InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Unacceptable ❯ A Kazaana Christmas ( Chapter 5 )

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Inuyasha. That privilege belongs to Rumiko Takashi and various holding companies.

 

A/N: Demonlordlover and I challenged each other to write awful fics. She likes Sess/Kag stuff, so I had her write Sess/Kaede. I am a heterosexual male, so she had me write yaoi. I tried to get away with as little as possible, but it's there. This is your warning.

EDIT: Apparently the fact this was deliberately awful wasn't sufficient deterrent to a 4Q '07 IYFG nom, so I've attempted to clean it up.

 

Miroku flexed the fingers of his right hand in front of his face, watching the discolored patch of skin on his palm stretch with each motion, contemplating how a few drinks always made the pattern seem more entertaining. Frequently, he found himself pondering the mysteries of the wind tunnel—more now than when he actually possessed it—and his sharp mind had inexorably completed the disturbing puzzle of its existence. A wasting disease would have had the same psychological terror, but Naraku had chosen to “curse” his family with a force capable of destroying large tracts of land with ease. Why place such a formidable weapon—quite literally—in your enemy's hand? The kazaana's cyclonic winds had been turned against the dark hanyou and his minions time and time again. Assuming that Naraku was an individual of some intelligence, Miroku could only conclude that the wind tunnel had served him in some manner.

As it turned out, the kazaana had been a direct portal into Naraku's soul. Any demon minions sucked inside were simply recycled, which he imagined Hakudoshi found particularly grating, and any independent demons were neatly added to Naraku's internal menagerie. It was absolute genius, which made Naraku's spectacularly absurd demise all the sweeter.

Miroku had been trapped in a cavity within the giant spider's body with no hope of escape, having watched Sango die before his eyes when she fell for the illusion of a cure to his deteriorating wind tunnel. Refusing to give Naraku the total despair the jewel craved, the perverted monk opted instead to die doing what he loved. He was tired of feeling like a stranger to himself with his left hand, so wind tunnel be damned, he was going to use his right.

As it turns out, Naraku, while evil, was a bit of a prude, and he picked the wrong man to gift another hole. Getting a bit aggressive, Miroku pushed the sealing beads off his cursed hand and felt a brief tug as the vacuum pulled in his turgid glory. Before he could even consider the end of his existence, his hand had sealed with a sharp pain, taking his pride with it. Moments later, the room was filled with a cacophony of shrieking as the fleshy walls around him literally began to melt away. Naraku could absorb many things, but the sheer force of the monk's perversion was not one of them. He'd finally achieved his dream of dismembering the monk, but as with the wishes of anyone possessing the jewel, it was twisted in a way he'd never expected. The joke for the next century would be that the dark hanyou had literally died of embarrassment.

 

Miroku set his hand back on the bottle at his side and stared at the meat cooking over the fire. While his skin ship had saved the day, it would never again find safe harbor in a tuna port. He was now a eunuch—a true adherent to the most ascetic traditions of his faith. A year had passed to the day since he'd lost the best part of himself to Naraku's darkness and he knew he brooded too much, but he tried not to forget he wasn't the only one suffering.

A small, one-sided grin creased his face as he watched Inuyasha land lightly on the ground next to the fire, grabbing a skewer and stuffing its load entirely into his mouth without waiting for it to cool. Inuyasha didn't know what happened to Kagome, his transformation in progress when Naraku was killed, and all traces of her scent obliterated by the waterfall of spider bits that rained down upon them. The jewel was gone. She was gone. The well was closed. Life moved on.

He mourned her in his way, and the anniversary was not lost on him either. Inuyasha had insisted on regaling him earlier with stories of how Kagome loved this time of year because of a holiday celebrating the execution of a fat old man by nailing him to a fir tree for forgiveness. It apparently was a season for gifts, and Inuyasha startled Miroku now by asking him what he would want.

Perhaps it was the sake he'd been drinking to keep warm, but Miroku's response was uncharacteristically unevasive and wistful. “I would simply like to feel the pleasure of being a man again.” He looked down mournfully at his crotch and sighed.

Inuyasha's response was completely characteristic in its bluntness, “I don't think that's going to happen any time soon,” he pointed out. “You don't have the equipment.”

Miroku scowled at him for a bit, but then was moved by need and by drink to alter the course of his consideration. After a thoughtful moment or two, he spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice, “Actually, Inuyasha, soldiers have long since discovered a way to take pleasure in each others' company and keep warm at the same time.”

The hanyou raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Really, how's that?”

Miroku grinned lasciviously, and explained it to him. Inuyasha's reaction was...not good. Three more cups of low-quality sake later, and it still was not good. Three more, combined with some well placed talk about loneliness, Kagome, and his sacrifice in defeating Naraku, and the monk got a more willing response.

“Well… hell. Kagome did say it was better to give than receive,” muttered the hanyou. “Guess this is your lucky day, monk. Since you're the only asshole that'll talk to me nowadays, I'll do your asshole,” Inuyasha offered magnanimously, beginning to disrobe.

`Where's the romance?' passed sardonically through Miroku's mind before he was carried away by the flood of ethanol in his bloodstream. He shrugged himself out of his clothes, shivering as much from the cool winter air as the anticipation of rediscovering sexual gratification, even at the inexpert hands of his hanyou friend. `Beggars cannot be choosers.'

The two of them huddled together for a moment, before Inuyasha asked in a quiet voice, “So, uh…”

“Think about Kagome,” interrupted Miroku, suddenly serious. “All the things you loved about her. I'll do the same with Sango.”

“Might work,” he admitted. Inuyasha's face took on a faraway look, darkening to a degree that couldn't be explained away by sake. As it became pressingly apparent that the monk's suggestion was working surprisingly well, Miroku braced himself, and the drunken hanyou shuffled into position. Awkward hands grasped his hips, and long hair brushed across his back as Inuyasha lined himself up with his entrance.

“Merry Kurissmas, pervert,” Inuyasha slurred with an almost resigned sigh.

“Merry Christmas, InuyaAAAAAAAAA!”

 

Endnote: Thanks to my beta (who will remain nameless for her own protection) for suggesting several word changes and structural improvements that really improved flow. For telling me I was skimping on what made me uncomfortable and making me extend the ending, I hope you get food poisoning. You were correct, but enjoy the shrimp.