- Title: By The Light
- Author: angelynx_prime
- Pairing(s): Moresome (Hakkai, Gojyo, Sanzo)
- Rating: R (might be NC-17, but I don't really think so)
- Summary or description: A somewhat different erotic healing story...
- Word count; 1790
Sweat ran down Hakkai's face and he mopped it quickly on his sleeve, to keep from contaminating the wound. He forced himself to stop and breathe, stay steady, stay conscious…how long had he been working here…?
He re-focused on the nightmare before his eyes. If only it were just a nightmare. If only he could wake and see Gojyo's body as it ought to be: sleek golden skin, strong, whole muscle and bone, instead of this maimed ruin. Only this morning I woke up by his side, thinking how beautiful he was… He'd never wake to that beauty beside him again, if he couldn't make this work now.
And it wasn't working. The poison of the demon's talons worked fast and evilly, burning from the inside, twisting apart the healing tissue as fast as he could build it. Once more, his fingers heavy as lead, he repaired broken bone and shredded tendons, and once more watched them sever.
"...'Kai." Red eyes half-opened, glazed with pain. "This's bad, isn't it…"
"…I'm afraid so." He stroked Gojyo's brow. Yaone's herbal anesthetic wasn't strong enough to keep him under for long—he'd need another dose. "I'll put you back to sleep."
…and go on trying and…ah, my god. He wiped his brow again, his despair becoming as deep as his exhaustion. I can't do it. I'm going to lose him. Again he'd be not strong enough, not soon enough; again he wouldn't be able to save the one, the only one who mattered…
He would go mad this time, he thought. Darkness loomed up around him, an abyss ready to open under his feet. He'd go mad, and do terrible things, and Sanzo or poor Goku would be forced to kill him, all because of these useless, bloody hands--
"What?!—" was all he managed to get out before Sanzo strode past him, already pulling his lotus-petal tiara out of his sleeve; and then his darkness was swept away, all doubt gone, in the clear splendor of that voice, the majestic soul of the ancient words. The room filled with golden light, and its benediction flowed through him just as it had the first time…that time…
and he realized that though it had taken place at the spot where Kanan's body lay burned to ashes, all he could remember now was the radiant peace of Gojyo's face, and the shining light of the man standing before him. That light they were fated to follow through any and all shadows.
(…yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death…)
Opening his eyes with a sigh, Hakkai caught his breath in surprise. The Maten Sutra had come to life, but not with its usual furious burst of energy. It flowed lightly up Gojyo's broken body, looping itself around hotel cot and hanyou to wrap three times around his chest. Sanzo drew a deep breath; there was already such power in the room that the thin walls seemed to tremble, but it suddenly rose in intensity, and the priest spoke three words in absolute authority.
A cloud of greenish-black mist rose up from the wound, writhing in the air as if viciously alive. Hakkai stared, amazed. The venom—it could only be that—lashed out frustrated tendrils at the inviolable light, but the kyoumon's radiance pulled it inexorably away from Gojyo, and then, with one sun-bright flare, incinerated it. A fine shimmer of black dust fell through rays of light as the radiance faded, and was gone.
Sanzo exhaled harshly; he looked pale but steady as he caught the returned sutra in his hand. "There. Now you can patch him up."
An incalculable weight had lifted from his heart in an instant. Saved, he thought; saved once more, by the grace of this one man…
One could only fall at his feet in awe. Or kiss him. Hakkai chose the second.
He tasted of smoke and coffee and a burning bitter-sweetness, and he didn't resist, which was nearly as amazing as exorcism-by-kyoumon. He rested both hands on the youkai's hips and stood still, allowing the kiss, drawing in long, deep draughts of mixed air and Hakkai's breath. His violet eyes were closed. As if he drew strength from it; as if for a moment he needed it… Hakkai longed to touch him, settled for holding his black-sleeved arms, not wanting to stain ivory robes or golden hair with his red hands. Surgeon's red, though, not murderer's; the sacred words had reminded him even of that.
You've saved my soul as much as my life, so many times. He lightly grazed the soft lower lip with his teeth, drew away with genuine regret.
"Thank you," he added quietly. "In case that isn't clear."
"Hnh. Didn't want to clean up after your mess again, that's all."
But he released Hakkai with the same reluctance, and followed as he returned to the hotel cot, watching over his shoulder. Gojyo seemed unconscious—Hakkai remembered with a pang of guilt that he'd been just about to administer more anesthetic—but as he touched the wound again the red eyes flickered open, and there was no mistaking their gleam of roguish amusement.
