Good Enough

WARNING: Not for the faint of heart or the easily offended. If you don’t like men playing with men, don’t read. On the other hand, if you’re interested in hot sy 39y 393 action with a little bit of masturbation thrown in for fun, you’ve found the right story. What had initially been planned as a shameless PWP turned into something darker, so if you’re just interested in a character study you can always skim the naughty parts... but what would be the point of that? ;P!

None of the characters contained within are mine, except for the cook’s younger sister, who I really wish I could have been if they had been messing around behind the gardening shed. The only thing I’m making off of this is a sense of internal satisfaction and a whole lot of sexual frustration. Please don’t sue me, ‘cause college kids don’t have any money, didn’t you know?

Dedicated to keistje of fanfiction.net, when we both had the same delicious image of wet!Goku in a towel without even realizing it. Hope you like it. :3




Good Enough



+

One week without civilization or privacy and three days since they needed to start rationing their water supply made Sanzo a very grouchy person.

It wasn’t so much the sensation of being dirty that put him in a foul mood – though the sand that worked its way down under his skin and the greasiness of his hair and the all around nastiness of it didn’t help things – or that the other members of his party were particularly ripe. Such things simply couldn’t be helped, and when the four of them were tripping over would-be assassins at least once a day, they were bound to work up a sweat eventually. Especially considering the rather large and exceptionally dry desert they were passing through. And the breeze kicked up by Hakuryuu’s driving had done little to assuage the intense heat of a summer sun at high noon.

And so, for the past three days he and his entourage of divinely assigned idiots made do with what they had, which was pretty much nothing. None of them had the experience of traveling through a desert before, and despite taking heed of all the warnings and advice they were given, it was clear that they would not reach the next town if they continued using water the way they had been. So what remained had been put on ration: consumption only, not to be used for cleaning unless someone was direly wounded. Cleaning up since that decision had consisted of washing hands before eating and little else, and as much as Sanzo had griped about the foul air whenever Gojyo got a little too close (which wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence), he couldn’t really blame it on perpetually bad hygiene. Mentally, at least – he could make all the rude comments he wanted, but he was well aware that he didn’t smell too pleasant himself.

Threys oys of that and he was desperate for a puddle of water deep enough that he could drown in. Or at least wash his face in. Thankfully, though, the next town they happened across was all but flooded with water. Well, compared to them at least. So Sanzo had instructed (demanded, really) Hakkai to find the biggest inn posthaste upon their arrival, and who would know that such a quaint little building could put ridiculously high prices on such dinky rooms?

Not that he was complaining t ant anymore, at least. What Sanzo wanted Sanzo got, and what he had wanted was a tub full of hot water. Well, maybe not hot hot water, considering the temperature of the sand outside (Hakkai really had fried an egg on Hakuryuu’s hood, and that had entertained Goku far longer than it should have), but water nonetheless, and deep enough that he could sit in it up to his chin. That the inn could provide, with abundance, and so with a flash of the credit card loaned to him by the Sanbutsushin (and was he ever glad they hadn’t expected him to make this trip on his own minor funds) they were in the door and he she stairs and cooling off under the blessed breeze of a (faulty, but better-than-the-outside) air conditioner.

The design of this particular inn was a little different from the ones back east, but Sanzo found that he actually preferred this one. Four rooms were built around a kitchen and living area (a sink, a tiny refrigerator, and a table with two chairs, respectively) and a small but exceedingly private bathroom. One that locked from the inside. One that, courtesy of a few well-aimed smacks of his harisen and a death-inducing glare, he currently had all the keys for, lined satisfyingly along the counter that also held his clothing, reading glasses, and pistol. The harisen he had been kind enough to leave to Hakkai, a small thank-you for having given up his key without Sanzo even needing to ask. Even with the air conditioner one needed all the help they could get to cool off in this climate.

The priest shifted slightly, trying to find a cool spot on the tile behind him that had not yet been warmed by his too-hot skin, and not really succeeding. It didn’t matter all that much, anyways; he was tired, he was cranky, and he was still hotter than he was comfortable with, but he was in a tub of wonderfully clean water and he was alone. After three days of too much togetherness with his traveling companions; after a vicious struggle that invariably turned to threatening with a gun so that he could get the first bath; after going three times as long as he preferred to go without some kind of practical application of soap; after all of that torture he was finally alone and clean.

