Title: Claret
Rated: NC-17
Pairing: SanzoxGoku
Warnings: Check the rating lol.
Summary: Sanzo is a priest in training, who likes his quiet, orderly life. Then he meets Goku. Vampire AU.
Comments: For atanih88 ♥ Many thanks and lots of love to silverwyrm for the beta and rosalui for checking my characterization. SORRY TO EVERYONE FOR THE UNORIGINALITY =(
—
“All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.” - J.R.R. Tolkien
–
Part I
The path was marked with a wooden stake. It had been driven clumsily into the earth, slanting a bit to the left and only two feet in height. Faded black characters were painted down the front. A short ways up the path, obscured by the overgrowth of trees, sat an unremarkable iron bench. Sanzo drove past it every evening on his way home.
Today, a boy sat slouched against the rusted metal, feet crossed at the ankles and a mess of brown hair shielding his face. It was the first time in years Sanzo could recall seeing the bench occupied. He slowed his motorcycle as he approached, the drone of the engine making the boy glance up.
Sanzo couldn’t see his face. The glow of sunset had segued into twilight, shadows spreading like spilled ink. In the past week, several people had come to the local shrine with sightings of a spirit lurking up the mountain path. He was meant to accompany his guardian tomorrow and perform a purifying ceremony. Sanzo wasn’t particularly superstitious, but there were certain beliefs he couldn’t avoid, having been raised by a priest and being tailored to become one himself after University.
With a frown, he stopped just shy of the marker and balanced the bike with his feet. He cut the engine so he wouldn’t have to shout over it, and said, “Hey! You shouldn’t hang around here after dark.” Plausibility of spirits aside, the kid should have been more wary of threats of the human variety. Sanzo could take care of himself, but the boy looked small, possibly a middle school student.
From what Sanzo could make out, large eyes blinked at him, but the boy said nothing. Sanzo scowled. He hated having to repeat himself.
“Oi,” he said. “Get going.”
The boy looked confused. Sanzo shook his head and started his bike again. He’d done his civic duty; if the kid wanted to sit around purportedly haunted mountain paths after dark, then that wasn’t Sanzo’s problem. He pulled onto the road and didn’t look back.
#
The boy was there again.
Neither Koumyou nor Sanzo had felt anything out of place that morning as they’d walked up the path, but they’d performed the purifying ritual anyway to pacify the locals. Superstitions aside, Sanzo shouldn’t have cared what the kid was doing sitting alone on that rickety bench, but something compelled him to stop, an invisible thread tugging his wrists to veer his bike onto the shoulder of the road. Feeling obligated to do something always put him in a sour mood. He parked the bike and, with the air of someone put out of his way, stalked past the wooden marker and ducked the grasping tree branches.
The boy looked up, and Sanzo got his first clear look at him. Through the part of his hair, a crown or diadem gleamed metallic against his forehead. Sanzo thought it strange, but everyone had their eccentricities and Sanzo couldn’t be bothered to wonder about it. He wasn’t as young as Sanzo had first assumed, seventeen or eighteen at least. His eyes were luminous in the failing light, glinting amber or gold and unusual enough to give Sanzo pause. He supposed if anyone had happened across the kid at twilight and been greeted with those eyes, they might have believed they were looking at something otherworldly. But the idiotic look on his face, coupled with his rumpled t-shirt and jeans, spoke otherwise.
“What are you doing here?” Sanzo asked.
He blinked stupidly. Great, Sanzo thought. That would explain why the kid was here with no visible purpose: because he was a moron.
He smiled–a huge, shit-faced, slightly dopey smile that did nothing to refute Sanzo’s conclusion. “Wow,” he said.
Sanzo raised an eyebrow. “Wow what?”
“You’re really pretty.” He was still beaming. Sanzo scowled. “Your hair, it kinda glows. Almost like…”
“Are you on drugs?” What the hell was this kid babbling about? If that was a pick up line, it was the worst he’d heard yet.
He laughed. “I’m Goku,” he said and shoved his hand out into the space between them.
