Navy Blue Paint

I am not the creator of Inu-yasha. If any of you would like to continue thinking I am Rumiko Takahashi, I will not stop you. Too bad I can't profit off of delusions . . .

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Inu-yasha: Save us! She's writing another one!
Soul~chan: Aww, you know you like Miroku.
Kuru: I think he's objecting to the *order* of the pairing.
Miroku: You mean I'm seme this time? Yatta! Come 'ere my cute liddle uke!
Inu-yasha: Ack! Get 'em offa me!
Soul~chan: Um, please review? Oh! And if you discover you hate yaoi, don't hesitate to flame me!
Miroku: Have you lost it? You *want* a flame?
Kuru: ::sigh:: She's never gotten one before and so she desperately wants one. And she calls *me* psycho . . .

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Chapter One: The Paint has Gone to My Head, um, Yeah

Miroku looked boredly up at the clock as the teacher droned on and on about some war or other in a monotone voice. It was three o'clock: a half-hour of this torture remained. Would the inhuman tragedy never cease? History had been his favorite subject, that is until this year, until Jaken-sensei. The old man had no teaching style whatsoever: he simply read right out of the book. The dark-haired teen considered this an insult to his intelligence so he read on his own, using time in class to do whatever he felt like doing. Usually, that was thinking longingly of someone with silver hair and intense golden eyes . . . . He glanced over at his best friend, Inu-yasha, who was currently asleep and drooling all over his notebook.

'Dahe ihe is even gorgeous when he's drooling,' he thought, 'Grr! Stop it libido! Inu-yasha is straight as a line.'

He glanced at the clock again; the minute hand seemed to be moving in reverse. With a sigh, he settled down into his desk, thinking miserably to himself how long it had been since he had last gotten laid. His pen traced a few new doodles over the many-times-scribbled paper. It followed the blue lines around aimlessly for a while until he realized he was drawing a heart and he quickly scratched it out. Glancing at the sleeping teen again, Miroku leaned into the aisle and poked him hard in the ribs.

One golden eye cracked open and glared evily, "Leave me 'lone. 'M sleepin'."

Miroku laughed quietly, "Well don't; you actually need to be paying attention."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Inu-yasha growled lowly, by this time sitting up in annoyance and removing the traces of drool from his face, "Are you saying I'm stupid?"

The other rolled his eyes in exasperation, "No, history just isn't your best subject. Forget it: I'll help you study this weekend. You're still coming over, right?"

Inu-yasha nodded, "My stuff's in my backpack. I can't believe you're making me help you paint your room!"

He scowled theatrically, but in reality he didn't mind. Miroku had really changed since the death of his parents. Whereas before he had had far more flings than actual relationships, the heartthrob of Chigaku High had tried to get serious with his last girlfriend, Sango. Things hadn't worked out between them, though. Apparently he had been too clingy and hadn't moved fast enough for the fickle girl's liking. Miroku had been heartbroken after that.

And now, his aunt was leaving for her honeymoon with her new husband for the next couple of weeks, leaving Miroku alone. Another side effect of his parent's death was that the boy didn't like being alone for any amount of time at all. So, Inu-yasha was staying over for the weekend.

"Good," the violet-eyed teen nodded, "It'd be a major pain in the ass to paint my room all by myself. Did you bring something to paint in? You don't want to ruin your lucky shirt."

Inu-yasha grinned, remembering just why he had worn his red, long sleeved shirt on an unreasonably warm day. "Of course, bouzou," he fehed, "Hey, Miroku, the bell's rining."

Miroku had zoned out, slightly wary of the smile that had come to his friend's face. What was he planning? And with his lucky shirt no less? Mentally shrugging it off, he gathered his things and joined Inu-yasha in the blob struggling to escape the classroom.

