Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, etc. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
COBALT SKIES AND TOO-BLUE EYES
Summary: A dream haunts Sango in the eyes of her newborn son. As the veils between this world and the next are drawn back on the night of seasonal equinox, she must consider that the ghost of the father might come seeking both her and her son… ("after Naraku" canon cont., SangoXBankotsu, some InuyashaXKagome)
WORDS
kami - gods
houshi - Buddhist monk
oni - spider
Mikomi - hope
Geshi - summer's solstice, celebrated June 21st in the Gregorian calendar
-sama - honorific conferring great respect or 'lord'
taijiya - demon slayer
A/N: And so I start on yet another fic. Sigh. But this came to me last night in a dream, and I had to sit and pound out this chapter on the keyboard or lose it utterly. I am pleased with the results. I knew I couldn't leave Sango and Bankotsu alone for long… (Fate)
WARNING! LEMON WARNING! LIME ON FFNET! FLUFF AND WAFF, ANGST AND CHARACTER DEATH, ADULT SITUATIONS AND RUN ON SENTENCES, VERY LIKELY PWP THIS CHAPTER (Lemons will be edited out on if you are over 17, you can read it on adultfanfictiondotnet and on mediaminerdotorg under "YoukaiFate")
CHAPTER ONE (GESHI)
His eyes, of course, were blue. A beautiful blue, a celestial blue---or so she told herself whenever she found her fingers lightly tracing the faint definition of his arching brows above the deep, clear eyes that had never changed in hue. Many of the older women in Kaede's village had told her not to think the blue granted him at birth would last, that most babes, born with such a bright color to their eyes, would darken in time to a more prosaic brown. But his beautiful blue eyes had never changed, in fact, the color had seemed to grow more intense, more brilliant, with each passing day of his precious little existence…
He was a gift of the kami, a blessing to her who had feared the loneliness of life more than ever she had the grim finality of death. To one who had lost most everyone she had ever truly cared for, he was a gift most precious. She feared it, sometimes, this ever-wondering love that would well up inside of her each time she looked at him. An ache would rise up in her throat, and she would find herself blinking back sweet tears of relief that he, at least, was still here for her to cherish and protect.
It frightened her, sometimes, how deeply he held her heart in his two, small hands. Poor thing. She didn't ever want to be a burden to him, or her deepening love to become a burden for him. She would protect him with every last breath in her body, but she also knew that to hover over him was to stifle that small spark of life and awareness within him---that it would do more harm than good in the long run. She knew she had to carefully balance her overwhelming love for him with both stern guidance and nurturing tenderness so that he might one day realize his own potential and independence as a grown man, a warrior.
"He has the look of his father," the village women would say, delighted that so handsome a man was reborn among them. Sango would smile faintly, in gratitude that the gods had given her that, at least. She sought traces of her houshi in the pudgy roundness of his childish features that looked like any other baby's, fat and chubby and dearly loved. She was reassured by the soft strands of inky black hair that capped his little, round head, and by the blue eyes that didn't change, though the women had said they might. As the first long days of her slow recovery became weeks, and the weeks became months, he seemed to grow almost daily, until he now sat up on his own, and smiled real smiles back up at her, who he recognized as mother, and cooed and babbled nonsense to her in an attempt to reply to her own continuous babbling of loving attention.
The birth had been difficult. Her hips were narrow, her will somewhat lacking. The village women had muttered darkly among themselves that it was her spirit---all but broken by the houshi's sudden death in the unleashed, chaotic winds of his own curse---that had not wanted to live without him. While his last moments lay deeply mourned on that lonely field of battle, when they had finally defeated Naraku, she had passed the days of her growing pregnancy falling deeper into a hopeless, numbing despair of utter loss and overwhelming grief. All who were important to her now lay dead alongside the dark oni---her brother and her lover both sacrificed in that final, decisive confrontation.
Kagome had worried incessantly, driving her hanyou mate to distraction as the elderly midwife, Kaede, had grown more troubled as the long hours of her struggle to give birth had grown, and she had weakened hour by hour, her will to live almost gone. When finally he had come, weak cries gaining in strength as they laid him in her exhausted arms for the first time, she had looked upon him with dull brown eyes that did not truly see, for her spirit wandered far in sadness and pain, aching for the man that should have been standing beside her, beaming down with pride at the son she had finally given him, a long promise finally fulfilled.
