Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There’s a lot of blood. Sanemi’s uniform is soaked in it, and he’s pretty sure that most of it is his. He vaguely remembers trying to shield Masachika from an attack. He’s not sure what happened afterward. He feels lightheaded, his vision is swimming—it means that he’s about to faint, right? The slayer beside him—is it Masachika? Is he alive?—holds him up by the arm. The only reason they’re still breathing is the miracle of Sanemi’s blood putting the demons in a dazed frenzy.

They started as a group of four slayers, sent to check rumors on a small coast town—nothing too problematic. But what was supposed to be just one measly demon turned out to be a Lower Moon and their equally strong underlings.

Their crows screech that help is on the way, but for the ‘help’ to actually be helpful it needs to arrive before they die.

He’s laid down on the ground, close to a tree, and when the person sits down next to him, he sees that Masachika is still alive and kicking. Not for long, since Sanemi’s bleeding way too much to function, Masachika can’t fight all of them alone, and the other slayers are nowhere to be found. Likely dead.

They’re all dying tonight, aren’t they? Barely a year after joining the Corps. What a fucking joke.

“Can you walk?” a new voice asks. Sanemi hadn’t noticed anyone arriving, but when he looks up his vision swims at the sight. He’s not sure if he’s hallucinating or not, but whoever it is, the person glows in the dark. There are so many colors, bright in Sanemi’s tired eyes. Pale skin glowing silver, stunning face framed by long black hair. Big, beautiful eyes shining like indigo stars. They wear colorful clothes that clash in Sanemi’s vision like a heavenly kaleidoscope, making it all the more surreal.

Sanemi is truly dying, isn’t he? The heavens are already opening up for him.

“Yes sir, I’m—” Masachika starts to answer but the person cuts him off.

“You need to stop his bleeding until the Kakushi arrive or he’ll die.”

“Yes, sir!” Masachika moves, but Sanemi can’t really see what he’s doing, eyes fixed on the vision before him. “Thank you, sir!”

The figure leaves in the same way it arrived, eerily quiet. Sanemi can’t help but babble as Masachika wraps bandage after bandage around his torso.

“D’ya see that too?”

“See what?” Masachika asks, a frown on his face as he pats Sanemi’s cheek. Sanemi tries to make him stop but his arms aren’t strong enough to push him away.

“Th-angel? Shining-like the moon…”

For some reason, Masachika barks a laugh. And then he laughs until he cries.

“God, I wish someone else was here to hear this,” Sanemi hears him speak through his laughter before it dies down. “We just got our asses saved by the Water Hashira, make sure to thank your angel if you survive,” Masachika adds, the last thing Sanemi hears before he passes out.

When he comes to, there’s a pair of empty blue eyes staring down at him. They belong to a delicate face, framed by hair dark as midnight. Sanemi narrows his eyes, realizing that the vision he saw earlier wasn’t an angel, just a man—a teenager around his age. A beautiful one at that.

“You’re in the way. Can’t you walk?”

He’s also incredibly rude.

“The fuck?” Sanemi mumbles, trying to remember where the hell he is. Right. He was dying, wasn’t he?

“You’re dead weight. Go lay somewhere else,” the man adds, calling for someone out of Sanemi’s line of sight. “The Kakushi can’t come this close to the battle. Get him out of here.”

“God, you’re awake!” Sanemi hears Masachika’s loud voice. “I was afraid to move you, you were bleeding so much!”

“Fucking asshole, I’m—” he tries to sit down, panting as the pain flares everywhere. “Not going anywhere until I punch that bitch,” Sanemi mumbles, feeling his belt for his sword.

“You wanna punch the Water Hashira,” Masachika deadpans in amusement, crouching to be at eye-level with him. “You were calling him an angel just moments ago.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sanemi bristles. God, Masachika will never let him live that down. “He’s an asshole, calling me dead weight.”

“I wouldn’t call you useful either, given the situation,” he shrugs, getting up and pulling Sanemi with him, supporting him by the waist.

“You wanna die too?” Sanemi snaps, incensed at feeling useless. He puts his arm around Masachika’s shoulder and tries to support his own weight, failing miserably. Masachika says nothing to that, just an ‘oof’ as he redistributes their weight to keep them from falling.

All Sanemi manages to do is limp small steps, which puts him way too long in Masachika’s line of fire. Soon enough, as sure as the sun rises, Masachika is annoying him again.

“Did you know he’s your age? Only 16 and already a Hashira, imagine that.”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“Your angel, Sanemi,” he adds, delight in his voice as he looks at Sanemi and wiggles his eyebrows like an idiot.

“Say that one more time and I’ll strangle you with these bandages, you fucker.”

“You’re not wrong, he’s very pretty,” Masachika assuages him, holding back his laughter. He’s milking the opportunity to be a prick now that Sanemi can barely move. “Angelic, even.”

“Fuck off, he’s a fucking asshole,” is what Sanemi grumbles, because there’s no point in arguing said asshole’s features.

“Doesn’t make him ugly,” he singsongs like this is the happiest day of his life. Masachika is so fucking annoying. They’re in the middle of a battlefield, a foot away from death and that idiot decides to tease him because Sanemi thinks some boy is pretty.

“God, Kumeno, just shut the fuck up!”

“That bad mouth of yours is only gonna drive the boys and girls away, you know,” he nags at him. “You’ll die alone over your own stupidity.”

“Just leave me here to fucking die, anything but having you around,” Sanemi doesn’t really mean that, and unfortunately, Masachika knows him too well to take him seriously.

“Don’t talk like that to your older brother.”

“You’re not my brother!”

“Yeah, the same way the Water Hashira isn’t your angel,” Masachika teases, dumb smirk on his face.

Before Sanemi can bite his head off for saying that shit out loud, the Kakushi spot them, running in their direction with a stretcher in hand. Later, Sanemi would realize that the teasing was Masachika distracting him from the dead bodies of their comrades and the devastation laid by the Lower Moon 2. One of the many things Sanemi never managed to thank him for.

Every time he steps foot in the Swordsmith Village, Sanemi is assaulted by memories of Masachika. They only came here together once, a few months before his friend died and Sanemi became a Hashira. He remembers being extremely annoyed at how excited the other boy was over everything he saw, like a kid at a festival, going from workshop to workshop and talking the swordsmiths’ ears off. ‘Look Sanemi, this is where all the katanas in the Corps are made!’ which was obvious since they were both here to get their swords fixed. He remembers also being amazed at how the small community worked—so secluded and yet fully functional—but his pride was too big to let his awe show.

Despite terrifying the Kakushi into letting him walk his way to the Village every time he needs to, Sanemi doesn’t come here often. It’s a place he holds dear over the memories of his long-lost friend, and being whiplashed by grief is always something he tends to avoid. But sometimes there’s no helping it. After Uzui went and got himself retired—that fucking bastard—every Hashira is spread thin, having to cover both his and Rengoku’s patrol areas. The physical strain and little sleep aren’t much of an issue, but his katana dulling way faster than usual is truly inconvenient. Even worse is the fact that his swordsmith asked for two fucking days to sharpen his blade, after chewing him out for letting it turn into ‘nothing more than a metal stick’.

Being grounded in a place he has too many memories of, with enough time to mull over the mess that his life currently is isn’t ideal. His mind either goes to worrying over Genya—where he is, if he’s safe, how he’s doing—or self-flagellating over Tomioka Giyuu and his constant string of fucks ups when it comes to the man.

With the intense amount of work, he thankfully hasn’t seen Tomioka since that night at the Wisteria House, a few weeks ago. Sanemi remembers in vivid detail—a cutscene playing again and again in his mind—that he was stupid enough to agree to a ‘next time’ with him. Too lost in the spell of Tomioka’s skin and adrift in the blue of his eyes, he said yes to that question like some lovesick fool, knowing full well it could never work. A mistake so dumb it makes him thankful for being overworked to the point he rarely made it back to headquarters. Less places for him to run into Tomioka, fewer chances of meeting him where they’d have more than five minutes together.

Like a never-ending loop, his mind goes back to Masachika, wondering what he would say about the bullshit Sanemi pulled. He wishes he was still around to knock some sense into him. Call him an idiot for getting himself tangled with the Water Hashira of all people, tell him that he’s a fool for aiming for the moon and expecting it to land. But in reality, Sanemi knew Masachika too well. He would be ridiculously excited over the idea that Sanemi of all people got himself a— crush, so to say. He’d definitely say he’d called it—even though he couldn’t have—and make the entire situation worse, embarrassing Sanemi even more. Probably in front of Tomioka too. The thought makes him smile, head shaking in a small huff as he makes his way to the dorms they use while staying over.

He’s thoroughly welcomed in the manner all Hashira are, and quickly led to a spacious bedroom in a private area, with a large futon at the center. Sanemi roams in the room and sits on the chair of a writing desk, facing a window that looks out to a garden—a beautiful spring view. He’s exhausted and way too dirty to lie on the futon before a bath. Sighing tiredly, he supports his elbow on the desk and his chin in his palm, looking around the empty room and feeling oddly uncomfortable.

After the last time with Tomioka, Sanemi can’t step foot in a Wisteria House and not think of him. Of how beautiful he was spread on Sanemi’s futon, how youthful he looked sleeping in the soft break of dawn. Of Tomioka tracing a map of his scars and calling them beautiful, sapphire eyes shining. In moments like these, when Sanemi is too tired to keep his walls up, he lets himself yearn. Lets himself think of how stunning Tomioka is, of how his small mouth fits perfectly against his, delicate like a rose petal, touch like soft velvet. He daydreams about porcelain skin against his rough palms, of wet eyelashes framing deep blue. Tomioka’s voice is still a siren’s song in his mind, pulling his heartstrings into tunes Sanemi doesn’t fully comprehend.

