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Title: Aitsu no Ai
Author: jedishampoo
Pairing: 53 (Gojyo/Sanzo)
Rating: NC-17, Yaoi
Length: About 8750 words
Summary: A sequel-sorta to "Love
Me, Dude." Gojyo goes for a second try. Humor (I hope),
poorly-planned seductions, embarrassment of characters, smut, arguing.
Author’s Note: I’ve never written a follow-up to anything of
my own before. It was just too much fun coming up with the conversations and
awkward sex. I am so ashamed. Thanks very much to baka_gaijin for her wonderful
and thorough beta; any remaining errors or confusion are purely my fault.
Aitsu no Ai
Gojyo discovered that the sweet, sweet afterglow of secret love was hard to
maintain in the cold, cold reality of two weeks of dingy towns and youkai
attacks, several nights sleeping in the woods, and a pretty, pretty monk with a
nasty, nasty attitude.
And for at least one more night, it was the woods, again. The five members of
their little India-road-trip party had gathered in a small clearing they’d
found out of sight of the road. It was still daylight, and would be for a couple
more hours at least. They could have kept on driving through the countryside,
but Goku’s stomach had been extra noisy. Sanzo had barely grunted opposition
to Hakkai’s suggestion of stopping early.
They sat around a stack of wood that Gojyo had collected. Hakkai was starting a
fire with a few scraps of old newspaper, and Goku was playing with Jeep and
waiting for his dinner. Sanzo, as usual, was leaning against one of the bedrolls
with a little book in his lap. And doing absolutely no work whatsoever. And
ignoring them, and being in a pissy mood. But it was just his everyday, life-is-pain-and-then-you-die-so-deal-with-it
pissy mood. Nothing had changed.
Gojyo had expected something to change since his little interlude with
Sanzo a couple of weeks ago, even if he didn’t know what he’d expected.
Well, if he was being honest with himself, he might say he’d been envisioning
some fun of the naked type. This whole quest had started to sound a lot
better with the possibility of regular doses of great sex.
Gojyo had gotten all gooey over Sanzo. Sanzo. Who didn’t give a shit
about anyone. And so Gojyo, therefore, was horny without any other outlet than
his own right hand. And he’d had been all prepared, too. He’d made what he
thought were some useful purchases in the town of whatever-it-had-been called.
But nothing. Not even more abuse from Sanzo than usual: nothing to even indicate
that anything had ever happened between them. And to make the nothing
worse, Gojyo couldn’t even pretend to be injured. Sanzo hadn’t asked to be
molested, and had promised nothing afterwards. Gojyo sulked anyway. He
was the pathetic one, the one who jerked off and pretended it was Sanzo’s
flesh creating all the friction, thought about tasting sweat, seeing Sanzo’s
face losing its perpetual tight sneer and go all oblivious, and knowing that he,
Gojyo, had done it. That he couldn’t be ignored. Yet Sanzo was ignoring him,
and Gojyo was more aware of him than ever.
There hadn’t even been any ladies, either, to lighten the load. Not that a few
gals in some of those dumpy towns hadn’t seemed interested in a little dose of
vitamin Sha. But unfortunately, Gojyo had been holding out for a chance at
nailing Sanzo. Who, annoyingly, was better-looking than most of the women
Gojyo’d seen lately, even with that grouchy sneer he always wore. Gojyo
wondered what the hell he was waiting for. He sulked some more.
“Goku, why don’t you go through our supplies and pick out whatever needs to
be eaten first?” Hakkai said as he bent over, cupping his hands about the
little flame he’d started.
“I get to pick? All right!” Goku thumped a fist in the air and ran over to
their piles of bags.
Gojyo sat in the grass, lit a smoke, and looked at Sanzo.
“Yo, Monkey,” he called, loudly, to see if he could get a reaction. Any
reaction, even if it involved bullets or paper fans. “Remember that whatever
needs to be eaten first ain’t everything. Don’t want his holiness to get any
skinnier because we ran out of food.”
“I know that, you stupid water-sprite,” Goku called back.
“Chibi-chimp!”
Sanzo’s mouth curled up a little at the noise, but he otherwise ignored them.
“Goku will do fine,” Hakkai said with a small smile at Gojyo. “I’ll
ultimately pick what we need. This will distract him from his stomach. And we
should reach another town tomorrow, so we can buy more supplies.”
“Cigarettes for Sanzo, you mean,” Gojyo said, loudly, but smiled back at his
friend. “At least the monkey’s keeping busy. Unlike some people.”
Sanzo pointedly ignored him, and in fact made no sign that he’d been listening
to any of them.
Hakkai turned away to fill some saucepans with water (water which Gojyo had also
collected), and Gojyo took the opportunity to look at Sanzo again. He was being
discreet. At least, he hoped so. He had to be sneaky about it--Hakkai
saw way too much with that pretty green eye of his--but whenever he had the
chance, Gojyo watched Sanzo. He watched him when he walked (swing-hipped and
sure), he watched Sanzo eating (rice, one grain at a time as always, chopsticks
held with an elegance Gojyo had never noticed before). He watched Sanzo wearing
his grandpa glasses, and reading. Because reading was all Sanzo did anymore,
when they weren’t riding around in Jeep, or fighting, eating, or sleeping.
Sanzo wasn’t even reading his usual newspapers, but a leather-covered book he
carried around on his person and never laid down anywhere. Gojyo knew this
because he’d looked for it. He’d wanted to find out what book Sanzo was so
fucking fascinated by.
Sanzo muttered to himself, too. A lot. Gojyo thought it was super-annoying.
Especially now, because he was horny. What was he waiting for?
Any fantasies of seducing a drunken Sanzo had been shot to hell: Sanzo hadn’t
touched a drop of liquor, that Gojyo could tell, anyway, for the past two-plus
weeks. And Gojyo sure as shit wasn’t going to just blithely happen upon a
Sanzo all tied up again like a present. Sanzo wasn’t going to saunter over to
Gojyo’s side of the campfire some night, drop trou, and say, Hey, Tiger,
let’s get busy!
Gojyo actually pictured that in his brain for a moment. Or two moments, or
three. Then he decided such a thing would be too ridiculous. There wasn’t
enough booze in the world to make that happen.
