InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Art of Tea - ON HOLD ❯ The Art of Tea - Chapter 14 - Afternoon Tea ( Chapter 17 )

DISCLAIMER - The ownership and general brilliance that is the original Feudal Fairy Tale remains the property of its honored and rightfully revered creator Rumiko Takahashi without whose brilliance, we would not have fodder.

 

Reviews are fuel.

 

Namaste

 

By: ElegantPaws

 

Edited by: Meara the Celt

 

Chapter Fourteen is dedicated to you the reader. You give me pause at times and I do sit and enjoy the repartee very much. Particularly when you get a seeming throw away line that does have relevance. Here and there in parts where I swore no one would see it. The lines that I like to say are written for self. Simply, thank you.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

"Tea first. Then be ready."

 

~ Twin Peaks, Episode 5 ~

 

Chapter 14 - Afternoon Tea

 

Yes, it figures it would rain.

 

It had made no sense to take her bike when it was only a brisk, two block walk. That is, until the sky opened up and she instantly regretted her decision.

 

She hunched her shoulders and made a mad dash toward the familiar unmarked, door in the cobbled alleyway.

 

Sango laughed at herself and slowed to a trot, adjusting her leather jacket to better cover her shirt, in an attempt to avoid the inevitable.

 

Passing her fingers through her sodden mane, she sighed dejectedly and dashed under the awning. She shook herself before opening the door, content with the sounds and smells beyond. She could make out the sound of Mister Chow barking orders in Mandarin at his staff, the clatter of pots and pans and always the smells; the ones that always brought her and half the neighborhood back each Sunday for his Peking Duck, the house specialty.

 

Another week would begin, same old, same old, but this she would enjoy. She had few pleasures in life. This was one of them.

 

Her stomach gurgled in anticipation of her lunch come dinner as she opened the door.

Mister Chow waved her in with an annoyed look and pointed at a stool before sliding a mug of jasmine tea expertly across the counter.

 

Without batting a wet lash, she stopped its progress, never spilling a drop. She lifted the cracked mug to her lips and sipped nonchalantly with just a hint of a smile.

 

“You're late!” he barked, glaring at her wet boots in his well scrubbed kitchen, before returning to the cleaning of bak choi with an aggrieved expression.

 

“I know,” she smiled around the cup held gracefully between her fingers. She watched in fascination the speed and efficiency with which he chopped and diced. As far back as she could remember her best Sundays had been spent here in this little kitchen, savouring the smells of preparation.

 

It was rare for Sango to let her defenses down, but here she did. Equally, it was rare for her to show affection to anyone other than Kohaku and Kagome, but here she did, as well.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Chow had saved her life once by taking her in when she had nowhere else to go. That low door with the rusty awning (no different than the others that lined the alley) had proved her salvation and given her a reason to live.

 

Her real family, the one made by trial and choice, had finally found form in a seemingly disparate culture from her own. Here she had found love and acceptance of a kind with a price she was more than willing to pay.

 

The tea finished, she slowly rose and stood behind the little man and hung her head over his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

 

He grumbled.

 

“You're wet!”

 

She chuckled but did not move. “I know.”

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

It always rained on Sundays.

 

He loved the rain. Mother had called them teardrops from heaven.

 

From childhood, Miroku would sit by the kitchen window and watch the droplets course down the misted panes as his mother cooked. It was his fondest memory; his only memory of gentle hands, the fragrance of jasmine powder, acceptance and love, given unconditionally.

 

Too brief was their time together. His innocence sundered by Naraku. Vengeance would be his … one day.

 

He wondered now, as he locked the cars door if it was such a bright idea to have come in something worthy of a chop shop. Miroku had worked rather hard for everything he owned, though he looked the part of a carefree bon vivant.

 

It continued to pour.

 

Rain droplets perching on long dark lashes as Miroku assessed his surroundings with a cold gleam in his violet eyes. There was no point avoiding the inevitable soaking, so he hunched and trotted towards the little door, per directions from Inuyasha. It seemed only polite to knock. He had never been there, personally. This was another of Inuyasha's discoveries.

 

It was usually the hanyou's find. These little hole-in-the-wall establishments served the very best of fare, but were only known within their own cultural enclaves.

 

Standing under the awning he chuckled and adjusted his sodden jacket, then wiped the moisture from his face with a linen handkerchief. He carefully folded it and returned it to his breast pocket deep in thought.

 

`When would the brothers realize how much they had in common?'

 

True, on principle, Inuyasha refused to frequent five star restaurants, but Miroku had found him to be a connoisseur of good food that seriously rivaled his employer. The hanyou merely avoided the pretentions that oft time went with gourmandizing. Then there was the fact that he was predisposed to being cheap.

 

Miroku snickered then knocked loudly as there was much laughter within.

 

Slowly the door opened as a familiar form continued to speak in flawless Mandarin to a young man stooped over an industrial sized bag of jasmine rice. She turned then, almost spilling the cup of tea in her hand.

 

The lawyer caught it, but not its contents, which found their way to his already sodden shoes.

 

Sango continued to blink.

 

`She really is smashing,' he thought as his eyes caressed the damp, pale pink t-shirt which had molded to her every curve.

 

The coach blushed to her roots before averting her eyes. If she kept looking at him, she would definitely have to hit him for his obvious lecherous thoughts. She had made that mistake once, never again. What was he doing here? Why did he always have to see her when she looked like something the cat dragged in?

 

Yet, the way he looked at her, made her heart skip. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Shadows passed behind closed eyes; the shadows of memory.

 

A still morning, lukewarm tea, and companionship shared in a hothouse on a chilly winter's day.

