Fic: Unknown
Title: Unknown
Author: fairymage
Rating: R
Community: 30_romances
Theme: #25-Maillot ; Paradox
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing: Hakkai/Sanzo
Notes: Written originally for my 2006 Lyrics Fanfiction Challenge. AU. NO, NOT THE SMUT BONDAGE! I also tried something new with grammar *is shot*.
He can tell when he wakes up that it’s going to rain today.
Silently he lies in bed, arms spread over his pillow, sheets tangled in his legs, pulled up to his chest. He listens to the sounds of the street below. Listens to his neighbor, Kurita-san, the biggest gossip within a sixteen-mile radius, gather her newspaper as she clucks at her cat. Damn thing sheds everywhere. When at last he decides to move, he sits up, shaking his head, running fingers through his long blond hair.
He can’t remember what he was supposed to do today, though he doubts its importance in that case. He tends to remember the really important things; anything else is trivial.
The gray clouds are what give it away. Not surprising, really, but he can tell that they’re not the usual marine layer that burns off before noon. These are real rainclouds, and they look to bring at least an afternoon and night of rain, if not more. Scowling at his window, he kicks his sheet aside and pads barefoot to the stove, where he puts a kettle on for tea. Beer would be preferable, but it wouldn’t do anything to wake him up.
Clad in only an undershirt and boxers, he opens his door to collect his own paper. The hall is empty, though he can smell at least three different breakfasts cooking from down the hall. Shaking the paper open, he sits at his small wood table and reaches for his reading glasses, skimming the front page headlines. The kettle whistles midway through the front section, and he obliges it by making a cup of plain green tea.
Outside, people hurry to and fro on the sidewalk, carrying parcels and briefcases and purses, dragging dogs and pushing strollers. Cars whoosh by, wheezing or purring, depending on the model and make. Ceaseless chatter. Endless noise. Constant movement.
Inside, he sits, head propped lazily by one hand, newspaper before him, sipping rapidly cooling tea in nothing but his underwear.
-----
It had been awhile since either of them had gone shopping, he realized as he opened the refrigerator. It stood empty, aside from some rather sketchy looking alcohol in a tall green bottle and a jar of pickles. He couldn’t remember buying either, though it was likely he was the one that bought the pickles. Gojyo wouldn't buy something so practical.
Then again, the fact that it was leftover was an indication of exactly how unpractical it was.
Sighing, he checked over the apartment once again. If he didn’t respect Gojyo’s privacy and independence, he would have cleaned his room too. As it was, the living room, dining area, and kitchen were immaculate. His own room was clean and cozy-all the product of a long morning’s work.
He had no idea where Gojyo was. It was entirely likely that he was out, somewhere, with someone. It wasn’t his business, really. He’d drift back in time for dinner, and that would be the indication that all was well. If he wasn’t back in time for that, then Hakkai could really worry.
The apartment had been cleaned, and now it was time for shopping. On his way out he stopped by the laundry room on the first floor, dumping a load of Gojyo’s things pilfered and gathered from various places in the apartment (his own loads were done on a weekly basis, and the standard wash day was Wednesday).
As he walked down the street, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, he looked up to the sky and noticed that it was going to rain. All the more reason for him to hurry, he supposed. If he was going to be trapped inside all day, he might as well have plenty of things to cook for when Gojyo finally showed himself. He was always starving then. Always eager for chatter. Always like an attention-hungry puppy. He needed his roommate.
He stepped onto the gray plastic mat, triggering the system that opened the grimy sliding glass doors for him. At that time in the early afternoon, the supermarket was swarming with frantic mothers with young children, brisk middle-aged housewives, elderly women carrying little books of coupons and tottering slowly down the aisles. He was conspicuous as the only young man in the store, but he didn’t pay it much mind.
It’s going to rain, he reminded himself, as he set a package of ground pork in his red plastic basket.
-----
“Shit,” he swears aloud, as he reaches for the package of cigarettes, its minimal weight indicating its emptiness.
He glances out the window, scanning the skyline that he can see around the tall buildings and high-rises several blocks away. It’s still gray, darker, even, and he knows the rain is impending. He’ll be damned if he’s going to sit in his apartment all fucking afternoon and night with rain pouring down outside without a single damned cigarette.
He grabs a pair of jeans and a shirt, shrugging and jumping into them on the cold linoleum floor that he’s never bothered to get carpeted. Checking for his wallet and keys, he yanks open his door and slams it behind him, not bothering to lock the second lock. Like anyone would steal anything from him.
There’s nothing in there, anyway. It’s the way he lives. Anything remotely important is either kept on his person, or is done away with. Having too many things important to you ties you down. He can’t afford to be stuck in one place by anything other than his own volition.
It’s starting to get to him, the lack of cigarettes and the rain and the sense that he has no fucking idea what to do with his life. He tries not to think about the latter too much, but it’s true-unless someone is directing him, he sits in his apartment and reads the newspaper and smokes and drinks, and thinks about what life might be like. But right now, the smell of rain in the air is eating away at him, and it’s making him cranky.
There are fewer people on the street now, and it’s relatively quiet, besides the cars rushing past. He hurries to the corner store, head down but eyes watching all around him as a handful of people pass him.
His purchase is quick and predictable. Maybe he’s been here too long, when the man behind the counter (the store owner, actually) wordlessly pulls out a case of beer and two boxes of cigarettes and rings them up as Sanzo is walking in the door. He pays as soon as he reaches the register, and then walks out. The man knows not to complicate things. He gets his money, his customer gets the things that keep him sane.
As he treks back to the apartment he scowls at the heavens. It’d better not start fucking raining before he makes it in his door.
-----
Hakkai finished shopping in good time. He was an efficient man, and not easily distracted. He knew what he wanted, knew where to find it, and wasted no time in getting it. It was like that with most things he did. He fished out his wallet and handed over several crisp bills, then took his crinkling plastic bags and left the market.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just take the Jeep sitting in the complex garage when he went shopping. Gojyo never took it (“It hates me,” he’d informed his roommate once), and Hakkai didn’t really need the exercise of carrying several heavy bags the several blocks to their apartment. Especially today. He glanced upwards. The clouds were thicker, darker, and he shivered slightly.