If he believed in gods (or at least in the kind that smiled benevolently down on the denizens of earth) he would have been profusely thanking them at the moment. Instead, as was his wont, he was cursing them for making him undergo such torment for so long.

Sanzo had already poured and drained one tub, having fouled the water so much that even the thought of continuing to soak in it made him want to scratch at his skin again. He had scrubbed until his flesh was raw and angry from the treatment, using the first soap that came to hand (thank god it hadn’t been the flowery lotion shit put out for prospective female inhabitants) and cursing the two who were banging on the door and cursing him for trying to use up all the hot water and soap before they could get a chance to wash up.

Idiots, he had thought. Anyone who wants hot water in these parts would be wishing for a prolonged death. And if they want soap, they can use this... Jasmine Scented Relaxing Oil.

And oh, the jibes he would get in on Gojyo if the nympho kappa came waltzing out of the bathroom smelling like that.

By the time the irritable threats from beyond the locked door had slowed to an incomprehensible murmur, Sanzo could feel how the grit and oil from his skin had transferred itself to the bath. He had, accordingly, drained the muck and poured another bath, the water not nearly as cold as he wished but infinitely cleaner than it could have been. And so he soaked, elbows resting on the edges of the tiled bath, the grooves digging into his flesh, shifting now and then to try and find a cold spot he knew wasn’t even there, and damning the fates that brought him to this place.

Each day on this Goddess-ordained trip was getting worse. At first, he thought he might have been able to take it – Gojyo and Goku he could keep in line in much the same way, and Hakkai was civilized enough and quiet enough not to get on Sanzo’s nerves too often. The continued attacks of Kougaiji’s assassins were almost laughable, once he learned not to underestimate them. The random crazed youkai attacks weren’t even worth bothering over.

If things keep up like this, he had thought, and nothing changes, then maybe I can make it to the end of this journey before I lose my sanity entirely.

But long before he’d even had a chance to put a cap in Gyumaoh’s long-dead ass, bits and pieces of his deeply-buried past had decided to show up and drag along memories he genuinely wished had remained where they were. It had taken him an eternity to put his failures behind him, as best he could; an eternity to shove the nightmares into closet his his mind and lock the doors. When he had started this journey the rain hadn’t even bothered him – he disliked it on principle, for it ruined days of travel and made the air moist and humid and made something deep in his chest that he couldn’t name tighten – but it didn’t incapacitate him like it did now.

All it took was one face, one name – Shuuei – and everything that he had balanced so carefully, so that he could actually live a semi-normal life, had fallen to pieces. The rain fell, and now he was miles away, lost in memories so virulent and bloody that he couldn’t even begin to think of sleeping. While he was asleep he would be unable to run away from the scenery that had somehow survived in his mind, no matter how deeply he had tried to bury it. At least while he was awake he could remind himself of where he was, when he was.

Inside he had become terribly unbalanced, and it frustrated him. Frightened him. Pissed him off like nobody’s business. And while Sanzo realized that he was taking it out unnecessarily on the three who traveled with him (or just two of them, really), he wouldn’t be so irritated if they would just shut up. Or at least not try so deliberately to get on his nerves. Little things irked him like they never had before, because of this new imbalance, and sometimes it was all he could do not to scream in frustration and start shooting everything in sight. Himself included. So he insulted, he swore, he laid about with his harisen and made everyone else’s lives miserable just so that he could feel like he had at least some control over his situation. It was unfair, he knew this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Or at least that was what he told himself.

And the past three days... those days had been pure hell. From the beginning he had demanded a little bit of ‘me-time’ out of every twenty-four hours, a small amount of time in which he could unwind and relax from the tedium of having to spend so many miles in close quarters with three other men he barely got along with. He had never really like being physically close to other people to begin with, and since that damning incident with Shuuei – Rikudo – the dislike had quickly turned to outright claustrophobia. Not enough to debilitate him, but more than enough to make him snappish and eager to get away and find some space to breathe.

Once they had entered the sands of the desert, though, that ‘me-time’ had vanished along with their precious water. It was Hakkai who had suggested they not wander away from each other when they did stop to rest, for the undulating dunes looked so much alike that it would be far too easy to get lost. Sanzo recognized the wisdom in this, had realized it the instant he had seen the shimmering sands in the distance, but knowing that he was staying within sight and sound of his three companions in order to keep himself from getting killed did nothing to alleviate his growing tension.

