Dream #4 (NSFW) Week 1, Day 7
It's hot out. The middle of summer, and the sweat sits heavy on your brow and down the middle of your chest like it's too hot to even drip. The couch sticks to the back of your neck, to the backs of your arms, your legs, and it's thick, heavy. Like a dog's tongue, but you can't be bothered to move. If you move, you'll just get hotter.
Even the air is too hot to move, on a day like this. Sounds don't work the same way they do when it's cool out, when it's cold. When it's hot like this, it's hard to hear. It's hard to see. Everything slows down, buried under this rippling blanket of hot and too hot. It's like drowning in plastic wrap. There's nobody around - there never is, all the way out at the edge of town, but especially not on a day like this - but you can't even hear the trees. You can't hear the wind. You can't hear the water in the pipes, can't hear the drone of the bugs, the buzz of electricity humming through the fraying power lines. Can't hear anything.
Except for the click of the fridge.
Not even the promise of a cold beer in the fridge can get you to move, though. You lick your lips, and the inside of your mouth is cooler than the air in the room. You lick your lips, and think about a cold beer. A cold beer. Shiny silver can, crisp foam, lots of hops. You want a beer. It's so hot. You're naked on the couch beneath the window, wishing for a breeze and a beer. Just one beer.
And then it's in your hand.
The beer is the best thing you've ever tasted. You drink half of it in one gulp, and raise the can in a half-assed across-the-chest toast to the blond man sitting next to you. He clinks his can against yours, grinning in that way that means that you owe him, now. You have to do something in return. And that's okay, you think, taking another swig of your beer. He brought you a beer. He's a good friend.
He left you to die.
Banri's sitting there, grinning in that way that means that he knows what you're thinking, and he's still two steps ahead. You never won a single game of mahjongg against him; against that grin you never stood a chance. He was always so smart. Is so smart. You really look up to him, you think, enjoying more of your beer (and the can should be empty by now, but it's not. There's more - there's always more). He's such a great guy. Like a big brother, he took you in, gave you a place to live, a way to live, taught you things you didn't know about things you thought you had already mastered. Like women. And stealing. And fighting, and getting drunk, really drunk, drunk to the point where all the colors swam together into a beautiful smear of reds and blues and white-gold and sweet, muted sounds, and it didn't hurt, and you couldn't think, and everything was smooth.
Such a good friend.
"You're an idiot," your good friend says. He doesn't punch you in the arm, or catch you in a headlock - no, he's serious, and you don't understand why. It's like a punch to the gut. It's hard to breathe, suddenly. He's your friend, and he leans in, right in your face so that the clan mark on his forehead swims out of focus, and he says it again. "You're an idiot."
You don't understand. You don't understand. He's your friend, dammit! He's supposed to like you! You want to push him away, but you can't move your arms. Why can't you move your arms? Banri just laughs.
"Why the hell do you think? It's because they tied you up, dumbass." You look down, and it's true. Of course... of course. In the basement, the gang. They tied you to the chair, tight, hard ropes, and it was cold without your jacket. It was cold, and your hands kept going dead. "You're lucky that wasn't all that went dead," Banri smirks, blowing cigarette smoke in your face.
What the fuck, Banri? What the fuck? Untie me. Let me go, get me out of here before they come back.
"Dumbass," he drawls, imitating you imitating him, and it's so much colder. "Why they hell would I untie you? I put you here." You can't feel your hands. You can't feel your feet. The line at your chest, your arms, where the rope passes over, it hurts, and you can't feel your hands. And soon they'll come back, and it'll be past the time, and they'll knock you over, and put a gun to your head, and the last thing you'll see is the armpit hair of some unwashed mobster wanna-be.
You didn't come back for me.
"Fuck no I didn't come back for you!" He's laughing, head thrown back. His teeth and ears are very sharp when he laughs. "I got what I wanted out of you."