He can’t help but punish himself for letting Tomioka get so far under his skin. After that temple fuck up, he tried to get rid of the aftertaste of Tomioka in his mouth—truly, he did—but now after having him again, Sanemi can’t even fathom looking at anyone else. He lies to himself that he’s too busy, too tired, but he knows that’s not it. Somewhere along the short, stolen time they spent together, his body decided that it’s either Tomioka or no one else. He had blamed his infatuation on the alcohol—the same way he blamed the poison—but there are only so many lies he can tell himself.

The truth is that Sanemi doesn’t know what to feel, much less how to act. He’s both fascinated and terrified by Tomioka. He knows that the right thing to do is to simply leave him be, pretend nothing happened between them, and if they run into each other, it will be as co-workers and nothing more. Let the promise for another day be damned. One of these days either—or both—of them is gonna drop dead, and the grief isn’t worth it.

Longing for something he can never have is truly a waste of his time, stupidity at its peak. But Sanemi is still plagued by blue eyes on his lonely nights, still feels soft creamy skin underneath his fingertips, and he wants—despite himself, despite knowing better—he truly wants something for the first time in his life. It’s not even romantic, Sanemi is well aware that he’s incapable of something noble as love, but having Tomioka with his edges dulled and eyes softened is addictive. Basking under his delicate touch is like sitting under a patch of sunlight on a cold day—comforting, revitalizing. A hooking feeling that puts Sanemi to his knees, a physical want so strong it haunts him. He knows it’s nothing more than that, but physical want is a want nonetheless—and Sanemi is well aware he’ll never allow himself to have that.

It’s honestly offensive how easily he got himself attached to a guy he always hated—someone who’s better than him in every sense of the word and carries himself as such. Someone that he’s sure doesn’t waste every waking thought on him, who isn’t equally haunted by Sanemi in his dreams.

Tired of the nonsensical musing that’ll get him nowhere, he leaves it to fate. A problem for another day, another time, when he eventually runs into Tomioka and has to face every single one of his doubts and fears. With his body sore from the unrelenting missions and the pressing need for a bath, Sanemi decides to change into a yukata and spend some time in the hot springs.

There are several pools, but he always favors the furthest one. It’s more secluded, surrounded by bulky rocks forming a small alcove where he likes to rest in the shade. Most of the time the privacy is a blessing, but today it shields Sanemi from seeing a mop of black hair before it’s too fucking late to turn around and leave. He freezes on the spot, watching as Tomioka Giyuu immediately notices his presence and looks up at him. Those blue eyes widen for a second, lips parting in shock before he schools his features again, still staring at him with a surprised glint in his eyes.

It has to be some sort of sick joke. Tomioka fucking Giyuu, here of all places on this god-forsaken earth, looking like a nymph, surrounded by steam inside a natural pool. His skin rosy pink from the heat, face framed by the wet ink of his hair falling loose around his shoulders, its tips swaying in mesmerizing waves inside the water. Sanemi is rendered breathless by stunning blue eyes blinking up at him in awe – as if Tomioka himself isn’t sure whether Sanemi is an illusion or not.

Time stands still as they stare at each other, Sanemi completely frozen by the view. The soft spring sun peaking through the trees above paints alabaster skin like a glowing canvas, water droplets shining like diamonds rolling down ivory hills and valleys before falling back into the pool. Pink lips pressed in a thin line as vivid sapphire eyes bore into him, raising goosebumps on Sanemi’s skin.

He really should leave and go to any other pool, but somehow, it feels like losing. Leaving means that Tomioka got so far under his skin that Sanemi can’t even bear standing across him inside a hot spring—which is not only ridiculous but utterly humiliating. Deciding to prove to himself that his longing is under control, he turns his back to the sight and strips from his yukata, leaving it folded alongside his sandals. When he turns back around he finds Tomioka’s eyes glued to his skin, a glint of want that by now Sanemi would recognize even blind. Ocean eyes hungrily travel down his body to land on his dick, going back up to Sanemi’s eyes and then averting themselves to stare fixedly at the water. The pink tint on Tomioka’s cheeks gets darker and Sanemi feels a little validated. At least he’s not the only one deeply uncomfortable with this entire situationship—if they can even call it that.

He slowly lowers himself in the spring, hissing when the hot water hits his sore muscles. God, he truly needed this—Tomioka and his pretty face a few feet away be damned. Sanemi parks himself inside the small alcove and across Tomioka, finding a nook in the hot stones that fits his back just fine. Sighing at how good it feels, he throws his neck back and sinks further, ignoring the gaze that’s burning his skin.

Despite avoiding eye contact, Sanemi feels the atmosphere shifting into something heavy—whether it’s just for him or if Tomioka can feel it too, he has no idea. He tries to relax and forget about the presence across him, but Tomioka’s eyes are like hot iron branding his skin. Trying to avoid his gravitational pull, Sanemi closes his eyes and buries himself further against the rocks. Maybe if he merges to the earth he’ll be able to hold against the draw of Tomioka’s tides.

Unfortunately for him, Tomioka doesn’t seem to pick up on his cues.

Sanemi feels more than he hears the water moving—Tomioka always carries himself in an eerily quiet manner, small waves licking Sanemi’s chest. When he opens his eyes to look again, Tomioka is right in front of him, close enough to touch. His face isn’t as guarded as it tends to be, a sliver of curiosity shining through his cracks.

“The fuck you doing?” Sanemi groans, exhaustion taking away most of his bite. Tomioka just blinks those big, blue eyes at him.

“Hi, Shinazugawa,” he says, keeping a straight face but Sanemi can easily pick up on his puzzled tone. “I just wanted to see if your stitches healed properly.”

“And you can’t just fucking ask?” Sanemi narrows his eyes at him. He never makes anything easy, does he?

Tomioka doesn’t back off and Sanemi should be used to that by now. He simply tilts his head like he’s confused over Sanemi’s defensiveness, and then shrugs.

“I just wanted to make sure.”

Sanemi stares at him for a few seconds. He must be crouching a little because the water is hitting his shoulders, hair even more submerged now, swaying around him like a halo. Tomioka just looks at him, those piercing eyes picking Sanemi apart, doing what he always does: gauging Sanemi’s mood and trying to read between the lines if Sanemi really is bothered by his presence or if it’s just an act. Sanemi hates that Tomioka can read him that easily, apparently a lot easier than Sanemi reads him. Tomioka, most of the time, is still a foreign language, something beautiful and new on his tongue, a few words that he recognizes but can’t put into full sentences yet.

In a battle of wills, Sanemi is sure he would win—Tomioka may be stubborn, but Sanemi is miles ahead of him in that regard. But this— this isn’t a battlefield. It’s a game of push and pull where Sanemi is always bound to lose.

Standing to his full height—with the water reaching his waist—he sighs and turns his back, letting Tomioka see for himself.

“I’m sure it sucks, my nurse was shit,” Sanemi groans, feeling Tomioka get closer.

“Shitty nurse considered, it closed pretty well,” he remarks, the hint of a smile in his voice.

Sanemi should have seen it coming—really, he should—but when warm, wet fingers touch his tender scar, he flinches. The sparks that Tomioka’s touch ignites on his skin startle him, and in a swift movement, he turns back around and puts some distance between them, resting against the poolside rocks.

Tomioka’s eyes blink a few times before growing guarded, a veil sliding on his face to put even more distance between them. Sanemi pretends he doesn’t feel anything, that seeing Tomioka growing cold before him doesn’t pull painfully at his heart.

“I can leave if you want—” Tomioka starts and Sanemi’s mouth is a lot quicker than his brain.

“Did I fucking ask you to leave?”

“No, but— if you’re not comfortable with me here-” Tomioka stammers at him, and Sanemi should just let him take his distance for aversion, but somehow it doesn’t feel right. He wonders when the hell did he start caring about hurting Tomioka’s feelings of all things.

“I don’t give a fuck whether you’re here or not Tomioka,” is what he groans, pinching the space between his eyebrows. God, it’s not even noon and he’s already drained. “I’m just really fucking tired.”

“Okay…” he mutters, deciding to take Sanemi’s reluctant resignation as an invitation to press himself beside him in the small nook.

Sanemi sighs. He truly can never win, can he?

“The fuck are you even doing here anyway?” Sanemi asks, looking up to see the clouds slowly move above them.

“The springs are medicinal—” Tomioka, the idiot, starts answering and Sanemi snaps his head to look at him.

“I meant in the Village, shithead.”

“Oh,” Tomioka raises his eyebrows, small lips forming a shape much too known to Sanemi. “My katana is dull.”

Of course it is. If he’s going on as many missions as Sanemi, his blade must be shit too.

“Yeah, mine as well,” Sanemi idly adds, attention returning to the sky above. The clouds are gathering, casting them in shade. It looks like it might rain soon.

The proximity and the rising steam make his brain lag, but it doesn’t take him long to fully process the information. Their swordsmiths are diligent with their blades, and if Sanemi’s katana is taking two full days to be sharpened then—

“How long did your swordsmith ask you?”

“A couple of days, it should be done by the end of the week,” Tomioka is probably not following his line of thought, because he’s as composed as always, shrugging as he answers.

Fucking hell.

What are the odds of them being grounded in the Village at the same time for the same reason?

There has to be someone pulling the strings of Sanemi’s life, cackling away as they continuously use Tomioka to make everything worse. ‘Let’s throw Tomioka fucking Giyuu back into his shitty life, all naked and wet inside hot water like a fucking nymph. Let’s also make them sleep in the same hallway for two nights straight, extra torturing because they now fucked twice and this moron can’t stop thinking about it.’

His life is truly a never-ending joke.

Tomioka, completely unaware of Sanemi’s existential crisis, seems comfortable with the silence provided by his meltdown. He idly plays with the water, letting small droplets fall from his fingertips and watching the small waves they form. Then, runs a hand through his hair and gets annoyed at something because, in the next second, he’s submerging.

