Strangers on a Train

Author’s note: My abject apologies to my readers (truly!) for the unforgivable interval of time between the last chapter and this one. What can I say, but life happens? That, plus thank you for sticking with me, and I will do my damnedest to get Chap. Six out a lot more quickly. Love to you all, hg.

Chapter Five

Gojyo’s sense of foreboding did nothing but increase from that point on. He had the distinct feeling that he and Sanzo were being watched, and the uncomfortable sensation that someone was constantly following them as they moved around the train, although - try as he might - he could never catch anyone actually doing anything that was in the least bit suspicious. He almost felt like that dark presence he had sensed the first night was there perched lightly on his shoulder, or lurking around just behind his back, and the sensation was pressing down on him harder and closer every minute.

Of course he didn’t say anything about it to Sanzo: there was no point in both of them being worried. Besides, there was just nothing he could actually prove, and very little he could even put into words, plus he knew that Sanzo would completely blow him off anyway, no matter what he said, so why bother? But he just knew, just as sure as he was Mama Sha’s little red-headed boy, that something was off, really essentially wrong, on that train, and it was making him more and more uneasy with each passing mile.

Gojyo stayed pretty much glued to Sanzo’s side the entire day after the monk’s disturbing nightmare, so much so that Sanzo began to get irritable with him - more irritable than usual, that is. He started giving the hanyou the frosty, raised-eyebrow ‘glare of unmistakable warning’, indicating to Gojyo beyond all doubt that he’d best back way off, beyond the striking reach of the fan, possibly even beyond the firing range of the Smith & Wesson, lest the monk become sufficiently irked. Undeterred, the kappa was not about to let the priest out of his sight, no matter how testy he got with him. Gojyo began to wonder just how he was going to maintain his hyper-vigilant security detail, especially later that night, when he knew Sanzo would be even more determined to chase him off, and banish him to the confines of his own compartment.

During the day Gojyo managed to keep finding excuses to stay near him: constantly distracting Sanzo with various diversions, plying him with coffee and snacks, and fetching him odds and ends he might need or to keep him entertained, at least enough to help him abide Gojyo’s constant presence. Though he began to be annoyed by the relentless attention being showered on him, Sanzo was silently amused by this new indentured servitude of Gojyo’s, and was somewhat disposed to tolerate it, for a while at least, especially when he could see how hard Gojyo was straining to find ways to keep it up without irritating him.

Gojyo struggled to find a steady stream of subjects to with which engage Sanzo in conversation, resorting to small talk about the rest of the Ikkou and the Mission when all else failed, and eventually even wheedling the monk into playing a few hands of cards when he ran out of conversation topics. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he even resorted to asking for and feigning to read sections of Sanzo’s newspaper, as if he suddenly shared Sanzo’s fascination with current events. He knew he was really pushing the limits of his credibility with that one, as Sanzo kept suspiciously cutting his eyes over at him, making sure Gojyo was actually reading the newspaper.

“Since when did you develop such a sudden interest in journalism?” Sanzo asked dubiously.

“I never get a chance to read the damn paper. Someone else always grabs it first and runs off with it,” Gojyo retorted tartly.

“Tch.” The monk remained unconvinced and retreated behind his paper.

“Hey, mister high and mighty monk, you don’t know absolutely everything about me,” Gojyo said airily, holding the paper high and making a big show of slowly turning the pages as he tried to find something interesting in it.

“For which I am duly grateful,” Sanzo responded disdainfully. “Ignorance is bliss.”

Gojyo had a sudden inspiration of a way to pass the time with Sanzo that might prove far more interesting than anything any dry old newspaper had to offer.

“Aww, c’mon, Sanzo-sama,” he said challengingly, “there must be something about me you always wanted to know. Let’s play ‘Truth or Dare,’ but without the dare. You can ask me absolutely anything, and I get to ask you anything I want. But the deal is, the answer has to be the truth – and no dodging.” He grinned with anticipation as he awaited Sanzo’s response.

“Not just no, but hell no,” Sanzo growled, scowling at Gojyo and retreating back behind his paper again. “I’d rather shove red hot skewers into my eyes.”

“I knew it, I knew you’d fuckin’ wimp out. You’re such a pussy,” Gojyo taunted.

“Go fuck yourself.” The newspaper didn’t budge.

“Little chicken priest,” Gojyo said smugly, as if he had won by default. He crossed his arms across his chest and made a series of quiet clucking sounds under his breath as he looked out the window. He knew Sanzo’s male pride couldn’t take but so much more of this treatment, as much as he might try to resist it.

“Oh, goddamnit…. ALRIGHT!” Sanzo snapped. “Anything to shut you the fuck up. But just once, and I go first. And nothing too…” he suppressed a shudder as his mind reeled with the assortment of questions Gojyo’s perverted mind might come up with for him. “…Nothing too weird,” he said firmly, glaring at the kappa’s grinning visage. “And I go first,” he reiterated.

“First to ask, or first to answer?” Gojyo tried not to look as happy as he really felt, knowing that if he let it show, it would just drive Sanzo’s suspicious side into the open, and push the “real” Sanzo deeper into hiding. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep a check on his spreading grin, which was threatening to split his face if he really let it go.

Sanzo sighed heavily.

“Ask.” He dropped his forehead briefly into his hand, as he realized either option had its drawbacks. “No. Answer, I guess. Gods, why did I agree to this? Yeah… answer, I suppose. Go on, get it the fuck over with.”

Gojyo didn’t even have to stop and think. He had wanted to ask the priest basically the same thing for ages, pretty much since the day he had first met him, when Sanzo had shown up at the door of his house looking for the fugitive Cho Gonou. He had actually kind of asked him the question already, two days ago in the dining car, but Sanzo had, of course, evaded it, as he always did anything on the subject of sex. But now that the priest had made a deal with Gojyo to be truthful, he wouldn’t be able to dodge the bullet so easily this time. The only problem now was that Gojyo knew he had to figure out the best way to phrase his question, so as to elicit the maximum amount of information from Sanzo in response, and not let him weasel out with a simple yes or no. He considered the situation carefully: this was a rare opportunity, and he didn’t want to squander it.