His pace quickened. It wouldn’t do him any good to get caught outside now. Not with the food in his hands that needed to be in a refrigerator or pantry.
Most people by then had figured out what Hakkai had known all morning. They had scrambled for the safety of restaurants and cars and warm living rooms, leaving the streets relatively deserted. Nevertheless, there were still a few here and there, milling about, hurrying about.
He paused, eye caught by something intriguing. The residential streets that branch off of the main street he was walking were nice, middle-class homes-complete with white picket fences, little covered porches with potted flowers, a small, emerald green lawn, and an extra car in the driveway. The reason he paused was to watch two children, a baby boy and an older, perhaps four-year-old girl, playing on their lawn. His groceries grew heavy as he watched the girl string flowers together, carefully cutting holes in the stems with her nail, then sliding the next stem through. Her brother watched, fascinated by his sister’s dexterity and skill, tiny hands pawing the air, catching her work, sending her into a mini-rage.
Nevertheless, when she was done, she draped the delicate chain over the boy’s head, laughing as he squealed with delight and flailed, trying to grasp the strange decoration.
The first thunder sounded, and an anxious mother rushed outside, heels clicking against the pavement as she ushered her daughter inside, cradling her baby boy, who’d finally managed to get a hold on his new toy and was trying to put it in his mouth, much to the dismay of its creator.
The thunder jolted Hakkai from his wistful reverie, and he turned his attention back to walking home.
That was when he caught sight of her, light wind whipping her skirt and hair, hands clasping her purse, eyes searching worriedly.
-----
He hears the thunder as he lights the first cigarette, sighing softly. He waits, eyes closed, breathing slow, for the sound of the pitter-patter of rain outside the window. As soon as it starts, he knows he won’t be able to stay at the table. He’ll inevitably move to his bed, pull aside the curtains, and watch the rain drip down the glass panes. Maybe he’ll even open the window this time.
There. There it is.
He fights it as long as he can, but after only a few minutes he stands, taking his lighter, the pack of cigarettes, and an ashtray. He pushes the sheets around, settling himself down. The curtains are already open. For a brief moment, he contemplates leaving the window closed.
He leans over, flips the latch, and pushes outward. The window opens easily, and he’s offered a clear view into the street below, rain falling like a tattered curtain outside.
Cars are still going by, more slowly now, splashing as they hit low spots in the road. He can’t hear any people anymore, soles of their shoes slapping against the wet pavement. From his vantage point, he can see the intersection up the street, streetlights lit in their dull orange glow.
There’s someone standing there.
Idiot. Why the fuck would you be out in this weather? And with what look like grocery bags to top it off?
Well, it’s not his business. He sits back, slowly inhaling and exhaling, cigarette held limply between his fingers. All he needs to do is focus on making it through the rest of the storm.
It bothers him.
Eats at him.
Concerns him even more than the rain pouring down outside.
Why the hell is that man still standing there?
He scowls and focuses one eye on the lone figure still standing there. It’s irritating, and intruding on his peace of mind, to have that one damn person standing in an otherwise empty street. Doesn’t that idiot have any survival instincts? He doesn’t particularly give a fuck if the man catches pneumonia, but really, he should know how to take care of himself.
It’s bothersome.
With a frustrated growl he stands, grinding his cigarette out against the ceramic of the ashtray at his feet. He grabs a jacket and throws it over his shoulders, already hating the thought of going out in the rain. Thankfully, no one else is in the hall. They all have some good sense.
He splashes through the puddles, water sloshing around his feet, as he makes his way to the well-dressed figure standing on the corner.
-----
He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he stopped to look at her. In retrospect, she looked nothing like her--light as opposed to dark hair, for one-but something about her made him pause. Perhaps it was the way she was standing, clearly looking for something or someone she couldn’t find, but still smiling. Or maybe it was the way she didn’t seem to notice the rainclouds above her.
He merely stood, and watched her.
Watched her as she scanned the empty street, the numbers above the doors, the cars passing by. He had no idea what, who, where, she was looking for. It didn’t matter. He was just watching. Caught up. Entranced.
A man suddenly came running up to her, dashing around the corner, coat flapping as he moved. It had started raining. He grabbed her by the shoulders, concern evident in the way he moved, the way he checked her over. She smiled and laughed, and he took off his coat to hold over both their heads as they hurried away to his waiting car.
He had no idea why he continued to stand there even after they were gone, fixated by the spot where she had been standing. He wasn’t thinking about her, or her, or anything. He was just staring. Willing something to happen. Waiting for something to happen.
“What the fuck are you doing?” a gruff voice demanded, interrupting his emptiness, and he turned slowly, plastic bags hanging at his sides rustling wetly.
“What am I doing, out on your corner in the pouring rain?” he asked pleasantly, hollowly. He reached up and clumsily pushed his rain-splattered glasses up his nose. “I don’t know.” It was, at least, an honest answer.
“Idiot,” the blond man hissed. “You should get out of the rain.” Eyes narrowed, he turned and sauntered back towards an apartment building just down the block.
Yes, I should, he thought to himself, but he continued to stand there anyway. Home was another few blocks yet. And he didn’t have the strength to keep walking. He just wanted to stand there, letting the rain saturate him, over and over and over, washing him clean, over and over and over.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The question was repeated. He turned, surprised. The blond man was still there. Watching him. Waiting for him.
The question stood in the air for what felt like a long, long time.
Hakkai took a tentative step towards the blond man, and followed him up to his apartment.
-----
He doesn’t know why he’s letting this man into his apartment. He’s not good with company, has never cared to be. Rainy days are usually his time. His alone time.
He doesn’t invite the man in. He just comes. Sanzo doesn’t argue.
He stands in the doorway, dripping, as Sanzo rummages around for a towel. He’s midway through drying himself when he finally turns his exasperated attention to the dark-haired intruder.
“Are you just going to stand there and drip in my doorway?” he snaps, tossing the damp towel at his unexpected visitor.
There’s the sound of plastic rubbing against itself, cans and packages clinking and thumping as he sets down his groceries and begins to towel himself off.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” he apologizes, sincerely. Sanzo merely snorts and returns to his bed, lighting a cigarette.
