Bad Company

.

Summary: Constantly on high alert, Genjo Sanzo, the egotistic president of Kinzan Publishing Co., had always derided the threats made on his life. Like hell he cared about that. Putting Son Goku, his ever-optimistic, ever-dogging assistant, in said harm's way, however, caused the pompous man to seek and spill blood for the first time in his solitary life.

.

It wasn't the first time that incidents happened to Kinzan. This was a regular occurrence from rival companies, after all—but this was the first time that Genjo Sanzo had to deal with a fellow worker struggling with his life because of neglect.

Sanzo should have seen it coming, but no, he became too lax and too open, and it resulted in this fiasco. Everything was a blur after seeing Goku drop to the floor. Sanzo made sure the elevator doors were open so it wouldn't accidentally crush Goku in half. He remembered yelling, but didn't know what he had yelled. He had Kami captured, summoned Gojyo, his bodyguard, and screamed for an ambulance when Sanzo saw the blood pooling on his hands and to the floor.

Sanzo glared at the swinging doors of the ICU and chewed on his unlit cigarette after a nurse berated him for smoking in the waiting area in Hakkai's hospital. The blond knew that his assistant would be all right, he was under Hakkai's care, after all.

And if Goku died in there? Sanzo would drag him back, anyway—mentally, he supposed. The blond didn't want to feel insane again.

His eyes kept darting to the wall clock that seemed to mock him with every tick of the second hand, reminding him that the only thing he could do was to fumble with his thumbs and wait. And so he paced around, fingers itching to light his cigarette, and he broke the cylinder in half in frustration. He slumped back on the seat and listened to nothing and everything. The idle talk of the nurses from the corner irked him, the ticking of the clock drove him restless, the shoes clopping on the floors made him want to punch someone—

"Ah, Sanzo. You're still awake."

Sanzo twitched as he looked at the man that exited the ICU. With dark brown hair, sporting glasses and a face mask, and wearing a pale green buttondown and dark slacks underneath a faintly, blood-splattered lab coat, the doctor smiled at the tense blond hunched over the edge of a chair.

"Is he awake, Hakkai?" Sanzo muttered, opting not to ask about the minute details such as how much of Goku's blood was on Hakkai's clothes.

"Barely. He couldn't speak at the moment because of the anesthesia, but he could hear his surroundings, I suppose. The bullet hit his rib—fortunately, no vitals were damaged. He did need a few stitches after the bullet was removed, and he had a concussion from falling to the floor." Hakkai took note of the apparent tired, violet eyes that looked past him. It was now nighttime; a few hours prior to getting a call from Kinzan, Hakkai was about to retire for the night. A collected, yet edgy call from the prideful Sanzo meant something was completely wrong. The blond only managed a few words out, and the most that Hakkai had made out were, 'Goku. Shot.' And Hakkai went over to Kinzan immediately.

Sanzo stood up and zipped past Hakkai with large strides, an unlikely gesture from the usually aloof man. Hakkai never asked about the blond's relation to Goku, or how the two met prior to being an employer and employee, but he did know that Goku would have to be one strong individual to be able to rattle emotion other than anger out of Sanzo.

"Sanzo" and "emotion" could never be put in the same sentence until now.

Hakkai smiled to himself and went off to clean the blood.

Inside the room that reeked of anesthetics and things that Sanzo couldn't name, he found Goku lying on the bed—asleep—breathing softly underneath the flimsy, blue blanket and equally flimsy blue, hospital robe. The blond's feet dragged heavily onto a nearby chair, and he plopped on it, relief that he would never dare admit flooding his body. Goku looked small on the hospital bed, and on instinct, Sanzo reached out to the sleeping young man, and ruffled the brown locks—

—and Sanzo, after feeling adrenaline leave him, could finally welcome sleep, and he slumbered beside Goku. It wouldn't be after an hour when Hakkai returned to check on his patient, only to find Sanzo sleeping on the chair beside Goku, his head resting against his arm on the bed, with his other hand gripping tightly around Goku's wrist, as though making sure that he still had a pulse.

"Well, this is something you don't see every day," Hakkai mumbled with a smile—and he secretly took a picture of the two, and saved it to his phone, putting it in an album entitled, Companions. "...Better not let Gojyo see this one."

.

