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Silly Little Love Songs	By : Sentinel28A Category: InuYasha > General Views: 1114 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
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AUTHOR’S NOTES: Sorry it’s been awhile since an update. Real life slapped me upside the head, and I just
haven’t had the time. But here you go, a little Miroku/Sango goodness...well, sort of. I really like writing about
these two.
   Thanks for the reviews, all. Don’t know about an Inuyasha/Kagura fic, but we’ll see, won’t we?
   Oh, and the inspiration for this fic comes from a superb fanart by Mikaila and a song by Tone Loc. What was the
name of the fanart and the song? Well, that would be telling...
   I don’t own Inuyasha, of course, or Tone Loc. Hell, I barely own myself.
SCROLL THREE: BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR...
   Myoga hopped towards Kaede’s village. He sensed that Inuyasha might need his help or advice, and since things
seemed relatively quiet, Myoga felt it was safe to venture out from hiding. Most people thought the flea to be a
coward, from the Inu-taisho to Naraku, but Myoga regarded himself as simply being pragmatic. After all, he was a
flea, and a good sized saimyosho wasp could devour him. Leave the fighting to those most capable, and he would
supervise from the shadows–safely.
    On the way to the village, however, Myoga spotted a figure sitting at the base of the Goshinboku great tree. At
first he thought it was Inuyasha, but on closer inspection he saw that it wore the purple and black robes of a monk.
In no particular great hurry to find Inuyasha, who would undoubtedly splat him at the first opportunity, Myoga
changed course and hopped onto the shoulder of Miroku.
    The monk looked terribly depressed. He slumped against the tree, staff held loosely in his hands, a huge red welt
on his cheek. Myoga’s heart, or what passed for it, went out to Miroku. “What’s wrong, young feller?”
   Miroku glanced at the flea. “Oh, Lord Myoga.” He put an artificial smile on his face. “It’s nothing.”
   Myoga folded both pairs of arms. “Now, now, Miroku-san. You can’t fool an elder youkai like myself.
Something’s wrong. Is it Lord Inuyasha?” Miroku shook his head. “Lady Kagome?” Another shake of the head.
“Shippo?” Another shake. “Lady Sango?” A sad, tired nod. Ah, Myoga nodded to himself sagely. Young love. He
remembered a young Inu-taisho leaning against a similar tree, similarly dejected because he had fallen in love with a
beautiful young noble, and didn’t know how a youkai could ever marry such a woman. “Slapped you down again,
neh?”
    “Slapped me down is an appropriate euphemism,” Miroku sighed. He moved his jaw painfully. “Lady Sango’s
moved beyond simply slapping me. Now she’s aiming for pressure points and weak spots. I think she might have
knocked out one of my teeth.”
    Myoga’s first instinct was to say that the monk probably deserved it. After all, he knew enough about love, even
among humans, that one did not initiate it by grabbing the desired one’s rear end. Such opening moves were for one-night liasions with courtesans, not with a woman you loved. To this point, in Miroku’s defense, all the experience he
had was likely with loose village maidens or the aforementioned courtesans; Sango was an entirely new and different
problem. Because of that, and because that Miroku would likely squash him if he said something along those lines,
Myoga held his tongue.
    Miroku sighed again heavily, the pain of his heart, and his jaw, etched on his face. Myoga was touched, and
because guys of all species try to stick together, he decided to help Miroku with his problem before starting on
Inuyasha’s.
   He had observed the taijiya and the monk for some time, and knew with the experience of his years that Sango
clearly liked Miroku, perhaps even loved him. She just was painfully shy and modest, ashamed of her scarred body
and fearful that Miroku only wanted her to satisfy himself before moving on to the next conquest. Myoga knew
better: there was much easier prey out there, and Miroku’s desire for Sango went beyond the mere carnal. Clearly, to
Myoga, the first step had to be to get these two comfortable with each other. Sango needed to loosen up a little;
Miroku was experienced enough to take it from there once the opening was made.
   Myoga stepped closer to Miroku. “Now listen, young monk, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but there is a way
to get with the one you desire.” He whispered it in the monk’s ear.
   Miroku looked indignant. “I won’t drug Sango,” he said angrily.
   “No, no, nothing like that. This simply...makes things a little easier. She’ll lose that shyness, maybe some of her
inhibitions. It won’t make her pass out or impair her judgement.”
    “So will sake, and I’m not doing that.”
    “You misunderstand me,” Myoga insisted. “In any case, Sango has a strong constitution and even stronger will. I
doubt sake would faze her. But you see, Miroku-san, she already likes you. She just has difficulty showing it. And
admittedly, your approach has been somewhat, er, faulty.”
    “True,” Miroku admitted sadly.
    “Well, this is better than any alcohol or aphrodisiac. Just a few sips of this and she’ll be on your lap.” Myoga
wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s up to you where you go from there, and of course setting the atmosphere, as
Kagome would put it, is also up to you.”
    “It won’t debilitate her? Or affect her mind?”
