Saiyuki love.
Mar. 18th, 2009 09:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keire_keTitle: Drawing
Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to the recognisable characters.
Rating: none
Pairing: 39
Warnings: none
Summary: Sanzo is an attention whore.
AN: This fic and the following picture have been written for the Project 39, thought up, realised and put together by the amazing![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moshesque who also found time to beta this ficlet for me. Mosh is awesome. QED.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sanzo asked and it was a legitimate question. Goku was sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by mounds of paper. The loose pages littered the floor, some of them crumpled, some of them torn to shreds. Sanzo bent for the ball closest to his foot. Goku didn’t look up from the notepad he had propped against his knee, which Sanzo found upsetting on a fundamental level.
Sanzo straightened the recovered sheet in his hands. Crisscrossing the paper were pencil lines, which in itself was unusual, because since when did Goku ever play with pencils? More surprising was that the lines were forming a crude and simplified face, and the fact that it was easily recognisable as such Sanzo found disturbing. “Who the fuck is supposed to be?”
“A guy.”
“A who now?” Sanzo turned the paper upside down. It might look a little more like a guy, perhaps, if he squinted. Sanzo was no art critic, but the face was believable in its simplicity and that alone told him Goku wasn’t half-bad with the pencil. Whether he was good enough to capture a likeness remained to be seen. Sanzo was hoping, for this guy’s sake, that he wasn’t, because having features this delicate must have made his life a living hell.
“Just this guy,” Goku said with a shrug.
“He doesn’t look like a guy. He doesn’t look like anything that could be alive.”
“I know,” Goku said, his brows furrowed. He held up the notepad and looked at it critically. “It’s like I can’t quite get it right.”
Sanzo took a step forth and took the sketchpad from Goku’s hands. There was definite progress, he noted with surprise. This sketch had fewer lines, more plains, even rudimentary shading, smoothed lovingly with a fingerpad. Judging by the amount of discarded sketches, Goku had been at it for hours. Hours and hours, sketching the face of a man with serious gender issues.
“You know no one would ever recognise him from this picture.”
Goku shrugged. “I just wanted t’ try. I’ve been seeing him a lot recently.”
“You saw this guy?” Sanzo asked, dropping the sketchbook.
“I dream about him,” Goku said, stretching across the bed. Sanzo averted his eyes as Goku thumbed through the pages.
“You dream about him.”
“Yeah.” Goku’s poked his tongue out of his mouth and twirled a pencil in his hand. “Hakkai says these are quite good.”
“Whatever,” Sanzo said and walked out. He didn’t realise the piece of paper he picked up was in his pocket until it was time to pay at the bar. The sketch really was quite good, Sanzo realised, simplicity notwithstanding. The one Goku was working on was even better.
He had no idea Goku was that good at drawing.
On his way back from the bar Sanzo accidentally stumbled into an art store. This angered him, because finding an art store to stumble into took a lot more effort than he was prepared to invest in this endeavour. “Your localisation is terrible,” he told the clerk when he found himself in front of the display, glaring at everything.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the woman asked and Sanzo glared at her again. He didn’t have a clue, actually, but no way in hell would he admit it. “Drawing supplies,” he said. “Something that’s not terribly dirty.” The woman looked at him funny, but since he ended up forking over an obscene amount of money for a handful of pastels, a box of coloured pencils, and a heavy notepad, he figured she lost her questioning privileges, not that she had any in the first place. He didn’t stop glaring, even when he walked back into the hotel and dropped the bag on Goku’s stupid head.
“Wow, thank you so much!” Goku said, testing the pencils on the edge of the paper he was drawing on. “Awesome.”
Sanzo grunted and left the room.
Three days later he had managed to almost shoot Gojyo fifteen times – which made even Gojyo himself suspicious – smoked twice his usual amount and drunk about as much. All because Goku’s eyes glowed when he put his present to good use, producing page after a page of portraits of a pale blond, who very obviously wasn’t Sanzo. Not that Sanzo cared about that, of course. He didn’t. He certainly didn’t pocket a portrait of himself, sleeping, that Goku shyly presented to him a short time after that. Instead, he made a point to smack the living daylights of the monkey, for presuming to stare at him while he slept. Goku, the damned ape, grinned and ran, leaving Sanzo alone with his beer and the picture.
“Stupid monkey,” Sanzo muttered, propping the thick paper against a saltshaker. Goku had a good eye for colour, even if the portrait made Sanzo look too goddamn soft.
Sanzo shook his head and finished his beer. The bloody journey lacked proper entertainment, so as long as the moron kept his head where it was supposed to be, who cared what he did to amuse himself.