When he resurfaces, Sanemi’s breath freezes inside his lungs. He has to be doing it on purpose, there’s no way Tomioka doesn’t know how he looks because he comes out of the water like an apparition in front of him, barely a foot away from Sanemi. He combs his bangs back and opens cerulean eyes to fix Sanemi with a look, eyes widening when he realizes he’s a little too close. The water cascades down his face, tracing the slope of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, going down his neck and chest. His eyes are the bluest Sanemi has ever seen, even bluer than they are in his dreams. He’s ethereal, a divine creature standing before him. So stunning that a look is all it takes for Sanemi’s resolve to fold.

He’s going to cave. Crumble under the rising steam and rippled distortions teasing him beneath the water. He will cave and do something stupid but at least he’ll do it first.

Sanemi takes a slow step, hardly moving the water around him. A soft inhale echoes between them. Good. Sanemi did that. He may cave first, but Tomioka won’t get to claim the satisfaction of putting that look on Sanemi’s face. That tension in Tomioka’s throat as he swallows, eyebrows twitching imperceptibly. But Sanemi sees it—the slight widening of blue eyes, throat bobbing in a thick swallow.

Sanemi slips impossibly closer, disturbing the water between them. A step, then another, watching as Tomioka stands his ground, breathing in small gasps as he burns Sanemi with his eyes.

“What’s on your mind?” Tomioka murmurs when they’re close enough to make him look up, chests almost touching. Sanemi offers him a small smirk, placing a hand on the curve of his pretty neck, thumb resting against the dip of his jaw. Tomioka doesn’t back away, want flashing in molten eyes as he tilts his face to expose his neck further.

“I‘m about to do something really stupid,” Sanemi whispers and pretends that the small smile settling on Tomioka’s lips doesn’t make him breathless.

“Hm, that’s very in character.”

Sanemi huffs and closes their distance, lips gently touching as Giyuu sighs in surrender against him. His small mouth parts, pink tongue dipping down to steal a taste and Sanemi feels himself melt. It’s slow. So slow it’s almost painful. Giyuu’s mouth is hot against his, warm hands coming up to cradle Sanemi’s nape with another small sigh. Kissing Giyuu always feels like submerging in sweet ambrosia, but having him like this, slow and warm, a tender kiss that doesn’t have to lead to sex, makes Sanemi’s heart lurch in his chest. Giyuu seems just as happy with the new pace, letting their mouths slot together as their tongues circle each other in a slow dance.

Giyuu’s wet lips taste like honey and petrichor on his mouth, and Sanemi can’t help but slide a hand up his back, pulling him further into his embrace. It’s addictive. This new warmth that doesn’t burn him to his bones, heart thundering in his chest as Giyuu melts in his arms. They kiss, gently and unhurried, until a gust of cool wind makes Giyuu shiver and Sanemi parts from him. Eyes locking into sapphire blue, he takes Giyuu’s hand and slowly walks them back to the alcove, hidden from the changing weather. Holding a narrow waist—so narrow that Sanemi thinks his fingertips could meet in the dip of Giyuu’s back if he tried hard enough—he positions him against the warm rocks and cages him in with both arms.

The steam rises between them, and Giyuu looks up at him with so much fascination in his eyes that Sanemi’s poor heart skips a few beats. Giyuu looks completely awestruck that Sanemi is allowing them to have this. Something tender and sweet between them, so unusual, and yet familiar—like they have been meeting each other in affection for a lifetime. Sanemi is just as surprised at his own stupidity, really. He keeps proving to himself that his recklessness knows no bounds—maybe his lack of self-preservation skills are even more lacking when Giyuu is involved. Who knows.

Giyuu is still looking at him in wonder, and Sanemi can’t help but throw him a tender smirk.

“What’s with the look, shitface?” he asks, words biting but tone soft, keeping his voice down so it doesn’t echo in their ears.

Giyuu is quick in averting his gaze, cheeks easily blushing with the added warmth from the spring. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so he brings them to rest on Sanemi’s chest, chewing his lower lip before answering:

“I thought you wouldn’t want this again,” comes a murmur so low that if Sanemi wasn’t just a breath away, he wouldn’t have heard.

Giyuu is still looking fixedly at the water instead of Sanemi’s eyes and while it is half true, Sanemi frowns anyway. Despite his inner panic and how much he knows they shouldn’t be doing this, he’s sure that he never rejected Giyuu—which is literally the root of all his problems. By now, Sanemi knows damn well that he wouldn’t be able to deny him even if he wanted to.

“Why?” he asks, bringing a hand up to hold Giyuu’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently turning his gaze back to him.

“I…” Giyuu starts, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. “You left, and I thought—”

“I left for a mission, idiot,” Sanemi cuts him with a soft smile curving his lips. They had fucked and agreed to do it again, keeping it as meaningless sex. The fact that Giyuu expected something more in the morning should piss him off—will piss him off eventually—because how can he guard himself when he has to deal with Giyuu not only falling asleep but also waking up in his arms? That’s a conversation they’ll have to go through, but not today.

“I know but I- I thought you regretted it,” he mumbles and the smallest pout starts to form. Sanemi is sure that Giyuu has no idea he’s pouting, otherwise he would immediately school his face back into that aloof mask of his.

The sight of him all flushed and pouty makes Sanemi’s stomach stir. He’ll never get tired of seeing Giyuu pull the most adorable shit out of nowhere—the scrunch of his nose, his small pouts, the way he hides himself from view when embarrassed. An entire assortment of cute idiosyncrasies that Sanemi is now allowed to witness. Never in his wildest dreams, he would ever imagine that Tomioka Giyuu had more than his constantly displeased expression to show.

“Really?” he asks, deeply amused and much too weak to stop himself from landing a peck on those pouty lips, watching as they curve into a small smile. “And what made you think that?” Sanemi’s lips curl in a cheeky smile, the mirth in his voice bringing a slightly annoyed glint to Giyuu’s eyes. He’s not a fan of being teased. Giyuu tries to avert his gaze again, but his chin is still resting against Sanemi’s fingers.

“I don’t know I— we had a lot to drink and—” he shrugs, and the amusement in Sanemi’s face doubles. Knowing he’s not getting away with it, Giyuu sighs. “Kanzaburo told me he didn’t see you leave.”

Sameni snorts, unable to stop his laugh from tumbling out of his mouth.

“Your old-ass crow, who can’t tell you apart from a tree, didn’t see me leaving,” he starts, watching Giyuu’s flush get redder and redder. “And you took that as me regretting fucking you?”

“I… yeah,” he mutters, probably realizing how ridiculous that is because the little scrunch in his nose is back, teaming up with another tiny pout. A vicious combo in Sanemi’s eyes.

“I just wanted to let you sleep, idiot,” Sanemi adds, his voice coming out way too affectionate for his liking. In truth, he was losing his shit at the idea of what he would do if Giyuu were to wake up and fall back into indifference. But Sanemi is never telling him that. “Do you regret it?” He asks just to tease him, but it tremendously backfires in his face when Giyuu’s cerulean eyes cut through his with a look so determined it makes Sanemi’s heart stutter.

“No, I don’t,” he answers, and the surety of it, the lack of spaces and commas that would fit an argument or a doubt make Sanemi breathless.

Well, at least he’s not being an idiot by himself. They’re both sailing a sinking ship, taking turns at the helm fully aware that their only destiny is the ocean floor. Sanemi only hopes that, by the end, there will be some pieces left of him to salvage. Looking down at those piercing blue eyes, watching them reflect the sunlight outside their alcove, he wonders if Giyuu is even aware of how fitting his Breathing Style is. The more Sanemi gets to know him, the more he thinks of him as the ocean: something that looks still and monotonous from afar but hides endless wonders—and dangers—up close. Giyuu is both a placid sea and a deadly whirlpool, a tide drawing back and a tsunami flooding everything. Full of paradoxes and dissonances that you can only see under a careful look, if you’re lucky enough to get a peek above his walls.

He truly is mesmerizing.

Engulfed in Giyuu’s spell and probably looking at him like a smitten fool, Sanemi uses the hand on his chin to angle his face up, bringing him into another kiss. No matter how many times their lips meet, Sanemi will never get tired of the little sigh that always breaks against his mouth. It never fails to make Sanemi’s heart lurch in his chest, another one of the precious things he only knows about because he managed to get close enough to watch.

This time, Giyuu’s docility is gone. He meets him in hunger, arms lacing around Sanemi’s neck and deepening the kiss, pulling him in until their bodies are flush. Giyuu devours him whole, and Sanemi can only kiss him back, meeting his desperation in kind, letting his yearning drive him as he wraps an arm around Giyuu’s waist and another up his back. Their previous tenderness burns in urgency, a heated want lurking underneath that makes Sanemi slide his hand up and into Giyuu’s wet hair, angling his face to dive deeper, hungrier. The siren in his arms pushes back, kisses him harder, takes his fill straight from Sanemi’s tongue.

The reassurance that he’s wanted must have done something to Giyuu because instead of melting in Sanemi’s arms like he always does, he turns their kiss into a fight. He bites and pulls at Sanemi’s lip before surging up to swallow the gasp from his lips. Greedy, roaming hands travel down his back and remind Sanemi that they’re naked. That everywhere he touches he’ll find soft, pliant skin, and god, he can’t help himself.

He surges into Giyuu like a man starved. Bites his lip and brings him closer. Impossibly closer. Turns their kiss into something filthy. He slides a thick thigh between Giyuu’s legs, pulling him down by the hips to grind into it. A gasp breaks in his mouth—turns into a moan as Sanemi slides his hands to a toned ass and squeezes, pulls him in. A thigh rubbing Sanemi’s dick in retaliation, syrupy tongue licking his lower lip, a pull on white hair. Giyuu truly has a talent for making Sanemi lose his mind. His thoughts are gone so fast that the next thing he knows, Giyuu is wrapped around him, thighs parted and dicks painfully hard rutting against each other—mouths open and gasping, small licks on soft lips.

