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Chapter Text

A hand roughly shoves Macaque down onto the bed, mercilessly pinning him down by the back of his neck. A deep, threatening growl rumbles in his throat as Wukong hovers above him, his grip strong enough to dust the bones of any mortal unfortunate to get caught between his fingers. An amused smirk plays on the king’s lips- a smirk the warrior wants to tear clean off.

Wukong’s hand moves up, gingerly carding through Macaque’s thick mane, up to the back of his head. Then, without warning, he grips hard, yanking Macaque’s head back. A cry of surprise rings in the air, and Wukong’s lips graze Macaque’s ear when he speaks.

“Try anything and I’ll make you cry,” He warns, voice deadly.

Thrusting Macaque’s head forward as he rudely releases him, the king leans back, sitting on his legs to remove his shirt. Not one to be scolded into submission, Macaque ignores the flighty threat, but, the instant he moves to try something, he’s forced back into the mattress immediately. The strength holding him down is far too tremendous for him to fight, like the weight of the ocean itself chains him to the seafloor.

A groove is pressed into the bed from how hard Macaque is shoved, the wind knocked clean from his lungs before Wukong’s hand presses against the back on his neck, grip significantly tighter. As always, Wukong is cruel in the bedroom, manhandling him in the way Macaque allows him to for his own selfish desires.

The laugh behind him is wicked. “I gave you a warning and everything. Hiding your six ears hasn’t been doing you any favors, huh?”

The shadow demon crosses his arms, resting his chin on them with a sleazy smirk. “The less ears to hear you with, the better.”

The king leans down, pressing his bare chest flush against Macaque’s back, ignoring his comment and noses into the back of his neck. The press of hard muscle hot on his back makes Macaque’s dick twitch with anticipation, his legs threatening to tremble. His tail lashes impatiently behind him, flinching away from Wukong’s own.

Without warning, fangs plunge into Macaque’s shoulder, ripping a startled cry from him, and Wukong suckles at the fresh blood that spills into his greedy mouth with a low hum.

The argument is long forgotten, brushed aside in favor for savage kisses and torn flesh. The warrior’s brows knit together tightly as Wukong adds to his collection of lovebites on his body, the sting of pain and pleasure mixing a dangerous cocktail of fiery lust in his clouded mind.

With a stifled groan, he glares at the other over his shoulder, who pays him no mind as he hungrily sucks and claims Macaque, painting his body with his own spilled blood and bite marks as if Macaque were his canvas.

Wukong drags his free hand down Macaque’s back, wandering fingers carding through groomed dark fur before latching onto his hip, nudging for Macaque to lift his ass up. The shadow growls again, defiant.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Not ‘till I’m done with you.”

It’s an easy reply, spoken lowly into Macaque’s neck, just under his ear. Hot breath tickles mussed fur, nosing his way up to Macaque’s ears. Sweat beads at the top of his forehead as Wukong kisses and nips at his ear, teeth against skin. He hums, causing it to flick between fangs and Macaque’s face to redden at the brazen remark. The familiar scent of rainwater and fresh peaches fills Macaque’s lungs- a sweet-smelling poison.

Heat is already pooling between Macaque’s legs, its thrumming warmth forging fires deep in his belly. He wants to resist, but Wukong knows exactly how to fan his flames, knows how to turn them into raging wildfires of gold and ashes before reducing them to cinders and pillars of black smoke. He looks good like this, towering over Macaque, fading sun gleaming faintly over his fur from the window.

Well, he looks good until he opens his mouth.

“Are you even trying to put up a fight?”

Macaque growls again, baring his fangs this time, grunting when the hand on his neck presses down harder, pinning him again just as he prepares to lunge at Wukong for making such a remark. Anger and lust concoct a primal toxin in his hazy mind, insisting he just give in to the swarming scent of peaches and electric touches, but he refuses to hand Wukong what he wants on a silver platter. At the same time, though, his patience is rapidly running thin.

This was part of the appeal, after all, the fighting and dominating, the unending battle of trying to get the other to do what he wants. The king never gives him what he wants, always keeps it just out of reach before giving Macaque a small taste of the forbidden fruit, only to snatch it away once he craves more.

And it pisses Macaque off in the best way every single time.

But it was routine at this point. Fight, fuck it out, then pretend it never happened. Easy as that. Macaque didn’t usually pay much attention to whatever garbage Wukong had to spout otherwise, just had to deal with it until he got his dicking down, then leave. Because, as much as he wishes he could say the opposite, Wukong was, at the very least, a good lay.

He hears Wukong scoff, the hand clutching at his neck weakening its crushing grip, but still a heavy presence- a warning.

The king nips at Macaque’s ear playfully before he speaks. The fingers against his neck lift and tenderly curl the tousled fur, claws grazing and tracing the marks littered underneath with a grin, teasing. A faux gentleness that would shatter to reveal the true brutality of Wukong’s nature should Macaque try something- he learned that the hard way.

“Well? Stick your ass up already. I don’t have all day.”

Macaque scoffs, incredulous. Right, as if Wukong didn’t already take his sweet ass time during foreplay every single time just to make him squirm.

“You sure act like you do.”

He glowers at the attack to his ever fragile ego, golden eyes predatory. They gleam faintly in the fading sunlight bathing the room, laced with his signature mischief that makes the warrior suppress a shiver.

“Pfft, you love it.”

Macaque chuckles darkly at the remark, tucking his arms under the pillow as he lifts his hips up, pressing his ass flush against Wukong’s clothed hardness, giving the king what he wants despite himself. His own desires took priority, after all. Besides, Macaque knew he would have to give in eventually. But so would Wukong.

The hand on Macaque’s neck lifts, both of Wukong’s palms gripping the shadow demon’s hips, claws threatening his skin. Lustful heat fills Wukong’s eyes as he practically drools over Macaque’s body in a way that makes his ego swell.

Macaque sneers. Wukong was so easy to pacify. “You have no shame.”

“I can appreciate a good view when I see one.”

A gasp of surprise fills the air when the king’s hips snap against Macaque, his black tail curling up and over Wukong’s shoulder. The warrior’s face reddens at the praise, knowing it was just another of Wukong’s many, many lies, but falling prey to it once again. Macaque muffles his soft moan into the pillow when the king rocks unabashedly against him, sheets snagging under his nails. The pants still regrettably on him felt much too constricting, too hot, and Macaque begins to wish they’d undressed before falling into bed.

Wukong leans down, chest pressed against Macaque’s back, his natural warmth all-encompassing, arms wrapping around Macaque’s black-furred chest and cupping his pecs. He holds him closer as he whispers his filthy words into the other’s ears, thrusting against his ass like he just can’t wait to get inside him. The shadow can only surrender himself in his hold, pressing his cheek into the pillow, lip quivering as he tries and fails to resist the king. He can hear the amusement in Wukong’s voice.

“You’re so much easier to deal with when you do what you’re told.”

Macaque simply growls in response, cut off by a gasp, too caught up in chasing his own pleasure to dignify Wukong with a response, moving his ass back to grind back against Wukong’s clothed dick hard against him, insatiable. Hot breath stutters against his neck, the strong muscle pressed against his bare back shifting with each sinful roll of Wukong’s hips.

Lips brush against his own, and Macaque chases them, narrowing his eyes when Wukong pulls away, this annoyingly snide look on his face. Before the shadow can pick another fight, a cry is torn from him when one of Wukong’s hands trail down his chest and lower stomach, leaving trails of fires in their wake, then over his crotch, just shy of the tent in his pants.

Fingers brush over Macaque’s clothed dick, lazily toying with the fabric near it and his inner thighs, drawing circles and tugging the clothing gently, pointedly avoiding the spot that needs his touch most.

Eyes of gold watch Macaque intently, indulging in his sick pleasure from watching him struggle, yet stubbornly refuse to ask for what he wants. Macaque swallows thickly at Wukong’s feather-light touches near his dick and thighs. His hips involuntarily jerk, chasing the king’s touch, but his hand flees every time he craves more, only to return once Macaque settles down.

It’s driving him crazy in the most delicious way.

Macaque’s tail thrashes impatiently somewhere behind him, and he wills himself to calm down, not that it helps his situation any. So much for giving in and doing what he said. Wukong knows what Macaque wants, he’s sure of that, and strings him along like a dog on a leash, pretending like he didn’t know the most intimate parts of Macaque’s body by now.

They moan in unison at a particularly rough thrust, and Macaque shivers, dick straining almost painfully as Wukong palms him firmly only once before removing his hand altogether, taking his warmth with him. Somewhere behind him, Macaque’s tail flicks irritably at the loss of heat.

Gods, this guy pisses him off.

Just before he can complain, Wukong’s lips press against his own, hungry and passionate, the taste of iron faint on his tongue. The shadow moans into the king’s mouth, melting under his touch as Wukong’s hand comes up to card through the fur on Macaque’s neck, claws raking pleasantly over skin.

“Hurry up, Wukong,” He orders, pressing his ass further against Wukong’s crotch, earning a groan from the other, the hand on his hip clutching tightly at him before releasing. Their lips graze when Macaque speaks, a strand of saliva connecting them. Something carnal burns within the molten gold of Wukong’s eyes, and Macaque’s sure he’s not any better. “Just fuck me already.”

A strained laugh comes from Wukong, his breath stuttering. “When are you gonna ask nicely?”

Macaque wiggles his hips teasingly, smirking to himself when Wukong grips his hips in place to keep him still. He could play this game as long as he liked, but even Wukong could resist the rising arousal and primal desires for so long, if he ever really could in the first place. Good. Macaque wants him to struggle to keep it together, wants to feel his hands quake with the effort to hold back. He wants to see the king plummet from the very top of his celestial spire above the clouds, like he deserved.

“When you actually give me what I want.”

Right. Like he’d ever ask anything from Wukong in any manner resembling politeness.

“Mm, but you like when I don’t give you what you want. Isn’t that right?” He taunts, but Macaque would rather leave high and dry before he tells him what he wants to hear- regardless of how true it was.

“Just hurry up, damn it,” Macaque demands instead. “Or I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Only if I get to watch.”

Macaque feels his face burn, turning his face into the pillow to hide his blush. He should be ashamed of himself, saying such a thing so bluntly and with no shame whatsoever. Once again, he’s reminded of how painfully hard he is, his dick still trapped in his pants, and Macaque nearly considers begging.

He would never grace Wukong with the satisfaction no matter how horny he was, though, so the thought is swiftly discarded.

Finally, as if knowing, Wukong’s hands meet the waistband of Macaque’s pants, and he’s quick to tear them off and toss them aside, humming with appreciation at the naked body beneath him. Relief fills the shadow as his dick is finally released. Eyes of gold leer at Macaque, dragging down from his face to his ass, drinking in the view. He’s got this little smirk playing on his face, like the cat who got the cream, ogling the warrior like a starving animal.

From over his shoulder, he spots the king hastily removing his own pants, throwing them somewhere over the bed with a soft thump.

“You look so good like this,” Wukong purrs, grabbing a handful of Macaque’s ass, sharp claws sinking into his skin in the most painfully pleasurable way. “Right beneath me where you belong,” The argument forming on Macaque’s tongue dies in favor of a surprised moan when Wukong slides his cock between his cheeks, tip catching on his rim, but not entering just yet.

“Get on with it,” Macaque snaps, voice audibly shaking in a way he hopes Wukong won’t notice. He sounds much too wrecked for his liking, but can’t find it in himself to care.

“Psh, relax, I’m not going anywhere,” The king replies easily. From behind him, Macaque hears Wukong’s tail thumping lightly against the mattress, betraying his controlled façade and indicating his mounting excitement. “Besides, I still gotta get you ready.”

The warrior huffs, resting his chin over his arms in annoyance. His tail flicks against Wukong’s neck with impatience.

“You take forever during prep. It’s like you get off on it.”

A humorless laugh comes from behind him. “You’re welcome to do it yourself, you know.” Then, his lips curl into a mocking smile.

“’Sides, if anyone can put on a show, it’s you, right?”

Macaque swallows thickly, traitorous dick throbbing at the dirty words. He’s grateful he’s not facing Wukong so he doesn’t have to deal with the teasing that came from his reddening cheeks. Fuck, that line got him.

“Pillow princess,” Wukong sneers, because he always needed to have the last word, for some reason.

If Macaque weren’t so pent up and antsy to get fucked, he’d swing his arm around and clock Wukong clean in the face for such a stupid, untrue remark. Macaque imagines that a broken nose would probably ruin his chances of getting laid, no matter how satisfying it’d be to land such a sucker punch.

He sighs petulantly instead, a faint ache in his thighs, and not the good kind. Great Sage of dragging his ass.

“I should still get you ready anyways, though,” Wukong says, then leans down to Macaque’s ear.

“You know, so I can get off on it.”

The warrior swallows down a weak sigh, vivid images of Wukong rubbing one out to the thought of him flashing through his mind. Even if the statement was just a lie, it’s still effective in riling up Macaque, and he grinds uselessly into the sheets, desperate for any friction on his dick.

The king leans over him and reaches for the lube waiting dutifully for him in the bedside table. The bastard takes his sweet time, his cock laying heavy between Macaque’s cheeks, taunting him. Macaque swallows thickly, whatever’s left of his composure wavering as Wukong closes the drawer, looking down at him with his mischievous smile. At this rate, he was going to just flip them and do the work himself. His tail flicks and taps against Wukong’s neck irritably, causing the other to laugh.

“You’re so impatient,” Wukong drawls, flicking open the cap and unhurriedly drizzling the lube onto his waiting fingers. He shifts, causing the head of his dick to nudge against Macaque’s rim. The warrior’s breath hitches and he glances at the bastard, who merely ignores him this time, a catlike smile on his face.

Funny how Wukong calls him the impatient one, like he wasn’t any worse.

“I like it.”

Macaque’s lip twitches, and he turns away, not trusting his voice enough to reply. Those meaningless compliments always came from left field, always when Macaque least expected it. And, every single time, they made his head spin and his dick pulse. And Macaque still wasn’t quite sure how to respond to those pretty little lies.

The bottle is tossed to Macaque’s side, and then Wukong is hovering over him again, casting his shadow, a hand beside his head. Lidded eyes are drawn to Macaque, passionate and fiery- and he wouldn’t expect anything less from Sun Wukong. In the fading light of the room, the king still shines like the sun above him.

“What, you finally run out of things to say, Macaque?”

“You wish.”

Wukong hums into Macaque’s lips when they meet, biting his lip when Macaque gasps at the finger prodding at his hole, the coldness of the lube making him flinch before it slides in, slowly. Wukong is effective at distracting him, though, the sharp sting of his fangs sinking into Macaque’s lip, drawing blood. The shadow moans softly into the other’s mouth when their tongues meet, and Wukong swallows it down, blood dripping at the corners of their mouths.

It doesn’t take long before Macaque is rolling his hips languidly against Wukong’s finger, bouncing on his finger. A chuckle is felt against his lips, and Wukong pulls away, a flush on his cheeks, pupils dilated. “You’re almost cute,” He says, voice mocking.

Too lost in his own desire to put up more of a fight, Macaque instead spreads his legs wider, pressing further against the pillow.

“More, dammit.”

“So bossy,” Wukong teases, obliging him, the feeling of two fingers inside him causing Macaque to keen into the pillow. He doesn’t bother listening to Wukong’s worthless nonsense anymore, not when he’s finally being serviced.

The king pushes his fingers in, easing Macaque into it, not that he really needed it. He was tougher than Wukong gave him credit for, so he kind of wishes he didn’t treat him like he was someone so laughably weak during this part. But, at the same time, some useless part of him craves the gentleness- gentleness not meant for him, not from Sun Wukong. Not when he knows the viciousness of his true nature.

A calloused hand, wet with lube, wraps around Macaque’s cock, stroking him and nearly tearing a cry from him. He strokes leisurely, far too slowly for Macaque’s liking, but, right now, he’ll take what he can get. Trembling under deft fingers, the warrior stifles a moan into the pillow, back arching.

Lava pumps through his body, flows pleasantly through his icy veins, a boiling warmth sitting deep in his stomach. The fingers hot inside of him begin speeding up, and Wukong’s other hand pumps Macaque’s dick in tandem, the pace utterly sublime and causing him to pant loudly. The shadow squeezes his eyes shut, lip quivering as a purr begins to rumble quietly from his throat.

“Mm, look at you,” Wukong coos, voice low and husky. He leans back to sit on his knees, watching Macaque like he was the greatest show on the planet. He might as well be. “Not so tough once you have something to fuck on, hm?”

“Just… put another finger in,” He tries, mustering a weak glare, but his voice fails him in a pitifully wrecked tone.

Undeniable smugness practically radiates from Wukong, but he does as he’s told, gingerly slipping another finger in. Macaque can feel Wukong’s eyes watching his hole as he puts another In, trained on him carefully, pupils blown. The intensity of his gaze on such an intimate area goes straight to Macaque’s dick, and, if Wukong keeps this up, he won’t be able to last much longer.

The hand on Macaque’s dick pauses momentarily, fingers quivering before continuing, pace quickening. Macaque’s thighs tense, and he bites into the pillow, suppressing a groan. Pre escapes the tip of his cock, dribbling over Wukong’s fingers and onto the mattress. A familiar coil of fire settles deep in Macaque’s gut, desperate for release, wrenched and clutched tightly, ready to burst.

“Aww, you’re dripping…” Wukong mocks. His tail thumps loudly on the bed.

“Wukong, I… I’m gonna…” Macaque tries to warn, words escaping him as a choked groan tumbles from his throat. He’s wound up tightly, thighs shaking as the fingers inside of him curl, just barely grazing that spot inside of him, deliberately skimming and gliding past it the way Wukong always did, the bastard.

“By all means,” Wukong urges, eager. He pumps Macaque’s dick harder, encouraging him, purring loudly.

“No,” The shadow chokes out, as firmly as he can manage.

The king’s hands halt immediately, and he looks to Macaque. This insincere concern fills Wukong’s eyes, and Macaque thinks the look hideous on him.

Macaque takes the chance to catch his breath, panting heavily against the pillow, sweat catching in his blood- stained fur. The pleasure that scorches his body begs for stimulation, pleads for the king to continue. But he takes his time, taking great pleasure in forcing Wukong to wait for his response, who sits as patiently as he can manage, before he speaks again.

“I want you inside me first.”

Wukong’s head drops between his shoulders, moaning. He hisses through his teeth, withdrawing his fingers from Macaque and removing his hand from his dick. Coldness envelops Macaque, and he stifles a needy whine when Wukong’s hands leave him.

The king reaches for the lube beside Macaque, the snap of the cap loud in the quiet of the room.

“Guess it’d be rude of me to keep you waiting, then,” Wukong says, voice utterly wrecked.

Wukong slicks himself up, the lewd sound of him stroking himself with lube loud in the quiet of his room. Drawing him in, Wukong’s cock presses against his rim, prodding and teasing the warrior in the most tantalizing way. A purr rumbles from his throat, and Macaque figures he probably looks pathetically needy, bent over, ass up with his face stuffed into the pillow like some cheap whore. He doesn’t care, not when what he wants towers over him, seconds away from finally fucking him within an inch of his life. 

Wukong laughs, rough and breathy, the hand on his hip tightening, claws stinging Macaque as they dig in, blood beading at his fingertips. An animalistic smile, cracking at the seams, is plastered on his face, mere seconds away from taking what he wants from Macaque without mercy.

“You need me that bad, huh?” He sneers, and Macaque can practically hear his ego inflating tenfold. But he doesn’t have it in him to argue, far too horny to properly put up any sort of argument.

Slowly, the king starts to ease inside of Macaque. The shadow’s brows furrow at the intrusion, the stretch a burning pain. The lube made things a little easier, but the initial ache and discomfort of Wukong entering him never seemed to fade, no matter how many times they’d had sex.

And though the pain was unbearable and made Macaque’s legs wobbly, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Wukong cranes his head, searching for Macaque’s face, hidden in the pillow. Macaque meets his eye over his shoulder, gritting his teeth to bear the pain the best he can, panting hard against the sheets. Wukong pauses in his movements.

“Too fast?” He asks. Despite the raggedness of his voice and heavy breaths in order to control himself, the king still found it in himself to show concern for Macaque. It was so fake, just like everything he’d promised Macaque in the past. And Macaque hates the part of himself that silently wants to believe the faux sincerity. A lot of good that did him before.

“No,” Macaque snaps, much harsher than intended. He’d sooner die again than admit Wukong was hurting him in any way, shape, or form. He’s so much better than that.

He turns away, the intensity of Wukong’s gaze inducing a shyness he didn’t particularly like. The king looks back down to where he presses inside of Macaque, the grip on his hips loosening, but still firm. This time, the pace set is significantly slower, and the burning stretch inside of Macaque lessens marginally.

Wukong bottoms out, humming deeply, hips pressed flush against Macaque’s ass. Macaque watches the king over his shoulder, watches his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, how his brows pinch tightly in concentration. Auburn fur shimmers like gold and holy fire under the setting sun and sweat runs down the sides of his face. Blood stains the corner of his mouth, scarlet like the blush dusting his cheeks. He hates how delicious Wukong looks sometimes.

The king catches him staring, lips quirking into a ghost of a smile. Before Macaque can turn away, Wukong drops down onto his hands, caging Macaque in and causing the bed to squeak under the sudden shift of weight. Golden eyes leer down at the shadow, taking him in before Wukong presses a chaste, yet fervent kiss to Macaque’s lips.

Sharp teeth find Macaque’s shoulder, biting and nibbling harshly as Macaque accustoms himself to Wukong’s length. The king’s teeth brush over fur and skin, over earlier marks, lapping up Macaque’s blood like nectar with his more brutal bites. The warrior lets him, even cranes his neck so Wukong has better access to his favorite spots of Macaque’s body, sighing when Wukong indulges him, breathes him in. He hums against Macaque’s throat, combing through the fur on his back soothingly, distracting Macaque from the initial shooting of pain, and before long, it’s been dulled to a minor ache.

Wukong’s mouth moves to Macaque’s ear, suckling tightly.

“Am I good to move?” He rasps, voice barely above a whisper. A shiver runs down Macaque’s spine, the feeling of fullness inside of him fogging his head with a thick lust.

Macaque only responds with a nod, not trusting his voice.

The fingers grooming through dark fur moves down to Macaque’s lower back, palm pressed flat on his backside when Wukong sits upright. He fucks into him at a snail’s pace, the drag of his cock hot and still borderline painful. Macaque swallows thickly, breathing uneven as he teeters on the tightrope of pain and pleasure, but Wukong’s slowness makes things a little more tolerable, gives him some breathing room.

The king groans above him, eyes clenched shut. “Fuck…” He murmurs, voice breathy. The hand hot on his back quivers with the effort to contain himself, along with Wukong’s shudder as he gingerly enters Macaque again. The shadow lets out a close-mouthed moan, the ache beginning a gradual fade from his body.

Macaque’s voice wavers when he speaks.

“Faster, Wukong.”

He hears a strained laugh from behind him.

“Was waiting for you to say that.”

The king moves his arms beside Macaque, holding his weight over him on his elbows. A sharp snap of his hips has them moaning, and Wukong’s pace turns into something vicious. The king pounds into him hard and fast, tearing a gasp from Macaque’s solar plexus at the pleasure that rockets through him, the pain now sitting on the back burner. He buries himself into the pillow, cheek pressed into the cushion as a guttural groan falls from his lips. Finally, he’s being fucked and serviced like he deserves, pleasure and fiery heat wrung out from the deepest, most intimate parts of his body.

Wukong’s rhythm is brutal, cursing and swearing between moans above Macaque, his own nails tearing at ripped sheets. The headboard slams into the wall with the sheer force of his thrusts, and Macaque knows he’ll be painfully sore after. Right now, though, he could care less. His back arches into the bed, and he meets Wukong’s pace, moving his hips in tandem.

Lips crash against Macaque’s, sloppy and greedy. Their teeth clack and spit runs down the corner of Macaque’s mouth as Wukong kisses him hard, tongue slipping in with ease before he pulls away with a rough tug of Macaque’s bottom lip. A whine Macaque will deny ever making falls from his lips when Wukong’s lips leave his, and Wukong looks absolutely feral, this wolfish sneer on his face as he thrusts into Macaque.

Wukong slams into him, and Macaque sobs, choked gasps and whines caught in his throat. Pleasure rockets through him with every hard thrust as Wukong ravishes his body for all it was worth and then some. It’s too much for Macaque to handle, and his eyes flutter close, tears pricking the corners as Wukong ruins him. He takes what he wants from Macaque with reckless abandon, their moans filling the air.

The way his cock drives into Macaque makes him delirious, and Macaque is too far gone to discern if it’s pleasure or pain that courses through his body anymore.

“Wukong,” He cries out, voice quivering pathetically. “S-Slow down.”

The king hisses through his teeth, pace slowing to a near stillness. Biting back a pitiful whine, Macaque keeps himself from just fucking on the worthless king, aggravated that he’d slowed so drastically. One of his arms wraps around Macaque’s neck, bracing him, muscles flexing against his throat. Fat tears sit on Macaque’s lash line once Wukong rips the air from his lungs with his chokehold in a way that makes pre bead on the head of his dick.

“I don’t think I will,” Wukong coos, a breathless whisper in Macaque’s ear. Before Macaque can even so much as take another breath, Wukong’s brutal pace picks right back up. A noise of surprise is ripped from the warrior as Wukong rams into him with no warning. The king groans deeply into Macaque’s ear, and Macaque keens, pathetic tears running down his cheeks.

Words fail the warrior, and the arm braced around his neck is tight enough to snap a mortal’s windpipe clean in two. His head stirs and swims with lust, eyes fluttering shut as he can only let himself be used by Wukong. The king nuzzles against Macaque’s wet cheek, pressing his tongue against the tears that fall, greedy for any part of him he can reach. Each thrust sparks surges of overwhelming shockwaves through his body- he feels entirely too full, yet he still craves more.

“Wukong-” He cries, cut off by a sharp intake of breath when Wukong reaches that spot inside of him that utterly breaks Macaque. Crumbling under Wukong’s unforgiving embrace, Macaque can only let himself fall into the flames of desire.

“Mm, tell me what you want,” He hums, voice hoarse, thankfully understanding Macaque.

“Touch me,” He whines, unable to demand it the way he usually would, firmly caught in the endless, thick webs of pleasure.

A ragged laugh comes from the king. “Yeah?” He rasps. “Touch you where? Show me.”

The king offers his hand currently not crushing Macaque, palm upturned, playing dumb. Despite his foggy mind only focused on chasing his pleasure, Macaque almost finds it in himself to tell Wukong to just fuck off. Almost. But he’s much too horny and greedy to ignore the offer and play Wukong’s games, so instead he grabs at Wukong’s hand, fingers trembling around a harder thrust, then guides Wukong down to his dick.

“Such a good boy for me,” Wukong praises, hand wrapping around Macaque’s cock, immediately pumping him hard and fast the way he knows Macaque wants it, pulling a groan from Macaque’s lips. The praise makes Macaque’s dick twitch, and he’s certain Wukong can feel it in his hand, can feel his peaking arousal. A familiar pressure builds in the pit of his stomach, and Macaque’s heart jackhammers in his ears, breathing frantic and uneven as another moan escapes him, rising in pitch.

“Fuck, Wukong- Ah, fuck,” He sobs, tears and sweat hot on his face. Macaque clutches tighter at the sheets, gasping between moans as the king repeatedly pounds that tender spot. His thrusting grows erratic, hips stuttering, and he thumbs just under the head of Macaque’s dick, where he knows the shadow likes it.

With a broken cry, Macaque spills over Wukong’s hand, groaning deeply into the pillow. He pants beneath him, head swimming. He faintly registers Wukong’s grunt before the king snaps his hips harder, pace frantic. The hand on Macaque’s dick works the shadow through his orgasm, before Wukong eventually reaches his peak, too, spilling deep inside of him. Macaque shivers at the fullness, the cum that fills him up.

The king’s lips press onto Macaque’s, and he kisses him back weakly, still coming down from his high. The kiss is chaste, tasting faintly of salt, and Wukong licks his lips when he pulls away. If he weren’t so high and wrung out, Macaque would laugh at the drool that runs down the corner of Wukong’s mouth. His throat is mercifully released from the headlock, and Wukong leans back to sit on his legs, breath shaky as he wipes the saliva away with the back of his hand, fingers trembling.

The king runs unsteady hands over Macaque’s thoroughly tousled fur once more before resting them on his hips, tenderly easing out of him. Macaque hisses through his teeth once Wukong is out, and he becomes all too aware of how weak and wobbly his legs are.

With a huff, Macaque flops gracelessly to his side, careful to avoid his mess on the bed. His legs sob in relief once he’s laid down, and he breathes heavily, his heart still deafeningly loud in his ears. He closes his eyes for a moment, needing a minute to will away the thick post-sex haze, but a hand patting his hip causes them to open.

“Don’t fall asleep on me.”

Macaque gives a hoarse ‘Hm,’ of acknowledgement, barely hearing Wukong’s words. His mind is all but gone, reduced to nothing more than TV static, and any words spoken to him take a moment to register. Macaque evens out his breathing, calming himself to steady his rampant heartbeat.

A ragged laugh gets his attention. Macaque weakly musters another glare at the other, who sits at the edge of the bed, back facing him. He turns his head to look at him, a competitive grin reaching his eyes. Macaque wonders absently if he needs to throw a coin into a fountain and make a wish for just a single, blessed second of silence.

“Told you I’d make you cry,” Wukong taunts.

Macaque is suddenly all too aware of how wet his face is with tears, blood, sweat, and, because the world hated him, Wukong’s slobber. His face burns with humiliation, tail flicking anxiously against the side of the bed. Using the back of his hand, he hurriedly wipes away the tears first, scowling at the fact that Wukong had seen them at all, before he wipes the sweat.

“You licked me,” Macaque grumbles, mostly to just change the subject. He’d grown long used to Wukong’s habits by now- Wukong was a very physical lover- not that what they had was anything resembling that.

The king merely shrugs, reaching into his bedside table and grabbing a rag, wiping away the thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Eh, heat of the moment,” He dismisses with a wave of his hand.

Macaque just rolls his eyes, head flopping back on the pillow to gather himself and to ignore that terrible excuse for a response.

Wukong moves off of the bed, pulling up his pants and smoothing down his horrific fur that sticks out in every direction. Macaque supposes he should be getting up to leave, soon. But, he’s exhausted already, and he knows his legs won’t be able to get him very far until his rapid healing settles the soreness he knows is already there.

He’s not in any rush to leave (much to Wukong’s dismay and Macaque’s immense pleasure), and would prefer letting his body do what it needs to do so he can at least make his exit comfortably.

Mostly, though, he just simply doesn’t want to see the catlike grin that would find its way to Wukong’s face should Macaque dare stumble or limp in front of him. He’d seen it once before, and promptly decided that that was already one time too many. That little shit.

A small towel lands on Macaque’s thigh, and he slowly raises his head to look at the other, neck pulsing in agony. He barely catches Wukong turning away from him, back facing him as he hastily does the ties of his clothing.

“Kid’s gonna be here soon,” Wukong says, very obviously hinting for Macaque to leave already.

Macaque glances at the window, raising a brow at the moon now high in the sky before looking back to Wukong. “Tch, seriously? Isn’t it too late for him to be out right now?”

“He’s sleeping over, smart guy.”

Macaque only huffs, grabbing the towel and using it to clean himself up. He wonders if that’s actually true, or if Wukong was just lying to get him out of his house. Well, whatever. As much as he’d prefer staying and pestering Wukong with his mere existence as he heals off the soreness, Macaque knows he should be leaving instead. There was no longer a reason for him to be here, anyways, and they had nothing to discuss.

He sits up, flinching at the shooting pain in his ass and thighs, as well as the raging ache from the bites and marks over his shoulders and neck. His body is sore all over, and Macaque feels like he’d just lost a year-long battle. Damn, that hurt. 

He shrugs to himself. It’s not like he didn’t ask for it.

The shadow hisses through his teeth as he attempts to bend down for his pants. His hand immediately flies to his hip to soothe the utter agony that rests there, and he instead uses his tail to lift up the clothing, the way he probably should have just done at first. Even with supernatural healing, it still felt like it wasn’t fast enough to ease the pain. Whatever.

From the corner of his eye, he catches Wukong stretching his arms above his head, joints popping, already done dressing himself, it seems. Aside from the faint pink dusting his cheeks and slightly rumpled clothing, it was hard to guess what Wukong had just been up to.

‘Wish I could say the same for myself,’ He thinks bitterly, pouting as he throws his hanfu and pants back on, not caring enough to tie it up and instead just leaving his abused chest exposed. He looks like he’d been put through a blender.

Though largely unideal, Macaque supposes his appearance didn’t really matter in the moment.

He was going straight home, anyways, and didn’t really have any other sort of business to attend to other than knocking out for the night.

He hears a snicker from over his shoulder.

Macaque silently summons his last few ounces of patience before he turns around to Wukong’s childish little smile, a laugh caught in his throat.

“What now?”

“You look worse than usual.”

“Yeah, I wonder why. I look like I spent my night getting mauled by a tiger,” Macaque deadpans, smoothing down the sweat-slick fur on his chest. Dried blood hardens small sections of his fur, causing the warrior to tsk with frustration. The blood was always the worst part of cleaning up afterwards.

A humorless scoff is his response, the little smile wiped clean off of his face, replaced by a look of annoyance. Good. “Well, you’re the one who always comes crawling back.”

Macaque ignores him, rolling his eyes.

He opens his mouth to correct the idiot, stopping as soon as he realizes his error. ‘I didn’t say it was a bad thing,’ he nearly makes the fatal mistake of making.

But Wukong’s ego is a malnourished wild animal trapped in captivity, ready to sink its fangs into anything resembling even a scrap of praise. And Macaque wasn’t the type to feed into it anymore than he needed to- the fact that he was willing to bend over and take Wukong’s dick was more than enough to stave off his ego’s eternal hunger for validation as long as they continued to hook up.

So, with that, he hurriedly picks up his boots and socks from the ground, eager to leave. He’s much too worn out to deal with this manchild, especially with his prickly temper reserved only for him (something Macaque takes great pride in). Right now, Macaque’s biggest priority was flopping into the comfort of his own bed and sleeping off the soreness.

His eyes flit over the floor, then over the bed, searching. His red cape always seemed to just fall off of the face of the earth every time he needed it.

“Looking for this old thing?” Wukong asks boredly, offering the cape with one hand. Macaque approaches him to grab it, but just as he reaches out, Wukong pulls it away, a look of sudden remembrance on his face.

“Oh, before I forget, the kid and I are going on a boat ride with the blue guy and the others tomorrow. He wants to know if you’re going, for some reason. I’m not sure who convinced him you’re good company,” He tuts with a halfhearted shrug.

Macaque snatches his cape from Wukong, glaring at him over a toothy grin. “Well, you certainly seem to think so.”

Red blooms on Wukong’s cheeks, and his brows raise high, suddenly flustered. How funny it was, that he could utter such filthy things in bed with ease, but then have the gall to act surprised when those same things were being said to him in any other setting.

“Tch, not true. I’ve had way better than you.”

Macaque’s grin drops instantaneously. What a low blow.

Despite the sleepiness enveloping him, the remark is almost enough to make him tear Wukong’s tongue right out of his maw just so he doesn’t have to hear him run his mouth anymore. The fucker turns away from him, mouth opening like he wants to say something before he promptly closes it, expression almost sheepish.

Maybe next time he’d clock him clean in the face.

“Well, tell the kid I’m not going,” He replies instead. He doesn’t know why MK bothers to invite him, either, truthfully. Macaque wouldn’t exactly consider himself the life of the party, and he almost always denies requests to just ‘hang out’. If he’s being honest, though, Macaque simply prefers not having to deal with Wukong if he doesn’t have to.

Especially in any setting that wasn’t either violent, or sexual.

Things between them got nasty very, very quickly, and Macaque didn’t want to involve the poor kid in their bad blood. Best to just stay out of it altogether.

“Thank the gods. You drag everyone down,” Wukong muses, absently inspecting his claws and digging out black tufts of fur from under them. Macaque wistfully hopes he chokes on the fur he hopefully ingested when he bit him.

“What can I say, I have a way with people,” Macaque replies with an easy smirk, brushing off his cape. Wukong tended to tear and rip Macaque’s clothes carelessly when they fell into bed, and the warrior always worried that his precious cape would be a victim of such abuse one day. Thankfully- or, rather, miraculously- it’s managed to remain fully intact, aside from its usual battle tears.

Macaque pauses in his movements, ear flicking. Footsteps outside.

“What do you hear?” Wukong asks, immediately, pushing off of the wall to spring into action.

Macaque resumes his cape-cleaning with a sigh. “Kid’s here.” Then, he tosses his cape over his shoulder, knowing his time here was up.

“Well, hurry up, then,” Wukong urges, eyes wide with panic and waving his hands in a ‘shoo’ motion and making his way to the door as if Macaque couldn’t easily drop into a shadow portal in half a second and leave. He always seemed to overthink everything when it came to MK, always seemed to fret and worry like a mother hen. It stirs an uncomfortable, twisted feeling of sickness in his gut, a feeling that always seemed to rear its ugly head when Macaque sees Wukong with the kid.

A feeling he prefers not to think too hard about, fearful of what that might say about himself.

He scowls coldly when MK’s voice enters his ears, then grimaces, appalled at his own bitterness.

“Monkey King? I’m here! Uh- I bought a buncha snacks and movies!” He hears the sound of junk hitting the ground outside. “Ah, could I get some help? I bought all the seasons of Monkey King: The Animated Series with me!”

Macaque watches as Wukong leaves out the door, not even sparing a glance to see if he’d left or not.

The joyful sound of Wukong’s laughter and warm welcomes fills the air as he nears the front door. Whatever words are being exchanged between the two rapidly fades into white noise. Macaque glares weakly at the floorboard, nose crinkling.

Quickly, he opens a portal, falling into the floor and into the familiar darkness of his dojo’s bedroom. The mirthful sound of their chatty voices abruptly shifts to something infinitely quieter. His room was always so serenely quiet. Having sensitive ears wasn’t exactly the best gift when he was trying to relax, and the everlasting silence of his room was peaceful, bathed in soft moonlight and whispering winds outside.

Now, though, as the sounds of laughter and conversation he did not belong in ring fresh in his ears, Macaque finds the quietness unsettling. Wildly, almost viciously unwelcoming. The shadows near his bed seem darker than usual, and he shivers despite not feeling cold, going straight for the comfort of his blankets.

The blankets feel cold once he’s tucked under them.

But, he’s dealt with worse. Much worse. Macaque was better than getting upset over some cold blankets. He was better than getting upset over someone he hasn’t considered a friend in centuries treating him like some porch cat that just wouldn’t leave.

He was better than getting upset at MK, who just got along so easily with his former friend like fire and gasoline. As easily as breathing, the way it used to be for Macaque.

Macaque shakes his head, pulling the blankets over his ears.

No, he’s a new person now, with new oxygen galvanizing him.

There was no need for him to be hung up on things from so long ago- not in any manner other than with rotting rage.

Anything else met with fondness or sweet summer smiles perished long ago, right beside his corpse.

Macaque shuts his eyes, willing himself to just sleep already. He was tired of thinking.

Sounds of distant laughter seep into his dreams.

Chapter Text

Macaque parries another strike, weaving through MK’s attacks with ease. The kid is fast to react- faster than he’d seen before- and he almost manages to strike him, whiffing his cape.

“Get ‘im, MK!” The dragon girl encourages from the side, pumping her fists in the air as she cheers him on. The pig and Tang sit beside her, watching in rapt attention at the kid’s progress, offering an occasional cheer here and there.

The encouragement spurs MK on, and he’s quicker on his feet. But, with a few shadow clones and illusory Macaques, he’s thrown off pretty easily, aiming for every Macaque but the real one. The warrior gets a good hit on his unguarded back, making the kid cry out in pain. The responding counterattack nearly gets him- even makes Macaque stumble momentarily before he rights himself.

The warrior can’t help but feel a bit of pride bloom in his chest. The kid is making excellent progress.

He’s learning at a remarkably fast rate- for all his ditziness, he never made the same mistake twice. If Macaque told him he’d done something wrong, like incorrect footing or stance, MK would simply nod his head, not repeating his error even once after.

Though he was initially greatly skeptical of MK’s power, Macaque admits to himself now that he sees why Wukong took to him so quickly.

After a far too-wide swing, MK is left entirely vulnerable- an opening. Macaque lunges, shadow staff slamming clean into the kid’s gut. It’s a nasty hit.

With an inhuman sound, MK stumbles, falling straight onto his ass and dropping the staff. Clouds of dirt are kicked up into the air from his fall.

Steeling himself, Macaque dashes for the kid while he’s down. MK makes this odd, shrill scream in response, a scream that acts like a dog whistle to Macaque’s sensitive ears. The warrior grits his teeth at the sound, but persists, aiming straight for the kid as he guards his face with his arms.

In an instant, Wukong is before him, blocking his shadow staff with his bare hand, a dangerous look on his face. He stands between Macaque and MK- an impassible barrier.

The shadow flinches, swift to erase any hint of surprise on his face.

“Seriously? Are you trying to kill him again?” He snaps, shoving the staff away before turning back to the kid, whipping his head back to the kid when MK grunts.

“Not this time, believe it or not,” Macaque dismisses coolly, rubbing soothingly at one of his ears. Jeez, Wukong’s overreacting. Of course he wasn’t trying to kill MK- he didn’t hate him that much. In fact, he was actually going to pull away last minute. He didn’t have it in him to seriously harm the kid.

Well, not anymore.

MK is quick to dust himself off, back on his feet within minutes with a determined expression and a beaming smile, one that practically oozes confidence. He’s littered in bruises and sweaty all over from the sweltering heat and rigorous combat, but still picks up his staff and gives it a flashy twirl, approaching Macaque once again.

The shadow laughs. “What- you want more?”

Wukong plants a hand on the kid’s chest, stopping him in place, jaw tense. He turns to Macaque, fixing him with a glare that could kill a man and crosses his arms.

“No, he doesn’t.”

MK raises a brow, head whipping to the king with confusion. “Why-”

“Bud, we are not just sweeping that under the rug. He was seriously gonna hurt you!”

Macaque tsks, aloof, giving his staff a spin before resting it on the back of his shoulders. As always, Wukong acts like a sick mother towards the kid despite MK’s rapidly growing strength, acting as if the kid was a baby deer taking its first steps and entirely unfamiliar with the ABC’s of combat at this point.

MK’s a good fighter. Wukong needs to treat him like one.

“I wasn’t actually gonna hurt him, bud,” He spits. “But, he totally thought I was.”

MK nods in agreement.

“No, yeah, I totally thought so.”

“Dude, same,” The dragon girl very helpfully chimes in from the side, eyes wide. The pig and Tang murmur amongst themselves in agreement, and, judging by the pig’s expression, Macaque is certain he’s in for some choice words, but good ol’ Tang is able to calm him down before much can happen (He knew there was a reason he took to Tang so quickly). Thank the gods- that pig could get harsh with his words when he wanted to be.

Wukong huffs, drawing Macaque’s attention, his arms outstretched in a questioning manner.

“How is that any better?”

Macaque smirks, all teeth.

“So glad you asked, Monkey King!” He begins, sarcastically. “MK’s gotta learn how to deal with people who fight dirty. You can’t expect some baddie to be nice enough to just let him get up,” He explains.

For once, he’s not just saying that to piss off the king- Macaque believes that wholeheartedly. What sane enemy is just gonna let MK catch his breath out of courtesy? What sane enemy would cease their attacks because, what, he was in pain? Because he cried, begged, and screamed for them to stop?

It was a disgusting way to learn how cruel fights could really get.

And MK didn’t deserve to learn the reality of combat the hard way.

Wukong scowls harshly, his brows knitted in utter rage.

“Well, there are better ways to teach him that than your poor display of ‘mentoring’,” He berates, using air quotes.

‘Yeah, you taught me firsthand,’ Macaque almost, almost says, the words dangerously close to spilling out of his mouth. In fact, he opens his mouth to say just that before thinking better. This really wasn’t the time or place for that- no matter how much he’d just love to really disrespect the sage in front of his disciple.

Instead, he settles for something a little less… obvious.

“Totally. In fact, I think you’ve got a better idea of it than I do,” The shadow jeers, smirk widening.

And the real cherry on top is the look Wukong fixes him with- that look he always got when a problem couldn’t immediately be solved by slamming his fist straight through it. Troubled and extraordinarily pissed off. The tip of his tail flicks hard against the ground.

“Either way,” Wukong seethes, choosing to change the subject altogether, it seems. Anything to make himself look better in front of the kid. The warrior scoffs inwardly. He never changes.

“I’m taking it from here. Your dumb lesson just got cut short, so, y’know, cope,” He dismisses, waving a hand flippantly in a ‘shoo’ gesture.

The warrior’s hands grip harder around his staff- if he wasn’t already getting shit for his teaching methods, he’d sock the shit out of that smug-ass bastard right about now. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d fought when they were supposed to be training MK.

MK glances to his friends, who merely shrug with wide eyes, before looking back to his mentors.

“So, uh, do I get a say in this, or…”

“’Fraid not, kiddo!” The king answers, practically lighting up once he speaks to the kid, doing a complete 180. MK sputters, but, before he can say much, is taken by Wukong, arm slung over his shoulder.

“Alright, bud, so, lemme teacher you a thing or two about some defensive maneuvers properly.”

And, just like that, they leave Macaque. MK spares a final glance to him, almost apologetically, but he has nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t his fault Wukong was way too possessive over him.

Well, whatever. He was just about done with his training, anyways. Plus, he didn’t want to play tug of war with the kid (like when he first became his mentor and the kid’s lessons largely consisted of he and Wukong butting heads and not training him at all).

Ignoring the faint pang of envy in his chest as they walk away, Macaque seamlessly falls into a portal, dropping himself onto a nearby tree and reclining against the bark.

He huffs to himself, watching the duo spread out for battle from the corner of his eye. The dragon girl excitedly whips out her phone, recording them as they ready themselves. If Macaque remembers correctly, she joined today to… what was the word? ‘Chase clout,’ (according to MK) by using Wukong’s celebrity status, or something like that.

Oh, and also to spar with MK, as well.

The warrior shoves his hand into a shadow portal, stealing a peach from his favorite reservoir- the inside of Wukong’s cabinet, where he hides the sweetest ones. He chews it slowly, watching the sage speak animatedly to the kid from across the training ground, spilling his wizardly wisdom (also known as bullshit) onto him.

He watches the kid, who nods his head with an unfaltering focus in his eyes. Then, he looks to Tang and his other friends. They speak leisurely to eachother, quieting down once MK and Wukong begin to dart around the field.

Macaque can’t help but let his mind drift.

The Lady Bone Demon had really shaken everyone up.

Shaken up MK in that he wanted more intense training, and even begged Wukong to let Macaque train him seriously, just so he could learn at a faster rate. He wasn’t there to witness it, but Macaque would gladly trade his good eye just to see how devastated Wukong was at the mere prospect. What a shame. Wukong certainly wasn’t happy for the first few days he was teaching, that was for sure.

And the dragon girl seemed to be taking an interest in learning from Wukong lately, too. She hadn’t actually sparred with him, or anything- just seemed to watch MK train with him from the side and mentally take notes. Despite wielding the Samadhi Fire, she wasn’t ready to regularly train just yet, and it seemed like she was aware of that. First things first- she needed to get that world-ending fire entirely under control.

And the one she called ‘Red Boy’ was the only one capable of doing that. Despite his countless fiery outbursts, he did actually seem to know what he was talking about.

As for the pig and Tang, well, that was easy. They never once showed up to Wukong’s lessons until Macaque became MK’s other mentor- he remembers hearing the sage say that himself. It was so obvious they were here because they didn’t trust him, watching like hawks alongside Wukong himself for even one slip-up.

Which, fair. It hurts- but be supposes he had that coming.

MK dashes along the field. Whether Wukong likes it or not, Macaque’s forward approach to defending himself is already in effect- any counterattack Wukong uses is, at the very least, blocked, or shoved away in a much quicker, more effective way. A parry in response would be better, but it’s a good start.

He’s sure Wukong notices, too, if his miffed expression is anything to go by.

The warrior feels his chest thrum with pride.

He smiles to himself, then yawns, looking up at the sky through the leaves overhead. The sun twinkles over his good eye when a humid breeze rustles the thick foliage.

Macaque doesn’t blame the kid for wanting more lessons.

And as much as he hates to say it, Wukong is a good teacher. At least, when he's actually teaching and not napping, or making MK do his chores. He’s always upbeat and gives great advice, even if it seems a little vague at times. He never got angry with the kid, and offered uplifting encouragement every time he does something correctly. He has a way of steering MK in the right direction while giving him the space and flexibility to figure out a solution on his own.

Macaque still remembers when he and Wukong would joke about how awful of a mentor he would be. Damn, he felt old.

And even though MK sometimes had a quip or playfully questioned Wukong, he followed his advice almost religiously.

Macaque grimaces.

And that was his problem.

He puts Wukong on a pedestal. Looks at him with stars in his eyes, like the king holds the sun itself in his hands. He’d seen but a mere glimpse at how ugly Wukong could get in serious times, and still had full faith in him. Believed in him so wholeheartedly.

And when Macaque sees him look at Wukong with the same admiration he once held for the king, all he sees is the kid grabbing a shovel and digging his own grave.

Though the memories are old, Macaque remembers them with a crisp clearness- the days when he and Wukong were close like that, once upon a time. Days that were long gone and become tainted with bitterness when he thinks about them for too long.

And Macaque wasn’t blind- of course Wukong had changed over the years. Kind of. He was still a pretentious fucker who was stubborn as hell and way too prideful. Never seemed to know the difference between backing out of a fight out of fear and leaving because there truly was no other option. Instead, he categorized both options under the same label: cowardly.

But, with MK, he seems a little… kinder?

More forgiving?

Macaque couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But there’s a softness in the way he looks at the kid, like a proud old fool.

And, well, Macaque doesn’t ever recall Wukong looking at him so kindly, but that’s not the point.

Macaque can see his naive younger self in MK. Which meant that he also saw MK so blindly falling into the same trap he did, like a sheep wandering into a lion’s den. And there’s nothing he can do but prepare him for when that happens, hence his ‘immoral’ training methods, which just breaks his heart.

His methods might be mean, even violent. But they got the point across.

MK has to be able to retaliate.

He cares about MK. He really does. The kid’s just too pure for this world. Too pure to be learning from someone as deceptively dangerous as Wukong.

Now, Macaque doesn’t think Wukong would do anything too… treacherous to MK.

But he also once thought the same thing about himself.

So.

Better to be safe than sorry. He doesn’t want MK to make the same mistake he did by trusting that backstabber.

Ah, well. He supposes he doesn’t have any room to talk.

Well, if he looks like a complete and utter asshole keeping the kid safe, then so be it.

He takes another bite out of the peach, its core now exposed. With his other hand, Macaque pillows his head, stretching his legs out and crossing them. It’s scorching hot outside, and, really, he couldn’t have picked a worse day to wear his usual long sleeve. Using the back of his hand, he wipes away some sweat. Even the coolness of the shadows seem too hot right now.

He watches Wukong all but toy with the kid, who gives it everything he’s got. The warrior almost snickers at the sight. It was so obvious Wukong was holding back with the kid, and, though his strikes are strong enough to leave craters in the ground, to Macaque they look like he’s fighting with plush pillows on his shins and fists.

And he just looks so in his element. So focused, but in a lofty, almost whimsical way. Just enjoying himself, really. The king laughs heartily when MK stumbles at a hard kick to his staff, his smile crinkling the edges of his eyes.

It’s… a charming sight, actually. It’s that honey-sweet smile Macaque once knew.

He huffs, a faint ache in his chest. Gods, he needs to get a grip.

The shadow swallows a dry lump of his peach, scraping his nails over the pit aimlessly. He hates being so hung up on the past. But, if there was an easy way to get over it, he would have done so a long fucking time ago. He thinks about leaving, since, apparently, his lesson was over. The taste of peaches are still sweet on his tongue, and it makes him feel… antsy.

Peaches.

Macaque looks to Wukong again, auburn fur slightly tousled and a competitiveness burning in his eyes, wordlessly challenging the kid. His fangs gleam over a wicked grin. He’s got the upper hand, and he knows it.

It’s a look Macaque is familiar with in an entirely different context.

Macaque flushes, turning away.

Shit.

This is some awful timing to be thinking like that.

Wukong’s determined and quick on his feet, striking MK’s staff so hard it rings through the air. He moves so gracelessly, so uncoordinated and improvising his moves on the fly, just making shit up as he goes and hoping it works out, like he’s always done.

Gods, he’s always done a good job of that.

Macaque shifts, very grateful that he sits in the shade where he’s out of view. Damn, now he’s horny. He tosses the peach pit aside with a scowl, as if the stupid thing personally offended him. It may as well have- because now if he wants dick he’ll have to wait ‘till the lesson was over. The scent was driving him crazy, and he’d much rather have something else in his mouth right now.

He wonders absently if Wukong would fuck him at this very moment.

Something clicks into place in his head.

Now, that was an idea.

One Wukong would be very, very unhappy with.

So, really, it wasn’t just an idea, but an excellent one.

Macaque knows he shouldn’t. Knows that even just asking the king outright would make him erupt with outrage on the spot. They’d never done something so risky, primarily Wukong, who wouldn’t be caught dead with Macaque in such a situation, so he knows his chances are slim- if they’re even there to begin with.

He considers for another moment before just settling on asking the king once he gets a chance. Even if it didn’t end with him getting laid, the idea of royally pissing off Wukong before taking his leave was just too good to pass up.

So, he waits.

Waits a painstaking amount of time, just watching them train from his perch on the tree. There’s a few fleeting moments where Macaque thinks he’ll get Wukong alone, like when they stop for a moment to discuss the matter of MK’s training, or something like that, before they get right back into it.

And it’s frustrating. Really, it must only be maybe half an hour, but it feels like an eternity to Macaque. Time feels particularly sluggish today. Now that he’s got the idea stuck in his head, it just will not stop pestering him until he’s at least asked his question. On the off chance Wukong says yes, they’d have to be quick about it. Quick enough to get themselves both off while knowing they run the risk of someone getting too curious.

He doesn’t care if he’s being obvious- everyone else was watching them fight, anyways. Sunlight burns over the orange of Wukong’s fur, giving him this heavenly glow as he leaps and turns through the air. He’s practically dancing around his disciple, toying with him like a bullfighter waving a red cape. He’s not even breaking a sweat, but Macaque certainly knows what he looks like when he does.

Knows what he looks like when he’s hot and sweating and towering over him, red on his face and heat in his eyes. Macaque wants to make his power his- in an entirely different sense.

The warrior’s dick twitches unhelpfully in his pants.

This was such a bad idea. Maybe that’s what’s so enticing about it.

Finally, finally, it seems to be about halftime.

Wukong steps away from the kid, who runs to his friends with great excitement. The pig gives him a proud pat on the back, and he distantly registers MK asking the dragon girl to spar with him next. There’s four of them- they should be able to occupy themselves for long enough. He doesn’t hear the girl’s response- her voice had already faded into background noise.

Wukong steps to the foot of his house, picking up a bag of those peach chips he loves so much and shoveling them into his mouth like a complete slob. Crumbs fall onto his breastplate. Macaque grimaces at the sight, and the sexy figment he’d thought up is shattered by the hammer of reality. Wukong’s lucky he’s got a good dick on him.

He’s not sure if they’re taking a break or if they were done training, but Macaque couldn’t care less- it’s hot outside, he’s horny, and he really doesn’t want to take care of it himself, especially not when his favorite fucktoy was right there, wasting oxygen. He normally wouldn’t do this, but Macaque feels like spinning the wheel today.

With that, he hops off the branch and falls into a portal, warping right next to the king.

The king is unphased by Macaque’s sudden appearance.

“Whaddya want now?” He drawls, not even glancing at the shadow.

 He hops onto a somersault cloud, reclining back on its lofty fluffiness and eating his chips at his leisure. His brows pinch together in mild annoyance at Macaque’s signature smirk, irritated with him before he can even utter a single word. That has to be a record.

He spares a wary glance to the kid and his friends- they’re sitting far enough that they won’t hear him.

Wukong notices this, narrowing his eyes in great suspicion. Macaque only hums, giving Wukong his best sultry gaze and lowering his voice, leaning in so his words reach only Wukong’s ears, but not close enough to look out of place.

“Why don’t you come find out?”

The hand rummaging around in the bag freezes in place, and the look on his face can only best be described as completely incredulous, mouth agape and brows raised high. Macaque has no clue if that’s a good or bad thing, but he’d much rather not stick around to find out if it’s the latter.

So, as he brushes his tail along Wukong’s wrist with flighty promises of something more, Macaque slinks into yet another shadow portal, dropping himself onto the couch of Wukong’s living room. He stretches, joints popping, then leans back on the cushion and spreads his legs. Blessedly, Wukong had left the air conditioning on.

He doesn’t count on the sage showing up anytime soon- if he has a choice between spending time with the kid or Macaque, there’s no guessing who he’ll choose.

Which hurts, surprisingly enough, but it’s also true.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Within mere moments, the door opens. Wukong slams it before Macaque can even turn around to look at him, ears ringing at the noise he was entirely unprepared for. Gods, he may as well wave around a neon sign to everyone outside while he’s at it.

“Uh- seriously?” Wukong snaps. Macaque ignores him in favor of rubbing the palm of his hand soothingly at one of his ears. “It couldn’t wait? Don’t you have any shame? What if the kids heard you?” He reprimands, voice undeniably angry, but still quiet enough that no one outside could hear.

Ooh, testy, testy. Macaque snickers, deeply amused that Wukong even went out of his way to come tell him off the moment he’d asked. He expected to wait here for nearly an hour before the king even made his grand appearance.

“Hey, hey, don’t get mad at me,” Macaque scoffs, waving a hand dismissively. “You didn’t have to show up, y’know. I was gonna leave soon anyways- just wanted to see if I could get some dick or not, first.”

Macaque stands up, walking around the couch to face the king and leans back against it, shoulders raised as he rests his elbows leisurely on the backrest. He eyes Wukong, feigning nonchalance, who only glares back at him with his arms crossed and his tail lashing wildly at the floor.

Oh, he’s livid.

Macaque bites back a laugh. If he laughs now, he’ll never hear the end of it, even well after he leaves. He instead smirks as if that will lessen the incoming blow.

Wukong tsks, icy glare intensifying. “And during my lesson, too. D’you really think I have nothing better to do?”

Macaque rolls his eyes, and the smile plastered on his face is snide. He lets Wukong continue talking, if not for fact that Macaque gets a wicked thrill from seeing him so pissed off. Some things never change, he supposes.

“Psh, since when do you worry so much about consequences?” Macaque taunts, playfully.

The king points an accusatory finger at the shadow in response.

“Hey- unlike you, I’ve actually got a reputation to uphold. Do you have any idea what a stain you’d be on that?”

Macaque’s smirk falls, and his little flame is stomped out. The harsh look on Wukong’s face wavers, and, if he looks closely enough, Macaque can see traces of something that borders on apologetic. Whatever he has to say next, though, Macaque doesn’t want to hear a single word of.

Just like that, his smirk right back on his face, twisting into something venomous and sinister- it’s the only warning Wukong gets before he slugs him hard across the face.

Wukong stumbles back, palm clasped over his face. When he removes his hand, blood runs over his mouth, leaking from his nose.

A wicked laugh bubbles from Macaque’s throat- gods, that felt good- and he’s certain that just another fight they can add to their streak is about to break out right here in Wukong’s house. He’s proven wrong when, instead of just lunging at him, the king suddenly marches over to him. He thumbs away the blood and doesn’t once break eye contact.

Macaque tenses, raising another fist, swinging once Wukong gets too close, but it’s swiftly caught in a bruising grip, his knuckles popping painfully beneath Wukong’s palm. Macaque cries out, and is spun around by his fist so that his back presses against Wukong’s front. He nearly yelps when Wukong brings his other arm under his shoulder.

The warrior growls, brows pinched in frustration as he tries to free himself. Before he can cuss Wukong out for even restraining him instead of fighting him like a man, the king rests his chin over Macaque’s shoulder.

His scowl sours, but, before the warrior can get a word out, he gives Macaque a quick onceover. Macaque’s outrage is put on hold for a brief moment when he gets a closer look at his eyes. This close, he can see that his pupils are blown, and Macaque’s ears pick up the sound of a rampant heartbeat, the sound of his tail thumping against the floor.

“If you’d let me finish talking, you’d realize I didn’t come here just to argue with you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Wukong spins him around by his bruised fist so he faces him, then gets his hands on Macaque’s waist, pulling him closer. A flame alights in the shadow’s chest at the heated look Wukong fixes him with, the adrenaline pumping through his veins now coursing through him for an entirely different reason.

Their lips crash together, all teeth and tongue, and Macaque’s hands fly up to grip at Wukong’s shirt. The taste of salted peach chips are thick on his tongue, and Macaque’s never been more addicted to the flavor. Heavy hands drag down Macaque’s body, running over the fabric of his hanfu and over his hips. Wukong is particularly rough today, one of his hands coming up to grab the back of Macaque’s head, gripping his fur and yanking hard.

Macaque grunts, head being forced back and exposing his neck. Wukong immediately attaches his lips to his neck, fangs sinking in and ripping a low moan from Macaque. He growls at the king, who only ignores him as he busies himself with Macaque’s neck, licking and sucking as he pleases.

“And don’t make this a habit,” Wukong growls lowly into his throat.

“I would never,” Macaque lies.

His hands slide into Macaque’s hanfu, palms dragging over his torso and chest and touching every part of Macaque that they can reach. Calloused hands map out a familiar body beneath them, determined not to leave any stone unturned. Fires are left in their wake, and Macaque shudders under his touch, gripping at Wukong’s strong biceps and shoulders.

Wukong wastes no time whatsoever, and neither does Macaque. Something about knowing that there’s an invisible timer rapidly depleting over their heads excites the shadow, makes his pants feel much too tight. Hands run over the other excitedly, almost frantically, desperate to claw out a deep-seated hunger from the confines of their conscience.

Wukong nips hard at his bottom lip, swallowing down the cry when he licks into his mouth with an open-mouthed kiss. Claws clutch hard at his fur, rumpling Macaque’s clothing, and he’s not sure if it’s just Wukong’s heat pressing against him or the weighted risk of someone walking in, but Macaque really wants to skip foreplay and just get to the part where he gets dicked down already.

He barely registers Wukong’s voice through the rapidly growing haze of lust clogging his system.

“I really didn’t appreciate you shit-talking me earlier, y’know. Or punching me in the face.”

The warrior hisses through his teeth when Wukong sinks his fangs into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, craning his head for him.

“Yeah- believe it or not, most people don’t.”

“You shouldn’t be talking shit anyways, ‘cause if your mouth is useful for anything, it’s one thing.”

Macaque swallows thickly, face reddening at the implication. A noisy gasp is pulled from his lungs when Wukong’s palm meets his crotch, only to uselessly freeze in place instead of provide him with the friction he needs. The king’s gaze is suddenly drawn downwards, directly at Macaque’s dick, eyes wide.

“What?” The shadow questions.

“You’re already hard,” Wukong blurts, observant as ever, brows raised in surprise.

Macaque can feel his face burning with embarrassment. His stupid dick just provided Wukong with an infinite amount of blackmail material. He’ll never hear the end of the incoming jokes after this for getting too excited.

“Uh…” He gracefully begins, his usual list of quips frustratingly absent from his vocabulary at the moment.

Wukong’s pupils dilate, overtaking the gold in his eyes, and his tail whips and lashes at the floor. The claws on Macaque’s back move to the front of his clothing once more, gripping tightly.

“Shit,” Wukong swears, fingers trembling when he grabs Macaque’s fabric in a white-knuckle grip. His head hangs between his shoulders, gritting his teeth. Macaque’s eyes widen at this- it seems like he wasn’t the only one who’d gotten turned on so quickly. Sure, he could make fun of the king, but, damn if it wasn’t hot.

When Wukong brings his gaze up to meet his again, a feralness runs wild in the gold of his eyes.

“Get these damn clothes off,” He orders, leaving no room for argument.

Macaque would not consider himself the obedient type, and certainly not for Wukong, but he swears he’s never been quicker to rip off his clothing than he was in that moment. He’s left in merely his pants, clothes piled carelessly on the floor.

The king sneers, predatory, then grabs Macaque by his arms, harshly shoving his back against the closest wall. Macaque cries out in surprise, but recovers quickly enough to surge forward with enthusiasm to meet Wukong’s lips, eager for the taste of salty peaches to ruin his body from the inside out. It’s a chaste kiss- not nearly enough to satisfy him.

He’s pacified when he realizes Wukong only broke the kiss to shuck off his breastplate of gold and the undershirt, left in only his pants. When he kisses Macaque again, his hands meet his waist, fingers slipping into his last layer of fabric- but they don’t go further than that, settling just above his cock. It’s tortuous in the most tantalizing way.

With a grunt, Macaque pulls away, glancing to their clothes on the floor, then to the door, then back to Wukong. Faintly, like hearing through glass, he can hear the pig and Tang’s conversation. Something about noodles.

“D’you wanna take this to your room?”

“Ah, we’re fine- just gotta be quick, is all.”

Now that makes Macaque’s brows raise high. And here he thought Wukong would take him up on that. Macaque’s perfectly fine just being in the open where anyone could just walk in (so long as someone didn’t actually walk in), but Wukong? Not a chance.

That’s what he thought, anyways.

He laughs around a breathy moan.

“I don’t give you enough credit, Wukong.”

Macaque flushes as Wukong’s fangs find his chest, brushing over one his hardened nipples before taking it and rolling it between his teeth gently. He suppresses a groan, eyes pinched shut.

The king hums around Macaque’s nipple, laving his tongue over it before pulling off of him with a harsh nip at the sensitive bud, tearing a hushed cry of surprise from the warrior. Wukong’s gaze is lustful when he looks up at Macaque between his pecs like he owns them.

“Honestly, when have you ever?”

Petty little bitch.

Wukong continues with his journey of marking up Macaque’s chest, suckling and claiming as he pleases. He leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses over the muscle of his chest, seeming pretty content with doing just that. Normally, Macaque wouldn’t have a problem with Wukong’s leisurely activity (because if he did, Wukong would only move slower out of spite), but they literally didn't have the time for this.

“Can’t you go any faster?” He snaps, tempted to smack Wukong over the head just for testing him.

“Can’t you keep your mouth shut?”

“Do something about it,” He challenges.

“I will.”

Wukong stands upright, now eye level with Macaque, placing his hands firmly on his shoulders.

Macaque doesn’t even get the chance to blink before he’s forced to his knees.

The force exerted is so monumental that it felt as if a mountain was suddenly dropped on him, and Macaque is left reeling afterwards, breath stuttering as his knees cry out in agony. Kneeling before the king, he can only look up at him with that intoxicating mix of terror and lust that only Wukong could induce in him. The warrior’s eyes drag down Wukong’s frame, mouth watering at the bulge caught in his pants.

Towering over him, the king glowers at Macaque, hands quick to undo the ties of his clothing.

Macaque’s eyes flick to the door at a loud thump outside, followed by the sound of laughter. Every noise from outside sounds so much louder than usual.

Suddenly, a hand grabs his face, palm clamped over his mouth and claws digging into his cheeks. Macaque’s gaze is roughly directed back to the king, whose glare has only intensified, baring his teeth. Macaque can practically see his reflection in the fiery topaz of Wukong’s eyes.

“Don’t look away from me.”

Macaque vehemently smacks his hand away, mirroring his cold glare.

“I’ll do whatever I fucking want.”

The king’s eyes widen, astonished at Macaque’s disobedience as if that were something new, before he scoffs humorlessly.

Gripping the fabric of Wukong’s pants, the shadow yanks him closer before any more bullshit can come out of his mouth, earning an undignified yelp from the king. He’s never been the patient type, anyways.

He eases Wukong’s dick out of his pants, eagerly licking up from the base to the tip, the action ripping a loud gasp from him. Not kind enough to give him a chance to adjust to the heat of his tongue, Macaque goes down on his dick, enthusiastically taking as much as he can in one go. The head kisses the back of throat, nearly makes him gag, but Macaque’s not so easily discouraged.

One of Wukong’s hands frantically grip at his hair, the other flying up to his mouth to muffle a surprised moan. His voice wavers when he speaks.

“Ah, fuck- If you’re so worried about someone walking in… just, I dunno, take off your glamors. So you can hear if someone’s coming.”

It’s a halfhearted solution, one Macaque knows Wukong is just throwing out there because he doesn’t like when his attention is elsewhere.

But there’s no point in slowing things down just for that.

Macaque hums with fervor around Wukong’s length, savoring the taste. He sucks tightly, laving his tongue around the head and earning a stifled groan from Wukong. The thick scent of peaches fills his lungs and fogs his head, makes it so that all he can think about is getting as much of Wukong’s cock in his mouth as he can get. The king hisses through his teeth when Macaque starts bobbing his head, fisting his hand through dark hair in a white-knuckle grip.

He might not be able to take as much down his throat as Wukong could, but Macaque was the one with a skilled tongue- and he puts it to good use when he curls it over the king’s girth, using his hand to deftly stroke what he can’t swallow down. One of Wukong’s hands fly up to quiet his moan, and his hips stutter against him.

Wukong looks down at Macaque, eyes glazed over and red painting his cheeks, dragging his gaze down from his face to his dick heatedly like he’s a piece of meat. Macaque’s hard, almost painfully so, and Wukong gets an eyeful of the prominent tent in his pants, licking his lips. He starts to shallowly thrust into the warrior’s mouth. Sharp claws drag through his hair, and a hand comes to rest on his cheek in a mocking display of affection.

“Touch yourself.” Then, he sneers. “C’mon, I know you want to.”

Macaque glares, gagging around a harder thrust.

He considers disobeying again just to get another rise out of Wukong, but, ultimately, the shadow has a high he needs to chase too, so he does just that. Impatiently, he takes his own hardened cock out of his pants, pumping it with enthusiasm and humming with pleasure around Wukong’s cock, something the sage visibly welcomes when his eyes darken.

“Oh, so you can take orders.”

Macaque eases off of his length with a kiss at flushed head of the tip. Wukong’s dick shimmers with his saliva, practically begging him to swallow him down once more. He might be the one on his knees, but that doesn’t stop Macaque from sneering up at the king with a hardened defiance and a crooked grin to match, just daring him to try something.

“I do. Just not yours.”

“Ah, you’ll learn.”

The king hums, his thumb resting on his bottom lip and wiping away any excess saliva. The motion might border on saccharine sweet were it not for the smugness saturating Wukong’s smile. The warrior is stuck between wanting to smack his hand away or permitting the touch, finding that a lot of his bloodflow currently isn’t moving in an upwards direction.

The calloused thumb presses at his lip, easing into Macaque’s mouth with ease. The warrior sucks at the appendage, circling his tongue over it as he strokes himself with vigor, canting weakly into his hand. Wukong simply watches him with a hazy amusement, eyes hooded and his tail rapping hard at the floorboards.

“And you call me pathetic,” The king taunts.

The shadow’s dick twitches in his hand, and he swallows thickly.

Wukong presses his thumb down against his tongue, propping Macaque’s mouth open so he can slide his dick in once more. The warrior has no qualms- it means he doesn’t have to bother responding to the egotistical asshole it belongs to.

Oh, but Wukong isn’t kind this time. He thrusts just hard enough it has Macaque gagging, but not hard enough to hurt. It’s an addicting burn in his throat, one that makes his lashes flutter and makes pre bead at the head of his cock. He chokes around Wukong’s girth, eyes pinched shut as the head repeatedly abuses the back of his throat. A weighted heat brims inside of his very being, threatening to overflow.

Macaque strokes himself in tandem with each roll of Wukong’s powerful hips, breath hitching. Pressure builds hotly in the confines of his gut, boiling and desperate to spill over.

Not one to back down, Macaque releases his own cock in favor of gripping at Wukong’s waist and pulling him forward with each thrust, encouraging the other to shove his length deeper down his throat. He greedily runs his tongue over the veins and moans around his girth, inwardly preening when he pulls a breathy noise from the king above him.

The king groans lewdly, sweat running down his forehead and lust aflame in his eyes like holy fire. Again, Macaque can’t help but hate how good he looks like this. He wears dominance like a crown.

“What happened, Macaque?” Wukong goads, voice gravelly. Fingers brush away flecks of sweaty dark fur from his face. “Doesn’t seem like you wanna…” He trails off, tossing his head back with a low moan when the warrior hotly drags the flat of his tongue down his cock just to shut him up. If his mouth weren’t full, he’d laugh at how effectively that worked.

“Doesn’t seem like you wanna talk shit anymore…” The king continues, leering down at him with a smirk held together by brittle strings. “Why’s that?” He coos with a lilt in his voice.

The warrior glares up at him, pissed off at that remark in particular, even if it makes his cock pulse. Wukong just loves the sound of his own voice. One of these days he’ll humble the king properly, but, for now, he’ll have to make do and find some other way to gain the upper hand- no matter what card he has to pull from his deck.

He considers the silly option of unmasking his ears, like how Wukong so absently recommended earlier. Macaque’s willing to bet the king’s not actually expecting him to take them off, just said it to keep his attention on him. There’s no chance Wukong would take advantage of his heightened hearing should he drop the glamors- especially if he plans on getting his dick in him.

Still…

Wukong hadn’t seen his six ears in eons, and Macaque has no idea how he he’ll react. But, at the same time, it was nothing the king hadn’t seen before, so he supposes he’s not putting anything at risk. It’s a funny thought Macaque entertains. Only question- was he petty enough to do just that?

Of course he was.

Smirking over his cock, Macaque takes off his glamors.

Macaque gets the briefest look of surprise in its purest form on Wukong’s face before the king roughly pulls him off of his dick with a sharp, almost painful gasp. His other hand grips at the base of his weeping cock to take the edge off, a startled moan falling from his lips. He grits his teeth, panting hard in the quiet of the room.

“Ah- I wasn’t… Didn’t think you’d actually take them off,” He chokes out. Six ears pick up a frantic heartbeat, hammering against Wukong’s chest, and Macaque is forced to watch helplessly in the sage’s hold as a single glistening drop of pre falls to the floor and not in his mouth. Gods, he’s wasting it.

Before he can squeeze in a taunting remark at Wukong’s lack of stamina, his other hand meets Macaque’s on his hip, taking it in his own to lift him up from the floor. It’s a strangely sweet gesture, one Macaque wasn’t expecting at all, and he’s sure the surprise is written all over his face.

His legs buckle.

The warrior stumbles into Wukong’s arms, having long forgotten about the sting in his knees from being forced down so hard. It’s not that his legs were rendered useless, just that the soreness edging on painful caught him by surprise, was all. Still, the king catches him, brows arched in surprise.

“Woah, uh- d’you forget how to walk, or something?”

Though the words themself are teasing, Wukong carries a sincere concern in his gaze. 

The warrior tears himself away as if he’d been singed, nearly shoving Wukong away in his haste.

The sage opens his mouth to speak again, but Macaque beats him to it, wanting nothing more than to sweep that meager display of weakness under the rug as fast as possible.

“I’m fine. Just hurry up, already- Someone’s gonna wonder where you’re at,” He urges with a hoarseness in his voice, using the time crunch to his advantage. There’s no reason for Wukong to drag his ass today, and Macaque plans on exploiting that as much as he possibly can.

The look Wukong gives him is one he can’t quite decipher, but, very alarmingly, he says nothing. Just chooses to stroll to the nearby kitchen and give the island counter a pat-pat. Gross. But it’ll do the job for now.

Macaque just has to remind himself to never eat there under any circumstances, ever.

“Need me to carry you?”

The warrior’s eye twitches.

With an ache in his knees, he moves to stand at the foot of the counter, pointedly ignoring the silly question. His back faces Wukong, and he glances to the king for further instruction. Wukong places a hand flat on Macaque’s back, pressing and pressing until the shadow leans forward, bending him over until his chest is flat against the cold surface. The warrior flushes at having his ass up like this, but does his best to hide it.

Wukong hovers over him, hands placed on either side of his body. He's pissed off, but that's nothing new.

“I told you to tell me if I was hurting you.”

This again?

“You weren’t hurting me,” He seethes, glaring hard at him competitively over his shoulder. Unfortunately for the sage, he’s a few centuries too late to be caring about whether or not he’s hurting him. Should have worried about that when he tore his eye out.

“Promise you it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

It comes out a bit more venomous than intended, but who cares.

They weren’t having this argument again. The moment something hurts a little more than it really should, all of a sudden Wukong needs to bring it up every ten minutes to rub it into Macaque’s face. He’s tired of being reminded just how inferior he is to Wukong- banished to forever live in his shadow.

“Yeah- you don’t have to ‘handle it’, tough guy. You ever wanna get off without some kind of pain?” Wukong chides, irate.

Macaque opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, brows furrowing oddly.

 He’s doesn’t understand why such a thing would bother Wukong. Macaque likes it rough. He made that clear before they started this. The pain and soreness afterwards, or even during, was part of the package.

It was just sex, anyways. Why get so worked up over if he gets hurt? It’s not like they really had a healthy relationship outside of this. Not to mention, he actually thought Wukong would be more into the whole roughness thing than he was, if it meant he got to hurt him consensually… Was he wrong?

Left with an uncomfortable feeling spinning in his chest and entirely unsure of how to respond, he decides to instead step back into their circle of familiarity. He’d strayed far enough.

“Gods, by the time you finish talking, I’m not even gonna be in the mood anymore.”

That was payback for Wukong’s little jab about having better lays.

Wukong’s deafeningly quiet for a moment- not usually a good sign- and Macaque almost, almost feels bad. In fact, he spares a glance at the king behind him- just to see what the holdup is, of course, and not any other reason- and is met with a stone cold, borderline unfeeling glare. He can practically feel Wukong’s unbridled rage steaming off of him.

It almost makes Macaque laugh, actually, because he knows that really set him off. Just to be a dick, he raises his tail, brushing it playfully over the king’s nose and chin. He swishes it back and forth like the world’s most annoying metronome, grinning to himself as he fans the flames. Macaque likes to think himself fireproof.

His tail gets swatted away.

“Lube,” Wukong orders, hands meeting Macaque’s waist unkindly.

Macaque’s in for it now, and he knows it. The prospect makes his dick ache and makes his heart pound a little faster. There was little else that excited him as much as Wukong’s sheer strength, the immense power to tear the sky asunder, used for such a sinful purpose like this- not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

The warrior opens a small shadow portal beside himself, where Wukong is quick to shove his hand in and retrieve Macaque’s lube. He wastes no time whatsoever, lubing his fingers up before placing the bottle beside Macaque, nearly knocking it over in his haste. The warrior thrums with excitement, even more so when Wukong’s other hand presses flat against his lower back, brushing the base of his tail.

Wasting no time, he pulls Macaque’s pants down, not bothering to remove them entirely.

“Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“I never do,” He hums with a tune.

The moment the words leave his mouth, a lubed finger prods at his hole only once in warning before pressing inside. Macaque hums in response, taking the first finger with ease. The invisible time limit only continues to drain, and the warrior has no clue what number it’s at, so, within mere moments, he’s already asking for another finger.

Wukong is quick to oblige, the addition of his second finger now a pleasant stretch. Macaque lets out a close-mouthed moan, an innate warmth mounting into volcanic blazes inside of the pit of his stomach. His now neglected dick begs to be touched again, so Macaque reaches down, but is swiftly caught by the wrist. Stunned, he looks to the king over his shoulder, who merely looms over him with dominance.

“You don’t get to touch that anymore.”

