: Moonlight :
Gensomaden Saiyuki
Sidefic to Perfect World
Disclaimer: I don't own Gensomaden Saiyuki, which rightfully belongs to Minekura Kazuya.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Homura/Goku, past Homura/Rinrei
Warnings: AU-ish, angst, shounen ai/yaoi, spoilers for the anime series and the fanfic, Perfect World.
Notes: Sort of a little Homura/Goku-only treat for the story. I'm surprised this fic has gotten as much attention as it has—pleasantly surprised, of course. I'm happy people like this drastically different world.
This story takes place somewhere between chapters 24 and 27, but I intended it to be directly between 24 and 25.
Feedback and constructive criticism totally keeps everything rolling as it should. Thank you.
A moonless night painted the dark setting. While darkness was largely regarded as a sign of evil, it was also a cloak of safety—and precious privacy.
Outside was chilly, which Homura only knew because he was currently close to the window. The temperature tried to seep through every crack it could find in the window, but for the most part, the room remained stubbornly warm. In fact, it was almost uncomfortably so; not surprising, considering the events that had taken place, yet still startling because hours had passed since the culmination.
Despite the exhausting activities, Homura was unable to sleep. He supposed part of it was the curse of being a god (he had never considered his life – much less his heritage – a gift). Or, perhaps, it was merely because he had so much to think about. Homura prided himself on one thing, if nothing else, and that was his eloquence. Yes, he was an excellent fighter, but one could (or soon would) surpass his abilities there. But he'd had several centuries to fine-tune his mannerisms, his speech, his tone, even the subtle nuances of body language that could enhance his words. He had all but mastered the technique of speaking informally whilst proving how polite he was capable of being. In fact, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had created such a thing; that was how long he had been speaking.
Yet eloquence included thinking, and Homura was also the master of pondering. Then again, master was too high of a title, considering his tendencies to fall into fits of contemplation that could last for hours on end. That was the influence of his childhood glimmering bleakly on his soul. After all, the gods had given him until adulthood – and even well into it – to do nothing but think. He was never permitted to speak until spoken to, and it had taken him weeks to get used to speaking without hurting his throat or sounding hoarse.
Homura was wary of revealing his inward broodings, and for good reason. Though he hated to admit it, the workings of his mind and emotions were far more complex, confusing, and annoying than he normally let on.
For example, though he loved her dearly, he occasionally hated how desperately he clung to Rinrei's memory. Usually the anger was followed by a sharp pang of guilt, and thereafter he would push the feeling aside and attempt to forget about it. She was, after all, his first love, his only beloved. Homura cherished the few sweet memories he had.
But each time he grew irritated over his newfound interest's infatuation, he was reminded of his own.
Shifting atop him startled him out of his thoughts. In the dim sparkle of stars, Homura was barely able to make out the dark outlines of the creature resting peacefully atop him; his newfound interest; this precious being.
Son Goku: the boy who encompassed all the powers of the universe.
After only the briefest of hesitations, Homura drew his hand down the boy's naked side. Bare flesh murmured in appreciation, soon echoed by voice. Shifting again, dark-lashed eyelids lifted to reveal piercing gold surrounding the tiniest speck of pupil. A moment later, the pricks of black dilated and swallowed most of the shimmering irises.
Homura changed his intended path, his hand coming back up to rub the boy's shoulder. The other palm rested against the small of the creature's back, careful to avoid the worst of the still-healing scars. Another pleased whisper escaped, hips arching slightly before his body went lax.
"You are awake," Homura said simply. His voice was low, barely audible to the normal ear, but he knew the boy could hear him perfectly well.
"Uh huh." Chestnut-brown hair seemed almost black in the lack of moonlight. Warm lips found his collar. The sensation was pleasant, but Homura was far too solemn right then to get worked up again. "Why're you still awake?"
Normally he would have responded with a light question of his own, but the god wasn't in the mood for games right then. He didn't even intend to answer, but his mouth betrayed him.
"Doubt," he said. "Uncertainty." Goku lifted his head, his brow drawn in sleep-fogged confusion. To clarify, he offered another word. "Guilt." When the brunette's expression didn't change, Homura gave up trying to lose him through covertness. "I was merely thinking too much."
