Kondo Kara

Kondo Kara
(In the future)

Author's note: This is Miroku/Sango half of things, after my story Catharsis. You can read what happens to Kagome, Inuyasha, Sesshoumaru, and and the lot over in War Games (the epic sprawling crossover thing.)

Sango's furisode can be seen here. http://www.ichiroya.com/item/list3.php?no=4293 -- It's PRETTY! Some words you might want to know: A furisode is the modern formal kimono for unmarried women. A kusode is the under kimono. An obi is the big bow tie. An uchikake is the modern formal wedding kimono. A haori is the traditional make jacket. Hakama are the big poofy pants for formal male Japanese clothes.

Disclaimer: Takahashi owns them, I don't. I just have a really dirty mind.

* * *

Two days. Had it only been two days since Kagome had disappeared and Miroku had sealed Inuyasha into the holy tree of the shrine? It didn't seem like such a short time, not to Sango, who had labored alongside the villagers and the other remnants of their ragtag group to repair the damage wrought in the final battle against Naraku. The work, though hard, was welcome, since it dulled the edge of their losses and forced them all to sleep at night without remembering Inuyasha's haunted expression when he realized he'd lost Kagome without ever telling her that he loved her.

Shippou seemed e tae taking it the hardest. Kagome and Inuyasha had been surrogate parents to him, and to lose both in one evening had almost destroyed the little fox's will to live. But he had decided to press on with Miroku, Sango, and Kohaku, making a new family with them in Kaede's village.

Sango stared at the early morning sunlight filtering in through the window of Kaede's hut. Most of the work had been finished by now, meaning that she was going to have to do something she'd been putting over ver since Naraku had been destroyed. She had to talk to Miroku.

She yawned, and stretched, and decided not to think about that for the moment. Ah, but her muscles were still sore! She had excused herself every time Miroku had tried to find her alone, thinking up some sort of chore or claiming exhaustion, although the latter wasn't too far from the truth. But she knew that he was aware of her real reason, that she was avoiding him.

Why was she so afraid to speak with him? Right after Naraku had been destroyed, they had embraced like never before, crying in happiness and relief. She had peeled away the rosary herself and kissed his newly healed right hand, cuddled it to her cheek, expressing in actions what her heart could not force her mouth to say. But then they'd lost Kagome and Inuyasha, and suddenly she was shy. Her love for him burned no less inside her chest, but now that they were in many ways alone -- for the first time since she'd met him, really -- she was scared.

"Good morning, Kaede-san," she said, rising from the straw futon that Kaede had given her to sleep on. She smiled when she saw Kohaku, her little brother, curled up on the other side of the room. He'd sleep for another hour; the sun had only risen a short time ago, and he'd always been a late sleeper. Sango dusted off her white sleeping robe, and began to gather her clothes for a morning dip in the river. She'd wash herself one last time with the sweet smelling soap Kagome had once given her, before putting the precious stuff away to be used only on special occassions. She'd also wash her clothes with it as well, so that she'd be perfect and clean all over when she finally worked up the nerve to face Miroku.

"Good morning, Sango," the old woman said casually, leaning her one good eye to study the young demon hunter. She had been stirring something in a pot, and the rich aroma of miso assaulted Sango's nostrils. "Have a bowl of soup. Your priest has already woken and left."

Left? Sango's heart constricted and her face drained of blood.

"Don't scare an old woman by looking like that! I meant left for the day, not for the lifetime. He said he'd be back in the afternoon, but he wanted to see about gathering a few things from his old home at the monestary. He took that tanuki, Hatchi, with him."

Sango's pale expression turned to a blush at being seen through so easily. She dropped gracefully on the floor next to Kaede, and accepted a warm bowl of the fermented soybean soup. In these times, such a thing was a rare treat. The whole village probably wanted to celebrate this day, now that the place had almost been repaired completely and the horrible menace that had sprung from their cave was gone for good.

"Thank you," Sango said.

"You're welcome." Kaede casually spooned herself a bowl of the soup, and started slurping the broth noisily. "The priest seems a little unhappy with you, to tell you the truth. You've been avoiding him, haven't you?"