Sanzo gave Goku’s hand a cursory glance before looking back at his face. Those eyes were unnerving in how they seemed to draw Sanzo in, that invisible thread around his wrist growing tighter the longer he stood there. Annoyed with himself, Sanzo took a step back and blinked to clear his thoughts.
“Whatever, don’t get yourself kidnapped by a tengu.” Sanzo turned away, patting at his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.
Something cold touched his wrist. Sanzo jerked back, but came up short when he realized it was just Goku’s hand. Fingers wrapped around his wrist, pale and startlingly cold. It was late summer and the nights had grown cooler, but not yet enough to warrant the leather gloves stuffed into the pocket of his jacket.
“I was about to grab dinner. Wanna join me?” Goku asked. His grin was somehow brighter than his eyes. In combination, it was mesmerizing, reeling him in as surely as a fish caught on a hook.
Sanzo frowned, disquieted, and looked away. “I was just asking what you’re doing here. I’m not interested in being your babysitter.”
Goku’s hand fell away, and Sanzo breathed easier. “O-oh. Sorry, I was just… You approached me,” Goku said, sounding confused and, if Sanzo wasn’t mistaken, a little indignant.
“My mistake,” Sanzo said and turned back down the path.
“Hey, Droopy Eyes!” Goku shouted. “Aren’t you gonna at least tell me your name?”
Sanzo twitched at the nickname. Grinding his teeth, he pretended to give the question a moment’s thought. “No,” he said. He threw a leg over his bike and glanced back.
Goku had turned his face toward the night sky, everything but the silhouette of his profile hidden by both the distance and the deepening shadows. The last of the sunset lit the edges of his diadem on fire, the glow sitting at the top of his forehead like a jewel. From what Sanzo could tell, Goku’s eyes were closed, his brow puckered.
Sanzo sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. Damn it.
#
Koumyou’s house was a ten minute drive from the shrine. It was convenient on late nights when Koumyou was called out for emergencies, however rare. When Sanzo wasn’t praying or assisting in purification rituals, his duties consisted of menial tasks, like dusting or sweeping. Sanzo didn’t mind the monotony; it was preferable to getting mixed up with annoyances like kids too stupid to know when to go home in the evenings.
Sanzo ground his teeth together as Goku’s arm tightened around his waist. The idiot was plastered to his back on his bike, his nose buried in the hair at the nape of Sanzo’s neck. Goku claimed to have never ridden a motorcycle before so, aside from an initial reprimand, Sanzo endured the foreign feel of another body pressed up against him, warmth collecting between his shoulder blades even as cold hands braced against his ribs and stomach.
He pulled into the driveway, glad to see the lights in the house were on, which meant Koumyou was home and likely setting the dinner table by now. Goku hopped off, the sudden lack of body heat against his back leaving him briefly chilled and annoyed for no reason that he could discern other than the fact Goku was proving to be one huge disruption in his neatly ordered life.
He reached past Goku and grabbed his book bag from the metal basket attached just above the tail light. His fingers brushed over the latch that kept the hidden compartment beneath closed. Inside it, Sanzo kept a five-shot Smith and Wesson revolver. He’d learned to shoot when he was young, after thieves had attacked the priests and tried to loot the shrine. Koumyou had dealt with them easily, but decided Sanzo should have a means to defend himself.
Which had been a great act of foresight because there was something about Sanzo–or rather, the way he looked–that seemed to invite trouble. As a result, Sanzo had dealt with his fair share of miscreants, and learned the hard way which streets to avoid in the city. Fortunately, he’d only had to use his gun twice: once when he was fourteen when a group of older boys had tried to drag him into an alley, and again when he was seventeen when a man had tried to steal his bike and attacked him with a lead pipe. Since the priests didn’t condone killing, the men he’d shot were now permanently crippled.
Sanzo toed off his shoes at the entrance and saw Goku do the same. He wondered for the dozenth time what the hell he’d been thinking inviting Goku to have dinner with him and Koumyou. The idiot had looked so forlorn, and the words had been out of Sanzo’s mouth before he could retract them.
