Saiyuki drabble
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since they’d fought the good fight, destroyed the imperfectly resurrected Gyuumaoh, and in the process, taken out Ukoku or Ni or whatever he wanted to call himself, as well as the bitch who had started this whole mess (Gyokumen Koushu--not Kanzeon. Unfortunately.).
And now they were making the journey back, no threat of death and world destruction hanging over their heads, and Goku would not. Leave him. The fuck. Alone. The most annoying part was that Goku wasn't really doing anything.
Three years on the road had seen the boy become a man (at least in technicality; Gojyo still expressed his doubts): Goku had gained nearly half a dozen inches, and lost some of his youthful naivety. Sometimes, when Sanzo looked at him, he wondered who this young man was, who carried a quiet strength formed of wiry limbs and a genuineness of character, of personal conviction and a loyalty more steadfast and deep-rooted than any bodhi tree. And then Goku would open his mouth and ruin it.
The stupidest of comments were much rarer now, Sanzo had to admit, and he had decided more recently that the monkey and Gojyo had reached a point where their idiocy was matched. Whether this was a good thing remained to be determined.
Most noticeable of all, though, was his charge’s newfound independence. No longer did he haunt Sanzo’s every step, cater to his every whim--spoken or unspoken--without question, or look to the others for a constant source of entertainment. In some ways, if forced to be completely honest with himself, Sanzo found he almost missed the dependence, if only because the annoyance of it had been something to count on, in a world of uncertainties and looming mortality.
But then Goku would look up from some task or diversion entirely his own, would catch Sanzo watching him, and would grin, so blindingly self-confident and almost as if he and Sanzo shared a private joke, that Sanzo decided he hadn’t needed the added responsibility, anyway.
After all, he thought, recalling the feel of Goku’s fingers creeping along his bare flesh, of Goku’s tongue languidly painting abstract designs over the knobs of his spine, things that never changed were lame.
~*~*~
And now they were making the journey back, no threat of death and world destruction hanging over their heads, and Goku would not. Leave him. The fuck. Alone. The most annoying part was that Goku wasn't really doing anything.
Three years on the road had seen the boy become a man (at least in technicality; Gojyo still expressed his doubts): Goku had gained nearly half a dozen inches, and lost some of his youthful naivety. Sometimes, when Sanzo looked at him, he wondered who this young man was, who carried a quiet strength formed of wiry limbs and a genuineness of character, of personal conviction and a loyalty more steadfast and deep-rooted than any bodhi tree. And then Goku would open his mouth and ruin it.
The stupidest of comments were much rarer now, Sanzo had to admit, and he had decided more recently that the monkey and Gojyo had reached a point where their idiocy was matched. Whether this was a good thing remained to be determined.
Most noticeable of all, though, was his charge’s newfound independence. No longer did he haunt Sanzo’s every step, cater to his every whim--spoken or unspoken--without question, or look to the others for a constant source of entertainment. In some ways, if forced to be completely honest with himself, Sanzo found he almost missed the dependence, if only because the annoyance of it had been something to count on, in a world of uncertainties and looming mortality.
But then Goku would look up from some task or diversion entirely his own, would catch Sanzo watching him, and would grin, so blindingly self-confident and almost as if he and Sanzo shared a private joke, that Sanzo decided he hadn’t needed the added responsibility, anyway.
After all, he thought, recalling the feel of Goku’s fingers creeping along his bare flesh, of Goku’s tongue languidly painting abstract designs over the knobs of his spine, things that never changed were lame.
~*~*~