Fic: Too Much, Gojyo/Sanzo, NSFW
Nov. 25th, 2008 05:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jedishampooTitle: Too Much
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jedishampoo
Pairing: Gojyo/Sanzo
Rating: NC-l7
Summary: How much did it matter, really? PWP, P0rn and angst-ish stuff. About 1800 words.
Author’s Notes: In honor of the 353 festival at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bad_friends. I’ve never done this straight-on-into-the-porn thing before; thanks to inksheddings for encouraging me to jump right into the middle! Thanks to caeseria and saltcandy for porntastic ideas. Inspired and fed lustful thoughts by this wow-inducing NSFW picture by error256 and this sexy NSFW art by wyna_hiros-- thanks, ladies! Thanks to sharpeslass, as always, for the beta.
Gojyo shoved his dick up Sanzo’s ass and it was exactly what Sanzo had been hoping for. His stomach clenched and twisted in that astonishing and good way: he gritted his teeth and gripped the bedsheets, holding on as tiny, bright glints floated behind his screwed-shut eyelids. For a few seconds the sharp wrench of muscle drowned out the pain of having the sheets stuck to his torn-up knees.
There was nothing to see except the wall and the room was dark, anyway, because they hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. Without sight there was only the sound of their breathing, and the everywhere grip of flesh. They hadn’t even bothered to say anything to each other.
Sanzo wondered what their clever excuse was supposed to be this time. Did it matter? It was always a bad idea.
It wasn’t pretending to be drunk, because they weren’t. Even though Gojyo had swayed against him as they’d stood in the doorway, leaning his face into the back of Sanzo’s neck. His whispered obscenities had been hot breaths tingling at Sanzo’s nape, his big hands at Sanzo’s waist, invading his skin under his clothes, a wordless promise and challenge.
Those hands on him now held him steady. Fingers strong-squeezed his hipbone and shoulder.
“It’s good. It’s good,” Gojyo was whispering, somewhere in the darkness behind.
“Ngh,” Sanzo said, because he really wasn’t in the mood to talk. Because to talk would be to justify or excuse.
Sanzo felt tight suction, Gojyo pulling out and backing off. The fingers digging into his shoulder gave him a half-second warning: his body was pushed, pulled, all at once as Gojyo dove in for his second go.
There hadn’t even been the usual argument about who was going to be fucking whom. Sanzo was tired and sore and the two beers he’d had with his few bites of rice would never be enough to explain this away. Spurts of heat flooded his aching joints and wounds, blood pulsing under his skin and through his cock and would Gojyo just fucking move again, already?
Sanzo pushed himself, with his hands and his burning knees, back onto Gojyo’s dick, throbbing inside him with its own life-- life, live flesh, live things on and inside him. And yeah, it was a bad idea but Gojyo was alive, more alive than anyone Sanzo knew, barring Goku.
Too alive. Gojyo and Goku’s fighting earlier had nearly gotten them killed. Too willing. It was a bad idea.
“Ngh,” Sanzo said, rocking back again. “Do I have to fuck myself?”
“You wish,” a mumble said a few inches above Sanzo’s spine. “I was takin’ it easy, because you seemed sorta weak.”
“Fuck you.”
“Too late.” Gojyo quit stalling and moved, once, twice, hard, more, and Sanzo had to breathe faster to keep up with the spikes of ache poisoning his blood and heating his face and belly. Shit, Gojyo was alive, and good, so good. And Sanzo could never say so because that would become the excuse, and there were better ones, surely, if only he could think of them. And even without sight there was enough to overwhelm his other senses, nearly his thoughts. The bed creaking, his own smoky breath echoing against the wall, the slap of skin on skin as Gojyo’s balls pounded their own rhythm onto Sanzo’s ass, his muscles clenched tight like a drum.
They’d killed hundreds today. A small army, all dead now and only the four of them left, as always. Sanzo was still alive, and Gojyo, Gojyo, crazy fucker never backed away, only pushed and pushed.
“Sanzo. Yeah, that’s it, Sanzo.”
Sanzo’s head was heavy. Too heavy for the rest of him, even his chest, weighted by his own thumping, aching heart. He lurched forward, was going to find out exactly how far away the wall was-- He was caught by the hand pulling at his hip.
