Author: Mosh Title: Nothing More and Nothing Less Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
“I can't feel my ass!” A gauze of cigarette smoke hangs suspended in the hot foyer, the translucent white steeped like rolling waves frozen in time. Sanzo watches the mirage break apart in gossamer spindles as Gojyo puffs out a huge lungful. “How long does it take to book into an inn, anyway?” “Maybe it's your vagrant look that's holding us up,” Sanzo says, even though he knows the question was rhetorical. Often he wonders how Gojyo manages to pass for semi, let alone human. “What the hell are you talking about, man? It's not like we haven't just spent four days in a fucking car.” Gojyo shakes his head and mutters a rough, “Shitty monk,” before diving off the end of the bench they're sitting on to avoid the harisen Sanzo sends at a rate of knots. It misses, but there's a vaguely satisfying crunch as Gojyo hits the boards. “Ahh, I wish Hakkai would hurry up. I wanna eat,” Goku groans, who's half-sprawled on the bench to Sanzo's right, pressed solid against him like Sanzo hasn't lectured about personal space a million times already. There's blood at the elbow of Goku's shirt where he hit the ground in the woods earlier, the patch turning a dark brownish colour as it dries. Sanzo's gaze lingers on it a moment more, then passes up to the painting of reeds framed in thick water oak set against the opposite wall and the ornate mirror above it. For such a compact, middle-of-nowhere town, it sports some extravagance. Risky business in times like these, where even a hint of wealth can attract youkai bent on pushing goods through the black market. A lot of the places they've encountered recently have felt different, though—richer. Evidence of just how far west they've travelled. “Soon, man. It'd better be soon.” Gojyo's weary voice floats up from the vicinity of the floor. Sanzo can't see much, but for two lanky legs and worn brown boots spread over the floorboards. There's a hole in the left knee of the kappa's threadbare jeans, like a tiny frayed oasis in an aerial-map view of dirt tracks, blood splatters, and laddered runs. “We're in luck,” Hakkai says, appearing in the doorway. “The receptionist has given us the pick of the place. Apparently, we're the only guests staying tonight. I suppose they don't get much clientèle out here in the middle of a large forest.” “Is she hot?” Gojyo asks. “Who? The receptionist?” Hakkai smiles. “If you like balding, middle-aged men, then I would say you're in luck.” “Feh, just typical.” “Sorry to burst your bubble.” Yet Hakkai doesn't sound particularly sorry at all. “By the way, they knew we were coming.” This news doesn't surprise Sanzo in the slightest; more often than not, their reputation has preceded them since they set off from Chang'an. “The town mayor is eager to meet with us to discuss something the receptionist wouldn't elaborate on. I tried fishing for information, but it's highly classified.” “I'm not dragging my ass all the way over to some mayor's house,” Gojyo says, picking himself up from the floor. “That's good, because the mayor is out of town tonight anyway.” Hakkai idly flips through a magazine rack, selects a book on gardening, peers at the cover. “I told the receptionist we'd be available tomorrow afternoon.” “Ch, I didn't plan to stay here that long.” “Aren't you interested in what the mayor has to say?” Hakkai asks, looking up from the mag. “Not particularly.” Sanzo's all too familiar with town mayors, what they assume a sanzo is, and what they can possibly squeeze out of anyone who bears the title, but it looks like the damage is already done. Sanzo sighs. “Fine, whatever. It's not like we're not set-back enough already.” “Then I suggest we turn in for the night.” “Then I suggest,” Sanzo adds, his tolerance dwindling, “you all stay away from the top floor.” “What? Why?” As Goku straightens up, his elbow jabs into Sanzo's ribs. Sanzo grits his teeth. “Because it's my floor.” “Shit, why am I not surprised the sanctimonious bastard wants an entire floor all to himself.” “If you kept the noise levels down, I wouldn't need a floor to myself.” “Did the reception guy say anything about mealtimes?” Goku gets up and arches his back, stretching his arms over his head. At the same time his stomach lets out a growl to match any youkai's. Where the hem of his shirt rises, Sanzo can see a slice of golden-brown skin like coffee cake, stretched taut over a sharp hipbone. Blinking away, Sanzo stands and slides his cigarettes into his robe pocket. “For once I agree with him. We haven't eaten since this morning.” “We've been given the run of the fridge for tonight, but,” Hakkai holds up his hands as Goku goes bounding toward the door, “try not to eat everything, or there won't be any breakfast. Food delivery is just before noon.” “All right!” Like Goku hasn't heard him. Sanzo rolls his eyes and follows him out, along a snug, soft-lit hallway toward the kitchen. By the time he gets there Goku has already yanked open the pantry door, and stands staring up at large frosted cake on the top shelf. “Touch that and I'll kill you.” Sanzo strides up and reaches past Goku's shoulder to snag a generous chunk of the sweet. “Oh man, this is awesome.” Goku goes for a wide bowl of ripe, rosy fruit, grabbing an apple the size of a baseball and the colour of fresh grass. Sanzo watches his eyes glaze over. “Awesome,” Goku echoes in a faint voice, sinking rapidly into the Food Zone. Sanzo's content to let him go, just glad they're finally under cover and around resources, with the promise of a bed to sleep in tonight. The apple gives up a juicy crunch in the quiet and for a second Sanzo hears the steady chomp of Goku's teeth. The bittersweet flavour of coffee and sugar explodes across his tongue as he takes a bite of cake, instantly reminding Sanzo of that bar of golden-brown skin, how it'd brought to mind this very taste. Before Sanzo can ponder it further, Goku suddenly freezes beside him. “Uh, oh gross!” The apple goes tumbling to the floor like it's just given Goku a first degree burn. “What?” Sanzo frowns down at the fruit as it rolls to a stop next to his left boot. Then he sees it—the mouldering brown centre, something small and yellow-white squirming inside the sticky, pus-like mess. His stomach turns over. “Fuck.” “I think I'm gonna puke.” “Just don't get any on me.” Sanzo kicks the rotten apple across the room, watching it leave a wet trail of goo on the floor before it hits the skirting board with a pitiful squelch. “What was that about?” Hakkai asks as he and Gojyo enter the kitchen. “Is everything all right? Goku, you look a trifle green.” “I—I—” Goku shakes his head, his mouth becoming a thin line. “He started eating a rotten apple,” Sanzo tells them, looking down at his handful of coffee cake, his appetite not what it had been. “It looked all right! Better'n all right. Shit.” Goku turns back to the pantry with an expression of sad longing. “That just totally ruined my whole day.” “And the car crash earlier didn't?” Gojyo comes over and peers into the pantry over the top of Goku's head. “You need to fix your priorities, wondermonkey. Oh look, pork rinds.” “You'll be a walking cholesterol hazard if you eat those.” Hakkai rolls up his sleeves and adjusts his monocle, then joins the other two at the pantry door. Tossing his half-eaten cake into a nearby bin, Sanzo turns on his heel. “I'm going to bed. Disturb me and face the consequences.” “Oh,” Goku murmurs. “Good night.” Hakkai's voice drifts after him. Ten minutes later, Sanzo sits at the window of a top floor room—a frilly, floral affair, but it's the best of the many he tried earlier. Cigarette perched in his mouth, he looks out into the darkness, relishing the silence of the place. As if he'd thought it too soon, from somewhere below he hears the creak of stairs. The creaking doesn't stop until it reaches the end of the hallway outside. With a frown, Sanzo looks toward the door, already certain who it is. Goku chooses a room two doors down. Apart from a loud sigh, the faint complaint of bedsprings is the last thing Sanzo hears of him. “I don't see why we should bother going ta this mayor's place anyway.” Goku links his arms around the back of his head and scuffs along the cobblestone street. “He's only gonna ask us to kill all the youkai in the woods.” Woods, desert, mountains—it's the same story everywhere they go. Kicking ass is fine with Goku when an attack springs up or they get ambushed, but randomly attacking youkai dwellings is far from the same thing. A lot of the humans they've encountered don't seem to quite get that. “Yeah, and maybe get an eyeful of Cherry-chan's sutra,” Gojyo mutters, and Goku looks up just in time to witness the glare-daggers Sanzo throws at him. There might be a few samurai swords in there too, judging by the narrow glint of Sanzo's eyes. Gojyo pretends not to notice, but Goku knows he's aware. The fact that Sanzo doesn't rise to it speaks of the rest he must've got last night. After a few hours in a comfy bed, Goku too is feeling a leap and a bound less achy and frustrated than yesterday, all that tension he'd been carrying around now gone. When he hit the sack shortly after Sanzo turned in, he'd been asleep before he knew it. It was awesome waking up without the weight of days of arguments cooped up in Hakuryuu, not to mention the lack of disappointment over eating a rotten apple. He'd almost slept the whole night through, too. Almost. Heat creeps up his neck as he thinks about the sultry, sticky dreams he's been having. Dreams so vivid it's felt like there are real hands on him, stroking, twisting, teasing, pulling all the low notes from his vocal cords. Pale skin and the flash of purple and raspy smoke-voice and rough, worn fingertips— Gulping as quietly as he can, Goku plods on with his head down, just glad he got a room to himself last night. Jacking himself off in private is one thing, but hiding wet patches and the smell of come is tricky when there's another person—or in some cases, three other people—sharing the room. “We don't know that for sure,” Hakkai says, glancing around at the neat brick houses lining the road. “He may surprise us.” Doubt it, thinks Goku, as they