Disclaimer: Characters of Gensoumaden Saiyuki belong to Minekura Kazuya.

Many thanks to those who reviewed: m{_}m , thanks to those who read the previous chapter too.

Turbulent Days: Chapter 2: Domestic Bliss

In the living room of a plebeian apartment located in another part of the city island, a lanky man was cursing and grumbling as he tried to iron a piece of white long apparel and enjoy a smoke at the same time.  Damn him! Why does he have to work extra hours tonight?  And it was on laundry night too.  And laundry night was also Friday night, which was the ironing man's favorite night out - to the grand foray of cards, mahjong tiles, wine and women.

The cursing intensified when he realized that some of the ashes from his cigarette end had fallen onto the spotless attire.  He brushed them away hastily, and was relieved to see that no grayish stain of the soot had set on the garment.  He will kill me if he sees even a fly's crap on his uniform. He breathed a sigh of irritation as the familiar sounds of keys rattling against keys came from the direction of the door.  Not that he would be the one to hear that sound more often than his flat-mate.

"I'm home, Gojyo," a bespectacled man with a gentle voice said as he took off his shoes and placed them carefully on the rack beside the door.  He frowned as he noticed a pair of mud-caked work boots resting precariously on the top of the rack.

"Didn't I tell you to clean your boots before coming home from work, Gojyo?" the gentle voice now contained an irritated edge to it.

The man called Gojyo rolled his eyes in exasperation as he retied his ponytail.  He winced when he espied from a few errant strands that the last highlight job had gone bad.  Some of the red dyed strands were turning into an unappetizing green.  Better cut them all off, he thought.  The new consultant head for the current construction project was a stickler for formalities or what the asshole termed "proper image presentation".  Not that the engineer's university degree helped much when it comes to real technical expertise, which is the domain of crew bosses like Gojyo.

"Okay, I'll remember that next time, Hakkai," he said placatingly as the other man stared at him, then at the ironing board.

"The clothes, Gojyo," Hakkai pointed to the iron sitting on his uniform.

"Ah, sorry," Gojyo intoned in mock-solemn voice and turned off the iron.  Then he broke into the tirade he had been practicing for the last two hours:  "Who ran back to the restaurant when it was his turn to do the laundry, huh? And left a message on the refrigerator telling, no, ordering me to wash, dry, hang and iron? It's Friday night, for God's sake!"

"Look, the night-shift cook called in sick, okay?  The boss asked me to help, and I couldn't say no, right?  Not to such a considerate employer."  Adjusting his glasses in a tired gesture, Hakkai walked towards his friend and took the iron from him.

"It's okay, I'm almost done anyway," Gojyo said hastily, but Hakkai's grip was determined.  Gojyo let go of the iron, almost feeling ashamed of himself.  Here he is, tired from a whole evening's work, and you force him to do the ironing?  How many washings and ironings has he done for you, my friend?  And how many have you done for him?  He knew the answer to those questions: Hakkai: countless, Gojyo: 1/2 (counting tonight).

"You can still have your few hours of fun, if you hurry."  Gojyo flinched imperceptibly at the warmth of the words that could hardly mask the cold beneath the voice.

He knew of only one way to dispel the coldness from the other man's heart.

      Flirting.

      "You know, you can never say 'no' to your boss at the restaurant, huh?  Yaone, is that her name? A pretty dame, isn't she?" he began by standing very close behind Hakkai, who was applying starch onto the uniform and seemed to be ignoring his efforts.

      "You forgot the starch, Gojyo," Hakkai reprimanded him, almost with spite.  Then, he whirled around suddenly.  Gojyo was amazed at how that dreamy gaze of Hakkai's eyes never failed to make his legs go jelly - no matter how many times he tried to brace himself against it.

      "Is somebody having a fit of jealousy here?" Hakkai asked flippantly.  Gojyo favored him with a lop-sided smile.  Throwing both arms around Hakkai's waist, he feigned a look of injured pride: "Who, me?"

      Hakkai reached backward to flick off the switch of the iron before encircling the other man's neck with both hands.

      "Now who's going to do the ironing, huh?" Gojyo teased him at the end of a long kiss.

      "Tomorrow is your off-day.  At least, the later part of it."

      "Ah, yes.  Cooks never have weekends off."

      "Only brutish construction crew bosses do."

      "Let this brute show you what he intends to do to you."

On the bed they shared (whenever they felt like it, which was often), all signs of fatigue disappeared from Hakkai as his lover nibbled at an earlobe.  By the time he was naked under Gojyo's ministrations, the smells and sounds from the infernal kitchen he worked in had retreated far, far in the back of his mind.  Then abruptly, the caresses ceased.  Still in a straddling position, Gojyo looked up and loosened his shoulder length hair, all the while holding Hakkai enthralled with a sensual hypnotic gaze.

      "Don't stop. Please."

Gojyo smiled as he heard the moan from the beautiful creature beneath him.  Then he decided to be merciful and took the begging lips in a fierce kiss.  He could feel nails digging onto his back, and wondered if Hakkai could sense the smug smile in his kiss.  He must have really missed me during the last twenty-four hours.

Outside the apartment, the sound of an impending rainstorm reverberated.  An empty threat, followed by the gentle patter of rain against the window.

      "The rain has started," Hakkai panted, clutching his lover's badly highlighted hair.

      "It's going to go on for a long time," Gojyo answered as he moved southwards, tracing the ornate red and green dragon dancing on Hakkai's torso.  Gojyo knew every twist and turn of the creature's serpentine body as intimately as he knew his friend's tastes and limits (and more).  It was beautiful, but the tattoo also carried painful memories with it, never mind that it must have also taken a lot of pluck to subject that much skin to the needle in the first place.  However, pain, too, was far from Hakkai's mind as Gojyo's hair swept along his body, moving in a languid dance towards the center of his being.

      Later on, he caressed the silky hair of his exhausted lover and noted the red-turning-into-green strands with amusement.  Hakkai would recall that precise moment every time he tried to remember the last uncomplicated night of his life with Gojyo.

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Coming soon:

Turbulent Days: Chapter 3: Whirlwind

In his despair in face of betrayal, after the raid Sanzo got angry, got drunk and lost his… urm… cherry. Who is the (un)lucky boy who keeps on claiming that he had known Sanzo for eons, in many lifetimes? What is Sanzo's connection to Hakkai?

Annoying Notes:

Was that lemon? I guess most old-timers would call it citrus.  The last line was stolen from Jacquelline Bisset in her novel, The Naked Heart. I feel that I needed to write it, to portray the "domestic bliss" crap Gojyo and Hakkai were enjoying up to the moment old blondie darkened the door to their apartment, which would be soon, too soon indeed.  As they say, when you're in love, time is never enough.  Ah yes, I also wanted to drop a not-so-subtle hint on Hakkai's past.

On hair/eyes color: Since the triad phenomenon (or plague, as most would see it) is a predominantly Asian thing, it seems very hard to give them natural blond or red hair, so I settled for dye/bleach mechanism, since most of the triad people (the wanna-bes we see on the reel anyway - real-life mob bosses are another thing altogether - most of them appear in courts of law looking more like your average mousy clerks or accountants) do not seem to be averse to the occasional coloring jobs.

On names: Does anyone believe even for a moment that those four guys (okay, except for Goku) carry the same names they did 1400 years ago (assuming real-life Tripitaka's timeline: circa AD629-645) throughout their various versions, urm, reincarnations? Of course not.  But if every reincarnation fic authors were to take the liberty of renaming the characters… well, unless the author is really that good, no reader is going to know who is who that easily.