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Something Like Sharing

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"We'll take whatever rooms you have."

It isn't pleasant to wake the proprietor from a peaceful slumber, but they arrived in town after midnight, determined to actually sleep in beds. Four nights under the stars followed by a forty-youkai ambush earlier in the evening had earned them the right to a decent night's sleep.

A fact which both Gojyo and Goku mentioned the last few miles before town . . . a few times.

The proprietor, whose name slips past Hakkai's ears, points them toward the rooms and quietly apologizes, "We only have two. I hope they are to your liking."

Hakkai politely nods, the only one of the group not reduced to grunts and growls. "I'm sure they will be fine. Thank you." He smiles, trying to ignore the bloodstains under his fingernails, the ache in his arms, the stink of blood in his nose, and the uncomfortable tightness coiled deep inside. He pretends to once again be nothing more than a nice young man with his troubles being no more than finding a place to rest his head.

The group trudges to the rooms, shoulders sagging. Gojyo limps on a leg he insists is perfectly fine, Sanzo clutches ribs he says are neither broken nor bruised, and Goku has enough energy to whine for drink, but not food. Outside the doors to the rooms, the group sparks to life for a brief argument about roommates.

"Goku smells funny."

"You smell funny, you giant cockroach."

"Gojyo farts in his sleep."

"Sanzo moans—it's really distracting."

Sanzo rubs his temples, pulling his right hand down his face. He cranes his neck to one side, for once looking too drained to even bother yelling. He's tense—the way Hakkai feels—like he needs something more than just a few hours of sleep.

"No offense, guys, but I'd like to sleep tonight." Hakkai laughs, ignoring every argument Goku and Gojyo present. He pushes them to one door, opens it, and shoves them in. "Good night," he sings.

He slams the door on their complaints, drowning out a slew of curses.

Sanzo almost smiles in relief. "Thank you," he mutters.

Hakkai opens their door and says over his shoulder, "I did it more for me than for you." Which is mostly true.

"Of course," Sanzo says. The wall thumps and they hear glass breaking from next door.

"I'm sure they'll tire out soon." Hakkai drops their packs on the floor. The room is sparsely furnished with only a bed and a side table, a table lamp without a shade, and an ashtray.

Another knock against the wall, this time sounding like furniture. "Maybe they'll knock each other unconscious." Sanzo lights a cigarette and deposits his pack and lighter on the table.

"I doubt we'll be so lucky." They're quiet for a moment, looking at the bed. The smoke from Sanzo's cigarette curls in the air, wrapping around Hakkai's throat. The smell is acrid, but comforting.

"One bed."

"It's small," Hakkai elaborates.

Sanzo lowers his cigarette, flicking ash into the misshapen ashtray. "Do I have to fight you for it?"

Hakkai smiles at the thought. He knows he'd win given Sanzo's injuries and fatigue. "We can share it." The solution is simple and spills from his lips before he considers how Sanzo feels about sharing.

Sanzo grimaces. "I think I'd rather fight you for it."

"Hmm . . . well."

Another long drag on the cigarette rolls into a comfortable silence. It takes another minute before Hakkai notices that the muffled sounds of violence from next door have ceased.

"They probably have two beds," Sanzo comments.

"Perhaps." Hakkai moves to the window, resting his palm against the dusty glass. A magnolia tree sways slightly in the breeze, its boughs brushing against the side of the building. The bedsprings creak as Sanzo sits on it.

"So. . . ." Sanzo clenches his cigarette between his teeth as he pulls off his sandals and socks, stripping down to bare feet. Inhaling sharply for a final drag before stubbing out the cigarette, Sanzo sighs out the smoke and Hakkai can feel the tension leave the man's shoulders.

Sometimes it's as simple as that.

Sanzo pulls off his robe, which he carefully folds and places next to the packs. The scant moonlight filtering through the branches of the magnolia flatter Sanzo's angular lines, making his pale skin glow. Hakkai's breath catches and his thighs twitch, a slight clench as his muscles reassess their exhaustion.

It's not that he never noticed that Sanzo is attractive, or even that he never has cared, but the exhaustion, the tension still coiled in his belly, the slow reveal of Sanzo's moonlit flesh—it all coalesces into an urge Hakkai can't ignore—an urge, Hakkai realizes, he'd subconsciously planned to fulfill.

His body reacts differently to this lazy, sleep-ready Sanzo; his mind knows that the same powerful, embittered man controls this lean and muscular body. He can only blink as he realizes that Sanzo himself is part of the allure.

Silently, Hakkai pulls off his shirt, discreetly watching as Sanzo does the same.

"The bed."

Hakkai removes his shoes before addressing the bed problem—not that he sees it as a problem. Hakkai's only problem is getting Sanzo into it.

Sanzo lights another cigarette and then turns to Hakkai, hands resting on his belt, posture daring Hakkai to take the bed, to make Sanzo sleep on the floor, or to share the cramped space in any way. Sanzo exhales smoke through clenched teeth.

"I don't see what's wrong with sharing the bed," Hakkai says. "It's not like we've never slept in close quarters before." He leans his hip against the windowsill, allowing his temple to rest against the cool glass. "Besides, I'm sure you'd be a better bed partner than Gojyo."