“Don’t collapse on me again, Sanzo, come on…”
“Go… Go…” Sanzo swallowed, nghed. “Go to hell.”
“Ha. Almost had ya,” Gojyo’s voice was breathy, rough, his palm on Sanzo’s skin sliding a little with sweat, someone’s. Down Sanzo’s thigh, up to clutch his belly, catching every movement of muscle, all Sanzo’s secrets. “Sooner or later.”
“Shut up. Shit.” Gojyo knew exactly where to touch, how hard. The palm shoved into Sanzo’s breastbone intensified and eased its ache just so: he was good. The first time they both had been drunk. Sanzo’s memory could still taste Gojyo’s hot beer-kisses.
“You hurtin’?” Gojyo’s voice actually sounded concerned. Sanzo realized he’d been moaning, short bursts that escaped from between his teeth.
Yes, he was hurting, but he didn’t say so. His battered knees were about to give out on the bed, the soft yield of the mattress was killing him, the pounding build was killing him, he was shaking--
“Hell, Sanzo.” Gojyo stopped and yanked his dick out of Sanzo’s ass too quickly to be painful. Sanzo was going to moan, no, but before he could, the fingers at his belly and shoulder flipped him over onto his back. One of those hands, the big, grasping, long-fingered and sweat-stinging hands, swiped over Sanzo’s knee.
“Ow,” Sanzo said. He hadn’t meant to. “Shit.”
There was an exasperated sigh, now somewhere a few inches above Sanzo’s face. “You shoulda said. Damned masochistic monk.”
Sanzo was glad he didn’t have to say, didn’t have to see the concern on Gojyo’s face. Gojyo cared too much.
Gojyo had seen-- everyone had seen-- Sanzo go down onto the rocks. Hakkai had killed the bastard who’d knocked Sanzo over, blasted him into spurting chunks. Sanzo had been covered in enough gore that they hadn’t seen his scraped and bloody kneecaps, seeping through his jeans.
“Lemme get the lights--”
“No,” Sanzo said, again without meaning to. He kicked where he thought Gojyo’s head might just barely not be. “Just do it.” He wondered if he sounded like he was begging.
“Fine.” Gojyo inelegantly hoicked Sanzo’s legs over his shoulders. It didn’t matter, because they couldn’t see, nobody could see the ignominy of feeling too good. Fingers probed between his ass-cheeks, then soft, warm lips nuzzled the inside of his knee. “That better?”
“Nnh.” The bastard cared too much. And so what was Sanzo’s excuse?
He couldn’t think of one, but he could feel that hot, dryly slick live flesh, that mind-blacking mind-blanking wrench, see the tiny stars that meant he was being fucked again. Yes, it was better. His back and ass were fine, could take anything Gojyo had to give. Even the top of his head, bumping the wall every third thrust, took it with hidden glee.
“No-- hah!-- wonder you weren’t fighting for-- hah-- top spot,” Gojyo was saying, close enough now for his breath and hair to brush Sanzo’s face. Back and forth, smelling like smoke and sweat. “It’s gonna look like I raped a virgin in here-- hah!-- come tomorrow.”
Rape? No, it wasn’t worthy of either of them. Besides, no one would believe it. Sanzo didn’t say anything, couldn’t even find breath to say shut the hell up, so he grabbed Gojyo’s shoulder, covered his mouth with the other hand, felt that breath hot right on his palm. Little laughs, puffs of hah before Gojyo’s tongue swirled between his fingers and oh, hell, Gojyo was too good. Sanzo was stretched, knees at his own ears and ass stretched and open, he was pushing Gojyo away--
“Not yet,” Gojyo whispered through the jail-bars of Sanzo’s fingers. “Hold on a minute, hold on, Sanzo--”
Sanzo couldn’t hold on. Had blood ever been closer to the surface of his skin? He couldn’t remember. It was hard to remember what it had felt like, before, when he’d only jerked himself off in private now and then and tried to convince himself that anything else was only for the weak and idiotic. Excuses for himself--
“Fuck, you’re close. Fuck, you’re hot.” There were hot beer and smoke whispers on Sanzo’s lips. Something, fingers, maybe, brushed across Sanzo’s forehead. “It’ll be all right-- I gotcha--”
Gojyo was too good, knew too much that he should never know. Too much life. They should all have been dead by now.
