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The Wedding
A bird cawed from its perch atop a nearby pine, signaling to all inhabitance that dusk was approaching. The trickling babble of the river beside us led the way towards our destination. There was a crispness in the air, set freshly anew by winter’s snowy ground. Despite the frigid wilderness, I was spirited and brimming with anticipation.
“I know this bolder,” Houshi-sama would tease in a lightened voice. “And this tree stump too.”
“How much further?” I inquired. My impatience was chastised with a tap to my pink nose.
“Not much,” he placidly stated, slowly swinging the shakujo at his side in an attempt to keep his fingers from freezing. He watched as Kirara buried her head snuggly against my chest, and I wrapped my arms tighter around her small form. Ignorant of his gaze, I shook my bangs free of lingering snow and let out a small sniffle,
“Can you blame me for being so restless?”
“Probably not. After all, it took us quite some time in getting here.”
I reflected upon his statement. ‘Quite some time’ – it was way more than that. An entire month more than that, to be exact. Kirara had agreed to come with us, but she never implied that she would be a source of transport. And through our journeying by foot we had come across an astounding amount of unforeseen postponements. There was the incident with my doppelganger, for one, and another regarding a “youkai” that turned out to be nothing more than a fat rat ravaging villagers’ pantries. Several other strange encounters occurred thereafter regarding ninja, two demonic imps who had strangely swapped souls, and another pair of western shinigami. I was beginning to wonder if these hindrances forebode bad luck on our part.
As we rounded a bend the distant sound of cascading water floated to my ears. My heart leapt in expectation.
“There it is,” the houshi observed dreamily, as if caught in a ghostly shadow of his boyhood.
My eyes lifted to the cliff side spectacle. The temple lay shrouded in mist from the waterfall, large icicles clinging from the arched roof and adjacent rocks glistening in the waning sunlight.
“Yes,” was all I could muster. The weight of what was to become had finally fell upon me, leaving me speechless and lightheaded.
We’d made it.
My feet were clumsy as we made our way up the mountain’s rocky steps. I wasn’t sure if I could blame the cold or my recent epiphany. My mind was beginning to flood with answerless questions of what marriage would entail, and with each step I found my apprehension increasing. By the time we crossed the shrine’s threshold and strode into the small courtyard my wit was full to burst.
Again I did not feel his eyes upon me until he spoke, “Are you feeling alright?”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, flushed and trying desperately to ignore the nausea settling in my gut.
With a second concerned glance the houshi slipped off his sandals and stepped onto the engawa. He offered his hand once I had done the same, and he led the way from there with a gentle grasp on my hand.
“Mushin-samaaa~” he called, opening a shouji here and there and peeking inside. After the fifth door his carefree nature abruptly ended. Suddenly he crashed the shouji open and ripped his hand from mine, making a mad dash to the center of the room.
“Mushin-sama? Mushin-sama!”
“H-houshi-sama, is he alright?” I asked in a quivering voice, walking a few paces towards the scene. The elder monk was prone on the floor, his face hidden and features still. Miroku crouched beside him and grasped his shoulders. Hauling the heavier body right-side up, he shook him, “Mushin-sama, are you all … eh.”
A nose bubble and loud snore answered him.
I watched the houshi’s shoulders twitch in disbelief and felt a ping of sympathy. He really did worry about his master’s health often. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so excessive …
“Wake up, you old drunkard!” With that he stood, and the elder’s head, which he had been cradling oh so tenderly moments earlier, went slamming against the tatami floor.
He woke with a startled, pained wail. His bulky hand moved from the rim of a sake bottom towards the forming bump on his skull. With a bit of effort, he sat up with a whimper, “Now why did you have to go and do that?”
Houshi-sama gave him a sour face, one I imagined he used as a child as well, “You shouldn’t be lazing about drinking all day. You know full well it isn’t good for your health.”
“Health-shmelth – I’m fit as a fiddle!”
The apprentice gave a disheartened sigh and swatted the sake bottle away from his master when he attempted to reach for it.
