Aitsu No Ai

Title: Aitsu no Ai
Author: jedishampoo
Pairing: 53 (Gojyo/Sanzo)
Rating: NC-17, Yaoi
Length: About 8750 words
Summary: A sequel-sorta to "Love Me, Dude" http://anime.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600042885. Gojyo goes for a second try. Humor (I hope), poorly-planned seductions, embarrassment of characters, smut, arguing.


Author’s Note: I’ve never written a follow-up to anything of my own before. It was just too much fun coming up with the conversations and awkward sex. I am so ashamed. Thanks very much to baka_gaijin for her wonderful and thorough beta; any remaining errors or confusion are purely my fault.

Aitsu no Ai

Gojyo discovered that the sweet, sweet afterglow of secret love was hard to maintain in the cold, cold reality of two weeks of dingy towns and youkai attacks, several nights sleeping in the woods, and a pretty, pretty monk with a nasty, nasty attitude.

And for at least one more night, it was the woods, again. The five members of their little India-road-trip party had gathered in a small clearing they’d found out of sight of the road. It was still daylight, and would be for a couple more hours at least. They could have kept on driving through the countryside, but Goku’s stomach had been extra noisy. Sanzo had barely grunted opposition to Hakkai’s suggestion of stopping early.

They sat around a stack of wood that Gojyo had collected. Hakkai was starting a fire with a few scraps of old newspaper, and Goku was playing with Jeep and waiting for his dinner. Sanzo, as usual, was leaning against one of the bedrolls with a little book in his lap. And doing absolutely no work whatsoever. And ignoring them, and being in a pissy mood. But it was just his everyday, life-is-pain-and-then-you-die-so-deal-with-it pissy mood. Nothing had changed.

Gojyo had expected something to change since his little interlude with Sanzo a couple of weeks ago, even if he didn’t know what he’d expected. Well, if he was being honest with himself, he might say he’d been envisioning some fun of the naked type. This whole quest had started to sound a lot better with the possibility of regular doses of great sex.

Gojyo had gotten all gooey over Sanzo. Sanzo. Who didn’t give a shit about anyone. And so Gojyo, therefore, was horny without any other outlet than his own right hand. And he’d had been all prepared, too. He’d made what he thought were some useful purchases in the town of whatever-it-had-been called.

But nothing. Not even more abuse from Sanzo than usual: nothing to even indicate that anything had ever happened between them. And to make the nothing worse, Gojyo couldn’t even pretend to be injured. Sanzo hadn’t asked to be molested, and had promised nothing afterwards. Gojyo sulked anyway. He was the pathetic one, the one who jerked off and pretended it was Sanzo’s flesh creating all the friction, thought about tasting sweat, seeing Sanzo’s face losing its perpetual tight sneer and go all oblivious, and knowing that he, Gojyo, had done it. That he couldn’t be ignored. Yet Sanzo was ignoring him, and Gojyo was more aware of him than ever.

There hadn’t even been any ladies, either, to lighten the load. Not that a few gals in some of those dumpy towns hadn’t seemed interested in a little dose of vitamin Sha. But unfortunately, Gojyo had been holding out for a chance at nailing Sanzo. Who, annoyingly, was better-looking than most of the women Gojyo’d seen lately, even with that grouchy sneer he always wore. Gojyo wondered what the hell he was waiting for. He sulked some more.

“Goku, why don’t you go through our supplies and pick out whatever needs to be eaten first?” Hakkai said as he bent over, cupping his hands about the little flame he’d started.

“I get to pick? All right!” Goku thumped a fist in the air and ran over to their piles of bags.

Gojyo sat in the grass, lit a smoke, and looked at Sanzo.

“Yo, Monkey,” he called, loudly, to see if he could get a reaction. Any reaction, even if it involved bullets or paper fans. “Remember that whatever needs to be eaten first ain’t everything. Don’t want his holiness to get any skinnier because we ran out of food.”

“I know that, you stupid water-sprite,” Goku called back.

“Chibi-chimp!”

Sanzo’s mouth curled up a little at the noise, but he otherwise ignored them.

“Goku will do fine,” Hakkai said with a small smile at Gojyo. “I’ll ultimately pick what we need. This will distract him from his stomach. And we should reach another town tomorrow, so we can buy more supplies.”

“Cigarettes for Sanzo, you mean,” Gojyo said, loudly, but smiled back at his friend. “At least the monkey’s keeping busy. Unlike some people.”

Sanzo pointedly ignored him, and in fact made no sign that he’d been listening to any of them.

Hakkai turned away to fill some saucepans with water (water which Gojyo had also collected), and Gojyo took the opportunity to look at Sanzo again. He was being discreet. At least, he hoped so. He had to be sneaky about it--Hakkai saw way too much with that pretty green eye of his--but whenever he had the chance, Gojyo watched Sanzo. He watched him when he walked (swing-hipped and sure), he watched Sanzo eating (rice, one grain at a time as always, chopsticks held with an elegance Gojyo had never noticed before). He watched Sanzo wearing his grandpa glasses, and reading. Because reading was all Sanzo did anymore, when they weren’t riding around in Jeep, or fighting, eating, or sleeping.

Sanzo wasn’t even reading his usual newspapers, but a leather-covered book he carried around on his person and never laid down anywhere. Gojyo knew this because he’d looked for it. He’d wanted to find out what book Sanzo was so fucking fascinated by.

Sanzo muttered to himself, too. A lot. Gojyo thought it was super-annoying. Especially now, because he was horny. What was he waiting for?

Any fantasies of seducing a drunken Sanzo had been shot to hell: Sanzo hadn’t touched a drop of liquor, that Gojyo could tell, anyway, for the past two-plus weeks. And Gojyo sure as shit wasn’t going to just blithely happen upon a Sanzo all tied up again like a present. Sanzo wasn’t going to saunter over to Gojyo’s side of the campfire some night, drop trou, and say, Hey, Tiger, let’s get busy!