“I don’t need your permission to-” He’s cut off by a pathetically whiny gasp when Wukong’s fingers press into that spot that really makes him see stars. Infuriatingly, he only fucks him like that maybe once or twice before driving his fingers away from it, smiling deviously.

The king leans over him now, his body heat enveloping Macaque. Teeth find his shoulder, nibbling at the body beneath him with fervor. Hot breath ghosts over six ears, shaky and excited. With one hand on his wrist and the other knuckle deep inside of him, Macaque’s still got one good hand- one he plans to make use of just for the sake of knocking Wukong off of his high horse.

Macaque reaches between his legs, finally getting his hand back around his dick and picking back up where he left off. Defiantly, he musters up a smirk at Wukong, moving his hips back and forth on his hand unabashedly. The much-needed friction to his cock and the fingers hot inside of him ignite a heavenly feeling, and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep his voice down.

The king licks his lips, the gold in his eyes burning heatedly, gaze dragging down the shadow’s body like a starving animal before lingering on where he presses inside of him.

“Fuck- I like it when you disobey me,” He groans, a third and final finger pressing insistently against Macaque’s hole, but he doesn’t push in just yet.

“Another?” Wukong whispers, voice breathy.

“Fuck’s sake, yes, Wukong,” Macaque orders, losing his bite over a stifled moan.

Pre escapes the head of his cock, and, once the king’s final finger is inside of him, Macaque has to force himself to stop, panting hard as he bounces on Wukong’s fingers. He’s so, so close, dancing right on the edge of ecstasy, but Macaque doesn’t want to spill just yet- no, he’d never hear the end of it if he blew his load too soon.

Of course, though, Wukong notices.

“Aww, d’you get too excited, Macaque?” He mocks, like he wasn’t guity of the same thing just moments before. The warrior doesn’t respond, not trusting his voice. Sweat rolls down his forehead, and he knits his brows as the king’s fingers deliberately avoid against that spot inside of him. Even with the time crunch and weighted risk, Wukong still finds a way to piss him off. At this point, it was an achievement, really.

Wukong leans over him, chest against his back, arm winding under Macaque’s shoulder and hand dragging up his neck. Warm fingers wrap around his chin and force Macaque to face him. Carnal lust engulfs the gold of his eyes, and smudged blood stains the underside of his nose.

“Tell me you want me.”

Fuck, he did. Badly.

With a soft grunt, Macaque attempts to tear his chin out of Wukong’s grip, but he’s not having it. It’s like Wukong can see right through him, can see right past the show he puts on and directly into the core of his very being.

The fingers inside of him suddenly retreat, and Macaque nearly whimpers at the loss. Instead, they’re replaced by the head of Wukong’s dick hot on his hole, grinding against him and tearing a sharp gasp from him. It’s right there, and if Wukong doesn’t hurry the hell up, Macaque will pin him down and do the work himself- fuck, he needs it.

He surges forward and claims Macaque’s lips, devouring his gasp almost possessively. The warrior groans into his mouth, parting his lips eagerly and allowing Wukong’s tongue to glide against his own. His ears perk at the sound of the lube’s cap snapping open, shivering in anticipation.

Wukong pulls away with a nip at Macaque’s bottom lip, the hand firm on his chin escaping so he can stand upright and slick himself up. Looking over his shoulder, Macaque can’t help but watch the king lube himself this time. Watches the head peek out over deft fingers and the shimmer of lube over the curve of his length. He doesn’t care if he gets caught staring this time or if he looks like he’s practically drooling over him- he needs it inside him already.

“Ah… hope I’m putting on a good show,” He laughs breathily, teasing. When the warrior looks up to him, he catches traces of bashfulness in his eyes, ears turning pink.

Looks like someone never got over his stage fright.

“Mm… It’s good enough,” He coos, tail swishing over Wukong’s body with delight, not even trying to hide his brewing anticipation. The king laughs, placing his hands on Macaque’s waist in a tight grip. He shifts behind him, the hard muscle of his thighs pressing hot against the backs of Macaque’s. Using one of his feet, Wukong kicks aside Macaque’s ankles, spreading him open further.

“Bet I can put on a better one.”

A predatory gleam flashes in the king’s eye. He grinds his cock wet with lube over Macaque’s entrance, biting his lip. Wukong’s filthy words pick away at Macaque’s sense of dignity in the most maddening way, and it’s no different this time. The warrior stifles a moan, canting his hips in tandem, but it’s hardly enough to sate him. Hardly enough to give him the satisfaction he needs.

“After you tell me you want me,” Wukong adds, amusement sparking in his eye. That bastard.

As much as Macaque wants to continue this game of hot potato, he also wants to get fucked sometime soon, so, with great resignation, he makes a tough choice.

Through grit teeth and with a monumental amount of effort, Macaque gives in.

“Fine. I want you, Wukong,” He moans, sounding much too wrecked for his liking. “Happy?”

The king chuckles, smiling to himself as if he’d just won an award. He may as well have- this time, anyways.

Wukong looks positively lascivious, like he’s just seconds away from devouring Macaque like he’s his last meal. It makes the warrior feel a little better, actually, knowing that sacrificing his dignity would, at the very least, leave him feeling immensely satisfied at the end.

“Oh, very. Say it again, actually- I don’t think I heard you,” Wukong taunts, pressing the head of his dick against Macaque and licking his lips. The warrior’s hands reach out to grab at the end of the counter, anchoring himself for what was next to come. Keeping himself quiet without the pillow to muffle his noises was going to be a challenge, but Macaque’s up for it.

Finally, Wukong’s inching his way inside of him, his cock stretching him open. He’s moving considerably slower than last time, golden eyes locked onto where he slides into Macaque with a heady focus. The pain is still present, but to a lesser degree, and, through the heavy lust overriding his senses, Macaque faintly registers that Wukong had used more lube than was necessary.

It’s such a small gesture that fogs the shadow’s head more than it really should and rusts the gears that produce his every thought. His eyes pinch shut when Wukong’s hips are pressed flush against his ass, breath shaky. The king pants hard behind him, chest rising and falling, and his fingers absently run through dark fur, easing the minor pain.

Wandering fingers move up. Carding up through the expanse of mussed black fur, up his back and to the back of his neck. Then, his eyes fixate on Macaque’s ears, gaze softening minutely. That was weird- he hadn’t paid much attention to them until now. His gaze lingers for a moment before his hand begins to wander to an area it is not welcome.

Slowly, almost tentatively, warm fingers sit just underneath the set of ears before Macaque stops him.

“Don’t touch them,” He warns.

No, Wukong lost that privilege ages ago.

The fingers stop, resting much too close his ears before disappearing, coming to rest on the warrior’s backside instead.

Interestingly enough, it seems the king has no snarky comeback to that. He simply rubs circles into Macaque’s hips and thighs to help soothe the waning pain. For a moment, Macaque thinks he sees a flash of hurt over his golden eyes, but it’s gone when he looks again.

The ache fades in relatively little time. In fact, it’s so dull that Macaque even finds it in himself to rock back on the king’s strong body. Wukong’s hands shoot out to his hips to halt his movements, a moan of surprise tumbling from his lips.

“Ah- fuck… You really do want me, huh?”

“Wasn’t exactly being subtle,” He says, voice trembling when Wukong starts to move against him, slowly. A low hum falls from Macaque’s lips when Wukong fucks into him, slow as molasses and gently. He’s moving far too slow for either of them to really get much out of it. The warrior turns his head to rush the king once more, because he’d like to get fucked before they got caught.

Wukong reaches for his arms.

Grabs him by the wrists and brings them down to his back, linking his forearms together and gripping them tightly with both hands, his claws biting at skin. Macaque’s eyes widen, retort dying on his tongue. His arms are entirely immobilized under Wukong’s strength, and his heart leaps with excitement. Wukong purrs loudly, eyes locked onto where his dick presses inside of him with a fiery lust.

“Ha- Yeah, I know… You were practically undressing me while I was teaching. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” He admonishes, voice ragged.

Ah, so he’d been caught, then.

Then, in what Macaque can only assume to be payback for going down on him with no warning, Wukong suddenly yanks Macaque back by his forearms onto his dick hard, effectively ripping a sharp, noisy gasp straight from his lungs. He grits his teeth as Wukong suddenly pounds into him mercilessly, and the moans caught in his throat are dangerously close to meeting the air. Overwhelming pleasure floods his system, short-circuiting the wires of his conscience with each thrust. Macaque can barely get a coherent thought in his head as it is, but then Wukong abruptly picks up the pace.

The king swears behind him, claws digging into Macaque’s forearms as he pistons his hips. Macaque was all but gone, crying out around harder thrusts and failing to keep himself quiet. Wukong fills him up, wasting no time whatsoever as the blunt head of his dick immediately targets that spot inside of him that makes him crumble.

A strong hand gets a handful of dark hair, tugging at the strands sharply and pulling his head back, the roughness going straight to Macaque’s dick. The king’s breath is hot over his ears, but he doesn’t touch.

“Yeah, that’s right- all you need is my dick, huh? S’that all it takes to make you behave?”

True as it might be- there’s no way Wukong could ever hope to reap that from Macaque. Wukong releases him, and the shadow’s drops his cheek back onto the counter. Wukong slows, shifting behind the warrior as he fucks into him harder. He pulls out until the tip of his dick is just barely inside of Macaque before he drives back into him, yanking him back with every thrust. Abuses his prostate with an earned accuracy, an accuracy only Wukong could have after memorizing every detail of Macaque’s body.

And, fuck, it does something to Macaque. Makes his cheeks redden and makes pre drip from his own dick. A breathy moan is punched from his lungs, and primal desire gushes through his veins, especially when Wukong practically uses him like he’s his little sex toy. Fireworks burst in an array of prismatic colors behind his eyelids, and he shudders under his hold.

“Since it just couldn’t wait,” Wukong growls, hips smacking loud against Macaque’s ass with each thrust.

“Since you need me this badly,” The king continues, fangs bared. Sweat sizzles on Macaque’s face, burning hotter at Wukong’s filthy words. He swallows thickly, jaw tensing as he cants against Wukong, eager for more, mind aflame.

Suddenly, Wukong’s all-consuming heat is pressed against his back, and he’s looming over him.

The king licks his lips, his eyes fixated on Macaque’s, heady and dark, watching every face his dick pulls from him with an utterly voracious hunger. Fangs gleam over his feral smirk when he rocks hard into the shadow and pulls another choked noise from him. The golden gleam of his eyes are saturated with desire, even more so when Macaque surges forward to taste him, eager for the taste of Wukong once more.

Macaque claims his lips, greedily sliding his tongue in and tasting him. He can’t quite keep up with Wukong though, completely surrendering to the lust overtaking him, and his moans are muffled against Wukong’s lips. The king swallows each one down, even brings one of his hands up to press against the back of Macaque’s head to kiss him harder.

The warrior chases his lips when Wukong pulls away, his glare flimsy when the king doesn’t kiss him again.

“So noisy. You’re gonna give us away,” Wukong murmurs, lips brushing against Macaque’s.

Michief burns wild in his eyes, and the muscle of his chest is heavy on the warrior’s back in the most enticing way. Macaque wants to dig his fangs into his chest, wants to taste him in any way Wukong will allow. The hand caught in his hair runs down the back of his neck, then to his throat. Sharp claws threaten to sink in, ghosting over the curve of his neck.

He doesn’t choke Macaque, no, but the lurking danger of his hand merely resting there makes the warrior keen. Knowing that Wukong could snap his windpipe with just a flick on his finger is the sweetest-tasting aphrodisiac. Then, Wukong’s middle and ring fingers press insistently against his bottom lip, sliding in once the warrior moans again.

Macaque’s eyelids flutter when Wukong’s fingers press flat against his tongue, and his noises of pleasure are stifled. Again, the taste of salted peach chips flood his tongue, and Macaque knows he will most likely not be able to eat those chips again without thinking about this tryst in particular. Shaky breaths escape him, and his legs tremble- he’s not gonna last much longer at this rate, and he’s sure that Wukong is no better.

“Fuck, you’re tight…” The king curses under his breath, hips stuttering for a moment. His breath comes in hot, labored breaths over Macaque’s neck, quivering every time he buries himself deeper into his heat. Saliva starts to run down his fingers and palm, but he doesn’t really seem to care- If he even notices.

His noises of pleasure rise in pitch. Macaque teeters on the precipice of euphoria, pressure building rapidly in the pit of his stomach, ready to erupt. With unsteady breaths, he tries to vocalize that to the king, who seems firmly locked in his own cloud of lust.

Thankfully, Wukong seems to understand him.

“Ha- Already, huh? M’ I just that good?” He mocks through a gravelly groan.

Despite his teasing, Macaque can hear for himself just how close he was, too, his breathing uneven and heart going a thousand miles a minute. His brows pinch together tightly and the fingers on Macaque’s tongue quake as he pursues his climax. The king noses into the mussed fur of his neck, mouthing at the flesh before sinking his fangs in.

The hand pinning him down lifts, but, before Wukong can get the chance to touch Macaque, the warrior sobs, coming onto the floor untouched. It takes every last ounce of his willpower to not cry out, and he whimpers around the fingers in his mouth, clenching hard around Wukong as he rides put his orgasm. Macaque pants hard, saliva dripping from his chin and legs barely holding him up.

He’s not given the chance to catch his breath, though, not when Wukong suddenly picks up the pace. The shadow lets out whiny, desperate cries at the overstimulation, and he feels like he just can’t get enough air in his lungs. Still, he finds himself rocking back on the king’s celestial body anyways, insatiable.

Teeth sink into his throat, and Wukong finally comes inside of him with a guttural groan, one that’s quieted when he’s got his mouth on Macaque’s neck. His hips stutter to a stop, and the claws pressing into Macaque’s waist tremble. His cum floods Macaque’s insides, and he shivers in response, feeling so much fuller than he already was.

The sounds of their panting feel much too loud, and, though his arms have finally been released from Wukong’s vice grip, Macaque doesn’t even have it in him to move them from behind his back, entirely boneless and sapped of energy. Pressing his cheek against the surface of the counter, Macaque’s breathing slowly evens out, and he closes his eyes for a moment to climb down from his high.

Wukong slowly removes his fingers from his mouth, and spit glistens his hand and palm, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Too tired to properly wipe away the mess of saliva on his chin and corners of his mouth, the warrior instead wipes it on his shoulder. He’ll just clean himself up later.

Slowly, Wukong starts to pull out of him, and Macaque purses his lip tightly at the feeling, suppressing a shiver once he’s out. Still, he feels Wukong’s natural heat hovering over him, carding his fingers through the thick fur on his back before he leans in.

Wukong gives him a final kiss, and Macaque meets him as best as he can manage, pressing weakly against his lips.

Then, the king gives him another final kiss.

Through the slog of his mind, Macaque faintly hears him purring, feels him nipping at the base of his throat and running his teeth over his Adam’s apple. He already knows what that means.

“We’re not going again,” Macaque rasps, reconsidering the moment the words leave his mouth because, actually, another round sounds perfect. His dick gives a valiant twitch of agreement.

“I mean, not right now, anyways.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course not. This was already a huge risk as it was, y’know,” He chides with an accusatory tone, poking at Macaque’s side for emphasis. The warrior is unable to give a shit. Then, he lowers his head, whispering into Macaque’s ears. “But I do want you again.”

The warrior swallows thickly, but is able to keep himself composed- just barely. He’d quite literally jump Wukong’s bones if they were completely alone. Alas, such an idea is, admittedly, a tempting but very, very bad one, just as the first idea was to drag him out from his teacher business.

Well, not really. Not if it results in Macaque getting fucked like his life depended on it.

“’Course you do,” Macaque snickers, crossing his arms and resting his chin on top of them. His legs struggle to keep him standing, and he knows it’s probably in his best interest to lay down, but Macaque’s head is still far, far in the clouds. He’s wracked with another uncomfortable shudder when Wukong’s spend begins to run down his thigh.

“You know you couldn’t resist me if you tried,” He taunts, playfully.

The king merely huffs at that, muttering a teasing, ”Yeah, you wish,” before pushing off of his arms and walking off somewhere, leaving Macaque entirely too cold without his body warmth draped over him like a woolly blanket. Right- like he wasn’t the one who dropped everything just to fuck Macaque stupid.

The warrior takes the chance to close his eyes and catch his breath- the afterglow always seems to hit him harder than it does Wukong, the lucky bastard. He’d be up in a moment or two.

“Here,” Wukong says, placing a small rag beside Macaque, who barely registers the gesture. He can feel golden eyes lingering on his body for just a moment too long before the king speaks.

“You made a mess on my floor.”

Another point for Wukong’s perceptiveness. How he does it, Macaque will never know. The audience goes wild. Etcetera.

The warrior simply heaves a heavy sigh at the interrupted silence. He chooses to ignore Wukong instead so he can situate his head back on his shoulders. Sure, he could instead say that, no, in fact, most of the mess was the fault of Wukong for not taking up his offer to just go to the bedroom like they usually do…

But, such a thing would result in more noise- noise Macaque really didn’t feel like tolerating when all six of his ears were present to pick up the sound of each and every syllable.

Also, he’s tired.

Steadying his breathing, Macaque rides out the fading storm, his arm sluggishly heavy when he lifts it to wipe away the sweat on his forehead. The sound of the air conditioning running is enough to soothe him, the drone of its hum comforting, almost. It helps him reorganize himself for a moment, if he focuses on just that sound.

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump.

Macaque’s eyes shoot open, and he’s met with the sight of Wukong quickly pulling his hand away with a similar look on his face, as if he wasn’t the one who touched him.

“What’re you doing.”

“I-” Wukong stumbles for an answer, his look of surprise turning into anger. “Was just makin’ sure you didn’t fall asleep. Don’t want anyone walking in on you looking like that, y’know” He awkwardly tacks on, scratching the back of his head and glancing to the door. Macaque notices that he’d already fixed his rumpled pants and put his undershirt back on at some point.

The warrior sighs again, his hand heavy when he moves to grab the small towel. He supposes the king actually had a point. Just because they’d finished didn’t mean they weren’t still at risk of someone getting too curious. Wukong at least has the decency to turn away when he cleans himself and the floor up before hastily pulling his pants back up.

Unceremoniously, he picks up the rest of his clothing from the floor, his knees sore and seconds away from buckling once again. His ass was sore, too, but, if Macaque sleeps it off, he should be good as new when he wakes up.

Again. he weight of Wukong’s stare was irritatingly heavy on his back, and it makes Macaque scowl at nothing. What's his deal? The shadow opens his mouth to call him out, but then the king finally decides to say something.

“Hey.”

Macaque turns to face the king, who meets him with that glint in his eye he knows too well.

“Go wait in my room.”

The warrior swallows thickly, his chest doing something funny.

He smirks, mocking.

“Monkey King, I just might take you up on that.”

‘Might,’ He says, like he’s not just as thirsty for a second round as the sage was.

He turns, heading for Wukong’s room, but the king is behind him in an instant, chin hovering over his shoulder and suddenly very, very close to him.

“’Course you will,” The king taunts with a laugh.

Macaque yelps in surprise at the harsh smack to his ass, but, before he can get back at the king, he’s already retreating to his bathroom with a pep in his step to avoid any repercussions. Macaque huffs. And here he thought there was only one pig in the area.

“Be back soon, old bud,” He says with a bout of playful sarcasm. Before he dips into the bathroom, he gives Macaque an impish wink. He’s grateful Wukong leaves shortly after- it means he doesn’t have to see the way his blush creeps onto his cheeks.

The shower starts running. He doubts Wukong will be in there very long- he just needs to get the thick scent of sex off of him before he headed back outside. With a final glance to the front door, Macaque heads to the king’s room, mindful not to drop any of his clothes and leave incriminating evidence.

Shutting the door quietly, the warrior drops his clothes onto the floor. He’d normally put them in a neater pile, but, right now, the comfort of Wukong’s bed beckoned him. He flops onto the mattress, giving his overworked legs a much-needed break. The relief is immediate, and he feels content.

He pillows his head over crossed arms, tail flicking lazily as he closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll go down for a nap, or something- Macaque’s not sure how long Wukong’s ‘Be back soon,’ was exactly, but he wasn’t about to just stare at the ceiling until Wukong finished training the kid. Who knew how long that would take.

He doesn’t expect him to be back anytime soon, especially after pulling that stunt. He’s not sure if Wukong will be upset with him later, but, for now, at least, he seemed every bit as satisfied as he was. Besides, even if he got angry with Macaque, he was still the one who actively chose to follow after him.

So, really, he doesn’t have anyone else to blame if it comes to that.

With that, Macaque purrs contentedly, tail swinging over the edge of the bed.

Sunlight pours in from the window, and Macaque debates on closing the curtains. He decides not to- he’s already made himself much too comfortable, and no one had any reason to come to the back of the house for anything.

Macaque absently brings his eyes to the wall, where a collection of drawings are gathered together. A whole lot of them, too, with some of them even covering corners of other drawings. He’d noticed them before, but never paid much attention.

Several crudely drawn pictures of Wukong with MK decorate the wall, some with him and the rest of MK’s friends. A few are actually very well drawn, mostly just artwork of Wukong and some of his major accomplishments on his path to enlightenment.

He even sees some drawings that have himself somewhere in there, charmingly enough.

If Macaque remembers correctly, the kid was the one who had drawn those for Wukong. It surprises him that Wukong actually kept them, even warms his heart a little. It was an unexpectedly sweet gesture he would not have expected from someone like Wukong.

‘Guess he really does care about him, huh?’ He thinks to himself, making it his mission not to smile at that. It was… cute, actually.

He purses his lip, pensive.

Maybe he’ll ease up on the kid’s lessons next time.

Macaque heaves a sigh, wrapping himself up in Wukong’s blankets and turning his back to the wall. He really wants to fit a nap in before the king comes back. The pillow is thick with the scent of peaches, something that quiets his thoughts and makes him shut his eyes.

Just as he’s at the very edge of falling into a slumber, a sound gets Macaque’s attention. A loud, chittering sound, directly outside the window.

He jolts upright, eyes flicking to the source of the noise.

Sitting right outside is a small, white-furred youngling staring owlishly at him. They stare unblinking at Macaque, beady little eyes wide with a burning curiosity. It’s… unnerving, actually, how long the youngling stares at him.

Macaque opens his mouth to say… something. Anything to get them to leave, but shuts his mouth when the little monkey motions to something beyond the window, hand waving in a ‘Come here,’ gesture.

Then, two other older monkeys appear, staring at Macaque with little ‘o’s of surprise on their faces like he’s a zoo animal. Macaque recognizes them as Wukong’s subjects- a particular group he was pretty keen on avoiding, solely for the reason that the immortal elders would identify him. They were the only ones who had lived long enough to remember when Macaque still lived here.

Thankfully, these ones look a little younger. Macaque breathes a small sigh of relief.

Then, all of a sudden, the little monkeys start chittering excitedly to eachother, speaking in a language Macaque no longer understands. He doesn’t hear his name in there, so he supposes he’s either in the clear, or just doesn’t know his name in their language anymore.

The realization hits him.

His ears.

Macaque hides them under his glamors in an instant, face burning with humiliation. He can run as far as he likes, but he’s never been able to escape the odd looks his ears have always cursed him with. Once again, he’ll be the subject of malicious rumormongering, as he always seemed to be.

The little monkeys don’t even seem to notice this, still speaking to one another with enthusiasm and gesturing wildly. In fact, they’re so caught up in their excited dialogue that none of them even look to Macaque again- the way others used to when he knew for certain that his ears were the topic of their discussion.

Now that his glamors are back up, Macaque’s not too sure what all the commotion’s about. Maybe they were just surprised to see someone that wasn’t Wukong or MK in the house.

Either way, Macaque doesn’t like a crowd. Not when he’s not performing, anyways.

Slowly, he gets up off the bed, hesitantly approaching the window, unsure of what they will do if he gets too close. The younglings aren’t paying attention to him whatsoever, so, as quickly as he can, Macaque shuts the curtains, and the room becomes a little darker.

Their shadows dance on the other side of the fabric before they take off, the chittering fading out to somewhere further down the mountain.

Macaque has no clue what that was about. He stares quizzically at the curtains as if they will provide him with an answer if he stares for long enough.

Were they going to tell the elders about the six-eared freak sitting in Wukong’s room? Macaque shudders at the thought.

Should he tell Wukong? He can understand them.

Macaque grimaces. Hell no. This was all some elaborate prank, or something childish like that. The younger chimps were typically well-known for their mischievous nature.

The warrior flops into Wukong’s bed a second time, burying himself under the blankets with a huff and shutting his eyes once more. No, this wasn’t urgent enough that Wukong needed to know. Besides, he could deal with his own issues perfectly fine.

He’ll deal with the consequences later, If there even are any.

Still, though.

He should have closed those damn curtains sooner.

Chapter Text

“There- I think that’s the last one,” Says MK, wiping sweat from his brow after he places the final cooler down.

Wukong looks over the kid’s hard work, smiling to himself at the neatness. The fire pit was ready to be lit, and they had their chairs set up all around. If there was anything he loved more than fireworks, it was good company and good food. They’d already delivered on the ‘good food’, part, now all they had to do was wait for the company to show up.

Aside from the short time spent with them during their pursuit of the Samadhi Fire, Wukong never spent much time with the kid’s friends- in fact, he still couldn’t really remember their names off the top of his head. But, he did know that they were great company, which, honestly, was the real subject of the matter.

He can’t help but feel a little giddy. Tonight was going to be fun. No worries, no overarching threats, and no villains. Just chatting about complete nonsense and having a laugh over the fire. One of the simpler pleasures of life, and also one of his favorites.

They had food, wine, and sodas lined around the whole setup. It was authentic stuff, too, not junk Wukong made out of his hair (Even though it would have been way faster and way kinder on his wallet). He remembers how quickly MK protested to that when he suggested the idea.

“Lookin’ good, bud,” He praises, stretching his arms above his head as if he’d done anything to help. 

He counts the blue chairs lined around the fire pit once more, then realizes there’s one chair too many. Unless it was for that strange blue cat with the mohawk.

“Hey- bud, I’m pretty sure you miscounted. I don’t actually think there’s that many of you,” Wukong calls, a finger pointed to the chairs.

MK hums in questioning, already digging into a bag of marshmallows. Then, his brows raise with remembrance.

“Oh, yeah- there’s an extra one for Macaque.”

And just like that, Wukong’s good mood was reduced to soup in a drain. He can practically feel himself deflate.

“Ah… yeah, so, listen- Macaque isn’t in, like, anyone’s friend group. I wouldn’t count on that guy showing up.”

Wukong really doesn’t want to rain on MK’s parade, but he just can’t help but wonder what alternate dimension he’s living in where Macaque would show up to something like this. This couldn’t have been further from his scene.

“Huh? No, he said he would be here,” MK says easily, like he’s just stating a complete fact. How he has so much faith in someone as fickle as Macaque, Wukong doesn’t know. Maybe it’s just that childish innocence, or something.

That was weird, though. He doesn’t ever recall Macaque accepting any invitations to just hang out before. Why did he have to show up now?

He wants to ask why MK even invited him in the first place. In fact, he opens his mouth to, but closes it just as fast. MK’s practically buzzing about the setup, dusting off the chairs and making sure everything is just so as he crams marshmallows into his mouth like they fuel him. He doesn’t usually make sure everything was this spotless.

It makes the king pull a face. Macaque wasn’t worth that sort of effort.

And he doesn’t want him ruining everything by showing up to these hangouts.

They didn’t butt heads as often anymore, which was… something. Still not good enough to see eye-to-eye just yet, though, and definitely not good enough to deal with the other in a friendly environment. He’d describe it as putting a band-aid over a stab wound. Wukong wouldn’t exactly say their relationship was improving, per se, but he could tolerate Macaque a little better than he used to. Which was already an achievement as it was, all things considered.

Still. He doesn’t want Macaque to start regularly hanging around.

It just wouldn’t be good for either of them.

Nope. He’s asking.

“Why’d you invite him, of all people? I think DBK would be better company, heh.”

“What? But weren’t you and Macaque friends?”

Okay, rude. Went straight for the throat with that one.

“Past tense, bud,” He dismisses flippantly.

“Uh-huh. Well, I like Macaque. He’s a good guy,” He says easily with a warm smile. Wukong takes a moment to wonder if they’re talking about the same person.

‘If he really was a good guy, we’d still be friends,’ He thinks coldly, dragging the cooler full of his prized peach wine closer to his seat. He hates to say it, but, unfortunately, MK’s delusional.

“Hey, Monkey King?”

“Yeah?”

MK turns to him, eyes wide with curiosity. He seems a little hesitant, giving a nervous laugh before he speaks.

“So, totally random question, but, uh, are you and Macaque, like… dating?”

The bout of laughter that wracks Wukong is tear-jerking, echoing through the area, and he has to clutch his stomach as he cackles his lungs out. MK watches the king with wide eyes, startled at his reaction.

“Okay, okay, my standards are not that low,” He giggles. The fact that MK thinks Macaque even has a sliver of a chance with him was comedy gold. Gods, he’s hilarious. He can’t wait to tell that to Macaque himself. He’d get a kick out of it.

“Oh. Okay, just wondering,” Is all the kid says before returning to stuffing marshmallows into his mouth. He absently flicks his phone on and begins to scroll through social media, as if he’d merely just asked what the time was. Normally, he liked to overshare every detail of, well, everything with his mentor. This time, though, it seems like he’s got nothing else to add to that.

Which was… weird.

Really weird.

Wukong blinks. The cogs in his brain begin to turn.

Wait.

Why would MK wonder something as absurd as that? He should ask.

Wukong opens his mouth, then closes it just as fast.

Wait, no, that was an awful idea, actually. Asking further would make him look suspicious.

But what magic hat did MK pull that one out of? Wukong likes to think he’s done a pretty good job at keeping things on the down-low. They might say some really harsh things to the other, but they never once said anything about what was going on between them in front of anyone else. Not even a hint. Unless Macaque had said something incriminating.

Which he also doubts. Macaque’s a good liar. And although Wukong’s sure the prospect of exposing him was a tempting one, he also knows Macaque wouldn’t- if only for the fact that he wouldn’t be entirely free of judgement, either.

Wukong pouts, frustrated.

He decides to blame Macaque anyways.

“Hey, dudes! S’up, Monkey Man?” Rings the voice of… oh, what was her name?

“Mei!” MK practically lights up.

Yup, that’s the one.

Mei makes her appearance, gives finger guns to MK, who happily returns them, then hops into one of the chairs and makes herself right at home. MK’s quick to take a seat next to her, and they immediately spark a conversation about some game they’d been playing recently.

Wukong smiles warmly at the sight, taking a seat next to MK and popping open a bag of his peach chips. He puts the lingering worry on the backburner in favor of snacks and conversation. He’ll just deal with it later (He absolutely will not). They ramble about whatever game it was they’d gotten their hands on, and Wukong can’t help but listen in. It was always something new each week, and by the time the sage had finally learned the name of the game they were talking about, they’d already moved onto something else.

The only time he remembered a game immediately was if it had his name on it.

Which turned out to be a good portion of them, since MK was his biggest fanboy. Wukong had even played a few of the ones he mentioned himself.

Kid’s got good taste in games, that’s for sure.

And it’s good that he had friends to talk about them with. His friends were so warm and welcoming. In their own ways, at least. Wukong’s actually pretty sure the pig still had it out for him.

It makes the king miss his old friends, too. He tries not to linger on the striking resemblance between MK’s friends and his old ones. Too many times he’ll catch himself nearly referring to them as the name of someone who was no longer here. And Wukong’s not sure if they either don’t notice or just don’t care, but he’s glad no one ever brings it up.

He sighs tiredly to himself and shovels more chips into his mouth. No point lingering in the past.

The sun begins to set over the city far beyond the cliff, bathing the sky in shades of oranges and violets.

After a moment, Wukong hears the kids’ conversation start to increase in volume, excitedly rambling. He doesn’t pay much attention, watching the city far, far beyond thoughtfully as he munches on his chips. His ear flicks when they start to get just a little too loud, and he realizes very late that they were actually talking very furiously about their game.

In fact, they start to get unnecessarily heated over the game, so much so that Wukong thinks he might have to step in.

“Dude, it’s not that deep! It’s just a game- what deeper meaning does there have to be?” MK gripes.

“There is a deeper meaning! The creator said it herself!”

“Well, I didn’t get it!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you mash through all the dialogue then get all mad when you don’t understand what’s going on!”

“Hey, hey, come on now, guys,” Wukong tries, but they don’t hear him. He purses his lips tightly as they continue to butt heads, eyes darting around like he’ll just happen to catch onto something to put a stop this. Gods, he was not built to manage this sort of situation.

Thankfully, the pig and monk show up, quick to put out the fire and separate them. The pig holds a small container in his hands, nearly tossing it aside in his haste. ‘Kid, s’just a game- don’t get all worked up over it,’ The pig chides, patting him on the back with a firm, yet kind stare. MK merely pouts, eyes locked onto his feet. Wukong reassuringly rubs his back, but can’t quite find the words to comfort him aside from, ‘It’ll be alright, bud, just let it go’- thankfully, the pig’s got that part covered.

The monk sits on the other side, adjusting his glasses as he comforts Mei. Wukong can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but he sure is saying a lot of it. Mei isn’t looking at him, brows furrowed with guilt as she rubs her arm.

The both of them had more of that benign, attentive parental energy Wukong lacked- he was not good at comforting people.

Then, the kids turn back to eachother. Wukong’s certain another argument was about to flare up, or maybe even a fight, but, no, instead they apologize a little awkwardly, but sincerely to eachother, like water off a duck’s back, and Mei grabs grape sodas for the both of them. They smile warmly, lively as ever, and the pig gives them both a pat on the back.

And, just as quickly as their little argument started, MK and Mei are quick to spark up another conversation- already sweeping it under the rug, which was unbelievably wild. Back to the norm like nothing happened, with no underlying bitterness or passive aggressiveness.

Weird.

The king shivers, looking to the view over the cliffside. The last few inches of sun sink over the horizon, and the first few stars of night start to decorate the amber sky. It’ll only get darker and colder as time passes, so he decides to take the chance to strike a match and toss it into the firepit. It flickers loudly and ignites their little group in a warm orange hue. MK and Mei take the chance to cocoon themselves in some spare blankets, sharing a bag of marshmallows and sipping their soda.

Bunny-shaped marshmallows in a wide array of pastel colors. Actually, Wukong remembers buying those for Easter. Which was… a while ago. On an entirely unrelated note, he wonders absently if marshmallows can expire.

Wukong spares a glance at the remaining three empty chairs- one for Macaque, one for the big blue guy, and the last for the DBK’s hotheaded son. He guesses he shouldn’t be too surprised MK had invited Macaque if he went out of his way to invite that demon boy. He kind of thought they were enemies.

‘No, no- Red Son’s a good guy now,’ MK had said when he asked, easy as that. Though he was confused at first, Wukong trusts his word, so he supposes It wasn’t anything to worry about. Kid had a very bizarre, but admirable knack for making friends with old enemies.

As if one cue, the fiery demon then makes his very loud, very noisy appearance, spitting some fire about, ‘Yes, yes, I know, you’ve all been waiting for my appearance.’ He plops next to Mei, who gives him this endearing smile that makes him roll his eyes. He always seems pretty pissed off at, well, everything as it was, but his expression softens when he sees her smile.

She extends her arm, offering some of her blanket to him. He’s a fire demon- he has no need for blankets, being a walking furnace and all. Still, he makes a face, sits closer to her with great disdain, and curls up in the blanket anyways. Mei offers him a bunny marshmallow, and he scoffs at the gesture, but takes it anyway.

Wukong snickers. How sappy.

Crickets start chirping nearby, and the king reclines in his chair, warmed by the fire and content. He brings his gaze up to the sky, watching the twinkling stars peek out from under a thick blanket of deep amber clouds, flickering as birds pass overhead. Faintly, he can see the crescent moon starting to appear.

“Monkey King?”

He turns to the kid, who looks distraught. He sadly looks to the remaining empty chairs, then to Wukong.

“Do you know where he might be?”

Wukong pouts at that. Did he look like he had a tracker on Macaque, or something? A GPS with his exact coordinates? He only knows where that bastard is once or twice a week- and that’s only because he’s busy getting his dick in him. After that, though? Macaque usually disappeared to go do Macaque-related activities, or whatever the hell it was he did.

As much as Wukong hates the idea of him showing up at all, he also knows he’ll be pretty pissed off if he just leaves MK hanging, waiting for someone who’ll never arrive. They will absolutely be having some words if he did something shitty like that.

So, really, he’ll be pissed off regardless of whether he shows up or not. Only Macaque could achieve something as contrary as that.

Just as he opens his mouth to answer, a scream cuts into the overlapping conversations, raising the hairs on the back of Wukong’s neck. Heads whip to the brush of forest behind one of the temples, and out darts the big blue guy, a panicked expression on his face.

“Guys! I was in there forever! Like- every turn I made was a wrong one. So weird. Oh, and then, it felt like something was chasing me!”

He turns around, looking quizzically to the brush and scratching at his mohawk thoughtfully, as if the thing he mentioned would just suddenly show up on cue. Wukong stands, nearly knocking his chair over, fists balled and ready to fight off whoever dared invade his Flower Fruit Mountain.

“Like- I swear the shadows were moving.”

Wukong sighs with immense disappointment and flops back into his seat, careful not to crush his chips. Seems like Lady Luck decided to turn a blind eye today.

“Wha- Monkey King, aren’t you gonna do something?” MK pleads, staring at him with wide eyes.

“What’s there to do, kiddo?” He waves off, reaching for a bottle of peach wine from the cooler. He’s gonna need it. “S’just Macaque. No one special.”

The shadows very predictably distort from behind the big blue thing, who yelps in surprise. He dashes away as Macaque reveals himself in a smog of violet darkness, because he could never just arrive normally, he always had to make some big spectacle. One of his many different smirks he handpicks from his vast catalogue was plastered on his face. This one happens to be a pissed-off smirk, bordering on a snarl. The usual.

“C’mon, Monkey King. You always gotta ruin the surprise.”

Wukong rolls his eyes. Macaque’s tricks were always the same creepy shadowy nonsense. Not hard to identify. Not to mention, he shouldn’t have been messing around in the brush in the first place- the younglings could have spotted him. And if that happened? Wukong would never live it down.

“Macaque!” MK cheers, clapping his hands excitedly. For the very first time, Wukong looks to the kid with a baffling disappointment.

“Come join us! We got you a seat riiight here,” He pats the last empty chair invitingly, a seat directly across from Wukong and right beside the monk and the blue guy.

“Awww, you got me a spot next to my favorite man, Tang!” Macaque practically sings, hopping over the back of his chair to take his seat and immediately slinging his arm over… Tang, was it? Slings his arm around Tang’s neck like he’s an old buddy, who gives a sheepish laugh in response. The gesture sets his glasses askew.

“Ah,” Tang mumbles with a small but sincere smile. “Good to see you too, Macaque.”

Wukong raises a brow.

His favorite man?

Everyone else gives their ‘hellos’ to the warrior with varying levels of mirth. They were still a little cautious over the whole fiasco with him and the Lady Bone Demon but, for the most part, he fits right in. Like the final puzzle piece.

Which was just great.

Wukong pops open his bottle, possessively resting his legs over his wine cooler. He wants to down as much as he can and hoard it for himself. Sure, it was greedy, but he didn’t like sharing- not with Macaque, anyways.

Was it childish? Probably.

But he can’t be bothered to care.

Macaque glances to the cooler beneath his feet, huffing with an unamused look on his face. Wukong gives him a nasty glare- just daring him to say something. He wants him to. Anything so he’ll get his ass kicked out and make MK reconsider ever inviting him again. Macaque merely smirks, opens a small shadow portal in the ground, reaches his hand in, and effortlessly snatches one of Wukong’s bottles.

He holds it up, giving it a victorious little shake with a smirk.

Wukong’s eye twitches.

Keeping his head on was going to be a challenge tonight.

As he takes the first swig of many, his ears perk at passing conversation, effectively snapping him out of his headspace and pulling his nasty glare off of the black sheep. Mei and MK were talking about one of the many, many Monkey King games and the sequels, arguing over which one was better. Again. Of course, it’s basically required by state law that Wukong give his input, and, just as he’s about to give his two cents, the girl calls him.

“Mister King!” She whips her head so fast, Wukong’s certain it gives her whiplash. Her face twists in anger. Red Son peers at him with this unamused expression over her shoulder, seeming just about done with everything despite having just gotten here.

“We need Monkey King’s opinion himself on the Monkey King games!”

“The second one’s better, right?” MK blurts excitedly, not even letting her finish her sentence.

That gets him a light smack on the head before she continues with a bright smile.

“Sooo, Mister King, you’re totally on my side, right? That the first ‘Sun Wukong’s Journey to the West,’” She reads out the title name with a dramatic, booming voice before continuing, “is clearly the right choice?” She asks, very pointedly looking to MK. Though their argument had gotten pretty heated earlier, this one had a different vibe.

It was more lighthearted. Harmless banter, really.

“Mei, what’s it like being wrong?” MK pouts, crossing his arms. “The first one was sooo boring. It was like, ninety percent talking and ten percent actual game.”

“Yeah, but you just mashed through all of the dialogue! Did you even read any of it? The story was gripping! Emotional!” She argues, balling her hands into shaky fists for emphasis. “You skipped through art!”

MK turns his nose up.

“You know, a game can still be art without all that talking. Everything doesn’t have to have a cutscene after it. If I wanted to read, I’d grab a book.”

Red Son gapes, utterly appalled, then looks to Wukong with great disdain.

“Don’t tell me someone like Sun Wukong is entertained by such inane, wasteful-”

“First one’s definitely better,” He answers, effectively slamming the gavel down with his undeniably correct answer, pointing a chip at the kids.

MK flinches away from his mentor as if he’d been struck, a look of pure betrayal in his eyes. The dragon girl shoots up from her seat with a cheer, arms curving over her head as she points down at MK with with a playful flair.

“Ooooh! Guess who was right? Definitely not you!” She prods her fingers playfully at MK’s cheeks, singing some song of victory with a little dance, but MK doesn’t even notice. Red Son shoots his arms out for her, ‘Stop, you moron, you’re gonna trip over the fire!’  MK stares back at Wukong, hurt. The king’s eyes dart away before meeting his again, and he thinks maybe he should have just lied.

“Bud, I like both games. Just happen to like the first one more.”

“You just like the first one more because the artwork makes you look cooler!” MK exclaims, pointing a finger straight at the sage.

Wukong gapes at that, bringing a hand to his chest in a mocking display of hurt (Even though it was entirely true).

“I totally do not. I just… like the gameplay more.”

“Oh, that is so not true! I bet you didn’t even read any of the dialogue ‘cause you were too busy looking at yourself!”

Joke’s on him. Wukong was only looking at himself because he couldn’t read any of the dialogue in the first place.

“Put me down, you insolent-!”

Red Son pouts as Mei picks him up, forcing him to dance with her around the fire pit. He seems so, so angry with his crimson flecks of embers sparking at the fingertips, but Wukong sees the bits of pink on his cheeks.

“Oh- Me too, me too!” MK sings, hopping between them with a joyous laugh and making himself right at home, already having long forgotten any and everything Wukong said about the first game being better. The two of them dance like rambunctious teenagers around the fire, and Red Son all but looks like an enraged animal on the cusp of a rampage.

Wukong can’t help but laugh at the sight, egging them on with loud cheers as he reclines in his seat and funnels the crumbs of his chips into his mouth. He tosses the trash aside, quick to open another bag. The taste of peaches is almost overbearing, but that’s how he liked it.

Now, this was a nice change of pace. It’s nice not having the weight of the world crushing them every waking moment. These poor kids needed a break.

His ears perk at the sound of laughter.

Macaque’s laughter.

Wukong turns to the warrior, who giggles at something Tang had said, teeth flashing. The monk’s making all these wild gestures- Wukong assumes he’s telling Macaque about their quest for the Samadhi Fire, or something- but whatever it is he’s saying gets him cackling.

And he’s got a smile on his face. A genuine one, too, one that pushes his cheeks into his eyes and makes him look almost friendly.

Wukong hasn’t seen that smile in many long centuries. It was always just a smirk, or nasty grin, or other. It was a smile Wukong had been the cause of many, many times in the past.

And he’s seeing it now because of the monk?

The king turns away, getting more alcohol in his system because there just wasn’t enough. It burns when it slides down his throat, but fills his chest with an artificial warmth to replace the lofty feeling lost to Macaque’s very existence. He knew Macaque showing up would be a problem the way it always was.

Wukong tries to just focus on anything else- he wasn’t about to let such a simple, silly thing like that ruin his night. Still, he’s reminded of Macaque’s ultimately very heavy presence every time he hears his laugh. He feels like he’s got a compass that points only at him. The conversation between Pigsy and Sandy was loud and filled with snorts and laughter, as was the boisterously endearing singing of the kids- but it’s not enough to drown out his laugh.

Macaque’s laughter just sounds so much louder to him. A clear voice amidst a filter of overbearing static. It’s annoying and it irritates him and he can’t make out why no matter what he tries, but that’s what the wine was for.

It extinguishes the fire and settles whatever the hell stirs inside of Wukong, if only for a little while. But a little while would just have to do. He moves to recline on the armrest of the chair, swinging his legs over the other one, tail swishing as he forces himself to relax. This night was supposed to be fun.

He sighs, briefly reminiscing about his conversations with his past friends, how much fun they’d had. At some point, Wukong went from being the center of attention with the hilarious voiceovers and grandiose gestures to just kicking back and taking a backseat to the talk.

It was nice, actually, not having to put on a show- which he loved doing, but didn’t always have the energy to- and instead just relaxing by the fire and watching the stars slowly pass overhead. Laughter filling his ears, even if one of it’s sources wasn’t someone who really belonged here.

But, after a few more drinks and empty bottles, Wukong forgets the odd one out was even there to begin with, which was a good thing. if he could just ignore him and his too-loud laugh, maybe the night will go a little faster. He might even knock out just to speed things along.

“So, Noodle Boy. I’ve heard that recently you’ve started training with both monkeys this time around,” Pipes Red Son, mouth quirked in a smirk. The king barely registers his voice, his mind beginning a slow trudge through mud just as he’s beginning to doze off. Then, he turns to Wukong with a teasing, but harmless sneer.

“I assume Monkey King isn’t cutting it anymore?”

Wukong tosses his head back with a laugh, cutting off the kid when he opens his mouth to speak.

“Ha! Yeah, right. I’m the best mentor a guy could ask for,” He boasts, crossing his arms behind his head proudly.

That gets a harsh cackle from Red Son.

“Clearly not if your protégé needs another mentor.”

Wukong huffs, nose wrinkling when he pouts.

“Uh, it’s obviously ‘cause he feels bad. Ever heard’a charity work? Kinda like that,” He answers with a flick of his tail, teeth flashing in a mean little grin.

“Well, he wouldn’t need me if you were actually a good teacher,” Macaque jabs, suddenly joining in because of course he heard that. He swirls around the wine in his bottle, firelight glittering off of the sides. Wukong glowers, still upset he’d gotten his hands on his booze, even went so far as to share some with the monk. Whatever.

“Guys, guys,” MK cuts in, hands raised placatingly. He moves so he can face Wukong and get his attention, but the king isn’t listening to a word he’s saying. The sound of his ego being attacked was so much louder.

“Um- I think you’re both great mentors!”

“Hey- I’m a great teacher compared to you,” Wukong drawls halfheartedly. His bottle nearly slips from his hand when he reaches to grab it. Heads dart to Macaque, almost as if expecting a fight to break out, like two cats yowling at eachother in an alleyway. MK merely sighs tiredly, and Mei stuffs popcorn into her mouth.

“When you’re busy teacherin’ MK, you’re, like… always so violent. What’s your damage, man? What god d’you think he’s goin’ up against?” He slurs, more for the sake of starting an argument for fun rather than seriously. Normally, he would start this sort of argument up again, but, with the alcohol making itself at home in his system, Wukong doesn’t feel like taking that whole mess too seriously.

Not right now, anyways, when his argumentative capabilities were reduced to mush.

Really, Macaque being MK’s other mentor didn’t bother him nearly as much as it did compared to when he first started, which was miraculous, actually.

Especially as of late. Normally his methods were aggressive, even cruel. Cruel enough that Wukong would have to step in lest he kill the poor kid. Lately, though, he’s been a little more forgiving. Still taking his job way too seriously and still a bit of an asshole, but like, in a nice way.

Obviously MK would only ever need Wukong as a teacher.

But, he supposes Macaque makes a decent-ish one, too. Sometimes. Like, in desperate times.

Macaque turns to him with this bizarre expression, as if he’d just asked the most outrageous question he’d ever heard in his life.

“Yeah, Macaque! Always so edgy with you. And emo,” Chimes the dragon girl. Popcorn spills from her mouth.

“Training can be fun, sometimes, y’know. Ya gotta lighten up!”

“Wha- I have not been that violent. Lately, anyways. Thought up some way better techniques,” Macaque answers with an easy wave of his hand. His smile is plastic, but it fools the others. And, if he currently didn’t lack the cognitive skills necessary to dissect what that odd smile meant, Wukong’s sure he would care about that a little more.

Ah, but what did it matter? If Macaque was going to do something terrible to MK, he’s sure he’d have done so by now. Maybe. The kid had been fully intact this long. Besides, Wukong could take him if he needed to.

In more ways than one.

Macaque leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, looking to Tang when the monk asks him a question Wukong doesn’t hear, gaze drifting. His shirt slips low, and Wukong can see the muscled pecs plainly beneath the fabric, the way they expand when he breathes.

He wants to get a mouthful of them.

Subtly, one Macaque’s hands points upwards. Wukong almost doesn’t notice the gesture.

He follows the motion, looking up to his face.

The most snide, cocky smirk plays on Macaque’s face, full of unbidden glee at having caught him staring. ‘Eyes up here,’ Wukong practically hears him say. It lasts for about a second or so before he turns back to Tang, who, blessedly, wasn’t looking at him, his nose stuck in that odd little journal he brought with him. He’s got it flipped open, pointing to something on one of the pages with that gleam in his glasses and talking some history nonsense to the warrior.

Wukong mentally slaps himself, eyes darting to make sure no one had seen that. Thankfully, it seemed like their attention was more focused on the red bean buns Pigsy had saved in his container when he removes the lid, their mouths watering and eyes practically glittering. He generously hands one out to everyone, a proud little grin on his face.

 “That’s right, made ‘em myself!”

Tang looks up from his book, feigning a mortified look.

“No, you didn’t! I helped you, as you seem to have so conveniently forgotten.”

“All ya did was stand around and hand me the ingredients, ya layabout,” He retorts with a snort, but it holds no bite.

Wukong sighs, exasperated. He was in the clear.

Still, though. With the kid starting to wonder if he and Macaque were dating, he needs to play it safer and pay more attention. If MK was assuming things, there was a chance the others might be, too.

“Nah, the kid’s in safe hands,” Says Macaque in response to whatever the hell it was Tang had inquired about, munching on his bean bun. “‘Sides, if anyone’s having trouble as a mentor, I’m placing my bets on that guy,”

He points a finger at Red Son, who tears himself away from whatever it was MK was telling him, squabbling for a response.

“I am an excellent mentor! There isn’t exactly a manual for getting a raging hellfire under control, y’know. It takes great discipline and patience!” He chides, crossing his arms angrily. Red little embers flick around his hair.

Wukong laughs.

“Hey- maybe we should ask your parents how they did it.”

That really gets everyone howling with laughter. They clutch at their sides, and Wukong’s certain he even sees a tear prick MK’s eye. He mentally pats himself on the back for that joke, basking in the spotlight of glory that was the sound of laughter caused by him. It even gets Macaque snickering. Red Son grumbles angrily at the comment, angrily scarfing down his bun.

After a few more drinks in, warmth fills Wukong’s chest, and he’s got a few empty bottles beside the foot of his chair. He feels so much lighter, the effects of alcohol snuffing out his fight and putting him in a giggly mood, laughing at even the most tame of jokes cracked.

And Wukong almost wishes he could say that Macaque said or did something- anything to turn heads or raise any red flags. But he plays nice. Gets along with everyone, even the big blue guy he was most likely bullying earlier, who had offered him a cup of tea. Gets along a little too well with the monk, in Wukong’s very, very, very humble opinion.

Though they were initially wary of him, it seemed like the group was slowly beginning to welcome him.

Which was exactly what he was afraid of.

If Macaque made himself at home here, it would create a landmine-ridden field for Wukong. And himself, as well.

This was bad. Really bad.

Even worse yet because he actually doesn’t hate his company, either- which he’s certain was no thanks to the wine he might have gotten just a bit too much of in his system. It tended to soften his resolve and make him more carefree- which was working overtime against him.

At some point, Macaque starts creating shadows of animals using his hands and firelight, as per request of MK and Mei when he very casually mentioned it in passing. He twists his hands, creating a shadow cat on the brush of trees as if they were his projector screen. It molds against the shape of the brush, leaping and jumping. The fire turns violet at the use of his powers, bathing everyone in dark hues of purple. It crackles and flickers loudly, gleaming with magic.

“That is so cute! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from us,” MK says, clapping his hands excitedly at the carousel of shadowy animals dancing across the ground. It was a cute display, actually. Wukong didn’t think he still remembered how to do that.

He thinks back to the first time Macaque conjured up his very first shadow deer, how excited he was. To Wukong, a century was no different than an hour. But, when he remembers little things like that, he’s very jarringly reminded of just how long ago that actually took place. He shivers despite not being cold.

“I used to do this when I first got my powers,” Macaque explains as he connects his thumbs and forms a dark bird. It was true, too. He sucked at using his powers at first, and usually stuck to whatever was simplest for a good while. Wukong still remembers the many times he’d faceplanted when he first attempted to warp through shadow portals. Too funny.

“Not so much anymore. Might be a bit out of practice. Just a bit,” He hums. The shadow deer he conjures wavers at the edges. ‘Out of practice’, Wukong’s ass, he was just trying to save face. The shadows always warped awkwardly when he was drunk.

“What was the first animal you made?” Mei asks, eyes sparkling with interest. Macaque hums, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully.

“A dog, I’m pretty sure.”

Wukong shakes his head, surprising even himself.

“Nuh-uh, it was a deer, remember?”

“No? I could’ve sworn it was a dog.”

Wukong sits up straight, completely invested in winning this argument.

“No, no- ‘cause you thought the deer was the coolest one, remember? But then when you tried to make it, you got all pissy ‘cause it was too hard,” He explains. No, Wukong remembers way too clearly how upset Macaque was that he couldn’t get that stupid deer shadow to work.

He gets that look across his face, one that’s a little bashful, and Wukong knows he’s realized his mistake. But, the instant inquisitive heads turn to him, he swiftly masks it with a thick air of confidence. Confidently wrong, that is.

“Nope, definitely a dog. It’s like the easiest one- even kids can do it- so it totally makes sense that it’d be the first one I learn,” He replies with an easy shrug, taking another swig before closing an eye and peering down the bottle. He makes a face, then tosses it to the ground, adding to his growing collection.

Wukong gapes. He’s being gaslit directly to his face.

“Monkey King, you were like, really confident about that,” MK chortles, and Wukong will absolutely not stand for this slander on his name.

“Kid, I’m the Monkey King, why would I lie about that?”

“Dude, you still pull that, ‘I’m the Monkey King’, card?” Macaque admonishes with a mocking little tone, lips quirked in a facetious smirk.

Wukong crosses his arms with a huff.

“Uh- it works, so why would I stop, smart guy? It’s my best card,” He retorts, sticking out his tongue. Fuck him, he could totally use that whenever he liked. It’s like when mortals pull the ‘But it’s my birthday’, thing, but permanently. Why wouldn’t he use it?

“It totally doesn’t!” MK shouts, seeming to say what just about everyone else was thinking, based on their baffled expressions. “It didn’t work at all when we were going for the Samadhi Fire!”

Wukong waves a hand dismissively.

“Pfft, it totally did. We’re all here now, aren’t we? So like… it didn’t work in the moment, but it worked out later,” He explains, using his all-knowing, trademarked ‘mentor tone’ to give himself a little more creditability.

That’s probably the fattest lie he’s ever told, but, sometimes, it’s just easier to make light of a shitty situation. Wukong hardly ever thought that far ahead, and, after the whole mess that was the Lady Bone Demon, he’s rethinking his abilities to improvise. He still mulls over his decisions sometimes, how the kids were affected. A sickness plagues him at the mere thought, knowing that if he’d just played his cards a little smarter, the kids wouldn’t have been caught in the crossfire.

But, well, he doesn’t want to linger.

He’ll be better- it’s all he can say.

“Wow. All these years, and your logic still doesn’t make any sense,” Macaque deadpans. Wukong’s never seen a larger collection of flabbergasted faces in all his life, and they chortle at the shadow’s comment. Rude, but he supposes it was fair game for targeting Red Son earlier- to be fair, though, that joke was just begging to be made. He’s not too mad about it, in fact he can’t help but laugh at his remark. too.

A somnolent wave seems to wash over everyone as the odd hours creep in. The kids were starting to look exhausted, and Mei droops onto a very groggy Red Boy- no, wait, Red Son’s shoulder. He grumbles tiredly, but remains still, pink dusting his cheeks as he gives up more of their shared blanket to her. MK’s not too far off, either, rubbing at his eyes and the intervals between each yawn becoming shorter and shorter.

The once bubbling conversation has dwindled down to just a few murmurs and crackling embers. Pigsy, Sandy, and a barely-awake MK were busy talking about tea and noodles. Something about Sandy opening up a tea shop next to the pig’s own noodle store. He seems a little embarrassed at the idea, but MK and Pigsy try to egg him on.

Mid-conversation, MK starts falling asleep. It’s impressive, actually. Red Son starts having trouble keeping his eyes open before eventually joining Mei in her sleep. Wukong adjusts the kid’s blanket so it covers him fully.

Tang and Macaque were busy talking about some history nonsense, and the monk excitedly points to a few pages from his journal, scooting closer to him so he can get a better view. Macaque’s eyes practically light up at whatever’s on the pages, intrigued. Tang had many, many excited questions, and Macaque had lived through a good portion of those events to answer a few of them. They seem like they’re having a good time.

Wukong’s tail flicks.

He hates seeing Macaque talk to him. He’d been very pointedly ignoring it to the best of his ability up until now, but it was like trying to ignore an off-note in an otherwise harmonious song. However, without the crutch of conversation as a distraction, and the last few precious drops of his wine in Macaque’s possession, it’s all the sage can focus on. It fills him with something unfamiliar and uncomfortable, something that makes his blood boil and his fingers jittery.

Whatever the hell was infecting Wukong wasn’t something with an immediate cure.

But he’ll make one.

After he’s done with his interrogation, Tang gives Macaque a warm smile, which he returns, then closes his book. He flips out his phone, then gapes at the time.

“Woah- Hey, Pigsy. You’ve only got a few hours of sleep before the shop opens.”

The pig looks completely and utterly mortified at those words, then swiftly whips around the firepit, frantically cleaning up his mess faster than Wukong’s ever seen him move before. Sandy and Tang do, as well, though in a more unhurried manner.

Well, Wukong didn’t think they were going to leave so soon, but it only makes coming up with a solution to his issue easier. In fact, he helps them clean up, all done with his kindly little grin. He notices the odd look Macaque gives him, no doubt recognizing trouble when he saw it.

They try to wake up the kids, but they’re fast asleep. Wukong gives an easy little wave and makes some claim about waking them up himself just so they can leave faster. The pig gives MK an affectionate pat on the head before their little group gives their waves of goodbye and takes off, making their way through the thick of the brush.

Wukong’s heart hammers against his chest, irritated at how Macaque smiles warmly in Tang’s direction after he leaves. Lava pumps through his veins and makes his tail whip at the ground, and that nasty feeling inside of him practically ignites like a match to a bomb.

He needs to fix this, whatever the hell it was.

He brings his gaze to Macaque, dragging his eyes down his exposed chest again before drifting further down to his crotch, getting an eyeful. With them aside and the kids being dead asleep, he’s completely free to.

Macaque notices, of course. Good. Excellent, even.

The warrior snickers, amused at having caught him a second time.

Wukong gives him a smoldering look, one that makes Macaque’s smirk vanish with its intensity. He flicks his eyes away, nodding to the direction of his home implicatively, before meeting his gaze again. Macaque’s face reddens, and he quickly averts his eyes, bringing one of his hands to his cheek as if that’ll hide his blush.

Wukong grins to himself and tosses his empty bottles into the bag of trash, very thankful he’d chosen a forgiving pair of sweatpants. He nudges MK’s shoulder, but to no avail. He snores loudly and drool runs down the side of his mouth, but Wukong simply nudges him with a little more force, determined. He’s on a mission, here.

“C’mon, kiddo. It’s late. Think it’s about time you head home, already.”

MK makes an irritated little sound, swatting away the king’s hand.

“Can’t I just stay here for the night? Home is so far awayyy,” He complains.

Wukong looks to Macaque, silently pleading for help- coming up with fast excuses was his job. Macaque swiftly turns away with his arms crossed and tail flicking an anxious path on the ground, a bit of red still on his cheeks. Wukong’s on his own.

“Ah- ‘Fraid not, bud. Gonna be up with the younglings. They’ve got their whole family drama I gotta sort out and whatnot.” It’s not the best lie he’s ever come up with, but it’ll do.

“Ughhh, fine.” He nudges Mei and Red Son, who awake with immense displeasure and grogginess. “C’mon, guys. We gotta bounce.”

“Yup, think I’m gonna head out, too. I’ve dealt with you for about as long as I can manage.”

Wukong’s head whips to Macaque, barely registering that it was him who spoke. He’s already thrown all his trash away and stands up to stretch before ruffling the kid’s hair. This was absolutely not part of Wukong’s plan- not even a little bit. He doesn’t even look at Wukong when he speaks, and before the king can even say anything, he’s already dipping into a shadow portal.

Wukong gapes. Gone in just a matter of seconds. And he was so looking forward to getting his dick in him. He might have been just a touch too forward, and, in hindsight, he should have taken that into consideration. They didn’t usually turn the other down, though, and the thought never crossed his mind.

How disappointing.

MK, Mei, and Red Son pry themselves off of their chairs, leaving the blankets bunched up in the seat. Wukong ruffles MK’s hair before he takes off with another yawn and a, ‘See you later, Monkey King. M’gonna go crash.’ He pulls out his phone’s flashlight, grimacing at its brightness, then leads the way for Red Son and Mei to meet up with the rest of the group further ahead. Soon enough, they’re gone. Jeez, if Wukong knew Macaque was going to just up and leave, he would have let them stay.

Everyone’s left. He’s got a headache with its own heartbeat, he can barely see straight anymore, and his best lay was gone. Nothing else to do but retreat to the comfort of his bed.

Alone.

Wukong looks to the now empty setup, then puts out the fire, grimacing at the pungent smell of smoke. Just the mere sight of all the chairs and coolers he’ll have to clean up puts him in a worse mood. He’ll do it tomorrow. If he remembers. Or maybe he’ll just have MK do it.

Dragging his hands down his face, the king makes his way to the curtain of water rushing down hiding away his home- eventually, anyways. The water pounding down is much too loud for him to deal with, and his feet don’t seem to want to cooperate with him. He trips over just about every stick and stone that gets in his way, grumbling to himself. Navigating through the darkness of night was certainly not his strong suit.

Just as the waterfall parts for him, the shadows around him start to shift and curl.

“Did you really think I’d leave you high and dry?” Comes an echo of that familiar voice.

The king whips around, watching his shadow stretch across the ground. Macaque rises from the darkness seamlessly, wearing his mischievous smirk on his face. He’s got his hands behind his back- the way he always did when he was up to no good. A prelude to the type of trouble Wukong loved involving himself in.

“Wha- Woah, I thought you left,” Wukong says, perplexed.

The warrior strides towards him, the yellow of his eyes gleaming faintly in the night.

“Jus’ playin’ the part, Monkey King. You should try it sometime- ‘cause a lot of the time you go off script,” He reprimands, tone taking on a rare, but scarily effective seriousness.

The king’s face reddens at having been called out, and he averts his gaze. Usually, he’s not so obvious when he’s ogling Macaque. At least, not when the others were around. His eyes just kind of… happened to catch on his very lovely pecs. The first time, anyways.

Either way, he’d have to be more careful next time.

“Don’t worry- you weren’t that obvious. I kept an eye out. Yeah, you’re welcome,” Macaque adds on with a wave of his hand, returning to his regularly scheduled playful sarcasm. Certainly not the first time his observational skills came in handy, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

The warrior takes the lead, lingering in the entrance before he fixes Wukong with a look so heated it nearly makes him crumble to his knees.

“Well? You gonna come fuck me, or what?”

“I- uh. Yes. Yeah,” He so elegantly flounders, astonished at Macaque’s bluntness. Before he can get another word out, Macaque’s cold hand grabs at his own, dragging him hurriedly through his cave and into his home. Wukong barely remembers to shut the door, his slog of a mind entirely operated by his dick. He stumbles over his feet.

His heart was already racing, and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

Once they’re in his room, Macaque shuts the door and closes the curtains. He’s started doing that as of late, for whatever reason. Wukong can’t really find it in himself to care, not when his sole focus was rearranging his guts.

When Macaque returns, he grabs a fistful of Wukong’s shirt, dragging him forcefully towards the bed and pulling a yelp from him. He tends to get so much more pushy when he’s tipsy, manhandling Wukong into place however he saw fit. And Wukong was by no means anybody’s bitch, but he secretly wishes he’d do that more often sober, too. Very, very secretly.

The warrior sits at the edge of his bed, leaning back on his forearms and spreading his legs, that combative smirk on his face. A danger lingers in his eyes, a danger Wukong simply can’t help but fall prey to.

Wukong wastes no time situating himself between Macaque’s legs, already throwing his shirt off. Macaque rakes his eyes down Wukong’s body, inflating his ego that much more. The sage leans over him, using one hand to hold himself up and the other to grab at one of his thighs.

Eyes of gold flick to ears- hidden behind their illusion.

Of course, Wukong would enjoy himself a little more if those glamors were off; he’d always found them pretty stupid as it were. Their very illusion had irritated him for every second they remained intact. Maybe he could say or do something to free the set of ears like he did a month ago. Would Macaque be offended if he asked outright?

“Quit staring and make yourself useful already.”

“So demanding,” Wukong tuts, playing off his embarrassment from being caught. Again.

He obliges anyways, reaching a hand under Macaque’s shirt and dragging his hand over the toned body beneath the fabric, fingers dipping into the lines of hard muscle. He’s more concerned with getting his taste on his tongue already. The king surges forward, claiming Macaque’s lips and inwardly laughing at his whine of surprise. Stolen peach wine floods his tongue, and the taste morphs into something heavenly when it’s laced with Macaque’s own flavor.

Sharp teeth nip at Wukong’s own tongue and lips, harshly drawing blood, Wukong doesn’t mind in the slightest- laughing about nothing at the taste of iron on his tongue.

“What’s so funny?” Macaque gripes, words slurring.

“Mm, nothin’,” The king answers, rucking Macaque’s shirt up to his collarbone the way he’d been so patiently waiting to all afternoon and getting an eyeful of his muscled pecs. He’s quick to press his bloodied lips and tongue against the flesh, laving his tongue over a nipple. Finally, he can get them in his mouth- they’d been teasing him for hours already.

“M’not a woman, idiot,” Macaque grumbles, weakly smacking Wukong over the head.

He barely notices, currently occupied with dappling marks over his neck and pecs- he’d long forgotten about taking the rest of the long-sleeve off, leaving it haphazardly bunched up above Macaque’s chest. Whatever- Wukong could worry about it later.

“Don’t need to be,” Comes the easy reply before Wukong brushes his teeth playfully over a hardened nipple, earning a loud gasp from the warrior.

This was a rare occasion Wukong wanted to indulge in- it was one of maybe a handful of moments where some petty argument didn’t lead to a bout of heated, vicious sex. And although Wukong initiated things out of an aggravated impulse from that monk, he’s quickly finding that his resolve was melting with each sigh and hum from the warrior.

There was no hurry, either, something Wukong plans to take full advantage of. Macaque doesn’t know that just yet, and he doesn’t want him to, either.

No risk of anyone walking in, and no need for them to rush.

Wukong’s going to devour him.

With a low hum, he sinks his fangs into heated flesh, framing a nipple in the first of many lovebites to come. The warrior sighs around each mark, allowing Wukong to litter his body with as many bites and hickeys under dark fur as he pleases. The king’s hands roam freely over his thighs, waist- whatever he can get his hands on.

One of Wukong’s hands trail over Macaque’s inner thigh, rumpling his sweatpants as the tips of his fingers press just out of reach from his crotch. He presses open-mouthed kisses up his chest, collarbone, and throat, dick twitching when he feels the vibration of Macaque’s moan under his lips. The scent of sweet plums and wine cloud Wukong’s head, makes it harder for him to think clearly.

The warrior’s hand cants into Wukong’s touch, and, instead of pulling his hand away like he normally would, Wukong decides to throw him a bone and let him fuck into his hand. The king hums lowly against his pec, teeth sinking into the flesh once more when he feels Macaque’s cock harden underneath his palm. He grinds against it in the most needy manner, craving Wukong’s touch like oxygen.

“Mm, fuck…” Macaque moans, his voice a deep timbre, tossing his head back and using his forearm to cover his eyes. His other hand grips the bedsheets tightly.

It wasn’t exactly a rule to their agreement, just more of an observation, but Wukong couldn’t help but notice that Macaque was pretty reserved about touching. In fact, he typically seemed to avoid contact altogether if he could help it, with his hands always gripping at the sheets or clothing, or just placed cautiously on his shoulder, almost like he’s ready to push him away if he needs to.

No arms winding around his chest or wrapped around his neck. Unless, of course, the position restricted hand placement, like when he’s giving Wukong’s dick a ride. Even then, that wasn’t very often, either.

Which was… fine. It didn’t matter any to Wukong, so long as he still got to fuck him.

His teeth sink a little deeper, drawing blood. It draws a noisy gasp from Macaque, whose arm was still very annoyingly covering his eyes.

Wukong decides to rectify that, using a hand to tear it away and get those amber eyes back on him.

He licks away Macaque’s blood, and the warrior’s heady eyes follow the motion.

Macaque might like it hard and fast, but Wukong prefers to meticulously pick away at his tough guy act and make him crumble under languid touches. Strip away his many, many barriers one at a time instead of all at once. If he picks hard enough, maybe he can shatter Macaque’s illusion, too.

Again, he finds that his gaze is drawn to Macaque’s very normal set of two ears.

It had been almost a month since he’d last seen his true set of ears, all for the very petty purpose of catching him off guard and nearly making him cum far too soon.

And, well, it doesn’t matter how well that worked, the point was that Wukong couldn’t help but look. Somehow, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, there’s that chance he’ll look and those six ears only he had the privilege of seeing would show again up, even if for just a moment.

Of course, it just wasn’t true. Macaque had kept up the glamors long before they’d even parted ways, and never once failed to keep them intact. There was no off chance he’d ever have them accidentally exposed, and certainly not now.

Wukong doesn’t know why he keeps checking. Doesn’t know why he’s met with an indistinguishable sense of what feels like disappointment every time he sees the normal set of ears. It feels similar to when Macaque had first put up his glamors.

“Wukong.”

Shit.

“You keep looking at my ears,” Macaque murmurs, copper eyes holding a hint of dubious suspicion in the flecks of color.

Wukong shakes his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. Jus’ thinkin’,” He slurs, moving down to press his lips against the base of Macaque’s throat, hopefully to just brush that aside- he was really not doing well about staring today.

“You want my glamors off, don’t you?” Macaque asks, suddenly.

Wukong pulls away, taking a moment to register the shadow’s words. His face burns with red, and he forces his excited tail to keep still.

“Uh- I mean, yeah. Yes,” He stutters, tripping over his words.

Maybe Macaque would even let him touch them this time. He couldn’t remember what they felt like under his fingers, and, with Macaque’s permission, of course, he’d really like to refamiliarize himself with them. Maybe he could familiarize his teeth with them, too. He wonders absently what sort of reaction that would pull from the shadow.

Wukong swallows dryly. Fuck, he’s getting off track.

The warrior smirks, eyes gleaming a violet hue in the dark of the room.

“Mm, I’m sure you do,” He taunts pettily, legs wrapping around Wukong’s waist and pulling him in in the most enticing way. Wukong grunts, his crotch pressed flush against Macaque’s ass, dick pressed right against the cleft of his ass with only their clothing blocking him. And Wukong almost wishes he could say that he found his eagerness annoying, but, damn, if it’s not hot. Normally, he’s not the type to surrender to his baser instincts so easily.

But something about Macaque just sings to something primal in his core.

“Earn it,” Macaque challenges.

Exactly like that.

Red blooms on Wukong’s cheeks, and he has to suppress a shiver. He wants to earn it. He holds the power to snap away the illusions hiding those ears away from him. Quite easily, in fact. But there was a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment to be had at the idea of Macaque removing them himself.

“Yeah? Watch me,” He quips.

He sinks to his knees. Macaque watches him, eyes wide, like he wasn’t expecting Wukong to actually listen. Wukong gets a good look at his face stained with scarlet as he raises himself up on his elbows, attention focused solely on him.

He shucks off his pants and throws them aside, leaving the shadow in just his bunched- up sweater.

He drags his eyes over Macaque’s form, lifting his thighs to rest on his shoulders. The warrior’s eyes are hooded, and he’s already got that fiery ring of lust alive and thriving in his eyes. Pretty red marks decorate his neck and pecs- courtesy of Wukong. His dick is hard and flushed at the tip, begging for a kingly touch.

And, just because he likes watching Macaque’s face twist in frustration when he ignores it, Wukong decides he’ll do just that.

With a hum of approval, Wukong reaches under the bed, searching. He’s got an idea.

“Get me the lube.”

Macaque reaches over himself, fingers barely able to reach the nightstand drawer.

Wukong’s face brightens when he finds what he’s looking for: Macaque’s dildo. It was something he bought on a whim just to surprise the warrior one night- and it ended up working in his favor better than he thought.

He places it beside his thigh, right next to the bottle of lube, and the red that blooms on his cheeks is dark enough to blend in with his markings.

“This good enough?” Wukong coos, already knowing the answer.

“Why don’t you find out?” Macaque counters, licking his lips.

Finicky little shit.

With an amused huff, Wukong snatches the bottle of lube, drizzling some over his waiting fingers. The sight of Macaque spread out before him is one he commits to memory, dragging his eyes over the pucker of his hole. It didn’t matter whether Macaque wanted to take his fingers, cock, or tongue- Wukong would make it happen.

One of Macaque’s thighs jostle him, and he tears his eyes away to meet the warrior’s gaze.

“Can’t get your eyes off me, huh?” He teases. He clenches his thighs around Wukong’s neck. It makes his head spin, makes him want to entirely forgo prep and just take him right there. The plan was to take it slow, but if Macaque keeps being… well, Macaque, Wukong’s not sure how long that’ll last.

“You ready for me to prep you?” He asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“Been ready,” He hums, spreading his legs a little wider for Wukong. The king licks his lips, circling his hole with a lubed finger and doing everything in his power to keep himself from drooling over the sight. He’s got a front row seat to the best show in the world- but, if he’s patient, he’ll get an even better one.

Wukong bites his lip, watching with rapt attention as Macaque takes his first finger, watches how the ring of muscle stretches around the appendage. The heat that welcomes him is silken and tight, clenching around his finger and pulling him deeper.

Golden eyes flit up to him, pleasantly surprised to find that Macaque’s already staring at him with a blush that reaches his ears, amused.

“Getting a good view?”

“Mhm. Been waitin’ for this view all night,” Wukong coos with a teasing lilt in his voice, turning his head to nuzzle one of the thighs around his neck. Now this, this he doesn’t have any shame in whatsoever for getting caught staring. He starts thrusting his finger, suppressing a shiver at Macaque’s consuming heat, how it takes no time for him to start rocking onto him.

“Ha, I know… Surprised you didn’t just fuck me right there,” Sighs the warrior, canting his hips onto Wukong’s hand.

Wukong drags his teeth over the toned thighs encasing him before he speaks.

“Wanted you to myself,” He replies, not too sure whether that was just another line or the truth.

A second finger joins his first one, and the sage nibbles at the thigh before sinking his teeth in. With his other hand, he drags it over the tent in his own pants. Wukong massages himself gently as he marks up Macaque’s thighs and hips, feeling himself harden quickly under his palm. The warrior’s lewd sounds above him egg him on, and Wukong’s almost tempted to suck him down just to please him.

Oh, he will. Not just yet, though. Instead, he pointedly ignores Macaque’s flushed cock, dragging his lips so close to it that he can feel its heat, but Wukong goes no further than that. It rips a noisy gasp from the warrior. He looks down to Wukong with that hope in his eyes, that, maybe, he’ll get what he wants. Wukong likes to snuff that hope out before reigniting it with a heavenly inferno.

“Another?” Wukong murmurs against the base. His lips brush against it when he speaks, and he breathes hotly over the length.

It tears a delicious little sound from Macaque before he speaks.

“Ah- Yes, Wukong. Another,” He whines. One of Macaque’s hands finds the back of the king’s head, and he tries to guide him to the head, but Wukong is nothing if not stubborn. He ducks out of Macaque’s hold, and it makes the shadow’s nose crinkle with irritation.

“C’mon, Wukong,” He urges, demandingly. His breath hitches when he speaks again. “Suck me down already, for fuck’s sake.”

Wukong chuckles as he leaves another mark on Macaque’s thigh, lustfully watching as his third finger enters him. He groans quietly, feeling far too hot and trapped in his clothing. Wukong reaches into his pants, starting a slow stroke over his cock to take the edge off. Sweat beads on his forehead- Macaque is so, so hot around his fingers.

Wukong likes the think that going down his path of enlightenment had blessed him with the self-restraint he so wholly lacked before. With past partners, he had the patience of a saint, and made sure to use that to his advantage in order to really get them begging and whining beneath him.

Macaque was his own case, though. It didn’t matter what Wukong tried- he was still as demanding and snarky as ever, refusing to entirely submit no matter how utterly wrecked his voice sounded. Position didn’t matter, whoever was domming didn’t matter. It was like trying to move a mountain.

Macaque was stubborn.

And it was quite possibly the most attractive thing he’d ever seen.

He liked that Macaque never submitted to him.

And, because of that, Wukong’s patience was put to the test every single time.

He wants to just rail the needy black-furred brat into the mattress. Finish prep as quickly as possible then remind him of who’s in charge, since he seems to forget so frequently. The images are vivid- Macaque taunts him, even scoffs at him for trying to put him in his place. Gives him that challenge of a smirk that falters as he’s getting pounded with a force the sage has never used on anyone else. It makes Wukong’s dick pulse in his hand.

He wants to tame him.

He licks his lips before unhurriedly bringing them to the base of Macaque’s cock. The warrior watches him intently, hoping against hope that he’ll finally go down on him. He couldn’t be more wrong, though.

The king sucks at the base, then drags his hot tongue up from base to tip. It tears a gasp from Macaque’s lungs, and the hand on Wukong’s head fists in his hair. Macaque rocks his hips onto his fingers, sighing when Wukong suckles at the head of his cock. Hope practically alights in those eyes, but the king simply slides his tongue back down his length, smiling to himself mischievously.

Sweat rolls down the sides of his face, and his brows furrow angrily once he realizes Wukong won’t suck him down, writhing underneath him.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” He chides, a moan cutting into his words and reaping them of any impact they might have had.

Wukong merely gives a noncommittal hum of confirmation on his dick, savoring the taste heavy on his tongue.

