He was probably tearing the place apart, but Sanzo couldn't bring himself to care. A low growl of annoyance escaped his throat as he began to, for the third time, rearrange the items on his desk. His reading glasses hadn't been there the first time, nor the second, but he had searched every other conceivable place-- even his roommate's belongings. Luckily, that was a safe thing to do, since the brat's room was already a mess, and there wasn't much Sanzo had done but sifted through everything strewn on the floor. And still, nothing.

He didn't even want to consider the other place they might be.

With a snarl of frustration, he gave up. They definitely weren't in the apartment, much less on his desk. No amount of searching was going to make them magically appear before his eyes, no matter how badly he wished them to.

Truthfully, he didn't exactly need his reading glasses. He could get around perfectly fine without them, and could even read without straining his eyes. However, once he got carried away and fell into a good hour or so of it, then his eyes would start to tighten and burn. Letters would blur into nonsensical lines, and a migraine would explode at the front of his skull.

Today, with his roommate out of the apartment for a promised few hours, possibly even the whole day, presented Sanzo with the rare time he always craved for to just relax. Reading relaxed him. And he couldn't read without his glasses.

Cursing, he spun to glare at the phone. It was an object he was growing to loathe. The device was simple, with a flat plane and coiled cord from the box to the receiver. Tucked behind a plastic cover was a list of emergency phone numbers-- and one other that a certain son-of-a-bitch had scrawled down in his damned perfect handwriting.

His limbs aching, entire body pleasantly sore, Sanzo was far too tired to deal with what he saw when he entered the room. He froze in the doorway, narrowing his eyes to near slits. He was clothed only in his jeans, one of his hands holding a towel he was using to roughly dry his hair.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The addressed man didn't even glance up. The red pen in his dexterous grip swooped in graceful arcs, and then he finished with flourish. He capped the pen before he spoke. "I thought," his guest began, smirking as he raised his half-lidded eyes, "that you might want a way to contact me."

Scowling, Sanzo stalked forward. "Like hell I do."

He intended to take the paper from him, but the man was too quick, easily sidestepping his advances and striding to the blonde's desk. He slipped the paper behind the protective covering of the emergency numbers.

"There we go," his guest said silkily. "This time you will not have to comb the city in search of me."

Flushing with a heated mixture of anger and embarrassment, Sanzo shoved the man's arm aside. The tips of his fingers didn't even brush the hard plastic of the phone, because suddenly his wrist was clasped in an iron-like grip. He hissed, trying to jerk free, but his efforts only brought him face-to-face with the smug bastard. That only made the situation worse, because now he was close enough to bask in the soothing, yet oddly arousing, scent that only this man carried.

Worse, he was being held close enough to almost feel the muscles he was now quite familiar with under the tight cotton of the man's shirt. Sanzo clenched his teeth. His forearm wasn't even touching the man, but he could have sworn he still felt the sharp crevices of chest and abdominal muscles, even the heat faintly rising from the hidden desirous flesh.

As though sensing his renewed spark of interest, the man's smirk broadened. Keeping a firm hold of Sanzo's wrist and forearm, he pulled down to bring the blonde forward, pressing an insistent kiss to his mouth. Sanzo's growl was muffled; his fingers twitched as he desired to both kill and grope the man right there.

Even as he cursed his lover both silently and inwardly, Sanzo opted for the second option and opened his mouth.

Maybe he wasn't so tired after all.

He was jerked out of his reverie when the door slammed shut. And thank God for that, because he realized his face was beginning to flush slightly. Making sure his throat was clear before he did anything, Sanzo stalked out of his room and glared at the intruder. "How many times do you have to be told not to slam the door?" he demanded.

Goku made a face at him, peeling off his jacket quickly. He hung it up in the closet. "All right, geez..."

"Don't do it," Sanzo said flatly, annoyed that the boy hadn't apologized or listened to him the last hundred times he had said it. For a moment, however, he forgot about that, because he realized Goku's clothes were wet. Strange, since it wasn't raining outside.

The brunette seemed to notice the look, because he said quickly, "Sprinkler. Outside. I was walking past a yard and got wet."

Sanzo sneered. "I didn't ask for an explanation. Idiot." He pivoted and headed for the kitchen, knowing very well that what Goku had said was a lie. Even if he hadn't been as bad at deceiving people as he was, the wet spots on his shirt were sporadic yet particular; a large one circling his collar, over his stomach, and Sanzo was sure if the boy turned he would also see water dampening a certain line down his back. And yet, his pants weren't even damp, which mostly killed the sprinkler story.

