Where are the others? Sango wonders as she finally allows his hands beneath her clothes. They seem almost reluctant, but her own hands are already removing his. But he doesn’t answer. He can’t read minds, only bodies.
The feel of him inside her is like a missing key finally turning up. She clings to him, squirming upon his lap, kissing his shoulder, nails leaving trails along their backs. Her chest heaves in time with his thrusts, and she squeezes in time as well. She hasn’t felt this energetic, raw, or primal in years. She sighs and screams silently because it feels too good to be true, and when she comes, she can’t help but feel sorry for her husband.
But Sango feels no regret. It’s just enough proof she needs for now.
-
Sango returns home, and she looks for him but doesn’t find him anywhere.
-
What she was once able to ignore with enough effort applied, has become unstable and out of control.
Up until now she’s been able to brush aside most of his quirks, but they’ve been burgeoning from almost nothing into detectable patterns.
He says it’s out of habit that he continues wearing the glove, but her eyes narrow in response. It’s been ten years.
He says Kaede has passed on, Inuyasha and Shippou are nowhere to be found but presumably alive, and that Sango was there when Kagome faded away and ‘returned’. But she knows too well that word of mouth cannot always be trusted. Her memories flicker back to Naraku’s trickery, then return covered in scars never fully healed.
He says, he says, he says-
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. Then where is the tanuki, and where is the aging monk Mushin, she asks. But even as he falters in trying to answer, what she’s more interested in knowing is why he still looks like he hasn’t aged a day.
And why hasn’t he attempted to swindle anyone or flirt with women they’ve met along the way, she asks, clenched fists turning the skin white. But even as he falters in trying to answer, she’d rather know why he’s no longer the calm, cool, and collected little lecher she once knew. What could have changed him? What could have destroyed him? What could have taken up ten years of his life and made him abandon her?
What what what, Sango wants to know, and she makes this increasingly clear with every menacing step closer that she takes.
Why did it take him ten years to come for her?
And with the way he’s retreating, frantic and anxious and unable to explain himself, Sango is worried he’ll take off again.
She begins running, and the chase is on. Only a short distance away she loses him in the forest. She can hear the rings of his shakujou jangling somewhere far off, and she follows suit. The trees begin to look familiar. While running down a path overgrown with creepers that give her the shivers - they remind her of Illusory Death - she trips over herself, trips and falls, and then lands roughly and continues to slip down a hill, crying out his name and unable to stop herself as she rolls like a battered stone down a slope on its way to the river.
Sango’s hit bottom. She knows because she’s stopped moving. The grass covering the concave carved into the hill stares back at her. The curve of the sunken area where she lies is slowly sending her chills.
From up along the edge of the concave, he says, “I’m sorry,” but Sango barely hears him at first. She curls up, all drawn up into herself, then shuts her eyes and begins to sob. The footsteps approaching cautiously behind her are the only other thing she hears. The jangling is gone. “I’m sorry. Please, Sango…”
She feels a hand upon her shoulder, but when she turns to grab at it, her hand pauses inches away from his from shock.
The feel of him inside her is like a missing key finally turning up. She clings to him, squirming upon his lap, kissing his shoulder, nails leaving trails along their backs. Her chest heaves in time with his thrusts, and she squeezes in time as well. She hasn’t felt this energetic, raw, or primal in years. She sighs and screams silently because it feels too good to be true, and when she comes, she can’t help but feel sorry for her husband.
But Sango feels no regret. It’s just enough proof she needs for now.
-
Sango returns home, and she looks for him but doesn’t find him anywhere.
-
What she was once able to ignore with enough effort applied, has become unstable and out of control.
Up until now she’s been able to brush aside most of his quirks, but they’ve been burgeoning from almost nothing into detectable patterns.
He says it’s out of habit that he continues wearing the glove, but her eyes narrow in response. It’s been ten years.
He says Kaede has passed on, Inuyasha and Shippou are nowhere to be found but presumably alive, and that Sango was there when Kagome faded away and ‘returned’. But she knows too well that word of mouth cannot always be trusted. Her memories flicker back to Naraku’s trickery, then return covered in scars never fully healed.
He says, he says, he says-
Her eyes narrow in suspicion. Then where is the tanuki, and where is the aging monk Mushin, she asks. But even as he falters in trying to answer, what she’s more interested in knowing is why he still looks like he hasn’t aged a day.
And why hasn’t he attempted to swindle anyone or flirt with women they’ve met along the way, she asks, clenched fists turning the skin white. But even as he falters in trying to answer, she’d rather know why he’s no longer the calm, cool, and collected little lecher she once knew. What could have changed him? What could have destroyed him? What could have taken up ten years of his life and made him abandon her?
What what what, Sango wants to know, and she makes this increasingly clear with every menacing step closer that she takes.
Why did it take him ten years to come for her?
And with the way he’s retreating, frantic and anxious and unable to explain himself, Sango is worried he’ll take off again.
She begins running, and the chase is on. Only a short distance away she loses him in the forest. She can hear the rings of his shakujou jangling somewhere far off, and she follows suit. The trees begin to look familiar. While running down a path overgrown with creepers that give her the shivers - they remind her of Illusory Death - she trips over herself, trips and falls, and then lands roughly and continues to slip down a hill, crying out his name and unable to stop herself as she rolls like a battered stone down a slope on its way to the river.
Sango’s hit bottom. She knows because she’s stopped moving. The grass covering the concave carved into the hill stares back at her. The curve of the sunken area where she lies is slowly sending her chills.
From up along the edge of the concave, he says, “I’m sorry,” but Sango barely hears him at first. She curls up, all drawn up into herself, then shuts her eyes and begins to sob. The footsteps approaching cautiously behind her are the only other thing she hears. The jangling is gone. “I’m sorry. Please, Sango…”
She feels a hand upon her shoulder, but when she turns to grab at it, her hand pauses inches away from his from shock.
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