Disclaimer: [deep, despairing sigh]

A/N: Oh... my... gosh. You people have made my day. While I was gone, you guys were so supportive of this story with the reviews... [fans self] Corisu is flattered! [loves all] Hope you like the chapter! It has been much-awaited, ne? I also missed my deadline... luckily, I don't operate on deadlines. XD

Chapter 9: Vogue!

As Sango stood on the circular podium, the linoleum cool and smooth under her bare feet, she gazed around at the faces of the students. They were, by now, giving Sango and Miroku their complete attention.

Trying to take her mind off the fact that she was subject to much ogling, Sango focused on the characteristics of the classroom itself. Her initial glance told her why the floor was done in linoleum; the floor was covered with splotches of paint and someone had even drawn a caricature of Myouga that looked somewhat like a plump, overgrown flea.

The students' easels were arranged in a half-circle around the podium, turned to the side so that the students could easily view their workplace and the model at the same time. There were only about fifteen students, and for this, Sango was grateful. Myouga was sitting on a stool at one edge of the half-circle, grinning and balancing a sketchbook on his lap.

Miroku cleared his throat unnecessarily, and a young man with a tuft of white hair in the middle of his head called out, "Just get on with it already!"

Utterly unconcerned, Miroku merely said, "Patience, Ginta. We have a new model with us, and I want her to be comfortable."

Another man nudged Ginta and whispered, "I'd make her comforta- ack!"

Sango could do nothing more than stare in amazement. Miroku had stepped up to the man, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and lifted him to face level. "Be polite, Hakkaku," Miroku said, his voice still cheerful. "I think that this young woman is very kind to model for those such as yourself."

He dropped Hakkaku back into his seat as Sango muffled a laugh. For a moment, it had sounded as though Miroku was going to accuse the other man of being a pervert... Her urge to laugh dissipated suddenly, however, as she contemplated what he had just done. 'After showing so much of his perversion, now he decides to show respect?' She tried to catch his eye and give him a mildly suspicious look, but he didn't glance up while he stepped back to his previous position beside the podium.

"Hello, everyone," he began cheerfully, and a few students groaned at his enthusiasm (not including Hakkaku, who was irritably straightening his clothing). "I'd like you all to meet Tenaka Sango. She'll be modeling for us today."

Almost every eye switched to Sango, who shifted uncomfortably. When were they going to be through with the introductions and move on? After all, the faster this fiasco ended, the sooner she could go home.

"Since she's partially clothed, you won't have as long to sketch. Eight minutes." More groans emanated from the students, and Myouga grinned proudly. Obviously, they were both demanding instructors. "If you finish the sketch before time is up, you can add a little color," Miroku finished.

The students reached for their utensils, and Sango noticed that they seemed to be a very diverse group of artists. Ginta and Hakkaku were prepared to sketch with pencil, a girl three easels away from them was holding what looked like an oil pastel, and the man at the very end of the row was equipped with charcoal.

During this scuffle for writing instruments, Miroku gave Sango a constant encouraging smile. She couldn't help returning a watery smile of her own, while some nagging part of her brain demanded to know why she was grinning like an idiot.

There were a few moments of mental lapse before Sango tore her eyes away and fixed her eyes on a fleck of paint in front of her toes. A cough from Myouga drew Miroku's eyes away from wherever they had wandered after she'd looked away.

"Oh! Before I forget! Come Sango, stand here for me..." He indicated a spot near the front of the podium.

Sango glanced up and blinked. "Huh? Oh..." She obliged, stepping forward so that her toes were very near the edge. She was wringing her hands rather nervously, all the while being irritated at herself for the uncharacteristic emotion. After all, he was just a guy.

"Since you seem rather uncomfortable, Sango, we'll start with something simple. Cross your arms."

She glared at him for the 'uncomfortable' remark, but folded her arms across her chest anyway.

"A little farther down." Before Sango could protest, Miroku reached out and pulled her folded arms downward, so that they were just below her breasts. Speaking of which, as he was drawing back, his hand brushed rather purposefully across her bikini top.

Sango's eyes widened and she flushed, but she couldn't just reach out and slap him. For one, it would alert the others in the room that something had occurred. Also, she was supposed to be posing, and she couldn't very well move when she felt like it.

She settled for glaring a cold promise at the innocent-seeming Miroku, who appeared to be preoccupied with examining her poise. "Step your right foot back a bit, if you would. Put your weight on it."

Sango complied, trying to nail the pose so that Miroku wouldn't have to touch her. Apparently, some subconcious part of her brain wanted such contact, because her foot fell slightly short of her goal. It was mere moments before she felt his hands gently grasp her ankle and ease it backward and into position.

This would have been completely acceptable, if it wasn't for the way he let his hand briefly rub her backside as he pulled back.

This time, Sango let out an 'eep!', and twitched slightly.

Miroku eyed her, then beamed happily. "Lovely. Just try and stay as still as possible, and you'll have a chance to stretch a little before the next pose. All right all! Get started!"

Sixteen various sketching instruments were set to paper (Myouga was drawing as well) as Sango tried her hardest to look neutral. It was an inexplicable effort to remain still while it seemed like every muscle in her body harbored the desire to slap Miroku into the nearest wall.

It was the longest eight minutes of Sango's life. At first, she had been slightly put out at the seemingly simple pose; as the seconds wore on, however, she realized how difficult it was to stay completely motionless. Her right leg began to ache slightly four minutes in, for no reason except that it was tired of bearing all of her weight.

