Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ Sweet Decay ❯ Night times ( Chapter 2 )

Sweet Decay

By Eline

Yaoi. Smut alert.

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There was very little amusement to be had in Heaven. The days passed in monotony, even for itan princes of Tentei's household.

That incident in the gardens remained as a vaguely amusing memory until the day Homura glimpsed a lanky figure being towed along in the wake of a small child. They had just emerged from Kanzeon Bosatsu's Palace and were heading out somewhere in the vicinity of the offices used by the militia. The boy seemed vastly more enthused about where they were going than Konzen was.

The itan boy and his keeper . . . They did not appear to be having the kind of relationship that most of the gossip implied. Homura's extremely brief acquaintance with Konzen Douji had been . . . *interesting* to say the least. The way the man had reacted--as though he had never been kissed before . . .

So perhaps those rumours about Konzen Douji being uninterested in women had been true. And the same could probably be said about his non-inclination towards members of the same sex. In a very literal sense.

Completely untouched. Homura found it fascinating that Konzen had managed to remain that way, here in Heaven where corruption was practised with as much vigour as it was down on Earth--only less inventively because the gods had far less imagination than what mortals gave them credit for.

His next meeting with Konzen Douji occurred when he least expected it. He had been out until the approach of dusk signalled the end of another day long in Heaven. It was the kind of sight that artists would supposedly give their left arms for.

Homura watched the fading of the light from just outside the decorative boundary that divided the Royal Palace from the rest of Heaven, though not out of appreciation for the view. He was in no hurry to return to the Palace. The marbles halls held no allure for him--they were only walled-in spaces and he did not miss them in the least.

He was a part of the royal household and yet apart from it. There were no expectations of him other than having the grace to die someday so that the shame of his birth and parentage could be wiped from existence and memory.

So he walked alone. Not actively avoiding the courtiers of Heaven, but never actively seeking them out. But it was almost impossible to be alone in the Courts of Heaven.

The approaching figure was a familiar one. Konzen Douji, radiating palpable annoyance, was walking along the same pathway in the opposite direction. He was wearing what Homura was coming to recognise as his usual air of perpetual displeasure. And he was muttering irritably under his breath. " . . . Of all things . . . Damned monkey . . ."

They almost passed each other by without incident, but Konzen recognised him despite his pique. His expression darkened instantly and he would have kept going if Homura had not nodded his way.

"You have some nerve," Konzen began sharply. "What the hell were you thinking back then?"

"Trying to avoid potential embarrassment--I doubt they could have identified us."

"Trying to what? You have a very odd idea of what constitutes embarrassing!"

"And good evening to you too, Konzen Douji," Homura murmured. The courtier's trick. Politeness when none was called for. He hoped that it would stem the flow of invective that Konzen seemed primed to unleash on his ears. "What are you doing out so late?"

That turned out to be a mistake. The vein in Konzen's temple actually bulged out at the question.

"I would have been saved this meeting if I hadn't been looking for a certain wayward monkey," Konzen said through gritted teeth. No pretence of courtesy there.

Homura could not stop himself from asking, "Is it dinner time then? Or bath time?"

The outraged look on Konzen's face was answer enough.

"I know I may have been reduced to an animal trainer but--"

There had to be other ways to shut Konzen up when his voice attained that grating tone other than this. But it was not unpleasant. Konzen's lips were soft like a woman's. And he tasted clean . . .

"Are you insane?" Konzen hissed at him when they drew apart. Or rather, he drew away, unsuccessfully suppressing the flush that coloured his fair skin. "Just *what* do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing. Just . . . wondering. You might find your ward in the fields just east of here. I saw him there once."

"Eh? He goes out that far?" Konzen appeared startled. Had that been a trace of concern there? Definitely concern . . .

Homura shrugged as if to say it's none of my business.

"Thank you. Excuse me, Taishi." And Konzen stalked off, leaving Homura to regard his stiff back thoughtfully.

Untouched . . .

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Genjo Sanzo--despite his title, despite his supposed calling as a monk--was far from naïve. Nor was he innocent in the way that Konzen had been. But that night, he had not sought out the company of the Marshal or the General.

Did he know that those two would be engaged in their own brand of reassurance and catharsis after the battle that day? Or did he even care?

Homura kept his promise in his own way. If Shien and Zenon knew that he had gone to confront them again on his own, they never outwardly indicated their approval or disapproval in any way.

Kenren and Tenpou--or Gojyo and Hakkai as they were known in this life--were . . . otherwise occupied. It was late and Son Goku was safely asleep. Konzen too had retired to his room in the otherwise unremarkable inn in another anonymous town.

Entering the right room was a simple matter. The residue of cigarette smoke hung in the air as Homura automatically sought out the figure on the bed.

Five hundred years. A mere second for the gods. Eternity for others.