A year. A year, a year of brawls and robberies and getting drunk and ending up face down in the mud and going hungry for cigarettes and cheap beer and a punch in your jaw making it ache and sometimes it ached because no, stop, don't remember this and sometimes there was money and girls and good food, greasy food, lots of food, and new shoes, but usually there was cold and hungry and fighting and trouble that came chasing Banri long after Banri had already left.
"I got what I wanted out of you." You used me. Banri, you bastard, you used me. "A dirt rag should do a dirt rag's job." Both of you. Both of you, Banri, Sanzo, taking what you wanted, fuck you, why couldn't you just...?
"What?" Banri leans in close again, that sneer mirrored in Sanzo's expression. The priest is at the table, the thug is in your face, and for a moment you can't tell them apart. "Why couldn't we what, give a shit about you?" Sanzo barks a laugh around his cigarette, and turns the page of the paper. "You are what you offer. Nothing more."
I offered my loyalty, Sanzo. I offered my strength, Banri. I offered my fists and my feet and my sleight-of-hand and my ass and my life, both of you, both of you I offered my fucking life and you took it.
"Why else do you think I kept you around?" Sanzo. Banri. You can't tell them apart, white shirt and white robes, gold hair and silver. There's too much smoke, from too many cigarettes, and you can't tell them apart. "Why else do you think anybody ever kept you around?"
No.
"Yes. Face facts, buddy. Nobody gives a shit about you."
No.
The ropes are digging into your skin. They hurt.
No, you used me, you both used me, but Hakkai...
"Yes, Gojyo?"
You can never look away from Hakkai. There's nothing else to look at but Hakkai, ever. Even when he's smiling that smile that looks like rot and death, there's nothing else to ever look at. He shines. Like he's standing in front of an open flame, there's a shine behind him. It's so pretty.
"What do you have to offer, Gojyo?"
Your ribs are cracked and torn open. There's blood everywhere, and your heart... there's claws in your heart, and it hurts.
"You know what I want from you."
Yes. The ropes are gone - the chair is gone - Sanzo and Banri and the house, everything. There's nothing but Hakkai, and you will never, ever say no to him. Yes. He wants you, and he can have you. You watch him all the time. There's nothing to look at but him, and every little look, every touch, that tiny smile in the corner of his mouth... you know what he wants. What he wants you for.
Yes.
He's so hot when you slid inside. You kiss the knob of his spine, pulling him closer. The sweat runs heavy down your brow and the middle of your chest and it's too hot to be believed. Like there's a flame inside him, and you drive into his body again and again, looking for the point of too much. Any less isn't enough - you have to give him everything you have. You have to touch him, mapping every inch of his chest with your fingertips. There's a tiny scar here. A little bump here. This patch of skin is smooth, and hot, and slick with sweat, and rubbing it makes it hotter.
He's so tight around you. So tight, and you're tight around him, holding tight with arms and mouth. Your foot, hooked around his ankle. He wants this, so you aren't ashamed. He wants this, so you touch his chest, his hip, his cock. Not his face. Not his scar. You cup your hand over his cock and you thrust and you thrust and you thrust, spreading him open. Looking for that flame.
"I always knew you were a pervert," Sanzo whispers in your ear. "Give him more reacharound - remember how much it sucks without a reacharound," Banri whispers in your ear, and you thrust and you thrust and you
He's so hot. It's so hot. Take what you want, take it, all of it, here. More. More.
You can't have it, you know. It's not for you - there's a dead woman's hand over his eyes just like there's a dead woman's hand around your throat, but you can get close to that fire, and that's good enough. You whisper his name, to remind him which him he is, and you thrust deeper. Your back aches. You thrust deeper. It's so cold, and he's fiery warm. Please be enough. Please be good. Enjoy this, like this, want this. This is what you have to offer. Let it be enough.
thrust and you thrust and you thrust and
[ The dream ends slowly, fantasy blurring with reality. The Hitomi is under the blanket, so there's no visual save for a sliver of pre-dawn sky, but there are sounds. Tiny whimpers, and heavy breathing, and the small hushing sound of bodies moving under material.
Yes, Gojyo is totally humping Hakkai's leg in his sleep. Yes he is. Good morning. ]