Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Counterfeit Life ❯ Epilogue ( Chapter 13 )

Warning: This story is NC-17 because it contains foul language, explicit sex, and generalized adult themes.

 

This story will also contain YAOI… MAN-ON-MAN SEX… don't like it… fine… just go elsewhere.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki… they belong to Kazuya Minekura, and she is a lucky lucky lady… I do however own the song addiction, and any original characters.

 

Sidenotes: This story is AU, and takes place in present day New York… Oh and don't be surprised if the characters are OOC, because I decided to create a more emotional side to both of the main characters, to push the story along.

 

Also: This story hasn't been beta read, but I'm fairly anal about revision and spell check and the like, so there should be very few grammatical errors. Hopefully none, but one never knows.

 

Please read and review as I can use all the help I can get. I'd appreciate any suggestions. Anywho, I hope you like it.

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Epilogue

Five years later… Sanzo's POV…

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Sanzo looked at the paintings placed around the gallery. “So?” Yaone asked him.

 

Sanzo walked over to the painting in front of him and said, “This one.” He moved on to another painting, “This one… and… those two.” He said as he left the second room, eyes scanning one more time to make sure he'd gotten them all.

 

“Okay, I'll let the dealer know.”

“Thank you.”

“Sanzo?”

“Hmmm?”

 

“Go home. You've been here for hours. You need rest for tomorrow night,” she said caringly. Her fingers rubbing soothing circles on his back.

 

“You're probably right. I'll see you tomorrow night, Yaone.”

“Can't wait.”

“Until tomorrow then. Take care.”

 

Sanzo left a nearly indiscernible kiss on her cheek and made his way down the street, his feet pulling him along. He lifted his collar against the strong breeze that ruffled his shortly cropped locks, golden bangs tickling his face. His cell phone rang and he looked down at the caller ID with disgust, “What?!” he answered angrily not even trying to hide his contempt.

 

“Hello, Sanzo. Is that any way to greet your father?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it is.”

“How dare you be so disrespectful. You are a Douji, it's time you started acting like it.”

 

“Father…” Sanzo said, the small amount of patience he saved especially for his father wavering. The man knew how to push all his buttons, but Sanzo wouldn't let him win. Not anymore, and sure as hell not tonight, of all nights, so he grit his teeth.

 

“Don't you father me! It's been long enough. It's time to do what needs…”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sanzo growled in frustration, “I'm in a particularly good mood, and I'd prefer not to let you ruin it for me. So, I'll have to let you go.” With that he flipped his phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. He lit a Marlboro Red, and took a long drag, calming his nerves.

 

Bastard…

 

By the time he finished his second cigarette, he was already standing in front of his building. He stepped into the rickety elevator, put his key in, and pushed the button for the top floor. He moved into his loft, flopped down on his black camel back couch and sighed. The sound of Shuuei Douji's voice filled him with rage. The man was exasperating. How they were related he would never know.

 

He pulled off his shirt, his necklace bouncing as it fell from the folds, and walked around the room, choosing one of the paintings he was in the process of finishing. He pulled the cloth from the front of the canvas before him, and grabbed a paint brush. As the fabric drifted to the floor his breath hitched in his throat. Even after five years, the sight of those ruby eyes tore every ounce of air from his lungs. He dipped the brush into teal paint, stroked it over the canvas, and lost himself in his work.

 

Several hours later, his eyes started to drift closed, and fearing for the painting he was working on, he set his brush aside. He looked out the window and the sun was coming up over the bay, orange, purple, and blue streaking across the sky. With a glance at the clock he realized it was already seven o'clock in the morning. Oh well… When the muse strikes I must answer his call… He went up the short staircase on the far left side of the loft, and fell into bed.

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When Sanzo arrived at the gallery, he looked at his watch. He was about 45 minutes early. He pulled open the door before him, and froze. Seeing walls covered in his work, stirred something inside him, and he couldn't help the glowing smile that played on his lips.

 

“Oh, you're here,” Yaone chimed with a smile, as she came around the corner.

 

Poor girl, he thought with knowing in his eyes. Not that his assistant did much to hide her infatuation. He felt bad really. She was smart, beautiful, and well cultured, but he had so little passion, and what he did have, was reserved for his painting. Although, he did find her interest flattering.

 

“Hi, Yaone,” he said with his own genuine smile. “How are things looking?”

 

“Good.” She said as she made her way over and kissed his cheek. “Everything is all set up, and the doors will open in about 30 minutes.”

 

“Okay.”

Almost as an afterthought she added, “Oh and the paintings you requested have been marked.”

“I appreciate all your hard work. Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Sanzo. I'm a big fan of your work.”

He couldn't help but blush, “Thank you.”

 

She really is a sweet girl… I hate to let her down… She'll be really disappointed…He looked over at her, and she gave him a mischievous smile, that bordered on seductive, with a splash of innocence. Something about that smile tickled his senses. It was so… familiar.