I let out a small giggle, wondering if this little game they played had gone on for years.
The sound drifted towards the two, and Mushin picked his head up and gazed in my direction, “Oh, so you found her did you?”
My head tilted somewhat, eyebrows furrowed, “Ano – found me?”
His mustache lifted up to tickle his nose in a smile, “Why of course. You gave him quite a scare, you know. Going off in the middle of the night and all …”
It took me a few moments to register that he was addressing the situation at Takeda’s castle, “Oh…”
Sensing my growing discomfort, houshi-sama walked the small distance and reached for my hand, drawing me closer so we could sit beside the old monk together.
“Yes, I found her,” was his meager reply. I felt his hand slip gently around my waist. “And I intend to keep her, too.” I blushed and stared down at my lap.
Mushin let out a hearty chuckle, “You sound certain. Are you sure that is what she desires as well?”
Realizing that all eyes were on me, my blush thickened and I answered in a small voice, “V-very much so, Mushin-sama.”
The elder’s mustache rose again, and I timidly averted my eyes as he seemed to observe me.
“Can you guess why we have come here?” Miroku calmly asked, drawing his master’s attention back to him. The man lifted his hand to stroke at his chin, “Hmmm, a fair guess, yes. But knowing you I find it hard to come to such a conclusion.”
Despite knowing better my heart waved. As if he could sense it the houshi’s hold on my middle tightened in a tender, reassuring squeeze. Subtly I found myself leaning into his side.
“Mushin-sama … we wish for your assistance in a wedding ceremony. After much discussion we agreed that such an idea appealed to us.”
If the monk was flattered, he didn’t show it well, “Are you certain you don’t want someone of a higher personage?”
Miroku shook his head lightly, “You were humble enough to bless the sanctity of my parent’s marriage. In my eyes that is far better than the word of a nonentity.”
I blinked, taking in the information he had not yet shared with me. Again Mushin looked reluctant, almost guilty or tainted, “Perhaps. But have you brought any witnesses? It is custom that you are escorted by your par- ah…”
Miroku and I took the blow quietly. Both our parents were dead, but they would be attending in spirit nonetheless. Between the two of us Mushin was the only person alive who could be considered a caretaker, and the commencer of the ceremony generally wasn’t reflected as a witness. Though we considered our demon companions part of our family, InuYasha and the like had commonly stated that they wanted no part in the service. Even Kohaku had declined the invite, having given us his blessing but altogether feeling too awkward accompanying a betrothed couple to their marriage destination. Couldn’t say I blamed him …
“Well, I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” Mushin interrupted, intending to break the sudden silence he’d caused. “Rules are meant to be broken. I myself have no objections to this union, and your parents would likewise think the same if it is for your own happiness.”
I gave a small saddened smile, the gleeful image of my father flashing before my eyes.
In brief hesitation, the monk stood wobbly and slung the sake bottle over his shoulder by its string, “Alright, I shall perform the ceremony. Let us take today and the majority of tomorrow to cleanse ourselves of impurities and set all necessary preparations. That means – ” he gave a small pause, stressing his words with a lifted finger when Miroku looked as if he was about to speak, “separating once supper is finished. And having no further contact until the designated time tomorrow evening.”
Grimly, we both nodded.
-*-
The wind blew fiercely outside, and I was exceptionally grateful that the shrine protected us from the surrounding blizzard. Shivering in a hurried dash to my quarters, I shut the shouji behind me and let out a sigh of contentment. Arms that crisscrossed my torso to escape the cold lifted from my sleeping yukata to scrub at wet hair beneath the towel that veiled my head.
“Ahhh,” I breathed languidly, rolling the towel down to my shoulders and letting disheveled damp locks tumble down, “There’s nothing quite as refreshing as a hot bath on a freezing night. I’ll have to thank houshi-sama for preparing the water for me.”
Working my fingers through the messy mane, I watched a bump in my futon scurry about for a few moments before Kirara’s head popped out lazily. “Must be warm in there, ne Kirara?”
