Summary: a peaceful interlude between Miroku and Sango. Pointless WAFF, and blatant shipperism. Enjoy.
Slight edit on March 13: Thanks go to Aino-kaachan for the crit. Goes to show that I need a permanent beta rather than editing half-arsedly as I'm wont to.
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Life is a canvas
And the paint is hope and promise
The world is ours
No one could ever take it from us
The sky is blue
The day is new
The sun is shinin' down
You know life is good
We've got each other
And that's all we need.
-Life is Good, Maaya Sakamoto
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*****
"This is peaceful," Miroku remarked, idly twirling the leaf between his thumb and forefinger. The beads of his rosary, which were twined with his right hand, lay lazily on his stomach, but within easy reach of his shakujou.
"It is rather," replied Sango, reaching up to catch a floating leaf. She was always aware of Hiraikotsu, which was lying at the edge of her peripheral vision. "We've been travelling and fighting so much that it's nice to relax once in a while."
Miroku made a noncommittal noise that was half agreement and half reluctance. The demon hunter quirked a quizzical eyebrow down at him, and he smiled lazily, shifting his head a little on her lap. Humming quietly to herself, she released the leaf slowly and watched with a slight smile as it floated gently in the breeze before landing unceremoniously on Miroku's eye.
"Hey, watch it!" he sputtered indignantly, letting go of his own greenery. Smirking slightly, Sango plucked the leaf and handed it to him. He scowled at the offending plant. "Do you want to get sucked into my Air Rip, leaf?" growled the monk before shredding it to pieces. She giggled at his playful attitude, and he chuckled, glad that he could make her laugh.
There were a few moments of companionable silence. He closed his eyes. Sango's lap was so very warm and comfortable, he thought hazily. He didn't want to ever have to move. She was humming, and it was lulling him into a sort of dangerous half-doze. Cracking an eyelid open, he saw her, face tilted up to catch the warm sunlight and cool breeze, eyes closed. Her dark hair swayed gently in the wind, and he perceived for the umpteenth time that day that the sun brought out the brown in it. She made an attractive sight. And she had nice breasts from this angle, he noted clinically, his fingers suddenly twitching. Clamping down on the nearly irrepressible urge, he said the first thing that came to his mind. "You've a nice voice." Startled out of her thoughts, she opened her eyes, a faint blush tinting her cheeks when she realized that he was examining her only semi-facetiously.
"Thank you," she said, rather lamely, flushing even more and scowled at the monk, who was chuckling at her embarrassment. She was really very pretty when she flushed, he noted.
"Is it so difficult for you to take a compliment, Sango?"
She turned her head away, watching the shifting shadows of the trees with a degree of fascination. "Not always," she said finally.
The rest lay unspoken, quivering in the air between them.
"Sango," he said softly.
"I used to play the flute," she said quietly, still watching the rustling trees. "I was very good at it; much better than anyone else in my village. The last time I played, it was on a day like this. Everyone said that he'd never heard anything so beautiful before. That was the song I was just humming." She looked down at the monk and smiled as brightly as she could. He could see no trace of tears, but he could hear them in her voice, and in the false cheer that she held. "I'm sorry," she said hastily. "I shouldn't be talking about such unhappy things at a time like this."
His left hand rose of its own volition to cup her cheek. She stiffened, clearly expecting foul play on his part.
"Thank you," he said simply, "for allowing me to share your pain." He dropped his hand before she could lean into the touch. "I hope to hear you play one day," he said cautiously.
Her lips curved into a gentle smile and her eyes shone. Her fingers, almost absently, brushed a tendril of hair from his face. He had to suppress a shiver at the touch. "When this is all over, I'll play for you," she promised.
"If I'm still alive," he cautioned. His eyes nearly crossed when she placed a gentle finger on his lips, quieting him. Sango was rarely, if ever, this forward.
"Of course you will be," she said fiercely. "Don't say things like that."
He regarded the finger with growing interest. Should he kiss it? If he did that, she'd probably slap him, he predicted, somewhat regretfully. She had such a pretty finger though. Granted, he had to cross his eyes to see it, and it was giving him a headache. It might be worth a slap to kiss it, he thought, though definitely not worth losing his warm and comfortable pillow. Before he could come to a final decision, she removed her finger, satisfied that his silence meant agreement with her statement.
"You have such pretty fingers," he remarked coyly, fluttering his lashes ridiculously at her and easing the suddenly tense moment. Her answering gaze was suspicious, if anything.
"If," she said icily, "you are thinking about groping or touching me in an inappropriate manner, I will cut off your right hand and save you the trouble of the blasted Air Rip." His left hand, which, at that very moment, had been contemplating something of the sort, suddenly scurried to a safe distance.
He pouted as outrageously as he could. "You do me wrong, Sango," he said, emanating an innocent aura. "Does this look like the face of a man that would grope you?"
"Yes it does," she replied calmly, narrowing her eyes at him. He deflated abruptly.
"You know me too well," he said mournfully. "However, how can I resist such a ripe and curvy body such as yours? Round in the right places and just right fo—"
He winced as his head slammed into the ground repeatedly by an irate demon hunter.
