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Saiyuki Reincarnation Fic - The Wheel
Title: The Wheel
Author: Newkate
Fandom: Saiyuki
Rating: this part overall is NC-17 for m/m smut, spandex and 5's POV being the dirtiest POV ever.
Notes and warnings: Reincarnation fic. Multiple pairings. Completed, in four parts. I'm planning to post this part in maybe 9 installments.
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hibem for great beta and all the advice!
Part One: Shift
Part Two: Dance (Ch. 1))
1980
The night was warm and fresh, spiced with a tingle of ozone; the clouds hung low and the air was thick with anticipation. As I walked from the parking lot to the club doors, several fat raindrops hit my face, the wind picked up a little. It was going to be one of those nights when the city shuts off, dies down, and my roommate becomes a health and safety hazard, but now it was still relatively clement, and the night was still so very young, naive, barely legal. But, Saturday was a Saturday, and the line at the front doors was forming already; there were about two dozens of clubbers waiting, shivering, moaning at the prospect of getting unattractively soaked before they got to strut their stuff inside. I pushed to the head of the queue, nodded to the bouncers and went in.
It always felt like diving head first into a warm bubble of pounding sound, used breath, body heat. I got waved at by some regulars, checked out by some new faces, got anonymously petted while I was squeezing through the dance floor, received inviting smiles from the rest of the guys hoarding the bar. I always liked it here.
“Bartender!” I screamed, planting my ass on a barstool, drumming my palms on the bar top. “Gimme the usual plus an apology. Why didn’t you call me when you got back?”
Dave grinned, finished serving a customer some pink, sickly looking concoction, tossed me a cold can from the fridge, walked over and gave me a slap on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey. Look, I’m busy right now, but stick around, this should die down in a bit. I’ve missed you, you skinny little jerk.”
He looked so much better then the last time I saw him, still too thin - and those lines around his eyes were probably not going anywhere now – but smiling, with a bit of a colour in his face, although that could have been from the dance floor lights. He moved as precisely as always, not the most flashy bartender I ever saw, but all his tricks were flawless. Juggle some bottles, flip a glass, set ice cubes sailing through the coloured rays and catch them all in a tumbler. He was fun to watch. More so earlier, before the depression, when he was built like a brick shit house, always working topless, all oiled skin and muscle, but he still was a big guy, and this white shirt brought out his black hair nicely.
“So did you like your trip?” I asked, because otherwise I’d just stare and he’d get all awkward. He could still work with me yapping at him.
“I guess. That crazy woman dragged me all over the Europe. I thought I’d get permanent depressions in my palms from the shopping bag handles. Don’t know why we couldn’t buy all that crap back here, but that’s the fair sex: mysterious, frightening creatures.”
“Did you go to Amsterdam?”
“Possibly,” he said, shrugging mid-pour as he filled five shot-glasses in one move, all to exactly the same level. “You should ask Lydia, she was the one with the map. How have you been? How are you guys getting along?”
“Same as always,” I said, smiling dreamily, “Years go by, and the passion does not wane. Why, just this very morning I got a boiling coffee pot thrown at me.”
“Are you all right? Did he miss?”
“Sure, he always misses, it’s all just a hysterical drama queen act. He bought a new coffee pot already, which I guess is a deep apology coming from him. Or maybe he’s just that scared of caffeine withdrawal.”
“Still. You’re together, and that’s….” he dropped some ice cubes, nearly slipped on them, and I made as a big deal out it as I could, laughing like a hyena and mocking him artistically. He slapped me with a towel, smiled like a dork and went back to pouring whiskey over rocks.
“You sure you want to be back yet?” I asked, watching yellow oily liquid slide down and puddle inside the grass. Pretty. “He’ll give you more paid leave if you want.”
“Nah. What would I do? Sit at home? The apartment is just so frigging empty. Echoing… Like a coffin. Here you go, Sir, that’s five-forty. Thank you.”
He turned his back to the queuing customers and began polishing glasses, roughly, making the smooth surface squeak under his hands.
“Hey,” I leaned forward, over the bar, into his space. “If you want company, I’m all for it. I’ll just drive him home, and then…” I trailed a finger over his wrist, and he stepped back, almost angry.
