Author: Mosh Title: Soul Food Note: You may not archive, re-post, or alter any of my stories without my permission. Please contact me first. Thanks! |
“The problem with ninety per cent of the idiots who attack us,” Sanzo grumbled, smacking jagged lumps of rubble off his robe sleeve, “is underestimation.” Grey dust scattered on the chill breeze that fluted through the castle doors behind him, forming a small, dark cloud. Blood had started seeping through the material at his shoulder, bright red slowly eating up the crisp white, but at least the serrated gash on his arm was rapidly numbing now—it was better than the searing pain. “Okay, so... six ounces... um.” There was a dubious frown wedged on Goku's brow as he eyed the stout bag of flour on the countertop. Six ounces sure sounded like a lot to him, but then, this was one of Hakkai's recipes, so it had to be right. Right? Yeah. Goku grabbed up the bag and began tearing at the stiff cardboard corner. Luckily, the bungalow the town mayor had loaned them was stocked to the gills with cooking supplies, but Goku didn't like to think about why. It was one thing to be catered to, but using the stuff some old lady had bought right before she'd died was a bit weird. Okay, a lot weird. If Sanzo and Hakkai hadn't been fine with it, there was no way Goku would even touch the food, but since they were cool he guessed this was all right, plus Hakkai had a point about unused food going off. Goku's stomach gave a soft growl of agreement. Fortified by this thought, he doubled his efforts to get into the flour, but the stupid bag was reinforced or something. Goku's frown deepened and, struck by a better idea, he banged the bag on the countertop. Then again. Then again, harder, faster—come on, stupid thing, come on!—and then there was a ripping noise and suddenly everything went white. “Whoa,” Goku yelped, a mushroom cloud of flour exploding in his face. “What the hell?!” Through speaking, he managed to inhale a mouthful of stodgy dust that immediately thickened, clogging in his throat. “Eugh, gross!” he coughed. Raw flour was foul. “Yak-kah!” Blinking to clear the fringe of white powder that'd settled on his eyelashes, Goku grabbed the bag before the rest of its contents could cascade onto the floor. Goku peered furtively into the bag, disappointed to find there wasn't much flour left. “Aw, dammit, this is sucktitude.” Man, he hoped he could squeeze six ounces out of this, otherwise he'd have to scrape spilled flour off the flagstones. “How does Hakkai do it?” Goku paused and took a moment to remind himself why he was going to this trouble. There was a good reason for it. No, really, there was—a reason that generally went around wearing a tight scowl and liked to yell at people who got too close. But that reason was totally worth the hassle anyway, because... well, because it was Sanzo. Puffing out a sigh and hoping Sanzo would appreciate the gesture, Goku started shaking what was left of the flour into a set of scales he'd dug out of a cupboard earlier. Okay, so maybe 'appreciate' was wishful thinking, but Sanzo had his own special way of showing something akin to it. Usually in the form of a thoroughly unimpressed glance and the air of someone who's being totally put-upon. Ah well, Goku knew Sanzo's expressions and habits well enough to read between the lines, and any reaction at all would be better than nothing. To be honest, they'd been through so much together that Goku didn't think Sanzo really minded the odd moment of sentimentality any more, even though he pretended to. And really, what was a little edible gift between frie—companio—famil—Hmm... Between whatever they were to each other now? Everything, Goku thought secretly, with a little twist in his gut. Sanzo was everything and always had been: friend, parent, brother-in-arms, warmth when it was cool, a cold snap when things got heated. Not to mention the times Sanzo played a starring role in some of Goku's deeper, more sordid thoughts, like late at night when everyone was asleep and he'd find his hand slipping down into his lap, or when he was in the bath quickly stroking one off. Times like those, it was virtually impossible not to think about Sanzo or the many and varied things leather sleeves can be used for besides keeping your arms warm. Nuugh, probably not cool to let his thoughts wander so far (and so sexy) while trying to deal with kitchen utensils. Goku focused on the scales and a grin split his face when the pointer ratcheted up to four ounces, then five. Then it slowed, crawling desperately to almost six. It'd do! “Sweet,” Goku muttered happily, dumping the flour into a mixing bowl. Using the heel of his hand, he nudged at the rise at the front of his jeans, trying to will away the frustrating itch of arousal and not think about trussed-up blond monks. One glance at the clock and he realised how much time he'd wasted already. Sanzo would be back from town in a while, and if Goku didn't get the oven going and the kitchen cleared up, there'd be trouble. He spooned some sugar and butter into another