A/N: I wrote the first two chapters of this while in Sacramento, writing longhand in a wide-rule notebook in blue pen. It was a new and interesting experience, because normally I just bang things out on the computer. Anyway, writing in the car is tough. But hopefully this isn't too awful ^.^
This is a set of three...vignettes? Musing fits? Scenes...involving Gojyo, Hakkai, and Sanzo, in that order. Because I am lazy and poetic, you'll have to pay attention to my grammar. When verbs are in present tense, it's right inside the character's head, a play-by-play of what's happening. When verbs are in past tense, they refer to the prior night. A lot of the time there'll be a present-tense sentence followed immediately by one referring to the past, without a paragraph break in between. For the sake of poetics, I got lazy with coherency ^.^
Disclaimer: Saiyuki isn't mine. *heavy sigh*
Warnings: Shounen-ai, smut, language, probable OOC. For some reason, the farther into Saiyuki fandom one goes, the less affectionate Sanzo gets. While I admit he's not a huggy bunny, he -does- smile every once in a while. At least, in the anime he does *hugs her DVDs*
If you've gotten through all that, I hope you enjoy this...and remember: Ulterior motives are like a Visa card. Never leave home without one.
***
Gojyo:
*
It's morning again. Blessed sunrise for warmth, cursed for light. I hate sunlight waking me up. But I love being warm. If nothing else, right here is warm. The sky outside, from what I can see, is deceptively orange and red, sunrise painting the spent clouds that exhausted themselves in last night's storm. And what a storm. Even the unmitigated frugality of a godless monk with a divinely limited charge card couldn't keep us from boarding at the nearest inn.
It was just luck, karma, whatever, that let this place be anomalously lush in respite from the wind. I'd expected to conk out alone in my own room (there are times I like the saru for the amenities his whining brings) but I had to change plans, and fast.
It's still cold outside, despite the brightness of the sky. I'd left the window open to hear the rain and let the biting air in. It felt so good. And snuggling into my cocoon is good now.
Warm and soft and only slightly yielding, his body curls with mine. For something so pale, he is accommodating. He sighs in sleep, just an extra emphasis to one exhalation on the side of my neck. If I wanted, just a slight tilt of my head would again bring my mouth to his. But now matter how sweet sake could make him, I care little to compound mutual morning breath. Now there's a thought.
Come to remembering, there had not been a single drop of liquor involved. Which was not the likely scenario, by my earlier calculations. Don't get me wrong; this wasn't a premeditated thing. Oh, no. Only he and Sanzo have the capacity to turn me on, and I hadn't known half of -that- 'till last night. It's this thing I have about people being sad. Him staring off into the distance is just as bad as a girl crying sometimes. I made it better the only way I knew how. It was one of the more stupid things I've ever done, I think.
In my defense, he caught me off-guard. Rainstorms send him to corroborate with Sanzo, and not even -God- could know what really goes on behind their closed door. Rain means a lot to both of them, I guess, but only Gonou's story means something to me. I was involved. It was raining when I found him. Ironic.
That was part of it. He came to -my- room, and, though I gave him chance to leave, he stayed. Sober and solemn, he stayed. Maybe he couldn't find Sanzo or something like that, but I know what it means and, I gotta admit, I was flattered.
It struck me, the dryness of him. Not only in terms of sobriety, but just dry warmth. I was slightly damp, naturally humid just from having the window open. But he was impeccably, inviolably dry. Like he'd fight before he let the rain physically affect him. Weird-dry, untouched. He's dry now, relatively, but there's sweat on him, oil on him from my skin.
I realize it may look like I'm holding him. My head's higher because my neck's longer, but really his grip is dominant. One hand over my waist, the other behind my cheek, palming the scars so that they itch. I nuzzle into his hand to scratch, and the feeling is luxuriant. Oh, please, don't wake up yet and look at me.
His eyes fuck with me something awful. When he's not concentrating on it, he's transparent in disturbing ways. He looked me in the eyes last night and I lost the comment I was going to make. He sat by the window, but away from it at the same time. He didn't talk because that would have been pointless. I stood at the edge of his precipice, watching him tumble down and not even able to estimate the depth or impact upon landing. It was disquieting, and touching him seemed natural. Just one hand on his shoulder, my thumb pressing into the knot at the base of his neck. He breathed a sigh, barely audible against the rain. A half-concealed whimper. And he leaned into me, through the back of his chair.