"Ouuuuch," he groaned when she finally stopped, clutching his head in pain. Sango merely sniffed and made to get up, but he tugged at the hem of her yukata and gazed up at her, contriving to look as pathetic as possible. "I'm sorry," he whimpered. He really was, actually; his head was throbbing dreadfully.
"You deserved it," she said with a scowl. He moaned, sounding even more wretched and curled into a fetal position. Sighing, and feeling slightly guilty, she relented and seated herself once again, allowing him to resume his former position on her lap. She watched as he grimaced as a particularly strong beam of sunlight hit between his eyes and rearranged himself. Maybe she had been a trifle hard with him, she mused. After all, it wasn't as if he actually touched her, even if he had said those lewd things. In penance, she placed her fingers delicately on his temple and began to massage lightly, seeing that he sagged with quiet relief into the touch, closing his eyes in the process.
Humming once again, she skilfully kneaded the headache out. She'd done this for her father many times when he'd been alive, and he'd always been appreciative of her efforts. Pushing the thought away for a later date, she was surprised to find Miroku asleep. Smiling almost tenderly at the monk, she paused long enough in her ministrations to brush his hair out of his face. Her fingers skimmed lightly over his face, noting the hollowed cheeks with a worried frown. He did have a nice nose though, she observed, and lips. Flushing, she shook herself mentally and resumed her task of alleviating his headache, even if he was asleep. The bumps on his head were reducing, she could tell. Her eyes trailed down from his temple to his face again, sweeping over the familiar features with a critical eye. His eyes were slightly too far apart, and mouth a trifle small, though he compensated for that with his smile. His nose was definitely pretty, she thought mischievously, and giggled quietly.
Her inspection continued down the length of him. His jaw was a little too pointed, and his robes had definitely seen better days. She sobered briefly when she saw the rosary entangled with his right hand, lying peacefully on his stomach, and her eyebrows knit when she saw the tattered state his sandals were in. He definitely had to get them replaced soon with all the travelling that they did.
Her gaze, however, returned to his face. He was still sleeping peacefully. He looked so innocent in the dying sunlight. She tilted her head slightly, and frowned at the thought. They'd have to get back to Kaede's hut soon or else the miko will worry. Besides, it was nearly time for supper, and it had been a long time since the afternoon meal. Dismissing the thought, she was startled when she noticed Miroku staring up at her, a strange expression on his face. She hoped it was the light that made him look like that.
"You've delicate fingers," he remarked lightly, levering himself onto his elbows. She was startled to see his face mere centimetres from hers. "And a soft lap," he remarked, and laughed when she glowered at him.
"How's the headache?" she queried desperately, trying not to let him see how his proximity flustered her.
"All gone," he replied easily, but his gaze was still as intent as ever. The dusky light only exaggerated the lavender of his eyes. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, and inwardly grimaced at her uncontrolled reaction.
"Sango…"
"Y-yes Houshi-sama?" she stammered. His face, already dangerously close, drifted even closer. She clamped down forcibly on the urge to close the infinitesimal distance and kiss him already.
"Have I ever told you," he murmured, his breath hot against her face, "how incredibly ripe and perfect your butt is?" As if on cue, he squeezed the said part twice.
"You PERVERT!" she screeched, and slapped him instinctively before standing up to snatch Hiraikotsu and stomp away angrily.
Sighing, the monk reached for his shakujou, using the staff to lever himself onto his feet. A curious smile lingered on his face as he gazed at the retreating back of the demon hunter.
"After this is all over," he said wistfully, "maybe I'll get to hear you play the flute." He chuckled quietly, and humming to himself, he set off in her wake.
*****
Notes:
Song is "Life is Good" sung by Maaya Sakamoto and written by Yoko Kanno. The title is from a song on Maaya's "Easy Listening" CD, also written by Yoko Kanno. Feel the rabu-rabu, people. XD Lyrics for aforementioned songs can be found at animelyrics.com.
Inspired by that Miroku/Sango poster in which Miroku has his head on Sango's lap with lots of trees and sunlight. Yes, it's a poster, and it starts off the way I described in the beginning. Also inspired by the Inuyasha songbook cover with Sango and a flute, Miroku and a sort of gitar, and Shippou and his tiny toy piano. Also inspired partially by chapter 292 of the manga, and o'course, the song.
Yukata – Sango wears a yukata with an apron over it to keep the dust from her while travelling. Formal kimono were traditionally for the rich, and not until I think it was the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century that the traditional kimono became as common-place as most people tend to think they are. Most females probably had a more formal type of yukata set aside for celebrations made of better fabric and design, but they were definitely not kimonos. Yukata are sort of informal types of kimono that one wraps around themselves, usually kept in place by a sort of informal obi. I'd also like to point out that if Sango wore an actual kimono, she wouldn't be able to move as freely as she does, especially fight demons in impromptu situations. (Yes, it's been bothering me how profligately the word 'kimono' has been thrown around in the Inu fandom, when, technically speaking, only the wealthy ladies ever wear them, and even then, not all the time. It's not Kenshin, y0)
Okay, so I fudged the POVs a bit. It was either that or give myself an even worse headache, which I didn't relish and I still don't. Oh well, it came out semi-decently anyways. And yes, I know the ending is crap. Leave me be. Feedback onegaishimasu, to, uh, help me write a better draft.
Written for Kim aka Little-chan. Your Neechama loves you, yes she does.