A/N: Saiyuki isn't mine. Har.
Wow. I randomly wrote this, just because I felt like it. No real point made, just little short drabbles about music and how certain genres suit different members of the Sanzo-Ikkou. Yay for Jamie Cullum and extreme boredom. No warning, but you'll have to guess the subjects of each paragraph. Character name and type of music. Good luck, folks.
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Breathe. Breathe as softly as you can. There is music here, there is harmony and melody if only you should pause to notice it. Pause to recognize how cold it is, how warm it is under his hands. The silence is enveloping until you ruin it with your voice. You don't care, but he does.
This is how he pushes you away, left to suffer in solitude. This is how it fills your ears and heart until your throat closes out of begrudging respect. This is the brimming emptiness that weighs you down like lead so your thoughts can dance in vivid relief.
He turns away. He leaves you heavy.
.
Recapitulation. The patterns of him are familiar and easy. Simple and gentle, and yet unbearably complex. Try to follow the lines in him. Try to understand how it all makes such complete sense and yet leaves you so cold. There is warmth here, reserved only for the mathematical, analytical, persistent. The featherlight touches are beautiful and empty.
This is how he leads you through him. This is how you feel the beauty in him. This is his say in the matter, with no words but the staccato pinpricks that leave bumps raising on your skin. Violins sing, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, and you wait for him to explain himself.
He is close enough to touch. He leaves you confused.
.
Thrash your head back, mess your hair, rip your clothes. Feel his claws in you and how your muscles bunch with excitement. He makes you giddy and angry all at once, so energetic and honest is he. There is electricity here, jumping and pulsing so your heart races faster. He grabs you by the wrists and thrusts your hands into the air.
This is how you give in to the feel of him. This is how he wears you, makes you jump and sweat. This is the repetition that gives you license to scream the words you know and make up the ones you don't. He loves it when your entire body trembles with the power of it.
He is a willing thrill. He leaves you exhausted.
.
One, two. Beat. Four. Let your body twitch, let your hips sway, let your eyes flutter closed and your mouth hang open. The bass is your heartbeat. The high-hat is your breath. The piano is how you scream his name. Let him fill you, hold you against him, writhe inside you. Dance, now, sweaty and visceral and your leg twisted away to hitch up your skirt.
This is how your thumbs grace the insides of your knees as you perch on the barstool. This is how he slithers to you, stinking of cigarettes and hot red jazz. This is the slow seduction that is more hips and mouths than words. His hands play you, pulling you taught. His head bobs to the rhythm, violet, red, white.
He holds you as you drop down. He leaves you buzzing.
.
How did you do? First paragraph: Sanzo is suited best by silence. Second: Hakkai strikes me as a Baroque sort of man. Third: Goku is that great old classic rock, head-bangers all. Fourth: Gojyo and jazz. It works.
Wow. I randomly wrote this, just because I felt like it. No real point made, just little short drabbles about music and how certain genres suit different members of the Sanzo-Ikkou. Yay for Jamie Cullum and extreme boredom. No warning, but you'll have to guess the subjects of each paragraph. Character name and type of music. Good luck, folks.
.
Breathe. Breathe as softly as you can. There is music here, there is harmony and melody if only you should pause to notice it. Pause to recognize how cold it is, how warm it is under his hands. The silence is enveloping until you ruin it with your voice. You don't care, but he does.
This is how he pushes you away, left to suffer in solitude. This is how it fills your ears and heart until your throat closes out of begrudging respect. This is the brimming emptiness that weighs you down like lead so your thoughts can dance in vivid relief.
He turns away. He leaves you heavy.
.
Recapitulation. The patterns of him are familiar and easy. Simple and gentle, and yet unbearably complex. Try to follow the lines in him. Try to understand how it all makes such complete sense and yet leaves you so cold. There is warmth here, reserved only for the mathematical, analytical, persistent. The featherlight touches are beautiful and empty.
This is how he leads you through him. This is how you feel the beauty in him. This is his say in the matter, with no words but the staccato pinpricks that leave bumps raising on your skin. Violins sing, raising the hairs on the back of your neck, and you wait for him to explain himself.
He is close enough to touch. He leaves you confused.
.
Thrash your head back, mess your hair, rip your clothes. Feel his claws in you and how your muscles bunch with excitement. He makes you giddy and angry all at once, so energetic and honest is he. There is electricity here, jumping and pulsing so your heart races faster. He grabs you by the wrists and thrusts your hands into the air.
This is how you give in to the feel of him. This is how he wears you, makes you jump and sweat. This is the repetition that gives you license to scream the words you know and make up the ones you don't. He loves it when your entire body trembles with the power of it.
He is a willing thrill. He leaves you exhausted.
.
One, two. Beat. Four. Let your body twitch, let your hips sway, let your eyes flutter closed and your mouth hang open. The bass is your heartbeat. The high-hat is your breath. The piano is how you scream his name. Let him fill you, hold you against him, writhe inside you. Dance, now, sweaty and visceral and your leg twisted away to hitch up your skirt.
This is how your thumbs grace the insides of your knees as you perch on the barstool. This is how he slithers to you, stinking of cigarettes and hot red jazz. This is the slow seduction that is more hips and mouths than words. His hands play you, pulling you taught. His head bobs to the rhythm, violet, red, white.
He holds you as you drop down. He leaves you buzzing.
.
How did you do? First paragraph: Sanzo is suited best by silence. Second: Hakkai strikes me as a Baroque sort of man. Third: Goku is that great old classic rock, head-bangers all. Fourth: Gojyo and jazz. It works.