Still, the thought was kinda hot. Gojyo filed that fantasy away for later, when
he was alone.
It wasn’t that Sanzo didn’t like gettin' busy. And he didn’t mind a
little... convincing. Gojyo knew this from experience. Sanzo could just
be so mean that he had to wait around for someone with the guts to give it to
him. Gojyo had the guts. At least, he’d thought he had. He settled in
for some really good sulking.
“I wonder what Kougaiji and his group are up to,” Hakkai spoke up again, out
of nowhere, as he poked at the fire with a stick.
“Yeah, Lirin hasn’t bothered us for weeks!” Goku piped in. He’d
returned, as expected, with all of their food.
“Ya miss her, Monkey?”
“No way! Pervert.”
“Perhaps Miss Yaone has had to be a little more strict with her charge?”
Hakkai said. He turned and dutifully began sorting the food Goku had brought.
“Heh,” Gojyo said. Yaone, now. A fine piece of bodacious-bosomed,
youkai womanhood. That was the sort of person Gojyo should focus on, and
not let himself get all gooey over tight-assed monks.
Tight-assed. Oh, god, there it was again. Gojyo was so damned horny it
wasn’t funny.
“Gimme a beer, Monkey,” he said. “Cold beer.”
“Screw you,” Goku replied. He stuffed something uncooked in his mouth and
looked at Sanzo. “What do you think, Sanzo?” he asked.
Sanzo didn’t answer, just stared at his book, glasses on his eyes and his
mouth moving a little as he mumbled to himself.
“Sanzo!” Goku whined. “You didn’t answer me. We were talking
about Kougaiji. What are you reading, anyway?”
“He’s been very studious lately, hasn’t he?” Hakkai said, and smiled his
gentle smile and handed Gojyo a cold beer. “Your mantras must be very
consuming, Sanzo. I’m sure it’s something that will help us on our mission.
Am I right?”
Sanzo didn’t answer him.
Mantras? Gojyo thought. Was that what Sanzo was reading, and
how did Hakkai know that?
“Sanzo!” Goku called again.
“Oi! Monk!” Gojyo yelled, determined to get Sanzo’s attention if it killed
him. He held his beer can in Sanzo’s direction and pulled the tab, hoping
Sanzo might get sprayed. He didn’t.
“Sanzo!” Goku said a third time.
Sanzo placed an elegant and deliberate finger on a spot in the book, and glanced
up around the campfire, at no one in particular. “What the fuck do you idiots
want?” he said.
Gojyo opened his mouth, but Hakkai answered first. “I’d just commented that
your mantras must be very important,” Hakkai paraphrased. “They must be very
holy scriptures.”
“Hmph,” was all Sanzo said, calmly staring at all of them and none of them.
“Sutras? Mantras?” Gojyo said, grinning. “You’re not going all Buddhist
again on us, are you? Memorizing all the religious shit you forgot while you
were drinking and killing people?”
Sanzo sighed. “If you assholes must know, it’s a mantra against craving.”
Gojyo had gotten a reaction all right. And this was better than he’d ever
expected. “Against craving? What are you craving, monk?” Gojyo said,
with his best leer. Discreet, disschmeet.
“I’m going to quit smoking,” Sanzo said.
Three pairs of eyes stared back at him in pure astonishment. There were about
ten seconds of absolute silence.
“What? No way!” Gojyo said after that ten seconds.
“Good for you!” Hakkai said, at the same time. “You’ll feel much
better.”
“Wow,” Goku said, a half-second behind everyone else.
“You’re shitting me,” Gojyo added.
Sanzo finally looked at him. His eyes were calm, distant. “Are you saying I
can’t do it?” he asked.
“Fuck, yeah.” Gojyo said. He’d been shocked, sure. But mostly, he’d been
disappointed at the response. Giving up cigarettes, and that was all? Boring.
Crazy. And impossible, if Gojyo knew Sanzo at all. It had to
be bullshit. “You know lying is a sin too, right? Tell me that ain’t in
your holy texts.”
“Hmph,” Sanzo said. Then as everyone continued to stare at him, he reached
into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He shook one
out, stuck it in his mouth, and leaned over to light it off the end of
Hakkai’s poker. He then re-stashed his pack of smokes. He did this all while
keeping one finger on his book, and when he was done, he lifted his finger and
continued to read.
“What the hell do you call that?” Gojyo said. Gojyo knew it was some sort of
set-up, but he was too pissed off to stay quiet.
“I didn’t say I was quitting now,” Sanzo mumbled around his cigarette.
Then he added, not quite under his breath, “moron.”
Gojyo fumed. Okay. That was it. Sanzo was fucking with him. He’d
set the trap and Gojyo had blundered right into it. Time was, Gojyo would have
accepted that as normal. But things had changed, even if Sanzo pretended they
hadn’t.
Now, it was time for action. Gojyo had a shot of hard, metal courage
shaped like handcuffs in his rucksack. Sooner or later Sanzo would have to be
alone. And when he was, Gojyo would be there. His luck had to change sooner or
later.
***
“When determinations cease consciousness ceases.”
Sanzo read.
“When the six mental spheres cease, contact ceases. He seeing a form with the
eye becomes greedy for a pleasant form, or averse to a disagreeable form. Abides
with mindfulness of the body not established and with a limited mind. Not
knowing the release of mind nor the release through wisdom as it really is,
where thoughts of demerit cease completely.”
Pleasant form... release. Sanzo kept reading. This particular passage was
so dull it should numb the fuck out of him, literally and poetically. It
wasn’t working, however.
“He falls to the path of agreeing and disagreeing and feels whatever feeling
pleasant, unpleasant, or neither pleasant or unpleasant. Hearing a sound with
the ear, cognising a smell with the nose, cognising a taste with the tongue,
cognising a touch with the body, cognising an idea with the mind, becomes greedy
for a pleasant idea. Becomes blah blah blah blah. Blah de blah.”
Sanzo lost his train of thought, lost the words, though he’d memorized this
passage long ago. He was stuck somewhere back on tongues and bodies
and sounds. And sights. Red hair and eyes.
Shit. He was having lustful thoughts again. It was sickening.
