"Sanzo, I'm hungry."
"Shut up."
"But I'm hungry."
"Urusai."
"But Sanzo, I'm reeeally hungry!"
"URUSAI!!"
THWAP!
"Owww…mutter, mutter…mumble…hungry…"
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Sanzo."
Pout.
Thus began a typical afternoon during the Sacred Journey to the West; a typical
afternoon, following on the heels of a typical morning: they woke up, Hakkai
made them breakfast, they drove West for a while (Goku and Gojyo arguing all the
while, these arguments interspersed with brief periods of silence enforced by an
irritated monk with a large paper fan); they stopped, killed about a dozen
youkai, got back in the car and drove. And drove.
They had been driving for about five hours now, and for four of them Goku had
been piping up with the same complaint every fifteen minutes. Everyone was
tired, cramped and irritable, and far beyond caring whether Goku was hungry or
not. They were rapidly reaching the end of their collective tether; if Goku kept
complaining, there was no telling what they might do.
The physical manifestations of their ire were easily visible to anyone who was
paying attention: Hakkai was frowning, his fists clenched around the steering
wheel; Gojyo sat with his hands twisted through his hair and covering his face,
his head was tilted back to rest on the seat-back and an expression of pain and
irritation was scrawled across what little was visible of his face. As for Sanzo,
his eyes were narrowed, the vein at his right temple was throbbing, and he was
slapping his fan arrhythmically against his left hand.
Goku, being Goku, was oblivious to all signs of imminent danger. To his
contrastingly simple and complex, inhuman mind, the thought of deliberately
turning on one of his own was completely alien, as was the idea of fighting
outside of jest. Fighting was for enemies; family owned your loyalty. And since
the Sanzo-ikkou were the only family he had known, they owned his loyalty and
with it his heart and soul.
Consequently, he was comfortable with them, secure in the knowledge that they
could be trusted to watch his back, to keep his demonic form in check should he
need to remove his limiter. (He was trying very hard to put the horrible
incident when he had turned on Gojyo in his insane, bloodthirsty battle-rage
behind him, but guilt is notorious for its tenacity, so Goku was forced to
content himself with merely repressing it until he had the liberty to confront
it properly.) Most importantly, he trusted the others to feed him when he
hungered.
And dammit, he hungered! After five hundred years trapped in a cave with
no food, who wouldn't? All he was asking for was a little consideration for
himself and his poor abused stomach.
He would venture another attempt: surely the others would take pity on him
sooner or later…
"Sanzo, I--"
The blond spun around immediately, gun aimed and fired so fast Goku didn't
register what had happened until he felt the burning pain across his cheek.
Sanzo had shot him. SANZO had SHOT him. Goku thought for a moment that he was
going to be sick. The pain in his cheek paled in comparison with the gaping
bloody hole where his heart used to be. The blood drained from his face as Gojyo
spoke up tiredly from beside him.
"Oi, priest, watch where you're aiming that thing. Don't want you hitting me
instead of the baka saru."
"Wouldn't make much difference," came the disgruntled reply.
Hakkai intervened. "Maa maa, let's not start fighting. Just enjoy
the silence while it lasts."
Goku's gorge rose in his throat. Was that really how the others thought of him?
An irritation? a distraction? a petty nuisance? He hunched in on himself on the
cramped backseat, drawing his knees to his chest in an unconscious imitation of
a foetal position. Why had he not realised?
He would try harder in the future. He would be silent, still; he would become
like the stone he had been imprisoned in for so long. Maybe that would please
Sanzo. He only wanted to make Sanzo happy; wanted Sanzo to love him. The jaded
priest was everything, everything that mattered in his world. It
would hurt as much as having a limb torn off if he lost Gojyo or Hakkai, and he
would spend the rest of his life missing something that should always
have been there, as much a part of him now as his limbs. But if Sanzo left him,
it wouldn't matter at all if he spent the rest of eternity locked in his
mountain prison, the world would be dead to him.
None of the other members of the Sanzo-ikkou noticed Goku's sudden withdrawal
into himself, they were far too occupied with enjoying the rare and blessed
silence to wonder at its cause.
~Chapter Two~
The inexorable passage of time did nothing to improve Goku's situation.
Torrential downpours all but halted the journey westward, and the little
progress they did make was dogged by rain, cold, and scarcity of food. Hakuryuu
eventually rebelled, returning to his draconic form with a disgusted hiss and
refusing to transform into Jiipu despite all Sanzo's threats and Hakkai's
enticements. He took to disappearing for long periods of time; where he went,
Hakkai could not say. Sanzo was in a perpetually foul humour and anyone who
crossed his path was certain to run afoul of his barbed tongue. Even Hakkai was
losing patience with him. Gojyo had long since given up and now resided almost
permanently in one bar or another, surrounded by a cloud of smoke and a host of
empty beer bottles, gambling. Strangely, his nights were not passed in the
company of the loose women who flocked to him. More often than not, he was found
late at night in the room he and Hakkai shared, trying yet again to beat the man
at cards.
Goku should have been conspicuous by his absence. He spent most of his time in a
small cave on the outskirts of town, lashed by wind and rain, but glad of the
meagre shelter it offered. After a few days, Hakuryuu had sought him out -- for
reasons Goku could not determine -- and he spent much of his time with the
dragon's warm body curled about his neck as his mind whirled with conflicting,
confusing thoughts.
Mostly, he thought of Sanzo. His saviour. His universe.
He had been chained in a cave for five hundred years -- imprisoned for a crime
he could not remember -- lost, lonely and slowly dying inside, his battered soul
crying out to the one who had been its sun, a being whose face and name he no
longer remembered, his only knowledge that this being had been home.
