FicWad

BREAKING THE ICE

by slacker




The alley was deserted. Little scraps of paper and dried leaves lay everywhere, picked up and thrown about by the wind. The buildings lining the street were old and rotting, pocked with holes where stones had once been, infested by dirty wooden planks peeling off the walls. Empty wine bottles and beat-up beer cans littered the entrances of these buildings; the streetlamps illuminated them with a ghastly sheen.

A man was walking down this alley with slow steps. His hair was a shiny crimson; his clothes were that of a traveler, though not ragged and soiled like some others' were. He frequented the bars and brothels of the area, where he was well-known for his love of drink, the card-tables and easy women. He knew all the bars that served excellent beer, the gambling-houses, the prettiest bodies. He wondered why he was in that alley in the first place, though all too soon he remembered his reason. It was called the Poor Man's Lane: only a man with very little money to spend would forsake the bright lights of the high-class inns for these seedy establishments. He wanted to turn around and head for the White Lily, his favorite bar in that town, but his feet kept walking towards a small, decrepit building with peeling white paint and a door with a sign that said NO SOLICITORS ALLOWED in big red letters. He pushed the door open and went in.

When he reached the reception desk, he came upon a lanky boy snoring in a chair; the chair leaned at a precarious angle on the desk. The boy's brown hair shot up in different directions, and his face had the look of a child whose worries did not go beyond simple things like food and shelter. At the sight of him the man snickered; aiming for the chair's leg, he gave it a swift kick. The resounding crash echoed all throughout the building, and in the distance he heard hurried footsteps. The boy yelped.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?" cried the boy, rubbing his head. His voice was uneven, awkwardly reaching for the deep tones of a man's.

"You were asleep," said the man, grinning broadly.

"What's going on here?" A man in a pale robe rushed towards them. His sculpted face was stern and furious. He could be considered beautiful, with pale skin and penetrating eyes, but his manner was brisk, and his lips sagged at the corners in a perpetual grimace.

"Hey, Sanzo," said the man with a nasty kick. "Long time no see."

"What do you want?" Sanzo sized him up, from his polished boots to the skinny cigarette hanging from his mouth. He eyed the bottle the man held loosely by the neck; only a third of it held wine. "You, saru, what was all that noise?" He glared at the boy who stood sulking by the desk and gently rubbing the spot where his head had hit the floor.

"Gojyo kicked the chair from under me!" the boy cried.

"He was asleep," said Gojyo.

"Baka saru!" said Sanzo, whipping out a large paper fan from the folds of his robe and giving the boy a sound whack on the head. Gojyo started to laugh, but Sanzo walked up to him and whacked him on the head as well.

"Hey! What was that for?" said Gojyo.

"For making all that noise," said Sanzo. "Why are you here?"

Gojyo's face eased into a smile. He massaged the sore spot idly. "It looks like you've forgotten. Guess I shouldn't have come."

"Then what the hell are you doing here, making all that racket?"

"I'm just being faithful to my promises." Gojyo leered at Sanzo, his eyes focusing on the man's acrid pout.

Sanzo raised an eyebrow. "What promises?"

Gojyo took a drag from his cigarette and blew smoke into Sanzo's face. Sanzo's eyes narrowed.

"You're getting old, Sanzo. You're becoming forgetful."

"If you don't get to the point soon I swear I'll kill you."

"Sheesh, calm down." Gojyo reached into his pocket and drew out a crinkly slip of paper, folded in half. "Here."

Sanzo swiped the paper and opened it. His eyes remained frigid; Gojyo couldn't see if he recognized it or not. Old Sanzo. Still a tight-assed fart.

Sanzo folded the paper and tucked it into his robe. "Fine time you picked for keeping a bet."

"Any time's a good time." Gojyo shrugged.

Sanzo glared at him impatiently. Gojyo's eyebrows went up innocently as the seconds crawled past.

"I'm doing you a favor!" he protested, holding up his palms in mock defeat. Sanzo reached into his robe; though muffled, the metallic click was unmistakable. Gojyo sighed and reached into his pocket. This was not the first time, but he breathed a little easier when Sanzo's hand emerged empty from the robe, awaiting a few copper coins.

"Saru, get the keys for room 8. Hurry up." The boy, muttering under his breath, went behind the reception desk and grabbed the keys. He stood there, arms folded.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Get going!" Sanzo brandished the paper fan in a threatening gesture. The boy scrambled out from behind the desk and ran up the stairs before Sanzo could get him.

"Ha ha! Such a stupid saru." Gojyo mounted the stairs, following the sound of the boy's echoing footsteps.