bowl, cracked a couple of eggs, and stirred it all together, then reached for a lemon and grated some rind into it, little spirals of yellow zest mottling the mix. Then he measured out some cocoa powder and added it to the flour. Finally, he dumped the flour and cocoa into the mix and beat the crap out of it until it wasn't too lumpy. Awesome. The rich tang of fruit wafted up, and Goku's mouth watered. As he worked, he remembered a comment Hakkai had once made about cooking—the exact words escaped him, but it was something like 'even the best chef in the world can't create a masterpiece without a little finesse and a lot of heart'. Goku didn't have much in the way of finesse, but heart he could totally do. With this in mind, Goku thought about how much this meant to him and how much he hoped it'd mean to Sanzo. It was the only way he could think of to show appreciation for all Sanzo had done for him over the years. All the meals Sanzo had paid with the gold card, all the times he'd replaced Goku's worn clothes (and limiter, on a couple of occasions; Goku couldn't forget). Sure, Sanzo often muttered begrudgingly, but Goku knew that if Sanzo really hated providing, he just wouldn't do it. Stubborn could be that guy's middle name, after all. Once satisfied with the mixture, Goku spooned it into a circular baking tin and yanked open the Agaa door, sliding the cake into the welcoming heat of the oven. Done and done! Hakkai would be proud. Er, scrap that. As Goku looked around at the mess, he realised with a sinking feeling that no, Hakkai definitely would not be proud, and neither would Sanzo if he came back early. Time to get cleaning! Flimsy slivers of smoke curled between the window shutters, rippling on the air in soft waves. Sanzo stopped in his tracks, staring at the bungalow as the smoke drifted over. It didn't smell like smouldering tobacco, so he knew right off it wasn't Gojyo. And Hakkai didn't burn things, so it couldn't be him, either. That left one other person. Flicking his cigarette butt to the cobblestones, Sanzo stepped into the shaded hallway, his brows knit. The kitchen door at the far end was conspicuously shut, and from behind it he could hear the clatter of what sounded like pots and pans, followed by some under-the-breath muttering in an all-too-familiar tone. Sanzo was of half a mind to turn around and head back to the tavern, leave someone else to deal with it. But Hakkai and Gojyo wouldn't be back for hours, and if the place burned down, especially after they'd been offered free bed and board, they'd have to rough it for Buddha knew how long. Sanzo didn't like chaos, but he liked sleeping outside during winter even less. At the kitchen door, he lifted a foot and sent a swift kick to the wood. It gave and went swinging open, affording him a three-second look at the carnage beyond, before the door hit the wall and rebounded with a weary creak that echoed the weary groan Sanzo uttered internally. Heat and a tooth-rotting sweetness blasted him full in the face, and he wrinkled his nose, grabbing the door before it slammed shut. Not fully believing what he'd just seen, Sanzo held the door ajar and stared through the crack. No, it was real, all right. “What the hell are you doing?” he said, his eyes skimming over the blanket of white powder covering just about everything. The dinner table was chaotic; powder shored up at the edges in thin drifts, peaked in small, chalky mountains at the centre. The walls were splattered with more whiteness, like someone had set off a small bomb in a can of white paint. Through a sweet-smelling haze of gauzy white dust, Goku blinked at him. “Cooking,” he said. Sanzo opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but he stopped. Did he really want to know? The resounding answer was no, and he yanked the door shut, holding the knob firmly. “Hey, Sanzo, wait!” Feet scrambled over stone, and there was the tinny crash of something that sounded like a cymbal, but which was probably more likely another pot or pan hitting the floor. Then there was a dull thump as something—possibly Goku himself—connected with the table and sent it screeching across the flagstones. “Hold up a minute! It's not as bad as it looks, I swear.” “Hakkai's going to maim you,” Sanzo said to the door, “and I don't plan to be here when he does. I'm sick of getting blood on my robes.” “That's not funny,” came Goku's slightly muffled voice, and the handle shook in Sanzo's fist. “C'mon, I wanna talk to ya about somethin' anyway.” The sweet smell was strong in the hallway now, rapidly becoming ingrained in Sanzo's nostrils and at the back of his throat. It tasted like sugar mixed with cocoa, and something bitter, too—it was rich and chocolatey and had zing. “I'm gonna clean it up,” Goku added, and Sanzo heard fingers scraping softly over the wood. He pictured Goku's hand, tanned and veined and rough with faint calluses on the curve of skin between thumb and forefinger where he held Nyoi-bou, tracing idle patterns in the space between them. Sanzo shoved the image aside. “What possessed