On the Right Track
I came first at iyfic_contest for their oneshot prompt Give and Take, thanks go to forthrightly for the banner. I tickled myself pink whilst writing this one - in the midst of a shoujo manga binge - and it demanded to be written, refusing to allow me to leave the keyboard until it was completed.
Title: On the Right Track
Author: aimee_blue
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Words: 5,461
A/N: I've been reading copious amounts of shoujo manga lately, so expect fluff.
Summary: AU. Sango is unimpressed by Miroku's reasonings.
Clutching her satchel to her chest, Ito Sango cast a furtive look over her shoulder into the pressing crowds on her daily train journey home. She hated having to take the train, but when you lived in a city like Tokyo there was little room for a car and rush hour traffic was a nightmare, at least the trains were reliable.
But Sango hated the trains for one good reason; they were filled with perverts who loved to take advantage of cramped conditions to get a wayward grope in, and, apparently, her bottom had a sign taped to it saying ‘please feel free to grope me’.
Worse, today her friend Kagome hadn’t been catching the train with her, something about meeting her boyfriend, and now she was alone and paranoid.
The train jerked to the side whilst she was caught in her furtive cursing of trains, and she would have lost her footing were it not for the hand that caught her elbow, steadying her.
“Thanks,” she muttered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met her rescuer’s eyes.
Eyes that were the most curious violet colour. Hazel eyes narrowed as she traced the pierced ear, the small ponytail at the nape of his neck, the cheeky grin that put her instantly on edge.
“My pleasure,” he muttered, his voice smooth and confident, rich like poured honey. Though he appeared to be her age, he wore no school uniform and there was a dazzling edge of confidence to him that made him stand out from all the mundane people pressed around her.
Turning her back on him, Sango rolled her eyes stubbornly. Like she actually needed his help, she was strong, a fighter like her father and the kendo team at her school would be lost without her. Fiddling with the edges of the bow threaded through the collar of her school shirt, she tapped her outdoor shoe against the floor irritably.
Suddenly she stiffened, a growl building in the back of her throat as a hand cupped her bottom, twirling, she was about to deliver swift and painful justice upon that idiotic soul, but was stopped short.
Violet Eyes had intervened and held a man’s arm behind his back in a painful looking position, cheery smile fixed firmly on his face.
“Now,” Violet Eyes admonished, “that wasn’t very nice! Don’t you know that you should only ever grope the person that you like?”
For a moment, Sango had been impressed, to catch that man’s arm he’d have to have faster reflexes than she did and that was impressive. But now her eyebrow was twitching tersely.
Where does this guy get his morals from?
She no longer knew who she wanted to hit more, her unwanted rescuer or the creep who’d touched her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she told Violet Eyes haughtily, “and what’s all that crap about only groping the person you’re in love with? What if it’s unrequited love and they don’t want you to touch them!”
Violet Eyes blinked bemusedly, running his free hand through dark hair in an effortlessly charming way, the man he was holding apparently forgotten. “Actually, I’m Miroku, and you have a valid point there,” he mused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he dropped the poor unfortunate man onto the floor, “but I’d like to think that, enough groping, and the girl of my dreams might come around to my way of thinking.”
“Or she’d get a restraining order,” Sango bit out, eyes flashing as she placed both hands firmly on her hips.
Chuckling indulgently, he replied, “Or that, yes.”
The swishing of the doors knocked Sango from her verbal sparring and she quickly rushed onto the platform, satchel swinging out wildly and hitting her on the hip as she hurried away.
An arm fell around her shoulders as she bolted and she grit her teeth in annoyance as she looked up at Miroku, who’d apparently caught her.
“You know,” he flashed her a charming smile, filled with gleaming teeth and sparkle, “you never told me your name.”
Swiftly elbowing the overly affectionate man from her, she stormed off, calling over her shoulder, “And with good reason!”
Rubbing his kidney ruefully, Kinomoto Miroku watched her hips sway as she stalked away from him, undoubtedly riled up towards breaking point.
“She’s perfect,” he mused mournfully.
0-0-0
Higurashi Kagome chuckled behind her hand as the people on the train took a cautionary step away from her fuming best friend. Not that she blamed them, Sango's aura of malevolence was formidable to say the least and, riled as she was, she looked like an angry kitten with its fur stuck up on end.
“It’s not funny Kagome!” Sango admonished angrily, “he was a total jerk!”
Kagome shrugged noncommittally. “Sounds to me like a handsome guy protected you from a pervert and stopped you from falling on your ass. I don’t see the problem here.”
Sango scowled at her friend. “You wouldn’t, Kagome-chan, you always try to see the bright side.”
Kagome’s blue eyes took on a reproving look. “Maybe you should try it.”
Sango shook her head firmly. “I’m a realist, not an optimist.”
“You’re a pessimist who’s calling herself a realist,” Kagome niggled, grinning at Sango’s chagrined look, “but it’ll be fine, it’s not like you’ll be seeing him again.”
For once, Sango was inclined to believe her friends optimistic outlook, she would probably never see him again. Pushing down the small sense of disappointment at such a notion, Sango smiled at her friend, who quirked a wry brow.
0-0-0
On the way to kendo practise, Kagome caught up to Sango who had marched on ahead, a skip in her step at the prospect of getting to release some pent up tension.
“Sango-chan!” Kagome gasped as she caught up to her friend, panting slightly at having dashed over from practically the other side of school.
“Kagome-chan,” Sango greeted, smiling as Kagome fought to get her breath back. Kagome was the kendo team’s manager and, though she didn’t like kendo per say, she liked the kendo practitioners, namely her boyfriend, Hinamori Inuyasha.
“Did you hear?” Kagome asked, regaining her breath and grinning hugely.
“Did I hear what?” Sango asked.
“There’s a new guy in class 2A, they say he’s really good looking,” Kagome confided.
“They?”
“Eri-chan, Ayumi-chan and Yuka-chan,” Kagome listed her friends from class 2A, counting them down on her three fingers thoughtfully.
“They think every guy is handsome,” Sango scoffed, tossing her long ponytail disinterestedly.
“But he asked Sesshoumaru-senpai if he could join the kendo club,” Kagome continued, “and senpai agreed to let him try out.”
“Senpai agreed to that?” Sango asked disbelievingly. Their senpai was serious and cynical and stoic, he rarely agreed to anything.
“Well,” Kagome amended, tapping her index finger on her bottom lip ponderously, “he said ‘hn’ and Kinomoto-kun took it as a yes.”
Sango rolled her eyes. “He sounds cheeky.”
“Ayumi-chan said he was dashing,” Kagome corrected.
Lips twitching, Sango muttered, “Yeah, but that’s what she called Hojo-kun.”
Chortling, the two friends made their way to the dojo.
0-0-0
Bare feet padded across the floor and the kendo club knelt respectfully before their captain, Sesshoumaru-senpai as he walked towards them imperiously.
Long silver hair tied into a top-knot and eyes so piercing that rumour had it they could melt walls, Sesshoumaru-senpai was equal parts formidable and beautiful, he consistently won competitions both national and regional and accepted no slacking. Even his half-brother, the surly Inuyasha, didn’t antagonise him whilst they were doing club activities as his very aura commanded complete respect.
