Author: Mosh Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
“I’m home!” A set of keys are dropped into a little porcelain dish on a wooden stand in the entrance hall. Goku leans one hand against fading, cornflower blue wallpaper and toes off his shoes. The leather no longer squeaks, to his relief - he’d found it really annoying at first. Gojyo had teased him about it the last time he’d dropped in, many months ago, having caught Goku just as he returned from work. He carries his briefcase through the entrance, past the stairs and into the kitchen. There’s a day’s worth of cups and bowls stacked in the sink. The water in the washing-up bowl is a musty brown colour - most likely an amalgamation of tealeaves, coffee dregs, and whisky - and the temperature is stone cold. Three ash trays are dotted carelessly on the breakfast bar and one more sits on the windowsill, each one filled to spilling-point with butts and white-grey ash. The room smells stale and gross. Goku lets his shoulders slump and he sighs, setting his briefcase down on the sideboard. He shrugs out of his dark-brown suit jacket and drapes it over one of the unused breakfast bar stools. He pops open the top two buttons on his shirt, followed by the buttons at his cuffs. As much as he loves his job, sometimes he hates being the company president, feeling obligated to dress up for his team simply because they always look smart when he calls them to meetings. No matter how many times he tells them to just come in their normal daywear - hell, their pyjamas would be cool, Goku doesn’t mind - they never do. He knows he has work he could be getting along with right now. His briefcase carries the newest designs for the Chang Hakkong action figure he’s been working on, with its state-of-the-art chi lasers that light up (with the aid of two AAA batteries) and emit a rapid “pyon-pyon-pyon” noise when a small button is pushed (carefully hidden beneath Chang Hakkong’s long green tunic). But he also knows he won’t be able to concentrate on anything until he’s found the source of the mess and checked he’s not harmed himself or got too drunk during the course of the day. Goku rolls his head a few times, trying to dispel the knots bunched between his shoulderblades. It’s not that he doesn’t love what he does - who wouldn’t enjoy designing and testing out toys all day? - but damn, it’s tiring. He used to fight youkai alongside Sanzo, Gojyo and Hakkai. It was a way of life, back then - a violent, bloody way of life. But he never thought a normal 9-5 could be even more exhausting in some ways. 9-7, he amends, yawning. “Uuugh,” he groans, dragging himself through the kitchen and back into the hall. A very faint chatter can be heard from one of the other rooms in the house - it’s most likely the sitting room television. Following the sound, he drifts through the house’s spacious dining room, then the recreation room, then along another hallway. The door at the end leads to the sitting room, and Goku notices it’s slightly ajar. From inside, he can hear the strains of a tinny, female voice, followed by raucous clapping. Sounds like a chat or game show of some kind. Goku’s never been one to watch much TV - he gets restless easily and prefers physical forms of entertainment. The garden out back has benefited from that, and thinking about it makes him swell with pride. When he’d bought the large town house the garden had been in dire need of attention; sparse and weedy, with only a modest little rock garden, a strip of mud, and a few gangly trees dotted here and there. Now, during the summer months, it blossoms in all kinds of gorgeous colours and plant life, thanks to all the hours Goku has spent tidying it up. As for the scents… Goku loves eating dinner outside on the patio, just to breathe in the sweet hyacinths and roses between mouthfuls. Pulling himself from his thoughts, Goku pushes open the sitting room door and steps into a dizzying haze of smoke and heat. The fire is blazing in the alcove directly ahead, even though it’s only late-September and not really cold enough yet. The main sofa - the largest, squashiest one - faces away from the door, towards the fireplace and next to it, the TV. “I’m home,” Goku repeats, speaking to the shock of blond hair that’s visible over the back of the sofa. “Sanzo.” No response is forthcoming; the monk doesn’t move or give up any hint he’s even heard Goku. Another round of loud clapping rises and Goku’s eyes are drawn to the 