Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Rules ❯ Rules ( Chapter 1 )

~A birthday fic for Shayne, because I loves her muchly.

 

Rules

 

He was on all fours on a shitty inn bed when it finally occurred to him that he would never understand what it was that made him crave this kind of treatment.

 

His musings stopped as the fan hit his ass. It stung like a bitch but felt so damn good at the same time. The sound it made was indescribable, but he almost salivated at the thought of hearing it again. Would it feel this good if anyone else was doing it?

 

It really didn't matter. He'd never let anyone else do this.

 

There was a yank on his hair and his throat was exposed then devoured by hungry lips. There was still a trickle of blood from their earlier games and he sighed when it was lapped up by a hot, eager tongue. Warm hands smoothed over the spot where the harisen had just landed. Words were whispered in his ear but he couldn't make them out. Lust was a language he had not let himself get too familiar with until recently.

 

The harisen struck again and he sucked in a breath. A few more swats and he would be done for. Begging, however, was not an option. He was willingly submissive in this game they played. And he would never beg for anything, especially sex.

 

His body betrayed him as his ass wiggled slightly, silently asking for moremoremoreNOW!

 

He closed his eyes as the bed shifted under the other man's weight. There was no response for a few moments, then a low chuckle and another hard slap of paper against skin almost made him laugh with giddy relief.

 

He was shivering with anticipation now. His whole body thrummed with every beat of his heart. He was sure it was audible at this point. He didn't care. He wiggled his ass more, inviting more punishment, or whatever else he would be graced with.

 

“My, my. Aren't we impatient tonight?” The voice was low and gruff, dripping with lust.

 

Please... The word formed on his lips, but no sound accompanied it. He still had a shred of dignity left. For now.

 

Cool wetness leaked down his crack and he smiled despite himself.

 

Finally!

 

But his partner had other ideas, more ways to torment him longer. His knuckles were gripping the sheets so tightly that they were turning white. His breathing was ragged and shallow and he could feel a thin film of sweat covering him.

 

They had been playing for hours now, being left alone while the other two went out. It always started with bickering, then somewhere along the way ended with them fucking as if they were never going to have the chance again. They entered each other without grace and without acknowledging the trust implied in the act. Rarely were words other than demands spoken, and lately even those were few and far between. He always needed an element of violence, whether he was on the receiving end or not. It kept things clean, he rationalized. It kept things simple.

 

The barrel of the gun that prodded his hole was not what he expected at all and was far from clean and simple. He voiced his concern in a weak, high voice, ashamed at how needy he still sounded.

 

Another throaty chuckle. “You're the one that needs it like this, monk. I'm just complying with what you want.” The gun nudged itself in a bit and pain seared through him.

 

He wantonly pushed back against it, earning him a long moan of approval.

 

The heat radiating off the other man was proof that they were as close as they could be without touching. The gun was the only physical link they had to each other. He knew it was hard for the other to not touch him, but his request was made clear early on. The less contact during foreplay, the better. He had no rational reason for this other than his own twisted need for redemption through detached closeness.

 

The metal of the banishing gun warmed as it slid in, inch by inch. He swayed back and forth with it, itching to touch himself but knowing better. He had to follow his own rules, of course.

 

There was heavy panting as the gun was slowly worked in deeper. He could tell neither of them would last much longer.

 

“Please, man, I don't think...” The sound of skin on skin assaulted his ears as Gojyo broke the rules and stroked himself with his free hand. His own rhythm with the gun became erratic and he lost his struggle with silence, echoing the kappa's moans of pleasure with grunts and pants.

 

After that, blind lust took them both over, forcing them to bend to it's will. The gun was removed with a wet sound and a hiss of pain. Sanzo noted how easily he disregarded his own rules as he turned over onto his back and spread his legs. His hand automatically went to his cock and he matched Gojyo's strokes, getting off on watching Gojyo watch him.

 

Gojyo's eyes narrowed as he fought for control of his own body. His hand stopped and he climbed on top of the monk, sighing as Sanzo wrapped his legs around his waist and those strong arms nearly choked him as they locked around his neck.

 

The priest spoke lowly into the red hair veiling them. “Fuuuuck.”

 

It was a plea and a command. Gojyo smiled.

 

Though he'd made the demand, he did the work himself, loosing one hand and feeling his way down the hard body above him. His fingertips glided over skin he'd once spent hours exploring. His impatience was getting the best of him, but he was beyond caring. He needed the other half of his kink; the closeness. The part where he was filled so much that he feared he might explode. The part where Gojyo fucked him into oblivion and the unconscious sleep that followed was dreamless and blessedly silent.

 

The room filled with their noises as they raced to completion. The sounds they made were clear to Sanzo. Here was a language he spoke fluently.

 

On the rare occasion he was not asleep directly after they fucked, he would share a smoke with the water sprite. It was his quiet thanks.

 

There were rules about what happens after. Sanzo insisted on no talking, cuddling, touching or kissing, but Gojyo had always been known for being a rule breaker.