Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. All song lyrics used are borrowed from Dashboard Confessional.
(10/11/04)
A/N: There's more . . . questionable activity in this chapter, just a warning.
Response paragraph of fun:
Fireblade K'Chona - The entire plot is already cliche! The least I could do was make the reason for the plot not cliche, whatever that means. FlamingRedFox - You don't know how much flack I take (from myself) for making everyone OOC, so that really means a lot to me. Lady Sango 7 - I hope none of this chapter corrupted you. :) ScoRPion Blade - I don't know if I'm deserving of all that . . . but thanks so much for reviewing! Demon Exterminator Barbie - It's all in the name of drama, my dear. Lily Thorne - When do I ever write fluff? I honestly don't know how to. ohJoy - One and a half chapters okay with you? Come on, at least let him get something. Ennariel, chocolatechipp, Kitty Pryde2, lodz, Sango0808, KaguratheWind, YoukaiTajaiyaSango, TK, Starzski - Thanks for reading, yes, I am evil, and thanks for putting up with the weather conditions. Windsprite - Thanks for you-know-what.
Katrina5 is super cool. She fixes my Livejournal, shares her music, is a fountain of information, shows me all her pretty icons and is letting me send her a Christmas card. She has no car so let's all hope she gets one soon. And sometimes, very rarely, she'll write for me. :) She also convinced me not to update this story on the 24th of every month. Since she spoils me on occasion, I wrote a story for her. Because she's just cool.
People! We should all love Kuranosuke!
--
-
He always said the same thing. They would be lying there, listening to one another breathe, and he would always say it.
"I love you, Kirisame Sango."
As he said this he had the propensity of touching her in simple, affectionate ways. Right now his fingertips ran down the skin of her shoulder and length of her arm, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.
She smiled gently, moving forward to press closer against his front. He was propped on his right elbow, his left hand now tracing intricate patterns along the small of her back.
"Tickles," she murmured into his shoulder. He applied an even more feather-light touch, and she was inclined to giggle.
The arm wound around her body and she found herself half laying on him as he rolled onto his back. She tapped her own fingers down his chest and torso and back up again, flattening her palm to his heart, her body rising with his even breaths.
This is beautiful. This is heaven.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, trailing her hand up his arm and entwining their hands.
"Many things," he admitted, as she pulled their clasped hands towards her mouth and she pressed her lips to every one of his fingers. "A lot of them are about you."
"Oh really?" she commented, rubbing her nose against his chin. "Care to share?"
"Well . . ." he said thoughtfully, craning his neck to kiss the top of her head. "Like the fact that I think my eyes might permanently cross one day because of you."
"No they won't," she assured him, laying her hands across his chest and propping her chin atop of them. "I won't let them."
"And . . . that I don't want to get up right now because I wouldn't mind staying like this all day."
"I think you would," Sango said teasingly, fitting her arms around his neck as best she could. "We'd start to stick together."
"And that you're beautiful."
The soft light of the sun through the curtains lit her face, giving it a light peachy glow as she blushed. He loved her.
Her hands trailed up the line of his neck and her palm pressed against his cheek, her fingertips pushing into his hair.
He reached down to grip her by the waist and he pulled her a little higher and closer to him, his expression suddenly serious.
"Sango, I love you. You know that right?"
She held the sides of his face, bewildered. "You only say it so many times."
He gave her an assuring look. "Then you would tell me if anything was wrong, right? Or if you were unhappy?"
She squirmed slightly and something flashed in her eyes before she moved her face to his to kiss him. "Yes, I would."
"Good," he answered, relaxing a bit. He smiled in content, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of her, lavender and magnolia, and an undertone of him.
"You would too, right?"
"Of course," he assured her, not having to think about his answer.
A happy sigh rose from her as he absently ran his fingers through her hair, freeing it from tangles and spreading it over their bodies. It was long enough that he could feel it fall across his torso in deep brown waves, highlighted by the glare of the sun, tickling his skin.
"What day is it today?"
"Saturday."
"Kohaku - "
"Went out with a friend," she interrupted with a smile. "I heard him leave."