“I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
“It’s fine, he doesn’t care really. Dave…”
“Todd,” he put the towel down, moved back, fixed me with a heavy stare. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I know you slept with Colin, he told me right away. Moot point now when he’s dead. You don’t have to...”
“I just like you is all,” I mumbled, wondering why I ever thought Colin would keep it a secret. “Always have. Whatever, if you don’t want to, it’s all good.”
He grinned, clapped me on a shoulder again. Huge heavy hands, every love pat like that nearly threw me off the barstool, not that I minded.
“Aw come on, kid, don’t sulk, you know you’re cute as a button. I’m not – well, not up to it right now. Not been since Colin got ill, really. I… Oh look, here’s your man.”
And there he was, descending the stairs from his office, working the faded jeans and sleeveless black turtleneck, looking better than it was humanly possible. Gene.
He headed to the bar, parting the crowd like an iceboat. It wasn’t just that most regulars knew he was the manager - and one moody asshole to boot - he did that everywhere, people just shifted aside when he moved like this: head high, hair tossed back, narrow narrow waist and rocking slender hips and those naked shoulders you had to touch and lick if you had a slightest chance to get away with it. He was homing right on me, eyes narrowed under those shiny bangs, and I sprawled on the barstool, spread my legs a little, gave him a clear shot of my fly, here, babe, look, all for you, all right here, come closer, pretty kitty.
He paused in front of me for only a second, turned away: “David, is this guy harassing you?”
Dave laughed, short and throaty, pushed double shot of straight something-imported-and-overpriced in Gene’s hand: “Yes, Mr Sykes. I feel so vulnerable. You have to control him better.”
“Impossible,” snorted Gene, gulped down some booze, finally looked at me, sideways wandering glance, face-chest-lower. Oh yes. Make-up sex. Definitely. “What are you doing here?”
“And in Eugene-speak this stands for ‘Thank you, Todd, for agreeing to be my chauffeur and drive my pampered ass around since I turn into a raving lunatic whenever I touch the steering wheel and can wallpaper the whole apartment with my speeding tickets’.”
“You’re five hours too early.”
“Oh, no, Gene, don’t worry, you don’t have to go out of your way to entertain me. I’ll just hang out, maybe sample some of that fine booty your establishment attracts.”
“You do that, Todd, that’s pretty much all you are good for. In the meantime I’ll be working my ass off to keep a roof over your empty head, but don’t try to feel guilty, you might strain something.”
He took another swig. I watched as his lips clung to the glass, throat worked to swallow, eyes closed for a second, eyelashes threw small shadows on his cheeks.
“Fuck you’re pretty,” it just flew from my lips, but he was, no denying it.
“Hn,” one eyebrow went up, unimpressed. “Random, alarming ass-kissing. What did you do, wreck my car?”
I let that go. He was warming up, I could tell, and I felt like I hadn’t seen him in days, which always happened after a fight. I had enough time to run all sorts of scenarios in my head, to think for a thousandth time that I didn’t have to take that kind of shit from him, that I could always leave. But who knew what was out there, and in here – in here was Gene, hair like soft golden silk, ass like a vise, sexy growly drawl to his voice. And sure, there often were words carefully chosen to cut deep, and throwing of things, and there was that one time with his Smith and Wesson I didn’t like to dwell on. But also there was that little smile sometimes, the one you had to be looking for to notice, and there was that languid stretch of his whole body as he pulled off his shirt, and that twist of his hips as he slid his pants off before falling on the bed, throwing his legs apart and glaring up at me impatiently, that made me willing to take all kinds of shit just to be there to witness that.
“Wanna go upstairs?” I suggested, nudging him with a knee. He snorted and shook his head, which was fine. He hardly ever agreed, it always had to be all his idea, but it paid off to put ideas in his head. He’d refuse, and then half an hour later pounce me like a blond panther, and as long as in the end I got him writhing on my dick, clenching and gasping and arching his neck under my lips, I wasn’t going to complain.
“Let’s move to the table. This fucking noise is driving me crazy,” he said, and headed off, just assuming I’d follow. I kept feeling him up slyly all the way to the corner to make up for that one.