This sex thing, this physical... twitching was a new problem for him.
Sanzo let his eyes unfocus from the characters on the page, just let his
thoughts drift where they wanted. He would put them back into order. Confronting
them, and doing it logically, would help them go away all the more quickly, he
told himself.
Sanzo had never liked people much. And sex required close contact with other
people. So he’d pretty much avoided it, figuring it wasn’t worth the bother
and any sorts of physical urges could be taken care of privately.
But his sexuality or lack of it wasn’t quite private anymore. That was
annoying. Gojyo was annoying. It was all Gojyo’s fault; he’d started
all the trouble as usual, with his little stunt a few weeks back.
Sanzo hadn’t been sure how to deal with the situation, other than by killing
the fuck out of Gojyo, literally and poetically. He still wasn’t sure. He
thought he’d learned to not dwell on things; this was just something else
added to his shitpile, something else to overcome. So he listed the annoying
things, in order, in his mind: not only had he had sex, let someone touch him,
and fuck him up the ass-- something that many had tried, and many had died for
it with brains full of bullet-- but it had been Gojyo. Someone whose mere
existence and day-to-day behavior grated on Sanzo’s soul like no other. And
Sanzo had fucking taken it and liked it.
The worst and most annoying thing by far, however, was something so disgusting
that every time Sanzo thought about it he wanted to throttle something, kill
something, stomp on something or maybe just slice his own dick off: now and
then, he wondered if they might do it again.
Just like he was thinking about it at the moment. Obviously, logic wasn’t
working. Sanzo wondered why he hadn’t just killed Gojyo already.
Was this the start of some unsettling trend, brought about by being around
these idiots for too long? Sanzo glanced furtively around the fire at his
group of youkai. He looked at Hakkai. People seemed to think Hakkai was
attractive. The image worked its way involuntarily into Sanzo’s mind of Hakkai
doing what Gojyo had done. Sanzo felt nothing prurient at the thought, only a
slight discomfort at thinking about Hakkai in that way.
Next in the campfire-circle was Goku. Oh, shit, no. Now Sanzo felt dirty;
he needed a bar of brain soap.
Sanzo felt it safe enough to look at Gojyo. And Gojyo, the fuck, was wearing
only a sleeveless shirt and jeans, and was leering at him from behind the fringe
of his red hair. Leering. His eyes were half-closed and his generous
mouth was relaxed. His face said, I’m having a lurid sexual fantasy about
you right now and you can’t do anything about it ha ha!
Shit. Now Sanzo just wanted to go off somewhere and quietly vomit. Or take a
cold, cold bath. The cold bath sounded better. He tucked his book and glasses
into the sleeve of his robe, tossed his cigarette into the fire, and stood.
“I’ll be back later.”
Goku stared at him with a half-chewed piece of fruit in his mouth. “Sanzo!
Where are you going? Sanzo?”
“Leave me alone,” Sanzo said. “Help Hakkai. Just do something other than
follow me around.”
Goku’s face fell and he got that kicked-puppy look he did so well, but the
monkey was growing up. He shrugged and went back to hovering over the beginnings
of their dinner. Hakkai just... smiled.
“Before dark?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Sanzo allowed, and only because it was Hakkai, and because he was
smiling.
Gojyo, for once, didn’t say anything, just stared at Sanzo with that sly sort
of look. Sanzo was both intrigued and annoyed because of it, so he started
walking , following the trail Gojyo had disappeared down earlier, only
half-dressed, the motherfucker. Soon enough he located a small river or a
large stream, it didn’t matter which because it was still and clear and wet.
Sanzo stood on the muddy bank and did it all quite ceremoniously and logically:
He removed his boots. He lifted off his scripture, and rolled it up, and stuck
it in one of his boots. He removed his robe and gold plate, and folded them into
a neat square. He stashed his book. He hid his gun, close by, where he could
reach it easily.
Abides with mindfulness of the body not established and with a limited mind.
He removed the rest of his clothing, piece by piece, and folded it. He stuck a
foot in the cold shit cold well that ought to do it water to test its
depth.
Not knowing the release of mind nor the release through wisdom as it really
is, where thoughts of demerit cease completely.
He counted to three, and threw himself face-down into the river. It was really,
really, fucking cold.
Sanzo held his breath and just floated in the water for a few minutes, coming up
every now and then for air. He thought of a look he’d seen on Gojyo’s face a
few times in the past few weeks: the one that wasn’t stupid or lurid, the one
that looked at Sanzo with calculation. Sanzo realized he needed a few more
minutes in the water. After a while his chest started to hurt; his balls had
shriveled, trying to climb back into his body. The really, really fucking
cold water had finally done its job.
He climbed out, rinsing the river-mud and pebbles from his feet, and pulled on
his boots and robe against the chill. It was a warm day but he was in the shade
and he’d nearly managed to freeze himself to death.
He sat on the riverbank and lit a cigarette. He supposed he should quit,
in another thirty years or so.
He took a few moments to revel in solitude, and to appreciate his bucolic
surroundings. The colors were soothing: browns, greens, the greys of the rocks
at the bottom of the slow-moving river, just starting to settle after he’d
stirred them up.
Cognising a smell with the nose.
The smells were cool and green also, quite calming. He supposed nature-worship
wasn’t such a bad idea, sometimes. If people had to worship something,
then this at least made sense.
Hearing a sound with the ear.
The sounds were quiet sorts of nature sounds-- the noise of bird wings flapping
against leaves high in the branches, the low whisper of the slight breeze, a
plop now and then as something moved underwater. A crack as something snapped a
twig on the path behind him.
Shit!
Sanzo dove for his gun.
***
“Gotcha!” Gojyo cried as he tackled one escaping monk.
Sanzo was fast and pretty strong for his size, but Gojyo was faster and stronger
thanks to his half-demon blood. And his killer bod. He caught Sanzo’s
hands before he could grab his pistol or throw a punch, and yanked him upright.
Then he twisted Sanzo around and threw himself against his back, shoving Sanzo
face-first into a tree. He used his longer reach to clasp Sanzo’s hands around
the trunk and snap! There went the handcuffs, doing their job, bless them.
