Fic: The Morning After, Saiyuki
Remember that fluffy 5/8 I wrote for the kinkmeme? If you don't, it was Released, and here's its sequel, Caught.
And here's the part 3 (of 4) you may or may not have been waiting for. This is mostly 39.
emungere betaed this too, 'cause she's awesome.
It was sunny.
Morning. Late morning, considering how much fucking sun was coming through the window. I wasn’t as hung over as I probably should’ve been. Probably couldn’t blame last night on the wine.
Probably couldn’t blame last night on anything but my own stupidity.
Eran was still in bed, right next to me like he belonged there. Of course, it was his bed.
Shit, I thought. If I’d had half a brain, I would’ve taken off right then and blocked his number. Course I didn’t know his number then. Stupid, the whole thing. I probably had half a dozen calls from those idiots at the temple wondering where I was.
Eran muttered something in his sleep and moved closer. I pushed the hair off his face so I could see him better. He was as warm as the sun beating its way through the shade.
This was a fucking terrible idea. No wonder it felt so good.
I’d almost fallen back to sleep when Eran woke up and my dick helpfully reminded me that not only had it been at least eight hours or whatever since my last orgasm, I really needed to piss.
“Want the bathroom first?” Eran muttered against my chest.
“Yeah, thanks.” I got up, pissed, splashed some water against my face and tried to talk myself into leaving. Eran came in while I was staring at the mirror, feeling old and sentimental and stupid. He pissed and shoved me out of the way so he could wash his hands. His apartment was tiny, and the bathroom didn’t really have room for us both.
I pushed him up against the door anyway, bit his neck, made him moan and grab at me; I grinned like hell when he came in my hand. He got on his knees and sucked me off. He let me put my hands in his hair. I’m not sure he has a gag reflex.
He spit in the sink when he was finished and grinned at me. “I’m hungry,” he said. “You can shower, if you want.”
Shower sounded good. “Thanks,” I said.
He was cooking when I got out, eggs in the pan, wearing a thin, old, t-shirt, his boxers clinging to his ass. He’d brewed coffee and made toast. Smelled pretty good. I reached down and cupped his ass, and he leaned back a little.“You can’t stay, right?”
“No.” The most recent message on my phone was from the Monk: I have convinced them not to call the police, but I’m not entirely sure I can hold them off much longer. There were also three voicemails and ten additional texts. I sent Tell them to fuck off back to the Monk and ignored the rest.
“Sorry, it’s just eggs. I didn’t have a lot in the fridge,” Eran said apologetically. “I was gonna run to the market last night after dinner....” He waved his hand vaguely.
“It’s fine,” I said. I kissed his neck. I couldn’t stop touching him. I was losing my fucking mind.
“You busy tonight?”
Friday was Jikaku’s night. “Yeah. Saturday?”
He looked up at me, flashed that smile again. “Sounds good.”
“What’s his name?” Jikaku asked.
“Fuck you,” I told him, and sat the pizza box down.
Jikaku chuckled and reached for the pizza. Not much bothered him. “What kind did you get?”
“Pepperoni,” I said, and sat down. Out of the temple, we’d always eaten meat like starving men, but Jikaku was always extra ravenous for whatever I brought. He claimed the retirement home never cooked anything right. He claimed a lot of things about the retirement home. Some of them were actually true. “Hurry up and eat before it gets cold, old man.”
He rolled his eyes, but he ate. “You’ll bring him over next week,” he said.
“I just met him last night,” I grumbled. It was giving him territory, but he couldn’t stay up arguing like he used to.
He chuckled. “So what’s his name?”
“Eran,” I said. “But you’ll know his blogging name better.”
One of Jikaku’s thick eyebrows raised. “You met him online?”
“He’s one of Jeff’s professors. But he blogged for Bicycle until they fired him.” In fact, I’d had that blog entry on my bulletin board for years. (With Read this!! written on top in black Magic Marker.)
“You’re dating Wukong?” His amusement turned into full-out laughter. “You’ve got a talent, Gen.”
“Shut up,” I muttered. Dating wasn’t exactly the right word either, but damned if I knew what the right word was.
Jikaku got tired early (it was happening more and more often; I knew, of course, he wouldn’t last forever -- it was why he was in the damn retirement home in the first place -- but it still never sat right). It was eight o’clock, and I had jack to do for the rest of the night.
Not a real surprise that I’d walk over to Eran’s.
When I got to his building I stared at the directory for a while, wondering if I was really stupid enough to press the button. He probably wasn’t even home.
“Gen?”
Or he was walking out while I was standing there like an idiot. That wasn’t pathetic at all. “Hey.”
That smile. Goddamn. “You get out early?”
“Yeah.”
“I was--” he paused. “Come on.”