Sango sipped her own broth to hide her expression. Kaede wasn't a miko for nothing. Finally, she said, "I amidiniding him, but not for the reason you'd think. We . . . made a promise." Sango cringed. SHE'd made a promise, anyway, and he'd been unable to agree to his half of the bargain at the time. He'd have to change his mind about THAT particular mistake before she'd own up to one tenth -- or one twentiet of of her half of things.

"So you're betrothed."

"More or le" Sa" Sango sighed. "In our own way. I guess you can call it that."

"You promised to bear his child, didn't you?" Kaede's wizened face suddenly split into a grin.

Sango's own face burned the brightest crimson that she could ever remember.

"Ten of them. Or twenty," she said, in a very small voice.

"Oh ho," Kaede murmured, impressed. "That is indeed more or less a betrothal." She leaned forward, and looked around, as if Miroku might have been lurking in a corner all this time. "Just to let you know, he asked me this morning if it was really all right for you two to stay here. Of course I said yes. I'm an old woman, not a fool, and once I'm gone, the village will be without any spiritual protection." Kaede leaned back, and finished off her miso noisily. With one final smack, she dished herself up yet another helping. "Truth is, none of the village girls are up to being a miko -- all of them have had their kimonos up like lightskirts, and now there's not a speck of power among them. I'd almost hoped that Kagome would be allowed to live here as my replacement. But you and the priest will do well enough as you are. Oh yes, you'll do."

Sango smiled weakly at Kaede, glad to have the old miko's blessing. It made her feel a little less like a stranger in this town.

* * *

No family, no home, nothing. She'd wanted to die before this time, and with good reason. Now, she considered herself the luckiest woman alive.

She had a second chance. Her little brother lived. She had a new village, with friends that she'd fought beside and laughed and cried with. Most of all, she had a priest whom she loved silly and would happily spend the rest of her new life with.

She'd scrubbed her skin with sand and Kagome's sweet foaming soap. Ah, it felt good to be clean. She had sat on the edge of the river, luxuriating in the time to actually cleanse the dirt off her skin completely. She was slightly pink all over from the exfoliation, and her skin tingled where she'd scrubbed too hard. She'd rinsed ever trace of the soap off onto the ground before sinking gratefully into the cool river to soak a bit.

Her clean clothes dried crisp in the sunlit grass a few feet away from the river, but Sango floated naked, her dark brown hair floating around her head, her pert breasts bobbing gently underneath the surface of the water. She stared at the afternoon sky, wondering when Miroku was going to return.

Her heart did a funny little flutter whenever she thought of him. It had started doing that even after the first time she'd been groped by him, while they were fighting the false water god. Even then, something about him had excited her, pulled at her, despite his lecherous behavior and total lack of manners.

She had loved him then. She loved him now. But she loved him so much she was scared of the depths of her feelings . . . what if he really wouldn't keep his end of the bargain? What if he started seeking out the "young village lightskirts" when Sango's belly was round with his child? She loved Miroku, but that didn't mean she trusted him.

"I had never thought I'd see a real water nymph, but now I believe they are as real as the water itself," a familiar masculine voice said from close range. Too close. Miffed at the intrusion, Sango immediately covered her chest and ducked under the water. Miroku stood there, on the bank, next to her clothes! The pervert! But when she looked more closely, she saw that he had actually covered his eyes and was facing down the river, away from her. He was respecting at least some of her privacy.

"I'm no water nymph, houshi-sa --" she broke off and corrected herself, since they were beyond formal titles now. "Miroku-san. You well know it."

"Aye," he said, his familimiling underneath the hands covering his eyes. "You're very much a warm, flesh and blood one, a fact I thank Buddha for every day."

"Isn't that . . . sacrilage?" Sango argued, feeling them slip into their familiar roles of Outraged Woman and Pervert Priest.

"Nothing concerning you could ever be sacrilage. Dress yourself, Sango, so that I make write poetry in homage to your visage."

"I'm not the kind of girl who can be wooed by poetry."

"Another fact I know all too well." His expression drooped, and Sango had the sudden feeling that she'd hurt him. She quickly jumped out of the water, put on the clean white sleeping robe, and touched Miroku's shoulder gently with her hand.

"Thank you," she said quietly, appreciating his consideration of her privacy more than he might ever guess.