“I’m home,” he shouted towards the kitchen where he could hear Koumyou moving about.
Sure enough, Koumyou’s head popped out from around the corner and said, “Welcome back. Who’s your friend?”
“He’s not a friend,” Sanzo said.
Koumyou gave him a patient look, but Sanzo didn’t elaborate. Goku went ahead and approached Sanzo’s guardian, hand outstretched, and introduced himself with a wide smile.
Koumyou took it in stride. Koumyou was very good at taking everything in stride. At least visually. He returned Goku’s enthusiastic greeting with a warm welcome and shuffled him into the kitchen to sit down at the table.
Sanzo washed up and joined them a moment later. Goku was chatting happily with Koumyou, his plate piled high with an obscene amount of rice and stew. Sanzo did his best to ignore him.
“Are you a student?” Koumyou asked him.
Goku shook his head and, thankfully, had the courtesy to swallow his food before speaking. “Nah, I’m just in town visiting an old friend. I don’t think I’ll be sticking around for long.”
“That’s a shame,” Koumyou said. “Sanzo hasn’t brought a new friend home in years.”
“He’s not my friend.” Sanzo felt it important to press this point.
“Sanzo, huh?” Goku said. His grin was just shy of triumphant. Sanzo didn’t respond, but Goku appeared not to mind as he worked to clean off his plate.
“Show some restraint,” Sanzo said. He wondered when the last time Goku had eaten was. He didn’t look malnourished, but he consumed food like a man starving.
“I like a healthy appetite.” Koumyou offered Goku the rest of the stew, which Goku accepted with a word of thanks around bulging cheeks.
Probably just shameless gluttony, Sanzo thought, but left him to it.
Afterward, Goku thanked first Koumyou for the meal and then Sanzo for allowing him to join them. Sanzo waved off his words and told him to hurry up and get out. He had studying to do.
Dragging a hand through his hair, Goku smiled and bid them a good night.
It wasn’t until Sanzo was at his desk, bent over his textbook and adjusting his reading glasses that he realized he hadn’t asked Goku if he’d need a ride to… wherever he was staying while in town. He felt a vague sense of guilt that he immediately brushed aside. If Goku needed a ride, he should have damn well said. It wasn’t Sanzo’s problem.
But try as he might to focus on the words on the page, his mind’s eye kept supplying him with images of Goku, whose presence had seemed to fill all the space around him despite his small stature. Sanzo had never felt that kind of pull before; the compulsion to get closer so acute it had been practically physical. He rubbed at his chest, disturbed and annoyed at the memory.
Shoving away from his desk, he sighed, restless. He set his glasses on top of his book, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from his jacket, and pushed open the sliding glass door to his balcony. He inhaled deeply on his first drag, holding it in his lungs for a second before releasing it in hazy clouds of gray.
The glow from the lamp posts in the street below muted the starlight, but Sanzo gazed up at the sky anyway and wondered if Goku had made it home safely.
Ah, hell, he thought. He snubbed out his cigarette and returned inside. He had studying to do, and he’d wasted enough time thinking about a kid he would never even see again.
#
Three days later, there was a knock at Sanzo’s door. This wouldn’t have been unusual seeing as Koumyou often knocked before entering Sanzo’s room, except the knock had come from his balcony door and it was the middle of the night.
Sanzo rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at the digital clock on his desk that displayed the time in neon green. It was just after two a.m.
“The hell,” Sanzo muttered before kicking his blanket off and getting out of bed. If it was that useless sack of bones Gojyo, he was going to throw him off the balcony. Gojyo attended University with him and had once coerced Hakkai, another of their classmates, to circumvent Koumyou by climbing up Sanzo’s balcony with a pack of beer and two bottles of hard liquor.
Sanzo would have minded less had it not been past midnight at the time and had both Gojyo and Hakkai not already been piss drunk. How they hadn’t fallen and broken their necks was a mystery. Actually, it probably had a lot to do with Hakkai–piss drunk Hakkai was eerily similar to normal Hakkai.