“So, Sanzo-sama…” he asked nonchalantly, picking casually at the loose threads on his pants, and carefully evading Sanzo’s piercing glare, “just how long has it been since you gave up on making it with guys, anyway?”

Gojyo could feel the tension coiling up in Sanzo’s body immediately in reaction to the question, almost as if he had been physically struck, as the multiple implications of the question hit him. Pale arched eyebrows flew up over wide darkening eyes as the priest’s nostrils flared with indignation. Sanzo’s pale cheeks pinked, and he began to sputter angrily.

“I… That’s not…! I don’t….! You…!”

“You agreed to answer anything I asked, cherry-chan,” Gojyo prodded in a calm, slightly lilting voice.

Sanzo gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. He was trapped, and he knew it.

“You’re really pushing your luck, asshole,” he snarled. He lit a cigarette, exhaled slowly and glowered at Gojyo for a long moment before continuing. “I should have known better than to get myself into something like this with you.” He took another deep breath as he continued, his voice low and gravelly, with a strong taint of menace.

“Not that one whit of this is any of your goddamn business, but I … Gah!! I fucking hate this!…” He realized he was getting louder as he became more agitated, and quieted his voice, looking around to make sure no one was listening as he went on.

“I haven’t … ‘been with’ …anyone – ok, a man, are you happy?! – for over seven years. And I didn’t ‘give up’ as you call it, I just… “ Sanzo sighed heavily, his voice and his expression both darkening as he dropped his voice down another notch, struggling to maintain his tenuous control in this untenable situation. “I just didn’t exactly have the best of experiences the first few times – let’s just leave it at that. Ok?” He sighed again, and lit a fresh cigarette, his eyes still dark and angry. “Are we done? Is that enough for you, you goddamn vulture?”

Gojyo could tell from Sanzo’s face that his ‘experiences’ as he called them had probably been anything but voluntary. Well, small wonder then that the guy hadn’t pursued any further activities since then, Gojyo thought to himself, between that and the baggage of being a freaking priest like he was. He counted back the seven years, which would have placed the incidents during the time period when he knew the young, newly-annointed Genjyo Sanzo had been traveling around the country alone, looking for sutras and revenge. He didn’t know much about that time in Sanzo’s life, but he knew enough about the world to know that a boy as young and pretty as Sanzo had been, traveling alone, even armed with a banishing gun, was quite likely to have had a very, very bad time of it. Gojyo could only imagine what horrors he had been subjected to, and at such a tender age. And to top it all off, for any guy Sanzo’s age to have gone that long, without any sex – Buddha’s blue balls, it was no wonder the monk was in such a freaking bad mood all the time!

Gojyo felt like he had just been handed all four corner pieces to the ‘Great Big 5000 Piece Genjyo Sanzo Jigsaw Puzzle.’ But while he was immediately flooded with compassion for the arrogant priest, he knew from his own experiences (at nearly the same age) with his mother that pity was the very last thing in the world that Sanzo would ever want or accept. Gojyo had long ago learned how to compartmentalize the sad things in life: it was a survival skill he had learned growing up, it was something he and Sanzo shared, and it certainly came in useful on the Mission on a regular basis. He called on that skill now as he pasted a big leering smile on his face for Sanzo’s benefit.

“Ah, now see, I always suspected as much,” he grinned. “I’ve seen you walk right on past so many absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous babes, ones that would have any normal heterosexual man rising from the dead to give a six-gun salute, and you never so much as bat an eyelash.”

“Tch.” Sanzo stubbed out his cigarette and looked away, pointedly ignoring him, and trying to steer his own mind away from unwelcome ghosts of his past that had been evoked by Gojyo’s question.

“But now, for me, goldilocks, this is a double win,” he said leaning towards Sanzo and speaking confidentially as he slung a lanky arm loosely around Sanzo’s shoulder. “The way I see it, this makes for less competition for the ladies from another really good-looking dude, which is clearly a plus, AND, I now know I stand a fighting chance myself of scoring a home run with said really good-looking dude. It’s a win-win, see? A total no-brainer.”

Sanzo tipped his head down and looked disparagingly down his nose at the hanyou over the rims of his wire-rimmed glasses, growling threateningly, “don’t… fucking…count on it.” He abruptly flicked Gojyo’s arm off of his shoulder as if it was a body part of an annoying bug, and sat back in his seat, harrumphing loudly.

“I believe I still get to ask you a question, asshole,” he reminded Gojyo coolly.

He took off his glasses and scowled at the hanyou, suddenly considering just exactly how he wanted to use his question to do maximum damage in revenge for the difficult question Gojyo had asked him. Sanzo could still feel the heat in his cheeks from the flush that his risen there while he had revealed far more of himself and his past to the kappa than he would have ever thought possible.

“Ask away, my friend, my life is an open book,” Gojyo said airily, waving his hand dismissively. He leaned back against the bench seat contentedly, threading his hands together as a headrest behind his head.

Sanzo cocked his head to one side a bit and studied him for a long moment, one pale eyebrow raised slightly. He leaned into Gojyo’s space just enough for the hanyou to notice.

“Why do you stay?” he asked quickly and plainly. His voice had been far more serious than he meant it to be, and he realized he actually truly did want to know what the kappa’s answer would be. “I couldn’t get rid of the goddamn bakasaru with a rocket launcher,” he elaborated, “and Hakkai still thinks he’s paying off some kind of a fucking cosmic debt, despite everything I tell him to the contrary, so – in their minds - they have to be here, on the Mission. But you… don’t. You… you could leave any time. Yet you stay. The longest you’ve known any of us is a year or two – there can’t be that deep an attachment. I treat you like shit. But you stay. Through the blood, and the filth, and the danger, and the imminent death that follows us like a shithouse stink, and… just the fucking unholy inconvenience of it all. You stay… Why?”