He smiled genuinely, but his eyes glinted mischeviously and he pulled her still wet form against him in a not so subtle embrace.

"Erp!" Sango said, too surprised to protest. Much.

"I promise not to touch where I shouldn't," he said, his hands staying firmly on her back. "But I wanted to feel you in my arms, Sango-chan. I've missed you."

She blushed at the endearment. "I-I'm sorry," she stuttered, her knees going weak as her fluttering heart struggled to keep her body upright. "I . . . didn't know what to do."

He tipped up her chin and looked in her eyes evenly, much like he had the day that they had made their promise. She felt even more naked before that honest gaze than she would have without the sleeping robe on.

"I'm going to build us a house," he said calmly. "I'm not a carpenter, so it won't be too fancy, but it will be good enough for us to live in and raise our children." He ged sed suddenly. "All twenty of them."

Sango did not grin back. "And you promise not to run around on me? I'll be the only girl you grope?" She winced at the choice of words, but she meant what she said. She'd become Kaede's damn miko successor herself if Miroku wasn't going to keep his fidelity to her.

Miroku sighed dramatically, the grin disappearing. "I can't promise I won't . . . admire other women -- no man could ever make that promise, I don't think -- but I swear to you, upon all the children you'll bear for me, that I will never touch another woman inappropriately from this day forward."

"That's all I needo heo hear," Sango said, collapsing against him, tears of joy leaking out of her eyes. "I was afraid to talk to you, afraid you'd be unable to make that promise . . . and I love you so much, Miroku, that had you not promised, I'd . . . I'd . . ."

He touched her cheek tenderly, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Kaede agreed to set things up for us, and since the village has no priest, I've gotten Mushin from the monestary to perform the ceremony. We can be married today, if you want."

"To-today?" Sango blinked in alarm. It was all going too fast . . . she had only expected to talk to Miroku about their relationship this afternoon, not be married before daylight faded. She latched onto the first excuse she could think of. "I haven't anything to wear."

"Ah, but you do." Miroku let her go for a moment and rummaged around in his robes. "I've got a gift for you, from Kagome, actually. She wanted us to be together more than anyone, I think, and so she asked Hatchi to hold onto this." He finally unearthed a carefully wrapped package from one of his inner pockets, and gave it to her. "She called it a furisode."

Sango untied the strings on the package with trembling hands. The furisode, whatever it was, was extremely heavy, and kept making odd crinkling noises in her hands. Finally she unfurled the most beautiful kimono she had ever seen, gasping in awe as carefully embroidered mettallic threads twinkled in the sunlight before her.

"She told me that this had been her mother's long ago. She wanted to wear her mother's uchikake at her own wedding, so she kept that for herself. It is very similar to a furisode, according to her. Also, the colors in a furisode like this had grown unfashionable for someone her age in her world, and her mother could never wear it again since it was too young for her. She believe it would fit you perfectly."

The furisode kimono, in the palest pink, had been lavished with more embroidery than the court robes that Sango had once seen on a princess. Large bunches of violet and green flowers were painted on the long, long sleeves, matching the pattern on the back and front. There was also a carefully folded plain silk kusode inside that had been dyed a mouth watering fuschia, a brilliant green and yellow obi, and a small bag with cords inside and what looked like instructions on how to wear everything. While the fashion style was only vaguely familiar to Sango, who had seen not much more than yukata and the occassional formal court clothing, she could tell that the no wno was extremely well made.

"It's exquisite," she whispered. "I wish I could tell Kagome thank you. She gave this to you?" She stared at Miroku with wide eyes.

Miroku nodded. "She said I was to give this to *you* when we got married." He smiled. "Any more excuses, or shall the feast the villagers have been preparing go to waste?"

So that explained the miso soup this morning. Miroku had told them all that he wanted to marry her today.

"We haven't anywhere to live," she retorted.

"I said I'd build us a house. In the meantime, Kaede's hut is far too small, so one of the older village women is giving up her hut and living with Kaede for a few weeks."

"How will we make a living? I don't know how to farm, and you don't know how to run a shine."