Then Sanzo had come. Young, angry, arrogant, snide and everything that should
have caused him to despair, but in that moment his soul had cried out
unmistakably in joy, and he knew he had found home.
Home was less than he would have hoped for. He gave the priest his hope, his
love, his trust, his unquestioning devotion, and Sanzo spat it mercilessly back
in his face.
<<Baka saru.>>
<<Temee…>>
<<Worthless, stupid monkey!>>
<<Urusai.>>
<<Should have left you in the goddamn cave…>>
<<Kisama.>>
<<SHUT UP GOKU!!>>
And yet he stayed. At first, when he was five hundred years old but a child for
the first time in his memory -- taking delight in the world around him,
endlessly mischievous -- he had stayed because Sanzo was his father, his
brother, his teacher, his master. Then he had stayed because he simply could not
imagine life without Sanzo. He had found his sun, and nothing could tear him
away from it.
As he grew from a teenager into an adult, still taking joy from the life
surrounding him -- endlessly talking and eating and fighting because too much
silence and stillness reminded him of his long, lonely imprisonment -- his
feelings changed along with his body. Deepened. Strengthened. Perhaps worsened.
It had been a long while before he realised what he truly wanted from Sanzo. He
had denied, repressed, avoided the knowledge in a desperate attempt to preserve
his rapidly fading innocence, to be the naive baka saru Gojyo taunted for his
youth, despite the fact that he was at least five hundred years the ero kappa's
senior. Growing up had not been a pleasant experience for him so far: it had
involved imprisonment, loneliness, verbal and physical abuse, killing, an insane
murderous rampage during which he had almost murdered two men he loved like
brothers, and an insatiable hunger for something he could not -- would not --
name.
A single moment on a humid evening in a forest had destroyed all his efforts.
Goku woke in the oppressive humidity of the forest, desperate for a drink and
a bath, even though he knew the water would ultimately do nothing to solve his
problem. He rose from his thin pallet, momentarily worried as he noticed Gojyo
and Hakkai were absent, but he relaxed as he saw Hakuryuu sleeping peacefully by
the brunette's deserted bedroll. If something had happened, the dragon would
have alerted them. He threaded his way along the narrow game trail that led to
the nearby lake.
As he approached his destination, he stopped dead in his tracks, jaw unhinging
in astonishment. He was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him,
but maintained enough presence of mind to remove himself from the path so that
he could ponder it unobserved.
Hakkai and Gojyo were in the pool, naked, water obscuring everything below the
waist, but unmistakably entwined in a passionate embrace. As Goku shifted to
watch the entangled figures, Hakkai's hands wound their way into Gojyo's
blood-red hair, pulling him closer and throwing his head back in ecstasy as
Gojyo ran his tongue down his lover's neck. Hakkai let out a low moan as the
half-breed's hands slid down his back and out of sight under the water. He
forcefully pulled Gojyo's head away from his neck and pressed a fierce kiss to
his lover's lips. Gojyo whimpered and ground his hips against Hakkai's.
Goku watched from his concealed place in the woods and was filled by two
conflicting types of heat. The heady, liquid heat of arousal was pooling low in
his stomach as he watched the erotic display in the water, while a bitter, fiery
jealousy consumed his heart. He was not jealous of the pair in the water; he was
overjoyed that Hakkai had found the comfort and happiness he deserved in Gojyo's
arms, and he had long since realised that Gojyo all but worshipped the ground
Hakkai walked on. They seemed right together, and he was delighted
for them.
His jealousy was for himself. Goku wanted what they had, and he wanted it with
Sanzo.
Nothing had changed since then. Sanzo was still the centre of his universe,
and Goku wanted him with a desperate hunger. Sanzo still treated him like dirt.
He had resigned himself to the fact that Sanzo would never want him the way he
wanted the priest. He was too young, too loud and a youkai besides; Sanzo had
never bothered to hid the fact that he thought of all youkai as filth. Hakkai
and Gojyo were somewhat redeemed by their human ancestry, but Goku had no such
claim. He was not only a youkai, but completely unnatural; a freak.
He could have lived with this knowledge, had done so for some time, if he had
the consolation that he was important to the priest; even if only because of
Botatsu-sama's command. It was the idea that Sanzo did not care about him, that
he was a mere inconvenience to be tolerated at best, which had been his undoing.
He could not abide the thought that the man for whom he fought, bled, laughed
and simply got up each morning did not feel anything for him in return.
There had been signs that Sanzo did in fact care very deeply for his charge, but
in the depths of his depression Goku could not see them, or if he did they paled
in comparison with the daily stream of abuse he endured.
At last, the childish baka saru was growing up. But he was not merely
growing up: he was growing old. His ceaseless delight in the world around him
was fading, and he was slowly returning to the dying creature he had been long
years ago during his imprisonment, alone and despairing, desperately crying out
to one who could no longer hear him.
And the very people who should have heard him, should have understood, should
have dropped everything and run to save him, were too preoccupied with their own
lives and their own problems to see the danger looming before them:
Son Goku was destroying himself in the name of love.
~Chapter Three~
The first time it happened was purely an accident: he stayed too long in his
isolated cave and was late for dinner; as he ran frantically back towards town
he slipped on the muddy ground and tore his arm open on a thorny bush as he
flailed for balance. After that, he couldn't stop. The pain felt good.
Immediate, real, a distraction from the suffocating pain in his heart; it was
all he wanted.
A pilfered kitchen knife became his most treasured possession, far more than
even his Nyoi staff. He kept it meticulously clean; as good as the festering
agony of infection would have felt, he could not chance it becoming fatal and
taking him away from Sanzo. The pain was all he craved. He spoke less than ever,
ate less than before, and took to permanently wearing long sleeves to cover the
bandages and raw wounds on his arms.
