A/N: I've had something annoyingly akin to writer's block on my
three current multi-chapter IY fics ("The Skin I'm In",
"Strangers With Familiar Faces", and "Things Worth Dying For";
for the morbidly curious), so I wrote this one-shot in an
attempt to break it. It was a chance to get practice writing in
third person for "Skin" and "Strangers" and get away from the
admittedly cynical humor driving "Strangers", as well as work a
little more on Miroku and Sesshoumaru's relationship for
"Things." Unfortunately, I wound up with writer's block for it
Warnings: Yaoi, not shounen ai. I really do hope that you know
the difference, because if you don't, you're in for a real
shocker one of these days. Also, this is a Sesshoumaru x
Miroku, not Sesshoumaru + Miroku. Again, I hope you know the
difference, or I'm not responsible for any sullied virgin eyes.
Disclaimer: Yes, they are mine, and I am in fact Rumiko
Takahashi. That's why Miroku and Sesshoumaru are always running
off into the woods together to make out, Kikyou is dating Hojou,
Inu-Yasha is constantly shirtless, and Sango always galavants
about in those really sexy short-shorts instead of, say, full-
body armor. *_* Ah, my beloved Sango-sama . . .
Ahem. On with the fic, perhaps?
"If There Were Only Words"
It was dark. Dark, and lonely, and it hurt. Everything hurt,
Miroku couldn't stop crying.
Usually he could smile, could pretend that it was all okay or at
least would be soon. Usually he could lie with a straight face
and not care that he was dying, was living his so-called life
with both feet in the grave. But tonight . . . tonight it just
hurt. It hurt and it refused to stop.
He staggered through the trees; the only real conscious thought
in his mind the need to get far, far away before the others saw
him like this. If they did, he would never be able to face them
And if he couldn't face them, he'd die. He'd absolutely die.
They were all he had, and he was hurting them just by existing.
Every happy memory they had of him would cause them agony when
the Air Rip finally ate him. But those same memories were the
only reason he had to keep getting out of bed in the mornings.
Why couldn't anything ever be easy?
Miroku squeezed his eyes shut, narrowly avoiding running into a
branch that still tore at his hair. Sobbing wildly, he ran as
quickly as he could through the trees, tears blurring the vague,
dusky colors into wild streaks and it all hurt SO much and the
only thing he wanted was to just fall asleep and never, never
have to hurt anything or anyone again . . .
And he ran and he ran, as if he might outrace his curse; as if
he might be able to outrace his own damning skin. Even though
he knew it was impossible, he wanted to anyway.
He never saw what tripped him, just the ground as it slammed up
into his face. Bewildered, the monk twisted and stared at the
offending entanglement through tear-filled eyes.
It was a kimono.
A white and red kimono, made of heavy silk and finely
embroidered, and no doubt neatly folded until he'd stumbled into
it. It had wrapped around his ankles like a snake and dragged
him to the forest floor, sending him tumbling head over heels.
"Oww . . . " he whimpered softly, reaching down to untangle
himself and rub at his bruised knees.
"Who's there?" a harsh voice demanded, and Miroku's head snapped
up, his face white and tear-streaked.
"Sess- Sesshoumaru?!" he squeaked, instantly horrified at his
The youkai sat in a hot spring, no more than ten meters away,
completely naked and utterly bemused by the monk's sudden
appearance. "What ARE you doing?" he asked, disgust apparent in
"I- I- " Miroku stammered helplessly, trying to get to his feet
and tripping over the other's robes again. He cried out in
alarm and fell back to his knees. Sesshoumaru was out of the
water and halfway to him before he even hit the ground, claws
out and ready to slice, prosthetic arm pinning Miroku's cursed
hand to the ground.
"Too easy," he murmured as Miroku gaped up at him in shock.
The monk's expression quickly hardened into a defiant glare, and
he automatically reached into his robes, fingers seeking a
scroll to at least attempt some kind of defense with.
Sesshoumaru turned his slash into a grab, catching Miroku's
wrist easily and inadvertently putting them both at a temporary
Each stared at the other in slight bemusement, neither man quite
sure how to proceed. Sesshoumaru watched curiously as a fresh
tear slid down Miroku's face, inexplicably fascinated by its
movement. Idly, he wondered what it would taste like.
"I don't think . . ." Sesshoumaru began in an odd tone, scarcely
recognizing the sound of his own voice, "I don't think that I've
ever seen anyone cry before."
There was a heartbeat of time, and a heavy breath of misery
passed between them. And then the echo of his words broke
something, and Miroku let out a harsh sob, slumping forward.
Somehow, the position they were in shifted to something vaguely
like an embrace.
So the monk was crying again. Sesshoumaru wasn't sure why, but
this bothered him.
It bothered him a lot.