The hand on his head lifts, returning with the dildo Wukong had long forgotten was there. He was perfectly content to just tortuously tease Macaque like this all night just to see him squirm and piss him off. He nearly forgot there was kind of a point to all this- admittedly a little caught up in the moment.

He gingerly removes his fingers from the warrior before grabbing his red dildo and lubing it up. Wukong shifts, careful not to jostle the thighs resting on his shoulders. A black tail falls to the floor, flicking over his dick in a way that makes Wukong’s hips jerk.

When the king brings his eyes back up to the little shit, Macaque’s already looking at him with this knowing smirk and haughtily propping his head up on his fist. A wildfire of lust burns in his eyes, like he just knows the effect he has on Wukong. He looks utterly wrecked, black mane sticking out in every direction and a dense haze in his eyes. And yet he still wants to act like he’s on top of the world.

Gods, he wants to just ravage him already. Wants to fuck him so hard that he won’t even know his damn name afterwards. Wants to ram his cock down his throat to wipe that smirk off.

Above that, though, he wants those damn glamors off.

Swallowing thickly, Wukong carefully brings the dildo to his entrance, taking a deep, unsatisfying breath to calm himself before he lets his dick take the lead. A little longer. Wukong could hold out a little longer. He will see those ears.

He eases the head in, biting his lip as Macaque’s greedy hole stretches around it. Above him, a soft grunt tumbles from the warrior’s lips, sounding a little strained.

Wukong stops.

“Need me to slow down?”

As expected, he’s met with a scowl.

“No, I’m perfectly-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re fine, we get it,” Wukong cuts off with a roll of his eyes. That lie could only work so many times.

“Alright, look- quit trying to act all tough or whatever and just tell me if I’m hurting you or not. Seriously gets on my nerves when you do that,” The sage reprimands. Something vile always brews a thick sludge in his gut every time he unintentionally hurts Macaque, even more so when he tries to just brush it off.

Wukong had hurt him enough.

“…Fine,” Comes the unexpected answer. Wukong brings his gaze to Macaque, who isn’t looking directly at him. He clutches a little tighter at the bedsheets, as if preparing himself, and distrust lays heavy in his eyes.

“Slow down,” He orders, quietly but firmly.

Wukong does just that. Having Macaque actually communicate with him instead of just dealing with it was leagues better. He pushes the dildo slower inside of him this time, watching Macaque’s face carefully for any indication that he was hurting him.

Scarlet reaches Macaque’s ears. A thin mist of sweat sits on his face, and the shine of soft moonlight bathes him in a silvery glow. He’s unfairly attractive, with or without his glamors. Always has been. Wukong wishes there was a way he could tell him that- sincerely. No mocking undertones or hints of sarcasm. But that sort of thing didn’t really align with this sort of relationship, so he pushes the thought aside.

“Did I use enough lube?” He asks, wanting to flip the channel of his mind. Also to ensure Macaque wouldn’t suddenly change his mind about speaking up.

He nods. Then, Macaque makes a face.

“Actually, it’s too much.”

Wukong gapes.

“Wha- You know half the time I can’t tell if I’m hurting you or not. I was just trying to play it safe, smartass,” He chides, feeling a little embarrassed at having used too much.

Macaque hums once he takes the last inch of the dildo, the hilt pressed against his ass. The arms supporting him tremble, and Wukong’s certain they won’t be able to hold him up for much longer.

“Didn’t… think it mattered,” Macaque sighs, turmoil in his eyes.

His words cut Wukong like a knife, and he’s sure the shock is visible on his face. An uncomfortable ache sits like a heavy brick in his chest, and Wukong can’t quite make out what it is.

He really shouldn’t care- they weren’t exactly friends outside of this. But this was something else. This wasn’t just a battle where they carelessly fought it out. Sex was leaving a certain amount of trust in the other, even if it was just casual. And whatever that level of trust was, it seemed like Macaque had barely the minimum required to initiate it.

He’s been brushing off his pain because he thought Wukong wouldn’t care? What kind of animal does he think he is?

Ah, right. Nevermind.

“I can make you feel good, Macaque,” He murmurs reassuringly against his thigh for whatever it’s worth, slowly bringing the dildo out. Wukong shouldn’t be surprised that the warrior trusted him so little, but still can’t help but feel hurt. Even for something like this, placing his trust in Wukong was a monumental task.

“You just have to let me.”

A strange expression crosses Macaque’s face before softening ever so slightly. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

Wukong laughs lightly, hoping to dispel the odd air settling around them.

“Don’t tell me you’re at a loss for words,” He teases lightheartedly, easing the dildo in and out of him, slow enough that Macaque can protest if he needs to. The king has no issue- he’d spend as long as it took to get him to feel comfortable, to prove that he wasn’t so brutish.

“Yeah- You can only wish,” Says the warrior, rocking onto the toy, as if remembering himself.

Wukong’s reminded of how hard he is as he watches Macaque take the dildo, the way he cants onto it, promptly using that to focus on instead of his stirring emotions. His hole flutters around the length when he pushes it further into his heat- gods, Wukong wishes that were him. Wukong strokes himself in tandem, then moves so his lips brush against Macaque’s own cock. He runs his tongue over it once more, fully intending to take it all down this time, before Macaque speaks to him again.

“Suck me off already, Wukong,” He urges before he gives the most pitiful, whiny, and utterly obscene, “Come on,” right after.

Wukong practically feels his dick jump in his hand, feels heat thrum and pulse in the pit of his stomach. It’s probably the closest thing to begging he’d ever get from the proud Six-Eared Macaque, but he will absolutely take it.

He doesn’t even have a snarky response equipped- focused entirely on following through with such a request. Wukong takes his hand off of his dick, using it to take Macaque’s instead. He hears the warrior hiss through his teeth when Wukong pumps him a few times before eagerly pressing the head to his lips, sinking down on him slowly.

The head slides further and further down his tongue, and it takes little effort altogether to swallow all of his length. His nose presses into dark fur, and he wraps his lips tightly around the base.

It makes Macaque tip his head back, flopping onto the bed with a close- mouthed moan. The king peers up at him, watching how his claws snag on his bedsheets as he slowly takes him down again. Wukong moves the dildo in tandem, and the thighs framing his head jerk delectably in response. Wukong moans around the warrior’s cock, relishing the hot slide of his length down his throat.

A hand flies to the back of Wukong’s head, fingers grasping at the strands of his hair, and his ankles cross behind his head, pulling him further in.

Wukong bobs his head at a leisurely pace, watching the face twisting in pleasure above him heatedly. Macaque’s hand presses against him, trying to get him to go faster, but Wukong refuses. No, he wants to keep the pace as tortuously slow as he can. He wants to entirely dismantle Macaque’s little empire, piece by piece- it didn’t matter how long it took.

The king eases off of him, licking his lips. His tail raps at the floor from how utterly distraught Macaque looks at the gesture. He thrusts the dildo hard into him only once, and the gasp it tears from the other is loud.

“You sure are… taking your time,” Macaque huffs, his face burning red.

“Mhm,” The king hums with a nod. Then, “What’s your rush? Got someone else you need to see after this?” He says, only meaning it as a joke.

The look of raw confusion on Macaque’s face is almost comedic.

“What? No?”

Then, his face morphs into something devious.

“Maybe.”

Wukong’s movements buffer for a moment before continuing, mind lagging. Somehow, that idea brews something disgusting inside of him, makes him grimace at the thought despite its blatant absurdity. There wasn’t a being in this realm or any other who could please Macaque as well as he could. What a ridiculous notion.

And yet, the mere idea gets under his skin. More so than anything else Macaque had ever said to taunt or goad him- and that was saying a lot. Then, the fresh image of him and the monk talking like good friends over the fire pit unhelpfully resurfaces.

Was there more going on between them that he’d just failed to notice?

“Wukong, I’m joking,” Macaque deadpans, using one of his thighs to jostle Wukong out of his black cloud.

Was he? This was exactly the type of thing Macaque would lie about to get a rise out of him. Worse yet, was how well it was working.

“Are you, though? Half the time I can’t tell with you,” Wukong retorts, maybe a tad harsher than he intended.

He sinks down onto Macaque’s cock again, his pace a little faster. It didn’t matter- right now, he’s Wukong’s for the taking. And he’ll fuck him so good that no one else will even suffice once he’s done with him.

He groans gutturally at the taste on his tongue, using his free hand to grasp at the trim waist and encouraging Macaque to fuck into his throat.

It pulls a throaty sound from the warrior, whose hips buck involuntarily into Wukong’s mouth. The head of his cock hits the back of his throat and spit dribbles down his chin, but it doesn’t bother the king any- in fact, he takes Macaque deeper. Lets him use him as he pleases, using the dildo to fuck him harder and harder. He hums once Macaque finds a greedy rhythm, matching his pace.

“Ha- Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Monkey King,” He taunts, voice strained. His title name sounds so much filthier in this context, and it makes Wukong’s own neglected cock weep for any sort of attention. Wukong pushes his own needs aside- he has more important matters to attend to, like making the warrior in his bed cry out his name for everyone to hear.

Wukong doesn’t bother entertaining such a nonsensical statement. He was the Monkey King. Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. Sun Wukong didn’t get jealous. That was a lower emotion reserved for mortals.

The warrior’s breath hitches above him, and his thighs grow tense around Wukong’s neck.

“Oh- Fuck…” He moans, voice rising in pitch and hips stuttering. He’s close.

“Wukong- Wukong, I’m-”

The king’s not kind enough to grace him with the chance to finish his sentence. He brings his lips just underneath the head, suckling tightly, the way he knows Macaque likes it.

With a broken cry, the shadow comes undone, and his thighs trap Wukong in a vice grip. The king takes him down a final time, groaning at the taste of cum flooding his tongue, swallowing it down enthusiastically and thrusting the dildo into him a final time. The hand in his hair grips for dear life, pulling hard and making Wukong’s dick twitch.

Slowly, the king eases off of him and withdraws the dildo tenderly before tossing the damn thing to the floor- he wants a turn next.

With lidded eyes and sweat shimmering over red cheeks, Macaque looks down to Wukong, chest heaving as he attempts to get oxygen into his lungs. The king meets his gaze, licking his lips and thumbing away the spend and spit on his chin. He runs his tongue over Macaque’s body, lapping up any missed drops.

The lovebitten thighs around his neck are entirely boneless, and Wukong dips under them once he’s cleaned up the shadow’s mess. Wukong stands over him, hastily removing his own pants before getting a handful of Macaque’s thighs in both hands, admiring the view and purring with satisfaction at the image he’s created.

Macaque gasping for air, bathed in dim moonlight and entirely splayed out before the king. Inky black fur, slick with sweat and beyond fixing, sticks to his forehead and fans out messily over the pillow. The marks dappled on his chest and thighs sit at various stages of healing. Red stains his cheeks, even reaching his ears.

Ah, right, his ears. How could he forget?

“S’that good enough for you?” He taunts, voice hoarse.

Wukong lowers himself, holding his weight over the shadow and leering down at him with an unrivalled cockiness, preening like a peacock at the mess he’d made of him.

“Gods, do you ever stop talking?”

Wukong certainly does when Macaque surges forward to meet him in an open-mouthed kiss. A hand finds his shoulder, and Wukong knows that’s probably the most amount of physical contact he’ll get from Macaque for tonight. Well, aside from getting between his legs. Again, though, he certainly takes what he can get.

He slides his tongue against Macaque’s, eager for the other to get a taste of himself still heavy in his mouth. The warrior certainly does, if his low moan is of any indication. The king drags a hand down the body hot beneath him, carding through mussed fur before grabbing at his own cock and finally giving it some much-needed attention.

When Wukong pulls away, Macaque pants for air, the gleam of his heady eyes bright like stars in the darkness of the room. Wukong spares a glance to Macaque’s ears.

Still normal.

He pouts.

“What? Did you think I’d make it that easy?”

His mind warps back to their conversation from earlier. An either very stupid or very brilliant idea forms amidst the haze in his head.

“Uh- it should be that easy. I’m the Monkey King.”

Macaque gapes for a moment, then giggles, quickly morphing into full-blown laughter. It’s a wonderful sound, like chimes in the wind, and it makes his teeth flash as he cackles. It’s contagious, and Wukong finds himself laughing, too. And maybe it’s just the thick syrup of wine in his system, but a foreign warmth fills his chest at the sight.

“You did not just say that,” He chuckles, but Wukong barely hears him, lost in his smile. He wants to make it his.

Acting on impulse, he presses a kiss to the warrior, moving their lips against the other’s like it’s second nature. Macaque giggles lightly against his lips, and it makes his fingers quiver around his dick, makes his mind go blank. That melodic sound that was driving him crazy earlier was now driving him crazy in an entirely different sense.

The king groans, thrusting his tongue in, eager to get more of his taste on his tongue. He could never seem to get enough.

When he pulls away, copper eyes meet his heatedly, sparkling under the moonlight. It brings a wildfire of a blush to Wukong’s cheeks, even makes him feel inexplicably bashful. The king opens his mouth to speak again, not even sure what he plans on saying, but his eyes catch on Macaque’s ears.

All six of them.

The bastard took them off while they were kissing. What a little shit.

But he can’t be mad. They’re just as pretty as they’ve always been, bright and colorful and expressive. Delicate like the flower petals of a lotus. It didn’t matter how long Macaque wanted to hide himself- this was the form Wukong cared to know. And he’s delighted to find out that the red of Macaque’s blush extends to them.

He’s even more delighted when he remembers that, if Macaque really was visiting someone after this, he’d go back to hiding them in an instant.

That’s right. Only Wukong had this privilege.

Macaque gives a halfhearted huff, a sheepish look in his eye. His smile vanishes.

“Okay, relax, Wukong. You’ve seen ‘em before, y’know. Not that exciting.”

It takes a moment for his words to register, but Wukong realizes that, behind him, his traitor of a tail had been wagging. He forces it to stop immediately, humiliated.

Wukong’s eyes flick between Macaque’s ears and eyes. His fingers itch to touch them, and the question threatens to fall off his tongue. Was there the off chance that Macaque would simply allow him to if he asked nicely enough? Or would he have to jump through another series of hoops to make that happen?

…Not that he minds.

“Just don’t touch them, or anything.”

Ah, what a shame. Wukong wasn’t expecting a ‘yes’ by any means, but still can’t help feeling a little crestfallen.

“Ah, not a problem,” Wukong waves off with an easy smile. There were plenty of other areas that needed his attention anyways, and he plans on delivering. Macaque seems to appreciate his dismissal, and the smile on his face is small, but genuine.

It makes his dick ache in his hand and something flicker in his chest. He wants to taste that smile again.

He presses an eager open-mouthed kiss to his lips, one Macaque tries to meet with the same level of enthusiasm, but he just hasn’t the strength.

Then, because the realization hits him embarrassingly late, Wukong asks, “Wait- did you wanna go again?”

Macaque glowers like he’d just asked the stupidest question known to mankind, and his smile is long gone.

“Yes, you idiot.”

Wukong pokes at his side, adamant.

“You sure? Like, sure sure? We can stop if you’re tired,” And because that sounds just a bit too caring, he hastily tacks on, “Or whatever.”

“M’good. Gimme a minute.”

Macaque pries Wukong’s hand away from his cock, then takes it in his own, pumping him slowly. A weak parody of his signature smirk sits on his lips- Wukong had made such a mess of him- and desire burns in the amber of his eyes. The king hums, brushing his lips against the other’s as he cants into the heat of his hand.

Wukong presses kisses over the corner of his mouth, then brings his other hand up to cup at his jawline, slipping his tongue in. His last few ounces of patience were rapidly being sapped from him with each pump of Macaque’s hand. He’s just itching to get inside of him- he can make him cry out more than some measly dildo can. The scent of sweet plums fills his lungs, mixing a divine cocktail of lust and tasteless poison.

The king brushes his finger over Macaque’s cock, pleased to find that it’s already half- hard. It’s still soaked with his saliva, and he wastes no time stroking him into hardness once more. The sounds of his hand against the wet flesh is loud, and it makes heat mount higher and higher inside of him. Wukong greedily devours the whines it pulls from him.

A hand on his own halts his movements, and Wukong pulls away, questioning. Macaque grits his teeth, brows knitted and sounding strained.

“Slow down- M’still sensitive…”

“Ah- right, sorry,” Wukong apologizes, removing his hand entirely, but is stopped by Macaque’s holding him firm in place. Desire lights a fire in his eyes.

“I didn’t say to stop.”

Wukong’s remaining strings of patience are finally cut. Taking his time can wait- he wants him now.

“Macaque, please tell me you’re ready. I can’t wait anymore.” Getting in his guts has been on his mind since yesterday at this point.

The warrior gives a throaty laugh.

“Yeah- I’m ready. C’mon- I know you want me,” He teases, and the smirk cutting into his face is a competitive one. Strong legs draw his hips closer.

“Oh, yeah? What gave me away?” Wukong quips sarcastically, mirroring his smirk.

He gets ahold of the lithe thighs caging him in, lifting them up to rest on his waist. Wukong moves to grab the bottle of lube, but finds that Macaque is already snapping it open and pouring some onto his palm, always the impatient one. The sage has no complaints when he slicks him up, watching the way his skilled fingers run over his length.

Macaque lines his cock up with his entrance, and, slowly, Wukong starts to ease inside of his familiar heat. Grits his teeth as his claws sink into the meat of Macaque’s thighs, golden eyes locked onto where he presses. Inch by inch, he plunges into that tight, forsaken heat, and it takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep his pace slow.

Wukong rakes his eyes over the body with his possessive marks littered on it, bringing his gaze to Macaque’s. The warrior watches lustfully how Wukong enters him, his lips slightly parted as he pants, chest rising and falling.

He’s a sight. Even more so without those silly glamors to hide himself.

Wukong bottoms out with a hum, lowering himself to hover over the warrior and capturing his lips once more. Macaque meets him with enthusiasm, chasing his lips when Wukong pulls away.

The king shifts, moving to support himself on his forearms. Macaque’s arms move away from him, claws gripping at the sheets once more.

Teeth find the warrior’s shoulder, and Wukong fights to keep his hips from jerking. The hot tightness wrapping around his cock is utterly sublime, and it fries the workings of his very mind with each slow, deliberate thrust. The sighs falling into Wukong’s ears are so much louder like this, so much filthier. He grabs a handful of Macaque’s dark mane to ground himself, drowning in his scent.

The legs around him suddenly jerk, forcing Wukong deeper. His gasp of surprise is cut off by a moan, entirely engulfed in the overwhelming blazes that reduce his rationale to ashes.

“Faster, I’m guessing?” The king asks into the inky black fur of his neck, teasingly.

“Mhm.”

“You’re always so demanding,” Wukong tuts, but it holds no bite.

“Yeah, whatever. You love it.”

That, he did.

Wukong obliges, moving his hips faster. He hums lowly, lips wandering up Macaque’s jawline as he claims more unmarked skin. Suckles at the skin beneath the fur, brushing his fangs over his lovebites.

Wukong’s eyes find the set of ears just inches away from him. He wants to feel them under his teeth. They were already sensitive as it was, and Wukong was curious as to what sort of sounds Macaque would make if he were to toy with them. Would he want Wukong to be rough as usual? Or would he want a gentler approach?

The ears flick under his hot breath, and, with considerable effort, Wukong voluntarily brings his lips back down to the curve of Macaque’s throat, abruptly picking up the pace.

It pulls a delicious little, “Ah!” from the shadow, and, distantly, Wukong hears the sound of his sheets being torn.

Sinful sounds fall into Wukong’s ear and make him shiver. He’s so loud beside him, louder now that he’s got Wukong’s dick buried deep inside of him. Powerful thighs draw him in with each thrust and defile the sanctuary of his holy mind, reducing it to dust. The king slams into him, pulling away to get an eyeful of Macaque’s face wracked with pleasure.

The warrior’s lips part around another groan, and his jaw tenses when his cock brushes against Wukong’s stomach with each roll of his hips. Wukong belatedly realizes that he’d forgotten to remove the shirt still bunched up at Macaque’s chest, but he’s quickly finding that he likes the view it provides him with.

Macaque reaches down to stroke himself, but Wukong catches him at the wrist.

“Nah. But I just might if you ask nicely,” He rasps, a mocking smile on his face.

That gets an irritated little huff from him.

“I can do it myself.”

“Mhm,” Then, he leans down to whisper into a colorful set of ears, “But you want me to do it, isn’t that right?”

His response is a sharp gasp, then Macaque turning away from him, his breath hitching. Wukong groans at the way he clenches around his dick, involuntarily slamming his hips hard into Macaque’s beckoning heat. The warrior lets out a cry, gritting his teeth as he avoids Wukong’s gaze with red on his cheeks.

“S’not the same if it’s not me, and you know it,” He continues, voice surprisingly steady. “I’ll give you anything you want- all you gotta do is ask.”

Macaque speaks through grit teeth.

“Not askin’ you for a damn thing.”

That starts up a rumble of a purr in Wukong’s chest, and he bites his lip to contain himself. Oh, he liked that. Liked that Macaque never made it easy for him. Liked that he never bowed to the king, the way everyone else did. Wukong liked a challenge.

Macaque’s other hand comes to stroke himself, but Wukong snatches it, too, pinning it beside his head like he did the first one. No, he wouldn’t be getting away with that the way Wukong allowed him to like last time.

The warrior glowers harshly, baring his fangs, and his expression wavers around a firmer thrust. He’s beautiful like this. Wukong leans down, pressing a chaste kiss onto those lips, one that makes Macaque’s face redden further. Six ears flare, the way they always did when he was flustered.

“Fuck, you’re pretty…” Wukong moans against his lips, only realizing he’d said it aloud when Macaque’s copper eyes widen.

He turns away with a whine, clenching around Wukong once more. For a moment, he thinks he hears him purring, but it’s gone just as fast.

“Oh- You like that, huh?” He rasps, unable to fight the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rebellious, disrespectful Macaque having a thing for praise. It’d be cute if it weren’t so pathetic.

“Stop talking already.”

“That’s definitely not what you want,” He hums, running his teeth over his throat, tongue tracing over fading marks. It didn’t matter what Macaque wanted to say- Wukong sees the way his hands ball into fists, the way his eyes flutter around his praise.

Heat thrums in the pit of his stomach, boiling and brimming with sin. Wukong’s hips stutter, and he grits his teeth, his peak rapidly approaching. Macaque’s not too far off, either, not with the way pre drips from the tip of his cock.

“You want me to touch you, right? Don’t you wanna be good for me?” He purrs, hands gripping tighter at the warrior’s wrists.

A shaky breath tumbles from Macaque’s lips, and his bottom lip quivers. His tail brushes over Wukong’s, not flinching away like it usually did. The king kisses at his bottom lip, suckling tightly and nipping. He could play this game all night.

When he pulls away, Macaque squeezes his eyes shut, turning away once more. Oh, that would not do.

“Look at me when I fuck you,” He whispers into those pretty ears, watching how they flick in response. With a soft groan, the warrior obeys, meeting Wukong’s gaze with a collapsing defiance.

“Such a good boy,” He hums approvingly, pressing open-mouthed kisses as a reward over Macaque’s face. His nose scrunches up cutely at the gesture, and pre runs down the sides of his neglected cock.

“Just touch me already, Wukong. Fuck- I need it,” Macaque all but whimpers, shuddering beneath him.

Wukong’s resolve dwindles to nothing.

He releases one of Macaque’s wrists, dragging his hand down the sizzling body beneath him and wrapping his hand around his cock. The king is quick to pump him hard, matching his pace. With a cry, Macaque’s now free hand shoots out, nails curling into the sheets, his thighs tensing around Wukong’s waist. He practically melts under the king, his brows pinched and entirely wrung with pleasure.

“Ah- Ah, fuck, Wukong…” He sobs, rocking hard on the king with each thrust like he just can’t get enough of him.

“Mm, I like how loud you get for me. My dick that good, Macaque?” He sneers, voice shaking.

The warrior growls, cutting himself off with a final cry of pleasure and effectively answering Wukong’s question. He tosses his head back, back arching as he spills over Wukong’s hand and their chests. The king gasps at the way his heat flutters around his length, panting hard as he pounds into him harder, chasing his own release.

He doubts anyone else could ever come as close to taming Macaque as he has.

No one else would do.

Because there was no other being who could see his ears in all their colorful glory. No other who could take him apart and leave him gasping for air. No other who could knock him off of his throne and crying out their name. No one else had the sheer strength required to really please him.

Only Wukong did.

Only him.

He punctuates that final thought by surging forward and leaving a final mark in his throat, hips snapping as he finally comes undone. He spills inside of the warrior, fingers gripping hard at his wrist. Macaque whimpers in his ears- a delectable sound of sin in Wukong’s thickening haze. Stars spin across the backs of his eyelids, and the king feels as if he’d entered another plane of existence entirely.

Heavy pants fill the room, and Wukong releases Macaque’s wrist, lifting himself away from him with an ache in his thighs.

When he finally comes to, Wukong realizes that Macaque’s tired thighs tremble around him. Gingerly, he removes himself from the other, grabbing at his weak legs and pushing him further up the bed so he can collect himself.

The warrior’s got a forearm over his eyes, chest heaving as he pants hard. His other hand releases the torn sheets, laying limp.

With a shaky breath, Wukong knocks away the arm across his face, meeting the warrior’s glazed-over eyes. His face is entirely red, and he looks completely fucked out, with sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Wukong leans down and steals a kiss. He simply can’t resist.

Wukong pulls away, but Macaque surprises him by pressing one last kiss to his lips. It brings a blush to the king’s cheeks, and in the safety of his mind he admits that, ‘Okay, that was actually kinda cute.’

He lifts himself up, reaching for some towels to clean themselves up. The king is pretty quick to clean up his mess, but, as usual, it takes Macaque a good second or two before he does much of anything. Wukong watches him, how he breathes and runs an unsteady hand through his hair. Cum starts to spill from his abused hole, and it makes the king swallow thickly.

He promptly turns away once Macaque reaches for the towel, giving him some privacy as he reaches down to pick up his pants and throw them on.

Wukong swipes away his sweat with the back of his hand, then smooths down his hair. He fixes his floorboard with a perturbed expression, mind drifting.

Something weird had fallen over him. He doesn’t ever recall getting so needlessly possessive over Macaque like that before.

Macaque’s soft laughter gets his attention.

“Can’t believe you think I’m pretty. That’s so embarrassing for you.”

Wukong huffs, crossing his arms. It had slipped out- his thoughts were just a bit too loud in the moment, repeating like a mantra in his head. Which probably didn’t make his case any better. A bashfulness creeps into his chest, but he plays it off.

“Uh- I can’t believe you’re still hung up on something I said literally twenty years ago. I’m a different person now,” He chides, turning his nose up.

“What- you didn’t say it- oh, whatever.”

“Hey, am I good to turn around?”

“Yeah.”

Wukong does just that, opening his mouth with more banter to spill, but cuts himself off when Macaque glamors away his ears. Gone in an instant. Wukong flounders, because no way he finally earned the right to look at them just for them to vanish.

“…What? Why’re you looking at me like that?” Macaque glowers harshly, tugging his bunched-up sweatshirt down. Kind of hard to believe he’d even made him laugh, he was so uptight. Wukong hadn’t even noticed that he’d put his clothes back on, too distracted by the lack of his six ears.

“What’d you cover them up for?”

“Uh- ‘cause there’s no point in having them out. I’m just leaving after this, anyways. Does more harm than good- to me, anyways,” He says, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed.

Wukong makes a face. Of course Macaque wasn’t obligated to keep his ears exposed just because he asked- even if it did upset him. But, still. Did it really only have to be two whole instances where he got to see this part of him, even if it was just for sex?

“Well, next time, d’you think you could, I dunno… take ‘em off again?” The sage asks, feigning aloofness. Then, he turns away, tail flicking across the wood.

That makes Macaque’s brows raise and his cheeks redden. He gives Wukong a look, the one he always used when he was trying to read between the lines, like there was something more to figure out. Wukong’s tail twitches irritably. There wasn’t anything more to figure out. It was just because they made him horny. Simple as that.

“For what?” He asks, raising a brow. He’s sincerely asking, too, not even being a dick about it like he usually would.

Wukong will absolutely not answer that question. He barely even knows why himself- it just feels right.

“Alright, nevermind. Forget I asked,” He brushes off, pulling his shirt back on.

He doesn’t know why he even bothered.

“Do you want them off just for next time? Or, like, from now on?” Macaque asks, a bit rudely.

‘Gods, please from now on,’ His mind unhelpfully supplies.

“Uh, yeah, y’know… From now on. Or whatever,” He mutters. Then, he sneers.

“’Cause clearly you need to have all six of ‘em just to take an order.”

Macaque gives him an odd look, then turns away, smoothing down his horribly abused fur.

“How could I ignore a voice as annoying as yours?” He chides with a scoff, fingers catching on a knot in the fur of his arm.

“But, yeah, sure, guess I can keep ‘em off. Makes no difference to me,” His voice takes on a softer tone despite the rudeness of his words.

Wukong’s heart beats a little faster, excited at the prospect of seeing those hidden gems every time they hooked up. He can’t help but inwardly sing a song of victory, elated. He makes sure to keep his tail still this time.

Macaque dusts off his clothing, pushing off of Wukong’s bed and opening a dark portal on his wall. His legs are a little wobbly, something that Wukong can’t help but pat himself on the back for.

“Alright, I should get goin’.” He gives a wave, not turning around to face Wukong as he leaves for the night.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

He passes through the portal, and, just like that, he’s gone. For real this time.

Wukong stares at the wall a moment more, watching the shadow portal dissolve. He scratches the back of his head, sighs, then looks to the complete mess of his bed. He supposes he should start cleaning it up.

Hastily, the king removes the sheets and tosses them aside. Were he not a god with countless abilities, he’s sure that Macaque putting his sheets through the shredder would bother him more, but he doesn’t really mind all that much. Plucking a hair from his head, Wukong conjures another cleaner, not-so-torn set of sheets and gets to work.

As much as he tries to ignore it, though, Wukong still can’t help but grumble to himself as he fits the sheets, appalled at his behavior, wracking his brain for an answer and coming up short.

Gods, what the hell was wrong with him? He and Macaque had had sex before while under the effects of alcohol- why was this time so weird?

He’d let his much, much simpler emotions get the best of him, was what happened. Became aimlessly jealous over something that was very clearly a joke. Why he got so hung up on that, he doesn’t know. He acted like a child upset that he had to share his toys.

Not that he saw Macaque as a toy- no, certainly not. He was his own person- albeit a pretty shitty one- and very much not a doll to be owned like property. He could make his own decisions and fuck who he liked. Wukong couldn’t care less. It’s not like they were exclusive to eachother, so what did it matter?

It didn’t.

His tail lashes at the floor.

He dusts off his bed a final time, smoothing down any creases. 

Well, whatever. Wukong resolves to just taking a shower before crashing for the night. His mind was exhausting him, and, really, he didn’t feel like dealing with such needlessly complicated emotions running around in his system like they paid rent.

Wukong hops into the shower, mentally berating himself for letting his emotions run away from him during their tryst. He had to let it go- he was drunk and horny. Not usually known for being a great mix.

With all that sorted out and effectively shoved aside, Wukong swiftly cleans himself up, throwing on his closest robe before flopping onto his bed like a starfish, humming contentedly. He doesn’t bother covering up properly, too tired to give much of a shit.

Before he can fall into the soft lull of sleep, he hears a soft tap, tap, tap at his window.

Wukong pries himself away from the comfort of his bed with great effort, groaning tiredly as he makes his way to the curtains and pulls them open.

Outside sit two older chimps. The sisters Bai and Susu, waiting patiently for him to open the window. Wukong can’t help but cock an eyebrow at their appearance, surprised they were even still awake. They didn’t usually visit this late.

He opens the window, but they don’t hop in like they normally would, or even greet him, instead sitting at the windowsill like lost cats, peering in with searching eyes. Wukong turns around, searching his room in questioning, as if he’ll just happen to catch whatever they were looking for, before turning back to the girls. Susu turns to her sister, knocking her on the arm.

“Looks like we just missed him.”

“Oh, what a shame.”

Wukong huffs, crossing his arms defensively.

“Uh, yeah, you did. I dunno why the both of you have been all up in my business lately. Honestly, is nothing sacred anymore?” He whines dramatically, bringing the back of his hand to his forehead.

They stare at him unimpressed, sharing an equally judgmental glance to the other.

“It reeks of sex in here,” Bai says, getting that shit-eating grin on her face.

Wukong merely gives a shrug, humming nonchalantly with a little smile playing on his lips. Out of all his subjects, Bai and Susu were probably the most nosy- which was saying a lot considering how nosy everyone else could be.

They’d picked up on Macaque’s scent and fur all over his house since the first day they’d started this, but never once did anyone catch him. Wukong takes all the credit, of course, even though it’s usually up to Macaque to ditch as quickly as he can.

They were pretty good about it- what with Macaque’s very handy ability to portal in and out and vanish into the shadows, they never had to worry about an extra set of eyes watching him enter and exit his home. Then, with training, which was the only other time Macaque was here, well, the younglings typically had to stay away regardless to avoid getting harmed. All around a great setup thanks to Wukong, of course.

That didn’t stop the monkeys from catching on, though. Wukong knew they would, eventually. It was bound to happen at one point, especially since sometimes he just wasn’t quick enough to erase the evidence after, whether it be Macaque’s scent clinging to him or his forgotten articles of clothing. Oh, and the questions- gods, they were endless.

‘You have a partner?’

‘Who are they?’

‘How long have you two been together?’

Sure, it was embarrassing at first, and they got a good kick out of making Wukong’s face turn pink with every accusation they could come up with. At some point, though, he kind of got over it, completely numb to the sort of teasing they do.

Didn’t matter what they wanted to ask him, or assume, Wukong wouldn’t tell. Not even a hint.

Bai and Susu, though? They’ve been on his case about it, especially as of late. Determined to find out who his ‘mystery mate’ was. Though annoying, Wukong admires the tenacity. Even if it was, ultimately, fruitless. He’s sure it would cause him more worry, but, thing was, the monkeys were all very loud-mouthed.

If someone knew, he absolutely would have heard about it by now.

“Wait, wait, is that all you two came here for? To try and find out who it is?”

Susu nods, then pulls a face.

“That, and he’s also very vocal. Couldn’t help but get curious.”

Wukong snickers.

Bai groans impatiently, her tail flicking.

“Okay, Sun- look, we’re just gonna come clean with you- we totally know who he is. Actually, we’ve known for a good while.” She shrugs.

“Just wanted to see if we could get it outta you first. Clearly didn’t work, so here we are.”

Wukong’s stomach drops. He glances to the top of the window, wondering very absently if he could get away with slamming it shut faster than the speed of light so he didn’t have to deal with this- regardless of whether or not they were bluffing. And, if they weren’t sitting directly in the way, he’s certain he would have done just that.

“Oh- haha… You guys know?” He laughs, nervously. The smile on his face is wobbly.

“Yup. He’s got black fur and six ears. Looks a little moody,” Says Bai, providing a short but sweet summary of Macaque. Then, she puts her little hands on her hips, tsking.

“Okay, well we don’t actually know his name.”

No way. There was no way.

Maybe they were just throwing him for a loop. Black fur was obvious enough- even the others had figured that out- but the six ears? How could they guess that?

“Yeah- and how do you figure?” He challenges, calling their bluff because anything else would be just a bit too much for him to handle right now.

“We saw him. When you were training MK- he was waiting In here, actually, before he shut the curtains on us. Didn’t seem to wanna talk.”

Then, Bai turns to her sister with an innocently questioning look, acting like they weren’t hacking away at Wukong’s soul with every word spoken.

“How did we find him again, Susu?”

“Oh, you don’t remember? Xiaobo called us over. He saw him first.”

Wukong wants to fall to his knees and scream, ‘Nooo!’ for as long as humanly, or inhumanly, as possible, utterly devastated that his secret was out and in the open. And, of course, their sweet, innocent little brother had to find Macaque first.

That only opens the floodgates to the others- Bai and Susu would gossip about this and spread it around like wildfire. What would the immortal elders say if they saw Macaque here again? After all this time, after all the blood and tears spilled between them?

Only to find out he’s been showing up because, what, Wukong’s horny?

The girls laugh to eachother.

“I was so excited! Like, we finally struck gold!”

“I know! You couldn’t hide him from us forever, Sun!”

Wukong scratches at the back of his head, defeated. Well, if anything, he’d rather the younglings find out about this before MK and the others did, even if confronting the elders was far off of his bucket list. It’s not like he and Macaque could hide it forever, as much as he wishes that were possible.

He sighs, resigned.

“Alright, alright, you got me. Does anyone else know?” He asks, tail swishing anxiously.

“Just us,” Susu answers. “Well, and Xiaobo, too. Believe it or not, we didn’t say anything. Not too sure about him, though.”

Okay, that wasn’t as awful as he thought it’d be. Granted, it was still pretty awful, but on a lesser scale. Or maybe he’s trying to look on the bright side just a little too hard.

“So… He’s your mystery mate, right?” Bai asks, cocking her head.

“Uh- no? Why would I get with him?” Wukong spits, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. To be fair- he can see why they’d assumed that. Still, though. Macaque could only dream of getting with him. He didn’t have a chance in hell.

A look of raw confusion crosses Bai’s face.

“What? But- you two were just-”

“Yeah- I know, but it’s not like that. Not even a little,” Wukong cuts off, waving his hand. “It’s like… like, business, kinda. Nothin’ more to it.”

“He was in your nest.”

“Okay, so next time I’ll fuck him outside,” Wukong sarcastically retorts with a roll of his eyes, pink finding his cheeks because this conversation was starting to get embarrassing. This wasn’t as big of a deal as she was making it out to be. It was just sex, nothing more, nothing less. Of course, in their little community, sex wasn’t so casual. Lifelong mates and all that junk. Wukong could never- he wasn’t the type to be tied down.

But he respects it.

Susu sighs, a hand to her forehead, taking the reigns on the conversation, thankfully. Bai could be a bit much sometimes.

“Okay, weird, but I think I follow. So then, do you even like him, if you talk about him like that? Not even romantically, just, like, at all?” She asks, tone soft.

The fact that Wukong’s immediate answer to that isn’t ‘No’, sounds an alarm in his head.

“I don’t… I mean, I dunno. He’s alright, I guess,” He answers pathetically, brows furrowed, not really knowing that answer himself. He doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to think about any of this, actually. Ever. It was starting to get a little nasty.

“You don’t know if you like him?” Bai questions, aghast, on the cusp of laughter.

“Look, I dunno what to tell you,” Wukong snaps angrily, throwing his hands up. He whips around, back facing them. “That guy and I have bad history. This is kinda the only way we can even really deal with eachother anymore.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Wukong crosses his arms, not looking at the sisters, instead keeping his gaze to the floor. He didn’t like confronting this, didn’t like talking about it- nothing. It was what it was. His tail flicks irritably.

It was easier to just push it aside altogether. Because if he didn’t and he started letting Macaque get close to him a second time, he’d ruin everything again. Their ornate castle of glass they so carefully built together from nothing had already come crumbling down once. Wukong learned his lesson the first time, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

He’s changed a lot and learned a lot, was even still learning new things now. But that wasn’t something he was willing to gamble on ever again. It was much too precious, and he doesn’t want to taint it with the poison in his touch. Macaque was already overflowing with his poison.

It’s for the best.

Whether he likes it or not.

“Sun, I don’t know your history with this guy, or even his name. But if you hate him and still go out of your way to do that with him, don’t you think… Do you ever think you should just sit down and talk to him? Instead of…” Susu trails off, ever the mature one.

Wukong huffs, a knot forming in his throat at her words. He and Macaque had nothing to discuss- not now, and not ever. Six ears to hear him with, and yet he wouldn’t listen to a single word.

“Neither of us do the talking. Never did.”

They didn’t need to. Words never came naturally to either of them. Feelings could be difficult to articulate, and was like pulling teeth. But Macaque could understand him without the use of words, and he always did the same with him. That’s just how it always went.

Once.

He thinks he hears a ‘Yeah, that makes sense, actually,’ from Bai, but, when he turns to her, she sits suspiciously innocently, her sister fixing her with a nasty glare.

“Maybe one day you should. It feels better when you do, y’know.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Wukong mutters thoughtlessly, mostly just to get them to leave already. He’s done dealing with this. Done dealing with any complicated emotions for the next thousand years or so, actually. He just wants to go to bed. His mind was exhausted from running rampant all afternoon, and he knows he’ll be waking up with an awful hangover.

Susu rolls her eyes, as if knowing he was just saying that to shut her up.

“Alright, alright. Guess we’ll leave you alone now.”

Just as they turn to leave, Wukong calls them.

“Hang on- are you guys gonna… y’know, tell anyone?” He asks, a little nervously.

They share a suspicious little glance, then Bai speaks.

“I mean, yeah, honestly.”

“Bai!”

“Don’t act all saintly, you do it too.”

Wukong interjects, because having his secret exposed to everyone else was the last thing he needed. Maybe one day he’ll be able to properly answer their questions about having Macaque on his mountain, and him being his ‘mate’, or whatever. But today was not that day.

“Ah- can we just keep this between us? For now?”

Bai crosses her arms, petulant.

“Ugh, fine. Just gonna throw it out there, though, this is not as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be.”

Oh, if only she knew.

“You’re just saying that because you can’t gossip now,” Susu tuts, looking at her nails. Her little white tail swishes behind her.

“Oh, I totally am! I have no shame in it!” Bai squawks, chittering loudly.

Wukong turns away, scratching at his neck with an awkward little laugh. His brows pinch together, and a faint ache settles in his chest like a heavy brick.

“Hey- um, sorry for gettin’ all angry,” He apologizes stiffly and quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Big, bad Monkey King can’t deal with his big boy emotions, we know,” Susu teases, playfully, earning a little giggle from Bai. Wukong feels a little lighter, and he smiles softly in response.

“See? Feels better, doesn’t it?” Is all Susu says before the two of them take off for the night.

Wukong watches them leave, lost in thought. He quietly closes the window, then curls up in his blankets. The softness of his bed was comforting, and a strange tightness swells in his chest. Faintly, he can still smell plums in the cushion.

His laughter still echoes in his ears.

As sleep begins to overtake him, Wukong finds himself thinking, that, yeah.

It did feel better.

Chapter Text

Wukong happily scarfs down peach after peach, tail swishing contentedly as Bai and Susu sit with him, sunbathing on the roof of one of his many temples. Bai sits on his shoulders, grooming his fur, and Susu sits in front of him. With his free hand, he leisurely grooms at her thin white fur, yawning noisily.

Today, he decides, will be a very lazy day, full of napping and rewatching the Monkey Cop series. This week was Macaque’s week to mentor MK, so he had nothing but time to kick it and relax until it was his time. Maybe he’ll even get to those many, many emails from his lawyer (He absolutely will not).

He yelps when Bai tears out a knot- kindness is nothing but a foreign concept to her. She chitters irritably, tail lashing at his back.

“Your scalp is always red and irritated. Do you even take care of it?” Bai scowls, rubbing soothingly at a sore spot on his head.

“Well, how else am I supposed to make my snacks?” Wukong pouts in response. Snacks were always of the highest priority, and he will absolutely not be led to believe otherwise. Oh, and also to make clones of himself for battle to save the people of the city, or whatever.

That gets him a smack on the head.

“Ow- hey!”

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you weren’t constantly tearing out your hair.”

“Bah, priorities.”

Susu huffs tiredly.

“Bai, you’re always way too rough with grooming. Let me do it.”

Wukong glares up to the chimp on his head pointedly.

“Yeah. Let someone who knows what she’s doing do it.”

She groans with a roll of her eyes.

“Fiiine.”

She hops off, switching places with Susu, who is already leagues more gentle with Wukong’s hair. She combs through it carefully, working out the knots slowly instead of just ripping them out like some crazed animal.

Bai frowns, then sneers, plopping down in front of Wukong so he can groom her. He does exactly that, except in a much more tender, soothing way, the way grooming was meant to be done, but he digresses.

“Why don’t you just get your little friend to help you? Bet he’d love to,” She singsongs like an absolute prick.

Wukong makes a face, carefully plucking a little bug off of her fur and tossing it into his mouth.

“Actually, yeah,” Susu asks above him, smoothing down a section of auburn fur she’d finished grooming. “Why don’t you ask him? Or is that, like… not part of your weird little contract?”

Wukong sighs. Part of his much-needed day of relaxation typically involved not bringing up people like Macaque, but whatever. Now that they knew, though, they were going to make it their mission to pester him about it 24/7.

“Uhhh, that’s not part of the contract,” Wukong answers, scratching absently at his cheek. “Like… not even a little bit.”

It’s been centuries since he and Macaque had groomed eachother, anyways. Besides, he had his family to groom him and keep his fur looking presentable. He doesn’t really know about Macaque, though, which, now that he thinks about it, was… a little worrisome, actually. His fur was usually very well-taken care of, though, so he tries not to think too hard about it.

“Oh. Well, why not?”

Wukong sputters. He feels like that’s obvious- grooming was more of an activity between trusted monkeys, after all.

“Um, we just don’t. I guess,” He answers, not really wanting to talk further about the matter. An impossible task for Bai and Susu.

“What? But, why wouldn’t you want to groom your mate? I groom mine all the time.”

“That’s definitely not what he is.”

He gets a light smack on his head.

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Wukong’s nose wrinkles when he pouts. He didn’t really think about it- it just wasn’t something they did. Never something they discussed, either. More like a silent agreement than anything, he supposes. They had no reason to.

“Eh, I just don’t wanna.”

“Hey- so, Sun,” Bai cuts in, her beady eyes wide and inquisitive when she looks to him over her shoulder. “So, like, I know your whole weird agreement and everything, but like, you don’t think it’s gonna, I dunno… lead to something else, do you?”

Wukong tosses his peach pit to the ground after he takes the last bite, already picking out another ripe one.

“Lead to what?”

“Well, you know. Like, what you guys aren’t.”

Wukong stupidly looks to her, utterly incredulous at the garbled language coming from her mouth.

“Love, Sun,” Susu finishes, simply.

“Ohhh,” Wukong hums, finally picking up what she was putting down before giggling. “Yeah, no, not happening. Where’d you get that one from?”

“’Cause I can’t imagine this type of ‘relationship’ lasting very long,” Bai answers flatly, using air quotes.

The king raises a brow, skeptical. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Someone’s gonna end up feeling things they shouldn’t.”

Wukong automatically turns his nose up, not tolerating such an asinine answer.

“Yeah, well. It’s lasted a good few months already, and we’re doing perfectly fine.”

The nonsense coming out of their mouths wasn’t anything Wukong needed to be listening to- he and Macaque knew what they were getting into when they started this. They’d been doing this for a good while now, anyways, and if one of them felt anything out of place, it would have happened by now, if Bai’s logic was to be believed. Probably.

Bai and Susu look to eachother, something knowing in their gazes- it’s that look siblings always fix the other with when a parent or guardian was being largely unreasonable, and Wukong didn’t quite like that his response warranted that look.

Before he can say anything, though, Susu beats him to it.

“So, hey- speaking of your mate-”

“Not my mate.”

 “So, hey- speaking of your not-mate,” Susu repeats, her tone identical to the first time she said it. Wukong sighs tiredly. “I’ve got some news you’re probably not going to like.”

Wukong feels dread open a pitfall in his stomach, and his hand freezes in Bai’s fur. Somehow, he gets a sense that he knows what she’ll say next.

“Xiaobo went and told a few others that he saw your not-mate. Obviously, he’s a kid, so he doesn’t actually know what’s going on. He thinks he’s your friend, but, um, y’know…” She trails off, making a vague little gesture with her hand.

“Everyone else ain’t so dense,” Bai continues with a hum.

Wukong sighs, defeated. He knew this was always a risk, but did it have to happen so soon? Or, like, at all?

“Well, that’s just great,” He huffs, tail flicking irritably. Wukong doesn’t particularly like his secret being out for the entirety of the local chimp population to know, but whatever. Of course, he knows his level of anxiety about the issue largely depends on what exactly the word is.

Well, since there’s no point in denying it anymore, he figures he may as well ask.

“So what’re they saying, then?” The king asks with a tired sigh. Maybe he could just do this fast and get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. So much for enjoying his week off.

“Believe it or not, nobody really cares,” Bai answers, bringing her knees up and wrapping her little tail around herself. “Like, yeah, they wanna know. Like, man do they wanna know. But they’re not as hung up over it as you are.”

“Yeah, but they don’t even know who he is,” Wukong argues, his palms feeling a little sweaty.

“No, they do, actually,” Susu chimes in, very casually tearing Wukong in half with her words. “Not a lot of monkeys have six ears and look like you, believe it or not,” She deadpans, plucking and eating a bug off of Wukong’s hair before smoothing it down.

“Wait, they know who he is? Uh- Like, his name?” Wukong asks, feeling a chill run down his spine.

“The elders told us. Six-Eared Macaque. Said he used to live here before, or something,” Bai adds on with a halfhearted shrug.

“Oh, no,” Wukong utters, throat feeling tight.

“Man, having six ears is crazy. I can’t imagine having more than two.”

“That’s a little rude, Bai.”

“Well, can you?”

“Not the point.”

Bai looks back to Wukong, curious at his lack of noise, her face dropping. She turns around to face him fully, patting at Wukong’s boot. He barely registers the gesture, his mind whirling with a million deafening thoughts, none of them good.

“Hey- relax, already, you’re freaking me out. Promise you nobody cares, Sun,” She offers, voice as soft as she can manage. “The elders don’t really care, either. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What? They don’t?”

“Nah. They were like, ‘Oh, looks like they made up,’ and just kinda… went about their day.”

Wukong’s gaze drops to his feet, perturbed. He was certain the elders would have more to say about that, would chew him out for bringing that traitor back to their little piece of heaven. Did he and Macaque really make a big deal over nothing?

Wow. That was embarrassing, actually.

“If anything, we’re just curious about the gossip,” Susu hums, smoothing down Wukong’s hair one last time before hopping off of his shoulders. “Y’know? All the drama between the two of you, how you made up-”

“We didn’t make up.”

“Oh, and also when you’re gonna let us meet him,” Susu continues, not listening to a single word out of the king’s mouth. Rude.

Of course, his initial thought was, ‘Hell no, I’d rather swallow a cactus whole’, but Wukong supposes if no one really cared all that much about it, then there was no reason to be so paranoid anymore. He still won’t bring Macaque back to his family, but, admittedly, it was kind of nice to know that they were in the clear.

When he thinks about it again, though, he highly doubts Macaque would even want to be meeting anyone here anytime soon. Too many questions and inquisitive little eyes focused on him, and he’ll most likely feel out of place since he didn’t speak their language anymore. At least, Wukong didn’t think he did. He never really told him if he did or didn’t.

“Ehhh, I dunno,” He answers truthfully. “He’s not much of a people person.”

Bai snickers.

“If he likes you, then I think we’re fine.”

“Wha- hey! I’m so likeable.”

“He’d fit right in,” Susu chimes. “I think he would, anyways.”

Wukong hums noncommittally, lifting his headdress and placing it back atop his dome.

No point thinking too hard about it- he most likely won’t be telling Macaque about this new development, anyways. If there had been more fanfare about their little secret like he thought there would be, then there’d be cause for alarm, but, since there simply wasn’t, they’ve got nothing to worry about.

The king stretches his arms over his head, feeling a little lighter at this self-imposed weight being lifted from his shoulders. He thinks he’ll celebrate with a long nap.

“Yeeeah,” He drags out, moving to stand. “Dunno ‘bout that- Guess I’d have to ask.” He says it with meaning, like he’ll actually go do it.

“Fiiine, Sun,” Bai says, stealing as many peaches from his basket as her little arms can carry. “Go find your not-mate, since you’re clearly just sooo busy. Ask him while you’re at it.”

She gets that little sneer on her face, and Susu looks away, biting back a snicker. Wukong pointedly snatches up his basket of peaches, sticking his tongue out at the chimp, who returns the gesture. Susu gives a kind little wave of her hand as if she wasn’t just laughing at him seconds ago before the two of them take off.

Menaces.

He loves them all the same, though.

The king hops off of his temple, watching the sisters run off. A few of the other younglings run about, play-fighting with eachother and playing with sticks. A light breeze rustles through his cape- it’s a beautiful day today. It’s the perfect image of tranquility on his serene mountain, one that puts him at ease.

With a yawn, he starts making his way to his waterfall, keen on crashing on his couch and spending this gorgeous day inside, where his snacks and shows await.

As he passes by another temple, though, Wukong stops in his tracks, an odd, clattery sound catching his attention. He cranes his head, listening closely, wondering if his mind was playing tricks or if there was really something there.

Distantly, he hears it- a faint clamoring in his temple. The one full of his prized artifacts, weapons, arcane items, and much, much more.

Wukong’s head turns, and he stares suspiciously at the ancient building.

The younglings never played in there- they knew better than to be messing around with his weapons, no matter how old and worn down they were. What was all the noise?

Quietly, Wukong drops his peaches to the ground and enters the building, pressing a hand against the side of the entrance. Over the mountains and piles of his most precious possessions and timeless relics, it’d be hard to find anything specifically, much less anyone.

Normally.

Atop the centermost pile stands Macaque himself, who doesn’t seem to have even noticed him. He lifts a spear and gives it a small, experimental twirl, but the head snaps and flies off somewhere. Macaque merely eyes the weapon with disappointment, then tosses it aside, where it clambers and rolls down the mountain of other sacred items.

Wukong glares, brows pinched with anger upon witnessing his personal treasures from many, many different time periods shucked and tossed aside as if they were nothing more than junk. Talking about Macaque was already enough to worsen his day, but actually dealing with him when he was being a nuisance? Hard pass.

Still. Needs must.

“Hey- You lost, or somethin’? ‘Cause believe it or not, this isn’t your dojo,” The king snaps, crossing his arms.

Macaque’s head turns to him, brows raised in acknowledgement, before he returns to stuffing his hands in the mound and digging around in there as if they were his own possessions to shuffle through.

“Yeah, and this isn’t your house, so get lost,” He retaliates, pulling up a strange, emerald key that glitters in his hand. He quizzically eyes it before tossing over his shoulder. Macaque then stands, resting his hands on his hips and surveying the area with searching eyes.

‘Not his house’. Yeah, right. The entirety of Flower Fruit Mountain was his home. And Macaque was nothing more than an annoying, low-grade intruder right about now.

“Looking for the way out, I hope?” Wukong sneers.

“I’m busy, so either leave or shut up.”

The king sputters at that. Unbelievable, acting like Wukong was the one who had so rudely intruded on his casual thievery and possible vandalism.

“Damn, Monkey King, how do you find anything in here?” Macaque gripes, kicking aside an old, encrusted pot, causing it to loudly roll down the pile.

“Would you quit messing with my stuff? Why’re you even here?” He fumes, seconds away from marching over to the bastard, slinging him over his shoulder, and tossing him out. There’s nothing in here he’d let Macaque keep, so he has no clue what he could possibly be looking for. He’ll help him if It means getting him the hell out of his temple sooner.

“Oh, y’know, just looking for some new toys to break,” He answers with a sardonic little smirk.

Macaque heaves a large, sturdy axe from the pile and runs a finger over the blade, testing its sharpness. His claws tick over the notches, and he looks thoughtful at its edge. He turns it over in his hands, examining it closely.

“Oooh, I like this one.”

Wukong’s eye twitches, and he treks through the thinnest layer of clutter, nearly tripping over a stray lantern.

Macaque raises a hand placatingly.

“Relax. I just need some new weapons for the kid’s training. Figured I’d do some shopping,” He explains.

The king stops, raising a skeptical brow.

“Stronger weapons.”

Wukong scoffs.

“Woah, okay, what? I thought you weren’t being completely uptight with him anymore,” Wukong gripes, tail flicking over the small bits of floor not entirely blanketed with his things.

Macaque had been less of an asshole to MK during training, lately, he’ll give him that. So much so that Wukong no longer had to monitor their lessons- not that he trusted him that much, no. He trusted MK, though- the kid was strong enough to have bested Macaque once or twice before, and was only continuing to grow in strength. He didn’t need Wukong helicoptering over him.

And, well, he hasn’t been coming back completely busted and fatigued afterwards. Sure, a little roughed up, but it was hardly any different from when Wukong trained him. Back then, the poor kid looked like he’d hiked through hell with whatever sort of wringer Macaque put him through.

Still, though. If this wasn’t a red flag, he didn’t know what was.

Wukong points an accusatory finger.

“You better not be planning something-”

“I’m not,” Macaque seethes with a harsh glare, as if Wukong’s response was entirely uncalled for. “My weapons keep busting. I literally need stronger ones.”

He tosses the axe into a shadow portal.

“That one’s good enough, I guess.”

The sage raises his arms, palms upturned, miffed.

“Oh, yeah, sure, go right ahead, not like you need my permission, or anything,” Wukong dryly retorts.

“Oh, why thank you, your highness, you’re too kind to me,” Macaque responds equally sarcastically, even goes so far as to take the ends of his cape and lift them dramatically as he bows. He rolls his eyes when he looks away like the stupid asshole he is, then raises his arms carefully as he starts to descend down his little mountain.

Well, Wukong supposes that was fine enough. He wouldn’t really miss some of these weapons, anyways- some of them he picked up solely for the fact that they looked cool. That didn’t mean he wanted Macaque in here, though, shuffling through his things. Not alone, anyways. Too many precious things In this place Wukong held close to his heart, even if he didn’t act the part.

He considered helping him earlier as a passing thought, but was actually seriously debating it now.

Wukong glances to the entrance, eyes flicking to the younglings playing further outside before he decisively heaves the heavy doors shut. His lazy day was just going to have to be put on hold until he can get this idiot out of the way. Monkey Cop another day, then.

“What’re you doing?” Macaque questions, visibly suspicious.

“Helping you so you can get the hell outta my temple sooner, ‘cause, believe it or not, I don’t want you in here alone,” Wukong remarks, and, with great displeasure, steps onto the pile. A grimace wrinkles his nose, worsening with every clatter and crunch beneath his feet. Begrudgingly, he makes his way to a corner opposite of Macaque, putting some generous distance between them.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gettin’ it anyways. Stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine.”

He hears Macaque tsk, but Wukong really couldn’t give less of a shit. He came into his temple, did he think Wukong would just let him run around in here and do whatever he wants with his most cherished belongings? He thinks not.

A thick, uncomfortable air hangs like noxious gas between them as they get to work, items clanging and rattling as they shuffle through Wukong’s healthy hoard. As items are moved, the pungent scent of iron is heavy in the air, and Wukong sincerely wishes he was doing literally anything else right about now. But, again, needs must.

Wukong pointedly keeps a close eye on Macaque, watching his every move every time he finds something. Macaque wasn’t known for being much of a thief- not with such precious belongings, anyways- but he still can’t help but feel a little antsy. There’s no doubt that he might even recognize some of the things in here, as they’d once earned some of these trophies together.

And Wukong hopes, more than anything, that he won’t ask if that happens. He wasn’t ready to dredge up the fond, yet bittersweet memories he’d so carefully locked away in the darkest confines of his mind, and certainly not with his friend-turned-enemy.

He picks up a pair of iron nunchuks, pulling the chain and testing its durability, wanting to just focus on the task at hand. The faster he finds some weapons, the sooner Macaque gets out of here. There’s a bit of rust on the ends, but they’re still functioning. For the most part. They’d probably hold up against MK. For a while. Maybe. Whatever.

“Hey- I think I got something,” He calls, unable to find Macaque from his low vantage point of the floor.

Wukong nearly yelps when a shadow portal opens in the nearby wall.

“Just toss it in here,” Macaque calls from… well, wherever he was. His voice echoes through the building.

Wukong gently tosses the nunchuks into the portal, watching the shadows slither away.

Macaque climbs to the top of one of the mounds again, minus the nunchuks. Wukong has no clue whether he stored them away or tossed them aside. Already feeling a little too antsy from the quietness occasionally interrupted through loud clinks and dinks, Wukong decides to try for conversation to instead cut the uncomfortable air between them. Talking was something he’d always been good at.

“Hey, so- the kid’s been breaking your toys, you said?” Wukong asks. It’s true, MK was learning at a fast rate. But to be able to break Macaque’s weapons? He didn’t think the kid would have that kind of power until at least another year or so.

“Yeah. Not even one, or two, either. Several of them.”

Wukong gives a low, impressed whistle.

“Heh, yeah. I buy more, and they last for maybe a week. The stuff in here’s way tougher.”

Wukong hums, bending down and digging through a pile of charms and talismans. He gives the intricate designs nothing more than a onceover, tossing them aside. A few knives and blades sit caught in the web of charms, and he sits down to sift through those.

“Tough kid, huh?”

“No kidding.”

Wukong can’t help but preen a little bit at that. Macaque had severely underestimated MK the first time. He takes all the credit for the kid’s progress, of course, but, he supposes Macaque’s had a pretty good hand as of late. A very small hand. As in, Wukong gets 98 percent of the credit and Macaque gets the remaining 2 percent. Quite a generous percentage, if he’s being honest.

“Wukong.”

“Yeah?”

The warrior crosses his arms, tail flicking oddly. He’s got a complicated expression on his face, looking away before he turns back to Wukong.

“Uh… MK ask you anything weird lately?”

Wukong stiffens. He pauses in his movements of untangling blades from necklace before continuing, heavily debating on telling him the truth. To buy himself some more time, he decides to flip the question back to Macaque.

“Why do you ask? He say something weird?”

Macaque scratches the back of his head.

“Yeah, actually. Last week, he asked if you and I were dating.”

Oh, that’s not good. He’s onto them. This was bad.

Wukong opens his mouth to say something, but shuts it just as fast. He wants so badly to tell Macaque that there’s nothing to worry about, that MK was just being MK. Save face and maintain the status quo so he won’t have to deal with this growing concern.

And if there wasn’t another party involved, Wukong’s certain he’d do just that. As much as he didn’t like Macaque, this was an issue regarding the both of them, not just himself. He decides to own up.

“Yeah, he asked me that, too. Last month, when we were around the firepit with everyone else,” He admits, not looking at the warrior.

“Yeeeah, that’s not good. He definitely knows something’s up.”

“I know,” Is all he says, not quite sure what solution he could scrounge up for something like that. Then, he turns to Macaque. “So what’d you tell him?”

“’No,’ obviously. He didn’t ask me anything else after that.” Macaque grabs a handle sticking out of a pile, pulling it out to reveal a sturdier-looking spear. He runs a finger over it, seeming a little miffed. “I mean, I’m not obvious, but you?”

Wukong huffs.

“I’m not obvious.”

“Dude, you were looking directly down my shirt. Right in front of everyone, too.”

“Pfft, that doesn’t count, I was wasted,” The king immediately denies, waving a hand dismissively. “And don’t call me ‘dude,’ I’ve literally had my dick in you.”

Macaque rolls his eyes with a light snicker before tossing the spear into a portal. He starts digging in with both hands and pulling out whatever he can find. The king looks down to his own mess, irritably tossing freed necklaces aside. He should have been smarter about where he kept his gaze. But, then, MK had asked him the same question before Macaque even showed up that day. Was he just going off of a feeling, or something?

“I think maybe we shouldn’t go to the kid’s little hangouts together. One of us should start hanging back,” Macaque suggests, peering into an empty goblet of gold before tossing it aside.

Wukong turns his nose up.

“Well, it can’t be me. I practically live there.”

“Well, I’m not backing out, either.”

An agreement like that wouldn’t have worked out to begin with, now that he thinks about it. MK and his friends would start asking questions.

“Okay, so what if we just started hooking up less often?”

They look to eachother.

“Nah,” They reply in unison.

Wukong was quite content with their schedule, and, though he’d never say it aloud, was actually kind of starting to look forward to when they’d hook up for the week. Their number of arguments had dwindled significantly- something the sage very proudly congratulates his dick for achieving. And if they got together twice in a week instead of just once? Even better.

For the sex, of course. Not because he was psychotic enough to enjoy his company, or anything.

“Well, we gotta think of something. And you can’t just brush this off and hope it goes away, ‘cause that never works.”

Wukong pouts, frustrated that Macaque had such an infuriatingly good read on him like always. Gods, why can’t this just be a big, bad enemy, or something? Something he could physically fight away? That would be infinitely easier.

“Well, I dunno… All I can think of is to keep lying, really. What else’re we supposed do?”

“Dunno. You need to quit being obvious.”

“I was not obvious.”

“Yeah, if you say so.”

“I do say so,” The king retorts, a bit childishly. He doesn’t care, though, not if it means he gets to have the last word.

Macaque sighs, exasperated, but doesn’t say much else. Good, because Wukong was kind of getting tired of dealing with the consequences to his own actions. He could deal with them another time. He finally untangles a pair of sleek black dual blades hiding in the necklaces, eyes sparkling at their luminous shine, the sharpness of its blade.

Wukong spares a glance to the warrior, who’s got his back turned to him, then slowly stuffs them back under the pile. Macaque didn’t need to have all of his weapons. Just as he starts to untangle the rest of the blades caught under more necklaces, he hears Macaque make an impressed little noise.

“Woah, no way,” Macaque gasps in awe, lugging a comedically large sword up from the pile. His eyes practically glitter at it, even more so when it comes apart to reveal several blasters and gunning hiding inside. Wukong had kind of forgotten about that thing.

“This thing is crazy. Betcha Tang would love this,” He chuckles before the sword morphs back into its blade form and tossing it aside.

Wukong rolls his eyes, his tail giving an irritated little flick.

Wukong’s not sure how much time passes, but he does know that he found a good deal of weapons (that he was willing to give up) and gave them to Macaque. Some old and rusty, but (probably) strong enough for a few more uses. Some relatively new, gleaming and honed and would probably never be used by Wukong as anything other than decoration, or a door prop, or something.

At some point, he finds himself sitting atop a thick blanket of junk, using a hand to pick away at the mound in front of himself tiredly, having given up on the boring untangling of necklaces. Of course, there’s only so much excitement to be had from work, and Wukong grows tired of the monotonous searching and the onslaught to his eyes at the overwhelming amount of things piled in the temple. Grows tired of the pungent scent of iron- it was starting to give him a headache.

He wonders how many more toys Macaque could possibly need. Was he looking to take every weapon he had? Maybe he could just flick on his True Sight. He kind of forgets he has that, sometimes.

Something hits the back of his head.

Wukong looks to Macaque before flicking his eyes down, finding a bottled scroll rolling at his side.

He glares at the warrior, whose back is turned to him as he boredly reads some kind of writing on thick, yellowed paper.

“Did you just throw that scroll at me?”

Macaque scoffs, not looking up from the paper.

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not as childish as you.”

Wukong huffs, turning back to his pile with a roll of his eyes. Yeah, right, as if they didn’t do way stupider things than that. Whatever.

The moment he’s turned around, though, another bottled scroll hits the back of his head, harder this time.

He whips back around to Macaque, catching him swiftly turning away and trying to hide a little smile in his cape.

That trifling bastard.

Wukong picks up one of the scrolls, chucking it at him and snickering at the dink it makes upon impact before falling into clutter. Macaque rubs at the back of his head, paper falling from his hands as he turns back to Wukong.

“Did you just-”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not as childish as you,” Wukong retorts mockingly, in the most obnoxious, not-Macaque voice he can possibly produce. He giggles at the hardened glare in response, but Macaque’s tail mischievously lashing from side to side gives him away. He gets this sinister little grin on his face before darting for Wukong.

With an inhuman yelp, Wukong hastily picks himself up off the floor, laughing when Macaque tries to tackle him only to miss, just barely whiffing him. The warrior gets an elegant faceful of junk, sputtering at the necklaces caught on his nose when he rights himself.

Wukong laughs, then chucks a nearby wooden staff at him, which Macaque knocks away with ease. The shadow’s got this menacing spark in his eye, like a cat after a laser pointer, before he makes a beeline for Wukong.

Their laughter echoes loudly through the temple as Wukong weaves around him, even goes so far as to dive into the piles just to lose Macaque. Every time he lets his guard down, though, the king pops out of the pile like a mole, chucking the first thing he grabs at him with a wry little snicker. Some of them even break, but it does little to deter the shadow.

He’s able to get a clean snipe only once more before, suddenly, Macaque dives into the shadows. Wukong takes on a defensive position, smiling to himself as he scans the room, but is just a moment too slow to notice the portal opening behind him.

As soon as he sees it, Macaque’s already lunging at him, tackling him to the floor.

Wukong giggles as they tumble through his hoard, playfighting just like old times. They wrestle it out, but, with another roll, Macaque gets on top of him, catching at his flying wrists when Wukong tries to get back at him. His hands are pinned to the floor, and Wukong’s not able to do much when the warrior straddles him, shadow cast over him. Junk pokes uncomfortably into his back, but he barely even notices.

When he looks up to him, his chest does something funny- a rush he hadn’t felt in centuries.

Macaque’s laughing over him, eyes squeezed shut as the song of his laughter fills Wukong’s ears, echoing through the temple. His teeth flash, and he looks like the purest image of whimsical joy, wearing a victorious smile brighter than the sun.

This terrible, bubbling desire to kiss fills the king.

He impulsively moves to do just that, stopping himself immediately once he realizes his error.

“I can’t believe you just let me do that to you- that was so embarrassing, Wukong,” Macaque taunts, amusement glittering in his eyes when he looks down to Wukong. Then, he moves to stand, lifting himself off of the king and releasing his wrists.

Once he’s standing beside Wukong, he offers his hand and helps him up.

“Okay, enough messing around. We’re almost done, I think. Just need a few more and I’ll be good,” Macaque hums thoughtfully. He seems a little lighter, somehow.

Wukong scratches at his head, looking to his feet.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go ahead and finish up here,” Then, after he finds himself, he adds on, “’Cause I’m pretty sure you’ve totally been stealing from me.”

It holds no bite whatsoever, and Wukong’s actually pretty certain that that wasn’t even a concern anymore. Still, he lives for banter.

“Ha! Like you’ve got anything I want in here. You’re way more attached to this stuff than I am.”

Very true.

Macaque then moves away from him, returning to digging around in a thinner layer of artifacts. He bends over as he searches, black tail curling cutely in the air.

The king moves to another separate mound, away from him, unfocused at the task at hand as his mind instead drifts to something more demanding of his attention.

He’d wanted to kiss Macaque. Which wasn’t anything new, really, but to happen in a non-sexual situation was abnormal- it was just another unspoken part of their agreement.

And yet, just then, he wanted to kiss him.

Would Macaque have been upset if he did…?

Wukong shakes his head, as if the action would be able to rid himself of such thoughts.

No- he needed to get himself on track. He was being ridiculous.

He didn’t need to be thinking like that. Their relationship was to remain firmly in the confines of either his bedroom, or Macaque’s. Bringing it outside of either of those places was just asking for trouble. They’d get too used to it, then one of them (Macaque, obviously) would make that mistake in front of everyone else.

Wukong brushes it off. He didn’t actually kiss him, so he shouldn’t be thinking so hard about it. It didn’t mean anything.

“Woah- no way you kept this,” He hears Macaque call. He can hear the smile in his voice, which usually didn’t mean anything good.

“Uh- kept what?” Wukong asks, looking to the other over his shoulder.

Something silver gleams underneath a large heap, and Macaque grabs it with both hands, bringing a leg up to heave whatever it was out. He stumbles back when the thing finally dislodges itself, then holds it in both hands with a victorious glee on his face.

Wukong’s stomach drops.

It was Macaque’s first cudgel.

Carefully carved together from wood for the staff and steel for the spiked edges by the both of them, long before Macaque learned to wield his own from bending shadows. When he didn’t need the first one anymore, it might have snuck its way into Wukong’s most precious treasures. Emphasis on ‘might.’

“This thing is like, older than both of us at this point,” Macaque laughs, then gives it a fast overhead twirl.

“Hey- be careful with that,” Wukong says before he can stop himself.

Sure, they weren’t exactly professional wood carvers, and the weapon was a bit shoddy in some parts. Like how it was missing a few steel spikes in some areas because they ran out of resources at the time. Much too unfit to be used for battle in the long run- it was made from wood, after all. But Wukong just couldn’t bring himself to let it go.

Along with a few of Macaque’s other possessions.

Macaque pokes one of the spikes, seeming a little thoughtful now.

“What did you keep this for? S’not like anyone can really make use of it anymore.”

Wukong crosses his arms, pursing his lips as he struggles to find any sort of plausible explanation for that. Throwing that away was throwing away part of their friendship, a part of Macaque he’d never get to have again. It was a living relic.

His tail twitches anxiously. He can’t come up with anything quickly enough. May as well go for a very skewed version of the truth just to soften the incoming blow afterwards.

“Uhhh, I dunno. It always comes back here when I toss it out.”

Macaque makes a face.

“What? This thing isn’t any good, Wukong. It’ll fall apart in the middle of…” He trails off, eyes widening. Wukong can practically see the dots connecting in his eyes, and he quickly turns away, tapping his finger against his bicep irritably.

“Wait- you kept this ‘cause of me, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, right, don’t flatter yourself,” The king automatically denies, chest constricting.

“Awww, you big softie. You totally did!” Then, Macaque hums, looking it over in his hands once more.

“Wow,” He giggles. “And here I thought I wasn’t all that important to you.”

A bitter frost encrusts Wukong’s stone heart at those words. That wasn’t true at all. Macaque was his everything. He was the only one who stuck with him through thick and thin, the only one who was so utterly devoted to him. Surveyed in the safety of the shadows, always Wukong’s extra set of eyes. No secret to get past his six ears.

Their falling out was ugly, and something that might not ever truly be fixed. But Wukong would never regret the time spent with him before that. A cherished treasure too close to his heart, one that simply couldn’t be contained in his temple.

Macaque says the words that petrify Wukong as if they were nothing more than a joke, even chuckles a little. His mind draws a blank, and he doesn’t know how to respond. The truth will only result in a fight; Macaque would never believe him again. Lying would only hurt him further.

Instead, Wukong merely swallows tightly and looks down to the floor, suddenly feeling cold. How cowardly, that he can’t say anything to prove him wrong. Some king he was.

“I’ll leave this old thing here, then,” Macaque concedes, carefully putting the staff down. Then, he turns to Wukong, face brighter.

“Hey- you got anything else of mine in here?”

Wukong turns to him, and the ice growing in his chest melts at the pure glee on Macaque’s face. His eyes practically sparkle, and it makes him feel better, actually. Makes him feel a little better, knowing that, even now, sometimes a smile like that could still be directed towards him.

Still. Finding the cudgel was enough to supply Macaque with a pretty healthy amount of blackmail material for now. No cute face would change his mind on that.

“Hell no. You’ve already had your fun,” The king gripes, but it holds no bite.

Besides, the other things he kept of Macaque’s were in his house, not in here. Fat chance he’d find them anytime soon- not that Wukong was stupid enough to tell him that.

“I bet you do- maybe in your house, right?”

Wukong bristles.

“Oooh, hit the nail on the head, huh?”

“Pshh, no, obviously.”

Macaque leaps beside him, insistently pressing his shoulder against Wukong’s. He nudges him annoyingly, a crooked little smile on his face.

“You totally do. C’mooon, Wukong, spill,” He presses, poking at Wukong’s shoulder.

“No, I don’t. I don’t even know what you’re on about,” Wukong denies, turning away because he can’t fight the smile creeping onto his face. He swats away Macaque’s hand when it comes to poke at his cheek, giggling to himself.

“Pfft. You big sap. I’ll find ‘em soon enough,” The warrior taunts easily, turning back away from Wukong to continue his search for dangerous toys. His tail brushes over his, and Wukong has no clue whether or not that was intentional.

The king can’t help but smile to himself, a pleasant warmth thrumming in his chest as he gets back to work.

More weapons are thrown into Macaque’s portal, all the while done over light conversation. Usually just discussing MK’s progress in combat, or Macaque questioning him about the history of some curious artifact. And if Wukong’s eyes drift to him maybe a few more times than necessary, well, Macaque doesn’t notice.

It’s nice, actually. Wukong’s surprised to find himself genuinely enjoying Macaque’s company and their playful banter. Nostalgia washes over him at the sight of his smile and warm laughter- this was hardly any different than when they were younger and livelier. When sunlight trickled over them and glossed over silky black fur and six ears. When Wukong was entirely enamoured with how well his closest friend wore joy.

A calmer, sweeter time Wukong holds close to his stone heart, and also a time he didn’t appreciate enough when he was living in it. He won’t make that mistake again.

With a sigh, he brings his gaze to Macaque, an aching pull in his chest.

He never could seem to get rid of this strange magnetism, could he?

Macaque dusts off his hands, eyes flicking about the room, searching for Wukong. The sage swiftly looks away, pretending to focus on the mound of junk before him, only to look back at Macaque once he calls for him.

“Hey, Wukong. Think we’ve met our quota for today,”

He then opens a shadow portal in the wall and sticks his head in. The king moves closer to him with curious eyes, peeking over Macaque’s shoulder and catching a glimpse of weapons piled atop one another in some room of his dojo. Though he was initially greatly upset at having to share his possessions, he doesn’t really mind all that much anymore, not if they were being used for MK’s training, at least.

Macaque returns, but leaves the portal open, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Yup,” He pops the ‘P’. “Think that’s about it,” He says, the sense of finality in his voice jarring.

“Well, thanks for letting me steal from you, Monkey King, but I should really start sorting out all this junk.”

Just as Macaque steps in, though, Wukong unthinkingly grabs at his hand. The shadow’s got one foot in the swirling portal, looking to his caught hand, then to Wukong, expectant.

Wukong has no clue why he snatched Macaque’s hand- it was purely on impulse. The thought of him leaving fills the king with an empty feeling, a feeling he was already quite intimately familiar with, unfortunately. He doesn’t want him to leave, but he also can’t think of another reason Macaque would really need to stay, either.

He swallows dryly, mind spoon-feeding him an easy solution.

“Feel like staying a little longer?” He hums, giving the warrior’s body an implicit onceover.

Macaque’s face reddens before he gets a smirk on his face.

“Oooh, Wukong,” He snickers, then gives the king’s hand a squeeze, nodding towards his portal. Its destination shifts to his bedroom. “Let’s go- my place this time.”

It wasn’t very often they got to have sex at Macaque’s house- he seemed to be a little more protective of his quiet little space than Wukong, for whatever reason. Which Wukong didn’t mind, no, but it made it all the more thrilling the handful of times he does get to take him there.

They slip through the portal, a chill running down Wukong’s back at the frosty feeling of the shadows encasing him- the odd feeling of going through one of these portals was one he never did seem to accustom himself to. No wonder Macaque always ran cold.

The moment the portal’s closed, Macaque’s lips are on his, hands fisted in his clothing to yank him closer. Wukong hums in surprise before falling into their usual song and dance, bringing his arms around the shadow’s waist.

“Was wondering when you were gonna say something,” Macaque murmurs against his lips.

“Wanted to see if you’d ask first,” Wukong replies easily, meeting him in an open-mouthed kiss and slipping his tongue in. A groan tumbles from the king when Macaque brings a hand down, palming over his crotch, not wasting any time whatsoever. He pulls away from him with a nip at his bottom lip, then mouths at Wukong’s jawline. Heat pools in the pit of his stomach, and he grinds unabashedly into his hand, sighing when the warrior suckles at his earlobe.

 Macaque suddenly pulls away, something dark glinting in his eye before he begins to push Wukong by his shoulders. The king obliges, walking backwards until his legs buckle over the seat of a chair. He stumbles with a yelp, falling gracelessly onto the seat.