They really shouldn’t be doing this here, but Sanemi feels intoxicated. Drunk on the liquor of Giyuu’s lips, pleasure sparking in his body as he grinds into him, groaning into cherry lips every time delicate hands leave a new scratch on his back. Giyuu’s gasps and little moans set a fire underneath his skin and, maneuvering himself, he brings a hand to wrap around both their dicks. The lack of sex and excess of work must truly be getting to him because just a tight grip and Giyuu’s pretty cock against his own is enough to make stars spark in his vision. He twists his wrist firmly, pressing Giyuu even harder against the rocks and drinking the wet moan from his mouth.

He gets lost in the monsoon that is having Tomioka Giyuu writhing in his arms, hot cock throbbing between Sanemi’s dick and fingers. A kiss breaking on a moan, Sanemi’s mouth finding snowy skin in a jaw, down a lithe neck to suck and bite. Giyuu’s tiny thrusts against his hand—small, stuttered movements from his lack of purchase, legs tightly wrapped around Sanemi’s waist. Giyuu is alluring, something sacred and divine that renders Sanemi breathless with just a look. Every time they touch is like electricity under his skin, something powerful and unstoppable, like a flood or a typhoon. Sanemi is done trying to fight against the force of nature that is Tomioka Giyuu—he can only give in, accept his fate, and thank him for ruining him a little further each time they meet.

Like a manifestation of Sanemi’s stormy mind, lightning rips through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder so loud their alcove trembles, making Giyuu startle in his arms.

“Sanemi,” he mumbles, placing a hand against Sanemi’s shoulder to gently push him away. “There’s a storm coming.”

“We’re already wet,” Sanemi absently replies, head hazy with arousal as he tries to go back to the rose lips in front of him.

“We’re out in the open,” those lips hiss at him, averting Sanemi’s mouth. “Someone could come.”

Sanemi’s mind takes a few seconds to go back to full function—his brain struggling from all the blood currently residing south. Unfortunately, once it reboots, he realizes that Giyuu has a point. Fucking in the hot springs is a whole new level of stupid, even for them. He lets go of their dicks and distances his face to look at Giyuu.

“You started it,” is what he replies, accusatory tone making Giyuu raise an eyebrow.

“You made it worse.”

“That I did,” a smug look twists Sanemi’s mouth as he wraps both hands on a narrow waist, and Giyuu—in a completely novel reaction—rolls his eyes at him. “What are you so scared of anyway? Becoming gossip material?”

Sanemi was fast in realizing he doesn’t really mind getting it on out in the open, it’s what makes it thrilling. The Corps doesn’t forbid its members from fucking around with each other—they’re all dying anyway—so really, he couldn’t care less. However, if they did get caught and the gossip reached the other Hashira, it would be hell. Iguro would probably try to kill him. Kocho would roast him until the end of his days and Mitsuri would be fucking unbearable about it. Still, while annoying as fuck, it’s nothing that would stop him from killing demons or get him kicked out. But Giyuu has always been extremely reserved, and when they got caught last time, he looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“I don’t care about gossip,” Giyuu hisses, sounding almost offended. “It’s just… vulgar.”

Sanemi huffs. He has to admit that being caught by the oldest lady he ever met wasn’t the highest point of his life. He could admit that—really he could. But why do that when he has the option to annoy Giyuu further?

“I mean, if we were caught,” he starts, holding back a smirk. “It would ruin my reputation, for sure. Making out with a loser is embarrassing—”

Just as Sanemi imagined, those eyes narrow at him in annoyance, small mouth pressed in a thin, disapproving line.

“—but it’s not against the rules, so as long as my dick isn’t fully out I’m good.”

“Are you done?”

“Point is, there’s no one around to see me kissing you, so—”

“Last time there wasn’t either.”

“Well, that didn’t stop you from climbing on my lap dick first did it?” Sanemi throws him a dirty smile and watches happily as Giyuu blushes.

“And I learned my lesson!”

“Says the naked man still wrapped around me,” he adds, sliding his hands from that tiny waist to plump asscheeks. “Admit it, you like the danger,” he throws, fully expecting Giyuu to get pissed and get off of him. What he does instead is blushing furiously and averting his eyes.

“It’s vulgar.”

Sanemi truly, honestly, had every intention of cutting them short and finding somewhere more appropriate to do this. They both have warm, cozy futons waiting for them with a roof above their heads—add that to the fact that sullying a sacred hot spring has got to be bad karma. But Giyuu blushing with a small pout, annoyed at being teased while wrapped around Sanemi’s waist, pretty cock still fully hard, makes it impossible. Giyuu is always irresistible, but this morning he’s especially enticing. A siren who has him wrapped around a delicate finger, ensnaring Sanemi when acting confident and greedy, and hooking him in even more when shy. Always full of contradictions.

“So you say,” Sanemi smirks at him, getting closer to Giyuu’s face until they’re only a breath apart, murmuring in a low voice. “But we both know you like it nasty.”

“I do not—”

Sanemi wipes that lie off Giyuu’s lips with his tongue. A risky move—with Giyuu already irritated and flustered, he could very well just push Sanemi away and leave. But those sugary lips open up to him all the same, that honeyed tongue welcomes him in with a sigh, thighs squeezing Sanemi’s waist. It’s Giyuu who turns their kiss biting, who tangles lithe fingers into Sanemi’s hair to pull him in—and how can Sanemi deny him? He kisses Giyuu like there’s salvation in his lips, pressing him so hard against the rocks it must hurt, but Giyuu only entices him further, small moans and tiny bites on Sanemi’s lips.

The thunderstorm that Sanemi assumed would come later drops out of nowhere, like a gash torn in the sky, heavy clouds collapsing. The siren in his arms doesn’t even notice, too preoccupied with rubbing his pretty cock against Sanemi’s groin and abs. They don’t have long—it’s dangerous to stay out here surrounded by trees in this weather and if they don’t get back soon, someone will come after them. Ignoring his aching cock, Sanemi’s hand goes straight to Giyuu’s dick, red and swollen against his palm. It throbs beautifully when Sanemi starts to jerk him, maneuvering his fist in a way he remembers Giyuu likes. Twist at the tip, thumbing the head before going down to the base with a tight squeeze, over and over again.

Giyuu must be pent-up because he’s quick to lose the ability to kiss Sanemi back, mouth dropping open and head falling back in a beautiful moan. Good. That’s the sight Sanemi longed for the most. Hazy eyes and pinkish skin engulfed in steam, tortured moans tumbling from an open mouth. Completely pliant under Sanemi’s touch, his pleasure a fine-tuned instrument that Sanemi can now play masterfully. Giyuu might still be a foreign tongue to him, but his pleasure is a native language in Sanemi’s mouth. He knows where and how to push, like water inside cupped hands that he can easily mold. Not for long—never for long—but he can mold nonetheless.

At a particularly cruel jerk, Giyuu’s thighs start to shake, his moans getting louder, conveniently muffled by the storm outside their alcove. Sanemi can’t help but fit his face in the curve of a porcelain neck and bite.

“See how you like it?” he teases, going back to their banter even if Giyuu is barely functional now. “You’d let me fuck you right here, right now wouldn’t you?” he murmurs into a flushed ear, proving his point with a series of mean twists of his wrist, watching those pretty lips wobble and eyes roll back. “You’re so desperate for it, you’d let me fuck you on my spit,” he adds, pressing his face into that gorgeous neck, kissing it softly before biting down the skin. “Missed me that much, pretty boy?”

Giyuu, sensitive as always, is nearly delusional from pleasure. He can only moan at Sanemi’s words, mumble incoherencies that are best unheard as his eyes roll back. It drives Sanemi insane, just how quick Giyuu is to give himself to lust, to let it consume him whole. How easily he puts his body in Sanemi’s hands and lets himself be picked apart, bit by bit until there’s nothing left to do but carefully put Giyuu’s pieces back together. It’s thrilling. Addictive.

“Such a pretty thing, all wrapped up around me,” he mumbles into alabaster skin and feels the telltale throb of Giyuu’s dick in his hand, the thighs around him shaking minutely. “You gonna come, moonshine?”

“Yes— Sanemi, ah!” Giyuu’s babbles echo in their alcove and Sanemi jerks him harder, tighter, up until the hands scratching his back draw blood, and his moans turn into silent, open-mouthed screams. He drives Giyuu to the edge, a hair’s breadth away from tipping over, and then lets him go.

The broken wail that comes out of Giyuu’s mouth goes straight to Sanemi’s dick. So does the livid look thrown at him—his eyes even bluer when he’s angry. Before Giyuu can scream at him to finish his job, Sanemi pulls the thighs around his waist and pries them open, taking a deep breath before submerging. Giyuu is probably considering drowning him, but before he gives in to temptation, Sanemi hooks his legs over his shoulders and, using his hand to hold Giyuu’s length, swallows that cock as far as it can go.

Even underwater, he can hear the scream that is torn out of his siren’s lips. He tastes like hot spring sulfur and skin, his weight and girth perfect in Sanemi’s mouth. He doesn’t waste time considering his impulsiveness—he never sucked dick before and doing so underwater isn’t the brightest idea, but Giyuu feels amazing on his tongue. That gorgeous, throbbing dick is so hot in his mouth that Sanemi doesn’t think twice before deciding he’ll suck Giyuu dry. He bobs his head eagerly, using his tongue to press firmly against the underside, teasing at the head when he draws back, cheeks hollowed for pressure. Giyuu moans so loud that Sanemi can still hear him, and when shaky fingers tangle in his hair to pull him in, he doubles his bet. He opens his throat, making way for Giyuu’s cock, and takes him until his nose is flush with his groin before pulling back. He sets a fast pace—going down until that long dick is choking him and bobbing his head. Giyuu is on the verge of orgasm, thighs shaking on Sanemi's shoulders, hand gripping his hair hard. Greedy and lightheaded, Sanemi slides his hands around Giyuu’s ass, pulling him in and spreading him open. He finds the furled skin of his hole with his index finger, rubbing it before dipping the tip inside.