I wonder if Sanzo ever touched him like I did, taking the unmonkly route of carnal comfort to clear both their heads so they could revel in their pain. It's not the sorrow but the mental image of the two of them that's making me stiffen against his leg. And he's naked as I am, snuggled into me, so he's bound to feel it. Hakkai sleeps light.
I kind of want him to wake up, just to see how he'd react to a boner against his thigh. He moves a little, huffing in sleep as he is prone to do. (The first couple of times I'd heard it in Jiipu out on clear camp-outs, I thought it was a sneak attacker sneezing or something. Imagine the chagrin when I realized what it was.) Oh. Warmth does him good, apparently, because that's not his leg.
I hadn't suspected I was that tall. Although the vertigo applied when he'd rested his cheek against my fly. That was an oh-God moment if ever there was one. There I was, massaging an emotionally distraught, unstable young man that happened to be my best friend and suddenly I was entertaining images of his mouth wrapped around my cock. And he knew it, because he glanced up at me and I could just tell. It was the Hakkai's-getting-what-he-wants face.
Which probably meant I was a cheap consolation fuck, but that had occurred to me and I still went through with it. Consolation nothing, I made him -scream-. Insofar, of course, as loud noises could be made, both for the sake of decency and the capacity of his throat. But the sounds that came from him were hoarse and needy, those sweet whimpers and gasps when he was too far gone to articulate my name past the first syllable. Soft-spoken he may be, but an astonishing array of noises issue from him when the right buttons are pressed. Or bitten.
Now I want him awake to leave so I can jack off in peace. If he's here, I'm afraid I'll have to use him for it, conscious or no. I realize I'm staring down at his upturned face, and what I can see of it is most definitely contented. He's got a faint smile on, gentler than I could keep if I had a raging hard-on. Let's just assume I was speaking rhetorically.
I can't wait. Let the ramifications come when he wakes; I'll take my medicine as soon as I can walk normally again. I grind against him, not half as gently as I'd meant to, and my eyes cross. He grabs my ass and does it again, eyes opening lazily.
"Morning," he murmurs, fastening his mouth to my neck.
The ready acceptance was not something I'd expected last night, the way he'd disrobed me faster than I could get the clothes off myself and sucked me off 'till I saw stars. And I hadn't even let it be a distant hope this morning. But he's willing, no, demanding.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, rolling on top of him and nuzzling at the side of his mouth. He chuckles to himself, the hot hand once trapped between my face and the pillow dancing across my chest.
"What you really want to ask about," he murmurs, "is how long I've been -awake-."
This is a set of three...vignettes? Musing fits? Scenes...involving Gojyo, Hakkai, and Sanzo, in that order. Because I am lazy and poetic, you'll have to pay attention to my grammar. When verbs are in present tense, it's right inside the character's head, a play-by-play of what's happening. When verbs are in past tense, they refer to the prior night. A lot of the time there'll be a present-tense sentence followed immediately by one referring to the past, without a paragraph break in between. For the sake of poetics, I got lazy with coherency ^.^
Disclaimer: Saiyuki isn't mine. *heavy sigh*
Warnings: Shounen-ai, smut, language, probable OOC. For some reason, the farther into Saiyuki fandom one goes, the less affectionate Sanzo gets. While I admit he's not a huggy bunny, he -does- smile every once in a while. At least, in the anime he does *hugs her DVDs*
If you've gotten through all that, I hope you enjoy this...and remember: Ulterior motives are like a Visa card. Never leave home without one.
***
Gojyo:
*
It's morning again. Blessed sunrise for warmth, cursed for light. I hate sunlight waking me up. But I love being warm. If nothing else, right here is warm. The sky outside, from what I can see, is deceptively orange and red, sunrise painting the spent clouds that exhausted themselves in last night's storm. And what a storm. Even the unmitigated frugality of a godless monk with a divinely limited charge card couldn't keep us from boarding at the nearest inn.
It was just luck, karma, whatever, that let this place be anomalously lush in respite from the wind. I'd expected to conk out alone in my own room (there are times I like the saru for the amenities his whining brings) but I had to change plans, and fast.
It's still cold outside, despite the brightness of the sky. I'd left the window open to hear the rain and let the biting air in. It felt so good. And snuggling into my cocoon is good now.
Warm and soft and only slightly yielding, his body curls with mine. For something so pale, he is accommodating. He sighs in sleep, just an extra emphasis to one exhalation on the side of my neck. If I wanted, just a slight tilt of my head would again bring my mouth to his. But now matter how sweet sake could make him, I care little to compound mutual morning breath. Now there's a thought.
