Rating: MA (for those of you with dirty minds and/or understand the subtext)
Summary: Had you asked him before he met Sango, Miroku would have sworn he preferred dogs. Drabble.
Miroku guessed that growing up with Kirara had influenced Sango’s mannerisms.
It wasn’t just because of the way she acted in front of others.
It wasn’t only the way she yowled and was quick to bat and swipe when circumstances annoyed her.
It wasn’t solely in how she roared her courage in the face of fear and her enemies.
It was more in the slinky way she moved: quiet, predatory, aware, deadly, lovely.
More than even that, Sango's feline nature truly revealed itself in Miroku and Sango’s time together, alone in the heat and dark of the night in the long grasses and sharp winds.
It was how she would press herself into his slightest touch as he glided his fingers over the secret skin behind her ear and along the sleek lines of her back and neck.
It was in how she could arch and contort her body to increase the contact between them, to push him away and pull him closer almost at the same time.
It was the tiny mews she made to let him know what she needed, what she hungered for.
And it was in the way she stretched out luxuriously and gave low grumbles of satisfaction before falling to sleep that sounded exactly like contented purring to Miroku’s ear.
Sango always chided Miroku for slipping Kirara extra bites of the few fish they did manage to catch, but Miroku wanted to make sure Kirara understood that she had his heartfelt thanks for being such an effective teacher.