About five minutes in, Sango noticed Miroku walking around the perimeter of the half-circle, seemingly giving pointers to the students in a low voice. She followed him with her eyes for as long as she could. 'After all,' she reasoned with herself, 'he is supposed to be the most dangerous person in the room at the moment.'

Even though the time that she'd spent in that pose seemed to last forever, it seemed like the aspiring artists had just begun to draw when Miroku called out, "Time!"

Sango let her arms drop and sighed, shifting her weight to a more comfortable balance. Without thinking, she pulled her right leg behind her into a stretch. Only after she'd returned her foot to the ground did she realize that her stretch was more characteristic of someone who was comfortable with the whole modeling deal.

Miroku sidled back up to her, a slender paintbrush tucked behind his right ear for some reason. "You're doing great," he said earnestly. "The others are finding you to be quite a challenge."

Sango just gave a distrustful stare. "A challenge? How so?"

"Your features are unlike any other model that we've had before," he replied. "You're so beautiful that they're afraid to incorrectly portray any of your features."

"Really?" Sango replied derisively, slanting her eyes away from him. "Honestly. You probably say that to all of the models."

"Would I do that?" he asked, and Sango found herself doubting that he would. "Now: Next pose! Sit on your feet, please."

Sango complied, sinking to her knees and settling her butt on her heels. Miroku moved forward, and she allowed him to adjust her balance, eventually ending up with her left arm out to the side and her torso leaning to the left. She now sat beside her feet. Miroku made a few minute adjustments, turning her head slightly to the right and spreading the fingers of her left hand by working his own between them.

A few wisps of hair had fallen from Sango's ponytail and into her face; before Miroku called for the students to begin, she used her right hand to brush the strands back.

"Nine minutes. Start now."

This pose was more comfortable than the other at first. With her head turned to the right, she was taking in a completely different group of people. The man who was sketching with charcoal was in her line of vision, and she realized suddenly that his hair was the same shade as Inuyasha's.

'Bizzare,' she thought idly. 'It must be a fad or something... I guess I need to get out more.'

Nine minutes was up around the time that Sango's arm began to protest. This time, to stretch, she bent the arm as if reaching down her back and pressed down on her elbow with the other hand.

While she stretched, she looked around for Miroku. He seemed to have disappeared while her vision of the room was restricted. She made as if to stand up, but a familiar voice from behind her caused her to pause.

"You may as well stay there, Sango. The final pose is similar to the one that you were just in. After that is done, you're free to go. The second half of class is used to touch up the sketches."

Sango twisted back to look at Miroku and nearly fell off the podium. For some reason, he was shirtless, wearing nothing but his black jeans. The paintbrush was still tucked behind his ear, and he looked very smug about something.

Once she was able to speak coherently, Sango cleared her throat and asked, "So... is this a twisted attempt to seduce me, a response to the nonexistent heat of this room, or all of the above?"

Miroku laughed. "Actually, I'll be doing this pose with you."

Sango's hand twitched, as if looking for something to throw at him. "You didn't mention this before..." she managed.

"Oh, really?" He stepped onto the podium; there was more than enough space for him to stand comfortably. "It must have slipped my mind..."

Rubbing her temples, Sango decided to forego causing a scene in front of the others. "Fine. Whatever. What do I have to do?"

Miroku plopped onto the floor and crossed his legs. "Sit on my lap."

Forget not causing a scene.

"WHAT?!"

"Sango, Sango... It won't be that bad at all. After all, what's the worst that I can do?" At the young woman's piercing glare, he decided to try another tactic. "Do you really want to deprive this class of the opportunity to learn? The third pose always involves two people, you know."

Sango closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and released it in an exasperated sigh. "Fine. But if your hands begin to wander..." she let the threat hang, then resignedly made her way over to him and settled herself in his lap.

So far, she was managing to supress the blush just beneath the surface of her skin. Miroku gave her a few directions, telling her to shift a bit until she was sitting on his right thigh, her legs stretched across his lap.

"Great. Now, lay your head on my shoulder-"

"Nakano, you're pushing it," she snapped automatically, but she did it anyway, aware that the longer she delayed, the longer she'd be stuck there.

Sango had quite effectively landed herself in the last position she had expected to be in that day: cradled against Miroku's chest and blushing like mad. 'Oh, well... at least it's a nice chest. Gah, what am I thinking?!'

A tugging sensation from the top of her head jerked her out of her thoughts and her upper body was promptly deluged in her newly released hair. Sango scowled slightly, but didn't say a word, inwardly trying to figure out why everyone seemed determined to destroy her ponytails.

"Myouga, keep time for me, would you?" Miroku called. From where she was sitting, Sango had a prime view of Miroku's nicely chiseled body. To keep herself from further embarassing herself, she shut her eyes resolutely.

"How long?" came Myouga's reply from somewhere to the right.

"Twenty-five minutes should be sufficient," Miroku replied thoughtfully.

Sango heard all of this, but she was slightly detatched. 'Hmm... he's warm... Twenty-five minutes, huh? Well, it isn't that-' Her eyes popped open. "Excuse me? How long?"

"Well, Sango, you must understand that this pose is a lot more complicated than the previous ones. Don't worry; I'll keep you entertained."

"I'll bet," Sango murmured irritably as Myouga called out, "Begin!"

===

This chapter didn't want to be written. It was actually supposed to be longer than this, and stretch to the pose itself, but Milfoy (the muse) skipped out on me. I simply must find him... [begins to apologize] Foregoing RR's and the Special this time, too. I'm not going to give you guys the long list of excuses, but I will sum up in three words: volleyball, school, fatigue.

[falls asleep at desk]