Author's note 1: Hello all. Sorry about the wait. My muse up and died on me. I've been doing CPR and managed to get this chapter out of her. We'll have to see if she comes around or not.

Anyway, since there seemed to be a little confusion about their positions (and it will be important later), I'll try and explain a little about how Miroku and Sango are:

Miroku is on his back, flat. One arm is on Sango's rear end (I'm sure there was no confusion about that) and the other is straight out, 90 degrees along the ground, but his elbow is bent completely so that his hand is nearly under his armpit.

Sango is on her stomach on Miroku. She is facing to her left with her right ear on Miroku's chest. Her left hand is under him, palm to the ground. The other arm is up and behind her, like she was frozen while throwing a baseball. Her left leg is rearing back, like she was going to kick a soccer ball (sports analogies were the best I could do) when the vines caught the leg and bent it up and back even more. Her right leg is straight and along the ground.

If there is still confusion, I'm sorry. I tried. Anyway, on with the show.

Discomfort

By Starzki

Chapter Two: In Deep

(grr)

Miroku's mouth dropped open in shock. Then, he grinned in spite of himself. He smiled for the obvious reason: He really had not meant to grab Sango's rear. It must have been habit or some such instinctive reaction. She had no reason to be angry with him, really.

Not that that would stop her.

But he couldn't help a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had helped him into the situation he was in and for the fact that, in their current positions, Sango couldn't see the grin plastered across his face.

He also smiled at himself. In the excitement of the fight, the unconsciousness of the head trauma, and the panic at the awakening, he hadn't even realized that he was holding Sango in such an intimate way. He had needed Sango to point out the position of his hand. He almost, almost regretted that he had woken her up so quickly.

"Houshi-sama," Sango growled at him, voice coated with warning.

"Let me assure you, it was entirely unintentional, Sango," Miroku promised, hoping his word would go further with her than it usually did.

"Well, intentionally, get your hand off of my butt!" she growled back at him through her clenched teeth.

Miroku was sure that he and all other sentient life in the vicinity heard the unspoken vows of death and dismemberment that Sango mentally screamed at him if he did not heed her request.

Miroku stopped smiling.

Although neither of them could see it, the branch that held down Miroku's left hand and arm was nearly six inches in diameter, comparatively thick next to the vines and roots the forest witch preferred. The branch pressed evenly against the back of his hand from his knuckles to his wrist. A broken and pointed offshoot to the branch, shorn nearly even with the rest of the wood, yet not nearly flush enough to suit Miroku (and, in turn, Sango), did its best to impale itself between the bones of his forearm and wrist.

Miroku flexed his fingers and tried to move his hand up and away from the demon hunter's bottom, but was immediately stopped by the offensive, molesting branch. Instead, he tried to press down, hoping for a little give in Sango's body to help him ease his hand out from under the plant life that pinned his hand. He felt his palm mold to the delightful curve under the heavy cloth armor she wore into battle. Unfortunately, the give was not great enough, nor was there enough room between other branches and vines to move his left arm or hand in any direction away from her.

His movements abraded his flesh against the bark and other sharp features of the restraining vegetation. The offshoot boring into the back of his forearm worked its way into a nerve and made the fingertips of his middle and ring finger tingle coldly. There was just no way his hand was going to not be in contact with Sango's derriere.

Despite the monk's most valiant efforts to remove his hand from Sango's bottom, he failed. And from Sango's perspective, he not only failed in not taking his hand off of her, but also managed to succeed in rubbing her butt in an infuriatingly familiar manner.

Sango couldn't remember a time when she had been angrier with Miroku. She felt so vulnerable. It was bad enough that she was trapped and effectively paralyzed by the forest plants, but the fact that her co-hostage had managed to take advantage of her in a way that he knew, he knew, she hated made her nearly sick with rage.

Her first instinct as a fighter was always (and would probably always be) to strike back. People did not respect fighters who did nothing to defend themselves and she would be damned before she lost Miroku's respect.

The fingertips of her left hand scored the tiniest of indentations in the ground as they attempted to curl themselves into a fist. Her right hand clenched tightly around the branch that had winded itself around her wrist and palm as it suspended her arm up and back. It was impossible to move, to hit, to strike back.

