Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

Love's Labors Won	By : Sentinel28A Category: InuYasha > Het - Male/Female > Miroku/Sango Views: 4074 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own InuYasha, nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I had a tough time writing this. I didn’t want Sango to reject Miroku, of course, but on the
other hand, I didn’t want her to be all of a sudden okay with the idea that the man she’s been slapping as a pervert
for the past few months has slept with her. But these two do love each other, so I hope this seems plausible. The
ending seems a little weak, but I didn’t know how else to do it.
    Note that Sango’s thought that babies are “what women are for” reflect the attitudes of the Sengoku Jidai, not
the 21^st Century. What we consider sexist today they considered merely the way things were. Women’s lib is a
recent development, especially in Japan! (Makes you wonder what Kagome thinks about all that...)
    Thanks for the reviews, as always. We’ll have to do this again sometime.
                                                         SCROLL FIVE: AND THEN...
    The sun’s rays crept across the clearing. Sango slowly opened her eyes, pleasantly half-asleep. She saw Kirara
looking at her, and reached out and scratched the kitten behind the ears. Kirara purred agreeably. After a few
moments of this, Sango left off the bakeneko and turned over, letting the sun warm her naked skin.
    The sudden realization that she was naked made Sango’s eyes fly wide open. She looked down at herself, only
covered in her kimono from the waist down.
    “Ah, good morning, Sango,” Miroku said from the hot spring. He was cooking something that smelled rather nice,
but that was secondary to the fact that he was staring directly at her breasts. Sango’s brain abruptly caught up with
the rest of her and she remembered what had happened the night before. She shrieked and pulled the kimono up to
cover herself, only to see with horror that it only transferred Miroku’s attention from her chest to her legs. She could
feel his eyes hungrily traveling up her thighs to see what was shadowed beneath the kimono.
    “You...you...pervert!” she shouted, and started to lunge at him until she realized that the only way to do that was
to do so completely uncovered.
    “Pervert?” Miroku asked with a raised eyebrow. “Hardly, Sango-chan. I don’t know why you’re covering up,
since I saw it all last night.”
     Sango edged backwards, one hand clutching the kimono to her chest and the other searching for something to kill
Miroku with. Her hand came across the hard bone of her hiraikotsu, which fitted the bill nicely. Pulling the
boomerang towards her, she hesitated and stopped at Miroku’s increasingly lusty gaze; the kimono was just hiding
enough to make things interesting. Of all the...the bastard is getting turned on by this! she thought.
   The Kagura voice decided to make a reappearance. And you’re not?
    “Miroku,” Sango said, trying to keep her voice even, “I want to bathe. If you peek or so much as glance in my
direction, they’ll store your remains in a thimble.”
     Miroku sighed and turned around. “Very well. When you’re done, I have breakfast ready–some of Kagome’s
ramen.”
     Her stomach rumbled at that, but Sango, keeping the kimono across her body, ignored it and edged to the hot
springs. Once she was sure she was out of Miroku’s line of sight, she sank into the springs and began washing
herself vigorously. Her mind was whirling. We...we made love last night. Miroku and I! And I started it! What in
all the Chinese hells was wrong with me? I don’t love him, I don’t! He’s a pervert, he’s a maniac, he’s
cursed–and...oh sweet Buddha...he...in me...what if I’m already with child?
    “Sango.” Miroku’s voice nearly made her leap out of the spring. She whirled, ready to commit mayhem, but he
was only sitting on the rocks, his back to her.
    “What do you want?” she snarled.
    “Is what we did last night so odious that you must bathe?”
    “You bastard–“ she started, then stopped herself. Sango, among all other things, was a realist. She knew that,
when the time came to defeat Naraku, she might have to slay her own brother. She knew that restoring the Shikon no
Tama might call on her to make the ultimate sacrifice of her own life. She also knew that Inuyasha was a fool for not
admitting his love for Kagome, and Kagome equally stupid for not forcing the issue into the open. And being a
realist also meant that what had happened between her and Miroku had not been odious at all, but actually rather
pleasant. No, she corrected, it was wonderful.
