A/N: Hello, I'm here! I got a free moment and this idea last night...after a very strange dream ruminating on it, I managed to write this. Yes, it's short, but my life is being drained by school at the moment. I hate May and early June -.-
Dimitry, who makes quite the appearance here, is a character of mine, just as Isaac Paul was in Eights and Aces. I love Dimitry to bits, and I got to make him evil here. Which suits him well n.n I had a good time with that one. Warning for language, violence, and lots of references to Gojyo's E&A past. Notes to reviewers at the end.
-If you don't need me, I think I'll go. If you don't want me, tell me no-
...
It was a room like any other bedroom, generic and white-walled. The floor was littered with various articles of clothing, some dirty, some wearable, all wrinkled. The blinds were slammed shut against the daylight. An alarm clock rested on the bedside table. That, however, was where the similarities to normalcy screeched to a halt.
He yawned languidly, stretching his arms over his head to press his palms flat against the wall. He accidentally knocked a pack of cigarettes off of the table by his head. Cold, plastic eyes pressed into his back where he lay, and when he rolled over, another set of faces was there to meet him. Long, pale, lanky arms wrapped around a stuffed rabbit and clutched it to a thin, sallow chest. Absently, he took one ear between his teeth.
A few moments later, he thrust himself into an upright position. The stuffed animals under him bounced a bit, then settled into silence. Running a hand through his hair, he stood and scratched open-palmed at his bare sides. Glasses were shoved onto his face. A worn, white robe hung on the doorknob, and he slid into it but ignored the slippers, padding barefooted down the claustrophobic stairway. He knew there was coffee in the kitchen.
He'd made it the morning before, preferring to just make a batch for the week and microwave it as necessary. Sure, the taste changed a bit day after day, but a surprise was nice sometimes. It hadn't hurt him to date. Outside, the sun was already far overhead, so he shoved his coffee in the microwave and set about making a sandwich. Leftover takeout between bread, the breakfast of champions.
And then, Nii Jenyi plodded over to the door to check for mail.
He flicked disinterestedly through the various bills and solicitations, when a handwritten envelope caught his eye. An unfamiliar name graced the return address, but then again the letter wasn't meant for him in the first place. He shrugged and dropped the pile of paper on the counter, returning to his coffee. Nii had no moral dilemmas about opening his neighbor's mail. He just wanted to do it on his own time.
He was on his second cup and done with his sandwich when he raked a fingernail through the envelope. There was no salutatory first line; the letter dropped immediately into text. "What have we here, now?" he drawled, merely because it felt like a good thing to say at that moment.
Somebody was dropping money into Kougaiji's open palms. Nii wondered not who she was, nor why. He only wondered how perhaps, in some way, he might snag a piece of the pie. As a subtext, he also wondered where the hell he'd left his stamps.
...
Gojyo opened his eyes and grinned. Hakkai was already gone, had left hours ago with papers and pens and patience. He'd left Gojyo to deal with the unmade sofa bed and quite a nest of sex-hair. But that was just fine by the redhead.
Mondays, he reflected, could definitely be worse.
He swung his legs out into the air and sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and adjusting to a vertical position. His tangled locks clung to his neck and wound around his ears, greasy and hot. Gojyo shook out his shoulders and staggered into the bathroom for a good, warm shower.
There are those who sing in the bathroom for its fantastic acoustics. There are others who sing in there merely because it is a moment of private time they can't get anywhere else. Gojyo was neither of these people. Gojyo sang like he danced. He hummed softly to himself just so he'd stay focused. It was never a good thing to realize he'd dozed off in the steam only to be awakened by a blast of cold water signifying the emptiness of the water heater downstairs. It was a little, disjointed tune, a mash of random songs he'd heard over the years, often indistinguishable.
When he stepped again onto the tile, he realized the phone was ringing. He let the machine get it, but jumped when he heard Goku calling to him.
"You there? Gojyo, pick up!" Gojyo frowned and wrapped the towel about himself, grabbing the phone.
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding harsher than he'd meant.
Goku's voice brightened. "Gojyo! You're working tonight, right? I just wanted to make sure."
"Yeah, I am. Hey, what's this about?" Gojyo wiggled his little finger in his other ear and wiped his hand on the towel. "I work every day but Sunday."