Next chapter
Author: Newkate
Fandom: Saiyuki
Rating: this part overall is NC-17 for m/m smut, spandex and 5's POV being the dirtiest POV ever.
Notes and warnings: Reincarnation fic. Multiple pairings. Completed, in four parts. I'm planning to post this part in maybe 9 installments.
Many thanks to
hibem for great beta and all the advice!Part One: Shift
Part Two: Dance (Ch. 1))
1980
The night was warm and fresh, spiced with a tingle of ozone; the clouds hung low and the air was thick with anticipation. As I walked from the parking lot to the club doors, several fat raindrops hit my face, the wind picked up a little. It was going to be one of those nights when the city shuts off, dies down, and my roommate becomes a health and safety hazard, but now it was still relatively clement, and the night was still so very young, naive, barely legal. But, Saturday was a Saturday, and the line at the front doors was forming already; there were about two dozens of clubbers waiting, shivering, moaning at the prospect of getting unattractively soaked before they got to strut their stuff inside. I pushed to the head of the queue, nodded to the bouncers and went in.
It always felt like diving head first into a warm bubble of pounding sound, used breath, body heat. I got waved at by some regulars, checked out by some new faces, got anonymously petted while I was squeezing through the dance floor, received inviting smiles from the rest of the guys hoarding the bar. I always liked it here.
“Bartender!” I screamed, planting my ass on a barstool, drumming my palms on the bar top. “Gimme the usual plus an apology. Why didn’t you call me when you got back?”
Dave grinned, finished serving a customer some pink, sickly looking concoction, tossed me a cold can from the fridge, walked over and gave me a slap on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey. Look, I’m busy right now, but stick around, this should die down in a bit. I’ve missed you, you skinny little jerk.”
He looked so much better then the last time I saw him, still too thin - and those lines around his eyes were probably not going anywhere now – but smiling, with a bit of a colour in his face, although that could have been from the dance floor lights. He moved as precisely as always, not the most flashy bartender I ever saw, but all his tricks were flawless. Juggle some bottles, flip a glass, set ice cubes sailing through the coloured rays and catch them all in a tumbler. He was fun to watch. More so earlier, before the depression, when he was built like a brick shit house, always working topless, all oiled skin and muscle, but he still was a big guy, and this white shirt brought out his black hair nicely.
“So did you like your trip?” I asked, because otherwise I’d just stare and he’d get all awkward. He could still work with me yapping at him.
“I guess. That crazy woman dragged me all over the Europe. I thought I’d get permanent depressions in my palms from the shopping bag handles. Don’t know why we couldn’t buy all that crap back here, but that’s the fair sex: mysterious, frightening creatures.”
“Did you go to Amsterdam?”
“Possibly,” he said, shrugging mid-pour as he filled five shot-glasses in one move, all to exactly the same level. “You should ask Lydia, she was the one with the map. How have you been? How are you guys getting along?”
“Same as always,” I said, smiling dreamily, “Years go by, and the passion does not wane. Why, just this very morning I got a boiling coffee pot thrown at me.”
“Are you all right? Did he miss?”
“Sure, he always misses, it’s all just a hysterical drama queen act. He bought a new coffee pot already, which I guess is a deep apology coming from him. Or maybe he’s just that scared of caffeine withdrawal.”
“Still. You’re together, and that’s….” he dropped some ice cubes, nearly slipped on them, and I made as a big deal out it as I could, laughing like a hyena and mocking him artistically. He slapped me with a towel, smiled like a dork and went back to pouring whiskey over rocks.
“You sure you want to be back yet?” I asked, watching yellow oily liquid slide down and puddle inside the grass. Pretty. “He’ll give you more paid leave if you want.”
“Nah. What would I do? Sit at home? The apartment is just so frigging empty. Echoing… Like a coffin. Here you go, Sir, that’s five-forty. Thank you.”
He turned his back to the queuing customers and began polishing glasses, roughly, making the smooth surface squeak under his hands.
“Hey,” I leaned forward, over the bar, into his space. “If you want company, I’m all for it. I’ll just drive him home, and then…” I trailed a finger over his wrist, and he stepped back, almost angry.