"So hey—" the breathless voice held the grin he was too weak to add—"do I get some sugar? or just watch some more?"
"Gojyo, you're in no condition—" Hakkai, trying not to blush, opened the bottle of herbal anesthetic. "I'm going to put you back under, and we'll finish this as quickly as possible." The sutra's healing influence seemed to have given him a brief respite, but it might end any moment; he couldn't take chances.
When he turned back with the sponge, though, Sanzo had knelt down beside the cot.
"Why'd you do it?" whispered the hanyou, and the priest sighed.
"I could say it's because I hate to drive, or because without you two I'd be stuck babysitting the monkey myself all the rest of the way. I could say a lot of shit." His voice was weary and honest. "The flat truth is that I'm sick and tired of people dying on me. And I know that if you died, we'd lose Hakkai in a matter of hours. I'm just not dealing with that."
"I didn't even know the sutra could work that way," Hakkai commented, pouring the fragrant stuff into a clean sponge.
"And I'd just as soon never do it again. It gives me a hell of a headache, and ..." he rubbed between his eyes. "I'd just rather not."
Gojyo closed his eyes. "Thanks then, " he murmured, and Hakkai leaned down to press the sponge over his mouth and nose. He was torn: they'd never heard Sanzo speak so frankly, and it seemed a shame to interrupt, but really–
--then, to his amazement, Gojyo reached out, and Sanzo accepted his kiss as easily as he had Hakkai's. Silent, but not passive, breathing deeply; Gojyo pulled himself closer, and the monk made a sound, sliding long fingers into red hair.
--all right then, no anesthetic. Hakkai bent quickly over the wound—the infusion of divine energy seemed to have frozen it in time, it was barely even bleeding, impossible though that was—and with a deep breath opened himself, spread his fingers to let the energy flow. It came easily, though he'd been so exhausted, and now the healing took hold at once, tendon and muscle stitching smoothly into place.
Both Gojyo and Sanzo moaned softly. Hakkai caught his breath. It was as if some sort of circuit was opening between them: the strange healing power that the sutra had never displayed before, the effect it had had on Sanzo, merging into his flow of ki. The green glow grew brighter; Sanzo angled his head to deepen the kiss, and Hakkai, one hand held over a slowly mending rib, reached out for Sanzo's hand just as he reached for Hakkai's—
Sanzo's grip on Hakkai's hand was bone-bruising tight, his other fist clenched in Gojyo's hair; the glow of ki soared up to blinding lime-white; Gojyo's body jolted as if shot with a burst of high voltage, and Hakkai nearly bit through his lip as he fought to channel the sudden unbelievable surge. With a whispery caress of parchment, the Maten Sutra slipped over his shoulder to lend assistance. He was suddenly, achingly hard, streaming sweat, but years of practice and discipline held; light poured from his fingers in a hot, dazzling torrent, and the crushing wound in Gojyo's chest healed in a matter of seconds. Bones knit, muscle healed, skin flowed back over all; before he could catch his breath it lay before him as if the day had never happened.
And Sanzo's head was pressed close to Gojyo's, his voice repeating something quietly and urgently, over and over. It didn't sound quite like the sutra chant, but Hakkai was sure he wasn't hearing clearly at the moment—yet he did think he'd heard it before…
The kyoumon withdrew itself and returned to its guardian, and at its touch Sanzo's eyes snapped wide open—and he pulled away from Gojyo in surprise and dismay, getting to his feet. He shot a wary glance at Hakkai, but the healer plainly showed no suspicious signs besides a sizable erection (which I'll be taking care of myself, he sighed inwardly, since Sanzo's mood had shifted and Gojyo had come on his own, before falling into a deep much-needed sleep). Whatever had been at work in them, Hakkai concluded, it had completed its task and gone.
"I'm not sure what just happened," admitted Sanzo, "but if the kappa's asleep, you should be too. " He lit a cigarette. "Breakfast at the usual time."
"Of course." Had something cleared his memory, or was he just, typically, setting it aside? As he set about cleaning off Gojyo he added carefully, "Thank you again, Sanzo."
The priest paused for a moment on his way to the door. "I meant what I said. Tonight, and back then. " The door closed on a stream of smoke.
Back then, Hakkai mused as he finished his work and packed his medical kit, back then—it was so close he could almost hear it—
But it didn't return to him until he'd taken care of personal matters and gotten into bed, and lay in the dark, listening to Gojyo breathe in his sleep. What Sanzo had been saying he'd said before, long ago, in that place they all dimly remembered: they're with me. I'll take the responsibility, and we'll go.
We are indeed, he thought; we are, and we will.