"How often do they come in? Don't play dumb, you know -them-."
Gojyo shrugged out of habit. Goku's tone was firm and adult all of a sudden, and he disliked it. "Few nights a month. Four or five at most."
"When they do, could you, uh, call me and tell me what they say?"
Gojyo paused a moment, a small smile beginning to form on his features. "You know how wrong that is? Invasion of privacy? Kid, what if someone bugs the phones?"
"You watch too many spy movies. And the other bit...well, you're a protected witness. If there really is something going on, I'll maybe find some way to keep you safe. Okay?"
Gojyo sighed and slicked his wet hair back with his free hand. "Fine, just so you stop bugging me. I guess I wouldn't have said anything in the first place if it wasn't bothering me."
"Thanks, Gojyo! I promise you'll be fine."
"Don't make stupid promises," Gojyo responded. "What number do I call?" Gojyo grabbed a pen and, a few slightly damp seconds later, had scribbled the number on a pad of paper by the phone. The ink was slightly blurred but still legible.
When Gojyo was dressed, he meandered into the kitchen and, feeling too lazy to make coffee, downed a cup of the tea Hakkai had made. It was actually pretty good. A glance at the clock told him he had about an hour to kill. He grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots, and left the bed unmade.
...
Gojyo liked winter in the city. Everything was gray and dark and mud-slush. Your breath hung in front of your face and you could hide in a giant coat and be warm inside and wet without. Summer was different. The sun unlocked the hidden stenches of dumpsters and street litter, turning the air sour near the ground. The only thing that really made summer nice, Gojyo decided, was the amount of clothing the girls wore. He didn't mind showing himself off as well.
A few appraising glances were sent his way when he stopped at a crosswalk. He leered at the drivers, one in particular, who blushed and tried to grin back. Gojyo laughed and walked on. He enjoyed the feeling of being appreciated for his looks without having to be paid for them as well. It was a certain sweet freedom that came from not being dependent on his sexuality, but merely complemented by it.
"Hello, you." The voice came slow and slithering, like the cold hands on his shoulders. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I see you've gotten yourself a nice job now."
Gojyo wrenched away. "Fuck off."
"Oh, come on." The hands replaced themselves and gently but firmly steered Gojyo into a corridor. The redhead felt the frigid flat of a knife being dragged over the back of his neck. "You never talk when you're holding cards. I'd like to catch up with you."
"I'm sure you do," Gojyo snarled, standing stock-still. "Come around front so I can get a good look at you."
The man behind him laughed. "Say please." Gojyo growled and thrust an elbow back, dodging forward as soon as his attacker bent double. The man recovered quickly, however, and caught Gojyo by the hair, yanking his head downward until the knife just barely pressed against his neck. "Did you miss me, too?"
Gojyo glared into ice-blue eyes, wanting to spit but knowing the brunette would have no qualms about slitting his throat then and there. "Not at all," he ground out, wincing as the hand in his hair twisted, threatening to take off a good chunk of his scalp.
"Maybe I'll jog your memory. You sure you don't want to come back to me? You almost said yes once." The knife was taken from his throat but before Gojyo could make any movement he was wrenched to his knees and nearly eating leather, the blade dawdling just below his ear. "Remember? You were desperate and starving." The man ground his crotch against Gojyo's face, grinning toothily. "I offered you a -steady- job. It'd still pay more than the casino does. You're still pretty, kid."
Gojyo growled deep in his throat, one hand snaking down to his boot and grasping for the utility knife he kept on him at all times. The hand yanked upward on his hair and he winced, grunting against the pain.
"Now, now. You're still just a child, aren't you? You'd like it with me. I gave you a bed. And breakfast, as I recall. You could have had that every day."
Gojyo's hand closed around the utility knife and he slowly brought it back up toward his chest. "What you never gave me were the bandages I had to ask the hotel manager for. Or payment for the hospital visit from the infections you left. Or any impression that I'd survive a -week- without the drugs you keep your sluts on."
"Prostitution's not pretty. That's what the whores are for." The knife under Gojyo's ear traced a gentle, cold pattern down under his jaw. "You can't have morals when you're desperate."