you in the first place?” “Oh, this? Nothin'. I just wanted to—uh.” There was a gulp. “Y'know, do somethin' nice for ya.” The shuffling of feet, and a little puff of white dust escaped the gap at the bottom of the door and settled on the toes of Sanzo's boots. The oven timer went off in a piercing buzz, and Sanzo cringed. “Oh, cool, it's done.” Goku's footsteps retreated. Bang—CRASH. Slam. “Ow! Dammit...” “You could've used oven gloves.” Sanzo eased up his grip on the handle. “And what do you mean, you wanted to do something nice for me?” This time Goku's voice came from farther away and echoed slightly as he spoke into the oven. “Y'know, just 'cause.” Something clanged. “I figured you always gotta buy me dinner and stuff, so I wanted to give you something back. Like a thanks.” “I never asked for your thanks,” Sanzo pointed out. It wasn't like he'd been given much choice back when he'd found Goku in the cave. As far as Sanzo was concerned, there was a big difference between doing someone a favour and being lumbered with someone against your will. Oh, all right, fine—things had changed drastically since then. Goku didn't need looking out for, not really, and any of the times Sanzo had caught his gaze wandering to wherever Goku was didn't count. The guy was like a black hole, sucking every fucking thing into its orbit, including, it seemed, Sanzo's attention. But the point was, in all the years Goku had never brought up the subject of owing Sanzo, and the question that sat on top of the point in vivid neon was: why now? “I know that, but I wanna do this anyway.” Sanzo could hear Goku moving about the room. There was a sniff, and then a sigh. “Oh man, this smells so good!” “You know I'm not a fan of sweets.” Or grand gestures, unless Sanzo could smoke or drink them, and even then it greatly depended on the reason and who was doing the giving. Gifts were overly sentimental, not to mention all the unspoken expectation and obligation that came attached to them. Avoidance was the key. Except that Goku was the one thing in Sanzo's life that he'd never been able to avoid. “Yeah, but this has got fruit in it.” Goku's voice grew closer and the handle rattled. “Lemons.” This time, Sanzo didn't hold the door shut; it cracked open and there stood Goku, three parts flour and one part hopeful smile, holding a circular baking tray. A fat, tawny-brown cake sat snugly inside. Sanzo eyed it. Then the smell hit him; like a tangible wave, it pushed him back a pace and his throat contracted, his nostrils suddenly flaring. Swallowing, Sanzo clenched his teeth, then swallowed a second time. “Whoa,” Goku murmured, colour spreading across his cheeks. His tongue darted out, licking first his bottom lip and then the top one, spit shining on the curve. Sanzo's throat contracted again. “Your eyes just did this really cool thing.” Goku reached to the table and grabbed up a fork, shaking off the excess flour. As he dug the fork into the cake, the surface sugar cracked and crunched faintly, and Sanzo almost groaned. Wait, what the hell? Sanzo checked himself. Goku had hitched up a lump of the fluffy-looking cake and was now holding it up to his own mouth. Sanzo heard the faint scrape of front teeth on metal fork prongs, and his tongue ran sandpaper dry. “Mm, you've gotta try this,” Goku said. Thin tendrils of steam rose into the air as he hooked out another chunk of cake, this time holding it out for Sanzo. “I told you, I don't—” “Please?” Either Goku was getting better at using those infernal gold eyes, or Sanzo was getting easier to sway. He didn't know which one bothered him more. “C'mon, just a taste. If ya don't like it, I'll just make somethin' else.” Goku prodded the fork closer. “Stop it,” Sanzo said, even as he leaned forward to accept. It was the damn smell of the stuff making him hungry—breakfast had been hours ago—and what could one bite hurt? It'd shut Goku up. The cake was silk-soft as it glided past his lips and onto his tongue, where it settled for a heartbeat and then began to melt, the sponge so fluffy and light it couldn't maintain its form. Immediately he was hit with its incredible sweetness, much deeper and more full-bodied than he'd anticipated. Then came the bitter after-tang from the lemon, almost a surprise; it slowly burst across his taste buds, which—up until now—had been more or less dormant due to a steady diet of boiled rice, ramen, and coffee. Sanzo felt his eyelids getting heavy, and he forced them open, glancing up at Goku. Wait. What was up with Goku's eyes? With the colour? A richer gold than Sanzo had ever seen them. Actually, there was something suddenly different about Goku's entire face, now that he was looking up close. Sanzo could see it in the assured up-turn of his mouth and the chiselled ridge of his jawbone. It was in the high, smooth arch of his nose—a nose Sanzo remembered as being button-like, not this clear slope of golden-brown skin and fine bone. Sanzo's hand twitched involuntarily at his side and he fought the irrational instinct to reach for his gun. Or, maybe not his