34 inch plasma screen. A woman stands among an excited looking audience with a microphone in her hand. She’s addressing someone by the look of it, and before long the camera pans across the studio to show a number of disgruntled people sitting on a row of seats on a stage. As Goku rounds the sofa, his eyes still on the screen, one man leaps from his chair and attacks another. This seems to garner yet another cheerful round of applause from the audience, and a large, muscular man charges like a juggernaut out of a chair in the front row to break up the scuffle. “What’re you watching?” He perches carefully on the edge of the sofa, so as not to upset the almost-full ashtray balanced precariously on one of the cushion edges. Sanzo doesn’t look at him. There’s a half smoked cigarette hanging off his lower lip and he’s still wearing his soft cream-coloured dressing gown from earlier that morning. The fit reminds Goku vaguely of Sanzo’s old monk robes; all it needs is a scripture draped around his shoulders and for Goku to squint his eyes a little, and Sanzo would be the perfect picture of the past. Goku smiles nostalgically at the image in his mind’s eye before letting his face fall. He stares at Sanzo in the present, awaiting a response. After a moment, Sanzo mumbles, “The Denise Winger Show.” “Oh,” says Goku, trying to take an interest. “Is that a new one?” “Yeah. Harry Hiller got cancelled after somebody was stabbed on stage.” Sanzo reaches over the arm of the sofa and retrieves a tall, thin green canister. He pops the lid and takes out a short stack of oven-baked crisps. Goku smells sour cream and onion and his stomach growls. “Can I have some of those?” Sanzo tuts and then thrusts the canister at him with his free hand, taking a bite from the stack between the fingers of his other. Crumbs rain down onto his dressing gown and he bats them onto the carpet. Goku cringes, but then gets distracted by the smell of the crisps again. He tucks into a hearty stack. “These’re really good, ‘anzo,” he mutters around his mouthful. He settles a little further back on the sofa, manoeuvring around the ashtray. “Oh, did I tell you I’ve got the designs for the newest Chang Hakkong dolls?” “No,” Sanzo mumbles, his eyes fixed on the flickering TV screen. “You’ve only just got here.” “Right,” says Goku. “Well, the lasers light up now. They look really cool!” “Huh.” Sanzo finishes his crisps. He brushes a few more crumbs onto the floor and folds his arms across his chest. Goku isn’t unfamiliar with that pose; only, he’s more used to it when Sanzo is towering over him with a scowl on his face, and a whack of his harisen only a few seconds away. The Sanzo sitting on the sofa no longer keeps his paper fan with him. Goku isn’t sure where it is now. Sanzo had put it away when they’d moved into the town house, shortly before Goku’s line of action figures went global. It could be stashed in a box in the loft, or in a storage case in the cellar, or miles away in some stinking rubbish dump, for all he knows. Goku puts the fan out of his mind and wills his mouth to smile a little. “Did you …” He doesn’t say ‘have a good day’, but he only just manages to nip it in the bud. “Check the paper today?” he amends. In hindsight, that question is probably just as insensitive as the ‘good day’ one, but at least this one is vaguely productive. Sanzo tenses the barest fraction. Goku doesn’t miss it and mentally hits himself in the head. “Yeah.” That’s all he’s given. “Oh. Well, that’s … I’m sure something’ll turn up.” He chews his last crisp slowly, his mood plummeting. If they don’t find something to bring Sanzo out of this slump soon, Goku’s afraid he’ll return to the house one day to find the monk gone, or worse- He puts a halt to that train of thought right there and clears his throat. “I’ll go get us some drinks!” He uses a bright tone, maybe a little too loud, a little too cheerful - he can never get it right - and rises. “Mmph,” Sanzo says, which could be taken as an ‘okay’ or a ‘I’m no longer listening but whatever’. Back in the kitchen, Goku decides to bring out the big guns. He retrieves a bottle of sake from the topmost cupboard (he still has to use a stool to reach it, much to his constant chagrin) and digs around a nearby shelf for two of the nicest antique wooden serving bowls. Pouring two bowlfuls, he sets up a tray, and as an afterthought he adds a small glass dish of honeyed umeboshi. As much as the treat tempts him all the way