Crystalline chambers

Title: Crystalline chambers
Author: triyune
Pairing: 35
Rating: NC-17
Length: 11.975
Summary: Choosing the wrong doors, choosing the wrong rooms and choosing the wrong ways can get you in trouble.
And Gojyo is about to learn that, thanks to his more or less patient lover.

To my chamber of life.


Crystalline chambers
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It was coming in waves, surging through my veins and brain, making me feel like I was going to faint. With a pained expression I lay down, waiting for Gojyo to come back from brushing his teeth. He’d hug me then…wouldn’t he…embracing me…darkness, something…painful…

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Sanzo had already fallen asleep when I came back from the bathroom. In a rather untypical pose this time; he was facing the ceiling, his neck stretched and not seeming very relaxed at all, both of his hands lying on the pillow so that I could see the palms, his fingers relaxed, slightly crooked. I loved to put my hand on his then and stretch his fingers against his will. For as long as I kept them held down they would stay like that but the moment I took my hand away they would snap back immediately again.

So weak-willed, limp, submissive. He offered me resistance but it did not take much to break it. Just a touch with my hand was enough to kill the small piece of will which was also present when he was asleep. It was not fair to break his will like that, he couldn’t defend himself against it and though he showed me that he approved of it, in silence. Allowing himself to fall asleep in a bed where a water sprite would lie down too showed me that he did not mind me living out my lust. I knew where my limits were; Sanzo had established rules. He had never told me but I knew where it had to stop.

His behaviour at daytime let me conclude that there were rules. Even for me, even for his beloved. Aloofness, arrogance and conceit were values he cherished more than any other social man did; reservation, exorbitant caution and abstinence also were things he practiced…a bit too excessively, for my taste.
When I touched him and let my forefinger wander over his thigh towards his sacred parts he would shove my hand away and leave. I knew I was the one who was the chosen one. The chosen one of a Sanzo priest.

He had shown me that I was his from then on. It had been painful, humiliating and scathing. From then on I had felt something missing, I was lacking something I did not when he was around. The touch of a Sanzo was painful and it hurt according to the degree of graveness of the misdemeanour. A priest of his rank was not to love, if he did it meant pain.
He was aware of that, his gaze had been steady and cold as he had showed me. I hadn’t had a choice; I had been forced to accept it, otherwise he would have killed me. The humiliation of being rejected, of this precious gift being denied and returned wouldn’t have been something he could have coped with with ease. Rather, not at all.

At that moment I had had to choose, accepting it or dying. It had been easy.
Over time I had learned to love him. He had forced his will on me, coldly, without any explanation. The determination in his eyes when I dared to look up at him didn’t let me doubt that I’d be his until he’d die. He would teach me how to love, because I was a bloody amateur when it came to this. I had become the novice of a sex priest.

But this would have been lying to the gods when thinking about it this way. He had forced his will on me while I was glad to be the one worthy of this. Not only had I chosen to accept it to save me from death but I had also felt a kind of salvation coming to me then.
Shock had petrified me that second, surprise that he was capable of such strong emotions and awe…that it was me.

If Komyou had lived a little longer and Sanzo had been a little older I was sure he would have been Komyou’s chosen one. Though I wondered in which way he would have claimed him, since Genjyo Sanzo’s way seemed pretty dangerous and disconcerting. Komyou was said to have been a calm and quiet man with a character which would have only been described as ’soft’, so a method like Sanzo’s, no, would not have worked for him. Komyou must have felt that he was going to die, otherwise he would have marked my Sanzo at a later point of time because as Sanzo had told me…he had been forced to bear the red point on his forehead when his mind had not even been ready for the really deep Buddhistic stuff. Dharma and karma, and yadda and yadda…he had said.


I had learned to love my Sanzo over time. Love had already been there the night he had called me, it just had had to be cut…like a crystal. It had hurt, but he had promised me a result so clear…pure…and shiny that even crystals would envy the creature walking past them. It would shine with a brightness a crystal could never create with just sunlight. Therefore, all the dirt and soiling had to be removed…

I had often cried through nights and days. He hadn’t come to console me. For nights I hadn’t been able to fall asleep because of the intense pain, and he hadn’t come to brush over the sore spots and caress them.

