private spring
Title: private spring
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Hitsugaya Toushirou and Hinamori Momo
Pairing: HitsuHina
Genre: Romance
Warnings: This story contains content suitable for mature teens and older. Do not read this if you are offended by sexual situations and/or a minor. I MEAN IT, TURN AWAY NOW
Rating: NC-17
Warnings
1. This story contains content suitable for mature teens and older. Do not read this if you are offended by sexual situations and/or a minor. I MEAN IT, TURN AWAY NOW
2. Yes, this is a PWP; ergo, there is no plot.
3. I am about 300 chapters behind the manga, so if something doesn’t match up with current canon, that’s why. Please no spoilers in the comments!
4. This is the first lemon I’ve ever written, so I’m kind of embarrassed. I've edited it many, many times and am still unsatisfied... I might edit it again after this posting. I just hope you take it for what it is - entertainment with a ton of suffocating fluff.
Author’s Note
This ridiculous scenario takes place in the future, when all the nonsense is over, Toushirou’s finally conquered his greatest nemesis (puberty), and he and Momo are in a comfortable relationship. Maybe a little too comfortable, lol. Please accept my humble offering to the HitsuHina fandom, and Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my dear fellow shippers :) (Yes I wanted to get this uploaded on Valentine’s Day, but as you can see it was an epic fail… *sob*)
…..
private spring
…..
On the outskirts of Seireitei, hours away by a swift captain’s shunpo, there stretch mountain ranges rising like ragged teeth into the heavens. Wide plains of bald rock sweep out from their base, bounded by undisturbed forest. The sun of early summer hangs incandescent in a crystal blue sky. This day, the usual birdsong is absent, replaced by ringing echoes of steel on steel. All able-bodied creatures have long since fled, repelled by spiritual pressures great enough to suffocate. A furious battle presides over the stone expanse - two figures leap from the ground to clash in midair.
Hitsugaya Toushirou, Captain of the Tenth Division, raises a narrow blade that shines like a long fang of ice. Water coalesces on its edge, and as he swings it a glittering tide of frost sharper than a thousand spears roars towards his opponent.
Hinamori Momo, Lieutenant of the Fifth Division, sweeps out her own blade, which glows with the hues of the setting sun. Rolling waves of fire engulf the ice, creating enough of a distraction for her to dart around and bring Tobiume down on Hyourinmaru.
Due to the nature of their abilities, it is necessary for the pair to be far from Seireitei to get more serious training done. After all, Momo’s shikai blows craters in mountains; Toushirou’s sets off small blizzards even when he holds himself back.
The blades crash with a sound that is almost like a scream, that is almost like laughter. Brown eyes lock with emerald as the combatants parry each other, too quick for lower-leveled shinigami to see. Eyes narrowed, Momo blocks another strike before springing away with a burst of reiatsu from her feet.
“Hajike, Tobiume!”
The sword shrieks, and a burning sphere as tall as Toushirou screams towards him, air rippling in the heat of its wake. He grins ferally at her display of power; he’s always known she was strong. He’s always known she couldn’t be broken.
“Souten ni zase, Hyourinmaru!”
The dragon roars in answer, and a tremendous serpentine length erupts from his blade, coils glittering like glaciers, eyes burning like rubies, speeding towards the fire with jaws extended.
When they meet, the sky explodes in a million diamond shards.
Momo and Toushirou land across from each other, ice shattering musically around them.
“Not bad, Bed-wetter Momo.”
“Not bad yourself, Shirou-chan.”
She launches another ball of fire - he raises a wall of ice. In the aftermath, his vision obscured by splintering frost, she is upon him, Tobiume singing through the air as she clashes with Hyourinmaru. Momo pushes him backwards, and as he deflects her rapid strikes he wonders at how far she’s come - using tricks to her advantage, going on the offensive; where is the timid lieutenant now?
His reiatsu flares, and her eyes widen when he shoves her back, forces her to retreat. He watches as he drives her, observes the expression in her eyes as it shifts from surprise to burning determination. It is a look that sets his heart alight - she’ll never let him beat her without putting her all into it, and he’s always loved her for it.
Her movements quicken, agile and precise as they spin in a waltz tinged with flashing steel. Wordlessly she calls on Tobiume’s power, and the scorching heat of her zanpakutou nearly reaches Toushirou’s skin before he whirls away. She flashes him a grin. His eyes narrow; she thinks she’s got the better of him, does she? Hyourinmaru flickers through the air, and Momo winces, gritting her teeth at the renewed strength of the blows he rains on her. Toushirou makes a note to run more shunpo drills the next time they train; her stamina needs improving. He continues the assault relentlessly, watching for an opening. It is his turn to grin when he sees it.
In their childhood games, neither was afraid to play a little dirty to win. So it is now, as Tobiume flashes towards him and Toushirou slides Hyourinmaru into one of her prongs, suddenly wrenching her downwards - Momo gasps as her blade flies out of her hands - he knocks her legs out from under her with a sweeping kick, and she plummets backwards -
Into his waiting arm. Tobiume skids to a stop some meters away as he bends over Momo with a smirk, sliding Hyourinmaru back into his sheath without breaking their gaze.
Momo blinks, for a moment still bewildered, before she leans back and laughs.
“As expected of Hitsugaya Toushirou, tensai of the Tenth Division. I am still so far behind.”
He gently tilts her onto her feet, keeping her steady until she regains her bearings. “Baka, you’ve gotten a lot better since we started. Just need to keep practicing, is all.”
She grins. “Praise, coming from you, Shirou-chan?”
He rolls his eyes, though inwardly he’s pleased that she is pleased. “Just stating a fact, Bed-wetter. Don’t let it go to your head.” She rubs her wrists as he walks over to retrieve Tobiume. He wonders if he’s imagining the sullen mood emanating from the zanpakutou as he closes his hand on the hilt.
“Ah, thank you, Shirou-chan… well, we really did a number on this place, eh?”
Handing Momo’s sword back, Toushirou gives their surroundings a glanceover. The stone expanse is covered with random shelves of snow and ice. Scorched rubble and craters of various sizes litter the plain. One particularly large chasm nearby probably occurred when Momo launched three fireballs in succession.
“Hmph. It’s not like the rock was doing anything anyway.”
“We should still have been more mindful, Shirou-chan,” she chides, then groans as she stretches. “Ah, I’m hungry.”
“Then get over here and eat, Bed-wetter.”
They’ve been training for the past six hours, reaching this location probably before his lieutenant even woke up (and won’t there be hell to pay when he finds that Matsumoto hasn’t done any paperwork in his absence). They stride to the edge of the battlefield, where a cloth-wrapped package enveloped in a kidou of protection sits waiting. “Ah, it held up!” Momo exclaims, pleased.
“I would hope so, otherwise we would have had to shunpo all the way back for food,” Toushirou observes sardonically. Rolling her eyes, Momo cancels the spell and unwraps two bento boxes, the larger of which she hands to Toushirou. He thanks her, and they settle beside each other on a relatively unscathed piece of ground. Toushirou immediately perks up upon opening his box, the savory fragrance inside wafting out. It is filled to bursting - Momo really outdid herself - but two items in particular catch his attention. “Amanatto? And watermelon?”
Momo nudges him with her shoulder. “Eat your lunch first, Shirou-chan!”
He scowls. “What business does a lieutenant have telling a captain what to do?” he says, and feels a curl of secret happiness when she laughs. Despite his grumbling, he dutifully attacks the onigiri, the tamagoyaki, the shogayaki and gyoza. It is all delicious; he hadn’t realized how hungry he actually was until he started eating.
When he looks up from his box, empty but for the sweets, it is to meet Momo’s astounded eyes. “What?”
She grins. “Nothing, I’m just glad you like it, Shirou-chan!”
He clears his throat, glancing away. “It was… pretty good,” he mumbles as she beams at him. He probably finished that in what, five minutes? With his squad he would have been much more reserved, but with only Momo next to him, he’d scarfed everything down without thinking.
He’s about to start on the cubes of watermelon when he notices Momo's box. “Oi, didn’t you pack some for yourself?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s all right, Shirou-chan, that was all I had left. I saved it for you!”
It’s such a small thing, really, but he’s both touched and irritated when she thinks of him before herself. “Don’t be stupid, we’ll eat it together.”
Before he realizes it, Momo’s leaned forward, brushing petal-soft lips against his cheek; an electric thrill shivers up his spine. “How considerate. You’re such a gentleman, Shirou-chan,” she says, settling back with amusement dancing in her eyes.
He refuses to believe that he’s blushing. “I’ve always been a gentleman,” he mutters, and she hides her giggles behind a sleeve.