The view from Sanzo's apartment was lovely, as Goku had always observed. Deep purples and bright oranges and reds painted the sunset sky, and he stretched out his hand in a vain attempt to reach out to it.

"Such a beautiful sky..."

"Well, if you're fine enough to make remarks about the heavens, I guess you're good enough to feed yourself."

Goku craned his neck from the bed, and saw Sanzo by the doorway with a tray of food in his hands. He grinned at the sight of food. "You made all of that? For me? ...Is the world ending today?"

"Shut the fuck up and feed yourself."

Goku heaved himself to sit up and tried to laugh, only to end up wincing as he clutched his ribs and forced out his words, "How long until I can move around?" He automatically reached out to the proffered small table with reheated food (Goku could tell, his boss couldn't cook, after all), and Sanzo sighed and went over to the bed, placing the tray in front of the brunet, and sat beside him. The brunet had been staying in Sanzo's place for almost two weeks now—he refused to leave Goku alone in his flat below. Who knows what reckless things the young man would do in his absence? Sanzo wouldn't have any of that.

"Hakkai said you'll take at least four weeks until you can move around. I gave your workload to Jien for the meantime."

Goku opened his mouth for a retort, and Sanzo cut him off with a curt, "If you're asking about that, we had the fucker caught that day and is now under Gojyo's 'care'. He kicked the guy a few times before he ended up spluttering while saying something about getting a nuisance during his week off because I called at night. Heh. For all I know, he's fucking showing off his new steel boots as usual."

Goku's lips twitched at the image of the arrogant redhead kicking Kami in the face. "...oh. That's good. I'll go there once I'm healed enough and rip Spot a new one."

He asked about the reason why Kami was fired from Kinzan, and Sanzo explained it to him—about how Kami used to be a managing editor, and how he approved of a manuscript that he didn't check was plagiarized from another writer. "Kinzan had to get fucking returns of all the copies distributed to the stores. In the end, it was all because of his shitty pride that he refused to take responsibility. He kept blaming it on others, saying that the other editors should take the blame, too. But that's not how the company works. So I fired the shitpile there and then."

Goku nodded, choosing not to say anything as he ate. And then—"Well, I think you did right, then. Putting others on the chopping block to keep your head safe is not a good sign of an employee in Kinzan, or anywhere else, I think."

Sanzo hummed in response, and he listened to Goku's labored breathing as he ate, their eyes cast away from another as the ticking clock passed by. And it took a while before Sanzo's lips slowly curled into a smirk, and sniggered, his shoulders quivering as whispers of mirth bubbled from the edges of his lips, and Goku looked at Sanzo's back strangely.

"What's so funny?" he asked as he chewed on a fried chicken leg he stabbed with a fork, and slurped on soup at the same time, and Sanzo snorted out his laughter even more.

"Remember that thing you joked about me being accidentally shot in the ribs by my own gun?"

Goku blinked and thought for a moment, before gaping his mouth and letting out a loud, "Ah!" and yelled at his morbid boss for laughing at his injured assistant.

Sanzo's barely heard laughter slowly faded away once Goku had finished eating with the same voracious speed, and he looked at Goku's chagrined expression with concealed amusement. The brunet lied back on the plush mattress and pouted. On reflex, the blond reached out to ruffle Goku's disheveled brown hair, and waited for him to fall asleep, his hand not leaving his tousled locks until he did so.

In Goku's mental dictionary of Sanzo sign language, it was the man's shy way of saying his thanks for saving his life.

Sanzo waited until Goku's breathing evened out, and only then did he stop ruffling the brown mop of hair. Staring at his assistant's profile, he noticed a golden chain around Goku's neck, and Sanzo huffed.

"Still wearing that, I see."

And he took away the empty tray of bowls and plates, leaving Goku alone in Sanzo's bed.

.

At night in the president's office, a redhead toyed with a lighter in his hands, and frowned at the sight of bloodied boots on Sanzo's attire. "Hey, Boss."

Sanzo leaned against a chair, one blood-dampened and boot-clad foot crossed over the other, reading tonight's paper with a cup of green tea. "What?"

"You could have, you know, cleaned off that blood before you went out."

"Feh. You kicked the guy into unconsciousness. I only nudged him because he wouldn't look at me properly, that's when I got the blood. Good thing I had heard enough."