Macaque’s wearing a different kind of smirk this time, one that would go largely unnoticed were Wukong someone who didn’t know him as well as he did. Small embers of mischief alight in the luster of his amber eyes. A trap was laid out for Wukong, and he was curious enough to deliberately walk right into it. When he looks up to the shadow, he thrusts his hands onto the back of the chair, leering down at the sage with a dark confidence.

“I’m in a good mood today- so I think I’ll give you a ride,” He purrs.

Red explodes on Wukong’s face, but he’s given no time to respond when Macaque kisses him again, nipping at his bottom lip. Wukong reaches up, slipping his hands under the fabric of his hanfu and feeling the muscle of his chest under his palms. A snideness paints his face in the darkness of his room, holding what he wants over Wukong like bait, and Wukong is living for it. It’s immediately clear to him that he won’t be taking the lead this time.

The king meets him with an equal smugness, giving his thigh an oh-so kind and inviting pat. As enticing as the idea of Macaque domming him was, Wukong wasn’t planning on making it easy for him, either. He’s got a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Well? Get to it, already.”

Macaque’s smirk only widens, an alluring danger in his eyes. Pushing off of the chair, he reaches into the shadows of the floor, pulling something from its depths.

A pair of gold, shimmering handcuffs.

Wukong only laughs in response. That had to be a joke, because using handcuffs on either of them would be like tying their wrists together with wet paper. The idea is hilarious, but Macaque only scowls at him, eyes narrowed harshly. That does little to keep the sage from having his own fun, though.

“What’s that supposed to do?” Wukong giggles, his laughter fading as he tries his hardest to take this seriously, a smile still bright on his face. “Who’s that supposed to hold down?”

“You, duh.”

“Ha! Right.”

Macaque’s smirk only grows wider.

“Yeah, you would think so. But these were in your little treasure trove earlier,” He explains, giving them a little shake. The chains clinking sound much too loud. “So my guess is these aren’t just any ol’ pair of handcuffs.”

Well, that was… actually kind of true. Wukong had no clue what the hell they would do to him, either.

He doesn’t know if he wants to find out, actually. He’s never liked being restrained- neither in the bedroom or in everyday life. The feeling was suffocating.

Macaque lowers the cuffs, and concern flashes in his eye before disappearing just as fast. His smirk falls, and he takes on a more serious expression.

“I mean- we don’t have to if you don’t wanna.”

The king looks to the floor, unsure. His heart races in his chest, and a restlessness makes his tail flick. If Macaque had asked something like this months ago, he would have turned it down without a second thought whatsoever. Probably wouldn’t have considered it even after the fact.

But, he’s kind of starting to think otherwise, now. The mere idea of the flighty warrior in his lap taunting him with his own hands rendered useless behind his back makes his pants feel much too tight. Wukong doesn’t really think he would allow anyone else to strip him of his control like that, something he doesn’t want to think too hard about.

“Bring ‘em here.” He turns his nose up, challenging.

Macaque approaches him, albeit a little slowly.

“You sure? Not just sayin’ that to look tough, are you?” He questions, cocking a brow skeptically. Right, like he was one to talk.

“Pssh, nah. Think I can trust you enough to not do anything too stupid,” Wukong playfully teases.

The warrior’s face reddens before he gives a little scoff.

“Wow, what an honor,” He sarcastically drawls.

Wukong can’t help but give him another onceover before glancing to the cuffs in his hands again. Well, if he’s not going to be able to touch him, he might as well do it now while he still can.

“C’mere.”

Amusement fills his gaze, and he does just that, much to his surprise. As soon as he’s close enough, Wukong reaches out, grabbing him by his waist and bringing him closer. The warrior stands over him, his abdomen right against Wukong’s face, but he seems pretty keen on not making Wukong his very own personalized seat just yet, which was a shame, really.

His slender waist fits Wukong’s hands perfectly, and the king finally undoes the front of his hanfu, bringing his lips to his stomach appreciatively and flicking his tongue over the defined muscle.

“Yeah- better enjoy it while it lasts,” Macaque taunts above him, his free hand finding the back of the chair.

The king merely hums in response, dragging his teeth over the flesh and curling his arms up Macaque’s back, claws brushing over heated skin and fur. He trails kisses down, before dragging one of his hands over the front of Macaque’s thigh, fingers rumpling the fabric. He gingerly palms at his crotch, intent on getting him hard. Macaque doesn’t give him the chance, though, pulling away before Wukong can accomplish his goal.

Bemused, the king looks up to him, because how dare he, first off, and also to see what could have possibly made him pull away.

“Guess I should get this off you, first,” Macaque suggests, hands reaching for the hem of Wukong’s breastplate. Wukong’s brows raise at the contact- he usually removed his own clothing. Once the breastplate’s out of the way, the shadow eases his shirt up and off, throwing it aside. He meets Wukong’s gaze almost intimately, hand resting on his bare shoulder.

The look catches Wukong off guard, and he can practically feel himself melt under his gaze. An all-too familiar scent of sweet plums fills his lungs, and Wukong swallows thickly before the scent consumes him. He leans in, wanting to taste the remnants of the smile that eluded him earlier, but Macaque snidely pulls away before he can, the bastard.

“Ooh, almost,” The shadow taunts. Wukong’s tail thrashes impatiently somewhere behind him, and he only huffs in response. He removes himself from the king, walking over to the back of the chair. He drags a hand over his collarbone, tail brushing his chin in the most tantalizing way.

“M’Gonna need your hands, Wukong,” He orders, speaking his name with honey on his tongue, the way Wukong likes it.

“Bossy, bossy,” He impishly tuts, moving his hand around the back of the chair and pressing his wrists together.

A new heat fills him as Macaque carefully cuffs him, one he wasn’t expecting in the slightest. It makes his heart pound a little faster and makes magma pump through his veins. The clink of the cuffs tightening around his wrists is loud and exciting.

Wukong swallows thickly. He wasn’t expecting to be this turned on already. He was apprehensive at first, wondering if he’d become nervous, or tense once the cuffs were on. But now? He’s starting to wonder if blowing his load too early was going to be a major concern this time around.

“Alright. Try breaking out of ‘em, I wanna see if they can hold,” Macaque suggests.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, lemme do that.”

Wukong gives them a weak, experimental tug, expecting them to snap instantaneously. They don’t budge, surprisingly enough. With a little more strength, he tries again, but to no avail. Wukong huffs before trying a third time, mustering most of his power into his arms. The cuffs strain and creak under his sheer power, and his hands tremble with how much force he exerts, but, again, they hold strong. Damn- these really were the real deal.

To no surprise whatsoever, Macaque looks immensely pleased behind him, purring with delight.

“Oh- you really can’t break outta those, huh?”

Wukong immediately dismisses such a nonsensical statement, regardless of how true it was.

“Pfft, yeah, right. I’m just keeping ‘em on ‘cause you want ‘em there. These dinky little things ain’t got nothin’ on me,” He boasts, proudly puffing his chest out.

“Mhm,” Is all Macaque says in response, very obviously not believing a single word uttered.

He stands up, moving back to Wukong’s front and shucking off the top of his hanfu. Now that his hands are basically deadweight behind him, he’s hoping that’ll be enough to finally get Macaque in his lap already.

He has no complaints when the shadow instead sinks to his knees.

Hands settle on each of Wukong’s thighs, cold over the fabric of his clothing. He’s got this snide, mischievous look in his yellow eyes and easy smirk on his face. Six ears proudly unfurl as the warrior gets his hands on the hem of Wukong’s pants and pulls them down to his thighs, already easing his cock out.

“You don’t waste any time, huh?” Wukong can’t help but tease, humming as Macaque licks and kisses him into hardness in little time altogether before starting a lazy stroke on him.

“Nah. C’mon, Wukong,” He hums, a little smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “We both know what we’re here for.”

“Always straight to the point with you,” Wukong huffs, only half-joking. That didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little fun in the process, but he digresses.

The chains rattle when Wukong attempts to move a hand to the back of Macaque’s head, forgetting himself. Six ears perk cutely at the sound, and the warrior looks up at him as he sinks down onto his length, gaze heated. Red burns over his cheeks, already bobbing his head at a leisurely pace and tearing a low moan from the king.

Just as he starts to roll his hips into the heat of Macaque’s mouth, though, heavy hands grab at his hips, unkindly pinning him firm against the chair. Wukong’s brows pinch tightly, unable to chase the sublime heat, the hot drag of Macaque’s tongue over his length. He’s quickly finding that his physical limitations were building a rapid heat in the pit of his gut, stirred by the warrior’s eagerness.

He really is pretty, on his knees for his king, chest exposed as he sucks him down and a tent beginning to form in his own pants. He licks from base to tip, suckling heatedly before taking as much of his length as he can fit in his mouth. Wukong moans, hips jerking involuntarily, but Macaque’s hands prevent him from fucking into his throat.

“That excited to get my dick your mouth, huh?” The sage can’t help but taunt, ego inflating from how eagerly Macaque takes him down.

“I’m not the only one who’s excited,” The warrior easily counters, bringing one of his hands down to palm at his own hardness without Wukong’s permission. Of course, he knows Macaque will only do the opposite if he orders him not to, so, instead, Wukong decides to play into it to give himself the upper hand.

“Touch yourself,” The king sighs, licking his lips.

Then, just like that, Macaque removes his hand from his dick, effectively backfiring.

“That what you want? Think you can stand to ask a little more nicely if you want a show,” He retorts, a knowingness in his gaze, entirely familiar with the rules of Wukong’s game. He brings his hand up to the king’s length, stroking what doesn’t fit into his mouth with deft fingers. It gets the king groaning, brows pinching at his skilled tongue.

His heart skips a beat at Macaque’s combativeness, his willingness to so boldly rival Wukong’s energy and his refusal to back down. His pace increases, taking Wukong’s cock as deep as he can. Saliva runs down the king’s length and Macaque’s chin. What Wukong wouldn’t give to cup his cheek and thumb away the mess on his chin as the proud warrior looks up at him through his lashes, searching for his praise, his validation.

Macaque’s practically worshipping his dick, moaning around it and kissing the head, his pace immensely gratifying in the way he knows Wukong really likes it. He wants so badly to grab a fistful of his black mane, but not to take charge, no, Macaque needs no guidance or instruction whatsoever on how to please him.

And that’s not something that should make Wukong’s heart beat faster. It shouldn’t have aroused him more, and it shouldn’t make pre leak onto the warrior’s greedy tongue.

But it does.

A thin strand of saliva connects Macaque’s lips to the head when he pulls off of him, glistening when he speaks. The king pants, thighs tense under Macaque’s hands as he shivers at the sight, mind aflame with thoughts of claiming those lips, tasting himself on his tongue.

“Already, huh? I’m flattered, Wukong,” He purrs, voice sultry.

Gods, how humiliating- he could usually last longer than this. He plays it off as best as he can.

“Yeah, you’ve got my dick in your mouth half the time- I’d hope you know it by now,” He retorts, but it falls apart when his voice cracks.

“Oh, I do. Best one I’ve had,” He continues, tail swishing with delight.

Gods, he never feeds into Wukong’s ego, and the king knows he’s only doing it just to arouse him further, but, man, is it working. Regardless of whether it’s true or not, it makes his ego swell tenfold.

“It better be…” Wukong breathily trails off, barely able to get off his retort when, without breaking eye contact, Macaque sinks back down onto his cock, all in one swift motion. It’s quite possibly the hottest thing Wukong’s ever seen, the shine of pretty copper eyes intense and boring into his as he sucks him down. The warrior’s hands still pin Wukong’s hips to the chair, preventing him from jerking his hips, but he’s got a focus in his gaze, intent on getting the king off this time.

His pace gets Wukong’s head tipping over the chair, jaw slack as his moans fill the air. The king shivers, a hot coil ready to snap inside of him, running hotter and hotter. A cry is torn from him as the head of his cock strikes the back of Macaque’s throat, the vibration of his sinful moan around his length heavenly. He wants to hold on, make Macaque really work for it, but that just wasn’t possible Macaque could play him like a violin.

“Mac- M’gonna…” He musters, pinching his eyes shut.

That spurrs the warrior on, his tongue swirling over the head and his claws sinking into Wukong’s hips. With a guttural groan, Wukong spills into Macaque’s mouth, heart pounding in his ears.

Wukong’s left gasping for air as he’s finally allowed release. His lungs hurt, and, when he opens his eyes, the ceiling above him struggles to come into focus. Very distantly, he registers Macaque licking up the missed drops on his thighs, and his claws digging painfully into his palms. The cuffs strain loudly, but still valiantly hold firm.

A weight suddenly plops into his lap, and Wukong directs his attention to Macaque, sitting high and mighty on his lap like he’s his throne. Cum stains the corner of his mouth, and he wraps his arms around Wukong’s neck. He must’ve taken off his pants before falling into his lap, his cock pressing teasingly against Wukong’s stomach.

“Know what?” The warrior muses thoughtfully.

“I think I’m gonna make you cry.”

That stirs a wildfire of lust in the pit of Wukong’s stomach, and his softening cock gives an almost painful twitch In response.

“Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” He challenges, voice shaky. To accomplish that was but a fever dream- like someone such as himself would surrender in such a pathetic manner. It was a cute thought, though.

The warrior merely smirks before he claims Wukong’s lips, thrusting his tongue in. The king groans, meeting him with equal fervor, more so when he gets a taste of of his cum thick on Macaque’s tongue. He licks up the spend staining his mouth, purring loudly. Strong thighs straddle him, shifting in his lap, and his hands ache to sink into the flesh, to rake lines down his body. They tremble uselessly behind him.

Macaque’s hardness presses insistently against his abs, and the warrior grinds unabashedly against him, eager for any sort of friction he can get. His chest presses flush against Wukong’s own, burning hot as his hand runs through his hair, claws brushing his scalp pleasantly as the warrior’s lips greedily move against his.

Wukong gasps when Macaque tugs harshly at his bottom lip before pulling away. He’s so pretty like this, with a domineering spark in his eye. A black tail excitedly flicks between Wukong’s legs as he tugs at auburn hair, forcing his head back.

A groan fills the air as Macaque’s fangs sink into his neck, possessive and hard enough to draw blood. He’s particularly rough and dominating today, and Wukong is living for it. It wasn’t often Macaque took the lead, as he didn’t seem to like the contact that came with it. When the king is stripped of his crown, though, he’s so much bolder, knowing he’s in control of his every breath. At least, he thinks he is.

Wukong didn’t need his hands to make him submit, though. Didn’t even need to be in charge, in fact- Macaque could have his fun. In the end, he’ll still be the one who’s putty in Wukong’s hands.

The warrior pulls away, licking away the blood at his lips, before he produces his bottle of lube from the darkness.

“You good to go again?”

“Mhm.” Wukong smirks, then, with a wink and a lilt in his voice, he playfully adds on, “Anytime for you.”

Macaque’s face reddens before he flicks his gaze down to the lube in his hands, snapping it open.

“Ugh, shut up. Bet that works wonders on other people,” He murmurs, a little sourly.

“Eh, maybe,” He answers with a nonchalant half-shrug, directing his gaze to Macaque’s hand. Lube shimmers over the warrior’s fingers, and he drops the bottle to the floor after closing it.

“I’m kinda not with other people, though, in case you haven’t noticed,” The king hums, watching as Macaque’s fingers move to his entrance, gingerly pressing one in. He takes it so well, easing onto his finger with little discomfort. Wukong only wishes it were his fingers, but, at the same time, he likes the show all the same. A tough position to be in, truthfully.

“Not right now, you’re not,” The warrior retorts, eyes filled with an interesting bout of anger.

He’s jealous.

The king finds himself purring again, watching heatedly as Macaque sinks onto another finger, riding them greedily. His tails raps hard at the floor, and he licks his lips as he watches the warrior’s face twist with pleasure, sighs falling into his ears.

And, because Wukong is nothing more than a creature of habit, he decides to fan the flames further, enthralled by the reaction it pulls out of Macaque.

“Yeah,” He sighs breathlessly. “Could be with someone else later.”

“Not when I’m done with you,” Macaque replies without missing a beat.

The shadow captures his lips once more- a smart move on his part, if the goal was to shut Wukong up. It was certainly working. Fangs find his bottom lip, suckling gently at the blood spilled. Iron is thick on Wukong’s tongue, mixing wonderfully with Macaque’s own taste.

Something sinfully delightful broils inside of the king, stirred by Macaque’s jealousy. His ego was being hand-fed, stroked, catered to, and treated all the right ways- he should really piss Macaque off more often. He’s hardening quickly underneath him, faster yet when the shadow in his lap moves to leave more marks in his throat.

“Ha- Someone’s jealous,” The king can’t help but tease. How silly, getting jealous over such a senseless thing. There wasn’t another Wukong wanted so carnally, no other he’d trust enough to restrain him in such a manner. Not that he’d tell Macaque that, no, he was quite enjoying himself watching him get riled up over nothing.

Macaque doesn’t respond, busying himself with Wukong’s neck, so he takes the chance to keep talking, to really set him off.

“You want my dick all to yourself, huh? Don’t like sharing?” He taunts with a little smirk playing on his lips, watching the way a colorful set of ears flick under his words.

“That’s it, right? You’re the only one it belongs to?” He asks mockingly, nearly tripping over his words as Macaque slides the final finger in, moaning into the king’s neck. His ears flutter at his cheek, so responsive to Wukong’s voice. Damn, he wants to badly to touch him, to rub circles into his thighs and feel him hot around his fingers.

Wukong licks his lips, watching his fingers go in and out. He’d very much like his turn, to watch Macaque take something a little thicker. His eyes flick up to the warrior’s, who gazes at him with something deceptively soft in the copper of his eyes. His free hand leaves fires in its wake as it drags up Wukong’s chest, fingers brushing at auburn fur at the base his neck.

Then, he grips hard at Wukong’s throat, tearing a strangled sound from him.

Macaque‘s eyes burn a wicked violet that ignites the king in a purple light. Fangs gleam over a bloodied snarl, and claws bite into his throat. It’s an intimidating show of power, one Wukong’s dick seems to take great interest in, if the way it throbs is of any indication. He swallows harshly, face reddening.

“I’m gonna humble you,” The shadow growls.

A tall order for sure, one the sage can’t help but scoff at.

He removes his fingers, using his tail to hand himself the bottle of lube and hastily snapping it open once more.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Wukong retaliates, humming with pleasure as the warrior slicks up his cock, pace fast. Just as he starts to thrust into his hand, though, he’s already pulling away. He’s not too upset at the loss, though, not when Macaque lines himself up and slowly descends onto his cock.

Strong hands find Wukong’s shoulders, gripping onto him as Macaque takes him inch by inch. Wukong groans at his unrelenting heat, the way it beckons him. He gasps once Macaque takes all of him, his ass pressed flush against his thighs. His own cock lays heavy between them, flushed and demanding of Wukong’s hands, mouth, gods, anything.

As the warrior accustoms himself to Wukong, the king’s head falls forward onto his shoulder, gritting his teeth at the hot tightness around him as he attempts once more to break the cuffs. He needs to touch him, needs to feel him under his palms and bring his arms around his core. Hold him close as he bounces on his cock a ride and murmur a string of praises into his ears. His muscles flex, and the cuffs strain teasingly, almost like they want to break, but just refuse to.

It doesn’t work.

“I think I’m in love with those handcuffs,” Macaque purrs approvingly, bringing a hand to rest on the back of Wukong’s head.

“Tch, yeah, whatever,” The king rasps into black fur. “Just ride me, already.”

He lifts his head to the warrior, meeting his lips once more as Macaque slowly does just that. He moans into Wukong’s mouth, arms wrapping closer at his shoulders. His ass is a perfect clutch around him, a divine heat that wrenches any sort of self-respect out of the king with each slow descent. Their teeth clack from Macaque’s movements, but Wukong could care less, too absorbed in the borderline tender way he fucks him.

And here he thought he’d put up more of a fight. Not that Wukong was complaining by any means, no, certainly not. Slow sex was his favorite- there really wasn’t a thing that could compare to the heated drag of his cock inside of the tight, soaked channel awaiting him. If Macaque’s trying to butter him up or get him to let his guard down, he was doing a damn good job at it.

“Fuck…” Wukong sighs against bloody lips, breath hitching when Macaque finds a rhythm. He clenches hard around him everytime he lifts off of him, slamming back down hard enough it gets the chair squeaking.

Wukong breaks away from the kiss, head flopping back against the chair, eyelids fluttering. Damn, Macaque knows how to ride a dick. His mind goes blissfully blank, engulfed in the heated scent of plums whirling around him, luring him in.

“Gods, you’re pathetic,” The warrior sneers. “You’re so easy to please. It’s embarrassing.”

Wukong’s cock twitches inside of him, and heat thrums in the pit of his stomach at the harsh words. Red burns on his cheeks, and sweat starts to run down the sides of his face. Needless to say, he’s definitely learning some new things about himself today.

A guttural cry rings in the air once Macaque abruptly picks up the pace. A hand fists into auburn hair as the warrior groans, bouncing eagerly on Wukong’s cock. The sound of his ass slapping lewdly against him sends Wukong into a spiral, makes him cry out as he desperately tries to keep up, thrusting his hips in tandem.

“Yeah- you like that?” The warrior groans, catching one of Wukong’s ears In his teeth. “Like when I make you my bitch, huh?”

Hot breath ghosts over his ear, and Wukong shudders in response, his deepest, most pathetic thoughts dredged up from within the sanctum of his core. Gods, he did. He likes being nothing more than a toy to please Macaque, only here for his pleasure. It didn’t matter what he did, if Macaque got something, anything, out of it, he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

“I asked you a question,” The warrior snarls, breath hitching.

Wukong turns away, swallowing thickly as his peak already begins a demanding, rapid approach, doing everything in his power to extinguish the all-consuming flames that burn him to nothing flaring in his gut. It was too soon- much too soon, but Macaque knows exactly how to reap him of all he’s worth and then some. He grits his teeth, anything to ground himself as the warrior takes what he wants.

“I- I…” He stutters, bringing his gaze to Macaque’s. The look in his eyes is predatory, alive with a heady confidence that looks so good on him. Wukong’s gaze drifts further down, down the bouncing pecs, hard-earned muscle, and his neglected dick.

He licks his lips, brows pinched tightly as he watches Macaque take every inch of his cock, driving it into himself like it’s his. At this point, it might as well be. Up and down, up and down, roughly using Wukong’s cock for all it was worth.

“Yes…” He musters, damn near drooling at the sight.

A hand harshly directs Wukong’s gaze back to Macaque’s, who looks smug above him.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes,” Wukong cries out, squeezing his eyes shut as pleasure mounts higher and higher, giving the warrior what he wants despite himself- his fight had long been stamped out. He’s already so, so close, euphoria gushing through his veins, and all he can do is cant his hips into Macaque’s sublime heat. His loud pants fill the air, rising higher and higher in pitch-

His cock slips out.

A strangled cry is torn from the king’s throat, and he looks down, devastated.

When he looks up to the warrior, though, he’s met with a faltering smugness as he pants harshly.

“Whoops… Might’ve played a little too rough,” Macaque insincerely rasps, purring. He gently takes Wukong’s dick, pressing it against his own and stroking them slowly instead of getting Wukong back inside of him.

Just as Wukong opens his mouth to complain, Macaque’s lips find his. His heart was still racing, and the fire inside of himself nearly eats him whole, but Macaque’s stroke is too slow to get him off. He tries anything, thrusting into Macaque’s hand, but the warrior pulls away everytime he tries, returning once he’s settled down.

“Mac,” He murmurs, chest heaving as he fights to keep himself from trembling like a leaf in the wind. Macaque doesn’t listen to him, trailing kisses down his chin and neck as he leisurely strokes them. After being deep inside of him, his hand just doesn’t hold a candle to the way his insides wrap around him- Wukong needs more.

“C’mon. I need you on me.”

“I bet you do,” Was his callous response.

Wukong swallows thickly, breath trembling as adrenaline pumps through his body, still expecting release. He’s too far gone to think of anything smart or witty, reduced to nothing more than a dog in heat.

“C’mon… I didn’t mean what I said earlier,” He tries. He sincerely means it, he really does, but also mostly says it to get Macaque back on his dick sooner- if it even will.

“Hm? Oh, I know.”

“I- I only… I mean, it’s just you. That I get with, I mean.” He mutters, a little bashfully.

“Mhm,” Then, a bit of sincerity graces Macaque’s face, too. “Me, too. It’s only you for me.”

Wukong can’t help but feel a little lighter, somehow, at the words. He knew that Macaque joking about meeting up with someone else was a joke, but hearing him confirm it for himself was… nice, actually. Not that Wukong was bothered by him having other partners, or anything. He could get with whoever the hell he wanted.

Strangely, though, he kind of likes being the only one for Macaque.

“Um… Can you…?” He trails off, wanting to ignore the way his heart flutters, the softness blooming in his chest.

Macaque nods in response, pressing their lips together once more as he raises himself, lining them up. The king moans lowly as he sinks onto him again, sweat rolling down the sides of his face as Macaque’s infernal, addictive heat is back around him, sucking him in.

The warrior starts a slow pace once more, but Wukong wasn’t dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice. He chases his lips when Macaque pulls away, marveling at how pretty he looks like this, how he makes the king to bow to him.

“Thought you were gonna make me cry,” Wukong challenges, mustering the best smirk he can.

“Oh, I will, don’t you worry,” The warrior coos, shifting in Wukong’s lap. The king braces himself this time, hissing through his teeth once Macaque drastically increases the pace.

His head falls back over the chair once more, and Wukong plants his feet on the floor, thrusting up into him. The warrior groans, eyes burning with a carnal desire as he slams himself over and over onto the king’s length, obscene moans filling Wukong’s ears. His dick nudges against Wukong’s stomach, and the king’s claws sink into his palms behind him, desperate to touch him.

Wukong shudders, his celestial mind and body entirely desecrated. Drool finds the corner of his mouth, and he sobs pathetically once Macaque’s fangs sink into his throat again, craning his head for him. The air in his lungs is punched out with each thrust, and his heart hammers loud in his ears, desperate for a moment to just breathe.

Macaque is too rough with him, and it’s too much, yet he still craves more. He wants everything Macaque can possibly offer to him, anything he’s willing to give.

“M-Mac…” He chokes out, gasping sharply as the warrior slams hard onto him. “Slow… Slow down, I can’t…”

“Awww, too much, your highness?” Macaque coos with a purr, slowing down only marginally. He takes Wukong’s ear in his mouth once more, suckling tightly before he speaks again, lips brushing his lobe.

“That’s just too bad.”

Wukong whimpers uselessly as he’s ridden like his life depends on it- nothing more than Macaque’s playground. The warrior groans gutturally, panting as he takes him with reckless abandon, chasing his high. A lustful tempest shoots shockwaves through Wukong and make his legs feel weak, makes him unable to think of anything that isn’t Macaque.

Wukong sobs, gritting his teeth as hot tears catch in his lash line.

The chains of the handcuffs rattle loudly as Macaque picks up, his pace fast and greedy. The king whines, eyelids fluttering shut from the way he manhandles his cock and makes it his.

“Fuck- you ride me so good,” Wukong sighs, breath shaky. The embers inside of him rage into blazes, burning high into the sky and licking at clouds. Each thrust, he’s driven deeper into the tight, silken heat, drawn hopelessly to him. He wishes so badly Macaque would do this more often, would drag his hands over his chest and neck as he fucks him. His touch was spellbinding in every sense of the word, and Wukong can only offer himself in hopes that he could have but a chance at getting more of it.

The praise makes Macaque shiver, makes his insides flutter around the king as he moans shakily in response.

His head tips over the chair once more, whimpering when Macaque clenches hard around him, tears burning as they slide down his cheeks. Stars burst behind his eyelids, spinning and setting his entire worldview askew- he’s already close, his orgasm mounting in the pit of his stomach.

“Dunno if I should let you cum this time…” Macaque purrs, voice shaky and dark. The heat of his war-torn hands hot over Wukong’s holy body sends him into a spiral, makes him melt with each touch. He shivers at the mere thought of his orgasm being robbed from him again.

“No… Please, let me. I’ll do anything,” He whines pathetically, hot tears running down his chin. Wukong knits his brows tight, strangled gasps escaping him as he nears his sweet release. He doesn’t care what he looks like, how pitiful he must sound- he needs it.

“Aww… I know you will. Anything I want, right?” Macaque coos into his ear, his rhythm growing erratic.

“Anything. Anything you want,” The king moans, knocked clean off of his throne.

“That’s what I thought,” Macaque rasps, groaning around a harder thrust.

Wukong’s breath hitches, and he cums with a broken sob, weakly meeting Macaque’s pace. A wave of lustful pleasure washes over him, pulsing through his body like a drug mixed in both heaven and hell. He’s come entirely undone, all fucked out, but he gasps when Macaque’s pace quickens.

The cuffs creak under straining hands, balled into white-knuckled fists as Macaque uses him. It’s too much for him to handle, his celestial body entirely ravaged and left shattered. And still, he wants nothing more than to offer his broken pieces on his knees to Macaque like an offering. He weakly meets the warrior in an eager open-mouthed kiss when Macaque finally cums, moaning softly into his mouth. Once he pulls away, his hooks his chin over Wukong’s shoulder, spent.

They pant loudly, and Wukong’s left reeling, his chest heaving against Macaque’s as he desperately tries to recollect himself, entirely overstimulated. He steadies his shaky breaths, moving to rest his head against Macaque’s, nose pressed into the mussed fur of his neck. The shadow doesn’t seem to mind, one of his arms dangling over the back of the chair as he holds him close with the other.

Once he comes to, Macaque pulls away, and Wukong looks up at the warrior through bleary eyes.

Black, sweat-slick fur sticks to his forehead, and crimson spreads over his cheeks, consuming his celestial marking. With a shaky hand, he swipes away the blood at his mouth, the fiery gleam of his sex-drunk eyes foggy as they flutter open to look at Wukong.

The king flushes.

Centuries worth of life, and Macaque was still the prettiest thing this world has to offer.

He brings his hands to the sage’s shoulders, gently lifting himself off of him and tearing a weak moan from Wukong.

Once he’s off of him, Macaque plops back down on Wukong’s lap, then looks to his mess between them. Most of it had stained Wukong’s fur, not that he even really noticed.

With a grimace, the shadow reaches to the floor and produces a clean rag from the shadows. Gingerly, he cleans the cum staining both of them, starting with Wukong.

Wukong sniffles, nose starting to run from all the crying he’d been doing. When reality starts to make sense again, Wukong realizes how pathetic he must look right about now, with hot tears gathering at his chin. He’ll hand it to Macaque this time- he had a mission, and he definitely accomplished it.

Macaque tosses the towel to the floor once he’s done, smoothing down the fur of Wukong’s stomach before flicking his gaze up to his face. He gets this catlike grin, tail swishing with delight behind him. Truthfully, it’s quite possibly the most annoying thing Wukong has ever seen. Needless to say, he didn’t like the taste of his own medicine.

“What’re you looking at.”

“Just admiring my handiwork,” The warrior hums, pleased.

Wukong huffs, shuffling his wrists behind him.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all cocky. Just wait ‘till next time,” He gripes, using his own shoulder to wipe away a stream of tears down one side of his face. He looks back over his chair to the handcuffs, more than ready to be done with them.

“Get these offa me, wouldja?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.”

Macaque reaches into his portal again, producing a little gold key.

Then, he shifts closer in Wukong’s lap, bringing both arms over his shoulder and hooking his chin over him, pressed right up against him. The king flushes at the contact, not expecting a hug, of all things, but also not entirely against it, either. Colorful ears press against the side of his damp cheek.

He belatedly realizes, though, that, no, it’s not a hug, when the handcuffs clink before mercifully loosening around his wrists. They drop to the floor, and Wukong brings his attention back to the warrior just as he pulls away, who looks to him at the same time.

They meet in a soft kiss, and the king wraps his newly-freed hands around him, curling them up Macaque’s back. A moan of delight slips from his throat, and Macaque’s warmth has never felt better in his hold. A finger runs through the fur on Wukong’s neck, carding through the strands. The muscle of his back shifts against Wukong’s palms, and the king can’t help but draw circles into dark fur.

When Macaque pulls away, he chuckles, bringing a hand up to Wukong’s cheek and thumbing away the leftover tears.

“Man, do you look terrible. I did a great job,” He preens.

Wukong scoffs, resisting the urge to lean into his touch.

“Yeah? Well, now you know how it feels to be me,” The king counters playfully.

Very tragically, Macaque then lifts himself off of Wukong, taking the rag with him. Wukong lets him up, hands lingering for maybe a moment longer than necessary. It seems that now that Wukong was free to reciprocate his touches, he’s lost interest.

Which wasn’t really a big deal, or anything. That’s just how Macaque was.

It didn’t bother him.

Hastily, the warrior cleans himself up, wiping away sweat with the back of his hand, back facing him. Wukong’s cheek burns from where his hand had rested.

The king lifts himself off of the chair, very, very grateful Macaque’s back was turned to him, because the way his legs buckle is absolutely humiliating. He grips onto the back of the chair, using it to anchor himself. They tremble, barely able to hold him up, their strength nonexistent from just how hard Macaque rode him. Admittedly, he’s a little impressed.

Once he can get them mostly working, Wukong pulls his pants back up, not bothering to smooth down his fur like he usually would. He spares a glance to Macaque’s bed, instead, all neat and tidy. It beckons him. After sex like that, a nap sounded incredible, and, of course, it was basically just a fact that a bed that wasn’t his own was infinitely more comfortable and welcoming.

“I’m gonna crash in your bed. That cool?” He asks, already moving to sit at the edge, keen on doing just that regardless of Macaque’s answer.

When he looks to Macaque, though, he finds that the other isn’t even looking at him. In fact, he’s still not even fully dressed, holding his bunched up-shirt in his hands. He’s concerningly still, looking down to the shirt in his hands as if it’ll speak if he stares hard enough. The tip of his tail twitches oddly, the way it usually did when he was deep in thought.

Admittedly, it’s a little freaky. Wukong watches him a moment more, thinking he’ll do… well, something. But he just stands there in some strange daze.

“Hey,” He tries. Nothing happens.

“Hey- what’s the matter with you? Your batteries die, or something?” He asks, hiding his growing concern behind the familiar veil of banter.

Macaque turns to him, brows raised. A strange, unidentifiable emotion stirs deep in his eyes. One Wukong can’t quite make out. It’s gone in an instant, and Macaque turns away when he responds.

“Uh… No, I’m fully charged,” He mutters, a little lamely, putting his shirt back on. Macaque reaches for the rest of his hanfu, tossing it to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t look at Wukong.

Wukong’s brows furrow, and he watches Macaque carefully. He’s upset about something.

The warrior glamors away his ears before huffing irritably, glowering at Wukong.

“What? Quit staring at me. Find something better to do, or leave.”

Wukong merely squints, choosing not to respond. Yeah, something was definitely wrong.

“M’gonna take a shower.”

Wukong decides to take a chance, test the waters once more to see if he can figure out what lies beneath. In the form of a suggestive joke, of course, so he won’t suspect anything.

“Want some company?”

Macaque gives a breathy laugh at that with a shake of his head. Whatever was going on with him was gone, now, just like that. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah.” Then, he looks to Wukong, smug. “Anything I want, right?”

Wukong flushes, heart stuttering. He didn’t actually think he’d get a ‘yes,’ and, bizarrely enough, couldn’t quite figure out where to go from here despite having been here several times. Something clogs up his thought process and ability to think clearly.

“Uh- really?” He stupidly responds.

“No, Wukong,” The warrior retorts, smirk dropping.

Ah, too good to be true.

“Wha- Then why would you get my hopes up like that?”

Macaque giggles at that.

“Pfft, seriously? You get your hopes up for shower sex? You know it’s not all it’s hyped up to be, right?”

Wukong laughs with him, allowing him to believe that, because, no, he wasn’t excited for shower sex. It didn’t matter where, as long as it was with…

The sage stops that thought right in its tracks. He’s getting just a little too deep into the thick, uncomfortable quicksand of his innermost feelings. It feels as if everytime he tries to avoid, well, whatever thrums through his stone body, it bites back with a vengeance. Pretty soon he’ll be in its maw, trapped by whatever was starting to swirl warmly inside his chest.

It burns blindingly bright and suffocates him, threatening to swallow him whole and lashing at him with a whip when he tries to ignore it, or push it aside. Everytime he sees Macaque’s smile, or hears his nostalgic laughter, he feels it. The worst part?

Wukong recognizes the poisonous touch it wields.

He’d felt this way in the past, back in simpler times. The way he yearned to be near his dearest friend, to feel him close and warm his ever-cold hands with his own. To lay with him under a tree, sunlight beaming over the both of them, his heart always beating a little fast. And, back then, Wukong was overcome by an urge lost to him, one he’s able to readily identify now:

He’d wanted to kiss Macaque, all those years ago. An urge identical to earlier, when Macaque had pinned him to the floor of his temple. But why? Their relationship back then was nothing like whatever the hell this was.

He doesn’t want to feel like this.

He shouldn’t.

If he lets himself get too close to Macaque again, he’ll…

The king looks to his palms, almost expecting to feel the frigid chill of howling wind over his blood-stained hands. The booming of a storm overhead, and cold, damning rain freezing him to the spot. Tears blur his vision as he looks to the corpse beneath him, his stone heart hammering frantically in his ears, the only thing reminding him that he’s still very much alive, and that he’ll have to live with what he did for eternity.

“Wukong.”

When Wukong looks up to Macaque, he sees his lifeless body flash for just the briefest of moments.

Macaque makes a face.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Copper eyes flit down to Wukong’s hands.

The king follows the motion. His hands were shaking. He forces them to stop.

Wukong nervously scratches at his head, turning away. He doesn’t deserve to look at him.

“Ah, y’know. Just tired, is all.”

“Right.”

The king rubs at his shoulder, pursing his lips at Macaque’s blatant skepticism. The warrior gathers clean clothes from his closet, seeming a little miffed. Wukong didn’t like lying to him, and he wishes he could tell him what was on his mind, the way he used to.

But, he wasn’t ready to discuss that. Wasn’t sure if he ever really would be. Slowly, it was starting to feel like the old, festering wounds between them were finally beginning to show the very first signs of healing. Bringing that up would only bring their first difficult, but small steps of progress back to zero.

And, gods, was it selfish to just bury their history down into the pits of hell just for his own gratification. To never speak of it again, to never apologize and just sweep it under the rug because Sun Wukong, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, was ill at the mere thought of verbal communication.

But, oh, does the idea of them setting everything aside and making new, fresh memories make him feel whole again.

Wukong shivers, moving to lay under Macaque’s blankets. They do nothing to soothe his sudden chill.

With a flick of his tail, Macaque makes his way to the door.

“Well, nap if you’re gonna. I’m gonna shower and then sort out those weapons, so it’s all yours for the next few hours or so, I dunno.”

Wukong can’t help but feel a little better upon hearing those words. Macaque was usually pretty keen on giving him the boot right after if they’d ever had sex at his place.

“Aww, not gonna kick me out this time?” Wukong can’t help but tease, knowing full well he could be dropped into a farewell portal just for saying that.

“No, but I’m about to.”

The king smiles to himself, curling up further in the blankets. Macaque’s blankets were so much thicker and woolier than his own, not to mention his bed was softer and plushier. He’ll be practically comatose once he’s asleep, something he absolutely looks forward to.

Wukong yawns, watching the warrior leave, quietly clicking the door shut.

The king shuts his eyes, melting into the mattress and breathing deeply. Something keeps him awake, though, everytime he moves ever so slightly.

He shifts, turning over irritably. He’s all too aware of the rustle of bedsheets, deafeningly loud in the silence of the room. He can hear his heartbeat through the pillow, and, at some point, swears he can even hear the air going in and out of his lungs.

Wukong grimaces. This place was too quiet. Of course, he knows why that is, but still can’t help but feel a little disgruntled at it anyways. He’s much too used to the distant chirping of crickets, or the quiet chittering of the younglings being his white noise. He imagines that Macaque’s room must be a safe haven for him, but not so much for himself.

Wukong remembers a time when he and Macaque used to sleep beside eachother. Anytime it was too loud, like when there was a storm overhead, Wukong would talk his ears off just to take his mind off of it. And if it was too quiet? The sound of Macaque’s soft purring typically knocked him right out.

Wukong frowns to himself, still feeling a little cold. His mind unhelpfully flits back to earlier, when he’d finally gotten his hands on Macaque only to have it stripped away a second time. Gods, he still yearned for his touch. No, he just wants to hold him close and listen to his heartbeat, his purring right next to him.

Wukong drags his hands down his face, mentally bashing himself when he remembers a past interaction they’d had.

Cuddling was something they discussed at the start of all this, but only very briefly. Back when this ‘agreement’ was still new, and they were still familiarizing themselves with the other’s boundaries, what had the ‘okay’ and what didn’t. Strangely enough, it was Macaque who presented the idea.

“D’you think that’s something we should do? Apparently aftercare is important, or whatever,” Macaque said, aloof as always as he threw on his clothing and fixed his hair. Though he appeared standoffish, he carefully watched Wukong out of the corner of his eye, something that went unnoticed by the king.

Wukong leaned back in his bed, pillowing his head over crossed arms with a harsh laugh.

“Pffft, yeah, right. Cuddling. Thought we moved past that like, centuries ago. I’m perfectly fine without it,” He brushed off with a shrug, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Guess you’re not, though, huh?” Wukong can’t help but poke fun, admittedly charmed that the proud Six-Eared Macaque would suggest something so silly.

If Macaque was looking for someone to cuddle, then he came to the wrong guy, that was for sure. Their agreement was for sex, not anything else, and he didn’t need to stay here any longer than was necessary lest they start arguing about one thing or the other. Cuddling was what couples did, and they were anything but.

Macaque scoffed easily, turning his nose up.

“Nah, I don’t need anyone. Thought it was more of your thing, anyways- since you’re always the touchy one,” He retaliated, throwing his pants on, seeming a little dismayed.

Well, Wukong blew his chance at that, that was for sure.

Even after spending a majority of his day with him and having sex with him just to spend even more time with him, Wukong still ached for Macaque’s company. This inexplicable urge to hold Macaque, to fall asleep with his nose in the crook of his neck and his fingers brushing through Wukong’s fur, is one he can’t seem to get rid of. To lose himself in the warm, comforting scent of plums as he grooms through inky black fur.

Damn Bai and Susu for sticking the image in his head.

Gods, that sounded heavenly right about now. He mentally smacks himself for so rudely turning down the option to cuddle when he had it. Thought he was too good for it, when, really, he craves it just as much as any mortal did.

Wukong sighs. Of course, Macaque’s pillow smells like him, which usually made him feel a little better. But it just wasn’t cutting it anymore- he wanted the real thing.

And he hates that he wants more. He doesn’t even know what exactly it is he’s searching for out of this agreement anymore, but whatever they had was no longer starting to feel like enough. He wants Macaque to kiss him slowly, without the desperation he was so used to. He wants to reminisce about past battles and victories, the way they once did, to gaze upon the prettiest smile he’s even seen as Macaque laughs at his silly retellings. Wants the warrior to press his hand to his cheek and bring him closer, to hold him as if he were something precious.

Innocent temptations built on a foundation he still couldn’t quite recognize, even after all this time.

But he’d already reminded himself that whatever it was inside of him didn’t deserve to have a name, or title, nothing. This wasn’t something he could act on. No, he needs to continue pushing his former best friend away, the way he’d been so keen on doing before. Easier said than done, but he’d have to figure it out, because he wasn’t doing this again.

Wukong was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a monster. At least, he hoped he wasn’t. And he won’t subject Macaque to that sort of cruelty ever again. He didn’t deserve that- no one did.

Not just for Macaque, but for himself, too. It wasn’t like the warrior was entirely innocent- he’d done some unforgivable things on his part. Things Wukong doesn’t know if he’d ever have the stomach to completely move past, even if they manage to bandage up and fix their shitty relationship.

For the both of them, it just wasn’t a good idea to try to recreate what they had.

And if they weren’t close to the fire, then they never had to worry about getting burned.

But his heart aches at the idea of pushing him away again. He wants his warrior closer despite everything. He wants him to see Wukong in a different light, to prove he was worth trusting again- and to prove to the king that he could trust him again, too.

Wukong scowls to himself, bitter and confused and angry at how loud and contrary his thoughts were. He wishes so badly he could just be one or the other, not torn between his brain and heart. This internal game of tug of war was largely tiresome, and it showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. He wishes he could at least sleep it off.

The door opens.

The king turns around, looking over his shoulder to find Macaque standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and holding something in his hands.

“Hey. I just remembered that you like, absolutely hate dead silence. So, since I’m just so nice, and so you don’t go crazy and blow my place up, I got you this.”

He walks over, handing Wukong the strange item. A small cube-shaped object with a wire attached to it. Macaque bends over, plugging it into the wall.

“Uhh, what is this thingy?” Wukong asks, turning it over and eyeing it curiously.

“A white noise machine,” The warrior says, pressing a button on the cube. The thing in his hand starts to produce the noises of rain, accompanied by distant, small gusts of wind breezing past. Even on the quietest setting, it sounds loud in the hollow noiselessness of Macaque’s room.

“Oooh, nice. I kinda was starting to go crazy, now that you mention it,” The king half-jokes.

“Yeah, good thing I caught you,” The warrior snickers.

Macaque takes the thing again, pressing a button to adjust the volume. Wukong’s gaze drifts down, finding that the shadow’s towel was starting to slip, one end falling over his hipbone and seconds away from dropping to the floor. He reaches out to adjust it, but is caught at the wrist. Macaque meets him with a cold glower.

“Woah, hey. We’re not going again.”

“I was just gonna fix it, you big drama queen.”

Macaque’s brows raise at that, seeming genuinely surprised at his response.

“Oh.”

He releases Wukong’s wrist before directing his attention back to the noise-maker.

“Fix it, then.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wukong adjusts the towel so it sits a little more firmly on Macaque’s waist. Of course, he’s doesn’t get a ‘thank you,’ in doing so, but, really, Wukong wasn’t expecting one to begin with, not from Macaque, anyways.

The artificial rain sounds comfortably loud now, and Macaque sets it on his bedside table before crossing his arms.

“There. Maybe I should read you a bedtime story while I’m at it,” He sneers, all teeth.

“Oh, aren’t you just the sweetest!” Wukong praises sarcastically, voice taking on a higher, mocking pitch before returning to normal when he speaks again. “Just wait ‘till I tell the kid you got me this. He’s gonna think you’re such a sap.”

“Pft, tell him. He’s not gonna believe you,” Macaque laughs.

The sage then watches him leave, the question of cuddling dangling on his lips. It should be easy to ask, it was just laying beside eachother- they’d already gone much further than that, so it shouldn’t be so difficult. He wants so badly to ask, to tell Macaque that he’d changed his mind, but…

He shouldn’t.

He doesn’t.

“No need to thank me,” Macaque hums, reaching for the doorknob.

Wukong knows he should respond to that, say something sassy like, “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t gonna,” but he doesn’t do that, either. He can’t help but feel a little empty, watching him leave. He can hear the shower running before the door shuts, and he’s met with the sound of rain instead of silence this time.

He looks to the noise-maker, upset at himself for chickening out over what should be a relatively painless question. But, the fake rain makes him feel a little better, in a way.

He didn’t think Macaque even remembered that about him anymore.

With a new warmth in his chest, Wukong rests his head against the pillow, melting into the mattress, thoughts comfortably drifting a final time as he starts to fall into the lull of sleep. And, after a moment, the fake rain begins to sound real, like raindrops tapping the roof of his home. Combined with the soothing scent of plums from the bed- it’s a match made in heaven.

It almost makes him forget about how badly he wants the warrior pressed up against him, sharing their warmth under the blankets as they hold eachother. Maybe that’ll sate this feeling in his body, the one he never did figure out what to do with. It always seemed to pull him in a direction he was inapable of travelling.

He knows he should push Macaque away, but, fleetingly, he allows himself to think up a reality in which they could talk. Sit down and work through the mess regarding the other, taking all the time they needed to clean out eachother’s unhealed wounds.

To sincerely apologize to him and begin rebuilding their burnt bridges. To reassure him that he’d never make that mistake ever again. They’d never be the same as they used to be, but Wukong was quite alright with picking up their shattered pieces and making something new out of them.

One piece at a time.

They were immortal, after all.

They had an infinite amount of time to repair what has been destroyed.

Maybe that’s why Wukong kept pushing it aside.

Sure, it was largely unrealistic, to heal wounds of such magnitude.

And, yeah, it was easier said than done.

But it's a nice thought.

Chapter Text

On most days, holing himself up in his room was what Macaque typically considered a good time, aside from pulling pranks on the mortals in the city from the shadows. However, he’s finding that his normal haven of solitude was bringing him little to no peace right now. The once kind silence had proved to be an excellent breeding ground for the thoughts he’d been so carefully locking away, now hacking their way out of their cage.

It’d been… about a week since he’d spoken to anyone. Macaque hadn’t spoken to Wukong, to MK, to Tang, the list goes on.

He looked awful. No need to look into a mirror to witness a mess of a refection to know how rumpled, knotted, and dirty Macaque’s fur was. Heavy eye bags drag against his face, and a headache pounds inside of his skull ever since having made alcohol his new best friend.

So, really, he was the prime definition of ‘pristine.’

Macaque slumps in his bed, looking to the window. The sun was setting, and the sky glows in hues of dark oranges and blues. It was becoming dark out, which was great, because now he doesn’t have to worry about anyone looking for him at this hour.

This was also the typical hour he’d visit Wukong.

Macaque grimaces sourly.

Ah, right, Wukong. That guy.

He’d become very clingy as of late. As if he wasn’t handsy enough after Macaque had used those handcuffs on him, Wukong had started monitering the kids’ lessons again. Macaque had no clue why- he thought Wukong trusted him enough for at least that. But no- instead, he’d laze about his dojo like he owned the place, reclined on his somersault cloud content with just watching him train the kid. Offered no helpful advice aside from a bit of encouragement for MK here and there. He would make fun of Macaque’s form, too.

Really, he was just there to be a nuisance, more than anything.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job right,” Wukong had said when asked what the whole deal was. He was aloof, snacking on those salty peach chips he loved so much, never quite looking at Macaque.

Then the moment the kid had left for the day, he’d snatch Macaque by the hand and all but rush him upstairs to his room with the moxie of a horny college student.

Of course, Macaque was all for it- he just couldn’t help but notice how frequently it happened. Sometimes the kid would show up to training with Wukong, who insisted on ‘supervising,’ and, from the instant Macaque would see him enter, he already knew what Wukong wanted.

“You sex-crazed maniac. You addicted to me?” Macaque had taunted playfully while shutting his bedroom door.

“Oh, I dunno,” Wukong replied, sultry. “Wanna help me figure it out?”

As of late, Wukong’s libido was a bottomless cup. It was odd, actually- Macaque doesn’t ever recall him going off schedule to meet up more often. Not that he minds, or anything. It would take longer and longer for Wukong to leave, as he seemed content to just pester the shadow by stealing his food and using his shower before knocking out on his couch, or even his bed if Macaque wasn’t occupying it.

The strangest thing? It didn’t bother Macaque.

Well, it did at first, if he’s being honest. His initial thought was that Wukong was trying to squeeze another round out of him. If not that, then he was doing that thing where he had a question and didn’t know how to ask, so instead he’d linger around aimlessly until he worked up the nerve to ask him.

It turned out to be neither of those things.

Macaque remembers being surprised- he’d thought if Wukong wanted something out of him, he’d have said so by now. But, no. Stealing his food and hogging up his couch to watch TV was the only thing on his agenda, or something. Never asked for another round, and never asked any out-of-pocket questions like Macaque thought he would.

“D’you want something from me? Why’re you still here?” Macaque had asked, genuinely. No rudeness, just a slightly accusatory curiosity.

Wukong turns his head around the back of the couch, chip crumbs decorating his mouth and cheeks.

“No? Wanted to watch that Monkey Cop movie I told you about. Y’know, the one with me? As a cop? It’s showing right now. Didn’t wanna miss it.”

That’s weird, Macaque could’ve sworn he had that movie saved on his own TV.

“Oh. That’s fine, then, I guess.”

“You should come watch it with me.”

Macaque huffs, crossing his arms a bit defensively. A ‘No I shouldn’t,’ waits for him, armed on his tongue. He should say it, but, when he looks between that utterly ridiculous movie and Wukong’s face, wide with owlish eyes and an inviting little smile, he just can’t bring himself to say it.

Gods, it was like this in their youthful days, too. He’d never been able to tell him ‘no’ when Wukong gave him that captivatingly innocent look. It was maddeningly effective.

Some things never change.

Besides, it was just a movie, and it would only be this once. No harm, no foul.

“Sure. But only to laugh at how stupid you look in a cop uniform,” Macaque snickers, sitting on the opposite end of the couch and propping his legs up on the coffee table. Popcorn, chips, cookies, and other snacks line the surface of the table, some of which had already been torn into by the king.

“Uh, excuse you, I look great in a cop outfit. I look great in anything. Handsome Monkey King, remember?” Wukong counters with an impish little smirk, making an up and down gesture over his body as if that proves his point.

Macaque merely rolls his eyes over a smile. He wasn’t blind, Wukong was handsome. The title wasn’t entirely untrue or undeserved, or anything. Many humans had swooned over the king in the past, so that had to mean it was at least somewhat true. Not that he’d ever tell him that- his ego was big enough.

“Too bad you’re not handsome on the inside,” Macaque sarcastically retorts with a chuckle, reaching for the bowl of popcorn.

Wukong’s eyes practically glitter when he turns to him.

“So that means you think I’m handsome on the outside, right?”

Macaque freezes, looking blankly at the scene of Cop Wukong slamming the breaks on the car, tires screeching. He really should have been more careful about his phrasing, but the golden window of opportunity had presented itself. How could he resist?

Well, either way, he’d been caught. Nothing left to do but own it.

“Everyone does. Not an unpopular opinion, believe it or not.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that. Who doesn’t?” The king says, giving a dismissive wave of his hand as if such a thing wasn’t a huge compliment before he points to Macaque. “But I’m asking you.”

Macaque flushes, looking to the bowl of popcorn in his hands, not quite sure why a question like that was aimed at him. He’s not sure how much of a difference it makes if it’s him saying that versus someone else, but decides to answer truthfully anyways.

“Yes, Wukong,” He resigns with a sigh.

His brows go up, like he wasn’t actually expecting Macaque to agree. Then, with a little smile and a freshly boosted ego, the king then crosses his arms behind his head, tail swishing about with delight as he turns his attention back to the movie.

The warrior is surprised, actually, that he doesn’t have anything to add to that. No ‘Pft, I knew you did,’ or, ‘Join the club, bud’- nothing.

No, ‘thank you’, either.

He doesn’t know why Wukong’s surprised over the honest answer. Handsome. It was literally one of his many titles, what did it matter if Macaque thought as much?

Shrugging it off, the shadow turns his attention back to the movie and grabs a handful of popcorn. Just as his hand reaches his mouth, though, he stops himself, put off by the smell. A smell he was quite familiar with.

Peaches.

Face coiling in disgust, Macaque drops the popcorn back in the bowl, no longer interested in putting it in his body. He looks to the king, finding that he was already staring at him.

“You were just gonna let me eat popcorn made out of your hair?”

Wukong hums, contemplative, eyes flitting to the ceiling in thought before he looks back to Macaque.

“Uhhh, you say that like you haven’t eaten my hair food before.”

“Yeah, before I knew what it was.”

“Pfft. What difference does that make? It all tastes the same!” He then brings a thoughtful hand to his chin. “I think.”

Macaque shoves the bowl back to Wukong, no longer wanting to be affiliated with that disgusting stuff he calls ‘food’. Then, he looks to the food laid out on the coffee table, wondering what was real and what was fake. It was more than likely all just hair, knowing Wukong.

“Is this all made from your hair?”

“Yep.”

“You’re disgusting. I thought you were taking my food this whole time.”

Wukong looks to him, brow raised.

“What? Why would I take your food?”

Macaque opens his mouth to spit a retort. ‘Because you’re entitled,’ or ‘Because that’s what you’d usually do’ sit at the ready before he catches himself.

But if either of those were true, then Wukong would have been stealing his food from the first place. Right?

The warrior pushes off the couch. He was giving this more thought than necessary. It was just food, it was meant to be replaced. Besides, he was hungry for a real meal, not snacks. Maybe something spicy.

“Where you goin’?”

“I’m gonna order some noodles. Y’know, real food.”

Wukong might be content with eating his own hair, but Macaque wasn’t. He not only didn’t want to eat that fake food, but he didn’t want Wukong eating it, either. Not when his own snacks were right there in the kitchen, waiting to be eaten.

“Mmm, noodles sound so good right now,” Wukong hums pleasedly. Macaque can practically hear his drool dripping onto the floor. With a roll of his eyes, he orders three helpings of noodles instead of two since Wukong’s stomach was a bottomless pit.

“How many you getting?” Wukong calls.

“Three.”

“Make it four.”

“Three helpings, Wukong?” He asks, dryly, largely unimpressed.

“Yep!” The king chirps, upbeat. The fake snacks flash into orange clumps of hair scattered about on his coffee table, causing Macaque’s face to coil in disgust. Wukong’s quick to sweep it off into a trash can, tail whipping with excitement as if the noodles were just going to spawn right before him at any given second.

Once the noodles were ordered, Macaque turns back to his couch where Wukong had moved to sit up straighter. More room was left for the shadow, who promptly flopped down with his legs outstretched, almost touching the king’s legs. The thought of a nap after lunch sounds much too appealing to pass up.

He looks to Wukong, shirt still rumpled and fur thoroughly tousled. He nudges his shoulder with his foot, and the king looks to him, questioning.

“Hey- go shower so you look somewhat decent. I don’t wanna answer the door.”

“Uh, I don’t have any extra clothes to change in,” Wukong says, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

Macaque rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’ve got some in my closet, just go get ‘em from there.”

“Why’re they in your closet?” Wukong asks over a little laugh, face reddening.

“’Cause you sometimes get our clothes mixed up after we’re done. Then you end up leaving with my pants, or my shirt, or something,” He explains, twirling his hand. It really didn’t help that their at-home attires were pretty similar in fashion, usually just ranging from sweatpants to plain T-shirts. Even Macaque was starting to lose track of what belonged to who. “Don’t worry, though, I cleaned ‘em.”

Wukong gets an odd little look on his face before his brows raise with remembrance.

“Ohhh! Y’know, I was wondering how your clothes kept getting in my wardrobe.”

“Pft, yeah, I know. You got mad at me for ‘leaving them there’ like it was my fault,” Macaque giggles, using air quotes.

“Uhh, that was a long time ago. I’ve turned over a new leaf and have since realized the error of my ways,” Wukong muses, using that shitty mentor tone reserved for when he’s lecturing MK. The warrior can’t help but laugh a little.

The king smiles warmly before pushing off of the couch and stretching his arms above his head.

“Fiiine, I’ll go shower. And answer the door, too, ‘cause I’m just sooo nice,” He hums. Macaque can hear the smile in his voice. It’s a nice sound, one that makes him feel a little nostalgic.

Macaque absently watches the movie once he’s gone, not really paying attention to the absurdity of the plotline. However, he does get a good laugh out of some parts, like the part where they use gel to slick back Wukong’s untamable hair. It looks hideous, the way they try so hard to the mess of his wild mane and fail.

The king’s shower is relatively short, and he comes back in no time dressed in clean clothes, using a towel to dry off his damp hair. It frizzes once it’s dry, and the warrior can’t help but notice that Wukong had used his shampoo of sandalwood and plums. It makes something warm flood his veins, but he tries to ignore it.

Just as the sage plops back down and makes himself comfortable, they hear the delivery driver park at the front of Macaque’s dojo. It’s a remarkably fast arrival, and Macaque absently wonders if they had been speeding.

“Noodles’re here.”

Wukong practically rockets off of the couch, smiling brightly and dropping the towel in his haste. Macaque’s never seen someone so excited for noodles, of all things.

He opens the door with immense pleasure, nearly tearing the thing off of its hinges. From where he sits on the couch, Macaque can only see Wukong, not the driver.

But he hears him.

“Oh, hi, Monkey King! What’re you still doing at Macaque’s dojo? I finished training, like, an hour ago.”

Macaque’s stomach drops. Shit, he forgot MK was the delivery driver. Thankfully, the back of the couch provides him with cover from curious eyes. Peering carefully over the cushion, the shadow watches with wide eyes as Wukong flounders for a response. His tail flicks anxiously in the doorway before he pulls himself together.

“Ah, well, we were busy goin’ over your training for the next few weeks, or so.” Then, he leans in with a cheeky little whisper. “Mentor things, y’know? Gotta keep you on your toes!”

“Ohhh, what’re you guys gonna have me do next?” MK asks excitedly. Quite the weighted question for someone such as Wukong, who can’t think three seconds into the future even if he tried.

“Can’t say, bud. It’s allll a part of the process!”

Macaque breathes a silent sigh of relief. Okay, that wasn’t the world’s worst lie.

He hears the sound of the bag rustling before MK speaks again.

“Um, sooo, you don’t usually order four noodles, Monkey King. Did you order one for Macaque, too?”

Macaque cringes as he listens to Wukong’s pathetic ramblings before something resembling a coherent sentence forms. Gods, he should have answered the door instead. He was much faster at coming up with lies on the spot. All Wukong had to say was, ‘Well, I was just feelin’ extra hungry today!’, or something. Why did he have to be like this.

“Eh, yeah. I usually just give him whatever I find in the trash, but I felt like being nice today.”

As stupid as that response was, it gets a little snicker out of the warrior. Twisting the shadows, he yanks at Wukong’s tail as a form of payback and stifles a laugh at the high-pitched yelp it gets out of him. The king snatches up his tail, glaring at the floorboards.

“Ohhh, okay, I gotcha,” MK replies with a light giggle.

Wukong finally gets the bag of noodles in his hands, handing MK the money. He looks down into the bag’s contents with sparkling eyes, entirely unguarded for the absolute punch to the gut that was MK’s next question.

“Uhhh, were you wearing those clothes earlier?”

Wukong stutters, not quite fast enough to think up a lie for that.

But Macaque was.

“Wukooong!” He calls, as obnoxiously loudly as he can, his voice ringing in the air. “Wouldja hurry up with the noodles, I don’t have all day! We got work to do!”

“Ahhh, you heard ‘im, bud. Gotta bolt before he gets all moody, or whatever.” He leans in again, lowering his voice as if the Six-Eared Macaque wouldn’t still be able to hear him. “Don’t really wanna stay here any longer than I need to, y’know?”

“Uh-huh,” Was all MK said. The warrior makes a face to himself at the brusque response.

“Thanks, bud. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep, no problem! Bye Monkey King!” The kid calls, voice fading as he returns to his vehicle.

Wukong waves him goodbye, then closes the door, hurriedly approaching the couch.

“So you feed me trash, now, huh?” The warrior teases over a little grin.

“Only the finest!” Wukong singsongs, reaching into the bag and pulling out its contents.

Macaque reaches for his takeout box, quick to break apart the chopsticks and get to eating. He hums, pleased at the spicy-hot broth filling his mouth- that pig man knew how to make some good noodles.

He directs his attention back to the movie he’d been ignoring before turning to Wukong again, cocking a brow.

“Hey- why didn’t you just transform into me?”

“Hm?” Wukong hums in questioning, looking to him with wide eyes and a mouthful of noodles dangling over his chin in an admittedly endearing little display.

“When the kid was at the door, I mean. Why didn’t you transform into me?”

“Mmmm!” Wukong hums again, in a tone of remembrance. Noisily, he proceeds to slurp up the noodles occupying his talking space in a disgusting little spectacle before speaking. Broth stains the corner of his mouth.

“Well, I didn’t wanna scare him.”

“Right,” Then, with a sardonic little smirk, Macaque adds on, “Totally not ‘cause you forgot, or anything.”

“Nope!” Says the world’s worst liar with a pop of the ‘P’. “I’d never forget.”

With a snicker and a shake of his head, Macaque looks back to the TV, unsure of which was more entertaining- movie Wukong, or the real thing.

They eat their lunch in a comfortable silence, watching the horrifically bad movie full of terrible CGI and even worse performances play out before them. Wukong is an impressively fast eater as always, finishing all three of his helpings before Macaque can finish his own. He wonders absently if the king even got to taste his food, seeing as he basically inhaled it.

Once he’s done, Macaque yawns, stretching out his legs over the length of the cushion again, his feet just shy of touching Wukong.

“Can’t believe your hair was slicked back like that,” He snickers.

“Hey, my hair looked incredible. You just don’t wanna admit it.”

They talk over the movie, shifting from small talk and quips to easy, lighthearted conversation. The movie becomes nothing more than white noise, and Wukong even grabs the remote to turn it down so he can hear Macaque more clearly. They laugh at one thing or the other, and Macaque even gets to tell him how well MK had been fairing against his new array of weapons, which, of course, was impressively well, as always.

The shadow was… enjoying himself. Quite a lot, actually. Looking past everything that divided them, it was so easy to forget that they were once friends. Wukong had such a natural charisma that made him easy to talk to, and he wishes he’d never forgotten the comfort of his presence.

“He’s doing real good for himself,” Macaque hums, a drowsiness falling over him, his eyes feeling a little heavy. “He’s fast and adaptable. Good combo.”

“Ha, yeah. Don’t tell him that, though, he’ll let it get to his head,” The king jokes, sipping down the rest of his broth from the bowl.

“You of all people shouldn’t be talking,” He playfully jabs, unable to fight a smile.

“Pfft, like you’re any better,” Wukong chuckles.

Macaque finds himself yawning at one point, moving to lay on his side and resting his head on the armrest of the couch. For whatever reason, that painful conversation of cuddling they’d had a while ago suddenly comes to mind. He looks to Wukong out of the corner of his eye, mind drifting.

Some part of him still craves the warmth of his touch, no matter how unlikely it was that that would happen anytime soon. Wukong had made it quite clear where he stood on the matter, and Macaque wasn’t daring enough to roll the dice on asking again, no matter how badly he wanted to. Better to just spare himself the embarrassment. The shadow looks away, curling his tail around himself. He had to let it go.

After a break in conversation, he turns his attention back to the movie, finding that it was probably at its climax, what with all the noisy, excessive explosions and whatnot. Macaque’s hardly paying attention anymore, already falling into the lull of sleep.

“Mac?” He hears Wukong call, but he’s already shutting his eyes.

When the movie goes quiet, Macaque hears Wukong shutting it off before lifting himself off of the cushion. A faint flash of magic is heard, then a thick blanket falls over his body. It’s a woolly blanket, much like the one in his bedroom, except this one has the added perk of smelling like peaches. It gets tugged at by the corners so it covers him properly.

Then, just before the shadow falls into the last stages of sleep, he feels a warm hand gently running through his hair, nails brushing pleasantly against his scalp. It moves to the back of Macaque’s glamored ears, scratching gingerly at the spot right behind them, the spot that all but makes Macaque melt. Against his better judgement, he finds himself purring softly.

The hand then pets him a few times before it stops, fingers lingering over his forehead. Slowly, it creeps uncomfortably close to his bad eye, hesitant and quaky, but not touching. Just before Macaque can swat him away, though, the hand then disappears with a heavy sigh above him.

Footsteps fade, and the front door quietly clicks shut before he knocks out.

The warrior takes another swig of his wine, swirling It around as he stares at the floor unfocused. He’d felt so warm and cozy in the moment, like he was being cradled by the warmest, softest pair of hands fueled by the sun’s warmth. A pair of hands so gentle they could knit brittle gossamer.

Now, though, he feels cold upon remembrance. He doesn’t know why- it wasn’t as if the memory made him feel bad, or anything. Quite the opposite. A bunch of comfy feelings he wasn’t sure he had an extensive enough vocabulary to properly describe plagued his mind.

Feelings that were getting harder and harder to stomp out.

And, when he really thinks about it, he supposes that’s where the problem started.

Macaque sips down the rest of his wine before he tosses the empty bottle aside, adding it to the others before pulling another one out from under his bed and popping it open.

As of late, it felt like the only thing he could think about was Wukong.

Wukong, Wukong, Wukong.

‘What’s Wukong doing right now?’

‘Wonder if he’s napping.’

‘Kinda wanna go bother him.’

The king has been the very center of Macaque’s orbit.

Again.

Last time, centuries ago, he’d looked to Wukong with stars in his eyes, utterly devoted to his king and glued to his side. Had once harbored a deep respect and admiration for him that relied so heavily on the king, on his approval, his friendship.  Focused only on him like sunflowers to the sun.

Codependency at its finest.

This time was different, though.

What he felt for Wukong wasn’t admiration, it was… a little more complicated. It was a dormant feeling from centuries past, a feeling he never thought would ever bubble to surface after everything that had happened between them. It was that feeling he associated so heavily with danger, one he much rather not reacquaint himself with. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyways.

But, really, it was because he was a coward who couldn’t confront his own emotions, running away like a frightened little mouse. Macaque doesn’t know what stirrs through him, but if it’s pulling him back to Wukong, he doesn’t want to take a chance, not again. He was his own person now, one who didn’t need Wukong in any way whatsoever. 

Macaque knows that now.

But it wasn’t that he needed Wukong.

He wanted him.

The difference between the two was massive, yet hardly discernable at all. No matter what he tried, The warrior just couldn’t seem to make the pieces fit together.

Copper eyes find the empty bottles strewn across his floor above a nasty grimace.

Gods, he’s pathetic.

His ear flicks, picking up the sound of his front door jingling.

Macaque stills, listening closely.

“…just don’t understand. Is he sick? Was he kidnapped!?”

“Bud, no. Trust me, if that guy was kidnapped, they’d give him right back.”

MK and Wukong open the front door, quick to make their way upstairs and headed straight for Macaque’s room. His brows raise I surprise; he was certain they were done looking for him at this point. Actually, he supposes they still needed him as MK’s mentor- it was his week, if he remembered correctly. Right.

Gods, he doesn’t want them seeing him like this- he was normally so much more presentable. Absently, the warrior smooths down his horrific hair, listening to their footsteps and voices near.

With a sigh, Macaque slips into the shadows, vanishing just as the door to his room creaks open.

“Macaque? Um, are you here? C’mon, where’ve you been?” MK asks, looking around his room, distraught.

Wukong’s eyes find the bottles, automatically darting to the darkest corners of Macaque’s room. The edges of the shadows in his room twitch and waver awkwardly, something that would be infinitely easier to keep under control if Macaque wasn’t slogged with alcohol. It’s slight enough that it would go largely unnoticed by, say, MK, but not so much by Wukong, unfortunately.

The king huffs, nose creasing when he narrows his eyes.

“Hey, Mac. Quit not being a mentor already and stop hiding. I know you’re in here,” Wukong drawls, tail flicking with irritation.

MK turns to him, eyes wide.

“Did you just call him ‘Mac’?”

‘Reeeally nice play, Wukong,’ Macaque flatly thinks, rolling his eyes under the cover of the shadows.

The king’s brows raise at that, as if he was surprised to have said that himself. Gods, he was so bad at lying. Macaque’s tempted to come out and show himself just to cover for his sorry ass.

“Uhh… Y’know, I just hate the guy so much, I forget the rest of his name,” Comes the most pathetic excuse for a lie Macaque has ever had the displeasure of hearing.

“Uh-huh. Well, M’gonna check downstairs. Tell me if you find him.”

Wukong watches the kid leave, choosing to stand in the doorway. Once MK’s downstairs, he turns back to Macaque’s room, a little softer.

“Hey, seriously. I know you’re in here,” Wukong tries again. It doesn’t work, though- Macaque doesn’t want him, or anyone else to see him in this state. Mostly, though, he just doesn’t want to see Wukong. Not right now, anyways. It was weird- Wukong had seen him in much more dire states than this. Bleeding out, panicking in a situation too loud for his sensitive ears to handle, hell, even crumbling to his knees, with tears running down his cheeks. Wukong had seen him at his worst and then some.

But, somehow, this state felt like the most pathetically vulnerable and naked one Macaque had been thrust into. He feels like a ship lost at sea, searching desperately for a lighthouse.

“C’mon. You’re freaking the kid out,” Wukong murmurs, crossing his arms as he steps into Macaque’s room. “Everyone’s wondering where you’re at. It’s been a week, already, man, you can quit hiding.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Wukong’s not budging, but neither was Macaque. Only difference was, one of them had to leave from here at one point, and it certainly wasn’t going to be him. The king’s brows furrow, and he glances over his shoulder very quickly before his voice takes on a softer tone, loud enough for only six ears to pick up.

“Hey. You already won this game of hide-and-seek, okay? If you can’t talk to the kid, then talk to me.”

Macaque’s heart aches at the benign offer. Still, he doesn’t answer.

He can handle his own problems perfectly fine.

“Not even me, huh? Figures, since you need all these bottles to keep you company,” Wukong retorts, angrily kicking aside one of the bottles. Despite the rude comment, his brows furrow tightly, and his bottom lip trembles. His arms cross a little tighter around himself, and he casts his gaze to the floor.

“C’mon. You’re not hiding ‘cause of me, are you?” Wukong asks, a little solemnly.

There’s a moment where this enigmatic emotion pulses through Macaque. The king stands there in the doorway, his back facing the light, away from the light he was so used to basking in and facing the shadows he once seemed so keen on shunning.

He looks defeated, arms falling to his side and hands balling into tight fists before they unclench. His fingers quake.

He looks ashamed.

Wukong thinks he’s responsible for this.

And Macaque doesn’t know how to feel about that.

The king’s lips pull into a taut line before he whips around, cape flicking as he makes his way out of his room and back downstairs. Footsteps fill Macaque’s ears, solely from the first floor, so he takes the chance to rise from the shadows. Quietly, he shuts his door, staring at the floor with a perturbed expression.

It was starting to feel like Wukong actually cared about him again.

Within the darkest, most depraved sanctions of his heart, Macaque knows that this was something he had always wanted again, more than anything.

Now, though, well, he didn’t know what to make of it.

Part of him still thinks this is some sick, drawn-out joke. But, the other part of him wants so badly to just embrace this, to embrace Wukong’s warmth like a flower that had sat too long in the dark. To lean into that familiar touch he’d been so starved of.

But…

The warrior swallows a knot in his throat.

Those thoughts belonged in the lowest circles of hell.

He needs to get a hold of himself.

Downstairs, he hears MK.

“Guess he’s not here?”

“Mm, definitely not, bud. He’s here, alright.”

“How do you know?”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Known this guy a while, y’know. I know all his tricks. He’s definitely avoiding us.”

“Why would he want to avoid us? Did we do something wrong?”

It’s quiet for an even longer period of time. Macaque can hear Wukong shuffling in his living room, pausing very briefly at the question before continuing to shuffle. The king opens doors and moves things aside, pretending to search for him when he already knows exactly where he’s at, even without the use of True Sight. How bizarre.

“Nah, bud. We’re fine. He just gets in his weird moody business sometimes.”

MK doesn’t say anything to that, and Macaque doesn’t need to have six ears to hear how loud his anxious thoughts must be overtaking him right about now. Gods, this was all his fault- he should have pulled himself together sooner so the kid wouldn’t waste his time worrying about him like that.

Frustrated, he drags his hands down his face. Macaque blames Wukong for all of this- if he didn’t start pretending like he cared about him again, this never would have happened. They could have just continued to have casual sex without the strings attached, butt heads outside of that while pointedly ignoring their underlying issues, and live happily ever after or whatever.

It just couldn’t be simple, could it?

“Let’s bounce, bud. Drama queen needs his private time, I guess,” Wukong murmurs from downstairs.

“Um… He’ll come out, right, Monkey King?”

“Pfft, he will if he knows what’s good for him. Can’t believe he ditched you on your lessons like that. He and I are gonna have some words when he finally shows himself,” The king grumbles, a bit halfheartedly.

The warrior rolls his eyes, even if he knows that the not-so-sexy verbal tongue-lashing he’ll get later will be a complete and total pain in the ass.

Soon enough, the front door clicks shut, their voices fade out, and he’s alone again, consumed in his once soothing silence. Funny, how a pathetic part of himself was hoping they’d find him.

Still, though. He didn’t need to have his wounds tended to by anyone else.

Macaque’s ear flicks as something vile bubbles in his stomach, and his face scrunches up in disgust. That poison inside of him was threatening to overflow, sitting dangerously at the back of his throat. Tiredly, he runs a hand through his hair, aggravated at the knots his claws snag on. With a huff, Macaque stands, tossing his shirt off as he heads for the shower.

The knob squeaks when he turns it, and refreshingly cold water runs through black fur. The water clears his mind and washes away his worries, if only for a little while.

Absently, the shadow brings a hand up to his neck, thumbing at a wound that was no longer there, mind drifting once more.

Wukong had clawed him there in his eagerness once. It healed a long time ago, but still felt like it was there, hiding under the thick of his fur.

Sharp claws nick Macaque’s neck, blind enthusiasm breeding carelessness in Wukong’s haste to get his shirt off.

‘Nick’, was an awfully kind way of putting it, though- ‘slashed’ was more like it.

Macaque hisses, hand flying up to ease the scorching pain. Too painful to be anything pleasurable, and it takes him clean out of the moment. Blood stains his palm, spilling into dark fur. In playing so rough, Macaque supposes it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. His neck stings like hell.

“Oh, shit,” Wukong swears, hand shooting out to the wound. “Mac- I didn’t-”

Acting on reflex, Macaque’s other hand shoots out, firmly preventing the king at his chest from getting any closer. His legs come up, and he tenses, baring his teeth in warning.

And the look of utter devastation on Wukong’s face makes his chest pang with something horrible. His eyes are wide with hurt, raw and unfiltered. Warily, Macaque removes his hand, watching him carefully.

Wukong’s hand comes up again, slower this time. Macaque tenses further when his hand meets his bloodied one on his neck before prying it off, but otherwise doesn’t say anything. Wukong grimaces when he sees the wound.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s… preeetty bad,” The king drags out, a raw concern saturating his gaze.

Macaque huffs, swatting his hand away. The intensity in Wukong’s eyes induces a shyness in him, one that makes him flush, but he plays it off.

“Ah, well. Ignore it, I guess- thing’ll heal in a few minutes, anyways.”

“What? What’s wrong with you?” Wukong asks, but not in the way he usually did when he was just being an asshole. It was more incredulous than anything.

“I’m not just ignoring that, you’re crazy.”

“What?” Laughs Macaque, humorlessly. “What does this stupid little thing matter? You’ve done way worse.”

He doesn’t mean to say it, he really doesn’t, but it spills out anyways. Macaque expects Wukong to meet him with equal energy, to lash out before they pick right back up where they left off with an uncontained hatred- that’s how it always went before.

But Wukong doesn’t.

In fact, he looks hurt.

So hurt that Macaque almost wants to take it back. Bitter vengeance reminds him with a pounding that, no, this wasn’t his deal to take back, or apologize for- he wasn’t the one who killed Wukong, after all. But, when he sees Wukong’s face twist with guilt and shame, the shadow can’t help but feel… bad. Even if it was just a façade, like the entirety of their friendship.

But it looks so real.

Wukong moves off of him, leaving the room. Macaque sits up, nursing the wound, a coldness enveloping him. Well, there he goes. Blew his shot for tonight, no doubt, and all over a stupid little cut. A cut that hurts more than it had any business to, but just a little thing nonetheless.

Macaque moves to stand, resigned to the fact that he was alone for the rest of the night. With a heavy sigh, he decides to just get ready to leave, but then Wukong returns.

Holding a rag and some disinfectants.

“I don’t need those.”

“Yeah, well, I think you do.”

Macaque glowers.

“Just let me clean the stupid thing out,” The king huffs, tail flicking.

Macaque rolls his eyes, moving his hand away as Wukong gets closer. This was ridiculous, his supernatural healing would take care of it in just a matter of minutes. Still, he obliges anyways, craning his head away from Wukong when he reaches down to tend to the wound.