"It worked for me," Gojyo snarled, pulling the blade of his own knife out with a click. Ice-blue eyes glanced down, and the toothy grin appeared again.
"Oh, child, look at you," he cooed, stamping a heavy boot down on Gojyo's hand. The redhead gave a muffled cry into the fabric against his mouth as bones ground together between rubber treads and dirty asphalt. Gojyo was going for the lost knife with his other hand when the body above him shuddered.
"Dimitry, let him go."
It was the Muscle, the man that wouldn't stop staring at Gojyo when he dealt to him. While the others talked, this man's eyes were always on him. And he was playing savior. Gojyo felt like punching him.
"If you want your whores free, you don't do anything to piss me off," Doku growled, his meaty hand closing around Dimitry's wrist. The smaller man's knife clattered to the ground, skidding away and out of reach. Doku pried Gojyo out of Dimitry's grasp and gave the brunette a heavy punch to the jaw. "Stupid fuck, you don't -do- those things. Not now. You can have him later, but not fucking now."
Dimitry glanced over at Gojyo. "In a few months, then." And he left, holding his face and spitting blood.
Doku turned to Gojyo, not extending a hand but merely staring at him. "Now how'd you let yourself get caught?" He bent down and picked up the utility knife. "I expect you were going to cut his balls off?"
"You know how much someone bleeds when you do that?" Gojyo responded, getting to his feet and brushing dirt from the knees of his jeans. "Fuck you, I was going to." He turned to walk away, but Doku grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, don't forget your knife. How's the hand?" he asked, pointing to the one that had been crushed beneath Dimitry's boot.
Gojyo shook it out, wiggling his fingers. "A little numb, but fine. Why the hell do you care?"
Doku grinned. "You're my favorite Blackjack dealer. And Reno would kill me if anything happened to you. I know you don't start your shift for a while. Come and eat with me."
"I'm not hungry." Gojyo had no desire to be anywhere near this man. The muscle had seen him in an extremely embarrassing and vulnerable position. The muscle was fucking his Goddamn' ex. The muscle had most likely saved his life. And now he was smiling all friendly-like at him, like they were old friends. There was something weird about him Gojyo couldn't place. Frankly, he didn't want to. So he was quite surprised when he allowed himself to be led out of the alley and onto the sidewalk beside Doku.
...
Notes:
Keistje: Gojyo and Doku are most definitely brothers. It explains the weird feeling they get around one another. I'm hoping to kinda get more into that as we go along. About Homura - they left him in Iso to die. All the guards were killed so nobody could bring him food, and he can't break out of his cell. Bye, bye, Homura. No more. 'Cause I suck at characterising him ... eh heh.
Krimson: Just ask me about what you don't get and I'll answer any questions you have. I'm not poetic, just lazy -.- Last chapter jumped about six months; we're now in summertime. Basically there was just a bunch of slow-moving gray area between the two, and I wanted to get into the fun bits. Waha.
Silver Moon Rebel: Ee! Hi, welcome back! I haven't seen your reviews since I did Yu Yu Hakusho fiction. It's cool seeing your SN again. I guess there's a ton of spoilery info going on, but if you've got questions feel free to ask me.
Iapetus: About the religious thing - Sanzo's relationship with Goku is sort of a 'fuck you' to the church, 'cause he's not a priest for loving God. (His reasoning I am trying to explain in one-shot format but so far I'm hitting a wall) Basically the only people who know about their relationship are the two of them, though Hakkai and Gojyo have been picking up on hints they're leaving. Oh, and Candy knows of course. They live together, but they don't entertain guests at their house. As far as anybody knows, they live around the same vicinity and are close friends that keep in touch very well. As for Homura, we've already had this conversation on AIM lol I felt I was butchering him, because I couldn't base my interpretation on much more -than- fanon. However, for a persona such as Homura's crammed into a human body, you've got to expect he might go just a little crazy. Plus that, I needed someone to beat up on Gonou and Sanzo back in E&A. Hoo-ray for poetic license. Really. My birthday's on Wednesday, though, so at least I'll have money with which to buy more DVD's. Wa-hoo. As for characterisation, I think I've been lucky so far. And I'm really glad I have you to help me along. Thanks a lot for that. Oh, and I hope you get through your SiB block soon 'cause I'm anxious about that hee you're mean with cliffhangers, you know that?