back to the sitting room, he intends for Sanzo to have them all and just manages to resist eating any. Sanzo hasn’t moved. Goku sets the tray down on the coffee table and hands one bowl to the monk, taking the other for himself. He slides the umeboshi to the furthest edge of the table so it’s sitting directly in front of Sanzo and begs his stomach not to rumble again. It does anyway. Goku gulps back his bowl of sake in one go, smacking his lips together loudly afterwards in an attempt to mask the sound. “Ah, that was good. We haven’t had this in a long time, eh, Sanzo?” Sanzo sips his sake and says nothing. The chat show ends, and after a string of car insurance advertisements, a dog food ad, and a contraception warning, a new show begins. This one is called ‘Octagon of Destiny’ and involves a large rotating octagon with different outcomes printed on each edge. Goku hasn’t seen this show, either, but after five minutes he’s gauged it pretty well. The contestant is to stand behind a pointer and spin the large octagon. Whichever outcome lands on the pointer is the job the contestant has to take up for one month. There are some really random things on there, Goku notices - dolphin trainer, phone sex line worker, casino dealer, exorcist. Goku thinks the last one sounds kind of cool, actually, even though he’s not entirely sure what it entails. He eyes Sanzo quietly for a moment, until the monk becomes aware of the silent scrutiny and reaches for the remote control. In an instant, the channel is changed to display some soap opera of a man coming home to find his wife lying in a blood-stained bathtub, a razor on the edge and a cream-coloured dressing down crumpled on the floor beside the bath. Goku feels vaguely queasy and wishes he hadn’t drank the sake. Or eaten the crisps. A carriage clock strikes eight from its place on the mantle across the room. Goku needs something to do with his hands before he ends up crushing the cute antique sake bowl. Or before his limiter bursts. “Think I’ll go look over those designs for a bit, sort out what needs fixing.” He looks at Sanzo out of the corner of his eye for a long time, drawing his eyebrows down. “Okay?” “Mm.” Sanzo stares at the plasma screen as if it’s not really there and he’s seeing right through it to the eggshell-white wall beyond. Goku wonders if Sanzo is actually absorbing any of the TV’s images any more, or if they’re simply coloured pixels dancing in a swirling mass in front of him, a chaotic mural of nothingness. Goku’s already confused at the thought of it - he shakes his head. “I can bring you something later before bed, if you want?” he offers as he rises. “There’re doughnuts in the fridge, with cream and jam inside them.” He wants a doughnut right now, actually, but there are only two left and he’s not sure how hungry Sanzo might be in a couple of hours. He remembers there’s a packet of Riveta in the kitchen which, although a lame substitute for doughnuts, might help satisfy him, even if just a little bit so he can get some sleep tonight. He figures stuff that tastes like cardboard is better than nothing at all. He leaves Sanzo in the sitting room, at one with his dancing, coloured pixels and games shows and soap operas and Goku feels heavier than he ever has before.
* * *
“I was wondering if you could…” he begins, then pauses. “Just, I don’t know… just tell me how to sort this out. Please. I’ll do anything.” Goku knows he’s grasping at straws, but things have got desperate. “Anything,” he re-emphasises, hoping the message will get through. He’s desperate. Sadly, Chang Hakkong isn’t as helpful as Cho Hakkai, and the doll just stares back at him with large, plastic green eyes and a fake plastic smile. “You fail,” Goku finishes, and lets poor Chang drop to the kitchen tabletop next to the old 1.0 prototype of Gha Rhojyo that Goku keeps around (mostly because it reminds him of someone he used to know, with its long red hair and cocky expression). “Both of you fail.” He misses things he tries very hard not to remember too closely. A faint thumping echoes from outside in the hall, then footsteps pass the kitchen. Then, Goku hears the third stair creak, followed by the seventh, then the eleventh - much fainter. “Gone to bed, huh,” he says to himself. He glances at the clock. It reads 11:48pm. He hadn’t realised he’d wasted so much time and forgotten to take Sanzo doughnuts! “Crap, gah! I blame you guys,” he says to the two dolls lying side-by-side on the