Definitely not the work of your average sprinkler.

"Well, you were gonna," Goku said defensively.

"I was not. Don't assume things." On occasion, such as this, Sanzo sort of enjoyed pushing his roommate's buttons. Okay, he liked it a lot. It was far more entertaining than the trash on TV, anyway. He found his cigarettes on the counter.

Goku frowned. "Well, you keep asking me where I'm going all the time, and you hardly cared before."

His lighter was in his front pocket. Sanzo lit the cigarette right there, not caring to find a window. "So that means I want to know every detail of your life?"

"I didn't say--"

"Telling me why you're wet, when I didn't ask, is pretty stupid information," Sanzo cut in, taking a drag. His nerves calmed slightly once he had the smoke in his lungs. He exhaled slowly, relishing in the calm that was beginning to seep into his body.

Goku looked like he wanted to argue, but he also seemed to realize that he was getting nowhere. Exasperated, he muttered a curse before stalking off to his room. Sanzo couldn't help but stare after him; it was the second time this week the brunette had worn that loose-woven cotton shirt. With nothing under it, even. In fact, he seemed to have been washing and wearing it -- and things like it, exposing his chest -- more often than usual.

Sanzo hated himself for noticing his roommate's wardrobe. He hated himself even more for taking advantage of Goku's strange choice of clothing to observe what he could. But was it really his fault that the damp shirt clung to the boy's skin so much he might as well have not even worn the shirt at all?

Damn it. This was not the reason he had let the boy live with him. It wasn't. That's why they had separate rooms; because he didn't want anything to do with the idiot in any intimate way.

Or, said voice that sounded annoyingly like a certain ebon-haired man, you just want as little temptation as possible.

Shit.

Sanzo's breath exploded from his lungs. For a wild moment, he had no idea what was going on. One second he had been half straddling the man's lap -- somehow they had ended up partially on the bed -- and the next he had suddenly been pushed up and against the wall. That was why, for an instant, he saw white and he couldn't breathe.

But the shove hadn't knocked him out, and he knew better than to think the man was trying to hurt him. Not when he was a self-proclaimed giver of Pleasure.

And maybe he was merely self-proclaimed. That hardly meant Sanzo didn't reluctantly agree with him.

"Goddamn you, Homura," he snarled, about to push away from the wall; at least enough to turn to face the man.

Instead, his lover seemed to have other ideas. He moved swiftly, standing behind Sanzo before the blonde could do much more than get the words out. Sanzo yelped as his wrists were grasped, gripped tightly in one hand and pushed against the small of his back. The action caused him to be flattened between Homura and the obstruction, his cheek pressed against the spackled wall.

Warm breath caressed the skin of his ear, sending the barest of shivers down his spine. As Homura's fingers dug into his flesh, grinding against the bones of his wrist in a way that wasn't exactly unpleasant, the man murmured, "Do not be unreasonable."

Sanzo grit his teeth, determined not to succumb so easily. He always did once Homura started talking, or touching, and he wasn't about to let that happen again.

"Who's being unreasonable?" he retorted. His comeback was hardly strong, considering he was short of breath at the moment.

From the corner of his eye, he noted Homura's lips curving into his infuriatingly smug smirk. God, how he hated him.

He was positive the man was going to say something. Instead, he was surprised when he opted for a silent response; coming across quite clearly as he used his free hand to push long strands of hair away from the nape of Sanzo's neck. The blonde stiffened, clenching his teeth. Despite his determination, slight tremors were running through his body as he anticipated something, anything to touch him where he was most sensitive.

Sure enough, the ebon-haired back brushed his lips teasingly over the skin, sending erotic shivers down his back. Sanzo clenched his teeth tighter, the movement making his jaw ache already. But he couldn't slip, couldn't make a sound, not in this position...

Fingers brushed over his nipples, making him gasp out in surprise. Anger flared a split second later; he didn't even have to look to know Homura was smirking again.

"My, you certainly are stubborn," the man said silkily, his voice low as he breathed over Sanzo's flesh again. He gently bit the junction between his neck and shoulder. "You need not have gotten dressed, you know." Sanzo shuddered, feeling a now-familiar strong hand slide down his abdomen, the fingers slipping past the waistline of his jeans. He hated the bastard.