"Sango, you wound me," Miroku said, holding his hands over his heart as if she'd physically harmed him. "I know perfectly well how to run a shrine; I was raised in a monestary, remember? Now that my father's curse has ended, my noble-born mother's family will accept me, too, so that our children need never fear being hungry or outcast."

Sango's jaw dropped open. She'd always wondered if he was nobility, what with his royal purple robes and full head of hair. It explained a lot about him, and his family's taste for noble women.

"Any other objections?"

Defeated, Sango sighed and smiled happily. "No, no others. I'll go talk to Kaede about arranging things." She gathered her dry clothes in one arm, careful to keep them from touching the delicaurisurisode in her other, and then impusively reached up to kiss Miroku on the cheek.

"I don't think I ever told you this, Sango-chan. I love you." He looked at her with such a tender expression, Sango couldn't help but return it with a genuine blush.

"I'll accept your love, and return it," she said softly. "I also love you, Miroku-san."

Overcome with her excitement and brimming full of wonder, she ran away to Kaede's hut.

* * *

"Oh!" Kaede said when Sango showed her the gorgeous furisode. "I've never seen a kimono quite like this."

"It's from Kagome's world," Sango said, touching the beautiful silk embroidery with hand. They had hung it on Kaede's clothes pole to keep it from getting wrinkled while they figured out how to mblemble it upon Sango. "Miroku said it had belongo heo her mother."

Kaede nodded. "I've seen ones that are similar, but the sleeves aren't nearly so long, and the decorations not nearly as profuse. This is a work of art."

"Too bad I can only wear it once," Sango said with a sigh. "A wife in Kagome's time would never get to wear this sort of thing, I'm sure. It's a dress for young, single woman."

"But it's also perfect for a bride." Kaede glanced at the diagrams that Kagome had carefully sketched what could only have been months before. "Your breasts are bound, right?"

Sango nodded. She had done that after escaping from Miroku. A kimono like that would require that her chest be as flat as possible. She had only worn a formal kimono once before, as a child, but she remembered seeing her mother flatten her chest to tightly wound bumps before putting on a formal kimono.

"Spread your arms. The kusode goes on first of course, like this . . ."

* * *

Between Kaede and a few other village girls called in to help, Sango found herself bundled quite comfortably into the tight, narrow furisode. For some reason, Kagome's instructions had called for tucking it up to ankle length like a yukata rather than leaving it loose aroune fee feet, something Sango was grateful for. The clothes of nobility had always looked dangerously trippable to her.

Kaede had transformed her hair into a beautiful coif, and fresh summer flowers adorned the braided ropes. Sango felt like an absoluteen. en.

The village had indeed decided to combine the wedding with a celebration, and food stores that had been secretly hidden from the rampaging armies were unearthed for the occassion. Mushin had even brought several jugs of sake -- far more than the simple Shinto wedding ceremony would require.

They were all inside Kaede's hut now. Sango's head was hidden by a white cloth. Mushin threw purifying salts all around while Kaede poured sake into shallow cups. In lieu of parents, Mushin and Hatchi were acting as Miroku's family, while Kohaku and Shippou would be Sango's family.

The ceremony was so brief, Sango was hardly aware that anything had happened when Mushin directed her tore are a cup of Sake with Miroku. She sipped, then passed it over to him as the warmed drink burned her throat. He smiled as his lips touched the rim of the cup, and sipped as well.

A delicious anticipation began to well upSangSango. She'd never envisioned her wedding night quite like this, with a youkai acting in the stead of her father, but considering all the turns her first life had taken, this was probably going to be one of the best days in her second, new life.

There are calm times and emotional times, she thought as she take her second sip of sake. There are times when one will make mistakes, regret things, be caught up in the spirit of it all and wish things hadn't played out as fate had decided. She'd had enough of those moments over the last year, that was certain. But there were also times when things seem to be going exactly right, even if you had never imagined them happening just that way.

She passed the little cup back to Miroku, who winced almost imperceptibly at the strong taste of the rice wine.

I'm getting married, Sango realized for the first time, the implications of it all hitting her. This is forever. This is the real, true thing. I'm becoming a wife, to Miroku, whom I love.

She took her final sip of sake and coughed as the liquor burned its way down her throat for the last time. The others had finished theirs, and as Miroku set his cup down on the table that Kaede had set up, Mushin said one final blessing. It was all over.