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It was a gorgeous day. A bit on the warm side, but nice nonetheless. Miroku followed Inu-yasha out the front doors, admiring the way his long silver hair looked against the cloudless sky, sky that was that indefineable shade of blue the slim teen liked to think of as 'impossible blue'. But he hardly cared about the sky as he fell into step next to his friend. His fingers ached to slip into those silken strands, to brush the thick bangs from the honey-golden eyes, to caress the slender neck . . . . Danger Will Robinson, danger!

"So . . . Inu-yasha," he started, trying to distract himself from his hentai thoughts, "What are you plotting?"

"Plotting?" Inu-yasha had a completely believable look of confusion on his face, "I'm not plotting anything."

"Don't give me that. It's boiling her here, you're wearing long sleeves, and you had your 'I'm Plotting Something' grin on earlier," he leaned in and narrowed his eyes, "This doesn't have anything to do with Kagome-chan, does it?"

"No. I don't even like her; she's just followed me around everywhere ever since Kikyou went berserk."

"That's harsh; I wouldn't say she went berserk--"

"Harsh? Miroku, she was watching my every move! She was practically stalking me; the bitch even tried to follow me into the bathroom!"

Miroku almost choked on his laughter. He doubled over on the empty sidewalk, backpack slipping down his shoulders. The shorter boy just humphed and kept walking, slowly, waiting for the idiot to collect himself. He dried his eyes and saw Inu-yasha's retreating form; straightening up, he set the pack back on his shoulders and pulled down his black shirt which had become uncomfortably hitched under his arms. "I "Inu-yasha! Wait up!" he ran after the now impatiently waiting teen, looking quite silly.

"Don't run when you're wearing your backpack: you look like an idiot," he deadpanned when the other caught up.

"So does everyone else. Anyway, back to what we were talking about. You're not planning any wild parties or bringing Kagome-chan over, are you?"

"I told you already: I. Don't. Like. Her. Their whole group is insane! I don't understand how Sango can stand them . . . " he trailed off, "Oh, shit, gomen, Miroku, I didn't mean--"

"It's all right," Miroku smiled reassuringly, "I'm over her now. I have been for a while."

Golden eyes now sparkled with mischief, "So, who's the lucky woman now?"

"What are you talking about? There isn't one."

Inu-yasha raised an eyebrow, "Could it be possible that the Great Miroku is losing his touch? Or have you just fucked every girl in school?"

"Well . . . not *every* girl, but I'm just not into the whole bed and conquer thing anymore."

Eyes nearly falling out of his head, Inu-yasha gave Miroku a sidelong glance and continued, "Well, okay . . . if you want to get serious, what about that cute girl with the freckles? Koharu?"

"She's only a freshman."

"Like that's ever stopped you before, ecchi. Anyway, she's really into you. You can tell she's one of the 'let's get married' types if that's what you're looking for."

They were at Miroku's front door by this time and he was fumbling with the lock, "Gah! What gave you that idea? I'm only seventeen!"

He waved his hands, "Sorry man, it was just a suggestion!"

Pushing the door open with a glare, Miroku dumped his bag on the sofa, indicating that his friend should do the same. He disappeared into one of the rooms and came back a few minutes later, shirtless and changed from his khakis to old, faded jeans.

"You might want to put your hair back," he was tightening the ponytail in his short hair as he walked towards his room, "Hurry up so we can get the first coat on before 'Children of the Squash' comes on."

Inu-yasha nodded and ducked into the bathroom to change after grabbing clothes from his bag. Miroku opened up the window and raised the blinds; it wouldn't do any good for them to choke to death on paint fumes after all, no matter how pathetic his love life had become. Glancing cursorily around to make sure everything was in order, he ticked off the supplies in his head again. A drop cloth covered the whole floor, taped down at the walls to keep it from moving. More tape lined the tops of the walls to keep paint off of the ceiling. His bed--the only furniture left in the room--was covered in another drop cloth. Using a screwdriver, he popped open one of the paint cans and began meditatively stirring the inky blue liquid, watching his dark reflection in the swirling surface. Inu-yasha came in then, dressed only in old, sandblasted jeans that were almost erotically tight and had pulled his long, silver hair into a neat bun. Miroku's mouth gaped open.

