Crooked Road: Saiyuki Drabbles by a_mael
Index
Chapter 1: Crooked Road 1
Chapter 2: Crooked Road 2
Chapter 3: Crooked Road 3
Chapter 4: Crooked Road 4
Chapter 5: Crooked Road 5
Chapter 6: Crooked Road 6
Chapter 7: Crooked Road 7
Author's Notes: These drabbles range all over the place, from gen to yaoi, from angst to humour. Rated for current content, but may change in the future. Many different pairings.
Author's Notes: This set of shorts (and one poem) was prompted by songs, randomly chosen by number. The name of the song and the artist are noted either as titles, or with them.
Sure Don't Feel Like Love by Paul Simon
It was, Sanzo reasoned, perfectly natural for some amount of affection - or at least, reduction in dislike - to arise after years spent in someone’s company. That was a fact of human nature, regardless of his own lack of desire to experience it. Besides, the monkey was insidious. No one could be expected to look into those huge golden eyes, day after day, and still hate the little twerp.
That was all well and good. All he needed to do was keep pretending. It didn’t matter if they believed him; the pretence was an end in itself. Lately, though…lately there had been something else. Something bigger, stronger and deeper.
It felt like a threat, to every stubbornly held belief in his self-contained little world of pain and regret. It sure didn’t feel like love.
Which, in the end, was what made him absolutely certain that it was.
Stop and Say You Love Me by Evans Blue
It had all become so familiar, yet each time the feelings struck her down again. The scent of perfumed powder mingled with the deeper tang of sweat-damp skin, pulling the past through the present. This night, those before, those yet to come - Hwan loved and hated them all, the musk-sweet smell and taste of Lady Gyokumen her only consolation.
Silken strands of hair trailed sensuously through her fingers, seeming to slither between and tangle as if to hold her there. Satin skin met her lips again and again in the rhythm of her adoration. Hwan opened her eyes wide in the darkness, lest a moment of her mistress's ecstasy slip past, unseen. These moments were to be treasured; the sublime pearl shine of lips parted in a gasp of pleasure was far too beautiful to be neglected. Yet, all too often, such things were allowed to pass without her. It was a situation that Hwan could never quite forgive. The hardened flesh of a nipple beneath he tongue, the perfect slide of skin against her own, the lush, moist heat under her fingers were both the disease and the cure for her heart. To be allowed the touch and denied the soul was a pain so perfect that it burned like ice. The lights were always off, and Hwan hated the darkness that she used so well. In darkness, only bodies matter and tears don't glitter without light.
Kanzeon Bosatsu from Saiyuki OST 1, Instrumental
Inescapable
This has happened before.
There are arms around him, strong and gentle. The brush of soft hair against his jaw and the possessive bite of teeth against his throat send shivers racing through his body. This is wrong, the wrong body holding him. A heady, somehow familiar scent pulls at his memory, reinforced by the creak of leather as they move.
This never happened.
His body responds, arching instinctively, ardently into the touch of the other. Pinpricks of sensation ripple through his chest as flesh puckers, the light brush of his clothing a suddenly sweet torture. His hand drifts up to comb through short hair, black in the corner of his eye. Then that scent again, warm, deep, male.
This has always happened.
He's not sure how or when, but there is a hand around his sex, hot and sweet against almost painfully hard flesh. It comes suddenly, forcefully, the need to touch, kiss, have, but the one who has set him adrift in this sea of desire will not allow it. Muscles bunch, holding him fast and secure. All he can do is to gasp at the touch, and it's too much, now, too much. The gentle/rough stroke takes him over, pulling his consciousness to that single point, burning.
Let go.
Then he is melting into that warm embrace, moaning into the darkness as he loses himself, without guilt. So good, so wrong, so right and so forbidden, he looks deep into eyes that are sharp and black (red, blood red) and known. Hakkai wakes, drenched in sweat and...oh, my.
A deep laugh rings through a quiet atrium.
"Jiroushin, darling, bring me some sake and snacks."
"Of course, Merciful Goddess."
"The next few days are going to be very interesting for our dearly-missed Marshal and his General."
Speed Master by Gackt
Four travel the road together,
Four journey side by side.
Four is the number of tangled fate-
But two is the number in our hearts.
Just you and I alone in the darkness,
Completing circle after circle;
Baring the one thing that only we share-
The savage wonder of those inside.
Your face in moonlight is haunting;
Your skin, a taste of sin unrepentant.