gun, his—what? No, definitely his gun. What the fuck? “Uh, Sanzo?” Goku's voice was a rough whisper. The lumped outline of his Adam's apple rose and sank, and he licked his lips again, which made Sanzo's fingers twitch again. “Uh...” Now that Sanzo had a mouthful of sweet chocolate and lemon, he had no choice but to chew the damn stuff, and with every slow crunch of his teeth it felt like the hallway was getting smaller and thinner, the walls at either side of him pressing closer, boxing them together. Goku was standing too close, too—standing much taller than Sanzo remembered, standing firm and unmoving. The fork was still poised between them where Goku held it. It shook slightly in Goku's hand. “So, uh...” Goku finally said, clearing his throat. “What d'ya think?” Sanzo's throat worked in a slow, deep swallow, and he felt the warm, creamy cake sliding down. His chest tingled; his eyelids felt heavier than ever, and it was an effort not to just let them close, not to drift on the sinuous waves of sweetness dragging through him. Just what in the blue fuck was going on here? Gathering the edges of his resolve around him like an extra robe, Sanzo said, “Passable,” and was surprised by the rich, syrupy timbre of his voice. “Guh-cool,” Goku breathed. Sniffed. Looked away, down at the steaming cake tin, then at Sanzo's feet. Goku pushed one bare foot out and rubbed the frosting of flour with his toes, wiping it off Sanzo's boot and mumbling, “You want the rest?” No, thought Sanzo, as he reached for the tin and pulled it out of Goku's grasp. He had to get out of here. “Clean up that mess before Hakkai gets back,” he said, snatching the fork as well and turning on his heel. “I will, but, uh, Sanzo? Are ya—where are ya—?” “Don't disturb me.” Sanzo didn't look back, keeping his eyes on the dark mosaic tiles in the hallway as he strode in the direction of their room, and when he got there he shut the door with a resounding tha-dump. Turning, he let himself fall back against the wood, his pulse beating an unnaturally fast tempo in his ears, the sticky-sweet taste of the cake still in his mouth, and the tin still clutched in his hand. “Tch,” he muttered, brandishing the fork and feeling the last weak rays of his resolve dwindle. “What,” Sanzo croaked, “the fuck,” as he dropped to his knees and twin spears of white, jagged heat shot up his legs, sending flares straight to his groin, “is this?” The empty cake tin rolled across the floorboards with a locomotive duk-dun duk-dun, before disappearing into the dusty shadows beneath the farthest bed. Planting his hand on the floor, Sanzo wrenched himself up and staggered, teeth clenched, over to the nearest bed. He collapsed heavily onto the dishevelled mattress and bit out a strangled, “Mph!” Something was seriously wrong; there was nothing economical about the aching tension that flooded him. It swept through him like a raging fire, flowing like molten steel into every fingertip and toe, wrapping hot wires around his taut thighs and flexed forearms. It burned down his corded neck as he strained his head back against the bed, the heat rising to the surface of his skin, every inch, and bubbling there, surrounding him like a blazing nimbus. Fuck, I can't move, he thought, breathless gulps rasping between his clenched teeth. Three years sharing a Jeep with three other guys had seen to any chance of claustrophobia, but even so, this new blanket of heat was more smothering and devouring than anything before it, and Sanzo'd been in some pretty heavy scrapes. Curving his fingers into claws, he tore at his robes to get the itching material off. A growl clamoured up from the pit of his chest, and he let it out as he struggled free and blindly tossed the robe aside. The respite was immediate and blessed, but unfortunately only brief. Now it felt like his leathers were shrinking, pinching and constricting like the sleek, deadly body of a snake. After what felt like an hour Sanzo managed to get one sleeve off, but he soon gave up with the other and instead attacked the fly of his jeans. Every movement chafed his sensitive flesh; the buttery, worn denim might as well have been lined with barbed wire. Somewhere far beneath the thundering pound of blood in his ears, he was surprised to find himself half-hard. The observation was fleeting, though—it was all about the jeans, getting the fucking jeans off before they cut off the circulation to his groin. A button came loose and Sanzo chucked it, hearing it ping off a wall nearby and then clatter across the floor. His hips burned as he dragged his half-undone jeans down over them, and then he arched up into the breath of cool air that wafted against his hardening cock and tightening balls. “Nnngh.” A hiss escaped between his sealed teeth— —and then he drew it back in as he heard bootsteps pounding down the hallway. Oh fuck, no. The sharpness of the heat was ebbing, but it wasn't any easier to breathe or move. Sanzo curled into a tight ball as the door burst open and struck the wall with a thunderclap bang. “Sanzo?! I heard a noise, are ya—uhh...” Boots