Giyuu doesn’t even have time to warm him. Sanemi pulls an orgasm out of him so fast that he almost chokes when the first spurt hits the back of his throat. He holds Giyuu’s thighs flush on his shoulders and lifts him, just enough to get his face out of the water so he can look at the nymph shaking above him. Sanemi bobs his head, sucks him harder, and swallows everything Giyuu has to give. He tastes like seawater, something heady and powerful on Sanemi’s tongue. Giyuu’s abs and legs quiver above him like an earthquake, mouth open on tortured moans as Sanemi drinks the shockwaves of his orgasm. Hazy blue eyes lock on his, a firm hand gripping white hair tight. Sanemi sucks him avidly, until the moans turn into pained whimpers. He only stops when a broken voice starts begging sweet pleas of ‘please, Sanemi, enough—’, the sound like a melody in his ears.

He pulls away from Giyuu’s cock, letting it fall limp against his cheek and smirks. Giyuu watches him wide-eyed, heaving breaths and shaky hand on Sanemi’s hair.

“Holy shit Sanemi,” he mutters, and the swearing is so out of character that Sanemi huffs a laugh against his thigh. He unhooks trembling legs from his shoulders and gets up, supporting Giyuu by his waist.

“What? You thought I’d let you come inside a hot spring?” he smirks at him and watches Giyuu flush even deeper. “You really are nasty.”

“God just— shut up!” Giyuu stammers and covers his face with both hands, something so absurdly adorable that Sanemi can only smile at him like a smitten fool.

“Why are you hiding? You had your dick down my throat just seconds ago,” he teases, his bulky, calloused hands going up to engulf slim, delicate wrists, and pull them away from Giyuu’s flushed face. He places Giyuu’s hands on his shoulders and brings his own to cup pink cheeks. “Come here,” he adds, bending down to kiss those tantalizing lips.

Giyuu doesn’t mind tasting himself on Sanemi’s tongue, opening his pretty mouth to give himself to a slow kiss that tears at Sanemi’s chest.

“We should go before they come for us,” Sanemi whispers into soft lips, parting with a small bite. The storm is still raging and the wind is picking up—they’ll be freezing by the time they make it to the dorms, but it’s not like they aren’t used to being under the weather. He pulls Giyuu by the hand to guide him away from their alcove and out of the pool, but the man resists him, fixing him with a shy look and the tiniest pout.

“My legs are wobbly,” he mumbles bashfully and Sanemi barks a laugh. Giyuu is being dramatic—he’s a warrior for fucks sake, but Sanemi lets him have it.

“The infamous Water Hashira, defeated by a blow job,” he teases him with a smile, hands going back to Giyuu’s waist. “Better start catching up before I break you, pretty boy,” he smirks, watching that pout get pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

“Never mind, we can leave,” Giyuu deadpans and pushes him away, his petty annoyance incredibly amusing to Sanemi.

The rain is freezing, and so are their soaked yukatas. The path is slippery and Sanemi tells himself that’s the only reason why he allows Giyuu to lace their hands—nothing to do with ocean eyes looking at him in anticipation as he extends his hand. He tells himself that the warmth of Giyuu’s hand in his doesn’t make his heart stutter, that this somehow doesn’t feel more intimate than everything else they have done. He swears that Giyuu’s giddy smile at being rained on—looking up at the sky pouring the first rain of the year—doesn’t make his heart run away from his chest.

As they walk, shoulders brushing and hands laced, Sanemi remembers his mother weaving silk threads late at night to sell kumihimo cords over the weekend. It fascinated him, watching her hunched over the marudai, weaving several tama spools into beautiful, intricate threads. She used to mumble a happy tune as she did it, often stopping to chastise him for being up so late. After giving up—Sanemi refused to go to bed if she wasn’t resting—she used to tell him tales about how the kumihimo carries a deeper meaning. How life is a woven cord, full of twists and turns that oftentimes seem meaningless, but when put together, create something beautiful. She’d go on about how some people’s fates are tied together by a red kumihimo string, the twined silk unbreakable, lives woven so tightly that they can’t be pulled apart. Something indivisible.

He has no idea why lacing his fingers with Giyuu makes him think of kumihimo of all things. Still, it’s a fond memory that rarely resurfaces, and Sanemi is thankful for it. He looks down at their hands—Giyuu’s is smaller and delicate, engulfed by the breadth of his tanner skin. Giyuu’s hand is just as calloused from sword training, but his fingers are slender and elegant—hands that weren’t made to wield a sword in an endless war, but somehow found themselves fighting it all the same. When he looks back up, Giyuu is watching him, small smile on his lips that Sanemi can’t help but mirror.

Giyuu only lets go of his hand once they’re back in the Village, walking side by side to the dorms. The hosts fuzz over them with towels and the offer of a bath but Giyuu fixes him with a look—cerulean eyes cutting right through him, a fatal blow to Sanemi’s heart and mind because he can read him perfectly.

We’re not done yet.

So, as Giyuu turns and leaves for his bedroom, Sanemi stays thanking the hosts for the towels and explaining they’ll just dry themselves and rest for the afternoon. He’ll ask for food once he’s hungry but otherwise, to not disturb either of them.

He trails wet footprints to a bedroom in front of his, sliding the door to find Giyuu completely naked, toweling himself dry. His room is a mirror image of Sanemi’s, with a writing desk under the window, and a spacious futon. Sanemi walks to a hook where he can hang his yukata and peels the wet fabric off his skin with a curse. The moment his body is in full display, Giyuu stops drying his hair to fixedly watch, eyes drinking Sanemi’s defined body. His ogling always feels like a burn on Sanemi’s skin, wanting eyes raising goosebumps everywhere that heated gaze touches. Suddenly in a hurry, Sanemi makes quick work of drying himself, not bothering to hide the fact that he’s at half mast just from Giyuu’s blatant staring.

“Like what you see?” he throws a smirk, the words ringing like deja vu.

“Yes,” Giyuu smiles, mirth in his voice. “And so do you.”

Ah. Sanemi thinks, an odd fondness tugging at his heartstrings. He remembers it too.

“Well, it’s not so bad,” he replies and watches Giyuu's smile grow.

“I thought I was nasty,” Giyuu teases him, soft smile turning into a dangerous smirk as he walks towards Sanemi like a vixen, a predator stalking its prey. Sanemi should be used to the chase by now—he always ends up victimized by ocean eyes and pomegranate lips—but he’s still rendered speechless with just a heated look.

Despite their previous tumbles, Sanemi has never seen Giyuu’s naked body so clearly, displayed under soft light like precious porcelain. He’s utterly stunned by the toned body walking towards him, all slender muscles and alabaster skin. An otherworldly sight that leaves Sanemi frozen, suspended in time—an easy target in his siren’s hunt. His damp, ebony hair falls in unruly waves against Giyuu’s chest, tips grazing dusty nipples, and Sanemi's eyes travel down muscled abs to a soft cock nested in sparse hair. His thighs are strong and calves defined, soft skin everywhere he looks. Sanemi is so overwhelmed that he can only hide his smitten gasp and try to put his mouth back to work.

“You are,” he responds, hoping he’s still making sense, and swallows a thickness in his throat, trying to ground himself against the onslaught of Giyuu’s tides. “But I like you nasty.”

A flash of want shines in cerulean blue. Good. Sanemi’s brain functions are mostly gone, but their chase is still a game for two.

“You sure do,” Giyuu retorts, his teasing tone and piercing gaze stirring Sanemi’s want. He stops right in front of him, face only a breath away and Sanemi has to fight a shiver from crawling up his spine. He’s dealt with Giyuu playing dirty before, he shouldn’t be anxious over the prospect of fucking. But the glint in that sapphire gaze is different—mischievous—as he takes Sanemi by the hand and, without a word, walks him to the writing desk.

“Want me to fuck you against the window, pretty boy?” Sanemi mouths off, voice a low rumble, going for Giyuu’s weak spot. “Or you'd rather I bend you over that desk?” he smirks when Giyuu looks back at him with an eyebrow raised. Not being baited that easy, it seems. The storm is still raging outside, the sound of the raindrops against the window nearly deafening in the quiet room. Giyuu lets go of his hand to pull back the chair and look expectantly at him.

“Sit,” Giyuu orders and Sanemi lifts an eyebrow, smirking at his boldness.

“Ordering me around now, huh? Fuck a pretty boy once—”

“Shut up and sit down, Sanemi.”

Well, fuck. Giyuu sounding so bossy shouldn’t make him this horny, but that’s a thought for another day. Looking at him with defiance in his eyes—so at least a sliver of his dignity remains intact—Sanemi sits his naked ass in the chair and throws him a challenging look.

It all happens too fast for his brain to register. One second Giyuu is standing in front of him and the other, he’s dropping down to his knees and prying Sanemi’s thighs open. Every single function in his brain freezes.

“The fuck you doing?” his mouth babbles on reflex, but Giyuu doesn’t dignify him with an answer. He fits himself between Sanemi’s thighs and gently caresses them up, hands stopping close to his groin as he watches the dick in front of him grow hard. Sanemi doesn’t have to be touched beyond that—just the view, the mere idea that Giyuu and his pretty mouth are about to blow him, puts him in a frenzy. He tries to get his breathing under control, to will himself to stay calm, but then a dainty hand wraps itself around his cock and Giyuu looks up, sapphire eyes nearly obsidian with want. Fuck. He’s definitely embarrassing himself. There’s no way Sanemi is lasting more than a minute when Giyuu looks like he’s about to eat him alive.

“I’m catching up,” that tantalizing mouth purrs, right before planting a small kiss on the tip of his cock.