There’s silence as the guest sits down at the table, worn wood chair creaking as he settles in. They sit like that for a few minutes, listening to the rain.
“You wouldn’t mind if I made myself some tea, would you?” the other man asks, the epitome of politeness. Sanzo makes a sound of rough assent in his throat, and the chair and floor creak as he stands and moves to the stove.
He’s surprised when a cup is lowered in front of his face, hovering there as the dark-haired man holds it out to him.
“What?” he snaps irritably.
“Tea,” the other answers, surprisingly unfazed by the gruffness of his host. “For you.”
He takes the cup, sniffing it suspiciously. It’s not that he doesn’t like tea-he drank some this morning-but he can’t fathom why the man made some for him. Hadn’t he said he was making some for himself?
“Thank you.”
“For what?” He takes a sip. It tastes better than when he makes it. Stronger. Warmer.
“For letting me in.”
He snorts and finishes off the cup. It’s really very good. Hard to believe that it came from the same stuff he uses.
“Would you mind if I made dinner here?”
“The fuck?!” he yells, sitting up, spinning around to face his visitor.
“It’s the least I can do, to repay you.”
“I didn’t let you in because I wanted to. I let you in because it would be a waste for you to catch pneumonia doing something idiotic like standing in the rain.”
“Cho Hakkai,” he says, standing from his seat at the table, going to his discarded market bags and rummaging around in them.
“Sanzo.”
-----
He felt a little bad for Gojyo, that he’d have to fend for himself. But really, what else could he do, but make Sanzo dinner? He wasn’t a man to take without giving. It was a bit early for dinner, the middle of the afternoon, actually, but the sky outside gave the impression that it was much, much later.
He could feel Sanzo’s harsh, critical eyes watching him as he moved at the stove, between the stove and the counter and the sink. Every time he turned around, though, the thin blond man was smoking, facing the window, eyes closed.
“Dinner’s ready,” he finally announced, setting out plates and the pans of food on the table. There wasn’t much in the apartment in the way of dishes and silverware. They’d just have to make do.
They ate in silence. No small talk. He didn’t even try; he could tell that Sanzo wasn’t that type of person. When he was done, Sanzo pushed his plate and fork away and returned to his position of brooding on the bed, leaving Hakkai to clean up. Not that he minded. On the contrary, cleaning up gave him a chance to think quietly.
It was still raining. He marveled that he hadn’t noticed. Usually, like earlier this afternoon, the rain would catch him in its magic web, taking him indefinitely as a prisoner. It was strange, wasn’t it, that this stranger had been able to make him forget, when a good friend like Gojyo could not?
Hakkai wondered why Sanzo watched the rain fall. He wondered where the man had come from, and where he was planning on going. The apartment was sparse, limited, lonely. Only the necessities. It had the look of poverty but the air of nonchalance. Not a place that Hakkai would have liked.
It reminded him too much of what he felt like inside.
“Who are you?” The question was blunt and direct, like his host.
“Me? I’m not sure what you mean by the question.” Ah, the art of evasive action.
“Like hell you don’t.” Sanzo’s dark purple eyes were fixed on him in an-almost glare, his body half-turned away from the window.
“Why don’t you give me some examples?”
Silence. “All right, smart ass.” He jerked his head in the direction of his neighbor. “My neighbor, Kurita Himiko, is the most obnoxious gossip in this timezone. She’s like a lethal brand of cigarettes-once she starts on you, there’s no stopping her. She’ll know everything about you possible-and so will everyone else. You might want to avoid her on the way out.”
Hakkai let a smile slip. He chose not to comment on the fact that all cigarettes are lethal. “Ah, but is that who she really is, or just the person she wants everyone to think she is?”
“Bastard. Don’t twist my question.”
“It was a poor question.”
“Fine. Then tell me who you want me to think you are. Save me the trouble of figuring it out for myself. Wouldn’t want to make any mistakes,” he sneered.
He thought for a moment. “I suppose I’m a bit of a housewife, actually,” he laughed. “I live with my roommate, and take care of all the domestic issues. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, and the like. I’m a teacher, but it’s summer now, so I’m off. I’m a man on his second chance-and I don’t think I’ll get a third one.”
Sanzo studied him, then snorted. “If you say so.”
“What about you?” Hakkai challenged, eyeing his companion with more force than he’d shown all afternoon.
“What business is it of yours?”
“It’s not exactly fair for you to refuse to answer the question when I answered it first. Why do you watch the rain?” he asked, refusing to back down. He had the sense of need and drive; he didn't know why, but he needed to know the answer to the question.
“Don’t know,” Sanzo replied, staring out the window.
-----
Their argument becomes something more. The air is charged with heat and energy and frustration-at each other, at the world, at the weather, at themselves. Every time he avoids a question Hakkai comes closer, his presence becoming larger and more commanding with each step, each question.
Then he’s standing, towering over him, and Sanzo doesn’t know what possesses him but with a muttered, “Fuck,” he reaches up, grabs the dark-haired man’s collar, and pulls him down for a heated, desperate kiss.
It surprises them both. Sanzo has never been with anyone before. Never been in love. Not like this. Not with this physical undercurrent burning beneath his skin, begging, straining to be released. Hakkai has been in love, but not with a man. He never thought it might happen until now, when he feels soft lips against his again and he can hear the rain, the rain, the damned rain behind him, loud over Sanzo’s panting.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the rain. It lowers their inhibitions, their defenses, makes them give in to subconscious urges and desires. Neither of them is coherent enough to think it through, to think it might be something more than heat and hunger and lust and bodies long deprived, fears and insecurities bubbling and surfacing, confusion and elation over having met their match.
Sanzo can initiate but he cannot control. It is Hakkai who leans in, who runs his tongue sensually over Sanzo’s lips, eliciting a loud moan. He’s never been tempted like this. Never been enticed like this. His body is reacting in ways he’s never felt before, ways he’s never associated with his cool control. Long fingers are touching him, caressing him, brushing and coaxing. He’s never even imagined something this amazing.
It is Hakkai who gently guides him back onto the bed, pushes him down onto his back. Something about the position is erotic and arousing, and he bites his lip and feels heat coursing through his body as his hips instinctively thrust upward, seeking the pleasure of another body. His legs spread a little, and he grips Hakkai’s forearm, nails digging into the resistant flesh.