“I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”
“It’s fine, he doesn’t care really. Dave…”
“Todd,” he put the towel down, moved back, fixed me with a heavy stare. “You don’t have to feel guilty. I know you slept with Colin, he told me right away. Moot point now when he’s dead. You don’t have to...”
“I just like you is all,” I mumbled, wondering why I ever thought Colin would keep it a secret. “Always have. Whatever, if you don’t want to, it’s all good.”
He grinned, clapped me on a shoulder again. Huge heavy hands, every love pat like that nearly threw me off the barstool, not that I minded.
“Aw come on, kid, don’t sulk, you know you’re cute as a button. I’m not – well, not up to it right now. Not been since Colin got ill, really. I… Oh look, here’s your man.”
And there he was, descending the stairs from his office, working the faded jeans and sleeveless black turtleneck, looking better than it was humanly possible. Gene.
He headed to the bar, parting the crowd like an iceboat. It wasn’t just that most regulars knew he was the manager - and one moody asshole to boot - he did that everywhere, people just shifted aside when he moved like this: head high, hair tossed back, narrow narrow waist and rocking slender hips and those naked shoulders you had to touch and lick if you had a slightest chance to get away with it. He was homing right on me, eyes narrowed under those shiny bangs, and I sprawled on the barstool, spread my legs a little, gave him a clear shot of my fly, here, babe, look, all for you, all right here, come closer, pretty kitty.
He paused in front of me for only a second, turned away: “David, is this guy harassing you?”
Dave laughed, short and throaty, pushed double shot of straight something-imported-and-overpriced in Gene’s hand: “Yes, Mr Sykes. I feel so vulnerable. You have to control him better.”
“Impossible,” snorted Gene, gulped down some booze, finally looked at me, sideways wandering glance, face-chest-lower. Oh yes. Make-up sex. Definitely. “What are you doing here?”
“And in Eugene-speak this stands for ‘Thank you, Todd, for agreeing to be my chauffeur and drive my pampered ass around since I turn into a raving lunatic whenever I touch the steering wheel and can wallpaper the whole apartment with my speeding tickets’.”
“You’re five hours too early.”
“Oh, no, Gene, don’t worry, you don’t have to go out of your way to entertain me. I’ll just hang out, maybe sample some of that fine booty your establishment attracts.”
“You do that, Todd, that’s pretty much all you are good for. In the meantime I’ll be working my ass off to keep a roof over your empty head, but don’t try to feel guilty, you might strain something.”
He took another swig. I watched as his lips clung to the glass, throat worked to swallow, eyes closed for a second, eyelashes threw small shadows on his cheeks.
“Fuck you’re pretty,” it just flew from my lips, but he was, no denying it.
“Hn,” one eyebrow went up, unimpressed. “Random, alarming ass-kissing. What did you do, wreck my car?”
I let that go. He was warming up, I could tell, and I felt like I hadn’t seen him in days, which always happened after a fight. I had enough time to run all sorts of scenarios in my head, to think for a thousandth time that I didn’t have to take that kind of shit from him, that I could always leave. But who knew what was out there, and in here – in here was Gene, hair like soft golden silk, ass like a vise, sexy growly drawl to his voice. And sure, there often were words carefully chosen to cut deep, and throwing of things, and there was that one time with his Smith and Wesson I didn’t like to dwell on. But also there was that little smile sometimes, the one you had to be looking for to notice, and there was that languid stretch of his whole body as he pulled off his shirt, and that twist of his hips as he slid his pants off before falling on the bed, throwing his legs apart and glaring up at me impatiently, that made me willing to take all kinds of shit just to be there to witness that.
“Wanna go upstairs?” I suggested, nudging him with a knee. He snorted and shook his head, which was fine. He hardly ever agreed, it always had to be all his idea, but it paid off to put ideas in his head. He’d refuse, and then half an hour later pounce me like a blond panther, and as long as in the end I got him writhing on my dick, clenching and gasping and arching his neck under my lips, I wasn’t going to complain.
“Let’s move to the table. This fucking noise is driving me crazy,” he said, and headed off, just assuming I’d follow. I kept feeling him up slyly all the way to the corner to make up for that one.
Next chapter