Impulsively, she reached out to touch Miroku's hand as they, the newly joined couple, walked outside of the hut.

It was time.

* * *

The old woman who had abandoned her hut for the newlyweds lived on the outskirts of town. The small hut look cozy from the outside, with a pitfire already lit in the middle, causing the shuttered windows to leak golden streaks in the shadows of the twilight.

They stepped inside the hut, and were immediately enveloped in warmth and the fragrance of thousands of blossoms. The old woman had turned the plain little cottage into a veritable bower -- there were flowers of all sorts scattered everywhere. A woven basket with some of the delicacies from the feasting that had been going on all day was set near the fire to stay warm, and a thick, snuggly futon had been turned down on the other side.

"Oh my," Sango gasped, and Miroku began laughing at the sight.

"It looks like the old woman is a romantic," he said, and began to shrug out of the haori he had worn for the ceremony. Part of Sango was glad, because he looked so strange without his Buddhist attire.

"Mushin will be staying here overnight?" Sango queried, trying to reach around to untie her obi. The elaborate bow that Kaede had mananged to create seemed a bit out of reach, however.

Mirolu stepped behind her to help out. "Yes," he said in a low voice next to her ear, and gave the obi an economical tug, The bow fell apart into a single wide ribbon of silk. He handed her the end of it, and watched in curisiosity as she started to unwrap it. When she felt his eyes on hers, she stopped and blushed.

"Don't, uh, look at me so intently," she stammered, crumpling the silk obi in her hands nervously.

"I can't help it," he said honestly, and grinned innocently. "It's a joy I have been denied for far too long."

Sango's blush deepened, but he did have a point. They were husband and wife now; he could look at her as he pleased. She resumed unwrapping the obi, and then untied the cord that held it onto her waist.

"I was wondering how that bow stayed so perky all that time," Miroku said, as she removed the shallow wooden bowl that had fitted at the small f her back to support the weight of the obi bow.

"Kagome's instructions were very thorough," Sango replied, her gratefulness to the other girl suddenly welling over once again. "This furisode is the most beautiful garment anyone, including myself, had ever seen. One of the village girls asked if she could wear it at her wedding. I said she could."

Miroku nodded; he also understood how selfish it would be for her to keep such a beautiful kimono when the style was inappropriate for her to wear anymore. Even Sango's warm cotton yukata was almost too bright for a married woman. She'd have to see about looking for plain black silk for a formal kimono now. Idly, she wondered what Mirou's family crest was. She asked him.

"My noble mother's family crest has hitherto been forbidden for me to wear. The crest here," he pointed to the middle of the back of is kimono, "is the crest of Mushin's temple. But my mother's family crest is a maple leaf in a pentagon."

He looked so sad that Sango reached over and hugged him without thinking about it. She rested her head against his chest, feeling his warmth seep in from below the formal kimono he was wearing. He wrapped his arms around her, and they stood there for a few moments, peaceful and content.

Sango noticed a faint, spicy scent she'd come to associate with Miroku. She sighed blissfully and snuggled into his chest, feeling kittenish. He reached up and caressed her head, and it was only when her hair tumbled down her back that she realized he had been removing the hair combs that had held her hair in place.

"Oh," she said in surprised, tilting her head to look at his eyes. "That took Kaede nearly an hour to arrange."

"It was pretty up," Miroku said with a shrug, and ran his fingers through the dark brown mass. The coif had left deep ripples in it, and the firelight close by brought out a thousand amber highlights. "But I've always thought it was prettier down."

He plunged his hands into the glorious cascade of rich hair, and kissed her temple up to her forehead all while rubbing his head against her bangs. She shivered in anticipation as he then kissed down her nose and finally found her mouth.

It wasn't their first kiss; they'd had several stolen moments before Naraku had been defeated, and then afterward they'd spent a precious few minutes just kissing each other in joy. But this was different. This was a kiss that knew it was just the beginning of something more, something else that would take hold of them before the evening was over.

Miroku traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, and Sango jumped a little in surprise before she decided it felt very good. Once someone in her village, an older girl, had explained that adults liked to kiss with their tongues, and eleven year old Sango had been mortified by the very thought. But now she understood why adults kissed this way.