   “No.” Not permanently anyway, Myoga added silently. He didn’t see this as being immoral at all; he merely
wanted to get the two of them together. They’d be much happier.
    Miroku smiled and nodded. “All right, Lord Myoga. What were the ingredients again?”
    That night, Miroku felt better about what he was doing; the fates themselves seemed to have ordained it. Shippo,
exhausted from a long day of playing with the village children and Kirara, and both the kitsune cub and the youkai
kitten were curled up asleep in Kaede’s hut. Kagome and Inuyasha had one of their arguments, with the result that
Kagome had gone home, and Inuyasha had followed after sulking for a few hours. He hadn’t returned, so Miroku
assumed that either Kagome had sat him to unconsciousness, or more likely they had resolved whatever was causing
the problem. That left Sango and himself alone. Since Kaede had a tendency to snore, they had made camp outside
the village at the edge of the forest. Miroku had offered to fix dinner while Sango bathed. She spared him a
withering glare that made it plain she didn’t believe him for a moment, but left for the nearby hot springs.
    Miroku made a quick but filling stew of rice and pickled vegetables and green tea as well. Then, after glancing
around to make sure he was truly alone, he withdrew a small flask from his robes and swished around the liquid
inside for a moment. The ingredients that Myoga had advised were foul-smelling, and Miroku hoped that the flea
had gotten them right. It would be a little embarrassing to poison Sango. With another look around, he carefully
dripped two drops into Sango’s tea. He then checked it for any discoloration, but the potion blended perfectly.
Feeling a little guilty but hoping for the best, Miroku sat back on his heels and waited.
    “Well,” Sango said as she returned to the campsite, wearing her yukata and drying her hair, “I’m surprised,
houshi-sama.”
    “Oh?” Miroku said, as innocent as a newborn.
    “You really did prepare dinner, and didn’t spy on me in the hot springs.”
    “You made your point abundantly clear this morning, Sango-san.”
    That brought a suspicious look, and Sango carefully sat well out of groping range. She got her own soup over
Miroku’s protests, and sat cross-legged on a tatami mat that Miroku had thoughtfully set out for her. She took two
gulps of the stew and her eyebrows rose. “This is good, houshi-sama!”
    He bowed to her. “Thank you, Sango-san. I’m glad you like it.” He got himself a bowlful, and nearly dropped it
when he saw Sango take a long drink of tea. She smacked her lips and looked at the cup. “Is something wrong with
the tea?”
    “No...” Sango paused. “It tastes strange. Not bad, just strange.”
    “Ah. I added some of Kagome’s spices to it,” Miroku smoothly lied.
    “Oh.” She took another drink, and her cheeks reddened noticeably. “It grows on you, I suppose–it’s actually got
some bite to it.”
    They made small talk while they ate, and Miroku carefully watched Sango for any signs. Other than a flush on her
cheeks, nothing was different. She had another cup of tea–this one undoctored–then excused herself for a moment
and walked into the woods. Miroku remembered Myoga’s words about Sango’s constitution. Quickly, he pulled out
the flask again and dropped two more drops into her soup and another into her tea. He had just gotten back to his
seat when Sango returned. They picked up their conversation as Sango began to eat, once more washing down the
stew with tea. She finished, complimented Miroku on his stew, and leaned back on her heels with a satisfied look on
her face.
    Miroku could not hold back a sigh. Well, it was worth a try, he thought. It must not be the will of the gods today.
Just as well.
    He was beginning to clean the dishes with a bucket of water when Sango said, “Houshi-sama...”
    “Yes, Sango-san?”
    “Does it feel...hot to you?”
    Miroku stopped, the washcloth halfway between the stewpot and his bowl. “Not particularly.” It was a late
summer night, but no warmer than any other night recently.
    “That’s strange.” She moved away from the campfire a little, and Miroku returned to washing–though he kept an
eye on Sango.
     It was good that he did. As he watched from the corner of his eye, Sango’s breathing deepened noticeably. She
opened the front of her kimono and waved her hand to try to get cool air down it. Naturally, since they weren’t
expecting trouble, she wasn’t wearing the taijiya catsuit beneath her clothes. Even from the distance of seven paces
from each other, Miroku could tell that Sango’s eyes were wide and dilated. She began to swallow nervously, and
drained a cup of water in two seconds. Even more interesting was the glances that she spared Miroku, and he smiled,
feeling her eyes tracing his buttocks beneath the robes he wore. I suppose she’s entitled, he thought. I don’t mind
turnabout being fair play.
     “M-Miroku,” she gasped into the heavy silence that had descended over the campfire. Miroku had deliberately
kept his mouth shut, remembering Myoga’s advice. He noticed that she used his name, not ‘houshi-sama’ or even
adding any honorific.
    “Sango?” he replied, turning and standing. “Are you quite all right?” That was more for moral effect than
anything else; he could plainly tell she wasn’t all right, in a good way. Even through the fabric of the kimono and the
breast wrap that she wore, Miroku could tell Sango’s nipples were erect. That and the now definite flush of her skin
meant that something was about to happen.