There was nothing his lover could say to that. Instead, he lowered his head again. A warm cheek rested against the slight curve of his chest, the chilled ring of metal pressed against his breastbone. Slowly, the boy's calloused hand trailed down Homura's arm, the tips of his fingers dipping into the contours of muscle. The activity was nothing new; as a teenager, not quite yet a man, it was only natural for physical power to entice Goku. It was nothing he would worship, but admiration was freely given, sometimes even a little envy. In bed, the boy's fascination often turned into amusing – and quite stimulating – play. Now, Homura hardly registered it. If his lover noticed, he gave no sign of it, moving from his bicep to the bones of his wrist.
"You wanna talk about it?"
The question came as a surprise. Homura had never viewed their relationship as the kind which he could pour out his heart and soul—but really; he didn't trust anyone like that anymore. Rinrei had been the only person he had ever done so, and all it had brought him was pain.
That wasn't to say Son Goku wasn't trustworthy. He was; and on the whole, he always meant well. Though the boy often slipped with secrets (usually in situations Homura found amusing) he wasn't concerned about that, either. However...
"You need not worry," the man said quietly. He rubbed his palm from shoulder to neck, just below the thin line under the boy's jaw. The motion elicited a low rumble from deep in Goku's chest. The sound wasn't quite a purr, but it was close. Homura's lips twitched into a faint smile. He allowed his hand to fall back down to join the other low on the boy's spine.
His voice muffled, Goku said, "I know I don't have to..."
Silence trembled in midair, both waiting to see if the boy would finish his thought. The unspoken, "But..." rang in Homura's ears.
Moments ticked by, and soon the opportunity to complete the sentence passed by. The man bit back a sigh, opting for quiescence as his hands resumed their quest. The sheet slipped further down Goku's back as Homura trailed his light touch upward. The tips of his fingers skimmed the scarred flesh, barely sensing the light tremors wound tight in the muscle beneath. Not tremors of fear, nor even of sweet anticipation, but of raw power. Power he wanted. Power he needed.
His gift to Rinrei.
But he couldn't tell Goku this, either. As much as he disliked the idea – more because it wounded his sense of honor than anything else – Homura had to keep the boy in the dark. If Goku discovered he had not been rescued as a person, but as a tool to create the new world... not only would he never forgive the man, he'd cease to help as well. Though it hurt, Homura's desire for this world was greater than that of his sense of honor.
It was a situation in which he wished he were completely selfish. Practicing the rule only partially had gotten him mixed up as he was now; it was part of the reason he was so perplexing even to himself.
"You're warm."
Homura tried not to flinch from the bland statement. He and his lover had just recently recovered from their worst fight, but troubles the god had voiced were not entirely laid to rest. Most particularly, his doubt whether or not Son Goku was truly only just infatuated with Konzen's reincarnation.
He had admitted to not understanding. Still he did not, but Homura kept quiet. Selfishness overtook him again, insisting he not speak a word of his doubt—at least not until the new world was created. Then, perhaps...
Perhaps then.
In response, he said, "Living creatures all are."
"Well, yeah," Goku conceded. "But you're warm in another way."
"I am sure Konzen is as well."
"Homura..."
His name came out partially in a plea, partially in exasperation, and even with a touch of warning. Homura made no move to argue. He had nearly crossed the line again.
Strange. Even after caring for the boy – first in a maternally, then deeper sense – for nearly four years, he still had little control over what he said around him. It was entirely possible he had grown careless, but Homura highly doubted that. After all, Goku did have the uncanny ability to charm people into talking (if he didn't incite murderous intents first). It seemed to be as much of a gift as Homura's lineage was a curse, albeit when it involved the god himself.
A soft snort sounded, and Goku pushed himself up to better look down at the man. The bed was wide enough for both of them to lay side-by-side, but the brunette's favorite position was atop Homura. Once, without Homura's asking, he had explained it was because he could better feel the man's warmth.
"You talk about Konzen so much," Goku began, his eyes glinting in boyish mirth. "Konzen this, Konzen that. I should be the jealous one."
