[Saiyuki fic] kitchens and kenren

[permetaform]

Hee! So there's this meme thing where you post the first lines of your fic and other people write drabbles starting from your first lines.

I wrote this Hakkai/Gojyo for absenceofmind (originally here):

[set during the Rikudo arc]

Theirs is a kitchen love. Or perhaps, rather, the space where a kitchen should have existed to contain it.

Rather, their current room doesn't have one; Gojyo's always one to stay near the hearth for warmth on cold nights but he doesn't have any heat to spare from the rain and Gojyo asks the serving maid if he could warm her bed with her. Here Sanzo yells at the kappa, for disturbing his sensibilities, when all Gojyo-san was trying to find was a comfortable place to sleep.

He thinks, to himself, to find someone who doesn't mind cold feet.

He thinks, perhaps, he will stay awake tonight.

Except.

--Gojyo opened the door, and kept himself first, like a shield. The youkai they found were eating the guts out of a disembowled man, and the dark part of him thought how appropriate and laughed and laughed and.

"A kitchen isn't a place to eat things!"

He thought, inanely, that it's not like Gojyo follows the rule himself, sneaking bits over shoulder and under his arm though it not like he stops him, but.

"Gojyo behind you!"

But first they'll remove these trespassers. They do not belong here.

And this Kenren/Tenpou for lebateleur (originally here):

Kenren was good at doing a good many things. At least forty-two of them were horitzontal, or some variation thereof. At least five hundred and fifty six recipients of which were a mistake, eighty-one of which were less than impressive, thirty of which were a disaster, and one...whom he does not know how to catagorize.

The sheets rub roughly, stinks of old sweat, and is an odd yellow like melted butter in sunlight. It is uncomfortable. The dish they're using as an asstray, balanced between them on the bed like a pivot, is close to overfilling and Tenpou is reading flat on his back with book propped on his chest and completely, utterly absorbed. In the book, that is, and not him.

Kenren wonders how dust has a chance to exist in Heaven, but thinks that if it could exist anywhere it was here, hanging around the cigarette smoke and rumpledness of his Marshal, adding a glow to the air.

He has never felt more awake.