Fatal Attraction
PG-13
Summary: Hazel likes shinies. Hazel particularly likes the very shiny Genjo Sanzo, and puts considerable effort into netting his prize.
Golden haired. That was what they all said about the young Sanzo, the one on the way to the West with his companions to stop the resurrection of Gyuumaoh. Golden haired, and eyes that amazing shade of color that no words could quite describe. Eyes of a rasetsu, they said. Eyes of a demon. A great shot with a handgun, and the power of legendary Heaven and Earth sutras at his finger tips. Emissary of Heaven. Demon slayer. Savior.
Young.
Dashing.
Shiny.
Hazel Glosse, one Bishop from Even Farther West, was intrigued. He leaned against the bar, sipping his totally lethal cocktail of orange juice mixed with orange juice on the rocks, and carefully interrogated the man on the subject.
They were headed this way, the man said, all excited self-importance at being the bearer of good news. Sanzo-sama his companions had just stopped at the last town, which meant that they would be on their way here at any time. They had this fast moving vehicle, the likes of which no one had ever seen before…
A sudden hush fell over the bar just then, and Hazel glanced up along with everyone else. The sunlight streaming through the double doors was temporarily blocked as several figures loomed into view. The leader nudged the doors and strode in, and the silence became twice as taut as it had already been.
Golden hair. Shimmering eyes. Gleaming white foreign outfit flowing around him. Confident and laconic grace, as he strode across the room and appropriated a seat at the bar counter, his companions trailing behind him.
Hazel glanced sidelong at Gato, who stared stoically back.
The power to split the darkness. The very power I spent all those years searching for.
Sanzo was ordering, and the light was gleaming on those delicate strands of hair, and that strange fringe, a few strands raked carelessly to one side. Hazel was entranced, watching the way it sparkled. Shone. Such a rare shade, even back home. Such an impossibly unique shade, out here in the East.
Sanzo curled a hand around his mug of beer and tossed back a mouthful, and his hair drifted as he moved.
That did it.
Hazel was out of his seat, ignoring Gato’s reproachful look of don’t you go chasing after shiny objects again, Hazel. He carefully finger combed his hair, making sure that lock fell just so, where the silver could reflect the sky blue of his own eyes, adjusting the pendant so that it sat in stark and elegant contrast with his dark robes. And took two steps forward—
--screams went up, resounding from outside the bar.
“YOUKAI!” someone yelled, and everyone moved, Hazel to Gato’s side, the Sanzo tachi to their feet.
“Should we—“ one of Sanzo’s companions started to ask, the one with hair the color of the sunset, the one they called the hanyou, only to be cut off in mid query as the doors burst inwards, splintered under the charge.
Youkai. Youkai in the doorway, eyes gleaming red with the insanity of the Minus Wave, crude weapons clutched in clawed hands, laughing maniacally. “Genjo Sanzo, hand over the sutras now—“
Sanzo drew his handgun and blew the youkai leader’s head off.
That was a signal for everyone to move. Hazel signaled sharply to Gato, yelling at the villagers to fall back behind the bar. The roar of gunfire drowned out anything else he might have said, and served as a more effective order than mere words. Panic stricken, they ran, fortunately in the right direction, which was away from the youkai threat. Sanzo’s group surged out of the bar, taking down attacking youkai, before Gato overtook them and began gunning down the attackers with a vengeance and Hazel himself engaged in a little hand to hand. Or rather, boot to chin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sanzo’s companions fanning out in a protective semi-circle, falling back and letting him and Gato handle the enemy, as Sanzo himself lowered his gun and watched on with a gleam of interest on his otherwise bland countenance.
Caught your eye, didn’t I? Hazel thought smugly, as he swept The Hat onto his head and posed dramatically as Gato delivered the killing shot. Fingers curled around the amulet, as he lifted it far above his head, calling the souls of the fallen to it. Sanzo went rigid, and Hazel smirked slightly, thrusting his hips forward just so. A little snap of his fingers, and the last of the souls popped into the pendant. A brief extension of power, and the air lighted with traces amounts of power, forming into little star-shaped sparkles.
There were casualties, of course. Hapless villagers torn down before they could get to safety. One of Sanzo’s companions knelt beside one of the wounded, a gleam of light glowing between his fingers.
“Megane-han!” Hazel called, naming him by the glasses that he wore, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
The man looked up in surprise.
“You tend to the wounded,” Hazel said unnecessarily, smiling. A breath, and he delivered his punch line: “I’ll… take care of the dead.” So saying, he stepped over to where a young maiden was weeping inconsolably over her father’s corpse, and placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Allow me.”
The rest was a matter of ritual, spectacular even without any additional assistance or slights of hand. He called the youkai soul forth from the pendant, feeling the warmth engulf his fingertips as he drew it forth, gleaming golden. And extended his arm to the fullest, sweeping it out in a dramatic arc too obvious to be missed, and with all the flair he could muster, brought his fingers screeching to a halt just above the man’s forehead.
