Gat liked to watch Hazel sleep. Probably more than he should, all things considered. The man was so different when he was asleep and so versatile. Some nights he would sleep like the dead, unmoving and barely breathing. Other nights he would toss and turn, often kicking the blankets off the bed. Tonight, Hazel was having a nightmare. His face was contorting in fear and moved back and forth to match his turning head, followed by deep panting and murmured cries. Gat had promised to wake Hazel when he had these nightmares, but Gat couldn't bring himself to wake the sleeping bishop. Gat knew it was perverse, but he liked it more when Hazel had nightmares than when he slept soundly.
Because when he was having nightmares, Gat knew who and what Hazel was thinking about.
Gat lifted himself up from his seat next to Hazel's bed and stood towering over the man. Hazel had turned over in his sleep and had his face pressed into the pillow. Gat brushed a bit of silver hair back from the man's sweat soaked face with a finger and pulled it back behind an ear. Hazel groaned in an unpleasant manner and Gat went to the sink to fetch a cool wash cloth. As long as he wiped the sweat away, and Hazel didn't wake- the man would never know Gat had broken his promise.
When Hazel had nightmares, his his head was full of demons, church bells and his beloved Master. Gat understood those feelings and had nothing to fear from them. Gat wiped the face softly with the cloth and sat back down in his chair by the bedside. He could protect Hazel from his past and the sorrow that laid on his heart. Gat could stand strong with an unaffected face when Hazel woke the next morning. He could even cheer the man up and make him laugh with a dry remark here or there.
Gat loved Hazel's laugh.
What Gat was finding less and less tolerable, however, were Hazel's dreams. His few and frequent pleasurable nights where the signs of what was conspiring behind closed eyes was oh too obvious. Those nights that were becoming more frequent as time passed. On those nights, Hazel would moan, sweat and squirm under the covers much the same as when he was having a nightmare. It was the smile on his face and the wandering pale hand that trailed along Hazel's own body that betrayed any lingering hope that Gat's master was having a nightmare.
The first time Gat had realized what was going on in the dream, he had been embarrassed and could distinctly remember blushing red enough to match a tomato when the man ejaculated from his dream. The fact Hazel had kicked the sheets off the bed that night made it even worse; Gat could see everything. The morning had been even more awkward when Hazel woke up to sticky sheets and a bodyguard who refused to meet his eyes. "Ah, well I do apologize you had to see that last night, Gat. Next time you can leave the room, ya' know. Sorry if I embarrassed you." Hazel had said as he got dressed, not realizing Gat was watching every move the man made.
That was also the first time Gat really looked at his master. He had always loved Hazel Grosse; enough to die for without a second thought. Hazel was important to him, a vital part of his existence and Gat's entire world. But now, Gat noticed the slim curve of the man's back, the way his hair fell back on his neck, long pale fingers that fit snugly under white gloves. Gat was attracted to everything that Bishop Hazel was from his goals to his voice and southern drawl, but now he had seen the man in a much more carnal light. Gat's willpower was tested for the first time since he had died and been brought back by this blue-eyed angel.
Though, he never acted upon those thoughts, of course, no matter how much he strained against doing just that. Hazel would never have allowed it and Gat did not wish to see his reaction if he found out. Hazel would either be disgusted with Gat or just laugh at him. Neither option was all that pleasing. So Gat continued to harbor his affection in secret and looked forward to those rare nights when Hazel's nightmares would be replaced by more licentious dreams. Gat would always study Hazel intently on those nights. He wanted to see where Hazel's hand traveled, see the man's face buckle in delight; listen to broken breaths and gasps. Gat wanted to see Hazel be human and to learn how what made Hazel Grosse moan. Knowing that, Gat could close his own eyes and just listen to Hazel shift under the sheets and sigh and he could pretend it was Gat's own caresses that made the man so hot under the collar.
Until he heard a name come from those parted lips.