Gojyo actually pictured that in his brain for a moment. Or two moments, or three. Then he decided such a thing would be too ridiculous. There wasn’t enough booze in the world to make that happen.

Still, the thought was kinda hot. Gojyo filed that fantasy away for later, when he was alone.

It wasn’t that Sanzo didn’t like gettin' busy. And he didn’t mind a little... convincing. Gojyo knew this from experience. Sanzo could just be so mean that he had to wait around for someone with the guts to give it to him. Gojyo had the guts. At least, he’d thought he had. He settled in for some really good sulking.

“I wonder what Kougaiji and his group are up to,” Hakkai spoke up again, out of nowhere, as he poked at the fire with a stick.

“Yeah, Lirin hasn’t bothered us for weeks!” Goku piped in. He’d returned, as expected, with all of their food.

“Ya miss her, Monkey?”

“No way! Pervert.”

“Perhaps Miss Yaone has had to be a little more strict with her charge?” Hakkai said. He turned and dutifully began sorting the food Goku had brought.

“Heh,” Gojyo said. Yaone, now. A fine piece of bodacious-bosomed, youkai womanhood. That was the sort of person Gojyo should focus on, and not let himself get all gooey over tight-assed monks.

Tight-assed. Oh, god, there it was again. Gojyo was so damned horny it wasn’t funny.

“Gimme a beer, Monkey,” he said. “Cold beer.”

“Screw you,” Goku replied. He stuffed something uncooked in his mouth and looked at Sanzo. “What do you think, Sanzo?” he asked.

Sanzo didn’t answer, just stared at his book, glasses on his eyes and his mouth moving a little as he mumbled to himself.

“Sanzo!” Goku whined. “You didn’t answer me. We were talking about Kougaiji. What are you reading, anyway?”

“He’s been very studious lately, hasn’t he?” Hakkai said, and smiled his gentle smile and handed Gojyo a cold beer. “Your mantras must be very consuming, Sanzo. I’m sure it’s something that will help us on our mission. Am I right?”

Sanzo didn’t answer him.

Mantras? Gojyo thought. Was that what Sanzo was reading, and how did Hakkai know that?

“Sanzo!” Goku called again.

“Oi! Monk!” Gojyo yelled, determined to get Sanzo’s attention if it killed him. He held his beer can in Sanzo’s direction and pulled the tab, hoping Sanzo might get sprayed. He didn’t.

“Sanzo!” Goku said a third time.

Sanzo placed an elegant and deliberate finger on a spot in the book, and glanced up around the campfire, at no one in particular. “What the fuck do you idiots want?” he said.

Gojyo opened his mouth, but Hakkai answered first. “I’d just commented that your mantras must be very important,” Hakkai paraphrased. “They must be very holy scriptures.”

“Hmph,” was all Sanzo said, calmly staring at all of them and none of them.

“Sutras? Mantras?” Gojyo said, grinning. “You’re not going all Buddhist again on us, are you? Memorizing all the religious shit you forgot while you were drinking and killing people?”

Sanzo sighed. “If you assholes must know, it’s a mantra against craving.”

Gojyo had gotten a reaction all right. And this was better than he’d ever expected. “Against craving? What are you craving, monk?” Gojyo said, with his best leer. Discreet, disschmeet.

“I’m going to quit smoking,” Sanzo said.

Three pairs of eyes stared back at him in pure astonishment. There were about ten seconds of absolute silence.

“What? No way!” Gojyo said after that ten seconds.

“Good for you!” Hakkai said, at the same time. “You’ll feel much better.”

“Wow,” Goku said, a half-second behind everyone else.

“You’re shitting me,” Gojyo added.

Sanzo finally looked at him. His eyes were calm, distant. “Are you saying I can’t do it?” he asked.

“Fuck, yeah.” Gojyo said. He’d been shocked, sure. But mostly, he’d been disappointed at the response. Giving up cigarettes, and that was all? Boring. Crazy. And impossible, if Gojyo knew Sanzo at all. It had to be bullshit. “You know lying is a sin too, right? Tell me that ain’t in your holy texts.”

“Hmph,” Sanzo said. Then as everyone continued to stare at him, he reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. He shook one out, stuck it in his mouth, and leaned over to light it off the end of Hakkai’s poker. He then re-stashed his pack of smokes. He did this all while keeping one finger on his book, and when he was done, he lifted his finger and continued to read.

“What the hell do you call that?” Gojyo said. Gojyo knew it was some sort of set-up, but he was too pissed off to stay quiet.

“I didn’t say I was quitting now,” Sanzo mumbled around his cigarette. Then he added, not quite under his breath, “moron.”

Gojyo fumed. Okay. That was it. Sanzo was fucking with him. He’d set the trap and Gojyo had blundered right into it. Time was, Gojyo would have accepted that as normal. But things had changed, even if Sanzo pretended they hadn’t.

Now, it was time for action. Gojyo had a shot of hard, metal courage shaped like handcuffs in his rucksack. Sooner or later Sanzo would have to be alone. And when he was, Gojyo would be there. His luck had to change sooner or later.

***

“When determinations cease consciousness ceases.”

Sanzo read.

“When the six mental spheres cease, contact ceases. He seeing a form with the eye becomes greedy for a pleasant form, or averse to a disagreeable form. Abides with mindfulness of the body not established and with a limited mind. Not knowing the release of mind nor the release through wisdom as it really is, where thoughts of demerit cease completely.”

Pleasant form... release. Sanzo kept reading. This particular passage was so dull it should numb the fuck out of him, literally and poetically. It wasn’t working, however.

“He falls to the path of agreeing and disagreeing and feels whatever feeling pleasant, unpleasant, or neither pleasant or unpleasant. Hearing a sound with the ear, cognising a smell with the nose, cognising a taste with the tongue, cognising a touch with the body, cognising an idea with the mind, becomes greedy for a pleasant idea. Becomes blah blah blah blah. Blah de blah.”

Sanzo lost his train of thought, lost the words, though he’d memorized this passage long ago. He was stuck somewhere back on tongues and bodies and sounds. And sights. Red hair and eyes.