“Stop caring so much,” Sanzo mumbled, and licked Gojyo’s teeth and pulled at his hair, one silky, sweaty clump all bound up in the back. When Gojyo’s body jerked Sanzo came, hard enough that he couldn’t hear anything but a white rush for a few seconds, could only feel the jerk of his own cock on Gojyo’s belly, sweaty and slimy as he spurted between them.
Gojyo kept going for another minute or so, muttering a rhythmic stream of curses into Sanzo’s mouth before he twitched sideways and came, hahing and huffing a few times, and then untangling Sanzo’s legs from his shoulders and rolling off.
He flipped on the bedstand light before Sanzo could tell him not to. Sanzo shut his eyes. He heard a papery crackle, and the snick of a lighter. He smelled smoke. He opened his eyes and saw Gojyo’s back.
“Who said I did?” Gojyo said after a minute.
Gojyo wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, he was supposed to be thinking up a good excuse for having fucked Sanzo. When Sanzo realized that Gojyo was going to wait for an answer, and wasn’t going to hand Sanzo a cigarette, he sat up and found his own smokes in his robe, on the end of the bed.
Once Sanzo had taken a puff or two, he answered, as best he could. “Does it matter?”
“Hah.” It didn’t really seem like a laugh. “Don’t suppose so.”
Sanzo didn’t answer back, because the only things he could utter would be too-late and too-lame recriminations, or, frighteningly, thanks to Gojyo for being who he was and what life had made him. They smoked for a minute or two in silence.
“Rough day,” Gojyo said after a while to the other wall, the one Sanzo wasn’t facing. “Damn. Rough.”
“Yeah,” Sanzo said. It was perfect. He sighed out his last inhale and let that sound be his thanks, knowing that Gojyo understood already.
END. Thank you for reading! Comments, concrit, flames, all loved and appreciated.
Author:
jedishampooPairing: Gojyo/Sanzo
Rating: NC-l7
Summary: How much did it matter, really? PWP, P0rn and angst-ish stuff. About 1800 words.
Author’s Notes: In honor of the 353 festival at
bad_friends. I’ve never done this straight-on-into-the-porn thing before; thanks to inksheddings for encouraging me to jump right into the middle! Thanks to caeseria and saltcandy for porntastic ideas. Inspired and fed lustful thoughts by this wow-inducing NSFW picture by error256 and this sexy NSFW art by wyna_hiros-- thanks, ladies! Thanks to sharpeslass, as always, for the beta. Gojyo shoved his dick up Sanzo’s ass and it was exactly what Sanzo had been hoping for. His stomach clenched and twisted in that astonishing and good way: he gritted his teeth and gripped the bedsheets, holding on as tiny, bright glints floated behind his screwed-shut eyelids. For a few seconds the sharp wrench of muscle drowned out the pain of having the sheets stuck to his torn-up knees.
There was nothing to see except the wall and the room was dark, anyway, because they hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. Without sight there was only the sound of their breathing, and the everywhere grip of flesh. They hadn’t even bothered to say anything to each other.
Sanzo wondered what their clever excuse was supposed to be this time. Did it matter? It was always a bad idea.
It wasn’t pretending to be drunk, because they weren’t. Even though Gojyo had swayed against him as they’d stood in the doorway, leaning his face into the back of Sanzo’s neck. His whispered obscenities had been hot breaths tingling at Sanzo’s nape, his big hands at Sanzo’s waist, invading his skin under his clothes, a wordless promise and challenge.
Those hands on him now held him steady. Fingers strong-squeezed his hipbone and shoulder.
“It’s good. It’s good,” Gojyo was whispering, somewhere in the darkness behind.
“Ngh,” Sanzo said, because he really wasn’t in the mood to talk. Because to talk would be to justify or excuse.
Sanzo felt tight suction, Gojyo pulling out and backing off. The fingers digging into his shoulder gave him a half-second warning: his body was pushed, pulled, all at once as Gojyo dove in for his second go.