This bathroom was his first chance to be alone for a very long time. Although a bath had been very high on his list of ‘needs to be done’, he might have chosen ‘me-time’ over it if the bedroom doors had locked and the bathroom door had not. He had to get away from the other three, if only for a few desperate minutes.

He had to get away from Gojyo, from his smart-ass remarks and deliberate denseness, from his too-closeness that made Sanzo’s skin crawl before the red-head even had a chance to drape an arm around the priest’s shoulders. He had to get away from Hakkai, who was well-behaved and well-liked and how the hell did he manage to pull himself together so seamlessly after committing all those murders, only three years ago? He had to get away from Goku, who was too noisy and too clingy and still had a bad habit of pouting whenever things didn’t go his way. The kid probably didn’t even realize he did it anymore – it was a habit Sanzo should have broken him of years ago, long before this journey started, but instead the priest had found himself harassing Goku just to see that pout more often. Three years ago the irritating monkey had a set of lips that some women would have killed for (a fact that Gojyo had frequently reminded him of), and while they had thinned somewhat with age, they had become no less desirable...

The blonde priest smothered a frustrated sigh as best he could, lifting a hand and pressing the heel of his palm into his left eye. Goku was a constant reminder of the fact that Sanzo built his own torments around himself – he should have shot Gojyo the instant the half-breed stood between him and Cho Gonou; he should have shot Hakkai the instant he caught back up with the murderer and the sole survivor of the Crow Clan; he should have turned around and walked away from that small cave on a mountainside before those luminous eyes had a chance to open and look up at him. But instead of sparing himself the inevitable frustration, he had done none of those things and was now tormented by his inactions. Now he couldn’t get rid of Hakkai and Gojyo and Goku if he killed them himself - and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to get rid of Goku.

He was a masochist. There really wasn’t any other reasonable explanation for it. If he wasn’t a masochist, he wouldn’t have accepted this doomed-from-the-beginning quest from the gods. He wouldn’t have bothered trying to defend Hakkai before the Sanbutsushin. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have lived with Goku for over three years, not when the effect of the boy’s presence was becoming harder and harder to keep a lid on.

Sure, it was one more thing that Sanzo had eventually gotten under control, one more hot desire that conflicted with his goal of non-attachment, one more emotion that he carefully shoved in a mental closet and threw away the key for. But when Shuuei had... after the incident with Rikudo, it was also one more closet that spewed forth its contents and told him to make due or else, because it wasn’t accepting anymore trash for a while to come.

He had needed to get away from Goku as much as from anything else. Goku’s was the only touch he could stand, that he wanted to feel, and he sometimes hated himself for indulging in even that small weakness. Everything about the boy set the priest on fire, from the confidant way he moved to the way his eyes would half-close when he was genuinely pleased by something (which was often). Sanzo’s desire had been easily banked when it had first flared up, but when combined with everything else that he was struggling to contain – and the fact that he felt he had no control of it all – he was finding it harder and harder not to give in whenever Goku or Gojyo demanded a change in their rooming assignments. Sharing a room (or, heavens forbid, a bed) with Goku was not a temptation Sanzo was ready to give in to yet.

So much had changed since the first time Sanzo realized that he wanted the golden-eyed youth in a definitely unholy manner. Goku was older, for one, and regardless of how Gojyo might tease or how clueless he might act, Goku was plenty aware of his own sexuality. Probable inexperience aside, it was easy enough to pick up which tab went into which slot, and even if Goku didn’t gun for the first female face he saw in the way that Gojyo did, Sanzo had occasionally seen his eyes lingering on a pretty girl far longer than was necessary to thank her for his dinner. Houmei, for one, had attracted more attention than Sanzo was used to seeing Goku give to a member of the opposite sex (though he suspected it had much to do with her culinary expertise).

And then there was the cook’s younger sister, back in Chang’An, whom for a time Sanzo was certain the boy was fooling around with. Time had proven otherwise, along with the application of a few careful questions; Goku wasn’t in a habit of keeping secrets from his guardian, anyways. And also the time Sanzo had been stricken with incredible insomnia, and when wandering the temple grounds at the dead of night he had happened to pass Goku’s window and catch a glimpse of the youth masturbating. Instinct was the only thing that allowed him to duck out of sight, a rare sense of – embarrassment or arousal, he still wasn’t sure – filling him and sending his heart racing, pounding in his ears.