Sanzo's body jumps as a soft snort escapes.

"You seem unlikely to steal the covers, at least." Hakkai smiles, thinking of muichimotsu. Sanzo doesn't seem to get the joke.

Hakkai straightens his head, squaring his shoulders. Coy doesn't work on Sanzo. "I'm not sleeping on the floor." He steps close to Sanzo, getting into his personal space. Standing this close, the inch difference in their heights is more pronounced, more menacing.

Sanzo doesn't back away. If anything, his ire makes him taller. "I'm not either."

"Then we're sharing the bed." There's a hint of challenge, hidden behind the soft smile.

Sanzo's grimace deepens, his brow furrowing in disgust. "I'm not the perverted kappa."

Their bare shoulders brush as Hakkai walks around Sanzo to the head of the bed. "I had noticed." His pulse thrums in his ears; he can feel the beat in his neck, the heat racing to his dick. Part of the thrill of this was that Sanzo wasn't Gojyo . . . and that Sanzo would never tell Gojyo about what might happen. He draws back the bedcovers and separates the pillows so that they'll each have one.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll face the window. We can sleep back to back and it will be just like sleeping up against a wall." Hakkai chuckles to himself, trying to steady his breathing. "A very warm, pliant wall that might unexpectedly move in the middle of the night."

Hakkai dips his head, taming his smile and looking at Sanzo from slit eyes, knowing what he looks like—the predatory demon that lurks beneath his quiet flesh and polite words, the sinner that strikes with a smile. "Come to bed," he murmurs.

The salty scent of arousal tints the air. There's a slight hitch to Sanzo's breath that Hakkai might not have noticed if he were standing farther away.

Sanzo exhales sharply, his breath stinking of Marlboros. "I wouldn't waste the time."

Hakkai straightens and turns to face Sanzo, feeling his muscles protest the sudden movement. Something in Sanzo's tone had shifted, making Hakkai lose the thread. Confusion contorts his face.

"Stop trying to seduce me," Sanzo growls. He reaches around Hakkai and stubs out his cigarette, their skin grazing. "You're shit at it and you talk too much."

A blush heats his cheeks and he reflexively brushes the back of his hair. It's true that he hasn't had much practice at seduction. "Uh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Shut up."

Sanzo presses their mouths together in a rough mockery of intimacy. His fingers scrape against Hakkai's back, pulling apart bruises and pressing into lacerated flesh. In the space of a breath, Hakkai returns the kiss, but is more careful, pushing his palms against Sanzo's back, bringing their bodies closer together, chest meeting chest.

They break away, breathing each other's hot air, foreheads almost touching. Sanzo shifts, pulling away from the accidental embrace. His lips curl into a sneer, but his hands are still on Hakkai's back, his fingers drifting down Hakkai's spine and into the gap at his jeans.

Another kiss, this one more fluid than the first. Their lips fit together more easily, the remembered experience giving way to greater exploration. Hakkai's tongue slips between Sanzo's lips, tasting the stale bite of cigarette, which tastes better than the blood Hakkai has had in his mouth all evening. Sanzo's tongue flickers, barely brushing against Hakkai's tongue; it's the hesitancy that makes Hakkai grow harder.

He pushes against Sanzo, allowing one hand to stroke smooth skin, his hand finally resting on Sanzo's ass. Sanzo startles, surging into the kiss, flicking their tongues together. His shoulders relax, the subtle apprehension siphoned off through Hakkai's kiss.

Hands sliding to Sanzo's belt, Hakkai doesn't break the kiss. Even though Sanzo initiated the kissing, the touching, Hakkai isn't sure this translates to fucking.

Sanzo doesn't stop him.

The button pops when it releases, the zipper slithering down after: two strangely grateful noises. Sanzo sighs into Hakkai's mouth, his jaw dropping as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss. Hakkai's hands slip over Sanzo's bare hips, his wrists catching on the tight jeans and working them down Sanzo's thighs. The back of his hand brushes against the head of Sanzo's erect cock, and a shiver rushes through them both. Hakkai bites Sanzo's lip and then drops to his knees.

Hands card into his hair, one hand fiercer than the other, tugging his head just a little to the left. The pain is good. Sanzo's hips are smooth and small under Hakkai's hands. His cock tastes like rust and rainwater.

The thrusts are small and practiced, like Sanzo has done this before. The thought surprises Hakkai more than Sanzo's willing participation. His nails curl into Sanzo's flesh, one hand still around a hip, the other arm warped around Sanzo's back. His jaw is getting sore, lips numbing from the friction. His tongue presses against a vein, pushing blood under the flesh. The smell of sweat—old from the fight, new from the fucking—is intoxicating. Hakkai breathes deeply through his nose, and feels it flood his senses, finally wiping out the smell of open wounds and blood.

He breaks away with a grimace, pushing Sanzo onto the bed. Wide violet eyes blink back to their normal size. Lips attach to Hakkai's throat, and he's arching, surrendering his neck, his control.

