by Princess of Pain

Once, Gojyo had been flipping through one of the Westron holy texts that he found left in the night-stands of hotel rooms, the ones that got more and more prolific the further West they crept. He'd shown the thing to Sanzo, puzzling over one thing that kept jumping out at him. "Forty days and forty nights," he'd said, waiting for Sanzo to hit him or call him a fool (the monk had been weaned on holy sutras and the gods knew what else, and this was probably an easy question). "Every damn thing in here is forty days and forty nights. How the hell can they expect anyone to believe that shit keeps happening like that?"

Sanzo had tapped his cigarette against the cracked saucer he'd adopted for an ashtray. In a voice that was unlike his normal tones--not poisoned with fury, nor shattering under the weight of his mighty sarcasm--he'd said that the storytellers in that region of the world used the phrase as a euphemism, for "it was a fuck of a long time; so long that no one is sure anymore how long it was".

If that was true (and he had his doubts, because Sanzo had been the source of information in the end), then Sha Gojyo had not been laid in forty days.

All right, so he had made a tactical mistake, last time. He really should have known better than to tease Hakkai, who, if nothing else, was both intelligent and wicked enough to concoct any manner of revenge. Not to mention cold-blooded enough to be able to survive indefinitely without indulging in a good, solid round of sex. Though Gojyo had personally been unable to go without having an orgasm for more than a day since he was twelve years old, and had first discovered how to masturbate, the youkai appeared to have liquid nitrogen in his veins.

That time had been the last time that either of them had gotten a room to themselves for so damn long that Gojyo was beginning to forget what having sex with something that wasn't his left hand felt like. It wasn't fair. The hanyo had feet of clay, just like everyone else, and he needed certain things out of life in order to stay happy and sane. Sex happened to be one of those things. He was starting to get jittery and grumpy--to the point where his conversational skills began to resemble Sanzo's. And he could swear that he was beginning to go pale from all the backed-up semen that was, for lack of anywhere else to go, being deposited in his skin, like a sexual jaundice.

Now, though, the drought was over. The good gods of the Kama sutra had sent forth, not a flock of crows to feed him and bring him water, but a set of hotel rooms--one for the saru and the houshi and one for him and his lover. They also bequeathed unto him a locked door, and, at present, a naked Hakkai pinned beneath him, surrounding him. This last gift was the one for which he was the most grateful. Hakkai's pale skin was colored a delicate rose from his cheeks to his chest, and his breath was ragged and desperate, and his fingers were digging into Gojyo's hips and pulling him a bit deeper--oh, Gojyo had known perfectly straight men, himself included, who would have melted with love and lust at such attention.

The hanyo did not melt, however tempting it might have been. His body was a jittery conduit of sexual need that zinged from the small hairs raised up in goosebumps on his arms to the overwhelming exclamation between his legs. He couldn't relax; if his life had depended upon it, he would have died that very instant, still rocking deep inside of his lover, his hand tight as a virgin around Hakkai's sex. There were worse ways to go.

Gojyo could practically taste his orgasm. He didn't rush it. He was savoring every sensation that the youkai proffered him--the hot, almost-whining moans, the tensile looping of Hakkai's long, pale legs up around his waist, the welcome nirvana of knowing that his unbearable desire was a few short seconds from being what the hell was on his back?!

A sudden weight was at the small of his back--too heavy to be Hakkai's hands, which were at his hips anyhow, and too alien to be Hakkai's legs. Something was there, shifting around, digging tiny needle claws into his exposed and unattended flesh.

In his long history of lovers, Gojyo had never paused mid-thrust, especially not when he was riding the cusp of his completion. Hell, his fucking toes were curled up and digging into the sheets. However, a sense of self-preservation did overtake his sense of sex (that something unfamiliar was settling perilously close to his naked ass went a long way in those negotiations), enough to bring himself to an extremely-unwilling stop.

Hakkai made a noise unlike any vocalization that the redhead had ever heard him make--a rapacious, desperate cry that was just as much of a threat as it was a question.

