Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Everybody Loves My Baby ❯ Chapter 3

 

Everybody Wants My Baby

 

Part III

 

Very occasionally, Sanzo picks up actual words from the endless buzzing that surrounds him. Mostly it's a jumble of images and sounds, and the undertones and contours of voices that he senses and usually its irritating, whining shit that he ignores. People are always goddamn complaining, and in theirmown heads too, and he doesn't want to hear them at all. Sometimes, though, he lets himself float nad listens to Goku's voice at the base of his head, clear and murmuring, the sharp pitch that he's been hearing more and more lately, making him just the slightest bit uncomfortable. Since that night in the restaurant, he's been able to guess, that a certain pitch means something that he's still unwilling to put into his words. He lets the buzzing and the pitch lull him into a daze, as the vehicle climbs over the rough road and is maneuvered around bumps and throbs. Perhaps it was foolish of him to do what he did, but it was wicked and delightful when he slipped it in, in the morning, and each bump now sends a pleasurable jolt to his loins, and up his spine. Only years of training keep his face bland and expressionless, and he lets his mind relax, not wander- never that - but removes the tight filters and shackles, so he can let some voices slide in.

 

Gojyo comes through clearly, a gut wrenching slam of image and light and sound, and smell, fantastic warms soft smells and tastes - some vague memory, as Sanzo catches the hint of a darkened room - and surely not - laughing green eyes, and the agonizing bitter-sweet pain of entry. Gojyo's occasional reminiscings about women, that he's sensed once in a while, had a more stale flavor to them, a sense of relief and ease, but not of this sweet-apple-delight, like cold water held in the mouth and sliding down his throat. With practiced and deft ease, Sanzo slips around Gojyo's voice, the steady thrum of Goku that he can never quite block out, insistent and firm at the base of his skull, and leans back in his seat. Hakkai's voice rarely comes through, because the surface seems smooth, unbreakable, much like Hakkai at the dinner table, Hakkai at the wheel, but underneath Sanzo senses a seething mass of black angry coils, pulling him inexorably, and so he rarely removes this filter. Occasionally, and more often than before, Hakkai is neither bland nor black, but soft and silky, twisting through Sanzo's hypersensitive nerves, gentle shivering touches behind his ears, like today. On days like this, when the sun isn't too hot, and the road not too bumpy, Sanzo lets the walls down and lets their voices wash through his head like a tide, leaving him soft, and clean inside. He stretches a little, indolently, and once again Goku's warm against his neck, and gentle, cupping his chin to tilt him back and warm golden happiness flooding his synapses, and wait. Sanzo blinks. This is suddenly no longer an intellectual exercise.

 

He's stretched out in his chair, which seems to have leaned itself back, and Goku's small hard hands are curled possessively around his neck and jaw. An amused golden glance examines him minutely, and Gojyo says softly, from behind, Damn, monkey, you're right, something is up. Hakkai looks over, across from the wheel, and for a moment Sanzo is trapped inside the luminescent green eyes, vaguely uncomfortable until Gojyo's rough and warm palm connects with one of his hands, and suddenly weak, he grips. Perhaps he let too many walls slide down, he doesn't seem to able to draw himself back together, and he feels like his legs have turned to jelly. The insistent throb in his nether regions won't subside, and he tilts his head back with a soft exhalation. He vaguely hears Hakkai reassuring the other two that no, Sanzo isn't ill, its something else perhaps, and yes, he'll be fine, and yes, they should probably find a place to stay for a little while today. He's too tired to fight it anymore, this insistent soft needy murmur from the three of them that he tries to block out, but can't. He's tired of thrusting desperately into his own hand whenever the chance arises, because the safe option of simply imagining what he wants isn't safe anymore, not when he can hear them thinking the things he wishes they could do, instead of just imagining it. It's now real, it's now a possibility, and Sanzo privately admits to himself that it's somewhat inevitable that eventually something is going to happen between the four of them. It would be impossible to stay sane without filters, or he'd hear every little angsty whine and self indulgent little bitching that passes by around him, and passing through towns would be like listening to crickets chirping inside his bloody temples, but he can't hold up the walls against these three anymore. Hakkai is talking again, out loud this time, and so much more tangible, so much clearer and suddenly something shifts inside him as they crash over a bump, and all he can hear is an impossible wobbling mix of fantasy and reality and need and crashing desire. His world goes white, and then dark, and dark, and darker.

 

“Holy shit” whispers Gojyo.

Goku cannot speak as yet.

Hakkai has stopped the vehicle, and after soothing a ruffled Jeep, is half turned, drumming his fingers on his knees. His eyes have an unearthly, sharp glee, and he looks vastly amused, knowing and turned-on at the same time.

 

“What just happened?” asks Gojyo, still staring at Sanzo, his pale head tipped back, mouth slightly open and chest lifting slightly, as small sharp breaths flood his body.

“Well, considering the - ah - status of the robes, and the particular gasp we all heard, one would presume that Sanzo just had an orgasm” says Hakkai, and thoughtfully retrieves a packet of paper napkins from under his chair.

 

"But - how? " Goku seems have recovered his voice, and continues - "No one touched him! I only touched his face! Did you do something with your chi, Hakkai?" 

 

“I have never seen that happen.” Remarks Gojyo, and he looks envious and awed at once. “Hands free?”

Hakkai lifts an eyebrow. “Yes, you have, Gojyo.”

“I have?”

Goku snickers. “Yeah, you did, kappa.”

“I never!”

“Did”

“Didn't”

“Did”

“Didn't”

 

A gunshot.

 

“Just. Fucking. Drive.” croaks Sanzo. He's still sprawled bonelessly, back from the exhausted blank aftermath of what possibly could have been the most stupendous orgasm of his life. The gun pointed directly over his shoulder at Gojyo's mouth effectively shuts it, along with Goku as well.

“Hands on the wheel, Hakkai. And out of my damn clothes.” he snarls. The walls and barriers are back, and embarrassment, irritation and rage are trying to compete with the blissed out state of his body, and are losing. But dammit, he has his pride, and he could atleast sound like he's in charge around here.

 

“Of course, Sanzo. Would like me to turn the vibrator off, or shall I leave it on?”