When she finishes her box, Toushirou insists on sharing dessert. They take turns spearing the treats on their chopsticks, Momo prodding him with teasing comments and Toushirou responding acerbically.
When one piece of fruit remains, he nudges her with his shoulder. “Go on,” he says gruffly. “You don’t eat enough as it is.”
To his surprise, Momo acquiesces without argument, picking up the last piece. Toushirou scoffs as she places it into her mouth. “Glad to see you’ve finally learned how to follow orders-”
She pulls his face to hers, sealing their mouths together and pushing the watermelon through his lips. He groans; his mouth floods with sweetness, the boxes clatter to the ground as he seizes her shoulders. His heart thunders as her smooth little tongue slides wetly against his, the taste of watermelon in her mouth, and Toushirou deepens the kiss, trying to steal away every last drop. Her tiny moans vibrate down his throat; her nimble fingers thread lightly through his hair. His hands trail down to the small of her back, and he has to fight to keep them from moving lower. This is neither the time nor the place; if he really is a gentleman (which he is, because he most certainly is not a pervert), he wouldn’t even consider it. He will see her safely home, and once she’s rested, if she still wants him… Toushirou pulls her as close as he dares, Momo making small noises of approval, her body so soft against his.
When they finally break apart, Momo’s eyes are fever-bright, and her lips are very red. “Do you want to head back?” he asks, in a voice huskier and deeper than he means it to be. They have the whole day off, and Toushirou is flooded with thoughts of Momo curling up against him in a more comfortable setting, in more comfortable positions…
Momo regards him with hooded eyes, licking her lips. Toushirou watches, aching to kiss her again. “Can we stay, a little longer, Shirou-chan?”
We can do whatever you want, Toushirou almost promises, but she continues, glancing down to pluck at her kosode like an afterthought.
“I do wish I could have a bath, though... my uniform’s all sticky, I must look a fright.”
“You could just take it off,” Toushirou murmurs.
Momo stares, then her face floods with color, a pretty peach shade he’s always been taken by. “Shirou-chan!” she says softly. Her fingers twitch at the collar of her robe. “You want to, here?”
Toushirou instantly realizes what he sounded like. “I - I didn’t mean-” he says, suddenly trying to look anywhere but her. “I just meant, if you’re uncomfortable… a-anyway, it doesn’t matter! Let’s just get out of here, the sooner we get back, the sooner you can clean up.”
He hears her laughing, and turns to scowl at her. She smiles at him, leans up to kiss him on the chin. “You’re so funny, Shirou-chan.” He grumbles, somewhat mollified.
She twists around to retrieve Tobiume, having left the zanpakutou in a snowdrift beside her. With mild amusement Toushirou notices that Tobiume has melted a sword-shaped furrow in the glimmering white. For some reason, he likes the thought of ice thawing beneath Momo’s heat.
Momo pauses, staring at her blade, before her eyes dart to Toushirou. The captain frowns. “What is it?”
He wonders if he’s imagining her blush intensifying. “Shirou-chan, I, um, I just had an idea!”
The edges of Toushirou’s mouth twitch. “Excuse me?”
She snatches Tobiume out of the snow and gets up, striding away. He sighs and stands to follow her (because isn’t that what he’s always done?). After about a minute of walking around with Momo staring at different holes in the ground and muttering to herself (Toushirou wondering if he’d somehow hit her too hard during their spar), she halts before a large crater shaped like an irregular oval. Toushirou stops beside her. After scrutinizing it with a critical eye, she nods with approval. “This one should do. Ne, Shirou-chan, fill it with snow!”
He looks at her blankly. She looks at him expectantly. “Well?”
“I’m not going to call Hyourinmaru just to fill some random hole with snow.”
“It’s for a great reason, you’ll see!” Yes, she really is blushing, though he can’t fathom why. He’ll probably find out soon enough, though.
With a long-suffering sigh, Toushirou draws his zanpakutou. “Hyourinmaru,” he says, and the dragon indulges him, breathing down a glittering cascade of frost until the depression is filled.
When he’s finished, Momo walks up to the snow, eyes bright with excitement, and dips her sword in. “Tobiume,” she says, voice calm and strong.
The blade hums. Toushirou feels the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickling as Momo concentrates her reiatsu. Tobiume glows fuschia, crimson, her aura pulsing with her mistress’ as frost bubbles and steams before her. Fiery reiatsu ripples throughout the packed snow, and Toushirou steps back from the sudden blistering heat emanating from the petite figure beside him. He forgets, sometimes, the extent of her power. Steam billows from the crater, obscuring Momo from his sight, and Toushirou grows concerned enough to shout.
“Momo. Hey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Shirou-chan! Almost done!”
“What are you even doing? You’re wasting your energy!”
“You’ll see!”
He bites his tongue, frowning. The sound of simmering water fills the air, growing louder as Momo’s reiatsu intensifies. Toushirou is going to give her thirty seconds before he pulls her out of whatever ludicrous venture she’s come up with.
Abruptly, the searing heat before him diminishes. Momo’s reining her reiatsu back in. The power in the air gradually dwindles, until his Bed-wetter Momo skips out through the steam, beaming at him like nothing happened. Her hair is plastered to her face, her clothes molded wetly to her body. Privately, Toushirou admires the view... but hadn’t she just complained about feeling sticky?
“Look, a hot spring! We made a hot spring!” she babbles excitedly.
Toushirou coughs, looking at the roiling lake, and refrains from telling her that it isn’t actually a real hot spring, she just heated some water up. “You mean, you made it.”
“With your snow! So it’s ours!”
“...Great. So what were you going to do with it?”
She gives him an unimpressed look. “Really, Shirou-chan? What do you think people do at hot springs?”
He stares at her. Then shakes his head. “No. You cannot possibly be thinking…”
“Shirou-chan!”
“Where anyone can see you?”
She looks around bewilderedly. “Who’s going to see us, way out here?”
“Us? I’m not going in there. Someone could come looking for us. There- there could be Hollows-”
“It’s our day off, and you’re stronger than most Hollows in existence. I thought it would be fun.” Momo looks a tad disappointed, but she straightens resolutely, giving him an inscrutable look. Toushirou suddenly, inexplicably, feels like he has walked into a trap. “But it’s all right. If you’re worried, you can keep watch. I’m going to have a bath.” She turns her back to him, leans to place Tobiume down.
“Momo,” he groans, closing his eyes to knead his forehead. Doesn’t she see how stupid this is, how vulnerable it will make her, to “have a bath” where any number of things can happen onto them? That it’d be so much easier if she just came home with him?
A soft rustle makes him look up. Her kosode has dropped to the ground.
“O-oi, Momo! What are you doing?”
She looks at him with surprise in her eyes, one delicate brow arched in question. “Weren’t you listening? I’m going to have a bath.”
“W-what if someone sees you?”
She gives him a wry grin. “Like I said, who’s going to see us, way out here?” With a look that lingers just a little too long, she turns away from him, starts shrugging off her shitagi.
“You - you haven’t even put up a barrier!” he says weakly. “Anyone could...”
His words trail away as she bares one pale shoulder to the world. “So put one up.”
He bristles; of all the stupid-!
Whipping his burning face away from her, Toushirou strides from the heated lake, brandishing his zanpakutou before him to raise a kidou barrier around their perimeter. He mutters incantations furiously under his breath - a spell of sealing, a spell to ward away, a spell of illusion so that anyone looking will see only landscape, anyone listening will hear only the wind. And a spell of concealment, to mask the barrier itself, as well as their reiatsu. (After a moment’s contemplation, he reluctantly adds a spell to detect anyone searching for them with true urgency. It wouldn’t do for a lieutenant to be splashing around in a crater if Soul Society needed them.)
His need for discretion (as well as to uphold his responsibilities) thus satisfied, he turns back to Momo, ready to chastise and spirit her away from this ridiculous enterprise.
His burgeoning tirade dies in his throat.
Momo’s uniform is pooled beside her. She is bent over in a half-crouch, removing her tabi. The sight of her roots him to the spot. His grip on Hyourinmaru is over-tight; his respiratory and heart rate are accelerating. It occurs to him that he’s never seen her like this before, completely nude under full sunlight.
She straightens. As if their pool is breathing, steam wafts around her body, obscuring its finer details - the lines of her back, her shoulderblades. It curls around her waist, her backside, between her legs, everywhere he wants to touch. Her skin looks almost luminous.
He swallows; a roaring fills his ears. It’s not Hyourinmaru.
She looks at him over one shoulder. Curlicues of ink black hair swing over her back.
