Title: Jack of All Trades and Master of None
Series: Saiyuki Reload
Rating: T
AN: Listen to Roses by Poets of the Fall. It fits perfectly.
Gojyo's breath stopped, or was that his heart, he wasn't sure. Somewhere his brain went into panic mode, this was bad, really, really bad, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. As the scene unfolded around him all he was capable of processing was that he wasn't alone anymore, someone had come for him. Him.
The air was heavy with the scent of blood, the screams echoed shrilly in his ears, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Like a train wreck or a fiery sunset enshrouded in purple light, somewhere between horror and glorious strength and beauty, he was utterly enraptured.
When the screaming died away and only the soft puff of breaths could be heard there was the gentle muffled sound of cloth billowing out, caught by the wind and rain, a cloak or shroud fluttering around pale skin and dusky vines and glittering green eyes hidden behind coffee stained hair.
Dark inky stains splattered to the floor, soaked through crisp white cotton, was touched by a hesitant tongue, licked, brought up to sharp fangs and disappeared into warm wetness. He wasn't sure what to say or if he should say anything at all, but the silence was just too loud in his head.
Footsteps fell, carried by the wind he could see them walking towards him, but they sounded so terribly far away. Gentle fingers caressed his cheek, a soft sadness that lingered in the air between them as they righted him. Set him straight.
Razors masquerading as nails shredded the ropes entwining his wrists effortlessly, and in the pale moonlight he thought he saw something glimmer in those deep green eyes as he crouched beside him. Maybe they were both crazier than hell. What a pair they made.
Clawed fingers struggled with tiny clasps, exasperation hanging in the night, unspoken requests and acceptance as he held out his hand in offering, and was gifted with a silent declaration of trust. Trust, him, funny that.
Meaningless chit-chat, full moons and easy friendship, he could get use to this, he really could. Having someone to come to his aid, to get into trouble with and waste quiet nights at home with nothing to do or say and still be completely at peace with life with, to be a family with. Family, he liked the sound of that.
And when the bounds are tested, shattered by the unruly needs of the flesh, let loose by fermented rice and honey; when gasps and moans and touches are given, forced, taken, and accepted, encouraged, even cried for, what then? What's next?
Are there sideways glances and hushed voices or slammed doors and baleful curses? Or something else? Would this little family fall apart like the reality he's always known, or could he be dreaming? Are those strong hands sliding down his chest, folding over his heart and whispering into his ear, worming their way into his brain and blood, calling for him? Him?
And in the darkness of his dreams there is light, soft and glowing green; a warmth that spreads through him and heals him and he finally understands. He's come home. Home.
And wouldn't you know it, he's not alone anymore. There's someone waiting there in the doorway, hand outstretched, covered in vines and beckoning him into the light and warmth.
Him.
Yeah, they must both be crazier than hell. But that's family for you.
That's family.
Fin.