The nekotama purred lightly and nudged her head against something beside the pillow. Puzzled, I walked over and sat on the side of the mat, “What’s this?” I lifted the fair-sized wooden box onto my lap, staring curiously at a folded letter atop it labeled with the brush-stroked characters of my name. I reached down and carefully opened it,
To my dearest Sango,
I imagine that you fret about tomorrow for many reasons, but I hope to assuage one such trouble with this. I’m aware that most of your household belongings were sent to ashes when your village was set ablaze, but perhaps I can give you a sentimentality of my own family in exchange for what is lost. I’d gaze at this garment throughout my adolescence and wonder if I’d ever find the right woman to wear it. I’m glad that I have. You’ll look beautiful tomorrow.
Until then, love.
My heart fluttered with a blush, honey eyes skimming over the letter momentarily before setting it aside. Steady hands removed the box’s lid, and the contents inside shown so brightly against the darkness that they seemed to betray their age. Carefully I stood while unfolding the first piece of the discovered ensemble.
It, like its many other parts, was a delicate white silk. The robe had no sash, yet in the back the waistline was complimented by a pleasant blue obi with two flowing ribbons. The folds and bottom of the garb were trimmed in blue as well, and when holding it up to my shoulders I noted that it pooled neatly around my feet without being too overbearing.
The next piece was a traditional bride’s kimono with yet another light blue obi. What remained in the box were mere accessories, such as a painted fan, a pair of pasty gloves, and a sheer dainty headdress.
In the midst of admiring the dowry, I heard the distant sound of a shouji slipping closed. Setting the items down neatly, I turned my gaze to the wall behind me. In this particular area of the shrine, walls were separated not by wood, but by rice paper sidings. This enabled me to observe the cast shadow of a young man on the opposite side, illuminated by the flickering candle dish he possessed.
“Houshi-sama?” I asked in a quiet voice, placing my fingertips lightly against the material barrier.
“Sango,” he answered in surprise, his footsteps nearing my current location. “How was your bath?”
“Much appreciated,” I replied, worrying my lip involuntarily, “Ano – houshi-sama. Should we be speaking to one another?”
“I see no harm in it. Mushin-sama said we should not be in physical contact with one another, not that we could not converse.”
“I see …” my fingertips lingered for a moment before the flat of my palm fell against the shouji wall. Soon the dark shadow of a larger hand came to rest on the opposing side of mine, and again my heart sputtered. I could feel the warmth of his hand radiate through the thick paper.
“I – uh … thank you, very much … for the gift. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you for accepting it. I thought it served no better purpose than to clothe you tomorrow.”
I was quiet for a moment, contemplating whether to breach the subject, “Did … it belong to your mother?”
There was a temporary silence, and I began to regret my words.
“Yes, yes it did.”
“Nn … she must have looked pretty.”
I heard him chuckle warmly in a low voice, “From what my father described her as, she was lovely.”
Nodding, I leaned my forehead against a wooden panel, afraid to ask further questions. Houshi-sama knew so much about my past, but in turn I hadn’t even skimmed the surface of his. He’s always been so secretive, and chooses to avoid giving information unless questioned – but even then he would answer in the most general sense. I suppose it was just in his nature to be elusive.
I wondered if Miroku had even gotten the chance to see his mother as a child, or remember her. Perhaps her fate was sealed at childbirth, just as my mother’s was when Kohaku was born. Those questions, however, were to be reserved for another day.
“Sango,” his words broke my muse, and I lifted my head. “You’re not regretting coming here, are you?”
“W-wha – n-no! Of course not.” Because he had voiced the question, my mind was already scheming conclusions about his own regret. The skepticism seeped into my tone accidently, “Why?”
“Forgive me,” he apologized, and I observed the shadow of his head fall upon the shouji as well, “Your silence had me unnerved.”
I sighed contently, resting my forehead against the darkened blot of his own, “It makes fools of us all in anxious times such as these.”
He voiced his impatience in an irritated grunt, and I smirked slightly.