“Are you coming, Shirou-chan?” She has a half-smile on her face; her eyes are dark and knowing. Decades ago, the look she directs at him now existed only in his dreams, and he had been sure that his dreams would be the only place he would see it.
She turns around, starts wading into the heated water, and Toushirou snaps out of his stupor and strides to the bank. With a speed normally utilized for split-second, life-or-death combat decisions, he reasons that yes, probably no one will come looking for them, and yes, if an enemy shows up, he’ll plunge a glacier straight through their closest orifice. What follows is probably the fastest he’s ever taken his clothes off; he’s almost tempted to slice them away with Hyourinmaru, but thankfully Toushirou still commands some measure of rational thought. (Momo always had a way of scattering all his carefully controlled emotions, like blowing snow from her palm.) He drops his clothes next to hers; suddenly remembers Hyourinmaru, who is on the ground (must have dropped him too without knowing), and apologizes with a mental wince. He leans down to gently place his zanpakutou beside Tobiume, their blades crossing. A moment of tenderness engulfs his heart at the sight.
“Shirou-chan?”
He shunpos into the water immediately after her call, gasping when he realizes belatedly exactly how hot it is, though the rock is surprisingly smooth under his feet. His skin stings; he’s surrounded by her reiatsu, by her heat, by her. She fills his lungs with every breath.
He fears he’ll be intoxicated before long. (He knows he already is.)
“I was wondering when you’d come in. Isn’t it great?” She is standing near the center of the pool, naked but for the blasted steam. His arms itch to take her in.
“Did you have to make it so hot?” he complains, being contrary for no reason other than to rile her.
Her voice has an amused quality to it. “Ah, gomen, Shirou-chan… but you know, you could cool it down if you wanted.”
He blinks; why had this not occurred to him? It’s Momo’s fault; being near her always befuddles him.
He closes his eyes and concentrates. Lets the barest iota of his reiatsu slip from his iron control.
Like winter sighing, a breath of cold passes through the air, mixing with the heat. Gradually, almost sullenly, the steam recedes. And now… now, he can see her, see the beads of moisture trailing down her skin, black hair matted to her face, breasts flushed rose pink, droplets trembling from her nipples. See her dark, half-lidded eyes, coral lips curled in a tiny smile. His muscles tense; his eyes narrow. Everything below her waist is obscured by rippling water.
How the hell did she think they were going to clean themselves when all he wants to do now is lift her out of this pool and make her filthier than when she waded in?
But she squeals as he reaches for her, spins away, dives like a swan into her lake.
“Oi, Momo!” he snaps, irate that she’s gotten away from him. Her laughter rings across the water.
“Shirou-chan, it’s been ages since I’ve been in an onsen… and we’ve never been to one together! Let’s enjoy it, neh?”
Damn it, that’s what I’ve been trying to do, he thinks fervently. There is a wildness beneath his heartbeats, a hunger for her that’s barely suppressed at the best of times and dangerously maddening at its worst. He has never totally lost control around her, but some moments are closer than others.
He hears water jostling with her movements, starts wading in her direction. “Momo, get over here.”
She arches out of the water. Toushirou stills. For a moment, she hangs in the air, pale and lissom, before falling back beneath the surface with a tremendous splash. Waves arc from her arms as she swims away, twisting and gamboling like a seal. His heart twinges with her laughter. He exhales, only just realizing he’d been holding his breath. The injustice of it all wounds him - she plays around, teases him, neglects him, while he is in agony with longing.
A flare of reiatsu cleaves the air, and the pool before him parts, the way to her made clear - she can scarcely utter a sound of surprise before he flash steps to her. The water behind him crashes, drenching them both.
“Shirou-chan!” she splutters as their little spring churns. “What’d you do that for?!”
The indignation in her voice makes him grin. “I thought you wanted to bathe.”
“I didn’t mean like that! Let me go!”
“I will not.” She gapes at him in outrage; he’s holding her hips in both hands, pulling her close. The dragon inside him is roiling, seething, clamoring to seize her, to claim. He leans in so that his eyes capture hers, so that their foreheads nearly touch. “You’ve been trying to seduce me.”
Momo’s cheeks flood with color, and he is sure that it isn’t because of the heat. “Ha! Don’t flatter yourself, Toushirou.” She tilts her face away from him haughtily. “All I wanted was a bath. Just because you’re a bit of a pervert-”
“Who’s a pervert?” he growls, tightening his grip. Her eyes widen. “Who dropped her clothes in broad daylight? Who didn’t even bother to set up a barrier beforehand?”
She blinks up at him, and would have been the picture of perfect innocence were it not for her tiny, clever smile. “There was no one around, and I knew you’d put one up.” A slim finger trails down his chest to his navel and further still, tracing the faint line of white hair down through the water. He gasps as her wicked hand finds and skims over him in a painfully light touch. Eyes as velvet dark as midnight lock with his. “And weren’t you the one who suggested that I take them off in the first place?”
He is done with games. With a groan he jerks her flush against him, bends down and crushes their lips together. Their teeth clash, their tongues slide roughly across the caverns of each other's mouths, and it always makes Toushirou feel like he is devouring and being devoured. His arousal rubs across her abdomen, jolting him; she seizes his hair in her fists, moaning. Water starts to seethe around them, a small, erratic storm churned by their fluctuating reiatsu.
He wants to bury himself inside her. Wants to touch her everywhere. Wants to punish her for teasing him. Wants to curl around and protect her forever. Wants her, wants her, wants her.
She breaks away, gasping for air. She is no longer smirking; she is panting, trembling as she holds onto him. Breathing heavily he feels her beneath the water, nearly growls to find her slick. What a liar, she had been trying to seduce him, had wanted him before, wants him now. He slips two fingers in easily; she buckles against him, her eyes no longer coy, but startled and half-glazed. “Sh-Shirou… chan…”
Smirking, he leans over to whisper in her ear. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Hitsugaya-taichou.” He presses against the bud between her fluttering folds, and feels a surge of lust and triumph at her high-pitched moan.
“Sh-Shirou… please…”
“Please what?”
He bends his knees, bowing his head to her chest. For her, only for her, would he gladly kneel. Especially for this.
“I… can we…?”
“I don’t understand the question,” he whispers, mouthing against the upper swell of one breast.
“Toushirou,” he hears her gasp, hands gripping his hair, “make love to me.”
Her request nearly undoes him and he nearly complies, nearly seizes her again to drive into her, but he reins himself in, biting back a groan. He wants to punish her. He wants to worship her.
“Right now, out here? I thought you weren’t a pervert,” he says, and pulls one nipple into his mouth. Her reply is a high, drawn-out sound, shuddering and incoherent. He strokes her beneath the water, her slickness coating his fingers as her nipple tightens into a solid bud under his tongue. She heaves erratic breaths above him, cups his face in her hands; when she starts to tremble, he winds his free arm around her waist. He would never let Momo fall.
I love you, he thinks as she pulls his face to her other breast. They are small and soft, firm and perfect, and given the chance, he could bite and suck and nibble them all day. I love you, he thinks, listening to her soft, breathy noises as he curls his fingers inside her. I love you. He peppers her chest with nips and kisses, rises slightly to kiss a trail up her neck. Her skin is smooth and damp, her sweat mixing with the taste of pure water. He feels the barest sting on his back as he sucks on her neck; Momo’s nails are digging into his skin.
“Shirou,” she whispers. He continues his ministrations, alternating dipping his fingers into her with gentle rubs of her clitoris. The way her heated passage clenches around his digits sorely tests his self-control. She starts to grind herself against his hand, whimpering; feeling immensely self-satisfied, he withdraws his fingers and strokes her in earnest, the way she likes. “Shirou please!” she cries. He loves it when she begs. Maybe he is a pervert after all. He bends down again to kiss and nibble her skin above the water, to trace the faint edges of her ribs with his tongue. “Come for me,” he whispers, and presses his hand tight against the crux of her sex, rubbing harshly. She cries out; her body shakes almost violently.
He looks up. Her eyes are clenched tight, her mouth opening and closing in silent moans, hands gripping like claws around his shoulders. He watches her, fascinated, and impulsively pushes three fingers into her at the last. She wails, her slick channel spasming around his eager strokes, and like a glutton he drinks in fervidly the image of her tattering to pieces.
With a gasp, she sags against him, shuddering. He withdraws his hand, stands to hold her in a possessive embrace. He is aching, he is throbbing painfully with his need for her, but as ever he is patient. He waits as her shaking slows to trembling, as her hands flutter tentatively up his back. She kisses him slowly all over his chest, and he takes his time running his hands down and up her silken curves, tracing and squeezing. Anticipating.
“Shirou-chan,” she sighs, “what about you?”
