FIC: gintama - seconds are always more complicated than firsts, except during dinner
Title: seconds are always more complicated than firsts, except during dinner
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: I don't see why you would want to.
Notes: College-era AU. Painfully, horrendously awkward smut.
Cross-posted at ginzura.
They should have known, somehow, that their second time wouldn't be as easy as the first. It was the curse of beginner's luck, or an angry ghost that couldn't get any in the ether, something. Whatever it was, looking back on it -- it seemed doomed to fail.
In the first place, Gintoki goes into it a bit cocky (no pun intended), a bit too eager to please, and ends up doing anything but. When it starts going south (in all the wrong ways), he attempts to push past it like he pushes past any day-to-day stupidity, with even more bullheaded determination. Zura, made high-strung and pressured by Gintoki's aggression, can't seem to relax, in turn making Gintoki nervous about hurting him and defensive about screwing up. For a while, they shift against one another in frustration and awkwardness, bodies out of sync, grunting constant rebuttals and (mostly) hair-related insults. They switch positions to try and remedy the situation, Gintoki lying flat on the bed and Zura controlling the goings-on above him, but somehow it just gets worse.
"Haaow, ow, stop," grits Zura.
Gintoki thinks he's seen this in a doujin before, and reassures in an awkward blurt, "Just keep -- pushing. It got better last time, didn't it?"
"Well, it's not getting better now," whines the smaller man. Gintoki presses up, trying to compensate, and cringes when his efforts return only a shaky, "O-oww, aaa-aa, don't do that."
Bristling in awkward shame, Gintoki immediately freezes his hips in place, but snaps, "I-i-it's not getting better because you're not relaxing!"
"How am I supposed to relax with you yelling at me to relax?"
"I'm not yelling!"
"Yes you are!"
"Now you're yelling!"
"No I'm not!"
He has no idea how his boner has survived any of this, but it's not going away anytime soon. Zura isn't the only one hurting, here, oi. It's time to take charge again and try to fix this mess. "Look, just -- stay right there, and I'll -- "
Zura yelps at what happens next, and the sound turns the pit of his stomach into a cold, nauseous hell. "Wh-what, are you -- "
"Ithurtsithurtsithurts!" chants Zura, face screwed up in pain, and Gintoki discovers with a shock that not all things are mutually exclusive from his hard-on.
"Sorry, sorry, fuck," he sputters, and the shame and guilt makes him want to pack up his Jump and become a celibate monk, if only to never have to see that face or hear that panic-stricken tone again. As he contemplates life in a cramped but blissful monastery cell, Zura lifts himself high, his hands braced on Gintoki's shoulders like vice-grips.
"I think we're doing too much at once, and need to re-evaluate our strategy," he concludes, in that exam-studying voice of his. That Zura has now mentally categorized their second time having sex as an algebra problem isn't flattering. "I'm... going to try something else, i-if that's okay."
"F-fine! W-whatever you want to do, just don't h-hurt yourself," Gintoki snaps, trying to make it sound like anything but the plea it is. The darker-haired youth grunts a distracted assent and reaches back, guiding Gintoki back into his body slowly. He stops before he's even close to what Gintoki would like to call home plate, pushing down only enough to press the head of Gintoki's length through that tight muscle. He repeats this action (over and over) and seems to be relaxing to the intrusion (over and over) with each shallow grind (over and over), and Gintoki feels himself stiffening harder (over and over) than he maybe ever has in his whole pathetic life (over and over). Looking at Zura's face doesn't help this time -- his eyebrows are smoothed flat from their irritable draw, and his lips part in dumb hesitance to the sensation, panting quick little breaths as he moves faster, trying to take more.
Coupled with that hair-rending, teasing sensation, it's all kind of mind-bogglingly arousing, and Gintoki doesn't end up noticing that actually, he's moving pretty quickly, now. And that actually, he should probably slow down, because at that kind of pace, and with the amount of lube they'd used just to keep things moving --
"Shiiiiitttttt," squeals Gintoki, as Zura's weight crushes his slipped manhood into what feels like the shape of a paper fortune-teller.
"A-ah, sorry, sorry, shit -- !"
"Whhhhhhyyy," the perm whines, three octaves higher than usual, as Zura immediately backs off, looking traumatized. He's not really asking Zura anyway, but the cruel universe doesn't have any answers for him either. Not that he'd be able to hear them over the howling of dogs for miles around, baying to the high-pitched whistle of his soul leaving his body out his smashed dick.
"Should I call an ambulance?" Zura is saying over the truly excruciating pain. "Should I call the police?"
"They would just arrest us," whimpers Gintoki, now holding his dick and rolling back and forth on the bed, "for crimes against the institution of intercourse!"
