Saiyuki Fan Fiction / Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Welcome To The Night ❯ We Think ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Sanzo pushed open the door of the dark bar, cursing the time of day and the fact that it was Sunday. The filthy place really wasn't a welcoming drinking spot, and he'd only ever been there once or twice before; it just happened to be the only close dive that was open.

Signalling to the bored-looking bartender for a beer or six, Sanzo took up residence at the table closest to the back of the room, instinctive paranoia causing him to find safety in corners. He'd seen a few too many ambushes in his time, skilled people being caught in vulnerable positions and ending up dead…just like his adoptive father…

Sanzo sighed, resting his elbow on the slightly sticky table and dropping his head into his hand. He was worn-out, stressed and pissed off; the last thing he needed was to start thinking about the only person he'd ever cared about.

The sound of a bottle hitting the table startled him, the aging waitress already walking away after having delivered the beer. He had to focus, dammit; you could never tell when someone was out for your ass, and dying wasn't in Sanzo's immediate schedule. He had too much to get done.

Taking a swig from the bottle, he made a face at the cheap and nasty booze, wishing that once more it was Saturday night all over again and he could get a decent drink.HHHH Almost immediately, Sanzo chastised himself for that thought; `I sure as Hell don't want to replay last night!'

For the best part of the last twenty-four hours, Sanzo had been repeating to himself that shacking up with that whore had been nothing more than a temporary lapse in judgement; and the only reason he couldn't get the redhead from his mind, even after paying him, was because he didn't know his identity. Sanzo had been through his fair share of paid and unpaid one-night stands over the years, so that wasn't the problem; but he'd always at least had a name to put to the faces. That had to be the issue.

And yet, he couldn't shut up the annoying little thoughts that wondered whether a `temporary' lapse in judgement would last that long, and repeat itself the next day; and that told him that names weren't really all that important.

He just tried to ignore those particular thoughts, along with the memories of long red hair brushing against his uncovered neck and the feeling of pushing inside that toned, lean body…

Sanzo wanted to bang his head against the table, brutally and repeatedly. Maybe killing a few hundred million brain cells would allow him to regain control of his mind. However, as usual, he simply maintained his grumpy façade and glared at the wall.

He'd almost managed to completely clear his mind when he sensed some poor fool slipping down to sit at his table, and as he turned his head Sanzo berated himself again for not paying attention to his surroundings. He was a sitting duck in his current state, and he'd be better off just going home.

That last statement was reiterated when he took in the person now sitting at his table, grinning widely like he was inviting a bullet between the eyes. It was that mistake from last night who just wouldn't stop following him, in all his irritatingly stunning glory. Sanzo wondered if the redhead was aware of his imminent death; judging by that smile, he was.

“What the fuck do you want? Actually, I don't care. Just fuck off.” Usually, Sanzo's tone of voice and the look of death in his eyes were enough to scare away any unwanted company; tonight, though, it didn't seem to be working. The redhead was still just sitting there, but his smile had melted into a smirking twist of lips. It occurred to Sanzo that the man looked like he was up to something…but what?

“Awww, sorry, man. You just looked so lonely over here on your own that I thought I'd see if I couldn't cheer you up a bit.”

Sanzo glared harder at the intruder, the false sympathy in the other man's voice nearly making his blood boil. His fingers itched to go for his gun, but he simply wrapped them around the bottle; there weren't many people in the bar at this time of the afternoon, and most of them were too drunk to notice anything anyway, but witnesses were not acceptable. Jail time was another thing that didn't factor into Sanzo's schedule.

“Why are you even in here? If you start following me, I will kill you.” Sanzo knew that he should just get up and leave, but there was an urge in him to make sure that the redhead knew he was dancing with death. It was unacceptable that a whore would start making his life difficult; after all, he'd paid the bastard, so why wasn't the other man simply pissing off?

“As enchanting as you are, Mister…?” The prostitute trailed off, clearly wanting Sanzo to fill in the gap with his name. When the only reply was Sanzo's top lip curling into a snarl, the redhead shrugged. “Alright, whatever, don't bite my head off. Anyway, I wasn't following you; I actually came in for a drink and what d'ya know, who do I see but the prick who seemed to want to shoot me with his gun earlier. And not even the good type of `gun', if you get what I mean.”

Sanzo did get what the taller man was implying, but by this point he was getting too tired to care. He'd had a horrible week, and just wanted to go crash. The moron to the side of him was the annoying icing on the shitty cake.

“I don't make a habit of spending time with the people I fuck, especially not hookers. If you have nothing relevant to impart, piss off.” Sanzo grabbed a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, hoping that it might calm his growing rage. Otherwise, someone was going to die.