I had survived these nights and days. There was no option but surviving anyway, I didn’t dare think about the day I’d have given up and died, he most likely would have risen hell to reanimate me.
Sanzo opened his mouth to exhale. It was barely audible but it had sounded either like arousal, anguish or exhaustion. As he was lying there like that, his body bared to me because the blanket had slid from it I couldn’t but look at him with shy eyes. Even in his sleep he still was the authority he represented when being awake and fully capable of gazing at you in his worst way.

He had hit me.
Like my mother had slapped and kicked me he had done it. My mother had been bare-footed while when his sandal just hit the right spot I would be lying on the floor, squirming, trying to throw up. His kicks hurt doubly as much as my mother’s had; while she had done it out of purest hate and disgust, he had done it out of pleasure. Not of the sexual kind but something like ‘satisfaction’. He had also called me a son of a bitch.

He had locked me in a dark room.
Like my mother had done it with me when I had been so cheeky as to talk back I was sent to the pantry. Mind you that we belonged to the poorest of the poor and that due to that it was always empty. Only mildewy, rotten food which stank to hell. I could not even turn around quickly enough as to watch the door being shut. It was very silent in there…sometimes when she just forgot to let me out I started seeing and hearing things which did not exist in there. I knew, also with the mind of an 8-year-old, that there was not such a thing as a bear in this small chamber.

Sanzo had made use of sensory deprivation too. The worst thing was just that Sanzo mixed hallucinations with reality, he would enter the room after three days, as he had told me afterwards, so that I would not notice it. I could remember him lighting candles, whipping me, forcing things down my throat I would never have touched if I had seen them before.
Or it was just a voice. Just a voice…which would scream at me, then moan and scream again…
He had also called me a motherfucker.

He had led me through nocturnal streets in unknown towns, on a leash. Just when the nightlife started he called for me and leashed me. No matter whether it was summer or winter, I had to plod along behind him with nothing more but a rose panty. The first time we had reached our room again I had cried, it had been too much for me…but he had left the room and I hadn’t seen him until the next day. I had needed quite some time to finally learn to not give a shit about the people who were staring at me.
After that he had called me an idiot, which he still did now.

Being the beloved of a Sanzo priest was painful. As he finally had managed to turn me into a copy of his personality he had stopped it. As if he knew exactly which features to share he had taught me about mental strength and perseverance, about how to see with hands and how to hear and see with my mind and not just with my ears and eyes, and finally how to remain calm and indifferent and most importantly, when to make use of these abilities. He didn’t want a slave…what he wanted was someone who knew what he wanted, someone self-confident and someone with a stable mind.
I had remained the kid whose mother had just died; broken, crushed and full of fear. The ways to hide that had become more subtle and efficient…but he had come behind them and allayed these fears. He had tortured me mercilessly to confront my poor self with the things I was so afraid of.

I moved closer until I could have touched his lips with mine if I had just stretched my neck a bit more. Some times already I had been so close to Sanzo; he didn’t often allow me to look at him from this close.
I nearly jumped from the bed as he suddenly held his breath and moved his lips, not forming it to say words but just randomly…and suddenly he exhaled and was silent again. His steady breathing helped me calm down again.

Whenever I felt nervous or twitchy I just had to go to see Sanzo and spend some minutes in his presence to get down from that trip again. He knew very well what he was to do when I came to him, sat down on the bed and started tapping my feet on the ground.
Namely nothing.
Either he kept reading the papers after lifting his head to see in which condition I was this time or he kept staring out of the window and drinking his coffee. He did not change his expression. Whenever I entered I didn’t have the feeling he had looked sadder before he had heard the door being opened. By now he knew me by my way I used to knock at his door.

He always kept the expression he had worn before which affirmed me that he exposed himself to me more than what it seemed like at first sight. There were three ways how to approach his soul, and I had been taught about the shortest one. Though I never dared to ask him what was bothering him when I noticed that he looked extraordinarily sad. Anger and boredom were easier to deal with but when he looked like the world had bucked and thrown him into the universe out of disgust it was difficult to turn from twitchy and nervous to calm and relaxed. I rather got sad then too. And he just kept staring at spots.

