InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Unforgiven ❯ Pillow Talk ( Chapter 4 )

DISCLAIMER: ::sigh:: I still do not own him….or Miroku…

A/N: Yay! Readers! People like this story! ::cheers issue from imaginary crowd:: I love writing this, and I know you'll all enjoy it! Miroku/Sango all the way! (woot!) No Inu/Kag stuff though (sorry!) I'll make it all up to you in the end, though…

XD I noticed that, after writing this chapter, I must have some kind of attraction to men in uniform…something I never really knew about myself. I guess it would be kind of hard to resist Miroku in any kind of outfit though…military or otherwise.

Well, busy yourself with the newest plot developments, and enjoy some good ol' relationship development. R&R!

"Unforgiven"

Chapter 4: Pillow Talk

Sango rolled over in the soft mattress, curling herself into a ball within the blankets, trying her hardest to escape the morning sunlight that streamed from between the curtains.

She had slept deeply the night before, it being one of the few nights in months that she had not been kept awake by nightmares. She cracked an eyelid open, tentatively, expecting to see Miroku lying beside her. If he saw her looking at him at all, it would mean she would have to get up. She wouldn't be caught dead giving Miroku a look of any kind while they laid together in bed. It was improper enough that they were forced to share bedding. She was afraid of what conclusions he might jump to if she ventured to converse with him across pillows.

The thought frightened her. An experienced, older man such as himself so close to her made the shy and vulnerable part of her want to forfeit the idea of revenge. Another half of her was willing to bear the embarrassment and the uncertainty. That half was constantly coaxed by Miroku's subtle way of caring for her, and his expert judgement in all matters.

When both of her eyes were wide open, she breathed out a sigh of relief. Where Miroku had once laid, was an imprint in the mattress beside her. He was gone. A feeling of confusion and disappointment moved in her. Where was he at such an early hour? They rarely left one other alone without consulting each other first. What had happened?

She writhed quickly from the tangle of blankets, leaping unceremoniously onto the wooden floor. Sango rushed immediately to the window that overlooked to courtyard. She yanked the glass open, and stuck her head out, her long locks falling over the sill. The courtyard below was thriving with life, the soldiers out in full, dressed in their black and gold uniforms.

She breathed in sharply. There was a mission already! They had only been there less then two weeks, and now Miroku would be acting on his duty as Commissioner of the Guard. Where would they be going? Adrenaline spinning through her, Sango scampered to throw on a shift and jacket over her cotton nightdress. Shoving her black slippers on her feet that were icy with early morning cold, Sango bolted out their bedroom door.

She flew down the flight of stairs outside, throwing her arms out to balance herself on the spiral stone staircase. She hoped deeply that she would be able to find Miroku before he had to leave. In her hasty search, she still had time to wonder how foolish she looked. It was times like these when she was glad that she was posing as Miroku's wife. She could then act as if her franticness and worry came from the love of a woman, and not the companionship of a warrior.

In the haze of the morning fog, she finally saw Miroku. He looked nothing less than regal, perched atop a jet-black stallion. The golden tassels that hung off his shoulders, the brass of his three rows of jacket buttons, and the polished leather of his knee-high riding boots all shone in the rising sun. He sat straight on the silver saddle, his dark eyes surveying the lines of men that were assembling before him.

"Miroku!" Sango's shrill voice reached his ears.

He titled the reins attached to the horse's bit, and the stallion lifted its hooves to turn towards the running girl. He chuckled quietly to himself. The young woman was moving at breakneck speed through the crowd, the ties of her dress hanging loosely, and her hair flying wildly around her head.

"Sango…" he greeted her, his eyes flickering in a small smile.

She grasped the side of his saddle with her fingers, staring up into his face. Her cheeks burned pink in the cool air. "Where are you going?"

"Naraku has sent out the order to head towards the Northern mountains. There is a tribe of bandits out there who have threatened the safety of the stronghold in the citadel. We are to take them down."

Sango's voice lowered, as her eyes shone in despair. "…A slaughter."

Miroku's lips became set in a grim line. "As a soldier, it is my job to do as my leader suggests. It will be best for us both if I accomplish this task the best I can."

Sango nodded regretfully.

"Good luck," she whispered.

