Rating: Very, very NC-17
Warnings: Um. Porn with vague allusion to plot, somewhat rough sex, dirty talk, and Sanzo's potty mouth.
Word Count: ~3200 (complete)
Pairings: Established Gojyo/Hakkai, Gojyo/Hakkai/Sanzo
Summary: Screw muichimotsu. Screw the journey west and the minus wave and everything else. Sanzo wants this, wants them, wants it in a way he's never allowed himself to want anything before, and he already knows that it's going to be his ruin.
Disclaimer: I don't hold the copyrights, I didn't create them, and I make no profit from this.
Notes: Hi, new fandom! I had all these grand plans about honoring my favorite manga by writing something epic and angsty and meaningful. And then I sat down to actually write it. *facepalm* Yeah. Anyway. Have some porn.
The full moon is splashed on the rough wooden floor like patches of snow, harsh against the darkness as it creeps in through the gaps in the walls and around the window frame. There's a puddle of it right by Sanzo's hand, just skirting the tips of his fingers as he grabs at the sheet, face-down on the thin mattress. His breath is rough, hitching almost painfully in his lungs as slim, strong hands close over his wrists and pin him down.
The sheets stick to his sweat-slick skin as Sanzo half-turns his head, trying to glare up through one eye and knowing he's failing, because Hakkai's smiling down at him. It's not a particularly kind smile, closer to hungry, with a darkness to it that Hakkai rarely shows, and the sight of it alone sends shivers down Sanzo's spine. His breath catches again, horrifyingly loud in the humid silence between them, and Hakkai's eyes glitter.
"You like this, don't you, Sanzo?"
It's not Hakkai who asks, but Gojyo. Sanzo manages another slight shift of his head, muscles quaking with the strain of holding still, quaking at the thought to moving any further, and looks at the red-haired half-demon lounging against the pillows. He's beautiful here, in what Sanzo will always think of as his element. Long, pale limbs in the dimness, red hair like a curtain of blood spilling over his shoulder. His crimson eyes are fixed on Sanzo and Hakkai as he lazily fists himself, calloused hand sliding firmly up and down his thick shaft.
Sanzo turns his face away and doesn't answer.
The hands on his wrists slide slowly, torturously slowly up to grip his shoulders, and he's suddenly shoved further down into the mattress, breath leaving him completely on a strangled cry as Hakkai slides an inch deeper. Sanzo hadn't thought it possible, and he trembles, regardless of how he tries to hide it, as every nerve ending in his body sings with something that is so pleasurable it is nearly pain.
"I think he asked you a question, Sanzo," Hakkai breathes in his ear, hot and heavy against his back and between his legs. "Aren't you going to answer?"
Sanzo only manages a soft grunt in answer, but it sounds very much like "bastard", regardless. He's proud of himself for that, if nothing else—because here, now, with them, the rest of his pride is entirely stripped from him, torn away along with all of the teachings he tries his damnedest to follow because he wants.
Because he wants and he can never, ever have.
Then Hakkai moves, hard and abrupt, and Sanzo cries out even though he has little air with which to do so, entire body seizing at the sudden withdrawal and harsh invasion. Hakkai is throbbing inside him, and Sanzo can feel every inch of him, splayed out as he is, knees bent and legs shoved up so that Hakkai can move as he wants. There's an ache inside of him, and now that they're in the third round Sanzo can't tell if it's physical or emotional anymore.
He's grateful for that, if nothing else in this stupid, sorry, idiotic situation.
Another thrust, this one just grazing his prostate, and Sanzo has to sink his teeth into his forearm to hold back a whimper as Hakkai picks up speed, the force of his body against Sanzo's shoving him into the mattress with each thrust. The friction on Sanzo's hard cock is amazing, wonderful, but it's not enough and Sanzo wants more but can't draw enough breath to ask for it. Hakkai's hands are on him, sliding up into his hair, down his side to curl around his hip. It seems impossible that his skin can get any hotter without melting, but it can, and Sanzo cries out and shudders as the fingers snarl in his hair and wrench his head back.