He grabbed my hand as he went past, and I followed him. Like we’d done this for years. Like I met him outside his apartment all the time, and we just went out together, to wherever the hell it was we were going.
I’d follow him, though. I knew that already.
We went to a gelato place, where while you waited in line you could watch them make the stuff. “They’ve got thousands of flavors,” he said, eagerly. “I mean, rotating, but still. Thousands.”
I got vanilla bean. He got salted caramel. “I know you can’t stay,” he said when we got back to his apartment, “but can you come up?”
He was in my lap kissing me when my phone rang. Normally I would've ignored it, but something made me look.
Eran took me to the hospital. I told him he didn't have to. He said he didn't care.
Massive stroke. He'd seemed tired, but--
His family was long gone, so I was the only one there. I held his hand until he stopped breathing. "You were supposed to hold on another week, you bastard," I said.
I signed papers and pretended to listen. They'd send the body to the funeral home; we'd taken care of that stuff years ago. It was all the other shit I needed to deal with now, and I wasn't even thinking about that asshole out west until Jikaku was ashes. They'd need to get his things out of the retirement home by noon; there was a waiting list. I didn't trust the workers there, and the fucking monks would probably take 'holy mementos.' There was no one I could get to do it.
Well. That wasn't completely true.
Of course, Jeff was the one to pick up the damn phone. "What?"
"Monk there?"
"Of course he is, it's four o'clock in the morning. What's going on?"
"Put him on."
"Yeah." It was like I could hear him rolling his eyes. The hospital corridors were so quiet I could hear my boots hitting the cheap linoleum as I walked down them.
Monk was less hostile. "What's wrong?"
"Jikaku," I said. "He's gone. They'll want his shit out of the home, and I don't--"
"Call them," he said. "We'll do it. Are you all right? Do you need a ride?"
"No," I said. I'd almost forgotten Eran. "I'm fine."
"Are you really fine, or are you saying 'fine' so I'll leave you alone?"
I pushed open yet another swinging door. "Does it matter?"
He sighed. "I'll meet you at the temple?"
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks."
Eran was still there waiting for me, all elbows and angles in the uncomfortable hospital chair, flipping through Better Homes and Gardens.
"Are you gonna have a better home, or are you working on your garden?" It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, but he smiled at it anyway.
"You okay?"
"He's gone," I said.
"I figured." He got up. "I'll take you home, okay?"
"Okay," I said, and I didn't resist when he hugged me.
"I figured."
What's the etiquette for posting post-anon-reveal sequels to fic posted anonymously to kinkmemes? Should I?
And here's the part 3 (of 4) you may or may not have been waiting for. This is mostly 39.
emungere betaed this too, 'cause she's awesome.
It was sunny.
Morning. Late morning, considering how much fucking sun was coming through the window. I wasn’t as hung over as I probably should’ve been. Probably couldn’t blame last night on the wine.
Probably couldn’t blame last night on anything but my own stupidity.
Eran was still in bed, right next to me like he belonged there. Of course, it was his bed.
Shit, I thought. If I’d had half a brain, I would’ve taken off right then and blocked his number. Course I didn’t know his number then. Stupid, the whole thing. I probably had half a dozen calls from those idiots at the temple wondering where I was.
Eran muttered something in his sleep and moved closer. I pushed the hair off his face so I could see him better. He was as warm as the sun beating its way through the shade.
This was a fucking terrible idea. No wonder it felt so good.
I’d almost fallen back to sleep when Eran woke up and my dick helpfully reminded me that not only had it been at least eight hours or whatever since my last orgasm, I really needed to piss.
“Want the bathroom first?” Eran muttered against my chest.
“Yeah, thanks.” I got up, pissed, splashed some water against my face and tried to talk myself into leaving. Eran came in while I was staring at the mirror, feeling old and sentimental and stupid. He pissed and shoved me out of the way so he could wash his hands. His apartment was tiny, and the bathroom didn’t really have room for us both.
I pushed him up against the door anyway, bit his neck, made him moan and grab at me; I grinned like hell when he came in my hand. He got on his knees and sucked me off. He let me put my hands in his hair. I’m not sure he has a gag reflex.
He spit in the sink when he was finished and grinned at me. “I’m hungry,” he said. “You can shower, if you want.”
Shower sounded good. “Thanks,” I said.
He was cooking when I got out, eggs in the pan, wearing a thin, old, t-shirt, his boxers clinging to his ass. He’d brewed coffee and made toast. Smelled pretty good. I reached down and cupped his ass, and he leaned back a little.“You can’t stay, right?”
“No.” The most recent message on my phone was from the Monk: I have convinced them not to call the police, but I’m not entirely sure I can hold them off much longer. There were also three voicemails and ten additional texts. I sent Tell them to fuck off back to the Monk and ignored the rest.