Standing outside win window, with the rough stone pressing into his back through the thin silk of his robe, listening to Goku’s carefully smothered gasps, was a memory he had been unable to put out of his mind for months. He found himself turning to it at odd moments – what had prompted the action, what had aroused him enough to make him take the matter into his own hands? Who was he envisioning? What was the name that had been hidden in that last moan of completion, too breathless for Sanzo to be able to make out? He had even found it difficult to meet Goku’s gaze the next day without instantly being reminded of that brief glimpse of golden-tawny skin and tense, smooth muscles.

Three days straight without any time away from the boy had been pure hell. Even when he was sleeping he had been aware of Goku’s presence, just behind his seat, and any rest he had gotten was extremely poor. That tension, on top of everything else, had strained his self-control to the absolute limits. His self-control was already considerably strained, when every time Goku touched his elbow or rested a hand on his shoulder he felt like electricity was zipping under his skin; when every side glance, every easy grin, made his thoughts race; when, the last time he had seen Goku undressed, still dripping wet from a bath and wearing nothing but a towel, the urge to throw the youth against a wall and molest him right there had hit so hard Sanzo had actually twitched – yes, things like that weefinefinitely a strain on self-control. Another day without respite and the priest might have – no, he knew he definitely would have – done or said something he would ultimately regret.

So thank everything that was good in the world for expensive inns with bathrooms that locked from the inside, and thank Kougaiji for waiting just thirty more minutes before sending another assassin squad, because this was a moment Sanzo desperately felt he needed. Knew he needed, because when he finally took himself in hand he was already painfully rigid to the touch.

He was hot, feverishly so, and the palm of his hand was almost cold in comparison; he smothered a hiss behind closed lips and dug the heel of his hand harder into his eye. Colors bloomed in the darkness behind closed lids, bright white and gold, which unerringly reminded him of how the water had slid down the smooth curves of Goku’s back, caressing the skin in errant trails until they reached the towel wrapped around his slim waist. Inn towels were always too small, even for the most petite member of their party, and this towel had been no exception – one golden thigh flashing in and out of sight with every angry step (Gojyo had stolen Goku’s clothing from the bath, or at least Sanzo thought that was what prompted the unexpected show of skin – safe to say he hadn’t been paying much attention to the conversation). He had only been using one hand to keep the towel from falling off, the material that made it around his waist bunched together at his left hip. It would have only taken a quick tug and the boy would have been left holding air, and the towel would have been left hiding – well, nothing, as it would have been in Sanzo’s possession.

If it had just been him and the boy, if Hakkai and Gojyo had been out for the day, if he was a hundred times braver and if he truly believed he was in control of his hormones – and not the other way around – Sanzo would have locked the door the instant Goku sauntered in and taken him, right then and there. He didn’t know how Goku would react to any kind of seduction, especially the less subtle kind, but the priest did know that he was abnormally (in his opinion) sensual; good food, good music, soft clothing, anything that appealed to the physical senses caught Goku’s attention and held it fast. And judging by the moans that had built in the back of his throat as he had jerked himself off, not knowing that Sanzo had been standing just outside his window, the physical caress of skin on skin was just as likely to hold him rapt.

Sanzo stroked himself carefully, slowly, relishing the sensations he had been denied for so long. In his mind’s eye, in his fantasies, it wouldn’t be hard at all to make Goku compliant; in his imagination, if Hakkai and Gojyo had been absent, he knew exactly what he would do in that situation.

He could see it, clear and vivid against the swirling backdrop of white and gold; he smashed out his cigarette and rose to his feet, silently pushing the door closed and locking it. The cold silk of his robe did not impede his movements, for he had discarded it earlier in favor for his regular undershirt and jeans. Goku paused on his way to the bed that was his, head tilted slightly, one brow raised upward in silent questioning. Before he had a chance to open his mouth and give voice to his thoughts, though, Sanzo reached out and grabbed one wet, firm bicep, pushing the boy back against the wall and holding him there by both shoulders.

Goku was surprised, of course, but not alarmed – curious as to his guardian’s strange turn of behavior. Only it wasn’t strange, not different at all, just one more emotion and desire bottled up and kept under the skin and away from public scrutiny. The curiosity, though, turned into a startled gasp when Sanzo bent and ran his tongue along the ridge of the boy’s collarbone, tasting the water and the smooth skin and deeply inhaling the scent of soap that lingered. Goku’s arms tensed more beneath his palms, but the priest did let up his weight, keeping the younger man pinned between him and the wall.

