Fic: Too Late, Gojyo/Youkai!Sanzo, for ssjbento!

[jedishampoo]

Title: “Too Late” for ssjbento
Author: jedishampoo
Rating: NC-l7
Pairing/Summary: Gojyo/Youkai!Sanzo. Who’s being punished, exactly?
Author’s Note: A gift for graphic artist extraordinaire ssjbento, from my gift meme a while back. I thought I’d read somewhere that she might like to see Gojyo on toppa Youkai!Sanzo-- if I'm wrong please forgive me, and I hope you enjoy anyway, bento-chan! I’m sorry it’s not happier. Shortish, 1300 words or so. Thank you to sharpeslass for the much-needed beta and for fanficcy encouragement. Thanks to caeseria for encouragement, also!



Back in the old days-- the old days being a few weeks ago-- if someone had told Gojyo that he’d cared what Sanzo thought, what Sanzo felt, had just all-around cared about Sanzo (hell, would have followed him anywhere because he wanted to), Gojyo would have told them they were crazy. It was only after everything had changed and gone to shit that Gojyo realized how much he’d cared. Now that every minute was a case of do we say fuck it or do we keep going?

“You’re not going anywhere,” came Sanzo’s throbbing growl from somewhere in the dark.

Not where the hell are you going? like the old Sanzo might have said. The old Sanzo who’d ignored Gojyo except when Gojyo had annoyed him or fucked with him. Gojyo had been so close to giving a damn and had never known it.

“I don’t need your shit,” Gojyo lied.

“Get back here,” Sanzo said. The moon came out from behind the clouds and down through the leaves and Gojyo saw him, and the... thing on his forehead looked like it glowed, or maybe that was just the moon.

Sanzo was leaning against a tree, smoking. He was naked. He looked almost like his old self; human and frail and gorgeous as he’d ever been without his gun and sutra. Sanzo was like a werewolf in reverse, calmed by the moon from whatever he was feeling the rest of the time. He was everything he’d been before, only more so: hair more gold and his eyes more bright and piercing and painful, somehow. Except for the long ears poking out of his golden hair, slender and pointed like knives. And the chakra thing, of course; it had doubled in size on his pale forehead, and was radiating youkai marks like an angry sun.

Sanzo was their reason for being here, and they were going nowhere.

“Whatever,” Gojyo laughed bleakly and turned away. He didn’t leave; he just didn’t want to look.

“Don’t pretend you’re not going to do it. It’s fucking pointless,” came Sanzo’s voice, so close that Gojyo could feel the hot breath in his hair. For a second, under the trill of a growl, he’d nearly sounded like the old Sanzo.

Gojyo felt like laughing again until he felt ten long nails digging into his shoulders and upper arms-- really digging through his shirt, like he’d have half-inch, bloody gouges in his skin. Hakkai would sigh when he saw them, then heal ‘em up and make more noise about going back to the Temple of the Setting Sun and talking to Sanzo’s three heads, to see if there was anything they could do.

As if it mattered. They were all going nowhere, all worn down and Gojyo most of all, but only because Sanzo had decided he wanted something from Gojyo. Or wanted to punish him. Gojyo did guilty consciences like nobody’s business.

There’d been that last attack, the one that did it, Gojyo slicing through like ten of them at once and then the shaku-jou splattering Sanzo all over the face till he’d been spitting blood. Well, hell, things’d been sloppy-crazy, what with hundreds of the bastards attacking them at once. In the middle of the night. In the woods. Some strong youkai, too, this close to India. Maybe each one of those guys had been worth twenty or fifty more than regular youkai in the accounts-ledger of karma.

Sanzo’s nails pulled out of his skin and caught on his shirt. Gojyo could hear the soft shrip of tearing cloth and felt his own blood seeping out and cooling on his skin. The worst part wasn’t even the pain, but the way his body shivered all over and the rest of his blood shot straight to his dick. The way his dick ached until he nearly bent double to hug himself, ‘cause of how much he wanted to do it.

Gojyo moaned to himself when Sanzo’s wet lips and hot tongue licked the cooling, sticky blood from his humidity-sticky skin. He made himself sick, the way he could pretend that Sanzo hadn’t changed at all, that Sanzo just wanted him like he wanted Sanzo, sloppy, urgent, hard.