"Hakkai," he said. His voice was crackling like embers. He'd been half-groaning, half-screaming that name only seconds before. Now, though... "Very fucking carefully, look over my shoulder, and tell me what the hell is on my back."

His lover didn't understand, not really. Hakkai did not look like he was much for understanding the concept of two plus two, though. His malachite eyes were hazed over with want. He was blushing in a way that no one else on earth would ever know, if Gojyo had anything to do with it. The converted youkai was bent nearly in half, his shoulders up against the head-board, and Gojyo was still so deep inside of him that Hakkai, by virtue of his youkai-charged sensitivity, could probably feel Gojyo's heartbeat through his cock. Gojyo had certainly been in Hakkai's position before, and he knew that if his lover ever stopped mid-fuck, it would be enough to drive him completely insane. Still, Hakkai shifted up a bit (accidentally pulling himself almost entirely off of Gojyo's arousal), and gave a look.

"... Hakuryu!"

The dragon shifted a bit on Gojyo's back. "Kyuu!"

Oh, holy fucking shit hell. That little scaly noisy bag of shit and bones was making a goddamn nest on his ass. Which meant, of course, that Gojyo was going to murder him.

"Get him off of me, Hakkai," he grunted. He forced himself to bite back his impatience, and the unholy need to use a four-letter word in relation to their dragon/car.

"Um." The youkai did not seem to know if he wanted to be embarrassed, confused, or amused by this development. Each emotion flickered in his glass-green eyes. That steamy look he'd been giving Gojyo was gone, as the wavering waters of an oasis are most often a simple mirage. This did not bode well for Gojyo's penis. Hakkai pried one of his hands off of Gojyo's hip, and waved the dragon on. "Hakuryu, go sleep in the bathroom."

The dragon, apparently, would have none of it. He settled down more firmly against Gojyo's back, his tiny, spindly body curling into a ball of hot scales. He murmured an irritated "kyuu", as if Hakkai's demand was far too inconvenient to be considered.

"You're not doing a good job, there, love," Gojyo gritted through his teeth.

The youkai gave him a look that could have made a glacier boil. "Hakuryu!" He brushed his hand against the dragon, apparently hoping to dislodge him. When he did, his fingertips trailed over Gojyo's skin, setting his nerves on edge once more--but then again, at the moment, a smooth rock might have turned him on.

"Kyuu?" Now, the animal sounded petulant. Gojyo could feel him lift up his skull, and from the look of adoration on Hakkai's face, the flying rat apparently nuzzled his master's hand.

"Why is he still there, Hakkai?"

Hakkai's brow creased. "But... he's lonely!"

"HE'S lonely?! I'M lonely, damn it!" Good, sweet, merciful bodhisattva, he was still throbbing hard, he was still inside of his lover, he'd been desperate for time with Hakkai for untold weeks, this was not happening to him--

"He needs attention, too. And I've been neglecting him." Hakkai, at least, had the decency to look regretful. "Maybe later--"

Gojyo rolled off of Hakkai, simultaneously pulling out of his lover entirely and knocking the dragon/car to the side. Hakuryu let out an indignant squeak at such treatment. Before his lover could question what he was doing, the hanyo got out of bed and padded over to where he'd left his clothing. His pants, along with the rest of his and Hakkai's clothes, were in a heap next to the hotel room door. He pulled them on, although since he was still quite aroused, this took a bit of manipulation.

From the bed: "Gojyo?"

The redhead then walked over to the bed-side table. There rested a small electric lamp with a dirty lampshade, and a porcelain jug which, so the hotel-manager had said, was made for ice. The gentleman claimed to have a supply of it in the back available for guests.

He looked over at Hakkai. The converted youkai was stroking his fingertips over the prickly spine of his pet, which was curled up happily beside him. He'd pulled up the sheets to cover his shame. "What are you--"

"Filling this with ice," he replied, holding up the tub. "I will then pack the ice around my dick, until it turns blue, dies, and falls off."

And as he walked out of the hotel room, leaving a flabbergasted Hakkai behind, the hanyo thought of how apt that old euphemism was. Forty days, yes, and forty nights.

~Owari~