Scars

AN: Written for the "Sango" challenge at the feudal_tales lj community.

-----

Scraping noises filled the clearing as Sango sharpened her bone boomerang. She needed the quiet to think, to wonder if the decision she had made earlier. Life was so complicated since her village had been slaughtered. She looked up in surprise as her solitude was interrupted by a most unexpected guest.

Miroku said nothing for a long moment. Finally: "Sango."

She did not answer, merely focused more determinedly on her task.

He chuckled; though she tried not to acknowledge him, she could feel the corners of her mouth twist down into a frown. "If you keep that up, you're likely to whittle poor hiraikotsu away into dust."

"It's none of your concern," she snapped, eyes widening at the malice obvious in her voice. She hadn't meant it like that, had merely wanted him to butt out and let her cool her temper for a bit.

She thrust the weapon aside and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt. "I'm going to take a bath," she announced, and stalked away toward the river.

It had been a rather trying day, all told. What she really needed right now was time to think.

-----

Somewhere along the line, Sango decided, staring listlessly at her reflection, she had become damaged goods. It was the second time that day she'd come to that conclusion. The first had been earlier, when she had overheard some village women discussing her appearance, and her scars in particular. Their words had not been kind.

She sighed and tilted her head slightly to one side, reaching up to run a finger gingerly along the scar there. There were other scars, scattered almost like stars across her body; battle scars, accidental scars, and scars that were not physical, but emotional. She had all these, and probably more, but she liked to think that she bore them with grace. It was easy enough to ignore them during the day, when she wore her yukata and demon slayer's armor and kept everything nicely covered. Sometimes, it bothered her.

Sometimes, like when she was alone in the bath. If she had someone else to talk to, it was not nearly so bad, at least when they did not stare. She continued to gaze into the water, enjoying the slight chill despite, or perhaps because of, the dark paths her thoughts were taking. The fading light made the water a very poor mirror.

Her head jerked up when she heard footsteps approaching, belatedly accompanied by the familiar ring of metal-on-metal that she knew to be from Miroku's staff. "Sango?"

She could not see him in the near-dark, but drew her yukata up around herself just in case he thought to peek. "Yes?"

"Is everything all right?" There was concern in his voice, and she regretted the rather sharp tone she had taken. "You've been gone a long time. I was beginning to worry."

"Yes, yes I'm fine," she said, too quickly, and adjusted the ties on her yukata to ensure that she was decent. She knew she had left the village in the early afternoon, and now the sun was setting. It had been a long time. She stood, turning to face the direction his voice had come from as she did so. "I didn't intend to take so long. I'm sorry to have worried you."

She had rather hoped he would accept her answer and return to the village without her, but he came and sat beside her instead, indicating that she should join him. She wished now that she had thought to wait for Kagome to return before insisting on a bath, because Inuyasha would have kept Miroku from interrupting. With a grudging sigh, she accepted the inevitable and sat down.

Her thoughts wandered in the long silence that followed, and she found herself relaxing a bit despite Miroku's presence.

-----

Miroku knew something was bothering Sango. It was obvious in the tightness of her muscles, the rigidity of her stance, the way she refused to speak to anyone. He thought he could wager a guess as to what was bothering her, but felt she would benefit more from telling him herself.

Once he felt that she was beginning to loosen up a bit, he knew it was time to get some answers out of her.

"What did you think of the demon we killed in that last village this morning?"

Sango sighed. "It wasn't much of a challenge. You should know, you were there."

"True enough."

She seemed displeased with the questions and responded with one of her own. "Why did you come here alone? Where are Shippo and Kirara?"

He leaned closer and met her gaze evenly. "I wanted you to know that if something is bothering you, you can talk to me about it."

She flushed and pulled away from him. "It's nothing." He tried not to let on that he heard the, "nothing important, anyway," that she added under her breath.

Curious, he examined her more closely, his gaze roaming gleefully along her body.

