Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Sweet Decay ❯ Encounter ( Chapter 3 )

Sweet Decay

By Eline

Warning: Beware of yaoi, unpleasantness and other cliched little things one normally finds in these sort of fics.

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Homura watched the latest team of crack troops departing from the throne atop the raised dais. Shien stood at his left. Zenon on the right. The perfect picture of efficiency and deadly skill. And because they were soldiers, they knew that this was what soldiers did. None of them questioned the choice of sending men out on a fool's errand.

Konzen and the other three would not go down so easily. Even a blind man could see how fate was working overtime to complete a story had began five hundred years before.

Obstacles in their path were merely pebbles that could not disrupt the ponderous course of destiny. Naturally, Homura had no intention of stopping their journey west and he cared little about the dark power stirring in Tenjiku. What mattered was a small but vital adjustment to this tale . . .

Sheer chance alone had uncovered the catalyst to bring about the change. It had been right in front of him all along. There was no coincidence that Konzen, the Marshal and the General had been reunited with Son Goku. The ties linking Konzen with Son Goku, a source of power even the gods feared, were still strong. And Genjo Sanzo bore the Maten Sutra.

All that power backing an effort to save a world. Or destroy it.

There would be a time to wrest that that power from Konzen for his own. Soon.

Perhaps it had been about power all along. In the end, it was all there was.

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The officious sound of the ceremonial bugles signalled the beginning of a court session. And as with all court sessions in the Royal Palace, Homura ignored it as much as the walls would allow and walked on, unnoticed by the gathering courtiers in the Hall of the Heavenly Presence. It was easy to go unnoticed. The eyes of courtiers and servants alike seemed to slide right pass if they chanced to see him.

On that day however, the silken robes of the courtiers mingled with the uniforms of the military and were outnumbered, the bright spots of colour almost drowned within a sea of sombre black. The militia had little to do beyond practice drills and capturing troublesome beasts on Earth. Despite his detachment from the hubris at court, Homura knew that this was no ordinary court in session. Perhaps it was a military ceremony of sorts. Or a call to arms . . .

It was all made clear to him when the crowd made way for two figures to approach the throne. Litouten and his son, Nataku.

The right arm of Heaven, the Celestial Army, would stand aside this time around while the left arm would be used for whatever distasteful task needed doing. Probably another glorified assassination, with Heaven's permission, no less. Homura moved on.

He should have been slightly more interested in the proceedings. After all it had only been a matter of timing and political manoeuvring that Nataku, son of Litouten, and not Homura, bastard get of Tentei's sister, stood down there to receive whatever orders Tentei had to issue.

Homura knew that to look upon Nataku was to see his own future and the one fragile barrier between his present reality and that future. Looking at Nataku was . . . difficult because while he wore no chains, Homura could see them and they were forged, link by link, with obligations of empty air that weighed as much as solid stone.

It was strange how blood formed bonds. Parentage--that unshakeable and rigid chain between the highest of the high and the itans of Heaven. The strangeness of their blood that damned them and bound them here also made them brothers of a sort. And in some cases, it made them invisible to all eyes except when it was necessary.

His progress away from the Hall of the Heavenly Presence took him to the adjacent series of antechambers where the official scribes and other harried members of the Heavenly administration generated an endless stream of paperwork. For the inhabitants of this corridor, everyone else passing through might as well be invisible.

"The forms? Were they not signed?"

"No, I said that those invitations were to be *recalled*--"

"Whoever corrected those proofs had the brain of a diseased goat!"

"What do you mean you never received them? I had those sent here yesterday! I'll be damned if I have to review them all over again!"

A familiar voice pierced through the babble from one of the antechambers. Homura was almost knocked over by a haggard looking man hurrying out from that particular room--he seemed to be trying to break the record for speed while not actually running. The owner of the familiar voice emerged from the doorway and hollered, "And don't come back until you've found them!"

It might have been more effective if he had not been shouting almost directly into Homura's face.

Konzen's voice did, however, carry quite well and the lackey gave such a start that he collided with a scribe bearing a stack of papers. The resultant ruckus was . . . unexpected of the offices of the Heavenly Courts.

Homura turned back to the frozen figure in the doorway and arched an eyebrow. "Konzen Douji. You found your ward, I presume?"

"Taishi. Your assistance was appreciated," Konzen replied stiffly. Sheets of paper started drifting down around them and a dozen voices continued swearing in a most unclerk-like fashion. By some unspoken agreement, they stepped sideways into the office, out of sight of the crowd in the corridor in case someone should decide to trace the commotion back to its source.

Still slightly disconcerted from the battering his eardrums had taken, Homura glanced around the messy office. "Is it usually this chaotic around here?"