table. Goku grins at them. He wishes Gojyo would pop around more often, wishes Hakkai wasn’t still on his ‘round-the-world trip in search of the elusive person who’d bestowed him with his ear cuffs while he was unconscious all those years ago. “But I guess,” Goku whispers, straightening the dolls so they’re exactly symmetrical, “even you can’t sort this shit out. Thanks anyway, for being all… here, even though you’re plastic and I made you. I like the real ones a lot better, though.” He rises from his seat and shuts down the kitchen lights. Padding through the house, he switches off all the appliances and wishes the fish a goodnight as they swim around and around within their tank in the dining room. A mild light shines from the top of the stairs, its peachy glow welcoming. Goku feels nothing of the warmth or invitation, though, and ascends with his fingers dusting the banister, picking up weeks of frustration and neglect. He reaches the top landing and clears his throat loudly before opening their bedroom door. Sanzo lies with his back to Goku, bed sheets pulled up around his naked shoulders. Goku undresses quietly so as not to disturb the peace, but he’s pretty certain Sanzo isn’t asleep - his posture is too rigid and he’s eerily silent, like he’s holding his breath. Goku grits his teeth. Once stripped down, he peels back the bedcovers and slides in between the sheets. “I’m gonna set the alarm for seven tomorrow ‘cause I’ve got an early meeting,” he whispers, twisting the dial on the bedside clock. Once the light is out, Goku turns towards Sanzo, moulding himself to Sanzo’s back and curling his arms around his waist. He kisses Sanzo’s shoulder once, twice, then moves higher to kiss the back of his neck where the hairs are so fine and light Goku can barely see or feel them, just nothing but silkiness. He squirms a little, pushing his hips against Sanzo, already half-hard. “I have a headache,” Sanzo says in the darkness, his tone flat. Goku’s heart and libido take a nose dive together. “Oh… again?” He sighs with disappointment. “Okay. But… Sanzo…” He knows it’s a bad time to say this, but something has to give, and give soon, or he’s going to go out of his mind. It’s the same thing every night. Every day. Goku is never sure when Sanzo’s going to leave him, or what he can do to fix things. As time’s gone on it’s got worse and worse, to the point where Sanzo has almost-entirely stopped talking to him. He can’t even remember when they’d got so bad. After the defeat of Gyumaoh they had wandered aimlessly for a year, remaining on the road because it had become such an integral part of their every day lives they couldn’t imagine settling. But inevitably, they’d found themselves slowing in pace, spending more and more time in hotels and bars than on dirt tracks and hills. The advertisement for a toy designer had caught Goku’s eye and piqued his interest instantly. That was something he could do, he’d realised, and he’d always hated sponging off Sanzo’s gold card. It had been perfect, and sealed the decision to stop for a while, to be still, to live like everyone else - like normal people. Sanzo had begrudgingly agreed and thus they had their house and their every day lives. Each other. With a heavy heart, Goku wonders again where it had all gone wrong. “Sanzo, why won’t you talk to me?” He strokes his fingertips up Sanzo’s arm gently, then back down. “I want to know what you’re thinking.” I want to be sure you won’t leave me. “What are you thinking about right now?” “… that I have a headache,” Sanzo says unhelpfully. “Sanzo! Come on!” He speaks a little louder. “Sanzo!” “Be quiet, will you,” the monk snaps, turning a little so that Goku can experience the full effect of his snippiness. It sets off something in Goku; that tone - that irritable, impatient growl, that’s what Sanzo should sound like. Goku sits up in bed and flicks the bedside lamp back on. “You’re pissed off at me?” he asks, trying not to sound too hopeful or Sanzo might get suspicious. Goku dares to tug on Sanzo’s arm a bit. At least he doesn’t have to worry about the- WHACK! “Ow! Where did that come from?” Goku gingerly rubs the top of his head. He stares with wide eyes at the fan in Sanzo’s fist. The monk had turned over fast - too fast for Goku to dodge. He’s not sure what’s happening, but strains of the old Sanzo are breaking through here - he’s actually wound up, which is something Goku hasn’t seen for a while. Goku’s hope rises, and although