Gintama Fic: Crazy
See, the thing with me and kasugai_gummie is that I drag her into new fandoms kicking and screaming (usually in glee), and she gives me more plot bunnies than I know how to handle.
Like, more plot bunnies than I know how to handle.
Title: Crazy
Author: Reston
Summary: Gintoki and Hijikata have sex. PWP. Part of a pic/fic exchange with kasugai_gummie, her half of which is (unfinished but) over here. (ETA: FINISHED.)
Warnings: SEX.
Hijikata’s pushing in, and Gintoki’s sucking in a deep breath despite himself, because the stretch and burn is-yeah, it’s been a long, long while and it fucking hurts. He’s had enough alcohol that this seemed like a good idea when they were stripping off clothes and shoving their tongues into each other’s mouths and tussling for the top, but the alcohol’s not helping now, not anymore, and Gintoki can feel cold sweat breaking out across his body in pinpricks.
Hijikata smacks the back of Gintoki’s head. “Would you just fucking relax already?” he snarls. There’s a thin thread of tension in the pitch of his voice, like he’s about to snap any moment and switch from fucking Gintoki to trying to kill him. “You’re not making this any easier for me.”
“Easier for you?” retorts Gintoki. “Maybe I should get the rest of the Shinsengumi to chip in for a blow-up doll-I hear Candylip Contessa’s on sale this week-” Then groans as Hijikata pushes in retaliation, that little bastard.
What the hell was he thinking? He’s crazy for doing this. He’s crazy for letting Hijikata do this, he hasn’t done this in years. He barely let anyone touch him even during the war, shrugged off claps on the back and friendly arms thrown over his shoulders until he developed a reputation for being mechanical, for being cold-and those had men he fought alongside, men he thought he’d die for, men he trusted. Hijikata is none of these. Gintoki’s braced arms are so tense that his shoulders are aching, and his knees are beginning to chafe from where they’re digging into the weave of the tatami mats.
Hijikata shifts a little, and Gintoki reaches back to grab Hijikata’s forearm, digging his fingertips in as hard as he can. Hijikata stops short, holding unnaturally still. “What?” he growls. “Backing out on me?”
“Nope, nope,” grits Gintoki. “Just-give me a moment.”
Hijikata huffs an irritated breath. “If you’re too scared to do this, then just say so.”
“Yeah, well,” mutters Gintoki as he makes a supreme effort to relax, “maybe if you weren’t incompetent-”
“Maybe if you weren’t acting like a little girl-”
Gintoki rocks back against Hijikata, and Hijikata makes a strangled noise that sounds like he’s trying to shut himself up. It sounds-it sounds pretty good, actually, Hijikata more turned on than he wants to admit-and Gintoki’s oddly reassured by the idea of Hijikata as tense and worked up as he is, albeit in a somewhat different way.
“I heard that,” says Gintoki.
“Heard what?”
“Come on, that moan,” taunts Gintoki. “Haven’t gotten any in a while, have you?”
“You should get your ears checked,” suggests Hijikata. “I heard about this woman with so much earwax that doctors had to scoop it out with-”
“Yeah, well, I heard that girls are too afraid to kiss that mayonnaise mouth of yours.”
“Yeah, well, I heard that girls are traumatized by your hair-” And Hijikata bites down on the noise this time as Gintoki flexes around him experimentally, but Gintoki hears the catch in his breath, the low, shuddering exhale from the back of Hijikata’s throat. Gintoki’s cock twitches against his thigh, regaining interest in the proceedings. He grins.
“You sound breathless.”
“I am not breathless,” snaps Hijikata, but his hips jerk forward like he can’t help himself.