It had been a lazy night, in a bar along the outskirts of the town. Gojyo was already drunk when he spotted Sanzo drinking in a corner by the window. Normally he avoided Sanzo, whose condescension he had no need for; however, mind and senses addled by a cup too many of wine, he got up and approached the man. Sanzo had given him the usual scowl accompanied with the threat of death at gunpoint, but he refused to leave; he pulled up the chair opposite Sanzo and banged his empty cup on the table. His loosened tongue constantly asked after Sanzo's business, if he had "fooled some more poor girls into joining his trade." Sanzo sipped his wine in brooding silence. Undaunted, Gojyo went on to offer to break in Sanzo's newest recruit if he were to lose to Sanzo in a drinking match. Sanzo made no reply: out of confidence or a desire to get rid of the prattling drunk sooner, it was hard to tell. He nodded when a waitress looked at him with raised brows. She noted the wager down in a large logbook near the bar, then sauntered towards them with a bottle in each hand.

The match ended soon after it had begun; Gojyo, after dribbling a cup of wine down his chin, slumped over and fell asleep. Sanzo ignored him, drinking the rich wine at a leisurely pace. The waitress shook her head; as soon as the red-haired man had stepped into the bar she knew he was prone to excesses. Then there was the other one. A sour-faced man, for all the elegance of his features. Owner of a cheap brothel in the Poor Man's Lane. They were two characters indeed. She scribbled the outcome of the bet in the logbook; she'd have to remind the loser in the morning when he woke up.







Gojyo spat, flicking his cigarette beyond the railing. He had humiliated himself at the bar - how could he have forgotten the custom of keeping wagers? - but he took it in stride. He had lost his own fair share at the card-tables, and it was not his first time to fall asleep at a drinking match. He chuckled softly in reminiscence. The wager had not ended badly, either; here he was, on his way to another woman's bed. He was curious about Sanzo's business, though he preferred saucy bargirls to hanging around a brothel. Sanzo looked like he earned about as much as regular ones did. He could have chosen a better place for his pad. Heh. Just what you'd expect from a tight-ass like him.

"Hey Gojyo! We're here!" the boy hollered, pointing to a door near the stairs.

"Shut up, you stupid saru! You're making a lot of noise." Gojyo wished he had his own paper fan to whack the boy with.

"Here's your keys," the boy said, tossing the keys to him. He caught them with the hand holding the cigarette and inserted one into the lock. The boy ran past him, down the stairs and back to his disrupted slumber. For a boy his age he doesn't seem interested in sex, Gojyo thought, remembering his own first encounter with a whore, the eagerness that accompanied the partial realization of his adolescent fantasies. He recalled how the boy's face looked earlier as he sat dozing by the reception desk. The lusty dreams were late in coming.

The room was small; it smelled of old linen and a faint whiff of sweat. It was poorly lit, with a single white bulb swathed in dust. The smoke from his cigarette made slender trails towards the window, like a misty fish swimming in cool water. Gojyo closed the door behind him and beheld the figure sitting on the bed and staring wistfully at the round moon outside the window.

It was a man.







"You must be the new guy," Gojyo said, putting the keys on the small bedside table. His voice came coolly from his lips, perhaps as aresult of having come from another drinking match at agambling-house. He hadn't thought that Sanzo also recruited men. So the bastard caters to thatkind, too. Shit.

The man smiled at him. He was young, barely out of his teens. He wore a monocle over his right eye, which appeared to be blind.

"Yes," he said.

Gojyo's hopes sank. He had sent a feeble prayer to whichever god was listening for Sanzo to have sent him to the wrong room, but apparently the gods were preoccupied.

"First time?" said Gojyo, trying to make conversation.

"Not really." The man looked at him expectantly. Gojyo approached the bed slowly, the man's smile boring deep into him. He hadn't given it a second thought then; what was a quick fuck with a virgin? Besides, few brothels offered both men and women; usually it was either one or the other, men being somewhat harder to find. Gojyo cursed his luck; he had managed to find the one whorehouse in town that had both.

"Please make yourself comfortable," said the man, standing up and offering his hand. "My name is Hakkai. Yours is?"

"Gojyo." Gojyo set his bottle down on the floor. They clasped hands briefly.

"Pleased to meet you, Gojyo." Hakkai sat down again. Gojyo sat near the edge of the bed, crushing the burned-out butt of his cigarette with his boot.

"That must have been Goku who brought you up," said Hakkai. "That Goku. Rather noisy, but he's a good boy. Very dedicated to Sanzo."

"So I noticed," said Gojyo. "You from this town?"

"Oh, yes. I grew up near the old schoolhouse, beside the plaza. Perhaps you've passed it?"

