The Rest is Silence
He'd never thought it was going to end like that.
The heart which bore a feeling for him, a friend's heart stopped.
An accident, right before his eyes.
He will be so lost and forgotten from now on.
He was too slow. Shakujo's chain curled in the other way and now he ends up howling to the setting sun like a beast, seeming like his youkai half had awoken in him. Down on his knees before the bloody mess, a tangle of aggressors' limbs cut off with the half-moon blade of his sacred weapon, he cries out to the sky, cursing gods, all the people, youkai and himself.
Too fucking slow! One slight move from his side and Hakkai would be alive now.
Alive. Now.
Still with him.
A feeling of guilt, sorrow and sadness spread through his veins. He thought that he'd forgot how to cry long time ago. But the tears kept running and shakujo disappeared all of sudden. The mess it had created still remains. The body that it did not protect lingers as well.
– Let's go – a cold voice announced, his owner stepping beside him in his shitty holy robes.
The fucking monk didn't give a damn about it.
Gojyo gritted his teeth and looked at him.
And so he laid, spread on the meadow's, few feet away from the youkai' torn corpses. Last strong sunrays were dancing on his auburn hair as he kept smiling with his eyes closed. The expression looked so natural, not like the fake smile he'd worn sometimes. So peaceful, despite the bloody wound that rested on his chest. An arrow shot was so accurate, that it had pierced his cloth, got between ribs, aiming for the heart, going inside almost to its fletching.
Achieving the goal.
Effortless.
The pierced heart panicked and started pumping healer's blood like crazy. But this time out of rhythm with body. It got so tired afterwards.
That's why it stopped.
It needed a rest.
No artificial pacemaker available.
– Get your sorry ass moving, you stupid kappa! – the voice called again, angry as its owner had to deal with uneasy-questions-asking monkey.
– Fuck you, shitty monk! – his mouth formed in response – I don't give a damn about this fucking road of yours! Fuck, fuck, fuck… – he bowed his head to the ground as his own voice turned into whisper – Why? – the puddle of blood underneath sobbed with him.
– Why? – the sky above asks miserably.
He found his eyes looking at the purple-violet clouds, then around him. Monk and monkey were nowhere to be seen. Not with him anymore.
He was alone.
He was only with him, he thought, looking down at the pretty, pretty face he'd always loved. From a distance.
His lips were surprisingly warm against his. It felt like he was alive despite his death. If only he could be with him... Stand in place, make up some time.
Short brown strands were soft and warm as well. Setting sun was casting a riot of colours to glisten on them. But Gojyo was certain that healer would be displeased seeing the blood and mud stains on his new jeans. Good that his eyes were closed.
Good that he was asleep so prettily with his cheeks so smooth beneath his own calloused hands. Fingers yellowed where he usually kept his cigarette. Hakkai didn't like it as well.
He liked stuff all swept, ironed and clean.
Now he lies in a mess himself.
And his clothes will get dirty.
Gojyo kept unbuttoning healer's Chinese tunic, trying not to get it dirty. He would be upset, so very upset. Then, he would have to arrange another laundry and ironing day. And he didn't like it as much as reading, cooking meals for the two of them or making some aromatic tea.
He wanted to run a tea-house after their journey, didn't he?
Oh, and a small garden on the back of the lot, with fruit trees and all the other nice things.
His skin was as soft as he remembered it to be first day they've met. Gojyo had to fix the man, put his innards back. It almost felt the same.
He had to help his Hakkai.
The wooden arrow's core broke easily in his hand, so he threw it away. A filthy thing it was, with the dark black-and-red feathers, resting in healer's chest. It'd pierced his favourite tunic and shirt. Gojyo hoped to, at least, rescue clothes from the mud.
Tracing fingers along the exposed neck, he tried to remember. All the nights he'd spent watching his healer sleeping in his bed. He had him within hand's reach.
Now the figure was vulnerable, lukewarm, but not so alive.
Suddenly, he heard a quiet sob as he kissed the slender neck. Something warm and wet slid down his cheek as his Hakkai's sweet taste clung to his tongue. It almost felt the same when he did it the last time, when healer was asleep.
