by K.A. Rose
Gensomaden Saiyuki characters et cetera © and ™ Kazuya Minekura, ENIX and TV Tokyo, 1997. Used without permission, for nonprofit fan appreciation.
This was originally posted as installment #19 of the 2004 Advent Calendar. It's based on conversations with K. Koumori, and may be expanded on later.
This fanfic is rated R:VLS, meaning it is rated Restricted (content suitable for ages 17 and up) for violence, language and sexual content. Predominant pairing is Hakkai/Sanzo, but, er, sort of darkly twisted, in a way that borders on OOC.
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They noticed it slowly.
It came up on them unexpectedly, because it really
wasn't the sort of thing to expect. It trickled in like ice water down
the back of one's neck, only sending a shiver as the nerves belatedly reacted
and the brain realized it can sort out the data.
Gods knew how they managed to keep it hidden. By
all accounts it didn't make sense. It was purely and simply impossible
to keep things secret in this group, to the point that no one even tried
these days, saved everyone the effort. Take, for example, the thing with
Hakkai and Sanzo. Everyone in the group was aware everyone else
in the group was aware that the two knocked boots like sailors when the
need hit, usually on rainy nights when both of them were down and out anyway
and needing something hard and thoughtless with no messy consequences in
the morning.
The thing was that it seemed to be happening more
often now. They would room together whenever the opportunity presented
itself, made short work in the bath hall when it didn't. And in turn, Sanzo
didn't fight Hakkai's close proximity at the dinner table, he didn't argue
in the jeep, there were fewer threats with the fan and the gun. And given
that the healer already received a reduced amount of this, to take a further
step down was even more noticable.
And Sanzo was getting weaker, in ways Goku and Gojyo
couldn't really put their fingers on. Edgier too. Avoided contact even
more than he had in the past, squirmed in discomfort in his seat on the
road, refused to disrobe around them. One time Goku made the mistake of
running headfirst into Sanzo's back and the monk cried out sharply, almost
collapsing from the pain, and Hakkai had had to drag him off to their room.
Gojyo's couldn't rightly sit by for this, whatever
it was. Something that could topple the priest so easily was a potential
weakness for an enemy to exploit, and what was Hakkai doing leaving Sanzo
in that condition? Besides that, even if Sanzo would balk at the word,
Gojyo couldn't easily abide seeing his friends in pain (though, in Sanzo's
case, that excepted situations wherein Gojyo was doing the hurting). And
he could have sworn he'd seen some red mark on Sanzo's arm when the leather
had slipped low, before the blond noticed and pulled it up. It hadn't looked
like some incidental blister or bug bite; it was nasty and inflamed and
had a look of deliberacy about it, and the pink of the surrounding skin
suggested there were more. It was going long past suspicious now. The kappa
had to investigate.
He found his chance, oddly, in the shower one evening,
sneaking in when the priest was washing up and risking a glance behind
the curtain.
It was not one red mark.
It wasn't just Sanzo's arm. It was all over, up
and down both arms, along his back and his sides and his front, down along
hips and thighs and buttocks, a complex constellation of welts and bites
and scratches, so dense and so red and irritated Sanzo could barely stand
the pressure of the showerhead without wincing in distinct pain.
Their healer had done that. He'd done that.
After that Gojyo couldn't take it anymore. He confronted
Hakkai about it the next day.
"What are you thinking? What the hell are you doing
to him?"
The answer he got was akin to, "It's innocent fun,
Gojyo. Don't concern yourself with it."
"It's weakening him!"
"Not in battle, if that's what your worried about."
That so much seemed to be true. Sanzo was as fierce
in battle as he always was, his character hadn't wavered there at all.
Neither did he intensify, as might be expected. Sanzo in battle was as
Sanzo in battle had always been.
Outside of it, things were getting stranger. He
was getting quieter; he obeyed, if grudgingly, when Hakkai politely asked
he eat his food. He even, on occasion, retreated from arguments. It was
unthinkable.
And the walls of hotel rooms were thinner than people
might have thought, and the sounds coming out of that room were getting
alarming. Sanzo didn't make noises like that. Sanzo didn't mewl
and whimper as someone, say Hakkai, peels sweat-stuck leather off his marks
and runs a tongue along his torn-up spine. Sanzo didn't get his voice choked
halfway in his throat for being shoved up against the headboard and taken
roughly on his side. Sanzo surely doesn't go completely silent because
his mouth is occupied with something.
"What the hell did you do to him?" Gojyo
demanded again, some time later. "Make him into a little bedroom slave?"
"Certainly not. No one could ever 'enslave' Sanzo,"
Hakkai said, sipping his tea.
"You're sure as hell getting him trained."
"Trained, that's a nice word for it. Know of a good
place to acquire leashes, Gojyo? Collars with little heart-shaped tags?"
"You're fucking evil."
"I'm only taking the allowances he affords me to
take."
"'Allowances'?" Gojyo repeated with horror. "That's
fucking torture!"
"My dear Gojyo," Hakkai said quietly, firmly, setting
down the tea mug. "I would have thought a man like yourself more familiar
with the notion of kink."
The kappa twitched at that, leaning forward across
the table. "Fuck yeah I know kink. Kink's french ticklers and bondage and
maid's dresses, Hakkai. It's dildos. Roleplay. Leather. Dammit, leather,
the guy's a walking fetish as it is!"
But the healer just continued to smile. "Ah, Gojyo,
your notion of the word is tragically limited," he said, as the smile advanced
to a reserved little smirk. "You prefer to take Sanzo while the leather
is on. I find far more enjoyment in taking it off."
"And shredding him up?"
Hakkai tilted his chin a little, his eyes going
that particular quality that didn't belong outside the bedroom itself.
"Why, have you forgotten our leader's stubborness with his attire, Gojyo?
The leather suit is difficult to disengage from even by the wearer, for
how tight it is. Consider the implications of raised marks pressed by such
an article. Consider the teasing of such tissue from very light pressure,
the repetition of this over several weeks' time, our leader's downright
refusal
to edit his apparel to accomodate any particular situation, much less one
that may lead to uncomfortable questions." He dipped his voice low, confiding.
"Touch your hand to his skin some time."
"Geh, Goku demonstrated that one well enough."
"No rough handling, this is key. Soft touches, Gojyo.
Barely touches at all. Trace fingers lightly down the spine, press just
a little at the small of the back, listen to the sound that escapes his
lips. He'd be yours in the middle of a crowded street if you did it right."
Hakkai watched his friend's expression for a moment.
"No," he said decidely. "You won't. Not a risk you
would take. I'll say again, you're missing out."
"You can't keep doing this," he was told tersely.
"I wouldn't advise opening this to a dialogue on
morality," Hakkai warned politely.
"Fuck morality. He's going to snap, and then you're
going to be sorry to even be alive," Gojyo said. He kept their gazes locked
when Hakkai started to break it, starting to laugh. "No, I'm dead fucking
serious, Hakkai."
"Honestly," said the brunet, taking up his mug again,
"such a potential is also part of the game."
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03:29 19 Dec 2004