Hakkai leans over him, knees pressing into his thighs, stretching him in ways he’s never conceived of being stretched. He can barely hear the rain now, over his own ragged breathing and the pounding pulse he seems to hear from Hakkai. Cool air from the open window, salted and flavored with the damp scent of rain and Hakkai’s exotic musk, washes over his bare skin as his clothes are removed.
There is nothing remotely resembling lubricant in the apartment. Hakkai knows without looking. Whatever he can find will have to do-Sanzo can ask questions later, though from the expression on his face, he won’t care enough to ask. With a perfectly composed, no-nonsense air shrouding him, he leaves his sweating, squirming companion in his bed and raids the apartment.
He honestly doesn’t give a fuck what Hakkai’s using to coat his fingers. He’s far too distracted by the feeling of fingers sliding, brushing, teasing his opening. And then the fingers are in him, stretching, pushing, easing. From there on, it’s just heat-consuming, erasing, absolving. The pain of having Hakkai’s slick cock in him for the first time, the maddening way Hakkai teases him, stroking him, toying with him, pleasuring him.
For the first time, he is not someone he knows, he is open and raw and exposed, and he cannot grasp at the tiny straws that are the man everyone else thinks they know.
-----
Afterward he lay in the bed that wasn’t his, edge of the sheet pulled up to the scar tracing his stomach, arms crossed over his torso. Sanzo had taken most of the sheets, tangling himself in them, protecting himself from some unknown enemy. He didn’t realize that in his sleep he turned over, curling into Hakkai’s warmth, his breath moving lightly against Hakkai’s shoulder.
He wasn’t sure what just happened. He’d slept with a near complete stranger-not just slept with him, but… gods forbid, he’d conquered him. He’d controlled nearly the entire episode, molding the blond man to his desires even as he believed he did it purely for Sanzo’s pleasure. This wasn’t like him. Wasn’t like the man he’d been trying to be.
Closing his eyes, he shifted, draping an arm across his face, struggling to find the man he’d been and replace the man he’d become overnight.
Her voice… He could remember her voice, if he strained his ears against the silence. Melodic. She could never quite carry a tune right, though. But it’d been a pleasure to simply listen to her talk. They used to be like this once. Not like this, no. Not quite like this. But together, in a bed, after a night of rain.
She’d been the one who taught him how to hold someone close and dear. She’d been affectionate. He’d been so as well-one couldn’t be a teacher of small children and not feel affection-but not so much with people. Children did not judge. Children did not look at him strangely. Adults, his peers, always did.
He would tuck her in beneath their quilts and sheets and blankets, then lay quietly beside her. She was the one that leaned over, wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his neck gently, wanting to be held in return.
”Let’s hold each other… as we wait for morning,” she would whisper, already drifting off to sleep.
He’d always wanted to tell her that he never wanted morning to come.
There was no romance here. Less than a day with the man had taught him that Sanzo would not want to be held. He did not want to be coddled. His pride would not be compromised unless he so desired it-and he would never admit to a desire that compromised his pride. Indeed, when he woke, there would probably only be gruff words and rough gestures from the man.
Nevertheless, he tentatively slid his arms around the slim body beside him. Sanzo didn’t move, didn’t indicate his displeasure, and Hakkai relaxed.
It wasn’t that he was callous, Hakkai decided. Sanzo would not be angry, or not care. He just would show his… appreciation in subtle and stiff ways. In a sense, it was amusing. On the other hand, it might irritate him to no end if it went too far.
Wait. That wasn’t how his train of thought was supposed to go…
Confused, surprised, alarmed by his own diminishing control, he rolled over, sliding his bare legs out from underneath the small patch of sheet Sanzo’s sleeping habits allotted him. He stumbled around in the unfamiliar room, gathering his discarded clothes. He couldn’t help but carefully take Sanzo’s and put them in the laundry hamper as well; he was almost tempted to do the laundry as well.
Was he trying to erase what happened? Destroy the physical evidence?
Shaking his head, he returned to the kitchen area to begin making breakfast. They’ll need breakfast, right? Sanzo will be hungry, he thought to himself as he cracked eggs over a pan sizzling with a thin layer of oil. He didn’t seem like the type to care about eating a healthful breakfast. Hakkai really needed to remedy that.
----
He stirs, the sound of cracking and popping cutting through his weary consciousness.
He knew he was waking; it must have been the smell of food.
There is no warmth beside him anymore. He realizes with a stab of disgust that he misses it.
He took the two plates they’d used the night before and began setting food on them. He meant to make Sanzo eat-he was only skin and bones!
There’s food. He never cooks breakfast. What the fuck makes the idiot think that he’s going to start eating breakfast now?
“You should eat,” he chided gently, setting the plate on the table. There was hot water on the stove for tea, too.
What the hell is going on here? Fucking breakfast, after what happened!
Hakkai ignored Sanzo’s sounds of distress and indignation. He refused to lower himself to that. If Sanzo wanted to talk about something, then he would have to come out and say it. Hakkai was tactful but not one to beat around the bush.
“Dammit,” he growls, grabbing a chair and throwing himself into it. He stares moodily at the food set before him. He hates this feeling of domesticity. Of normalcy. Is he the only one wondering what the fuck just happened?
He hummed lightly, sitting across from Sanzo with his own plate of food. Carefully, delicately almost, he cut and organized the food, deftly maneuvering little piles onto his fork. He paid no mind to his dining partner. As soon as he was done and everything was cleaned up, he’d be gone.
What? Does this idiot think that he can just do… that and then pretend everything is normal? He probably thinks he’s going to leave when this is over, too. Well, fuck! He grabs his fork and viciously stabs his egg, making the yolk spill out and over everything else.
He finished much faster than Sanzo, who seemed to be… sulking. Gathering his dishes, he went to the sink to wash them. As soon as he’d cleaned up his mess, he’d be on his way.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands petulantly as Hakkai gathers the remnants of his groceries and makes to leave.
“Back to my apartment,” he answered carefully, avoiding Sanzo’s eyes.
He snorts. “I’m not much into one-night stands.”
He knew. He already knew. And it was fine by him.
