Sanzo tilted his head, contemplating the matter. God knew what was going on behind those black rimmed, violet eyes. Gojyo surely had no notion. Sanzo’s motives were — vague, at best. Sanzo’s loyalties — well one could only make the wildest suppositions about those. Where his heart lay was anyone’s guess. If he had one.
What Gojyo did know was that he was a creature who appreciated physical comforts. He took care in how he looked, he was particular in the things he ate. He was picky as hell when it came to beds and baths and other personal luxuries. Not monk-like at all. Rather the extreme opposite in so many ways.
Which was just as well. Gojyo might have felt a bit of remorse, or at least moral discomfort, having such blatantly lustful thoughts about a spiritually pristine devotee of god. Or Buddha.
He shifted a little, Sanzo’s weight pressing down on the stiffness between his legs, becoming uncomfortable. The weight of the gun on his chest was a deterrent. He was not entirely certain that Sanzo wouldn’t shoot him. And he had suggested something that any self-respecting monk would take great offense at. Sanzo had taken a large amount of abuse tonight. His patience had very definite limits which Gojyo was certain had been reached and surpassed already. A smart man would have to tread very carefully to achieve his goals, which at the moment included staying alive most importantly and secondarily, but no less urgently, assuaging the throbbing hard-on in his pants.
He’d lied about the unimpressive lay thing. He’d had to with Sanzo glaring and tossing insults about like celebratory confetti both then and now. He’d lied about not recalling the event. He recalled it in vivid detail. Nine times out of ten, Sanzo made a mean, sullen drunk. Gojyo had gotten lucky on that tenth time. Had found the invitation — accidental at best — to be more than alluring. Had found he rather liked having Genjo Sanzo, befuddled and accommodating from one too many shots of bourbon, under him. Having the upper hand for a change — oh, very much the upper hand and very much in control of an otherwise uncontrollable creature — had been more intoxicating than the booze. It had happened maybe four months ago and there wasn’t a night went by that a memory of it didn’t flash across his mind — or other places. Maybe it was because there were damn few women out here that he wanted to lay, or that were safe enough, or that he had a chance in hell of ever succeeding with. There was always something that kept him from waking up in a stranger’s bed.
“Okay,” he said reasonably, slowly lifting a hand and surreptitiously sliding it up Sanzo’s leg. “I’d feel better if you pointed that somewhere else.”
“I’m sure you would.” The gun didn’t move. Sanzo didn’t, but there was no protest over Gojyo’s hand on his leg, either. Gojyo wondered just how much of that night, months ago, that the monk remembered.
“I’m not saying that this is acceptable.” Sanzo said, sounding surly and put upon. “You got us into this by running your damned big mouth.”
“Who has a big mouth?” Gojyo lifted both brows. “I seem to recall pulling our fat out of the fire back there. He would have loved adding bits and pieces of you to that bone pile. Your lily white hands would have made a nice addition to the collection on the wall.”
“He! Who the hell is he, anyway?”
“Does it matter? Somebody that’s pissed as hell at humans right now. Somebody that probably got reamed somewhere along the way and is looking for a little payback.”
“Youkai’s don’t need reasons these days to slaughter the innocent.” Sanzo said, a sneer in his voice that hinted at just what esteem he held most youkai. You wouldn’t think he was traveling with three of them.
Gojyo drew his brows, annoyed. “There’s always reasons. And who’s innocent anyway?”
“Fool!” Sanzo glared.
“Hypocrite.” Gojyo shot back and when Sanzo lifted the hand with the gun maybe in threat, maybe just in an annoyed gesture of his arm, Gojyo lunged up and caught it, wrapping his fingers around Sanzo’s wrist and forcing gun and arm over the side of the bed.
“Let it go.” They were twisted half over the edge of the bunk. Sanzo had leverage on him, Gojyo was stronger.
“Fuck you.” Sanzo hissed.
“In a minute. Drop the damn gun, monk!”
It took jarring his hand against the wooden frame of the bunk to make Sanzo release his grip on the revolver. It hit the floor with a solid thunk. Gojyo rolled the moment he felt the weight of it leave Sanzo’s hand, taking Sanzo with him in a concerted migration in the other direction towards the wall. Sanzo’s shoulder hit stone. His head barely missed it, which was just as well, since Gojyo did have some sympathy for the concussion he was probably carrying around. He doubted Sanzo cared a whit about the hole in his back. He hardly noticed it at the moment, intent as he was, on more interesting things.