He rolled over so he was atop her, supporting himself with his arm. She began to flush and for some reason, she couldn't stop smiling, even when his hand trailed down south to caress her bottom.
She stopped him as his lips began to descend upon hers, and he regarded her curiously.
"Just remember that we have to clean up better this time."
"Oh yeah," Miroku said demurely as he scratched his head. "That wasn't my fault."
She pinched his nose. "You were the one that oh-so-casually said, 'so that's where it went,' when Kohaku pulled out my bra from between the cushions on the couch."
"But that is where it went. Plus, you were getting on my case for losing it."
"That was your fault too," she clarified. "That better not happen again. I'd like Kohaku to grow up properly, mind you."
"Too late," Miroku said with a grin. "He found my collection of dirty magazines last week."
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And?"
"He didn't want them, oddly enough, even when I offered," he answered, stretching his arms. "Now let's just hope he doesn't get his hands on that videotape. Any last shred of innocence he ever held about his older sister would be gone forever."
"Shush," she pouted. "I am innocent."
It was his turn to raise his eyebrows at her. "I can give much evidence to the contrary."
-
--
Any Given Someday
Chapter 7
Inhibition
--
-
"Kohaku, are you ready?" She knocked softly at his door. "Takeda-san is here."
"No," came his muffled voice. "You can leave, I have a friend who's driving me."
"Who?" she asked, suspicious of the sudden change of plans. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I just didn't," he said through the door. "Go already, you'll be late."
Sighing, she fisted her hand around her collar, her fingers pressing against the base of her neck as though something should have been there. She glanced once more at his door before descending down the stairs.
--
The streets were wet as they drove, and he was delivering an anecdote about something interesting that had happened at a meeting the other day. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't that interesting yet.
As he pulled up in front of her building, she was about to open the door to escape but he'd already run around to the other side and was holding out his hand to help her. 'I'm not helpless,' she wanted to complain.
"Thank you very much," she said with a stutter, which he interpreted as shy and polite surprise
He never let go of her hand as they walked, still chatting animatedly to her as they walked.
No. Oh please no.
She ducked her head down and attempted to cover her face as he moved to hold the doors open in an attempt to be a 'true gentleman.'
It washed over her like the flash of lighting from yesterday. He was looking. He was staring.
Kuranosuke paused dramatically to deliver the long-awaited, supposedly fabulous punch line of his story when he was promptly interrupted.
"Identification please, Miss."
Sango stopped walking and her companion stopped as well, confused. She winced as his head whipped around to focus on the perpetrator.
"You," he said coldly, glaring at Miroku from where he stood.
"Good morning," the guard said in just as steely a tone. "What brings you here today?"
"Accompanying my girlfriend to work," he said smugly, gripping her hand a little tighter than needed and pulling her next to him. Sango looked down at the marble, greeted by a blurry reflection of herself.
"Girlfriend? Well, congratulations."
Kuranosuke preened and his chest swelled with pride.
"I'll have you know you don't deserve her," Miroku finished stiffly, leaning back in his chair and staring at the two intently.
Sango looked between them in worry as Kuranosuke's forehead twitched and he squeezed her hand harder.
"I will not be spoken to by someone below me. My status warrants respect," he said in a hard voice. "And if anything, you're the one who didn't deserve her. I'm the one here to pick up the pieces and clean up your mess."
He sent a final glare towards the other man before pulling Sango towards him and forcefully kissing her. His arms were constricting around her, and her eyes were wide. He pulled away and she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Have a wonderful day at work, Sango-san," he said, touching her cheek briefly.
She stared at the ground a moment longer before raising her sleeve to her lips, the lipstick she'd put on that morning smearing across the white fabric. She swore silently. She didn't wear lipstick. She'd put it on for him.
That burning feeling again. It hurt. It was hot like vodka trickling down her throat, and heating her entire body with shame.
Shame. She was so ashamed that he had been forced to sit there, to watch, as another man, one that she had assured him countless times that she cared nothing for, grabbed her and kissed her, while she had done nothing. She had complied.