Shit. He was having lustful thoughts again. It was sickening.

This sex thing, this physical... twitching was a new problem for him. Sanzo let his eyes unfocus from the characters on the page, just let his thoughts drift where they wanted. He would put them back into order. Confronting them, and doing it logically, would help them go away all the more quickly, he told himself.

Sanzo had never liked people much. And sex required close contact with other people. So he’d pretty much avoided it, figuring it wasn’t worth the bother and any sorts of physical urges could be taken care of privately.

But his sexuality or lack of it wasn’t quite private anymore. That was annoying. Gojyo was annoying. It was all Gojyo’s fault; he’d started all the trouble as usual, with his little stunt a few weeks back.

Sanzo hadn’t been sure how to deal with the situation, other than by killing the fuck out of Gojyo, literally and poetically. He still wasn’t sure. He thought he’d learned to not dwell on things; this was just something else added to his shitpile, something else to overcome. So he listed the annoying things, in order, in his mind: not only had he had sex, let someone touch him, and fuck him up the ass-- something that many had tried, and many had died for it with brains full of bullet-- but it had been Gojyo. Someone whose mere existence and day-to-day behavior grated on Sanzo’s soul like no other. And Sanzo had fucking taken it and liked it.

The worst and most annoying thing by far, however, was something so disgusting that every time Sanzo thought about it he wanted to throttle something, kill something, stomp on something or maybe just slice his own dick off: now and then, he wondered if they might do it again.

Just like he was thinking about it at the moment. Obviously, logic wasn’t working. Sanzo wondered why he hadn’t just killed Gojyo already.

Was this the start of some unsettling trend, brought about by being around these idiots for too long? Sanzo glanced furtively around the fire at his group of youkai. He looked at Hakkai. People seemed to think Hakkai was attractive. The image worked its way involuntarily into Sanzo’s mind of Hakkai doing what Gojyo had done. Sanzo felt nothing prurient at the thought, only a slight discomfort at thinking about Hakkai in that way.

Next in the campfire-circle was Goku. Oh, shit, no. Now Sanzo felt dirty; he needed a bar of brain soap.

Sanzo felt it safe enough to look at Gojyo. And Gojyo, the fuck, was wearing only a sleeveless shirt and jeans, and was leering at him from behind the fringe of his red hair. Leering. His eyes were half-closed and his generous mouth was relaxed. His face said, I’m having a lurid sexual fantasy about you right now and you can’t do anything about it ha ha!

Shit. Now Sanzo just wanted to go off somewhere and quietly vomit. Or take a cold, cold bath. The cold bath sounded better. He tucked his book and glasses into the sleeve of his robe, tossed his cigarette into the fire, and stood.

“I’ll be back later.”

Goku stared at him with a half-chewed piece of fruit in his mouth. “Sanzo! Where are you going? Sanzo?”

“Leave me alone,” Sanzo said. “Help Hakkai. Just do something other than follow me around.”

Goku’s face fell and he got that kicked-puppy look he did so well, but the monkey was growing up. He shrugged and went back to hovering over the beginnings of their dinner. Hakkai just... smiled.

“Before dark?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sanzo allowed, and only because it was Hakkai, and because he was smiling.

Gojyo, for once, didn’t say anything, just stared at Sanzo with that sly sort of look. Sanzo was both intrigued and annoyed because of it, so he started walking , following the trail Gojyo had disappeared down earlier, only half-dressed, the motherfucker. Soon enough he located a small river or a large stream, it didn’t matter which because it was still and clear and wet.

Sanzo stood on the muddy bank and did it all quite ceremoniously and logically: He removed his boots. He lifted off his scripture, and rolled it up, and stuck it in one of his boots. He removed his robe and gold plate, and folded them into a neat square. He stashed his book. He hid his gun, close by, where he could reach it easily.

Abides with mindfulness of the body not established and with a limited mind.

He removed the rest of his clothing, piece by piece, and folded it. He stuck a foot in the cold shit cold well that ought to do it water to test its depth.

Not knowing the release of mind nor the release through wisdom as it really is, where thoughts of demerit cease completely.

He counted to three, and threw himself face-down into the river. It was really, really, fucking cold.

Sanzo held his breath and just floated in the water for a few minutes, coming up every now and then for air. He thought of a look he’d seen on Gojyo’s face a few times in the past few weeks: the one that wasn’t stupid or lurid, the one that looked at Sanzo with calculation. Sanzo realized he needed a few more minutes in the water. After a while his chest started to hurt; his balls had shriveled, trying to climb back into his body. The really, really fucking cold water had finally done its job.

He climbed out, rinsing the river-mud and pebbles from his feet, and pulled on his boots and robe against the chill. It was a warm day but he was in the shade and he’d nearly managed to freeze himself to death.

He sat on the riverbank and lit a cigarette. He supposed he should quit, in another thirty years or so.

He took a few moments to revel in solitude, and to appreciate his bucolic surroundings. The colors were soothing: browns, greens, the greys of the rocks at the bottom of the slow-moving river, just starting to settle after he’d stirred them up.

Cognising a smell with the nose.

The smells were cool and green also, quite calming. He supposed nature-worship wasn’t such a bad idea, sometimes. If people had to worship something, then this at least made sense.

Hearing a sound with the ear.

The sounds were quiet sorts of nature sounds-- the noise of bird wings flapping against leaves high in the branches, the low whisper of the slight breeze, a plop now and then as something moved underwater. A crack as something snapped a twig on the path behind him.

Shit!

Sanzo dove for his gun.

***

“Gotcha!” Gojyo cried as he tackled one escaping monk.

Sanzo was fast and pretty strong for his size, but Gojyo was faster and stronger thanks to his half-demon blood. And his killer bod. He caught Sanzo’s hands before he could grab his pistol or throw a punch, and yanked him upright. Then he twisted Sanzo around and threw himself against his back, shoving Sanzo face-first into a tree. He used his longer reach to clasp Sanzo’s hands around the trunk and snap! There went the handcuffs, doing their job, bless them.