He had a fight on his hands, which wasn’t a bad thing, this up close and personal, with this particular mood upon him. He got their positions reversed by virtue of long limbs, strength and the sudden advantage of the leverage that Sanzo had lost.
“Get off, you half-breed bastard!!”
“Make me.” The robes were a hindrance. More to Sanzo than Gojyo.
“I changed my mind. Get the fuck off.”
“No you didn’t. You just wanted to make a fight out of it.”
“You are so full of shit. I will fucking kill you if you don’t get off me!!”
Gojyo canted his head curiously, leaning over the monk, hair tickling the sutra upon Sanzo’s shoulders, fingers biting into Sanzo’s wrists as he put his weight into holding him down.
“Really?” Sometimes with Sanzo, it was hard to tell where the bluff and bluster ended and where honest emotion began. God knew there was enough of the former and not a whole damn lot of the latter. At least not that he ever showed.
Sanzo opened his mouth. Shut it, a little wariness crossing his face, a little scrap of indecision.
Gojyo leaned down and kissed him. Pressed his lips over Sanzo’s generous mouth in post open-mouthed foreplay. Just a lingering exploration of lips that were a damned sight softer and more pliable than a body would ever think considering the abuse that spewed forth from them. Sanzo parted them slightly, a little sign of acceptance, and Gojyo let go a wrist to tangle his fingers in soft golden hair. Let go the other to pull at the sutra and the ornamentation at the front of Sanzo’s robes, tossing the lot of it on the floor with the gun.
He got a tongue in his mouth then, and moaned at the heated, fleshy muscle that thrust between his teeth, filling his mouth, battling for dominance with his own tongue. Always a dominance game with Sanzo. Always the need to be alpha male.
Not this time. Not in this. Gojyo tore at the belt of his robes, even as Sanzo was pushing the vest off his shoulders. He took a precious moment to shed the vest and the shirt under it, before plunging back down to the body under his. He got the robes pushed aside and under them was a sleek black sleeveless body shirt, and long, fingerless arm warmers. And not much else. A pair of black silken boxers than Gojyo ran his fingers over with sheer amazement. Where did one find such things out here? He was impressed. He pushed his fingers up under the shirt, sliding it up Sanzo’s chest, following afterwards with his lips and tongue. The arm warmers were just fucking erotic, with the pale arc of his bare shoulders between the stark black of glove and shirt. It had never once failed to turn his head — from day one — when Sanzo stripped down the top of his robes and sauntered around in those. Sex on two legs with the blessing of Buddha to back him up.
Fuck. Gojyo fastened his mouth around one pale, pebbly nipple, heard Sanzo give up an involuntary sound of pleasure and worked the nub of flesh the harder for it. He reached between them and squeezed the flesh hidden beneath the silk of Sanzo’s boxers. Worked his hand back and forth until Sanzo drew shuddery, uneven breath and hissed at him.
“Do it. Just do it!”
He ignored the command, moving his mouth instead to the ignored nipple, and slipping his hand inside the slit of Sanzo’s shorts. His fingers encircled hot flesh. Soft sheathed, rigid flesh that throbbed with the erratic beat of the monk’s heart. Sanzo moaned, fingers biting into Gojyo’s shoulder, tangling in his hair. The bandanna came off and Gojyo’s hair, only marginally held in check spilled over Sanzo’s pale chest, getting in the way of Gojyo’s lips, slipping into his mouth as he worked his way down the center of Sanzo’s belly. He hesitated, shifting to his knees between Sanzo’s legs, his fingers still sliding up and down the length of Sanzo’s cock, slipping further down to cup his balls and finger the warmth of the opening just behind them. Tight as hell, regardless of how aroused Sanzo might be at the moment. He needed something to ease the way for the both of them. He had a vial of the oil he used on the shaku jou in his vest pocket. It would do. Fervently, he wriggled out of his pants, paused to pull the boxers down Sanzo’s long, pale legs, then poured a dollop of oil in the palm of his hand and coated the length of his straining manhood.
He wanted inside Sanzo badly. Wanted that heat and that constriction suffocating his throbbing cock. But more than that, he wanted to pierce the barricade, shatter the cold arrogance. He wanted control and he wanted submission. He wanted in this act, if in nothing else between them, to prove himself the dominate male. To enter into that hard, pale body and spill his seed.