 

`Not all beings die Kagome, unfortunately. The value we humans place on life is due to its fragility; its impermanence. Remember this. Time is relative and only attains value through those we share it with.'

 

He had kissed her forehead then and given her a smile of such softness and sadness it had nearly broken Kagome's heart.

 

Her Ji-Ji was old.

 

Taking his weathered hand, she walked him about his prized garden. Three monarchs had managed to winter there and they were his pride and joy. He had even given the butterflies names.

 

Within the quiet hush of her wandering mind the gentle tattoo of raindrops drummed softly in her ears as her eyes fluttered open. Cool, scented sheets surrounded her body comfortingly and there was another rhythmic thumping but it came from beyond the shoji which was partially open.

 

Her eyes took in her surroundings, and she blushed.

 

She felt a bit sticky in parts. Slowly she raised the sheet and peered beneath. Yes, there were marks, particularly on her thighs.

 

Kagome blushed again, wondering exactly what she had missed in the proceedings. She had always had a vivid imagination. Her dreams were sometimes the stuff of nightmares. This was so embarrassing. She could never tell him of the vision she had. He would think her insane.

 

The bedding had the scent of their intimacy; even more blushing as she scooted over the cool dampness, shivering not from cold but memory. She willfully ignored the hardening of her nipples.

 

`Where the hell is Sesshoumaru?' she thought a bit irritably, wanting an explanation for what she thought she had seen. Never once would she admit to herself that in that moment she felt abandoned, alone with sensations new to her.

 

Thunk! Splash!

 

`A growl?'

 

Long, tapered fingers pulled the thin linen sheet and coiled it about her. Her skin felt on fire and hyper sensitive in parts.

 

Kagome neglected to see the bathing kimono that had been placed at the base of the bedding for her convenience. She knew that growl anywhere. There would be time enough to explore the sparsely but exquisitely appointed bedroom.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

They both stood below the awning in awkward silence with their respective packages. His was somewhat larger than hers, a grease stain forming in the shape of a butterfly.

 

Mesmerized by the anomaly, Sango did not hear Miroku clear his throat nervously in preparation to speak.

 

“It looks like a butterfly.”

 

Pale amethyst looked into dark, resolute brown which appeared pre-occupied, at the moment, by his lunch.

 

“What?”

 

Sango pointed and blushed. “The grease from the duck, it looks like a butterfly.”

 

Raising the package to eye level, he studied his feast with amusement as the rain continued to fall about them.

 

“I believe you are right; very much like a monarch, don't you think?”

 

She felt a fool instantly under his penetrating gaze and shuffled her feet.

 

“You'll tell me how you found this place some other time. I'm hungry. See ya,” and with that she opened her jacket to provide her coveted meal some level of protection for the trip home and took off at a run.

 

Miroku, unused to being dismissed in so cavalier a fashion, most especially by a female he had deigned to give his favor, simply stood, mouth agape; a first.

 

It took another twenty seconds for him to realize the obvious. She was running in the rain.

 

`Where in hell is her bike?'

 

Always a consummate gentleman, he endeavored to do what was only right. Or so he thought.

 

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

She found the source of the growl.

 

It was currently adjusting a boulder with a belligerent expression. More importantly said visage answered many a question at once.

 

Kagome realized in that one split second, she was not completely insane. Perhaps those were not tattoos after all. They too closely matched the marks delineating his cheeks and eyelids. Then there was the matter of the crescent.

 

She shivered. Her mind going to the tea leaves of morning dashed to the floor and the single word written in the diary. `Yes.'

 

The man, nay Being, that stood in front of her with the piercing, citrine eyes was the stuff of dreams, possibly nightmares. It did not help that, with ease, he held a boulder that weighed a ton; most disconcerting. Equally, the hands that held said boulder had claws. Exceedingly sharp claws that had recently found purchase about her thighs and had caressed other parts that did not bear thinking about at the moment.

 

He was definitively not human.

 

Sesshoumaru lowered the boulder and stepped out of the pond, his eyes never leaving hers as he weighed her reactions through her aura. She surprised him. The urge to run was strong within her, but she fought it.

 

`One should never run from a predator.'

 

He was pleased. She was curious and wanted to understand. The Western Lord would not give thought willingly to his own fear of rejection in that moment. At least she had provided him with a second option by not running; a much preferred option.

 

Kagome shivered in the open shoji and blinked up at the figure slowly approaching her.

 

The urge to run was strong, but she stood her ground, selecting to tighten her impromptu robe defensively, captivated by the long, lean body that approached her somewhat stealthily.

 

There was trepidation in his eyes and that gave some semblance of comfort.

 

`He too is afraid, but of what?'

~~~~TAoT~~~~

 

Kagome had been wrong. He had merely brushed past her and re-entered the bedroom, heading for what she now knew had to be the bathroom.

 

The door closed with a quiet click before she could reach it. She heard running water within and knew instinctively she was not to enter.

 

Unsure of what to do under the circumstances and still reeling from recent revelations, the dark-haired woman slowly slid down the wall to the tatami covered floor and waited.

 

If it took all afternoon she would wait. She needed answers.

 

The door cracked open a fraction revealing pale feet, rather nice calves and thighs.

Her eyes roamed further upwards shyly.

 

Modesty, apparently, was not his strong suit.

 

“You will bathe with this Sesshoumaru.”

 

********

Author's Note:

 

This is where it chose to end. It was going to be far too long anyway, just bear with me. I do hope you enjoyed. The next bit will be up shortly. There is a household beyond that bedroom and it will find its way into their seeming peace (chuckle). Until next time, thanks for reading and commenting.

 

P.S. Tax…(wink) don't sweat the small stuff. It really is miniscule and pedantic in the grand scheme of things LMAO!

 

Namaste

 

EP