reach a house much bigger than the rest, set at end of the street. The place immediately hits him with an air of tradition, with its rising pagodas, tiled terracotta roofs, and a front garden that's freckled with little rock features, miniature bushes, and small cylindrical ponds. “This is kinda cool.” Peering down into the murky depth of one of the ponds, Goku spots something orange floating around. As the other three traipse up the path to the house, Goku frowns and reaches out, poking at the orange thing. To his surprise, the koi doesn't dart away as any normal fish would; instead, it comes bobbing to the surface of the water, belly-up. “Aw, man.” Drawing back, Goku goes to the next pond, only to find yet another koi floating on the top—this one mottled white and red. Weird. Goku hightails up the path toward a set of steps leading to a wooden veranda, catching up to the others. “Hey, Sanzo...” “Not now,” Sanzo mutters out the corner of his mouth. Before Goku can say anything about the dead fish, the front door opens and a tall, middle-aged man in a smart navy yukata stands before them. “Welcome. The mayor is expecting you. Please,” he gestures into the house, “follow me.” Goku glances at Gojyo and catches his eye. With a smirk, Gojyo gives him a quick, dorky pantomime of a stuffy rich person doffing an invisible hat, and Goku snorts before he can help himself. They're led through a cool, shadowed foyer into a long living room that's furnished in rich yellow pine. Gazing around, Goku's eyes light on a squashy-looking sofa adjacent to an armchair at the head of a low table. The cushions are a deep maroon and Goku bets if you sit on them, you'll sink for at least an hour. Bookshelves line the south facing wall, oil paintings set on the north. To the east, floor-to-ceiling bay windows open out onto the front garden. “Wow, this place is nice,” he says to Sanzo, who's already looking vaguely bored. “Overkill,” Sanzo says. Actually, Goku thinks it's pretty neat and sparse, not like he imagined a rich person's house to be—all full of clutter and vases just begging to be knocked over, frills and flowers and shit like that. Gojyo whistles and Hakkai gives a little approving, “Hmm.” “My esteemed guests,” says a deep, equable voice from behind them. “Welcome to my home.” The first thing that strikes Goku about the man is that he's tall. Really, really tall. Like, Gojyo-tall. Straight up and down like a beanpole, but not scrawny. As he steps into the room, the foyer shadows seem to release him and the broadness of his shoulders becomes more apparent beneath the charcoal-grey of his kimono. The man wears a small gold medallion on a thin chain around his neck, and a miniature version of the medallion is set into a ring on his left index finger. Light from the window catches on his short black hair, sleek and clipped around a high, tanned brow—hair such a deep colour that a thin nimbus of blue surrounds the top of his head and seems to glow. “I'm sorry I couldn't greet you last night on your arrival in our town,” the man continues, his crystalline blue eyes skimming each one of them in turn, finally coming to rest on Sanzo. Goku resists the urge to look over at Sanzo, too, suddenly curious to see Sanzo's reaction. The guy tilts his head. “My name is Hebereke. I am mayor of Shulindao.” “Nice to meet you.” Hakkai returns the gesture. “Your inn is very comfortable.” “Thank you. We don't see as many visitors as the more populated areas, I'm sure, but Hong likes keeping the place prepared for when we do have guests.” The guy—Hebereke—strides into the room and, with a fluid sweep of one arm, indicates the sofa. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Tea?” Before anyone can answer, Hebereke throws a quick nod to the butler who led them in, then reclines in the armchair at the head of the table. As they arrange themselves on the opposite sofa, Goku takes the space next to Sanzo, while Hakkai and Gojyo settle at the other end. “I was going to say, it's an interesting location,” Hakkai continues, peering around. Goku's glad Hakkai is taking the lead in the conversation, since it gives him more time to check out the guy and his house. Hebereke blends with the room much like a chameleon might on a tree branch, seeming at perfect ease, his long legs crossed casually; he looks to Goku like he could've just sprouted right out of the armchair. It's impossible to place his exact age, but Goku would guess somewhere between thirty and forty. He has the clipped, worldly look of a businessman. There's also something about Hebereke's cut, aesthetical facial structure that's reminiscent of Sanzo, although Sanzo's skin is smoother, fairer. More frowny. If Hebereke is aware he's being observed, he shows no sign of it. In fact, he doesn't look at Goku much at all, instead letting his clear gaze move from Hakkai to Sanzo then back again, as if his attention had wandered there for a second. Goku wipes a sweaty palm on the worn leg of his jeans and turns his attention to a painting of a ship sailing stormy waters. “—yet your town seems to be prosperous,” Hakkai is saying, and Goku blinks, realising he's been lost in thought. “We deal mostly in lumber, and transport stock via our trade route to larger neighbouring towns.” Hebereke's manner is as smooth as his voice. With a flick of his wrist, he pushes coal-black strands from his forehead. “Of course, I use the word 'neighbouring' loosely. We're miles from other inhabited areas and when our stock carts make the journey, it's a four day job. But we manage to thrive out here and for the most part avoid unnecessary... confrontations.” “You mean with the youkai,” Gojyo says, and Hebereke nods. “Then you're lucky, man. Unlike a lot of the towns we've travelled though.” “Youkai always know we're about,” Goku puts in, finding that his body is indeed still sinking down into the sofa just how he imagined, like the damn thing's trying to eat him alive. Yet he's careful not to squirm. “That's why we don't stick around one place too long.” “I see.” Hebereke's cool eyes glide over Goku like an afterthought, lingering a moment where Goku's elbow touches Sanzo's arm. Then Hebereke smiles at him. “That is a shame.” Goku can't seem to pull an answering smile up onto his face, not sure how to take the slight emphasis. He wonders if this Hebereke guy is yanking his chain. “So what did you want to discuss with us?” Sanzo asks, and Goku's glad they're finally getting to the point. “We're busy people.” “Indeed, so am I,” Hebereke says in a polished rumble. “In which case, I'll make this as brief as possible. I hope you'll be interested in what I have to say.” The butler appears in the doorway carrying a tray laden with teacups and a fat china pot with steam rising from its spout. The scent of lemon tea wafts across the room and zings up Goku's nose, tantalising his tastebuds and senses. If it wasn't for Hebereke staring at Sanzo like he's the only person in the room, Goku would make a jump for the tea, but the intensity of Hebereke's eyes stays Goku's hand. It's a look he's familiar with and one he's often disregarded in the past. Anyone would think Sanzo looks impressive in his robes, right? Right. Anyway, Sanzo always puts people in their place if they get on his nerves. Goku tries pushing aside the wringing sensation in his gut, tries ignoring Nyoi-bou's persistent little prods at the edge of his consciousness. “The fact is, I have an offer for you.” Hebereke pauses long enough for the butler to pour their tea, during which time Goku finds his attention flitting from the steaming liquid to Hebereke's patient, calm features. When the butler finally excuses himself, Hebereke continues as if he'd never broken pace. “When I heard of your approach, I realised the opportunity that was opening for the town.” Here we go again, thinks Goku, keeping his eyes on the mayor as he finally snatches up his cup. The china feels wafer-thin in his grip and he eases up on it a little, not wanting to snap off the delicate handle. Quickly draining the cup, Goku sets it back down before he accidentally breaks it. The tea warms his gullet, though it's not as fruity and sweet as he expected from the smell. “Let me guess.” Sanzo's cup remains untouched on the table in front of him. “You heard of the arrival of a sanzo priest and wanted to offer me a position here in town.” Surprise flits across Hebereke's face, and a strange little thrill of heat works through Goku. “I...” With a flick of his tongue, Hebereke wets his lips and the corners of his mouth pinch a little. “Admittedly, that was what I was about to suggest.” “I'm not interested,” Sanzo tells him. “Even if I didn't have business to attend to elsewhere.” “I see.” Now apparently recovered, Hebereke's sharp features soften the barest bit and he takes a sip of his tea. “I have to admit I'm disappointed. You can understand my reasoning, though? How beneficial it would be to have you on board the town council.” Sanzo remains silent, and the knots at the back of Goku's neck loosen. With one final little defeated poke, Nyoi-bou slinks back to sleep. “Don't worry too much,” Hakkai tells Hebereke. “You're not the first person to proposition Sanzo.” Sanzo shoots A Look at Hakkai. “It's not like he puts out anyway,” Gojyo whispers to Goku, just loud enough so that Sanzo can hear it but Hebereke can not. Usually the banter between Sanzo and Gojyo amuses Goku, but the comment doesn't make him feel like grinning. When he glances up at Hebereke, the man is watching Sanzo with the air of a man assessing his chances of winning a high-priced auction. Sanzo doesn't reach for his harisen or even his gun to retaliate to Gojyo's comment. Instead, he gets to his feet. “We've got a long journey ahead of us.” Goku thinks he should feel bad, since this guy's gone to the trouble of giving them tea and somewhere comfortable to sit, but instead of feeling shame there's nothing but a flush of relief. Scrambling out of the sofa, Goku heads across the room at Sanzo's side, slowing long enough to say, “Thanks for the tea.” Still, he can't quite look at Hebereke. “You'll have to forgive us.” Polite apology laces Hakkai's voice. “We're a little rushed to reach the next town, and if it's as