Gojyo looked down at his knees, a small, cryptic smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, and considered Sanzo’s question for a long moment. He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer him.

In the beginning it had been just another one of Gojyo’s impulsive acts: something to do for the hell of it, because his buddy Hakkai was going, and it seemed interesting, and, well, largely for the lack of anything better to do. But it had swiftly come to be about so much more than that. The odd little gang of four had quickly become the warm but dysfunctional family Gojyo had never had. The Mission had given him a sense of purpose his life had up ‘til then been sadly lacking, something more than sex, booze, and cards: he had become a part of something bigger than himself, for the first time in his life. And then there was the fighting: there was something about the rush of summoning his shakujou, defending his friends in battle, and always knowing there was that larger goal behind it all, that had made him feel more vibrant and alive than all his drinking and fighting and gambling and whoring before had ever managed to do. So there were a lot of really good reasons - but how to explain that to Sanzo… and how much did he really want to tell him?

And then there was Sanzo himself. That was another reason, one that was becoming more and more important to Gojyo every day: just being with the great Genjyo Sanzo the 31st of China and all that entailed, good, bad, and indifferent (most days there was lots and lots of indifferent) was unlike anything Gojyo could ever have imagined. Merciful Goddess, he was certainly never bored. And hell, even if he never got to fuck the monk, it was still worth the ride, just to be around him – although, holy gods, to get to fuck Sanzo would be beyond spectacular, and more than worth enduring the worst of the shit that happened to him on the Mission: Gojyo just knew it, deep in his kappa bones.

“Well…” he said quietly, a fire banking deep in his dark ruby eyes that there was no way Sanzo could miss, “for one thing, I guess I just wanna stick around and see how it all turns out – I fuckin’ hate to miss the end of a story, y’know?” He winked and slid his arm back up around Sanzo’s shoulder again and smiled impishly. He leaned in even closer to speak in Sanzo’s ear, cutting his eyes dramatically around at the passengers on either side of them, whispering confidentially, as if he was about to reveal a crucial state secret.

“The other reason is going to have to wait until we are alone, cherry-chan.” Sanzo began to squirm under his arm. “We can go now, if you are in a hurry…,” Gojyo volunteered, gesturing in the direction of their sleeping compartments, and grinning wolfishly.

“Bah!” Sanzo cried, knocking his arm off with a sharp jab of an elbow, “I should have known better than to ever expect a serious answer from you about anything.”

“You think I’m kidding?” Gojyo pouted. “Man, I must be getting rusty, gotta work on my delivery.”

“No, I think you’re just a big fucking jackass, as usual,”Sanzo said irritably, shoving Gojyo away from him on the bench so abruptly that the kappa almost hit the floor. Sanzo retreated back behind the newspaper and tried hard to ignore the physical effects the erogappa’s suggestive banter had had on him, not to mention the lump in his throat that had developed when he heard Gojyo’s initial answer to his question. He knew the kappa well enough by now to be able to tell when there was more going on in the his mind than his words conveyed: just by virtue of the fact that he had paused so long before he answered, it was clear to Sanzo there was far more on Gojyo’s mind than he had said. Sanzo had always known he wasn’t the only one in their group that never revealed the true depth and complexity of their feelings. If the truth be told, Goku was the only one among them who was largely an open book, speaking pretty much everything he felt. But then Sanzo preferred things unspoken to spoken: the less said the better as far as he was concerned. Life was just far simpler that way.

On the other hand, Gojyo had certainly had no trouble making his libidinous intentions plain enough as he draped himself around Sanzo. Images of what could possibly transpire between them, alone together in their sleeping compartments that night, flitted relentlessly through Sanzo’s mind as the train rolled over the endless miles of rails in the waning afternoon, and he was greatly relieved he had agreed to answer only one question in Gojyo’s stupid game.

After dinner, Gojyo managed to talk Sanzo into a game of chess in their compartment, having borrowed a chess set from some fellow travelers in their section. Sanzo was skeptical that the hanyou could actually play, but Gojyo assured him that Hakkai had taught him the game while they were living together. He had not lied in saying that he could play, but what he had failed to disclose was the fact that he was deplorably bad at the game, and as he had expected, Sanzo was fairly good, having been taught by Koumyou as a child. It was a measure of Gojyo’s desperation to keep Sanzo close at hand that he was willing to be beaten so badly, over and over again, and endure the smug gloating by the monk as he was so roundly and repeatedly defeated.

“I thought you said you knew how to play this game,” Sanzo prodded impatiently as he checkmated him for the sixth straight time. “This is like shooting an unarmed man.”

“I do know how to play. I’m moving the pieces the right way, aren’t I?” Gojyo retorted, pouting.

“Yeah, if you want to lose them as quickly as possible, it’s exactly the right way,” Sanzo grumbled. “This is why the Sanbutsushin put me in charge of the Mission, and not you. You obviously couldn’t strategize your way out of a paper bag. And stop pouting. Chess masters do not pout.”

“Blame Hakkai, he taught me,” Gojyo said, frowning as Sanzo quickly took his bishop in the second move of their new game.

Gojyo had suggested they change into more comfortable clothes before playing, since they were in for the night. He dithered over every move, and dragged each game out as long as he could manage to, which wasn’t easy given his inferior playing skills, and as they played, he plied Sanzo with as much whiskey as he possibly could from the two bottles he’d bought from the dining car (on Sanzo’s account, of course.) It had taken some doing given the monk’s capacity for alcohol, but by around eleven o’clock he had managed to get him to drink until he either fell asleep or passed out, Gojyo wasn’t sure which, but either served his purposes well enough, since Sanzo seemed to be pretty far gone, whichever it was. Gojyo grinned triumphantly as he looked at the unconscious blond, flopped back limply against the bench cushion, mouth open and snoring softly. It was about as peaceful and content as Gojyo had ever seen the monk look – and he was determined to keep him that way.

