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Architecture and smut, oh my!

Gyumaoh 21

Ch. 3 ~ Johar and Toril

The fortress Prince Kougaiji's army has recently occupied is decrepit, but expansive. The forest has grown up close around it, and in some places the vines have begun making holes in the five-foot thick outer walls of the city. To some eyes, this makes it less defensible. To Johar and the rest of the Prince's army, it makes it more so. They've become accustomed to guerilla warfare, and the crumbling city quickly becomes their new favourite staging ground.

The city itself is terraced, leading up to the fort proper on the third level. The inner walls are nearly eight feet wide and still in good repair, with high battlements that still fall below the line of the surrounding vegetation. Even atop its hill, the fortress is nearly invisible.

Inside the fort, the rooms are expansive. Most of the rooms against the outer walls have high, vaulted ceilings with narrow slit windows. They open onto vast galleries with stone railings and colonnades that overlook the interior courtyard. From the outside, the fort looms, solid and implacable. From the inside, there is a brightness and light that seems completely at odds with its outward appearance.

It is dangerous to settle, to become complacent, but the army occupies the fortress and city quickly and easily. They will not let their guard down, but they are all the happier for sturdy stone walls.

Twenty years the Prince has been on the run. It is time and past to make a stand.


"D'y'ever think... somethin's missin'?" Johar drawled, staring towards the pale outline of the window and Toril's silhouette.

Toril snorted and blew a stream of cigarette smoke in his direction. "Fuck, you're drunk."

"Nah, not really. 'M serious."

Crimson eyes glared at him, giving the impression of being vibrant with colour even in the dim, moonlit room. "Maybe," Toril said shortly.

"'S like a itch y'can't scratch, right? Like somethin'... just somethin'... hangin' off the edge of your... uh... y'know." Language abandoned him, and he waved his cigarette in a helpless gesture.

"Brain?" Toril asked. "The thing you've lost?"

"Har har," Johar replied, rolling onto his back. "You're just bitter 'cuz you feel the same and don't wanna admit it."

"I don't have anything to miss," Toril said quietly. "I don't form attachments."

Such sober statements were almost enough to kill the alcohol buzz, Johar thought sulkily. "Lucky you," he muttered. Crushing out his cigarette, he flopped back down and let his eyes slide closed.

Bare feet slapped quietly against the floor as Toril moved from the window ledge. Johar kept his eyes stubbornly closed, resisting the urge to watch the moonlight and shadow playing across Toril's pale skin and crimson hair.

The bed shifted beneath him and his eyes snapped open. Toril knelt straddling his hips. Leaning forward, he caught Johar's wrists and pinned them to the bed.


"Shut up," the redhead snapped. "Just shut up."

It wasn't just the alcohol, Johar told himself as he nodded slightly. It couldn't be just the alcohol.

Sitting back on his heels, Toril released him. Not that he was going anywhere with Toril's weight pressing down over his crotch. He could probably wrestle the slighter half-youkai off him if he made a determined effort, but he didn't actually want to.

"What do you want?" Toril asked.

Johar blinked up at him and raised one hand to trace the curve of a strange round ear. He bucked his hips a little, thinking the answer should be getting obvious. "You," he whispered fiercely, because he did. He had for weeks now. He couldn't keep his eyes off the half-breed, could only keep his hands to himself because he knew Toril would quite happily break his fingers if he tried anything.

Toril's lips quirked in a smile. "Good. Because if you were pining after something else, I'd be forced to shoot you." Placing one hand square in the centre of Johar's chest, he leaned down and kissed him.

He tasted of wine and cigarettes. Comfortable. Familiar. Just like the words that had sounded so natural that it took Johar a moment to find the flaw in the statement. "You don't have a gun," he said, breaking the kiss and blinking up at Toril.

"Shut up," Toril growled. Even in the dark, his pale skin betrayed his angry flush.

"Make me," Johar said, chuckling. Letting his hand slide down to Toril's shoulder, he grasped it tightly, pulling him down.

It turned into a scuffle then, a battle of tongues and teeth, claws and nails. Johar's were sharper, of course, but Toril didn't seem to care. And in the end, it was Toril who came out on top, his blunt teeth sunk into the back of Johar's neck until Johar submitted and relaxed beneath him.

They were on the floor by that point, floorboards smooth but hard, and clean because they'd had to sweep and mop the room they'd claimed. The sheets and pillows straggled off the bed, twisted and tangled. Toril's weight was heavy against his back, far heavier than it should have been. His arms were folded across the small of his back, pinned at the wrists by one of Toril's hands.

And when Toril forced his way inside, yeah it hurt like hell, but it was a good hurt. A burning, brilliant pain that he'd take any time, because damn but Toril fit just right and knew just how to thrust, and how to stroke and it was so fucking good....

Afterwards, they lay in a sticky heap, panting. Surprised into silence by the intensity of it. The fire that had burned through them had not died, but banked, gone to coals that seethed and radiated a steady heat.

"Ow," Johar finally muttered, twisting his head to the other side with difficulty.

Toril rolled off of him, sprawled on his back with his eyes closed. Johar moved stiffly, stretched slowly, listened to the pops and cracks of protest his joints made, and smiled.

"You get to mop," he said, stretching out on his back.

Rolling toward him, Toril draped himself overtop of Johar, resting his head on the curve of his shoulder. "Fine," he muttered. "But next time we use the bed."

Looping his arm around the slighter man, Johar grinned at the ceiling. "Damn right."

Nothing like smut on a hot summer's eve

Date: 2005-07-25 03:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Oh my gosh you can definitely write the Saiyuki characters well even when they aren’t quite themselves. Johar’s drawl and Toril’s none attachment, just ooze Gojyo and Sanzo.

"Good. Because if you were pining after something else, I'd be forced to shoot you."

He tasted of wine and cigarettes. Comfortable. Familiar. Just like the words that had sounded so natural that it took Johar a moment to find the flaw in the statement. "You don't have a gun," he said, breaking the kiss and blinking up at Toril.

Ah the déjà vu of the moment. How ironic that Sanzo is the half-breed this time around.

And what followed was just what I would expect from Gojyo and Sanzo in any re-incarnated form. Never could picture the two of them having "gentle" sex, it would be a fiery and almost brutal – and would be enjoyable to watch, but the next best thing is to read the way you write it.^_~

Re: Nothing like smut on a hot summer's eve

Date: 2005-08-02 04:19 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Thank you, glad you enjoyed it! ^___^


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August 2011


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