Miroku nodded, sharply. His men were almost completely in formation, and they were waiting for his command. He accepted the saber and sheath that the flag bearer passed up to him, and he tightened it around the waist of his black uniform. Patting Sango gently on the hand to reassure her, Miroku yanked the reins so that his horse would face the other soldiers.

"Miroku…" she spoke, wavering, behind him.

He turned an eye to her expectantly.

"Please come back alive." After all, where would she be without him?

His face softened once more as he saw the worry alight in her features. "I promise I will. And I never take back my word to a Lady."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"That Inuyasha! As disrespectful and uncivilized as always! No honor or value whatsoever…" Jaken waddled along, his creaky voice echoing through the trees.

"You're an annoyance, Jaken." Sesshomaru was as blunt and cold as ever, and he still spared no look to his green companion.

"Y-yes Master Sesshomaru." Jaken blew out a sigh. Obviously Sesshomaru was too preoccupied in his brilliant strategy to deal any kind of blow to Jaken. But, the imp didn't dare try Sesshomaru's patience by speaking once more. When riled, the aristocratic demon was a fearsome enemy that wouldn't be deterred.

He peered around through the foliage around them, wondering where Sesshomaru was leading them. It seemed as if they were traveling in the direction of the Southern plains, but Jaken, in a rare show of cleverness, chose not to ask.

It really had been such a folly for Sesshomaru's father, the one-time Lord of the Western Lands, to hand out such an inheritance as the Tetsusaiga to Inuyasha, as if it were some worthless trinket. What possible use could a measly half demon have with a killing sword? A weapon such as the Tetsusaiga was suited for the most powerful. Jaken was convinced that his Master was the only one who could hold such a title. Therefore, by power of deduction, he was also the proper master for such a sword.

Sesshomaru, dodging fallen logs and thick layers of branches gracefully as if their was a well-worn road carved before him, was busy with his own thoughts. His recent visit to Inuyasha had reminded once again of how much he desired the sword above all else. But, in order to break that curse on the blade, there was something he needed to do.

Long ago, when their father had forged the sword, he had been the one to choose what limitations would be placed on it. Father….why did you choose for a weakling like Inuyasha to be able to grasp it..?

Sesshomaru knew the only way to break it was to kill whoever had placed that spell…and it hadn't been his father.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Sango sighed, curling her dressing robe tighter around her body as the cool air rustled through the window. It was late, now- almost midnight. The sky was inky black, with a sea of bright pinpoints spreading out as far as her sight could reach. The cloudless sky usually was comforting to her, because it made her thoughts feel clearer also.

Not this night. Miroku and the troops had yet to return, and doubt crept into her veins every time she thought of the situation. He was a competent strategist and fighter, but one never knew what to expect in battle. If he did not return, she was friendless and hopeless.

He had told her the day before that she shouldn't remain secluded, as the Commissioners wife. She should befriend the ladies of the house and become acquainted with the layout of the castle. But, Sango just didn't want to. She understood the merits of such actions, but her shyness and fear of the unknown was now driving her life. She had yet to speak to Naraku, who ran this house. She preferred to be alone with her thoughts of Kohaku, her little brother, and the villagers that had been so dear to her.

Sango squinted, trying to make out any changing shadows in the road. When would they come back home? She didn't know if her nerves could take it any longer. She pressed her cheek against the cool windowsill, letting her eyes flutter close for a few seconds.

Since the time they had moved into the palace, Sango had become increasingly aware of how different her perceptions of the castle were from its reality. Though Naraku was secretive, reclusive and mysterious, the house functioned around like a normal palace. She had somehow been expecting to arrive to an empty fortress. But, instead, there were servants and leaders and servicemen.

Everyone had their specific duty.

"Why do they follow Naraku, though? Why is he in power?"

She hadn't understood this, and had asked Miroku one night. To her, Naraku was the vilest man alive. And yet, he was also the richest and the most powerful.

"I thought you would understand best," he had said. "They live under Naraku because of fear. He does not hesitate to kill those that cross him. Singly, no one in this kingdom feels they have the strength to overtake him. Nobody has the guts to cause a revolution. That, and he gives very handsome rewards to his most devoted followers…."

"And, we are taking the chance of revolution…."

Miroku had nodded brightly.