It was not until they began travelling again that the Sanzo-ikkou began to
suspect anything at all. Even then, it was only Gojyo who was disturbed. He
missed his fights with the saru, but the others were too pleased by the silence
for concern. Gojyo however, was disturbed, and grew more so with each day that
passed.
Goku was always silent now, always tired, and he seemed withdrawn in a way that
was alien to the lively monkey's nature. Each night, he wandered away from the
group for a time, coming back tired but more content than he had seemed at any
other time. When Gojyo mentioned this to Hakkai, his lover suggested the
obvious: Goku was a young man, perhaps he had certain needs that could
not be attended to in the presence of the group.
Gojyo flushed scarlet at his lover's insinuation, not wanting to think of Goku
-- a boy he privately regarded as an honoraary younger brother -- engaged in such
intimate acts. His embarrassed blush won delighted laughter from Hakkai. But the
possibility seemed somehow wrong to Gojyo. It didn't fit, and he suspected
something more sinister. He resolved that he would follow Goku on one of his
nocturnal excursions.
He noted with some resentment that Sanzo was, as usual, oblivious to everything
but himself and his own problems. This kind of thing should have been the monk's
responsibility. However, he doubted Sanzo would care even if he did know.
That night, Gojyo followed Goku through the sandy desert, grateful that the
dunes provided him a measure of shelter from Goku's sharp eyes. The monkey
walked a long distance away from the camp, then sat down on a moonlit dune. He
removed his shirt and glanced up suddenly; Gojyo ducked swiftly down behind the
dune where he was secreted, heart speeding up in shock. The sound of a soft moan
penetrated the air and he blushed anew, recalling Hakkai's theory. As he turned
and caught a fleeting glimpse of moonlight on silver, a sick suspicion filled
him. What if the moan had been one of pain?
He heard it again, but a name this time, a softly whimpered plea: "Sanzo…".
Gojyo looked over the crest of the dune and almost threw up. Goku was naked,
blood running freely down both arms as he caressed his erection, moaning his
guardian's name. Gojyo clapped a hand over his mouth and fled, tears streaming
down his cheeks as he stumbled back to camp.
He collapsed by Hakkai, shaking with barely suppressed sobs. His motions awoke
Hakuryuu, whose concerned creening in turn roused his master. Hakkai bolted
upright, worry drawn across every line of his body. He pulled his trembling
lover into an embrace, asking in a troubled voice what was wrong. Seeing Hakkai
without his usual cheerful mask destroyed the last of Gojyo's composure. He fell
onto his lover's chest, shaking with the force of his silent sobs. "It's
Goku…he…oh God, Hakkai…I don't know what to do…"
Hakkai was unable to get a coherent answer out of him that night, only a
repeated plea not to say anything to Goku, at least until he'd had
time to sort things out in his head. Hakkai gave his word, and did not say
anything when Goku returned to camp, weary and seemingly at peace. For the first
time, he understood his lover's concern of days previous. Goku seemed fine, but
if all was truly well, Gojyo would not have been incoherent with shock and fear,
though he was now desperately feigning sleep.
After Goku fell into weary and troubled dreams, the half-breed rose and spent
the remainder of the night isolated a short distance from the camp, deep in
thought. By the time the others woke the next morning, he had reached a
conclusion: Sanzo had to know. He was the only one who could possibly help.
Anything other than the cuts was Goku's responsibility to explain, but the
evidence of his self-mutilation would be enough to alarm the priest. Gojyo would
not betray his knowledge of the rest to Goku, and he could not tell the others
about the cuts without exposing his knowledge of everything else. That was all
right. He knew what to do.
Gojyo returned to the camp centred, settled, and Hakkai heaved an internal sigh
of relief. Things returned to what had passed for normal these last few weeks:
breakfast was eaten in silence; Goku accepted what was put in front of him, said
nothing, and did not ask for more. Sanzo drank his coffee in silence. Neither
Gojyo nor Hakkai had much of an appetite that morning.
Gojyo, Hakkai and Goku struck camp as Sanzo drank a second cup of coffee. As
Goku turned from storing his pack in the back of Jiipu, Gojyo -- who had been
waiting for such an opportunity -- called out his name, reached over, and
clamped his hand down on Goku's arm. Hard. Goku gave a single,
agonised scream and passed out.
Sanzo's coffee mug flipped in the air once…twice…thrice…as it descended to
the ground, spilling an arc of chocolate-brown liquid in its wake. Sanzo
sprinted towards them so fast that he was beside them on his knees before either
Goku of his mug had finished falling. Gojyo barked out an order to Hakkai to
bring Goku's pack. Face fearful, Hakkai obeyed. Gojyo stripped the young man out
of his shirt as Sanzo watched, bemused and protective.
He stripped off the bandages covering Goku's forearms and blanched in horror at
the sheer extent of the damage. There was hardly a square inch of skin that
wasn't crisscrossed with healing scars, new scabs, or cuts still bleeding from
where Gojyo had squeezed them. While Hakkai and Sanzo stared at Goku in
bewildered dismay, he rummaged through the pack and -- as he expected -- found a
gleaming knife and several lengths of bloodstained cloth.
When he showed them to the other two, Sanzo looked as ill as he himself had felt
the previous night, and Hakkai stumbled off to the side of their camp to retch
up his meagre breakfast.
Sanzo was still white as he began to clean and re-bandage the cuts. He looked at
Gojyo dangerously as he asked, "You knew about this?"
Gojyo was able to answer with complete honesty. "I've suspected for a while
that something was wrong, but I had no idea until just now that it was so bad,
or that it had been going on so long."
Sanzo managed to summarise the situation in one word: "Fuck."
The monk moved with unexpected care as he picked up the limp body of his charge
and placed him in the back of the jeep.