Whilst Sesshoumaru was their best male, closely followed by a very determined Inuyasha, Sango was the best female as fierce as she was beautiful, she made a formidable opponent and had a few regional wins under her belt already.
“Come in,” senpai ordered, his voice flat and uncaring as he stared at the screen doors expectantly.
The door slid open to reveal Kinomoto-kun and Sango’s mouth fell open with an audible popping noise.
It was him, Violet Eyes, Miroku!
So laidback he was nearly horizontal, Miroku strolled into the dojo, his keikogi making him appear more ruggedly handsome than he had appeared on the train.
Before she’d even realised what she was doing, Sango was on her feet, glaring daggers at him.
Miroku’s lips twitched amusedly as he saluted her jauntily.
“Ito-san?” Sesshoumaru -senpai queried, voice flat and demanding.
Turning to face her captain sheepishly, she sketched a small bow of apology.
“Is there a problem?” Sesshoumaru demanded.
“No,” Sango ground out tersely, “no problem, senpai.”
Golden eyes flickered over her tensed form in a considering manner before he nodded slowly. “In which case, Kinomoto-san, you will spar with Ito-san for ten minutes, I will judge whether you will be a benefit or a hindrance to our club from then.”
Sango’s lips curved into a satisfied grin as she made her way onto the practise mats, enjoying the way Miroku began to look on edge.
“Senpai,” Miroku began, “I believe you’ve misunderstood me,” he plead as someone thrust a wooden practise sword into his hands and bid a hasty retreat, “I don’t want-“
His plea was cut short as Sango lunged forward, and he dodged her practise sword with a hasty sidestep.
“Less talking,” Sango ordered.
Violet eyes twinkled merrily. “I love it when an attractive woman says that to me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she growled, cheeks flushing lightly at his insinuation as she lunged again, aggravated when he simply dodged nimbly, his wooden sword hanging limply from one hand, as if he had no intention of using it.
That insulted her unimaginably.
With a growl, she lunged for him again.
Kagome, sat next to her boyfriend, leaned forward in concern as she watched her friend fight.
“Shouldn’t they be wearing their headgear?” she asked, twitching as Sango’s lunge was dodged yet again by the nimble newcomer. Whilst they were wearing the appropriate kendo attire, in the heat of her anger Sango had forgone her tengui and her men, and hadn’t allowed Miroku a chance to don either garment.
Inuyasha shrugged in a blasé fashion, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Probably, but that guy is quick on his feet and Sango’s not a lightweight, plus, Sesshoumaru is a sadistic bastard.”
Kagome blinked owlishly at her boyfriend’s half-brother, who was watching them fight with something akin to malice in his eyes.
“Creepy,” she judged.
Inuyasha snorted. “Exactly.”
Tossing her ponytail angrily, Sango lunged once again, forcing Miroku to back away, leery of her anger.
“Why don’t you attack?” she growled.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a pacifist?”
This question was answered by an angry lunge and a swift escape.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbled, dancing behind the beautiful, extremely angry woman as he tried to evade her attacks.
Upon her next attack, Miroku tried a different tact, and bringing the wooden katana up, he stunned her momentarily, enough to knock her own katana from her hands and push her down onto the practise mat.
Within stunned moments, Sango found herself pinned, arms above her head, to the mat with Miroku straddling her waist, cheerful grin fixed firmly on his face.
“You cheated,” she accused huffily.
He shook his head, chuckling amusedly, “No, you underestimated me.”
“Let me go,” she protested, giving a futile tug on her trapped wrists.
“If I do, do you promise not to hit me?” he asked, winking cheekily.
“I can’t make any promises,” she growled, bucking her hips somewhat enticingly in her attempts to unseat him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Ito-chan,” he murmured in her ear, grinning mischievously when she blushed a livid red.
“Interesting,” Sesshoumaru murmured, pushing from the wall he had been leaning against, “you’re in.”
“What?” Miroku’s eyes grew agog, “but-”
A silver brow quirked in askance and most of the room edged away uneasily.
“I was only really here to ask about being a manager,” he protested, “I’m a pacifist! I don’t enjoy fighting for fun.”
Golden eyes darkened and the corner of Sesshoumaru’s lips turned up in a parody of a smile. “My word is final,” he announced dangerously, before stalking from the room.
Miroku moaned in discontent, dejectedly rolling off of Sango and falling onto his back on the practise mat.
Inuyasha and Kagome quickly rose to restrain Sango, who, by this point, was practically hissing her fury.
“If it’s any consolation,” Kagome placated the newcomer, “I’m the only manager, Sesshoumaru-senpai prefers not to retain excess.”
Inuyasha, who was currently holding back a simmering Sango, chose this moment to pipe up, “What in the hell did you do to Ito to make her this damn angry?”
Miroku smiled cheerfully. “Rescued her twice, pinned her to the floor once and told her I’d only grope the woman I liked.”
Kagome blinked, belatedly putting the pieces together. “You’re the guy from the train!” she exclaimed.
“My reputation precedes me?” Miroku enquired interestedly.
Kagome grinned wickedly. “Sango-chan has been talking about you all morning!”
“Kagome-chan!” Sango hissed, massaging her shoulder grumpily as Inuyasha finally released her.
“Yes, Sango-chan?” Kagome asked, innocent as you like, smiling serenely.
“Never mind,” Sango grumbled, fixing Miroku with her sternest glare before throwing her hands into the air and stalking from the dojo, Kagome right behind her, attempting to placate her.
Miroku turned to the silver haired male who was sizing him up in a way one would associate with an Aniki confronted with his little sister’s boyfriend. Miroku shifted from foot to foot uneasily.
Inuyasha frowned at the newcomer. “You can fight.”
Miroku nodded seriously. “That I can.”
“But you choose not to?”
“Precisely.”
“You Buddhist?”
“I grew up in a temple, so some of the teachings are instrumental to my personality.”
“Keh,” Inuyasha snorted, eyes shrewd, “looked to me like you didn’t want to hit her.”
Violet eyes twinkled merrily. “That might have something to do with it my friend.”
“Feh. I’m Hinamori Inuyasha.”
An olive branch?
“Kinomoto Miroku, nice to meet you, Inuyasha.”
“Don’t get too friendly, bouzo,” Inuyasha warned, but the reprimand was made moot by the softening in those golden eyes.
0-0-0
Grabbing her blazer from the back of her chair in class, Sango scowled deeply; she’d been looking for the deep blue blazer for the past half an hour and everyone had already left to go home, which meant she would be catching the train on her own, again.
Kagome had attempted to calm her down after her defeat by Miroku, but it really hadn’t helped much and Sango was still irate enough to break something.
Rushing through the corridors towards the shoe boxes, she hastily swapped her shoes whilst hopping towards the front doors. Stepping out under the awning as she shoved her last shoe on, she didn’t realise it was raining until she put her foot in a puddle.
Face tilting skywards, she sighed gustily, under the awning she could barely make out the school gates through the curtain of rain before her.
“The universe has it out for me,” she uttered solemnly as she glanced back to the umbrella holders in case someone had forgotten theirs and she was in luck. Tragically, that was not the case.