Gojyo stepped back, clear of Sanzo’s bootheels, and surveyed his handiwork. His luck had changed, that was for sure.

“Asshole!” Sanzo yelled, yanking the cuffs uselessly against the tree bark, sending little chips and splinters flying. “Where the fuck did you get those?”

“None-ya,” Gojyo said, and crossed his arms and smiled, and looked. He would touch soon-- oh, yes he would--but for the moment he was happy to watch Sanzo struggle. Sanzo cranked his head around, trying to glare at Gojyo from his awkward position, wet hair dripping in his eyes. His face was glistening and his eyes stood out like purple fire against his pink cheeks. He looked really good, as a matter of fact. He must have taken a dip in the river. Gojyo would have liked to have seen that; he wished he hadn’t dilly-dallied around the camp before taking off after Sanzo.

But Hakkai had kept looking at him all funny. Gojyo had the feeling that Hakkai knew, or suspected, that something was up between Gojyo and Sanzo, and was only waiting for Gojyo, his best friend, to tell him. When Gojyo had left (quite casually, he thought), to follow Sanzo, Hakkai had only said something vague about before dark and then had begun talking to Goku and Jeep as if Gojyo was already gone.

Hakkai, however, wasn’t Gojyo’s immediate concern. Number one on the list was the monk, and number two was his own hard-on, and both of those could be taken care of at the same time, in due time.

Aww, screw due time. Gojyo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around tree and monk, and buried his nose in Sanzo’s wet hair.

“Get the fuck off me,” Sanzo snarled, trying to bend, to move, to shake Gojyo off. But Gojyo had chosen the right position; Sanzo had no leverage and couldn’t do a damned thing.

“Not yet,” Gojyo promised threatened, and licked at a drop of water trickling down the back of Sanzo’s neck. Damn, but Sanzo was cold and warm at the same time. “Shit, it took me long enough to get you alone. Lemme enjoy it, will ya?”

“Fucking pervert,” Sanzo said. But under his tongue, Gojyo noticed the little shiver that shook Sanzo’s spine.

“Like you ain’t, Sanzo,” Gojyo said, tasting the name and the skin on his lips at the same time. Shit, why had he taken this long? Next time, he wouldn’t.

“You wish,” Sanzo said, and mumbled low curses under his breath. Gojyo let his hands drift off the tree and onto Sanzo, feeling the warm skin beneath the damp robe. Skin--? Gojyo slid a hand down Sanzo’s stomach to his crotch, and discovered something. Something besides the fact that Sanzo was clearly more interested than he was pretending to be.

“Holy shit. You ain’t got anything on under this, do you?”

“Get your hand off my dick,” Sanzo said, ignoring the question.

“You dirty monk,” Gojyo said. He wasn’t in the mood for any of Sanzo’s bullshit-prudishness. He would just state it like it was. He slid a light touch along the outline of Sanzo’s cock through the thin material. He nibbled at Sanzo’s ear. “And besides. I’ve handled your pistol before.”

“Yeah, and as I recall, you couldn’t handle it worth a shit.” Sanzo’s uneven breathing was betraying him.

“As I remember, I shot it off just fine.”

“Shut up. I’m not trading sexual innuendoes with an idiot.”

“Fine. Then I’ll get down to business,” Gojyo said. That was a lie, though. Gojyo was going to take his sweet time. He’d earned it. He untied the robe and let his fingers explore elsewhere, along Sanzo’s arms, up his chest. Damned monk was awfully skinny. He felt great, though. He could feel Sanzo’s nipples all nubby against the cold, and Gojyo’s touch.

“This time I will fucking kill you,” Sanzo breathed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojyo said. He pressed his own erection into the crack of Sanzo’s ass. Even muffled through his own jeans, he liked how it felt there. A lot. And he decided he was going to earn and enjoy every death Sanzo promised him. He grabbed the edges of Sanzo’s robe to pull it off.

And realized that he hadn’t quite thought this through as well as he’d imagined. It wasn’t the right position. He pulled his face out of Sanzo’s shoulder, and looked over the situation. He’d handcuffed Sanzo to a tree. Facing the tree. It wasn’t a big tree, but there still wasn’t enough room between the tree and Sanzo for Gojyo. He supposed he could just do it from behind-- that would get the job done for sure. But it was a little less personal than Gojyo wanted to be at the moment. He wanted Sanzo to have to fucking look at him.

“We-ell, shit. This isn’t going to work,” he said. Aloud, to his eternal shame. His luck had left him.

Sanzo took a deep breath. “Is your tongue even connected to your brain? What the hell are you talking about? Let me go.”

“No, I just need to figure it out. Gimme a minute,” Gojyo said. He thought for a few seconds. “Hey! I got it.”

Gojyo stepped back and dug in his jeans pocket for the key to the handcuffs. It was a tiny thing; he would have to do this carefully. He pressed himself against Sanzo’s back again, wrapped his arms about the tree trunk, and with one hand he grabbed the cuff around Sanzo’s right wrist. With the other he fumbled the key into the lock.

“About time! Shit!” Sanzo said.

He’d tried to break himself free, as Gojyo had known he would, but Gojyo used his strength to yank Sanzo’s arms over his head, to a low tree branch, and snap! He refastened them. Now he could just walk around and stand between the tree, and Sanzo.

“There we go,” Gojyo purred. Awesome. Sanzo was still trapped, arms secured and safe, but his feet were on the ground; he wasn’t just hanging there. What Sanzo was doing was yanking at the branch, testing to see if he could snap it. He couldn’t. He also tried to slide the cuffs along the branch. He couldn’t.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Sanzo said again. He glared at Gojyo with those purple-fire eyes of his. “What the hell are you doing? Are you just making this up as you go along?”

“Yeah,” Gojyo admitted. He stepped onto Sanzo’s boots before Sanzo thought to kick him, and slid his fingers over Sanzo’s cheeks to tickle the backs of his ears. He kissed him for a moment, just lips on lips, feeling Sanzo’s frustrated breaths tickling his nose-hairs. It was great, just as great as he’d remembered. He grinned. He liked being in control. He liked saying it like it was, not pretending it had never happened. “What, like I know how to do this shit with guys? Don’t tell me you know better?”

