Title: Wildflower (Part 6 of Torrent) -
Chapter 9
Author: Befanini
Website: http://www.fanfiction.net/~befanini
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just
another piece inspired by Kazuya Minekura's delicious
boys.
Rating: M
Summary: "Bloom where you're planted." A long-overdue songfic of random ruminations by four souls bound by fate. Part 6 of the Torrent series.
iii.
Heaven's Child
---
XxXxX
"What lies behind us and what lies
before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."
– Walt Emerson
"Trust thyself: every heart
vibrates to that iron string." – Ralph Waldo Emerson
"I worshipped dead men for their
strength, forgetting I was strong." – Vita Sackville-West
XxXxX
---
He calls me "angel". Me.
This cold and cynical soul, this corrupt and disillusioned
being. This hypocritical bastard on a "divine" mission to "save"
the world, who in reality wants nothing more then simple, calculated revenge. I
am a creature seeking blood in retribution for the anguish that tore me apart;
I am a cold and ruthless animal who would rather bite any hand that seeks to
comfort me than risk opening my heart ever again… I am this sick and twisted
and ugly thing, and he calls me his angel.
…And
the miracle of it is, that lying in his arms… cradled in his embrace, and with
tender lips pressing worshipful kisses on my brow – I see myself through his
eyes… and I am beautiful.
For
the first time in my life, what I see in the mirror is how I feel inside. What
an irony that it took him, the bane of my life, to set me free from the
burden of my guilt, my despair, and my bitterness. And what amazes me the most,
what overwhelms me, is that he accomplished it without seeking to change
anything about me – it is in fact my arrogance and my fierce spirit and my
pride that he cherishes above all. He embraces me fully, with open arms – my
temper, my short patience, my foul moods and caustic tongue. He loves me – or
so he says – not despite these faults, but because of them.
Hn. Typical perverse kappa. Silly fool.
Idiot, in fact… or perhaps the slyest fox that ever existed, knowing exactly
how to worm his way in: through sheer, stubborn, unconditional acceptance of
the imperfect, flawed bastard that is Genjo Sanzo…
and all the while telling me with those soulful, merry, tender red orbs, that
in his eyes… I am flawless.
Whole.
His
hands tell me that, and strangely enough, I become it. Whole. The broken pieces of me gather themselves up, fit
themselves together, seamlessly, flawlessly, at his command… enveloped
with his fierce and pure and total worship, I am rendered complete, I become
the perfect me – just me, nameless, neither river rat nor the last hope of
Shangri-La or Tenkai or whoever or whatever the fuck
it is I am duty-bound to serve… neither tragic Kouryu
the abandoned child twice orphaned nor corrupt Sanzo the leader of a rag-tag
team heading West on a one-way trip to save the world.
No… in
his arms, I am simply me, his equal, his mate, his lover – the
unconventional half that completes his half, that
translates into the whole that we become together. ...In fact, you could say
that Sha Gojyo is the nirvana that I achieve without
meditation. Hn.
I can't
say precisely when the disdain turned into fascination… In the early days he
was nothing more than another goddamn pervert who seemed to have a freakish
absorption with how I looked: just another man in a long line of men I had
encountered who were drawn irresistibly to this damnable pretty face, this
startling combination of pale skin and gold hair and purple eyes. Back then his
teasing and innuendoes and flirting simply irritated the hell out of me, and
thus my biting remarks and hostile attitude toward him. What I failed to
realize was that his actions did not repel me, as the other men's
leering did. I might have been annoyed, but it was not revulsion that I felt.
In
fact, it was something else… something that made me all the more haughty and
aloof toward him. He was starting to be compelling to me… it was a shock
to discover that I was getting used to his teasing, and had even come to expect
his flirting with me… and got inexplicably angry and excessively violent with
him when he turned his charms on random pretty girls.
I
started to crave all his attention for myself.
