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Sango learned three things rather quickly during her marriage with Miroku. One, his teasing and fondling weren’t the true extent of his romantic capabilities. He did in fact understand how to read the room. Simply chose not to when it benefitted whatever scheme he had in mind which Sango found refreshing, in the right setting.
Two, the way he showed his affection was better off in private. Considering how shameless his advances were during their travels, Sango half-expected she would need to keep an eye on his hands whenever they were in arms length of each other.
She knew him well. Something he always complimented her on no matter who they were around, but she worried. The women in the village were relentless in their advice and teasing, telling her that a monk would be undoubtedly insatiable and her duties as a wife may be tiring but at least her husband was easier on the eyes. Their jeering reminded her of the women in her own village but she doubted they would understand her as her own clan would. Her concern when she thought of a future cut between her wants and Miroku's. Seldom did she doubt him, but perhaps Miroku’s silver tongue would turn into dense lead when he realized Sango wasn’t the wife he expected. True, she promised him children— ten, fifteen, even twenty — but not all at once. There were things to wrap her mind around now that she was able to think past avenging her clan, and a younger brother to make amends with. Miroku was… accommodating. More than she expected when their first marital night was interrupted by her declaration at not wanting to be a mother just yet.
She still remembered how his face looked.
Hazy grey eyes peeked up from over the curve of her mound, widened with surprise and concern at her demand to stop. A pinch of guilt twinged hot in her chest at the way Miroku’s thick brows furrowed. She could practically see him try to understand where he might have gone wrong in his approach or whether he harmed her.
Sango didn’t have the heart to tell him then that it was difficult to think with his head between her legs. Partially because it would inflate his considerably large ego. But there was nothing leadened and dull about his tongue at all. A little longer, and she might have put this conversation off for another night— but one night is all that it took for their lives to change.
Unaware of her plight, her newly appointed husband conceded, shuffling backward on hand and knee. He sat with his back straight and hands innocently curled atop of his thighs while waiting for her to gather herself. How devout of him to kneel in front of her as if she was a kami made flesh, though a rather sweaty and disheveled one.
Awkwardly, Sango shuffled upright and pressed her thighs together, ignoring the aching throb between her legs. Miroku’s gaze flicked down, so quickly she might not have noticed if she hadn’t been studying his face. Shiny, reddened lips disappeared beneath the swipe of an idle pink tongue.
A flash of heat washed over Sango as her thighs strained from how tightly she clasped them, forcing her attention away from Miroku’s rosy lips to the mischievous glint in his eyes. Frustration bubbled up but she held back from pushing him over.
For one, he would tease her more than what he already was. And he hadn’t even said a word. Two, his earlier request for her to please herself as she wished would be one she definitely would be taking him up on after that stunt.
Sango drew in a breath, setting aside sexual frustrations and thoughts of revenge to focus on the problem at hand. As if sensing the shift in mood, the glint in Miroku’s eye waned. He settled in his upright posture, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.
Sango swallowed the lump in her throat, her mind racing. How was she supposed to tell him this? If she did, would their entire marriage and the promises she made to him be considered lies. A part of her hissed that if he was so shallow as to forsake her for not wanting to bear children at his whims then he was not who she thought he was. Her heart ached at the thought, and the words stuck to the back of her throat, congealed like wet leaves beneath snow.
“Won’t you come back to me, dearest Sango?”
The soft, husky timbre of Miroku’s voice permeated her thoughts like the first rays of a spring morning. Sighs brushed over her trembling tongue as she watched his silhouette overtake the flickering amber glow from the oil lamp. His hand slipped beneath her own, gentle yet firm rubs to her knuckle unfurling them from the tight fists she held them in. It never ceased to amaze her how easily Miroku could do this.
These moments where he simply did instead of spoke, understood rather than assume.
Here she was, entirely naked and giving herself to him but he was trying to comfort her. Distantly, she couldn’t help thinking that he would be a good father. Bitterly reminded that he may have been already if his wife was anyone other than her. Twisted ugly thoughts reared their head as she watched him with a mixture of trepidation and unyielding fondness.
Miroku’s head remained bowed until all of her fingers laid flat against his palm caressing the underside of her hand. “There,” he sighed. His warm breath curled over her twitching fingertips as he bent down to press a kiss against the center of her palm. Her skin tingled where his lips brushed. Temptation almost pushing her to yank him up by his loose dark locks, and kiss him senselessly for all the ways he disarmed her without meaning to. If only to level the playing field, she’d kiss him until he worried less about her feelings and more about her body.