“Tch,” Sanzo said, trying to turn his face away. But Gojyo had it trapped, too. He sucked at Sanzo’s lower lip. Sanzo just let him. This was so much fucking fun. He was going all gooey again. Yeah, front was the right way to go.

“Maybe we could learn together?” Gojyo suggested against Sanzo’s lips, and he slid one hand down to Sanzo’s side, under the open robe, just below his armpit, feeling the slightly-damp and soft skin there. “Why don’t you tell me what I oughta do next?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to let me go, so I won’t bother,” Sanzo mumbled. But the expression in his eyes said he was... intrigued? Waiting for whatever came next? Gojyo couldn’t decide.

And as if he couldn’t wipe his mouth because his hands were bound, Sanzo licked his lips after he spoke, touching Gojyo’s mouth with his tongue. By accident? Gojyo didn’t think so. So he took advantage and kissed Sanzo for real. A lover’s kiss, tongue and all, a kiss that meant business. That was even better. Kissing was the best part. Well, second or third best, at least. Hell, it was all good. Why try to decide?

Gojyo was good at it, and he liked the chance to show off his skills. It worked the same on guys and girls. Even with Sanzos. And this Sanzo liked it, ohyeshedid.

The way Gojyo slid his tongue slowly around the inside of Sanzo’s mouth, pulling back every few seconds to lick Sanzo’s lips, tasting of river-water and Sanzo; the way he let his thumbs drift over Sanzo’s cheeks, a light touch that took its own damned time.

Sanzo’s breathing had become a desperate sound. He mumbled something but it was muffled by Gojyo’s tongue. Gojyo wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it but he pulled back, anyway.

“What?” he asked.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just relax and enjoy it,” Gojyo told him, huffing a little in frustration. If he had to be lovin’ guys, why the fuck did it have to be Sanzo that did it for him? Why not someone like Hakkai, who in addition to being pretty as hell, was a nice person? Nice to Gojyo, anyway. Someone who might tell Gojyo what a legendary lover he was. With Sanzo, he wouldn’t get any of that. He was getting paid by getting laid.

“Asshole,” Sanzo mumbled.

“Oh, just shut it,” Gojyo said, and then cut the dickwad-ish yammer off by kissing him again. It was the game they had to play; Sanzo had to pretend he didn’t want Gojyo, and Gojyo didn’t have to pretend anything, only make it happen. He clenched the fingers of one hand into Sanzo’s hair, and put the other inside Sanzo’s robe, fisting it in the small of his back, against damp skin and knobbly spine. Pushing their stomachs together.

Sanzo made a sound somewhat between a curse and a whimper, and his body stretched, and Gojyo could feel Sanzo’s breaths through his stomach, and it was like nothing else, and Gojyo remembered why it was Sanzo. Besides the pretty face. It was his repressed sensuality; the way he breathed, reacted and moved without meaning to.

And the way Gojyo had to take charge. It was a major turn-on. Gojyo could never pull this shit on a chick, or someone like Hakkai, someone who needed a little pampering, or someone he really liked outside of this weird box he was trapped in, where emotional and physical were all tied together.

Still, he took his sweet time, stretched out the kissing, the touching-- the foreplay, basically. Of course, they were both guys; they didn’t really need this slow build. The damned house had already been built and people had moved in. Still.

Gojyo could hear his own blood rushing through his ears, feel his own stone-hard dick, painfully straining against his jeans. Blood. He brought his hand around to Sanzo’s cock again, and lightly ran his fingers along it before he gripped it, hard, pulling at it like he do might his own. Back and forth a few times, remembering the feel of it, the brush of the hairs at the base, the slick roundness of the end.

Sanzo had stopped kissing him back; he was hardly standing, leaning into the cuffs, leaning into Gojyo, hanging from the tree-branch. Gojyo pulled away a bit and looked. Sanzo’s eyes were half-closed and Gojyo knew that expression: Sanzo might have been asleep, except for the glitter of purple between his eyelashes, intent on what was happening to him.

Gojyo slowed his hand: he was going to drag it out. He shoved a tongue in Sanzo’s ear. He wondered if Sanzo heard the same rushing he did. Blood. Pumping against his fingers, under his tongue. He thought about how you could look at a person all day, every day, and not realize until you felt the beat of their heart, the warmth of their skin, that blood was pumping furiously through their veins, throughout their bodies, heating them. If he bit Sanzo, would he bleed?

“Ya like that?” he whispered, instead.

“Fu--. Ba--. Go--.”

Sanzo couldn’t even curse correctly. That was Gojyo’s bonus pay, right there. If Sanzo did it for him, well, then, he did it for Sanzo, too. He was Legend.

“Tell me, Sanzo,” Gojyo said.

He moved his hand faster again, slicked it with some of the wetness created between them, thumbing down along Sanzo’s cock, felt the throbbing, heard the breaths in his hair coming shorter and faster. He wanted all the fight out of Sanzo, wanted him to forget everything but what Gojyo could do to him.

He wanted to make another joke about pistols but he didn’t. The pull of that whole emotional/physical mix was too strong, and Gojyo’s dick was too hard: he wanted more, more more.

So he stopped what he was doing. Sanzo coughed.

With a will, Gojyo stepped back and watched Sanzo watching him. It wasn’t quite a glare. Gojyo crossed his arms and hooked his fingers into the hem of his sleeveless shirt and yanked it over his head.

He took a moment to survey his empire. Mine, mine, mine. Sanzo hung there, purple eyes slowly regaining their focus, skin sheened with sweat, dick jutting and pink with Gojyo’s efforts. Sanzo must be in some pain, Gojyo thought with some sympathy and some little satisfaction. And Sanzo couldn’t do a thing about it until Gojyo decided he could.