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Macaque sighs exasperatedly, but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he lets Wukong clean off the blood with a silence hanging over them, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Wukong even goes as far as to wash it out of his fur as best as he can, a focus in his gaze, like Macaque will shatter if he applies too much pressure. Macaque hisses through his teeth when he applies the disinfectant, eyes pinched shut as pain shoots through his neck.

“Hey, um… I’m sorry.”

Copper eyes flit up to him, bemused and barely able to hear Wukong’s words at all.

“Uhh… It’s fine? S’just disinfectant, it’s not really supposed to feel good.”

Wukong turns to him, flabbergasted, as if Macaque had just said the most incomprehensibly stupid thing known to man.

“What- Gods, no. I meant for the cut. For hurting you.”

Macaque’s eyes widen, and, for the very first time, he wonder if his six ears had failed him.

“You’re… sorry?”

“Oh, I know you heard me,” Wukong flushes, seeming a little bashful now.

Wukong’s sorry. He feels bad for causing Macaque pain. When he thinks about it, Macaque doesn’t think either of them ever properly apologized for any minor injury cause by the other in the past. Just joked about it, went ‘Hey, I didn’t mean to do that,’ with a vaguely apologetic look, then went on with their lives. They’d always been just a touch too prideful to ever apologize correctly.

And the first time Macaque ever gets it out of him, it’s over a sex-related injury, of all things. Not even a bad one, either. He supposes he’d never be able to truly understand what goes through Sun Wukong’s hamster-brained mind.

It was a nice feeling, knowing he harbored at least a semblance of guilt for Macaque, even after all this time. In fact, it makes him feel a little better.

“…Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Macaque replies, a little awkwardly, keeping his gaze cast anywhere but the king. These types of injuries happen. Maybe not injuries of a larger scale, but these ones did. He’d live.

The smallest, sincerest little smile creeps onto Wukong’s face. It’s a nice look on him, but it’s gone just as fast, smothered by a pitiful little cough. After patting down the damp fur with his towel, the sage’s fingers brush over the wound once more, a strangeness sitting in his eyes.

“There! All better,” Wukong wistfully hums, thumbing at inky black fur. The rag has a bit more blood staining it than Macaque would have liked, and his neck still stings, but it was nice that Wukong would go out of his way just to tend to him, even made something soft encase his heart.

There’s that fake happiness on him that he wore like a second coat of fur, the fake happiness Macaque was still able to see through, no True Sight required. Deep in the ambers of Wukong’s eyes, Macaque spots the underlying somberness hidden deep within. The thumb on his neck rubs gently at the wound, and the cheap smile on Wukong’s face wavers before falling altogether.

“Um… I change my mind- I’m not in the mood anymore,” The king mutters, hastily reaching to pick his shirt up off of the floor.

Macaque gapes, outraged.

“Uh- Seriously? ‘Cause of that? You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

He doesn’t look at Macaque when he hands him his shirt. The warrior snatches it from him, hurriedly throwing it on, cheeks burning in shame and rejection. Did he do something wrong? Or was it because he wasn’t tougher, and wasn’t able to brush it off like he usually would? He scowls at the floor.

“Fine.”

Once he’s dressed, Macaque wastes no time portalling out of there, into the sanctuary of his home. Anything to get the nasty sting of rejection out his body sooner.

He doesn’t know why that, of all things, was the thing that put off Wukong from having sex with him. It was very seldom that Wukong ever turned him down, normally because of some time constraint, but it was never because of that. Though, Macaque supposes they’d never inflicted a wound like that on the other at any point. The cut was actually pretty nasty.

With a huff, he hastily cleans himself up, as if doing so would wash away his worries. Cleans his fur under cold water and washes the suds off. Well, he felt better on the outside now, but the inside, not so much. If only a shower could fix that, too.

Macaque unceremoniously dries himself off, damp fur messily sticking out in wild directions, but he can’t really find it in himself to smooth it down the way he usually would.

Flopping into his bed, Macaque curls his tail around himself, exhausted. A shiver runs down his spine- he forgets how cold he typically kept his room. Was it always so unwelcoming?

His mind was running circles around him, spurred by alcohol and a pounding headache, desperate for a wish Macaque could not grant. Even Macaque’s heartbeat was starting to sound like cymbals banging directly into all six of his ears. Incessant, deafening noise insists on making itself at home in the messy little cavern of his head.

Dragging his hands down his face, the warrior instead tries to conjure up something to pacify his whiny body. A body that whines and yearns for something it can’t have- a foreign warmth to cold fingers.

Something, anything, would do.

Anything to silence the noise.

Macaque squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing a lump in his throat as he scrambles to come up with something to extinguish the black flames licking at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him into the deep end. Looming over him like colossal spires reaching into the sky.

Finally, he finds himself in another memory.

It’s a pleasant one- his brief little escape from reality.

Wukong kisses him eagerly, hand coming up to cup at his jawline. Macaque meets him with equal fervor, wrapping his legs around his waist and pulling him closer. Wanton moans fill the air when Wukong grinds against him, their hardness pressed against the others’, blocked only by the thin fabric of their pants.’

The sage’s hand comes up to Macaque’s shoulder, dragging down his bicep and arm, squeezing gently at the muscle. Unhurriedly, he pries Macaque’s claws out of the mattress, one finger at a time.

“You really are pretty. Know that?” The king murmurs into a set of ears. The praise makes Macaque’s face redden and makes heat flare in his gut.

“Flattery… will get you everywhere,” The warrior responds, breathless.

“Yeah, I bet it will,” Wukong hums. His hand wraps around Macaque’s wrist, lifting so his hand comes to meet his shoulder. The contact makes his eyes shoot open, and he tenses beneath him, moving his arm out of his hold and back to the sheets. The king watches the gesture, dejected.

“Why won’t you touch me?” Wukong asks, hurt coating his voice.

Macaque looks away, not liking the sting in his chest.

“I just can’t,” He answers lamely, not wanting to divulge the truth.

Wukong gets this enigmatic look on his face, eyes boring straight into Macaque’s, like he’s trying to figure something out. His tail is concerningly unmoving atop his own before giving an irritable little flick.

“Right. But you’ve touched me before.”

Macaque furrows his brows, defensive.

“It’s not a big deal, Wukong.”

“Okay, so if it’s not a big deal, then just touch me,” The king huffs, eyes narrowed. His voice takes on a softer, almost defeated tone when he speaks again. “C’mon. I won’t bite…”

Macaque swallows a knot in his throat, gaze hardening. With a shaky hand, he brings it back up to Wukong’s shoulder, unsure. He can feel the rumble of Wukong’s purr start underneath his fingertips, the warmth of his body spreading throughout his palm. He’d been more unabashed about showing affection like this lately. It makes the warrior’s heart do something funny.

“Mm, just like that,” The king murmurs encouragingly, bringing his lips just under Macaque’s jawline.

Macaque looks up to the ceiling, trying to lose himself. The contact reminds him so much of better times, but it also reminds him of his past life, a life ended much too soon. A time he’d rather forget.

And now, he foolishly holds his killer close to him.

His hand drops back to the sheets.

“I can’t, Wukong,” He scowls weakly at nothing, looking away with shame. How ridiculous, to have sex with someone and be unable to touch them. He had no problem whatsoever if it was Wukong doing the touching, but if it was himself? It felt like a monumental task- at least, it certainly did when he wasn’t in control.

Wukong looks utterly crestfallen, glancing between Macaque and his hand, turmoil in the gold of his eyes. The warrior expects to be made fun of now, to be ridiculed for something that should be relatively simple and harmless. Something even mortals could accomplish with great ease.

“It’s okay,” Was his response.

Nothing more, nothing less. The king simply attaches his lips to his neck, hands wandering over his body with ease.

Macaque doesn’t understand. He knows Wukong wants him to touch him, so why entertain this further? He’s not getting what he wants, so what purpose did Macaque even serve him anymore? He’ll never understand this guy. At the same time, though, he’s glad Wukong doesn’t ask further.

But, Macaque shouldn’t be the only one getting something out of this- it wasn’t fair.

The king drags a hand down Macaque’s body, thumb slipping into his pants. Macaque takes the chance to put his hand atop Wukong’s, stopping him in place and bringing his attention to him.

“Go slower.”

“Um, slower?” He asks, brows raising.

The warrior nods, gaze softening.

“Yeah. You in a rush, or something?”

Wukong flushes.

“Uh- no, I just… Well, I mean, I wasn’t…” He trails off, a little sheepish, for whatever reason.

“We don’t have to if-”

“No! No, no- not what I meant,” Wukong corrects, shaking his hands. “I mean! You don’t have to do this for me, y’know?”

“Uhhh… No, I don’t know,” Macaque says, a little lost.

“Uh, well, like… I like doing this for you. Like- doing what you want, I mean.”

“This whole time, we’ve just been doing what I want, is what you’re saying,” Macaque says, flatly, not liking the guilt burning up his gut.

Wukong sits back on his legs, scratching at his head.

“Well, yeah. But I like doing what you want.”

Macaque drags his hands down his face, face reddening in humiliation. He thought Wukong liked it as rough as he did- he always got so into it. No shot he was just playing the part just for him.

“Gods, you can’t be serious. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Wukong squacks at that.

“I did just tell you!”

“I mean, like at all? Now I look like a selfish asshole, Wukong,” Macaque spits, face burning.

“Look- I like giving you what you want. Promise you it gets me off. Don’t think too hard about it, you big drama queen, yeesh.”

“No. We’re doing what you want,” Macaque barks, poking adamantly at Wukong’s chest for emphasis. “So you either fuck me slowly, or not at all.”

Gods, he hated slow sex. It was boring. If he wanted to get fucked by an old man, then that’s what he would have went out and looked for (Although… he supposes Wukong still fits that description). Half the time, he’s nearly falling asleep.

But he’ll grin and bear it for Wukong. Just this once.

The king’s face reddens, fingers gripping into Macaque’s thigh.

“Ah… Yeah. I mean, yeah- I’ll do that,” He stutters, visibly sheepish. It’s adorable, actually, how Wukong gets a little… what, nervous? Yeah. Nervous. Wukong getting nervous over his demand. It was cute.

And Wukong had certainly made it worth his while. Ran his hot hands over Macaque’s body, his fingers gently threading through his fur. Kissed him slowly, and mouthed at his neck as he offered Macaque his thigh to fuck on. The warrior tried so hard to resist, but he couldn’t help but fall prey to such tender touches over his starving body.

Once Wukong was inside of him, Macaque was in shambles. He’d lavished his body with kingly attention, suckled at his nipples and left marks as a temporary reminder of their little playtime. Kissed him until his lips were puffy, and pinned his prostate into submission, the head of his cock gingerly kissing it with each slow, deliberate thrust.

“Louder,” Wukong murmurs, breathy. “I want you to be louder for me.”

Piece by piece, Macaque’s perfect palace was dismantled, and he’s nothing more than putty in Wukong’s hands. Macaque arches his back, pressing into the king’s inviting heat, sobbing around a firmer thrust.

“That’s right,” Wukong moans into the crook of his neck, purring loudly. “You like being my good boy, don’t you?”

‘My.’

Macaque feels hot and bothered just remembering it. Wukong had never called him his like that before, and it did something to him. Made him shudder under calloused hands and made pre leak much too soon.

The lewd memory makes Macaque run a hand over his face, feeling his cheeks burn under his palm. Damn, he’s getting hard.

“You fuck me like that again and I’m gonna think you actually like me, or somethin’,” Macaque had joked, tugging his shirt back on. He combs his fingers through his hair, looking to the king, who lays on his bed with his arms pillowed behind his head.

Wukong merely gives a halfhearted laugh at that. Didn’t seem like he had anything snarky to add to that, interestingly enough. Once he’s got his clothes on, the shadow looks to him to say his goodbyes and maybe something sarcastic alongside it. But this odd, longing emotion in Wukong’s eyes makes him stop in his tracks. He’s got that look he always wore when a question was burning a hole into his mind. The tip of his tail oddly flicks against the side of the bed.

“What?” He prompts, hoping that’ll get that odd look off of Wukong’s face.

“Uh, do you…” Wukong starts, voice uncharacteristically quiet. Nothing six ears can’t pick up.

He trails off, mouth opening before closing. A conflicted look crosses his face for whatever reason. Despite how passionate and utterly attentive Wukong was during this particular tryst, it seemed like now he couldn’t even look at Macaque. How bizarre.

Bizarre yet, was how much it hurt.

Macaque has no clue what to make of it, truthfully. Had he done something wrong? Was his performance in bed not good enough? If he’d done something wrong, Wukong would absolutely let him know, so what was the issue?

Was he losing interest?

Had their agreement outlived its use to him?

His chest constricts.

“Do I, what?” He asks, not liking the tar filling his chest.

Wukong stares at him a moment more, gaze softening only minutely before he brings the blankets up to his shoulder, disconsolate. A look he doesn’t see very often on the king. Curling up under the covers, the tip of Wukong’s tail brushes against his nose. It’s a cute sight, admittedly. For not the first time, Macaque silently grieves the fact that cuddling wasn’t on the table.

“Ahh, it’s nothin’,” Wukong mutters.

Macaque’s stomach wrenches at his words. He purses his lips into a taut line before leaving through a shadow portal.

He doesn’t say goodbye.

The warrior sighs, succumbing to his baser instincts. With a disgruntled little noise, he shoves a hand under his bed, reaching for his dildo. Just remembering how Wukong had fucked him was enough to take his mind off things. If Wukong was losing interest, he’s certain he’d tell him. Wouldn’t he?

He wasn’t exactly the most direct about his feelings. Not anymore, anyways. The king seemed to get off on pushing people away, or something like that. Wukong had never been like that before, but, well, they weren’t living in the past, so Macaque doesn’t know for sure. Either way, he shouldn’t be concerning himself with his problems. Things were different, now.

Different how, well, he couldn’t say for sure.

After that, Macaque left to hide away in his dojo like a coward. He hadn’t seen Wukong for a good while already, but maybe that was a good thing. The friendly company and laughter of his former friend were inviting, sure, but it was also bad news.

Macaque sheds his much too-tight pants before hastily lubing the thing up, deciding to forgo prep this time. A stupid idea, sure, but he didn’t really care at the moment, not when it felt like the walls were starting to close in and the ceiling was starting to cave in.

Really, he should hate Wukong. It’s what he knew best, it’s what was most familiar, and it’s what worked for the both of them. But this lofty feeling drawing him to Wukong all over again was starting to resurface with a vengeance, keen on sinking its talons deep into Macaque’s scarred flesh.

And Macaque knew what it was he wanted from Wukong. He wanted more, for their relationship to develop into something more. That’s what his pathetic, ignorant body wants, anyways. As for himself, well… he doesn’t know.

It felt like they were finally starting to carefully knit the tears in their relationship, and that it was starting to return to what it had been in the past. That in and of itself wasn’t inherently a bad thing, but…

Macaque didn’t want that. No, he did, but not like this. He didn’t want to just conveniently forget their laundry list of bad deeds and broken promises between them, not to mention Wukong outright killing him. He didn’t want to just brush that aside and pretend it never happened, because it did happen, and he’ll never forgive Wukong for it.

More than anything, he wants some form of closure, but it had been eons since Wukong killed him, and he never seemed to want to bring it up, ever. Closure was something that would never quite be in his reach.

But, well… It’s not like Macaque himself ever brings it up, either. Not unless he’s using it as an emotional weapon. Even after all this time, it was still difficult to talk about in a serious manner, and he couldn’t bring himself to show that sort of vulnerability in front of Wukong.

Macaque bends over on his bed, lifting his ass into the air and curling his tail away as he starts to ease the dildo in. His mind was going a thousand miles a minute, so maybe this will get it to just quiet down already. He’d used quite a lot of lube this time around, but it still wasn’t enough to make the process as smooth as it usually was.

He’s tired of over-analyzing everything. Tired of thinking. More than anything, he just wants to lose himself on his stupid toy, drink some more, and then just go back to bed. Maybe tomorrow he can start putting himself back together.

Macaque grits his teeth, brows pinched together as he slowly eases the dildo in.

It hurts.

But maybe it should hurt.

Wukong’s gentle hands were starting to make themselves at home on the warrior’s battered body- he needs to be coldly reminded of what those hands were capable of, to remind himself of what exactly he was allowing himself to fall back into.

Those same hands rubbing gingerly at his waist once tore at his flesh unmercifully, with blood spattered all over them. The tender rawness in Wukong’s eyes as he cups Macaque’s cheek once held such vicious, hellbent hatred in the molten gold of his irises. The sweet nothings he murmurs into the ears once spoke promises of his destruction and bloodlust.

Tears brim at Macaque’s eyes- he doesn’t know if it’s from the sting of the dildo or his hellish memories. Maybe it was both. Who cares.

Once the sting has mostly faded, he rocks onto it, gritting his teeth at the pain flashing in his lower abdomen.

He’d pleaded with Wukong, desperate for him to stop. Was forcibly dragged out of every shadow portal at any attempt to escape, and sobbed for mercy with tears in his eyes. That cursed staff tore his eye out, and the king loomed over him, gleaming eyes pinning him in place as Macaque helplessly cried at the monster he once made promises with of living a pleasant future together.

Just the two of them.

But his pleas fell on deaf ears, and then his life came to an end.

This whole agreement was a mistake. Macaque just wanted to blow off some steam- if he’d known Wukong was suddenly going to start treating him like he actually mattered, he’d never have agreed to it in the first place. That wasn’t what Wukong did.

Macaque had seen who Wukong really was at his core. He didn’t need to pretend to be this other person, this person who acted so much like a friend he’d once known in the past. A friend he’d once cherished, his shoulder to cry on. A friend who would sit with him under the sunlight as they made flower crowns with eachother and made teasing jabs.

He misses those days.

Macaque groans, frustrated with every miss of his prostate. The dildo just couldn’t seem to reach the way Wukong could.

It sure seemed like easy work when Wukong did it. Or maybe he just knew Macaque’s body better than he did.

He shivers.

Gods, he wants Wukong so badly right now. Wants his praise and validation, to be told he was doing good because Macaque could be good for him. Wants his lips on his, his calloused hands cradling him like he’s made of glass. The sage had all but pampered him last time, and, fuck, he wants it again and again.

A wanton moan finds the air, his free hand clutching the sheets.

Macaque snaps himself out of it, gritting his teeth. No, he wanted it rough. If anyone was in control of what sort of pain Wukong inflicted on him, it was himself. There was a pleasure to be had in knowing Wukong could only be so rough with him and exert his holy strength because he allowed it. It was a thrill unlike any other, to know that Macaque owned his pain with a leash and collar.

That’s what he wants. He wants Wukong to be mean to him, like when they first started this. The king had all but slammed Macaque onto his dick, lapping up his blood like sweet nectar. Roughly pinned him to the bed with those unkind hands and spat cruel words to him as he took him. That was the real Sun Wukong.

But even that, as he learned, was all an act.

All because he knew Macaque liked it.

He only did it for him.

Macaque cants his hips, angry with himself.

Gods, he hated him. He hated Wukong. Hated him for pretending he liked him.

Hated him for making him feel like this.

But, above all…

Macaque hated that he still ached for his company.

Ached for him.

With an aggravated growl, Macaque eases the dildo out, tossing the damn thing to the floor. It just wasn’t cutting it, and it was only serving to make him angrier.

The shadow turns over onto his back, flopping on his bed and gnarling his hands into his hair, gripping desperately as he finds himself stuck in an endless loop of picking up his own pieces and having them break off again and again and again. Tears prick his eyes as these confusing, useless feelings eat him alive like maggots in a wound. His body screams and cries for attention, but Macaque is just too tired to give it what It wants. Doesn’t even know if he can. He claws at any solution to feed his pathetic body, anything to banish these vile feelings that intensify every time he thinks of Wukong, anything to keep the infestation of thoughts at bay.

Nothing works.

And he knew this would happen if this agreement went on for as long as it did. But Macaque so stupidly ignored the red flags, thought for sure it wouldn’t happen to him. Red flags popped up left and right anytime he found himself staring at Wukong for a moment longer than necessary or indulged in his domestic company. And yet, he’d foolishly chosen to be colorblind, chasing after a fleeting hope.

Macaque didn’t want this- he should be keeping himself safe. Dark tentacles unfurl and drag him into the trenches of his subconscious, leaving him to drown in his lonely ocean of yearning. His fur stands on end, and he feels like he can’t get in a single satisfying breath. He feels like he’s suffocating. Outrage, confusion, sorrow, and a million other emotions Macaque didn’t care enough to put a name to clash inside of him, demanding some sort of release.

If this festers any further, he’ll die again.

Why the hell couldn’t he learn his lesson the first time?

Something hot slides down his face. Hastily swiping it away, Macaque is appalled to discover tears singing his skin.

Crying.

He was crying.

A rage unlike any other suddenly erupts inside of him. Cracks form in the warrior’s armor. A black tail lashes like a whip.

Macaque snarls, hastily lifting himself off of his bed, tired of helplessly moping around and letting his thoughts consume him. He throws on his clothing as fast as he can, moving on autopilot and fueled with an animalistic, primal rage identical to the one he felt when he was first revived. All this time spent pretending he was over it, was him rejecting his truest, most visceral feelings of anguish and betrayal and pain, carefully stuffing them in a bottle to be contained.

And now the bottle breaks.

Macaque moves to open his window, hands quaking.

The cold night air makes him shiver.

He knows exactly what’ll solve this problem.

He’ll go back to the beginning.

Transforming into a bird, Macaque takes flight.

Feathers fall from his avian form as he makes his way to Flower Fruit Mountain.

Chapter Text

A loud thud snaps Wukong awake.

He jolts upright, sitting motionless in his bed to listen for whatever was lurking outside. It’s still dark out, the crescent moon waning high overhead. It’s deathly quiet now, a gentle breeze whistling and crickets chirping in the distance. Normally, Wukong would safely assume that the things that go bump in the night are from the younglings and their boundless energy. But this was a loud thud.

Not willing to put his family at risk, Wukong uses his gold vision, but finds that he’s much too late. A figure of blinding gold cracks open his window and creeps in. Quick to react, Wukong ceases his True Sight, prepared to fight off an intruder.

Instead, he’s greeted by Macaque, whose foot gets caught on the windowsill, causing him to trip gracelessly into the sage’s room.

His eyes widen. He hadn’t seen Macaque in a week- he just seemed to vanish into thin air. The shadow was here. In his room. Stumbling around after disappearing for a week straight.

Relief flushes the king’s system, and he’s overcome by this urge to run over to Macaque, grab him by the shoulders, and demand answers as to why he so suddenly vanished. Through the fog of sleep, elation fills him. Just as a forced smile starts to etch into his features, though, Wukong’s quickly put off by the stumbling warrior’s scent.

Macaque smells of alcohol and sandalwood. His normally tidy black fur is unkempt and damp. His clothes are rumpled, and dark bags sit under his eyes. 

“Mac?” The king starts, a bit stiffly, tossing the blankets off of himself and standing up. Concern overtakes him at the sight of Macaque’s trembling hands at his sides and thrashing tail. “You look awful, bud… Are you-”

“Don’t ‘bud’ me,” Macaque mumbles darkly. The amber of his eyes gleam like a lion on the hunt. Dangerous and warning. Canines bare threateningly while bright eyes harbor a deep pit of anger and fire-fueled hatred that Wukong hadn’t seen directed towards him in a long, long time.

Wukong raises his hands placatingly, admittedly a bit shaken at the unexpected display of intimidation. Raw bloodlust surges in Macaque’s eyes, and the king half expects a fight to break out right then and there.

He doesn’t know where the hell Macaque’s been, or why he’s acting like this.

But they were not going to fight, that much was for sure.

“Hey- relax. S’Just me,” The king mutters, soothingly. It only serves to make Macaque bristle, his right eye twitching. Wukong approaches him carefully, like the warrior was a startled animal on the verge of darting for safety.

He gets close enough that Macaque’s in arms length, but, in the darkness of night, he can’t see his face clearly. Only the piercing luster of his amber eyes, watching his every move, flicking between his hands as if they were knives pointed at him.

“Where’ve you been?” Wukong tries instead, that feeling of concern, maybe even panic, seep into his bones at the unhinged state Macaque was in. He looks like he’s ready to snap at any given moment, whether it be a wrong word uttered, or at any breath too loud. He needs to be careful he doesn’t step on a landmine.

“You’ve been gone for a while- I was…” Clearing his throat, Wukong sloppily corrects himself. “Well, y’know. The kid was worrying his head off.”

“I don’t care.”

Wukong blinks, astonished by that rude answer, then scowls.

“Well, you really should. Don’t bother being his mentor if you’re not gonna-”

Claws suddenly fist into the collar of his shirt, gripping tightly. Wukong gasps at the swiftness in which Macaque grabs him, eyes wide as the warrior’s eyes burn violet, scorching through him. The shadows in his room curl into wicked talons, and a heavy pressure crushes him.

“I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

Wukong’s scowl worsens, his patience ticking away. Macaque had caught him off guard the first time, but, at the end of the day, he’d seen his displays of intimidation far too many times for them to really have any effect on him anymore.

And if he’s going to act like a child without telling Wukong what the hell’s wrong with him, then he could do that, too.

“The hell’s your problem?” The king bitterly asks. It was way too late to be dealing with an argument for his liking. Macaque disappears for a solid week, ignores the king by hiding like a coward in the shadows, then suddenly wants to show himself all for some petty argument?

“Kid doesn’t need you telling him what to do, either.”

Then, this animalistic smirk cuts into Macaque’s face. It’s the nastiest one he’s got in his arsenal.

“Dunno why he wastes his time with you.”

Wukong shoves his hands away from himself, enraged. He gets up in Macaque’s face, eyes narrowed harshly.

“If he’s wasting his time with anyone, it’s you. At least I can show up and be his mentor instead of hiding away getting wasted.”

He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t mean it, but the thick tar that begins to pump through his veins makes him say it, makes him act on his emotions.

“Mind your own business, Wukong.”

“It becomes my business when it affects MK! He’s wasting all his time worrying about you!”

Macaque’s brows arch in surprise. A brief look of hurt flashes over his eyes before he tips his head back and laughs. Wukong’s hands ball into fists at his side, trembling dangerously with the effort to refrain from just grabbing the bastard and starting a fight.

“You’re pissing me off. Seriously,” Wukong warns, voice lowering.

Pointed canines flash when Macaque laughs again, louder this time.

“Then do something about it,” Macaque boldly goads.

Oh, he wants to. Wants to wipe that smirk clean off of Macaque’s face. Wukong grits his teeth, the gold of his eyes glowing in the room. His tail lashes dangerously behind him, and his knuckles turn white from how hard he clenches his fists.

Macaque merely watches, visibly amused as he nonverbally dares Wukong to try something. Tension sparks in the air.

Moonlight falls over Macaque, illuminating his darkened face.

His eyes were puffy. Like he’d been crying.

Wukong’s fist unclenches, and he sighs unsatisfyingly to calm himself. A knot forms in his throat, and suddenly, maintaining eye contact becomes impossibly difficult.

The sight dredges up terrible memories. It coldly reminds him of what he was about to let himself fall back into. What he would do to Macaque again.

Decisively, the king lets it go.

“No. I’m not giving you what you want. Just go home already.”

The purest form of shock makes its way onto Macaque’s face. His smirk falls almost instantly, and he looks small, almost. The violet tainting the room dissipates and the shadows stop flickering.

A fight would get them nowhere.

These past few months had been a dream of what Wukong once wished their future could be. Spending time together, sincerely enjoying eachother’s company, and lazily relaxing under the trees together. And it was the happiest he’d ever felt in a long, long time. Truly, it was starting to feel like the sex was just a bonus, more than anything. Even MK couldn’t help but notice that he’d been in a livelier mood. Well, up until Macaque vanished, of course.

But it wouldn’t last. Wukong knew that.

He’d ruined everything once.

He wasn’t going to ruin everything a second time.

Turning away from Macaque, Wukong heads for his bed, fully expecting the warrior to leave.

“I hate you, Wukong.”

It’s uttered in nothing more than a whisper, but the utter abhorrence laced in his words was still enough to drive a knife through the king and stop him in his tracks. It’s something he’d heard from Macaque all the time, over a wicked smirk and gleaming fangs. This time was different, though. It makes the hair on the back of his neck raise.

Whipping around, Wukong looks to Macaque, mouth agape. Words die on his tongue.

With a flash of purple, Macaque’s glamors fall.

All of them.

A shiver wracks Wukong, and he’s paralyzed by the sight before him.

A milky-white, torn eye burns through him.

Wukong immediately looks away.

With a growl, Macaque’s hand shoots out for his face, fingers gripping hard at the king’s cheeks. Claws sink into the tender flesh painfully, and Wukong’s forced to face him. His eyes lock onto Macaque’s single white one instantly, stark against the scars tearing through his face. A cold reminder of something Wukong wishes he’d never been responsible for.

“No. You look at me, and you look at what you’ve done,” The warrior snarls, eyes burning violet again, but the image is still fresh in Wukong’s mind.

Memories flash of Macaque crying as blood gushes from his eye socket, hand flying up to grasp desperately at the wound. Haunting screams of agony and betrayal Wukong will never be able to erase from his mind echo in his ears.

Those wretched memories stare down Wukong like gargoyles atop a building, cold judgement and the immense weight of his sins piercing a hole through him in the form of a blind eye.

Frozen in place, Wukong is helpless in Macaque’s grasp.

“You abandoned me,” The warrior mutters, but his voice is deafeningly loud to the king. “You left me to rot, then you killed me.”

Dread fills the king. His fingers tremble uselessly. His heart pounds like a war drum in his ears.

A nasty smirk cuts into Macaque’s face, fangs glinting menacingly.

“But, y’know… I’m kinda glad you did.”

Macaque thrusts Wukong’s face, releasing him rudely. His fingers fly up to his cheeks, easing the sting of cold claws that sank into his skin. With wide eyes, he looks back to the warrior, who only stares him down.

“I’m so much better off without you,” Macaque continues, dangerously approaching the king. He grabs at Wukong’s shirt again, but, instead of getting in his face like he expects, the shadow shoves him back onto his bed.

With a sharp grunt, Wukong falls onto his back, but before he can even collect himself, Macaque straddles him, roughly pushing him back down once he attempts to sit up. Strong hands pin his shoulders firm against the cushion, and Wukong looks up at him, shocked.

“That battle centuries ago was an opportunity. I should have left you sooner.”

The words cut deep into Wukong, makes sludge brew in his veins and forms a lump in his throat. The wounds he’d been so carefully stitching together even after all this time are ripped open all at once, his stone core exposed. This close, in the pools of Macaque’s mismatched eyes, he can see a heavy exhaustion despite the harshness of his words. It becomes clear to Wukong all too late that Macaque was hurting.

Because of him.

Macaque’s words are heavy lead in his mind, words that he knows will torment him well after the night, just as they do now. The shadow shifts atop him, and he’s got that look in his eyes that Wukong knows too well. The centuries-old resentment tainting Macaque’s face is one the king supposes he should be used to by now, but, after these past few months of bliss before Macaque’s sudden disappearance, it catches him entirely off guard. He should have realized it was too good to be true.

He knew it.

Wukong knew Macaque was hiding away because of him.

This is what happens when he lets himself get too close to people.

He ruins them.

Wukong swallows thickly.

This was exactly what he was afraid of.

When Macaque leans down to kiss him, Wukong meets his lips weakly, utterly appalled with himself for letting this happen again. After a moment, though, he falls in line with the movement of Macaque’s lips on his, greedy and enthusiastic as ever.

Poison invades his body as the cycle starts again.

This was a horrible idea. But, at the same time, amidst the dry, desolate desert sits the oasis he’d been so desperately looking for. Tears prick Wukong’s eyes, but he forces them away, kissing Macaque harder and placing his hands on his waist. The welcoming warmth of Macaque’s body settles the trembling of his hands.

Gods, he’s pathetic.

Weak against him.

Macaque pulls away with a nip at his lip. Heavy lust sits in his eye, and he leers down at Wukong with that confidence he wears so well. Hastily, he tosses his shirt to the floor, and the king rakes his eyes over the body that practically had his name on it. Without his glamors, red, faded lines of scars cut through Macaque’s body, some worse than others. Wukong wants to trace his fingertips over them, wants to run his tongue over every single one. A new map for him to explore, and he intends to memorize all of it.

Harshly, Macaque grips his chin, tilting Wukong’s head up so his eyes meet his own.

“Tell me right now if you don’t want this, ‘cause I know I do.”

Wukong’s heart was caught in his throat.

Macaque was rapidly overflowing above him, emotions spilling and leaking as if he were a sinking ship. And there was nothing Wukong could do other than watch him drown, or drown alongside him.

The king speaks firmly, realizing he hadn’t yet answered. “Yeah, I’m okay with this. But- uh, if you want, we can just…”

They can, what? Talk? They’d never spoken about this uncrossable valley of tragedies and broken promises between them, and Wukong’s not sure they ever will. The familiarity that came with arguments and fistfights was so much easier. Something that could be expected and predicted. But he supposes that nothing worth anything was ever easy.

Macaque huffs, a scowl crinkling the edges of his nose. “I didn’t come all the way over here to do anything other than this. And this is what I need.” Shifting in Wukong’s lap, the warrior makes himself comfortable, his ass pressing flush against the sage’s crotch and luring him out of his sober thoughts. Fingers slide teasingly under the hem of his shirt, the contact locking Wukong in a trance. As always, he feels amazing on him, but…

“’Sides, my favorite toy wasn’t cutting it anymore.”

Blood rushes to Wukong’s cheeks, among other places, and his eyes dart back up to meet the other’s. “You were-”

“Yes, Wukong,” Macaque sighs, as though he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell onto the king. Then, before Wukong has even finished processing his answer, Macaque leans in close, this little smirk playing on his lips beneath hooded eyes. Hands slip under his shirt, heatedly dragging up Wukong’s toned stomach and up his chest. His breath ghosts over Wukong’s lips when he speaks.

“I pretend it’s you.”

Wukong forgets how to breathe in that moment, gasping when Macaque grinds his ass against his crotch. Those wandering hands lift his shirt off, tossing it aside before caging him in on either side of his head, a black tail lashing over his own. He leers down at Wukong, domineering. And it’s a damn good look on him. Wukong’s hands move to grab at Macaque’s ass, biting his lip when the shadow grinds harder on him.

Thoughts of the argument and previous concerns are replaced instead by images of Macaque riding his red dildo, crying out Wukong’s name. He thinks of the proud warrior stroking himself as he rides it, tongue lolled out and face blown in that pretty red hue he wears so well. The king only wishes he could have been there to watch. He’s hardening shamefully quickly underneath Macaque, unable to do much else but surrender to the thickening lust. There was little else he could think of when he had a handful of Macaque’s ass in both hands.

The shadow leans down, pressing their lips together, and Wukong is fast to slip his tongue in, swallowing down Macaque’s low moan. Wukong groans into his mouth, fingers bunching up the loose fabric when he sinks them into the flesh underneath. The king cants his hips up into the other, smirking at Macaque’s moan of surprise. With a rough tug at his bottom lip, Macaque pulls away, desire aflame in mismatched, hellish eyes.

“Bet it doesn’t compare to the real thing,” Wukong hums, already knowing the answer.

Macaque rolls his eyes. “Yeah, don’t get a big head.”

“Hard not to,” Wukong murmurs with a smug little smile. Then, because he just can’t help himself, he asks, “What else do you think about when you’re using your toy?”

The shadow merely tsks in response, gaze hardening with a scowl. “Figure it out. I only come to see you for one thing- the only thing you’re any good for. You hardly serve a damn purpose otherwise.”

Wukong bites his lip, pants feeling much too tight. Never in his life did he think he’d be aroused by Macaque’s ruthless sharp tongue. One of Macaque’s hands trail over his shoulder, fingers brushing through ginger fur, before he rests his palm over Wukong’s throat- a warning. He swallows thickly, the threat to his neck a delightful kind of pleasure, even if he wasn’t outright choking him.

Macaque’s touch makes his head spin. As much as Wukong’s certain talking things out would be the better option for both of them, this was just… so much easier to fall into.

As hard as he tries, though, there’s that niggling little voice in the back of his head, effectively silenced by every brush of cold fingers over his body.

“You should be ashamed. The all-powerful Monkey King gets hard from me talking down on him?” Macaque taunts, genuine disgust on his face, which only serves to make Wukong’s cheeks redden further. “That’s really pathetic, even for you.”

A groan is torn from Wukong’s lungs, cut off with a strangle as Macaque’s hand presses hard on his throat, fingers gripping tightly. Already, he feels much too fogged with lust, hips involuntarily thrusting up into the other. The hand on his neck carries a biting coldness to it, crushing Wukong’s windpipe and forcing a choked cry from him before the claws threatening his veins releases.

The shadow glances down, where he and Wukong’s hips meet, eyes lingering over the king’s bulge caught in his sweatpants with interest. His tail swishes rhythmically behind him with delight.

“Really doesn’t take much to get you riled up, huh.”

“I’m an easy guy to please.”

“Clearly.”

The king huffs, suppressing a shudder. His hands move to hold Macaque’s thighs appreciatively, feeling the muscles flex underneath the fabric. He ogles Macaque’s own hard on, licking his lips. A wandering hand drags over strong inner thighs to fondle the other, but he’s swiftly caught at the wrist in a bruising grip.

“Did I say you could touch that?”

Wukong’s eyes widen, dick twitching in his pants, and he moves to retract his hand, but Macaque holds fast, this wicked grin playing on his face. He leans over Wukong, pinning his hand down by his wrist, shadow cast over him. The warrior looms over him, grabbing Wukong’s other hand and pinning it down, too. The luster of his copper eye shines like a star in the darkness of the room, focused only on Wukong and no other.

The shadow grinds his ass harder against Wukong’s clothed dick, breath hot over his lips as he narrows his eyes. Tossing his head back, Wukong moans, gritting his teeth when Macaque bites hard at the juncture of his neck. Fangs sink into his flesh with an addicting burn, laying his mark on Wukong. Hands ball into fists, trembling uselessly under Macaque’s hold. Heat pools between his legs, and Wukong wishes their clothes were off already.

“Finally run outta things to say, Wukong?” The warrior taunts with a haughty smirk. The words sure sound familiar, but Wukong can’t even bring himself to care when Macaque’s thighs are spread over him, rational thoughts tossed out the window. A sigh tumbles from his lips when the warrior nibbles and sucks at his neck, purring above him. He meets Macaque’s lips eagerly when he leans down to kiss him again, their tongues gliding against the other’s. It’s sloppy, messy, and their teeth clack, but Wukong couldn’t care less, much too greedy for the taste of Macaque on his tongue.

The faint taste of stolen peaches on Macaque’s tongue is washed out by the overbearing smooth sweetness of wine, and Wukong grimaces at the taste when Macaque pulls away.

“Uh, how much have you had to drink?” He asks, before they really got into this. Macaque was at least sober enough to speak coherently, but there was no harm In just making sure.

“Who cares?” He brushes off, leaning down to kiss Wukong again, but the king dodges his lips, adamant. 

“Uh, me,” Wukong answers automatically.

“Tch, since when?” Macaque scoffs skeptically, releasing Wukong’s wrists and pulling away, leaving the king much too cold. Wukong leans to rest his weight on his elbows, brows pinching at the remark, an unwelcome, wretched feeling spinning in his gut. Before he can even say anything, Macaque speaks again.

“Such a liar. That’s all you ever do.”

The shadow hastily tears his pants off, then Wukong’s, tossing the clothes to the floor. Reaching for the bedside table, he’s got this new expression on his face, one mixed with cold bitterness and frustration. His lip trembles, and Macaque unceremoniously drops the bottle of lube beside Wukong, slamming the drawer shut.

Something heavy and immense sits at the pit of Wukong’s gut, pleading endlessly for him to soothe him and settle Macaque’s visible anguish before this goes any further. It snags at the sage’s heartstrings, but the words he seeks simply are not there. Wukong was never good with words, he was good with actions- and he can’t think of anything he could do with himself that would anchor Macaque in this storm.

Other than this, of course. But, was there really nothing else he could do? Whatever he could think of, like holding Macaque closer, or moving him off of himself to prevent Macaque from further spiraling, are shot down. Wukong knows that anything he does other than comply would be shot down.

Was this all he could do?

Uselessly, he sits beneath the other, mouth opening to muster up something, anything. Whatever he can come up with is dashed the moment Macaque’s hand slicks up his dick, hot and wet with lube. With a low hum, Wukong brings his hands back to Macaque’s thighs, gripping hard into the flesh as the weight in his chest takes a back seat to the thrumming pleasure within himself.

It’s hard to keep his thoughts on track when the warrior’s got a hand on his dick, stroking him like he just can’t wait to have Wukong inside of him. With his mind rendered useless in the thick haze of lust, he’s beginning to think he can just feel shitty later, when this was all said and done.

Wukong’s brows raise, realization hitting him embarrassingly late. “Uh- Mac, you still need to prep-”

“Already did,” He dismisses, already lifting himself up on his knees, hovering over Wukong’s dick. “What, d’you think I was lying? I’m not you.”

A gasp is torn from Wukong’s very core when Macaque hastily slides down his dick, taking it all in one go. Before Wukong can gather himself, take a moment to adjust to the overwhelming heat that wraps around him, Macaque’s already riding him hard and fast. He takes what he wants with a greediness Wukong’s never seen on him before, not gracing the king with the chance to even catch his breath.

Tossing his head back, Wukong moans loudly, knitting his brows harshly. Macaque is a tight clutch around him, practically strangling his dick, and Wukong is puddy beneath him, unable to do anything other than let himself be used. The shadow bounces on his dick roughly, hands planted on Wukong’s chest for support, and his rational thoughts are as gone as he is.

A hand grabs hard at Wukong’s throat once more, tight and unforgiving, cutting off his moan with a choke. The dense fog of lust has glazed over his eyes, but he brings his gaze to Macaque’s, who leers menacingly at him, dangerous and hot like the fires Wukong wishes to fan. It takes a monumental amount of effort to keep himself from blowing his load too soon, hands trembling on Macaque’s waist.

“Look at me when I fuck you,” He orders, voice low. The king swallows thickly, sweat beading at his forehead as he does what he’s told. He watches Macaque greedily ride him, his heat a drug Wukong just couldn’t get enough of.

“That’s right. You should be honored I’m even here,” Macaque groans out.

Wukong groans loudly underneath the other, hands grabbing desperately at Macaque’s waist, grasping for purchase as he’s ridden so hard he sees stars and galaxies burst behind his eyelids. His eyes drift to where their hips meet, watching his cock go in and out, in and out, panting hard. The hand heavy on his throat makes his dick twitch inside of Macaque’s unrelenting heat, makes his head spin. Wukong drags his eyes over Macaque’s form, his dick that begs for his touch, then up to his face, where Wukong feels his stomach drop. Macaque groans above him, and he winces like he’s in pain, this troubled expression on his face. Forlorn.

And when he sees that look on Macaque, he acts on impulse.

Wukong flips them over.

Macaque actually growls under him, furious. This look of surprise flits over his face before it’s replaced with pure, unadulterated rage. He immediately begins thrashing under Wukong, claws cutting and slashing at his chest, arms- whatever he can reach, drawing blood. The sting is sharp, crimson staining golden fur, and Wukong grits his teeth through the pain, keeping his dick inside as best as he can.

“I hate you, Wukong,” Macaque seethes, eyes narrowed and fangs bared in a nasty snarl. Wukong’s actually pretty certain Macaque’s about to bite him if this goes on any longer. He grunts at another cut, growing irritated himself. Whether Macaque likes it or not, though, this was the pace Wukong was going to shift to. Using him was one thing, Wukong had no qualms about that, but he was absolutely not going to let Macaque hurt himself in the process.

The warrior writhes and rambles, biting words that tore Wukong deeper than his slashes. “You can’t just let me have this, for once, you selfish fuck. You’ve always been so damn selfish-”

Managing to catch a hand by the wrist, Wukong forces it beside Macaque’s head, just as he did to him earlier. He narrows his eyes, locking firmly onto Macaque’s own, wide with fury and visibly on edge. A pale golden light washes over his body as he heals off the scratches in his flesh.

“You were hurting yourself, smartass.”

“What do you care?” He spits.

Wukong gets ahold of Macaque’s other wrist before it hits him and pins it down, but that doesn’t stop the writhing underneath him. Hands shake under his unyielding grip, balled into fists, claws digging into his palms. Apprehension lies in Macaque’s eyes, and he watches Wukong with a deadly, yet cautious stare.

Slowly, he thrusts into Macaque, careful not to cause further harm. Wukong watches for his reaction, met with a frustrated resistance. Mismatched eyes burn into his own with resentment, visibly wary of him, like he’s just waiting for one wrong move. It hurts Wukong more than any celestial bullet aimed at him. Distrust lays so heavily in those eyes, the damning evidence of Wukong’s betrayal piercing him in a hauntingly mesmerizing manner.

“Go faster, dammit. You’re going way too slow,” Macaque urges impatiently with a huff, gaze drifting down to where they connect before quickly flitting back up to Wukong’s eyes, a pretty red blooming on his cheeks. “You either fuck me right or not at all.”

Wukong hums deeply, narrowing his eyes firmly, but not with malice. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Macaque snaps, his tail lashing over Wukong’s. He grits his teeth and bares his fangs, growling with warning at Wukong. And his words echo in Wukong’s ears, but he can’t argue because it’s true. There was nothing he could say to comfort Macaque, whether he told him the truth or another lie.

Instead, Wukong chooses to acknowledge it.

“I know,” He says, quietly.

Macaque’s eyes widen, brows raising in surprise, and it’s an oddly endearing look on him, given the situation. The king leans down, pressing their lips together, meeting the warrior in a soft kiss.

Macaque is resistant at first, but kisses him back with a low hum, moving his lips slowly against Wukong’s. It lacks the aggression and desperation he was so used to, but the tenderness lights Wukong aflame. The hands tense under his hold relax minutely, and the sage shifts so he can thrust into Macaque properly. Though he hums with a noise of irritation on Wukong’s lips, he spreads his legs a little wider for him.

The king keeps the pace slow, fully intending on pleasing Macaque as well as he did last time before he soundlessly vanished. Gods, it’s so much more of a challenge this time, though. Wukong finds a gentle pace, then Macaque greedily cants his hips, trying to goad the king into moving faster. It feels amazing, and Wukong even debates just giving in, but he wants to make Macaque feel good, not worse.

Macaque always did that, though.

Actively taunted and goaded Wukong anytime he tried to take it slow, and would go out of his way to piss him off in the way Wukong loved in order to get what he wanted.

Wukong always wondered why he did that. He first thought that Macaque really was just that impatient, or that maybe he liked bringing their rivalry into the bedroom. That was something Wukong certainly didn’t blame him for, if their string of trysts was anything to go by. He’s thinking now, though, that maybe it was because Macaque did, in a sense, have control over the pain Wukong inflicted on him now.

He owned it.

Which was something he couldn’t say before.

And maybe he didn’t like the contact or tenderness because it was unfamiliar.

No, that’s not right.

It was too familiar. It reminded him of better times, when they were practically attached at the hip, always within arm’s reach, because where else would they be? And Macaque didn’t like to be reminded of their past friendship at all, so he kept his hands to himself. Was that it?

Ah, maybe he’s just looking too deep into it.

When Wukong slips his tongue in, it’s harshly bitten.

The king pulls away with a hiss, blood beading on the tip of his tongue. The warrior meets him with an unsteady glare that lacks its bite when Macaque’s eyelids flutter. He’s stubborn, though, and remains defiant, even manages a weak parody of his signature smirk at the blood on Wukong’s lip. Whether he’s on top of him or beneath him, Macaque’s attitude was quite easily his most alluring aspect. In the bedroom, anyways, where Wukong gets to meticulously take apart his tough guy façade and make him submit.

“Fuck you.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Wukong coos mockingly, nuzzling into the crook of Macaque’s neck, setting his lips there instead, like water off a duck’s back. He suckles tightly, nibbling softly at his throat, up to his jawline, then just beneath his ears. With a soft grunt, Macaque sharply turns his head away, breath hitching. 

Macaque’s hips cant against Wukong’s, meeting his gentle pace. He moans lowly into Wukong’s ear, a beautiful sound that goes straight to his dick. Wukong stakes his claim on the warrior as he pleases, nipping at his neck, chest, shoulders, whatever he can reach. Moans tumble into Wukong’s ears, and he feels his head swim, lost in the pleasure that overtakes him.

“Wukong… Ah- Wukong,” The warrior sighs, voice deep and rich and utterly delectable. Wukong’s hips involuntarily snap, thrusting hard into Macaque before he resumes the slow pace, tearing a guttural groan from the both of them.

Macaque has stopped writhing underneath Wukong, attempting to free his hands in a feeble effort, but Wukong isn’t having it. With a hum, he meets Macaque’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss, eager to swallow down and taste his moans. The warrior kisses him with fervor, suckling gently on his bottom lip before he gives in. Uncaring as to whether or not he’d have his tongue bitten a second time, Wukong eagerly slides his bloodied tongue in, dragging it against Macaque’s as he fucks him slowly.

The taste of wine on Wukong’s tongue is thick and sapid, a taste he consumes eagerly. Pulling away, he drinks in the sight of Macaque’s scarlet blush, lips shimmering with spit, and his eyes. One copper and the other blind and torn. Six ears burn red, forever taunting Wukong by just barely being out of reach. He’s a sight worthy of being displayed in a museum, but, problem was, Wukong didn’t like to share.

“You’re beautiful,” The king murmurs, purring loudly at Macaque’s needy whine, the way his ass flutters around him. “And only I get to see you like this, right?” He teases, lips quirking into a faint smile.

“Mm… Stop it, Wukong- I’m not…” Macaque turns away, hiding his blind eye from the king. Undeterred, Wukong leans down, peppering kisses over his face and neck.

“You are. I want all of your glamors off again next time,” Wukong demands in a soft whisper, causing colorful ears to flick in response. Humming deeply, he angles his hips, aiming for that spot inside of Macaque that really makes him sing. He’s rewarded with a sharp gasp and a low moan, the heat of Macaque’s body arching into him driving him crazy.

“Ah- You’re so…” The warrior trails off, face coiled in pleasure. Wukong never finds out what he is, more occupied with leaning down and claiming those lips again.

It’s different this time when their lips meet. Macaque kisses him with unrivaled passion, moaning on the king’s lips and with an energy Wukong can’t quite describe. It fuels the king, makes his cock throb inside of the warrior.

Whatever argument was left In either of them had long been snuffed out. Wukong’s guilt-ridden thoughts had no opportunity to infect him once he was locked in a trance like this, breathing in Macaque’s scent. After all, that was kind of the whole point of the agreement, wasn’t it?

Nothing more.

Not that there needed to be more, or anything.

The sage’s thoughts are washed away from the wonderful symphony of moans and whimpers he gets out Macaque, the tensing of his wrists under calloused hands. Each thrusts makes Macaque’s resolve crumble just a little more, makes his eyebrows knit together, but not out of rage. Still, he’s feisty, glaring weakly at the king. Defiant as ever- Wukong had always liked that about him. He was never one to give in so easily.

Good. Wukong likes a challenge.

With a wobbly smirk on his face, he leans down, their lips brushing when he speaks.

“You make the prettiest faces. Wonder what kinda face you’ll make when I do this.”

The king slams his cock into that tender spot firmly, hips smacking against Macaque’s ass. It gets a guttural, choked sob out of the crumbling warrior, eyes fluttering and legs clamping around Wukong. He whimpers, bottom lip quivering. Piece by piece, he falls apart under the sage, putty in his hands.

“Oooh, that was good,” Wukong praises teasingly, pressing a kiss over the corner of Macaque’s lip. “You take me so well…” He hums, voice wavering.

“I…” Macaque shivers at the praise, clenching deliciously around Wukong’s dick, tearing a groan from the king. Fuck, Macaque is tight around him. His tail flinches away from Wukong’s own when they make contact.

Macaque’s hands have stopped trembling, boneless in Wukong’s hold, fingers twitching around the air at a harder thrust before Wukong settles into a gentler pace. Wukong glances down to his neglected dick, fighting a smile when he sees that pre already glistens at the head.

The sage removes his hand from Macaque’s wrist to wrap around his dick, falling into a lesiurely stroke. The warrior gasps sharply, eyes clenched shut. His now free hand grips the sheets, other hand balling into a fist and tensing under Wukong’s hold. Biting his lip, Wukong moves back to Macaque’s neck, nuzzling into his fur as he fucks and strokes him. Macaque’s scent Is even more intoxicating when it harmonizes with his own.

Macaque’s eyes meet Wukong’s in a weak glare, and he grits his teeth. A strangled moan falls from his lips. The king takes the chance to palm the head of Macaque’s dick, smearing his pre over the head before stroking him hard again, the friction a hot slide. The warrior’s thighs jerk around Wukong, and he makes an utterly filthy noise in response, a noise that makes Wukong’s dick twitch inside of him.

Somewhere in the swirling copper of Macaque’s good eye, there’s that faint somberness tainting the flecks of color. The king rubs a thumb under the head of his cock, watching those eyes pinch shut in pleasure. It seems to make him forget, if only for a moment.

Wukong wishes so badly that he could know what was stirring in Macaque’s head right now. Wishes he could do something to heal those deep-rooted inner wounds.

But how could he, when those wounds were inflicted by himself?

A weight fills Wukong’s chest. He wonders if Macaque can see it on his face, the regret he wore since that day.

Wukong missed him.

Missed soaking up Macaque’s presence, lazing around his dojo long after MK left for the day, and sitting under the trees together. Sharing a laugh as they talk lightheartedly over good food, their tails shyly sweeping over the others’.

Too close, but not close enough.

And now that he silently admits it, the path is paved towards something more.

He’s been missing him.

Longing for what they had in the past. Wukong yearned for that with this new version of Macaque, one who was so independent and brash. Entirely unneeding of Wukong’s time, attention, or otherwise, yet he still chooses to come back.

Why that was, Wukong had no clue.

But was their friendship all he wanted?

Releasing Macaque’s other wrist, Wukong cups Macaque’s chin, causing his eyes to shoot open as he forces him to meet his gaze. Those mismatched eyes lidded with desire are hesitantly focused on Wukong’s, lips parting around another moan as the sage sweetly pins his prostate into submission. A lovely shade of red is blown on Macaque’s face, blending into the markings.

“Ngh… Don’t look at me,” Macaque whines, a flimsy glare on his face. Black fur frames his face, mussed and slick with sweat. The king licks his lips, eyes burning a molten gold. How could he not?

“You’re asking a lot of me,” Wukong groans. The head of his dick presses kisses that spot as Wukong slides back in with a shiver.

A familiar pressure builds in the pit of Wukong’s stomach, a pressure that demands release. With a groan, the king noses Macaque’s neck, keen on leaving a dark mark there. The shadow’s moans fall into Wukong’s ears, a symphony he’d never tire of. They raise in pitch, and Macaque whimpers before speaking, words broken on his tongue.

“Wukong- I- I’m close…” He manages, claws sinking into the mattress.

“Ah… Me too,” The king sighs, words barely audible.

A little longer. He could last a little longer for Macaque.

Wukong strokes the warrior’s dick a little faster, pre dribbling over his fingers. It takes only a few strokes before Macaque tosses his head back, arching beautifully into Wukong as he reaches his peak, moaning loudly into the night air. Cum spills over Wukong’s hand, staining the fur of their stomachs and even their chests.

His walls clench around Wukong’s dick, and it’s enough to pull Wukong’s own orgasm out of him with a rough grunt. Surging forward, Wukong bites hard into Macaque’s neck, spilling into the deepest parts of him. His body ignites with pleasure, thrumming in his system with celestial flames that lick the skies and send him reeling.

Weakly, he thrusts into Macaque, not wanting a drop to spill. The warrior whines underneath him, shivering around Wukong as they ride out their orgasms. Once Wukong is able to see straight again, he pulls away from him, breathing heavily. The sage regains himself as best as he can, fingers trembling around Macaque’s softening dick.

He looks to the dark mark on Macaque’s neck, then down the mess he’d made of himself. Cum glistens over the pretty black fur on his chest, and his thighs quiver around Wukong’s waist. Raking his gaze up to Macaque’s face, Wukong is pleasantly surprised to find that the warrior is already staring at him, utterly wrecked.

Using the back of his hand, Wukong swipes away some sweat on his own forehead, catching his breath as his whirling mind comes back down to earth. So much had just happened. Even now, Wukong was still trying to wrap his head around it. Vulnerability lies in flecks of glowing copper, burning into his eyes of gold. 

A blind eye looks through him. The orbit of Wukong’s attention.

Trailing fingers over dark fur, he gingerly cups at Macaque’s cheek, gentle as his thumb brushes the very edge of the scar. Brushing the back of his fingers over the fur framing Macaque’s pretty face, Wukong memorizes the way it curves and bends over flushed skin, careful not to touch. Was it within his right to call it beautiful, knowing he was the one who put it there?

“Wukong, what are you…?” Macaque asks, voice a ghost of a whisper.

The king brings his eyes to Macaque’s, a raw emotion pulsing through him, visceral and pounding.

“I never should have…” He trails off, a hard knot in his throat preventing him from speaking.

He doesn’t need to, though. Macaque’s eyes widen, a softness sitting in them, understanding Wukong without the use of words like he always did.

Macaque reaches a hand out, the way he usually did when he wanted a kiss and Wukong was just out of reach. When Wukong moves to oblige the silent request, he’s surprised to find that his hand doesn’t move away, hovering in the air a little awkwardly. He lingers, just shy of the warrior’s lips. Apprehensiveness lies faint in his eyes.

Wukong presses a soft kiss to Macaque’s lips, cupping his cheek.

There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to tell his former friend, but words escape him. Wukong wants to tell him that he regrets ever hurting and abandoning him. Wants to tell him that he wishes so badly to make something new between them, that he would give anything just to have his warrior back. However, the words escape him, vanishing in his throat.

All he can do is hope he can relay that message through his kiss.

Something warm brushes Wukong’s arm. 

A tentative hand finds his shoulder. When Macaque pulls away, his hands slowly find the king’s body, warm and welcoming as they hesitantly wrap around his shoulders. It ignites a holy fire inside of Wukong, one sparked by utter elation.

He’s finally being held by Macaque, and, gods, is it a nice feeling. Wukong feels as if he’d just won a marathon, his heart beating fast. There’s no doubt that Macaque picks up on it, but Wukong really couldn’t care less about putting up a front right now.

The warrior raises a brow, suddenly questioning.

“What’re you so excited about?”

“What?” Wukong flicks his gaze around, finding his stupid, traitorous tail wagging excitedly. He forces it to stop immediately, red staining his cheeks when he looks back to Macaque.

“Nothing…”

The shadow raises a brow, amused. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and Wukong can’t help but lean down and kiss him again. Shaky hands find his heavenly body, hesitant at first before they comfortably settle over him, dragging down his back and chest. The king doesn’t bother trying to hide the way his tail wags this time, overcome by the warmth of Macaque’s arms winding around him.

It’s a comforting feeling, finally being held by him. Desperate fingers grip into the fur of Wukong’s back, clutching tightly, like he’s afraid Wukong will vanish the moment he lets go. Vulnerability lays heavy in the flecks of Macaque’s eyes, and he seems torn, almost.

“Um… Mac? Are you-”

“Wukong.”

He says his name with such raw, unfiltered emotion that it nearly makes the king crumble. Something tugs at Wukong’s heartstrings, and he brings a hand up to cradle the warrior’s cheek. He presses into his hand the moment it makes contact, his own coming to rest atop Wukong’s. It fills his chest with that unidentifiable feeling, the one he was initially so wary of.

“You should… touch me, too,” He murmurs, moving Wukong’s hand further back. The king pauses immediately when his fingertips brush against a set of ears, hesitant.

When he looks back down to Macaque, though, he meets his gaze with unbidden trust. He feels weak under his gaze, not knowing whether the alcohol was spurring him to do this or not.

Gingerly, he brushes his fingers over the ears he’d wanted to touch so badly. Slowly, so Macaque can protest if he needs to. It had been centuries since he last felt them, but Wukong still remembers how to handle them.

“Just be careful with ‘em.”

“Mhm,” Wukong hums, running his thumb and forefinger gently over one, mapping it out under his touch. It gives a slow little flick in response. He wasn’t going to lose what they felt like a second time. “I didn’t forget.”

Macaque laughs weakly beneath him.

“You’re such a sap,” He sighs.

“Maybe I am.”

“I really did matter to you, huh?”

“You still do.”

He says it unthinkingly, before his thoughts have the chance to make him overthink and back out. Wukong fully means it, and he’s tired of second-guessing himself.

The warrior’s eyes widen.

“I… Wukong, I don’t know what to believe you on anymore,” He mutters, voice trembling.

Wukong’s heart breaks. He brings his hand back to Macaque’s cheek- there wasn’t anything he could say to comfort him. Instead, he just holds him closer. Presses his nose into the crook of his neck as he clutches at him, because Wukong was nothing more than a fallen king ruling over a kingdom of waste. All he wants is to make him feel better.

Macaque holds him closer, pressing one his hands to the back of Wukong’s head. It’s a wonderful, yet bittersweet feeling, being able to embrace him like this. Wukong truly believed he’d never be able to hold him like this ever again, having spent several years meditating just so he could come to terms with what he’d lost.

As Macaque embraces him, breathes into his shoulder, and clutches at Wukong’s hair, the king realizes that this was something he’d never be able to make peace with losing. No amount of meditation could bring him peace, and it hits him the hardest when he’s in Macaque’s arms like this.

A liar. That’s all he was to Macaque, and that’s all he ever would be in his eyes.

What could he do to remedy a mistake of such magnitude?

Wukong hadn’t a clue.

When the king pulls away, his eyes catch on Macaque’s torn one. It’s a cold, harsh reminder of his biggest regret in his long, long lifespan. And, whether he liked it or not, it was a part of Macaque for now until forever.

An idea forms in Wukong’s head.

He sheds his own glamors.

The scars of that horrid circlet form around his forehead, and his eyes run a deep crimson with sizzling irises of molten gold. Terrible, weathered scars marr his body, over the muscle of his chest and back.

Underneath him, Macaque’s eyes widen, looking from his forehead to his eyes.

“Wukong-”

“I know, been a while,” Wukong laughs lightly. “But you… don’t have to be alone in this,” He tries. Words and nonsense form a jumbled mess in his mind, leaving Wukong to desperately reach for the first few things that make sense to him.

And being with Macaque made sense to him.

Even after all this time.

One of Macaque’s hands come up, fingertips brushing against Wukong’s chin. The king unabashedly leans into his touch and presses his lips into his palm, crimson eyes boring earnestly into the warrior’s. Sure, this would normally be crossing the line but, well, Wukong’s quite certain they were already well past it as is. What was the harm in going a little further?

It feels right.

It feels right when his fingers brush against the scars of the circlet and press against the lines of Wukong’s body.

It feels right when he kisses him and holds him close.

And Wukong’s tired of questioning it.

“Wukong,” He calls again. The king will answer every time.

“Yeah?”

“I want you again.”

Wukong pulls away, meeting his gaze with concern.

“You sure? We don’t- I mean, if you’d rather talk, we can-”

His hand grabs at Wukong’s arm, gripping tightly at him.

“Please. I don’t wanna think anymore. Make me forget.”

The pain in his wavering voice tears Wukong to pieces.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m right here, Mac.”

The lines between the agreement and something else entirely are blurred further with each kiss and sigh. Those feelings Wukong had been carefully tucking away were alive and thriving inside of his celestial body, blossoming like flowers after a rainy day.

He doesn’t know what this was starting to edge into. Something new fuels the king as he leaves a trail of kisses over Macaque’s face and ears, something raw and indescribable. Colorful ears flick under his lips, turning red when Wukong catches them in his teeth.

“Easy, Wukong,” Macaque laughs lightly, cutting himself off with a weak moan.

“Been wanting to touch these for a while,” Wukong quietly admits, running a finger over the ears that had been taunting him for far too long and drinking in their beauty. Macaque had always been so needlessly self-conscious of them, but they were perfect to Wukong, just as the rest of him was.

One of Macaque’s hands find the back of Wukong’s head, pulling him closer for another kiss.

His hands run hotly over Wukong’s back and chest, tracing over the wicked scars of his celestial body and stirring up the embers of desire all over again inside of the king. They wind over his core, bringing him closer despite everything. Wukong’s no better, running his own over Macaque’s body as if it were his first time exploring familiar dark fur and flushed skin. The warrior purrs softly under him, a heated look in his eye.

With shaky legs, Macaque spreads himself wider under the king. A thick lump forms in Wukong’s throat at the sight of Macaque presenting himself to him. Cum spills from his hole like a flag on a conquered base. It’s a sight Wukong immediately commits to memory.

“C’mon, Wukong. I want you deeper.”

Fuck, Macaque was going to be the death of him. Wukong feels his face burn, heart caught in his throat, pounding relentlessly in his ears.

“Deeper, huh?” He rasps, voice unrecognizable to himself.

Before he can do anything, Macaque lifts himself up onto his arms, moving to turn over onto his stomach.

Wukong holds the warrior in place with a firm hand on his chest unthinkingly. With wide eyes, Macaque looks up at him, inquisitive. Wondering what Wukong will do next, but not with the borderline fearful anticipation from earlier, no.

Excitement.

“I want your eyes on me.”

That was the only place they belonged.

The warrior gives a slight nod, cheeks reddening. Obedient.

Wukong gets a handful of Macaque’s thighs in both hands, lifting them gently, then slowly pushes them up. Though his brows raise in realization, he makes no move to stop Wukong, instead laying back flat on the pillow as Wukong folds him over. He holds Macaque’s legs at the back of the knee, wondering absently if he’s flexible enough to pin them beside his head.

Now that was an image Wukong would gladly relinquish his title as ‘Great Sage, Equal to Heaven’ to create.

It was a deeply intimate position. Usually recognized as a breeding position, if he remembered correctly, and, judging by the hint of bashfulness in Macaque’s eye, Wukong had a sneaking suspicion that he was right.

The warrior laughs breathily underneath him, a faint shadow of his signature smirk playing on his lips. The bashfulness in his eyes is replaced by carnal fire, his tail sweeping mischievously beneath Wukong’s own. Moonlight falls over him, bathing him in a silvery glow.

Wukong settles over him, suddenly feeling a little shy as the warrior watches him shift with lust. He sits on his legs, lifting up powerful thighs and hooking Macaque’s knees over his shoulders. His cock twitches with excitement at the sight of Macaque splayed out before him like this, mussed fur spilling over the pillow.

Once he’s hard again, Wukong presses the tip at Macaque’s entrance, smirking to himself when his hole flutters around his length with anticipation. Too cute.

Sliding back into Macaque’s hot, tender insides for the second time does something to Wukong. Crimson eyes watch heatedly as his cock pushes his cum back into the warrior with a soft squelch. A groan is torn from the king’s throat, head spinning with the press of Macaque’s thighs on him and his hands gripping the fur on his back, beckoning him.

Beneath him, Macaque’s brows are pinched tightly together, nose scrunched once Wukong’s hips are flush against his ass.

“Am I hurting you?” Wukong whispers. Heady eyes look up at him, lidded and glossy, glowing over the red dusting his cheeks. He’s panting hard, breath hitching before he responds.

“No,” The warrior huffs. Wukong opens his mouth to protest, ready to chide Macaque for lying to him again, but he’s cut off.

“Fuck, you’re big.”

Wukong’s head drops between his shoulders, and he hisses through his teeth. That was not what he’d expected in response, but he will absolutely take it. He fights to keep his hips from jerking.

“Yeah?” He rasps, thrusting inside of the tight channel that waits for him. Lips brush over a set of ears, whispering hotly. “Do I fill you up real good?”

Macaque shivers, ears flicking between fangs.

“Yes, Wukong...”

“Thought so.”

Macaque is perfect around his length, clenching hard around him when he plunges back in like he never wants Wukong to leave. And when he gasps like that, well, Wukong might just overstay his welcome.

The king’s thighs burn from the slow pace he sets, but he doesn’t care. He’s come to realize that, despite his words, Macaque seems to like this more than their usual push and pull. And if he likes this more than the roughness he so eagerly shoved the sage into, then he’d happily oblige.

Beneath him, Macaque’s head flops back onto the pillow with a close-mouthed moan. That combativeness and anger have effectively melted away, leaving him nothing more than a whimpering mess splayed out before his king. He crosses his ankles behind Wukong, claws sinking into his shoulder blades, ready to paint lines into the canvas of Wukong’s back.

Before he even realizes what he’s doing, Wukong’s hand finds itself on Macaque’s cheek. Something soft sits pure within his amber eye, raw and whole. As Wukong thrusts deep into the warrior, his fingers trail over the pretty ears that flick at his touch. The six ears he hadn’t seen in centuries, presenting themselves in all their beauty after so many years of distrust and vindictiveness.

“Kiss me, Wukong,” He murmurs, and Wukong’s lips are on his in an instant.

He wonders if Macaque feels the same way he does. Whatever stirs inside of Wukong was a feeling vibrant and loud and colorful, something that demanded his full attention.

Macaque’s tail swishes beneath his own, before it slowly, almost shyly, wraps around his. It only serves to egg Wukong on, and he shifts inside of the warrior, determined to make him sing. Wukong is rewarded with a low moan on his lips, a wonderful sound that makes his dick throb. Macaque meets his thrusts with fervor, tossing his head back.

The prettiest shade of red dusts his cheeks and sweat rolls down the sides of his face. Puffy lips part around another moan, saliva glistening at the corner of his mouth as sizzling embers flicker in the scintillating amber of his eye. Inky black fur spills over the pillow, shimmering under the pale moonlight like a crown. Wukong’s king.

Wukong leans down, meeting the warrior in an open-mouthed kiss, their breaths mingling and tongues gliding against the other’s. It’s passionate and hungry, fueled by something more than lust.

The pace he sets is immensely gratifying, a divine drag of tight, velvety walls around his length. Like this, Wukong can really make him sing, evident in how Macaque’s face scrunches up with pleasure each thrust. Hot hands grip into the coarse ginger fur of his back, pointed claws biting at flesh. With a last possessive nip at his bottom lip, the king then moves to catch one of those delicate ears in his teeth and feels it flutter like a butterfly caught in a web.

It gets a delicious little “Ah!” out of the warrior, fingers trembling on Wukong’s back.

“That’s it,” Wukong encourages, lips brushing the sensitive thing, purring loudly. “Lemme hear you.”

Between kisses and heady sighs, Wukong loses himself, any ounce of self-preservation tossed out the window. Scarlet burns on his cheeks, red like his eyes, a pool of blood carrying a setting sun meeting Macaque’s as something primal falls over him.

There’s something so raw about seeing Macaque like this. Wukong never had the chance to see his scar in its entirety. It’s beautiful, twisted as it may sound, the way it winds and curls across his face. He’s honored, that Macaque hasn’t hidden it away from him, but also ashamed, knowing that, if it weren’t for his foolish actions, it would never be there in the first place.

Without really thinking, the king leans down, pressing soft kisses at the edges of the scar, hoping that could convey the caged words rattling around in his mind. Words he’s not even able to make out. The scar is rough under his lips, and Wukong knows this will by no means make up for what he’s done, but, when Macaque looks at him with such unbidden emotion, it’s easy to lose himself.

“Mac…” Wukong mumbles, maybe a bit too quietly, but, of course, Macaque hears him.

He doesn’t even know why he calls him, or what it is he wants to say. All he knows is that he needs him.

A shaky hand comes up to Wukong’s cheek, cupping his jawline and bringing him down for another kiss. It’s utterly sublime, the way his warrior kisses him. Passionately, and with something deeper laced into his tongue.

Wukong angles his hips once more, the head of his cock hitting that spot that drives Macaque crazy. Nails dig into his back, raking harsh lines down, but the sage hardly notices.

Heat simmers low in his gut, broiling with want and lust. The thighs pressed against his chest grow tense- Macaque’s close, too.

Between shaky breaths, Wukong’s hand comes up to the one on his cheek, taking it in his own. He pulls away from the kiss, licking his lips as he moves Macaque’s hand back down to the mattress, fingers sliding up his wrist.

With a heated look in his eyes of crimson, Wukong watches his warrior’s reaction intently as he teasingly drags his fingers up Macaque’s calloused palm, the contact nothing more than a teasing, slight brush. Slowly, he slots his fingers between Macaque’s and presses their hands together, purring at the look of bashfulness on the proud warrior.

“You like this, Mac?” He coos, voice wavering.

“I…” The shadow trails off, bottom lip quivering.

“I think you do,” Wukong teasingly continues.

The king’s other hand comes up to caress his neck, mouthing at his jawline. A little hesitantly, Macaque holds his hand tighter, fingertips brushing knuckles. And, oh, it does something to Wukong. Makes his hips stutter and makes his heart pound a little faster. Whatever this was, he wants more of it, that much he does know.

Pre drips from the head of Macaque’s dick, and as much as he’d would love to tend to him, he also wants to see if he can get him off without touching him. It brushes against his stomach and stains his fur with each thrust.

Wukong drags his eyes of crimson fire back up the strong, pliant body splayed out before him, inwardly preening at how he unravels underneath him so wholly, those tall, indestructible barriers shattering like glass one by one. The inner workings of Wukong’s mind dissolve, leaving him nothing more than a sentinel to protect that soft, exposed core.

“Mm, take it, pretty boy. I know you can,” Wukong coos, nearly losing his composure over the way Macaque’s insides flutter around him.

The king whispers his sweet nothings and honeyed promises into those sensitive ears, praises that melt Macaque and make him whimper. He cants onto Wukong with each smooth roll of his hips, thighs tensing on his chest; a cloudy realm of euphoria. The hand held under his own grips bruisingly, and his moans rise higher in pitch.

“Fuck- Oh, Wukong- Mm…” Sobs the warrior, gasping sharply.

“Yeah, just like that. So good for me…” Wukong trails off, panting hard as his release approaches rapidly and robs him of his last few coherent thoughts. There’s this pull in his chest, one that thrums with a sort of possessive glow. More than anything, Wukong craves his warrior, for why wouldn’t a king feel entitled to his knight?

“You’re mine. Isn’t that right?” He utters, placing his free hand on Macaque’s cheek and feeling his warmth beneath his palm. His copper eye, stellar under soft moonlight, meets his scarlet gaze with heavy lust and tenderness.

They were two ships lost at sea, but they had eachother.

And maybe that was enough.

“I… Yes, Wukong. All yours,” Macaque cries, the hand on his back pulling the sage in ever closer. His loud purring joins wanton moans.

“All mine,” Wukong murmurs, surging forward to taste those lips on his own once more.

Macaque shivers, legs clenching around Wukong’s body. The hand under his quivers before clenching tightly, nails curling into flesh. With a whimper on his lips, the warrior comes undone, breaking the kiss to toss his head back. He’s sizzling underneath Wukong’s, body aflame, but the king holds him ever closer, groaning at the claws pressing crescents into his back.

Pleasure wracks him, tarnishing his every thought.

All he wants it this.

Macaque spread out beneath him.

Embracing him.

Tenderness in his touch, kissing him in a way Wukong’s never been kissed before.

Sweetly, almost.

Macaque whines, gasping for air, but he still finds it in himself to unlatch his claws on Wukong’s back, dragging it over his body and up to his face. Wukong crumbles under his touch like this, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. A longing feeling pulses in his chest, trapped and clawing at the walls.

A warm hand finds Wukong’s cheek, bringing him down for another kiss. He’d give him as many as he liked.

The king finally spills with a throaty sigh, high on Macaque’s scent, his kiss, his warmth. And, as he rides through the dense fog of lust, there’s a distinct lack of the wildfires and fireworks brimming throughout his divine body. No, it’s more than that- it’s just him, Macaque, and the moonlight.

Breathing heavily, Wukong pulls away, body wrung out. Panting, he slowly eases Macaque’s legs back down to his sides- they must be sore already. Cum stains the warrior’s stomach and chest, his cock softening. Gingerly, Wukong pulls out of him, brows knitted from the overstimulation on his sensitive cock.

Once he’s out, Wukong’s eyes drag down Macaque’s boneless form, catching on his abused hole, leaking with two rounds worth of cum. It’s a sight, truly, one Wukong’s sure he’d be able to appreciate a little more if he weren’t so entirely used up.

Weakly, Macaque’s hand brings him back down, pulling him in for another kiss, fingers twirling through mussed ginger fur. Wukong presses one last soft kiss on his reddened, puffy lips, warmth spreading throughout his core at the satisfied purring of the warrior. He moves to pull away, but Macaque’s hand holds firm onto his own and prevents him from leaving.

“Uh, M’gonna need you to let me go, Mac,” Wukong rasps, glancing from his caught hand to Macaque’s gaze.

The warrior blinks tiredly, a look of belated surprise finding his features. Suddenly, he seems a little bashful, releasing Wukong’s hand as he petulantly turns away with a blush sitting high on his cheeks, his purring ceasing immediately. The sage pulls away from him, feeling the tail wound tightly around his own untangle hastily.

Wukong flops gracelessly beside him, staring unfocused at the ceiling as the frantic hammering of his stone heart rings clarity over him.

What the hell just happened?

That’s never happened before, not in all their time since starting this agreement.

Neither of them brought up the past like that- not so directly, anyways. If the past ever was brought up, it was done through a light, mostly harmless jab amidst otherwise fine conversation and usually nothing more.

But Macaque was so undeniably forward and visibly distraught over it that it froze him. Wukong didn’t even know what to say, and by the time he’d finally gathered himself, it was just a bit too late.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

Macaque shifts beside him, panting hard as he sits up. Sweat rolls down the sides of his face, and his fur Is beyond fixing. He looks down at the bedsheets with this expression Wukong just can’t quite decipher, eyes unfocused. Silence settles between them, and Wukong crosses his arms behind his head as crimson eyes find the warrior. His stained chest rises and falls when he breathes, still seeming… troubled. Light flashes outside, and the first drops of rain begin to tap against the window. Six ears swivel and flutter at the rumbling sounds of a storm in the distance.

With a heavy sigh, Macaque smooths down his wild mane, brows furrowed with a complicated expression, staring hard at the blankets as if they would tell him whatever it was he wished to hear. The shadow purses his puffy lips and turns away, shying from Wukong’s gaze.

Something hangs in the air between them. Wukong isn’t quite able to make out what it is that’s suddenly so heavy about the atmosphere now, but he feels a shift. Whether it’s a good or bad shift, he doesn’t know.

“I should go,” The shadow suddenly mumbles, barely loud enough for Wukong to hear, yet he makes no move to leave. Macaque avoids Wukong’s eyes, still staring at the bedsheets bashfully. Shameful, almost. Soundless lightning flashes over him before the darkness of the room settles again.

Wukong’s stomach drops upon hearing that.

That was the last thing he wanted Macaque to do- not after what just happened. This wasn’t like their usual petty banter or argument, and he certainly wasn’t going to treat it as such.

Plus, the thought of Macaque leaving right now was just unbearable. Panic overtakes the sage when the warrior begins to shuffle, moving to leave. Before he swings his feet over the edge of the bed, Wukong stops him with the request that had been aggravatingly stuck in his throat for a good while now, forcing the words out.

“Or- y’know, you could stay.”

He blurts it out before he thinks too hard about it.

Macaque is quiet for far too long, and Wukong begins to believe that, blessedly, he might not have heard him. Rain raps hard against the window now, going from a light drizzle to full-on storming. The wind howls outside, whistling and whipping wildly in the storm, and Wukong can practically hear how cold it’s become outside.

