Title: Heat Wave
Rating: PG-13
Dedication: To audiodrops!
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, though I am a proud (and often silent) member of CHASMS!
Summary: What happens when you mix together a kazaana-less Miroku, Sango, hot springs, and a heat wave? How about a bunch of sexy fluff, that's what! For audiodrops for the summer MirSan exchange fic. I decided to do it in two parts because the first wasn't long enough. Part II was actually written first, and then I decided to write the prologue for it with Part I, which is the meat of the story. Part II takes places on a rainy hot day, and I really want to try and capture the feel of a hot, sticky day with the writing. I am entertaining the idea of a third part, but I ran out of time and the due date came first. :( I hope that eevryone, particularly audiodrops, finds it entertaining, fluffy, and well-written.
Enjoy! Happy heat wave!
I.
Heat Wave
It was hot. Sango could not believe how hot it was. Kagome had escaped the heat by going to enjoy something called 'air conditioning' in her time. Luckily, she had taken Inuyasha with her, saving everyone else from his ornery behavior. Shippo was relieving himself of the heat by loitering around home and conserving his energy. Sango was trying to think of something other than the heat, and as the day drew to a close, she found herself wondering where Miroku had gotten.
Sango decided herself to take a trip to the local pond. Although the water was hot there, she knew that it would be refreshing once she got out and let the sun evaporate the water from her skin. Resolved to go, Sango enjoyed the walk to get there. Although her clothes were sticking to her and pooling in sweat, the woods were cooler than the town and the shade they offered was pleasant.
As she approached the hot springs, she heard the sound of splashing. Sango neither hurried nor slowed her pace. The springs were commonly used, after all, and she was not such a prude as to wait while another woman bathed when there was nothing between them that was different, save perhaps Sango's scars. She had noticed, when they visited towns, that women in the bathing houses turned away at seeing Sango's scars to talk in hushed voices.
Contrary to Kagome's opinion, Sango did not believe it was because the woman found them ugly; she thought they turned and talked because they wondered how she had obtained them. They could not tell simply by looking at her that she was a demon slayer; nothing save Sango's clothes and weapon gave that away, and she did not carry hiraikotsu into the washroom.
Peering through the bushes, she had to stifle a gasp of surprise when saw it was Miroku. He swam on his back, his long arms lifting rhythmically to propel himself back and forth lazily through the water. Sango tilted her head, watching in curiosity. She knew, of course, that Miroku could swim, and yet she had never once thought of him enjoying it. Perhaps because of the heavy robes he wore, she only ever thought of Miroku suspended in water, never enjoying the warmth or the buoyancy. He was a good swimmer and she wondered who had taught him to swim.
She could hear a light rain beginning to fall. Miroku paused, lifting a hand to feel the small raindrops. Sango didn't consider what she was doing as she drank in the sight. Miroku looked good wet. She loved the way his dark hair clung close to his skin, as if envious of when it held it pulled back. His body glistened from the water, trickles running between the contours of his musculature, accentuating what his robes had hidden for so long.
He chuckled. Sango's breath caught in her throat and she wondered if he was laughing at her. She was suddenly painfully aware that she was spying on him. What would he say if he knew? Oh how he would chastise and tease her! Sango let the bushes fall back as he laughed out loud and she heard him splash about in the water.
She knew he was not laughing at her, only at the situation. He had gone swimming to escape the heat, and when he was wet and should be cool, it rained. Miroku had the worst luck. But the damage to Sango's pride had already been done and she retreated back to the village.
The things she had seen would not leave her, and the shame she felt at spying stained her cheeks. The heat she felt was like a brand. And yet… how was it that Miroku looked so beautiful? How was it that his arm bore a nasty scar from the time a bear demon had cut him, the strange shouki scars running across his pectorals towards his heart—even a scar on his other arm which she herself had inflicted!—and yet he had been beautiful. Seeing him had made it hard for her to breathe, and she found herself wishing she had been brave enough to watch longer.
He had asked her to marry him, to bear him children. Naraku was dead and gone, and yet there had been no wedding, or talk of a wedding. He had not asked her to bear his children after Naraku had died, reminding her of his promise. She smiled, tears coming to her eyes, as she remembered the way he had laughed when he had felt the raindrops. No wonder he would have taken such joy, feeling rain on skin that had not been there the year before!
The rain soaked through her thick hair and darkened her clothes. Sango had finished changing into a clean summer yukata by the time Miroku returned from the springs. She had thought much in the time since she had gotten home, wondering if perhaps Miroku no longer interested her since Naraku had died. Now that time was no longer crucial in finding a woman who could bear his child he had every opportunity to find someone else. She spent so much time thinking of her own faults that it took her a long time to realize that perhaps Miroku was just waiting until she was ready to do something.
That morning she had not been ready. Had Miroku asked her she would have floundered and sputtered excuses. Something had changed at the hot spring. Something had changed when she had seen him. She thought that perhaps it had been when she saw not his smooth musculature nor the way his hair had clung to his strong jawline, but the scars and heard his laugh. Despite his scars, he was beautiful. He had told her that before and yet she had thought it naught but flattery until she had learned she thought the same of him. As for his laugh…
She had heard the laugh often, at each wonderful new experience revealed to him while he re-discovered the world around him, taking joy in things he had not the time for before. It warmed her whole heart to hear his booming, rich laughter. She found herself wishing to be held against that chest as it shook with joy, to feel the laughter move through her, to be a part of it as much she could.
She loved him. She wanted to be with him, to watch him rediscover the world. She wanted to be intimate with him, to kiss those scars better. She wanted to watch the joy light his dark eyes when he learned to feel all over again, and to be the one that brought such joy to him. Joy, to someone like Miroku! Always so intelligent and witty, and yet the simple feeling of a rain drop delighted him. It was… surprisingly innocent.