Author: fairymage
Rating: R
Community: 30_romances
Theme: #25-Maillot ; Paradox
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing: Hakkai/Sanzo
Notes: Written originally for my 2006 Lyrics Fanfiction Challenge. AU. NO, NOT THE SMUT BONDAGE! I also tried something new with grammar *is shot*.
He can tell when he wakes up that it’s going to rain today.
Silently he lies in bed, arms spread over his pillow, sheets tangled in his legs, pulled up to his chest. He listens to the sounds of the street below. Listens to his neighbor, Kurita-san, the biggest gossip within a sixteen-mile radius, gather her newspaper as she clucks at her cat. Damn thing sheds everywhere. When at last he decides to move, he sits up, shaking his head, running fingers through his long blond hair.
He can’t remember what he was supposed to do today, though he doubts its importance in that case. He tends to remember the really important things; anything else is trivial.
The gray clouds are what give it away. Not surprising, really, but he can tell that they’re not the usual marine layer that burns off before noon. These are real rainclouds, and they look to bring at least an afternoon and night of rain, if not more. Scowling at his window, he kicks his sheet aside and pads barefoot to the stove, where he puts a kettle on for tea. Beer would be preferable, but it wouldn’t do anything to wake him up.
Clad in only an undershirt and boxers, he opens his door to collect his own paper. The hall is empty, though he can smell at least three different breakfasts cooking from down the hall. Shaking the paper open, he sits at his small wood table and reaches for his reading glasses, skimming the front page headlines. The kettle whistles midway through the front section, and he obliges it by making a cup of plain green tea.
Outside, people hurry to and fro on the sidewalk, carrying parcels and briefcases and purses, dragging dogs and pushing strollers. Cars whoosh by, wheezing or purring, depending on the model and make. Ceaseless chatter. Endless noise. Constant movement.
Inside, he sits, head propped lazily by one hand, newspaper before him, sipping rapidly cooling tea in nothing but his underwear.
-----
It had been awhile since either of them had gone shopping, he realized as he opened the refrigerator. It stood empty, aside from some rather sketchy looking alcohol in a tall green bottle and a jar of pickles. He couldn’t remember buying either, though it was likely he was the one that bought the pickles. Gojyo wouldn't buy something so practical.
Then again, the fact that it was leftover was an indication of exactly how unpractical it was.
Sighing, he checked over the apartment once again. If he didn’t respect Gojyo’s privacy and independence, he would have cleaned his room too. As it was, the living room, dining area, and kitchen were immaculate. His own room was clean and cozy-all the product of a long morning’s work.
He had no idea where Gojyo was. It was entirely likely that he was out, somewhere, with someone. It wasn’t his business, really. He’d drift back in time for dinner, and that would be the indication that all was well. If he wasn’t back in time for that, then Hakkai could really worry.
The apartment had been cleaned, and now it was time for shopping. On his way out he stopped by the laundry room on the first floor, dumping a load of Gojyo’s things pilfered and gathered from various places in the apartment (his own loads were done on a weekly basis, and the standard wash day was Wednesday).
As he walked down the street, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, he looked up to the sky and noticed that it was going to rain. All the more reason for him to hurry, he supposed. If he was going to be trapped inside all day, he might as well have plenty of things to cook for when Gojyo finally showed himself. He was always starving then. Always eager for chatter. Always like an attention-hungry puppy. He needed his roommate.
He stepped onto the gray plastic mat, triggering the system that opened the grimy sliding glass doors for him. At that time in the early afternoon, the supermarket was swarming with frantic mothers with young children, brisk middle-aged housewives, elderly women carrying little books of coupons and tottering slowly down the aisles. He was conspicuous as the only young man in the store, but he didn’t pay it much mind.
It’s going to rain, he reminded himself, as he set a package of ground pork in his red plastic basket.
-----
“Shit,” he swears aloud, as he reaches for the package of cigarettes, its minimal weight indicating its emptiness.
He glances out the window, scanning the skyline that he can see around the tall buildings and high-rises several blocks away. It’s still gray, darker, even, and he knows the rain is impending. He’ll be damned if he’s going to sit in his apartment all fucking afternoon and night with rain pouring down outside without a single damned cigarette.
He grabs a pair of jeans and a shirt, shrugging and jumping into them on the cold linoleum floor that he’s never bothered to get carpeted. Checking for his wallet and keys, he yanks open his door and slams it behind him, not bothering to lock the second lock. Like anyone would steal anything from him.
There’s nothing in there, anyway. It’s the way he lives. Anything remotely important is either kept on his person, or is done away with. Having too many things important to you ties you down. He can’t afford to be stuck in one place by anything other than his own volition.
It’s starting to get to him, the lack of cigarettes and the rain and the sense that he has no fucking idea what to do with his life. He tries not to think about the latter too much, but it’s true-unless someone is directing him, he sits in his apartment and reads the newspaper and smokes and drinks, and thinks about what life might be like. But right now, the smell of rain in the air is eating away at him, and it’s making him cranky.
There are fewer people on the street now, and it’s relatively quiet, besides the cars rushing past. He hurries to the corner store, head down but eyes watching all around him as a handful of people pass him.
His purchase is quick and predictable. Maybe he’s been here too long, when the man behind the counter (the store owner, actually) wordlessly pulls out a case of beer and two boxes of cigarettes and rings them up as Sanzo is walking in the door. He pays as soon as he reaches the register, and then walks out. The man knows not to complicate things. He gets his money, his customer gets the things that keep him sane.
As he treks back to the apartment he scowls at the heavens. It’d better not start fucking raining before he makes it in his door.
-----
Hakkai finished shopping in good time. He was an efficient man, and not easily distracted. He knew what he wanted, knew where to find it, and wasted no time in getting it. It was like that with most things he did. He fished out his wallet and handed over several crisp bills, then took his crinkling plastic bags and left the market.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just take the Jeep sitting in the complex garage when he went shopping. Gojyo never took it (“It hates me,” he’d informed his roommate once), and Hakkai didn’t really need the exercise of carrying several heavy bags the several blocks to their apartment. Especially today. He glanced upwards. The clouds were thicker, darker, and he shivered slightly.
