Love

I do not own Inu-yasha or any of it's characters. I'm just borro the them to help me with a bit of housework. Sesshy's fluffy doubles as a very good duster and Inu-yasha is mowing the lawn with Tetsusaiga. Naraku is killing all the weeds with his poison and Miroku is making all the trash do a disappearing act. Shippou and Kouga were here, but they made a huge mess, so they were sent back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuru-chan here with the second installment of 'Love'. Some of you might be thinking 'Gee, what a cheesy, cliche title.' Well, those are the people I shall have to kill next time Soul~chan is asleep and not watching. For your information, there is a reason for the title but you won't find out until much, much later. Mwahaha, deal with it mortals for I am Death and can do as I please!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two

The frantic beeping of a digital clock broke the stillness of the morning and jolted a certain dark-haired man from a very pleasant dream starring himself and a rather scantily-clad Sango. He turned to smack the thing into silence but his eyes were suddenly assaulted by the only bit of light that leaked into the dark room. He turned the clock off--quiet reigning once more over the penthouse--and growled moodily at the display.

"Six o'clock? I don't have to go in until nine today! Damnit Miroku, you forgot to change the setting!"

He flopped back, now fully awake but trying to fight it by burying his head in a pillow. The bed was warm where Naraku had been. He had probably just left; the over-achiever was a no-fuss kind of guy and could go from deep sleep to Well Street in five minutes. Miroku snuggled into the warmth, trying to catch the filmy traces of the dream in order to fall back into it but he gave up with a huff.

"Pointless," he muttered, "Might as well get up. What a weird dream. I wonder if Sango really looks that nice under all those damn suits?" He got his glazed, 'I'm thinking about a fine piece of ass' look on his face but smacked himself out of it. 'Really Miroku,' he chided himself, 'You shouldn't think that way. It's not fair to Naraku!'

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the slight twinge of pain in his pelvis, and stretched lazily, pulling his unruly mop out of his eyes. He stood and almost immediately sat back down again as pain shot through him. Feeling slightly dizzy, the violet-eyed man grasped his head to stop it from spinning; recovered, he stood up more slowly, gingerly turning to look at the bed. It was a mess. Blood stained the royal blue sheets, turning them a deep purple.

"Man, Naraku's favorite sheets! I'll have to wash them right away so they don't stain," he muttered to himself, "You're such a jerk Miroku. Ow, I think I'll run a bath first though; a nice, long soak is just what I need."

Hobbling slowly into the bathroom, he stopped before the mirror, surveying his injuries. The cut on his cheek looked worse than last night and would definately have to be covered with a bandage: it looked nothing like a shaving nick. Finger-shaped bruises ended in five shallow wounds just above both his knees. The bite on his neck would have to be covered as it had turned an angry red, dried blood marked the torn flesh. More faint bruises, some nearly invisible with age, graced his body; he looked at the marks, old and new, almost boredly.

"Turtle neck today," he nodded somberly at his reflection, "Thank the gods for casual Fridays. I really need to be more careful when I get up in the night. I'm such a clutz."

He leaned over the tub and grasped the handles, waiting patiently for the water to reach the perfect temperature before plugging it. The water started to rise and Miroku walked stiffly back to the bed. The bedding was quickly stripped and he carted the whole lot, pillow cases and all, into the laundry room. A quick dash of stain remover and a cold setting to the washer and the sheets were on their way to being blue again. He grabbed another sheet set from the linen closet and set it on the bed before returning to the bathroom.

The steamy water felt good on his legs as he slipped in but a grimace replaced the look of contentment as he fully settled in. Miroku sat motionless for some time, adjusting to the temperature as it eased the dull ache inside of him. With a sigh, he slid completely under the water, ebony hair floating around him in a dark nimbus. He stayed under as long as he could, staring up through the shifting water at the light patterns on the ceiling. When he came up, gasping for air, the slight man quickly washed himself and stepped out, draining the tub. A fluffy towel quickly dried his hair before being wrapped around his waist as he made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee maker.

Coffee started, he removed the clean, wet bedding from the washer and popped it into the dryer. A song popped into his head and played incessantly, finally causing him to whistle it jauntily as he headed back to the bedroom and began digging through his drawers for his clothes. The dresser was from his college days: beat-up and severely un-modern, Naraku insisted it stay hidden away in Miroku's closet. It was his little messy haven. His suits and dress clothes, of course, were hung neatly on the racks, but within the dresser, it was a post-apocalyptic profusion of old T-shirts, jeans, underwear, winter paraphenalia, swim suits, and socks. A pair of faded jeans flew out the door and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor next to the unmade bed. A pair of mis-matched socks, old but comfy boxers, and a concert Tee for 'The Hanyous' quickly followed. He grabbed a dark green turtleneck sweater from the rack before going back to his pile.