After brief talk we said our goodnights, pecking our lips against the shouji in a makeshift attempt at a kiss, before traveling our separate ways again. Kirara moved aside as I crawled into the covers of the futon. Once on my side she curled into a tight ball against my abdomen and resumed her sleep. Half conscious, I stared off into nothingness while listening to the chilling whistles outside. I was fatigued, yet butterflies of anxiety prevented me from closing my eyes.
This would be my last night a free maiden.
Would things be different between us after tomorrow? Would we uphold our promises to one another? Would his eyes remain forever on me, and would I be able to wait on his hand and foot? The questions would not leave me at peace. In a last vain attempt I clamped my eyelids shut and began a self-taught meditation. Gradually I felt my features relax from their taut state, mind slowly slipping into a calming numbness …
-*- The next day, hours later -*-
There was a tap on my door in the late afternoon.
“Sango, Mushin-sama is waiting for the ceremony to begin. Are you ready?”
“A-ano. Almost.”
A light chuckle floated to my ears, “That’s what you said ten minutes ago.”
“Well I don’t know, maybe I’m ready – I can’t tell if I’m wearing this right.”
“Do you want me to take a look?”
“N-nn.”
The shouji slid open, and for a moment we stared at each other in amazement. Houshi-sama was in the traditional outfit customary for grooms. Underneath a large black haori with white ties and trimming he wore a two layered kosode, which tapered down to loose-fitting hakama pants and contrasting white socks. His physical aspects were the same, but his hair seemed glossier and bangs less wild then most days.
His navy eyes examined my attire wistfully, and I blushed deeply and toyed at the flimsy material of my veil before pulling it out of my eyes, “I-is it alright?”
“It’s wonderful,” he replied airily, taking a few strides in my direction, “But –” His hands trailed to my waist, lightly grasping onto one of the small ties of the gown’s obi, “This part should be in back.”
I nodded with closed eyes, keeping still as his hands slipped beneath the outer robe and secured the bow where it was intended to be. He did not pull away however, and I felt warm hands glide across my back from where they had been. I opened my eyes to look up at him through thick lashes, definitely feeling the part of ‘blushing bride’ under his acute gaze.
“Lovely is an understatement for you, dearest Sango.”
I flashed him a pearly grin timidly, “Stop trying to smooth talk me, houshi-sama.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he laughed out, drawing me a bit closer. Despite the tender moment, there was work to be done. Kirara trotted down the hall and poked her head into the room, mewing in an odd mannerism that told us to hurry up.
I stepped out of the monk’s arms with slight reluctance, and reached my hands above my head and drew down the veil again. The small bell on a white rose petaled hair ornament tinkled as I did so. Assured that all was in check, I delicately laced my arm through the elbow he offered and walked beside him down the engawa.
It wasn’t long before we arrived in the temple’s main shine room. The doors were wide open as we stepped in, and our senses were immediately assaulted by the heavy aroma of incense and the polished grin of a large, fat, and bronze statue of Buddha. The statue was aligned with six separate sacrificial trays, considering any more or less would be an unlucky number. They consisted of sake, preserved fruit, tea, a sweet rice dish, three small fish and a few prayer rings and juzu. Mushin sat beside them, and we entered and sat ourselves atop two cushioned mats provided. After this, our hands touched the ground and we bowed deeply and slowly, three times.
With the elder’s instructions we hovered over the tray presently before us, and lit two candle dishes for each of us. Then we burned the ashes of a new set of incense, one that I noticed, with the houshi’s suppressed smirk, smelt of sandalwood. He knew I was infatuated with the scent.
We had no flowers to offer Buddha, given the time of year, but we knew praise alone would suffice. After the two of us were back in our rightful seats, Mushin leaned close and dipped a branchy tree limb into a pot of sacred water, before lifting it over our heads and shaking sprinkled droplets onto our hair and shoulders. He murmured a melodious chant of purification and turned to the jolly statue, bowing repeatedly. The elder then lifted two juzu from a tray and placed them between our praying hands.