“Sorry, it’s just eggs. I didn’t have a lot in the fridge,” Eran said apologetically. “I was gonna run to the market last night after dinner....” He waved his hand vaguely.
“It’s fine,” I said. I kissed his neck. I couldn’t stop touching him. I was losing my fucking mind.
“You busy tonight?”
Friday was Jikaku’s night. “Yeah. Saturday?”
He looked up at me, flashed that smile again. “Sounds good.”
“What’s his name?” Jikaku asked.
“Fuck you,” I told him, and sat the pizza box down.
Jikaku chuckled and reached for the pizza. Not much bothered him. “What kind did you get?”
“Pepperoni,” I said, and sat down. Out of the temple, we’d always eaten meat like starving men, but Jikaku was always extra ravenous for whatever I brought. He claimed the retirement home never cooked anything right. He claimed a lot of things about the retirement home. Some of them were actually true. “Hurry up and eat before it gets cold, old man.”
He rolled his eyes, but he ate. “You’ll bring him over next week,” he said.
“I just met him last night,” I grumbled. It was giving him territory, but he couldn’t stay up arguing like he used to.
He chuckled. “So what’s his name?”
“Eran,” I said. “But you’ll know his blogging name better.”
One of Jikaku’s thick eyebrows raised. “You met him online?”
“He’s one of Jeff’s professors. But he blogged for Bicycle until they fired him.” In fact, I’d had that blog entry on my bulletin board for years. (With Read this!! written on top in black Magic Marker.)
“You’re dating Wukong?” His amusement turned into full-out laughter. “You’ve got a talent, Gen.”
“Shut up,” I muttered. Dating wasn’t exactly the right word either, but damned if I knew what the right word was.
Jikaku got tired early (it was happening more and more often; I knew, of course, he wouldn’t last forever -- it was why he was in the damn retirement home in the first place -- but it still never sat right). It was eight o’clock, and I had jack to do for the rest of the night.
Not a real surprise that I’d walk over to Eran’s.
When I got to his building I stared at the directory for a while, wondering if I was really stupid enough to press the button. He probably wasn’t even home.
“Gen?”
Or he was walking out while I was standing there like an idiot. That wasn’t pathetic at all. “Hey.”
That smile. Goddamn. “You get out early?”
“Yeah.”
“I was--” he paused. “Come on.”
He grabbed my hand as he went past, and I followed him. Like we’d done this for years. Like I met him outside his apartment all the time, and we just went out together, to wherever the hell it was we were going.
I’d follow him, though. I knew that already.
We went to a gelato place, where while you waited in line you could watch them make the stuff. “They’ve got thousands of flavors,” he said, eagerly. “I mean, rotating, but still. Thousands.”
I got vanilla bean. He got salted caramel. “I know you can’t stay,” he said when we got back to his apartment, “but can you come up?”
He was in my lap kissing me when my phone rang. Normally I would've ignored it, but something made me look.
Eran took me to the hospital. I told him he didn't have to. He said he didn't care.
Massive stroke. He'd seemed tired, but--
His family was long gone, so I was the only one there. I held his hand until he stopped breathing. "You were supposed to hold on another week, you bastard," I said.
I signed papers and pretended to listen. They'd send the body to the funeral home; we'd taken care of that stuff years ago. It was all the other shit I needed to deal with now, and I wasn't even thinking about that asshole out west until Jikaku was ashes. They'd need to get his things out of the retirement home by noon; there was a waiting list. I didn't trust the workers there, and the fucking monks would probably take 'holy mementos.' There was no one I could get to do it.
Well. That wasn't completely true.
Of course, Jeff was the one to pick up the damn phone. "What?"
"Monk there?"
"Of course he is, it's four o'clock in the morning. What's going on?"
"Put him on."
"Yeah." It was like I could hear him rolling his eyes. The hospital corridors were so quiet I could hear my boots hitting the cheap linoleum as I walked down them.
Monk was less hostile. "What's wrong?"
"Jikaku," I said. "He's gone. They'll want his shit out of the home, and I don't--"
"Call them," he said. "We'll do it. Are you all right? Do you need a ride?"
"No," I said. I'd almost forgotten Eran. "I'm fine."
"Are you really fine, or are you saying 'fine' so I'll leave you alone?"
I pushed open yet another swinging door. "Does it matter?"
He sighed. "I'll meet you at the temple?"
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks."
Eran was still there waiting for me, all elbows and angles in the uncomfortable hospital chair, flipping through Better Homes and Gardens.
"Are you gonna have a better home, or are you working on your garden?" It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, but he smiled at it anyway.
"You okay?"
"He's gone," I said.
"I figured." He got up. "I'll take you home, okay?"
"Okay," I said, and I didn't resist when he hugged me.
"I figured."
What's the etiquette for posting post-anon-reveal sequels to fic posted anonymously to kinkmemes? Should I?