Grey eyes gleamed from beneath the fine hairs falling over his eyes, lips still pressed to her skin. She shivered at the look he gave.
“Hōshi-sama..”
His drawn-out hum vibrated against her palm sending tremors straight to her pounding heart.
“I don’t want children just yet.”
Sango expected that to be the end of things when Miroku’s brow arched. His head lifted slowly and Sango braced herself, telling herself he was ready for anything. For a woman able to fell yōkai on her own, how could she let a man’s words sway her?
If only that could distract from the aching in her chest the longer it took Miroku to speak.
Seconds passed by agonizingly slow as she waited for her husband to do something— anything. Whether it was calling off their marriage, as new and beautifully fragile as it was, or trying to persuade her. Instead, Miroku did nothing but run his gaze over her. Sango did her best not to squirm but somehow his gaze made her feel even more vulnerable than she already was.
As the wick crumbled into ash, the room steadily darkened until Sango could hardly make out the contours of Miroku’s face. Darkness seemed to speak louder than either of them could and the stillness made his voice that much louder.
“If that is what you want, Sango.”
Sango’s breath caught. She had never been so grateful to hear her name fall from his lips in that low, calming voice he used when whispering sweet words in her ear or upon her head as vestiges of a nightmare raged upon her nerves. Lost for words, her mouth mimed a response she couldn’t find a voice too. Unsure if she could do little more than make helpless sounds when he cupped her cheek.
The pad of his thumb rubbed circles over the apple of her cheeks, slipping beneath the curve of her eye before repeating its path in reverse. Her heart pounded. Those words turned over and over in a cyclical wheel, emptying out into the space between her ears where they slipped down to wrap around her heart relentlessly.
Her legs felt numb beneath her but she moved them regardless, ignoring the pins and needles in her knees and ankles as she shuffled forward across the futon beneath them and slotted her legs between his own. “But you wanted..” She whispered in a lower voice, almost afraid to shatter this dream if it were only that.
Miroku’s desire to have his own children was the focus of why he proposed to so many girls. How could he settle now when he had a wife of his own, a home to return to, the possibility of a future without his ancestral curse consuming what life he had left.
She could make out the curve of his smile, his palm cradled her jaw as his thumb brushed against the corner of her eyes. It was tender, fluid like the strokes of a brush. Practiced from long hours they spent wrapped in one another arms with little expectations between them. Held by her husband, the world seemed further away.
They could be honest with one another and love as happily as possible in a future they worked hard to achieve.
“I would like to have children, yes.” Hearing Miroku say those words resurfaced those ugly feelings in Sango’s chest. But she let her head be guided up and felt the close proximity between them. The tip of a nose skimmed along her own as their mouths ghosted together, a shaky sigh tumbled from her lips. Her eyes watered a bit, stinging from the growing heat between them. She shut them tightly, hesitantly reaching up to cup her hand around his, wishing to all the kami that he wouldn’t pull away.
“But they will be your children..”
“… What?”
“When you feel you are ready, then we can work toward having ten, fifteen, perhaps even twenty children…” Sango could hear the smile in his voice along with the lilting tease as he listed numbers. Her index finger and thumb pressed together, pinching the soft skin between his fingers. Miroku winced, letting out a low ouch then brought his other hand up to frame her face between his palms. “You wound me..!”
Sango rolled her eyes at his theatrics, barely able to make out his face but certain he was pouting for show. Sobering up, she asked, “Are you certain about this, Hōshi-sama..? The longer we wait, the more..”
“I would wait for you forever.” Miroku’s voice cut through her argument with a knife’s precision, his mouth touching her own making his words vibrate against the sensitive skin of her lips. “Whether we have a child, or if we have none, it matters little to me. But my children will be yours, and no other..” Sango could feel his mouth pull into a smile while her own trembled. “Perhaps in our next life, if we so happen to meet.. we will marry again and then..”
He hadn’t the chance to finish, his words lost between their mouths as Sango lunged forward to muffle him with an open-mouthed kiss. Miroku tumbled backward but his arms encircled her as she fell with him, pillowing her against his chest while his fingers brushed through her hair to take hold at her nape.
Which reminded her of the third thing she loved about Miroku.
He wanted her above all else.