Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Sweet Decay ❯ Lifetimes ( Chapter 1 )

Sweet Decay

By Eline

Warning: This fic is yaoi.

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It began one day in Heaven. One day that was no different from any other in the prefect realm of the gods.

Perfection. The ennui of the gods. Attainable through the millennia of unchanging, unceasing boredom. Much like the tamed wilderness in the Heavenly courts.

Perfectly pruned shrubs, kept out of the way of the footpaths under the trees--which were in full bloom, of course. How could it be otherwise when the Dowager was holding a tea party in the middle of the artfully crafted grove to celebrate the talents of her handmaids?

Quite a few would have killed just to be included on the guest list. The immortals gathered there were supposed to be privileged. Privileged to hear a coterie of Heavenly maidens strum the shamisen and the zither. The honour of watching the Dowager's tea ceremony. The opportunity to start reciting flattering poetry in front of the venerable immortal.

Well, that sort of thing was for those with invitations . . .

Homura had felt no inclination to shift himself from the spot he had been occupying since morning when he had seen the gathering of immortals. No one would come across him here in this secluded nook in the grove of evergreens. This particular stand of trees was not nearly as well tended as the other neat shrubs and its imperfection had made it seem a little more welcoming than the others.

And the prince took a small measure of pleasure in observing the foolish and the sycophantic while they were unaware of his presence. While he was not a scholar or particularly fond of the arts, some of the poetry was really quite bad and the lady playing the zither should have tuned her instrument a little more carefully. Or perhaps it was just due to sweaty palms . . .

It was almost like some comical play, but his initial amusement was wearing off, replaced by irritation at the inanity of it all.

He was not of their kind. He was half-mortal and therefore a hybrid and a forbidden one at that. He would not *be* one of them.

And unlike these smug, bored immortals, he would die some day. A thought like *that* would serve to decrease the monotony of life--which was why animals, in their desperate quest for survival, had no concept of boredom.

Once, he had been indifferent to death and the cessation of his existence. Until *her*. He could still count the days they had been together until the inevitable had happened.

A necessary preventative step. No more halflings. But she had been exiled instead. The non-existent logic of that sentence had stunned him. And now he was merely angry. Angry at his own ancestry, which had efficiently denied him a quick mortal end and condemned him to a prolonged death sentence. The blood that made him unfit to be seen at gatherings like this and yet less expendable than that of pure bred immortals.

Homura wanted nothing more than to be away from here. The perfume from the blossoming trees was suddenly sickly sweet and the latest poet seemed far worse than his peers. He should have looked for a discreet way out earlier. For now, he was stuck here in this small space with a pair of stone benches and his own thoughts for company--

Or perhaps not so alone anymore. The sound of heels on the paving stones leading into this sheltered copse alerted him to an intruder. It would be just his luck if it was some pair of courtiers, bored of the bad poetry and seeking someplace engage in a little private frolicking. But the newcomer was alone and almost instantly recognisable.

Homura knew a little about him--after that time at the Emperor's birthday and the most entertaining fight that had broken out there. It had not been hard to find out a little more about the participants to that little brawl--they were all rather intriguing characters. The Marshal, the General and the itan boy. A child born from the earth and no mortal parent. The fact that they had to keep him chained like that bespoke a power that even the gods were afraid of. Homura filed all of that away carefully for future reference.

But the boy's keeper . . .

That the son of a Buddha and nephew to Kanzeon Bosatsu--Konzen Douji himself--would lower himself to interfere . . .

He had heard about the court's most reclusive and unfriendly deity--the whispers were never very soft in the Courts of Heaven. Another heavenly paper-pusher. Cold, arrogant and probably as frigid as an icicle. But they never said much about that long blond hair or the fine features that were, at present, marred by a look of absolute and total boredom.

"Oh . . . I didn't know that this spot was occupied." Largely indifferent to his surroundings, Konzen probably did not even notice who he was speaking to. He made to leave and Homura inclined his head lazily.

"Konzen Douji, I presume?"

