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A/N: A weird fiction. I blame it on too much holiday sugar. Posted purely on a lark. Review when you're done. Flames don't bug me.
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It wasn't allowed.
Forbidden. Prohibited. Wrong.
They were wrong. They didn't belong together. But together, they were right. So very right...
But to the world, they were a scandal.
She traced patterns on his chest, fingertips dancing over his pectorals to his shoulders and across his biceps. He let her, violet eyes watching in lazy content as bare skin moved across bare skin. She sighed faintly, her idle movements stopping as she embraced the man she adored in so many, many different ways.
There was a right love. A wrong love.
They mixed. The combined, twisting and melding into something she couldn't decipher. Neither of them could figure it out. They could only give in to what they felt. It didn't matter what was right, what was socially accepted, what had been a sacred law for so very, very long. They had already broken that law, and it wasn't the first time that they had tossed it and all of its values to the wind, letting it be carried away by the same gale that tore at their hearts.
"Miroku," she murmured, raising her head so that her brown eyes could meet his in a way that not one nor the other could allow their gaze to stray. He was silent for a time, letting himself take in the way her dark hair was mussed and tangled, the way her cheeks were still flushed, and her lips were bruised from his many kisses. He reached up a hand to caress her cheek slowly, rejoicing in the feel of her ever-warm skin.
"What is it, Sango?"
Her voice was low when she answered, and a hint of desperation tainted the softness of the whisper that fell from her lips. "What if someone heard? What if someone finds out? What'll happen?"
She let him draw her nearer to him then, relishing their closeness. Could any other couple enjoy the same trust they felt? The same unwavering joy and unconditional love they shared? No, of course not. Theirs was a love condemned, but such raw emotion it allowed, such honesty.
"Too much."
"You're being vague," she chided, breathing in his scent. She'd grown up with it, smelt its changes... But now was the way she liked it best.
It was so wrong, but it was so right...
"I know. I think that I'm that way on purpose."
"What if Kohaku finds out?"
Miroku almost flinched at the words, and she felt the tensing of his muscles against her palms, only for them to relax a moment later. "He won't. There's no way. We're too careful, love. No one will ever know, unless we tell them."
"But we can't... Because then-"
He shushed her with a soft kiss that became something more, until both were gasping from its effects when it ended. "Don't be so pessimistic. It's our secret, Sango. No one but us know, and no one but us will ever have to know."
A secret.
That's what they were. That's what they were destined to be.
Because they were wrong.
But, oh! They were right. So very, very right...
Deep down though, Sango knew the truth.
It was a scandal- one of the worse kinds of scandals that there ever were.
She didn't care.
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The house was empty, and it was only her. Miroku was usually there to be with her when there was time to spare, and no one else would be around for a long while. Sango didn't mind. Time to herself was a nice thing on occasion. It gave her time... Time to remember when things weren't so complicated, when the answers were simple, when the line between what was right and what was wrong wasn't blurred by a gray haze.
She went down the stairs step by deliberate step, her hand sliding against the cool maple railing. Crossing the hall, the walls adorned with photographs, with so many pictures of that simpler time, she pushed open the door to her father's office. Slipping into the false-leather desk chair, she pulled open one of the many drawers of the old desk, pulling out the sole binder that lay within.
Sango needed to look through it every once in a while, just to remind herself of what really was real. It wasn't that she didn't already know... She did, and it made her heart ache with the pure unfairness.
Why him?
Why not someone else?
Why not the boy that used to sit in front of her in her algebra class?
Why not the man who reported on the weather every morning on the news?
Even, why not Kagome? She had known her for just as long.
Why Miroku?
She came across the pages she had been anticipating, where copies of the family's birth certificates were kept. She breathed a deep sigh, drawing her finger across the names printed across each plastic-bound sheet of paper. There her father's, and Kohaku's, and her's, and-
"Oh, there you are."
Sango turned in the chair to see Miroku leaning against the doorframe, eyeing her warmly with that trademark grin she'd known for so long dancing on his mouth. Closing the binder and putting it in its place, she rose and went to place a kiss on that mouth, which was hotly accepted and returned.
"Miroku..." she breathed, her fingers twisting into his shirt as she tried to keep herself upright. "Where are the others...?"
His lips caught her own again, and the stirrings of arousal raced through her as his tongue found its way to hers. Her arms twined around his neck and Miroku's hand dipped to feel the curve of her hips. When they parted, he nudged his way to her ear, breathing his answer against it. "Gone. Kohaku has a game, remember?"
"Yes. And father always works late on Wednesdays."
She could feel him smile against her hair. "That means we're alone. You know what that means?"
Of course she knew. She always knew. That was the way it had always been, ever since this deadly game had begun.
A flash of guilt wormed its way through her, but it was quickly extinguished when he kissed her again, and she wound herself around him like a vine so that he could carry her haphazardly back up the stairs, never releasing her.
God, she loved him.
She loved Miroku.
They were so right for each other.
But it was so wrong.
He was her brother.
But then... What was wrong, anyway? She didn't know anymore. It wasn't black and white.
It was gray.
It was their secret.
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End
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