With a soft chuckle, Homura undid the clasp, and then tugged on the zipper.

"Sanzo!"

Goku's voice gave him a horrible start. Eyes widening, the man turned his attention to the boy. Golden eyes peered anxiously at him, but the anxiety within them vanished the instant Sanzo glared back.

"What?" he asked irritably, relieved Goku had interrupted him sooner than later. Any further down the memory and his arousal would have been apparent-- and like hell he needed to deal with the brat's questions.

"Someone called last week--"

"Last week?"

Goku smiled sheepishly. "I just now remembered. Anyway," he continued hurriedly as Sanzo felt the vein in his temple twitch. "The guy said it was important, but I can't remember what."

The man scowled in exasperation. "When exactly?"

"Dunno." Apparently Goku had ceased to care, because he was pulling his jacket from the closet again. It was then Sanzo realized he had changed; for some reason, the boy was wearing more... normal clothes. Jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Sanzo hadn't realized the brat had even owned such items. They seemed banal compared to his typical bondage pants and dark shirts. "Before the concert?"

It was more of a suggestion than a question. Rolling his eyes, Sanzo refrained from asking where the kid was going. "Next time, try telling me things on time." If it turned out to be important, he was seriously going to kill Goku; maybe smother him with a pillow. The idea was appealing, especially if he was behind the boy and--

Do not go there, he warned himself sharply, cutting that train of thought short. Instead, he distracted himself by sauntering over to the phone. No lights blinked, indicating there were no messages he had missed; he would have noticed earlier, anyway, if they had. He made sure to check for them every night. However, if it had really just been a few days ago, then the number would still be there.

"I got an interview," he vaguely heard the boy say, followed by a quick goodbye before the door shut again.

Interview? Since Goku had mentioned it, that meant it would be safe to inquire later without making it look like he had any real interest in what his roommate was doing. Sanzo set this aside as information to be pondered over at a later date.

It only took three pushes for the number to come up. Except that it wasn't the one he was looking for; he knew this because the date was the day after Goku had gone to his god-awful concert. (Sanzo thought of all the boy's weird hobbies as such.)

But that day he had only received one phone call, and that had been from his roommate. Goku had told him he would be staying at a friend's house, though the banter they had fallen into had distracted Sanzo from his original question of "who?" Besides, it hadn't really been his business anyway, and even Goku had caught on to his strange inquiry. And yet...

Why did he call from Homura's house?

His fingers clawed at the plaster, his throat muscles too weak to hold back another moan. With Homura pressed up against him, Sanzo found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Erotic touches of lips and teeth danced over his skin; he could feel the curve of the ebon-haired man's smirk against his shoulder.

"I wish I knew which was arousing you more," he said with a clear hint of smugness. "Your anger towards me, or being in this new position." To accentuate his point, he pushed the blonde harder, though one hand on Sanzo's hips kept him from grinding himself against the wall.

Seething, Sanzo fought to control his voice before retorting-- though control was hard fought for and only slightly won. "F-fuck you..."

Homura snickered, his fingers gripping the sharp bone of the blonde's hip. "You dominant? That I would enjoy seeing..." Before Sanzo could muster the thought and energy needed to make a snappy comeback, his lover set to distract him with his other hand. Quite successfully, at that-- by trailing his finger up the underside of Sanzo's erection once. Twice. Three times, and Sanzo was shivering uncontrollably. One spot in particular made him feel as though he'd lost feeling in his knees, and it was all he could do to stay standing, though he had lost control of his breathing.

Homura, seeming to have realized what made his lover particularly turned on, found the pressure point near the base of his lover's cock. He pushed against it lightly with his forefinger, and Sanzo let out a small cry, nearly collapsing to his knees with that simple movement.

Murmuring in his ear, the man said, "I will have to remember that. I want to remember everything that arouses you... Sanzo."

Though it was clearly a promise, it almost sounded like a threat. And the worst part was, Sanzo didn't mind that at all.

The halls were familiar to the point it sickened him. Not only could he navigate them blindfolded if he really wanted to -- from the lowest floor to the elevator and beyond -- but he was actually known very well by the neighbors. Worse still-- by his full name. Though his lover didn't strike him as the type to give away others' information without permission, Sanzo still wondered where else these people could have learned it.

He hated himself for coming. He couldn't even fathom why he was here. This was the last place he wanted to be; he'd told himself so a thousand times. And yet, like those other thousand times, he was back.