The soul flashed bright for a moment, before the power seeped into the body.
And, (testimony to his excellent sense of timing), the sun broke through the clouds overhead as the dead man sat up, blinking golden eyes.
And Hazel raised his head to meet Sanzo’s amazed stare, delicately and subtly batting his long, silver eyelashes at the other.
He would have loved to chase after the group after that, but he did have a sense of duty, and a greater sense of theatrical suspense, so he made his rounds first, reviving the fallen, even as Sanzo retired to the nearest inn. Hazel made special note of the room, and beamed sunnily at Gato.
Who rolled his eyes.
Whatever. Some people had no appreciation of aesthetic shininess.
Finally, the last corpse was animated and stumbling into the arms of his stunned relatives. Hazel waved off their stammered thanks, and strode towards the closed door that he had been eying for the last half an hour. And swept off his Hat before he knocked sharply, and let himself in.
“Thank you for your assistance earlier,” he purred, milking the smooth tones of his foreign Kyoto-accent as much as he could. He paused, regarding the healer who was sprawled out on the bed, while his red headed companion poured a generous dose from a flask into a cup and handed it to him.
“Oh dear. I hope you didn’t overtax yourself. I’m so sorry,” he said, allowing his eyes to roam across the room. Ah, there was Sanzo-han, arms folded across his chest and leaning against the wall.
“What is it?” Sanzo-han demanded, when their gazes met and locked.
And Hazel broke out the sparkle. “Omigosh,” he breathed, floating closer. “Are those Buddhist robes? How utterly…” he dropped his voice to something calculated to send shivers up the most hardened of spines as he trailed his fingers across the fabric, “…exotic.” He paused at the dead silence that had dropped across the room.
And Sanzo leaned closer, eyes half lidded and a smirk blossoming on his face. “Do you really think so?”
Wait. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Everyone, and he literally meant everyone, said that Genjo Sanzo-han was a touch phobic man, ice-cold and completely terrified of close contact, more likely to pull out his firearm than the other gun. Sanzo-han, they’d assured him, would freeze, stumble back, and glare from a safe distance and demand to know—
--“What’s your objective?” Sanzo said, catching his roving hand by the wrist.
“Objective?” Hazel asked, gulping, brain furiously backpedaling and demanding to know who had changed the script on him. Sanzo was so close now that Hazel could feel his breath tickling his cheeks, steely blue eyes boring into his own—
--wait, blue eyes?
“I’m Hazel. Hazel Glosse,” he squeaked, all composure failing him.
“Fascinating, Mr Glosse,” and the note in that deep voice was threatening to turn his knees to jelly. Wait wait wait what is this? Sanzo’s other hand came up, carefully brushing strands of silvered hair out of Hazel’s eyes, even as golden strands fell into his own.
“Um,” Hazel said intelligently.
“But I’m afraid these aren’t robes,” Sanzo continued in the same tone, something predatory spreading over his face even as his hand trailed from fringe to cheekbone and down to grip his chin. “It’s a suit.”
“Wait, aren’t you Genjo Sanzo, bearer of the Maten Sutra and the One Sent By the Gods To Kill Gyuumaoh?” Hazel yelped, as Sanzo moved to bring their lips together.
Sanzo paused, as the rest of the room erupted in laughter.
“Looks like they got it wrong again, Chief,” the red-haired one howled.
“Mr President, shall I—“ the dark haired one began, when Sanzo – or whoever he was – shook his head sharply.
“Rufus Shinra, Mr Glosse. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Oh SHIT.
“I, uh… I, um… I got the wrong person, sorry!” Hazel said, trying to pull away from the now merciless around his wrist and chin. Gato! He thought furiously, but Gato was standing there, sighing and shaking his head and not doing a thing.
“Really?” Shinra smirked. “You were certainly flirting with me earlier.” He smiled, and the expression completely creeped Hazel out even as his brain dissolved out of sheer adoration of so! much! shiny! in close proximity. “I must say that that was an excellent view of your posterior that you afforded us. I’d venture to say that it wasn’t deliberate, except for the batting of eyelids and the Hip Thing, and the … exotic.”
Shinra’s companions broke out in laughter anew at that.
“All right, all of you. Out,” Shinra ordered.
“GATO!” Hazel squeaked.
Gato sighed. Teach you to go chasing after sparkly things. I warned you, didn’t I?
And besides…
…You look like you’re enjoying yourself.
Hazel couldn’t say anything to that look, not with Shinra’s lips closed over his own and his mind whiting out as all the blood rushed elsewhere.
*
A jeep zipped past as Hazel limped down the road with Gato at his side. He saw a flash of gold, white robes and green sutras fluttering on shoulders, and turned away.
“That was Genjo Sanzo,” Gato pointed out.
“I know,” Hazel ground out, wishing that each step didn’t hurt so much or that he’d taken up Shinra’s offer of a helicopter ride to his next destination. “I don’t care.”
Enough of shiny for a while.
A long while.
“…That’s good,” Gato said.
*
END
…This is all Yukie’s fault.