"I'll sit with him. Get Hakkai: we need to get Goku somewhere we can take
care of him properly. If we hurry, we can reach the nearest town by
sunset."
Gojyo nodded and moved off. He was unused to seeing this side of Sanzo; perhaps
there was hope for Goku after all.
~Chapter Four~
Hakkai stared into the rear-view mirror, watching the duo it reflected with
conflicting emotions. He was shocked and unspeakably disturbed by the evidence
of Goku's obvious mental problems, the sheer extent of his self-inflicted
injuries was terrifying. He was saddened that he had dismissed the many signs
and Gojyo's persistent worry until things had gone too fare to be easily
remedied, and he was astonished at the change the discovery had caused in Sanzo.
The blond was sitting wedged into the corner of the backseat, cradling Goku's
torso against his own as the comatose young man lay across the expanse of the
bench seat, his head resting on Sanzo's shoulder. The monk's expression warred
between tenderness and frantic worry, and his hands trembled slightly where they
rested on his charge's chest.
The icy veneer had finally shattered.
Hakkai was equally concerned by the silent presence of his lover in the seat
beside him. He had a feeling that there was more to this situation than Gojyo
was letting on, and he meant to find out what it was. One thing was certain: it
would be terrible. Worse even than the self-mutilation, perhaps. Hast night had
been the fears time he had seen his lover truly unable to cope with a situation.
It was an experience he hoped never to repeat.
As he drove towards the setting sun, he was forced to wonder what could have
caused his young companion to such desperate acts. Goku had always seemed so
full of youthful joy and vitality that seeing him this way was completely
abhorrent. Truth be told, however, it had been a long while since that
description had been an accurate representation of the boy. He was quiet,
withdrawn, and seemed old somehow, as if the full weight of his five
hundred years of loneliness and despair had settled irrevocably onto his slender
shoulders.
If he had not been so preoccupied by his own life and the pressures of a cranky
Sanzo trying to force them to continue westward when travel was clearly
impossible, perhaps he would have noticed. Perhaps it could have been prevented.
Perhaps Goku would not have had to bear his burdens alone.
Hakkai had hoped he was someone Goku could turn to when he was in need of solace
or direction. He was wrong. He had failed.
They had all failed.
He did not know, but he suspected that his companions' thoughts were equally
morbid. Gojyo still looked faintly ill, and incalculably troubled. Hakkai still
suspected he knew more about Goku's problems than he was saying. The brunette
glanced into the rear-vision mirror in time to see Sanzo swipe angrily at a
stray tear, which was tracing a laborious path down the porcelain cheek. There
was evidence on the monk's face that it had not been the only one to escape. His
hands returned to cradling Goku's body and he rested his cheek on top of the
insensible boy's head in a strangely possessive manner. The first niggling hint
of suspicion wormed its way into Hakkai's mind.
The tension in the jeep was so thick it was almost a visible, unwelcome fifth
presence. When they finally reached town just before sunset, it was an
incredible relief just to be able to arrange for hotel rooms, as it provided him
a momentary distraction from the tension. They had only two rooms, based on an
unspoken communal desire to have someone with the troubled young man at all
times.
Hakkai healed his cuts and removed all traces of scar tissue, unable to bear the
sight of it marring the delicate bronze skin.
He and Gojyo collected their belongings from Jiipu's interior, and he returned
to his draconic form immediately, speeding off towards Goku's room. The two men
climbed to the second floor of the hotel more slowly, depositing their
belongings in the room they planned to share.
Before he could take Sanzo and Goku's things into the adjoining room Hakkai
stopped Gojyo, intent on finding out what the redhead was hiding. As had been
the case for the majority of the past twenty-four hours, Hakkai was not wearing
his trademark smile when he spoke. "There's more to this than you've told
us, Gojyo. Tell me what it is, love. Please."
The half-breed swallowed visibly before he answered. His reply left Hakkai
feeling as sick as Gojyo looked.
"Goku wasn't just cutting himself last night. What I saw…oh God!…He
was naked, there was blood everywhere; on his arms, on his chest, on his cock,
on the sand…he was jacking himself, and it was Sanzo's name he was
calling."
All Hakkai could think was that he thanked all the gods that Sanzo didn't know.
~Chapter Five~
Sanzo knew. Not about Goku's activities in the desert the night before, but
he knew what the cause of Goku's problem was. Or rather who. Whom.
He. Himself. Genjo Sanzo. No one else.
He knew, because he shared the problem. Nobody made him feel the things
Goku did. Not even his master had been able to inspire such intense love and
devotion in him. No one had ever been able to get under his skin
as quickly and as thoroughly as Goku did, or in such a wide variety of ways.
Goku made him so angry he couldn’t see straight, so protective he couldn’t
think straight. Made him want to laugh, something he hated. Exasperated him
constantly. Made him feel alive for the first time in far too many years. But
when Goku looked at Sanzo with his heart and all his fierce unquestioning love
in his eyes, all Sanzo wanted to do was grab him and fuck him into the ground,
then take him in his arms and never let go.
Goku made him vulnerable. Compromised his objectivity. And those were the two
things Genjo Sanzo absolutely could not allow.
And so Sanzo pushed him away. Insulted him. Abused him. Did anything and
everything in his power to make Goku turn his beautiful, luminous golden eyes
elsewhere, no matter how much it hurt them both. You only hurt the ones you
love? Genjo Sanzo did not love. Would not love. Must not love. Loved anyway,
in his own despite.
It was only as he sat at the bedside of the unconscious youth that he was able
to fully accept this. He loved Goku, Goku loved him, he could not have Goku, and
one or both of them would most likely be dead by the time the mission ended.