At the thought he touched his own cock lightly through his jeans. It drove him nuts. He unhooked his jeans and only pulled them partway down, too impatient to wait any longer.

This was gonna be tough, though, Gojyo thought. How the hell was he going to hold Sanzo up? He still obviously hadn’t thought this through. Maybe it wasn’t his lucky day after all.

Then he had another idea. He called his shakou-jou.

“What the--?” Sanzo said when he saw it appear in Gojyo’s hand. Before he could say anything else, Gojyo sliced through the tree branch. Sanzo’s arms, cuffed at the wrists, fell forward. Gojyo put his palms flat together (praying at the Temple of Sanzo? he wondered) and snaked them through the circle of Sanzo’s arms. Sanzo’s hands clasped at the small of Gojyo’s back, forearms resting on his hips. Gojyo’s longer arms were on the outside, and he could still do whatever he wanted. Luck, or skill? Gojyo decided it was probably luck.

“Sanzo,” Gojyo said, and sort of fell forward.

***

“Oof.”

Sanzo’s back hit the ground, forcing what little breath he had out of his lungs. Gojyo’s lips were all over his face, his neck, his shoulders, distracting him further.

He did realize that his hands were free, of any tree parts, at least. He thought about using them to club Gojyo alongside the head, but with Gojyo all over his face like that, what would that accomplish but to break his own nose?.

“I’m not your fucking rag doll,” he managed to breathe. It had been starting to get a little annoying-- actually, a lot annoying-- all this being tossed around and being manhandled, just to end up on the ground. Finally. Sanzo was not the expert in such things, but this had to be a fine example of a piss-poorly-planned seduction. Still, he had to admit that it was ultimately effective. He was too worn down to fight, and he was restrained, and his robe was all bunched around his arms, half-down his shoulders, hampering him, and he couldn’t do anything anyway, Sanzo told himself.

“Mmph,” Gojyo said.

Idiot, Sanzo wanted to say. But Gojyo had shoved his tongue back down Sanzo’s throat. Damn, but he was good at that shit, Sanzo had to admit to himself. A thought he would never, ever, reveal to Gojyo. Cocky half-youkai bastard.

Gojyo’s hands were pulling at Sanzo’s thighs. He rested his teeth at Sanzo’s shoulders and Sanzo took a moment to breathe something other than Gojyo.

Still. Sanzo knew what was coming, and half-feared it and half-wanted to beg for it. Talk about cocky half-youkai bastards, though: trepidation was winning out. The weight of Gojyo’s cock was pressing into his abdomen, and he’d gotten a good look at it fully erect, besides. Sanzo’s first thought was, how the hell was that going to fit? and his second was, how the hell had it fit before and how the hell had he survived it? Yet another thing he could never tell the red-headed bastard.

His knees were being lifted, his ass spread. Sanzo’s mouth ran on its own, driven by a weird mixture of panic and lust that he could hardly control.

“Asshole. Why do I have to be the bitch again?”

Gojyo kneeled between Sanzo’s legs and gave him a grin so idiotic, so beatific, it rivaled Goku at his most vulnerable.

“‘Cause you’re awesome, that’s why.”

Sanzo was shocked into further stupidity. The idiocy was obviously communicable. “What?” was all he could say.

Gojyo shook his head, sending his hair swinging, and his face dropped that simpy, adoring expression. “‘Cause you like it, I mean.”

“Who says?”

“You don’t hafta say,” Gojyo told him with that sly-dumb look he was so good at. “Oh, shit, I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Sanzo asked, stupidly. The dumb was growing. No wonder he avoided sex. It was hard to think straight when your whole world revolved around sensation and the throbbing ache in your dick and oh, god, please. In that moment, he hated Gojyo more than usual and less than usual at the same time.

Normally he wouldn’t even let Gojyo fight him, let alone touch him like this. Why him? Sanzo didn’t know. The throbbing ache and oh god, please? He decided he would hate Gojyo later.

Gojyo was fumbling with one hand somewhere near the ground. He grunted something that sounded like, got it, and a few seconds later Sanzo felt something slick hovering around the sensitive skin of his asshole, sliding around it, cool and warm and hard and delicate at the same time oh god, please. Something pushed inside him.

“How’s that?” Gojyo whispered into his ear, both words sending breaths to tickle Sanzo’s nerves from his eardrum straight to his dick, as if it didn’t have enough to worry about.

“How’s what?” Oh god, please.

“Hah,” Gojyo chuckled, and Sanzo felt the something inside him shift and oh shit, a jolt that stopped his lungs from remembering how to breathe and knotted something tight in his abdomen. He had to close his eyes; the sensory input was becoming too much. Somewhere, Gojyo was still talking. “This oughta help.”

“Uh,” Sanzo said.

“Thought so.”

The tops of Sanzo’s thighs were dragged up until they hit the bottoms of his own forearms, shoved into Gojyo’s armpits, and the something inside him was replaced by something else, and would Gojyo just hurry the fuck up and do it? Sanzo was being impossibly stretched; it hurt. Every second seemed to become an hour, and he couldn’t take it--

“Shit, Sanzo. I’m sorry-- I thought this would be easier--” Gojyo was mumbling again, and Sanzo opened his eyes and saw a curtain of red hair and Gojyo’s sweaty face, all screwed tight--

“Ah!” Sanzo said, as some barrier was breached. He felt flesh against his balls, and he was stretched till it nearly killed him, split him open, and oh, holy hell it felt good.

Gojyo expelled a breath. “Shit, Sanzo,” he whispered. His face had that awed, dopey look again. “Fuck.”

Wasn’t that what they were doing? Sanzo wondered. Gojyo finally seemed to realize this and started moving, sliding friction against Sanzo’s asshole, out then in again, and Sanzo was empty then full, over and over. Whatever Gojyo had used on him had worked; it was easier and better than last time. It hurt less. Gojyo had been prepared. And on the fourth or fifth shove inside him time he felt that jolt again, the one that controlled his body and felt like it was filling his balls until they would explode--

He must have done something, said something or whimpered something, because Gojyo spoke again.