Dimitry, who makes quite the appearance here, is a character of mine, just as Isaac Paul was in Eights and Aces. I love Dimitry to bits, and I got to make him evil here. Which suits him well n.n I had a good time with that one. Warning for language, violence, and lots of references to Gojyo's E&A past. Notes to reviewers at the end.
-If you don't need me, I think I'll go. If you don't want me, tell me no-
...
It was a room like any other bedroom, generic and white-walled. The floor was littered with various articles of clothing, some dirty, some wearable, all wrinkled. The blinds were slammed shut against the daylight. An alarm clock rested on the bedside table. That, however, was where the similarities to normalcy screeched to a halt.
He yawned languidly, stretching his arms over his head to press his palms flat against the wall. He accidentally knocked a pack of cigarettes off of the table by his head. Cold, plastic eyes pressed into his back where he lay, and when he rolled over, another set of faces was there to meet him. Long, pale, lanky arms wrapped around a stuffed rabbit and clutched it to a thin, sallow chest. Absently, he took one ear between his teeth.
A few moments later, he thrust himself into an upright position. The stuffed animals under him bounced a bit, then settled into silence. Running a hand through his hair, he stood and scratched open-palmed at his bare sides. Glasses were shoved onto his face. A worn, white robe hung on the doorknob, and he slid into it but ignored the slippers, padding barefooted down the claustrophobic stairway. He knew there was coffee in the kitchen.
He'd made it the morning before, preferring to just make a batch for the week and microwave it as necessary. Sure, the taste changed a bit day after day, but a surprise was nice sometimes. It hadn't hurt him to date. Outside, the sun was already far overhead, so he shoved his coffee in the microwave and set about making a sandwich. Leftover takeout between bread, the breakfast of champions.
And then, Nii Jenyi plodded over to the door to check for mail.
He flicked disinterestedly through the various bills and solicitations, when a handwritten envelope caught his eye. An unfamiliar name graced the return address, but then again the letter wasn't meant for him in the first place. He shrugged and dropped the pile of paper on the counter, returning to his coffee. Nii had no moral dilemmas about opening his neighbor's mail. He just wanted to do it on his own time.
He was on his second cup and done with his sandwich when he raked a fingernail through the envelope. There was no salutatory first line; the letter dropped immediately into text. "What have we here, now?" he drawled, merely because it felt like a good thing to say at that moment.
Somebody was dropping money into Kougaiji's open palms. Nii wondered not who she was, nor why. He only wondered how perhaps, in some way, he might snag a piece of the pie. As a subtext, he also wondered where the hell he'd left his stamps.
...
Gojyo opened his eyes and grinned. Hakkai was already gone, had left hours ago with papers and pens and patience. He'd left Gojyo to deal with the unmade sofa bed and quite a nest of sex-hair. But that was just fine by the redhead.
Mondays, he reflected, could definitely be worse.
He swung his legs out into the air and sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and adjusting to a vertical position. His tangled locks clung to his neck and wound around his ears, greasy and hot. Gojyo shook out his shoulders and staggered into the bathroom for a good, warm shower.
There are those who sing in the bathroom for its fantastic acoustics. There are others who sing in there merely because it is a moment of private time they can't get anywhere else. Gojyo was neither of these people. Gojyo sang like he danced. He hummed softly to himself just so he'd stay focused. It was never a good thing to realize he'd dozed off in the steam only to be awakened by a blast of cold water signifying the emptiness of the water heater downstairs. It was a little, disjointed tune, a mash of random songs he'd heard over the years, often indistinguishable.
When he stepped again onto the tile, he realized the phone was ringing. He let the machine get it, but jumped when he heard Goku calling to him.
"You there? Gojyo, pick up!" Gojyo frowned and wrapped the towel about himself, grabbing the phone.
"What do you want?" he asked, sounding harsher than he'd meant.
Goku's voice brightened. "Gojyo! You're working tonight, right? I just wanted to make sure."
"Yeah, I am. Hey, what's this about?" Gojyo wiggled his little finger in his other ear and wiped his hand on the towel. "I work every day but Sunday."
"How often do they come in? Don't play dumb, you know -them-."