The redhead grinned, "Yes, I did kick him. He was the reason I am wide awake and got called from my week off. So not cool. What's up with the guy, though? Telling you that someone thinks you're being a hindrance? Then again, you're always a hindrance." He forced a laugh, and observed the grim look on the president's face, knotted brows and clenched jaws almost taking a permanent residence on the 23-year-old's countenance. He surmised the reason and stifled a cough and a chortle. "If you're asking about the little shrimp, he ate and went to bed, though he really wanted to get up and go to the ninth floor to rip, uh, 'Spot' a new one, were his words."

Sanzo huffed that sounded like a concealed laugh, "Is that so. Better leave some unmarred space for the monkey to take over, then. Gojyo, you're dismissed."

And just like that, the deep lines on the CEO's face vanished in an instant, and Gojyo, noticing the sudden change in Sanzo's demeanor, howled in laughter. "You could have just said that you were relieved—hey! Stop aiming that gun at me!"

.

In the wee hours of the morning, Sanzo returned to his flat to see Goku, dressed in only Sanzo's spare buttondown shirt that hanged loose on one shoulder—raided my closet again, I see—hobbling around the kitchen with a big grin on his face. On the dining table was an assortment of foods—turkey legs, mashed potatoes, fried beans, clam chowder, a bowl of mayonnaise, a pack of beer, and Sanzo's favored rice steeped in green tea. Sanzo blinked.

"The fuck did these come from?"

Goku looked up from the boiling kettle of green tea and beamed even wider, "Ah, Sanzo! I ransacked your kitchen, hope you don't mind."

The blond raised his brow, and sat on a chair, letting the aromas of the food waft his nose, "Too late for me to comment on it, right. So, what's the occasion?"

Goku turned off the stove, poured two cups of tea and brought them over to the table. Sitting down, he regarded Sanzo with the same blinding grin, "Nothing much, just saying my thanks for letting me stay here, even though you could have let me stay in my flat just a floor below."

"…You do know I don't eat much, right?"

"I know. I'll help you with it!"

Sanzo grumbled something about bottomless pits, and began to eat, which cheered Goku up. "Did you beat him up real good? Because I see blood on your pants."

Sanzo remained silent, and drank tea. Expecting a reply, Sanzo sighed and glanced at his assistant, "Not my doing. That was Gojyo's. I merely didn't want to get blood on my hands when I talked to the guy."

"So you chose your boots instead."

"Hn."

Goku chowed on the soup, and handed him the bowl of mayonnaise, "Here, I know how much you like this stuff."

Sanzo stared at the bowl of mayonnaise, blinked, and then looked at Goku, "Cut the crap. You need to get more rest."

"Eh… But Sanzo, I am resting. Food is my rest time."

A twitch of a smile made its way to Sanzo's lips as he closed his eyes, accepted the bowl of mayonnaise and put it to his side, and sipped his tea, "So I see." He took a spoonful of the green tea rice and chewed, highly aware of Goku observing him.

"Well? Do you like it?"

"Hn, it's good enough."

"I'm glad—I finally made something that you approve of."

They ate in relative silence, broken only by the sound of clinking glasses on the table and utensils on plates. Once done, Goku heaved and patted his stomach, saying his thanks for the food. Sanzo rose from the table and put the empty plates and glasses on the sink, to which Goku noticed. "Ah, I'll clean it up, you can go to rest."

"…I'm good. It's not like I haven't done this in my life."

Goku hummed, and observed the way Sanzo's arms moved, deft hands scrubbing over the plates with suds. The man looked elegant no matter what small of a thing he did, Goku thought as he looked at the man's white nape, his sights trailing over the broad shoulders, tracing the invisible lines that defined the scarred back, his eyes locking onto the lean arms and the oddly petite waist that the man had—

—and before he knew it, Goku went over behind the blond, his golden eyes boring into the man's back.

"What is it," came the quiet voice, and Sanzo stopped washing the dishes when he felt hands clutching onto the back of his suit. "Hey, Monkey, what are you playing at—"

He stopped short at the unruly mop of brown hair huddled onto his back. Sanzo tried to coax him to stop, but Goku stayed still, not moving and speaking, and Sanzo let go of the sponge and patted his hands dry on his pants, and tried to maneuver around to stroke the already ruffled locks. Goku stirred a bit, and moved to look at the man when he felt a calloused thumb brush against his cheek. He closed his eyes to the damp and cool touch of the fingers on his skin, and his lips instinctively parted in full compliance.

