AN: Well, this took forever, but finally got this chapter done. Not sure if I like it though. I think maybe I rushed through the ending, and it's not very believable. Oh well, tell me what you think, and I'll change it before the next chapter if it's really that bad.
Future Lovin' Part 7
Miroku found breathing through his nose next to impossible, and his head felt stuffed with cotton, cotton that also housed a beehive and a smithy simultaneously as his hearing alternated between high-pitched buzzing and a pounding deep in his brain.
He had gone to bed early the night before claiming a headache, but now he had a migraine a thousand times worse than any he had ever had before. Or maybe it was not the worst he had had, but he could not think of another time, did not want to think, could not think for the pain. Thinking hurt, breathing hurt, being awake and staring at the ceiling all fuzzy-brained hurt. Deciding that turning into a puddle of ooze and melting away would also hurt, he determined to get to his feet... couldn't hurt any worse, could it? Well, that was the plan anyway.
He sat up slowly, put one foot on the floor, the other, began to stand, and once more discovered the ceiling was a fascinating thing to watch. He remained on his back an indeterminate amount of time; it could have been a minute, an hour, a day for all he cared before Mrs. Higurashi ventured into the living room to find him sprawled bonelessly on the carpet.
With strength he never would have imagined she possessed, she hauled him back on to the sofa and covered him with an afghan. A moment later, she was buzzing around the kitchen, heating up some soup for him. Once his food was delivered and she made sure he was eating, she zoomed upstairs to check on Sango.
The demon huntress was pulling on a pair of jeans when Mrs. Higurashi entered the room. The older woman considered sending Sango straight back to bed, but thought better of it. If Sango thought she was well enough to move around, it would be a waste of time to argue. Besides, she would need help with the monk. _He_ would be difficult to keep in place for a long period of time (though he had managed well when nursing Sango to health.) It seemed Miroku had been paid for his vigil by catching Sango's illness. Oh well, that was life.
Sango nodded mutely when Mrs. Higurashi suggested she see Miroku and headed downstairs as soon as she had pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. The monk had just finished his breakfast and was fumbling for the remote control when Sango entered the room.
He glanced up at her with bleary eyes and then tried to sit up, the remote forgotten, the thick afghan falling to his waist, revealing his bare chest. Sango's heart jumped. The last time she'd seen him like this was the other day when he'd kissed her... would he do it again?
Miroku grinned and swayed slightly, starting to topple backwards. He grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her forward on top of him as he fell. Sango's heart thudded again when she realized her new position. So close to the pervert... would he try something? He was in a perfect situation to let his hands wander, but they stayed on her arms. His lips were very close, very very close, so close that she could feel his warm breath as he exhaled against her own.
Miroku moved his hands. Sango prepared to clobber him. Instead of grabbing at her ass, Miroku wrapped his arms around her back and hugged her. Sango stiffened in the embrace, but then relaxed as time dragged on and there was no sign of errant hand movement.
Her gaze fixed on his lips again. They were still close, not quite as close as before since Miroku had tilted his head slightly to avoid eating her hair, but very little effort would actually be needed to close the gap between them.
Miroku sighed and rubbed his cheek against hers. "You're very comfortable, y'know."
Sango stiffened automatically. What exactly did he mean by that? He was being perverted, just waiting for the right moment... but the dreamy, almost childlike expression on his face denied that. He looked like he was honestly enjoying just being close to her... without groping. Worry settled in her stomach. He _must_ be sick, really sick.
She lifted a hand to his forehead. "Houshi-sama..."
One of Miroku's hands shot up to grasp her wrist, and he pulled her hand down to his mouth, kissing the back of it. "Miroku, Sango. Just Miroku," he murmured.
"But, Houshi-sama-"
"Hush." Miroku planted a light butterfly kiss on her mouth.
A shock raced up Sango's spine. What was he doing? Why wasn't she stopping him? Miroku placed several more light, barely noticeable kisses all over her face and neck. However, Sango was extremely aware of what he was doing and turned her head in an attempt to get his lips to brush hers again.
Sensing what she wanted, Miroku swallowed a grin and avoided her mouth, kissing all other available skin. He might be ill, but this was a good distraction, very good... especially when Sango became fed up with his avoidance and, grabbing the sides of his face, held his head still long enough to lean down and fix her lips firmly to his. Once captured, Miroku definitely did not want to be free again.