his head hurts after that smack with the harisen he doesn’t mind at all. “Wait, Sanzo - did you have that under the pillow?” Sanzo glares at him with narrowed eyes. “All this time?!” Goku can’t believe it. “I thought you’d chucked it out!” He’s smiling now, and he can’t hold back a little laugh. “Do you want me to hit you again?” Sanzo warns. “Yes!” Goku says. “Hit me again and call me a stupid monkey, Sanzo. I’ve…” missed you. “It’s been a while, after all.” “What the hell are you on about?” Sanzo goes to get out of bed, but Goku stops him with a hand on his arm, pulling him back down onto the mattress. “Goku, what the-” “Just talk to me.” For a moment there Goku thought things were changing, but Sanzo’s gone cold again, he seems to want to get away from him. Goku hates nothing more than watching Sanzo walk away, even if it’s only out of the room to brush his teeth or fetch an ashtray. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Sanzo says irritably, shrugging him off. He remains in the bed, though, and that’s something. “What do you want me to say? Tell you all about the shitty TV I’ve watched this week? Or how the woman from number 17 sneaks up to number 19 every morning after the mother takes the kids to school?” Goku stares at him, torn. This is the most Sanzo’s said to him for ages, which he should be thankful for. The thing is, it’s not quite what he’d been expecting. “Why does she sneak up to 19?” “Idiot,” grumbles Sanzo. “She’s obviously having an affair with the husband.” “What?! No way!” Goku stops and shakes himself out of it. “Hang on, this isn’t about our neighbours, Sanzo. This is… you’ve been so down lately and I don’t know what to do to make you feel better.” Sanzo snorts. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m fine.” “No, you’re not!” Goku can’t mask the pleading edge in his tone, even though he hates it - hates whining because it might drive Sanzo further away. “I come back and find you in the same place every day, and you never look at me, or talk to me any more. You don’t go out, and you won’t let anyone else in. Why? I don’t understand but I want to, so you have to tell me!” His voice shakes slightly and his fists are balled in the sheets, right next to Sanzo’s leg. “Tell me what I can do so you won’t leave me or hurt yourself. This isn’t like you!” “Leave…” Sanzo’s eyebrows dip. He shakes his head. Goku is close to bursting. Sanzo looks down at his lap, clenching his jaw. He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, as if he’s trying to figure out whether he wants to say anything or not. In the end, he grates out, “I’m not going anywhere. But I need something to do.” Goku releases a massive breath and almost collapses across Sanzo’s lap. Instead, he inches closer on the bed, staring at Sanzo intently even though the monk isn’t looking back at him. He needs to make Sanzo aware that he’ll do everything in his power. “Well, okay, that’s good. We can find you something to do, okay? I’ll help you.” He thinks for a moment or two. “What sort of stuff do you like doing?” Sanzo raises his eyes slowly. He doesn’t look very impressed. “If I knew that,” he grumbles, “don’t you think I’d already be doing it?” “… oh,” says Goku. “Yeah. That’s true.” Back to square one, he has another think. “So you don’t like doing anything, really… but Sanzo, you’re really good at a lot of stuff! Like shooting and running - you were always really fast at running.” “With a herd of rabid youkai hurtling towards you at an unearthly speed, there’s not much choice about running fast,” Sanzo points out. He’s sounding more and more frustrated by the moment and Goku is afraid he’s going to shatter this tiny shell of hope that’s been constructed around them. He twists his fingers in the sheets and he wracks his brain for the perfect answer. It has to be in there somewhere. “You used to shoot a lot, and run a lot, and… fight. You yelled at me a lot, too, but I don’t think yelling is a job… you looked after the sutra…” Then it hits him and he smacks his palm to his forehead, his diadem clunking dully at the contact. “You’re good at protecting things!” Sanzo stares at him. Goku continues. “I mean, you protected the Maten sutra, from Kougaiji and all the youkai who tried to take it over the years, and then from Gyumaoh at the end. Why don’t you do something like that?” When Sanzo opens his mouth, no doubt to point out that Gyumaoh is dead and there are no longer youkai trying to take the