skidded on rickety boards. “G-get,” Sanzo managed. The out just wouldn't come. “Guh—” There was a thick gulp. Silence. Then, a small voice: “Get what?” When Sanzo didn't answer—and not because he didn't want to, but because he damn well bloody fucking couldn't—the floorboards creaked. There was the barest shift in the atmosphere as Goku came closer, and Sanzo experienced a flick of energy against his skin, his awareness suddenly a razorblade-sharp point. He flinched. “Holy crap, Sanzo,” Goku breathed from above. “You look really bad.” Thanks for stating the fucking obvious. Sanzo had started to shiver, great, racking shudders that made the bedsprings moan softly under him. “Get,” he said again, and again the rest died somewhere around his back teeth. “I... tell me what to do,” Goku breathed, the bed dipping as a knee covered in tattered, worn stonewash denim sank into Sanzo's line of sight. The smell of lemons was back, full force, and Goku set down another cake tin on the bed beside them, this one still steaming from where it'd just come out of the oven. “Sanzo, what can I do?” Goku reached toward him, and Sanzo tried to tell him not to touch, tried to yell at him to back the hell off. Static fizzled and popped as Goku inched closer. “Ah!” Sanzo jerked on the bed, a bolt of white-hot energy shooting through him as Goku's fingertips connected with his bare shoulder. “What?!” Goku yelped, drawing back. “Sanzo—you're burnin' up. Can I... I need to turn you onto your back, okay?” “Nyuh,” Sanzo said, for what little good it did. The next fifteen seconds were unclear; they were a bright, shimmering haze. There was the bite of pain, all-consuming heat, and the tormenting smell of chocolate mixed with the even more intense smell of earthy, raw Goku. Then dizzying movement, the room spinning, lurching, and then Sanzo was afloat on a sea of gold and white. Uncertain fingers danced over his arm, skated across his chest, moved freely on his damp skin. A pinkie caught one of his pebble-hard nipples, like ten-thousand bolts in one swift move. Sanzo lifted briefly off the bed, electrified, long trails of sweat detaching and curling down the sides of his face with the sudden movement. “Ohh, holy crap.” Goku withdrew, snapping his arm back and freezing, silent and still and not even breathing. “Sanzo.” The suspension gave and Sanzo crashed back down, free from Goku's maddening touch. Finally, he was able to blink his eyes open, and he tried to grip something grounding, some thin shred of resolve, but it was like trying to grasp water or fine, sun-drenched sand—impossible. Sanzo couldn't bear to be touched, but he ached that there was nothing touching him at all. Every thought twisted around to the same thing, one word burning inside along with his need: Goku. Goku. Goku. Why was it always about Goku? Goku was kneeling over him, his face torn between concern and fear and something much, much more base and unrestrained. Sanzo could almost feel ghosts of that unnameable thing prickling his body. Fuck, he was so screwed. And then Sanzo realised what Goku was looking at with those saucer-wide eyes. His first instinct was to smack Goku away, but it was quickly overridden by the unwelcome urge to thrust his hips upward, to fuck up against Goku's unguarded, naked gaze. Shit! “I—I didn't mean ta...” Goku choked, his face flushing dark with colour. A strange little sound rushed out on his next breath, a moan and a whimper twined together. His attention remained riveted to Sanzo's groin. “Do ya want me to...?” Coughing, Goku wiped his arm over his forehead, mopping away a thin sheen of sweat. That was when Sanzo spotted the solid rise at the front of Goku's jeans, and his cock jerked, bobbing against his abdomen. Hot moisture dripped onto his stomach, slicking his skin in dots and trails. Before long he could smell it—smell himself—and he knew Goku could smell him, too. Distinct. Animalistic. The smell of want and adrenaline and boiling arousal, and somewhere beneath that heady concoction, there was the unmistakable tang of lemons. Sanzo's arm shot up quicker than a cobra strike and grabbed Goku by the scruff of the neck, yanking him down until they were nose to nose and Sanzo's breath fluttered hot, sweet, amazing against his mouth. “What did you put in that cake?” Sanzo bit out, voice rough like gravel over stone. “S-shit, I don't know!” All Goku knew was that Sanzo was naked and hard and just about the hottest thing he'd ever seen, ever, and that his own dick was now as firm as a rod in his jeans, and he was pretty sure Sanzo knew it, and this could only end embarrassingly, and oh crap, oh Buddha! Whatever he was being accused of, he had no idea. “Nothin', I swear!” he quavered, trying not to glance down at the dark, wet jut of Sanzo's cock, even though he could see it in his periphery and he really, really wanted to look. This was the stuff only his naughtiest dreams were made of, and they never came real. Never! Dark, rolling waves of nen poured off Sanzo, much keener than Goku had ever sensed before. He could taste