“Ito-chan,” a familiar, yet unwelcome, voice intruded on her mental cursing.
Turning to her side, she locked eyes with the cheerfully waving Miroku, who stood under an equally cheerful yellow umbrella, collar turned up against the wet.
“What do you want?” she snapped, irate that he’d brought an umbrella and she was going to be caught without one in a downpour.
“You left this,” he explained, holding out her ribbon that should have been looped around the collar of her school uniform’s shirt.
She touched a hand to her collar bone as if she expected it to still be there, but on discovering that it wasn’t, held out an imperious hand for it.
Miroku’s cheerful smile turned indulgent at her obstinate behaviour and he ducked under the awning with her.
Eyeing him warily as he got slightly too close for comfort, Sango’s imperious hand dropped limply to her side as she registered his impish grin. Before she could protest, he’d slipped the bow around her throat, tucking it under her collar.
Deft hands tied the intricate bow and fussed over her collar, ensuring that it was perfectly flat, before a daring index finger stroked a path down the column of her throat.
Sango recoiled in shock. A pale hand cupped her throat as she blinked at him.
Chuckling dejectedly, Miroku held up his hands in a parody of innocence.
“Share my umbrella?” he enquired invitingly, eyebrows waggling.
A decision between him and the rain was hard. But she gave in.
Miroku’s smile was smug as Sango fitted into his side, brows knitted and eyes distrustful. She tucked herself in close, though she was suspicious to, so that she didn’t get wet.
Bemusedly she walked side by side with Miroku, who was strangely quiet for a time, and she wondered about how dry she was. Normally when she shared an umbrella - as she had before with Kagome - she’d ended up one side wet one side dry.
Glancing through her lashes to the side, she allowed a soft smile to form across her features as she looked at him. His shoulder was out in the rain, getting soaked.
This random display of chivalry brought heat to her cheeks and she reconsidered her dire opinion of the man who had embarrassed her in front of the whole kendo club.
If only this gallant streak were a bit more prominent, she might not find him so unbearable.
Their shoes squeaked as they boarded the train and Sango played with the hem of her pleated school skirt absently. The train was brimming with angry stressed out people who jostled both Sango and Miroku.
On a particularly painful jab, Sango lost her grip on the overhead rail and fell into Miroku, hitting her forehead on his shoulder.
“Whoa,” he muttered, his free hand coming up to catch her elbow, making sure she’d caught her balance.
As soon as Sango was back on her feet again, the train lurched and she tumbled back into Miroku’s body. He supported her gently, a crooked smile on his face.
“Sorry,” she muttered, cheeks colouring due to his close proximity. Her face pressed to his shirt as it was she could smell him, a musky man-smell that was equally parts intriguing and relaxing. She’d never been close to a man like this before, at least one that wasn’t her brother or father, and in kendo practise she’d never sniffed at them like this.
The inhale above her head was subtle and if she hadn’t been doing the same thing she might not have realised he was sniffing her hair. She was abruptly grateful that she’d used her nice strawberry shampoo last night instead of borrowing her brother’s as she sometimes did.
When the train pulled into the station, Sango was half-grateful half-aggrieved at the need to distance herself from him. Their brief intimate contact had felt nice, but the resentment she had from him still lingered with enough potency to make her annoyed at him.
Miroku quirked a brow as Sango hurried out into the station, irritation fuelling her brisk march. Whether it was irritation at him or at herself for feeling comfortable with him, she wasn’t sure. Hurrying after her, he caught up to her just in time for her to leave the station and hastily put the umbrella up.
She turned to him, eyes sparking. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home,” he said, like it was the most obvious observation to be made. Which maybe it was, but she was annoyed at him.
“Why?”
The crooked smirk was back and Sango fidgeted uncomfortably as he stared at her appraisingly for a moment. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I allowed a lady to walk home without an umbrella in such weather.”
Lips pursed, brow quirked, she quipped, “I wasn’t under the impression that you were a gentleman.”
He placed a hand over his heart, a wounded expression playing across his features. “I’m injured that you would think so. I must remedy your misconception.”
“How?”
“Displays of gallantry to woo the pretty lady.”
Blushing despite herself, she muttered, “I really wish you wouldn’t.”
“No you don’t,” he announced cheerfully, “every woman wants to be wooed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer resourceful.”
“You would,” she disparaged as they continued to walk together.
They passed a while in silence that was exasperated on Sango’s part, but she suspected his was cheerful, judging by the grin on his face.
When they got to her house she quickly slipped past the garden gate and shut it defensively behind her.
He pouted. “Won’t you invite me in?” he wheedled.
Sango considered her family, Kohaku was too shy to care who she brought home, provided she didn’t insist on introductions, but she had a feeling Miroku would. Plus she didn’t want this maniac meeting her ex-pro wrestling father, whilst normally a nice man, if her dad thought Miroku was hitting on her, he might break out a few of the old wrestling moves. She shuddered to think of it.
“No.”
“You are stubborn,” he chuckled ruefully, and then he leaned across the gate, trapping her there as he hooked a finger in her bow and tugged her forwards, “Why don’t you like me, Ito-chan?”
She blinked, taken aback by both the question and his sudden proximity. “You humiliated me in front of the kendo team, and you have a flawed morality,” she answered.
The crooked smile was back. “Flawed morality? I assure you Ito-chan, my morality is skewed perhaps, but not flawed.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
“I will only grope the woman I love,” he proclaimed, tilting his head to one side, “how is that flawed?”
“It just is,” she bit out, “I told you, not all women enjoy being groped.”
“It’s all about who’s doing the groping,” Miroku waggled his brows, “I bet you wouldn’t mind if I were to place my hands on your person.”
Hazel eyes grew impossibly wide and, before Miroku even saw it coming, she’d sucker-punched him so hard he almost fell over.
Rubbing his jaw tentatively he watched her bottom appreciatively as she stalked away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called out, rotating his jaw ruefully. It was worth it.
“Sayonara, jerk!”
0-0-0
Alone again on the train journey home, Sango smoothed her pleated school shirt over her bottom in a paranoid fashion as the train lurched from side to side.
Miroku was a pervert, she decided sullenly. The way he’d pinned her down had been indecent and his lewd comments had been intolerable. She wished he’d go back to wherever he’d come from. Maybe then he’d stop pestering her.
It wasn’t enough that he was in a different class to her, she wanted him on a different continent from her and she definitely wanted him out of her club.
He’d taken to hunting her down at lunch and giving her the bentō he’d made for her and, no matter where she hid from him, he invariably found her. So often that she’d stopped making her own bentō in preparation for his.
In kendo practise he refused to fight her, even though she desperately wanted a rematch to assuage her wounded pride. But Sesshoumaru-senpai seemed to have taken a special interest in the violet-eyed boy, and was ensuring that, even against Miroku’s protests, Miroku was improving his kendo meticulously.
He was followed everywhere by a small horde of giggling girls, like some kind of perverse Pied Piper, who he’d charmed with his wit and weirdly enough his street-magic tricks that he would randomly perform on passersby. Due to his fraternising with Sango, though, she’d ended up having her outdoor shoes stolen from her shoe box and thrown in the trash by his possessive fan girls on more than one occasion.