“Fine. Just until I can get up again,” Macaque agrees, voice hoarse. He lays back down with a heavy sigh, and they both know that he won’t be getting up for the rest of the night. Relief settles over the king at his decision to stay.

Wukong feels cold, empty and ashamed after what just happened, like he’d fallen into a lake of frozen water. Having Macaque just be there was enough to make him feel a little bit better.

A distant ache sits in the king’s chest as he sits up, grimacing at the mess on himself. Macaque was probably worse off.

Heaving a sigh of his own, he reaches to the bedside table, pulling out a small towel. Wukong pulls the covers away from Macaque, who only meets his eyes distrustingly when Wukong brings the towel over his thigh.

Looks like the walls were back up.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning you up, obviously.”

Macaque huffs, turning away. “I can do it myself.”

“Uh, yeah, I know you can. Just lemme do it this time,” Insists the king.

A set of ears flick irritably and his tail thumps on the bed with visible irritation, but Macaque otherwise doesn’t protest further.
 
He cleans him up. Swipes the towel over cum-stained fur on his stomach and chest, then down to his entrance, as gentle as he can possibly be. Macaque whines when he has to clean around his hole, no doubt still sensitive. The king brushes over the messy black fur once more, being as thorough as possible- he knew how Macaque was about his fur.

Then, he’s finished. Granted, there wasn’t much he could do about the spend staining his sheets, but that wasn’t anything new. Wukong hastily cleans himself up before tossing the towel onto the floor. He could deal with the cleaning tomorrow.

The warrior pulls the blankets over himself, back facing him as he turns away again. It stings, but Wukong’s not sure what he expected. Or why he even expected anything different to begin with.

“…Thanks,” Mumbles the warrior, a bit awkwardly.

“Mhm.”

The king covers himself, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning onto his pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling.

This was getting dangerous.

His intention was never to make Macaque feel like that, but, unfortunately for him, it looks like Macaque was still grieving over the past. Grieving over the awful person he used to be, the person who turned on his closest, most cherished friend.

And he had every right to. Wukong was hurt by Macaque, too. Even takes some time off just to mourn their past friendship just as much as Macaque did on quiet, somber nights. They’d tormented the other in the past, and they could only keep sweeping it under the rug for so long.

However, nothing Macaque had done to him just couldn’t compare to the grand-scale atrocity of his murder.

Guilt bubbles like bile in his gut. Those repressed feelings, dormant after many long centuries, begin to surface after being forced deep into the trenches of his subconscious for so long. Old scars had been mercilessly reopened, bleeding out and as agonizingly painful as when he’d first gotten them.

The king glances at the shadow’s form again.

And yet, despite everything, he really wants to hold him.

Well, truthfully, Wukong had been wanting to hold him for a while.

But it was especially true now.

Wukong grimaces to himself, directing his gaze back to the ceiling. This was exactly what he was afraid of. He didn’t want to be so hopelessly drawn to Macaque like some lost puppy. Macaque was a living, breathing reminder of his own past failures and constant broken promises. He ruined his life. Permanently altered it in such an unforgivable, cruel, and twisted way. It left the last few shreds of their friendship in tatters, never to be put back together again. A puzzle with only a handful of pieces.

He was falling too deep now. It was in his best interest to leave while he still can, to go sleep on the couch in the living room before this festers any further. Spare Macaque for once, instead of take it out on him, like he always seemed to.

Again, Wukong can’t help but look at the other from the corner of his eye. the shadow’s back is turned to him, sleeping soundly, blankets rising and falling with each breath. After being so close to him, the king can’t help but feel a little cold now.

Scarlet eyes find the ceiling, pensive. Macaque still feels so far away from him despite being right there. So much had just happened, yet it all seemed to amount to absolutely nothing in the end.

This was a problem- Wukong didn’t want all of this to amount to nothing. He wants it to mean something.

Despite every reason in the world suggesting otherwise, he can’t find it in himself to leave. It just didn’t feel right.

An anxious black tail lashes an agitated path over his.

What he really wants is to make Macaque feel better. A monumental task, considering he himself was the root of his woes. But one Wukong is willing to commit to, no matter how long it takes.

He shifts onto his side, facing the warrior. It’s a simple request his body asks of him, to just hold the warrior protectively under his arm and shield him instead of turn on him the way he once did. Wukong would let his holy body shrivel away like the last leaf of autumn if it meant protecting Macaque from further harm.

Tapping a finger quietly against the mattress, Wukong thoughtfully watches raindrops run down the window. The question rings over and over like a mantra in his head, but he just can’t seem to form the words aloud.

He opens his mouth, heart racing. This shouldn’t be that difficult. Why was he so… nervous?

“Mac,” He mutters, forcing the words out.

“What.”

“Can I, uh… Can I hold you?”

No response.

Macaque’s head turns slightly in dubious questioning, but Wukong still can’t quite see his face.

“Uh- Just for tonight!” He immediately backpedals over a nervous laugh. “We don’t have to if-”

“Sure.”

The king blinks, anxiety rising. So blunt and straight to the point.

Scooting closer, Wukong’s chest finds Macaque’s back, shuffling a bit awkwardly as he presses their bodies together. The warrior stiffens underneath him, relaxing once he finds his place. The king entangles their legs together and soaks up his warmth like a field of flowers to the sun. He stretches his arm over the shadow’s body, swiftly repositioning his hand when it makes contact with Macaque’s own.

It’s as pleasant as Wukong knew it’d be. He was kind of starting to feel a little pathetic, alone in his room after Macaque would leave, wishing he was there to cuddle. He’s elated to hold him, even if he was kind of hoping to have a smoother way of leading up to it. Maybe even romantic.

He doesn’t want to push it aside anymore and pretend it didn’t exist. Wukong was definitely feeling something for the flighty warrior. Something he knew damn well he didn’t have the vocabulary to even begin trying to piece together, but the feelings, he did know, easily identifiable after having felt them for over a millenia in the past.

What he felt for Macaque was something akin to sitting near a fireplace on a cold winter’s day, huddled in a thick blanket and sipping hot cocoa. Like seeing the moon and stars reflect over calm waters, forming a cosmic soup on the surface.

Only thing was, did Macaque feel the same?

Wukong’s tail swishes slowly over Macaque’s again- an invitation. Hoping the warrior will accept the offer and twist their tails together again. He doesn’t, though, just gives it a little flick before it settles beside Wukong’s. Not outright rejection, but not acceptance, either.

That feeling stirs inside of the king again, loud and overwhelming, the one that was the root cause of his stupid, drunken jealousy towards the monk. Louder still when he watches the endearing way Macaque’s ears twitch at the sounds of rain on the window.

He wants to let this feeling grow, to nurture it. To trust it.

And that was his first mistake.

Because the last time he trusted this feeling…

It flashes through his mind in an instant- old, rotted memories of blood spurting into the air, the wicked crunch of bones. Desperate, unholy cries begging, pleading for Wukong to stop, but he didn’t, only continued his rampage with an animalistic viciousness, fought until the cries stopped, until the body stopped. Macaque’s last breath was ripped from bruised lungs, and he became a lifeless body under Wukong’s hands, his eye, the one that hadn’t been torn out, glossed over.

The centuries after Macaque’s death passed by Wukong, each year no different than seconds ticking on a clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock, each meaningless year passed without his moon. He remembers being locked in a haze. Head always a little foggy and guilt infesting him with every breath taken. Sometimes he could still hear his voice, a fleeting sound in the wind. That signature red cape he wore was always in Wukong’s possession, and he remembers the way he cried when the scent of his former friend began to fade. Wukong had fallen to his knees, desperately clutching the cape stained with the blood of his closest friend, sobbing helplessly into the fabric. Pleading with any higher being above to at least let him keep the scent he’d so foolishly taken for granted.

He remembers that he’d stare unfocused at his own empty shadow, just letting his mind drift. Some part of Wukong still didn’t want to believe that he was really gone. That it was his fault. He had even tried talking to it, trying to coax Macaque out of the shadows the way he once did in their first meeting, when his heart was still whole.

Thunder rumbles loudly outside, tearing Wukong from those horrid memories. Memories that brought upon shame and deepest regret in his person. He’d let his anger consume him until it led him to killing someone he once cherished so deeply. Macaque would live with this burden forever- a permanent scar- and there was nothing Wukong could do to fix it, to fix him.

Wukong hooks his arm underneath the warrior’s own, pressing his palm against the expanse of his chest and feeling it expand with every breath he takes. His heart beats blood of a second life, and his wounds have all but been mended. Fingers trace over the faded scars of his body.

He’s happy Macaque’s here. Happy to breathe his scent in again, the one he won’t make the mistake of taking for granted a second time.

Wukong’s a different person now.

And he wants to prove that to him.

Slowly, Macaque begins to unwind under his touch, and his breathing relaxes. He yawns and shifts, moving a little closer into the king.

Wukong wonders if he’s okay. What happened earlier wasn’t normal, not for either of them. They rarely ever brought up the past like that, not in any matter that wasn’t used as an emotional weapon. But Macaque had to have been deeply upset to confront Wukong about it like that.

And still might be.

The king wants to ask, but he also doesn’t want to risk pushing him away. He knows how Macaque is. After tonight, the chance of him bringing what happened up was a flat zero. He couldn’t wrench it out of him if he tried. Macaque will just act like everything’s gone back to normal, sweep it under the rug, and pretend this never happened, because that’s exactly how he is.

Wukong won’t get another chance.

“Mac?”

“Mm.”

“Um, are you… like, is everything okay?”

Just like that, the body soft beneath him tenses again. Wukong’s certain he’s about to be shoved aside, or that his former friend will tear away from his hold just to get away from him. Thankfully, neither happen.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Wukong’s brows furrow. He feels a pang in his chest.

“It feels better if you do, y’know.”

“I don’t want to, Wukong,” He reaffirms, a little more firmly this time.

The king sighs. It was worth a shot.

For whatever it’s worth, he instead rubs soothingly at Macaque’s arm, gingerly carding his fingers through tousled dark fur and smoothing it down. He’ll let it go for now because he wants him to stay, but, as much as he doesn’t want to, they’d need to talk about this.

For the moment, though, Wukong kind of just wants to cuddle. He’d been itching to for a while now, and, even if the circumstances weren’t the best, he’ll still relish the press of Macaque’s body on his own regardless. Maybe after tonight, they’d be able to do this more often.

“Uh… Wukong?” He hears Macaque ask, barely audible.

“Mhm.”

“Um…” He starts, tail flicking anxiously over Wukong’s. His heartbeat picks up under his hand.

Macaque doesn’t answer for a long while. The storm rages overhead, rain tapping at the window, shadows of rain droplets dancing over the both of them. The warrior seems a little nervous, his finger tapping lightly against the mattress as he tries to piece together whatever it is he wants to say.

“I’m sorry.”

The king’s eyes shoot open, expecting anything but that.

“What I said earlier wasn’t true. None of it was. I didn’t really mean any of it, I was just…”

Wukong raises his head, looking to the warrior over his shoulder. His bottom lip trembles, and he seems to trip over his words, a knot caught in his throat. He turns away from Wukong’s gaze.

“Ahh, don’t worry ‘bout it. I didn’t mean any of it, either,” Wukong murmurs, hand moving from Macaque’s chest to his arm, rubbing comfortingly and brushing through his fur with his fingers.

“…I'm surprised you didn’t get angry at me. Y’know that’s what I was trying to do, right? Piss you off?” Macaque mutters, relaxing minutely under his touch.

“Um, yeah… I know.”

He tenses in response, on the defensive.

“You know? Not like you to resist bait, Wukong,” Was his reply, accompanied by a stiff little snicker.

Wukong frowns. Normally falling back into their usual song and dance was pretty painless. They’d said plenty of hurtful things to the other, only for it to all be (mostly) washed down the drain after sex.

But he… doesn’t want to fall back into that line. Even if it was the easier option.

The easier option wasn’t always the right one, though.

Steeling himself, the sage musters up the emotional strength needed to force the words he wants to say out.

“I was angry. But, when I saw you were upset, I kinda… just wanted to make you feel better.”

“…Oh.”

“Um… yeah,” Wukong murmurs, nuzzling into dark fur. Gods, he was so bad at this. Inwardly, he can’t help but wish he had a script full of all the right words that could comfort Macaque. Even after all of that, Macaque’s walls were still standing tall, looming over him. A cold reminder that Wukong would never get to that tender interior ever again.

“You mean that, Wukong? You’re not just messing around?” Macaque mutters, a rawness in his voice. Sharp claws sink anxiously into the mattress, almost like he expects Wukong to immediately take his words back.

“I mean it.” 

I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.

“And, uh…” He continues, a bit awkwardly. “I’m sorry, too. For what I said.”

“Mm.”

It’s quiet again.

An auburn tail flicks over a black one as Wukong carefully picks out the words he wants to say next.

“Um… T-Tomorrow, uh- I think maybe we should… y’know. Talk.”

Macaque’s tail twitches oddly.

“Okay.”

“Uh…” He trails off, not really knowing why he chose to speak again, but still feeling the need to say something and fill this odd air.

“For tonight, though, um… You did good,” Hums the sage, a bit stiffly, but sincere. Fingers brush feather-light touches over the rough scars over the expanse of a broad chest. Macaque chooses not to respond this time, and, admittedly, it stings a little.

A lump forms in Wukong’s throat, and his chest feels tight. Tonight had been a lot for both of them. Macaque had never been angry enough to act like that. And Wukong was caught so completely off guard that he didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do.

Macaque’s outrage was entirely justified. Wukong couldn’t make excuses for himself- it happened, and he was the cause of it. He doesn’t want to tiptoe around it anymore, not if it’s going to do this to him.

Now the question was, how was he going to bring this up…?

Dread fills him at the mere thought.

Through the sound of heavy rainfall and thunder, Wukong hears something a bit out of place. Underneath his palm, he feels Macaque’s chest hiccup, then hears the soft, unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

His stomach drops.

Macaque was crying.

Wukong opens his mouth to scrounge up some haphazard consolation, immediately thinking better of it. No, the instant Macaque became aware that Wukong knew he was crying, he’d lose him. It was like that before, too. For as long as they’ve known the other, moments of weakness were few and far between, but, ultimately, inevitable. He had a bad habit of hiding himself away, crying quietly so as to go largely unnoticed.

But Wukong always notices.

Maybe there was a time where he, the only one allowed to, would thumb away Macaque’s tears and make him laugh them away. He’d hold his warrior close much like this and purr to soothe him. Cradle him as if he were something precious while Macaque rode out the storm, huddled away from the noise. Even well after the crying had stopped, Wukong would hold his crumbling frame together until the warrior was ready, each time just a little longer than the last.

And though it may not be like that anymore, it doesn’t stop that pull inside of the king, the one that demands for him to do something.

Wukong decides to do what always worked for them. He cradles him and holds him together. Purrs and squeezes his arm reassuringly. Each hushed sniffle drives a stake through the king, and Wukong wishes so badly that he could do something more. But if he tries, Macaque will leave, no ‘ifs’, ‘ands’, or ‘buts’ about it.

The king rubs at Macaque’s arm, pursing his lips as tears of his own prick his eyes. Guilt chews away at him and corrodes his skin.

For what it’s worth, Macaque does seem to settle down, at least a little bit. His hand moves to his face, wiping away tears, no doubt. Wukong wonders to himself how many times Macaque had to wipe away his own tears by himself.

The king sighs into dark fur, idly running a finger through the strands as his mind wanders.

They’d both made mistakes. Many, many mistakes that resulted in one hurting the other.

But, at the end of the day, they still found eachother. Always in the other’s orbit.

Wukong didn’t have a proper answer when Susu asked him about why he still chose to see Macaque back then. Even now, he still didn’t really have one. There was just this irresistible magnetism to the shadow that he just couldn’t ignore.

Either way, the king was starting to think that maybe this was the time to start repairing old, beaten bridges.

The past week without him was full of uncertainty and doubt. Even if it was just a week without Macaque, that vile feeling from before was starting to resurface, the one that shook Wukong to his very core. That one that made the years pass by in a blur, made the sun and moon dart overhead at too fast a pace. Now that he’s here, though, it feels like his worries have mostly melted away.

Replaced by new ones, of course, because it was never that easy.

The king sighs heavily, shutting his eyes. His tail swishes over Macaque’s, still hopeful.

For now, though, he’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Being woken up at such an odd hour and Macaque had well worn him out, not to mention his frantic, rampant thoughts frenzying about every corner of his mind. He puts his thoughts in a box and shoves it aside to be opened for tomorrow, when he’s more awake to sift through his overwhelming emotions a little more carefully.

Wukong sighs into the nape of Macaque’s neck, the warm scent of plums lulling him to sleep and washing away his worries. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words just couldn’t seem to come together and string together anything coherent. Wukong just hopes he was able to convey something, anything, through his actions.

Something to let Macaque know that he wasn’t that person anymore, that he truly regretted his decisions, that he still cared even if he pretended not to.

He brings his hand over the front of Macaque’s chest, feeling scars run beneath his palm. His heart beats at a relaxed pace, full of vitality. The king focuses on that to calm himself and quiet his loud mind, soothed by his presence. Gods, he hopes they’ll be able to cuddle again.

It makes him happy. Happy to know that his warrior was here with him, in this very moment. Drifting on a cloud, just the two of them. Wukong makes sure to savor it this time. Cherishes the way Macaque’s chest expands under his palm, the rhythmic sweeping of his tail over their entangled legs, the charming little quiver of his ears.

He shuts his eyes, letting his tail rest atop Macaque’s. It takes a moment, but the tired shadow’s tail tentatively finds Wukong’s, intertwining loosely. The sage purrs unabashedly, pressing just a few more light kisses onto his neck. Though it’s drowned out by the fading rain, Wukong feels the slow, quiet rumble of Macaque’s own purring under his palm.

Wukong’s never felt more at ease, despite everything. Things might be a little tense in the morning, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself in the present.

Just as he falls into the lull of sleep, he feels hesitant fingers over the back of his hand. They drag up his knuckles, pausing for a moment before lacing between his own fingers, warm and comforting.

Eventually, the storm that raged between the two will give way to light as well.

Outside, the storm’s quieted down, black clouds dissipating.

Rain falls quietly as a sunlit smile hides inside of their little haven.

The moon is just barely in sight.

Chapter Text

When Macaque awakens, he’s met with an overbearing warmth. A warmth that pressed flush against him, soft and welcoming. Sunlight trickles in through the slits of the closed curtains, vibrant rays dancing over him. As the fog of sleep begins to slowly lift, he’s greeted by the sounds of a strong, steady heartbeat and the tranquil sounds of leaves rustling.

His ears flick, and he burrows closer into the heat surrounding him. Noise wasn’t usually part of his wake-up routine, but he found that it actually wasn’t so bad. If anything, it was relaxing. Quiet enough to soothe him, but not loud enough to overwhelm such sensitive ears. A nice in-between, a rarity for such a wide range of hearing.

Slowly, his eyes blink open, bleary. Six ears twitch and flutter at the distant sounds of chimps chittering, pulling in breaths from every corner of Flower Fruit Mountain, and the serene dripping of fresh morning dew falling from leaves. It’s as wonderfully pleasant as it was unfamiliar- but Macaque’s not as opposed to it as he thought he’d be. Neither was he so opposed to the all-encompassing warmth engulfing his typically cold body.

His nose twitches, short fur tickling the end.

Macaque tenses.

Fur was new, too.

Reality begins to dawn on him- he’d fallen asleep at Wukong’s, wrapped up with toned arms cradling his head and his forehead pressed into his chest. Macaque’s arm flops over the king’s torso, and he moves to hold his bare hip, debating on pushing him away in his state of surprise.

Once he hears the soft sound of snoring above him and feels Wukong nuzzling into the top his head, though, it’s all over. Macaque rests his arm back over his sleeping form, tail flicking absently over the king’s.

Sober thoughts wash over him, accompanied by a pounding headache that pulses right behind his eyes. This wasn’t good- it wasn’t supposed to get as bad as it did last night.

What was supposed to happen was a fight, the vicious kind meant to reset everything between them and bulldoze their progress, because Macaque was tired of him pretending like he cared. They’d seethe, spill blood, then tear and gouge the other’s hearts out before creating their grotesque masterpiece. A masterpiece consisting of a muted, dull palette, lacking the typical vibrant, enthralling colors that Wukong so effortlessly splashes across the canvas.

Or some poetic bullshit like that.

But Wukong didn’t follow his script- it seemed like he never did. He had his own agenda and his own lines, fabricated on the spot. A directionless performance spurred by nothing more than a lick and a whim.

Instead of getting pissed off at him, the king held Macaque’s hellish flame closer to put it out. He was tender and attentive, even bore his truest self to Macaque after the shadow so cruelly did the same moments before to gain some sick, twisted upper hand. He took him apart slowly and whispered the secrets of the universe to him, a deep, earnest sincerity saturating his eyes of molten gold. Gold ignited in fiery crimson, a gaze of wildfires and promises melting Macaque like a lit candle.

And Macaque believed him.

He still does.

Hesitantly, he holds Wukong a little closer, relishing his warmth and scent of peaches. Macaque takes a moment to breathe him in, to take some comfort in the fact that he was finally able to cuddle with him. It brings such deep-seated nostalgia and calms the storm in his mind, the simpleness of being wrapped up almost protectively in Wukong’s arms.

Strong arms connected to a body ravaged by centuries of war and battle, with each scar telling its own story. Those arms, used to tear the heavens apart and shatter mountains, now embrace the warrior tenderly, like he’s a dandelion that will fall apart at the slightest breath.

The simpleness of it all shatters something profound in his psyche, a psyche so accustomed to hostility and adrenaline that something as meaningless as this reduces it to ashes. Macaque’s heart feels hollow, and his mind feels numb.

And yet, he’s never been more at peace.

The shadow sighs, dread filling his stomach.

He should leave. Macaque’s aware enough to know that these feelings mean, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d admit that, not even to himself. Not to mention, he really wasn’t keen on talking to Wukong about last night. Not even a little bit.

Holding his breath, he starts inching away, moving at a snail’s pace so as to not jostle the sleeping king too much. He places a hand on Wukong’s shoulder, slowly but surely peeling himself away. As he reaches to pry away the arm cradling his head, though, the snoring suddenly stops.

Macaque freezes.

“…Mac? You awake?”

Macaque tenses, the arms around his head flexing when they stretch. Wukong’s breath tickles his hair, curling closer into him and effectively erasing all of his progress with a nuzzle that makes his mind go blank.

“Um… Yeah,” He resigns, mumbling into Wukong’s chest, “I’m awake.”

Fingers start to run a path through obsidian hair, brushing it lazily.

“Mornin’,” Mumbles Macaque.

“Morning,” He croaks, voice ragged with sleep.

The king starts purring softly, pulling away from Macaque to look down at him. Scarlet eyes glow faintly, half-open and fighting off sleep. Even wracked with drowsiness, Wukong manages a small, but sincere smile, his hand moving to touch a set of ears. It’s a gesture he can’t help but lean into, lost in the way gentle fingers caress each one.

He runs a thumb and forefinger over the length of an ear before his hand wanders, the backs of calloused fingers brushing against Macaque’s jawline. They explore the planes of his face, memorizing the feel of his skin and fur, the curve of his cheek. Fondness sits in the golden pools of Wukong’s eyes, fading into a somber pensiveness as hesitant fingertips edge the lines of a scar inflicted by a fallen king, never quite touching the torn skin. How funny, that their history of battles and sharp-tongued insults were never enough to make Macaque want to fall to his knees, but this was.

“M’not gonna break if you touch it, Wukong,” He mutters.

Interestingly, he doesn’t seem to have anything to say in response. Wukong fixes Macaque this tender look before running his thumb over it, his touch feather-light before he starts to trace the edges with a finger.

With a sigh, Macaque melts into the touch, and the thought of leaving slides to the back of his mind. His eyes fall closed, and suddenly he’s back to those times where Wukong would dress his wounds, ever so carefully. Fretting over him and doting on him as if the thing wouldn’t heal in just a few hours. A purr rumbles from Macaque, and when he opens his eyes, red eyes bore into his, heartfelt and solemn. It’s that expression again, the one he’s been seeing more often on Wukong as of late.

“What’s that look for…?” He murmurs.

Wukong’s brows furrow.

“I…”

He closes his mouth, opens it, then closes it again. Whatever it was that he was trying to say seemed to be bigger than words, something neither of them were very good at communicating. Raw, unbridled emotion swirls in the sage’s eyes, brimming with unspoken promises.

The king leans down instead, pressing a soft, almost apologetic kiss over the warrior’s scarred eyelid. Without his glamor, Macaque can’t feel his lips against his shattered eye, but the gesture alone is enough to leave this immense, weighted emotion surging through him. Birds chirp in the distance, but, for once, Macaque’s not focused on hearing every little heartbeat of the world around him.

Warmth spreads throughout his chest. When Wukong pulls away, the shadow holds his body closer and kisses him, still purring quietly. Fingers card through his hair before resting on his cheek, an auburn tail lazily swishing over his legs.

It’s a kiss sweeter than honey, and it ends much too soon. Wukong pulls away, petting through his mane before he looks down at himself and grimaces.

“Agh, gross- I’m all sticky everywhere,” He gripes, removing his arm from Macaque to sourly grimace at the state of his blanketed body. Now that he’s mentioned it, though, when the shadow shifts his leg, he feels the fur on his thighs pull uncomfortably, sticky with spend.

Wukong rubs at his eyes using the heels of his palms.

“We should take a bath. I’m definitely not going the rest of my day like this.”

He says that, but makes no move to get up, rubbing at Macaque’s back instead. The shadow huffs, brows furrowing at the implication that they’d bathe together, that he’d have to be here longer than planned. Macaque was already supposed to leave last night, and that sure as hell didn’t happen, either. Any other day, he’s sure he’d agree to a bath with Wukong, but this wasn’t any other day, this was the day he’d have to deal with questions he didn’t want to answer. The questions he was deathly afraid of.

He needs to leave.

The king shuffles off of the bed, hastily throwing on the first pair of pants he sees. Macaque sits up, watching him nearly fall over in his attempt to put the clothing on properly and contemplating how he should say his trademarked sassy goodbye without seeming too obvious as to why he was leaving.

…Though, to be fair, leaving altogether was already obvious enough as it was.

Whatever.

“Hey- you afraid of a bath, or something?” Wukong teases lightheartedly over a smirk. Macaque’s tail flicks, and his eyes flit up to meet Wukong’s, alight with playful challenge, “C’mon. I’ll even use my special flea shampoo I saved juuust for you.”

‘Flea shampoo’. How insulting.

The warrior snickers at that, throwing off the blankets. Who was he to ignore a direct attack on his ego? New plan: he’d stay for a bath at the very least. He’d need to take one regardless, so he figures there’s no harm in just taking it here in Wukong’s little abode. So long as Wukong didn’t try or say anything funny, then it was all good, right? He’ll stay just a little longer.

“Pfft, is there even any left?” Macaque easily counters, “Figured you’d have used it all up by now.”

Wukong waits for him in the doorway, and Macaque shuffles off of the bed, not bothering to put on his pants just to take them off again. The sage offers his hand as he approaches, and Macaque takes it without a second thought. Absently, he wonders at what point holding hands with Wukong began to stray from feeling taboo to natural.

“Yeah, right. You need it way more than I do,” He retorts without missing a beat, rubbing his thumb over scarred knuckles.

He walks him to the bathroom, shutting the door and starting up the water. Macaque yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes as Wukong drizzles soap into the rising water. As the tub fills, clouds of steam and flowery-scented bubbles rise into the air. The shadow unhurriedly eases himself in, soaking his fur with a content little sigh and relishing the way heated water wraps around his tired joints.

He relaxes against the slope of the tub, glancing at Wukong, who just stands there a bit awkwardly. Fiddling his thumbs like he’s awaiting explicit permission to join him.

“Well? Get in if you’re gonna,” Macaque ushers, waving him over.

“Oh- uh… yeah.”

Wukong tosses his pants aside, then, in a rather humorously stiff little show, eases himself into the soapy water. He sits with his back facing Macaque and his legs crossed, shutting off the spout when the tub is deemed full enough. Without the running water, the bathroom becomes a lot more quiet, aside from the rhythmic drip, drip, drip from the faucet.

Macaque’s tail accidentally brushes against Wukong’s, and they’re both quick to move them away. It’s… a bit awkward, actually. A bathtub wasn’t exactly the most spacious thing for two people to fit in. Wukong reaches for one of the bottles lined on the rim, and Macaque supposes he should start doing the same so he can get out his house before the questions happen.

Just as he’s about to reach for a colored bottle of body wash, Wukong’s voice stops him.

“Hey, Mac?”

“Uh, yeah?”

He looks at him over his shoulder.

“Turn around. Lemme clean you up.”

That stirs up that curious warmth inside of Macaque all over again. He feels his cheeks burn and heartbeat quicken. Gods, he feels so much like that fool he was years ago, the one who could never say “no” to Wukong.

And, as he turns himself around, Macaque figures some things never change.

The king shifts closer behind him, crossed legs pressing against the base of his tail. The sound of a bottle snapping open causes colorful ears to flick in response, and hot hands press onto the back of his shoulders. Warmth pulses inside of the warrior’s chest at the contact, and he finds himself leaning into the touch as the scent of lavender fills the air.

Strong hands run over the taut muscle of his back and over the scars, dipping into the water as Wukong works the soap into thick layers of fur. He’s thorough in his ministrations, running his palms over Macaque’s back, arms, and waist. Massaging tightly-wound muscle and unwinding the hard knots.

Wukong cards tenderly through his fur, dragging his hands further up to scratch pleasantly over his scalp. It’s a wonderful feeling, one that makes Macaque completely melt. His eyes fall closed as the king lavishes him with attention, sighing contentedly. A finger meets the bottom of Macaque’s chin, tipping his head back a little more before warm water runs through his mane and washes the suds out.

This was heavenly.

He hears Wukong laugh softly behind him, ears flicking slowly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Uh- nothing,” The king denies a bit too quickly.

Macaque’s just about to brush it off before he realizes just how loudly he’s purring. Cheeks reddening, he forces himself to stop immediately.

“Aww, don’t stop, ya big softie,” Wukong teases lightheartedly, fingers combing through the fur of Macaque’s neck, “C’moon, it’s cute.”

“Ugh, shut up. And don’t call me cute,” He rolls his eyes, fighting a smile.

“C’mooon,” Wukong tries again, finger poking at Macaque’s cheeks before it gets swatted away.

The shadow huffs, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He shifts, settling between Wukong’s legs. Warm water sloshes between them, and he brings his knees up, resting his chin on them. As Wukong’s fingers clean the suds out once more, Macaque’s eyelids droop, his soft purring starting to pick up again.

He knows he needs to leave, but gods, he just wants to indulge in this a moment more. This was intimate in a way they’ve never been before, and he’s quickly finding how much he likes it. The pleasant feeling of water coursing through his coat of fur, meticulous claws brushing delightfully over his skin, and the press of fingers over the curve of his shoulders.

“Mac,” Wukong mumbles, hands coming to a stop. They draw little circles, the way he always did when he was contemplating a question.

“Uhhh… Sooo, random question, but who grooms you?”

The warrior spares a curious glance over his shoulder, wondering where that question came from. Wukong’s feigning nonchalance, his crimson gaze unfocused on his back.

“I do it myself,” Macaque answers simply. He’s quite picky about how he presents his fur- who better to tend to it than himself? No one else could quite get it to the level of sheen or softness that he liked.

“Oh…” Wukong hums, a little sadly. The warrior can’t help but bristle a little, not sure why his answer garnered such a response from the king.

“Well, um…” He continues, “D’you think maybe I can groom it?”

Macaque blinks, surprised. Nervousness overtakes Wukong’s features, and he raises his hands with an awkward little laugh.

“Uh- Just this once! We don’t have to if-”

“I wasn’t gonna say ‘no’, Wukong,” The shadow affirms. Wukong had done that yesterday, too- backpedalled when he didn’t get an immediate response from Macaque after he asked him to cuddle. Gods, he wasn’t that keen on rejecting him.

“Oh- okay, so I can, orrr…?” He drags out, hands raised a little awkwardly over Macaque’s back, but not touching.

“Yes, Wukong. You’ve done it before. It’s not that big a deal.”

Foamy soap is rinsed from his mane and creates a blanket of suds atop the surface of the bathwater. Fingers slowly start to knead through his fur, nails combing through it. The king’s gentle with him, undoing the knots as he goes and picking out whatever he can find.

A comfortable silence falls over them. Water sloshes softly, and Macaque even starts to doze off under his ministrations, still a little drowsy. He feels like he’s in a spa.

“Uh… Mac? So, um…” Wukong starts. There’s a tone of seriousness in his voice, one that causes Macaque to tense with anticipation.

“Sooo… Last night.”

Macaque wants to tell him to just drop it before Wukong can even take another breath. Though he agreed to talk about it with Wukong today, he was also planning to be gone by now. Damn, he didn’t think this through.

“…Yeah?”

“Uh…” Wukong trails off, not seeming to know where to even begin with that absolute shitshow. In all honesty, Macaque wouldn’t know where to begin with that, either.

“Um, are you… okay?”

“I’m fine,” He answers automatically.

Wukong’s tail flicks, throwing water.

“Okay, uh, that went nowhere,” Wukong passive-aggressively mutters under his breath, “Where’ve you been, bud? Everyone’s been worried sick about you, y’know.”

“I- uh…” And here Macaque thought people were, ‘wasting their time’ worrying about him, according to Wukong. He tries to think up a lie as fast as humanly possible.

“And don’t try to lie your way out of it,” Wukong snaps, reading him like a book.

Well, there goes that idea.

“I wasn’t gonna,” He lies immediately, “Listen- I just needed some time to myself.” Macaque tries avoiding the question instead- Wukong didn’t need to know he was right about him being at home.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know that Wukong’s face contorts in scrutiny at his lame answer, accompanied by a harsh little huff.

“Too busy drinking yourself away, huh?”

“Just shut up,” He defensively seethes.

“Sorry,” Wukong quickly apologizes, “Still… not really over it.”

It’s… not the response Macaque anticipated. It’s certainly not unwelcome, though, and it settles the raging waters of tension inside of him.

Marginally.

“Oh… It’s fine.”

There’s that odd miasma filling the air again, the one that evokes such a strong feeling from the pits of Macaque’s core. Wukong’s presence feels far too immense behind him, and he becomes hyper aware of the way the water clings to his fur and weighs it down.

“Were you upset with me?” Wukong asks almost timidly, “Or, I guess… Are you still upset with me?”

The hands in his fur quiver before continuing. His fur is unknotted enough that it doesn’t need to be groomed anymore, but, for whatever reason, Wukong continues anyways. Something to settle the nerves, Macaque presumes.

“I was, uh, just angry about the past. Nothin’ new,” The shadow shrugs off. Suddenly the tiles on the wall become infinitely more interesting.

“You’ve never acted like that before.”

“Wukong-”

“Look- I know you don’t really wanna talk about it,” He says firmly, “This isn’t easy for me, either. I just… y’know.”

Somehow, Macaque gets a sense of what he’s trying to articulate. Calloused hands run mindlessly through his hair, twirling the soaked strands. Silence falls between them once more, these unspoken worries filling the air, hanging like the clouds of steam above their heads. Finally, Wukong speaks again, his voice a meek thing. 

“Hope I was at least able to make you feel better. Even a little bit.”

His hands fall from Macaque’s back, done for the moment, it seems. The warrior stares at the soapy water, ears flicking at the sound of Wukong washing his own fur. Even when they could discuss their issues, they only danced around the issue in some sick, neverending song. Close, but not close enough. And sure, it was a bit awkward, but Wukong was trying.

But Macaque just wasn’t ready. The wounds were still too fresh.

He wishes he was strong enough to, at the very least, return that energy.

Maybe he could be.

Macaque turns around in the tub, facing Wukong. The king blinks at him, hands lathering soap in his own mane.

“Turn around. It’s your turn.”

His face goes red.

“O-Oh. Alright.”

He does just that, crossing his legs with his back facing the shadow. His auburn mane is already foamy with… Macaque picks up the bottle of shampoo and checks the label, making a face. Foamy with peach-scented shampoo, what a surprise. The warrior pours more onto his hand with a roll of his eyes, working on lathering it through the fur of his back.

Macaque works the soap into as much of Wukong’s relatively clean fur as best as he can, using his nails to scratch pleasantly over the rise of his shoulder blades. Wukong brings his knees up, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on top, his tail stirring the water as it swishes about.

Once the soap’s been thoroughly worked into his fur, Macaque rinses it off, cupping his hands into the bathwater and pouring it onto the king. Thick layers of fur shine with water, streams running through the strands. The shadow runs his hands through its density, careful as he starts to groom him. There’s hardly a thing to pick out- Wukong’ was pretty spotless, actually- but he seems to enjoy it, if his purring was of any indication, so Macaque continues regardless.

“Uh…” He starts, cutting through the silence, “You did make me feel better, by the way.”

“I did?” He asks, a bit doubtfully, “You were… um, crying.”

Macaque’s hands stop.

“It was about something else.”

“I don’t really think it was.”

“Wukong-”

The king looks at him over his shoulder, pleading.

“C’mon. Please tell me, bud.”

He sighs, shaking his head, but, ultimately, deciding to tell the truth.

“There was just… a lot going on. I thought you would be mad at me and you weren’t. I just… didn’t know how to handle it,” The warrior explains a bit quickly, forcing the words out.

“Did you want me to be mad at you?”

“No. I mean- I dunno…” He lamely admits. A lump forms in his throat and makes it hard for him to speak or think clearly. Macaque continues grooming him, realizing how long he’d been stopped.

It’s quiet again. Uncomfortably so. Macaque can barely focus on his ministrations, those thoughts he’d been locking away slithering into every crevice of his mind. There’s this intense weight wound tightly in his chest, and all he can think about was the fact that he didn’t leave when he was supposed to.

“Tell me something next time?”

His heart wrenches.

“I will,” Macaque answers, unsure if he speaks the truth or not.

It just wasn’t that simple. He didn’t want Wukong to see him so vulnerable like that. He didn’t know what “telling” him entailed- whether it was more meaningless sex, or actual talking. This was far beyond the territories of their agreement, and he doesn’t want to ask him about what it could mean. He doesn’t want Wukong to care. The moment he started doing that, Macaque knew he’d want more of it, and the thought terrified him more than he’d like to admit.

Now that he’s had a healthy dose of it, though, Macaque wants as much as he’s willing to give. Whatever he has in his endless bottle of liquid heart, he wants every last drop and then some, parched like a lost man in a dry desert.

And it should scare him.

But it doesn’t.

“…Mac?” The warrior brings his eyes up from Wukong’s drenched back, realizing he’d been staring while lost in his thoughts. “I know I told you, but, uh. I like doing you what you want. And, y’know… if you like to go slow, I can do that. I like it, too.”

The warrior blushes, gaze shyly flicking down to his crossed legs. Wukong continues to scrub himself, red eyes focused on the wall.

“Is… that what you want?”

Macaque swallows thickly, a lump forming in his throat at his sincerity. It burns a light inside of him, one he doesn’t think he’s ever felt the heat of before.

“Yes, Wukong,” He says softly.

A thoughtful hum was his response.

There’s a lapse in conversation, filled instead by the soft noises of water sloshing alongside the tub's walls. Hands slow in Wukong’s fur, and he takes the moment to instead scrub over the sides of his torso. His movements are mindless and could hardly be called grooming at all, but Wukong doesn’t seem to care.

In fact, he appears to be dozing off, placing his cheek on the tops of his knees, fighting away sleep as his eyelids droop and snap open. He hasn’t got a care in the world, pressing back into Macaque’s hands and soaking up the warmth of his touch. A picture of peace.

When Macaque pulls away, Wukong’s quick to give him a questioning glance over his shoulder.

“All done,” The shadow hums, snickering wryly, “Guess that flea shampoo does you wonders, huh?”

“Ahh, great, I was startin’ to fall asleep,” Wukong replies, ignoring his remark.

Then, he flops backwards, right onto Macaque. Water noisily sloshes through the tub, and Macaque squawks as the king makes himself right at home. He slouches between Macaque’s legs, elbows folded over his thighs and head resting on his stomach, blissfully content, much like a cat sunbathing.

“Seriously? You just ruined my handiwork,” Macaque complains, but it holds no bite whatsoever.

He wraps his arms around Wukong’s shoulders, resting his chin atop his head. The water sloshes in the bathtub, and the shadow stretches his legs out, the steaming bathwater warming his cold knees in an instant. This wasn’t unlike the times spent sitting under trees together, soaking up the sun and laughing at nothing. Spots of sunlight beaming through the thick foliage dancing over the dimples of his smile and glittering in golden eyes.

“Pfft, you’ll live,” Wukong sighs, shutting his eyes.

A small smile finds Macaque’s lips, and he decides, just this once, that he’ll indulge this. A confusing hurricane of emotion whirls through him, but, when he’s with Wukong, he feels like he’s in the eye of the storm. Calm and blissfully quiet, safe from the wreckage taking place just outside their bubble of safety.

He finds himself purring, and he leans back, laying his back against the slope of the bathtub. Wukong follows him, even turns on his side so he can pillow his head on Macaque’s chest, his hand coming up to draw circles into the dark fur of Macaque’s waist.

The sound of Wukong’s loud purring joins Macaque’s. Feeling tired himself, the shadow brings his hands up, wrapping them over Wukong’s head and shoulder. He runs his claws gingerly through his scalp, combing through the wetness of Wukong’s wild mane.

This was nice. In fact, he just might fall asleep.

“M’gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that,” Wukong murmurs, seeming like he was already doing just that.

“Mm, go ahead,” Macaque mutters, laying his head back on the rim of the tub as he yawns, “Think I might, too, actually. Whose week is it with the kid again?”

“Mine. He’s not gonna be here ‘till later, though, so we’re fine,” He goes quiet for a moment before tacking on a quick little, “I think.”

That gets a scoff out of Macaque.

“Thought you trained him earlier than this.”

“Pfft, I used to. Buuut I kept wanting to sleep in. I told him to just start swingin’ by later, when I’m more awake for my mentor-ly duties.”

Just before the warrior can cackle at the true, leisurely nature of his “mentor-ly duties”, Wukong nuzzles into his neck, tucking his arm under his back and pressing his hand between his shoulder blades. Scarlet consumes Macaque’s celestial marking at the unabashed show of affection, heart stuttering in the chamber of his chest when Wukong’s purring rises in volume.

“Glad I did.”

It’s the sappiest thing Macaque has ever heard from Wukong.

And by gods, does it make him feel so hopelessly sick. It inflicts him with an unknown plague bearing an even lesser known cure. Fills his head with bleary thoughts of domesticity, promise, and passion. Each beat of his heart pounds like the wings of a hummingbird as Wukong makes himself comfortable, sighing contentedly into the short fur of his neck.

Absently, Macaque twirls his fingers in the auburn fur of his shoulder, mind running in circles. He’s so torn between one thing and the other, it was hard to even keep his head on his shoulders at this point.

The water stills once they’re settled comfortably, and drowsiness causes Macaque’s eyes to feel heavy. Typically, he sleeps in later than this, so he supposes maybe there wasn’t too much harm in taking a nap. Just to keep his sleeping schedule on track.

Mismatched eyes look back down to the sleeping Wukong, whose purrs had somehow seamlessly transitioned into soft snoring, already impressively fast asleep. Macaque allows one of his hands to wander, placing it gently on the back of his neck. The snoring stops, and, for a moment, he thinks he might’ve woken Wukong up, but instead, he gets the softest press of lips onto his neck. It could hardly pass as a kiss, but it feels just the same.

The snoring picks back up without missing a beat.

A black tail twitches beside Wukong’s thigh, and the warrior relaxes a bit more, resting the back of his head against the slope of the tub and looking up at the ceiling. Fingers trace mindlessly through the indents of wet fur and muscle on Wukong’s back, slowing as his eyelids droop.

He tells himself he’s just keeping his sleeping schedule on track.

He doesn’t believe himself anymore.

-

When Macaque awakens a second time, he’s wrapped in uncomfortably lukewarm water topped by dissipating foam. There’s a distinct lack of a certain clingy monkey he notices immediately, and, after blinking his eyes open, the shadow looks around for him, finding nothing. Was he so enveloped in the lull of sleep that he just failed to notice that he’d left?

An ear twitches, and he picks up the sound of clothes shuffling a few rooms over, a drawer being shut, and footsteps nearing.

Wukong returns wearing some old, worn pajama pants and a robe slung over his shoulder, holding neatly folded clothes for Macaque. The moment his eyes find him, he practically lights up in a way that induces shyness in the proud warrior.

“Oh, good, you’re awake! I was getting bored.”

Macaque snickers.

“Glad I’m so entertaining for you.”

Then, because he’s the world’s most annoying, barely potty-trained animal, Wukong shakes his fur out like a dog, spraying Macaque with flecks of cold water and essentially drenching the rest of the bathroom.

Orange fur frizzes in the most hideous manner and effectively erases all of Macaque’s meticulous handiwork. He should have expected that, considering that, well, grooming was not much use when fur was soaked and heavy with water. The warrior grimaces anyways.

“Oh, don’t gimme that look. I’ve got the little ones to take care of it, anyways,” Wukong easily dismisses with a leisurely wave of his hand, tossing on some sweatpants and an old, stained robe.

The warrior sighs, heaving himself out of the bathtub. It must be nice, having so many careful little hands to groom those hard-to-reach places. Macaque wouldn’t normally consider himself the envious type- not anymore, anyways- but he can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy at that particular aspect of Wukong’s life.

What does that feel like, to have such benign, welcoming company all the time? Small hands and curious eyes doting on his every move, basking in Wukong’s presence. The thought initially annoyed Macaque at first; the endless sound of chittering was an onslaught of disturbance to his poor ears. After spending so much more time at Wukong’s little shack outside of sexual favors, it’s long since dulled to white noise.

Sometimes, if he stayed a moment longer and sat comfortably out of view, he’d hear how Wukong Spoke to them. His voice took on this soft, mirthfully fond tone reserved for those closest to him, the ones he allows himself to be so vulnerable with. A tone that slips out on the rare occasion when he speaks to Macaque, muttered through a haze of drowsiness.

He wrings out his tail, letting the water fall back into the tub before grabbing a towel.

Wukong and his family trust eachother wholly.

Was that something he could be apart of, if they gave him another chance?

Macaque sighs irritably, drying himself off with haste. Neatly groomed black fur musses as he drags the towel over his legs. Maybe he was thinking too deeply about it. It didn’t have to happen, after all. It never had to happen, if that’s what he so desired.

Was that what he desired?

When the shadow reaches for his pair of pants, he does a double take, thoughts buffering.

Cute pink pants. With peaches decorating them.

The king giggles like a shit-eating little child. Leave it to him to find something so immature comical.

With a grumble, Macaque throws on the cutesy pants, then smooths down his still damp fur. He shifts, reaching to smooth the fur down on his back, but, of course, there’s only so much his pruney fingers could reach. Straining, Macaque tries again- this was normally so much easier when he had a brush. Wukong snickers, visibly amused at the sight.

“Uh- do you want me to…?”

“I got it,” The warrior affirms. No, actually, he doesn’t ‘got it’, but that doesn’t stop him from acting like he does. He folds his arm uncomfortably behind his back, huffing at how stupid he must look right now.

“Oh- just let me do it. You make everything waaay more complicated than it needs to be,” Wukong tuts, reaching out for Macaque’s back despite his initial protest.

“Yeah, that’s rich coming from you,” He retorts, but it holds no bite. Macaque moves his arms aside, watching the king carefully untangle and smooth down the fur. It was sweet that he still knew how to handle his fur, admittedly.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re not one to talk either, y’know,” Wukong counters with an easy laugh. His hands move away from Macaque’s back, reaching for the folded robe on the bathroom counter. He holds it open for him, and the shadow slides the thing on.

The king’s clothes fit mostly fine, if not a little loose around the waist. No shirt, but, well, there wasn’t much to complain about there. The pants are covered in a thin layer of fluff, resting comfortably on his hipbones.

Macaque turns to the king, making a face at the expression that greets him. Wukong’s reddened eyes of hellfire sparkle and glitter cutely, and his hands cover his mouth. His tail curls into the shape of a heart, and he squeals quietly.

“Stop that,” Seethes the warrior.

“No, no, no- I’m not saying anything!” He denies with a shake of his head, still squealing.

Macaque rolls his eyes, face burning when he turns away.

“Oh!” Exclaims the king, his eyes brightening in sudden remembrance. He plops himself on the lid of the toilet, raising his hands in a placating gesture. This particularly sheepish brand of guilt carves its way into his features, usually the face he made seconds before disaster.

“Okay, so don’t get mad.”

The shadow bristles, the words having a- shockingly enough- completely opposite effect on him.

“Um, sooo…” Wukong claps his hands together, lips pulled taut, “The chimps mayyyy or may not know about us.”

The sigh that draws from Macaque is a long, disappointed, and heavy one.

He had a feeling, unfortunately. Those three that had seen him a good while back ran off and must have told a few others, spreading the word like wildfire to a dry forest. Macaque thought as much- it’s not like there were any others who looked like himself or Wukong. He wasn’t happy about it, but it was bound to happen at some point.

“Hm.”

“You’re not as surprised as I thought you’d be,” He adds on, raising a dubious brow.

“Well. Um,” He awkwardly coughs out, “A while ago, they saw me laying in your room.”

Wukong’s brows go up, incredulous.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Macaque gives an insouciant shrug, bringing the towel over his head and drying off his hair a little more thoroughly.

“Dunno. They weren’t there for very long. Didn’t think it was that important.”

“Jeez. I’d rather you told me than them. They were so embarrassing,” The king mumbles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

Now that gets Macaque’s attention. His ears perk with interest, and an impish little smile tugs at the corners of his lips. The aspect of Sun Wukong being embarrassed over something always was an irresistible one.

“Oh yeah? What’d they say? Don’t tell me they were like, calling me your mate or something stupid like that,” He giggles at the absurdity.

Wukong quickly averts his eyes, visibly disheartened.

“Ha, yeah, no… Nothing silly like that.”

Once he deems his hair dry enough, Macaque then places the towel on Wukong’s head, standing between his legs and smoothing down his offensively frizzy mane. He dries it a bit more properly, captivated by the shy little look Wukong gets on his face. Crimson eyes peek up at him endearingly through the edges of the towel, and Macaque can practically feel himself swoon, as cliche as it sounds.

‘Gods,’ He sourly thinks to himself, ‘They really don’t call him the Handsome Monkey King for nothing…’

“Uh- Um… Oh- yeah,” The sage trips over his words before continuing, “They just kinda poke fun. Ask me stuff like, ‘When’re you gonna let us meet him?’ and whatever.”

The shadow blinks at this, ears flicking with interest.

“They wanna meet me?”

“Yeah, but I told ‘em no, and that you weren’t interested.”

Macaque swallows thickly, disappointed. Though he’d been wary of them, he’s admittedly swayed knowing that Wukong’s family didn’t really think too much about them being ‘together’. Not as much as he himself did, anyways. He wasn’t being ostracized for his ears, treated like a traitor, or anything of similar measure. They were just… simply interested in meeting him.

No ulterior motives.

“Oh.”

Wukong looks up at him, mystifying gold spinning in rubies and scarlet light bouncing off of his eyelashes. He really was pretty without his glamors- it’s a shame he so frequently hid his eyes behind a shimmering veil of false gold.

“Uh- did you want to meet them?” Wukong then asks, eyes practically lighting up with hope.

Macaque focuses his gaze on the pink scars of Wukong’s forehead, dragging his thumb from damp fur to the edges of faded lines. That horrid circlet really did a number on him, yet he rarely ever heard a peep of the cursed thing from Wukong himself. Taking it in stride, he supposes. It’s all he ever seemed to do.

That’s a heavy burden to bear.

“Well, I’m kind of… thinking about it. Dunno yet.”

The pure elation that fills the king’s gaze is unlike anything Macaque’s ever seen on him before. It’s a bit embarrassing, actually, just how excited he gets at the mere prospect, and It makes a fire of a blush rise high on Macaque’s cheeks.

“I- said I dunno yet,” He bashfully mumbles, scratching his cheek and looking anywhere but Wukong.

“I know, I know! You just- y’know… Weren’t very interested in meeting them at all before. There’s a whole lotta new faces and I think you’d really love ‘em.”

His tail starts wagging, and he’s so alight with joy and hope that it makes Macaque’s chest flutter. Suddenly they’re sitting at that cliff again, looking over the city far, far beyond. Golden eyes drawn to the glittering lights below and copper eyes yearning for the sun right beside him. He wanted to kiss Wukong back then, and it was no different now.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your hopes up,” The shadow murmurs, cupping Wukong’s jawline with both hands and pressing a kiss over the pink scars lining his forehead just because he could. Returning the favor for when puffy lips pressed against the ragged shape of his own scarred eye.

When he pulls away, adoration saturates Wukong’s gaze, this fond smile playing on his lips. Looks up at Macaque with an expression reserved only for him, hidden away in the privacy of his humble little home.

“Hey, know what?” Wukong asks, softly.

Macaque’s ears twitch, picking up a twinge of underlying seriousness in his tone.

“I’m really hungry.”

The shadow makes a face, choosing not to dignify that with a response.

“Know what sounds real good right now? Pancakes.”

Before Macaque can get his say in such an irrelevant matter, Wukong’s already standing up, making his way to the door while humming a tune to himself. He glances at the mirror and picks at his teeth, then smooths down his hair before making his way out.

The off-note humming fades out after a moment, and it becomes quiet.

Six ears swivel, desperate for the sound of hell’s melody to deafen the constant creaking of his mind.

He’s alone again.

And without the light of the sun present, the darkness of black waters start to surround Macaque once more. He’s suddenly all too aware of how cold the tips of his fingers are, the heaviness sitting in his chest, and the uncomfortable wetness of inky hair sticking to the back of his neck. He’s enveloped in icy waves, unwelcoming and treacherous, nothing like the warmth of the bathwater.

Macaque shakes his head, eyes pinched shut, as if the action was enough to physically discard the incoming spiral. He doesn’t want to fall prey to those thoughts again- once was enough.

With a grimace, the warrior presses his hand to the wall wet with condensation, shadows swirling under his palm as a portal opens.

He’s had his fun, and MK would be back soon anyways. It’s about time he left before this escalated any further.

The portal shuts instantaneously when the sound of footsteps nearing fills Macaque’s ears. Wukong pokes his head in the doorway, and the warrior hastily drops his hand from the wall, shoving it inconspicuously into one of the pockets of the robe.

“Hey. You comin’, or what?”

 Wukong gives him that bright, expectant smile, eagerly awaiting his response. Macaque’s certain he even spots his tail wagging for a short moment.

“Um… Yeah,” He caves, “Be right there.”

The king’s eyes linger on him a moment more before he takes off again. As soon as he’s gone, Macaque drags his hands down his face, heaving a long, tired, and immensely disappointed sigh.

So he’d given in once again.

Maybe it’d be easier to leave if Wukong didn’t look at him like that.

Before he can wallow in his thoughts for too long, the loud sound of pots and pans clamoring about in the kitchen catches his attention.

“Hang on-” He calls, hurrying towards the kitchen, “Do you know how to make pancakes?”

“Nope!” Wukong calls, popping the ‘P’, “Can’t be too hard, though, right?”

He’s greeted by the sight of Wukong reaching into the very depths of a cabinet to collect a skillet, using his tail to flick on the coffee maker. He buzzes about the kitchen, but Macaque intervenes, locating and snatching the box of pancake mix before Wukong can- he’d very much like for his breakfast to be edible, after all.

“Hey- why do you get to do all the work?” Complains the king.

Macaque sets the box down and prepares the necessary ingredients, placing the carton of eggs and milk onto the counter before cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I know how to make pancakes, Wukong, I can do it myself,” He argues, not wanting to outright tell him the harsh, harsh truth of, ‘Yeah, sorry, but your cooking is straight ass.’ Besides, if Wukong got frustrated enough with his failed attempts, he’d nix the breakfast plans altogether in favor of stuffing hair disguised as food into his mouth again.

Which was, in Macaque’s humble opinion, quite repulsive.

“Yeah, I know you can, but I wanna do it.”

Macaque laughs, retrieving a bowl with a flowery design. Rich yolk falls into the bowl after he cracks the eggs and pours in a fairly rough estimate of milk. Since Macaque woke up early and on time for his week of mentoring MK, he’d learned a thing or two about preparing the kid something to eat beforehand.

Wukong gapes as Macaque mixes everything together, as if the simple action was a personal affront. The milk and eggs melt together into a thick paste before he pours in the baking mix. The warm scent of coffee runs through the late-morning air, laced with the sweet, sweet scent of sugary pancake mix.

“What is it with you wanting to do everything for me?”

Wukong flushes, making an indignant little noise, bizarrely taken off guard by such a harmless question. Swiftly turning away, he reaches for two clean enough mugs from the cabinet, a silent acceptance of defeat.

“Because- Uh- I just know how to do it better than you do,” He childishly counters, turning his nose up. Right, as if he hadn’t just said moments ago that he didn’t even know how to make pancakes.

“Pfft, people pleaser.”

It’s a joke made all in good fun, but Wukong certainly doesn’t seem to think so, tsking irritably in response. His tail flicks, and he shoves one of the mugs under the coffee maker.

“Yeah, alright. Whatever.”

Macaque makes a face to himself, his stirring of the batter coming to a halt before picking back up. Damn, he’s messing things up again. It was second nature to push Wukong away, and now that things weren’t exactly that familiar sort of hostile anymore, it was hard to do the opposite.

He glances at Wukong, mind racing for a solution. Macaque tells himself it’s only a minor bump in the road, nothing new. They’ve had more than their fair share of those in their many years of knowing eachother. It wasn’t something he needed to linger on.

And yet it pesters him like an annoying little gnat.

It bothers him, the way Wukong’s mood shifts, and he wants to fix it.

Macaque starts up the stove and pours the batter onto the pan, watching it pool into a nicely-sized, creamy saucer before snatching up the nearest, cleanest spatula he can find.

“You ever think I wanna do something for you, too?”

It’s said perhaps a bit too aggressively, and he can’t quite muster the strength to direct his gaze to the king instead of the pan, but Wukong seems to know what he means. When Macaque finally looks at him, he’s met with a soft expression, one that draws him into a mesmerizing, ruby-eyed hypnosis. It’s an expression seldom seen on Wukong, one that strikes him with this indescernible, yet raw feeling. Like the slow swell of strings in an orchestra rising into a crescendo, pulling the most human of emotions from the inhuman.

“Gods, you’re such a sap.”

Macaque’s ear flicks.

How he felt such a way towards someone like Wukong was truly beyond him.

“Oh, shut up.”

“That’s so embarrassing for you,” Wukong giggles, this big, shit-eating grin cutting through his face, “You totally care about me.”

“You wish I did,” Came the automatic response.

“You sooo do.”

“I so don’t,” He childishly retorts.

The king then moves to stand behind Macaque, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him closer. The scent of peachy shampoo mixes with the sweet smell of the flapjacks and brewing coffee, a pleasant, homely scent filling his lungs.

After some harmless bickering and Wukong stealing more batter than he really needed to, they’ve got a nice stack piled to the side. Macaque knew he’d only eat maybe 2 or 3 at most, but Wukong- that bottomless pit- would more than likely eat enough pancakes to feed an entire continent. The king detaches himself from him for a moment, returning with two fresh cups of coffee. Steam rises from Macaque’s mug, and he oh-so carefully takes it from Wukong, eyes catching on the sides. “Just Peachy,” reads the mug, lined in pink.

How cute.

It burns in the best way when Macaque raises it to his lips, scalding hot on his tongue just the way he likes it. Wukong, however, is in no rush to drink his, setting it on the counter, no doubt waiting for it to cool down. How silly- he just couldn’t seem to comprehend the fact that all coffee tastes better when it’s sitting comfortably at its boiling point. It was simply a fact.

No, instead, Wukong seems to prefer flopping his head on Macaque’s shoulder once more, content with draping himself over him like a blanket.

“Clingy today,” Macaque lightheartedly teases.

“I don’t see you complaining.”

Macaque merely chuckles in response, setting the spatula aside. The king noses into the short fur of his neck, tail wrapping loosely around his before continuing its leisurely path, dragging Macaque’s along with it. The rumble of a loud purr starts up against the shadow’s back, vibrating against him. It’s charming, actually, how… domestic this was.

Relaxing, even. He melts against Wukong, basking in the natural warmth of his body. A black tail follows auburn when it suddenly thumps against the floor.

“You look cute in my clothes.”

His heartbeat picks up.

“I bet I do.”

Heat rises in his gut when Wukong’s lips drift up, catching one of his ears in his teeth. It turns red under his fangs when he gives it a harsh little tug. Macaque stifles a gasp, face reddening further when the tips of Wukong’s thumbs slip into his pants, not daring to go lower than that.

“Maybe after breakfast we can go back to my room.”

Macaque licks his lips at the proposition. Sex after breakfast does sound amazing. For the sole purpose of being a little shit, though, he decides to poke some fun at the king.

“Go back to your room for what?”

The king plops his chin back on Macaque’s shoulder, removing his thumbs from where they tease to instead fiddle with the thread of the waistband. Unhurriedly, Wukong starts undoing the loose tie, and Macaque’s brows raise in response, heat thrumming within his core. Instead of dipping his hands further under the fabric, Wukong instead deftly reties the knot so the pants sit more firmly on Macaque’s waist, the tease.

“Well, we could maybe take a nap, or cuddle. Maybe watch a movie… Orrr, if you want…” He trails off implicatively.

Still, he plays dumb.

“Or if I want, what?” Macaque prompts.

“Uh… well…” Wukong starts, awkwardly. Leave it to him to get flustered about sex talk outside of the bedroom. “I’d really like to… maybe suck you off in these pants.”

Macaque swallows thickly, tail twitching over Wukong’s.

“Mm. And what if I want something else?”

“Anything you want. Remember?” He asks, voice low and sultry.

The warrior purrs at the subservience of his response, flicking the tip of his tail over Wukong’s. He’d given into his charm twice before, and, well, he supposes this time was no different. Staying was starting to sound easier and easier, so long as Wukong wasn’t planning on bugging him about his vile little display yesterday.

…That would be the third time he’s opted to stay, now.

The front door clicks open.

Six ears, crimson eyes, and weathered scars are glamored away in an instant, but, before Wukong can pry himself away from him, the visitor’s already entering.

“Hey, Monkey King,” MK noisily calls, voice ringing throughout the house, “Are you still sleeping, or-“

His eyes find them.

Wukong immediately removes his hands from Macaque’s waist, holding them sheepishly behind his back as the warrior covers his bare chest with the robe. Humiliation settles over Macaque, and his cheeks burn- they’d been caught.

MK’s eyes light up, and he beams with a bright smile.

“Macaque!? You’re back! Where have you been!?” He shouts, and, just as Macaque flounders for an answer at the question he was entirely unprepared for, MK’s already moving on, “Oh- Wait, you’re making pancakes? I’ve been craving those sooo badly lately! You gotta let me get some in my system!”

He makes a show of patting his stomach, hopping over the back of one of the poor, unsuspecting dining chairs and making himself right at home.

The warrior looks to Wukong, incredulous and affronted- he thought MK wasn’t supposed to be showing up until later, and he’s certain he’s wearing that question quite plainly on his face. Wukong merely offers an embarrassed little smile and a shrug before he shyly turns away. He was on his own for this one. Payback for when Macaque didn’t cover for him either, he can only assume.

There’s no doubt MK saw them. Was he just choosing not to say anything? Thinking about it makes his anxiety raise much higher than he’d really like to admit.

“…Uh, yeah, lemme get you a plate, kiddo,” The warrior lamely replies, setting him up with a generous platter. MK’s practically salivating at the sight, having already snatched a fork at alarming speed, and Macaque can’t help but feel like he’s lowering meat into a tank full of piranhas. The plate clinks when he sets it down, and he makes a face to himself when MK immediately drenches the stack in what is most certainly not a healthy amount of syrup. They sag under the weight of syrup. Gross.

“Oh, thanks! Normally Pigsy nags me about getting a good breakfast in before training, but my favorite shop was closed today and, honestly? That’s kinda mean of them if you ask me,” He playfully huffs, fishing his phone from his pocket and turning it horizontally as a movie plays. The soundtrack is identical to that horrendous Monkey Cop movie, and Macaque kind of hates that Wukong’s put it on enough times for him to recognize it.

With the kid fully absorbed in the movie and quiet with a mouthful of soggy pancakes, Macaque can finally drop the act.

At breakneck speed, he throws a wrathful, cold glare at Wukong, utterly incandescent. He gestures bewilderingly at the kid, getting yet another useless shrug out of the king. They soundlessly argue, throwing their hands up and mouthing profanities at the other as MK happily eats away.

Eventually, Macaque had his fill of it, turning back to the stove with a flick of his tail and snatching his own plate and ridiculously designed mug. Well, he certainly wasn’t happy about being caught, but there was no point in trying to hide it anymore, so he may as well just eat his stupid pancakes.

The shadow sits beside the kid, trying not to look as angry on the outside as he felt on the inside. He would never be upset at MK, no, but Wukong was a different story. He’s been training MK longer than he has, how could he possibly lose track of their schedule?

After pouring his helping of syrup, Macaque glances to the kid, then to Wukong, whose back is turned to him as he, in a maddeningly slowly fashion, prepares his plate. It’s almost like he’s avoiding having to sit at the table altogether. Golden eyes watch Macaque over his shoulder and, once the warrior’s eyes find his, he quickly averts his gaze back to the counter, tips of his ears running pink.

Flaky little bitch.

“Um, so, Macaque?” MK timidly questions, looking up from his phone.

“Yeah?”

“Um… Where have you been?”

Ah. That was the question he would have very much liked to avoid.

The king looks back to him over his shoulder, just as curious as MK.

Now, Macaque would generally consider himself a pretty good liar. After spending centuries with the living hurricane that was Sun Wukong, they’d experienced a plethora of… accidents. Minor mishaps. A series of unfortunate events. “Oh, you’ll have to forgive my buddy Wukong, he’s still getting used to his powers,” He’d once said over a placating smile to a villager whose house was left in an… unfavorable condition after one of Wukong’s many, many battles.

Was she happy? No, certainly not, but that wasn’t the point.

Lies were something he could come up with on the spot as easily as breathing.

And yet his mind decides to draw a blank for him on this one. Blank page after blank page in his large thesaurus of truth-bending.

Wonderful.

Sighing, Macaque reluctantly settles for the truth.

“I was… at home,” He answers, not looking up from his plate. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Wukong’s tail lashing angrily.

“Knew I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it.”

“Wha- but… Macaque, why? Why were you avoiding us?” The kid asks, voice wavering with hurt, and by the heavens above, does it break something in the proud warrior.

Gods, Macaque wishes he could just slither away into one of his shadow portals. He didn’t like who he was during that time, and he kind of wishes they could all just collectively forget it ever happened for the sake of preserving his dignity. Whatever he had left of it, anyways.

“I was, uh. Not too happy about some things. Personal things, so. Y’know,” He stiffly answers, hoping the hinted implication of, ‘drop the damn subject’ comes across pretty clearly.

It doesn’t.

“Oh, like what?” MK asks, innocently raising a brow. Another tired sigh escapes the warrior around a mouthful of pancake Then, MK snickers a bit wryly, an impish little smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he points his fork at Macaque.

“What, did Monkey King break up with you?”

“Huh? No, he didn’t-”

He freezes, catching his slip just a little too late.

His eyes dart to the kid, aghast when he meets him with this catlike, shit-eating grin. Macaque whips his head to Wukong, absolutely lost with what he could possibly do with himself in this situation. The king seems to be just the same, face white with shock.

The laugh this gets out of MK has him holding his stomach and tipping his head back, howling.

Macaque goes red in the face, tail flicking anxiously under the table. He did not want to start his day like this.

“Jeez, relax, I totally knew. You guys have been dating this whole time right? I guess it’s better than fighting all the time. ‘Specially when you’re teaching me- like, wow, did that get annoying.”

“Ah- woah, woah, woah,” Wukong cuts in. Macaque throws him a harsh glare to silence him, knowing that, because he’s Wukong and he’s a loudmouth, his first instinct would be to correct the kid.

His glare is largely ineffective.

“So we’re not dating, actually-”

“Pfft, yeah, right! You guys aren’t slick,” MK very mercifully interrupts with a lighthearted laugh. With a relieved sigh, Macaque decides to redirect the conversation before Wukong blabs about exactly what kind of relationship has been going on. That would be so much worse.

He raises his hands placatingly, trying to remain level-headed about this despite the fact that his anxiety was shooting through the roof right now. The smarter, more beneficial option was to run with this, not go against it.

“Alright, alright. You got us,” Wukong’s head snaps to look at him, “Didn’t mean to hide it from you kiddo, we just weren’t ready to say anything yet, is all,” He lies, because, under more convenient, kinder circumstances, MK would never have found out at all.

“Oh, I totally knew,” MK boasts, preening like a proud little peacock, “But I dunno why you had to hide it, though- like literally no one woulda cared if you two were acting all lovey-dovey.”

Macaque furrows a brow, questioning, but he’s not stupid enough to inquire further. ‘Lovey-dovey?’ What world was he living in where that was true? He looks to Wukong, who mirrors his expression, though his is tinted with a bit of bashfulness. Probably from getting caught, Macaque can only assume.

Though not exactly preferable, this was still salvageable. If MK knew the details of their relationship, he’d certainly be more vocal about it; he was the type to make fun of them for something like that, and if he wasn’t, then the chances of him not knowing were high. Macaque decides to play into it.

“Ah, well, we just didn’t know how to tell anyone, y’know? Bit weird to start dating someone you hated and all,” He hums with a nonchalant shrug, hoping he doesn’t appear nearly as on edge as he feels. “So? How’d you figure us out?”

“Oh, I saw you guys kissing. Y’know. When Monkey King ditched me during training,” He snappishly answers, throwing a pointedly disappointed glower in Wukong’s direction, who pretends like he doesn’t notice. Macaque feels the color drain from his face, heart dropping into his stomach.

Wukong looks over his shoulder, equally as mortified.

“Wha- but, how did you see-”

“Gold Vision,” MK answers, gesturing to his eyes for emphasis, “I was wondering where the heck you went, sooo…” He trails off before continuing, twirling his fork in circular motions, “but don’t worry, I looked away as soon as I saw, ‘cause you’re both gross. I was just kinda irritated that you were trying to lie to me about it.”

Relief washes over the shadow- thankfully it didn’t seem like he saw anything worse than that. That was preferable. He certainly wasn’t happy about being caught, but he’d much rather have MK assume they were an actual ‘lovey-dovey’ couple instead of… well, whatever the hell they actually were.

Wukong finally sits himself at the table, his intimidatingly tall plate clinking when he lays it on the surface. The warrior glowers and glowers some more, but Wukong seems more preoccupied with also drenching his pancakes in syrup. It runs down the sides, glistening as it falls onto the plate. When Wukong looks up to engage, he flounders a bit before speaking.

“Um… Yeah. We, uh. Wanted to say something,” The sage stiffly lies. Macaque’s grimace worsens with every horrifically thought-out word uttered. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. “But, um… Yeah. Wasn’t too sure how to say it.”

MK hums over an understanding, sincere little smile, and Macaque benignly returns it. He almost feels bad for lying to him about this, but this kind of business wasn’t something he needed to be knowing about, truthfully. The poor thing would be traumatized if he knew his mentors were regularly having sex.

“So bud, uh- does anyone else know about this, orrrr…?” Wukong trails off in high-pitched questioning- an excellent inquiry, actually. The shadow nearly chokes around his forkful of food, dreading the answer. It seems like the gods above were feeling particularly fortuitous, as, mercifully, MK just responds with a shake of his head.

“Nah, s’just me. I mean, like- I don’t think anyone else knows. Not that they would care, or anything.”

“Huh,” He articulately muses, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Macaque, are those Monkey King’s pants?”

The warrior swallows painfully, his throat burning- that question came out of nowhere.

Once he collects himself, he kicks up a leg, looking down at the thin fabric lined with peaches.

“Uh… Yeah. Cute, huh? My favorite pair of his,” He musters, hoping his plastic smile appears genuine. It seems to be genuine enough, if the sparkly-eyed, captivated look it gets out of MK is of any indication.

“That is so cute! You guys are such lovebirds!” He exclaims happily, knocking Macaque playfully over the shoulder. That word echoes loudly in Macaque’s ears like droplets in a cave, and he looks to Wukong with great uncertainty in his gaze, this strangeness filling his body and overflowing the rim of his subconscious. The king looks back at him with something akin to… hope? It’s raw. It’s heartfelt. It’s sincere.

It’s too much.

Macaque looks away, cheeks burning and this unknown feeling suffocating him. It makes his tail twitch nervously and makes the clothing on his body suddenly feel heavy. Clothing with too heavy a presence, the fabric brushing uncomfortably against his fur.

Pressure fills Macaque’s chest, and he can’t take a satisfying breath. His lungs feel like they’re full of water, and his throat feels tight. The coffee starts to taste vile, and the pancakes are too sweet.

He sets his fork down, looking at his half-eaten plate with a grim expression.

He’s overstayed his welcome.

He’s had his fill of good-natured company and teetering around their underlying issues. It wasn’t supposed to turn into this, and, when he thinks about it a moment more, Macaque’s mind flits back to last night. Last night, where everything fell apart and Wukong was there to pick up the pieces. That was the part his stupid, simple little mind just couldn’t seem to move past.

The shadow grimaces. MK and Wukong make friendly conversation through mouthfuls of food and a single, shared cup of coffee, but he doesn’t hear a word they say.

Why was he still stuck on that? What did it matter, that Wukong held onto him like a lifeline, like he was so scared of Macaque leaving? Scared of hurting him again, like the thought alone pained him? The anguish swirling in true eyes of scarlet was of the sincerest quality, so genuine it hurt. Amidst that, though, was something that burned more brilliantly than lust. Shining in irises of molten gold.

Macaque bites at his cheek. No, that’s enough of that. He was tired of overthinking this and letting it infest every single corner of his mind. If this simple little agreement was giving him this much heartache and questions, then maybe it just wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.

“Anyways,” MK says, drawing his attention, “Monkey King, are you gonna get ready soon?” The shadow looks to Wukong, looking somewhere over his shoulder rather than directly at him. His plate’s been wiped entirely clean, impressively enough, and he cleans away the residue of syrup on his lips with the sleeve of his robe. Eyes of faux gold finally reach Macaque before darting away, sheepish.

“’Cause Macaque gave me some new weapons I’m like, dying to try out, and-”

“Okay, wait, hang on,” Macaque cuts in before they make any plans, “I actually gotta talk to ol’ Monkey King for a minute.” He leans in, using his hand to block conversation from reaching Wukong’s ears. With a mischievous little wink, he adds on a playful little, “He’s in trouble.”

The king’s eyes go wide with panic, and they flick frantically between him and the kid.

MK raises a suspicious brow.

“Just talk, talk. No funny business.”

He pouts.

“You mean… no mystic monkey business?”

It gets a good laugh out of Wukong because of course it does, a dubious squint from MK, and a tired sigh from Macaque. He moves to stand from the table, tucking his chair in.

“Let’s go, Wukong.”

His laugh dies instantly.

“Wha- Why can’t we talk here?”

“’Cause we can’t,” Macaque dryly responds.

“Gross,” MK spits, sticking his tongue out playfully. The warrior rolls his eyes over a smile, watching Wukong rise from his chair like a scared little child who just got in trouble and head to the bedroom, fiddling with his hands. Just as Macaque turns to follow him, MK calls him.

“Hey, Macaque?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

The warrior purses his lips at that, feeling his heart sink into his stomach, a visceral emptiness filling his chest. It takes every single breathing exercise he’s learned in his long, long lifespan to keep himself from falling apart right there.

“Um… and I hope you’re feeling better, too. Monkey King was really freaking out about you being gone.”

Macaque cocks a brow at that.

“’Cause I wasn’t here to do my part?” He asks, genuinely.

“No, he was worried. Like, sometimes, when I would deliver noodles, I’d see him wait above your dojo. As in, he sat wayyy up on a cloud-” MK points towards the roof for emphasis, “Just… watching from above. When I asked what he was doing, though, he’d like, always deny it.”

The warrior hums thoughtfully in response. What a humorous image, Wukong sat perched on his cloud, surveying high above his dojo like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home. Waiting for any activity. Never getting too close to his home, because then his heartbeat would be within Macaque’s vast earshot, a dead giveaway throughout the constant, bustling noise of the city.

It was… actually really sweet.

“Huh.”

“Just don’t tell him I told you that, though, ‘cause then I’ll never hear the end of it.”

That gets a little laugh out of him.

“Secret’s safe with me, kiddo.”

“Also, it’s really nice to have you back again,” The kid adds on, smiling warmly. Gods, he makes showing kindness look so easy. As if doing so didn’t mean exposing part of himself and risking hurt. It’s an admirable quality to have.

“Good to be back.”

Macaque makes his exit with a flick of his robe, ice frosting in his veins as the door to Wukong’s bedroom gets closer and closer. He hovers his hand over the knob, that cold dread running up his spine and shooting through his body, overwhelming him with a maddening urge to flee.

Macaque forces himself to grip the doorknob and enter the room. Sludge runs down the walls of his mind like grime, and that momentary breather MK so kindly provided him was dashed. This was for the best. At least, that’s the thought that keeps him going.

He doesn’t want to mess this up a second time, and the thought of things spiraling out of control again plagues him. Copper eyes find Wukong, who doesn’t quite meet his gaze. Macaque’s determined to handle this properly and, as cleanly and harmlessly as possible, pull the plug on this agreement. It’s run its course.

“Yeahhh, so I might have lost track of the time,” Wukong sheepishly acquiesces.

“’Might have’,” Macaque deadpans, “How do you lose track of your own schedule?”

His brows go up at that, and Wukong scratches the back of his head.

“Uh- well, I was a bit busy being worried,” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That kinda thing throws your schedule way off, believe it or not.”

“Worried about what?”

The silent glance he shoots to Macaque before looking away tells him all he needs to know, and the unspoken words echo in glamored ears.

About you.

“…Well, either way, it looks like he knows,” Wukong continues, blatantly changing the subject, “Or, y’know… looks like he’s known for a while.”

The warrior crosses his arms, tail flicking, “Yeah. Had a feeling he knew something was up.” Unable to resist the allure of a lighthearted jeer even now, Macaque then tacks on, “’Cause you just couldn’t resist me when I messed with you during your lesson.”

“Pfft, don’t act like weren’t the one drooling over me beforehand,” The king sneers, sticking his tongue out. The shadow rolls his eyes, making it his mission to not smile at that.

With an unceremonious sigh, Wukong stretches his arms up over his head, joints popping.

“Well, this sucks.”

“Totally.”

“Aaaanyways,” Wukong drags out, “Bed’s all yours. I shouldn’t be too long, I don’t think.”

Those words don’t sit right in Macaque’s stomach, and his smile drops. Wukong sure seemed to be handling this well. When this agreement first started, the king always made such a grand spectacle about how if they ever got caught, he’d be utterly devastated and would call things off right then and there. Too proud to dare let it be known that he was hooking up with someone as lowly as Macaque. The dirt beneath his boots. Yet here, he seems to be acting like this was just another Monday for him, perfectly content to just go about his day like they didn’t just get caught.

It’s… aggravating, to say the least.

“Thought this would bother you more. Y’know, since you were such a big drama queen about the idea of us getting caught before. Where’d this come from?” The warrior chides, gesturing angrily at all of Wukong.