"What is it you're trying to hide from me?" he teased. He caught hold of her hand and pulled so that her arm was out of the way. She retaliated by trying to hit him with her other hand, but he had been expecting that too, and managed to catch her before she could land a blow. She tried to kick him after that, which he was not prepared for, but she was thankfully hampered from doing any real damage by her yukata and the awkward position he had her in.

"- Scars," she managed, through gritted teeth. She was trying to pull her arm free of his grasp before she ended up in an even more compromising position.

He grinned but did not release her. He was rather enjoying the heated contact. "Did you think I would be horrified?" She stopped struggling momentarily, to stare at him in consternation. "Sango, I've seen you receive a great many of those scars. I've been the one to patch you up more times than I can easily count." She flushed, knowing his words for truth.

She looked away. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this self-conscious. It's just, those women… what they said earlier today, about the way I look… it got to me, I guess."

He chuckled softly, shifting his weight so he could comfortably draw her against him. "They were quite opinionated, were they not?" Her reply was muffled into wordlessness against the fabric of his robe, where her face was pressed against his chest. Her eyes were squeezed adorably shut. Leaning down so he could whisper breathily into her ear, he continued, "You have nothing to worry about. You are not that kind of woman, and should never be compared like that. They simply cannot compete." He paused thoughtfully, and, almost as an afterthought, added, "And besides, I like your scars. They are proof of your strength."

She shivered, trying to ignore the fact that he had her trapped, helpless, in his arms and that she was enjoying every moment of it.

"M- Miroku…"

"Yes, Sango?"

"You can let go now."

"And if I don't wish to do so?"

He knew she was frowning even though he could not see it.

"I wouldn't mind, you know," he told her suddenly. She twisted around to look at him, though she had to crane her neck to do it.

"Wouldn't mind what?" Her tone was suspicious. He sighed.

"Seeing your scars," he confessed.

"Fine," she hissed, angrily. "If you want to see them, I'll show you. Each and every last one." She stood, fury emanating from her as she undid the ties holding her yukata closed. But when she went to part the fabric her bluster faded and began to shake, though he could not quite tell if it was more from rage or sudden nervousness. Regardless, he stood beside her, ready to assist her should she be ready to fully disrobe or just to hug her if she lost her nerve altogether.

She leaned against him slightly. He felt awful for teasing her and realized that she was muttering something under her breath.

"Sango, I apologize. You don't have to."

"I gave my word." The stubbornness in her voice surprised him, but drew a smile. "I said I would, and I will."

"I will help, if you wish."

She nodded. Somehow it seemed easier for her if she let him remove her clothes. It seemed to Miroku that she had already done most of the work, for her yukata had slipped open, but if she wanted him to help, he was more than glad to do so.

He had intended to let her keep on her breast bindings but, when he eased the yukata from her shoulders, mindful of her trembling though even that was thankfully subsiding, he was pleasantly surprised to see that she was not wearing them. He had to pause, almost choking, at the sight of her breasts. Sneaked glances in the bath did not do this sight justice; indeed, he felt it would take hours, perhaps days or weeks, to fully appreciate the beauty before him.

She was gnawing at her bottom lip, obviously unsure what his silent, intense scrutiny meant.

"May I?"

"Eh?" She jumped a little at the sudden sound of his voice.

"May I touch you?"

What followed was a long, awful moment in which she stared at him with a vague expression of horror on her face.

"The idea is that distasteful?"

She blushed such a bright red that he thought she might faint from blood loss. He grinned, rather suspecting that the idea was nearly as distasteful as she often pretended it was. And so he did something daring, and rather foolhardy. He leaned in and kissed her, just a tease, really, on the lips, vowing that if she slapped him he would back off.

But she did not slap him, and something in her expression shifted slightly. She looked considerably less frightened, and more as if she might smile at any moment. That particular look suited her much better than the sadness she had shown before.