It was so arousing a thought that he almost growled as he pushed Sanzo’s thighs apart, grasped his knees and shoved them forward, baring the vulnerable side of him. Sanzo was watching him, his hands stroking his own erection rhythmically, thick lashes at half mast, eyes glittering with — something. Passion. Expectation. Speculation. Annoyance. Who knew. Gojyo couldn’t find it in himself to care much at the moment.
He leaned his weight forward, pressing Sanzo’s knees almost to his chest, making the monk grunt a little at his weight. A wolfish grin crossed his face.
“Now?” he asked.
“Fuck you.” Sanzo gasped.
Gojyo lifted a brow.
“Fuck me.” Sanzo clarified unwillingly.
Gojyo pressed the overheated tip of himself against Sanzo’s cleft. Shifted his hips and forced his way into that tight opening and heard Sanzo’s sharp intake of breath. He had the head of himself inside and hovered there, shuddering at the feel of constriction. Shuddering in anticipation of what it would feel like to have all of him sheathed in such wonderfully tight flesh.
If it had been a woman, he’d have taken it slower, been gentler. Hell, if it had been a man who hadn’t just been waving a gun at him and calling him foul names, he would have been kinder about it. But it wasn’t. It was Sanzo and something in him needed to fuck him hard enough and rough enough to leave impressions. He shoved himself in with one powerful thrust, grinding his hips against the underside of Sanzo’s thighs, feeling himself engulfed deep inside the pulsing fire of Sanzo’s body. He pulled out and slammed back in with all the fervor of animal overwhelmed by the scent of a bitch in heat. Sanzo cried out the first time. He ground his teeth afterwards and curled his fingers in the folds of his robes under him. Gojyo felt it when his body began to adapt to the intrusion. Felt it as the pain began to melt away and turn into something else. He heard it as the quiet, hissing breaths turned into panting, inarticulate gasps. The aggression was gone from the monk’s violet eyes; everything was but glazed passion. His mouth was slack with it. Lips swollen and inviting.
Gojyo broke his rhythm to press down and take advantage, plunging his tongue in as relentlessly as he’d plunged the flesh between his legs into Sanzo’s body. Sanzo’s arms twined about his neck, pulling him down, not fighting for control this time, merely desperate to initiate the contact that would meld them together, straining his hips against Gojyo’s loins, hungry to crucify himself upon Gojyo’s engorged member. He squeezed his hands between them to work himself, while Gojyo strained over him, hands pressed to the mattress on either side of his head.
Sanzo came with a spasmodic jerk, spurting hot seed over his belly. He tossed his head to the side, eyes almost invisible under the tousled mass of his bangs. Gojyo pulled his lips back in satisfaction, barely holding onto control himself. Wanting to release so bad it felt like he might explode if he didn’t give into the urge. But he had more practice than the monk. He had more staying power to be sure and he wasn’t willing to win this by a hairsbreadth, he wanted to win by a mile. He picked up his pace again, shifting to get the leverage he needed, remorseless and glorying in it. It felt like vengeance of a sort. Maybe it was. It surprised him. Shocked him enough that he lost his hold on control and came with a shuddering surge, emptying himself inside of Sanzo. That overwhelming relief blanked his mind of everything but the gratification that only orgasm could achieve.
For a moment he lay there, sweaty skin against sweaty skin, then of a sudden he pushed himself back against the end of the bunk, pressing his back against the cool stone of the wall, dazed and out of breath, staring at Sanzo, who lay sprawled with his legs wantonly spread like the whore Gojyo had accused him of being. Not a cheap whore though. A damned high dollar one and there would be a price to pay for this, that was for certain.
Something in Sanzo’s eyes shifted. Something came back — or left, but they narrowed all the same and moved away from Gojyo for a moment while he sat up and pulled the rumpled edges of his robe about his lower body. Gojyo couldn’t be certain — not for sure — but he thought the monk was flustered and trying to hide it. Maybe as much as he was from that frantic bout of — mating? Could you call it that when it wasn’t taking place with a female of the species. Fucking, he supposed was a more adequate term for what they’d done. Or rutting. He’d felt like an animal while he was about it.
Sanzo pushed himself up and winced, then more carefully positioned himself against the wall opposite Gojyo, the robes bunched about his waist and legs, his black top still pushed up enough to bar a span of smooth, lean stomach and the pit of his navel.
“You son of a bitch, bastard!” It was not quite a hiss.
Gojyo’s eyes drifted up from Sanzo’s mid-section to focus on his face.
“Yeah, right on both counts.”
“You liked it.”