Sanzo had hoped to limit the fatalities as much as possible, and if he was to do
so he could not afford an entanglement that would compromise his detachment more
than it already was. Fuck the teachings of the Buddha, Sanzo was doing this to
preserve his life and his sanity.
He knew what he had to do. He hated himself for it, but Genjo Sanzo hated
himself for a lot of things. One more should not make any difference.
The beloved figure on the bed stirred, began to awaken, and he rose to summon
Gojyo and Hakkai.
The other two crouched by the bed, but Sanzo took up a position against the far
wall – putting as much distance between himself and Goku as possible –
struggling for his infamous detachment. Blurry golden eyes opened and his heart
leapt painfully in his chest. It seemed detachment would not come. Perhaps he
deserved to suffer for what he was going to do. Suffering brought enlightenment,
and Sanzo was harrowingly bereft of that right now.
Gold met violet and the world stopped, shuddered, tilted on its axis and began
revolving in the wrong direction. Enlightenment. Detachment. Objectivity.
"What the hell did you think you were doing, baka saru?"
Suffering.
"I…"
Hakkai intervened. "We were worried about you, Goku. What could possibly
have been so terrible that you would rather mutilate yourself than talk to
us?"
His voice was soft, broken. "It helps. It makes the pain go away for a
while…"
Gojyo this time: "What pain, Goku?"
Aching gold on hardened violet. "Why don’t you love me, Sanzo? All I ever
wanted was for you to love me."
"How could I possibly love you?"
Shattered, fragmented gold, swimming with tears. "I…gomen nasai, Sanzo…"
Goku rose and calmly walked from the room, donning his shirt as he left. Hakkai
followed, frantic.
Gojyo turned on him, snarling with animal rage. "You pathetic,
self-absorbed bastard. You could at least have given him something.
You don’t deserve his love."
He punched Sanzo so hard that the blond flew halfway across the room before
collapsing in a graceless heap on the floor. Gojyo was so angry that everything
was consumed by the roaring of blood in his ears and the red mist in front of
his eyes; he did not hear Sanzo’s whispered reply as he stormed away from the
room.
"I know."
Alone in the room the blond’s words echoed over and over in his head, a
perversion of a mantra.
How could I possibly love you? How could I possibly love you? How could I
possibly love you? How could I…love you? …love you? …love you
…love you …I love you… Goku, I love you…
How could I not?
~ Chapter Six~
Goku sat alone on the front porch of the hotel. Hakkai was with him, but he
was alone nonetheless. Alone and lonely. Lost. He was alone as he had always
been; alone as he would always be. Sanzo did not love him. Could not possibly
love him. And Goku was alone.
Lonely. Frightened. Worthless. Shattered.
As dead inside as Sanzo’s beautiful violet eyes.
How could I possibly love you?
He should leave. Free the monk of his obligation and walk away. He was certainly
able to survive on his own, and if all else failed, he could always go back to
his cave. Gods knew he wished he’d never left it. He couldn’t leave.
Couldn’t bear to walk away any more than he could kill himself. The thought of
never being able to see those stunning, dispassionate eyes again, never hearing
that beloved voice, hurt more than any words Sanzo could utter.
How could I possibly love you?
Then again, perhaps not. In all his five-hundred-and-some years, there had not
been a single moment when he had felt as pathetic and insignificant as he had
then. Only Sanzo had the power to do that to him. It wasn’t even entirely
Sanzo’s fault: Goku had given him that power. He had known better; he had done
it anyway. And all the experience had gained him was the knowledge that having
your chest ripped open by a crazed, bloodthirsty demon hurt less than hearing
six words delivered in an emotionless voice.
Dimly Goku realised that Hakkai and Gojyo were seated either side of him on the
wooden steps. He appreciated their concern in a vague, detached kind of way, but
he couldn’t offer them anything. He simply sat there, silent. Too numb to
speak, too hurt to cry. Alone in a world without sunlight.
Without Sanzo.
He gave no sign of awareness as they led him up the stairs, as they shifted
Hakkai’s things out of their bedroom and brought his own belongings in. For
days, he gave no signs of life: did not speak, did not eat, did not sleep, did
not move; simply sat on the bed with his arms clasped round his knees, staring
at the wall in front of him.
Either Gojyo or Hakkai was always with him; engaged in an unspoken suicide
vigil; cajoling him to eat, to rest to answer. They could not say whether he did
not know they were there or simply did not care. It was usually Gojyo who stayed
with him, as it meant there was less chance of encountering Sanzo; the
half-breed could not be in the same room as the priest without contemplating all
the things he wanted to do to the man. Things that were messy, permanent, and
usually featured some form of emasculation.
Hakkai had more patience, and suspected that – once again – there was more
to the priest’s answer than met the eye. If Sanzo’ words had been a true
representation of his feelings, why had he cried for Goku? He would certainly
not have done so for anyone else.
As for Sanzo himself – aside from the first day, which was spent in his room
nursing an icepack and a severely bruised jaw – he passed most of his time in
a secluded corner of the hotel’s dining room, chain-smoking and nursing an
untouched bottle of beer. He did not speak unless spoken to, and scarcely then.
More often than not, Hakkai was to be found sitting opposite him, an expression
partly quizzical and partly exasperated written across his genial visage.
In any other situation, the similarities between the priest’s behaviour and
that of his charge would probably have been amusing. Now it was merely
disheartening. Sanzo refused to speak of his young companion: the first attempt
Hakkai had made to bring up the topic had come extremely close to ending in
violence. He did not mention it again. Despite the fact that youkai had higher
healing rates than humans, they still found it understandably difficult to
recover from a bullet in the brain.
Given the situation at hand, Hakkai should probably have been thankful that he wasn’t
privy to the thoughts sinking their merciless talons into Sanzo’s mind. Sanzo
certainly wished that he hadn’t been exposed to them. His mind was a
viscious morass of vindictive, furious thoughts and self-recriminations, and he
was rapidly being submerged by flooding anger.