Sanemi nearly faints at the view. He is well aware that his dick is above average in size, but seeing it so close to Giyuu’s face, against his small mouth, drives him insane. It will be a stretch for Giyuu to fit his girth and Sanemi has to will himself to calm the fuck down and let Giyuu take his time. He pins his hips to the chair to avoid thrusting up and watches—mesmerized, stupefied, absolutely starstruck—as Giyuu licks the head, hot tongue on delicate skin, making a show of tasting his precome, dark eyes fixed on his.

Fuck.

His life is gonna be so ruined after this.

He gasps when those red lips part and wrap around his cock—just the head, not too much, and yet. Giyuu’s mouth is soft and hot, so hot around him that he’s sure he could come with just this—luscious mouth sucking his tip like candy. God, if this is the kind of retaliation he gets for teasing Giyuu, Sanemi is sure to do it more often.

He doesn’t look like he has a lot of practice—and thank god for that. Sanemi is almost coming undone with the tentative bobs of his head, mouth dropping halfway on his cock and going back, hot tongue running on his slit. No matter how many times Sanemi has gotten his dick sucked, nothing ever felt like this. Giyuu’s mouth feels divine, an embrace of warm velvet sparking pleasure like electricity under his skin. A different kind of lust, unlike the possessive greed Sanemi feels when he has Giyuu in his hands. This time the tables are turned, and Giyuu is the one tearing him apart.

Once confident enough, Giyuu starts taking him deeper, lips sliding freely against the spit he left on Sanemi’s dick, down until the tip hits his throat and Sanemi whines pathetically, toes curling and hand coming to tangle in unruly black hair. Giyuu doesn’t gag, doesn’t pull back—he simply bobs his head eagerly, letting the head of Sanemi’s cock hit his throat again and again. Sanemi loses his bearings fast, pulling at raven hair to ground himself, trying to hold back from moaning desperately. He tugs a little too hard, and instead of pulling away, Giyuu looks up at him and moans, making vibrations travel on Sanemi’s cock. He gasps out a curse, hand gripping inky locks harder. It’s torture. It’s pure bliss. Having Tomioka Giyuu on his knees, vivid blue eyes burning with want, sweet lips stretched around his cock is unreal. A sight out of the wet dreams Sanemi had countless times. Something he would never dare ask for. Absolutely maddening.

“That fucking mouth of yours— god—” Sanemi pants, so overwhelmed that his mouth barely functions beyond panting gasps.

Giyuu preens at Sanemi’s struggle, watching his cues to come up with a rhythm that absolutely destroys him. Hollowed cheeks on the way up, a flick of his tongue on the head, and down in one go, taking all that will fit in that tiny mouth of his. The hand that’s keeping Sanemi’s cock in place starts jerking him at the base, and Sanemi nearly buckles, treacherous mouth falling open on a husky moan. The noise is muffled by the storm outside, but the menace between his legs hears it perfectly. Hazy azure eyes turning into a hungry, devilish look, mouth pressing against his cock and hand jerking him harder. Sanemi won’t survive this. He pants miserably, torn between watching every second of that drooling mouth around his cock, and averting his gaze to make it last a little longer.

Whoever thinks that getting a blow job is a power move, was obviously never blown by Tomioka Giyuu. Sanemi is helpless, completely vulnerable as Giyuu wrecks him.

He builds a smooth rhythm only to break it, alternating between fast, hard sucks and slow, gentle bobs, the whiplash of sensations making Sanemi’s legs shake. At a particularly cruel pause, Sanemi surges up, stopping himself with a groan before he makes Giyuu gag. The siren kneeling in front of him stops, both hands coming to pin Sanemi by the hips, blue eyes burning with a danger he has never seen before. Holding his gaze, Giyuu sinks until Sanemi feels resistance against the head of his cock, mouth dropping with a mumbled curse. Giyuu breathes through his nose, adjusts his jaw, and suddenly the resisting wall relaxes, allowing his cock to slide further, beyond the tight clasp of Giyuu’s throat. He sinks down, slowly bobs his head until his nose nestles in the white hairs of Sanemi’s groin and tears shine in blue eyes. Sanemi watches in awe as a tear rolls down Giyuu’s cheek, a pearl traveling flushed skin. He’s struggling with Sanemi’s length. It must be hard to breathe like that —throat full of thick cock—but Giyuu is nothing if not persistent. Once his throat is loose enough, he bobs his head again, pulling until the head of Sanemi’s dick is trapped between swollen lips and then plunging down to take him whole, over and over again.

Seeing his cock completely disappear inside that mouth, the tightness of Giyuu’s throat, the heat and wetness of it- it’s too much. Sanemi feels like he’s about to ascend into a different plane, pleasure spiking so fast that he lets go of his dignity and moans freely. Tearful eyes lock back on his—pupils so large they’re almost black—and with a determined look, Giyuu takes him whole and swallows.

His orgasm hits him like a sledgehammer. Something unstoppable, blindsiding. He doesn’t have the time to brace himself, much less to warn Giyuu—who chokes a bit in surprise and ends up pulling out to breathe. Spurts of cum hit his face, across his nose, cheek, and lips before Giyuu opens his mouth to take the rest of Sanemi’s load on his tongue. Sanemi uses the last functions of his brain to grip his hair and angle his face, jerking himself through the aftershocks of the wildest orgasm in his life. Giyuu gladly takes it all, cum pooling on his tongue, sapphire eyes hazy as he looks up at him. A sight so filthy, so debauched that Sanemi feels dizzy.

Tomioka Giyuu, with wet blue eyes and tear-streaked face, flushed to his chest and open mouth full of cum. Dreamy face covered in the ribbons of Sanemi’s spend. He doesn’t seem bothered by the mess, and once he’s sure Sanemi is watching, that pretty mouth closes and he swallows everything.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

“Fuck,” Sanemi mumbles, panting miserably as his head swims. “You’re trying to kill me,” his hand is still buried in Giyuu’s hair and he feels like he can’t move at all. He shouldn’t have teased Giyuu for his wobbly legs. Sanemi is sure he can’t even stand right now.

“Maybe a little,” comes a smug reply, and despite having his face covered in come, Giyuu looks as stunning as ever. Confidence is such a good look on him.

Sanemi feels like his body has melted into the chair. Giyuu looking up at him with that gorgeous face covered in his spend makes him oddly possessive. A stupid and dangerous feeling of ownership over the angel still kneeling between his thighs. Coming on his face feels like a claim, and that’s a ridiculous thought to have. Giyuu doesn’t belong to him any more than a tide belongs to a shore; he comes and goes at his own will, mood as reactive as the sea is to the moon. But Sanemi is beyond denying that he wants Tomioka Giyuu. He wants all of him and fool as he may be, he’s not stupid. He knows he’ll never have him—doesn’t deserve someone like Giyuu, and he’ll spare himself the heartache of even trying. No matter the reason, the result is still the same. They have more important things to do, a war to die fighting.

Putting those thoughts away, Sanemi slides his hand from the top of Giyuu’s head to his nape, nudging him up and bending down to lick the come across his lips. He swallows the surprised gasp from that pretty mouth as he dives into a kiss, slow and unhurried, tasting himself on that tongue, relishing in the only claim he’ll ever have on the angelic creature kissing him back.

“Who’s nasty now?” the nymph teases into his lips and Sanemi smiles.

“Never said I wasn’t,” he answers, parting the kiss to plant a long, wet lick on Giyuu’s cheek, cleaning another patch of skin, unbothered with the bitterness of his own spend.

“Stop,” Giyuu warns, but his voice is full of mirth, small smile on his lips. He tries to avert Sanemi’s attack, but only really pushes him away after he places a small bite on his nose. “You’re disgusting,” he lets a tiny giggle escape and Sanemi’s heart flies away from him. That small laugh, soft like wind-chime, never fails to make him breathless. A sound and sight so rare that he can’t help but kiss those lips again in adoration.

Giyuu welcomes him tenderly, the same mouth that drowned Sanemi in pleasure now feeding him sweet affection. A lovely illusion against Sanemi’s lips. Once his siren decides he’s done indulging him, he pushes Sanemi away and goes clean himself in a basin at the corner of the room. Sanemi watches him from the chair, too tired—too fucked out, really—to go after him. His orgasm made him fuzzy and combined with his exhaustion, he’s honestly ready for a nap. He watches as Giyuu finishes cleaning his face and opens a small closet, rummaging until he finds what he’s looking for. He shoots Sanemi with one of those looks and pulls out a vial of oil, raising an eyebrow at him in question.

Well. Sanemi can sleep when he’s dead.

His reply is a simple smirk, using his forefinger to beckon the beauty that is Tomioka Giyuu back to him. Long legs stroll back slowly, a self-satisfied smile on cherry lips. Sanemi can’t even tell him to wipe that pride off his face—he did suck his brains out through his dick, after all. Blue eyes shine with beguilement when he stands in front of him—a gleam that can only mean danger. In the blink of an eye, Giyuu makes himself comfortable in Sanemi’s lap, straddling him on the chair with that smile and amused sapphire eyes. Slender hands come to scarred shoulders, going around Sanemi’s nape to play with his hair, faces mere inches apart.

“The infamous Wind Hashira,” he starts with a purr close to his lips. “Defeated by a blow job,” Giyuu smirks, never wasting an opportunity to get back at Sanemi’s teasing.

Raising his eyebrows, Sanemi can only huff at the audacity. He has no clue what happened to Tomioka Giyuu today. He knows he’s sassy and blunt when he wants to be, but today he’s talkative and confident, seductive in a way Sanemi can’t guard himself against. If before Giyuu could tempt him with just a look, now he’s aiming for overkill, combining all of Sanemi’s weaknesses and using them against him. Even worse, he’s doing it on purpose, falling into the fitting role of a tempting siren. Going in for the kill, no room for running.

Ha. Sanemi is so screwed.