Sanzo opened his mouth. Shut it. The eyes flickered away for a fraction of a second, then back, challenging, angry.
It pissed Gojyo off, that derision on the monk’s face. The air of triviality in his tone. He lunged forward and Sanzo brought up a knee to ward him off, snarling at him wordlessly to keep his distance. Gojyo leaned close, his belly pressed against Sanzo’s knees, and reached down to wipe a smear of semen off the skin of the monk’s stomach.
“Yeah? Then what’s this? Imaginary cum?”
“Fuck you.” Sanzo pushed him away. Hard.
There was a scratching at the door, the sound of someone or something rustling outside it. Sanzo drew a breath, leaning over the side of the bed looking for the gun. Gojyo waved a silent hand at him, mouthing for him to keep the gun hidden.
“Its the same ones who escorted us here.” He said softly. “They’ve been out there the whole time.”
The monk stared at him, the gun still in hand.
“You didn’t think they were gonna just leave us here all by our lonesome, did you?”
Sanzo mouthed something foul. Said it again under his breath and the flat stare turned into a deadly glower. It wasn’t exactly directed at Gojyo.
“So we had an audience.” Gojyo said, “They’ll go back and say we made proper use of the room and that’ll be that.”
Gojyo shrugged and winced as a finger of pain lanced his back. He twisted his hand around to feel at the bandaged wound and his fingers came away red with new blood.
“Serves you right.”
“Your head hurt?”
Another foul look. It softened after a moment to one of resentful resignation. “It didn’t help, with you slamming it up against the wall.”
“Shut up. Come here.”
The monk pried away the blood crusted wrappings. He had deft and gentle fingers when it suited him. Gojyo hardly felt a thing.
“I thought this had closed.” Sanzo muttered, then. “Idiot. Goku has more sense.”
Gojyo didn’t feel the urge to argue that point. Not for the moment at any rate. Sanzo swung his legs over the bunk and stood. An offended look briefly crossed his face and he glowered once more in Gojyo’s direction.
“What?” Gojyo complained.
“There’s — you — nothing! Just nothing!”
One could well imagine the causes for that look. The beginnings of soreness coming in at full speed or — somewhat less savory — Gojyo’s leaving’s seeping down his thigh. Oh, Sanzo wouldn’t like that at all. Gojyo hid the lower part of his face in his arm and watched the monk stalk to the door. Watched him yank it open only to have a gaggle of rangy youkai almost tumble into the room at the sudden lack of support.
“Nasty animals!!” Sanzo snarled at them, glaring down imperiously. “Go get me some clean water and bandages. Now.”
“You don’t tell us what to do.” One of them snarled back, indignantly gaining his feet. Sanzo stepped up to him, shorter by half a hand’s breadth and none the less fierce for it. “Just do it.”
You had to have balls to match glares with Sanzo and come out on top. And a strength of will that this youkai did not come close to. The youkai backed down, shifting his eyes away from Sanzo’s nervously. Sanzo slammed the door on the rest of them and put his back to it, uneasy now that the audience was gone. Tired. They were both damned tired. It had been a long day and promised to be a longer night trapped in this nest of rouge youkai.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t been so tired his head was spinning — or maybe that was concussion — and so sore that his body just wanted to slump into a puddle on the floor, all loose limbed and liquid, he might have been able to work up more of a show of indignity towards Gojyo for that little bit of — recreation — they’d engaged in. As it was, it was just too damned much effort to put up a front of animosity — when all he really wanted to do was sleep. Only sleeping here wasn’t safe — at least not for the both of them at the same time, and he hated the notion of the youkai lurking outside in the hall and them without a lock on the door to keep them out during the depths of the night. He hated feeling that assailable. Something in him screamed rebellion at himself being vulnerable — exposed — defenseless. Always had. Well for as long as he could remember and memory for Genjo Sanzo began in the halls and gardens of the monastery he’d grown up in. The time before that was — hazy at best. If given the choice, he’d rather eat nails than dwell on that missing chunk of his life. It didn’t matter that there was no memory of mother or father, because he’d done perfectly well without their guidance.
Sanzo blinked and stared at Gojyo, who was laying on his side, newly bandaged and frowning down at him from the other end of the bunk.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why?”
“Your eyes are all funny. Dilated. Like you’re stoned or your head’s gonna explode or something.”
It felt like the latter might happen. Experiencing the former at the moment would have been like a little chunk of nirvana. He sighed and shut them, leaning his head up against the stone wall. “Just go to sleep. I’m not sitting up all damned night keeping watch.”
