Samurai Seven, "Sense," Kanbei/Shichiroji, NC-17
Oh how I have missed writing S7!
Here we have a short bit of a fic, written for laurazel whose simply gorgeous drawing makes me weak at the knees, and for dragonwrangler who commissioned this beautiful piece, and is just, in general, indescribably awesome.
I hope both of you like it! ♥
~m
Note: If you can't see the drawing, it's because you're not signed in to y!gallery. Get an account and see the pretties. You know it's gotta be good if you've got to have a password to see it! ^_~
Sense
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Sometimes, with his lover, his senses would become overloaded, would blend together, blur amongst themselves until he could no longer truly feel any of them, nor all of them.
Taste was usually the first to lose its sharpness, the bite of sweat, the bitter salt of skin.
Then touch. Smell.
Sight. Sound.
Still. Today it was not so. There were sensations, bright and hot and all around him.
His lover beneath and before and around and inside, touching and licking and fucking and holding, just enough to force him to tip his head back, hair tickling down his own spine. Silk and cotton and sweat and the click of shells dangling from his lover's ear, brushing against his own metal fingertips. Pain as he bit his own lip, simply because he didn't want to grind his teeth down to nothing.
And then, suddenly, it hurt. He tasted blood-he'd bitten too hard.
Nothing new and everything familiar, something he'd not had but had longed desperately to reclaim. Muscle and scars and ribs that stood out nearly as far as his own, long hair that brushed a good twelve inches farther down the dark skin of the back he'd not clung to in ecstatic agony in what felt like a lifetime.
Hell, to some he'd watched breathe their last, the ten years he'd spent away from his lover-his commander-was a lifetime.
No time for the past, though. Not when he could feel the brush of wiry curls against his backside, the scrape of teeth against his chin, so nearly biting him that he cried out and tried vainly to move his hips under the weight of his lover, pressing him to the wall. The other man growled in answer and pulled him close, suspended him with nothing below but strong thighs and thick, wet cock, nothing before but sweat and the scrub of short-trimmed beard. Nothing behind but the clasp of strong arms, fingers digging into his spine as he was used for one base, animal purpose.
It hurt. He closed his eyes. Soon.
It would end, far too soon.
Nose buried in his lover's long hair, his senses were overwhelmed by the smell of the man, the natural musk of masculinity mixed with the oils they'd put in the bath, earlier, and he could hear-could feel-each grunt, each panted breath. He crossed his ankles and tucked them in against the smooth curve of his lover's buttocks, grinding himself down, taking everything he could.
Again. Again. Then again, and he fell into a rhythm that made his lover moan and bite at his throat, kept it steady-hard, fast-until the man relented and let the pleasure overwhelm him, cock throbbing against the tight muscle constricting around it as he came, his body trembling as the sensation peaked, then passed and waned.
They looked at each other, long and hard, until Shichiroji began to laugh.
"Fuck," he said, flopping back against the wall in a graceless fall of limbs, controlled only by his lover's hands, sudden and warm against his sides.
Kanbei's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile giving Shichiroji only a breath's warning before he shifted, slowly separating them.
It hurt. Shichiroji winced and frowned.
But he didn't complain. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, let his body sink once again into sensation-far gentler and warmer, this time-fingers slipping inside his body to stroke him, tongue and lips and throat rubbing and sucking at his erection.
When he came, he sighed and stroked both hands down his own body, feeling with a sense of satisfaction-even greater than the satisfaction he felt as his lover swallowed his semen-the soft waves of dark brown hair lying across his belly, shifting under his fingertips. He opened his eyes and marveled at the contrast of dark skin pressed flush against his own pale thighs, mingling sweat, the strong muscles shifting in counterpoint to the movement of his own.
His lover slid up and kissed him, grunting in surprise when Shichiroji held him close and took the kiss long, touching him, breathing slow and deep, breath warm across his face. Eyes open, watching him when he peeked at his lover's expression, earning a soft chuckle for his curiosity.
"Mmm," said Shichiroji, when his lover finally pulled away. "You taste like me."
Kanbei nodded. "I suppose I do," he said, calm as ever.
Shichiroji sighed and closed his eyes. "Just 's long as you know," he said.
His lover didn't answer, instead shifting to lie down beside him, warm and familiar and sweaty and strong, and Shichiroji held him and kissed his hair, sated and tired and sore, reveling for the first time since the War in an overwhelming sense of peace.