With a mumbled curse, Sanzo jerked back the curtain over the balcony door. Large, bright eyes greeted him. The curtain slipped from his slack fingers, shutting out Goku’s timid grin and the palm of his hand pressed against the glass. Collecting himself, Sanzo set his jaw and unlocked the door before sliding it open a crack. The cold night air rushed across his bare skin, sending goose bumps up his arms. He should have put on a shirt.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sanzo asked.
“Sanzo.” Goku rubbed at his head and looked awkward. “Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Oh. Um…” He looked at a loss.
Sanzo glared at him. The wind tugged at his hair, tousled brown strands falling across the metallic gleam of his diadem. Goku hunched deeper into his sweater. Sanzo thought about Goku straddling the bike behind him, every point of contact uncomfortably cold until Sanzo’s body heat had warmed him up.
Without a word, Sanzo pushed the door open wider and moved aside. Goku gave him a grateful smile–Sanzo ignored the twist in his chest–and stepped through, eyes darting about the dark room.
“Thanks. Were you sleeping?” Goku asked.
Sanzo didn’t dignify the idiotic question with a response. “What do you want? I thought you’d be gone by now.”
He switched on the small lamp at the corner of his desk, filling the room with a dim yellow glow. Goku hadn’t moved from his spot near the door, and Sanzo didn’t offer him a seat.
“Plans changed,” Goku said. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, and ducked his head, hiding his face behind the fall of his hair and the diadem. “Just thought I’d… uh. See how you were doing. Sanzo.” He glanced up, his gaze lingering a second too long on Sanzo’s bare stomach.
Sanzo was suddenly acutely aware of how low his pajama pants hung on his hips. With deliberate nonchalance, he slid back into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest. He should have just locked Goku out until he gave up and left. Sanzo had no idea why he was humoring the strange kid.
“In the middle of the night? What the hell made you think that was a good idea?”
Goku shrugged one shoulder. Then he sank to the floor and rested his back against the curtained glass door. “Dunno, Sanzo. I got nothing better to do, and most ideas sound good at 2 a.m. Sanzooo.”
Sanzo made an aggravated sound. “Stop saying my name.”
“But I like it. Sanzo.”
“I can’t believe I let you in,” he said.
“Got anything to eat, Sanzo?”
“You’re pushing it.”
Goku laughed. It made Sanzo’s stomach flip. He scowled up at the ceiling before turning to face the wall and closing his eyes.
“I need to sleep. If you’re going to stay, be quiet and don’t disturb me again.”
There was the sound of rustling cloth as Goku adjusted his position on the floor. “You can turn off the lamp. I don’t mind the dark.”
Sanzo rose on his elbow and reached back for the lamp. Glancing across the room, he could see Goku was sitting with his side against the balcony door and his head against the door frame. He had pushed back a corner of the curtain and was gazing outside, an indecipherable expression on his face. His diadem seemed a magnet for whatever light it could catch because it glowed just faintly, casting a golden reflection against the glass.
“Why do you wear that thing on your head?” Sanzo asked as he switched off the light. He sank back into the sheets, adjusted the blanket around him, and closed his eyes. He didn’t particularly care about the answer; he was just curious. Normal people didn’t go around wearing crowns. Or climbing balconies at two in the morning.
“A friend gave it to me. It was a present.”
“Huh.” What kind of friend gave a diadem as a gift? “It’s distracting.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because it glows.” Sanzo decided to keep to himself the fact Goku’s eyes were twice as distracting as the thing on his head. That was just a weird thought to have in general.
“Like you,” Goku said, with no trace of sarcasm in his voice.
Sanzo had nothing to say to that.
A moment later, Goku said, “Looking at you… it’s like looking at the sun.”
Sanzo felt his body tense. What the fuck? Not only was that the weirdest compliment he’d ever gotten, but it was obvious to Sanzo that Goku had it mixed up. That thought was immediately followed with a hearty ‘fuck.‘
Out loud, he said, “Stop saying creepy shit, or I’m kicking you out.”