Sanzo pushes back, rolling until Hakkai is flat, rubbing his naked flesh against jeans—which can't be comfortable. Hakkai flicks the button on his fly, but Sanzo bats his fingers away with a snarl. Hakkai closes his eyes, letting Sanzo have his way.

The kisses at his throat turn into bites on his shoulders—bruises that will be covered by his shirt in the morning and probably covered by more bruises in the afternoon. By the evening, he probably won't be able to pick out which marks were left by Sanzo.

Sanzo moves down Hakkai's body, his lips tracing over ribs and then over the scar across Hakkai's belly. A sigh escapes Hakkai's lips—there's something about Sanzo not being afraid of the scar, of being willing to lick and caress the wound that almost killed him, the wound Gojyo held closed with one hand when he willed Hakkai to live.

One pale hand spreads over Hakkai's collarbone—middle finger hooking over his shoulder—and squeezes. Gasping, Hakkai bucks, but Sanzo's other hand is on his hip, holding him down while Sanzo continues to lave the raised flesh of the scar.

Hakkai's fingers knot in Sanzo's golden hair and pull, earning him a glare and a growl. Sanzo's thumb presses in on his pulse point before moving; Sanzo needs both hands to remove Hakkai's jeans.

He strips Hakkai without the tease, immediately pressing their bodies together to angle their groins. He's efficient now, pushing against Hakkai's flesh in practiced motions, circling his hips to press in and up. He grips Hakkai's biceps, fingers tight around the lean muscle. It pinches and Hakkai bucks, knocking Sanzo off his rhythm. Hakkai uses the break to press another kiss to Sanzo's lips; one hand holding Sanzo's head in place while Hakkai fucks his mouth with his tongue. Sanzo's lips yield, his tongue slowing Hakkai's, and it's a deeper kiss than Hakkai meant, longer and more personal, like surrender.

There's a moan, but it could have come from either of them.

Sanzo's hand moves to Hakkai's shoulder and his lower lip stiffens. He finally pulls away from the kiss, picking up his circled thrusts. Hakkai matches Sanzo's pace, once again letting Sanzo lead, but he scratches at Sanzo's back, adding to the cuts and bruises that already decorate his skin.

Sanzo thrusts particularly hard and the bed moves, the lurch beneath Hakkai causing him to brace himself with flat palms on Sanzo's back. Sanzo lifts, snaking a hand between them, wrapping his hand around their pricks. Warm, sweaty skin presses in on Hakkai's dick from both sides. He leans his head back, exposing his throat, clenching his teeth. Sanzo's hand is mercilessly quick, the heat building low and spreading up through Hakkai's stomach and down into his legs to his toes. He feels hot all over and shifts against Sanzo, trying to fight his way to cool air. But Sanzo bears down, his hand holding Hakkai's shoulder firm, keeping him pressed to the bed beneath Sanzo's pale frame. Sanzo's violet eyes are narrowed and in them, despite the pleasure, Hakkai sees the anger that Sanzo allowed this to happen, that he allowed Hakkai to do this to him.

Hakkai's orgasm blanks his vision for a moment and he'd laugh if he had the breath to.

Sanzo's hand keeps moving, pumping over their semen-coated dicks until he stills, too, coming with a soft breath and closed eyes. There's peace on his face, the lines around his eyes smoothed and soft. When Hakkai reaches out to feel the porcelain skin, Sanzo flinches, dropping to his side because there's not enough room for them to both lie on their backs.

Sanzo holds up his sticky hand, the come thinning as it webs between his fingers. Hakkai rolls, understanding the nonverbal question, and bends over to dig a handkerchief from the pocket of his discarded jeans.

Sanzo grunts when Hakkai places it in his hand, and it's sort of like a thank you.

Hakkai lies back on the bed again, adjusting the pillow and tucking his feet beneath the covers, waiting for the used handkerchief to be passed back so that he can wipe off his stomach and dick.

"Good night," Sanzo says, sliding under the sheets and rolling so that his back is to Hakkai. He tosses the handkerchief over his shoulder with barely a dry scrap left.

Hakkai wipes up as best he can, dropping the soiled fabric on the bedside table, next to the ashtray. One good thing about sharing a room with Sanzo as opposed to Gojyo, Sanzo never uses a beer can as an ashtray.

Hakkai pulls up the bedcovers, his hand brushing against Sanzo's ass when he settles. He can't help but grin, as much as the idea appealed to him, he'd never thought he'd be resting comfortably in a bed next to a naked Sanzo. Of course, of all of them, Hakkai was probably the least likely to seduce Sanzo and therefore the most likely to succeed.

But there were those moments when they were kissing . . . and Hakkai had gotten him into bed so easily. Perhaps Sanzo had protested to sharing the bed slightly too much.

Sanzo pulls the covers up over his shoulder, like he knows Hakkai is seeing through him. "Go to sleep."

"I just couldn't help but notice . . . we're sharing the bed," Hakkai points out.

Sanzo growls, but it lacks the anger that usually accompanies the noise. "Tch. Get over yourself."

Hakkai holds in his chuckle and turns to his side, leaning against Sanzo's warm back. He falls asleep, absently wondering if the next inn will also be short on beds.