“You’re such a little shit,” Sanemi breathes, a charmed smile on his lips as he looks up to the menace sitting atop him. He brings his hands to soft thighs and caresses up the curves of Giyuu’s hips, settling in the valley of his waist.

“Just pointing out your hypocrisy,” the little smirk is still in Giyuu’s mouth, a bratty tenacity that Sanemi is sure he’ll fuck out of him soon enough.

“Keep sassing me like that and I might leave you with a limp,” he warns, hypnotized by ocean eyes darkening and a smirk turning predatory with want. He should know better than to threaten Giyuu with a good time.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” the vixen murmurs, lips coming close enough to graze against his. “You can fuck as many times you want and we’ll see how I’m walking tomorrow,” doe blue eyes blink at him in such a coy act that Sanemi narrows his eyes. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.”

Sanemi should be used to this little game of theirs by now. Giyuu teasing him into an animalistic fuck should be old news.

But he’s still a fool for those foxy blue eyes, and no matter how many times Giyuu sets the same trap, he’ll step on it anyway. Eagerly so.

Fingers threading in ebony hair, he surges forward and devours that pretty mouth, still a deep shade of red. Sanemi pulls him in, groans when the fingers in his nape start pulling at his hair, drinks Giyuu’s sweetness straight from his tongue. Despite blowing Sanemi to the next dimension, Giyuu is obviously not done with him, kissing back in hunger, placing small bites on his tongue and lips. Sanemi wonders if this will ever get old, if he’ll ever grow tired of having Giyuu like this. He doubts it. Too much of a smitten idiot to ever tire of having an angel in his arms. Without breaking the kiss, he hoists Giyuu by the waist and stands, setting his siren on the edge of the writing desk. Ivory thighs part further, a space perfectly crafted for him, and everything turns into a blur.

Sanemi goes for the oil and, too distracted by honey lips, spills it over the desk. He gathers what he can and fingers Giyuu open, deep and unrelenting, teetering on the edge of too much. He breaks the kiss and pushes Giyuu to lie down, spread on the table like an offering, a forbidden meal. Deep, bottomless eyes watch him as the storm outside rages on, lightning illuminating milky skin, precome shining where it’s smeared below a belly button, flushed cock weeping in arousal. Sanemi has traced a map of Giyuu’s body, star-guided by sweet reactions, and knows where to find all the places that make his siren jolt in pleasure. He brings a porcelain leg to fold over his shoulder, opening him further, and angles his fingers up, thrusting mercilessly against a tiny lump. And jolt beautifully he does, back bowing like an instrument, cherry lips dropping open like ripe fruit on sobbed moans and sweet pleas. Beautiful. Breathtaking.

“Fuck— right there—” Giyuu wheezes, always so sensitive, so fast in getting desperate.

“Shh, I know sweetheart, relax,” Sanemi whispers, free hand caressing the leg hanging onto him, watching that dazzling body bloom with a heady flush. God, he’ll never get tired of this.

Despite his mindblowing orgasm, the tightness around his digits and the stunning body writhing in front of him are more than enough to get his dick going again. Giyuu is so fucking tight that Sanemi has to work him until his legs are shaking and he’s begging to be fucked. He scissors his fingers and watches that pink, furled hole fight against the stretch. When he finally manages to add a third finger and fuck him smoothly, Giyuu is done waiting.

“It’s enough,” those eyes burn through him. “Just fuck me, now.”

“So demanding,” Sanemi huffs as he pulls his fingers out, face burying in a strong, white calf and biting down before unhooking it from his shoulder. “Turn over pretty boy,” he grunts, voice thick with want, stepping back so Giyuu can hop down the table. “Let’s make a real mess of this shitty desk.”

Giyuu doesn’t argue, too eager to get fucked. He bends himself over the tabletop, laying his head against his folded forearms, and shoots Sanemi with a molten look over his shoulders.

“You have a thing for bending me over, don’t you?”

Sanemi isn’t sure if he’s trying to sass him again, but his voice is husk and he sounds so fucked out that he doesn’t even care. He caresses down Giyuu’s spine and grabs his asscheeks, spreading him open to watch that sweet, oily hole twitch at him.

“What can I say,” he grunts distantly, too busy drinking the sight. “It’s a hell of a view.”

He doesn’t wait for Giyuu to come up with a reply, oiling himself and slowly pressing in, one hand holding his dick by the base and another spreading Giyuu open so he can watch. It’s indeed a hell of a view. The swollen head of his cock breaking Giyuu open, pushing past that tiny hole. It’s intoxicating. So are Giyuu’s gasps when Sanemi manages to push through the tight ring of muscle, turning into open moans when he slowly sinks in fully.

Giyuu is so tight that it feels like Sanemi’s dick might be snapped in half. Even after being worked open it’s still too fucking much. With a deep breath, Sanemi bends himself over a muscled back, forehead resting between sharp shoulder blades as he waits for Giyuu’s body to relax. He doesn’t think he was this tight even when they fucked for the first time. Sanemi caresses his waist, a hand coming up to comb inky locks of unruly hair away from Giyuu’s nape. He fits himself there, nuzzles his nose against soft skin, and breathes musky sea smell. He kisses Giyuu’s spine and hears him sigh against the wood.

“You need to relax, moonshine,” he murmurs into his skin, caressing Giyuu’s sides. “You’re doing so good for me, all nice and tight, but you need to relax,” at the praise Giyuu relaxes a little, but still nowhere near enough for Sanemi to move without hurting him.

“You’re too- fucking big,” Giyuu hisses at him with narrowed eyes, clearly annoyed at his own struggle.

“I know, but you can take it, can’t you?” Sanemi purrs, fitting his face in the crook of Giyuu’s neck, kissing up his earlobe. Giyuu isn’t the only one with an arsenal of low blows, and Sanemi isn’t ashamed of using them. “You always take me so well,” he adds, hot breath making goosebumps rise on porcelain skin. “Like you were made for me.”

Giyuu breathes slowly as Sanemi peppers him with small kisses and caresses. It doesn’t take long until Sanemi feels the vice trapping his cock slowly relax enough for him to risk a few shallow thrusts.

“That’s it, there we go sweetheart,” he praises, absolutely elated at how Giyuu completely melts with appreciation. Sanemi is sure to drown him in compliments more often. “I’ll fuck you so good,” he whispers and bites that sweet nape, finally able to move beyond a shallow grind, drinking the small gasp that echoes in his ears.

“You— better,” he gasps out, still looking over his shoulder to watch as Sanemi’s lavender eyes darken.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Sanemi bites into his ear before lifting away from warm skin, starting to thrust in tandem. Once he can finally move smoothly, he pulls out until only the tip rests inside, and thrusts back hard. He’s quick in setting a fevered rhythm, fucking Giyuu deep and fast, a hand pinning him by the shoulder against the wood and another holding his hips up. This time, Giyuu skips the quiet whimpers and goes straight to the desperate, loud moans that Sanemi loves so much.

“Har- harder,” comes a moaned order between thrusts, and the rest of Sanemi's restraint finally snaps.

“You’re such a fucking brat today. Want the entire village to hear you crying on my cock?” He aims his hips, thrusting a few times before getting that spot right and mercilessly abusing it, reveling in the way Giyuu’s entire body shakes. Sanemi is quick to be blinded by greed, deafened by the loud moans and pleas. He wants to brand Giyuu’s skin, merge their bodies together so he can never leave. Sanemi wants to leave claim after claim, crack the shape of his hands on priceless porcelain. Before he thinks any better, his hand comes down on Giyuu’s ass, slapping him hard. The noise is like a lightning strike, only lower in volume than the moan that follows. Sanemi blinks a few times, surprised by the visceral reaction, hips stuttering in his movements.

“Fuck, Sanemi— more—” Giyuu sobs for it, and Sanemi’s lust-addled brain takes about two seconds to decide that Giyuu can take it.

“Shit,” he grunts, stunned at the revelation, keeping his hips aimed as he caresses the redness in Giyuu’s asscheek before testing the waters with a brutal slap, grabbing the supple skin.

At another splitting moan and a garbled, barely intelligible string of ‘yesses’, his mind goes completely blank, not a single blood cell left in his brain. He has never been this hard in his entire life. Sanemi doesn’t know if it’s the spanking or if it’s simply Tomioka fucking Giyuu and his never-ending spell, but he feels like he’s lit up, entire body burning as pleasure wracks through him. He doesn’t know what it is about him that makes Sanemi come alive, lost in a wildfire, scorched to the bones before Giyuu’s embrace drowns him in his depths only to set him ablaze again. He sets a cruel pace of fucking Giyuu senseless until those long legs start shaking and his moans turn to sobs, then slows his thrusts to spank his ass with a sharp slap, over and over again. Sanemi keenly watches for discomfort, but Giyuu seems completely blissed out from the ache.

May god have mercy on him with the knowledge that Tomioka Giyuu has not only a thing for praise but also for pain. Sanemi is so fucking screwed.

“You’re fucking lucky it’s pouring outside,” he grunts, idly caressing a red asscheek, angry palm prints layered on marble skin. Giyuu shakes against him, the soothing touch making him melt right before Sanemi’s palm descends on him again, a sobbing moan tearing out of his lips. “Anyone could stop and listen to you moaning like a slut,” Sanemi adds, trying to hold himself together as he goes back to thrusting fiercely. “The stone-cold Water Hashira, writhing on my cock, begging for a beating.”

Giyuu’s attitude is long gone by now, and Sanemi watches eagerly as he unravels against the tabletop, ass clutching him like a vice at the words. He looks stunning. Out of this world. Red mouth dropped open, ocean eyes hazy, hands scraping the wood, hair fallen around him like spilled ink. Sanemi’s toes curl into the floor, pleasure laying wreckage upon him. He fucks Giyuu hard, spanks him harder, and notices the moment his siren crosses a threshold on his consciousness. An invisible line that makes his eyes go unfocused and moans go silent, only small sobs and whimpers getting past his lips, body going completely limp. Sanemi slows down— to a whimpered protest—, and bends himself over him again, fucking Giyuu in deep grinds as he fits his mouth on the curve of his neck.

