Work Text:
They’d had their little arrangement for a while now. Wukong got lonely, and he knew Macaque did too, though the bastard was too proud to admit it. He would always insist he was just bored, even when he started showing up to Wukongs house unannounced. Even when he sobbed afterwards. They both knew they could only really let loose with each other. Wukong didn’t want to hurt someone weaker, and Macaque didn’t have anyone else he could trust.
Sometimes Macaque would walk away with bruises, sometimes Wukong would be healing from deep gashes for days, but it was all in good fun. All discussed beforehand. Turns out, they both enjoyed seeing each other hiss in pain as much as they liked feeling the familiar sting of their own torn skin. Recently, though, it’d been getting a bit less physical and a bit more emotional. Macaque had called the scene off, and though he wasn’t crying, Wukong could tell his old friend was choked up about something.
The next time Wukong saw him, Macaque insisted on continuing the scene, with a few drastic changes. At first Wukong had thought something was wrong, but his friend assured him he’d just been overwhelmed last time, but was excited to continue. Macaque had started sniffling halfway through, but never once signaled for the Monkey King to stop. Once it was over, he cuddled up against Wukong and purred.
That experience was the only reason Wukong was even considering asking Macaque to do a certain scene that’d been on his mind for a while now. He’d prefaced the scene’s description by saying he wanted Macaque to hear him out before he decided, but he knew that wouldn’t stop the demon from interrupting him if he wanted to. Still, Macaque stayed silent throughout Wukong’s stumbling explanation.
Instead of the instant, disgusted rejection he’d been expecting, Macaque just mulled it over. The black monkey cracked a smile. His response was simple.
“Alright, yeah.” Macaque shrugged.
“Wait- really?” Wukong said.
“Why not? Sounds cathartic.” The demon looked at his nails as if disinterested in their conversation, a slight smirk played on his lips. He was clearly enjoying Wukongs surprise, yet the Monkey King couldn’t manage to wipe the skeptical confusion off his face.
“Just like that?”
Macaque rolled his eyes. “What, did you want me to say no?”
Wukong got a hold of himself, glaring at Macaque in response before taking a deep breath to steady himself.
“No, this is- this is good. Ok, let’s hash out the details.”
And that’s how he ended at Macaque’s Dojo. The demon had insisted it be here, since apparently it was easier to glamor a familiar space. Wukong had been a bit skeptical, but he guessed it wasn’t a huge deal, it's not like where they actually were would impact the fantasy anyway.
He watched Macaque stretch. Wukong didn’t think the other monkey really needed to stretch to prepare, but he wasn’t about to insult the demon's theatrics. Especially when he was about to benefit from them. Macaque caught him staring and winked.
“Relax, buddy, glamors are kind of my thing.” The black monkey said. “Just close your eyes for a few seconds and let me work.”
Wukong shot his companion one last glare, then closed his eyes and waited. After about ten seconds, he realized he had no idea how he was supposed to tell when Macaque was done setting up.
“Uh, can I open my eyes now?” He asked lamely, but got no response. “Mac? Hello?”
He waited a few more seconds, then huffed in exasperation. It wasn’t like hearing Macaque yell “All good!” was going to break his immersion, they hadn’t even started yet. That demon was always so dramatic though, Wukong should have guessed he wouldn’t want to break character.
Wukong opened his eyes.
The sight before him made his breath hitch. He was back in that clearing, Macaque laid out in a crater in front of him. The monkey's neck was bent at an unnatural angle. His head was drenched in blood, cuts and bruises from their fight on full display. Macaque’s left eye was hidden behind a mop of tangled fur and blood, no doubt a bloody mess from the strike that had blinded him. But his other eye stared up at the sky, glassy and completely devoid of its usual mirth.
Wukong gulped, entranced by the glamor. Macaque wasn’t kidding about his skills, this was exactly how Wukong remembered it. The same deadly quiet, save for the chirping of crickets. The same slight breeze and faint smell of trees. The same dead friend.
Macaque didn’t look how he did in the modern day. His fur was a similar blond to the other monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain. His six ears were on full display, not that he could hide them. He was dead. Glamors don’t tend to hold up once you’re dead.
Wukong made his way towards the fresh corpse, heart beating. This was so stupid, so disgusting, so insulting. What possessed him to ask Macaque for this? What possessed Macaque to agree? His shaking legs carried him forward, until he stopped right in front of the monkey demon's beaten body. He fell to his knees, and the ground felt just as gritty as rough it had back then. Damn, Macaque was really good at this.
Wukong leaned forward and pressed a hand to Macaque’s neck. He held it there for a few moments. No pulse. He began to shimmy the pants off the dead monkey. He moved quickly, tossing the demon's pants aside and pulling out his already rigid cock. He didn’t want Macaque’s hard work to go to waste, and he had no idea how long an illusion this vivid would last. The demon had claimed they wouldn’t be pressed for time, but he was a liar, so his word didn’t mean much.