His
boldness, his defiance, his strength spoke to me. His fierce, protective nature
towards the weak and the humble belied his seeming arrogance and flippancy. His
soft heart somehow shone through, as warm and pulsing red as the shocking color of his hair and eyes. Even early on, I saw how he
valued friendship. He protected and cherished the ones he held dear, and back
then it was Gonou, and back then his stubborn loyalty
meant he was willing to be accomplice to a crime he didn't even know his
roommate had committed. He even had a way with children that was… endearing. He
and Goku might send me to an early grave with their constant petty quarrels,
but Gojyo is the one who would offer his arm (literally) to protect Son Goku's
life.
And
above all… he respected me. Whatever sass came out of his mouth, no
matter the dirty, disgruntled looks he shot at me, or the calculated insults
designed to blow my blood-pressure sky-high: Sha
Gojyo respected me. He respects me, the man that I am, in a way that
nobody ever has.
People in the streets kowtow to my face when they see these robes
and scriptures, and then whisper ill-conceived speculation and gossip behind my
back. The monks in whatever temples I seek shelter in tremble with awe
and veneration at my title, and then sneer amongst themselves, questioning Koumyou Sanzo's choice for his heir. Everywhere I go, it's
the same. Bloody idiots blinded by highfaluting ideals, prostrating themselves
at my feet, and all the while looking sideways at me and my unshaved head and
my gun and my cigarettes and my piercing, direct stare that is anything but
holy – or whatever their concept of holy must be.
Goku
does not even count – the kid is consumed with adulation and is too guileless
and honest to take into account. Hakkai started out as Gonou,
beholden to me for his life; and besides – the man himself is the embodiment of
respect and proper decorum. Hakkai would be respectful to anyone and everyone
even if they were about to tear his head off.
Whereas
he… Gojyo, a child of the streets, a half-breed who has suffered his own share
of disrespect and disillusion and society-imposed shame… He who would be the
most likely candidate to hold contempt for me – never has. His words and his
manner might have suggested it, but contrary to how it appears to the outside
world, it was just a man-to-man thing. He insulted my sharp tongue, he scoffed
at my apathy, he sneered at my aloof nature – but
never once made reference to my title, never once made it personal. It
was just his goddamn smart mouth talking back to another male who was every bit
as arrogant as him.
Nothing more, nothing less.
When
it came to the things that really mattered, Sha Gojyo
respected me. It was there in his eyes. In the way he opened his soul and his
suffering to me. In the way he trusted me to save Gonou.
In the way he took part in this mission, conceding to be led by "the piece
of shit monk". In fact, it is precisely the way he says 'kuso bouzu' so casually and
irreverently that tells me how he sees me and values me: as the man,
and not as the 'priest'.
Sha Gojyo sees me.
Sha Gojyo has always seen me.
And
those times when I caught him staring in earnest… those furtive glances that he
secretly stole when he thought I wasn't paying attention… those were the times
that stole my breath – because those eyes were filled not with flirting or
teasing, or exaggerated lust… but with a tenderness that stung, sheer longing
that pierced me to the core… and a deep, steady flame that engulfed me and
captured my soul. Tell me, what else was I to do, but surrender? Surrender to
him. Surrender to myself. Surrender to us.
He burned.
He
burns me to this day.
He is
the fire to my ice, melting away all indifference and apathy and unfeeling… he
releases some unknown part of me that is feral and savage in my obsession,
ravenous in my hunger for him, wild and uninhibited, all-consuming and
insatiable with longing and need and want of him. I feel so much,
nowadays, with just a look into his eyes… just the merest brush of his skin, that it sometimes feels like dying inside – a slow,
sweet death… la petite mort, in fact, that we share together – not
unlike total, pure oblivion to everything else: in each other's arms, we and we
alone exist.
Yes,
he is the fire to my ice, the blunt edge to my sharp, the irreverent humor to my caustic wit. We just fit together, ironically
enough. Because when you look beneath the surface "like poles" that
outwardly repelled us away from each other… you find the perfect complements
that fall into place so naturally that there can be no question of its rightness.
