Calloused hands fist hair the color of a dying sunset. Not blood but a dying sunset. Fire streaking across a pale blue sky from a day soon to be swallowed by night.
Sweat paints pale skin, turning it slick. Large hands make a grab for him, and slide across the soaked flesh. There’s a chuckle, dark and smoky, and Sanzo’s insides twist a little more. The mattress beneath him creaks. He grits his teeth, shoves his body down, and feels his lover shudder, feels the hands make another grab for sweat-slick flesh.
There’s a scent of something cool and fresh, like the spray of a waterfall or the chill of wintergreen. There’s tobacco and aftershave. Sanzo inhales deeply and his head spins.
His skin is on fire, a fire to match the sunset, and he growls deep in his throat, feels the very same fire twist through his gut in a blaze. The hand that glides down his chest, across his abdomen, teases at his navel, is moving slowly. Too slowly for Sanzo’s liking.
He snarls at that damn kappa to get on with it.
Gojyo smirks, a curl of his lips that Sanzo loves to hate. “I’ll get to it when I’m ready,” he drawls, and dips his head, mouthing at an exposed collarbone.
Lips and teeth and tongue leave steaks of red in their wake. Sanzo’s fought, time and time again, about those marks. But they’re covered by his clothes anyway, what does it matter. No one will see them. No one will know if he sometimes drags his finger over his covered clavicle, where his skin itches and throbs hours after Gojyo’s teeth marked him.
Sanzo pants, can’t hardly draw a breath as those sinful lips travel lower, latching on a nipple and pulling hard. It should hurt, and maybe it does a little, but more than that is the pleasure that ripples through his body. It makes Sanzo’s back arch, makes his thighs tense, and a cry catches in his throat. He grits his teeth again, sweat making his hair cling stickily to the back of his neck and the sides of his face.
He grips those crimson strands tighter, pulls at Gojyo’s scalp, but of course the masochistic bastard doesn’t even flinch. He just chuckles again and grabs Sanzo’s hip, tight enough to leave bruises. He circles his hips, pushes into Sanzo with a slow motion, pulls back out again, thrusts again and again, until he’s so full he can hardly breathe, but likes it that way anyway.
“Better hold on, Sanzo,” Gojyo says, letting go of his nipple with a wet pop that sounds all too lewd when it echoes in the room. “Because I’m aiming to break the bed this time.”
Sanzo snarls, his glare a match for Gojyo’s perverted leer. “Go ahead and try,” he challenges, and when scarlet eyes darken, Sanzo’s entire body shivers. It’s about damn time that idiot kappa gets serious.