She thought back to her first day spent in the citadel. It was true that the city was governed by fear. Just walking alone in the streets, she had been afraid of being caught. The people, though still shopping their markets and tending to their families, tried to live normally, everything was ruled by martial law. One step out of line, and Naraku had the power to do what ever he desired…

Sango stared off into the distance, wondering vaguely what time it was. Then, out of the horizon, she spotted a dancing light. Then, two more yellow lights appeared, twinkling like bright fireflies in the blackness of the night. She stood abruptly from her seat at the window. The lights were lanterns, and the shadows of men were beginning to splay out in the moonlight.

She hesitated on whether to meet them outside in the courtyard, or await Miroku's return at their room. She decided reluctantly on the latter, not wanting to crowd or confuse their homecoming. Sango paced a little in front of the long mirror, and then settled on curling up against the headboard of the bed.

Her patience was soon rewarded, when, twenty minutes later, she heard the click of boots ascending the steps outside their bedroom. She inhaled, waiting for the key to turn in the handle. She heard the lock turn soon enough, and Miroku was there in front of her.

She let out a rush of breath, seeing him standing in the shadowy frame of the door. "I have come back alive," he stated, not without a touch of humor.

He looked slightly worn around the edges from the long day, his impeccable jacket now soiled with dust and sweat, and his hair windblown. A trail of dirt marred the side of his face, and Sango noticed a small cut above his eye.

"Are you alright?" Sango asked, quietly, her eyes fixed expectantly on him.

Miroku nodded. "Though, some things about our mission today worried me."

Sango raised an eyebrow, and waited for his answer as he stripped the belt from his waist, and gently arranged it and his hat on the coat rack beside the door. He moved towards the bed where she was, and he also sat down.

"Naraku is in control of demons. I had seen them before, when my father was murdered….but, I had assumed they were scavenger demons, and not in league with Naraku…" He made a noise of frustration. "It just….doesn't make much sense!"

Sango puzzled too. They both fell into their thoughts in the mutual silence. "I have seen those demons, too. Were they moving with the Guard?"

Miroku shook his head, his black bangs shaking. "No…that's what is so confusing…"

Sango remembered all the things he had ever instructed her on, and smiled wryly to herself. "We must be patient, though…."

He nodded, his normal twinkle returning to his features. "That is correct…"

"Do you….need me to tend your wound?" Sango had felt so helpless the entire day, and felt she needed a way to soothe Miroku, or at least give her part.

The smile on his lips widened, and he laughed out loud. "Sango, Sango…you may tend any part of me- even that which is not wounded!" He placed a hand over his heart in a sincere gesture, as he winked lecherously at her.

Sango turned as red as a tomato, and curled her legs into herself. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that!" She muttered.

Miroku stood from the bed, leaning down to remove his tall boots from his feet. His voice rose up muffled from his position. "Why? Do I make you nervous?" He very well knew the answer to that question, and Sango despised him for that.

He placed the boots next the bureau drawers and Sango spluttered indignantly. "Of course not!"

Miroku just continued smiling, as Sango flopped down onto her pillow, acting as if it was her intention to fall asleep and ignore him. Shaking his head lightly, Miroku began working at the buttons on his officer's jacket. The smooth brass slid out smoothly from the buttonholes, and the heavy material joined the belt and hat on the rack. Sango steamed to herself in the bed, not enjoying the silence, yet feeling slightly grateful for it.

With practiced ease, Miroku reached down to the hem of his undershirt, and yanked it up over his head. Sango, not usually privy to Miroku's bare….anything, really….was finding it a hard task not to stare. His broad back was muscled in all the right places, with smooth, tanned skin taut over every muscle. His arms and front too, seemed a work of art…sculpted and lean. Her breath wavered for a moment, and then she looked a little further up.

Miroku had turned around and was staring directly at her. Her face heated up to an alarming temperature, and she shut her eyes tightly, as if that would erase what had just happened. I'm a total fool…

Sango rolled over, pretending her best to be asleep, but her mind was racing.

Miroku said nothing in return, as he shuffled around the room to put everything in order. Though….Sango was sure she heard a faint chuckle coming from him….

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

A/N: Teehee….

…shirtless Miroku…..

::runs off giggling madly::

::runs back::

…..I swear I accidentally imagined Roy Mustang in place of Miroku when I wrote the part with him in uniform….It's the bangs I tell you! The baaaangs! (Sango in miniskirt..::snigger::) Ohh my but I'm getting carried away with myself. XD

Review please!