“Ah, that’s gotta be it,” Gojyo said, and sped up his pace, hitting there-- ah-- again and again, and something was slapping Sanzo’s ass, and then he was breathing Gojyo’s breath again and breathing Gojyo’s tongue along with his whispers of Sanzo. Gojyo was all over him, everywhere at once, kissing, touching, inside; Sanzo dimly feared ceasing to be himself, his own being, lost in sensation and that sense of joining. Something clenched around his dick and Sanzo’s gut felt as if it had been grabbed hard and twisted-- pressure just built, and grew, and never abated. His thoughts spun crazily-- he was like his own gun, hammer cocked and the trigger only had to be squeezed just a tiny bit more-- minutes passed that felt like years-- ah--

Then the trigger inside him was squeezed home all at once, in an instant, repeated over and over, and the pressure collapsed and sped out from his body in a rush, a river of release, and he came, shaking all over, on Gojyo’s hand. Over and over.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Gojyo said, but he didn’t stop, just kept going, and Sanzo realized that it was Gojyo’s balls hitting his ass and wondered why he wasn’t more angry about it, but shit, he had to breathe--

Then Sanzo felt a pinch at his shoulder and realized that Gojyo’s teeth were there, and Gojyo was sweaty and shaking and he’d stopped moving and had collapsed on Sanzo again, chest heaving with Sanzo’s.

“Uh,” said Gojyo.

“Uh,” said Sanzo.

The sex idiocy was like a virus; it was forced home to Sanzo once more that he’d made the right choice in not making a habit of it. He lost it, lost himself, lost minutes hours of his life. Being a monk was definitely the correct path for him. Not that it had changed anything, or helped, ultimately.

Still, for Sanzo, there was the weight of Gojyo atop him, and needing to catch his breath and his thoughts, which skittered away from his mental fingers. At some point he collected a few, enough to speak, at least.

“You’re crushing me, asshole.”

“Heh,” Gojyo said. His face had lost some of its stupidity. His expression looked like it had wanted to become smug and then thought better of it.

Sanzo lifted his captured wrists and elbowed Gojyo in the ribs. Gojyo nodded, then untangled his arms from Sanzo’s and scooted out from under and between them.

Again, Sanzo briefly considered clenching his fingers together and using his gathered fists as a club to knock the idiot senseless. But truthfully, his arms were still a bit numb. Yeah, right. Instead, he sat up and leaned his back on the tree behind his head. What he really wanted was a cigarette.

“Unlock these things,” he said.

“Hold your horses,” Gojyo said, sitting next to Sanzo, for some reason way too relaxed and unafraid for his life. “I’ll find the key in a minute.”

“Cigarette, then, asshole,” Sanzo ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Gojyo said. Nicotine was something Gojyo, at least, understood. Sanzo watched as Gojyo dug in a pocket for his pack of smokes and lighter, then arched his back and pulled up his jeans. He didn’t fasten them. His stomach looked sticky. There were leaves and pine needles stuck to it. Sanzo thought about pointing this out, just to be a prick, but the realized he was in the same sort of state. The sides of his robe were smeared with dirt. He didn’t even want to think about what the back might look like. This shit was messy. Gojyo lit two cigarettes and handed one to Sanzo.

Sanzo had to use both hands to bring the cigarette to his lips. It tasted horrible and wonderful at the same time.

“Shitty damned light cigarettes,” he said.

“Thought you were quitting, Monk. Where are yours, anyway?”

“Tch. With my clothes.”

“Damn,” Gojyo said, breathing out a cloud of smoke. Somehow, Sanzo didn’t think he was talking about Sanzo’s clothes, or cigarettes.

Sanzo looked around at the greens and the browns and the greys, unable to confront the red and the flesh at the moment. He took a nice, long, hard drag, inhaling the smoke, banishing the clear country air he’d hyperventilated earlier. His head cleared amazingly.

“I am a fucking monk, you know,” he said, surprised at his own mild, conversational tone. At the way he felt relaxed, boneless, drained. Not even angry, really. Resigned, more like. “There are rules.”

Gojyo just laughed. “Whatever, you hypocrite. If Buddha’s got a problem with fucking, after all the shit you do, then send him to me and we’ll hash it out then.”

“Hmph,” Sanzo said, and took another drag. It was a fair enough statement. Yet another thing he could never admit to Gojyo. He might still kill him. No, Sanzo would definitely have to kill Gojyo. Or risk telling him things Sanzo didn’t want to reveal. Gojyo was apt to become sentimental, a dangerous thing. It might already be too late to avoid that. Ultimately Sanzo didn’t care. He told himself that. All the time.

They smoked. Finally, Sanzo said it again. “Unlock these.”

Gojyo glanced at him, then. That calculating look had crept back into his red gaze. He tossed his cigarette into the dirt and kneeled before Sanzo. “Okay. First I wanna do something.”

“What now?” Sanzo asked. That look was giving him that twinge in his gut again.

“This,” Gojyo said, and pulled the cigarette from Sanzo’s fingers and tossed it away. Sanzo wanted to say, I was still smoking that crappy cigarette, you asshole, but Gojyo had leaned forward and put his damned mouth on Sanzo’s dick. It had already been slightly interested in Gojyo’s expression. This just started it all twitching again.

“Pervert,” Sanzo choked out, and considered pounding the back of Gojyo’s head with the handcuffs. But what would that accomplish? He’d probably lose half his dick in the process and at the moment, he didn’t want to lose it at all.

And fuck, the red-headed half-youkai bastard was good at that, too, a real pro. Sanzo’s mind started to blank out again, and he tried to hold onto it, but Gojyo’s long, clever fingers were squeezing his balls, squeezing blood back into what Sanzo would have sworn was worn out and dormant. Obviously not. His skin was already hyper-sensitive, the heat of Gojyo’s soft, wet mouth a striking contrast to the roughness of his hand, earlier. The world disappeared again, existing solely in and around his body, his belly, the twisted slug of tension filling his gut--

The next thing Sanzo knew it seemed he was half-sitting on Gojyo’s knees, with his back against the tree, and Gojyo was gripping his ass and spreading his thighs again, what could he do but hook his wrists around Gojyo’s neck and hold on?