“You’re the one who volunteered.” Gojyo said defensively.
“You’re the one who’s fucking bleeding.”
“Its not like us being awake or not is gonna stop them if they decide to come barging in.”
If Gojyo didn’t shut up, Sanzo thought he might start screaming. He wanted silence. Complete, merciful silence. He wanted a soft pillow under his head instead of a hard stone wall. He wanted — and this want slipped in under his guard, taking advantage of fatigue and pain — himself and Gojyo safely out of here, and Goku and Hakkai safe and sound and not drowned. He wanted things back to their rightful order.
Gojyo had retreated into stillness. Sanzo slitted his eyes to look and found the other had pillowed his head on his arm and lay breathing quietly. Asleep maybe. Just like that. Wine red hair spilled over his cheek to hide a great deal of his face. A convenient shield for Sha Gojyo. From what Sanzo could see of his back, there were a dozen little half scabbed over wounds from the wooden shrapnel he’d taken in the explosion. There were a few fresher gouges from Sanzo’s nails. He frowned at that. Disconcerted by the memory. Dismayed by the loss of control. Appalled that Gojyo had driven him to it — and that he’d liked it. Physically it had felt good. Mentally — well mentally it had fed something, too. He didn’t care to dwell on that either. He shoved it into the recesses of his mind reserved for disagreeable things.
He was so tired. It crept up on him now that adrenaline or pride were not present to keep him in motion. His head felt thick with it. Maybe that was from the knocks he’d taken. Maybe they were merely catching up to him. He forced his lids open, staring muzzily at the bleak wall with its spiderweb network of cracks in the plaster. He couldn’t hear the youkai in the hall. But then again, he hadn’t heard them the first time, when Gojyo claimed to have known they were out there all the time. Damn Gojyo for not saying, anyway. The notion of fucking for an audience was not a pleasing one. The images of their leering faces made him want to shoot something.
His lashes drifted down.
He came awake slumped down in his corner with Gojyo’s hand on his shoulder and Gojyo’s tense face above his.
“Somebody’s coming. A bunch of somebody’s.”
Sanzo mouthed a cursed and tried to chase the cobwebs from his head. They clung with stubborn resistance. He reached blindly for the gun, hidden in the blankets between him and the wall. Gojyo’s fingers covered his hand, stopping him.
“Just give it a second, okay? Let’s see what happens—”
What happened was the door being slammed open without so much as a polite rap to warn of the intrusion. What happened was a herd of eager youkai crowding the doorway — more than he had bullets for by far. Despair pushed through them, an enigmatic smile on his lips. His eyes flickered over them, over Sanzo personally, Sanzo thought, with a great deal of disdain.
“I’ve come to invite you, Sha Gojyo, to a celebratory feast of sorts.” He purposefully neglected to mention Sanzo in the summons. He purposefully ignored him after that first insulting glance. Sanzo ground his teeth and kept his face neutral.
“Celebrating what?” Gojyo asked, shifting a little to cross an ankle over his knee, and prop an elbow on that. Hair spilled down his back and across bare shoulders.
Despair smiled at him and beckoned. “You’ll like it. No threat to you, I promise.”
Gojyo canted his head back towards Sanzo, silent question. Despair’s smile turned a little less civil, but it was still there.
“No humans invited. But my word he’s safe here.”
“Okay.” Gojyo grunted and reached for his shirt.
Sanzo blinked at the acceptance. Opened his mouth in protest, then shut it, not willing to voice it in front of the youkai. He trusted Despair’s word about as far as he could throw Jeep in its vehicular form. There wasn’t much to do about it, with Gojyo sauntering towards the door, with Despair clasping a hand on his shoulder like they were dear old friends.
Then they were out and the youkai trailed after, casting dark, hungry looks behind them at Sanzo. The door shut behind them and he was alone. He took a breath, listening for the sounds of them outside. All he hear was the pounding rush of blood in his head. There was nothing to barricade the door with. The single table was too spindly to be of any use. If he drifted back to sleep — and he had no certainty that he could stop it, the way his head was — he’d have no warning if they decided to defile this room with their presence. He slipped his fingers under the blanket and felt the cool surface of the gun. Almost a full chamber. He had other defenses. He lay down in the spot Gojyo had vacated, taking the gun with him. His eyes fixed on the shaku jou by the door. The fool had left it behind and walked among them without protection.
Idiot. Idiot. Why did he have to constantly deal with idiots?