Gojyo is right in front of him, even though Sanzo never saw him move, and he's glorious in the moonlight, all lines and angles and things inside Sanzo twist and wrench, pull at his heart and siphon off his sanity, because he reaches for Gojyo without being asked without, without even waiting for an invitation. Even as Hakkai shakes him to pieces, lights up his body from the inside out and doesn't even pause when Sanzo trembles around him, clenches down on him and makes him curse, Sanzo wraps a hand around Gojyo's cock and drags himself up off the mattress as much as he's able, tongue flicking out to taste.
It's Gojyo's turn to swear, then, and his hand joins Hakkai's in Sanzo's hair as he spreads his knees and slides just a little closer.
"Damn, Sanzo-sama," he murmurs, and Sanzo would bite him for that title, except Hakkai is hard and hot and deep inside him and he shakes, breathy moans fluttering over the hard shaft as he presses his open mouth to musky-hot skin in a messy kiss. His lips shape a prayer that is directed to no one and nothing, holy only in that it's entirely obscene, and he's too far gone, too close to the edge for anything fancy but he wraps his lips around the mushroom head, tastes salt and skin and Gojyo, and comes apart with a shuddering, quaking cry, utterly undone.
Hakkai echoes him, falling forward, sliding impossibly deeper, and Sanzo cries out again as wet heat fills him, too much, too hot, and yet entirely not enough. Because he's greedy, and he wants whatever bare crumbs these two will give him, even if he'll never, ever admit it.
He groans when Hakkai pulls out, mourning disguised as discomfort, and then the hands in his hair are pulling him away, sliding down to his shoulders, and Gojyo drags him up and into his lap. There's something wet trickling down the inside of his thigh, making him shiver, and then there are fingers there as well, too harsh on oversensitive nerves. Sanzo can't do anything but bury his face is the hot-damp skin of Gojyo's shoulder and hope he doesn't give anything away.
"Damn, Sanzo-sama" Gojyo says again, too loud in the husky silence of the room, and three fingers slide all the way inside, seeking more of Hakkai's release. Sanzo bites his lip nearly to bleeding to keep from making another sound. "Who knew that all it took to get that stick out of your ass was a nice, thick cock?"
"Or two," Hakkai purrs, right up against Sanzo's back again, and there's another finger sliding into him. Too much, and he can't help the sharp gasp as one of them finds his prostate, pressing, tapping, sending sparks through his nerves and lightning up his spine, setting flickers of white to dancing in the corners of his eyes.
Gojyo huffs softly, smugly, and if even one of Sanzo's muscles were responding to his orders he'd be halfway across the room right now, grabbing his gun from where it lies discarded in a pile of pale silks. But they're not, so he hisses out a breath, grits his teeth, and growls, "Get on with it, bastard."
The hand on his arm tightens at that, and a lot of the humor is gone from Gojyo's voice as he murmurs, "Guess it's a cumulative effect, huh? Hakkai—"
But Hakkai is already helping, manhandling Sanzo around until he's got his back against Gojyo's chest, knees on the bed and legs splayed wide over Gojyo's thighs. He smiles at Sanzo, bright and cheerful, as though they're facing each other across the breakfast table and not like…this.
"So pretty," Gojyo tells him softly, and those fingers are back, deeper, spreading wide inside him and making Sanzo jerk and gasp. "You're going to look so good on my cock, Sanzo-sama. I just wish Hakkai was taking some pictures. Souvenirs, you know? It's not every day we get to share a priest."
They would be cruel words, if Sanzo didn't expect them. But he knew what this was going to be when he approached them, knew that they only have eyes for each other and that even this—sharing a third, finding some poor fucking fool who thinks he can hold even a little shred of their attention—is done because they're a couple, and they like to do things together.
