Some of the reviews for this story kind of think it was a little random, and it wasn't understood why Sango acted the way she did. I've since revised it a bit, but it may still seem like a weird situation. If you're life has ever just seemed out of control, and you are at odds with what you want to do and what you should do, then perhaps you can relate to this. I always enjoy a review (short or long, good or bad.)
Sango sat by the edge of a secluded hot spring. It had been sometime since she had bathed last. As she unlaced her boots she ran her hands along her bruised shins. The bumps and faded bluish colors each told of an adventure she had been in; the dull ache meant she was still alive, but it contrasted the numbness she often felt. It was silly to feel such things. Sango shook her head, shaking away the childish thoughts; no demon-hunter would have such a weak mind.
She untied her ponytail. She could feel the fine silt that had collected between the strands that she often tucked behind her ears. It reminded her of women in her village. No proper woman would ever get so filthy. How would she ever be married acting as she did? But again, what a silly question. There were so many reasons no man would ever have her. She was a demon-hunter, such a masculine station in life, her shoulders were broad and defined, her legs sturdy and muscular, her skin broken and scarred.
Sango's hands grazed over her naked body as she removed her worn and dirty clothes, a lingering moment over the scratches and healed wounds she had accumulated over the years.
She slid in, the steaming water burning her night-chilled skin. The pain was welcome, she felt alive, she felt punished, she felt something. The gentle bubbling of the natural spring rocked her back and forth, her back bumping against the rough rock that encased the steaming pool. With each ripple of water she could feel the numb toughness of the scar her brother gave her. He had cast a mighty blow that almost ended her life, his weapon breaking her open, the wound healing in a twisted, painful fashion. It was her greatest shame, her failure, a badge of dishonor she would wear for the rest of her life.
These thoughts tormented her nights, they interrupted her sleep. These thoughts, impossible to stop, were endlessly hungry for her attention. Oh how they reminded her she couldn't save her brother, she couldn't save her family, how, even now, she couldn't even control her restless mind.
Below the sounds of the water's bubbling, the leaves' rustling, the night breeze drifting, there was a presence.
She stopped, frozen still in the darkness of the night. Something had moved from within the deep woods. She sensed no evil, no demonic presence. "Why don't you come out? I know you're there." She stated more calmly that her rapid heart-rate would have let on.
"Forgive me Sango, I know not what I do." Miroku stepped out from the shadows. "I was just passing by to bring fresh water back to camp." His guilty smile plain to see.
Sango, who would normally hustle to cover her nakedness made no attempt to turn around to sneer at Miroku's sinful pleasure. "Of course." So matter of fact. "You must dirty, why don't you come bathe then." A statement, not a question.
Miroku was taken back. What a strange reaction to his antics. He was frozen starring at the back of her head, her bare shoulders glistening in the faint moonlight. "Are you coming?" She said, no attempt to look at the monk.
What was she doing? No woman with any sort of grace would be so forward with a man. But the night was dark, her mind contemptuously running her in circles, she just didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.
Miroku couldn't resist such an invitation, though the circumstances were startling. He slipped out of his robes, holding them coyly, hiding himself from the huntress who was starring out into the night. Miroku gasped. "this is very hot, it…"
"Feels good." Sango interrupted.
"Burns. Was what I was going to say." Miroku sat down, water up to his neck, the pain made him glassy-eyed as he adjusted to the heat.
Sango slowly turned her head toward him, her expression blank. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly as if to say "exactly."
"So, Miroku. What did you see?" Her blank stare turned to fiery awareness. Miroku said only what came to his consciousness first.
"A little skin, I suppose."
"A little skin." She repeated.
Sango smirked as she waded toward the gapping-mouthed monk. Her mind, racing thoughts and all, begged her to stop this situation. "And what skin was that?" Each step she took her breasts floated up, revealing the deep color of her nipples. Sango drowned out the plees of her conscience with rebellious action.
Miroku's breath could be heard with each step Sango took towards him. "What are you doing?" He stammered.
Sango reached for Miroku, her hands glided through the water, gently landing on his tense hips. He flinched. She submerged herself, bending low; her head barely above the water line. She closed her eyes and stood up. The water ran down her shoulders, over her breasts, down her stomach. Miroku fixated on a droplet hugging that little indent at the base of her slender neck. He averted his eyes.
"What are you doing Sango?" he repeated breathlessly, the thoughts of reaching out to touch the curves of her pale body strangling him.
Sango honestly didn't know what she was doing, it was just another thing she had lost control of.
"This wasn't what you came to see?" Sango felt very aware of the embarrassment coming over her as she realized how her presumptions were being construed. Her hands left his waist; one covered the gasp from her lips as she turned away from the confused monk.
Miroku composed himself, his concentration turned from himself to the scar that was showing itself. A jagged, discolored patch of skin running along Sango's right shoulder. Save the few waning glances, this was the first time he had ever seen it up close. It mesmerized him; the pain it must have caused. Each rip, each tear, the way the skin was pulled taught in some places, he couldn't look away.