He smiles, and rolls his hips against her, making her cry out. “What about me?” he murmurs.
With a moan she throws her arms over his neck, leans up and weakly wraps her legs around his, like he’s a tree she’s trying to climb. He snarls, gripping the flesh of her thighs in both hands, and hauls her up. Their lake boils, the air boils; he is swimming in her heat, he is drunk on her essence. He holds her steady as she shallowly bucks towards him, legs curled around his waist. Water tosses between them, a nuisance he banishes with a pulse of his reiatsu to join the agitated waves swirling around them like a maelstrom. Momo does not seem to notice; she is kissing him frantically, with the kind of desperation he is still amazed she reciprocates. “Please,” she gasps and he hastens to acquiesce, finds her center, legs trembling for balance as he slides the tip of his erection across her entrance.
“Shirou!” She rips her lips away to gasp his name. Her arms tighten around his neck, her breasts crush against his chest. His heart shudders. His eyes flash. “Momo,” he growls, and brings her forward, and enters her at last. She cries out; her body makes way, flutters and clenches around him. Inconceivable pleasure catches him in the lungs like a physical blow, and he nearly staggers. Not like the first time, nor the second, nor the third, when it was still hard to do this without causing her pain. Her body knows him now, welcomes him, sheathes him in rippling molten velvet. Momo pants and whines, arms locked around his neck and legs locked around his waist as he drives into her over and over again. Yes, she gasps, and yes, yes, yes his heart echoes as he tests the noises and reactions he can wring from her.
His focus is pinpoint, his attention solely on the sounds issuing from her throat and the finest tremble of her body. He finds that going slow draws out long, quiet moans; pistoning faster makes her nearly scream. He cannot tell which he likes more. Her mouth is beside his ear, and his heart shivers with every gasp, every cry, every whimper, locks them all in the deepest circle of his soul, for the days when he has to remind himself what he lives for. “Toushirou,” she moans, like a plea, like a prayer, and he feels like he might lose his mind. He is close, too close; she is just too much. With a guttural groan, he slows down.
“N-no, keep going,” she says breathlessly as he takes her in languid, decadent strokes.
“I can’t,” he gasps. Not if she wants this to last any longer. He shudders, pushes until he is buried in her silken heat. He grinds his pelvis against her in a slow, circular motion, holding her firmly to him so that she cannot move.
“Why not?” she whines, arms tightening around his neck as she squirms. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can speak anymore, still grinding so slow as to drive them both mad.
“Mm… ah, Toushirou.” She pulls an earlobe into her mouth, worries it gently with her teeth. His fingers clench in her soft flesh, and she sighs into his ear. “Shirou-chan, are you tired?”
Abruptly, he stills all movement. She giggles, kissing his neck. “Ah, it’s all right,” she says, her voice full of warmth and amusement, “let me down and I’ll-”
He suddenly shifts her. The water makes her slippery; his grip on her is harsh. Momo gasps, clinging around his neck, but she needn't worry. She leans back just enough to look at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, but he is too far gone to even smirk. He lets gravity do some of his work for him as he snaps his hips and enters her again, driving deeply.
He doesn't wait any longer, doesn't tease. Momo is crying oh god, god, Shirou and he snarls as he lifts her up and brings her down, again, and again, and again. Her cries dissolve to breathless whines that heighten with every stroke; her legs grip him weakly, she trembles like a leaf in a gale. Still he can’t get enough of her, still his inhuman ardor mounts like an inferno upon a forest. Her fire, her heat, her dancing flame that had drawn him in from the very start - he jerks her towards him as he pushes in, stretches her wide, burrows as far as he can go, wishing he could go deeper. Water roars around them, the eye of a storm of chaos. Momo screams. He pulls out and does it again.
“I love you, Shirou,” she's wailing, “I love you.”
Something inside him shatters. He soars, lighter than snow, freer than air. They move together, boundlessly lost, and for a moment, Toushirou is sure this is the heaven promised to humans when they die. “Momo,” he whispers raggedly, and she tightens and pulses around him with a cry that dashes the last of his resistance. He surges into her, overflowing, smothering his deepening groans on her mouth, and she swallows them as if she were starving, too.
...
A long while later, the water has stopped churning. He is holding her against him, panting, their cheeks pressed together. It’s warm, so warm. Usually he prefers the cold, but oh, what he would give to stay here, stay here forever…
Her legs start to slip from his waist. The sudden movement makes them both gasp. “Shirou,” she murmurs. Gingerly, he lifts her, pulling himself out. They can’t help the small groans that escape as she releases him, and he gently sets her back into the water. She falls onto him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and sighs with contentment; he embraces her, kissing her hair. All at once, exhaustion hits him. He draws back, and at her questioning gaze, leads her through the lake until they nearly reach the bank. Finding a nice step in the rock, he sits, drawing her with him, the water covering them up to their chests. She grins and settles on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. His arms fold around her.
The hunger is sated, for now. The urgency in his chest has gone; now there is only a lazy satisfaction, a languidity that bids all his joints to melt, that makes him simply want to sleep.
They doze together until the surface stills, until the water cools to lukewarm. Toushirou strokes her hair; she murmurs, nuzzling his neck. With a sigh, he draws away from her. Her eyes flutter open. “Mm… Shirou?”
“Wait here.”
“No, don’t go…”
He gently shifts her off of him, kissing her to quiet her protests. “I’ll be quick.” Momo sighs, half-heartedly releasing him, and he climbs out of the pool. He brings their clothes, shaking out his captain’s haori to spread it on the ground, and layers the rest of his uniform over it, hoping it’ll be soft enough. Momo’s eyes are gentle as she watches him stride back to her. He enters the pool to lift her, water sluicing from her body, and carries her over to kneel and place her on top of his uniform. After the heat of their private spring, the air is cool, even through the shining sun. At her first shiver, he hastens to dry her, patting her down with his kosode.
When he looks up, her eyes are suffused with tenderness. He glances away, afraid of the intensity of feeling in his heart - but she reaches up, tilts his face back to her.
“Toushirou,” she says softly. “Kiss me.”
And he leans over her, eyes closing, helpless to obey.
Much later, he settles on his side, and she curls up against him. Drowsily he reaches down, runs his fingers along her back. She sighs, pressing closer to him. “Shirou-chan,” she whispers. “I just…” she yawns, “wanna take a nap…”
He murmurs a noise of assent. Yes, a nap sounds fine right now… just fine. He throws the ends of his haori over them. His eyes close, and his arms surround her. Huddled in each other’s warmth, they slide into dreams, as the afternoon drifts to twilight, and their souls hum in quiet harmony.
.
.
.
Epilogue
“You have to admit, it was a good idea, Shirou-chan!”
Toushirou doesn’t answer; a part of him is still somewhat mortified by his behavior of a few hours ago. Another part (the part he wishes he could strangle to death) is still basking in a glow of excessively smug satisfaction.
“Ne, so what did you think?”
“About what?” he says a bit hoarsely, picking at the yakisoba with his chopsticks. She’s already finished all her udon.
“About… you know. Before.” Toushirou’s face burns; thankfully she continues before he has to say anything. “I thought it was…” her voice drops, and when he looks up her gaze has floated to the side, her face flushed, “...amazing.”
Toushirou’s glad he isn’t actually eating anything, otherwise he might have choked. “So you don’t think I was… too rough?”
Momo can’t quite hold back a giggle. “I don’t think you could ever be too rough with me, Shirou-chan,” she says quietly. She meets his eyes shyly, then suddenly grins wide. “Toushirou, are you blushing?”
Toushirou scowls. “No.”
“Does that mean you want to do it again?”
Toushirou’s fingers twitch; his chopsticks snap. It takes about fifteen seconds before Momo can contain her mirth long enough to summon a waiter for another pair.
...
Author Notes
I imagine that they became lovers relatively recently, and though they’re not totally inexperienced, Toushirou’s still concerned about being a mature, respectful gentleman about things. Momo will straighten him out in no time, I'm sure.
When I started this, I felt like I’d exhausted all the HitsuHina fic on the internet. Besides that, there seemed to be an alarming dearth of HitsuHina PWP… so I thought I’d try my hand at one. The hot springs idea actually came from the Houki Boushi 1st squad ending, where Yamamoto’s reiatsu is making the entire onsen too hot for everyone, even his poor lieutenant. Well, I thought, Momo’s got fire reiatsu, she could do that too :P
This was supposed to be fun and silly, but it morphed into a 16-page monstrosity that was pretty sappy at parts. I kind of like it, but then I’m a pretty sappy person. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Also, if anyone has any tips on writing lemons, I’d love to hear them!