Quietly, she said, "No, I don't think it's distasteful. Less than honorable? Perhaps. But not necessa –"

He silenced what was fast becoming one of her quickly spoken embarrassed babbles with another kiss, since the first one had been such a success. His pulse quickened when she fairly melted into his embrace; it felt as if his heart might burst. Sango so rarely allowed any physical contact… this was unprecedented. Not that he planned to avoid taking advantage of what was offered.

He pulled her closer, into a hug, as he broke off the kiss, and rested his chin lightly on the crown of her head. "I would like to see those scars up close, Sango, if you would permit it." It was pushing his luck, he knew, and he fully expected her to come to her senses and refuse.

"I –" She was shaking again, and looked so very inviting. He wasn't sure he could resist. He wasn't sure he wanted to resist. Please, Sango, don't say no.

"I –" She stuttered again, before firming her resolve. "Nothing perverted." It looked almost as if she might cry; he suddenly hated the scars he had previously felt so impassive about, if they hurt her this much. She suddenly could not meet his gaze, and stared off into the distance.

"It's not so unpleasant as that, surely," he said. "Though perhaps you would be more comfortable if you sit." He had left her yukata nearby for just such an occasion, and she used it as a blanket now, though she sheepishly slipped her arms into the sleeves when she thought he was distracted. He let her self-consciousness go without comment.

He began by massaging her feet, which all told were surprisingly free of the hated scars, and moved up her legs. The powerful muscles beneath were tight, and he was careful to ease the tension out of each part before continuing on. He stayed deliberately away from anything that she might have considered indecent, though he was sorely tempted to cup her breasts with both hands or slip a finger between her legs, searching for the telltale signs of arousal.

When he finally reached her head, he spent several long minutes massaging her scalp, finally earning even the slightest moan of pleasure from her. He had to smile at that. It was good to see her finally relax. "May I continue?"

"Yes." The word was half-whisper, half-breath.

He moved away and situated himself by her feet again. Starting at her ankles and working his way up her body, he was careful to find each scar, pausing to kiss, lick, or nip at the every one of the marks on her skin, and all the places in between.

She had been sitting, but leaned backward instinctively as he progressed along her body. He wondered if she even realized the way she was spreading her legs apart for him...

He paused at the apex of her thighs. Oh gods, how he wanted to taste her there. Shuddering, he forced himself to move on, though he could not resist suckling at her breasts when he reached them; her nipples hardened under his ministrations and looked too perfect not to taste.

Her back arched, pressing her breasts closer to him; a hand tangled in his hair. She was breathing heavily, squirming and making small moans and wordless sounds of pleasure and desire, and he was no less affected.

"Sango – " He had to stop; he could barely think, but knew that if they did not stop now, he wouldn't be able to stop. "We can't do this. I -"

Frowning with displeasure, Sango seized him by the shoulders and kissed him forcefully.

-----

Sango paused a moment to wonder what on earth she thought she was doing, before she discarded the idea of thinking altogether. Kissing Miroku was altogether too pleasant for thinking.

She let her hands wander, hesitantly, exploring him in ways she had always avoided thinking about; her fingers skimmed along his body, feeling the smoothness of skin and muscle beneath the thick fabric of his robes.

His hands, so accustomed to touching her whenever he wanted, were equally eager to explore her body, now that she was more willing. And her body, which had always reacted to his touch despite her best efforts, responded with a throb of intense desire. A desire for more contact that only increased when he pulled her down to the ground with him.

"Oh gods," she whispered, "I want to..." She could not bring herself to say it; she could barely believe that she wanted to do that with him, and before they were even married. And the feeling was so intense… "Please..." The word escaped her lips before she could stop it, and she did not even think to be embarrassed by the plea.

She had never put much thought into getting Miroku out of his robes before, and fumbled gracelessly with the knots; thankfully, he was more than eager to assist with the task. With a few movements that he made seem effortless, he had his robes open and was pulling her on top of him. Almost of their own accord, her legs parted and she straddled his hips.

His hardened member pressed eagerly against her. She was aware of the growing wetness between her legs, and bit her lip nervously. Sango tried not to look down, as if not seeing it would make the reality of his arousal less real, less intense. She was vaguely aware that she was shaking, though she could not say whether it was from fear or sheer excitement.