To conceal his reaction, he laughed, "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

"What? The bun? Oh, Kikyou taught me," he remarked off-handedly, "Are we going to paint or what?"

"Oh, yeah. Here's your brush and here's your paint: we do all the edges first," he handed the golden-eyed boy the already open can and cracked open another, stirring it to test the color, "You get two walls and I get two. Sound fair?"

"Ee."

The boys went to work, smoothing the glossy blue paint first over the base boards and then up the corners. In the can, the paint was so dark it looked black, but as it dryed, it lightened somewhat to become the color of the night sky just after sunset. Miroku was just starting on his final corner when he noticed Inu-yasha climbing up the ladder he had hauled in from the garage that morning.

"Ack! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I need to reach the top."

"Wait," he layed his brush across the top of the can, "Let me hold the ladder and then you can paint."

"Whatever, Mom."

"Shut up Inu-yasha, I can't have you breaking your neck now can I?" 'Your beautiful neck,' he added silently.

Inu-yasha was mid-way up the ladder, brushing the paint along the top of the wall, pausing to re-wet the brush every so often when it ran dry. Miroku, meanwhile, was given prime view of his butt which wriggled enticingly the whle time. He bit his lip; every curve of the other's atheletic legs was visible in those skin-tight jeans and he had to back away quickly before he did something suicidal.

"Right, here, take the paint," the silver-haired youth pushed the can into the arms of his stunned friend, "I gotta move the ladder over so I can get the rest of the wall and then the other." He scooted the wooden structure over then clambered back up, gesturing impatiently for the can. He finished his two walls then moved onto Miroku's, insisting the older boy took too long.

The edges done, they were ready to move on to the main part and Miroku poured some of the paint into trays and handed Inu-yasha a roller. He had started on his walls when he looked over surreptitiously to watch the honey-eyed teen. He marveled at how the steadily loosening bun softened his face, how his brows knit in concentration and his tongue poked out the side of his mouth. His muscles rippled nicely as he rolled the brush up and down . . . .

"Inu-yasha! Not like that!" Miroku dropped his roller on the floor--navy paint splattering with a faint skloosh--and came up behind him, "You need to brush it on like this so the wall will be completely covered." He put his hand over Inu-yasha's on the handle and moved it in a fan pattern, then overlapping into another one. He let go and turned quickly, his cheeks flaming, and went back to his own walls.

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They were finally done and Inu-yasha was collapsed on the loveseat, flipping idly through the channels. Miroku came in with the phone to his ear, signaling to his friend to turn down the TV.

"What do you want on your pizza?" he asked, covering the mouthpiece with his hand.

"Um, pepperoni is cool."

"Is a large okay or do you think we need two?"

"One is good. Mou, what do you take me for? I'm not *that* much of a pig!"

Miroku waved at him irritably, speaking into the phone as he returned to the kitchen, "Hai, one large pepperoni and an order of cheesy bread. Forty-five minutes? All right. Yes, 343 Kazaana Lane. Right. Thank you."

He hung up the phone and rumaged in the fridge, resurfacing with two sodas: cola for his obessession and root beer for himself. He tossed his friend the can and plopped down next to him on the couch, snatching the remote from his hands.

"Hey!"

Miroku pulled down his eyelid and stuck out his tongue, "The movie should be coming on soon. I want to how how much time we have." He flipped to the channel and looked up at the view panel, "Ah, twenty minutes."

"Miroku . . ."

"What--" a loud moan cut him off and he focused his eyes on what exactly was on the screen.

It was--unmistakeably--two men kissing.

Miroku frantically pressed buttons, setting the TV to the History Channel. "Ah, there we go," he coughed, "the Peloponessian Wars. That's what Jaken-sensei was lecturing on today. Let's watch this."