 

When the doors opened Sanzo was surprised to find that a crowd was already waiting to get inside. All this for me? It was a little overwhelming. People shuffled in, and he heard voices of delight as they took in five years of his hard work. He strode over to one of his paintings marked as `not for sale' and everything fell away, his fingers coming to rest on a silver Celtic ring bound to him by thin black leather.

 

Five years ago today, he quit the job he despised. Five years ago today he left the wife he never loved. Five years ago today he turned his back on everything he knew, in favor of pursuing his childhood dream, and was disowned for it. It hadn't been easy, but he'd changed his life. In the end, his sacrifice had been worth it, just to see people enjoying his art, was enough.

 

His eyes caressed the lines of the elfish features he knew like the back of his hand. For five years the simple silver ring he held had given him strength. It bound him to a moment in time, that he knew could never be his future. He was lonely, but he felt he deserved his solitude. He'd never desired anybody but Gojyo, and it would be unfair to lie to someone else. He'd lied for too many years, to too many women, all for the sake of his father, and he wasn't that man anymore. He'd changed, and that's all he really cared about. Then again, all the changes in the world meant nothing, if they came too late… Five years and one day ago… Gojyo left for good… and he'd been one day overdue.

 

“Excuse me?” a young orange haired girl asked.

“Yes?” he replied, startled out of his reverie.

“Are you, Konzen?” she nearly shrieked.

“Yes,” he said, acknowledging his pen name. “How can I help you?”

“I was hoping I could get an interview for my magazine.”

“Sure.”

 

Why the hell not?

 

“Okay, great!” she looked through her purse animatedly and pulled out a small tape recorder. “I'm going to record you, so that I can get the interview down accurately, o-kay?”

 

“That's fine,” Sanzo said with a small smile, spurred on by her obvious excitement.

“So, first let me say that I'm a big fan.”

“Thank you.”

“Tell me Konzen, what do you call this series?”

“Duplicity.”

“Why?”

 

Good question, no one has ever asked me that before, he thought looking down at the deceptively innocent face. “Because it focuses on the separation between duty and desire. The ties between fate and free will. The difference between what needs to be done to succeed, and what we need as people to survive. Two sides of the same coin. Two parts of a whole. In the simplest words, one man, with two faces… but only one soul.”

 

“And what was your inspiration for this series?”

“This is one of those circumstances where art imitates life,” Sanzo sighed, “My life.”

“So these paintings tell the story of your life?”

“Yes.”

“And the dark figure in several of your paintings is the man with two faces?”

 

Sanzo was taken aback for several moments. This girl obviously had far more going on upstairs, then he'd originally given her credit before. A good interviewer asked the questions that earned them the most reaction, and within a few questions, she'd already floored him, twice. “No.”

 

“An internal representation of yourself?” she pressed on. Obviously having decided, that the identity of the alluring form, was money in the bank.

 

“No. Nothing that complicated,” he said trying to lull her.

“Then who is he?” she pressed on with eager confusion.

“He's the soul,” Sanzo said simply.

The young reporter seemed confused by his answer, “I'm sorry. I don't understand.”

“Some day… you will…”

 

He smiled at her, and walked away. He wandered through the gallery, listening in on the conversations taking place. It seemed the general response was beyond good, and he felt a bit of pride swell in his chest. He had finally become the man Gojyo had always hoped he'd be.

 

“Hey, Sanzo…”

 

Sanzo's heart skipped a beat, he knew that voice. It was older now, and roughed by time, but it still left tingles running up and down his spine. He had to be dreaming. There's no way… It can't be… he turned around, and found to his dismay, that it could be, and was.

 

“Uh… I…”

 

Oh my god… what the hell do I say…

 

“How are you?”

“Uh… I…”

 

Slender tan fingers wrapped around his wrist, and crimson eyes implored him to follow. He moved behind the other man, the contact at his wrist spreading fire up his arm, straight to his heart. When they were outside, away from the crowd Gojyo finally spoke. “Sanzo, are you just going to stand there? Will you talk to me?”

 

He found Gojyo's eyes and saw the trepidation there. In five years the urge to comfort and console had only grown stronger, and his own fear faded away, for the sake of the man before him. “I'm sorry. I was just so nervous seeing you here. I didn't know what to say.”

 

“It's alright. I'm nervous too. Ummm… Your work is wonderful.”

 

“Thank you,” Sanzo said with satisfaction. “That means a great deal coming from you. You're my inspiration in every way. Always have been.”

 

Gojyo had the good grace to blush at his response, “I… uhhh… noticed.”

“Oh shit, Gojyo. I never thought about it. I'm sorry. If you want I can take them down.”

“Please don't,” Gojyo said with a frown. “They're beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“So how've you been?” Gojyo questioned, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

 

“Good, I guess. Tired. Working too much these last few weeks, getting ready for the opening. I've been really busy.”

 

“You always did work too hard. How's Mei?”