Sango's next thought was so childish that she was appalled that she almost went through with it. With her arms and legs useless and still burning with the desire to hurt the monk for his wandering hand, she thought she would try and bite him. She went so far as to open her mouth and try and turn her mouth towards his chest. However, even if the unmoving plants had not prevented her from turning her head enough to bite him, she would have changed her mind. First of all, it was a juvenile reaction, a cheap shot, and she was embarrassed that, even for a second, she considered sinking so low. Second of all, she was slightly afraid that he might like it.

Winning a fight becomes very tricky when one's opponent is a pervert.

Sango's hesitation gave her a moment of clarity within her blinding fury. It wasn't Miroku that was her opponent, truly. It was the forest witch. It was her fault they were in this position. Unfortunately, the forest witch was gone. She had trapped the two in a compromising and uncomfortable situation and fled, leaving them to die of starvation, thirst, or embarrassment.

"Sorry, Sango," Miroku said. He did sound sorry, which only made Sango angrier with him. He was the one who was there and, as irrational as it was, Sango couldn't help but place most of the blame on him for their situation.

He was the one who thought they should split up from Inuyasha and the others for a few days to seek out the witch rumored to have jewel shards. He was the one who had been taken in by the witch's beauty and hesitated to use his oh-so-effective wind tunnel. He was the one who grabbed her to him as the vines overtook her resulting in her body being a foot ahead of her left leg and right arm, twisting her almost painfully. And he was the one with his hand on her rear and probably grinning like a fool and only pretending he was sorry.

"Oh, you'll be sorry, Houshi-sama. Just wait until we get out of here," Sango promised.

Miroku cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. "Speaking of getting out of here: Do you have any ideas?"

Sango considered their positions. "Do you have any movement at all?" she asked.

Miroku struggled a bit. She could feel his straining muscles work beneath her. She tried to move as well, searching for any give, any kind of space to work in some leverage to allow them to free themselves.

They struggled and pulled and pushed against the vegetation and against one another. Finally, in an effort to find more purchase against the ground to push herself up, Sango pressed her left shoulder into Miroku's ribcage as she tried to arch her back to take some pressure off of her left hip. Miroku let out a harsh gasp and Sango could hear his heart rate double beneath her ear.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

Miroku gave a few quick pants, trying to control the pain of the root burrowing into his back. His eyes squeezed shut and he tried to picture pleasant things, soft things. Like pillows or cushions.

Or women's bottoms.

Oh, yes. It was that thought that was successful in calming him down, enabling him to ignore the shooting pains radiating through his lung and the muscles of his back. And they were so much easier to picture with his hand on the nicest rear end he had ever encountered.

"Houshi-sama?" Sango tried again.

"I'm okay, Sango," Miroku replied, glad that Sango was not telepathic. It was taking all of his will power not to squeeze the wonderful flesh in his left hand that had help bring him out of the suffocating pain.

"What happened?"

"I landed on a root. It's digging into my back. I'm okay now."

Sango was horrified. True, she had wanted to hurt him earlier. But to feel the fear in his heart as it thrummed against her cheek had scared her. "I'm so sorry," she responded guiltily.

"I'm fine. Really."

"Okay. But how are we going to get out of here?"

Miroku furrowed his brow in concentration, glad that he was able to make at least some of the muscles in his body do his bidding. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I guess we'll have to wait."

"Wait for what? Only that witch knows where we are. Inuyasha and the others don't know where we are and won't be expecting us for another day, at least."

"I know. Maybe the plants holding us will begin to relax and we'll be released. Maybe Inuyasha and the others will find the witch and she'll tell them about us. Maybe someone will come along to help us."

"That's a lot of 'maybes,' Houshi-sama."

"I know. But what else can we do but wait?"

"I don't know," Sango said, still annoyed. Then she sighed in resignation. "Just be glad I peed right before all this happened."