Miroku relentlessly coaxed her mouth open, and finally she let her lips flower beneath his. His hot tongue plunged inside, causing Sango to groan involuntarily and clutch the fabric of his kimono. He crushed her mouth to his, plundering her tenderly. They both still tasted of the bitter sake they'd shared earlier.

Carefully, efficiently, he slid his arms to the front of the furisode and untied the final cord that held it in place, revealing the brilliant under kimono below. He slipped the furisode off her shoulders, then bent to place a kiss at the base of her throat. Sango closed her eyes at the sensation, wondering how her skin could be so sensitive still after all the things she'd done to it over her lifetime. She was a warrior, not a princess; her hands were rough from work, her body covered in scars . . . yet the way Miroku looked at her and touched her and genuinely enjoyed her made her feel beautiful, as if she really were some sort of royalty.

She untied the lower cord, her hands shaking as she did so until the kimono pooled at her feet in a puddle of silk as he continued to kiss her throat. She felt herself trembling with the emotions roiling through her mind. Miroku stroked her arms then gripped her shoulders lightly. She opened her eyes again to find his eyes, deep reflective pools of indigo, staring intently at her.

"Are you afraid, Sango?" he asked, concerned.

"No," she said, then changed her mind. "Yes." She took a steadying breath, and offered him a crooked smile. "It should be obvious from things that I've never . . ."

Miroku finished, "Never known someone else completely? Neither have I."

Indignant, Sango whapped him lightly on his back. "You lie."

Radiating honestly, Miroku stepped back, holding his arms up in surrender. "I may haveandeandering hand, but I couldn't risk giving a child to a woman who didn't understand the implications. Everyone I asked - except you and that one girl Kohaku - always assumed I was teasing or joking." He looked faintly embarassed. "I never even wanted to risk it with a woman in a teahouse. I needed an heir, not an affair. I confesre kre knowledge of carnal matters than the average virgin, but that has more to do with a healthy imagination than anything else."

Sango fiddled with the embroidery on one drooping sleeve. "So we're both . . . inexperienced."

"Why aren't you, Sango? Experienced, that is."

Sango bristled for a moment before realizing he genuinely wanted an honest answer. They'd never had this sort of conversation when Inuyasha and Kagome were around; the younger couple had their own sexual frustrations to deal with, and adding Sango's sob story to theirs had never seemed like a good idea.

"I'm a tomboy, isn't it obvious? Or at least I was one. I used to ask Papa if I could cut my hair short, like his, rather than have it halfway down my back like was stylish. He asked me not to cut it, since it was best for a girl to have long hair, but he did teach me how to pull it into a high ponytail for combat."

"But you seem so feminine to me," Mi sai said with a leer in the general direction of her chest. Sango blushed.

"Even after my body changed, all the men in the village still viewed me as one of them. I joined the group seeking Naraku when I was seventeen; you never got to see the gawkish gangly version of Sango."

"How old are you now?"

"Eighteen, in about three weeks, come to think of it. You?"

"I'll be turning twenty in three months from now."

Sango, suddenly feeling more comfortable with the casual conversation, began to remove the heavy silk furisode. She shrugged out of the enormous sleeves, then walked over to the side of the hut where a long narrow pole was suspended between two stakes. This she removed, slipped through the sleeves of the furisode, then replaced so that the garment hung perfectly flat, a few scant inches from the wooden floor.

"I'm glad to know that clothing dimensions between our world and Kagome's aren't all that different," Sango commented. "I'd hate to have it drag on the floor." Beside her, Miroku also began to remove his hakama, which he also hung on a pole, leaving them both clad in nothing more than thin silk kusode, the under kimono.

"We're the perfect age for each other, are we not?" Miroku said gently, then grabbed her hand and tugged her closer to him and the fire.

Sango intertwined her fingers with his. "Women are supposed to marry older men," she admitted, and Miroku chuckled as he pulled her against him again.

"Oh Sango," he murmured, and stroked her hair with one hand, the other dig dag dangerously close to a breast. "I want to know all of you. I always have. That time with the false water god may have been perfectly innocent, but no time after that was. I wanted you then. I want you now."

Sango felt her skin flush at the impassioned words, and her voice was steady when she said, "Take me, then."