They had all feared then that she would die, and leave the new babe orphaned in a harsh and lonely world---though he would never have been abandoned or left unloved, for Inuyasha and Kagome had already pledged silently to one another that they would take him, if Sango did not survive the long night…
But she had survived, and it was because of him. For he had breathed new life into her as she had slowly felt the solid, growing weight of him in her arms, his fretful cries drawing her back from the encroaching darkness of despair. She had blinked, her gaze slowly focusing, to regard her son with faint astonishment as his little, curled fists waved, and he cried with hunger and fear for the strange new world he now found himself in. Her fingers, pale and shaking, the motion heavy and slow with weakness, had combed tentatively across his sweet little head, and his eyes, brilliantly clear and brilliantly blue, had opened for a bare moment before he screwed them tightly shut again, hating the flickering candlelight he could not quite see.
"He must nurse," the old miko had said, her voice like gravel and yet as soothing as Kirara's rumbling purrs of reassurance. She had helped shift the exhausted taijiya so that he might, and it had seemed as if they had both drawn sustenance and energy from the simple action, as faint color had returned to cheeks too pale and drawn from the past night's struggle. The haunted shadows had slowly receded from her dark eyes, though the sleepless shadows beneath them remained to tell of her exhaustion, and she had lain, unable to do much more than smile softly as life renewed within her in the simple act of holding him to her breast.
"He looks like Miroku," Kagome had whispered softly, tears in her eyes. The young miko had laid a hand on his head, as if in benediction.
Sango had nodded, weak and exhausted but oddly content for the first time in far too long. Her voice was faint, yet full of a love she had never thought to behold again, as she whispered softly, "Mikomi."
"Hope…" Kagome had smiled at the name, wiping the fresh tears from her eyes and sniffling as Sango had finally succumbed to exhaustion, and slept heart-healed for the first time in many months.
And so he had been named, little Mikomi, only child of a monk and a friend so deeply mourned by all of them. Sango's recovery had been slow, though her will to live had been rekindled, and she had fretted over how long it took, and how impatient she now was to get up and be about. Kaede had soothed her, saying that one who had been weakened by grief and so close to death could not hope to recover her strength so quickly. Sango had felt guilty, then, over how much worry she had caused her friends, though each of them in their own way had reassured her that it was okay now---now that she had chosen to live, and all because he needed her to, needed her as much as she needed him.
Time had crept by, measured by how slowly she had recovered her strength, and celebrated with each small triumph as little Mikomi grew and flourished under her awed gaze. He was a happy child, rarely fretful, and as healthy and strong as any young, worried mother could wish. His eyes remained as deep a blue as at his birthing. The color had actually lightened from a dark indigo to a more brilliant twilit hue, and continued to deepen in color, to the delight of everyone who saw him. His hair, so thin and soft, grew slowly into soft swirls of inky promise, and everyone insisted that he took so much after his father that there was none who could tell the difference between them.
She should have been reassured by that, and had spent many hours just looking at him, seeking some trace of Miroku in this, their son. But the strong features others claimed to recognize were baffling to her, lost in the babyish roundness of childish innocence that blinked back up at her, his happy gurgle and drooling smile finally making her laugh and kiss him with apology for staring so intently. He was, more than anything, himself, and she should content herself with that, and deny the worry that nibbled uneasily at the back of her mind.
For there had once been another blue-eyed man in her life, and though there had never been love between them, there had been the act of loving, though to this day she was still unsure that it had not been more than an idle dreaming lost in the darkness of a warm midsummer night long ago…
But each time those beautiful blue eyes looked up at her with such innocent trust, she doubted, and worried, and wondered uneasily if it had been but a midsummer night's dream…
ooOOooOOooOOoo
Some villages celebrated the shortest night of summer with a festival. Sango's village had always been too busy to worry much about it. If anything, they had never welcomed the night with aught but resignation, as the youkai were often wont to use the long hours until dawn to wreak havoc among the weaker humans who could not defend themselves against their aggressiveness. On Geshi, the summer solstice, the veils between this world and the next were thinned, and the spirits, both good and evil, could be enticed to cross the barrier separating them, and lend strength or aid to either.
