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And When The Sun Goes Down	By : GhostHelwig Category: Gensomaden Saiyuki > General Views: 3352 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gensomaden Saiyuki, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Disclaimer � I do not
own profit from Saiyuki. If I did, I
never would have let the Reload anime be dubbed by anyone but the original
actors.

Rated R, and while
this chapter has some violence and darkness in it, don�t be expecting anything too R-rated quite yet... Unless this much evil rates an R. I�m not certain how that works.

Also contains slight
Homura SPOILERS. Just like I
said it would. ^_^

Dedicated
to everyone who reads this, and everyone who reviews. Especially darthelwig,
because this is all her fault anyway.
*lol*

Chapter Summary: In
which Hakkai sees something he shouldn�t, Sanzo does something he shouldn�t, and Gojyo wonders why he doesn�t have
a more prominent role in this story.

Anyway, enjoy. Peace, all.

***

And When The Sun Goes Down

Chapter Four: Heaven Fails To See

by Ghost Helwig

***

It was still raining two days later.

They�d stayed at the inn all that time, stayed holed up in
their various worlds while the storm raged quietly but unendingly around
them. And while Hakkai had grown
accustomed to dealing with the anger-pain-rage rain filled him with, Sanzo
had not; he probably never would.
Instead, Sanzo scowled when they talked to him, and sat in blind,
untouchable silence when they didn�t.

He was emotionally, physically, and mentally unavailable to
all of them, even � especially? � Goku.
Though the �physically unavailable� part wasn�t so unusual; Sanzo was
not the kind of man one hugged, or touched, or expected to be hugged or touched
by, even casually.

But still, his very remoteness was bothersome...
worrisome. He was cut off, much more so
than usual, snapping when he deigned to notice them at all � which really
wasn�t all that often. Even when Goku
and Gojyo were screaming obscenities at each other, Sanzo noticed � and
screamed back � all of once. They�d been so surprised they�d stopped
arguing immediately.

This was the worst Hakkai had ever seen him during the rain;
worse than the time when Homura stole Goku, worse even than the first time he�d
ever seen Sanzo this way, when he�d lived at the monastery and come into
Sanzo�s bedroom one night during a storm looking for a partner for a game of
cards only to see Sanzo sitting by the window, just as he always did, so
forlorn and guilty and furious that
it didn�t take much prodding before he spilled out his story in a few clipped,
harsh sentences.

My Master died during
a rainstorm.

He died in my arms.

I couldn�t protect
him.

But right now, Hakkai wasn�t thinking about what Sanzo must
be suffering through, having to sit and listen, day in and day out, to the
uncaring tears from the heavens that had fallen the first and only time he�d
ever allowed himself to feel. He wasn�t
thinking about Sanzo�s lost childhood, his lost innocence, his struggle to be
grown and capable and able when he�d never really had a chance to be a child.

What he was
thinking, was that those fingers that had trembled and told him they
understood...

Those fingers had lied
to him.

Because right now, he could see them pressing into Goku�s back,
clenching in his shirt, white-knuckled from tension and trembling still. He could see the graceful arch of Goku�s
spine as he leaned over Sanzo, who was perched lightly on the ledge of the
windowsill.

He could just barely see the beauty of Sanzo�s face as Goku
kissed him.

But no. It wasn�t Goku
kissing Sanzo, it was Sanzo kissing Goku. It had to be. Goku would never do such a thing.

Thunder crashed outside; lightning flashed overhead. He hadn�t expected this kind of storm.

He hadn�t expected a lot of things.

Wind gusted in through the doorway Hakkai lurked in; a
candle on the nearby table blew out.
Someone moaned.

And Hakkai just... broke.

***

A dark-haired man held
an equally dark-haired boy against his chest, ignoring the boy�s futile struggles
to get away. Hakkai advanced on them,
quietly, so intent on stalking his prey that the danger rushing through his
blood was almost an aphrodisiac.

(The boy, even in his
pleasure, sensed him coming, but dismissed him as unimportant � had he not been
so distracted, the anger and calm, vengeful judgment radiating off him in waves
would�ve hit his senses like a ton of bricks.
But he�d already been stunned by the sweetness of one pair of guarded,
full lips, and his only consolation was that the man beneath him � whose senses
were nearly as good as his, and whose instincts were marginally better �
dismissed the approaching man as harmless, too.)

He grabbed the boy
from his captor and flung him to the side, to safety. And now that the hostage � the poor, innocent
victim � had been taken care of, he could move on to the vengeance his body was singing for.

(The boy was tossed
aside like a rag doll, back slamming against the wall and head cracking hard �
too hard � against the windowsill. His
vision blurred, swam. He knew, suddenly,
that he needed to get back to those lips, that man, because even though the
betrayal hadn�t yet registered the danger had.
But the wind blew, another candle winked out, and as the light faded, so
too did his consciousness.)

(In the darkness that
followed, one thought remained: I hope the sun doesn�t go out.)

He was on the villain before he could move, was
wrapping his hands around that deceptively beautiful throat. �Priests should not have sex with children,� he hissed, blind to the widening of the eyes that gazed up at
him. All he could see-hear-feel was the
blood hissing through his veins, the anger throbbing in his head, another
heartbeat to speed up his own-

And the pounding of
the rain, beating inside him, a drumbeat of death.

(The man choked,
hearing but not understanding the words that condemned him, head thrashing
vainly, hair that was not dark but golden annoying him by getting in his eyes
when he was trying to see his attacker�s face.
Not that he didn�t know who it was, but he needed to see, because
knowing and believing had never been the same thing to him. It was how he could know the gods existed,
have met more than a few, yet deny their very existence to the depths of his
being...)

(But even seeing
wasn�t really helping, and he could not even move his hands because he was
still wiggling them out from under his attacker � killer - and finally they�re free but all he can
do with them is scrabble at the hands choking the life from him, leaving vicious
scratches on the fingers that are bringing about his death.)

(And despite his
teachings, despite his own beliefs, despite everything he had ever said, it did
not even occur to him to use the sacred scripture draped leisurely on a chair
across the room, the only thing marking him as a priest.)

(If he survived this,
he would berate himself for his foolishness.)

He straddled that slim
body, and it could almost have been sex, because the wriggling hips beneath his
were so inviting, the open, gasping lips were so full and parted enticingly,
because that body had, on occasion, aroused him before (however briefly, and
however quickly he dismissed it); but sex was not what he was after. Not from this man.

�A priest,� he
murmured darkly, �should never be a whore.�

(Just as before, the
words were heard, but they made no sense.
A whore?
the man wanted to ask; to laugh. Can a virgin be a whore?)

(But only too soon he
couldn�t think anymore, at least nothing coherent, nothing beyond fuck � I
think I�m dying � I�ll miss him � goddammit � don�t let him die � he has to
live � can�t breathe � fulfill mission � fuck � can�t breathe � fuck � I never told him � fuck � I can�t breathe �)

(I hope he finds
another sun.)

He squeezed harder,
wanting (waiting) to feel the give beneath his fingers that signaled a crushed
throat � he�s done this before, you know � instead feeling warm breath rush out
onto his hands. But somehow he was not feeling the scratches being inflicted on
him, the blood beginning to ooze from his skin, the rips that were being torn
in his flesh (in his soul). It doesn�t matter, because like this, in this
moment, with someone who deserved to die
at his mercy-

Nothing, not even
pain, mattered to Cho Gonou.

Nothing.

--End Chapter Four--
- 3
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- 5
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And When The Sun Goes Down