcome intrusion.

She felt him pull her uniform down to her calves, parting her legs further to settle between them. His own clothes had been tossed aside, and she could not even remember when he had removed them. But there he lay, lithe and beautiful and naked between her thighs, silken and hot against her flesh as his chest crushed her breasts in a most pleasurable manner. Even more pleasurable was his swollen member probing against her womanhood, seeking entrance, and her only regret at the moment was that she could not see what that part of him looked like. But she could feel him, as he slipped gently into her, and her eyes closed on a hiss of elation as the thick length parted her in strange, blissful new ways, sinking deeper and deeper into her body until he was sheathed fully inside, their thighs pressed tightly together.

There was no pain; having often helped the midwives and older women in her village with their chores, listening to their idle gossip while they worked, she had been made aware long already that the first time a man entered a woman's body, it was supposed to be painful. But her hard, physical lifestyle had already taken care of the problem, and all she felt now was the pure, unadulterated elation of being filled and possessed completely by Miroku. She felt him shift, and hissed as his arousal caressed the small, hypersensitive tangle of nerves and tissue housed inside her body.

When he was certain of her comfort, Miroku slowly pulled out of her, and then slipped back in, relishing her gasp of pleasure and the tightening of her passage around him as he began a slow, gliding pace. His eyes closed in concentration as he focused on the feel of her slick, silken walls surrounding and caressing him. It was a feeling he'd always savored before, with the other women he'd been with, but now it felt somehow different. Knowing it was Sango's body who cradled him so intimately, when he had never hoped to possess her in such a manner, made this intimate act all the more special, and he intended to cherish every moment of it, to give and take as much pleasure as was possible before reality intruded once again.

He focused his lidded gaze on her eyes, taking pride in the hazy, lustful glow that warmed the brown depths as she stared unflinchingly back at him, her breath panting across his lips as she undulated beneath him. He caught her lips in a deep, hungry kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth in unity with the forceful, rolling thrust of his hips. She sighed and moaned against him, pressing her thighs tightly to his sides, unable to lock her legs around his waist because of the constricting uniform still covering her calves.

Miroku silently swore that the next time he took her - and there would be many next times if he had his way about it - it would be in a much more idealistic setting than a damp, claustrophobic cave. He would bring her to a place filled with scented flowers and soft cushions to stretch out on, with as much room as either of them could wish for to roll about in. He had witnessed firsthand Sango's fierceness in battle and he yearned for the chance to discover whether that fierceness could be brought forth while bedding her, as well.

Sango shuddered intensely around him, and he realized she was reaching her limit. He adjusted his pace to draw out her pleasure, not wanting to end the exquisite session so quickly. First slow, sensual glides that had her writhing against him in silent demand, and then quick, forceful plunges which made her mewl and dig her fingers into his back, leaving long, painful welts in testament to her gratification. All the while, Miroku struggled valiantly to hold his own approaching climax in check. He refused to release before her; after she had finally opened her heart and her body to him, he would never be able to face himself if he left her empty and wanting while finishing his own pleasure. So he closed his eyes and buried his face against her throat, quickening his thrusts, trying to bring her over the edge.

The only sounds were the rhythmic slapping of hips meeting forcefully and pulling away with hot, slick suction, the harsh breathing and whimpers and moans. The smell of youkai and damp rock had receded beneath the more powerful scents of perspiration and woman and sex. He listened and breathed and suddenly there was no more time to remember such details as Sango released a high, keening cry and arched gracefully beneath him, her legs clenching viselike to his sides as her inner walls seized him in a powerful grip, rippling around him in climax and finally pulling him over the edge to his own release.

They collapsed together in a tangled heap, exhilarated and exhausted, their panting breaths mingling together as they gazed, enraptured, into each other's eyes. Miroku kissed her lingeringly, thanking her without words for her gift, and she returned the sentiment wholeheartedly. Using the discarded robes as makeshift blankets, they cuddled together beneath them, idly caressing each other's bodies as sleep began to overcome them, and their fears, for the moment, were indeed forgotten.

~*~*~*~

Whew! Longest chapter yet! So…um…more to follow. Possibly with more sex. Definitely with the end of the story somewhere in sight.

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