Because of his illness and resulting lack of lung capacity though, he, quite unfortunately, was forced to pull away first. "Sango-"
Sango did not let him finish, attacking his mouth again as soon as he had regained his breath. Miroku wasn't inclined to fight the taija-ya, especially since this was the goal he had striven towards for so long. That is, until he felt a tug on the waistband of his sweatpants. Quickly, he broke their liplock and grabbed her exploring hand.
"Not here," he murmured.
Sango, cheeks a bright pink, looked at him and then towards the open door between the room and the hallway. "I'll go close the door." She started to rise.
Miroku tightened his hold on her, preventing her from moving. "No, I mean, not here. Not in this house, not in this world. Let's wait until we're back home."
Sango bit her lip and stared at an unraveling corner of the afghan. "Why do I want to go back? Why do you? I thought we were enjoying it here."
Miroku sighed. "We are, it's been fun, but it can't last. A nice diversion, a little vacation, but we need to get back. I'm running out of time. We need to kill Naraku."
"What if Kagome and Inuyasha kill him?"
"They might, but it'd be easier for all of us to do it. Besides, I'm not one to sit idly by and wait for something to happen."
Sango was silent for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip, contemplating a response. Finally, she raised her head and met his gaze squarely. "So is this why you've never made a move on me? Always going for those other women. I can see that you don't just sit there and do nothing around them! You at least ask them if they want relations with you. All you do with me is pat my backside and give my breasts a good squeeze once in awhile." She struggled against his hold, managing to free herself enough to roll off the couch on to her feet.
Sango glared down at him. "I would have no problem having sex with you right now! And isn't that basically what you want in the end? So why turn me down? Hell, if you want, I'll bear your child! I'd do anything for you, so why don't you..." She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as a realization struck her. All anger disappeared from her voice. "You don't want me." It was a simple statement, rather emotionless after her previous outburst.
Miroku shook his head. "Sango, no, that's not-"
Sango backed away towards the door. "No, it is. I understand. What I've been told my entire life is true. I'm a demon hunter, and as such, am not very feminine. I thought I'd accepted that, and I thought you had too. I thought you wanted me, even though I'm not giggly and silly like all those other girls. I-I was wrong. I'm going now." She whirled around and hurried out the door, not quite running.
Miroku cursed and jumped up, but his legs got caught in the afghan. He fell to the floor, hitting his head on the coffee table. Nausea returned with the pain, and he was unable to move for a good minute. "Damn," he muttered into the soft carpet, "that went horribly."
Future Lovin' Part 7
Miroku found breathing through his nose next to impossible, and his head felt stuffed with cotton, cotton that also housed a beehive and a smithy simultaneously as his hearing alternated between high-pitched buzzing and a pounding deep in his brain.
He had gone to bed early the night before claiming a headache, but now he had a migraine a thousand times worse than any he had ever had before. Or maybe it was not the worst he had had, but he could not think of another time, did not want to think, could not think for the pain. Thinking hurt, breathing hurt, being awake and staring at the ceiling all fuzzy-brained hurt. Deciding that turning into a puddle of ooze and melting away would also hurt, he determined to get to his feet... couldn't hurt any worse, could it? Well, that was the plan anyway.
He sat up slowly, put one foot on the floor, the other, began to stand, and once more discovered the ceiling was a fascinating thing to watch. He remained on his back an indeterminate amount of time; it could have been a minute, an hour, a day for all he cared before Mrs. Higurashi ventured into the living room to find him sprawled bonelessly on the carpet.
With strength he never would have imagined she possessed, she hauled him back on to the sofa and covered him with an afghan. A moment later, she was buzzing around the kitchen, heating up some soup for him. Once his food was delivered and she made sure he was eating, she zoomed upstairs to check on Sango.
The demon huntress was pulling on a pair of jeans when Mrs. Higurashi entered the room. The older woman considered sending Sango straight back to bed, but thought better of it. If Sango thought she was well enough to move around, it would be a waste of time to argue. Besides, she would need help with the monk. _He_ would be difficult to keep in place for a long period of time (though he had managed well when nursing Sango to health.) It seemed Miroku had been paid for his vigil by catching Sango's illness. Oh well, that was life.
Sango nodded mutely when Mrs. Higurashi suggested she see Miroku and headed downstairs as soon as she had pulled her hair into a loose ponytail. The monk had just finished his breakfast and was fumbling for the remote control when Sango entered the room.
He glanced up at her with bleary eyes and then tried to sit up, the remote forgotten, the thick afghan falling to his waist, revealing his bare chest. Sango's heart jumped. The last time she'd seen him like this was the other day when he'd kissed her... would he do it again?