Sloppy as that fight: Sanzo had started screaming and Gojyo had been the only one close enough to help with... whatever. When the shit hit the fan, wasn’t it always Gojyo who was the one left standing, who had to pick the shit up? He’d gone to the rescue, thinking there was nothing spookier than listening to the screaming of a guy who never screamed.

“Ah,” Gojyo moaned aloud when Sanzo’s bloody fingers and nails scraped fleetingly across the denim straining over his pulsing dick.

“Get ‘em off,” Sanzo growl-ordered.

“Bossy monk,” Gojyo whispered, pretending like it was old times and they were just arguing like they might have any day on any old road.

He moved urgently ‘cause he wasn’t sure he wanted to die just yet; he fumbled at his bootlaces until they were only half-undone, fuck it. He kicked off his boots and yanked down his jeans until he was naked except for the traces of blood and spit on his shoulders. Keep going.

He’d straddled the howling Sanzo, his calves weighting down Sanzo’s straining, bloody-robed knees, his fingers gripping Sanzo’s wrists, trying to hold away those newly-sprouted claws. At one point he’d risked letting go with one hand to scrabble around in the dirt and dead bodies and had found nothing. Those dead youkai had not worn limiters, surprise, surprise.

The sutra had sparked with dark energy. It had waved and wound around Gojyo’s arms as Sanzo had changed, had started growling quiet, hateful-sounding words.

“Hurry the hell up.”

Gojyo turned and Sanzo was already bent over and digging his nails into a mossy tree, his scars highlighted in the slices of moonlight stabbing through the leaf-canopy. In the humid, glowing mist his slim body looked frail, human, gorgeous. Gojyo caught Sanzo’s hips, surprised at how cool, sticky and normal Sanzo felt.

“I. I don’t know if I can take it anymore, Sanzo.” Saying so didn’t stop Gojyo from shoving his middle finger in his own mouth and then sliding it down the cleft in Sanzo’s ass. Hell, Sanzo was hot on the inside, and tight. If only it hadn’t been like this... Well, it was the least he could do.

“Ngh. Shut up.”

“No. I mean it...” Maybe Gojyo meant it but it didn’t stop him from shoving his aching dick into the barely-slicked bliss of Sanzo’s body. Sanzo grunted, a deep, strained sound.

Who, exactly, was being punished here? If Sanzo felt pain any more, Gojyo wouldn’t know it. He freaked even Goku out with his bloodthirsty ways. They’d be attacked and he’d grin and leap out of Jeep with his stained white robes flapping in the wind. Grinning and slashing in a shower of blood. He never used the gun. He hardly used the sutra, though it wanted to be used. Goku said so, anyway, and Gojyo had no reason to disbelieve him.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it. Just do it!”

Gojyo strained, deeper, harder, until he felt his shoulder-gouges twist and burn, sweat dripping into the wounds to boost the sting. Who was hurting more? Fuck it and keep going; the sick, carnal thrill growing in Gojyo’s spine overrode the pain. He was going to come, too soon, and then his dick would be useless and maybe Sanzo would kill him at last. Sanzo could kill Gojyo easily, if he wanted, with his claws and teeth alone.

Gojyo’s hand slipped from Sanzo’s sweaty hip, so he grabbed at Sanzo’s cock and yanked hard, desperate and hurrying. He was moving underwater, his own movements a warm dream his body was having--

“Hakkai! Gimme one of your limiters. Just one. Maybe two,” Gojyo had called, desperate. Hakkai without limiters wouldn’t kill him. Sanzo might. The slim body pressed under his had writhed with tension. Behind him he’d heard another twang of chi, then a meaty thump. Hakkai had never answered him.

Hakkai hadn’t been dead, only passed out. Goku had finished the battle and then helped wake Hakkai and restrain Sanzo. From there the nightmare had only gotten worse. Gojyo’d been crazy not to run all the way back east the instant he’d figured out what was going on, but then he’d always been the type to get himself in too deep.

Like when he was a kid and he’d begged Jien and the older guys to tell him those grisly ghost-and-murder stories, over and over, even though they’d scared the living crap outta him every time. They’d told him shit scary enough to make him forget his mom in a bad mood.

She’d needed a good screw to calm her down now and then, too. And, just like his brother, Gojyo kept coming back for more.

End. Thank you for reading!

My first gift-- slow gift-giver is slow! And I've received a couple of VERY COOL things that I'll post about later. :)