Come to remembering, there had not been a single drop of liquor involved. Which was not the likely scenario, by my earlier calculations. Don't get me wrong; this wasn't a premeditated thing. Oh, no. Only he and Sanzo have the capacity to turn me on, and I hadn't known half of -that- 'till last night. It's this thing I have about people being sad. Him staring off into the distance is just as bad as a girl crying sometimes. I made it better the only way I knew how. It was one of the more stupid things I've ever done, I think.
In my defense, he caught me off-guard. Rainstorms send him to corroborate with Sanzo, and not even -God- could know what really goes on behind their closed door. Rain means a lot to both of them, I guess, but only Gonou's story means something to me. I was involved. It was raining when I found him. Ironic.
That was part of it. He came to -my- room, and, though I gave him chance to leave, he stayed. Sober and solemn, he stayed. Maybe he couldn't find Sanzo or something like that, but I know what it means and, I gotta admit, I was flattered.
It struck me, the dryness of him. Not only in terms of sobriety, but just dry warmth. I was slightly damp, naturally humid just from having the window open. But he was impeccably, inviolably dry. Like he'd fight before he let the rain physically affect him. Weird-dry, untouched. He's dry now, relatively, but there's sweat on him, oil on him from my skin.
I realize it may look like I'm holding him. My head's higher because my neck's longer, but really his grip is dominant. One hand over my waist, the other behind my cheek, palming the scars so that they itch. I nuzzle into his hand to scratch, and the feeling is luxuriant. Oh, please, don't wake up yet and look at me.
His eyes fuck with me something awful. When he's not concentrating on it, he's transparent in disturbing ways. He looked me in the eyes last night and I lost the comment I was going to make. He sat by the window, but away from it at the same time. He didn't talk because that would have been pointless. I stood at the edge of his precipice, watching him tumble down and not even able to estimate the depth or impact upon landing. It was disquieting, and touching him seemed natural. Just one hand on his shoulder, my thumb pressing into the knot at the base of his neck. He breathed a sigh, barely audible against the rain. A half-concealed whimper. And he leaned into me, through the back of his chair.
I wonder if Sanzo ever touched him like I did, taking the unmonkly route of carnal comfort to clear both their heads so they could revel in their pain. It's not the sorrow but the mental image of the two of them that's making me stiffen against his leg. And he's naked as I am, snuggled into me, so he's bound to feel it. Hakkai sleeps light.
I kind of want him to wake up, just to see how he'd react to a boner against his thigh. He moves a little, huffing in sleep as he is prone to do. (The first couple of times I'd heard it in Jiipu out on clear camp-outs, I thought it was a sneak attacker sneezing or something. Imagine the chagrin when I realized what it was.) Oh. Warmth does him good, apparently, because that's not his leg.
I hadn't suspected I was that tall. Although the vertigo applied when he'd rested his cheek against my fly. That was an oh-God moment if ever there was one. There I was, massaging an emotionally distraught, unstable young man that happened to be my best friend and suddenly I was entertaining images of his mouth wrapped around my cock. And he knew it, because he glanced up at me and I could just tell. It was the Hakkai's-getting-what-he-wants face.
Which probably meant I was a cheap consolation fuck, but that had occurred to me and I still went through with it. Consolation nothing, I made him -scream-. Insofar, of course, as loud noises could be made, both for the sake of decency and the capacity of his throat. But the sounds that came from him were hoarse and needy, those sweet whimpers and gasps when he was too far gone to articulate my name past the first syllable. Soft-spoken he may be, but an astonishing array of noises issue from him when the right buttons are pressed. Or bitten.
Now I want him awake to leave so I can jack off in peace. If he's here, I'm afraid I'll have to use him for it, conscious or no. I realize I'm staring down at his upturned face, and what I can see of it is most definitely contented. He's got a faint smile on, gentler than I could keep if I had a raging hard-on. Let's just assume I was speaking rhetorically.
I can't wait. Let the ramifications come when he wakes; I'll take my medicine as soon as I can walk normally again. I grind against him, not half as gently as I'd meant to, and my eyes cross. He grabs my ass and does it again, eyes opening lazily.
"Morning," he murmurs, fastening his mouth to my neck.
The ready acceptance was not something I'd expected last night, the way he'd disrobed me faster than I could get the clothes off myself and sucked me off 'till I saw stars. And I hadn't even let it be a distant hope this morning. But he's willing, no, demanding.
"How long have you been up?" I ask, rolling on top of him and nuzzling at the side of his mouth. He chuckles to himself, the hot hand once trapped between my face and the pillow dancing across my chest.
"What you really want to ask about," he murmurs, "is how long I've been -awake-."