His pace quickened. It wouldn’t do him any good to get caught outside now. Not with the food in his hands that needed to be in a refrigerator or pantry.
Most people by then had figured out what Hakkai had known all morning. They had scrambled for the safety of restaurants and cars and warm living rooms, leaving the streets relatively deserted. Nevertheless, there were still a few here and there, milling about, hurrying about.
He paused, eye caught by something intriguing. The residential streets that branch off of the main street he was walking were nice, middle-class homes-complete with white picket fences, little covered porches with potted flowers, a small, emerald green lawn, and an extra car in the driveway. The reason he paused was to watch two children, a baby boy and an older, perhaps four-year-old girl, playing on their lawn. His groceries grew heavy as he watched the girl string flowers together, carefully cutting holes in the stems with her nail, then sliding the next stem through. Her brother watched, fascinated by his sister’s dexterity and skill, tiny hands pawing the air, catching her work, sending her into a mini-rage.
Nevertheless, when she was done, she draped the delicate chain over the boy’s head, laughing as he squealed with delight and flailed, trying to grasp the strange decoration.
The first thunder sounded, and an anxious mother rushed outside, heels clicking against the pavement as she ushered her daughter inside, cradling her baby boy, who’d finally managed to get a hold on his new toy and was trying to put it in his mouth, much to the dismay of its creator.
The thunder jolted Hakkai from his wistful reverie, and he turned his attention back to walking home.
That was when he caught sight of her, light wind whipping her skirt and hair, hands clasping her purse, eyes searching worriedly.
-----
He hears the thunder as he lights the first cigarette, sighing softly. He waits, eyes closed, breathing slow, for the sound of the pitter-patter of rain outside the window. As soon as it starts, he knows he won’t be able to stay at the table. He’ll inevitably move to his bed, pull aside the curtains, and watch the rain drip down the glass panes. Maybe he’ll even open the window this time.
There. There it is.
He fights it as long as he can, but after only a few minutes he stands, taking his lighter, the pack of cigarettes, and an ashtray. He pushes the sheets around, settling himself down. The curtains are already open. For a brief moment, he contemplates leaving the window closed.
He leans over, flips the latch, and pushes outward. The window opens easily, and he’s offered a clear view into the street below, rain falling like a tattered curtain outside.
Cars are still going by, more slowly now, splashing as they hit low spots in the road. He can’t hear any people anymore, soles of their shoes slapping against the wet pavement. From his vantage point, he can see the intersection up the street, streetlights lit in their dull orange glow.
There’s someone standing there.
Idiot. Why the fuck would you be out in this weather? And with what look like grocery bags to top it off?
Well, it’s not his business. He sits back, slowly inhaling and exhaling, cigarette held limply between his fingers. All he needs to do is focus on making it through the rest of the storm.
It bothers him.
Eats at him.
Concerns him even more than the rain pouring down outside.
Why the hell is that man still standing there?
He scowls and focuses one eye on the lone figure still standing there. It’s irritating, and intruding on his peace of mind, to have that one damn person standing in an otherwise empty street. Doesn’t that idiot have any survival instincts? He doesn’t particularly give a fuck if the man catches pneumonia, but really, he should know how to take care of himself.
It’s bothersome.
With a frustrated growl he stands, grinding his cigarette out against the ceramic of the ashtray at his feet. He grabs a jacket and throws it over his shoulders, already hating the thought of going out in the rain. Thankfully, no one else is in the hall. They all have some good sense.
He splashes through the puddles, water sloshing around his feet, as he makes his way to the well-dressed figure standing on the corner.
-----
He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he stopped to look at her. In retrospect, she looked nothing like her--light as opposed to dark hair, for one-but something about her made him pause. Perhaps it was the way she was standing, clearly looking for something or someone she couldn’t find, but still smiling. Or maybe it was the way she didn’t seem to notice the rainclouds above her.
He merely stood, and watched her.
Watched her as she scanned the empty street, the numbers above the doors, the cars passing by. He had no idea what, who, where, she was looking for. It didn’t matter. He was just watching. Caught up. Entranced.
A man suddenly came running up to her, dashing around the corner, coat flapping as he moved. It had started raining. He grabbed her by the shoulders, concern evident in the way he moved, the way he checked her over. She smiled and laughed, and he took off his coat to hold over both their heads as they hurried away to his waiting car.
He had no idea why he continued to stand there even after they were gone, fixated by the spot where she had been standing. He wasn’t thinking about her, or her, or anything. He was just staring. Willing something to happen. Waiting for something to happen.
“What the fuck are you doing?” a gruff voice demanded, interrupting his emptiness, and he turned slowly, plastic bags hanging at his sides rustling wetly.
“What am I doing, out on your corner in the pouring rain?” he asked pleasantly, hollowly. He reached up and clumsily pushed his rain-splattered glasses up his nose. “I don’t know.” It was, at least, an honest answer.
“Idiot,” the blond man hissed. “You should get out of the rain.” Eyes narrowed, he turned and sauntered back towards an apartment building just down the block.
Yes, I should, he thought to himself, but he continued to stand there anyway. Home was another few blocks yet. And he didn’t have the strength to keep walking. He just wanted to stand there, letting the rain saturate him, over and over and over, washing him clean, over and over and over.
“What the fuck are you doing?” The question was repeated. He turned, surprised. The blond man was still there. Watching him. Waiting for him.
The question stood in the air for what felt like a long, long time.
Hakkai took a tentative step towards the blond man, and followed him up to his apartment.
-----
He doesn’t know why he’s letting this man into his apartment. He’s not good with company, has never cared to be. Rainy days are usually his time. His alone time.
He doesn’t invite the man in. He just comes. Sanzo doesn’t argue.
He stands in the doorway, dripping, as Sanzo rummages around for a towel. He’s midway through drying himself when he finally turns his exasperated attention to the dark-haired intruder.
“Are you just going to stand there and drip in my doorway?” he snaps, tossing the damp towel at his unexpected visitor.
There’s the sound of plastic rubbing against itself, cans and packages clinking and thumping as he sets down his groceries and begins to towel himself off.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” he apologizes, sincerely. Sanzo merely snorts and returns to his bed, lighting a cigarette.