Gojyo shrugged out of habit. Goku's tone was firm and adult all of a sudden, and he disliked it. "Few nights a month. Four or five at most."
"When they do, could you, uh, call me and tell me what they say?"
Gojyo paused a moment, a small smile beginning to form on his features. "You know how wrong that is? Invasion of privacy? Kid, what if someone bugs the phones?"
"You watch too many spy movies. And the other bit...well, you're a protected witness. If there really is something going on, I'll maybe find some way to keep you safe. Okay?"
Gojyo sighed and slicked his wet hair back with his free hand. "Fine, just so you stop bugging me. I guess I wouldn't have said anything in the first place if it wasn't bothering me."
"Thanks, Gojyo! I promise you'll be fine."
"Don't make stupid promises," Gojyo responded. "What number do I call?" Gojyo grabbed a pen and, a few slightly damp seconds later, had scribbled the number on a pad of paper by the phone. The ink was slightly blurred but still legible.
When Gojyo was dressed, he meandered into the kitchen and, feeling too lazy to make coffee, downed a cup of the tea Hakkai had made. It was actually pretty good. A glance at the clock told him he had about an hour to kill. He grabbed his keys, shoved his feet into his boots, and left the bed unmade.
...
Gojyo liked winter in the city. Everything was gray and dark and mud-slush. Your breath hung in front of your face and you could hide in a giant coat and be warm inside and wet without. Summer was different. The sun unlocked the hidden stenches of dumpsters and street litter, turning the air sour near the ground. The only thing that really made summer nice, Gojyo decided, was the amount of clothing the girls wore. He didn't mind showing himself off as well.
A few appraising glances were sent his way when he stopped at a crosswalk. He leered at the drivers, one in particular, who blushed and tried to grin back. Gojyo laughed and walked on. He enjoyed the feeling of being appreciated for his looks without having to be paid for them as well. It was a certain sweet freedom that came from not being dependent on his sexuality, but merely complemented by it.
"Hello, you." The voice came slow and slithering, like the cold hands on his shoulders. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I see you've gotten yourself a nice job now."
Gojyo wrenched away. "Fuck off."
"Oh, come on." The hands replaced themselves and gently but firmly steered Gojyo into a corridor. The redhead felt the frigid flat of a knife being dragged over the back of his neck. "You never talk when you're holding cards. I'd like to catch up with you."
"I'm sure you do," Gojyo snarled, standing stock-still. "Come around front so I can get a good look at you."
The man behind him laughed. "Say please." Gojyo growled and thrust an elbow back, dodging forward as soon as his attacker bent double. The man recovered quickly, however, and caught Gojyo by the hair, yanking his head downward until the knife just barely pressed against his neck. "Did you miss me, too?"
Gojyo glared into ice-blue eyes, wanting to spit but knowing the brunette would have no qualms about slitting his throat then and there. "Not at all," he ground out, wincing as the hand in his hair twisted, threatening to take off a good chunk of his scalp.
"Maybe I'll jog your memory. You sure you don't want to come back to me? You almost said yes once." The knife was taken from his throat but before Gojyo could make any movement he was wrenched to his knees and nearly eating leather, the blade dawdling just below his ear. "Remember? You were desperate and starving." The man ground his crotch against Gojyo's face, grinning toothily. "I offered you a -steady- job. It'd still pay more than the casino does. You're still pretty, kid."
Gojyo growled deep in his throat, one hand snaking down to his boot and grasping for the utility knife he kept on him at all times. The hand yanked upward on his hair and he winced, grunting against the pain.
"Now, now. You're still just a child, aren't you? You'd like it with me. I gave you a bed. And breakfast, as I recall. You could have had that every day."
Gojyo's hand closed around the utility knife and he slowly brought it back up toward his chest. "What you never gave me were the bandages I had to ask the hotel manager for. Or payment for the hospital visit from the infections you left. Or any impression that I'd survive a -week- without the drugs you keep your sluts on."
"Prostitution's not pretty. That's what the whores are for." The knife under Gojyo's ear traced a gentle, cold pattern down under his jaw. "You can't have morals when you're desperate."
"It worked for me," Gojyo snarled, pulling the blade of his own knife out with a click. Ice-blue eyes glanced down, and the toothy grin appeared again.