Goku laughed again, a quiet, happy sound. “Yeah, okay.”
Silence settled between them. Sanzo pillowed his head against his arm and waited for sleep.
#
Goku was gone in the morning. It was just as well. Sanzo didn’t want Koumyou getting the wrong idea if Goku had wanted to come down with him for breakfast.
“Got another complaint yesterday,” Koumyou said as they ate their rice and eggs.
Sanzo arched an eyebrow. “They want you to do another purification?”
“At the old house further up the mountain.”
“The neighbors are just paranoid.”
“Perhaps,” Koumyou said. He drank his tea and gave no outward indication of how he felt about it. Sanzo hated it when he got all mysterious. Koumyou would confide in him eventually though, so Sanzo didn’t dwell on it.
He finished his breakfast, shouldered his bag, and left with a quick, “Later,” tossed over his shoulder.
Classes progressed as usual, with Gojyo skipping out and Hakkai and Sanzo finding him later in the square, smoking and chatting up a girl. Hakkai forced Gojyo to attend their next class together, and Gojyo spent the full hour irritating the shit out of Sanzo until Sanzo threatened to get out his gun and shoot him. Gojyo shut up, knowing Sanzo didn’t bluff.
He didn’t tell them about Goku. He might have been inclined to mention it to Hakkai, because Hakkai usually had a few things of merit to say, but really, what was the point?
At the end of the day, Hakkai and Gojyo took the train back to the flat they shared, and Sanzo took the back road short cut home.
Sanzo was not surprised to see Goku sitting on the bench. Before he’d even made a conscious decision, he was pulling onto the shoulder and parking his bike next to the stake. Goku was already on his feet, the last of the day’s light painting the trees and the path in shades of orange and red.
“Sanzo,” Goku said. “Have a good day?”
“Fine,” Sanzo said. He wasn’t interested in making small talk. “Why do you keep coming here?”
“I like it,” Goku said. “My friend and I used to play up the mountain.” He shoved a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the path that carried on for several meters beyond the bench before the branches overtook it. “Long time ago.”
Sanzo looked away from him, annoyed with how difficult that single action was.
“Hey Sanzo, since you let me eat with you last time, how ’bout I treat you this time? Have dinner with me?”
“Is eating all you ever think about?” Sanzo asked.
Goku grinned, all teeth and full of humor. “Pretty much.”
Sanzo was expecting Hakkai at his house in two hours for a study session. Koumyou would probably have the table set by the time he got home. He had no reason to accept the offer.
“Get on,” Sanzo said. What the hell was it about Goku that made refusing him so difficult? All Goku had to do was look at him, and those eyes drew him in like an unwitting moth.
Sanzo felt for his cigarettes and slid one from the pack as Goku hopped on behind him. He was cold again, icy fingers fluttering across his hips. Sanzo dug for his lighter, pulled it out, fumbled it. It dropped into the weeds with a quiet thump. Goku bent over to retrieve it, the curve of his back through his t-shirt a distracting view. He straightened, lighter in hand.
“Smoking is bad for you,” he said, even as he flipped open the metal cap and flicked the thumb-wheel. The small flame glowed orange against Goku’s palm as he cupped it from the wind and held it up like an offering.
Sanzo grunted, and leaned forward to accept the light. The tip of cold fingers brushed his cheek. Goku smiled, pulled away and capped the lighter before handing it back. Their fingers brushed. Sanzo pretended not to notice and inhaled deeply before pulling out his phone. He called Koumyou, told him to have dinner without him, held his cigarette between two fingers and watched the tip spin smoke into the evening air.
Then he hung up, took another few puffs, and leaned over to snuff the tip in the dirt. He left the cigarette butt there as he straightened and shifted his weight on the bike. He felt Goku scoot unnecessarily closer, fitting their hips together in a way that made Sanzo’s stomach clench and his breath quicken. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the bike onto the road, engine roaring.
Goku pressed his mouth to the shell of Sanzo’s ear and gave him the name of a restaurant in the city. It was a small place, tucked between two larger establishments and generally overlooked.