    “Miroku, I...” Words failed her. She felt the tears coming and turned away from him, letting them fall. Part of her
was ashamed to see her cry, but what was the point of shame? She had no secrets left. Sango heard Miroku splash
into the water and felt him grab her around the shoulders, drawing her into an embrace against his now-soaked robes.
“I’m sorry, Sango,” he said. “I’m so very sorry. I should have stopped us. I should have...done something, I
don’t know what, but something–“
     ”No, Miroku.” Sango swallowed and rubbed her face free of tears. “Neither one of us wanted to stop. I won’t
lie, not to you.”
     Miroku stroked her hair, which she found incredibly soothing. “Then...it was good?”
     “Yes,” she answered simply, then drew out of his grasp. “Please, Miroku. Just let me get dressed and eat
something. I’m not thinking clearly.”
    “Of course,” he replied, and withdrew. She looked up at him, and wished she hadn’t. If he had smirked at her or
looked pleased with himself, it would be easy to hate him. The pain on his face made her heart fall.
    Sango had dressed in her yukata and kimono behind the rocks, then accepted a cup made of strange material that
held Kagome’s ramen and kept it warm. They ate in silence; Kirara had caught a squirrel, but even she was
devouring it quietly.
   “This changes things,” Sango said suddenly.
    “Yes,” Miroku replied, “it does.” He hesitated. “Where do we go from here?”
   Sango’s head shot up. “Why is it my decision?”
    Miroku set the ramen aside. “Sango, I love you,” he said. She nearly dropped her ramen. “And it took me most
of last night to practice telling you that, but it’s true. I can understand if you don’t love me back. I’m not an easy
man to love or even like–I’m a thief, a lecher, and a rogue.” He laughed softly. “I’m certainly not celibate. I’m a
rather poor monk...but I try to be a good man. I’ll try to be a better husband, if that’s what you wish. If you want me
to leave, I will do that as well. But I hope to stay, and make you my wife.”
    “You’ve thought about this.”
    “I slept but little, Sango.”
    That she could see from the bags under his eyes. She also knew from his past escapades that Miroku did not lose
sleep over romantic entanglements. There had been village maidens, of course. “Last night wasn’t about just
making an heir.” It wasn’t a question.
    “Of course not.”
    Sango smiled wryly. “Well, that’s a relief.” She drained the ramen cup, wondering if that buzzing in her stomach
was nervousness, ramen, or the beginnings of a baby. Cold sweat broke out on her brow at the thought of being
pregnant, but on the other hand, Sango was a woman of her era, and had long ago prepared herself for the possibility
of motherhood. It was what women were for, even if the demon hunter clan had been a little more open to the idea
of women being fighters as well as mothers. “I suppose it’s too soon to even worry about that.”
    “When...will you know?”
    Sango laughed. “Oh, kami, Miroku, all that talk of an heir and you don’t even know?” Miroku shrugged
helplessly. “When my time of the month comes, which it should in a few weeks–if I don’t bleed, then we’ll know.”
She fixed him with a Tetsusaiga-melting glare. “You had better not be considering abandoning me and the child.”
    Miroku returned her look with equal intensity. “Never.”
   “Good. I’d hate the baby–if there is one–to grow up without a father.” Neither mentioned the very real possibility
that a possible child would grow up without a father, if Miroku’s wind tunnel consumed him before they killed
Naraku–and passed the curse onto their child.
   Sango considered the possibilities. Do I love Miroku? I certainly acted like it last night. She appraised him
frankly. All right, fine, he’s a pervert and he’s a smartass. But he’s also handsome–oh, Sango, just admit it to
yourself, he’s what Kagome called hot–and he has a good heart. How many times has he taken blows meant for me,
or Kagome or even Inuyasha? He won’t abuse me or leave me like some samurai might. He isn’t rich, but if I
cared for money, I would’ve married that noble...what was his name again? Doesn’t matter. At least life won’t be
boring around him...I don’t know if Father would’ve approved, but...Sango’s face softened at the thought of her
father. Actually, he might have. Miroku’s just the kind of rogue he liked–what Mother used to say he was, before he
met her. She took a deep breath. That’s settled then...