far as you say we really should get moving.” “Cheers for the drink, man,” drawls Gojyo. Outside, Sanzo pauses on the veranda to light up a cigarette. Goku watches, breathes in the familiar smoky-tang as Sanzo lets out a lungful, aware as always that he's smoking vicariously through somebody else but unable to help himself from liking the rough flavour that comes straight from Sanzo's mouth. “Glad that's over with!” Giving Sanzo a sideways look, Goku tries to read what Sanzo's thinking, but as always it's near impossible to tell—Sanzo's not giving up anything. Stepping off the veranda with his cigarette between his lips, Sanzo strides down the path toward the road. A moment later, Goku lets his shoulders drop and follows. “Well,” Hakkai says, as he and Gojyo emerge behind them. “I should think Hakuryuu's rested by now. Hopefully he doesn't hold too much of a grudge after the pothole incident.” “Even if he does, we're leaving,” Sanzo replies, and Goku has a feeling Sanzo's talking to him more than anyone else. So what if it's fast approaching dinnertime? As if Goku's going to beg to stay here any longer than he has to. “I'm just saying, for a Sanzo fanboy that mayor guy was pretty quiet when we left.” Gojyo's voice is almost swallowed by the rush of the wind. “I mean, they're usually moaning and bitching, or chasing us down the freaking road for Sanzo to stay and fix all their problems, but he kinda... let us go.” “He seemed like a reasonable enough man,” Hakkai says, nudging Hakuryuu up to fourth gear. They're finally on the road again and Sanzo's only regret is the prospect of camping out, if the mayor's information about the distance to neighbouring towns is correct. Given that Hakuryuu is faster transport than a meagre trade cart, Sanzo figures they're looking at about two days roughing it. The afternoon draws to a close as they hit the outskirts of town, where the squat brick houses quickly taper into woodland. The neat cobbled street disappears beneath Hakuryuu's tires, giving way to rough track pimpled with pine cones and webbed with fallen twigs. The transition is so sudden Sanzo feels like he's taken a mile leap in the space of twenty seconds. Perhaps more surreal is how unnaturally quite Goku has been, huddled in the back since they set off. Sanzo puts it down to them not staying for dinner, though he supposes he could've conceded the day, since they're making a late start and will have to stop again in a matter of hours. Then he thinks about the mayor's proposition, the expectation shot-through Hebereke's words, the way in which Hebereke zoned on him, and the idea of sticking around another minute is about as palatable as the rotten apple Goku started eating. As if a town like Shulindao needs a sanzo priest. Yet another instance where trophies are elevated and airs and graces paramount. Well, Sanzo has zero time for that kind of bullshit. Settling in his seat, Sanzo takes out a cigarette and lights up. Dusk begins to fall fast, like it can't wait to get there. In the distance, Sanzo spots lights hovering on the horizon, dotted between the trees. A traveller settling, maybe? Nobody in town had said anything about that. The rough road bumps the car and they judder on toward the lights. “Kyuu?” “What's wrong, Hakuryuu?” “Kyuu-kyuu, kwee.” “Hm, that's not possible.” “Kyuu, kwee.” Hakuryuu sounds more firm with every cheep and chirrup. Sanzo's sure he'd punctuate this last with a resolute nod were he in dragon form. “What's he saying, man?” Hakkai adjusts his monocle, a gesture Sanzo's come to recognise when he's pondering. “Hakuryuu has a bad feeling.” “Ehh, well, he did eat a shit load of mice before we left.” Gojyo raps his fingers against the side of the car. “Maybe he's got gas or something.” “Kyuuu.” Accompanied by a growling engine rev. Suddenly, the wheels lock and the car skids on the dirt, sliding to a halt. Sanzo is thrust backward in his seat and lets out a curse. “What's wrong now?” Even Hakkai's ever-present patience seems to be thinning. “Kyuu~! Kwee-kwee.” Hakkai lets out a sigh. “One moment.” Opening the driver-side door, he gets out and walks around to the front of the jeep. “Well... it certainly looks big enough.” “Hakkai, what are you babbling about?” Sanzo can see nothing past the front of the car but the top of Hakkai's head. “Oh, nothing I'm sure.” Rounding the car, Hakkai climbs back in. “It's just an extremely large pothole.” For some reason, Sanzo thinks Hakkai isn't tell him the whole story. Well, whatever—it's time to quit the inane hold-ups. “Hn. Just drive around it,” he says. Before long they're away again, heading closer to the lights. It's not until ten minutes later that a hint of suspicion digs at Sanzo's gut and he narrows his eyes at the scene unfolding. “Wait, did we just do a full circle and not notice it?” Gojyo shifts up to Hakkai's seat and leans his elbows on the back, staring at the approaching town over Hakkai's shoulder. “We left on a straight road.” Sanzo frowns, that suspicious twinge getting stronger. “That's what's not making sense,” Gojyo says. “Maybe we should find somebody to ask,” Goku suggests, a mite perkier than he was twenty minutes ago. “No.” Sanzo's never one to ignore nasty twinges, since more often than not his instincts are correct. “Hakkai. What did Hakuryuu really complain about earlier?” The barest pause. “He seemed to think that large pothole was the same one from last night.” “I see.” Sanzo folds his arms over his chest. “We go again.” Hakkai glances over at him. “Sanzo?” “We go again.” Sanzo stares resolutely ahead. They enter Shulindao from the easterly road, where the trees grow to a halt to make way for the snug houses set on the outskirts of the forest. The town looks different approaching it at twilight, with soft purple light satin-smooth above rather than pitch black, but the square and village hall are unmistakable. They pass the inn, the pub, the convenience store, then the mayor's house. Its neat little feature garden is as clipped and serene as before. On their way out the second time Sanzo glances over his shoulder and unintentionally catches Goku's eye. A mellow ripple of heat slides low through his stomach, pushing like sleek oil. There's the barest hint of softness to Goku's level gaze and Sanzo has to put effort into looking past him, to the town that's receding. Hopefully for the last time. Turning to face front, Sanzo immediately spots familiarly scattered firefly lights between the trees up ahead. “You've gotta be shitting me!” Gojyo groans. “Is this some kinda joke?” “If it is, it's lacking in humour.” Hakkai steers them around the deep pothole and drives them into town for the third time. “What're we gonna do, Sanzo?” Goku's voice is right in Sanzo's ear and the back of his seat dips from the pressure of Goku's weight. With him comes heat and an anticipatory energy that douses Sanzo, brushing the back of his neck like a kiss of electricity, making the fine hairs rise to points. “Someone's messing with us.” Hakkai brings the car to a crawl at the deserted town square. “The mayor,” Goku whispers, and this time Sanzo feels the words weaving through his hair, dragging a shiver all the way up his spine on a silver wire of certainty. “It's the mayor guy.” “What makes you say that, Goku?” Hakkai asks. The barest pause. Sanzo inclines his head, thinking about the amount of times in the past Goku's been right about people. “Did you smell something off?” “No, not really.” A little hesitant. “It's not really his smell. More like... there was just somethin' about him.” “Apart from the fact that he worshipped Sanzo, you mean?” Gojyo for once doesn't seem to be ribbing, his tone distracted, vague as he scans the empty streets. Goku doesn't say anything, just remains a radiator of unease behind Sanzo. His arm slides across the top of the seat and presses against Sanzo's shoulder, a bar of tense, flitting muscles. Come to think of it, Goku was unusually tense at Hebereke's house, sticking close to Sanzo like a rash. It'd been obvious Goku didn't like the guy, but he almost always spoke out if he sensed anything dodgy. Maybe he hadn't thought there was any need since they'd planned to leave town today. Well, looks like their plans have changed. “Fine, we'll go see the mayor again.” “If you're sure.” Hakkai shifts the jeep into first gear. Before Sanzo can change his mind, they're on their way to Hebereke's place. “Welcome back, young sirs.” The butler gives them a polite bow, unaffected by the dark look Sanzo fires at him. “The mayor has been expecting you.” That confirms Goku's suspicions. With a lift of one eyebrow, Sanzo pushes past the man and strides through the foyer and into the sitting room. “You didn't strike me as the type for childish games. I take it this is your way of telling me you're pissed that I won't stay to be your resident priest.” Hebereke looks up from a clip folder of documents he has settled on his lap, appearing genuinely pleased to see him. “Ah, Sanzo-san. I'm glad you came back to me.” “Cut the crap. What are you playing at?” Sanzo senses Goku stepping up beside him, watches the cool look Hebereke issues Goku, his blue-washed irises glinting in the lamplight spilling from the wall sconces. There's the barest flicker of dislike there—Sanzo almost misses it. Judging by the tension rising from Goku like noxious fumes, Sanzo doesn't need to look to know it's mutual and then some. Hebereke sets his papers down on the low table and rises from his armchair, crossing the room at a steady pace, but stopping out of arm's reach. “I see you're a man not to be toyed with. I apologise, Sanzo-san. I was just severely disappointed with your reluctance to fully hear me out. In fact, I found your short manner and even shorter tone rather rude.” “You'll find it even ruder if you don't quit this and let us go. I can't be plainer than I was before. I don't have time to stay here. It's not going to happen.” Sanzo hates having to reiterate a point he's already made quite clear. Hebereke inhales deeply through his nose, as if he's about to impart a great secret. “This is a problem.” “I don't see why,” Hakkai says. “You survived well enough before without a sanzo priest in your town.” “Unless this isn't even about