Maten sutra, Goku cuts him off. “You could protect something valuable to someone else, like a bank or something. Or! You could protect a person, like a bodyguard.” Sanzo looks at him like he’s just grown another head. “Or, you know, the bank option is probably better,” he adds a bit sheepishly. “I forgot you don’t like people all that much.” Raising a hopeful eyebrow, Goku waits for either an answer, or another smack with the harisen. Sanzo is silent for a long time, his expression oddly neutral. Goku’s not sure whether the way Sanzo licks his lips is a good omen or a bad one, whether he’s pondering Goku’s suggestion or just gathering himself to kick Goku out of bed. To his utmost surprise, the answer that comes is not in the form of a hit, and he doesn’t find himself facing the living room sofa tonight. “I’ll think about it.” Goku could jump up and praise the heavens. Instead, he launches himself at Sanzo and pushes him down onto the bed. “For fuck’s sake-!” “Think about it, yes. Good idea!” He kisses Sanzo’s jaw, and when the monk goes to yell at him again Goku quickly kisses his mouth, too, half to stop the insult, and half because he feels like they’ve finally reached a breakthrough, even if just a tiny one. Weeks of tension and exhaustion seem to seep out of him, and he squirms on top of Sanzo, breaking the kiss slowly. “Quit that.” The monk’s voice rumbles rich and low against his chest, much more familiar than the dull, flat tone of recent times. His breath is warm and smoky, but not bad because no matter how much Goku hates cigarettes, on Sanzo he doesn’t mind them. “Okay,” says Goku, smiling helplessly. “I’ll quit the wriggling, but not this.” He ducks his head and sucks on Sanzo’s neck, licking along it, then up over his chin to nibble at the corner of his mouth. Excitement curls like a wild cat about to awaken, deep in his stomach. He loves that feeling, the stirrings of arousal, the filling heat of getting hard against Sanzo. It’s all too easy to get lost in it. Gradually, Sanzo relaxes beneath him. Goku hasn’t had a lift like this in such a long time - the happiness that accompanies a contented monk - and he simultaneously wants to run around the bedroom and fall into Sanzo, to disappear inside him and feel the way his muscles loosen and unwind. Goku runs his mouth back down Sanzo’s throat and along his collarbone, just barely touching it with his lips. An electrifying heat rises between them and everything starts to feel vaguely detached, slightly away from him - them. Goku is entirely focused on Sanzo now - on the feel of his body, all the rises and dips and sharp bits and unbelievably soft bits. And the hardness that’s starting to push up against his own cock. On the smell of him, the unforgettable taste of his skin. Suddenly, Goku finds himself roughly pushed off, but before he has the chance to protest, before his heart is able to plummet, Sanzo curves one arm around Goku and settles him on the bed beside him so that they’re pressed together from chest to knees. He closes his eyes against Sanzo’s shoulder and hums appreciatively as their erections brush and slide together. Nothing beats this. The pinch of Sanzo’s fingers on his hip sets him thrumming. It’s something he cannot find a word for - he’s not even sure if there is a word for that kind of feeling, and if there is it’s in a language he’s never heard of and wouldn’t hold a hope in hell of learning. All he can do is let out a throaty “nnugh” and push his body against Sanzo, pull back, push forward. Sanzo lets him rock against him, their rhythm speeding up and breath quickening. Goku thinks he could happily move like this and come harder than he has in months, just because being able to touch Sanzo like this again is phenomenal in itself. It’s all he wants, just to keep thrusting against Sanzo’s hot skin, to hang onto him and know he’s not leaving. “Ohh…” “Slow down,” Sanzo murmurs in his ear, his voice gravelly. “Uh, okay.” He reluctantly allows Sanzo to uncurl him and push him onto his back. Sanzo’s face is set in its customary mask of stoicism, but his eyes look large and softer than normal in the lamplight, like jewels shining at the bottom of a clear sea. Goku aches for Sanzo to touch him; he arches his back a little in the hope that Sanzo will get the hint. “Impatient monkey.” Sanzo doesn’t spit the title, or bark it like he so often has before. The way he says it turns Goku on so much that if Sanzo told him to cast off the