 

“I haven't talked to her in over four years,” he said in a near whisper. “Not since our divorce was final,” he added as an afterthought. He couldn't help it really. He was thrown off by the other mans presence, and it was making his thoughts cloudy and jumbled.

 

“Oh,” Gojyo said with surprise reflected in his iridescent eyes. “Ummm… How's your father?”

 

“I don't really know. I don't talk to him much these days, and when I do, it's because he's calling to give me shit. It always turns into an argument, and I don't have the patience for it anymore.”

 

“Oh, Sanzo, I'm sorry,” Gojyo said consolingly.

 

“Don't be. It's for the better,” he assured the redhead. “I knew what I was getting into when I went against his wishes, and left Zenon.”

 

“So why'd you do it?” Gojyo asked curiously.

“I was tired of being split down the middle.”

“He always put a lot of pressure on you…”

 

Sanzo could feel himself being pulled towards the other man. He fought against the gravity reeling him in, like a moth to a flame, even though he yearned to feel the heat of the other man's body, even just for a moment. “It doesn't matter anymore. Forgive me, Gojyo, but… what are you doing here?”

 

“I couldn't pass up the chance to come to your first opening. I saw the ad in the newspaper. I couldn't stay away. Even though I… I wasn't sure if it was a good idea. I thought I might not be… welcome.”

 

“You're always welcome, Gojyo. You know that.”

“But after everything…”

 

“Gojyo,” Sanzo said, trying to soothe his muse, “I mean it. You're always welcome in my life, in any way you see fit. In any way you find me deserving.”

 

“It's been such a long time,” Gojyo mumbled, his hand reaching out for the other man hesitantly, Sanzo held his breath, but it fell back to his side.

 

“It has been a long time,” he agreed. “How've you been?”

 

“Oh… ummm… good, good. I'm in a new band now, and we just signed a record deal. We start recording in a few months, and I'll be leaving for L.A. in a couple of weeks,” Gojyo said, his face glowing with pride.

 

“I'm glad to hear it. You have so much talent. You deserve it.”

 

How did we end up a few inches apart?,Sanzo thought, body pulsing at the proximity of the man who was his everything. His fingertips grazed the smooth skin of Gojyo's arm lightly, and it only served to torture him even more. Gojyo's eyes pushed shut, and he sucked in a shaky breath at the small, almost imperceptible, contact.

 

“Thank…”

“Gojyo…” a tall, well built man, with long dark hair called curiously.

 

Gojyo's eyes flew open, breaking free from the spell that was hovering around them. He turned and smiled at the other man, “Give me a second. I'll be right there.” Gojyo turned back to Sanzo looking frazzled. “I'm sorry about that. Thank you, for the compliment.”

 

Sanzo looked the other man over appraisingly, “Who's he?”

Gojyo looked pained as he answered, “My fiancé, Shien.”

“Are you happy?” Sanzo asked, the redhead breaking his heart all over again.

 

“Yeah, most of the time… except… when it rains.” Sanzo nodded his head in understanding, his eyes fluttering closed as he looked down towards the ground, afraid the smaller man would see the emptiness he felt written all over his face. Gojyo could always read him like a book. Slender fingers stroked his jaw, “Hey…”

 

He looked up into burgundy orbs, and forgot to breathe. The love, fear, happiness, and sadness he saw there were crushing. “Do you love him?” he asked. He couldn't help it, he needed to know.

 

His question was left floating in the air, as Gojyo searched indigo eyes. But he didn't seem to find what he was looking for, because he frowned. “Be happy, Sanzo. Please…” Gojyo pulled Sanzo to him, and wrapped him in a hug, leaving a delicate kiss on his cheek. As he walked away, he turned and with a chuckle added, “The hair looks good.”

 

Sanzo watched Gojyo embrace Shien, and kiss him passionately. A strong arm wrapped around the redheads shoulders, as they fell in step together, and moved away from him. Sanzo smiled a small smile. Maybe he could be happy too… For Gojyo…

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That night Sanzo was shocked awake by a loud clap of thunder. When lightning flashed he thought he saw scarlet eyes hovering above his frame. He rubbed his eyes, and tried to shake away the cobwebs deep sleep always brought. He got out of bed, and opened a window, the water beneath him lapping harshly. He'd dreamed of Gojyo again, like he had every night for the last five years, but this time it was different.

 

His eyes fell shut, letting the wind and rain caress his burning skin. He could feel nails run across the sensitive skin of his hips. His name floated to him across the breeze, as it ran wispy fingers through his hair. He caught a scent in the air, and it was unmistakable. His body felt electric…

 

ALIVE…

 

He opened his eyes and smiled. He pulled the necklace from his neck, and slid the ring from its place on the tender leather string. He read the inscription one last time… and just like that… it was gone forever.

 

As the storm raged on he knew with the certainty born of thirty years of life experience, that he was a slave to fate no longer.

 

And probably never had been…

 

 

 

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Thank you for sticking with this story all the way the end. I appreciate it more then you will ever know. Please read and review. I hope you've enjoyed my labor of love.