by K.A. Rose
Gensomaden Saiyuki characters et cetera © and ™ Kazuya Minekura, ENIX and TV Tokyo, 1997. Used without permission, for nonprofit fan appreciation.
Sanzo/Hazel. This was an informal fanfiction piece originally posted exclusively to livejournal in December 2004. It, er, looks a lot longer when you read it in the journal, honest. Response was enough that I felt confident to continue it with a subsequent two (also small) chapters. However, all of them were done a substantial amount of time apart, so the mood is different for each one. Especially the last chapter, it should be noted.
This fanfic is rated R:LS, meaning it is rated Restricted (content suitable
for ages 17 and up) for language and sexual content.
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Part 1
(07:07 AM 7 December 2004)
Sanzo escaped the riot cleverly masked as a party
downstairs as soon as he was able to, seeing little pretense in sticking
around to enjoy someone else's holiday. Or much any holiday at all, but
especially something like this.
It was snowing outside, thick and clumped and piling
high on the ground, and Goku might as well run himself sick being
so stupidly excited because Jeep didn't have chains for the tires, so it
wasn't like they were going anywhere. Still didn't mean Sanzo had to stick
around with that asshattery.
At least the upper floor with the rows of rooms
was quiet, the guests already retiring knowing enough to shut themselves
up good and proper, that Sanzo's boots stomped unanswered through the hall
toward their one shared room at the end of the row.
He was all content to keep on in this way, but at
a point stopped, slowly and unintentionally. He cautiously stepped back.
One of the inn renters had foolishly left his door
ajar, no concern of Sanzo's, but the dark room's interior drew his eye
without his consent, and seeing its occupant he couldn't believe for a
second it had been left open accidentally or arbitrarily.
The bishop was on his knees, back to the door, head
bowed and hands together. On his window sill, an impromptu construction,
a few candles flickering yellow light over a silver crucifix and pulling
Hazel's shadow out across the floor.
Sanzo was sure it was the cessation of his footsteps
that gave him away, certainly no higher sense that prompted the Westerner
to break from his silent prayer session and look back over his shoulder.
They held each other's gaze for a moment. Poker
faces of the variety only holy men are trained in.
And then it broke and Sanzo sensed that if Hazel
had been wearing his hat at the moment, he'd have tipped it congenially
the same time Sanzo backed up and resumed on his way. More embarrassed
than he should rightly be made to feel about anything.
This night did strange things to people, no question.
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