Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this bit of mischief… especially for the stubborn one. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

A Debt of Gratitude: With abundant thanks to Fenikkusuken, who lauds the use of restraint[s].

This drabble was originally posted to Live Journal on June 15, 2009.

Trussed Issues

"What in the world?" Sango quietly exclaimed. Her shift was over, and she was anxious to duck out before Miroku finished up, but her apron was causing trouble. Twisting around, she tried to catch a glimpse of the stubborn knot as she gave it another tug. "Oh, come on," she grumbled. "I need to get out of here before Mr. Touchy Feely shows up."

With midterms fast approaching and a paper due by the end of the week, she planned to hit the library before it closed, but Miroku was sure to try every delay tactic in his repertoire to prevent her escape. He justified his most recent 'platonic' advances by espousing the belief that coworkers should be friends, and friends stuck together. While he hadn't yet achieved stalker status, Miroku tagged along whenever the opportunity arose. She was sure this new ploy was just a means to her end, so she still avoided him as much as possible. For someone who seems so easy-going, he sure is stubborn. With my luck, he likes a challenge. Gah! What is wrong with this thing?

The simple knot wouldn't budge, and while she was sure Sesshoumaru and Inuyasha wouldn't mind the free advertising, she wasn't too keen on wearing the apron to the library. With a growl of disgust, she tried to wriggle out of its confines and somehow managed to trap an arm halfway under one of the straps. Reversing the process proved impossible, for the apron seemed to have developed a mind of its own. "Where are the scissors?" she muttered darkly.

She'd been waging a full-scale war with the thrice-damned uniform for nearly five minutes when Miroku walked through the door, and she knew she must look ridiculous with her arms bent at odd angles. Her shirt had become untucked, and with all her squirming, it had ridden up enough to expose her lower back; she whirled around to keep the bare skin out of sight. Face flushed, hair mussed, and eyes sparking with anger, Sango glared at Miroku, silently daring him to tease her for her predicament. His eyebrows lifted, his jaw dropped, and his eyes glazed over… but thankfully, he offered no comment. "It grabbed me," Sango snapped defensively. Miroku shook himself and stepped forward to help, but she shrunk back. "Don't come any closer!"

He blinked in surprise. "I was only going to help you."

"Oh? Are you sure you weren't going to help yourself?"

"Tempting," he promptly admitted, "but hardly sporting. How did you pin both arms?"

"I told you! It grabbed me!" Sango insisted.

"Let me see," he said, moving closer, but she backed away.

"If you try anything, I'll scream."

"Since Inuyasha is the one who sent me to check on you, I'm quite sure he's keeping an ear out, so you don't have to worry about… hmm…" he trailed off, having circled behind his trussed up co-worker. "It really did grab you." The trailing ends of her apron strings had coiled around her wrist, holding her fast.

"It's like the wretched thing is possessed!" she complained.

"I think it would be more accurate to say it's been enchanted," Miroku corrected. A soft chuckle close to her ear betrayed his invasion of her personal space. "I'm afraid you've fallen victim to a kitsune prank. This kind of thing is one of the hazards of working with a trickster."

"Shippo?"

"Hmm," he agreed distractedly. "Why didn't you call for help? Your wrist is almost raw from chafing." Fingertips lightly ghosted over her abused skin, and she shivered involuntarily. "I'm sorry," he immediately apologized.

"It didn't hurt," she quickly assured. "It just tickled."

"Really?" he mused. "That is an interesting tidbit of information. I wonder where else you might be…."

"Don't you dare!"

"Easy, easy," he soothed. "I was merely speculating; I hadn't even realized I said it out loud."

"That doesn't make it any better," she growled.

"My apologies," he returned, though his tone said that he was humoring her. "Now, let's undo this bit of mischief."

"Will it take long?" she asked.

"No," he replied, placing his hand over the small of her back.

The warm pressure surprised her, and she straightened suddenly, cracking Miroku's chin with the top of her head. He grunted in pain, and she turned to frown up at him. "Quite ticklish," he mumbled ruefully as he massaged his tender jaw.

"You touched me!"

"I need to be in contact with the knot to undo Shippo's enchantment," he explained patiently. "Although… touching you is a nice perk; you have very soft skin."

"Maybe we should call Inuyasha."

"Oh, I'm sure he could cut you loose with the flick of a claw, but then you'd have to explain to Sesshoumaru why we needed to order another apron. It would be a shame if he thought you couldn't take care of your uniform."

"What? This is not my fault!"

"I know that, and you know that… but Sesshoumaru chose these aprons himself. I'm sure you've noticed how particular he can be about little things."

Sango grimaced and slowly admitted, "That's true."

"However, if you want to unleash wholesale destruction upon the apron for its brief role in your bondage, who am I to stand in the way of an avenger?"

"Okay, fine! We'll spare the apron. Just... behave for once," she begged wearily.

"If that's what it takes," he sighed, and once again, she felt the gentle pressure of his hand. A few whispered words and a cool, tingling sensation caused her to gasp and arch her back. "That's done it… or undone it… or undone me…" Miroku mumbled as he gently unwound the limp ties and released her. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and gave her some space, actually turning his back to divest himself of his apron and hang it on the rack.

Sango was grateful for the modicum of privacy while she put her clothing to rights. "Does this kind of thing happen often?" she asked.

"No, not often," Miroku assured her. "Shippo likes to lull us into a false sense of security while he plots, so his pranks are infrequent, unpredictable, and often spectacular."

"And Sesshoumaru lets him get away with it?"

"When you're dealing with youkai, you have to make allowances for instincts. A kitsune is a kitsune," he said with an amiable shrug. "Mischief is part of the package."

"You sound like such an expert. Has he pulled lots of pranks on you?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, he's tried a time or two, but I'm wise to his little games," Miroku declared confidently. "This one was kid stuff; he'd need something much more elaborate to fool me."

"Why?"

"I guess you could say I have an eye for this kind of thing."

Sango stared at him, frustrated that he was being vague again. I wonder if he's doing that on purpose, to draw me into a conversation. As the man pulled on his jacket, she reached for her own and casually asked, "What do you mean? How can you tell when Shippo's messed with something—enchanted it?" She looked dubiously at her apron, which hung docilely from its peg. "Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to me."

"Ah… well, I'm afraid I have a slight advantage. My father—my human father—purportedly descended from a long line of powerful monks, so I'm sensitive to youki," he explained. "However, there are a few simple things you can watch out for, if you're interested."

"That would be… nice, but…" With a glance at the clock, Sango said, "I really need to go."

Miroku hid his disappointment very well, but not well enough, and Sango was torn. A large part of her screamed, Run for your life, but there was an insistent whisper reminding her that she had been in a vulnerable position… and he hadn't taken advantage. He's being friendly… so maybe… Reaching for her bag, Sango hesitantly said, "I need to hurry to the library before it closes. If you want to walk with me, maybe you could teach me how to spot a kitsune trap?"

His answering smile was radiant. "It would be my pleasure."

End Note: This oneshot was written for the Live Journal community mirsan(underscore)fics, Prompt #8, Hold. 1,361 words.