Gat could have died all over again on the spot when that single name fell from the man's lips. It had been whispered and mumbled, but it was as clear as a gunshot to the sturdy man's ears and his eyes had opened with the shock. Gat had never harbored delusions that the one Hazel was dreaming about could possibly be Gat himself, but having an actual name come from that mouth shattered Gat's ability to pretend. No longer was it Gat who drew those sweet sounds from Hazel with small licks and nips from chapped lips, but those tiny sounds were drawn out by a man whose mouth was as foul as it was wise. No longer was it Gat's hands who explored every inch of that pale flesh and thread his fingers through silky hair, but the hands of one who handled a Smith & Wesson. No longer was it Gat's name that was cried out at the crowning point of ecstasy, but the name "Genjo Sanzo."
Gat was thankful that he never ate or he would surely vomit.
The much larger man had known in the back of his mind that Hazel liked the priest a bit too much for comfort, but he never imagined it went that deep. Now every time Hazel talked about the priest, Gat could feel his insides twisting. Hazel wanted Genjo Sanzo. Gat swallowed to himself and looked over at Hazel still breathing heavily in the bed. His face was locked in an expression of terror and Gat was relieved. As long as Hazel was frightened, he'd only go to one person. Genjo Sanzo wouldn't comfort Hazel when he was scared.
For that, Hazel went to Gat and Gat alone.
And that alone kept the massive gunman from accidently shooting the blonde priest out of jealousy. Gat almost smiled to himself; he had really sunken low to be thinking such things. Even if they were true. Originally, Gat had been upset that Hazel had parted from the Sanzo party. He liked being around the little one, Goku. Gat even liked it when Hazel got into spars with the demon Hakkai. Their fights were malicious, to be sure, but it was playful and Gat could tell Hazel enjoyed them. Gat could even be happy that Hazel wanted to be friends with Genjo Sanzo.
But now he was nothing but thankful Hazel had chosen to keep them apart. Gat wasn't sure if he could handle Hazel becoming friends with Genjo Sanzo now that he knew the blue-eyed man's true intentions. And if there was some occurrence where hell froze over and Genjo Sanzo returned those feelings, Gat wasn't sure if there was any force in nature that would keep him from strangling the blond man on the spot where he stood. He had already done so once or twice in his own daydreams. Hell, Gat had even done it once while Hazel was rambling about the miscreant priest.
Gat couldn't dream about Hazel anymore. His touches and whispers no longer reached the other man, even in his own head. Gat looked down at his own callused hands and wondered how different they were from those of Genjo Sanzo. Did that man also have rough hands or were they smooth? Just how repulsed would Hazel be if Gat made a move first in an attempt to deter Hazel from his fantasies? Or would Gat be a replacement? The man closed his yellow eyes and nearly cried out himself; if Hazel were to cry that name while they were together, Gat would die. He would just, die.
The larger man shot up in his chair straighter when he recognized the stern calling of his name. He looked over to see very awake blue eyes staring at him, at least the bishop had an amused smirk on his face. "Hazel."
"I guess I'll forgive ya' for not wakin' me up during that dreadful nightmare." Hazel chuckled and pulled his feet out from under the covers. He felt heavy, but there was no way he was sleeping again after seeing such sights again. "Yer' barely awake yer'self. I've been callin' ya for close to five minutes now."
"Ah, sorry." Gat apologized and hung his head to look at the floor.
"No, it's alright." Hazel hummed and stood up from the bed. His face felt grimy with sweat and he browsed about the inn room for the restroom. Hazel had crashed the moment he hit the bed from exhaustion, barely leaving time to change clothes. He hadn't really looked around the room yet and he desperately needed to wash. "Something on your mind to have ya' so distracted?"
Gat stared at Hazel and watched him touch his own skin, feeling for any sign that he might have been crying in his sleep. "Not really."
"Are you sure? You don't look so well." Hazel turned his head over his shoulder to look carefully over his body guard. He looked the same as ever, but Hazel could sense a weight hanging on him. "Well, why don't I take a shower and we'll go scurry up some grub. How's that sound?"
Gat nodded and watched as Hazel disappeared behind the bathroom door. The man's sheets were covered in sweat. Only sweat, the type of cold sweat that came from nightmares. Gat smiled softly and dropped his face into the covers and breathed in deep as the sound of running water through pipes filled the room.