Categories > Anime/Manga > Inuyasha
Disclaimer: I do not own Inu Yasha.
Realization/ By FrustratedPhoenix/
As he watched Sango huffily prepare for bed, Miroku rubbed his tender cheek with his cursed hand. He grinned in masculine satisfaction knowing the inky night hid his unrepentant leer thus protecting him from further feminine retribution.
He felt more than saw the glare the enraged woman directed his way. Sighing, Miroku eased his weary body to the ground and leaned against a tree. The young monk stared into the vast darkness of the heavens and sought answers to the mysteries man has pondered for centuries. Does life exist after death? Does fate determine a being's destiny or is an individual master of it's own life? How high can Sango arch her back?
Hours turned into an eternity as both knowledge and sleep eluded the frustrated young man. Too exhausted to pretend to ignore his greatest obsession, Miroku stared at his gloved hand in grim fascination.
He felt a slight twinge before his cursed hand began involuntarily flexing. Terror seized Miroku's battered soul. As ragged breaths escaped his mouth, he fought to force air in and out of his constricted lungs. His heartbeat raced, pounding a horrific tempo throughout his violently trembling body. In a futile attempt to stop it's uncontrollable jerking, Miroku's good hand desperately clutched the beaded rosary covering his afflicted hand.
Brilliant white stars flashed before his eyes. Slowly, Miroku raised his hand to gently massage his bruised cheek. As he stared into Sango's concerned and frightened gaze, Miroku numbly wondered why he wasn't immune to her painful slaps by now.
Neither spoke.
The silence was broken by Sango's startled gasp. Miroku removed his wandering hand and waited for the inevitable slap and return to normalcy.
Rage and disappointment stirred Sango's blood and she raised her hand to strike. Sango's hand stilled in mid-air when realization dawned. Her features softened as she noticed the remnants of fear Miroku had failed to hide. Gently, almost reverently, Sango caressed his cheek with her fingertips.
For once in his smooth, fast-talking life Miroku was speechless. Sango smiled and sat down beside her lecherous monk. Miroku held his breath as Sango reached for his cursed hand. She kissed the palm of his beaded hand then leaned her head against his shoulder. They fell asleep holding hands.
Realization/ By FrustratedPhoenix/
As he watched Sango huffily prepare for bed, Miroku rubbed his tender cheek with his cursed hand. He grinned in masculine satisfaction knowing the inky night hid his unrepentant leer thus protecting him from further feminine retribution.
He felt more than saw the glare the enraged woman directed his way. Sighing, Miroku eased his weary body to the ground and leaned against a tree. The young monk stared into the vast darkness of the heavens and sought answers to the mysteries man has pondered for centuries. Does life exist after death? Does fate determine a being's destiny or is an individual master of it's own life? How high can Sango arch her back?
Hours turned into an eternity as both knowledge and sleep eluded the frustrated young man. Too exhausted to pretend to ignore his greatest obsession, Miroku stared at his gloved hand in grim fascination.
He felt a slight twinge before his cursed hand began involuntarily flexing. Terror seized Miroku's battered soul. As ragged breaths escaped his mouth, he fought to force air in and out of his constricted lungs. His heartbeat raced, pounding a horrific tempo throughout his violently trembling body. In a futile attempt to stop it's uncontrollable jerking, Miroku's good hand desperately clutched the beaded rosary covering his afflicted hand.
Brilliant white stars flashed before his eyes. Slowly, Miroku raised his hand to gently massage his bruised cheek. As he stared into Sango's concerned and frightened gaze, Miroku numbly wondered why he wasn't immune to her painful slaps by now.
Neither spoke.
The silence was broken by Sango's startled gasp. Miroku removed his wandering hand and waited for the inevitable slap and return to normalcy.
Rage and disappointment stirred Sango's blood and she raised her hand to strike. Sango's hand stilled in mid-air when realization dawned. Her features softened as she noticed the remnants of fear Miroku had failed to hide. Gently, almost reverently, Sango caressed his cheek with her fingertips.
For once in his smooth, fast-talking life Miroku was speechless. Sango smiled and sat down beside her lecherous monk. Miroku held his breath as Sango reached for his cursed hand. She kissed the palm of his beaded hand then leaned her head against his shoulder. They fell asleep holding hands.
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