The Cursed Monk

Summary: Kagome finds a brochure describing a cave with the statue of a highly-regarded holy person. Thinking it might be Midoriko's cave, she plans a trip to revisit the site. However, this cave doesn't contain the legendary miko; instead, it's an amorous monk. Miroku x Kagome.

Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this exhibition of fictional indulgence… especially for the one who's had it hard. A nod of recognition is bent towards Rumiko Takahashi for her creative prowess.

A Note of Explanation: Though I ship just about anyone, I have a special place in my heart for Miroku x Kagome, my semi-official OTP (one true pairing). This story owes its existence to the Whirlwind Romance Challenge at the Live Journal community mirkagfic. The challenge was to write a seven-chapter romance using the seven days of the week as prompts. Since I've added a prologue, this story will be complete in eight.

Warning: Rated 'M' for sensual situations and sexual implications. Really.

- Prologue -
Saint Voyeur

It always began with sounds—a low murmur, a soft giggle, a kiss. Ah. Another happy couple. Awareness expanded, seeping into consciousness. Light and dark separated, resolving into shapes and colors. For the thousandth time, Miroku wished he could blink.

Candles illuminated the dim grotto that had become his whole world. Based on what he could see in his peripheral vision, little had changed since the last time he'd had visitors. Incense sticks, braided ropes, paper streamers, a few offerings—all the trappings of a holy site. A vase in a niche near the cave's entrance held a cheerful array of wildflowers. Summertime. I wonder if it is the same summer, or if a year has passed since the last tryst.

Two people wandered into his line of sight as they explored their surroundings. The man showed signs of restless excitement as he scoped out the shrine's meager amenities, and Miroku would have smirked if he could have. On the prowl, are we? How far will you get? He turned his attention to the young woman and spent several moments ogling her strange get-up. Clothing styles had changed drastically in recent years, becoming increasingly complicated and stunningly provocative. This woman's slip of a dress barely covered the necessities. It must be quite hot to warrant such skimpy attire. Her painted lips curved into a seductive smirk, and Miroku tried to swallow. My, my… her clothing is not all that is bold.

The lucky bastard who was with her moved in for a deep kiss, his hands dropping to the woman's hips. Now, now… do not stop there, dictated their voyeur silently. She has a lovely… ahhh. The young man palmed the woman's pert ass, pulling her into closer contact as he began to grind. Yes, that is the way.

"Here?" she asked coyly.

"Why not? I heard that Saint Pervert there blesses couples who give him a good show."

That is a baseless rumor… and I resent the nickname, my good sir. I am no saint!

Judging by the erotic noises the woman was making, she didn't have any qualms about coupling in a cave, but she offered token resistance. Looking Miroku right in the eyes, she pouted prettily and said, "It feels like he's watching us."

"Let him," growled her partner as his hand crept up under the edge of her skirt. "I could probably teach him a thing or two."

Oh, I sincerely doubt that, Miroku silently countered with a laugh as jaded as his existence. He'd been well-versed in pleasure long before he was forced into this position, and he'd had ample opportunity to learn a few new tricks since then. As the man predictably guided the young woman towards the smooth ledge 'conveniently' located directly in Miroku's line of sight, the monk considered trying to ignore them. This was where his curse became cruelest. He couldn't close his eyes or turn away, and he certainly couldn't move… but he still responded. The urge to touch, to taste, to hold, to thrust—desire burned through him, but he had no way to assuage it.

Miroku was a captive audience as urgent kisses seared over smooth skin and hands pushed aside fabric. These two have been lovers for some time. The signs were unmistakable. He knew just how she liked it, and she eagerly matched the pace he set. The monk watched dispassionately, trying to remove himself from the scene. He remembered how it felt—mostly. At times like this, he almost wished he could forget. Maybe then I wouldn't have to… oh, wow.

Higher thinking lost to baser instincts, and a silent groan ripped through Miroku as the couple reversed their positions, gifting him an enticing view of the woman's profile. Her hips gyrated rhythmically, long, dark hair swaying, and as she grew increasingly vocal, he succumbed. Memories and fantasies blended with reality, and the arousal that always seemed to be simmering just beneath the surface exploded into full flame. Miroku looked his fill, and it was sheer torture. The curse fed his perversion without sating it, and he knew that once this couple reached completion, he would slip back into unconsciousness, unfulfilled and empty. But damn, there is only so much a man can be expected to endure. At least for now, some part of me still feels alive.

End Note: Today is my fandom anniversary, and I decided to bring out this story to help mark the milestone. I've been working on The Cursed Monk on and off for a few years now, and it's actually complete. The next chapter will go up tomorrow, with subsequent chapters at regular intervals (a week and a day betwixt and between) so that updates will coincide with the correct day of the week. Posted on Thursday, September 22, 2011. 718 words.