She could feel the tension in him as he struggled to remain still beneath her; he wanted to be inside of her, and, though she was loath to admit it, she wanted it just as badly.

She had hoped that this part would go smoothly, but after two failed attempts she finally had to reach a hand down to guide him inside of her. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the oft-rumored intense pain, and forced her hips downward. With gravity to aid her, it was not so difficult or painful as she had feared. Even so, the sensation of sudden fullness was enough to make her shudder.

Miroku's hands, positioned impudently on her behind, guided her; she found she did not mind so much. Not even when he squeezed. She rose up on her knees, feeling his length draw out of her until she guessed that only the tip remained before sliding back down. She repeated the motion a couple of times, slowly.

The scars, the pain, those things didn't matter so much, at least not anymore. She had other, better, things to think about.

Her slow movements had been gradually gaining speed, but hitched when Miroku suddenly shifted beneath her. She leaned forward, struggling to regain her balance and momentum, and shivered at the way her nipples brushed against his chest.

Miroku was still beneath her, but somehow he slid one of his hands between them to caress her labia and, stroking with just the right amount of pressure, find the sensitive pearl hidden within her folds. Her breath caught in her throat and her hips bucked instinctively, greedily, against him. She found she could not look at him and was glad for the curtain of her unbound hair, separating them even as they were so intimately joined.

He teased her with the gentle movements of his hand until she was rocking her hips wildly against him. His hand slipped away, slid along her back to trail through her hair. She caught sight of his face through the gaps in the strands, but his expression was unreadable; she cried out, wordlessly, as he began to move his hips, meeting her movements thrust for thrust.

She was dangerously close to her peak. She could practically feel herself teetering on the edge, and his forceful movements beneath her were doing... something just right. Her pace increased, and she had to press her hands against his chest to keep her balance. Her breath came in short gasps as she moved faster and faster, seeking that elusive peak.

Despite their frenzied movement, his hand returned to where they were joined, again seeking out the pearl hidden there. And when he found it, she suddenly stopped rocking her hips, shuddering and crying out with the force of her climax. Every sensation of their joining seemed heightened as her muscles contracted around him and for a long moment she could not even seem to breathe. She longed to grasp this pleasure, to make it last for as long as possible, but it slipped through her fingers.

She had stopped moving and realized she was now lying fully against Miroku, breathing heavily in an effort to catch her breath. She could not look up at him, not yet, while her face was so flushed from the exertion, but she knew he was watching her. He waited for a long time, until he was certain she was comfortable again, before he began to move again.

She was not at all sure of her ability to gauge his climax, but found herself watching his face in wonder as his expression contorted with ecstasy and he made strangled sounds of pleasure. As soon as he opened his eyes, she leaned down to kiss him, surprised at her own audacity and hoping that he wasn't too out of breath.

"Ah, Sango," he panted when she finally let him go, "Sometimes I still think you'll be the death of me, one way or another."

She slid off of him and pressed herself up against his side; it somehow felt right. "Is that so?"

He nodded, looking rather tired. "Though I have to admit, it could be quite a pleasant demise."

"You would tempt fate like that?"

This time he grinned, a tireless, lecherous glint in his eyes. "Every day, if you'd allow it."

She blushed at that, but did not attempt to dissuade him. It did not seem the right time to speak of marriage.

"Come on," he said, startling her. "We'd best get cleaned up." Seeing her confused look, he added, "If we don't wash up now, we'll be a real mess in an hour or two. And besides, I don't particularly relish the thought of Shippo or Kirara stumbling upon us as we are now."

"Point taken." He helped her to her feet and, she noted, casually wrapped an arm around her waist as they walked the short distance to the river to wash; she could not help but smile.

He had done it, despite all her scars. She had begun to think he had come to regret his decision to marry her... This may not have proved that he had it in him to remain beside her as her husband, but it was definitely a start. The rest was up to Miroku.