Well, this would be different. Sanzo had determined that the instant he'd realized he had set foot in the building. He was here to retrieve his glasses, and that was it.

Lips compressed in an impatient line, he rapped loudly on the front door.

Normally he would be answered promptly, at most with a seven-second delay (he knew because he'd often counted). This time, there was no immediate reply, and for a moment Sanzo wondered if the bastard wasn't home.

Then the door opened, revealing the ebon-haired man looking amazingly sensual-- casual, Sanzo quickly corrected himself with a scowl.

One fine eyebrow rose, and then Homura's lips curved at the corner. "What a pleasant surprise," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. The pose was for obvious show, and it took every ounce of will Sanzo had to not rake his eyes downward. What made the struggle harder was the fact that, though Homura sometimes posed because he knew he could, he never failed to look inviting and sexy when he wanted to.

Damn him.

"Hardly pleasant," Sanzo stated flatly, folding his arms over his chest. And knowing you, hardly a surprise, he added silently. "I'm just here to get something I left."

The man didn't seem in a hurry to let him in, which only annoyed Sanzo more than he was. "Whatever could you have left behind?"

The blonde clenched his teeth. "If you're going to be difficult, I can get it myself. Let me in."

Homura's responding smirk made Sanzo wish he had something thick and heavy to smack it off with. Or a gun to put between those damned cocky eyes.

"With pleasure," his lover said lightly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. He started back inside, as though knowing the blonde would follow. Just to spite him, Sanzo paused to shut the door behind him, and then to remove his shoes before doing so. Besides, he wasn't eager to move inside; he had not missed the subtle double meaning in the man's words.

Indoors was just as he remembered it from the several other visits he had made. The luxurious belongings were unchanged; still expensive but simple, showy without being at all gaudy. At first, it had seemed strange to Sanzo that (at least outside of his closet) Homura owned absolutely nothing anyone would even try to consider garish, but upon learning the man's occupation...

Shaking his head, he gave the room a closer look-over. "I'm just going to take my glasses and go..." He trailed off, his eyes catching something he knew he was going to regret letting himself see.

Motion.

He looked, almost immediately wishing he hadn't. On the Plasma screen there were images; slightly blurry, with less-than-perfect focus and only one camera angle, but still there.

A movie was playing. He hadn't noticed before because the sound was muted. Presumably, Homura had silenced it before answering the door, which explained maybe a second or two of his hesitancy.

On the television, Sanzo saw himself.

The screen was huge, so despite the distance of the shot, he had no trouble identifying the lithe body and tousled blonde hair. A part of him realized that from an outsider's point of view, he was far more fluid and flexible than he had imagined. On the movie, this image of himself was currently sprawled beneath another man, his teeth clenched shut but falling open every now and then to emit what were probably moans, cries, and frequent curses. His normally pale face was flushed, his fingers tense as they clutched the shoulders of...

In the living room, Sanzo stood rooted to the spot. He knew he was gaping, but couldn't help it any more than he could keep the embarrassed heat from creeping into his cheeks.

"I don't believe this," he hissed, glowering at his smug lover. "You taped that?"

"And many more," Homura agreed.

Sanzo spluttered wordlessly for a moment, before realizing any words he had intended to use had died in his throat long before touching his tongue. Speechless, he wondered when and how the bastard had managed to catch any of their sexual acts on tape. This movie in particular seemed to have been shot from a good angle, because when he looked, the man found his face heating further at the sight of himself writhing on the screen. The positions had changed since he'd last looked; not a lot, but enough, with Homura partially on his side, one hand just under his jaw, keeping it tilted back as the man nibbled on his lover's earlobe. An obvious smirk, even as he was working, curved movie-Homura's lips, and his free hand was busy working on movie-Sanzo's erection. Squeezing almost imperceptibly, pumping slowly but gradually faster, causing Sanzo's timeless self to moan louder-- or so he guessed, since he only had hazy memories of this particular session, and the blonde on the screen had his head tilted back in a fluid motion. Even from that position, it was obvious he was uttering something.

Sudden loud, deep moans filled the room. Sanzo started, his heart skipping a beat, and then a wild pulse of arousal shot straight to his groin as he recognized the sounds as his own. Or rather, his own from some time past...