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Hitsugaya Toushirou and Hinamori Momo
Pairing: HitsuHina
Genre: Romance
Warnings: This story contains content suitable for mature teens and older. Do not read this if you are offended by sexual situations and/or a minor. I MEAN IT, TURN AWAY NOW
Rating: NC-17
Warnings
1. This story contains content suitable for mature teens and older. Do not read this if you are offended by sexual situations and/or a minor. I MEAN IT, TURN AWAY NOW
2. Yes, this is a PWP; ergo, there is no plot.
3. I am about 300 chapters behind the manga, so if something doesn’t match up with current canon, that’s why. Please no spoilers in the comments!
4. This is the first lemon I’ve ever written, so I’m kind of embarrassed. I've edited it many, many times and am still unsatisfied... I might edit it again after this posting. I just hope you take it for what it is - entertainment with a ton of suffocating fluff.
Author’s Note
This ridiculous scenario takes place in the future, when all the nonsense is over, Toushirou’s finally conquered his greatest nemesis (puberty), and he and Momo are in a comfortable relationship. Maybe a little too comfortable, lol. Please accept my humble offering to the HitsuHina fandom, and Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my dear fellow shippers :) (Yes I wanted to get this uploaded on Valentine’s Day, but as you can see it was an epic fail… *sob*)
…..
private spring
…..
On the outskirts of Seireitei, hours away by a swift captain’s shunpo, there stretch mountain ranges rising like ragged teeth into the heavens. Wide plains of bald rock sweep out from their base, bounded by undisturbed forest. The sun of early summer hangs incandescent in a crystal blue sky. This day, the usual birdsong is absent, replaced by ringing echoes of steel on steel. All able-bodied creatures have long since fled, repelled by spiritual pressures great enough to suffocate. A furious battle presides over the stone expanse - two figures leap from the ground to clash in midair.
Hitsugaya Toushirou, Captain of the Tenth Division, raises a narrow blade that shines like a long fang of ice. Water coalesces on its edge, and as he swings it a glittering tide of frost sharper than a thousand spears roars towards his opponent.
Hinamori Momo, Lieutenant of the Fifth Division, sweeps out her own blade, which glows with the hues of the setting sun. Rolling waves of fire engulf the ice, creating enough of a distraction for her to dart around and bring Tobiume down on Hyourinmaru.
Due to the nature of their abilities, it is necessary for the pair to be far from Seireitei to get more serious training done. After all, Momo’s shikai blows craters in mountains; Toushirou’s sets off small blizzards even when he holds himself back.
The blades crash with a sound that is almost like a scream, that is almost like laughter. Brown eyes lock with emerald as the combatants parry each other, too quick for lower-leveled shinigami to see. Eyes narrowed, Momo blocks another strike before springing away with a burst of reiatsu from her feet.
“Hajike, Tobiume!”
The sword shrieks, and a burning sphere as tall as Toushirou screams towards him, air rippling in the heat of its wake. He grins ferally at her display of power; he’s always known she was strong. He’s always known she couldn’t be broken.
“Souten ni zase, Hyourinmaru!”
The dragon roars in answer, and a tremendous serpentine length erupts from his blade, coils glittering like glaciers, eyes burning like rubies, speeding towards the fire with jaws extended.
When they meet, the sky explodes in a million diamond shards.
Momo and Toushirou land across from each other, ice shattering musically around them.
“Not bad, Bed-wetter Momo.”
“Not bad yourself, Shirou-chan.”
She launches another ball of fire - he raises a wall of ice. In the aftermath, his vision obscured by splintering frost, she is upon him, Tobiume singing through the air as she clashes with Hyourinmaru. Momo pushes him backwards, and as he deflects her rapid strikes he wonders at how far she’s come - using tricks to her advantage, going on the offensive; where is the timid lieutenant now?
His reiatsu flares, and her eyes widen when he shoves her back, forces her to retreat. He watches as he drives her, observes the expression in her eyes as it shifts from surprise to burning determination. It is a look that sets his heart alight - she’ll never let him beat her without putting her all into it, and he’s always loved her for it.
Her movements quicken, agile and precise as they spin in a waltz tinged with flashing steel. Wordlessly she calls on Tobiume’s power, and the scorching heat of her zanpakutou nearly reaches Toushirou’s skin before he whirls away. She flashes him a grin. His eyes narrow; she thinks she’s got the better of him, does she? Hyourinmaru flickers through the air, and Momo winces, gritting her teeth at the renewed strength of the blows he rains on her. Toushirou makes a note to run more shunpo drills the next time they train; her stamina needs improving. He continues the assault relentlessly, watching for an opening. It is his turn to grin when he sees it.
In their childhood games, neither was afraid to play a little dirty to win. So it is now, as Tobiume flashes towards him and Toushirou slides Hyourinmaru into one of her prongs, suddenly wrenching her downwards - Momo gasps as her blade flies out of her hands - he knocks her legs out from under her with a sweeping kick, and she plummets backwards -
Into his waiting arm. Tobiume skids to a stop some meters away as he bends over Momo with a smirk, sliding Hyourinmaru back into his sheath without breaking their gaze.
Momo blinks, for a moment still bewildered, before she leans back and laughs.
“As expected of Hitsugaya Toushirou, tensai of the Tenth Division. I am still so far behind.”
He gently tilts her onto her feet, keeping her steady until she regains her bearings. “Baka, you’ve gotten a lot better since we started. Just need to keep practicing, is all.”
She grins. “Praise, coming from you, Shirou-chan?”
He rolls his eyes, though inwardly he’s pleased that she is pleased. “Just stating a fact, Bed-wetter. Don’t let it go to your head.” She rubs her wrists as he walks over to retrieve Tobiume. He wonders if he’s imagining the sullen mood emanating from the zanpakutou as he closes his hand on the hilt.
“Ah, thank you, Shirou-chan… well, we really did a number on this place, eh?”
Handing Momo’s sword back, Toushirou gives their surroundings a glanceover. The stone expanse is covered with random shelves of snow and ice. Scorched rubble and craters of various sizes litter the plain. One particularly large chasm nearby probably occurred when Momo launched three fireballs in succession.
“Hmph. It’s not like the rock was doing anything anyway.”
“We should still have been more mindful, Shirou-chan,” she chides, then groans as she stretches. “Ah, I’m hungry.”
“Then get over here and eat, Bed-wetter.”
They’ve been training for the past six hours, reaching this location probably before his lieutenant even woke up (and won’t there be hell to pay when he finds that Matsumoto hasn’t done any paperwork in his absence). They stride to the edge of the battlefield, where a cloth-wrapped package enveloped in a kidou of protection sits waiting. “Ah, it held up!” Momo exclaims, pleased.
“I would hope so, otherwise we would have had to shunpo all the way back for food,” Toushirou observes sardonically. Rolling her eyes, Momo cancels the spell and unwraps two bento boxes, the larger of which she hands to Toushirou. He thanks her, and they settle beside each other on a relatively unscathed piece of ground. Toushirou immediately perks up upon opening his box, the savory fragrance inside wafting out. It is filled to bursting - Momo really outdid herself - but two items in particular catch his attention. “Amanatto? And watermelon?”
Momo nudges him with her shoulder. “Eat your lunch first, Shirou-chan!”
He scowls. “What business does a lieutenant have telling a captain what to do?” he says, and feels a curl of secret happiness when she laughs. Despite his grumbling, he dutifully attacks the onigiri, the tamagoyaki, the shogayaki and gyoza. It is all delicious; he hadn’t realized how hungry he actually was until he started eating.
When he looks up from his box, empty but for the sweets, it is to meet Momo’s astounded eyes. “What?”
She grins. “Nothing, I’m just glad you like it, Shirou-chan!”
He clears his throat, glancing away. “It was… pretty good,” he mumbles as she beams at him. He probably finished that in what, five minutes? With his squad he would have been much more reserved, but with only Momo next to him, he’d scarfed everything down without thinking.
He’s about to start on the cubes of watermelon when he notices Momo's box. “Oi, didn’t you pack some for yourself?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s all right, Shirou-chan, that was all I had left. I saved it for you!”
It’s such a small thing, really, but he’s both touched and irritated when she thinks of him before herself. “Don’t be stupid, we’ll eat it together.”
Before he realizes it, Momo’s leaned forward, brushing petal-soft lips against his cheek; an electric thrill shivers up his spine. “How considerate. You’re such a gentleman, Shirou-chan,” she says, settling back with amusement dancing in her eyes.
He refuses to believe that he’s blushing. “I’ve always been a gentleman,” he mutters, and she hides her giggles behind a sleeve.
