Saiyuki, Sanzo/Goku, do it yourself
"Hey, Sanzo. Sanzo?" Goku says. It seems like the fiftieth time. He's swinging his feet over the edge of the hotel bed, too short to touch the floor. "Sanzo~, d'you maybe wanna--"
"Say my name again and I'll put another hole in your head," Sanzo says, not looking up from his newspaper. Goku's eyes shine; it's the least violent threat thus far. "If you're that desperate, monkey, do it yourself."
By now, he ought to know better than to give Goku ideas.
He's so used to ignoring the monkey's constant chatter that it takes him two minutes to register that Goku's not actually /speaking/. It's another minute to recognize the noise for what it /is/, and another thirty seconds to admit he hasn't actually been reading the newsprint in front of him for the past three and a half minutes.
Sanzo lowers the newspaper, just an inch, looks at the bed over the rims of his glasses.
Goku's sitting against the wall, bare toes curling into the blankets on the unmade bed. He's still got his clothes on, but he's shoved his hands--both hands!--into his sloppily unlaced pants. It's one of the few times Goku's not smiling; he smiles when he's eating, or sleeping, and especially when he's fighting. But he's intent, now, mouth half-open and /humming/, a low hungry kind of noise in the back of his throat. Too quickly, now, his breath unravels with his self-control, and the hum becomes a name: hitching, repeating, cresting and breaking. "San--zo--"
Sanzo mouth goes bitter; he's bitten through his cigarette. (Idiot. Told him not to say my name again.) But he doesn't move, doesn't raise the newspaper again, doesn't look away, until Goku's done and smiling his usual smile again.