Miroku did not hesitate to do so. He crushed her mouth to his again, dropping his hands to caress her bound breasts. Sango mumbled a protest when he found one aching, tender nipple underneath the tight bindings. He answered by untying the final cord on her outfit and slipping her out of the bright inner kimono, exposing her body, save her breasts, to his full view.

Sango's faced instantly turned crimson when she saw where his eyes focused. She had a mole right on her left hip, above her thigh. It was definitely a distinguishing mark, and not one than many people had ever seen. She felt him smile against her mouth.

After carefully folding the kimono, never once losing contact with her body somehow, Miroku started a trail of kisses across her shoulder as he untied the simple bow that held her breasts in check. The bindings loosened a little, then Miroku tugged sharply in the right spot and the strips of cloth fell away, exposing the straining, swollen mounds.

"Lovely," he murmured, and dropped his mouth suckle the tender bud of her nipple. Sango gasped at the sensation that rippled through her, a tingling that ran from her breasts down to the soles of her feet. She curled her toes against the hard wooden floor and gripped Miroku's shoulders as he leaned before her, enjoying the pleasant, floating feeling.

He switched over to the other breast, and Sango took the opportunity to free his hair from the tiny ponytail. Glossy and chin-length, it swung forward, dented by the tough string with which he bound it.

This time she plunged her hands into his hair, indulging in a minor fantasy as the silky strands trickled through her fingers. She cupped the nape of his neck, pressing his mouth to her breast, her knees getting weaker by the moment.

"Miroku, I can hardly stand," she said softly, surprised at the husky note in her voice as she said his name.

"We can lay down ime,ime, Sango," he whispered against her breast, then with a satisfied sigh scooped her up in his arms. She circled her arms around his neck for stability as he carried her across the room to the futon, which was soft and warm from the fire.

He gently set her down, then untied the final garment between them, his kimono, with careful, deliberate hands. Sango's heart quickened. She'd never seen him before. He'd seen her countless times, but she'd never, ever . . en pen prepared for such a beautiful sight. The dark fabric set off his warmly tanned skin as it billowed behind him.

He was beautiful. There was no other way to describe him. From his sharply muscled, strong arms, to his powerful chest, to the tapered torso and the fully aroused shaft, down to his shapely, well-defined calves. He radiated masculinity, and Sango shivered with the knowledge that he now belonged to her, and only her.

Idly, Miroku kneeled next to her, picked up a flower, and started stroking her stomach. Sango's abdominal muscles contracted and she laughed involuntarily.

"You're ticklish!" Miroku exclaimed in delight, his eyes flashing as he stroked the flower down to her thighs. Sango laughed again, unable to stand the torture, and Miroku decided to have mercy on her and stop.

"Please don't do that again," Sango gasped, still giggling.

Miroku lay down next to her, and pulled the futon cover over both of them, so that they were snuggled together. His hard erection tickled her thigh just like the flower had, and she stifled another un-Sango-like giggle.

"I promise I won't tickle you any more, Sango-chan," he whispered, and caught her face in another long, long kiss that left her breathless and tingling all over. His roving hand caught her breast and kneaded it ever so gently, and stroked her whi while he gently rolled himself on her.

She knew, somehow, to part her thighs so that he could settle comfortably on her. He wasn't too heavy; the pressure of him only fueled her wildly raging emotions and hormones. She felt him down there, poised at her entrance, and was suddenly afraid.

He felt her tense beneath him.

"I'm . . . I'm not sure . . ." she gasped as he broke the kiss to ask her what was wrong.

"About what?"

"I don't know if I . . . if my body is ready. I mean, it feels ready . . . but I've heard stories about . . . it hurting." She blushed and look away, and was quite surprised when the roving hand crept down and stroked her most sensitive area. She gasped in shock, her knees jerking in a primitive, deep response.

"You're quite ready, Sango. You're so soft . . . and so wet." While his hand was down there, he slipped a finger into her core and spread the abundant juices around, tenderly moistening the curls he found.

"Am I supposed to be wet?" She'd have guessed it impossible to blush any more, but her face felt very hot at the statement. All of her felt hot for that matter.

