Author's Note: AH, I've had this particular chapter written since the very beginning of this story, so if it is not so similar to my current writing, I apologize. I kept it as it was when I originally wrote it. Also- we are officially at the half-way mark! I hope that you are enjoying it, and that some of you have stuck around for the whole thing!

Reviews=karma and happy author's.

Prompt: Sport

Updated: August 1, 2014


On a day when he hadn't set an alarm clock, Miroku awoke to the ringing of his telephone. He groaned and opened his eyes. The sunlight was streaming in through the part in the curtains, and playing across the wall as birds flew past. He reached his arm out over his bedside table, and grabbed his cell. Turning it on to quiet it's obnoxious trilling.

"Hello?" His voice came out as a croak, so he cleared his throat and tried again, "Hello?"

"Morning, Miroku." The voice was familiar- so much so that it was out of place. He blinked a few times, feeling much more awake.

"Shima?"

"Of course it's me. Were you expecting a call from someone else?" his ex replied.

"No," he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. "What time is it?"

"Eight thirty. I figured you'd be up by now. You always set your alarm for eight."

"Actually, I unplugged my clock last night. I was up late doing some research."

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't worry about it. Why were you calling?" He stood up and walked to his adjoining bathroom.

"I was wondering if you would come over for dinner tonight. I had a big meal being brought in, but Yuko cancelled on me at the last minute. I would hate for it to go to waste." Miroku sighed.

"Shima, we aren't together anymore. We aren't even friends. Why would I want to have dinner with you?"

"Maybe it's because I have some paperwork for us to go over. If you'd rather not…"

"What kind of papers could we possibly have left to sign? Do you want half of my organs now?" He let some of the bitterness he felt seep into his voice. Her tinkling laugh, which used to make him smile, now angered him.

"That's an amusing thought. The reason you need to be there is because we need to remove your name from the mortgage. You need to read some things, and sign them, otherwise I would just do it myself."

A sigh escaped his lips once again. The idea of eating any kind of dinner with Shima was almost repulsive. Not only was the company undesirable, but knowing her she would probably spend hundreds of his dollars on foods that did not appeal to him. Food that was healthy, gluten-free, trendy, and would likely taste like cardboard. Plus, being in that house always made him uncomfortable.

"Fine. When do you want me to stop by?"

"Around six-ish?" Her voice was pleased with her victory, and he had to hold back a rude comment.

"Alright, goodbye."

Hanging up did nothing to ease the tension that had accumulated over the very short phone call. It likely wouldn't leave until after the dinner. He shook his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. There was stubble on his cheeks and chin, and if he were headed to Foxfire, he would have felt inclined to shave it off, but his ex-wife deserved no such curtesy.

He looked down and turned on the tap. After washing his face, he headed out to the living room to read and await his demise.

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The moment he stepped into the house, memories of how much he despised it rose to his mind. All of the luxuriously expensive décor made him want to walk right back out again.

He remembered the gentle family feeling of the house Sesshomaru owned and shook his head. That was how a home felt. This was just a house.

Then Shima appeared in the hallway. She wore very little and it didn't interest him in the least on her. It was tight fitting mini dress that may as well have been a negligee. Though he tried his best not to, he found himself picturing it on Sango.

The thought was tempting to him. Sango's amazing legs, barely covered by the almost non-existent skirt. Her arms bare, her hair- which was much longer than when they met- would be loose. Her whispering his name.

He shook his head to try to clear it of the image. This was the worst possible time to think of that. He cleared his throat.

"Hey Shima." From the look on her face it was clear that she thought that she was the cause for his condition. Just that look helped remedy the situation a little.

"Come in, Miroku! The food is here, and the table's set. We wouldn't want it to get cold!" Her voice was sugary-sweet. She reached out and took his arm gently. He shook her off and proceeded into the dining room.

The food wasn't as terrible as he had anticipated, though it was close. He even found himself enjoying the glass of red wine that she had generously poured for him. Many times in fact, for the glass kept being refilled for him. Not that he was complaining. It made Shima's chipper talk easier to stomach.

She talked about many things- half of which he didn't pay attention to. After a short while, he found himself actually laughing at some of her jokes. The spreading warmth of the alcohol was to blame and he knew it.

"So," Shima started softly, "how about you and I get a little more comfortable? Maybe sit by the fireplace?"

Her game was obvious, and he was slightly taken-aback that she'd even tried it. He looked into her face.

"No." It was blunt of him, but he didn't give to fucks. Her eyebrows raised.

"I noticed your reaction when you saw me," she purred. "Or was that for someone else? Do you have a new girl? Oh, look at your face, you do! What's her name?"

"It's no one, Shima. Especially not you." Miroku stood.

"Oh, so you're not actually together. What, did you get shot down? Or worse! I bet that you did get her, but she wasn't impressed, and didn't call you back!" She taunted, a most unpleasant look on her face. It was a look he had come to know, and he knew that she was trying to get a rise out of him. The worst part was that it was working. He felt his pride prickle up at the insult.

"Don't." He gritted his teeth and started to walk past her towards the doorway. As he passed, she stood and began to follow him.

"Why not? Maybe that wasn't it at all. Maybe she wanted to, but you just couldn't get it up." That was the last straw. He let loose something akin to a growl, and grabbed her hand, guiding it to something that would disprove her theory. Instead of pulling her hand away, she held it there. "Then I guess that it was the performance aspect. You've lost your touch, Miroku."

In that moment of alcohol haze, all of his pent up frustration exploded into a frenzy that he couldn't seem to control. He pushed her against the wall, holding her there with his body, and kissed her fiercely on the mouth. He could feel his teeth hit hers as hers as he did so. When he pulled back, she was breathless.

"I haven't lost my touch," his voice was his own, but deeper.

"Prove it," she whispered against his ear and led him out of the room.

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When he awoke, he knew a deep heavy shame. He slipped out of the bed that had once been his, not even attempting not to disturb Shima. He reached for his clothes and began to dress.

"Where are you going?" she asked, sitting up and yawning.

"Home," he responded, pulling on his shirt.

"Miroku, why don't you just stay and talk? Maybe resolve things between us." At that, he turned and fixed her with a dark look.

"You're cold, evil, and I have no clue why I ever married you to begin with. I am leaving, and not coming back. Don't call me again. Any paperwork can go through our lawyers." The remainder of her words fell in deaf ears, as he left the house and walked away.

Only then did he allow himself to think of what had happened. Sleeping with her like that had been his intoxicated brain's way of both shutting her up, and relieving stress. The stress of being near someone whom he was so attracted to often, and not being able to do anything about it.

He stopped at a red light and ran a hand through his hair. Guilt began to mix with his shame as he remembered his inspiration to keep him going through the hours. He had thought of nothing but Sango. He had used his ex-wife as an outlet, as much as she had used herself to try and snare him again. It had been half of what she had wanted, and that made it even worse.

The question was, should he tell Sango?

He shook his head, trying to not feel like a cheater. They weren't even technically an item. The guilty feeling remained. Apparently, wanting to be her fulltime boyfriend was close enough.