And she could do without his flirting, too. He was charming and eloquent and undeniably witty, so when Miroku flirted with her he actually managed to provoke a blush. Sango was used to the occasional crude flirting enough that she no longer even batted an eyelash, but his flirting was different and burned her cheeks inexplicably.
When she’d complained to Kagome about that particular aggravation, her friend had rolled expressive blue eyes.
“Well, that’s because you like him, Sango-chan!”
Sango was sure that Kagome was barking up the wrong tree with that one and refused to consider it. Miroku was an annoyance that she wanted gone, nothing more.
Facing the doors, Sango’s temper simmered quietly until it was stoked to boiling point when arms leant against the door on either side of her head.
Spinning angrily, she came face to face with Miroku, who, to her chagrin, wasn’t even looking at her.
He was glaring over his shoulder, eyes hard and flat in a way she had never seen before as he focused on a shifty looking man.
“Miroku?” she ventured tentatively.
He turned back to her and she squeaked indignantly as her nose hit his shirt collar. Blinking bemusedly down at her, he offered a belated hello.
“Never mind that,” Sango muttered, pushing him back slightly so she could actually look up at him, “why were you glaring at that guy?”
“He’s always on the trains, groping women,” Miroku muttered, “and he was looking at you.”
Sango blinked, strangely comforted that he’d stood up for her and protected her, but then her outrage kicked in.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” she spat, hissing like a cat that had its tail trapped in the door as she prodded him in the chest.
“I never said that you did,” he countered seriously, leaning down so that, even though Sango backed up against the door, their foreheads bumped, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you.”
Cheeks red at his sudden proximity, Sango tried to avoid looking at his lips, but it was a feat she seemed incapable of. Abruptly angry at herself for letting Miroku strip her of her freewill, she wrestled her eyes away from his lips to glare at the emergency exit sign, licking her own lips in an unconscious invitation.
“Something the matter, Sango-chan?” he inquired silkily, warm breath ghosting over her ear distractingly.
“No,” she bit out, bottom lip protruding.
Chuckling lightly, Miroku mused, “you couldn’t be falling for my charms now, could you Sango-chan?”
“Who would?” she retorted in a voice that was strangely husky, she cleared her throat and growled at him when he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.
Kissing the captured lock of ebony hair, he delighted in her heady blush. A hand strayed to her cheek and cupped it, growing bolder when she failed to protest, her only reaction being the ever growing blush that trailed down her neck invitingly.
When her eyelids fluttered closed, he pressed his lips to hers and floated away on a cloud of bliss.
Sango’s eyes sprung open when his lips closed over hers and she gasped when he began to suckle on her lower lip, protesting hands found purchase in his shirt collar and brought him closer instead of pushing him away.
A hand cupped her bottom and Sango froze, outrage pouring through her system as she realised what he was doing and Miroku abruptly found himself on his ass as she shoved against his chest with all her might.
“Why did you do that?” she screeched, embarrassed beyond belief that she’d just given her first kiss away to a complete lecher.
“I couldn’t resist,” he answered solemnly.
Fists clenched with impotent fury as Sango regarded him. She hated being touched, but she’d let him kiss her and had given in to the fact that she liked him. But what kind of person groped someone like that on their first kiss?
“Leave me alone,” she growled, uncaring at his darkening expression as the train doors opened, “you’re annoying and I don’t want to be around you anymore!”
Temper first, Sango ran from the train and shoved her way through the people milling all over the platform, satchel smacking into her hip angrily as she ran.
0-0-0
Head down on the desk, Sango waited for Kagome to appreciate her dilemma and help somehow. In the way only a best friend could help.
Kagome smacked her best friend in the back of her head.
Yelping, Sango shot up from her drooping position across the table and blinking tired eyes at her friend.
“Why are you hitting me?” she demanded, rubbing her head morosely.
“Because you’re a baka,” Kagome asserted, folding her arms under her breasts firmly.
“Huh?”
“If you don’t get it, I’m not going to tell you,” Kagome decided, nose in the air imperiously, “but he’s just as crazy as you are. You’ll make a great... if slightly violent, couple.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Sango demanded, irked as her friend took her seat placidly, “He stole my first kiss and then groped me!”
Blue eyes bored into hazel ones as the girls stared at each other. “No,” Kagome corrected, “you gave him your first kiss and he told you something. A relationship is about give and take, Sango-chan.”
Sango blinked bemusedly at her friend. “He... told me something? With a grope?”
Kagome rolled her eyes. “You have the memory of a sieve.”
Halfway through their maths lesson, Sango remembered... and nearly fell out of her seat.
“...you should only ever grope the person that you like...”
Was that too much to hope for?
0-0-0
Sango glowered at the desk that lunch time as the minutes ticked by she was beginning to become more and more irate. Normally Miroku breezed into the classroom as soon as class finished with her bentō in hand, but it looked like she’d been stood up.
So maybe she really had read too much into that grope and he hadn’t been nonverbally confessing. She sighed dejectedly, feeling ridiculously stupid for having liked him in the first place.
“Ito-senpai?” a timid voice interrupted her musings and she looked to see a kohai stood at the edge of her desk, “Kinomoto-senpai told me to tell you that he can’t come to lunch today.”
Sango’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance and she jumped to her feet, anger coursing through her veins. Muttering a hasty thanks at the terrified kohai, she sprinted from the room in search of her prey.
0-0-0
Sliding the door back, an irate Sango stepped into the dojo, eyes narrowing on Miroku, who was sitting placidly on a practise mat, eyes closed.
Tiptoeing over to the oblivious man, she dropped soundlessly to her knees at his side and, mustering all of her resolve, pulled a fist back to punch him.
A second later she found herself flat on her back on the mat, hands pinned above her head as Miroku sat on her waist, eyes probing.
“That’s not a very nice way to say hello,” he admonished as he peered down into her face owlishly.
Tossing her hair from her eyes and growling, she bit out, “and groping someone isn’t a nice way to confess to someone.”
“But pushing someone to the floor in a train full of onlookers is the worst way to reject someone,” he responded sombrely.
She blinked, embarrassed, she hadn’t thought about it like that.
“But I didn’t know I was rejecting you!” she protested, “you groped me so I shoved you, it was a knee jerk reaction!”
His head tilted to the side contemplatively and he leant down, until his forehead pressed against hers again.
“Are you retracting your rejection?” he enquired, lips quirking slightly as he realised she was gazing at his mouth again.
“There wasn’t a rejection to begin with,” she grumbled.
Miroku paused to consider this, rolling off her and sitting next to her as she sat up. “Then, I’d perhaps like a little reciprocation.”
“Reciprocation?” she queried, eyes narrowing.
“I told you that I like you, Sango-chan,” he grinned winningly, “but I’ve yet to hear the words in return.”
Her brow crinkled in consternation at his demand, but then a devious smile tugged her lips upwards and she pushed him down onto the mat, lips closing over his.
Violet eyes widened, startled, and then closed, content.
But when a delicate female hand found its way to his derriere, Miroku pulled away from her in shock.
“Did you just...”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Reciprocation.”
