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“You’re weirdly excited tonight," Macaque states plainly. “I thought you didn’t 'get' my movies.”
“I don’t!” Wukong confirms with a nod, sprawled on the couch with a lazy smile on his face. He’s leaning back, head hanging off the back of the armrest to look at where Macaque waits for their popcorn to finish popping in the kitchen. When it’s Macaque’s turn to pick what they watch, he insists on popping it himself— something about making sure it’s edible.
Wukong is perfectly content with the microwave bags that always end up half-burnt, half-unpopped. Macaque thinks he’s insane.
When the popcorn is popped and buttered to Macaque’s standards, Wukong swings his leg off the back of the couch to sit up. He shuffles over just enough so there’s room for Macaque to fit into the space next to him.
“You’re taking up the whole couch,” Macaque grumbles. There’s a small smile that betrays the complaint as something said out of routine rather than anything genuine.
He makes a show of wiggling his way into the space Wukong made, intentionally squishing him into the cushions and pulling a laugh from the sage. Wukong shoves him off but stays close, shoulders and thighs touching.
As much as Wukong tries, and Macaque knows he tries, he really doesn’t get Macaque’s taste in movies. Wukong prefers fast-paced movies with lots of colors, action and simple plots. Macaque prefers movies that are more artsy and with a narrative that makes you think .
They were always something indie, far too vague and focused on telling the story through monotone still shots, abstract metaphors, and droning monologues.
Macaque could pick meaning through the most subtle framing. Wukong could pick grime from his fur while he tried not to ask too many questions about just what was happening on screen.
Last time Macaque chose a movie, Wukong couldn't stop fidgeting. He talked and asked so many questions that Macaque had to pause it with a strained smile.
“Gem, if you don’t stop talking for the rest of this scene,” his grip on the popcorn bowl was tight, “I won’t watch another movie with you.”
Wukong managed to make it through the rest of the scene by counting the sunspots littered across his knuckles.
He’s determined to make it through this movie without asking any questions, talking, or distracting Macaque. He wants to understand these weird, confusing movies because he knows Macaque likes them and likes Wukong enough to try sharing them with him. He wants to see all the things Macaque cares about.
Macaque had turned the lights off on his way to the couch. With only the glow of the TV lighting the room, Wukong hits play on the remote and pushes that tiny bit closer into Macaque’s side.
As the movie starts, Wukong reaches and grabs a far-too-large handful of popcorn from the bowl and pushes it all into his mouth as the first attempt to keep himself from talking. He tries to focus on how the popped kernels crunch in his teeth and how the butter slides across his tongue.
It is not that hard to make it through one movie, Wukong. He reminds himself. It’s only two hours. You’re the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven! You’ve made it through way worse for way longer.
The opening credits end, and the film’s title stretches across the screen. Wukong feels restlessness settle in his legs, and his foot starts wiggling back and forth rhythmically. The ginger sage steals a glance at Macaque, who is, obviously, focused on the screen like Wukong should be.
The cool blue hues from the moody scene opening the narrative bounce off his features in a way that reminds Wukong a bit of moonlight. He thinks of the many times in their youth they’d lain out on the beach, or perched in the treetops, or at the edge of Shuilian Cave, and stared up at the stars. When things were simpler, just the two of them figuring things out while the world was new. He pointedly ignores the thought of everything that came after, focusing on the nostalgic feeling warming his chest.
The moon and stars always highlighted Macaque’s fur in the most beautiful glow, like they were made for him. A smile tugs Wukong’s lips at the memories of his shadow haloed by the night.
His eyes trail from Macaque’s face back to his ears, free of their usual glamour. Their colors— soft red, purple, and green— paint the high point of his cheeks in a gentle contrast to the pale grey tones from the TV.
Something in the scene changes, and Macaque shifts forward. His eyes narrow just slightly, and he worries his bottom lip as he pays the shot extra attention. He’s locked onto some detail Wukong would surely miss even if he’d been paying attention to the movie.
Right. The movie.
Wukong pulls his gaze away from Macaque and back to the screen. It’s some dramatic low shot, set outside. The camera is focused on a puddle on the sidewalk with reflections of people walking past.
The colors are so dull. Maybe it’s intentional and says something deeper to other people, but all it says to Wukong is boooring .
No, it’s not boring. He chastises. It just doesn’t make sense to me. It makes sense to Macaque. Who I’m going to pay attention to this movie for so he keeps showing me the things he likes.
Wukong shifts again, stretching one foot up and over Macaque’s lap. Macaque’s knees move apart to give space for Wukong’s leg to slot between them. His focus flicks back away from the screen, and he sees a little smile flirt across Macaque’s lips as Wukong settles into his new position.
Wukong grabs another handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth again to keep himself from complimenting the smile and breaking Macaque’s focus on the scene. He wipes the crumbs and oil sticking to his hand onto his sweats.
The cozy sage, equal to cuddly, slides his now clean hand between Macaque’s stomach and the bowl, and settles his arm around him. He leans his cheek on Macaque’s shoulder, and a happy hum vibrates through his chest when Macaque absently presses a kiss to his hair. He rests his chin on the top of Wukong’s head and wraps his arm around Wukong’s back.