There hadn’t even been the usual argument about who was going to be fucking whom. Sanzo was tired and sore and the two beers he’d had with his few bites of rice would never be enough to explain this away. Spurts of heat flooded his aching joints and wounds, blood pulsing under his skin and through his cock and would Gojyo just fucking move again, already?
Sanzo pushed himself, with his hands and his burning knees, back onto Gojyo’s dick, throbbing inside him with its own life-- life, live flesh, live things on and inside him. And yeah, it was a bad idea but Gojyo was alive, more alive than anyone Sanzo knew, barring Goku.
Too alive. Gojyo and Goku’s fighting earlier had nearly gotten them killed. Too willing. It was a bad idea.
“Ngh,” Sanzo said, rocking back again. “Do I have to fuck myself?”
“You wish,” a mumble said a few inches above Sanzo’s spine. “I was takin’ it easy, because you seemed sorta weak.”
“Fuck you.”
“Too late.” Gojyo quit stalling and moved, once, twice, hard, more, and Sanzo had to breathe faster to keep up with the spikes of ache poisoning his blood and heating his face and belly. Shit, Gojyo was alive, and good, so good. And Sanzo could never say so because that would become the excuse, and there were better ones, surely, if only he could think of them. And even without sight there was enough to overwhelm his other senses, nearly his thoughts. The bed creaking, his own smoky breath echoing against the wall, the slap of skin on skin as Gojyo’s balls pounded their own rhythm onto Sanzo’s ass, his muscles clenched tight like a drum.
They’d killed hundreds today. A small army, all dead now and only the four of them left, as always. Sanzo was still alive, and Gojyo, Gojyo, crazy fucker never backed away, only pushed and pushed.
“Sanzo. Yeah, that’s it, Sanzo.”
Sanzo’s head was heavy. Too heavy for the rest of him, even his chest, weighted by his own thumping, aching heart. He lurched forward, was going to find out exactly how far away the wall was-- He was caught by the hand pulling at his hip.
“Don’t collapse on me again, Sanzo, come on…”
“Go… Go…” Sanzo swallowed, nghed. “Go to hell.”
“Ha. Almost had ya,” Gojyo’s voice was breathy, rough, his palm on Sanzo’s skin sliding a little with sweat, someone’s. Down Sanzo’s thigh, up to clutch his belly, catching every movement of muscle, all Sanzo’s secrets. “Sooner or later.”
“Shut up. Shit.” Gojyo knew exactly where to touch, how hard. The palm shoved into Sanzo’s breastbone intensified and eased its ache just so: he was good. The first time they both had been drunk. Sanzo’s memory could still taste Gojyo’s hot beer-kisses.
“You hurtin’?” Gojyo’s voice actually sounded concerned. Sanzo realized he’d been moaning, short bursts that escaped from between his teeth.
Yes, he was hurting, but he didn’t say so. His battered knees were about to give out on the bed, the soft yield of the mattress was killing him, the pounding build was killing him, he was shaking--
“Hell, Sanzo.” Gojyo stopped and yanked his dick out of Sanzo’s ass too quickly to be painful. Sanzo was going to moan, no, but before he could, the fingers at his belly and shoulder flipped him over onto his back. One of those hands, the big, grasping, long-fingered and sweat-stinging hands, swiped over Sanzo’s knee.
“Ow,” Sanzo said. He hadn’t meant to. “Shit.”
There was an exasperated sigh, now somewhere a few inches above Sanzo’s face. “You shoulda said. Damned masochistic monk.”
Sanzo was glad he didn’t have to say, didn’t have to see the concern on Gojyo’s face. Gojyo cared too much.
Gojyo had seen-- everyone had seen-- Sanzo go down onto the rocks. Hakkai had killed the bastard who’d knocked Sanzo over, blasted him into spurting chunks. Sanzo had been covered in enough gore that they hadn’t seen his scraped and bloody kneecaps, seeping through his jeans.
“Lemme get the lights--”
“No,” Sanzo said, again without meaning to. He kicked where he thought Gojyo’s head might just barely not be. “Just do it.” He wondered if he sounded like he was begging.