him being a sanzo,” Gojyo adds, and Sanzo turns to stare at him. Just what the hell does he mean by that? The miniature storm of hostility at Sanzo's side intensifies; Goku doesn't need to say a word. “Your friend sees much.” Hebereke's face lacks its usual serenity, making his features appear sharper, darker. “He's not my friend.” Irritation darts through Sanzo and he decides its time to to knock this ridiculous game on the head. If Hebereke wants a reaction from him, he's going to be disappointed. “Whatever the reason and whatever your method of keeping me here, it's not going to change anything.” With a sweeping gesture, Hebereke goes on as if Sanzo hasn't spoken. “I founded this town and brought it from a mere shanty infestation to what it is today, on sheer will and love alone. There's no trouble here because I ensure the only people who remain are those who are beneficial to my town. There's no space for riff-raff in Shulindao.” Hebereke glances at Goku, Hakkai, and Gojyo only briefly, but the implication is as obvious as a kick in the groin, respectively. “I know how to get what I want for the good of my community, but it's often a thankless endeavour.” His eyes settle on Sanzo. “I believe I'm occasionally due something back. Not that my town needs to know—I'm discreet when it comes to personal matters.” “Discreet like a hole in the head.” Gojyo throws up his hands. “What the hell's with the attitude anyway, man? We didn't do anything to you.” “If you will not stay to aid my town, Sanzo-san,” Hebereke continues, ignoring Gojyo, “will you not indulge me a little of your time for recreational purposes? Your companions are of course free to leave whenever they like. There's nothing holding them here.” “Like hell there's not,” Goku says in a voice lower and darker than Sanzo's ever heard, gravel-over-concrete rough. A shiver similar to the one he'd felt in the jeep earlier works up his spine. “Ah, yes, you.” Hebereke flares nothing short of detestation at Goku. “I had a feeling you would be a problem. Well, if you won't leave without Sanzo-san, then maybe you should consider encouraging him to indulge me. After all, he cannot leave until I deem it so.” “Heh, Sanzo's not gonna go for this. Give it up already.” Hebereke graces this with an impassive quirk of his eyebrows, then readdresses Sanzo. “One small thing. Really very trivial.” The following silence is heavy, nobody asking the question that's so obviously on all of their lips. Sanzo doesn't want to hear it, but he knows he will anyway. “A night of your company is all I ask. Let me feed you, entertain you. I can ensure you'll be perfectly comfortable. In fact, I guarantee it.” Really, only an ostentatious politician could ever say this and manage to sound like he's being the most reasonable man in the universe. “Tomorrow morning, you and your friends will be free to leave... if you still desire it. I will regret to see you go, but I will not bother you again.” The room falls silent, a sense of incredulity and bewilderment settling around Sanzo as they all take in Hebereke's offer. The man himself waits stock-still with his perfect hair and flawless manner; Sanzo can only stare at him, blink once, twice. Then something sudden and unusual bubbles up his throat, his lips twitching with helpless rapidity, and Sanzo can't, he can't hold it back—he laughs, a barking, disbelieving sound loud in the silence. Though aware of how the others turn to stare at him, he can't stop it, doesn't even try, lets the sound come flowing out, feels his stomach muscles working and his vocal cords thrumming. “Has he finally cracked?” Gojyo mutters. “I'm not sure,” Hakkai replies. Ignoring them, Sanzo shakes his head and turns on his boot heel, pushing past Hakkai and Gojyo to get to the door. Half way across the foyer, Hebereke's voice catches up to him like an arrow. “Think about it, Sanzo-san. I will await your answer.” That rat bastard. Goku's not the type to entertain thoughts like this often, but today is a special occasion. Today, a lot of things are picking at him, pecking at him like a flock of angry ravens; things that didn't bother him before. He can't place the transition, but for at least a few months he's not been able to ignore the not-so-cloaked stares Sanzo draws wherever he goes. The blatantly obvious looks and behind-the-hand whispers. Sure, people have pissed Goku off before. Gojyo does all the time. But with Gojyo, there's never this grating, fire-hot swell that balloons in his head and in his stomach, growing so strong it eclipses the hunger. There's usually always the hunger. The journey from Hebereke's living room to the jeep is foggy, and the trip from the road to the inn passes in a dreamlike haze. Goku dares not think about anything in case the fire-hot swell consumes him entirely, not even when he feels four needle points of pain in his palm and looks down to see he's made a tight fist. Worse still is the silence that hangs over Hakuryuu like a palpable canopy, then continues to hover above and around as they reach the reception of the inn. Immediately after re-checking in, Sanzo heads upstairs, his face a mask of stoicism. It's all Goku can do not to yell after him. Yell what, though? What can Goku possibly say that won't end up sounding... just totally wrong? One thing's certain, and that's that they need to figure out what to do next. If Hebereke won't let them go and if Sanzo refuses to tell them anything he's thinking, then Goku supposes it's down to him, Hakkai, and Gojyo to figure it out. There has to be a way that Hebereke is controlling the road. The man doesn't smell like a youkai in disguise, or even vaguely non-human. A shaman, then. A powerful one at that. Going to the kitchen, Goku heads for the pantry and stares into it. On the top shelf he spots the coffee cake Sanzo had wanted, its icing now layered with a sickly-looking white crust. There are small black flies flitting around the edge, zooming on their sugar rush. Goku cringes, wondering if this had all been organised just for their benefit. Had everything about the place been designed by Hebereke, just to get to Sanzo? The thought makes Goku's back prickle, makes him grind his teeth so hard he can hear them grating in his head. Shutting the pantry door, he foregoes his search for a distraction and instead heads upstairs to the top floor. It's no surprise Sanzo's door is closed, although for some reason the door looks way more foreboding than the others along the corridor. A few splinters of wood are scattered on the floor just below the frame, like the door's not only been shut, but shut firmly. Shit, Goku shakes himself out of it. One thing he can't do is let Sanzo see how riled he is. Whatever he might feel about Sanzo, Goku doesn't want him to perceive him as weak in any way. There has to be a way to fix this mess, he just has to figure out where him and Sanzo—no, where Sanzo stands on Hebereke. Trying not to pay attention to his jumbled, unhelpful thoughts, Goku lifts his chin and knocks three times, centring himself as he waits. “Since when have you ever knocked to come into my room,” comes Sanzo's muffled voice from behind the wood. At first, the observation makes Goku frown. Of course he knocks... well, now, anyway. Sure, a few years ago he didn't so much, but then he often had things to say to Sanzo that just couldn't wait. Nowadays, Goku's way more careful. The last thing he wants is to accidentally walk in on Sanzo undressed, or worse, like touching himself, or—no, now is so not the time to start thinking about that. Opening the door, Goku steps into Sanzo's smoke-hazy room. “Just thought you might be pissed, is all.” Cool eyes turn to regard him, then go back to their contemplation out the window. “I'm not pissed. Tired, but not pissed.” “Oh. So you're just gonna smoke a while until you figure out what you're gonna do?” Subtlety has never been Goku's strong suit and he's come to terms with that, not seeing the point of beating around the bush. “I don't need to figure anything out.” Sanzo taps a tube of ash out into the night. Beyond him through the window, stars glitter between the spiny tops of the trees in the distance. It's a pretty sight, one Goku knows he'd be able to appreciate fully any other evening. The answer is confusing and he draws his eyes back to Sanzo's profile, stares at the fine flicks of Sanzo's eyelashes against the satin-black night, the way Sanzo's mouth is pursed ever so slightly. “So we're just gonna stay right here, then?” “For now.” “How long's 'for now'?” “How should I know.” “Sanzo?” “What?” “Why're you hedging?” “Why are you even here?” “Cause I gotta know!” Goku stops and takes a breath, slowly unclenching his fists. “I gotta know.” Sanzo tosses his Marlboro out the window and rises from the sill. With a few long strides he crosses the room, not looking particularly happy. So much for not pissed off. “Got to know what, exactly? Whether I'm going to go see the mayor tonight?” “No.” Goku huffs. “I know you wouldn't let that guy get to ya.” “So why are you wasting my time bugging me about it?” Good question. Goku snaps his jaw shut, unable to sort through the crazy tumble of emotions inside and give Sanzo a straight answer. Again he's struck with not knowing exactly what he should say. Why did he come up here? Just to hear Sanzo isn't planning to go spend the night with Hebereke? Yeah, now Goku looks at it, he thinks that's exactly what he wanted to hear, even though he already knew it in his heart of hearts. In the quiet room he hears Sanzo breathing, just a soft, rhythmic whoosh. Goku forces himself to meet Sanzo's eyes and oh, that's so not a good idea. For one thing, Sanzo's standing so close Goku can map every dip and rise and detail on his face, notice the fine, almost imperceptible lines that have begun to appear over the last year or two. His focus settles and then refuses to budge from Sanzo's mouth and Sanzo must notice it, too, because after a moment he clicks his tongue. Goku's hit by the proximity, the encompassing presence of Sanzo, like standing beneath the sun on desert sand, or caught in a whirlwind of fire that dizzies his mind and sets his heartbeat thumping. It crashes over him and for a moment he doesn't know what to do with himself, sure he'll turn to cinders on the spot under Sanzo's intense purple gaze. Mixed in with the rush is a sense of relief that Sanzo's got no interest in going back to Hebereke tonight. This feeling emerges with tidal force and confirms something Goku had feared: that the thing before he'd thought was hatred wasn't entirely aimed at Hebereke, and it wasn't entirely hatred, either. There's another word for it, one he doesn't like admitting, but then jealousy is a bitter pill to swallow. “If you don't have anything to say, then why don't you—” “I just wanted ta check, 's all.” Goku wants to get out of there, suddenly overwhelmed by his revelation, by Sanzo's closeness, by the tangible power and energy and ache that draws him to Sanzo so much. Before Sanzo can answer him, Goku turns and makes for the door. “See ya in the morning,” he calls over his shoulder. In the hall, Goku stops and leans against a wall, contemplating the predicament. If Sanzo's got no intention of going to see Hebereke—which is a good thing, definitely—that still doesn't fix the problem. Which leaves one option. Goku will just have to figure out how the mayor's controlling things, and put a stop to it himself.