He fell silent, watching the re-enacted Greek war, and felt the blood slowly return to normal circulation. He didn't dare look over at Inu-yasha, fearing he might do something suicidal for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Why was the silver-haired youth so damn irrisistable today? It was just serious sexual frustration, Miroku reasoned to himself, he hadn't gotten any in weeks. That had to be it, right?

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"That was the dumbest movie I've *ever* seen."

Miroku had to agree as he stood and stretched, feeling that the last two hours had been wasted, except for the fact that he had been sitting on the same couch as Inu-yasha. He cleaned up the remains of their dinner, sweeping the whole mess into the empty pizza box; carting the lot off into the kitchen, he separated the trash from the recycling and ambled back into the living room. Noticing Inu-yasha stifle a yawn, he smiled at the inherent cuteness of the gesture and got the other's attention by flicking the back of his head as he leaned against the back of the sofa.

"Itai! What the hell was that for?"

"You look tired. Want to hit the sack so we can get up early tomorrow and do the second coat?"

The shorter teen yawned again, "Yeah, I guess."

Motioning for Inu-yasha to get off the couch, Miroku began removing the cushions and stacking them on the floor by his feet. The violet eyed teen came around the arm and pushed the coffee table out of the way before pulling out the sofa bed; he disappeared into the hallway and returned with an armful of blankets and two pillows. The whole lot was dumped on the loveseat and the sofa bed quickly made, one pillow thrown at the head.

"You take the couch. I'm going to go get my pajamas on."

Miroku had been worried about this. He didn't usually wear pjs to bed, but a little digging in his drawers earlier had unearthed a set of satin pajamas his aunt had gotten him for his last birthday. All his furniture had been stored in his aunt's bedroom for the time being and--fishing in the drawer again--he pulled out the pants; he had abandoned the idea of wearing the top as it would make him too hot. Shucking off his clothes, he slithered into the clingy fabric, and decided that they weren't all that uncomfortable. Exiting out into the hall, he nearly ran into Inu-yasha as he left the bathroom who was clearly ready for bed as he was in pj pants and clutching his toothbrush.

"Where are you going to sleep, Miroku?" he pulled the tie from his hair, letting the silvery tress fall freely about his face.

"Huh?" Miroku was still trying to get his brain functioning after the previous display, "Oh, on the loveseat. My bed's covered in plastic and I really don't feel like choking to death on paint fumes tonight."

"The loveseat? But that will be horribly cramped for you. I'll take it; I am shorter than you after all."

Miroku continued into the living room, Inu-yasha following close behind, "Only by an inch, though. Besides, you're the guest: I insist you sleep on the sofa bed."

Inu-yasha merely rolled his eyes, "Look. That thing is big enough to sleep four people. I don've gve germs or anything so there's no need to sleep on that tiny couch."

"Are you sure?" he watched as Inu-yasha flopped down onto the bed and curled up in his blankets.

"Yes I'm sure bouzou, now get your skinny ass to sleep."

Inu-yasha's tone left no room for arguing, so after he had gone through his nightly ritual, Miroku grabbed his pillow and blankets and curled up on the opposite side of the bed. The other was already snoring obliviously, but the dark-haired boy lay awake for some time, trying to think of anything but the fact that his crush was lying in the same bed as him. It was going to be a long night.

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Soul~chan: Well . . . whatcha' think?
Kuru: It was horrible. A disgrace to the literary community. You're actually going to continue this?
Soul~chan and Miroku: You're so mean to me!
Miroku: Inu-yasha, you heartless hanyou! How could you do that to me?
Inu-yasha: Feh, *I'm* not the one writing this. As far as I'm concerned, I should at least get laid for my troubles.
Miroku and Kuru: Hooray!
Soul~chan: Oh, now she's happy, friggin ecchi.
Miroku: I always knew I wasn't the only one! ::hugs Kuru::
Inu-yasha and Soul~chan: Hey! Hands off of him! Why you!
::The two start grappling over a very amused and *innocent* Miroku::
Kuru: Well, guess I'd better wrap this up. Love it? Hate it? Let us know!