To his right, Homura's expression seemed more conceited than usual. As though he knew what Sanzo was thinking, knew that he was turned on hearing his own moans spill forth over the occasional low murmur of his lover on the screen.

Sanzo struggled to regain his bearings, forming his composure faster than he could really muster it. He turned what he hoped was an icy glare on the man. "Is that why your damn pants are unbuttoned?"

"If that does not please you, you are welcome to unzip it the rest of the way," Homura returned.

Both horrified and appealed by the offer, Sanzo felt his fingers twitch. Not just in one hand either, damn it, because he was ambidextrous, and both of them were turning against him and wanting to take the bastard up on his challenge. Bi-colored eyes flickered downward a moment, and Homura made a light but clear amused noise. He had seen. He knew.

He knew.

Sanzo realized that, while Homura was giving him a challenge, he didn't expect his lover to succumb. Always, when confronted in this fashion, the blonde resisted. More often than not he ended up giving in anyway, but...

Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, Sanzo strode forward. He reached out, only given a brief moment to take pleasure in the naked astonishment in the ebon-haired man's eyes, and then the sound of a zipper being pulled followed.

The room was silent, save for the movie still playing. On the speakers, the movie-Sanzo's moans were now muffled, as though by a hand or arm; definitely something of more substance than sheets or a pillow. A faint ragged sound reached his ears. It took a moment for Sanzo to connect that with the mild pain in his lungs. He was breathing hard, as though he had just burst into the room running at full speed.

Slowly, gradually, the surprise seeped out of Homura's eyes. Wicked interest replaced it, and when the man spoke it was nearly in a purr. "As you wish," he said, as though his lover had made a request.

Sanzo cursed his traitorous hands.

He liked to think he was far from absentminded; sharp, even, with a critical eye that missed nothing. Sanzo didn't exactly think highly of himself, but it was beneath him to underestimate his abilities as well. That was why, minutes later, he was baffled to find they had somehow gone from the living room to Homura's bedroom. More specifically, to Homura's bed.

When the hell had that happened?

In the next room, the movie was still playing. Sanzo only had an inkling as to why, since their sessions hardly lasted more than an hour at most, and when he had walked in it seemed as though what was on had nearly been over. In the back of his mind, the rational part of him pointed out that it was more than likely Homura had edited this video -- and others, since he had mentioned more -- to merge into one long tape of enjoyment.

However, though he could hear the rather loud volume of his own moans distorted through speakers, it was nothing but background noise. Sanzo was far more preoccupied with his current situation.

Somewhere between the couch and the bed, Homura had managed to unbutton his lover's shirt without his noticing. Even through his muffled grunts he tried to curse the man, kept telling his damned brain to send the proper signals to his limbs to shove Homura off, kick him, even bite him... but his conscious mind didn't seem to be in a listening mood, because with each silent demand he found himself only slipping that much further into the tempting pool of pleasure.

His shirt was only half pushed off one shoulder, but his lover deemed that enough to work with. Homura's lips, teeth, and tongue were touching every expanse of skin pulled over Sanzo's ribs. Sleeping with the man often enough had given him enough time to learn where Sanzo liked it best, how he liked it, and which areas were most sensitive and therefore best to tease him. For reasons he personally found baffling and annoying, the blonde had discovered -- through Homura -- that he was particularly ticklish at his sides. It was bad enough when the man teasingly poked him, but when he exploited this weakness during sex, and with a mouth that Sanzo was half convinced knew as much of the act as a broad range of vocabulary rolled off the tongue...

His moans grew a touch more fevered as the hand not pinning him down slid down to the rim of his jeans. With a smirk, Homura distracted him briefly as the tip of his tongue flicked teasingly over an erect nipple, and then Sanzo felt a slight loosening at his waist. With one hand, the ebon-haired man had somehow undone the brass button; with similar ease and grace, the zipper sounded as it was tugged down as well.

Sanzo's breath caught. Somehow it felt different than usual, what they were doing. Though he constantly told himself not to look Homura in the eye, often he found himself doing do anyway. When he did, the unmistakable glint of mischief was there. Strange, he thought, how it almost seemed out-of-place on his lover. It was slightly more suited to Goku, perhaps--

That thought was cut short as the rough cloth was pulled swiftly down to his knees. Irritated that they hadn't been completely removed, Sanzo kicked. He uttered a wordless growl of frustration, fumbling for the words to swear, as even that had been temporarily banished form his mind.