    The wind tunnel! her mind shouted. What if he dies?
    Then all the reason more to make his remaining days enjoyable ones. Her hand flitted across her stomach. While
pregnancy would be a huge hindrance to fighting Naraku, she found herself liking the idea. At least then, if
something happened...I would have something to remember him by.
    “Miroku, I...” Her throat suddenly closed and her fingers, which had already had a tremor, began shaking but
good. Come on, Sango, tell him! “Miroku, I...will be...your wife.” She slammed a fist down on a knee. “No,
dammit!”
    Miroku’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. “Uh...” There was definitely a contradiction here.
    Sango suddenly shot to her feet, took four steps forward, and crushed her lips against his. Miroku experienced a
rare emotion: shock. She broke the kiss and slapped him, leaving the familiar stinging sensation in its wake. “What
was that for?” he exclaimed.
    “Because...because...I-I-I l-love you, Miroku!” It took a moment, but she felt much better after saying it.
   Miroku was still a few steps behind. “And you slapped me for that?”
   “I’m not a pervert like you and you piss me off and I didn’t spend all night practicing like some lovestruck...oh,
gods, Miroku, just shut up!”
    He wasn’t listening. “You love me.”
    “Of course I do, you fool! Do you think I’d marry someone I don’t love!”
    Realization struck Miroku and he did exactly the right thing–kissed her with equal ferocity to her own a moment
before. They began showering each other’s faces in kisses, even as Sango burst into tears. “Why are you crying?”
he asked between kisses.
    “Shut up!” she repeated. “I just confessed to loving someone in the first time in my life! I want a good cry!”
    “Very well,” he answered with that same maddening matter-of-fact tone of voice that she both loved and hated.
When the tears and the blubbering got too worrisome for Miroku, he decided that he needed to take Sango’s mind off
things and slipped the gloved hand into her kimono. The breast wrap was tied loosely, and soon he was rolling a
rapidly hardening nipple against the silk of the glove. Sango’s breath caught in her throat. “You...bastard...taking
advantage of me...”
   “That’s no way to talk to your husband,” he teased. The wrap was now completely off, the kimono was wide open,
and she was being settled back to the grass.
   She almost slapped him again, a lot harder, but the heat flaring up between her thighs brought her up short. She
loved Miroku; that wasn’t a lie, and his confession wasn’t either. She wanted him, he wanted her, this was what was
meant to be. Even if Miroku did have a one-track mind. “Oh, the hell with it,” she panted, and began tearing at his
clothes as well. “Miroku?”
    “Mm?” He was busy kissing his way down her chest and pulling down the yukata.
    “Before we marry, I want to make one thing very clear–oh, gods, don’t do that–“ He was licking her navel, and
now she was completely nude, the green skirt around her ankles. She had the top of his robe off, but the fundoshi
was proving somewhat tougher. “I know samurai take only one wife and can have mistresses, and I should accept
that–“
   ”I’m not samurai,” he reminded her.
   “Well, no, but I know how you are, Miroku. I want to be the only one, do you understand–oh, damn this fu–“
    ”Let me get it.” The fundoshi was gone in less than a second, and Miroku returned to his ministrations.
    “No other women, Miroku. Just me. Do you understand?”
    He smiled up at her. “Selfish!”
    She grabbed at his ponytail and delivered a soul-searing kiss. “Yes! Yes I am!”
    Miroku fought free, looking down at the beauty before him, wondering how he could have even considered
anyone else. Oh, there were maidens more well-endowed and perhaps more practiced, but he hadn’t loved them. In
fact, he was rather looking forward to being Sango’s tutor. “I understand, Sango-chan. No one else.”
