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.