Then the concept of speaking vanished entirely as Homura grasped the sharp angles of his hips. Bi-colored eyes glittered down at him, a concoction of conceit, barely tempered lust, and amusement. Sanzo took this in within a second, and then was quickly distracted. The first thing he noticed was the inky black object nestled snugly in a far corner of the ceiling. A red light blinked. At the moment he couldn't completely work out what that meant; not with Homura wrapping his fingers around his cock right then, causing him to shudder.

A glimmer of light caught his eye next. Or rather, not light, but something closer to a reflection of it. Unthinkingly, he turned his head to the side to see what it was-- and immediately lost his breath.

Sensuously hot violet burned back at him, reflected with startling clarity in the glass. But no-- not glass, because he could see himself far too clearly. He was too aware of his blood-flushed cheeks, the occasional bead of sweat that trickled down his sides and his temple; of the shirt only partially removed, one sleeve nearly trapping his arm beneath him; of his chest rising and falling in shallow, quick breaths. His hair, normally somewhat wind-tousled on the typical day, now nearly unruly after pressing his skull into the mattress. Fine, almost silvery blonde strands clung to the curve of his cheek, only succeeding in drawing more attention to his eyes, and the lust flaming so intensely in them that Sanzo nearly admitted he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

But not quite. Still, the man above him seemed to have read his mind. Sanzo could practically hear the smirk curving his next words.

"Watching yourself live is far more entertaining." Then, before Sanzo could ask what the hell he meant by that, Homura lowered his head and went down on him.

Sanzo knew very well his lover was the unpredictable type. The job he held, for one thing, seemed both perfect and bizarre for him. It required for him to look and act professional, which he did-- but part of playing the role almost never included having anything that would look unprofessional. He had seen Homura shirtless -- and more -- often enough to be aware of his navel piercing. He didn't care for it, but it didn't bother him, either. Also, he had kissed the man often and deeply enough to be very well aware of the tongue piercing. That had taken a bit of getting used to, and still he hadn't entirely adjusted to feeling the nub of metal on the other man's tongue.

But this was the first time Homura had ever attempted to suck him off. Yes, the offer had been made before, and yet Sanzo had never finished the equation; that Homura taking him in his mouth with that seemingly superfluous accessory rubbing against him would cause a reaction like this.

Sanzo had managed to stay in control of himself before. Now he couldn't even try to hold back the loud cry that exploded form his chest.

Strong fingers tensed on his hips, pushing down the instant he attempted to arch up. Homura didn't bother to reprimand him aloud; he did so silently, his eyes flickering up to peer up at his lover through his dark hair. Then he paused, and Sanzo felt his tongue... it was doing something, almost probing at him, causing the rounded piercing to... it was almost tapping against him, sending numerous jolts through his erection.

"Shit," he swore breathlessly, his chest heaving. Pleasure was practically forced upon him, overwhelming him as he clawed, animalistic, at the sheets. His head fell to the side, a weaker curse falling from his mouth, and then he caught sight of himself again. The mirror. Homura leaning over him, his fingers pressed against the sharp crests of his hips, lips wrapped around the head of his cock as he continued to mercilessly tease his lover...

Sanzo cried out again, wrenching his head to the side. Even though he was looking away, the image was burned into his mind. He could still see himself in the midst of lust, and while "narcissist" was the last word he would have used to describe himself, he had to admit... seeing himself in that position, a clear and vibrant reflection... it had been hot.

It was hot.

As though to accentuate his epiphany, his erection was abruptly swallowed into the wet heat of Homura's mouth. The nub of the piercing slid down his cock, almost like a match striking; enflaming what had, in comparison, just been smoldering passion. Sanzo's head jerked, pressing back into the mattress. From the corner of his eye he could see his likeness, the strong curve of his throat exposed to the air, and likely the camera on the wall...

Damn, damn, damn, he thought wildly even as something rolled off his tongue, some semi-coherent word that could have been a curse, a name, an utterance of hatred or animalism. His moans were easily drowning out the television in the next room. No doubt that, if Homura had neighbors and they had heard his video and wondered what was going on, they could now hear his lover and would wonder even more. It made Sanzo furious, because before he had always been careful, so careful, as much as he could possibly have been, to keep from screaming. He had never gotten this loud, no matter where they had done it.

Too busy gasping to even choke out a command, Sanzo found his hands scrabbling to grasp Homura's hair. The angry part of him wanted to pull, to get the bastard off him until he could get himself under control. He couldn't believe he had slipped so much already.