Hakkai is leaning forward, eyes dark with want, and for the very briefest of moments Sanzo allows himself to hope—
But that's the problem with hope, he thinks bitterly as they press him between them, kiss gently and sweetly over his shoulder as he hangs there in Gojyo's grasp. It's always a fucking waste of time.
"Well?" Hakkai asks as they break apart, and there's a smile on his face that's for Gojyo alone.
Sanzo can feel the grin on Gojyo's lips as the half-demon leans back against the headboard, grip dropping to Sanzo's hips. He pulls once, hard, and Sanzo thumps back against his chest. It's an awkward angle, and he can't do anything but grab Gojyo's forearms as Gojyo widens his knees, spreading Sanzo's legs even more. "Got something in particular you want to try, Sanzo-sama?" he asks lazily, fingers tracing small, maddening circles on Sanzo's skin, and Sanzo's had enough.
"Fuck me," he hisses, sharp and low in the darkness, and it's a petty victory that it shatters the somnolent, breathless stillness around them. "Or let me fuck you. Just move."
Hakkai slides fingers into his hair, tipping his head back even as Gojyo sinks his teeth into the curve of Sanzo's neck. Sanzo bites back a cry, tongue sore from doing it so often tonight, and his vision goes fuzzy. It's too soon for him to be hard again, but he feels like he should be, and the ache of it coils snake-like in his gut.
When his eyes can focus again, Hakkai is right there in front of him, leaning in close with that wicked, dark smile. "Just imagine," he says, and his other hand is back between Sanzo's legs, fingers curving up into him, but they slide just inside the rim of his stretched hole and go no further. "We could take you all night, Sanzo. We could pass you back and forth between us until we're entirely satisfied and you're full to bursting right here." As if for emphasis, the fingers jerk and shove deeper, and Sanzo quivers with the near-painful pleasure of it arcing through his nerves.
"Mm," Gojyo agrees, still lazy, but the darkness of his tone matches Hakkai's smile exactly, and his hands are tight on Sanzo's elbows. "Fill you up with our cum and then send you back to your bed with the monkey. You'd lie there with us trickling out of you and Goku just a few feet away, and he wouldn't have a clue what you'd just been doing. Wouldn't you like that, Sanzo-sama?"
The horror of it is that Sanzo would. Fuck muichimotsu. Fuck the journey west and the minus wave and everything else. Sanzo wants this, wants it in a way he's never allowed himself to want anything before, and he already knows that it's going to be his ruin.
Too bad those self-preservation instincts died long ago, and there's nothing to turn him back from this path now.
"Then do it," he orders, and they both go still. Surprise, probably, he thinks, and would smirk at them if the urge to fuck or be fucked wasn't so entirely overwhelming. He reaches out, fists a hand in Hakkai's hair, not to kiss him—because they haven't kissed him, haven't even attempted it, and he can take a hint when it's shoved in his face—but to pull him close.
"Fuck. Me," he says, enunciating clearly, and Gojyo's hands are on his hips again, Hakkai's hand on Gojyo's cock, lining it up with Sanzo's hole. His long fingers give one last teasing twist and then are gone, and something far thicker and harder is sliding in. Sanzo gasps, back bowing at the slow, burning slide, and the cock in him resists the bend. Deeper, deeper, and he knew Gojyo was long—saw it, put his mouth on the evidence, imagined what he'd only previously seen limp and soft while bathing would look like erect and fucking in to him—but the reality of it makes Sanzo twitch and clench down hard, because if Gojyo goes any deeper he's going to fucking break something and he can feel it in his gut, the fucking thing's so—
"Breathe," Gojyo whispers in his ear, big hands on his waist. Sanzo obeys automatically, sucking in oxygen, and suddenly the hands yank, and Sanzo clamps his teeth around a cry as Gojyo pulls him down and embeds himself to the root.