Careful now with sharpened flesh-
My ghosts are hungry tonight.
You and I are creatures melting
Slowly losing the forms that bind us
Stripping away the masks of concealment-
Falling each, by the hand of the other.
Dinner
Hakkai couldn't trace it down to the day it had begun, but he knew it was around a seven or eight months after he started living with Gojyo. One day, everything was completely normal and the next, he started having these hallucinations.
Not quite so long before you take it out of the pan. It's better a little more rare.
They didn't come every day, or anywhere near enough to be of real concern (Hakkai was nothing if not practical, and he knew that certain parts of his psyche were...less than whole), but it was often enough to become a Fact. In Hakkai's experience Facts tended to be unpleasant in one way or another; though his black-haired, dark-eyed 'assistant' (Hakkai had no idea how he knew these details, as he'd never actually seen him) didn't seem to be a threat, he was vigilant, all the same.
More soy sauce. It should be a bit more salty than sweet.
Sometimes, these visits were nothing more than the ghost of a whisper in his mind. Other times, Hakkai could have sworn that he could feel the heat of the man's breath on his neck. It was disturbingly familiar, that sensation. Though he generally detested interference in his tasks, Hakkai followed the suggestions more often than not. In time, he became accustomed to it, and hardly gave it a thought, except...
"Man, Hakkai, this sukiyaki is awesome! The perfect amount of soy sauce."
"I'm glad you like it, Gojyo."
Except, somehow, it was a threat.
Handbook
Nii smirked to himself as he crushed out his cigarette, picking up the folders and the videotape from his desk. He sauntered into the next room, Bunny tucked snugly under one arm, and beamed smugly at his guests. The tension in the room was thick enough to chew, which only served to amuse him. No matter how many times he got them together, they would always be at each other's throats. It made things just that much more fun, in Nii's (admittedly unique) opinion.
He slipped the tape into the VCR across the room, ensured that everything was ready (as much as he enjoyed their company, their combined technological IQ wouldn't give Bunny a run for his money), and turned to face the two young men who waited. His habitual smirk must have widened, giving him away somewhat, because both of the pretty faces before him suddenly looked wary. He wondered, briefly, what would be the result of letting them know how that affected him. It would either lead to abject obedience or wholesale mutiny, he surmised. Neither option worked for him, the one being too easy and the other too big a pain in the ass.
Nii strode past his playmates, tossing each a folder. "Read them, then watch the tape boys. There will be a test." Leaving his office door open, he settled into his chair, propping his feet on his desk and waiting for the reaction.
His little blond pupil was the first to flip his folder open, his eyes widening. The other followed suit, mouth forming a little 'o' of surprise. Nii smiled to himself. He'd predicted correctly.
It seemed that the angel had a little more of the devil in him, after all.
The Mother of Invention
It wasn't the first time, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Neckties were removed and tossed aside, buttons popped through holes - one just off - and labcoats dropped to the ground. Glasses...glasses remained, because hedonism has certain requirements.
The spaces between were tolerable, even pleasant, but when this came back around, it was a fire in the marrow. Breath caught, quickened at a touch, a word, a look from eyes remarkably similar, yet eons apart. Still, they agreed, there was nothing to be done for it. Good conversation was so very difficult to come by and, for them, it was a part of the dance. No point in denials, in wasting time with pretences while time wound on around them. They would never meet, after all.
"You know," a shifting of weight and a groan for contact, "time machines weren't built for this purpose."
Black lashes against pale cheeks, the sharp hiss of pleasure/pain and a wolfish grin, "Bullshit. This is exactly what I built it for."
Bothersome
It didn't matter where they were, or what was happening. They could be fighting the usual ragged demon hordes, eating dinner or sleeping...nothing ever changed it. When they played cards, it was there. When they spent aching days in the jeep, it remained. Years later, it would still exist, that quiet thing that they never talked about. It bound and connected, always comforting in its familiarity. Sometimes, when they were apart, it would stretch and grow thin, like taffy pulled too far.
Once, he had felt crowded and intruded upon, but now the memory of 'before' had faded to insubstantiality. Every morning when he woke up, during every day on the road, every night in his dreams, there was the pulsing, unmistakeable presence in his mind. And that, Sanzo decided, was all right and more. It was right.
