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Fingers ran gently through the course, sand-colored hair that covered the monkey’s head. Sun Wukong sat on the floor of the small bedroom the pair occupied, sitting flush between Sanzang’s legs. His arms wrapped tightly around his master’s hips and his face pressed against the other’s stomach, while Tang Sanzang sat atop a small bed with his legs hanging off the side as he softly brushed his fingers though the Monkey King’s thick hair.
Another difficult kidnapping.
Another difficult rescue.
And the two were exhausted.
The weeks apart left the poor King touch-starved and emotional, and as much as Sanzang didn’t want to admit his own desires, he too craved the love his disciple so generously gave him.
Wukong pressed himself further against the other and hummed with each brush of Sanzang’s fingers through his hair, and the monk returned the gesture by gently squeezing his legs around the monkey to assure him of his presence.
They didn’t have to talk, there was no need to. Years together the two developed their own ways of showing emotion, of showing love and security.
Sanzang was scared to voice the feelings he had for Wukong. And Wukong knew it too. A nagging guilt always rose in his chest at every moment he wanted to tell his eldest disciple how he really felt.
You make me happy.
He wanted to say it, but he couldn’t.
When you’re not around, you’re all I think about.
He wasn’t ready for it, it scared him.
You make me feel things that I shouldn’t feel.
He didn’t want to care so much, but he did.
I love you.
Sanzang let out a shuttered breath, and leaned down to press a kiss against the monkey’s crown.
Wukong sluggishly lifted his head and took the closeness of his master’s face to brush his lips against the other’s cheek.
The monk pushed away all the exhilarating thoughts that came with the almost-kiss he received, and instead gently looped his arms under Wukong’s own to coax the sleepy king up to bed.
“Wukong, you must sleep. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”
He said in a hushed voice.
The Great Sage simply hummed, and rubbed his face into the monk’s robes.
Sanzang tried again, pulling at the monkey’s arms to get him up from the floor.
“Come on, the bed is more comfortable.”
Wukong let out a grumble and began to move.
He lifted himself up, but didn’t remove his arms from the other’s waist. Instead he stood the monk up with him, and with no grace or care, fell forward onto the bed.
Now Sanzang lay flat on the soft mattress with Wukong on top of him and his disciple’s face now nuzzled into his neck.
Again, the monk had to push away the thoughts of excitement that bubbled up in his head.
“Wukong this isn’t what I meant.” He muttered.
He didn’t really believe himself, though.
The two laid in the bed for a couple of minutes before Sanzang wrapped his arms around Wukong’s chest in defeat.
The monkey muttered something against the monk’s neck, before pressing his lips on the soft skin.
Sanzang’s breath hitched in his throat at the sensation, but didn’t move.
Wukong repeated what he had said, but this time a bit clearer.
“I love you.”
Another kiss followed, and Wukong finally settled.
Sanzang didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the air rushed back into his lungs.
He knew, of course he knew. Everyone knew that Wukong loved his master, but putting it into words made it so much more real.
And gods, as much as Sanzang didn’t want to admit it, he loved him too.
But he couldn’t say it.
Instead, he hugged Wukong closer to him, and turned his head to rest his cheek against the other’s face.
Sanzang loved Wukong too.
And even if he couldn’t say it yet, Wukong knew.
Of course he knew.