Shulindao is two and a half days and two-thousand kilometres behind, but the atmosphere that surrounded them during their stay remains—stronger, thicker, heavier. Every pointed glance from Goku sets off a tick in Sanzo's jaw, notches up the ire that's entered his bloodstream and seems adamant to stay. It's one of those fucking stupid tensions, too, the type where the longer it goes on, the less inclined you become to break it. If the tension does snap without warning, the reaction will likely be harsh; Sanzo can feel it, coiled tight in his gut, hot as smouldering iron. There's indication of a similar constriction in Goku, in the firm hunch of his shoulders, in the thin, pressed lines of his lips. Not that Sanzo's been looking for the signs; they're hard to miss. Well, it might serve Goku right for sticking his oar where he had no business. At supper time they hit a hamlet called Chengdu, a serene little cluster of houses crouched on the outskirts of the forest. There's no inn to speak of, but they're offered a barn with a converted loft for the night that travelling farmhands use during the summer months. Primitive, but it beats the hell out of sleeping on the cold ground. Sanzo's out of cigarettes and the town only stocks hand rolling tobacco, which, he must concede, is better than nothing. It's quiet, night falling behind black ruffled clouds in the sky outside, the air energized with the onset of a storm. The barn's largest window is thrown wide open, cool breeze kissing Sanzo's brow as he perches on the sill and bends toward a silent gas lamp burning beside him. In his fingers he fiddles with a paper funnel, trying to tighten it so the moist Shanghai Sunset tobacco leaves don't go shooting out the end. As he gently rubs the cigarette into shape, the gummed edge of the paper sticks to one of his fingertips. “Damn.” A little tear appears in the paper as he tries to untack his skin from the gum. “Fuck it.” If only he could obliterate the nagging, persistent agitation that's been dogging him all day, following him around like a mangy mongrel. It makes every task—even the most inane thing—more of a chore than it ought to be. Shut out the image of Goku eyeing him across a camp fire, avert his mind from everything left unspoken, all the heated words that tumble silently between them. Is it too much to ask to banish all of that long enough to focus on making one damn roll-up? It's not fucking science. A shadow falls across the wide straw mat beside the window and Sanzo looks up, so engrossed in his futile attempts that he hadn't heard Goku climbing the ladder to the loft. “How's it going?” The first thing of any great substance Goku's said in two days. “It's not.” Sanzo lets the tobacco slide back into the packet, then peels a fresh paper out and starts again. With every step Goku takes, Sanzo becomes more and more aware of his presence and all the little sounds that surround him—the fine click of his wrist bones as he slides his hands in his pockets, his rhythmic breathing, the faint smack as he moistens his lips. Sanzo doesn't want to think about Goku's lips. “Where are Hakkai and Gojyo?” “Gojyo went to drink and play cards with the farmer. Hakkai said he'd better go too, I guess to make sure Gojyo doesn't get wasted and gamble any of our stuff.” “It's not like we have much for him to gamble with.” With a frown, Sanzo presses a thin line of tobacco down onto the paper. “Are ya still pissed that I took care of Hebereke?” Sanzo pauses for a split second. “I knew you hadn't come up here for idle talk.” Goku wanders to the opposite side of the window and turns, leaning back against the frame. “I'm just sick of this weirdness.” Weirdness that could've been avoided, had he not gone making rash decisions and rasher moves, had he put more faith in Sanzo. Not that Goku often goes lumbering off against Sanzo's wishes. Almost never dismisses Sanzo's actions. Just this time, Sanzo can't seem to let it go. Sure, Goku's no longer the naïve, dependent kid he used to be, and his choices are his. But so are the consequences. “Sanzo? Look, I'm sorry for what I did. Geez, you're making it seem like I killed someone. I wanted outta that town too, you know.” “And I told you if you weren't willing to wait it out, you should've just gone.” “Yeah, right! Like I'd just go.” Goku whuffs out a breath and there's a tap-tap-tapping noise that Sanzo identifies as Goku kicking his heel against the wall behind him. When he glances up, Goku's staring over at the rickety old bed in the corner where they dumped their bags earlier. One of them will be sleeping in that bed tonight, depending who draws the longest straw. “Anyway, I didn't just do it to help you.” Unable to concentrate, Sanzo drops the tobacco packet on the sill and rises to his feet. Goku's still looking at the bed as if it holds some kind of answer, his hair familiarly rumpled at the back and his neck a smooth, lean brown slope. A network of prickles work through Sanzo's chest and he clenches his toes on the warm straw mat like the added support might ground him—from what? “I just didn't want that guy getting...” Goku turns to stare at him, his cheeks darkening just below the bones. “Getting what he wanted.” “Huh, as if he would have. It's not as if I liked him any more than you did.” Sanzo unwraps his sutra from around his shoulders and begins rolling it up. “I don't appreciate you storming in to fight my battles for me. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not a damsel in distress.” Goku throws up his hands. “I know that, but you were just sittin' there and you wouldn't tell me anything.” Volume rises, voice gets rougher. “I hate him, he's such an asshole. The way he was with you, all flirting and being cool. He was all wrong!” “I don't give a shit what you thought of Hebereke,” Sanzo says, tossing his sutra onto the bed. Robes revered among monks for their unobtrusiveness feel heavy on his body and he shrugs out of them. The loft seems to close in around them, a trick of the light no doubt, but it makes the space seem so compact. Atmospheric pressure enhances like the onset of a storm, like something big is seeping into the room with them. “The fact is, you messed in my affairs—” A sharp cringe ticks on Goku's face and Sanzo glares at him. “Don't you dare take that the wrong way.” “I can't help it! I can't help it if he was so cool and tall or that he wanted you, or that you probably would've looked good with him!” “Believe me, that man is far from cool—” Wait. Sanzo re-runs that last part. “What did you just say?” Stepping up to Goku, he inclines his head, still not sure he heard correctly. “It didn't matter if you would've gone to visit him again or not. I couldn't... can't stop thinkin' what it'd be like if you had.” The loft could be a shoebox, a tiny container they've been crammed into. There's no audible echo, but Goku's words spin in the space separating them like a swarm of storm flies. It's as if Sanzo's seeing through somebody else's eyes, everything red-washed and surreal as the words sink in; he's not aware of reaching out until he's got a fistful of Goku's collar. Wrenching hard, Sanzo brings them face to face and drops his tone down low. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You'd better not have been thinking about—” “No! Hell, no!” Goku's eyes go wide. “That's not what I meant. I don't like the thought of you and that Hebereke asshole together, it's just that...” “Just that what?” Sanzo demands, his face inches from Goku's, so close that he can smell something sweet like berries, possibly from the blackberry bushes near the farmhouse. “Just that what?” “Just that it isn't me in those thoughts!” The walls creak and groan, wood expanding and retracting in the damp night air like a living, breathing entity. The barn could split and separate in a million splinters and tumble into the sky for all Sanzo cares. Outside, thunder growls like a wolf sent from heaven's mouth. The silence within seems to suck all the air out of the loft. A few choice incidents drop into place in Sanzo's head in the wake of Goku's statement—the stunning truth—and yet at the same time, he realises it's not as much of a shock as it should be. Not something suddenly realised. No, how long has Sanzo been aware of Goku's metamorphosis, the eye contact that only lasts a moment before it's broken, his more cautious nature when it comes to their physical contact, so unlike the boy who used to bound around and leap all over him? The gauze of longing that settles around them whenever they're in close proximity, an emotion Sanzo didn't have a name for until now but sensed all too clearly: longing. Shit. Weeks. No, months—that's how long it's been here, slowly fermenting on the fringe of them. That's not the only thing that's different, either. Goku matches Sanzo's stare on an even scale now and he doesn't shy back or make excuses, or splutter apologies, or beg Sanzo's forgiveness for blurting something so dangerous, so detrimental to the precarious balance