Gojyo stepped back, clear of Sanzo’s bootheels, and surveyed his handiwork.
His luck had changed, that was for sure.
“Asshole!” Sanzo yelled, yanking the cuffs uselessly against the tree bark,
sending little chips and splinters flying. “Where the fuck did you get
those?”
“None-ya,” Gojyo said, and crossed his arms and smiled, and looked. He would
touch soon-- oh, yes he would--but for the moment he was happy to watch
Sanzo struggle. Sanzo cranked his head around, trying to glare at Gojyo from his
awkward position, wet hair dripping in his eyes. His face was glistening and his
eyes stood out like purple fire against his pink cheeks. He looked really good,
as a matter of fact. He must have taken a dip in the river. Gojyo would have
liked to have seen that; he wished he hadn’t dilly-dallied around the camp
before taking off after Sanzo.
But Hakkai had kept looking at him all funny. Gojyo had the feeling that Hakkai
knew, or suspected, that something was up between Gojyo and Sanzo, and was only
waiting for Gojyo, his best friend, to tell him. When Gojyo had left
(quite casually, he thought), to follow Sanzo, Hakkai had only said something
vague about before dark and then had begun talking to Goku and Jeep as if
Gojyo was already gone.
Hakkai, however, wasn’t Gojyo’s immediate concern. Number one on the list
was the monk, and number two was his own hard-on, and both of those could be
taken care of at the same time, in due time.
Aww, screw due time. Gojyo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around
tree and monk, and buried his nose in Sanzo’s wet hair.
“Get the fuck off me,” Sanzo snarled, trying to bend, to move, to
shake Gojyo off. But Gojyo had chosen the right position; Sanzo had no leverage
and couldn’t do a damned thing.
“Not yet,” Gojyo promised threatened, and licked at a drop of water
trickling down the back of Sanzo’s neck. Damn, but Sanzo was cold and warm
at the same time. “Shit, it took me long enough to get you alone. Lemme
enjoy it, will ya?”
“Fucking pervert,” Sanzo said. But under his tongue, Gojyo noticed the
little shiver that shook Sanzo’s spine.
“Like you ain’t, Sanzo,” Gojyo said, tasting the name and the skin on his
lips at the same time. Shit, why had he taken this long? Next time, he
wouldn’t.
“You wish,” Sanzo said, and mumbled low curses under his breath. Gojyo let
his hands drift off the tree and onto Sanzo, feeling the warm skin beneath the
damp robe. Skin--? Gojyo slid a hand down Sanzo’s stomach to his
crotch, and discovered something. Something besides the fact that Sanzo was
clearly more interested than he was pretending to be.
“Holy shit. You ain’t got anything on under this, do you?”
“Get your hand off my dick,” Sanzo said, ignoring the question.
“You dirty monk,” Gojyo said. He wasn’t in the mood for any of Sanzo’s
bullshit-prudishness. He would just state it like it was. He slid a light touch
along the outline of Sanzo’s cock through the thin material. He nibbled at
Sanzo’s ear. “And besides. I’ve handled your pistol before.”
“Yeah, and as I recall, you couldn’t handle it worth a shit.” Sanzo’s
uneven breathing was betraying him.
“As I remember, I shot it off just fine.”
“Shut up. I’m not trading sexual innuendoes with an idiot.”
“Fine. Then I’ll get down to business,” Gojyo said. That was a lie,
though. Gojyo was going to take his sweet time. He’d earned it. He untied the
robe and let his fingers explore elsewhere, along Sanzo’s arms, up his chest. Damned
monk was awfully skinny. He felt great, though. He could feel Sanzo’s
nipples all nubby against the cold, and Gojyo’s touch.
“This time I will fucking kill you,” Sanzo breathed.
“Yeah, yeah,” Gojyo said. He pressed his own erection into the crack of
Sanzo’s ass. Even muffled through his own jeans, he liked how it felt there. A
lot. And he decided he was going to earn and enjoy every death Sanzo
promised him. He grabbed the edges of Sanzo’s robe to pull it off.
And realized that he hadn’t quite thought this through as well as he’d
imagined. It wasn’t the right position. He pulled his face out
of Sanzo’s shoulder, and looked over the situation. He’d handcuffed Sanzo to
a tree. Facing the tree. It wasn’t a big tree, but there still wasn’t enough
room between the tree and Sanzo for Gojyo. He supposed he could just do it from
behind-- that would get the job done for sure. But it was a little less personal
than Gojyo wanted to be at the moment. He wanted Sanzo to have to fucking look
at him.
“We-ell, shit. This isn’t going to work,” he said. Aloud, to his eternal
shame. His luck had left him.
Sanzo took a deep breath. “Is your tongue even connected to your brain? What
the hell are you talking about? Let me go.”
“No, I just need to figure it out. Gimme a minute,” Gojyo said. He thought
for a few seconds. “Hey! I got it.”
Gojyo stepped back and dug in his jeans pocket for the key to the handcuffs. It
was a tiny thing; he would have to do this carefully. He pressed himself against
Sanzo’s back again, wrapped his arms about the tree trunk, and with one hand
he grabbed the cuff around Sanzo’s right wrist. With the other he fumbled the
key into the lock.
“About time! Shit!” Sanzo said.
He’d tried to break himself free, as Gojyo had known he would, but Gojyo used
his strength to yank Sanzo’s arms over his head, to a low tree branch, and
snap! He refastened them. Now he could just walk around and stand between
the tree, and Sanzo.
“There we go,” Gojyo purred. Awesome. Sanzo was still trapped, arms
secured and safe, but his feet were on the ground; he wasn’t just hanging
there. What Sanzo was doing was yanking at the branch, testing to see if
he could snap it. He couldn’t. He also tried to slide the cuffs along the
branch. He couldn’t.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Sanzo said again. He glared at Gojyo with those
purple-fire eyes of his. “What the hell are you doing? Are you just making
this up as you go along?”
“Yeah,” Gojyo admitted. He stepped onto Sanzo’s boots before Sanzo thought
to kick him, and slid his fingers over Sanzo’s cheeks to tickle the backs of
his ears. He kissed him for a moment, just lips on lips, feeling Sanzo’s
frustrated breaths tickling his nose-hairs. It was great, just as great as
he’d remembered. He grinned. He liked being in control. He liked saying
it like it was, not pretending it had never happened. “What, like I
know how to do this shit with guys? Don’t tell me you know better?”