all that pent-up power and energy, like a cloud surrounding him and Sanzo both, and it was bittersweet, like chocolate and lemon. “W-what can I do?” he moaned desperately, not sure where to put his hands. Sanzo glared at him then, and oh, Goku knew what he wanted to do, but Sanzo would probably kill him. No, definitely kill him. Then Sanzo ripped the breath straight out of his lungs in one sudden, heart-stopping instant. “For fuck's sake, just touch me!” Sweat glistened on Sanzo's brow and upper lip, sparkling in the fading, muted daylight. “Now!” he barked. Did he just say what I think he did?! Goku was having trouble sifting through the meaning, or working out if he'd accidentally fallen asleep and this was all in his head. No dream had ever felt this authentic, though, except maybe those ones right before the Seiten Taisei broke loose; that was about as 'real' as it got, with those guys who seemed achingly familiar and at the same time a million light years away... No, this was definitely real. Sanzo had definitely just told Goku to touch him. Touch his mostly-naked body. With his actual hands. Oh man, oh man! “Are you sure?” Goku stammered, his hand flinching forward automatically, running on some souped-up auto-pilot. Approaching Sanzo on a good day was a gamble—you never knew if you'd walk away with your limbs intact, or—like Gojyo once said—wearing your balls as ear-warmers. “You really want me to? I mean, you really want me?” Sanzo's gaze burned thousands of tiny holes in him. “If I have to say it again, I will strangle you.” Oh good, because Goku didn't think he'd be able to drag himself off the bed at this point anyway—his dick would probably snap if he tried it, he was so fricking hard. With no idea how to begin or what to do, Goku resorted to his go-to plan: gut instinct. Base urge guided him, his body taking over; he leaned closer to Sanzo, until the wet, spongy head of Sanzo's cock brushed against his cheek. Huuh. Goku's dick gave a fierce twitch in his jeans, letting go a spurt of pre-come that he felt dampen the material. It was all he could do to hold on, his need mounting inside him. “Ungh, Sanzo, you smell really good.” Any other time and he would've felt like a complete dork, but Sanzo was way too distracted to care what Goku was spouting—his breath was coming in short, sharp bursts and his face was moving between what looked to Goku like pain and want. Burrowing against the mattress, Goku let his lips glide lightly over the head. A rumble came up from Sanzo's chest, so deep and low that every one of Goku's previous fantasies was immediately reset. Nothing had ever sounded that erotic, and he doubted anything would again. That was, until he wrapped his mouth around the thick cock and Sanzo uttered a bone-melting groan. Goku couldn't hold back an answering groan, and he flicked out his tongue, swiping the rigid shaft and licking the wetness from the darkened swell of flesh. Sanzo filled his mouth as he sank down as far as he could go, and he pulled back when his gag reflex began to hitch, then settled into licking a swoop of winding circles all the way down Sanzo's dick. Sanzo arched and flinched beneath his hands and mouth. “Hurry up,” he commanded breathlessly. “Fuck.” Ohh, guh. To have this kind of control over Sanzo's reactions was overwhelming, astounding! Every time Goku moved the point of his tongue, Sanzo would twitch or writhe or make some incredible noise. Goku hadn't even realised it until now—that he was pulling the strings, that he was exploring Sanzo in ways he'd only dreamed about, that he had the freedom to touch and taste and give and take, and that Sanzo was letting him. That Sanzo wanted him to. Wow, wow, wow! The skin under his mouth was growing a progressively darker red, slightly purple at the tip. Sanzo's cock was gorgeous, and even though it tasted weird, he couldn't get enough. The billions of times in the past when Goku had wished for more physical contact with Sanzo had just rolled into one singular, earth-shattering moment, and basically, this. Topped. Everything. Except, maybe... Grappling with his fly, Goku struggled his jeans down, not an easy feat given the position, but if nothing else he was determined. Charged air curled smoothly around his dick as it fell hard and heavy into his waiting hand, and he released Sanzo's cock to kiss at his hip, then bite, then lick. The pale, coarse hairs at the base of Sanzo's erection scratched his nose as he learned Sanzo's body, and when he took Sanzo into his mouth again, he squeezed himself hard in counterpoint, more to stave off the rising boil of his orgasm than encourage it—he wanted to hold this moment as long as he could. A hand clamped down on Goku's shoulder, the fingertips digging into his muscles. Sanzo mumbled something gruff and indecipherable. “Is this okay?” Goku panted around his mouthful. “Isn't it obvious?” Sanzo fired back, but there was little bite in it. “F-finish this, monkey.” As much as Goku wanted this to last, there was no way he could say no. He wrapped his fist tight around Sanzo