"I shame myself. Please accept my apologies." She lowered her hand to blurt out her embarrassment.
Miroku disregarded Sango's words, he disregarded boundaries, he was so transfixed by something that was meant to remain so private. He reached out and gently touched her back. His hand smoothly tracing the scar's outline. She pulled away, breaking contact, but in her moment of weakness she leaned back in, slowly she felt his finger tips, then his palm.
Miroku wondered why Sango would sometimes get into these unpredictable moods. Every now and then she would withdraw from the group, become pensive and quiet. Over time he realized the enormity of what had transpired in her life, it seemed that sometimes it was just too much. Perhaps, Sango could be summed up in this scar he was touching without permission.
"So, this is what you wanted to see." Her voice quivered like a child's.
Miroku pulled his hand away, embarrassed by his morbid curiosity.
"No…" Sango pressed into his leaving touch. "Just a little longer." She sighed.
Miroku paused. His hand feeling the smooth skin breaking into the rough scar. "It must have hurt." He said his thoughts out loud. He saw her skin reveal a wave of goosebumps as a breeze blew by.
"Everyday..." Sango replied, again pressing into his hand as it tried to leave.
Miroku, though timid about this situation, seemed to realize that Sango just wanted to be held. As she chased his touch, she seemed so much more vulnerable than she ever let on, like a faun chasing its mother, scarred to death to be abandoned. Sometimes fear can make you do wild things, even act like someone completely different. Miroku contemplated what to do.
His hand moved up to the nape of her neck. His other hand, once hiding his nakedness, made its way to her hip, sliding down to the crease of where her thigh met her body. Sango covered his hands with her own. She wanted to pull his embrace tighter, but instead kept him from intruding any further.
The embrace felt warm and seemed to fill a void she felt in her gut. How weak of her to resort to such frivolous emotions.
He pulled her towards him. She fought against the advance, but Miroku tightened his grip. Sango was at odds with herself. The foreign touch of a man, something she hadn't felt in ages, not since her formative years, made her feel the guilt of letting her body be so selfish.
Finally they both settled into stillness. The only movement coming from their winded breathes, inhaling, exhaling in unison. Every touch, every grab felt new to Sango. It brought her back to her first time, when she stole away into the woods letting another young demon-hunter have his way.
Miroku held Sango tightly; he hadn't spoken, nor knew the words that should be said. His cheek pressed against the top of her shoulder, he leaned down and grabbed a piece of her flesh with his mouth. His tongue sweeping, his teeth grazing across her red, wet skin. He didn't know why, but it seemed as though this was what she was asking for.
To be touched like that, it was so welcomed. Sango's body wanted more, her will, was begging to be broken.
Sango felt his grip tighten, she started to pull away, and then she felt his mouth on her neck. She let out a soft groan, one of pain and pleasure. She was at odds with herself, and her body was winning. She pushed up against the monk, her back squeezing against him, her inner thighs wanting to invite him in.
She saw herself groaning, making faces, grinding against the houshi. Disconnected, it was easier.
"I'm so weak." She breathed in a gentle whisper. "I can't even control the advances of a perverted monk..." Loathing and disgust oozed from those words.
Miroku was once again frozen by Sango. It was all he could do to remain motionless, gathering himself before being spent. He refused to be drowned in his own pleasure. He was starting to understand. He forcefully turned Sango to face him. "Look at me Sango." He whispered. "Look at me."
Sango snapped back to Earth. It was painful entering back into her body, her consciousness. She felt his hands pulling at her, dragging her across his stiffened body. She locked eyes with the monk, searching deep for his plans.
"There are things in this world that are not up to you, Sango. Things you can't control." Miroku was forceful, almost a bitter yell escaped him. "It can't always be your fault!"
Sango looked away, she didn't like that he could read her inner soul, her regrets and fears.
He gave up trying to convince her, he gently pressed his lips to her forehead. "Just let it all go. It's eating you alive. Look at how your acting, I hardly recognize you." his words, breathed into her delicate skin, turned into a chaste kiss.
"It's not so easy," Sango whispered back, "to just let go." She closed her eyes, his affection felt like home.
As Miroku pulled away, they caught each others stares. It seemed only natural to give one last consoling kiss before ending this awkward situation. He leaned in, touching his lips to hers, meaning it to only last an instant. Sango felt his lips touch, they were warm and wet, tasting of minerals from the hot spring waters. She let his bottom lip sit between hers, sucking it in slightly. She then turned her head to the side, opening her mouth wider to engulf more. The once innocent kiss was now a passionate embrace of mashing faces. Miroku turned his head away, Sango continuing to kiss his jawline.
"You know I've always wanted you, so badly it hurts sometimes." Miroku couldn't contain himself anymore.