When this was finished he took his seat once more and turned to us, “Miroku and Sango, do you pledge to help each other to develop your hearts and minds, cultivating compassion, generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiasm, concentration and wisdom as you age and undergo the various ups and downs of life and to transform them into the path of love, compassion, joy and equanimity?”
Knowing this was the first of many vows to come, we nodded and stated in union, “We do.”
“Recognizing that the external conditions in life will not always be smooth, and that internally your own minds and emotions will sometimes get stuck in negativity. Do you pledge to see all these circumstances as a challenge to help you grow, to open your hearts, to accept yourselves, and each other; and to generate compassion for others who are suffering? Do you pledge to avoid becoming narrow, closed or opinionated, and to help each other to see various sides of situations?”
“We do.”
“Understanding that just as we are a mystery to ourselves, each other person is also a mystery to us. Do you pledge to seek to understand yourselves, each other, and all living beings, to examine your own minds continually and to regard all the mysteries of life with curiosity and joy?”
“We do.”
“Do you pledge to preserve and enrich your affection for each other, and to share it with all beings? To take the loving feelings you have for one another and your vision of each other's potential and inner beauty as an example and rather than spiraling inwards and becoming self absorbed, to radiate this love outwards to all beings?”
“We do.”
“When it comes time to part, do you pledge to look back at your time together with joy--joy that you met and shared what you have--and acceptance that we cannot hold onto anything forever?”
“We do.” This time a bit reluctantly, despite our teachings finding the vow hard to swallow.
“Do you pledge to remember the disadvantages of ignorance, anger and clinging attachment, to apply antidotes when these arise in your minds, and to remember the kindness of all other beings and your connection to them? Do you pledge to work for the welfare of others, with all of your compassion, wisdom and skill?”
Hinting towards my temper, Miroku smirked and nudged my side lightly. I gave him an exhausted but lighthearted scowl as we replied again, “We do.”
“Do you pledge day to day, to be patient with yourselves and others, knowing that change comes slowly and gradually, and to seek inspiration from your teachers not to become discouraged?”
All too aware of this fact and accepting it, “We do.”
“Do you pledge to continuously strive to remember your own Buddha nature, as well as the Buddha nature of all living beings? To maintain the awareness that all things are temporary, and to remain optimistic that you can achieve your greatest potential and lasting happiness.”
Finally, “We do.”
Now the monk shifted yet another tray in front of us and arranged the concluding seal of the ceremony. Sacred sake was poured into three glossy red dishes for the ritual of san-san-kudo, the first of which was handed to Miroku. He was silent with an inward prayer, before lifting the cup to his lips and sipping slowly, three times. He then passed it to me and I repeated the action, the rice wine warm and tickling my throat in a manner that made me want to cough. We replicated the process with the other two dishes, paying homage to the three treasures of the Buddha with a total of nine sips each.
When all three cups were back on the platter, Mushin began another hummed prayer which he ended in a wrinkled smile, “Miroku, my boy, lovely Sango, you are now officially man and wife. May Buddha smile upon you and your life together. Live long and have many children.”
Hearing the words I could barely stifle a sob of glee. Damn it, I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but my emotions apparently thought otherwise. My mind could hardly register the impact of those words, finally, after so many months of wondering if it was all some make-believe fantasy of ours that would never come true. But it had, and it was utterly indescribable. My body trembled with the effort of forcing back tears.
I felt a hand pull back my veil and turned my head to the side embarrassedly, eyes clenched.
“You’re not upset, are you?” I heard my husband ask in a concerned tone.
I couldn’t fathom the title. Husband!
“F-far from it,” I answered shakily, rubbing a gloved hand against the corner of my eye to rid it of those damn tears, “You know how I can get. I’m not upset, not in the least.”
I heard a sigh escape him, and felt gentle hands on my shoulders as I looked up at him, “Good, I’m glad. Then with all due respect –”
My damp eyes closed once more as he leaned in, capturing my lips sincerely in our first kiss as a married couple. I nearly choked on another sob. Married … it was going to take a while to get used to.