He ducked into Sanzo’s compartment and quickly fixed up his berth for him with fresh sheets and pillowcases, and checked to make sure the bouzu had securely stowed his sutra and gun when changing earlier, which he had. After gently carrying him in and lying him down on the berth and covering him up with the sheet and blanket, Gojyo kneeled down next to him, unable to resist watching him sleep for a moment. As often happened in those moments he was able to study Sanzo unobserved, Gojyo was quite taken aback by the sheer beauty of the man, his face now completely relaxed and unmarred by the tension that usually twisted it up and darkened it during all his waking hours.

Gojyo felt the oddest mixture of a sinking feeling in his gut and a soaring, warming elation in his head, unlike anything he had ever felt before, as he knelt there studying Sanzo’s placid face. He knew beyond all doubt that he would give his life a thousand times over to protect this man: it was a feeling that as it grew had a depth and familiarity as it rooted in him, as if it had been there before, or always been there. The sense of the gravity with which he felt that responsibility for Sanzo was becoming inextricably tangled together with the intensity of the increasing attraction he felt to Sanzo. He felt a growing empathy for the monkey and how he said Sanzo was “his sun.” As he looked down on him, Gojyo indeed felt an amazing blooming warmth, as if Sanzo had indeed become the center of his universe as well, and he wondered just when the hell that had happened. And all of it seemed to be heightening his senses, and bringing his life into sharper focus somehow: making each day, each moment more important. It was as if the Mission and life on the road was slowly clearing away the relentless aimlessness that had always plagued Gojyo since his childhood, and at the center of it all was Sanzo, for better or worse.

“Sleep well, Genjyo Gorgeous,” he whispered, gently brushing the shaggy gold wisps back from the priest’s forehead, revealing the tiny red chakra mark. As he studied the priest’s profane mouth, he was drawn to touch his forefinger gently to the stilled, slightly-parted lips, and Sanzo’s head turned towards him just slightly, as if seeking more of that touch. Gojyo smiled and rose, turning to leave before temptation got the better of him.

He double-checked the lock on the door to the hall and turned out the light, deliberately leaving the door between their rooms unlocked as he slipped quietly back to his room.

He was so relieved at having Sanzo safely ensconced in bed for the night, it was tempting to just go to bed himself, but he was out of cigarettes, and he was still nervous as a cat, all the more so for it being over an hour since his last smoke. Even though he was still a little zoned from all the booze he had consumed drinking with the monk, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to just slip down to the bar to have a quick nightcap, buy his cigs, and come right back. It would only take a few minutes, and Sanzo was clearly out for the night: no harm, no foul. He slipped on his jeans and locked the door behind him, after taking one last peek in at the softly-snoring monk. He was truly surprised at himself, and a little proud: there was no question about him wanting to bed the monk - he did, very badly – but, ever since he had felt the dark presence on the train, keeping Sanzo safe had become even more important to Gojyo than seducing him, and had dominated his thoughts above everything else.

The dining car was empty but for one young couple – probably on their honeymoon, given how cuddled-up they were – who were seated on one of the two bench seats that constituted the bar section of the car, and a lone gentleman sitting in a dining-area booth near the other end of the car. Gojyo paused as he considered sitting in what had become his usual bench seat, which would place him directly opposite the couple. Since they could clearly use a little bit of privacy for their public snogging, Gojyo decided to head for a booth rather than take a front-row seat to the couple’s display – it wasn’t as if he needed any additional stimulation, after all, especially tonight. The young groom flashed him a shy, grateful smile as he moved past them, and Gojyo grinned and winked knowingly in return. The steward working the late shift recognized him and waved from his workstation at the opposite end of the car, indicating he would be with him in a moment. Gojyo nodded and slid into the first booth, seated facing the man’s back, on the same side of the aisle.

The man in the other booth didn’t seem to notice Gojyo coming in, and continued on with his meal uninterrupted. All Gojyo could see of the man was that he had black hair, and wore black clothes. Before coming to wait on Gojyo the steward brought the man a small pot of tea, and Gojyo noticed that the server seemed to be leaning rather low over the table, and was doing something odd as he served the tea. It looked like he was physically moving the man’s arms around for him, for some reason, as if he was actually putting the man’s hands on the pot of tea and the cup. The man said some soft words, too quiet for Gojyo to hear. The steward bowed, then smiled and seemed to be chuckling silently to himself as he walked towards Gojyo.

“Good evening, again, sir,” the steward said as he approached Gojyo, habitually bowing once again as he greeted his newest guest. “Isn’t that the dumbest thing?” he whispered, leaning down to Gojyo and speaking confidentially behind his hand. “You know, I keep bowing to that man, and he can no more see me than those trees out there can!” he jerked his thumb towards the dark forests hurtling by the sooty windows in the night. “Kinda sad, too,” he shook his head ruefully. “He seems like a nice fellow. Polite enough.”

Gojyo studied the man’s back after sending the steward off for double shot of whiskey, and suddenly noticed a tall slender black staff resting against the wall next to the man in the booth. He had met an assortment of colorful characters in his travels over the years, but as he considered it, he had never met anyone blind, at least never someone so young. Gojyo thought about what it would be like never to be able to see Sanzo’s gorgeous purple eyes again… funny how that was the first thing that came into his mind, when he considered the sights he would miss if he lost his sight. Then he thought about Hakkai’s twisted and enigmatic smile, and the image of Goku bouncing along beside him in the backseat of Hakuryuu, or the soft curve of a woman’s breast or calf as it disappeared temptingly into the frustrating camouflage of her dress. Not to mention the myriad of breathtaking sunsets and the huge sprawling blankets of stars he and his friends had shared so far, during their journey westward.

As he sipped on his whiskey and pondered it all, it brought tears pricking to his eyes as the immensity washed over him, just how much he took for granted in his life, and how easily it could be taken away. A simple slip of a youkai blade, something that was beyond the power of even Hakkai’s healing chi to repair, and in a tick of time he could be in the same boat as that man up there… Hell, even Hakkai had already lost half of his sight. Gojyo was staggered at the idea that he, too, could suddenly be unable to see all those amazing things he took for granted, stranded alone in a world of blackness, unable to fight alongside his friends, or even to adequately defend himself, really, for the remainder of his days, stranded in a dark lonely world.