And at the moment, Sango didn't know what to do. The despair, the confusion wore her thin, pouring over her in powerful waves that were capable of knocking her over. She just hurt, andit was so hard to breathe.
Why did it hurt if it was over? Every kiss, every one sided kiss filled her with all that she missed about Miroku. She could close her eyes and taste him lingering on her lips. She was aching for him, starving, yet pushing him so far away. Was she scared?
God, she could have sworn she was going insane. She never knew how she felt, except that it was true, she still loved him.The path she took alone was winding, and she was lost.
If she could feel it in her that she'd hurt him, did that mean she was letting herself believe that he still loved her?
He had prided her on always having some sense of control. His Sango, she was not someone you could have your way with any day.
Yet right in front of him, she had contradicted all that, acting not as the woman he knew, but a little girl who was told how to feel, how to look, how to love. And he was probably laughing at her, ashamed at himself for having been with her, this girl who was merely a marionette of affection.
That little girl called out to him, she was begging him. Take me back.
Just as it always was, she couldn't look at his face, especially not now. She didn't know if she could ever again. The ID card slid across the table, slightly grey and bearing a picture of her smiling sleepily. ID pictures always turned out bad.
"I hope you're happy, Kirisame-san."
The card sat upon the table, contrasting sharply with the dark surface.
"I - "
Say it. Tell him everything's wonderful.
She could not.
--
This was unbelievable. For some reason - some inane reason - she couldn't refuse him.
"I need you to come to my car with me."
She looked up in slight worry as his sharp command halted her steps, her pulse involuntarily quickening.
"Why?" she said quietly.
"I have some things to return to you."
She didn't know why, or what compelled her to do it, but she followed him outside, the harsh wind blowing the rain hard towards her, stinging as the drops collided with the sensitive skin on her face.
His form was sharply illuminated in front of her as lighting flashed suddenly, and he held out an arm to stop her as he reached into his pocket.
The precipitation showed no mercy, hammering down on their heads and soaking them. Her hair was tangled and clung to her skin, heavy with liquid.
"So," he said loudly, so that he could be heard over the rain. "Takeda Kuranosuke treating you well?"
"That's none of your business," Sango said after a pause. Really, she wanted to lie and say no, no he wasn't, but she didn't want to give him any more satisfaction that he probably already had.
He turned around from where he had been rummaging for something in the back seat.
"I guess there really was something you liked about him," he said casually as his turned his back to her once again. "At least I'm not holding you two back anymore. After all . . . you don't seem to mind his attentions."
God, how she wanted to hold him up against his vehicle and choke him. How bitter was he?
"I do," she said quietly, her voice muted beneath the backdrop of falling rain. "I mind because . . . because . . ."
He's not you.
"Did you hear me Sango?" he asked as he turned around to face her again, clutching something in his hands.
She shook her head from her stupor, blinking the rain - yes, it was the rain - from running into her eyes.
He was saying something, she could see his lips moving, but the water was so loud on the car, on the ground that she leaned closer to hear him. She wanted to hear him.
"I can't hear you," she mouthed, gripping the sleeves of her sweater around her because she was shivering so violently.
"I want you to be happy," he said into her ear, his chin grazing her shoulder and his breath tickling her neck.
"I'm not." Her lips barely moved as she said the two words, but he seemed to understand. Please understand.
"I wanted to give you this back."
He extended his forefinger and a thin chain fell from it, almost invisible in the blur of water falling above them. She stared at it, her palm reaching out to let the weighted end rest on the upside of her hand.
A little pool of water collected around the thin silver ring in the center of her palm, hanging from the end of the necklace.
Wordlessly, she let the ring dangle again, and turned around, lifting her hair. She knew he was struck with confusion. But so was she.
In my head, do I feel what I'm not supposed to feel?
The chain was cool against her skin, and his hands were wet as they brushed the back of her neck to clasp the ends. He let go, and the necklace fell loose, the ring hanging just below her collarbone. But he never let go of her shoulders.