Gintoki reaches back and pats Hijikata’s thigh comfortingly. “You know, Hijikata, if you can’t last then you should really pull out. Like I said, I wouldn’t mind switching-”
Hijikata actually snarls out loud. Gintoki mentally chalks up another victory-completely predictable, Hijikata’s so unbelievably easy-but then Hijikata’s fingers dig into Gintoki’s hips and Hijikata shoves in hard, hard enough to rip a noise out of Gintoki’s chest, hard enough to hurt, but it’s the good kind of hurt this time, the kind of deep, full ache that turns into pleasure and just gets better and better. For a minute, Hijikata stays inside Gintoki without moving, and if Gintoki weren’t so busy not panting at the floor, he’d look over his shoulder to see the expression on Hijikata’s face because-hey, if Hijikata is fighting for control, then he has grounds to mock Hijikata forever. Then Hijikata slowly pulls out to thrust in again, and again, more carefully this time, working Gintoki open with long, smooth strokes, and yeah.
This is good. It’s been a long, long while, and this is better than he remembered, Hijikata gasping quiet, involuntary noises from somewhere above and behind Gintoki’s shoulder, Hijikata rubbing against that spot every time he pushes in. Gintoki shoves back, moving with the rhythm, and Hijikata makes that strangled sound again, the one that he’ll probably deny later, the one that makes Gintoki want to squeeze his own cock in sympathy.
“When you’re finished,” says Gintoki, struggling to keep his voice steady, “When you’re-yeah, and here’s the thing-you’re going to finish before me.” He hears Hijikata draw in a breath to snarl, and cuts Hijikata off before he can speak. “It’ll be my turn to fuck you.”
Hijikata’s next thrust is hard enough that Gintoki’s arms buckle beneath him. “We’ll see about that,” says Hijikata, but there’s strain in his voice, and Gintoki just raises his hips to push back when Hijikata pushes forward, hiding his smirk in his folded arms.
He’s got to be crazy for doing this, screwing some guy who’s not his ally and not his friend-at least not when he’s sober-but Gintoki’s never been given to the orthodox, and really: he’s pretty much fine with crazy. He’s been trying to make a point of living in the present, and when his turn comes-Hijikata’s breath hitches; soon, soon now-Gintoki is planning on taking his own sweet time.
967 words.
Like, more plot bunnies than I know how to handle.
Title: Crazy
Author: Reston
Summary: Gintoki and Hijikata have sex. PWP. Part of a pic/fic exchange with kasugai_gummie, her half of which is (unfinished but) over here. (ETA: FINISHED.)
Warnings: SEX.
Hijikata’s pushing in, and Gintoki’s sucking in a deep breath despite himself, because the stretch and burn is-yeah, it’s been a long, long while and it fucking hurts. He’s had enough alcohol that this seemed like a good idea when they were stripping off clothes and shoving their tongues into each other’s mouths and tussling for the top, but the alcohol’s not helping now, not anymore, and Gintoki can feel cold sweat breaking out across his body in pinpricks.
Hijikata smacks the back of Gintoki’s head. “Would you just fucking relax already?” he snarls. There’s a thin thread of tension in the pitch of his voice, like he’s about to snap any moment and switch from fucking Gintoki to trying to kill him. “You’re not making this any easier for me.”
“Easier for you?” retorts Gintoki. “Maybe I should get the rest of the Shinsengumi to chip in for a blow-up doll-I hear Candylip Contessa’s on sale this week-” Then groans as Hijikata pushes in retaliation, that little bastard.
What the hell was he thinking? He’s crazy for doing this. He’s crazy for letting Hijikata do this, he hasn’t done this in years. He barely let anyone touch him even during the war, shrugged off claps on the back and friendly arms thrown over his shoulders until he developed a reputation for being mechanical, for being cold-and those had men he fought alongside, men he thought he’d die for, men he trusted. Hijikata is none of these. Gintoki’s braced arms are so tense that his shoulders are aching, and his knees are beginning to chafe from where they’re digging into the weave of the tatami mats.