My
discipline tames his impulsiveness. His playfulness tempers my seriousness. My
self-control evens out his recklessness. His spontaneity mellows my obstinacy.
My thoughtfulness quiets his restlessness; his light-hearted spirit brightens
the dark corners of my soul.
In our
own ways, we are each of us intense, spirited individuals – bold and arrogant
and defiant – and yet what a mystery it is that we fit together so beautifully.
Not
perfectly, no – the idiot is still too fundamentally annoying a creature for a
seamless, smooth fit: he can still be so goddamn provoking, and irritating;
testing the limits of my patience with his juvenile quibbling with Goku, his
outrageous swagger and cocky attitude; driving me up the wall with his romantic
notions of endearments and secret signs and inappropriate stolen touches;
lighting the short end of my fuse with daring, open taunts and insults when he
doesn't get his way, resorting to calling me "Sanzo-chan"
when I snap his head off.
…And
yet … Gojyo just would not be the delicious, wicked rogue that is
my lover without that spice of naughtiness and irreverence that is part of his
nature. And besides, when it comes down to it – the poor bastard has to put up
with this sullen, foul-tempered, acid-tongued devil too. If he can embrace my
faults and love me for it, I sure as hell can tolerate his… to a point. Hn. Otherwise the harisen will
settle the matter, as it always effectively does.
He
used to revenge himself – and occasionally still does, when he acts like a brat
– by calling me "ice princess". But from the very beginning, Gojyo knew
I was far from being "cold". If anything, I felt things to the
extreme. In the early days it was his chief amusement to crack my carefully
constructed façade with well-aimed taunts, almost always guaranteed to get a
rise out of me and earn him a cutting remark in retaliation. Back then, I used
to marvel at the asshole's sheer appetite for punishment, and put it down to a
sadomasochistic streak in him, irritating pervert that he was in my eyes.
It is
only now that it dawns fully on me, what he was really trying to do. He sensed
my intensity, somehow, the shrewd bastard – and he honestly considered
it more blessing than burden – and tried in his perverse, impulsive way to
break down the barriers that held me so rigid… he wanted that intensity to
break free, because it's when I internalize it that it turns into my curse.
Hmph. The wily imp now basks in that very intensity that he has
unleashed, declaring himself blessed over and over to the only one who is privy
to the rawness of my innermost emotions.
And
yet… how can I begrudge the little fool his gloating, when with him I feel so
very free for the first time in my life? Even back then, living with my
Master, I was bound by the rules of the monks, bound by my duties, bound by my
debt to the
Even
this Journey West binds me to the sunset road, ever onward; through multiple
goddamn distractions and hordes of idiots along the way.
…And
even when the mission is complete my name and my title binds me to return to
the temple and live out my life, as per the dictates of this holy office – with
me the 31st Toa, the chosen of Buddha.
Bound forever.
Not so
with him. Never with him. That is the strangest thing
of all… I am his, willingly – I belong completely to him by virtue of Gojyo
making no claims on me, save for loving me so much, and asking only to be loved
in return. His love comes at no price, no price at all – and it is this
precisely which so humbles and overwhelms me… and makes me feel a contentment
and peace that I have never known before.
Ironically
– this daring, mischievous, arrogant and impetuous red-headed wild child is my tranquility. Go fucking figure… hn.
And
believe it or not – he is my muichimotsu. By
now, it shouldn't be that hard to fathom.
If you meet the Buddha, kill the
Buddha.
If you meet your ancestors, kill your
ancestors.
Free of everything, you are bound by
nothing.
Live your life simply as it is.
Who in
the world is more happy-go-lucky and carefree than Sha
Gojyo? Koumyou Sanzo perhaps, when my Master was still alive. I used to be
such a worried little thing, overly concerned with propriety, none-too-politely
questioning my Master's habits of smoking a pipe, or "escaping" his
teaching duties… or even questioning his wisdom in appointing me his successor.