END.
Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to the recognisable characters.
Rating: none
Pairing: 39
Warnings: none
Summary: Sanzo is an attention whore.
AN: This fic and the following picture have been written for the Project 39, thought up, realised and put together by the amazing
moshesque who also found time to beta this ficlet for me. Mosh is awesome. QED.“What the hell are you doing?” Sanzo asked and it was a legitimate question. Goku was sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by mounds of paper. The loose pages littered the floor, some of them crumpled, some of them torn to shreds. Sanzo bent for the ball closest to his foot. Goku didn’t look up from the notepad he had propped against his knee, which Sanzo found upsetting on a fundamental level.
Sanzo straightened the recovered sheet in his hands. Crisscrossing the paper were pencil lines, which in itself was unusual, because since when did Goku ever play with pencils? More surprising was that the lines were forming a crude and simplified face, and the fact that it was easily recognisable as such Sanzo found disturbing. “Who the fuck is supposed to be?”
“A guy.”
“A who now?” Sanzo turned the paper upside down. It might look a little more like a guy, perhaps, if he squinted. Sanzo was no art critic, but the face was believable in its simplicity and that alone told him Goku wasn’t half-bad with the pencil. Whether he was good enough to capture a likeness remained to be seen. Sanzo was hoping, for this guy’s sake, that he wasn’t, because having features this delicate must have made his life a living hell.
“Just this guy,” Goku said with a shrug.
“He doesn’t look like a guy. He doesn’t look like anything that could be alive.”
“I know,” Goku said, his brows furrowed. He held up the notepad and looked at it critically. “It’s like I can’t quite get it right.”
Sanzo took a step forth and took the sketchpad from Goku’s hands. There was definite progress, he noted with surprise. This sketch had fewer lines, more plains, even rudimentary shading, smoothed lovingly with a fingerpad. Judging by the amount of discarded sketches, Goku had been at it for hours. Hours and hours, sketching the face of a man with serious gender issues.
“You know no one would ever recognise him from this picture.”
Goku shrugged. “I just wanted t’ try. I’ve been seeing him a lot recently.”
“You saw this guy?” Sanzo asked, dropping the sketchbook.
“I dream about him,” Goku said, stretching across the bed. Sanzo averted his eyes as Goku thumbed through the pages.
“You dream about him.”
“Yeah.” Goku’s poked his tongue out of his mouth and twirled a pencil in his hand. “Hakkai says these are quite good.”
“Whatever,” Sanzo said and walked out. He didn’t realise the piece of paper he picked up was in his pocket until it was time to pay at the bar. The sketch really was quite good, Sanzo realised, simplicity notwithstanding. The one Goku was working on was even better.
He had no idea Goku was that good at drawing.
On his way back from the bar Sanzo accidentally stumbled into an art store. This angered him, because finding an art store to stumble into took a lot more effort than he was prepared to invest in this endeavour. “Your localisation is terrible,” he told the clerk when he found himself in front of the display, glaring at everything.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” the woman asked and Sanzo glared at her again. He didn’t have a clue, actually, but no way in hell would he admit it. “Drawing supplies,” he said. “Something that’s not terribly dirty.” The woman looked at him funny, but since he ended up forking over an obscene amount of money for a handful of pastels, a box of coloured pencils, and a heavy notepad, he figured she lost her questioning privileges, not that she had any in the first place. He didn’t stop glaring, even when he walked back into the hotel and dropped the bag on Goku’s stupid head.
“Wow, thank you so much!” Goku said, testing the pencils on the edge of the paper he was drawing on. “Awesome.”
Sanzo grunted and left the room.
Three days later he had managed to almost shoot Gojyo fifteen times – which made even Gojyo himself suspicious – smoked twice his usual amount and drunk about as much. All because Goku’s eyes glowed when he put his present to good use, producing page after a page of portraits of a pale blond, who very obviously wasn’t Sanzo. Not that Sanzo cared about that, of course. He didn’t. He certainly didn’t pocket a portrait of himself, sleeping, that Goku shyly presented to him a short time after that. Instead, he made a point to smack the living daylights of the monkey, for presuming to stare at him while he slept. Goku, the damned ape, grinned and ran, leaving Sanzo alone with his beer and the picture.
“Stupid monkey,” Sanzo muttered, propping the thick paper against a saltshaker. Goku had a good eye for colour, even if the portrait made Sanzo look too goddamn soft.
Sanzo shook his head and finished his beer. The bloody journey lacked proper entertainment, so as long as the moron kept his head where it was supposed to be, who cared what he did to amuse himself.
END.