“Oh,” The king clears his throat a bit awkwardly, “Uhhh- well… I have since turned over a new leaf,” He attempts to bullshit his way out of this with some poorly-crafted lie, but Macaque’s not having it.

“You not ashamed of me anymore?” He growls out, fangs bared over a crooked smile.

“What? No.”

It’s uttered with such sincere, borderline innocent confusion, like Wukong’s surprised he’d even ask such a thing. As if he’d never said as much to Macaque before, never made him feel like the biggest inconvenience for even so much as breathing near him after he’d gotten what he wanted.

Macaque’s eyes flick between Wukong’s, his mouth agape with sheer bewilderment. These dreadfully conflicting, writhing, and contrary emotions bubble under his skin and split the fabric in his mind clean in two.

Was he pissed off at Wukong for pretending he never treated him so poorly?

Or was he relieved that he didn’t view him in that light anymore?

There’s a sharp rap, rap, rap at the door.

“Monkey King? Are you actually gonna train me today or are you leaving me to, ‘do some mental exercises in solitude’ again?”

Wukong’s face explodes in red, and he turns to call at the door.

“Uh- no, no, no! I’ll be there in juuust a sec, bud! Old monkey business right now, y’know?”

“Ughhh, fine. Can you hurry though, pleeease? Mei and I are going to the arcade later and I reeeally don’t wanna miss it.”

“Uh- Sure, bud. Just another second, alright?”

Footsteps fade from the door, and Macaque hears the kid back in the kitchen, the sound of his phone playing something. The sage turns back to him, voice quieter than before.

“I really should go,” Wukong sighs, a bit sadly. He reaches into his closet, pulling out the many, many layers to his usual attire. Shucking off his robe and letting it fall to the floor, Wukong starts throwing on the first few layers of fabric, smoothing down the wrinkles hastily. “We can talk later.”

Macaque’s ear flicks.

“I really think we should talk now,” He utters, tone harsher than intended.

The king blinks at him owlishly, pausing in his movements. Macaque hesitates, resolve wavering when the king looks at him like that, so blissfully unaware. He takes a breath to calm himself before he does something stupid again, but it does little to calm the raging waters of his temper. Glamored eyes flick to the ground before meeting Wukong’s again, mustering up the courage needed to put his foot down.

“We can’t keep doing this, Wukong. I think it’s time we give it a rest already.”

The king’s brows raise high, a slow unraveling of panic overtaking his features as Macaque’s words settle over him like raindrops on still waters, ripples disturbing the mirror of the surface.

“O-Oh…” He stutters, visibly crestfallen, “Um… For how long?”

“For good.”

Wukong blinks, astonished. He’s concerningly still, yellow long sleeve clutched tightly in his hands. After a moment, he gives a nervous little laugh, this store-bought smile on his lips.

“Ah… Okay, okay. Look, I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but, um, last night-”

The words sound an alarm in Macaque’s ears- a blaring, deafening alarm.

“This isn’t about last night. It never was,” He seethes, lying through his teeth because it was the safer option, the easier choice. Reliable.

“This never should have gone on as long as it has, Wukong,” The warrior continues, his confidence fading with each word like weak wisps of smoke, “I think it’s time we just cut this off for good. It’s leading to too many problems.”

He turns away from him, crossing his arms much too tightly around himself. Bile sits at the back of his throat, thickening with just how quickly a stone heart beats behind him.

“Problems? What problems?” Wukong challenges, utterly incredulous. Acting as if he wasn’t the problem, him and his oh-so wishy-washy nature.

With a growl, Macaque whips back to him, agitated.

“MK knows now! And suddenly you just don’t care about being caught anymore? I don’t get you, pick a damn side.”

“So what if he knows? It’s not like he cares! Nobody does!”

“Don’t be stupid, Wukong. He thinks we’re in love. Is that what you want him to think?”

The king purses his lips, turning away from Macaque immediately. His expression of anger quickly turns into that of bizarre shyness, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. He clutches his tunic closer to his chest, tail flicking oddly as he flounders for a response before settling on a quiet, meager little, “I-I don’t… I-”

“You shouldn’t. I’m doing us both a favor.”

Reaching down, Macaque plucks his own clothes off of the floor, changing out of Wukong’s hastily. He doesn’t dare turn to look at Wukong. He’s finally spoken his peace, and, if he turns to look at the emotional destruction he’s wrought, he won’t be able to hold it together.

So he keeps his eyes glued to the floor. Sticks his legs through each pant hole, and puts his old, worn boots back on. Wukong’s silence has always been the most deafening sound his six ears have ever picked up, and that was no different now. It’s an uncomfortable atmosphere- one he won’t have to deal with anymore, he reminds himself- and just as Macaque smooths out the wrinkles in his clothing, Wukong finally speaks again.

“Mac, did I… Upset you?”

Macaque’s fist clenches to calm himself before unclenching.

“I just think this is our best option right now,” He carefully sidesteps, “Let’s not kid ourselves, we both knew this wasn’t gonna last.”

The king sage utterly heartbroken, and Macaque forces himself not to look at him. Once he’s decent and back in his own clothes, the shadow splits a portal into the nearby wall. He watches the shadows twist for a moment, taking a deep breath and ignoring the eyes searing into the back of his skull. Wordlessly pleading with him to turn around.

And because he’s a weak, weak man, Macaque does just that.

“And, no, I’m not upset with you. I…” He adds on, voice taking on a softer tone. His lip trembles, and the words he wants to say get stuck in his throat.

I’m upset with myself.

“I just need some time alone.”

It’s very clear that Wukong doesn’t believe him, but he chooses not to say anything about it. His tail is unmoving behind him as golden eyes bore intensely into Macaque’s, searching.

“Sure I can’t convince you to stay a little longer?” Wukong hums, rubbing his arm with a nervous little laugh.

Macaque scowls.

“We’re not having sex while the kid’s here, you-”

“No, no- we don’t have to, not while he’s here. Ah- y’know, I was actually thinking of showing you that Monkey King series I mentioned that one time instead. Not, uh… that.”

“Oh,” Murmurs the shadow, brows raised high, “Um… Think you should worry about being a mentor, first. Actually, I think it’s better if we just spend some time apart altogether. We go back to mentoring the kid and pretend this never happened, yeah?”

He looks to Wukong, expecting him to pick a fight. A fight he was ready for, anytime.

What Macaque wasn’t ready for was the look of deep, sincere sorrow in Wukong’s eyes.

“You are still upset with me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Macaque tsks, ready to throw in the towel with this whole ‘communicating’ thing and just fall back on the safety net that arguing provides. He shakes his head, air hissing out of his lungs with an exasperated sigh, his last few ounces of patience rapidly weathering away. His fingers twitch, and Wukong’s heartbeat pounds annoyingly fast.

Wukong’s tail lashes at the floorboard, and that sheer, unfacilitated anger carves it way onto his face.

“So- you’re seriously not gonna tell me why? You’re just gonna leave without even giving me a reason?”

The sage’s voice raises in volume, growing more and more agitated by the second. From the kitchen, MK’s phone abruptly ceases its noise. There was no doubt that he heard that.

“Wukong,” He growls dangerously. In an instant, he grabs the king by his undershirt, claws gnarled in the fabric and glaring directly into ruby eyes. Wukong gasps loudly, hands flying up to grip at the shadow’s wrists, but he doesn’t fight back.

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Shock morphs into anger.

“Fine. Keep your secrets, then. See if I care.”

He harshly shoves away Macaque’s hands, putting some distance between them. Claws scrape against the warrior’s wrists painfully, but he doesn’t dare show that on his face. The moment he stumbles back, though, Macaque sees it, sees the immediate regret wash over Wukong’s features. There’s an aborted motion of Wukong reaching out to him before he turns away and rubs at his arm.

There’s that feeling again, the one that was just too much.

His throat feels dry.

“I’m leaving,” Macaque blurts out before he can even collect himself. Running away like a dog with its tail between its legs. Cowardly. “Think I’ve been here long enough.”

The warrior turns away before he can see whatever look Wukong gets on his face, taking another step towards the shadow portal. It swirls with a violet glow, wisps of shadows flickering in the corners and swaying. Cold to the touch.

“Mac.”

He shouldn’t turn around.

He does anyways.

“I know this isn’t a good idea,” Wukong hesitantly mutters, “But… Can I kiss you? One last time?”

The shakiness of his tone tears down Macaque’s resolve in one fell swoop, ripe with remorse and ridden with reluctant acceptance.

Gods, he never could seem to say ‘no’ to him, could he?

He moves closer to the king, taking in the crease of his brow and trembling fingers. Takes in his tense jaw and heartbeat pounding with urgency. It doesn’t feel like ending something for the sole purpose of sexual gratification should have this sort of impact on Wukong, but it does.

“Yeah- Mmph!”

The moment he gives the clear, Wukong’s lips are on his. Macaque’s hands instinctively fly up to his shoulders, ready to push him away for this display of sheer desperation, but stops himself.

It’s slow and sweet. He can taste something so much deeper on Wukong’s lips, an unfamiliar flavor laced with the sugary sweetness of syrup and the earthy bitterness of coffee. Hands come up to cradle the shadow’s face and back of his head in a gesture that borders on protective. This means something to him, and, somehow, realizing that makes the warrior’s chest constrict and makes his throat feel tight. Just as the king licks at his lips, Macaque pulls away, placing his hand firmly on Wukong’s chest. Concern sits heavy in the false gold of his eyes, wide and sincere, aching to know what troubles him.

“Mac, you…” The king glances between the bed and Macaque, the beginnings of a haphazard idea forming in his eyes. Softly, he asks, “Do you need me to make you… forget? Is that what you need?”

The warrior laughs humorlessly, swayed.

“And what about the kid?” Scoffs Macaque.

“I’ll tell him to go home, or something,” Wukong dismisses as easily as he breathes.

“I mean, isn’t he usually your priority?” He scoffs with perhaps a bit more venom than intended, turning away from Wukong.

“He can wait. You’re my priority right now.”

Macaque fights and fails to keep his bottom lip from quivering pathetically. Does Wukong know the weight those words hold to be throwing them around so carelessly? Does he notice how they make Macaque burst at the seams, or how they tear down the foundation of his guarded body and make him want to curl into himself?

When Macaque looks into pleading golden eyes again, he can practically feel his already flimsy resolve fading away, seconds from leading him into making the wrong choice. A very tempting wrong choice, but the wrong one regardless.

But he won’t.

Not again.

He needs to understand why he’s feeling like this- and he’s not going to drag Wukong into his mess like he did last night.

Slowly, Macaque’s hands come up to the ones hot on his face and head. He takes them in his own carefully, somber as he removes them from his body.

“…No, Wukong. This has to stop. I need some time to think.”

With a bit more effort than he’d deem necessary, Macaque releases Wukong’s hands, slipping into the portal.

The vortex of darkness dissipates, and the lingering violet fades away into nothing more than weak little wisps. Wukong’s left barely able to process what just happened, these dreadful emotions running through him and thrashing in his veins. Coldness envelops him, and he feels like his reality had just collapsed right before his eyes.

“Monkey King?”

MK’s voice reaches his ears from the kitchen, and Wukong blinks to clear his mind, but it does nothing to alleviate the heavy sickness that suddenly plagues him. That profoundly intimate emotion that had been blooming inside of his stone core is cruelly purged in an instant. He feels like he’s just had his heart torn out, a bloodied, gaping hole left in its place.

After all of that, it still wasn’t enough to get Macaque to stay?

He couldn’t change his mind?

The king stares at the wall a moment more, as if, somehow, the warrior will change his mind and come right back to him. The shadows will twist and warp before opening up once more, he’ll be back in his arms, and they’ll return to enjoying their leisurely morning. Right?

Of course, the shadow portal doesn’t reopen, and Macaque doesn’t come back.

Despite his best efforts, it just wasn’t enough.

There was only so much Wukong could do to lay his worries to rest, especially when he was the root cause of those worries.

He knows that.

But that doesn’t stop the tide of feeling washing through him, the one that made him feel responsible. Had he just not done enough? Was there something else he could have said that just didn’t ring in his mind when he needed it most?

All he wanted was to be able to be near him, to hold him close and cherish him. To capture even the smallest ounce of hope that, maybe, things could go back to the way they used to be. Latched onto the other with their big ambitions and simple promises, blissfully unaware of the terrors that awaited.

At this point, the sex was just a bonus; it was really Macaque’s company he sought out, more than anything. It took him a while to realize that- Wukong was wondering why it felt as if his libido was insatiable lately- but once he did, it started to make sense. Having sex could only cover so much- what Wukong wanted from Macaque was something he didn’t know if he’d be willing to offer.

And maybe that wasn’t supposed to be part of the agreement, but did it really matter anymore?

If this were an ordinary agreement, Macaque would have left last night, when all was said and done.

If this were ordinary, Wukong wouldn’t have felt the need to bathe and pamper him.

And if this were ordinary, he wouldn’t be feeling so terribly heartbroken over Macaque’s leaving.

Gods, what was he thinking?

A hand finds Wukong’s shoulder, and he pulls himself out of his daze to face the kid. At some point in his haze, MK came into his room. He didn’t even notice. Concern fills his eyes, wide and completely unaware. It was better that way.

“Monkey King? I heard yelling, are you okay?” He flicks his gaze around the room, and Wukong grimaces, already anticipating the obvious incoming question.

“Where’d Macaque go?”

He doesn’t know what to tell him.

And, with the way he feels his lip tremble and throat tighten, Wukong gets the feeling he won’t be able to tell him very much before the strings of his mask are cut.

MK looks right at him, and Wukong looks away, casting his gaze elsewhere. Golden eyes catch on the robe and pajama pants piled onto the floor, and tears burn at the corner of his eyes. He’s quick to will them away before the kid notices. MK’s expression softens, and Wukong doesn’t know if he caught him. He doesn’t want to know.

“He… Uh…”

His voice trembles. It’s a weak, pathetic sounding little thing. Nothing like the Sun Wukong he proudly presents to MK, and he hates that the kid has to see this side of him. This wasn’t who he was.

“Hey, it’s okay,” MK comforts, placing a hand on Wukong’s shoulder, “I dunno what really happened, but, um… I think I can kinda figure it out. Bad argument?”

Wukong scratches at the back of his head, needing something to do with his hands.

“Yeah, guess you could call it that…” He murmurs, scoffing humorlessly. A weight settles uncomfortably over the sage, and heavy nausea twists in his gut. Bile and the taste of pancakes mix unpleasantly in the back of his throat. His legs are barely able to hold him up, and he shivers despite not feeling cold.

He doesn’t know what this means for them.

But, for now, Wukong knows that he wants to be alone.

“Bud, um. Hate to seem rude, but…” He trails off. His voice wavers in the most humiliating way, and Wukong hopes MK doesn’t hear it. Judging by the way his expression immediately turns into that of concern, he certainly did.

“You want me to leave, right?” MK says, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice.

“Uh- I didn’t say that-”

“And do you really think that’s your best option right now? Like, seriously.”

It hits him all at once.

Dread, outrage, sorrow, and confusion form a wild maelstrom under his skin, a storm tearing through every corner of his subconscious. Tears burn at Wukong’s eyes, and he wants so, so badly to just let go, curl into himself, and cry until his lungs ache. He’s holding himself together using pieces of fine, brittle silk and nothing more. Glistening threads snapping one by one.

Of all times for Macaque to put an end to things, why did it have to be now?

Why did it have to be while MK was here?

The last thing he wanted was to involve MK in this mess. Or any of his messes. Wukong could clean them up himself, and he doesn’t want him to see him like this. This tall, gleaming statue crumbling to nothing but rubble.

A comforting hand finds Wukong’s shoulder, and, with an insurmountable amount of effort, he brings his gaze to MK.

“You should really talk to him,” MK suggests. Wukong wants to scoff at the mere idea. Right, because talking did him so much good earlier. If it didn’t work then, why would it work now? “I know that’s like, not what you guys do. Even a little bit.”

His tail flicks. Even if that was true, he didn’t need to say it.

“Yeah, thanks bud, that’s actually super helpful,” The king deadpans, flopping onto the edge of his bed and, at the very least, relieving his legs of their wobbliness. He swipes away the forming tears with the heels of his palms, breath shaking when he tries to steady himself.

“I’m just saying, it would solve like, a lot of your problems,” MK continues, sitting himself right beside his mentor. He’s got such a bright, uplifting aura to him, and has a way of saying it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Wukong almost wants to believe him. The kid smiles warmly, and gives him a playful nudge with his elbow, “C’mooon, you two were totally making eyes at each other earlier.”

Ah, how funny. He really thinks they were in a relationship. From an outsider’s perspective, Wukong supposes there was nothing else that could be assumed, but still. It was a bit humorous.

“I dunno…” Wukong trails off, discouraged. Macaque wasn’t the type of person to seek comfort if he was upset, and certainly not from him. What could Wukong possibly do? Make things worse? He didn’t want to aggravate him further by attempting to comfort Macaque, but he also couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him alone, knowing he was hurting.

He was completely unaware last time Macaque was hurting like this, so, as much as he didn’t like it, there wasn’t much he could do about that. But, he knows now. And there was something that could be done.

Could he take that step?

A headache pounds behind his eyes- gods, Wukong wishes he knew what do to. Wishes he knew what to say. What to think. He’s a helpless little fawn, lost without its mother, exposed to the cruel, unforgiving wilderness. Left to tremble uselessly as wolves prowl nearby, rustling in the bushes.

“Monkey King?”

Wukong blinks back into focus, wondering when he let his thoughts run away from him again. Tiredly, he looks to MK, who sits with deep concern in his eyes, hand stretched as he offers Wukong a clean towel.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” He says, voice gentle.

The king looks at the towel in his hand, quizzical. Something hot falls onto the back of his knuckle, sliding down his finger.

He was crying.

Swiftly, Wukong dries his tears, hoping against hope that MK hadn’t seen them even though he knows that certainly wasn’t true. It’s the most humiliating, shameful side of himself unwittingly revealed to the kid, and that craving for isolation only skyrockets. MK’s hand finds his shoulder again, but it does little to comfort Wukong. The heat was suffocating.

The king just turns away from him, resisting the urge to knock the hand on his shoulder off. What a sight he must be.

Whether by chance or because he noticed Wukong’s discomfort, MK removes his hand. Wukong doesn’t know the look he’s giving him, nor does he want to know. But, after a minute, MK shifts on the bed, speaking softly.

“Hey, you wanna know something funny?”

Wukong looks at him.

“Remember when you’d come to the dojo during my lesson? Well, on the days you didn’t show up, he kept checking the door. Like, just quick little glances towards it. He totally thought he was slick, but you know I caught him.” He proudly points his thumb at his chest, beaming with pride.

“I asked him one time if he was waiting for you, and that completely caught him off guard when we were sparring. He got all red in the face- you should’ve seen him, it was hilarious.”

That… actually was kind of cute.

“He totally likes you. Not a doubt in my mind.”

“Wha- But he just-”

“Don’t give up, Monkey King,” MK finally says, his voice taking on a softer tone, “I mean like, yeah, give him some space first, but don’t give up. You’re really important to him, y’know. Even if he’s got a… funny way of showing it.”

The king can’t help but laugh at that, weak, but genuine. Macaque always did have an interesting way of displaying his innermost feelings. It was one of the things he liked about him, as off-putting as it might be to others.

“…Yeah,” Wukong finally says. He says it over a wobbly tone and unconvincingly, unsure as to whether or not he actually would pull through. This was one of those, ‘easier said than done’ kinds of things. Nothing ever came easy with Macaque. He’d have to give it some more thought; it’d essentially be like performing a very delicate verbal surgery of a conversation he didn’t want to have.

“I will, kiddo,” He says. He doesn’t know if it’s a truth or a lie. Or maybe he’s just saying what MK wants to hear from him just to cease this conversation. Guilt clouds him at the thought, so, after a moment of picking at his nails, Wukong then adds on, “…I just need some time first, y’know? Let the heat die down a little bit.”

“You have so got this, Monkey King,” MK encourages, a fierce determination burning in his eyes. He gives Wukong a reassuring pat-pat on the back, an infectious smile playing on his face. “You’ll get him back! I swear, somehow you guys always find eachother. Sun and moon, right? That’s how Macaque put it.”

And maybe it’s the lighthearted way he says it, but he lifts Wukong’s spirits. He swipes his sleeve over cold, damp cheeks, a small, but sincere smile finding his lips. MK’s phone buzzes, and he removes it from his pocket, the screen lighting up his face. A vibrantly colorful image of the dragon girl sticking her tongue out pops up, along with a hefty collection of tickets and prizes.

Suddenly, MK shoots up from the bed.

“Oh, shoot! Mei got to the arcade early, that cheater!” He laughs before flicking his gaze to Wukong, eyes wide. “Uh- am I good to go? Or do you want me to stay a little longer?”

As comforting as MK has been thus far, Wukong also doesn’t want him to see just how far down the depths of his despair goes. He really doesn’t want to ruin the image of himself that he might have in his head, nor did Wukong want to involve MK in his issues to begin with.

An easy smile finds the sage’s lips, and he gives MK a little wave.

“Ahhh, it’s all good, bud. You go have fun! I was honestly probably just gonna sleep in instead of mentoring today.” Of course, the idea of sleeping soundly beside Macaque was an infinitely more appealing one, but well, things don’t always work out.

“You always sleep in! You know how many times I’ve gotten here and you’re like, dead asleep?”

“Hey! Teachering is hard work! A guy’s gotta recharge! ‘Sides, I’m awake sometimes.”

The kid pushes himself off of the bed, looking down at Wukong.

“Barely awake, you mean.”

“Always awake.”

MK just laughs and makes his way to the door. Just as he’s about to leave, Wukong calls him before he thinks too hard about it. Stopping in the doorway, MK questioningly looks at Wukong, expectant.

“… Uh, thanks, bud,” He mutters, uncertain as to whether MK heard him or not.

The kid smiles.

“No problem. You can do it, Monkey King! You just gotta believe in yourself, even a smidge,“ He jokes, pinching his pointer and thumb together for emphasis. Wukong doesn’t know what sort of face he’s making, but it gets a little giggle out of MK. “Makes all the difference.”

“Pffft yeah, okay,” Is all he manages, stifling a laugh.

“Gotta go, Monkey King! You’ve got this, believe in yourself, you’re stronger than you think, okay byeee!”

And just like that, MK’s gone, making a beeline straight for the front door.

Slowly, Wukong’s smile falls, the strings finally cut.

The king flops back onto his bed, arms splayed out over the thrown blankets. The warmth that had settled into the cushion had long since faded, replaced with an uncomfortable coldness seeping into his back, and it only reminded him that he craved the person he shared it with.

There were a lot of things about Macaque that he craved. Simple, nonsexual things. He wants to hold his hand and lace their fingers together again. Wants to feel the curl of Macaque’s silky tail over his, and to kiss that smile of his.

All things strictly off-limits from the agreement.

Or- no, that’s not right. There wasn’t an agreement anymore.

And yet, the pull remains, like the moon revolving around the earth.

And, just like the moon, Wukong’s left to admire from afar.

He sighs, dragging his hands down his face.

The familiar voice of Bai rings throughout Wukong’s ears, a cruel, mocking thing.

“Someone’s gonna end up feeling things they shouldn’t.”

Chapter Text

Wukong sighs contentedly, slowly dipping his body into the bubbling water of the hot spring. Its heat melts away the tension in his muscles, and envelops him in a blissful warmth. The steam stings hotly at his chin and jawline, but it’s a small price to pay for the moment of quiet peace he could grant himself, his own personal escape.

The king raises his elbows to rest on the rocks and flops his head back, letting his eyes fall closed as he listens to the sound of the humid morning wind rustling the tree leaves. Tranquility settles over him like a warm blanket on a cold night.

Not that the peace lasts for very long.

“Okay, sooo I’m misunderstanding,” comes the familiar, oh-so disapproving voice of Bai. Wukong pulls his lip in a tight grimace but keeps his eyes closed so as to not encourage further conversation, not that it’s very effective. Her little footsteps near, and he can practically feel her glare burning a hole into the side of his skull. “This is what you’d rather be doing instead of finding your mate?”

The king sighs. Somehow he knew that was exactly what she was going to bring up. Was a break from the emotional hellscape that was the Six-Eared Macaque too much to ask for? Apparently it was.

“He’s not—”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me. He may as well be, you practically get hearts in your eyes when you talk about him.”

Wukong lifts his head up to gape at her, affronted.

“I do not!”

“You do too!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t pressure him, Bai,” her sister hums. Susu approaches, plopping herself right between Bai and Wukong. It’s an attempt to keep the peace, which was exactly what Wukong would prefer. “This sort of thing is hard for Sun.”

Wukong grins his most shit-eating grin, puffing up at the defense.

“Yeah, Bai. Maybe you oughta—”

A snap of Susu’s fingers and a stern glare silences him immediately, more offended by the fact that anyone would silence Sun Wukong in such a manner rather than a kindly act of obedience. How rude.

“Ah, ah— now don’t think you’re completely off the hook. You,” she pokes at his nose, “could really stand to put in a little more effort. It’s been like… what, a week now?”

Wukong irritably presses his tongue into his cheek. He’s not sure how “Get lectured” snuck its way onto his list of chores for the day, but he’d really prefer if it found its way off. He turns around, crossing his arms over the dampened rocks as he mulls over a reply. It’s not that he hasn’t been trying to extend the olive branch to Macaque— he has. But…

The sisters gaze at him expectantly, one stern and the other inquisitive, both equally hungry for information. No doubt seeking the most recent hot gossip, Wukong assumes. It’s not like he really had anyone else to talk to about this specific matter though, so, after thinking it over a moment more, he decides to tell them.

“Uh… Well… I tried to talk to him, but he just finds an excuse to leave before I can even really get anywhere with him. I don’t think he’s interested?” He ends with a questioning pitch in his voice, also confused by this precarious outcome. Macaque still never told him why he lashed out in the first place— Wukong’s only assumption was that it involved himself, one way or another. It’s all he had to go off of.

“Really? That’s weird.”

Wukong shrugs halfheartedly, aimlessly running his fingers through the clovers in the grass and plucking them out.

“Yeah. I dunno, he gets like that, I guess.”

Susu huffs.

“And what, it just doesn’t bother you?”

He turns away, avoiding eye contact. Gods, of course it bothered him. It bothered him that Macaque only spoke to him in curt replies, like how one would speak to their co-worker. It bothered him that Macaque was putting his walls back up and there was nothing he could do about it. It bothered him that he couldn’t even soak up the comfort of his presence anymore.

Wukong was doing everything in his power to just not think about it anymore, to box it all up and shove it into a dark corner of his mind to collect dust. His previous attempts failed and damn, did he try. Neither of them were ever the type to vocalize their innermost feelings in the past, and it was really giving him hell in the present.

He tried the gentlest approach he could manage each time with Macaque, easing his way into nice conversation— or about as nice as it could get with the shadow behaving so strangely. He’d listen to Wukong intently, but just as Wukong would finally work up the nerve to ask what’s been going on, he’d get this strange look on his face.

It was a look the king recognized. It was the same look Macaque got on his face when Peng would make their sour remarks towards him. An odd twist of his lips and tensing of his jaw into a grimace, as if he’d just heard something particularly egregious. He’d look away swiftly after, as if hiding his expression from Wukong, then all of a sudden, he had to leave.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying wrong. Each time, it was the most surface-level, nothing-sandwich of a benignly conversation Wukong could muster, and still his mere presence seemed to upset Macaque.

Was it better for him to just… stop trying altogether? It was obvious that something about himself was irking Macaque. Was he content without Wukong?

Despite the comforting warmth of the spring water seeping into his bones, the king feels cold at the thought.

“…Yeah. Guess it does bother me,” he finally answers after a moment, laying his chin atop his crossed arms, “But I don’t really know what else to do with this guy. I dunno what he wants from me, ‘cause clearly nothing I do is working.”

He hates feeling so… helpless.

The sisters share a glance that might be just a bit too knowing for Wukong’s liking.

“Sun, you lov— ah,” Susu cuts herself off and rolls her eyes before continuing, “Uh huh. You really like this guy, right?”

“I, uh… Yeah.”

“So then, would you say you like him more than what you expected from this sort of relationship?”

Wukong’s face reddens, and he really hopes it’s from the steam.

“I mean… I don’t really…”

It’s not that he doesn’t know the answer— he does. But to admit that to them— much less himself— simply felt like too monumental a task. It really wasn’t the best time to mull over those thoughts when there were more pressing matters at hand. It was safer to just push it aside for now. He’ll deal with it when he can deal with it.

“I don’t really know.”

Susu brings her finger up to her chin, her eyes falling to the water as she thinks over his words. Bai lays herself on her back, spread out on the grass like a starfish.

“Sounds to me like you’re being a bit of a pussy.”

“Bai, language—”

“But he is!”

“Hey— I am not a pussy!”

She hastily props herself up with her arms, the dastardly twinkle of a— surely terrible— idea glimmering in her eyes.

“Know what I think?”

He doesn’t actually, but he’s sure she’s going to tell him anyway.

“I think you need to just march up to him and demand some answers already. If he keeps running before you get a chance to bring it up, then just say something before he can leave!”

Wukong scratches at the back of his head, pulling his lips tight. That really sounded like a recipe for disaster. Macaque liked having his space to brood, and he doubts he was keen on having that space invaded. But at the same time, they were nearing just over a week of not making actual conversation with each other. The king missed his most treasured companion, and it pained him to have this sort of disconnect between them. It felt as if they were oceans apart.

“I dunno…” Wukong sighs. He really didn’t want to confront Macaque, but he did want to piece their relationship back together again.

The conflict on his face must have been palpable, as Bai gingerly runs her little hand through his hair and softens her voice.

“Hey, listen. If anything, you at least deserve to know why he’s not talking to you. If you can’t make peace, you can at least have that.”

It’s… a fair point, actually. Maybe the whole “gentle approach,” thing just wasn’t working. Sure, Macaque would be mad at him, but, assuming things worked out, it would more than likely work out for them in the long run.

Plus, deep down… Wukong supposes he was itching to give him a piece of his mind.

Susu pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“You don’t think any of my ideas are good,” she sighs, flopping forward to lay on her stomach instead.

“I’m serious. Sun, maybe you should give him space and wait until he comes to you.”

Wukong scoffs.

“The guy’s had nothing but space. It’s pissing me off. And if I don’t say anything…”

Wukong’s voice cracks and his lip trembles, aggravated with himself for showing vulnerability over this, for showing how much it pained him to care. The agony of losing Macaque a first time was already enough, but it hurts to know he was right there and there was nothing Wukong could do about it. His stone heart was being chiseled every which way, piece after piece falling off with each day that passed.

The worst part of it all was that it didn’t seem to affect Macaque the way it affected him. Macaque, who was aggravatingly calm and composed. Cold, almost. Nothing on his face or In his body language to betray his innermost emotions, nothing to show that any of this mattered to him.

He sighs, putting himself back together before he falls apart in front of someone again.

“I dunno. I’m kinda out of ideas,” he sighs. The sage glowers at the patches of clovers before speaking again. “I don’t care about the stupid agreement anymore, I…”

He trails off, heart aching. He doesn’t know how he was planning to finish that sentence, but he’s not sure if he wants to know. Baring his heart through spoken words has been a regrettably weak point of his; more often than not those words would become tangled in his throat like a ball of wires despite how imperative they might be to any given situation.

It was for the best, though. There was no space to linger on that.

The king pouts, anxiously tapping a finger on the ground as he waits for a reply. He doesn’t have to wait very long at all, but the short moment spent in silence was beyond agonizing. The less time he could spend thinking about that issue, the better.

Susu sighs heavily, running gentle fingers through his hair.

“Alright, Sun. I can see this is really bothering you.”

With a more lighthearted tone, she then ruffles his hair, earning an indignant squawk from Wukong.

“Hey—”

“So I guess you must reeeally like him, huh?”

Wukong laughs, swatting her hand away. He was sort of trying to be miserable, here.

“I told you I don’t!”

“I dunnooo,” singsongs Bai, kicking her feet in the air, “Nobody else would be this torn up over a guy they didn’t care about…”

The king smooths down his hair, pouting all the while.

“Yeah, yeah, I guess not. But it doesn’t really help with like… everything else, though.”

Susu scratches at her head, reluctance straining her features. She hesitates before speaking.

“…Well, if you feel like there’s nothing else you can do, then go for it. But if things go south, you should really give him space.”

Wukong makes a face, not quite liking that response but also knowing there was no point in arguing. Of course he wants to respect Macaque’s boundaries but he also wants to be able to talk to him at least sometime. Why did he have to be the only one making an effort to keep their sinking ship afloat?

“Alright, alright,” he acquiesces, propping his chin on his hand, “I’ll see what I can do. Next week Mac has the kid for teacher-ing so I’ll see him then and get up in his business, see what his deal is.”

“Well, don’t make a scene in front of MK,” advises Bai, “That poor thing didn’t sign up for any of this drama.”

“I was thinking I could wait until he left so— wait you feel bad for him? What about me?” Mustering his most simpering puppy dog eyes, he pouts at her, hoping to win her sympathy. The only thing it wins is a look of disgust on her face.

“Ew, don’t look at me like that. You said you knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“Uhhh— I did, for your information. Just didn’t think it would like… actually happen.”

And truthfully, he didn’t. But here he was, making attempt after attempt to carefully stitch together the many tears and holes in their relationship with rough, unsteady hands. Wukong doesn’t think he would’ve put in this sort of effort had this happened sooner, before he’d become utterly enamored with that dark-furred bastard. He almost wants to curse Macaque for having afflicted him with this poison, but he loved its taste too much to concern himself with how it corroded his insides.

Bai scoffs, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I told you it would.”

“Whatever,” Wukong sticks his tongue out at her, only to be met with a similar mocking expression.

After a moment more of teasing, playful banter, and lazing about, the sisters curl up atop Wukong’s rumpled clothing, off to the side. Their wrap their little tails atop the other’s, canines flashing as they yawn and huddle together like a pair of kittens. It warms the king’s heart, and he can’t help but smile at the sight.

He rests his chin over crossed arms, eyelids drooping. Assuming things go well, he and Macaque could do the same. Black tail winding around orange and their relaxed, steady breathing. He misses him.

Wukong hopes more than anything that his next encounter with Macaque will go smoothly.

It doesn’t.

-

The old wood of Macaque’s dusty dojo floor creaks loudly with each step. It’s annoying enough as it is, but, combined with the weighted movements of combat heaving on the wood, it’s borderline unbearable. Wukong irritably flops himself on his side, laid out on the plush pillow of his somersault cloud as he watches MK and Macaque go at it. Maybe Macaque’s either too used to the constant creaking to pay it any mind, or just too absorbed in battle to notice. Wukong takes a moment to silently thank the still tiles of his own training ground.

He watches them closely, watches MK switch between his sharp, shimmering relics, getting the hang of fighting with weapons outside of the trusty staff. It was a valuable skill to have that sort of adaptability in battle, and he takes little to no time adjusting at to the old katana in his grasp, ever the quick learner. Wukong couldn’t be more proud. Macaque gives Wukong an odd, almost disapproving glance before he takes his stance again, ready for the next round. He seems agitated today, his tail lashing and kicking up dust.

As much as Wukong would like to join in on the fun and show the kid how it was really done, he’s afraid his performance won’t quite be at its peak when there was so much weighing on his mind.

He needs to quit beating around the bush but, as so frequently seemed to be the case, Wukong fails to think up the right words. He feels like he immediately forgets every single word in his vocabulary when he tries.

Perhaps it would be easier if he tried to start a more casual conversation with MK there and then ease his way into it. Wukong wouldn’t “make a scene,” as Bai had put it, he’d just there to help smooth out the edges, so to speak. Kid had a way of putting out fires and making the best out of a tough situation.

Wukong grimaces to himself, irritated when MK’s landing to the floor creates a particularly horrific creak. Okay, no— that was actually a terrible idea; it was Wukong’s fire to put out, not MK’s. He doesn’t know why he even entertained the thought. Maybe he’s just at a complete loss, left grasping for anything that might work.

Wukong scratches at his temple, pouting to himself.

This was ridiculous.

Countless abilities and powers at his behest, but the thought of this sort of confrontation made him shake in his boots.

Wanting a brief escape from the discarded solutions littering his mind, the king directs his attention back to the fight at hand. MK effortlessly matches Macaque’s pace, his eyes keen, form sturdy, and reflexes sharp. He’s improved drastically since Wukong last witnessed him sparring with the warrior, but he expected nothing less from his pupil, of course.

MK reaches up to his head of hair, and, in a motion Wukong knows all too well, plucks a few strands out, blowing them into a cloud. In an explosion lined with shimmering gold, a group of MKs lunge for Macaque, hollering and whooping loudly. It catches Macaque completely off guard— it’s the perfect opportunity to strike. The clones are fast to take advantage, piling on top of him before he’s able to react and pinning him down as MK points the end of his blade at the flailing warrior.

“Nice job, bud!” Wukong cheers, throwing a thumbs up despite MK being too engrossed in battle to be able to see it. “Way better than last time! Seriously, you’re like a fighting machine! Or, uh… I guess you all are!”

The focus in his expression practically melts away, and MK beams with pride, his cheeks glowing red. He rests the blade on the back of his shoulders, entirely unconcerned with his struggling opponent on the floor.

“D’awww stop it, you really think so? I’ve been working on that one for like, ever. I didn’t think it’d actually work this time!”

A profound sense of pride fills the king, and maybe a bit of concern, too. He had his own hang-ups about MK pushing himself too hard, but he was handling his new abilities a lot more skillfully than Wukong could’ve guessed. Maybe Macaque had a better eye for his potential than even he did, as much as he hates that that could be a very real possibility.

As if able to hear the inner workings of Wukong’s very thoughts, said bastard decides to throw in his two cents.

“Ha… Can’t believe you had your doubts about me as a mentor, Wukong. You really don’t give me enough credit,” Macaque laughs from under the pile, voice strained from the weight. Wukong bites back a laugh of his own as an elbow from one of the many MKs pokes the warrior right in the cheek.

It’s an invitation for banter— he was good at that, if nothing else. If he plays his cards right, he might just be able to guide that banter into something resembling an amicable reconciliation. Hell, he’d even take another argument at this point.

“Pfft, you can’t blame me on that one,” Wukong jeers, almost on instinct. It’s an easy joke they’d both find a bit of humor in, but not so much this time. Macaque’s expression sours, and before Wukong can backpedal on his joke, the warrior melts into the shadows, leaving the clones confused. Within seconds, Macaque reappears, staff at the ready. Just as he gets the attention of the group of MKs, Macaque takes them all out with one fell swoop of his weapon, expression cold. MK’s quick to react, and their sparring falls back into an aggressive tango. The heavy creaking of the floorboards feels particularly louder in Wukong’s ears this time.

Wukong scratches at his head and turns away in embarrassment, deciding that maybe the better option was to just keep his mouth shut for the rest of this session. Maybe that wasn’t exactly the best choice of words he could have used.

The sparring continues as usual. It’s practiced and almost monotonously rhythmic, not unlike the current state of Wukong and Macaque’s bloody battlefield of a relationship. They fight, proceed to never discuss their feelings regarding what led to said fight, then continue on as per usual, left with more scars on their hearts than before.

Wukong grimaces to himself. No wonder their past friendship went down in flames.

With a huff, Wukong flops onto his somersault cloud, uselessly drawing blank after blank. This was far too delicate for him to handle; he was made for moving mountains and tearing through the heavens. Macaque wasn’t something any amount of divine power could fix. The solution for this was more… human.

And Wukong wasn’t exactly human.

Swinging his leg over the edge of the cloud, he looks again towards the dueling pair as if one of them would cut their battle short just to turn to him and offer up an easy, painless solution. It’s unlikely, but hey, a guy could hope.

Their staffs of shimmering gold and twisted shadows clash, their movements nimble. Though he was still easily the superior mentor in that dojo with not even a shadow of a doubt, Wukong admits to himself that no, maybe he didn’t give Macaque enough credit.

Macaque knew what he was doing, even if his methods were sometimes… cryptic. And perhaps just a bit too harsh for the king’s liking. But he was direct. He didn’t sugarcoat anything, but he wasn’t a complete asshole, either. And, for as much of a hardass as he pretends to be, Wukong sees the pride glowing in his eyes when MK executes a difficult maneuver flawlessly, the smile tugging at the corners of his lips when he ruffles the kid’s hair. He’d even go so far as to say that the guarded warrior was excited to give MK new instructions to follow.

It’s endearing. Cute, even. As sappy as it sounds, it warms his heart to see.

Wukong frowns when the warmth in his chest suddenly turns into a deep ache. Absently, he brings his hand up to rub soothingly at his sternum.

It was that pull again. That same one he felt when Macaque pinned him down and shone like the sun above him, the one that nearly made Wukong kiss him. It insists on making its home inside of Wukong, apparently. He wishes more than anything that it would go away.

The agreement was called off weeks ago, and yet here he was, wanting more than he could ever have.

Again, his eyes find Macaque, somberness spreading throughout his body.

Why couldn’t he just tell Wukong the truth?

He’s tired of being left to speculate. Wukong decides to just stick with his original plan: wait until MK’s training concludes for the day, get his ass in gear, and actually say something instead of just brooding and pondering. He’ll corner Macaque if he has to.

He doesn’t particularly like the idea, but it’s all he’s got.

It’s not until, between heavy strikes, Macaque throws an irritated glare Wukong’s way that he realizes he’d been staring. It was entirely an accident— everyone zones out from time to time, after all— but Wukong can’t help but take personal offense. If anyone was in the middle of a fight, what the hell was he supposed to look at, the wall?

The king snorts, tail flicking against his cloud. Now he kind of wants to keep staring just to spite him. In fact, Wukong does just that, keeping his eyes trained on the other like a hawk. Very predictably, Macaque’s eyes narrow, his fingers twitching around his staff as he tries to keep his focus, almost tripping over his cape. He’s lucky MK’s too nice to take advantage of his smaller hiccups.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Wukong relishes in Macaque’s little screwups, the way his movements seem to fall apart like a house of cards under Wukong’s gaze. He doesn’t get to enjoy himself for very long, though, as the warrior is quick to adapt and make adjustments to his behavior with every parry. Macaque was already a very skilled fighter (not that Wukong would ever admit that aloud) but it was clear that, in his time of mentoring, that MK wasn’t the only one improving.

Macaque’s lighter on his feet. More alert. He started using a few new fancy moves Wukong hadn’t seen from him before, dyeing the room a deep violet with his shadows. The Macaque Wukong used to know was a careful fighter. Tended to overthink his actions, but he was steadfast, and often preferred using his shadow staff over his regular shadow magic. Perhaps a bit vainly, Wukong wonders if it was an attempt to imitate himself. He didn’t know for sure.

This Macaque was far more confident in his actions. He’d fully embraced his shadow magic, and fought with an almost animalistic quality to him while still retaining that analytical nature. He pinpoints MK’s few weaknesses like an arrow to a target. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t overthink. There was an immense amount of care put into his own training, and it shows with every swing of his staff.

It was… attractive.

Wukong rejects the thought the moment it comes into his head, pinching his eyes shut as if the thought had projected itself directly in front of him.

No more of that. If Macaque didn’t want their agreement to continue, then he’d need to rid himself of those thoughts. They’d only get him nowhere.

A low groan rings in the air.

Wukong jolts upright, face burning before realizing that the sound was one of pain and not pleasure. Macaque clutches at his side, grinning through the pain before falling seamlessly back into the sway of combat. His body swirls with the surrounding shadows, his most dangerous weapon. He wields his own power with this profound air of confidence, body twisting with the movement of a swift evasive maneuver.

And the sinful, searing blaze the sight ignites inside of Wukong catches him entirely off guard.

Shame eats away at the king as he feels himself harden— gods, no, this wasn’t meant to happen. Acting quickly, Wukong lays on his side, back facing the duo and away from Macaque, hoping he could will it away. The sound of the floors creaking becomes near deafening.

This can’t be happening. He’d done so good at shoving away those thoughts. Why were they choosing to resurface now?

The image is a brand on his mind, the way Macaque’s body bends in the heat of battle, an easy segway into more lustful, guilty territory. Far too quickly he’s met with the familiar memories of the cocky bastard underneath him, whining and keening under his touch. Body curving against his own in a beautiful arch and toned legs wrapping around the king’s waist. Deep, timbre moans finding the midnight air, breathy and alluring.

Wukong’s tail lashes like a whip over the edge of his little cloud. He could pretend for Macaque’s sake, but nothing was going to erase these feelings, both adoring and carnal. He already had a taste of him, and, fuck, he wanted more.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Wukong sighs shakily, feeling much too hot and trapped in his clothes.

The lesson lasts far longer than Wukong would deem necessary, but he can only attribute it to the antsiness that typically wracked him during this time in the past. A quiet, yet burning impatience as Wukong sat pretty, waiting for Macaque to finish up with the kid, give him some pointers, and send him on his way.

And as soon as MK was out of sight and out of mind, Macaque was all Wukong’s for the taking, sweaty, disheveled, and out of breath. Flushed with the exertion of battle as he manages that oh-so alluring smirk, a wordless invitation.

Wukong was starting to have his regrets about attending MK’s lesson today, but he was already here and he needed to make it worth Macaque’s time. All he needed to do was wait for MK to leave and get it over with.

The warrior pulls MK to the side, making these firm gestures and guiding his feet in place as he goes over whatever the hell the lesson was about. MK practically absorbs the information with a stern expression, responding with sharp nods of his head. Macaque’s confident in his gestures and expressions, panting hard in an attempt to catch his breath. Sweat glistens over his face and his cheeks burn crimson.

Wukong tears his eyes away, falling back to his side and facing his back towards the duo.

Thankfully, he’s able to get his stupidly horny body under control in time. Wukong drags his hands down his face as Macaque wraps up his lecture. MK says his goodbyes and his footsteps fade. Just as Wukong begins to steel himself for the confrontation, Macaque approaches.

“He left already. What do you want?”

Wukong peeks at him over his shoulder, then properly sits up as he hopes for the best. His breath trembles before he speaks, and he hopes against hope that Macaque doesn’t hear it. He knows he does.

“I think you can probably guess for yourself.”

A dark tail lashes at the floor, kicking up dust. Macaque narrows his eyes, wordlessly challenging him.

“Dunno. Maybe you should gimme a refresher.”

The king tsks. So it was going to be like that.

“I think you could maybe start by telling me what your deal is with me. What’s up with you?”

Macaque gets that look again, and Wukong’s certain he’s going to run off like some frightened wild animal once more. Much to his surprise though, Macaque stays, but he’s visibly tentative. He takes a step back, already creating distance between them. He doesn’t know Wukong’s prepared to chase him down if he has to.

“I thought I told you I needed time to think about this.”

“All you’ve had was time. Spill.”

Of all things to cross Macaque’s expression, hurt was the last one he expected to see. Maybe outrage, maybe even nothing at all, but hurt wasn’t what he was prepared for. An array of emotions flash over his face, and he’s frozen to the spot. Sympathy softens the hardened edges of his eyes for just a moment before they become sharp and cruel once more.

“It doesn’t matter.”

The shadow stares him down, unaware of just exactly how much unbridled fury those few words ignited in Wukong.

“It doesn’t matter,” his voice echoes in his ears, as if Wukong hadn’t been agonizing over this. As if he hadn’t spent his lonely nights yearning for him, desperately wishing he could hold him closer than he’s ever been held before. Wishing to have his warrior lay beside him in his arms where he could keep him safest. And if Wukong was lucky, the yearning would follow into his dreams, and he could relive that single, cherished moment of pure bliss once more.

But apparently it, “doesn’t matter.”

Rage overcomes Wukong and boils his blood. He wants to march forward and knock his teeth in, wants to screech at him for even uttering those words in the first place. All he’s done was try to make this work, but if Macaque’s not willing to reciprocate, then maybe this wasn’t worth the effort.

“Why not.”

Macaque makes a face.

“What?”

“Oh, I know you heard me. Why doesn’t it matter? Why doesn’t it matter that you apparently hate me now? I’m not a mind reader, if you can’t—”

“Hey— I never said I hated you. Don’t put words in my mouth, asshole.”

Wukong balls his hands into fists. He’s got half a mind to shake Macaque by the shoulders and just demand answers at this point. He doesn’t know what the hell to say to him anymore, doesn’t know what approach to take, or what to do. Nothing was working.

“Just answer the question,” he orders, voice low and warning, just a hair’s breadth away from losing his last bit of patience altogether. Cracks on the thin frame of a wine glass.

And the next words uttered from Macaque’s mouth makes him shatter.

“It doesn’t matter because it’s in the past, and that’s where it belongs.”

It stings. It stings, and Wukong doesn’t know how to handle the way the white-hot knife twists in his chest. His callous words echo in his ears, sure to haunt him as he attempts to rest his body when the moon rises, but Wukong was a creature of habit, one who knew only how to respond in kind.

“Bullshit. As if you get a say on leaving things in the past. You’ve been obsessed with me for centuries!”

A rough shove sends him backpedaling.

“Yeah, and whose fault do you think that is?”

The king growls, grabbing fistfuls of that ridiculous red scarf and yanking Macaque closer, their noses brushing.

“I only did what I…” Wukong’s voice weakens, his train of thought derailing when his eyes catch on Macaque’s lips, slightly parted in shock. Swiftly, he redirects his gaze to Macaque’s eyes instead, wide with anger, wariness and… recognition.

Wukong’s not sure why this would spark recognition in the warrior, but it doesn’t take him too long to figure it out.

This was how it always started. They’d argue, say things they don’t mean, get up in the other’s face, and then…

Wukong removes his hands as if they’d been set ablaze.

This was wrong. He was messing things up again.

“Uh, I… Okay, wait. I didn’t—”

The expression on Macaque’s face was one he couldn’t put a name to, his ears twitching oddly. Wukong expects to be yelled at, to be shoved around once more, or maybe to even be punched square in the jaw. Instead, Macaque stares him down with a seriousness that feels almost grave.

“Just get outta here, Wukong,” he orders, voice unexpectedly quiet, “I think you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

And, like the coward he was, Macaque vanishes into the shadows, leaving no room for argument.

Just like that, Wukong was alone again.

He’s left gaping at the air, his heart pounding frantically in his ears as he tries to process what the hell just happened.

Why would Macaque just leave? That wasn’t like him at all. If he could fight and stand his ground, then that’s exactly what he was going to do. It didn’t make any sense. Was Wukong just not worth the energy?

The king balls his hands into fists, blood rushing in his ears.

Wukong paces aimlessly, gnarling his hands into his hair. His tail whips at the dusty floors, Macaque’s presence still aggravatingly near; he’s lurking in some corner of this ratty dojo, watching to make sure the sage takes his leave. Observing like Wukong were a zoo animal, yet he dared not approach, too preoccupied with pussyfooting around the root of the issue and silently stewing in his anger, as he seemed to be so well-versed in doing these days.

The king’s at a loss, unsure if he wants to screech like some alley cat until it offended Macaque’s ears enough to make him come out, or just leave this nonsense altogether. He’s trying so hard to make this work, he really was, but it was about as effective as reasoning with a brick wall. This was beyond ridiculous, yet so painstakingly like Macaque.

After more silent fuming and pacing, Wukong tosses his hands up into the air, marching towards the door and fully intending to rip it off its hinges.

“Fine. Hide in the shadows all day long. A lotta good that’ll do you.”

Slamming the door shut (hopefully loud enough to irritate Macaque), Wukong hops onto his cloud and begins the flight home. The cool wind whipping through his hair does little to cool the magma coursing through his veins, the boiling outrage of Macaque’s complete and utter bullshit. With an unfocused gaze, he watches the bright lights of the city below blur into colorful neon streaks against concrete. He wishes he had some way to take out all this pent up anger. He never even got an answer out of Macaque, the bastard.

He scowls at nothing, picking up speed.

What an asshole. Who was he, to withhold that sort of information from Wukong, to leave him to speculate what he did wrong? Some fucking nerve.

Part of Wukong wants to just circle back and fight him. Clock him clean in the gut and watch him double over— maybe it’d feel half as painful as Wukong did on the inside. He wants to see him writhe, wants to paint crimson over his mouth and nose. It’d get him further into the realm of absolutely nowhere, but gods would it be satisfying.

Macaque would smile his toothy grin, blood staining his fangs. Hardly a new sight when those same fangs would sink into Wukong’s flesh and break overheated skin in the throes of pleasure.

The king nearly loses his balance, arms shooting out and flailing as his cloud nearly lurches like a capsized boat before regaining his composure. Or about as much of it as he had left.

Wukong tries his best to ignore it, but those lewd thoughts from earlier seemed intent on rooting themselves in every corner of his mind now that the first seed had planted itself. War rages in the battlefield of his head, torn between indulging in his twisted fantasies or rejecting them altogether. Torn between imagining his warrior underneath him once more or paying it no mind— and the latter was rapidly losing the battle.

When the sage finally makes it to his home, he stumbles off of the cloud, his heart racing and body running almost entirely on autopilot.

Wukong shuts the door, running a clammy hand through his hair. Cold sweat rolls down his forehead, burning up as it runs down flushed cheeks. His mouth was dry, and that familiar, overwhelming heat simmers hotly in the pit of his stomach. Flaring under his skin and boiling uncomfortably between his legs, demanding his full attention.

Dragging his hands down his face, Wukong pants, his legs heavy as his erection strains near painfully against his clothing.

Gods, this was an entirely different level of pathetic.

The king sits himself at the edge of his couch, fingers trembling. The image of Macaque was stuck in his head now that he was alone— Macaque covered in sweat, a blush high on his tan cheeks, obsidian fur tousled and clothing rumpled. It’s an image he was quite intimately familiar with, and one that he really, really shouldn’t be thinking about anymore.

Oh, but the rush and excitement that thrashed throughout his veins was unlike any other, even after all this time. His body ached for him. He wants him close, closer than he’s ever had him before, but he wants to push him away all the same. It doesn’t make any sense.

Wukong shucks off his breastplate and twin-tailed cape, letting them fall in a heap onto the floor. He reaches to undo the tie around his waist, fingers hovering in the air in a brief moment of hesitation and clarity.

Was he really going to do this?

He shouldn’t. It was a violation of Macaque’s boundaries. He’d be appalled to know Wukong still felt this way towards him— and gods, he’d been doing so good up until now. He’d been so respectful of Macaque’s wishes, pushed his own desires aside, and did everything correctly. Indulging in this only perpetuated that nagging feeling— he knew it did.

He clasps his hands into a fist, then unclenches.

Just this once. Once, and then never again.

The king pinches his eyes shut, fingers slowly, reluctantly, and near shamefully finding the tie on his waist as images of Macaque flash through his head. He swallows dryly, carnal desire pulsing throughout his core, demanding to be sated by an impish prick with a cocky smile and dark fur. He thinks of Macaque’s fierce expression when he fights, the intense flames of violet burning around the edges of his irises, and the wicked grin on his face, the way his canines flash. Thinks of the way his flexible body twists and curves with each movement, how it would shift underneath those layers of clothing.

That flexibility led to some of Wukong’s favorite trysts.

A low groan escapes him— he was diving back into some very, very dangerous thoughts. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t even be thinking this, but…

With a shaky exhale, the king eases his cock out, starting a slow stroke.

It would be the last time, he swears it.

Shame fills Wukong as his quaking fingers slide unsatisfyingly over his length— he’s so pathetic, surrendering to his baser desires so easily like this. But that persistent itch inside of him was one that couldn’t be scratched, and he needed some sort of relief, however temporary.

Gods, what would Macaque think of him?

The thought wracks him with guilt before Wukong shivers pleasurably.

Actually…

What would Macaque think of him?

His dick practically jumps in his hand, and Wukong finds a pace that has him groaning.

Macaque would belittle him. Tilt Wukong’s head up by the chin and leer down at him with that smugness he wore so well. Tower over him and command the pace Wukong sets his hand at. He’d get close, so achingly close to where the king wants him, but he’d never give him what he wanted. That was always part of the allure; Sun Wukong got everything he wanted. There was a certain, sick thrill in being denied, one that made his blood rush south.

It just made him crave Macaque that much more.

“You really are pathetic, Monkey King,” He imagines him purring, voice low and rich as honey, “You take one look at me and you just don’t know how to act. I bet you’d give anything to be inside of me right now, wouldn’t you?”

And, oh, Wukong most certainly would.

He bucks his hips as the initial hesitation rapidly drains from his body, overcome by the thought of slipping inside of Macaque again and claiming every inch of those silken walls. Moans as he imagines the faces his cock could draw from Macaque, the way he’d grind on him and sigh on his lips.

“Yeah, that’s right,” He thinks of Macaque saying, climbing over his frame and standing on his knees, looming over him, “Stroke yourself faster. It won’t feel as good as I do, but…” Wukong imagines Macaque pitching his voice low, thinks of his hot breath warming the shell of his ear, “I’m sure you’ll take what you can get, if it means you get to think about me.”

The king’s fingers tremble, momentarily losing his pace before picking back up again, faster this time. He hates how true that was, but can’t find it in himself to care. His hand could hardly hold a candle to the way Macaque’s insides wrapped around him so perfectly, but, gods, it was just going to have to do for now.

Pleasure wracks every sizzling inch of his body— it’s a divine cocktail, one he hasn’t tasted in months. The taste was as alluring and addicting as it had always been, an easy, rich slide down his throat like the finest wine. A taste enhanced tenfold when memories of their past trysts flash behind Wukong’s eyelids.

The king remembers the heated scent of plums and sex, the warmth of his warrior’s hands running through coarse ginger fur burn into his body like a brand. All he can think of was Macaque, Macaque taking all of him the way he so effortlessly used to, holding his king close to him and moaning into his neck. Thinks of the eager, borderline voracious way he’d kiss him, the way his lips moved over his own like he wanted to devour everything Wukong had to offer. He’d let him, too.

Humiliatingly enough, pre already begins a steady dribble over his fingers. Wukong huffs, sweat running down the sides of his cheeks. He could normally last longer than this, but whatever. Needs must, or something like that.

Wukong moans lowly, his stroke a considerably smoother glide with the dripping pre, and twists his hand over the head in a poor mimicry of how Macaque would normally do it. The thought of ebony fur tucked under his robe flits across the king’s mind, his train of thought eager to tread any tracks so long as they had him in them.

He thinks about how he would’ve pleased Macaque if he’d stayed on that day, thinks about the hot, fleeting taste of maple syrup and coffee on his tongue. Thinks of rough, slender fingers loosely entwined with his own, grasping tightly when Wukong presses inside of him. The sting of claws carving into his knuckles had never felt so good.

Wukong grits his teeth— he’s close.

He thinks of the way Macaque’s pretty mismatched eyes would flutter open to look at his, glazed over with lust. The way his chest would rise and fall as he catches his breath, the heady whines falling into his ears, growing higher in pitch as he drove Macaque closer and closer to the edge. His heels would dig into Wukong’s lower back as he kissed him over and over again, murmuring his sweet nothings against the king’s lips.

Puffy, bitten lips would kiss over the torn scar lining Wukong’s forehead, gentle in a way only Wukong had the honor of experiencing.

Then, he’d meet his gaze, utterly besotted with him before dropping his voice to a whisper.

“I love you, Wukong.”

His orgasm overtakes him suddenly— Wukong’s only able to get a sharp gasp in before ropes of cum shoot over his hand, a surprised groan tumbling from his lips. Heat erupts through his core and gushes through his veins, his mind spinning as the high hits him hard.

The king pants harshly, eyes fluttering open before he grimaces at the mess he’s made, the sudden wayward direction his thoughts had taken. He shakes the spend off of his hand and softening cock, repulsion filling his person as a slow clarity washes over him.

Son of a bitch.

Those few words shouldn’t have made his heart skip a beat, and they shouldn’t have made him finish too soon. They just shouldn’t have.

But they did, and Wukong’s finally forced to stare down the beast he’d spent so long running from, eye to eye.

He was in love with Macaque.

Wukong stares blankly at the floor, using his ever-reliable breathing techniques to gather his bearings. He plucks a strand of hair from his head, conjuring a rag and slowly cleans himself up. It’s a matter of giving his hands something to do as his mind scrambles to sort itself back into place.

Even if it was the only logical conclusion he was left with, Wukong supposed that, if he ran long enough, he could outrun those feelings altogether. Of course he loved Macaque. There was no other for him, no other he wished to devote his life to. But he was so afraid of properly acknowledging it. Afraid that they were doomed to make the same mistakes, and afraid of what it would mean for their future.

The king sighs, shamefully pulling his pants back up. This was some offensively shitty timing to open that can of worms. Leave it to the Great Sage to fall in love with someone the moment they become unavailable to him. Gods, what a mess this had become.

He tosses the rag in the trash, not really wanting to deal with the hair it would turn into once it reached the end of its very short lifespan. Wukong sits himself back on the couch, wondering what he was going to do now.

Some fleeting, stupidly hopeful part of him wants to let his feelings flourish, to nurture them in his own little globe of denial. Even in just the comfort of his little fantasy, the simple words caused a sublime warmth to spread throughout his core. It’d be nice to feel that again, even if it wasn’t real. But the reasonable and healthier long-term option was to smother these feelings altogether if he wanted his old friend back, and that’s what really took priority. Once again, Wukong would have to put his feelings on the back burner. They weren’t nearly as important as restoring their friendship.

A headache suddenly sinks its nails into his skull, and Wukong brings his fingers up to his temples, rubbing in circles in an attempt for some respite. Mental gymnastics were far more exhausting than any sort of physical training he’s ever had to endure, he’s certain.

A nap called for him, his fatigued mind weeping for just a small moment of rest, but Wukong thinks he’s spent enough time running away from himself. He decides that he’ll meditate somewhere in the mountains instead. Feel the chill of the high altitude’s wind in his fur while he processes those feelings. Besides, it was all he really could do, given his current predicament. He wasn’t going to try to make amends if Macaque was just going to act so ignorant and volatile. He’d have to wait for the warrior to come to him.

If he ever would. The terrain beneath them was already unstable enough, and Wukong only introduced landmines into the mix by starting up another argument. He cringes at his behavior.

He had to wait until Macaque was ready— he really didn’t want to start up another argument.

Wukong sighs before smiling to himself.

He complains, but Macaque was worth the trouble.

He always was.

-

Macaque sniffs at the air, the thick scent of petrichor filling his lungs. A soft breeze rustles his dark fur, a warning for the oncoming storm fast approaching in the distance. The thunder clouds were heading directly towards him, tumbling like waves in the sky, but he wasn’t at all concerned.

From where he sits at the clifftop, Macaque knew he had a good hour or two before the storm would be too close for comfort. Until then, he couldn’t care less about where it traveled.

He pulls his lips in a taut line, kicking his heel against the cliffside. Small rocks fall far below, down into the lush fauna of Flower Fruit Mountain. He hears them pelt against the leaves of the trees.

That line of thinking was what got him here in the first place, wasn’t it? Ignoring the problem until it was far too late and his only option was to run from it. Old habits die hard and all that. Foresight was a skill he had quite a lot of experience in— it was immensely draining having to be the only voice of reason in the brotherhood, after all— but Macaque supposes he never accounted for himself to make the error this time around.

He never thought he’d let his feelings get the best of him. He never thought he’d so cowardly avoid Wukong afterwards. He never thought he would be feeling like this. Quite frankly, Macaque had fucked up on all accounts. He’d be impressed with himself if he weren’t so pathetic.

And all for what?

Macaque sinks his fangs into the stolen peach, leaning back to support himself on his other arm. Soundless lightning flashes in the distance, over the tall, colorful buildings of Megapolis. The grey of the clouds suffocates the hues of neons, leaving dim little lights to glow weakly in the haze of heavy rain.

It’d been a week since he and Wukong had that needless little tiff. Needless in the sense that it never would’ve happened in the first place if Macaque hadn’t been so afraid of his own feelings, fleeing from them the moment they reared their ugly heads.

The feelings he’d buried so deep into the core of the earth were resurfacing with a vengeance. Out for blood, chasing him like a pack of hyenas. Macaque feels every brutal swing, strike, and blow of those aching, debilitating feelings every time Wukong reaches out for him, every time he so clearly wants more than what they already have.

That was the part that was most hard to accept.

It was hard to accept that Wukong would want that with him, and even harder for Macaque to come to terms with the fact that he might feel the same. It hurt to admit that, even in the safety of his own thoughts, but it was getting a little more manageable each time.

For as much as he would deny it, Macaque knew that, deep down, he craved Wukong’s touch. A non-sexual, compassionate touch, like before.

Part of him hates that he craves it like oxygen. Grabbing at the bedsheets in the throes of pleasure was the easier option, because Macaque knew that if he held Wukong, he wouldn’t want to let go, and the wretched feelings he’d buried into the core of the earth would resurface.

The other part, though, loved being lavished with his attention and adoration. Wukong’s touch was the most natural thing Macaque knew, and he’s tired of trying to fight it. Or, fight him, rather.

He huffs, nose wrinkling as he makes a face to himself. 

Gods, he really sounds like a sap.

How did it even get to this point?

Macaque furrows his brows, absently brushing through the fur on his tail and picking out the small knots as he gazes past the shimmering ocean to Megapolis. The rolling storm casts dark shadows over the skyscapers, and lightning crackles in the clouds. He takes another bite of the peach, staring absently at its glistening insides as if awaiting a response from it.

The warrior kind of wishes he could say that he just conveniently forgot how their first night together happened.

But he can’t.

It was a mess of claws, teeth, sharp-tongued insults, and hasty movements, all sparked from some needless dick-measuring contest over who was the better mentor. A small argument, too, yet it escalated so much further than Macaque ever would have guessed. Brutal words were carelessly thrown, and, next thing he knew, it led into something else. Something different, but not unwelcome.

It was rough and wildly unpredictable, the both of them fighting for dominance. A whirlwind of lust, fury, growls, moans, and sighs. Macaque was harshly reminded over and over of just how powerful Wukong was, his holy body that once shredded through the heavens using every ounce of strength for such simple-minded, carnal instinct.

Snappy words crumbled into wanton moans of pleasure, sighs, and, amidst it all, petty bickering. It was a nasty, uncoordinated mess, but more than good enough to leave the proud warrior in shambles, his legs left quivering in the most satisfied way.

It was only supposed to be a one-time thing, too. Macaque remembers Wukong saying as much as he pulled his shirt back over his head. He seemed a little perturbed at the time, and Macaque remembers feeling the same. As good as the sex was, there was a certain regret that came with having it with someone as rooted into his being as Wukong was, and especially given their history. “You know, this… probably wasn’t a good idea. Let’s just keep this between us and move on,” the king had mumbled, met with an immediate nod from Macaque.

Unsurprisingly, it was yet another argument that led to their second tryst. During Macaque’s mentoring lesson with MK, back when Wukong wouldn’t stop watching over his shoulder as if the warrior was going to knock MK unconscious the moment he looked away. Gods, it got on his nerves.

So, of course, Macaque had taken it up with Wukong himself. Even during that time, there was that small flicker of hope inside of Macaque that wanted more. He hoped that, if he pushed hard enough, Wukong would have to punish him in a different way, one that involved less clothing and more tongue.

And he was right.

“This is the last time we’re doing this,” Wukong growled, a dangerous tone of finality in his voice before he pinned him down. He was livid, the gold of his eyes practically engulfing Macaque’s face. But Macaque could see it— Wukong was getting just as much of a thrill out of this as he was.

Every time was the, “last time.”

Yet, they still kept coming back. Moths to a flame.

Then, they formed a schedule. Once or twice a week. Only for a little while, maybe a month. Two months, max.

“Tell me what you like. Maybe I’ll even remember it for you,” Wukong sneered.

Macaque scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He doesn’t expect Wukong to remember, so he throws out the easiest, most acceptable answer.

“Hard and fast. I think that’s easy enough for your simple little mind to keep track of, yeah?”

A thoughtful hum was his response.

One month then turned into several months. Gods, was Wukong a fast learner, able to pick up on what really made Macaque whine with keen eyes watching his every reaction. Of course, the proud warrior wasn’t one to be outshined in any aspect, so he gave as much back, if not more. it only snowballed from there; next thing they knew, they were showing up at the other’s place near regularly.

Macaque sighs, smoothing over his tail now that it was nice and sleek again.

It had all gone on much too long. They should have just quit while they were ahead. They even knew it. Constantly said it, too. As pathetic as it sounds, he just couldn’t tear himself away from that sunny-faced idiot. And that never would have happened if they’d just cut things off before it got to this point.

After he ended things, though, Macaque found himself lost. For not the first time, he found himself lost without Wukong.

He felt as if he’d lost part of himself. Of course, the warrior knew he had no one to blame for that other than himself. Cutting things off was an admittedly impulsive decision on his end, done for the purpose of guarding his heart the moment it felt as if Wukong’s hands were just shy of touching it.

But Wukong’s hands had already cradled his beating heart with utmost care. He’d shown Macaque kindness when he was falling apart, lashing out at everyone and everything, and even let him stay just so they could cuddle. There was something about that single moment in Macaque’s long, long lifespan that truly made him feel as if everything would work out in the end. He supposes Wukong did always have a natural talent for that.

And then what did Macaque do? He tore it all apart. The intimacy, the care and affection, made him fall to his knees, made him feel so, so much weaker than any battle ever has. It was one thing, to be physically overpowered and rendered incapable of fighting back, but choosing to be vulnerable was something Macaque could never bring himself to do. It just wasn’t how he was wired. And it took him longer to come to terms with the fact that Wukong made him want to be vulnerable.

Macaque had even go so far as to try to find a sort of workaround, so to speak. Anything to distract his horribly confused mind.

Or anyone.

Humans were generally just as simple as him when it came to those sorts of lustful desires. Macaque knew it wouldn’t take him long to find someone so he could ideally find a way to move on from Wukong. It’s not like he was ever tied down to him, so he figured it would be worth a shot.

Macaque had magically weaved together his most presentable, conventionally attractive human disguise and thrown on tacky clothes befitting of the current time period. Not his style in the slightest but, assuming things went smoothly, he wouldn’t need to have them on for very long.

Sure enough, it took him no time at all to find a guy who was attractive enough, sitting by himself at a local bar. The warrior presented his best, “fuck me” eyes and carefully dragged a finger over his thigh, keeping a sort of playful allure to his tone. They kissed, ran their hands along eachother’s bodies, and made it back to what’s-his-name’s home.

But, just as their clothes had come off, Macaque had become a bit disgruntled. Annoyed, even. Not at the poor guy, no, but at himself. Annoyed because every time this guy kissed or held him, his mind was still stuck on Wukong.

His touch was hesitant and unsure. Inexperienced. Not something that could be helped, nor something Macaque thought less of him for. The problem lied in himself— tying every little thing back to that sunny-faced bastard, or comparing the guy to him. His shy way of kissing versus Wukong’s familiar, bold tongue. A meager drag of clammy palms over his torso versus the king’s confident ones, hot like fire over his body. Teeth nibbled at his neck, but human teeth were much too blunt to bring Macaque much excitement. Instead, he’d imagine the sting of sharp, pointed canines digging into his flesh or roughly catching his ears, a heated touch he’d been craving.

It was all he could think about.

Above all though, was the bitter, unforgiving sludge of guilt flooding his system.

That was the ridiculous part.

Their agreement was never mutually exclusive. That was one of the first things he and Wukong had agreed upon, both too prideful at the time to admit to enjoying the other in such a carnal manner. And yet, neither of them ever actually hooked up with anyone else. Maybe it was some wordless understanding. Hell if Macaque knew.

But, as he stepped further and further into the throes of pleasure with someone very distinctly not Wukong, it became more apparent.

Six ears had flicked under heavy glamors, a memory that still rang clearly in them echoing throughout his lust-drunk mind, cutting through the fog like the piercing lights of a stadium.

“You’re mine. Isn’t that right?”

“I… Yes, Wukong. All yours.”

“All mine.”

That was the point where Macaque knew for absolute certain what exactly it was that he was feeling. But he still wasn’t quite ready to accept it, even now.

So, before he and the other guy could really get anywhere, Macaque called things off, this horrid feeling brewing in his gut. The guy was understandably upset, but took it in stride and, as soon as Macaque put his clothes back on and was out of view, he portalled out of there. Blue-balled the poor guy no doubt, but there was no point in trying to have sex to forget about Wukong if his stupid, hopeless, simple mind circled back to him regardless.

He can’t remember when that happened. Probably shortly after he pulled the plug on their agreement, when his emotions were still running high and he didn’t know what to do with them.

Either way, it didn’t happen again after that.

After Macaque made it home, a shower was of no relief to the weight of sin and shame burning him up. The stranger’s touch burned, heavy on his body. Not with the sensual, addicting heat like Wukong, but as a bitter reminder. The taste of that man still fresh on Macaque’s tongue tasted like bile. He felt sick.

The warrior sighs heavily, heel knocking against the rock of the cliff. The storm looming over Megapolis sure seemed to be taking its sweet time reaching him. It took everything in Macaque to come to Flower Fruit Mountain with the intention of finding Wukong and apologizing for his behavior. Now that he was actually here though, it felt as if he needed to emotionally prepare himself.

As of late his emotions seemed to be running at an all-time high, and that man was the catalyst to him finally descending down the haunting abyss of his subconscious and getting to the bottom of this.

That yearning he once felt for Wukong had been simmering inside of his chest for a while now, but Macaque pointedly ignored it, under the guise that it was for his own safety and that Wukong was not to be trusted again.

Really, that was just a fancy way of saying he was afraid.

Macaque almost wants to laugh at himself. He can’t help but wonder what Wukong must think of him. It was a pretty dick move on his part to leave him guessing. He had no one to blame for that but himself.

Macaque looks up to the sky, using his arms to prop himself up as he leans back. The sun falls over the horizon ever so slowly, anticrepuscular rays stretching across amber skies and honey-gold clouds. The first few stars of night dot the sky, shining dimly.

Gods, he really misses him.

He misses the curve of his boyish smile and irresistible charisma. His talkative nature, the way that, if it were anyone else, Macaque would be annoyed by such incessant chatter, but not with Wukong. The sound of his voice induces a calmness in the warrior, one he could easily fall asleep to, accompanied by the beating of a stone heart.

A non-sexual intimacy. Curled around the other and huddled away from the rest of the world. Warmth without the fire of lust.

The sound of a small animal scurrying away causes his ear to flick. A spy he failed to notice in the thicket of his thoughts.

One of the little monkeys, he supposes. He doesn’t pay them much mind when they dash off, or even when they start chittering noisily somewhere in the distance. At least, not until Wukong’s voice enters the picture.

“Huh? What’s he doing here? Why?” Macaque hears the sound of frantic shuffling, then the sound of something falling over. “I’ll be right back. And— wait, hang on, I thought I told you to quit calling him that!” The sound of delighted chirping filled Macaque’s ears, sounding similar to… laughter? Macaque’s nose crinkles as he pouts to himself. What were they calling him?

He’s given no time to think on it when he hears the sound of footsteps nearing, the familiar sound of that strong, steady heartbeat. Judging by the sound of it, Wukong was still a pretty good distance away. If he wanted to leave before he got here, he could. It’s not like he left much of a trace. The shadow looks out to the storm inching its way over amber waves.

Taking a shaky breath, Macaque steels himself as best as he can under such short notice. The peach in his hand trembles.

Then, he hears Wukong begin to near him, no doubt within his line of sight now. Macaque doesn’t expect this conversation to be pretty, but it needs to be had if he wanted to salvage what was left of their friendship. No more running away.

“Hey. What’re you doing here?” Wukong asks, his voice low, but unthreatening. He stands somewhere behind Macaque, but Macaque doesn’t turn to face him.

“Good to see you too, bud,” he hums, taking the final bite into the peach.

It’s quiet for a moment. If he listens closely, Macaque can hear Wukong’s subjects somewhere far behind them, probably listening in. He laughs inwardly. Those little monkeys were so nosy. He’d found that out the hard way.

Wukong shifts somewhere behind him. “Did you steal that peach from me?”

“They taste better when they’re yours.”

“You don’t even like peaches.”

Macaque wipes the juice from his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugging halfheartedly. Peaches weren’t his favorite per se, but it was hard to turn them down if it meant he got to steal from Wukong. He leans back, propping himself up with an arm as he turns the pit in his hand.

“You like plums more.”

His brows raise, chest doing something funny. “I’m surprised you even remembered that,” the shadow murmurs, not caring whether it was loud enough for him to hear or not. It was something he’d only ever mentioned maybe once or twice in their wild flurry of years together. Unlike Wukong, Macaque didn’t make his favorite fruit his entire personality trait. But it touches him that he’d remember something so insignificant.

Wukong shifts again, bizarrely quiet for a moment before he speaks again, more firm this time. “You still haven’t answered my question, y’know.”

Macaque raises a brow at the setting sun, playing off his nervousness. “About the peach?”

However, it seems as if the king is in no mood to take the bait for banter. Macaque doesn’t entirely blame him. Instead, he begins to approach Macaque, taking a seat beside him. The shadow scoots over, putting some space between them. He warily meets the king’s gaze, who looks back at him with this odd expression.

“I don’t really think you came all the way over here just to eat some peaches, bud.”

Macaque bristles and turns away. He opens his mouth to take the defensive, then closes it after thinking better of himself. He doesn’t want to start another argument. That would get him nowhere other than familiar territory. None of this was familiar territory, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be. So, instead, he decides to suck it up and face this the way he failed to before.

“Uh, I’m just… thinking,” he mumbles, sounding just a bit too awkward for his liking. He looks to the peach pit in his hand, picking at it with his nails.

Wukong laughs halfheartedly. “You mean brooding?”

Macaque tosses the pit somewhere over the cliff with a heavy sigh, irritated that his internal agony would be whittled down to “brooding.” Just as he’s about to get up and reschedule this for another time, a hand on his wrist stops him. Wide eyed, the shadow looks to Wukong, who looks apologetic.

“Aw, c’mon. I was just messing around. Don’t be such a drama queen.”

He rolls his eyes, but sits back down, crossing his legs. He finds it wonderfully hilarious how Wukong calls him the drama queen, but whatever. His tail flicks on the side of the cliff, tapping over the rocks. His eyes are once again drawn to the sky and approaching storm, wordlessly searching for guidance.

Something nostalgic fills Macaque as he looks over the sparkling lights of the city far beyond, glittering like diamonds in the rough. There’s a wave of nostalgia that washes over him, sitting here with Wukong. He half expects fireworks in the colors of the rainbow to start shooting up into the sky in celebration of whatever event the mortals had lined up this time, as silly as it sounds.

“Hey, remember when we’d sit up here and watch the fireworks?” Wukong asks, as if able to read Macaque’s mind. With his numerous abilities and powers, he would hardly be surprised if mindreading was one of them at this point. He erases any trace of surprise that threatens his face.

The king smiles fondly upon the city. “You hated them.”

Macaque can’t help but smile with him. Such an easy warmth fell over him when he was Wukong. He enjoys it while he can.

“Still do. They’ve never been my favorite sounds, y’know.”

“Ha, trust me, I know. But they sure were pretty, right?”

“They were.”

Macaque remembers seeing them high in the night sky, popping and sizzling in a wonderful array of colors. In a more clear, crisp memory, he remembers seeing those same spirals and sparkles reflecting in dazzling gold eyes, wide with wonder. The prismatic shine over wild, untamable auburn fur. It more than made up for the onslaught of endless booming directly into Macaque’s ears.

The shadow blinks back into the present and turns away, looking at anything that wasn’t Wukong. His brows knit together, pensive. He doesn’t quite know what to say or where to start, his mouth feeling dry.

It’s quiet for a moment. Distantly, Macaque can hear Wukong’s subjects chittering quietly amongst themselves. Probably gossiping, or something. If only he still knew the language they spoke.