"I don't want a pubic record!" wails Zura, and Gintoki would laugh if he weren't too busy crying.
Fandom: Gintama
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: I don't see why you would want to.
Notes: College-era AU. Painfully, horrendously awkward smut.
Cross-posted at ginzura.
They should have known, somehow, that their second time wouldn't be as easy as the first. It was the curse of beginner's luck, or an angry ghost that couldn't get any in the ether, something. Whatever it was, looking back on it -- it seemed doomed to fail.
In the first place, Gintoki goes into it a bit cocky (no pun intended), a bit too eager to please, and ends up doing anything but. When it starts going south (in all the wrong ways), he attempts to push past it like he pushes past any day-to-day stupidity, with even more bullheaded determination. Zura, made high-strung and pressured by Gintoki's aggression, can't seem to relax, in turn making Gintoki nervous about hurting him and defensive about screwing up. For a while, they shift against one another in frustration and awkwardness, bodies out of sync, grunting constant rebuttals and (mostly) hair-related insults. They switch positions to try and remedy the situation, Gintoki lying flat on the bed and Zura controlling the goings-on above him, but somehow it just gets worse.
"Haaow, ow, stop," grits Zura.
Gintoki thinks he's seen this in a doujin before, and reassures in an awkward blurt, "Just keep -- pushing. It got better last time, didn't it?"
"Well, it's not getting better now," whines the smaller man. Gintoki presses up, trying to compensate, and cringes when his efforts return only a shaky, "O-oww, aaa-aa, don't do that."
Bristling in awkward shame, Gintoki immediately freezes his hips in place, but snaps, "I-i-it's not getting better because you're not relaxing!"
"How am I supposed to relax with you yelling at me to relax?"
"I'm not yelling!"
"Yes you are!"
"Now you're yelling!"
"No I'm not!"
He has no idea how his boner has survived any of this, but it's not going away anytime soon. Zura isn't the only one hurting, here, oi. It's time to take charge again and try to fix this mess. "Look, just -- stay right there, and I'll -- "
Zura yelps at what happens next, and the sound turns the pit of his stomach into a cold, nauseous hell. "Wh-what, are you -- "
"Ithurtsithurtsithurts!" chants Zura, face screwed up in pain, and Gintoki discovers with a shock that not all things are mutually exclusive from his hard-on.
"Sorry, sorry, fuck," he sputters, and the shame and guilt makes him want to pack up his Jump and become a celibate monk, if only to never have to see that face or hear that panic-stricken tone again. As he contemplates life in a cramped but blissful monastery cell, Zura lifts himself high, his hands braced on Gintoki's shoulders like vice-grips.
"I think we're doing too much at once, and need to re-evaluate our strategy," he concludes, in that exam-studying voice of his. That Zura has now mentally categorized their second time having sex as an algebra problem isn't flattering. "I'm... going to try something else, i-if that's okay."
"F-fine! W-whatever you want to do, just don't h-hurt yourself," Gintoki snaps, trying to make it sound like anything but the plea it is. The darker-haired youth grunts a distracted assent and reaches back, guiding Gintoki back into his body slowly. He stops before he's even close to what Gintoki would like to call home plate, pushing down only enough to press the head of Gintoki's length through that tight muscle. He repeats this action (over and over) and seems to be relaxing to the intrusion (over and over) with each shallow grind (over and over), and Gintoki feels himself stiffening harder (over and over) than he maybe ever has in his whole pathetic life (over and over). Looking at Zura's face doesn't help this time -- his eyebrows are smoothed flat from their irritable draw, and his lips part in dumb hesitance to the sensation, panting quick little breaths as he moves faster, trying to take more.
Coupled with that hair-rending, teasing sensation, it's all kind of mind-bogglingly arousing, and Gintoki doesn't end up noticing that actually, he's moving pretty quickly, now. And that actually, he should probably slow down, because at that kind of pace, and with the amount of lube they'd used just to keep things moving --
"Shiiiiitttttt," squeals Gintoki, as Zura's weight crushes his slipped manhood into what feels like the shape of a paper fortune-teller.
"A-ah, sorry, sorry, shit -- !"
"Whhhhhhyyy," the perm whines, three octaves higher than usual, as Zura immediately backs off, looking traumatized. He's not really asking Zura anyway, but the cruel universe doesn't have any answers for him either. Not that he'd be able to hear them over the howling of dogs for miles around, baying to the high-pitched whistle of his soul leaving his body out his smashed dick.
"Should I call an ambulance?" Zura is saying over the truly excruciating pain. "Should I call the police?"
"They would just arrest us," whimpers Gintoki, now holding his dick and rolling back and forth on the bed, "for crimes against the institution of intercourse!"
"I don't want a pubic record!" wails Zura, and Gintoki would laugh if he weren't too busy crying.