Told You So
Hakkai collapsed onto the bed, hair damp and sticking to his forehead. His breath came in ragged gasps through lips stretched into am almost painful grin. Every muscle in his body was tingling, exhausted. The sheet below him was crumpled, having slipped off the corners of the mattress, and the pillows had disappeared entirely. He moved his legs, tugging to disentangle them from Gojyo's, and chuckling at his own ineffectual efforts.
After a few moments, he slipped free and the movement of the bed beneath him jiggled him a little as Gojyo turned himself around. Settling in behind Hakkai, he leaned over, reaching out to the night table for the book that lay open on top of it. He held it up and they both looked at the picture there.
Gojyo nuzzled into Hakkai's neck, saying in a low, satisfied voice, "See? I told you it would work."
Clarity
Early autumn sunsets have a way of softening the edges of everything - particularly if there are none. Red-orange light coloured the motions of careful, pale hands as they tamped tobacco down in preparation for a moment of peace.
Ukoku watched with bemusement and not a little relief. He'd been on this recent journey for some time, and the familiar comfort of Koumyou's accustomed routine was salve to his abraded sensibilities. It seemed that no matter how far he traveled (was that to or from, he wondered), there was always this to call him back. A tiny smirk curled Ukoku's lip as these thoughts returned, circling back on themselves as they had been for so many years, now. For all that Ukoku had ever known or discovered, this one thing still eluded him. He expected (hoped?) that it always would.
The tip of the pipe slipped between well-known lips, and Ukoku struck a match, shielding the delicate flame as he raised it in offering. Koumyou's eyes - warm with flecks of brown in the slanting light - met Ukoku's and a hand cupped around his to share the sheltering task.
Then he smiled, like early autumn sunset.
Beautiful Disaster
Though neither of them was precisely overburdened with close friends, each of them did have a small circle of acquaintances who watched over them. It was widely understood that though this oversight was necessary, it would be less than entirely appreciated, should it be discovered. So, when the two of them collided, there wasn't much that could have been done from either end to keep them apart.
Tenpou (he insisted that even his students call him by his given name - the old joke being that he couldn't remember his own family name) had never much been one for pesky things like fashion, punctuality, or reality. He was a whirlwind of things askew and fluttering, a pool of oddness and brilliance that no one dared to deny. In all things, Tenpou was electric, eclectic, eccentric and academically voracious. What he was not, was organised, focused, or remotely interested in other people beyond their effect upon his environment.
Gojyo was precisely three-quarters of an inch from hoodlum. He slumped and slouched, drank to excess and made his living in generally unsavoury (if not quite illegal) ways. That red head didn't hide untapped depths of intelligence and wit, nor did his knack for reading people lead him to deep thoughts or artistic endeavours. Messy, disorganised, negatively talented with food and a general layabout, the only thing he took seriously was swindling other people into giving him their money.
Those who watched them all shook their heads when a whim to learn to play poker took Tenpou and he came away with a newfound love of statistics...and Gojyo. They laughed nervously when the pair began living together, unanimously deciding to invite them out, rather than ever attempt a visit to their home. Images of papers on the verge of avalanche, overfilled ashtrays and sinks full of unwashed dishes kept them all true to their decision. And they waited, those people who cared for them, for it to fall apart. It was, they agreed, a disaster in the making.
Thirty-seven years later, Tenpou stood with a blank expression as Gojyo's funeral rites were read. He performed his duties, nodding and shaking hands through the day, and Oh, how wonderful that they had found each other ringing in his ears, but his expression never changed. When he slipped away, it took a full hour for anyone to notice his absence. Once, Tenpou would have smiled at that, but not now. Not ever again.
It was fortunate that Tenpou was missed at work; his body was discovered quickly, and he was laid to rest beside Gojyo. The turnout for Tenpou was smaller, since only those who had been watching over them felt a need to attend. They cried genuine tears of loss and joy, talking amongst themselves of the privilege of having been allowed to watch the most beautiful disaster that ever had been.
Important Day
Gojyo woke to the warmth of the late morning sun on his skin, shining in through the crack between the curtains. He yawned, stretching his neck with a satisfying snap. He loved mornings like this. The comfort of his own bed, no hangover...and the tantalizing smell of breakfast meandering in from the kitchen. Gods, it just didn't get any better than this.
He grinned hugely as he rose, grabbing his last clean pair of pants and pulling them on. A cigarette, a cup of coffee...and something else that niggled at the back of his mind. There was something important about today. Gojyo bent to scoop up his smoke pack as he passed the coffee table, a slight frown creasing his brow. Damn it, he'd been waiting for today for some reason, now what the hell was it? He shook a cigarette out of the pack and put it between his lips. Stepping into the kitchen, he looked around for Hakkai.