and worked over the flushed skin, pressing his lips to it, rubbing his cheek against it, stealing a kiss to the leaking tip. Then, humping slowly at the bed, Goku opened wide and took Sanzo all the way in, as far as he could. “Ah-ah!” Sanzo's voice thickened, the sounds stretching out. “Goku.” Goku barely had time to prepare as he felt the beginning spasms of Sanzo's body. It took him by surprise, and he pulled back as the first burst of silky heat hit the back of his throat. The next spurt dashed up his cheek, pearly beads streaking into his hair. Goku folded his mouth over Sanzo's cock and sucked at the rest, one after the other, as the twitches grew weaker and slower. By the time he looked up, Sanzo was slack on the bed with his eyes closed loosely so that only a thin blade of colour showed through the fine blond flicks of his lashes. His face was devoid of frowns and its customary taut lines. All Goku could see was peace, relief, and exhaustion, and all of those things combined gave Sanzo an unreal, ethereal quality, like he was some amazing figment Goku's mind had conjured, not a real guy who did normal everyday stuff and got pissed off a hell of a lot. Not that Sanzo was exactly normal, was he? But then, Goku liked him that way. It was what made him Sanzo, Goku mused, as he idly trailed small kisses over Sanzo's softening cock, unable to tear himself away now that he'd had a taste. “Sanzo,” he whispered, his voice shaking and faint. He heard a long, slow sigh, then Sanzo was pushing at him. Reluctantly, Goku released him and sat up, then grinned like a loon. Sanzo was staring at him, his eyes smoky and dark, the purple smouldering and set deep in his face, glinting like dirty jewels. There was a lax kind of need there now, and while Sanzo was satisfied, Goku could see the fever still had a loose grip on him. But it was ebbing, bit by bit, and he looked so damn good that Goku could've eaten him alive right at that moment. Instead, he let the grin fall and resisted the impulse to knead his groin. His dick was still so hard, the skin pulled tight and his balls throbbing. “I really need to—I want to—” Goku tugged his shirt over his head, slinging it onto the floor. Crawling up the bed, he held Sanzo's stare, the mattress dipping with the movement and dislodging the cake tin. It rolled over and the cake flopped out, right as Goku spread himself out next to Sanzo, and yikes, he felt the cake squash beneath him. A snort erupted from Goku's nose. “Oops.” “Idiot,” Sanzo mumbled. “Sorry, I just—'m so hard.” Goku shored up flush against him, their sweaty skin sealing on connection. Sanzo didn't tell him to piss off, so Goku nudged his erection against Sanzo's thigh. “Need to...” “Then do it,” Sanzo said, grabbing him by the neck and bringing his face in close. Goku could see that Sanzo had regained control of his faculties, that he'd travelled through the fever and they were now sliding into new territory—someplace bigger and better and deeper and scarier, and exciting and awesome and oh man, Sanzo's eyes were totally lucid, but they still bore holes in him. Goku felt a thrill of want at being wanted, and he craned his neck, crushing his mouth to Sanzo's, taking their first kiss just like he had a million times before in his head. Amazingly, Sanzo didn't push him away or complain about being smothered; he clamped his arm around Goku's waist and held. It was a welcome support—Goku was only just hanging on by a thread as it was—and it gave him the chance to explore Sanzo in a brand new way, learning the silk-and-rough texture of his tongue, licking up against the roof of his mouth, testing out the sharpness of Sanzo's teeth. So cool! A little groan worked its way up Goku's throat and he moved his hips in circles, rubbing his cock along the line of Sanzo's lean thigh. The tension was at its peak now and he knew the only way from here was down, no matter how he desperately wished it would never end. Sanzo must've known it too, because he suddenly squeezed Goku tightly, and Goku slid up on top of him and pumped his hips, driving hard against the solid, long frame of Sanzo's body. Skin slick with sweat and chocolate cake, Goku smeared the mess between them, and all it took was the simple thought of Sanzo combined with food to wrench him, spinning and moaning and thrusting wildly, out of control. “Ohh!” he cried into Sanzo's mouth, pistoning his hips as the heat inside unravelled and he spurted hard, aching bliss. “Ohh, Sanzo, I can't... stop...” Arching his back and digging his hips against Sanzo's, Goku came and came and came and swore, and laughed exhaustedly as the tension left his arms and he toppled, shuddering, onto Sanzo's chest. “Wow, oh holy amazing wow, Sanzo. Nngh...” Sanzo breathed something that may have been, “Babbling fool,” but Goku wasn't really listening. “Now give me space. You're heavy.” “Whut? Oh, sorry,” Goku mumbled, skidding in the sticky coating of sweat and chocolate and come and falling onto the bed. “Ew. Um, I think we made a mess.” “What's this 'we'?” Sanzo asked, his voice low-slung