There’s silence as the guest sits down at the table, worn wood chair creaking as he settles in. They sit like that for a few minutes, listening to the rain.
“You wouldn’t mind if I made myself some tea, would you?” the other man asks, the epitome of politeness. Sanzo makes a sound of rough assent in his throat, and the chair and floor creak as he stands and moves to the stove.
He’s surprised when a cup is lowered in front of his face, hovering there as the dark-haired man holds it out to him.
“What?” he snaps irritably.
“Tea,” the other answers, surprisingly unfazed by the gruffness of his host. “For you.”
He takes the cup, sniffing it suspiciously. It’s not that he doesn’t like tea-he drank some this morning-but he can’t fathom why the man made some for him. Hadn’t he said he was making some for himself?
“Thank you.”
“For what?” He takes a sip. It tastes better than when he makes it. Stronger. Warmer.
“For letting me in.”
He snorts and finishes off the cup. It’s really very good. Hard to believe that it came from the same stuff he uses.
“Would you mind if I made dinner here?”
“The fuck?!” he yells, sitting up, spinning around to face his visitor.
“It’s the least I can do, to repay you.”
“I didn’t let you in because I wanted to. I let you in because it would be a waste for you to catch pneumonia doing something idiotic like standing in the rain.”
“Cho Hakkai,” he says, standing from his seat at the table, going to his discarded market bags and rummaging around in them.
“Sanzo.”
-----
He felt a little bad for Gojyo, that he’d have to fend for himself. But really, what else could he do, but make Sanzo dinner? He wasn’t a man to take without giving. It was a bit early for dinner, the middle of the afternoon, actually, but the sky outside gave the impression that it was much, much later.
He could feel Sanzo’s harsh, critical eyes watching him as he moved at the stove, between the stove and the counter and the sink. Every time he turned around, though, the thin blond man was smoking, facing the window, eyes closed.
“Dinner’s ready,” he finally announced, setting out plates and the pans of food on the table. There wasn’t much in the apartment in the way of dishes and silverware. They’d just have to make do.
They ate in silence. No small talk. He didn’t even try; he could tell that Sanzo wasn’t that type of person. When he was done, Sanzo pushed his plate and fork away and returned to his position of brooding on the bed, leaving Hakkai to clean up. Not that he minded. On the contrary, cleaning up gave him a chance to think quietly.
It was still raining. He marveled that he hadn’t noticed. Usually, like earlier this afternoon, the rain would catch him in its magic web, taking him indefinitely as a prisoner. It was strange, wasn’t it, that this stranger had been able to make him forget, when a good friend like Gojyo could not?
Hakkai wondered why Sanzo watched the rain fall. He wondered where the man had come from, and where he was planning on going. The apartment was sparse, limited, lonely. Only the necessities. It had the look of poverty but the air of nonchalance. Not a place that Hakkai would have liked.
It reminded him too much of what he felt like inside.
“Who are you?” The question was blunt and direct, like his host.
“Me? I’m not sure what you mean by the question.” Ah, the art of evasive action.
“Like hell you don’t.” Sanzo’s dark purple eyes were fixed on him in an-almost glare, his body half-turned away from the window.
“Why don’t you give me some examples?”
Silence. “All right, smart ass.” He jerked his head in the direction of his neighbor. “My neighbor, Kurita Himiko, is the most obnoxious gossip in this timezone. She’s like a lethal brand of cigarettes-once she starts on you, there’s no stopping her. She’ll know everything about you possible-and so will everyone else. You might want to avoid her on the way out.”
Hakkai let a smile slip. He chose not to comment on the fact that all cigarettes are lethal. “Ah, but is that who she really is, or just the person she wants everyone to think she is?”
“Bastard. Don’t twist my question.”
“It was a poor question.”
“Fine. Then tell me who you want me to think you are. Save me the trouble of figuring it out for myself. Wouldn’t want to make any mistakes,” he sneered.
He thought for a moment. “I suppose I’m a bit of a housewife, actually,” he laughed. “I live with my roommate, and take care of all the domestic issues. Cleaning, cooking, laundry, and the like. I’m a teacher, but it’s summer now, so I’m off. I’m a man on his second chance-and I don’t think I’ll get a third one.”
Sanzo studied him, then snorted. “If you say so.”
“What about you?” Hakkai challenged, eyeing his companion with more force than he’d shown all afternoon.
“What business is it of yours?”
“It’s not exactly fair for you to refuse to answer the question when I answered it first. Why do you watch the rain?” he asked, refusing to back down. He had the sense of need and drive; he didn't know why, but he needed to know the answer to the question.
“Don’t know,” Sanzo replied, staring out the window.
-----
Their argument becomes something more. The air is charged with heat and energy and frustration-at each other, at the world, at the weather, at themselves. Every time he avoids a question Hakkai comes closer, his presence becoming larger and more commanding with each step, each question.
Then he’s standing, towering over him, and Sanzo doesn’t know what possesses him but with a muttered, “Fuck,” he reaches up, grabs the dark-haired man’s collar, and pulls him down for a heated, desperate kiss.
It surprises them both. Sanzo has never been with anyone before. Never been in love. Not like this. Not with this physical undercurrent burning beneath his skin, begging, straining to be released. Hakkai has been in love, but not with a man. He never thought it might happen until now, when he feels soft lips against his again and he can hear the rain, the rain, the damned rain behind him, loud over Sanzo’s panting.
Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the rain. It lowers their inhibitions, their defenses, makes them give in to subconscious urges and desires. Neither of them is coherent enough to think it through, to think it might be something more than heat and hunger and lust and bodies long deprived, fears and insecurities bubbling and surfacing, confusion and elation over having met their match.
Sanzo can initiate but he cannot control. It is Hakkai who leans in, who runs his tongue sensually over Sanzo’s lips, eliciting a loud moan. He’s never been tempted like this. Never been enticed like this. His body is reacting in ways he’s never felt before, ways he’s never associated with his cool control. Long fingers are touching him, caressing him, brushing and coaxing. He’s never even imagined something this amazing.
It is Hakkai who gently guides him back onto the bed, pushes him down onto his back. Something about the position is erotic and arousing, and he bites his lip and feels heat coursing through his body as his hips instinctively thrust upward, seeking the pleasure of another body. His legs spread a little, and he grips Hakkai’s forearm, nails digging into the resistant flesh.