From a distance, Mushin watched with approving eyes and a whiskery grin, “Young love, it does a heart good to see.” He bent over and capped the lid of the sake pot, slinging it over his shoulder and patting his thigh at Kirara, “Come, neko. Let’s let the lovebirds have their fun. We’ve got drinking to do. After all, it is a special occasion.” The old man laughed heartily to himself and slunk down the inner hallway, followed by a reluctant and perturbed nekomata.
Breaking free, Miroku offered me a genuine smile, “Now then~” Crouching, he scooped me up with a hand under my knees and another at my back, cradling me to his chest as he stood. I yelped quietly, my arms looping around his neck in inherent fear of being dropped. His strong arms held me fast though, as if the burden of my weight didn’t faze him in the least as he strode unfalteringly down the outside engawa.
We paused momentarily outside his destination, marveling at the scene before us. The winds of yesterday had settled to a dead still, but the snow had continued relentlessly. The Zen garden and prayer shrines just beyond the deck were covered in a stunning coat of snow, while large fluffy flakes persisted in floating down to earth from somber clouds. In my eyes the spectacle seemed the epitome of serenity.
We lingered another minute or two, before he shifted me (quite miraculously) to one arm and slid open the shouji with the other, crossing the threshold and closing it shortly after. It was moderately dark within the room, light provided by a bright candle dish in the far corner. A few feet away from it a futon lay with its covers pulled back neatly in an inviting manner. I visibly gulped, a wave of fretfulness washing over me when it dawned to me again that we were married, and what exactly that entailed.
Miroku helped me to my feet, wrapping his arms tightly around my middle as he kissed me deeply. His tongue brushed across my lips and I gingerly opened up to him, allowing the sleek muscle entrance as it dabbed and stroked my own. My face felt overheated from the thick blush I held, while parts of my body tingled profoundly with relatively unfamiliar sensations the odd contact induced. My lack of understanding had urged a whimper from within my throat, and the sensuous undertone of the noise surprised even myself.
Once he had finished investigating my mouth, his lips pulled away to kiss at my chin and jaw. It wasn’t until his eyes batted up to glace at mine that he drew back, eyebrows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”
Knowing that my uncertainty was reflected in my gaze, I averted amber eyes, “N-nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
There was silence, before he removed a hand from my waist to turn my chin toward him, “Sango … it’s alright if you don’t want to do this now. I don’t want to impose upon your person and make you unhappy.”
“N-no,” I insisted, fist balling nervously in the cloth of his shoulder as I fought for words. “No … I want this . I’ve ignored your advances for so long. To deprive you of that now when it is your legal right would make you unhappy – which would make me unhappy. And I …” I quivered with another wave of insecurity when I looked back into radiant eyes, “I just don’t know what make of it. I’m afraid that I won’t be able to please you.”
“Is that all?” He asked with a blink, surprised. Seeing this my anger flared a little inside of me, but I calmly suppressed it.
“Well it’s certainly a big deal from where I stand,” I defended in a peevish tone.
He apologized with a chuckle and attempted to explain his reasoning, “Sango, nothing you do could displease me, especially in a matter such as this. You have nothing to worry about. It would even enhance my pleasure if you would allow me to guide you, and teach you along the way.”
“Are – you sure?” I inquired timidly, blush staining my cheeks in a vivid pink. I was never any good at these types of discussions, nor do I think I ever will be.
Miroku nodded and plucked the rose from my hair, “Positive. Now – will you allow me?”
Hesitantly I nodded, and felt him tug the comb of my veil and remove it while his lips teased mine again. Hands circled my middle once more, stroking my sides and hips in tender adoration. His kisses traveled, up my jaw and against my ear. Swirling his tongue against its outer shell was enough to make me squirm childishly at the startling tickle and tilt my head to the side.
The houshi’s skilled lips moved to mouth the skin of my neck, taking leisured licks of it aside from little nibbles. His hands were venturing upwards, one caressing the area just below my bosom in what seemed a torturous manner to me. Gingerly he moved to suck on my pulse, appearing self-satisfied at the feel of its intense beats that assured he was affecting me. Miroku continued his love bites, successfully hitching my breath and setting loose whimpers I didn’t even know I could make. He stopped his reign of kisses at the crease of the kimono’s neckline, and pulled back again at my look of hesitance.