When a small flame appeared from beside him, Sanzo had to work hard to quash the tiny flicker of gratitude that he felt at the unprompted gesture. He was supposed to be royally pissed off, and there was no chance in Hell of him showing the redhead any kind of thanks, no matter how small. He had a feeling that the man would never leave him alone if he did.

“Well, originally I figured that, even though you tried to kill me and all, you might've been up for a replay. I can ignore death threats if the person handing `em out is hot like you. But it's pretty obvious that you're satisfied with just that stick up your ass.” The redhead's smile grew again, and his shoulders shook a little with silent laughter. Sanzo found himself remembering why he'd been so drawn to the single figure in the crowded club, and decided that it really was time to leave before something bad went down. He'd never been to the same whore twice, and he wasn't about to sta-…wait…

“I thought you said that you didn't work today.” The question was out before he could stop it, and Sanzo wondered whether that slight flicker of tenuous curiosity would be enough for the other man to pick up on. The redhead seemed like the kind of guy who could get under people's shields, and Sanzo would not allow that to happen. He should've left already; he should've left five minutes ago.

The taller man's eyes widened momentarily, clearly surprised that Sanzo had actually listened to him earlier. His voice came out as a seductive drawl, his intentions painfully clear. “You're right, I'm not working today. So how about it?”

He finished off his sentence with a slow wink, and Sanzo gripped the top of the table, pushing out his chair and standing up. Was the man purposely trying to be an annoying little shit, or did it just come naturally?

Turning and walking away without a word, Sanzo didn't even make it to the door before an arm slipped over his shoulders and he felt warm breath tickling his ear. “Leaving without saying goodbye? Why, how very rude of you.”

Trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in his gut at the feel of the arm around him, Sanzo stopped still, catching the redhead off guard. Drawing his arm forward, he rammed his elbow back with as much strength as he could muster, striking directly into the taller man's stomach and winding him.

As the redhead bent over and started coughing, Sanzo detached himself from the arm over his shoulders and walked off, slamming the bar door as he left. `How dare he touch me? No one touches me without consent!'

Sanzo had moved a few blocks from the bar, eyes still becoming accustomed to the mid-afternoon light, when he felt something lightly pricking his skin in the general area of his left pectoral. Lightly rubbing over the area with the heel of his hand, he was surprised to feel something sitting inside the chest pocket of his button-down shirt.

Dipping his fingers into the pocket, Sanzo drew out a folded piece of paper with rough edges that had clearly been torn from a notepad. Suddenly curious, he unfolded the paper and tried to focus on the messy handwriting. Without his glasses, it was difficult to see something so close up.

“Hey Blondie, I know it's a cliché and all, but call me if you're looking for a good time!”

At the bottom of the note was a phone number, but no name. Not that it mattered; Sanzo already knew who the note was from, even if he couldn't quite figure out how the redhead had gotten it into his pocket. When the realisation hit, he felt like a complete idiot. `Of course! He must've done it when he had his arm across my shoulders! I knew that prick was up to something.'

Walking to the nearest bin, the scrap of paper was held above the rim for a few seconds before Sanzo sighed and shook his head. Something was telling him not to throw away the note, to keep it on hand just in case; and so he refolded the paper, tucking into the pocket of his jeans.

Keeping the number didn't mean anything; contacts were important in Sanzo's line of work.

Yeah. That was it.

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Gojyo stood at the end of the block, smirking to himself as the blonde took the note from his pocket, walked to a bin, hesitated, and then moved off with paper still in hand. He was pretty proud of himself, putting the message into the other man's pocket without getting his attention.

It was worth the new bruise most probably blooming on his abdominals right that second. Damn, but that man had quite the arm. Not really a surprise, judging by what Gojyo had seen and felt of his muscles; he was hiding a toned physique that surely had to be the product of constant exercise. `I wonder where he finds the time to work out…looks aside, he seems like your everyday pencil-pusher; usually, those kind of guys don't have a lot of time for the gym…'

He had been wondering what it was that the blonde did for a living. Judging by the not-quite-casual clothing and the fact that he seemed like a rich, up-tight prick, Gojyo had assumed that the blonde was some sort of company manager or something equally as boring. The ones that pick up prostitutes usually were, in his personal experience…not that they generally carried guns…hmmm…

He hadn't been expecting to come across the man again so quickly; when he'd walked into that bar for nothing more than a drink, he'd been thrown completely off-course when he noticed the familiar figure hunched in the back corner of the room.

