Shadowpeach Doc Dump
Blah blah Macaque has fuckbuddies, Wukong is jealous, I've got a better idea for the same concept and I want this to the side while I work on it.
Enjoy Bratty Wukong.
Macaque gets a letter.
Wukong’s not one to ask before opening mail - there’s no law against it and as King of the kingdom it arrived at, he has the right - so he does. And despite his struggles with reading, even Wukong can comprehend that the attempt is hilariously bad. So much so that he feels even less bad about opening the letter when he shows it to Macaque.
“Someone’s trying to kidnap you with a really bad lie.” Wukong grins, unscrolling it before Macaque’s eyes. Macaque’s eyes widen, face red where it shouldn’t be red as he swipes it from Wukong to get a better look at the embarrassing thing. “They think you’d fall for a dinner invite.”
“It is a dinner invite,” Macaque says. He’s stopped looking at Wukong. “I’ve been invited by them before.”
“Ohh, they’re setting you up, then. That’s underhanded,” Wukong slips to peek from behind Macaque’s shoulder - and is quickly shoved off. “Heyyy!”
“It’s not a set-up - well. Not for.. k-kidnapping.”
Ohhh, he knows that choked sound, the one where Macaque isn’t sure if Wukong will like what he’s saying. And he doesn’t, Macaque’s right, he’s back over his shoulder to examine how far Macaque is willing to lie to his king.
Not very long.
“Not that kind of kidnapping either--” That kind? When did courting come into the mix? “It’s just - it’s just a fling.”
“Flinging what?” Wukong’s eyebrow raises, the other joining at Macaque's groan of his name.
“Foir fun.”
“Everything fun is right here. I’m fun, don’t we fling?”
“We do not fling,” Macaque shrugs him off again, more forcefully and begins to walk off. Insulted, Wukong gives a light chase against Macaque’s unusually quick stride. “Look, I’m going and I’ll be back the day after--”
“A day after?” Wukong’s duress is less perplexed this time. Macaque’s sigh isn’t reassuring.
“The morning after, noon the latest, okay?”
“What is it that you can’t tell me?”
“It’s private!” Macaque squeaks.
Wukong’s mood drops - there’s hardly any secret-keeping in the troop and to be left out of one is a sore spot he didn’t know he had.
Not that Macaque and he are the same as the rest of the troop - there are secrets that need to be kept, as royalty. But at the very least, they were always privy to each other. The hidden things were owned jointly by them alone.
Macaque’s sour face evens out, mellow under Wukong’s own hurt. “...Sorry,” He says. “I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just…” He chews his cheek and doesn’t finish.
“...Back before noon,” Wukong folds his arms. With an overemphasis, he adds “and you’ll be considered pardoned~”
Macaque keys in, overperforms a sweeping bow, meant more for understanding than amusement. “How gracious, Your Majesty.” Macaque pockets the letter, switches conversation to something else Wukong has ‘decreed’ lately - namely, the army’s armor not matching what the dragon kings gave him; stronger metals are prettier and more durable and need to be pilfered - but a stiffness lingers for at least a few minutes longer than Wukong likes.
---------
There is an easy solution, of course - Macaque has yet to see all of Wukongs’ 72 transformations, so he wouldn’t suspect something as innocent and mobile as a sparrow to follow him in the night. Even if Macaque had been invited before, Wukong knows how tricksy demons can be - it’s a testament to their danger, not Macaque’s intelligence, that he feels the need to monitor at least part of this ‘dinner fling’.
He slips through the crack of an open window of the place - nicer than most demons have - just as (honestly, a rather overdressed) Macaque enters the home.
“Don’t send for me like that again,” is the first thing Macaque says. “He’s nosy as shit - it took a year off my life convincing Wukong to let me come at all.”
His feathers rustle at that. He’s not some tyrant forbidding Macaque from going out. It’s hurtful to hear his worries for his best friend be turned into something so sour.
“And don’t,” Macaque twists, jabs a finger at his host, “make the joke we’re both thinking of.”
Well, Wukong’s not thinking of jokes. When does Macaque have inside jokes with other people? How long has Wukong been away that he’s not privy to Macaque’s other friends?
Frankly and also - when and how did Macaque learn to make friends at all?
“And kill the mood?” Asks the host (what mood?), “Never.”
Macaque is suddenly bracketed by the larger body, pressed to the wall, with a mouth on his --
Uh. Face.
Macaque’s mouth has another mouth on it. His hands suddenly have hands around them and they are over his head. He has a leg between his --
Okay. This kind of fling. The flinging he and Macaque definitely do not do. Will never do. And he implied they do all the time and no wonder Macaque was so upset--
He lingers too long on watching Macaque letting himself get bit, and leaves once the biting starts getting lower than his neck.
--------------
“Welcome Back!”
And immediately, Wukong and Macaque both hear how over-enthused Wukong sounded.
“You’re late!”
That one too, especially for a scolding.
“Yyyeah, hard time getting back.” Macaque scratches at the back of his neck--
Nnno. Wukong does not want to think about all of the fucking bruises under his scarf and fur.
--And not looking at Wukong. “Plus, breakfast went late.”
“Oh. Breakfast?” Wukong has also taken up Not Looking. “Sounds good.”
“It was.”
The silence is terrible. Damning, even. Evidence, apparantly, as Macaque’s awkward posture mellows out into something disappointed. “Y’followed me, didn’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“How much did you see?”
“Uh, I saw reason for me to be concerned about your safety,” Wukong scoffs, with a getsure to the neck. “A random invite sent with the idea that I wasn’t home--”
“You shouldn’t know that.”
Fuck. Cover your ass. “--and you coming back with a covered neck?”
“I always wear this scarf--.”
“This whole thing just smells bad,” Wukong shrugs. “I won’t apologize for wanting my best bud safe and sound.”
“Right, yeah, okay, so here’s what’s gunna happen--”
“Are you limping?” Wukong asks as Macque approaches and then stops and then doesn’t answer. Which is the very wrong move to make after one has confessed a legitimate concern for your safety.
Macaque’s Not Looking intensifies, turning his head down to the floor as he murmurs. “I said I had a hard time getting back.”
“They let you limp back?” Wukong’s properly mad.
“I - I just like the walk--” Wukong dips down, craning his head to stare Macaque in the eyes. Macaque’s shoulders hunch as he folds his arms. “They offered t’take me home,” Macaque’s quiet excuse does nothing for Wukong. “just--”
“--didn’t take it?” Wukong cuts him off.
Macaque’s jaw tightens. “I… didn’t feel like riding with them…. I was sore and they were suggesting--”
“So they took it back?”
“No, but at that point it was awkward because I turned it down--”
“So you limped back.” Wukong says, more seriously, “Because you felt awkward, even though they would’ve done it.” Macaque winces. “Y’know, that actually is stupid.” His friend doesn’t have an answer. “If you saw someone like King of Confusion limping home, what would you think to do?”
“You’re not my dad--”
“Worse, I’m your friend.”