“Tch,” Sanzo said, trying to turn his face away. But Gojyo had it trapped,
too. He sucked at Sanzo’s lower lip. Sanzo just let him. This was so much
fucking fun. He was going all gooey again. Yeah, front was the right way
to go.
“Maybe we could learn together?” Gojyo suggested against Sanzo’s lips, and
he slid one hand down to Sanzo’s side, under the open robe, just below his
armpit, feeling the slightly-damp and soft skin there. “Why don’t you tell
me what I oughta do next?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re going to let me go, so I won’t bother,”
Sanzo mumbled. But the expression in his eyes said he was... intrigued? Waiting
for whatever came next? Gojyo couldn’t decide.
And as if he couldn’t wipe his mouth because his hands were bound, Sanzo
licked his lips after he spoke, touching Gojyo’s mouth with his tongue. By
accident? Gojyo didn’t think so. So he took advantage and kissed Sanzo for
real. A lover’s kiss, tongue and all, a kiss that meant business. That was
even better. Kissing was the best part. Well, second or third best, at least.
Hell, it was all good. Why try to decide?
Gojyo was good at it, and he liked the chance to show off his skills. It worked
the same on guys and girls. Even with Sanzos. And this Sanzo liked it, ohyeshedid.
The way Gojyo slid his tongue slowly around the inside of Sanzo’s mouth,
pulling back every few seconds to lick Sanzo’s lips, tasting of river-water
and Sanzo; the way he let his thumbs drift over Sanzo’s cheeks, a light touch
that took its own damned time.
Sanzo’s breathing had become a desperate sound. He mumbled something but it
was muffled by Gojyo’s tongue. Gojyo wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it but he
pulled back, anyway.
“What?” he asked.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Just relax and enjoy it,” Gojyo told him, huffing a little in frustration.
If he had to be lovin’ guys, why the fuck did it have to be Sanzo
that did it for him? Why not someone like Hakkai, who in addition to
being pretty as hell, was a nice person? Nice to Gojyo, anyway. Someone who
might tell Gojyo what a legendary lover he was. With Sanzo, he wouldn’t get
any of that. He was getting paid by getting laid.
“Asshole,” Sanzo mumbled.
“Oh, just shut it,” Gojyo said, and then cut the dickwad-ish yammer off by
kissing him again. It was the game they had to play; Sanzo had to pretend he
didn’t want Gojyo, and Gojyo didn’t have to pretend anything, only make it
happen. He clenched the fingers of one hand into Sanzo’s hair, and put the
other inside Sanzo’s robe, fisting it in the small of his back, against damp
skin and knobbly spine. Pushing their stomachs together.
Sanzo made a sound somewhat between a curse and a whimper, and his body
stretched, and Gojyo could feel Sanzo’s breaths through his stomach, and it
was like nothing else, and Gojyo remembered why it was Sanzo. Besides the
pretty face. It was his repressed sensuality; the way he breathed, reacted
and moved without meaning to.
And the way Gojyo had to take charge. It was a major turn-on. Gojyo could never
pull this shit on a chick, or someone like Hakkai, someone who needed a little
pampering, or someone he really liked outside of this weird box he was
trapped in, where emotional and physical were all tied together.
Still, he took his sweet time, stretched out the kissing, the touching-- the
foreplay, basically. Of course, they were both guys; they didn’t really need
this slow build. The damned house had already been built and people had moved
in. Still.
Gojyo could hear his own blood rushing through his ears, feel his own stone-hard
dick, painfully straining against his jeans. Blood. He brought his hand
around to Sanzo’s cock again, and lightly ran his fingers along it before he
gripped it, hard, pulling at it like he do might his own. Back and forth a few
times, remembering the feel of it, the brush of the hairs at the base, the slick
roundness of the end.
Sanzo had stopped kissing him back; he was hardly standing, leaning into the
cuffs, leaning into Gojyo, hanging from the tree-branch. Gojyo pulled away a bit
and looked. Sanzo’s eyes were half-closed and Gojyo knew that expression:
Sanzo might have been asleep, except for the glitter of purple between his
eyelashes, intent on what was happening to him.
Gojyo slowed his hand: he was going to drag it out. He shoved a tongue in
Sanzo’s ear. He wondered if Sanzo heard the same rushing he did. Blood.
Pumping against his fingers, under his tongue. He thought about how you could
look at a person all day, every day, and not realize until you felt the beat of
their heart, the warmth of their skin, that blood was pumping furiously through
their veins, throughout their bodies, heating them. If he bit Sanzo, would he
bleed?
“Ya like that?” he whispered, instead.
“Fu--. Ba--. Go--.”
Sanzo couldn’t even curse correctly. That was Gojyo’s bonus pay, right
there. If Sanzo did it for him, well, then, he did it for Sanzo,
too. He was Legend.
“Tell me, Sanzo,” Gojyo said.
He moved his hand faster again, slicked it with some of the wetness created
between them, thumbing down along Sanzo’s cock, felt the throbbing, heard the
breaths in his hair coming shorter and faster. He wanted all the fight out of
Sanzo, wanted him to forget everything but what Gojyo could do to him.
He wanted to make another joke about pistols but he didn’t. The pull of that
whole emotional/physical mix was too strong, and Gojyo’s dick was too hard: he
wanted more, more more.
So he stopped what he was doing. Sanzo coughed.
With a will, Gojyo stepped back and watched Sanzo watching him. It wasn’t
quite a glare. Gojyo crossed his arms and hooked his fingers into the hem of his
sleeveless shirt and yanked it over his head.
He took a moment to survey his empire. Mine, mine, mine. Sanzo hung
there, purple eyes slowly regaining their focus, skin sheened with sweat, dick
jutting and pink with Gojyo’s efforts. Sanzo must be in some pain,
Gojyo thought with some sympathy and some little satisfaction. And Sanzo
couldn’t do a thing about it until Gojyo decided he could.