    “Good, I’m glad that’s cle–“ She looked down at him incredously, balanced on her elbows as he lowered himself
between her legs. “Miroku, what are you doing? Don’t–not your tongue–that’s disgusting–“ Her eyes widened
when he touched her. It wasn’t disgusting at all. “You–aaah–don’t–stop–don’t stop–“
    Miroku left off her folds and grinned up at her. “Do you always talk this much?”
    Sango saw the wisdom in that and grew very quiet. For awhile, in any case.
    Kilala, now completely forgotten, shook her head at the humans, picked up the remains of the squirrel, and moved
to a more quiet area near the springs. She kept her ears alert. In the condition her mistress was in, Naraku and a
horde of youkai could come over the hill and Sango would never notice.
    Later, they repacked their things and made their way back to Kaede’s village. They walked, taking their time.
Mostly they talked: while Sango and Miroku already knew each other’s life stories, there were certain things they
had never told each other. There was no reason to keep those secrets now. Most importantly, they joked and kidded
and laughed with the sheer joy of being alive. They noticed things about each other that they never would have
before, had they not been so attuned to each other’s feelings. Both caught themselves acting in a manner not unlike
their own parents, before Naraku’s curse had taken Miroku’s father and Naraku’s demons had taken Sango’s. “So
this is what it’s like to be in love,” Sango had commented, which had the desired effect of Miroku giving her another
one of the kisses she was increasingly looking forward to.
    They made love several more times. Miroku being Miroku, he took a swipe at Sango’s bottom. Instead of the
squeak-and-slap, she turned, smiled hungrily, and gave him a hanyou-like growl. The next thing Miroku knew he
was being slammed against a tree while a much-stronger-than-she-looked taijiya had her way with him. Staying at an
inn that he “discovered” was “haunted” in a local village, they loved all night. Miroku was so exhausted that he
convinced Sango to fly the rest of the way back on Kilala. Sango, on the other hand, seemed to be full of energy. In
midair, she turned around and began going after him again. Miroku was willing, though he was sure he was going to
die, and not from the wind tunnel. Kilala had had far more than enough, and made it clear through a number of
snarls, bared fangs, and extremely steep dives that she was not going to tolerate that. They had to settle for a soft
grass hill, while Kilala stalked off in a huff. If the humans wanted to slobber all over each other, they could by all
the kamis born and yet to be born damn well walk.
    (While Miroku and Sango were, well, engaged, Kagura arrived, having tracked Kilala from the village unnoticed.
Seeing what was going on in the tall grass, not even the heartless Kagura had the heart to attack. Instead, she found
herself envying the taijiya, took a few mental notes, and made it a point to look up Sesshoumaru at the nearest
opportunity.)

    They returned to Kaede’s village a few hours later. Shippo ran out to meet them. “Hi, Sango-san! Hi, Miroku-san!” He could tell by the looks on their faces that their argument had been cleared up, and he was glad for that.
    “Hello, Shippo-san,” Miroku replied. “Are Inuyasha and Kagome back yet?”
    “Nope,” Shippo said, a little downcast. He missed his ninja food. Miroku had taken the last two cups of ramen
with him. “I see you found Sango-san, and she didn’t kill you.”
    “Kill him?” Sango looked shocked. “Why, Shippo-san! Why would I want to kill Miroku?”
    “Because he–“ Shippo abruptly realized that Sango had addressed Miroku by his name, not “houshi-sama,” and
had said it with the easy familiarity of a relation. Then there was the look on Sango’s face, which was pure love and
satisfaction, and the ridiculous grin on Miroku’s face. Shippo studiously inspected his friends and noticed that there
was grass stuck to the back of Sango’s kimono, and her hair, and Miroku’s robe would need mending in a big way
rather soon. Shippo put two and two together and got three, which was certainly possible if his instincts were right.
   “Okay,” he said. “What did I miss?”

We belong to the light
We belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we’ve both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace
For worse or for better
We belong, we belong together.
–Pat Benetar, “We Belong”
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Love's Labors Won