"This is the Recorder's Office. They're *supposed* to keep track of all the paperwork that gets approved or rejected." Konzen's tone implied that the Recorder's Office was a glorified filing cabinet--and a very messy one at that. "That's the sixth document they've lost or misplaced this month after it came through here," he said, practically growling as he shut the door. "Useless idiots . . ."

Konzen's list of complaints trailed off as he realised that Homura was looking at him. He was obviously not used to a direct gaze like that.

Despite the hectic pace in these offices, the Recorder had managed to provide tea for his high-ranking guest at a well-worn set of couches that had seen better days. Homura had wandered over to the window, skirting the many piles of paper on the way while watching Konzen's growing discomfort.

How strange . . .

Konzen was still wary. Still uncertain of how he should react to Homura. They were socially equal, if one counted these things by blood kinship and position, and Konzen was not acclimatised to the prejudices of the Heavenly Courts.

And that kind of naivete could only come from someone born high enough to never know fear.

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Konzen had been first surprised and then irritated by Homura's stare. Did the man have no idea of what proper conduct was after being in Heavenly Courts for so long? Oddly enough, Konzen had not seen him at all those functions. There had been something scandalous about his birth, but Konzen was never one to pay any attention to court gossip. If he wanted to know, he could always ask Tenp--

Then Homura demonstrated that he simply had no manners. None at all, Konzen realised dimly even as the blood rushed to his face.

Again, he had been surprised when Homura had moved to kiss him. And it lasted until Konzen had to pry himself loose while trying to breathe and express his outrage at the same time.

But Homura was surprisingly strong. Strong enough to press another kiss on him even though he fought it, all the while thinking that, This is the Recorder's Office, just down the hall from the Emperor's audience chamber--anyone could just walk in.

The mortification of being caught in such an embarrassing situation distracted him long enough for Homura to slip his tongue past his lips.

And Konzen had once thought that his bitch of a relation was forward. The hag had done this once to tease him and he had fended off her advances successfully. Homura, however, was not having a joke at his expense as he drew them both down onto the couch.

You can't do this here! he wanted to protest. Not like the courtiers and their supposed midnight assignations and secretive couplings in the gardens. For Konzen Douji, it was just not done.

Why not? the demon with the mismatched eyes seemed to ask.

Because. Because it just wasn't done.

He had thrown the memory of the previous two incidences aside. Did Homura think that it was some kind of game like the one the courtiers played amongst themselves?

The questions were not enough for him to ignore the hands on his skin and the lips on his mouth.

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Of course Homura had wanted this.

Konzen was taller than he was, even without the silly heels. And Konzen's body was a bony, angular bundle of pale limbs that fought him every step of the way. But his mouth was soft and his skin smelled clean and when Homura kissed him, he so obviously wished that he was somewhere else and not here, in the messy Recorder's Office pinned under a man he did not know.

Realising it only made Homura want it even more.

Konzen's face was red with embarrassment, torn between wanting to shout in protest and dreading the thought of being found like this. In this respect, he was like all the other courtiers and lackeys in Heaven.

He could apply himself to making Konzen's skin even redder--bring the blood up and shape a new bruise right there. He could make Konzen doubt--or at least make his body doubt itself. He could bring the pulse beneath that fine skin to beat a new, erratic rhythm. He could do all of this because Konzen was not as frigid as he seemed--only another godling here in Heaven; skin, flesh, nerves and yes, even a cock down there despite every contrary rumour that passed through the Courts of Heaven. He could do this because Konzen had no experience to counter it. And he did so until Konzen's protests weakened in the face of baser needs.

And there was still more to do. Homura dispensed with the preliminaries and tugged down Konzen's trousers.

There was hesitation, then resistance as the body under his hands became less co-operative. But it was easy to pin those slender wrists above his head and flip him over. There were protests muffled by the upholstery when he hauled those white pants down to reveal the smooth skin of Konzen's ass.

He *could* have made it easier for Konzen--this time, this first time. But he wanted this and no one had made his way any easier.

Being inside him was sweet. Coming inside him was sweeter still in the certain knowledge that no one else had tasted this particular delicacy before. They didn't know what they were missing, the fools.

Homura withdrew. Each breath he took in sounded loud to his ears. He had not felt this alive for a long time. Had forgotten what pleasure had been.

Konzen lay as he had been--a motionless heap of sweat-slicked limbs and white silk. His breath came out in shallow pants, wheezing between clenched teeth. He was practically rigid with pain when Homura turned him over. His frozen expression was that of a man who had never experienced pain before. Had never known what pain was.

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