He shook his head, boggling at the concept, wondering if he would even have the strength of will to go on, if it were him, and he lost all that. He considered that if it was him, he might just summon the shakujou one final time, and be done with it, before he would ever let himself be such a burden on others, or try to face a life bereft of all light and color and shape. He honestly didn’t think there was any way he could possibly cope with it all, that he could survive that particular devastation, or that he would even want to.

The more he thought about it, the more it worked on his mind, and he actually considered trying to talk to the man, to see how he handled it, and what his story was. But before he could make up his mind the man stood up, making the hanyou’s heart guiltily skip a beat. Gojyo felt like a voyeur, to be caught thinking about the blind man’s private business so much as he suddenly turned around and faced him, his sightless eyes shielded by small wire-rimmed dark glasses. A quick assessment told Gojyo that the man was older than him – ten years, maybe fifteen? He was not an unattractive fellow; and he looked very well-dressed, albeit rather funereal-looking. His thick black hair was longish, hanging over his collar a bit, but neatly trimmed, and he was clean-shaven with a heart-shaped face and thin dark brows that arched high over the dark glasses that hid his eyes. Gojyo’s eyes were immediately drawn to his mouth, which was ample and seemed to be continually fixed in a small knowing smile that the hanyou found unnerving. Something about the guy made Gojyo feel like, blind or not, the man was either looking at him, or perhaps looking right through him.

Gojyo watched transfixed as the man pulled a large folded wad of paper money out of his pants pocket, carefully counted with his fingers through the stack, and selected a bill to place down on the table. Replacing the money in his pocket, he reached out for his staff with long, slender manicured fingers, and proceeded down the aisle. He walked with his head ever-so-slightly canted to one side, as if he was listening for something extremely quiet, and only lightly tapping ahead of himself with the staff as he went. His other hand gently grazed the top of each booth, and Gojyo guessed that he must be counting the benches as he passed. His demeanor was stiff but dramatic, like he was keenly aware that he had an audience. It seemed to Gojyo that it was almost as if he were performing, and when he was right next to Gojyo the man nodded, almost imperceptibly, but a nod nonetheless, which left Gojyo struggling not to choke on the whiskey he had in mid-swallow.

Gojyo craned his head to follow the remainder of the man’s almost-regal egress from the train car, and he felt like his jaw was on his chest by the time the guy slowly closed the door behind himself. He almost felt like he was supposed to applaud or something – he definitely felt like he had witnessed something really… just fucking weird. He told himself he was being overly spooky and nervous - after all, what the hell did he know about being blind? How could he possibly understand what it would be like? But, still… Something about the whole thing bothered him, and he felt a chill as a small shiver ran through his whole body. He tried to chalk it up to the gust of cold air that the door had let in, but his sense of unease still remained.

The steward came by to see if Gojyo wanted another whiskey after settling up with the honeymooners as they left, which left just the two of them alone in the dining car. Gojyo had only planned to have one shot and leave, having already had a fair amount of whiskey already that evening while playing cards with Sanzo, but the blind guy had really rattled his cage, so he decided he would stay for another snort or two just to calm his nerves.

“Who the fuck is that guy, anyway?” he asked incredulously, still looking in the direction of the door.

The steward scanned the car to make sure they were really alone, checked his pocket watch to make sure he could lock the doors of the car for the night with impunity, and sighed softly as he realized it was actually several minutes past closing time. After locking up he snagged the same whiskey he had been serving Gojyo, carefully poured them each a shot after adding a small glass for himself to the table in front of them, and slid gratefully into the seat opposite his last guest. Gojyo reached into his pocket to pull out some rumpled bills – even if his drinks were going on the Gold Card, he wanted to at least tip the man for his efforts – but the elder man waved his hand away, settling back into the bench with another tired sigh as he held his own glass to his nose, scenting deeply of the dark amber fluid.

“This is a real treat,” he smiled. “I hardly ever have a beer in here, much less a nip of the good stuff like this. Thanks for giving me an excuse.” He held his glass up towards Gojyo. “Gan bei,” he said, grinning.

Gojyo clicked his glass lightly to the steward’s: after they both drained them quickly, the older man quickly filled their glasses with another round. They sat in companionable silence, sipping the whiskey this time, both of them mindlessly studying the chiaroscuro landscape rolling by outside the darkened window. A jolt of the rails beneath the train seemed to bring the steward back to the interior of the car, and he turned to face Gojyo again, looking more relaxed now as the alcohol brought a faint flush to his round cheeks, but still drained and tired.

“What was it you wanted to know?” he asked. He had the lined face and weary voice of a man clearly frazzled from a hard day of juggling orders and placating demanding customers, and many long years of days doing much the same. Before Gojyo could ask him again, he remembered the question, answering thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah… Mister Wu. Strange guy. Kinda sad. A little scary, too. Don’t know much about him, other than what I was told before he boarded. They said we were gonna have this rich blind guy on the train, said he’d paid a lot of money for unlimited food and beverage service, and I was to give him special attention - anything he needed. They showed me how to serve him - you know – how to show him where his drinks and food and stuff was, so he could find it, but without making a big deal of it. They picked me to wait on him since I’m the most experienced one on this run, and gave me a huge tip ahead of time for taking care of him, too.”

He fell silent again as he thought about the blind man. Gojyo remained silent as well, waiting, since the steward seemed so forthcoming, in his own tired, rambling way, figuring the guy would reveal more as it came to him.

“He’s just… so odd,” the older man said. “He just… well, he just kinda creeps me out, ya know?”

He seemed hesitant to go on, so Gojyo prodded him gently, asking simply, “how so?”

The steward finished a long sip of his whiskey, and answered slowly. “Hmm, well now, he seems to always know I’m coming before I get to him… and it’s like he always knows what I’m going to ask him before I ask, and… well, I know they told me how to serve him, and show him where to put stuff for him, but… sometimes, it’s like he knows where the shit…” The steward blushed, having obviously been chided for his swearing in front of customers before, “sorry, stuff, is, before I even show him. After the first few times he did it, I couldn’t stand it any more.”

