brigdh

Title: Hungry
Author: Brigdh
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for vague m/m interaction
Spoilers: Not really.
Summary: "I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight, / hunting for you." Goku/Sanzo.
Notes: Written for the 'five senses' challenge at

stagesoflove. Titles taken from 'I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair' by Pablo Neruda.

Sunbeam Flaring. Sight.
Everyone's always talking about the way Sanzo looks, saying he's really special or beautiful or whatever. Goku doesn't get it. Sanzo has a nose and eyes and hair and all the other parts, so it's not his face that makes him different.

Goku likes to watch Sanzo sometimes, anytime really, because Sanzo's always doing something interesting. But everyone worrying about the color of his eyes are missing the best part.

Sanzo glares over his newspaper, annoyed, and everything that makes him Sanzo is clear as if it shone, anger and restlessness and confidence. "What are you staring at?"

Goku grins.

Hunt the Liquid Measure. Hearing.
Sanzo hears Goku's voice in his head, but Goku doesn't have anything like that. He only hears Sanzo's voice after bugging him until he yells.

Goku listens to Sanzo breathe instead. That's a good sound, but it's too quiet and Sanzo'll hit if he notices. Goku has to be careful; he needs to get closer, close enough. If he could put his ear against Sanzo's chest and hold on, he'd hear the heart beating deep inside, the rumblings of Sanzo's annoyed mutters, and the scratch of the hand in his hair pushing him away.

Goku imagines the sounds for himself.

The Pale Stones of Your Fingernails. Touch.
In the end, Goku wanted to, and so he did.

Sanzo was always wrapped in layers. The thick paper of the sutra, his heavy robes, the coarser denim of his jeans: he wore his barriers proudly. It wasn't fair. Goku wanted past them until he hurt with wanting; he just needed to touch Sanzo's hair, his skin, his lips.

Sanzo shouted at first. But when he stopped, his mouth was hot and wet against Goku's, and his fingers were hot and rough on Goku's face, and his body practically burned under all those layers.

It turned out Sanzo wanted, too.

Your Hot Heart. Smell.
Goku wakes when the bed cools, and sees Sanzo smoking in the window. The whole room smells like cigarettes, which smell like Sanzo- or he smells like them, whichever; Goku isn't sure of the difference.

"This changes nothing," Sanzo says. "Don't expect anything special."

"I know that." Goku sits up, arms on his knees. "Just don't go."

Sanzo keeps smoking, and he's strange, tense, once he comes back. But he lets Goku press his face against his back and breathe; here, Sanzo smells like sweat, and dirt from the road, soft, fuzzy dust from the inn's old blankets, cold air.

Your Skin Like a Whole Almond. Taste.
Goku is trying very hard not to bother Sanzo, so he doesn't complain when they all get separate rooms the next night. He can wait a while.

The knock surprises him. So does Sanzo, standing outside. He doesn't say anything, but that's okay, 'cause neither does Goku- just pulls him inside and shuts the door, lets Sanzo press him back against it, kissing. Sanzo tastes like sunshine and food and water, like everything. He's the best thing Goku's ever tasted.

Goku is grinning, which makes the kiss kind of awkward, but not enough to stop. Waiting was no fun, anyway.