Mild irritation flashed across his face before it was masked by blandness--he did not seem to want to talk, or perhaps he had known too many sycophants who desired influence with his exalted relation far too many times. "You have the advantage of me . . ." Homura felt a twinge of dark satisfaction as Konzen finally noticed the chains. "Homura Taishi?"

Apparently, he was not *that* out of the loop yet.

"I think all the other spots are occupied at the moment . . ."

Konzen grimaced in distaste, no doubt following a similar train of thought as to what was going on in the artful scattering of pavilions and shelters.

"If you're as bored as I already am, you're more than welcome to sit down," Homura offered. Even when it was not his place to offer, even when he was not supposed to be here. However, Konzen did not appear to think anything was amiss.

"It *is* boring," Konzen said, slumping down on the other stone bench. "Some of that poetry was atrocious."

"True enough. I couldn't haven sat through that last poet's reading a moment longer."

"Not by choice anyway," Konzen gritted out.

"Oh?"

"I'm here in place of . . . someone else . . ."

Homura had a very good idea of just who Konzen was standing in for. No matter what the occasion, Kanzeon Bosatsu was invited as a matter of courtesy. Konzen looked as though he had been about to say something else entirely, but had reined it in just in time.

"Is the Goddess of Mercy indisposed?" Homura asked, more out of curiosity than any real concern.

"Hardly," Konzen snorted, not even bothering to deny Homura's assumption. "The Goddess of Mercy doesn't usually bother with this sort of thing. I was sent because it was an invitation from the Dowager herself."

"Well she certainly sounds different from what I was led to believe . . ."

"It," Konzen said automatically.

"Excuse me?"

"'It', not 'her' or 'she'. Technically speaking."

Homura adjusted this particular idea in his mind for a moment before responding, "I had no idea that those rumours were accurate . . . in such a technical fashion."

"It's true," Konzen said, a faint trace of distaste evident in his voice and frown. Or it could have been his usual expression. "It gets more obvious if you're working in her--it's--direct chain of command."

Homura had nothing in particular to do and had the day at his leisure, but discussing gender pronouns with Konzen Douji had not been among any of his plans. It was still better than speculating what kind of opiates the supposed poets over there had been using when they had been seized by the urge to write.

Further conversation was interrupted by more footsteps. Definitely more than one person this time. A soft feminine giggle in response to some whispered endearments clearly identified the motives of these newcomers.

Konzen swore under his breath. Homura glanced around the verdant shade of the small clearing in exasperation. That tea party should have wound down by now . . .

He shrugged mentally and crossed the intervening space between the stone benches.

"Excuse me," he said and bent to kiss Konzen.

Caught off balance, Konzen instinctively clutched at Homura's shoulders to prevent himself from falling backwards.

From behind them, there was a stifled gasp and the sound of footsteps retreating rapidly down the footpath again.

Homura straightened up carefully. With luck, they would have seen only two vague figures in the dappled shadows of the grove.

"I don't think they'll come back here again," he said to the glaring, motionless figure perched on the bench. "I'm going to be rude and leave this party early . . ."

Homura prudently left the grove before Konzen could find his tongue again, dodged several servitors and made his way out of the gardens swiftly. All in all, it had been a boring day. Except for that look on Konzen's face . . .

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Which was not the same as the expression of scornful boredom Genjo Sanzo wore, but the undercurrent of anger was there. While Konzen had been quick-tempered and eternally irate, Sanzo fairly smouldered with banked rage.

A kind of rage that bubbled through to the surface at times like this. When his bullets had proved useless against the three kamis, and his three followers were unable to keep up . . .

And Homura had merely been testing their mettle in a pitiful excuse for a skirmish.

He signalled Zenon and Shien to disengage, knowing that they could be relied upon to keep their power in check at times like this.

"We'll meet again, Konzen." That was a promise.

Sanzo's snarled curse was the last thing they heard as they teleported away.

"Homura, I do not understand. Is this baiting really necessary for Son Goku's development? We could have taken them easily," Shien said when they were back at the Tower.

"All in good time," Homura replied placidly.

"I think you just like playing with them," Zenon said bluntly.

Homura bared his teeth in what could have been a smile. "But you must admit that they're rather fun to play with . . ."

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