“Look at you,” he purrs against flushed skin. “You’re so perfect,” a small bite on a milky shoulder, another whimper. A barely audible ‘please’ and mumbled nonsenses as Sanemi envelopes Giyuu in his arms and lifts him up like a ragdoll. He holds the limp body against him until Giyuu gathers himself enough to stand, and fits his face in the curve of alabaster neck, thrusts slowly picking up the pace. Shaky hands come up to grab at Sanemi’s arms, his nape, anything to ground himself as small sobs fall from pink lips. Despite shaking like a leaf against him, and clamping Sanemi’s dick hard enough to drive him crazy, Giyuu is taking longer than usual to tip over. It’s like he’s holding himself on the edge of a blade, avoiding the monumental fall from the cliff Sanemi put him in. If this was any other day, Sanemi would let Giyuu take his time, spank him as many times as he wants, fuck him from dusk to dawn. But he’s holding by a thread. Sensitive after an orgasm and overwhelmed by the body unraveling in front of him, Sanemi decides to speed things up a bit.

“Look up, Giyuu,” he grunts into a soft ear, getting his siren’s attention. “We’re right in front of the window,” he whispers, reveling at the gasped-out sob that comes from Giyuu’s mouth. He eagerly watches as realization dawns on him, looking out the window to the storm outside. “You're putting on quite the show, moonshine,” he bites a flushed lobe, a hand sliding to a dusty nipple to lightly pinch at it. He fucks him nice and deep, the angle so good that Sanemi’s own hands start shaking. “Maybe some lucky guy is out in the rain, watching your little spectacle,” Sanemi murmurs in a hoarse voice, other hand going down to a poor, swollen cock, soaked in precome. Giyuu is so sensitive that he keens at the touch, body going rigid as he hisses. “You cry so pretty for me, sweetheart.”

“Sanemi— please—” comes a sob, so miserable he almost pities him.

“Please what, moonshine?” he asks, starting to jerk his siren in tandem with his thrusts, nearly blind from pleasure, the lights in the room swimming in Sanemi’s vision.

“Please, please let me cum,” Giyuu mumbles, a string of gasped-out words that Sanemi picks by some miracle.

Realization hits him like a freight train. Giyuu hasn’t finished yet because he’s waiting for Sanemi’s permission. Mind drowned so deep that he inadvertently gave Sanemi full control of himself—his body and pleasure. All Sanemi’s to do as he pleases.

Holy fucking shit.

For the second time that day, Sanemi feels on the verge of passing out. Tomioka Giyuu is a box full of surprises, an endless enigma carefully crafted to lay him into ruin. Bury him alive at the bottom ocean eyes, never to resurface again. Deciding to reward his angel for the precious gift—one he’s utterly undeserving of—Sanemi mouths at his neck, biting and sucking as he fucks Giyuu harder and jerks him faster.

“Fuck, you did so good, moonshine,” he gasps into Giyuu’s skin, voice hoarse at the edge of orgasm. “You can come anytime you want.”

The second Sanemi finishes the sentence, Giyuu wails and clamps down on him, back bowing beautifully against his chest. Sanemi can barely move, slowing to a grind as his orgasm is mercilessly pulled out of him, throbbing into velvet vice, filling it up with his seed. Giyuu cries and shakes against his arms, coming all over the desk as Sanemi jerks and fucks him through, running purely on instinct. He cums so hard that he goes completely slack against Sanemi, who has just enough brain power not to let Giyuu collapse on the tatami floor. He plants his feet and wraps his arms around Giyuu’s waist, gluing them back to chest, panting in exertion against his neck.

Giyuu heaves so loud that Sanemi worries he might have overdone it. But then, shaky hands caress Sanemi’s arms, face turning towards him. Giyuu must still be out of it because he gently nuzzles against white, disheveled hair, placing a kiss on the corner of Sanemi’s lips when he lifts his face to look at him. Sapphire eyes are wet and hazy, a languidness in his face that Sanemi marvels at. He kisses those lips properly, a small, chaste thing before burying his face into Giyuu’s neck again and pulling out.

“You okay?” He asks when that adorable scrunch comes back to Giyuu’s nose. He simply nods in assent, weight still resting against Sanemi’s chest.

“Tired,” Giyuu mumbles with a sigh, and Sanemi hums in agreement. He has been running on fumes since he arrived. “Take me to bed.”

“You want me to carry you?” Sanemi snickers at him, enraptured by Giyuu’s afterglow charm. “Your futon is five steps away.”

“Don’t care,” he mutters, groggy and lethargic, so detached from reality that he pouts, turning in Sanemi’s arms to lay his forehead against his shoulder and wrap limp arms around his neck. Sanemi folds embarrassingly fast.

“Fine, princess,” he concedes, feigning annoyance. “I’ll carry your lazy ass,” he chuckles when Giyuu looks up at him in surprise. Unbeknownst to him, Sanemi isn’t letting go of all of his dignity like that. He spares himself the embarrassment of bridal carrying a fucked out Tomioka Giyuu, crouching just enough to throw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Hey!”

“You said ‘take me to bed’, I’m taking you to bed,” he teases, slapping his red asscheek as he walks to the futon and unceremoniously throws Giyuu on it. He hits the mattress with a huff, looking indignantly at him.

“You’re horrible,” Giyuu pouts at him like a child and Sanemi tries to keep himself from melting at the cuteness.

“You knew that already, moonshine,” he throws back, watching those eyes light up at the slipped pet name. Sanemi doesn’t blush, too used to his mouth speaking without his consent, but it is embarrassing to call Tomioka Giyuu ‘moonshine’ when his dick is no longer inside him. “Begged me to fuck you anyway,” he adds, trying to save a sliver of face.

This time, the annoyed look and pressed lips don’t come back at his taunt. Giyuu may be flying in endorphins, but he’s still sharp enough to see right through Sanemi’s bullshit. He spreads himself lazily on the futon, looking at him with shiny eyes and a soft smile that strips Sanemi bare. Completely incapacitated by his orgasm, his exhaustion, and the affectionate look in Giyuu’s eyes, Sanemi is unable to keep himself from yearning. Giyuu is sweet, teasing, and even funny when he wants to be. He’s so much more than the cold indifference he puts out in public. Sanemi spent years completely unaware of the wonders Giyuu kept buried deep inside, behind thick icy walls. He looks at the angel before him, languid and soft, skin shining with sweat, mussed hair everywhere as he watches Sanemi under thick lashes, eyes droopy and tired.

Sanemi’s heart lurches in his chest. What an odd twist of fate. Finding yourself enamored by someone you always thought to hate.

He shakes himself out of his smitten haze when Giyuu extends a hand towards him—a siren’s call, unstoppable, inevitable. Sanemi goes, lays down in a sweet embrace, and makes himself at home in a place where he doesn’t belong. He revels in warm arms and rose lips, a languid, slow kiss. They’re both too tired to do anything but bask in each other’s warmth and offer small kisses, foreheads and noses touching in dangerous affection.

Heart dancing in his chest and breath stolen away, Sanemi pulls Giyuu into his arms, lets his sleepy siren drape himself over him. The thunderstorm outside has lulled into a light shower, the melody of the raindrops the only sound in the room as he runs his fingers through silky raven locks. The soothing rain and careful caresses put Giyuu to sleep against his chest, and despite being exhausted himself, Sanemi lingers. Watches the young, delicate face relax before him. Tomioka Giyuu in the afterglow always feels like an arrow through his heart, and Sanemi is quick to realize why all the empty rooms had felt wrong. He missed Giyuu, missed having him in his arms. And what a stupid fucking thing to feel—you can’t miss what you never had.

But laying together like this, on a rainy day after sex, feels incredibly simple, a masterfully crafted bubble of normalcy enveloping them. Just two people involved in warmth and the need that burns between them. The taste of the ordinary is addictive. But it is also equally heartbreaking.

He’s well aware that this can only go one way. And while he’s used to never getting what he wants and always being the one left behind, he knows it will still hurt. The irony of the entire situation baffles him. Sanemi was the one to insist that this wouldn’t mean anything and now here he is, wishing they led simple, mundane lives where he could risk trying. A life where maybe, just maybe, he’d be good enough for Giyuu. Where Giyuu would see them as equals.

There’s no point in wishing for fate to change. The only thing Sanemi can do is enjoy what little stolen time he has, and prepare himself for the inevitable heartbreak when disaster hits. Be it death or Giyuu realizing he can do better—Sanemi knows it’s bound to happen. His heart twists in something he has never felt before, an odd mixture of fear and bliss. Too tired to brood himself into insomnia, Sanemi sighs, pulling Giyuu closer in his arms, and buries his nose into raven hair, breathing him in.

He may not deserve any of this, but he's not strong enough to let it go. Tired of running from Tomioka Giyuu and his spell, he decides to savor this fragile thing they have while it lasts. When the day finally comes and it all goes to shit, he'll pick up his pieces and rebuild, battered and bruised, missing a few fundamental parts, but still standing somehow. He remembers the first letter he received from the Oyakama-sama, Masachika’s chicken scratch of a handwriting bleeding through the pages, telling Sanemi to live, instead of just survive. At the time, he felt guilty for the high hopes Masachika had put on him—he knew Sanemi would fight until he died and that was it. But now, ensnared by the mundanity of want, something so common yet so out-of-place for him, Sanemi lets himself dip his feet on a low tide, knowing it will turn and drown him sooner or later.

Those waters feel refreshing anyway, something new under his feet.

His siren stirs and mumbles something into his chest, caressing Sanemi’s skin and burrowing in, seeking warmth. A tender smile breaks into Sanemi’s mouth, and kissing Giyuu’s hair, face burying into disheveled locks, he finally allows himself to sleep.