At the thought he touched his own cock lightly through his jeans. It drove him
nuts. He unhooked his jeans and only pulled them partway down, too impatient to
wait any longer.
This was gonna be tough, though, Gojyo thought. How the hell was he
going to hold Sanzo up? He still obviously hadn’t thought this
through. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all.
Then he had another idea. He called his shakou-jou.
“What the--?” Sanzo said when he saw it appear in Gojyo’s hand. Before he
could say anything else, Gojyo sliced through the tree branch. Sanzo’s arms,
cuffed at the wrists, fell forward. Gojyo put his palms flat together (praying
at the Temple of Sanzo? he wondered) and snaked them through the circle of
Sanzo’s arms. Sanzo’s hands clasped at the small of Gojyo’s back, forearms
resting on his hips. Gojyo’s longer arms were on the outside, and he could
still do whatever he wanted. Luck, or skill? Gojyo decided it was
probably luck.
“Sanzo,” Gojyo said, and sort of fell forward.
***
“Oof.”
Sanzo’s back hit the ground, forcing what little breath he had out of his
lungs. Gojyo’s lips were all over his face, his neck, his shoulders,
distracting him further.
He did realize that his hands were free, of any tree parts, at least. He thought
about using them to club Gojyo alongside the head, but with Gojyo all over his
face like that, what would that accomplish but to break his own nose?.
“I’m not your fucking rag doll,” he managed to breathe. It had been
starting to get a little annoying-- actually, a lot annoying-- all this
being tossed around and being manhandled, just to end up on the ground. Finally.
Sanzo was not the expert in such things, but this had to be a fine
example of a piss-poorly-planned seduction. Still, he had to admit that it was
ultimately effective. He was too worn down to fight, and he was restrained, and
his robe was all bunched around his arms, half-down his shoulders, hampering
him, and he couldn’t do anything anyway, Sanzo told himself.
“Mmph,” Gojyo said.
Idiot, Sanzo wanted to say. But Gojyo had shoved his tongue back down
Sanzo’s throat. Damn, but he was good at that shit, Sanzo had to admit
to himself. A thought he would never, ever, reveal to Gojyo. Cocky half-youkai
bastard.
Gojyo’s hands were pulling at Sanzo’s thighs. He rested his teeth at
Sanzo’s shoulders and Sanzo took a moment to breathe something other than
Gojyo.
Still. Sanzo knew what was coming, and half-feared it and half-wanted to
beg for it. Talk about cocky half-youkai bastards, though: trepidation was
winning out. The weight of Gojyo’s cock was pressing into his abdomen, and
he’d gotten a good look at it fully erect, besides. Sanzo’s first thought
was, how the hell was that going to fit? and his second was, how the
hell had it fit before and how the hell had he survived it? Yet another
thing he could never tell the red-headed bastard.
His knees were being lifted, his ass spread. Sanzo’s mouth ran on its own,
driven by a weird mixture of panic and lust that he could hardly control.
“Asshole. Why do I have to be the bitch again?”
Gojyo kneeled between Sanzo’s legs and gave him a grin so idiotic, so
beatific, it rivaled Goku at his most vulnerable.
“‘Cause you’re awesome, that’s why.”
Sanzo was shocked into further stupidity. The idiocy was obviously communicable.
“What?” was all he could say.
Gojyo shook his head, sending his hair swinging, and his face dropped that simpy,
adoring expression. “‘Cause you like it, I mean.”
“Who says?”
“You don’t hafta say,” Gojyo told him with that sly-dumb look he was so
good at. “Oh, shit, I almost forgot.”
“Forgot what?” Sanzo asked, stupidly. The dumb was growing. No wonder he
avoided sex. It was hard to think straight when your whole world revolved around
sensation and the throbbing ache in your dick and oh, god, please. In
that moment, he hated Gojyo more than usual and less than usual at the same
time.
Normally he wouldn’t even let Gojyo fight him, let alone touch him like this. Why
him? Sanzo didn’t know. The throbbing ache and oh god, please? He
decided he would hate Gojyo later.
Gojyo was fumbling with one hand somewhere near the ground. He grunted something
that sounded like, got it, and a few seconds later Sanzo felt something
slick hovering around the sensitive skin of his asshole, sliding around it, cool
and warm and hard and delicate at the same time oh god, please. Something
pushed inside him.
“How’s that?” Gojyo whispered into his ear, both words sending breaths to
tickle Sanzo’s nerves from his eardrum straight to his dick, as if it didn’t
have enough to worry about.
“How’s what?” Oh god, please.
“Hah,” Gojyo chuckled, and Sanzo felt the something inside him shift and oh
shit, a jolt that stopped his lungs from remembering how to breathe and
knotted something tight in his abdomen. He had to close his eyes; the
sensory input was becoming too much. Somewhere, Gojyo was still talking.
“This oughta help.”
“Uh,” Sanzo said.
“Thought so.”
The tops of Sanzo’s thighs were dragged up until they hit the bottoms of his
own forearms, shoved into Gojyo’s armpits, and the something inside him was
replaced by something else, and would Gojyo just hurry the fuck up and do it?
Sanzo was being impossibly stretched; it hurt. Every second seemed to become an
hour, and he couldn’t take it--
“Shit, Sanzo. I’m sorry-- I thought this would be easier--” Gojyo was
mumbling again, and Sanzo opened his eyes and saw a curtain of red hair and
Gojyo’s sweaty face, all screwed tight--
“Ah!” Sanzo said, as some barrier was breached. He felt flesh against his
balls, and he was stretched till it nearly killed him, split him open, and oh, holy
hell it felt good.
Gojyo expelled a breath. “Shit, Sanzo,” he whispered. His face had that
awed, dopey look again. “Fuck.”
Wasn’t that what they were doing? Sanzo wondered. Gojyo finally seemed
to realize this and started moving, sliding friction against Sanzo’s asshole,
out then in again, and Sanzo was empty then full, over and over. Whatever Gojyo
had used on him had worked; it was easier and better than last time. It
hurt less. Gojyo had been prepared. And on the fourth or fifth shove inside him
time he felt that jolt again, the one that controlled his body and felt like it
was filling his balls until they would explode--
He must have done something, said something or whimpered something, because
Gojyo spoke again.