Speaking of…

“Hey, so— what, uh… What did the little ones say about me?” He asks before he can stop himself, realizing much too late that it might have been rude of him to be listening in like that.

The king’s head darts to him in an instant, eyes wide, as if Macaque had suddenly sprouted another head. Macaque’s certain he just gave himself whiplash. Quickly, though, Wukong shakes away the shock on his face, schooling his expression into something a little more neutral.

It’s cute, admittedly. Wukong had always worn his heart on his sleeve.

“Oh, ha… what do you mean?” He asks, a strained smile on his face.

Macaque hums, looking down to the flora beneath his dangling feet.

“They were calling me something, and then you told them to stop.”

He sighs, opening his mouth to speak, then closes it. Old memories of insults and bullies arise, memories of a time when Macaque was mocked for his six ears. 

“It’s my ears again, right?” He asks, firmly. Macaque steels his expression, not allowing vulnerability to show on his face. There’s an aborted motion of Macaque reaching up to touch his glamored ears.

Wukong shakes his head, hands raised in a pacifying manner.

“What? No, no, no! You got it all wrong, it’s not your ears. It’s uh…” He trails off, finger tapping against his cheek in thought.

“It’s… Well, you know. They think you’re mine. That we’re together.”

Macaque gapes at that, flabbergasted.

He waits for the punchline, but it never comes. Pink settles on Wukong’s cheeks, and he turns away, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He’s got this stone expression on his face, the expression that fooled so many others, but not Macaque. Acting like everything was okay when it really wasn’t.

Did the idea of them being together pain him that much?

“You’re serious.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Since when?”

The king pouts at that, not seeming to know the answer himself.

“Ah, I think around that time you were waiting for me in my room when we were training MK. They saw you in my bed, and kindaaa…” He drags out, waving his hands with his palms upturned, implying that the story just leaves off from there.

The warrior turns away, unsure how to process this information.

“But you told them we’re not together though, right?”

“Obviously! But they didn’t believe me.”

“Huh?”

“Well, like… ‘Cause, y’know, they can smell our scents on eachother. And they’ve seen your fur on me. They knew I was hangin’ around someone for a while, so when they finally saw you in my room that time, they thought they found their guy, y’know?”

Macaque huffs, cheeks reddening. It’s not like the chimps were wrong, Macaque certainly was the guy they were looking for. What else could be assumed? Especially since this had been going on since long before he ever actually saw any of them. Macaque usually portalled into Wukong’s house, then portalled out.

“I told them we’re not together, but, uh, they’re convinced that you’re my mate, or whatever. Especially now that they know what you look like and, well you always have my evidence on you.”

Macaque merely sighs. Again, he’s the problem. He and Flower Fruit Mountain just couldn’t seem to get along.

“So they’ve been calling me your mate this whole time? Even after…?” he trails off, hoping he won’t have to say aloud what he’s implying. Wukong seems to understand he’s referencing his stupidly impulsive decision to end things, and nods in response.

A mixed bag of feelings rattles Macaque. If he were told that months ago, he would’ve seriously cut things off and never looked back. Instead, he finds himself more confused than anything. He supposes he’s not so opposed to that idea, the idea of him and Wukong labeled as something so romantic. Macaque still doesn’t know for certain if it’s exactly what he wants, though. He’d need some time to think that over.

“…Weird,” He finally says after a moment.

“So weird.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Wukong?”

The king looks distraught for a moment, foot tapping against the mountainside before he responds.

“I dunno. It was stupid, I guess,” he mumbles.

“You guess?”

Wukong huffs, crossing his arms defensively. He doesn’t say anything in response, instead crossing his legs and curling his tail around himself. Eyes of false gold look off somewhere in the distance, and his heartbeat pounds fast. He’s nervous.

“You thought I’d make fun of you,” the shadow reasons.

The king doesn’t say anything, his tail irritably smacking the rockside, and Macaque knows he’s right. At one point, it would have been so easy to make fun of something like that— it was such easy fodder for a joke, or blackmail, or other.

But he doesn’t. Wukong had put in so much effort to get closer to him, and continues to do so. When Macaque looks at him, he doesn’t see the same Wukong from before, the one who wore his crown with honor, boasting to whomever would listen to his endless number of feats. No, he sees a king who chooses not to wear his crown, someone with a far humbler disposition.

There’s something different about his aura. It’s still distinctly Wukong, but in a different hue. He can’t quite put his finger on it.

Steeling himself, Macaque takes a deep breath. If he missed Wukong so badly, then he needs to put in the effort, too. He doesn’t want to keep running away from this, whatever that feeling was, the one he still refuses to put a name to. But right now, that feeling didn’t matter— not when Wukong looks so visibly distraught, hanging on by a thread. He grips the knot tying his twin-tailed cape together, fiddling with it nervously.

This wasn’t the time for thinking or planning things out. His friend was hurting, and he’d tend to his wounds the best way he could.

“Wukong.”

“Uh— Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s uttered in nothing more than a whisper, his breath audibly shaking before he continues.

“For everything.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.”

“No— I wasn’t… It’s not just because of that argument, or because I pushed you away. It’s for everything. I didn’t treat you fairly in the past or the present. I’m sorry.”

Wukong tenses. That, Macaque knew, would be a little harder to forgive.

“…Oh.”

It’s quiet again. The storm seems to approach much faster now, steadily making its way towards them. Even without his heightened hearing, Macaque can hear the low rumbles of lightning. The golds of the setting sun begin to darken.

“…Past stuff isn’t so easy to move on from, bud.”

Macaque nods solemnly.

“Yeah, I know. But, uh… If you and I are going to get along, I just think it’s important that you know that. Even if you don’t forgive me.”

Wukong’s gaze softens, his brows knitting together as he mulls over Macaque’s words. Talking wasn’t Macaque’s strong point, and maybe it came off a little awkward, but he hopes Wukong can understand that he was being genuine.

Wukong just turns away, shaking his head.

“I don’t really know if I can, bud. But, um… Y’know, thank you for telling me anyway. I mean it.”

The warrior just nods his head, an profound emptiness sinking its claws into his chest. not having Wukong’s forgiveness and knowing that it would never be okay made him feel cold. He’s not at all surprised, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Macaque knew what he put Wukong through in the past. He wouldn’t forgive himself either, truthfully.

“I wanna… apologize for the past, too.”

Macaque bristles, knowing exactly what he was going to say next and yet still given no time to emotionally prepare himself.

“I’m sorry for… what I did. For… killing you.”

The words are equivalent to that of a grim bell, ringing throughout the area and inducing a heavy weight  unto anyone unfortunate enough to have heard it. It’s uncomfortably quiet, and that insufferably strong urge to flee shakes Macaque once again. He feels antsy, tips of his fingers twitching before he balls them into fists to calm himself.

“I, um… I never wanted to, but-”

“Don’t apologize, Wukong.”

Macaque raises a shaky hand, meeting him seriously.

“You did what you had to,” he murmurs, meeting his gaze with sincerity, “I pushed you to that point. Even if I never got over it, it wasn’t fair of me to treat you like that.”

Wukong just turns away, tears brimming the edges of his eyes.

“But I still want you to know that I am sorry.”

Macaque’s jaw tenses as he thinks over his words. Even if he understood the reasoning as to why, it’s not like Wukong was exactly standing on any grounds to be forgiven, either. Even if they were on opposing sides, they were friends before anything. And still, Wukong found it in himself to end Macaque’s life.

“…You know I can’t forgive you for that.”

The king only nods, his lip trembling. 

“I know.”

Silence falls over them again, wind rushing through their manes and clothing. The warrior never thought he would ever hear Wukong apologize for what he did. He never once brought it up after it happened, always seemed to just pretend it never did in the first place. But he’s here, and he’s being genuine, all of his innermost feelings on display in all their messiness. It means more than he knows.

“I still want you to be beside me, Mac.”

“Then I’m right here, Wukong.”

The warrior can only offer his hand on Wukong’s shoulder. It’s not much, but to Wukong, it was. “I’ve got you,” goes unspoken through just that gesture alone, because Macaque was and always will be for him.

He hears the soft, unmistakable sound of sniffling.

His hand trembles on Wukong’s shoulder, tears of his own pricking the corners of his eyes. The king feels frail under his palm, and it’s so easy to forget that, despite his limitless reservoir of power and countless victories against higher beings, Wukong was just as human as any mortal. Falling apart in moments of secrecy, hidden away from the cold, judging eyes that place the king so high on his pedestal. It was hard to see him fall apart when he spent so much time putting others together.

Macaque sees the tears welling in his eyes, but Wukong doesn’t cry. He wipes them away the moment they’re about to escape and roll down his face, his cheeks turning scarlet. The shadow sits closer to him, delicately offering the little warmth his body could produce for him. Wukong’s arms are quick to grasp at him, his fingers gripping into his clothing as he burrows his nose into the crook of his neck. Tears stain the scarlet of Macaque’s cape.

Macaque doesn’t try to hold himself back anymore. He squeezes Wukong’s body tightly, the rest of the world melting away before him because as far as he was concerned, he had everything he needed right there in his hands.

Was it too much to ask, to provide Wukong with that same sense of security?

To prove that he was worth trusting again, the way Wukong had already proven to him?

To be his rock, to support him in his weakest moments?

Was that such an unreasonable request?

They sob into eachother, holding the other desperately and finally allowing their ugliest feelings to spill. Macaque grasps at him like he’s never held anyone else before, letting himself unravel in Wukong’s arms as the king did the same. It feels like a moment that lasts for an eternity, just the two of them and their cries, mourning the past and what they could’ve been, had they made better choices.

When Macaque’s tears slow to a stop, he dries them on his sleeve.

He hears Wukong lightly laugh behind him.

“Gods, I feel so dumb. You know I hate crying,” his voice still carries a bit of shaky unsteadiness, but he laughs anyway. Macaque can’t help but smile fondly. His laughter was always one of his favorite noises.

“Eh, it’s not so dumb. ‘Least I was here with you.”

“Yeah… Makes it a little easier.”

They finally pull away from eachother, and Macaque misses Wukong’s warmth immediately, the coolness of the outside breeze starting to feel considerably colder than before.

It’s quiet for a moment, but not suffocatingly so. He feels lighter, somehow, after having shed those tears. His smile feels so natural on his lips, and he feels a warm, nostalgic warmth pulse throughout his body, a feeling akin to coming home after having spent an eternity away.

When he speaks to Wukong again, it’s about everything and nothing at once. How MK’s been doing, and their steps in progress as a mentor. Playfully one-upping the other in MK’s milestones, like how effortlessly he took out an army of false Macaques, or how he summoned his first somersault cloud with Wukong.

It’s different this time. Good different.

Macaque forgot how naturally conversation came between he and the sage, seamless like waves lapping onto the shore and receding. The storm approaches perhaps a bit too quickly in Macaque’s opinion, but he hardly notices, listening intently to every word Wukong has to say. The fading sunset burns unfairly beautifully over his fur and twinkles over his eyes, and the shadow forces himself to look away.

When the dark clouds get too close for comfort, they both stand to leave. Wukong hugs him once more, and Macaque can’t help but return it, his heart swelling at the contact.

“I’ll see you next time?” Wukong asks, his eyes glittering. Behind his cape, Macaque’s certain he can see his tail wagging.

“Absolutely. You won’t be able to get rid of me,” he can’t help but smirk.

Macaque turns to leave with a flick of his cape, but before he can open a portal, Wukong calls for him.

“Mac, wait,” Wukong starts, scratching at the back of his head, “So, uh… What about, y’know… Our agreement? Just checking.”

The warrior pouts, admittedly not having thought that far ahead. He wasn’t too sure how that conversation with Wukong would go, so he just never considered it. With the way things were right now though, it probably wasn’t a good idea to reintroduce sex into the mix while they were still figuring things out.

“I think should probably work on, uh… this,” Macaque gestures vaguely between them, “instead. It’d be better for us in the long run.”

“Oh— yeah! Yeah, ‘course,” Wukong emphatically agrees.

“…And it should probably stay that way.”

“’Course, ‘course! We’ll manage. Just go back to training the kid and hanging like usual, right?”

“Yeah, exactly. Think this whole thing kinda ran its course, y’know?”

Wukong hesitates before answering.

“Yeah…”

There’s a beat of silence. The sky fades from shades of topaz to swaths of violets and blues, and the stars begin to burn brighter amongst a cloudless sea of dusk. A particularly chilly gust of wind blows through, cold enough that Wukong shivers and wraps his tail around himself. Rainfall darkens their view of Flower Fruit Mountain.

“That’s our cue to get inside, I guess,” Murmurs the shadow. He certainly wasn’t going to stay out in the rain.

Wukong just shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe. But, uh… We’re okay, right?”

Macaque laughs.

“Yes, Wukong. We’re fine,” then he smirks, unable to resist the opportunity presented before him, “A bit of rain isn’t gonna kill us.”

The king smiles and rolls his eyes, edges crinkling.

“Alright, smart guy,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “Anyway. You’re okay too, right? You’re not like, still mad or anything?”

The shadow gives a firm nod.

“I’m good, promise. I can probably tell you what was going on…” he considers his words carefully, unsure if he was ready to tell Wukong that he simply didn’t know how to handle his own feelings towards him, the ones he wasn’t ready to confront just yet. “I’ll tell you… some other time, yeah?”

Wukong nods, seeming a little skeptical, but he makes no comment.

“I mean, just as long as you do at some point.”

“You’re good too, right?”

His brows raise high, and Wukong gets this plastic smile on his face.

“Never been better, bud.”

Macaque raises a brow and almost questions him on that, but thinks better of it. Things were still a bit unsteady, and the bridge they tread was missing a plank or two, but it was considerably better than the way things were before. No point in ruining their progress with a question Wukong wasn’t willing to answer honestly. Once the initial air of awkwardness clears, it’ll be practically perfect.

He watches Wukong undo the knot on his cape, having come loose when he was fiddling with it earlier, the reties it so it sits more firmly on his shoulders. He gets this charmingly dorky smile on his face when he looks back to the warrior, one he returns without hesitation.

“Now I should get going,” Macaque says, looking up to the clouds above him. He was practically seconds away from being soaked, and he really didn’t want to tread rainwater once he portalled out of here. “I’m not getting caught up in this weather.”

“Yeah, same here. Now get outta here,” he teases.

“See you around, Wukong.”

The king gives him a little wave, which Macaque can’t help but return, before the shadow lets himself fall into a portal.

When he gets home, Macaque’s left thinking about his dorky smile, his warm embrace.

It was so good to have him back.

It felt criminal to want more.

Chapter Text

Wukong reclines lazily onto the couch, shovelling peach chips into his mouth as he aimlessly watches whatever show he’d flicked onto his screen. He’s got a few monkeys decorating his stomach, curled up into a hefty mass of white furballs as they sleep the day away. If Wukong’s feeling particularly generous, he’ll hover a chip right in front of one of their little noses and watch as they happily snatch the chip from his fingers with an almost frightening amount of speed before scarfing it down. The youngest one nearly chews off his finger in their speed to snatch his snack.

“Jeez, alright! No one’s taking it from you, bud. It’s all yours,” Wukong laughs, surrendering the rest of the bag to the voracious little chimp, who takes it unhesitatingly. He’d normally be more upset with this tragic loss, but there were only crumbs and a handful of chips left, so it was hardly a major grievance on his part.

With a yawn, Wukong swings his leg over the side of the couch, staring blankly at the characters in battle on the screen. Their posture is all over the place and hardly an acceptable form in a real fight, but he tries to remind himself it’s purely fictional and perhaps he shouldn’t get so worked up over it. It proves to be easier said than done, and he switches the channel to anything else with a grumble after witnessing a particularly terrible punch from who he assumes is the main villain.

Wukong sighs, finding a bit of amusement in watching the monkeys on his chest rise and fall with the movements of his breathing. He runs his fingers through the fur of a smaller one as they eat, a wave of sleepiness washing over him and causing his eyes to droop shut. He hears the sound of a laugh track on the TV, and the monkey under his hand leans into his touch as he pets them.

Maybe it’s just the feeling of fur under his hand that spurs the lonely, pathetic thought, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he just can’t help but wonder what Macaque’s up to. Was he also enjoying a lazy day, perhaps? Relishing in the comfort of some warm blankets and hot noodles, perhaps? Wukong smiles to himself, vividly remembering the way he looked when he was huddled beneath his blankets, how his ears always poked out and flicked about like a rabbit’s ears in the grass, high and alert. What he wouldn’t give to have the flighty shadow cuddled against him as they drifted off to sleep together.

A white tail flicks over his face. Then it happens again, over his mouth this time, and Wukong spits at the feeling of fur on his lips.

“Hey— Alright, that’s enough of that,” he mutters, sitting up and watching the little ones slide off of his breastplate and onto his legs in a monkey landslide. After having their peace so rudely disturbed, they’re quick to scatter like mice. The littlest one hurriedly makes off with the bag of chips, and they’re followed out the window by the circus of equally hungry chimps.

Wukong stands up to stretch, his joints popping when he raises his arms over his head. He’d been laying around for quite a while, it would really be a good idea to do some sort of activity for his bones.

Not that he will, but it’s still a good idea.

Besides, he wasn’t really in the mood to do anything alone. It felt like the past few weeks he was spending more time than usual with his family on Flower Fruit Mountain, with a monkey latched onto his tail, or his head or shoulders at nearly every moment. Though, since the entire population of Flower Fruit Mountain seemed to be aware of his business with Macaque, Wukong’s certain the constant company was their way of trying to help him cope. Sweet as it was, it just couldn’t seem to help him take his mind off of things.

Even MK took notice and made a comment here and there over how the Monkey King looked lonely lately.

And as much as Wukong hates to admit to that sort of weakness, he knew MK was right. He was too accustomed to having Macaque around, lounging about like a sunbathing cat in his home that he’d completely forgotten what it felt like to be without him. If he’s not paying attention, Wukong finds himself looking around the corner to see if Macaque had magically popped up, or was sitting around in one of the shadows or something.

Wukong turns around to look down at the couch, sighing at the mess of crumbs he’d left behind in his wake. Unceremoniously, he begins the lazy process of sweeping the crumbs off of the cushion and onto the floorboard. If he remembers, he’ll spawn a clone and make them sweep it up later.

Macaque had been… friendlier towards him, at least. More amicable since their last talk. The banter came easier and easier, even if they still had a few bumps in the road on the way. Wukong never noticed how heavy the weight resting upon his shoulders was until things between them began to heal.

And it was a good thing.

It was a good thing, to have Macaque in his corner again after so long. To have his companionship and support again after feeling like it would forever remain out of Wukong’s reach. Wukong’s wanted it for so long that he didn’t know how to process no longer needing to hold onto that sort of yearning anymore, because it was finally in his hands.

And yet, here he was.

Still yearning. Pining uselessly for something he could never have.

Wukong drags his hands over his face, tired of running in the same circles, but he just can’t stop. He swears he’s worn an old path in the same sections of his mind from how frequently he seems to tread the same tracks. Now that he knew what life was like with Macaque’s presence, grew accustomed to having him around all the time, it was difficult to adjust to just how empty the shack felt when he wasn’t around. It wasn’t the same.

He misses seeing Macaque lazing about like he owned Wukong’s home, or napping in his bed. He misses hearing the sweep of his tail over the floorboards, even misses having his food stolen from his cupboards. And, if he’s not paying attention, Wukong will even find himself glancing around the corner, as if Macaque would sneak in like he used to, but he never showed up. He doesn’t know why he still gets his hopes up, but he does.

Wukong rubs his fingers in circles over his temples in an attempt to ease the headache beginning to pulsate right behind his eyes.

He was so tired of thinking about it. It happened a month ago, and there was no chance that anything more would happen between himself and Macaque, but that sickeningly bright, almost childlike hope was still as potent as it had been even before Macaque ended things.

It prevented Wukong from moving on. Some stupid, stupid part of him wanted to believe there was something more in Macaque’s words, in his looks or his actions, anything lingering in his eyes when he looked at Wukong from across the room. There had to be something. If he was hurting so badly, then he wouldn’t have indulged Wukong for as long as he did.

Right?

Sighing, the king decides that maybe a soak in the hot springs would do him some good. Maybe anything would be better than just moping around. The Monkey King did not mope. The springs would by no means wash away his worries, but they would at the very least make him forget about them for a little while, and he figures it’s better than nothing.

Snatching an old towel he deemed clean enough for usage from his bathroom, Wukong begins the trek to the hot springs, slinging the cloth over his shoulder. He doesn’t really care enough to bring any clothes to change into. He ‘s still a monkey demon, after all— clothes have never been of much importance to him in the past, at least not until he first came into contact with humans, anyway.

Sure, it would be faster if he took flight in the form of a bird or used his cloud, but Wukong found that lately he’s been taking the scenic route, so to speak. Stopping to smell the flowers and reconnecting with the old, worn paths of Flower Fruit Mountain that he rarely ever took, always preferring the faster, easier route of soaring through the wind to reach his destination.

It was easy to forget just how wonderfully pleasant his home was. Morning dewdrops glisten over blades of grass, and light trickles between each leaf in the trees above, dancing over the desire path worn into the core of his home. A humid breeze ruffles Wukong’s fur, and the air smells clean. Tropical, almost. His personal paradise.

Above him, the younger monkeys hop about from branch to branch, their lively chittering filling the summer air as they speak to themselves about their families and loved ones. Interestingly enough, they seemed to be heading down the same path as Wukong, down the slope that led to the small clearing that housed the hot springs.

Wukong nears the springs, his brows raising.

Macaque’s there.

That was already a surprise in and of itself, but what really left Wukong shocked was the fact that Bai and Susu sit right beside him. Bai combs through his dark hair, and Susu lazes about with a peach held between her little hands. They look to Wukong with deep amusement, like the cats who got the cream.

Bai gets this wolfish little sneer on her face as her fingers tenderly work through Macaque’s hair. Macaque, who seems perfectly content, with his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, tranquil rhythm. He looks as if he’s moments away from dozing off, content in Wukong’s spring as if he owned them himself.

“Hey, Sun,” Bai titters, “look who we found.”

Look, he does. Appallingly.

Macaque’s eyes open at her chittering, looking directly at Wukong.

“Hey.”

“Uh— hi. You’re in my hot spring,” he says perceptively, pointing a finger at the shadow lounging about.

“And?”

“With the little ones.”

The warrior hums, tipping his head back to look up at the sisters, who play innocent for the whole second his gaze is focused on them, then back to Wukong. He doesn’t know what has him more on edge, the fact that Macaque made his appearance unannounced, or the fact that Bai and Susu were with him.

“They invited themselves, more like. I was alone, then they started stealing my peaches,” he explains, nodding to the peach pits sitting near the rocks, courtesy of the sisters and their seemingly neverending appetite, “and then they started poking around me. They’re… not bad company, I guess.”

Wukong can’t help but lighten up at those words.

“Yeah?”

Macaque just gives a nonchalant shrug in response this time, but Wukong can see the way his face softens when Bai continues her grooming. It’s an endearing sight, seeing the three of them huddled together so closely. Contentedness wasn’t an expression he saw very often on Macaque, and it was always a treat to see for himself.

“Hey— that’s good! Maybe sometime you can meet the others, too?” Wukong offers, settling for amicable conversation.

Suddenly, Macaque seems a little shy. He’s quiet for a moment, directing his gaze anywhere else.

“Well, we’ll see. I know you said they were fine with me, buuut I’ll give it some more time,” says the warrior, bringing his hand up to scratch at his chin. His brow creases as he stares with contemplation at the bubbling waters before speaking. “Besides, I’d, uh… rather have you there with me. Whenever I decide to.”

Wukong’s breath hitches and his heartbeat picks up. There’s that warmth in his chest again, the one that feels like the first swath of sunlight on a new day. Macaque’s ear flicks, and Wukong knows he can hear the way his heart races for him. Blessedly— or rather, lamentably (he was torn between which suited him best)— Macaque chooses not to comment.

It felt as if every time Wukong managed to shove those feelings into the depths of his mind, Macaque says or does something that causes them to surge back up to the surface with a vengeance. Does he realize what spell those words cast on Wukong? Does he even care?

His chest aches when he thinks about it for too long, so he decides to put the focus back on Macaque. This wasn’t about him— they’d settled this months ago. It didn’t matter.

“’Course, bud. I’d love to,” he replies truthfully, a softness to his tone that he reserves for Macaque alone. “It’s your call,” Wukong continues, then begins to remove his clothing, starting with the laced back of his waistband. Macaque brings his hand up to shield his face as the sage makes quick work of the loops and shucks his clothes off, acting as if Wukong’s naked body wasn’t something he’d seen several times before. Though, Wukong supposes he didn’t have much reason to want to see his body for what it was anymore.

That unbearable ache in his chest intensifies, but dulls to nearly nothing once Wukong sinks into the bubbling waves of the hot spring. The steamy water relaxes his joints and slackens his muscles, hot over the king’s body in the most soothing way. Wukong rests his arms over the rock-lined rim, amused that Macaque was still hiding behind his hand. Feeling perhaps just a touch mischievous, Wukong kicks water at him with his foot, smiling to himself all the while.

Macaque shakes the water off of his hand, retaliating by using his own foot to splash a bigger wave at Wukong. The king laughs, using his arms to shield himself from the aquatic assault.

“You’re so annoying,” Macaque grumbles, but Wukong can see the smile on his face.

“So? How long’ve they been sticking to you? You know you kinda always were a monkey magnet.”

The girls titter amongst themselves.

“I guess we’re not the only monkeys his magnetism works on,” Bai giggles, followed by a light smack on her shoulder from Susu. Wukong very decisively keeps his gaze focused on Macaque, acting as if she hadn’t spoken at all. He can’t fathom how having three of the most mischievious people he knew all in the same area could possibly lead to any sort of benevolent outcome. The language barrier was his practically his crutch as it were; he just wouldn’t be able to survive the onslaught of teasing otherwise. They three of them simply had way too much dirt on his name.

“No kidding. It’s everywhere I go with this place,” Macaque smirks to himself, snickering at his own remark. He props his head up with a hand, eyebrow twitching when one of the girls curiously tugs at one of his glamored ears. Despite his visible displeasure, the warrior makes no move to stop their poking and prodding. The sisters murmur to eachother about the lack of six ears, but Wukong ignores them. As best as he can, anyway.

He shifts, settling comfortably against the rocks. A silence falls over them, but he’s not sure if it’s a good silence, or an awkward one. After she finishes poking around for another set of ears that weren’t there, Bai opts to instead groom Macaque gently— not in her usual, chaotic manner of tearing tangled balls of fur out, but whatever.

Wukong makes a face at nothing, the prolonged silence making him antsy. There was no reason to be— everything had been sorted out. This should be the easy part. He taps his finger anxiously against the damp rocks.

“Pffft, no wonder the two of you get along so well,” Bai snickers from behind Macaque, raising a brow suggestively and causing Wukong’s face to heat up, “You’re both terrible at communicating.”

He expects Susu to say something in his defense, or maybe even chide Bai for speaking out of turn, but she just covers her mouth in an attempt to hide her little grin. Traitors, the both of them.

“You two aren’t funny,” he glowers, but it holds no bite. It only serves to make them giggle even harder to themselves like little schoolgirls. Macaque glances over his shoulder at the sisters, but their giggling ceases immediately, acting as if they’d sprouted wings and halos on the spot. Wukong’s eye twitches at the sight.

Finding apparently nothing, Macaque turns back around to face him.

“Uh… what’d they say?

“Ah— nothing.”

“Your face is all red,” Macaque notes, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“They’re just being really embarrassing right now.”

Wukong realizes much too late just how stupid it was of him to say that. Macaque’s face practically lights up with some devious energy, and he glances to the sisters once more before looking back to the king.

“Awww, man. I’m missing out on all the fun.”

That gets another little snicker out of the girls. The king’s face has never been redder, and he’s certain the celestial marking on his face was red enough to rival Macaque’s at this point.

“And he likes teasing you, too? This guy is perfect!” Bai laughs.

“Guess I can see why Sun likes him so much,” Susu giggles, sitting beside her sister to also brush through Macaque’s mane. The shadow basks in their care, and Wukong can practically see the tense muscles unwinding when he relaxes. It warms his heart to see him bonding with his family, but less so when he has to pay the price of being the butt of the joke.

“Alright,” Wukong huffs irritably, crossing his arms.

Macaque laughs, a wonderful sound cutting through the teasing chittering of the sisters. Nearly makes all the teasing worth it, Wukong supposes.

“They really get under your skin, huh?” giggles the shadow, his smile reaching his eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Bai hums as she removes a knot from his fur, looking far too smug for her own good, “You have no idea.”

Macaque takes another bite of his peach, the juice staining the corner of his lips. He tosses the pit somewhere behind him before he smirks.

“I like ‘em already. When’re you gonna teach me the language again so I won’t miss out next time?”

Susu looks to Wukong, incredulous.

“Sun! I was under the assumption he could at least somewhat understand us,” She then looks to Bai, who mirrors her confused expression, “This whole time I just thought he wasn’t the talkative type.”

Wukong responds with a sheepish grin and a meager half-shrug before directing his attention back to Macaque.

“I… Well, it’s not like you’re around often enough for me to get the chance,” Wukong mutters, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head. Macaque’s gaze drops to the bubbling water, brows furrowed with pensiveness. The quiet, bubbling waves suddenly sound far too loud for Wukong’s liking.

After a moment of wretched silence, Susu speaks.

“Uh… c’mon, Bai. I think they need some privacy.”

They’re fast to scurry off into the brush, but not without stealing a peach or two from Macaque’s little collection, the furry thieves.

An odd silence falls between them, filled only by the quiet sounds of frothy bubbles broiling atop the healing waters of the hot spring. Wukong catches a flash of white in the treetops, the swish of little white tails and curious eyes peering down at the two of them like the inquisitive eyes of an owl.

“Looks like you have a bit of an audience, huh?”

Macaque laughs breathily, lips upturned in a small, but sincere smile.

“Tell me about it. I’ve had a few follow me wherever I go. Those two especially,” he nods in the direction that Bai and Susu ran off, and Wukong feels his tail flick under the surface. He doesn’t even want to know what those two were gossiping about between themselves, or even to Macaque, since they assumed he was just being taciturn.

Wukong nearly grimaces. The idea of them spilling his business to Macaque was an unpleasant thought. For once, he finds himself grateful for the language barrier.

“Yeah, those two have been pretty, uh… interested in you,” he confesses, scratching at his neck awkwardly. “Interested” was an understatement, the sisters loved to shove their infuriatingly adorable little noses in Wukong’s love life any chance they could get.

“Yeah? Interested, how?” Macaque prompts, and Wukong immediately regrets saying anything.

He turns away, pressing the palm of his hand flat against his throat to ease the nerves bubbling at the back of his throat.

“Uh… Well, they would kinda… stick their noses in my business, I guess? When we were, uh…” he trails off, giving a vague wave of his hand as if the action would spell out the rest of his sentence. On the confusing grounds they trekked, Wukong wasn’t sure if outright saying, ‘They asked way too many personal questions about you and also said that you’re loud,’ was necessarily appropriate.

“Y’know.”

Macaque just blinks. Aside from the slight red dusting across his cheekbones that could easily be attributed to the hot, rising steam of the water, he gives no indication that this information affects him.

“Did they? Interesting,” he hums. Then, he smirks, his teeth flashing. “I can only imagine how embarrassing that must’ve been for you.”

“Ha, you have no idea.”

The trees rustle above them, and when Wukong looks up, he finds that their audience seems to have vanished. He spots Bai and Susu leading them away, and he can’t help but snort at the sight. He doesn’t give them enough credit— they knew how he was with an audience and they were going out of their way to try to make things easier for him. He’ll have to pay them back another time, if he remembers.

Silence falls between them once more, and the air between them feels charged with less tension, at least for Wukong. When he dares a glance at Macaque, though, he sees the strange pensiveness on his face, the odd wobble of his lips and the tensing of his jaw as he stares at the surface of the water. Wukong looks away, waiting patiently for the other to carefully craft the words he wants to say.

“I think… maybe we should talk,” Macaque mumbles after a moment, brows furrowing with seriousness.

Wukong’s stiff in an instant, his throat tightening with anxiety as he immediately assumes the worst.

“Um, ‘course, bud. What’s up?”

Macaque opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, then pulls his lips taut. He shakes his head before turning away.

“Nevermind.”

“What? Aw, c’mon, don’t be like that, now I wanna know.”

“I dunno if I should.”

Wukong just laughs, incredulous.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t back out now,” then, he softens his voice, “I’m not in any place to judge, promise.”

Macaque’s quiet for a moment, avoiding Wukong’s gaze. His brows furrow with a complicated emotion, a confused anger that seemed to be directed more towards himself, if anything. Wukong knows that feeling too well. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, to run a thumb over Macaque’s cheek and smoothen the worried creases of his brows until his woes melted into nothing. He just hates to see that expression on him.

“Just gimme a minute,” the shadow mumbles, barely audible.

Wukong just nods robotically, dread seeping into his bones. If it was difficult for loud, opinionated Macaque to say, then Wukong fears it’ll be even worse for him to hear. His leg bounces underneath the water, and he finds himself grateful for the surface obscuring his visible anxiety.

The wait is longer than just a minute, or even a few. Wukong tries to relax, but it feels as if the rising steam was beginning to suffocate him more than soothe him. He wants to know so badly what it is Macaque wants to say, but above all, he wants to give him the space to work up the nerve in the first place. His comfort was more important.

Just as Wukong begins to accept that silence would be answer, Macaque gives him a real one.

“Uh…” Macaque quietly begins, “Do you remember when I ended our agreement? Not too long ago.”

Wukong almost scoffs. How could he forget? He still never got a proper answer as to why Macaque even decided to so abruptly end it altogether in the first place. He would respect the shadow’s boundaries— of course he would— but that didn’t mean Wukong wasn’t allowed to be upset. They’d been having sex for months only for him to get thrust into the friendzone so hard that it may as well have given him a concussion. None of it made any sense, and even now it still didn’t.

He takes a deep breath to cool off, though some of that underlying bitterness still comes to surface.

“…I mean, you made it kinda hard to forget, bud.”

Macaque scratches at the back of his neck, averting his gaze. He at least has the decency to look like he feels bad.

“I know. That, uh… wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

He mutters it so quietly that Wukong barely even registers that he’d said anything at all. The shadow’s quiet for another minute, and it feels like it’s much longer than just sixty seconds. Wukong hadn’t once anticipated ever hearing a peep out of Macaque at all once he’d ended things, much less an apology. He watches him expectantly, awaiting an explanation.

“I didn’t… um, I didn’t want to end things. We started to get closer, and it… it scared me, I guess.”

Wukong gapes at him, feeling as if is stone heart had been ripped straight from his body. Before he can sloppily string something together in reply, Macaque beats him to it, as if realizing what he’d said.

“No, n-not because of you, I mean. I was scared because I kind of…” he trails off, the words escaping him. Macaque purses his lips together, that look of frustration flashing across his eyes once more. “I kind of… started to want more. That agreement— it wasn’t enough. I wanted to be around you all the time, even when we weren’t having sex. All I could think about was just… being with you.”

The king just stares, not even sure of what to say or feel. So it wasn’t just him— Macaque had been feeling the exact same way. He feels as if the warrior were speaking to his very soul at that moment, like all of Macaque’s behavior was starting to make sense right then and there.

“Mac…” he trails off, not even knowing where to start. He doesn’t have to.

The shadow brings his hands to his chest, running fingers over fingers and over his palms and wrists. Wukong vividly remembers, centuries ago, when Macaque would do similar whenever his nerves began to get the best of him.

“…And I could see it on your face. That there was something there. It wasn’t just about having sex for you, was it?”

Even with the heat of the hot spring engulfing him, Wukong suddenly feels cold. There was something so bizarrely human and terrifying about having his feelings spoken into existence. All of his vulnerabilities laid out like a deck of cards. He takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I…” he stalls, hesitating before he musters enough strength to give a simple, yet weak, “N-No. It wasn’t.”

“I didn’t think so. That’s… I just didn’t know how to handle it. It was too much for me.”

Another moment of silence passes.

“That why you were kinda… avoiding me? Right after we cut things off?”

“Yeah…”

“Bud—”

“I’m not finished.”

Macaque’s fingers quake, and it takes everything in Wukong’s system to keep himself from reaching out to quell his visible anxiety by taking his hands in his own. He wants more than anything to help however he can, but he knows it’s just not his place. His chest aches horribly.

“I, uh… met someone.”

Wukong’s gaze snaps to Macaque’s in an instant, the sting of betrayal burns like the venom of a ravenous snake bite, swiftly followed by white-hot, bone-deep rage. Just as he opens his mouth to say something he’d most definitely regret, Macaque cuts him off, albeit in a wildly unamused manner.

“Relax, Wukong. Lemme finish before steam starts comin’ outta your ears.”

“I only got with him because I just… wanted a distraction. Every time he kissed or touched me, I just kept thinking about you. It was driving me crazy,” he sighs, reclining back against the rocks and using a hand to prop the side of his head up, “We didn’t end up doing anything. I left the poor guy ‘cause I felt guilty. Like I was cheating on you, or something. Even though we were never together, obviously.”

The king stares at him, at a complete loss. Part of him wanted to bask in the glory of knowing that, even when he was with another guy, Macaque was firmly stuck on him. His anger dissipates as quickly as a it had arisen, and Wukong can’t help but preen a bit, knowing he’d been firmly stuck in Macaque’s head just as much as he had been in his own. It was… comforting, in a bizarre sort of way, to know he wasn’t the only one sorting through his own emotional distress regarding the other.

Macaque clears his throat, apprehensively bringing his gaze to meet Wukong’s own after avoiding him nearly the entire time, as if bracing himself for what he’d say next.

“I, uh… I love you, Wukong.”

The words echo inside of the king’s ears, over and over and over again. He wonders for a moment If he’s dreaming, wonders if his ears had deceived him. A whirlwind of emotions surges through him, his head entirely overloaded with a cacophony of thoughts in an instant.

The sound of a somber, humorless laugh barely registers in Wukong’s ears, and he forces himself to focus once more.

“…Took me long enough to finally admit it, huh?”

He’s quiet for a brief moment before speaking again.

“Well? Don’t just stare at me. Gimme something to work with, here.”

His words are harsh, but wobbly. He scratches anxiously at his palms, and looks as if he were ready to slip into a shadow portal at any given moment.

“I, uh…” Wukong trails off. He doesn’t know how to properly verbalize his emotions, how to tell Macaque that he was utterly elated to know he felt the same in a way that could possibly make any sort of sense. On the darkest, loneliest nights, he’d quietly fantasize about having Macaque there, laying beside him, murmuring sweet nothings and, “I love you”s as Wukong cuddled him.

“I mean, uh. I-I never tried to hide it from you. I love you, too.”

Macaque just gives a quiet nod of acknowledgement, a faint redness dusting his cheeks.

“It was… hard for me to come to terms with. Especially with, y’know, everything that’s happened between us. I guess I really just needed closure more than I thought I would.”

“I’m ready now, though. I wanna make this work with you.”

“So do I.”

“So…” Wukong trails off, skimming his fingers across the surface of the bubbling water. A nervous excitement flutters throughout his chest and into his very bones, one that simply can’t be paralleled. He can’t describe it, can’t even begin to put a name to it, but he can feel it, and gods he wanted nothing more than to share it with Macaque.

“What… uh, what should we do now?” he inelegantly stutters. Wukong looks somewhere past Macaque, his cheeks burning with nervousness and excitement.

“Well… I mean, I’d like to, uh… kiss you, for starters.”

He feels his cheeks burn hotter, his mouth suddenly feeling dry. This was ridiculous. There was nothing for him to be nervous about— he’s kissed Macaque a hundred times by now. Not to mention, they’ve gone much further than just kissing, so what was there to be so nervous about? He knows the steps and sounds of this dance better than anyone; there was no room for error.

At least, there shouldn’t be.

He swallows thickly before answering, shoving the thought aside before it can fester.

“I… Y-Yeah. That’s a good place to start, I think.”

He sees it, the smallest twinkle of amusement in Macaque’s eyes. The corner of his lip twitches like he wants to smile, but he fights off the urge. Before Wukong can decipher the inner machinations of his warrior’s mind, Macaque’s already approaching him, glimmering water rippling around his hips.

The king stiffens once he’s in closer proximity, immediately dropping his arms from the back of the hot spring to ready himself for his partner. He can feel the warmth of Macaque’s body heat surrounding him like an extra layer of fur, the copper of his eyes locking Wukong in place. There’s nothing inherently sexual about this— it was just supposed to be a kiss, a vow of loyalty and companionship— but still the king feels his heart racing with anticipation. The all-consuming desire to please and impress, to not make a complete fool of himself.

“Wukong,” Macaque murmurs, slowly bringing his hands to rest of the soft hills of the king’s hips. Wukong’s thought process is reduced to nothing in an instant, too focused on the sensation of those burning hot hands on his bare skin.

That sparkle of amusement flashes in Macaque’s eyes again like stars in the night sky. His teeth flash when he smiles.

“Are you nervous right now?”

He feels his blush creep over his ears. As much as Wukong would love to deny it and preserve his dignity, his words die on his tongue, hypnotized by the sight of Macaque before him, his touch, his voice. It calls to him like the mellifluous melody of a siren at sea. The hands on Wukong’s hips splay out over his hipbones, fingers just barely dipping into the steaming water as Macaque crowds his space. Wukong’s fingers twitch, itching to feel dark fur between the digits. He raises them to rest atop Macaque’s shoulders, almost losing himself in his gaze before realizing he hadn’t yet responded to him.

“I— I, uh…” comes yet another well thought-out reply.

“You’re cute. Know that?”

Wukong opens his mouth to protest against such a ridiculous statement, but isn’t able to get so much as a noise out before Macaque’s already kissing him.

It’s chaste and even a little awkward, but he couldn’t ask for more. There’s so much Wukong can’t say aloud that this simple kiss could, an unspoken promise to his lover through this one action alone. He’d be there for him no matter what, and that he trusts Macaque to do the same for him. He knows he will. There’s no other he’d make this promise to.

His fingers trail through the dark fur of the shadow’s shoulders before he pulls away, resting his palm over his cheek. Wukong makes no attempt to hide the adoration he proudly wears on his face for his warrior, smiling when Macaque leans into his hold and rests his own hand over Wukong’s. Scarlet dusts his cheekbones, and his confident facade falls apart as he looks away, marvelously bashful.

“Don’t look at me like that, you big sap.”

“You love it.”

“I dunno who told you that,” Macaque lightheartedly denies, a smile finding his lips. Wukong thinks it’s the prettiest smile he’s seen yet on Macaque.

“Awww c’mon, you looove it.”

“You’re gross.”

The king only replies by placing a quick kiss on the shadow’s forehead, smiling to himself over the way the red on his face slowly consumes his celestial marking, all the way up to his ears. His lips part into a little ‘o’ of surprise, the sound of a low purr making its way into Wukong’s ears. Macaque makes a face as if remembering himself, but it was far too late. The king smirks.

“You’re calling me gross?”

He laughs, yanking Wukong closer by his hips.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Before Wukong can squeeze in a cheeky remark, Macaque surges forward and kisses him, and Wukong swiftly finds that not talking was a wonderful idea, actually. He doesn’t try to hide the smile that pulls at the corners of his lips this time, not when he’s finally got everything he’s ever wanted right in his arms. He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, moving his lips slowly against Macaque’s so he can really savor the taste of him, how his jittery fingers betray his apprehensiveness.

There’s no dictionary expansive enough in this realm or any other that can truly encapsulate the magnitude of Wukong’s affections towards Macaque, and he can only hope that he can show him just how much he means to him with this one kiss.

The warrior pulls away rather suddenly, his grip tightening around Wukong’s waist.

“Wukong…” he breathes out, scarlet burning down his neck and creeping towards the edges of his ears. They twitch and flutter cutely, as if they were honing in on the soft murmurs of adoration from Wukong’s heart.

“Yeah?” he prompts, equally as breathless from just a single kiss.

“I…” Macaque starts, before he dodges Wukong’s gaze, lips wobbling with nerves, “Uh, nevermind. I’ll… tell you in a sec.”

“Why can’t you tell me now— Mmph!”

Macaque cuts him off with another kiss, his hands reaching up to cup the sides of Wukong’s face with such care that he’d think himself a sacred treasure. Crimson burns over Wukong’s cheeks as he presses harder against him, his fingers twitchy as the tips just barely graze Macaque’s hips, not daring to go further. Though the weeks apart from Macaque passed quickly, it suddenly began to feel as if it had been a millennia since Wukong got to feel him this close, and he’s certain it shows in his rather meek approach. He doesn’t want to mess this up, not when it really counts.

He pulls away when Macaque lays a palm flat against his pec, the contact nearly making him jump. Just his touch makes him want to melt right out of his fur, and he’s afraid this won’t last nearly as long as he’d like if he gets too much of it.

Macaque looks at him in questioning, concern deep in his gaze.

“Uh… Too fast?”

“No! No, no, not at all!” Wukong answers probably far too quickly, removing his hands from Macaque to raise his palms in response. He hopes he doesn’t notice the way his fingers quiver. “Um, I just, uh…”

He doesn’t want to say it out aloud. Wukong wouldn’t give Macaque the satisfaction of knowing he had hit the nail on the head. Besides, he’s a god, for crying out loud. Sun Wukong shouldn’t be so tense over something like this, they’ve done this plenty of times before and it shouldn’t be any different now.

But it was, and he’s afraid he’ll get too wrapped up in his own head fretting over what he needs to do right.

“Nervous?” Macaque finishes, amusement twinkling in his pretty eyes. Wukong snorts, furrowing his brows irritably as he averts his gaze. Then, Macaque laughs lightly to himself. Just as the king opens his mouth to gripe about his warped sense of humor, the shadow starts speaking again.

“So am I. You know I can’t let you hog all the glory.”

Wukong blinks, taking a moment to process his words. Then, he can’t help but laugh too, warmth bursting in his heart of stone. There was something sweet about Macaque being just as nervous, as if there was anything he could do in this moment that Wukong would deem remotely untoward. And, just to be sure he knows that, the king gives him a quick kiss over the corner of his mouth in a gesture of wordless reassurance.

Macaque brings his hands to Wukong’s chest once more, and the king welcomes the touch this time with a little more ease, comforted by the fact that they were both nervous about this. He leans in, pressing more butterfly kisses over his warrior’s face. His lips brush over the edges of his celestial marking, where his skin turns from tan to scarlet. The urge to do so had been near unbearable for what felt like ages at this point, and Wukong wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by. His shadow giggles, bringing one of his damp hands up to Wukong’s cheek and guiding him into another kiss.

He tastes as heavenly as ever, and Wukong never realized just how much he missed the taste of him until he had him on his lips again. The shadow’s fingers caress the sides of Wukong’s face, his thumbs rubbing gently over skin, and it all but makes Wukong melt like a lit candle under his touch. He tilts his head to the side, deepening the kiss as Macaque cards his fingers through his soaked mane. The heady scent of frankincense and something vaguely masculine combined with the all-consuming heat surrounding Wukong makes him moan against his lover’s lips.

Macaque gasps, pulling away immediately. Scarlet consumes every inch of his face, and his lips part in surprise. A carnal ache flares to life somewhere deep in Wukong’s gut at the sight.

“Ah— sorry,” he apologizes, his voice breathy, inwardly scolding himself for allowing himself to get carried away. He wasn’t sure where the line was drawn for Macaque, but the last thing he wanted to do was overstep his boundaries.

“It’s fine,” Macaque replies. His ears twitch, the way they always did when Wukong made a sound he particularly liked. “Just— surprised me, was all.”

Wukong swallows, his mouth feeling entirely too dry. Before he can get too swept up in him, he distantly remembers that the shadow wanted to ask him something.

“What— uh, what did you wanna ask me?” he inelegantly blurts.

“Well… I wanna know how far you wanna take this.”

The heat that pulses through Wukong’s veins at the mere implications of Macaque’s words suddenly makes his knees feel weak. Wasn’t it too soon for them to jump straight into this once more? And so soon after they’ve bared their purest feelings to one another?

And yet, on the other side of the battlefield, Wukong can’t help but preen at the opportunity to prove himself to his newfound mate. It was nothing they haven’t seen before— what harm would be done if they both wanted it? He feels his dick twitch with excitement under the waves. Two against one, it would seem.

“I…” he trails off, at war with himself.

“We don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” Macaque clarifies.

“I know,” Wukong murmurs, reaching between the two of them to hold Macaque’s hands in his own. He runs his thumbs over the knuckles, taking a moment to appreciate the feeling of the shadow’s hands in his. Part of him was afraid he’d never get to feel his rough, calloused palms over his own again. He never could seem to get enough of the simple gesture.

“How about…” he begins. Then, with a little more confidence, “How about we figure it out as we go, yeah? Whatever happens, happens.” Macaque raises an eyebrow in response.

Wukong feels Macaque’s fingers quiver over his own, and he runs his thumbs over his knuckles in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. He’s torn between wanting to hold Macaque closer or push him away, his mind at war with itself as a result of his own timorousness. His tail twitches at the floor of the spring. Wukong hardly remembers this being so… nerve-wracking.

“That sounds like a good idea,” agrees Macaque with a nod of his head. Wukong’s throat feels dry, and he’s grateful for the steam of the hot spring causing him to sweat, otherwise Macaque would notice that he’d been sweating for an entirely different reason. This was all happening so fast; he’d always imagined himself to be far more suave than this when he allowed himself to indulge in his fantasies.

Macaque’s hands begin to wander, slowly adventuring up Wukong’s palms, his wrists, his forearms, travelling with leisure as he inches just a little closer into his space. His touch burns every inch of Wukong’s arms, and he fights a shiver when Macaque’s skin meets his own once his palms make contact with his chest once more. Can he feel how Wukong’s heart races for him? He’s so close now, and Wukong swears the heat of his body trumps the heat of the hot spring. His crimson eyes flick between Macaque’s lips and his eyes.

“Uh— Can I kiss you again, Mac?”

Macaque laughs. His smile reaches his eyes, and it’s the most beautiful thing Wukong has ever had the honor of laying his eyes on.

“You don’t have to ask, Wukong. Of course you can.”

Wukong mirrors his smile and presses their foreheads together.

“I like knowing that you want it, too.”

He gets only the briefest look of a wonderfully flustered face from the warrior before he leans in for another kiss, his appetite for Macaque utterly insatiable. Macaque is fast to pick up from where they left off, pressing hard against Wukong’s lips and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He sighs against the king, timidly swiping his tongue in request for access.

Something shifts in the atmosphere once Wukong gets Macaque’s tongue on his own. He feels that familiar, unfettered hunger churning in his stomach, a hunger that nearly makes him sink his nails into the warrior’s flesh. The king feared that he’d forget the art of pleasing Macaque in the time they’d spent apart, but once he gets a proper taste of him on his tongue, he realizes he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Macaque moans, low and quiet, but the sound alone is enough to make Wukong harden. He’d fantasized about that sinful little sound for far too long— hearing it in person would always outclass any sort of depraved fantasy he could conjure up. The shadow presses closer, and Wukong groans when their chests touch, hardening further when he can feel the heat of Macaque’s crotch nearing dangerously close to his own. He can feel his inhibitions melting away; if Macaque wanted it, then Wukong would oblige. He’d give him anything within his power if he asked.

Wukong sighs into the kiss, gasping when Macaque’s adventurous fingers reach the very edge of his happy trail. It felt too fast, but not fast enough. Part of him wants to relish every second of this, the slow buildup and foreplay as he gingerly dismantles his lover. But the other part of him wants to get things moving, wants to show his warrior what he was capable of and just how well he can please him.

Macaque breaks away, his lips brushing against Wukong’s when he speaks.

“Can I?”

Wukong swallows thickly, needing a moment to navigate through the haze in order to process what Macaque had just asked.

“Y-Yeah. Go ahead.”

The warrior’s hand fully submerges, and Wukong nearly jumps when his fingers brush the base of his dick. Slowly, Macaque wraps his hand around Wukong’s length, starting a slow, almost meager pace. It’s hardly meager to Wukong though; just the contact alone is enough to make his fur stand on end, as if electrified with excitement.

Wukong swallows thickly, hypnotized by the lewd movements of Macaque’s wrist, the way his forearm flexes with every sinful pump of his hand. There was something enthralling about not being able to see what Macaque was doing to him, left to only feel him as his mind fills in the gaps. He whines when the warrior sucks tightly at his neck, running his tongue over sizzling skin as if he intended to flay him alive.

“M-Mac, I…” he inhales sharply at the way Macaque’s wrist turns as it reaches the head. He still remembers how Wukong likes it, his copper eyes watching his every reaction with great interest as his deft hands masterfully stroke him. His ears flick, catching on to every sigh it draws from Wukong and sipping it down like fine wine.

The intensity of his gaze, the hand wrapped around his dick, the spotlight being turned on him suddenly makes Wukong feel shy. He stifles another moan behind one of his own hands, his eyes pinched shut as he involuntarily rocks into Macaque’s hand and grips the dark fur of his shoulder. His hands run hotter than the water they sit in, and Wukong knows he will more than likely not last very long in these conditions.

Macaque reaches up, gripping the hand clasped over his mouth and gingerly removing it, hastily replacing it with his own greedy lips. He’s quick to consume everything Wukong has to give him, swallowing down the obscene moans he gets out of him when his pace picks up, confidence growing with each stroke. He’d eat Wukong alive if given the chance, and Wukong would make a feast of himself.

“Wukong,” he sighs, going back for more before pulling away with a rough nip at his bottom lip, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re the only one I want, know that?”

Wukong moans, pinching his eyes shut as he feels that hot, addicting rush of euphoria burst through his veins. His hand shoots out, gripping tightly at Macaque’s wrist and forcing him to stop. With a hiss, Wukong drops his forehead onto the warrior’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as he forces himself to calm down before he blows his load too soon and humiliates himself.

He hears Macaque laugh lightly somewhere above him.

“Run outta gas, Wukong?”

“H-Hardly,” he retaliates, but it doesn’t come out nearly as threatening as he’d like, “I’m just getting started.”

“I bet you are,” Macaque purrs, sounding much too delighted with himself. Wukong gasps when his fingers run over the head of his dick, his hips jerking involuntarily. Macaque nuzzles into his hair as his other hand rubs circles into Wukong’s hip.

“Do you… want me to finish you off?”

“I…” Wukong trails off, his head still spinning from Macaque’s tenderness, a sight for his eyes only. He breathes in his scent, then raises his head from his shoulder to look at him. Wukong releases Macaque’s hand from his bruising grip, but still keeps his fingers loosely wrapped around his wrist in warning, a warning Macaque ignores almost immediately when he resumes stroking Wukong, though far more slowly this time.

The shadow kisses the corner of his lip, dragging his hand up the king’s body to grip at his hair, guiding him into tipping his head back.

“Lemme make you feel good, Wukong,” he murmurs, kissing at his exposed throat. Wukong sighs, moving his hands to rest at Macaque’s waist as he loses himself in his divine attention.

“Why don’t you… sit up on the rocks and I’ll use my mouth instead?”

Wukong’s hand nearly crushes Macaque’s wrist this time, and he rips him off of his dick. He nearly chokes on a gasp, his cock pulsing at the mere suggestion. He’s certain even the weakest graze of Macaque’s fingers would make him cum all over himself.

Wukong pants hard, his body tense as the overwhelming heat of an orgasm threatens to overtake his body. He pinches his eyes shut, willing it away as best as he can, until the blood rushing through his ears settles and he can hear the sound of the water gently bubbling.

“S-Sorry…” Macaque mumbles, and Wukong promptly releases his hand. The shadow’s pupils consume the edges of his irises, and his breathing is fast and uneven. “I, uh… got carried away.”

“No, it’s okay,” Wukong coos breathlessly. Then, he drops his voice with a purr, “I’m flattered that you still remember how I like it.”

Macaque smirks, face reddening. “You idiot. Why would I forget?”

Why wouldn’t he, was the better question, though not one Wukong would bother wasting their time asking. Instead, Wukong licks his lips, his teeth aching for the feeling of Macaque’s skin between them, eager to carve his name in his skin with his fangs.

“C’mere. I’m not done with you.”

Macaque scoffs, hovering his lips just inches away from Wukong’s own. He wants nothing more than to taste his smirk once again, to kiss him until those lips part around a moan and leave him sobbing for more.

“Feels like you never are.”

It’s entirely true, and Wukong only confirms his suspicions when he leans in, keen on leaving his mark in the warrior’s throat. His tan flesh has been sitting woefully unmarked for far too long.

Macaque tips his head back, submissively presenting his neck to his king, eager for him to leave mark after mark in his skin. Wukong sighs once he gets a taste of him again, brows knitting as he relishes the scrape of his teeth over his throat. It gets a delicious little shiver out of the warrior, and Wukong chuckles lowly. He sinks his teeth into his neck, groaning at the taste of his shadow’s sweat, the heady scent of him. It was maddening.

Unable to keep his hands to himself, Wukong drags his palms travel lower, lower to Macaque’s hips. Somehow, through the thick haze clouding the last of his rationale, Wukong’s able to make out the lack of clothing on the shadow’s waist. He pulls away from him to meet his gaze.

“Mac, are you… wearing anything?”

“Mm… dunno. Am I?”

Before the king can even begin to process his answer, Macaque’s hands come up to Wukong’s shoulders, pushing down, down until Wukong sits on the bench underneath the water. Wukong only gazes up at him, heat igniting in his blood when Macaque makes himself comfortable in his lap, and he gets his answer right then and there.

“Fuck,” he moans, bringing a hand up to clasp over his mouth at the feeling of Macaque’s hardness pressed against his stomach, entirely free from the confines of clothing.

“You alright with this, Wukong?” he asks, his voice low and rich like smooth honey.

“M-More than,” he stutters inelegantly, his mind lagging and unfocused on unnecessary things like his words making sense when he had a very naked Macaque sitting pretty in his lap. His ass presses hard against his throbbing dick, and it’s enough to make Wukong’s hands shoot out to grasp at his waist, his nails sinking into the thick, soaked fur. Heat pools fast between the king’s legs, the familiar weight of Macaque sat atop him nearly making him short circuit.

“Gods…” he trails off, swallowing thickly as he wills away the early orgasm once more. The warrior nudges almost timidly against his length, and it fogs Wukong’s mind even further. “D-Did you… know this was gonna happen?”

Macaque shakes his head, and his voice trembles with excitement when he speaks.

“Nope. But it might’ve crossed my mind.”

“Y-Yeah?” Wukong stutters, his fingers trembling.

“Yeah. I wanna…”

He runs his palm over Wukong’s chest again, and Wukong gazes up at him earnestly. He hopes Macaque can feel the way his heart of stone beats for him, the way he holds his breath in anticipation.

“I wanna show you what you mean to me.”

Macaque shifts so he can sit more comfortably, wrapping his arms around the king’s shoulders. Passion and mirth sit heavy in the swirling copper of his eyes, and Wukong can’t help but silently thank the fact that he was already sitting down, because the look alone would’ve made him fall to his knees were he standing.

“By all means,” he lamely murmurs, moving one of his hands down to caress Macaque’s thigh. Wukong glances down at his hand placement, momentarily forgetting the fact that he couldn’t see much of anything past the rolling waves of the hot spring.

The warrior’s hand drops between their bodies, and the resulting splash of his hand sounds much louder to Wukong than it really was.

“You’re so nervous, Wukong,” Macaque hums over a light giggle, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

A harsh gasp tears at Wukong’s throat when Macaque shifts closer, so close that their cocks press together. The shadow’s hand takes them both in his hold, starting a slow, almost meager pace. Wukong swallows thickly, his breath shaky at the feeling of Macaque’s hardness pressed against him, using him as a means of finding pleasure.

“I-I just want this to be good for you…”

“Ha… So do I. Uh… do you still like it like this?” Macaque asks, his voice barely audible.

As if he even needed to ask. Wukong hisses through his teeth, hips bucking when Macaque’s hands descends down their lengths, his grip tightening as he reaches the base. He twists his wrist near the head, carefully thumbing the tip, and the king nearly sees stars. He responds by surging forward and claiming those lips once more, moaning against his when it jostles their dicks in his hand.

The closed distance gives Macaque significantly less space to work with, but Wukong doesn’t care, instead removing his hand with his own so he can grind against his warrior as he pleases. Macaque swipes his tongue against his, sighing into Wukong’s mouth as he cants against him and rakes his nails over his shoulders and in his hair.

He whimpers, letting his forehead drop onto Macaque’s damp shoulder as he exhales shakily. The warrior grinds against him slowly, his rhythm unhurried. Wukong groans, curling his arms up his back and feeling the muscles shift as he rolls against him, taking in his heady scent. His cock brushes against his teasingly, but it’s too slow for Wukong to get much of anything out of it. It’s tortuous in all the right ways.

Wukong falls into the movements seamlessly, growing more confident with each moan and sigh he gets out of the warrior. The lingering worry of forgetting how to please Macaque dissipates swiftly as the motions become familiar. Macaque was a starmap, and Wukong an observer, left to marvel at the constellations stitched into his midnight hair and the brilliant stars in his eyes shining ever brighter when he looked his way. To be loved by him was an honor.

Macaque pulls away, breathless. Scarlet burns over his cheeks, and his pupils are blown wide.

“Guess that answers my question,” he murmurs, and Wukong barely registers his words, too hypnotized by his beauty. How he didn’t fall in love with him sooner when Macaque looked so utterly sinful under the effects of lust was a mystery.

“You know me too well, bud,” Wukong coos, nosing at his neck and taking in his scent. His dick throbs against Macaque’s, and he hopes he can feel how he aches for him. Wukong’s hand travels over the shadow’s thigh once more, grabbing a handful of his ass before speaking.

“Need me to get you ready?”

Macaque meets his gaze, swirling copper burning into scarlet.

“Yeah. I wanna feel you already.”

Wukong swallows thickly, fingers trailing further down to the warrior’s hole. By gods, he sure as hell wasn’t going to keep him waiting any longer.

“T-Tell me if I’m going too fast,” he mutters, silently thanking the gods above that Macaque chose not to wear anything during his dip in the springs today. The shadow nods in understanding, spreading his legs a little wider over the king, patiently awaiting him. Wukong bites his lip as he gingerly presses his finger in, dick throbbing at the infernal heat that envelops him. It had been much too long since he felt him around his fingers, his tongue, and his dick.

Wukong watches Macaque’s expression carefully, the way his brows furrow in concentration as he descends onto his finger. Sweat glistens over his forehead and neck, trailing down the soft mounds of his chest and pecs. His mouth practically waters at the sight, and Wukong wastes no time closing the distance to leave his mark wherever he pleases on the woefully blank canvas before him, moaning at the lewd taste of salt on his tongue.

“Ah— Wukong,” Macaque sighs, moaning when his ass meets the king’s knuckle. Wukong doesn’t reply, busying himself with one of the shadow’s dark nipples. He rolls it gently between his teeth, relishing the sinful little noise it gets out of Macaque, then frames the sensitive bud by sinking his fangs into the surrounding flesh. Macaque’s hips jerk in reply, and he cants involuntarily on Wukong’s finger.

“Easy, Mac,” he coos against heated skin, “It’s been a while— don’t hurt yourself.”

Macaque giggles into Wukong’s lips, and it’s a divine sound. His hands slide up the soft mounds of his chest, mapping out his body all over again. The touch would make the king crumble were he not already sitting down, more so when those burning hands reach his neck, fingers twirling through the soaked strands of his auburn fur.

Mirth sits in his gaze and makes his eyes sparkle, makes his cheeks redden and makes his smile warmer. It’s everything Wukong’s ever wanted, and he makes sure to savor every second. Macaque looks at him like he’s the center of his very universe, like there’s beauty in his every breath. And Wukong can only hold him closer, knowing he’s earned his right to be here, the right to be gazed upon as if he were a dream taken form.

“Ha, I’ll be fine. It’s hardly been a while for me.”

“Too busy thinking about me?” Wukong lightheartedly titters. It’s meant to be a joke, but the following blush that creeps onto Macaque’s face tells him he’d just unintentionally hit the nail on the head.

“Wait, did you—”

“Yeah,” the warrior breathes, “After I finally sorted my own mess out, I mean. I couldn’t stop thinking about the agreement. How you would look at me like I was the king between us. I guess I kinda… I dunno. I kinda wanted it to be real. For it to mean something, y’know?”

“Y-Yeah,” Wukong replies gracelessly, the words escaping him. As far as he was concerned, Macaque was his king, and he would do nothing but treat him as such. He was free to love him without restraint or fear, and that’s exactly what he would do for as long as Macaque would have him.

Macaque sighs as he descends onto Wukong’s finger once more.

“Another. I need you so badly, Wukong.”

His voice cracks, and the shadow tucks his face away into the crook of Wukong’s neck, his breathing growing heavy as he takes yet another finger. The king shivers at the feeling of their bare torsos making full contact, soaked skin grinding against skin, so hot he’s certain it’ll bring the spring to a boil. He feels Macaque lips gingerly kissing at his neck and jawline, and the last remaining bits of coherency in his thoughts effectively turn to dust in an instant.

He wants to hear him say it again and again, to know that the Six-Eared Macaque needed him. Whether It be emotionally or carnally, Wukong relishes in the feeling of being so desired by his lover, knowing that his presence was needed.

“Again,” he murmurs into the thick fur of the shadow, easing a third finger inside of him. Macaque takes him so well, rocking onto his fingers slowly, as if savoring the feeling of having him inside of him once more. It was hard for Wukong to stay mad about Macaque nearly making off with another man, not when he looks at him as if he were the very reason the sun rose and fell every day. Even when he’s with another person, Macaque’s only capable of thinking about him, and gods if that didn’t do wonders for Wukong’s ego.

“Say it again,” he commands, voice teetering on a possessive growl.

“I need you, Wukong,” the warrior obediently repeats, his voice a low timbre in his ear. He suckles at the lobe, teeth pulling at skin as his hands roam freely over every inch of his body like it were uncharted territory. Wukong moans, rocking harder against the warrior. He’s so much bolder in touching him, and after spending so long craving his touch, Wukong would cherish every second his hands were on him.

His dick throbs hard against Macaque’s, and he pulls away just enough so that he can claim the warrior’s lips again, kissing him with enough force that their teeth clack. He rides his fingers slowly, picking up speed as he accustoms himself to the stretch. Wukong slides his other hand down Macaque’s back, submerging under the water and catching the base of his tail between spread fingers. He feels every smooth roll of his hips under his palm as he kisses him, moaning against him as the shadow purrs lowly. The silken heat wrapped around his fingers taunts him, and Wukong’s dick aches at the thought of slipping inside of him already.

“Mac,” he sighs, voice ragged. He’s teetering on the precipice of ecstasy, but he won’t let himself fall just yet. “I-I need you, too. I wanna… make this mean something to you.”

Macaque laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

“You already have.”

Wukong’s chest fills with that warm feeling he spent so long struggling to identify and accept. He embraces it wholly, knowing he was in a realm of safety with his lover now, in a place where he could trust him.

He loves him.

Macaque then knocks his forehead against the king’s before lifting himself off of Wukong’s fingers.

“I wouldn’t still be here if you didn’t, you idiot,” he shakily murmurs, but it holds no bite. If anything, it holds a sentimental fondness, his bizarre way of offering reassurance to the king. Wukong wouldn’t have it any other way.

Macaque presses a quick kiss to his lips before speaking again.

“D-Did you… want me to ride you?”

It’s barely above a whisper, but something about the timidness, the bluntness goes straight to Wukong’s dick. This was new, unfamiliar territory for the both of them, but the feeling of having Macaque wrapped around his cock was hardly unfamiliar. Images of their past trysts flood Wukong’s mind in an instant, everything from Wukong’s favorite positions to see Macaque in and the utterly obscene sounds Macaque makes because of him. It makes his heart race, knowing he’d be able to experience him all over again.

“Yes,” Wukong replies, more breathless than he would’ve liked, “Gods, yes. I love you so much, Mac— lemme show you.”

“I-I…” Macaque trails off, opting instead to surge forward and capture Wukong in yet another kiss, one of eagerness, one that speaks the words he hesitates to say. It may not be as easy for Macaque to say, but Wukong knows it in his stone heart, can feel his passion in his kiss. He loves him too, and what more could he possibly ask for?

“By all means,” he purrs instead, lifting himself up. He uses a hand to guide Wukong’s dick to his entrance, and the king feels his fingers tremble with anticipation, exhilaration thrumming through his veins. “And I’ll show you, too.” Then, he smirks with a hint of playfulness in his eye, “Can’t have you one-upping me, after all.”

Wukong licks his lips.

“’Course not.”

Slowly, Macaque lowers himself, his face scrunching up as he takes Wukong inch by inch. The king’s head tips over the rocks, and he hisses through his teeth as he’s enveloped in his lover’s infernal heat once again. Sweat rolls down the sides of his temples, and he sinks his fingers into Macaque’s pretty fur to keep his head from spinning, hard enough to leave indents in his skin.

It feels so much more different this time around; Wukong can’t help but feel as if a new flame had been lit inside of him, fueled by the burning coals of passion and igniting throughout his core. He wants to make this good for Macaque, wants to leave him completely and utterly breathless, to share with him the magnitude of his deepest affections by whatever means necessary.

He gasps when Macaque bottoms out, feeling his thighs tremble atop his own. Heavy breathing fills the air, and Wukong moans at the feeling of teeth carving into the flesh of his neck, involuntarily spreading his legs wider. He lowers his hands down to grab palmfuls of his warrior’s supple ass, massaging gently to help soothe any pain.

Wukong looks up at him to ask if he’s okay, but isn’t able to get a word out when the haze in Macaque’s eyes immediately silence him. He’s panting hard, his bitten lips parted over every breath, and the pupils of his mismatched eyes consume the edges of his irises, blown wide with lust.

“You feel so good, Mac,” the king sighs, breath hitching when Macaque shifts. The warrior wraps his arms around Wukong’s shoulders, the adoration in his eyes brighter than the sun, and Wukong wants nothing more than to bask in his warmth. He grasps at Macaque’s waist, intending to take control and please him the way he really liked it.

“H-Here, lemme…” Wukong whines, voice raising in pitch when Macaque slowly raises, the sublime drag of his silken walls around his cock effectively erasing the last traces of a coherent thought in his mind. The warrior ignores his attempt to take control of the pace, but Wukong can’t bring it in himself to care. All he can focus on is his warrior, the sweet trail of kisses he leaves over his face and the hands tangled in his hair, tenderly massaging at his scalp as he rides him.

“Relax, Wukong. You’ve done so much for me…” he replies, sighing hotly against his skin as he mouths at the spot just under his king’s ear. Wukong shivers at the sinful melody of Macaque’s voice, a divine orchestra of heated moans amongst the subtle hitches of his breath, a song he never tires of hearing. “Why don’t I spoil you for a change?”

The king knits his brows tightly together and squeezes his eyes shut, his breath shaky with the effort to contain himself, to keep himself from spoiling the fun and humiliating himself far too soon. He already feels like he’s about to tip right over the edge, his muscles flexing hard when Macaque works his way into a slow pace.

Macaque suckles at him, his lithe body rolling against Wukong’s as he rides him, savoring every inch of his cock and taking all of him with a surprising amount of ease. The king matches his pace as best as he can, leaning his face into his lover and breathing him in, taking in the heady scent of sex and his own unique scent all over him. He can’t help but feel his ego swell a bit, knowing there would never be another who Macaque would allow to get this close to him. Wukong was the only one, as he always was.

Macaque’s hand slides over russet fur and over to caress Wukong’s cheek, gingerly lifting his face up to meet his gaze. The sheer adoration that shone in his eyes now takes a backseat, consumed by something fiery and hungry.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Wukong chokes out a needy sound, breath stolen when Macaque surges forward and kisses him, thrusting his tongue into his mouth to claim whatever the hell he wants. He settles into a rhythm that has the both of them groaning, wanton sounds filling the steamy air. High, pathetic moans scrape at Wukong’s throat, pleasure setting him aflame, nearly as hot as Macaque’s touch over his skin and fur, every trail of his fingers feeling as if they left blazes in their wake.

He’s touching him— really touching him, his hands dragging over his pecs, winding around his neck, and cupping at his jaw so he can bring Wukong closer. Wukong basks in every brush, caress, and tremble of his fingers over his skin, soaking up each and every moment of contact like a sponge. He meets Macaque’s pace eagerly, meeting him head on as if they hadn’t spent any time apart whatsoever. He still knew everything Macaque liked, all of his weak points. How could he forget?

Macaque sobs into his mouth, only pulling away to leave open-mouthed kisses over Wukong’s body, showering him with the luxury of his treacly affections. His thighs tremble over his own, and he presses his hardness against Wukong, grinding wantonly against him. It only makes his own cock throb inside of him, and Wukong grits his teeth once more, his hips stuttering.

“M-Mac…”

“Ha… You close already, Wukong?” he moans out, his voice sounding just as ragged as Wukong’s.

“Fuck… You wish. Y-You’ll finish way before I do.”

Wukong can only hope that’s the case, but with the way Macaque’s riding him, even he knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. The time they’d spent apart hardly seems to matter to his warrior— he’s still just as experienced and well-versed in the chords of Wukong’s body as he was when they parted, plucking the strings within his heart and playing his divine melody.

“Yeah?” Macaque rasps, “We’ll— ah— see about that.”

A guttural groan tumbles from the king’s lips as Macaque clenches around him, his leg nearly jerking beneath the waves. It’s enough to nearly push him over the edge, but Wukong won’t be defeated so easily. He sinks his nails into the shadow’s soaked fur and pulls him down hard onto his cock when he descends, earning a wonderfully sinful sound from his warrior.

“M-Mac,” Wukong sobs, “I love you, I love you—” he babbles mindlessly, his hips thrusting of their own accord as he sings his deepest affections to his lover. He tells him he loves him enough times for each one of his six ears to know, that way Macaque would never forget. And if that’s not enough, then Wukong would gladly tell him several times more.

Macaque whines, his movements growing more erratic. Cherry red consumes the scarlet of his celestial marking, and his eyes are glazed over. Evidence of their lovemaking decorates his skin in the form of bitemarks and hickies, and his obsidian fur is beyond saving. He’s the most beautiful being Wukong has ever had the honor of laying his eyes on, and knowing that Macaque viewed him in the same light makes him hopelessly giddy in a way words can’t quite describe.

The shadow kisses Wukong once, twice before speaking, his voice low enough for only his king’s ears.

“I-I love you too.”

Macaque only needs to whisper those words once, once for it to ring through Wukong’s ears like a bell, once for it to completely dismantle him from the inside out and leave him reeling. He doesn’t have to pathetically imagine anymore, Macaque was real and he was here, sharing this tender moment with him, this moment where the world stops on its axis just for them. He mutters a promise of devotion for his king, copper eyes glittering with heavy lust and fondness.

Before he even realizes it’s happening, Wukong shivers and cums hard, his fingers leaving bruises under Macaque’s thick pelt. He cries out, his hips thrusting of their own accord as he paints those silken walls in his colors. His thighs quiver beneath the spring water, and he tips his head back over the rocks once more as Macaque uses him, groaning when pointed nails sink into his shoulders for leverage.

Words completely fail Wukong, his vision going white with every greedy descent of his warrior. Teeth nibble over the hickeys on his neck, and Wukong’s voice is so ragged that he can only give a weak whimper in response, He pinches his eyes shut and eases his nails out of his moon, his hands instead loosely following the rolling movements of his waist.

It doesn’t take long before Macaque follows his own euphoric release, pressing his ass flush with Wukong’s trembling thighs as he arches his back and cums with a noisy sound. Wukong whines as the walls clamping around his spent cock clench around him, gritting his teeth at the overstimulation sparking like electricity over his every nerve.

Lips crash against Wukong’s own as Macaque rides out his high, the tight grip of his hands in his hair slackening and dangling behind Wukong’s neck. He pants into his lover’s mouth, tongue gracelessly gliding against his as their bodies heave for air.

The king pulls away, a belated humiliation souring his mood over the fact that he didn’t last nearly as long as he would’ve liked. Some way to impress his newlyfound mate.

“S-Sorry, Mac... I didn’t mean to—”

Macaque shuts him up with another kiss, the movement causing his hips to shift and wrenching out another noise deep from Wukong’s throat.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, swiftly diving back down for more of Wukong’s taste, “Gods, that was so hot. You make me wanna go again.”

The suggestion alone makes Wukong’s spent cock twitch with agreement inside of Macaque, and his knee nearly jerks at the sensation. Wukong whines in response. As delicious as the thought sounds, he was entirely too wrung out physically and emotionally to go back for seconds. For now, anyways.

Besides, he really wanted to get to the part they were never able to properly indulge in before: aftercare. The idea of spoiling his moon and showering him with all of the affections he no longer had to hide behind a veil of false nonchalance was just too tempting.

Macaque softly kisses the corner of his mouth before speaking once more.

“We can come back to it. Now let’s get outta this hot spring already. Feels like I’m about to start cooking alive in here.”

“Good ide— ah!”

Without warning, Macaque eases himself off of Wukong, wobbly on his feet when he attempts to stand in the hot spring. His hand shoots out to grasp the king’s shoulder for balance, crimson staining his cheeks with a hint of bashfulness.

“Ah… Been a while since that happened, huh?”

“Yeah,” Wukong agrees, breathless at the sight of his lover standing over him. Then, with a cheeky grin, he winks and proudly puffs his chest out. “Still got it.”

Macaque just rolls his eyes, bitten lips quirked up into a smile. He removes his hand from Wukong’s shoulder, using it to instead splash hot water at him.

“Eugh, stop talking. You ruined it.”

Wukong giggles, but before he can retaliate with his own splash, Macaque’s offering his hand out to help him stand. Mirth sparkles in his eyes like the setting sun glitters over the surface of the water, and Wukong thinks he might just be the luckiest man in the world.

He takes Macaque’s hand in his, his own legs nearly giving out on him. He tries to hide it, but Macaque’s knowing smirk tells him he didn’t do a very good job.

“Looks like I still got it, too.”

“Booo, get your own jokes.”

“They’re better when I say ‘em,” Macaque replies matter-of-factly, using Wukong for support as he lowers himself back to the bench. He winces when he takes a seat, having given up on his mission of making it out of the hot spring. Courtesy of Wukong, of course.

“Nevermind. I’ll just wait ‘til I can actually get up. ‘Sides,” he nuzzles into Wukong’s neck affectionately, a low purr starting from his chest, “I’m not in a rush to go anywhere.”

Wukong flushes, wrapping an arm around him. He didn’t have to worry about Macaque leaving, or how cold he would feel afterwards. He was here, snuggling against him and breathing him in, content and seeming mere moments away from falling asleep. It’s nice. Really nice.

Wukong trails his fingers through the shadow’s thick mane, smiling to himself. Macaque’s sleepiness must be contagious, because Wukong starts to feel tired too, his eyelids starting to droop.

“You could just portal us back to our— uh… my place, I mean,” he corrects himself, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Macaque’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t open his eyes to respond.

“Our place, huh?”

Wukong bristles, cringing at himself. He hadn’t even given it a ghost of a thought before he’d gone and blurted it aloud. Gods, he hopes he didn’t just make this weird.

His worries are put to rest when Macaque nuzzles into him, bringing one of his arms to rest over his shoulder.

“…Sure. When I feel like it, I’ll portal us back to our place. Sound good?” he coolly asks, but Wukong can see the bits of red dusting his cheeks. His heart beats a little faster, and it feels as if it’s the first time all over again.

“Yeah,” Wukong mutters, pressing his lips to the top of Macaque’s head. His voice is soft when he speaks again.

“That sounds good.”