Once she had feared him; terrified of the longing, haunted expression in his eyes when he stared at her. Horrified at the guilt and hope fighting inside him after she had promised to bear his children. She was frightened that she would not live up to his expectations. Never had she thought that he may have been just as frightened as she. That while his hand had held the kazaana he had the bravado to do anything, even grope her without fear of retaliation, and now that he was whole he was filled with trepidation.
Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. Maybe he needed her to make the first move.
The air was still hot humid by the time that Miroku returned, but he had a runny nose from the way his body could not retain the heat. His hair was still wet, still clinging stubbornly to his forehead. His skin was still damp. Sang stared at him, and Miroku found himself unsettled. She waited until he had sat down, a hand wrapped around a warm cup of tea, before she moved to sit across from him. His eyes did not leave her and Sango was uncertain of which of them looked more ready to bolt away.
She reached out and took his once cursed hand from him, lifting it to her face and kissing the palm softly. Miroku gasped in surprise and nearly dropped the cup he held in his other hand. Sango pressed her cheek against the callused skin of his hand, his fingertips sinking into her hair, before she dragged it back down to kiss his fingertips. Miroku's gasp turned into a soft moan, his wide eyes suddenly melting in love and desire. She was certain that he would have been smiling if his lips had not been parted, giving him a surprised expression.
Sango guided his hand to the collar of her yukata, wrapping his hands around it. All it would take was one pull to open it. Her hands rested delicately around his wrist, with none of her strength. If he wished, she would not stop him, not there. She was lonely; she wanted to learn and see more, to explore it with him when they were on equal footing. He stared at her as if she had given him the world. Her eyes begged him to break the silence first.
"I… I'm… I'm scared," he finally admitted. He chuckled a little after he got it out. "I'm more scared of you than I was of Naraku."
His words suddenly stung, but Sango paid them no mind. She herself was just as scared as him. Naraku, as frightening as he may have been, did not have the ability to hurt her in the way Miroku did. All he could have done is killed her and hurt the ones she loved. Miroku held her heart in his hands. Had Naraku killed everyone she loved—and he nearly had—Sango could still retain some small fraction of herself. If Miroku destroyed her heart, there would be only shattered pieces.
"I'm just as frightened. I'd like little doses, Houshi-sama. There are still… still many things I do not know about you and I want to know them. There are many things that I know married couple must do, and yet I do not know how to do them. I know you sought to give me space, but I'm so lonely, Houshi-sama. For years, I've been lonely," she laughed. Tears welled in her eyes, fearing rejection. "I am horribly tired of being lonely."
He set down the cup, pulling on her yukata to draw her into his lap, his other hand enclosing around the small of her back. He smelled good, like summer rain. Sango didn't even mind the dampness on the humid day. He lifted his face to hers, his long nose brushing hers, and his lips parted as if to kiss her before he let out a shuddering breath instead. "I would that you had asked me this before we had defeated Naraku, when I would have been a better lover."
"Do you think that just because this is healed now," she asked gently, tapping his right hand, "that you are no longer the same man you were?" He nodded and she smiled at him, her lashes brushing his cheek. "Houshi-sama, you are not the same man that you were the day before that final battle, but your talents have not been altered.
"I would have been too afraid of you were not for this palm. I would have been as timid as a rabbit. No matter how good you may have been, I would have been too frightened that I was not living up to your expectations. But now this warms my heart!" Sango laughed nervously.
"I do not know if you have ever made love to a woman before, Houshi-sama, and right now, I do not want to know. All I need to know, right now, is that I have you whole. I have you as no other woman ever has, nor ever will. I can—will—make love to you as no other woman has. Every bit of skin this palm feels is new. Every kiss it receives is its first. You shall explore me, to know be better, than you have any other woman." Her brown eyes were warm with adoration. "I do want to marry you first, Houshi-sama, but I want to start learning now, while this is still new to you."
His hand suddenly lifted from her back to grasp her hair, and he let out another low moan before his lips closed around hers. His kiss was rough and passionate, and Sango went very rigid in his arms, startled by the sensation. She had never kissed Miroku before and she sudden feeling of his damp lips over hersm his tongue brushing hers, was overwhelming.
Then he sensed her fear. His grip did not relax, holding her tightly so that she could not run away or break free, but his lips softened. They chastely ran over hers and she gasped in surprise at the friction. His warm breath over her chin felt good. When their lips met again, their breath mingling, Sango wondered how anything could feel more intimate than knowing that air was being shared between them, their hearts beating against one another.
She asked him when they were done kissing, their lips darkened from the pressure. Miroku had smiled and winked at her, promising that he would show her one day. The humidity wore on into the week, and while their friends were away they took every opportunity to enjoy the peacefulness and security, despite the heat wave. The lechery that Sango had once accused Miroku of displaying had softened into something startling fragile and innocent, something that Sango enjoyed. Every day there was a new game, a new experience, and Miroku's joy at rediscovering it moved Sango deeply.
The heat wave continued straight until the day when they were wedded. The following morning Sango woke up with Miroku's arm slung around her shoulders. Even in sleep he could not stop touching her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, mourning the time they had spent. Now they were married, and she was certain that the uncertainty and wonder she had seen in Miroku would have been worn away. After all, what else was there that he had not been able to experience?
When he woke up, he seemed surprised that she was still there, and delight warmed his face, easing away the last vestiges of sleep. Sango reciprocated it. No, the innocence was not worn away from their relationship yet. Remembering the way that Miroku would tease her and flirt with her, despite her accusation of his perversion, there had always been something young and light about them.
Miroku would somehow always remain jovial and innocent. Sango could not understand how. That, she supposed, was just something magical about her beloved Houshi-sama.
Fin