"Why . . . ?" he asked finally.
"Hurts," Miroku said weakly as further tears overflowed.
Sesshoumaru barely kept himself from catching one to taste.
Would it be sweet? Bitter? Or would it be like water . . .?
"What hurts?" Sesshoumaru frowned. He couldn't see any
evidence of a wound, nor smell any blood.
Miroku lowered his head onto the youkai's shoulder. "Existing,"
he whispered sorrowfully, releasing his grip on the ofuda and
letting his hand fall out of his robes.
Sesshoumaru blinked; the lull in their scuffle broken by the
other's vulnerability. To be honest, he wasn't exactly sure
what was supposed to happen next.
"I- I'm so tired," Miroku whimpered. "I don't- I don't wanna
pretend anymore. Just w-want it to end." He barely choked back
another sob, burying his face further into the other's bare
shoulder. Somehow, Sesshoumaru knew that "it" was not intended
to mean the monk's chase of Naraku.
"You want to die?" It was half-question, half-statement.
And Miroku just lifted his head and smiled at him. A painful,
lonely smile, nothing at all like the one that he usually wore.
"Yes," he whispered hoarsely, eyes glittering with both tears
and an indescribable thing that was almost like ecstasy.
"Please. End it, and we can all stop wondering."
Sesshoumaru stared at him, again utterly bemused.
"Please," Miroku begged. "Kill me. I've lived too long anyway.
My father was dead by now. Make it stop hurting . . . I'm
already such a failure. Didn't kill Naraku; let myself get too
close to Inu-Yasha and Sango and the others. I just want it to
go away." He closed his eyes. "Please . . . make it go away."
"Stop it," Sesshoumaru muttered, feeling strangely horrified.
"It's pathetic, to beg like that."
"I don't care!" Miroku cried, both his face and his hold on
Sesshoumaru's shoulders tightening with fury. "I just want it
to end! Why won't you kill me, damn you?!"
"Like I'd follow a human's orders," the youkai snorted.
"Just . . . please." Miroku's face crumpled and his eyes again
blurred with tears. "Please, I'm- I'm begging you . . . m-make
it stop hurting."
Sesshoumaru glared down at him. "Just because I am a youkai,
you think I'd kill you that easily?" he scoffed.
"No, because you're YOU," Miroku hissed, digging his nails into
the youkai's deceptively delicate skin. "Because you're
Sesshoumaru and you don't care about humans' lives at all."
"And if I did, what would you think of me?" he snorted.
"I don't know," Miroku moaned. "I don't KNOW; I just want it to
stop hurting. Please, please, make it stop hurting."
Sesshoumaru looked disgusted. "You really think that's the only
way I can take away pain?" he demanded.
"What other way IS there?!" Miroku snapped as fresh tears
spilled onto his face, even as he pulled away to glare up at the
This time, Sesshoumaru didn't stop himself. He leaned down and
licked them away. Miroku paled for a moment, then turned a
brilliant red. His tears were salty and slightly sour,
"Wh-Wh . . . " Miroku stammered, staring at the other in
"This," Sesshoumaru murmured, "is another way to take away
pain." And before either of them knew what he was doing, he
kissed the monk.
To Miroku, it was warm and cold at once- the warmth coming from
Sesshoumaru's body heat and the cold from the now-chilled water
that still hung on his skin. Sesshoumaru tasted of something
unnameable, something shocking and still, like the water that
runs deep. His misery was forgotten with incredible ease, and
all because of the taste of the moonstone-bright youkai in his
To Sesshoumaru, it was hot, almost unbearably so, as he clutched
the monk's burning face between his mismatched hands. Miroku's
taste was something he could've defined to a science, if only
the language he spoke had held the words. It was deceptive and
elusive, varying from sweet to bitter as easily as you breathed,
but the youkai knew every nuance of it almost instantly.
"Sesshoumaru?" Miroku gasped out in confusion as soon as they
broke apart, an instantaneous infinity later. "Sesshoumaru . .
." he repeated faintly, slightly out of breath. "W-why?"
The youkai scowled at the other, just for a moment, and kissed
him again. There weren't any words to explain with- he knew
that, and Miroku was starting to realize it.
Somehow, kissing then became caressing, and caressing went
deeper, and something violent inside both of them died. And
from its phoenix-ashes, something else was born, though neither
of them could've named it, whether they had the words or not.
~* ende *~
Story dedicated to my darling Katalyst, who both got me hooked
on this pairing and beta-read said story. Should I have left
you wanting more of these two, especially in bed (as my
screaming reviewers tend to say I do), go read her stories.
They are all kick-ass and sexy as hell in a handbasket.
Currently, she has three SxM fics- one complete and two in
progress, and all very much worth the read.
. : review, damn you : .