Hijikata shifts a little, and Gintoki reaches back to grab Hijikata’s forearm, digging his fingertips in as hard as he can. Hijikata stops short, holding unnaturally still. “What?” he growls. “Backing out on me?”
“Nope, nope,” grits Gintoki. “Just-give me a moment.”
Hijikata huffs an irritated breath. “If you’re too scared to do this, then just say so.”
“Yeah, well,” mutters Gintoki as he makes a supreme effort to relax, “maybe if you weren’t incompetent-”
“Maybe if you weren’t acting like a little girl-”
Gintoki rocks back against Hijikata, and Hijikata makes a strangled noise that sounds like he’s trying to shut himself up. It sounds-it sounds pretty good, actually, Hijikata more turned on than he wants to admit-and Gintoki’s oddly reassured by the idea of Hijikata as tense and worked up as he is, albeit in a somewhat different way.
“I heard that,” says Gintoki.
“Heard what?”
“Come on, that moan,” taunts Gintoki. “Haven’t gotten any in a while, have you?”
“You should get your ears checked,” suggests Hijikata. “I heard about this woman with so much earwax that doctors had to scoop it out with-”
“Yeah, well, I heard that girls are too afraid to kiss that mayonnaise mouth of yours.”
“Yeah, well, I heard that girls are traumatized by your hair-” And Hijikata bites down on the noise this time as Gintoki flexes around him experimentally, but Gintoki hears the catch in his breath, the low, shuddering exhale from the back of Hijikata’s throat. Gintoki’s cock twitches against his thigh, regaining interest in the proceedings. He grins.
“You sound breathless.”
“I am not breathless,” snaps Hijikata, but his hips jerk forward like he can’t help himself.
Gintoki reaches back and pats Hijikata’s thigh comfortingly. “You know, Hijikata, if you can’t last then you should really pull out. Like I said, I wouldn’t mind switching-”
Hijikata actually snarls out loud. Gintoki mentally chalks up another victory-completely predictable, Hijikata’s so unbelievably easy-but then Hijikata’s fingers dig into Gintoki’s hips and Hijikata shoves in hard, hard enough to rip a noise out of Gintoki’s chest, hard enough to hurt, but it’s the good kind of hurt this time, the kind of deep, full ache that turns into pleasure and just gets better and better. For a minute, Hijikata stays inside Gintoki without moving, and if Gintoki weren’t so busy not panting at the floor, he’d look over his shoulder to see the expression on Hijikata’s face because-hey, if Hijikata is fighting for control, then he has grounds to mock Hijikata forever. Then Hijikata slowly pulls out to thrust in again, and again, more carefully this time, working Gintoki open with long, smooth strokes, and yeah.
This is good. It’s been a long, long while, and this is better than he remembered, Hijikata gasping quiet, involuntary noises from somewhere above and behind Gintoki’s shoulder, Hijikata rubbing against that spot every time he pushes in. Gintoki shoves back, moving with the rhythm, and Hijikata makes that strangled sound again, the one that he’ll probably deny later, the one that makes Gintoki want to squeeze his own cock in sympathy.
“When you’re finished,” says Gintoki, struggling to keep his voice steady, “When you’re-yeah, and here’s the thing-you’re going to finish before me.” He hears Hijikata draw in a breath to snarl, and cuts Hijikata off before he can speak. “It’ll be my turn to fuck you.”
Hijikata’s next thrust is hard enough that Gintoki’s arms buckle beneath him. “We’ll see about that,” says Hijikata, but there’s strain in his voice, and Gintoki just raises his hips to push back when Hijikata pushes forward, hiding his smirk in his folded arms.
He’s got to be crazy for doing this, screwing some guy who’s not his ally and not his friend-at least not when he’s sober-but Gintoki’s never been given to the orthodox, and really: he’s pretty much fine with crazy. He’s been trying to make a point of living in the present, and when his turn comes-Hijikata’s breath hitches; soon, soon now-Gintoki is planning on taking his own sweet time.
967 words.