Sometimes when we sat in the tavern and had our breakfast he would just reach for my hand, no matter who watched that, put it under the table and there pulled on it until it was lying on his thigh. He put his hand on mine then and stroked it with his thumb. No looks were ever exchanged when this happened. He kept eating and drinking coffee and I did too. His moves were of the same kind, no effect, due to his ambidexterity…but I had noticed him only doing it when he would sit to my left so that it would be my left hand he would occupy.

Sanzo mixed reason with feelings, but that perfectly. Sometimes I thought he rather trusted his reason than his heart…and sometimes when we were alone I thought he did the contrary. Sometimes I wanted him to give his actions a second thought, as much as I craved the priestly love I was afraid I would mess it up. Sanzo had been able to banish most fears but the one which was still left was this one. The more I watched his walls crumble the more insecure I felt. Somehow I was alright with not touching him there at all. I was glad he didn’t let me when my libido took over.

If I had been able to I’d have let Sanzo do the love thing all on his own and watch him getting happier…but you needed two people for love.
I closed my eyes and leaned down a bit, and when my lips touched his I slightly opened them to close them with his upper lip between mine. Carefully and softly, so that he wouldn’t wake up. My tongue touched his lip, slowly but not for more than five seconds, then I opened my eyes again and lifted my head to let his lip slip from mine. Sanzo had not woken.

I licked my lips and shifted my weight to be able to also touch his eyes with my nose. I softly kissed his eyelid, the bridge of his nose and finally his cheek…where I suffered from a sting of remorse. The Sanzo who was conscious would never have allowed it.
Lying next to a sleeping Sanzo was pure torture. I moved away from him and lay down, switched off the lamp and closed my eyes.


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There was a room, it was dark and had the atmosphere of a cinema, despite it’s narrowness. There was a faint light making the walls visible in this room, silvery threads let one conclude where the walls were. The sound of water being caressed by wind was heard, gently, not that roughly. Only then I realized that the floor of this room was liquid. I was standing on firm ground, I could feel it. As I looked down I could make out a small way of wooden planks, just broad enough that I could walk on them if I was careful. If I had walked along that path I’d have arrived at the spot from where I had started.

Now light shone down on the liquid, a dim, silvery light, not enough to light the room but just a small circle in the middle of it. I blinked and I could make out something on the water. It was moving, slowly and gracefully...it reflected some of the light, it was white…a swan.
Just when I had realized what it was it lifted its head towards the ceiling, opened its mouth and set up a cry. Loud, shrill, sounding like a human being wanting to scream but was forced to do it with the voice of a swan.

I swallowed hard as I heard it and instinctively moved backwards…but there was no space to move backwards, there was just wall behind me. I pressed my hands against it and searched for the non-existent door handle.
The animal shortly bent its head, then stretched its long dainty neck and screamed again. Louder…but like it was hoarse, the cry changed its nature and grew weaker, like someone was twisting the animal’s neck.

As the swan turned its head to look at me while still hoarsely crying I could feel a shiver running down my spine. One moment later as I could stare into that dark throat of the swan, feeling warm air hitting me and still hearing this awful sound I decided to run. As quickly as I could at that time I turned to my left and ran…ran across the planks until the swan was floating there to my right…I hoped to find another door at the other side of the room. The swan followed my moves, it kept twisting its neck so that it could always look at me.

I started screaming too. In blind panic I fumbled for a handle, for anything which would be similar to one or any cleft which would allow me to flee from this room but I couldn’t find any…until the swan started to move again. I could feel it…so I turned around to just choke on air. It came swimming towards me…slowly and inexorably, with an open mouth and hot air. My teeth were clattering as I felt for a door handle again, and I pressed my back against the wall.

Only one more meter and it would have reached me as with the sound of an explosion it turned into gas which I felt on my face because of the wind. I fell back, through the wall.