Miroku’s eyes lit up with laughter as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you really are perfect.”
Title: On the Right Track
Author: aimee_blue
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Words: 5,461
A/N: I've been reading copious amounts of shoujo manga lately, so expect fluff.
Summary: AU. Sango is unimpressed by Miroku's reasonings.
Clutching her satchel to her chest, Ito Sango cast a furtive look over her shoulder into the pressing crowds on her daily train journey home. She hated having to take the train, but when you lived in a city like Tokyo there was little room for a car and rush hour traffic was a nightmare, at least the trains were reliable.
But Sango hated the trains for one good reason; they were filled with perverts who loved to take advantage of cramped conditions to get a wayward grope in, and, apparently, her bottom had a sign taped to it saying ‘please feel free to grope me’.
Worse, today her friend Kagome hadn’t been catching the train with her, something about meeting her boyfriend, and now she was alone and paranoid.
The train jerked to the side whilst she was caught in her furtive cursing of trains, and she would have lost her footing were it not for the hand that caught her elbow, steadying her.
“Thanks,” she muttered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she met her rescuer’s eyes.
Eyes that were the most curious violet colour. Hazel eyes narrowed as she traced the pierced ear, the small ponytail at the nape of his neck, the cheeky grin that put her instantly on edge.
“My pleasure,” he muttered, his voice smooth and confident, rich like poured honey. Though he appeared to be her age, he wore no school uniform and there was a dazzling edge of confidence to him that made him stand out from all the mundane people pressed around her.
Turning her back on him, Sango rolled her eyes stubbornly. Like she actually needed his help, she was strong, a fighter like her father and the kendo team at her school would be lost without her. Fiddling with the edges of the bow threaded through the collar of her school shirt, she tapped her outdoor shoe against the floor irritably.
Suddenly she stiffened, a growl building in the back of her throat as a hand cupped her bottom, twirling, she was about to deliver swift and painful justice upon that idiotic soul, but was stopped short.
Violet Eyes had intervened and held a man’s arm behind his back in a painful looking position, cheery smile fixed firmly on his face.
“Now,” Violet Eyes admonished, “that wasn’t very nice! Don’t you know that you should only ever grope the person that you like?”
For a moment, Sango had been impressed, to catch that man’s arm he’d have to have faster reflexes than she did and that was impressive. But now her eyebrow was twitching tersely.
Where does this guy get his morals from?
She no longer knew who she wanted to hit more, her unwanted rescuer or the creep who’d touched her.
“You’re ridiculous,” she told Violet Eyes haughtily, “and what’s all that crap about only groping the person you’re in love with? What if it’s unrequited love and they don’t want you to touch them!”
Violet Eyes blinked bemusedly, running his free hand through dark hair in an effortlessly charming way, the man he was holding apparently forgotten. “Actually, I’m Miroku, and you have a valid point there,” he mused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he dropped the poor unfortunate man onto the floor, “but I’d like to think that, enough groping, and the girl of my dreams might come around to my way of thinking.”
“Or she’d get a restraining order,” Sango bit out, eyes flashing as she placed both hands firmly on her hips.
Chuckling indulgently, he replied, “Or that, yes.”
The swishing of the doors knocked Sango from her verbal sparring and she quickly rushed onto the platform, satchel swinging out wildly and hitting her on the hip as she hurried away.
An arm fell around her shoulders as she bolted and she grit her teeth in annoyance as she looked up at Miroku, who’d apparently caught her.
“You know,” he flashed her a charming smile, filled with gleaming teeth and sparkle, “you never told me your name.”
Swiftly elbowing the overly affectionate man from her, she stormed off, calling over her shoulder, “And with good reason!”
Rubbing his kidney ruefully, Kinomoto Miroku watched her hips sway as she stalked away from him, undoubtedly riled up towards breaking point.
“She’s perfect,” he mused mournfully.
0-0-0
Higurashi Kagome chuckled behind her hand as the people on the train took a cautionary step away from her fuming best friend. Not that she blamed them, Sango's aura of malevolence was formidable to say the least and, riled as she was, she looked like an angry kitten with its fur stuck up on end.
“It’s not funny Kagome!” Sango admonished angrily, “he was a total jerk!”
Kagome shrugged noncommittally. “Sounds to me like a handsome guy protected you from a pervert and stopped you from falling on your ass. I don’t see the problem here.”
Sango scowled at her friend. “You wouldn’t, Kagome-chan, you always try to see the bright side.”
Kagome’s blue eyes took on a reproving look. “Maybe you should try it.”
Sango shook her head firmly. “I’m a realist, not an optimist.”
“You’re a pessimist who’s calling herself a realist,” Kagome niggled, grinning at Sango’s chagrined look, “but it’ll be fine, it’s not like you’ll be seeing him again.”
For once, Sango was inclined to believe her friends optimistic outlook, she would probably never see him again. Pushing down the small sense of disappointment at such a notion, Sango smiled at her friend, who quirked a wry brow.
0-0-0
On the way to kendo practise, Kagome caught up to Sango who had marched on ahead, a skip in her step at the prospect of getting to release some pent up tension.
“Sango-chan!” Kagome gasped as she caught up to her friend, panting slightly at having dashed over from practically the other side of school.
“Kagome-chan,” Sango greeted, smiling as Kagome fought to get her breath back. Kagome was the kendo team’s manager and, though she didn’t like kendo per say, she liked the kendo practitioners, namely her boyfriend, Hinamori Inuyasha.
“Did you hear?” Kagome asked, regaining her breath and grinning hugely.
“Did I hear what?” Sango asked.
“There’s a new guy in class 2A, they say he’s really good looking,” Kagome confided.
“They?”
“Eri-chan, Ayumi-chan and Yuka-chan,” Kagome listed her friends from class 2A, counting them down on her three fingers thoughtfully.
“They think every guy is handsome,” Sango scoffed, tossing her long ponytail disinterestedly.
“But he asked Sesshoumaru-senpai if he could join the kendo club,” Kagome continued, “and senpai agreed to let him try out.”
“Senpai agreed to that?” Sango asked disbelievingly. Their senpai was serious and cynical and stoic, he rarely agreed to anything.
“Well,” Kagome amended, tapping her index finger on her bottom lip ponderously, “he said ‘hn’ and Kinomoto-kun took it as a yes.”
Sango rolled her eyes. “He sounds cheeky.”
“Ayumi-chan said he was dashing,” Kagome corrected.
Lips twitching, Sango muttered, “Yeah, but that’s what she called Hojo-kun.”
Chortling, the two friends made their way to the dojo.
0-0-0
Bare feet padded across the floor and the kendo club knelt respectfully before their captain, Sesshoumaru-senpai as he walked towards them imperiously.
Long silver hair tied into a top-knot and eyes so piercing that rumour had it they could melt walls, Sesshoumaru-senpai was equal parts formidable and beautiful, he consistently won competitions both national and regional and accepted no slacking. Even his half-brother, the surly Inuyasha, didn’t antagonise him whilst they were doing club activities as his very aura commanded complete respect.
Whilst Sesshoumaru was their best male, closely followed by a very determined Inuyasha, Sango was the best female as fierce as she was beautiful, she made a formidable opponent and had a few regional wins under her belt already.