"Yeah, I think so. That run-down building with red shutters." He pulled a new cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it swiftly. "You smoke?" he said, offering the pack to Hakkai.

"No, thank you." Hakkai stared at his hands, which lay on his lap.

The smoke burned Gojyo's tongue, the heavy familiar taste reminding him of lead. He looked Hakkai over; the man was spare, with a smooth pallor that glowed faintly in the wan light. A thin, somewhat angular face, thin pale lips. His eyes were narrow and smallish, though they crinkled pleasantly at the corners when he smiled. Both irises were deep green.

Gojyo tried to form rings as the smoke escaped his lips; it trailed out in lazy, half-formed coils. He picked his bottle up from the floor and emptied it in one long swig. All the while Hakkai remained silent, staring at the pale, long-fingered hands that lay motionless on his lap. For a moment Gojyo wondered how it would feel, to be touched by those pallid fingers.

Hakkai's voice broke their quietude; it sounded faintly urgent. "We should finish this business now, shouldn't we? It's getting rather late." He stood up and retrieved a rough blanket from the space beneath the bed. He patted the flat pillow at the head of the bed.

Gojyo watched him fussing about, a leaden pit sinking in his stomach. He found an ashtray on the small table beside the bed. Resisting the impulse to grab it and smash it on the floor, he crushed his butt irritably in its empty recesses. His fingertips came out black. He swore loudly and wiped them on his pants. Hakkai was observing him, his green eyes unwaveringly clear. Gojyo bit back another swift curse and forced a grin.

"Yeah. Sure." His voice sounded hoarse, rasping in his smoke- and liquor-burned throat.







Hakkai pulled down his shorts, neatly folded them and stowed them beneath the bed. His brisk aloofness made Gojyo's hands clammy. Hakkai lay on his back, spreading his legs wide. Gojyo stared at his penis numbly.

"Come, come now. Take your pants off and get on." There was a hint of impatience, tinged with another emotion, in his voice.

The bottle slipped from Gojyo's fingers. He fumbled with his belt; his hands were almost numb. He finally pushed his pants down, stepped out of them and directed his attention in between his legs.

His penis seemed to wilt, to shrink out of view.

Hakkai sat up, crossing his legs. "Everything all right?"

Gojyo managed a lopsided grin. "It isn't cooperating with me," he slurred, his hands hanging limp at his sides.

Hakkai watched him intently for a few seconds. He moved forward, taking Gojyo's limp penis carefully in one hand; when Gojyo failed to resist, he opened his mouth and engulfed it, lolling his tongue around its tip. Gojyo sighed. Hakkai began sucking on it, hard, cupping his hands around Gojyo's buttocks. Gojyo leaned his hands on Hakkai's shoulders, his fingers digging into the flesh under the man's shirt.

Hakkai pulled away, resuming his position on the bed. Gojyo clambered onto him, letting him guide his penis in. Hakkai groaned, the bed creaking rhythmically under him. Gojyo thrusted faster, harder; he moved as if seized by frenzy. Hakkai's hands traveled his back; his legs pedaled the air, his moans soft and urgent. Gojyo let out a hoarse roar, then dropped on top of him, exhausted.

Hakkai cradled him for a few minutes, inhaling the strong scent of liquor and tobacco that he exuded. Wrinkling his nose, he gently pushed Gojyo off him and got up. Gojyo eyed him languidly as he bent over, half naked, reaching for his shorts beneath the bed. His enlarged anus was an angry red, dripping with Gojyo's semen. At the sight of it the bile rose up Gojyo's throat, and he vomited.







The next morning Gojyo stumbled out of Sanzo's brothel clutching his head in one hand. The previous night seemed unreal, and he hoped that it was. He could still remember the tranquil look on Hakkai's face, his green eyes, his pale hands. The bursting sensation of coming inside him. He shook his head and started walking.

Gojyo had had to pay Sanzo extra after he vomited on the bed linens and fell asleep. He had spent the night on an old cot under the stairs, where Sanzo had ordered Hakkai and Goku to haul him; he was charged for that as well, and his refusal to pay earned him a brief encounter with the nose of Sanzo's gun. He gritted his teeth, nursing the hangover with his fingers. Damned tight-ass miser. He didn't even have other customers last night. Asshole.

His groin did not complain, however. A feeling of satisfaction radiated from his loins, a feeling he wanted to flush out of his consciousness. He couldn't have possibly enjoyed himself last night.

Hakkai's naked body flashed through his mind. His penis responded quickly, hardening at the thought of how Hakkai's skin and flesh had felt. The bile threatened to rise up his throat again; he swallowed, wincing at the sour taste of his mouth. He hurried out of the Poor Man's Lane as fast as his legs could carry him.