InsaneJournal

His Dreams Upon Him
Title: His Dreams Upon Him
Fandom: Saiyuki
Characters: Go Dougan & his pet
Prompt: 67-Misguided
Word Count: 773
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dougan and the image of his dreams. Mild spoilers for Saiyuki: Requiem.



Orange paper airplanes littered the floor of the dimly lit room. At the desk near one end of the large space sat the image of a monk, his blonde hair shimmering in the flickering lamplight nearby. He sat expressionless as his maker sat on his lap, a man no longer a man, hair stained with the blood of taboo peeking out from behind his mask. Dougan’s legs dangled over one side, arms thrown loosely around the blonde’s shoulders as he smirked, pleased with himself.

Everything lay in wait to be unfolded according to his whim. Not long ago, his master and those who’d accompanied him had entered the barrier to his domain and were now resting in rooms within his castle. He would show his master how great he had become, the lengths to which he had gone to improve himself. To ready himself for what he saw as his true calling. He would show the monk that he was no longer that weak child that he’d left behind in Chang’an.

The blonde didn’t move as Dougan’s arms clung tighter, face buried against his shoulder as he grinned to himself. There was no way that he could be turned away now. It was as Sanzo had always wanted, to have a disciple strong enough to be worthy to stand by his side. His grin began to fade as Dougan wondered what reaction the other man would have after he’d revealed himself. Would the monk even be able to recognize him as he was now? His lips pressed into a thin line. Would he even remember the child that he’d been?

Resting his head against the blonde’s shoulder, Dougan turned his gaze toward the profile of the man’s face, the stoic image of his master. He’d made the blonde perfectly, down to the last detail. He’d spent enough time watching the monk to know his form and actions as much as he knew his own. But this version seemed much quieter than his actual master had been. There had been many times when Dougan had seen and heard the priest berating the monks of the temple for some reason or other. Dougan realized early on how annoyed his master became at the incompetence that surrounded him, and had vowed then to become the kind of student that the blonde wanted. The kind of disciple that he needed.

Dougan smiled again as he reassured himself that the others would be forgotten after Sanzo realized the strength of his devotion. The priest would no longer need that half-demon with his roguish ways, or the green-eyed demon with his placid expression a mask for whatever lay beneath. And Sanzo would forget all about the golden eyed boy he’d found that day long ago once Dougan stood by his side. He was sure of it. He just needed this chance, this day that he had known would come.

His hand trailed across his creation’s chest. Dougan gazed at the man’s impassive face, so beautiful in repose. The blonde’s distant expression was so much like what Dougan remembered from those rainy days when Sanzo would sit on the windowsill gazing out on the drenched grounds surrounding the temple. Dougan kissed this man as he’d wanted to kiss him then, turning the blonde’s face toward his waiting lips. The blonde allowed it as the monk would never have. This Sanzo was so pliant, so agreeable.

The kiss wasn’t returned as Dougan deepened it, winding his arms tightly around the false monk’s shoulders as he moved to straddle him. It almost didn’t matter – almost – as for a fleeting moment he was haunted by the possibility of the real monk’s rejection of him. Sometimes, it even seemed as though he wasn’t good enough for this copy of Sanzo, the echo of the man the monk was. But that couldn’t be. This was a doll, beautiful as he was, but a doll nonetheless. A doll couldn’t reject its maker.

Dougan had always known within himself that there would be a day when Sanzo could no longer cast him aside, believing that this time was finally upon him. He would remove those who were a threat to the future he sought with his master. Then the monk could do nothing other than see the truth of what was. Dougan’s hands trailed down the false monk’s chest to his belly as he sank to his knees before him. The doll didn’t even twitch as he did so. And maybe, Dougan thought as the sound of a zipper echoed in the strangely quiet room, his devotion would be repaid in ways he’d always hoped for.


End