Perhaps he should not have been unused to this: Sanzo was always
angry. At the world for landing him in such unpleasant situations, at the youkai
who’d slaughtered the closest thing to a father he’d ever known, at his
infuriating companions, at the sycophants who flocked to his title, at the gods
he did not respect for forcing him into a mission he didn’t want to undertake;
at himself, for letting a rag-tag bunch of misfits touch a heart he’d sworn
was ice. Sanzo’s anger was always there, a steady ebb and flow at the back of
his mind; dependable. Comforting.
Suddenly, that had changed: his anger had become a living thing, ravening and
uncontrollable; consuming…and focused. Focused around Goku. Around him, not at
him. That, in itself, was strange. Sanzo was angry at himself, for pushing away
the one he no longer wished to deny he loved, so much so that whenever he
thought of his callous words he was filled with an overwhelming urge to lash out
– at anything; the memory of Goku’s stricken, paralysed expression
made him feel physically ill.
He was furious at the gods for forcing their "sacred"
journey on him, a journey he could not have refused; a journey, and a mission,
too important to allow even the mere contemplation of failure or
distraction – which effectively meant that, however much he wanted to, he
could not afford to start a relationship with Goku until its completion – and
which he did not expect to survive.
If he’d spoken of his dilemma to any of the others, they would have counselled
him to take what comfort and happiness he could, while he could. Before
meeting Goku, he would have laughed in their faces; would have scoffed at the
idea he could either want or need to seek happiness and companionship, much less
love; now, he was tempted…
More than tempted.
The only thing holding him back was his promise to the gods, and if he thought
for even a moment that they would sanction this affair, he would have thrown
caution to the winds and…or perhaps not.
Perhaps he would have been too paralysed by fear to make a move. Perhaps the
knowledge that losing Goku would hurt far more than the agony of losing his
master had would have held him immobile in his place at the bar of this dingy
hotel; perhaps that knowledge would have been offset by the knowledge that if he
remained where he was he would lose Goku anyway – without ever having known
the blessing that was his love.
Sanzo did not know. Could not know.
All he knew was that he had a promise to keep, and in keeping it he was forced
to perpetuate the suffering of the one he loved. And that he in turn must
suffer, alone.
And so Goku stared at the walls, Gojyo fumed, Hakkai fretted, and Sanzo sat in
the bar, alone with his beer and his thoughts. The only certainty was that the
journey to the west had ground inexorably to a halt, and time was of the
essence.
~Chapter Seven~
Kanzeon Botatsu watched the unfolding drama from her throne in the heavens;
he was displeased. This was not how the hermaphroditic deity had
intended things to proceed. She had been expecting something more like: travel
west, put the General permanently out of commission, and fix the problems that
the fiasco five hundred years earlier had caused, all in an efficient and
painless manner.
What she hadn’t expected was that her nephew would start behaving like a
complete idiot again. He had been an insufferable idiot as Konzen, he was
still one as Sanzo. Nice to see some things never change! Kanzeon had
hoped that leading him to Goku again would knock a little of his self-absorption
away, provide his aunt with some amusement, and give him the happiness he seemed
so intent on denying himself. Was one out of three so much to ask? Sanzo
was as introverted as ever, he was succeeding admirably at making both himself
and the monkey completely miserable, and all Kanzeon was getting was a headache.
If things continued in this vein it would call for divine intervention. And as
much as the thought of – figuratively speaking – chewing one of her
nephew’s ears off appealed to Kanzeon, it would probably not be the wisest
move at this point. Particularly as the Goddess of Mercy wasn’t feeling very
merciful.
She would give the young priest a couple of days to get himself together, and then
she would go and tear strips off his hide.
Sanzo shivered. He had been sitting quietly in the bar with his unopened beer
bottle when he had suddenly been struck by an intense feeling of foreboding, and
then by an unshakeable urge to check on Goku. He pushed it aside and opened his
drink. Before he had taken so much as a sip the impulse returned, stronger than
ever. It seemed almost as if a will outside his own was being exerted upon him,
forcing him to take the step he would otherwise have been too stubborn or too
guilty to make. Sanzo dismissed the ridiculous notion. Even if it were possible,
who could possibly be interested in doing so?
Nonetheless, there was a strange kind of familiarity to the intrusive presence,
as though it came from someone who knew him well; knew him well and was
thoroughly exasperated, frustrated by his stubbornness, his needless sacrifice.
As he concentrated on the presence, more of its attributes were revealed: easy
familiarity, that same exasperation, a sense of superiority tinged with
amusement, and a strange affection – as though he were a beloved, though
foolish, nephew.
He knew only one being who held those attributes, and had the required
predilection for meddling in his affairs: Kanzeon Botatsu. The feeling of
haughty amusement increased as he came to this realisation, and he felt the
impetus to visit his baka saru increase one final time. Then the presence
departed. It seemed the final decision was to be his, after all.
Of course, knowing that he had Kanzeon’s approval – however tacit – of a
relationship with Goku shed an entirely new light on the situation. Perhaps it
would not be necessary for him to subjugate his own desires in order to complete
his ordained task. If that was the case, the only thing he had to fear was
himself. Genjo Sanzo was no coward. He would confront the saru; and, though it
filled him with trepidation, his own fears. Perhaps this time there would be
reward for opening his heart to another, instead of pain and loss.
Sanzo put down his drink with a resigned sigh, then made his way to the
hotel’s second floor, his brunette shadow drifting in his wake.