When she finishes her box, Toushirou insists on sharing dessert. They take turns spearing the treats on their chopsticks, Momo prodding him with teasing comments and Toushirou responding acerbically.
When one piece of fruit remains, he nudges her with his shoulder. “Go on,” he says gruffly. “You don’t eat enough as it is.”
To his surprise, Momo acquiesces without argument, picking up the last piece. Toushirou scoffs as she places it into her mouth. “Glad to see you’ve finally learned how to follow orders-”
She pulls his face to hers, sealing their mouths together and pushing the watermelon through his lips. He groans; his mouth floods with sweetness, the boxes clatter to the ground as he seizes her shoulders. His heart thunders as her smooth little tongue slides wetly against his, the taste of watermelon in her mouth, and Toushirou deepens the kiss, trying to steal away every last drop. Her tiny moans vibrate down his throat; her nimble fingers thread lightly through his hair. His hands trail down to the small of her back, and he has to fight to keep them from moving lower. This is neither the time nor the place; if he really is a gentleman (which he is, because he most certainly is not a pervert), he wouldn’t even consider it. He will see her safely home, and once she’s rested, if she still wants him… Toushirou pulls her as close as he dares, Momo making small noises of approval, her body so soft against his.
When they finally break apart, Momo’s eyes are fever-bright, and her lips are very red. “Do you want to head back?” he asks, in a voice huskier and deeper than he means it to be. They have the whole day off, and Toushirou is flooded with thoughts of Momo curling up against him in a more comfortable setting, in more comfortable positions…
Momo regards him with hooded eyes, licking her lips. Toushirou watches, aching to kiss her again. “Can we stay, a little longer, Shirou-chan?”
We can do whatever you want, Toushirou almost promises, but she continues, glancing down to pluck at her kosode like an afterthought.
“I do wish I could have a bath, though... my uniform’s all sticky, I must look a fright.”
“You could just take it off,” Toushirou murmurs.
Momo stares, then her face floods with color, a pretty peach shade he’s always been taken by. “Shirou-chan!” she says softly. Her fingers twitch at the collar of her robe. “You want to, here?”
Toushirou instantly realizes what he sounded like. “I - I didn’t mean-” he says, suddenly trying to look anywhere but her. “I just meant, if you’re uncomfortable… a-anyway, it doesn’t matter! Let’s just get out of here, the sooner we get back, the sooner you can clean up.”
He hears her laughing, and turns to scowl at her. She smiles at him, leans up to kiss him on the chin. “You’re so funny, Shirou-chan.” He grumbles, somewhat mollified.
She twists around to retrieve Tobiume, having left the zanpakutou in a snowdrift beside her. With mild amusement Toushirou notices that Tobiume has melted a sword-shaped furrow in the glimmering white. For some reason, he likes the thought of ice thawing beneath Momo’s heat.
Momo pauses, staring at her blade, before her eyes dart to Toushirou. The captain frowns. “What is it?”
He wonders if he’s imagining her blush intensifying. “Shirou-chan, I, um, I just had an idea!”
The edges of Toushirou’s mouth twitch. “Excuse me?”
She snatches Tobiume out of the snow and gets up, striding away. He sighs and stands to follow her (because isn’t that what he’s always done?). After about a minute of walking around with Momo staring at different holes in the ground and muttering to herself (Toushirou wondering if he’d somehow hit her too hard during their spar), she halts before a large crater shaped like an irregular oval. Toushirou stops beside her. After scrutinizing it with a critical eye, she nods with approval. “This one should do. Ne, Shirou-chan, fill it with snow!”
He looks at her blankly. She looks at him expectantly. “Well?”
“I’m not going to call Hyourinmaru just to fill some random hole with snow.”
“It’s for a great reason, you’ll see!” Yes, she really is blushing, though he can’t fathom why. He’ll probably find out soon enough, though.
With a long-suffering sigh, Toushirou draws his zanpakutou. “Hyourinmaru,” he says, and the dragon indulges him, breathing down a glittering cascade of frost until the depression is filled.
When he’s finished, Momo walks up to the snow, eyes bright with excitement, and dips her sword in. “Tobiume,” she says, voice calm and strong.
The blade hums. Toushirou feels the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickling as Momo concentrates her reiatsu. Tobiume glows fuschia, crimson, her aura pulsing with her mistress’ as frost bubbles and steams before her. Fiery reiatsu ripples throughout the packed snow, and Toushirou steps back from the sudden blistering heat emanating from the petite figure beside him. He forgets, sometimes, the extent of her power. Steam billows from the crater, obscuring Momo from his sight, and Toushirou grows concerned enough to shout.
“Momo. Hey, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Shirou-chan! Almost done!”
“What are you even doing? You’re wasting your energy!”
“You’ll see!”
He bites his tongue, frowning. The sound of simmering water fills the air, growing louder as Momo’s reiatsu intensifies. Toushirou is going to give her thirty seconds before he pulls her out of whatever ludicrous venture she’s come up with.
Abruptly, the searing heat before him diminishes. Momo’s reining her reiatsu back in. The power in the air gradually dwindles, until his Bed-wetter Momo skips out through the steam, beaming at him like nothing happened. Her hair is plastered to her face, her clothes molded wetly to her body. Privately, Toushirou admires the view... but hadn’t she just complained about feeling sticky?
“Look, a hot spring! We made a hot spring!” she babbles excitedly.
Toushirou coughs, looking at the roiling lake, and refrains from telling her that it isn’t actually a real hot spring, she just heated some water up. “You mean, you made it.”
“With your snow! So it’s ours!”
“...Great. So what were you going to do with it?”
She gives him an unimpressed look. “Really, Shirou-chan? What do you think people do at hot springs?”
He stares at her. Then shakes his head. “No. You cannot possibly be thinking…”
“Shirou-chan!”
“Where anyone can see you?”
She looks around bewilderedly. “Who’s going to see us, way out here?”
“Us? I’m not going in there. Someone could come looking for us. There- there could be Hollows-”
“It’s our day off, and you’re stronger than most Hollows in existence. I thought it would be fun.” Momo looks a tad disappointed, but she straightens resolutely, giving him an inscrutable look. Toushirou suddenly, inexplicably, feels like he has walked into a trap. “But it’s all right. If you’re worried, you can keep watch. I’m going to have a bath.” She turns her back to him, leans to place Tobiume down.
“Momo,” he groans, closing his eyes to knead his forehead. Doesn’t she see how stupid this is, how vulnerable it will make her, to “have a bath” where any number of things can happen onto them? That it’d be so much easier if she just came home with him?
A soft rustle makes him look up. Her kosode has dropped to the ground.
“O-oi, Momo! What are you doing?”
She looks at him with surprise in her eyes, one delicate brow arched in question. “Weren’t you listening? I’m going to have a bath.”
“W-what if someone sees you?”
She gives him a wry grin. “Like I said, who’s going to see us, way out here?” With a look that lingers just a little too long, she turns away from him, starts shrugging off her shitagi.
“You - you haven’t even put up a barrier!” he says weakly. “Anyone could...”
His words trail away as she bares one pale shoulder to the world. “So put one up.”
He bristles; of all the stupid-!
Whipping his burning face away from her, Toushirou strides from the heated lake, brandishing his zanpakutou before him to raise a kidou barrier around their perimeter. He mutters incantations furiously under his breath - a spell of sealing, a spell to ward away, a spell of illusion so that anyone looking will see only landscape, anyone listening will hear only the wind. And a spell of concealment, to mask the barrier itself, as well as their reiatsu. (After a moment’s contemplation, he reluctantly adds a spell to detect anyone searching for them with true urgency. It wouldn’t do for a lieutenant to be splashing around in a crater if Soul Society needed them.)
His need for discretion (as well as to uphold his responsibilities) thus satisfied, he turns back to Momo, ready to chastise and spirit her away from this ridiculous enterprise.
His burgeoning tirade dies in his throat.
Momo’s uniform is pooled beside her. She is bent over in a half-crouch, removing her tabi. The sight of her roots him to the spot. His grip on Hyourinmaru is over-tight; his respiratory and heart rate are accelerating. It occurs to him that he’s never seen her like this before, completely nude under full sunlight.
She straightens. As if their pool is breathing, steam wafts around her body, obscuring its finer details - the lines of her back, her shoulderblades. It curls around her waist, her backside, between her legs, everywhere he wants to touch. Her skin looks almost luminous.
He swallows; a roaring fills his ears. It’s not Hyourinmaru.
She looks at him over one shoulder. Curlicues of ink black hair swing over her back.