of things. Hell, the guy doesn't even blush. What happened? Two nights ago Goku went out and did what he believed he needed to do, that's what. Can Sanzo really chide him for that? It wasn't right to mess with Sanzo's business, though at the same time a part of him surges with pride that Goku took the proverbial bull by the horns. The man standing inches from him has bloomed fast, and Sanzo hasn't been paying enough attention. The roadblock in Shulindao only emphasises what Sanzo's always known, deep down, but never really analysed too closely: that with Goku, what you see is what you get, and what he sees right now is the wilful, headstrong person Goku has become. Can Sanzo fault that, can he reprimand Goku simply because he felt strongly enough about something that he ignored Sanzo and went with his own judgement? Trust your instincts. Probably parallel to live, live, live. Two things Sanzo always told Goku to do. Sanzo realises he has to say or do something soon. Also realises not even his sutra would easily slide between them; he can feel the hard, rippled plane of Goku's stomach through t-shirt cotton and his own thin leather. Feel his heart hammering. Sanzo frowns down at him in an attempt to focus on the matter at hand. “Making a big song and dance over some stupid mayor, just because you're jealous,” he says, matching the determined gaze Goku throws back at him. The barn shudders as another thunderbolt detonates above. “You're an idiot sometimes.” Goku tilts his chin up, his face and throat smooth like coffee-and-cream in the lamplight, smooth but for the small imperfections left by old fights, scars winding pale as rivers over his jaw, his left eyebrow. “Yeah, well, so are you.” Lightning spears the room with stark white and Sanzo feels something inside snap, heeds his own advice and lets instinct grip him; he crushes his mouth to Goku's, their teeth going click!, their breath cutting across each other's cheeks like knives, like electricity. A sharp tooth that was once chipped after biting into a toffee apple splits a path across Sanzo's lower lip and he tastes ferric wetness, associates the flavour with death and life and his master and Goku. Goku goes up onto his toes and makes a raw, feral sound in his chest, like there's a demon in there wanting out. The last time Sanzo heard anything like it had been his previous encounter with the Seiten Taisei in the desert, but rather than this realisation setting him on guard, his dick twitches inside his jeans. A billow of moist wind comes curling in to lift the hairs on Sanzo's neck, speckling his skin with the first desperate spatter of cool rain. The gas lamp across the room wavers and suddenly every thing's a-spin with shadows and gold light, and Sanzo sees zoetropic pictures out of the corners of his half-lidded eyes. Rough fingers slide across his hip under the leather hem of his top, in a drunken spider-walk of inexperience. Goku tugs him, toppling them toward the window frame. When Goku connects with the wood there's a crunch, like the structure's having a hard time supporting their combined weight. Rather than pain, a sound of ragged agreement in Goku's tenor rouses the quiet. Their hips connect like two bullets colliding, with a sharpness that sends a jolt right through Sanzo. The shock of it gives way to something warmer, something startling in its reality—the rigid, thick line of Goku's erection. The hands on Sanzo's hips clench and loosen, then drag up his sides toward his ribs like soft sandpaper. That sweet berry-and-blood taste floods his senses, drops like a quicksilver injection through his nerves straight to his firming cock. There's a soft-slick tongue in his mouth, wending, pushing, testing, lapping at his palate in a rough, hungry lick. Fingers shake, unsteady against Sanzo's body, dancing artlessly over his ribs. The trembling digits spike him and Sanzo knows he can't move, not even if he wanted to. It's thoughtless and effortless how his mouth opens in time with Goku's, how their lips shift and lock and part and go back again and again, how coordinated this is and yet with an edge of pain, just like duels, just like fights. A sheet of light pierces the dim haze and Sanzo hears the gods roaring above, and as they growl and rumble he pushes his hips upward, surging like a wave, grinding himself against Goku's stiffened cock. That raw, feral sound again in Goku's chest and Sanzo tears his mouth away, gasps back damp, hot air straight from Goku's mouth. “Sanzo.” Goku jerks against him like he's having a fit. Jagged, hastily bitten fingernails rake over a nipple and Sanzo hisses, spine arching. No one's ever touched him there before. No one. He wants more. “Sanzo, oh!” Suddenly there are lips latched onto Sanzo's throat and he's tipping his head back, snapping his groin forward, cursing up into the murky heights of the roof. Teeth pinch his skin and draw searing lines, shimmering pathways down his neck. Sanzo feels Goku everywhere, bucking and throbbing and sucking and moaning, heat and tension and hardness and sharp bone. Tangled, they stumble, Sanzo pacing backward and feeling his legs buckle. It's too late to salvage balance; he goes down, Goku with him, still attached hand to hip, mouth to neck, crotch to crotch. The mat cushions them only a little, and the impact is loud, earth-shaking. Through the gaping window, from the black clouds, chilled nails of rain slant into the loft and dash Sanzo's face. The cool wet specks tame some of the fiery heat rising beneath his skin, counter the beads of fevered sweat that've broken out across his forehead and upper lip. Goku, shuddering against him, rotates his lower body in a jerky grind, babbles, “Oh Sanzo you feel so good, oh god, oh god, oh...” Sanzo doesn't think he's ever been harder in his life, never so stimulated, like every cell and nerve is slowly being dragged through his body by Goku's frantic rubbing and collected in his dick. In his hands, soft, worn cotton tears and then Sanzo can feel Goku's skin, the trim length of his back sleek like silk and growing damp from the rain that spots it. With his fingertips he finds the corrugated line of Goku's spine, touches the undulating bones and muscles as Goku frots and jerks and blazes atop him. Release prowls close and Sanzo grips Goku's ass with both hands, squeezes like he might go sliding off the face of Shangri-la if he doesn't hold on to something. The orgasm trapped in his balls and cock has corkscrewed so tight it almost hurts, the pleasure nearly overrun by the pain, and then something gives—snap!—and Sanzo arches, bucking in rapid upward thrusts. A groan rumbles through him, is then answered by Goku, is then answered by the storm outside as it drops another thunderclap bomb. Every pulse of his orgasm slicks hot threads of come in his jeans, wetting his abdomen in desperate patches. Every spasm of hard flesh charges electric currents around his system, racing shocks through his limbs, fizzing at the tips of his toes and fingers. Every follicle tingles with it, every hair risen to a fine point. The spinning, crackling gratification rolls and eases into much softer waves, and in an attempt to hold onto it as long as possible, Sanzo presses his hips up firmly against Goku's body. Through denim on denim he feels Goku's dick twitching, hard and hot like a steel rod stoked in a fire. It's the movement as Goku comes, Sanzo realises, branded now in his memory. Riding to a sudden standstill, Sanzo hears, feels, lives the choked half-cry-half-moan Goku lets out against his shoulder. Breathe. All he can do for a minute is breathe. Rain taps on Sanzo's face, on his hands that are still clenched loosely on Goku's ass. It cools his skin, and Sanzo closes his eyes, imagining steam rising up off them and curling into the rafters above. No more than thirty heartbeats later, Sanzo starts to feel smothered. Releasing his hold, he gives Goku a nudge. “Move over.” The hoarse sound of his own voice surprises him and he clears his throat. “Give me some space.” “Huh, o-okay.” Sliding onto the mat beside him, Goku turns onto his back so they're lying side-by-side before the open window, plinking rainwater their only soundtrack. Sanzo wants out of his leathers but can't seem to find the energy to move just yet. There's an unpleasant slick feeling in his jeans and he wants out of them, too, but again can't be assed to move. In a moment. Just let the rain soak up the heat for a while. “Sanzo, are you gonna regret that?” Regret that the tenseness of the last few days is finally gone? Regret that Goku's hit the final milestone and now when Sanzo looks at him he can appreciate that Goku's a man, an attainable, touchable man? A man who picks his battles, who's strong enough for what's to come and what they will no doubt have to do when they reach Houtou. “I don't do things I'm going to regret.” “Ah. Yeah, me neither.” The distinct lack of tension is startling; over the last few days, Sanzo had got used to it, feeling a frustration he couldn't name. Dissipated, evaporated like raindrops on hot skin. With a sigh, he sits up and draws his leather top over his head, discarding the sweaty material to one side before removing his left sleeve. As he begins peeling his right sleeve down his arm, Goku too pulls himself into a sitting position beside him. Sanzo doesn't need to look; he can feel Goku's eyes on him. “Do you have to stare? It's not like you haven't seen me do this before.” “Yeah,” whispers Goku, “but I've never seen you do it after we've done... what we just did. Heh.” “Ch.” Sanzo tosses the sleeve at him and it hits Goku in the face, drawing out a laugh. “Oy.” Goku tosses the sleeve back and Sanzo feels a twitch at the corners of his mouth. Now it's his turn to watch as Goku shrugs out of his ripped, damp t-shirt. “Have to get a new one. Hey, Sanzo?” Goku looks up at him. “About everything...” “Just drop it. Forget it.” “Yeah, I will. I just...” “It's not the time to go dragging all that back up again.” Sanzo picks open the top button on his jeans, letting blessed air sneak down in to cool his groin that still ripples occasionally with pleasant satiation. “It's bad enough you brought up the image of Hebereke. What did you see in that guy