14. Miroku & Sango
Miroku was sitting beside a small table with his brush and ink, slips of paper stacked on his left. He looked from the sutra he finished writing and saw his lovely wife enter the house. She had a basket of vegetables. His war goddess was looking like a havest goddess, but he knew better than to be fooled by her appearance - she was a fierce warrior and there were only a few better at fighting. He was pretty sure she could use all things on her to her advantage in a fight.
They exchanged a few words beforre Sango went to prepare lunch. Miroku was supposed to work on a new sutra. But the sight of her nimble fingers and muscular limbs moving so deftly, so surely in a pattern of the dance some not enlightened could name 'making food' caught his attention. His eyes were following every sway of her high ponytail, all the noises she was creating while stirring the rice and cutting pieces of meat and vegetables. In Miroku's opinion his wife was the most charming, the most enticing thing to observe and admire.
A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips when he reached for a slip of paper and dipped his brush in the ink. His master would probably be proud of him - after whacking him on his head for using the paper for sutras to practice his drawing skills.
Inuyasha was sitting with his back against the wall, watching Sango clean after the lunch. Miroku was outside, bringing water. Sango sighed and started gathering Miroku's writing supplies.
"Be careful, Inuyasha, his sutras are laying around," she warned when she saw that sone of the papers were put away from the rest, near the edge of the table where the hanyou was sitting.
"Don't sweat it, they're not charged, they can't har me, see?" Inuyasha picked the one on top of the small pile and looked at it. Sango breathed out in relief when she saw he was not purified, but his reaction to the sutra was puzzling - his ears perked forward, then fell back, his eyes widened in terror, his face turned bright red, pale, then red again. The sutra fell from his suddenly limp fingers. He backed away from the stack of sutras as if they were charged with some strong reiki. Curious and confused Sango approached the slips of peper, ignoring the rest of Miroku's mess on the table. She bent down and picked the paper Inuyasha had dropped.
Her eyes widened when she looked at the smooth lines, created by gentle, yet sure, strokes of a brush. With only a black ink the painter managed to draw a beautiful drawing, all details visible - her eyes, her parted lips, her hair falling over one shoulder. The picture was depicting a young woman - her - stirring something in a pot. It would be a lovely scene, if only the woman was dressed - which she wasn't. The woman in the picture was bare and the drawer had not left anything to the imagination.
While Sango stiffly reached for the next slip of paper in the stack the hanyou was slowly inching towards the door. When he saw her shoulders tense even more and the blush deepen on the back of her neck the courageous inu youkai turned on his heels and bolted outside. After running just a few paces he met Miroku. He stopped just for a moment to warn his pack brother.
"We found your dravings, lech," Inuyasha said, blushing fiercely.
"We?" Miroku frowned, first confused, then the realization - and horror - dawned on his face. Inuysha didn't stay long enough to witness his friend's face turn pale, he was already crossing the treeline of his forest, intent on not returning to the village this week. Still, his sensitive ears picked a loud scream.
"Nononono! Mylovedon'tberash...!"