“Come in,” senpai ordered, his voice flat and uncaring as he stared at the screen doors expectantly.
The door slid open to reveal Kinomoto-kun and Sango’s mouth fell open with an audible popping noise.
It was him, Violet Eyes, Miroku!
So laidback he was nearly horizontal, Miroku strolled into the dojo, his keikogi making him appear more ruggedly handsome than he had appeared on the train.
Before she’d even realised what she was doing, Sango was on her feet, glaring daggers at him.
Miroku’s lips twitched amusedly as he saluted her jauntily.
“Ito-san?” Sesshoumaru -senpai queried, voice flat and demanding.
Turning to face her captain sheepishly, she sketched a small bow of apology.
“Is there a problem?” Sesshoumaru demanded.
“No,” Sango ground out tersely, “no problem, senpai.”
Golden eyes flickered over her tensed form in a considering manner before he nodded slowly. “In which case, Kinomoto-san, you will spar with Ito-san for ten minutes, I will judge whether you will be a benefit or a hindrance to our club from then.”
Sango’s lips curved into a satisfied grin as she made her way onto the practise mats, enjoying the way Miroku began to look on edge.
“Senpai,” Miroku began, “I believe you’ve misunderstood me,” he plead as someone thrust a wooden practise sword into his hands and bid a hasty retreat, “I don’t want-“
His plea was cut short as Sango lunged forward, and he dodged her practise sword with a hasty sidestep.
“Less talking,” Sango ordered.
Violet eyes twinkled merrily. “I love it when an attractive woman says that to me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she growled, cheeks flushing lightly at his insinuation as she lunged again, aggravated when he simply dodged nimbly, his wooden sword hanging limply from one hand, as if he had no intention of using it.
That insulted her unimaginably.
With a growl, she lunged for him again.
Kagome, sat next to her boyfriend, leaned forward in concern as she watched her friend fight.
“Shouldn’t they be wearing their headgear?” she asked, twitching as Sango’s lunge was dodged yet again by the nimble newcomer. Whilst they were wearing the appropriate kendo attire, in the heat of her anger Sango had forgone her tengui and her men, and hadn’t allowed Miroku a chance to don either garment.
Inuyasha shrugged in a blasé fashion, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Probably, but that guy is quick on his feet and Sango’s not a lightweight, plus, Sesshoumaru is a sadistic bastard.”
Kagome blinked owlishly at her boyfriend’s half-brother, who was watching them fight with something akin to malice in his eyes.
“Creepy,” she judged.
Inuyasha snorted. “Exactly.”
Tossing her ponytail angrily, Sango lunged once again, forcing Miroku to back away, leery of her anger.
“Why don’t you attack?” she growled.
“Would you believe me if I told you I was a pacifist?”
This question was answered by an angry lunge and a swift escape.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he grumbled, dancing behind the beautiful, extremely angry woman as he tried to evade her attacks.
Upon her next attack, Miroku tried a different tact, and bringing the wooden katana up, he stunned her momentarily, enough to knock her own katana from her hands and push her down onto the practise mat.
Within stunned moments, Sango found herself pinned, arms above her head, to the mat with Miroku straddling her waist, cheerful grin fixed firmly on his face.
“You cheated,” she accused huffily.
He shook his head, chuckling amusedly, “No, you underestimated me.”
“Let me go,” she protested, giving a futile tug on her trapped wrists.
“If I do, do you promise not to hit me?” he asked, winking cheekily.
“I can’t make any promises,” she growled, bucking her hips somewhat enticingly in her attempts to unseat him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Ito-chan,” he murmured in her ear, grinning mischievously when she blushed a livid red.
“Interesting,” Sesshoumaru murmured, pushing from the wall he had been leaning against, “you’re in.”
“What?” Miroku’s eyes grew agog, “but-”
A silver brow quirked in askance and most of the room edged away uneasily.
“I was only really here to ask about being a manager,” he protested, “I’m a pacifist! I don’t enjoy fighting for fun.”
Golden eyes darkened and the corner of Sesshoumaru’s lips turned up in a parody of a smile. “My word is final,” he announced dangerously, before stalking from the room.
Miroku moaned in discontent, dejectedly rolling off of Sango and falling onto his back on the practise mat.
Inuyasha and Kagome quickly rose to restrain Sango, who, by this point, was practically hissing her fury.
“If it’s any consolation,” Kagome placated the newcomer, “I’m the only manager, Sesshoumaru-senpai prefers not to retain excess.”
Inuyasha, who was currently holding back a simmering Sango, chose this moment to pipe up, “What in the hell did you do to Ito to make her this damn angry?”
Miroku smiled cheerfully. “Rescued her twice, pinned her to the floor once and told her I’d only grope the woman I liked.”
Kagome blinked, belatedly putting the pieces together. “You’re the guy from the train!” she exclaimed.
“My reputation precedes me?” Miroku enquired interestedly.
Kagome grinned wickedly. “Sango-chan has been talking about you all morning!”
“Kagome-chan!” Sango hissed, massaging her shoulder grumpily as Inuyasha finally released her.
“Yes, Sango-chan?” Kagome asked, innocent as you like, smiling serenely.
“Never mind,” Sango grumbled, fixing Miroku with her sternest glare before throwing her hands into the air and stalking from the dojo, Kagome right behind her, attempting to placate her.
Miroku turned to the silver haired male who was sizing him up in a way one would associate with an Aniki confronted with his little sister’s boyfriend. Miroku shifted from foot to foot uneasily.
Inuyasha frowned at the newcomer. “You can fight.”
Miroku nodded seriously. “That I can.”
“But you choose not to?”
“Precisely.”
“You Buddhist?”
“I grew up in a temple, so some of the teachings are instrumental to my personality.”
“Keh,” Inuyasha snorted, eyes shrewd, “looked to me like you didn’t want to hit her.”
Violet eyes twinkled merrily. “That might have something to do with it my friend.”
“Feh. I’m Hinamori Inuyasha.”
An olive branch?
“Kinomoto Miroku, nice to meet you, Inuyasha.”
“Don’t get too friendly, bouzo,” Inuyasha warned, but the reprimand was made moot by the softening in those golden eyes.
0-0-0
Grabbing her blazer from the back of her chair in class, Sango scowled deeply; she’d been looking for the deep blue blazer for the past half an hour and everyone had already left to go home, which meant she would be catching the train on her own, again.
Kagome had attempted to calm her down after her defeat by Miroku, but it really hadn’t helped much and Sango was still irate enough to break something.
Rushing through the corridors towards the shoe boxes, she hastily swapped her shoes whilst hopping towards the front doors. Stepping out under the awning as she shoved her last shoe on, she didn’t realise it was raining until she put her foot in a puddle.
Face tilting skywards, she sighed gustily, under the awning she could barely make out the school gates through the curtain of rain before her.
“The universe has it out for me,” she uttered solemnly as she glanced back to the umbrella holders in case someone had forgotten theirs and she was in luck. Tragically, that was not the case.
“Ito-chan,” a familiar, yet unwelcome, voice intruded on her mental cursing.