He tugged on his clothes, feeling his still-damp hair cling to his neck under the turtleneck. A quick trip to the bathroom rememdied this and his hair was in it's customary ponytail. Nearly an hour had been killed by his soak, he mused as he brushed his teeth. Miroku had just finished re-making the bed with the sage green sheets and was pulling up the coverlet when the aroma of finished coffee greated his nose. The dryer buzzed and toasty warm bedding was folded and put back into the linen cupoard. Padding into the kitchen, he grabbed his raccoon mug and filled it with the rich brew; two cups later, it was about time to leave. He closed the book he had been reading and rinsed the mug, setting it to dry on the rack. Miroku ran out the door sock-footed and without his jacket and didn't realize until he reached the lobby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning, Koharu, you're looking lovely as always."

A young woman with big brown eyes and charming freckles looked up from a desk, her cheeks tinted in a faint blush. Miroku stood before her, jacket held carelessly over his shoulder as he winked roguishly.

"Good morning Mr. Houshi," she smiled brightly, "But what happened to your face? Are you injured? Let me see it."

Miroku waved his free hand, "There's no need, Koharu, but thank you. I just had a fall last night. I keep insisting I know the way around my own house in the dark, but apparently I'm wrong."

"If you're sure, Mr. Houshi. I don't mind. Oh! I'd almost forgotten, Grandfather asked to see you as soon as you got in."

"Thank you, I'll just drop my things in my office. Oh, and Koharu?"

"Yes Mr. Houshi?"

"Just call me Miroku."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning Mushin, already at it, I see?"

Mushin looked up from his glass of whiskey, "Well, it's five o'clock somewhere, my boy."

Shaking his head good-naturedly, Miroku seated himself on one of the chairs before his boss' desk, "So, what is it you wanted to see me about?"

The old lawyer eyed his young friend before tossing back the contents of the glass; he made a wry face and plunked it back onto his desk. His eyes passed over Miroku's face again before he sifted through the papers littering his desk, finding his glasses under a heavy file and settling them on his nose.

"I've just received a notice from the Department of Justice commending our firm for exceeding standards and customer expectations for yet another year. Now, most of this is due to you and although you are still young and relatively new, I'm considering you for partner. It seems the Attorney General also thinks I can't handle things on my own."

Miroku was speechless, "Partner? Are you serious? Mushin you sly old dog you had me really worried! Wow, partner, I can't believe it. So, who else is up for it?"

He was pouring himself another shot and chuckled at the young man's reaction, "Young Houjo is one of them, the other two I don't believe you know. They're not in the spotlight as often as you ten tend to dedicate themselves to their work, unlike some people."

The dark-haired man eyed his old friend's raised eyebrow, "Hey, Houjo and I do our share! We always do meet our deadlines, just because we don't eat, breathe, and sleep the law . . . ."

"On a different subject," the old alcoholic cut in, "Are you going to King Inutaishou's ball? Do you need a date? My granddaughter Koharu is a pretty little thing and is quite taken with you. She's young, but she dances well. Her family has wonderful genes."

Miroku's eyes nearly fell out of his head, "Mushin! You know I'm already taken. And anyway, I've agreed to go with the Countess de Viento, my most recent client."

"Ah yes, how is Naraku then? I haven't seen him in ages. Although I hear his business is doing exceptionally well."

"You know Naraku, he can never rest until his competitors are smashed flat!"

Mushin nodded faintly, an odd look on his face as he reached for the decanter of whiskey again, "By the way Miroku, you've been injured a lot lately. Is everything all right?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" he blinked his purple eyes in confusion, "I just fell last night in the dark: got a nasty scrape. Geez, now I know where Koharu gets her paranoia from. Anyway, I'd better get to work."

"Yes, yes, If I don't see you later, have a pleasant weekend."

Miroku mock saluted, "Right-o boss, same to you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was late morning, almost lunchtime, and the golden sunshine spilled in through a large glass window and onto a paper-strewn desk. The clamor of traffic on the city streets below was muted this high up, almost as if the tidy office were situated at the bottom of the sea. Miroku had his feet propped up on the dark surface, papers in his lap as he dozed. The intercom buzzed loudly, startling him awake and sending the papers in a blizzard around him. Blinking, he sat up and reached for the device.

"Yes?" he asked tersely, "What is it, Koharu?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Houshi, but District Attorney Taijiya is here to see you."

He yawned behind his hand, "No, I'm sorry, Koharu. You startled me out of a little impromptu nap. Send her in."

He straightened his desk quickly and sat back in his chair, damsel-slaying smirk in place. Sango came in a moment later, rolling her eyes at the display of her long-time friend. She sat gracefully before his desk, smoothing her skirt and looking at him with a frown.

"You are impossible, Miroku."

"So I've heard. So, what was it you wanted to see me about, Sango? Have you come to confess your undying love for me?"

"In your dreams. Actually, I had wanted to look over your notes on de Viento v. Jinkourai. It will be helpful in my case against Hiten Jinkourai."

Miroku had to hold back a laugh as he recalled his dream from that morning. If Sango knew, she'd slice him in half. He sighed, "It's always business with you, Sango. Where's the carefree girl I used to grope in the treehouse?"