"Oh, child, look at you," he cooed, stamping a heavy boot down on Gojyo's hand. The redhead gave a muffled cry into the fabric against his mouth as bones ground together between rubber treads and dirty asphalt. Gojyo was going for the lost knife with his other hand when the body above him shuddered.
"Dimitry, let him go."
It was the Muscle, the man that wouldn't stop staring at Gojyo when he dealt to him. While the others talked, this man's eyes were always on him. And he was playing savior. Gojyo felt like punching him.
"If you want your whores free, you don't do anything to piss me off," Doku growled, his meaty hand closing around Dimitry's wrist. The smaller man's knife clattered to the ground, skidding away and out of reach. Doku pried Gojyo out of Dimitry's grasp and gave the brunette a heavy punch to the jaw. "Stupid fuck, you don't -do- those things. Not now. You can have him later, but not fucking now."
Dimitry glanced over at Gojyo. "In a few months, then." And he left, holding his face and spitting blood.
Doku turned to Gojyo, not extending a hand but merely staring at him. "Now how'd you let yourself get caught?" He bent down and picked up the utility knife. "I expect you were going to cut his balls off?"
"You know how much someone bleeds when you do that?" Gojyo responded, getting to his feet and brushing dirt from the knees of his jeans. "Fuck you, I was going to." He turned to walk away, but Doku grabbed his shoulder.
"Hey, don't forget your knife. How's the hand?" he asked, pointing to the one that had been crushed beneath Dimitry's boot.
Gojyo shook it out, wiggling his fingers. "A little numb, but fine. Why the hell do you care?"
Doku grinned. "You're my favorite Blackjack dealer. And Reno would kill me if anything happened to you. I know you don't start your shift for a while. Come and eat with me."
"I'm not hungry." Gojyo had no desire to be anywhere near this man. The muscle had seen him in an extremely embarrassing and vulnerable position. The muscle was fucking his Goddamn' ex. The muscle had most likely saved his life. And now he was smiling all friendly-like at him, like they were old friends. There was something weird about him Gojyo couldn't place. Frankly, he didn't want to. So he was quite surprised when he allowed himself to be led out of the alley and onto the sidewalk beside Doku.
...
Notes:
Keistje: Gojyo and Doku are most definitely brothers. It explains the weird feeling they get around one another. I'm hoping to kinda get more into that as we go along. About Homura - they left him in Iso to die. All the guards were killed so nobody could bring him food, and he can't break out of his cell. Bye, bye, Homura. No more. 'Cause I suck at characterising him ... eh heh.
Krimson: Just ask me about what you don't get and I'll answer any questions you have. I'm not poetic, just lazy -.- Last chapter jumped about six months; we're now in summertime. Basically there was just a bunch of slow-moving gray area between the two, and I wanted to get into the fun bits. Waha.
Silver Moon Rebel: Ee! Hi, welcome back! I haven't seen your reviews since I did Yu Yu Hakusho fiction. It's cool seeing your SN again. I guess there's a ton of spoilery info going on, but if you've got questions feel free to ask me.
Iapetus: About the religious thing - Sanzo's relationship with Goku is sort of a 'fuck you' to the church, 'cause he's not a priest for loving God. (His reasoning I am trying to explain in one-shot format but so far I'm hitting a wall) Basically the only people who know about their relationship are the two of them, though Hakkai and Gojyo have been picking up on hints they're leaving. Oh, and Candy knows of course. They live together, but they don't entertain guests at their house. As far as anybody knows, they live around the same vicinity and are close friends that keep in touch very well. As for Homura, we've already had this conversation on AIM lol I felt I was butchering him, because I couldn't base my interpretation on much more -than- fanon. However, for a persona such as Homura's crammed into a human body, you've got to expect he might go just a little crazy. Plus that, I needed someone to beat up on Gonou and Sanzo back in E&A. Hoo-ray for poetic license. Really. My birthday's on Wednesday, though, so at least I'll have money with which to buy more DVD's. Wa-hoo. As for characterisation, I think I've been lucky so far. And I'm really glad I have you to help me along. Thanks a lot for that. Oh, and I hope you get through your SiB block soon 'cause I'm anxious about that hee you're mean with cliffhangers, you know that?