Wukong entered Macaque gently, a hand on the demon's hip to hold him steady. It was warm, but not the typical warmth he’d come to expect from the demon's cunt. It was the last fleeting heat still trapped in an otherwise rapidly cooling body. Wukong groaned, shifting the demon beneath him into a more comfortable position. Macaque’s body was stiff and a bit difficult to manage, but it was a lot easier than it would have been had the demon still been alive.
The thought made Wukong shudder. If Macaque had still been alive. He did this, he’d bludgeoned his friend to death. He’d blinded him in one eye, broken his neck, and left him to bleed out.
He placed his hands on the ground at either side of Macaque’s head, leaning over the demon. Their faces were so close, Wukong could smell the blood and sweat. He gave a gentle thrust, eyes intently watching Macaque’s face, but the illusion didn’t break. The demon underneath him didn’t so much as twitch.
He kept thrusting, getting rougher and more frenzied with each slap of his hips. He bent over the body, pressing himself against the demon's chest and not caring if he got blood all over himself. He needed to be as close to Macaque as possible. He nuzzled into the dead monkey’s neck. Despite it all, the demon was still so damn soft.
He sobbed into Macaque's fur, letting himself feel all the choked, stifling emotions he’d long suppressed. The wave of regret he’d always brushed off, the disgust with himself and his actions. The fury he felt at Macaque for making him do this , for forcing them to fight, for not giving up until one of them was dead.
The warmth was already leaving the lifeless monkey beneath him. Still, Wukong didn’t stop thrusting, as if the friction from his cock and the slap of his hips against the demon's ass would somehow bring the warmth back.
“I’m sorry,” Wukong choked the words out into the fur of Macaque’s neck. “I’m so, so sorry, Mac.”
The words came tumbling from his lips like desperate prayers.
“Please come back, please please come back.”
He kissed Macaque, desperately trying to get inside the corpse's mouth. He needed to prove it, needed to show just how sorry he was. He wanted to give Macaque everything, he’d already taken so much from the demon, he’d taken his life for Buddha's sake! Wukong didn’t care about the blood smearing his face and lips, he didn’t care that Macaque couldn’t actually feel him, he needed to prove it. He had to show how much he regretted it.
He moved a hand down to hold Macaque in place as he kept ramming into him, even if his friend was a corpse, Wukong still wanted him to feel it. He wanted to leave the demon's body stretched and bruised. More bruised than it already was, at least.
He remembered Macaque’s smile when they’d sparred together. He remembered the fury, the righteous anger, and then the fear. The terror on his face right before Wukong’s staff slammed into his eye. He couldn’t remember the biting words, only that they’d stung, they’d cut him to shreds. And then they’d stopped, and somehow, that had hurt even more.
He shuddered, the onslaught of memories washing over him in an overwhelming wave of conflicting emotions. He had to prove it. He had to prove that he’d felt these things, he’d felt everything, he wasn’t some emotionless monster. His cock throbbed as he thought of his friend, thinking of how disgusted Macaque would be if he saw what he was doing.
Wukong pulled out, taking himself in hand. He stared at Macaque’s face, his glassy, unfocused eyes making his cock pulse. Macaque couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see the Monkey King pumping his cock over his dead body. Macaque couldn’t fight back, or scream, or argue, Wukong had made sure of that.
He came on Macaque’s chest, painting the demon with thick stripes of cum. A blissful satisfaction filled him as his semen mixed with the sticky blood coating the demon's chest. The pink shade the two liquids made when combined was almost a bit romantic.
Wukong sat back with a sigh, eyes closed in bliss.
He’d done it. He’d proven that he’d felt every confusing, conflicting, fucked up emotion.
He wasn’t a monster, wasn’t a weapon. He wasn’t an unfeeling thing.
He was a person.
“You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve actually apologized!” Macaque said, his voice cut through the quiet and brought Wukong back to reality. When his eyes snapped open, he was back in the dojo.
Wukong groaned, shoving himself off the ground while Macaque cackled.
“How do you manage to ruin everything you’re a part of?” Wukong growled, tucking himself back into his pants. He didn’t mean it though, not this time. Macaque’s tail swished languidly, a cocky grin plastered on his face as he looked up at Wukong innocently.
“So?” The demon asked.
“So what?” Wukong said, not bothering to look at Macaque.
“So, did I do good? Was it everything you wanted?” Macaque was in front of him now, having teleported and not bothered to put on pants or clean himself up. Wukong tried to scowl, but he couldn’t keep it up. He felt heat rising to his cheeks.
“Yeah. I mean, it was fine, or whatever.”
Macaque laughed. “Or whatever.” The demon mimicked Wukong's sulky tone.
“Bath?” Wukong asked. He was a little on edge after such an intense scene, but also oddly relaxed by Macaque’s lighthearted response. Macaque smiled.
“Yeah, bath. C’mon, let me show you where it is.”
Wukong took one last look around, considering the room they stood in. He didn’t know how Macaque had so thoroughly transformed the space, it was eerie, the accuracy that demons' illusions could hold. Then he turned and saw Macaque watching him.
“What is it?” Macaque asked, eyebrows quirked. Wukong just shook his head.
“Nah, it’s nothing. Just thinkin.”
Macaque studied him for a second, before shrugging. They made their way to the bathroom in a comfortable silence.