And I hit the floor with my head. It hurt. And it was dark again. But just until I opened my eyes. This time the room was slightly larger than the one before, filled with more light…friendl-

I saw a hand. Pale, lifeless. I sat up, quickly got up and turned around. That was when I wished I was in the room with the swan again. About 20 people were in this room. Poles, shimmering in the blue light of this room were there…they stuck in the floor and when I let my eyes slide along them they suddenly ended in the people’s bottoms. They seemed dead, they let their heads and arms hang down, everything seemed to be limp. Those people were unknown to me, the colours and lengths of their hair did not raise any feelings or associations.

They were naked, and male. Just when I thought I could look for the door in silence and not needed to feel bothered by these corpses it started.
Their heads were lifted simultaneously, and together they started shaking, trembling in a very awful way like they were suffering from the worst spasms. Nerves rebelled against the death, flesh moved despite the thickened blood in these veins, eyes turned on me despite the dead brain which could not send out any orders anymore.
They stuck out their tongues, still shaking, and turned their heads towards the ceiling in the way the swan had done it.
Arms broke…I could hear legs breaking, shoulders being dislocated, but no screams of pain. I clenched my teeth and tried to move. If I just made it to the other side of the room I’d find an exit again and could escape them. And when I had arrived at the same spot where the swan had turned its neck to look at me they turned to face me too, I could hear a squishy sound as they rotated.

Stricken with terror I froze and pressed my body against the wall. A second spectacle started. Moans filled the room, they were still shaking as it happened. With tears in my eyes I started running again until I had reached the spot where I thought I’d find a door again. They had followed me…considering the sound level of their moans they would come soon, which only terrified me even more. I hammered against the wall while begging them to let me out, to free me, to save me-

Hot liquid something hit my back. Like the sea slammed its masses of water against the rocks on a stormy day I could feel it hitting my back and making me collide with the wall in front of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stood it, I was left with no option but standing it. Moans and cries accompanied these waves of gross liquid and it was hard to remain of sound mind when being confronted with something like that. Just when I meant to give in and look for my own pole I fell forward. My nose hit the floor and I passed out.

I severely doubted what I saw and heard and also what I felt. It was real but I couldn’t accept it as such, my reason still kept me from accepting it.
Shortly after opening my eyes I had to close them again. It was a white room; white walls, white floor, white light. And too bright.
But when I heard a noise I opened them again, knowing that in these rooms it was better to know what was causing this noise than ignoring it.

What my mind showed me was someone breathing through a lung with a terribly big hole in it, an awful, whistling sound. There was no one in that room but I could hear it, it seemed to be right in my head. Something happened then, I could see it from the corner of my eye until I turned my head to stare at perfectly white whiteness.
Red was seeping through the cladding of the wall, forming typical round stains…it was covering the whole wall, small stains appearing at various spots until the four walls of the room were dipped in a mix of still perfect white and dark red.

I turned my head so quickly that my vision got blurred. There was someone sitting in a corner, his head lifted towards the ceiling, crying. A boy, not older than thirteen.
Shortly after he had started to sob I could hear exactly the same sound from a different corner, the one in front of me, to my right. The same boy was crying there too…until a third started the weird canticle behind me. And a fourth joined him some seconds later. They were crying in unison, moving in the same way and synchronously. The blood around me kept coming through, it was dripping from the walls, soon it would turn into little waterfalls. The redness hit the boys’ heads, it painted their faces red.

I quickly crossed the room, tried to ignore the soft feeling under my feet and rammed my shoulder against the wall in front of me. This time it worked and it felt like running through fog. Not tangible but still existent.

The next room was dark again and I couldn’t see anything, my eyes had to get used to the darkness again. It didn’t take long and I could see, through my eyelids, that it must have changed to brightness again. So I just opened my eyes, already having learnt that keeping them shut might just be worse.
There was an old typewriter in the middle of the room. It was as big as a horse. Grey, with black keys and a paper fixed between the two rolls. I looked around…there was just whiteness again and this typewriter.

Although I did not know what would happen before I was able to leave this room too I was already scared shitless.
I blinked…and just as I did that I could hear the sound of that small stud hitting the paper and printing a letter.