She looked at him archly, "I think you're confusing me with some other girl. I was never interested in you."

"Oh? I seem to remember getting a letter from a certain Sango asking me to be her valentine in eighth grade."

"Everyone else was taken! Quit changing the subject, Miroku! Where are thosles?les?"

He handed them over to her with a grin, a grin that widened as she snatched the papers away. She proceeded to flip through them, glancing up at him every so often, her gaze lingering on his bandaged cheek. Miroku began to be irritated; it was just a bandage, why the hell was everyone staring at him like he had burst out in boils?

"Sango, it's just a bandage, there's no need to stare. I don't have leprosy or anything."

"You have been injured a lot lately. More frequently than usual," she looked at him piercingly, trying to read his deceptive violet eyes.

He waved his hand dismissively, "I'm just a clutz. I didn't want to wake Naraku last night when I had to get up, so I tried walking in the dark. I tripped and cut myself. That's all. What's with the third degree? Is it a crime to be clutzy all of a sudden?"

"You aren't a clutz, Miroku," she stated quietly, the papers in her lap forgotten, "In fact, you're the least clumsy person I know. What are you hiding? Is Naraku hurting you?"

The slim man stood up suddenly, shaking in barely contained fury. He pointed at the door. "Leave my office. Now," his voice was unwavering.

"What is your problem, Miroku?"

"I won't sit here and listen to you insult Naraku just because of some old family grudge between the two of you. You've always hated him, ever since you met him, just because his last name is Onigumo."

"This has nothing to do with my dislike of Naraku. I'm concerned for you Miroku," she rose, leaving the files on the chair and came around to his side of the desk, plunking him in his chair. She noticed the slight wince as she sat him down forcefully and she squeezed his arm apologetically as she moved to the back of his chair. "I'm sorry, okay? But you need to calm down," she began to massage his shoulders. If there was one thing Sango was good at, it was giving massages; Miroku instantly relaxed and sighed under her skilled touch.

"I'm sorry, Sango. It's just, you're the millionth person who asked me about it today and it's really annoying me. I know you're only concerned, but there's nothing for you to worry about, I promise."

He looked up at her and Sango smiled at those deceptive eyes, eyes she could read like no one else. She knew he was lying. He had always been good at that, lying to protect everyone from the darkness within his own soul, to protect himself from it. That's why she was here, to save him from his own salvation. She pushed down the bothersome turtleneck to massage his neck and her hand brushed against torn flesh, causing Miroku to cry out in pain. She started and pulled it open further, revealing the angry bite-mark.

"Miroku . . . " her hands remained where they were, frozen as Miroku avoided her eyes and shouting could be heard from the adjoining room.

"Excuse me, sir? Sir! Mr. Houshi is in an important meeting right now! If you could please wait--"

Koharu's pleas were ignored and the door flung open to reveal Naraku. He looked merely annoyed at first, most likely from the conti bab babbling of the secretary, but his look hardened at the scene that met his eyes. Miroku was looking at him wide-eyed, caught with a woman's hands all over him.

Miroku immediately stood, coming around the desk towards his lover, "Naraku, what a surprise! You've never come into my work before."

Naraku merely looked at him with narrowed eyes, his gaze flickering to the woman who still stood behind the desk, visibly bristling with anger. Miroku followed his gaze in confusion, then blushed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've forgotten to introduce someone. This is my oldest and dearest friend, Sango Taijiya. We've known each other since forever: we were born in the same hospital, three days apart."

"You would be District Attorney Taijiya," his voice betrayed nothing, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Miroku speaks of you often."

"And you as well, Mr. Onigumo," Sango had come around the desk now and was picking up the files from the chair where she had left them, "I cannot believe Miroku did not introduce us sooner, but I think I understand: relationships of your sort are best left out of the public eye."

Naraku's eyes narrowed, but Miroku interrupted the cruel retort he had readied, "Sango is in a similar relationship, Naraku. Her girlfriend is Kagome Shikon."

"Indeed? Well, I won't take offense from your previous remark."

Sango gave him a look that clearly stated that she didn't care whether he took offense or not, but kept her voice pleasant, for Miroku's sake, "I really must be going. I have an important case to prepare for."

"Don't let us keep you," he stepped aside from the door.

"Seu onu on Monday, Sango. Don't work youself to death."

Miroku shut the door behind Sango and turned to the wavy-haired man, "Naraku what--"

He was cut off as he was shoved roughly against the door and his lips were caught in a harsh kiss. The violet-eyed man winced slightly and looked up into ruby orbs in confusion.

"Naraku?"

"You are mine. No one else is to touch you. Ever. Do you understand?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grr! There was supposed to be yuriness in this chapter, but I have been attacked by the too long chapter problem again! ::throws shity word processor in garbage:: Oh well, at least we got this chapter out, a seemingly transitional one, a neccessary evil. Next chapter I promise Sango/Kagome lovliness. Huggles to Jade Phoenix for reviewing! ::throws sparkles at number one fan:: Anyway, love it? Hate it? Let me know!
Soul~chan