anyway?” “Nothing!” Goku says too quickly. “I just... he was. He was everything I'm not.” “And that's a bad thing why?” Sighing, Goku chucks his t-shirt in the direction of the bed, then starts wriggling his hips out of his jeans. “You've gotta understand—I didn't know what you liked. You never told me, an' I've never even seen you interested in anyone! How the heck should I know if you found him hot?” “This is ridiculous,” Sanzo mutters, wondering how the conversation has reverted after he expressly said he didn't want it to continue in this vein. “It's not, though,” Goku counters, and Sanzo wishes he'd just give it up. Goku kicks his jeans all the way off and, stark naked and emanating the heady scent of come, turns to him. “How would you feel, Sanzo, if it was me? How would you feel if I wanted a ... friend. A boyfriend, or a girlfriend?” Cheeks go pink; Sanzo can see it even in the sparse lamplight. Just why is he so embarrassed? “More than just a friend, I mean.” The idea seeps in and Sanzo hates how it starts to wring his gut. “Sanzo, there's somethin' I've gotta tell you.” That wary tone doesn't bode well. Sanzo narrows his eyes at him. “Go on.” “I... a couple 'a months ago, when we got separated...” Averting his eyes, Goku folds his legs up to his chest. “In the desert...” “Just spit it out,” Sanzo says, patience dwindling. “When we were in the youkai settlement, there was this girl. Pippi. She was kinda like my first friend who was a girl.” A trickle of cold enters Sanzo's bloodstream, snake-like and apprehensive, but he gives up no outward reaction. The realisation that he hasn't been paying enough attention to Goku's development revisits like an iron fist to the stomach—how could he not spot something like this? Surely Goku would've been different if he'd— “An' the last time I saw her she kissed me.” It comes out in a big whoosh of breath. Sanzo stares at him. “She kissed you?” Nodding, Goku finally meets his eyes. “Yeah, on the back of the wagon. Before she pushed me off.” The cold wash of sensation ebbs a little at the clarification. Really, what had he been expecting? Ch, stupid. Sanzo takes a moment to process what's been said. She kissed me, not we kissed or I kissed. Thinking back, there've been one or two instances where Sanzo's experienced near misses during drunken revelry at bars and inns—not that he was the one revelling. How many women and men has he has to fire warning glances over the years? How many more has he had to fire actual warning shots at? There aren't enough fingers on both hands to count. Inhaling a silent breath, he says, “So?” Blinking at him, Goku's shoulders drop. “Oh. Okay, as long as...” Sanzo leans in. “It's not like you married the girl, is it?” “Hell no!” Goku shuffles closer and, pausing for a second as if unsure, snakes his arms around Sanzo's bare shoulders. Apart from the fact that his skin is cool and wet from the rain, it feels more like the old Goku, the one who'd constantly invade his personal space, whether it was sneaking into his bed at night when he was young and had nightmares, or slinging a leg across Sanzo's stomach when they were forced to share floor space in single rooms. The difference is that Sanzo can't say this is an invasion. In fact, his personal space reacts to the contact with a series of warm shivers. “Idiot.” “Idiot,” Goku echoes, and runs the smoothest, softest lips over Sanzo's jawbone. Now the worst of the thunderclouds have passed overhead, the rain starts easing into a fine misty spray, a cool, refining spray Sanzo's grateful for as Goku presses closer and tests his concentration with his exploring mouth and tentative hands. The question remains unanswered—how would Sanzo feel if the roles had been reversed in Shulindao? The instant and innate response has already made an appearance, that cold flush of discomfort he'd felt at the mention of this Pippi girl, but Sanzo's loath to bring it up now that Goku's quiet again and seems preoccupied with sucking his face. Sanzo prods him, nudging him back. “Quit that. I'm not supper.” As Goku opens his mouth to reply, a gleam in his eyes that translates he's about to beg to differ, Sanzo plants one palm flat against Goku's chest and shoves. “Whoa!” Goku falls back against the straw mat and Sanzo seizes the opportunity, lowering himself onto Goku's hard, compact frame. A small but persistent part of Sanzo decides to make perfectly fucking clear what he feels about Goku with other people. “It's not going to happen,” he mutters. “What's not?” “Nothing.” Sanzo ducks his head and claims Goku's mouth before he can say another word. Actions always speak louder, anyway. Holy shit, this is awesome. No, it's beyond awesome, but Goku can't think of any words to describe the sensation of Sanzo's body, the lean, heavy press of him above and all around, the minuscule movements of his skin and muscles. Still feeling very much like he's trapped in a dream, Goku reacts thoughtlessly, instinctually, to everything Sanzo does. Tunes in, switches on, his dick perking at the snug fit of them. There are a billion new thrills to analyse, but Goku can't hold on to one long enough—every time he focuses on the slow slide of Sanzo's lips and tongue, his focus plummets to the gradually hardening length of Sanzo's cock. Oh, oh, it's just so cool! So hot. Unngh. “Sanzo,” Goku mumbles between kisses, feeling like the entirety of him has somehow consumed Sanzo—smelling, tasting, touching him everywhere, inside and out. “This is...” An open-mouthed kiss, the sharpness of Sanzo's teeth. “Unbelievable.” For Goku, it transcends normal physical contact. What he feels isn't merely touch; there's something much rawer about it, something with a rough message attached that he hasn't quite picked apart. It's in the way Sanzo had pushed him down, the way Sanzo had slid on top of him, pinning him to the mat. It's in Sanzo's hard kisses, in the scrape of his lips, the clench of his rough, pale fingers on Goku's shoulders, in the encompassing heat of him. Territorial. A moan bursts out of Goku's mouth as he identifies Sanzo's actions for what they are. Stupid really, he should've known immediately; he contained the exact same emotions only two days ago. “Guh, Sanzo, I want you inside. D'ya wanna?” The words are out before he has the chance to shy away from them, momentarily bolstered by the way Sanzo's dick thickens and fills against him, encouraged by the dizzying desire to give Sanzo absolutely everything. To have Sanzo and take everything back from him. Goku's aware of the mechanics of sex, has seen the dirty mags Gojyo picks up now and then, has thought about it more times in the past than he'd care to admit. The idea of Sanzo inside him has never been more striking, or likely. “Can we go to bed? Can we...?” Lifting onto his forearms, Sanzo stares down at him with such a gorgeous, open look on his face Goku's breath catches in a sudden gasp. “Not the bed,” Sanzo says between kiss-wet lips that hold the reflection of the lamplight in them, like they're dusted with sunlight. “You do realise Hakkai or Gojyo could be sleeping in it tonight?” “Huh, oh yeah.” Well, Goku's happy to just have Sanzo like this, covering him, amenable to touch and taking what feels good. As if he's thought it too soon, Sanzo lifts himself up and sits back on his heels. A fine spray of rain speckles Goku's warmed belly and he aches to have Sanzo back on top of him, his hips lifting up off the mat of their own accord to cling to some of Sanzo's heat. “Gun grease is in my bag,” Sanzo says, and for a moment Goku merely stares up at him, wondering what his gun's got to do with it. With a lift of one blond eyebrow, Sanzo adds, “Do you need a map?” “Uh, no. What d'you want the grease—?” Then it hits him. “Oh!” Goku sits still for a second longer, digesting it, swallowing that his wish is about to come true. Throwing Sanzo a quick, awed grin, he drags himself up and self-consciously cups his semi-erection with his hands. Dashing across the floor to the bed where their bags are piled, the first pangs of nervousness jab at him like little pinpricks. At the bottom of Sanzo's rucksack, he locates the tin of grease and palms it. When he turns back Goku freezes, the flutter of nerves breaking away like leaves tugged from a tree in a gale. Sanzo's sitting luminous at the centre of the mat, gold light swaying over his skin from the lamp, shimmering drizzle falling against his naked, glistening body. Goku's never seen anything so amazing, doesn't think he ever will again. As he heads back over, his bare toes catch on the floor and he trips over himself, stumbling to his knees on the mat. Before he knows it, Sanzo's tearing the tin out of his hand and locking a firm arm around Goku's back, drawing him close, yanking him in again. “Take your time,” Sanzo says in a growl, and Goku is sucked under the incandescence of Sanzo once more, goes willingly and ecstatically into his embrace. “I couldn't help it! It's not like I've done this before.” Goku rocks forward, back, revelling in the slide of Sanzo's hard cock, loving the solid tangibility of it. Slipping his hand down between them, he experimentally strokes his fingertips up Sanzo's length, watching as Sanzo's eyelids flutter. “Guh.” “Go easy.” Sanzo pulls back, but not completely away. With tiny rubs, Goku circles the heated length of Sanzo's shaft, the prominent vein pulsing beneath his touch. His mouth floods with saliva when he glances down and takes a real good look at what he holds—Sanzo's heavy dick risen and flushed at the base, purpling at the head, wet at the very tip. Seized by a new, displaced hunger, Goku's ass muscles tighten and clench and thrum. Before now, he'd always assumed his fantasies would remain reserved to wet dreams. The tin lid pops, then bounces on the mat and rolls off into the shadows. There's no need to gather his courage, no cause to fear; the minimal tensing that squeezes Goku's body is simply anticipation. This is Sanzo, right? Sanzo, who Goku's trusted and will trust forever. Who he cherishes like breathing, like eating, or sleeping—even when he's not physically there, Goku feels him, their connection strung and twined tight like a helix. Unbreakable. No manner of smooth-talking, good-looking