Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Lavender Dust ❯ Lavender Dust ( One-Shot )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: narziss
"Because Sanzo is his air and when he's gone Gojyo will suffocate. Pathetically suffocate. Like a stranded fish gasping for air helplessly while the sun is drying it out."
Short and sweet one-shot written for my beta's birthday.
Gojyo/Sanzo

Anime/Manga: Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 03.26.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 2.5K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Completed

Lavender dust
 
Sometimes he wants to kiss the small of his neck, to press his lips against that white skin and bury his nose in those soft blond strands of hair.
Sometimes he wants grab him by his thin, bony shoulders and beat the shit out of him.
That's controversial. He knows that. But the feeling is so intense that he can't locate it, he can't tell whether it's in his head or his groin or his heart or maybe his pinky.
It feels like drowning, somehow, as if he was under the surface of some great, wide sea and saw the light of the sun shimmering above him. The need for oxygen would be unbearable and he would eventually emerge and take deep, long breaths of air.
He feels drawn to him like a moth to the light even though he knows he will burn in it.
He might be in love, but he isn't going to admit it to himself. Not yet.
 
*
 
Sanzo is all sharp angles and hard muscle under pale skin. He looks so thin and frail, like an insect of some sort with those strange eyes and that strange hair.
Gojyo is sure he could break him in a half if he wanted to. But he doesn't. Because Sanzo is his air and when he's gone Gojyo will suffocate. Pathetically suffocate. Like a stranded fish gasping for air helplessly while the sun is drying it out.
He wants to inhale Sanzo. Completely absorb him, so that noone else will ever be able to touch or smell or see him.
Gojyo can nearly feel the resistance of Sanzo's skin against his fingers while he watches him smoke his last cigarette.
Then Sanzo looks up and says: “What?”
Gojyo shrugs and smirks. “You think I'm watchin' you, Miss Cherry?”
 
*
 
He has never really noticed it. That Sanzo's eyes are of the color of dry lavender powder. Not violet, as he used to think before, but lavender.
But he does notice it now that Sanzo is so close; in fact, he notices quite a few things: the monk's lashes and that they are blond. And that Sanzo rims his eyes with black coal. That Sanzo only blushes on the top of his cheekbones.
That Sanzo's hand is shaking slightly while he presses his gun against Gojyo's temple.
“You are not going to shoot me, monk,” he states calmly the fingers of his right hand spreading out on Sanzo's latex-clothed chest. He can feel the heart pounding beneath the touch of his hand and his skin is warming from the heat radiating from Sanzo's skin.
“You are not worth the bullet,” Sanzo growls showing his front-teeth like an angry wolf.
Noone is, obviously, he wants to say, but he doesn't. He just shoves Sanzo slightly, makes him stumble backwards and walks off. His heart is aching.
 
*
 
If Gojyo were rational he would leave Sanzo alone. He would sit down and go through all the very logical reasons that speak against trapping Sanzo and pinning him against a tree.
He would tell himself that Sanzo has a gun and that the man knows how to use it. That Sanzo is well trained in martial arts and other than that has sharp teeth and nails. That Sanzo absolutely won't be pleased by the prospect of being molested by a certain red-haired man.
But Gojyo is not rational, never has been, and so he finds himself in the compromising situation of having Sanzo up against a tree struggling to get free, the gun pressed into his, Gojyo's, flank.
His other hand has gotten caught in his robes that are dangling from his waist because Gojyo pushed them down. He is so going to die.
Sanzo is glaring at him with those ridiculously lavender eyes (no coal this time, but they are glowing nonetheless) and Gojyo slides his fingers over the patch of white skin between Sanzo's top and his gloves.
“I hate you,” the monk says and Gojyo covers those smirking lips with his own.
One second of moist heat and then Sanzo opens his mouth and Gojyo pushes his tongue in and Sanzo kisses back; eagerly so.
Another two seconds of the same heat and hot, harsh breath and then Sanzo rams his knee into Gojyo's groin.
He hears him swear (the Gods, himself, hormones, men and other things Gojyo is not capable of understanding) and from his place on the mossy, wet forest floor Gojyo feels him storm off.
 