“Are you coming, Shirou-chan?” She has a half-smile on her face; her eyes are dark and knowing. Decades ago, the look she directs at him now existed only in his dreams, and he had been sure that his dreams would be the only place he would see it.
She turns around, starts wading into the heated water, and Toushirou snaps out of his stupor and strides to the bank. With a speed normally utilized for split-second, life-or-death combat decisions, he reasons that yes, probably no one will come looking for them, and yes, if an enemy shows up, he’ll plunge a glacier straight through their closest orifice. What follows is probably the fastest he’s ever taken his clothes off; he’s almost tempted to slice them away with Hyourinmaru, but thankfully Toushirou still commands some measure of rational thought. (Momo always had a way of scattering all his carefully controlled emotions, like blowing snow from her palm.) He drops his clothes next to hers; suddenly remembers Hyourinmaru, who is on the ground (must have dropped him too without knowing), and apologizes with a mental wince. He leans down to gently place his zanpakutou beside Tobiume, their blades crossing. A moment of tenderness engulfs his heart at the sight.
“Shirou-chan?”
He shunpos into the water immediately after her call, gasping when he realizes belatedly exactly how hot it is, though the rock is surprisingly smooth under his feet. His skin stings; he’s surrounded by her reiatsu, by her heat, by her. She fills his lungs with every breath.
He fears he’ll be intoxicated before long. (He knows he already is.)
“I was wondering when you’d come in. Isn’t it great?” She is standing near the center of the pool, naked but for the blasted steam. His arms itch to take her in.
“Did you have to make it so hot?” he complains, being contrary for no reason other than to rile her.
Her voice has an amused quality to it. “Ah, gomen, Shirou-chan… but you know, you could cool it down if you wanted.”
He blinks; why had this not occurred to him? It’s Momo’s fault; being near her always befuddles him.
He closes his eyes and concentrates. Lets the barest iota of his reiatsu slip from his iron control.
Like winter sighing, a breath of cold passes through the air, mixing with the heat. Gradually, almost sullenly, the steam recedes. And now… now, he can see her, see the beads of moisture trailing down her skin, black hair matted to her face, breasts flushed rose pink, droplets trembling from her nipples. See her dark, half-lidded eyes, coral lips curled in a tiny smile. His muscles tense; his eyes narrow. Everything below her waist is obscured by rippling water.
How the hell did she think they were going to clean themselves when all he wants to do now is lift her out of this pool and make her filthier than when she waded in?
But she squeals as he reaches for her, spins away, dives like a swan into her lake.
“Oi, Momo!” he snaps, irate that she’s gotten away from him. Her laughter rings across the water.
“Shirou-chan, it’s been ages since I’ve been in an onsen… and we’ve never been to one together! Let’s enjoy it, neh?”
Damn it, that’s what I’ve been trying to do, he thinks fervently. There is a wildness beneath his heartbeats, a hunger for her that’s barely suppressed at the best of times and dangerously maddening at its worst. He has never totally lost control around her, but some moments are closer than others.
He hears water jostling with her movements, starts wading in her direction. “Momo, get over here.”
She arches out of the water. Toushirou stills. For a moment, she hangs in the air, pale and lissom, before falling back beneath the surface with a tremendous splash. Waves arc from her arms as she swims away, twisting and gamboling like a seal. His heart twinges with her laughter. He exhales, only just realizing he’d been holding his breath. The injustice of it all wounds him - she plays around, teases him, neglects him, while he is in agony with longing.
A flare of reiatsu cleaves the air, and the pool before him parts, the way to her made clear - she can scarcely utter a sound of surprise before he flash steps to her. The water behind him crashes, drenching them both.
“Shirou-chan!” she splutters as their little spring churns. “What’d you do that for?!”
The indignation in her voice makes him grin. “I thought you wanted to bathe.”
“I didn’t mean like that! Let me go!”
“I will not.” She gapes at him in outrage; he’s holding her hips in both hands, pulling her close. The dragon inside him is roiling, seething, clamoring to seize her, to claim. He leans in so that his eyes capture hers, so that their foreheads nearly touch. “You’ve been trying to seduce me.”
Momo’s cheeks flood with color, and he is sure that it isn’t because of the heat. “Ha! Don’t flatter yourself, Toushirou.” She tilts her face away from him haughtily. “All I wanted was a bath. Just because you’re a bit of a pervert-”
“Who’s a pervert?” he growls, tightening his grip. Her eyes widen. “Who dropped her clothes in broad daylight? Who didn’t even bother to set up a barrier beforehand?”
She blinks up at him, and would have been the picture of perfect innocence were it not for her tiny, clever smile. “There was no one around, and I knew you’d put one up.” A slim finger trails down his chest to his navel and further still, tracing the faint line of white hair down through the water. He gasps as her wicked hand finds and skims over him in a painfully light touch. Eyes as velvet dark as midnight lock with his. “And weren’t you the one who suggested that I take them off in the first place?”
He is done with games. With a groan he jerks her flush against him, bends down and crushes their lips together. Their teeth clash, their tongues slide roughly across the caverns of each other's mouths, and it always makes Toushirou feel like he is devouring and being devoured. His arousal rubs across her abdomen, jolting him; she seizes his hair in her fists, moaning. Water starts to seethe around them, a small, erratic storm churned by their fluctuating reiatsu.
He wants to bury himself inside her. Wants to touch her everywhere. Wants to punish her for teasing him. Wants to curl around and protect her forever. Wants her, wants her, wants her.
She breaks away, gasping for air. She is no longer smirking; she is panting, trembling as she holds onto him. Breathing heavily he feels her beneath the water, nearly growls to find her slick. What a liar, she had been trying to seduce him, had wanted him before, wants him now. He slips two fingers in easily; she buckles against him, her eyes no longer coy, but startled and half-glazed. “Sh-Shirou… chan…”
Smirking, he leans over to whisper in her ear. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Hitsugaya-taichou.” He presses against the bud between her fluttering folds, and feels a surge of lust and triumph at her high-pitched moan.
“Sh-Shirou… please…”
“Please what?”
He bends his knees, bowing his head to her chest. For her, only for her, would he gladly kneel. Especially for this.
“I… can we…?”
“I don’t understand the question,” he whispers, mouthing against the upper swell of one breast.
“Toushirou,” he hears her gasp, hands gripping his hair, “make love to me.”
Her request nearly undoes him and he nearly complies, nearly seizes her again to drive into her, but he reins himself in, biting back a groan. He wants to punish her. He wants to worship her.
“Right now, out here? I thought you weren’t a pervert,” he says, and pulls one nipple into his mouth. Her reply is a high, drawn-out sound, shuddering and incoherent. He strokes her beneath the water, her slickness coating his fingers as her nipple tightens into a solid bud under his tongue. She heaves erratic breaths above him, cups his face in her hands; when she starts to tremble, he winds his free arm around her waist. He would never let Momo fall.
I love you, he thinks as she pulls his face to her other breast. They are small and soft, firm and perfect, and given the chance, he could bite and suck and nibble them all day. I love you, he thinks, listening to her soft, breathy noises as he curls his fingers inside her. I love you. He peppers her chest with nips and kisses, rises slightly to kiss a trail up her neck. Her skin is smooth and damp, her sweat mixing with the taste of pure water. He feels the barest sting on his back as he sucks on her neck; Momo’s nails are digging into his skin.
“Shirou,” she whispers. He continues his ministrations, alternating dipping his fingers into her with gentle rubs of her clitoris. The way her heated passage clenches around his digits sorely tests his self-control. She starts to grind herself against his hand, whimpering; feeling immensely self-satisfied, he withdraws his fingers and strokes her in earnest, the way she likes. “Shirou please!” she cries. He loves it when she begs. Maybe he is a pervert after all. He bends down again to kiss and nibble her skin above the water, to trace the faint edges of her ribs with his tongue. “Come for me,” he whispers, and presses his hand tight against the crux of her sex, rubbing harshly. She cries out; her body shakes almost violently.
He looks up. Her eyes are clenched tight, her mouth opening and closing in silent moans, hands gripping like claws around his shoulders. He watches her, fascinated, and impulsively pushes three fingers into her at the last. She wails, her slick channel spasming around his eager strokes, and like a glutton he drinks in fervidly the image of her tattering to pieces.
With a gasp, she sags against him, shuddering. He withdraws his hand, stands to hold her in a possessive embrace. He is aching, he is throbbing painfully with his need for her, but as ever he is patient. He waits as her shaking slows to trembling, as her hands flutter tentatively up his back. She kisses him slowly all over his chest, and he takes his time running his hands down and up her silken curves, tracing and squeezing. Anticipating.
“Shirou-chan,” she sighs, “what about you?”
