You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hakkai laughs, again. Goku has recently (read: since Sanzo took to being badly injured) been extremely interested in healing, and Hakkai patiently goes through the basics of first aid with the bright-eyed monkey. Hakkai goes through the steps of bandaging a wound, and Goku assumes an intense expression as he wraps the linen clumsily around Sanzo's unmoving arm. Sanzo says nothing, choosing to ignore the whole thing. Hakkai moves to sit close behind the teen, and places his long, slim hands on smaller ones. Whatever Goku lacks in skill, he makes up for with enthusiasm, and together, they achieve what they set out to do, no harm done to Sanzo (thankfully).
Hakkai praises the lanky teen, and pats Goku on his head, smiling serenely as Goku gives him a spontaneous hug, laughing as Sanzo remarks something pithy.
The laughter seems to echo through the room, and your heart lurches at that warm sound. Your body tenses in response, caught between anger, melancholy, and helplessness.
It was much later in the day, sometime around dinner to be exact, when Hakkai was sorely need. Again.
It was your fault, really, but you weren't about to regret anything. The bakasaru was too fun to tease, and the tension within you needed release. The monkey wails, and Sanzo twitches, and anyone with a beating heart (and you might soon not qualify) could feel his anger rising steadily.
Yet Hakkai only smiles at Sanzo, calmly impervious to his anger, and they exchange a look. Sanzo huffs, sits back down, and leaves the placating to Hakkai. He (and you) watches as Hakkai calms the child down with few gestures and even fewer words, and of course, the necessary bribe.
Sanzo's scowl fades slightly, and he says nothing, but you know he never doubted for a moment that Hakkai would calm the monkey down. Sure, Sanzo's 'method' is much faster, and you all know that.
But this is Hakkai, and no one is complaining, east of all you, who, if not for him, would most likely have been shot.
Though you can't help wanting, just a bit, to have been shot, and have those cool, competent hands resting on your skin, caressing, caring. Can't help feel slightly envious of the connection the healer has with the other two, the trust, the ease of touch.
You lift a cig to your lips, wishing for a dizzying, foolish moment that it was something sweeter, softer. Warmer.
He seems to know. If not the thought exactly (and you thank the doubtful heavens for that), he senses your quiet despondence, so unlike you. He invites you for a game of poker. The monkey is immediately enthusiastic, but you find yourself casually refusing. After all, spending time with him, however enjoyable, makes you uncomfortable, in ways you're never going to be able to tell him about. But he insists, with that tone in his voice that said he really wants you to agree. So you do.
And lose every game. Too busy you are, dreaming, watching beautiful emerald eyes. Emerald eyes that dart to you once in awhile, and as you hastily avoid eye contact, you miss the knowledge and understanding in those eyes, eyes soft as summer grass. Miss the resounding heat in them.
He stands up when Goku complains of hunger (aren't you always? Sanzo mutters venomlessly), and requests that you join him in the kitchen to make a quick snack for all. Two pairs of hands are better than one, he remarks. He exchanges a look with Sanzo that you can't quite catch, don't quite understand, before leaving. You follow him after awhile, knowing he wouldn't have let you refuse anyway.
So you leave, wondering with a vague jealousy about that look.
You amble into the kitchen, and the snack is already prepared. The look you give him is puzzled, and he knows it, knows you, but he says nothing, and his eyes are unreadable.
He hands you the tray. You reach for it, but he doesn't let go. He takes a step towards you, and another.
Everything slows down, speeds up, as he leans in. Closer, closer.
And then there is only pleasure. The sort you've dreamt about for nights. The impossible sort (but nothing is impossible, his voice says in your head).
His breath is hot, and his tongue leaves streaks of flame on your lips, in your mouth, down your neck. You're stunned, but not for long.
There is a furnace somewhere, wherever the two of you are in contact. All the tense stillness in you breaks like a storm, raining passion, scouring skin and lips, bruising in their haste. And yet, for all the heat, neither of you are burnt, for tenderness, just under the surface, is a cool compress for the heart. He shudders, and the tremors run through you. You gasp, and the sound echoes within him. There are connections between you two, infinite, unbreakable. This is only one more.
But damned if it isn't one hell of a pleasurable one.
And it's quite awhile, before the two of you return to the game. Hakkai makes a point of knocking, waits for assent, before opening the door for you.
You greet the others with a wide, wide grin. Sanzo doesn't seem surprised, and Goku seems sort of dazed, and then focuses on the tray in your hands, as he always does with food in the vicinity.
There is cheer in you, one that has been absent for days, weeks even.
After all, there really isn't anything to be envious about.