“The fuck…”

Again I heard that sound, slightly louder than before, so I believed. While I had come closer it had happened for another two times. Just when I was standing in front of it I could feel a dull pain in my ears…every time the metal hit the paper it got louder. But I wanted to know what was written there and what would be written so I tried to climb the thing but another letter kept me from it.
It felt like it was splitting my head, simple airwaves torturing me in a way that I had to double up with pain, pressing my hands against my ears to keep them from bursting.

More letters followed and soon I was lying on the floor, writhing in pain. Was this the calamity, induced by a typewriter?

“Aaahh…”

I closed my eyes and bared my teeth until the next letter was printed. By now it sounded like a door was slammed shut in a hall which was of the height of the sky and of the length of the universe. The echo was devastating.
My jaw trembled as I released a silent moan. More tightly…more…

It was gone. Darkness around me again.

Something clicked above my head. As I looked up I couldn’t see anything, maybe it was better to not see anything anyway. Fearfully, I tilted my head again to look at the floor. It was black. That clicking sound filled the room for another time and just some moments later again. I began to see a system behind it, it sounded like hatches were opened, one after the other until the next row would be opened too.

No longer I could resist the urge to look up, satisfy my curiosity by baring myself to the picture I would see now. But I didn’t see any picture.
Cold, liquid red was poured down, straight on my face. I swallowed, overwhelmed by the new sensation, threatened to faint from feeling cold blood hitting my face. I could not even turn my head or take one step forward.

Suddenly it stopped. As I opened my eyes again I could see small cubes sailing down, they fell through those hatches and sank down. They did not hit the floor; shortly above it they stopped…they formed a picture.
With a weird sound they coalesced with each other, they took some colour, formed forms I wished they would not form right now.

That shape…thighs, sturdy and lovely, a belly so pale it could have been the moon shining there; arms, lean, a mouth which killed and saved at the same time, blond, golden hair.

His eyes remained dark, no violet was to be found there. He moved his arms, it sounded like massive rotor blades cutting the air.
His head sunk down until his chin was lying on his chest. I took a step back.
He looked fine…until the flesh started to move. It seemed to disappear, bones became visible instead. His body was shaken, by what I did not know, but it was a terrible spectacle to watch.

His bony fingers reached for me, for my face, his hands were trembling. I took another step back.
He stopped. I could not follow his move with my eyes, he was much too quick. One second he was still reaching for me, the next he had straightened his back and was hanging there in this rigor mortis again. His eyes were not visible under the thick layer of hair, only his mouth, expressing nothing.

Just until he lifted his head, the hair not falling to the sides, not exposing his eyes, just his mouth opened now.

“Make myth”, he whispered. It was his voice, I recognized it as his. The words were sharp, spoken in haste.

“Myth” he repeated, in the same way he had pronounced it the first time.

I turned my head to the side, trying to think about his words, about the meaning. It was silent in this room, it had no doors, no real walls through which any sounds could get through. It was a room, bounded by darkness, death and stale air.
Only his words…

“Make bliss…bliss”

I was staring at him, watching him opening his mouth, forming it to produce these words, while his body remained dead.

“Make bleed”

My eyes slid down his body. A puddle had formed at his feet, and it was growing. Things moving inside.

“Bleed”

It grew, covered his toes and began floating upwards, covering his calves, knees…

“Make love”

It sounded strained. As I lifted my head I could see him gagging. Liquid also floated downwards.

“Love…” he whined, struggling with something.

I could not help him. I could not touch him. The liquid kept moving upwards until it had covered his whole body, up to his shoulders. He was moving under that coat of death, he was trying to defend himself against forces which were even more unreal than he was.

“Love…” I heard it for a last time, weakly and desperate. It covered his neck, his mouth and his hair. I pressed my back against the wall, scared stiff at what I saw. When I felt it I held my breath. Something was moving on my back, it was cold, the skin it touched felt like it had died off. It wound itself round my feet…but did not care about me anymore, I could watch it floating towards Sanzo. This was the puddle, the thing which was killing him.

A terrible scream came from the middle of the room, a cadaverous odour was hitting me in waves of dead air and I felt a stabbing pain in my chest so that I nearly toppled over. Sanzo was fighting inside…I heard him crying out for a second time. Just then the cold- and numbness the thing left on my skin and in my heart made me keel over.
Through the black fog I could see Sanzo falling down.


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