“What did you do?” Gojyo queried, fascinated now.

The man leaned across the table and grinned, obviously enjoying having an interested audience for his tale.

“One night when we were alone, I whanged my hand right up in his face, like I was going to punch him, y’know? and hard, so fast and so close, any sighted man would have to have flinched. But he didn’t turn a hair, didn’t budge, not one tiny bit.” He shook his head ruefully. “He’s blind alright, that’s for damned…. doggone it! - darned sure. I guess it’s just that old thing about how their other senses get sharper… He sure is proof of it though, as I live and breathe. Freaky.”

Gojyo waited a minute to see if the steward was going to volunteer anything further. When he seemed stalled again, the hanyou pressed, “do you know anything else about him?” If there was anything truly strange about anyone he and Sanzo were going to be stuck on the goddamn train with, Gojyo wanted to know about it, in as much detail as possible.

“Uhn-uh, no’sir, not much. Just that he’s from somewhere west of here, an’ he’s traveling to Chang’an.”

Gojyo’s eyes got a little bigger at that coincidence, but he tried not let his concern show. He tried to tell himself millions of people traveled to Chang’an, for all kinds of different reasons.

“He’s just some kind of rich businessman, travels alone, been blind all his life - that’s really all I know.” He shrugged, sighed, and sat back in his seat. “But then nobody tells me nothin’ around here, unless the fuckin’ ...oh, sorry again, ‘freaking’ … train is on fire.”

The steward was obviously feeling pretty loosened-up, thanks to the two generous whiskeys, so Gojyo decided to take a chance on something.

“Listen, my friend, don’t worry about a little fuckin’ language,” he grinned jovially. “The guys I travel with could make a longshoreman blush, the way we all talk. It’s just you and me in here, anyway, right? So, ah, anywho, … hey, man, what is your name, anyway?”

“Chen.”

“Glad to know you, Chen, Sha Gojyo. So, anyway… listen, Chen. You’ve seen that pissy blond fella’ I come in here and eat with, right?”

“Yeah,” Chen snickered softly, “always seems kinda’ like he’s got a pretty big stick up his… shorts.”

“Yeah. Shorts, “Gojyo snorted, knowing full well from their travels together (naturally, he always looked) that the monk didn’t wear shorts, or anything else under his robe, other than his jeans. “He can be a little intense, I’ll give ya that. But he is kind of an important guy, got a lot on his mind. And… well, it’s kind of my job to keep him… out of harm’s way, if you know what I mean?” Gojyo leaned in towards Chen and gave him a conspiratorial wink. Chin nodded and grinned and waved his nearly-empty glass at him in a gesture of understanding.

“So, look, Chen, my friend, I’d really appreciate it – I’d consider it a huge favor – if you’d keep me informed if there’s anything I need to know about this guy- or anyone else on the train, for that matter – that might be a … security risk… to this guy I’m responsible for. You follow me?”

As he spoke, Gojyo fished around in his jeans for his small stash of bills again. It was a almost all of the money he had with him , but he figured he could always win more off of Sanzo, or some other sucker on the train, if worst came to worst. Having an inside source helping to monitor security concerns on the train would be no small comfort to him, given the weird feelings he’d been having lately. He shoved the wad of bills discreetly across the table towards Chen under his broad palm.

Chen smiled and pushed Gojyo’s hand back towards him when he saw the bills sticking out, shaking his head firmly.

“Keep your money, friend Gojyo. I’ll keep an eye out for you, just because I like you. You seem like a good guy. I’m not so sure about your traveling companion, but if you say he’s worth protecting, I’ll take your word for it, and I’ll let you know if I see anything you should worry about. On the house. You treat me like a human being, not a slave, which is more I can say for most of the passengers on this goddamned train.” He tipped his glass up towards Gojyo by way of a small salute, and drained the last drops from it regretfully. “And on that note, much as I hate to say it, I do need to close up shop. I have to be here damned early to give Mr. Wu his tea and toast – the man keeps to a regular schedule, I’ll give him that.”

Gojyo rose and offered Chen his hand, shaking it firmly.

“Chen-san, it’s been a pleasure. You have a good night, man.”

“You take care, friend Gojyo,” the steward said, “and don’t let old grumpy-ass give you too much shi… stuff!” He grinned and gave a small salute as Gojyo smiled back and closed the dining car door behind him, waving over his shoulder as he went.

As Gojyo wended his way back through the train to the sleeping car, he was beginning to feel a little better about things. Sanzo seemed like he was being a little more cooperative, or at least less resistant, and Gojyo was feeling more confident that he should be able to keep the monk safe to Chang’an and back, especially now that he could count on having a knowledgeable ally in Mr. Chen for this leg of the trip. He was feeling almost mellow, aided of course by the substantial amount of alcohol he had consumed, as he opened the door at the end of the last car before his sleeping car.

A strong blast of frigid mountain air hit him as he opened the door, and he turned his shoulder into it as he stepped forward, closing the door behind him. Just at the moment he stepped out into the open darkness of the platform between the two cars, a freak cyclonic gust of nearly-arctic wind swept down off of the mountain peaks and ploughed over the entire train: cold, wet, black, and immensely powerful. The whole long line of cars shuddered and creaked against the rails under the onslaught of the battering gust. As the gale threaded between the two cars where he stood, Gojyo was instantly knocked flat, barely having time to grapple at the bars of the platform railing as the wind tried mercilessly to rip him off of it and fling him out carelessly into the night like a rag doll. He scrabbled madly to maintain his hold as the gust ripped and pulled at his body. And then, just as quickly as the freakish wind had come on, it subsided, and Gojyo was able to pull himself to a safe place on the other side of the platform and slip inside, trembling and badly-shaken.