But instead of pulling, he was pushing. And though Homura was resisting, he clearly got the hint, because he was able to take Sanzo in nearly all the way. He did something Sanzo could barely describe, because he just knew it involved the back of Homura's throat and a sudden blunt pressure near the base of his cock...

Sanzo screamed. He came in a white-hot rush that left him with his throat raw and his head spinning. His lungs ached with each intake of breath. He felt dazed, as though swimming in a mere but vivid memory of the past few minutes.

When he managed to crack his eyes open again, his vision refused to focus at once. Sanzo grimaced, forcing his eyes open further. His greeting was to catch a smug, though mildly surprised expression on his lover's face.

Homura paused, as though waiting to make sure the blonde wasn't going to pass out on him. "Well," he said after a lengthy silence. "I thought you might like that."

Sanzo opened his mouth to retort, but all that escaped was an unintelligible groan. The tips of his fingers tingled, as well as his toes, and his head felt fuzzy still. That had been...

Leaning closer, Homura continued, "Still, I was surprised -- pleasantly, mind you -- to hear you scream. Your pitch is amazing, Sanzo." His voice was low, a velvety sound to his ears, and Sanzo shivered despite himself.

Only when he trusted himself not to stammer did Sanzo speak again. "Screw... you..."

The man atop him snorted, his cocky smirk widening. "Not today. Perhaps..." A movement of his arm made Sanzo glance down, and almost immediately his eyes locked there, widening as he realized what his lover was doing. The motion hurt his neck, what with the odd angle he was at. As though sensing his discomfort, Homura shifted, crawling further onto the bed, bringing his hips parallel to the blonde's stomach. "Perhaps this will do," Homura finished.

Unable to think of any good reason to deter his lover from his obvious plans, Sanzo kept his gaze fastened on the man's hand. Homura used only one hand to prop himself up now, the other busy pushing his jeans down. Not off, because that would involve too much movement-- and they were at a near perfect position now. Moving, even to kick the offending garment free, would have disrupted the moment.

Besides, he knew Homura had a penchant for perfection.

Though he was spent, Sanzo felt his breath catch in his throat -- against his will, no less -- as his lover's fingers lightly toyed with his own swollen erection. A few simple strokes brought the man to full hardness, the flesh crimson against the rest of his pale skin. Sanzo was dimly aware that Homura had made a small noise, a slip of his seemingly insatiable libido-- if it was a slip at all. With the man as theatrical as he was, Sanzo wouldn't have been surprised if he had timed that perfectly, though he would have wondered how his lover could have known even that tiny sound could spark dull flames in his belly again.

Above him, Homura made another slight sound in the back of his throat. Then the noise escalated to a soft, almost inaudible groan. His head fell forward, dark tresses of hair brushing across Sanzo's stomach and half-obscuring his vision of the man's hand-- and, more importantly, what he was doing with that hand.

An impatient growl stuck in the blonde's chest. Annoyed that his lover seemed to be purposefully making this encounter difficult (though Homura had, on several occasions, admitted he did so simply because he loved the rise it would earn him), Sanzo had to overcome his tired limbs. He wasn't restrained by anything other than his own lethargy, and this knowledge gave him the strength he needed to reach out, grasp the locks of ebon hair, push up on the man's forehead...

Homura's gaze locked with his, his expression hazed with lust but with an underlying sharpness, a smugness, the leer curving his sensuous mouth saying, "I knew you wanted this." And Sanzo hated him. But he didn't let go.

In a move the blonde couldn't comprehend, Homura rocked back, nearly rising fully on his knees. Sanzo's wrist was captured in a strong hand, shoved and pinned roughly to the smooth sheets beneath them. The motion had moved his lover a bit higher, making Sanzo that much more aware of his body heat, the nearly unbearable warmth of his short, quickening breaths as he panted. Sanzo was well aware he could use his other hand if he wanted, but he could look down and see everything he wanted to see. All he did was clench the sheets, his own breath hitching in anticipation. He knew right then, in their position, this orgasm would be messy, would burn his flesh if only for a few seconds, would be... hot, erotic, unforgettable, because there was just something damn hard about forgetting your lover straddling your chest and jerking himself off, especially when he was breathing harshly and even he had trouble keeping his eyes open. That was something Sanzo rarely ever got to see, considering Homura was most often behind him during these sessions...