This night should have been like any other for their small group, though they had welcomed the brief respite with more than a little relief. The Band of Seven---seemingly resurrected back to life, or perhaps, some new group of imaginative bandits hoping to use the slaughtered Shichinintai's fearfully bloody reputation for some obscure reason of their own---had not deigned to attack them that day, and so they had all used the brief respite from constant fighting to grab at a faint chance to relax. They had stopped early in the afternoon, much to Inuyasha's disgust, though he hadn't protested too loudly, as was normally his wont. The worry still nagged at him over just how close his friends had come to dying from exposure to some of Mukotsu's more insidious poisons, and that had held his sharp tongue for once.
That particular experience had haunted all of them, and brought home to each just how fragile and unpredictable life could be. At any moment, any of them could vanish from this world, drawn into death by the dangers that constantly hovered all around them. The unspoken threat lay heavy on their hearts, causing them to continually look over their shoulders, uneasily wondering when the next blow might fall, when the next strike might come, and who might fall beneath it…
Sango had been more affected by the ordeal than she dared show anyone but her beloved houshi, whose quiet strength she had always been able to draw upon. Troubled by their near brush with death, and worried now that she might die, her vengeance unsatisfied, her brother unclaimed, and her love for him forever unknown, she had sought comfort in Miroku's all-too-willing embrace. Miroku had been delighted by the urgency that had driven away her fears of the unknown ways between man and maid, and had been considerate---and thorough---in the taking of her virginity. She had held him, after, as he trembled in the culmination of passion, awed by the gift of trust she had given up to him.
They had not spoken of commitment, not then. It was enough to hold each other, to feel the strong beat of their hearts, skin on skin, and know that life still surged un-sundered through each, that the shadow of death that had hovered so closely over them had not yet reached out its cold grasp to take the other away…
"Houshi-sama…" The urgency had come again, to rekindle that awareness of life once more, and he had kissed her, deeply, and had shown her again with his body all the pleasures she had long denied herself. They had eventually fallen into exhausted slumber, curled into each other's arms, fulfilled and sustained for now by that simple expression of their as yet unvoiced love.
They had arisen that dawn before the others, and unspoken lay the agreement between them that they should not let the others yet know. Inuyasha probably suspected, for he kept glancing at them out of the corner of his amber eyes, though he forbore to comment. Sango was relieved that Shippo, for once, seemed not to notice the change between her and the houshi, and that Kagome was all but oblivious in her maidenly innocence. They had continued their long, weary journey to Mount Hakurei, which they all suspected hid a lot more than its rocky, cloud-draped façade presented to the world.
The chance to be alone again had not presented itself until this night, when the summer's twilight draped itself across the cobalt sky as they made an early camp in a convenient clearing among the branching trees just off the dirt road they traveled along. The moon hung fat and full in the darkening sky, it's mournful surface slowly brightening as the sun finally descended and the night of the summer's solstice encroached.
Exhausted for once, Shippo had promptly fell asleep after a quick dinner of smoked fish fresh-caught in the nearby stream and a bowl of Kagome's instant ramen, which Inuyasha had devoured just as quickly as the little kitsune. Kirara had curled herself around the sleeping fox, her purrs reassuring Sango that she was content for the night to stay with him. Inuyasha, eying the monk and the taijiya who oh-so-casually refused to look at one another, had abruptly stood up. Grabbing a protesting Kagome by one, clawed hand, he had disappeared into the woods, hauling her after him until their arguing voices had dwindled into the muffled silence of the intertwining trees.
Miroku had grinned, aware that Inuyasha had just given him the perfect opportunity to further his new acquaintance with the slayer, who was still shy and hesitant, even after giving herself so willingly to him. Sango had blushed, aware of his hentai thoughts, and felt a surprising tingle of anticipation curl low in her belly. Without a word, she had put her hand in his when he had bowed so sweetly to her, and they, too, had quickly disappeared into the muffling forest, to find a place where they could renew this new-found aspect of their complicated relationship.
As before, urgency had lent haste to their first, tentative touches. Clothing had been abandoned as quickly as caution, and Miroku had more than lived up to his reputation of sexual prowess as she had clung to him, crying out her pleasure as he had ridden out his passion...