Hakkai leans over him, knees pressing into his thighs, stretching him in ways he’s never conceived of being stretched. He can barely hear the rain now, over his own ragged breathing and the pounding pulse he seems to hear from Hakkai. Cool air from the open window, salted and flavored with the damp scent of rain and Hakkai’s exotic musk, washes over his bare skin as his clothes are removed.
There is nothing remotely resembling lubricant in the apartment. Hakkai knows without looking. Whatever he can find will have to do-Sanzo can ask questions later, though from the expression on his face, he won’t care enough to ask. With a perfectly composed, no-nonsense air shrouding him, he leaves his sweating, squirming companion in his bed and raids the apartment.
He honestly doesn’t give a fuck what Hakkai’s using to coat his fingers. He’s far too distracted by the feeling of fingers sliding, brushing, teasing his opening. And then the fingers are in him, stretching, pushing, easing. From there on, it’s just heat-consuming, erasing, absolving. The pain of having Hakkai’s slick cock in him for the first time, the maddening way Hakkai teases him, stroking him, toying with him, pleasuring him.
For the first time, he is not someone he knows, he is open and raw and exposed, and he cannot grasp at the tiny straws that are the man everyone else thinks they know.
-----
Afterward he lay in the bed that wasn’t his, edge of the sheet pulled up to the scar tracing his stomach, arms crossed over his torso. Sanzo had taken most of the sheets, tangling himself in them, protecting himself from some unknown enemy. He didn’t realize that in his sleep he turned over, curling into Hakkai’s warmth, his breath moving lightly against Hakkai’s shoulder.
He wasn’t sure what just happened. He’d slept with a near complete stranger-not just slept with him, but… gods forbid, he’d conquered him. He’d controlled nearly the entire episode, molding the blond man to his desires even as he believed he did it purely for Sanzo’s pleasure. This wasn’t like him. Wasn’t like the man he’d been trying to be.
Closing his eyes, he shifted, draping an arm across his face, struggling to find the man he’d been and replace the man he’d become overnight.
Her voice… He could remember her voice, if he strained his ears against the silence. Melodic. She could never quite carry a tune right, though. But it’d been a pleasure to simply listen to her talk. They used to be like this once. Not like this, no. Not quite like this. But together, in a bed, after a night of rain.
She’d been the one who taught him how to hold someone close and dear. She’d been affectionate. He’d been so as well-one couldn’t be a teacher of small children and not feel affection-but not so much with people. Children did not judge. Children did not look at him strangely. Adults, his peers, always did.
He would tuck her in beneath their quilts and sheets and blankets, then lay quietly beside her. She was the one that leaned over, wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling his neck gently, wanting to be held in return.
”Let’s hold each other… as we wait for morning,” she would whisper, already drifting off to sleep.
He’d always wanted to tell her that he never wanted morning to come.
There was no romance here. Less than a day with the man had taught him that Sanzo would not want to be held. He did not want to be coddled. His pride would not be compromised unless he so desired it-and he would never admit to a desire that compromised his pride. Indeed, when he woke, there would probably only be gruff words and rough gestures from the man.
Nevertheless, he tentatively slid his arms around the slim body beside him. Sanzo didn’t move, didn’t indicate his displeasure, and Hakkai relaxed.
It wasn’t that he was callous, Hakkai decided. Sanzo would not be angry, or not care. He just would show his… appreciation in subtle and stiff ways. In a sense, it was amusing. On the other hand, it might irritate him to no end if it went too far.
Wait. That wasn’t how his train of thought was supposed to go…
Confused, surprised, alarmed by his own diminishing control, he rolled over, sliding his bare legs out from underneath the small patch of sheet Sanzo’s sleeping habits allotted him. He stumbled around in the unfamiliar room, gathering his discarded clothes. He couldn’t help but carefully take Sanzo’s and put them in the laundry hamper as well; he was almost tempted to do the laundry as well.
Was he trying to erase what happened? Destroy the physical evidence?
Shaking his head, he returned to the kitchen area to begin making breakfast. They’ll need breakfast, right? Sanzo will be hungry, he thought to himself as he cracked eggs over a pan sizzling with a thin layer of oil. He didn’t seem like the type to care about eating a healthful breakfast. Hakkai really needed to remedy that.
----
He stirs, the sound of cracking and popping cutting through his weary consciousness.
He knew he was waking; it must have been the smell of food.
There is no warmth beside him anymore. He realizes with a stab of disgust that he misses it.
He took the two plates they’d used the night before and began setting food on them. He meant to make Sanzo eat-he was only skin and bones!
There’s food. He never cooks breakfast. What the fuck makes the idiot think that he’s going to start eating breakfast now?
“You should eat,” he chided gently, setting the plate on the table. There was hot water on the stove for tea, too.
What the hell is going on here? Fucking breakfast, after what happened!
Hakkai ignored Sanzo’s sounds of distress and indignation. He refused to lower himself to that. If Sanzo wanted to talk about something, then he would have to come out and say it. Hakkai was tactful but not one to beat around the bush.
“Dammit,” he growls, grabbing a chair and throwing himself into it. He stares moodily at the food set before him. He hates this feeling of domesticity. Of normalcy. Is he the only one wondering what the fuck just happened?
He hummed lightly, sitting across from Sanzo with his own plate of food. Carefully, delicately almost, he cut and organized the food, deftly maneuvering little piles onto his fork. He paid no mind to his dining partner. As soon as he was done and everything was cleaned up, he’d be gone.
What? Does this idiot think that he can just do… that and then pretend everything is normal? He probably thinks he’s going to leave when this is over, too. Well, fuck! He grabs his fork and viciously stabs his egg, making the yolk spill out and over everything else.
He finished much faster than Sanzo, who seemed to be… sulking. Gathering his dishes, he went to the sink to wash them. As soon as he’d cleaned up his mess, he’d be on his way.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he demands petulantly as Hakkai gathers the remnants of his groceries and makes to leave.
“Back to my apartment,” he answered carefully, avoiding Sanzo’s eyes.
He snorts. “I’m not much into one-night stands.”
He knew. He already knew. And it was fine by him.