He shivered. Almost as though in response, though likely just because pleasure was overriding his other senses, Homura moaned. The sound was loud this time; not enough to startle Sanzo, but just enough so that it was more audible than the faint, breathy noises the man had choked back earlier.

Yet Sanzo wasn't paying attention to that. All he could notice was that Homura's moan was akin to velvet, rubbing against him; pleasantly smooth, yet charged with friction. He shuddered. Despite his enervation and satiated body, Homura's display was so much, almost too much, and Sanzo found himself aroused again...

A downward motion caused his eyes to follow it. Homura's fingers twitched. His breath caught, didn't escape his lungs, and for a wild moment Sanzo thought his lover had forgotten how to work his lungs. Then, suddenly, it flowed out in a rush-- both Homura's exhalation and his release. A heated gust of breath briefly warmed the blonde's nipples, and then scalding liquid spilled thin trails across his abdomen. Sanzo hissed.

A ringing silence ensued as the air gradually started to cool. For a while that was actually all Sanzo could hear; ringing. Then, finally, that started to fade as well-- only to be replaced by a faint whirring sound he could only just hear above Homura's panting.

The ebon-haired man smirked, slowly placing his hand flat against his lover's chest. A shiver ran through Sanzo's body as he felt coarse fingers rub against his skin, slick with the heavy salt-scent of Homura's release. Then the touch turned lighter, barely skimming the flesh with the pads of his fingers, trailing the white substance further up Sanzo's chest and to his collar.

Silkily, though still someone breathless, Homura murmured, "Feel free to use the shower."

He would have to before he left, Sanzo knew. He tilted his head to the side, feeling blood rush to the high points of his cheeks as he saw the display they made once again. However, in the reflection, he could also see a digital camera glaring red symbols back at him. In his jumbled state, it took more than a few moments to turn them reverse and make sense of the time, but when he did he decided he wasn't in a hurry.

Looking back up at his lover, he narrowed his eyes and retorted, "I thought guests were supposed to relax while the host does the cleaning up for them."

He took pleasure in seeing, for the second time that day, surprise open on his lover's face. Shortly after a broad smirk followed, and Homura conceded his point.

After an abundance of hot water and a repeat of their earlier session, Sanzo found himself far too tired to drive home. Homura had offered to drive him home, but the blonde flatly turned him down. He didn't want to risk Goku catching a glimpse of the man-- especially not when he was with his roommate. He didn't want to have to answer to unwanted questions, either.

Sanzo had the feeling he was forgetting something, but promptly forgot about it as he dozed off on Homura's couch.

He awoke to find his lover perched on the armrest of the couch. The man glanced his way, allowing Sanzo to glimpse his blue eye, and then immediately turned off the television before Sanzo could process the sounds of what he had been watching. He immediately dismissed it as another stupid tape his lover had.

"The offer to drive you home is still open," the man said.

Grunting a denial, Sanzo swung his legs over the side of the couch. His eyes flickered to his lover's bare chest; he hadn't even bothered to put on a shirt. For some reason, despite the fact he had never really cared in the past, Sanzo found his eyes drawn to the silver hoop piercing the man's navel.

Homura followed his gaze, and then looked up with an arched eyebrow. "Please tell me you have noticed it before."

"Screw you," was Sanzo's automatic response. He found his keys on the table -- they must have fallen out of his pants somehow, and he was surprised Homura hadn't tried to return them to his pockets whilst he slept -- and quickly snatched them up.

"You certainly are enthusiastic already," Homura remarked.

Sanzo almost repeated his earlier comment, but quickly bit his tongue. Instead, he glared at the man and strode back toward the door. Finding his shoes, he quickly pushed his feet into them, not bothering to untie them first as he usually did. He just wanted to leave; he had stayed too long already, and a glance out the window told him it was getting dark.

"Feel free to come again," his lover said, not moving from his spot.

Sanzo scowled, shooting him another glare. Unfortunately, it was half-hearted at best.

Still, he said, "Like hell," and made sure to slam the door behind him.

And it wasn't until he had started the car, until he had pulled out of the parking lot, and until he was already two blocks closer to home that he realized he hadn't accomplished a single thing he had intended to. His glasses still remained at the bastard's apartment-- and he had completely forgotten to find out if Goku had ever been there.

It looked as though Homura's invitation had turned out to be a prediction, after all.