As was his nature, once his mind was made up and a purpose determined, he set
forth with the full force of his will and his confidence behind him. However, as
soon as he reached the door to Goku’s new room, he felt – for the first time
he could remember – all of his self-possession and customary aplomb desert
him. Even his anger had fled. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to turn
on his heels and flee; he contemplated it for an instant, then that familiar
sense of pressure descended upon him and he pushed open the door.
Sanzo took one look at the shattered, innocent figure on the bed and felt his
heart break.
He did not hear Hakkai enter, did not feel Gojyo’s animosity, did not see
Hakkai place a hand on the redhead’s arm and draw him out of the room. All his
attention, his very self, was focused on the fragile, grieving man before him.
As he watched, for the first time in three days Goku showed signs of life. A
single tear traced a crystalline path down his delicate, overly pale cheek.
Sanzo did not even realise he was moving until he had reached out and wiped the
tear away.
He sat down behind Goku on the bed and drew the hunched figure into his arms,
their position reminiscent of the one the had assumed as Sanzo cradled the
unconscious young man to him during their trip into town. Without seeming aware
of what he was doing, Goku turned in Sanzo’s embrace and wrapped his arms
around his protector’s waist, burrowing closer. One of the blond’s hands
slid up to rifle through his young love’s hair. For the first time that day,
he spoke.
"Sleep, love. I’m here."
~Chapter Eight~
AN: Morpheus is the Roman god of Dreams.
Goku awoke well rested and muzzily content, blearily aware of the unfamiliar
sensation of being cradled by strong arms as a hand toyed idly with his hair.
Reluctant to leave the comfort of Morpheus’ embrace, he nuzzled sleepily
against the pale neck of the one who held him, frowning irritably as blond hair
tickled his nose. WAITAMINNIT! He jerked awake with a start; Gojyo and
Hakkai had been described as many things, but blond was not one of them. The
only person he knew who matched that particular description was…
Goku glanced shyly upwards, his frantic hopes fulfilled as he encountered the
face of the man who was the centre of his universe, a face painted with a most
uncharacteristic rictus of emotion: affection, concern and a little apprehension
in place of its habitual irritated superiority. Goku was so stunned that he
could manage nothing more than a choked inanity.
"Ohayo, Sanzo."
The hand did not cease petting his hair as Sanzo replied. "Ohayo, saru…sleep
well?"
"Un."
A few moments of silence; partly content, partly bemused. Tension mounted within
him, and eventually Goku was forced to ask the question that plagued him.
"Sanzo, why are you here? Why are you doing this?"
"I shouldn’t be. You’re irritating, you’re loud, you’re the biggest
fucking distraction I’ve ever met and you drive me insane, but you make me
happy. I should be putting our mission first, I shouldn’t even be thinking
about starting something with you now, but I walked in here last night and it
felt like somebody punched me in the gut: I can’t stand seeing you hurting. I
want you to be happy. I want to make you happy. I…ai shiteru…"
There was a dark, hectic blush on Sanzo’s pale cheeks as he finished speaking
and he looked defensive, almost belligerent, as if he wanted to talk about anything
else. Goku was immensely relieved; this was the man he had fallen for: the one
who felt things deeply but would rather cut out his own tongue than admit it,
and who would be more comfortable facing Kougaiji and his team alone and unarmed
than admitting how he felt to someone who adored him.
Even the backhanded declaration of love was comforting.
Goku smiled. "Ai shiteru, Sanzo. Doumo arigato. Thankyou for giving me a
chance." He reached out then and did the one thing he had always longed to
do: tangled his hands in his mentor’s hair and brought their lips together.
He worked on instinct alone, never having kissed a man before, but it seemed
instinct had served him well – Sanzo moaned softly into his mouth and brought
their heads closer together. He gratefully allowed the older and obviously more
experienced (though he preferred not to dwell on how a supposedly celibate monk
had gained such experience) man take control of the kiss.
It seemed strange that a simple contact of lip on lip, bereft even of tongue,
could turn Goku’s spine to jelly and his brain to a pile of hormone-riddled
mush. Nevertheless, it was exquisite. He had decided, after no more than a few
moments, that the journey westward would have to be indefinitely postponed,
because he planned never to go without the press of Sanzo’s weight against
him; Sanzo’s hands in his hair or caressing his back; Sanzo’s lips lingering
against his own. When Sanzo’s tongue entered his mouth Goku’s brain
exploded, and all the blood that was no longer needed there rushed immediately
to his groin.
Judging by the way Sanzo was moaning into his lover’s mouth and the frantic
nature of his kisses, he was experiencing a similar problem.
Kanzeon’s mood was infinitely improved by her nephew’s sudden change of
heart; even more so by the fact that he had come to it almost entirely
unassisted. All she’d had to do was give him that initial push, and six hours
– and one awkward confession – later he was rolling across a bed with Goku
in glorious, ecstatic, rumpled debauchery. The Goddess of Mercy was so delighted
that she was even prepared to overlook the fact that her darling nephew was
technically supposed to be practicing celibacy. He’d never been particularly
good at following rules anyway.
Even when he was a bored, paper-pushing immortal nobleman he’d hated it;
he’d simply been too weighed down by apathy to do anything about it. Having
Goku – who had yet to find a rule he wouldn’t break – around had always
been good for him, however much he pretended to hate it. The fact they’d
finally become lovers was most pleasing to Kanzeon. She was so delighted
that she was almost willing to be nice to them. Almost. At least for a while...
Nevertheless, it was a relief to know that the two of them were doing all right
now. She had plans for that bizarre little family, and they didn’t include
having it self-destruct because the monkey was in love with a self-absorbed twit
who wouldn’t recognise a good thing if it bit him on the nose. There’d been
enough spanners thrown in the works five hundred years ago. Any more mishaps
would have been downright ridiculous. Kanzeon Botatsu did not plan on allowing anything
else to go awry.
