Author Note: My second fanfic, and this is based on a heterosexual pairing—Kankurou/Kagome. Yes indeed, it is crack. Earlier, I took a bite of an evil, disgusting sandwhich, and this is what the side effect produced. Its influence will definitely be reflected in this chapter. Thank you again to the gracious x0SilverFeathersx0, who went through my writing and corrected the wrongs.
July 26 - 27, 2007
"My god," groaned a young male adult clad in mere boxers, rubbing his disturbed tummy. "I swear you put some poison in that shit or something, Kagome." The brunette was seated at an oaken rectangular dining table, staring ahead at the said woman's back. She did not respond to his complaint in a physical nor verbal manner, and continued scrubbing delicacies in a sink; damp sponge in her grasp bleeding bits of foam. The vibes she emitted were blank, yet peculiar enough to make a person wary. So Kankurou stayed still in his wooden chair, scratching his cleansed right cheek; the paint which had graced it earlier having been washed away with a mixture of water and soap.
It felt like half an hour had passed, until Kagome securely twisted the metallic knob, stopping the flow of liquid. She daintily dried her soggy hands on her kitchen apron, and tilted her head toward the dish holder. It sported all the materials she had just handled.
Kankurou raised an eyebrow, confused by her actions as she reached inside. He saw her spin skillfully on her toes to face him, and when he saw what she held, his dark orbs widened impressively.
"H-Hey," he stammered, immediately sliding back in his chair and shooting up to a stand, "you know I was just kidding about you're uh… casserole—"
"Omelette," corrected the raven-haired woman, her voice empty.
The shinobi's fingers twitched unconsciously, and the hair on his neck stood up. "Right, well, I think Gaara had a mission for me today, so I'm gonna—" He abruptly spun around, only to see Kagome blocking the doorway. Kankurou checked behind him, and finding no one, assumed that the kunoichi had used her damn teleportation jutsu. It was the one technique that always bested and made him nervous. He felt lithe arms wrap around him, and blinking, snapped back to see his lover embracing him. Goose bumps appeared over his skin, courtesy to the object held in her hand that he could feel tapping harmlessly against his shoulder.
"Well then," Kagome said cheerfully, withdrawing, "you're gonna have to make me breakfast before you leave. After all, I can't risk my health today on bad cooking, since I have Sango's wedding to get to. And since you must be a great chef, you can eat your own cooking and live off that too." She thrusted the kitchen knife at him, and when it was secure, turned to leave. "I'm going to read a book, so call me when it's ready."
"… Damn woman," muttered the shinobi.
As if she'd heard him, a feminine tone rang, "We could always deep-fry Karasu!" Her threats were always carried out, one way or another.
Kankurou went to work with a sigh. "Damn, she's so sensitive."