Their bodies, bumping and bouncing against each others, their legs entangled underneath the waters, Sango kissing his neck, Miroku hard, he knew what they both wanted, even if Sango didn't.
"Just stay with me…" Miroku trailed off as he parted her legs with his hips then entering her. His hands preventing her flinch from pulling away. He held his breath, trying to control himself as he waited motionless for a sign, she was tight, and warm, and the feeling of her legs around with waist begged him to start grinding.
Sango felt him draw her near. His advance was unexpected. She flexed her legs to prevent the inevitable, but it was too late. She tensed as she felt him enter her. He felt tight inside her. It hurt, but it felt good. Her legs had no where to go but around Miroku's waist. She squeezed them hard, drawing him deeper inside her, changing the angle at which their bodies met, allowing him to rub up against where she wanted to be touched the most. The only sound she let escape was a soft gasp.
Sango was wide-eyed, still searching for Miroku's intentions. She stayed idle, taking in the sensations, his glaring stare, the fullness she felt inside her. The ache to move against him. Sango, her arm around Miroku's neck, the other pressed against his chest, was confused and a little frightened by what she had let happen. Transfixed by the houshi's gaze, she started to move, in and out, slowly. She swayed back and forth, feeling empty then full.
They're love-making was slow, filled with deliberate motions, glances and grabs. Miroku gently pushed Sango's pelvis tight to his, making his thrusts dive deep inside her, perhaps deeper than Sango wanted to let him. It wasn't because it made Sango hurt, or uncomfortable. She fought his embraces because every one of those deep powerful thrusts was like a drug, eliciting a carnal urge for more, a feeling she couldn't stop once it started.
Miroku could feel her silently fighting his movements. "Stop it, just let it happen.." He whispered. "You can't control this, I won't let you."
Miroku could feel himself building to the moment.
"Sango, just let go..." scarcely a breath remained in him. He stared deep into her eyes, he started to pump quicker.
Sango pulled Miroku close, hiding her head into his neck, anything to break that stare.
"Sango…Please let go." Miroku couldn't hold out much longer.
Her strength waned as she heard the monk's plea. She felt pleasure starting to overtake her.
"yes….let go, like that." Miroku buried his head into Sango's neck as he felt her giving in. He let go.
Sango dug her hands into Miroku's back. She wasn't this weak, she rose her head and regained her composure. "No." she whispered. Miroku finished with one last thrust.
They both breathed heavy. Miroku looked away; his chest rising and falling. He closed his eyes to embrace his failure. Sango was equally tired from fighting her own body, which still screamed at her for withholding the release it so desperately wanted.
Breathing heavily into her neck, Miroku whispered. "This was never about me, Sango. This is about you..."
And without hesitation he moved a hand between Sango's legs, his finger sliding across the slippery nub that still cried for attention as his hand dove in deeply. His grasp started out firm, almost harsh, as Sango fought against the intrusion. It became something more than just a rough handjob, it was a war between them.
Sango struggled to free herself, her mind trying not to picture what Miroku's was doing, but the images of his fingers twisting and thrusting, the soft folds of delicate skin trying to swallow them could not be escaped. In the midst of calling the monk a bastard Sango reached out and kissed his mouth. It was hard and unromantic, their teeth bumped, their lips didn't fit together quite right, but it was a kiss all the same. Her struggles stopped, his tenuous grip between her legs softened and in an instant the war had ended. Sango pulled her mouth away, her eyes closed, her forehead leaning on his, perhaps the signs of tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes.
"You don't have to look at me." Miroku whispered.
Sango's arms, once pushing Miroku's body away, wrapped themselves around his neck. She lay her head on his shoulder, his face out of view.
Miroku started to caress her womanly form, his fingers moving gently in and out of her heated wetness, he could feel her body responding, swaying with his movements. He could hear breaths and silent groans in his ear.
"Let go, Sango. I want to see you come." He whispered in response.
Miroku started to fear she would never give in, but just as he was about to whisper again, he felt her back begin to arch, her breath stop, her grip tighten. He quickened his pace and drove his fingers deep inside her. Sango let out tortured groans as she dug her head into Miroku's neck. Her body started to twitch with a feeling of relief as the moment of ecstasy passed.
Once again the two breathed hard and deep, gathered in each others arms. The silence only broken by the delicate splashes of bubbles and the rustling of trees. Sango didn't know why tears came from her face, nor did she care, which was quite a welcome feeling. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, never letting the monk see her face.
"You are a brave one." Miroku hushed. There was nothing more to say.
Finally the teary eyed girl pulled away from the embrace. Despite the uncontrollable emotions, she gave the monk a smile; small and brief though it was, it was genuine. Miroku sat down next to her, the two now speaking only in gestures. Under the bubbling water he took her hand, and she leaned her head on his waiting shoulder. They stayed in that hot spring a while longer, letting the moment they shared endure, finally leaving only to arrive back at camp before the other started to wonder.