He felt the tension, the hesitancy, but ignored it at the same time; he instead concentrated on the silky skin beneath his tongue, the scent both of soap and something that was entirely Goku, the way the breath caught in lungs only inches away when he gently nipped the line of muscle in the boy’s throat. Sanzo could almost feel the way any questions that might have been brewing were simply swept away, deliberately ignored or incapable of being acknowledged. When he dipped his tongue in the hollow behind Goku’s ear, the youth turned his head and arched into the caress, bre breathing quickly becoming uneven. When he released his grip on Goku’s right shoulder, moving to brace himself against the wall instead, Goku’s own hand immediately came up and curled itself around the back of Sanzo’s neck, urging the nips and wet kisses towards his mouth. And when Sanzo finally did descend on the lips he had desired from afar for so long, they opened immediately and without uncertainty.

The first clash of tongue on tongue was hesitant, tentative, Sanzo feeling out just how far he could push and Goku probably not having much experience on the matter. He was pliant beneath the questing touch, tasting freshly of the mouthwash that this inn had laid out in its bathrooms, and Sanzo wasted little time in exploring the crevices he had explored a hundred times before in his dreams. The only sound was their harsh breathing and the blood pounding in his ears, until he shifted, moving a little closer, sliding one clothed thigh between both of Goku’s naked legs and pressing against the arousal hidden by a scant towel.

Goku jumped at the unexpected contact, the muscles in his arm contracting beneath Sanzo’s palm; he moaned softly into the priest’s mouth, the sound throaty and low and dark and altogether delicious. Sanzo swallowed it up eagerly and kissed harder, until the back of Goku’s skull connected with the wall, and rubbed his thigh against the boy just to hear it again. This time Goku ar bac back, hips twitching forward in ardent approval of the contact, fingers tightening around the base of Sanzo’s neck. How he managed to keep a hold of the towel through all of this was beyond the priest – he would have dropped it ages ago.

He pulled away, just enough to bury his face in the crook of Goku’s neck, biting the sensitive flesh and admiring the sharp intake of breath that was not hindered by his mouth. The towel – that definitely had to go. He slid his hand down the youth’s arm, brushing over muscles tense with expectancy, and pulled the bunched material out of his grasp. The battle was brief and easily won; Sanzo pulled the fabric out from between them and dropped it without regard to where it fell. Once freed of its burden, Goku’s hand immediately latched onto the belt loop of the priest’s jeans, urging him closer, and he complied, straightening to place another kiss on Goku’s lips and take the boy’s hardness in hand in the same moment.

The kiss was aborted; Goku gasped in pleasure and surprise when Sanzo’s hand tightened around him, head jerking back and the metal circlet connecting with a solid clack against the wall. Golden eyes unfocused and slid closed, and Sanzo took a moment to kiss the eyelids of each one before beginning to stroke. The youth tilted his head back, breathing unevenly through his nose and muting throaty moans behind closed lips, the hand at the back of Sanzo’s neck falling away to the gloved arm that was braced against the wall.

He was beautiful; no, that was not a word that did justice to the sight. Goku was desirable, on a level that could only be communicated through the tightness in Sanzo’s chest and low in his stomach, through the uncontrollable fire that raged under his skin and made it hard to breathe. Sanzo quickened his pace, relishing the soft skin stred ted taut over Goku’s arousal, reveling in the moans and whimpers he made in the back of his throat, wanting – needing – to hear the boy cry out without regard to who might be listening. He wanted to leave indelible marks on the golden-smooth skin, tattoos of possession that said mine mine mine; he wanted to hear Goku moan his name in that same velvety tone he was even now trying to supprehe whe wanted to make the boy scream.

Sanzo slowed the speed os sts stroking without aely ely meaning to, and the youth responded first with a whine of disappointment, then a growl of frustration. Golden eyes reopened, pupils wide with lust, and he leaned forward to attack the priest’s neck, heedless of the hand still on his erection. The first nip bordered on the edge of painful, but the fire threading through Sanzo’s veins blurred the lines and made it only heighten his anticipation. His breath caught, sharply, and the second nip was gentler but no less demanding. Nimble fingers ghosted over the material of his shirt, and he found himself releasing the boy and leaning back from the wall in order to help Goku pull off his shirt and gloves.