Miroku chuffed a laugh that vibrated through Sango. She was still too miffed at her position to admit to anyone that it felt kind of nice to feel the monk laugh. And he was being so patient and calm, which, in turn, calmed her. Despite the fact she hated feeling so weak and powerless, so enclosed, she had yet to panicked once. The thought had not even crossed her mind. She was definitely uncomfortable, let there be no confusion, but without Miroku there, even with his tragically placed hand, she would have been beside herself with fright and frustration.

Maybe it was the steady heartbeat underneath her that helped to soothe her. For a few minutes, she completely lost herself in the sounds of Miroku's chest. As much as she could ignore it when she wanted to, the sounds of his heart and breathing were surprisingly loud. The machinations of his respiration and circulation sounded dark and complex. It sounded dry and fluid and wet and brittle all at the same time. Most of all, his pounding heart sounded reliable and rhythmic as she rose and fell with each slow and steady breath. Arm and leg twisting notwithstanding, it was kind of nice.

Not that she would admit it.

Miroku, for his part, would have no problem admitting he didn't mind his position, pain and all. At least to himself. Never out loud. He would definitely prefer dying of starvation, trapped under a pile of branches, than endure any punishment Sango would mete out to him if she ever heard he didn't mind their situation in even the smallest way.

This wasn't the worst predicament he'd been in. The whole in-the-moth-cocoon-with-Inuyasha-turning-into-a-demon-thing had been far more precarious. Sango was warm and soft, keeping the cool evening air from chilling him. And she wasn't snarling and foaming at the mouth. Anymore, anyway. And she smelled much better than Inuyasha. It was kind of nice.

Miroku was smiling softly down at her and thinking of how much worse this could have been when he began to see and feel her start to fidget. First, Sango wrinkled her nose. Then she blew a puff of air upward, blowing her bangs away from her forehead for a moment before they resettled. She wrinkled her nose a few more times before she fell still and tried to force herself to relax.

After a few seconds, she clenched her teeth and started working her shoulders, trying to squeeze a few more millimeters of movement out of her position without success. Then, Miroku could feel various muscles clench and relax as she struggled with her own body. Sango's right heel kicked at Miroku's left foot a few times.

"Something wrong Sango?" Miroku asked the squirming woman.

Sango grunted and whined almost piteously. Miroku was surprised and a little concerned. "I think I have a problem, Houshi-sama," she finally answered.

"What's the matter?"

"My nose itches."

TO BE CONTINUED

A/N 2: Again, sorry about the wait. I seem to have discovered a social life and it's cutting into my fantasy life. My writing is definitely suffering. To those who reviewed:

Blood Red Raven, IgnorantWisdom, AddictedtoInuyashafics, Ray, animeluvur, YuniX-2, silverjazz, and Sangonesan: Thanks so much for your nice reviews. They make me try to at least try and finish this fic.

Iggy04: You know, I don't know how anyone can write MirSan without fluff. They are fluff. It's unavoidable. This just won't be PoF's "Landslide." Damn it. :(

Aamalie: First of all, thanks for letting me know you liked this. Second of all, about boys (and I say this with a huge crush on a guy I play soccer with): They suck. Always have, always will. And it's nothing but a source of endless consternation for me that I'm so attracted to them. The only advice I have is 1) Know yourself. 2) Trust yourself. 3) Just have fun. You've got plenty of years ahead of you to be serious about dating. It really should be just about having fun with another person. At least, that's what I think. But I refuse to get serious about anything outside of work, so what do I know? Lastly, I believe I was promised hot tubs a while ago. I know, hiatus. I'm just saying don't think I've forgotten.

Miroku's wife: I'm glad that you're around! And I'm excited about chapter three of "Tocandote." Let me know when it's up.

Fred the Mutant Pickle: I think that was my favorite character, too. I've decided that he or she will be making another appearance later on.

HMPrune: The biggest pain was figuring how to get them in and out of that situation. So I figured that I would just skip how they got in. And I refused to even start writing this until I knew how to get them out in a way that wasn't completely stupid. My poor brain struggled with that one, let me tell you.

Fantastical Queen: "Prince and the Pauper" is one I haven't read. I've seen the Mickey Mouse movie, though (which probably doesn't count).

Scribe Figaro: (blush). The fact that I know you're reading this has made me try so much harder to write it well. You're very good at motivating me.