Miroku was decidedly a ‘people person’. Still, there were times when even he liked to get away from it all. To have time to himself to meditate on all things sensual—and spiritual, of course. The monk smiled slightly to himself.

Shakujou in hand, he stepped lightly through the trees. In this part of the forest, he was certain he could find the sort of privacy he sought. And so, he was taken quite aback when he heard a pair of familiar voices issuing from a glade up ahead.

“Wow!” he heard Kagome exclaim, somewhat breathless. “It’s so much bigger and scarier up-close-and-in-person.”

“Is that so?” Sesshoumaru said smoothly to her. “But I’ve yet to fully unsheathe it.”

The priestess giggled. “You’re such a tease, you know that?”

Miroku froze, his jaw unhinging. The unmistakable whisper of silk sliding free reached his disbelieving ears. Clutching his shakujou white-knuckled for support, he glanced quickly around him. Making a split-second decision, he dove for cover behind a large oak tree. Downwind of a particularly leaf-rattling breeze, if he kept utterly still and silent, he was certain he could remain concealed even from Sesshoumaru’s keen senses.

Calming his aura to perfect tranquility, he felt the stirrings of fate in his soul. Of destiny. This was the sort of moment he’d been preparing for his entire life. As Kagome began to speak again, he mouthed a wordless prayer of thanks to the gods.

“Oh—oh my…”

“Does it please you?”

“I have to say, it’s even more impressive than I thought.” A beat of flustered silence. “…Can I touch it?”

“Touch it all you like.”

“Mmm, it’s so silky and warm. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It is bound to me,” Sesshoumaru replied, with smug frankness. “Would you like to hold it?”

Kagome’s voice was hesitant. “I would, but it looks so heavy…”

“You can manage it.”

“Well, all right.” There was a bright, greedy lilt to her tone. “I’ll have to use both my hands for this. Mine are so much smaller than yours.”

“Of course.”

There was a catch in Kagome’s breath. “I don’t want to drop it—it’s so hefty and long…”

“You won’t. Here, let me adjust your grip.”

“O-Okay…yeah, that helps.”

“Slide your hand a little lower, toward the base.”

“Like this? …Oh, I wish I could fit my fingers around it all the way! I know that would feel so much better.”

“It doesn’t matter. Your grip is firm enough.”

“It just feels so huge in my hands. And it’s way thicker than I thought.”

“Broader than most, yes.”

“Whew, I feel like I’m just getting by here, and I’ve barely done more than touch it. How in the world do you handle this thing so casually?”

“It simply takes practice.”

“Could you teach me?”

“I’m teaching you now.”

Kagome laughed a little. “That’s true. Anyway, I’m grateful. Inuyasha would never let me touch his, even though I wanted to so badly. I think he was afraid it would explode on contact or something.”

“With his, perhaps it would. Even with mine, there is such a risk. It’s merely the effect that you have.”

Sheepishly, Kagome said, “I’ll be careful then.”

“I think we are past the point of concern.”

“In that case,” she said, her voice lowering conspiratorially, “why don’t you show me how to thrust it?”

“Gladly…”

After that, there was nothing more than the sound of clothes falling free, of skin on skin, of soft gasps and exclamations of “Is this right?” and clipped replies of “Harder. Faster.” With his lecherous heart on the verge of bursting—and other parts of him as well—Miroku scrambled to his feet with staff in hand and beat a hasty retreat back to the village, in desperate search of his wife.

~

Meanwhile in the clearing, Kagome panted from exertion. With his silvery head at a slight tilt, as though he were listening for something, Sesshoumauru turned back to her. Her arms felt like limp noodles as she returned Tenseiga to him, at last.

“Sword fighting is no joke,” she said, dashing a hand across her sweaty brow.

Sheathing the sword, Sesshoumaru approached her. The naked planes of his chest glistened in the afternoon sun. Kagome found her heart skittering in tandem with those clingy little beads of moisture, trickling their way leisurely down his chiseled abs, toward the V that tapered so tantalizingly below. Seeing where her gaze was traveling, Sesshoumaru smirked. A low rumble underscored his voice as he hauled her to him.

“Are you exhausted already?”

“W-well,” she stammered. Her knees threatened to give out at the graze of his tongue along her pulse. “…I wouldn’t say that.”

“Good.” Smiling sharply against her throat, he took her by the wrist and guided her hand beneath the waistline of his hakama. “In that case, I have another thrust to show you…”

---

Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 6/20/23