Goku’s breath was warm against his neck the entire ride there.
#
Shameless gluttony indeed, Sanzo thought as he watched platter after platter of food being placed in front of Goku.
Something of his thoughts must have shown in his face because Goku looked at him, shrugged, and said, “I’m hungry.”
“I can see that,” Sanzo said without inflection. He ate his curry, which was a sizable portion, but no where near what Goku was currently trying to fill his stomach with.
Goku was several inches shorter than Sanzo and–from what Sanzo could tell–lean, just bordering on thin. His arms beneath the t-shirt were wiry, compact muscles shifting as he reached back to scratch the back of his head. Sanzo couldn’t fathom where all that food went.
When, three full entrees later, Goku was still eating with no sign of slowing, Sanzo set down his spoon and said, “Are you serious?”
Goku paused, cheeks bulging, and looked at him with large, confused eyes. “Whur?” He swallowed thickly, coughed a bit, and then said again, “What?”
Sanzo nodded at the other dishes still waiting to be devoured.
Goku flushed a bit, and said, “I just… don’t feel full.” He smiled, a small quirk of his lips that was different from his usual face-splitting grins. “It’s never enough. But I get by.”
Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Sanzo shook his head and dismissed it. They’d already established the kid was weird.
Goku grew still. He cocked his head, as if listening for something. Sanzo gave him a bemused look.
“I gotta go.” Goku dropped his spoon and stood.
Sanzo watched, mute and dumbfounded, as Goku groped through his back pocket before dropping a wad of bills on the table.
“You’re leaving,” Sanzo said, just to confirm that that was in fact what Goku was doing. Goku gave him an apologetic smile and then shuffled down the aisle between tables and disappeared, the glass doors chiming as they shut behind him.
After a moment, Sanzo took a deep breath to calm his rising temper. Goku was the strangest person he’d ever met and, considering he knew people like Gojyo, that was saying something. With stubborn determination, he picked up his spoon and continued eating. Goku was still paying so there was no reason why he shouldn’t finish his food. Maybe he’d box the extra entrees and give them to Hakkai.
#
Thirty minutes after Goku’s unceremonious departure, Sanzo left the restaurant with several boxes full of uneaten food and found Goku perched on the edge of his motorcycle, head bowed.
“What the fuck?”
Goku looked up and grinned sheepishly. “Sanzo. Sorry ’bout before, I… I had to do something.”
Sanzo didn’t even want to know. He nudged Goku aside and shoved the boxes beneath his book bag in the metal basket at the back of his bike.
“Can I ride with you to your house? Where I’m staying isn’t far from there.”
Sanzo should have said no. He didn’t.
Goku was cold against his back, leeching Sanzo’s body heat instead of feeding it. He smelled funny–a little sweet, a little like rust or copper.
“What’s that smell?” Sanzo asked, turning his head a bit so Goku could hear him over the engine and he could still watch the road.
“What smell?” Goku said, his breath again on the curve of Sanzo’s ear.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
Goku lifted his hand. Sanzo glanced down just long enough to see several scratches that stretched from his knuckles to his wrist. They were oozing blood, but not nearly enough to explain the strength of the smell.
“Stray cat,” Goku said, by way of explanation.
There was a jeep parked in front of his house, which meant Hakkai had already arrived. Sanzo pulled into his driveway and cut the engine.
“Where are you staying?” Sanzo asked. “I can drop you off.” Not that he wanted to, but he supposed he should extend the courtesy.
“Nah, I can walk. S’not far.”
Sanzo removed his bag from the basket before shoving the boxes at Goku. Goku gave him a look of incomprehension. Sanzo glared at him. “Take the food, idiot.”
Goku accepted it with a slow smile that blossomed into a wide, happy grin. “Thanks, Sanzo!”
#
For the next week, Goku continued to invade his evenings. He waited for Sanzo at the mouth of the path–Sanzo entertained fantasies of simply driving past as Goku waved for attention–and appeared on Sanzo’s balcony at odd hours of the night. He never talked about himself overlong, which was just fine by Sanzo. As long as Goku didn’t disrupt the duties he performed at the shrine or his classes at the University, Sanzo didn’t care what Goku chose to do with his time. He was harmless and, by his own admission, his stay was only temporary.