He smiles, and rolls his hips against her, making her cry out. “What about me?” he murmurs.
With a moan she throws her arms over his neck, leans up and weakly wraps her legs around his, like he’s a tree she’s trying to climb. He snarls, gripping the flesh of her thighs in both hands, and hauls her up. Their lake boils, the air boils; he is swimming in her heat, he is drunk on her essence. He holds her steady as she shallowly bucks towards him, legs curled around his waist. Water tosses between them, a nuisance he banishes with a pulse of his reiatsu to join the agitated waves swirling around them like a maelstrom. Momo does not seem to notice; she is kissing him frantically, with the kind of desperation he is still amazed she reciprocates. “Please,” she gasps and he hastens to acquiesce, finds her center, legs trembling for balance as he slides the tip of his erection across her entrance.
“Shirou!” She rips her lips away to gasp his name. Her arms tighten around his neck, her breasts crush against his chest. His heart shudders. His eyes flash. “Momo,” he growls, and brings her forward, and enters her at last. She cries out; her body makes way, flutters and clenches around him. Inconceivable pleasure catches him in the lungs like a physical blow, and he nearly staggers. Not like the first time, nor the second, nor the third, when it was still hard to do this without causing her pain. Her body knows him now, welcomes him, sheathes him in rippling molten velvet. Momo pants and whines, arms locked around his neck and legs locked around his waist as he drives into her over and over again. Yes, she gasps, and yes, yes, yes his heart echoes as he tests the noises and reactions he can wring from her.
His focus is pinpoint, his attention solely on the sounds issuing from her throat and the finest tremble of her body. He finds that going slow draws out long, quiet moans; pistoning faster makes her nearly scream. He cannot tell which he likes more. Her mouth is beside his ear, and his heart shivers with every gasp, every cry, every whimper, locks them all in the deepest circle of his soul, for the days when he has to remind himself what he lives for. “Toushirou,” she moans, like a plea, like a prayer, and he feels like he might lose his mind. He is close, too close; she is just too much. With a guttural groan, he slows down.
“N-no, keep going,” she says breathlessly as he takes her in languid, decadent strokes.
“I can’t,” he gasps. Not if she wants this to last any longer. He shudders, pushes until he is buried in her silken heat. He grinds his pelvis against her in a slow, circular motion, holding her firmly to him so that she cannot move.
“Why not?” she whines, arms tightening around his neck as she squirms. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can speak anymore, still grinding so slow as to drive them both mad.
“Mm… ah, Toushirou.” She pulls an earlobe into her mouth, worries it gently with her teeth. His fingers clench in her soft flesh, and she sighs into his ear. “Shirou-chan, are you tired?”
Abruptly, he stills all movement. She giggles, kissing his neck. “Ah, it’s all right,” she says, her voice full of warmth and amusement, “let me down and I’ll-”
He suddenly shifts her. The water makes her slippery; his grip on her is harsh. Momo gasps, clinging around his neck, but she needn't worry. She leans back just enough to look at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, but he is too far gone to even smirk. He lets gravity do some of his work for him as he snaps his hips and enters her again, driving deeply.
He doesn't wait any longer, doesn't tease. Momo is crying oh god, god, Shirou and he snarls as he lifts her up and brings her down, again, and again, and again. Her cries dissolve to breathless whines that heighten with every stroke; her legs grip him weakly, she trembles like a leaf in a gale. Still he can’t get enough of her, still his inhuman ardor mounts like an inferno upon a forest. Her fire, her heat, her dancing flame that had drawn him in from the very start - he jerks her towards him as he pushes in, stretches her wide, burrows as far as he can go, wishing he could go deeper. Water roars around them, the eye of a storm of chaos. Momo screams. He pulls out and does it again.
“I love you, Shirou,” she's wailing, “I love you.”
Something inside him shatters. He soars, lighter than snow, freer than air. They move together, boundlessly lost, and for a moment, Toushirou is sure this is the heaven promised to humans when they die. “Momo,” he whispers raggedly, and she tightens and pulses around him with a cry that dashes the last of his resistance. He surges into her, overflowing, smothering his deepening groans on her mouth, and she swallows them as if she were starving, too.
...
A long while later, the water has stopped churning. He is holding her against him, panting, their cheeks pressed together. It’s warm, so warm. Usually he prefers the cold, but oh, what he would give to stay here, stay here forever…
Her legs start to slip from his waist. The sudden movement makes them both gasp. “Shirou,” she murmurs. Gingerly, he lifts her, pulling himself out. They can’t help the small groans that escape as she releases him, and he gently sets her back into the water. She falls onto him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and sighs with contentment; he embraces her, kissing her hair. All at once, exhaustion hits him. He draws back, and at her questioning gaze, leads her through the lake until they nearly reach the bank. Finding a nice step in the rock, he sits, drawing her with him, the water covering them up to their chests. She grins and settles on his lap, her head resting on his shoulder. His arms fold around her.
The hunger is sated, for now. The urgency in his chest has gone; now there is only a lazy satisfaction, a languidity that bids all his joints to melt, that makes him simply want to sleep.
They doze together until the surface stills, until the water cools to lukewarm. Toushirou strokes her hair; she murmurs, nuzzling his neck. With a sigh, he draws away from her. Her eyes flutter open. “Mm… Shirou?”
“Wait here.”
“No, don’t go…”
He gently shifts her off of him, kissing her to quiet her protests. “I’ll be quick.” Momo sighs, half-heartedly releasing him, and he climbs out of the pool. He brings their clothes, shaking out his captain’s haori to spread it on the ground, and layers the rest of his uniform over it, hoping it’ll be soft enough. Momo’s eyes are gentle as she watches him stride back to her. He enters the pool to lift her, water sluicing from her body, and carries her over to kneel and place her on top of his uniform. After the heat of their private spring, the air is cool, even through the shining sun. At her first shiver, he hastens to dry her, patting her down with his kosode.
When he looks up, her eyes are suffused with tenderness. He glances away, afraid of the intensity of feeling in his heart - but she reaches up, tilts his face back to her.
“Toushirou,” she says softly. “Kiss me.”
And he leans over her, eyes closing, helpless to obey.
Much later, he settles on his side, and she curls up against him. Drowsily he reaches down, runs his fingers along her back. She sighs, pressing closer to him. “Shirou-chan,” she whispers. “I just…” she yawns, “wanna take a nap…”
He murmurs a noise of assent. Yes, a nap sounds fine right now… just fine. He throws the ends of his haori over them. His eyes close, and his arms surround her. Huddled in each other’s warmth, they slide into dreams, as the afternoon drifts to twilight, and their souls hum in quiet harmony.
.
.
.
Epilogue
“You have to admit, it was a good idea, Shirou-chan!”
Toushirou doesn’t answer; a part of him is still somewhat mortified by his behavior of a few hours ago. Another part (the part he wishes he could strangle to death) is still basking in a glow of excessively smug satisfaction.
“Ne, so what did you think?”
“About what?” he says a bit hoarsely, picking at the yakisoba with his chopsticks. She’s already finished all her udon.
“About… you know. Before.” Toushirou’s face burns; thankfully she continues before he has to say anything. “I thought it was…” her voice drops, and when he looks up her gaze has floated to the side, her face flushed, “...amazing.”
Toushirou’s glad he isn’t actually eating anything, otherwise he might have choked. “So you don’t think I was… too rough?”
Momo can’t quite hold back a giggle. “I don’t think you could ever be too rough with me, Shirou-chan,” she says quietly. She meets his eyes shyly, then suddenly grins wide. “Toushirou, are you blushing?”
Toushirou scowls. “No.”
“Does that mean you want to do it again?”
Toushirou’s fingers twitch; his chopsticks snap. It takes about fifteen seconds before Momo can contain her mirth long enough to summon a waiter for another pair.
...
Author Notes
I imagine that they became lovers relatively recently, and though they’re not totally inexperienced, Toushirou’s still concerned about being a mature, respectful gentleman about things. Momo will straighten him out in no time, I'm sure.
When I started this, I felt like I’d exhausted all the HitsuHina fic on the internet. Besides that, there seemed to be an alarming dearth of HitsuHina PWP… so I thought I’d try my hand at one. The hot springs idea actually came from the Houki Boushi 1st squad ending, where Yamamoto’s reiatsu is making the entire onsen too hot for everyone, even his poor lieutenant. Well, I thought, Momo’s got fire reiatsu, she could do that too :P
This was supposed to be fun and silly, but it morphed into a 16-page monstrosity that was pretty sappy at parts. I kind of like it, but then I’m a pretty sappy person. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. Also, if anyone has any tips on writing lemons, I’d love to hear them!