“Here,” he assured calmly, taking a small step. His hands went to work on the ties of the haori he wore, and rolled it off his shoulders and tossed it to the floor. “Now your turn.”
Vaguely catching onto his game, I pulled my arms out of the first robe and removed it, letting it fall tidily next to his discarded article. He then untucked the kosode from underneath the hakama pants, and I averted my eyes with a heated blush when his sculpted chest and abdomen were exposed. He didn’t expect me to do the same so easily, did he?
My suspicions were alleviated however, when he picked me up again and set me back down on the futon the few feet away. My heart pounded in my throat as I stared up at him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders only when he’d ducked down for more sloppy kisses. Distracted by his mouth, I had not noticed his clothed hand coming to rest against my breast until he began to knead the flesh beneath its cover. A concealed moan met my bit lip as my back arched, the hand at the base of his neck snapping the band of his hair to grope more thoroughly at the raven locks.
I didn’t exactly know what was happening, or how it was, but soon enough I found myself in a hazy cloud of bliss. Cloth was shed without a care, and intimacy spoke of love that words could never dream to describe. Caught in the houshi’s control, I curved to his touch mindlessly, quivered in the face of unaccustomed sensations, groped at the futon and floorboards in a desperate attempt to stay grounded to some form of reality. Whatever had conquered my mentality was relentless, demanding, and overpoweringly intoxicating.
It wasn’t until later, when the covers were tangled and we lay a disheveled mess, that I regained my sense of reason. The houshi smiled proudly down at his drained lover, and kissed my slightly damp forehead. He toyed affectionately at tickling my stomach, patiently waiting for me to regain my ragged breath as he himself took deep inhales. He then rolled onto his back, hugging me to him in a way that nearly pulled me on top of him. Absently my hand fell upon his chest, trembling subtly in the aftershock of my fretting nerves.
“So that was …”
Miroku nodded, fingers delicately tracing the contours of the scar on my back, “Regretting not taking me up on the offer sooner?”
I sighed and smacked his chest lightly, effortlessly. Though I could not help but giggle, astounded that he could find a way to tease me in nearly every situation imaginable.
I was having a hard time believing his carefree and attentive expression. Here I was a youkai taijiya accustomed to strenuous amounts of physical activity, yet my legs shook like no other circumstance before, and I desperately wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep.
“Should I be blaming your discipline as a monk for your stamina?” I inquired lazily, skeptically. I had other suspicions as to why he was so practiced, but I wasn’t about to point fingers at him now for facts I had already accepted. After all, it was a thing of the past …
His chuckle reverberated down his chest and against my ear, “You could say that.”
I honestly didn’t feel up to conversation by this point, and my eyes fluttered shut as I nestled my head against the crook of his neck. He understood my need for sleep, and tugged the disordered blankets up to drape over my bare shoulder. Contented by his body warmth and rhythmic heart beat, I gently lulled myself towards slumber and away from the disbelieving events and mental strains of the day.
And just before slipping into the sanctuary of dreams, I heard the voice of my angel,
“Sweet dreams, my love. My wife.”
A smile spread across my lips, and I placed a kiss on his neck dreamily, “Aishiteru, anata.”
Miroku kissed my hairline and ran smooth, comforting hands down my back, “I love you too. Sleep well.”
We drifted off to a place where comfort was found in a lover’s arms alone, and where the falling snow of the outside world traced a new and unpredictable path in our lives.
OWARI
Terms:
Shinigami – Spirit of death, Japanese equivalent of an angel.
Haori – A large vest worn by persons of high authority, or for ceremonial occasions.
San-san-kudo – Japanese tradition of sipping sake from three individual dishes three times each to commemorate the three treasures of Buddha.
“Aishiteru, anata.” – “I love you, darling.”
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