Almost two weeks after that first time, Sanzo parked his bike next to the stake again and watched Goku come down from further up the path. He was half hidden by the foliage, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of a black jacket, the collar standing up around his ears. His eyes were downcast, his brows puckered. Sanzo rarely saw him look anything but cheerful.
When he noticed Sanzo’s presence, his expression cleared, his mouth spreading into that wide, familiar smile. He paused near the bench and gestured with his chin up the path. “Wanna take a walk?”
Sanzo glanced westward, where daylight was little more than a glow on the horizon.
“C’mon, I’m leaving soon. I wanna show you where my friend used to live.” Goku took several steps back the way he’d come before turning his head and giving Sanzo an impish grin. “Scared of the woods?”
Sanzo scowled and got off his bike. He pocketed his keys and then dug for the latch that opened the compartment on his basket. He checked the safety on his gun and then shoved it into his belt. He wasn’t scared, but he still knew better than to walk into the forest after dark without protection. “Brat,” he said as he passed Goku, shoving a cigarette between his lips.
Goku didn’t comment on the gun. He gave Sanzo a broad, stupidly goofy smile and fell into stride beside him, a bounce in his steps. “The house is kinda further up. It’s hard to find unless you know what you’re looking for.”
“You mean the house with the stone gates out front?” Sanzo asked, frowning. He inhaled, the cigarette tip flaring.
“Yeah! Used to be really cool, but it looks awful now. All broken and overgrown.”
“Goku, no one’s lived in that house for centuries,” Sanzo said. The path was growing narrower so Goku took the lead, leading them further up the mountain, his steps sure and nimble in the growing darkness. Goku’s diadem glowed dimly at his forehead like a beacon. “Have you been scaring the locals into thinking you’re a spirit? You’re causing Koumyou unnecessary trouble.”
“Heh. I don’t mean to. I’ll be outta here soon enough. Just gotta take care of a few things first.”
They reached a small clearing where the path widened. The moonlight revealed miniature stone statues lining either side. He recognized the area as the place he and Koumyou had performed the purification ritual.
“Past this area and to the ri–” Without warning, Goku stopped and spun on his heel. The air rushed from Sanzo’s lungs as Goku slammed into him, sending them both down in a tumble of limbs. Something blurred overhead just as his shoulder hit the dirt, pain shooting down his back and Goku’s elbows digging into his ribs. His cigarette had fallen from his mouth; it lay nearby, smoldering red in the weeds.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Sanzo shouted, trying to shove Goku off him. Goku didn’t budge. Sanzo realized, with increasing unease, that Goku wasn’t even paying attention to him. He had one hand on Sanzo’s chest, keeping him pinned with no visible effort, but his eyes were fixed on something to their left.
Sanzo followed his line of sight. Several meters away, at the edge of the clearing, two people stood in the shadow of the trees, indiscernible save for the glow of yellow eyes. One of them edged into the moonlight, gaze flickering from Goku to Sanzo before he bared his teeth–impossibly long and sharp, nothing that should have been inside a human mouth.
“What the…?” Sanzo began before the person–creature, demon–lunged at them. The weight on his chest lifted and Goku vanished like dissipating smoke, appearing a second later on top of the thing and tackling it to the ground. Sanzo scrambled backward, stumbling once before regaining his feet.
He backed into a tree, the bark scraping the palms of his hands. In front of him, Goku and the creature were a blur of movement, fangs and claws flashing, a riot of snarls like a pair of wolves fighting for meat. Dirt and grass were ripped up from the earth beneath bodies that moved too quickly for Sanzo to follow. Behind them, the second creature’s eyes narrowed as they fixed on Sanzo.