Here we have a short bit of a fic, written for laurazel whose simply gorgeous drawing makes me weak at the knees, and for dragonwrangler who commissioned this beautiful piece, and is just, in general, indescribably awesome.
I hope both of you like it! ♥
~m
Note: If you can't see the drawing, it's because you're not signed in to y!gallery. Get an account and see the pretties. You know it's gotta be good if you've got to have a password to see it! ^_~
Sense
by Mistr3ss Quickly
Sometimes, with his lover, his senses would become overloaded, would blend together, blur amongst themselves until he could no longer truly feel any of them, nor all of them.
Taste was usually the first to lose its sharpness, the bite of sweat, the bitter salt of skin.
Then touch. Smell.
Sight. Sound.
Still. Today it was not so. There were sensations, bright and hot and all around him.
His lover beneath and before and around and inside, touching and licking and fucking and holding, just enough to force him to tip his head back, hair tickling down his own spine. Silk and cotton and sweat and the click of shells dangling from his lover's ear, brushing against his own metal fingertips. Pain as he bit his own lip, simply because he didn't want to grind his teeth down to nothing.
And then, suddenly, it hurt. He tasted blood-he'd bitten too hard.
Nothing new and everything familiar, something he'd not had but had longed desperately to reclaim. Muscle and scars and ribs that stood out nearly as far as his own, long hair that brushed a good twelve inches farther down the dark skin of the back he'd not clung to in ecstatic agony in what felt like a lifetime.
Hell, to some he'd watched breathe their last, the ten years he'd spent away from his lover-his commander-was a lifetime.
No time for the past, though. Not when he could feel the brush of wiry curls against his backside, the scrape of teeth against his chin, so nearly biting him that he cried out and tried vainly to move his hips under the weight of his lover, pressing him to the wall. The other man growled in answer and pulled him close, suspended him with nothing below but strong thighs and thick, wet cock, nothing before but sweat and the scrub of short-trimmed beard. Nothing behind but the clasp of strong arms, fingers digging into his spine as he was used for one base, animal purpose.
It hurt. He closed his eyes. Soon.
It would end, far too soon.
Nose buried in his lover's long hair, his senses were overwhelmed by the smell of the man, the natural musk of masculinity mixed with the oils they'd put in the bath, earlier, and he could hear-could feel-each grunt, each panted breath. He crossed his ankles and tucked them in against the smooth curve of his lover's buttocks, grinding himself down, taking everything he could.
Again. Again. Then again, and he fell into a rhythm that made his lover moan and bite at his throat, kept it steady-hard, fast-until the man relented and let the pleasure overwhelm him, cock throbbing against the tight muscle constricting around it as he came, his body trembling as the sensation peaked, then passed and waned.
They looked at each other, long and hard, until Shichiroji began to laugh.
"Fuck," he said, flopping back against the wall in a graceless fall of limbs, controlled only by his lover's hands, sudden and warm against his sides.
Kanbei's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile giving Shichiroji only a breath's warning before he shifted, slowly separating them.
It hurt. Shichiroji winced and frowned.
But he didn't complain. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, let his body sink once again into sensation-far gentler and warmer, this time-fingers slipping inside his body to stroke him, tongue and lips and throat rubbing and sucking at his erection.
When he came, he sighed and stroked both hands down his own body, feeling with a sense of satisfaction-even greater than the satisfaction he felt as his lover swallowed his semen-the soft waves of dark brown hair lying across his belly, shifting under his fingertips. He opened his eyes and marveled at the contrast of dark skin pressed flush against his own pale thighs, mingling sweat, the strong muscles shifting in counterpoint to the movement of his own.
His lover slid up and kissed him, grunting in surprise when Shichiroji held him close and took the kiss long, touching him, breathing slow and deep, breath warm across his face. Eyes open, watching him when he peeked at his lover's expression, earning a soft chuckle for his curiosity.
"Mmm," said Shichiroji, when his lover finally pulled away. "You taste like me."
Kanbei nodded. "I suppose I do," he said, calm as ever.
Shichiroji sighed and closed his eyes. "Just 's long as you know," he said.
His lover didn't answer, instead shifting to lie down beside him, warm and familiar and sweaty and strong, and Shichiroji held him and kissed his hair, sated and tired and sore, reveling for the first time since the War in an overwhelming sense of peace.