*
 
Sanzo is not only avoiding him.
It is the total lack of acknowledgement. No glares directed at him, no insults or aimed guns, no fans coming down hard on his head.
Gojyo really liked those glares and the occasional gun-to-head did give him a rush of adrenalin sometimes.
He feels left out somehow because Sanzo is being his usual bitchy self to every other person they meet.
It makes him want to bang his head against a wall. Hard. And repeatedly.
And still whenever they're off the road, Sanzo is sauntering around in his low-cut jeans and his tight leather top, with his gloves and all his pale, pale skin as if he did not know that Gojyo is following every single one of his steps.
He continues staring at Sanzo's neck from his seat in the car. It would be the easiest thing to lean forward and bury his teeth in that soft flesh. Draw blood.
Sanzo surely wouldn't ignore him then.
Or put his arms around him. And press his face into the mass of blond hair. That would be even nicer than biting. Really.
 
*
 
He is staring. Again. And blatantly so.
Sipping from his Whiskey and looking at Sanzo over the rim of his glass.
A great way to spend one's evening.
But Sanzo is firmly staring back, a bottle of sweet, red Sherry in his right hand, for once not ignoring him. And that makes it worth spending his evening in the company of a bottle of bitter Whiskey in this ruddy bar.
Sanzo takes a sip from his bottle, both hands tightly around its neck, staring him down and Gojyo can't help but notice how fragile he is. Seems to be. Whatever.
Sanzo sets his Sherry down onto the table, two fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle and Gojyo can't help but think about other things than Sanzo's fragility. Like his lips. Whatever.
“Fucking stop that staring,” the monk says suddenly, and Gojyo blinks and blinks again at a loss of words for once.
“Why are you here anyway?” Sanzo continues.
“Because you are.”
“Right. Could have guessed that one, asshole.”
Gojyo doesn't answer and Sanzo doesn't continue talking.
But the bottle of sweet, red Sherry makes its way over the table into Gojyo hands encouraged by Sanzo's pushing fingers.
 
*
 
This time it's Sanzo staring at him and it doesn't even surprise Gojyo very much.
To be honest, Sanzo has been glancing at him all day long and the day before and the day before the day before. Or something like that.
The monk is sucking on a long burned down cigarette butt glaring at him through lavender eyes, obviously unaware that he is being watched back.
“It didn't…” Sanzo starts then after shifting a little, uneasy maybe, and stops and breathes deeply before starting again. “It doesn't mean anything.”
Gojyo knows he refers to the Gojyo-not-being-rational-and-pressing-him-against-a-tree-and-kissing-him -thing.
“I seem to remember having your tongue in my mouth too, Miss Cherry,” he answers smoothly not quite sure that he is not talking nonsense.
But Sanzo blushes a little, again just on his cheekbones, and tosses the cold smoke to the ground.
“It doesn't mean anything at all,” he states again, his voice full of desperate determination that makes Gojyo raise his brows.
“Right,” he says and Sanzo hisses something at him and storms off.
Well, that's something Gojyo knows rather well by now. Sanzo storming off like the Drama Queen he deep within is.
 
*
 
“I don't like you, really,” Sanzo says, his shoulder bones digging into Gojyo's back because he is using him as a pillow to lean against.
“That's mutual, you know?”
“In fact I hate you,” the monk goes on and Gojyo closes his eyes and enjoys that Sanzo's voice is so close to his ear.
He smells nice, too. A bit of mint and moss. Not sweet at all.
“Well, that's not mutual.”
Sanzo stays quiet from then on, but that might be because he fell asleep.
Gojyo doesn't want to wake him by turning around to check if he really has drifted off.
It is nice like that. Cozy because Sanzo is so warm against him even through all the layers of clothing they both wear.
Yes, Sanzo is not sweet but warm and he likes it. Very much so.
 
*