“Holy fuck,” he panted, his teeth still chattering from both fright and the frigid sudden chill of the blast, “what the hell was that?” The Ikkou had spent a fair amount of time during their travels in lots of high mountains and in all the various terrains surrounding them, and been in some pretty killer storms, and they had never encountered anything remotely like what Gojyo had just experienced. Suddenly Gojyo had a one-track mind on checking on Sanzo, and bolted through the car to his compartment.

The monk was sitting up on the edge of his berth, looking sleepy and slightly dazed, as Gojyo struggled with the lock and darted in, wide-eyed, his heart still hammering.

“Are you ok?” he gasped.

Sanzo scrubbed his hand over his face sleepily and blinked at Gojyo.

“Huh? Wha…?”

“The whole fucking train just shook like mad, Sanzo! Big goddamn wind! Are you ok?”

Sanzo blinked twice again, and scowled at Gojyo, still confused.

“What the fuck are you on about now?” he grumbled, leaning back against the wall of his berth groggily. He looked up at Gojyo again, and snickered a little for no apparent reason.

Satisfied that the monk was clearly unharmed, Gojyo decided to just let it drop, and flopped down next to him on the berth, still trying to catch his breath.

“Never mind,” he sighed. “I’m just glad you’re ok,” he said happily. “Can’t let anything happen to my cherry-chan,” he grinned.

“Oh, great gods, don’t start that again,” Sanzo groaned wearily. He looked at Gojyo again and rolled his eyes, barely managing to suppress a grin before looking away.

“Aw, c’mon,” Gojyo wheedled, nudging Sanzo with his knee, “you know you find me irresistible.”

“No, in point of fact, I find you highly resistible,” Sanzo said, searching for and finding his smokes and lighting one. Gojyo gave him his best puppy-dog-eyes to beg for one for himself, as he realized he had forgotten to buy his own cigarettes when he had gotten caught up in his conversation with Chan. Exasperated, Sanzo grudgingly handed him one of his own and the lighter.

“See, you know you really can’t resist me,” Gojyo crowed. “What would you say if I told you I almost got blown clear off of the train just now?”

“Only almost?” Sanzo asked, looking up at him, the spreading grin pulling at the corners of his mouth again in spite of himself.

“Yeah – almost – I was hanging on for dear life.”

“I’d say ‘close but not good enough.’” Sanzo said dryly. He turned once again and looked at Gojyo, shook his head, and snorted.

“Aw c’mon, baby…” Gojyo cajoled. Suddenly he began to notice that he was definitely the subject of some kind of exceptional amusement for the monk for some reason. He interrupted himself abruptly, “will you please tell me what the fuck you find so goddamn funny?” Sanzo was not someone at all prone to spontaneous or casual laughter.

Now Sanzo began giggling, outright giggling, as he looked at Gojyo. Gojyo stood and faced him, hands on his hips. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, “have you finally gone shithouse mouse? This is not like you, Sanzo.”

Unfortunately, what he thought was a quite serious demand only made the monk laugh harder. He looked down at himself, but nothing seemed amiss. “C’mon, Sanzo…” He really seriously began to wonder if Sanzo was cracking up, as in finally mentally losing it, for real - this fit of laughter was just so completely out of character for him.

“Mirror!” Sanzo cackled between fits of giggles. “Look in the fucking mirror, you asshole!”

Gojyo moved to look in the mirror over the sink.

Apparently the same heinous wind that had nearly thrown him off of the train had also completely discombobulated Gojyo’s beloved coiffure, and the result was pretty unfortunate. He had used a new hair gel that morning, which, as it turns out, he had clearly used far more of than he had needed. To complicate matters, the dining car had been very warm, and between that and the booze, Gojyo had been sweating, a lot, leaving his hair pretty damp.

The wind’s horrendous gusts had played fast and loose with his sodden, overly-gelled hair, fixing his shorter parts on the sides pretty firmly at three-o’clock and nine-o’clock angles to his face, and his “antennae” now shot straight upwards, pointing fixedly at twelve o’clock as they bobbed around only slightly. The remainder of his hair, the long parts, looked pretty much as if it had been styled with an egg-beater.

The poor vain kappa was mortified when he first looked at himself, and his vanity nearly made him angry with the monk for laughing at him so much. But it was such a rare thing to get to actually see and hear Sanzo laugh… And he had to admit, when he looked at himself, he did look pretty damned ridiculous. As he studied himself in the mirror, the blond’s giggles became infectious. Gojyo reached up and pulled his one of his antennae down, trying to bend it back into its normal downward curve, but it sprang valiantly back straight upwards with an almost audible “sproing”, at which point Sanzo completely doubled over, his hands grabbing his sides, howling.

“You don’t have to enjoy this quite so much, you know,” Gojyo said, still laughing at himself.

Sanzo dabbed at the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “Goddamn, I wish I had a camera. Goku and Hakkai would pay good money to see this.”

“I’ll pay you good money NOT to tell them about it,” Gojyo giggled.

“No fuckin’ way, kappa,” Sanzo grinned evilly. “This is priceless.”

Gojyo studied the man opposite him on the bench. Laughing as he was, Sanzo’s eyes were wider open than Gojyo had ever seen them, and the moisture from the tears made them glitter like amazing, unearthly-bright purple gems. Gojyo was awestruck. He didn’t want to stop and analyze it, he didn’t even want to take one millisecond to think about it and possibly lose his nerve or somehow damage what was so clearly magic about the moment. He just suddenly dropped to one knee in front of Sanzo, slid one arm around his slim waist and pulled him close, and planted a long slow careless kiss on that beautiful laughing mouth.

Sanzo’s first reaction was a loud scream inside his head telling him that he should pull away. It was wrong, the rational brain said – clearly, obviously wrong. He knew it was wrong. Every brain cell and speck of logic and reason he ever had was telling him it was wrong, that he just had to stop. Now.