“Ah, that’s gotta be it,” Gojyo said, and sped up his pace, hitting
there-- ah-- again and again, and something was slapping Sanzo’s ass,
and then he was breathing Gojyo’s breath again and breathing Gojyo’s tongue
along with his whispers of Sanzo. Gojyo was all over him, everywhere at
once, kissing, touching, inside; Sanzo dimly feared ceasing to be himself, his
own being, lost in sensation and that sense of joining. Something
clenched around his dick and Sanzo’s gut felt as if it had been grabbed hard
and twisted-- pressure just built, and grew, and never abated. His thoughts spun
crazily-- he was like his own gun, hammer cocked and the trigger only had to be
squeezed just a tiny bit more-- minutes passed that felt like years-- ah--
Then the trigger inside him was squeezed home all at once, in an instant,
repeated over and over, and the pressure collapsed and sped out from his body in
a rush, a river of release, and he came, shaking all over, on Gojyo’s hand. Over
and over.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Gojyo said, but he didn’t stop, just kept going,
and Sanzo realized that it was Gojyo’s balls hitting his ass and wondered why
he wasn’t more angry about it, but shit, he had to breathe--
Then Sanzo felt a pinch at his shoulder and realized that Gojyo’s teeth were
there, and Gojyo was sweaty and shaking and he’d stopped moving and had
collapsed on Sanzo again, chest heaving with Sanzo’s.
“Uh,” said Gojyo.
“Uh,” said Sanzo.
The sex idiocy was like a virus; it was forced home to Sanzo once more that
he’d made the right choice in not making a habit of it. He lost it, lost himself,
lost minutes hours of his life. Being a monk was definitely the correct
path for him. Not that it had changed anything, or helped, ultimately.
Still, for Sanzo, there was the weight of Gojyo atop him, and needing to catch
his breath and his thoughts, which skittered away from his mental fingers. At
some point he collected a few, enough to speak, at least.
“You’re crushing me, asshole.”
“Heh,” Gojyo said. His face had lost some of its stupidity. His expression
looked like it had wanted to become smug and then thought better of it.
Sanzo lifted his captured wrists and elbowed Gojyo in the ribs. Gojyo nodded,
then untangled his arms from Sanzo’s and scooted out from under and between
them.
Again, Sanzo briefly considered clenching his fingers together and using his
gathered fists as a club to knock the idiot senseless. But truthfully, his arms
were still a bit numb. Yeah, right. Instead, he sat up and leaned his
back on the tree behind his head. What he really wanted was a cigarette.
“Unlock these things,” he said.
“Hold your horses,” Gojyo said, sitting next to Sanzo, for some reason way
too relaxed and unafraid for his life. “I’ll find the key in a minute.”
“Cigarette, then, asshole,” Sanzo ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Gojyo said. Nicotine was something Gojyo, at least, understood.
Sanzo watched as Gojyo dug in a pocket for his pack of smokes and lighter, then
arched his back and pulled up his jeans. He didn’t fasten them. His stomach
looked sticky. There were leaves and pine needles stuck to it. Sanzo thought
about pointing this out, just to be a prick, but the realized he was in the same
sort of state. The sides of his robe were smeared with dirt. He didn’t even
want to think about what the back might look like. This shit was messy.
Gojyo lit two cigarettes and handed one to Sanzo.
Sanzo had to use both hands to bring the cigarette to his lips. It tasted
horrible and wonderful at the same time.
“Shitty damned light cigarettes,” he said.
“Thought you were quitting, Monk. Where are yours, anyway?”
“Tch. With my clothes.”
“Damn,” Gojyo said, breathing out a cloud of smoke. Somehow, Sanzo
didn’t think he was talking about Sanzo’s clothes, or cigarettes.
Sanzo looked around at the greens and the browns and the greys, unable to
confront the red and the flesh at the moment. He took a nice, long, hard drag,
inhaling the smoke, banishing the clear country air he’d hyperventilated
earlier. His head cleared amazingly.
“I am a fucking monk, you know,” he said, surprised at his own
mild, conversational tone. At the way he felt relaxed, boneless, drained. Not
even angry, really. Resigned, more like. “There are rules.”
Gojyo just laughed. “Whatever, you hypocrite. If Buddha’s got a problem with
fucking, after all the shit you do, then send him to me and we’ll hash it out
then.”
“Hmph,” Sanzo said, and took another drag. It was a fair enough statement.
Yet another thing he could never admit to Gojyo. He might still kill him. No,
Sanzo would definitely have to kill Gojyo. Or risk telling him things
Sanzo didn’t want to reveal. Gojyo was apt to become sentimental, a dangerous
thing. It might already be too late to avoid that. Ultimately Sanzo didn’t
care. He told himself that. All the time.
They smoked. Finally, Sanzo said it again. “Unlock these.”
Gojyo glanced at him, then. That calculating look had crept back into his red
gaze. He tossed his cigarette into the dirt and kneeled before Sanzo. “Okay.
First I wanna do something.”
“What now?” Sanzo asked. That look was giving him that twinge
in his gut again.
“This,” Gojyo said, and pulled the cigarette from Sanzo’s fingers and
tossed it away. Sanzo wanted to say, I was still smoking that crappy
cigarette, you asshole, but Gojyo had leaned forward and put his damned
mouth on Sanzo’s dick. It had already been slightly interested in Gojyo’s
expression. This just started it all twitching again.
“Pervert,” Sanzo choked out, and considered pounding the back of Gojyo’s
head with the handcuffs. But what would that accomplish? He’d probably
lose half his dick in the process and at the moment, he didn’t want to lose it
at all.
And fuck, the red-headed half-youkai bastard was good at that,
too, a real pro. Sanzo’s mind started to blank out again, and he tried to hold
onto it, but Gojyo’s long, clever fingers were squeezing his balls, squeezing
blood back into what Sanzo would have sworn was worn out and dormant. Obviously
not. His skin was already hyper-sensitive, the heat of Gojyo’s soft, wet
mouth a striking contrast to the roughness of his hand, earlier. The world
disappeared again, existing solely in and around his body, his belly, the
twisted slug of tension filling his gut--
The next thing Sanzo knew it seemed he was half-sitting on Gojyo’s knees, with
his back against the tree, and Gojyo was gripping his ass and spreading his
thighs again, what could he do but hook his wrists around Gojyo’s neck and
hold on?
