They started it for the thrill. Gojyo/Sanzo/Gojyo
They started it for the thrill.
Of course that was the reason. What else could it be? Take two guys that couldn't even stand each other a vast majority of the time, stick them together with resentment, lust, and fixed power-struggles and there were only so many possible results.
Can't use a gun, not in what most people would call the proper way. There was too much at stake.
Can't simply ignore each other, heaven forbid, because that would be too simple. Life has never been simple for any of them-why start now?
So they fell in instead of falling out. Lily White and Bloody Red, stealing pretty dirty moments in the dark, in the corner, swept away under the bed with all the other secrets. The kind that everyone knew about but never talked about, not until spring cleaning came around.
"I don't like you, you corrupt bastard monk."
"Hn. You make me sick."
At least they were honest. At least it gave them reason, when they bit and snarled and clawed. Cracked lips rasping over sweat-licked dry skin, sneering or smirking but nothing else. Gojyo liked to trace patterns with his tongue and always felt, afterwards, as if there were hundreds of cuts left as a reminder. Liked to bite down with sharp incisors when Sanzo's own tongue tried to claim his mouth because fair was fair, and the monk took it as an excuse to jump to the next stage. Fisting handfuls of long hair, twisting it up in knots that Gojyo felt in his stomach and dragging him under, cheap inn sheets entangling his legs.
"You like this," Sanzo would always say-breathe-into his ear as he slid between Gojyo's legs, pressed against him like a vice. Pushing, squeezing, capturing, never releasing.
If he found air in his lungs, the half-demon would groan out a sound. Not confirming, not denying. How could he do either, when he wanted to deliver a roundhouse kick the man's head as much as he wanted to stay wrapped up in heat with him?
Sometimes he thought he might even love it, the familiarity of it all. Fucked over again and again and again, the tide of his life coming in the same as it has since he was born.
Of course, when he loved it he hated it too.
But Sanzo was there regardless. Probably felt the same.
Deep inside of him, never deep inside him because that was apparently against some rule. Gojyo didn't mind so much. He have expected the monk was too much of a tight ass to get a twig shoved up there, never mind Gojyo's cock.
He had tried once, to push the limit, and received a right hook in the jaw for his troubles.
They'd fucked the entire night away after that.
It was all about the thrill, you see. The way Sanzo's eyes could turn almost indigo when he was excited and angry and hard beneath his hand, his mouth. How Gojyo's heart tightened up like the world was closing in and breaking apart again whenever the blonde leaned over him. Never afraid, fuck no, but anything could happen and it made his blood rush through his veins like frenzied maidens on their wedding day.
Loud, bright, wild, fast, hard, bruised, perfect, wrecked.
Gone when the moment was over.
Don't mention it outside. Keep it in the shadows, along with the rest of his childhood. It was the way to do it, right, keeping it there for only them to know about? It would keep their little-our not so little-trysts fresh and alive for the next time around.
Next time around, when Sanzo growled against his throat and Gojyo arched off the bed that pounded into the wall with them, dull echoes repeating a mantra. /Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck/. The same words they chanted before they came, explosive and blinding.
One night, after his sight had returned, Gojyo asked "You're not bored?"
And Sanzo had ran his eyes over the lines of the body next to him, looking surprised as he returned a simple "No".
Which was fine and dandy for /him/, but Gojyo had been playing this game for longer than the other man, knew all the steps, turns, and dips. It was seemingly his life, this dance, the useless fighting and eventual submission.
It didn't bother him, so much. Not anymore. It was who he was when it came to people that snuck in past his grins and fists. He could shrug and bear it and land on his feet again.
But after a while, it got boring.
He'd never had a chance to change things. Mother had died. Jien had run off. Hakkai kept the fragile balance of equals. Sanzo...was just there.
"You know, monk, I think we could do with some change."
Sanzo paused, hand twitching on the bed as if it had just been preparing to move. "What are you talking about?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
"It's just," Gojyo drawled, "that it seems we're lacking our normal, say...spark?"
The monk raised an eyebrow, gave a pointed look at the redhead's half-aroused state and snorted. "You don't say? Idiot."
The grin slipped. "I'm serious. Give my ass a fuckin break, you..."
"Ass?" Sanzo smirked.
"Shut up. Fuck you."
"No." Hand on the gun that was ever present, just holding though and that was a good sign. "I don't think so, kappa. I thought that was understood."
"Sorry, I missed the memo," Gojyo snarled. And promptly switched tactics. "What's the matter, Sanzo-hime? Don't think you can handle me?"
The gun clicked dryly, looking about as amused as its owner. "I can handle you fine, asshole. Even you should have picked up on that by now."
The small voice in Gojyo's brain made a sound like an angry cat. "You know what I mean. Look, no one has to know about it. Not that it would matter. Your manly pride isn't in danger by me. It's ruined by all the guys that hit on you."
Oops. Gun finger getting a bit twitchy there.
"And," Gojyo added in a hasty drawl, "anyone that does know just figures you're fucking me." Anyone being Hakkai. "You'll like it."
Sanzo thumbed the hammer back. He looked thoughtful. "I'm on top."
The tiny voice crowed.
"Fi-/ah/!" Gojyo gasped when a cool hand grabbed him, stroking him, pleasure-pain, until he was writhing and hard enough to dent stone. Sanzo straddled him, gun replaced by the oil they'd picked up in town earlier, pouring it over his own hand and Gojyo's dick-more than he normally used on Gojyo, the half-breed noted, before thoughts ran out of his brain because the monk was practically finger-fucking himself.
"I don't trust you to do it right," Sanzo ground out between pants.
Gojyo honestly had no problem with that.
Especially when the blonde shifted forward an inch, hand guiding Gojyo to press up against that tight, slick ring of muscles, and Sanzo pressed down in response, seemingly centimeter by centimeter, moment by moment, tight and punishing in all ways.
Gojyo grabbed onto sharp hips. "Fuck."
Sanzo rode him and rode him good. Gojyo thought he was going to be castrated by a monk's ass, eternally maimed by a night of sex. One hand curled over pale skin and one over heated flesh as pale hands scratched across his chest, tiny pink designs that would be gone in the morning. It was beautifully golden and ruined at the same time, and over much too fast, as he felt the pressure build up inside him, felt the sudden tension in the body above his.
Gojyo counted one two three and arched into the orgasm, feeding off it, stretching it thin to make it last just as Sanzo followed with a grunt, no doubt smug over out-lasting the other man.
Later, slumped next t each other on the much-abused bed, Gojyo jokingly asked "Was it good for you too?"
"Yes," came an automatic reply, then "but not good enough."
And that was that. They wouldn't mention it again, swept up under the bed with all their other dirty little secrets.
But Gojyo knew it was there. And that was enough.