Wukong rubs the fabric of Macaque’s shirt between his fingers as he tries, again, to focus on the movie. The main character is now indoors, the camera zooming in on their face as a monologue starts. He blinks a few times, trying to hold onto the words, but the narration is vague and abstract, and Wukong can feel himself losing the plot.
Maybe I’m not meant to get it.
His nose scrunches.
I don’t need to get it. Macaque can explain it to me after. He’d like to talk about everything he noticed, anyway. I just need to stay quiet so he can focus.
His tail thumps against the couch cushions. He’s getting restless again.
Wukong pulls his hand back from around Macaque’s waist and grabs his warrior’s hand from where it thumbs at Wukong’s shirt seams while Macaque really, actually pays attention to the movie. He gently tugs Macaque’s arm up to wrap around his shoulder. Macaque lets him.
He fidgets with the fur where Macaque’s palm and wrist meet, then follows each tendon down the back of Macaque’s hand to the tip of each finger with his thumb. Wukong’s paying close enough attention to the skin of Macaque’s hand to notice tiny scars crisscrossing the knuckle of his pointer finger. He traces them with a claw, wondering what they might’ve come from.
Macaque’s finger twitches at the gentle touch. Wukong glances up, but Macaque’s eyes are still focused on the screen. He presses a kiss to the knuckle.
“Wukong.”
Wukong’s eyes flick back up to Macaque from where they’d dropped to his hand, this time meeting his gaze. Macaque’s eyes squint, but a soft edge betrays any feigned annoyance. The ghost of a smile quirks the corner of his lips.
“Are you watching?” Macaque asks, voice low and warm. They both know the answer.
“Mhmm, yep!” Wukong grins, canines peeking between his lips. Then, confirming his true focus, he kisses Macaque’s hand again, “Totally.”
The King shifts again, dropping the Shadow’s hand to move the popcorn bowl from his lap. He sets it down at their feet with a quick motion, then leans back enough to swing his other leg over Macaque’s lap. Wukong wraps one arm around Macaque’s shoulders, the other cupping his face.
Macaque’s hand settles back at Wukong’s hip.
“Never been more focused in my life,” he feels the instinctive flick of Macaque’s ears against his hair as he nudges his face against Macaque's cheek. Macaque returns the affectionate touch.
“I was eating that,” Macaque complains, all false irritation. Then, after a pause, “and paying attention.”
“Me too,” Wukong scoffs incredulously. He kisses the corner of Macaque’s mouth, and his grin shifts into something more tender and soft when Macaque’s head turns to follow his lips.
Macaque’s lips meet Wukong’s in a gentle kiss.
I love him.
“I love you.” Wukong echoes his thoughts, chest warm and voice sweet. Their foreheads press together. Macaque raises a hand to hold Wukong’s at his cheek, leaning into the touch.
“I love you, too.” Macaque returns effortlessly. Then something flickers in his eyes and his expression turns from smitten to mischief, “But, I’m still watching the movie.”
Wukong gasps, his hand falling from Macaque’s cheek, and presses his palm into his chest with dramatic flair, “You’re the one who distracted me. I was being quiet!”
A soft laugh bubbles past Macaque’s lips, head falling onto Wukong’s shoulder, “I know, I know.”
“You’re the one who started talking,” Wukong continues, mischief spreading across his face as an idea forms, “I wasn’t asking questions or anything!”
“If this movie isn’t interesting enough for you, it’s my duty as the Monkey King to keep my subjects entertained!”
Macaque lifts his head with a quirked brow, knowing Wukong’s gears are turning.
Suddenly, Wukong grabs Macaque’s head with both hands, careful not to squish his ears, and starts peppering kisses across his face.
“Hey!” Macaque protests, half-heartedly trying to free his face from Wukong’s hands. His smile is back in full force, and he laughs as he pushes Wukong away with no real effort, “Quit it! I am watching the movie!”
“Is. This. Entertaining. Enough?!” Wukong continues his assault, punctuating each word with another kiss to Macaque’s face. Macaque continues laughing, turning his face to make Wukong’s task harder.
Wukong kisses his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. He’s more gentle around Macaque’s right eye, where he knows the skin is more sensitive. He finishes the attack with a longer kiss to Macaque’s lips. He rests his forehead on Macaque’s.
His eyes shine, amused and self-satisfied, and Macaque huffs dramatically, making a point to avoid looking at Wukong. They both know his grumbling would be worthless the second he meets Wukong's eyes.
Wukong waits a moment, testing Macaque’s resolve. The twitch breaking his scowl doesn’t escape Wukong’s notice, and he gives him one last quick kiss before leaning back into Macaque’s hold. He turns to watch the TV, but leaves a hand on Macaque’s chest, rubbing his thumb back and forth against the top hem of his shirt.
Macaque kisses his temple, then returns his attention to the film.
“20 minutes might be a new personal best,” Macaque teases after a moment, “Maybe next time we can shoot for 25.”
Wukong whips his head, ready with a comeback. But Macaque’s eyes meet his, crinkling at the corners from his small, smug smile, then flick back to the TV, and Wukong accepts the challenge.