Turning to her side, she locked eyes with the cheerfully waving Miroku, who stood under an equally cheerful yellow umbrella, collar turned up against the wet.
“What do you want?” she snapped, irate that he’d brought an umbrella and she was going to be caught without one in a downpour.
“You left this,” he explained, holding out her ribbon that should have been looped around the collar of her school uniform’s shirt.
She touched a hand to her collar bone as if she expected it to still be there, but on discovering that it wasn’t, held out an imperious hand for it.
Miroku’s cheerful smile turned indulgent at her obstinate behaviour and he ducked under the awning with her.
Eyeing him warily as he got slightly too close for comfort, Sango’s imperious hand dropped limply to her side as she registered his impish grin. Before she could protest, he’d slipped the bow around her throat, tucking it under her collar.
Deft hands tied the intricate bow and fussed over her collar, ensuring that it was perfectly flat, before a daring index finger stroked a path down the column of her throat.
Sango recoiled in shock. A pale hand cupped her throat as she blinked at him.
Chuckling dejectedly, Miroku held up his hands in a parody of innocence.
“Share my umbrella?” he enquired invitingly, eyebrows waggling.
A decision between him and the rain was hard. But she gave in.
Miroku’s smile was smug as Sango fitted into his side, brows knitted and eyes distrustful. She tucked herself in close, though she was suspicious to, so that she didn’t get wet.
Bemusedly she walked side by side with Miroku, who was strangely quiet for a time, and she wondered about how dry she was. Normally when she shared an umbrella - as she had before with Kagome - she’d ended up one side wet one side dry.
Glancing through her lashes to the side, she allowed a soft smile to form across her features as she looked at him. His shoulder was out in the rain, getting soaked.
This random display of chivalry brought heat to her cheeks and she reconsidered her dire opinion of the man who had embarrassed her in front of the whole kendo club.
If only this gallant streak were a bit more prominent, she might not find him so unbearable.
Their shoes squeaked as they boarded the train and Sango played with the hem of her pleated school skirt absently. The train was brimming with angry stressed out people who jostled both Sango and Miroku.
On a particularly painful jab, Sango lost her grip on the overhead rail and fell into Miroku, hitting her forehead on his shoulder.
“Whoa,” he muttered, his free hand coming up to catch her elbow, making sure she’d caught her balance.
As soon as Sango was back on her feet again, the train lurched and she tumbled back into Miroku’s body. He supported her gently, a crooked smile on his face.
“Sorry,” she muttered, cheeks colouring due to his close proximity. Her face pressed to his shirt as it was she could smell him, a musky man-smell that was equally parts intriguing and relaxing. She’d never been close to a man like this before, at least one that wasn’t her brother or father, and in kendo practise she’d never sniffed at them like this.
The inhale above her head was subtle and if she hadn’t been doing the same thing she might not have realised he was sniffing her hair. She was abruptly grateful that she’d used her nice strawberry shampoo last night instead of borrowing her brother’s as she sometimes did.
When the train pulled into the station, Sango was half-grateful half-aggrieved at the need to distance herself from him. Their brief intimate contact had felt nice, but the resentment she had from him still lingered with enough potency to make her annoyed at him.
Miroku quirked a brow as Sango hurried out into the station, irritation fuelling her brisk march. Whether it was irritation at him or at herself for feeling comfortable with him, she wasn’t sure. Hurrying after her, he caught up to her just in time for her to leave the station and hastily put the umbrella up.
She turned to him, eyes sparking. “What are you doing?”
“Walking you home,” he said, like it was the most obvious observation to be made. Which maybe it was, but she was annoyed at him.
“Why?”
The crooked smirk was back and Sango fidgeted uncomfortably as he stared at her appraisingly for a moment. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I allowed a lady to walk home without an umbrella in such weather.”
Lips pursed, brow quirked, she quipped, “I wasn’t under the impression that you were a gentleman.”
He placed a hand over his heart, a wounded expression playing across his features. “I’m injured that you would think so. I must remedy your misconception.”
“How?”
“Displays of gallantry to woo the pretty lady.”
Blushing despite herself, she muttered, “I really wish you wouldn’t.”
“No you don’t,” he announced cheerfully, “every woman wants to be wooed.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I prefer resourceful.”
“You would,” she disparaged as they continued to walk together.
They passed a while in silence that was exasperated on Sango’s part, but she suspected his was cheerful, judging by the grin on his face.
When they got to her house she quickly slipped past the garden gate and shut it defensively behind her.
He pouted. “Won’t you invite me in?” he wheedled.
Sango considered her family, Kohaku was too shy to care who she brought home, provided she didn’t insist on introductions, but she had a feeling Miroku would. Plus she didn’t want this maniac meeting her ex-pro wrestling father, whilst normally a nice man, if her dad thought Miroku was hitting on her, he might break out a few of the old wrestling moves. She shuddered to think of it.
“No.”
“You are stubborn,” he chuckled ruefully, and then he leaned across the gate, trapping her there as he hooked a finger in her bow and tugged her forwards, “Why don’t you like me, Ito-chan?”
She blinked, taken aback by both the question and his sudden proximity. “You humiliated me in front of the kendo team, and you have a flawed morality,” she answered.
The crooked smile was back. “Flawed morality? I assure you Ito-chan, my morality is skewed perhaps, but not flawed.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
“I will only grope the woman I love,” he proclaimed, tilting his head to one side, “how is that flawed?”
“It just is,” she bit out, “I told you, not all women enjoy being groped.”
“It’s all about who’s doing the groping,” Miroku waggled his brows, “I bet you wouldn’t mind if I were to place my hands on your person.”
Hazel eyes grew impossibly wide and, before Miroku even saw it coming, she’d sucker-punched him so hard he almost fell over.
Rubbing his jaw tentatively he watched her bottom appreciatively as she stalked away.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called out, rotating his jaw ruefully. It was worth it.
“Sayonara, jerk!”
0-0-0
Alone again on the train journey home, Sango smoothed her pleated school shirt over her bottom in a paranoid fashion as the train lurched from side to side.
Miroku was a pervert, she decided sullenly. The way he’d pinned her down had been indecent and his lewd comments had been intolerable. She wished he’d go back to wherever he’d come from. Maybe then he’d stop pestering her.
It wasn’t enough that he was in a different class to her, she wanted him on a different continent from her and she definitely wanted him out of her club.
He’d taken to hunting her down at lunch and giving her the bentō he’d made for her and, no matter where she hid from him, he invariably found her. So often that she’d stopped making her own bentō in preparation for his.
In kendo practise he refused to fight her, even though she desperately wanted a rematch to assuage her wounded pride. But Sesshoumaru-senpai seemed to have taken a special interest in the violet-eyed boy, and was ensuring that, even against Miroku’s protests, Miroku was improving his kendo meticulously.
He was followed everywhere by a small horde of giggling girls, like some kind of perverse Pied Piper, who he’d charmed with his wit and weirdly enough his street-magic tricks that he would randomly perform on passersby. Due to his fraternising with Sango, though, she’d ended up having her outdoor shoes stolen from her shoe box and thrown in the trash by his possessive fan girls on more than one occasion.