Drawing the sweaty black bangs from off of his forehead, Sango had felt her love for him welling up deep inside of her, though still she hesitated to speak of it, for he had said nothing as yet to her of his. She was content, then, to lie there and hold him. Eventually, he had roused himself, and once desire had been rekindled, they had made sweet, languorous love, there in the shadow-ridden warmth of the deepening night. The close-knit branches of the fir trees that surrounded them had blocked the moon's wan light from penetrating their chosen nest, and she could barely see him beside her, though she could feel the strength and warmth of his well-defined chest under his cheek as she curled up along his side. He draped an arm across her bared shoulders, the beads wrapped across his palm hard knots between the whispering purple silk covering his right hand. He had murmured sweet nonsense to her as she had dropped off to sleep against him with a sigh of utter contentment, the tight-strung exhaustion of the long day finally catching up with her…
It was some time later, when the night had deepened to such darkness that her sleepy gaze could only make him out as a blurred shadow beside her, that he had unwound himself, murmuring something she could not remember as he lightly kissed her temple, promising to be back in just a moment. She had murmured sleepily for him to hurry, and had curled herself into the fading warmth left in the spot he had just abandoned. He had draped his long robes across the needle-cushioned earth as a bed, and they had used her yukata as a light blanket to keep away the faint chill in the air of the lengthening night. Pulling the yukata tighter around her bare shoulders, Sango had nestled into the houshi's woolen robes, and tumbled back into sleep, missing him, but knowing he would be back at any moment.
And that was when she dreamed…
She thought it was him, returning. She had woken with a soft sigh as a gentle, but firm, hand had been laid lightly on her shoulder. She lay, half-curled on her stomach, the yukata draped lightly across her back and tangling among her bent legs. The light touch of his calloused fingers had wandered down the curve of her arm, as if mapping her skin anew. Tingles of awareness had been left in their wake, her skin goose-bumping behind the slow caress. She had arched her back, her eyes still closed, her sleepy awareness overcome by misty feelings of dawning excitement as his fingers had circled over her hip, to then sweep back up the curve of her spine.
"Miro---" She sighed out, her breasts growing heavy as desire curled low in her belly.
"Shh…" His voice had been husky, deep and seductive as his lips brushed lightly over her temple, in the same spot as when he had left her. He draped himself behind her, his warm lips whispering a path down her cheek as he paused to nibble on the delicate shell of one ear. His fingers curled over the edge of her yukata, tugging lightly, drawing the impromptu blanket down her arm and hips in a sensuously slow, but determined, motion. She shivered in response as the light chill of the night air whispered along her exposed skin.
His warmth had soon dispelled the night's chill, for wherever the warm flesh of his hand wandered, her skin grew flushed and heated. The heat and strength of him, behind her, made her tremble as he nestled her more firmly against him. She shivered at the awareness of it, and he chuckled lightly into her shoulder, pausing to kiss it softly even as his fingers wandered further...
"Please…" She whispered urgently as he drew patterns over her skin. She could already feel the taunt anticipation building as she restlessly moved against his teasing touch.
He chuckled again, a dark chuckle of seductive promise...
ooOOoo edited for lemony content ooOOoo
Never, ever, had it felt like this, and although she did not join him in that fiercely primitive completion, she felt oddly satiated and lazy as he collapsed on top of her like one dead. She trembled at his weight and the warmth of it, her fingers sweeping up the side of his arm and shoulder to touch along his buried cheek as he shuddered into the curve of her shoulder.
"Damn." His voice was hoarse, and almost awed as the powerful muscles in his shoulders and back tightened, gathering himself to look up at her. The shadows of the deep night blurred his features, making his eyes dark shadows, the firm line of his lips and the sharp angle of his jaw only a touch lighter than the inky shadow of sweat-dampened bangs that tangled across his forehead.
His calloused palm came to cup her chin up to his so that he could kiss her, his lips soft and firm as his tongue delved deep, tangling with hers. Sango swept her own hands along the wide sweep of his shoulders, surprised by the toned definition in them, which seemed so much more muscled than she remembered. Her fingers trailed along the strong line of his jaw to bury themselves in the nape of his neck, and she was surprised to find the thick hair there that lay bundled into a loosened braid, rather than a simple tail.