~Chapter Nine~
It should have seemed wrong, perhaps, to have Goku spread out dishevelled and
willing beneath him; not wrong in the way that led to thoughts of pain and shame
and damnation, but in the obscure feeling that had always accompanied such
dalliances before: that his beloved master would be shaking his head over his
apprentice's corruption of the dharma for something so trivial. For once,
the feeling did not come; Sanzo might have put more effort into considering this
strange new phenomenon had Goku not been trying to suck his tongue out at the
root. And had he not been enjoying it so much…
Abandoning thought for action, as was ultimately his preference, Sanzo set about
ensuring that Goku would never even contemplate leaving him again.
Goku's responses to his teasing and caresses were beautiful in their hesitancy.
Sanzo found that the boy's inexperience and pliancy were incredibly arousing,
and the feeling of control it gave him appealed on a very primal level. For the
first time, Sanzo understood the difference between taking a casual lover and
taking a mate, and why the latter was infinitely preferable.
He wanted to claim Goku; to leave his mark on and under the exquisite bronze
skin so that the demon never forgot where and with whom he belonged. He would.
Sanzo ripped the boy's clothes away with a force that almost frightened him, and
lay down, thrusting Goku's legs apart with his knees to cover as much of the
lithe body as possible with his own. The absence of his formal robes –
forgotten in a pile in his bedroom – was a blessing: the skin-tight leather he
wore under them allowed him the close contact he craved; but it wasn't enough.
Wasn't even close.
He took Goku's lips in a fierce kiss, thrusting his tongue into the open,
panting mouth. Goku didn't even seem conscious of his own quiet moans. It
spurred Sanzo on, filling him with the sudden need to see whether he could make
Goku scream. The monkey was so vocal at all other times that his
near-silence now seemed wrong. It was an endeavour he looked forward to with
relish. But Sanzo still needed to be sure Goku understood.
The dissolute monk pulled away from his lover's trembling lips, and fastened his
teeth into the curve where bronzed neck met shoulder, biting sharply. He licked
the wound as he drew back; a lingering caress that left Goku shuddering beneath
him in helpless lust. Sanzo cupped the young man's face with atypical
tenderness.
His voice, though soft, was forceful. "You are mine. Understand me? Mine."
"Yesssss." Goku's reply was a sibilant hiss as he ground his hips
unthinkingly against his saviour's.
Sanzo's clothes hit the floor almost as fast as his lover's had.
After that, everything was blurred by an overwhelming tide of pleasure; only
fleeting impressions registered. Soft hands exploring porcelain skin…thick
russet hair tangled through his fingers…quiet, hungry moans and whimpers
spilling from swollen lips…long, perfect curve of bronzed chest arching
beneath him…rough, eager hands on his pulsing arousal…surprisingly strong
muscular legs fastening around his waist…
The one moment that stayed with him was watching as Goku arched, screaming in
shattering pleasure as Sanzo entered him; was hearing the scream reach new
frequencies – ones it was entirely possible Goku had just invented – when
Sanzo's questing hand encountered his arousal and began to pump it. Sanzo had
been right: hearing Goku scream was satisfying. Especially when
that scream was an incoherent rendition of his name.
Everything subsequent was confused – pleasure, need, a screaming, shuddering
fulfilment, kissing away Goku's tears, drifting into Morpheus' realm with his
mate clutched securely against his chest. He had no intention of ever letting
go…
He woke to Goku's hand tracing lazily across his chest; a fact that did nothing
to dampen the desire he had woken to, and was its most likely cause.
Goku glanced shyly at him. "Ne, Sanzo…"
"Nani?"
"Last night…you said I was yours… Does that make you mine?"
Sanzo frowned – not angry, merely considering. Suddenly, he broke into low,
rich chuckles.
"Yes. I can live with that."
He drew Goku down to meet avid lips, and no more time was wasted with words.
~Chapter Ten – or possibly the Epilogue~
Gojyo sat up in shock in the adjoining room, dislodging his sleeping love and
waking him in the process. It seemed delayed shock and chronic embarrassment had
conspired against him and he had finally lost his mind. Either that or he was
having auditory hallucinations. Possibly both.
"Aww, man… I thought listening to the saru have sex was bad, but Sanzo
laughing? Sanzo? LAUGHING? Not possible! Either I've finally gone nuts or
the apocalypse is coming…"
Gojyo's own laughter was more than a little hysterical.
Hakkai sighed. He didn't want to slap Gojyo to bring him out of it, because that
would probably start a fight, which would bring Sanzo and Goku running – and
he doubted either of them would be pleased at being disturbed. Ending up dead
was not high on his agenda for the day. Which left him to pursue
more…interesting…avenues of distraction. Hakkai smirked to himself: he was
sure he could somehow find it in his heart to become a martyr to the cause…
Still smirking, he reached up and dragged the startled half-breed back down onto
his the bed, flat on his back. Rising over his lover, Hakkai kissed the redhead
soundly. Gojyo's hysteria seemed less important once he found Hakkai's tongue in
his mouth. He'd take his worry out on the saru's hide later – preferably once
the corrupt monk was feeling a little less possessive – but for the moment
Gojyo had more pressing things to attend to.
--- THE END ---
Finally!
And can we all ignore how horribly OOC Sanzo was towards the end? Please? It was
extraordinarily difficult to keep him in character given the circumstances in
which the story took place. It’s not like he’s terribly good with emotions
in the first place. I’m sure he feels them, he just…has issues admitting
it… Poor Goku. He really got the raw end of that deal. Arrgh.
Evildissoluteselfabsorbedcorruptmumblesdescendsintoobscenities PRIESTS!
Anyway…drop me a line and let me know what you thought. I'll be waiting with
bated breath!
~Akasha,
Queen of the Damned.