Hakkai wasn't there. What the fuck...? Gojyo flicked his lighter to life and cupped a hand around the flame as he touched to the end of his smoke. It was too early for Hakkai to have gone to the market, and besides, there was still rice cooking for breakfast. Scratching his head, Gojyo went to the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee. Hakkai hadn't gone far, obviously.
Turning to lean against the counter, he took a drag of his smoke, and then a sip of his coffee. Now, what the fuck was up with today? Hakkai's birthday wasn't for months, Goku's had just gone by (not that he'd have been waiting for that, in any case). It wasn't the 'anniversary' that Gojyo had celebrated alone for the past two years...and that brought him to the end of the things that he would have looked forward to enough that it would be bugging him like this.
Gojyo padded to the table and was just sliding into a chair when Hakkai opened the door. He stepped inside, carrying an empty laundry basket, and Gojyo remembered. It was spring. It had been unseasonably warm for the past several days, and it was laundry day.
Every possible plan for the day was unceremoniously dumped, in favour of staying home to watch Hakkai clean the house in shorts and one of Gojyo's sleeveless shirts.
Oh, yeah.
Comfortable Silence
It was quiet on the walk, most of the inhabitants of the temple winding down the day's activities and readying themselves for bed. The sun was sinking behind the hills, leaving the evening shadows to crawl over the ground and beneath the buildings. Colours mellowed and blended like chalk drawings in the rain and even the sounds seemed to muffle themselves to suit the image of evening.
Ribbons of tobacco smoke wound their way into the cool air, safe beneath the eaves, but pulled gently to threads as the breeze touched them. A bottle of hot sake sat on the boards between them, ochoko like twin pools, reflecting them back to themselves. Leaves rustled and birds sang their evening songs of joy and loss to enhance the surrounding silence.
Side by side, the night and the moonlight waited for the coming of the time that belonged to them, equally and alone.
Breakable
Most of the time, everything was fine. Hakkai smiled and puttered about, cleaning up and making jokes at Gojyo's expense, which was just fine by Gojyo. He liked Hakkai like that, even if he didn't even understand the majority of the jibes aimed at him. There was always an edge to the guy, but that was understandable, given what he'd been through. He liked the edge, too. He understood the edge.
What scared him were the times when Hakkai got quiet, and didn't bother to make fun of Gojyo's sloppiness or his tendency to lose to Hakkai at cards, or his utter hopelessness in the kitchen. Those times, that edge turned inside out, and Hakkai would touch Gojyo like he was made of porcelain. For a long time, Gojyo didn't know what to do when Hakkai got like that. He still hated it, but he came to understand it.
Now, when it happened, Gojyo swallowed his fear and just let Hakkai's hands roam his body too lightly, let his kisses be too gentle and his motions be too soft for Gojyo's preferences. Because now he knew that when he treated Gojyo like glass, it was to keep Hakkai from shattering.
Thrusting
No, no...you're letting your leg shift too far to the inside. Now watch me." Tenpou emulated the movement, returning smoothly and looking back to his 'student'. "You see how that forces my arms away from my body for balance?"
"Yeah."
"It doesn't look like much, but that's going to leave you wide open."
Pulling his arm in tight, Tenpou held up his sword, turning it so that the blade was edge-on in front of his face. Gojyo marvelled at the way it seemed melt, lightning-quick, to a near-invisible division between Tenpou's eyes. "It's a small thing, a sword; designed for swift death in close quarters." The sound of metal in motion sent a shiver down Gojyo's spine as Tenpou moved; the word lethal was surely meant for that sound. "If you're close enough to kill with this weapon, you're already dead." He fixed Gojyo with a cold stare, his own intimacy with death borne out in his eyes. "You must carve a path to life."
Gojyo swallowed hard, nodding as he regained his stance. He pressed forward, trying to blend his body with the weapon, careful to keep himself aligned, this time. Pulling back, he looked at Tenpou for assessment. Violet eyes (they should have been green) looked back as the kami nodded.
"Much better. Again."
Setting his jaw, Gojyo tried to centre himself, to focus on the task at hand. Hakkai wouldn't have approved, he knew, but that didn't matter anymore.
Tenpou's existence made this necessary.