Her jerk of surprise had him groaning as his body responded to her sudden movement. He swallowed her astonished protest against the firm press of his mouth as he deepened the kiss. She pushed urgently at his shoulders, but she could not move his weight from off her. He circled her wrists with both of his hands, drawing them down and pinning them along either side of her head as she tried to wriggle free, and only succeeded in bringing his need to raging life.
He chuckled into her mouth, following her as she tried to turn her head away. He thought it a game, a tease, to entice and enflame, and so he whispered against her lips, ignoring her muffled protest, "Won't take long, girl. I promise…"
And it didn't...
The pleasure was so mind-blowing and intense that it shook both of them to the core, and left them spent and exhausted as they collapsed back on the blankets in a sweaty tangle of heavy limbs and heady release.
He gathered himself once more to roll up off of her, and she whimpered slightly as his heat left hers. He lightly touched her cheek with casual tenderness, and drew her yukata back up over her shoulders as the night air chilled her exposed skin. She trembled as his lips brushed her temple once more, and he whispered softly, "I will return, one day. I promise…"
And then he was gone, and she was left to curl herself into confused uncertainty as exhaustion won out over worry and she slept once more, rousing only when her houshi had returned. He kissed her awake with tender attention, drawing her once more into his warm embrace, and rousing her in sleepy protest as he pulled her to him, desire evident.
He had kissed her, apologizing for taking longer than he should to go and check on their friends. Sango had trembled in his arms, and asked wonderingly, "Was it a dream, then…?"
"Did you dream of me?" She could not see his lazy smile in the darkness, or the rather pleased expression in his deep, indigo eyes.
She bit her lip, uncertain what to say. He took her hesitancy as shy timidity, and so he artfully used every formidable tool of persuasion at his disposal to coax her exhausted body to respond to his growing ardor. He had made slow love to her, his body promising things his heart knew but he was still too cautious to utter, for there was still the darkness of a shadowed fate at the hands of Naraku that lay hovering between them and a true ending of perfect happiness. Sango had clung to him, in despair and confusion, letting go of her awareness of that Other to cling desperately to this, her reality, and her new-won love…
ooOOooOOooOOoo
When next she saw him, that Other, she could not believe that it was he whom she had held in the dreamy darkness of a midsummer's night, and was desperate to believe that it had been but a dream, only a dream, for he was their avowed enemy. The fearsome leader of a fearsome band of bloodthirsty murderers who had been given life again by Naraku, he and his brothers were set the task of killing the oni's enemies in return for the use of the tainted Jewel shards that aided their resurrection.
He had not betrayed knowing her by so much as even a look or flicker of awareness. He ignored her as he ignored the others, engaging Inuyasha as the only one suitably strong enough to be considered a worthy opponent. There was only the once---and it could have been her fleeting imagination---when they had been on the island, seeking the reason behind the powerful barrier that surrounded Mount Hakurei in waves of purifying energy. Bankotsu had faced them alone, battling Inuyasha in his weakened state before the hanyou had driven him off with the revitalized Wind Scar, after Miroku and the headman's son had broken through the Living Buddha's sacred relic.
It was during that battle, when Miroku and Kagome still searched for the sacred relic, that Sango had distracted Bankotsu from landing a killing blow on the weakened hanyou. Flinging her Hiraikotsu with all her might, she had swept the giant boomerang between the two fighters, touching neither. She had been strangely loathe to actually hurt Bankotsu, the memory of a dreamy midsummer's night had made her pull her hand at the last minute, so that her boomerang spun dead center between them, hitting neither.
He had looked at her then, as the dust cleared from the mighty weapon's passage, and the look in his cobalt eyes had made her drop her own in acute embarrassment as the color abruptly left her pale cheeks. Inuyasha had shouted, drawing Bankotsu's attention back to himself, and Shippo had jumped into her arms. Sango had buried her mixed feelings in comforting the little kitsune, hugging him to her as a lifeline in a sudden sea of uncertainty.
Had it then, been but a dream? She might never know.
Except that those brilliant blue eyes now haunted her in the brilliant blue eyes of her son…