Miroku grinned and swayed slightly, starting to topple backwards. He grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her forward on top of him as he fell. Sango's heart thudded again when she realized her new position. So close to the pervert... would he try something? He was in a perfect situation to let his hands wander, but they stayed on her arms. His lips were very close, very very close, so close that she could feel his warm breath as he exhaled against her own.
Miroku moved his hands. Sango prepared to clobber him. Instead of grabbing at her ass, Miroku wrapped his arms around her back and hugged her. Sango stiffened in the embrace, but then relaxed as time dragged on and there was no sign of errant hand movement.
Her gaze fixed on his lips again. They were still close, not quite as close as before since Miroku had tilted his head slightly to avoid eating her hair, but very little effort would actually be needed to close the gap between them.
Miroku sighed and rubbed his cheek against hers. "You're very comfortable, y'know."
Sango stiffened automatically. What exactly did he mean by that? He was being perverted, just waiting for the right moment... but the dreamy, almost childlike expression on his face denied that. He looked like he was honestly enjoying just being close to her... without groping. Worry settled in her stomach. He _must_ be sick, really sick.
She lifted a hand to his forehead. "Houshi-sama..."
One of Miroku's hands shot up to grasp her wrist, and he pulled her hand down to his mouth, kissing the back of it. "Miroku, Sango. Just Miroku," he murmured.
"But, Houshi-sama-"
"Hush." Miroku planted a light butterfly kiss on her mouth.
A shock raced up Sango's spine. What was he doing? Why wasn't she stopping him? Miroku placed several more light, barely noticeable kisses all over her face and neck. However, Sango was extremely aware of what he was doing and turned her head in an attempt to get his lips to brush hers again.
Sensing what she wanted, Miroku swallowed a grin and avoided her mouth, kissing all other available skin. He might be ill, but this was a good distraction, very good... especially when Sango became fed up with his avoidance and, grabbing the sides of his face, held his head still long enough to lean down and fix her lips firmly to his. Once captured, Miroku definitely did not want to be free again.
Because of his illness and resulting lack of lung capacity though, he, quite unfortunately, was forced to pull away first. "Sango-"
Sango did not let him finish, attacking his mouth again as soon as he had regained his breath. Miroku wasn't inclined to fight the taija-ya, especially since this was the goal he had striven towards for so long. That is, until he felt a tug on the waistband of his sweatpants. Quickly, he broke their liplock and grabbed her exploring hand.
"Not here," he murmured.
Sango, cheeks a bright pink, looked at him and then towards the open door between the room and the hallway. "I'll go close the door." She started to rise.
Miroku tightened his hold on her, preventing her from moving. "No, I mean, not here. Not in this house, not in this world. Let's wait until we're back home."
Sango bit her lip and stared at an unraveling corner of the afghan. "Why do I want to go back? Why do you? I thought we were enjoying it here."
Miroku sighed. "We are, it's been fun, but it can't last. A nice diversion, a little vacation, but we need to get back. I'm running out of time. We need to kill Naraku."
"What if Kagome and Inuyasha kill him?"
"They might, but it'd be easier for all of us to do it. Besides, I'm not one to sit idly by and wait for something to happen."
Sango was silent for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip, contemplating a response. Finally, she raised her head and met his gaze squarely. "So is this why you've never made a move on me? Always going for those other women. I can see that you don't just sit there and do nothing around them! You at least ask them if they want relations with you. All you do with me is pat my backside and give my breasts a good squeeze once in awhile." She struggled against his hold, managing to free herself enough to roll off the couch on to her feet.
Sango glared down at him. "I would have no problem having sex with you right now! And isn't that basically what you want in the end? So why turn me down? Hell, if you want, I'll bear your child! I'd do anything for you, so why don't you..." She trailed off, her eyes growing wide as a realization struck her. All anger disappeared from her voice. "You don't want me." It was a simple statement, rather emotionless after her previous outburst.
Miroku shook his head. "Sango, no, that's not-"
Sango backed away towards the door. "No, it is. I understand. What I've been told my entire life is true. I'm a demon hunter, and as such, am not very feminine. I thought I'd accepted that, and I thought you had too. I thought you wanted me, even though I'm not giggly and silly like all those other girls. I-I was wrong. I'm going now." She whirled around and hurried out the door, not quite running.
Miroku cursed and jumped up, but his legs got caught in the afghan. He fell to the floor, hitting his head on the coffee table. Nausea returned with the pain, and he was unable to move for a good minute. "Damn," he muttered into the soft carpet, "that went horribly."