The priest was certain Goku had next to no experience in these matters, but lustful instinct apparently overrode any feelings of embarrassment or virginal hesitancy. For a moment he was forced back a step as the youth pressed against him, calloused hands exploring the contours of Sanzo’s sides and lower back, wet lips and tongue tasting the hollow of Sanzo’s throat. He shuddered under the unskilled but by no means uneager touch, struggling to catch his breath at the abrupt shift in power, trying not to drown in the headiness of it all. When Goku’s fingertips brushed against his stomach, fumbling for the button of his jeans, the priest forced himself back to attention, dragging his hands from where they had buried themselves in the still-wet hair to the wrists caught between them, pulling the questing fingers away.

Another growl of dissatisfaction rumbled deep in the boy’s throat, a frown of annoyance furrowing between thick brows, but Sanzo ignored it all in favor of stepping backward and pulling the youth along with him. A few stumbling steps and a quick turn brought them to one of the two beds, and he immediately pushed Goku down on it. This time there was resistance, a tense unwillingness that suggested Goku already wanted to be in control of this situation, but a few good strokes had him pressing his head back into the mattress and trying to pull Sanzo down to him. The priest attended his jeans first, awkwardly unbuttoning and unzipping them one-handed, shoving them off his hips and kicking the material away impatiently. Then he succumbed to the eager hands of the boy beneath him, letting Goku draw him onto the bed and down to hungry lips.

Their tongues battled for supremacy, slick-sliding in a dance for power that neither was quite willing to have or to give up. Sanzo shifted to brace both hands on either side of Goku’s head, trying to get into a position that would not end up with either of them being kneed in the groin, and the youth accommodated him by straddling one leg. Strong hands moved from shoulders to lower back to hips, and Goku pulled him down further, arching up to meet him and close any space left between them.

The first grazing touch was electric, and they both gasped at the sensation of it. The second touch was harder, less uncertain, and soon enough twerewere thrusting against each other, skin hot and slick with the remains of bathwater and sweat. Goku was entirely without shame, grasping Sanzo’s hips in order to grind harder against him, pulling away from the kiss in order to gasp air into deprived lungs. What had started out as an urge Sanzo was no longer able to contain had turned into somethiar bar better than any fantasy he had dreamt up, the fire of Goku’s erection against his far better than the rough skin of his palm.

He muffled his own moans against the side of the boy’s neck, licking and biting the flesh, knowing he was leaving livid marks that would not go unseen but not capable of caring at the moment. The priest ran a hand down one side of Goku’s body, savoring the play of strong muscles beneath velvety skin, resting his weight on one elbow so that he could hook his fingers under the thigh he was straddling and maneuver it outward, settling himself more comfortably between the youth’s legs. There was a brief loss of rhythm with thotiootion, Goku finally hesitating and pulling away slightly in uncertainty of what Sanzo was doing. But when the priest grabbed the back of the youth’s knee, pulling his leg up and thrusting against him once again, the change in position had him writhing in an instant.

Having Goku pinned beneath him like this – head thrown back into the mattress and eyes fluttering shut, steadily building moans and gasps torn from his throat – was far more intoxicating than any alcohol Sanzo had partaken of. It wasn’t just the headiness of power over the golden-eyed youth, or the climax he was rapidly approaching. It was the willingness with which the boy submitted to him, eagerly, without question, even though he had never (or so he believed) given any sign of wanting Goku in this manner. It was the way he arched into every touch, however minor, however insignificant, breathlessly demanding that Sanzo stop messing around and just get on with it. It was the instinctive knowing that if anyone else had tried this Goku would sooner rip their nuts off than fuck them. It was the frustrated satisfaction of finally doing what he had fantasized over for the past three years.

Goku’s fingers threaded through his hair, tightening at the back of his neck and pulling him down into another wet kiss. He gave in willingly, sucking on the youth’s tongue and nipping at his lower lip, struggling not to asphyxiate on his own moans of pleasure. The friction between them was hot and electric, and when Goku’s free hand wrapped around both their erections he almost bit through the tongue in his mouth. There was no complaint at the treatment, only a gasp and nip in return.