"Goku…"

Goku's brows furrowed, and his hands pressed firmly over Sanzo's, planting it in place, and his lips parted a bit wider, and a hidden urge took over as the blond's thumb slid inside Goku's mouth, the latter welcoming it with a succulent greeting from a pliant tongue.

Around and around the thumb the tongue went, wetting it and getting it accustomed to the warmth inside Goku's mouth, and Sanzo could only stare, his violet eyes fixated on the sight, and he swallowed a groan, and his feet backed away a little from the younger man, and the latter followed until Sanzo felt the sink behind him.

Beneath fluttering purple eyes, Sanzo saw the developing jawlines that cradled a dirty mouth, the bobbing Adam's apple that housed a voice that was both screechy and sultry to his ears, and the jutting collarbones that peeked from beneath the shirt that Goku chose to wear from his closet. He took notice of the younger man's tanned skin, how it contrasted against his own paleness. His eyes fell to the ever-present gold chain clinging around Goku's neck like a second skin, and felt a surge of something remotely akin to delight flow inside him.

Sanzo had given him the necklace, after all.

It wasn't something special, he said to himself, it was a precious metal made into jewelery, but—

Goku wrapped his mouth around the blond's thumb, and lightly sucked, his golden eyes now wide and unfocused at Sanzo's guarded façade. Goku weakly pulled his head back, and started to bob his head around Sanzo's thumb.

When had he started getting feelings for this man? Goku was loud and incessant and reckless and constantly hungry—all things that Sanzo were not. He vowed to make no attachments to anyone at a very young age, when he saw what divorce could do to a family. He had always been petrified at the thought that he might end up like his no-good father, who left his mother in tatters, to the point of death. It was then that young Sanzo had realized that a heart had to be made of steel in order to live in this cruel world.

Goku, seeing a distant look in Sanzo's eyes, nipped the thumb in his mouth, and Sanzo's eye twitched, and Goku was observed once more.

When did I start getting feelings for this monkey again, Sanzo wondered. Was it during the time they met as children with foster parents? As teenagers? As fellow workers?

Sanzo observed Goku's movements—languid, precise, with an ardent need to please him. He observed the way he kept seeing bits of the brunet's teeth peeking from his mouth as his thumb was sucked. He observed the way those golden eyes kept glancing at him, wordlessly begging for attention with each brush of a finger against his hands. He observed the way Goku's eyes fluttered close, and peppered his hand with kisses that barely brushed against his skin, and when it did, the kisses were soft and tickled his fingertips with the feeling of warm air ghosting over the back of his hand.

Goku turned over Sanzo's hand and placed a lingering kiss on his wrist, feeling the thrum of the pulse against his lips—

—and mauve eyes slid close, and Sanzo's lips shuddered and parted at the caress of the touch on his skin.

The brunet could practically hear the man's crumbling resolve through the barely audible gulp, the soft sigh, and the soundless gasp that followed, and Goku returned to Sanzo's thumb, engulfing it in his mouth, and when he felt the digit start to ruck, he removed it with a small and sloppy pop, and licked the thumb one last time before mustering a lazy grin to Sanzo.

"Say, Sanzo—"

Goku released Sanzo's hand and splayed his palms on the blond's chest, and felt the hammering of a clad heart beneath the flimsy, white fabric—and he nudged a firm knee between the blond's thighs. Sanzo's eyes shot open and he went rigid, and ignored the sound of water behind him, the liquid now seeping on the hems of his suit, and he let his face get pulled close to the shorter man's lips.

He felt Goku's smile on his jaw, and when teeth explored his neck with a vicious bite, Sanzo gasped, his eyes closing once more—

—they really shouldn't be doing this. 'Don't be attached,' remember? What happened to that—

"Sanzo."

—this was wrong on many levels—

"Sanzo."

—when did teeth feel good on skin?

"Sanzo."

The blond felt rough and clawed hands with a mission to carry out, tugging on his damp suit to his elbows with a hiss, and Sanzo relished a playful whisper that crept to his ears with hidden malice.

"—the sink is about to overflow."