Miroku smiled. "It makes things easier." He kissed her again, deeply, and positioned his ardor near her entrance before bringing his hand up to support his weight again.

He pushed in, ever so gently, then slid back out before he could go very far. Suddenly impatient, Sango locked her ankles around his waist, underneath his kimono, so that he couldn't leave her completely. He took the hint and plunged more deeply then, encountering a faint barrier.

"I'm surprised you're still intact, considering your active lifestyle," he said.

"I'm still intact - what do you mean?"

"Your maidenhead. It's still unbroken, or at least part of it still remains. From what I've heard, most girls who work hard all their lives lose it just from sheer activity." He shrugged. "Riding a horse, kicking high in the air, even working hard enough in the fields . . . it's just a little membrane."

Sango squirmed unconfortably. It didn't really hurt, but it did feel like a lot of pressure.

"It's a big enough membrane to stop you, which is saying something," she said, grimacing a bit.

"You can slap me if it hurts to much." He pressed on, his face straining as he sought to join them completely.

"I don't want to slap you any more, hou - Miroku."

"Say that again as you give birth to our first child."

Sango cried out in a moment of pain as he finally tore through the membrane that marked her as a rather lucky taiji-ya. He felt so huge inside her - not too long, but really thick and solid.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned. She nodded, fighting the urge to cry a bit. She'd been through much worse hurting than this - having her little brother cleave her spine had made her world go red through a haze of shock - but this was a lot more upsetting, since she'd been anticipating pleasure, not pain.

Then he moved out of her, and the pressure was gone . . . but there had been a sensation as he shifted, something deeper and richer and warmer. It was the feeling that all the kissing from before had promised. Children don't come from cabbages, she told herself, and decided to let him know it was all right to continue. She kissed him, pulling his face down to meet hers. He settled comfortably on her body, and she wrapped her arms around him, stroking the soft silk of the kimono he still wore.

"All better now?" he asked, smiling at her with such tender concern that she couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes, " she replied, and he responded by starting gentle thrusts into her. She gasped and threw back her head, lights flashing on the edge of her vision as he began a steady cadence, gliding in and out of her warmth, filling all the lonely places that she'd kept to herself her entire life.

He continued thrusting relentlessly now that she was comfortable, and she relaxed and decided to enjoy the ride now that the painful part was all over.

"Oh, Sango," he said softly, reaching down to kiss her neck, her shoulder, her face, her ear. The ear in particular caused Sango to shudder in deep pleasure, so he kissed there again, running his tongue lightly along the outer whorl. She cried aloud and squeezed her legs around him, gripping his kimono as shied ied to hold on to reality.

"Don't fight it, Sango!" he warned, and nipped her collarbone lightly. "I want you to feel it with me. Us, together."

She made a small mewling noise in the back of her throat, and closed her eyes as a warm glow enveloped her from all around. Miroku's voice cloaked her like velvet, and the warm light condensed to a sudden pinkprick of brilliant, crystal pleasure.

Her eyes flew open as her mouth formed a perfect O.

She was then vaguely aware of Miroku moaning her name aloud again and then settling down on her, heavier than before, exhausted. Sango wasn't exhausted at all; she felt like doing cartwheels across the village. As her senses collected around her, she noticed the heavy fragrance of flowers, the warmth of the fire, the beads of sweat on Miroku's brow as he gathered his breath. She cradled his head to her chest and kissed his temple, amazed at how beautiful the whole thing had been and how wonul tul the world felt.

"Miroku?" she said, shifting slightly below him. He pulled out then, and settled his lower half beside her, his head still resting on her bosom.

"Mmm," he answered lazily, snuggling into her body.

"Do you think it will be okay for us? In the future, I mean."

He kissed the valley between her breasts, and gave an almost shrug. "I'm sure the future will be what we make of it."

Contented with that answer, Sango let herself rest as Miroku fell asleep. As he grew heavy with slumber, she ted ted so that their limbs intertwined.

In the future, she thought, in Kagome's world, we'll be dead and nothing more than memories. Our chapter of the story is about to draw to a close, and it will be up to Kagome and Inuyasha to write the rest. Or maybe . . . maybe our story is only beginning. Maybe the only future that matters . . . is ours.

* * *

The end.

* * *