She dropped her hair and it hung limply in dripping tendrils, keeping her body still even as it begged her to shiver, and clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from shattering.
How did it come to this?
His hands, they were on her shoulders, trailing along her neck and back down her arms, squeezing every so often.
Her breath caught in her throat as they returned to her back, tracing her sides and feeling the contours of her spine as best they could through her clothing.
"Please . . . stop," she breathed, her body starting to react strongly under his touch. "This is - "
"Sango," his voice echoed into her ear once again, and she gasped at the warmth. "Say it. Tell me this is over. I want to hear it from you."
She angled her head into his hand as it raked through her hair, exposing the line of her neck that he couldn't help but kiss.
"I can't say it," she whimpered. "But - " she sucked in a breath. "I'm with Takeda now."
Her skin was simply cold and wet as he let go of her, leaving her shivering and weak-kneed.
"Do you want to be with him?"
Her shoulders slumped, her fingers twisted around the chain hanging from her neck.
It was like slow motion as lightning flashed above them, the grey sky a pallid and muddled backdrop against a torrent of rain.
"I was always ready to come back, Sango. Are you?"
She almost slipped as she spun on her heels, water splashing below her and all over them, and she fell into his arms, breathing in sharply as they instinctively tightened around her.
"Miroku," she sighed into the front of his wet shirt. "Miroku."
His fingers ran through the thick mass of wet hair on her head and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. Heavy drops of water fell upon her face, and she somewhere in the back of her head her mind registered the slow circles his thumb traced on her cheekbone.
That feeling. He was looking right at her. His other hand pushed her bangs back and his mouth pressed against her forehead in a chaste kiss.
She opened her eyes.
He pulled back from her, and in the reflection of his gaze, she could see herself. A flushed, shivering young woman with tangled, darkened hair. Her expression was naked, raw, and vulnerable, everything she had come to be; reflected so clearly back at her.
"I'm not . . . I'm not -" She gasped again as a lone finger passed over her lips.
"Yes?" he prompted, trailing his hand down her throat to feel the cold metal of the ring situated there.
She stopped him, placing her hands atop his and gripping them tightly. They squeezed hers back.
She could feel hot tears mix with cold rain as both poured down her face. Bringing his hands to her mouth, she pressed her lips to the jut of his knuckles.
"I'm not happy," she whispered into their clasped hands, her breath warming them briefly.
"Why is that, Sango? Living in the past?"
"Why do you say that, Miroku? You - you try and get me to say that I want it to be over between us, to convince me we need to try again, and now that we're together like this, you tell me I need to move on," she burst in frustration, her rough, bitten fingernails digging into the back of his hands.
"I don't want to be the one that prevents you from being happy Sango. That's all I ever wanted for you."
"I can't be - I can't be happy Miroku. I can't just . . ."
She dropped his hands and reached up to hesitantly touch the side of his face.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice deep and cracking. " If it's about him - "
"It's not about him," Sango interrupted, now purely incapable of stopping herself. "It's about you."
She had succeeded in drawing his face down lower until their breaths mingled and she could see the raindrops dripping from his chin.
"Sango . . . I - "
I'm taking what I can get.
His lips were bruising, and water flowed all around them, nature echoing their relentlessness and frustration. She fought him, to dominate, to be in control, to lead. Angling her head sharply, she caught his tongue in her mouth and pressed her own against it, winding her arms tightly around his neck.
"He's - he doesn't make me feel - " she heard herself moan against him.
She felt her body suddenly jerked around so quickly that she stumbled, but his free arm was there to catch her and lower their heads beneath the roof of his car. The collision of the rain upon them ceased, and instead the drumming of the water against the metal surrounded them.
Her mouth opened again as she sucked in a breath, his hand that had supported her waist now travelling the length of her leg. He used the opportunity to once again steal her breath with his kisses, trailing them along her jaw line as she arched when his touch threatened to bring her skirt above her hips.
He pulled away again, his fingers brushing at the bluntly cut bangs clinging to her cheek, her eyes glazed as she pulled at the front of his shirt, made nearly sheer by the water that marred it. She was impatient, and her fingers fumbled.