    “I-I-I don’t...” She looked up at him, their eyes locked, and Miroku’s heart leapt. Suddenly, Sango jumped to her
feet, grasped both sides of her kimono, and pulled it off as if it was on fire. The yukata was torn away next, and her
underthings as well, literally ripped off, Sango unconcerned over the damage. Her eyes stayed on Miroku,
smoldering, her hair wild around her face, unabashedly panting and now completely naked in the firelight, the
shadows nicely enhancing her small breasts and narrow thighs. “Miroku,” she said, out of breath, “I..I..” Her voice
rose to a shout. “I need a man, and you’ll do!”
    Miroku wasn’t sure about that last part, but he wasn’t picky at this point. He held out his arms. “Come to me,
Sango, my love.”
    She did, leaping across the grass like a panther. The resemblance didn’t end there either; Sango toppled both of
them to the ground and tore at Miroku’s robes with her fingernails, undoing the knot holding his robes together with
her teeth. This was between gasps of air, kisses that he was sure was going to leave bruises on his lips, and
mutterings that made even Miroku’s ears turn red.
   Uh oh, he thought as Sango looked down with a demented smile he had last seen on Inuyasha’s face–when the
hanyou had completely lost control to his youkai blood.
    Inuyasha turned and helped Kagome out of the well. The argument had been over Kikyo, but Inuyasha had
assured Kagome that he had only gone to tell his undead former lover that it was over. Kagome had seen he was
telling the truth. That had led to an actually pleasant conversation, quickly followed by an even pleasanter necking
session. The toothmarks on her neck were going to be hard to explain, and Kagome didn’t think that either Sango or
Miroku were going to believe that Buyo had scratched her.
    To their surprise, it was neither Sango nor Miroku that waited by the well. It was Kaede, whose robes looked a
little disheveled and whose face looked angry. Inuyasha wondered what he had done now, and asked the old miko
exactly that.
    “It wasn’t ye,” Kaede replied huffily, “though it would be easier if it was.”
    “So what happened, Kaede-sama?” Kagome asked.
    “Has the Lady Sango been acting strange lately?”
    “No,” both of them replied. She had been her usual self, up to and including smacking Miroku around.
    “So ka. And the monk?”
    “Same as always,” Inuyasha said. “Why?”
    “Hm. Follow me.” Kaede turned and walked towards the village, and, exchanging worried glances, Kagome and
Inuyasha did as they were told.
    Reaching the old woman’s hut at the edge of the village, they saw Shippo and Kirara sitting there. It was hard to
read Kirara’s expression, but Shippo’s was unmistakeable–he was irritated, angry, and tired. “I knew it,” he said
without even so much as greeting either Kagome or Inuyasha. “Sango finally snapped.”
    Inuyasha’s eyes rounded. “You mean she finally killed Miroku?”
    “Nope. I wish she had.” Shippo turned and looked at the hut. “She kicked me and Kirara out last night. I mean
kicked us!”
    “She carried me out,” Kaede added. “Out of my own hut, even!”
    Kagome was a little quicker on the uptake than Inuyasha. “And they’ve been...since...”
    “Well before midnight last night,” Kaede answered. She actually blushed and looked at her sandals. “I’ve never
seen anything like it.”
     Without warning, Miroku appeared at the reed door of the hut. Inuyasha and Kagome recoiled at the sight. He
was naked except for a fundoshi he held loosely around his loins. Deeply bloodshot eyes revealed he had not slept in
some time–it was well after noon–his chest was red with welts and purple with bruises. One shoulder looked like it
might be dislocated. His ponytail was gone, his hair matted, and he looked like he had just fought Naraku,
Sesshoumaru, and the Band of Seven alone, unarmed. “Help me,” he croaked. “For all the kami in the world,
Kagome–Inuyasha–help me!”
    Inuyasha rubbed his eyes, not quite believing what he saw. “What the hell?”
    “She’s–she’s insatiable!” Miroku moaned. “She’s going to kill me!”
    Sango appeared next to him, without a stitch to her name. The look on her face was one of a starving glutton
faced with a feast. “And where do you think you’re going?” she snapped with a decidedly evil grin on her face. She
unrolled a scroll. Emblazoned on the top in kanji were words that made Kagome gasp in surprise: Kama Sutra. “We
still have thirty positions to go, monk!” She whipped off his fundoshi with a Urasue-like cackle. Shippo covered
Kirara’s eyes, and had his eyes covered by Kagome. She grabbed Miroku’s ear and dragged him back inside the hut,
laughing maniacally all the way.
    “Um,” was all Kagome could say. For once, Shippo wasn’t struggling. He clearly did not want to see what was
going on.
    “Yeah,” Inuyasha nodded. “That goes for me, too.”

She had a few drinks, I’m thinking soon of what I’ll be gettin’
Instead she started talking about plans for a wedding
I said, “Wait, slow down love, not so fast, I’ll be seein’ ya”
That’s when I found out you don’t fool around with the funky cold medina.
–Tone Loc, “Funky Cold Medina”
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Silly Little Love Songs