***

This was Gojyo’s lucky day. Some lucky star was shining in Scorpio, creating the luckiest-ass day that ever was. All was bright and shiny and full of Sanzo’s sweaty, sticky skin, and Gojyo had to lift Sanzo halfway up the tree to kneel and get a decent fucking angle again, and the damned monk was heavier than he looked but it was all worth it to squeeze his dick into Sanzo’s ass--

Then there was only the oh shit, tight, warm and Sanzo wrapped around him, thighs and arms clenching his body, head next to Gojyo’s, and he moved with Gojyo like he was a part of him, and more, more more.

This time Gojyo lasted a little longer. A little. They landed in a heap and Gojyo breathed and rested his arms, and decided that lovin’ guys was the best thing ever.

Except it was getting dark, and they were all covered in come and sweat and leaves and pine needles from the forest floor, and Hakkai would definitely know something was up if they went back to camp looking like that. Hell, even Goku might figure it out. Gojyo wasn’t sure what Sanzo was going to do with that robe.

Gojyo sent up a small prayer-- not to Buddha or anyone associated with him, just in case-- that the key to the handcuffs was in his jeans pocket. It was. Definitely, it was his lucky day.

No more sulking, Gojyo decided. He would know better next time. He would just go up to Sanzo, dangle the handcuffs, and say, wanna do this the easy way? He pulled up his jeans, again, and crouched as he unlatched the handcuffs. Despite his mental bravado, he was prepared to run.

But Sanzo just leaned back against the tree and rubbed his wrists for a while. His blonde bangs covered his eyes as he spoke. “I’m going to find those someday and kill you with them, you know,” he said.

Gojyo huffed a little and lit a smoke. He didn’t light one for Sanzo. He wasn’t ready just yet for the asshole Sanzo to return. For the pretending it had never happened to return. Then, with some little flash of insight that sounded like Hakkai’s voice, he realized that this would be the price he had to pay if he really wanted Sanzo. The same behavior as always, from a person who simply dealt with each situation as it arose, in the only way he knew how. Sanzo was a control freak-- Gojyo knew some part of this had to be difficult for Sanzo to wrap his mind around. Would Sanzo be Sanzo if he were any nicer?

We each deal with our lives in our own ways, Gojyo could hear Hakkai saying.

Gojyo was in for a rough time of it, that was for sure. He released a nervous chuckle. “What’s really in that fucking book you’re always reading?” he finally countered.

Sanzo understood the reference. “None-ya,” he said, quoting Gojyo, then grimaced, as if at his own lack of humor.

“Was it helping, with whatever? Your craving?” Gojyo continued, a little stunned at his own daring. Saying it like it was was hard to do, sometimes.

“Logic and discipline are things you probably couldn’t understand,” Sanzo said, but the insult lacked its usual punch. Probably because Gojyo had deserved it for being so damned nosey. Still.

“Your mind ain’t as logical as you like to think, Monk,” he said. Now I’ll probably die, he thought.

But wonder of wonders, Sanzo didn’t kill him. “Striving to better ourselves is not a waste of time,” he said, and stood.

Gojyo had no reply for that. He watched as Sanzo kicked off his boots. He pulled off his robe and gave Gojyo a small glare that dared him to say anything.

Gojyo didn’t.

Sanzo turned and walked back towards the river. He set his hands on his hips and stared at the water. Gojyo looked at Sanzo’s back, at the scars. We each deal with our lives in our own ways.

Sanzo fell into the water, disappeared for a minute, then resurfaced, sputtering and pink.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Sanzo yelled. Gojyo just watched. Sanzo crawled out and began to dress. He looked clean, though. Gojyo looked down at the mess he’d made of himself.

“How deep is that water?” Gojyo asked, finally.

“Find out for yourself,” Sanzo said, and continued to dress. He was doing it very slowly, piece by piece: sleeveless black shirt; armbands; once-white robe only pulled up halfway to hide the dirt; sash. Gojyo didn’t think Sanzo meant it as a reverse strip-tease, so he didn’t make any smart remarks. Gojyo saw the gun and book disappear somewhere into the bunched-up waist of Sanzo’s robe.

Gojyo stood and walked over to stand on the riverbank. He couldn’t see the bottom of the river; Sanzo had stirred it up. He stuck in a toe. Fuck, it was cold. Gojyo gained a bit more respect for Sanzo’s courage.

He couldn’t match it. He just stared at the water.

“Some fucking kappa you are,” Sanzo said from behind him. Gojyo hadn’t heard him come up. Another little bit of respect crept into his brain. Then a doubt.

“Shit!” Gojyo said, and started to turn, but he was too late. A boot caught him in the ass and he fell face-forward towards the water: he was going to drown. He hit the surface and where the hell had that water come from, the Arctic? he wondered. It was like ice needles, and he was drowning!

Then he realized he could stand, and it was only waist-high. Still too deep. Gojyo scrambled for the bank, hoping he made it before he froze to death.

“Asshole! That was really fucking cold,” he yelled, but Sanzo was already heading down the path and his back as he walked said all it needed to say: fuck off and die.

Gojyo shivered and watched him go. He would have laughed but he was too damned cold.


END.

Thank you for Reading!

End Notes:

* The title, “Aitsu no Ai--” I don’t know if this is an actual Japanese phrase, but it would be translated something like “that damn guy’s love” or “that guy’s love,” I think. I just liked the way it sounded in Japanese. ;)

* The stuff in Sanzo’s book I found by Googling the Internets: It’s called, I believe, the “Majjhima Nikaya I, Mahatanhasankhayasuttau 38, the Major Discourse on the Destruction of Craving.”

*All comments, constructive criticism, flames, etc., appreciated! This is it for this story-line, I swear! After all the silliness, next I’ve gotta write something really dark and nasty. Like a Bunny doujinshi. Heh heh.