"God, Miroku," she muttered, hoping she didn't sound as desperate as she felt. "I can't take this anymore."
The buttons on her own shirt hadn't yet been properly fixed, and promptly gave with nothing but a sharp tug from him. She could feel the coolness of water droplets tracing paths down her chest as they fell from his hair, and he followed them down with his mouth.
"Sango," he breathed between kisses, "Sango." All he said was her name.
Everything around her blurred, and she couldn't think straight. She didn't care that she was in a parking lot, splayed across the backseat of Miroku's car as he ravished her, their clothes messily pulled open as best as they could manage whilst blinded by passion and something else, lust perhaps, their bodies damp and their hair dripping wet.
The dull pounding of rain falling around them lessened her grip of what surrounded her, and all she knew was him, touching her face, her hair, her body; him, subjected to her frustrations and anger. Him, the man that had been her world.
He still was.
And she ached. She hungered, starved for this. He had been the aggressor for far too long, and she was tired of being talked about, worried about. Right now, she didn't want a reason for anything she was doing.
She was the dominator, she was not a coward that let other men force themselves on her to quell their self-satisfaction. Miroku wanted her, she wanted him, here and now, and she would take him, until she had had her fill and was left to face the aftermath of her actions.
But that was after.
Roughly, she pulled his face up to hers and crushed their mouths together harshly, biting his bottom lip and trailing her tongue across it. She was so filled with need, a need that only intensified as she swung a leg around his waist, pressing him against her harder.
She couldn't remember the last time it had been like this. The last time she was incapable of control, her emotions dictating her movements; her actions, almost feral in nature.
It was so cold outside, and together, they were radiating heat, and she wanted to relieve that heat, because if she didn't, she feared she may explode.
His lips raised from where they had been lingering on her chest, and she gave him a desperate look, her eyes no longer calm. She was panting and she shifted impatiently, urging him to continue.
"Shit. Sango, I'm sorry."
"Shut up Miroku," she responded, trying to claim his mouth so that he would do so.
"Can't you hear that? Someone's coming. Do you really want someone to see us like this?" He sounded so strained.
Biting her bottom lip, she shook her head slowly. He slid away from her, and from her limited view she saw him turn around and lean heavily on the roof. She heard muffled swearing.
She leaned her head back, staring at the slate interior of his car and inhaling deeply. After had had to come so fast.
What have I done?
There was low rumble above her and bright lights flashed through the windows. A car door slammed, and a pair of footsteps splashing through puddles were prominent.
"Where is she?" the angry voice of none other than Takeda Kuranosuke demanded.
In a panic, Sango pulled her skirt back down to cover herself, and struggled to find a way to hold her torn shirt together.
A muffled sound of protest, and Takeda's concerned face appeared in her line of sight.
"Sango-san? What are you doing? Did he hurt you?"
She raised her hand to her mouth, automatically beginning to nibble on her nails, and shaking her head vigorously.
He ducked his head back out of the car and he heard him shouting again. "If you did anything to her, you bastard, I'll have you indicted and thrown in prison!"
Miroku said nothing.
Holding her shirt closed, Sango adjusted herself to a proper seated position and argued back, somewhat timidly. "Takeda-kun, please calm down. I wasn't feeling well and I asked Miroku if I could lie down for a minute."
His mouth pursed and he gripped her shoulders, pulling her out of the car into a standing position.
She was careful to keep her arms crossed in front of her as though she were warming herself, and waited anxiously as his eyes lingered on her flushed face and tangled, matted hair, swollen lips and lastly settling on the chain that was wound about her fingers as she tugged on it nervously.
Saying nothing, he slung his arm around her and walked around Miroku to his own car, opening the door and settling Sango inside, which she complied to in silence. She was a puppet once again. He closed the door, turning back to Miroku.
"Stay away from her," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
Her skin still burned and her entire body shook, and she would give anything to be anywhere else.
--
-
So turn up the corners of your lips
Part them and feel my finger tips
Trace the moment, fall forever