But everything else in his body was completely, totally overriding his head this time. Maybe it was because he’d had too much to drink, and was still a little sleepy. Maybe it was all the endorphins released by laughing. Maybe it was both, or maybe it was the goddamn phase of the moon - but his guard was definitely down. Normally he would have been so much better at fighting it off. But as Gojyo pressed his lips against Sanzo’s, so firm and so soft at the same time, gentle yet insistent, the priest’s arms suddenly acquired a mind of their own as they quickly slid around the waist and up the broad back of the hanyou, pulling him closer and holding him tight.

Sanzo’s rational brain was beyond horrified as it heard that first small urgent groan that somehow managed to escape his own throat as Gojyo deepened the kiss. Nowhere in Sanzo’s experience had there ever been anything that felt remotely like this: the fact that this was so new and so different confounded him, and made it even more difficult for his reason to prevail. No tenderness had ever been associated with sex, nothing like that which the kappa was showing him with his kisses and touches now. Physical contact had always been forced and shameful, and there had always been pain. Lots of pain. But there was no pain in this now, other than the dissonance coming from his brain, and that was quickly being overshadowed by the rush of what was new, and good.

He had to force himself to remember to breathe. It was like his body stopped doing anything else in those first long moments except responding to that kiss: automatically trying to learn to return with his own mouth and tongue what Gojyo was doing to him, those clever, wonderful things that felt so very, very good. Then suddenly he was breathing freely again, and Gojyo’s lips had moved from his mouth to his neck, where they were suckling and biting, sending little hot spikes of pleasure down Sanzo’s spine. Sanzo couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Gojyo, and before he knew it that groaning sound was coming from his throat again, only louder this time. He began to feel dizzy as an unfamiliar heat coursed through him and settled in his groin, his hands clenching convulsively into Gojyo’s sides as he started to tremble slightly. He couldn’t have said why, but he couldn’t seem to stop his hands from clenching and shaking any more than he could stop anything else that was happening.

This was so far from what had ever happened to him, either in his ugly past, or alone in his own bed, as to be another thing altogether: night from day, sun from moon, and as Sanzo’s brain began to grudgingly let that in, bit by little bit, the dissonance between his brain and his body began to quiet, just a little. But still, the tide of sensation threatened to overwhelm him, to engulf him: after so long, it was almost too much, as if all of Sanzo’s nerve endings had suddenly been set fire.

“Easy, babe, easy,” Gojyo purred, as if he was gentling a wild animal. “We have all the time in the world. We can take this as slow or as fast as you want, ok?”

Gojyo said it, wanting so much for it to be true, as much to convince himself as to convince Sanzo. He knew all-too-well that the brutal truth was that at any minute, the regular old pissed-off touch-me-not Sanzo mode could click back in, and the whole scenario could change literally in a heartbeat. He could be dumped on his ass on the cold floor of the train, with a gun in his temple, or at the very least, Sanzo’s fist in his face. Magic all gone bye-bye.

But – amazingly - Sanzo simply nodded. He was looking up at Gojyo, his eyes still wide, but different now. Glazed. Intense. Surprised. And…just the faintest glimmer there…vulnerable. Gojyo’s heart thumped madly in his chest like a flounder on a pier.

He dropped down to squat lower before him, and began to pull Sanzo’s t-shirt over his head, keeping eye contact with the priest every fraction of every second, lest he bolt. With the shirt off, he began at the small hollow of the elegant porcelain throat and started kissing a trail down Sanzo’s chest , stroking him softly with his large hands as he did. Sanzo shivered from the light ghost-touches of lips across his flesh, and curled his spine towards him as Gojyo’s mouth surrounded the small flat nipple, teasing it to rise up into his mouth gently with his lips and teeth.

“Nnnn… oh gods,” Sanzo shuddered. “Yes.” That was the answer, wasn’t it? Sanzo’s brain grew more and more quiet, fading into the background.

“Nice?” Gojyo asked.

“Mmmm. Nngg. Yeah.” Sanzo looked down at the head of the man ministering to his body, a jolt of energy surging through him as he witnessed the incredibly erotic image of Gojyo, his eyes half-closed in bliss, carefully laving his nipple with his tongue. He had never had any understanding of what voyeurism was about until that moment. Only one thing…

“Wait…” Sanzo said, stopping him, his hands on his shoulders. “One minute…”

“What?” Gojyo looked up, terrified he was going to lose his precious momentum with Sanzo if anything stopped them for even a second, afraid that the monk was having second thoughts, that he would change his mind about the whole thing.

Suddenly Sanzo was rifling around in his kit bag beside the bed, and came back up with something Gojyo couldn’t see clutched in his hand. Gojyo couldn’t believe Sanzo was already looking for that… Surely, no, it couldn’t be that easy…

“Turn around and sit down,” the monk commanded, pointing to the floor in front of him.

“What the fuck, Sanzo?”

“Do it.”

Dismayed, but apparently having no choice, Gojyo complied, having absolutely no idea now what Sanzo had in mind.

Suddenly he felt a slow gentle tugging at his hair with a hairbrush. Bit by bit, Sanzo began working out the unruly gelled parts, and beating the disheveled red mop back into some semblance of its usual arrangement.

“If we’re going to do this, there’s no fucking way I can take you seriously with that ridiculous hair,” Sanzo said dryly as he slowly, steadily brushed away at the mass of tangled red silk.

“Mmmm, not a problem,” Gojyo purred as he reveled under the monk’s surprisingly tender touch. He leaned into the brush like a contented cat being petted, curling each hand loosely around Sanzo’s ankles as he fell back against his lap. He could definitely wait a few minutes, for this. This was almost better than sex – at least as good…

Sanzo stopped brushing for a moment.

“Did you hear that?”

“What? I didn’t hear anything. Keep brushing.”

“I heard a tapping sound outside our door, then it stopped.”

“I didn’t hear it. You’re hearing things. My hearing is better than yours. I would have heard it. Keep brushing.”

Sanzo shrugged, and resumed brushing Gojyo’s hair, but he could have sworn he heard it again, a few minutes later: a faint, rhythmic tapping, as if something was slowly moving down the aisle of the sleeping car just outside their door.

~TBC~