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completed: 10/26/06
__ Gojyo figured that, if they ever actually did it, it would be hard and fast and dirty; not gentle or slow, or female. Well, obviously not female. It would be a sudden spur of passion, he'd decided, because that's what it would take to get Hakkai to actually do it. That rush of fire that always comes at the end of a dangerous fight, when you feel like you gotta run, or yell, or fuck, or do anything to celebrate the fact that you're fucking alive, bastards. It would also have to be secretive – somewhere far away from the damn priest and his stupid monkey. In a forest probably, since they spent so much fucking time in one anyway. They'd stumble into it after a battle; Gojyo sweaty and a little splattered with youkai guts; Hakkai so clean you'd think he'd been to a tea party, not a fight. He'd be panting though and frantic; hands gripping like claws, like Gojyo was going to escape, mouth wet and hungry. He'd want to get it over with quick, now, before his good sense returned with a thousand and one reasons why he should button his pants back up and go take a cold swim. So Gojyo would have to slow him down a little. Not enough to make him re-think anything, just enough so that he wouldn't wear himself down before they got to the good parts. He would cup his hand around Hakkai's face to guide desperate and sloppy kisses; holding his dark head steady so Gojyo could dive deeper, harder, tasting him. Slower now, Hakkai would twine their tongues together, feeling rather than rushing, his grip easing open so his palms could run hot over Gojyo's shoulders and chest. Much better. In return, Gojyo'd let his own hands drop and grip Hakkai's ass, bringing their hips together, and yeah, listen to that moan. Beyond that point, Gojyo tended to skip through the actual undressing and get to the part where Hakkai was naked and laid out on the dirt, moonlight and leaf shadow painting his skin in black and silver. (When he didn't skip the clothing – which usually depended on whether he was locked away in his own room, or enjoying some private time behind a convenient rock with a certain asshole houshi not more than twenty feet away ready to hunt him down and shoot him if he didn't hurry up – he lingered on lifting up Hakkai's shirt to rub rough fingers over his nipples; teasing them hard with tugs and later bites. He would yank down Hakkai's pants and wrap his hand around the cock presented to him, running his hand up and down to explore it's length and wieght – not gently, either; the Hakkai in his mind liked a little bit rough, a little bit painful. Hakkai would jerk and twist in reaction, head thrown back and swollen mouth open with pleading cries.) It was usually pretty straightforward after that. Hakkai would grab him, first with his hands, then his legs, then his mouth, trapping Gojyo's body against his. And that there would be the best feeling; the slide of skin on skin, the rising ache of anticipation, drawing quiet little gasps out of Hakkai. "Now,” he'd say in Gojyo's ear, followed by the hot slip of his tongue, "Now, now. Make it hard." Of course Gojyo's cock would already be all lined up and ready and he would just have to push – feel that tight, tight heat, pulling him in, fitting snug and perfect around him like it was make just for that fucking purpose – And Hakkai would beg for it with broken cries, lift his hips to get it more, deeper, way down where no one else had ever touched him and no else ever would, because it all belonged to Gojyo now – That part of the fantasy never really lasted very long, for obvious reasons. Assuming he'd even had the chance to take it that far, of course. Over time he developed a really bad habit of thinking about this kind of shit while on the road, or in a shared hotel room, or in a shared bathhouse with the man himself sitting a little ways across from him, stark naked and smiling benignly. ‘My, my, your face has gotten red; maybe you should get out and cool down.' It freaked him out sometimes. Not so much the idle jack-off fantasy of his very male friend – and damned if that wasn't disturbing enough for one man, considering he'd never looked sideways at another dick in his life, let alone had involved dreams about sucking one – but the fact that it wasn't always the make-believe stuff that got him off. More and more it was the real stuff that sent him tumbling suddenly over the edge and shaking in the wake of climax. It was all stupid, small shit even. The pale curve of Hakkai's neck when he bent his head; the delicate skin on the inside of his wrists; his slightly wicked, completely unrepentant chuckle when he did something he knew wasn't supposed to but enjoyed anyway; the fire in his eyes when teetered on the very edge of control; the long lean lines of his back; the sound of his voice when he was pleased with something – Fucking hell, it was one thing to get all hot and heavy because the guy was licking some sauce off his finger with that wet pink tongue of his; jerking off to the memory of him grabbing your wrist for two minutes was just plain wrong. END
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