He was attempting to light humor on the situation, and it did not fail. Homura arched a brow. "Well, he certainly does have many admirable qualities," he said, deadpan as he played along.
Golden eyes flickered before the boy realized he was joking. "So you are jealous."
Goku's hair was still slightly damp with sweat; whether from sleep or earlier activities Homura wasn't entirely certain. Normally his hair was unruly, but now it was downright messy, dark locks sticking in every which direction. A pang of emotion cut at Homura. As though having a will of their own, his hands drifted to his lover's hair, gently running his fingers through the tousled strands. He spent a few quiet moments smoothing out the knots, which earned him another almost-purr. The way Goku's eyes slid half-closed was almost painfully sweet and seductive.
Homura murmured, "You know there is no comparing you two."
Goku smiled in response, but the expression glimmering behind his veil was yet another unspoken thought. This time Homura could clearly perceive it. He wished he had not, because he knew it asked, "Which two?"
Konzen to Goku; Goku to Rinrei. There really was no comparison, but saying so would have only brought on more unwanted fighting.
"Still," Goku said, closing his eyes completely against the man's petting. "You're warm. And... I like things like this." Homura couldn't argue with that; the mere feeling of the boy curled beside him had brought on more emotion than he had expected. Of course, he still had to be careful because of Goku's injuries, but the boy was healing nicely—nicely enough for them to engage in light play. Homura liked that more than he had expected, as well.
"It would certainly be a shame if you did not enjoy this," Homura replied, smirking faintly to hide what he was thinking. "Considering you are quite often the one initiating such things."
" 'Such things,' " Goku mocked teasingly. "I just like hugs."
As well as other physical contact. Honestly, that was not what bothered Homura about their relationship. He, too, had tasted imprisonment and solitude, though not as bitterly as his lover had. Goku had experienced it after knowing love and care, whilst for Homura it had been the other way around. Still, he liked contact. He wasn't fond of invading one's personal space; but hugging, touching, kissing, they were all good. Goku, of course, was fonder of embraces. Of course, he would never say no when Homura kissed him—for which the man was grateful. That was the contact that relieved him, oddly enough.
"Is that so?" Homura slowly wound his fingers in the boy's hair, his fingers pressing firmly against the bronze diadem. "Then I suppose all you need are 'just hugs,' is that correct?"
"Wrong," Goku declared with a grin. "You're really awful at this game."
"So I am," the man agreed. He then tugged the boy down for a kiss, meant to brief and gentle. But knowing Goku, it wouldn't stay that way for long.
Indeed, almost an instant after they parted, the brunette was leaning down again. He was usually impatient, always wanting to rush through things—as though he wanted to get as much done as possible in a short period of time. Sometimes this trait was endearing; other times, it could grow tiresome. It was something Homura either tolerated or didn't, depending on his mood.
To his surprise, though the contact grew steadily more intense, Goku didn't attempt to deepen it much. His chest was taut against Homura's, lips brushing against his several times in succession. That was how the tension built, and it helped a bittersweet emotion swell in the man's chest. He found his breath catching as well, and for moments he hardly dared to exhale. When he finally did, it was softly, barely interrupting the overwhelmingly chaste kisses.
Strong fingers tensed against his arm; in turn, Homura tightened his against the boy's skull. Neither made a move to give in, though the temptation thrummed between them in electrical pulses. The god's earlier satiation was rapidly bleeding out. His energy was replenished quickly, though it didn't quite equate to anything desperate.
Goku gave in first, though not as much as Homura had expected. A warm, wet touch skimmed over his lips once; twice. The third time, Homura opened his mouth to return it, causing the boy atop him to shiver.
Then, with a soft groan, the brunette pulled back. Supporting himself on his forearms, he managed a shaky smile in response to Homura's quizzical look.
"Gotta stop," Goku explained somewhat breathlessly. An embarrassed smile touched his lips. "I'm just gonna want more."
A part of him was disappointed, but not overly so. Partially because his lover's slow motions had ignited an idea he wanted to plan out more; but also...
"You, practicing patience?" He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice, and didn't even attempt to. "This is new."