“Fine.” Gojyo inelegantly hoicked Sanzo’s legs over his shoulders. It didn’t matter, because they couldn’t see, nobody could see the ignominy of feeling too good. Fingers probed between his ass-cheeks, then soft, warm lips nuzzled the inside of his knee. “That better?”
“Nnh.” The bastard cared too much. And so what was Sanzo’s excuse?
He couldn’t think of one, but he could feel that hot, dryly slick live flesh, that mind-blacking mind-blanking wrench, see the tiny stars that meant he was being fucked again. Yes, it was better. His back and ass were fine, could take anything Gojyo had to give. Even the top of his head, bumping the wall every third thrust, took it with hidden glee.
“No-- hah!-- wonder you weren’t fighting for-- hah-- top spot,” Gojyo was saying, close enough now for his breath and hair to brush Sanzo’s face. Back and forth, smelling like smoke and sweat. “It’s gonna look like I raped a virgin in here-- hah!-- come tomorrow.”
Rape? No, it wasn’t worthy of either of them. Besides, no one would believe it. Sanzo didn’t say anything, couldn’t even find breath to say shut the hell up, so he grabbed Gojyo’s shoulder, covered his mouth with the other hand, felt that breath hot right on his palm. Little laughs, puffs of hah before Gojyo’s tongue swirled between his fingers and oh, hell, Gojyo was too good. Sanzo was stretched, knees at his own ears and ass stretched and open, he was pushing Gojyo away--
“Not yet,” Gojyo whispered through the jail-bars of Sanzo’s fingers. “Hold on a minute, hold on, Sanzo--”
Sanzo couldn’t hold on. Had blood ever been closer to the surface of his skin? He couldn’t remember. It was hard to remember what it had felt like, before, when he’d only jerked himself off in private now and then and tried to convince himself that anything else was only for the weak and idiotic. Excuses for himself--
“Fuck, you’re close. Fuck, you’re hot.” There were hot beer and smoke whispers on Sanzo’s lips. Something, fingers, maybe, brushed across Sanzo’s forehead. “It’ll be all right-- I gotcha--”
Gojyo was too good, knew too much that he should never know. Too much life. They should all have been dead by now.
“Stop caring so much,” Sanzo mumbled, and licked Gojyo’s teeth and pulled at his hair, one silky, sweaty clump all bound up in the back. When Gojyo’s body jerked Sanzo came, hard enough that he couldn’t hear anything but a white rush for a few seconds, could only feel the jerk of his own cock on Gojyo’s belly, sweaty and slimy as he spurted between them.
Gojyo kept going for another minute or so, muttering a rhythmic stream of curses into Sanzo’s mouth before he twitched sideways and came, hahing and huffing a few times, and then untangling Sanzo’s legs from his shoulders and rolling off.
He flipped on the bedstand light before Sanzo could tell him not to. Sanzo shut his eyes. He heard a papery crackle, and the snick of a lighter. He smelled smoke. He opened his eyes and saw Gojyo’s back.
“Who said I did?” Gojyo said after a minute.
Gojyo wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, he was supposed to be thinking up a good excuse for having fucked Sanzo. When Sanzo realized that Gojyo was going to wait for an answer, and wasn’t going to hand Sanzo a cigarette, he sat up and found his own smokes in his robe, on the end of the bed.
Once Sanzo had taken a puff or two, he answered, as best he could. “Does it matter?”
“Hah.” It didn’t really seem like a laugh. “Don’t suppose so.”
Sanzo didn’t answer back, because the only things he could utter would be too-late and too-lame recriminations, or, frighteningly, thanks to Gojyo for being who he was and what life had made him. They smoked for a minute or two in silence.
“Rough day,” Gojyo said after a while to the other wall, the one Sanzo wasn’t facing. “Damn. Rough.”
“Yeah,” Sanzo said. It was perfect. He sighed out his last inhale and let that sound be his thanks, knowing that Gojyo understood already.
END. Thank you for reading! Comments, concrit, flames, all loved and appreciated.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-27 05:04 am (UTC)Oooh, Sanzo's all glowy in your icon!