And she could do without his flirting, too. He was charming and eloquent and undeniably witty, so when Miroku flirted with her he actually managed to provoke a blush. Sango was used to the occasional crude flirting enough that she no longer even batted an eyelash, but his flirting was different and burned her cheeks inexplicably.
When she’d complained to Kagome about that particular aggravation, her friend had rolled expressive blue eyes.
“Well, that’s because you like him, Sango-chan!”
Sango was sure that Kagome was barking up the wrong tree with that one and refused to consider it. Miroku was an annoyance that she wanted gone, nothing more.
Facing the doors, Sango’s temper simmered quietly until it was stoked to boiling point when arms leant against the door on either side of her head.
Spinning angrily, she came face to face with Miroku, who, to her chagrin, wasn’t even looking at her.
He was glaring over his shoulder, eyes hard and flat in a way she had never seen before as he focused on a shifty looking man.
“Miroku?” she ventured tentatively.
He turned back to her and she squeaked indignantly as her nose hit his shirt collar. Blinking bemusedly down at her, he offered a belated hello.
“Never mind that,” Sango muttered, pushing him back slightly so she could actually look up at him, “why were you glaring at that guy?”
“He’s always on the trains, groping women,” Miroku muttered, “and he was looking at you.”
Sango blinked, strangely comforted that he’d stood up for her and protected her, but then her outrage kicked in.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” she spat, hissing like a cat that had its tail trapped in the door as she prodded him in the chest.
“I never said that you did,” he countered seriously, leaning down so that, even though Sango backed up against the door, their foreheads bumped, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to protect you.”
Cheeks red at his sudden proximity, Sango tried to avoid looking at his lips, but it was a feat she seemed incapable of. Abruptly angry at herself for letting Miroku strip her of her freewill, she wrestled her eyes away from his lips to glare at the emergency exit sign, licking her own lips in an unconscious invitation.
“Something the matter, Sango-chan?” he inquired silkily, warm breath ghosting over her ear distractingly.
“No,” she bit out, bottom lip protruding.
Chuckling lightly, Miroku mused, “you couldn’t be falling for my charms now, could you Sango-chan?”
“Who would?” she retorted in a voice that was strangely husky, she cleared her throat and growled at him when he wound a strand of her hair around his finger.
Kissing the captured lock of ebony hair, he delighted in her heady blush. A hand strayed to her cheek and cupped it, growing bolder when she failed to protest, her only reaction being the ever growing blush that trailed down her neck invitingly.
When her eyelids fluttered closed, he pressed his lips to hers and floated away on a cloud of bliss.
Sango’s eyes sprung open when his lips closed over hers and she gasped when he began to suckle on her lower lip, protesting hands found purchase in his shirt collar and brought him closer instead of pushing him away.
A hand cupped her bottom and Sango froze, outrage pouring through her system as she realised what he was doing and Miroku abruptly found himself on his ass as she shoved against his chest with all her might.
“Why did you do that?” she screeched, embarrassed beyond belief that she’d just given her first kiss away to a complete lecher.
“I couldn’t resist,” he answered solemnly.
Fists clenched with impotent fury as Sango regarded him. She hated being touched, but she’d let him kiss her and had given in to the fact that she liked him. But what kind of person groped someone like that on their first kiss?
“Leave me alone,” she growled, uncaring at his darkening expression as the train doors opened, “you’re annoying and I don’t want to be around you anymore!”
Temper first, Sango ran from the train and shoved her way through the people milling all over the platform, satchel smacking into her hip angrily as she ran.
0-0-0
Head down on the desk, Sango waited for Kagome to appreciate her dilemma and help somehow. In the way only a best friend could help.
Kagome smacked her best friend in the back of her head.
Yelping, Sango shot up from her drooping position across the table and blinking tired eyes at her friend.
“Why are you hitting me?” she demanded, rubbing her head morosely.
“Because you’re a baka,” Kagome asserted, folding her arms under her breasts firmly.
“Huh?”
“If you don’t get it, I’m not going to tell you,” Kagome decided, nose in the air imperiously, “but he’s just as crazy as you are. You’ll make a great... if slightly violent, couple.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Sango demanded, irked as her friend took her seat placidly, “He stole my first kiss and then groped me!”
Blue eyes bored into hazel ones as the girls stared at each other. “No,” Kagome corrected, “you gave him your first kiss and he told you something. A relationship is about give and take, Sango-chan.”
Sango blinked bemusedly at her friend. “He... told me something? With a grope?”
Kagome rolled her eyes. “You have the memory of a sieve.”
Halfway through their maths lesson, Sango remembered... and nearly fell out of her seat.
“...you should only ever grope the person that you like...”
Was that too much to hope for?
0-0-0
Sango glowered at the desk that lunch time as the minutes ticked by she was beginning to become more and more irate. Normally Miroku breezed into the classroom as soon as class finished with her bentō in hand, but it looked like she’d been stood up.
So maybe she really had read too much into that grope and he hadn’t been nonverbally confessing. She sighed dejectedly, feeling ridiculously stupid for having liked him in the first place.
“Ito-senpai?” a timid voice interrupted her musings and she looked to see a kohai stood at the edge of her desk, “Kinomoto-senpai told me to tell you that he can’t come to lunch today.”
Sango’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance and she jumped to her feet, anger coursing through her veins. Muttering a hasty thanks at the terrified kohai, she sprinted from the room in search of her prey.
0-0-0
Sliding the door back, an irate Sango stepped into the dojo, eyes narrowing on Miroku, who was sitting placidly on a practise mat, eyes closed.
Tiptoeing over to the oblivious man, she dropped soundlessly to her knees at his side and, mustering all of her resolve, pulled a fist back to punch him.
A second later she found herself flat on her back on the mat, hands pinned above her head as Miroku sat on her waist, eyes probing.
“That’s not a very nice way to say hello,” he admonished as he peered down into her face owlishly.
Tossing her hair from her eyes and growling, she bit out, “and groping someone isn’t a nice way to confess to someone.”
“But pushing someone to the floor in a train full of onlookers is the worst way to reject someone,” he responded sombrely.
She blinked, embarrassed, she hadn’t thought about it like that.
“But I didn’t know I was rejecting you!” she protested, “you groped me so I shoved you, it was a knee jerk reaction!”
His head tilted to the side contemplatively and he leant down, until his forehead pressed against hers again.
“Are you retracting your rejection?” he enquired, lips quirking slightly as he realised she was gazing at his mouth again.
“There wasn’t a rejection to begin with,” she grumbled.
Miroku paused to consider this, rolling off her and sitting next to her as she sat up. “Then, I’d perhaps like a little reciprocation.”
“Reciprocation?” she queried, eyes narrowing.
“I told you that I like you, Sango-chan,” he grinned winningly, “but I’ve yet to hear the words in return.”
Her brow crinkled in consternation at his demand, but then a devious smile tugged her lips upwards and she pushed him down onto the mat, lips closing over his.
Violet eyes widened, startled, and then closed, content.
But when a delicate female hand found its way to his derriere, Miroku pulled away from her in shock.
“Did you just...”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Reciprocation.”
Miroku’s eyes lit up with laughter as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, you really are perfect.”