He'd borrowed a bit of paper and a pen from the bar, quickly scribbling out the note. He knew that he'd get rejected, but if he could just plant an idea in the blonde's head…

This was completely different from anything that Gojyo had ever done before. When he wrote down his phone number, work wasn't on his mind; he'd have sex with the blonde for free anytime. In any case, after the shorter man had left him in the alley, Gojyo had walked around slightly dazed for a bit before it had hit:

He was in lust.

He actually wanted to screw around with the gorgeous blonde again. He'd never felt anything like this before; had never felt any urge to actively seek someone out. And yet, there he was, approaching a hostile customer in a bar and handing out his phone number.

He'd seen people do it, over his years of working at the club; ordinary men and women picking each other up without any concept of payment. Hell, people had tried it on him a few hundred times, before Gojyo had realised that they weren't aware of his `professional' status and he'd walked off.

He'd just…never wanted to actually do it himself. At least, until last night when he'd realised that even if the blonde didn't know who he was propositioning, he'd sleep with him.

The very idea that he might be letting someone close was unsettling, but then again he had no idea whether the blonde was even interested. There were some signs though…the fact that the man had listened to his throwaway comment about having Sundays off; the way that the blonde hadn't left the table until Gojyo had clearly attempted to pick up; and the way that the man had actually hunted him down earlier.

People who never wanted to see their whore again just didn't do shit like that.

Underneath the anger, there was something interesting. Gojyo could tell; the man was hiding beneath his grumpy mask. There was something fascinating about him, and combined with the way he looked and the fact that he was a pretty good fuck, Gojyo was hooked. As long as the man didn't follow through on his threats of a bullet, Gojyo was prepared to keep pushing until the blonde submitted.

He'd have him again. The man had acted like he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Gojyo, but his body seemed to say differently. He wasn't blind; Gojyo had caught the teeniest flicker of a smile around a cigarette when he'd held out his own lighter before the scowl returned.

The blonde tried to deny it, but it was there if you looked hard enough; he wanted Gojyo, possibly as much as Gojyo wanted him.

There was nothing to do but push until the other man cracked and dropped his pants. Maybe then, Gojyo would actually learn the man's name.

Leaning against the building behind him and lighting a cigarette, Gojyo laughed to himself at the sheer ridiculousness of his current situation. He was in lust with a nameless, grumpy customer who'd earlier threatened to shoot him. He was fully prepared to chase after the man for as long as it took. And, to top it all off, he was willing to fuck about without getting paid.

If some of the people he'd met over the years could see him now…

Gojyo suddenly found his mind wandering over into dangerous territory…the normally quiet area of his brain, the one where he kept the memories of his older brother, was starting to poke its figurative head up. It happened occasionally; he thought about what his brother would say about his profession, and he wondered if he'd ever see Jien again.

Ever since that night, when Gojyo's step-mother had gotten more abusive than usual, flying into a drunken rage…he'd truly thought that he was going to die by the knife in her hands, and there wasn't a damn thing he could've done about it.

But then…his brother had come in, hitting her over the head with a heavy lamp that had resided on a small table…the sickening crack of a breaking skull had made Gojyo wanted to vomit, and after his brother had turned and walked out, splattered in blood, Gojyo had been sick. Eventually, he'd managed to drag himself off the floor and into the street, and he'd never looked back.

He didn't know what had happened to his step-mother's body, how long it had taken before someone had found it…and he didn't know what his brother was doing now. Even though the older guy had cared enough to save Gojyo's life over that of his own mother, he clearly didn't care enough to check up on how his younger half-brother was going.

Gojyo had gotten over the hurt of that a long time ago; but he'd never cared about anyone else since.

Realising that his cigarette was very nearly about to burn his fingers, Gojyo crushed it out against the wall and shook out his hair, trying to clear his mind of the depressing thoughts that had suddenly plagued it.

Smiling, he replaced images of his brother's blood-stained hands with images of how the anonymous blonde man's cock had looked wrapped inside his own fingers...and as he walked back to his apartment, Gojyo had to wonder whether his growing erection was starting to show or not.

It looked like he had some new material to use whenever he was stuck with a particularly repulsive client…like the one he had to deal with tomorrow.

Gojyo's smile shrank, but didn't disappear completely, as he remembered that he had an `appointment' late tomorrow morning with a regular customer…he absolutely hated having clients making house-calls, but there wasn't much he could do about it…

…Then again, if the blonde ever wanted to have a personal visit, there weren't going to be any complaints from Gojyo's end!

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***I swear that this is going somewhere. I should be done with the initial character bases now…hopefully…Please stick with me!***