***
This was Gojyo’s lucky day. Some lucky star was shining in Scorpio, creating
the luckiest-ass day that ever was. All was bright and shiny and full of
Sanzo’s sweaty, sticky skin, and Gojyo had to lift Sanzo halfway up the tree
to kneel and get a decent fucking angle again, and the damned monk was heavier
than he looked but it was all worth it to squeeze his dick into Sanzo’s ass--
Then there was only the oh shit, tight, warm and Sanzo wrapped around
him, thighs and arms clenching his body, head next to Gojyo’s, and he moved
with Gojyo like he was a part of him, and more, more more.
This time Gojyo lasted a little longer. A little. They landed in a heap
and Gojyo breathed and rested his arms, and decided that lovin’ guys was the
best thing ever.
Except it was getting dark, and they were all covered in come and sweat and
leaves and pine needles from the forest floor, and Hakkai would definitely
know something was up if they went back to camp looking like that. Hell, even Goku
might figure it out. Gojyo wasn’t sure what Sanzo was going to do with that
robe.
Gojyo sent up a small prayer-- not to Buddha or anyone associated with him, just
in case-- that the key to the handcuffs was in his jeans pocket. It was. Definitely,
it was his lucky day.
No more sulking, Gojyo decided. He would know better next time. He would
just go up to Sanzo, dangle the handcuffs, and say, wanna do this the easy
way? He pulled up his jeans, again, and crouched as he unlatched the
handcuffs. Despite his mental bravado, he was prepared to run.
But Sanzo just leaned back against the tree and rubbed his wrists for a while.
His blonde bangs covered his eyes as he spoke. “I’m going to find those
someday and kill you with them, you know,” he said.
Gojyo huffed a little and lit a smoke. He didn’t light one for Sanzo. He
wasn’t ready just yet for the asshole Sanzo to return. For the pretending
it had never happened to return. Then, with some little flash of insight
that sounded like Hakkai’s voice, he realized that this would be the price he
had to pay if he really wanted Sanzo. The same behavior as always, from a person
who simply dealt with each situation as it arose, in the only way he knew how.
Sanzo was a control freak-- Gojyo knew some part of this had to be difficult for
Sanzo to wrap his mind around. Would Sanzo be Sanzo if he were any nicer?
We each deal with our lives in our own ways, Gojyo could hear Hakkai
saying.
Gojyo was in for a rough time of it, that was for sure. He released a nervous
chuckle. “What’s really in that fucking book you’re always reading?” he
finally countered.
Sanzo understood the reference. “None-ya,” he said, quoting Gojyo, then
grimaced, as if at his own lack of humor.
“Was it helping, with whatever? Your craving?” Gojyo continued, a little
stunned at his own daring. Saying it like it was was hard to do,
sometimes.
“Logic and discipline are things you probably couldn’t understand,” Sanzo
said, but the insult lacked its usual punch. Probably because Gojyo had deserved
it for being so damned nosey. Still.
“Your mind ain’t as logical as you like to think, Monk,” he said. Now
I’ll probably die, he thought.
But wonder of wonders, Sanzo didn’t kill him. “Striving to better ourselves
is not a waste of time,” he said, and stood.
Gojyo had no reply for that. He watched as Sanzo kicked off his boots. He pulled
off his robe and gave Gojyo a small glare that dared him to say anything.
Gojyo didn’t.
Sanzo turned and walked back towards the river. He set his hands on his hips and
stared at the water. Gojyo looked at Sanzo’s back, at the scars. We each
deal with our lives in our own ways.
Sanzo fell into the water, disappeared for a minute, then resurfaced, sputtering
and pink.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Sanzo yelled. Gojyo just watched. Sanzo crawled
out and began to dress. He looked clean, though. Gojyo looked down at the mess
he’d made of himself.
“How deep is that water?” Gojyo asked, finally.
“Find out for yourself,” Sanzo said, and continued to dress. He was doing it
very slowly, piece by piece: sleeveless black shirt; armbands; once-white robe
only pulled up halfway to hide the dirt; sash. Gojyo didn’t think Sanzo meant
it as a reverse strip-tease, so he didn’t make any smart remarks. Gojyo saw
the gun and book disappear somewhere into the bunched-up waist of Sanzo’s
robe.
Gojyo stood and walked over to stand on the riverbank. He couldn’t see the
bottom of the river; Sanzo had stirred it up. He stuck in a toe. Fuck, it was
cold. Gojyo gained a bit more respect for Sanzo’s courage.
He couldn’t match it. He just stared at the water.
“Some fucking kappa you are,” Sanzo said from behind him. Gojyo hadn’t
heard him come up. Another little bit of respect crept into his brain. Then a
doubt.
“Shit!” Gojyo said, and started to turn, but he was too late. A boot caught
him in the ass and he fell face-forward towards the water: he was going to
drown. He hit the surface and where the hell had that water come from, the
Arctic? he wondered. It was like ice needles, and he was drowning!
Then he realized he could stand, and it was only waist-high. Still too deep.
Gojyo scrambled for the bank, hoping he made it before he froze to death.
“Asshole! That was really fucking cold,” he yelled, but Sanzo was already
heading down the path and his back as he walked said all it needed to say: fuck
off and die.
Gojyo shivered and watched him go. He would have laughed but he was too damned
cold.
END.
Thank you for Reading!
End Notes:
* The title, “Aitsu no Ai--” I don’t know if this is an actual Japanese
phrase, but it would be translated something like “that damn guy’s love”
or “that guy’s love,” I think. I just liked the way it sounded in
Japanese. ;)
* The stuff in Sanzo’s book I found by Googling the Internets: It’s called,
I believe, the “Majjhima Nikaya I, Mahatanhasankhayasuttau 38, the Major
Discourse on the Destruction of Craving.”
*All comments, constructive criticism, flames, etc., appreciated! This is it for
this story-line, I swear! After all the silliness, next I’ve gotta write
something really dark and nasty. Like a Bunny doujinshi. Heh heh.
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