He was a bit drunk then, but the taste was unforgettable.
It lingered in his mind.
It called to him.
A soft sigh escaped Hakkai's lips as he'd laid his head on his healer's bare chest, trying to calm himself. It sounded so pleased, that he smiled. He'd loved him from the very beginning. Loved his fiery eyes and red hair and bachelor habits. But he'd folded Hakkai's clothes well on his lap, hadn't he?
He was the only one that he had been loved by. And his mouth was so welcoming, his lips so tender, his tongue so sweet.
He imprinted himself in Gojyo's heart as a beautiful memory.
He died as a happy man, aware of his duties and loved.
The scar on his stomach was so soft, it tasted great on his tongue, pink flesh so visible against the overall paleness of the body.
Gojyo closed his eyes, just to look into Hakkai's green ones.
– Such a lovely colour for you – he heard himself whisper huskily against the healer's zipper.
How could he forget about the pants? They were in light colour, that Hakkai called ecru or beige, depending on his actual mood. He would be upset if they will be stained red.
They already were, the bottom of legs had had a random youkai blood on it. What a filthy creatures they were, bleeding all over healer's pretty clothes.
Trying to fold the pants, he looked around. Silence was strangely growing around them. It seemed like forest clearing was mourning with him. No birds were singing around, not even a sound of crow crying out nor rustle of leaves as deer came nearby. Nothing, as he lowered himself over his friend's body.
Nothing, as he whispered stupid confessions and love spells and pleas into his healer's lips, before kissing them.
It's all he could give him now. No one will fill the hole in his heart from now on.
Hakkai was the one who would ever fit in that place.
And now he got none. And it becomes a disappointment.
No hope anymore, no love, nothing to live and try for.
But he offered his body willingly, even if the soul had flown away from it, the sweetness of old one-sided romance remained. Such a waste of feelings it could be.
Skin on his groin tasted like sugar, milk and honey. Sweet aroma was clinging to his cooling flesh just to be lapped from it by a hungry tongue. His legs, numbly spread wide open, waiting to be caressed, kissed and claimed. All the things he didn't reach while being alive.
All the things he could get, saying one word.
– It seems to be the easiest… – he'd said, turning to redhead mate, his green eyes glistening in the dim lamplight – … and probably the safest way.
Then he'd granted him a sweet smile, one of his wonderful-but-fake ones.
– If I were with you, you might be already dead.
Standing up from the bed, completely naked, he'd said clearly that he needed to take the shower alone. He didn't even look back at him. Maybe he was too drunk anyway.
Well, it was probably easier and safer…
He'd closed his eyes and ignored it.
Healer's muscles were relaxed and loose. Nothing seemed to get in his way to claim what needed to be his. What already belonged to him in his dreams.
Folded clothes laid neatly on the stone nearby as he kneeled between those pretty legs, tasting scar tissue under his tongue. It was all he'd got now. The one he was late to love spread beneath him, ready and willing.
He took him easily, only opening his zipper to acknowledge, in astonishment, that he was hard. Inside was still warm. Not as warm as the living soul would be, but pleasant enough.
Hakkai was his. Always. Forever.
Even if he didn't know what was going on with his feelings, his body managed to know it well, achieving a steady rhythm.
Yes, the skin was like honey, so pale, almost blue against his own. His skin was like the moonlight, an ideal form that came out right from his dreams. The intoxicating, sweet aroma mixing with the smell of sex made his heart ache even more. Gojyo buried his face into his mate's chest again and cried out as he came.
A soft sigh escaped healer's lips as well as a thick trail of blood ran down his cheek. He lowered himself over again and gently kissed it off.
Moments later he stood up and zipped, hearing the loud growl behind him. The rustling of leaves became more and more bothering. Gojyo reached out his hand, but shakujo didn't want to appear this time. It had lost the reason to appear.
He'd lost the person to fight for.
He'd lost the one to protect.
Smirking, he heard the bows being drawn.
– Sorry to keep you waiting – he whispered, bending his head down as arrows were being released.
- Hjartað Hamast, Sigur Ros
- Blue, A Perfect Circle
- Si, Pati Yang