name Son Goku and go re-register himself as Impatient Monkey he’d do it in a flash. He’s finally given the touch he so desperately wants, Sanzo’s fingers dancing across his stomach, around his navel, and then slipping down a little lower. “Guh!” Goku gasps, then, “Haa-!” as Sanzo strokes the flat of his palm up the underside of his cock. He manages to say, “Y-you told me to s-slow down, but you’re gonna-” “Quiet,” Sanzo chides, and manoeuvres himself to fit between Goku’s legs. He moves so smoothly here in bed, Goku often has a hard time keeping up with where Sanzo is. He wonders, though, if that’s anything to do with the physical distractions more than Sanzo’s ability to be stealthy under the sheets. He knows to raise his knees and does so immediately after Sanzo settles. Goku looks down, fixated on Sanzo’s mouth - it hovers right above where Goku’s erection rises flushed and needing. After a moment, Goku feels Sanzo’s hand, winding over his thigh and inwards, and back, to get him ready. Goku closes his eyes and swallows thickly, flopping back down on the mattress. Before Sanzo takes him in his mouth Goku has one last thing to ask. “Sanzo…” He wets his lips quickly. “Are you happier?” Sanzo takes a while to respond, and when he finally does he speaks so quietly Goku has to strain his ears. “I’m not unhappy.” For Goku, that’s enough for now. He arches up into Sanzo’s mouth, sliding his cock across slick-silk tongue and the vague, rough edges of teeth. He’s resigned to the fact that he will never last long, not during these moments, but Sanzo has never seemed to mind much so he doesn’t try to hold on, simply lets Sanzo take what he wants. Sanzo moves his mouth in rhythm with his fingers, drawing out Goku’s pleasure endlessly, inside and out simultaneously. A torrent of loud moans and pleas melt into the air - Goku can’t help it; Sanzo drives him crazy, all the time in whatever he does, but especially in this. He tenses up, the pressure at his groin boiling and unbearable and brilliant, reaching its peak. Goku always begs when he’s teetering on that edge, just before he comes. He warns Sanzo, gasping out as best he can, but the monk doesn’t move, simply takes in everything Goku has to give. It’s something Goku knows the monk doesn’t particularly like, and it floors him that Sanzo is willing to swallow his come right now. “Oh, God, oh, God…” he groans, as he spirals within the bliss, coming so hard his words turn to shouts and he can barely stand it. For a moment Goku thinks he’s going to pass out. Sanzo once told him he was lucky they live in a detached house, because he’s so damn loud during sex that closer neighbours would hear him and probably call the local authorities. All their neighbours could’ve been standing right outside the room at that moment and Goku wouldn’t have cared a bit, would’ve yelled even louder about how amazing Sanzo is and “yes!” and “Ohh…” and “please, please!” Sanzo releases him, swiping his tongue around the head of Goku’s spent cock as he rises. He strokes three fingers up into Goku now, a little harder than before. Goku rotates his hips, urging Sanzo to go deeper with actions because he can’t yet find his voice to outright ask him. The push-pull seems to go on forever; Goku would be content to lie there all night and have Sanzo prepare him. He whimpers as Sanzo removes his fingers and taps his knee. Goku tries to raise his legs higher, but they’re shaking. “You’re so useless after you’ve come,” Sanzo needlessly points out in a dry, slightly amused tone. Goku knows, but he just needs a moment or two to gather himself. “Sorry.” He squirms in his skin, feeling a contented kind of buzz that vibrates mellowly, right through his body. He manages to hitch his legs up over Sanzo’s shoulders as the monk gets better positioned. Then Sanzo hoists Goku’s lower half up, and looks him right in the eyes. At the first touch of Sanzo’s cock against his sensitive skin, Goku pulls his lower lip back behind his teeth and bites down, hissing. He wants Sanzo inside him so badly, but Sanzo always takes his time. Goku’s not sure if Sanzo likes to torture him, or himself - either way, he wriggles more and bunches his hands at his sides, grabbing two handfuls of sheet. “Relax, will you,” Sanzo whispers, his own breath faster now. He sets his hips in a rocking motion, urging Goku’s body to give and let him in. The first couple of inches burn, but not unpleasantly, and Goku hums low in his throat, his