Rolling his eyes, Goku stretched himself to lie comfortably on the man again. This time he gently pressed his cheek against Homura's, nipping his earlobe in youthful admonishment. "You suck."
"So you have told me before." He sensed the boy's impish smile just before another nip followed the first. Goku kissed the sensitive flesh beneath his jaw, and then trailed his lips down to his shoulder. He stopped there; thankfully, because Homura's breath had hitched again and he was afraid he would unwind his tightly stitched control if Goku had chosen to continue.
Sighing softly, he slid his hands down from the boy's hair; to his neck; to his shoulder blades, where he lingered to trace the sharp bone definitions; finally, to his lower back, where he had started in the first place. For sure, he was different from holding Rinrei—and Homura had only held her once, briefly and shyly. That had been the boldest thing they had ever done... and, quite possibly, it had been the tell-tale sign that he was trouble for the heavens. But this was all right; this was safe, because the gods believed Goku was his apprentice and nothing more. Even if they did have suspicions, voicing them would not be a good idea. They needed to make sure there would be a successor to the war prince.
If Homura's new world wasn't to ensure that would not happen, he would have never taken such a gamble. But it did, and he had. He was ready.
"You smell like moonlight."
The murmur caught his attention; not merely because Goku had spoken, but because he had said such a strange, almost poetic thing. Unsure if he should feel touched or insulted, Homura cocked an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
Rather than answer, Goku looked up mischievously. "I like it when you beg."
Snorting, because he had never done such a thing, even when he used to be tortured, Homura decided to let the remark slide. "You said I smelled of moonlight."
The brunette nodded, nestling his cheek against the god's collar. "Mm-hm."
"And just what is the scent of moonlight?" Homura tried again.
Goku hummed thoughtfully, biting his lower lip in thought. The habit was childlike, very cute, and once again Homura knew he should have felt guilty about their illicit relationship. He didn't. "Cold, like snow," the boy finally said. "But not cold, because you're way too warm for that. So... warm snow, I think."
The ebon-haired man opened his mouth, to point out that warm snow was impossible, and thus an oxymoron, but Goku spoke before he could. "Also like solitude... loneliness... and kinda like shyness, too."
"These intangible feelings have scents?"
"Everything has a scent," Goku objected to his skepticism. "Sometimes it's faint, but I can always smell it. It's always different with every person, but... it's the same thing, too."
That was yet another endearing quality about his current lover. Homura greatly admired his abstract depth, the shimmering intelligence to the boy's thoughts that few noticed because of his awkward words. But then, Homura was also one who believed awkwardness was a beauty in itself.
Smiling almost wistfully, he searched Goku's face by touch alone. His fingers found a stray lock of hair trying to make its way into the boy's eyes, and he brushed it aside.
"You truly are special," he whispered.
He could sense rather than see Goku blink. "Special?"
A wry smile tugged at the man's lips to replace the yearning. Delicately applying his lover's earlier tactic, he replied, "It is not yet morning. You will need sleep."
The taut sensation in the boy's lips was barely felt against his chest. "I'm not tired."
"But I am," Homura pointed out. He skimmed the pads of his fingers over the thin scars of Goku's back, knowing they would never heal, realizing it was his fault they had occurred in the first place. Sumi had been too brutal, too jealous and cruel, something he should have anticipated but had not. And though he could have stopped it, he had not, because if he interfered with Goku's battles, the boy would never grow and his power would never be fostered properly.
All of this because he wanted his new world. In the end, he could only pray his sacrifices would be worth it. He wasn't even going to try to hope for Son Goku's forgiveness.
"Go to sleep."
Goku sighed, but said nothing after that. Despite his earlier protest, it was even he who fell back into the welcoming arms of slumber first; his breathing deep, warm, and even as it spilt over Homura's flesh in small waves.
It wasn't until the last of the stars had disappeared and twilight began to glimmer in the distance that the god fell asleep as well. When he did, he dreamt of sweet things, amazingly beautiful and calm in the face of what his life was truly like. In his innermost fantasy there were pleasantly familiar faces, a wonderfully familiar touch... and, most strange of all, a brilliant, impish smile that was not that of his beloved Rinrei.
When the time came to wake again, the dream was forgotten.