It moved forward and, without pausing to think it over, Sanzo reached for his gun. The shot rent the air like thunder, reverberating through the small clearing and echoing up into the treetops, sending nocturnal critters skittering through the underbrush. The thing he’d shot was frozen where it stood, one hand covering the bleeding wound in its chest. It staggered back, and fell to one knee, then looked up at Sanzo with eyes that blazed like hot coal.
“You fucking shot me!” It sounded offended. And outraged.
Goku had pinned the other one to the grass, the remains of the stone statues lying about them. He looked from Sanzo to the one with the hole in its chest. “Are you crazy?” Goku shouted at Sanzo. “Run!”
“I’m going to rip your throat out!” It rose to its feet. Sanzo aimed for its head.
Goku hauled the one he’d pinned down and flung it against a tree–there was a sickening crack upon impact–and leaped for the one advancing on Sanzo. Sanzo was unable to get a clean shot as Goku wrestled it across the grass, the creature’s blood staining both of them, permeating the air with that sickly sweet scent.
“Fucking run,” Goku shouted again. Behind him, the one who should have died from the impact with the tree had begun to stir, struggling up on unsteady hands and knees.
Sanzo met Goku’s eyes, glowing brighter than his diadem in the moonlight, and ran. There was a loud commotion behind him, grunts and snarls issuing through the branches. He looked back.
Goku’s hand was buried in the chest of the one Sanzo had shot. Everything about him seemed longer, sharper, more angular. Even his hair, normally unkempt but short, now hung over his shoulder and draped down across his cheekbones as he crouched over the creature. Sanzo’s throat grew tight as Goku growled into the its dimming eyes, bared fangs Sanzo was certain he hadn’t had half an hour ago, and buried them in its neck.
Holy fuck, Sanzo thought, the branches snagging at his clothes and skin as he beat down the path at a dead run.
He didn’t stop running until he’d pulled into his driveway, hands shaking in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush. He’d shoved his gun back into his belt before jumping on his bike, and he felt it there against his hip like a lead weight. He sat, savoring the stillness, the cool air against his flushed cheeks bringing memories of Goku’s hands.
Taking a deep breath, he emptied his mind, and focused on nothing but filling his lungs with air.
What seemed like hours later, the outdoor sconces came on and the front door opened. Koumyou stood at the threshold, outlined in the soft glow of the inside lights.
“Sanzo?”
Sanzo swallowed, hands fisting in his lap. Then, slowly, he got to his feet.
“What happened?” Koumyou asked, guiding him inside with a light hand at his elbow. His brows rose as he spotted the gun at Sanzo’s waist. He removed it without fuss, and Sanzo let him, watching without comment as Koumyou noted with a slight lift of his brows that one round had been shot. Then he checked the safety and set it on the coffee table. It looked strange there next to Koumyou’s ash tray and an empty, painted vase.
Sanzo didn’t know how to begin, or if he could even put it into words. He kept seeing Goku’s face: those lucent eyes still drawing him in even as they made him recoil, the stretch of his lips over sharp, elongated teeth, and the blood dyed black by the darkness. Throat tightening, Sanzo remembered the night Goku had left him in the restaurant. He’d returned smelling like blood. Had he… then too?
Sanzo cupped his head. It was too confusing and impossible to contemplate.
Something cold touched the back of his hand and he flinched, jerking violently back, his hand reflexively reaching for the gun that was no longer at his waist. Koumyou gave him a small smile. In his hand was a can of beer.
Sanzo sighed and took the beer. He chugged half of it before setting it down on the coffee table beside his gun. Koumyou had moved to the window where he’d cracked it open, cigarette perched between his fingers as he blew smoke outside in streams of gray.
When he finally found his voice, Sanzo said, “How do you know when you’ve seen a demon?”
Koumyou looked surprised. He snuffed out his cigarette and shut the window. “I suppose that depends on the manner of demon. What did you see?”
Sanzo shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Koumyou’s silence stretched on for several tense seconds. Then he said, “Tomorrow, you will come to the shrine with me and pray.”
Sanzo closed his eyes and nodded.
#
Sanzo kept his gun on the desk beside his bed that night. Goku didn’t come.
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