The youth set a fast pace, jerking quick and hard with the obvious goal of a speedy climax. Sanzo could only press his face against Goku’s neck, muffling his moans and clenching the blanket rumpled beneath them. Goku’s hand quickened, if possible, and abruptly the lithe body was arching beneath him, hot fluid splashing between them, crying out at the sudden peak of his pleasure. The priest covered the mouth with his own, swallowing up the fevered moans, wrapping his hand around the boy’s smaller one to keep the pace from slowing –

Sanzo’s hips jerked upward when he finally climaxed, lifting off the tile of the bathtub, the back of his skull smacking against the wall behind him. The hand that had been pressed into his eye was now firmly over his mouth, smothering the harsh breathing and containing any so of of pleasure that might have escaped his wavering control. All the tension of the past three days flowed out of him, and when he finally came down off of that violent and blinding orgasm his muscles were weak and trembling. The water, finally, felt cool against his skin.

He reveled in the emptiness that bloomed in his mind, the heavy feel of sexual satisfaction blanketing his unruly thoughts and allowing him to escape, if only for a few moments. At this point he was uncertain of how long he sat there, listening to the beat of his heart gradually slowing, his breathing smoothing out and becoming more even. But once his muscles stopped trembling and he felt he could stand without his body betraying him, the priest rose from the bath and reached for his towel.

Going through the ritual of drying off and getting dressed helped further to his his mind. Sanzo felt infinitely more capable of returning to face the world without losing his fragile grip on things, more certain of his ability to stay in control of his tumultuous emotions. For now he could sweep everything aside, lock the painful memories back up in their respective closets, and enjoy the peace while he had it. Eventually they would return, seeping out through the cracks by the hinges and the space beneath the mental door, but until then he could soak in every second of relaxation he had.

Any conversation that had been going on past the bathroom door ceased the instant he unlocked it and stepped outside. Hakkai was sitting calmly at the small table, the priest’s harisen resting next to a cup of water and a neatly folded newspaper. He had only removed his shoes, looking entirely too cool and too happy with the temperature of the room. Both Gojyo and Goku were sprawled on the floor, the half-demon all but naked and the boy close to the same state, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned and sticking to his skin.

“’Bout damn fucking time,” Gojyo drawled, tapping his cigarette out in the cup resting next to his elbow. He was lying on his stomach, and sweat had pooled at the small of his back and dampened his jeans. “We were just talking about who was going to bust in and find out if you’d finally drowned yourself.”

“Only if you wanted to die,” Hakkai said cheerfully. Sanzo scowled at the green-eyed man – he was still damp from the bath, the air of the fan rotating overhead cooling him further, but he could already feel the oppression of the heat closing in again. How the hell could Hakkai smile like that and not even sweat?

Goku pushed himself up on his elbows, tilting his head back to better see the priest. “Did you have a good bath?”

That had become almost a code between them all – did you have a good bath ran the gamut from did you use up all the hot water to was the bathtub clean; since Sanzo always managed to get into the bathroom first, whether by manipulation or threats, he would be the one to give any kind of report on such conditions. Hakkai had asked the question first, and rarely had he given up the chance to ask it to anyone else; the priest’s eyes flicked towards the boy in slight surprise.

He couldn’t answer right away, and he realized that put a note of suspicion in everyone’s heads. He couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to the muscles of Goku’s stomach, exposed by the unbuttoned shirt, to the way they tightened to help support him in his half-sitting-up position. He saw the way Hakkai’s lips were turned slightly up into a smile; saw the way Goku’s brows began to twitch together in a frown of curiosity when the pause stretched out too long. Gojyo was oblivious, more interested in his cigarette than anything else.

From that smile alone Sanzo could deduce that Hakkai knew, or at least had suspicions that were currently being validated. He didn’t care. It was more than likely that Hakkai would keep his thoughts to himself on the matter, for he knew better than the other two just how hard the priest battled with his emotions. So long as the man kept his mouth shut and didn’t try to impose his opinion – or, heavens forbid, share said opinion with Gojyo – then everything would be fine.

What Sanzo wanted Sanzo got, but what he wanted was drastically different from what he could get in this situation. It was better that he just shut his fantasies away along with his painful memories, close the door on the Goku that he wanted and turn the key. He couldn’t make that dream come true, anyways.

Sanzo forced his eyes away from the golden-eyed boy, stepping away from the bathroom towards the room he had picked as his own. He dropped the keys to the door on the table, ringring the clattering as one of them bounced off the wooden surface and onto the floor. Already his frustrations were growing again, and he forced them down as best he could.

Did you have a good bath? the question had been, and the answer was It would have been a lot better if you have been in there as well, but that was not an answer he could say aloud.

“Good enough,” was what he said instead, and he closed the bedroom door tight behind him.