tall guys can tear it apart and through the duration of the storm a shining truth has become known to Goku, that Sanzo wants him. “How do ya want me?” he asks, only a tiny emphasis on the 'how'. Looking up into Sanzo's eyes as levelly as he can, Goku resists the urge to kiss him again. For a moment, Sanzo falters and his jaw works as if he's thinking something he knows he shouldn't say out loud. Goku wonders what it could be. “Turn around.” Goku turns on his knees, feels Sanzo settle into the space between his parted legs. Sudden brush of Sanzo's cock between his thighs, nudging up against his replete balls. “Unnn.” Sanzo's fingers against his tailbone, skidding down into the cleft of his ass. “Sanzo.” With aching slowness, Sanzo works a fingertip inside. “Ohh.” Goku nudges back, rocking a little. Somehow pushing back makes it easier so he does it again, and again, and again. There's an impatient noise against Goku's ear, one he's never heard before, breathy like a secret. Sure, Sanzo makes impatient noises all the time, but this one totters on the precipice of need. Before he even realises what he's doing, Goku takes himself in hand and squeezes his swelling cock. “Yeah,” he moans as he clenches his fist around the hot throb, as Sanzo stretches him open and slides another finger inside to the knuckle. “More, more...” Goku thinks it must be hours, if not days, before Sanzo draws back his hand. In wake of Sanzo's touch, Goku's hole clenches and grasps and his cock drips pre-come on the mat in front of him. Head spinning as if caught in a tsunami, he finds his ability to speak is shot, totally gone, so Goku simply gutters groans about how he wants—now—ohplease—now! No amount of trust prepares him for the spreading burn as Sanzo pushes into him, spears him in one hard thrust. “Ahh!” But when Sanzo stops and clutches his hips, Goku barks, “Don't stop now. Don't stop now! I can take it—!” Oh, he can and will, never knew this is the only thing he ever truly wanted, this aching claim. The fire sweeps through Goku's lower body, licks at his innards in ebbing and crashing heaves as Sanzo's front connects with his back. Locked, deep as Sanzo can go, though Goku feels as if he could almost open himself wide and take even more of Sanzo's dick. Whatever invisible strings are holding him straight begin to loosen and Goku feels himself tipping forward, though he doesn't hit the mat but rather is lowered to it by Sanzo's firm grip. Using his elbows to support his upper half, Goku lifts his ass as high as he can, clenching to hold on to the thick base of Sanzo's cock. “Ffffuck.” Sanzo gives a little shove that sends electric sparks into Goku's balls. Sparse drizzle tickles Goku's shoulders and neck, cooling his over-heated skin. “Hah-ah, Sanzo,” he says to the squashy mat, his forehead pressed to the straw. “You feel...” Then Sanzo's leaning over him, lying flush against Goku's back. “Are you hurting?” “N-no,” Goku says truthfully; it's not a pain he can't handle, not a pain he wants to stop in a million years. “Feels brilliant.” Ignoring the fact that he sounds like a total dork, he rocks backward onto Sanzo's cock, eliciting a hiss from his sun. “Gimme more...” “We're not at the dinner table now,” Sanzo rumbles, close to his ear, and then Goku feels Sanzo's lips on his neck, hot and searching. “You're gonna give me more anyway,” Goku says with a sudden laugh, winning himself a shallow thrust. “I won't last,” he admits. “Doesn't matter,” Sanzo says, and then there's no more room for talking. Every up-sway of Sanzo's hips, every time the head of his dick strikes Goku deep inside, a little more coherence is obliterated. An amassing tension draws Goku's balls up tight against his body and he knows it'll only take one or two touches to make him spurt, but he holds off reaching for his cock, savouring the overwhelming curling tightness of everything, wanting to prolong the delicious agony. The noises falling from Sanzo rain like embers onto his shoulder, low and sexy, a jumble of swears and groans. Goku tries to picture how they must look together, and that's really all it takes. “Ungh, oh, I've gotta,” he cries, clenching his fist around his cock and jerking the slippery length as fast as he can. Spasms seize him and shake him like a doll and he's coming, shooting all over the floor and his own fingers, his bones coming unstrung as Sanzo rides him faster and faster, like he's trying to go deeper and deeper and all the way. There's no sense of hunger now, no sense of need. Goku squeezes reflexively and he hears the call of Sanzo's voice through a frequency of orgasmic thunder, is aware of Sanzo stopping suddenly and his fingers biting into Goku's hips, his teeth latching onto Goku's shoulder. Goku shudders, welcomes the hot pulse of Sanzo's dick, holds the sensation until Sanzo's still and breathing a harsh, bassy beat in the quiet. As they collapse on the mat, Goku lands in streaks of his own come but doesn't care. Sanzo lifts himself off and to the side, the sensation of him slipping out vague under the numbing tingle of Goku's lower body. Turning over with a little groan as tested muscles flex and pull, Goku seeks Sanzo's warmth and lets out a long, hoarse breath. In the lamplight, there's no purple left in Sanzo's eyes, just rich, shining black staring back at him. “I'll try not to get jealous again,” Goku says, his voice sex-husked and odd in his own ears. Cool air wafts in through the window and bathes him, and he realises the rain has stopped at some point while they were—holy shit. While they were doing it. Goku works his body in closer to Sanzo. “It's pointless.” Sanzo seems amenable enough to tolerate the wriggling, at least for now, so Goku makes the most of it and presses his mouth to Sanzo's cheek, wrapping one arm around Sanzo's waist. “Not to mention a waste of time and energy.” “Yeah,” Goku agrees. “But it's confusing. I don't want to feel those things. I hated feeling them before, even when I tried not to.” “Mm...” A sigh. “That's life.” Although he's being as blunt as ever, Sanzo's words are strangely comforting. Goku tilts his chin and swipes his lips across Sanzo's, thinking that yeah, maybe it is just life to get ambushed by stupid feelings sometimes, but hey, there are other things in life, way more important things, and Goku's going to do his damnedest to remember those things any time he feels something dark creeping up. There's a faint growl in the distance, an echo of thunder miles away, and then the night falls smoothly silent. “Aw, jeez, does my head ever kill.” “I told you to stop at the sixth tankard, did I not?” “You did?” “Come on, Gojyo, don't pretend you didn't hear me.” A non-committal mumble. Sanzo strides out to the road and spots Hakkai leaning on the hood of the car, Gojyo collapsed heavily against the farmhouse wall. Last night he and Goku had turned in after a quick clean up, Sanzo taking the bed, Goku bedding down on one of the mats on the floor beside it. If there were complaints about Sanzo getting the comfortable spot when Hakkai and Gojyo returned from their card game, he didn't hear them. It must've been a heavy night for the kappa, judging by the sour wince that seems to be permanently fixed on Gojyo's face. “Oh hey, holy-fun—” “Save it.” Sanzo tosses his rucksack into the back of the jeep. “Hakkai, how long to the next town?” Hakkai snags his map from the dash and unfolds it, scanning the page. “Hm, I'd say about five hours. Not too bad.” “Hn, I guess.” Sanzo pulls a wrinkled hand-rolled cigarette out of his pocket and slides it between his lips. Who would have thought Goku possessed the skill and concentration to make something actually smokable? Then again, he's always been pretty good with his hands. The thought slides a warm current through Sanzo, and he decides to stop considering Goku's hands and his many hidden talents just as Gojyo pipes up again. “Hurry up, monkeybrains. I gotta get to the next town for pain remedies.” “Serves you right for drinking too much, kappa-roll.” Goku appears from the direction of the barn, his bag in one hand and an ear of corn in the other. There's a smear of butter on his lower lip that Sanzo's eyes are drawn to, until he tears them away and down to where Goku's shirt is buttoned almost to the top. Sanzo knows it's to hide the fresh bite marks ridging the slope where his neck meets his shoulder. Goku offers him a smile just on the wrong side of dreamy and Sanzo resists the urge to frown at him, doubting Goku will get the hint in his current state. “Sanzo, would you like coffee?” Glad for the distraction, Sanzo accepts the offered flask from Hakkai. “If we're all here, I'd say we should get going.” “Agreed, oh so agreed,” Gojyo groans, pushing himself away from the wall and slouching up to the car. Climbing into the passenger seat, Sanzo busies himself with his coffee, waiting for the caffeine to kick in. He actually manages not to think about last night in all its vivid colour for a good ten minutes, instead staring at the dusty expanse of road darkened from where the rain had seeped in, the way the landscape opens onto sprawling fields with squat hedges marking their boundaries. Behind him, Gojyo and Goku chatter; Sanzo picks out Goku's slightly softer tenor from the two, occasionally absorbing words, but not really paying much attention. That is, until— “What's up with you anyway, man?” Sanzo pauses with his mouthful of coffee, turning his head minimally, not liking Gojyo's tone. “Huh, whaddya mean?” Goku says. “You got this distracted thing going on,” Gojyo replies. “You look like a guy who's just got his first cop-off with a chick.” Before he can help it, Sanzo chokes out his coffee, spraying the windscreen and dash with rich brown drops. Lurching forward in his seat with a curse, he only just hears Goku's voice under his own splutters, Hakkai's concerned questions, and Hakuryuu's indignant chiding. “Oh y'know, there are better things ta think about than chicks.” “Whatever you say, man,” Gojyo mutters dubiously. “Whatever you say.” Sanzo shrugs off Hakkai's futile pats on the back and turns to glare over his shoulder. Goku stares back, and then grins. ~Fin~ |
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