with tiredness. “You brought the damn cake in here. Why did you put it on the bed?” “Er,” Goku said, burrowing his face into the sweaty, chocolatey crook of Sanzo's neck. “It's not like I planned to! You were all... and I was totally... guh.” He flicked out his tongue and licked at the sweet saltiness of Sanzo's skin. “Tastes good. D'ya think I should start my own cake shop?” “Do it and face the consequence of me,” Sanzo warned. He didn't mean it. At least, Goku didn't think so, but then again, you could never be sure with this guy. “Aw, spoil sport.” It didn't matter—cake shop or no, Goku was just happy to curl at Sanzo's side and float on the smell and warmth of him, and the satisfied spill of their tangled limbs, for as long as Sanzo would allow it. Then something struck him. “Oh yeah, by the way. Why were ya so... uh, you know... out of it?” Sanzo's breathing was even, but he tensed ever so slightly. Goku could almost hear the frown in his voice as he spoke. “That,” Sanzo said, “is exactly what I want to know.” “Well, I certainly won't be using these in any of my dishes.” Hakkai scooped up an armful of lemons from the countertop and crossed the kitchen. Morning light from the window caught on the plump fruit and made them glow. To Sanzo, it looked like they were twinkling at him. He watched the fruits topple, one after the other, into the bin. “Why do you say that?” he asked, his brows pulled downward. Opposite him, Goku squirmed awkwardly in his chair. “It's because,” Gojyo said, tapping a column of ash from the end of his cigarette into a saucer, “those youkai freaks were messing with the fruit, using them to get at the townsfolk.” “He's right, Sanzo.” Hakkai returned to the counter, and started pouring himself a cup of jasmine tea. “When we returned to the castle with the shaman, we discovered the trees were enchanted.” “Enchant...” Sanzo's mouth ran bone dry, and he sensed Goku looking at him from across the table. “The sorceress queen was using the fruit in preserves that were being shipped from a dummy company to the town and surrounding areas,” Hakkai went on, then paused to sip quickly at his steaming tea. “They were using the preserves to spread discord between the humans throughout western Shangri-la.” “But it wasn't dangerous, was it?” Goku asked. There were worry lines etched into his face, and over the last thirty seconds he'd turned two shades paler. “Well, it meant that any strong feelings harboured by a person eating the preserves would've been amplified.” Hakkai paused to take a sip of his tea. “So if the person was struggling with angry or violent feelings, there would be a lot of trouble.” He nudged his monocle up the bridge of his nose and peered at Goku. “You didn't by chance eat any of those lemons, did you?” “I didn't, but—” Sanzo struck out with his foot, catching Goku on the shin. “I mean, no,” Goku said quickly. “Heh, that's all we'd need,” Gojyo said, grabbing Goku in a headlock and dragging him out of his chair. “The little monkey ten times hungrier than usual.” “Get off, perv!” Goku struggled. Ignoring their tedious horseplay, Sanzo stared down at his coffee, a whole lot of things making a whole lot more sense now, although he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Finally, he had a reason for his loss of control, but the fact remained that it'd happened at all. Images poured into his mind, so quickly he couldn't stop them or switch them off—he saw Goku hunched over him, licking his lips; the sight of his cock slipping into Goku's hungry, wicked mouth; he could picture, to the last detail, the eager bob of Goku's Adam's apple as he swallowed... Fuck. No, stop—don't think about it. “Well, now that's all sorted out, we should pack up.” Hakkai rinsed out his cup and set it back on the wooden cup tree beside the window. “Sanzo, are you good to go?” “Yeah,” Sanzo said distractedly. “Gojyo, would you please release Goku and help me load Jeep?” “Sure, sure,” Gojyo said, shoving Goku against the table. The wood shuddered under Sanzo's elbows, but everyone ignored his huff. Gojyo disappeared out the door with Hakkai, and Goku stayed where he was, perched on the table's edge. Getting up, Sanzo went to dump the cold dregs of his coffee in the sink. “So ya liked me all along, huh?” Goku said from behind him. Dammit, Sanzo knew the silence was too good to be true. “Shut up,” he said, but he felt Goku step up before strong, wiry arms slid around his middle, holding for a brief moment. “It's okay. I felt the same, anyway.” Slowly releasing him, Goku stepped back and started gathering his few belongings, stuffing them into his threadbare rucksack. “Are ya ready to go?” he said, once he was ready, bag slung over one shoulder. Sanzo stared at him for a moment, realising nothing would ever be the same again, that lines had been crossed, that new bridges had been built. And strangely, there was a great weight off his shoulders now, too. “Yeah,” he said, and he followed Goku out to where Jeep was waiting for them. ~Fin~ |
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