Almost.

For he was here and Konzen was here. Almost as though no time had passed at all--

He had barely blinked when the steel-cold barrel of a gun was jammed under his chin. The owner of the weapon glared up at his unwelcome intruder.

"You're annoying," Konzen--no, this was definitely Sanzo--said flatly. Had he been awake all this time?

"You're predictable," Homura countered. "Would you like to pull the trigger and see if it actually works at close range?"

The pressure under his chin never abated. "I'd rather not waste my bullets or my breath. Your game doesn't interest me."

"Nothing ever does, it seems. Your capacity for boredom hasn't changed either."

"Cheh." The gun was withdrawn. "Whoever it was, whatever it was--it doesn't concern me."

"You seem confident that I'm not here for the Sutra, Konzen."

Sanzo pointedly ignored the name that was not his. "If you really were looking for the Sutra, you would have been gone by now."

Homura smiled. "Like a common thief in the night?"

"Does it matter? I have no time for the games of fools or gods." His tone indicated that he thought the two were one and the same.

"How do you know that you're not in one, right now?"

"I could ask you the same question," Sanzo retorted. "What is it that you want?"

"What everyone wants. To control one's own destiny." The bedsprings creaked as he settled his weight down on the edge of the mattress. "To be subject to no one and nothing," Homura continued as he leaned over the priest.

"To be free of the games the gods play. Tell me, does it bother you in the least that somewhere, someone or something else determines whether you live to see another day?" Homura's fingers traced the line of Sanzo's jaw gently, silently marvelling that something so crude as mortal flesh could contain a celestial soul.

Sanzo did not react to Homura's touch. "I think you have absolutely no idea about what you really want."

"Oh?" There was no resistance when he bent to kiss that inviting mouth. He had waited long enough for this. Sanzo tasted like the cigarettes he smoked, charred and bitter, but that was merely an irrelevant detail when he responded in kind.

"You wouldn't be here otherwise," Sanzo said when they broke apart. Those almost-angry, almost-cold eyes--they were the same as they had been above the barrel of a gun.

"Who knows? You could be right." The next kiss was less prolonged, tinged with a strange urgency. Strong hands reached up and pushed back the coat from his shoulders even as Homura pulled aside the pale robes and snug-fitting leather that belonged to the most exalted of all mortals. That should have been a paradox and a lie--divine and earthly all at once. It should have been impossible, but Homura had lived in an imperfect Heaven where all the saints had gone to Earth.

It would have been impossible if it had been anyone but Genjo Sanzo.

Flesh to flesh with this filthy saint after five hundred years. The end of that pilgrimage--the beginning of a new search.

Sanzo smelled sweet. The sweet, lingering scent of decay. It was all over him. Human, mortal, full-grown with nothing to do except rot from now until the moment that this fragile clay would not support life anymore.

So *transient*, yet oddly intoxicating.

All of it. All of him. Sweat, saliva and all other secretions. So disgustingly *mortal*. Homura could not get enough of it even as he drowned in the pure physical sensation of the act. Perhaps there was no difference between gods and mortals after all . . .

The creaking of the bedsprings clashed discordantly with the harshness of their uneven breaths in the aftermath. It all sounded unnaturally loud in the small room where they lay, flesh to sweaty flesh atop the soiled sheets.

In the silence that followed, Sanzo disentangled himself and fished out a rumpled packet from his discarded robes. A minute flame flared up in the darkness and departed swiftly, leaving only the orange glow at the end of his cigarette. He did not offer Homura one.

Eyes half-lidded and wreathed in smoke, he showed no sign of discomfort as he leaned naked against the headboard. Homura could make out the fine tracery of scars that was almost invisible against that pale flesh. He lingered on a recent scar that looked as though it could have been a fatal gut-wound. No stranger to death and violence, was Sanzo . . .

"You should be dead from a wound like that," he said, not making any move to touch the puckered ridge of scar tissue.

"So I've been told." Sanzo expelled a stream of smoke and looked pointedly at the manacles that the war god wore. Point taken, Homura transferred his gaze to the cracks in the ceiling.

"This doesn't change anything," he stated after a moment.

Homura shrugged. "Why should it? Unless you're actually concerned about what--"

"What those three idiots might think? Hardly. I have my mission. You have your own screwed-up reasons to be here. Get in my way and I'll kill you."

"Fair enough." He pulled Sanzo down to the sweat-damp sheets, burying his fingers in the fine strands of blond hair. For now, however little time it was, he could still have *this* . . .

Sanzo's muttered curse was cut off halfway as he hurriedly stubbed out the remainder of his cigarette in an old enamel ashtray supplied by the inn.

Homura was gone before dawn. Sanzo's last words would burn in his mind for quite some time afterwards.

"You won't find Konzen here."

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