voice curving up at the end into a whimper. The gradual fill is more satisfying than any crisp or sweet or drink, the edge of discomfort dulling with each press of Sanzo’s cock, every rotation of Sanzo’s hips as he slowly, almost lazily, begins to fuck Goku. “Ha-AH! Ah!” Goku exclaims, as Sanzo thrusts harder and goes deeper, his hands clenched tightly around Goku’s hips to balance himself. His thrusts feed the ache and Goku wants to come again, even though he has nothing left in him. He lets his eyes slide shut and simply babbles at Sanzo to please more don’t stop oh God yes more Sanzo! “Sanzo, Sanzo,” he groans, thrusting up to meet Sanzo’s cock with each stroke. “Fuck me, ohh, fuck me…” Momentarily, Sanzo chokes out a rough, desperate bark, the rare sound only uttered in these moments. It makes Goku positively glow inside to hear it now, to know it’s because of him - for him alone. Sanzo jerks his hips and stills, his breath caught, head tilted back. Goku looks up at him in that moment and thinks that if there is a way for him to die, some day, it would have to be like this, at Sanzo’s hand, because at least then he can say he’s had everything he could ever possibly want. Sanzo’s face is slack and beautiful as he comes, and Goku watches with awe - like always. After a long moment Sanzo starts to relax and his gasps slowly subside, but his cock still twitches softly inside Goku as his orgasm fades. He lowers himself carefully, lying half across Goku and half on the bed, his skin hot and a little damp. Goku breathes Sanzo in for long moments, his limbs pleasantly heavy. The knots of tension are gone from between his shoulders, finally. Still tangled up with Sanzo, he smiles and says, “Not unhappy is the best.” “Mmph.” Sanzo shifts off him and re-settles on his own side of the bed. “I’ll put out the light.” And Goku does, more satisfied and optimistic than he’s been for weeks.
* * *
He yawns hugely and rubs at the back of his head, blinking at his bleary face reflected in the bathroom mirror. Then, he has a satisfying scratch of various parts before dragging his sleep-heavy body into the shower. Goku’s never been good with mornings, but he’s found since settling down and having a job, Monday mornings always seem to be the worst ones. He’s not sure why, and Sanzo won’t explain it to him, so he hauls himself up at the bleeping of his alarm clock and gets on with life the best he can. Downstairs, the kitchen is empty. There’s a bowl sitting in the sink unwashed, unsweetened cornflake dregs floating in milk at the bottom. Goku can’t face cleaning right now - he’ll do it when he gets home. “Sanzo, I’m just having some toast and left-over Chinese then I’m heading off!” he calls. Sanzo may or may not hear him. He’s not sure where the monk has disappeared to - the last he’d seen Sanzo was slouching through to the sitting room in his dressing gown. “I’ll grab something else in town on my way to work, so don’t worry, okay?” Sanzo won’t worry, but Goku likes to say it anyway. He really doesn’t want to go to work today. The weekend had been too short for his liking, but Chang Hakkong is still awaiting some fixes and Goku owes him attention. He slips his feet into his shoes, buttons his cuffs, his collar. He walks through to the hallway and picks up his house keys from the porcelain dish, flicking the latch on the front door. “I’ll be back at nine tonight,” says a voice from behind him, and Goku turns quickly, having thought he’d missed Sanzo already. “Where did you get to-” he starts, then stops abruptly. Sanzo adjusts the name badge pinned to the breast of his navy-blue shirt as he strides across the hallway towards Goku. The shirt’s a good fit and he tucks it in tightly, which defines the subtle sinew of his body beneath the material. He has a black tie on to match his cotton trousers, a thick leather belt with a silver buckle, and black boots not unlike the ones he used to wear. Goku wishes there was more time because damn Sanzo looks fine like that. It always takes his breath away. “Hohhh, I don’t want to go-” “Shut up, idiot,” Sanzo interrupts, stopping before him and planting a quick, hard kiss on his mouth. “Just hurry up or you’re going to make me late as well.” “Okay,” says Goku, and smiles brightly, opening the front door and letting Sanzo out first. Overall, the last two weeks have been very productive indeed. ‘Not unhappy’ just about sums it up. ~Fin~ |
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