It's too much. Sanzo wants to curl up around this dark pleasure and just breathe until it's something he can deal with, but Gojyo's a fucking bastard and doesn't give him the time, jerks his hips up further and rocks Sanzo on his cock. The curve of it presses against his prostate with every pass, and Sanzo can't find the breath to do anything but shake as Gojyo takes him.
(They don't need to take anything; they've had him all along, but they'll never fucking notice and Sanzo refuses to lower himself any more by telling them. He's already been plenty lowered just by wanting them, and isn't about to admit to anything more.)
A hand presses against his stomach, and Gojyo stills inside him, breath fluttering Sanzo's hair. "Can you feel me?" he asks softly, and Sanzo would punch him, except that he can and it's maddening. It feels like Gojyo is deep enough to hit his throat, and Sanzo has fucked before, or been fucked, whenever the need is too much, but it's never been like this except just minutes ago with Hakkai. He turns his head away, shifts enough to press his forehead against the side of Gojyo's throat, and hopes like hell that the idiot kappa won't feel him shaking.
Another hand, this time on his chin, and Hakkai pulls his head back around. There's something in his eyes, something like a realization, and he looks up, back, to meet crimson eyes.
Gojyo must see it, too, because even the tiny shifts of his hips still, and he says with confusion, "Hakkai?"
But Hakkai is smiling now, lighter, brighter than it was before, and he meets Sanzo's slightly wide eyes squarely for the first time since this started.
"Ah," he says softly, and then he leans forward and kisses Sanzo sweetly, gently, carefully. It's the way he always kisses Gojyo, and something inside of Sanzo starts to crumble at that cautious, questioning press of lips. Then he pulls Sanzo forward, rests Sanzo's forehead on his shoulder and curls a hand around the back of his neck and rubs against the golden hair. Gojyo makes a low, hungry sound and shoves forward again, changing the angle, lips on Sanzo's shoulder blade and cock hard and hot in his ass, making him groan and gasp with each hard thrusts—still not hard, still too soon, but it feels good anyway, nerves and fire and heat and taken, and Hakkai's arms are curved around him to hold him steady. Sanzo grips his shoulders in return, shudders, clamps down with his muscles and twists his hips just a bit, and then Gojyo is swearing and coming inside him, hot and wet and messy.
They slump together, tangled limbs and too many people for the small bed, and Gojyo braces Sanzo as he eases out of him. Sanzo cries out before he can stop himself, empty and aching, and it's going to be hell sitting in the jeep tomorrow, definitely. There's more wetness sliding down his thighs now, slender fingers tracing it up to its source and then circling his hole lightly. Sanzo shudders, but he's boneless, too exhausted to resist anything they want to do with him, to him, as he leans against Hakkai's chest.
"Damn," Gojyo says for the third time, darkly satisfied. He presses a soft kiss to the base of Sanzo's spine, and murmurs, "Look at you, Sanzo-sama, leaking all over the place. Makes me want to pin you down and see if you can fit both of us in that pretty, tight ass of yours."
It takes Sanzo's tired brain a moment to unravel the words, but he surprises even himself with the bolt of lust that shoots down his spine and coils somewhere lower. His breath catches, and Gojyo goes very still.
Sanzo doesn't need to glance back to see the shocked, hungry, speculative look on his face.
A long moment of silence, and then Hakkai clears his throat. "Possibilities for the future, perhaps," he manages at last, voice husky. Sanzo can feel the tightness of the grip on his nape. He allows himself the faintest of smirks around the pounding reliefdisbeliefhopewant in his chest. Yokai can be possessive bastards when they want. And this time, he's fairly certain that they do.
"Next time," he murmurs, eyes closing as exhaustion seeps into his bones, and barely registers the pleased hum against his spine.
The mattress is soft, and his body aches in all the very best ways. He still wants, to a degree that he'll never reveal to either of the bastards in bed with him, but—
But they want, too, and Sanzo can be a stubborn, mule-headed bastard when a situation calls for it, and he's rather certain that this one does.