Virtue
"I don't understand what you see in the guy."
"He's a good man. A little rough around the edges, perhaps."
"Rough around the edges, all right, and about as smooth as sandpaper everywhere else."
"Ahahaha."
"Seriously, he's a walking ball of vice."
"I see. Shall I get you a clean ashtray? There's more sake heating, too."
"Ch. Whatever."
"Really, it's not as bad as all that. He's got a big heart."
"Yeah, big enough for anything with a heartbeat."
"He allowed me into his home, without a second thought."
"He would have had to have a first thought, in order to have a second."
"He's been supporting me without complaint."
"You're proud of being kept?"
"It's not like that."
"Hmph. Even if it isn't...he's a hustler. Not exactly the most innocent guy around."
"...said the priest with a gun."
"Ch."
"It's always nice to have a good conversation, isn't it?"
Changeling
He had been at his erstwhile 'residence' with his pet, when a runner came from the temple with the news. Scrawling something on a piece of parchment, he gave the runner hushed instructions and a few coins, pressed surreptitiously into his palm. He didn't bother to check for supplies or send the boy away before he disappeared, briefly laying his hand on the blond head as he walked out the door.
Ukoku could never tell, afterward, how many days he spent sleeping on the forest floor, how many nights he passed under an overcast sky, without even the company of the moon. No fire, no food, only what water he scooped from the streams and the oppressive silence of the world, forever altered around him. The very air was unbalanced, and he thought he could taste the iron edge of blood when he breathed.
When the clouds cleared, the moon was full. He laughed for a long time when he saw it, the sound pealing through the hushed wood, echoing back to him from somewhere far away.
All right then, Koumyou. You win this round.
He walked into the village the next morning before returning to the house where he had left the boy. The kid wisely stood aside, watching with large grey eyes as Ukoku swept through, heading directly for his room. An hour later he emerged, freshly bathed, shaven and clothed head to toe in his sanzo garb.
This time, his robes were black.
Tease
Ukoku watched Koumyou move around the room, the routine familiar, though they didn't frequently share it. He'd been away for what felt like a long time, but in truth it hadn't really been more than usual. Koumyou's long braid swung across his back in the lamplight as he settled things for the night, and Ukoku grinned behind him.
It was much easier than he had imagined.The little tie that held the end of Koumyou's braid slipped free and into Ukoku's hand; Ukoku's grin widened as Koumyou whipped around, fixing him with a reproving Look.
"Really, Ukoku."
"Hmm?"
Koumyou held out his hand for the tie, which Ukoku held up between his fingers, one eyebrow quirking up in challenge as he took a step back. "That's not terribly mature, you know," Koumyou chided quietly, though the corners of his lips curved upward just a little.
"Feeling your age?" Ukoku returned, waving the tie slightly, a current of laughter under his words.
Koumyou heaved a long-suffering sigh as he stepped toward Ukoku. "Well, one of us should, don't you think?"
Chuckling quietly, Ukoku stepped back again, his smile a blatant invitation. Which Koumyou took, closing the distance between them quickly, practically smirking when the bed caught at the back of Ukoku's legs and the young man fell the short distance to the mattress. Ukoku watched avidly as Koumyou climbed slowly onto the bed, knees on either side of Ukoku's thighs. Leaning over him, Koumyou braced himself on one hand, his hair slipping from his shoulders to fall in long curtains around them.
"Have you achieved your objective, then?" he asked, as Ukoku combed his fingers into soft blond tresses.
"Oh, yes," Ukoku breathed, just before Kouymou covered his mouth with a kiss.
Trust
Ukoku Sanzo was a genius. This much was widely known and entirely understood, even if his penchant for reveling in it prickled at those under his influence. He was brilliant and strong, a force in himself and wholly, unfathomably odd.
Ukoku was all these things and more, so much more than anyone had ever seen, save one.
Confident and sure, there still came the nights that disturbed even Ukoku. Those dark times when he knew that he was young and small, and he raged that it should be so. He was a child with absolute weapons and nothing inside, searching for an end that moved with the horizon. Frightened by all that he was, burdened by all that he was not, Ukoku spent the endless, unmeasurable hours between dusk and dawn with eyes wide open but unseeing. Unless...
Unless he could turn, nestling deeper into Koumyou's warm embrace, held tight and safe against the night from within while gentle hands stroked his skin and a familiar, soothing voice carried him with words that would never see the light of day.