And
even when I had killed, taken my first life, and broken the holiest of commands
not to harm the meanest living soul – I was still so bound by my own narrow
visions of how the world should be. I scoffed at fellow monks who were sincere
in their devotion, simply because they were untainted by the cruel reality of
the outside world – when in fact I was the pompous ass, as always,
looking down on their simple and honest faith and feeling somehow superior and
unworthy of them, just because I had overcome trials beyond imagining, and
fancied that my spirit was better than theirs because mine was purified by
pain, not by empty prayers.
You
see the depth of my arrogance? Even if it were true that my suffering meant I
was on a different plane than my peers, did not make me any better than them; nor indeed worse, as my nightmares seemed to constantly mock
me. I was… I am – just different.
No
more, no less.
This
was the great secret that Koumyou Sanzo carried
inside him. The fact that all men are flawed, even monks, even Sanzo Priests.
No one is infallible. In the end, all that my wisdom has taught me is that I
know nothing. That is the moment of enlightenment.
And
yet being a Sanzo Houshi, I am obliged to keep
in place that mask of irrefutable knowledge, of indefatigable strength, of
infinite mysterious wisdom. These are what give me authority,
even if most of the time I just couldn't give a damn. In certain situations,
however, the decorum is ideal, and facilitates matters more effectively and
efficiently with it than without it. And so I oblige, no matter how
wearying it is to body and spirit.
At
such times I now fully understand my Master's parting words about the
scriptures draped over my shoulders. Strange how such a light and fragile thing
can be such a burden.
And
even stranger still, how the weight of the world falls away in such blessed
release… when all is quiet, and it is just me and him… and Gojyo carefully,
reverently slips the sutras from my shoulders as we undress each other in the
dark. Literally and figuratively, he strips me of my burden, draining away all
madness and torment and trouble, until I am renewed, reborn, in his arms.
He
carries me when I am too weary to carry myself.
In his
arms, I am free of everything.
His
love liberates me from all that binds – duties and promises, vows and
responsibilities – all worries and care fade away.
Each
night, for a few brief, precious hours… wrapped in his embrace… I live my life
simply, as it is.
With him.
My taboo child of the flaming hair, and sunset eyes, and the proud
scars on his cheek.
My
wild gypsy with his ribald tongue, and cocky grin, and untamed passion, and
unconquered strength… and the gentlest heart that ever beat, drumming steadily
and soothingly beneath my ear.
My mate and my equal.
Fire to my ice.
Sha Gojyo, sunshine of my soul.
---
XxXxX
"Love makes your soul crawl out
from its hiding place." – Zora Neale Hurston
"Love's greatest gift is its
ability to make everything it touches sacred."
– Barbara de Angelis
XxXxX
---
-- owari. –
---
A/N: It took some time for me
and the chibi-muses to wrangle this "confession"
out of the stubborn Sanzo, but we managed it in the end. Heh. We hope it was worth
the long wait. The song that was inspiration for this fic
follows. Thanks for reading!
---
iv.
Wildflower
---
5 She's faced the hardest times
you could imagine
And many times her eyes fought back the
tears
And when her youthful world was about
to fall in
Each time her slender shoulders
Bore the weight of all her fears
And the sorrow no one hears
Still rings in midnight silence in her
ears 5
8 Let her cry, for she's a lady
Let her dream, for she's a child
Let the rain fall down upon her
She's a free and gentle flower
Growing wild 8
9 And if by chance I should hold
her
Let me hold her for a time
And if allowed but one possession
I would pick her from the garden to be
mine 9
3 Be careful how you touch her
For she'll awaken
And sleep's the only freedom that she
knows
And when you walk into her eyes
You won't believe
The way she's always paying
For a debt she never owed
And the silent wind still blows
That only she can hear and so she goes…
3
---
"Wildflower".
Words by David
Richardson, Copyright Edsel Music.
---
"Bloom where you're planted."
- Mary Engelbert
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