TITLE: In Wait
AUTHOR: Eyes of Shinigami
PAIRINGS: non-con Homura/Goku, mentions of Sanzo/Goku
TIMELINE: after Homura kidnaps Goku.
RATING: M
WARNINGS: NCS, MUCH angst, slash, limey-ness, bastardization of Homura, and general not happy. You have been warned, and if you find any of these things offensive, I suggest you press the back button now.
SUMMARY: Companion ficlet to "Possession". Homura fulfills his promise of taking Goku once more, with results that he certainly did not expect.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Saiyuki in any way, shape, or form. If I did, the world would bow before my greatness. I do own this story though, so…yeah.
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Goku tries not to cry.
He suspects that even if he did, his captor would not listen, would not stop what he seems so determined to do. He does not want to be claimed, nor does he want to be touched, not like this. This is wrong, so unlike the touch of another that he adores so much.
His body shivers, the cold coming from deep inside rather than the air around him. No, that is uncomfortably warm, heated by the one-sided passion that is filling the air with the thick, cloying feel of sex. He cannot stop it, just as he cannot stop the fingers ghosting across his clammy skin.
"Let me love you, just as he loves you. I promise I will be gentle," a voice whispers in his ear, mismatched eyes shining with something beyond love. Truthfully, it scares Goku to see that strange light there, though he keeps his face blank.
When no answer comes, the captor shrugs as he continues his conquest of the limp body beneath him. Goku can feel those sinner's hands touching, caressing, stroking, and gripping places that his sin should not touch. There is love in that touch, but it makes him sick. It is not the love he wants, the misconstrued love that he would rather see banished from those once beautiful eyes.
Chained and bound by bonds too strong for him to break, Goku can do nothing but lay there, worn out from the former struggles that had proved so futile. His heart hurts from the touch that seeks to force his body to betray him. Reminded of days that he would rather forget, he tries to pretend that the bed does not dig into him like cold rock, forces himself to banish the feeling of being trapped once more. Those hands continue their questing, but he will not make a sound. His traitorous body sickens him, as do the tears that are steadily streaming down a tanned face.
"Please, open yourself. Give yourself to me," the voice begs, but Goku cannot hear it. Not truly, anyway. He remains quiet and unresponsive, wanting no reason to egg his captor on. In a way, he wishes that there would be violence in this act, instead of a feeling that he knows too well. No, this is not that feeling; this is a perversion of the beauty he has been shown by the most gracious of teachers.
Again, the captor takes his silence as a nod of assent, and Goku can feel his body forced open like a crushed flower. He has to fight back the scream that bubbles in his throat, silence the sobs that push against his ribcage, against his heart. Even as that body invades his own, it feels as though his very soul is being pierced as well. He can feel the grime that is building there, tearing holes through innocence that has been thrown to the wayside. When his savior loved him like this, the act was still innocent and filled with love. This is not love, and he is reminded of that over and over again.
Deep-rooted sorrow dulls liquid gold to muted amber, his mind cowering somewhere within the depths of a place long forgotten. He tries to forget the lips that brush his own, breath that tastes of sin mingling with his pained gasps of air. He tries to forget the vision of ebony falling against an uneven gaze, instead trying to remember illuminate gold and precious violet.
His eyes roll up to avoid the gaze trained so fervently on his own, glancing out the window to find solace from his current prison. The sky is illuminated with the light of the once pure moon, almost as though it is taunting him. Round and full, reminding him of the heavy body pressed so deeply into his own.
"Am I hurting you, my love? I do not want to hurt you," the voice says, though to Goku every word is a lie. No, he wants to say, you are not hurting me. You are killing me.
His eyes gloss over again, unseeing as the moon seems to radiate purity onto this act of depravity, almost as though his captor uses it to justify the terrible truth. It continues to mock him, dragging the night into a cycle of eternity.
Goku does not see the moon anymore. He does not feel the breath on his cheek, nor does he feel the hands that continue to leave stains on his formerly flawless skin. He is dirty now, and he can only hope that the sun's light will wash away the collected filth that blankets him inside and out.
He closes his eyes, pulling further and further away as the act continues. In a final breath, the act is finished, and suddenly Goku is aware of the tangible dirt that clings to his skin like a leech. His body aches from the penetration, a stinging reminder as open arms try to warm the chill in his skin. Of course, it can do nothing to warm his frozen heart. The moon cannot warm the way the sun can.
"It shall be this way forever, my beautiful Son Goku. I will love you until the end of time," the voice says, caressing his skin as it assaults his brain. Murmurs of devotion that serve to spread the disease that is growing inside of him tickle his ears like a soft breeze, with the force of a hurricane gale. A feeling he has never known claws at his heart, making him want to cry all over again. He begs the gods to kill him now, but he cannot die. No, not yet. The moon will get his due, he knows. There is only one who can save him from this condemnation, this atrocity born from the most twisted of love. He will wait forever, if he has to.
He will wait for the sun to rise once more.